Shining Beacons
Author © Scott D. Zachary

       “Paved roads! Running water! YAY!!!”

       Bobbie’s all packed, and I’m not.

       My clothes are scattered everywhere. All of the jump ropes, hat lamps, cross necklaces, multi-tools, bracelets, sewing kits, miniature footballs, and marbles are still in their original packages. The price tags still need to be removed from the dolls, bubble blowers, toy handball sets, Frisbees, and colorful bandanas.

       At least Bobbie and I already shipped all the boxes of shoes and clothing, the 76 pairs of flip-flops, the countless stuffed animals, the dozens of garden seed packets, the 36 expandable aluminum walking canes, and the 96 children’s Bible story books to Colorado long ago to be included in our team’s shipment to Nicaragua.

       I can’t decide whether to take my cavernous green clown shoes or not.

       I have to bring my big polka-dotted bow tie, though; and of course, I’ll bring at least two pairs of the jumbo sunglasses.

       I peer into one of the tubs, ponder, and then select the pink and the orange sunglasses. I place them in one of the last remaining open spots on the carpet, thereby starting a pile of my personal things to pack.

       There, I’ve begun organizing now.

       I grab a pad of paper and begin making my final shopping list. I annotate “3-D Christian bookmarkers and children’s stickers, a bag of PayDay candy bars for Darrel, needle-nose pliers, bug spray, bags of beef jerky, eyeglass repair kits, bathrobe, and SpongeBob and Hello Kitty duct tape.”

       My team shirt may not get here in time since I forgot to tell Ernie my new address.

       I reach into the closet and choose my blue team shirt from our 2015 mission trip to El Coyolar, fold it, and begin a stack of the clothing that I’ll wear on the plane. I retrieve my Minion outfit consisting of my denim overalls and a neon-yellow, ten-miler running shirt. I tightly roll a hankie; underpants; and pink, blue, and neon-yellow polka-dotted socks into them for one day’s ensemble. At this point, I’ve nearly covered both my office and the living room floors with lots and lots of stuff. Bobbie and I tread carefully along the narrow walkways, and Spooky is upset because her sleeping blanket is lost under the jumble.

       “How in the world am I going to fit all of this stuff into my two duffel bags and my backpack, Honey Bunny?”

       “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll help you.”

       Bobbie and I dashed off to the Christian bookstore and department store for our final round of shopping. I made one last futile attempt to find a squirt-gun calculator and lamented that I should’ve looked online.

       I’m usually open to Dr. Wizzle’s suggestions, although he doesn’t always fill me in on his whole plan beforehand. Sometimes he lets me fill in the blanks, and thus, with no particular recipient in mind, Dr. Wizzle prompted me to put this ultra-soft, cotton candy-colored unicorn with wide, endearing eyes into our basket.

       Bobbie and I finished packing Thursday evening. I stepped onto the bathroom weigh scale and then remounted the scale holding each of our three duffel bags to be checked in at the airline. I calculated the difference. The three bags weighed 46.5, 48.5, and 49.0 pounds. Super! I stuffed some more leather Christian bracelets adorned with W.W.J.D. into the first bag.

       “Cool! I was sure that we’d go over the 50-pound limit this time, Honey Bunny.”

       “Good thing, because we don’t want to find out how much it costs for overweight bags. I’m sure it’s substantial.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       Bobbie double-checked the contents of the duffel bags on Friday before she hauled them to the front porch for me to load into the car. We drove the two hours to Louisville, and as we approached the hotel that evening, there were lots of old cars cruising the streets like the previous two years.

       Dozens of the vintage cars filled the hotel parking lot, and people were gawking at them. That scene mentally transported me back to a time when I worked at ZirMed in Louisville. A coworker, Tom, and I would often walk through different parts of downtown during our lunchtime. On one occasion, we walked along the river and happened upon an antique Aston Martin car show. The owners gloated over their old cars, anticipating praise and adulation for their work in restoring their prized possessions. It was readily apparent that these old men lived for their old pieces of metal. They spend their sunset years transporting their “babies” around the country so they can sit in their lawn chairs and snag compliments from the passersby. Many of these seniors have crowned their addiction to alcohol with their obsession for shiny objects.

       Granted, I spent most of my life pursuing liquid oblivion and obsessing over one trivial fancy or another with little regard for anyone else. I reflected on how grateful I was that my life had taken such a dramatic turn in 2009 when I hit rock-solid bottom with nobody there to lean on. No buddy system redeems that far down. In the process of recovering from alcoholism, I began to divert my focus from feeding my obsessive, self-centered desires to helping others who had no one there for them. Two years later, that desire to serve the less fortunate led me to become a Christian medical missionary, and this mission would be my eighth in Central America.

       We checked into the hotel, and Bobbie requested a taxi to pick us up at 4:15 a.m. the next morning since the hotel shuttle didn’t start running until 6:00 a.m. Unloading the car, dining at the hotel, setting our alarms for 3:00 a.m., and sleeping four hours wound our travel spring for another mission.

       I slept away most of our flight from Louisville to Houston with my chin on my chest as I had given away my wraparound neck pillow (along with nearly everything else I had with me during the previous year’s mission). Giving all but the clothes on my back reminds me of how Nelson, my boss at Gardens Alive, jokes that he expects to hear on the nightly news about a man having been arrested while trying to board a return flight from Nicaragua dressed only in his underpants. That’s not far from reality. It could happen.

       A brief layover in Houston necessitated a full-blown sprint to catch our connecting flight to Managua. The attendants were already loading passengers when we arrived at the gate. As we made our way to our seats, I scanned our fellow passengers for this year’s lime-green T-shirts and observed that we had many new faces this year. I did spot Michelle’s familiar shining face and waved.

       Bobbie and I slept through most of the flight to Managua. Upon arrival, Nicaraguan customs flagged one of my bags for inspection, the one labeled with a “T” for toys. I DO NOT want to lose all of my gifts to give away in Las Sabanas! The stern official unzipped my duffel bag, flipped it open, and grimaced when he saw hundreds of toys and trinkets. He looked at me sternly.

       “¡Para los niños!” I beamed effusively. (For the children!)

       I could imagine his thinking that no one could be so exuberantly positive and be up to no good, as he gestured for me to take it away.

       “¿Cuántos niños tiene?” I asked him. (How many children do you have?)

       “Tengo tres niños.” (I have three children.)

       “¿Cuántos años tienen?” (How old are they?)

       “Veinte, dieciocho y seis años.” (Twenty, eighteen, and six years.)

       I sifted through the hundreds of gifts in my bag, and then I beamed knowingly, unzipped my backpack, and pulled out the ultra-soft, cotton candy-colored, wide-eyed, endearing unicorn for his little boy. “¡Para su hijo!” (For your son!)

       The customs official graciously accepted my gift for his little boy. I couldn’t imagine doing this with an American customs official.

       As Bobbie and I trotted to join up with our teammates, I looked skyward and grinned. “Thank you, Dr. Wizzle!”

       On these missions, I transform in a metamorphic kind of way into a different Scott, a much more caring and giving Scott. I suppose I can attribute much of that to the effect that the sweet people of Nicaragua bring out in me. A worldly innocence about them seems to trigger a similar quality in me.

       Our team gathered to board BMDMI’s mission bus. I delighted in seeing our Missions Director Darrel Johnson’s glowing smile as he welcomed us to Nicaragua once again. En route to the mission home, we made our usual pit stop at Pizza Hut for lunch. Bobbie raves about how their pizza is the best anywhere, and I agree.

       The drive to the mission home takes about an hour. Along the way, I ravenously strip all the Spanish words from signs and advertisements, stamping them into my brain, refreshing as many as possible in preparation for speaking Spanish on our mission.

       As soon as we arrived at the mission home, Bobbie retrieved our gifts from her luggage for the cooks in the dining hall. It’s always a pleasure to see the joyful appreciation in their eyes when we give them their gift bags. This year, Bobbie spent hundreds of hours crocheting beautifully colored shawls for each of them: Luz Marina, Silvia, Adela, and Johana. We placed a shawl in each gift bag along with a bag of scripture candy for their family.

       Bobbie had obviously been conspiring behind my back because when we gathered for dinner that evening in the dining hall, all 53 of the missionaries sang “Happy Birthday” to me! I couldn’t dream of a better way to celebrate my 60^th birthday than to share it with our family of missionaries as we prepare to serve the gracious people of Nicaragua. During that meal on August 6^th, 2016, I contemplated a drunken birthday 22 years earlier in Johannesburg, South Africa. I had always credited myself with a great deal of insight back then, but I was blind as to what is truly fun!

       Dinner tasted delectable as always, and the camaraderie was as good as it gets. After that, hand in hand, high above the city, Bobbie and I stood on the balcony of the mission home beneath the sparkling stars and admired the view of Managua’s glittering lights. In the apt words of The Ozark Mountain Daredevils, I concluded... Lord, You made it right.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       Sunday morning dawned a long day of travel and work for the Lord. We loaded the trucks with all of our equipment and supplies, boarded our buses, and departed toward our destination—Las Sabanas, a three-hour drive to the north. We stopped along the way in Matagalpa at a large grocery store for potty break and lunch. Lunch consisted of a turkey and cheese sandwich, a PB&J sandwich, and packaged snacks. The final three hours of our drive wound through the beautiful Matagalpa mountains into the Department of Madriz. The mid-afternoon sun shadowed our arrival at our assigned village of Las Sabanas, a few miles from the Honduran border. Curious eyes studied us as we waved and greeted them while unloading the trucks. Some of those villagers pitched in to help.

       The mission clinics and sleeping quarters typically occupy the rooms of the local elementary school. This year, the clinics and men’s sleeping quarters shared a large gymnasium. The women’s sleeping quarters were housed in one of the local churches two doors down. The kitchen where Bobbie was assigned was set up in a building next door to the gym.

       Everyone, 54 Americans and 33 Nicaraguan translators, pitched in to organize our clinics. We set up the Medical Clinic and the Pharmacy on one side of the gym, and the Optical and Dental clinics on the opposite side of the gym along with Family Packs (distribution of clothing, shoes, hygiene items, toys, and tons of beans and rice). After four hours of hustle and bustle, we were ready to serve the population of Las Sabanas.

       I was happy to see that Ramón—a handsome young Nicaraguan man in his early thirties—was assigned to the optical clinic again. His confident expertise in operating the auto-refractor meant that I would be freed up a good portion of the time to play with the kids, to lead people to accept Jesus into their hearts, and to be Santa Claus. Mandy, the other American who would be working with me, was a lovely young lady, delightful and enthusiastic. I was excited about her experience in optometry, which proved to be an astounding blessing. Abraham, an amiable Nicaraguan interpreter who would be working with us in the clinic, introduced himself. He was about my age. Right away, I admired his humble kindliness.

       During the process of setting up our clinics, I began my transformation into Santa Claus by giving the two Nicaraguan dentists, Luz and Mabel, battery-operated fans that would dangle on a cord around their necks. They were delighted since we don’t have air conditioning in the villages where we serve. Mabel, a charming and pretty young lady, pulled me aside and excitedly told me how she had embraced my suggestion from the past year’s mission and strived to be a shining beacon on the hill to inspire her husband. Mabel gleefully shared that he is now a Christian and goes to church with her every Sunday. She had also applied my philosophy of focusing on the silver linings in everything. Mabel smiled brilliantly, and her eyes glowed with the joy of the Lord as she asserted, “Everything bad stays in the past.” What a sweet note to kick off this mission!

       Without my having given it any conscious thought, Dr. Wizzle had prompted me out of the blue to take some collapsible aluminum walking canes on the previous year’s mission to El Coyolar, so I carried four of them in my duffel bags. Dr. Wizzle had apparently noticed the rickety sticks that the elderly used to help them walk. The ones to whom I gave these four canes were ecstatic, so I shipped 36 of them to Nicaragua for this year’s mission. I thought of the canes as we were setting up the optical clinic and decided that they ought to be distributed by the medical staff. I tracked down that box, took it to the medical clinic, unpacked two of the canes, laid them on top so the medical team could see what they are, and returned to organizing the optical clinic. I didn’t anticipate what a fantastic sensation they would create.

       By the time we established all of the clinics, Shirley, Bobbie, Michael, Nicolás, Beau, Beatrice, and the village helpers had managed to set up the kitchen. The savory aroma of dinner cooking filled the air. In a jiffy, our kitchen crew miraculously prepared a delicious meal for 54 American missionaries, 22 village helpers, 33 Nicaraguan translators, the drivers, and all the band members! Boggles your mind, doesn’t it? God does provide.

       After dinner, Tim Steeples, one of the evangelists, rushed over to me where I was organizing all of the items in my duffel bags that I planned to give away. “Come quick, Scott, I need you to interpret for me with the people who live across the street!”

       Tim and I hurried out into the street across from the gym where a local couple and five children were sitting on the curb in front of their house. I began talking with them in Spanish and learned that the five children sitting beside them were theirs. I ran back to the eye clinic and retrieved my most elegant cross necklace for the father, a sewing kit for the mother, leather bracelets for the two teenage children, and balls for the younger ones. The sparkles in their eyes emphasized their grateful words.

       That was my first of many similar queries where I asked the father, “¿Tiene Jesucristo en su corazón?” (Do you have Jesus Christ in your heart?)

       “Sí,” he nodded.

       I mistakenly interpreted his response as meaning that he had already accepted Jesus as his Savior. “Bueno!” I rejoiced. “¡Usted es mi hermano en Jesucristo!” (Good, you are my brother in Jesus Christ!) I shook his hand vehemently. Later that week, Tim would apprise me otherwise.

       I returned to the optical clinic to prepare my bed for the night. BMDMI provides six-inch padded plastic mattresses on which to sleep, so I grabbed one off a stack and flopped it down on the floor in the middle of the eye clinic. Now, I can easily guard the 7,000 pairs of eyeglasses that BMDMI provides to each mission team and the $10,000 worth of optical equipment (auto-refractor, laptop, and printers).

       A fellow named Holland Kendall had gone on a mission to Honduras in the late nineties where they dumped a pile of used eyeglasses on a table and asked people to search for a pair that would help them see better. Holland, being an engineer, exclaimed, “Surely there’s a better way to do this!”

       Upon Holland’s return to the States, he went to work designing software to interface between an auto-refractor (measures a patient’s prescription) and a database of cataloged used eyeglasses. Now, we are usually able to provide glasses that are within 5% of the eyeglass prescription provided by your local optometrist!

       I made my bed on that mattress using the pink camouflage sheets and the blue and orange polka-dotted blanket Bobbie had bought for me. (She does this for a reason.) I lay down intending to read the most recent pamphlet from Voice of the Martyrs, but I couldn’t hold my head up long enough to begin reading. I turned off my flashlight and immediately fell asleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       Monday 4:45 a.m., the quirky little tune on my flip phone sounded. I put on my robe, grabbed my bag of toiletries, and headed off to the showers behind the gym. Our maintenance guys had set up our four-sided metal shower stalls late the previous night, a garden hose hanging over the top of each of them with a spray nozzle for the shower head. I was amazed at the ornate brickwork that the maintenance guys had painstakingly laid during the night as a floor beneath the showers. This was much better than mud squishing between my toes after I’ve showered!

       I didn’t waste any time showering because dozens of people from Las Sabanas and the surrounding region would soon be lining up at the eye clinic. The team’s morning devotion started at 6:15 a.m., followed by breakfast at 6:30. Before the local people could be seen in any of the clinics, they needed to attend a worship service under the big tent that the team had set up down the street the previous night. Four services were held each day with an average of 250 people in attendance at each of them. That’s a thousand people of all ages who streamed through our clinics each day. (Please know that the Nicaraguans are always orderly, patient, respectful, considerate, and appreciative, even when the temperature is sweltering in the middle of the day.)

       The first church service started at 7:00 a.m. Afterward, the line began forming at the entrance to the gym. With services at 7:00 a.m., 9:30 a.m., 1:00 p.m., and 3:30 p.m., all of the missionaries worked practically non-stop to serve the population of Las Sabanas.

       Mandy had operated an auto-refractor many times before and quickly learned from Ramón how to operate BMDMI’s auto-refractor in conjunction with the eyeglass selection software. That worked out well because I prefer to work with the patients who need readers, allowing me more flexibility to talk with them about Jesus, and to play. When I say “play,” I don’t really mean to goof off. My aim is to make the mission as positively memorable as possible for as many people as possible. My objectives: To make them laugh and to elicit joy while giving them good eyesight, and above all, to encourage them to choose Jesus Christ as their Savior.

       The line of people at the optical clinic is usually sporadic, so I often venture out on playful forays. I might grab one of the Frisbees from my duffel bags and teach some of the kids how to throw it. Or I might take a handful of tops and form a circle on the floor with several young children and show them how to spin a top. These are things that most kids in the States take for granted. Many of the children here in Nicaragua never receive any toys of their own—their parents must spend everything on minimal necessities to survive. When I give them these simple things to keep, they are astounded. I have a blast teaching the children how to throw a Frisbee, spin a top, or blow bubblegum bubbles. If they have fun, they’re more likely to remember the Christian missionaries who came to their town.

       I cannot think of anything more enjoyable than presenting a cute little stuffed unicorn or teddy bear to an impoverished little boy or girl who couldn’t dream of such a thing. That is fun!

Click here to read the conclusion of “Shining Beacons”