Ten One Dollar Bills

After enjoying that little bit of drama, it was time to go and enjoy a good hot breakfast. I quickly got dressed and headed out the door, grabbing the remaining bananas on the way out. Thankfully, Danilo’s wife’s café is only a short walking distance up the street from the motel.
The café is located on a street corner across from the town square, which means the streets stay really busy. I always enjoyed sitting outside on the patio, watching vehicles and people as they passed by—most of them as they stared at me. This morning as I sat and enjoyed a plate of scrambled eggs and ham, I held out a banana for each passing boy or girl. I loved seeing the smile come on their face as they took the small banana from my outstretched hand.
I then watched as a taxi driver drove up and went into the café. When he came out, I stopped him. Once I was comfortable he understood the location of the road to turn on that would take me to the Bulbul River, we agreed on a fare. I quickly finished my breakfast and got into his small car. We first stopped by the motel so I could get my backpack and the large duffle bag packed with the construction tools. I needed to get the construction tools to the small house where they could be secured with the other tools.
Riding down the long dirt road to the bridge site, I wasn’t really sure if anyone would be there on a Sunday. In a previous e-mail, Milosz informed me that the daily volunteer labor from the communities had dwindled. But my real concern came when he mentioned that some days, the only workers were Carlos and Santos.
I remember sending an e-mail to Ken, expressing my concern that the community had seemingly given up on building the bridge, and my uncertainty about what I needed to do. He had a very insightful reply, “Thomas, it is not unusual for the community to lose its energy. Living in poverty one’s whole life does that to you. You get beat down so many times, it gets harder and harder to get up.” After I read his reply, I knew this would be a tangible purpose for my trip, for it to serve as a morale booster. I needed to work beside these communities for a week so they would still know I fully shared in their vision for the bridge.
I knew one way to encourage the two communities was to bring them gifts. In my duffle bag were a dozen hats, donated by a farming supply store, and a grocery bag filled with small packages of Easter candy that had been marked down to a quarter each. I planned to give the hats to the adult workers and the candy to the children. I believed demonstrating these simple acts of kindness would go a long way in motivating the two communities to complete their bridge.
Arriving at the bridge site, I saw in the distance a beautiful picture—the completed bridge tiers, cable towers, and walls of the approach ramp. It was a magnificent structure. I quickly walked down the hill to get a closer look. The stone tiers were enormous. It appeared to be almost fifteen feet to the top of the cable towers. Actually seeing the enormity of the construction reminded me of the great pyramids.
I carefully walked up the walls of the approach ramp to the top of the tiers and stood between the two cable towers. As I looked across the river to the other completed bridge tiers, I realized a Bridge of Hope, the dream of the people, was closer to becoming a reality. These two communities had come together to build something that was going to change not only their lives, but the lives of their children and grandchildren.
Santos had now gotten word that I had arrived and had come across the river to greet me. I smiled as we shook hands and indicated he had done a great job. We walked up to the house where the taxi driver had unloaded my bags. I unpacked each item from the duffle bag, showing Santos the two drill kits, the special wood bits, the rope, the box of hats, the bag of candy, the safety lanyards, and other miscellaneous items. Santos had a key to the storage room at the small house, so we placed everything inside. It eased my mind to know all of this was now safely delivered and secured at the construction site.
By this time, the owner of the house had returned, so we showed him the new construction tools and other items. His eyes got really big when I showed him the bag of candy, until I said, “Para los niños,” or “For the children.” But because he was allowing for the construction tools and bags of cement to be stored at his house, I gave him a brand new pair of orange coveralls and a hat as an appreciation gift.
Santos and I then walked over to the other side of the river so I could inspect the other stone tiers. I walked up the wall of the approach ramp and stood between the cable towers. Looking down across the river to the cable towers on the other side, I quickly spotted two tree limbs that would interfere with the bridge’s handrail cables. Cutting the limbs would require someone to climb into the tree, but was something that could be done tomorrow.
With nothing else left to do, I decided it was time for me to head back into town and have some lunch. I shook Santo’s hand and told him, “Mañana,” or “Tomorrow.” Then I realized there was one problem . . . I didn’t have a ride back to town. I knew it was almost four miles to town, but with no other available options, I started walking.
Continuing to walk and gaze at the beautiful mountains, I thought to myself, Here I am, walking on a long dirt road—in the middle of nowhere—in a third world country—alone . . . I am crazy. I suddenly felt a great peace come over my whole body and fill my heart. I knew why I was sent here. This project had already taught me so much about not only myself but about faith.
At that moment, I heard something . . . a motorcycle. After passing by me, it suddenly stopped. I turned around and saw the rider stepping off. He had on a dirty baseball uniform and looked tired from playing a game. He motioned for me to come and get on. I shook my head and said “no” several times, knowing his house had to be at least two miles away on the other side of the river. He refused to get back on the motorcycle and, after speaking to the driver, started walking towards the river. I was really touched at his selflessness.
Riding on the back of the motorcycle, I began to realize that as I was walking, God was walking right beside me. Looking over at the mountains, I began to piece together the words to describe this incredible journey. And as we neared the end of the dirt road, I realized my life’s journey would one day end, too. In the end, would I be asking myself if I had done enough to help others?

The Journey

Though the road before me
May now be dusty and long,
I know You walk beside me
So I do not walk alone.

Leading, guiding, protecting
Lighting the path ahead,
Sending, showing, providing
Walking on Faith, whatever lies ahead.

Though one day I know
The road will reach its end,
And I will glance back and say,
“Lord, thank You for the journey.”