Calm

It’s Thursday evening, near the end of another long week at Km 38. The weeks are good, but they are hard, and we look forward very much to the Sabbath rest and running water back at the mision.

I sit alone in the dark caretakers' house. Supper is ready. There will be a few minutes of peace before the loud and hungry boys arrive, fresh from their bath at the well. The air is rushing through the open house-breezy, damp, and cold from the rain. This is unusual. Most of the time it gets even hotter after the rain.

Carlos and Javier burst in, yelling and squealing. Their bare feet leave wet prints as they hop down the wood hall, nearly naked and slick with rain. They yell expressions in Spanish that I do not understand, but I catch, “It’s cold!” and “Don’t touch me!” as they dash past. I love to hear their laughter.

This afternoon John built a loft bed and I measured, squared, and sawed the boards for him while he nailed. We only have handsaws, and I wore out pretty quickly. I also learned how to use a plane and Jackson and I took turns planing and holding the windows still on their edges.

The house has presented us with many problems, mostly because we have limited tools, and we are all amateurs. The big saw cut the trees into crooked boards out in the jungle, the walls went up crooked, and the frames for the doors and windows are all uneven. We literally spend hours adjusting the actual doors and windows that we build in order for them to fit into their spaces.

I hear the teamsters coming down the muddy path from the well. I get up, take the tea off the stove, and walk to the door to greet them.