Forever… One Day at a Time

Gail Winegar

Description

Laugh, cry and muse over Winegar’s unique perspective as you travel along through culture shock, jungle vines and language barriers. Her vivid imagery and quirky outlook from the vantage point of a missionary makes this a book you will not soon forget.
It’s a kaleidoscope of lush green foliage dotted with brilliant flowers of every imaginable hue. Toucans chatter in the trees. Giant red-orange hummingbirds with long scissor beaks flick their transparent tongues—darting, guarding, teasing, chasing—their wings whirring like propellers. Palm trees flutter like long eyelashes, batting and flirting with the birds. Enormous banana leaves are fringed and tattered, reminding one that age and experience bring resilience to the wind and elements. The newer leaves will be like that soon enough but for now they sway in the humid, salty breeze, the idealistic perfection of youth.

Sujets

• Humor

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris US
• Date de parution: 30 août 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781669843986
• Langue: English

Extrait

FOREVER… ONE DAY AT A TIME
 
A MISSIONARY’S TALE
 
 
 
 
 
GAIL WINEGAR
 
COPYRIGHT © 2022 BY GAIL WINEGAR.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CONTROL NUMBER:
           2022915593

ISBN:
HARDCOVER
978-1-6698-4397-9


SOFTCOVER
978-1-6698-4396-2


EBOOK
978-1-6698-4398-6
 
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
 
Scripture quotations marked KJV are from the Holy Bible, King James Version (Authorized Version). First published in 1611. Quoted from the KJV Classic Reference Bible, Copyright © 1983 by The Zondervan Corporation.
 
Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
 
Rev. date: 08/30/2022
 
 
Xlibris
844-714-8691
www.Xlibris.com
843544
CONTENTS
Prologue In the Beginning
Empty Sea
Paradise
First Sunday
Traffic to Die For
National Geographic
Rhinos and Elephants
Broad-Spectrum Culture
Dancing Bear
Wings of a Prayer
Wherever You Go
Mariposa
Chicken Navidad
The Least of These
Mangy Mutts
Movers and Shakers
Bedouin, Kuna and Ten Hefty Women
IQ
Jonah
Trading Places
Service Project
Iron Bars, Iron Rod
Angelica
Rocks in Your Backpack
Paula Vold
Practically Perfect
Houston, We Have a Problem
Terror Ride
Potty Talk
The Hardest Fun
World Peace and Ice Cream
Leaders of the Flock
Gnats and Fireflies
Flash of Gold
Rock, Paper, Scissors
Miracles in Stereo
Royalty
Cat Lady
Mario’s Cart
White Crayon
Lehi’s Nightmare
F.P.
Y-Ike
After All
Epilogue: BeenThere
To my best friend, companion and husband, Dee

Prologue
In the Beginning
And he said unto them. Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every crea ture.
Mark 15:16
Even with the clamor of the children there is something different about this place. Something in the air, in the breeze. I can’t quite pinpoint it—something intangible and yet something you can almost touch. Something sacred.
“I gotta go to the bathroom!” a little boy hollers at the top of his lungs. His dad whispers something indiscernible.
“No! I can’t wait!”
Before his father can stop him he runs over to a group of trees.
A baby in a stroller begins to wail. The family pusses around us, moving quickly ahead on the path. Still, there is the imperceptible something extraordinary about the beautiful grove.
It’s getting late and our grandchildren are tired and ready for their parents to take the back to the hotel. Dee and I decide to stay behind for awhile on our own. We walk back hand in hand into the Sacred Grove. We are the last visitors and we drink in the silence as well as the beauty. We wander for awhile each caught up in our own thoughts, meditating o the glorious event that occurred in this hallowed place.
We sit down on a bench, nestling in close to each other. It is indeed the perfect place to say a prayer. We bow our heads and Dee offers one out loud. He pours out our gratitude to our Father in Heaven more intently and sincerely than I have ever heard him pray. We feel as if He is very near. We thank Him solemnly for the blessing in our lives. The magnitude and consequence of those blessings surge through us.
Dee receives an undeniable charge that because we are so very blessed, we must be diligent in serving others. We must share our time as well as our means. We whisper softly to each other, humbled by the powerful experience.
We linger for awhile and then Dee turns to me and makes a suggestion.
“We need to go on a mission.” he murmurs softly.
I nod.
Empty Sea
By the power of the Spirit our eyes were opened and our understandings were enlightened so as to see and understand the things of God.
DC 76:12
Are we really in here at the MTC (Missionary Training Center)? I’ve wanted to be a missionary all my life. Now that I actually am one, I hope I’m ready. Ready or not, Panama, here we come!
It’s humbling to have a missionary name badge bearing the name of Jesus Christ. We will be serving in His name. En el nombre de Jesucristo. That’s Spanish. I’m pretty nervous about that. When I was set apart as a missionary last night, one of the blessings I was promised was that I would receive the gift of tongues. Hopefully, that will kick in before long. I got a distinct impression that I may struggle a bit, but a blessing is a blessing, right?
I’ve had little word strips around my kitchen for a couple of months now. Hopefully our missionary service will include words like galena (cookie) and tenedor (fork.) If so, I’m good to go. Like I’ve always told my children, You can’t do any better than your best.
The Wilsons are a missionary couple who are in our district. Elder Wilson is feeling pretty inadequate. He has been ‘less active’ for most of his life and doesn’t feel he has much to offer. “I might be the first person to ever flunk out of the MTC,” he quips. I tell him that if I have something to offer in Spanish, then for certain he has something of value to give. I assure him that the Lord will qualify us both for service, no matter how empty we feel our offering might be.
We sit down with the Wilsons at a table in the cafeteria. A young missionary passes by carrying a tray with six glasses filled with a blue liquid.
“What have you got there, Elder?” I ask.
Smiling, he looks at me inquisitively and then sets down the tray. I repeat the question and he pulls a small notebook from his pocket. He writes down Powe rade.
Because there are so many different languages spoken here in the MTC, I assume he doesn’t speak English. Trying to be helpful, I exaggerate each syllable.
“Say POW-ERR-AAYDE.”
He looks at me blankly.
“Where are you from?” I ask.
He writes in his notebook, Nevada. Nevada? Then it dawns on me that he is deaf.
“Where are you serving your mission?”
He writes down Ta iwan.
Taiwan? Seriously? Elder Wilson and I look at each other. Ohmygosh! And we thought we had challenges.
The missionary shakes our hands enthusiastically, waves and picks up his tray of Powerade. We stare after him in awe.
On our way out of the cafeteria, Dee and I see the deaf elder on a long table with about twenty other elders. We stop to say good-bye and he stands. With wide arm gestures and great confidence he turns to the others, making silent introductions. The missionaries respond enthusiastically. It’s apparent that this elder is a leader among the throng of hearing missionaries. He is a servant of God with great promise.
I think maybe the secret to being a good missionary will be to simply do my best and then rely on the power of the name on my badge. En el nombre de Jesucristo. I determine that with His aid, no matter how inadequate I may be or how empty my vessel may seem, I will serve Him with all my might.
Ready or not, here I am!
Paradise
A state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of p eace.
Alma 40:12
Our casa is a duplex in a beautiful jungle village near the Panama Canal.
It’s a kaleidoscope of lush green foliage doted with brilliant flowers of every imaginable hue. Toucans chatter in the trees. Giant reddish-orange hummingbirds with long scissor beaks, flick their transparent tongues—darting, guarding, teasing, chasing—their wings whirring like propellers.
Palm trees flutter like long eyelashes, batting and flirting with the birds. Enormous banana leaves are fringed and tattered, reminding one that age and experience bring resilience to the wind and the elements. The newer leaves will be like that soon enough, but for now they sway in the humid, salty breeze, the idealistic perfection of youth.
Grass and herb seeds cling to everything they touch, hitchhiking on your skirt, pants and socks, imposing themselves like overzealous salesmen, clinging to anything that will help them spread their wares. Vines creep along, climbing up everything in their path. If left unchecked, they would soon cover every house and building, completely swallowing up whole civilizations.
Our backyard rivals any fruit stand. Pineapples, papaya, bananas and coconut. And OH!—the passion fruit—picked at just the right moment of ripeness before the birds and varmints snatch it away for their own dining pleasure. We cut through the tough, thick skin to reveal sweet orange jelly-like slime with black seeds that burst in your mouth with a fragrant, tangy flavor.
The whole scent is breathtaking! A perfect tropical paradise. Wait a minute. Did I say paradise? Let me rephrase.
Every home in Panama has one thing in common. Bars. Thick iron bars are on every window and door. If someone is lucky enough to have an air conditioner, it is cosseted in iron to protect it from theft, even if it’s on the roof.
People can be quite creativ