Angry Clouds and Angry Crowds

For the past three months, the signs on the restroom doors at our branch clearly stated that there was no water inside.

Well, today it rained. The dry season ended. So all was well. Right?

Wrong.
That rain led to plenty of trouble. The water's first target was our Primary room. Within minutes of a torrential downpour, rain began seeping through the overhead light fixtures. Soon it dripped down walls and eventually crept through every weak spot in the ceiling. The primary teacher calmly instructed her students to play outside on the porch (where it was drier). 

Then we placed buckets in strategic locations around the room and began to mop the floor with cleaning rags. Some of the children even helped.

The bathrooms also flooded, which meant that, at last, we definitely had water there. 

Throughout all of this, the smiles on branch members' faces were like rays of sunshine. 

So, our trouble with water was over. Right?

Wrong.

Because of the weather, my husband decided to break an unwritten mission rule. We are encouraged to not give rides to church members; but without our help, a dear sister would have walked several miles to her home, carrying her newborn daughter in the chilly rain. We drove the mother, the infant and two other people home, then returned to Pueblo Nuevo Vinas for the woman's husband. In trying to get back to him, Jay took an unfamiliar narrow road. And I do mean narrow! As he squeezed between a parked car and a high cement curb, our bumper scraped the curb. No big deal. Just a fender bender. We could still drive. Right?

Wrong.

A piece of hard plastic lining from our wheel well lodged around the tire making it impossible for our car to move. Two kind Guatemalan men saw our dilemma and tried to help. Our branch president lived nearby, and also came to our rescue. At least we were surrounded by sympathetic understanding people. Right?

Wrong.

Not if you include the people in the parade. Yes, I said parade. Shortly after our car got stuck in the middle of the road, we looked up to see a crowd approaching us. This Corpus Christi Day procession was led by a priest. Next to him, people carried a huge handheld float. A throng of worshipers followed. Along with umbrellas, they held lit candles and smoking incense. The procession was accompanied by drums, two trumpets and a tuba. As the marching mass tried to maneuver the heavy float past us, they bumped against our helpless Toyota, surrounding it on all sides. Each person seemed to make a point of scowling in our direction. One woman looked at the dumb Norte Americanos who were blocking the procession route and couldn't help giving the universal sign of disgust. She stared straight at Jay, wrinkled up her nose and stuck out her tongue. (I just covered my missionary name badge, kept my window up and door locked.)

Eventually, the parade passed, and the men who were helping us succeeded in getting our car to drive again. An hour and a half later, we were back home safe and sound. All is well that ends well; so next week, come rain or shine, we will be back at Pueblo Nuevo Vinas again. Right?

Absolutely right.


PS (from Jay) - I even made it home in time to celebrate Fathers Day with the other senior missionaries.

PPS (from Jay) - I hope this isn't sacrilegious to say, but I truly wonder if some guardian angel, assigned to the Harrises in Guatemala, wasn't splitting a gut laughing at our awkward dilemma. The timing, the location, the weird twisting of the wheel lining that wouldn't allow our immediate escape, all add up to some pretty suspicious chicanery. Thanks a lot, Dad. Very funny! And happy Fathers Day.