A Reluctant
Shepherd
1968: Missionaries came to our home in Montana. They
wanted me to join them on the mission field. I wanted to go to
college and live the good life. But God is patient.
1999: The rain was pouring when a young boy standing
knee deep in mud pounded on the black iron gate. From the
guard tower a voice shouted out to the figure below.
“?Que quieres chico?” The child answered with words
barely audible above the storm,
“Nececitamos la senora con el caro
rojo. Un nino se murio.” (We need
the lady in the red truck. A boy has
died.” Sadly, this was not the first or
the last time someone came to the
gate to report a child gravely ill or
a death. The guard called me and
I gathered up a group of the older
girls from Our Little Roses Home
for Girls” and we headed out. It was
all the my little Ford Ranger could
do to maneuver its way through the
sticky axel-deep mud to the barrio
behind the home and eventually
to a shack surrounded by people standing like statues in the
downpour.
We entered the tiny shack which was lit by a single bulb hanging
from a rusted out lamina roof. A table had been placed in the only
place which was relatively free from the dripping water. The leaks
in the roof had turned the dirt floor into three-inch deep mud. On
the table lay a tiny baby dressed in a white baptismal gown with a
cloth over his face. His name was Moises. His short time on earth