strange

Clearly, David knew his truck. The city traffic flowed well enough through Chiang Mai, Thailand’s narrow avenues, but I judged the slot he entered between buildings barely walkway width. Somehow, he navigated a right angle turn leaving fender and wall unscathed, then stopped in the small cement court at the end. This hidden guest house entrance offered intimate welcome with a dozen chairs and a small table gracing canopy shaded space.

We arrived with a quick task - check two team members out and move their luggage to a central gathering point. Ten or fifteen minutes tops should do it. We had a tight schedule to prepare for teaching Karen refugees how to share God’s Word through stories. I helped my wife, Regina, pack quickly. But Tony, recovering from a tropical bug, moved more slowly. So, David, Regina and I waited outside with other guests escaping afternoon heat. Then, we met Ana.

An attractive, dark complected lady in her late 20’s, Ana served as guest house director. As she spoke, something very out of place sounded very familiar. Besides looking the part, Ana’s alto voiced English flowed with latin flair rather than oriental staccato.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Nicaragua,” she answered.

“How did you come to be here?” I wondered aloud.

“Long story,” she smiled. “But, it’s all the Lord’s doing.”

David popped up, exclaiming, “Regina, tell her a story in Spanish!”

“In Spanish?” Ana’s eyes widened. “I haven’t heard my language for a very long time.”