Provider

God won’t leave me alone. Seriously. He has been talking to me a lot this week, and it is only Tuesday!

I’ve been thinking about writing this blog for a couple of hours, and even through that He has been teaching me. Originally, I wanted to title this “Anna Hart: Blockade Runner, Trufi Killer.” It’s been an exciting morning.

Sergio called me early because I have the trufi (a van) and he wanted me to bring it to the church to pick up some new tile for the BLC. So off I went. Just past Quillacollo, I ran into a blockade. So I decided to go around it. Sometimes this can be very difficult. This time it wasn’t so bad. There was a steady flow of cars running around it, and I just followed them. I got to the church and was pretty proud of myself. Sergio told me I was a little more Bolivian, since I got around it by myself. I was even prouder.

Somewhere in the big book I lug around on Sundays, it says something about pride.

On the way home, there was no flow of traffic to follow. I did some turning around. Then I decided I would just go up the mountain for a while, then over, then back down, and hope I made it around. No, I don’t know any of the roads. With a quick prayer, I headed up. I got worried. I wandered around. Mountain roads don’t run in nice grid patterns. I turned around. Every once in a while, I would pass something familiar. I thanked God for that day in July when the LFC Team 2 just had to have more materials for their project and I had gone to town alone with Cristobal and there was a blockade but we decided to go around it and he had taken me far up the mountain and pointed out peculiar landmarks along the way. I figured I couldn’t be too lost when I spotted some of these places. Not that I could even tell you which direction I was trying to go anymore. I got worried again. I said another half prayer. Finally I came across a bus and a chicken truck. I decided to follow them. They had no business up in the mountains, so they must be trying to get around the blockade too. At this point I didn’t care if they were headed towards Cochabamba or Sipe Sipe. I just wanted out of the mountains. So I followed them.

After some time, I spotted a familiar road. Looming before me, was the beautiful main road. And I was on the side nearest the BLC! I was free and clear. And boy was I proud. I had passed another blockade, a much more complicated blockade, wandering the back mountain roads alone. Woo Hoo!!

And then the motor died.

In the middle of the road, the trufi died. I panicked. I tried to restart it. I prayed. I called Sergio. Just as he answered, the motor started back up. I hung up. I drove a block. And it died again.

In the middle of the road. Blocking two of the three lanes of traffic. A stream of other cars trying to get to the main road after passing the blockade furiously honking behind me. And the trufi would not start. There was a taxi parked on the side of the road and the driver and a man standing by his car were clearly watching me and discussing my ordeal as I desperately cranked the engine to no avail and called to the BLC for help with shaking hands. After what seemed an eternity, they approached my window. “It runs on gasoline?” they asked me (in Bolivia, cars run on diesel, gasoline, natural gas, or a mixture). “Yes,” I answered. They told me I was out of gas, but I assured them that I had filled the tank as I was leaving Cochabamba. They said no more, but their faces did not appear convinced. They offered to push me over to the side. I was so thankful!

I began making calls again, saved from the honking of horns. I talked to Mau, who was going to send the bus from the BLC to pick me and the supplies up. I talked to Juan Carlos, the mechanic from the church, who was going to send a tow truck out for the trufi. I was so thankful to God that this had happened in a place that I recognized and not up in the mountains where I was completely lost.

After an hour and a half sitting in the hot car alone and worried, I spotted a group I recognized. Sandra and three of the boys from the BLC were passing by. I had called Sandra too, so she was looking for me. They joined me in the hot car and chatted a while about the policeman who had approached me and asked me to move the car (I was parked directly under a no parking sign) and then apologized for confronting me after I explained that the motor was dead and I couldn’t move it. Moments later, I spotted the bus from the BLC. Tio Rodo was on the phone with the mechanic as he approached. As we loaded the supplies onto the bus, he offered to stay with the trufi until the mechanic arrived.

Two hours after my first call for help, I was in the bus and on my way home. It was true that my way had not been smooth or comfortable, but God had shown up to Provide for me in so many ways: the landmarks, the other blockade runners, the timing of the breakdown, the taxi driver and his friend, the welcome sight of friends, and the slew of people that came to my rescue. Even Sergio called me back to make sure I was okay!

My pride is gone and I have such gratitude for His provision. Thank you God, for breaking me down to teach me, and seeing me through. What was I reading before I left this morning? Isaiah 2:3, “...He will teach us His ways, so that we may walk in His paths…”