Day 3 – Manchester (Mandeville)
Here’s where things got wild. First off, we woke up to no water in the building. We gathered up our things, with no shower or drinking water, dressed in our church clothes, and traversed the damaged sky bridge to load up the van. Our goal was to make it to church in Mandeville by 10 am. Before saying a prayer, I brought up the fact that we had no food or water and asked if we should have an ox in the mire conversation or just fast for the day. Bulkley said just the fact that we would have that conversation showed the caliber of men on this trip, and we decided we would forgo breakfast and head for church and get lunch after. We turned in our room keys to security and headed out of Montego Bay. Google Maps had us arriving at 9:57 am, a time I was confident I could make, even with the poor roads through Anchovy. Well, at the turnoff at Reading, we were met by a police barricade. JPS was working to restore power, and they had closed the road for most of the morning. Our only hope of making it to Mandeville by morning was going up near Maroon Town through the cockpit country. My heart sank as I knew we had almost no chance of making it to church on time now. On top of that, I knew the roads up that way were terrible under the best of circumstances and had no idea what the hurricane had done up there.
In classic Team Irie (that’s what we dubbed our WhatsApp group), everyone just rolled with it. We whipped around and headed up into the bush. The roads were worse than I had imagined, and I did my best to avoid potholes on narrow and winding roads riddled with potholes. Sometimes there wasn’t even a discernible road, just a washed-out series of potholes that eventually connected back with something that had once resembled a road.
The hurricane had done its work in the cockpits too. The mounds of hills were nearly stripped of all their leaves, and downed phone and power lines marred the little villages along the road.
Still, we were making relatively good time, all things considered, and I was hoping to be able to make it to church before the sacrament services had concluded. That’s when the Lord stepped in and taught us all an amazing lesson.
Coming around the corner of this little town in the middle of nowhere we saw an older man on his hands and knees in the middle of the road. There were two potholes next to him and the cars ahead of us passed right by him. I thought for a moment that he was trying to fix a pothole. Svenson said he thought he might be surveying the potholes. Johnson spoke up and said, “I think he needs help”. It was then I saw he was carrying grocery bags that had fallen by his side. We pulled over and got out. I walked up to him and said, “Whappen daddy, ya alright?” This man rolled over and cried out to the heavens “God why have you licked me down again? Me just come round for something to eat and my legs fail me and I can’t walk. Why God after everything me been through?!” I grabbed one arm and Anderson grabbed the other and we lifted him to his feet. We had to carry him because his legs had no strength. We asked where he was trying to go. He motioned to a house back the way we had just come up a hill. We cleared room for him in the van and discovered he had a little dog that was off the side of the road. Once we helped the old man up into the van, the dog joined him and Joel tended this dirty little mutt while we flipped the car around and drove him to a house on a hill. Johnson and I helped him out and up a few steps to a veranda with an old Rasta sitting outside. Another neighbor ran down the hill and asked if he had fallen again. He told us his name was Owen James and gave thanks to God for sending us to him. His entire countenance had changed in the short trip from lying on his back in the road to standing at the door of his home. He went from crying out to God to praising his name and giving thanks. We returned to the guys who stayed back on the side of the road to give place for Owen and his dog.
The entire ordeal had cost us eight minutes, but the experienced changed our hearts and minds. It was no longer about our desires to reach Mandeville or our desires make it to church. We were on the Lord’s errand and we would go where He wanted us to go and do what He wanted us to do. As we prepared to come to Jamaica I had a dream that I gave a talk in Mandeville and made reference to the Good Samaritan. The dream was so vivid that I remembered it when I woke up and even remembered the details of the talk. In this dream I had spoken to a group of saints preparing to go and give service and I spoke of the priest and the Levite in the parable, we do not know what kind of men they were, nor are we meant to, what we do know is that they failed to divert from their intended course and reach out in love to lift up their neighbor. I had thought about myself and how often my desires have dictated what I do, where I do it, and more specifically when I do it. After all, I have plans. Unexpected instances are often unwelcome because, you know, the plans. We could easily be the priest or the Levite in the parable. We don’t know what they were off to do. Maybe they were going to provide relief to hurricane victims, or maybe they were just trying to get to church on time. After all, if they stopped it what could they possibly do. They weren’t going to change the fact this man was beaten and robbed. They couldn’t restore that which he had lost, or heal his wounds. So why bother? We could not change that Owen had fallen, that he’d been beaten down by life and robbed of his strength, we couldn’t restore his strength nor heal his wounds. Likewise, we couldn’t change that this beautiful island nation had been beaten down and robbed by Hurricane Melissa or restore all that had been lost or broken. We couldn’t heal the trauma or take away the pain and suffering. What we could do though was stop what we were doing, divert from our plans, anoint the wounded, lift up the hands that hang down, provide support and relief, and bring those within our reach to the shelter and love of the Savior Jesus Christ. He is mighty to save, He has healing in His wings, and through His mercy and grace He can restore all that was lost. From that moment forward we would seek to be instruments in His hands. Fully consecrated, seeking to hear His voice and heed the Spirit, and ready to act.
Disclaimer: to those of you in my stake who are reading this. First of all, bless you for reading this marathon journal entry, and B) you are definitely going to hear this in a talk sometime soon, so please be cool, and we’ll all pretend that you haven’t already heard this.
Back on the road, our conversations were entirely focused on what we had just experienced and the events that had led us there at that moment to be a small answer to a sincere prayer. We carried on without the pressure of making it to church on time because we had just been well taught.
Coming out of the bush and into the farmlands of St. Elizabeth, we could see the distant impact of the hurricane, which we would get a closer look at in the coming days. We climbed up Spur Tree Road and drove into cool, cool Mandeville. No sooner had we entered Mandeville than I hit a pothole and blew the passenger’s side tire. Instead of pulling over immediately, I drove up the road while looking at the tire through the rear view mirror and trying to feel if it was totally flat. It was. We pulled over, and I called the roadside emergency number Hertz had given me. Dispatch said they would send someone, but we had no idea how long it would be, and we were just ten minutes from the chapel and only about fifteen minutes late. The discussion centered around whether to take a taxi and who would stay with the van when Johnson said, “We should just find a truck and hitch a ride.” Just then, a big old dump truck motored around the corner, and Johnson flagged it down, and the dump truck not only stopped but backed up to us, and we begged a ride. We hopped in the back of the dump truck like many of us had done so many times on our mission, and the truck carried us up the road toward the chapel on Wint Road. He dropped us at a gravel yard, and we hiked through the gravel and crossed the street to get to Wint Road and make it to church.
President Dwight Smith, from Savannah Lamar, was speaking when we arrived. Shawn Anderson and I met Dwight on our first trip down, and I was happy to see him again. He spoke of his experience during the hurricane and listening to the spirit.
The emergency dispatcher called me after the sacrament service, and Brother Miller, visiting with his wife from Canada, offered to give Johnson and me a ride back to our van to meet the technician. A big man made quick work of changing the tire and showed us the compartment where the tire jack and wrench was. We all returned to church and caught the end of Sunday school. Afterward, we took a picture with everyone. It was a beautiful sight and warmed the heart to be back in Mandeville. Brother and Sister Miller accompanied us to the Tyre Warehouse, where we purchased another tire and discovered the rim was cracked, and they couldn’t put the tire on it. Elton, the tire guy, referred us to Zig Zigs, where we could either buy a new rim or have it repaired. We made a new friend named Bunny, who was going to take care of us. They bought him a bun and cheese while I ran back to the Tyre Warehouse before they closed to get the tire removed from the cracked rim so Bunny could have it welded. He agreed to meet us at the Tyre Warehouse in the morning, and we left to get a bite to eat.
Before that, though, I was positive I could find the old Mandeville house on 4 Cotton Tree Road. Well, the good news is that my memory did not fail me, and I did find it. The bad news is that someone tore down the old house and built a brand new multilevel home in its place. Rest in peace to the old Mandeville missionary house.
After searching and some debate, we settled on Mother’s for lunch. It was the first and only hint of discord in the group; that’s how blessed we were. They didn’t have cocoa bread, though, which was met with great disappointment. After lunch, we went in search of frozen bag juice. We would again be disappointed when all we could find was kind of cold bag juice. Still, it was bag juice.
While filling up with gas, we spotted an OMG Ice Cream Shop that served Devon House ice cream. After all the stress and hubbub of the ride through the mountains and the flat tire, the team felt ice cream not only deserved but a necessity. I told them about Crunchie Munchie, and they got to discover a new favorite flavor. The ladies behind the counter loved our enthusiasm and patois, so they hooked us up.
Spurred on by sugar and dopamine, we followed the directions we had been given to the Richardsons’ home. John & Jennifer Richardson had graciously offered to house us for the week; they were not the only ones who extended that generous offer, which makes my heart so happy to have so many faithful Jamaican saints with a desire to consecrate themselves in His service. Speaking of consecrated saints, we met Patrick & Sheryl Medley and Cortney & Marsha Morrison at the Richardsons’ and unloaded our van and their truck. We settled into the rooms where we would be staying for much of the rest of the week and organized all the supplies we had brought with us.
Then we got to know each other a little and had a devotional where we shared our experiences thus far, including with Owen, and bore testimony to one another. Undoubtedly, the highlight of the evening was when we came together to lay hands on one another and give blessings for the week that was ahead of us. Each and every one of us in that room got a blessing. The spirit was so strong, and that became a sacred spot of ground and a memory none of us will ever forget.
The Richardsons went with us to get some dinner. We ate at this little Jerk spot, and I got Jerk Pork, which I had been longing for. After loading up with a variety of Jerk Pork, Jerk Chicken, festival, and rice and peas, we went back to the Richardson home to partake and continue to visit with each other.
Sleep came easily that night, as it would for the remainder of our relief mission, as we were lulled to sleep by the soothing, familiar sounds of the cicadas, crickets, and katydids. The sounds from our home of so long ago.