The AHQ Tour Update #6
6-22-02
Written by Dorcas Smucker
I forgot to write in the last update what David gets excited about in the south. While I was writing in the van, David was following us in his uncle's Corvette. That happens to be the one thing that really seems to give David a rush: cool cars. "Yeah, I could live in Florida," he says mildly, but he doesn't say why. And I notice that he eats the food. But we don't hear any raptures from him about the swate tae, the crocs, or the accent. Except cars. "Hey, there's a Viper," he exclaims, almost plunging out the window in his excitement, after 50 miles of silence.
I might as well tell you what we all keep occupied with in the van. David's cousin Konrad, in contrast, taps endlessly on his laptop and keeps up a low, rumbling commentary from the back seat, mispronouncing as many words as he can. "Nice foilage here in Florida," he says. "Over there's an Office Deppit and a hair saloon. And I'm getting tired of these guh-nats flying around in here. Maybe we should ren-dez-vuss at Wendy's."
Tom, on the other hand, goes on and on about ugly guys. "As ugly as a STICK!" he snaps, (his worst epithet) about a guy who got the girl Tom liked. Don't I agree? He wrestles Konrad's laptop out of the back seat and up to the front where I sit. There is a picture of a guy who is not as good-looking as anyone in the quartet, or Paul of course, but for all I know has just as much quality and character. "He isn't THAT bad," I say. Tom snorts, "He's as ugly as a STICK!"
At this point Byran injects a philosophical question. "Why is it ok for married ladies to evaluate whether or not guys are good-looking but it's not ok for their husbands to talk about which girls are cute?" A good point. We discuss it for a while. "It doesn't bother me in the least if you evaluate cute guys," Paul tells me. "Maybe women are more insecure about that sort of thing than men are." Good point. Byran must get his knack for philosophical questions and good points from his Uncle Paul.
Konrad answering a question about our CD's. Speaking of which, we have a brand new one called "Lookin' Up." We certainly have more copies than we need, y'all should really make sure you get one!
Paul told me that on previous trips he played the diplomat role quite often when the quartet got to arguing over the future of the quartet or how many songs to put on their next CD. He really hasn't had to do that much on this trip. Is the quartet growing up, or was it the presence of a professional mom? Since Paul hasn't had to use his negotiating gifts, he keeps busy driving, planning routes, and finding a consensus on where to eat lunch.
And me? I type on Paul's Jornada, mend Benjy's jeans, sleep, and laugh silently at the guys. I also feel like Princess Diana, not because of all my loyal subjects, but because two of the guys have digital cameras along and I never know when they'll be aimed in my direction. Konrad has taken over 400 pictures--so far--of the Florida "foilage" and fragrant flowers, his fellow travelers, flaccid fish, and feisty felines. (My editor likes alliteration.)
Almost as much as he likes crocs.
6-23-02
I think I said I'd tell you about ministry, Byran's in particular. We are always ushered through the line first at the "light fellowship meals" the churches serve us. At some churches, the quartet gets their food and clusters themselves at one end of a table. Other times, they spread out and minister to others. "Shall we get in ministry mode?" they murmured to each other yesterday at the Red Oak Church in Blountstown, Florida, after they piled their plates with potatoes and pink eye purple pod peas. Yes, they concluded, and scattered themselves across the room, each sitting at an empty table. "Notice the difference between where Byran is sitting versus where I'm sitting," Konrad told me twenty minutes later when I was getting my dessert. I got my lemon fluff and glanced around. Konrad was surrounded by married men. Byran was surrounded by girls. Later we discussed it in the van. "Huh? I like ministry," Byran said, all innocence and unsullied motives. But we noticed that he was the first to suggest that they minister again on Sunday evening.
Ah, yes, ministry. It's what the trip is all about, but since we give the same program over and over, the unexpected stories happen before and after the services. But good things can happen repetitively too, and God has done good things in me, if in no one else, through the quartet's songs and Paul's sermon on God's call. Sunday morning we were at Red Oak, as I mentioned. Sunday afternoon we visited a black church (but Paul didn't preach), and Sunday evening we were at the Mennonite church in Meigs, Georgia.
David's aunt had wangled the engagement for the quartet at the black church. Sister Wilson introduced the group as the Cruh-pella Hahmony Quartet, and her husband, afterwards, said, "Wuhn't ouh hahts wahmed?" His dad was quite a singer, he said, and is now singing in the heavenly choir. Someday, he went on, he "Wuhn't mahnd standin' besahd him mahseff."
My friend Jessica says she likes to read the energy when she enters a room. I like to do the same in churches, and was treated to a whole library on this trip, from Meigs, which had the most positive energy of any church I was at, to another church that, as Jessica says, had anvils flying through the air.
We took a little athletic break before our evening service. Konrad's working on an endorsement deal with Aquafina baseball bats.
At Meigs, no one applauded after the songs, but they laughed the loudest of anywhere at Paul's humor in his sermon. Later, in the basement, they asked the quartet for a few more songs and applauded enthusiastically after each song. "I guess we're Mennonite upstairs but not down," the pastor said. Today in the van Paul shared his feelings of pain and rejection at the quartet being asked for an encore twice and Paul never getting asked once.
They had tinfoil sandwiches at Meigs. At least Konrad thought so.
Paul has to have at least one catastrophe every time he goes on a trip. If it makes me get on the phone and wrestle with stubborn government officials, so much the better. This time he lost his license at the Portland airport. After two days of wrangling with the DMV, I was told that oh, no, a spouse can't request a clearance letter, only the license-holder himself. So Paul drove a rental car for a week before he got the document saying he has a valid license in Oregon. Meanwhile, Konrad kept trying to get a policeman to pull us over. "Hey, there's one!" he'd rumble from the back seat, threatening to wave him down or hold up a sign, "I've been kidnapped." And when the fax finally came in, Konrad held onto it for a half a day without telling Paul it was here, hoping against hope that Paul would get stopped and think he didn't have any proof of his driver's license.
This trip has been like a tall glass of sweet Southern tea, delicious and refreshing.
Dorcas Smucker is a monthly columnist for the Eugene Register Guard newspaper. Look for her column "Letters from Harrisburg" in the Oregon Life section or on the web at www.registerguard.com.
P.S. from Dorcas: They found Paul's license at the Portland airport.
Here's some final update candid snapshots, compliments of the Editor and Konrad.
You wouldn't normally think of David as such a blatant rule-breaker!
"Anybody seen David?" Paul asks. "He was just here a few minutes ago."
David's over-adventurous spirit finally got him into trouble when he ran into this C-Rex.
Final Editor's Note
This week has been a great ride. God has been very good to us, giving us safety and many great experiences that we will remember for a long time. We have been in some great churches and met some wonderful people who showed us a lot of hospitality. We've seen some old friends and made some new ones, all the while staying friends ourselves, astonishingly enough!
We as a quartet love to do these trips with Paul, and are somewhat amazed that this has been our third one! We thought he would have gotten his fill of us after the first trip, and we really appreciate him taking us along.
I'm very grateful for the contributive contributions the contributors to the Updates have made. Thanks to all my writers, especially to Dorcas for laying her reputable reputation on the line in agreeing to write for such a nebulous publication. I've never had the opportunity to edit a famous writer before! Of course, I was too intimidated to really edit anything, I just checked for typos.
AHQ is planning a tour for this fall. Since I usually use my last subscriber list as a base for sending out update subscription invitations, y'all might be hearing from me then. But right now I've got to go get my last swig of southern iced tea.
Tom Troyer, Editor
The Croc-Man!
I can't think of a more fitting way to end this series of updates than with yet another picture of a croc.
P.S. from Byran -- Final update on the totalitarian tyrant who calls himself "loyal caring Editor:" So I was standing at baggage claim, shortly after we had touched down at PDX following our Southeastern BMF Mission P.R. Trip. Tom is standing behind me, insisting that I do the luggage-snatching. (Editor's note: What a gross inaccuracy. HE insisted on doing it.)
I am keenly observing all of the luggage on the carousel, picking mine up here and Uncle Paul's up there. Soon, Tom's bag sails into view. As I said, I'm keenly observing all of the luggage. (Editor's note: I am highly experienced with By's power of "observation.") Tom doesn't realize this, however. "Hey, there comes my bag." I feign deafness, obliviously watching for our bags. (Editor's note: By feigning deafness is like Fanny Crosby feigning blindness.)
"By, pick up my bag for me." I continue scanning diligently. The bag is now directly in front of me. "BYRAN YOU IDIOT," as it scoots by. What's the big deal? We had people down-carousel. But that's why he's the totalitarian tyrant. Nonetheless, he hisses at me, even as I had it perfectly under control. I cast my bait, he took it like he takes chicken from Golden Corral's buffet. He hasn't apologized yet, but I think his conscience, as tyrannical as he is, will prick him. (Editor's note to my loyal subscribers: My apologies for letting this drivel into the update. There, I apologized!)