You drug me to this godforsaken place, promising renewal. Instead, I got a scrub board, and laundry hung outside to dry until it is so stiff cardboard would be more comfortable. Look what lye has done to my hands. Look.
Ah, my sweet, you were becoming too soft, too complacent. You rant at no longer having housemaids and gardeners but the money previously wasted on them now helps our village children – provides books, inoculations.
You purchase chickens for people we don’t know.
We have new friends who share food, stories, laughter.
I feel trapped. Water everywhere. Four rivers, an ocean. Mountains with unpronounceable names. The jungle. Take me home.
We leave tomorrow. A kiss.
Tomorrow? I will pack this instant. Oh, how I long to see New York. Thank you, my love, thank you.
Wait, you misunderstand. You and I are traveling deeper inside the jungle. Our help is needed elsewhere.
This reminds me of our Baha’i teaching trip to the Guyana coast, in June, 1984. My late wife and I had a fascinating, and mostly enjoyable time, in Georgetown and three other communities: Bath, WHIM Compound and Metten Meer Zorg.
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I’m glad my story reminded you of good times.
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Ah, no – impossibly hard when one person isn’t as committed as another! Great voice here, Lish 🙂
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Thank you
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My pleasure 🙂
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That missionary spirit runs deep. I’ve been writing about Jesuits in New France during the 1640s. As much as I research it, I cannot for the life of me understand it.
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Indeed. Too much ego involved?
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I admire the commitment of missionaries, but sometimes the price they pay is very high. That’s fair enough when it’s just the individual, but if an unwilling partner also has to pay that’s more questionable. Your story summed up neatly the selfishness of a man who believes himself to be unselfishly giving up everything.
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Thank you
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Dear Lish,
I would say her heart isn’t in missionary work. .Well written. You made me feel I was there with them. Good job.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Oh no. I think he needs to work on his compassion–for her!
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