The week before the weather was iffy, but it didn't rain.
As I was turning into the church driveway, I saw two motorcycles down the road. I hoped that they would turn in to church, but statistically, I knew that they wouldn't.
Imagine my surprise when I found that they did indeed turn into church, and we all parked together in two spaces.
I have been seeing more motorcycles in the parking lot lately. Last Sunday it was two cruisers, a month or two ago it was a dual-sport. Sadly, the only motorcycle that I see regularly is the Harley Davidson Springer Classic, and that is during the summer months and not very often. I only saw the dual-sport once, and yesterday I forgot to check the sanctuary for the two cruiser riders I saw the week before.
I forgot to check because, yesterday on the way to church I got caught in the weather.
The weather was okay the week before, and it wasn't raining when I walked out the door, so I didn't think twice about starting out. Except for Summer, the weather in Oregon is always grumpy.
In Oregon, if you don't ride in the rain, then you don't have a very long riding season.
Coming out of Starbucks on the way to church, I felt a few raindrops. I was hoping that what I currently felt would be the end, but it turns out that what I felt was the 'scouting party' for the actual rain.
It wasn't really pouring, but since I don't wear any protective legwear, my jeans were rather wet, due mostly to the spray from the road. Good thing I didn't have to ride any concrete roads on the way to church!
For the first time ever, I wore my helmet up to the awning in front of the church door. I don't mind rain, it's just that the ends of my hair were already wet from the rain, and I was not interested in getting the rest of it soaked too.
We had some missionaries at church speak briefly about their mission.
It turns out that they are going to Papua, New Guinea, where it's very mountainous and not very many roads. Travel between remote areas is done by small planes. He was a pilot and his job (for I believe Wycliffe, probably spelled wrong) was to fly supplies and other things around.
He related the following story:
It takes about 20 years for the Bible to be translated into the native language of a people.
One translator, who had just finished a translation, had developed a relationship with one of the native folks where he was stationed.
The native guy was a smoker who rolled his own.
Before leaving, the translator gave the native guy a copy of the newly translated Bible, knowing that the guy would use it for his cigarettes.
All that he asked of the guy was that before smoking it, to read it first.
Several years later the translator was at a Christian Conference, where he saw the native guy he gave the Bible to, was attending, and struck up a conversation.
They guy said:
"I smoked Matthew."
"I smoked Mark."
"I smoked Luke."
"But when I got to John 3:16, I decided that I couldn't smoke the Bible anymore."
Ta!
Balisada
