Off to Kyrgyzstan! (Finally!)

I came through this airport three weeks ago, planning to travel on to Kuwait as a truck driver. Things don’t work out the way we expect them to a lot of the time and I’m living through one of those unexpected events.

I passed my physical for the Kuwait job only to find out that it just wasn’t the only hurdle that I’d face during my stay here. I watched three people wash out in a group of 25 drivers and I was among three others who were told that we were too old to drive in Kuwait. Of the three old men, there are only two of us left now. The training and the rigors of this job qualification have been tougher than most of us had expected, but now we’re waiting for our flights to various parts of the world where we can lend support to our fellow Americans who serve in the military.

I was shifted from “Truck Driver” to “Services Specialist” in the company’s effort to hold on to as many of their recruits as they could, especially since they’d already paid several thousand dollars to find and transport each of us to their headquarters in Panama City, Florida. Surprisingly, to become a Services Specialist required me to obtain a “Secret” clearance from the Defense Department as well as to pass several other training and physical hurdles along the path.

So I became a nearly permanent resident of the local hotel where I was staying, getting to know the clerks and the maids by name over the course of my three week stay. By the time I was ready to check out they were beginning to believe that I was going to live there with them.

I arrived during an unusually cold time when the windshield of my red Mustang convertible rental was freezing each night. I drove to Tyndall Air Force base through blinding rain a couple of days ago as a front moved through the region, bringing fierce lightning and winds along with it. This morning the sun is shining and the temperature is expected to reach 70. So, of course, I’m sitting in the airport, staring out the windows at a beautiful Florida day, on my way to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan’s polar climate.

Yesterday one of the men in our group surprised me with a question. “Are you a retired Air Force officer?” I looked at him in surprise as I answered, “No. I was an enlisted Marine, though, many years ago.” “That explains it,” he responded. “A couple of us had a bet going that you were a retired Air Force officer because you carry yourself with so much confidence. Being a Marine explains it.” I don’t know what they see in my carriage, but I think it has more to do with my core beliefs than with my military past.

Another member of the group was asking me about my background and I mentioned that I’d been a missionary as a young man. His eyes widened. “I thought LDS people didn’t like sending their members to war, but I guess if you were a Marine that can’t be true.” I explained, “The Mormons believe that the Constitution of the United States is a document that was inspired by God and we’re fierce defenders of it.” The discussion branched out and twisted through several areas of the gospel as we continued our chat. “Would you mind giving me your email address,” he asked. “I’d like to stay in touch with you.”

Last night I found a little Mexican restaurant for dinner because I hadn’t eaten all day long and I was in the mood for a good burrito. I sat down at the table and was greeted by my waiter with, “Buenas noches, señor.” I returned the greeting in Spanish and added, “¿Como está?” We were soon conversing in Spanish as he asked me where I’d learned to speak his language so well. “I was a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I was much younger.” The questions kept coming and soon, with a slow night at the restaurant, he was seated across the table from me as I ate my burrito and the conversation continued. We talked about family and life and he began calling me “amigo.” I told him where the church is located in Panama City and invited him to attend. When my burrito was gone and we’d discussed the fact that I would be out of the country for several months, he ended by saying, “In six months you come back here for dinner, OK?” I told him that if my flight brought me back to Panama City I’d be happy to have another excellent burrito with him.

God knows where He needs me. I just need to have enough faith to keep moving in that direction.