La Biblia

He lived in a derelict old thatched roof mud hut. It sat a little ways down from the compound where the team was staying during our brief time in Brisas Del Mar, Colombia a few years ago.

I had seen him before this particular morning. He would slowly work his way up and down the street from time to time during the day, and the one thing you could not help but notice was the deference that everyone in town would show toward him. They would tip their hats and bow their heads. They would always give way, and I even saw a curtsy or two from some of the older ladies late one afternoon. He was greatly loved, but more than that, he was revered. They called him “la Biblia,”  “the Bible.”

I don’t know his full name, but Juan is what he had asked me to call him the day before. I had introduced myself that day, hat off of course, as he crossed the street. It appeared to amuse him just a little when upon his asking I gave my name as Antonio. He was gracious and kept his grin at bay, but his eyes chuckled. He couldn't help that.

On that meeting he had asked me how old I was. I told him I was fifty seven years of age and he laughed. As he shuffled off I heard him say “bambino” under his breath with a snicker. As it turns out “The Bible” was ninety-nine years of age with a birthday coming a few weeks after our leaving.

The next morning I got up very early, before light. I will admit that this is indeed not my custom, but it is difficult to sleep when the air is dead still, the humidity is sitting somewhere around 100% and the temperature has only cooled down to the mid-nineties overnight. So up I was, like it or not.

I decided that since I was already up and stirring, I would try to catch the sunrise on film. So I grabbed my camera, broke my own rules, and left the compound all alone as the eastern sky was just changing from blackish blue to bluish black. I turned left and headed up the hill to find the best vantage point.

As I was passing by a disheveled little hut, I noticed an old tallow candle sitting on a little table just inside the door. The power was off once again, so breakfast was cooking over a little fire out front, while the candle glowed within. Sitting on a little milking stool tending the fire was Juan. He looked up and smiled that engaging toothless grin of his, and invited me to join him.

He motioned to the chair just inside the door, and I went to retrieve it. When I looked inside the little house, I saw all of “The Bible’s” earthly possessions in an instant. Over in the far corner, a woven pallet lay on the dirt floor for sleeping, and scattered elsewhere were a rickety table to hold a plate or two and perhaps a candle, a broken ladder back chair, the odd cooking pot or two and the milking stool.

We had a nice breakfast together of hoecake. His was almost as good as my Granny’s, and his coffee was so stout, it needed chewing before you could take a sip.

While sitting there, I could feel the man’s contentment with his life. While enjoying the hoecake and coffee, it came to my mind that the boots on my feet cost more than everything this man owned, including his house. Yet I found myself envying him.

He was happy. He was content. He was at total peace with himself and the world around him. The sundry lines on his weather-worn face all pointed upward in a smile. His eyes were milky with age, but they held a deep serenity and a quiet contempt for the world around him. His whole demeanor spoke of peace. Worry was not in his lexicon. I knew then why those who knew him called him “The Bible”; He epitomized the message contained therein.

My Spanish is poor on a good day, and Juan’s English was none existent; but we managed somehow to communicate pretty well for that hour or so.

It was one of those times, those few instances in life that will remain in my memory as a blessing and a true gift from God.

In parting, I asked him how he had managed to live so long. Ninety-nine is a valiant achievement anywhere, and much more when you consider the conditions under which Juan had spent his life.

He didn’t answer me right off.

The sun was above the horizon by now. I had missed my photo opportunity, but by God’s grace, I had received something much greater.

As the sun continued to rise, the kids’ started their daily cacophony of sound. The cooks chopped wood for the fires and prepared the morning meals. The men did this and that in preparation for the day. All the while, I was getting antsy wanting to get started on the day’s work when Juan looked up at all of it and then at me and grinned.

“Demasiado rápido, más lento,” He said.
“Too fast, slower.”

It is refreshing when you run into a person who has things in perspective, isn’t it? You don’t find them very often but every now and again someone, usually someone older than the hills like Juan, has learned the value of peace and quiet, of rest and contentment, and is willing to share. To be around such a person is a tonic for the soul.

Phil 4:4-7
4 Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! 5 Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. 6 Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
NIV
 

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