Late Night Regrets
Posted by Ryan Woods
Some nights I have a hard time sleeping. Tonight is one of those nights. The reason is nearly always the same. I stay awake at night reliving the past. More specifically I re-experience my time in Portugal (if you didn't know, I lived there for 1.5 years as a missionary student). I re-experience and my mind is loaded with regrets. I remember the first moment Jonathan, the girls, and I arrived there, when I first met Paul and Rosana, Filipe, Rolo (yes, Lisas Rolo), and all the other Americans. I remember that from the airport we then went to a beach side cafe and ate something. Ricardo was there. Somebody else was there, though I can't place who they were. While I was in Portugal I was able to watch Ricardo's fire for Jesus fade and eventually burn out.
I remember staying up till 6am playing computer games with Silvio and Elio. We had a rotation you know. While it was one persons turn on the computer game (Championship Manager of course) the other three would play ISS on the Play Station 2 (ISS was the best futebol game around and it was quite addicting. Fifa eat your heart out). We would do this all night. Jonathan and I would speak half English and half Portuguese on purpose and it always made Silvio giggle like a little girl. He'd giggle and say "you guys. You guys are funny" He would then begin to explain why what we said was funny. Luckily for Elio and us, we were usually able to stop him not too far into it. We would eat home made french fries with ranch sent over by our parents. Ranch never tasted so good. I remember that we saved up change for months to buy that ps2. We would collect it at every small group throughout the week. I think we even got some of the 8 year old gypsies to donate some spare change to the fund (though they later made up for their small gifts by stealing from us).
Nikko (pronounced nee-koo) was my man. Don't be alarmed, but I called him nigga nikko and he called my his nigga. It was the normal thing to do, it was ok. Never, though, would you catch me calling him preto, that my friends was a no no. We were close, but you just don't call someone you love a bad name like that. Nikko was 14 and he spoke a little english. Mostly it was words like "golden grahams" and "I love you". He said those words alot. For some reason he liked Acapella music. Beats me. He would sing "You know that I'm gonna feast on Golden Grahams and Yoggi. Oh I'm gonna feast..." Yoggi was this cheap yogurt drink thing. Anyway. We loved him like a son and a brother. He was crazy. He would pee in metro stations next to the Multibanco (ATM) machines.
I remember the youth camp from hell. It was the beginning of our first summer and it was our first Portugal camp experience (Only Kristin and I were able to ever go again). I don't remember much about that week except for the intense anger and frustration at how much I did not want to be there. The next year was amazingly different. I'm sad that Jonathan was not there for it.
I remember what it was like when the pilot light would go out while you were in the shower. I'll never forget the pao de leite or the pasteis de Belem that I loved, nothing here will ever compare. I remember what it was like to dribble somebody for the first time. Or how good it feels to send a header into the goal.
Did you know that KFC tastes better in Portugal? Actually, to be quite honest it tastes better in Portugal, Greece, and Germany. I'm sure of it. No, it's not some kind of culture shock experience. In Colombo (one of the largest malls in Europe that happened to be located one short bus ride from my home in the ghetto) we had Burger King, Pizza Hut, and McDonalds and I know that their food was all the same. But KFC was beautiful. "Queria menu dois faz favor". It was a breast, a leg, and some fries from heaven. And we ate it maybe three times a week...for a year.
I've got story after story of crazy homeless people who came for dinner at our church on Thursday nights. Ze Carlos, who was baptized into Jesus. Alfonso the poet. That one crazy girl who spoke no language but a mixture of 6. Joao Silva, who lived in the church building and rolled his own cigarettes.
Luis was obsessed with video games. I am unsure if there is ever hope for him until he is saved from his addictions. Mario was a computer nerd too, but he did love people more than his machine. I hope that he remembers to love Jesus first. David lives in America now and was never as good at futebol as he thought. Constantino is still making music...just remember that I taught him his english. Alexandre had big eyebrows. Xando was crazy. Joao Andre was a small little man who I love dearly........
I wish you all new these people. I wish I could see them for just another moment. I wish I could stop thinking about them and get some sleep.
I did my job you know. I worked hard for Jesus, met with guys, built relationship, studied the Bible, all that good stuff. I feel good about what I was able to accomplish. But for some reason my heart is never at rest. At night I regret what I did. I wish I had done more. I wish I had spoken better Portuguese. I wish I had been more bold. Why didn't I immerse myself in the culture more? How could I have made a bigger difference? Why have so many fallen away in just a few short years? Will the church there last? Will I ever see Elio or Silvio or Mara or Ivnna again? Why can't I sleep? Why do their memories torment me? Am I missing something?
All I know is that when I have these nights, I feel called to pray. I feel called to pray for my friends who are nine hours ahead of me. For them it is morning now. They are living their day and maybe, just maybe, they need a little extra help from the One I was sent to share with them. Maybe? Maybe.
God, take care of the Igreja Do Cristo. My heart is with them tonight and my humble prayer is to ask you to continue fighting on thier behalf. Fighting for thier hearts, for thier church, for their families, and for thier country.
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