He humbled you. And let you be hungry, and fed you with manna
… that he might make you understand that man does not live by
bread alone, but man lives by everything that proceeds out of
the mouth of the Lord.
This week God allowed an experience in my life which brought an eternal value into crystal clear focus. At 6:40 AM I left my apartment in a middle class neighborhood to make the five minute walk to the bus stop like I have done every weekday morning for the past two years. Since I teach at a small Christian school in a large city in the Dominican Republic, our school provides a private bus service to pick up the school teachers in the morning and take them home after work.
My six-year-old granddaughter and I picked our way along the familiar half-dirt, half-paved, deteriorated road on the three-block walk to the bus stop. It had rained the night before so the pot holes were filled with water. The patches of mud forced us to walk on the sidewalk as we came to the last corner.
In this country it is safer to walk in the street if no cars are coming. The sidewalks are full of cracks and bumps, holes with no manhole covers, re-bar sticking up in the cement, trees, guy wires, garbage barrels, piles of sand and rock ready to mix for a home improvement project, telephone poles, and guard dogs that scare you half out of your wits as they lunge unexpectedly at the gated driveways. Our normal practice of walking in the street was interrupted on this particular morning.
My granddaughter chattered about the chickens she usually sees each morning and a lizard she was hoping to chase. The sun was just beginning to rise on this unusually cool and overcast Monday morning. My backpack was slung over my left shoulder and I carried my granddaughter’s smaller PUCCA backpack in my right hand so that she wouldn’t have to drag it in the mud.
Just as we rounded the last corner about a block from where the elementary teachers were standing at the bus stop, without warning, a motorcycle appeared from out of nowhere with two men on it. They stopped in front of me and the man on the back slid off and approached. At first I thought they were going to ask for some money as is typical in this country. Both were Dominican young men probably in their late 20’s with a slight build. Neither looked particularly menacing until the driver of the motorcycle produced a chrome-plated pistol with a dull finish and pointed it at my chest. It looked like a cross between the kind of gun that policemen carry on cop shows and the kind of gun that Ben Cartwright carries on Bonanza.
While the driver brandished the gun, the other man came closer toward me mumbling something in Spanish and making motions which indicated he wanted me to give him everything in my pockets. With sudden awareness, I knew what was happening. For the first time since coming to the country over two years ago, I was being robbed at gunpoint!
Oh, I had heard stories about the motorcycle bandits. A year ago our director’s wife was walking with her adult daughter in our neighborhood and they were accosted by a man on a motorcycle who attempted to rob them of a camera they were carrying. The wife of a man in our little Spanish church almost had her purse snatched by a drive-by motorcyclist as she got out of her car one afternoon not far from here. However, both of these were without a gun and both were unsuccessful robberies because they screamed. This time I instinctively knew that this was different and I had to make a decision. Do I resist or do I give in?
My first thought was of my granddaughter who was watching this whole scenario from the sidewalk behind me. The second thought was of what they were going to steal. In my left pocket was a new IPhone which I had recently received from the States. In my right pocket were a Bible verse pack and another cell phone. In my hip pocket was the equivalent of more than a hundred dollars in cash since I was planning to pay a bill after school that night. My wallet also contained my local debit card and major credit card, so it would be a chocolaty mess to sort out if all of this were missing or stolen.
Thoughts of fear were also intermingled. What would happen to my wife and children if I were killed in some senseless street robbery? All of these thoughts flashed through my mind simultaneously in probably less than ten seconds. Then something strange happened.
As this man came close to me, my moment of indecision was replaced with anger. How dare these men rob an old man with his young granddaughter in broad daylight! In English I shouted very loudly, “What do you intend to do? Shoot me right here for a couple of bucks?” When he put his hand in my pocket I knocked it away. His thumb got caught on the opening of the pocket and my pants ripped open from my belt to my knee. The other man began waving the gun in a more determined and menacing posture. Then I reacted in a blind rage.
I don’t remember exactly what happened next. I heard myself shouting in an attempt to make a lot of noise. At one point I was in the middle of the street grappling with the first man. I fell over their motorcycle knocking it over with me on the top of it.
When I got up to continue the fracas the man with the gun picked up the bike, the other jumped on the back and rode away as fast as they came in. I chased after them until they disappeared around the corner and sped off on Calle Argentina.
The loud commotion had its effect. A shabbily dressed man from the direction of my apartment was coming hastily toward me. As he approached, he asked with concern on his face what happened. I simply stated in broken Spanish, “La drone!” (the thief) Not knowing how to speak Spanish I simply shook his hand to thank him for his concern and turned to find my granddaughter.
Another man from the other direction approached cautiously with a similar look of concern. He was a well-dressed black man obviously from Haiti. When I told him, “La drone,” he motioned to the first man on the other side of me as if to ask if he were the thief. I assured him that he was not, but rather the thieves had been on a “moto-concho” and were now gone.
As I tried to calm down from my adrenaline rush I realized that my granddaughter was crying. We walked hand-in-hand to the teachers who had witnessed most of the attempted crime. They quickly suggested that the bus drop us off at my apartment and wait while I put on some new pants and to consider keeping my “nieta” home since she was obviously shaken up by the ordeal.
As I changed my clothes, my granddaughter talked with her mother to explain what happened. She decided that she wanted to come to school with Grandpa. As she got on the bus she went directly to the back of the bus into the waiting arms of all those nurturing elementary teachers. By the time we reached the school she was smiling again.
It has been about a week now since I was robbed at gunpoint. It appears that my granddaughter has coped with it quite well. Although, I should mention that she spent part of that same evening after she got home from school making some guns and knives out of paper so she could protect me from the bad guys on the motorcycle. And for the next few days she gave me more hugs than she has the whole two months that she has been here.
About a month ago my granddaughters and I watched a movie called Shiloh … a movie about a dog who was threatened by a mean guy who drove an old red Chevy pickup. Ever since then, every time we see a pickup the girls exclaim, “Look! The mean guy car!" Now, whenever we drive downtown in a taxi they point to motorcycles and say the same thing.
As for the school, well, they stepped security up another notch. We and the rest of the teachers are being picked up and dropped off at our doors now. Certain security devices, such as peep holes in the apartment doors, which have been on the back burner of the school budget, are suddenly being installed at the apartments by the school maintenance team.
As for me, I had a few scrapes and bruises that I discovered about an hour later … nothing serious. The only thing that was missing was my favorite Timex watch with a Velcro band that I’ve had for six years. The thief must have grabbed it in the scuffle and ripped it off my arm. So it appears that I have to buy a new watch and repair a pair of pants. It could have been worse … a lot worse!
This incident reminded me of something I learned in Venezuela where I worked for a year and was robbed five times. When a person is faced with a life threatening situation, his actions are usually determined by a gut reaction rather than by logic. It’s funny. I’m a trained martial arts “expert” (in a manner of speaking.) After studying karate for three years I received my brown belt. When I was attacked by two men in a similar manner 12 years ago shortly after I received my brown belt I instinctively dispatched the men with several karate moves.
This time, my reaction was the furtherist thing from karate that one could imagine, probably because karate has been the furtherist thing from my experience for the last 12 years. My point? I think we tend to react during moments of danger rather than reason. As I’ve replayed that scenario over in my mind a hundred times since, I tried to analyze what I should’ve/could’ve done differently. I’ve concluded that my response of anger may not have been the wisest thing ... at least according to the opinion of several Dominicans. And yet it was my unpremeditated response.
So an eternal value has come into very clear focus. Regardless of whether I use karate, or shout loudly, or whether I react by resisting or giving in, God will be with me in all situations. My responsibility is to do what is right to my best ability by the power of the Holy Spirit at the moment, and I can trust God with my life until He takes me home to heaven.
En el dia que temo, Yo en ti confio
(What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.)
Psalm 56:3
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