Tomasa

Actually, the blog before this one was supposed to be about Tomasa, but I kept getting a bit sidetracked, and then the blog seemed too long. We met Tomasa after church on Sunday night. A fellow came up to me after church and said, "Please come and meet my mother. She lives quite close and I know she would love to meet you."

As it turned out, Tomasa (this gentleman's mother) was one of the founding members of the church in El Coral. She had recently fallen and broken her ankle and couldn't get out of bed. She really did live quite close, just a couple of houses down from the church. Her house was a small, aged, unpainted wooden structure. I felt the wood planks in the floor sag a bit as we entered the front door.There was no furniture to speak of in the front room, just piles of boxes and sacks.

Tomasa's bedroom was crowded with sacks (of corn maybe?) The bed was a wooden shelf with a thin mattress. Her hair was a just a bit mussed from laying in bed, but her smile was radiant. I sat down on a little, low stool next to the bed. It didn't have a complete cushion on the top of it, so I had to kind of balance on the edge of the seat. Someone brought in a plastic chair for John.

After we were introduced, I asked her if she had known any of the missionaries that used to work in that part of Nicaragua. As it turned out, she had been baptised by Malon Collins, a CAM missionary who later was vice president of the mission in Dallas, where we met him. To really appreciate the rest of the story, you need to understand that Malon Collins, who is now in the presence of the Lord, was one of the most gentlemanly, Godly men that I have ever met. He exuded kindness and courtesy. The ultimate Southern gentleman.

Tomasa was the first of about 20 people who were baptized on that particular Sunday, more than 50 years ago. The whole congregation had walked some distance to the river. She was very pregnant. She told us that everyone else stayed after the baptism to celebrate the Lord's supper together, but she wasn't feeling very well, so after she was baptized she told the others that she was going to start back toward town. The story was just a bit confused to me, but apparently at some point, someone offered her a ride on a mule, which was not a good idea, as it turned out.

She rode a short distance, and then decided she really needed to get off than animal. The baby was coming right there on the road. By that time, the group from church, including the missionary, had caught up with Tomasa. The situation was a bit disconcerting, but there was a house not too far down the road. They got a hammock, put Tomasa and baby son in it, and carried her to the house. The son, who was the gentleman who had met us after church to ask us to meet his mother, she named, of course, John the Baptist. The biggest issue in Tomasa's mind, after so many years, was not that the baby was born on the side of the road on the way home from being baptized, but that she missed taking part in that first communion service.

I have heard a lot of stories about baptisms, but never one quite like Tomasa's. I tried to imagine that utterly polite young missionary trying to cope with the fact that his newly baptized church member was having a baby right there on the road in front of him. I could feel his astonishment. Was he completely flummoxed, or did he know just exactly what a gentleman would do in such a situation? Somehow, I guess he handled it beautifully.