To tell or not to tell...?

This past week with the team, my carload of prayer warriors happened to be first responders to a bad car accident.  We had just finished visiting an older couple who were very hesitant to see us go.  The woman talked non-stop for over an hour giving first her testimony, and then when we thought we'd finally get to leave, she started in on her husband's testimony.

We laughed until we cried while visiting this woman, who in the end, wanted her photo taken not with the digital player of the New Testament, but with her "real" Bible (a large print edition still useful to her until her eyesight deteriorates further).  She was a colorful character with unbelievable stories that we must presume are true.

Leaving her house we were pondering how many more visits we could make before the other group  finished their construction project - when we saw a car come rolling off the highway, landing about 50 yards in front of us.  One of the younger guys on the team ran ahead, arriving literally before the dust settled, only to exclaim, "There's no one in the truck!"

Shuddering, I followed behind him, knowing he might need a translator.  Beside me was a doctor who was also part of our team.  This was a very traumatic experience for me with my squeamish stomach.  Thankfully the driver was not thrown very far and seemed to be alive.  He regained consciousness and was obviously drunk.  By the time the police came (well before the ambulance), we made a quick exit.

My instincts told me we should not remain to get further involved.  The last thing I wanted was to find our photos plastered in the newspapers, so I instructed everyone to turn their backs to the cameras while returning to our van super pronto.  By then I was emotionally wrung out and could barely drive.  I would not make a good doctor or EMT.  (Surprise, surprise, right?)

Anyway, this incident reminded me of other emergencies that I've never written about or even told many people.  I was never sure what benefit there might be in telling.  In this case, I could emphasize the sovereignty of God, assuring we were detained at the couple's house until exactly the moment a doctor would be needed.

One case involved a woman on a team who fell into a well.  The team chose to not share this story, and asked that we not either.  I honored their wishes for all these years.  Now there would be no way of anyone knowing which team had this emergency.  In a way I can understand why they didn't want their team stories to be all about this one event, but then again, it was a miracle that the woman was not seriously injured after falling 40 feet or more into mucky water.

Shouldn't the story be told, and God be glorified?

In that case, I drove the woman to the hospital for tests (no broken bones!) and to get some antibiotics to counter the water she had ingested.  On the way, I was blessed to hear her stories of raising a son with Apraxia - something I never would have learned if we hadn't had those unexpected hours together.  Apraxia is the disorder Debbie has, and this woman was the only person I had ever met who had personal experience with it.  Praise the Lord.

The third instance, going further back in time, also frees me from the burden of keeping a secret any longer.  It's been 26 years, and I see no reason for further secrecy.  Back when we were in the Mexico living portion of Jungle Camp, one of the families faced a scary situation where they were held at gunpoint, being mistaken as drug dealers.  As a group we had an official meeting to talk about the incident, all agreeing that mum was the word.

Now that there is no Jungle Camp, no one will be afraid to attend after hearing this story.  No one could figure out who this happened to, and I would never tell - just in case.  I still say praise the Lord for sparing that young family during a frightening experience.

There.  I've told it.  The stories I was never to tell.  Whew - how I hate secrets.