The rain soaked mountain road snaked around parts of the Andes between the high city of Coroico down to the lower pueblo of Arapata. Arapata, Bolivia is said to have the highest quality coca leaf in the world, and as we traveled the road, we saw endless fields of cropped branches of the short valuable plant on any patch of ground big enough to be planted.
Three straight days of cold howling wind and rain drenched the entire area from Argentina to Peru. The Sur, or southern wind, came on with a vengeance making normally difficult roads even more dangerous to travel. In the last five days, forty-one people had died on a section of the road known as the most dangerous in the world…the Yungas Road, better known as the Death Road. That was the road that we had been traveling back and forth on in order to teach our World Impact Seminar and so had the people who came to hear it.
The last day of the seminar, we were in the small adobe church when someone came in and spoke in whispers to three of four seated on the hard straight back wooden benches. Suddenly, a new energy filled the room where some of the Quechua Indians were doing their best not to fall asleep as they warmed up in the church. A young girl, Hiedy, came to the front of the church and asked for us to pray because a family from the church had just gone off the mountain road between Arapata and Coroico. Elders from the church were forming a group to go and see if there was anyone alive or if all had perished. As we began to pray, the small group of hard working mountain people, who had certainly all lived through this before, began to cry as they petitioned the Lord for a miracle.
An hour later, we left the church. I promised to be back the next day, Sunday, to preach…if it was God’s will. They all said, “Amen.”
Thirty minutes of winding and slipping on the road back home, we started seeing some vehicles pulled off to one side of the road. Then we saw, up ahead, a large group of people, some looking over the edge of the mountain and some just mingling. As we pulled over, I thanked God, as I saw the scene.
Only a few trees and some high jungle foliage had stopped the van. I asked the first person I saw…”Are the passengers OK? “Si, todo esta bien, Gracias A Dios.” “Yes, everyone is o.k. Thank the Lord.” I saw the destroyed van and as I thanked the Lord, I fought back tears for the father who was just walking passed my open window, in a stupor. His daughter and wife had already been taken away from the scene. He smiled at me with tears in his eyes. He knew, like many of the other believers gathered to help…that, “it must not have been their time.”
I told the people traveling with us that I was getting out to help…and we all poured out of the van. Long thin ropes stretched down the hill some 75 feet to the front axle of the van. Another steel cable was connected to a 4-ton winch that was wrapped around the trunk of a huge tree by thick chains. As I walked up, I heard the winch clicking off the distance between the tree and the van…the van inched up and as it did the crowd, men and woman heaved on the rope on two and heave…two and heave…and the mud covered van inched it’s way up the steep fern over growth.
As I walked up, I asked if I could help. A young man said, “Por su puesto!” “Of course!” He walked toward me and offered me a pair of heavy gloves that he was wearing. I thanked him and said, “I can use my hands like everyone else.” The crowd smiled as I grabbed the thin slimy rope. I leaned forward to get a good hold and was hit immediately by the strong odor of coca being chewed. Many people in the Andes mountains chew the leaf to help with the altitude, with hunger pangs and with the cold…and this group, men and woman was no exception.
The small steady raindrops made the most beautiful white noise as it fell on the jungle leaves and road. As we were making progress, the rains strength began to grow and sounded like a million fingers snapping in unison. Again it was beautiful. Working together with people I had never met before for a common goal…and now with urgency.
We had pulled the van up to within twenty-five feet of the roads edge. The rain and cold gave us a new burst of energy and with all we had, we pulled the ropes. The group of about fifteen to my right side went down like wet sweaty dominos when their rope snapped. Without losing much time the rope was reconnected and the pulling continued. The van inched it’s way up to the top as we continued to pull all ropes relentlessly and as it came over the ridge like a great whale out of water we all cheered and patted one another on our backs.
The mass of rescuers smiled at me with green stained teeth and lips. Several offered me the leaf holding it out to me between their nasty fingers…I declined but thanked them anyway… got back into our van and headed home down the same muddy mess of a mountain road.
As we continued our way around the hairpin turns I thought about the promise in the scriptures. “For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11.
I looked out over the vast span of mountains and valleys and thanked the Lord for this journey that was stretching me further than I was comfortable with as I tried to trust Him knowing that He must not be done with me yet either!
From Bolivia…
Wick Jackson
7/19/10
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