Two Cases Short

The boy counted the cases twice, loaded them into the truck, and I never looked up from the receipt: big mistake. By the time we unloaded at the church, we were two cases of soda short, and I had no proof of anything except a paper I could wave around and hope someone would believe me.

We got to the church at 9 a.m. to help set up for conference registration. Laura and I packed gift bags alongside the Ruckmans, each one holding a Bible printed on special paper and hand-sewn with a cover that resists mildew. Regular books will mildew here overnight in this humidity; so, every pastor at the conference is getting a Bible made specifically for a climate like Ghana's.

Once the bags were packed, Bro. Ruckman, Pastor Reno, and I headed into town for last-minute supplies. First stop was a store that sells soft drinks in bulk. I went inside to negotiate a price on 20 cases while some boys loaded the truck outside. I paid, got my receipt, and did not think twice about counting. That is exactly how you end up two cases short.

From there, we drove to a place that sells plastic chairs. We needed 50 more for the conference, and we got a good price on those too. This time I stood outside and watched every chair go into the delivery vehicle, which looked like the unlikely marriage of a motorcycle and a dump truck. I was not about to get shorted twice in one morning.

While the chairs were being loaded, I ended up in a conversation with a Muslim man standing nearby. It turned into a real opportunity to share the gospel with him, and he listened closely. I have no idea what the Lord will do with that seed, but it got planted.

We got back to the church and discovered the missing soda cases. So we drove back to the store, receipt in hand, ready for an argument. Instead, the same boys who had loaded the truck the first time came running out to meet us with the two missing cases before I even said a word. They each got a tip and a thank you, and I got a reminder that most people, in most places, actually want to make things right.

We went home for lunch and a short rest. I gave myself ten minutes flat on the cool tile floor and got up feeling like a new man. There is nothing like Ghana tile after a morning like that.

Missionary Miguel Triano arrived not long after, and I went out to open the gate for him. Bro. Triano is originally from Mexico and has served as a missionary in Cape Coast, Ghana, for years. We have known him for nineteen years, and he is one of the special speakers for this week's conference.

This evening, we headed back to the church and ate with the pastors before the service. Someone had made beef with Ghana gravy, a spicy red sauce that I had somehow forgotten how much I love. I ate it with my fingers, the way it is meant to be eaten, and did not leave a bite behind.

The service itself ran long and ran good. The girls of Mt. Calvary sang a special, followed by the Mt. Calvary choir, whom I could listen to all night. Pastor Reno preached first, and it was excellent. Then, a quartet from Apremdo sang before Bro. Triano got up to preach. He talks fast under normal circumstances, and once he got going, his translator was working about as hard as I have ever seen a translator work. The message was strong anyway. Afterward, we gave both of them a hard time about it, and we all had a good laugh over it before heading home.

It is after midnight now, and we are headed to bed. Tomorrow is a full day of sessions from morning to night. If you think of it, would you pray with us that God does something remarkable? We would love to have you following along at consfords.com/connect as the week unfolds.