Chapter 2: The Gabrielsen Angel

I ask, "Hoy! pwede ba kami magsabay?" The driver of the giant 18 wheeler volvo rice truck replies"oh sige". "Wait! Elder Gabrielsen what did you say?" "I asked him if we could hitch a ride, so jump up there lets go!" "What?!" This is a diesel truck and there are already two in the cab?" "Right but there is plenty of room to ride with the rice, get on!" I less than gently push my trainee towards the intimidatingly large open air tractor trailer with giant bags of rice stacked on the back. As the trailer is already starting to move I run ahead of him and in one smooth movement grab on to one of the loading handles on the back, jump up and pull my chest on to one of the sacks of rice. I then swing my legs to the right and roll the rest of my body on to the back of the trailer. Of course, as I look back my newly arrived trainee from the safe and predictable states was still frozen in his tracks. I motion to him to start running, and then like a child finally realizing he needs to stay close to his parents in the mall, he starts to run after the truck full speed. The two Filipinos in the front cab are looking at us and laughing at the scene unfolding behind them, more importantly however they are not slowing down. This is a test, I am used to these tests by now. They want to see if I will turn into an American again and beg like a child for them to slow down for my friend or if we like all the rest of the Filipinos around us will deal with the situation and adapt. If you can do the latter you will always be respected and safe here. If you can't, get ready to be robbed and disrespected or worse. I grab onto the handle again firmly and lean over the back of the trailer stretching my hand out towards my young American counterpart. He kicks his legs into over drive realizing what he now must do to earn the respect of the nation he has been called to serve in for the next two years. In a scene right out of "Indiana Jones" we lock hands just before the truck has picked up too much speed, and then with all the strength I have I swing his entire body weight up and on to the back of the trailer. He is completely out of breath and I am completely relieved he didn't get run over or broke a leg in the entire process. While laying flat on my back I turn my head towards the two Filipino "comedians" and give a thumbs up. They erupt again with laughter but this time there is a silent approval on their faces as if they know we've past the test. They would not have slowed down for two filipinos, why should they for us?
As the ride continues we both take turns surfing on top of the rice sacks as the truck barrels through the Jungle at 45 miles per hour. We catch air with every bump in the road and occasionally have to duck the low hanging tree branches and palm leaves from the surrounding jungle. As we go around one of the many hair pin turns on the road, the trees clear before our eyes and the sun breaks through the clearing as a surreal, emerald, rice patty valley unfolds itself before our bewildered eyes. "Unreal" my friend next to me utters in disbelief. "Yeah you're not in Utah anymore, are you Elder Patterson?" As I lay down on the surprisingly comfortable bed of rice below me and feel the warm and moist Philippine air surround and flow by me, I am content, happy and unaware of the tragic news I will receive later that day. I can't help but think that some angel must be on our side this wonderful morning.

I am four years old now and we have just moved from our little green house, with its goats and chickens in the backyard that my parents bought as some sort of Mormon, hippie self sustaining lifestyle experiment, to this large, sprawling gray house on the hill. My mother and sisters love the move, it's a much bigger and newer home next to a quiet little pond where a family of mallards live. However I am four and change is scary to me. I miss our little green home with the zen like stream in the backyard that leads to the fence that separated our yard from the horse pasture where I would stand and feed those gentle giants grass that I had picked. It is dark outside and it has been a busy stressful day of watching my mother shout out orders like a drill sergeant at my father and sisters as they unloaded boxes from the moving truck. The drill sergeant is gone now and my sweet mother is tucking my brother and me into bed. I let my mother know of my discomfort of the move to the new house. I ask her about ghosts and monsters and how I believe they have a lot more room to live and hide in such a big house as this. She gently tickles my forehead with her hand which smells of lavender. "Oh Aaron, do you see your brother over there?" I look towards him, my brother is already sleeping peacefully in his bed across from me. "Yeah, Mama". "You remember how we talked about how your brother is different and special?" Yeah, Mama". "Well part of him being special makes him sort of like an angel for us, so as long as your brother is around you never have to worry about ghosts and monsters. Bad things are scared of angels"
She kisses my forehead and pulls the covers tight around me. As she leaves our room she turns around. "Do you want me to leave the hallway light on for you?" "No Mama, I have Adam with me!" I say confidently and a little too loudly. My brother stirs, then turns and falls back asleep. As I hear my mother's footsteps fade down the hallway, my eyes grow heavy with sleep. I am now comforted at the presence of our Gabrielsen family angel.

My Line in the Sand

It could have been me drawing that line in the harsh desert sand.
As I watch the news I am reminded of those beautiful voices ringing from the Mosque long ago.
It was a typical Philippine night where the air is sweet and heavy from the residue of fallen rain, Palm Trees and heat from the Tropic of Cancers white, hot, glow.

The voices crept through the sleeping rice patties and concrete poured streets and homes as if everything in this world was constructed to carry their prayer.
Erie and beautiful, grateful and sullen. Too similar to how I feel as I watch the events unfold on the screen before me.

Why did I quit? Did I quit? Could I have done it if I chose to follow through.
I throw punches at ghosts, while they dodge bullets in Kevlar suits. One is definitely worse than the other although that line is hard to see, and at times in the dark it seems equally fatal to me.

I tuck my son into bed thinking about all the specters he will have to face both seen and unseen and say two prayers; one of thanks, and the other a pleading appeal.

Carina and Adam. They are my line in the sand, please Lord help me to stand.

Envoy

We have crept upon this new year once more.
Yet Time has not forgotten the envoy at the door.
His time must be kept, as most fateful things are;
For if it weren't for him we should surely ask for more.

Yes, his blade is kept sharp from the subjects that he reaps.
However do not fear his presence for the company he keeps.
In the Evening its a sinner. On Sunday it's a saint.
Even kings are called to humility strong men are caused to faint.

Yes, all will be brought down to the humble earth worms home;
Through this silent, stalking, envoy and his ever soothing tone.
"Hush now, sleep now; you have nothing whatsoever to fear?”
Just as long as your works before this time were justified, clean, or clear.

I hear them now; these voices from the grave, "Please work now my child there is such little time to save!"

For when the envoy cometh there can be nothing left to say.
Let this envoys meeting be your great and not dreadful day.

-written by Aaron Gabrielsen