THE WORLD´S MOST DANGEROUS ROAD

Many believe that this road is the most dangerous in the world. It takes you from the city of La Paz, Bolivia, to the valley of the Yungas. You’ve got to have hair on your chest to drive this road and make it back home in one piece. It is such a dangerous road because of the constant drop offs, which are thousands of feet deep.

I have driven this road many times. Once, my dear friend Rocky Grams and his newly married wife, Sherry, came to Bolivia to visit us, many years ago. Rocky and I have been close friends since our childhood, and we did things together, ministered together. They ended up being the directors of the Bible School in Rio de la Plata, Argentina and we were at that time missionaries in Bolivia.

We decided to drive down to Coroico, to a place that Rocky and I have gone several times before and enjoy the pool in a hotel we knew. Said and done. We packed our suitcases and we drove down that road, thru small towns, like Puente Villa among others. You have to cross the mountains before you go down into the valley.

Coroico was at that time a small town with an incredible weather all year round. The first few days were very restful, as expected. However, Sherry started to feel sick because of the food that she was not familiar with, so we decided to return to La Paz so she could see a doctor.

The way back home started out with no incidents. We laughed, told stories, stopped to take pictures of the incredible views and water falls such as “el velo de la novia”.

We started the road down, the most difficult part of the trip. The Toyota jeep had not given us any trouble, until I started to smell something burning. The brakes! I looked in the rearview mirror and with horror saw the smoke coming out of the back wheel. The brake pedal was getting softer and I was gaining speed fast. I did not want to scare my passengers and did not tell them what was going on.

Rocky guessed we were having brake problems when I took a curve at higher speed than normal and almost ran into a truck that was coming the other way and had to get really close to the precipice, so much so that I suspect one of our wheels was in the air for a split second. Now they knew what was going on and we all started to sweat, even though it was cold outside.

Finally we reached a place in the road that was flat and with the help of the transmission I was able to finally stop the jeep. We were close to a brook of cold waters that came down from one of the glaciers and we were able to cool down the brakes and keep on driving, very slowly, until we made it home safe and sound.

I AM A LEGEND

I clearly remember that summer Sunday in Santa Cruz, Bolivia. The church building was in Charcas 227 and was full of people listening to my dad’s sermon. The heat was unbearable, close to noon that Sunday. I think that was the reason I stepped outside the door. I just turned 9 years old.

I remember the streets in Santa Cruz at that time. They were dirt, sand and mud. When it rained, it was almost impossible for the few cars that were available to drive. In fact, a cart pulled by two bulls was the most common mean of transportation, as well as riding horses. That Sunday, nobody was out in the streets, with the exception of a catholic priest that slowly was walking toward me. In those days, priests dressed long gowns, all the way to the floor.

I imagine that it was because of the heat, this priest was wearing a long white gown, with a white hat and some magenta details and he was slowly walking leaning on a cane. At that moment, I felt as he was daring me.

In those days, the persecution against the evangelicals was wide open and constant. I remember kids at school looking at me as if I was demon possessed or the “son of Satan,” like some called me. They said I had goat tails in my back and that we, the evangelicals, ate babies and they went on saying other things. So, when I saw that priest walking toward me, on the same sidewalk where the church was located, I felt as he was daring me.

He arrived to where I was standing and did not even
look at me. He kept on walking leaning on his cane. Temptation was stronger than my sanctification and I do not know where I got the voice, but I said: “priest that does not heal anyone” (cura que no cura a nadie, in Spanish) and I stepped inside the church thinking that I was safe in there and that a priest would never walk into an evangelical church and contaminate himself.

Great was my surprise and horror when I realized he was right behind me, with his cane in the air, interrupting my dad’s sermon. I ran down the center isle to refuge myself behind my dad and pastor who was trying to figure out what in the world was going on. For some minutes, the priest gave a speech about all the faults of the evangelicals and the lack of reverence and respect for the holy man of God, as it was so clearly illustrated when I told him he was no good. Wishing all the curses of hell over the congregation and especially over that “son of the devil” of a boy, he left the church.

That was the end of the service for that Sunday. My parents invited me to share my side of the story in the privacy of our living room while and having a hard time keeping from laughing, they proceeded to apply a punishment that would assure them that a service would never again be disrupted by an angry priest.

If you ever go to an Assembly of God church in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, and ask about me, they will tell you this story.

I AM A LEGEND!!!