And if a birthday of hard labor isn't bad enough, disaster struck when we finally settled in for the evening. While trying to cut a piece of cord with a sharp knife, Steve sliced into one of his fingers. It was bloody and deep. Imagine being in a new city where you know no one. You don't know where the hospital is or even if there is one nearby. And you know you need medical attention quickly. Now imagine that you don't speak the local language well. And that's where Steve and I found ourselves on his birthday in our new home in Honduras.
Thankfully, classes at our language school start on Monday and we've already been introduced to the directors. So we called these complete strangers and asked for help. Mark rushed right over to drive Steve to the clinic. Three stitches and a lot of humility later, the day finally ended.
It wasn't the birthday celebration we'd have liked, but at least we'll never forget it!
