Sunday to church; like I haven’t done in years. It appeared that Jonathan had contracted some terrible stomach bug and was forced back to bed. It seemed I would face a Mennonite Sunday church service alone…all three hours of it. The first half hour passed quick enough as I was still mesmerized to see a whole community of these people in one place at the same time. All the blond children, the big bearded men, the many babies and there were even two songs sung. The next two and a half were almost completely unbearable. It’s one of the only times in my life I had wished I had a baby, that or an uncontrollable bladder problem. This way I would be able to go and stand outside at regular intervals and escape the endless sermon, switching between English and Low German. I went to church half out of curiosity, half out of manners and in fairness it was an important part of the experience. Their faith is everything to them and I am not sure I could have left without attending church. However it is not an experience I will be repeating in a hurry.
After the service I was swamped with invites to visit and endless questions as to how long we would be staying. Confessing that this was our last day in Barton Creek and that Jonathan was really in no fit state to leave the house they all summated that it would be best to descend upon Deborah and Abrams house later that day. I have never felt quite so interesting in my entire life. We walked back home where I went to visit Jonathan in his new home in the basement (it was cooler there). I mixed him some rehydration powder in a flask of water and gave it to him, chuckling to myself at how he had asked “Rehydration powder?! What are you going to need that for?” before we had left. Poor thing. I spent the majority of the early afternoon chatting with Deborah and tending to the baby who was doing the restless routine. Abit later Jonathan surfaced and came to sit with us not minutes before Daniel and Rebecca Heinrich arrived with their two adorable children.
Daniel and Rebecca were actually German. By this I mean they had moved from Germany to Belize a few years ago and converted to the faith in moving. They currently lived in lower Barton Creek but were having a few problems with language there. They speak High German, in Lower Barton they speak Low German and almost no one speaks English. SO they were in the middle of a ‘mediation process’ to move to Upper Barton Creek where there is more English spoken. Daniel was really interesting. He had started to study agriculture in Germany but had quickly grown frustrated with the academic approach and desired to actually grow stuff, not just manage the process. They were already Christians and so attracted by the simple life and the chance to fulfill his dream of being a farmer he had moved here. We had not been chatting long when the Pastor Aaron and his family arrived and very soon we were all sat round on wooden chairs having one of those famed ‘big stuff’ conversations our trip would be remembered for. They were very keen for us to visit with them and so about an hour later we were piling into another horse drawn cart and over the creek for supper.
Aarons house was perfect. Placed higher up the creek it had incredible views of rolling fields and blue skies. I can’t remember exactly how many children they had but it was a lot and they were all extremely well mannered and almost permanently smiling. While Aaron and Jonathan sat cross legged outside on the grass I stood in the kitchen with the mother and the eldest daughters helping to prepare the meal. It would be another delicious and abundant supper with people who never raised their voices. After supper we sang, strange as it may seem and heard further opinions on why the Mennonites are so happy they don’t have televisions and radios. It reminded me of my Grandfather telling them what it was like ‘before the war’ when they would sing round a piano together; a reality that had always seemed distant and ridiculous to me until now. As the lights faded outside we chatted long into the evening and it struck me how lovely it was to be in presence of family. We learnt how unfathomable the concept of divorce is to these people, how they make their marriages work, and their ideas about how to live, how we die and what comes next; all in low almost hushed tones that never alter at differences of opinion. It was a true conversation; each listened as one gave their view and then gently volunteered their own with no expectations of change on the others part. They seemed to look at us not as strangers from another world but as friends and most importantly as opportunities, to learn but also to share this amazing life and philosophy they have. It was almost definitely one of my favorite moments, topped off perfectly by the lamp-lit, horse-drawn journey back to Abram and Deborah’s.