Access to Beyond

Chapter One

Going to Trujillo

The Wave—she was the prize of the sea, with her white sails that added elegance to her ocean-blue hull and dark-blue water line.

She was a three-mast fifty-five-feet schooner used for running passengers and freight throughout the Bay Islands and some of the mainland ports in Spanish Honduras.

It was during the dark, early hours of the morning of February 10, 1936, when I were awoken from my sleep aboard the Wave, by the sound of her anchor being thrown overboard in the Harbor of Trujillo—my first trip there from my home in Tela.

I crept up to the deck of the schooner, using its lights along with that of the setting moon and a few stars that were still out.

I saw the east port side Trujillo as if it was a forest-like island, with its narrow beach this being all I could see at that time, and there being no one else on deck to chat with, I returned to my cabin, tidied, dressed, straightened my bunk, and lay down.

I kept my ears open for the first sound on the deck, as I was eager to get ashore to this, another new settlement of Honduras where I were scheduled to work by a private mission board, of which I was a member.

Trujillo, the first capital of Honduras; where I would work as a missionary for two years at the first apostolic church ever to reach its shore.

I lay still with my eyes upon the octagon-shaped porthole that was located just off the foot of my bunk.

The quietness onboard and the soothing sound of the gentle waves that slapped in gentle rhythms against the hull of the schooner aided in my defeat of falling asleep; but I were later awoken in by the noise of luggage and freight being pulled along the deck next to my cabin porthole.

I returning to the deck and looking off to the right of the schooner, and saw that the sun had risen just a bit above the almost-calm sea; and it was as big as a full moon in August.

The crew had just brought out our luggage on deck, when three female passengers aggressively, for no apparent reason, formed a line in front of me as I stood leaning against the deck railing gazing at the shore while I awaited the arrival of the canoe that would ferry us to shore.

The schooner was anchored about two hundred feet from the white narrow beach, which I saw in clear daylight; that it was about two hundred and fifty to three hundred feet long and about twenty-five to thirty feet wide.

By now, people stood and sat in scattered groups over much of the beach, some waiting for someone or some-thing from the schooner, and some evidently just came out as spectators.

I saw clearly that the inland near the beach really had a scanty forest-like view.

A few small peasant homes were on the inner edge of the beach; scattered here and there, all seemingly made from driftwood.

Far beyond the view of the peasant homes, in the distance stood sturdy green mountains, over which most of the time hung white and dark-gray clouds, which seemed to caress them with a loving embrace.

It is far beyond my caliber to make a fair judgment of the dimensions of Trujillo. My off shore view of the settlement was soon mingled with thoughts of what my life would be like, among its people, but like every other time, there was a new place I must work in; courage seemed to wrap me as a shawl.

I snapped from my thoughts when the captain of the schooner called for the first six passengers to get onboard the hand-paddled canoe that would transport us to the shore.

That’s my call, I thought, as I was fourth in line.

Knowing that the luggage would be brought to the shore later after all passengers were ashore; which I had learned from another female passenger the night we left home.

I stepped back to where my luggage was on the deck to fetch my colorful umbrella, which I called Joseph’s coat.

I had also learned on the journey that the wait on the beach could take a while; and that the passengers sometime were unable to get shelter in any of the two tiny huts that were on the beach because of the many people that gathered there; and my umbrella would come in handy for the wait for my luggage. And, after all, it would be only by my umbrella Mr. Alonzo and his wife, the couple whom I would be abiding with, would be able to identify me, as we had never met before; but had exchanged a letter in which I mentioned the colorful umbrella with a pink ribbon tied to its stem that I would be using.

Reaching the shore, I stood to the west of a large coconut tree, aiming to secure a cool spot, just in case I was there until the sun got hot.

Standing there, I felt my body sway as if I were still onboard the schooner. I reached out for the tree to steady myself; and then felt a large hand steady me instead.

I see only one colorful umbrella on this beach, so you must be Mrs. Hall, said a lightly tanned-skinned man with straight, coarse, black, shiny hair, which was slightly graying on both sides, and eyes that matched the black of his hair; and a neat shaved, I reckoned he was approximately six feet tall.

And you must be Mr. Alonzo, I replied, looking up to him.

You got me right by the nose, he replied, reaching out for a handshake. He introduced himself and his wife in one breath.

Mrs. Alonzo too shook my hand, and then hugged, kissed, and welcomed me to Trujillo; this she did in the style of a true saint. After her welcome, her conversation ended right there; not another word did she speak for the rest of our wait on the beach and all the way to their home.

I thought at first that Mrs. Alonzo was a very quiet woman, or that she was deprived of the ability to maintain a constructive conversation; but I later learned that my assumption of her quietness was right, but for her ability, she is very good in conversations that attracted her interest.

Mr. Alonzo looked at us as we embraced; and smiled a friendly smile, shook his head in approval, and took a few steps backwards.

We stood there and chatted about the mission work until my luggage arrived.

Well, Mr. Alonzo and I did the talking; his wife only shook her head, smiled now and then, and off and on shared some sort of facial expression of peace or a glance between us.

Finally, we were on the way in the open wagon to what would be my new home, which I was expecting to be for at least two years.

I gazed upon the landscaping as though it were a famous painting, which I had never seen before, but in reality, it was one I was well familiar with in Honduras and also one that always fascinated me.

Looking on attentively, I admired the way in which so many structures of mud and sticks had been mingled with those of obviously good craftsmanship, I thought of the knowledge God had given to mankind over the past years.

A few such structures were perched as proud as peacocks on the tops and sides of the hills, as well as in the valleys.

This was the place I would call home, for longer than I had planned at that time, exactly how long was un-known to me.

The journey from the beach to the Alonzo’s home took only about fifteen to twenty minutes.

Welcome to La Brisa, Mrs. Hall, announced Mr. Alonzo as he pulled into the lane that led to their yard, as our partly quiet journey came to the end

Welcome to our humble home, Mrs. Hall, Mrs. Alonzo said, as her husband drove the wagon into the large open gate, which was almost at the far left end of the fence that surrounded the big yard.

He tied the horse to the side of the porch, which was the full length of their house fully railed to breast height and about nine or ten feet in width.

You must be tired and hungry, Mrs. Hall. Come with me so you may have a meal, and rest off the sea roll, she said, as she climbed down from the wagon and headed towards the house.

I hesitated beside the wagon a bit in ponder over Mr. Alonzo’s action, as he untied the horse from the porch and hitched it to the low body of a tree that stood close by the porch.

He walked behind the house, and I stood beside the wagon, then taking a mental note of the environment of my new home.

The yard were surrounded by a white-washed-picket fence, which stood about four feet high and was slightly messy at the lower end with the brown mold that covered the yard, as it did most of Trujillo.

The Alonzo’s home was colonial-style of wood, one of the few built by good craftsmanship in that settlement.

Its exterior and interior walls were painted white and trimmed with bright green; the floor of the house and porch were painted rust red.

On each side of the extra-wide front gate that matched the rest of the yard fencing, was some kind of green hedging plants that stood almost as tall as I am. They too were messy from the brown dust of the settlement, as was the lower part of the fencing.

Mrs. Alonzo had reached and opened the front door, and stood holding it open for me, as she called to me, Leave your luggage, Mrs. Hall. Fletcher will bring it in as soon as he has watered the horse.

Now that my ponder-over Mr. Alonzo’s action, of the tying and retying of the horse had been solve through Mrs. Alonzo words, I entered the large cozy home.

We all had an early lunch and took a nap. That afternoon, we stayed up until the late hours becoming better acquainted.

Having a week and three days before commencing my duties with the church, I planned to make good of my free time by covering all the ground I could in becoming acquainted with as many of my new neighbors as possible.

I invited them all to church and Bible study; meanwhile, I also did some exploring of the place. I took a few days to select and catch up on my personal studies; along with enjoying some extra sleep, good night services, and some wonderful home-cooked food by Mrs. Alonzo.

Billy Porch, a bilingual boy and the oldest child of his parents, was the first boy to attend the Bible class for adolescents.

Billy’s mother was a descendant of an island in the West Indies, called the Cayman Islands, and his father a citizen from Belize. They both spoke English as their native tongue, but had over the years of their abiding in Honduras, become fluent in the Spanish language.

Billy boldly knocked on the Alonzo’s front door and inquired for the Lady that would teach Bible class at the old sanctuary hall.

Come in. I will fetch her for you, lad, I heard Mrs. Alonzo reply to his inquiry of me.

Entering the family room where the lad was, I saw him quickly stand, cap in hand, and stare at me for a few seconds. Then he gave a slight bow, and flashing a quick smile at me, he sat down at my instructions.

Mother told me you’re looking for children to teach the Bible too, so I came by to let you know you can put my name on your list for Bible class. Name’s Billy Porch, he added bluntly.

Well, count it done, Billy my lad, and my name is Mrs. Hall, I replied smiling, as I gave him my hand for a shake.

I recalled the story told to me years ago by one of his Grandmothers, whom I had met on one of my stay in Cortes, of how they, her husband and her, had come to Honduras for better fishing and in hopes of finding a better livelihood, in which they were fortunate.

Billy, his mother, and grandmother were some of the offspring of the many such families that I had met in my travels throughout Honduras.

His father, Mr. Porch, was one of the many from Belize, as was my father, who had come to Honduras mostly for the same reasons.

In fact, my first meeting with Billy’s entire family was in Cortes, where his father was working for the Dole Company. Billy was just a toddler, about one years and months old at that time. I told him the story of his family and my first encounter some weeks after the Bible class was established.

That said day, during our conversation, Billy told me that he and some of his schoolmates would often avoid walking the rocky path home from their school by taking the route of the beach, the said beach where I had landed on when I first came from Tela.

Their school building was a large one-room building located on a plain of land across the street from the sanctuary where I held the Bible classes for them and the adults.

Billy said he would often stay behind on the beach to collect some special shells or see how many of the silver-like flakes he could gather from among the beach sand. These silver flakes he collected and kept in an open-mouthed inkbottle.

He added that he would stop on the beach sometimes, just to enjoy the tranquility of the beach; and look across at the outlining of Tela that can be seen on a calm day from Trujillo.

Tela, the birthplace of one of his Grandmothers, the first place in Honduras, Billy said he planned to visit when he was old enough to travel on his own.

He loved to lie on his back on the beach and look up into the sky, especially on cloudy days, hoping to catch a glimpse somewhere among the clouds, of the gulf of water or the cities he saw in what he called his dream.

Chapter Two

Settling into the Work

It was Thursday, which was always the first day of the week for the beginning of Bible study for the adolescents’ group.

That day, Billy went straight home from school, ate his meal, and pumped water up for the home, which was the greatest of his evening chores. This he did by using the old hand pump in the back of their house.

Billy’s home was one of the many old houses built in the bracket of middle-class craftsmanship, with all of the walls, floors, and partitions made of fairly good lumber, and the roof was covered with a brown waterproof material called Masonite.

Billy lay down after his chores to rest awhile and was soon off into a dream -a dream he had been having ever since he was four years old.

This dream was always identical in every detail, and was each time preceded by a voice that called him by name at unpredictable times.

In this dream, Billy would feel himself slipping from somewhere of rest, finding himself having to struggle to regain his balance; then all of a sudden, he would be in an upright position and feel himself moving forward at a rapid but peaceful speed.

In a short while, he would find that he was standing on a thick cloud that settled beside the edge of a gigantic gulf of water, the beauty of which, he said, was indescribable.

Far off and far below the left side of the beautiful gulf of water, he could see an enormous city, shaped like that of a crystal ball, which seemed, from where he stood, to be on fire—fire with tall, gigantic flames of what appeared to be hot, boiling lava.

Bloodcurdling, soul-wrenching, horrible cries and groans oozed from this city perpetually, which caused Billy’s entire being to ache with agonizing pain.

As always in this dream, Billy desired to learn what or who was making those horrifying noises; and at that time he would be suddenly distracted by beautiful songs and music, which he described to be the most beautiful that he had ever heard.

Trying to learn from where or from whom the singing and playing of this beautiful music came, he soon learned that the songs and music filled his entire being with over-whelming peace.

This peace, it was far beyond the explanation of any human tongue, or mind could explain or fully comprehend, but somehow the music reminded him of the songs and music he heard at church services.

Far ahead on a higher level, Billy beheld another city. Even from seemingly so far a distance, he perceived that it was far beyond describing, and he always knew that from it was where the beautiful songs and music descended.

Suddenly in his dream, Billy were tossed over the gulf of water and then almost down to the city of boiling lava, but just before reaching it, he was reinstated to the edge of the beautiful gulf of water by some unseen force.

Billy, Billy, his pa called while bending over his son’s bed, gently shaking him from his restless sleep and wiping his pale, sweaty face with a cold cloth.

Wake up, Son, or you will be late for your Bible class,