God Works in Mysterious Ways

By Patrick Condon

Actually, I’d say they’re downright bizarre. Four years ago I felt the urge to become a pen pal to a Navajo boy. We exchanged letters for about half a year, and then the opportunity to go to the Navajo reservation to do a VBS came up, so I went.

But I didn’t see him at all; his family was on vacation the whole week. I was bummed, but then I met another kid, Christian. He was younger, about nine, but he seemed to stick to me, and I liked the attention.

I spent the next three years getting to know him, and his family a bit. By the end of the third year, Christian and I were practically inseparable. I was upset when he didn’t make it to the last day of the VBS. But I got to speak to him over the phone before I left, and he promised to show up when I came back in December.

Unfortunately, everything changed in November.

I arrived home one day to find my dad looking very grave. He had me sit down, and he told me that Christian had hung himself. The news didn’t quite register at first, but I broke down into tears after about a minute.

I couldn’t go back that December; it would have been too painful. But I did force myself back there this past July. Something told me I would regret it if I didn’t.

I got part of the church’s college group (about seven people) to come along. They helped me keep relaxed the first few days of the trip. On Monday, I saw Taylor, Christian’s older brother, at the VBS. He asked if I could take him swimming at the hotel sometime that week, and of course I agreed.

I got a little worried when I didn’t see him the next two days. On Wednesday, I tried to get a message to him that it was really the last day I could take him swimming. He got it, apparently, because he showed up with his mother and brothers, Sheridan and Charles.

We talked for a little bit, about Christian, and his mother asked me if I wanted to see his grave. I hesitated, but ultimately agreed. She had to get a key to unlock some gates that guarded the way, and so I had a half hour to wait. I spent much of it crying.

When Louie came back, a big group piled into cars and started to follow her. The way to the grave was a long dirt road, which turned off onto a smaller dirt road, which turned off to an even smaller dirt road. At the end of the road was a small cemetery.

Christian’s grave was fenced by a small wall, about a foot and a half high, made of cinderblocks with a rounded top. On top of the grave was an assortment of fake blue flowers, and around the wall were small blue stones.

We all gathered around the grave, and my friend Ken said a prayer. Afterwards, Louie said some more things about Christian. She talked about how he had always prayed for everyone, and that he had gone on a mission trip to the Fijis. This was (shocking) news to me, because the whole time I had known Christian, he never seemed to really absorb what was being taught at the VBS. Perhaps he needed something a little more advanced.

When Louie finished, Ken asked if he could pray for Taylor, Sheridan, and Charles. They agreed, so they stood in the middle of a circle, and I put my hands on Taylor and Sheridan. Ken pulled out some anointing oil, and anointed Charles, Taylor, Sheridan… and me. I was surprised by that.

After that, Ken bought everyone soda and ice cream at A&W. And as I sat there, talking to Taylor, I felt different. I felt like everything was fine, and that everything would be fine from now on.

Normally when the VBS is over and we all leave the reservation, I am relieved to go. And about half way back, I want to go right on back. But this year, I didn’t even want to leave. And I never want to miss a trip there again.

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