Y SLUMBER, LULLED BY the rhythmic movement of bus wheels, came to a direct halt as a droopy spitwad skimmed my nose and attached itself to the steamed-up window. Thinking that possibly the perpetrator would go away if I ignored him, my eyes remained shut. My 3-year-old, snuggled next to me, sat bolt upright, however, and demanded to know what was going on. His eyes and body, now alert, wanted action. Pushing himself off the seat, he scampered down the aisle in search of his buddy, a 16-year-old stick of dynamite named Charlie, who had given this Maranatha trip a superdose of activity.

Charlie was a character! He was a sophomore with an uncanny knack for finding mischief. If he wasn't looking for trouble, it was looking for him, and somewhere they always seemed to pair up. If candy bars or sodas were misplaced, Charlie was the first name hollered. When blankets and pillows were snatched from a cozy body, his grinning face was nearby. Photos mysteriously disappeared from wallets, only to reappear mustached, bearded, or freckled. When students told jokes, Charlie would interrupt with the punch lines. During table or card games Charlie would "accidentally" fall onto the game, knocking the pieces to the floor.

Charlie was behind most capers, but the most unusual was his "teeth thing." Having lost his two front teeth as a child, Charlie was the owner of fake ones that he could thrust from his mouth and dangle at any given moment. Holding on to them with the tip of his tongue, he presented a strange yet comical figure. When he presented himself in this condition to strangers, they were jolted into exhibiting various facial contortions. The other students, however, did not appreciate that specific talent of Charlie's, nor did they smile. His conduct was wearing on them.

As a faculty sponsor and friend, I tried taking Charlie under my wing. Being a complex adolescent, Charlie responded most of the time, and we became friends. There was one area, however, in which he would not concede, and that was the area of religion.

When we had evening and morning worship, Charlie would look away. He joined us in body but not in spirit. He chose not to sing, not to pay attention, and especially not to pray. When I asked him about his attitude toward prayer, he told me about growing up in a family that chose to do things by itself-without God's help. His was a very self-reliant kind of family, and Charlie felt that he did not need
God's help.

A Fine Mess
Far into beautiful Mexico our Maranatha mission trip got under way. We painted, mowed, and bricked. Charlie still refused to pray. On Christmas Day, 10 days after we had left our homes several thousand miles away, we packed up the bus and proceeded to a white sand beach near Huatabampo.

This particular day was warm and balmy, and after playing in the waves and sand dunes all morning, everyone welcomed the beach lunch. A discussion about what our family members back in the States were doing prompted homesickness and nostalgia. Students filled with private thoughts wandered down the beach in ones and twos for their own quiet time.

A Providence Shared 1. Describe briefly a relationship you've had with a character like Charlie. What did it teach you about God? 2. What life experience has caused you to throw yourself on God's mercy? 3. Other than answered prayers, what tokens does God use to demonstrate His love? 4. Why are we so prone to be impressed by the miraculous? Does that indicate the presence or absence of faith?

Then a shriek of horror pierced the air. Everyone's attention whirled to a spot on the windy beach where Charlie stood stricken with panic. His teeth were gone! He had stuck them out in an attempt to make some local beachgoers laugh, and the wind had caught them up. For about 60 minutes the students searched for those two missing teeth. Charlie was beside himself with worry. It was one thing to play with them, but something completely different to lose them.

Finally everyone gave up looking. Amid such comments as "All he wants for Christmas is his two front teeth," they again wandered away, lost in their own private thoughts, leaving Charlie to search by himself.

My husband and I, in the midst of building our son a sand castle, happened to look in Charlie's direction. We stood amazed, and tears came to our eyes when we saw Charlie kneeling, praying on that sandy, windy, beautiful beach, praying to a God he had previously refused to acknowledge, praying for those teeth he so desperately wanted back.

What would God do? Forty of us had just scoured that beach for an hour without success.

When Charlie's eyes opened, they had a new look to them, a new purpose. It seemed as though he knew God would answer his prayer. He searched for no more than 15 seconds when we saw him scoop up a string of sandy seaweed. God had directed his eyesight, and he had found those teeth. With joy he screamed his success, giving honor to the Christ he met on that Christmas Day so far away from home.

_________________________
Kathy Bollinger teaches at Helen Hyatt School in Lincoln, Nebraska. This story originally appeared in the Mid-America Outlook.