After exulting in the scenery and culture of Switzerland for the last two posts it occurred to me that some of you might be thinking, “Wow – all that on the funds supplied by others.  Sweet deal!”

Not!  We three couples (Wetzigs, Crockers, and VanCampens) forked over out of our own pockets the dough for this two day hiatus on the way home from the subcontinent.  And, it was with a sense of relief on my part when we settled into our seats this Monday morning (2:45 a.m. CDT) for the flight home.  I told John Wetzig that it had felt like someone had stuck a vacuum into my wallet in the land of Zwingli, Calvin, and Heidi.  The Swiss franc is almost equal to the American dollar, and it takes a lot of them to exist there.  For instance, number 1 at MacDonald’s (Big Mac meal) varied from about $9 to over $11.  Breakfast each morning, whether taken in the hotel or downtown, was about $30.  And the box of chocolates Luana bought for a gift this morning was $30.

Do you now wonder that this Dutchman was ready to leave the Alps?

Here above the Atlantic, about half way to JFK in NYC, I have some time for contemplation.  I’m thinking of individuals we met along the way these past 17 days.

The first that come to mind were the kind Finnish ladies who gave us the business class seats on FinnAire 008 to Helsinki.  In Helsinki it was the lady that assisted us in filing our missing baggage report, and that gave us the 140 euros for necessities until the luggage showed up.

On the subcontinent a variety of folks step into view in my memory.  There’s Buji, the gentle manager of one of our hotels, a man who revealed himself to be a believer and in whose hotel each Sunday morning other believers gather for prayer and praise.

There’s SR, a diminutive native of this country whose personality and heart are huge.  He works at helping our young friends be successful in ministry, but was so in need of encouragement himself that he gave me a hug after translating my two messages from Elijah’s life and experiences.  He was, he said, ready to continue in his work.

There’s VK, the amiable and jovial, though deadly serious about discipling disciplers among his people, district overseer.  He’d traveled 600 kl one way, a twelve-hour bus ride, to the retreat because he wanted to see me.  Is that humbling, or what?  Would I have done the same, were the tables turned?

There’s the face of the Muslim man, the owner of The Only Place Restaurant who’d buried his father just before we entered his establishment for those fabulous steaks, but who took time to patiently answer the questions of these four Western carnivores.

Then there are those 155 pastors, in addition to the wives and families of some of them.  I now know the names and faces of a goodly percentage of them.  They blessed me beyond measure, and I told them so at the last location.  One of them stood to tell me, on behalf of the group, how much my presence and ministry had meant to them.  I only hope they profited half as much as I did.

It was really hard to say goodbye.

From the land of the reformers it’s Melanie, the delightful Swiss miss that served us our breakfast in downtown Zurich.  It’s Donald from the hotel snack bar, the guy that called our room to let me know he was holding for me the camera I’d left hanging on the back of my chair there.

I pray that Luana and I made as much a positive impression on all of these folks as they did on us.  I pray that though they may not have realized it at the time, what they were seeing was actually Jesus.  That’s what I pray.

And, what I am thinking right now is how good it will be to be home again.