I’m mowing my back yard. My neighbor is mowing his. We smile over the fence, mow a couple of more rows, and then we stop for a chat. I lean against the fence. He leans with a straight arm on the handle of his mower. We make idle small talk. You know, neighborly stuff. And then he says something that catches my attention. Something extraordinary.
Me: Any trips planned for the summer?
Neighbor: Yeah, we’re headed to Yellowstone for a week with the kids. Next week though, I’m headed out solo.
Me: Where are you going?
Neighbor: Starting on Memorial Day weekend, I’m going on a week-long church mission trip to the jungles of Peru.
Me: Wow. Awesome.
Neighbor: (with a nervous giggle) Yeah. I’m excited. My kids have me worried, though. The other night they were brainstorming all of the ways I might die.
Me: Ha!
Neighbor: Yep. Piranhas. Anacondas. Poison dart frogs. Lost in the jungle. Cannibals. Milaria. Food poisoning. Plane crash. Boat crash. Car crash….
Me: I suppose the options presented by the jungles of Peru are almost endless.
Neighbor: You’ve got that right. My money isn’t on any of that, though. My money is on the midnight crocodile hunt with spears flung from wooden canoes.
Me: Yikes what a trip! For what it’s worth, Laura and I are thinking of heading to her parent’s house over the holiday weekend.
Neighbor: Oh, nice. That sounds like fun.
Me: I’m sure it will be. They have a pool. Sometimes I dive in.