One Monday I took a remis (argentine taxi) out to our 7-year-old daughter, Kirsten's, school to see her in a program that her class was doing.  On the way out there I chatted with the remis driver, while trying not to appear overly friendly.  I was a little leary of the driver at first, because of his punk hairstyle, but he was talkative, and I didn't want to be rude. He asked me where I was from because he noticed my accent (everyone does), so I told him that my husband is the pastor of La Iglesia Bautista de Monte Grande. 
 
Later, when the program was over, the driver was supposed to return and take the kids and I back home, but he never showed, so I called the agency.  He came to get me in a hurry, and although I was a bit annoyed, I accepted his apology and made a joke about people never understanding me.  On the way home he told me that he has a 7-year-old daughter who looks like mine, and how much he misses her because she lives in Mar del Plata (to the South of Buenos Aires) and he only sees her once a month.  I handed him a tract and invited him to church, telling him about the monthly meetings that we have for the men.  He accepted it with a surprised look on his face.  Well, to my surprise, his mother came to church the following Sunday and said that she had been looking for a church.  She said that her son was impressed with the invitation that he received, so she came to see what we are all about. 
 
We missionaries are always wishing that we could lose our American accent and speak our respective language better, but the truth is that everytime I open my mouth to speak, I am presented with another opportunity to share the gospel, like it or not!  The conversation always starts with, "You're not from here are you?"   The second question is always, "What are you doing here?" I couldn't ask for a better opening to share the gospel.  Thank you, Lord, for my accent! 

Jennifer Webster, Argentina