I wrote this reflection on an airplane flying from Nicaragua back to Texas in November last year. I leave it mostly untouched from how I penned it sleep deprived at 30,000 feet.

As we approached the Rio Coco, a dugout canoe approached the shoreline. The four passengers quickly collected items and stepped into the mud. The canoe captain pushed back into the swift current. Where was he going now?

The crowd gathered at the water’s edge as Pastor Ronaldo read the scene of John the Baptist immersing his Lord in the River Jordan. Church members shouted “Amen!” when the Spirit descended in the story. I was tempted to lift my head and look for a dove. The baptismal candidates were named and presented to proud parents and smiling church members.

It was my first trip to Nicaragua. My stomach was full of tres leches and it now turned at the thought of baptizing in a new country, through the aide of a translator, and in a flowing river. I was really concerned about the river.

I had a bag equipped with a change of clothes – a pair of running shorts and my favorite T-shirt. Yet, I was told that Nicaraguan pastors enter the water fully dressed. “But I preach after the baptism,” I hesitantly offered. I decided to play the role of a local and enter the brown water in dress slacks.

As I removed my shoes, I heard a chorus of “ooooohhhhh.” The señoras gawked at my bright red, blue, and yellow socks. My translator informed me, “The ladies want your socks.” The quick chuckle settled my stomach.

I waded into the water following the lead of Pastor Ronaldo. He guided me to the right depth and solid ground. Candidates were individually called into the water and I guided them into the proper spot with crude hand motions and English directions that went uncomprehended.

As each candidate held their nose in preparation for the plunge, I declared, “Buried with Christ in baptism, raised to walk a new life in Christ.”

The pastor enjoys a view unknown to those who witness baptism. The pastor gets to see the candidate’s face as she takes the final gulp for air before symbolically uniting with Jesus in His death. The cheeks puff, the eyes widen, the water slowly covers hair, forehead, nose, and chin. Prior to the moment of panic, she feels me begin to lift. The smile of relief, and new life, quickly crawls upon her face.

With church clothes wet, I stepped out of the Rio Coco looking for a dove. I didn’t find one but I was content nonetheless.