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Melanie is a full-time teacher and a part-time globe-trotter. She can find humor in pretty much anything, attracts peculiar situations and is constantly trying to curb her thirst for adventure, all the while dwelling on the plains of North Dakota. 

My friend Sybil and I bounced down the rural roads outside the city in the backseat of a black Subaru Forester. Sybil’s language tutor, Irene, occupied the front passenger seat and Irene’s daughter-in-law, Laura, was at the wheel.

Irene was taking us to the Sea! A properly hospitable Central Eurasian, she was eager to show off her country to Sybil’s friend visiting from America.

Laura sped through tiny towns, careened around blind corners, and expertly dodged the stray dogs napping in the middle of the road.

When I read about the hearty supply of stray dogs in this particular country, I was wary. I imagined them roaming in packs, devouring the weak tourist who’d strayed from her group. Their teeth glistened as they snapped their jaws over the final inches of her selfie-stick.

In reality, the dogs are lethargic to the point of being suicidal. They collapse on any warm surface—highway, parking lot or construction site—and immediately become immobile. Many times, I’d thought a dog was road kill, only to watch through the rear-view mirror as it groggily shifted to a more comfortable position.

We drove further into the country and the roads became narrower, the dogs more plentiful, and a new hazard was introduced —cows! Families of bovine grazed on the shoulder, moseyed down the center line, ambled through intersections, and projected a general disdain for traffic laws.

“Whose cows are these?” I asked Irene incredulously.

“Oh, they belong to the village,” she answered calmly as Laura slammed on the brakes to avoid rear-ending one.

“What are they doing? Why are they just wandering around?”

“They let them out during the day,” she said matter-of-factly. “They know how to get home when it gets dark.”

We entered a village and before I had time to ponder the cattle, we witnessed an unprecedented display of dog-alertness. About five strays began barking ferociously and attacked another dog. The altercation lasted only seconds, but the victim loped toward a field, one leg suspended in pain.

Irene shouted something to Laura and she swung the car to the right, and parked in front of a small shop. Laura returned with waters, packs of pretzel sticks and two huge loaves of bread. “Kind of a carb-heavy snack,” I thought, but happily grabbed a handful of pretzels.

An Unexpected Guest

Irene gave Laura more instructions and she turned down the rut road after the injured dog. We ran out of wheel tracks near a fence where two cows lay in the shade, watching the drama from under heavy eyelids. The dog faltered a few more meters into the field and eyed us. Irene hopped out of the front seat, a hunk of the bread she’d just bought in her hand. She made coaxing noises and chucked the bread in the dog’s direction.

He froze, then limped over to investigate. He sniffed it and, to Irene’s deep disappointment, hobbled away. Irene was about to get back in the car, when I saw movement on the left.

One cow heaved herself up and lumbered in front of the car. She put her nose to the bread and snuffled. Irene raised her eyebrows and stiffened. How dare that cow approach her bread? It was for her wounded dog!

Staring brazenly at Irene, the cow put her lips around the hunk of bread and swallowed it whole.

Sybil, Laura, and I howled with laughter! Irene yelled at the greedy cow and slammed her door in a huff.

We stopped a final time so Irene could toss the rest of the bread to the other dogs. We watched the pack take a few wary nibbles before Laura hit the gas and we were on the road again.

Offering Bread

Though I laughed at the cow vs. dog, I couldn’t help feeling there was a parable hidden there.

Jesus said,

I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty.*

Everywhere I turned during my visit, I saw the Live Dead Silk Road team and other Christians sharing this Bread of Life. They explained the gospel to the wounded, to the aggressors, to those who may turn away in disappointment because the message wasn’t what they anticipated.

And sometimes those who are the most unexpected are the ones to swallow up the good news that is offered.

I thought of the church picnic Sybil and I had attended. The members of her church had invited the masses—believers, Muslims, seekers—anyone with whom they might build a relationship for the purpose of sharing Jesus. After we had eaten, we sang hymns—loudly exulting the Bread of Life across the very crowded park.

Later, I noticed a young man from a neighboring picnic, deep in conversation with Sybil’s pastor. He had ambled over when he heard the singing, full of questions. I couldn’t understand their exchange, but from its intensity, I knew the pastor was tearing off chunks of bread and feeding it, piece by piece, into the conversation.

And we prayed for the young man to hungrily eat it up.

*John 6:35

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