Guatemala!

This is a picture of the orphanage/school I worked at. Every morning around 7:30 I walked about a mile beside the highway to "God's Child" - this project for underprivileged children. I got to help cook and clean up breakfast and sometimes lunch. These are the friends I worked with (from L-R), MaryAnn - a retired lawyer from N Dakota with liberal political views and a fabulous humanitarian mission; on the far right is Miriam - a girl in her early twenties from Sweden who has traveled pretty extensively in S. America working with orphanages, etc. We had so much fun working together. It took about an hour to cook and serve, about 2 hours to do dishes (three buckets, one for rinsing, one for washing with soap, and one with bleach water) for about 75-100 kids each day. We talked and joked. The main kitchen workers (full time) were Donya Mary and Donya Anna... they were lovely ladies! They laughed at me a lot and often Donya Mary would surprise me in the morning with a cup of coffee at my elbow. Hooray! One day I walked in late, unbelievably dishevelled from having practically run my morning route, with my shirt inside-out, wearing tennis shoes and a dress, and I think it may have been the funniest experience of their lives. They literally laughed for ten minutes. Moments like that were so precious... when, despite our language barriers and differences of religious thought, we could unite around the commonality of life... clothes and time and food... things that are innately human and that dignify all of us alike.

This is a view of Pedro Hermano, the hospital that I volunteered at with the Abuelitas (grandmas). Every afternoon I would take the cobblestone road after my cup of coffee, pin on my name badge, and walk through the narrow doors to the common area. It was an open roof with planted roses nearby and a fountain-like sink for washing. I would greet each of the abuelitas with a kiss and a "buenos tardes!" and then sit with them for a while... drawing, trying to speak Spanish, praying in my heart. At 4pm we fed them dinner. One of the things that struck me especially was the tenderness and joy of each of the nurses. At night, there is only one nurse for 26 ladies! During the day I think there are 4-6 nurses on duty. Those duties include everything from feeding, changing, washing, and medical attention. Truly overwhelming, right? But these women, of any I've ever seen working in that setting, had so much joy! They laughed and joked with the ladies; they had an amazing amount of patience and peace. That is beautiful.

This is a picture of Ginny, a YWAM missionary who was, that night, celebrating her one year anniversary in Guatemala. Twice she invited us over to her gorgeous roof-top apartment for dinner and fellowship... and when I say fellowship I really mean it. Ginny has an amazing heart for mentoring. I connected with her a lot, because I saw her as a godly older woman. She has certainly suffered but has run to her faith in God. She really studies the Word and seeks God every single day. Those things may sound cliche, but they are truly powerful for someone like Ginny whose heart is completely dedicated to the causes of the Kingdom. I can't honor her enough with my words. She is a woman of God.

I think that my cultural view of Guatemala wasn't nearly as extensive as my view of Mexico. We stayed mostly in the city of Antigua, which looks a lot like Europe. It feels a lot like Europe too. It's pretty multicultural with a lot of luxuries and "normal" elements (like a Burger King). We did do a few days out in livingston, a Caribbean town, where we saw some more cultural living. Anyways, my list is short but here are the Guatemala norms...

1. Bright, saturated colors as can be seen on the chicken bus above ("how many Guatemalans can you fit on a chicken bus?" Answer: ONE MORE!)

2. The most open-armed hospitality i've experienced yet... they loved to feed us.

3. Speaking of food: eggs, sausage, rice, chicken. And... that's about it. Sometimes we got potatoes but not often to my recollection. A typical meal was a chicken drumstick and rice.

4. Organization and polish. There was a whole different degree of personal grooming (people wearing hair-gel, makeup, nice clothes, heels, cologue/perfume) in Guatemala. There was also a professionalism about people's interactions that seemed unique from MX.

5. Dogs. I mean there were dogs in MX... but there are dogs here EVERYWHERE. Street dogs, city dogs, country dogs, mangy mangy gross dogs that seem to belong to no one and everyone.

6. People are a similar size here to MX but have vastly different facial features: larger ears and eyes, broader faces and smiles, wider faces and hands.

7. The currency here is quensalas, about 7 to the dollar. Centimos (sp?) is the change.

8. Language. From several accounts, Guatemala has the purest Spanish in C. America. Antigua is the Spanish-studying epicenter of the area.

9. Rocks and trees. Less dust and desert. More hills and greenery.

10. Intentional planting - people like decorating and landscaping.

11. Big guns. Guarding banks, walking down the street, doing processions... there was a proliferation of old-school, enormous guns.

12. The climate in February/March was cool, mid 70's probably, in the city and much warmer, mid 80's to 90's, in Livingston by the water.

Well, I by no means did justice to this fabulous country.

So far, this has been my fondest time on the World Race, probably due to the ministries I got to be involved with. I'm grateful for Guatemala. God bless it.

Poems

I'm swimming in happiness reading Salinger. Leah sent me, "Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters" and "Seymour: an Introduction." I simply love the way he sees and treats life. He didn't seem uniquely happy (Seymour or Buddy, really) but was one of the truest poets I've ever read... in the most real sense of the term: he saw life in a poetic way. I think a poet probably must simply be one... and then jot something down every so often. I think that's why Mr. Holt told me that my most powerful form of writing was my "crazy note." Stream-of-consciousness is where art happens. We must practice and set up the parameters for expression, but one doesn't "learn" art as if it were a routine or habitable framework. The true artist glides and moves with fluidity and adaptibility, observing the minutae of life. Those who are skilled at expression are not, by default, artists; those who have an artistic soul may live lives of constant frustration for their ineptitude at expression. The artist truly engages - at the most basic level - in self-expression, because it is the fabric of being that equips someone to create.

Jimmy took this photo of Becca at the school.

Here are some recent poems. The first is not good but expressive, at least, of my current state of mind.

The Need to Live

I want to wrap my tongue

Around tumbling lyrics

And push air through my lungs

To belt out a strong note

I need to run sand through my fingers

And let rocks cut and graze my toes

Snuggle my face against an unshaven beard

Fall into pillowy and moist lips

I need to squeeze and pull weights

To punch and jump and kick in front of a mirror

I feel like twirling a baby, until I'm dizzy

And we both fall down onto scratchy carpet

To lay on a cold leather couch

And realize life is too exciting to sleep...

But to exhausting to not lie motionless

Sometimes

Sometimes I just need to live

Fully present in this body

And be kinistetic.

Worship in the temple.

The lady

With a dainty toe

And a calming hand

She glides on... presently.

I Sat

I sat while the bird flew

And tried to fly after him

Ruining the moment of flight.

I waited while you walked away

And tried to walk after you

And missed the gait.

I stood still while the ant worked

And tried to work with him

Ruining the industry of his work.

I meddled when I'd rather not

I halted where I shouldn't have stopped

And all this in the end

Is nothing less than pretending

I have more answers than I do.

I don't often know what to do.

And I'm sure that you feel that about me too.

Gust

The legs cross, one, two

While the toe fidgets mercilessly

Inciting unwanted action.

I don't claim to be much of a poet... but here are my attempts to see poetic dimensions in life. The last one is about Jimmy sitting beside me at Sbux.

Peru!

Flying over Lake Managua, Lima, Peru... the race... worship... prayer... Lomo de Corvina (a small town uphill where we're doing ministry stuff).

This is my new home.

Thoughts:

Exodus 33:12-18... "Is it not your going with us" that makes us distinct to the peoples of the world? Be with us, God. God is near to me.

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us." Ralph Waldo Emerson

"The earth shall soon dissolve like snow/The sun forbear to shine/But God who called me here below/Will be forever mine." Chris Tomlin, "Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone)"

I love and miss you all. I need to do a Guatemala post. It will be out of order. Oh well.

The end of a deep breath

I feel like this weekend was a giant sigh... a giant, "it is what it is" (hi, Mom).
We went to the lake and it was amazingly relaxing. I missed my kids and my cooking and my abuellas but I did enjoy the brief break. For the first time in a while, I felt God. It was really windy everywhere, these pounding gusts of wind filled with dust. I went for a walk in the morning for a couple of hours, just being, no agenda. And he was with me. Can I even explain that to you? If you know what I mean, then you simply do. He was with me. The wind blew in gusts and whipped my hair and he was there; the flowers pulsated color in the balmy morning sun and he was there; the water sparkled and whitecapped in the wind and he was there; the bus driver almost hit me and we had a good laugh and he was there; Jimmy got off the boat, my heart leapt into my chest, my prayer was answered and he was SO there! I sat and I stood and I walked and I almost danced because my God was with me... there is no place on earth I´d rather be.

And now I´m back in Antigua and back to work for a brief time. I missed my friends and my abuelitas. My life is a joy here.
Today at the hospital I talked to my friend Nidia at length. (My Espanol must be mejor because I understood the vast majority of what she said.) She starts explaining her life to me... she is 25 years old, she has been sick for 15 years, in a wheelchair. People pity her because she can´t walk. She wants a boyfriend but they say she´s only a friend... because she can´t walk. People say she isn´t beautiful because she can´t walk. She kept saying that over and over again: I can´t walk, so people feel sorry for me, men feel sorry for me, they don´t want to be my esposa. And it felt like the end of a long breath: a tightness in my chest, nothing to draw in, a moment of inactivity, as I sat there and watched her eyes fill with tears.
I feel like she gave me a precious gift of self disclosure and I didn´t know what to do with it... so I stared at my shoes.

I usually know what to do. I know who I am and what I want and why I´m here. But for some reason, I´ve been unglued lately. Perhaps I´m simply more honest. Perhaps I´m disillusioned. I´m not upset by this... just silenced. I´m just quiet.

I don´t have answers for Nidia. I don´t know why God allowed her illness (which I think is cerebral palsy) or made her undesirable to men. And I also don´t know, as I look at her, what it would be like to be a 2 5 year old with little hope for marriage and a family, when that is the desire of her heart. I have no idea what that feels like... that door maybe closed forever.

I cried with her.
I cried for her.
I cried because I don´t get it
And I never will
And even though that´s okay
It´s cry-worthy.
I don´t regret it...
Don´t regret not preaching
Or explaining theology of suffering
Or walking away feeling that she was better armed to cope with her condition... because maybe she´s not and maybe I don´t make a difference in her life... but what I can do is be with her, just like God was with me. I walked beside her down the squeaky tile floor and went to the tienda and gave her a cold Pepsi in Jesus´name and I was there. And for now at least, that´s the best I can do.

Exhale slowly.