Transition, Day 312 (Guatemala story)

Then we feasted. The ladies made us a lunch even grander than what we were accustomed to back home. We stuffed ourselves with delicious food and feelings of satisfaction. How delectable the mangos were. How delightful it had been handing out the toys to each child with those huge brown eyes at the school. The baked chicken and black beans were heavenly. The smiles on the children’s dusty faces had been priceless. We each had a favorite morsel. We had each found one child to momentarily befriend. This was a day to revel in, and it was only just lunch time.

After stuffing ourselves we bombarded Ron with questions. We learned that the parents in Guatemala have to pay for their children to attend school. The poorest children are unable to attend. Ron told us that most of the children go just long enough to learn basic Spanish. The Mayans who live in the tiny shacks in the mountains speak their native languages. The Mayans in the Chichicastenango area speak Quiche (Key-Chay). Learning even bits of the Spanish language enables them to find better work and helps them to sell their goods in the marketplace. He told us we’d be returning to the school again that evening as there was a feeding program operating there. The Xepocol feeding program was very new so the people who came were still skeptical and nervous. Ron told us that there aren’t generally any men that attend the feeding programs. Most of the men work long hours in the fields and any that are around during the feeding programs are too prideful to accept free food. He said that the people weren’t as friendly at Xepocol as at the other feeding programs that had been operating longer. He wanted us to make them feel comfortable. Our mission was to be kind, friendly, and inviting. We couldn’t wait to return. We had handed out a few toys at the school. That evening we would be feeding people.

The drive through the mountains was so much more exciting that afternoon. My heart still raced with anticipation. I felt the tension from fear all throughout my body. The assailment of the dust rushing at us from beneath the tires of the truck was becoming unbearable. My hair was beginning to feel like hay. My skin resembled sand paper. My clothing had become monochrome. But we were still high from our first encounter with the children that morning. Dust covered and dingy; we waved and shouted “HOLA” to each person we passed. Everyone looked upon us with reserve. Most glances we received were grim and condemning, questioning and even slightly fearful. Some of us stood just behind the cab like cowboys riding the metal monsters; waving energetically, tirelessly as we’d resumed our rodeo parade. (We even had clowns) Many people reluctantly chuckled as we passed by. Some in our group threw out candy as a friendly gesture. The often cold response of the individuals we were greeting didn’t faze us. We waved and laughed and waved some more. Scrawny dogs scurried away at the coming of our parade. The healthy ones chased us barking ferociously. Everywhere, people turned to watch our energetic foolishness. The mountains were even more grand, even more radiant that afternoon despite the raging persistent cloud of dust. Turns we’d taken that morning had already become recognizable. Little shops we’d passed by had become familiar. I hadn’t been here a whole day but I was completely captivated.

Day 311

I just read the part in C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity about how the devil always presents two sets of bad, opposite bads. Whenever you start to pull away from one he can pull you towards the other. THAT'S the balance I struggle with. It's so difficult to walk the straight and narrow; the path between the two opposites. It's so difficult to resist the pulling. Thank the Lord for Jesus.

All I have, Day 310 (Guatemala Story)

Before I knew it our little production was about to begin. All of the children had now arrived in the school yard. Their vast numbers seemed to have expelled their fear. I stood in the midst of them as they ran around. They were so excited by our presence and their freedom from the indoors. Our cameras, candy, and gadgets must have been alien. At one point I noticed several moms gathering around. I’m not sure where they came from or why they were there but they stood by silently observing our presence. I thought they looked skeptical, but they were silent and calm and just watched everything.

Our show consisted of puppets singing a Spanish song, crazy games, and a message about Jesus. The part I played was sitting with the children and trying to keep the children sitting (it was an impossible task). I sat with the group of girls I’d originally greeted. They seemed to like me, offering many smiles accompanied by taps, inviting me to join in the giggles when something funny occurred during the show. Two of the littlest girls gradually scooted closer and closer to me, increasingly excitingly trying to involve me in all of the giggling. However one of the girls in the group didn’t giggle with the rest. She didn't seem to belong. She’d occasionally glance at me, timidly, with sadness in her eyes. Her reluctant glances seemed to whisper a beseeching desire for a hug. She was quite dirty; her hair disheveled. The children all wore the Guatemalan dust like a uniform but she was different. She had sores in patches on her skin and often held her arms over them. It must have been over 80 degrees but she had a large fleece sweater that she kept zipped all the way. She wore the dust like a second skin and the fleece sweater like a security blanket. A sad sunken look tied the uniform together like tattered and torn rummaged old gift wrap. I lament not remembering her name. Although I don’t think I understood her when she'd quietly spoken it. I’d return her shy glimpses with a smile of acceptance and a gentle pat on her back or on her head. Amidst the laughter and wild children who’d rush as an enormous crowd like one colossal being volunteering for a game, she inched slowly nearer to me. With each new game the children would jump in unison; the colossal beast once again volunteering. After one such advance accompanied by our poor Spanish American version of sit down being shouted into the beast, “SENTARSE!!!,” the unwashed diffident girl sat upon my lap. In this moment I felt I’d accomplished what I’d come to do, and not at an orphanage or a feeding program but at a school filled with Mayan children. I offered acceptance with a friendly warmth to one little girl who lived in an entirely different world from mine. I couldn’t really speak her language. I spent no more than an hour with her. I didn’t give her money or food or new clothing. But I gave her what I had. I loved her. I believe that my smiles told her that she was important and special. There was no fear there, no doubt and no regret. It was marvelous and in one brief moment I was new because of her.

As we packed up the items from our show many of the children ran gleefully to their mothers who were standing on the sidelines observing. They showed off their prizes we’d given them and their moms gave them little treats consisting of small packets of chips, tiny bags of frozen juice, and bananas. The end of their school day looked to me like a smorgasbord at a carnival. I imagined that everyone here would be starving, but these children for the most part wore smiles. They were dirty but looked healthy and now their mothers were lavishing them with treats.

Families began making the trek home. Very rarely did we see a dad in the group. Mothers had little children slung upon their backs in blankets sleeping. The babies looked like Joey kangaroos, as if the blanket they snuggled in were a part of their mothers. The moms maneuvered the blankets upon their backs rather like a third arm. The oldest daughters looked out for the little ones, carried them, and held their hands. The little ones held hands and even carried the babies. Mothers had five or more children. The girls each dressed alike. Everyone belonged. Everyone had their part in the family.

We drove away in our pickup trucks; each of us filled with pride at our accomplishments, wearing huge smiles, and waving like we were the main event in our own parade. This began my eyes opening in Guatemala.

CHRISTMAS : ( Day 309

This Christmas shopping season is making me crazy. If for no other reason than it (the Christmas shopping season) I think maybe this blog was a bad idea. I don't want to spend money. I don't want to buy anything for anyone for any reason. The more sales I see, the more lines I pass by, the better the deals which dance before my blind eyes happen to be the more I don't want to spend money. I'm starting to feel like scrooge. I'm starting to get angry at stores that are just trying to do their job, trying to increase their revenues, trying to boost the economy. I'm starting to get angry at Christmas for obligating me to buy gifts for everyone I've ever cared for. I'm about ready to lock Jesse in a padded room just to keep his gullible little peepers away from all the flashing lights. In the past two days he's drewled over at least 4 giant TV's that we apparently need, purchased 1 video game, 1 movie (for me), and 2 television seasons that we "had to have." I'm talking life or death here. He's convinced that he needs 2 new pair of shoes, a new video gaming controller, a new video gaming controller for his friend, a countless number of games; I can't even remember it all.  BUT it's all ON SALE which apparently means who ever walks past it or sees it in a an ad "must purchase it NOW!" I want to hibernate this winter.

I LOVE giving gifts to people. I really like it when Jesse acquires things that he wants which make him happy. I imagine it's the same feeling a mother has when she gives her children gifts. But this entire season of buying gifts for people because someone (and I'm going to blame it on retail stores and government) says that you have to is pissing me off. I don't have enough money for that. Seriously there are things that I need but I'm not buying them. We don't have front porch lights... and our front steps are crumbling. It's a life threatening situation to walk up and down our front steps in the dark especially if theirs snow and I don't have the money to fix the situation BUT Christmas is here. Our garage is tipping over, literally it's falling down, slowly day by day. There's no money for garage repairs BUT Christmas is here. Our debt, which I'm proud to say has not been increasing for well over a year NEEDS to be taken care of and we don't have the money to solve that situation BUT Christmas is here. There's no savings, I use pop cans for lunch money, we eat ground chicken with either peas or corn from the frozen foods department every single night, our littlest dog which needs special food hasn't had that special food for over a week because we can't afford it right now BUT Christmas is here. I think I'm going to smash something.

I do love Christmas. I do love giving gifts. I think it's safe to say that I used to love buying gifts. But this year, Christmas arriving at the tale end of me writing a blog about not buying, about not needing, about not having, I'm losing it.

The School at Xepocol, Day 308 (Guatemala story)

The Casa de Oracion was wonderful but not one of us traveled all the way to Guatemala to sit and chat amongst lovely flowers. We had to step outside and each time that we ventured beyond Ron’s green gate my body would tense up a bit. There were always two pickup trucks waiting out front to carry us into the mountains. We rode unfettered in the dusty dented truck beds. I’d take a deep breath and lift my feet which always seemed a little heavier on the outside of the green gate. Anticipating this venture, “This is why I came,” I’d grab onto the tailgate and pull myself into the bed of the pickup truck which proudly wore the Chichicastenango dust coating. “This is why I came,” with another deep breath I’d sit on the dust coating in the truck bed, it’d rub off of the vehicle and onto my clothing and I’d wonder at where we were going. “How would I talk to them?” My Spanish was quite terrible and what I knew I was ashamed to speak. I felt so foolish trying. “How would I help them?” I came to help, but could I? I didn’t help the woman and child at the airport. “Could I help anyone?” These thoughts plagued me upon each departure. I was so full of fear, despite the beauty of Guatemala and its mountains. I’d look out onto the hills. The landscape didn’t have one flat plain. It was mesmerizing and so grand. I could hardly believe I was in those moments actually apart of the vast new world I was viewing. As we jostled around in back of the pickups I couldn’t take in all the sights. The hills reached to the heavens. There were tiny shack houses next to fields planted on 90degree angles. Together whole families crouched over beneath the hot sun working the land. Small children ran through the hills like squirrels popping out from behind trees and vanishing just as quickly. Men and woman carrying their heavy loads up and down the mountains appeared around each curve of the road. The clothing of all these people was so dirty, so worn, and would have been so vibrantly colorful without these elements. Occasionally a loud explosion would occur in the distance. One of our Guatemalan chaperones said that the people regularly set off canons to scare away the demons. I was in a totally foreign land, nothing familiar, and everything new. A fear crept beneath my skin but it was a fear of me. I was completely terrified of not being able to accomplish what I set out to do; of not being able to truly help anyone; I was afraid of failing.

Our very first venture beyond the green gate culminated with the trucks slowing to stop as we pulled up to a school. I could feel my heart beat increase within my chest. Here it all came to a culmination. Our drama practices, our prayers. The meetings we held each week dining together on words from the Bible. The hours we spent getting ready to change the world, or at least a little part of it in Guatemala. All of my wondering and nervousness found a purpose here at a school in the mountains. I had never anticipated this. We came to work with orphans and widows, to build houses for needy families, and to minister God’s word at feeding programs where very hungry people came to find relief. THIS WAS A SCHOOL! At this moment the statements and resentments of a few back home had now returned to haunt me. “Christian evangelizing has massacred many beautiful civilizations. In the name of Christ, tradition, culture, and identity have been stripped like the clothing of a rape victim from innocent people throughout time.” Here I now was at a school full of Mayan children. We didn’t come here to feed them. We didn’t come here to offer them help. We came here to pull them out of class and tell them about Jesus. I couldn’t help but question, “O Lord what am I doing?”

We began unpacking the trucks; sound equipment, puppet stage, suitcases full of candy and beanie babies. We would win them over! As we approached the dusty worn down concrete buildings we could see little eyes peeking through windows. But for the children and the desks they sat at the classrooms were empty. They didn’t have books. Concrete walls enclosed inquiring minds but they would have to learn everything they could from the words of their teacher and the chalkboard in the front of the room. I’d never seen a class room like this, apart from on television, or in movies. It was full of children but empty. A few of the braver boys and older girls slowly stepped into the afternoon sun from inside the dusty concrete building that controlled the keys to their futures. The children held onto the door post and stayed tightly huddled together as they covered their mouths and snickered at us. We were to them like a herd of giraffes outside an American primary school. They were definitely delighted at the spectacle of the tall, fat, light skinned swarm of people who spoke weird, dressed weird, brought with them weird items and were over all completely and totally weird. In classic tourist fashion we all pulled out our cameras and started taking photos of the wide eyed Mayan school kids. One in our group approached the giggling huddle and held out his camera so they might see the picture he’d just snapped. With a lot of laughter, a few classically girly screams, and much awe the children viewed the miracle. A few of the kids ran back into their classroom. Several children covered their eyes. Some of the boys jumped at the camera to grab it. It was a rare and amazing sight to see children flabbergasted by a camera and completely in shock by the image of themselves painted on its screen.

After the initial camera incident that replayed itself hundreds of times in the close future we made our way to a basketball court in the center of the school yard. There wasn’t a playground anywhere to be seen. A few unschooled kids played a game of chase in a close by corn field. The school children were allowed the privilege of running around and throwing a ball at a net on a concrete basketball court while they attended school. As we set up our production the children spilled out of the classrooms and suddenly they were everywhere. Some hovered close to the buildings they should probably have been attending class in. Others made their ways to the fence that bordered the basketball court in order to get a closer look at us. A few of the boys attempted to initiated friendships by racing up to each of us with a strong tap (rather like a punch) and then quickly running away giggling. The most daring boys came right up to where we were setting up our show. They hung around with bravery and calm. They watched each item come out of its case and they’d lean around long legs to see what else might emerge.

Despite my constant fear of failure, a fear of not being able to find the right words, I think a fear of looking foolish (I cannot think of one good reason why that would matter in the mountains of Guatemala, but my instincts, my heart, and the paralyzing fear that consumed me didn’t need a reason). Despite this I managed to work up enough courage to approach a group of girls hovering near a fence. They were all bashful smiles and little giggles, and they exchanged numerous quick taps followed by secret whispers. I merely said “hola.” I may have asked what their names were (many of my encounters were so full of adrenaline that my memories were consumed by it). I studied them ever as intently as they were studying me. Each little girl was clothed in the heavy Quiche skirt paired with a blouse or t-shirt. Most of the girls wore their hair neatly pulled back into a thick pony tail. All of the girls and boys had identically colored hair. Each blade was coated with dust; the blackest black had a slightly grey tint to it but it didn’t look dirty. Not all of the children wore shoes. But the shoes I saw didn’t fit; they were filled with holes and were missing shoe strings.

Thanksgiving, Day 307

I am thankful for so much it's impossible to choose and list everything. None the less:

I think I'm most thankful for my family. I'm thankful that I live in a safe place (in a good country) where I can go jogging in the dark and think nothing of it, that ignorance is conquerable, that despite the overwhelming darkness in this world there is a vast amount of light. I'm thankful for health and fully functioning limbs, organs, senses... it is truly a blessing to be healthy. I'm SOOO thankful for the beauty in this world, that everywhere one looks even in those grim and desolate places there is breathtaking beauty to be seen; the ground, the sky, the vegetation, the water, the animals and insects, the people... this place is spectacular. I'm thankful for books and history and tradition. I'm thankful for people who see, who look beyond themselves and offer their lives to those places where so much is lacking. I am really thankful. I am incredibly blessed. I'm undeserving of the love and the gifts that our Heavenly Father has bestowed upon me. And I'm thankful for our God, for Jesus Christ and certainly for the Holy Spirit.

La Casa De Oracion, Day 306 (Guatemala story)

I distinctly remember the moment we arrived at La Casa de Oracion where we’d be staying. We filed through a dusty green metal door and walked into the Garden of Eden. The dust was left in the street. We were now in a magnificent courtyard filled with flowers next to a quaint little home. All was instantly peaceful. The chaotic scene vanished. It was a miraculous transformation. Vibrant pink flowers created a canopy overhead. We were encompassed in gorgeous oranges, reds, yellows, purples, flowers bigger than I’d ever see, not a speck of dust in view. The earlier shock completely metamorphosized but didn’t leave for one moment. I couldn’t help but think, was Ron a missionary or an angel? I decided right then and there that I did not want to leave after just one week. The Guatemalan Garden of Eden at Ron’s is amazing. It was clean, and colorful, and beautiful. It smelled wonderful and everything looked cozy. I’d come to this far off land to make some sort of a difference but I was so overcome the moment we stepped inside that green gate that I wasn’t sure I wanted to ever go back out into the street.

Ron’s house was a sanctuary. There was always an inviting fire crackling in the living room fire place. No matter how loud and energetic our group became the house and courtyard had a constant peacefulness lingering about them. Delicious smells wafted from the kitchen. Humming birds and friendly bees danced through the flowers in the courtyard garden. Everyone wore smiles and bounced around with joy. The living room welcomed us with large comfy furniture a kin to the velveteen rabbit. It was gently used but one could see in it countless special moments of congregation filled with awe and delight. Each couch was upholstered in stories of discovery and fascination. The kitchen produced amazing meals but its true boast was the ladies who served us, us who’d come so far to serve others. Their fingers never rested. Their smiles never faded and their food never failed to impress. The women who worked so diligently in the kitchen were adorned in traditional Mayan clothing with magnificent friendly smiles upon their faces. In the bathroom each new roll of toilet paper presented to its user a small flower, freshly picked from the courtyard outdoors. I was never so excited by an entrance to a restroom (and this being one I was prohibited from flushing the welcoming toilet paper in). The garden in the courtyard held a lovely friendship with the kindest older gentleman. He tended to the needs of each little bud in the Guatemalan Garden of Eden with such peaceful solemnity. He worked silently in our presence, was delightful to be around and almost made one envy the flowers. I couldn’t help but feel that he too was serving us simply in his care for the wonderful garden.


Even if I’m never again able to return I feel so overwhelmingly blessed to have had the privilege of staying there at Ron’s casa de oracion (house of prayer). One of the greatest attributes to that lovely place was Ron himself. His appearance in comparison to the many surrounding Guatemalans was that of a giant. Towering over everyone Ron evokes a tranquil atmosphere like the cool shadow cast by a cloud resting overhead on a blistering hot sunny day. His dominating presence is accompanied by a safeness felt by all. Ron is one of those classic father figures that people are drawn to if given a close enough proximity. His demeanor and appearance announce him as a serious contemplative man. But moments in his presence are full of peace and security. His face has its fair share of wrinkles but doesn’t seem old only rather cloaked with life. His quite eyes reflect wisdom and never seem to look at the face of a person. They appear to look straight into ones soul. His hair is kept very short and is perfectly white, a stark contrast to the free flowing pitch-black hair owned by everyone around him. He is a close to perfect replica of my grandfather. My grandpa was the only man I’d ever known who helped me to understand Godly fear. Rules, structure, and etiquette were morals I desired to keep and to perfect when around my grandfather. The thought of doing something incorrectly in his sight was dreadful, and not because he was mean or cruel. He was quite exactly the opposite of that. I desired to display perfection around him because of his supremacy. I felt like I was with my grandfather when Ron was with us. They both possessed the same calm, and the same peacefulness wrapped up in a respectable authoritativeness.

We often called Ron “Pastor Ron.” He was quick to correct anyone who made that mistake. “I am not a pastor,” he’d say. He is a regular guy who is just trying to do what God has asked of him. The Guatemalans call him Don Ron. I think that’s like mister and shows respect. He said that we should call him that if we must add something to his name. Don Ron ate meals with us. He sat in the living room with members of our group in the morning. We spent moments with him relaxing in the courtyard but he wasn’t around very often. Ron spends hours each day in prayer; hour upon hour in communion with the Lord (I still think He might be an angel).

Working through this chaos, Day 305

I think maybe this annoying depression is just me being overwhelmed. I'm trying REALLY hard to stop it in it's tracks before it takes over a few more weeks of my life.

I think maybe just a bunch of stuff hit me all at once or piled up or something. I've been thinking about Christmas, trying to figure out how to present good gifts to everyone I love without breaking the bank (which would easily happen). I've been putting a lot of pressure mentally on myself about not spending money and every time I buy a $1 coffee or whatever I can feel myself holding it against me. Also I've been trying so hard to not spend extra money that I've collected deposit bottles around the house a few times just so I'd have enough to scrape through the work day. It's really difficult for me to stick to that tight of a budget without getting depressed. I just feel so helpless when my stomach growls and all the dimes are gone.  

I want so desperately to finish my book and it's hanging over my head now, just getting heavier and heavier. It honestly wouldn't take that much time to accomplish the task it's just the organization and effort that I cannot seem to muster. And the fact that I feel as though no matter how much I put into it I'm not actually ever going to be able to arrive at the vision I have for it. I don't want to settle. I've also three books that I'm in the middle of reading that I wish I were finished with NOW, and not because I'm not enjoying them but just because I feel like it's taking me FOREVER to read them. There's this list, it's not even written out, there's nothing concrete about it, but it's piling up inside me and I can't stand the weight of it.

Guatemala has been on my mind a lot lately too. I don't think it's because I've been posting excerpts from my book. I think I started posting those because I've been thinking about it so much. It's hard though. I can see all those little faces, the filthy t-shirts and holey shoes. I miss the smell. I miss the sun. I miss just being there and impacting the world. My hearts kind of hurts a little bit right now. I've this never ending list of "tasks" I'd like to accomplish and they're not being attended to is driving my crazy but this little voice somewhere inside of me is almost rebuking me because in the grand scheme of things the all important essential tasks have no real purpose anyway.

Yep, I'm overwhelmed. I guess tomorrow I'm going to have to wake up and look some of these chores in the face. It'll help, it always does. There's really nothing more comforting to me then having a really clean house. I'm overwhelmed with the amount of things I want to accomplish tomorrow and the improbability of it, but somethings are better than none. So that's that. The thing that really bothers me though is why my mind feels it necessary to get so upset about such trivial things. AHHHHHH... it's so stupid!

Chichicastenango, Day 304 (Guatemala story)

After an hour or so of driving we reached the city of Chichicastenango. One of the main things that caught my eye in the small mountain city was the presence of garbage on every street. Bottle caps, potato chip wrappers, old holey shoes. A thick layer of Guatemalan dust covered everything, even the trash that was lying around. The grass making its way through cracks in the concrete had this dust coating. Everything was brought together, as if even the garbage, the old discarded broken things were exactly where they should be under this dusty coating. Amidst the filth Chichicastenango was a bustle with activity but every bit of movement was executed with lethargy. Seemingly tired people, tired animals, and tired vehicles trudged through the over congested city. The streets were cozy old cobblestone (real, nothing like the decorative cobblestone I’d ever seen) too small for the traffic squeezing through them but all of the rusty, smoky vehicles kept squeezing through anyway. Honking, creaking, growling, the tired cranky ancient metal monsters were driven along by the men riding within them. We were a part of it now but we did not belong. Our shiny new air conditioned bus was not of the ancient monster society. We were clearly foreigners in this far off land of dusty cobblestone streets lined with colorful stone buildings. All of the buildings ran together only breaking for the streets. Everything fit together like a perfectly constructed puzzle and then there was us.

There were people sitting, standing, walking, working, everywhere I looked. The people looked so weary. A gas station we passed had a little frozen lemonade cart in the far corner of its parking lot. I imagined a woman dressed in very worn traditional Mayan clothing standing behind it selling frozen lemonade. This was a lemonade stand where a grown person would spend their day standing in the heat making a living. There wasn’t a supermarket in this far off city. There was an ice cream shop with two freezers like the ones at baskin robbins. You could choose from 8 or so different flavors or 6 different types of ice cream bars. The shops were open to the streets, they must have had doors but I don’t remember seeing any (except at the bank where two men dressed like security guards stood on either side of the door with very large guns). You could look all the way into the shops from the street. There was a meat shop where freshly butchered animal parts hung from the ceiling amidst the shop keeper, the hot Guatemalan sun, and a very happy swarm of fat flies. We drove past a fabric shop that was adorned from ceiling to floor with beautifully vibrant colors that implied the store was selling rainbows. There was a shoe store, a pluming store, a store that was like a weird Walgreens. I noticed a tile shop filled with numerous gorgeously painted designs. Of all the people I’d seen thus far I wondered who could afford such elaborate ceramics. There was a shop that sold gods. This was a different world indeed. These weren’t statues, they were gods.

There was a distinct difference between the people working in the shops and many of those walking slowly through the streets. The men and many of the women in the shops looked cunning. They wore clothes like mine, t-shirts and blue jeans. The people standing in the streets behind carts, holding shoe shine kits, or walking with enormous bundles strapped to their backs or atop their heads, these people weren’t dressed like me. The women were all dressed alike in traditional clothing they’d been making themselves since they were little girls. They wore long thick straight skirts with stripes of color running through them and elaborately woven heavy blouses covered in beautifully stitched flowers. Their mothers taught them how to make these outfits. They’d taught them what to wear, how to wear it and why, just as their mothers had taught them. The men wore filthy worn out pants and tattered shirts. The clothing these people wore looked as tired as the people. It was like their outfits were apart of them. Man, woman, and child wore a layer of dust from head to toe nail. The same dust that was coating every inch of the city, and was working its way into my lungs was the final piece of every outfit in the city. I felt like the people and the city belonged to Guatemala, to this small place on the earth, it had claimed them. This piece of earth had made its mark on them and they were eternally a part of it.

We eventually reached our destination in the heart of the city. The bus came to a stop at a gas station. People were everywhere. There were now too many sites for me to take in. The air was full of campfire aroma mingled with exhaust fumes. I worried about where we’d be staying. Everything everywhere I looked was filthy and dusty and sort of gross. I started to think I might have to avoid using a toilet for the entire week. I wasn’t sure how, but I was determined I could do it. I was afraid I’d be sleeping in a bed of dust. It was everywhere. I exited the bus with hesitation, overwhelmed, and a bit in shock. Here we were, tall at five feet four inches, gigantic at six feet tall. Our clothing was well wrinkled from travel but pristine in those dirty city streets and still undefiled of the Chichicastenango dust coating and ashy aroma. We each grabbed a suitcase, popped up a handle, and clumsily tried to roll our pot bellied pack along the cobble stoned street. Without the slightest clue of where we were headed we slung our back packs upon our backs, shiny clean bright blues, purple, red, addidas, jansport, these carried the airplane essentials. We had our water bottles, dasani, fuji, hydration from European springs, we scurried through the street like a pack of pampered show dogs amidst wild canines. I think at that moment of introduction into this world that I’d sat marveling at through a plate of glass I was too overcome to any longer process anything.

Driving through the mountains, Day 303 (Guatemala story)

Wide eyed with mouths hung open our group ogled Guatemala City. To me it was a city from the mad max movies or a sunny Blade runner town. The city was so dirty and run down but full of life and movement. There were enormous beautiful bushes enveloped with vibrant flowers upon hills and in parks amidst the filth and dross. An aroma of oil and gasoline wafted in the air. Rusty cars emitting dirty black clouds were packed like sardines on every road. Together the vehicles rushed along seemingly oblivious to traffic laws. People were standing, working, and walking everywhere the eye could see. Men with large guns at the fenced in banks and car dealerships astonished those of us who noticed them. We jumped from our seats pointing vehemently, “LOOK!” Everyone gawked. I noticed school kids dressed in uniforms walking home amongst the chaos. People wearing traditional Indian clothing and those dressed modernly mingled and adorned every street. A pizza delivery man on a moped sped by my window. Next to a strip of crumbling concrete buildings a small wire cage filled with puppies sat on a creaky wooden table awaiting potential buyers. Tires piled half way up a building that sold car parts and repairs. The city was chaotic. It was messy and unorganized. Things weren’t concealed within their appropriate shops. Merchandise was jumbled up alongside dirty dusty crumbling shops, on old tables, in wooden crates, and spilt out of open doors. Attempting to capture the unfamiliar chaotic movement and systematic oddities we endlessly snapped photos through our glass barrier.

Upon leaving the city the mountains stretched out ahead inviting us to make our way into their hills. Hidden winding roads carved by hand out of the solid massive rock fashioned along steep ravines and rising and falling like the track of a rollercoaster awaited our bus. I saw for the first time volcanoes engulfed in clouds on the horizon. There were banana and avocado trees amidst the corn fields. Men, women and children walked and bicycled alongside the road. In small patches of grass there’d occasionally be a scrawny horse grazing alone, bones protruding out from beneath its skin, and a rope around its drooping neck tied to a rock. Practically every animal we saw was merely skin on bones. There was little life visible in any of them. Their eyes were open, they were standing, but practically all of them, cows, horses, goats, and the dogs were skin on bones; flesh clothed skeletons. I saw people walking cows with ropes round their necks, alongside the traffic speeding down the winding roads. Gaunt little dogs ran free ubiquitously. Men covered in filth from the day’s labor lay in siesta from their treks within the grass wherever they chose to stop. The people I saw traveling on foot in the open air beneath the warm sun looked tired. They were dirty and their clothes were ragged. Accompanied by demonized semi trucks and speedy little cars we rushed by them, I continually marveled at the lethargic pace of the overworked people outside of my window. No one moves that slowly back in the states.

Men and little boys walking hunched over like Neanderthals trudged slowly along the streets with loads upon their backs two and three times their size. The large parcels usually of logs were held together by ropes, set upon half erect man and held in place by a strap that ran across the bearer’s forehead. I wondered at their journeys. Had these men and boys walked all day like this? Taking a second look at a small boy with his man sized load I could imagine the pride he might feel at doing his part in the family, but how he must wish he were off playing somewhere with that heavy pack far from him. When must he have begun carrying his load to be able to bear so much weight at such a young age? I can picture a 1 year old taking his first steps with a rope running across his forehead while a stick dangles from his little back. I wondered at the fear the boy may have had of his father’s wrath if he should fail to be able to carry on to the end. A weathered strap clung tightly to his young forehead embraced by the boys dark black hair, but I wondered beneath all that pressure were there thoughts of school creeping around, struggling to escape the confinement? Did he desire to learn, to walk down a different path? After my brief reflection I looked back at the man walking beside the little boy and I wondered again at their journey. Had the man walked all of his life like this? Had each load left its mark on his back and squeezed out any unreasonable dreams he may have had? Was the little boy at his side merely a flashback to the past? Was he a man or a looking glass into the little boy’s future? There I saw a grim past and a sad future walking side by side.

We made our way through the mountains, up and down, around and around and around. The same sights of slow moving dirty people and scrawny animals, little tiny tiendas selling snacks and soda, and seemingly abandoned buildings replayed themselves over and over as we progressed. Rocks and mountain sides painted white with blue or green lettering displayed political campaigning. I enjoyed how the people here utilized nature to advertise. It was much more appealing to me than a billboard. There were tiny rickety one room homes scattered high and low along the mountain sides. The houses, each smaller than my one stall garage were made of small logs and mud, or they were crafted of mud bricks. Thick black smoke rose from within each building. It was impossible to peek within but I could tell from their size that there probably wasn’t much inside. People hung bits of laundry outside these homes. They had chickens in their yards, sometimes a pig. The shelters spotted the mountains. Some were built at such angles I was certain they’d slide down before my very eyes. I couldn’t grasp the reality of people actually living in these. I could see them. We passed hundreds. But I couldn’t conceive the actuality of living there.

Blahs, Day 302

On October 30 I wrote a blog about my ups and downs. I've been doing quite well since then. I haven't had any overly unbearable emotional boughts. Today however was awful for absolutely no reason. I just walked around in a haze, grouchy, depressed, really only half there all day. This horrid mood has absolutely nothing standing behind it but it clings on so tightly. I can't shake it. I'm hoping that it's just an off day and not another run of down days. I seem to have no control over it and again it's not justified.

I'd rather not write about it but it's an ever present part of my life that stands forcefully in the way of my "being."

Day 301 (Guatemala story)

Well I've broken 300. Only 64 days to go. Since I started this blog last December I intend to finish it this December, which means double posts. I am going to start posting excerpts from my book about Guatemala "The Flowers in Chichicastenango." I'm going to post the first part, year one (2006) daily in order. I hope (if you find the time) that you enjoy reading it.


People told me that my trip to Guatemala would change me. “You’ll be shocked at how different things are… You won’t ever be the same… This trip is really going to change you.” With each comment I’d nod my head in agreement and smile politely. Then I’d pride fully walk away wondering, “how sheltered do they think I am? Of course the people are poor, that’s why I am going. Of course things are different there; it’s a third world country. I’ve seen pictures.” I knew that it wouldn’t be like anything I’d ever seen before. I was extremely excited about that. But I knew what to expect.

When we stepped off the plane in Guatemala City I was stupefied by the signs written in Spanish. It was shocking that everyone was speaking a language that I didn’t understand. I’d been prepared to see a new world until the moment I got off of the plane and realized that they actually do speak Spanish in Latin America. Everything around me was suddenly new. Practically everyone was short with dark hair and tanned skin. The people didn’t look like me. I was tall there.

The very first thing most of us did after leaving the plane, moving through customs and trying to cope with the shock of having just entered a Spanish speaking country was head to the restroom. Sarah shouted to us all as we sped to the open door way titled “damas,” “DON’T FLUSH THE TOILET PAPER!!!” I froze in my tracks, turned with a look of confusion, horror and speculation and replied with a very startled, “w h a t???” “You can’t flush the toilet paper because they have horrible plumbing. You’ll clog the toilet; well maybe not at the airport but just to be safe from here on out all TP goes in the trash.” Again, still frozen, “what???” was my only reply. I thought she was joking. She wasn’t joking. Now I wasn’t so sure I had made the right decision about coming to Guatemala.

I hadn’t flown a lot before. The airport was crammed full of people. Like cattle we were swiftly and rather confusedly moved along. Everyone frantically rushed through the building. Upon being herded outside gentlemen approached us from every side asking if they may carry our bags, asking if we needed rides somewhere. Ron, the missionary who we’d be staying with informed us that the men wanted money. “Do not let them take your bags, they are working. We have everything under control,” he told us. But they seemed so polite and very eager to help. I felt rude not letting them carry my bags to the van, but I didn’t have any money that I could give to them. I have to admit that this wasn’t my only inhibitor. I was a bit prejudice, imagining that any of these frantic short dark haired men that I might hand my bag to would very politely take it and just keep on walking. We were practically swarmed all the way to the bus, by these human mosquitoes reaching toward us asking to carry our luggage, in Spanish of course. While clutching my belongings and trying to avoid the swarm and eye contact I looked every which way to take in the new world. There was an aroma of exhaust, gasoline and oil. The air was dry and warm. I looked up at the palm trees, over at the eager baggage men, back towards the group; down the dirty street jam packed with small filthy vehicles, and equally as many people walking along side the vehicles, over at the baggage men, and back towards my group. The entire scene was filthy with sudden bursts of color everywhere.

We were shuffled to a pristine looking bus with large windows spanning each side. As I stepped onto the stairs I felt a soothing escape from the human mosquito swarm. I embraced a moment of normalcy in the clean confined space of familiar Caucasian faces. I found a seat, my heart was racing. As I sat I courageously turned to look back out onto the foreign intoxicating world I’d just arrived in. Outside directly next to my window stood a young woman with stretched out hands and a sad somber look on her face. She was attired in several layers of dingy clothing. Her black hair was brought together into one thick tail that lay on her back. Her dark quite eyes spoke of desperation as she peered through my window. They were sad eyes owning no joy or hope and they caused her entire face to look lifeless and destitute despite the absolute beauty that had naturally been bestowed upon it. She had a little girl at her side, possibly 2 or 3 years old. The child was small and beautiful like her mom but she didn’t appear sad or heavy laden like her mother. The girl looked anxious to be moving on, carefree and unaware of her own need of food or money. Through my window shield the beautiful opaque woman beseeched me for money to feed her child. My heart sank. I placed my hand over my pocket and stared, frozen, scared, and helpless. I believe I turned in slow motion to someone standing next to me, “She wants money,” I pointed at the desperate woman. “Don’t give anyone money!” was their reply. I quickly glanced back at her and the child. The pair were dirty and beautiful. Turning to another comrade, almost like a child seeking permission, “She’s asking for money, she’s hungry,” I pointed. “Just look away, you can’t give her money,” was the reply. My mind raced back through time to my first encounter with a beggar in Chicago. A friend walking with me informed me that I must, “Just look away. Keep walking. Act like they aren’t there. You cannot help them all and who knows what they’ll spend the money on anyway.” That first encounter years before with a hungry person asking for money caused my heart to beat wildly, full of uncomfortable heat and numbing pain. “Why can’t I help this one?” I had silently wondered to myself, but like a solider I looked away, kept walking, I did as I was instructed. During that stroll so long ago, down the glorious Michigan Ave in Chicago I took my compassionate breaking heart and stuffed it into a safe little box.

Since that instance in Chicago I’d looked away hundreds of times. I’d given others the speech. But this time I wasn’t in Chicago and I wasn’t in Guatemala to shop. I didn’t come for new expensive clothing and $80 chocolates. I came to help people. Protected by a plate of glass from the world I came to touch, I took hold of my wildly beating heart and ever so painfully I stuffed it right back into the little box I’d gotten for it in Chicago that it had just wriggle out of. I turned my head away from the window and wished the woman and her child gone, and not even practically. As I imagined the two walking away empty handed and hungry my heart beat ever more wildly pushing against the walls of its safe constricting confinement causing even more uncomfortable pain. I wanted them to just disappear. I did not want them to go away. I wanted them to just not be there. She tapped at the window and I jumped like a rabbit, but I did not turn to look. Every muscle in my body, tense from shame and fear, held me tight in my seat. My back to the window, I told myself, “I cannot help them all, and who knows what she’d spend the money on anyway.”

(This is not them)

Religion, Day 300

On this subject I feel my view point is skewed very much so by opinion and position. It's difficult if not impossible for me to see things from certain other points of view. I wish I could but in all honestly I am unable. I adamantly look forward to others offering their view points. I've been thinking upon this subject quite alot lately and this is my first attempt to sort of spew those thoughts into print.

I believe that religion is or religious acts are man's way of getting to God, or more simply put man's method of salvation. Since I also believe that Jesus Christ officially and eternally gained salvation for all of mankind then I believe that religion, as I see it, is foolish.

People since the beginning of time have been coming up with ways to be saved, ways to survive death and live eternally. There've been billions of different idols which might save man, sacrifices of every sort, ferocious gods, powerful gods, selfish gods, merciful gods, gods, gods, gods. People've worshiped the sun, the water, light, animals, you name it... we want to live forever.

Recap: I believe in Jesus. People all over the planet even now believe in all sorts of various ways to salvation. Here's the subject of this blog. People have religion like they have a name. I've seen Muslims who're raised in the Islamic religion who have entirely denounced Allah and all the practices related to Islam but they still consider themselves Muslims. It's who they are. I've seen Catholics who abhor the Catholic religion but they still call themselves Catholics. It's who they are. Religion tends to transcend it's god. Religion tends to become the god, in a sense. Many MANY tribes throughout time have been visited by missionaries (take all of Ireland for example) and the tribes are rather easily swayed to worship the new god BUT most often they're completely unable to abandon their religious traditions. Thus many many a "Christian" festival or symbol that we're quite familiar with now was originally a pagan one associated with an entirely different god. I've seen first hand the "Catholic" Mayans in parts of Guatemala practicing Catholicism and Mayan voodoo (or whatever it should be called) side by side. Religion goes beyond god and many many times becomes a HUGE foundational part of a culture. This is what I'm pondering.

I'm thoroughly convinced that any other god apart from the Father of Jesus Christ is an impostor. I will not move on this subject. These religions scattering the globe are then in fact void of purpose if they're sole purpose is worshiping their ascribed false god. But I'm not convinced that's all they are. Many people find their identities in their religion. I think I should probably think this is wrong but I don't. Catholics have so many practices that I don't agree with but I wouldn't EVER tell them that they need to abandon those practices. Those practices are apart of their culture. Muslims have so many laws that I think are a waste of time and virtually all of them are ridiculously enslaving but it's apart of their culture. Tribes all over the globe, have religious apparel, religious daily routines, religious food, religious oh you name it. I wouldn't ever think of destroying their culture just because I don't believe they're worshiping the real God.

AT PRESENT, and this could and most likely will change, the only religious traditions that really bother me are ones that REALLY hurt people (and obviously ones that are entirely contrary to Biblical teachings... that almost goes without saying). Unfortunately at present the most aggressive and painful religion I'm familiar with is Islam. Literally as I'm typing this a mother of 5 in (I believe it's) Pakistan is awaiting the death penalty for insulting Muhammad. Woman scattered throughout Islamic countries are by being abused by the thousands at this very moment simply because they're women. They are considered lower than a dog according to Muhammad and thus men can and generally do whatever they wish with them, however horrid that may be. This isn't occurring in every Muslim household spanning the globe but in the severely Shari-ah compliant countries it is running rampant and is entirely justifiable. I think it's safe to say that most people no longer agree with human sacrifice despite our strong stance for religious freedom BUT a good amount of people seem to be okay with severe human abuses in the name of religious freedom. I don't get it.

Here's the point of this rather long, odd sch-peal: why is it that the same people who shout "religious freedom" at the top of their lungs for any Muslim tradition and third world country idolater are the people who attack Catholicism, Christianity, and Judaism? Seriously I want to know. Am I just seeing it wrong? Because I think it's pretty much a rule of thumb that anyone defending another religion is against a Christian religion. Why is it okay to worship Allah or a statue, and ok to do whatever is ascribed by the religion attached to that god, why is that religion to be defended at any cost? And why are the religion's ascribed to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob to be attacked so ferociously by the same people defending the faith of others? I don't get it. If religion is sacred then shouldn't the Catholics in Ireland who continually try to stand by their religious views be defended alongside of the Muslims in Pakistan who're trying to stand by theirs? Shouldn't the Jews in Israel who're trying to uphold their religious views be shown religious respect?

Not everybody is attacking everybody but it just seems like a lot of folks take a stand for religious freedom by attacking another religion and I don't get it. I think we're all wrong. I think religion is enslaving and generally pulls people away from God. I also believe that a lot of religious traditions no longer have anything to do with any god whatsoever and they're merely cultural traditions. I respect that. I respect culture (even if it's in the so called name of religion). But stop picking sides is all I'm saying. Go all in or all out. What ground are you standing on? From where I'm standing your ground looks pretty unstable. At least people who're on the side of Christian religion have picked a god. People who just fight in favor of any religion other than a Christian one are apparently fighting against the Christian religion but in that case be honest about it. Don't stand up for all those other religions just voice the truth, you can't stand Christianity.

This blog is in no way shape or form directed at one single person. It's a general feel in the air today, in politics, and liberal agendas. Why are all Christians being portrayed as selfish religious fools when it's okay for EVERYONE else to have their religious freedoms? I'm sorry but the strongly Muslim countries out there today are really dangerous, bad, inhumane places. Why are so many people (especially our president) fighting for their religious voices to be heard? And why do those same people get so upset when a Christian voice speaks up for what they believe? Sorry, I don't get it.

Day 299

It's really cold outside and windy and cloudy and I'm really grouchy. I want to enjoy right now and notice all the wonders abounding but I just received the newsletter from Manos De Jesus in Guatemala and I SOOOO wish I was there with the hot sun warming my hair and the wonderful dust coating my skin. The first orphan home at Monte Flor is almost done. The shoe factory is in full swing. The feeding program at Paqixic is opened and running. They've been distributing water filtration units to families near xepocol. All these places and the people who inhabit them are so very dear to my heart. I've genuinely fallen so in love with them and the place they call home and I can think of nothing more wonderful than to be there right now. What am I doing here?

Journey Home, Day 298

Sometimes there's a tree that you have to stop to see.

HORRIBLE, Day 297

Have you ever had one of those days? You know, the ones where you wake up much later than planned, approximately 45 minutes later. Your head aches, stomach hurts, nose STILL full of snot, and your mind's rapidly eliminating morning chores from the premature list now impossible. On this morning you by pass the shower, eat really old cereal for lack of cupboard inhabitants, and quickly scavenge for returnable bottles because the one dime you found on the bedroom floor isn't going to afford you a very appetizing lunch. This was the start to my day. It continued with my having to load my vehicle with extremely heavy boxes. While doing so I came to the realization that some of the essential ones were missing. I then began my trek to work with a 20 minute detour to re-commender the missing boxes (that were in the back of my husbands van at his place of employment).

For some reason maybe it's a national holiday that I'm unaware of everyone I was forced to drive behind insisted upon advancing at the slowest pace possible. One guy thought that driving 20 mph through all of Grand Haven made for a nice morning trek. I literally screamed at at least 3 cars today. It get "better." After I got to work I found out about a new project which required yet another box not in my immediate possession. I then had to use all of my break time for the whole day and then some to drive from Grand Rapids to Grand Haven and back again. I can't help but be furious about all the gas I wasted during that lovely venture.

Early on this morning as I started out towards Grand Rapids I said to myself through a tremendous amount of frustration and tension, "today is going to suck!" Instantly rebukingly I thought, "no, it doesn't have to. I can just let it go now. I can start over right now." I turned on a Neon Horse CD, blasted the volume and drove into the pink nectarine sunrise. Looking at the bright side I got to see Jesse two extra times today, which in itself is a silly thing to get excited about since I live with him and see him all the time but those two times helped brighten this day. Throughout the day I was trying really hard to get past the suckiness and I can honestly say I enjoyed people more today than usual. I had a lot of really pleasant conversations with a lot of really great people. I was able to spend ATON of time listening to the Neon Horse CD's. That in itself was awesome and I listened to them VERY loudly... it was good. At present I'm enjoying being in my wonderful home. After a nice hot shower I'm clean and PJ'd up. There was an overwhelmingly large amount of badness today but I didn't let it win.

Day 296

The stars were brilliant this morning. The sunset (what little glimpses I saw of it) was incredible. And my puppies are SOOOO cute and cuddly. It's the little things.

Thanksgiving Dinner, Day 295

One of the things I'm most thankful for is food. I LOVE food. Christmas is awesome but it irks me how thanksgiving sort of gets pushed out of the way every year. The large dinners with family, the feasts, the leftovers, turkey, gravy, potatoes, corn (I really like corn), pies, casserole upon casserole upon casserole; oh yummy. The past few years have been rather disappointing in the feast department. I've learned rather quickly that if you don't host thanksgiving (which is a HUGE ordeal. I tried it once but no one seemed too impressed (and my mother in law didn't even show up... that was a huge blow to my self esteem)) well then you don't get leftovers. Also, I've held this apparently inaccurate opinion that Thanksgiving should consist of several different feasts with several different sets of loved ones. That hasn't been the case for the past few years either.  

Last year was interesting, to say the least. Jesse always has to work ridiculous hours so we weren't able to attend my extended families party in Detroit. Unfortunately his mother was VERY sick, his extended family hadn't invited us to any of their parties AND his step-dad, step-grandma and his sister didn't invite us to their dinner. So Thanksgiving comes around and there's me and Jesse with several siblings, several grandparents, a heep of aunts, uncles, and countless cousins (mostly on my side) and we're alone, just the two of us at our house with the critters. (I finally understood how my mom feels) I made a huge dinner while he was at work. He came home to a house filled with the smells of Thanksgiving, a decked out dining room table (which we don't ever use) covered in tons of food, even a turkey (I cooked  a breast in the crock pot), and me smiling from behind candles quite contentedly about the accomplishment. We enjoyed our feast (rather quickly and quietly) and then he came up with the generous, brilliant, and compassionate idea of dropping all the leftovers of my very recently slaved over meal at his mothers house. She was very sick (swine flu) and all alone and without a Thanksgiving dinner herself. Of course I couldn't say no. We packaged everything up, brought it over, dropped on the front porch in order to avoid the germs and Thanksgiving dinner was officially over. So, yet again, no leftovers.

That extensive whiny story about me not having countless opportunities to engorge myself leads to this: Last Saturday I decided I would not resign to yet another disappointing Thanksgiving let down.  I cooked the first Thanksgiving dinner of this year. I baked a turkey breast in the oven (which I liked much more than the one in the crock pot). I made half and half sweet potato regular potato mashed potatoes with butter, garlic, parmesan and mozzarella cheese. I made green bean casserole and for no apparent reason we dined on Thanksgiving a few weeks early. It was tons better and cheaper then going out to eat at a restaurant somewhere AND we had tons of leftovers for several more meals and a few snacks after that : ) I fully intend on cooking another turkey breast, maybe even a whole bird before Thanksgiving arrives and this time I might splurge a bit and make my Grandma McRae's mac n cheese and a pie or pumpkin cheesecake. Anyway, that's my story. I LOVE Thanksgiving and Thanksgiving dinner and I'm taking the bull by the horns this year, or maybe the bird by the feathers. yep.

Skinny Pants, Day 294

Listening to Frank Sinatra singing Christmas songs while the wind gusts outside in the dark morning air. I've eaten a delicious bagel, savored some coffee, and read from Pickwick Papers. Laundries in the wash, the ever dreaded ab workout has been executed, blog is being written, and I'm now contemplating between more reading or cleaning before church. Today is bound to be a wonderful day of rest as long as I can overcome the evening urges to consume massive amounts of sugar. So far so good in terms of resisting, but the drive to procure and devour is dreadful. High note: I genuinely in my lifetime can not remember a scale registering such a low digit in front of me.

Slightly comical note: I purchased a trendy pair of much too tiny pants from J-Crew A LONG time ago in hopes of some day reducing to their size. They fit now BUT in today's skinny pants society they'd be considered bell bottoms. I can wear them now and yet I can't wear them now : )

The GRAND accomplishment  ->

Art, Day 293

I spent the entire morning digging up art, creating art, instructing my sister on art (her very own scrappy monster), and posting art to facebook. I feel accomplished and additionally inspired.

This is a little boy I met at one of the feeding programs in Guatemala in 2006.

Jesus, Day 292

I've been thinking along the same lines all week but I haven't been able to appropriately put my thoughts into words. The thoughts I've been experiencing have been along the lines of religion vs. relationship and law vs. grace. I believe that "the church" fundamentally has gotten something very wrong. ALOT of people don't like church. Church is almost a bad word in today's culture. But think about it, church is a place that believers go to worship GOD. And if you were to ask me God is the best thing about everything. Just look at yourself, and those around you, the guy is a genius (God that is). Then look a little further into the world we're living in and see the miracles that He's blessed us with. This world is amazing. God is amazing. The place people congregate to worship God shouldn't be yucky.

For awhile I've been very negligent with my religious duties. I have not been attending church. I don't like it right now. I haven't been spending time in the Word (other than looking up scriptures). Compared to normal for me I've hardly been praying at all. I can't remember the last time I got on my knees in worship. This lackluster lifestyle of mine has been occurring for months.

I started to apologize to God the other day for my recently not having been performing my religious duties. I feel bad for neglecting the above mentioned but while I was praying about it I realized something fairly amazing. I haven't been reading, or worshiping, or praying, or attending church like I believe I should be but I've felt the presence of God in my life more recently than ever. In fact I'm more at peace then I've ever been. I've been listening to the still small voice and allowing it to grow and to change me all throughout every single day.

Ever since I began trying to recognize the beauty in now; ever since I started consiously being thankful for all the little things; ever since I stopped looking forward and started noticing the life unfolding all around me I've felt more alive and hopeful then ever. My marriage isn't perfect. My job is sort of lame. I struggle all the time and I'm super flawed. I spend moments in every waking hour trying to make things better. But I've finally stopped living for perfection, for the future. I've finally started appreciating now. I think I've finally stopped trying to redeem myself and I've finally started walking in redemption. 

Everything I've been learning this year brings me, so far, to this point. I'm willing to say, and I could be completely wrong, that any religious act one performs is a vain attempt at earning redemption. The law (given to us through Moses) says, "You NEED to... in order to receive approval, salvation, redemption, admittance into God's presence." If you attend church often enough then you'll be good enough. If you read the Bible often enough then you'll be holy enough. If you pray often enough then you'll be acceptable to God. The law is mans way of getting to God. Performing it is exactly like building the tower of babel or crafting a ladder to climb into heaven. It almost cuts God out of the equation and it completely nullifies Jesus. As long as you're holy enough, pious enough then you're A OK.*

Jesus came and sacrificed himself so that He could say, "I forgive you. I love you. I have made you clean. I have redeemed you. I see you as perfect and so does our Father." Jesus said that if you love Him then you will do what He's commanded or you'll follow those things which He taught. That's just it, the love comes first.  If you love Him; if you're appreciative of the life and the gifts that He's given you; if you realize who you are as a child of the King, as a heavenly prince or princess; if you understand who He is then you will do what He's commanded because you'll want to. Not because you have to. Nothing would be sweeter to you, nothing would be more desirable than to bless Him for the amazing things He's done for you. The relationship part of this big picture is spending time with God, with Jesus and learning who you are and who He is so that you're in alignment with the vision. So that you don't HAVE to perform law, but rather you desire to bless your creator and savior. And seeing the truth (given to us by Christ) you desire that everyone have the opportunity to know God fully.

The question I'm finding myself asking is: what drives you? Are you driven by love, by beauty, by gratitude, thankfulness, or obligation, responsibility, law, religion... I believe that the answer to that question defines the freedom in your life. Anyone who operates under the law, attempting to redeem himself (which is impossible) is bound by unbreakable chains. I've been trying to be good enough all of my life but I've always come short. Recently, I believe that God sees me as perfect through Christ who's made me whole. And no longer do I have to be good enough because I already am. Mistakes are now ok. They're already erased before I make them.

This blog could go on forever. Thank-you for reading.

The multitude marveled when they saw the mute speaking, the maimed made whole, the lame walking, and the blind seeing; and they glorified the God of Israel. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. Matt 15:31 & 2 cor 5:17

*we're not holy enough or pious enough and the law brings a vast amount of separation between the brethren. It causes condemnation, judgement, shame, guilt; it creates an effect in the church body and in the Christian religion opposite to love. The scriptures call Satan "the accuser of the brethren" but doesn't the law in fact bestow that very same title upon us who strive to keep it and hold it over each others heads?

Home School Triathlon, Day 291

I've decided to embark upon a 5 month long triathlon involving 3 sports.

The first sport consists of living healthily.
Low fat, low calorie, low sugar, high protein, responsible eating is a must in order to successfully run this race. (Christmas cookies are totally allowed, sparingly) I also have to commit to exercising 6 days a week again (I had that down pat a few months ago but it's dwindled to somewhere around 3 days a week now). I do have a weight goal but that's not the objective, just something to work towards.

The second sport consists of completing my very own formulated home school program.
I am going to learn some additional Spanish during these next 5 months. I am going to read regularly AND retain a lot of the information perused. The backbone to this coarse I will be attending is Irish History. I LOVE reading about Ireland and there's so much more I still want to know. This leads to last leg of my triathlon.

The third sport consists of working towards my ambitions.
I want to travel ALOT! I'm financially unable to accomplish this feat but I can work towards it. With set goals and a shining light in the distance it will be a bit easier to live responsibly. I can say, "I really want to go back to Ireland someday," and mean it with all my heart but if I don't have any plans accordingly it's likely not going to happen. If I say, "I'm going to Ireland next year," and set goals and work towards those goals it's a lot more likely to happen. A VERY large part of this leg of the triathlon will be penny pinching, responsible spending, debt reduction AND savings (towards an awesome trip overseas with my honey).

The end result of 5 months of incredibly hard work will be a much more well versed Spanish speaking healthy me climbing Croagh Patrick in Ireland. My mantra: Every penny counts. Every calorie counts. Ireland here I come.

Best of all, your very own self devised home school program is completely and totally free!

The lazy man does not roast what he took in hunting, but diligence is man's precious possession. Prov. 12:27

the odd things that happen after I pray, Day 290

Yesterday I spent some time with the Lord before work. It was pleasant and uplifting. I walked into work repeating silently to myself, “I am a daughter of the King of Kings. I am a child of the most high God.” Every time a person passed by I would look at him or her and say to myself, “and so is he (or she).” For a considerable period of time I went about working, meditating on my position as a heavenly princess and noticing every single life that passed in front of my eyes while recognizing each and every one’s supreme importance in the eyes of our Father.

I became overwhelmingly admirant of the individuals passing by me, despite their shape or size, early morning shaggy appearances, visually apparent vastly different lifestyles; every single one of them was created by my Father, is His beloved and breathes His breath. At one point something overwhelmingly powerful came over me and I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs something along the lines of, “Our Heavenly Father Loves You!!!” I literally felt myself holding my mouth shut. What a fool would I have been to shout aloud about God to passersby in Meijer? A few moments later I almost began to cry. I held back tears as my heart like a volcano began to overflow with compassion, respect, and appreciation for every person I laid eyes on. I adored them all because they were my brothers and sisters and because my Father adores them. I prayed blessings over everyone I saw. I smiled a weird puppy dog smile in each person’s general direction.

Over and over again, ““I am a daughter of the King of Kings. I am a princess. I am a child of the most high God… and so is she.” To say the least, it was a very interesting morning.

Therefore you are no longer a slave but a son, and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ. Gal 4:7

Christmas List, Day 289

I've bought virtually nothing this year. With Christmas tantalizingly near I've been making lists in my head of all the wonderful THINGS I could ask for. New shoes, nice new clothes that fit, a few odds and ends for the kitchen, I really want a punching bag, maybe some camera stuff... I've got a nice size list and I've been getting more and more excited about the season for getting. Jesse's mom always gives a sizable amount of cash as a gift. Jesse and I, not having children spend a nice amount of money on each other each year (and since we don't have children others don't tend to spend quite as much on our family as they do on every one else's). It's nice when asked, "what'd you get for Christmas," which's bound to make it's way through at least one set of lips, to be able to respond excitedly about something terrific you received.

Interestingly enough the closer the grandeous day gets the more I'm relinquishing my wants for more important non-things, or at least less instant satisfaction items. Instead of a punching bag I'd really rather put that money towards paying off debt. Instead of nice new kitchen items I'd rather pay off debt. Instead of shoes I'd rather pay off debt. Instead of awesome clothes, which always afford a fabulous amount of instant exuberance, I'd rather save towards a vacation/ seeing the world. I really don't need anything. I don't need a pie pan. I can always buy one. I don't need a new cookie sheet. I can keeping lining the existing one with tin foil. I don't need a turkey roasting pan. I just made a turkey in a brownie pan and it turned out great. I guess this responsibility and priorities thing pans out ok when you let things simmer and shine a lot of light on the matter. If Christmas would have been a few weeks ago I'd have blown a ton of money on nice stuff, momentary satisfaction, and desirous things I do not need.

I might actually be looking forward to Christmas even more now that I'm planning on being responsible.

God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus. Phil 4:19

Loveliness (what a magnificent word), Day 288

The word Grace is found 39 times in the old testament and 120 times in the much shorter new testament.

For the law was given through Moses, but grace (that which affords joy, pleasure, delight,
sweetness, charm, loveliness) and truth came through Jesus Christ. John 1:17

The Word says that if you follow the commands of Christ then you love Him. My heart aches at that passage because I find it impossible to follow the commands of Christ fully. Anytime I try I shall fall short. But the Word also says that there is no good in us and that grace (that which affords joy, pleasure, delight,
sweetness, charm and loveliness) came through Christ. In other words don't beat yourself up. That's condemnation and there is NO condemnation in Christ Jesus (also in the Word).

For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh) nothing good dwells; for to will is present with me, but how to perform what is good I do not find. Rom 7:18

It's ok. God made a way so that I might be me today (and still loved by Jesus). Thank you Jesus for your sacrifice and for your Love!!! Today is a good day, the day the Lord has made and I will rejoice and be glad in it and I will find that which affords joy, pleasure, delight, sweetness, charm and loveliness in my Savior Christ Jesus.

"Now therefore, I pray, if I have found grace in Your sight, show me now Your way, that I may know You and that I may find grace in Your sight. And consider that this nation is Your people."And He said, "My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest." Then he said to Him, "If Your Presence does not go with us, do not bring us up from here.For how then will it be known that Your people and I have found grace in Your sight, except You go with us? So we shall be separate, Your people and I, from all the people who are upon the face of the earth." So the LORD said to Moses, "I will also do this thing that you have spoken; for you have found grace in My sight, and I know you by name." Ex 33:13-17

Desiring to LIVE (part 3), Day 287

There are these overwhelmingly tremendous desires within me, pleading their case to every fiber of my being but I cast them aside as too unrealistic. I am a realist after all, the glass being neither half empty nor half full but simply a glass containing liquid.

I desire to learn, to discover, to know. I want to read half of the books ever written, ponder and consider them all and to retain the information there in. I desire to learn languages… not entirely sure why, but I want to speak Spanish and Russian and Irish (although it’s a dead language) fluently. I’ve recently, even as recently as 1 minute ago added French to that list because it intrigues me. I want to know history, the history of America and Europe; wars and societal development from the beginning of the known time. When I hear an important name I desire to know why it’s important. Honestly these desires burn within of a blazing fire. I feel like every bit of information I stumble across brings me closer to understanding myself, to understanding the world surrounding me, and an appreciation and admiration for life and for mankind swells within me. I hated school but I adore learning.

Realistically though, a thought creeps through my mind of pointlessness. Learning, discovering, increasing mentally is emotionally rewarding but what means is there really? And time is a tremendously negative factor concerning these ambitions. I’ve only so much life to live and I’ve work, family, home matters, blah, blah, blah to execute properly. There returns the bubble. Only so much learning fits within its constraints and I fear that the time bubble is more confining that even the monetary one.

Continually here I sit, divided. I want to be healthy, a long term permanent goal but I’m almost unconsciously driven to embrace like an irresistible lover an unhealthy lifestyle. I desire to experience the world, see the sights, discover the beauty expanding beyond my sphere but there’s more than enough preoccupations keeping me from breaking free of the constraints. My mind and soul crave information, knowledge, an increased scope and yet time holding a whip pushes me away from these passions. I feel so broken, so misguides, so inadequately programmed.

Yet somewhere in the back of my mind hope and shame coexist knowing that other people manage to overcome the constraints, if they’d suffered constraints at all. Other people travel all over the planet regularly. Other people learn, consume, and absorb knowledge in greater quantities than food. Other people have discovered the secrets to health and discipline. And then I wonder what’s wrong with me. Am I just an infantile inadequate human being? Oh the thoughts that plague me. Then I consider trying to discard the thoughts… simplicity… singular focus… that should be the goal. But why should I abandon those things which hold so much importance to me? Why should I compromise my dreams even as unattainable as they seem? I definitely think WAY too much. Sometimes my pondering even makes my head hurt. But I like that about me. That’s me.

Desiring to LIVE (part 2), Day 286

There are these overwhelmingly tremendous desires within me, pleading their case to every fiber of my being but I cast them aside as too unrealistic. I am a realist after all, the glass being neither half empty nor half full but simply a glass containing liquid.

Have you ever sat down and pondered the splendor of this world? I mean really considered that the North Pole actually exists, that you could see it personally if you exerted enough energy. Africa is a place anyone can go; the elephants and giraffes, zebras and lions live untamed in the wild where anyone who so desired could walk along side them (not advised). The rainforests are just sitting there for anyone to tread through. Ancient wonders, remnants of past civilizations scatter the planet. They aren’t just things of books and documentaries. Australia, Russia, and Japan are all real places. Amazing societies exist outside of the one you live in. Beautiful cultures and languages span the earth. They’re there, accessible.

I am extremely thankful for the life I live. I like my home A LOT. I’m beyond blessed by the friends and family that surround me. But I feel like I exist in a bubble. Work, home, work, home, work, home… its ok, but when my mind considers the world spanning out beyond my bubble I wonder why the bubble must be. The answer resoundingly comes to me: Money and irresponsibility.

I feel I have the resources to penetrate the bubble but I waste them. Something about enjoying now*, not considering the future, and wasting opportunities envelopes my life. I don’t want to live in a bubble. I want Alaska to be real. I want to experience Ireland again. I want to step foot in Transylvania. I want to drink coffee in Sweden. I know, I truly believe, I’m certain that if a person works diligently enough towards a means they will reach the desired end. (thank the Lord for America) BUT I forget, I overlook, the bubble seems such a concrete reality and despite the desire within pleading for fulfillment to escape the bubble I continually ground myself to its definity (I think I just made that word up but I’m certain is should be a word). It’s sort of driving me crazy. And I’ll stop there.


*There’s a difference between “enjoying now” monetarily and wasting resources that could be better utilized if I were to consider the future, work towards a goal, and grow towards a greater means and “enjoying now” as a lifestyle, noticing the world that surrounds me, appreciating it at all times, continually increasing, growing and experiencing life no matter the situation that presents itself.