Well, that settles it. I finished my last day of classes for this term. All I have left is finals. These finals will determine the actual resting place of my grades for the term, but for the most part everything is already determined.
I made it. Everything didn't fall apart. I'm still alive, and all the projects are done. All the assignments are completed. I wouldn't say that relief rushed over me like an ocean swell. Instead I would describe it as sitting down in a comfortable chair with my feet propped up in front of a warm fire and sipping from a delicious mug of hot chocolate. It feels so good, and it has been a long time coming.
Yes, there is still a lot to do before the term is completely over and I can go home. There are finals to take. There are performances yet to come. In the midst of that, however, I can't help but see all that God has guided me through these last few months and melt in amazement and wonder at His power, planning and patience in my life.
A lot of times we talk about God's love and we describe it by talking about how He saved us from sin and death. This is a great example. Jesus even said that the greatest form of love would drive a person to go as far as to give up his life for a friend. (Which brings up another point of how great God's love is that He would lay down His life for people who were his enemies.) But I think we sometimes forget that God's love extends far beyond a salvation experience.
Our God didn't just die to give us a "get out of jail free" card and send us on our way until we die and end up at his gates. We have a God who cares about every aspect of our lives. We have a God who is concerned with our futures (not just the ultimate future of heaven or hell). This God cares about our worries and our struggles. He wants us to be successful in this life.
"Wait a minute! Did he just say that? Isn't this the guy who wrote a paper on the heresy of the name-it-and-claim-it gospel?" When I say that God wants us to be successful I don't mean it in the way the world measures success. I mean that God wants us to be able to come to the end of our lives on this earth having fought the good fight and triumphed.
Got wants us to be successful, and he knows that for us to be successful in this life we must be completely dependent on Him. That's why He can't just hand us success on a silver platter. He has to give us opportunity to see the potential for failure so that we will understand the power of His provision.
God has done so much for me over the years. I'm sure there is a lot of His work that I may never even know about, but there is so much that I have seen Him do. This term is no exception. There is no reason why everything should have happened as well as it did. None of it makes sense. Yet it happened. It all came together in a way that I could never plan.
Only He could have done it all. But why? Why would He do all that for me? I can tell you straight out, it isn't because I am anyone of particular importance. I am no perfect person or sinless saint. I made plenty of mistakes this term. All I can figure is that God wants me to be here, and He knows that I am incapable of success on my own. He loves me, and wants me to learn to trust Him at all time for all things.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
It's A Wonderful Strife
It's that time of year again. The time that comes twice a year, really. The time of year when I get this overshadowing feeling; the feeling that I am just about to fail every-last-one of my classes.
It happens every term. (Not failing classes, just the feeling that I'm going to fail classes.)
I have yet to fail a single class (though I have, in the past received in a class a grade that was insufficient for my major). At this stage of the game I can't afford any mess-ups. I can't take classes again. This is my last shot, and it feels like I'm going to lose.
But, again, it always feels like I'm going to lose.
It may be true that there are some areas in which I could have done much better. There are some assignments that just did not get done. There are some things that I plum didn't get to in time. It's all these little things that make me feel like everything is going to fall apart.
It is also true that there are some areas in which I have done a wonderful job. There are things I have done this term to a degree that I never would have thought possible for me. I have achieved much. I have learned much. I have grown much.
But I feel like an athlete who waited too long into the season to get things together. I am finally able to perform well, but the team has already taken too many loses. There is now no way I will make it even as far as the semi-finals. It may or may not be true, but that's how I feel.
I've come to it again. It's that time of year. It comes only twice a year, and here it is.
So, what do I do? What can I possibly do?
I keep working. I work hard. I work until I can do no more. And I trust.
I trust in Jehovah; in Jehovah-jireh (Lord will provide); in Jehovah-shalom (Lord is peace).
I repent of my laziness. I trust in the Lord. I do my best in service to Him.
If I am to succeed, it will be the Lords doing. If I am to fail, I know that I can rest in the Lord's direction for my life.
I am not dead yet. Until I am dead there will always be opportunity on this earth to serve my Lord until He comes.
Maranatha!
(Our Lord Comes!)
It happens every term. (Not failing classes, just the feeling that I'm going to fail classes.)
I have yet to fail a single class (though I have, in the past received in a class a grade that was insufficient for my major). At this stage of the game I can't afford any mess-ups. I can't take classes again. This is my last shot, and it feels like I'm going to lose.
But, again, it always feels like I'm going to lose.
It may be true that there are some areas in which I could have done much better. There are some assignments that just did not get done. There are some things that I plum didn't get to in time. It's all these little things that make me feel like everything is going to fall apart.
It is also true that there are some areas in which I have done a wonderful job. There are things I have done this term to a degree that I never would have thought possible for me. I have achieved much. I have learned much. I have grown much.
But I feel like an athlete who waited too long into the season to get things together. I am finally able to perform well, but the team has already taken too many loses. There is now no way I will make it even as far as the semi-finals. It may or may not be true, but that's how I feel.
I've come to it again. It's that time of year. It comes only twice a year, and here it is.
So, what do I do? What can I possibly do?
I keep working. I work hard. I work until I can do no more. And I trust.
I trust in Jehovah; in Jehovah-jireh (Lord will provide); in Jehovah-shalom (Lord is peace).
I repent of my laziness. I trust in the Lord. I do my best in service to Him.
If I am to succeed, it will be the Lords doing. If I am to fail, I know that I can rest in the Lord's direction for my life.
I am not dead yet. Until I am dead there will always be opportunity on this earth to serve my Lord until He comes.
Maranatha!
(Our Lord Comes!)
Saturday, November 01, 2008
The Question
The question is this:
Why am I here?
In other words, why am I at Corban College studying music education?
I've already explained why I am at Corban. That is taken care of.
But why Music Education? Why would I be taking on the largest and possibly most challenging major that this school offers? (If you don't believe it is those things, then you haven't seen our class schedules.)
So why would I subject myself to this?
I can tell you why other people do it. The education program on its own is difficult. The music program on its own is difficult. Yet there are so many of these people. I could tell you why many of these people willingly subject themselves to such rigorous trials.
A few of the key reasons are as follows:
"Ever since I was little I have wanted to be a teacher."
"I had a teacher in high school who inspired/challenged me, and I want to do the same for other kids."
"I like the idea of having summers off."
All noble goals, to be sure. Well, maybe not the "summers off", but they will learn soon enough.
There is nothing wrong with many of the reasons people have for wanting to be a teacher. These just aren't my reasons. The fact of the matter is this:
I never wanted to teach other people's kids. I don't think I'm cut out for it. I haven't had any aspirations since I was a kid, let alone the desire to be a teacher. I had some excellent teachers in high school, but they didn't inspire me to become a teacher. I would love to have summers off, but that doesn't mean that teaching is for me.
And it's not like teaching is "the only thing I'm good at." Not to sound conceited, but there are so many things I could do, and do well. I am by no means limited in my abilities and options.
So why am I here? Why am I doing this?
That is the question.
The answer is quite simple:
Because He who is greater wants me to.
Because the Father of lights, from whom all good and perfect gifts come, has given me this charge; this challenge.
I knew before that God had given me a concern for the youth. And I knew before that God had given me a great gifting in the area of music. I knew that I was to be involved with young people in a way that involved music. I simply had no idea in what way or form this involvement was to take place. Then the summer before my sophomore year it hit me. It was exactly what people had been telling me over and over.
Teach.
Suddenly all the riddles made sense. Suddenly it all fell into place. This was it. This was what it all meant. I knew what I had to do.
So I am here.
I hold no expectation of success. It is not my belief that all will go right.
All I know right now is that this is where God wants me...for now.
Tomorrow everything could change. Next year God could have me in another place.
Does that mean that this is all for loss. No. Never!
This is where God wants me, and so this has purpose. God does not work without reason.
Whatever God's purpose is in all this--be it for me to teach high school choir till the day I die, or be it for me to be able to encourage other students here on campus now--that purpose is worth pursuing. Even if His purpose leads to my perceived failure...or worse, my perceived success--even so, it is well worth the privilege of walking with Him day by day down this long and difficult path.
So the question is no longer "why am I here?"
Now the question is, what would the Lord have me do today?
Why am I here?
In other words, why am I at Corban College studying music education?
I've already explained why I am at Corban. That is taken care of.
But why Music Education? Why would I be taking on the largest and possibly most challenging major that this school offers? (If you don't believe it is those things, then you haven't seen our class schedules.)
So why would I subject myself to this?
I can tell you why other people do it. The education program on its own is difficult. The music program on its own is difficult. Yet there are so many of these people. I could tell you why many of these people willingly subject themselves to such rigorous trials.
A few of the key reasons are as follows:
"Ever since I was little I have wanted to be a teacher."
"I had a teacher in high school who inspired/challenged me, and I want to do the same for other kids."
"I like the idea of having summers off."
All noble goals, to be sure. Well, maybe not the "summers off", but they will learn soon enough.
There is nothing wrong with many of the reasons people have for wanting to be a teacher. These just aren't my reasons. The fact of the matter is this:
I never wanted to teach other people's kids. I don't think I'm cut out for it. I haven't had any aspirations since I was a kid, let alone the desire to be a teacher. I had some excellent teachers in high school, but they didn't inspire me to become a teacher. I would love to have summers off, but that doesn't mean that teaching is for me.
And it's not like teaching is "the only thing I'm good at." Not to sound conceited, but there are so many things I could do, and do well. I am by no means limited in my abilities and options.
So why am I here? Why am I doing this?
That is the question.
The answer is quite simple:
Because He who is greater wants me to.
Because the Father of lights, from whom all good and perfect gifts come, has given me this charge; this challenge.
I knew before that God had given me a concern for the youth. And I knew before that God had given me a great gifting in the area of music. I knew that I was to be involved with young people in a way that involved music. I simply had no idea in what way or form this involvement was to take place. Then the summer before my sophomore year it hit me. It was exactly what people had been telling me over and over.
Teach.
Suddenly all the riddles made sense. Suddenly it all fell into place. This was it. This was what it all meant. I knew what I had to do.
So I am here.
I hold no expectation of success. It is not my belief that all will go right.
All I know right now is that this is where God wants me...for now.
Tomorrow everything could change. Next year God could have me in another place.
Does that mean that this is all for loss. No. Never!
This is where God wants me, and so this has purpose. God does not work without reason.
Whatever God's purpose is in all this--be it for me to teach high school choir till the day I die, or be it for me to be able to encourage other students here on campus now--that purpose is worth pursuing. Even if His purpose leads to my perceived failure...or worse, my perceived success--even so, it is well worth the privilege of walking with Him day by day down this long and difficult path.
So the question is no longer "why am I here?"
Now the question is, what would the Lord have me do today?
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
"I'm A Poet, And I Didn't Even Comprehend It"
I've let it slip.
I've let it fall away.
Down into the dark corners.
Down into the great abyss.
Down into the forgotten realm.
How can I find it?
Where can I find it?
How can I find it again?
It was not so long ago that I held it.
It was only a little while ago that I held it tight.
I may never know what happened.
I may never know how.
I may never know why it fell.
All I know is that it is gone--
all the way,
the whole way,
all the way down.
No match,
No flashlight,
No floodlight would help.
If it is to be found, I will have to search.
If it is to be found, I will have to crawl.
If it is to be found, I will have to find it.
In the dark.
In the abyss.
In the forgotten realm.
Don't worry everyone. I'm just practicing. It doesn't mean anything...*shifty eyes*...or does it...
The interesting thing is that this kind of writing isn't so different from some of the techniques used by the Psalmists. Well, except that I don't use them very well, but that's mostly because I have not idea what I'm doing.
These ideas of repetition, of rephrasing, and of image development are used in the Psalms. My music history teacher gave me some brilliant insight to the purpose for such techniques. The way she explained it makes so much sense.
Anyone who has studied a second language--to any extent--has discovered that hardly anything translates directly. There are some times more, some times less words in a language. There are different grammatical arrangements from language to language. Add this to the fact that a rhyme in one language is not in the least bit likely to come out as a rhyme in another language, and you might have a problem if you are the ruler of the universe trying to write poetry that will be understood by all peoples for all time.
So what does God do?
He writes his poetry through a people who don't use rhyme. These people write poetry through concept development, through imagery development, through repetition and restatement. It is a rhyme of thoughts, of ideas, of images. This is something that translates into any language. It doesn't have to rhyme in the ear, because it rhymes in the mind.
Psalm 1
Blessed is the man who does not
walk in the council of the wicked,
stand in the way of sinners,
nor sit in the seat of scoffers!
But his delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on His law he meditates day and night.
He is like a tree planted by streams of water
which yields its fruit in season,
and whose leaf never whithers.
Whatever he does prospers.
Not so, the wicked.
They are like chaff
which the wind blows away.
Therefore, the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.
For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked shall perish.
Can you see it? Such poetry. Such wisdom. It is a strong image. God doesn't hold back. He puts everything out there, and just in case you missed it the first time, He says it again only in a different way. If the image is a little fuzzy, if you aren't quite sure about what He's trying to say, if there is some doubt as to whether or not He means it, He paints the picture clearer and in bolder colors that declare emphatic certainty of the message he is trying to convey.
I've let it fall away.
Down into the dark corners.
Down into the great abyss.
Down into the forgotten realm.
How can I find it?
Where can I find it?
How can I find it again?
It was not so long ago that I held it.
It was only a little while ago that I held it tight.
I may never know what happened.
I may never know how.
I may never know why it fell.
All I know is that it is gone--
all the way,
the whole way,
all the way down.
No match,
No flashlight,
No floodlight would help.
If it is to be found, I will have to search.
If it is to be found, I will have to crawl.
If it is to be found, I will have to find it.
In the dark.
In the abyss.
In the forgotten realm.
Don't worry everyone. I'm just practicing. It doesn't mean anything...*shifty eyes*...or does it...
The interesting thing is that this kind of writing isn't so different from some of the techniques used by the Psalmists. Well, except that I don't use them very well, but that's mostly because I have not idea what I'm doing.
These ideas of repetition, of rephrasing, and of image development are used in the Psalms. My music history teacher gave me some brilliant insight to the purpose for such techniques. The way she explained it makes so much sense.
Anyone who has studied a second language--to any extent--has discovered that hardly anything translates directly. There are some times more, some times less words in a language. There are different grammatical arrangements from language to language. Add this to the fact that a rhyme in one language is not in the least bit likely to come out as a rhyme in another language, and you might have a problem if you are the ruler of the universe trying to write poetry that will be understood by all peoples for all time.
So what does God do?
He writes his poetry through a people who don't use rhyme. These people write poetry through concept development, through imagery development, through repetition and restatement. It is a rhyme of thoughts, of ideas, of images. This is something that translates into any language. It doesn't have to rhyme in the ear, because it rhymes in the mind.
Psalm 1
Blessed is the man who does not
walk in the council of the wicked,
stand in the way of sinners,
nor sit in the seat of scoffers!
But his delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on His law he meditates day and night.
He is like a tree planted by streams of water
which yields its fruit in season,
and whose leaf never whithers.
Whatever he does prospers.
Not so, the wicked.
They are like chaff
which the wind blows away.
Therefore, the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.
For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked shall perish.
Can you see it? Such poetry. Such wisdom. It is a strong image. God doesn't hold back. He puts everything out there, and just in case you missed it the first time, He says it again only in a different way. If the image is a little fuzzy, if you aren't quite sure about what He's trying to say, if there is some doubt as to whether or not He means it, He paints the picture clearer and in bolder colors that declare emphatic certainty of the message he is trying to convey.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Mexico: Day 5
Most of the team was in good spirits this morning after our wonderful venture to Mazatlan the day before. Okay, to be honest, I think a lot of people were tired of working after getting the taste of relaxation on the beach. In fact Jimmy didn't even get up for breakfast.
Jay hadn't slept well--he was comin' down with something not good. Audrey was still on the mend, though she was doing better than the previous day.
We put in some more work on the wheelchair ramp. There was also a group of us working on the new trampoline. They had to set it up and then pour and mold concrete bases to keep the trampoline from walking away in the middle of the night.
Another project that we had going was the construction of some "football" goal posts. For you American readers you would understand them to be "soccer" goal posts. We made them out of tires, concrete, and PVC pipe. I should probably note (because if anyone else from the team reads this, they will bring it up anyway) that when I cut the PVC pipe, I cut it about a foot off. So there is a taller set and a shorter set of goal posts. I won't go into the details of how I managed to goof it up so much. Just know that right after I had made the error I realized how I had messed up and felt very silly for having made such a simple mistake. The rest of the team won't let me live it down, of course, but that's okay. It gives us something to laugh at for years to come.
Jay hadn't slept well--he was comin' down with something not good. Audrey was still on the mend, though she was doing better than the previous day.
We put in some more work on the wheelchair ramp. There was also a group of us working on the new trampoline. They had to set it up and then pour and mold concrete bases to keep the trampoline from walking away in the middle of the night.
Another project that we had going was the construction of some "football" goal posts. For you American readers you would understand them to be "soccer" goal posts. We made them out of tires, concrete, and PVC pipe. I should probably note (because if anyone else from the team reads this, they will bring it up anyway) that when I cut the PVC pipe, I cut it about a foot off. So there is a taller set and a shorter set of goal posts. I won't go into the details of how I managed to goof it up so much. Just know that right after I had made the error I realized how I had messed up and felt very silly for having made such a simple mistake. The rest of the team won't let me live it down, of course, but that's okay. It gives us something to laugh at for years to come.
Friday, August 01, 2008
Mexico: Day 4
It was a usual morning in Mexico. Loud birds, cereal for breakfast, and off to work.
It was not, however, our usual day. There were two major differences, the first one being that one of our team members had become very sick.
It was the youngest member in fact--Audrey. We weren't sure what it was at the time, but it was heat sickness. She hadn't been drinking enough water, and it was just too hot for her. So all that night she had been feeling terrible and she wasn't able to keep food down. It was just bad.
Audrey's parents took her into Mazatlan to see the doctor, so they were gone all that morning while we worked. When they did get back it was just in time for lunch, and just in time to inform us of the situation and let us know that they would not be going with us on our planned venture into Mazatlan that afternoon.
That is the other major difference concerning this particular day--we only worked half the day, and took the rest to go to the beach and see the city.
We were sad to be leaving part of our team behind, but away we went. Most of us rode in a kind of taxi that they have down there. I'm not sure what they call it, but it is basically a truck with an open, yet covered back with benches. It was really interesting. No seat-belts, no nothin'. You just sit out in the open and watch the scenery as it goes by. It was a really fun way to see the Mexican country side as well as the city.
When we pulled in on the golden road--that is the American touristy section of Mazatlan--we were dropped off right in front of McDonalds. We split up at that point. Most of the group went straight to the beach while Roger, Kelly and I went for a walk to see what kind of wares the vendors had. I was a little surprised to discover that for the most part everyone was selling the same things, and I mean the exact same things. I suppose that shouldn't be too surprising considering you see a lot of that in the touristy areas of the U.S., but in the U.S. all the shops aren't this close together.
After we had walked around for a while, and Kelly had found what she was looking for, we decided to join the others on the beach. At first it took us a little while to find the way into the beach. The beach is heavily blocked off by a solid line of stores and buildings. There is, however, a designated passageway onto the beach, and of course it is lined with more stores (just in case you forgot something you might need on the beach--like some fine jewelry.
We had to walk a while before finding the rest of the group, and as we were walking we had several salesmen ask us if we wanted to go para-sailing, boating, or take a tour of stone island. There were also countless other sales-men and women walking along the beach selling the exact same things as were in most of the stores. You could sit in one place getting a tan and purchase anything from a fruit drink to clothes to jewelry.
The crazy thing is, even though there were tons of people, and half of them were salesmen, the beach and the ocean looked amazing. It was a beautiful scene.
When we did finally catch up with the others most of them were out playing in the water. So, Kelly began to settle in while Roger and I just stood around. I didn't feel like getting wet that day. Before long Roger and I were back out on the streets, seeing what other stores we could find. During our little walk we found some air conditioned stores (a wonderful marketing tactic in Mexico), we were offered an audience with some strippers as well as a few more tours of Stone island, and we passed the local Dairy Queen. In Mexico you don't have to look hard to find whatever you want (unless you are looking for a solid purple bag that says "Mazatlan" on it, which is what Roger was never able to find for his daughter), usually if you walk far enough someone else will find it for you and try to sell it to you. I don't know why they don't have door to door salesmen...oh, wait...they do. There is a guy who delivers purified water every day, as well as a guy who delivers tortillas every day, as well as other guys who deliver all kinds of other things periodically.
Well, eventually we ended up back on the beach (after having attained a Mcflurry, of course). My feet were burning, so I moved up into the seating at Joe's Oyster Bar. I just sat there for about an hour until it was time for everyone to meet up for dinner. The shade was nice, the view of the beach was wonderful, and the book I had was entertaining (Spanish/English Dictionary: hours of good wholesome fun).
For dinner we all went to Pancho's. We had decided on the upstairs, indoor seating because it was air-conditioned. Of course, once we were inside the nice cool room some people started complaining about it being too cold. I tell ya', some people just can't handle Mexico.
I was feeling adventurous, so I ordered the Mexican platter. It had a little bit of everything, and it was delicious. During the meal I also--by invitation--speared a piece of calamari as well as a chunk of snail (we didn't know it was snail at the time) from my neighbor's dish. I don't know what it is, but something about living in another country opened up my mind to trying a lot of different kinds of food. There was one exception, however. I decided against trying the complimentary Kahlua & cream. Sure it was just a small glass, and it was legal, but I just don't mess with the alcohol. It's that simple. I mean, how much of a cultural experience can it be? My friend back home has offered me Kahlua & cream several times. Big woop.
After dinner it was getting close to time to head back to El Castillo. Most of us decided to ride in the van on the way back, so it was just Roger, Ed, Danny and myself in the back of the truck this time (though I might be forgetting someone).
When we returned we learned that Audrey and Debbie had been sleeping in one of the only air-conditioned rooms in the orphanage all day. Everyone was pretty tired, so the ladies went straight to bed. The guys decided to do something a little different from the previous nights. Instead of sitting out in the flies and singing, we met in our room and talked about some of the things we had been thinking about and noticing from our experience so far in Mexico. It ended up being a really cool discussion.
After talking we all went to bed. I think most of us slept well that night. I know for a fact, however, that some of us didn't. But that's a story for the next day.
It was not, however, our usual day. There were two major differences, the first one being that one of our team members had become very sick.
It was the youngest member in fact--Audrey. We weren't sure what it was at the time, but it was heat sickness. She hadn't been drinking enough water, and it was just too hot for her. So all that night she had been feeling terrible and she wasn't able to keep food down. It was just bad.
Audrey's parents took her into Mazatlan to see the doctor, so they were gone all that morning while we worked. When they did get back it was just in time for lunch, and just in time to inform us of the situation and let us know that they would not be going with us on our planned venture into Mazatlan that afternoon.
That is the other major difference concerning this particular day--we only worked half the day, and took the rest to go to the beach and see the city.
We were sad to be leaving part of our team behind, but away we went. Most of us rode in a kind of taxi that they have down there. I'm not sure what they call it, but it is basically a truck with an open, yet covered back with benches. It was really interesting. No seat-belts, no nothin'. You just sit out in the open and watch the scenery as it goes by. It was a really fun way to see the Mexican country side as well as the city.
When we pulled in on the golden road--that is the American touristy section of Mazatlan--we were dropped off right in front of McDonalds. We split up at that point. Most of the group went straight to the beach while Roger, Kelly and I went for a walk to see what kind of wares the vendors had. I was a little surprised to discover that for the most part everyone was selling the same things, and I mean the exact same things. I suppose that shouldn't be too surprising considering you see a lot of that in the touristy areas of the U.S., but in the U.S. all the shops aren't this close together.
After we had walked around for a while, and Kelly had found what she was looking for, we decided to join the others on the beach. At first it took us a little while to find the way into the beach. The beach is heavily blocked off by a solid line of stores and buildings. There is, however, a designated passageway onto the beach, and of course it is lined with more stores (just in case you forgot something you might need on the beach--like some fine jewelry.
We had to walk a while before finding the rest of the group, and as we were walking we had several salesmen ask us if we wanted to go para-sailing, boating, or take a tour of stone island. There were also countless other sales-men and women walking along the beach selling the exact same things as were in most of the stores. You could sit in one place getting a tan and purchase anything from a fruit drink to clothes to jewelry.
The crazy thing is, even though there were tons of people, and half of them were salesmen, the beach and the ocean looked amazing. It was a beautiful scene.
When we did finally catch up with the others most of them were out playing in the water. So, Kelly began to settle in while Roger and I just stood around. I didn't feel like getting wet that day. Before long Roger and I were back out on the streets, seeing what other stores we could find. During our little walk we found some air conditioned stores (a wonderful marketing tactic in Mexico), we were offered an audience with some strippers as well as a few more tours of Stone island, and we passed the local Dairy Queen. In Mexico you don't have to look hard to find whatever you want (unless you are looking for a solid purple bag that says "Mazatlan" on it, which is what Roger was never able to find for his daughter), usually if you walk far enough someone else will find it for you and try to sell it to you. I don't know why they don't have door to door salesmen...oh, wait...they do. There is a guy who delivers purified water every day, as well as a guy who delivers tortillas every day, as well as other guys who deliver all kinds of other things periodically.
Well, eventually we ended up back on the beach (after having attained a Mcflurry, of course). My feet were burning, so I moved up into the seating at Joe's Oyster Bar. I just sat there for about an hour until it was time for everyone to meet up for dinner. The shade was nice, the view of the beach was wonderful, and the book I had was entertaining (Spanish/English Dictionary: hours of good wholesome fun).
For dinner we all went to Pancho's. We had decided on the upstairs, indoor seating because it was air-conditioned. Of course, once we were inside the nice cool room some people started complaining about it being too cold. I tell ya', some people just can't handle Mexico.
I was feeling adventurous, so I ordered the Mexican platter. It had a little bit of everything, and it was delicious. During the meal I also--by invitation--speared a piece of calamari as well as a chunk of snail (we didn't know it was snail at the time) from my neighbor's dish. I don't know what it is, but something about living in another country opened up my mind to trying a lot of different kinds of food. There was one exception, however. I decided against trying the complimentary Kahlua & cream. Sure it was just a small glass, and it was legal, but I just don't mess with the alcohol. It's that simple. I mean, how much of a cultural experience can it be? My friend back home has offered me Kahlua & cream several times. Big woop.
After dinner it was getting close to time to head back to El Castillo. Most of us decided to ride in the van on the way back, so it was just Roger, Ed, Danny and myself in the back of the truck this time (though I might be forgetting someone).
When we returned we learned that Audrey and Debbie had been sleeping in one of the only air-conditioned rooms in the orphanage all day. Everyone was pretty tired, so the ladies went straight to bed. The guys decided to do something a little different from the previous nights. Instead of sitting out in the flies and singing, we met in our room and talked about some of the things we had been thinking about and noticing from our experience so far in Mexico. It ended up being a really cool discussion.
After talking we all went to bed. I think most of us slept well that night. I know for a fact, however, that some of us didn't. But that's a story for the next day.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Mexico: Day 3
It was a Thursday morning. I woke to the sound of my bunk mate getting ready for the day. As for myself, I wasn't particularly ready to get a start on the day. In my opinion it would have been nice to catch a couple more Z's. However, as it was every morning in Mexico, once your awake, you stay awake. Who could sleep with all those birds sounding off just outside the window anyway?
I had slept a little better than I did the night before. At least this time when I woke up I didn't start brushing my sheets to get rid of any imaginary bugs. I had woken up several times, however. Enough times to get a good look at the late night lightning show.
Eventually I decided it was time to get up.
Every morning was pretty much the same thing. So I'll try to keep from repeating it in such detail every day.
We had breakfast, and got going on our projects. Today we didn't work on any bicycles for very long. But during the brief time that Jimmy, Clayton and I were working on bikes Juan decided to come see what we were doing.
Juan is a 16 year old boy who looks like he is 9. He was so completely and utterly neglected by his parents when he was born that the only way he survived was from the generosity of a neighbor who would sneak food in to him. This nutritional deficiency is the reason his body wasn't able to develop normally. When he first came to the orphanage he wasn't even able to walk because no one had every taught him how.
You would think that such a history would make a person bitter, or angry, or upset with the world, but Juan is anything but. He is such a happy and joyful child, you wouldn't ever think that he had such a rough start. Juan is walking now. In fact, he's not only walking, he is jumping, running, climbing, and doing everything else that kids do, including causing just a little bit of trouble. And that's just what he did while we were working on the bikes.
We were trying to get the brakes to work on a particular bike when Juan came over. He sat down next to Jimmy and watched as we worked. Before long Juan reached down and took the cap off of the bike tire. He held it up and gave us a mischievous look so that we would know he was causing some trouble. Juan then proceeded to deflate the bicycle tire from which he had removed the cap. We all thought it was pretty funny, but just to toy with him I said "Juan es mal", which means "Juan is bad." To which he responded "No, bien", which means "No, good."
We went back and forth for a little while with "No, mal" and "No, bien" until Jimmy decided to join in the fun by deflating the tire. Juan got a kick out of this and pointed at Jimmy ever so emphatically with a look on his face that said "HE DID IT!"
By the end of the whole escapade there had been a few more mal's and bien's thrown around and everyone was having a laugh. This incident then set up a precedent for the rest of the week when Juan would keep calling me "Mallo" which means "bad guy."
When I wasn't working on bicycles I helped out with the other projects that were going on. As I recall, I spent most of the day mixing up concrete for the ramp. We made a lot of concrete over the week. In all, we must have gone through anywhere between 12 and 20 bags of cement mix (but if I am in error, then I am erring on the short side). Every bag of cement mix would make 4 to 5 wheelbarrow loads of concrete.
I forgot to mention that it was this day that several of the children left for a three day camping trip. This is why Caesar wasn't around while we were working on the bikes.
As the day had begun, so the day ended. That is to say, every night and every morning was pretty much the same as every other night and every other morning. Dinner, singing, and then sleep. Such was life in Mexico.
I had slept a little better than I did the night before. At least this time when I woke up I didn't start brushing my sheets to get rid of any imaginary bugs. I had woken up several times, however. Enough times to get a good look at the late night lightning show.
Eventually I decided it was time to get up.
Every morning was pretty much the same thing. So I'll try to keep from repeating it in such detail every day.
We had breakfast, and got going on our projects. Today we didn't work on any bicycles for very long. But during the brief time that Jimmy, Clayton and I were working on bikes Juan decided to come see what we were doing.
Juan is a 16 year old boy who looks like he is 9. He was so completely and utterly neglected by his parents when he was born that the only way he survived was from the generosity of a neighbor who would sneak food in to him. This nutritional deficiency is the reason his body wasn't able to develop normally. When he first came to the orphanage he wasn't even able to walk because no one had every taught him how.
You would think that such a history would make a person bitter, or angry, or upset with the world, but Juan is anything but. He is such a happy and joyful child, you wouldn't ever think that he had such a rough start. Juan is walking now. In fact, he's not only walking, he is jumping, running, climbing, and doing everything else that kids do, including causing just a little bit of trouble. And that's just what he did while we were working on the bikes.
We were trying to get the brakes to work on a particular bike when Juan came over. He sat down next to Jimmy and watched as we worked. Before long Juan reached down and took the cap off of the bike tire. He held it up and gave us a mischievous look so that we would know he was causing some trouble. Juan then proceeded to deflate the bicycle tire from which he had removed the cap. We all thought it was pretty funny, but just to toy with him I said "Juan es mal", which means "Juan is bad." To which he responded "No, bien", which means "No, good."
We went back and forth for a little while with "No, mal" and "No, bien" until Jimmy decided to join in the fun by deflating the tire. Juan got a kick out of this and pointed at Jimmy ever so emphatically with a look on his face that said "HE DID IT!"
By the end of the whole escapade there had been a few more mal's and bien's thrown around and everyone was having a laugh. This incident then set up a precedent for the rest of the week when Juan would keep calling me "Mallo" which means "bad guy."
When I wasn't working on bicycles I helped out with the other projects that were going on. As I recall, I spent most of the day mixing up concrete for the ramp. We made a lot of concrete over the week. In all, we must have gone through anywhere between 12 and 20 bags of cement mix (but if I am in error, then I am erring on the short side). Every bag of cement mix would make 4 to 5 wheelbarrow loads of concrete.
I forgot to mention that it was this day that several of the children left for a three day camping trip. This is why Caesar wasn't around while we were working on the bikes.
As the day had begun, so the day ended. That is to say, every night and every morning was pretty much the same as every other night and every other morning. Dinner, singing, and then sleep. Such was life in Mexico.
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