here you are, but where are you?

"The Nyes"

2011-01-01T16:04:00.002-07:00

There's something pretty cool about writing the plural of my last name and no longer referring to my nuclear family. Now the referent is Jessica and I, the new "Nyes". 2010 was a year of great change for us, and 2011 promises to bring about slightly less dramatic but no less substantial change as we continue to grow as a married couple and hopefully move out of her parents' basement. Below is a description of how God steered us faithfully through a joy-filled year of engagement and marriage:

Evidence of God’s sovereign goodness and guidance during our engagement period was abundant. Coming right out of student teaching in the fall of 09, we thought that Jess might be able to get a full-time teaching job in January, so she applied for one. But thankfully, God did not allow her to get it, giving her instead a part-time job as a Teacher’s Aide in the same classroom in which she had student-taught. With that part-time position, she was able to take care of many wedding details and prepare to be my bride without the added stress of being a full-time classroom teacher. In my case, I began 2010 as an unemployed seminary student, paying tuition with my rapidly diminishing savings, living at home, and driving my parents’ car. However, God provided a couple of part-time jobs to sustain me through my spring semester of seminary classes, and even led a good family friend to give me a 96 Jeep Cherokee for $20!

Finally, our big day arrived on May 29^th, and we vowed our constant love and fidelity to each other before many witnesses. Many dear family members and friends came to celebrate with us as we experienced one of the most joyful days of our lives, made so by God’s active blessing and faithfulness. After a restful honeymoon in picturesque Door County, WI, we returned to set up housekeeping in the basement of the McKnight home (Jess’s parents), who graciously allowed us to live with them for our first year of marriage so we could pay off debt. We spent the summer working our part-time jobs - I served lattes at Starbucks while Jess potty-trained 11 two-year-olds at a local preschool.

But yet another provision from God was around the corner: full-time teaching jobs. Through the recommendation of a family friend, I interviewed for a Spanish Teacher position at a local private school two days before the wedding and was hired after the honeymoon. Seminary is on hold for the year, so this new job came at a perfect time. After an arduous job search, God intervened through some church friend contacts and gave Jess a position as an ESL teacher in Kenosha Unified School District. What a blessing it has been to be in the same vocation - we have the same teaching schedule, and our conversation often centers on our struggles, victories, and reflections about teaching.

As I write this, gazing at our Christmas tree in the McKnight’s living room, I am reflecting that even though our lives have changed drastically this year, the pervasive Gospel reality of our Lord’s birth, death, and resurrection still reigns powerfully over the details of our lives. Regardless of whether we are married or single, employed or barely hanging on, living independently or leaning on the generosity of others, Christ remains the Lord of our lives.

May the goodness of his kingly reign guide and comfort you this Christmas and New Year!

good sickness

2009-10-15T09:02:00.004-06:00

I was hit with a cold bug this week. I started feeling not so great on Monday, stayed home from school on Tuesday, attempted to do something yesterday, but had no energy. Today I'm just starting to feel strong enough to actually get some reading done for my mid-term coming up on Monday. I even got a subbing call this morning, but was afraid to take it lest I make myself worse or infect my students.

Getting sick used to be fun as a kid. I could stay home from school, sleep in, receive extra attention from Mom, and watch movies. As an adult, it tears me away from my established routine and makes me think about life in a way I don't want to. That, and I'm responsible for the stuff I miss (like the Greek vocab quiz I missed on Tuesday).

Though my heart was inclined to spend time with the Lord, to seek him as my strength in the midst of my weakness of body, I found that all I wanted to do was sleep and amuse myself in my waking hours. Being groggy from medicine, I found that I didn't want to pay attention to any book, and only DVDs or computer games could keep me entertained and make me feel better. So most of the past two days have been filled with sleeping, movie watching, or resurrecting an old WWII computer game from my teenage years (except for a nice two hours Tuesday evening when Jessica came to visit me - she's a great girlfriend).

This morning I read a part of a paper on sickness by J.C. Ryle. One of his main points is that sickness is a gift from God, God's reminder to his mortal, fallen creation that life is short and to be lived for that which is of eternal consequence, namely, Christ and his Kingdom. I certainly wish I would have read this article before my sickness, but I am grateful nonetheless for the reminder that my body is fragile and temporal, and it won't last forever, even though I'm feeling better today. One day my life will end by means of sickness or age or violence, and my soul will face its Creator and have to give an account for the life He gave it.

May we take care of those eternal things now, and live as if we might die tomorrow, valuing only those things of ultimate importance.

getting back in the habit

2009-10-09T08:24:00.003-06:00

It's the middle of October, and much has transpired since the second week of July. Apologies to my faithful readers out there who have been wondering where the heck I've been. The fact is, life just gets busy. Here's what that busyness has looked like lately:

First of all, there is a significant other in my life. Jessica and I have been dating for a month and a half now - not much time, but it's been delightful. We met about two years ago while I was in Kenosha for the summer after graduating from JBU, but weren't really on each other's radar screen until we participated in a mission trip to a Mexican orphanage in April. I was smitten by her godly demeanor, intelligence, and self-sacrificing passion for the children we were serving. So, I pursued. And miraculously enough, she responded! Thanks to God, we both live at home, are a part of the same local church, and have excellent parents and mentors to help guide us through the adventure of dating.

Also, I'm a full-time seminary student. Church History, Theology, and Greek are flowing through my veins. It thrills me to learn these things, and I am enjoying it greatly. No doubt it will get tedious and difficult after a while, but for the moment, I am content to buckle down and study hard.

On the side, I'm now officially licensed to substitute teach in the state of Wisconsin, so I'm learning how to wait for those 6 am calls from Salem Grade School to urge me out of bed and to the rescue of some poor, stranded learners. :)

jumping right in...

2009-07-13T17:30:00.002-06:00

"Wow, honey," my mom exclaimed as she pulled out of our subdivision and drove to my carpool buddy's house, "I'm taking you to your third first day of school!"

It's true. My first day of class at grad school. Mom had taken me to my first day of school as a kindergartner, as a college student, and now as an MDiv student. I guess I'm just a momma's boy.

It's July 13th, and I'm in school. This is my first taste of summer education, as I dive into a six-week intensive Greek course to prepare myself for a semester full of theological learning. It's a ton of work, but it's actually rather exciting. I really enjoy learning the "guts" of a new language, especially the language of God's self-revelation. It's stimulating my brain and occupying the majority of my time.

Kenosha is treating me well, especially the lake. Lake Michigan is beautiful and majestic, with ocean-like character. We sailed on Saturday with some friends, and I was struck with Psalm 36's description of God's judgments: "like the great deep." Praise God for his wide, unknowable mysteries revealed in the person of his Son.

the world between the worlds (farewell to Parral)

2009-07-04T23:02:00.001-06:00

The past two days found me enjoying the hospitality of an elderly missionary couple in El Paso, TX, after having been picked up at the bus station in Juárez on the night of the 2nd. We crossed the border without difficulty (except for a few apples confiscated by the officials), and ate a late-night snack before hitting the hay. David, Kristen, and Kim all flew out yesterday morning, and I stayed with Carolyn and Freeman, my elderly hosts. I spent the night at their house last night (the 3rd), and am now sitting in the El Paso airport, awaiting my direct flight to O’Hare at 1:55 pm.

The title of this post is drawn from The Magician’s Nephew, when Digory and Polly find themselves launched into a “middle world,” a forest land filled with little pools that lead to other worlds. Using their magic rings, they discover that they can jump in and out of different worlds: England, accursed Charn, Narnia, or a multitude of unknown others.

It is a good metaphor for this “middle ground” I tread at the moment, suspended between Parral’s world of teaching, service, familiarity with injustice and poverty, Mexican cultural norms, and Spanish and the new world that awaits me: American wealth, convenience, academia, relative comfort, and a new church body to love and serve.

As I paused at my host’s home, I spent a great deal of time in quiet solitude, reading and writing, even composing a new song from Psalm 31 on my guitar. It’s been a long time since I’ve had so much quiet. The Lord guided my thoughts to the recent past which was full of activity at church and school, preparing for graduation, packing up my stuff, saying hard goodbyes and promising to keep in touch. Then I find myself climbing out of that pool, soaked with clinging memories, and I stand up in a quiet place, staring at a new pool. I see the hazy images of Lake Michigan, my parents’ home, my church, Trinity’s campus, and even hazier possibilities of future plans and aspirations.

I mentally prepare for the transition, hoping the old pool will still be accessible in my mind’s eye, and start to wade in. A roar of jet engines fills my ears, promising a new adventure of light and shadow, triumphs and challenges, new discoveries and relationships. Hoping the mist will soon become clear, I dive fully in, trusting in the deep magic that sent me into that old world in the first place, back out, and into the newness that awaits me.

the last day of school

2009-06-24T10:33:00.003-06:00

Folks, we've arrived. After a week of taking exams, school is officially out. That is, for the students. We teachers still come to school and...don't do much. I'm just here, doing occasional jobs that arise (organizing books, cleaning out lockers, etc.), but for the most part, sitting at my computer, writing blog posts like this one and listening to some great music on MySpace (Sojourn Worship out of Louisville - give them a listen!).

The end came ungloriously, without much fuss and bother. High school got out two weeks ago, after finishing their exams. Junior high and elementary stayed until the past few days, taking one exam per day. Tomorrow, there will be no students here. A school without students is an empty thing, like an auditorium without orchestra or audience.

My fourth graders (aren't they cute?) had a party after their last exam today, and they invited me to take part. Maestra Ana Laura and I gave our goodbye speeches and prayed over the banquet of mom-provided food. What followed reminded me of a Sunday afternoon buffet, only at 9 am. Fried rice, empanadas, Jello, fruit salad, pasta salad, and guayaba pie were just a few items on the menu. All the children broke loose in joyous gluttony, devouring whatever they could in 15 minutes. With all the yelling of "Hey, are you gonna eat this?" and "That soda is MINE!", it was a colorful feast.

I probably won't see many of those kids again. It does sadden me, but as my dad advised me a week or two ago, it's also worth celebrating and praising God for what he's accomplished the last two years. A work of patience, love, forgiveness, and growth: on both parts.

first of the lasts

2009-05-28T19:21:00.002-06:00

Today is our last parent/teacher meeting at the school. It is one of the first "lasts" that I am beginning to experience here in my beloved Mexican community. I put on my beloved blue tie, shine my battered dress shoes, and spray on a little cologne, remembering how I live in a culture that values personal presentation very highly. I arrive at the school and then remember how I didn't shave this morning. Oops. Hopefully my students' parents will think the scruffy look is professional.

Such thoughts about my host society make me reflect on the past two years, and what I've learned about living cross-culturally (as we say in the Bible Division at John Brown University). In my different cultural communication classes at JBU, I remember learning about "style switching," which involves learning the different values and behaviors of your host culture over time, then imitating them. To say that I've done that like a pro would be a lie, but thank goodness there's a learning curve, as well as plenty of grace bestowed by my Mexican brothers and sisters.

Many of my friends tell me, "No te vayas!" which means, "Don't go!" How am I to respond to that? I know I must go - I am convinced of God's call on my life - but it feels as if the roots I have put down here are being torn back up in an unnatural break. Although I know I will probably be able to come back and visit, things will certainly not be the same. As someone recently commented to me, "Saying goodbye is a little taste of death."

The other day, I counted the number of places in which I have lived for the past 6 years (counting dorm rooms, houses, apartments, etc.). The tally? Nine. Number of states? Four (including the state of Chihuahua). This period of my life has been very transitory, full of change and adaptation. And now another change will happen. Who knows how long that stage will last before more change occurs?

The point? Change is life, life is change. But oh, how it produces in me a longing for my true home, where I will be eternally at peace, never shifting, always abiding. My soul's ache in this temporal reality is for an Anchor, fixed in that eternal Reality, where rest is forever and faith is no longer necessary, for we will know him face to face.

back at it...one last time

2009-05-12T21:00:00.003-06:00

Apologies to my faithful readers for my two-month silence. Much hath occurred this spring in my life here in Parral. The following is a brief summary:

1. Spring Break - I was heavily involved with our numerous youth activities during the first week of spring break (Mexico has two weeks, called Semana Santa), in which we decorated the house of prayer at the church, cleaned parts of the church building, and hosted a group of youth from San Luis Potosí, a large city in central Mexico. During the second week, I was able to take a bus trip up to Ciudad Juárez and meet the youth group from my church in Kenosha at an orphanage there, where we spent a week with the children, serving and loving them in whatever way we could.

2. Swine Flu and a Trip Home - Upon returning from Juárez, we had classes for a few weeks, but then the global panic about swine flu began to hit the fan the last week of April. I had a plane ticket bought for the first of May to go home and visit my family and watch my brother graduate from college, but a nationwide school suspension and a generous move of my parents brought me home a few days early. I enjoyed a week in Kenosha, reuniting with different folks from the Body there and receiving much from good fellowship. Then my mom and I drove to Joplin and spent time with my grandparents for a day before going down to Siloam Springs and visiting my brother at JBU. After a sweet reunion with several JBU friends and professors at graduation (and hearing an excellent graduation speech from my bro), Mom took me to the airport in Tulsa, which eventually landed me back in Parral, after an overnight stay in El Paso with a delightful missionary family.

3. A Big Decision - As the title of this post gives away, I have finally made the official decision to return to the States after this year of teaching is over. The school year terminates in early July, and I will moving back home and (hopefully) starting at seminary in the fall, as well as become involved in my local church in Kenosha and (again hopefully) find a part-time job as I go to school. It was a difficult decision in that I will certainly miss the people of the church and school down here, but God made it very clear that this is the right direction in which to head.

So, I would covet your prayers as I finish this school year. I have two months to faithfully love and serve this school and church, and I want to do it with all my heart, unto the Lord. Please pray that I remain faithful and that I don't give into the temptation to mentally "check out" (believe me, that temptation is very real!). And if you have been praying for me and the work of the Gospel here, I thank you wholeheartedly! May our God continue to establish the work of our hands as we toil for his service and unto his glory.

putting your hand to the plow

2009-03-03T20:21:00.004-07:00

Jesus once said that whoever puts his hand to the plow and looks back is not fit for the kingdom of God (Luke 9:62). My friend Ruth mentioned this verse to me yesterday when we were talking about what God has been doing in our lives. She said that God used this verse to challenge her to keep following the path that God had set out for her and not dwell on past failures.

To be honest, I've never liked this verse too much. It always sounded overly religious to me, like Jesus wanted unreflective, robotic zealots for disciples. Never looking back and plowing straight ahead didn't sound appealing to me, because of the lack of reflectivity involved in such determination. I like reflectivity.

However, after my conversation with Ruth, I began to see the verse in a different light. If you're plowing, you've gotta face forward. Jesus isn't saying that we don't learn from the past or reflect on what we've experienced, he's saying that the Kingdom of God is about straight rows and well-plowed fields. If we're focused on what's behind us, we're plowing crooked.

Recently, I realized that I most often look back as an escape. Life in Mexico is not hard. I don't suffer anything, just distance from loved ones mainly. My job is not enormously stressful or difficult. Things can be stressful at times, but no different than life in the States can be. But still I find myself desiring the "better life" on the other side. Like when my mom cooked my meals for me. Or when I had the freedom to learn new things and reflect deeply at college. Or gazing upon the deep blue of Lake Michigan instead of a dull Parral desert. And having put my hand to the plow, I look back.

I hate falling into this deception, but I do it almost every day: imagining a "better life" somewhere else than the place where God has so faithfully called and equipped me to be right now. And having taken the bait, I rue my "former life" and resent the current one that is brimming with possibility and discovery if I have eyes to see it.

May God make us people of the moment and enable us to bloom where he has planted us.

Philosophy class

2009-02-17T19:30:00.004-07:00

Spring semester brings a new delight into my life: teaching Philosophy to ready-to-graduate high school seniors. I teach them 20th Century History in the fall, in which I greatly enjoy imparting to them my love for the past. But there's something about pushing these kids out of their comfort zone to think about their life from another angle and preparing them for the college world that really exhilarates me.

We're about ready to finish up Unit I, a short intro to the subject of Philosophy. Now, I have to follow a boring government outline, but aside from that, I can do whatever I want. I try to draw out their natural hunger for meaning, which is especially keen as a blossoming young 17 year old. Asking the question, "What is life all about anyway?" is natural for them (or at least should be) at this stage or perhaps a little bit later in life. So I take advantage of this life-questioning and try to make them think for themselves about understanding reality in and around them.

But as a teacher, I want to always submit myself to the probing question that Paul asks in Romans 2:21 - You then who teach others, do you not teach yourself?. That is, am I practicing the same kind of self-examination and brain-stretching that I ask from my students? Or am I contenting myself to an unreflective, tossed-by-the-wind-and-waves kind of life?

It's easier to reflect this way here, in a foreign country, where I see all the exposed cracks of Mexican culture and liberally point out its failures, starting with ranchero music and ending with its corrupt police system. I see how much better off I am as an educated, spiritualized, organized gringo. I see the values of my reflective and informed life, and I shake my head at this backwards society that knows no such thing and is governed by its sensual, materialistic passions.

And then Paul hits me again: If I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.

This keeps me running to Christ. I love reflectivity, pondering the mysteries of life, but if I haven't any love, these mysteries are empty. Even if I do understand this culture, my own, or even grasp a full understanding on truth itself, it does me no good unless I love and am loved. I'll arrive at the end of all things and stand before Eternity Himself with empty hands and a forfeited soul.

Jesus is still in the boat.

2009-02-03T18:59:00.006-07:00

The summer before I came to Mexico the first time, I went sailing several times with my family on Lake Michigan. One of the most memorable sails was on a cloudy Sunday afternoon with a few friends from church. The wind and waves were technically safe, but the gusts and swells we encountered rocked the sturdy 27-footer in a manner that told my greenhorn sailing sense to be glad I was not at the helm. I trusted my dad through the trip, knowing that he wouldn't venture out into what he couldn't handle. But I found a new respect for the sailors of old, braving wild seas with limited technology far from shore.

I'm sure that Peter and the rest of his maritime fishing partners knew the capricious seas on which they sailed, and that the storm in which they found themselves in Matthew 8 was no joking matter. Matthew records that the boat was being swamped by the waves. That makes my little Lake Michigan adventure sound like a pleasant day trip compared to having waves twice my height crash into the boat and threaten to send her to the bottom.

And Jesus was sleeping.

No doubt he was tired from his long day of teaching, healing, and casting out demons, but seriously...he was sleeping?

You know the story - they wake him up, thinking they'll be dead in a few minutes and he's their only chance out of this mess (they were right). He reprimands them for their lack of faith and then directs his attention to the tempest, saying, Peace! Be still!

I like how the Eugene Peterson puts it in the Message: The sea became smooth as glass. The men rubbed their eyes, astonished. "What's going on here? Wind and sea come to heel at his command!"

I imagine myself in the disciples' place, and I would flipping out and wanting to wake up Jesus thinking he'd drown too, if he didn't wake up and do something fast. You know, Jesus would have been caught off guard, he wouldn't have...known what...to do.

He was in control the whole time, asleep and awake.

I'm trying to believe this is true. I wouldn't say life is a tempest right now, perhaps somewhere between a Lake Michigan rumble-tumble and a Galilee gale, but life and all its noise is making me lose sight of peace. I feel like Jesus is sleeping and thus isn't in control or doesn't really care.

Father, give us: eyes to see that Jesus is indeed with us in the boat, an understanding of your desire for your glory and our good, and the faith necessary to trust in your sovereign promises.

pray for Antonio

2009-01-12T19:47:00.003-07:00

I arrived early at church yesterday, thinking I would be needed to help with the praise band. Turns out that I didn't, so I began wandering around and greeting folks that had arrived. A young man I had never seen before was sitting by himself in the back, so I went over to introduce myself and talk to him. His name was Antonio, and he had just arrived in the city as a soldier of the Mexican army, and was involved in training in a nearby town. I asked if he was a Christian, and he said no, but several of his friends had given him music and sermons from the pastors of our church to listen to, and since he was in the area, he wanted to visit and find out more.

It turns out that Antonio knew next to nothing about the Christian faith, but felt that all his attempts to be a good person and please others were coming to nothing. So I explained to him that we are all like that. We try to reach a place of rightness, to be good, but we can't. And I told him about Jesus, who makes us right in the eyes of God despite our having offended God through ignoring him and thinking that we can do it all ourselves.

Tears came into his eyes as he explained to me how he has been wanting to make his life better, but he knows he can't. God had obviously been rubbing this sore spot, drawing Antonio to himself.

The service began, and the Gospel was preached. After church, we sat there in those blue plastic folding chairs at the back of the auditorium and Antonio gave his heart to Jesus.

Please pray for him, because he doesn't have many friends and knows very little about Jesus, but I think the essentials are becoming readily stuck in his heart. Like a newborn baby is completely dependent on its new environment, so this newborn is going to need a lot of help. So please pray for him to know and believe the truth of the Gospel deep down, and that it would bear good fruit.

ready or not...

2009-01-07T21:18:00.004-07:00

Classes started again today for Elementary and Junior High, after two days of cultural adjustment and preparation. I read my 4th graders a story from their reader and am trying out a new discipline system with them, to see if I can maintain a little more order. Wednesday is my double trouble day with my 9th graders, so we kicked right off with some good ol' passive tense.

Church life has been interesting since our arrival at the Parral bus station 5:30 Monday morning. After sleeping an hour or two, we got to school around 10 am (classes hadn't started yet - it was a prep day in the office). Somebody told me how the youth group had started an entertainment fast and a two-prayer-meetings-a-day routine, wanting to re-connect with God. It caught me a little off my guard, but I'm learning to roll with the punches as they come.

I sometimes find myself struggling with the spirituality of the body I'm a part of down here. It's intense, to say the least. Not legalistic, not even overly charismatic, just very intense. Everything is urgent, it seems - urgent to know God, to recapture a right spirit, to establish justice, to raise money for a project, to worship rightly. And these things are good, but instead of communicating zeal, it often gives off a sense of unpreparedness, a lack of structure and organization (not uncharacteristic for a latin church). But is that just my North American cultural bias talking? Should Christians seek sanctification in a long-term "process" way, or short-term "we need this now" way? Thoughts are appreciated...

heading 'cross the Rio Grande

2008-12-15T16:55:00.002-07:00

Tomorrow I'm boarding a bus for Juarez at 11 pm and will be crossing the border in Wednesday morning's wee hours to board yet another form of mass transportation in El Paso, and drift into beloved O'Hare Wednesday afternoon.

Yup, I'm headed home. And I'm happy.

Two more sets of exams to grade and final grades to calculate, but it shouldn't be that consuming. After that, it's all downhill. America, land of infinite comforts and conveniences, here I come!

...but that's what worries me. The part of me that loves my homeland's appeal to my every need and want that money can buy (central heating, dishwashers, drive-thru everything, Blockbuster) just has a heyday every time I return to the States. And it so easily satisfies me.

I love those good things: soft carpet, plush down comforters, snow outside and a roaring fireplace inside, excellent food without limit, hot chocolate, Christmas treats and goodies, shining Christmas decorations, a well-equipped kitchen, and I believe those good things come from the Good Creator.

But oh, how easy it is for these good things to come in between the Good God and my soul that so desperately needs him.

Jesus, maintain our gaze on your inconvenient, uncomfortable Advent so our souls will be satisfied with our good Father.

Billy and Dave's Adventure in Chihuahua

2008-12-02T19:08:00.003-07:00

Well, my friend David and I took an interesting trip to Chihuahua today to pick up our work visas. The 6 am bus trip was halfway pleasant - a little cold on the bus, but I actually slept well and enjoyed the scenery on the way into the city. After taking a taxi to the immigration place, signing the essential paperwork, and receiving all our visa stuff, we had several hours to kill before we were to eat with our pastor's son and his recent bride at their house at 1:30. So we started walking, and found ourselves on one of the main streets.

The city bus system in Chihuahua is funny - there are a bajillion buses, so you never have to wait long at a stop before one comes by. One passed by that said it was going to the Plaza del Sol (the big mall in Chihuahua). So we took it. It took us around the whole city, a 30 minute tour that only cost 4.50 pesos. Pretty good deal, I say. As we approached the mall, we saw (miracle of miracles) a brand-new Starbucks, just waiting to serve up a nice hot drink to a couple of hungry travelers.

So I ordered a Chai Tea Latte and Blueberry muffin in Spanish (which was really weird), and enjoyed the nice, comfy Starbucks environment...in Mexico...weird again. Dave and I got out our book we're reading together ("To Kill A Mockingbird" - excellent read!) and read 4 chapters, killing time from 10:00 to 12:45. Then we walked to the mall and Enrique picked us up at 1:30 to go eat at his house. We enjoyed a good meal and conversation with the newlyweds, and then he dropped us off at another bus station to grab a bus back to Parral.

But this is where the plot thickens. We saw that the bus was about ready to take off, and the driver came up to us and asked us, "You going to Parral?" We gave him the affirmative, and he told us to pay on the bus. This confused me, but I thought, "Well, maybe they give out the tickets on the bus." I saw a ticket office off to the side, but the driver insisted, and David and I followed him, the both of us a little confused. He told us the amount, I paid him, but he gave us no tickets. This confused me even more. We seated ourselves, and the bus took off. Then it dawned on David that the driver had simply pocketed the money and let us on the bus. It was too late. I just contributed to a corrupt system.

During the whole trip, I felt terrible. That, and there was a stupid movie on, which made me more depressed. It's really hard for me to avoid watching movies on a bus, especially when I don't feel like reading. So I watched the dumb movie, felt like I wasted my time, and felt bad for giving the money to the driver. When we got into Parral, the driver stopped about two blocks from the bus station and made us get off the bus. I suppose that since his number of tickets and number of passengers didn't line up, he had to make us get off to make things look good for him. Looking back in 20-20 hindsight, I should have just stayed on the bus and insisted on being taken to the station to buy a ticket straight-up, but again, in the confusion, we went with the flow. That irritates me so much that I didn't have the discernment or wits about me to confront the problem then and there. ARGH.

So we got off and started walking to the apartment (it's only about a mile and a half to the bus station). I wanted to go walk to the bus station and pay for my ticket, but David convinced me that the best thing to do would be to call the bus company's service line and register a report of what happened with the company. So that's what I did. We looked up the bus number and called the company to register the incident. They're going to track down the driver and hopefully make things right.

But this whole thing has left me feeling really yucky. Even as I type, I've got this gross feeling in my stomach that I didn't have the righteous wits about me to do something about it then and there. Perhaps because I want to be a big superhero and stop crime as it starts. That's my ego speaking. I am praying about it, asking God, "If I were really walking in the Spirit, how should I have reacted? And how do I walk in the Spirit like that?" It's really making me think about what it means to be a Spirit-filled Christ ambassador at all times and in all situations.

giving "gracias!"

2008-11-27T16:48:00.006-07:00

Well, Happy Thanksgiving from the other side of the Rio Grande!

Although Mexico doesn't celebrate this most excellent American holiday, the four of us strange American foreigners made sure our community knew what Thanksgiving is all about. From explaining the Pilgrim's story to my fourth graders and watching them them eagerly devour the Thanksgiving word search I gave them, to eating turkey, potatoes, and pumpkin pie with my ninth graders and the kindergartners, I took it easy on the poor kiddies today to enjoy our day of giving "gracias!"

The pictures above show the Thanksgiving presentation my ninth graders did for the kindergartners, who looked really cute as a bunch of little indians (feather headdresses were a little easier to make than pilgrim hats). At the end of the presentation I asked the little ones, "So, did we learn what Thanksgiving is all about?" A slightly misguided boy answered me by shouting, "Yeah! TURKEY!"

This is my second Thanksgiving to spend outside the U.S.A., away from family and the familiarity of home. I love celebrating Thanksgiving. It's the end of the fall season: the trees have shed most all their leaves, and the azure sky blends beautifully with the earth's brown carpet of dead leaves.

However, the closing of November leads to the opening of December: the eager anticipation of seeing Jack Frost's geometrical wonders on my car windshield, having foggy glasses after coming in from the cold, playing Christmas carols on my guitar, and fixing up the Christmas tree bright and merry in our well-worn, toasty living room.

But all this must be experienced and seen from afar this year, yet again. Oddly enough, I have not felt resentment or self-pity. This is probably on the top of my "gracias!" list. God has been abundantly good to keep me content where I am. I am truly thankful for the relationships he has given me here, the opportunity to teach four beautiful groups of children and young people, to be a part of his Body in a foreign land, and to learn another side of life I never would have seen before had I not come.

May we all continue to remain grateful to the good Giver.

a great opportunity to give

2008-10-29T20:52:00.009-07:00

The following piece I wrote as a description of what is going on with my school's satellite school that we've started in a poor, crime-ridden, and neglected part of Parral called Almanceña. We're right now in the process of trying to find more people would like to provide scholarships for the students, so I wrote this piece to post on the web for those interested in providing scholarships. The cost to support a child at Instituto Las Américas Almanceña is $800 a school year, or $100 a month from October to May. If you'd be interested in seeing the Kingdom come in the lives of these kids, post a comment or shoot me an email (billy@thenyes.us). Enjoy.

“I thank God for my school, because it’s giving me the opportunity to have a different life.”

“I know that I’ve been born again…”

“I’ve learned to work well…”

“Since I’ve been a student at this school, I haven’t stolen anything or said any bad words.”

“If my child changes, then I know that our lives are going to change as well.”

These are the words of children and parents whose lives are being changed because the coming Kingdom of God. Instituto Las Américas Almanceña started as a dream in 2003, when a few teachers from a church called Vida Abundante in Parral, Mexico began thinking about how they could bring an excellent education to high-risk kids in a low-income, neglected part of town called Almanceña.

It all started in a converted house. Bedrooms became classrooms, and were promptly filled to the max with tiny donated desks and chairs. Well-trained, loving teachers began to speak life and order to children who were accustomed to hear nothing but death and live in nothing but disorder and abuse. Kids who would have never had a chance to learn English, the key to success in today’s global society, are now learning their abc’s and 123’s in Kindergarten.

After three years, the students were crammed into their rooms like sardines. A functioning school building was needed, so one was built. The church was given some land a few blocks away and constructed a beautiful new school. In the middle of a neglected neighborhood, whose reality is filled with abuse, the cycle of poverty, drug abuse, and violence, ILAA now stands as a monument of righteousness and the lavish love of God.

Children whose futures would otherwise be destined to the mediocre cycle of poverty are now being given the opportunity to see life’s other side: the way God intended it to be. A life of love and selfless giving. A life defined by discipline and excellence. A life that respects and treasures the beauty of God’s image in every human being. In the midst of darkness, the light of Christ is beginning to shine.

So what does this have to do with you?

As Cornelius’ care and compassion for the poor rose before God as a pleasing aroma (and thus opened the door for the salvation for his family!), your care and compassion for these kids in Almanceña will catch God’s attention as well. Take the following story as a beautiful example:

Arturo is a kindergartner whose single mother has no money to buy him food for a lunch, so he often comes to school without a lunch. In response to this, his teacher began asking his fellow students to give him a cookie or cracker so that he would have something to eat. One day, one of his classmates asked his mom to make an extra sandwich for Arturo, and gave it to him during the lunch break. Upon seeing this, his teacher told the friend, “Thank you so much! When you give to somebody who doesn’t have what you have, God sees it and is pleased!” After hearing this, two of his other classmates standing nearby immediately offered Arturo a part of their lunch, without being asked.

Giving is joyously attractive. Therefore, we hope that you take advantage of the opportunity you now have to give in order to bring life and hope to the lives of these children, their families, and their community.

the teacher's worst enemy

2008-10-24T19:30:00.002-06:00

Every morning from 9:10-10:00, I have the privilege to teach English to 28 beautiful Mexican 4th graders. I have really come to enjoy this class. After dealing with a few issues regarding order and discipline, I think I have come to the point of being able to coolly conduct the class with order, with a little fun thrown in there as well.

But, no matter what degree of order I have in the class, it can be broken in an instant. All hell breaks loose, students start to howl, cover their noses with their shirts, crinkle up their cute little faces, and begin to yell, "AWWW! SOMEBODY FARTED!"

Yeah, you've just got to give it some time. Open some windows and hope the odor leaves quickly. If there's a teacher reading this that knows a secret to regain control of a class after somebody rips a bad one, please leave me a comment. It sure would be great to know.

i've got to get over this...

2008-10-22T16:28:00.002-06:00

I think I have "blogging perfectionism."

Every time I think about writing on this amateur electronic publication, I get overwhelmed with the thought that everything I write here must be flawless genius. And combined with a lack of Internet access (until recently - hallelujah for an apartment with a phone line!), and a severe lack of free time, I've abandoned my poor little blog. But to start off its re-ignition, here's a little sound-bite about what's been going on in Parral lately:

1. Passion Conference in MX City: I was privileged to go with my church youth group to Passion's World Tour stop in MX City in 3-4 October. Although the 20-hour bus ride and nonstop action during the weekend caused a little sleep deprivation, I thoroughly enjoyed being a part of the event. I was a volunteer, which meant I kept really busy during the whole event. I was able to practice my translation skills a lot as well. Our volunteer group leader was a girl from Brazil that spoke English quite well, but couldn't speak Spanish! So I translated for her to our group, half of which was Mexican and couldn't speak English. So that's a new favorite thing for me: translation!

2. "So, how's school?": I'm often asked this by friends (when I have the time to catch up with folks via chat, Facebook, or email), and my answer is always, "Busy!" Things have really picked up the last few weeks, and I've gotten a little behind in my plans, especially in my math class. Over half my math class failed the first grading period, which is rather alarming for a green algebra teacher. There's good reason for said failure: almost half the students are new to our school, which has an exceptionally high level of excellence for math, and these kids really had a hard adjustment coming in. Another reason is losing a whole week of school due to the flood. Also, many of the students are really quite lazy: they're failing because they don't work. So, that's been fun. But my other classes are going well: my history students are learning about WWII (my favorite period of history to teach), and my little 4th graders are in the process of earning lots of little "happy dollars" to get the chance to go to a special activity we're presenting on Friday. Oh, what fun it is to teach!

3. Parral and the Druggies: Mexico has been in the news lately for a whole lot of drug-related violence, and Parral has been no exception. A close friend of mine here was a witness to a shooting about a month ago: he saw a man empty an automatic weapon into a pickup truck and its passengers as he was walking down a relatively quiet street at twilight. The dad of one of my 4th graders was kidnapped about a month and a half ago, and showed up dead a few days later. Another one of my students' uncles was gunned down in Chihuahua 3 weeks ago. There's just a lot of violence going on here, and it doesn't help that the government and the police force are still fighting corruption within their own ranks. As much as the rest of this bloody world needs it, Mexico is in great need of God's justice. Pray that his Kingdom would come here as it is in heaven.

Well, that should serve for now. I'm off to do my Algebra lessons.

I'm still alive.

2008-10-09T07:29:00.001-06:00

I promise I'll write something of value soon. Just not right this instant.

A shout out from dried-out Parral.

Losing and Gaining

2008-09-04T09:11:00.003-06:00

The past few days, these eyes have seen much loss. Not my own personal loss: the loss of others. The loss of a 70-year-old man out of whose house I shoveled mud and now-useless possessions into the street as he showed me the Bugs Bunny drawings on the walls of his granddaughter’s room and told me about how he had lived his whole life in this destroyed home. The loss of a mother, whose now-ruined desire to have a stylish, well-presented home is evidenced the mud-splattered pile of home décor magazines found in a ruined dresser, chaotically turned over in a mud-filled bedroom of a once-beautiful house. The loss of property, personal possessions (in some cases, absolutely everything), security, comfort, privacy, peace of mind.

Now, I’ve lost a few things the past few days as well. I almost lost consciousness when I was standing in line to receive a Hepatitis injection at the Red Cross station near the disaster (David said my face was yellow). I chickened out yesterday, but bravely received two injections today, as my comrades kept me distracted, talking, and most importantly, seated.

I also lost my tennis shoe and my pride today after stupidly making my way through a lake of calf-deep mud. Having one’s sock-clad foot ooze into thick, soupy mud is an odd feeling – you feel utterly sick at the thought of it, but it’s almost enjoyable in a primordial, boyish kind of way. But, I found my shoe again (after much pulling and tugging and nearly falling into the soup), and was rescued from my predicament by a rubber-boot-clad Mexican who knew enough English to give my mud lake adventure some colorful names as he carried me back to shallower mud.

We’ve also lost some creature comforts. Running water, for one. I returned to the apartment today covered in brown gunk, ready for a hot shower, but due to a lack of city water (flooded and contaminated water system), there was no option but to wipe myself off the best I could and hope for some kind of water soon. So, we had the joy of bucket showers today. But apart from our very minimal “losses”, we are not suffering at all: only a few inconveniences.

The pastor had some wisdom in his words yesterday when he mentioned how the greatest loss to be seen in this natural disaster is not the loss of property, security, or convenience. The greatest loss is the closed hearts of the people to the Gospel of Christ. God has given them a great opportunity to lose their connections to this world by removing all their built-up kingdoms of wealth and material possessions in one night (sounds very much like Jesus’ parable of the rich fool, does it not?). And the response? “Well, let’s just get along the best we can, clean it up and start again, pull ourselves up by our bootstraps.”

This is the greatest loss. It is the greatest loss because the greatest gain lies before them in the person of Jesus. Paul, who had all the makings of a successful, respected Jew told the Philippians:

I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I might gain Christ and be found in him.

Rubbish. Contaminated muck. Mud mixed with sewage and corpses from the cemetery. That’s what Paul considered the best his flesh had to offer, compared to the riches of knowing Christ, which is the greatest gain. Gain. Gain!

Flood Pictures

2008-09-03T08:15:00.003-06:00

Here are a few photos from the flood damage. And perhaps I should add a qualifier to the last post: not all of Parral is under water, and those parts that were under water are now just full of mud. Thank goodness, the water is receding due to two days without rain.

This was our old house. Thank goodness we moved out nine months ago!

Parral under water

2008-09-01T09:04:00.003-06:00

Just thought I'd update everyone on things around crazy Parral. It's been raining more than wet season in Seattle here lately, and Parral just isn't well-suited to receive this much rain (for being 400 years old, its drainage system isn't incredibly functional). Saturday night, many parts of the city were flooded, because the river that runs through town rose up in several places. It was so bad in parts that some houses were completely flooded or in some cases, just washed away. I've never seen such power in nature up-close and personal.

The grandparents of a family in the church (a well-off couple) had the river rise up behind their house and flood their house terribly. I wish I would've had my camera with me to take pictures. Unbelievable. I went there to help their family take the non-destroyed items out of their house. At its highest point, the water had risen to about neck-level (from the water marks on the walls), and left everything else absolutely COVERED in mud - thick, sticky mud. The floor was covered in about 2-3 inches of mud and dirty water, all their things were chaotically strewn about, the windows busted out, the bathtub and sinks were full of mud and water. There were broken dishes and shattered furniture scattered about, giving you the idea that the water came rushing in with such a force to break windows and even deposit large logs carried by the river into the living room. The 500-lb. piano was completely upside-down. Imagine the power necessary to turn a quarter-ton piano completely upside-down. I've never seen anything like it.

I went walking along the street where we used to live, in the big house next to the park (these grandparents lived close to our old house). The house is completely gutted by water and mud. Destroyed. I was floored by the fact that we were living there 9 months ago, and now it's useless and worthless. Amazing. That whole neighborhood (where we used to live) was flooded out. The park was destroyed. The tennis court's chain link fence was smashed to the ground. All the playground equipment was destroyed and 30 meters from where it used to be. There were CARS stuck in the middle of the park, carried there by the water. I walked down to a friend's house near that area, and her whole neighborhood was flooded out, except her house and two others next to hers. Talk about divine grace. I saw a big delivery truck turned over on its side, and next to it, caught up in an uprooted tree, some sort of Plymouth resting on top of a cockeyed, washed-out VB Bug.

The mud is the vilest thing. It's everywhere. There is no escaping it. In the streets, in the houses, in the yards, filling cars. I got back to the apartment (thank God we're on the third floor, even though the water didn't get to us), took off all my clothes and stuck them, shoes and all, in the washer!

So in brief, it's been a wild weekend. There are no classes today. I know some of the students and their families were affected (I saw one family from the school whose house was flooded as I walked in the neighborhood next to the park), and there's still some danger in some parts of the city although the river is decreasing in size, thank God.

But all of us gringos are OK, there's no cause to worry (the river would have to be huge to reach us). Please pray for the families in the church that have lost their houses. One man's house is completely gone. Washed away without a trace. He's got absolutely nothing. Pray that God would use this time of suffering to try and prove his people's faith.

back to school

2008-08-20T21:21:00.006-06:00

How I love the smell of fresh notebooks, newly sharpened pencils, and dry-erase markers heavy with watery ink! I remember my days in elementary and middle school, the nervous-yet-excited feeling in my stomach I got as mom walked us down the Wal-Mart back-to-school aisle, checking off a list of new school supplies to acquire, along with the rest of Joplin's school-age population.

And now I'm on the other side. I confidently walked into my 4th grade class on Monday, looking at my students' excited (but apprehensive) faces, and started up my well-practiced "Teacher Billy Voice," which includes very colorful explanations and a lot of clearly-enunciated, oft-repeated words. As I left the classroom, I could feel their nerves twisting and turning, some of them not sure about this new Teacher.

Classes have gone well this week. We English teachers decided that a strong, firm front at the beginning of the year would be the best approach. As I gave my classes their syllabi, putting forth my expectations for the year, I basked in their quiet acceptance of my authority. Much different than last year's chaos, I commented to myself.

With the commencement of classes also begins our morning routine. David and I have discovered the happy secret to making real Quaker oats by simply putting the oats (and Craisins!) and boiling water in a covered bowl, letting it sit for 5 minutes, and POOF, yummy Craisin oatmeal. So, after a steaming bowl of Cran-oatmeal and perhaps some hot tea to kick-start the day at 6:00 am, we're off to school.

Even we teachers have our peculiar school routines. :)

hanging on

2008-08-12T19:29:00.008-06:00

I happened across this picture looking through my files just now, and thought I would share it with you all. This is my housemate David and I, exhibiting our respective personalities to the extreme on a swinging bridge over a gorge in the Sierra, close to the Basaseachi Waterfall. It was taken by our dear friend Kristen as we were traveling with her family when they came in April.

And no, I'm not eating David's hand.

Not only is the picture funny, but I think it humorously illustrates the way I feel right now: just trying to hang on and ride the storm.

School starts on Monday. I'm teaching Algebra II to high school sophomores, the majority of which don't have a great level of English, which means I'll probably be using a lot of Spanish to communicate mathematical ideas. I also feel way behind in preparing my 20th Century History class.

Church is pretty wild right now, as well. We've been having services about 4-5 nights a week, because there's a revival going on, so I haven't had much time to prepare classes aside from a few brief hours in the morning and afternoon, since we've been teaching English to all the school personnel for three hours in the morning.

So, part of me feels worn a little thin, trying to hang on to something solid during this tempestous time. I read a Puritan prayer this morning that said something about the Spirit guarding my soul that its waters would remain undisturbed by worldly gales.

"When peace, like a river..." and "when trials, like sea billows" - two extremes held together by the "It is well, it is well with my soul."

May the peace of Christ attend your souls...

bumbling thoughts on poverty

2008-08-11T13:16:00.003-06:00

The following is free verse that I wrote after walking through the center portion of the city 2 weeks ago. I see a broken and limping humanity, but my compassion for it is just as weak.

Who cares about the trash you’re moving around in the street?
Are you the only one?
That spent styrofoam cup, the chip bag tossed aside by a carefree kid
Are more like treasure than rubbish to you.

Drawn coffee-brown skin, filthy long fingernails,
Scraggly yellowed hair, scrawled mutterings of a neglected soul.
Your dark race put you here, tramped-on leftover of a white-eyed society.

What am I bid for the street beggar?
50 centavos, no mas.
Where does he sleep? Who cares.
What’s he like? Well, he babbles a lot.
What thoughts does he carry in that patent-busting brain?

The crowd around loves the flash, the look, la moda.
Looking to drop plenty to catch the envying eye
Of those supposedly less fortunate,
Jockeying for position.

In the bustle, he’s huddled up
(I almost stepped on him),
Busted, rusted guitar strains out what he knows,
A few broken chords,
A symphony of pleaded sympathy.

What’s the value of that human soul, so easily kicked aside
Like a used styrofoam cup?

Could it be as much as my own?

A Healer

2008-07-30T12:21:00.001-06:00

One of the many facets about our God with which I am very unfamiliar is his role as our Healer. I know God (or at least I say I do) as Redeemer, Justifier, Sanctifier, Lord, Savior, for these facets are well-preached and well-discussed in American evangelical circles, which is absolutely essential to our faith. But I am seeing some things on this side of the border that are surprising me about another facet of our Lord’s person: his power to heal.

Now, I’m not an expert on healing. In fact, being turned off to the idea by some of the extremes of “healing ministries” that romp around the world, wowing folks with miracles but bearing no real fruit, I’ve often avoided the subject. I know that Christ healed multitudes, I know miraculous healings took place in the Bible, and I’m confident in the biblical principle that God is a healer. But in regards to seeing it happen today, I’ve been a little sketchy until recently.

Maestra Ceci is one of the Physical Education teachers here at the school. I love watching her run around with the little kindergarteners, playing games all over the courtyard. She’s in the middle of doing a distance education program to get her bachelor’s degree, even though she’s forty-something years old. She takes the bus to school every day, because she can’t afford a car. Her unbeliever husband divorced her suddenly last spring, and her two college-age children are living lives away from God. Needless to say, her life isn’t easy.

But things didn’t get much easier in April when she found out that a cyst had developed on her womb and had become large enough that the doctor told her he had to operate and remove it soon, before it caused her any harm. I’m not a woman, but I imagine that this would not be a very fun operation. She began the process of scheduling the operation, putting the date sometime in May.

She told her immediate friends and through word of mouth, various groups of believers began to pray for her: a small group of women, a special speaker lady who came to the church in April prayed specifically for her, and a group of young people I was privileged to be a part of went to her house and prayed for her there.
She went back to see the doctor one last time before the operation, and after examining her, found no cyst whatsoever. Her womb was perfectly whole.

Crazily enough, almost the same thing happened with another lady in the congregation, a sweet-smiling woman named Anabel. Her womb became infected somehow, and an operation was necessary. The Body began to pray for her, and what do you know? No more infection. Perfectly whole womb.

And if that wasn’t enough, my friend Omar’s mom, a pistol of a woman named Betty, has had bone-eating cancer for about 2 years now. She’s undergone chemo, and wears a scarf every day to adorn her hairless head. I forget the exact kind of cancer she has, but it’s caused her bones to weaken to the point of being able to break with just a little pressure. But, after the constant prayers of the church, the usually serious doctor gleefully greeted her at her last checkup, telling her that something happened in her body to cause her bones to become much stronger now.

I’m not a real big fan of the whole idea of “faith-ing” your way into healing and wholeness. I think that idea can get really dangerous, treating God as the path to the good life and totally bypassing his person. But isn’t the other extreme of unbelief just as perilous? I think I’m beginning to learn a little from these fellow disciples: God loves to heal as an expression of his goodness to us, the end of which is a robust glorifying of his name, our Healer.

The Pit

2008-07-07T16:32:00.005-06:00

A man is trapped.

Since he can remember, he has lived the entirety of his life in a deep, obscure Pit. The Pit's walls are shallower than that of circular well but steeper than a Saving Private Ryan bomb crater, and made up of solid, slippery rocks held together by gritty masonry.

The Pit is his home, but he knows that he is not of It. Having once been told, the man knows he belongs to the Land Above, but the longer he dwells in the Pit, the more it defines him. His eyes are accustomed to the dim, tired light. At times, Light - pure golden beams from a rich, holy country - shines down on him from above, but those occurances are rare, and often unpleasant for the man. He feels a strong desire for his homeland during these illuminations, and is motivated to escape from the pit in a burst of energy and strength. However, after beginning to climb, handholds and footholds become scarcer and less secure further up. He invariably slips, falling down to the unforgiving bottom, which causes him a great deal of pain and discouragement. The higher he climbs, the more painful and damaging the succeeding fall.

Sometimes, his Light-induced motivation to escape is so strong that he will attempt climbing several times in order to succeed, but he is never able to make it. Eventually, he becomes very discouraged and surrenders to the thought that he will never leave the Pit, so he might as well just make the best of it. Besides, the Pit wasn't all bad: in fact, it pleased him in many ways. It was cool and damp, and he never suffered from heat. Solitude was another plus; there was plenty of time for deep, introspective thought and philosophical writing.

But without fail, the Light returns, awakening the desire to climb out, and the cycle repeats again, with the same result. Each time it looks a little different, as if he would be able to do this time, but he always ends up falling.

One glorious day, Help arrived. Help was strong, full of life, and had a specific mission: to get the man out of the Pit and restore him to his homeland. He was so capable of helping the poor man that one giant reach from his arm would take a hold of the man and lift him out. Help's voice boomed out to the man, huddled and shivering at the Pit's bottom, and the Light from the Land Above brilliantly shone all around: Are you ready to come out and be free? The man, so full of happiness from seeing the Light shine so brightly, responded, YES! I'll be there quickly - just give me a boost, and I'll make it out. I'm so glad you've come! You're just what I needed to make it to the top! Help replied, No. I alone must do it, because I am the only one capable of placing you where you truly belong.

But I almost made it last time, replied the man. I just need a little help at the end - that's the tricky part. So the man began climbing once again. He made it pretty far, and was nearing the 3/4 mark of the Pit wall when he looked up to expect Help's intervention. Help was nowhere to be found, and the Light had faded. Unfazed, he clung to the Pit wall, shouting, Hey, look at how well I'm doing! I'm almost there! I don't need any Hel---, and then noisily fell down to the bottom once again.

Help's head appeared at the Pit's opening again, and the man begged forgiveness: I know, I should have let you do it. I'm such an idiot. I'll never make it out of here. I'm so stupid - I'll never be able to trust you, because I'm so-- Help interrupted him: The only way you will return to your homeland, to true life, is trusting in my ability to get you out of this Pit. You must submit to this and allow me to destroy every trace of self-confidence you have built up over the years. No amount of determination on your part will restore you to true life, the life you were made to have. The question is, will you actively trust me each day and remove your trust in yourself?

a brief update

2008-06-06T10:54:00.003-06:00

Please forgive my lack of blogging the past month. Computer problems and the intensified busyness of a school year wrapping up has limited my blog life a little. However, I wanted to update a little of what's been going on and what's currently going on in our life down here.

A Decision: First of all, I've officially made the decision to stay in Mexico for another year. A lot of factors went into this decision, but the most important one is the "incomplete" feeling I had in my gut about leaving. I miss my family and friends a ton, but I don't believe that this season of my life is quite over yet. Mexico still has some lessons to teach me about the Kingdom, especially through the church I'm a part of here. That, and I'm really enjoying life here. Being a part of the community of the Body of Christ, however different it may be from my expectations and tastes, is causing me to grow and learn in my relationship with Christ our Head and his Body. For this, I am very thankful to God for the opportunity he has given me to be here.

Some Visitors: Two weeks ago, we had the joy of receiving several JBU friends as visitors here in Parral. Mark Dawson, Ryan Likes, Micah DeKorne, and Emily Pritz came down and spent a week romping around Parral with us, and we had a wonderful time of fellowship together. Then, with the arrival of a few beloved JBU Latinos (recent graduates Ruben Estrada, Pepe Lopez, and Parral native Isaac Gonzalez), our party was complete. The American boys are all living in community in Denver in an ethnically diverse neighborhood and are a part of a house church movement that is bringing the life of Jesus to Denver. Having the boys camp out in our living room for a week brought back treasured memories of dorm life in J. Alvin - organized disorder, using the bathroom all at the same time, sleeping in close proximity, and late night discussions filled with laughter that probably woke our poor neighbors multiple times. We climbed "the Molar" rock that juts out of Parral's landscape, ate and worshiped together on top of Antenna Hill, and ate delicious Independencia Street gorditas on top of our apartment roof.

I have tried about 4 times to download some pictures from our dear friends' visit, but I have been unsuccessful. Perhaps sometime when I'm home this summer I'll get some up.

Summer Plans: Speaking of being home this summer, I just wanted to let you all know that I'll be heading back to the States for three weeks in July. We're flying out of El Paso on the 2nd of July and heading back on the 24th. I'll be in Kenosha for most of that time, but I will be in Joplin (and possibly Northwest Arkansas) for about 10 days. Just for your information!

New Apartment Search (a little prayer requested!): Also, David and I have to find a new apartment pretty darn fast, because our housemate is getting married and our lease is up in July. So, help us pray that the Lord puts us where he desires. We really want to continuously pursue the Kingdom, wherever we are.

Kingdom thoughts

2008-05-13T13:01:00.003-06:00

Dear friends,

For those of us who believe in resurrection power of Christ and are waiting and working for his Kingdom, the darkness of this damned world (I don't use that word lightly) is just a passing blip of a shadow compared to the Light that is coming. Although the fullness of Jesus' reign is not yet here, it's in the process of arriving. And we are to live in the coming reality of his authority, delighting in the exercise of his righteousness and fighting against that which is against his nature.

In the light of this truth, I ask your prayers for the city of Parral. Recently, our city has experienced several heavy blows from very unrighteous people. There are a few drug cartels in Mexico (some are also rumored to have come from Columbia as well) that are power-fighting against themselves and the federal authorities here in Mexico. As I understand the news, the U.S. and Mexican governments have been putting heavier pressure on these drug cartels as of late, and the scoundrels are reacting against it by trying to scare local authorities into submission through kidnapping, hostage-taking, and murder.

Unfortunately, Parral has been one of their battlegrounds as of late. Some of these drug lords have kidnapped and murdered a few policemen, and their persistence is scaring a lot of these lawmen to resign, weakening the strength of the law in the city (which is already weaker than it needs to be). Last night, the city sounded with several gunshots in various neighborhoods throughout the city, and as David and I were running this afternoon, more shots were fired in an area about a 1/2 mile from where we were.

I'm not afraid, and neither are the believers with whom I have the privilege of fellowshipping. The church here is firmly planted in the truth of the Gospel, which declares the decay of this world and the glory of the one to come. This is a glorious opportunity to share the Good News with those who do not have the Hope we do.

So, please pray for open doors to share the Gospel with people during this dark time. Pray for the piercing Light of Jesus to shatter this crummy dark world. Pray that his Kingdom would come and will be done. What an honor we have to ask the Father for our hearts' desire in the Son's name (See John 16:23-4).

To close things off, I thought I'd include a quote from The Return of the King, taken from the scene where Frodo and Sam and on their journey through the Land of Shadow. I think it illustrates our situation rather well:

There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.

longing for my home

2008-04-27T10:03:00.003-06:00

There’s a place where I come from
It’s the place where I belong
Where you will never die
Wipe the tears off from your eyes
-Burlap to Cashmere

Two days ago, I was walking to the church in order to meet some friends to go visit an elderly lady in the congregation. As I walked up a hill on Zaragoza street, I began to pass a dirty-looking, green house on the right, from which emanated a displeasing odor. There were two middle-aged women outside of the house, one of which was yelling something at the other. Having my iPod in my ears, I didn’t understand the yelling, but I understood the situation perfectly as soon as I saw the other woman.

Her dirty, matted hair stood wildly on end. A blank stare filled (or emptied) her face. And she was almost completely naked. In broad daylight, standing in the street, she was covered only with a bra and a towel stuffed between her legs. The other woman continued to yell at her, supposedly trying to get her to come back into the house. I passed by this bizarre scene, trying not to stare, and quickening my pace out of fear that the crazy naked woman would chase me down the street.

As the fear passed, a tremendous sadness set in. We were not made for this. But this is where the Enemy wants us, and this is what our human nature accomplishes. With these forces against us, the original beauty and dignity of humanity disintegrates into the depravity of this poor woman.

In contrast to this story, allow me to tell you another.

One of my 10th grade students, whom we’ll call Fernanda, just came to know Jesus. The whole year up until now, she was an Emo girl. Dark eyeliner make-up, super-intraverted, hardly ever smiled at anything, always writing dark song lyrics in her textbooks. She has a rough family situation: her parents are separated, and although she lives with her mom, the mom doesn’t really care for her or her siblings.

Then she came to church about two weeks ago. I was surprised to see her, and although she looked a little shy at the first, something appeared to be different about her. That whole week she was definitely different. She was smiling. Beaming. I began to get curious. So I called her aside one day at school and asked her what was going on. She told me, “I don’t really know. I came to church and began to sing the songs, and I couldn’t stop. Then I started jumping and dancing, and couldn’t stop. I just felt God enter my heart. I can’t describe it any better than that. I don’t know when it happened, it just happened.”

I saw how Fernanda was before. And I see her now. Joy and happiness radiate from her face. She’s encountered something different. She’s found the One to whom she truly belongs.

I checked my Facebook account the other day and found something I wasn’t expecting to find among my friends’ status updates (for you old folks that don’t know what I’m talking about, ask the nearest high school or college student). One of my friends, a deep thinker and Christ-lover, had written “Sarah can’t wait for heaven.” Sadly, directly beneath her status update, another friend of mine (neither a deep thinker nor Christ-lover) had posted, “Jessica is loving the drink.” [real names not used].

Seeing these polar opposite statements in such proximity made me laugh out loud at first, but I quickly sobered after realizing the gravity of such a contrast. The latter friend is content in this world, satisfied (supposedly) with what it has to offer: fun, drink, boys, girls, parties, etc. The former friend is longing, aching for something more, knowing that there is something far more complete and solid beyond our broken, empty world.

The naked crazy woman on Zaragoza street and the pure joy I now see in Fernanda’s life are vivid illustrations that shout at us to be like my friend Sarah, who longs for heaven. To ache for that place where we truly belong, where everything of this world will only seem like a shadow or an echo in comparison, that is our call, our lifeline.

Oh, to one day be like Jewel the Unicorn in C.S. Lewis’ The Last Battle who, upon seeing the beauty of the real Narnia after the destruction of the old one, cried:

I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that it sometimes looked a little like this. Bree-hee-hee! Come further up, come further in!

springing forward

2008-04-18T23:58:00.009-06:00

First of all, many apologies for the faithful blog-checkers (you know who you are) who have been greatly disappointed the past few weeks with the lack of new material. It's been a couple busy weeks of school, with lots of planning, teaching, giving homework, grading homework, making tests, and (soon to come next week) grading tests and calculating monthly grades. However, that's pretty lame excuse.

Sometimes I forget the purpose of having a blog. My ideal purpose is to compose deeply thoughtful, intensively reflective, and yet easily readable essays to stretch my brain, soul, and writing ability, inspiring my readers with a distinctive viewpoint on life lived in Christ. But, thinking that way puts my performance at the center of everything, filling my blog with self rather than the glory of the Creator. I forget that the best function of the blog is simply to inform those who care about my life abroad.

I'm in the midst of writing a short update about life in Parral, which I will hopefully post this weekend. But first I'd like to give a little visual of what I wrote about in the last two posts: my experience thus far in Albergue, and our visit to Basaseachi Falls. Enjoy the pictures!

Family Vacation in Mexico, Installment I

2008-03-21T23:06:00.001-07:00

Cuauhtemoc’s Motel Tarahumara treated us well Tuesday night. It was a quiet, enjoyable evening, including a lively card game and a good laugh at poor Mom’s expense, who just couldn’t understand the concept of losing-in-order-to-win in the game of Hearts. After a traditional Andy Griffith to close down the night, we hit the sack around ten.

Wednesday morning’s events included an easy check-out of the hotel, a delicious (and nutritious) breakfast at a nearby Nutri-Vida store, and the unfortunate discovery that my poor brother had a horrible sore throat and the beginnings of a nasty cold.

Leaving Cuauhtemoc turned out to be pretty easy - we found the highway without a hitch, and began passing by endless, perfectly ordered rows of apple trees, staked out and pruned, ready for the summer growing season. These apples are the famous Cuautehmoc Mennonite apples, which along with its Mennonite cheese, makes up a large part of the region’s economy. This part of the state of Chihuahua is highly populated with German Mennonites that immigrated to the area in the early 20th Century from Canada and Germany, in order to found a religious community free from persecution. Through German ingenuity, hard work, and John Deere tractors, they transformed this dry valley into a fertile, highly-productive farmland. It’s quite interesting therefore, to pass by several businesses along the highway, whose names and advertisements are in Spanish and German!

We passed out of the Cuauhtemoc region in the mid-morning, and began entering the more mountainous and forested Sierra Tarahumara. Our destination for the day was the famous Basaseachi waterfall, which is reported to be the tallest waterfall in North America. Although it was a long 3-hour (one-way) drive through the mountains to reach the small Basaseachi national park, it was well worth it. We parked at the little tourist town, and then started a short 15-minute walk on a stone/gravel path through the delicious aroma of pines and alongside a quick-flowing little stream that cut through a stone gulley until we arrived at the waterfall itself.

Although I had first surmised that we were going to encounter the waterfall at its base, I quickly realized that we actually arrived at its mouth! Suddenly the little stone path gave way to a large opening, the ground now completely made of rock, and the little stream gathered up force for a 1000-meter tumble off the cliff on which we were now standing! As my eyes took in the majestic sight before them, I couldn’t walk any further. Monstrously tall cliffs, the big brothers of the one on which we stood, encircled and formed a massive pine-carpeted canyon, through which flowed the same stream that was falling from our feet to the canyon floor. The immensity of those sheer cliff walls astounded, frightened, and awed me.

Grand. That is probably the best word to describe Basaseachi, although it falls short. Staring into the grandeur, watching stone cliffs rocket out of the evergreen reminded me of the abruptness of Petra’s regal rock face, jutting out of the desert floor in declaration of its uniqueness and majesty. It was as if they had kingly countenances, mouthing words of defiance to the puny, camera-toting tourists standing on their little brother’s bald stone head.

Still savoring those words of terrible beauty in my mind’s eye, we returned the way we had came and found a small, home-kitchen restaurant that offered authentic Mexican food to hungry travelers like ourselves. We devoured the enchiladas, burritos, caldo de res, and chile pasado, my family relishing the new flavors of Old Mexico, and I taking joy in their relishing of my newfound culture.

Coming to places like Basaseachi and experiencing its breathtakingly majestic scenery often puts a mixed emotion in my heart. Yes, I feel wonder and joy, astonishment and even dazzled disbelief at the spectacle before my eyes. But I simultaneously have a sense of disappointment, which is attached to my inability to fully experience the beauty. I can only go as far as the chainlink fence will allow me, and there must my experience stop. Or, even if I am able to go past the legal boundary and explore the depth of the beauty until my body wears out, I am not confident that I would be fully satisfied.

Here’s what I mean: the part of my soul which is so greatly thrilled by the majesty of Basaseachi’s cliffs can only truly be satisfied by drinking from the Source of such beauty.

Delighting in the depths of the Creator is the only means to fully experience the beauty of creation.

A Tale of Green and Brown

2008-03-01T21:52:00.003-07:00

Since I haven't written in a while, I decided to make up for my lack of communication with a long story. Apologies for its length; it's something that has remained powerfully engrained in my mind the past few weeks. Hope you enjoy it.

On the outskirts of this valley-bound city under the shadow of tan, rugged hills spotted with scraggly bush-trees, lies a forgotten suburb named Albergue (pronounced "Ahl-BEAR-Geh"). Just recently has this part of the city of Parral been connected with the outside world with a paved road. Before, dirt truck-paths were its only access with the city itself, even though it's only a mile from one of the busiest parts of town.

Although I'm still being educated on its demographic makeup, Albergue apparently has a large Tarahumara Indian population, who are the native peoples of this part of the world. They were here long before the Spaniards arrived in the 16th Century and mixed their white European blood with the sun-tinted Talahumaras.

Most Tarahumara are on the fringe of society here. Many don't speak Spanish and live in the mountains, far away from the bigger Chihuahuan cities, completely disconnected from society in a way similar to the American Indians, but even more so due to the language barrier and cultural prejudice. Some come down from the sierra to live on the streets of the cities, begging for money. On the streets of Parral, I often encounter them: dark-skinned, ebony-haired women in brightly colored clothing, carrying little babies with dirty faces on their backs, asking people for money with their native tongue. "Codima?"

The people in Albergue are of this heritage of poverty and social rejection. This is the torn, stained curtain of a cultural backdrop for the story I'm about to tell.

In the church here is a guy named Mike. He's a good 6 inches shorter than I am and sports a good lookin' mustache, like most Mexican men. But unlike many Mexican men, Mike truly, humbly, and passionately loves Jesus Christ. And it shows. It's hard to have a conversation with Mike without out feeling the bombshell effect of love, joy, grace, and humility that Jesus has caused in his life. I heard one day that Mike was in charge of leading an outreach to this place called Albergue, and they were in need of somebody to lead worship. Being able to pluck a few strings on the guitar, I signed up and started going with Mike and a sweet spitfire of a lady from the church named Lucy.

My experience in Albergue can be summed up easily: Mike (or occasionally Lucy) picks me up from my house around 4:00 pm every Saturday, and we drive to the other part of the city, where Albergue is located. We descend off the paved road onto a dirt one which leads to a dusty soccer field, whose goals are made of rusted iron posts poorly welded together, ready to fall apart. The boundaries of the field are piles of dirt and rock on one side and a dirt wall on the other, on top of which is the paved road. There are often young boys and girls playing soccer there, covered in dust and yelling at the top of their lungs in the midst of a spirited game as we drive up.

We begin to talk and play with the kids as they arrive, knowing that we come every Saturday at this time (of course, the fact that there will be something yummy towards the end of the Bible lesson never hurts). My friend Judith (a young single girl from the church) also comes and accompanies me in leading worship, so we get out our guitars and begin tuning up. After a short worship time, we engage the kids in a short Bible lesson about Jesus' life. When we finish learning the memory verse for the week, the yummy something always emerges from the trunk of Lucy's car and we enjoy a snack on the dusty field as the yellow sun sets behind us.

Last week, I was privileged to play an important part in the lesson and become the man blind from birth in John chapter 9. One of the guys that comes and helps out with the outreach played the part of Jesus, and in place of putting saliva-made mud on my eyes, we substituted chocolate. It worked out just fine - I threw off my dark sunglasses and began declaring the technicolor wonder of my newfound reality (in less-than-perfect Spanish, of course).

After getting the chocolate fully off my face, I sat down with some of the kids as we enjoyed Lucy's snack. The sun was setting; its soft, warm yellowness bathing me as the casual mountain wind brought a slight chill to prick my skin. I sat in the evening's fading glory, the sound of chattering children filling my ears. Like every foreigner often does, I reflected on the oddity of my situation: a privileged white nerd from the US, sitting on a bare, brown soccer field on the outskirts of a city I had never heard of a year ago.

Suddenly, gazing at the stretching brown before me, my eyes saw something unexpected. There was green in the midst of the brown. On this dry, dusty soccer field, I saw a few small patches of green grass, subtly yet stubbornly holding its place in the brownness. The revealing power of the sun's yellow light drew my eyes to the clear contrast of emerald on dirt. I had never seen it before. It smote my vision like Rembrandt masterpiece. How was it possible for green grass to grow on this overused, tramped-on field that hasn't seen rain for months?

In the midst of the wonder, I saw a metaphor emerge. There was life in the midst of death. There was a clatter of awakening bones in the dry valley. It was springing from the dust, like Lazarus out of the tomb. Light issuing from darkness. There was something, a work of divine sovereignty and mercy, materializing in front of my eyes. The Kingdom, arriving humbly but powerfully in a place of desolation and brokenness, brought by the dusty, beautiful feet of those who preach the Good News.

Not only for Albergue, but this metaphor soon brought its guns to bear on my own broken life. I don't wear my frailty obviously, like this poverty-stricken place, but I'm poor nonetheless. Weak. Dry. Withered. Cracked. Dust itself cannot produce verdant fields. Only mercy brings life out of death and produces lushness in the desert.

I will open rivers on the bare heights,
and fountains in the midst of the valleys.
I will make the wilderness a pool of water,
and the dry land springs of water.
I will put in the wilderness the cedar,
the acacia, the myrtle, and the olive.
I will set in the desert the cypress,
the plane and the pine together,
that they may see and know,
may consider and understand together,
that the hand of the LORD has done this,
the Holy One of Israel has created it.

Isaiah 41: 18-20

an abnormal post

2008-02-18T13:47:00.003-07:00

hey ya'll...

usually i try to make my blog posts profound, meaningful, and insightful, a clever mixture of real-life situations i'm experiencing and deeper thoughts i'm having about the ever-present eternal reality of the Gospel. usually i deceive myself in my cleverness, and the purity of what started out to be a grace-prompted revelation often gets corrupted through my desire to dress it up in pretty language in order to impress my readers.

i hope this post is different (and shorter, as you're probably hoping:). perhaps a little more like a brief mass-email update. over the past couple weeks, life has continued as it normally does: nonstop teaching and preparation during the week, intermingled with a few welcomed breaks, and a "cool-down, relax, get laundry done and clean the apartment" weekend filled with a variety of social and church events.

as this latin rhythm follows its normal course, so does the swing of my daily life. some days (like yesterday for example) are great. i feel wonderful: time spent with God and people is meaningful, I do things well, I get things accomplished, and maybe toss in a few good selfless deeds (like making my roommate a sandwich or witnessing to somebody about Jesus).

and of course, there are moments with my rhythm gets thrown off and i misstep, causing others to wonder what the heck is wrong with me. i start dancing my own steps, to the beat of the desire of self, and eventually trip up and land on my bum, stupidly looking around in the hope that nobody noticed, especially the band leader. of course, he always does.

but the rhythm of grace never alters. never slowing to match my weakness, nor accelerating beyond the strength given me. my performance has no effect on its continuity. the best days don't surpass my need for it, nor do my worst days exhaust its supply.

asi es nuestro Dios, lleno de gracia.

the real and the VERY real

2008-02-06T07:28:00.000-07:00

rrgh.

That frustrated little grumble pretty much sums up my day. I started Tuesday, February 5th slightly irked at my inability to accomplish very much this weekend, even though it was a long weekend (Mexico celebrates their Constitution Day in early February, and we had the day off school yesterday).

I walked in the school office this morning, greeted a few teachers, and quickly set to work trying to plan out my day, as well as finish my weekly plans, which were due on Friday. After getting the minimum amount accomplished, I grabbed a portable stereo (for the listening portion of my classes) from a cabinet, and headed out the door toward my 8:20 4th grade class.

I walked halfway there before realizing that the little electronic adaptor at the end of the stereo’s plug was missing. I therefore retraced my steps all the way to the office, found the adaptor, reconnected it, and walked to the 4th grade classroom, now slightly late to class.

When my little 4th graders were finishing up their workbook assignment, the clock approached, then passed 9:10, the starting time for my next class, and the homeroom teacher still hadn’t arrived back from her break. I can’t leave the class until she gets back, so I was stuck waiting until 9:18, until she finally returned.

I booked it to my 9th grade class, got things somewhat organized, and began teaching. After finishing two/thirds of my class plan, I realized that I had ran out of time to do all that I wanted to, so I let them go to recess and I walked upstairs to meet my 10th graders, whose class actually went pretty well.

Recess allowed me to chomp down some granola and yogurt, get myself configured for my 11:30 12th grade Philosophy class, which I was pretty excited about. I recently re-watched The Matrix, and was inspired to use the film as an illustration of our knowledge of reality. I was pumped about using this cool medium to convey philosophical concepts to my students. As we began viewing the movie clips in class, one of the other teachers knocked on the classroom door and announced that some university representatives were wanting to use my class to give a presentation about their university to these high school seniors. With a polite smile on my face but a “You’ve got to be kidding me” thought in my heart, I consented. I shut down the movie and left the reps to do their thing.

12:20 brought my other 4th grade class to bear on my nerves. They’re beautiful little children, but I’m still trying to teach them the value of speaking one at a time. I came back to the office, tired and feeling defeated in not being able to control my students.

One of my good friends here invited me, David, and a few other folks to his house to eat. It was one of the girls’ birthdays, and the whole group was really enjoying the time together, joking around and acting ridiculous, as good friends do when there’s no inhibitions on being themselves. But my attitude was far from merry. I was tired and didn’t feel like talking or joking around – my sense of humor had long since gone. I enjoyed being with them, though. The lighthearted atmosphere gave lift to my spirit. However, I have two extra English classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I had to leave the dinner early.

And here I am, sitting on my living room couch, having returned from my two extra classes, which I’m not convinced are doing a whole lot of good to help these kids learn English.

You’re probably wondering, “Why the heck did he just write all about his semi-depressing, ho-hum, I’m-not-making-a-difference day?” Good question.

Ever since I read the book of Ecclesiastes in one sitting a few days ago, I’ve been thinking about the meaning of life. Ol’ Solomon seems to think that our whole life is one big cycle, void of meaning, and that the only good thing for us to do is to work hard and enjoy whatever gifts God gives us. The Gospel of John has been bringing a little balance to these melancholic thoughts, but simultaneously adding more confusion by persistently bending my wandering sight toward a Rabbi from Nazareth who made lame men walk, turned water into wine, and told people that they only way to eternal life is by eating his flesh and drinking his blood.

These two pieces of Scripture are being connected in my heart and mind by the grace of the Almighty through the idea of worship, strangely enough. In Piper’s Desiring God, I’ve been reading that worship is an act of the “religious affections” (Piper quotes Jonathan Edwards in this), which are awoken through the vision of the reality of God, revealed in Jesus Christ. Apart from this, worship is a meaningless ritual – a cycle void of purpose and life. Worship is the true emotion of treasuring Jesus Christ as an end in himself.

It might be easy for me to see through the eyes of Solomon today: well, it's one more day in the cycle of good, bad, good, bad. It's all a cycle under the sun, right? But something within me longs for a different answer: something past the sun, something greater than its light. A Light beyond the sun.

Yeah, my day was a blah sort of day. We all have those. Yet I want the reality and light of God, as revealed through Jesus Christ, to stir up in me a true affection for him in worship, regardless of the circumstances. He is the greatest good – there is nothing beyond him.

Let us sink deeper into his reality and lose sight of our own, which passes through this time and space at the lightning speed of insignificance.

i'm still here

2008-02-02T19:21:00.000-07:00

Faithful readers, I apologize for the absolute silence the past few weeks. Things have been rather ridiculous here in the beautiful pueblito of Parral, Chihuahua. My good friend David spent the week away from school all last week, and I helped cover some of his classes (those which began at 7:30 in the morning: ouch!). On top of that, high school classes began last week, which added another nine hours of teaching to my schedule. Needless to say, after teaching 6 classes in a row, 3 days in a row, I was bushed!

I don't have a whole lot of time to tantalize your minds with creative and profound thoughts, which I always feel the pressure to do as I publish my thoughts on the Web. But, I would like to briefly relate to you what a good work God continues to do in me, softening up my heart and mind.

Lately, I've been reading a book by John Piper entitled Desiring God. I highly recommend it as a profound read. I have been challenged to look at life through different lenses as I read this book. The main thrust of the book is to expose the glory of God and point to it as our true human desire: to know God and be with him, which is the greatest pleasure of all pleasures. He uses the parable of a man finding an invaluable treasure in a field and then going to sell all his possessions in order to buy the field, in order to obtain the treasure. As created beings, our greatest possible pleasure is to know and enjoy our Creator. Piper contends that the whole point of life is to become a Christian Hedonist: addicted to the pursuit of true pleasure, which is found in no other place save God alone.

Being in the Gospel of John at the same time has made me very conscious of this theme which weaves in and out of the fullness of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. In the grace and truth of Christ is revealed the exact image of the Father, in whose fellowship the Son took the fullest pleasure. And through the ridiculous mercy of God, he has ushered unworthy, filthy rebels into the midst of that fellowship, into the midst of the purest pleasure that can ever be experienced. And if this is the case, why the heck am I not reveling in it?

May you experience the fullness of the pleasures found at the right hand of the Father (Psalm 16--read it before you go to bed tonight and chew on it for a while).

the perspective of grace

2008-01-09T16:02:00.000-07:00

Well, at this point in the story, I'm sitting in the school office at the end of a slow, semi-successful day. I played a crazy game with my 4th graders, which involved their sprinting to the whiteboard from their seats in order to touch an illustrated vocabulary card, shouting "I DO!" in response to my question, "Who likes to go bike riding?" My attempt to teach the structure of three-word phrasal verbs to my 9th graders went pretty well - they seemed to understand what I said. High school doesn't start classes for another two weeks, for which I am thankful. I still have much to prepare for my 10th grade English class and 12th grade Philosophy class. Yes, I said Philosophy. I'm going to be a Philosophy teacher. Yikes.

Personally, I'm feeling a little more confident in my being here. Actually, the picture above illustrates that confidence quite nicely. While at a friend's house last week, I browsed through her library and encountered a book full of M.C. Escher's works. This particular piece caught my eye immediately.

I've always been an admirer of Escher. His works are mind-boggling and perplexing, for he was able to create deceptively possible images through the use of perspective. It makes one wonder whether he had the superhuman ability to enter into his own works, gaze at all angles of their artistic construction, and then somehow re-arrange everything from every possible perspective before re-entering the real world. His art has an otherworldly sense about it, and yet its meaning is often very concrete.

The piece above caught my attention because its subjects are living, breathing, eating, loving, thinking creatures (quite humanlike), but they exist on entirely different geometric (or terrestrial) planes. There are three sets of living creatures in the same place, but they literally live on different perspectives. One is obvious: the normal up-and-down (right-side-up) geometric plane through which we view the world from our position, taken captive by gravity. The other two planes exist when you tilt your head to view the piece from one side to another.

The name of this work is entitled Relativity. I wonder why.

Interestingly enough, this wood engraving is a good illustration of how God is working in my life. Through the process of time and the mercy of God, He has begun an understanding in my mind and heart that although the people with whom I work, worship and live may be on another cultural and theological perspective, we remain in the same place. Different planes of perspective perhaps, but the same place nonetheless. And that place is both physical and spiritual. I not only live and work alongside with them, but I am also bound to them as a fellow part of Christ's Body.

And if I do not love them regardless of our differences, how can I be called one who follows Christ? Did not our Lord place on his church a new command? Love one another.

Should I be surprised that the command isn't, Be right and prove it to others? But alas, brothers and sisters, this is my own command to obey 99% of the time. Please pray for me, that my strength to love would come not from my own weak reserves, but from the working of the Spirit of God within me.

home, part 2

2008-01-06T20:41:00.000-07:00

"Well, I'm back."

The last words of J.R.R. Tolkien's Return of the King reflect a bit of where I'm at right now. Sam just returned to his home at Bag End after watching Frodo, Gandalf, Bilbo, and others board a ship bound for the Undying Lands. I've always enjoyed reading over the last part of that epic story because it has an unfinished feel to it: the life-threatening, adrenaline-pumping adventure of the Fellowship has ended, but the journey still continues for Samwise Gamgee.

Now, I haven't just returned from an epic adventure that resulted in the salvation of the world, but my time at home was high-pitched, fast-paced, full of life, joyful reunions, and deep conversations.

Seeing my mom and dad from the top of a O'Hare escalator thrilled my heart and reassured me that I had finally returned to a place of love, warmth, and security.

Opening the door of my house to the faces of old friends filled me with old memories and new thoughts of true, God-given fellowship.

Having a deep conversation with my 89-year-old grandma who told me she has a greater hunger for God than she has ever had floored my "I've already arrived" pride and ushered me into a self-defeating, joyful place of humility.

Talking with my dad about all my life struggles over a Starbucks mocha and listening to his humble-yet-assured responses gave me a sense of security and confidence in God which still tells me, "Blessed is he who trusts in the Lord."

And now, I'm back. Here in Parral. Without being too dramatic, this city has showed me more of my weakness and insecurity than college did. It's a place where I'm tested and often found wanting, because of my blasted sense of self-reliance. But, it's a place that God uses to lift a hidden veil in my soul, touching an exposed nerve and revealing my obvious need for Him.

I still feel slightly melancholic about leaving goodness of home life and embracing the fact that it will be several more months before I'm able to see my family and friends again. However, a conversation with a good friend and his wife over break has helped me see this place in a different light.

He encouraged me to view Parral as my home, even though it is far from my idea of home. Christ is my home, he told me, and wherever he places me, there is my home, for I am there with him. Love those around you like family and old friends, he said, for that is the example he left us: he came to our home, a far cry from his heavenly dwelling, and loved us as family and friends.

And this is our calling. Let us live it obediently and confidently in the grace He has provided.

fence-crossing

2007-12-18T08:50:00.000-07:00

Well, this will be the last post from the southern side of the border before the new year arrives in all its waxing glory. It will also be a little short, because I don't have a ton of time to expound the profundity of my finite mind.

We are leaving for El Paso today, hoping to cross the border in the evening time, find a hotel close to the airport, and fly out for home tomorrow morning. My thoughts about this change of place, routine, and rhythm are a little jumbled at the moment, still tied together with the logistics of what I have to do before getting on the airplane.

Nevertheless, I've been thinking about how this time of going home has finally come, and how unreal it seems right now. I've been dreaming of going home for months now, how I got more excited as the days passed from Thanksgiving-time into December's patient anticipation of all that is red and green. As my recent posts have indicated, I've missed (and am missing) my family a great amount, and the amount of anticipation I have to celebrate Christmas with them and be in a known, familiar place is building up rapidly.

I'm standing in what seems to me a dry, brown pasture, longing for the lush, verdant fields on the other side of the fence. Over the fence lies my home, warmth, familiarity, fellowship, a place where I am known and can speak my own language all the time, and all the comforts of my former life. This appeals to me greatly, for obvious reasons. Here, in this desert life, I am exposed to my weakness and removed from my familiar roots, forced to place my trust in God, who is not comfortable to my liking most of the time.

Tomorrow, I'll be crossing the fence to the other side, rejoicing in a reunion with my family and my home. I am greatly thankful for this, and am entirely ready to celebrate this happy homecoming with them. At the same time, I do not want to cultivate an attitude of "looking for greener grass" in my life. As a good friend wisely commented on a recent post of mine, the secret to contentment is to live in the "eternal now" of the living God, even in the marginal, dry-pasture times of life. To drink deep of each moment of the time we have been given is a pleasure when drunk in Yahweh's Light.

waiting...

2007-12-09T17:33:00.000-07:00

To keep in step with the reflective theme of my blog, allow me to answer the question that sprawls across the top of your web browser: "here I am, but where am I?"

The obvious answer is this: I'm here Parral, doing the same thing I've been doing for four months, which is teaching and being a part of the body of Christ. The more complicated answer still evades certainty in my mind, which is preoccupied with things of a much less significant nature.

This is what I feel: I'm very ready to go home and be with my family. As I wrote a few weeks ago, I keep daydreaming of the moment I see my mom and dad when they pick me up at O'Hare International Airport. The joy of that reunion is something I long to experience. I can't wait to bear-hug my brother when we pick him up from O'Hare the next day. The longing I have in my heart to see my family and be in the same place with all of them nearly brings tears to my eyes as I anticipate it. I miss them tremendously. I also greatly look forward to being reunited with my close friends, whom I haven't seen for half a year, whose lives have changed dramatically since we last talked.

Although I enjoy my life here and know that this is my job/responsibility right now to be here, I'm finding it very difficult to keep a good attitude about being here when I would much rather be somewhere else. I want to experience the comfort of home and familiar people, with whom I can talk in my own language. I'm tired of teaching kids, the majority of whom don't care about my English lessons, and I want to be in a place where I am truly known. But this is what I feel.

This is what I know: God the Almighty sees my rotten attitude toward my life here, and the rest of my stinky, messy thought-life. And by mercy, He decided to punish Jesus Christ rather than me. Now, I know that wanting to go home is not a sin. But, my discontent and apathy toward the real problems that are in front of my face are definitely not the attitudes of those who have been rescued from God's wrath by grace. I am realizing more these days the importance of Paul's attitude of being content in every situation.

Jumbled thoughts of the future, hopes and desires of this world, and preoccupation with temporary comfort: these things occupy my mind most of the time, not the timeless, unexpiring promises of the Gospel. When I lose sight of the Cross, I begin to think that I deserve a good life and I start trying to acquire this "good life". What a deception, eh? Didn't Jesus say that I needed to lose my life in order to find life? Wasn't he telling the truth when he said that in him and him alone is true life found?

Thanks for reading my thoughts. If anything, it helped me sort out a little where I'm at, as I try to finish this race well before a wonderful holiday break. A week and three days before home! Pray that I put forth my whole effort into stewarding what I have been given.

mi casa es tu casa

2007-12-03T13:46:00.000-07:00

Well, here's a short post just to let you know that we are successfully moved in to our new place. One Saturday morning/afternoon, one truck, and half a dozen faithful female friends placed us in our new apartment, safe and sound, albeit a little disorganized.

Although David invited half the church to come and help us move, only half a dozen young women showed up at our house at 7:30 am on Saturday to help us pack, move, and clean. Don't worry, we're in the midst of giving our guy friends a hard time about the quality of their friendship. These awesome girls pretty much worked a miracle by packing up our entire kitchen and most of our bedrooms, as well as cleaning practically every square inch of the empty house, all in half a day. Yeah, we pretty much owe our lives to them. I'll never say a bad thing about women for as long as I live.

Our new place is much smaller than our house before, which had two floors and a huge basement, but it fits us a LOT better than the old one. We hardly used any of the acres of space we had in the old house, and now it feels that the three bedroom, one bath wonder we have now is truly home. That, and it is partially carpeted, fully insulated, and has central heating, which are all rarities in Mexican residential construction. It was wonderful to get out of bed this morning and sink my toesies into soft, warm carpet and not freeze my buns off after getting out of the shower. Oh, what a creature of comfort I am!

I'll try to post a few pictures of our new abode here pretty soon. Fifteen days until home, and counting!

fire, vomit, and drastic change

2007-11-28T07:38:00.000-07:00

In another attempt to write something more concrete in describing our gringo teacher life here in Mexico, I'd like to relate to you a few recent developments in our dramatic story of teaching, living, and learning.

I'll start off with a sad note. If you have read the last couple of entries on this wonderful blog, you probably read about the details of my housemates and the joys I have had living with them thus far. Well, only a few days after I posted that description of our bilingual brotherhood, Jorge abruptly decided to resign from the church and leave the congregation (and the city) for good, due to various personal reasons. This came suddenly to us, catching us completely off guard. Today, a week and a half after, we're still feeling the loss and the hurt of seeing a good friend go away.

This drastic change implied several things. First of all, the church is now without a youth pastor to shepherd its 150-200 young people. Secondly, we lost a housemate (who was not only a good friend, but paid 1/4 of the rent as well!). Thus, a lot of things have begun to change in the past week and a half. David, myself, and a group of about 15 of the older, more mature twenty-somethings in the congregation have started to take some of Jorge's responsibilities for the youth group and start doing a lot of planning to make the youth group a solid, functioning, edifying body. Also, David, Mica, and myself have been looking for another place to live! We think that we've found a good apartment, and it's possible that we will sign the lease very soon and hopefully start moving on Friday of this week (yikes!). So, please pray for us in this time of transition, that God would be glorified in our life together.

As a part of some of the changes in the youth group, we decided to put on a big bonfire (fogata, for you Spanish speakers) on Saturday to give the youth an edifying, group-identifying, and just plain FUN activity, as well as to lighten the heaviness of the news of Jorge's leaving. It turned out to be INCREDIBLE! The locos fotos above are from that smoky, zany evening. Just imagine a typical American kum-bay-yah youth group bonfire, only spice it up with the chile of Mexican culture and personality, and make it last much longer. Then you might have an idea what it was like.

One final story to close things off with a laugh and satisfy your curiosity which is probably dying to know why I included the word "vomit" in the title of this post. On Wednesday morning of last week, I was in the middle of teaching a brilliant English lesson to my 4th grade students, who were doing their best to pay attention (I'll give them the benefit of the doubt). Suddenly, a boy named Alejandro simultaneously placed his left hand over his mouth and raised his right hand to ask me an urgent question with pleading eyes. Not fully understanding his mumbled, high-pitched request (with the hand covering his mouth, it was a little difficult to make out what he said), I nodded a confused "yes", at which he jumped up and ran for the trash can.

Too late. A liquid substance slightly resembling strawberry milk spewed from between his fingers and generously covered the floor (and several backpacks to boot). The general reaction of the class was a disgusted groan, followed by several screams, indicating to whom the affected backpacks belonged, followed by one of the most alarming of sounds to any teacher: the dry (soon to be wet) heaves of the students who could not handle the sight or smell of fresh vomit. After a few moments of confusion, I saw the unmistakable telltales of pre-vomitation growing strong: pale faces, hands clutching at the stomach, and voices clamoring, "Oh Teeeacher...I'm seeeeeck!"

Raul, one of my best students, opened the door to the classroom (which leads out onto a concrete walkway/balcony through which the classrooms are accessed), ventured outside, and promptly lost his breakfast on the concrete. Fernanda, a sweet yet slightly clueless little girl, managed to climb up on one of the desks which was close to the outside window, open the window, lean halfway out, and puked about a foot away from Raul. I'm pretty sure another student threw up in the classroom before I was able (shouting in Spanish over the sustained disgusted roar) to evacuate the entire class to the bathroom.

After getting them to the bathroom, I valiantly tried to form them into stately lines of boys and girls and proceed orderly to the toilets, but the urgency of the moment provided that they ran as fast as they could to the stalls in order to throw up in the toilet rather than in front of their friends. Before it was all over, at least six more vomited in the bathroom.

I had sent one of the more responsible (and less sick) students to find the janitor to clean up the mess in the classroom, and in order to give her proper time to repair the damage, I took my class outside and forced them to sit down in the slightly warm, tree-shaded school courtyard to rest their little stomachs and get their easily-distracted minds off the strawberry-milk mess in the classroom. After about 10 minutes of hearing the constant complaint of, "Teeeacher, I have a estomagache!" (that's Mexican 4th grader Spanglish for "stomachache", which was a vocabulary word three weeks ago--aren't I a good teacher?), I herded them back into the classroom and told them to play games for the rest of the hour. There was no way I was going to capture their attention and resume my brilliant lesson after that fiasco.

home

2007-11-26T11:50:00.000-07:00

De donde eres? (“Where are you from?”)

I am often asked this question when I meet a new person here in Parral. Total strangers in a neighborhood grocery store also ask me this question, when they (somehow) recognize that I am not a local. My usual answer? Soy de Chicago. Although I’m technically not really from Chicago, it’s close enough to my new hometown, and it’s also a somewhat-recognizable name for Mexicans. That way, I don’t have to try to pronounce or explain where Wisconsin is located in the United States.

But really, where do I come from? I’ve lived in Missouri most of my life, but my family recently acquired a second home in Wisconsin. I also spent four years of my life going to college in Arkansas. And for the past four months (almost), I’ve lived in Mexico. That’s geographically speaking, at least. But if we’re talking about all the people, experiences, and ideas that have molded and shaped me into who I am, the list of influences grows long. The caring and thoughtful upbringing of my parents, the constant companionship of my brother since I was a toddler, transition between high school and college life, church experiences, growing up in the middle of the United States, and that’s only to name a select few.

As I mentioned, it’s been about four months since I’ve seen my family. That’s the longest period of time that has elapsed without my having laid eyes on them. There are a lot of things that I miss about them: my dad’s consistency and strength, my mom’s warmth and sensitivity, my brother’s sharp wit and ability to send us all into stitches with a brilliant, expertly-timed one-liner.

I miss quiet evenings when I play my guitar to entertain my mom while she cooks her world-famous chocolate chip cookies and cheerfully sings along to my strumming. My brother and dad sit on the couch, Matt doing his best to pick my dad’s extensive brain about some topic he just read about in Time magazine. There’s probably an episode of the Andy Griffith Show playing on the TV in the background, and the teapot is whistling away, letting us know that the evening cup of tea is almost ready.

I love those times dearly: I am myself, I am at rest, and there is peace, familiarity, and warmth. My family knows me and I know them. It is a time and place of joy and love. But, is that the ideal of home which I should try to obtain? Is that the “ultimate” for which to strive?

For being a missionary-nomad type for most of his life as he was, the Apostle Paul had some pretty good thoughts about home:

Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?

For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.

God in us and we in God. Shared fellowship with the Being by whom and for whom we were created: is that not the meaning of home? Through thoughts of missing my family, being separated from familiarity, and adapting to new places and people, my steadfast anchor is the revealed knowledge of being in fellowship with God through the person of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Remain there, my friends: whether you’re at home or far away from it, remain there.

bilingual brotherhood

2007-11-12T07:41:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting here in our newly-created sala (living room), on furniture provided by our extremely generous pastors, chatting with my companeros (housemates) David, Mica, and Jorge about all sorts of things: the Gospel, our housecleaning schedule, getting wireless Internet in our house, giving Mica hard time about his girlfriend, and how our newly-purchased bottle of “purified” water smells a little suspicious. We’re laughing, talking seriously, reading, working on our computers, and just having a good time relaxing on a Saturday night. Most of the time, our conversation is in Spanish with blips of English thrown in between. This makes it much more interesting for me, to not only practice my Spanish, but to also coach Jorge along as he learns my language with stuttering ease: "Hey, man, I need to go myself to the bathroom, man."

Let me just give you a picture of the caliber of the guys to whom I wake up to every morning.

Jorge: When I told people in the U.S. that I was going to Mexico, they told me, “Oh, those Mexicans are going to have to look up to you.” Not so with my friend Jorge Franco. He has at least 3 inches on my precious 5 feet and 11 inches, and outweighs my slender frame by a good 75 pounds. The only true Parral native of the house, he’s about 26 years old, and although he went to university to be an engineer, he’s now the youth pastor at our church and the manager of our church’s coffeehouse. Needless to say, he has an abundance of energy (despite his size), and keeps much busier than me most of the time.

However, around the house, he’s a goofball. He makes a good youth pastor, because he loves to have fun like a little kid and yet is very concerned that los chavos (the young people) at the church come to know Jesus truly and personally. And his nickname around the house? “The Cereal Monster”, because his appetite for cereal is nothing less than voracious. Our poor boxes of “Honey Bunches of Oats” quickly disappear when Jorge is on the rampage.

Mica: Originally from Puebla, Mexico, this amiable and genuine Mexican is the rebuttal for any argument that might try to stereotype Mexicans as ignorant and non-intellectual. He actually puts me to shame on most things intellectual. Practically tri-lingual, Mica has studied in North Carolina and Germany, as well as in more than one university in Mexico. That, and he actually understands economics, which I think is really cool. We’ve definitely had more than one conversation about how economics and history are such cool things to study. He teaches economics at the local university here in Parral, which (I say) is the cause of his partially balding head, even though he’s still a mere 28 years old.

He’s also a big gamer, and we’ve had plenty of fun moments playing HALO together. Having lived on his own for quite a while before moving in with us, he’s quite a cook, and we’ve cooked some pretty good meals together for our other housemates, who don’t enjoy cooking quite as much as we do. He’s a solid guy in the Lord, and is constantly encouraging me (directly and indirectly) to know Jesus, our strength.

David: My longtime JBU friend, fellow J-Alviner, and nearly-constant companion David has been a huge source of strength and refreshment to me during my three months here in Parral. I have been so blessed to have him right next door the past three months. Not only does he speak English as a native language, but he is a guy who REALLY wants to know Jesus, and pushes me (through his example) to know Him as well.

He is a fellow teacher at the school, and he heads up the English Program there. We’re pretty much together a lot of the time. We go to school together, we teach together, we go home together, we eat lunch together, we talk a bunch in the evening, and wish each other good-night every evening. Okay, not the last part, but you get the picture. There are moments when we’ve gotten a little sick of each other, but God has been gracious to give us a chance to share life together and build each other up when times have been difficult.

Recently, I’ve been thinking about how different my experience would have been without these guys in my life. A friend from JBU who is studying Spanish in Chihuahua (about two hours away) came to visit us this weekend, and she told me that she has really struggled with loneliness the past couple months. It wasn’t so much the lack of family or JBU friends, but the absence of anyone with whom she could personally relate and share life. And then it dawned on me: “I’ve been totally spoiled! I’m surrounded by people like that!”

It’s interesting how my transition was between my college life and this new life here in Parral. In many ways, they’re incredibly similar. At JBU, I had a community: solid, intimate friends with whom I worked, played, talked, and did crazy things. Although I work a lot more here (something about having a real job…), I still have a community, made up of good friends with whom I work, play, talk, and do semi-crazy things (the crazy things were a little more crazy in college, as it should be).

Human beings have an inherent and healthy need for community. To feel that one belongs. To feel at home in someplace and with someone. To know that your absence would affect the outcome of a joint venture. To be depended on and dependent upon. What a beautiful thing it is to belong, most especially and most profoundly in the Body of Jesus Christ, his Church. May we never be found without the bond of fellowship in the Lord pulling us tightly together.

the day off school!

2007-11-02T17:28:00.000-07:00

Greetings, all!

Apologies for the lack of postable material lately. The past couple weeks have been a little crazy. Last week was exam week for all the elementary students, and this week was exam week for all of high school. Thus, I had about 60 tests to grade and 60 grades to configure. If any of my former teachers were here right now, I'd give them a big hug and say thank-you for how much work they put into my education, because let me tell you, teaching is not as easy as it looks!

Right now, I'm sitting down, resting my tired body from a hard day's "play". Today being a national Mexican holiday (The Day of the Dead), we didn't have school, and we teachers decided to make a day out of it. David, Kristen, four lovely Mexicanas, and myself all went to a nearby town called Matamoros to visit a few American friends who work in a home for kids who come from bad family backgrounds. These guys, Adam and Shawn, are going back to the States this week, and we thought that it would be good to visit them and wish them a good journey, as well as hang out with the kids, who definitely need as much love as can be given them.

Thus, after purchasing 8 kilos of meat for a big ol' barbecue, the seven of us boarded a bus and headed across the semi-desert of northern Mexico toward Matamoros. We arrived at the home, and promptly began tossing my frisbee (which never gets left behind on an adventure) with some of the boys. After getting slightly acquainted with the kids and the folks that work at the home, the twenty or so of us piled in a big Ford diesel and took off for the mountains.

There's something beautifully earthy and refreshing about riding in the back of a pickup with 8 chattery Mexican kids and 5 American twenty-somethings, bumping and ka-CHUNKing along on the desert roads. We arrived, dust-laden, at our camping site which was in the middle of a valley, shaded with occasional trees and overshadowed with towering rock mountains. We soon began playing frisbee, badminton, and soccer with the kids and I soon found that although I had more then ten years on them, they could nearly outmatch me in handling a soccerball. Regardless of this and the semi-sunburn that I received from the hot afternoon sun (in November!), I had a blast being with those kids.

Speaking my limited yet growing Spanish with them, pretending to tackle them while playing soccer, and watching them scarf down the meat and potatoes gave a warmth to my heart. It reminded me that kids are kids, whether they come from privileged families (like many of my students at the school), or whether their parents are barely present in their lives, they love attention and have never-ending appetites for new things to learn as well as new ways to get into mischief. I sometimes forget this as I get onto my 4th graders for flitting around the room, occupying themselves with anything and everything except their English teacher who is so desperately pleading that they pay attention to his foreign speech.

That's about all I have from here. Hopefully some more profound thoughts will come to me later and I can share them with you. I pray that you are all well and found in the grace of our Father. As this Mexican holiday of the Day of the Dead comes to a close, I praise God that he has given us the life of Jesus Christ, and that his life is at work in and through us.

Remain in Him today, my friends!

update from the cold desert

2007-10-24T07:27:00.000-06:00

After glancing back over some of my latest posts, I realized that they are lacking in the good, juicy details of everyday life here in Mexico. I suppose these posts simply reflect the tendency of my thoughts: high, floaty, idealistic, and pondering, not grounded in details whatsoever. So, for the benefit of readers that might be wondering a little more about what life looks, smells, tastes, sounds, and feels like for an English teacher here in Parral, I’ll try to put my observation and writing skills to work and describe it for you in part. Of course, I'll probably tack on some of my floaty ponderingness just to keep things realistic. :)

In case you didn’t know, I live a house with three other twenty-something guys: David, Jorge, and Mica. I’m in the process of writing an entry about the details of my fellowship and interaction with these great fellas, so anticipate more good stuff to come about them later. For right now, just know that they’re incredible brothers, and I love them.

Our house is pretty sweet. We’re still in the midst of trying to acquire more niceties to make our home more homey, but at the moment, we’re quite blessed with everything we could need and then some. Our pastor’s wife gave us a complete living room set to use, along with a hideaway couch, a coffeemaker, a coffee table, an end table, and a lamp. Yeah, she pretty much furnished our whole house. I’m still trying to decide whether I’m more excited about the living room set or the coffeemaker. :)

School is going well right now. I teach 4 classes a day on Monday and Wednesday, and 5 classes on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. I confess that sometimes it’s still difficult to feel excited about teaching English (especially to my nutty 4th graders, chatty 9th graders, and apathetic 10th graders), but let me tell you, I find it hard not to be excited about teaching my 12th grade History class. This fact encourages me that I could still find a career in teaching someday.

We arrive at the school to teach at 7 am, and classes end at 2 pm, although we don’t really leave the school until close to 3, because all the students have to be picked up by the parents before we can leave. Thus, school is a large part of the day. This is my first real full-time job, and I’m finding it interesting how much I am falling into the “Well, this is just my job: I’ll do what I have to do, and then I’m outta here!” mentality. I enjoy coming home and relaxing, and then start dreading having to go teach the next morning. This basically means that I’m “just getting by” for 35-40 hours of the week, waiting until I can go home and not think about school.

Pretty lousy attitude, huh? God is using this mentality to show me how stinkin’ selfish and lazy I am. Towards the end of the school day, all I can think about is how David and I are going to get home (since we don’t have a car, and rely on friends for rides most of the time), and what we are going to eat for lunch. I only do the work that I have to do, I don’t think about how I can improve my teaching techniques, I resent my fellow teachers when I feel like they are “outperforming” me, and I although I teach my classes sufficiently, I usually only do it because I have to, not because I want my students to learn. Ugh. Lousy.

Seeing all this crap in myself makes me come to God feeling guilty, insufficient, and below the standard. So I read the Bible to feel better and try to “gain points” with God. Then I read verses like this:

He is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, whom God made our wisdom and our righteousness and sanctification and redemption. Therefore, as it is written, “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.”

Perfect truth and perfect life. Completely right and sufficient in the sight of God. Being made into the very nature of the holy Father Himself. His blameless life traded in exchange for my rotten core. All in the Son, Jesus Christ.

Paul’s right. That IS something to boast about.

search for significance

2007-10-17T11:24:00.000-06:00

Why do I want to “count” so much?

I was just recently pouring out some frustration to God, lamenting about my desire to be consumed with living for his glory and not my stupid, selfish demands for comfort and a painless existence. I actually thought it was a rather holy lamenting (to be frank) and I figured God would probably like what I was saying, although I think I was saying in sincere humility, not just trying to impress myself with words spoken out loud. At the end of my “holy” complaint, I said, “My life just doesn’t count at all without you, God!”

And then I heard this small little whisper: Why are you so consumed with “counting”?

It suddenly dawned on me that when I think in terms of my life, I think about it “counting” for something. In fact, I think much of my life has been a constant pursuit for significance. Allow me to illustrate using some honest examples.

I think that a subliminal reason for my coming to Mexico was due to the fact that I wanted my life to seem more significant than it seemed when I was at home. In other words, I felt that my going to Mexico would be a way to gain points for “a life well lived”. By “sacrificing” the comforts and conveniences of home and living abroad for a year, I would receive greater kudos from God, my peers, and myself: “Good job, Billy: you sacrificed and did the good Christian thing. Enter into the ‘significant life'".

Perhaps another example is my need to feel significant is through my interests. Theology, Scripture, philosophy, history, music, and literature are good examples of what I usually think and read about day by day. Most of the reasons why I pursue these things is due to the fact that I think they lead to “the Ultimate”. I have often thought that by pursuing the “higher” disciplines, I would somehow attain to the “secret” of life, and not be bogged down by the stuff that is imbedded in real life. That way, once I understand and attain the “Ultimate secret”, then I’ll be significant, and my life will “count”.

Confusing, huh? I’m surprised I got all that out of my gray matter and into written words. If you understood all that, congratulations. If not, that’s ok. The important thing is, I’m consumed with being significant. I want everything to “count”. Actually, unless I’m way off, I think we all do to some degree.

So what do I do with this? We (or at least I) have a great desire to have significance in our lives. Therefore, we try to create the significance. For me, I study and read the “higher” things, trying to figure it out. Or, I try to seek the significance in relationships and find fulfillment through other people. I really like the good feeling that comes to me when a whole roomful of people laughs at my joke, or pays attention when I talk intelligently about some important matter. I’ve known some guys that found their significance in having the biggest biceps or nicest six-pack, or girls who feel like they “count” when boys turn their heads when they walk past. Or, closer to home, do we find our significance (to borrow my friend Ryan’s expression I just read on his blog) in being the first to top the spiritual mountain of “holiness” (or the appearance thereof)?

And if we do all these things, even if they are good things, is that the true significance that lies ahead of us in the Promised Land of our inheritance in Jesus Christ?

on my worst days

2007-10-09T13:33:00.000-06:00

Last Tuesday was pretty terrible. I’m sure I’ve had worse days, like the day I had to put my dog to sleep, but last Tuesday was pretty rough. To begin with, I went to bed late the night before (at midnight) trying to finish some work that needed to be done before the morning, and was awoken by my housemate, David, who knocked on my bedroom door half an hour before we had to leave. Now, some of you might have been able to handle this well, but I don’t like being rushed in the morning. My mother can tell you that in order to be properly civil in the morning, I need to either have a shower, a cup of coffee, or have at least one solid hour elapse since I left the bed.

Therefore, low on sleep and in the confused haze of not feeling prepared for much of anything (let alone teaching classes to 4th graders that don't speak English), I arrived at school overwhelmed with being behind on a ton of work and upset that I didn’t have time to write a meaningful email to my dad on his birthday. I hastily began preparing for my classes, trying to figure out what to do with my 10th graders, most of whom had just failed the test I gave them the week before.

After my first set of classes, I returned to the office, where I hastily began to down a granola bar and some yogurt while simultaneously trying to put together a decent lecture for my history class. Then one of the teachers told me that I couldn’t eat in the office. Now, there was a simple reason for this request: some important people were in the office, talking to the Directors, and apparently my eating granola and yogurt in the office didn’t look professional. However, my reaction was far from this calm consideration: WHAT?! I can TOO eat in the office—I’ve been eating in this office for the first day I got here! What are you talking about?! It’s my right, this isn’t fair, I’mgonnaRRGH,BRYK,ACMSHNACKUM… and there I went off in my mind, just like Yosemite Sam when Bugs Bunny makes him blow his top. I managed to stay calm on the outside, grabbing my granola bar and yogurt and walking out of the office with a thunderstorm furiously raging inside my head.

Now, things began to get a little better after I cooled off and got out of the office. I began to think about what made me react so violently to a simple request. I realized that I desired my right to eat in the office (which is only a selfishly perceived “right”, at that) to be upheld more than I desired the cares of my fellow teachers to have a school that presented itself well.

Then a more profound thought entered my head (by the grace of God, from whence I’m convinced all profound thoughts originate): I follow Jesus the Christ, who gave up every right he had (all of which were TRUE rights, being the Creator of all existence) to come to dirty, rebellious human beings and bleed, suffer, and die on a Roman Cross so that nasty, self-consumed people like me could be saved from the wrath to come and be brought into the Kingdom of Light (see Philippians 2).

So, Jesus hung on a Cross so that selfish little fools like me who prize their “rights” so dearly could be shown that there’s something far greater to live for than my desire to eat my breakfast wherever I want. Ouch.

Cuauhtemoc--A Needed Getaway

2007-09-30T20:31:00.000-06:00

Hello faithful readers! Last weekend, I had the astounding opportunity to go experience another part of Mexico, about 4 hours north of Parral. Cuauhtemoc is a sweet little town, right in the middle of a big Mennonite community. Yes, I said Mennonite. There are actually several thousand German Mennonites that live in Mexico, and are well-known for their agriculture genius and very orderly, prosperous farms that stretch for acres across the northern Mexican desert. The Mennonites in Cuauhtemoc are particularly famous for their delicious manzanas (apples): we passed tons of apple orchards as we drove along the highway. The crazy thing is that these Mennonite communities still speak German and maintain a lot of their customs, but they've acclimated quite well to their surrounding culture.

Cesar (the Director of my school), knows a Mennonite lady named Lena who directs a school in Cuauhtemoc. So, he invited David, Kristen, another teacher from the school named Claudia, and myself to go with him to visit her and enjoy the beauty of the area. Lena took us out in the boonies to a national park that is full of really beautiful hills and super-cool rock formations. And, boys being boys, David and I had a REALLY good time climbing, jumping, running, leaping, and pretending to chase orcs and/or be Spiderman jumping from building to building (that is, boulder to boulder).

As you can see in the first of the pictures above, we took a picture with some Mennonite friends of Lena's that joined us at the top of a big mountain (well, it was more like a big hill, but we'll call it a mountain). That was an incredible time. It was definitely the first time I'd ever been a part of a social event where three languages were being spoken. We sang "How Great Thou Art" at the top of that mountain in three languages, simulanteously (English, Spanish, and German). Uh, yeah...pretty darn sweet.

Along with soaking up the beautiful vistas, jumping around rocks with David, and enjoying the trilingual company, God graciously dealt with me in those mountains. I was tired and feeling at the end of myself when I left on that trip. I felt condemned, sinful, dirty, and unable to do anything right, because much of what happened the previous week revealed my utter sinfulness in the face of a righteous God. Selfish motivations, not having eyes to see grace when it's all around me, and being apathetic towards the needs of others--all these things are evidences of my utter incapacity to be good, to be right. As I sat in those high places, looking out at the great azure above and the rolling, stretching desert brown before, I confessed my failure to their Creator and mine. I confessed how I had trampled his glory, ignored his grace, took his forgiveness for granted, and worshipped anything and everything except He who is alone worthy of adoration. And what an answer I received! It wasn't some divine, booming voice, but the subtle whispering of assured forgiveness because of the crucified Beloved.

Brothers and sisters, find yourselves in the perfect righteousness of the person of Jesus Christ today! What a life-altering gift we have received in Him! Let us commend ourselves in our weakness and brokenness, and be found completely clothed in his person, in fellowship with the Father Himself.

the experience of faith

2007-09-26T13:52:00.000-06:00

[This post was written a few days ago, when I was pretty frustrated at my inability to feel God, especially in relation to studying the Bible. For most of the past two months, I've felt somewhat spiritually dry and unable to hold onto (or be affected by) the truth of Jesus Christ. I'm continuing to rely on his faithfulness to glorify himself rather than my ability to see him with my own eyes].

I'm looking for Jesus.

Granted, I’m not looking very hard, if looking hard means poring through the books of the Bible, intensely studying its pages. I suppose I’m too lazy for that. Or, perhaps I’m just too discouraged. Or both lazy and discouraged. Lately, I’ve been really confused in my reading of the Bible. I haven’t felt fed or satisfied—only left wondering what the heck Jesus meant when he said such-and-such in Matthew. Maybe it’s because I think too much about the background, the cultural context, and the physical environment in which Jesus said such-and-such. I’m not sure why I feel confused—I guess I just really want to know Jesus, and I’m having a hard time with it right now.

If Jesus is who he said he was, then he ought to be unbelievably mind-blowing. And I know he is, but I just don’t see or feel it right now. Perhaps I’m too emotion-driven. I really want to EXPERIENCE Jesus, and live out of that unbelievable, life-altering experience. But right now, I’m not feeling or experiencing much of anything. I’m sure a lot of that has to do with my selfish, conceited nature and my exceptional talent for ignoring the truth for the sake of convenience. Perhaps I just want to conveniently experience Jesus, just like we zip through our convenience stations to fill up on gasoline in order to fuel our busy lives.

I recently read Psalms 145. The Psalms have been a source of consolation for me during the past few weeks, because they’re so direct. They certainly have their confusing parts as well (not the least of which deals with smashing infants’ heads against rocks), but especially the latter psalms (139-150 or so), the writers are profoundly direct in their praise to Yahweh. I like that. As I read this particular song of David, these words caught on the branches of my heart:

You satisfy the desire of every living thing.

I have to be honest with you: my true, deep-down, soul-level desire does not feel met right now. I feel far from having that desire being satisfied, because I honestly feel far from God. I’m not sure why. Maybe because this is one of those “desert experiences” that people talk about. Perhaps there’s some sin in my life that needs to be dealt with in order for me to be able to know Jesus on a different level. Regardless, I believe that David was right. I’ve experienced this penetrating longing for something true and substantial before, and that knowing Christ fully and eternally satisfies it.

I suppose I should continue to look for him. Perhaps that’s why he brought me here to Parral, away from familiarity, to learn how to look for him, to follow him. In my pursuit, I’m going to hang on to something else that David said in that great psalm:

The Lord is near to all who call on him,
to all who call on him in truth.

i'm right, aren't i?

2007-09-23T19:56:00.000-06:00

In church today, I was simultaneously convicted and overjoyed when God graciously gave me a glimpse into my sin-drenched heart.

Since I arrived in Parral, even from the very day of my arrival, I've been looking for ways to prove how my Christianity is better than that of my Mexican church family. I came here with a barely-sealed wound against anything that savored of Pentecostalism, and when I first walked into the church here, that wound opened wide once again. Since then, I've seen my new family through the eyes of suspicion, keeping them wide open for abuses of emotionalism, poor doctrine, an overemphasis on the individual, or whatever else has made me wary of Pentecostals in the past.

And thus far, I've been humbled and completely proven wrong by what I've seen. These people are real. Most of them have been saved out of ridiculous pre-conversion situations like drug or alcohol addiction, party-it-up lifestyles, and lifeless Roman Catholic rituals. I have a friend (we'll call him Hugo) who was so addicted to sniffing crack that his nose looks as if it has been broken several times over. And then Jesus found him. I love watching him worship the true King, because he's been through hell.

These people often face persecution. Being a Protestant in Mexico is slightly akin to being a penguin in the Saraha. They're definitely outsiders, since this country has been tightly controlled by the Catholic church for hundreds of years. The pastor of the church told me a story the other day about someone who is a drug addict. Apparently this guy's mother told him that she'd rather him be a drug addict than a Protestant. That's the kind of social atmosphere in which my new family lives.

These people, my new family, also truly live the Gospel. I've never been in a church like this before. They are dedicated to the expansion of the Kingdom. My brothers and sisters here really practice their faith, especially when it comes to sharing the truth of Jesus Christ with those that haven't yet been rescued.

Sometimes their style doesn't match my preferences, but what does that matter? Sometimes they emphasize one teaching more than I would like, but does that change the fact that God is radically working in and through them? Even if (on the extreme offchance) I'm 'right' and they're 'wrong', they are my brothers and sisters, and it is my greatest privilege to serve them in self-denying love.

Oh, dear friends...it's really hard to learn these lessons, especially when one's heart is hard with self-righteousness. Praise GOD for his grace, which soften the hearts of even the most brittle Pharisee (aka, myself).

geography lesson

2007-09-15T21:17:00.001-06:00

Hey ya'll...

For your visual pleasure, I've attached a beautiful shot of Parral taken from the hill that is about 1/2 a kilometer from my house. I climbed it on Tuesday of this week in order to get a little solitude, adventure, and perspective (visually, mentally, and spiritually). I actually wound up getting a little more adventure than I bargained for, because, once I was almost at the top, I encountered a nice couple taking a walk with their 3 large, not-so-nice dogs. Being used to big dogs, I remained calm on the outside, and yet still couldn't help thinking about how bad their teeth would hurt as they circled around me, baring their mandibles and barking quite viciously. But thankfully, they eventually lost interest after their masters yelled at them sufficiently and apologized profusely.

If you have sharp eyes, you'll notice that I performed a little Photoshop magic and added a nice yellow arrow, which points to our casa. We live in a pretty nice part of town, and happen to be right across the street from the only park in the city. The big hill that you see on the left side of the picture is Antenna Hill (I'm sure you can guess why it's called this). If you can imagine that the picture extends to the right about another inch, then you would see the hill on which rests the famous Parral silver mine (now out of commission), and under the shadow of which lies the school/church at which we spend most of our waking hours.

Chido, bato! (which means "Cool, dude!")

Of Rainy Days and Narnian Thoughts

2007-09-13T07:08:00.000-06:00

I returned to my room this afternoon in a state of “whatever”. Actually, I had been in this floaty, largely self-pleasing state the whole day. I didn’t really feel like teaching today. My heart wasn’t in it, I was unproductive during my non-teaching hours at work, and my attitude matched the dull, rainy weather outside. Nothing exciting: just wet, inconvenient, and blah.

As I do whenever I find myself in these pensive, floaty moods, I began to give myself permission to not think about work and just lay on my bed with thoughts of purpose and meaning meandering through my tired mind. I looked around at the pictures in my room, and began to realize that my life is changing. My family and most of my good friends are hundreds of miles away, and I’m here in Mexico, teaching kids who, when they see me approach the classroom, groan in anticipation of another boring English class. And then it dawned on me yet again that this is no mission trip: I get to do this for a whole year: during the autumn rains, the mountain cold in wintertime, spring’s newness, and summer’s heat.

Then I desperately turned my thoughts to God. “So, I’m here by your will, huh? It sure better be worth it, because I’m missing a lot back home, you know. What’s the point? I came here…I’ve been her for a month now, and I’m really starting to miss the nice life I had before. Are you going to give me some great revelations, fill me with profound experiences, lead me on great adventures? Because so far, my time with you has been pretty silent, frustrating, and…well…pretty dull. I keep reading the Bible like a good Christian and I’m not really understanding it. What’s the deal?” Although these weren’t exactly my words, they definitely summed up my attitude toward God at the moment.

I just recently finished reading The Horse and His Boy, the third book of C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia series. I started it on Sunday evening, and finished it last (Tuesday) night. Monday and Tuesday after school, I returned to my house with nothing on my mind except finding the book and devouring its juicy pages. It was a wonderful escape: in picking up the book, I lost track of my responsibility and entered into a foreign and exciting world of runaways, chases, deserts, high mountains, lush valleys, haughty dark lords, humbly noble princes, giants, fauns, centaurs, talking horses, and best of all, a sweet battle at the end where the good guys win and bad guys lose. I hadn’t read the book since I was 12, so although the story was vaguely familiar, all the details had to be gloriously rediscovered.

At one vital part of the story, the main character, a boy named Shasta, meets Aslan (the great Lion from whose creation-song Narnia came into being) for the first time, although he had unknowingly encountered him several times before. Shasta was lost, very discouraged and bemoaning his “unlucky” state, and suddenly Aslan appeared next to him, an immense and ominous presence, temporarily invisible, in the midst of a terrible fog high in the mountains. He asked Shasta to tell him all about his unfortunate situation. After telling his whole story (which was rather unfortunate from a human perspective), Shasta finally asked, “Who are you?” Aslan answered by saying, “Myself” three times, once deep and thundering, once very clear and loud, and once extraordinarily quiet and intimate. Then Aslan revealed to him that he had been with him before, especially in times of trial and important decision, even though Shasta didn’t know it. The fog suddenly cleared, and Shasta beheld the Lion. Boom. Wow. You ought to read it sometime soon.

For some reason, this came back into my thoughts today as I selfishly complained to God about my discomfort. God is Himself, in three glorious Persons. A deep and thunderous Father on his Throne; a loud, clear Son who is the manifested Word; a quiet and penetratingly omnipresent Spirit. Ok, my circumstances are uncomfortable, but I can’t contest with the reality of HIM. He who knows the beginning and the end, He who is capable of crushing the mountains into dust and speaking gentle peace into an unquiet soul, He IS. My weeny life-situation can’t change that eternal, abiding reality. And I am called HIS. Boom. Wow.

"Why did you come here?"

2007-08-29T18:59:00.001-06:00

Last week, one of my students asked me this question when we were discussing their journal topic of the day. My answer was the obvious one: "To teach you English, of course!"

However, I've been thinking about this a little more deeply. Why did I come here? My decision to come here was calculated, thoughtful, and motivated by a deep desire for adventure (although those three reasons are a bit contradictory in nature). I prayed about it, felt confident that this was a good decision, mainly because it would be a good post-college experience. I was excited about the idea of teaching--it sounded so noble and so typical of what good, single Christian young adults should do.

How about now? I'll be honest. Right now, I feel like I'm surviving. Teaching is far more difficult than I imagined. Having to discipline apathetic high school boys with an "I could care less" attitude makes me really frustrated. Capturing the attention of squirmy, chattery 4th graders when you don't speak their language requires more creative thought and hard work than did my Honors Thesis on Sacramental Pneumatology. I used to think that being a teacher was akin to leading a glorious bayonet charge against the strongholds of Ignorance. Instead, I feel like I'm sitting in a muddy trench in a God-forsaken French battlefield, trying to restore order to my troops in the middle of an artillery shower. (Can you tell I just finished teaching my 12th graders about World War I?)

I also had the idea that coming to Mexico would give me a chance to grow into my dream of being a more reflective, balanced, informed, problem-solving, sin-overcoming, passionate follower of Jesus. To be frank once again, I feel as beset by sin, pride, and apathy as I did before I came, if not more. I keep dreaming of a time when I will be perceived by others to be a humble, established, strong believer who leads great battles against injustice for the glory of God. Instead, I feel like my ship just got torpedoed, and I'm floundering in the North Atlantic with only driftwood and an ever-receding hope of someday being rescued to keep me afloat. Darned reality.

This week, I had the privilege of witnessing two little girls with tears in their eyes. For some reason, I have a very soft spot in my heart for crying chicitas. Perhaps it's their precious innocence and their present lack of security that turns on the compassionate side of my heart. One of them was accidentally hurt in my 4th grade class, and the other, a rather troubled 1st grader with a troubled family, had to be "disciplined". Regardless of the reason, when I perceived their red, welling eyes, my heart melted for them. I took their hands in mine and told them that everything was going to be ok. When one of them ran up to me the next day at recess and wrapped her little arms around my legs, I nearly fell apart. I delighted in their well-being, and I don't hardly know them.

Today, I felt like a little girl with tears in her eyes. Or at least a little boy. And what a soft spot our Heavenly Father has in his heart for his children!

I'm not really one to wax mushy about God's love. In fact, I often avoid talking about God's love because we often speak of his love without mentioning his holiness, or the fact that we profane his holiness in many and diverse ways every day. I often avoid it because I feel like it's a message much overstated by well-meaning yet shallow "Christian" songs, greeting cards, t-shirts, and email forwards. But today, I can't get around the fact that the Creator of all that is, the One whom angels ceaselessly exalt, the God whom the entire universe glorifies in a great cosmic dance of galaxies trillions of light-years apart, that this God cares about my infinitively insignificant soul.

And this is no empty "I love you". It is backed up with hundreds of promises that are fulfilled in the person of Jesus Christ, the fullness of the Father's love. The credibility of this unearned, unmerited love is great: a bloodied, shamed, crucified divinity with the spittle of our spite still in his beard and the wrath of his Father bearing hot upon his head.

In view of this, my failure and weakness at the present time are naught but the tears of a little girl. And for some reason, the Creator delights in my well-being. He delights when I delight in him. Perhaps that is why I have come here. He is teaching me to delight in him as I never have before.

Lay hold on Christ with both your poor, empty hands.

2007-08-29T13:48:00.000-06:00

This beguiling imperative comes from a quote that my indomitable mother sent me in an email this morning, and I've been contemplating it since. Although I gave my students quite a few imperatives today, such as "Do not talk when I am talking", "Get out your workbooks", and "Take your hankerchief off your head and beneath your desk. No, BENEATH YOUR DESK!", none of them have such a lingering authority than the one that I read this morning.

Each day of teaching thus far has revealed to me my insufficiency, which I wrote about in my first post. I have been encouraged by many friends and advisors since then that it is times like this that God uses to soften and sculpt us according to his will. This quote seems to encapsulate the position to which God is shepherding me (indeed, all of us). To have our hands emptied of our strengths, our riches, and our qualifications is truly an unspeakably merciful act of love. In beholding our emptiness, our eyes are no longer blind to the fullness that dwells in the person of Jesus Christ.

I recently read about Paul the Apostle's use of stating indicative truth and then commanding the imperative in his Epistles. Here's what I mean: it was his style to state an absolute fact, such as the mind-boggling truth that Christ, through the Cross, absolutely defeated sin's dominion over the lives of men. But, only a few verses later, he tells his audience to put sin to death in their daily lives. So, he "imperatives" the indicative by telling his flock to engage their will in that which is already accomplished for them.

The same applies here. The indicative of our faith tells us that Christ has laid hold of us without question. Colossians 3 states that we are "hidden with Christ in God", totally secure in the grace of the gospel. Additionally, the imperative tells us that our wills also need to be engaged to lay hold of that which has laid hold of us.

Isn't that the paradoxical nature of our faith? Rest in the indicative and simultaneously strive for the imperative. And this is all done in a state of humility, that is, with poor and empty hands. This reminds me of a Psalm (I forget which one, and I'm currently not around my Bible--I know, I'm a bad Christian:). I imagine the Psalmist, staring up at a starry Palestinian sky, whispering:

Whom have I in heaven but you?

Brothers and sisters, in our weakness and our strength, let us lay hold of Him who has powerfully and tenaciously laid hold of us.

Parral in pictures

2007-08-28T14:02:00.000-06:00

Ok, so here's a few pictures to satisfy somebody's (*cough* MOM!) thirst for a visual stimulation of where I'm at. The first picture is that of the house which David, myself, Jorge, and Mika all call home. Our abode is the second garage door from the left. As you can see, we're not roughing it too much, aside from the fact that we're severely lacking on furniture. So if you have any extra couches laying around, go ahead and FedEx them to us:)

The second picture was taken in the same spot, just looking the other way, down the street and parallel to the house next to ours. Pretty cool stuff, huh?

The next picture is of Independencia street and a statue of some Mexican dude (not Pancho Villa). The church that we are involved with also owns a sweet coffeeshop right next to that "Hotel Turista" sign, which is an outreach to the community through the avenue of fellowship and positive environment. It also has free Internet, which I take advantage of quite often.

Finally, my humble "cuarto". God totally provided a full size bed for me through my housemate Jorge, and although I'm lacking in any other furniture (aside from my suitcase-night-table, that is), God has given us poor profesores so much to be thankful for, such as food in the pantry (well...some:), a stove, a refrigerator, and a washing machine that's so darn fancy that it can also make enchiladas. Just kidding. But seriously, we have a really cool washing machine.

I'll definitely post more later, but that's enough for now. Adios!

Of 4th grade English and fried fat

2007-08-27T16:46:00.001-06:00

Well, here I am. But where the heck am I?

The title of my freshly-created blog is an old Irish saying that I learned from a dear Irish friend three summers ago. The meaning of the phrase is a call to reflection: it's easy to understand where you are physically, but often difficult to ascertain where you are in your soul, to know where you're at on this spiritual journey that we're all traveling. Right now, I'm sitting in a comfortable living room of a house belonging to the Elizalde family, whose food I just ate and whose Internet I'm now taking advantage of. But where exactly am I?

My mind is carried back to the day that just passed: it began at 5:30 am, when I pulled myself out of bed to shower and get ready for a Monday full of teaching. David (Okada, my housemate, constant companion, and guide in this new country) and I walked out of the house after a hurried breakfast and brief scanning of Matthew 10 at 6:47 am, and arrived at our designated waiting place in front of the Parral Cinema at 6:53 am. Hugo and his wife Carolina picked us up and drove us to the school, as it is every school morning, and we arrived there at 5 minutes after 7:00. My dear friend and fellow teacher Kristen Olson arrived 20 minutes later, and we hastily prepared for our classes before the morning devotional time that the teachers have at 7:30 (or thereabouts). After the prayer time, we packed up our books, grabbed our dry-erase markers and CD players, and headed to class.

My 4th graders were pretty good today, but talkative and a little clueless as usual. Keep in mind that these are 4th grade Mexican children, and I'm not supposed to speak Spanish to them during class. Thus, there's a lot of confusion and communication issues, because they only speak a little English, and my American college student English is certainly not what they're used to. After two classes of this and a 10th grade class (with a typical 10th grade attitude toward learning) in the morning, I'm about bushed. But, then follows my glorious history class. I love my 12th grade history students. They understand most everything I say and they ACTUALLY WANT TO LEARN! I just eat up their correct answers, thoughtful questions, and willingness to listen to and laugh at my stupid jokes. Then I go to my 9th graders, of whom the girls are excellent students and wonderful direction-followers, and the boys are generally pretty clueless and not interested in what's going on.

After my classes, I'm so glad that school ends at 2:00. I'm really tired of talking, explaining, and telling my students to be quiet and pay attention. Thankfully, I was invited to go eat with Kristen's host family, the Elizaldes. We ate a great meal, but I have to be honest...the chicharron (fried pig fat--like pork rinds, only cooked instead of fried) was almost too much for me. And this brings me to the present: sitting on their couch, thinking about how much work I have to do for tomorrow.

This is a great sampling of a random day that passes casually by during this new life in Mexico. Things are very different...details and schedules are never final until the last minute, grade books don't arrive until the second week of classes, new rules and policies are suddenly revealed when it's very inconvenient to begin following them, time is fluid, promises are sometimes kept, and the people like to eat fried pig fat. Worse of all, I haven't had an honest-to-goodness salad since I left home. In response to all this, I grow impatient and irritated, exclaiming to my American compadres, "What are they thinking??? Why can't they be more American??"

Well, this is where I am: frustrated, incompetent, weary, and very short on love. But, it is in our weakness that Christ is presented as very strong. Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 12:9 that, in response to his weakness, the Lord pronounced that "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness". Thus, Paul boasted in his weakness. Honestly, I don't feel like boasting in my insufficiency right now. I want to fix it. But, that is not possible in this life. Onwards I walk in weakness, trusting in the ability and perfect righteousness of Christ Jesus.

Thanks for reading!