back to school

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.