The K-mail??? Back from Caracas

Howdy all!

First, I want to thank all of you for your prayers, thoughts and encouragements. They are always appreciated and I'm blessed to know you all. I've been home for a week now and I've been slowly processing the events and emotions of the Caracas trip. As such, I haven't been able to share much of anything that would make sense in the time I've been back, but now I feel God is helping me sort through the mess and only now is it starting to fall into place. Thanks for everyone's patience in dealing with me in an off state this past week.

But now, here are some things I come away with and what I hope can bless you. I'm still in process with most of this so I apologize if it's a little rough or unorganized. Like the usual mail formats, there's the "brief" numbered list overview and a more in depth story beyond that. And with that, here we go:

1. I got a new name. Now in Peru, I stayed true to my given name even in the face of strong suggestions to the contrary. In Spanish, my name sounds dangerously close to the word camaron which is the word for shrimp. While this usually provided a good introductory joke, it is simply an unusual name. Also, whenever folks in Latin America hear the name Cameron, they immediately think of Cameron Diaz and assume it is a girls name. So, it seemed that I should finally take the plunge and get a new, more culturally appropriate name. Initially, the name Carlos was suggested, but by no means am I a Carlos. At the airport, our taxi driver suggested the name Kelvin (pronounced Quel-vean). It sounded good so I went with it. Only later did I realize that it was also the name of the absolute temperature scale named after the Irish physicist-engineer Lord Kelvin. I take that as a great honor, being a good part Irish and having studied a fair share of engineering and physics. Overall, I'm pretty happy with the name. As a side note, one of the families there thought I looked like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo and bequeathed me with that moniker. Amused as I am at the thought of taking the name of the Hanna-Barbera cartoon beatnik able to each sandwiches rivaling the the size of the Mystery Machine, I'll stick with Kelvin. Zoinks!

2. The Spanish in Caracas, especially in the barrios, is essentially a different language from the little bit of Spanish I know. The slang varies street by street, the words are said differently (Caracas becomes Caraca, many s's are dropped from the ends or middle of words) and they talk rather fast. So, communication was a bit difficult at times, but it was good for me to learn to ask them to teach me. Frustrating as that was at times, it did help and it was good to set a pattern for myself to ask and learn instead of assuming.

3. The folks in InnerChange are really awesome. I had forgotten how crucial community is. It was beautiful to see them take in three complete strangers and make us feel so at home. Having that community was such a encouragement for everyone, us visiting, the team living there, and the Venezuelans.

4. "So what did you do?" Always a difficult question to answer, but here goes. For this trip, I did a lot of observing and hanging out with the folks in the barrios. There weren't specific tasks or goals that could be checked off. It was more just to learn, learn how to be a learner, and to get an idea of the culture, the people and of InnerCHANGE.

5. One thing I learned there was another definition of poverty: "A lack of options/opportunity". If people don't have the option to change, be something different, or aren't even aware that they themselves and their environment could be different, then what hope do they have? It wasn't so much the physical poverty that struck me while being there, but this other type made the biggest impact.

6. Food Review! Venezuela garners a 3/5. Excellent fresh bread, fried plantains are awesome, great coffee, but there is nothing spicy in that country at all. One of the guys on the team smuggled in some Mexican spices just to get something picante. The other thing that is missing is THE typical dish of Venezuelan. While Japan has sushi, Norway's got lutefisk, and the US has casserole, Venezuela has, well, nothing unique. They do have arepas which are essentially 3-d tortillas, but they can be filled with almost anything adding to the non-uniqueness. Overall, the food is good, but nothing special.

7. "Will you be going back?" Lord willing, in October. For two years, and possibly longer, but one step at a time. The first six months of that time will be very similar to this trip, but more in depth. A lot of learning, building deep relationships, learning the culture in deeper levels, and mastering the language. All this before any official "ministry" can really start. What will that ministry look like? That is hard to know at this point, but my guess would be a lot of praying, with some more praying, and a bit of prayer on the side. THEN, perhaps evangelism, discipling, being agents of peace, working with some of the house churches while planting others, and targeting at risk youth. (At risk of becoming "malandros"-loosely the equivalent of gang members that rob from the community until they eventually get killed by someone from the community. (It is completely acceptable for vigilante justice to act out the will of the community and kill one person.)). Mixed in with all that would be the various kids programs or english teaching or even trying to get the folks to organize community projects or clean ups, building solar ovens, helping families build their houses, or who knows what. The possibilities are endless.

8. "What's next?" Fund raising, practicing Spanish, and bouncing around North America like a pinball. I have a number of orientations and evaluations in LA and San Francisco. I might be going to Texas with the folks to help them build their house for about a month. I'm also going to Guatemala for a month for language school. Mix in a few weddings and I'm going to have a sweet pile of frequent flyer miles:) If you're in California this summer or spring, let me know and I'd love to catch up. I'm hoping to make it to Poly for graduation but we'll have to see.

Alright, there's more stuff I'm processing/writing on the blog if you are so interested, including a comparison between the trip to Peru and this trip, as well as an outsiders look from the inside at Socialist Venezuela and Chavez.

Ok, the story is below as usual, but again thank you all for the prayers and encouragement. They are always greatly appreciated. If there is anything I can be praying for you, let me know.

Love you all and may Christ continually call you and keep you.
Press on for Joy!
Cameron




"Mira, la primera ley de beisbol es no temes la pelota de beisbol" I hoped that my intention carried through the poor Spanish. The small kid (let's call him Carlos) about 15 yards in front of me seemed to get it. At least his actions said so. He may be inexperienced, but he is a fast learner.

John from InnerCHANGE and myself had gone down to round up some kids from one of the communities to play baseball. A man from that place had started practices for 5-12 year olds on tuesday afternoons. For one reason or another, he couldn't make it so John and I led the practice. By the time about six kids had trickled onto the soccer/baseball field laid out next to a textile factory, we started a few basic drills. Carlos was the smallest one there and was probably no older than six. He started the day tossing underhand and was extremely shy about catching. After a few basic drills, John kept working with the older kids while I threw and caught with Carlos. I threw a few overhanders his way and watched as he stuck out a timid and well worn glove while shrinking with his whole body. He never caught the ball. Thanks to John's earlier throwing instructions, he was lobbing overhand more accurately than my out of practice arm, but he was scared stiff of getting hit. "Look, the first law of baseball is to not fear the baseball." That's what I hope I said. But he seemed to understand and began to catch the ball with a sliver of confidence. Soon he got whatever I threw at him, but my wild throws above and to the side sat as embarrassing reminders that it has been 4th grade since I really played.

It was the hottest day of trip and possibly the year. Some of the kids went for a water break. Since they nor we had any water, the kids got very resourceful. A bunch of trash had been blown against a fence separating the field from the factory. They scavenged the trash until they found an old plastic bottle. Fortunately, there was a hose spigot that arose just on the field side of the fence. A black hose stretched and twisted from the spigot to some unknown use deep in the factory. The hose attachment leaked just enough to allow the bottle to be filled with enough patience. After the kids took a few swigs, they offered me some. "No gracias", with an appreciative smile. Perhaps one day God will grant me with a good enough immune system to stomach fluid of that source, but until then I'm going to avoid as many hospital bills as possible.

At some point, some older boys wandered in and we struck an awkward conversation in my broken Spanish and their fast and swallowed Caracan. They seemed friendly enough from what I could understand. Soon, John signaled the end of practice and we said goodbye's to all and started the steep escalation of the road up to our barrio. John explained that the older boys were trying to thwart the practices since it was only for 5-12 year olds. Like many of the youth, simply out of sheer boredom or other more malicious motivations, they caused a lot of trouble, but hopefully an older team could be started for them. On the climb up, a mother stood with her young son at her side on the road. We glanced up to say good afternoon and returned our stares down at our plodding feet on the incline. Something set her off after our greetings. A spew of words flew from her mouth followed by the wicked crack of a hand slapped against flesh. The sound still ringing in my ears, I looked up to find them vanished into the maze of shacks and hillside.

Further up, we stopped at a shack with bright yellow metal doors. We knocked and a small boy cracked open the door. He stood with open, shy eyes, completely silent. After multiple questions regarding the presence of his mother, his younger brother walked to the door. I can't say this younger brother, probably 3 or 4, was naked since he was wearing shoes. Soon, the mother came to the barely ajar door and began conversing with John. The original boy still stood wide eyed and silent. I tried to say hi and get him to laugh, but no change. The gathering at the door attracted another even younger brother. This one didn't even have shoes. I don't know if it was simply the heat that resulted in their lack of coverings or if their family simply couldn't afford it. I fear it was the later. The conversation quickly concluded and bidding them farewell, we started up the hill again. Sadly, John informed me that this family has consistently refused any offer of help; they feel that it is the world against them and they must go it alone. By the time we made it back up to the InnerChange house, my legs were tired, my throat was parched, and my heart was depressed.

I don't know what put me in that mood: the kids with the possibly dubious motives, the single example of child abuse which is played out over and over again in many homes, or the lone family taking heavy casualties in their fight against the world. It was probably all three. The first part of my time in Caracas was where I felt pretty good. A little disappointed in my own Spanish ability, but over all excited and encouraged. However, the past half hour was the jarring moment of reality. On the ride from the airport to the InnerChange house/center, the driver told us how everything here is a game. Nothing is as it seems and you have to be sharp to not be taken. As the proverbial sucker born on one of the 1440 minutes of December 20th, 1982, I felt emotionally taken. I began to doubt that I could make it the barrios. And fear crept in.

Fear is an interesting emotion in the sense that it paralyzes. Supposedly being in a scary situation preps your body for fight or flight, but fear poisons the mind. It works by predicting the future, and building the case that this future is unavoidable. Caught between the present and the impending malicious future, the fear-struck mind no longer has the freedom to act or choose. Upon our return from baseball, I sat in that state for a while. I've been siting in that state for a while since I've been back as well.

So how does one get out of paralysis, out of fear? Since being back home, that has been hard. For me, its been a lot of recognizing my need to pray and communicate honestly with God and myself. There have been times when I'm walking on water, and times when I'm sinking, but Jesus is there to save, as well as admonish me for my doubt of the small things. While I was deciding whether to return or not, I had to realize that I could not let fear be a deterrent or a deciding factor. I've also had to turn back to basics and focus on the love of God and let that perfect love drive out fear, fear that deals with torment. However, I didn't have a real breakthrough until today at church through our pastor's sermon. (Thanks Jim!)

God showed me exactly the fear I've been having and it completely describes the set of emotions and sentiments I've been experiencing. It is the fear I've struggled with my whole life: the fear of being rejected. As I've considered moving there, I honestly can't know how well I will be accepted there or if I will be accepted at all. The thought of going to a place for years and not being liked or appreciated scares me stiff. Now, I don't know if this is true for all fear, but for this one, there is a root of sin that causes it to grow. For myself, that sin is seeking of acceptance outside of God; pursuing human acceptance. Now there is nothing wrong with being accepted by people, but for me it is a very fine line between merely accepting acceptance and building my entire self-worth and life around others acceptance. However, when I lean completely on Christ's acceptance, having faith in that which cannot be seen and yearning for the day to hear "Well done good and faithful servant", it is then that I am free to love, serve, and walk through the valley of the shadow of death and fear no evil. It's been a long week to finally re-recognize this lesson I've been taught so many times, but praise God He is faithful and good to remind me of it.

Back in Caracas on that tuesday, God gave me a boost through the scriptures to help me out of that fear. A missionary to Peru (howdy Chris!) told our trek team that in the bible it says "Fear not" or "Do not be afraid" 366 times. One for everyday, including leap years. I also read in Hebrews 12 how God does allow discipline in our lives to bring a peaceable fruit of righteousness. I was also encouraged by the theme in Mark of fear vs. faith and the importance of choosing faith. After reflecting on all of that, God reminded me of my own words to Carlos: The first rule of baseball is to not fear the baseball. If I'm scared, I'm never going to catch anything and there's a better chance of getting hit. Rather, I need to put fear aside and run at whatever is thrown at me in order that I might catch it and throw it back. By His grace, I hope I can learn as fast as Carlos.

Stay strong, seek the Lord and
Press on for Joy!