C-mail: January

Well, it's that time: time to write an update. I'm starting to realize that writing an update every month is pretty artificial. Life doesn't always come in month sized bites. Perhaps 40 days is better, a little more Biblical.  40 days of Life to C-mail.  There's a book in there somewhere, although somebody would probably beat me to the publisher.  But for today, I hate to leave you all in the dark, so here we go:

1. Christmas and New Year have passed. Celebrating these holidays away from home was a little odd. Being in a new culture, and having absolutely no possibility for snow made it seem like it wasn't Christmas time. Perhaps it was because I forgot to watch "Merry Christmas Charlie Brown!" None the less, the folks here know how to celebrate and it was really cool to participate. For Christmas, everyone eats hallacas (kinda like a tamale, but wrapped in banana leaves and filled with all sorts of stuff depending on the family and where they're from in Venezuela).  Kids receive gifts from their folks, or Niño Jesús (Baby Jesus), or Santa. Niño Jesús is decidedly more traditional and popular, but the consumerist and very foreign Santa is on the rise.  On New Years Eve at midnight, everybody heads to the street to hug everyone else, say "Feliz Año!" (Happy Year!), and explode the remainder of their fireworks and small munitions. After celebrating all night, everyone turns in to rest for the following week. The morning of the 1st was possibly the ONLY time I've heard sustained silence in the barrio. It was a little eerie to see completely empty streets and lifeless houses.

2. Also amazingly cool was that my teammates threw me a surprise birthday party with a billion kids and neighbors. It was a real surprise and so cool to see such a mix of the community together. In attendance were: the aforementioned billion kids, two evangelical women from a corner store, one of my friends that can't really walk well, one socialist activist/artist and some of the family from across the street. There are some pictures below.

3. Things at the finca (farm/plantation) for the street kids went, eh, good and not so good. On the good side, it was cool to help gather eggs from over 900 hens and clean them. Also, they have a number of coffee plants and all the kids and I got to help pick some coffee, run it through a little hand cranked machine that was supposed to separate the fruit and the seeds and see the coffee go through the rest of the preparation process. The incredible amount of steps involved in making a drink like coffee really makes me ask how in the world anyone came up with the idea. (Ok, ok, I got it: What if, we take the berries off this plant, except only when their red. Then we gotta take the seed out of the berry and let it soak for a day or two. Then, and follow me here on this one, we'll just let it sit and dry. Finally, we toss them in the fire, grind it up and throw it in hot water. But that might not taste that good, so we'll need to add sugar and milk too. How's that sound?") On the not so good side of things, I realized that I don't really know how to discipline/keep kids in order. Parents get a huge advantage in maintaining order with their kids since their kids start out a little more dependent on their support.  So it stands to reason that just showing up for seven days, garnering the respect of a kid that probably really doesn't want to give it to you, and then figuring out how to deal with the resulting chaos is going to err on the humbling side of things. That said, hats off to all the fathers and mothers out there, keeping your kids in check from seriously damaging themselves and those around them. I don't know how you do it, but your much overlooked service is greatly appreciated.

4. Thank you for all of your prayers, thoughts, and gifts over Christmas. I can't do anything aside from what God does and so much of His action flows from your prayers. So please keep praying! Christmas is typically a violent season, and apparently it was in many parts of the city, but in our immediate area, there were no major tragedies, nor acts of violence. That is a huge praise! Also, keep praying for growth in our house church as we look for more people and families to invest in different geographical areas. Pray that God would reveal to us who He is already at work in and that we would be sensitive to His leading.

5. Also, God's been at work in really cool ways through random spiritual conversations all of us on the team have have been experiencing with folks, normally outside the barrio and usually a one time encounter. Personally, it's been great to learn how to talk about Christ, and also within the context of Spanish. Also, with quick encounters I've been blessed to realize that God truly is the one that works in people's lives, well before and long after our conversation; I'm simply present. Pray for a woman named Anna. During a conversation/prayer in the middle of the market, she said she wanted to get off drugs and get back closer and feel God again in her life. She left extremely happy and smiling. I can't say whether she was genuine or not, but pray that God would keep working in her life and be extremely present with her in struggles with drugs and depression.

6. Finally, I'm trying to update the ol' blog more often. I'm hoping to talk a bit about the little things here that make life different from life in the states. Somebody might find it interesting, but I'm sure a lot of it could be incredibly boring.  So I'm putting it there and not here.

Alright, I hope you are all doing amazing and I love to hear from you and what's going on. May God bless you in all ways and all things and may you walk in the goodness He has set before you. Stay strong, seek the Lord and
Press on for Joy!
Cameron



As the bullet rolled around in his open palm, I began to realize that maybe this man really had recently shot two men.

I've been reading a lot recently. Like thinking, it's a universally encouraged activity, but generally not done.  Or when people do read, it's typically not done with books that would encourage thinking. None the less, I've been blessed during these past few weeks with time to read and think. From various recommendations from friends over the years, I picked up a copy of Blue like Jazz we had around. I read it in three days and it was amazing. Don Miller's writing style is laid back; kind of conversational, as some of my friends have called it. He uses short sentences. He even includes a few cartoons.

One of his themes he continually brings up that of sin. In a world of literature that seems to fall on either the side of pure focus on sin or pure avoidance of sin, it was wonderful to hear his direct thoughts and struggles. Growing up attending church every Sunday, I think I've come to take the putridness of sin, and the consequent offensiveness of grace for granted. I always wondered how many people that had never gone to church actually cared about sin, or what they thought when they heard about it. How many would even know what that word means (Honestly, I can think of a lot of examples of sin, but what truly defines sin, what makes one thing sin and another not sin, I'm not sure if I could say with clarity). Yet, hearing Don's own experience and acknowledgment of sin gave me room to process a conversation I had within the past month.

The setting was the house of one of our friends from the barrio.  It was packed with his friends, relatives and folks from our team. He had invited us for Chinese food as some long chain of extended family and friends blessed him with the acquaintance of two brothers who worked as cooks in a Chinese restaurant. When we arrived, the uncle of these two cooks was drunk. I had never met him before but we introduced ourselves and starting talking. Actually, he started talking and I did a lot of listening and asking questions. He unfolded a story that began with a Korean professor who lived in Caracas, wound its way through three separate cars out from under him within as many years, a few journeys to Colombia and back in search for the cars and robbers and ended at least an hour and a half later with a discussion of starting a new restaurant near his house. Somewhere along the way, he told me when looking for some of the thieves, he had found two of them in a truck in a field in the middle of nowhere, walked up to them, and pulled the trigger. At first, I figured my understanding of Spanish wasn't up to par and that I had misunderstood him, or that I wasn't entirely understanding the story, or if nothing else, he was just drunkenly boasting. But then there was that bullet rolling around in his hand. And then there was his supposed military history as a sniper, and another bullet of a different caliber which he also produced from his pocket a few minutes later.

Aside from the bullets, the story, he seemed like a nice enough guy, friendly and whatnot. He wanted to open a restaurant; he was looking for a new start. I was helping him with some basic ideas which he took with gratefulness and proceeded to pave his future path in the restaurant. Mid-way through his menu and mid-sentence, this inquisitive look sprang up on his face and asked me "What religion are you?". I was taken a bit off guard by the rapid subject change, but replied Christian and that name of the church didn't really mean much. What was most important was to follow Jesus. Jesus said He was the way, the truth, the life and... "And no one comes to the Father but by me!" he exclaimed with a big smile on his face and then gave me a big hug. He explained how his mom was a strong woman of faith: always in prayer, the word, involved with church. He didn't believe in "prophets", ones that would come up and put their hand on your head, as he demonstrated to me. But, he tells his own kids about God makes sure to scuttle them off the church every Sunday. He went on to explain how he appreciated God's judgment. Once when he was tracking another guy down to kill him (I can't remember why) he found the man had just suffered from a thrombosis and half his body was paralyzed. "You're not worth the bullet to kill you! God has already judged you and you're going to live like this the rest of your life!" he told the then newly paralyzed man, his face twisting as he recounted how he spoke to him. Then his face changed again. He felt guilty. He had much shame in his heart, and in explaining so, he moved his hand to his heart with his fingers slightly curved as if he was going to scoop it out. However, his shame wasn't about killing anyone like I would have expected or hoped.  Rather, it was about have three separate cars stolen from under him, once being stripped naked by the robbers off side of the road, and having to walk into town begging for help.

I'm one of those people that think of the right thing to say well after a conversation. That frustration only gets magnified in another language. I don't know if what I said was the right thing to say, but I did say something: I told him he was forgiven, and behind the words, I also meant that I forgave him. I told him God didn't want him to feel guilty but wanted to forgive him. I told him God wasn't glad that he had his cars stolen from him or that he had to walk naked along some road in the middle of night. He returned to expressing his guilt and scooping at his heart when we got interrupted by the call for dinner. Crowd chaos prevented further conversation. He left for his home town far away from Caracas the next day and I've never seen him again.

At that moment, it was easy to forgive him. He hadn't threatened me, nor killed anyone I know. I just met him at get together our neighbor was having. How many stories of murder have I already heard or seen during my life in the channels and cinemas? And yet, I wonder what the mothers, wives, kids of those two he killed would say. We know one mom here who lost her son to murder; she's gone blind from the trauma. I suppose I could try to justify myself in that forgiveness cannot just be talked about, it needs to be given. Or I could say to them in my defense that I had killed people too, but in the sermon on the mount type of murder, or in the "I bought a pair of Nikes once and therefore contributed to the vague, impersonal injustice of workers in a sweatshop somewhere in the world" type of murder. But, in a different way, I'm just as culpable as he is. Like the murderer at the party, I don't feel guilty about those forms of murder; I feel guilty and shamed that I have no idea how to control, discipline, nor gain the respect of an 11 year old that just wanted to test me.

And as ashamed as I feel about how easy it was to say he was forgiven, I have to realize that forgiveness of any form is simply scandalous. Sin of any form is destructive, gross, and robs life only leaving nakedness and shame. I can't defend this man's actions at all; they are horridly and wickedly wrong. That he even "knows" about Jesus but that it hasn't truly worked into his life beyond knowledge into action is beyond frustrating and bewildering. And neither can I defend my own frustration, anger, and participation in injustice.

To forgive, with the full knowledge of how sick sin is, God is doing something beyond scandalous. His mercy extends beyond a bullet in place of paralyzation, but goes on to give life and healing instead. And paradoxically, that life, that new creation, all through one death, one murder.  May that amazing grace work to transform us all, free us from this path of sin, destruction, and shame and instead place us in Christ, in His death and life, walking in His goodness.

"Like the rest, we were by nature objects of wrath. But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus."
Ephesians 2:3-7