C-mail; Vignettes of Guatemala

Howdy all!

I hope you have all had an excellent end of summer and smooth transition into fall. I got back from Guatemala a week ago where it felt like winter in California: rain, clouds and sun, except I could see my breath in the 8,000 feet plus altitude. But onto the summary:

1. Guatemala is awesome. It is an absolutely beautiful country, (green like Seattle and corn like Iowa). The country side is dotted with small villages hid among pine trees and corn fields. Instead of flat plains that the idea of corn usually inspires, Guatemala is rather rugged and is filled with hills, valleys, mountains and volcanoes (some active). I was living in the city of Xela which is at 8,000 feet of altitude. Xela is more or less the cultural capital of Guatemala. There are many "parks" and museums which serve as gathering centers for parades and any sort of celebrations. The indigenous population and culture of Guatemala is amazingly rich as well. Many of the Mayan women wear their hand woven and extremely colorful and beautiful dresses yet suffer discrimination for it. The history of the indigenous population is deep. Only recently have many indigenous people who once hid their identity now started to take an interest again in their culture and languages. (In the past, because of severe racism and views of the government against indigenous people, many parents forbid their children to speak any language except Spanish or to wear traditional clothing.)

2. I had an wonderful and valuable time learning Spanish at El Quetzal (pronounced "L-Kate-zal") in the city of Xela. Excellent, small family style school founded by an indigenous lady named Glenda. She really helped my Spanish and put down a solid foundation in terms of grammar and practical usage. I just hope I can keep it up enough between here and Caracas. If you would interested in learning or practicing Spanish, I would highly recommend Xela and specifically El Quetzal because the school and teachers are amazing plus I want to help them out. Shameless plug. I can get you contact info if you're ever interested.

3. As for the national food criticism, Guatemala gets a 4/5. Interestingly enough, this was the first Latin American country I had been that had tortillas. And somehow unlike the varieties I've had in the states, corn tortillas are really good there. In spite of the fact that most of the corn grown there goes out of the country, the corn products are abundant and very good. And beyond the staple beans, rice and eggs, they have certain dishes that are cooked and served in large leaves that look like they came straight out of the jungle. Excellent overall.

4. As for next steps, its off to San Francisco on the 26th for a apprenticeship orientation with InnerCHANGE. I'll be back on October 1st and from there, it's off to Caracas on the 8th!

5. Finally, October 4th is a day of prayer with CRM, (Church Resource Ministries) the mother organization of InnerCHANGE. I'll be taking the day to pray for YOU, so let me know how!

Alright, there are many details left to figure out still before I move on south, but thank you so much for all the encouragement and response and I'm sorry I've slow in returning messages. But I'll get there, eventually. I hope this finds you all doing just plain amazing and have an amazing October!

Press on for Joy!
Cameron



Many times in traveling or being in contact with different cultures, I've observed things that make absolutely no sense to me. But I have to remind myself that I don't know what people are thinking and feeling behind the action. Even bigger, I more often than not have no clue how God is at work in a place, person, or group from just a brief encounter. I find it disconcerting to only be able to observe and not know what to think or what to make of a situation without any informative commentary or concurrent processing. So, in light of that, the section below is written simply as observables; no analysis, no viewpoints or emotions. Just actions and words that can be observed. With that, here are some vignettes of Guatemala.

Guatemala by the numbers

Guatemala suffered a 36 year internal war where over 200,000 died in the conflict and nearly 1 million were displaced. In 1996, peace accords were signed and armed conflict stopped.

Currently, CACIF (a large trade federation composed of various companies and other organizations) owns about %80 of the land. The other %20 is owned by 15 families in Guatemala. The other 12.5 million people in Guatemala don't have much left over. (Or in the case of many field workers, their land is owned by someone else.) Also, geographically, the population is distributed such that %80 percent of the people live on %20 percent of the land.

1 dollar is 7.65 quetzales (pronounced kate-zal-ehs). 10 quetzales will get you three oranges, or a bag full of breads and rolls, or into El Fonde del Che for an evening of Andean folk music.

The Mayan "week" has 13 days for the 13 major movement parts of the body (2 ankles, 2 knees, 2 hips, 2 writs, 2 elbows, 2 shoulders and 1 neck). Multiply 13 by 20 fingers and toes and you have 260 days which makes the Mayan year.

It can take 4 or less hours to get to Xela from the capital on the chicken bus. 4 plus hours on a fancier bus. It takes about 2 hours to walk up to the natural steam baths on a mountain behind Xela. It takes about an hour to walk down.

There are 15 political parties in Guatemala. You can move on in a presidential election with only 23% of the popular vote. The 2 remaining candidates both have parties whose symbols are hands. One in the shape of a bird (think Napoleon Dynamite happy hands club), the other a fist.



Casa de los Migrantes (House of the Migrants)

Two years ago, the Guatemalan government built a facility for folks that had left Guatemala to come into the US illegally, but were captured at some point along the way and sent back. The commencing InnerCHANGE team in Xela has been visiting the facility for a while now and helping to organize volunteers for cooking meals. I got to visit the house one afternoon. I walked into a rather large room(in comparison to the rooms in the house I was living at and school I was attending) with bunk beds lining the walls. About thirty men were standing around. Except they weren't men by age. The youngest could have been no older than 15, the oldest no more than 25. We had happened to arrive at lunch time and half of the group was being called out for lunch. I was told that for some it had been a very long time since they left. If they are captured in Mexico, they have to wait for enough Guatemalans to be captured before they are sent back. When they arrived here four days ago, they had to give up their backpacks, belts and shoelaces. Today they were getting them back.

The next room over is for the women. About 20 young women were waiting here. Some were siting with small children of no more than 4. Everyone is waiting for their parents or relatives to come pick them up and take them back home. However, some of them won't exactly have a home to go back to. As it was explained to me, the trip north is very expensive (especially considering a significant amount of people in rural areas make no more than 2 dollars a day). Most of the people here either took out a loan on the their land, sold it to the bank, or if they were very lucky they might have sold their car. After finding a coyote (name for the guides) and paying upwards of $4,000 (some after they cross), the trip begins. By far the most treacherous part is crossing the desert in Mexico. As one of the volunteers told me about his trip, in his party of 20 people, 2 died and the rest survived on a gallon of water between them in the desert during the four day crossing. He also explained that the odds of making it past the border are very slim, just about %5. Yet, due to lack of work and lack of opportunities, the people in these two rooms tried. Now after an unsuccessful attempt, they are waiting for their parents to come claim them. Of course that assumes that they even notified their family. The volunteers explained that for some, the shame of being caught is too much. Instead of facing their fathers, they'll try their fortune away from the family. Some find a job, others a gang, others just the street. But for today, they're smiling with their shoelaces, belts, and free hands that don't have to hold up their pants any longer.

Raining on their Parade

I was lucky enough to be in Guatemala during their independence day, September 15th. The majority of the week was filled with parades, concerts, men selling plastic blue and white flags in the street, and general festiveness. On the afternoon of the 14th, I found myself in the "Central Park" (More of a concrete zone with trees and shrubs symmetrically scattered in concrete planter beds ringed with benches) watching high school marching band after high school marching band pass by on the street. (A note about the bands: trumpets, metal handheld xylophones, drums and nothing else. The music spanned everything from the Guatemalan national anthem to Nelly Furtado's Say it Right.) The doubled edged sword of being tall and being in Guatemala is that I could see everything without obstruction from the back edge of the crowd, but I also received a significant proportion of the attention that should have been directed at the parade.

After a short amount of time, I heard a bit of a thud behind me. I turned around to find an older woman in a blue sweater and black skirt on the ground. Another lady was taking her arm to help her up, but as she was a bit of a "gordita" (literally "little fat one", which isn't offensive there.) I took her other arm and helped to bring her up. The other woman and I helped her to an open spot on a concrete bench attached to planter. The other woman continued on at this point and I took a seat next to the older lady with the blue knit sweater. Her left leg was a little dusty but showed no trace of blood. She sat with her face in her hand for a number of minutes. The bands marched on behind the wall of people in front of us. She finally uncovered her face and brushed part of her graying but still dark hair slightly aside. "You alright?" I asked. She picked up her head and gave me a tired smile revealing two missing front teeth. She stared at me for an uncomfortable period of time and then returned her head to her hand. This process repeated itself a number of times. Finally after a number of questions on my part and very little responsiveness on her part (though the bands passing by made it difficult to hear) she finally decided to get up and go. Standing up, she tottered a bit and I helped to steady her. Grabbing my right hand between a few fingers and the thumb on her right hand, she lead me through the crowd. We were walking past the flag poles with disproportionally large flags looking more like sails on a mast when the national anthem started playing. She stopped, maintaining the grip on my hand and we stood facing the flags for the song. We were standing rather close to the flags and a number of officials of some sort were no more than forty feet in front of us to our left. Realizing I was in a rather conspicuous location, I tried to follow the lengthy anthem along with some openings and closings of my mouth, but I looked rather lost. Finally after a number of minutes, the song ended in applause and the old woman pulled me through the crowd while I stabilized her at key moments.

After pushing through some more crowd and garnering a number of side glances, we reached another seat in the park and I gestured for us to sit down. The bands kept circling the park, but it was a little quieter at this location. At this point, I was determined to learn the woman's name. "Como se llama?" (What are you called?) She looked at me, raised her lip and looked away. I tried again. Same response. I waited and tried, tried and waited, but the best semblance of answer I got was "Pollo" (Chicken). She then confidently asserted "soy embolada" (I'm drunk) with a large smile and quickly laid her head against my shoulder and picked it up just as quickly. "Where do you live?" I asked and was answered with a blank stare. "Where do you live? I want to help you get home." Again nothing. So we sat and listened to the cacophony of at least eight different bands playing at once as they made their way around the park. I tried a few different times asking for her place of residence but nothing came of it. At one point she stood up and snatching my hand again, set off. We walked to the northwest corner of the park, but were confounded by the crowds and rib shaking bass drums (she had indicated she wanted to see the bands) and were forced to retreat to different bench circling a planter. I tried again to ask her where she was going or where she lived. She returned the question to me with an interested look. "I live over there" I motioned. She pleaded with her eyes and asked "Can I you take me with you?" "Its not my house, I'm just staying there. Another family owns the house and I can't take visitors in with me. But where is YOUR house? I can help you get there." And as with so many times before, she gave a blank stare and turned away. This process repeated a number of times only to be interrupted by some folks handing out flyers for pain relievers. By now, nigh an hour and a half had passed since the woman had fallen and it was dark. Her condition had not changed in the least. I had appointments very soon and was likely to be late as it was. I folded the pain relief flyer into a paper airplane, handed it to the woman, and asked as clearly as I could if I could help her home one last time. Again, the raised lip. I took her hand, explained I had to go, silently prayed over her and left. Her head turned down again as I got the last glimpse of her aging gray and black hair as I walked off. The bands played on.

Cristo Viene

The bed was put together and moved into the right position amid the row of double and triple bunk beds. There was nothing else to do, all the trash was swept up and the whole place looked much better. I bid my farewell to my building partner and to Juan Francisco, the retired evangelical pastor in the wheel chair who had opened up his house for any and all street kids and shoeshine boys with out homes.

Walking out, I heard a bit of commotion to my right and saw one of the older boys picking up rock from the street. He placed it under his coat and held it in place in his armpit. I hurried over and found Byron, the older boy who had just picked up the rock, approaching Jaime, his tormentor. Jaime held a toy gun (which they sell for very cheap in the street and could look rather authentic in a dark alley) that apparently he used to shoot Byron. Somehow I managed hurry over and put myself between the two. Byron strode down the street always facing Jaime. I could only tell Jaime's position from the direction of Byron's face. Jaime apparently stood still and wasn't moving. I asked Byron quickly what had happened. Except my words didn't carry what I meant; for possibly the only time in the trip, my spanish just plain wouldn't work. Byron got the gist of my inquiry and spouted out his complaint. Jaime had shot him with the gun and the projectile had nailed Byron no more than a fingers width away from his eye. "Look!" he shouted and pointed to the spot. I looked and stammered "No,... no... estoy bien," (which means "No no, I'm fine." instead of my intended "No, its fine.") At this point we had walked past Jaime and were nearing a corner. A few steps later, Byron still facing his antagonist, dropped the rock. We stopped, talked a bit more, (my spanish came back to me at this point.) and after asking for some money which I told him I didn't have, he took off. I yelled out "Paz a ti" and turned to go home. I came down a road I had never taken before, and found a view of the mountain side across town. On top of a house or church or some sort of building, the words Cristo Viene, were placed above it in large letters. Cristo Viene, Christ comes.

C-mail: Guatemala and Leaving Home

Howdy All!

For some of you, this is your first C-mail, so a brief introduction, otherwise, feel free to skip on down:

The C-mail was begun nigh over a year ago mainly as a way to report on my experiences during the Global Urban Trek to Lima, Peru just over a year ago. Previously in my life, I had been frustrated by folks returning from short term missions and having a complete inability to tell me anything that happened except that it was "great." With this lack of information in mind, I started the C-mail to pry open the lid on missions and let all who would read have full view into the happenings and my reactions to them. I'm continuing with that openness now as well in this next phase of my life. I'm in the process of moving to Caracas, Venezuela with a missionary order called InnerCHANGE. I hope to spend the next 2 to 3 years living in the barrios among the poor and following Jesus in seeking the Kingdom of God in those neighborhoods. If you're on this list, you get to see what happens along the way. I can't promise it will be pretty, or fun, or happy, but I know my God is faithful in His undying love for the least and lost of this world. It is in that love that I believe and know that true joy is found. I hope that through these updates you can share and be challenged in your own pursuit of Christ and the full life that follows.

With that, a structural note. The C-mail tends to be long, so it has two parts: a numbered list type update/prayer request section, and a more reflective story type of section at the end that tends to be very long. Here go the numbers.

1. This Saturday the 18th I'm flying off to Guatemala. In the city of Quetzaltenango, or as the locals call it, Xela (pronounced Shay-la), I'll be taking four weeks of Spanish school to fill in the gaping holes in my Spanish learning.

2. In addition to learning Spanish, I'll be learning about Guatemalan history. This may sound really boring, but I consider it a good opportunity to learn how to learn. Specifically, how to learn a long, epic type of story from a group of people and then be able to take the stories from individuals and families and see how they place themselves within that larger story. From learning the big and little stories, I'm guessing you get a good idea of how a culture/people view time and events larger than themselves. This is an important thing to learn, especially if you want to introduce people to a large story and help them to see how they fit into it. (ie the Bible and how we fit into the grandest story of them all).

3. I hope to report on the history I'm learning on my blog while I'm there and perhaps summarize once I'm back stateside. Apparently, it is a crazy history and not easy for us to hear, but at the very least I can publish the Guatemalan's stories so that they are there for any who would listen.

4. I could certainly use prayer for this trip. If you happen to be the praying type, I would love to have prayer for A.) Health and protection against disease. Specifically stomach sickness from food. B.) Focus while learning Spanish C.) Time to meet and get to know the fledgling, perspective InnerCHANGE team in Xela. D.) General safety. Xela sounds pretty safe, but elections are coming up and a number of supporters and candidates have been shot. Pray for the safety and the end of violence against those running for office and their supporters. E.) Good emotional and spiritual well being while living and adjusting to a new culture. F.)Pray for all those in Peru mourning and in pain from the earthquake.

5. In terms of preparation for Caracas, I am still in the fundraising stage. Specifically, I'm trying to raise $1500 a month. I'm in progress towards that goal, but I'm asking for more supporters. If you would like to hear more about the vision and ministry in Caracas and possibly use this as an opportunity to give, shoot me an email back and we can go from there. (or for the tech savvy, you can give directly by this.) As for other preparation, I just have a lot of traveling, visa applications, and moving and relocation details all in a very short time period. Pray for grace!

Alright, I'm off, but I have lots of hours on a plane, so let me know how I can pray for you and or just let me know how you're doing. Have a great August, stay strong, seek the Lord and
Press on for Joy!
Cameron




For just over two and half a weeks, I got to travel around California for fundraising, attending weddings, and visiting many old friends and making some new. Overall the trip was good, but at some point, I was struck by a new reality: I no longer had any geographical location that I could consider home. I didn't realize this until well into the trip. For a good week plus, life was amazing. The gypsy, traveling lifestyle was beautiful. The trip was planned out well, the destinations and people amazing, and my car got miraculous mileage. I exclaimed as much to a friend on the phone one evening. But the day after that praise of life on the road, I emotionally fell apart.

I don't know why I fell apart. Perhaps it was the realization that my old college town of San Luis Obispo wasn't home anymore. I knew the city like the back of my hand, I knew the campus, I knew the churches, the streets, the shops and restaurants. This was were I really began to love and follow God and built some of the greatest friendships of my life. I lived in one apartment for four years, and I considered that almost more of a home than the house I grew up in. But while visiting, the irony of being in my home town without my "home" really sank in. On top of that, the majority of people I knew from college were gone: now graduated and scattered to the winds. What's a city without friends? Everything was so familiar, but it wasn't home.

Perhaps it was the realization that my home here in Boise is soon to fail. My parents are moving to Texas in September. Assuming the house sells, I will have no one structure that qualifies as home. Again, as in SLO, everything is familiar, but it isn't home. And Texas? I've never been there so that doesn't qualify.

Perhaps it was drifting from place to place a day or two at a time. Perhaps not having a home base to operate out of or return to between meetings and appointments. Perhaps always being out in public where I needed something to do in order to justify my presence there. Perhaps it was that the majority of people I met and stayed with were themselves moving. Perhaps it was the brakes going out on my car (it got fixed, don't worry). Perhaps it was everything together or simply nothing at all. None the less, my heart faced the fact that even though I have places to stay and food to eat, I am, by a true definition of the word, homeless.

I'm probably making mountain out of molehills, but for an only child, homebody like myself, losing the security of an always open, permanent safe place is huge. I never realized how important this was until I lost it. But to find security in a place, a structure, a feeling, is the least secure position of all. And somehow in the losing, I know that I am loved.

Just before Jesus challenged the rich young ruler in Mark, Jesus looked at him, and loved him. Jesus cared for this man. But far beyond cared; He looked, saw him for all he was, and He loved him. It must have been one of those looks that just give you the warm fuzzies (I get the image of the old farmer at the end of Babe looking down and saying "That'll do pig, that'll do". Ok, go ahead and mock.) Then from such a kind, gentle countenance of unconditional love, instead of "That'll do pig", come the words: "One thing you lack: Go your way, sell whatever you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, take up the cross and follow Me." That sure doesn't sound kind or loving. More like a self imposed death sentence. What kind of messed up love is that?

The ruler leaves dejected with Jesus' voice ringing out behind him "How hard it is for those who have riches to enter the Kingdom of God!" Again, what kind of messed up love is this? I found myself asking the same question on this last trip. My feelings weren't of joy or goodness. They were of worry, angst, lostness. Something that I had always had, and always taken for granted is now disappearing right in front of me. The same process has been happening with fundraising, only now in terms of concrete money instead of the vague notion of home. How is this love?

A thought occurred to me while driving around these past weeks and listening to some sermons of Bob Ekblad's. When the Hebrews had just come out of Egypt and were in the desert, they sent spies up to check out Israel. The spies came back and reported a land of amazing abundance, flowing with milk and honey. Yet it was inhabited by giants and the people feared that they would not be able to take it. Yet God had promised them this land; He wanted to give them it, in all of its wonder and splendor. Read that again. God WANTED to give them something great! Instead, the people looked at the reality of what was in front of them, the things preventing them from going into the land. Without divine intervention, they were going to die in any attempt at moving into Israel. So they panicked and wanted to go back to Egypt, and slavery. For most of my life, I've heard that the sin of the Hebrews at this point was a lack of faith in God. But what if it was a lack of desire? Or to put it another way, they weren't willing to fight for the extreme goodness God wanted to give them. For the truth in the situation was that God had promised them an amazing life in this land, but they were willing to take the easy road and settle for slavery.

Perhaps that was the same love Jesus had for the young man. He had in store for this ruler a life so amazing and so full that he couldn't even imagine, but the man was to willing to settle and not risk what he already had. With the ruler gone, Peter gives his aghast response to Jesus: "See, we have left all and followed you!" With that, Jesus is quick to answer:

"Assuredly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or lands, for My sake and the gospel's, who shall not receive a hundredfold now in this time—houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions—and in the age to come, eternal life." And so, Jesus loved him. He knew the reward and the risk in front of this ruler. He wanted this man to give all he had up to gain countless riches he could never lose, both now and eternally. Its the same messed up love of a parent pulling a piece of glass out of a toddler's mouth and replacing it with a slice of orange. For me, that means finding a home in no one geographical location or house, but finding my home in Christ wherever I might be, with the end goal of an eternal home that will never fail. I honestly haven't swallowed the eternal home part, but God's not done yet. I still feel homeless at times and frequently the cost of following Christ seems to pileup way beyond my means. Yet in spite of insecurity and the weight of doubt, I know I must continue to seek and follow and sacrifice for the reward that is ahead.

Why is it so hard to live this out? Why can't we take Jesus at His word and be willing to fight and suffer for all the goodness He offers? Doubt, yes. Unholy contentment, yes. The actual fight and struggle, yes. But perhaps the most devastating piece of resistance that others have shown me is that of logic. It would make sense for this man to invest his money so that he would always have something to give to the poor. However, that is not what Jesus asked him to do. He asked him to sell and give. Eventually he would have run out of stuff to sell and money to give. He would have become as poor as the people he was giving too. But at that point something extremely beautiful happens. Instead of cash or a sandwich or a coat, he can only offer the greatest gift he has, himself. And that is following Jesus.

May God give us all grace and strength to follow and persevere towards His blessing. I'll let you know how it turns out on my end. Let me know how it goes with you. Until then,
Press on for Joy!
Cameron

Off to LA

I'm off to LA for this next week for new staff orientation with Church Resource Ministries. InnerCHANGE is a part of CRM and I need to become staff with them first before I can really join InnerCHANGE. This is the first official step to getting down to Caracas. Prayer during this week and for the rest of this summer of preparation would be much appreciated. Pray for wisdom, open ears, and a good attitude even in the midst of big changes. If you're in LA, I might be able to hang out during the first part of the week since our evenings are pretty free. Call me if you're interested and

Press on for Joy!

Back

So, I'm back. I'm not ready to totally reveal all of the trip and I haven't quite replayed through all of the experiences enough to be able to line them out in a comprehensible order. The nice thing about a short trip like this is that it is all fresh in your mind. You don't have to dredge up the initial impact feelings and memories from arrival.

I'll be sending out a C-mail soon (actually a K-mail, you'll see) but there a number of things I want to talk about specifically on this blog soon:

Socialism and the specific situation in Venezuela
Differences I see between the barrios in Caracas and my experiences with the poor in Peru
Fatalism or Purpose: Are results necessary in seeking the Kingdom or only obedience and what attitude do we carry in that?

As for now, I'll be spending the next week deciding about whether I want to commit for 2-3 years to InnerCHANGE (another decision) or whether I will continue to search for another group or postpone for a year. I promised my parents that I would not make this decision while I was there. Also the folks on the team didn't even give an official invitation because they wanted us to process everything once we were back. So pray for wisdom and clarity to hear God's voice and leading this week. Right now I feel rather confident in my position but I need to be open to my Lord.

Beyond that, I just want to thank everyone who prayed for me. I was safe and have come back with out harm and a greater appreciation for the time and effort needed to learn a language. Also thank you so much for all the emails and supports. They are greatly appreciated. And feel free to comment here too.

Just to close, one brief insight into the country: Black beans are not called "frijoles negros" but "caraotas". Just to clear that up.