Christmas Eve in the Zocalo

Hey Everyone, I hope you had a great time over the holidays. Here's a little taste of what we did to celebrate.

A Night in Tlacolula

I couldn't believe it. The church, which is still lacking in minor detail, was packed. A ton of people had shown up. The crowd had plenty of time to grow. The pageant was advertised to begin at six, but in true Mexican form it didn't. In fact, we weren't even at the church at six. I had been at the church all day laying more of the brick floor, but as the hour drew near last minute preparations were being carried out and we didn't leave to get cleaned up until after 5. Then, we had to eat of course. So we stopped for tacos on the way home.

When we did get home at about a quarter till, Denise asked if I could be ready in five minutes. I assured her that I could, and I did. I waited a while for the others, and as the clock struck six I began to worry. Everyone else had gone to the church while we were eating tacos. Aside from Habacuc and Denise and myself, we only had David and Pedro in our group. I checked to see that I hadn't been left somehow, and David told me to relax as he continued to get ready. Denis and Habacuc finally immerged from their house and had a new and uncharacteristic urgency about them.

I jumped into the truck, ready to go and they hit the horn for David. They hit it again, holding a little longer this time. Still David was nowhere to be found. Their frustration surprised me, as our tardiness leading up to this moment had been of no concern, now all of a sudden not one precious second could be spared. Also surprisingly, the decision was made to leave David, who had a significant role in the play and was set to be the entertainment afterwards. We pulled away, but only a few hundred yards or so to the visitor’s center, where we had to grab a couple odds and ends. Luckily David used to the extra time to run down the drive with Pedro and jump in the back of the truck. Finally we were on our way to the church.

We arrived only a half hour behind schedule. Everyone was changing into their costumes. One of the girls painted a beard on my face. Everyone had been pretty upset with me for a while, when I shaved and cut my hair. Apparently I hadn't been chosen for my role based on my Christ likeness, but rather my ragged appearance. I was also interested to observe that the entire stage had been set up opposite of how we had practiced. Stage left was on the right and I tucked that bit of knowledge away for later. The last of my costume was being finished and given to me. Unfortunately for me, this whole thing was going to happen after all.

I wasn't too nervous. I had a bit of time to kill, as I was playing the role of adult Jesus in the Christmas pageant, so I didn't appear for a while. I came to find out that Mexican pageants are quite thorough, taking the audience all the way from the birth through the Crucifixion. Fortunately we didn't also have devils and demons, as I've been told some of the school pageants have been known to squeeze into their programs. At any rate, I pondered my lines, which I didn't actually have to say. They had been recorded, as had all the lines and the performers were simply moving their mouths. Everyone but me had recorded their own lines. Luis' voice stood in for mine as my Spanish is still not up to par with theater standards apparently. I'm not sure why he was chosen, because he had a part of his own, and his voice is rather high and scratchy, which became a highlight for the staff to poke fun of later.

Finally, the lights were struck. The music was cued. We were ready to go, and only about an hour and half late. I think it went well for the most. My favorite part was when Chucho plays the angel that appears to the Sheppard’s. Then his multitude of heavenly hosts joins him, which consisted of the little cuna boys, Tavo, Julio, and Luis (not the same Luis who recorded my lines). It was a pretty good event, kind of blur for me, but I have been assured of a video that exists if I ever care to refresh my memory.

There was a ton of food and piñatas. The kids had a pretty good time, and I think their parents enjoyed it too. Many of the kids are set to leave with different relatives on Friday. The small group of us that stays behind is excited to be heading to the beach the day after Christmas. Just like home, there are those that are finishing last minute shopping, decorations and cooking. I have been able to take a couple days off from working at the church now that the deadline has pasted and Habacuc and Denise are taking some much needed time off. We are all very excited to celebrate together. Merry Christmas.

The Spirit of Christmas

It’s been a whole month since my last post and, having been derelict of my writing for so long, some will remain aloof to the reader. I hope that it does not stray from memory when I find myself separated by both time and space from this place and these people. As so much has come and gone in the time we’ve been apart, I’ll try to fill in the pieces with some highlights.

His arrival was much anticipated. Proper research was exercised via facebook though we were still divided on who exactly would show up. Jeff assertively declared it would be the grizzled fly fisherman, while Janelle confidently predicted it would be whoever had dressed their golden retriever in a Canuck’s jersey for their profile pic. Both sides were so sure that a wager was established and we, without TV, local hangout spot, sports, or our normal leisure activities, had some entertainment for which to look forward.

The guy was driving his motorcycle down from Smythers BC (8 hrs north of Vancouver). Jeff and I were working at the church and when Habacuc arrived with Dan at the job, he brought Jeff’s fifty pesos from Janelle too. Apparently he had pulled in on his bike greeted by a less than enthusiastic Janelle who immediately new she had lost the wager.

He arrives just in time too. Being a big strong farm boy from BC’s interior, he was perfect for helping us install the final and biggest beam in the church. It was to stretch across under the now sagging roof, almost perpendicular to the other beams. Hoisted by measures of rope and awkwardly thrust overhead to hands reaching down, we shimmied one end onto a concrete overhang that would support that side. The other side was rigged with a pulley, yet that did not simplify things. Struggling and straining to move the massive beam, our hands grew limp with exhaustions from holding the line. After many failed attempts the side was finally in position to be jacked into place. We had a three-ton car jack that was fitted with a measure of a wood plank and then cranked up. As I imagine, the total weight of the roof must have drawn near to the max bulk of the jack, yet it slowly and steadily lifted the droopy lid straight and flush. It felt to be quite the accomplishment when the roof was finished. Yet the church would prove to be much more work still.

It was fun having Dan around. He gave rides to all the kids and taught Jeff and I how to drive the moto. It was a ton of fun though I nearly laid it down in some loose sand when the neighbor’s dogs ran out in front of me and chased me down the road. We got a lot done at the church in the days that he was here, and then he was off to Cancun to catch a flight to Haiti. Sounds like things are pretty rough there, and we all pray for his safety.

Dan wasn’t he only surprise visitor to the church, though the other was much less helpful. I didn’t personally see him so I can only repeat the story as I have heard it. Pablo, one of the gentlemen that work at the casa hogar laying the brick wall, will also help us in the evenings at the church tiling the bathroom. He’s super nice and a very, very hard worker. At any rate, he was working away in the bathroom after dark when there was a very loud banging coming from the other side of the church. When he lifted his eyes from his work, he saw a massive figure hammering away at the beam we had just hung. It was about three meters off the ground, yet the figure could reach standing on the ground. He was very dark and seemed to be content to beat away at the beam. When Jeff and I heard the story, Jeff suggested that it could have been a good spirit that came to help us with construction. When Habacuc translated that to Pablo, all he did was shake his head slowly from side to side. I’m not sure what it means that there is a nine or ten foot, dark, hammering spirit in the church, but construction to this point has been blessed with safety and accomplishment. I hope that it continues.

I get a short rest this weekend from working at the church. We are going up to the mountains since most all the kids are going on a youth event with Habacuc. Then we’ll return for our Christmas pageant, which I will fulfill my role of our lord and savior, Jesus. I can’t believe I agreed to this but there is no backing out at this point.

I hope everyone is having a very merry Christmas season. It would be fun to be home celebrating with everyone, but we are looking forward to taking some of the kids to the ocean soon and celebrating here at the home as well.

Its a boy!

I'm sure many, if not all, have heard the news by now. Thankfully other avenues of communication exist besides my scattered postings and those that keep a keen ear to the grapevine have done much to inform me of every new development.

Really, things had settled into place nicely after the Huatulco trip. Jeff and I were working regularly with Santiago about the grounds of the Casa Hogar, the demands of fruit trees, hedges, shrubs and flowers keeping us busy. Andrea and Ricardo were preparing for a much needed and deserved vacation, and the group from the Chapel had arrived. Upon Habacuc's return from the Baja we were once again making progress on the new church building. All was good and ticking along according to plan.

Then Janelle asked me a peculiar question the next morning at breakfast. I told her that, yes I had checked my email last night. I was a bit confused as to why she was sending emails only about forty feet across the courtyard from her house to mine.

"No, this morning, did you check your email this morning?"

"No."

"Well, Andrea had her baby last night." Of course I was more than a little bewildered over the statement. Andrea was to go on vacation, return, and have the kid months later, but as it turns out, she barely made it to the hospital.

The email I was to read assured me of everyone's good health and that little Micah had, in fact, insisted on arriving almost eleven weeks early. The nature of such an unforeseen event raised a thick cloud of worry and concern, as well as speculation and theories as to the reasons behind happy surprise. Staff discussed, what they thought may have been peculiar events leading up to their departure. Members of the visiting group were eager to share snippets of information discovered from facebook pages or correspondence from other church members back home.

But as many fussed over pictures and posts only minutes old some could do nothing more than wait in anxious apprehension. Some of the boys were most concerned with the matter. The baby was supposed to born in Mexico, born a Mexican. One even asked, "how will we be brothers if he is American and I am not?"

The question struck me sharply. It dramatically testifies to the work of Ricardo and Andrea in the life of these boys and to the unintelligible segregation of national economies. I fumbled to respond and finally stumbled across, "porque hermanos tienen lo mismo padres." "Because brothers have the same parents."

We don't really say brother or sister in church in the states, but here in Mexico hermano Enrique visits the prisons. Hermana Chave shares in devotions. We pray "Our Father", so it makes sense to pray with our brothers and sisters.

I'm continually reminding some of the boys how much Andrea and Ricardo want to return and as soon as they are able. They are eager to see pictures and join in on Skype calls. It will be good for brothers to be united whenever it may happen.

California Dreaming?

1. Barra De La Cruz

2. San Augustin

3. Grass Hut Chruch at San Augustin

4. From inside the church

5. Bayside of San Augustin

Barra De La Cruz

So it has been a few weeks and the last couple blogs have been fairly heavy. There have been so many wonderfully carefree days and delightful fun with kids and staff. It isn't 24/7 drama. Sure sometimes it can be draining, but among whatever it is that may deplete or tire, there is also that which inspires and empowers. There is rest in this place.

The rest has come in days off or time to recover when feeling sick. Even being unexpectedly stranded in the city has broken up the routine. But if there were ever a place to get away from it all and completely relax, that place would be called Huatulco.

For anyone else Huatulco is about a 6 or 7 hours drive south from the mission sitting on the southern Pacific coast of the state. Luckily we had Habacuc who can complete it in a little over 5 hours including a stop for food. An impressive feat on such a winding mountain road in a 4 cylinder 12 passengers van. The man is a machine, using the entire lane and more to hold turns and keep momentum. Drafting close off the bumper of other vehicles, he sets up the pass. We snaked for hours through the southern mountains at double the posted speed limit. Scared at first, I soon gained courage after observing yet another precise and perfectly executed hairpin.

The entire point of the trip was to bring two of the young adults from our church down to help at church in Huatulco for a week or two. Arriving safely in the little beach town we dropped the kids at the church and hung out for the duration of the evening service. Haba talked with the other pastor at length, about what I'm not sure. Then, though late in the evening and dark as it was, we headed for the beach.

Walking across white sand in the heat of the night under moonlight was almost surreal. Not only that but there was an amazingly interesting hippie drum circle in full force. Beats raging complete with strung out, high on life and other things, hippie dancers. Seemed to be an eclectic group of Americans and Europeans. Not a local in the bunch that I could see. After a short walk and some time just gazing out at the watery expanse, we grab our sleeping bags and threw them out on the sand for the night.

Rising early the next morning we headed back to the pastor's house for breakfast. It was fantastic and bellies full we headed to their shed to borrow some surfboards. They had a bunch of old and busted, faded awesome boards. They handed us some of the beginner foam-tops and we were on our way.

We headed to a spot called San Augustin. There is actually a grass hut that serves as the church there on the ocean side of the point. On the cove side there is a string of grass hut restaurants and snorkel shops that are very busy at key points in the year but when we took to the beach there were only four other people. On the ocean side there were about eight or nine-foot waves crashing directly into a 45-degree beach so we took to the cove that was peaceful and quiet.

After taking a swim and then a long nap we ate some seviche and hung out and read for a bit. We were headed for another evening swim when I noticed some small waves were slipping past all the rocks and breaking over the choral in the bay. I grabbed one of the foam-tops and paddled out. A local kid joined me on a boogie board and we chatted and caught small short waves for about an hour. Then, as the tide slowly went out, the waves became a little faster and a little steeper and I went over the nose of the board and cut my hand a bit on the choral below. It was a sharp ending to my surf sesh, but I loved every second of it. We walked back over to the grass hut church and slept on the beach beside it for the night.

The next morning came early as Jeff and I were getting eaten alive by some unknown bug that came out of the sand to make us miserable. Haba opted for a room that some of the church members had offered to us, which was good because he was going to drive us back later. We were about to leave the wonderful San Augustin when some of the church members invited us to have breakfast at their little tienda. It was fresh fried fish with tomatoes and avocados and Coca Cola, of course. The breakfast of champions. We stayed and chatted with them for a while. Habacuc is never at a loss for keeping the conversation rolling. But we eventually left and Haba wanted to take us to a spot he said would be good for surfing. He wasn't kidding around.

We drove for about 45 mins and then it was down another bumpy dirt road to the beach. We had to stop and pay for access and we asked the guy how it was breaking today. "Mas o menos." "More or less," was the reply. I can't imagine what more would look like. We parked and walked past a grungy, skinny, sun beaten rabble hanging out by the lone tienda on the edge of the beach. I immediately felt like an outsider. They looked us up and down, eyebrows raised, and I knew, at least on some level, that I wouldn't be sharing any waves with these guys. I quickly found out why.

A few more steps and we had cleared a sandy knoll to a complete view of the best surf I had ever laid eyes upon. It was shocking. I immediately remembered pictures and footage of Jeffery’s Bay in South Africa and Honalua Bay in Maui. It was truly world class. A perfect right to left point break over a sandy bottom, it pealed beautifully for a few hundred yards into the bottom of the cove. Not only that but it was holding sets that were three and four meters high. A light offshore breeze held the wave for an extra second and the crew that was out caught wave after wave seemingly without effort. Catching the peak, they'd scream down the face and hook a huge bottom turn, powering back up to kick spray off the top. At that point they could make a full turn back into the wave or setup for the barrel only half way through the ride. Their rides were, in fact, so long that many of them rode it all the way into the sand and walked back to the end of the point and paddle in from there.

As much as I wanted to try my hand at perfection, I was truly out classed. Even if I had the skill and mustered enough courage to join the guild, I didn't have the proper stick. The beginner foam-tops we had wouldn't be able to hold a rail or carry enough speed to keep me in the blue on a wave like that. It would be like entering your broken down riding-lawnmower at the brickyard. We took some pictures, saw some iguanas and then headed for the car and home.

The last two days have been like many that have come to pass at the Casa Hogar. I woke early to drive kids to school and then returned to do some dishes. Jeff and I were again unsure as to what we would be doing but we were quickly given jobs about the grounds or going to town to run errands or sorting veggies. It was good to be back. The three of us had a ton of fun and now Haba is taking a group of kids to do worship music at the church down there and hang at the beach for a couple days. I know they will have a lot of fun. We are planning to go again around Christmas with some of the kids. Hopefully some day I'll be able to return to that perfect spot.

Visitation

By now there has been an overall shift from general impressions to relationships. The subtlies of eighty some people's emotions mingle and colide in the prisom of the Casa Hogar. This space that is your home, your work place, and house of worship. There is little room to linger between professionalisms and personalities, an idea that kids don't understand and the staff have most likely forgotten. And if only that were all one had to worry about harmony could prevail but forces from outside easily upset all that is worked for in a monthly prescribe disaster we call visitation.

My relationship with the younger boys remains the same as it was when I first arived. I am a true to life, walking, talking jungle gym. We have a lot of fun in the yard just in front of our rooms. Before meals we'll often begin a game of soccer which soon deteriorates into chasing, tackling, and throwing until I literally couldn't lift the smallest of them anymore.

The older boys are great. I love our house. Its amazing to get to know their personalities and interests. We'll play soccer into the night with the older kids. They'll bring out lights and extension chords. Its pretty competitive. I usually get stuck at gollie because I'm not very good. We'll play music in the chapel. I'll drive them to school or town. We'll work on projects around the grounds and always eat as a family in the comador.

Its amazing to know the staff better and understand on some level. They only thing I could say about them all is that they are characters. Among the most captivating is Edgar the pastor. He is a jolly middle aged man that will do anything at any time for anyone if they ask. They only thing more interesting that being around him is other poeple telling stories of his many exploits. As the saying goes, "its not the year, its the mileage." Edgar has lived. Growing up in a gang and all that means, he has reformed to minister to the mountain poeple of the area. The violence didn't end with his gang membership. He has been threatend with a pointed gun, drawn knife and fists and other weapons. But if God be for him who can be against him. Those that hated his ministry in the mountains would lament that he would not die. Triggers have been pulled without firing, threats have been made but his family is safe and together and vibrant. I ate dinner with them tonight.

I work with Habacuc as I've mentioned who is the young new pastor of the church. Him and his wife Dennis live at the Casa Hogar with their daughter and they are the sweetest family. He's a busy boy. He's on the leadership team and supervises the university students as well as his pastoral duties. Even still they will invite me and Jeff over for dinner and bring us food and drink while we work at the church. His abilities are astounding. On top of being a studied and well spoken minister, he is an incredible musician. Drums, bass, guitar, even cello, he can play them all and very very well; technically and with style. At the construction of the new church, he welds and wires. When the welding machine broke he pulled it apart and fixed it. We make due with the materials we have. Its going to be an impressive building.

The wemon of the mission are equally impressive. Some are in the middle of the heart renching adoption process. Some fell into responsibilities without yet mastering the language. Others are the reason the mission exists in the first place. Niche has been caring for some of these kids before Foundation for His Ministry began funding her. She has seen them grown and come and go. I do not envey the bredth of human experience she has wittnessed and lived. Maybe standing 5ft off the ground she has been provider, protector and love for these kids. And even in such small stature she is the last stop on the discipline heirarchy. "Do we need to talk to Niche about this?" If that doesn't work, whatever she says to them does.

Even so, not all the care and best efforts of these remarkable people can erase the reason the kids are here in the first place. The staff wait in silent aprehension for the coming monthly reminder of this fact. Parent visitation happens once a month. Kids wait to see their parents. Some reunions are good and testify to reform, change or blessing that are happening in the lives of the parent and flood over into the life of the child. But many are disapointed when parents do not come. Some know that no one is on their way to visit, but the others that do arrive remind them of that. And even those whose parents come, they can't stay and the parent leaves once again. The cluster of emotional baggages spills over the afternoon. Its not uncommen to have kids acting out and differently around this percarious day.

Its tough for the staff to watch the kids they care for to be hurt by people that in some cases have never cared or come and go from there lives on no particular basis. If not for this mysterious biological connection it seems some kids would be better off. I've been told that some of the kids that never knew their parents are the most well-adjusted kids at the mission.

Of course it would be best for the parents to achieve a place where they could once again or for the first time provide a healthy and loving place for the child to be with them. But until that happens, the best place for them to be is here with these people I've mentioned and so many more. Its a privilage and an education to be here with them.

Photos

1. Ninos playing soccer in the yard

2. Boys I drive to kinder

3. Celina, 2 year old we've been watching for a little bit

4. Dinner: toast and Jello

5. Celina and Vicky

A Bridge in Troubled Waters

As days have come and gone, one thing we don’t need them to bring is more rain!

Work has continued to be sporadic for me around the mission. When I don’t go into town to the church, I’ve been able to help out with other projects and needs. I’ve been driving the kinder to school three days a week. After devotions I’ll grab the Ur Van and bring it round where the kids are waiting in their uniforms and there house parents heard them onboard. I’ll work with the boys on the weekends or when they have days off from school. I have cleared weeds, sanded furniture, moved cement and helped Ricardo with the vehicles. There is always something to do.

The work doesn’t just stop at the mission. The other day Ricardo asked if I would help “mow” at the kid’s school on a Saturday. We had no mower available to bring but we were going anyway. I was surprised to see that there was a huge group of volunteers there already. All the parents come a couple times a year to handle the grounds. I was even more surprised when the school’s gate locked behind me. The school collects so many volunteers by taking role of who shows up and fining the parents that don’t show. Then, if you don’t pay, they’ll suspend your kid. Once you’re there, they lock you in for as long as they need you. Feel free to suggest that to your local PTA. The mowing was actually sharp shovels and machetes hacking through the tall grass and weeds. Not the most efficient, but it got the job done. After a few hours they workers were gathered for announcements and arguing and then the gate was finally unlocked when everyone was sufficiently agitated and we were released. Free at last.

Between jobs, it has rained and rained a lot. The mountains around the valley are very steep and it doesn’t take long for the water to accumulate and start causing problems. The drive to the mission is constantly flooded but we can usually get vehicles through. I accompanied Jill and Janelle and little Celina to Oaxaca to get things for the house and help carry things on a Sam’s Club run. It was a successful trip and we were on our way home when Ricardo called and asked if we were going to be able to get back. Sure, sure, I’m sure we’ll have no problems. We did have problems. Shortly before Tlocelula traffic was backed up on account of bridge being party washed away. There was an option of a three or four hour drive around through other mountain roads that have the potential for the same problem, so we decided to stay in town.

We had hundreds of dollars of stuff from the store so we found a place that we could park inside and settled into an impromptu vacation. Everyone was worried about us but we were living it up on the town, though the girls were stressing because they were afraid they wouldn’t be able to leave on their long planned trip back to the states for a visit. But the Holiday Inn was more than comfortable and I had my first worm shower since I arrived in Oaxaca.

Luckily we awoke to sunny skies and the bridge had been stabilized enough to let light traffic through on one lane. We were on our way home. The traffic was backed up but it really didn’t take too long. Hopefully the rain holds off for now. If we get another squall like we’ve had the bridge might be completely wiped out.

I seem to enjoy unforeseen hiccups like these that create a little adventure. It was fun to get to know Jill and Janelle better, spend some time in town, and play with Celina who is two and will be staying with us while the girls are in Chicago, which they had no problem getting to their flight. Unfortunately, a little adventure for me was disaster for many people in the valley and the mountain villages. Towns are cut off, mudslides have knocked out homes and many fields and homes are flooded all over Oaxaca. Hopefully, the weather continues to dry out.

It’s easy to see a ripple effect of poverty when things like this happen. The country and state don’t have the money to build decent infrastructure, which is easily upset, which hampers commerce leaving less money. The people can’t have nice houses in nice places which flood or crumble, taking up more resources to build again. Some have said that it is unfair for these things to happen to poor people. It seems like they are poor because these things happen. Of course that is an overly simple explanation. It just boggles my mind that I have lived such a prosperous and privileged life that I am unaffected by things like rain. I’ve created an environment so artificial that even the most basic natural processes bare little, if any, impact on my daily life. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, but it seems significant, though I’m not quite sure how. Maybe I’ll find out one day.

Embrace the Dysfunction

So I’ve seemed to settle myself into life at the mission. I’ve got my own room, which hasn’t happened since I’ve lived at home, but the boys come in and say hi and meander about scrounging food and hassling one another. At first glance they appear to be typical teenagers and are expected to be a somewhat responsible member of the family. The dynamic of which is an interesting production around here. Given their stories, I’d have imagined bundling so many broken hearts under one roof would spell disaster, but what I’ve found is a family of sorts. Hard to see at first, it becomes easier if one applies the brilliant wisdom of my father, “Embrace the dysfunction.” To prove my father’s theory of happiness and stress-free living we’ll take another hike.

When I arrived the boys were on a break from school because of the independence holiday on the 16^th. One of the days they were off Pio, Jose and I went on a hike up the Sleeping Lady. La Muchacha Duermio is a small mountain behind the mission that looks like a lady lying on her back. We headed across the grounds till we were into a neighboring cornfield, beyond a small creak and on the way up. We scrambled up some rocks then into a little gully where we followed a stream, hopping from rock to rock. There was a path but we kept meandering from it, making things a little more difficult for ourselves than it had to be. Each time we deviated from the path I thought we would be moving on from the trajectory only to return a couple steps later. Then it dawned on me that Pio was leading. Pio is virtually blind. His eyesight is like looking through waxed paper. He plays computer games with eyes inches from the screen and reads with his nose literally in the pages. It was the blind leading the sighted, but even so we made it up to a beautiful waterfall and then eventually back safe and sound.

For my official duties I go into town with Habakuk, the new pastor to build the new church. So far we have been digging through concrete to sink new posts that will suspend the roof. The first day with sledge and crowbar in hand we cracked and smashed, swung and scraped some puny wholes that we would come back to finish the next day. I weakly suggested how much easier this would be with a jack hammer, to which Habakuk responded, “Yeah, we have one. We’ll bring it tomorrow.” His response puzzled me, as I’m sure the look on my face puzzled him. It did seem odd and that we would spend time and energy doing what was going to be completed in another manner anyway. I told this story to my sister later that afternoon to which she said, “Welcome to Mexico Nick.” No further explanation was needed. Wheedling the jackhammer was no walk in the park either, as it turned out. I’m sure our job is not to code. I didn’t bother to ask. Tasks are accomplished not with speed or procedure but simply accomplished. Our operation doesn’t possess the means, manpower, or resources to worry about such luxuries, and I think they are just that.

There is also dysfunction that can be embraced, but will not be tolerated. Not surprisingly, cleanliness, or lack there of, is one such catalysis for punishment. My sister, on more than one occasion during my short stay to this point, has foolishly complained to me, her brother who is not very clean either, of her kids messy closets and dirty rooms. Of course I’m shocked to hear that all ten teenage boys are not perfect housekeepers. After she vents to me there is a silent anticipation until the poor guilty child returns or is hunted down, conditions permitting.

Worse than general filthiness, is malicious messiness. On more than one occasion, one of the boys has booby-trapped another’s bed or shoes with dirty dishes, old food, or other readily available munitions. The culprit is easily weeded out by punishing the entire group for the offense. Nothing like a little social Darwinism to strengthen the bonds of brotherhood, but it works. The offender was given the choice of eating the festering food that was planted or relieving the victim of their chores for two weeks. The food must not have been this morning’s breakfast because the chores were more appealing.

Finally, seeing as how there are ten boys and only two sets of eyes to watch them, they are expected to be where they know they should be. Case and point? Pio. I went to the market after church with Ricardo, Pio, Fide, and Jose. The market was wonderful, beautiful sights and smells everywhere. There were interesting people and crafts, clothes, and wares. We walked to the end and then bought what we needed on our way back. At one point, Pio was missing. Apparently partial blindness is no excuse, because he got a talking to when he was found. Finally we were finishing up and Pio was gone again. Hopefully he would be at the car. He wasn’t. We left. Its about 4 kilometers back to the mission. I was assured he would be able to make his way back.

To embrace the dysfunction is to cope. Embracing the dysfunction takes care of ten boys. It feeds some sixty orphans three meals a day. It triumphs over tantrums, injuries, disputes, and bad days, but at some point this wise and sound philosophy crumbles under its own inadequacies. It is for profound and fundamentally dysfunctional homes and families that many of the kids are here. Many will carry it along with them for a lifetime, and its not that they have chosen to embrace it either. It was always there. Another adventure for me in another land with more interesting people is a struggle for these kids. Every day is a new story of another kid.

I’m sorry, I don’t really know how to turn this post around, and it’s getting pretty late. We’ll just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings us.

Oh, if you’re worried about Pio, he’s fine. He walked cross-town to join up with his friends from the mission and the youth group where they were selling hamburgers to raise money for an event they are going to put on. When Ricardo and I picked them up the other boys sang songs in the van on the way home of how he would be in trouble when he got back to Andrea.

Mexico City Photos

1. Inside Mexico City Metropolitan Cathedral

2. Outside Cathedral in the Zocalo

3. Church in Tepoztlan

4. Aztec Pyramid

5. Happy Hiker

The Liturgy of Living in Tension

If you’ve kept up with the blog, then you know I’m not a city boy. The romance of wilderness is far too appealing without the rapid pace and complication of business. Yet I’m captivated by Mexico City. The wonder of her architecture bears witness to the tangled web of culture that has exploded a massive population. Built on the ruins of one of the largest indigenous settlements in the Americas, it is the center for religion, commerce, and politics in a country struggling to keep up with contemporary western powers. To walk her streets is to be enfolded into her story, but first; a hike!

On Saturday I awoke to a bustling house. The baby awake, mom and dad were gathering different things they needed for a successful outing with a three-month-old. We were all headed south of the city to the small town of Tepoztlan. It was a beautiful pueblo with a Saturday market and cobblestone streets. We walked the market and grabbed a snack. Then we moved through to the end of the town for a short hike into the surrounding mountains.

It began with a series of stone steps lined with merchants peddling food and souvenirs, as this seemed to be a popular weekend hotspot. The trail was steep and we gained altitude rapidly shaded under heavy canopy. We were all breathing heavily and taking lots of breaks. I think the trail starts at about 5500 ft. It was very muggy and the sweat ran freely. It felt like old times. James had the baby and she seemed to like the hike or was asleep. I felt honored to accompany the Kitchins on Isa’s first hike. We made it to the top where sat an Aztec pyramid. It was very impressive. A plaque said that some of the carvings dated to the 16^th Century but the structure could very well be older. We snapped pictures of the pyramid and the valley below then headed down. The baby fussed a bit but then slept most the way. Then we headed to the cantina for dinner and ordered a two-person entre that three of us could not finish. What a wonderful hike.

Sunday was church. We went to a house church in the city that the Kitchins attend. It was beautiful. We all sat in a small yard and sang songs after just hanging for a while. Then, James, the missionary whose house we were at, gave a sermon. Everything being in Spanish I struggle to follow along. I was encouraged that I understood enough to turn to the 5^th chapter of Matthew, and he spoke of all the different types of people that attended the Sermon on the Mount. Yet the message they received was a peace in which they could all participate despite their differences. And knowing the peace, they live in the tension of imperfection and redemption.

We prayed and formally finished. Then the party started. The small church was celebrating a birthday. We ate very well and some danced. It was a blessed way to be in church.

Today I struck out on my own while the Kitchins were at work. I headed for the Zocalo. It is the main town square. After successfully navigating the metro and one train change, I walked up from the subway into the square. You pop out directly in front of the Mexico City Metropolitan Cathedral. It is astounding. Taking up one whole side of the square, it’s intimidating in both size and grandeur. Its construction lingered for centuries from the small church immediately after the conquest of Tenochtitlan in the 16^th century until after 1800. Some of the stones of the conquered Aztec temples were used in the construction.

The rapid influx of Catholicism through violence to the area brings new meaning to the idea of baptism by fire. The building seems to encapsulate the reverence and majesty of its tradition. But I can’t help but liken it, in my mind, to a head stone honoring the turbulent transition of the land. I do not envy the work of the Franciscan Monks whose task it was to reconcile the European force to the message of the Gospel. Yet somehow they did. They orchestrated aqueducts from the mountains to native villages. Learned hundreds of native tongues and navigated a rugged mountain wilderness. The shear number of devout Catholics today testifies of their work.

I walked in, removing my cap, as daily mass was in progress. The sound of raised voices echo in the massive chapel. I sat in wonder at the process until the priest administered the sacrament of communion and offered the benediction. All the while other tourists meandered and gazed, snapping pictures and whispering quietly to each other. The parishioners filed out into the square, where, in a matter of days, the president would address the country for its 200^th anniversary. “Viva Mexico.” From just across the square the nation’s leader pays tribute to the revolution from another country that brought them their faith from across the sea.

I arrived at the mission last night and spent today learning names and getting shone round the grounds. My sister rapidly educated me on the boy’s different and compelling backgrounds. Suddenly the tension of empire and conquest, religion and commerce, and history’s entire dramatic epic in Mexico now had a face. Their stories are beyond intimidating. What can I do? Fortunately there are wonderful people who have already begun the work and stand by and bend and strain under the tension that pulls on these kids. Hopefully I can learn their delicate and beautiful dance.

Now Turned and Facing Southern Skies

It’s been almost one year to date from the time I lived afoot and free on the Pacific Crest Trail. Yet the memories of those days offer little satisfaction. Rather they have since stirred a need to be on the move once more. And so again I'll tempt fate for fortune to sing a new song, in a new place, with new friends, and find family in far off lands.

Trading in my boots for jet fuel, I've already more than doubled the distance of last summer's travels in the course of a couple weeks. If the trail had been an exercise in simplicity, modern international travel can be anything but. It begins, not with a single step, but with a series of web pages, ticket prices, invoices and emails only to be followed by buses, shuttles, boarder guards, airports and immigration officers. The excitement of what’s to come propels me beyond my frustrations and disdain for logistics, and somehow with broken Spanish, though by providence, I arrive via yet another shuttle in Mexico City.

James picks me up at the shuttle station. He and his wife Lauren have lived in the city almost two years, teaching and going to school as well. The three of us attended Point Loma in San Diego. James and I lived in the dorm together and also for a time after graduation. It’s wonderful to be with them. Not only that, but the two of them have become three and I've eagerly anticipated meeting their baby girl. But first thing first, the shuttle station was near the north end of the city and James and Lauren live on the southern side. A simple cross-town cruise is out of the question in a city more than twice the size of New York. Furthermore, it’s dark and raining. The streets are not well lit or clearly marked, and two years is hardly enough time to memorize a grid that size. James and I had plenty of time to catch up.

The city is incredible. It’s not as bright as other big cities but the dim glow seems to stretch endlessly. As we pass here and there James speaks of sights and history that could keep you busy indefinitely. Ruins outside the city in all directions, mountain towns, cathedrals, and castles too. Eventually we made it to the Periferico, a freeway that surrounds the city. We took the upper deck, giving new meaning to the term "highway"; because it’s a four-lane parkway directly on top another. It was getting later. The traffic wasn't too bad and we made it home safe and sound.

I'm so excited to spend time with my friends this afternoon. They are working so I took some time to sit and write, walk around the neighborhood, and grab some coffee. Certainly there will be much more to come. I can't explain the excitement of traveling again. Hopefully everyone will enjoy coming along for the ride once more. Though this trip will be immeasurably different than the last, I go in the same spirit and love that has blessed my previous comings and goings.