Dichotomy

In a few moments, this place will be silent but for the sound of rain on the clay tile roof. It is the last night the team will be together as all but a few will board planes for home. I took my usual perch on the street tonight and watched little rivers of rain water roll down the slants of the cobble stone street. It is unusually quiet tonight, even with the rain. Antigua makes a beautiful sound at night, silence that is only interrupted by the occasional Tuc Tuc splashing through the rapids that have formed within the low spots of the street. There are no dogs either, and the drunken man who frequents the corner opposite my spot has been absent since nightfall. Inside the hotel, along the open corridors, beside the fountain, in the corner chairs, and in groups of two and three, the team journals, recalls, and committs this weak to their memory. It is always the same on the last evening.


I sit and wonder about the terminal ends of this work and works like it. Where we are certainly wed to Christ through our inner statement of belief, that resting upon our Salvation that His death upon the cross alone brought for us. That death and sin fell short of its reign in man as Jesus' Resurrection silenced both. In the end there is only God, as it was in the beginning, there is only Christ Jesus.

So upon and against this truth I ponder the work of missionaries in the world and still find joy in that, as Paul teaches, faith without works is dead. But therein lays the point of the question I ponder in the rain. Who is being pulled from death?

Is it the little girl in the wheelchair who continues to fill my eyes and crush my heart? Is it the dozens of old men and women who finally see clearly as the read and work? Perhaps the hundreds who, for the first time saw a doctor, and at that, Americano. Is their leap forward into better health what we can say is rescued from the death of faith cast interior without connection to the world? Only God can know such things.

I believe, and perhaps it is only a hollow reflection of my emotive experiences in these parts of the world, that it is we, the missionaries, who are rescued from the spiritual death that all too often awaits us in the bedroom communities of our nation. I love my country and its people and let anyone who claims different be called a liar. But I see something so bleak around us, in our churches, in our halls of fellowship, in our absence from the things that truly matter. Perhaps we come to places like this to dip our toes into the harsher half of the dichotomy of existences, that undeniable valley between have and have not, that is America and the rest of the world.

So what is it we should now do? I wish we had that and a thousand other conversations in our churches today. Perhaps we could push to the left or right our arguments over sound systems, carpeting, and doctrinal styles and embrace the realities of needless, pointless, endless sufferings in the lives of the little ones for whom we loved this week. Jesus said that they are blessed and that, by our position in the valley of dichotomy, it will be easier for the camel to pass through the eye of the needle. So, again, what is it we should do now?

My wife and I spoke at a gathering of Christians some time ago about our experiences together in life, in missions, in our ministry, in our personal struggles. A man asked my quite sincerely after our talk was over, "How would you direct us to pray?" Of course I first said that only the Holy Spirit can direct such things but I offered some suggestions. I told him, "When you go to the faucet in your kitchen and the water is safe to drink, thank God. When your kids come home from school because there is a school to go to, thank Him again. When you eat, and you are full, and you sleep well knowing that you will eat well again in the morning, thank God. But more than anything, never let a day pass without taking your children in hand, holding them tightly and whispering in their ears, I love you."

If nothing changes for us but an increase in our love for those around us then we have satisfied what Christ reported to be the two greatest commandments to first love God with all we are and have and to do the same with each other. I saw great love in small acts this week and some powerful moments in unlikely places. For all the dirt, and pain, and tears, and chaos that enjoin these gatherings of missionaries to the world, there is always Christ within and all around us.

Be well, know love first and last, pray for peace and work for justice, and always know that we are so loved by the Author of our lives, by the God who created you and I. Amen.

Be sure to check out our photos from the week. Go to the bottom of this blog and click on the picture of the little child. This will take you to our Picasa site. Enjoy!

Where We Go

It has been a long but joyful week. So much good has been done by so many with so little with such love that to be in the midst of it, watching from the corner of my lens has been a great gift. I love photography. It keeps the content of the world in very clear focus without the tedium and distraction of my own thoughts. I have long tried to explain the experience. When my eye hits the viewfinder there is nothing else but the image in the lens. I here nothing, feel nothing, become nothing but a recepticle for the images. It is pure in its ability to connect. Some have suggested that perhaps the camera is my arms length from the world, a defense that allows for the filtration of the rawest of raw. I disagree. In fact it distills the reality into a gel that is thick and covering and enduring in my mind and in my heart. When I close my eyes and recall the places I have photographed, images race forward from long forgotten faces, stories, tragedies, and joy. Every intentional release of the shutter seems to have embedded a piece of that life into mine. I thank God He gave me this ability and a joy for employing it.
I found myself in the street again today with my rear end planted firmly in the dirt and debrie. I love that place. I just watched the people going by, drank a coca cola and leaned against the shaded corner of a stucco building. I allowed my mind to drift to returning home and the treadmill that waits for me. I began questioning my entry into Seminary wonder what if anything it would do to connect Christ more deeply in my life. I wondered if all of my studies, my reading, my fighting to maintain the GPA is more about avoiding where I know I want to be but am always unsure as to a real calling. I want to write about the lives I photograph. I want to be a vehicle that delivers the grit and dirt of the world outside our illusion to the doorsteps of suburban Christianity. Will Seminary bring me one step closer to that dream?
I hugged a lot of people today that I admire, love, and know I will think about for some time. The little girl in the wheelchair came back today and I prayed from a distance. I was overjoyed to know that a fund has been established for her and even as I write these words my eyes are filled with tears for the love of the men and women who are on this team who's hearts would not allow them to dismiss that little life. I wonder if the love we experience and pour out, that love that is of Christ and nowhere else, can only come from us when we are confronted with the horrors and pain of the world. I wonder if Theology can answer questions like that or if there is a sufficient apologetic to bring it to light.
I did some last minute interviews today. I really disenjoy (my own special word) that method and pace but it is what it is. It was good however to hear the thoughts of those who make up this team and to be re-affirmed that they are good hearted souls who love something more than their own lives. Life should be lived like a mission.
Tomorrow, Diana and I will get lost in the markets of Antigua, an experience we have not shared in this city. No cameras, no video, no water bottle or backpack. I have some little stuffed animals to find for my Jelly Bean and a gift for a dear friend of mine who could not make this trip as he was called home before we left. I have dedicated every image for the love of this man, my friend, my classmate, and my brother in Christ, Brad. I know he would have brought something back for his wife and I think I know what he might have chosen. I pray that my work here has honored God and the memory of my brother.
Let me close this week with a passage that always brings me home: "Jesus said to his disciples, My peace I give, my peace I leave you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Do not be afraid." Amen.

Runnin Down a Dream

Another good day with my eye pinned to a viewfinder. I had no video work today so I was able to relax back into my first and greatest love in imaging, pure photography. There is something very special for me in capturing in still life those tiny cross sectional moments in the lives of people around me. To be doing it here again, back in the company of my Maya brothers and sisters is a great gift.
Some of what I filmed today was technical in nature in gathering very specific images of stove construction and floor laying. For the most part I was able to wonder about the homes of those who were being served today and capture the images I think I do best, children in their own environment.
Tomorrow is a great day that begins at 4 a.m. with the sounds of home made explosives, screaming, and the sounds of people running amuck in the street. Curious yet? The have a habit of celebrating Saints days here in Latin America in very overt, extroverted, loud, explosive,.....you get the point. Beginning sharp at 4 a.m some 10-20 feet from our bedroom windoes ( a brilliantly fortunate consequence) large explosives the locals call fireworks will be lit continually for several hours. Now, I know most of you think you have participate in the real "big boys" of fireworks. Who among us hasn't heard uncle Cleophis tell the tall tales of igniting the   quarter stick he and his buddy "3 fingers" home made the summer before they both were "taken away." I love that ol yarn. Go home boys. Sure, some of you have served in the armed forces and heard the "big guns." God bless you for your service but please follow Cleophis to the nearest exit. Even now, a few of you recall the first year your folks allowed you to light your first m80. Please, you are embarrassing yourselves.
These boys in Antigua do not play. I have seen first hand what is about to be launched. Large metal tubes hand crafted from abandoned Buicks of the 50's are filled with wads of explosives the size of Howdy Doodies head and jammed into aforementioned tube. What you end up with is what we affectionately refer to as a pipe bomb. The good news is they have constructed hundreds for the celebration. Remember, we will all be dreaming when the celebration begins.
As I recall my my first encounter with this spiritually guided assault on my senses and the fetal position I thus assumed under my bed believing that the end had in fact come and I had somehow missed the assumption, I fear for the emotional well being of my new friends her at the hotel. By now, several parents and spouses are on the phone to Shawn demanding emergency provisions for the safe exit from this location for the loved ones entrusted to his mission. Relax, I am engaging hyperbole folks. (maybe)
Anywho, I say let the party begin. Last year, I was interviewing Shawn on the roof of this very hotel, a really cool shot in most settings, and we were sure the party had ended. A few minutes into the interview we heard a muted boom and a "thing" was lobbed into the air perhaps 10 feet above our heads, finally exploding with the full force of the previously discussed explosives. Oh goody, they had learned to launch the pipe bomb. Oddly, we were both so tired, exhausted you might say, that we didnt leave the roof. I simple took my camera off the tripod, pointed at the sky and waited patiently for the next to arrive, which of course it dead, several dozen times. I love this place. Heck, growing up in Peoria you got hassled for a few bottle rockets and a bic lighter. Here, they celebrate the amateurs excursion into to the realm of of concussive debatury. Ahhhh, these are the good days. Better get to sleep youngsters, Cleophis has been spotted in the area and he's packing powder. This is going to be great.

Wednesday...In Christ there are no borders

Good day, as they all are given to us by God, each of them should be called good.  Sleep was a gift last night and i am rested to my normal hyperactive state of excitement to be filming in this place, with these people and this team. I must say again that if all who would so readily cast stones at our youth could see the work they are doing here they would never utter contempt again.
I watched to teams comprised of at least very young people today break their backs for God. I watched a crew build a stove in the home of a family that will, by its practical replacement for open fire cooking, change the lives of that group. Here, as in most developing countries, food is cooked indoors on a wood fueled open fire, much like a campfire. The homes here are filled for large portions of the day with smoke so acrid and thick that one must decide which is more torturous, the burning lungs or the stinging eyes. This ongoing condition contributes to chronic health problems of the people. Fortunately, an ingenious Guatamalan designed a stove built of cinder blocks, fire brick and sand that works wonderfully. Not onlly does is vent the smoke out of the home, it cuts wood consumption by two thirds. While this savings might seem a bit drab to our Western minds of limitless resource, here, these stoves save women an average of two entire days work of gathering wood in the hills. It is a difficulty and solution that is difficult to understand from our perspective. This week, these young people, and their, shall we say, more......hmmmmmm, you know, older folks, will install some 40 of these stoves. It is a significant benefit of Shawn's stewardship of the funds raised by the volunteers.
Beyond the stoves, I watched a crew install a concrete floor today. The vast majority of homes have earthen floors which, by contact with the feet, leave most of the people here chronically infected with parasites. Like the stoves, these floors change lives in the long and short term. I watched a senior in high school, a young artist from Florida, an Occupational Therapist, an Executive Assistant, a Constible from Pensylvania (certain I have mispelled that one) and a local family "Install a floor"today. In short, this involves a series of back breaking steps such as hauling sand, rock, and bags of concrete and spreading them on the floor. BTW, the materials were about 50 yards from the floor which was at least 20 feet long and 12 feet wide. Then, a bucket brigade brings water to the mix and allows it to settle. Then, the crew picks up shovels and hoes and turns the entire mix over three times before adding more water and finally leveling the floor. The accomplished this feet in an hour and twenty minutes. A handful of Christians from the most diverse corners of society imaginable come together as the Body of Christ and make this happen.
I  was honored and humbled to travel with both teams today. I wish you could see the work, the love, the expression of Jesus Christ in the flesh serving our brothers and sisters where there is zero chance of re-payment. I thank God that He has delivered a sinner like me to be witness through my lenses.
Let me finish with a final observation. I watched an old man carry a stack of wood on his back today. There was nothing unusual about this at all. Spend more than five minutes on any street in this area and you will see the very same scene. He was quite elderly, perhaps 70 or so, hunched over so far as to appear nearly doubled in two. The stack of wood was almost as big as he was and I would estimate that it weighed a minimum of 75 pounds, perhaps much more.
I shot away as I always do and noticed something I had never realized before in watching so many before him. He never once flinched. He never glanced to the left or to the right. Never up or down, always straight ahead. His steps were as steady as the leader of any drumline. He was even, rythmic; he was determined. I have no idea about the faith of this man and I would add it does not matter to me.
I sat and wondered what my faith would  be like if any aspect of it had something remotely similiar to the determination of that man carrying that burden year after year after year. I know his bones must ache unspeakably and I can only guess at the lonliness of his enduring stride. Still, he never flinched. I wonder what my walk with Christ might become if I never flinched, if I never allowed the constant fears in my heart to be the obstacles of my spiritual development. I flinch at the wind, I turn my gaze away from God all too many times, glancing left and right away from His Son and towards the things that stand between us. My back aches and I complain bitterly. His back aches and his stride never changes.
I wonder what I am supposed to learn in this place beyond the images that shape my heart, more times than not, painfully. Is my ongoing discomfort and disdain for my Western life my glance away from where God has planted me and where He would lead me?
I sat at the edge of a dark street tonight and watched the people walking past. A dog approached me and looked hungry and so I fed him my peanut butter sandwhich. A man lay drunk and passed out in the gutter some 20 feet away while his wife and son tried to awaken him. A young couple sat on a motor bike half a block away, lit by the dim light of her doorway and kissed. I could here the young people from our group laughing and talking excitedly on the roof above me. I tell myself I could stay here forever and just "be" but then I recall my kids, my Jelly Bean, my Westies, my family and I am pulled firmly to my own terra firma, home. Can a man live in two worlds at once? I know sometimes I have and the outcome was nothing pretty.
It is late and they are about to lock the inner gates of this hotel. Even here, the world must be barred from our time of sleeping.
There is only God. Nothing more. Nothing Less. Amen.

Photo Links Updated

Remember to check out the link to our photo site at Picasa a few posts below. Just click on the little girls picture and you will be taken to the Picasa site and our galleries. Enjoy. God Bless

Tuesday: A Face In the Crowd

I pray two things before every mission trip. Lord, let my lens be your eye to the world that we might see what you would have us see, and, Father, let me see the face of Jesus in every life a film. Today brought both these prayers to life in a way that broke my heart, utterly and completely, and, at the same time, let me see the face of our Savior before me.
I have a technique I use when filming very crowded scenes as I often am in these places. I ignore the larger crowd, fix my lens to full zoom, and scan the scene, allowing my eye to find the story. As I scanned the crowd today, my lens was filled with many little faces, several old, and every shade of emotion and condition one could imagine other than anything of anger. I was near the eye checking station scanning left to right and my lense caught the face of a little girl. Her head was tilted to the right and she was drooling. As I pulled back my lens I could see that she was in a whell chair and that she was severely disabled. I debated as to whether or not I should press my shutter and decided not to as I never hope to exploit personal misery or suffering for the sake of images. I set my camera down for a bit and tried to clear her from my head but as hard as I tried my eyes kept returning to her limp little frame with her mother fussing over her, continually bringing her head back to upright.
I began to pray for her and I was literally overcome, to the point of losing my breath, to go and place my hands on her and pray directly over her. I approached her, asked her mother's permission which I recieved, closed my eyes and began to pray. I wish I could tell you exactly what happened but, as i right this more than 24 hours later I can make no sense of it beyond the Spirit of Christ becoming tangible in the moment between the little girl and I. The words that poured from me were not my own, rather, they were spoken from a place beyond the corruption and fragility of my heart. The prayer flowed like a river from my center and I knew that in that moment Christ was alive and acting in this moment for this  little girl. I pulled my hands aways and went to a corner to continue to pray and read through some scripture, John 4, that always tends to re-center me.
The doctor came for the little girl and mom and, because she was in a wheelchair, she was seen initially on the floor of the open room. The doctor was quite gentle with this little soul and tried many times to get the story from mom of how she became so handicapped. I sat on the stares behind them and continued to pray for her. Diana came to sit next to me seeing that I was lost in this moment and put her arm around me and asked if I was okay. She no sooner spoke the words and tears exploded from my eyes. I had left a place of prayer and entered into a despair that is contrary to my faith. How is it that in one moment we seek the blessings of Christ and in the very next dismiss Him?
The doctor noticed that quite a few people had crowded around and motioned for some help to carry her in her chair up the stairs to the exam room. I asked if I could follow and he agreed. The interview with mom became much clearer. The little girl, now ten, had experienced a high fever at 3 years old, had a tremendous seizure, and from what the doctor gathered, had suffered a stroke as a result. Before this time, the little girl ran and played like all kids do. The mystery had become plain and the truth was unsettling to hear.
Something quite beautiful happened in a sequence that I hope to never forget. The doctor leaned forward, focused the attention of the interpretor and said, i hope to quote as close a possible...."Tell her this is more important than anything else. Tell her that she has done a wonderful job caring for her daughter. Few mothers could have done what you have done with your daughter, you have done a wonderful job." I wish I could explain the expression that overtook that woman. It was as if a lifetime of weight and pain had been taken from her. Finally, someone, someone important, a doctor had told her, you are a good mom. I spent 20 years in healthcare and have worked for more doctors than I can remember. Never have I seen one make a bigger impact on the life of anyone with nothing more than love. I thank God for that moment.
The mother began speaking again and I believed she was going to thank the physician. She spoke for some time before the interpreter began, "She fears that no one will be there to care for her daughter when she is gone one day." She was right, the fear was well founded. Who in this place could do what she has done. When you are in countries such as this you seldom ever see a handicapped child. This part of the world simply cannot accomodate them. No one ever told this mother that what she was doing was not possible or practical. But she was right, damned right and I hated hearing the truth, again.
I left the room and went to the curb on the dirty street behind the clinic, put my head to me knees and wept. I can make no sense of children's fate in places such as this sometimes. Like the kids in other places we have worked, I will continue to pray for her. There is nothing more I know to say.

Freddy, The Laws of Physics, and The Colors of Youth

Interesting day. The team mission today was to tour Xenecoj, visit the school, eat lunch prepared by some very talented women of the village, and finish establishing the med clinic and training for construction teams.
As I have previously mentioned, Freddy is the owner and driver of he chicken bus that hauls us around enmass. While I have known Freddy to be a swell guy and one heck of a driver, I have never known him to break the laws of physics. All of this changed today, well not the swell guy good driver part. I sat in awe in the front seat of said chicken bus while Freddy, a mere mortal, wrapped his bus around corners in the village, that by the laws of physics, would not permit said maneuvering. In fact, it was such a spectactle that folks came out of their homes, perhaps in fear that Freddy was about to enter them in the bus, and looked on in a shared awe and disbelief. Let me simply say this, Einstein.....go home buddy you know nothing about gravity, light, matter, etc. All you other physics hacks, get on the train with him. Freddy is my hero and the breaker of of the laws of physics. Go ahead, start tossing your science books not......I will wait. VIVA LA FREDDY!

The school was awesome......but wait. You might recall my misadventure last year on what I call the hill of Satan where an elderly woman passed me twice as I struggled for air and life. Again, physics were overcome and this hill re-appeared before me today enroute to the school. Curses I say. Let me also add that I have not lost weight since last year, began working out, or changed my diet from the twinkycentric feast that it is. The score as of today: Hill 2, Dan 0. Again, Curses!
The kids performance was like all performances from the heart of innocence. It was beautful and spiritually warm. I wish you all could be here in the presance of these kids and see them, look into their eyes, and let them touch your heart. Christ lives in each of them. I hope you take time to check out the images on the slideshow link on this page or on my facebook page. Not because I am able to shoot well; rather to catch a glimpse of something special in these people.
I watched Diana slog through her work again today with the team she is leading. I wish as well that you could see them bust their humps to get this clinic ready. I watched Diana for about 30 minutes today (yeah, should have been shooting) and I find myself humbled, proud, and inspired by her strength.
The trip home was good. We got to cross a mudslide that was in progress. It was a small version of the killer type but cool to see. It has rained here everyday but no one seems to mind. We find ourselves in and out and above the clouds in this weather. It is ethereal, surreal at times.
I was able to spend some time with a young brother who is on mission today. Interesting guy. I see him and other young people here busting it hard for people they will never really know and I wish two things. First, that the world could see young Christian brothers and sisters working in the field for Jesus and glorifying Him with their lives. Second, that Diana and I could get it together to bring a contingent of young people form our church here as well. Maybe part if the answer to the junk that plagues our youth today cold be at least partly addressed by inviting them to invest in the world in meaningful ways rather than continue to give most of them lip service.
My spine is wrecked at this point....ugghhhhhh and I hate the fact that it is slowing me down a bit. I keep quoting the line, one of my favorites from GI Jane..."Pain is your friend, it reminds you that you are not dead yet." Well, something like that. Whatever. There is so much left to see and shoot. I know I am coming back here for an extended stay off mission for language school and really find out if my heart is tuned to this culture and work. There are many lessons to be learned here.

Click in the photo to go to my Picasa site. There, click on Daniel Hoehne Galleries. You can view the pics one at a time, as a slideshow, and download as you like.

The Team Arrives

The hotel has been a quite oasis for the past three days. There has been a lot of activity, but it has been still. With the arrival of the team today, suddenly, this place has come to life.
Shawn's father, Frank, and I accompany Shawn to the airport aboard Freddy's chicken bus deluxe. There is no way to describe this thing other than to say that its blend of Looney Toons characters and Christian icons reminds me of the birth of Santa Ria. It's all good, the bus is a beast of a machine and the noise it produces as it carries us up and down the mountains here is impressive. I pause and say a little prayer...."Oh blessed mother of acceleration don't fail us now, amen." :)
The airport is the usual scene but a bit toned down today. The first of the team is late as their flight was delayed an hour. Thus part one, two, and three all arrive within 30 minutes of each other...perfect timing.
I get to hold the big purple sign with the mission name on it this year that beckons the new arrivals to the gathering point outside the airport. I am honored. Okay, not really but it is pretty cool to be jockying for position with the local cabbies all flashing signs at travel weary folks stumbling out of the terminal. That's right, I got the sign. Thanks dude!
The team has exceeded any expectation of generosity and good stewardship of this opportunity. The dining and welcome area of the hotel becomes a sea of donations as soon as the team arrives. Everyone is exhausted and hot and funky from the flight and bus ride here but they dig in and begin the unglamorous task of organizing some 2000 pounds or better of donated goods. It is an awesome sight to behold.
The team re-gathered for a quicky dinner and then met to get some short order cultural ed that includes, "Hey, by the way......don't throw the toilet paper in the toilet, it has to go in the little garbage can in your bathroom." Oddly, toilet paper and 17th century plumbing just dont jive. The team shrugs it off like pros but I am sure there will be a few "icky moments" that follow this week. You just gotta love missions work.
Every night, one of the team leaders has the great fortune to present a spiritual presentation. Diana took the opening night, moved the whole thing completely out of the box, and closed with some very pointed scripture. I tell you this, she continues to blow me away. I told her four years ago that one day she would lead a medical team on mission to which she gave me her famous "no way" look. I love being right. Actually, I love watching God work in her.
There will certainly be some Facebook withdrawal tonight but all is good. Most folks are jumping into bed early. The long haul begins early in the morning. There is concrete to be poured, stoves to build and install, sickness to be healed, worship to be conducted. God is goo all the time, that is His nature. And all God's Children say......Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmmeeeeennnnnnnnnnnn!

Markets, Saints, and Peruvian Jazz

Today was all about final prep for the week´s work and the arrival of the team tomorrow.
When I was here last year, I interviewed a civic leader at Santa Maria de Jesus and found the guy to be a spiritual guru. Problem was, the audio track of the video was corrupted beyond repair and the interview was unable to be used in the documentary. It was important enough to Shawn to feature this man in the next evolution of the documentary and so we scheduled an interview with him today to coincide with prep work for next week's team. Diana and I had the opportunity to wonder the village for a bit and photograph what is my favorite spot in this country, the market in the town square. I wont bore you with my overly exuberbtant description of the place other than to say that to walk into this market is to walk out of our daily reality. Thirty seconds in and I dont hear anything but the rapid fire shutter of my camera´s shutter blending like a rythm section for the music of that place. Awesome.
The interview went well and the new mic I brought was spot on perfect. It was interesting to interview this guy again and witness the continuity and congruence of his personhood and spirituality 12 months later. This guy is the real deal.
I was blessed and gifted to spend time with Karen Rodas this evening as the prep team met Karen and 4 of "her boys" from the orphanage for dinner at Sol Latina, one of the coolest spots in all Antigua. Great food, Peruvian music that sounds like jazz with a twist of fluatist center. Describing this place is difficult. It feels like Rick's Place from Cassablanca. It is run by an ex-patriated musician who appears to like red wine as much as does the music he plays. There is an international presance of people here and the language changes as you pass each table. The scene is far removed from the villages where such meals never occur. Tomorrow, reality arrives full force; the teams will arrive and the tasks of sorting and organizing a ton of donations begins. This hotel has been nearly silent. Soon, it will be deafening.
But back to Karen. We talked for nearly an hour about her orphanage and the work there. She tells me about her 13 year old daughters love for the children at the orphanage and the challenges she endures as her mother and father give their lives to the children. She is in the presence of an angel in her mother but the relationship is as it should be, she is her daughter and Karen, her mother. I need to also mention that Karen´s husband is full time at this place. I shared with Karen that I would like to return her for an extended stay and write a book about her and the orphanage. She just smiled and said nothing. I know she has a hard time understanding my admiration of her and my fascination with the faith of her life. I explain to her that the West needs examples like her but she still doesn´t understand. All the more reason I propose to write about her life work. Knowing how my mind works and how my committments begin from moments like this, I laid in bed and wrote the preface in my head.

Out of nothing

It was good to wake up at this place again. The hotel is beautiful. We drove into Xenecoj early today to get the physical space for the medical clinic established. Okay, let me correct that. That's what they did while I generally walked in the street, taught some little kids how to play soccer the right way, and shot lots of video and stills. We did deliver two truck loads of medication to the clinic sight.
The clinic is being held in a Pentacostal church building made of cinder blocks and concrete with a corrugated steel roof. The rear third of the space is an elevated concrete platform and the place is lit by light through glassless windows and some fairly stark flourescent lights. Diana and Sarah organized the mass of meds into categories while Shawn and his dad hung bedsheets on twine that were tied off to the rafters thus constructing exam rooms on the elevated section. You gotta love this stuff. A setup like this would have the majority of medical folks back home up in arms about this and that, mostly that. The folks that come here will not only dig the setup, they will do their best stuff here.
This is about street level healthcare for folks who need it and appreciate it. I think for most of the people who come here on mission, it is about something way more than doing "their thing." Like I said before, this place and places all over the world like this one are about reality in the abscence of the plastic coated illusion we live in. Lots of folks disagree with my assessment of both ends and that is fine. I only know what I see and experience. We complain at home when our 4th MRI scan of the year takes 2 days longer to schedule than we demanded. Folks here hope their kids will stop vomitting up tapeworms and eat two meals in a day. You tell me where reality lives.
Tommorrow will be something of a special joy as we head up into higher elevation to Santa Maria de Jesus. It was my favorite spot last year and has the coolest indigenous market I have ever seen. I have an interview to get and Shawn and Damaris have some biz to take care of. We are crashed tired and hitting it early tonight. Diana and I hope to go roaming tomorrow afternoon in Antigua.....if we get really lucky we'll get lost.

There to Home and Back Again

It is good to be back in Guatemala. You know you love a place when, upon returning from an extended absence, it feels as if you never left. Our day began at an hour we shall forever more refer to as "stupid early," that is, 2:30 a.m. I could not help but notice as we left home at headed to the airport this morning that there were two kinds of people on the road; ourselves, and other people at least as foolish as we were.

Our flights were blessed and we arrived in the capital city a few minutes early. The visual contrast from the air, even at many thousands of feet is astounding. From the air, everything appears to be earth tone with few distinctions between land and buildings. The volcano Pacaya, the one that erupted not so long ago, appears out of the cloud set in bits and pieces giving a full view of itself only briefly as the plane circles the capital to land. Clouds are building from the south and east and low, rain heavy clouds seem to slide down the sides of the volcano's slopes like caramel on an ice cream sundae. It is an outstanding view.

You quickly realize however, as you do when landing in Haitian, Kenya, or any other place we call "developing" that the earth tones are nothing of nature. What appeared to be both tilled an untilled land from higher elevation is actually the appearance of tin and sheet metal roofs in varying states of rust and decay on homes built so closely together as the end of one cannot be distinguished from the beginning of the next. Some 1000 feet or so above the airfield you see the intensity of this place come into full view; more than half of the buildings and homes are in rubble. I imagine it is left over destruction from the 36 year civil war that was fueled by the cold war posturings of the former Soviet Union and the U.S. (a discussion for some other forum I suppose)

There is nothing quite like exiting airports in countries such as this. There are always crowds of people waiting for the loads of people exiting the terminals. For some it is the next best chance to sell bananas or a bag of cool water. Others are offering rides to towns or villages and some are waiting, quite dignified I might add, with hand printed signs that guide the way for tourist to meet with pre-arranged transports and tours.

It is different in this place though. No one is angry, no one is pushing or shoving, threatening or cussing, and all are just waiting quietly, patiently for their moment to arrive. This scene never happens at home. Somebody gets mad because the plane was late, or early, or too small, or the food was no good, or the or that or the other thing. I believe people in these places are used to waiting for things to happen having come to the rational conclusion that man can cause few things to happen on his own.

A good friend of mine, a Nigerian priest, once explained similar reactions in Africa. He said, "You see Dan, in your country, when you hit the light switch you KNOW it is going to cause the light to go on. It always does, that is your reality. So, if the time comes and you hit the switch and nothing happens, you become furious. What you know becomes a lie. In Africa it is different. We know that nothing will happen when we hit the switch because it very rarely does. We accept the reality that we do not control such things. So, when the light actually does come on, we have reason to rejoice." Can you see the dichotomy....one belief leads to pain, another to joy, both focused on the very same reality. I dig my African brothers....but I digress.

We left the hotel and headed to the orphanage to pick up a young woman who has been here for weeks helping Shawn and Damaris. The moment I see Karen, the woman who runs this miracle place, my heart leaps for joy. Of all the human beings I know, she is one who has touched me most profoundly. She believes what can never be and so it becomes. I know God has both hands on her and her work and I am still before her.

We take a few shots of the chicken coop that was built last year. Wow, it’s like a chicken prison. All of the previous chickens were stolen and so we raised a few bucks to rebuild for Karen's kids. General Patton couldn't take these chickens. Concrete walls, iron gated door, metal roof.......I mean the chickens are dancing around in the thing just daring someone to try and get it. Karen shared her happiness that not one bird has died and that the kids are getting eggs. God is so cool!

We load up a van from top to bottom, front to back with enough medicine to open a Walgreens and head to our hotel, the Candalaria. This place is so cool and all the folks I met last year are still here. We all pretend to understand what each other are saying but hey, hugs and handshakes get the job done.

We are going to Santa Domingo Xenecoj (pronounced shen-a- coke) in the morning to establish the medical clinic space, meet some folks and shoot some film. Who knows from there, we are on mission and I am in heaven. I find myself once again sitting here in Antigua although it could be many places, and wondering why the heck I stay where I am at. I love this work and the adventure, the rawness of its fabric, the tangible nature of the humanity. I used to think it was just the novel experience of being abroad in these places that fuels my fancy but I tell you it is not. Life is just more honest here.