God blessed America to bless the name of God

Even though it appears no one is reading my blog... I will continue to write because there is no one to shut me up.

Can you imagine what it was like to be Jesus when He was healing people? I mean every one was coming to Him with every infirmity and ailment. What if you had no power to heal people but they believed you did? I saw a girl today with club feet, that has been offered an application to the Shriner's Hospital. But, I guess that's to far in the story to start it. We left Tegusigalpa (affectionately known as Tegoose) this morning for San Antonio, a big city about the size of my hometown. Not the big one to the north the one on my address when you send me a letter. We then traveled down a rock road, accessible only by 4 wheel drive and sufficient ground clearance, to Jicoman. Parking a new truck in front of the school peaked the interest of every student, and then not uno pero dos gringos stepped out of the truck and one had hair como chiles. Where were they going? They're going to Cindy to tell her they can make her feet well. Word spread like wildfire. Cindy and her sister Diana were dressed in their Sunday best. Even though Phil spoke his best Spanish, it had to be translated into the local dialect to be understood. Not only was Cindy going to be made well, she might go to los Estados Unidos. The entire village paraded to the small house, large by the village's standards, and crowded the windows doors and living room. Cindy sat like a doll in her wheel chair that was un regalo de Dios while Phil asked her if she wanted to get better. 

Request poured in for the gringos to see if others could be made better. Children piled in the back of the truck to go to the people of the village. Jose, whom the doctors said had polio, had what could be MS and Azburger's. For 20 minutes, he was the focus. Excitement was evidenced by fits that came over him when he tried to speak. Then we had to pick the truck up and turn it around. There was the old woman who couldn't walk well, and the man who had a dislocated, atrophed arm, and more, who mistakenly asked me as though I understood Spanish perfectly at the speed of light. There was nothing we could do for these hurting people. I didn't have the gift to heal them.

School was cancled early on the account that the director needed a ride into town and the children could ride in the back of a truck to there homes along the road some five miles or more. 

There is much pain in the world and I have done nothing to be born in the best country, the great hope of world, the city of light on a hill. Yeah, I know, screw America and everything, but we have been given such blessings by birth. These blessings, education, nutrition, hope for a better tomorrow, are not ours to hoard. They are ours to give to the tired, the poor, the huddled masses of the teeming shores. No, we do not have to bring everyone to the USA; we bring the USA to them. We share our knowledge, our bounty, our hope. We offer not hand outs but hand ups. It is dehumanizing and a form of slavery to give people what they need without teaching them to do for themselves. You give a man a fish so that he knows what a fish is, and then you teach him to fish so that he can have fish when you are gone. 

Jesus had so much power that He didn't use. He used what He did wisely to have the most effect. So that we would yearn for the day when ther will be no more sorrow, no more pain. 

namaste/ Dios le protega

Grape juice and tortillas

Something happened yesterday that I really wish we could incorporate into our spiritual lives. In the morning I worshipped with a church in one barrio (suburb), then we took Communion to a lady in a village and worshipped, and then we worshipped with another church in the city at night. At every worship service, I participated in the Lord's Supper. That is to say, I took Communion. At my home church, we have a large Lord's Supper during the morning service. During evening worship, there is an announcement for those "who did not partake of the Lord's Supper this morning" to go to the back and find out where it will be served. Or at other places where there is no spare room, people are asked to raise their hand and then they will be served. Umm, isn't this called communion. Didn't Jesus say something to the effect of "As often as you do this in rememberance of Me, you proclaim My Name until I return"? So why do we separate ourselves by morning partakers and evening partakers? Ningun (no one) asked if I had already communed because I was in the process of communing con mis hermanos. 

I've got a crazy idea that will tick a good number of people off or at least make people think. (Really, that's all you have to say. You always have crazy ideas that tick people off.) Why not everyone take communion at every service on the first day of the week? That way the whole body is communing with one another. I know that reeks of inefficiency, but I think God had called us to slow down and think about Him for awhile. Let's face it two hours on Sunday and one and a half on Wednesday don't cut it.

But wait, there's more! Athens, you don't get off the hook easily either. Small groups can commune too. Yes, I know we study and we eat together, but what if part of LIFE group is dedicated to spiritual communion. 

But, what do I know. Soy un gringo.

namaste/ vaya con Dios

P.S. Does anyone actually read this

Barriers and Bathrooms

Do you know what it's like to be a deaf/mute? Or maybe a high-functioning disabled person? Do you remember what it was like to be a baby and want something? Maybe you wanted to tell your parents you had a dirty diaper or you were hungry or lonely. How did you communicate? If you were normal, you screamed your ever-loving head off. But, what if you couldn't. 

Welcome to a foreign language. You know the emotion, you know the intent, heck, you may even sabe palabras, but you don't have it all. People will stare you straight in the face and ask you a pregunta with a smile on their cara. You catch maybe two words (hopefully more than your name). For all I know someone could pull a trick on me and be speaking baby babble. I wouldn't know the difference. But, you stop, you try, you fail, you try again, you fail miserably because you thought you had learned something which gave you more confidence than skill, you stop, you try...  And then, hopefully at some point, you develop a compassion for anyone who visits you, regardless of circumstance, who can't speak your language. Whether it be English, Spanish, the language of church, or college intelligence. Because one day you will be humbled.

The sun came up early this morning and I awoke at 6 feeling rested. But, church didn't meet until 9:30, so back to sleep until 8:15. At breakfast we had some weak coffee that got crunchy at the bottom. After church, we had coffee mediano. Before lunch, we had coffee that resembled motor oil that hadn't been changed for 6000 miles. Thick, black, fuerte. Yeah, there's no cream and sugar doesn't quite cut the bite on it's own. Oh, and then after lunch I had fresh squeezed orange juice, then after we took Communion to a lady I had another glass of orange juice. About that time I realized I had not visited un bano lately. So, to punish my lack of planning I was subjected 45 minutos of a bumpy (understatement) dirt road that caused my seatbelt to grow ever tighter on my bladder. I realize I have a bladder like a camel's hump but come on! Despite where you thought this was going I made it back to the hotel room with time to spare.

I'll write about the churches tomorrow

namaste/ vaya con Dios

Hola! Como estan?

A primero Yo pienso escribir este blog post en Espanol, porque estoy en Honduras, pero despues del dia, I realize how long ago yo fue in Spanish 4. Rather, than try to translate everything from English to Spanish and then back, I'm trying to think en Espanol. However, that creates holes in my thoughts when I no conozco la palabra (much like this post). This results in most thoughts resembling an essay that has been shot at medium range by a shotgun. Only a few of the words are recognizable, some are only fragments of what they are intended to be, and then some are completely blown to smithereens. I catch about every fifth word in conversation. That means I understand just enough to know the subject but not enough to make a coherent thought and comment. Reading is much easier and the ration is flipped. That's right I can usually get four out of five words with a fudge factor. 

The trip has already been eventful. On the plane ride, we sat next to a Honduran that had been to Iraq and Afghanistan, but wouldn't or couldn't say what he did there. That's right I sat next to a.) a mercenary, b.) a spy, c.) a special ops. Yeah he probably could've killed five time before I crumpled to the ground in the tight quarters of the airplane. But, I had been up since 5:00 and I didn't care. My first meal in Honduras was very authentic as we waited for the rental truck. Como una haburguesa doble con queso y papas fritas de Wendy's. Ok, so it wasn't very authentic, but that was all they had in the aeropuerta. We drove across Honduras to Santa Rosa de Copan. If Chattanooga was in the tropics, it would be similar to Honduras. The craggy mountains are lush and green. Phil and I shared a candlelit dinner at restaurant this St. Valentine's day. We walked to the central park and talked to a family next to a line of street food vendors. For a second, I could almost here Tony Bourdain's cynical voice espousing some optimistic universal truth, in a way only one who put's on a pessimistic front can. Well now I'm back in the hotel. I was able to call my girlfriend but the the network is full and I have spotty service. That means, I can't tell my parents I didn't meet a fiery demise in the Gulf of Mexico. So, if anyone reads this tonight, try to let them know I'm quite alive and well and that I tried to call them.

namaste, vaya con Dios

Leaving (again)

I go through phases of life. I went through a Star Wars phase, and was a complete dork. I went through an island phase of life. Even though I don't really like the beach. I learned to play ukulele and decorated my room in an island theme. It looks really cool even though I designed it. Then there were the other such phases that have come and gone.

Currently, I'm in a leaving phase. Everyday of my life it seems that I am leaving somewhere and pulling at heart strings every time. In Virginia, my buddy and I parted ways knowing we would see each other again. Also, the campus minister, his wife, and I developed and odd kinship in less than a week. In Chattanooga, I renewed a friendship that could only last a week before I came back to Athens. And of course, my parents had a hard time with me leaving again. In Athens, my short presence caused all my friends to vie for time. And now, I am leaving Honduras. This trip is my capstone. It concludes two months of living out of suitcases and I guess begins a new phase of my life. Where I will have a daily routine to keep me occupied.

Or maybe not...

namaste
vaya con Dios

Books and CSI in the Big Apple

My most sincere regrets for not writing for a while. My life has been without enough interest to write about.

I have almost finished "East of Eden," and I have hit a point where I don't want it to end. The book is like a long chess game. At first, the players moved around and it took some time to understand their actions and strategy. Some of the characters developed lovely personalities and others you despised because of their lack of humanity. (By the way, it is very difficult to make a fictional human character with sympathetic qualities into a very evil, black-hearted person.) Some of the pieces have been lost along the way. Some of them pawns, only their to move the story along or to gain some advantage further down the road. Others, were the big players that you hated to see go not only because of the way they moved the story but the way they moved within the story. Now, when the majority of the pages sit in my left hand and only a few in my right, I am reluctant to finish the story. The endgame is obvious, not in a way that ruins it but obvious in the way Scooby-Doo is obvious. You know Fred and the gang will catch the bad guy, but you don't know how or what actions will invariably draw the narration to a close.

Speaking of the good guys always winning... I have recently renewed my affection for the CSI series. The original in Las Vegas is my favorite because the charecters seemed more developed, but it rarely comes on in syndication. I like the Miami the least because, well, the actors overact and are too hardboiled. Horatio and his group just go around accusing every suspect and turn out to be wrong 2 out of 3 times every episode because that's all the time the writers have for them to be wrong before the bad guy is caught. So, I wind up watching the New York version the most. Yeah the acting suffers from the same dilemma and they overaccuse as well, but not as much as the Miami squad. Anyway, I digress. I like CSI because, like Scooby-Doo, the bad guy is always caught. Justice is always served. And, I like thinking the forces of good always win out in the end despite our obvious character flaws.

namaste
Vaya con Dios

P.S. are ya happy coop