We always write about the fun first. Given the last several posts, you may think we went to Guatemala and just made friends, went to church, and laughed. While that’s a valid perception, we also broke the sweat barrier.

We are your Guatemalan landscapers. Experts in the art of block-wall-building, debris removal, and playground and pathway construction. We are ants on a hill made of cake.

Following the 100-year floods that drenched Guatemala last October, I thought we’d be lucky to find a few half-hardened bags of cement. I seriously imagined us nailing foundation forms, tying some steel, then mixing and pouring a half-yard of concrete.

I wasn’t even close, which was not really a surprise. Team members will tell you two mantras for mission trips: be flexible and pack light. The latter assists the former. I’ve attended and led a few mission expeditions. Precisely 100% have veered from the plan into unforeseen territory--it’s part of the fun. 

Our first day at the school, we toured the dining room, the offices, the kitchen, the classrooms, and, finally, the new rooms. Our happy guide showed us all the work they’d done in November with the materials we sent ahead. He proudly explained, “We were sad when you cancelled your trip. But when we heard you (rescheduled), we stopped working!” 

What? 

You stopped? 

Why’d you stop?

They stopped to give us something to do. They were thinking of us. Seriously, they could’ve finished the work. Easily. These are people that pick coffee at 8,000 feet off 8,000 foot high hills on a 50 degree slope. A little landscaping and block work is a vacation for them. I’ll get back to that in a few words.

In case you’re wondering, we postponed the trip because of a killer flood that dumped 61 inches of rain in 20 days. Reports told us that over 80 sections of the highway were closed and 100 people died. We watched a gut-wrenching video of a dog being swallowed by a sink-hole that ate the street from under him. (On the way out of Guatemala City, Ruth pointed out the neighborhood in the video and told us that a policeman and two people in a car also died as it swallowed the road from under them.) 

We rescheduled the trip a few days later but word did not reach our hosts for several months. They thought we had canceled so they got to work. When they knew we were coming, they left some stuff for us to do. 

Smart folks. They knew that if we worked on the school, we would feel a little ownership. How many of you who worked on our projects feel like you own a piece of Emma Long Park or the Habitat house you helped build? Not own in the sense that you can keep everyone else out. Own in the sense that you’re genuinely interested in the people to whom you gave the gift. Like saying, “Here, I made this for you. Enjoy it.”

That’s how I feel because we were able to build some block walls, a playground, and a path for kids. Everyone that went wants to go back. 

The parents, teachers and administrators at the school will use the office enclosed by the walls, the playground, and the path, but the kids are the payoff. We went to help children. We worked for the children. Let’s face it, kids tug hearts. 

Lack of air tugs hearts too. So we sweated. Digging at pushing dirt at 6,000 above sea level is harder. The air carries less oxygen, your heart beats faster to keep up, you tire more quickly, and the sun is more intense. 

We dug down a small mountain of broken concrete blocks, rebar and trash encapsulated in dirt. The whole thing was compacted by all that rain and tamped into a solid base. It took picks, hoes, and shovels to break loose (no Bobcat for this project). We leveled the lot one wheelbarrow at a time, in a day. This surprised our hosts.

The walls were expertly built by our girls, none of whom had ever attempted such a thing. I was proud of them. Before they started, the chief block layer told me that girls could not handle the work. In fairness, he’d never seen a girl put up a block wall - in his world, he couldn’t imagine it. I asked him to humor me and let them try. They excelled, of course (pun intended).

The path was like the playground. Pick. Shovel. Wheelbarrow. Done, half day.

We finished all the work they had for us in a day and a half. They expected it to take twice that. I remain very proud of my team of Guatemalan landscapers. I’ve sent each of them an invitation to do my yard next week - must have their email addresses wrong.

Team working on the playground at Alpha Omega school

So there we were, at the summit, feeling pretty satisfied with ourselves, Kings and Queens of the Mountain, Masters of the Universe, Conquerors of our surroundings, more Awesomer than the Awesomest. The hard part was over. The safer route had been described as downhill or flat—relative to what we had just accomplished—that should be no problem. We’ll be able to make it down in half the time, with far fewer breaks. Or so we thought…

The beginning of the descent was pretty innocent. Having just rested, our legs were back under us, feeling steady and re-energized. We followed a pretty clear path for the first little while, only having to have our guide cut through brush on a couple of occasions. About 30 minutes in, it started to get a bit more difficult. The flat downhill that we had been promised turned into alternating between a narrow, rocky obstacle course, and back to grueling up-hills. The stops became more frequent again, our breathing labored, legs beginning to remember how tired they were. After about 30 minutes of this, our guide, Montaña, stopped, let us all catch up and said he wanted to show us the Arch. He said it would only add 10 minutes to our hike and we (I say this loosely because we did not poll the group, a few of us made the decision for the many.  How many times would we get so see an Arch on a mountain?  Might as well, right?) said yes.  The short hike down to the Arch was steep AND treacherous. We climbed down on rocks that defied our balance and weak legs, but as we turned the corner we spied the Arch and understood the hubbub. It was a natural phenomenon, a literal arch carved out of the side of a mountain. We climbed to the top of the arch and posed for a few pictures. But a brief moment later we were off again, up the treacherous hill and back to the seemingly never-ending array of ups and downs, especially when we were told numerous times, “Last uphill, only flat and down from here.”

We happened upon (not entirely sure the whole time that we were actually following a path as our guides often had to run ahead to “scope it out”) a meadow that I could see Heidi wandering about and tending to her sheep.  We sat and enjoyed the view, the sun, the stillness and more of our invaluable snacks—trail mix, granola bars and beef jerky kept us sane. Reluctantly, our guides and the other locals got up, and after much prodding, said it would be another 2.5 hours.  “OK!,” we said to ourselves, “We can manage that!” Onward we went, the land becoming more flat, yet rocky—until eventually we get to a field, where it seemed all loose rocks congregated.  A HUGE field of rocks. We walked past the rocks and it opened up to an even grander, sprawling field. It is quite possible that Julie Andrews was filmed in that exact spot in “The Sound of Music.” We found out that actually it had been used as a fútbol field, and is now just pasture land for horses and cows and the like. In need of another extended break we found a spot between cow patties to spread out and soak up some rays and needed rest. It was 12:45 p.m. “Another 1.5 hours, más o menos,” our guide said. Again, in anticipation and readiness to get back to see Jack lead Sunday school, us Gringos got up after refueling and rehydrating. We were excited!  Only 1.5 hours left, and we could make it back in time as we desperately wanted. At 1:15 p.m., after some nudging, we finally convinced them to end their siesta.

The next portion of the trip back was surreal. We stepped into a forest covered in green moss. I felt as a hobbit in the Shires. Ancient trees towered over, allowing just enough light to make the ground glow bright and green. After some trudging, I realized that moss is very, very slippery. Every once-in-a-while Jay would remind us to look back and see where we were. It felt like a Gaelic dream. Then, just as we were getting used to the wall-grabbing slippery floor, it turned to MUD. Yes, mud. Mud up to our ankles, as many of us found out. We found our way onto donkey trails, and after some recent rain the trail was only passable by tiptoeing against the walls surrounding us and hopping from dry spot to dry spot. At this time we were run down by a donkey caravan carrying recently logged and planed boards about 8 feet long. Wow, people really do this for a living?! Climb 3 hours up, cut and plane, and then make the trek back down—day after day. Crazy! Pure loco.

And then we saw it—the “END!” Which was actually where the safe, longer route met the head of the shorter more dangerous route, by a farm and pastureland stretching on both sides of the path. I remembered passing this at around 7:30 a.m. in the morning, so I knew we were nowhere close to the end. And yes, the hour and a half quote had expired—by well more than an hour. That Guatemalan time is deceiving!  J

The last portion of the hike was fun for some, painful for others. Sarah ran ahead and raced our young guide down to the end, while others made switch-backs all the way back to avoid more toe pain and blown knees. Alas, each of us, ALL of us made it to the end. All of us beat, sitting beside the truck, taking in the magnitude of what we had just accomplished—what had just happened. Relieved, stinky, and smiling, we all piled into the truck. 

So, no, this had not been a Sunday stroll in the park with the families from La Libertad. It had been one of the most physically straining, emotionally draining, and mentally overwhelming activities any of us had ever participated in. We left our sweat and blood (some contributed to the cow patty collection—don’t ask) on that mountain and I am certain that the mountain made an impression on each of us. The uncharted and unexplored beauty of this mountain was ever amazing. Each scene different, but breathtaking and fit for a postcard.  Photographs will never do it justice. For our team of 6, we share memories, these silly blog posts, and the bond that we will forever have with each other. It will not be forgotten.

Crystal and Tomás “Montaña”

The last 500 feet to the summit was by far the most physically strenuous part of our whole adventure that day. It was a ridiculously steep ascent though a narrow couloir or gully between the two peaks of the Pena Blanca summit. There was no real trail to be seen. It was simply a matter of finding a place to put your foot, reaching up to grab hold of a branch, rock, or even a lump of moss and pulling yourself up so you could take another step. At this point we would take 6 steps then rest for 2 minutes. It was impossible for us to catch our breath while moving. Not so true for our guides. At one point near the top I noticed Montana talking on his cell phone while “jogging” up the incline. Show off.

Almost there!

We stopped in a flat area just below and in between both peaks. Had we made it? Was this it?  The guides were having a bit of a discussion and then they called us over to explain the plan. To me it sounded something like this: “We will go up there, then back here, then up there, then back here because that is the only way down.” Huh? Whatever. Follow Montana! We turned to the right and headed for the unspoiled, rocky peak. It was beautiful. There were huge chunks of ancient rock fracturing in a way that left deep canyons for us to jump over and short, steep faces for us to climb. The view was amazing! We had made it. You could see for miles in every direction. La Libertad below, La Democracia in the distance, the Mexican border, the Pacific Ocean, and Craig was pretty sure if he squinted really hard he could see the Caribbean Sea too.

We did it!

Breathtaking view

I think most of us thought we were done and it was time to head back. Apparently not. Just as we again reached the valley between the two peaks we were headed up to the second peak with the cell phone tower. It didn’t look like that bad of a climb but again our hearts were racing and we were gasping for air the entire short way up. Was this really necessary? I suppose so. It was not nearly as pretty as the other unspoiled peak but it was a bit higher! It would have been a shame to go all that way and not stand on the true summit of Pena Blanca. We sat on a concrete foundation, rested, and had some lunch. Those mediocre PB&J sandwiches tasted pretty darn good now even after being mostly smooshed and crumpled in the climb. So we sat, rested, and recovered for a bit while taking in the view. It was obviously time to head back now. But, again we were mistaken. Our young guide said we should climb the cell tower. What? Was he nuts? The area was fenced in with a locked gate and a security guard inside! Just then, the gate was opened and the guard seemed more than happy to let us do as we pleased. So…when in Guatemala…  Craig, Sarah, Crystal and I climbed another 150 feet to the first platform of the tower. Plenty high enough for all of us I’d say. What a view! Gini and Tom waited safely on the ground getting some sun and extra rest. :)

Craig, Sarah and Erren

Craig, Rene, Sarah, Crystal and Jay

We had now all officially conquered Pena Blanca. It was finally time to head back to catch Jack’s Sunday School sermon in a couple hours. As we started down, Montana asked the group “Which way down? Fast and more difficult or a little longer and safer?" I think we all voted longer and safer. I’m sure it was the right choice. 

Must see! Tom's narration at the summit: 

 Jay

P.S. Here is a link to the list of Central American mountains. We climbed Pena Blanca.   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mountain_peaks_of_Central_America

Guatemalans go to church a lot. If I had to guess why, I’d say it’s because there’s not a lot else going on, at least not in La Libertad. That, or perhaps the cultural practices of Roman Catholic churches (daily mass) have rubbed off on the evangelicals. Either way, they go a lot and they schedule their going at times odd to us. 

Our crew was invited to several services, all in the evening. I recognized several American Christian hymns sung in Spanish (fun to try to follow), and a few that may have been indigenous. The services followed a recognizable pattern: four songs, offering, mini-sermon, special offering, another mini-sermon, more singing, main sermon, more songs, hugs. In one case, they were raising money for the school so we had a third offering (don’t hate, this is how they do church in another country). 

Hugs? Yay-uh! The Guatemalan church folk love to hug, and the kids, ladies, and a couple of the guys will even kiss your cheek. Awesome. I must not have gotten enough hugs as a kid (no offense mom, I’m just speculating), because I like ‘em. 

Anyway, Sundays are a little different schedule. Church is so good, they go twice! They have a morning service then they come back for Sunday School from 2:00-4:30 in the afternoon. Uh. Yeah. I was expecting some culture shock, but when I was asked to deliver the Bible lesson between two and nap-thirty, I got a little nervous. I envisioned the rare privilege of putting people to sleep in two tongues, a task usually reserved for my Pentecostal brothers. 

When our group heard of this spectacular opportunity (Jack is giving the Sunday School lesson - whoop!!), 60% decided to go climb a mountain instead. 11,000 foot vertical with no path, no guide, no water, no shoes, snow, 80 pound packs, stalked by man-eating burros. OK, the packs were only eight pounds. They said they’d leave at 5:00am and be back in time for the message (wink, wink). Didn’t fool me.

Didn’t fool Brian either. But he, Trina, and Donna all had injuries that prevented them going up the hill to the place where locals claim the devil tempted Jesus. Wait, what? 

I feigned concern over teaching for 2-1/2 hours. Really? Cake. I can teach all day, kids. Start in Genesis, work toward maps. Gladly I asked the second most important question a speaker can ask, “How long do I need to entertain these people?” 

45 minutes. 

It turned out that Sunday School follows the regular format of songs, pre-pre sermon, more songs, pre-sermon, several offerings, main teaching, hugs. Glory! I can handle a 45 in my sleep, or in their sleep for that matter. 

Then I remembered I’d have a guy translating everything into Espanol, so that cuts it in half. Good thing I dropped that Rosetta Stone training, huh? This was, actually, a problem.

Anyone that ever met a preacher plying his trade knows that we are experts at dragging things out. If airline pilots were preachers, the crash rate would go up faster than Lady Gaga’s knickers -- few of us can land the plane in the allotted time. Most preachers cannot make a sensible point (this is why people avoid church like a shirtless guy yelling at himself walking down the middle of the street, which we saw immediately before the service began). In reality, yakking for 2.5 hours is easy for a preacher. What’s tough is speaking for 20 minutes. 

Twenty minutes only allows one, crystal-clear point. One dagger to the heart of a matter. 

I chose love as the matter, and I chose to hit the target in fifteen minutes to allow ten minutes for questions. “Let’s delight our guests,” yes ma’am that was in my head.

Love as a topic seemed fairly natural in this church because they are lovey. The hug part, remember? So I taught on love, and I expected hugs. 

Specifically, I taught on the meaning of John 13:34-35: A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another. ~Jesus

Jesus giving a new command? So, is this the 11th commandment? Yes it is. He had a hand in writing the first ten, so giving us a new one is well within his range. So, we have 11 Commandments to memorize? Not exactly.

Matthew, Mark, and Luke all remembered Jesus reducing the Ten Commandments to two (see Matt 22): Love God, and love your neighbor as you love yourself. The second one makes you (or me) the measure of how we love others. In the new commandment, Jesus makes himself the measure, “As I have loved you, so you must love one another.”

Jesus changed the game. He moved the standard from neighborly to sacrificial. Sacrificial love is tough. It costs me something. It’s painful because I have to share your pain, and you may reject me. I have to listen to your junk and try to understand, and I have to love people in spite of their sin, corruption and my eager desire to judge them and smugly think I’m better, which I’m not. I’m just not. I can’t do sacrificial love, the new standard is too high. 

And that’s exactly why Jesus raised the bar. He raised it to a level we cannot hit -- a level where we need him to give us a boost. 

In later chapters, Jesus tells us we can do nothing without him (John 15:5). He adds that the world will misunderstand and hate us for being so loving. Then he tells us how to do it all. He says that he will send the Holy Spirit to help us. Help us what? Help us love each other as he loved us. 

Next time you meet a mean, judgmental Christian, tell her to read the new commandment. Then smile, try to give her a hug. She probably needs it. 

Jack

After our arduous 45 minute climb up the switchback road, we climbed out of our gas powered, mechanical mountain climbing machine (known in the states as a Toyota 4x4). A sense of readiness and invincibility flooded through our veins. The adrenaline was flowing, excitement oozed from our pores. We were ready to conquer the hills of the Guatemalan highlands. Or so we thought…

Group in front of the truck before our trek up the mountain

From left to right: Top - Montana, Carlos, Gini, Jay, Crystal, Tom, Erren, Craig 

Bottom - Sarah, Osmar, Rubio   not pictured - Rene

The trip (straight) up began innocently enough. In order to procure the donkeys, a couple of the locals in our party went to the house nearest our vehicle, knocked on the door, and waited. No answer. They knocked again. We heard someone yelling in Spanish from within the walls of the house and negotiations seemed to ensue. While we waited for the donkeys to join our team, we decided to eat some breakfast. The wonderful ladies tasked with cooking for the K&N Mission team sent 4 sandwiches per person up the mountain with us. Their ability to not only satisfy, but delight their guests with fantastic meals at every sitting had already became legendary among our band of 10 K&N missionaries. However, they met their match with the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The version they sent that day consisted of two slices of extra thin bread with a tiny portion of peanut butter and jelly spread between. Not exactly the kind of fare you would send with professional mountain climbers. Luckily, each of us brought dozens of snacks and at least four bottles of water loaded into our heavily laden packs. We believed we were set on food and water, with virtually no chance of running out. Unfortunately, this did not turn out to be the case. About halfway through our first sandwich, our guides returned sans donkeys. Uh Oh. They pointed up the hill and said, “Maybe there." *I took this to mean we MIGHT find some donkeys to rent further up the hill. 

Off we went. Exactly 37 seconds after heading up the small foot trail, we began gasping for air. We struggled to breathe. The oxygen level at 8500 feet was not sufficient for our Austin lungs.  **My brain screamed at me, “What have you got yourself into!!!???” We trudged on as well as we could, each of us battling the demons of doubt and the ever-increasing lure of quitting and returning to our ridiculously hard hotel beds. We quickly realized that this climb would test our resolve and challenge our stamina more than we could ever have imagined. It was time to see what we were made of.  Each step was a chore. One foot in front, and significantly higher, than the other.

Up through the farms. Up through the coffee plantations. Up through the logging forests. Up through the Guatemalan rainforests. Into a land where sound, besides our heavy gringo breathing, was virtually nonexistent. It was pure, unadulterated nature at it’s finest. We stopped to snack, drink, and rest often. Whined occasionally. Laughed frequently. Raced feverishly ahead of the crop dusters (they know who they are). The determination to reach the summit never faded. The hours ticked away, but our resolve was steadfast. Then, alas a breakthrough. At 9:30 a.m., after 3.5 hours of climbing, we reached the base of the two peaks we had come to conquer. On the right, a set of rocky peaks that would be our first summit. On the left, the taller of the two, which was adorned with a cell tower at its highest point. Each peak rising directly above us, an estimated 500 feet straight up. The view of  those sheer cliffs flanking us on each side is one I’ll never forget. The magnitude of how far we had come and how far we still had to go was overwhelming.

View from the bottom of the white cliffs of Pena Blanca

I turned to the guide and asked, “We’re going up there?”

He quickly and confidently said, “Si.”

I turned to our group and even more confidently said, “There’s no way I’ll be getting up there without a helicopter. Might as well be Mt. Everest.” Without a word, our guide, Montana, pointed at a trail sandwiched between the two peaks and we continued onward and upward. Quietly and resolutely we mustered enough energy to put one foot in front and above the other. We quickly realized the steepest and most trying part our journey still remained.

To be continued….

View from the top of the trail that seperated the two peaks

*Because our translator had to stay back, communication was quite a challenge. Our Guatemalan guides did not speak any English. Three of us spoke very broken, Rudy’s kitchen Spanish. Communication was very difficult on the mountain. Oftentimes, this caused us to assume that their information was factual, when it turned out to be anecdotal, estimated, or extremely optimistic.

**The altitude was a huge challenge on our journey. We began the climb in La Libertad @5500ft and left the vehicle at approximately 8500 ft. Our friends from Guatemala had no understanding of the limitations of our lungs at that altitude.We ended the climb at roughly 11,500ft.

Craig "Goyo"

The trip to the airport was uneventful. The flight was easy. Customs lines were long, but not so long as to cause griping. I was so jazzed when I got home, I couldn’t sleep for a long time.

I thought about the children we helped. I thought about the friends I went with and how much better I know them. I prayed a little easier and a little longer than usual. Then I drifted off for about six hours. Sometimes sleep is fitfully, sometimes it’s peaceful. I slept thankful.

We made it back, all alive (perhaps more alive than before we left), no injuries, bodily functions functioning mostly as intended. And we would all go back again. Maybe not tomorrow, OK, not tomorrow. Not even next week, but everyone I asked (and I asked everyone) said they want to go on another mission trip. This does not surprise me one bit. 

When you leave your comfort zone, God has more room to work in your life. It’s not that he won’t speak during the day-to-day, it’s that you can’t hear him as well against all that noise. God is a perfect gentleman, he will not shout or compete with lesser gods.  

But man, he can work when we listen. He can show you more of what he intends you to be. He highlights how kind he’s been and where you or I have left the path. He shows us a vision of what our lives can mean to others and how great love really is (and the commonness of hate and selfishness). Sometimes he offers more adventure to a dull existence, sometimes it’s more compassion to one who tends to look the other way. Sometimes God wants us to hear old words in new ways, or remember what’s really important. Everybody gets a custom-made lesson from the Father that loves us beyond our wildest imagination.

God always shines the light on stuff we need to stop ignoring. It’s just easier to see that light in foreign places than in the familiar. 

Over the next several days, I’m hunting time to rethink some of the memories from our team’s Guatemala trip (the first mission trip for K&N Management), and relay those thoughts to you. You know about the Ferris Wheel and the Club Level of our hotel, but you don’t know that Sarah can spill a 16-ounce beverage on a tile floor and hide it from a chaperone--such skill is so rare these days. 

Finding time to tell you stories is also a skill. It won’t be easy to find that time. For one, many memories compete for attention. You know nothing much of the harrowing mountain climb to the edge of insanity last Sunday. Nor have you heard about the rather dull church service, attended by those left down the hill, that turned out to be kind of important. You don’t know about tumulos, textile traders, or whole fried fish eyes. You should know about these things. Each one has many facets and parts running through it.

Some of my parts are not sure what’s been run through them, but they do not like it. My body is tired and angry, but I’m glad to be home. 

We got home Thursday night, and Friday I stopped by the office to a welcome home that made me feel important. I was not expecting it, and I don’t think anyone else on our team was either. We work for and with people who are, at their core, kind, loving, and encouraging. I thank God every day for them.

By Friday afternoon, I was back to listening and helping people beat their problems and find some peace. Saturday, I was able to rest, and today (Sunday) introduced me to a couple of emergencies. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t depend on God to work through me to help people. (I hope they feel his hand comforting them now.) Seriously, I do not know how so many people handle life’s pain without being able to give it to the God who cares. I sure can’t do it, and I sure like seeing him work.

We saw him at work in Guatemala. I see him working here every day. Unlike me, he never gets tired and he never makes mistakes. 

Today, I started working on our next trip instead of watching football. I know, it’s out of character, but I couldn’t help myself. 

I’ll get back to telling stories about our trip soon enough, but for today, I have to look forward. We have a stunning opportunity to demonstrate God’s love to others. Let’s not hold back. 

Jack

Hello!

We lost our internet connection for most of the day yesterday, so we were not able to post an update. No biggie!  We have, however, created a Flickr account to share some of our MANY photos. Check it out: http://www.flickr.com/photos/73986441@N06.  We'll continue to add more as we go.

As this is being typed, we have all packed up and loaded ourselves in the van--leaving La Libertad. A bitter-sweet day.  Words cannot describe how grateful we are for the kindness, generosity and hospitality that has been shown to our team.  We arrived just a few short days ago--curious, anxious and unaware of what to expect, truly. We leave with memories, friendships and humbled by our experience. The people of this small town will forever hold a place in each of our hearts. We will NEVER forget you.

Gini speaks for all of us (above), her tender heart does a better job than mine of expressing our feelings. We did love the times in LL.

Last night, a small band of our party set out to ride the Ferris Wheel. It is near carnival week and the carnies have set up shop in the street. They’ve erected a three story Ferris Wheel that would likely rival that of the State Fair of Kansas or perhaps Wyoming. It has fluorescent tubes running along its circumference, wooden slat chairs, and stinks of diesel and grease. During test runs, this monstrosity is observed doing 40 revolutions per minute. I counted. As soon as I saw it, I craved a ride, and others are bit with the same bug.

The day we arrived, our guide told us to stay away from the carnival, “Bad people, not so nice, go there. You will not like them.” I was … intrigued. On Sunday, no less than a member of the church board warned us off the carnival in the strongest possible terms. We asked to take his daughter on the Mighty Ferris Wheel, thinking ourselves noble for offering to accompany a small child in her moment of fear and adrenaline. “No, senor, por favor!” the man said in a most serious tone. “We do not take our children to the carnival, it is not safe.”

Hmm, I found this odd and explained that our county carnivals represent a sort of rite of passage. His body language led me to suspect that he now thinks Norte Americanos to be a crude breed, especially Tejanos. (This is not altogether an untrue observation.) “Senor, la carnival es solamte por Catolicas y borrachos.” A left-handed challenge if ever I’ve heard one.

Our friend’s final statement hooked us better than had he said the place was filled with zebras, chimpanzees, and tattoo artists. Catholics and drunks? We had to go. We waited, biding our time like teenagers at church camp.

We waited until our last night. Waited until everyone else had retired. Waited until our chaperone locked himself in for the night. Then we cheated our way out of the building like Tom Sawyer and his Indians headed for the forbidden zone, the Carnival.

With the stealth of a Navy Seal Team, we crept up the block. OK, really, we were cutting up as soon as we got out of earshot. Craig walked up to the five guys operating the Ferris Wheel and asked how much to ride.

“Tomorrow.”

“What?!? We leave tomorrow.”

“Then we see you next year.”

“We will pay.”

“No. Sorry. Come back tomorrow.”

Clearly, La Libertad has something to hide. Satan lives there. The Grinch walks her streets. Candy is made of steamed carrots and the only pies are minced meat. All shoes are dress shoes. Sermons are long, church is every night, and you have to dress up. Christmas is only celebrated on leap years. The Red Queen is in charge. La Libertad was in chains.

Sadness reigned until we walked up the block, Tebowed in front of the Christian radio station, and found a friendly convenience store. Order was restored. La Libertad was liberated. The clouds parted. Our hearts re-inflated. We returned to the club level of our hotel, scanned the full-moonlit terrain and laughed away the blues.

Who needs a Ferris Wheel? We have friends.

Good Evening, Friends!

So, it's 8:45 p.m. and most of the team has headed to bed. It's been an incredibly long, yet rewarding day.

Half of us spent nearly eleven hours climbing up and down a mountain. The other half was able to shop and make gift bags for children that attend the school we are working on AND participate in, what sounds like, one of the best Sunday school services around these parts. Quick note: there was a special guest...

We are going to make time tomorrow, as a group, to reminisce about today's adventures and send you more details then. In the meantime, here are a few pictures from the day:

Team Mission Possible

Oh dear Lord Jesus, help me. It just keeps getting better and better. What do y'all want to know about most, the AMAZING work accomplished today? Tres bricklaying ninja chicks? Shovlin' Nolan? I'm-at-Warmuth? Or Crystal Meth, the girl that attracts t-r-o-u-b-l-e?

The latter, of course.

Walking to church, Crystal attracted a couple of locals. I do not mean that in a good way. I mean they saw her, fell into an instant trance, and waited through dinner (served epic Guatemalan-Italian food con salsa y black beans - not lying) until she returned to the street. She had the affect of harsh drugs on those boys, instant addiction. Crystal Meth.

It was creepy, but her new bf did have this hat. Man, I wish we had a picture. My description is insufficient, but imagine slick black cowboy hat with sides pressed all the way up like 1950s Grand Ole Opry. When I say slick, I am not making a fashion comment - it was slick like vinyl. Cheap, waxed vinyl. We named him Gato Negro (it's not backwards, it is "Cat of Blackness"), the dude was dark.

They (Gato and his friend De los Pequenos escorted us all the way to the hotel and Tom stood in the street in a menacing way. He went to virtual Warmuth mode. Way cool and chivalrous.

Crystal is "ready for Austin."

Let us tell you what we learned today:

•  How to build a cinder-block wall.
•  The best spaghetti in the world is in La Libertad…and it slams with salsa.
•  The people are polite the first day, but stare on day 2. We ARE the minority here. Craig saw a girl run inside, yelling “Gringos!” and then came out with her little brother to watch us walk by.
• Cabs are free for the ladies…we think.
• Guatemalan kids have never seen a Kindle Fire, but they pick up on Fruit Ninja rather quickly.
• What does the rooster say when it crosses the road? Ask Craig and Tom.
• The kids here make pretty good photographers. At least this one little girl, Lisa.
• They use tools until they are completely disintegrated. Just because the handle is broken, doesn’t mean you need a new hammer.
• We learned tons of Spanish words. And, in return, some of the kids here learned tons of English words.
• Tom and Craig learned that you do not need to speak Spanish to the English translator. #Fact
•  “Rooster” tastes great. Again, ask Craig and Tom…and Jay.
• The roosters have no curfew. They work from 10:00 p.m.-All Day.
•   If you tell a kid you can ride his tiny bicycle, be prepared to demonstrate.
• Trina is a great project manager.
•  Brian makes having hay on your bottom look awesome.
•  OSHA and this city have never met. (no permit no problem)
• Fresh coconut and coconut water tastes AMAZING.
•  In fact, there is no strange UFO music playing throughout the city as you meander about. It’s Trina’s phone.
  

Stay tuned for donkeys tomorrow...