Category: Ecuador

Routine Adventure

Today was a pretty typical day as far as life in Ecuador goes. There is a rhythm and a schedule here to some extent, but its not surprising for an event or opportunity to just come out of nowhere.

I went to bed pretty early last night, so I got up sometime around 6:00am to finish my Spanish homework. That’s probably pretty shocking to my mom, and not at all to Jerry, who listened to me attempt to get down from the top of the squeaky bunk bed at ridiculous hours all last summer. Also potentially surprising, I tend to actually eat breakfast here, something I almost never bother with in the States (as I run out the door with ten minutes to make it to COA or Albemarle Music).

Around 8:00 I head out to language class so I can take a leisurely pace down the hill. This morning I stopped by the office to drop off a couple of things for Phil and Ramiro, and headed on down to the Trole and off to language school. I have a tendency to arrive at the Mango Tree about 20 minutes early by North American standards, which is roughly 30 minutes early on Ecuador time. I’m doing three hours of Spanish classes each weekday right now, with a fifteen minute break around 11:00 that I use to go grab some Doritios or coffee or just walk around a couple blocks of the Mariscal.

At noon I head back to North Quito on the Trole and try not to get anything (else) stolen. And for now, that’s about where the daily routine ends. On Thursdays there is lunch/staff meeting at the office, so I’ll head back there immediately. Otherwise, for the next couple of weeks my afternoons are pretty slow paced. Whenever my fried brain recovers from language school, I’ll work on my homework or practice guitar.

Today I was apparently more wiped out from Spanish than I thought, and after lunch and doing some writing, I just crashed on the couch and had a really trippy dream until Matt called to remind me about dinner at his and Marlo’s house and came over to get me. I must have really been out, because it rained for the first time since I got here and I was entirely unaware of this until somebody mentioned it at dinner.

Kelsey and I (the only two current interns) had a really awesome dinner of lasagna and bread and salad with the Jensen family and then got a tour of their new home and had an air hockey tournament (Nick seemed to win the most games, but Matt came out the champion due to our “bracket system”- or lack thereof). We spent a little time talking about the book we’ll be reading together and then Marlo, Kelsey and I headed up the street to the Bryans’ new place to help Casey paint.

That was one of those unexpected events/opportunities to which I referred earlier. I did have a heads-up, but it was a kind of vague thing, but I don’t mind painting, and it was a coll chance to just hang out and get to know Casey and Kelsey better. Marlo touched up the family room while Casey painted upstairs and Kelsey and I tackled the office. It was a pretty fun experience, especially as we wondered why some things are done the way they are in Ecuador: why did the roof guys shingle the balcony (as in the floor and rails)? why did the carpenter shellac a wooden table he knew was to be painted? why is the sleeve in the curtains sewn smaller than the size of the curtain rod?

Tonight I came home and had a message that my schedule for the afternoons next week and weekend had been completely altered, and then I got an invitation to go with Gedeón to the beach next weekend to run sound for them again.

As I was telling Kelsey this evening, during Quito Quest our printed schedule for our teams almost never made it more than three days without being totally trashed and re-written. It’s nice to have a semblance of a routine each day, but I love the adventure of having unexpected things happen all the time.

Wallet Follow-up

First of all, I just want to acknowledge that I usually have wittier titles than “Wallet”. I’ll work on that.

Secondly, I thought this was in my blog, but I apparently only put it up as a status on facebook. Back at the end of June, a customer at Albemarle Music guessed that I was 29. The reason we were even discussing age? His driver’s license was almost expired, and I commented that I’d never had that problem because I’ve lost my wallet (including a license each time) frequently enough that I’ve never had a license expire. He said he’d had that problem a lot when he was my age.

I liked the implication that I looked 29 (people tend to significantly underestimate my age as a rule) but not the implication that because I’m “young” I can’t hold onto my stuff. At least this time I have a semi-valid reason.

Wallet

People ask me all the time if it’s dangerous in Ecuador. There are definitely some rules to follow here, especially if you’re a gringo, and like all major cities, there is some violent crime. But the big thing to worry about here on a daily basis is theft. And what an experience I had with that today.

The cheapest form of transportation in Quito is the Quito trolleybus system, a.k.a. El Trole. I walk a few blocks downhill from home each day, then across Av. America, one of the major streets, and go a few more blocks past HCJB and Alliance Academy to Parada La “Y” (pronounced “La Yay”), and hop on the Trole there. It’s five stops (or roughly 2.75 kilometers) South from La “Y” to Colón in the Mariscal neighborhood and then another few blocks walk to get to language school each morning. And at 8:30ish in the morning, it’s usually not to bad a ride.

Coming back on the Trole, though, tends to be a little more intense. At lunchtime when I finish with class, the Trole is packed. If you think you’ve been in a crowded area before, you have no idea. When the doors open, people theoretically use the door on their right, so the people exiting don’t run into the people entering. During peak times though, people are usually crammed up against the doors anyway, and are trying to move further into the Trole if they have a few more stops to go, and people entering and exiting the car are trying to squeeze past in any way they can. You have to be pretty daring sometimes, especially in getting on (see my football example from the previous post). The area closest to the doors becomes a flash mosh pit at every stop, and the area further inside the car becomes this resolutely unmoving wall of bodies.

I told you that to tell you this.

Pickpockets here are good. A girl on one of the teams I hosted last summer had a large amount of money stolen out of her bra (we tell teams to distribute their cash all over their person) and she didn’t even know it until she went to pay for something. And that was at the market, which is crowded, but nothing compared to the Trole. I had even specifically moved my wallet from my back pocket to my front pocket so I could feel it against my leg and could keep a hand on it. Didn’t work.

The problem with trying to hold onto things on the Trole is that you simply spend too much time holding on to the Trole so as not to slam into people every time it starts or stops, which is even more frequently than when it reaches a station, despite the (theoretically) Trole-only lanes on the highway. I realized my wallet was gone even while I was still on the Trole, somewhere between Mariana de Jesús and Florón, so roughly halfway home. When I got out at La “Y”, I dug through all my pockets anyway, just to be sure. It was gone.

Fortunately, there was a grand total of $0.00 in it at the time. Add that to the fact that credit and debit cards are significantly harder to use here than in the States, and the fact that I trucked home to call the bank, and all I lost was a really nice wallet given to me by a friend.

In all honesty, I was really mad at first. I was angry at whoever stole my wallet. I was angry that I didn’t just balance myself without hanging onto the rail in the Trole so as to keep better hold of my wallet. But while it was kind of a hassle this afternoon, it’s really not that bad. Thanks to my Skype account, I called the bank from my computer as soon as I got back to the apartment. Thanks to my trick memory for numbers, I have a new license and a new bank card on the way. Thanks to the fact that I follow the rules and my own advise that I gave to teams all last summer, I didn’t have extra cash on me (would have been a different story if they’d got it before class, though) and I left my PayPal card at home, so I still have access to my money even here in Ecuador while my new cards are en route, even if it is three steps to get it out now instead of one.

Tonight, I’m just thankful that it wasn’t a bigger hassle the way it could have been. And I’m saddened for the people who feel like they have to steal to get by. I spent a lot of prayer time this afternoon asking God to forgive, enlighten, and provide for (in other ways than gringos on Troles) the person who stole my wallet, and I hope you will as well.

First Few Days

So I arrived in Quito Wednesday night, and made it to my home for the next year somewhere around midnight. All I’d done Wednesday was sit in cars and airplanes and airports and attempt to sleep in each of them. I thought I’d be up all night watching movies, but when Matt left here a little before 1am, I had just enough time to call my dad before I realized I just needed to crash.

Sophia wrote at the beginning of the summer about her amazement at not having to be awake ridiculously early in the morning. I have to say found it pretty weird myself to sleep in until 9:30. I have literally only done that once before in this country. Even after that I still had a leisurely hour or so to eat breakfast and get ready before my meeting with Matt, Lunch at Youth World, and staff meeting. It was pretty fun to get to see everyone, some new faces and some old friends. By the time everyone was leaving the office, I’d been recruited to run sound for a concert and gotten multiple dinner invitations.

Friday was the start of language lessons. I headed down the street to the office around 8, and ran into Dana on the way. She was pretty shocked that I was awake, which I found pretty funny since 8 is about what time I’m used to heading off for the day’s adventures when I’m here. It’ll probably take me a little while to get used to the slower pace of things at Youth World now that it’s not summer.

At any rate, Matt showed me how to navigate the Trole to get to language school. Which is actually not really a huge deal. The hardest part of making it the four stops from La Y (pronounced “La Yay”) to Colón is actually getting on the car. It’s not so bad early in the morning, but on the way back you sometimes just have to put your head down and run in like the unmoving crowd of people already aboard is the opposing team at the line of scrimmage.

So we’ll back up to the four hours in between my two Friday Tole rides. I can’t say I wasn’t a little nervous about language school, but mostly because I wasn’t 100% sure what to expect. Turns out I’ve got a hilarious teacher who makes fun of how my handwriting is huge on paper and tiny on the whiteboard and from whom I feel like I’m going to learn a lot. I’ll let you know how that progresses as lessons continue, as Spanish is my main focus for the next three weeks.

Today was another sleep-in day. I just decided that I wasn’t going to take a shower with inconsistently hot and cold water until my house had kind of warmed up, so I didn’t. I was still debating whether to have breakfast or lunch when Roberto called me and made the decision for me. I met him at English Fellowship Church to start packing up some of the instruments and sound equipment for the Gideón concert (Gideón is Roberto’s band). We met the rest of the guys at a Chifa place around the corner from Youth World and I tried to keep up as Roberto, Miguel, Daniel, and Mauricio made jokes in Spanish about the Three Stooges and how we were eating cat.

After lunch and more packing (I really did not know that a sanctuary’s worth of sound equipment and seven people could fit in one car) we headed over to the church where the concert was being held. It took a while to bring everything up to the second floor and set up, and then even longer to do a sound check. We started actually practicing with sound around 3:30 and finally took a break about 5:15 (the concert was supposed to start at 5:00, which in Ecuador means 5:45). I had a lot of fun just being there for the worship time and the concert, and everyone was really appreciative of my ability to be the sound guy, even though one of the monitors inexplicably stopped working when it actually came time for the band to perform.

Afterward, we packed up once again and unpacked it all at EFC before heading off for questionable food. I’ve eaten a lot of questionable food today, but it’s all been quite good. Miguel and I exchanged stories about being summer hosts and about the stupid shower at the apartment (Miguel lived here while he was a Quito Quest host this summer).

So now after a really busy and really fun day, I’m back at home and looking forward to worship at EFC tomorrow and hopefully a little time to do some more writing.

Safe and Sound

I just wanted to let everyone know that I am safe and sound in Quito. I’m sitting in my apartment eating a bowl of cereal and after a really long day of traveling, I’m probably about to crash. I won’t give a commentary on plane rides and airports, because it was all rather boring. But tomorrow should hold some excitement, getting to see some friends and get a little more settled in. I’ll also be sure to put up some pictures of “home” so that people stop asking me if I’m living in a grass hut.

T-Minus 3

It’s officially Monday, now, which means the day after tomorrow I’ll be on a plane.

I’m excited to go back to Ecuador, to see friends, to join ministries that I’m passionate about, to see what God has in store for me for an entire year and to begin to discover how He is going to use me. But most of the time it hasn’t really hit yet what a big deal it is. I just feel like I’m going to a familiar place for a short little while, and wondering why all these people keep hugging me and trying to cry.

One of the side effects of not doing lots of writing this summer has been a lack on information on my blog about the ministry that I’ll be doing. I think another may be that I haven’t fully processed it like I’m used to doing, so I’ll try to rectify that right now with a brief summary of what (I think) the next year has in store for me.

I will be headed back to work with Youth World, where I will be serving in a couple of ways that are right up my alley. I will be teaching music/guitar at at least two of Youth World’s partner ministry sites, Iglesia Carmen Bajo and Mision Emaus. I’ll also be doing some PR for Youth World, which will be in the form of writing for the organization’s web site (linked above) about the ongoing ministries at various partner sites.

When people talk about serving as a missionary, what comes to your mind? I have to say, until very recently, writing web pages and playing guitar would not have been my first answers. It’s fascinating to me that God uses my abilities for His work, no matter how strange a combination of skills I may seem to have, and how unimportant they seemed even to me before I thought about them in the context of ministry. But that’s the thing. Ministry is about people. It’s about relationships, and connecting people, and connecting with people, and God connecting with people.

Music is inherently social. I don’t believe I know anyone who builds, plays, and writes music for guitars. Maybe a couple people who do at least two of those things, but not everything that’s necessary for a beautiful piece of music to eventually get played for the first time. And I certainly can’t think of anyone who would bother to do any of those things if there wasn’t anyone else to enjoy it. I’ve found a love of playing for God, and I’ve even found (despite nerves and lack of talent) the joy of playing for other people in being part of worship. Something I picked up for my own enjoyment turns out something God uses for the benefit of other people, and a way for me to give back to him in a form that’s more personal to me than many others possible ways.

Writing is similar. We wouldn’t need the written word if we didn’t communicate with other people. And God has given me the opportunity to connect with people in some completely different places through things that I enjoy to begin with. How might He use the gifts He’s given you?

Preparations? What are those?

Jerry asked me tonight if I was nervous about heading out heading out to Ecuador so soon. As it turns out, I don’t even know how to describe what I am feeling right now. Having been to Ecuador twice before, and knowing a ton of the people I’ll be working with at Youth World, it just feels like I’m taking a short ride to spend some time doing something I love with people I love. I’m not sure when it will really sink in, or if I’ll just keep thinking that this is a normal part of my life (because at this point, it is a pretty normal part of my life).

Maybe it’s just because I’m a procrastinator, or maybe it’s because of that same lack of appreciation for embarking on a totally different chapter of life, but in some ways I don’t feel remotely prepared. For instance my suitcase. Still empty and in the closet of the guest room. And I’m leaving the day after tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Like… five minutes?!

There was a girl on one of my teams last summer (who shall remain anonymous in this post) who gave one of the most memorable quotes of all of Quito Quest 2008. We’ll call her “C” for this post (because everyone who can decipher that already knows who you are).

We were getting on our bus to head to the jungle, and she was already in the back seat, lying down, with a bandanna over her eyes. To be honest, it was about 7 am, and despite Jerry’s snide remarks about how early I got up all summer, I would have been enjoying myself that morning if I’d taken a leaf out of her book and tried to pass out too. But I was responsible and quietly counted everyone as they got on the bus and got ready to leave.

As some of the other students got on, they started talking about various things that had happened their first couple of days in Ecuador, and someone must have said something about prayer. Out of nowhere, “C” (still with a bandanna over her eyes and laying down) says “Guys, have you noticed how people in Ecuador pray for like five minutes?” For those of you who need a little context (that is, if you aren’t Methodist) she meant “five minutes” as an infinitely long time for a prayer to continue.

I’m not even sure what I said. But since “long prayers” and “Sarah Miller” went together in my head right that minute, it probably sounded at least a little more defensive than I meant for it to come out. “C” shot up out of her seat, letting her bandanna fall to her lap the second I opened my mouth. Apparently she didn’t realize that I’d been sitting right in front of her, I guess because I hadn’t actually spoken for the few minutes up to that point that I had been on the bus. Once she had realized I was present, she immediately began apologizing profusely. Everybody around us giggled slightly nervously, but I was laughing my head off at the mere idea that she thought I (extrovert that I am) would be offended.

That would probably still be hilarious if it happened to me now, eight and a half months later. I just find it hard to be real sometimes when I have to pray out loud, so I tend to condense and get it over with. Don’t get me wrong, in certain places and groups, it’s getting me to stop that’s the trick. But apparently I had gotten comfortable enough and made enough of an impact in our two debriefs up to that point that my spoken prayers were atypically long, at least in her mind.

So why in the world is this on my blog now, in March 2009? Because of Jason.

I went to Benjamin House tonight and after chapel, singing, and prayer requests, Jason prayed for us. First off all, I don’t know how the guy remembers every single prayer request that everyone says in there. Toni and I both do decently (she better than I) if either of us is the one to offer the closing prayer, but Jason never misses anything, and still doesn’t slow down, just throwing in praises, thanksgiving, and never worrying about how long he’s been going or anything else happening in the room (which could be quite a number of things at any given time).

We marvel consistently at how he remembers everything anyone says during prayer requests, and usually knows what anyone left out. But I also marvel at how heartfelt his prayers are, from his eagerness to be the one to pray each Monday night to the fact that he both goes to God for anything and gives God the glory for everything.

I can’t say I’ve never in my life been somewhere and didn’t think “will this guy ever stop?” when someone was praying (for Billy- the “Dear Lord” guy in Tyner). But I can say that if Jason prays for “five minutes,” I don’t mind.

Affirmative or Otherwise

I had a series of seemingly unrelated revelations today.

The first came as I stopped by First Baptist to pick up my computer. There were some people in the office, so I poked my head in to say hello. Before any other conversation could emerge, one of them asked “Are you leaving the country any time soon?”

I’ve gotten used to that question. But I realized this afternoon how odd it is. None of the three people I was talking to really had any clue that I’m heading back to Ecuador. I haven’t been around First Baptist enough for anyone outside of Discussion Group to really ask me about it, so it wasn’t a loaded question. If it wasn’t a loaded question, why was there a question at all? Which brings me to another question, how is it that I’ve become used to that question? Obviously other people have been asking me that same thing, and while people at church and La Casa ask when I’m leaving, it’s not as if there is a shortage of other interested parties in general.

Tons of people I know have gone on “mission trips”, plenty of them to foreign countries, and all pretty much overflowing with excitement and stories and faith when they returned. But even out of the specific people that I think of, I just don’t seem to have any knowledge of them being bombarded with questions about returning to the mission field (H & D, I’m simply ignoring you in that statistic because either of you could make the same point I’m going for here).

Another such thought came tonight as I gave my Ecuador presentation to the United Methodist Women of Newland UMC. It’s always interesting to see what people comment on at the end or ask questions about during the presentation. I like to see who absorbed what I was saying, or at least what I was trying to say. Or even who got something else totally meaningful and totally related out of it even if it wasn’t what I was intending.

The group was awesome, and I think really understood the value of relational ministry. And I always expect someone to say “I couldn’t drink river water in the jungle,” or “I couldn’t eat guinea pig,” (you would if you were unspokenly competeing with four 14-year-old girls who had no problem with cuy). It’s just that I tend to expect people to eventually laugh and say “Well, I would if I had to,” or “God would pull me through.” I’m surprised at how adamantly people are opposed to doing anything out of the ordinary, even at the risk of missing out on serving the Lord, or having the time of your life mud wrestling in the jungle, or discovering you actually enjoy guinea pig. Or serving the Lord. Did I mention that one?

Now I certainly don’t mean to say I’ve got the corner on the market on how to serve God. If everyone was called to serve God in Ecuador, it would be a really crowded 98,985 square miles of earth. It just makes me appreciate my ability to live without Fudge Rounds and an Xbox. It also reminds me for those times I do spend living in a third world country how lucky I am to have toilet paper.

But ultimately it just reinforces in me both the notion that ministry involves a Call, and the idea that a Call implies a response, whether it be affirmative or otherwise.

Moravian Lovefeast and little noises

If you don’t know what a Moravian Lovefeast is, here is an okay description.

This was the fourth Moravian Lovefeast I’ve attended and the third one in which I’ve played. I keep hoping Billy will dig up some piece of music that needs a saxophone, but having to practice clarinet again recently I’ve remembered why I liked it so much in the first place. Plus playing something small means I get to sit next to Toni. We get scolded at least once each Lovefeast and Easter for cutting up.

But my main musings tonight were not on the music (holy cow, the solo soprano!) or the sweet buns and coffee (alas, none for the musicians) or the scripture (“rut-row!”) but on the thousand little noises going on in between.

Services at a mainline protestant church in the U.S. are generally solemn occasions, even when they start with something like this. Crying babies are just unacceptable in Stateside church services, which is just a little disappointing after you spend a significant time at worship services in Ecuador. This kid was crying right at the beginning of the service. Not screaming. Not wailing. Not even crying loudly. Just crying the slightly-tired cry of a really small child. Before the three-song prelude was even finished and the bell rung, the family of five with the baby in question was down the balcony steps, through the Narthex and out the big oak front doors because their kid wouldn’t be quiet. I thought he was doing well in finding the strings section’s key. They thought he was being obnoxious. Though in hindsight, it’s also socially unacceptable to quiet a baby here the way you would in Ecuador.

During the middle of the service while the buns and coffee are being distributed and consumed, the choir, the strings, the full orchestra, and one or two soloists take turns playing pieces, and during the last one (which happened to be an organ/choir-only piece this year)  the coffee mugs are collected. I have to admit that the clink-clink-CLINK-clink-clinkity-clink-clink-clink-CLANK-clink-clinkity-clink got to me for a second there right as it started. Maybe it was the sound moving back down the aisles with the Dieners and their trays, or hopefully just my attitude improving (doubt it). But very quickly became musical to me. I think that- much more than the people standing up- and downstairs- just drove home how many people were packed into (what I believe is) the second-largest sanctuary in Elizabeth City.

It was also hilarious to see Billy’s eyebrows get closer and closer together the longer the “clinking” went on. He eventually just rolled his eyes and started to ignore it, but I guarantee that it will be mentioned before the 2009 Lovefeast.

And finally, my favorite little noise of the night. Just before we played “Silent Night” at the end of the service, in came the ushers, Dieners, and Junior Dieners to light all the candles. Off went the electric lights (in a relatively stately manner- not bad for Baptists). The sanctuary held its breath in silent anticipation.

Now in 1818, “Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht” was oiginally written for and performed by one unamplified classical guitar. In 2008, it was desecrated by half a dozen grill lighters CLICKing for dear life, trying to set aglow 400 little somethings I’ve always taken to be symbols of simplicity. And while the CLICK CLICK CLICK did make me cringe and will probably set Billy to swearing tomorrow, I think little things like that tend to put us in our place.

We can plan and practice and perfect our performances and services and songs all we want. But what it really comes down to is using those talents (planning, putting together that gigantic bulletin, playing or singing music, or just sitting and appreciating it) that God has given us and giving them back to him.

My philosophical musings are not going to stop me from suggesting that the candles are lit by other candles (in turn lit by matches in the Narthex) next time around. Neither is the fact that I’m not going to be in the Moravian Lovefeast next year (something I’m both extremely excited about and slightly saddened by, and that’s as much information as you’re getting right this second). But initial annoyance or not, I’m thankful for all the “distractions” tonight.