Category: Ecuador

FBC Kids Missions Class

For the last two Wednesdays I’ve gone to First Baptist to talk to the kids’ missions class. First off, I can’t even begin to tell you how cool I think it is that they even have a kids’ missions class that studies missions and missionaries and different countries every week.

Cameron describes her view of missionaries (before becoming one) as people who were “just a little bit too excited about Jesus” and that even among great Christian people in the Church, the last thing you’d ever want to be was a missionary. I have to say that I felt pretty much the same way until only a few short years ago, probably mostly because of my lack of experience with career missionaries and a similar lack of understanding both of what goes into and comes out of missions.

How much more fruitful my two short-term mission experiences in high school would have been if I’d had a better understanding of the whole idea of missions for years by then.

And I hope that those dozen or so kids actually did take something away from my and Jerry’s experiences other than how cool they’re going to think I am because they all think I’m fluent in Spanish and can play anything by ear (I’m translating the postcards they wrote and Heather gave me the key for a 3-chord song that thus was really simple to pick up).

What’s cool is I feel like they did take something from it. And that’s way more due to Heather than to me or Jerry. I taught them a couple songs (I should have videoed all the gringitos doing “Yo Yo” for Sarita) and told them what they meant, but all these well-trained little critters actually asked what it meant, delving a lot deeper into the theological realm than I’m used to for mostly second- to fifth-graders. I told them about eating cuy, and they weren’t any more grossed out than most of the high school seniors on my teams. They seemed to grasp pretty well the idea of people living in the jungle and lacking many of the things people here don’t tend to think they could get along without.

And through that, a bunch of elementary-schoolers actually understand pretty well the purpose and importance of missions, and that we are all missionaries, whether in a foreign land or at the corner of Dyer and Main.

I’m proud of them. I’m a little jealous that they have this at their age. And I’m fueled, hopeful, and desperate for that “active ministry” I mentioned to Dana and Teddy.

Kids Missions Class

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Accidental Conversation

I called Sarah tonight. Angela answered the phone. Turns out I had the wrong number in my phone book for Sarah. Angela laughed at me, but we had a great conversation about adjusting to life at home, especially as we’ve both started school and gone back to the business of life in North America.

Then I looked up Sarah’s real phone number and called her. I can’t believe I lucked out and two people actually answered the phone tonight. I can’t even get up with Mike or Julia half the time in Elizabeth City.

Another good conversation about adjusting to the Stateside life, about future plans, and there might have been a mention or two (ha!) of Ely. Getting to talk to both Sarah and Angela made me realize as I told them about the transition here how well it’s gone for me, and how much I’ve been ministered to by my church and the Tangent Minds and certain individuals around me. I was actually surprised by how many positive things I had to list off when I finally got to speak to people who “understand.” And now that I’m heading into a week where I’m not worried about writing a sermon or just plain dying, I know that I’ll also get to have that in Jerry as well. I’ve been hiding out too much.

I have, though, been productive in my reclusive-ness. Maybe all the stuff I’ve got on eBay will fund some of those planned (mis)adventures. And my guitars and cases actually fit in my closet now. But aside from just accomplishing things around the house, I’ve taken some active processing/study time.

Out of our topic about the Word of God at Discussion Group last night came a “homework” idea. Each of us are going to be reading Romans 12 every day this week and coming back with our thoughts. Having been focused so much on verse 2 lately, and having heard the first half of that chapter at literally every single service that I attended for a week from the morning of the 17th to the night of the 24th, it’s already interesting what has caught my attention.

I’ll leave it at that to keep anyone from the Group that reads this from accidentally cheating- we’re not allowed to read anything about it but the Bible. That’s the rule. No commentaries, just us and the Word of God for this discussion. I feel like we’re not going to need an actual topic next week. I’ll have notes.

Unexpected Topic

There are eight people in my Spanish class, and when I walked in this morning at quarter of the hour or so, four of the others were already there, and were talking about the differences between smoking cigarettes and pot. I’ll come back to this later.

Class began pretty normally this morning, and Thursday being a “class” day rather than a “lab” day, the first third of class tends to be more culture than language. One of the things I like about that is that during our (relatively ADD) discussion, Sr. Turner tends to turn to me for comparisons since I’m the only one in the class who has been to Latin America. He’ll talk about open-air markets in Chile and then ask “How about in Ecuador?”

At some point he made mention that I had been there for three months and one of the girls in the class asked what exactly I had been doing there. Something I didn’t even think about when I began to answer was what my immediate response turned out to be, compared to what it would have been last year. Had I ever been asked that in Raquel’s class when I took the previous level of Spanish a couple semesters ago, I’m sure I would have told them I’d gone with a short-term team and worked in a church and an orphanage. But out loud to a class, I that seriously would have been all I’d have said. And while I kept it brief this morning, I did my best to give a pretty full picture of hosting and a little bit about the whole reason for Missions.

The observation I did make, pretty much instantly (I automatically critique myself any time I talk in class) was that conversation had gone from smoking pot to being the hands and feet of Christ in Ecuador in under twenty minutes.

Even cooler was that Julian (a.k.a. Mr. Turner, the professor) instantly said “And what was the name of the church that you and Jerry go through?” Impressed that he’s already connected me and Jerry even though we’re in different classes, I ignored the detail of with whom the two of us were mostly working and told him Christ Episcopal Church, which he immediately scribbled down on his class notes (which I know he’ll look at several times before Monday). But wait, it gets better. Our professor then goes on this rant about how important it is to help people and how everyone should be involved in Missions.

Something else I noticed was his mention that even though he’s traveled pretty extensively, he regrets that all of it has been either for school or to support himself, when he was teaching English in Spain (something that strikes a chord in my family, anyway). I talked to Lydia today (who has now made it into three posts in just over a week) about how I have the exact opposite situation. Everywhere I’ve ever been has been for Missions and not for study or tourism or anything else. Which is not a problem, especially since I mentioned that we’re all on a Mission all the time anyway. Just something that keeps getting higher on my list to change.

As an overall observation, I just appreciate God’s use of unexpected people, places, and times to get a chance to share a little bit about Him. I feel like this is going to be a pretty cool opportunity with Mr. Turner, and maybe God struck a chord with somebody else in the room today too, or at least opened an opportunity for further growth, particularly some of the things I’ve been asking for lately. And as a sneak peak, I turned in my sermon theme to Diane today, and it’s amazing how much the same it is with this paragraph. Good thing the whole thing isn’t written yet. This is why I quit believing in coincidence a long time ago.

Lunch with the B.O.L.

If you don’t get the title, I’m not explaining it.

I’ve been going to First Baptist for the 11:00 worship service for the past few weeks. Unless I have to go to the 11:00 service at First Methodist to run the sound system or preach, I’ve been taking the opportunity to go to a worship service that I don’t have to be a major part of. For years it’s been a really rare experience for me to be in a worship service and not be either running the sound system or doing one of the various things I do up front. And I’d just stay at my church except I’ve already heard the sermon at that point. Not that it’s not good or meaningful the second time around, but I have the opportunity to maybe get something else out of a totally different service, so why not?

The point of this is that my first Sunday back in the States, I was asked by several people if I would come and speak to one of the Baptist Women’s circles about my experience in Ecuador. Turns out they meet on Monday at noon, right after I get out of class, and they have lunch at Van’s Pizza, which is on my way back from school to anywhere. I have three hours to kill before my Physics lab (which was canceled today anyway) and how am I going to pass up an opportunity to yak for an hour about my summer?

So I printed out 40 pictures and showed up to Van’s with absolutely no plan. That’s how I like things. I have no idea how I’ve developed this, but when I talk off the top of my head, I’m about 10 million times more confident and eloquent than if I have to do something straight off a sheet or some notes. It will probably take me longer to write this blog entry than it did to condense three months into a short presentation for those ten women.

I have one friend in particular (who shall remain nameless) that I can think of who would not only find the invitation something he’d desperately want to get out of, but would just puke at the idea of having to give a presentation like this. I actually had a blast.

I started with a two-sentence or so explanation of the difference between teams and hosts (they all know Ryan and some know Betty or Julie or others) and another super-brief explanation of Youth World and Short-Term/Quito Quest. After that I just went right through our time with the Huaorani and then on to teams and hit the highlights of what it’s all about: partnership, being servants, and letting God work through us.

They asked questions, they laughed, they all freaked out when I showed them the photo of the boa constrictor around my neck. And while they were all so appreciative that a 22-year-old guy would come talk to a bunch of old women, I was thankful to have a non-pulpit opportunity to just talk for more than 30 seconds and not have someone glaze over.

In fact, on a totally unrelated note, I had a similar opportunity with a single person yesterday afternoon. Someone I consider to be a prominent person at my church, and who I’ve actually had some not-so-cheerful arguments with in the past asked me how my “trip” was, and then actually got into the details of the actual job and of the effect of the summer on me. As Colin would say, my mind was “totally bottled.” [sic]

I just about cried twice this afternoon, and for once in the last week, it wasn’t because I couldn’t breathe. Just relaying experiences and observations gave me productive processing time that I wasn’t looking for or expecting, much as I’ve been asking for it. And while people still occasionally say something that grates on my nerves because of lack of understanding, it’s the fact that there are people here to whom I can bring my experience home that keeps me from falling into the lie of “Spiritual Superiority” and makes me love my church(es) here and find my little niche in Elizabeth City.

Romans 12:1-3

There are a lot of pieces of scripture you hear and say over and over as a missionary. Romans 12 is one of them, and much like my ever-changing take on John 15, now that I’m home I’ve been struck by the meaning of these words. I’m also struck by the fact that this scripture was a large part of two sermons and Jerry’s presentation, all of which I’ve heard in less than a week, sometimes twice. In fact, I’d write my sermon for next week on this passage if it hadn’t been a the sermon scripture for last week at my church and the scripture lesson this morning at First Baptist. It says…

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, Holy and pleasing to God- this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is- His good, pleasing, and perfect will. -NIV

I feel like every time I heard or read those words during Quito Quest that the focus is so much on verse 1. And in living the rest, that’s what occurs. But especially after looking over my last couple of entries (which are gloomier than I intended, but maybe not as far from the truth in that regard than I pretend) and Sarah and Angela’s responses to those, I see the first half of verse 2 as a Command of Hope.

Wanting to be that “Fruit tree in Elizabeth City” and having doubts and fears and feelings of uselessness, I feel not compelled but Commanded “Do not conform.” I am not the same person as I was when I stepped on a place in May, and being one of those “people with the suitcases,” it’s my responsibility to use what I know and have experienced to benefit those around me, and also to keep check on myself that I am set apart from this world and its patterns, habits, and desires.

I think I know one of the reasons that it’s so hard for anyone to adjust to life at home after the on-field aspect of a short term mission. Something I wrote in my journal this afternoon was that, at least for me, it seems like I’m waiting for God to set a situation in front of me and say “Here you go, Danny. Be fruitful with this.” And maybe that’s because there are so many of those when you are so engaged in missions. Or maybe it’s that you’re just so much more open to and aware of them.

Being useful in life here isn’t a response to a situation, it’s an attitude and an outlook, totally independent of whether we have a certain service at a certain time or fully functional lungs and back muscles. And whenever I’m pessimistic about any of that,Ā  worried about fitting, I can know that I truly am transformed by my time in Ecuador, and be confident as the renewing of my spirit continues.

Just What I Needed

This morning I went to the early service at First Methodist. After three days Stateside, I was pretty much prepared for the onslaught of old ladies asking me how my “trip” had been. I could, however, already feel myself slipping into laziness and responding that it was “good,” which I have sinceĀ been making an effort to fix. I’d rather someone “glaze over” than I waste an opportunity to talk about the last three months.

I would say it was a fairly normal service, except that for me, when Mike finished preaching and the service suddenly started to end at 9:20, I looked at my phone like “You can’t be serious.” After three months of hour-long or two-hour-long sermons, even at Gringo church, I was just getting going. And the sermon was on Matthew 15:21-28 when the woman begs for Mercy from Jesus and he ends up admiring her faith. I, of course, took something totally different out of it than was intended or than probably anyone else got, but it was the beginning of a learning experience that lasted all day.

After that I went to play for the “munchkins.” Turned out only three of them were there (though one of them was Christopher Alexander, so I got to meet him). I mostly just talked about Ecuador for the benefit of Dianna) and played a couple songs. Davis and Taylor sang enough to humor me, but I was glad to see them all and in one of the best moods I’ve been in when I headed off to Burger King in my usual avoidance of going to any of the Sunday School classes in which I just don’t fit.

There I got a blatant example of how useful my time in South America has been on simply a surface level. There was a Spanish-speaking couple in line behind me, and the girl at the counter was speaking loud and slow, trying to explain to them what time breakfast ended in a language they didn’t understand and as if they were stupid. I feel like “desayuno por vente minutos mas” is a phrase I would have been able to spit out in April, but actually have the confidence to do so now (at least without someone fluent in both languages standing around and able to tell me how idiotic I sound).

Having left FUMC and having heard the sermon already, I decided to go to the 11:00 service at First Baptist. I’d already made up my mind to go to church later anyway because I am so often lazy and only go to a service if I am a part of it: playing guitar or some other instrument, preaching, running the sound system, etc. In the Methodist church all the vows always include our support through “our prayers, our presence, our gifts, and our service.” I’ve been nailing the last two for quite a while,Ā and IĀ wanted to go to a worship service and worship and for once through the rest.

Granted I got there and Billy commandeered me to play guitar for a hymn, but I didn’t plug in and most people probably couldn’t hear me, which was fine. And, maybe because I was simply aware of it this morning, or maybe because God was actually directly teaching me something, I just kept getting slammed all service long.

Steve’s Invocation was a thank-you to God for interrupting us, and the opening hymn was “The Solid Rock,” something to which I’ve absolutely had to cling for the last half a week (or summer, for that matter). The choir’s anthem was “Give Me Jesus,” and though I like the Jeremy Camp version better, the words are the same and seriously… after over three days Stateside I’d like a T-shirt that says “You can have all this world. Give Me Jesus.”

But wait, there’s more. Mason’s sermon, “Behind the Scenes” just kept hitting me too. It was about faith, and it ended with us singing my absolutele favorite hymn of all time, “It Is Well With My Soul.”

The rest of the day, I got to hang out with Megan and get ice cream, I went to the recorder ensemble at FBC (there’s a method to my madness, just wait), praise band/the Celebration! service at FBC (another message on faith and the opportunity to rock out), and Ruby Tuesday’s and the Stevens’ house with most of the Christ Episcopal Ecuador Team to play the cup game and look at photos.

I’m not necessarily glad to not be in Ecuador at this point, but rather than feeling stuck in North Carolina now, I feel home.

D-O-N Done

I got home last night and I was just D-O-N Done. Over the course of the day, I said good-bye way too many times. In fact, I described my day yesterday as saying good-bye, sitting, good-bye, sitting, good-bye, and sitting.

In the airport in Miami, we got to see Teddy and sort of get the news that Emily hadn’t made it because her visa expired as Teddy mouthed and motioned through the inch-thick soundproof glass forcing him to go the long way around through customs instead of to where we could actually speak to him at the gate. Then Bryan left us to head for his short hop to Tampa, and on the thirteenth good-bye of the day, I just about lost it.

It was really good to see my mom in Raleigh and to finally say “Hello.” I talked her into letting me drive home so I would have something to do. I was just in a weird mood and needed to accomplish something rather than sitting for another three hours and thinking about how much I just don’t want to be here.

Not that I’m in just this huge “Fight” mode or have a bad attitude or hate the States or anything. But I’ve been saying for a week that I wasn’t ready to go, and I definitely have not had enough down time yet to be feeling ready to process my experience with anyone here. Even in the airport yesterday afternoon, we really didn’t even talk about anything meaningful about the last 3 months or the next few days, and just enjoyed our Dr. Peppers for a few more minutes of relative silence in the appreciative presence of friends who “got it.”

I got to see Billy and Lydia last night, and when I drove MY car (emphasis as a reminder to my brother) home I called Matt Smith at the house. I’ve been calling the States from that phone all summer, but it’s still a strange sensation that I can dial my cell phone and someone in Ecuador picks up. That was when I got the full story on Emily being stuck and just the last bit of Matt and Lane being in South America and Matt’s thoughts on that and me getting to say out loud how totally weird it is to be home.

I also had a chance to go over to Mike’s house and talk to Mike and Laura and Mrs. Dwan, which was good, but I was so shot at that point from antihistamine and lack of sleep that it didn’t last long.

This morning I feel rested, but still just weirded out that I’m even here. I can’t wait to call and talk to everyone else as they get home and at least have a sense of understanding and a similar experience. I’m glad Jerry is here, but I feel like he and I still have catching up to do from the fact that we hardly saw each other whenever we had teams on the ground, and I know it’s going to be hard for both of us when we get put on the spot together and people expect us to have one collective experience that is in truth not remotely the same in most places.

Overall, I’m just a little overwhelmed and I’d like to find a rock to hide under at the moment, but I have a really good processing opportunity that I will take advantage of tonight and I have absolutely no obligations right now until school starts.

Last Morning in Quito

This morning I’m up early. I hit the sack about 10 minutes after we came home from dinner last night, and feel much better for it, though I’m still kind of stuffy. But I’m functional enough to complete everything I have to before we head out of Quito this afternoon for final debrief.

It’s weird to be down to our last days this summer. All the teams are gone, most of the other interns have headed out already, and we’re packing up the house today (if anyone else ever gets out of bed).

With that same finishing-out feeling, I even completed the posts that have been sitting around my drafts folder since June. Those would be June 25 about Block 2 and June 16 about getting left in the jungle (those links are mostly for the benefit of people here). I’m done with most of our required reading and our ministry supplies and clothes from the last team (or two teams… whoops) are distributed.

I’m looking forward to seeing people, and to putting some plans into actions when I return home, but I’m not remotely ready to leave.

Perfection

Jerry and I got to go to Emaus this morning for church. Roberto us up and took us pretty close on his own way to Reconciliation. We cabbed it the rest of the way, and I don’t even feel like we got ripped out of our minds. And even if we had, I got to see my Godson for the third time in a week and a half so I wouldn’t have cared.

It’s amazing what changes in a year.

I remember looking out the back window at the lumber yard last year and being told that they hoped to have a new chapel built by the time we came back. I thought to myself “Yeah, right.” I fully expected to be lugging around the first cinder blocks for the beginnings of the walls the next time I was there. I thought I’d be back as a team member, not a host. I thought I’d spend more than a day at Emaus. I thought Coleman, Holly, Katie, Carrie and Hunter would be here. I thought I’d know more Spanish. I thought I’d be done with COA and my first semester at another school.

This morning was full of unexpected events. I’m really just impressed we got to South Quito and back in the first place. And I was blown away when I got there how beautiful the new sanctuary is. Jerry was saying things like “When I got here that window wasn’t there and that wall wasn’t finished…” and I was saying “When I got here it was a pile of sticks.” Something else sweet about it was to be in a “normal” service there. There was a little bit of a farewell for Emily, but otherwise it was normal life at Mision Emaus: music, Eucharist, and Gema running around dancing with Lourdes and Christion.

There is a lot different in me since I was last there as well. I have a piercing again and more facial hair and a tatoo (just kidding Mom!). I don’t say “weak” as much but I’ve picked phrases like “wazz, “droppin’ trou” and “whatev.” But aside from the obvious, I realized how much a year can affect you. I was blown away thinking about who I was when I stepped off the plane for the first time in South America.

People I wouldn’t have missed last year have been on my mind constantly, and there are people I wished I could call last time around that I (somewhat sadly) haven’t gotten or taken the chance to even facebook since May. I play the guitar a lot better, and for a different reason. I appreciate my friendships with the guys, and with only two notable exceptions, tend to hang out with (and want to hang out with) them (when I’m around) more than the girls (which is totally different for me, even having had the B.R.O.s, and which I think goes back to Chet’s monologue on parejas).

Insert semi-sincere apology for all the parenthetical phrases in the above paragraph.

A full list would take up way too much space here, but suffice it to say, in a very Weslyan way (all the Methodist pastors/Duke graduates reading this can be proud of me), that I hope that that Perfection continues in such an obvious way.

In other news, I think I’m coming down with a cold. I’m going to go take a nap now.

Sweet Taxi Ride

Our final team is gone and I have tons of thoughts on that topic. Maybe you’ll get them tomorrow. But first I just have to tell a story.

We headed over to the Paynes’ house tonight to watch a movie. The crowd ended up being Bryan, Dana, Danielle, Danny, Jerry, Lane, Nicole, and Teddy. I had come straight from the airport with all my stuff, not having been home all day. “Stuff” included my guitar. We watched “What Lies Beneath” (the girls weren’t present for the related voting process and I was apparently not paying attention while it took place) and finished up around midnight. Then the fun began.

We called a taxi from the house. Here’s a couple of relevant facts about taxis:

1. No more than four people can ride in a taxi.
2. The charge more if you call them somewhere.
3. You can expect to pay more if it’s after nine, and more if it’s after eleven.
4. You can tend to expect to pay more if you have a bunch of stuff in the trunk.
5. You are going to get ripped if the driver doesn’t have a meter.
6. It’s not surprising to pay more if you’re a gringo.

Therefore, six gringos walking out of a house at midnight with a guitar do not want to see one hatchback taxi pull up. We saw one hatchback taxi pull up. With no meter.

I cannot believe the guy even let us in the taxi, much less helped me put the guitar in the “trunk.” The seating arrangement ended up being Teddy in the front with Dana, Danielle, Nicole and Jerry arranged driver to passenger side in the back with me originally basically sitting in Nicole’s lap, and ending up more or less laying on Dana. You can imagine the conversation.

We dropped Danielle off first and the driver turned to Teddy and asked for money. When we all sort of stared at him he asked if all were getting off here. “Solo uno.” The driver just laughed and headed back for Granda Centeno. By the fourth and final stop of the back-and-forth ride, we’d run up a bill of $5.00, the third highest taxi bill I’ve been a part of causing in this country, and although a couple people probably thought that was high, it beats the heck out of the $8.00 trip from the bus station or the $11.00 return trip from Metro Cafe. The guy was so cool and didn’t rip us out of any more than we expected.

All told, it was a fun night of squeezed bodies, heads between legs, worked abs, and a possible question mark on somebody’s team finances. There should be more taxis in the world.