Silver Bullet

In two weeks I am riding the Silver Bullet to Mexico. After our trip in July, one of the needs identified was a van. With money donated, a silver colored van has been purchased in Minnesota and we are going to drive it down to Valle Hermosa to give to an alliance of churches. It will be a quick trip, and it should be fun to connect with friends made in July. If you want to see the work being done there please click here.

One of the needs that pops up all the time in the area of Mexico we were in is guitars. It is the primary form of accompanying singing in many of the smaller churches. Guitars get an amazing amount of use.A former student of mine, Aaron Madison, who has a company that repairs guitars and works with Guitar Center is donating a guitar he had. If you have a guitar that is sitting around, I would ask you to consider donating it to this work in Mexico. Contact me as soon as possible if you are wanting to donate as we will have a van to take down rather than checking it on a plane. We are also able to give you a letter to be able to claim your donations on your taxes. Please contact me at jimcook24@me.com

Captured bird

Movement caught my eye up in the rafters of the Valle Hermoso Convention Center. I stared at where I had seen movement. I saw a tiny bird in the steel beams. It flew in random flight patterns around the ceiling, looking for a way back to the outside.

I felt sad that a life would end in starvation and a meaningless death. I moved my thinking to other thoughts.

There were sporadic chirps and an occasional chirp which brought my thinking back to the little bird.

The next morning it was flying into the windows on the stairs and trying to get out. But it was useless. I descended the stairs and used the bathroom.

On my way back to my sleeping pad, there were a few girls out of their sleeping room. They said they were out in the hall because there was a bird flying around their room. I got a towel and in a few minutes had trapped the frightened little animal in the towel. It's tiny black head poking out of the white terry-cloth. It's eyes stared at me. It looked terrified.

I took it downstairs, out the door and shook the towel out as a flutter of feathers headed to the sky, free to forage for food another day.

34 passenger van

There are different names for things between here and Mexico. For example, in our country, we have 15 passenger vans... except it is difficult to insure them and people are concerned about the safety of the vans. Studies have shown that 15 passenger vans are three times as likely to roll over in a crash. So we use them less and less here. And few are insuring them.

In Mexico, you can refer to what we call "15 passenger van", by a new name; the "34 passenger van". After kids camp each day, the kids waited patiently while they took their turn getting in the van. The way it worked is like this:

In the very back, there was enough room for five children to stand up between the back seat and the back doors. Then because the back seat stretched the width of the van five children could sit on the seat, which they did. Then another five children sat on their laps which equalled ten. The two middle seats could only hold four children, and with children sitting on laps, that equaled eight times two which is 16. Then there were two children sitting in the front seat and two more on an office swivel chair placed on the floorboards between the driver and the passenger seat.

Regardless of how light the spirits were inside the van, it did nothing to take the load off the springs.

They might have been able to fit another child in the driver's seat, but safety is important!

Watching Rambo in Spanish

It was late at the convention center in Valle Hermoso. Most of the team had gone to play soccer at an outdoor stadium. I was in a mental set thinking about the relationships we had with the many children who showed up. As usual, the person who supervised the building was sitting on a van seat bench propped up in an alcove of the lobby. A TV, balanced on a low table,  was blaring as he stared mesmerized by the glowing screen.

At one point, he looks away from the screen and smiles at me. 

"Rambo" he says, with a toothy smile. I walk over to his area and for a few minutes we watch the TV. 

"Which Rambo?" I ask.

"Tres"  He smiles and turn back to the TV.

I nod my head.

I watch more. The heros, the good, the bad, they are all speaking Spanish. It all looks very foreign, until the guns come out. The guns don't speak Spanish. They speak with the authority of brute force and need no additional interpreting. 

As the guns fire, the keeper of the Convention Center settles deeper in the van bench seat and watches with admiration, the tough action figure, mete out justice to the nare-do-wells.  And in that the keeper and I need no other language for common understanding.

The gift and the curse!

One thing I noticed in Mexico is, all a person had to do to gain some friends was drop a soccer ball on the ground. Before the second bounce it would be whisked away and chasing ensued. Boys and sometimes girls would kick and dribble the ball around with their feet. You could tell the ones that worked on moves. They had skills.

Games were played in the convention center, at a local stadium, or anywhere there were people, a soccer ball and a little room. What amazed me is that a stray ball would land in a pile or a project. Items would go flying everywhere, but no one seemed really bothered by it. They just threw the ball back where a foot stopped it and redirected down the field toward the other team's delineated goal. Middle aged men with sizable guts on them, their shirts sweat-soaked ran like 15 year olds.

I commented to someone that it seems like soccer naturally brings people together. I got an odd look from him and he proceeded to share with me, the dark side of the sport. He talked about assassinations that occurred for errors in the game, and the fierce rivalry that surrounded the game.

I guess it brings people together and then as the competition heats up, makes enemies of people. It may be said that there is no friendly game of soccer after a certain amount of playing time has elapsed. It's rivalry.

Home is where the stove is

We stayed at a convention center for the week we were in Valle Hermosa. It was a bare floor and a lot of leaks when it rained. There were no cooking facilities so adaptation was critical. The most important need was a stove and oven.

And what stove was brought? The stove right out of the missionary's house. It was a kitchen stove they bought from Ikea in Dallas a year and a half before. A propane tank was hooked up to it and it served up the grub, just like at home. 

Not quite the portability of the camp stoves that many use camping in our northern climes, but when you have more time than money, willing manpower, and some ingenuity, anything is possible. 

And where there is willingness to be flexible, love and memories to share, it can feel just like home.

The wonder of southern lights

One thing I have longed for in my life is a chance to see the Northern Lights. I have looked with wonder at the pictures of the phenomenon.  Hopefully one day I will be able to see them.

But I did see a phenomenon that occurred the last day of kids camp. And I will never forget it.

The last night of kids camp in Mexico any child who wanted to sleep over could. At the final total we had over 100 children from age 6 to 17. There was a program for the parents who showed up with bedrolls for their child's sleep-over experience. After the program the parents left the auditorium, and the kids lost their interest in the movie that was showing for them. Kicking soccer balls and chasing each other was far more fascinating.

At a certain point the Mexican leaders started the process of getting the children to lay down and go to sleep. Of course only a small handful were complying. One of the leaders was walking around with a bullhorn and requesting that the children start settling down. It was about as effective as starting a fire with a single match in a thunderstorm.

One of the leaders came over and asked us to shut off all the lights so the children could go to bed. We used the "bad idea" argument, but to no avail. We went upstairs and within seconds the entire auditorium was plunged into darkness. From that moment and continuing on for about five minutes was almost deafening shrieking from the children.  It was hard to tell if they were having fun or overcome with terror.

The megaphone continued to bleat out bedtime instructions. We were standing on the balcony peering through the darkness to shapeless forms below.The request came up that we should crack open the glow sticks that we brought with us for the camp children. The rationale was that this would allow the children to have a night-light for falling asleep.

We gave our best "really bad idea" speech, but it went unheeded. We just pushed back our EBT (estimated bed time) from 1:30AM to 3AM.

In the pitch black I could see a blue glow, then orange. Yellow popped up and red arrived. The glowing started magnifying and growing. More colors filled the black void below us. Some of the colors sped across

 the room, others flew through the expanse, to lie still for a minute and then move again. Everywhere below colors moved in random patterns. It tool my breath away. The beauty of the colors, knowing that they each represented a child was stunning.

The scene lasted for about 40 minutes. I stood on the balcony enrapt with wonder at the sight below me.

When the leadership realized that the children were not going to sleep, some one walked around the main floor, collecting them in a shopping bag that leaked glowing light through the plastic.

Soon afterwards it became increasingly quiet and children nestled in their blankets. Many dropped off to sleep. I stood there for a long time, savoring the sight I had just witnessed. The pictures taken of the experience only caught a miniscule fraction of the wonder.

If we had had our way in not allowing the glow sticks, wonder would not have erupted in that place leaving a trail of enraptured witnesses. Color would not have come alive.

Overripe

Yesterday I was going to throw some overripe bananas out. My wife told me to stop, that she was going to make banana bread. I was grateful that they could be used.

When we were in Mexico banana bread was brought as a treat for the Mexican leadership. They were gobbled it down, until someone showed them some of the overripe bananas they had to make the next batch. As soon as the Mexicans saw the bananas, they spit out their mouthfuls of banana bread and tried to trick some unsuspecting Mexicans who didn't know what it was made of to try it. If someone "bit", so to speak, the others would point out with glee the overripe bananas, and they in turn would spit it out.

Several days later, I was invited to eat "barbacoa", which is a meat made out of beef cheek and tongue. They ate it with relish. when I described it to some on the team, there were a few who looked a little disgusted.

It is all what we have been sensitized by our culture to  comprehend what we should put in our mouth and what we shouldn't.

Self portrait

On the last day of camp in Mexico we had to draw a likeness of ourself and place it on a large board that held other children's likeness as well.

I think the one I did looks a lot like me. What do you think?

Mattress competition

I was on the stage of the convention center talking to someone. I heard the sound of cheering and looked up to the area we were sleeping in and saw people running, jumping on the floor and standing up further down the way.

In investigating the phenomenon it turned out that someone had donated their mattress to the cause and they were seeing who could slide the furthest. Of course they had markers (flip-flops) for the farthest male slide and female slide. Even some of the older adults and Mexican leaders got in the action. There were some super-competitors who would not let the activity go, until they had traveled the farthest.

One example in many where we think a crazy thought, perform it and then use it as a measuring tool for determining rank and status among our peers.

Unthinkingly like Jesus

Wednesday night at dinner I took my plate back for seconds, unaware that the cooks had just enough food to go around once. As I showed up at the cooking area, Jovita, one of the ladies who have served us, in Mexico, through the ministry of cooking, looked up, saw me coming, and deftly flicked the beans from her plate back into the pot that had cooked the beans. I attempted to say that I didn’t need a second helping, but seeing as how English doesn’t go so far when the other only speaks Spanish, she smiled at me and spooned that last of the beans onto my plate.

I was moved by her testimony of selflessness without even thinking about it. It was embedded into the nature of her service.

God whispers His nature to us through others and if you don’t pay attention, you could miss hearing his voice altogether.

The little things

One of the adventures of Mexico is eating the food and drinking the water. On different days various members of our team would be out of commission with gastro-intestinal issues. The bathrooms which may have been a little disgusting now was the only room one wanted to be in.

It is amazing to me that things that you can't even see can hurt you so badly. As the team members went down, others were analyzing the possible causes.  It was never really known, but one theory was that in pouring ice into the drinking coolers, some of the condensation from the outside of the ice bag poured in as well, contaminating the rest of the water. At other times the outside of the bag was so dirty they sprayed it off from the water hose, and that could have leaked into the water.

Overall, there were many ways the critters could be ingested. It just is, once you had it, even though you couldn't see it, you knew it. 

And you had strong motivation to purge yourself of it.

Jesus the super-hero

In our country Jesus is looked at by many as a personal assistant. He may be considered a personal savior, a personal get out of jail free card, a personal financial advisor and personal health care advisor. 

In Valle Hermosa Jesus appeared to be a super-hero tough enough to kick the devil's butt. In the expression of the people we were with in Mexico, Jesus protected them from bullies. We watched through mime how the devil was creeping around to destroy people. When the Jesus figure showed up, he would push the devil away from the person he was delivering. If it got physical, the Jesus actor would get physical back and push the devil around When the devil got pushed around, the audience would cheer and applaud, almost like Jesus had made a move in the WWF.

I think what we see in Jesus is what we think we need help with.

Love is in the coloring

At the camp in Mexico one of the activities we did with the children was snacks. On the second day there was a girl in attendance named "Jama". She had been interacting with the other children just fine. As soon as snack was over, plates were collected and coloring pages an crayons were distributed to the snack tables. 

The children all grabbed for the bowls with the crayons and started working on their sheet. "Jama" attempted to take some color crayons as well but the bowl was pulled away from her. She sat back in her seat and refused to take any crayons. Her eyes became incredibly sad and you could see her spirit leaking out of her, leaving her body deflated.

I tried to get her to take some crayons. She refused. She didn't look angry or spiteful. She looked sad and wounded. It looked like things being pulled away from her was a common occurrence and it was easier for her not to want.

I sat down next to her and started coloring her picture. It took her a minute before she picked up a crayon and started coloring another part of the picture. We completed the picture together. While she colored, you could see her spirit rise and her sadness evaporate. By the time the picture was completed, an energetic glow emanated from her. Later in the day, before she left the camp, she came running up to me and hugged my neck.

Sometimes love has to make the first move to affirm a hurting heart. Sometimes love picks up a crayon and starts to color the picture, until another feels encouraged enough to join in.

Truth in advertising

The last day of kids camp, we ran out of food halfway through feeding everyone in attendance. The churches provided sandwiches for the children who attended the camp, their parents, and the staff that had been working with the kids. There were a few of the staff people who hadn't eaten. We were told that the kitchen staff had gone out and purchased 60 hamburgers that would be arriving shortly. After many days of different food, that sounded appetizing. The bags arrived in medium brown bags with grease stains on the outside. I have to admit I was excited.

I asked for one and I got a hamburger wrapped in paper. I unwrapped it and looked at it. It had a large bun, with lettuce, mayonnaise, ... and a medium width slice of ham. I did a double take. No juices flowing down my chin, no ground beef to chomp into. Ham.  After my initial let down, it tasted fairly good. They were not kidding. It was a hamburger.

But I have to say I am worried. The night before, we went out for hot dogs.

Sounds the same in any language

Friday night in Mexico we attended a "youth rally" put on by a local church. They had a kickin' band that got the crowds moving. I looked around and noticed that "youth" was a relative word. There were a few youths there,but there were also a lot of older people. 

A quasi-"mime" troop get up and performed a drama where the Devil was trying to get a soul. When Jesus kicks the Devil's butt, the Devil ran out of the auditorium screaming, clipping my left side as he ran by. I have to say it was a little unnerving to almost being run over by the Devil.

A pastor got up and started preaching. He started slow, reasonable, but then he started to pick it up. He went softer and softer, and just when you were straining to hear him he started shouting and wagging his finger at the crowd.

I couldn't understand a word of what he was preaching as it was all in Spanish. But I have sat under preachers like him. The intent of his message crystal clear.

What puzzles me is the belief of these preachers, that the louder one shouts, the greater the impact for God. What I have found through that style of preaching is that it creates "emotions junkies", jonesing for another hit of Jesus passion. It creates an addictive pattern of needing to recreate the feeling one had at the service where the pastor was screaming. 

The cycle consists of an unsustainable Jesus high, followed by a drop in fervor over the next few days, moving to a failure to live up to the high standards set for following Jesus, which then leads to shame, guilt, and fear and a desperate need to get another fix from the screaming pastor. And the pastor seems more than willing to supply it. 

I guess it's nice to be needed.

One hot mike!

The women who were going to lead the singing and dancing at the opening part of the kids camp were waiting around for the sound system to get up and running. One of the men gave her the microphone and another switched the power on. The woman holding the microphone squealed and threw it to the floor. Another person attempted to pick it up. He dropped it as well. He looked around and found an extra shirt lying around and wrapped the mike in it.

She tenuously took the mike from the man's hand and went ahead with the program. At one point she held the mike too close to her lips, her head shot back with a squeal. She kept hold of the mike and the dance step, not missing a beat.

After it was over two men went to look at the system to figure out what was happening. One of the men laid his hands on a part of the sound board, uttered a cry and fell on his back, hands trembling in the air like a drunk with the DTs.

In examining the problem, what was revealed was that they had no grounding of the system. Anytime they attempted to use a component of the sound system they got shocked.

Adding a ground to the wiring solved the problem and we made it through the rest of the week without even one electrocution.

Getting back from Mexico

I'm back. It has been a week of not being able to access my normal communication tools. It is glorious and strange being back. Life was so different where we stayed.

We worked in Valle Hermosa, a town just south of the Texas border not far from Harlingen, Texas. Our job was to assist the local Mexican churches there as they put on a kids camp. The original estimate was 600 kids. We ended up with a little over two hundred which was far more manageable for our staff to handle.

Our group consisted of 17 people who represented Salem Covenant Church in New Brighton. Some in high school, some just out of high school and a few "older" adults.

The trip was amazing. The people there were poor by American standards, and didn't have the amenities we have back here in Minnesota. The area is covered with a fine Mexican dust, that turns to stubborn tightfisted mud in the rain showers. The water and some of the food can make you sick.

But the love, the joy, the graciousness of the Mexican community we served with was overwhelming. Their giving and loving made the hardships inconsequential. It was infectious like a holy disease. All you could do is submit to it, or walk away.

They are not perfect people. Far from it. But the love and the joy expressed covered a lot of imperfections.

I am back at work now. I feel caught between two worlds. There is a sense of a larger picture, an expanding group of friends, and love growing in more than one location. I learned a lot during this trip and the blogs to be forthcoming hopefully will reflect some of the things I learned from this trip.