Feels Like Home

Two years here. I feel more at home than I ever thought I would. I've been packing my things to got back to the states for the summer. It feels weird to leave, yet I should already be home. A volcanic eruption closed the airport last Thursday, which canceled my flight. And then on Saturday the 29th a tropical storm rolled through the country. As of right now over 100 people have died because of tropical storm Agatha.

Here in my city the streets have dried out now, but on Friday night and Saturday the streets had turned to rivers. I stayed indoors as the rain fell on Saturday, but Friday night I got to see some of the early flooding first hand. I have lived here for two years and have experienced harder rain, but nothing that consistent. As I walked home from the graduation party, I started remembering the first time I walked around the city by myself. I had gotten lost trying to find the soccer stadium. Everything seemed so foreign. But now I felt comfortable. Even though it was nearly 2 am and the streets were flooded, I felt at home. I knew which streets would be on higher ground and so I zig zagged my way home keeping as dry as a tropical storm will let you. I felt relatively safe, if anyone wanted to rob me in that rain, man they could have my stuff. I made it home safely, but drenched to the bone. Two years ago I wouldn't have ever done that.

Now Xela feels like home, and so when I read about all the people who have really suffered because of these storms, I hurt. A mudslide killed four somewhere in my city. The road that leads to my school was nearly underwater. The street I lived on last year flooded. These are places I know. These are people I know. Yet, my weekend was spent packing to go home. To Colorado. I was supposed to fly out on the 31st, but Pacaya erupted and changed everything. Having a few extra days in country has been difficult. Yet, I have realized I have made some real connections here; my students and a few friends outside of school. And that makes me excited for my return trip in August.

Please keep Guatemala in your prayers.

Doctor's Orders

I've spent my entire life in the doctor's waiting room. My mom used to think I should be a doctor, because I was constantly in and out of the doctor's office. But then again every mom wants her son to be a doctor. Thing is, I hated being in the doctors office. The magazines are always out of date.

Unfortunately, life here in Guatemala is hard on the body. Over the last two years I've had parasites, fungi (they aren't fun), amoebas, intestinal infections (dropped 10 pounds in a week), bronchitis, strep (this may have been a misdiagnosis), and a bladder infection which may've been caused by kidney stones. The latter was the hardest to diagnose. Or maybe it should have been the easiest, but the problem with going to doctors down here is that my Spanish isn't that good yet and most don't speak English. Do to all of my random illnesses, I have been forced to read out of date Spanish magazines. And with all of these visits to the doctor I have learned a lot, maybe even earned my medical license in professional patientry. My mom's dream of me becoming a doctor might've died on the emergency table, but I've gained a wealth of information I'm willing to share. So drop your copies of Better Homes and Gardens dated from June of 2001 and enter my office of knowledge and read my top ten things I have learned while going to the doctor.

10. If you didn't understand what the doctor just said in English you probably wont understand what he is about to say in Spanish, so don't respond with a yes to any of his questions. If you do, you might end up with a shot in the butt that you didn't need.


9. When you have an appointment scheduled for 8am on a Saturday morning, don't show up until 9am. Because, just like any social function in Guatemala, where no one is expected to show up until an hour after they tell you to, the doctors wont even show up on time. (For exceptions to this rule see #3)

8. Now, you've wised up and decided to bring a translator to your next appointment. No more shots in the rear, right? So, If your doctor tells your translator that you have a strep infection in your bladder (can that even happen?) and ignores the questions about kidney stones, you've been warned. But then after your appointment if he is talking to your boss and changes his apparent diagnosis to over working out, it's time to change doctors.

7. Always bring a translator, always. Or when making your payment to the doctor, always request the proper receipt. This also applies when you buy your medicine at the pharmacy. Guatemalan Insurance companies can be difficult.

6. I've always thought doctors are supposed to be experts on physical health, but Guatemalan doctors don't seem to be much into physical fitness. They believe that working out and staying in shape will harm your immune system and result in random illnesses. I wonder what med school they learned that in.

5. Always say a prayer when you have a bladder infection and are having an ultrasound on your bladder and have been asked to drink a lot of water right before the test and you feel something warm leaking down your leg.

4. If asked to do a 24 hour urine sample, don't drink a ton of water the day before or you might need another gallon jug.

3. The exception to rule number 9. If the doctor's lab says they close at 5 pm, then they close at 5 pm. In Guatemala if they show up late it's okay but if you show up late you just need to come back the next day.

2. If you know a doctor speaks English, go to her for a check up. She probably wont misdiagnose you like the doctor who only pretended to understand English. And if you're lucky She might also try to set you up with a doctor friend of theirs that wants to practice English!

1. Don't pull your pants down until the doctor tells you to. Spare yourself from the awkward situation of having your pants around your legs and the doctor not needing to check anything down there for another five minutes.

Don't Worry Be Happy It's Spring Break!!

"A day at a time is long enough to sustain one's faith; the next day will have its own cares." Life Together by Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

I love traveling to new places, seeing new countries, which is part of the reason why I am teaching here in Guatemala. A long trip can cause a little stress. Over Semana Santa (Easter) this year I made it all the way to Honduras. It took over 16 hours to make it there and I was a little nervous about how the week would shape up. I had doubts about going because I didn't want to be the only one not scuba diving.

Due to a random canon ball dive accident, which ruptured both of my eardrums, I can't scuba dive. The ear, nose, and throat Dr. was shocked when I told him how I'd jumped off of a four foot ledge, straight into a pool, and ruptured both of my eardrums. After a year long healing process, which involved transplants of cigarette paper and the fat from my ear lobes, I was able to dip my head under water, but the Dr. ordered that I never scuba dive. So, with all of my friends scuba diving, I was worried I would be bored with nothing to do.

Yet, when I arrived on the island of Utila, all of my worries melted away. It was so hot any desire to move around evaporated on sight. I knew that all I could do was relax. I'm positive that it's impossible to feel stress on an island. Island life seems to be the the embodiment of life the way Bonhoeffer believes we should life. One day at a time and no reason to stress. And yet I had reason to stress.

First, the place we'd contacted for housing had double booked and the rooms were slightly better than an outhouse. The girls raced off to find another place to stay. For some reason I knew we would be ok. Jon, my roommate, said he would watch the luggage if I wanted to go help find a room.

During my search, I met an incredible woman named Minnie. She owned one of the hotels I checked out. From the onset I could tell her faith was strong. I asked her about her rooms and she said, "I don't make any money here. I just give everything away." She explained that she lived day to day, trusting God would take care of her. As I sat and talked with her for about fifteen minutes, I realized I needed to try and live my life day by day. Unfortunately, her hotel was full and my search came up empty, but I knew that everything would be alright.

As I walked back to where Jon had been watching my luggage, I didn't expect him to be gone, but he was. Apparently, while I was gone the girls had returned. Having found a room they left with Jon and the luggage. Unfortunately, they left no note to tell me where they'd gone. Now I was lost on an island without any way to contact my friends. I knew I should feel at least a little stressed out, but I found that an impossible feeling on the island of Utila. So, I wandered down the main street, knowing everything would be alright. Ten minutes later I was with the rest of my group. Lorin, one of the girls, stepped out of a tienda with a Dr. Pepper in her hand, which she gave to me, and told me they'd found a great room for us to stay in for the week. The fact that everything worked out so well made me wonder why people worry so much. Stress shouldn't just vacate on vacations. Minnie didn't just live day to day trusting in God because she was on vacation, no her life was on that island.

The rest of the week was amazing. I went snorkeling, which I'll talk about in another blog, and God showed me time and time again that I didn't have any reason to worry. I took my vacation day by day and I hope that I can make that happen back here on the main land. I am glad I decided to travel all the way to Utila. I just wish I hadn't worried so much about the trip, but hey, let worry, worry for itself.

Bank Error In Your Favor Collect $200!

What would you do if your bank gave you $200 by mistake? What an extraordinary gift to receive. I've been listening to a sermon series from Lifechurch.tv on blessings. The pastor is talking about all that God has bestowed to us and how we need to offer something back in return.

I went to the bank one recent Monday to cash a check for 170 Q, which is about 20 dollars. I was thinking about the bank giving me my money. I mean Jesus said it's better give than to receive. But I've always wondered about the person on the receiving end. I mean by receiving the gift he is in turn blessing the gift giver. This makes me think receiving is equally as good, or something like that.

Guatemalan banks give and receive money every day, but I doubt they are blessed because they're rather corrupt. A little corruption took place earlier that same Monday when I walked into the bank to cash the check. There was a huge line at the door, similar to the lines that trailed outside of movie theaters when the original Star Wars movies were rereleased. This line was galactic and growing. I slid into line like a bum waiting for free food. I was hungry and wanted to be out quickly. The guard at the door must have known this because he came up to me and asked me what I was doing. I explained to him (in Spanish) that I needed to cash a check. He told me to move over to a much shorter line. I had a feeling he was wrong, but what do I know. I'm only a gringo. Hesitantly I moved over to the other much shorter line. As soon as I reached the bank employee, she made it clear that I was in the wrong place and needed to hop back in the other line, which'd doubled in size. Ok, maybe that's not really too corrupt, but I stormed out anyway.

I walked up to another bank, which is pleasantly never busy, and close to my gym. It was almost five p.m. when I arrived inside the bank and all of the cashiers were starting to close up. There were a few people in front of me, but no galactic line, so I waited patiently. Shortly a cashier called me over and I handed her my check and my passport and we shared a few moments of awkward silence. I never really know what to say when I'm cashing a check. Yep, that's my signature. Oh, yeah my passport picture is horrible. Yes, I would like to take you out for coffee (only if they're cute and a girl). But typically I let the silence consume the room like a heavy fog.

"1 mil y setenta cientos?" she asked.

Confused I nodded and said, "si." She proceeded to count out the money. Why was she counting out so many 100's? How much was my check really for? Well, she probably knows what she's doing anyway. So I just said, "Gracisas," and headed out for the gym.

But the money felt heavy in my pocket. Had I done something wrong? The cashier was the one that counted the money and she knew her job better than I do, but maybe she'd read the check wrong. I kept walking. Had she really said Q 17,000 (about $200 more than I'd expected)? In the game monopoly you get 200 dollars if you draw the card that says bank error in your favor, maybe I'd drawn that card in real life. I tried to walk as casually as possible, but I felt like there was a huge sign on me that read "Money!!! Take my Money!!" My pace quickened and I could have sworn a police truck was following me. Finally I dashed into the gym, rushed up to the locker room, and counted the money. Yep, she'd given me way too much. I knew there wasn't anyway the check I'd cashed had been for that much.

So, what do you do when the bank gives you too much money? By the time I had counted the money in the locker room the bank had already closed. I could give some of the money away, pay off some small loans, buy my self some cool new toys.

But, what would that say about me? I'm reading a book that talks about how writers create true characters and he says that characters are defined by the choices they make and true character is revealed by the choices a character makes under pressure. I felt a lot of pressure to keep the money.

Or I could give the money back in the morning. I mean the bank would probably take the money out of the cashier's paycheck and she probably only makes 1,700 Q in a month. I can't take someone's salary. I don't want that to be a chapter in my story.

It's funny all of the excuses you can come up with when you don't want to do the right thing. Some of them even sound right. Like giving some of the money to a beggar on the street. Yet, in the end I knew I had to give it all back. God wants us to give him 10% of what he has given to us not out of what we have taken from others. The sermon I listened to challenged me to give what I have. I gave the money back the next day and it made the cashier very happy. I guess by returning that money, I was making her life a little better. I'm glad I did the right thing. I want that to be my story.

Spanish Slip Ups!

Just the other day Isa, one of the 8th graders, exploded with laughter. It was my fault. I seem to be very good at making my students laugh. Not because I'm a great stand up comedian. No, that would probably mean my classes were entertaining.

Most of the time my students laugh at me for things I don't understand. Like one time I was at a birthday party. A group of 8th grade boys, they're in 9th now and much more mature now, were asking me questions in Spanish. They couldn't control their laughter. Apparently I was saying yes to a bunch of ridiculously inappropriate questions. They still haven't told me what they were talking about and now I know not to say yes to things I don't understand.

My Spanish has improved greatly from that night when I may or may not have said yes to liking certain really gross things like cats or butterflies (I am just guessing here). Yet, I still have slip ups.

I was in my Spanish class a couple of weeks ago and Letty, my teacher, asked me, "Do you have a girlfriend here in Guatemala?"

I chuckled and answered with a sad, "No."

"Are you looking for one?" She responded quickly.

"I have friends who were helping me," I said stifling a laugh.

"Who?"

"The secretary at my school said she would look for me." Or at least that is what I meant to say, remember all of this is in spanish, the only part I was sure of was when I'd responded with a sad no. What I actually said was, "Yasi is good looking for me." Letty started to chortle and at first I didn't really know why. Then I realized what I had said and a hard long laugh erupted from deep in my gut. After I regained my breath I explained to Letty that my secretary was just my friend and that I wasn't interested in her because she's married and has a child. Now every time I go to my Spanish classes, Letty gives me a hard time. At least Letty didn't hear my next slip up.

So, why did Isa laugh? Well, it was lunch time and I was on duty down in the middle school building. I was making my rounds through the building. Checking on the students, just the usual. Isa was sitting by the microwaves with her friend Danitza. These girls love it when I make a mistake with my Spanish and so sometimes they try to bait me. But I was being careful. It didn't matter. I set the trap for myself.

Isa had a Pizza Hutt box and so I asked, "Are you having Pizza?" Earlier this question worked to get me a slice of Pizza from one of the 6th graders, but this time I received a "I'm too cool for this," response, which I guess is the difference between a 6th grade boy and an 8th grade girl. But then I looked at the box and realized my error. She wasn't eating Pizza, she was eating a Calzone!

I love those. So I said, "Nice Calzone. How is it?" Isa and Danitza looked at me and then their laughter started to build like a giant title wave.

"What did you say, mister?" Isa replied.

"Calzone," I stated cautiously, what had I done wrong? They started to laugh harder and wouldn't tell me what I had just done. All I could do was stand there confused, but then Isa tossed me the second half of her calzone. She must have been feeling sorry for me, but not sorry enough to let me in on what I'd just said.

Fortunately Yasi, my secretary who I am not interested in, was able to help me out. After stifling a laugh she explained to me the error of my ways. In Spanish Calzone pronounced Kal-zown means women's underwear. I'd just asked my 8th grader if she was eating girl's panties.

Twenty-Sixth Birthday!

On the day I turned twenty-six, just hours before my small celebration, I nearly died. This marks the second time I nearly died on my birthday. The other being the day I was born. I was premature and almost didn't make it past the delivery room. I am very fortunate that the doctors knew what they were doing and were able to save my life. But on my twenty-sixth birthday, if not for one of the millions of speed bumps here in Guatemala my fortune might have changed. Speed bumps, or as they are called here tumilos, are actually illegal in Guatemala. But that doesn't stop people from erecting them in front of their houses. Most small towns along the Pan American Highway have at least one tumilo for ever person living in the town (not kidding). Typically I curse these stupid speed bumps. But now I owe one my life.

It so happens that the tiny one way street I walk down every day on my way home from the gym only has two speed bumps, well one full one and one that's been chiseled away by annoyed motorists. I've walked this street manny times, it's almost second nature. So, on my birthday I was thinking more about being twenty-six and what that meant for my life than my walk home. It's funny what a birthday can make you think about. Thoughts of future relationships and the desire to start a family drifted through my brain. A glimpse of my life as a writer floated in front of my eyes. Right now I am teaching in Guatemala, but at twenty-six is that where I want to be for another year? Can I find what I am looking for down here? Do I want to go back to school and could I do that while I'm living here? Just teaching was okay for twenty-five, but the passing of another year sure makes me wonder. So, I was deep in thought and rocking out to Snow Patrol when I decided to cross the street.

The traffic for the one-way street is supposed to come up the street towards the gym, the opposite direction I was walking, so I could watch the on coming traffic. As I was about to cross the street, a car turned up the street so I adjusted my pace accordingly and stepped off the sidewalk to cross before the car sped past me. Unfortunately here in Guatemala one way streets are really just a suggestion. Like flossing or changing your oil, no one really does it. I should have known that a car would be coming the wrong way on the one-way street. But I was to busy enjoying my birthday. So, I stepped out on the street and, Wham! Whack! However you describe being rammed into by a car and flung into the air. I landed on my feet a couple of yards away from the car. Instantly I started pointing with my index finger at the car, trying to help him realize that he was going the wrong way. Then like a spike being hammered into the train tracks I realized I'd just been blindsided by a car, on my birthday. Is this what I want out of my life? As I stood shaken next to the curb the car zoomed off and I was left to walk home with a sore knee, hip, and elbow.

Why didn't the accident do more damage to me? Was my health my birthday present from God? The car had just crossed over the speed bump and started to speed back up when it nailed me. These speed bumps might not be legal, but I am sure thankful for the one that helped save my life. The rest of my birthday was great. And I am very thankful for all of the Birthday wishes I received. Here's to turning twenty-six and having a shot at turning twenty-seven!

Almost a Pre-K Teacher

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to teach preschool age kids? How about four-year-olds who's first language is Spanish? Oh, these kids understand a little English now, but sometimes I feel like they just don't want to pay attention.

Two weeks ago I was asked to fill in for the regular pre-k teacher and teach for a full morning. My first reaction was to throw a temper tantrum. With my semester's experience of teaching these kids, I know how to throw a good one. But I decided to handle it like a man and see what I could learn.

Big surprise, all of the kids, not just the ones that who excel (a word used loosely here) in English, knew their classes' daily routine. Routines are saviors for little kids. Early in my PE class I installed a routine. The pre-kers follow me out to the court. We walk on the wooden sandbox to work on balance, then hop around a set of stones that lead to the court, and finally we race to the center of the basketball court. At least that is the plan. If you can imagine the next part of the routine is even more chaotic. I try to lead them in stretches but they run around. Typically one of the little guys asks me if he can take off his jacket. This causes a chain reaction that ends in all the kids running-amuck, jacketless. On good days we follow our stretches with a bunch of different fun movements, like crawling like a bear, walking like a crab, and skipping. Then we try to play a game. My routine doesn't always work that well, but I had hope their class routine would lead to an easy morning for me.

But, back to my adventure subbing their class. According to the child in charge of moving the Weather Clip it was a sunny day. As soon as he picked up the card with a radiantly smiling sun on it, the entire class shouted "SUNNY!" I think they were supposed to wait for me to ask what type of weather we were having. We didn't make it that far, but we almost did. The rest of the day was filled with more almosts. We made it to chapel but I almost lost a kid. He decided to go to the bathroom for ten minutes. We made it to art and I almost didn't pick them back up. Just kidding. They ate all their food during snack time and almost listened to me while I read them a story. Recess was fun, they almost emptied the sandbox. And finally during free time the boys almost destroyed the classroom. All of these almosts caused us to be late for their parents to pick them up. Yet, without their routines I think I would've almost died.

Teaching similingual kids can be fun because they kind of say really cute things. They have huge imaginations and they smile a lot. But I was exhausted by the end of the day. My friends kept asking if I was sick. It's hard when you teach a class of kids who are all off in their own worlds most of the time. But, hey, they're just little kids and I don't think they should have to grow up too fast. I just hope I don't have to sub for them again. That was a lot of work.

Merry Christmas!!

This was Addi's first Christmas and she decided to sit on my lap for most of it. I couldn't

have asked for anything more precious for Christmas. I hope everyone had a great Christmas

and has a great start to the new year. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!

A Tikal Thanksgiving

Bruce Cockburn, one of my favorite musicians, wrote a song about Night Trains, which was probably inspired by a trip he took. I wanted to quote the song, but it has nothing to do with Mayans or Thanksgiving, but I digress.

Anyway, I took trip on a Night Bus to Tikal, a Mayan ruin, for Thanksgiving. I have no plans of writing a song about it, but I do have to say one thing, one of the passengers sitting in front of me had an old boom-box cd player and was blasting, if blasting is the correct word, old 80's soft rock. After that I had the song " Eclipse of the Heart" stuck in my head for most of the day.

Strangely the horrible Bonnie Tyler song and not Bruce Cockburn's song fit my trip, because the Mayan's were known to follow the lunar calendar. Whenever there was an eclipse, they ripped the hearts out of their enemies in sacrifice to their gods. In fact, most of the gigantic temples in Tikal were built in correlation with the sun or moon.

As I walked around the ancient buildings, I kept wondering what it would be like to walk around New York a thousand years after it had been deserted. I saw in the 2009 September issue of National Geographic what New York looked like when Henry Hudson discovered it 4oo years ago. Check this issue out, because the urban takeover on the island of Manhattan is very similar to the jungle takeover in Tikal, except in the opposite direction.

Manhattan, once a forest, now is a gigantic city and Tikal, once a sprawling Mayan metropolis, now is a gigantic jungle. During Tikal's peak, it was the epicenter for much of the Mayan world. Now it's a national park in the middle of the jungle. So, as you look at the pictures below try to envision Tikal as it once was, a thriving city. The temples were dyed red to symbolize life. The grounds were stone. It was immaculate. It was alive.

Yet, for the city to continue to live the Mayan's believed that someone had to die. It was their circle of life. Blood was sacred, life giving, and so at one time blood spilled down the temples, as the priests ripped out the hearts of their unfortunate human sacrifices. Mayans believed that when blood was spilled in sacrifice to the gods life was renewed. Mysteriously something, maybe famine, war, or overpopulation, ripped the heart out of the Mayan culture leaving it dead. But because of the death of the Mayan culture, many Guatemalan's make a living off of the national park. The Mayans understood the connection between life and death. Unfortunately they didn't know about Christ, the man who broke the cycle and quenched the need for sacrifices. Yet, for me, walking around their sacrificial monuments pointed me to Christ, because they reminded me of the world's need for a savior.

5 steps to running the Xela Half Marathon

Step one: start off slow. Independencia, the main street in and out of Xela, was packed with runners bobbing up and down. Everyone trying to warm up their legs. Knowing that any last minute help would probably speed them onto the finish line. Up at the front of the line were the Kenyans, invited so they could win the race, and who could win the race with their legs tied. Fast is in their blood. The Kenyans were already starting their fourth kelimoter when I crossed my first. I was told by a very wise man to let everyone pass you because it's a long race. So, I started off slow.

Step two: find a running partner. A couple of my coworkers were runnig the race as well. Unfortunately for them they had not trained, so I kew they would not be good partners. They also started off very fast. The first leg of the race seemed flat, so almost everyone raced ahead. By the 7th kilometer I had caught and passed most of the people who'd raced ahead and I had a guy following my pace. I don't think it's possible to run 13 miles with out a partner. Your partner really helps push you on. Several of my patners fell behind, especialy on the bigger hills. But in some way or another I always had somoene running with me, helping me push on. My favorite partners were my students Danielle, Julio, and Melvin. Danielle and Julio were in the crowd and decided to run with me for a litte while and Melvin finished the race with me. When Danielle and Julio joined me, I was at a point where I wanted to slow down, but they reminded me that I am a PE teacher and so I must be faster. It was great.

Step three: remember your training. I spent over two months training for the race, not including last year's training. I had a couple of hickups. My shoes were stolen and I was sick a time or two, but overall my training went smoothly. And so when I was running up the big hills, not fast mind you, I knew I had run up bigger hills. And step by step I drew closer to the finish line. My training gave me the confidence to run fast when I was going down hill and the knowledge to conserve my energy by runnnig slower on the up hills. The best part was knowing I had run most of the harder sections during my training, so I knew I could do it. There's nothing like facing a challenge and knowing you have the skills to beat it. I don't think I could have finished without having trained for the race.

Step four: finish strong. Well, I tried this and it kind of backfired. I sprinted the last kilometer. I'm sure I looked good and strong while I was running, but I threw up afterwords. But as I was rounding the final bend I figured why not run as fast as I could, I mean I wouldn't be running again for a couple of weeks. Again without any training I couldn't have done this, but sometimes migraines just happen. Even though I was sick for four days after the race, I am glad I finished strong. I would rather give something my all and get hurt or sick than try something half heartedly. I finished the race and now I know that if I put my mind to something I can achieve my goal.

Step five: rest and repeat. I plan on running the Coban half marathon in May and so I'll probably follow all four of the steps I've mentioned above. I hope when I run in Coban I don't have to deal with a few of the things I have dealt with for the last two half marathons I've trained for. Hopefully swine flu doesn't rear it's ugly head and cancel the race again and most of all I hope no one steals my running shoes again. I would like a smooth training experience and a smooth race. But I guess I just need to remember that like life, running isn't always easy and the hard times will just make me stronger.

Friendships

Xela seems to be a smelting fire for life and friendships. During the year I've been in Xela, God has been forging me into the man he first designed, minus my imperfections, by helping me make new friendships and strengthening old ones. Yet, I know God isn't done casting me into the mold he has designed for me. I've been learning with friendships, even the deep ones, where you care about the person immensely, it is still hard and risky. I believe that a true friendship can and will outlast the hard times.

I've got a cool example. Over the last year God healed a friendship that had fallen off the deep end while I was in college. Redeeming the friendship took work on both our parts. Metal can't be forged into the artist's desired shape without the artist spending time heating the metal, pouring the metal, and letting the metal cool. Friendships also require a process of time, effort, and patience. Through that process the friendship was reformed and in turn I was changed. Now I feel like God is forging me anew by the use of friendships and the work they take.

Work. A word that needs underlining when it comes to friendship. Every morning at work I focus on my job just like the artist or metalworker focuses on the metal. Now I can put in a ton of effort to make sure my students enjoy PE or creative writing, but if they don't match my effort the class struggles. Like when I tried to teach Volleyball to the elementary kids. They didn't want to play because the ball hurt their hands. They didn't cooperate at all, which made their thirty minutes of PE a bore. Friendships are the same. If both people in the friendship don't put forth the same effort, the friendship will be strained. Friendships require a give and take. If you don't give a little to your friend and don't receive in return, it's not a friendship.

I'm not the only one that thinks this. I asked a few of my students what they thought it meant to be a friend and here is what a few of them said:

"To me it means a relationship with a person that doesn't involve love (eros). You trust them deeply, talk about anything, and you have many things in common that you practically talk about anything."

"Friendship means to me loyalty and being nice friends. Hanging out. Having to go to places. But the most important part is caring for each other. Friends should be there for each other in good situations and bad situations."

"Friends care for you and they help you. We have fun together, sometimes we bother each other. Friends are one of the best things you have in the world."

"Friendship means to be there when a friend needs help or comfort."

"Friends like you for who you are."

"Always be there fore each other."

"Friendship means to always be there for each other to talk about stupid things."

"They are something very special to me because without friends we would be lonely. Friends are like your treasure box because you'll find things that you have in common or difference, you could also tell them secrets and they'll never say anything. Friends are cool, and they are always there for you whenever you need them or whenever you don't."

My students seem to know that friendships take being there for each other. I believe that when you care about someone and they care about you, you will meet each other half way. The only problem is this hardly happens with human friendships. As a friend, I can be selfish and when times get hard, even I can back out on the people I call friends. We humans don't try to meet each other half way. If friends are truly our treasures, then often we are fools gold. We guard our selves so we don't get hurt.

That is why the only true friend is Christ. He knew we couldn't meet him half way and so he went the entire way. He loved us despite our shortcomings. That's a true friendship. But, I believe what God is forging in me is the desire to be Christ-like with my friends. Even if a friend doesn't meet me half way, I feel like he is calling me to take that extra step. This is difficult, but if Christ could go to the cross after all the junk we humans did to him, then maybe I can make this one small step. Love with a Christ-like love.

Quinceañera

"I've gotta feeling that tonight's gonna be a good night, that tonight's gonna be a good night, that tonight's gonna be a good, good night."

No I'm not a fan of the Black Eyed Peas, but tonight's gonna be a good, good night. At least I hope. Tonight I'm going to a Quince, short for Quinceañera, which is Spanish for a girls coming of age party at 15. Oh to be a 15 year old girl again, um just kidding. I don't think I had a party when I turned 15, which might be because I'm a guy. For my 15th I went fly fishing with my dad in Oklahoma. The best part of the trip was tying minuscule flies with my dad, complaining about my icicle fingers, and still loving it. My best friend Philip came along and we used the tent stake bag for a hat. Philip and I spent more time throwing rocks than line, which might be why we didn't have fish to eat that night. That was a special birthday for me and yet it doesn't compare to the Quincaeñera.

While I've been to plenty regular birthday parties, and become rather famous for my dance moves, I do a wicked sprinkler that I morph into an up and down jabbing fist pump, It's wild; I've never been to a Quince. But the kids told me to expect a good meal and then to bust a move or two on the dance floor. I can't leave these parties without a little dancing. The kids request my moves, it's sad but true. The party will be held at Bonifaz, which I have been in once and is a beautiful hotel located near downtown Xela, and will probably last all night or until 4 in the morning to be exact. I think the Latin culture may know how to celebrate life.

For the party Bonifaz, a beautiful white hotel in central park across from my apartment, was

decorated immaculately. Purple balloons hung from the ceiling like big grapes and each table was decorated with candy and flowers. A great mass of people filled the hall, 300 of which were invited and the rest were colados, Guatemalan slang for party crashers. The party started at 7:00, but according to local custom you don't show up until an hour later. So like any good ethnographer I didn't roll into the party until 8:00, which was hard because I'm punctual. But as it turned out 8:00 was right on time. As I took my seat in the crowded banquet hall, Ale, the 15-year-old host of the party, hand in hand with her dad, danced out onto the dance floor. The dance was beautiful and I'm sure she will remember it for the rest of her life.

I could have celebrated my 15th birthday MTV style, but that's typically for girls and no real people celebrate like that. The show Sweet Sixteen is just ridiculous and I'm glad I went fishing. No real people celebrate a birthday that way. Or do they? The Quince comes close. But I think the only true comparison to a Quince in the states is a wedding reception. Now at 15 I wasn't getting married, so there wasn't anyway I was going to have a huge dance party. Heck, at that age I could barely move my feet to the beat; not much has changed.

Now, when I turned 18 I flew to Tulsa to hang out with friends. This was a great way to celebrate becoming an adult, but still not as big as the Quince. Maybe guys just don't place much importance on their birthdays. Maybe it's a gender thing because girls, even in the states, do love to be treated like princesses for a day. But as I look back at my sisters' celebrations, and their friend's celebrations, they didn't celebrate the Latin way. Turning 15 might not mean that much in the states. Really only turning 16 because you can drive, 18 because you can vote, and 21 because you can drink mean anything in the states. Yet, these don't compare to turning 15 down here where it means womanhood. I remember watching a movie in my Spanish class about a Hispanic girl turning 15 and working so hard so she could have a party. It meant everything to her. While, my students aren't in the same economic condition as the heroin in the movie the party still means a lot to them. They practice for days for their dance. They skip school to go dress shopping. And then they invite hundreds of people to come party in their honor. Even weddings are different than this. Weddings are the celebration of two people becoming one, but I think Quinces are just celebrations of life. So, I hope you all are invited to a Quince someday and can celebrate life the way it should be celebrated.

Indepencia y Rio Dulce

Independence in Guatemala is a couple week long celebration. Last year I blogged about my trip to the fair and the grito that was celebrated Independence eve. This year I made it back to the fair twice, but instead of staying in Xela for Independence weekend I treked all the way to Rio Dulce, which is located close to the Caribbean. Both the fair and Rio Dulce were amazing and I figured I would share a few of my pictures with you all. I hope you enjoy. The first video I'm posting is of a ride that I tried to describe in last year's blog. It's nothing but insanity. I didn't ride it this year. After a week of stalling on the blog so I could make the video work,sadly it will not post. I will continue to work on the videos so you all will need to keep checking this blog. Trust me this ride is sick. So you know what you are missing from the video just picture a spinning wheel of death, no seat belts, and violent tremors. Okay, now for the pictures. The above is a shot of the Ferris Wheel of death that Guatemalan's love to ride while they're at the fair. It's powered by an old tractor and a foot pedal. Okay, you get the picture, now here are some my photo's from Rio Dulce and the Fair. It was a great time and I hope you enjoy the photos.

Darwin and the Evolution of Brendan

Do you know why Charles Darwin boarded the HSM Beagle on December 27th, 1831 and what really happened to him as he sailed the world for five years? You may be surprised that the answer to that question won't be found in history books or even personal journals. To know the truth you have to study the heart of a man. This is what I think motivated Darwin.

First, Darwin's older brother exploded into the public's eye a couple years earlier when he introduced a new method for tossing chamber pots out of windows. This drove Darwin to step out from under his brother's shadow and window. Second, he'd grown tired of his mom picking out his underwear for him, but moving out of his parents' house would have solved that. No, I think he sailed away from England for five years because of a girl. Just like most broken-hearted men, he figured an adventure would cure his ills. Little did Darwin know that the hussy who dumped him like last night's chamber pot was a tramp and not worth his time, but I guess if he'd figured that out before his trip he wouldn't have set sail and never grown as a man. Growth is inevitable when you see more of God's creation. God evolves the heart and the mind through time. So as Darwin sailed from island to island he was changed. He forgot about his broken heart, his brother, but not his mom. He'd actually missed having fresh undies.

But seriously, a little more than a year ago I flew down to Guatemala not knowing what I was doing with my life or that God was going to evolve my heart and mind. I was a blank canvas waiting for an artist to paint on me his masterpiece. Now my canvas resembles the beginning of a fine painting. So why am I still in Guatemala? My mom stopped picking out my undies years ago and when I left no girl had broken my heart, nor do I have a famous sibling who hogs the conversation at the dinner table. I'm here to serve God and to grow. Last year I grew quiet a bit, but I know God is not done yet.

So, what does serving God look like for me this year? Well, I've been attempting to reach out to my students in a more personal way, despite the fact they can be mean and loving all in one class period, by inviting them to do things outside of school. I hope that God uses these times to show them how much he loves them. By doing this I'm changing. Like the little fox in Saint Exupery's The Little Prince I'm becoming tame to my students. They aren't just faces in a crowd, they're individual kids that need the love of Christ.

No matter why Darwin set sail, his trip around the world changed him and my time down in Guatemala is changing me. I know that I'm more self-reliant. I cook for myself, which means I've been eating a lot of pbnj's or going to friend's houses' for dinner. I'm slowly learning Spanish. Although my conversations in Spanish are still short, I can tell my friends all about my time at the gym. Quite frankly, God has made me more confident. Before I left I was having trouble talking to people at all because I felt so lost. I'd graduated but didn't have a purpose. I'm not that man anymore. I have a purpose. I know more of what I want out of life. I want to share God's love with those around me and use my writing to communicate the truth of life. I'm no longer afraid to open up to people, which is a must when you want to see your students open up about what is going on in their lives. I've found that when you share a little about who you are they often are willing to share a little of who they are. And that's how both sides grow; evolve. Mostly they tell me about their love lives and yet I sit down most every night and pray for them. I plan on returning to the states eventually and like Darwin I'll know a little bit more about the world. I'll know that I'm a man seeking after God's heart with my eyes wide open. That's an evolution I hope happens to everyone.

Back in Action

My first two weeks back in the guate have been marathon-esque. Last year it took me a while to feel comfortable, but this year's different. I hit the ground running. Last Sunday I had a pot-luck at my apartment, after being back only 14 days. And on Saturday I took some of the new teachers on a hike up Laguna Chicabol, which is a lake in the crater of a volcano. The pot-luck and the hike were two great events that are helping build a strong community, which was one of my goals for my return. Without asking the new teachers, I'd have to say God has been answering my prayer.

My summer in Colorado was a blast, but I'm glad to be back. While I was in the states for the summer I attended a couple weddings and met my niece! She's almost seven months old now and has already won the Miss Universe title. Here are a few of her answers to the judge's questions, "'Out of all your family who do you love the most?' 'Brendan.' "If you could change the world what would you do?' 'I would live closer to my favorite uncle.'" The rest she answered with her adorable giggle. How could she not win?

I also enjoyed seeing all of my friends back in the States. I danced my heart out at all the weddings and even climbed a 14er. My time in the States seemed short, but it re-energized me for my return to Guatemala. I need that energy to teach because I am now chasing after little kids. Early childhood teachers should be sainted. But I know this is where God wants me to be, even if I am teaching something completely different than I was last year.

At first it felt a little weird to be back in Xela, because I was unsure of what I was going to do with four year olds in PE. It also felt weird to be back because even though I'd only been away two months, I'd managed to grow comfortable being in the States. Who doesn't like hot water all the time and toilets that flush paper to boot? But God uses those challenges to help me grow. I know God wants me here. He has strengthened my friendships from last year and he is helping me form new friendships with the new people on staff. I am excited to see how they fit in and I sure hope I can help them feel comfortable. I've been trying to use my apartment to help that desire. I'm loving living in a place on my own. I miss my host family, but being able to invite people over is worth it.

The pot-luck I hosted at my house was a blast and I hope to have more. Mostly so that I can continue to help make the new teachers feel at home, but also because when you have a pot-luck the leftovers are left over at your house. That's a nice perk for my roommate and me. God is moving down here! I just hope he can teach me how to teach pre-k PE. The kids are adorable but don't speak English and like to run all over the place. It's craziness.

What my students say!

Check teaching for a year in Guatemala off the proverbial list of things to do, 'cause I'm done for the summer!  I'm ready to tear through Guate con mi familia!  I've a lot in store for them and I hope they're ready!  As excited as I am for my family to be here and for the school year to be at the end, it's hard to say goodbye, even though I'm coming back.  I've learned a lot and I hope I've taught a lot.  I love my kids and I think they care a little bit about me.  The following is what they wrote in my yearbook.  I'm not showing you guys this so you think, "Oh Brendan thinks he's great because his kids say he's cool."  No, you're getting to read this because I think its funny.  I've left the grammar and spelling just as they wrote it (remember I taught English, History, and PE).  They call me all kinds of different things from Mr. Scott, to Scottie, to Mr. 1999, to Brendan, only outside of school.  Some of my students thought I was cool (I sure tricked them) and some didn't think much of me at all.  Over all, I really connected with a lot of the kids at IAS (my school).  I love that they care about my dating life or lack there of.  I really hope that God uses me in their lives.  I want to see them use correct grammar and better spelling, but that may take a miracle.  I guess I'll just accept seeing them grow in Christ.  So here are some of their quotes.  They made me laugh and each has its own story.  I hope you enjoy.

Mr. Scott,

you R really fun! I love your class!  I hope you change your mind about girls! [Me here. I told the the 8th grade girls that I thought girls were useless, but I was just kidding and they gave me a hard time about it for the rest of the year.]  I think that you have to start serching for your future wife because you have a long way to go! Jjajaja

-(8th grade girl)

Mr. Scott,

You're an awesome teacher bisdies your horrible laps.  Keep rocking.

-(8th grade boy)

Mr. Scott,

You are crazy but it's okay! [She wrote all of here exclamation points with hearts]

You are not cool but it's okay!

Hope to see you next year hope you become funner!  [One day during class she stopped me mid lecture and said, "I thought you said class was going to be fun."  Ouch!]  I love you as a teacher

-(7th grade girl)

Mr. Scott,

I aggree with [the 8th grade girl about me needing to change my mind about girls] HaHaHa!  Thanks Mr. for the adivce you gave to me!  I hope to see you next year.  Thanks for all!

-(8th grade boy)

Mr. SCOTT

you're classes are awesome and overall you are cool and have a cold summer in coloRado.  Mr. 1999, be a little less strict.

-(6th grade girl)

Mr. Scott

You r soo cool thanx 4 Every thing Cya next year!!!

-(7th grade girl)

Hey Mr. Scott!

Hope you have an awesome sumer! You are kind of cool! JK! [smily face] It was fun having you this year!  See you next year!

-(8th grade girl)

Mr. Scott

Thanks for the cool PE class that we had  See you next year

-(8th grade boy)

Mr. Scott

I hope you don't give a lot of exersize

-(5th grader who I will teach next year)

Scott,

You're cool!  I'm glad you like Coldplay as much as I do!  Have an awesome summer!  Don't get lost!

-(8th grade girl)

Mr. Scott,

You are a awesome teacher, thank you for teaching us History.  See you next year.  Have a cool summer.

-(7th grade girl)

Mr. Scott you're cool but dont Make us run in P.E.!  P.S. let os play rugby

-(7th grade boy)

Sccotie-

Have a nice summer.  Thanks for the emarecing moments on P.E.  I'll miss them.

-(10th grade boy)

Mr. Scott

Have a happy life.

-(10th grade boy that knows I'll be back next year)

Scottie (as they call you . . .)

You weren't my actual teacher . . . But, I really enjoyed hearing about your first kiss and bad influences. Heh.

-(10th grade girl)

Reading through all of these proves to me that I connected with my students in some way or another, which was my desire in coming down here.  As I look to coming back and teaching next year I can only wonder where God will take these relationships or if he will help my students and me learn how to spell and use correct grammar.  I heard he was in the miracle business.

Coban Canceled!

Being that apologies via the blog are all the rage right now (Mark Cuban's, owner of the Dallas Mavericks, apology to K-Mart's, Power Forward for the Denver Nuggets, mom) I would like to apologize to my readers because this blog you are about to read isn't what you might expect and it isn't the blog I wanted to write. So please bear with me for a minute or two while I complain. Two weeks ago I wrote about how running has changed me. How I was so excited to run in a half-marathon here in Guatemala. Well, shortly after I jotted my last blog, the half-marathon was canceled. Why? Swine flu. Wow! Swine flu must be really bad down there, you may be thinking. Well, in Guatemala there has been one case and that was about a month ago. Did you notice the "has" and the "one." They both indicate singular and the "has" indicates past tense. So why cancel the race? I know that the swine flu isn't something to joke about, but I think the Guatemalan government over reacted by canceling the race.

I want to look at some international happenings really quickly. Mexico, the nation that had it the worst, allowed its fine people to start attending soccer games the same week Guatemala canceled my race. Maybe Guatemala just cares more about its people. I doubt it. If you've been following the world news you might know that President Alvaro Colom is in trouble for the suspicious death of a lawyer. I'd say more but I don't want to end up missing. (Just google search Alvaro Colom and you can find out more for yourself.) So how does this connect with the cancellation of the race? Well, they said they canceled it because they did not want to allow large gatherings. I mean a thousand or so people were going to run the race, many from other countries, all gathering at once could cause a pandemic. That could explain the cancellation except for the fact the government paid 30,000 people to rally their support for Colom and then they allowed another 30,000 to protest him. The government allowing 60,000 people to gather on the same day my race was scheduled to be doesn't make me think they really care for their people. But maybe they all were safe because they'd bought hand sanitizer and masks. I guess you can't quiet run in a mask, so I just wouldn't have been safe.

I wanted to write a blog today about how the race went, all the sights I saw, how my legs kept pumping even after my mind said stop. Instead I spent my day writing a test and watching the Lakers bumble past the Rockets. (Boring!) I guess you could say I'm slightly depressed. I don't think I've trained so hard for anything and then just to have it ripped away at the last moment really sucks. But aren't there other races you could run in the states? I know you're asking that right now. Yes there are. There is actually one on the 14 of June, but it's not the same. I just trained for 12 weeks to run this race in Coban. Coban is eight hours away and a beautiful place, from what I've been told. Part of running there was being able to visit a new part of the country I live in. I can't say that about the race in Denver. And with all of the training I put in I feel like I should be able to race now. I'm going to lose a toenail and I lost ten pounds while training (okay my intestinal infection helped with that). But it's just a race. I think I can read your minds now. It's not just about the race though. I never thought I would run a half-marathon until Yasi, my school's secretary, convinced me to run with her. Yasi is probably the most helpful person in the world and loves to run more than I do. All of the races in the states wont have my training partner in them, she's got to stay with her husband and kid in Guatemala. I don't want to run alone.

The moment I found out that the race was canceled I felt awful. I can only relate it to what it feels like to end a relationship. My blood, sweat (gallons), and other bodily stuff were lost to this race only for it to be torn away from me. I'm still very mad about it being canceled and it doesn't help that I should have run the race today. Instead I went to the gym this morning and ran seven miles on the treadmill. Lame. I wanted to achieve the goal I worked so hard to attain. Now I have to say, maybe next year. But maybe I need to look at what good things training for this race led to. I'm in the best shape of my life; I keep on being able to say that because I keep on getting in better shape. Training for it gave me an outlet for the stress of teaching 12 year olds. And lastly I've made friends because of this race. Along with Yasi, I've gone running with a couple other people and now when I go to the gym I can have small conversations with them in Spanish. The race may have been canceled but it has opened my world here in Xela. I guess that's a good thing and I'll just have to be patient and see where God takes this.

Two Weeks until Coban!

I swear I'm still the same boy who couldn't run a mile.  Every time I run, every footfall on the treadmill, or the pavement, I'm reminded of that boy.  How every time I was forced to run a mile in gym class I would lose my lunch.  I know that a lot of people throw-up after running because they're out of shape, but for me this always signaled the onset of a long migraine.  These migraines were debilitating; typically I would be out for a week because I couldn't stop throwing-up.  After an abundance of hospital visits, which is another story, we finally figured out that I was suffering from abdominal migraines, which are abominable.  Before I was diagnosed with abdominal migraines, I made every attempt to avoid running the mile, but gym coaches never listen if you don't have a doctor's note.  Finding out that I was suffering from migraines did little to stop the migraines from coming.  At one point I decided to stop all physical exercise because over-exertion seemed to be what triggered the migraines.  All of this added up to me not being able to run a mile.  And I still feel like that boy even though I'm about to run a half-marathon.

This last Monday I ran a 15-k out on the streets.  Up until now all of my training for my half-marathon was on a treadmill.  It's hard to run outside when you don't know the area that well and all of the distances are in Spanish (okay they're in kilometers, which are as foreign to me as Spanish).  I finally found some people to run with and took off for a jaunt through town.  Running on the streets in Xela is an interesting experience, filled with pot-holes and fast cars.  I sucked in a lot of exhaust from the buses, which doesn't actually help you run faster, and saw a dead dog on the side of the road.  Once we reached the edge of town the run improved.  The scenery changed from Burger Kings and hospitals to beautiful farm country with the Volcano Santa Maria looming in the distance shrouded by clouds.  The roads cleared a little bit and the hills we'd been climbing flattened out, but then it started to rain.  If you ever want to feel hard-core, really manly, go run a hill and then watch everyone else hide under shelter as the rain starts to turns to hail and you push through it.  After completing the 15-k in the rain, I've decided I'm going to be able to run the half-marathon.  Knowing I have the ability to run 13.1 miles still doesn't tell me how I mutated from the boy who couldn't run a mile to the man I am now.

I think God has something to do with it.  He changed me so I could enjoy physical activities at a semi-competitive level again.  I know the change didn't happen over night.  It was slow and has taken a lot of effort on my part.  I've had a lot of setbacks.  I've gotten a few migraines, but I've decided to push through.  That is why when I run the half-marathon in Coban in two weeks I will be thanking God at every mile.  I might still feel like the boy who couldn't run a mile and always stood shamefully next to his PE teachers while the rest of the guys ran the mile, but He has blessed me with the legs to run and the body to endure and I'm rather grateful for that.  

Happy Easter!

It's Easter Sunday and I just returned from a week in El Salvador. I spent my spring break, or Semana Santa as it is called in the Latin culture, relaxing on a beach. In case you didn't notice, I spent holy week in the country of The Savior. What a great reminder that Jesus has risen! The fact he rose from the dead saves me from the sting of death. I really like that fact.

Besides being the country of our Savior, El Salvador has well paved roads, beautiful people, and amazing beaches. I traveled down to El Salvador with two other teachers. We spent the first few days in Suchitoto, the old capital, and then finished off our trip at El Zonte, the beach town. Sitting on the beach with a good book is probably the best way to pass time, at least I think so. After finishing Into Thin Air, Jon Krakauer's account of the 1996 Everest disaster, I decided that living in Guatemala is enough of an adventure for me. I like being able to breathe. And now I've been digging into The Poissonwood Bible, a fictional account of some missionaries to the congo. They travel to the Congo to offer Christ's salvation, but forget that that salvation is a gift of grace and love and not something you have to work for. I'm glad God has taught me about his grace and I'm not trying to work for my salvation.

My salvation came on the first Easter Sunday a very long time ago. I don't have to climb the highest mountain in the world to find my self-worth or save a thousand Guatemalans to know that Christ loves me. He died for me while I was still a sinner and he rose from the dead setting me free from all my failures. That is what Easter is all about. Happy Easter!

Sick in the Guat

It's March, month 8, day about 240 in the Guat and I finally had to go to the doctor.   As I've documented my time down here I've noticed one fact, most of the other teachers down here weren't able to stay away from the doctor quite as long as I did.  Until last week I didn't really know what going to the doctor in Xela meant.  I walk past the small fenced in private hospital every day on my walk home from the gym, but my goal was to say fenced out.  Alas, my body betrayed me and after six straight days of hell in my stomach I finally crossed the fence and found out that at the private hospital, you do private things.  

Day one of being sick, before I made my trek to the hospital, I thought I had the flu.  I'd come down with the chills and a temperature, which I thought I could beat.  I mean I'd held out on falling into the life of the infirm for so long, why couldn't I fight this off and get healthy without the help of a doctor?  Unfortunately, my self diagnosis was so far off that I dehydrated myself and caused some serious problems for my body, but I didn't find this out until day six.  So from day one to day five I assumed I could fight it off with plenty of rest.  

On day two I went to work, gave a test, and nearly passed out.  Everything was rushing through my body and I barely made it home that night.  I might be sounding a little over dramatic, but I felt as though all my energy had been drained out of me and flushed down the toilet.  That night I made my way to Kristin's house so I could watch her dog while she was out of town.  Kristin's dog, Calli, and I have a special connection, she's my second favorite dog in the world, so as soon as I walked in the door she knew I was sick.  All weekend as I wasted away she did her best to comfort me.  During the nights when I couldn't keep myself warm because of the chills she curled up next to me and shared her doggy warmth.  It was a blessing to be able to stay at Kristin's house all weekend.  I hate being around people while I am sick, they don't share the unconditional love dogs have.  Unluckily the weekend ended and I was still sick.  

On Monday, day five, I thought I could teach again, but by the end of the day my chills had returned.  It was becoming clear that I needed the help of a doctor.  The next day, day six, I forced myself to go to school so I could get a ride to the hospital.  A couple of my co-workers demanded I have myself checked out because, as they said, "I looked like death."  So, I taught my classes and then made my way to the hospital.  That night I found out that I didn't have the flue.  My next guess was the common stomach ailment of parasites or amebas, but it wasn't those either.  

On day seven I was informed that I had a major infection in my intestines, which I guess, according to some of the other teachers, isn't that bad.  But I'm not so sure where they received their medical degrees because I'd like to disagree with their statement.  If what was wrong with my stomach wasn't that bad then I never want to contract anything worse.  To kill off the infection I was placed on some gross medication and told to eat bland food for a week.  I lost 10 pounds to this infection and learned that I should go to the doctor at the first sign of illness.  I also learned that no matter how carefully I eat down here in the Guat somethings are still going to get you.