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.

May My Eyes See the Glory of the Lord

I've been reading on the roof of my house lately. It's dirty up there, full of laundry lines and cat scratch, but I like it because I can see the city I live in. Xela's a busy city and from my rooftop I can see people walking her streets, cars swerving around those people, and street dogs fighting over bags of trash. This is the physical world I live in, but I long to see so much more. I want to see with my heart and be open to the spiritual world.

Have you ever thought about what it might be like to be blind? When I was little, I used to be afraid of going blind. This fear typically surfaced after I'd been reading and my eyes would've focused in on the words, then I would look up and my surroundings would be a little blurry. This sacred me out of reading for a while. I've never wanted to wear glasses. I'm 25 and I still have perfect sight and I've always prided myself on that fact. I love being able to see God's creation. The blues, greens, reds, oranges, and browns that paint the landscape of my life are colors I don't want to live without. But lately I've been thinking about how there is more to life than what I can see. So what would it be like to be blind?

I've been reading "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek," by Annie Dillard. It's a hard book to read. My vocabulary isn't that big and she hits on some real deep issues. One of the chapters deals with sight. She talks about how people who are blind from birth and then regain their sight have a hard time with spatial reasoning; the thought that a blind person may not be able to judge sizes and distances had never occurred to me. Without sight your connection to the physical world would be based on your other senses. Your understanding of the world would be completely different. As a person who can see I describe my experience living here on Earth by telling people about what I see. A blind person might describe their experience living here on Earth by telling people what they feel, physically or emotionally.

I might be wrong, but I think a blind person might be more in tune with God's creation at times because he or she isn't distracted by sight. In "A Wrinkle in Time," by Madeline L'Engle, there are creatures that cannot see. They're not blind because to be blind you would need to be created to see through eyes. They don't need eyes because they sense everything. I'm reading this book with my sixth graders and when I read through the chapter with Aunt Beast, one of the creatures that can't see, it hit me that there is more to my world than what I can see. We live in a spiritual world too.

I live in a world where I can only see the physical. But as the apostle Paul says, the physical that we can see doesn't last but the unseen is eternal. L'Engle uses this quote in her book. She has Aunt Beast, the unseeing creature, utter the words, which I find interesting because Aunt Beast seems to be able to see the unseen. Minutes later I read this quote by Paul again, in another book I'm reading, "Waking the Dead," by John Eldredge. Mind you this reading occurred on my roof in a single day. Like I said I like to go up to my roof and read because it is warm and I can see the mountains surrounding the city. I had just put down "A Wrinkle in Time" and picked up "Waking the Dead" and I was still thinking about not being able to see. It so happens that the chapter I'm on in "Waking the Dead" is titled Eyes of the Heart. Eldredge is talking about how we need to see with the eyes of our heart.

What does it look like to see with the eyes of your heart? This is just what I'm trying to figure out. I love being able to see, but I want to see more. I want to be in tune with the world the way Aunt Beast is in "A Wrinkle in Time." I want to be able to see the glory of the Lord. I know that God has a plan for my life and I know that my heart and not my eyes will be able to see it. This is the prayer that I have for my life. That I slow down and look for God in everything. He is there and my heart burns when it senses him, but my eyes are unfocused and can't judge what they're seeing. I'm a blind person who has just received his sight and is having a hard time with spatial reasoning. I want to be like a blind person and rely on my other senses. Right now I'm looking at something that is totally foreign to me and I want my eyes to see the eternal glory of the Lord.

25th Birthday

This last Tuesday was my 25th birthday.  I can now rent a car; my car insurance rates have dropped, but I don't drive anymore, so what's the point.  Lately I've been thinking about how my life has been changing slowly and changing in some ways that are a bit more noticeable than the turning of an age from 24 to 25.  I think one change that is noticeable is the fact that I'm training for a half-marathon.  I remember stating very clearly to one of my friends that I would never run a half-marathon, but I guess I'm trying new things.

So last tuesday I also changed in age.  Some people think that a birthday is just another day.  I look at it as a celebration of life.  On the day I was born I nearly didn't make it.  I was born way early and with highly underdeveloped lungs.  That may be why my mom remembered this is just the second time I've ever been away from my family on my birthday.

So each birthday is a true celebration of life for me.  God gave me this life and I'm very thankful for that.  Sometimes I think that I owe him just a little bit.  Maybe that's why I'm here in Guatemala.

I hope that for whatever reason I'm here, God is pleased with all I'm doing.  I think he must be because he blessed me with a great birthday.  He typically does.  Like the year I went up to the mountains with the guys from my bible study or last year when I had a huge party at my Gradparent's house.  For the last eight years I've had my birthday off from school or work, but this year I had to work, which wasn't that bad.  It was fun being with my friends at work and all of my students.  I was sung to twice and one of my students gave me a box of toilet paper.  Two-ply!  After school I talked with my family on Skype.  They all looked older, no wait that was probably just me.  I now look like I'm at least 21.  

But like I said earlier I don't think the big changes that God is making in me are numeral, but a little deeper.  A big change is how I am actively trusting God.  I still don't know what I want to do with my life, but I'm going to stay here in Guatemala for another year and see what God has for me.  I trust that God will take care of me.  I trust that God has a plan for me here in Guatemala for at least another year.  I'm excited about that, just about as excited as I was for my birthday dinner.  For dinner that evening I went to a new restaurant here in Xela.  A good sized group of my friends came out to celebrate with me.  After the main meal I was still hungry, so it was fortunate for me that Kristin and Annie brought out the cake they'd made for me.  They designed it to look like a Denver Bronco Football helmet and I think it's probably my favorite cake ever; I'm still eating it.  Over all it was a great birthday and even though I was away from all of my friends and family back in the states I still felt loved and blessed to see another year come to pass here in Guatemala.

Santa Maria!

Santa Maria is the Volcano that dominates the sky line here in Xela. Last night I dominated it. Or I guess you could say it graciously allowed me to make an ascent. Santa Maria towers above the skyline at 12,375 feet tall. It's not the tallest volcano in Guatemala, but it is rather impressive. The ascent, 5,000 vertical feet from bottom to top, took us around four hours to accomplish. We started a little after midnight and got to the summit a little after five. You might notice that the time frame here doesn't fit. The four hours is actual hiking time and does not count the 30 to 45 minutes we hid bellow the tree line to stay warm.

The hike takes you up through onion fields and burnt-out trees. All of this was hard to see at night even though we had a full moon. So with our head lamps on we reached the top and huddled together for warmth. Around 6 am the moon vanished beyond the horizon. Because we were up so high the moon looked as if it had several turquoise and orange rings circling it, so as it vanished it created a beautiful other worldly image. I have been reading A Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard and she talks about how ancient Europeans used to think that birds would migrate from the moon. So I had this picture on my mind as I stared at the moon. If birds really did fly to the moon and back I think I'd want to ride with them. How cool would that be. Once the moon slipped away it took the sun about 45 minutes to break the mountainous horizon. It was a cold 45 minutes and the instant the sun appeared the temperature jumped about 10 degrees. With the light of the sun I could see all of the other volcanoes lining the horizon. They looked like large ant hills poking through a sea of clouds.

Right below Santa Maria is Santiaguito, which is a small active volcano. It erupts about every twenty minutes and so we waited for nearly an hour just to see it erupt. You can see it by walking to what is called the look out point. Because it is an active volcano it is dangerous to get too close. This look out point is on the west side of Santa Maria and so in the morning it is still a very cold spot. I froze as I waited for an eruption. Nothing. Just a couple puffs of smoke. Frozen stiff I gave up and walked back into the sun leaving Santiaguito out of sight. It erupted a couple minutes later. I guess that's my luck. After a couple more pictures, we hiked back down. It took 3 hours and the constant down hill hurt my knees. I'm glad God invented volcanoes and gave me strong legs to hike them, two good eyes to enjoy his creation, and friends to share the memories with. The pictures above are from my trip so I hope you enjoy.