Eric Retterbush - The World Race 2007

7 stories

Tue, 10 Feb 2009 00:00:00 GMT

In september of last year I wrote a series of reflection pieces on the World Race for my personal blog. I would post one every day for a week telling of the more interesting situations that had a major impact over the year I spent abroad. Looking back at them last night I thought it appropriate to move them to this site. Here they are, straight from my blog.

(I apaulogize for the uneasy read, linking the type settings on here from my blog was a challenge)

------------Besides a few pictures on here, I have really talked much about the world race on xanga. As much as I try to focus on the present and looking towards future ambitions I keep finding my experiences on the world race being applicable in my daily life. I recently appiffanied (?) and have realized that what the race has done has put me in extreme situations that revealed my true authentic self. We, as americans especially, are extremely good at hiding ourselves normally in this very normal safe live we are allowed to live in America. My comfort zone was all but lost for 11 months as I lived in community with 5 strangers as we wrestled with cultural barriers, expectations, our own faith and the unfamiliar we met every day. HOME is gone, only YOU are left. What an beautifully abrasive way to find out about who you truly are.

This week I hope to bring to you, my 5 or 6 people audience, some stories/lessons I learned. I do this mostly for myself, for the further processing of my condition, I decided it is better to be shared rather than just written in my little journal.

1. AUTHENTICITY

In Peru, Lima, I struggle with authenticity. I struggle with a mega church. I struggle with my duties as a leader to set an example. I struggle with door to door evangelism, cute skits in the park, and inserting your name into a prewritten prayer. I struggle with seeing so many lovely people caught up in duty. I struggle with the compromise of my concious to please people. I struggle with people who love drama. I struggle with the my duties as a guest, the giving up of my freedoms, feeling stuck, and just trying to stick it out. I struggle with playing the role.

As a leader, as a role model, as a member of a team that was assigned for 5 weeks to a blessed church in the slums of Lima Peru, I had many responsibilities. One of them being drawing diamonds and butterflys on my cheeks and wearing giant brightly colored plastic overalls. On one such occasion I found myself in this very outfit in a overly dangerous park dancing ridiculously about a crowd of people I barely knew anything about the culture of. On this same occasion, after the ridiculous cartwheels, cute skits, lollipops, overly pepped songs about Jesus, and just before the great prayer to change all forever, I was asked to share the "substance"the meat and potatoes amongst the gumdrops and other sugary delights already given. I was asked to share my faith, to give testimony in the hopes of persuasion. And so, a brightly colored clown hesitently stepped foreward out of his role as entertainer and used religious words as cunning as could be arranged to a audience that did not even understand his own language. Only my makeup was still smiling as I walked behind the bleachers shamed by the compromise of my concious, and the empty speech that inspired little. Authenticity might have been sitting down with one of those people that saw a clown with foreign words tell them how to live, sitting down and asking them instead "how" they live. Authenticity might have been refusing to fall line with a duty that breaks your heart. Authenticity might have been not doing a show at all. Authenticity isn't something a clown is usually good at. I guess I filled my role beautifully and horriflically.

"Our world needs us to let them be who they are, and we need to be who we are with them." Roger

2. OBEDIENCE

its a priviledge.

I woke up and stared into the dimly lit woven grass above me, alone. I rolled over, eventually up, and creeked the door open. Even the pre-sunrise haze caused a delay in my pupils shrinking until I met eyes with the chinese chicken. I am in Africa, not china. Both me and the black, tall chicken are strangers in this land. Perhaps this common thread of comradary is what he seeks, that or the leftovers from my last nights dinner. The serenity overwhelmed me, this playground filled with bopping little african heads for few hours each day fell a break in the silence only to the steps of the chicken. Moving foreward with confidence and backwards in cowardence almost in the same moment. I grabbed my bible, a pen, paper and some sandals and plotted my way down the narrow dirt path carved by little feet amongst the vicious white tipped daggers growing from nearly every bush plant. I journeyed to the tallest structure I could beset my feet upon, a 5 foot playground platform. Pausing to take in the loudness of silence, et is the kind even your thoughts seem to overpower. Each was clear uncontended by the happenings found by the other senses. I spoke out. I felt it right. I figured someone, something would whisper back. "God, I want to do something right now." I waited for my audience to prepare itself. "I want to fully set aside myself, my history, my future, my body, my mind, my attitude, what I think I know and what I don't know, and just be before you." pause for reaction. "I just want a taste of what it is like to live without restraint, fully free." A beautiful voice answered...a womens voice, and it sang with such grace, the rythem of a pure african voice. I looked about, and found no vessel for the voice, I saw little more than the bushy trees and the occasional goat. I felt the urging to get up, to advance, to run, to find the voice...but I hesitated, and my brain found favor in the waiting moments, full of doubt. Like standing atop a cliff about to jump, others had jumped, water below, deep water, but the longer you stand, the longer you wait, the more reasons your brain finds to restrain. "I probably don't know this person, what if it is the people I chased from the water tank last night, what would I say, who could..." nothingness interupts me. The returned silence halts my thoughts and I slouch down knowing that I had missed my oppurtunity, that I had not failed the most simple of tests. Did I really think it would be that easy, that I wouldn't have to do my part? Obedience may lead you to the illogical, but illogical is exactly what God is.

Come back to me sweet voice.

3. Love

my greatest challenge, my cheeziest blog

At the end of our first two weeks of ministry in the mountain town of Alguilar Mexico I stood up around a candlelit group of tables grouped longways together like the last supper to give report of my teams doings. While others talked of miracles and breakthroughs, I proposed that my team was simply finding ways to love each other. Little did I know at the time, this would be the daunting task that never left my team. This is the story of our greatest bout at love that year...Ginger.

The famed "ginger question" began on our very first official team night, where Ginger swung her feet off the roof we poised excitingly upon. A group of individuals came together here with fresh dreams of a years worth of adventure and then Ginger said some of the most devastating words I could have heard at that time in my life. "I don't know what I believe or if I believe in God right now." Now I don't know if she had been misinformed, but we were on day 1 of a 11 month missions journey that I would have thought would have some prerequisites, such as buying into, at least a little bit, the whole "God" thing. Myself and my team, though shocked, found innocent hope that she would find breakthrough. As team leader, I naively asked her to take the night off in hopes of everything being fixed by the marrow.

This matter was apparently deeper than we had thought though, and the Ginger "situation" began to be seen as a Ginger "problem" as time wore on. My team believed strongly, that in order to be successful as a team, we needed to be one cohesive unit. Sounds appropriate. Though this model may work for finishing a group science report in high school, our group dynamics were quite a bit more...dynamic. In short, what basic freedoms we find in american individuality are quickly lost in this group setting. Space, money, time, ambitions and generally how you would do things by yourself are pooled into one big joint marriage that none of us could walk away from. One by one, we were offended in some way by Ginger's (and eachothers!) actions and attitude and one by one we lost hope and patience. Even Ginger herself seemed to have lost hope and the subtle light hearted attempts of being a part of the team, of this journey became fewer and fewer. The Ginger "question" may have started out, "How can we love her", but was quickly becoming "How can we end her".

My personal breaking point came in the middle of the fourth month where I had secured a day of rest for my team away from the hardships of some of the most involved ministry all year. We were to go to the monkey island park on the following day and I announced it to the glee of most on my team during a quick meeting after a service. Most. Ginger approached me immediatly after we dispearsed and asked if she could use our day off go to town alone. Combined with the stresses I was under at that location and ministry, and the apparent abuse of the favor for my team members, suddenly enraged, I lay loose my tongue and began to dump the aggressions I had against her in one quick rap. Ginger went to the monkey park the next day.

You know how a lot of people want to impeach Bush, but don't really know how. That was our situation. Some took it up with leadership on thier own, others with Ginger herself, but all were found with open mouths during our Peruvian debrief, four months into the trip, 4 months of unwillingness, of attitude, of a lack of any sign of things getting better in her, patience had gone bald, and we were provided an outlet for it. Though she never will admit to being hurt by our words all this time, I don't believe she went unscathed. (It seemed everybody was put through at least some part of the similiar situation as we certainly saw eachothers bad sides at some point.)

A few days later, I came to a realization during a conversation with a good friend (jimmy), that blew my mind and completely changed my perspective on the "ginger question". Now I don't remember what Jimmy said totally, but I found one little insight in it. Is she worth it? Is ginger, seeing ginger be ginger, be extroardinary, be successful, find her own love and ambition, was it worth my time, my energy, my life. I had to answer yes, why else am I on this journey? I wanted to find passion and ways to love people and God and why not start with the people that I am gonna be living with anyways. Make the trip a whole lot smoother if anything! So I went to find all those stupid verses in the bible, Love is kindness, is respect... that is always used in weddings, the love your god, then your neighbor, and your enemy too verse. Looked past the cheeziness, and found truth in my then situations. I then realized that I was failing ginger, and realized that I was gonna have to make some sacrifices, more sacrifices that is, to actively do my teamates right.

Did I get it right? no! I continued to make mistakes and continued failing people, friends and enemy's. But I was working at it, and I am better at it now than ever in my life.

Worldy love only goes as far as the persons of your choice, God's love goes into your enemies and neighbors and all.

your awesome ging.

(just so everybody knows, ginger did return to her self soon after we hit rock bottom with her and became a great team member and even later taking many of my leadership responsibilities over our team)

4. Breaking life's patterns

how exciting!

Green and red bits hung on the corners of my mouth. Its christmas eve. Millions of children around the globe have sugarless sugar-rushes in anticipation of the hours ahead. Hours of paper ripped to shreds, torn to reveal boxes that would be soon thrown away, boxes containing painted plastic shaped to the desired figure to enthrall the child's imagination, plastic that would be piled a month later onto last years plastic. I wasn't finding release in plastic though, I found it in porcelin. Two days before my great adventure, two days where most would find distraction from work and the daily routine. I found little distraction from my past and immediate future and the ideas that abounded from both brought me here, to the smallest room in the house, where waste is disposed of and cleanliness achieved. I hurled in fear of the future, I puked in rememberence of my past, and the joys of christmas eve came and went without me.

Breaking life's patterns isn't always the prettiest of process'. I suppose this is what makes it so hard sometimes. In the months leading up to the World Race and unfortunely quite often in the first few months of the trip, I had to deal seriously with my life failures. I wished to approach this journey and the oppurtunities it presented with open arms, a clear mind, and a patient heart. I was tired of complaining about the flaws I found in the christian church. I was tired of thinking my opinions as the end all. I was tired of having one thing erk me about someone or some institution and giving up on it. I was tired of being pissed at God when he didn't pay attention to me. I was tired of wanting to be right.

These were my patterns and habits I found inside of me that sickened me and I found myself in the end having to physically puke them out draped in eggnog and mourning. But I found the next day was about birth and hope of redemption. And a journey soon ahead that would breed both.

5. Hospitality

We suck at it

I often recall finding myself in a bind along the world race. It is a easy hole to fall into, with language, culture, and often an unawareness of your surroundings dragging you into a pitiful situation. Luckily somebody would be there to lift up a confused soul quite often. And I am left with the wonderings of what could have happened. And the redeeming story of man helping man emerges despite my deepest doubts they would not. Whether it be the accompany of a silent chinese angel, the slaughter of a mozambique goat for our arrival, the giving up of beds for weeks in peru, or the simple walking me home I found hospitality that I would never think of giving.

I equipped my usual little green bag early that morning, with painting supplies, a bit of water, candy, spoon, passport, and journal. I set off for the 10 mile bike ride to the gate of the ancient city of Angkor Wat. I travelled alone in hopes of reflecting on this ancient masterpiece without interruption. I would later find myself to be the interruption for others. Upon reaching the gate I found that I had little money more on me than the entrance fee. One more dollar and one less spoon would have helped. I made the decision to chance it for the day, though I knew I would have to be creative with water and food as to not waste my precious day off having to ride back and forth between home and here. Luckily I had a big breakfast.

eric hansons picture with his monk friends

Probably not big enough though. Without worry, I went from ruin to ruin painting about, becoming a spectacle of my own. Somewhere out there, in europe, japan, and america among others, there are pictures of me leaning up against a ancient faced pillar, paint brush in hand. Distracted from my folly by the one of the greatest marvels I've ever witnessed I strode on happily. Eventually however; the intense humidity and heat ran my water reserves low and I spent the equivalent of 50 of my 60 cents on a bottle of refreshness. Soon after I found hunger pains starting to slow my riding and I cautiously stopped by an empty restaurant to bargain for some rations. I looked over the menu top to bottom, curries for only 2 dollars, pad thai for even cheaper, shame. I had no choice but to beg and I equipped my pennies with a look of desperation. I am guessing this mostly confused her, as it takes nearly 20 american dollars to get into this place in the first place. A white begger here must be as rare as a khmai begger at the super bowl. Nonetheless she showed compassion after I am sure doubting my poor condition and served me a bowl of white rice with a glass of water. Elated and hungry I quickly ate to return to my journey of discovery.

With little light left I gently strode back towards the gate. I had ran out of water, but was still strolling along. I stopped at one more ruin and walked through unimpressed with its mediocre size. I little khmai vendor girl walked my every step behind speaking in perfect english, then spanish. She proceeded to whoop me in U.S. and world capitals trivia, I began to make up countries and say ridiculous capital names. "Whats the capital of pootasia?" "Its a real country, tiny in the pacific, I swear." We had some good laughs and went back and forth, as I curiously asked question after question into the lives of this little girl. It was rare to find a child here with perfect english, but this place was full of them and soon I had 15 little vendor girls all around me, trying to sell me bracelets, jade monkeys, scarves and various womens clothes. I loved the attention in near pure English, though it was the same annoying vendors spleels. I traded one of my paintings to the original girl for water and decided it was probably a good idea to try and make it home. One of the girls had a bike and we strode off into the sunset together like I was 10 years old again in my neighborhood. She turned off into a little path through a rice field and I decided my day wasn't quite over yet. I chased her through the field until I found myself parking underneath a great tiny stilted house. She introduced me to her brothers, mother and father and a sweet old grandmother. They were elated at my presence. I was soon presented with dinner, a blackened fish about the size of a large goldfish, rice, fried plantains, and a bowl with a chunk of ice in it. I loved it, and they were loving me loving it. I spoke to the family through my 8 year old translator for quite a bit longer and the rains started to pound the grass roof, first heavy, then heavier. They insisted that I stay the night and even began to clear thier only bed for me, but my friends would have killed me if I wouldn't have returned tonight. So I started to leave and it was the cutest thing ever, but the grandmother fished through a little box and pulled out a crappy plastic yellow flashlight for my ride home. I was again loving it and wishing so badly I had another free day to visit, or at least return their flashlight. I took off into the night after the family walked me in the hard rain back to the main road. I got lost in the pitch dark dirt no mud roads and took nearly 3 hours to get back home. That little light even made it all the way back, a reminder of the small effort of hospitality that continued even after I left.

Why do we struggle with hospitality? I recently invited a hitchhiker to stay in our cozy shed. He is a nice man, about 50 or so, but kind of a talker. He has stayed in our shed numerous times, but I can't help but be annoyed when I am trying to relax here in my home and he wishes to talk about this or that. I know he is lonely, I know from my own experience travelling alone. Unfortunetly tonight I had to ask him to leave after numerous nights spent here at the request of my roomate who is fearing he is making our place a semi-permanent residence. It is raining and I know he is camping out there somewhere. I can't help but feel bad that I have a place to give and am unable to do it.

Perhaps we build up our homes as "ours", it is our right to have our "own" space and we protect it dearly. We have routines and schedules not to be upset by others except those that are supposed to be here. We are often one huge campus of frat houses hosting private parties. Somebody's bound to be left out. And somedays its you.

Somebody saved my ass, now I gotta save somebody else's.

6. Feeling Life

Thier is a reason we love controversy and drama, explosions and tears. It makes us finally feel life. It is the very reason the World Race appealed to me and a normal job, a normal life did not. I wanted struggle, obstacles and strife, I wanted to feel life both kick me and hug me. And whether we get our daily dose artifically through tv and movies, or those that dare to create thier own, whether good or bad, we need this struggle in order to awaken our souls.

"We just had a near life experience!" Fight Club's Tyler Durden after flipping thier car over an embankment.

I originally wrote about this on my WR blog entitled "Four Strokes for Freedom". I am rewriting it for more clarity.
Still in the excitement of the first month, we took a day off at beautiful Agua Azul. A series of widely tiered waterfalls that open into large pools perfect for escaping the heat. Upon arriving we saw a local boy cross a vicious path, the bottleneck of the bottom tier to climb upon the upper part and cliff jump. Well we just had to try that. Several people made the journey safely, nearly one got swept away into the tormented watery chute. I safely made it across though later got stuck in a hole on the top tier. Flip!

Candice and Chad later found out about the crossing point and wished to cross. I offered myself a guide, now as confident as the local boy that originally inspired our dance with watery misery. I explained the importance of being high on the curved rocks, as much water above the knees at that speed would immediatly sweep the participant away. We stuck candice in the middle and proceeded, myself in the back. Iwatched candice, always giggling, taking each step deeper and deeper. I instructed her to get up high, which she did by overcorrecting and the pressure brought her to her knees, she scraped and began to drag along and I like a bruce willis movie I jumped foreward and our hands caught at the last second. Her giggles were over, replaced with a panic. My own panic found me as my found out heroics were to be short lived. Now connected to a whole Candice under speeding water, I was drug into the danger zone and quickly realizing my fate. I jumped to meet her and we held the only thing solid, eachother. Eyes closed, every muscle locked we made our descent into the torment. Our journey allowed little time to think and only later did we match our wounds with the rocks along the horrid path. In the end I found a place of peace, not even the noise of the monster above could be heard, I gave four strokes up and found the surface neath a rock to the right of the end of the chute. While I was shot down, Candice was shot out. She surfaced 10 feet away and grasped a rock in the pool. We examined our injuries and found little bumps and bruises, plenty of bloody cuts and scrapes but for the most part we fared well. (Candice later had to have surgery in Nicaragua on her knee)

I wrote this to end my blog in what seems so long ago:

Waking up in my own watery way

I dont claim myself a hero, not lucky, not stupid, nor a hero, nor a victim. God chose to usher me through this chute atthis time. A lesson of the respect of nature. A parable of a spiritual life, taking an exhilarating beating. A showing of Gods grace and mercy in protecting us. I dont expect to go jumping off a fatty cliff and expect God to turn me into a bird to fly away. Nor do I expect God to do anything for me while I sit on a couch and stick a fork into a salsberry steak tv dinner. There is a path in between here and there, that is both dangerous and good, nearer to life, nearer to who I want to be and who I am intended to be. This is the road I am looking for. This is the road I will take.

7. LIVING AND DYING

I go there, when you ask me about the world race. I smell those smells, I feel that hand still warm, I remember those words...I go there, those sharp moments. I worry about snakes in the high grass, my eyes follow my steps, missing the oasis ahead. The kind you would expect a giraffe to soak his tongue in. Bent down, so awkward. Three days we had waited, rather they had waited, for us, the great white prophets, as we were to be named later that day. I peel my eyes from the snake hunt, and see the grass give way to the bare sand and several thatched huts. Another warm welcome, handshakes come standard even out here. "They need to prepare her" our translator says. Six chairs happily meet our drained bodies, as we sit and sip out of nalgenes awaiting what is to be next. So much silence for this many people, and indeed, many had collected in anticipation of our arrival. "The place is very small, you only can have three go in" our translator says, "Ginger, Kari and myself" I delegate and we wait.

Minutes later we crouch down, so low, nearly to our knees to clear the tiny door and crawl to the right. And to the left, a few family members sit somberly on thier knees, in the back, our translator, and in the middle...our reason. She sits uncomfortably, like she hasn't sat up in months, her head bent down, out of eye contact. From her eyes, deep in thier holes, I follow her sunken cheeks to her pertruding collar bone, down her arm that reminds me of the holocaust museum from a school field trip to D.C. I pull myself away, I shouldn't stare. The translator mutters something in broken english about her condition, I need no explanation. I saw these fragile bodies in the AIDS hospitals in Namibia before, days and hours from death. I start to pray, assigning words to what I think best for the family, I shut my eyes hard, only opening them to remind myself of the reason I am praying only to quickly tighten them to remove myself from the horrid situation. I wanted someplace away from here, I searched the backs of my eyelids for someplace pretty. One family member, a man, sniffles, then breaks, and I with him. The tightness of the room doesn't allow me to escape, all of emotion has me and I and the man weep, no longer words, but cries. Cries for mercy from the harsh pain we never felt ourselves. She remains solemn between us, perhaps not being able to afford the energy. Perhaps she had cried too much already and numbness had been found. But I felt it all, all the evil that destroyed good men and women in the world was no longer numb. "Oh God please, these great white prophets have come from so far, they are finally here, meet us here now!" shouted the man (as paraphrased through the translator later) Soon my words seemed useless, and I just cried. I just cried.

Soon, she was allowed to lay back down, perhaps a days energy lost to the awkward sitting position. I begin to crawl out of the dark miserable hole, a last glance, through wet eyes, I see hers staring blankly at the wall where we were kneeling. I turn and light, warmth greet me. That little box full of death out there in the mozambique bush ended up bringing out more life in me than I had ever felt. How fragile and blessed is this life and its oppurtunities.

looking back on my sketches

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 00:00:00 GMT

In the beginning I was looking for ideas to record this year in creative ways. This is really the only one I stuck with. After each month of significant ministry in a place I attempted to sum up the experience in a poster style sketch with a bit of writing and a illustration. I made a sketch book and only filled about a fifth of it. Sorry about the quality as its not the best in some of them.

Some are bad, some are good, all are fun!

Mexico - "In Alguilar mexico I looked up and saw a gentle child giving all she had...and saw a house full of bondage be filled with the words of God...and saw a man's eyes crying out so loud I could not walk away...and saw a pastor smile bigger than he was supposed too. And saw a town that wanted our prayers and has them."

Guatamala - "In the land of a thousand dreams, I have a thousand memories"

Peru - "Dust is but water away from dirt, and dirt is but a seed away from life."

Argentina - "Amongst the empty faces, smiles, and smurks, often quick, each step with curiosity. And after the 300 blocks I found little but the urge to walk a little more"

Mozambique "For I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am. I know how to get along with humble means and I also know how to live in prosperity. I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and need." Phil. 4:12

Portraits and scenes of the many places we visited in mozy.

Swaziland "Sometimes you have to live a dream to find out if it is really a dream at all"

Thailand - "Where the loss of innocence finds many, God has chosen to return it to a few"

This is a portrait of Eileen from TOLO

Cambodia - "Like a fly upon the wall, or a bird flying oh so tall, I heard my call, and watched them all. Dirt, filth others may have saw, but I found so much beauty in the dull."

Genesis 3

This is Genesis 3 from a excercise I would do when I would pray over a particular scripture and draw the image that comes to mind. The image in my head consisted plainly of a squirming snake dividing a man and a woman with paradise in the far background as if the snake had pulled them out into this place of division. I added the details as I read, and didn't want too, but decided to put a apple in it like any classic adam/eve esqu piece should. It is fun to read the scripture and find the little hidden things I placed in the image, well I think it is fun. And yes...she is pregnant.

I lost much of my watercolors sadly while in mozambique, others I believe in Swazi. This one had a more lively and happy "genesis 2" themed counterpart of the same excercise that is now gone. My poor little tin of watercolors has escaped me.

Last night...

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 00:00:00 GMT

Last night of the 392 days i've had.

Sarah has some good schnitzel. I was craving it all day. I prefer the pita filled schitzel over the baguette, but either topped over with sweet chilli sauce would satisfy. As usuall, the young boy, the son of Sarah, of Sarahs Cafe, had too much energy for such a small place. The norm being he runs and climbs and generally fills the stereotype of a 7 year old boy until his older teenage sister, too bored by the computer chatrooms makes him cry by some cruel sneaky act. Its all the same, except the addition of an older gentlemen of western descent, walking out of the kitchen to talk to Sarah. I order the schnitzel.

Outside the full moon waits for my eventual departure shining as best it can amongst the towering neon lights and general clutter of Khao San Road. China town in reverse, this mardi gras finds Burger King overstimulating atmosphere soon overtakes my senses and I look for a deep alley or walkway to find a bit of peace. A man throws a beer can out a tuk tuk, I begin to sweat in the humid evening, the air is putrid, smelling like many other cities but with a hint of fried this or that. A drunk and high Englishman trys to con me into money and ends up calling me the liar. I walk on confused and with a slight smile. As I leave the clutter a thai women follows close behind, inticing me with the few words of english He knows, if it weren't for His extra high heels He may have been able to keep up. I push through the clutter and find a bit of peace under the golden arches, not Mcdonalds, a grander figure, a tribute to a king hated by no one. I wonder what the Kings real name is, or if I can even pronounce it. I chuckle to find the shiny spheres are actually Compact Discs glued in overlaying patterns onto waterproof gold wallpaper. The King is known to be a bit of a enviromentalist, even the monuments to him seem to be recycled.

I push past the giant sign that says "Tourist Walkway". The word "tourist" or "foreigner" translates into "money" and "rich" in most languages. No I walk on into moonlit territories and find myself immersed in a sea of lumps upon the grassy dirt. Often this field his home to kite fliers and foot related sports enthusists but every night it is transformed into the cheapest hotel in town. "Sawasdeekrap" I say to one of the lumps, "kap" I get in return. At the far end the grand palace's bell steeples of gold cannot be contained by the tall white wall's. The setting looks cramped, the palace, not the field of lumps. Rats scurry about seemingly racing the cockroaches from trash pile to trash pile. God tells me to give twenty Baht to a women sleeping on a construction block. I try to wake her to give her head a break for it was dangling off the block as if only attatched by the skin of the neck. "Hello, Hello, Hello", despondant, I lay the prize under her jacket. I leave and say a prayer for that lump and that lump and the police officer standing in traffic as well. I look about and gently say goodbye to the nightlife I have come to slowly understand and become comfortable with over the past year.

I walk on and soon, one by one, the lights begin to dim and the neon pink taxi's become thinner and thinner, my routes across the 7 laned streets that normally I require a quick dash through during smoggy sunlit days; I now only briskly avoid thier course. I fight off saying to myself "this will be the last time I walk....I eat...I see..." I've moved over a hundred twenty times in 13 months, I expect to move a bit more. Still the scents and sights I take in with new curiosity. The same curiosity that found the details of the Kings monument and the man sleeping underneath the parked car. I urn down my alley to my room and find Sutteenai up, in his underwear, making coffee, he offers me some and I take a cup while he investigates sounds from around the house. I feel blessed to find a place of peace amongst it all, Sutteenai and his family house have given me a good last thai taste in my mouth. Not that the food here couldn't do that on its own. Where as I could have spent the night in a impersonal concrete cell without windows, I struck a bit of luck and found a pleasant homestay in it's place. I take my bed and dream of the future and remember the past. I find myself in a time of transition, where the past has taken me so far I can't forget it, details too many to recall in a sitting, but the future refuses to remain silent fighting for attention. This place I find, full of reflections and dreams, brings only anxiety and late nights. I smile and sleep.

The World Race may have been over quite some time ago, but it is only now I will begin to see the true impact it has made. That which is normal to me are these nights where everything is different and new. How will I soon handle those nights I can once so easily found comfortable, predictable. Will the states perhaps run on a clock I have a hard time keeping time too? The journey continues...so let it begin...

still goin

Mon, 10 Dec 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Yeah, they totally denied us despite our feeble attempts at the Kuala Phil Harmonic, but hey they had shoes and jackets for just such ragged folks as these. I wasnt wearing socks.

Old news, same life. I'm still alive. My travels continue tirelessly as myself, Stacy and Jon have trekked through translation and the bottom half of china, argued our way through Vietnam, jazzed up for a night in Malaysia and lay sunburnt in Phuket Thailand. My friends are leaving so soon, and I will at last be alone and perhaps begin to feel the effects of leaving the race. I am starting to find myself needing a steady environment, of which I presume upon entering will start to find myself needing of an unsteady environment once again. Every new place I go hopes to bring peace to my travel hunger, but at every stop I look to where I am heading next. My addiction in many ways mirrors my faith. Perhaps I should take some time to admire where I've gone and where He's taken me

Peace.

I have switched blogs if ya so care to gander: www.xanga.com/bush777

new crew

Mon, 19 Nov 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Today I said goodbye, some tearful some not. Today, World Race is over for A and B squads. I proud myself to be a part of such a great crew. I will miss you all, and look foreward to using and abusing the web of couchs you have across the US. I hope only the best for each of you as you continue your journeys to greatness. I thank you for being a part of my story and allowing me to be a part of yours. As much as I was annoyed at travelling in such a huge group, at some point I laughed with each of you, struggled with each of you, and found a little bit of Jesus in each of you. I loved so much on this trip, but I am excited to move on and see what we will do. This is the end of a season, it is the beginning of another. Spring happens to sprout from winter's destruction.

Let me introduce the new crew...

we are not completely new, just rearranged and...apparently deranged. Till just shy of xmas, we are tackling our SE Asia dreams and sort through this past year together.

Spend every smile.

Onward

Wed, 14 Nov 2007 00:00:00 GMT

hong frickin kong by Ryan

this life, crazy, overdramatic, lovely and ugly all at the same time is nearly at an end. While others are immediatly hitting perhaps our greatest culture shock of the year, returning into what used to be normal, I just can't do that quite yet. At the end of college I spent 5 weeks in cape town pulling together my life, whats happened, whats next, who I am, five weeks. I am led to a similiar circumstances, as I have given myself an additional over 2 months left in Asia. We have been challenged by Seth this week to ask ourselves..."So what" What will I do with this year. These and hundreds of other questions will hopefully be tackled in the nearing time. Thier is an enormous trap to fall back into our lives exactly as we left them. That this year was a cute fluke, that the U.S. doesn't play by these rules, that the bills and contracts and credit debt is inevitable. And for me that I would wander out of this thing just as I wondered into it. Like I wondered into a theme park, rode the rides for a bit, and found myself in the empty parking lot at the end of the night. I got two months to start off on the right foot, to not only find out what the hell happened this year, but to use it too my advantage when I do finally return to the cushy. Just like this year had a winding up motion with preparation and training, I hope to wind out with a long stint of processing. I would appreciate your prayers and continued financial support for my debt to AIM for this crucial time.

So it is ONWARD, I got my little green bag, Vietnam and beyond!

Great Wall shot by Josh

In and Out

Wed, 10 Oct 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Onward!!! to china...

Don't worry I'll be taking a plane not a slow boat, though this monster would be fun to take out. CHINA is next and with it new adventures, new cultures, new people, new language to overcome, the last hurrah for my squad. So you may ask me . "Are you ready for it to end?" And I respond "Thats a trick question Mr/Mrs. Sneaky." This life is a journey, its the journey. World Race was just putting a label on it from time period A to time period B. And if I really ended it now, I just don't think I would be satisfied. Which is good, our thirst for life should never be filled. So here we go China, then here we go Vietnam/Laos/Thailand/and beyond. Life begins (and sometimes ends) when you want it too.

Double post!!!

Angkor Wat

Lacking in the camera category hasn't always been the worst thing in the world. Gets me a chance to find other ways to record people and places. I saw everybodys Angkor Wat picture blogs and thought I would share with you all how I am remembering my second wonder of the world.

I actually had a great day riding my bike around the temples, painting. You almost become part of the show when you paint. People come up and watch you, ask about your pictures, even take pictures of you! I had one guy for nearly 5 minutes climbling all over the ruins behind, in front, looking for a good angle of my work. Can't lie, I like the attention.

Unfortunetly my bike ride home was in a storm, and my lil sketchy book got quite a bit wet during the miserable ride home. Watercolors live and die with water. This one lost the most colorful part in the corner.

Fortunetly however, the reason I didn't leave till after the strom hit was that I met some wonderful vendor 10 year od girls that spoke really good english...and spanish. We went back and forth between languages and had fun running around the ruins together till dark. Its always a rare treat to find people who can speak you language well, especially kids, love em. One girl, Tea, even let me follow her back to the house in the middle of the rice fields and fed a hungry boy rice and fish lettuce wraps, all with coconut juice with not one but two dead flies in it. I love that stuff. Those folks blessed me beyond belief, the grandma even gave me her flashlight for the several mile ride home in the dark rain.

I just couldn't do some of these places justice. Ta Prahm (sp) was an amazing site as huge trees slowly destroyed ancient buildings. Watch Tomb Raider and you'll see plenty of this temple.

Good day yo!

redefining beauty

Mon, 17 Sep 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Beauty is so much more than composition.

Lest this is what I recently came to a realization of during church the other day. Believe it or not this phrase speaks so much of my life right now, in many ways I just can't explain. But I'll try...

http://jeffreycortlandjones.blogspot.com/

I was taught in school so much about the beauty of composition. I now have a hungry eye, scanning this lovely world for any chance occasion with a object or two sitting ever so perfectly in a space. Jon Hiebert once told me "You can borrow my camera yes...only if you promise to take pictures of people." It is perhaps better that I did not have a camera this whole time, as many shots would be like my professors' above, boring a majority of the audience that happens across my blogs. The people that go to modern museum and say "A black paint splatter on Mona Lisa? I could have painted this!" I find the picture above absolutely beautiful, but I know some people probably don't. Though I hate to be a conformist, I must to some degree to get along with people. We must all give each other grace and try to understand each other, less this world would be full of wars and violence...hmmm...check out my last blog. Back to beauty and composition. I am learning that I cannot survive on composition alone, both in life and in art. I must add depths of love, of human struggle and emotion, of the reality of life. I am on this trip, traveling the world, given the chance to have a taste of so many cultures and peoples this year. I love it, but it has also been one of the driest seasons of my life. I don't pity it, I can only ask what God is teaching me through it.
Still don't understand? Here's an example. In Thembeni, Swaziland, it seemed as if I was in a great place of ministry, it looked perfect from the outside. Me, 30 or so orphans, and three Gogo's (grandmas) spending a month in a hut in the Swazi bush. No where else on this race would I had thought I would be more alive than in these conditions. No where else on this race was I further from being alive. I and you must be careful in making life decisions based on how it looks, the composition; for true life, the beautiful life is found in so much more. Five oranges arranged perfectly to please the eye on a 4x6 framed foto, will in time still rot or be eaten in real life.

My pursuit is a life that will be beautiful on paper and off.

These Killing Fields

Sun, 9 Sep 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Each rain brings more. We were startled to see a jar of teeth in a glass box in a field full of holes. You can only imagine our reaction when we noticed more teeth lying at our feet underneath the box. We walked on through this place, where bones and clothing recently unearthed by mother nature appeared to belong, to be normal. The workers seemed to be more occupied with keeping the grass free of fallen palm tree branches than human remains. "Tree to kill babies and small children" one sign pointed out, as our guide motioned in a baseball swing fashion towards the tree. Another tree marked "Held speaker system played loudly to cover moans." "Mass grave of 166 victims...without heads." also found its place in these horrific grounds near Phnom Pehn, Cambodia. Needless to say, the car ride home was rather quiet.

I wish not to give a history lesson, any google search of "Kmer Rouge" or "the killing fields" will bring words to try to describe these horrorific events. I only wish to do exactly what this once high school, once prison, once torture chamber, now memorial attempts to dostare into the faces of thousands shortly before their murder.

A 3 story pillar memorial filled only with shelf after shelf of skulls asks for homage at the gate.

Thanks to Bri for lending me the camera. All pictures are unaltered RAW.

"F" words

Sun, 26 Aug 2007 00:00:00 GMT

This blog is brought to you by the letter "F"

F is for Fotos is what this blog is Full of. Like this Fantastic view from Buri Ram Thailand.

F is for Fierce in em aviators. I was rockin that scooter, all those other 9 year olds on the track knew my name

Fis for Fil and me rocking it like we belonged on Broadways cats, once again...so F ierce

F is for Funky which is exactly what we do right before bed time ...glowstick rave

F is for Free time in the Korat town square with Jon's camera

F is for the Fr iendly Faces here in Thailand. Oh, how happy everybody is around here.

F is for Fern and me foto opping it asian peace sign style.

F is for Fancy walks near silk cities.

F is for the Faces that we find ourselves in sometimes in the back of trucks. Brutal Emily...

F is for Final touches which I was just putting on my own addition to the Tree of Life Orphanage.

and finally F is for FINANCES which I need for my World Race trip to continue, I have been blessed already with a little over $10,000 thus far, but still need over $2000 to finish. I would love if you considered praying about helping me through this final leg of my journey. Thank you again for so many of you that have provided us racers with prayer, guidance, and financial support thus far.

broken frisbee

Fri, 10 Aug 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Monks over bangkok

My frisbee's broken, but I'm still goin'. At what lengths does a guy have to go to find himself. To find your purpose, the reason he was suddenly were 4 years old and consciousness began. I'm learning its gonna take a bit more than a year without hobbys to find passion. I may have to screw up a few thousand relationships to find out what a real one is like. I may have to spend countless days not understanding me, that guy on the corner, that friend I haven't seen in 10 years, a lucky leprachaun and Jesus, before I really get it.

What price will I pay? Have my broken piece of circular plastic and more.

lovely CT

Thu, 26 Jul 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Howizit from lovely Cape Town. Shame I couldn't stay longer. Such a place should never be denied less than a week. The friends lended love with a steering wheel, and a warm bed in a cold beach house. The weather provided nice sunsets, only to dampen our clothes for the remainder of the day. The views provided us plenty of reason to recharge our camera batteries at night. The art drowned me in dreams of fresh visions. The God provided the oppurtunity to stay in lovely...CT.

My family of chessplayers and book critics

Life as a penguin

Hout Bay does me right

We'll name him Alan...Ambitious Alan

Drive one of the most beautiful drives in the world...Check!

Ok this is Swaziland...but its so tough, it deserves to go into the CT category

the giraffe Jig

Thu, 5 Jul 2007 00:00:00 GMT

from the journ...unedited...unrated version...now on DVD

I am often asked, "What is the deal with hearing God's voice." Well no, actually nobody has ever asked me that but it would be nice if they did. Even that isn't the whole truth because this question I often ask of myself. This morning I found a common pattern in discerning what God, Abba, creator and master of the universe(sorry He-man) is actually trying to get through my seemingly mile thick head. Its very easy actually.

Look for the voice that shouts out the most illogical solution for YOU, and if it is practical it may be (no promises) God.

An example COULD BE my current situation where as I find myself alone on the porch at 6:15 in the morning writing this God aweful blog. Ten minutes ago, wrapped ever so carefully in bed, I was caught up in the wacky world of dreams where we play all day. Do I wish to do the Jig with a giraffe on the rooftops? I can do this, dreams are good for it. Shall I drive a choclate tank to Ben and Jerrys on free ice cream cone day? Why yes thankyou. How about waking up, going outside, sitting on the cold tiles and talk to God." Ummm..... Will the choclate tank be picking me up from there? "No, it will be cold, you will be tired, but it will be worthwhile thing to do." The conversation continues as you can imagine with much whining and ends with a fast walk to the bathroom and a slow walk to the front door.

Illogical to YOU, but practical. Look for it the next time you are dipping your ice cream cone into the rear end of a choclate tank.

Thembeni

Fri, 29 Jun 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Thembeni home...

Certainly I have found one of my favorite places to live on the trip. I am at present living in Thembeni, Swaziland. A care point with funds but often neglected in attention. A missionary named Claude built up and lived at this place a few years ago, building these beautiful huts alongside some missionary teams. Jon and myself have decided to call this place home for the remainder of our time here in Swaziland and help wherever needed. Every day, this care point sees and feeds around 35 children from the local area. I personally help out in the preschool in the mornings, games in the afternoon, and have employed 5 local troublemakers to help me in the preconstruction of a all purpose building that will more than likely house a church. All of this sandwiched between a beautiful African sunrise and sunset. We eat dinner by candle light and enjoy eachothers company amongst a lovely view of the Swazi countryside. Quite lovely indeed.

our preschool building and kitchen at 6:30 in the morning

I have also been able to renew some of my creativity as of late. I have been on a drawing phase and hope to one day find a scanner and share them with you all. I bought a llovely betique today and hope to learn more of the african styles of art. I am really finding that art makes me come alive, I am passionate about it, and I should not suppress it further. I think Eldridge once wrote something like, "Don't ask yourself what the world needs... Ask yourself what makes you come alive, because what the world needs is people that have come ALIVE". Now if I can just find some watercolor paper or anything that isn't graph paper.

Yesterday morning. One of my favorites I've taken thus far.

kinda wish I had a camera some days...

self...?what are you doing today

Mon, 18 Jun 2007 00:00:00 GMT

My apaulogies for not blogging much. I can blame it on the inconvenience of not having amazing access to internet, especially those of us without laptops, and not being ambitious enough to overcome those inconveinces.

In light of our rest here in Swazi and the fact that it is our half way point I assume I should follow in line in making assessments on who I am, who I was sort of thing. The task seems daunting however as I've forgotten who I was and am in the middle of who I am. This missionary culture is certainly a consuming one. I suppose the better question is do I like who I am and where am I going? So now I have a plethora of selfish questions(questions concerning the the topic of myself), "Who was I?" "Who am I?" " Is that oK?" and, " Who do I want to be?" If thats not enough the question "Is who I wanted to be the same thing I want to be now?" I was told in comm class that self esteem lied in subtracting between all of these. I was always told them I don't know how to plug math numbers into these questions. But here goes.

Who was I? 462

Who am I? 671

Who do I want to be? 1014

do the math, i don't have a calculator...

Worthless? I know! Well, sparing you the real details here is some things I need to work on...

DRAW and WRITE more...I am sucken in creative output, it is my livelihood and I am spoiling it on...I don't know what! I did lose my painting tin recently, and all my frickin paintings thus far, but I have other means of drarin and being creative including this lovely blog page, I need to use it...

Being unoffendable...so important while living in community, forgive and learn should be the first things out of the mouth. We are all trying to get better at life...

Eating and excercise...I sit here with a bag of Simba chips at my feet and a pack of cookies in my pocket, and I wonder why I have had the flu for the last week

Letting God in...I have let God into much of my life over these past couple of months, even years, and he wants more!!!! dang it what do I have to give, my whole life? ooooh....

now add 4 to the "who do I want to be" column...

Mozzy madness

Fri, 1 Jun 2007 00:00:00 GMT

"For I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am.

I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me." Phil 4

Mozambique is through, and I have no idea where to start to unwind it all. Expectations are a dangerous thing I am finding this year.

Shuck a reed, eat a peanut, and wait.

more to come...

red letters

Sun, 29 Apr 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Eric, son of Bryan, Do you love me?

yes

Tend my lambs

Eric, son of Bryan, Do you love me?

yes, you gave me life and continue to give it.

Shepard my sheep.

Eric, son of Bryan, Do you love me?

You know all things. You know everything that keeps me from loving you truly, my intentions, my fears, my obligations, my selfishness.

I love you

My name as hello

Sat, 28 Apr 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Hello Chow!

I try to see every month as the incredible oppurtunity. An oppurtunity to dress up as tigger and trip over children. The oppurtunity to sleep on the roof under the 6 Lima stars with the rats. Oppurtunities for 2 minute hugs and kisses, dances inspired by the joy of Christ, leading creative worship, racing and winning with my team, to watch sunsets, jump in the ocean, go to a persons 70th birthday party, cram into buss, free food from the corner store, anicucho, having allergic reactions to shrimp, speak broken spanish in pool halls late at night, laugh and be the center of attention in a world often so far from the familiar. Thank you Lord for allowing a life full of them. I dont deserve them, but I love you for giving me the grace to enjoy them.

clownin shhhoot shrimp gettin me good!

total city slicker

Brazilian clowns in the Peruvian Andes? Rainbows over Cucso takin a stroll

Ok, so what did I really learn from Peru...Peru was a tough month for ol Eric I believe. After coming off of a Guatamalan high, Peru was a complete switcharoo. Coming into the month I wasnt as excited as some to jump into a planned schedule, though I will admit it did produce some amazing oppurtunities for our bigger team. I never really clicked in and found my place among the craziness, I took my part as a clown and tigger (which stray dogs love by the way), I put my nails into the church built in Lomo, I prayed for loved people sick in bed, I danced with the youth when the music was right, I did the things I could do at the time but was rarely pushed or pulled out of that lovely ol comfort zone. Perhaps a pawn was exactly my place in the game this time.

Oh Africa, will you pull this heart to life?

walking through

Sat, 28 Apr 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Under the shadow of monuments to great men somewhere in downtown Buenos Aires a young couple kisses, a little boy cries, and a old man sleeps on. Life, death, and numbness. In every moment we are given our choice of these.

spinning...

Sat, 31 Mar 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Is the point of a child spinning to feel really dizzy or too fly? Spinning children is a hobby of mine, but lately God has put me on the recieving in. The view goes by so fast I nearly miss it. I have so much to process that it makes me dizzy, but all I want to do is fly. In the end will I fall down, or ask for another ride?

painting my thumb green

Thu, 29 Mar 2007 00:00:00 GMT

I hoped to buy a little green plant to suffice my living in the sand dunes of Lima. Instead, I took advantage of my first days off and found my way into the mountains and got enough green memories to last me a good while. Jon, Chris and Tim came along and we soon, although a lofty process, soon we came upon Canta. Here we found our first rain in 40 days, a abandoned hostel to sneak around, and a great many adventures to be had. Our trip was to be a short one, so sleep was at a minimum and we made the most of the town's one open restaurant at night and an early exit to follow the clouds lifting higher and higher up that steep slope. Inbetween we ate chicken and fry plates for 66 cents, hung with local dogs, watched water fall from no where, found snow capped peaks, chased donkeys, rang retired bells, talked with the friendliest of locals and the one other tourist couple in the place, and did the general touristy thing to do...take lots of pictures.

Only the donkeys and the occasional lost tourist finds this placeA man called david was buried here, everyday, once a day the clouds lift high enough to show thier contents, and the little town below. I think I know why he chose this spot to remain.

While heading for one waterfall we found an even better one hiding beside it.

Oh yeah...and heres some proof of our visitor in the night. (see Jon Heiberts blog)

chalk up the dubya

Thu, 22 Mar 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Yeti wins the race.

I am proud of everybody on my team as all were an intregral part of the best race thus far. It was a couple of hours of intensity as teams passed other teams left and right, and often being all alone and wondering if you are in first or last. And in the end, after our cabbie went around the block twice, waited in a skinny alley for the car ahead to unload furniture, we found ourselves slightly ahead. Another leg and it could have been another team. good work all

Chapter 2 closes

Sun, 18 Mar 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Ah Guatamala, I will certainly see you again. This past month I have lived, and to the real sense of the word lived. I realized as I sat early one morning in a cafe, sharing coffee with a friend, reading the paper in Spanish, across from two cops that I had acheived Solidarity with Panajachel Guatamala. I used this solidarity and the trust that is had to in my eyes effectively share the love of God with people. Every day, every walk down the street was an encouragement for someone it seemed. On our first night we ran into a tienda looking for chocobananas after a beatifuly encouraging service, we met two sweet small ones with the most clear spanish I had ever heard. We joked a bit and left to not see them again. On my last night I jumped out of a tienda with Pedro and nearly landed on top of two small ones pushing a cart full of goods. They were bent over and pushing and pulling the load, I looked down and heard a crisp voice speak out greetings. It was these two. I took thier load as I knew where they lived and the hill was too steep for these. They ran behind and jumped with laughter. My last ministry came full circle with one of my first, such was life in Pana, such as life should be lived, with the perfect timing of God and the obedience to follow when he does show up. I unfortunely have little in the way of pictures for this past month, but what I have, I give you.

Only the middle one was taken by me. 1. Alex, little smartalik, love him. 2. On Mardi Gras a little girl dumped confetti on a strangers head, weve been good friends since, I made a pie for her!. 3. 5:00 kayak trip

Here in the rocks and mud/stick combo house on the side of the hill above San Catarina you will find the greatest veiw of the lake and a beautiful family to compliment it. Catarina stands strong in the face of the mental illness, drunkedness, and various other sickness in her family. She stands strong but now she doesnt stand alone, I believe she has a greater understanding of the grace of God than most, though she has never been able to read the bible nor has had the support of the church. My prayer is that I will return and see others standing strong with her, that a church has been formed around her, and that the same smile that erupts from emilia (crouching) is found again. Till that lovely day...

looking for something new?

Sun, 18 Mar 2007 00:00:00 GMT

I brought it up. We stood in the doorway and Pedro, my good bud in pana were about to part our ways, till perhaps another day, when I would set foot in his church once again. Uh...yes, maybe you could help us... Pedro, in that last few minutes brought up many things that I didnt even see. I wish to spill these into the the world race audience and invite anyone who feels called to possibly meet the needs of a great brother and awesome God centered church. Pedro, and his family of 5 live in a room next to the pastors room behind their church. Pedros wife and children run a small tienda out of the front of the church, and Pedro works full time with the church. He is asking if anyone could financially help him with the building of another room or two for him and his family. He is at present spending any extra money on his fathers house as it comes in. In addition, a kitchen for the church including an oven would be usefull. At present, they cook over fire. I am sure they would love to host anybody if you so wished to help him with the project. Though you may get a worldrace lesson and be sleeping on the floor! I wish I had the pictures to show, but alas he told me in those final moments as I was leaving. Please shoot me an email for more info, and I can connect you with him. Blessings...

best shown unexpectingly

Thu, 1 Mar 2007 00:00:00 GMT

I stand up. My frisbee rolls back and hits that girl that just got in the truck. She doesn't seem to notice. "sorr...los siento I mean" I stand up though no one else does. I stare at the front of the hood, looking down on it, like a video game, where is my controller; maybe I am in replay mode. Perhaps, as I have seen this way many times before. I even know the driver, I wonder if he knows me. I have a thing about remembering faces, people watching should be a sport, names I cannot do, but visuals, faces, strange flowers, beauty, not directions, I can do. I stand up and meet the wind, this is my road, those are my volcanoes to the right, I know the names of people, kids mostly. I call them out along the way. I once called out "Pana, Pana" to strangers like I was the chicken bus guy. The guy that runs out the back door as it is moving and magically appears in the front. I hear his footsteps on the roof, he squishes through, up and over these people crammed next to me and them next to other thems, we are squished together, and he swims through, collecting three quetzals at a time. "Pana, Pana" he yells, just like me. I stand up and think about my mom being next to me and my sister and her daughter too. Raylea would want to stand up with me, that is her name; I would point at the hang gliders and the volcano, if they were here, in this truck crossing the river. Till then I stand up, though the others only stand when they haft too, when these wooden planks are filled with people and baskets. Pedro once stood with me, though it may have been only to hear me better, his broken English, my equally broken Spanish, we love it. Without me he may have never stood up, he wouldn't have played the video game and owned that road for fifteen minutes, wouldn't have seen that lake, the one to the right from a slightly taller angle. Ascent, descent, such is life, especially for Miguel who drives this yellow Nissan to and fro Pana and Santa. San Cartarina offers me my sanity from the gringo land of Panajachel, Jon thought it looked like Venice, I have never been there, Europe never impressed me, but if it is like Santa, perhaps I will stop by sometime. Sanity is life lived, truly, unapologetically. That piece of trash is there because I am comfortable with it being there, I will not pick it up for you, this is me being vulnerable, this is me being me. Hello you, it is nice to finally meet the real you.
I always hit my head when we get off, that roll cage thingy is far too low for your average American, even a short one like myself. It is Wednesday, I speak for the first time of the trip, "Last one" I mention to Luis. Edras waits with his notebook in hand, smiles, he really smiles too big, makes is cheeks all puffy and high, so does his brother, makes them hard to draw. Luis pays for "dos", its his turn, our silly trading game of generosity, same money in the end, but you feel better this way, you feel connected, friends take care of friends, Luis is my friend, I will get the next hitch. Gleams and smiles from many little ones as I reach the door, they have never played with me, but I have played, and they have seen me play. I have broken them, it is easy, a simple quirk, a tongue protruded, a obscene noise with face clinched, even a small smile can break them, best shown unexpectingly, then you are free to swing and dance with their hands never endingly clasped to yours. You never see their face after that because they are always by your side, you look down and see only the top of their head, black hair, always black, hugging kneecaps.
Four extra today, names, I need names, they say it, I say "huh" they say it, I can't say it very well, they say it, better, I say it, I forget it. What is that girls name there, I want to ask her something, but I can't because I call everyone else by name, dang it where's my little black book, names but no faces, no help, educated guess, never mind your teaching right now, everyone is staring, "Como te llamas ultra ves?" Pascuela, dang it, every day there is one I forget. Today is special; I brought cookies, and a few hours drawing their faces the night before. Faces I know well, names not so much. These faces I knew well, well enough to draw at least, all but Ingrid was I happy with, she wasn't happy with it either. Yesterday I wondered if my demonstration worked, the one with the disaster lesson of how much boredom one child can take. The one that I thought would be full of amazement with my artistic abilities that they would pay attention for forty minutes, dummy, this is about relationships. I learned that the third day, when I talked to Jon along the market, such a long walk that is, plenty enough walking for a good conversation. "something something en el campo?" Pascuela and her friends ask. "mas tarde" I reply. 8 heads is the length of the human body, I draw Luis on the board, cartoony of course, Luis, 8 heads tall. I walk around as they draw the same face, ears sticking out like bobby's world. They are proud to show me, more proud than I. Simple, I say to myself, one simple thing a day is all we need, time will soon create a master.
"Who is this?", good they know, my drawings are not completely off, I say "Quienes", high pitched laughter and in unison joins in the name. They really thought Eustachio was funny. Rip and give. They know what to do right? They paid attention in my demonstration yesterday right? It doesn't matter, I tell myself like I told myself I was going to tell myself today. I lay pastels down to eager hands, I trust them, I turn my back to them, they know what to do now. Four new faces on my last day, as I search through my bag for my eraser. I crouch down, up against the wall and draw with rigor, so much so, my eraser was found in vain. Stress always releases when I draw, I leave my class for a bit there in the front of them, I stare only at the boy, the drawing, the boy, the drawing. Always look at the subject, I told them this over and over on that first day, the day I didn't know their faces very well. How high is that eyebrow? I am drawing well today, its like a mood usually, some days are better, some days are worse, but this day is blessed and my pencil attacks fresh faces, messy but good, as they seem to satisfy their looks of being left out.

I stand up; I am available to them once again, like a good teacher should. They stand up too, to show me half rendered eyeballs, and hair cut off in mid stroke. Black hair, always black hair. I advise each one of them and they get the encouraging comments they came for, each, no matter the butchering of my start, they are owning it, it is theirs now, and beauty is not so easily found outside of children. "Final!" they shout with glee, "One more hour" I respond like always, I could get the same response every day and never tire of it, moans with smiles. Good, they went longer today, fifteen minutes longer. They are still not all finished, but it is time to go, I told them so before.

I stand up, no shoes, they are my goalposts, and I stand in-between. Slight grass, perhaps green once in a rainy month long ago, provides just the cushion from the flat dusty hardness below. My team isn't very good, these girls love basketball, but today we had a soccer ball. The boys gleam with obvious authority over their taller opposites. I stand bored among scattered rocks and laugh with them from afar. They really aren't very good at soccer. I call them by name, in my head, a single girl stands near me, Rosa, waiting for the ball, I will let her have her goal if she ever gets the ball. I think she knows that too, so she waits patiently, occasionally yelling with our audience that has crowded around my goal. They want me to throw the frisbee high, so high that people run away from it. With this velocity and angle, a little bit of wind coming off the lake, perfection for the menacing throws no child could catch. I almost hit a helicopter yesterday, I swear. I thank God they cannot judge its descent, even I cringe as it bullets towards like a flattened meteor. I throw it their towards the lake, over the fence and over the lake, with just the perfect angle. It climbs and climbs and then turns and burns through the atmosphere with vicious speed. I know the angle well. They ask for it using the word for "hard".
Finally a goal, I set myself in the goalie stance, low and ready, frozen, waiting, the ball rolls just pass me to my left, waiting, frozen, waiting. The girl's patience is awarded, they yell and laugh in victory of their 17-1 loss. We were there for exactly three recess', three types of kids, arranged somehow had came and went, and now all were back in this building as we pass it, on our way to cookies and refresco. School is loud and distracting on my right, but I break from it too see somebody special on my left. She is straight and tall, like a queen. I run to Catarina and say my hellos. She wears her purples and greens, like the others but walks differently. She only knows hellos, Spanish is secondary around here, Quatzikal uses the throat, mumblings too rich for my Midwest upbringing. It has been over a week, nearly since I last saw her, in a service devoted to her and her daughters. Long before that, Luis and I climbed with our backs to the view; Venice must be steep and narrow. Ladies and children with matching baskets atop maneuver these steps with ease. Panting I turn and my already gasping breath, gasps more at this place. Three girls smile and hide amongst the rock, one perhaps smiles a bit too much. A lady in purples in greens, straight and tall, like a queen, greets us from around the corner. A clearer view of this these lakes and volcanoes I had not yet seen. "They are not here, this is the wrong house." Luis calls to me. But I am captivated; this is too good a place to be called wrong in any context. My heart peels already for these.
Next to the noisy schoolyard, my kids have gathered around as I attempt my feeble communication techniques. I once heard communication is 90% nonverbal, hand gestures and smiles and demeanors all are lovely, but you still need that 10% to bring about 100% clarity. "No, I am not coming tonight, maybe on Friday" Catarina speaks, just like last week. I pray for her hope later. She is strong, she must be to maneuver those rocks, with that basket atop her. She must be strong, to live with two sickened ones. "Triste", sad, I told Pedro. Diseases of the mind are so. The little one still smiles, a bit too much though, unknowingly she smiles on, so simple. The father it seems has long lost that ability, he is worn by this disease, seizures. A seizure a day, in time you will soon be mastered. I pray for her hope later, that she is strong. That her seed would grow up strong in and amongst these rocks. She saw us pray over her mother, for sight to be returned, and her niece that she would believe, and her brother driven by drunkenness, he wants his wife back. He put his hope in a prayer we had him repeat, though only one, I told him he was strong, I looked into his face when no one else would. "Eres fuerte". For a bit, while we were there, kneeling in beds so low, dead squirrels hanging overhead, we brought peace and unity. This we tried hard to leave behind, but now I pray for strength, and Catarina's hope, and feeble words shared to become the powerful heart changing strength for a family in and amongst the rocks. I should stand up, like a good teacher, advise and encourage, for hope is a long commitment, so easily forgotten amongst the rocks.
What good little cookie eaters these are! Three hours of work and play should always end with guilt free black and white cookies. And I would do it again tomarrow, but it shouldn't be so special. When the pepsi ran out, the remains of vanilla wafers lie scattered, they parted. I walk outside and wave goodbye as Elvera's youngest sister clasp my knees again. We swing and stumble in dizziness, I stare down and see black, black hair. I walk with her on my shoulder, she's small enough to fit on one. My truck passes slowly and I struggle to remove her grasp, I can't pronounce her name, she doesn't mind. I run and catch my yellow Nissan, with the black roll cage, I walk past the others to the cab, and...I stand up.

Monday morning

Mon, 19 Feb 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Am I not inspired?

Does the beauty of a vast lake rising into cloud ridden volcanoes offend me?

In truth, I offend myself

and it is God who offends me with his righteosness.

How can I relate? He can relate yes.

He who went through this life with tears and crys of our pain,

but what of my righteosness.

This freedom given runs me lost.

The hole I try to forget I continue to fall into.

Should it be better to remember?

I crave inspiration, for it has led me to life and love before.

Introduce me to smiles all the bigger and tears the more pure

Introduce me to hope and faith that are my inspiration

Introduce me to a song that I can dance well with.

Lend me your heart.

city of a thousand dreams

Wed, 14 Feb 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Welcome to Panajachel Guatamala.

It was once called grincoland, when free loving americans ran free here until unrest in the 70's drove many out. Much of that culture has returned, for every ten darker faces you are met with a blond haired pale face. Our time here could be used in a thousand different ways, or not at all. It is difficult to sort out for sure. We are daily given oppurtunities, and daily we must say our "maybe"s. Our group has attacked this situation with a combination of personal experiences and group ministry. From holding babies to art classes to giving flowers to specials on valentines day. This is but an introduction to the beauty that is arranged for us here. We are confident in our being here and working with these people. God has blessed us in this place.

New Videos Up!

Thu, 8 Feb 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Hey, check out the latest World Race videos at:

http://www.youtube.com/theworldrace

Chapter 1. the cleansing river of alguilar

Tue, 6 Feb 2007 00:00:00 GMT

Thier is a river that runs through the town of Alguilar. The town depends upon it. It comes from the mountains, winds through the houses of color and leaves again someplace beyond the man bathing his horse. Perhaps it meets another town between the fields of swamp frogs and cattle. It drags the smells and stains of clothes, chicken parts deprived of their meat, and crap far away. Sometimes I think it is the only thing that leaves that town. For all that effort and abuse, that river didn't even seem to have a name.

We, like the river, came and went in the town of Alguilar. Where the river met thier worldly needs, we aimed to meet thier spiritual ones. When we first arrived, we asked and asked what we could do for the people of the pueblo. The only answer we ever got was prayer, so we prayed. We prayed for their crap, thier stains, their trash and unneeded parts. We prayed for cleansing really. A man should never be hindered by things unseen, only strengthened. We pray for thier strength.

A moment.

A tiny one, scared so many times before, clutches the shin and yells up "ultra". She wants a quick spin. I pull her up to find a open pocket knife in her grasp to which she says in a small but stern voice. "Cuchilla!" I laugh and we spin again.

A man catches my eyes and pulls me out of the passing conversation in the road. "Tenemos fiesta a la seis.." My head hurts he quickly interrupts. We prayed hard over him, we put the responsibility on God. No other time have I felt helpless in my language barrier.

I look up and see the dress of blue black with the white spots grasping three greenish oranges. Eyes of curiosity follow her from the cracks of wooden structures with smoke rising. She walks with timid steps like a dog to an outstretched strangers hand. A gentile smile cracks as she reaches up and delivers the prize only to walk back in the same manner. The taste of food is often greatly enhanced by presentation. That was a really good orange.

I scraped over the rocks and gargled the water and growled like an alligator. I searched for food, an harm or a head of those that swam near. They taunted with "Come and eat me!" cheers and screams and eventually laughs. I drug many into the deep, except for Marta. Her spirit was too free.

I sat alone outside, next to Alfredo as the ladies cooked the slabs of cow for our last day. I chewed fiercely on the carne asada jerky like meat, and listened to them talk about the gringos. They talked a bit about me, perhaps underestimating my spanish. "Contento" they said..."happy". And I was.

small wonders

Thu, 1 Feb 2007 00:00:00 GMT

It occurred to me on this trip that we often focus so far from ourselves. When the actual answer was a half inch from our face. We see mountains of afar and we often try to capture them immediately. How many steps to the top of a mountain? And what of these steps. Some are over creeks and canyons, snakes and snails. Many of our steps are grandiouso in of themselves. As photographers we like to put grand things into little boxes. I decided to put little things in grand boxes. I began to find that the world from a small focused perspective is all the more bigger. Perhaps God from a small focused perspective is all that much bigger too. Here are some shots from the entitled "small wonders" series.

All are raw original shots, unphotoshopped, cropped or manipulated yet.

Shots were often taken with the flower touching the lenses.

Shots were mostly taken with 4 55 mm Macro lenses', a softone filter, and often a blue, yellow or combination color filter.

Unfortunetly this is the end of this series, as my carelessness allowed my camera and better part of filters to be stolen. Perhaps a lowly amigo will see my shots and continue my studies. Probably not I move now into my watercolors which I hope to increase my hand in and be able to capture other beauties of this world. There are just some places that no camera can give justice too.