Two...Three...Five

This is a blog long overdue. Where to start...

So I have a friend named Lenin. I met Lenin at the Prayer Breakfast in Washington, D.C. and really connected with him. He was the 5th person that I met from Ecuador and lived at Casa Victoria, and was the 'straw that broke the camel's back' to get me down here. 5th time's the charm I guess.

Anyway, Lenin is from a really small village called 235. It is called that because it is 235 kilometers from the coast and there's a railroad track that goes through it. The name is simple, much like the lifestyle and the people. For any of you that have been on the Mizzou mission trips to Jamaica, this place is just like that.

I went out there with Lenin a few weeks ago and it was going to be a surprise birthday party for his mom. We successfully distracted her in a neighboring town while Lenin's 8 other brothers and sisters made their way to the house to set up. We made our way back and it was fantastic. Tons of food, two dudes popped out of the kitchen with guitars singing happy birthday in spanish, you got the lady who's already drunk prancing around yelling out happy birthday at the most random times. It was awesome.

This party was a little different than many of the parties I have ever been to. We're in a small house (really small...like a house made for ants...i jacked my head several times), concrete floor, and several

people of all ages sitting around telling jokes. There are two guys walking around passing out home made moonshine and Pilsener beer...and everyone's drinking, even Grandma. As the night progressed the guitarists started working again and people started to dance. Thanks to the drunk guy who made it interesting. We gave him a little device that was used to pump balloons as a microphone. He was dancing around, grabbing all the girls to dance

with him.

We danced. We drank. We celebrated the life of an amazing woman.

I started to think about the lives of these people. They just got running water 1o years ago. They're a farming people who live off the land. Their stresses are different than my stresses, and they probably have a lot less. The go to bed every night and wake up every morning with the sound of the raging river below. There's honesty, there's trust, there's

no crime. People look out for eachother and yes, most of them are related. The air is some of the purest air in Ecuador and they are in the mountains. They're separated from 'the real world,' from traffic, from technology. Many people there don't have cars, have never driven, and have never flown in airplanes. Even Lenin's mom is afraid of them because she says, 'they take my babies away!' It's a different life, one that seems more pure, and I was honored to be a part of it.

This is Lenin's Dad repeating a few phrases that we taught him in English. He's the man. It brings a smile to my face every time I watch it.

3 moments in Time

It might be too soon to start thinking back and picking out some great moments, but I wanted to share 3 moments that have stuck with me. I knew that I would eventually write about them, so I'm choosing now to do that.

The first, and these really aren't in any particular order, is a conversation I had with this guy named Bill. Bill is married to the librarian down here and is the only other gringo besides me in this neighborhood. He hails from Michigan and smokes like crazy, but apparently he's calmed down a bit. Anyway we were outside the house and we were talking about the weekend. About 8 people came down from the States and hung out with us for a weekend in the middle of October. Most of them were from a church called Ocean Hills in Santa Barabara, CA and we spent the weekend at a cool, little retreat center. They had been coming down to Quito for the past 6 years and Bill met them for the first time last year. During a conversation he was asked what he missed most about the States. He quickly answered: Mountain Dew, Cheez Wiz, and Spaghettio's with Meatballs. Apparently the questioner kept this in mind and in his next visit the following year, he showed up with Cheez Wiz and Spaghettio's with Meatballs. He was afraid to pack the Mountain Dew because he thought it would explode, but nonetheless it left quite the impression on Bill. During his second cigarette he exclaimed to me his appreciation. "I mean, the dude brought me Cheez Wiz...that's fucking love!'

The second was an event that happened a few weeks ago. A friend and fellow volunteer Mateo Ponce wanted to start a Bible Study every Wednesday night. We would alternate between going to his house and Casa Victoria and each person would share a thought or two from the Bible. During this particular Bible Study we had 4 guests from Peru. They were husband and wife pastors that Javier had met on his journey there in September. There were 12 of us gathered around the dining room table, with coffee, tea, and cheese with bread in front of us and a raging, warming fire behind us. One pastor shared his thoughts from the book of John and we were all discussing it. Jose Luis, one of the founders of the house, was also in attendance. The conversation shifted a little bit to Casa Victoria and he said something that has stuck with me: "Look at all of us that are gathered here tonight. We have representatives from Colombia, Peru, Ecuador and the United States. We have people of all different skin color. We all represent different societal classes from small villages in the Andes mountains to the son of the Mister of Defense. But we are all here, gathered together, talking about Jesus. To me, this represents Casa Victoria." I was proud to be a part of that.

The last was when the weather started to change in the first weeks of October. My body wasn't quite ready for that and I got a little sick. I lost my voice for a day, I was coughing like crazy, and had all kinds of congestion. It was right when these little Bible Studies that I mentioned previously were beginning. At the end of one of them I asked Javier to pray for me. I asked him to pray for my health as well as my Spanish as it was kind of a double wammy for me. I'm sick and I can't explain what's wrong with me without acting it out. He said of course he would do it, and we made our way back to the house. As soon as I arrived I headed straight for my bed as I was exhausted and needing sleep. As I layed down Javy came in my room and told me that I should wear a scarf; that it would help with my sickness. I told him that I didn't have one and didn't really believe his old wive's tale, but he proceeded to take his scarf and give it to me. This was significant because Javier sleeps with a stocking cap and this scarf every night. He was giving to me, a sick roommate who he barely knows, and putting himself out for the night. I accepted his generous offer and it wasn't but 5 min. before I was halfway to dream land. I did notice, however, that Javy had made his way over to my bed and was praying for me. I couldn't really understand it all, but in my semi-comatose state I just felt better. The dude had given me something that was big for him and kept his word. Javy is a good friend.

Talent Show at Casa Victoria

There are plenty of things to write about, but I'm in one of those moods right now that wants to summarize what just happened.

This afternoon we had the kids perform a little talent show. It was called, 'Ninas Bonitas,' which translates to Pretty little girls. There were 20 ninas in this talent show and it was something else. We had parents, judges, even a DJ. Because of my incredible math skills I was given the responsibilty of tallying up the scores from the judges and dividing to find the median. It required my full attention.

There were going to be two rounds. The first was going to be the girls walking down the 'stage' to Carolina, the director here, to introduce themselves. The judges would base them on their walk, articulation, and overall confidence. We went through the 20 little girls that range from 5 - 12 years old starting with the youngest who generally don't posses any fear of the situation to the older, slightly more self-conscious children. For the most part, everything went well and we were off to the second part of the show: talent.

Most of the little girls decided that their talent was going to be 'modeling.' So they would strut their stuff, do a little twirl, and make their way back. One girl blew a little kiss to the judges when she finished. Classic. As the ages and the afternoon matured, so did the acts. Some girls sang and some girls danced. One little girl...oh man this broke my heart...her talent was dancing. She was all decked out in her little white dress and white gloves and made her way to the middle of the room. A popular hip hop song came on and she started to dance...then it happened...she froze. She froze and then started weeping. Ssssoooo intense. The director jumped in dancing trying to salvage it, but it was too late. She was carried off the stage, and the show continued. When the girls finished their talent a boy of roughly the same age was announced and he escorted her off the stage. After two rounds were completed, my job kicked up a little bit as I tallied up the scores and picked the 4 finalists. (Needless to say the girl who bawled didn't make it...too soon)?

All the contestants were gathered together and the 4 names were called. That was kind of intense because some girls acted like girls and the water works came on. The final act was answering a question: what do you want to be when you grow up? They all followed the first girl's lead and said that they wanted to be a doctor. However, when asked why some answered quicker than others and had different reasons. Then it was it...the time to announce who would be Miss Nina Bonita. The 4 finalists were gathered together and each name was called. The first girl accepted her 4th place prize of a stuffed animal and walked off in triumph. It wasn't first, but she would take it. The 3rd place girl was called and she was presented with her teddy bear gift. During the presentation she cried and sombered out of the room. The second and first place names were called without the shedding of tears and the act was over. The first place winner hugged everyone and that it was it. The first annual Miss Nina Bonita had completed.

I have some mixed thoughts on this idea, but the most part I feel pretty positive about it. The equivalent of the power of a Father telling his Son that he's proud of him is a girl being told that she's beautiful. Even though there was one winner (she dominated too...it wasn't even close), I thought it was good for these little girls to dress up and perform. They practiced public speaking, they walked in front a crowd as their beauty was praised, they even performed which is a very scary thing; I was even nervous and I was just the guy with the calculator. I thought it was good for the little boys to escort the women from the spot light. Showing respect for a woman and serving her is something that I hope sticks with these equally impoverished young men.

Even though every girl wanted to win; I still feel that it was good to have a little competition. The girl who won did it with class and it was repeated several times that were all incredible, beautiful, and brave.

San Roque, the neighborhood where Casa Victoria is located, is filled with single mothers, drug addictics, alcoholics, and violence. So I think a chance to take a break from that is always beneficial. This was rare moment that these children experienced. I don't know if anyone has ever told them they were beautiful or were asked to perform. These girls were in the spot light, and if even for a few seconds it exposed them to something great. Something from a world that we were meant to live in. I like to say that I think Casa Victoria is a light in an otherwise dark place and today, we shone like the sun.

Feeling

Here’s to technology. Here’s to making something that might have been too personal for me to talk about, but now I can post on a blog and not feel embarrassment because I can’t see anyone’s faces.

Earlier tonight I spent some time with the Lord. I’ll be honest; I resisted in the beginning. I felt the Lord calling me, but I had just bought the 11^th season of ‘The Simpsons’ and wanted to watch that. Finally I gave in and starting reading Jesus of Nazareth by the current Pope Joseph Ratzinger. It is usually during times where I am reading about Jesus that He speaks to me beneath the text; kind of a sub conversation. It was during this time that I stated to have some pretty intense thoughts.

‘That which solidifies dreams into reality is feeling.’ That’s what I started with. I had these wild ideas of traveling the world, and hoping to change it. However, during these wild dreams I started to think about my time here in Ecuador. I'm already traveling. Why take away from my time here by thinking about some future trip? It’s a dangerous thing to live in the future, or even the past. It can take us out of reality, and that’s when feeling entered. I started to think of the kids here. When I’m playing with the kids I’m not thinking of great philosophical ideas or future trips; I’m just here. I’m feeling the moment. I'm feeling reality.

Ironically, a few moments later my thoughts jumped back to my plans for a future adventure. When I return I plan on taking a trip around the States. It was something that started off as a dream when performing the monotonous task of painting the halls of Casa Victoria. However, this dream has seemed to stick and I am working out the itinerary of this adventure with my friend Justin Paton. I was all pumped about this and shared it with my parents. “What about a job?’ Those were the first words out of my father’s mouth. I know my dad only wants what’s best for me and I thank him for being the voice of reason, but there was a piece of me that really hurt. A piece of me that saw myself going back into the working world and feeling that too familiar boredom; boredom with life, or rather, not living life. It’s a tough balance; living in this world but wanting what’s in another. The balance between that which is necessary and that which is, well, a dream.

I meditated on this balance as the sun was setting over the busy landscape of Ecuador’s capital. I wanted a better look. I wanted to soak it in, but the door leading to the deck off the living room was locked. I took it as a sign for me to head to higher ground. I was careful making my way knowing that my moment with the Lord was fragile. When reaching the top of Casa Victoria the roof blocked my view. ‘Well, time to climb on top of the roof.’ I’m sure there’s a rule about not doing that, but I made a quick hop and started climbing. I got excited. I felt like I was about to experiene something great and powerful. ‘Lord,’ I thought, ‘am I about to fall in love with this city?’ About half way up I heard my name called over and over again. ‘Well, there it goes,’ I thought, ‘my moment with the Lord was gone.’ But I was wrong. Across the street is a small apartment building with about 15 kids living in it. On the roof of their building, which is actually made for people to be on, were 6 kids: Maria, Natali, Erick, Widinson, Liseth and Johann. They all called my name and I took a seat and waved at them. They started yelling in Spanish and I only understood a little of what they said, but the point wasn’t conversation. They just yelled my name and wanted me to wave. They did that quite a bit… They played and I watched.

I thought my moment with the Lord was going to be beholding His great and powerful creation of the sunset. It would have led to more deep thoughts and dreams for the future once again taking me to a different place. However, He presented me with a different great and powerful creation that yanked me back into the present. It was the same thought that interrupted my dreaming process earlier. I wanted to look upon the bursts of orange, red, purple and blue painted across the sky, but instead I looked upon about something greater. And I felt something greater too. I felt the love of children. I felt the present. I felt reality.

Not in the States...

There are many traditions that not celebrated here in Ecuador. For example, Halloween is not big, no Thanksgiving (probably could have guessed that one), Christmas is huge. I’ve been staring at a Christmas tree and passing by Christmas decorations since the middle of October. However that's not the holiday I want to talk about. I'm talking about a little something called ‘Day of the Dead.’

I’ve mentioned my roommate Javier a few times in the past. He’s one of my favorite roommates and brings a lot of peace, love, and knowledge about the Lord. He also speaks slow so I can understand a lot of what he’s saying. He’s from a little village called Guantalo in the Andes Mountains. This was our destination for Nov. 1-3.

5 of us piled into the standard transportation for trips like this, Mateo’s car, and off we went. We were in the car for about 2 hours before we hit the actual mountain, then it was just man-terrain rocky road after that. We passed the beautiful landscape and the occasional sheep or cow header. After 2 more hours we finally arrived. It was funny because we’re on this mountain road, there’s no signs, everything looks the same, and then BOOM…you’re there. That was the first of many times that I smiled and thought to myself, ‘you wouldn’t find this in the States.’

We ate dinner at Javier’s sister's house. The whole idea of someone living in the middle of nowhere takes on a different meaning when you’re in a mountain village in a third world country. We couldn’t quite get all the way there and stopped at a cow pasture at dusk. We did our best not to step in cow, donkey, or sheep crap and then we made it. In the main room was a giant table filled with all kinds of food, but there was something a little different. On one of the corners there was a little Ecuadorian delicacy: cui (guinea pig). It was nice and charred and missing the head. ‘Huh,’ I thought, ‘you wouldn’t find that in the States.’

You would find rooms with electricity in the States, but not here. Here’s to candlelit dinners eating my first guinea pig. Here’s also to the kids who didn’t quite get the idea that you shouldn’t bump the table with one candle, and to the kids who cough all over the food. Then they grab a piece of cheese, take a bite, and put it back. When Javier’s sister told me how great the cheese was and passed me the bowl; I had to lie. I said I didn’t like cheese….I felt terrible afterwards, but it was a matter of health. When we were leaving we were informed that Mateo’s car was the first car to ever make it that close to her house. The first car…it’s 2009.

After the one of a kind meal we made our way back to Javier’s cousin who was hosting us that night. We were greeted with a little homemade moonshine. I always think my Spanish is better after I’ve been drinking; I’m sure it’s not. Mateo and myself took several shots with the locals before stumbling upstairs to our beds. I fell asleep under 4 blankets and a bed as hard as the liquor I had just drank. I woke up at 4:30 a.m. freezing. Where the hell am I? I toughed it out until about 8, got up, and met a little Ecadorian kid with a high voice. Turns out he’s some of kind of star singer down here. We made our way to the outhouse, washed up a little bit in the local well, ate some berries off of a tree, and hopped a fence to get to the backyard….and by backyard I mean cow pasture. Javier’s cousin was doing the morning milking for breakfast. I was able to warm up in the sun and then it was back inside for breakfast: rice (always), chicken, and coffee with freshly ‘squeezed’ milk. Here’s the thing though; I’m drinking this milk and I come across something a little chewy, a little something that you wouldn’t find in your average milk in the States: skin. Apparently this is common of fresh milk, but I didn't see it coming. I spit it out, did a little head nod with a smile, and finished my meal.

We played soccer the rest of the day and attended Mass in the local cemetery. I slept better that night. Maybe it was because I doubled the amount of blankets from the night before and I was exhausted from chasing around 13 year olds who dominate in soccer.

The last day we went to a place where I was happy to say that I wouldn’t find in the States. It’s a place called Quilotoa, and it’s a crater filled with rain water. It was beautiful. We hiked down to the lake itself which took about 30 min. downhill. When we arrived we all jumped into the lake which had to be a few degrees above freezing. I didn’t last long. Afterwards we made the long trek up which took all the energy I had. We made our way to Mateo’s car for the final trip home, but this time we were plus 2 more. 7 people, 4 hours, bumpy, windy roads…rough.

Although there were several things about this trip that were a bit different, it was probably the best weekend of my time down here. The people were loving and hospitable and the experience memorable. I’m glad I was able to experience the moments where I would smile and realize I’m not in the States, and finally, experience my best Day of the Dead.

Our Trip to Hacienda de Mateo...truly beautiful

Mateo is a great friend because the dude loves to travel. He's the only one of my friends down here that has a car, and it is great. So, this past weekend we made our way to his farm way out in the country that's like 4 hours away from Quito.

The place was truly beautiful. We saw beautiful landscapes, incredible plant life, and had a little fun with the Andes mountains. I had a great time with my friends and we just relaxed.

Probably the highlight of the trip came right at the beginning. As we arrive Mateo starts looking around for this type of juice. It supposedly tastes like honey juice, but it comes from a plant instead of bees. He starts asking all these Indigenous people and finally asking about 15 people we find Rosa.Rosa is a nice elderly woman who told us she had this juice. We gave her a ride to her house, she introduces us to her husband Victor, and makes her way into a field. She sets up next to this plant that looks like a funny cactus and starts taking out this liquid from the root. She offers us a little cup of it, and I was like, 'alright, this is something different. I could be into this.' I try it and Mateo was right, it tasted just like honey juice.

The reason this was the highlight because it was about people. It was real. On the way to the farm and even throughout the weekend we saw all kinds of incredible landscapes, but I just felt like there was something missing. Meeting Rosa and Victor seemed to make it for me. I mean these people never see white people. They are in the middle of the Ecuadorian

country. There's no T.V., no internet, and they've been living in that surrounding area their entire lives. I just felt like I experienced something that most people never will, because it's not something that you can look up on Google. It's relationship.

Learning

I purposely skipped a week because a lot of stuff has been happening.

Comfort is a funny thing. After writing my last post and the few days that followed I was in a pretty low place. Then...gringo's arrived. Comfort is funny because I went from a place of complete discomfort, to a place of familiarity simply because a couple of white people showed up from California. I found myself talking a lot and I realized how much I missed having those kinds of conversations. Conversations where I don't have to translate. Conversations where I don't need to find other words because I can't say in Spanish what I really want to say. Conversations where I can keep up with what the other person is saying.

We had a great weekend. We all went to a retreat center about an hour away from Quito and experienced some great moments. We had a little gathering Sat. night, had some worship and shared a few thoughts. It felt crazy because it was like a taste of home though I was on another continent. However, I was constantly reminded because there was a guy translating everything into Spanish. Towards the end of the night we had a Young Life style 15 min. of silence. Jono, the guy from California leading our time, read the passage where the Lord tells us to be still and know that He is God. I walked outside into the misty rain and into the garden. I found a spot under a small roof and meditated on this phrase. As always I was distracted, but this 'distraction' led into some conclusive thoughts. I've never experienced before what I'm experiencing now. During the talk earlier the message seemed to have an underlying tone of seeking the Lord. A feeling of, 'how can I experience God more,' with a sense of, 'because I'm not really content with what I have right now.' I don't feel that here. It seems like a foreign concept. I constantly feel uncomfortable, and I constantly feel God. I've never experienced that. Usually I would feel uncomfortable, then I would feel God and that would put everything in perspective thus destroying the discomfort. But here, I feel both. I came to the conclusion of what if God was in the uncomfort? In fact, to go further, what if God is the uncomfort. And in turn the answer is not to run away from that makes me feel different, but rather embrace it.

The California crew left the following Monday and I felt very sad. It wasn't because I had experienced this incredible friendship with these guys, but rather it was the re-submersion into the experience here. It was also the fact that my buddy the translator was leaving as well. It was both good and bad having him. It was great because for the first time I understood everything that was happening. As it turns out my roommates are very funny guys with funny stories. I've been missing out on those for the past 2 months. It also turns out that my roomates have very deep relationships with the Lord and quite a bit of wisdom. Also something else that I've been missing out on. And that's what brought the sadness. I compared my experience to a blind man that is being healed and learning to see. At first everything is blurry and he doesn't know what's going on, much like what it has been for me. But then as time wears on certain things begin to take shape and he starts to understand the world around him. It gets to a point that he thinks he has a decent grasp on what's happening, but then, BAM, for one sec. he can see everything, and he sees how far off he really is. That's me. When Sal (the translator) was here it was like my eyes were opened and I understood everything, but then it was a slap to the face because I realized how far off I was, and what I've been missing out on. The sadness was that my 'sight' went back to the way it was when he left.

However, it's important to have a positive outlook on things. The only thing to do is trust. I've always had to trust, and therein lies the strength. I rest heavily on the quote, 'that which you can't control is God's will.' I am in God's will. And, to leave tonight with another quote from my boy Oswald Chambers, 'God does not give overcoming life, He gives us life as we overcome. Thus, there can be no strength without the strain.'

The Reality

There are times where I am slapped in the face with the harsh reality that I am not home; that I am not comfortable. Sunday was one of those days.

I woke up with an initial feeling of excitement. I played out my day in my head and it sounded pretty good: mass at a sweet little Church I found, then lunch at this great coffee shop in an historic part of town. Mass would be great because I would receive Christ, and then study Spanish all day at this coffee shop. I felt it. Something I haven't felt in a long time: comfort. I had a schedule, and I felt great about it. Well, it didn't really turn out the way I thought it would.

First the water for the shower wasn't hot; never a good start. Then Mass was cut short because some funeral right after the mass. People in Ecuador, at least people at this church, are a little funny. It's no secret that I'm the only white person at this Church, but people seem to avoid me. The fact that there was a funeral was yet another slap to my pride that I don't know what's going on most of the time. After I left the church I went to my favorite coffee shop, but my time there was cut a little short due to the weather and I didn't bring enough clothes to stay warm. I needed to walk by the grocery store and decided to do a little exploring on my way there. I was admiring Quito and it's history when I turned the corner and saw something a little peculiar. I saw what seemed to be the end of a small conflict. I saw a white guy push away a man that seemed to be demanding something. It was directly in my path to the grocery store and I had a thought of, 'do I avoid the situation or do I just confront it head on?' Well, I chose the latter option and walked right straight towards my destination. As I passed this guy he punched me in the arm and demanded money. Now, I've heard that San Roque (the area where I'm living) isn't that safe, but I've never experienced any moment where I didn't feel safe in 6 weeks. I told the guy I didn't have any money and tried to walk away. He grabbed me and pointed to my pocket exclaiming that he could see my wallet in my front pocket. Well, the truth was I had money, but I wasn't carrying my wallet and pulled out medicine instead. I kept going and didn't think much of it. For some reason it really stuck with me and I started to look at the locals a little differently. Later on that night I was in the house when about 15 teenage dudes came busting in. As it turns out my roommate Javy told them about some kind of youth group that was hosted at our house. He neglected to lock the door behind him and these guys invited themselves in. I went to investigate and left my ipod charging with my computer. They were in the house for about 2 min. until Javy kicked them out, but that's all it took for some punk to jack my ipod. So here I am: I'm sick, I was semi-mugged, and my ipod just got stolen.

I am uncomfortable.

I know that I am down here for a reason. I really believe that. I know that God is in the uncomfortable moments as He is in the comfortable ones. However, I seem to desperately reach out to Him in the uncomfortable times. So that's the reality of where I'm at now.

Reaching.

The Difference

There are some blog posts that are spur of the moment, and then there are some that you really plan out. Some moment happens and you say to yourself, ‘yeah…I’m going to blog about this.’ And then you replay in your mind what you’re going to write about all day and get excited thinking about. (Then when the moment comes your internet is crap and you’re forced to type your thoughts first in Microsoft Word and then copy and paste…)

Now that I’ve built this blog up to be something that it probably won’t be…here we go.

Music is an incredible thing. It has the ability to bypass the brain and hit the heart. It has the ability to take you back to a moment in time and you don’t just remember it, you feel it. Last night I was with a friend and I had my itunes playing in the background. Then, I felt it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rSTQ1tkmjv0

The song is called ‘Catastrophe and the Cure (Four tet remix)’ by Explosions in the Sky. There’s no words…which makes this song perfect for smoking hookah. Some of my favorite nights happened in my backyard in Kansas City and as this song came on it took me back to one of those nights. For those of who you don’t know or were not able to participate, there was a little ‘tradition’ if you will. On a nice summer night I would have friends come over and the evening consisted of about 4 key essential ingredients: booze, fire, hookah, and music. I LOVED these nights. These nights were great because there was no schedule. You came over; you forgot what time it was; you just enjoyed yourself; you just lived; you appreciated it for what it was. You would walk in and the house would be littered with pockets of great conversation. An ‘explosion’ of electric guitar, drums, base, and some kind of digital keyboard would hit you and it seemed to relax and excite you at the same time. The noises varied as your eyes passed over friendly and familiar faces. A short walk through the living room and kitchen, down the stairs with the super low ceiling, and into the basement with the mini fridge. Inside several types of beer are discovered, but how can you pass up a Kansas City favorite Boulevard Wheat? A little twist and your mouth appreciates the taste of a locally made brew. You feel relaxed; you feel comfortable. Just outside the door are flickers of orange and yellow and faint laughter. With beer in hand you pull open the back door…and there I am: huge smile on my face, hookah hose in hand, Boulevard at my foot, and fire and friends in front of me. Some dude from Mighigan is perfectly playing the sounds of Damien Rice with a scratched up guitar. Why is it scrached up? Something about a disillusioned moment after Guatemala... A chair is open next to a shaggy haired Antonio Banderas look-alike and you sit down. I’m begging people to watch this guy breathe out ‘dragon smoke’ as a wild smell of cherry and lemon-lime hits your nostrils. A hearty man with a gut drawn laugh sits straight across from you with a giant smile, beer resting on his stomach, and glasses glinting from the fire. A laugh seems to smack you in the face as you look to your right and see a man telling some ridiculous story using all kinds of hand motions and outlandish vocabulary. There's a chill dude with long black hair and you find that all you want to do is be this guy’s friend. You overhear some story about the time that he blew up a glass cup in the sink with a waterproof firecracker that he didn’t know was waterproof. Diagonal from you is a face that you’ve seen on some kind of State Representative brochure….Mike something. The hookah hose gets passed to you and all of a sudden some super ken-tense dude sits down next to you. Is this the same guy from the Wolverine movie? Regardless, you feel your manhood is at stake as he challenges you to see how long you can breathe in the hookah. The flavored air hits your lungs as you hear the counting off of numbers and the muffled sound of bubbles. 20 seconds…30 seconds…40. ‘Come on,’ shouts some dude with glasses and a comb over, ‘if you can do 40 you can do 50.’ As your lungs force you to pull the wooden tipped hose away you overhear a story about the time this guy swam laps and almost died because of this same ‘philosophy.’ ‘Hey! What are you doing?’ shouts some Nebraska farm boy with an incredible ability to pierce the ears. You find that your beer is empty and it's time for another. You make your way inside and your eyes meet another friendly face wearing a K-State collared shirt. The second beer is drank while you are enchanted by this man's ability to tell stories about our country and politics.

The night goes on, the beers get drunk, the tobacco gets smoked, the wood gets burned, and the music gets played. People begin to file out as Justin Paton and myself make our way to another tradition: the showing of ‘The 5^th Element.’ It’s not a good movie (Justin, I’m sorry, but let’s be honest. There’s a reason why it didn’t win any awards.), but a tradition nonetheless. You find a seat next to what's left of the party and watch Bruce Willis destroy aliens. Your eyes are heavy, but as you begin to drift a sudden and random phrase rattles you awake from the dude that has passed out on the futon. It's time to go. The night ends...

This is what I miss: the sounds, the stories, the smells, the images, the fire, the people. As I was recounting all of this to my friend I realized something. When I have recounted moments in the past there was a bit within me that missed them so much that I wanted to be there again. It would take me away from the present and leave my embittered at the fact that I couldn’t be there. However, this time was different, another piece of evidence to me that I am growing. I don’t miss these moments because I want to escape the present. I miss these moments because I appreciate them. I appreciate the sounds, the stories, the smells, the images, the fire, the people. They are all a part of my life. They were meant to be experienced, but not to be held onto; not to be used as an escape. They were meant to be loved; to be missed; to be appreciated.

This is the difference.

Our Trip to Papallacta...truly beautiful

Last weekend, Alex, Oscar, Mateo and myself embarked on a little adventure. Mateo Ponce is a friend that loves to travel, and he had this spot picked out. We left on a Sat. afternoon and I knew it was going to be a good trip because right when we left there was a rainbow...a little sign that God wanted to us to go...at least that's how I interpreted it.

The roads were windy, curvy and full of Ecuadorian life. I took a lot of pictures, but only a few turned out alright.

After two hours of listening to Ecuadorian music, watching Mateo snap along to the South American beat, we arrived at Papallacta. Papallacta for those who don't know, and I'm assuming it's a vast majority, is a resort known for its natural hot springs. The water is heated by near by volcanoes and then cold water is mixed in to control the temperature. It truly is a beautiful place. It was here that I experienced a little bit of my first comfort down here. I'm not sure if it was the hot water (though I'm 98% sure that it was), but I just felt better. There's just something about relaxing in a hot pool that just makes you feel great.

The highlight of the trip

There are several pools at this little resort with varying temperatures. There is a river that runs by the resort that is made of mostly melted snow from the Andes mountains. Some genius decided to fill up a small pool with this icy water. I'm not sure if it's a tradition of what, but Mateo just said the words (good thing he speaks both English and Spanish) and all 4 of us were standing outside of this 40 degree water. There was a moment of hesitation, one of those, 'Really? Do I really want to do this?' But after seeing Alex and Oscar jump in I didn't really have much of a choice. I jumped in and my body screamed at me about how bad of an idea that was. I quickly jumped out and hopped back into the 110 degree water...which wasn't the best idea either. I was cussing like crazy, and so was Mateo, but Mateo caught a little something that he shared with me a little later. During this highlight, I was cussing in Spanish and this native Ecuadorian was cussing in English. "Beautiful," he said with his Latin American accent, "Truly beautiful."

These Ecuadorians love their Marcos Witt

I'm sorry for not writing more blogs. My intial fear in having a blog, and even a computer, was that I would be on this thing all the time; that I wouldn't really be living in the moment. So that's why I've been a little MIA. But now, I would like to tell a story:

Last Tues. we had a little adventure. My roomates and I met up with some people and we made our way to the Coleseo General. It's the big dome down here and we paid the 'big bucks' ($10) to see the great Marcos Witt (who the hell is Marcos Witt?). Let me tell you. Marcos Witt is an older gentleman born in San Antonio, TX but moved to Mexico when he was two. He has a megachurch in Houston, TX and is also a full blown singer-songwriter...and let me tell you what, these Ecuadorians LOVE him. He's a white guy so it's weird to see a fellow Gringo light the hearts of Ecuadorians on fire, but he did it. I went to this concert and people were crying, singing their hearts out, hands in the air, dancing around...I mean freaking nuts. You would have thought it was Barry Manilow up there or something.

Anyway, the concert went a little late and my two Columbian friends and I decided to duck out. I remember thinking it was terrible idea because the place was dark except for the spotlight on ol Marcos. We had to pass by all these people...who were crying. We eventually made it outside and I was starving. The streets were packed with cars and our fearless Columbian leader Oscar decided that we were going to go a different way...our second bad idea. We proceeded to walk around for a freaking hour and make a gigantic circle. All I can understand is "Nosotros perdimos," (We're lost.) Eventually we make our way to a busier intersection and I am freaking hungry. And then, like shining symbol of freedom, I saw the letters K-F-C. They just lit up my heart and my goal in life became simple. Unfortunately that goal was not just my own, but it was shared by about 100 other Ecuadorians...the place was packed like free burrito day at Chipotle. It took another 45 min. for us to place our order and there was one point where I was like (in English), "F it...we're outta here. C'mon Oscar let's f-ing go! This place is a bust! I hate Ecuador!" (I get a little dramatic when I'm hungry and tired.) The good news is that we stayed...got our food...and things were better. We got home at 1 in the morning. The funny thing, the next morning was my previous blog post.

Was this night better than my last concert (Barry Manilow)? Well, I don't think anything will ever top that, but this one hold a special place in my heart.

Shhh....just go...

We all remember that part right? Where Lloyd Christmas presses his fingers against the lips of Mary Samsonsite or Mary Something with an 's' (Swanson) at the airport. For some reason I just thought about that, but I think it puts a funny picture to what I want to describe.

I can't really understand what's going on most of the time around here so most days I just hear the words, 'Ryan...vamos,' and I just follow. This morning I woke up, heard those magical words, and got dressed. I followed my Columbian roomates out of the house, into a taxi, and we ended up at some building. Inside there was a group of people sitting around a table having a discussion. We sat down and I was handed a piece of paper that was split into two languages: Hebrew and spanish...neither helped me. Regardless, because of the Hebrew and the fact that the guy talking with wearing a yamacah I figured it was something Jewish. I quickly gathered that we were at some kind of an ecumenical gathering with people of all denominations and religions. There were Catholics, Protestants, Jews, and even a man who was Incan, the indigenous people of Ecuador. It was this point that I started to feel something that I feel on a regular basis. It's one where I really really want to know what's going on or being said and I can't. To best describe this feeling I need to backtrack a little bit.

There are times where I wonder if life would be better had I never come; times when I feel the discomfort mentioned above. However, I remain firm to the reasons of why I did come. In Kansas City I didn't feel the 'i don't know what's going on,' but rather, 'is this it? really? this is where I'm at right now in my life.' It was one more of boredom. To escape this boredom I would try to do a million things or think about really deep things. This morning I realized something; something that I think the Lord has been trying to tell me for a long time: "Ryan...shut up and listen."

It's funny because the way the Lord is doing this is by putting me in situations where I literally can't communicate. I am forced to listen, but I don't listen to the words (though I am desperately trying to translate), but more to the expressions of the people. To listen more to people's hearts which is communicated non-verbally. This morning I could clearly understand the sincerity of a comment, or the genuine questioning, or the desperate longing, or the snide remark.

I think in general I am listening more. In a way the Lord is pressing his fingers upon my lips, similar to Lloyd Christmas, and saying, 'Shhhh....'

Thank God...

All of the last posts have been somewhat humorous and don't really describe what I'm feeling. I decided that I'm going to let loose...

Being down here is hard. I am completely out of my comfort zone most of the time. I don't speak the language and don't know what's going on quite a bit. I get very frustrated and this has been a very trying experience for me.

They say the longest 8 inches in the world is between the head and the heart. My head says, 'you're down here for a reason. you know as much spanish as you do for a reason. don't be so hard on yourself. just give it time and you're learn.' My heart doesn't get these messages. It just feels...and it feels like shit. So all of these positive phrases get re-fed with feelings and my thoughts morph into, 'what the hell am i doing here? no one just goes to a foreign country where they don't speak the language. no one volunteers for a non-profit and lives with people who don't speak english. you aren't going to do any good here.' Then life just becomes trying to make it through the day. I hate the mornings (because it's the start of the day), I hate all meals (because the people I eat with speak spanish and i'm praying they don't ask me a question), I hate when kids come because that means I have responsibilities...and i don't speak spanish. Then at night I'm praying and standing before the Lord fully exposed and at times I weep. I feel a lot.

However, there is a glimmer of hope...there is always hope. I'm not sure why but yesterday I started to thank God for everything. I've heard stories about this. I'm sure we've all heard stories about this but for me it's not until I experience something that it really sticks. I'm heard stories about a girl in Savannah, GA who was suicidal, but decided she was going to thank God for something every 5 min. and it changed her life. I've heard stories about two women in a concentration camp during the holocaust. They thanked God for the fleas that covered them and the other inmates and in turn were able to preach the Word of God without fear because no guard wanted to be around the fleas. I've heard that we should thank God in advance. I've heard that which we can't control is God's will. I've heard these things, and I'm starting to act on it. "Lord, thank you for the mornings. Thank you that I get to eat with these people and hear their language. Thank you for these kids and being able to be in front of them. Thank you for Your Presence." As I did these things an incredible thing happened: a bridge was formed between my head and my heart; one that believed the positive thoughts from before. I do believe that I am down here for a reason. I do believe that I know as much spanish as I do for reason. I don't need to be so hard on myself. I will learn spanish... it's pretty incredible.

There is still much that needs to happen, much that needs to be felt, much that needs to be seen, but for now I'm good. For now I'm only at two weeks and I still have 3 and a half months to go... thank God.

Sometimes life is hard...then there's fire

Ain't that some sh...

I usually don't say that phrase...ever...but hey, people are new, language is new, temperature is new, why not a new phrase?

There were about 3 instances that made me think that to myself. I shall now recount them:

This is a public restroom. It's outside of a sweet Church in one of

Quito's squares. There's a lot of people there; lot of street vendors; the occasional concert. So I'm with my friend Lenin and I have to go to the bathroom. I decide to give this one a whirl. I try to walk into the stall and the lady outside stops me and says, 'Diez centavos.' Alright...a little different, but I can swing that. I hand her the money and do my business (#1). I wash my hands and I'm looking for a paper towel. "15 centavos," shouts the lady. What? You gotta be kidding me... I decide to pass. Luckily for me I only had to go #1. Turns out toilet paper is 10 centavos...

Ain't that some shi...

I woke up this morning and was wearing socks. It's gets a little cold here and my feet get a little chilly. I had to go with my roomate Javy to buy some bread and eggs and what not. I slipped on my sandals...that's right, socks and sandals. I wore them all day....

Ain't that some shi...

The other day we had a 'team meeting.' The head lady Caro was talking in spanish and as usual I couldn't understand jack. Every now and then my other roommate Jorge would translate for me. I heard something about toilet paper, but I wasn't sure what they were talking about. I went up to Caro after the meeting and was like, 'Hey, so what's the deal with toilet paper.' She replied, 'Oh, you can't throw your toilet paper in the toilet. It has to go in the trash can.' I just looked at her..., 'Welcome to a third world country.'

Ain't that some shit.

Lotta spanish...

So I'm on day 4. I think at one point in time I said that I knew about as much spanish as a second grader...well...I talked to a 2nd grader today....I'm no where close. They got me waayyyy beat. I think I'm at an infant stage.

I knew coming into Quito that the language barrier was going to the hardest part. I actually think my spanish is getting worse. However, I feel that this a natural stage before learning anything new. I heard that when you're learning anything new that there are four stages: subconscious incompetence, conscious incompetence, conscious competence, and finally subconscious competence. Right now I'm at the conscious incompetence. I feel like an idiot.

Anyway, here's my setup. I'm living in the same room with all these guys. There are 5 of us total; two bunk beds and two single beds...so there's room for one more if anyone wants to come down. My first night these guys were like, 'ok, we're going to bed,' and then they throw on freaking stocking caps and scarves. I was like, 'what the

hell?' It isn't that bad here, but it can get into the 40's at night. The weather here in Quito is funny. It feels like fall all the time. If you thought Quito was blazing hot, you're right about a quarter of the time. Quito is 6,000 feet up so the sun is pretty brutal and the altitude takes some getting used to. However, you'll be sweating one moment, and then they'll be cloud cover or intense wind and it feels like it dropped 10 degrees...or whatever it is in Celsius. That's right they use Celsius here, different temperature gage, different language, different people...I'm screwed. Good thing I feel like the Lord wants me down here.

Mi primera noche en Quito

My first night in Quito. Well I stepped off the plane and had to put on a jacket...nuts. My two
friends Lenin Pabon and Mateo Ponce picked me up from the airport and it was great to see them. I said that I was little bit hungry and Mateo piped in with a funny Ecuadorian accent, 'well then we have to stop by my favorite hot dog stand.' So we pulled up to none other than the famous, 'los hot dogs.' Lenin and Mateo assured me that it was safe and we ordered some hot dogs. This was the most intense hot dog I have even seen in my entire life. Good thing I took a picture because I don't think you would have believed me if I tried to describe it. There's ruffle potato chips, mustard, ketchup, mayonaise, onions, some kind of hot sauce, and to top it all off, pineapple sauce... hilarious.

I think things are going to be a little different around here...

Leaving Forever/For 4 months

I feel like with each blog entry I could pick a friend, quote that person and describe how it applies. The friend I pick for my first entry is: Tracey Mann... congrats Trace.

When Tracey was moving from Roeland Park, KS to Salina, KS to run for Congress he had a going away party. Everyone sat around and talked about how much they were going to miss him and what life was going to be like after he was gone. I remember going up to him afterwards and he was like, 'Guys, I'm not dying.' I feel a little bit of that...

I am leaving for 4 months. I am going to Quito, Ecuador (pronounced key-toe...thanks Corey) and experience the culture and language of that country. My plan is to come back to Kansas City when I return, but I do feel that I will change. My hope is big. The reason I'm going is to know myself; the reason I'm going is to be changed by the people, the poor; the reason I'm going is for adventure. Though the plan is to return...and I am not dying...there is something that I anticipate will be gone forever: who I am right now. That's what will change. I'll end my first blog entry with something else that our friend Tracey Mann said:

Expect nothing. Experience everything.