I’m always finding articles in newspapers and magazines and think, “Gee, So-and-So would be interested in that.” But I usually never get around to recommending said article(s) to So-and-So. Well, here’s a new feature for On Faith and Life: a “Reading List” category. When I come across an article I’d like to share, I’ll post it here with the category “Reading List” and then you, or So-and-So, can stop by and read it (you can even comment on it!). And when you find something out there that you’d like to share, please pass it along and I’ll post a link here.

Anyhow, to start with, here are a couple of articles from last week’s Sunday Review section of The New York Times (click on the article title to go to the full piece):

“The Cost of Cool” is a reflection on the environmental perils of air conditioning, in particular the exploding global demand for indoor cool. (Who says America never exports anything anymore?) I post this not because I think there’s anything we can do about it (some of the experts interviewed in the article seem to think there’s hope to mitigate the effects of all this A/C, but I, being decidedly not an expert, find it hopeless), but because I’ve never cared for air conditioning and our dependence on it. And this is a personal confession, by the way, because while I don’t like air conditioning, I’m (almost) as addicted to it as the next guy.

“Raising the Ritalin Generation” is a provocative reflection on one family’s (and one child’s) experience with the diagnosis of attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder. The author is not convinced that her son was anything but a normal, active boy. Admittedly, this is anecdotal, but it can definitely make you think twice about medication for your kids. . . .

Happy reading!

–Dwight Christenbury

A handful of news articles have caught my eye this week, and I thought I’d pass them along:

If the leader of the free world can do it . . .

An article in Monday’s New York Times, “White House Sweats, and He’s the Cause,” introduced the first family’s personal trainer, Cornell McClellan, and described the emphasis on good health in the current White House. Turns out White House staff are required to work out and get in shape, and the boss himself keeps track of who’s keeping up and who’s weaseling out. But here’s what grabbed me: according to the article, President Obama does cardiovascular and strength training for at least an hour every day. So if the leader of the free world can find an hour a day to keep in shape, what excuse do the rest of us have?

Al Qaeda: watching itself become irrelevant . . .

Another article from the Times analyzed the momentous changes taking place in the Middle East from the perspective of Al Qaeda. Here’s an excerpt:

“For nearly two decades, the leaders of Al Qaeda have denounced the Arab world’s dictators as heretics and puppets of the West and called for their downfall. Now, people in country after country have risen to topple their leaders—and Al Qaeda has played absolutely no role.

“In fact, the motley opposition movements that have appeared so suddenly and proved so powerful have shunned the two central tenets of the Qaeda credo: murderous violence and religious fanaticism. The demonstrators have used force defensively, treated Islam as an afterthought and embraced democracy, which is anathema to Osama bin Laden and his followers.”

Kind of nice to think that Al Qaeda might be becoming irrelevant, isn’t it? To read the whole article, click here.

(And by the way, if you’re really interested in keeping up with events in the Middle East, you can’t go wrong by tuning in to Al Jazeera’s English language network.)

The lengths to which Bible scholars will go . . .

Here’s an article about the color blue–or, more specifically, the mystery surrounding the “exact shade of blue represented by ‘tekhelet,’ which the Bible mentions as the color of ceremonial robes donned by high priests and ritual prayer tassels worn by the common Israelite.” Turns out that what scholars have always thought was a pure blue may actually have been more of a bluish-purple. If you find yourself instantly fascinated by this biblical mystery, click here to read more.

And finally . . .

News from the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)

One of the controversial issues that the presbyteries of the PC(USA) have been voting on this year is whether to replace paragraph G-6.0106b of our Book of Order with an amended version. First, the proposed change: the current text reads as follows:

“Those who are called to office in the church are to lead a life in obedience to Scripture and in conformity to the historic confessional standards of the church. Among these standards is the requirement to live either in fidelity within the covenant of marriage between a man and a woman (W-4.9001), or chastity in singleness. Persons refusing to repent of any self-acknowledged practice which the confessions call sin shall not be ordained and/or installed as deacons, elders, or ministers of the Word and Sacrament.”

The proposed new text goes like this:

“Standards for ordained service reflect the church’s desire to submit joyfully to the Lordship of Jesus Christ in all aspects of life (G-1.0000). The governing body responsible for ordination and/or installation (G.14.0240; G-14.0450) shall examine each candidate’s calling, gifts, preparation, and suitability for the responsibilities of office. The examination shall include, but not be limited to, a determination of the candidate’s ability and commitment to fulfill all requirements as expressed in the constitutional questions for ordination and installation (W-4.4003). Governing bodies shall be guided by Scripture and the confessions in applying standards to individual candidates.”

Our own presbytery, the Presbytery of Western North Carolina, voted to approve the new language. How are the votes going in other presbyteries around the country? Click here to read a recent summary from The Presbyterian Outlook.

Happy reading!

–Dwight Christenbury

In my sermon of February 20, 2011, “Unnatural Responses,” I told a bit of the story of Gene Sharp, a leader in the field of nonviolent resistance. This morning on NPR’s Morning Edition, there was an interview with Mr. Sharp. Click here to listen.

–Dwight Christenbury

[The following story, " oom in the Inn," was presented in various forms at Trinity Presbyterian Church on 19 December 2010. Incidentally, I have nothing against Newark, New Jersey. The extent of my first-hand knowledge of Newark comes from the little I have seen of it from the dirty windows of several Amtrak trains; what I have seen, however, provided just the right setting of gritty industrial/urban bleakness that I had in mind for the story. There is actually even a Foundry Street that passes under the Turnpike in Newark, though it was hard to tell from the Google Earth image whether there is really a vacant lot next to a Gulf Station across the street from a trucking company at that intersection.]

Across the street from where I used to work, in the guard shack at C.W. Trucking on Foundry Street, in Newark, New Jersey, there’s a vacant lot. (Yeah, big surprise, right? A vacant lot in Newark!) It’s just east of the Turnpike, wedged between the overpass and a Gulf station, and all covered over with weeds. There’s old tires and random junk, bags of trash that those lazy bums at the Gulf station should have found some other way to get rid of. The only structure of any kind is what’s left of some old shed—it looks like it was set on fire at some point. (Another big surprise.) The front wall is completely missing, as well as most of one of the side walls. The other walls are bowed outward, supporting what’s left of the roof; charred timbers and beams just about completely rotted through—as many of them pointing down at the ground as holding up the roof.

You wouldn’t want to seek shelter in that old shed, no matter how bad off you might be, but one night I looked up and there they were: A young couple—really young; too young—the girl looked fourteen, if that. I mean, it was cold and raining that night so I wasn’t going to go and see up close. The guy, her boyfriend, looked older, or anyhow he had a beard. They were dressed weird; their clothes looked like they used to be bright colors but faded now. It looked like they might have been wearing bathrobes, but it was sure not bathrobe weather.

Anyhow, they were kneeling over some kind of box or bin; actually it looked like an animal’s food trough—seriously. There aren’t any farms anywhere near Foundry Street in Newark that I know of, but that’s what it looked like. And they were staring down at something in the box—you’d have thought they’d discovered gold in it or something. Their eyes were dark, and they were locked tight on whatever it was they were looking at. Their faces were dirty, but they had, I don’t know, a glow that the grime couldn’t hide.

And they weren’t alone, these young kids and their treasure box; they’d drawn a crowd that was as strange and out of place as the two of them: two more bearded guys in bathrobes and carrying big sticks, like they were standing guard. And then off to the other side were three even-stranger-looking cats. These three were done up in fancy cloaks and robes, wearing crowns—I swear, they were crowns—and carrying funny-shaped packages. They looked uncomfortable—that’s the best way to describe it—and maybe a bit confused, too.

All I could think was that these people were doing some kind of new-age religious ceremony or something. But it was a heck of a cold miserable night to be out in a muddy wasteland under the Turnpike, I’ll tell you that.

Anyhow, I’ll be honest—it freaked me out a little bit. I was sitting there in the guard shack, trying to focus my eyes through the dark and the rain, but they wouldn’t focus. It’s like my eyes knew that what they were seeing didn’t make any sense. And then—well, just then I got busy with trucks coming in and all, and when my shift was over I’d about had enough. I went home and went to bed.

*               *               *

The next night I got to work a little early. I parked the car and started walking across the lot to the guard shack. I’d forgotten about the crazy people across the street, and even if I hadn’t I sure wouldn’t have expected they’d still be there.

But they were.

Most of them, anyhow.

The rain had stopped, and since I was a little bit early for my shift, I walked over to have a closer look. And I have to tell you: once I got close to them I felt pretty stupid. Of course they weren’t real live people—they were statues, cheap plastic statues like people put in their yards and such. Most of them were in pretty bad shape: cracked down their sides, some with holes in them. One of the bearded guys with the sticks, he was missing an arm. They used  to have light bulbs in them, but none of them did now, and anyhow there was no place to plug them in. I looked in the box, the animal trough—but there was nothing in it, so I don’t know what the girl and the boy were staring at. And I guessed I couldn’t very well ask them, either.

Anyhow, you remember I said that most of them, the statues, were still there, but three of them were gone: the three crazy-looking ones with crowns. And for a second I felt like a police detective with two mysteries to solve, both of them equally baffling. I mean, what’s weirder: That somebody would go to the trouble to come out to this god-forsaken lot to set up these broken-down statues for no apparent reason? Or that somebody else would come along and steal three of them?

*               *               *

So the next night: would you believe it? The guards were gone, the bearded guys with sticks. I looked over at the statues of the young girl and her boyfriend, there in the weeds and the junk, still gazing down at their treasure box, and I thought to myself, “Those guards weren’t much good at their jobs, were they?”

And for a minute my thoughts got caught in my throat. For a minute I forgot that they were just a couple of beat-up plastic statues. I had this urge to run across the street and rescue those two kids, bring them back to the guard shack where they’d be warm and safe.

But just then a truck pulled in, and I had to do my job. I never did make it across the street.

*               *               *

The next night—Friday, finally—the boy and the girl? You guessed it: they were gone, too. That empty box, the one that looked like an animal’s trough, was all that was left. And when my shift was over, I was really ready for the weekend. I’m always tired by the end of the week, but, man, I was feeling it like nobody’s business that night.

Which made it doubly worse when I had a blowout on the way home.

And triply worse when I remembered I’d loaned out my jack a couple months ago and couldn’t change the tire.

So I was cold, I was tired, and I was stranded in a god-forsaken corner of Newark, New Jersey, at one o’clock on a Saturday morning. And I mean the wind was howling through those black streets. What else could I do? I started walking.

After a few blocks, thinking I was going to freeze to death, I saw signs of life: a storefront, the only one around without the security blinds pulled down. Light was spilling out into the street under a neon sign that said, “ oom in the Inn.” I guessed it was a homeless shelter or a soup kitchen—whatever it was I was sure glad to see it.

As I got closer I could see that the “R” was burned out. “Room in the Inn,” I thought to myself. “Okay, whatever.” An ambulance and a police cruiser were parked out front, but it sounded like a party going on inside.

And was it ever a party! Like no party I ever saw before, but that’s what it was. A party that every dirty, smelly, broken-down street refugee in northern New Jersey must’ve been invited to. The heat was blasting out through a couple of those great big square blowers hanging from the ceiling, and the place smelled like a barn full of wet dogs. People laughing, eating, drinking hot coffee everywhere I looked. A beat-up Christmas tree had been unplugged and stashed in the corner to make more room for the crowd.

As I got my bearings and looked around, I could see that most people’s attention was aimed at the far end of the room, where a group of people stood with their backs to me. Two gangbangers—I could tell from the tattoos on one of their necks—wearing black hoods pulled up over their heads stood leaning against the wall. They weren’t saying anything, but they kept looking down at whatever it was the rest of the crowd was focused on. Then I noticed two paramedics talking with people and packing up their equipment. I guessed whatever the emergency was was over.

Then I saw a cop pushing his way through the crowd. He was laughing, which I didn’t think I’d ever seen before, and trying to carry four cups of coffee at once. Finally he made it to where he was going; he handed two cups to the paramedics. And then he handed the other two cups to the gangbangers.

I really never saw nothing like that before.

*               *               *

I was starting to feel a little woozy when another cup of coffee appeared—in my hand.

A large woman with long black braids and the biggest teeth I ever saw put the coffee cup in my hand and her arm around my shoulder. She could tell I had no idea what was going on, and her laugh charged up the whole room.

“Come with me,” she said. “Come see the baby!”

Before I could think to say anything, I was standing at the end of the room, in the middle of the crowd, holding a newborn baby. And I mean she was brand-new-born: still had smudges of dried blood around the edges of her face and gunk in her hair, but she was wrapped up tight in a blanket with a little beanie hat on top of her head.

I looked down and saw her parents, seated against the wall. Two young kids, way too young, looking up at me with grins in their eyes. I handed the little girl back to her mama, and I tried to say, “Congratulations,” but I might have just grunted.

“Isn’t she lovely!” my laughing friend said. She moved us out of the way so others could see the baby. On the way to a couple of plastic seats in the corner, we brushed against one of the gangbangers, spilling a little of his coffee. I winced, but he didn’t seem to notice. We sat down, and I took a few deep breaths.

As the spinning in my head slowed down, my laughing friend explained what had happened there that night:

How the girl and the boy had come from down south, running away from a bad family situation, she pregnant and he scared to death and neither of them with a job or more money than they had in their pockets—and most of that gone for bus tickets and fast food.

How they’d gotten off the bus in Newark, trying to find this cousin the boy thought he had around here somewhere.

How they got lost in the city about the time she went into labor.

How she collapsed in the street and would have probably just frozen to death, and her baby too, if Kevin and Anthony—gangbangers have names, I learned—if they hadn’t come around the corner just then and found them huddled there.

How Kevin and Anthony brought them here and called 9-1-1.

“They’ve got a hard road ahead of them,” my friend said, “and that poor little girl—if she only knew the kind of world she was being born into.” My friend shook her head.

I asked her, feeling I knew the answer already, “Does anybody know if this ‘cousin’ really exists? Do they have anyplace to go after tonight?”

She shrugged.

By this time my hands and feet had thawed out and my mind had cleared. They sure did have a hard road ahead of them, that little baby the hardest of all. But—and I’m not much for fancy words—but when she was born into this world, in downtown Newark of all the god-awful places to be born—

Well, love was born into this world, too—even in Newark, even in that barn-smelling homeless shelter. And even a tough old coot like me could feel it.

*               *               *

That was four years ago, that night of the flat tire. Every year about this time I start to think about those beat-up plastic statues that showed up out of nowhere in that weedy lot across from C.W. Trucking. I think about that young plastic couple—too young—in their faded bathrobes, looking down into their treasure box that looked like an animal’s food trough. I think about how for a second I forgot they were statues, how I wanted to run across the street and rescue them from the cold and the wet.

Then I look at that little baby, and—well, she’s not a baby anymore: four years old today, as a matter of fact. She can walk and talk and sing and dance. Prettier now than the night she was born, and smart—smart as a whip. She can do all sorts of things, but my favorite thing she does is this: she calls me “Cousin.”

All three of them do.

© 2010, Dwight Christenbury

We thank john Snodgrass for presenting a series of Bible studies, The Nativity Mystery, delving into the accounts of Jesus’s birth as described by Luke and Matthew. The text of those studies can be found on his blog, misterjsnodgrass, by clicking here.

There were a number of contentious issues on the agenda at the recently concluded 219th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.): civil unions and marriage, ordination standards, Middle East peacemaking, a new denominational Form of Government, and a response to the immigration law recently passed by the state of Arizona.

For details on these and all of the work of the General Assembly, click here.

–Dwight Christenbury

December 29,  2009

Sounds Through the Night

• Rooster walking and crowing on the tin roof
• Dogs barking
• Dogs howling
• Pigs snorting
• Gunshots? Firecrackers? At 3:00 a.m. . . .

As the horizon brightened, the smell of woodsmoke as the ladies are talking low, starting our breakfast. As I step out the front door of the church with my tooth brush, I notice the ladies arriving with baskets of food carrying them on their head. Locals passing by on the road on horseback. Children helping by sweeping the dirt with an old broom.  Pigs out in the field “marking” the soccer field for that day’s play.  Neighbor lady going through the same routine for her family (her little girl plays with all the children at the church).

Talked with Bev and Tim about U.S. Border control, immigration policy, a little politics, making me think a little about about my view on these issues.  Reflecting on the Guatemalan people I have met, they are a proud,  gracious people who seem concerned about how they come across to us.  Example, Esmillio “My house is all of yours house” We all took showers there and used the toilet instead of the outhouse at the church.

Fuente de Vida is roughly 30 to 40 people, 15 families or so, with not all necessarily member’s of the church, but involved with the church and it’s activities, prime example, the man next door and his children.  Scholarships offered by the church haven’t necessarily help boost their numbers, but the scholarships are in demand by the members of the community.  The church definitely has a positive impact on the community and it is a much better place because of it.  The second day we are definitely becoming closer to each other, not nearly as over whelmed today.  The first meal all of them stood off to the side while we ate.  This morning, as soon as we got up, they took our seats and ate.  Table full of children eating.  They are getting more comfortable with us. Awesome.  We all feel awkward being served, would like them all to join us, I’m sure after another couple of day’s, this would be possible.

With Becky  leading the charge, we wanted to help them.  We all took turns pressing tortillas and trying to put them on the grill without destroying them (not as easy as you might think)  The rock star won out with Tim a close second.  Both are a big hit on the soccer field and Tim with his guitar and singing.  Also getting closer to are two translators, Mariam and Airiaana, more on them later.  Both are fitting in real well and making friends with us as well as the church members.

Walked the land with them after breakfast.  It is adjacent to the church and is roughly 50 yards long and two and one half football fields long, It was used as a corn field the last harvest.  It has a slight incline up hill.  With hand tools, tilling and planting this field would be a huge undertaking, hopefully the rancher across the road, would at least plow for them, but, not able to find this information out.  They would use the land for themselves as well as rent portions to the community for income.  Seems like a good piece of land and a very worthwhile investment, but, most importantly provides hope for the future.  I also think our assistance strengthens the bond with us making our partnership stronger.

Next up, visiting the sick.  We left the church walking up the road to visit 2 elderly frail church members.  The  first thing you notice is the road itself.  Large rocks were placed down  first in the tire tracks, this was down by the government Carole said, then the community layed down all the smaller ones, essentially forming a cobblestone road, can’t imagine the amount of work involved doing this in roughly the mile stretch of road.  The next thing you noticed is how the whole community has noticed and is watching us move up the road.  The neighbor next door to the church stops us and greets us and invites us in his home.  I understand he is not a member, but is obviously involved in the church and a friend of the church.  He asked if we were going to see the beach and the ocean. I got the impression he is proud of his country and wants us to see all of it.  As we walk up the road, everyone has come out of their houses and is watching us make our way to the first ladies house (I cannot find her name)  She has obviously been waiting on us and welcomes us.  We set with her in a circle and talked through Mariam, Becky led us in prayer with and for her.

Up the road and around the corner, we came to the next ladies house, her daughter greeted us and again we sat around her.  She appeared very frail, had broken her arm several times and had stitches on her arm.  On her wall behind her was several pictures of her family a Winnie the Pooh poster, and a plaque “Filipenses 4:13       ToDo Lo Puedo En Cristo Que Me Fortalece”    I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me

Observations and Reflections on the Time Visiting the Sick and Seeing the Community

• The neighbor we met first joining the men of the church walking behind us the whole time “keeping and eye on us, protecting us.”
• All the houses had electricity, with a few bare bulbs and plugs, all had an outside cooking area with the same wood fire set up like the church uses, all had outhouses, all had various assortments of barnyard animals running around, all seemed to be concrete slab, tin roof, concrete block walls, most covered with stucco and brightly painted or white.  Noticed a lot of outside showers, and outside concrete sinks they did laundry in.
• Funny moment when a “Frito Lay” truck came bouncing down the road, a young man got out and sold Airanna a big bag filled with chips, doritos, cheetos, etc.
• All houses have the running water like the church (except one) with a single tap of cold water.
• Community is important as it never seems to matter whose child is where and with whom, they all look out for each other
• Some under employment? As there is always a lot of people everywhere, all the time (hanging around, it seemed, but this was a week of vacation and school was out)
• Met one lady on the way back, home is a wooden lean to shack of a bare piece of dirt, she was asking for help as she was a widow and had no family.   Carole explained any help goes through the church,  encouraging her to be involved with them.  Becky led prayer with us for her.

Arrived back at church for lunch, a Guatemalan Chow Mein that was excellent.  A pasta with onions, peppers, celery, carrot, squash and chicken.  Tortillas , chile, pico de gallo, cold papaya drink, cooled with ice in bags.   After lunch played with the children some and then church service.   The men of the church set up a “PA” system with the loudspeaker on the roof, it was loud and all around the community could hear it.

The church service was very moving.  Opened with hymns.  All speakers thanking us for our support and friendship.  (should be the other way around)  Manuella led the sermon with the gospel lesson, Mateo 22:36-40  She was very powerful speaker with emotion.  Powerful message about putting God first in your life and loving your neighbor as you love yourself.  We sang our song’s, with Tim on guitar, and then Becky preached on the same verse as Manwella.  Powerful as well with “amens” at all the pauses for translation.  Next was the offering and doxology,  Becky led the benediction.  The church service showed me what I had already figured out, these people are very spiritual and take their relationship with the lord very serious.

Two puppies showed up at  lunch time.  No one claims them, so no one acknowledges them or cares for them.  Black with white feet and the very tip of their tail is white.  I worry about their fate.  It’s now supper time with hibachi style beef, seasoned real well, tortillas, pico de gallo, cucumbers and onion, fresh squeezed lemonade.  Served on china. (They had been serving meals on styrofoam containers, like the butcher uses at a US grocery stores, and washing them, we have a feeling the overheard us making a comment about this??  more on styrofoam later)

After dinner, youth got together with the Rock Star and Emily getting to know each other with Airanna tranlating.  They talked, sang songs, played checkers, etc.  The rest of us met with Manuella and Myra and various other church members at times discussing scholarships, health concerns and the lady we had met earlier in the day.  Also discussed them coming to Trinity for the next visit.  This meeting lasted quite a while and I won’t try to go into the details here as I know the other members will bring back the health and sanitation concerns with them.  The most glaring is the barefoot children playing in the same yard as the animals with the feces, potable water, access to health clinics, etc.  Discussed the styrofom, how it never discenerates, and is a harbor for bacteria.  Also discussed the need of a library at the church to keep books and school supplies for all children to use.  I know all team members have their own idea’s and memories of these topics (and more) and I will let them express them.

My thoughts on the day and what we might should do different next time:

The Hiper Paiz and the grocery store we stopped at just before Fuete de Vida, both has school supplies, books, toys, air mattresses, candy, etc.  Maybe we should buy these items once we get here instead of packing our suitcases with all this type of stuff and at better prices.  Pack and bring only things we can’t get once we get here.  Definitely things like pencils and paper.   Toys like balls, yoyo’s, checkers.  Hard plastic cups, glasses, plates, silverware.  Bring Spanish/English bibles and books from home.  Personally I will bring Dog biscuits and cat treats.   Possibility of hymnals for the church?   Present leather bound with zipper bibles to session members?  The one I saw seemed to be a prized possession.

I also would like to see us design and make a banner on each trip to present the church and hang in the church to build a bond and help decorate the bare walls.

–Mikl Cook

December 28,  2009

Sounds Through the Night

• Guatemala insects (katydids)
• Spanish being spoken by security guards
• Roosters crowing
• Howling and barking dogs
• Pigs snorting
• Radio next door blasting mariachi music very early in the a.m.
• slowly sunlight
• the smell of woodsmoke

Woke up to 4 ladies over the 3 wood stoves preparing our breakfast with chickens and pigs scurrying about.  Noticed a lot more of my surroundings this morning: corn field next door, to the other side a house with an outhouse, outside laundry area, outside cooking area with their own barnyard animals scurrying about.

Breakfast was served with juices, eggs, queso, friloes and tortillas.  After breakfast we helped fix the tin roof over the cooking area. Michael and Tim held wooden boards up to support the boards the tin was nailed to, as Ellisio walked on the roof above, removing the rusted tin.  I was bringing the tin to him through the openings, I had my new hat on, so he started calling me “Tex Grande” and “Mucho Tex Grande”;  the name stuck, and almost everyone called me that the rest of the week.

Some quick observations: the children well mannered, played great together, no fussing, no temper tantrums, no crying. Considering how many of them there are, I found this surprising.  Met an 8^th grade scholarship recipient, wants to be an architect.  Played jump rope, soccer with the kids.

Next was a Session Meeting with Samuel Estrada, Juan Hernandez, Myra and Ellisio, the pastor Wilfrido Lopez, Ava Fuentez,  Rueben, Marian (pronounced Medium) and Manwella,  Following are my  notes of the meeting (Carole and Bev have a detailed report of this, I’m sure):

• Land purchased 9-12-09 for 97,500 Quetzels, land is 400 sq, meters
• Misc. expenses brought the total to 100,890Q  with a balance owed of 2310Q (roughly $300)
• Deed to National  Evangalical Presbyterian Church, lawyer working on it, to be complete first of February.
• All praised and thanked us for helping with the land, especially Samuel Estrada
• Talked about scholarships, with about 12 kids wanting them over and above what we are currently offering. They asked about ways to get kids to Sunday school (hey, just like us).

Other needs are to complete replacing all the tin over the kitchen and dining area (we did roughly one third of it today). Eva got up and asked us to pray and support her grandson to go to high school 15 minutes from the church.  The look on her face, the searching, pleading, staring piercing eyes, damp around the edges, really got to me–the human emotion of wanting a better life for him.  Carole explained the help must go through the church. I was prepared for these types of requests, but it’s hard to stick to the policy.  I wanted to give her the money right there on the spot.  Meeting closed with prayer.

Had a great lunch, of chicken broth with potato, green bean, carrot, squash, turnips and meat. Along with some great fried rice, tortillas, queso, and pico de gallo.  Met with the scholarship kids in the afternoon.  They were dressed neatly, hair combed–you could tell they were proud of their accomplishments.  Heard their grades, what they wanted to do later in life, took their pictures with their parents.  Afterward, we handed out the hard candy we had brought. Also handed out the pumpkin bread Carole had brought.  Broke out the soccer balls, with one for the older boys, girls and one for the younger kid’s, and the party was on.  I found out first-hand, handing out the candy, you have to have enough for everyone, and if you don’t that definitely causes a problem.  I ran out, and the finger pointing was immediate: “So and so got two, I didn’t get any,” etc.  Had some more in the suitcase, so problem solved. This does prove the point Carole has been making, that we need to be aware of being fair, consistent, and not cause problems especially as everything we do or say is magnified in this situation.

Watching the children play soccer was great; they are skilled and play hard.  Michael was quickly becoming the favorite of the youth, for his soccer ability (and his looks with all the girls). Tim dubbed him a “rock star,” and that describes it better than any explanation I could come up with. Played with the youth until dinner.  Dinner was chicken and carrot patties (fantastic, like crab cakes), black beans, queso, tortillas, green chile and pico de gallo.

After dinner, shower at Emillio’s: cold, but fantastic to shed the sweat and dirt of the day, especially after playing soccer.  Talked into the evening about problems getting visas to come to the United States, and how it relates to the political issues back home about immigration.  The community is close to Mexico (15 km or so) and the community is just off a main road, so drugs and drug dealers are a problem.  Emillio kept security all night tonight as we slept, so he’s starting the day with no sleep.  Talked until 8:30, then lights out and our audience of peering faces were gone.

–Mikl Cook

In a recent after-worship conversation, a Trinity member told me about a new scam she’d heard about—a new way that crooks have found to take advantage of the unwary and unsuspecting.

Thanks (or no thanks) to the Internet, it’s become fairly simple for people with bad intentions to get others’ family information. The way this disturbingly simple scam works is that a crook does a little research to find an older person with children and/or grandchildren who live far away. Then the crook calls the victim, posing as a grandchild or other relative who’s in financial trouble, and asks for money! We’d like to think we wouldn’t fall for such schemes, but as we grow older and hearing, memory, and other faculties fail, the possibility of being victimized in this way starts to sound not-so-far-fetched.

So if you ever get a call from someone claiming to be a relative and needing financial help, be sure to make sure that you’re talking to the person you think you’re talking to! It may seem hard-hearted to be suspicious, but both you and your family will be better off in the long term.

*               *               *

Speaking of the Internet, you’re no doubt aware by now of the importance of being careful about sharing any personal and/or financial information online. One danger you may not have considered is the “mass-forwarding” of e-mails containing jokes, pictures, inspirational stories, political rants, and the like. Those messages are gold mines of individual e-mail addresses, and every time a spammer or hacker gets hold of a message that’s been forwarded to everyone in someone else’s address book, he or she has a whole new stack of potential customers or victims.

By the way, some of those mass-forwarded messages also have the unfortunate side-effect of rotting your brain! The next time you get an e-mail claiming to have uncovered the latest political, social, or legal outrage, check out the truth of the matter by searching a myth-debunking service such as www.snopes.com or www.truthorfiction.com. Chances are, the original author of that message, whoever it might be, is taking advantage of people’s trust and spreading misinformation in order to advance their own agenda.

Finally, I came across a couple of recent articles dealing with online privacy and safety that you might find informative: “Reducing the Anxiety of Paying Online” is a guide to the safest ways of engaging in online shopping and other online transactions, while “How Privacy Vanishes Online” is a somewhat disturbing article about the extent to which marketers and others are able to piece together your identity through the clues you leave as you troll the Internet.

So be careful out there!

–Dwight Christenbury

December 27,  2009

Up at 6:30a.m., drive about one hour, breakfast at an awesome place in Escuintla, roadside restaurant, with a beautiful back garden area. Breakfast included: fresh squeezed orange juice, tortillas, frijoles, huervoes, green chile, fried plaintains, queso(white creamy cheese)  Cost 277Q, about $40 for 9 of us.

Observations out the Window along the Way

• Sugar fincas, workers cutting cane by hand
• smoke belching volcanos
• children/women walking along road hand in hand, some with baskets on their heads
• men carrying bundles of tied firewood
• skinny horses and cows
• women/children selling fruits on side of road or at the many speed bumps
• tables on the side of roads with meat getting grilled over open fires, fruit getting cut
• lots of people walking and standing along the road, waiting for Chicken buses, which are everywhere in every direction
• road condition so far very good but seems to switch to single lane, to gravel suddenly
• Policia in blue pickups with yellow lettering stopped on the side of the road or, it appears to me, to randomly stopping vehicles.  (They have blue uniforms, and are armed with automatic rifles, AK-47, or sawed-off shot-guns.)
• Working in fields by hand with sickles and hand tools
• brightly painted buildings, sheds, lean-tos, barns with tin roofs
• rich, tropical, lush plants and trees
• traffic passes on hills whether or not they have a line of sight
• men working fields on a side of a mountain, straight up and down
• American fast food everywhere
• a cow tied to a telephone pole on the side of the road
• pickup trucks filled with people like cattle
• lots of street vendors in every little town we pass peddling food and drinks
• old tires stuck on top of pole for sign
• singing songs with Tim on the guitar

Picked up a mother and daughter for our translators, Miriam and Arianna, then to Finca Santa Elena, a coffee plantation.  Had an awesome tour of their operation then lunch.  Coffee being the main crop, also, all kinds of tropical fruits (tangerine, lime, oranges), coconuts, pineapples and bees.

Lunch was a salad of a thick slice of fresh pineapple topped with shredded carrot, cut dried banana and mint,  very tasty; chicken leg, rice with a light green chile sauce, sauted carrot, broccoli and cauliflower, sugar cookies with coffee from the finca. Saw a large Seiva tree, a large protected tree in Guatemala (like live oaks in the South, only taller and larger)–looks like pictures of “the tree of life.”

Late afternoon, off to Fuente de Vida.   Cloudy, not that hot, probably in the mid 80′s, a real rough road with lots of traffic and chicken buses.  Lots more cows tied to poles along the way.  Right before getting to the church, we stopped at a grocery store to get rice, beans, eggs, oil to give to them.  At this stop I went to another store to get a hat.  I  had 2 choices, an Arizona Diamondbacks ball cap, or various straw cowboy hats. I went with the cowboy hat, but I didn’t know where to pay and kept getting pointed around the store. Two teenage girls were at the register, giggling themselves silly, asking me something, which I had no clue as to what–I just kept saying “No Espanol,” which made them laugh harder. Finally I paid $22Q  (roughly $2.75)  for the hat and left with them laughing hysterically.  I figure I either bought a women’s hat or overpaid.

Arrive Fuente de Vida late afternoon; they had waited all afternoon for us. Three men met us at the main road and escorted us down the long rock road to the church.  Approximately 30 children, 20 adults, and 4 dogs greeted us.  Realized immediately my Spanish was inadequate.  All very gracious, fascinated I think by the eight Americans who suddenly appeared out of that van.  The whole greeting by all was overwhelming, to say the least. Very emotional.  Little faces watching us everywhere we go, noticing every move we make.  They watched through the windows as we blew up our air mattresses and set up our sleeping quarters for the night in the church.  It was dusk as dinner was served. Tamales wrapped in banana leaves stuffed with pieces of chicken and dates, and lemonade.  They watched us eat and served us, but none of them ate.  We all wanted them to join us, but they said no as they waited on us.  Finally, after we were done, they ate.  They sang and prayed for us, thankful for our safe journey to them, and were excited about sharing their lives and fellowshipping with us.  Children ran and played in the field in front of the church, shot off firecrackers. They had seen one of the soccer balls we had with us when we unloaded the luggage and wanted it badly–so hard to say “tomorrow,”  the look on their faces was so sad.  Two men stayed up all night as security for us just outside the church.  We slept on the floor on air mattresses we had brought from home; Carol, Bev, and Mariam stayed just down the road at Ellisio and Myra’s house.

The church is roughly 30 by 60 , concrete block walls stuccoed, tin roof, wrought iron over the windows, metal doors, tiled floor. Up front the floor is raised with the pulpit, with a painted mural on the wall behind and the “Juntos En Cristo” banner like the one at Trinity.  There is a large grassy area in front where the children play, with a concrete block out house in one corner. Adjacent to the church is the cooking seating area, dirt floor with a tin roof over it, 3 stucco cooking boxes with a wood fire. One has a smoke stack but ends below ceiling level; the others are just open fires, so there is lots of smoke at times. Also a concrete two-compartment sink, with one PVC pipe coming up with a valve and cold water coming out.  At the end are two rooms with a concrete floor; one is where there is a straw bed for the pastor to sleep if necessary, and the other is where the kitchen supplies are kept.  Two bare light bulbs burn overhead; the church has 3 bare fluorescent light bulbs.

Off to bed, with little faces peering through the open windows and doors at us.  An exhausting day–and I am completely overwhelmed at meeting all of them and nervous about what is to come.

–Mikl Cook