tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32019009485614686272024-03-14T03:10:33.274-05:00Six Golden CoinsElizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.comBlogger983125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-84524640277004676662021-05-04T22:16:00.004-05:002021-05-04T22:19:07.223-05:00Dear Sister<p class="MsoNormal">Dear sister,<br />
<br />
Is this the day it ends, or is this the day it begins?<br />
<br />
It’s possible that both can be true at the same time.<br />
<br />
Since your recent Independence Day, I have spent every day walking beside you.
Sometimes literally, mostly figuratively. (Oh, the miles we’ve put on our shoes
and the minutes we’ve logged on our phones!)<br />
<br />
I have carried your burden. I have cried your tears. I have screamed your rage.
And I have lamented your loss.<br />
<br />
That burden, those tears, that rage and that loss: they have permeated
everything. Every waking moment, and your sleeping moments too. The cruelty
that has been directed towards you is enough to squash your soul and it
provides massively strong building material for you to wall off your heart for
the rest of your life.<br />
<br />
Because, after being a victim of this sort of damage, who in their right mind
would ever trust another again?<br />
<br />
Ah, but not you, sister. Within 48 hours of your unwanted Independence Day
explosion, you set in motion a plan for your healing. While that plan has been
adjusted, scrapped, and rewritten many times already, I can’t ignore the
strength you’ve shown by even wanting to pursue wholeness.<br />
<br />
I would have crumbled. I would have sought vengeance. If I was going to burn,
I’d for sure take the arsonist down with me.<br />
<br />
Again, not you, sister. You lavished grace upon grace. You (shockingly and
immediately!) forgave the terrorizer and sought healing for everyone involved.
I’m still not even one percent as far down that road as you are, but you’ve
modeled love for me yet again.<br />
<br />
I say “again” because over the years, I’ve watched you love in a way I’ve never
seen - a way that was not modeled for either of us. You kept your word. You
sacrificed yourself. You forgave as you’ve been forgiven, and protected the
very person who left you unprotected.<br />
<br />
You don’t deserve what has been done to you and neither do other parties
involved. Because an explosion of this magnitude didn’t start and end with your
one heart. The shockwaves have affected every relationship that even remotely
shared space with yours. The rot that was exposed has spread like black mold
and will continue to spread until it is exposed to the Light.<br />
<br />
I am proud of your courage to pursue that Light in your own life.<br />
<br />
I am proud of your honest self-assessment and efforts to seek guidance to learn
another way of living.<br />
<br />
I am proud of the work you’re doing to erect boundaries that will protect your
future.<br />
<br />
I am immensely proud that you have begun the hard work of fighting for
yourself.<br />
<br />
Because, the truth is, you’ve always been worth fighting for and you always
will be. The person who can’t see that is someone who is a blind, self-serving,
cowardly peacock. (Full of strutting but lacking something to truly be proud
of.)<br />
<br />
As much as it hurts to carve a new path that you never thought you’d have to
carve, you and I both know you’re already better off walking this road.<br />
<br />
I started this letter with a question and a statement: “Is this the day it
ends, or is this the day it begins? It’s possible that both can be true at the
same time.”<br />
<br />
I choose to mark this day as a beginning and claim it as an Independence Day -
one that’s ever more important than your first one.<br />
<br />
Today is the day you walk away with your head held high, knowing you are loved
beyond measure and your best is yet to come.<br />
<br />
I’m with you, and I love you!<br />
<br />
Always,<br />
Poozie</p>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-11588194962706184452021-03-14T14:45:00.002-05:002021-03-14T14:45:53.924-05:00Seventeen<p>Dear Katie,</p><p>It started happening in 2017.</p><p>In all the prior years - from 2003 to 2016 - I kept your pace. At least once a year, I got a gold star for mothering when I wrote your annual birthday letter. I could give myself a pat on the back for taking the time to pause and remember all that had passed in the previous year.</p><p>Then in 2017, I started slipping. The birthday letter I wrote that year was posted a month and a half late. The following year, I fully missed the mark but decided to cover it by writing a 15.5 birthday letter. In 2019, I didn't make the birthday deadline. No one could tell because the magic of blogging means you can choose your own date and time on a post.</p><p>In 2020, I didn't even try. Blame it on the Coronavirus pandemic or on my apathy - which could possibly be called by another name: awakening.</p><p>Because in 2020, everything changed. The qualifications for that mystical Best Mother Award went from performance to presence, from doing to being. And as your 17th birthday approached and we were three months into the pandemic, I came to the realization that we were seeing too many Lasts for my heart to keep up:</p><p>Your last marching band competition.</p><p>Your last day of junior year.</p><p>Your last gathering with friends.</p><p>Your last public Wind Ensemble performance.</p><p>Your last in-person audition.</p><p>So many lasts to even keep track! I didn't know then what I know now: those lasts weren't THE last, but they were the Lasts for the 16-year-old Katie of 2020. And for the heart of a mama whose baby is already aging at break-neck speed, I didn't have the energy to face the birthday letter milestone.</p><p>And then there was the awakening I mentioned, the realization that earning the yearly gold star goes way beyond a simple letter. In early 2020 as you approached your 17th birthday, I earned the gold star in other ways:</p><p>We started a daily walking routine and refused to break our streak for quite a while.</p><p>We watched movies I had always hoped to watch with you: City Slickers; Airplane; The Help; The Matrix; Planes, Trains, and Automobiles; Sleepless in Seattle; Big; Ghost; and Tommy Boy.</p><p>We took time to do crafts together.</p><p>We talked about loneliness, growing up, and your future.</p><p>My "mothering absolutes" went by the wayside as I had to relax certain rules such as no electronics in your bedroom. (How were you going to do online Zoom classes in the living room while your brother did his there too?)</p><p>Even in the isolation of quarantine, you kept aging and transforming and becoming. You learned to be resilient, to celebrate smaller things, and to hold loosely to plans that got cancelled repeatedly.</p><p>I'm sure your 17th birthday wasn't quite what you had in mind, but you rolled with that too. We got Chick-fil-A for breakfast, ate it at our friends' beautiful backyard waterfall, then spent the day at the Missouri Botanical Garden.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3FlNf721h6bZgKN_5ktRi8JG4X_iVb8kvGJluWSAyAhWPj4SfqXfofpyRcu7PXN2GxMOXM_O7cynth99E6KFl9H3gUUUh-8Rx-pHh8qHy2yvLrbGbtGC69wz50wbaZC-MkvRyv1Fbeg/s2048/20200617_184324241_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3FlNf721h6bZgKN_5ktRi8JG4X_iVb8kvGJluWSAyAhWPj4SfqXfofpyRcu7PXN2GxMOXM_O7cynth99E6KFl9H3gUUUh-8Rx-pHh8qHy2yvLrbGbtGC69wz50wbaZC-MkvRyv1Fbeg/s320/20200617_184324241_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe0YK0h5-4OxZeCQ8lmYd5tLWuuhADCFxm-KGDHqzmthKTO-9m1djbRap-sPPc6O7Q14yDR0M1IFqVXNSu-iYDg-_VeVYjnebacyOitudLzwjlr0zlPTjRnsuvbCOarQWpsH0qCU3-mU8/s2048/20200617_170946749_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe0YK0h5-4OxZeCQ8lmYd5tLWuuhADCFxm-KGDHqzmthKTO-9m1djbRap-sPPc6O7Q14yDR0M1IFqVXNSu-iYDg-_VeVYjnebacyOitudLzwjlr0zlPTjRnsuvbCOarQWpsH0qCU3-mU8/s320/20200617_170946749_iOS.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Now, it's nine months later and I'm finally looking back at your 17th birthday. Just in time to start writing your 18th birthday letter, right? (Ugh!)</p><p>I was so proud of the young lady you were becoming last June, and so proud of the one you still are. You've endured a year of so many joys and sorrows! But I don't want to scoop your 18th birthday letter just yet. I'll fill you in on all of that soon. And hopefully I'll write that letter closer to your 18th birthday than your 19th. Right?!</p><p>I love you,</p><p>Mom</p>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-23295205904541128092021-03-13T16:53:00.003-06:002021-03-14T14:51:10.872-05:00Mid-March of 2020<p>One year ago today, it was Friday the 13th. It was also the first day of spring break for my kids, and the news was buzzing about some virus that might kill us.</p><p>From 10am to 2pm I was at the local boutique where I work, then I stopped at Walmart on the way home. Here's what I wrote in my journal about that experience, and a photo I snapped because I thought the world had gone bonkers:</p><p><i>"It was incredibly crazy. With the Coronavirus COVID-19 looking like it's going to shut down some stuff, there were tons of people and so many shelves were picked over. I wasn't stressed about all of this until I went to Walmart!"</i></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzPmDnoHE3qEe0b3Du1G_kkYqsfHY8O66yde0qCK6ejSmr1tVI-Q2QtjM-MuzyuUYbKm60qIOcM0Jd5FLNoCZj0gmnwLMkwqxhrUoJGitwmpwmVqISDIsbvpsInl3LFXdK-XXP7CFt_E/s2048/20200313_195718093_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzPmDnoHE3qEe0b3Du1G_kkYqsfHY8O66yde0qCK6ejSmr1tVI-Q2QtjM-MuzyuUYbKm60qIOcM0Jd5FLNoCZj0gmnwLMkwqxhrUoJGitwmpwmVqISDIsbvpsInl3LFXdK-XXP7CFt_E/s320/20200313_195718093_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The canned soup shelves at Walmart on 3/13/2020.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>It is worth noting that when I went into my archives just now to find that photo, my emotions ratcheted up as I glanced over some of the screenshots and photos I saved from those first few days. Hindsight is 20/20, and I wish I knew then what I know now. (Or do I?)</p><p>So let's go on a little tangent: one year ago this week, all the chatter was about staying home, flattening the curve by this new term called "social distancing..."<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4byxSQzK5qUN5MQiOjKUwg2zkWm1tdb4fsKZ5Ng_h5uWiYLXOsQDb481seEcnOCPT8JPCGIGm6C7NUvCTARsAJMeTE_2aem8V7YuOOReoXxIWBHOMEULO8jQSuVbQztmbXk9cU_Yw2Gs/s828/20210313_220342000_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="823" data-original-width="828" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4byxSQzK5qUN5MQiOjKUwg2zkWm1tdb4fsKZ5Ng_h5uWiYLXOsQDb481seEcnOCPT8JPCGIGm6C7NUvCTARsAJMeTE_2aem8V7YuOOReoXxIWBHOMEULO8jQSuVbQztmbXk9cU_Yw2Gs/s320/20210313_220342000_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3/16/2020</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>...washing your hands for at least 20 seconds...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ofnRHB_O6gbgC_b6Gg3H2FRLon9KghY1OXsSxG0RX9gmtmXtQ1Di2GGvRkt-ZZbqq2PJgEmdmKf2evUsPGFXsvduNs4B6VgHZAtGUUaGtJBeUFKxmZmNFSciGU-vaJ8G_nx68LtwtjE/s2048/20200312_211622855_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ofnRHB_O6gbgC_b6Gg3H2FRLon9KghY1OXsSxG0RX9gmtmXtQ1Di2GGvRkt-ZZbqq2PJgEmdmKf2evUsPGFXsvduNs4B6VgHZAtGUUaGtJBeUFKxmZmNFSciGU-vaJ8G_nx68LtwtjE/s320/20200312_211622855_iOS.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was posted by the sink in a public restroom on 3/12/2020.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />People I know in real life and on my social media feed seemed to fit into one of two camps: they were either alarmists or underemotional. (Personally, I vacillated between the two.)</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixhvw8W89iQrCb1ObDJfpmU46zOvk2dK-xBkG2vefW9kmpzGYHZghoJNrhbqpZpIiIq2ldB5SRJ6PogPN1x2KcHmWyjOYbHoEMrUmvJxk4gFZlTrxNCGvtpDcCNS6xTQSh0072TgCR-Us/s2210/20200316_042443502_iOS.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2210" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixhvw8W89iQrCb1ObDJfpmU46zOvk2dK-xBkG2vefW9kmpzGYHZghoJNrhbqpZpIiIq2ldB5SRJ6PogPN1x2KcHmWyjOYbHoEMrUmvJxk4gFZlTrxNCGvtpDcCNS6xTQSh0072TgCR-Us/s320/20200316_042443502_iOS.png" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3/16/2020</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBExzHOuYwJVoraJOa8zmEWgNEvjzpJmD82Fnmzd8-Zav1LOz42PZkR5AsZnhNvqXwqWsJ40158zOTmDccvgg9OJrHhJ-VimyBXjc65NksYuIuOhXyMhO_CHWK8e-vSbQDz1mJay-pk1s/s1626/20210313_220257000_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1626" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBExzHOuYwJVoraJOa8zmEWgNEvjzpJmD82Fnmzd8-Zav1LOz42PZkR5AsZnhNvqXwqWsJ40158zOTmDccvgg9OJrHhJ-VimyBXjc65NksYuIuOhXyMhO_CHWK8e-vSbQDz1mJay-pk1s/s320/20210313_220257000_iOS.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3/13/2020</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>And some people weren't sure of much but were definitely sure of God.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEt9vE9k8WPeoS6_7Tq-ytOO8gbmBE9pV2xruUZdCAf2iiYQ9dYfYMbdww3NI87O_TXdEHebQlN7ZDW1VPox5vYmJI9OkMcCh1uTD_S9OO6MBjfsq2SrslypWTUntuTSNSu3hd_5qbXtw/s1593/20210313_220532000_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1593" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEt9vE9k8WPeoS6_7Tq-ytOO8gbmBE9pV2xruUZdCAf2iiYQ9dYfYMbdww3NI87O_TXdEHebQlN7ZDW1VPox5vYmJI9OkMcCh1uTD_S9OO6MBjfsq2SrslypWTUntuTSNSu3hd_5qbXtw/s320/20210313_220532000_iOS.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3/16/2020</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>Within days, many started making political statements. This was a screenshot I took on March 16th:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgkr9k-1OpY2e0HJdEPYsr2b1yYee2WfrlzJavyhO4rJ8H9JnPZ6uRZ6DqlaK_KKwHpFix_8ABe6NX11Lv0rQCqtQo6xfhwTGz-DqdrYppX_wb8_KDAJITqm_4LJ5i8tLL7_vUCYvoQc/s1357/20210313_222037000_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1357" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgkr9k-1OpY2e0HJdEPYsr2b1yYee2WfrlzJavyhO4rJ8H9JnPZ6uRZ6DqlaK_KKwHpFix_8ABe6NX11Lv0rQCqtQo6xfhwTGz-DqdrYppX_wb8_KDAJITqm_4LJ5i8tLL7_vUCYvoQc/s320/20210313_222037000_iOS.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Over that first spring break weekend, we escaped "civilization" and stayed with some friends at their cabin about an hour away from home. I remember loading the car with this thought in the back of my mind: what if we aren't home when the world shuts down? I half expected the zombie apocalypse to start over the weekend, and we'd never be able to get back to our house - or at least not for a long while. We were taking our dog with us, so I thought at least we wouldn't <i>have</i> to come back any sooner than necessary. At the last minute, I threw in a few extra outfits for me and the kids in case we spent more than a weekend away from home. Plus more snacks because: priorities!</p><p>We had a good weekend with our friends and being isolated in the woods helped calm some of the worry. On Sunday, we watched church online because our church had announced they were closing the buildings for two weeks until things settled down.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjt-E3oRS6DJ9RPf_f5z-OJDLbdOnj75b6LfhlqZ8TtMjW8wd9llfrdsPYJNIYW7uoDpGuyPQhobKHoHXkyH541SteMaf465k9MLK0bV5ANwjL6Ew_6Y-aFbMspsWNFqe2wZiWpHHeJnk/s828/20210313_223401000_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="828" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjt-E3oRS6DJ9RPf_f5z-OJDLbdOnj75b6LfhlqZ8TtMjW8wd9llfrdsPYJNIYW7uoDpGuyPQhobKHoHXkyH541SteMaf465k9MLK0bV5ANwjL6Ew_6Y-aFbMspsWNFqe2wZiWpHHeJnk/s320/20210313_223401000_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>The zombie apocalypse didn't occur over the weekend, so we headed home that afternoon. I kind of wanted to stay at the cabin to wait out spring break, thinking the world just needed a week to get back on track.</p><p>When we got home, Jackson asked to hang out at the neighbors' house. From my journal:</p><p><i>"I let him. Got a text from XX saying St. Charles County is closing all schools until April 6. All of a sudden I felt a little panic coming on. I went to the neighbors to bring J home."</i></p><p>The next day, we got the notification from our school district.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjopI9_wq-W1aCc625VmLFXOPr6x9GE60vBVTUDx55eHS7mYlz4RRA7G-xZlLzM7Xn1jNvBpI13WLd2CCKPp1m86InxNsIetcNcFGvEZsUajsM_3Pxc08c1qoV398iYFQkjkjBGKqhqd3c/s828/20200316_002616000_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="455" data-original-width="828" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjopI9_wq-W1aCc625VmLFXOPr6x9GE60vBVTUDx55eHS7mYlz4RRA7G-xZlLzM7Xn1jNvBpI13WLd2CCKPp1m86InxNsIetcNcFGvEZsUajsM_3Pxc08c1qoV398iYFQkjkjBGKqhqd3c/s320/20200316_002616000_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>That's the day, March 16, when I started tracking COVID Isolation days in my journal. I also sat the kids down and, as I wrote in my journal, "talked about our plans to still have a routine while we're being isolated." Dan came home from work that day and told me the plans his office was making, and I remember feeling angry and anxious because I felt it wasn't enough for his immunocompromised wife.</p><p>I had to vent to my sister and felt I couldn't find a private place inside the house, so I sat in my car in the garage to call her. She had venting of her own to do because she was supposed to fly to Qatar that day to be with her husband, who lives there for his job. She was literally on the way to the airport when the airline notified her of cancelled flights because the country had closed its borders. She returned to her condo and our phone call was filled with lots of What Ifs and When Will I...</p><p>That's the day it all changed, when life split into a firm BEFORE and AFTER.</p><p>Each day of mid-March this year, I have found myself thinking about what I was doing only one year ago.</p><p>The last time we ate out.</p><p>The last time we gathered in a crowd.</p><p>The last time we went to a store without any precautions.</p><p>And the first time I ever wore a mask.</p><p>Will we ever be like we were only 52 weeks ago?</p>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-38507616823265514342020-03-28T20:00:00.000-05:002021-03-14T14:51:39.214-05:00Happy 13th Birthday, Jackson!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Dear Jackson,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
This birthday is one for the
history books. I sincerely doubt (and fervently hope!) that you'll ever have
another birthday in your lifetime spent in lock down during a worldwide
pandemic. Thanks to the COVID19/Coronavirus that's affecting our entire world,
we've been isolating for about two weeks now.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
About a week ago, I realized this
birthday wouldn't be like any you've had before and I better come up with a
plan to make it as special as possible given the circumstances. Since most
businesses are closed (except for restaurant take out), we wouldn't be able to
plan any sort of outing to an event or even just to take the family to the
movies. So I messaged pretty much everyone I know, asking them to help by
sending a card or a letter to celebrate your birthday. Your friends came
through <i>big time!</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Mail started showing up a few days before your birthday, so I kept it
hidden until the morning of your birthday. Your first delivery actually came
when your friend Kyle dropped off a card and gift on the front porch. You
opened it to find a pottery lizard. You were so excited that Kyle remembered! I
told you about a bunch of other letters waiting for you to open, so we all
gathered around the kitchen table to watch you read them all.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS0KxG9d0zcjj4XRiZtiQPWlXvLTncnlHf0vlvp46Q2v4qcKp8GVcvS28Ymi6dbXRazbVJ6f7Yw7o2MNA8uehCRdbDMIlNDohNX0ggBp0l9BU_sSIhY1pUklOZJqVRD3dWCrIhmMhB6LM/s1600/20200328_150825304_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS0KxG9d0zcjj4XRiZtiQPWlXvLTncnlHf0vlvp46Q2v4qcKp8GVcvS28Ymi6dbXRazbVJ6f7Yw7o2MNA8uehCRdbDMIlNDohNX0ggBp0l9BU_sSIhY1pUklOZJqVRD3dWCrIhmMhB6LM/s320/20200328_150825304_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
There were letters from your
cousins and your aunts and uncles, your grandparents, your neighbors, church
friends, your sister's friends, your school buddies, and even former teachers.
The smile on your face was radiant, as if you couldn't believe how much people
love you. The letters were full of funny drawings, jokes, stickers, quite a few
batches of candy, cash (whoa!), and - best of all - lots and lots of words of
love and good wishes for the year to come. Here are some of the things people
said to you:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>"Keep smiling and keep your
energy up. Don't ever lose that. As you grow and change, don't forget who you
were as you change into who you are. That journey will teach you and remind
you, forever."</li>
<li>"Don't ever stop being kind,
funny, artistic, loving, courageous, God-loving, smart, and hardworking."</li>
<li>"You are a burst of light,
love and joy to our family."</li>
<li>"God made you special and He
made you exactly the way you are on purpose, full of life and kindness."</li>
</ul>
</blockquote>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
I feel the same way, Jackson! You
are an energetic, loving, deep-feeling, funny, and smart kid. (And handsome,
too!)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHjjTqIQTlarNp-CD0SOqAibQdI0JalN_9cUsFq5JsvuleNAXXfc4OHT48HmCdKNw9OpyoYmQXIcgRKKhnDeMCheO_rBFXyNM031HUYwESrW2fDKy7sQDc7Uy36RMvcnCfQSoxa2JhfM/s1600/20200329_002354847_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHjjTqIQTlarNp-CD0SOqAibQdI0JalN_9cUsFq5JsvuleNAXXfc4OHT48HmCdKNw9OpyoYmQXIcgRKKhnDeMCheO_rBFXyNM031HUYwESrW2fDKy7sQDc7Uy36RMvcnCfQSoxa2JhfM/s320/20200329_002354847_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
I could never forget how energetic
and loving you are, because it's always so apparent. But sometimes I forget how
very deep your feelings can go because it might not always seem that way on the
surface. And then you do something like this...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
A few months ago, I worked an
afternoon shift which means you get home from school when I'm n ot there. As I
normally do, I left you a note with your list of chores and items you needed to
do. Kind of as a last minute thing, I added "Write me a letter" on
your list. I didn't think you'd do it - or if you did, it would be a one
sentence note. I pretty much forgot about it until I came home to find you
waiting to greet me in your suit blazer, with this letter in your hand.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1kks0tFjnPpbfa5IkfgpZhKsN1-FVSji8Uxn2QtyyXu4QwpR8wrDB_9Xwtzh4W_vsiRgM7ZRaPU2zgTGpUy5z-D0fbSpqUEtfNGtg7idkg8ui2bz_IaQWfMXPugjHuCl5jpE6F-cEa_s/s1600/20200206_174456749_iOS+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1kks0tFjnPpbfa5IkfgpZhKsN1-FVSji8Uxn2QtyyXu4QwpR8wrDB_9Xwtzh4W_vsiRgM7ZRaPU2zgTGpUy5z-D0fbSpqUEtfNGtg7idkg8ui2bz_IaQWfMXPugjHuCl5jpE6F-cEa_s/s400/20200206_174456749_iOS+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
I read it with tears in my eyes
because I had forgotten how deeply your feelings can run, and how observant you
are. I didn't even remember we had been having rough mornings recently because,
honestly, that's pretty much the norm for you. That letter breathed such life and love
into me, and I will cherish it forever.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
So, today you are a teenager (as
you keep reminding me). You've grown in height and depth and courage. You now
have braces, which were an adjustment but you rolled with it. You're just about
an eighth grader already, because it looks like you won't be going back to
school to finish out seventh grade due to the pandemic. So much change in what
feels like a short amount of time, but in reality it's life at the speed of
life. Life keeps happening, and you keep Jackson-ing. I can always count on you
to be you: the messy, passionate, <i>alive</i> son I love so much.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
I hope your 13th birthday has been
your best yet!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Love,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Mom</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_p8hebtoVtzKznPMnQPF6zT5a1l4xCVkBKNmgCkd_EvZ_rx02fYmFasJpPbT8Ha5vNAkfhlH-TouTEf0iidSmB4W6m-09O59LZ53O5-cJUrNXru6Mf44yBsUCDGruxDtlXRNum1GOiJY/s1600/20200329_002243275_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_p8hebtoVtzKznPMnQPF6zT5a1l4xCVkBKNmgCkd_EvZ_rx02fYmFasJpPbT8Ha5vNAkfhlH-TouTEf0iidSmB4W6m-09O59LZ53O5-cJUrNXru6Mf44yBsUCDGruxDtlXRNum1GOiJY/s320/20200329_002243275_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-18053422595316384132019-06-17T20:00:00.000-05:002019-07-27T16:17:10.625-05:00Sweet Sixteen<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaowyzLAyE5yK0CNNWHPzMINnz5Awi99H_Utnt4sOgBo0ZWjpjj0Oq2Zp7ODT45a3GSP09XwyEcKn4puwhbPzDWW5GauALhraLiGkaUNgNeBnbT7kn-dfNJ6lG16WEINTRv8BomRDBVY/s1600/20190617_013058313_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaowyzLAyE5yK0CNNWHPzMINnz5Awi99H_Utnt4sOgBo0ZWjpjj0Oq2Zp7ODT45a3GSP09XwyEcKn4puwhbPzDWW5GauALhraLiGkaUNgNeBnbT7kn-dfNJ6lG16WEINTRv8BomRDBVY/s320/20190617_013058313_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Dear Katie,<br />
<br />
It's impossible for me to comprehend that I am the mother of a SIXTEEN YEAR OLD daughter. I think that's because my 16th year is still so imprinted in my mind. And if I can remember my 16th year, then it wasn't that long ago. Right? <i>Sure...</i><br />
<br />
If my parents were still alive, they would have greeted you on this day with a sly comment like, "Sweet 16 and never been kissed." And you would have rolled your eyes and I would have giggled with you, because we both know you have arrived at 16 with some experience and knowledge you didn't have a year ago. Mostly, it was knowledge you gained in some pretty painful ways.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
You learned what it looks like to compromise your beliefs with someone you thought was trustworthy and made promises he never intended to keep.<br />You learned how to stand by a friend who endured harassment and shame.<br />You learned how to apologize and repair that friendship, and made vows to yourself about avoiding similar experiences in the future.<br />You learned what a broken heart feels like and how grief and loss don't happen all at once, but slowly over time.<br />You learned what it means to stand on your feet again, find your value and worth, and strengthen your faith and relationships.</blockquote>
Every moment you've endured has made you stronger in the long run. Life isn't a sprint for the fastest runner to win, it's an endurance run that sometimes sidelines you, detours you, stretches you, but finds you lean and strong at the finish line.<br />
<br />
Katie, you have grown into such a loving, deep-feeling, beautiful soul. You are someone whom Dad and I truly enjoy spending our time with. You make us laugh. You ask the hard questions. And you like to sing in the car with me, too.<br />
<br />
This year I realized that the longer I parent, the better I understand how deeply I was loved by my parents. That understanding wasn't something I could grasp when I was <i>being</i> parented; it comes with time. I know you can't grasp it now, but my hope is one day you'll look back on this year and see how wholly and fully loved you were through it.<br />
<br />
Even on the hard days when you felt the world rejected you. Even on the dark days when there were more clouds than stars in the sky. Even on the silent days when you didn't want to talk to me, preferring to blame your parents for the unfairness of love and life and friendships.<br />
<br />
You've made it so far, baby girl of mine. I'm so proud of you and the person you're growing up to be.<br />
<br />
Next up: driving. A car. ALONE. Eeeeeek! (Insert "scary face" emoji here.)<br />
<br />
I love you!<br />
Mom</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-26314760261423503972019-03-28T20:00:00.000-05:002019-07-27T15:52:11.023-05:00Happy 12th Birthday, Jackson!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHV4b45TDcduVfIgMvLVXZpcPkp0ywsGF_cB4jUaHI-qAlSMsXdSuLH59wum_XcEzlBQDpsPeXfDTwFL1m5_mo0l8YRvoIZcuRfVuEJNdDgM_-MQGnR5on5-ZnSJUiIDWydt887VB10J8/s1600/20190329_002119319_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHV4b45TDcduVfIgMvLVXZpcPkp0ywsGF_cB4jUaHI-qAlSMsXdSuLH59wum_XcEzlBQDpsPeXfDTwFL1m5_mo0l8YRvoIZcuRfVuEJNdDgM_-MQGnR5on5-ZnSJUiIDWydt887VB10J8/s320/20190329_002119319_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Dear Jackson,<br />
<br />
I'm dating this letter on your 12th birthday, but I'm not going to divulge the date I <i>actuall</i>y wrote this. (Hint: quite a few <strike>weeks</strike> months have passed!) I don't know why I've stalled in this letter writing tradition. It doesn't mean I don't celebrate you and the beginning of a new year together. I think time is simply not my friend these days. It goes too slow when I'm frustrated, and too fast when I'm elated.<br />
<br />
For example, this first year of middle school has felt slower than molasses. You don't *quite* love 6th grade, and you make your opinion VERY clear to me in the mornings before school. It's why I stopped waking you and instead allow the Amazon Echo device to do it for me. My mornings are much more survivable when Alexa wakes you up and you yell at her instead of me!<br />
<br />
At the same time, this first year of middle school has felt faster than a firework. The things you're learning feel accelerated and hyper-speed. Especially the advanced <i>advanced</i> math class that we pulled you out of after first semester because you don't need to get high school credit in the middle of middle school. (Slow it down, for Pete's sake!)<br />
<br />
Over the last year or so, I've been diving into this thing called The Enneagram. It's a personality typology that... well, you can Google it if and when you read these letters one day and become curious. In my Enneagram education, I've had you and your sister take an online test to figure out what your number is. The caution, of course, is that you're too young to be <i>fully</i> one number but you can display certain qualities already that put you in that number's ballpark. So far, your type appears to be a 7, <u>which means</u> you are an enthusiast and an adventurer. <u>Which means</u> we have <i>lots</i> of fun and there are no two days that are the same with you. <u>Which means</u> you also have a hard time staying in the present moment and want to fast forward to next <i>next NEXT!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And if that isn't a perfect description of my life as your mother this past year, I don't know what is. I have a hard time staying in the present moment with you, soaking in the realization of how far you've come in the last 12 years. Instead, I catch myself still doing the "I Can't Wait" dance of:<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>I can't wait until Jackson is old enough to ride his bike alone to the next neighborhood over.</li>
<li>I can't wait until Jackson is old enough to not get so crabby about mornings!</li>
<li>I can't wait until Jackson is old enough to be in control of his emotions instead of erupting them all over me.</li>
<li>I can't wait until Jackson is old enough to watch <i>Stranger Things</i> with us.</li>
<li>I can't wait until Jackson finds his sweet spot in sports, school, reading for pleasure, and hobbies. (I don't think Nerf guns count!)</li>
</ul>
<br />
See what I mean? Molasses and fireworks, slower and faster, always the extremes. So here's hoping for a little more breath and simply <i>being</i> in this coming year: for both you and me!<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, my sweet Sugar Boy. Thanks for keeping me on my toes, never letting me wonder whether you adore me or not, and always being ready for a snuggle and a nose boop.<br />
<br />
I love you,<br />
Mommy</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-62810648458300396192018-12-17T20:00:00.000-06:002018-12-19T00:13:13.105-06:0015.5<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4uFjbesBi1yPkaeDRv-nOrA5FQXwHqHpgixB2Sp8Bt_Wm62E7JD7Din1lKJMWgohZM3qYkekqlNmiwGg2R3COOhpmBu4WtqginDnXpuufOhifMEP0VOE2aZxPIWZeoc1f8B-ZpMSy4no/s1600/P1330432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4uFjbesBi1yPkaeDRv-nOrA5FQXwHqHpgixB2Sp8Bt_Wm62E7JD7Din1lKJMWgohZM3qYkekqlNmiwGg2R3COOhpmBu4WtqginDnXpuufOhifMEP0VOE2aZxPIWZeoc1f8B-ZpMSy4no/s320/P1330432.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
Dear Katie,<br />
<br />
Happy half birthday! Yep, I’m exactly 6 months late with your annual birthday letter. I have lots of excuses that actually are really good, but few that I can discuss in my blog’s semi-private public forum.<br />
<br />
Earlier tonight as you were studying for finals I said, “I’ve missed you.” When I was just now tucking you into bed, I told you what I really meant when I said I’ve missed you. Here’s the gist of it:<br />
<br />
I know you think I’m saying this only because I’m your mother, but it’s true (and not just for me)! You are a lovely person who people enjoy knowing. As 2018 started, I felt like I was finally reaping some of the things God, Dad, and I had been sowing in your life for so many years. You were finding your stride and becoming someone I really liked being around. What bliss for this mama’s heart!<br />
<br />
As is natural, you started asserting your independence and a deep drive for more freedom. That, plus your desire to be known and loved through a romantic relationship (coupled with hormones [pun intended]), resulted in some crossed wires and a few tangles. We began clashing in ways we never had before, and had to do a LOT of work regarding boundaries and defining your identity. <i>{Yes, I know this is all sounding vague and slightly ominous, but I’m trying to respect your privacy while also being faithful to the emotions we endured. I think even with the vagueness, you’ll know what I’m referencing.}</i><br />
<br />
It became a hard year, this move from age 14 to 15 (and now 15-and-a-half). In mid-June, tensions coiled and I honestly couldn’t figure out what to write in your annual birthday letter. Time pulled us into July, and I was even more lost.<br />
<br />
We had started the year slowly dipping our toes into topics I never dreamed I’d be discussing with you (at least not THIS early!), and then canon-balled into the deep end of those topics as September came to a close. October was almost as dangerous to my heart as your first three months of life <i>(I haven’t forgotten you, Postpartum Depression)</i>, but it was also a remaking that had its own desolate beauty.<br />
<br />
As I was telling you tonight at bedtime, I feel like you’ve re-centered and come back to being you. And <i>that’s </i>what I meant when I said I’ve missed you.<br />
<br />
Girl, you bring light into the world. The dimness of this past half year feels like it has finally been suspended and your light has returned. But, impossibly, it’s somehow burning brighter because now you are more aware of who you are and <b><u><i>who you are not.</i></u></b><br />
<br />
It’s beautiful to see, even if it came at a cost. (But don’t all things that are worth having?)<br />
<br />
I hope this year has given you a better understanding of how much your father and I adore you - and you’ve gained real-life knowledge that we will always - <b>ALWAYS! </b>- fight for you. You are worth fighting for, my girl.<br />
<br />
Happy half birthday, Katie. You are so loved!<br />
<br />
Always,<br />
Mom<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVzBtybyI2gD4opN9-SR1wEroD8xSYZjU5T4tbimWwopG8sB9jBMKWBsm5KdDwK82aDb9By8Bl_kqrna3OgPFSD0Glo7hWOFBvdk5ODdhw2a54-rXeVazSFFyKBLq9s6BMTPSlp3X6Ug/s1600/P1330307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVzBtybyI2gD4opN9-SR1wEroD8xSYZjU5T4tbimWwopG8sB9jBMKWBsm5KdDwK82aDb9By8Bl_kqrna3OgPFSD0Glo7hWOFBvdk5ODdhw2a54-rXeVazSFFyKBLq9s6BMTPSlp3X6Ug/s320/P1330307.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-40593220162657017992018-05-03T12:10:00.000-05:002018-05-03T22:34:34.747-05:00My Sankofa Experience<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Before you start reading, please be aware of a few things. <b>First,</b> this blog post is meant as a description of an experience that got me out of my comfort zone and addressed some of the racial tensions in my city. It isn't meant to blame or rile anyone up. Remember the purpose of my blog? It's a place to record the happenings of my little family, and a place where I can process through writing. This blog is not a political arena. <b>Secondly,</b> the people who experienced this with me were encouraged to be honest, non-judgmental, and approachable. When you go into a situation with those expectations, it makes you more vulnerable and willing to forgive things that are said that might not normally be spoken aloud. <b>Lastly,</b> this is a <u>really</u> long blog post. For the sake of brevity and because the people I experienced this event with became comfortable with these terms, I refer to African Americans as black and Caucasians as white. I do not use those words intending to degrade or offend, so please forgive me if I have done so. Now, on with the story!</i><br />
<br />
Two weekends ago, I had an experience that changed my thinking on racial reconciliation in our country, in general, and in St. Louis, specifically.<br />
<br />
It's called a Sankofa, a word I had never heard before January of this year. I didn't fully understand it until I experienced it, and I'll try to give you the best insight I can. But there comes a point when words can't express what an experience involves, so I highly recommend you tackle something like this yourself.<br />
<br />
In January my friend Gina invited me and our other best friend, Kristen, to attend an event called a Sankofa, hosted by her sister Jenny's church. Gina described it like this:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"A day spent visiting/exploring/hearing stories about St. Louis landmarks that are relevant to the story of our black brothers and sisters. Like they visit where the Michael Brown shooting occurred, the Dred Scott trial was held, and many places we may have been but not known about the historical relevance. You are paired with an individual of African American descent for the day (or grouped if there are not enough individuals) to unpack the sights and experiences."</blockquote>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQDHVfm7Pglx2k2_d6ST3LVetMYcy8Gs0QjyPaojmDWhaf5w6AMx_4UOhpjFXoRr5yf0CtRYenqAeCCtqT-h2jT8zFQ_ZL1Bvc0XjKv70jphGRKTrTPUZNb-4cjxPY3fLKKNIIJAB9ntc/s1600/sankofa_bird.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="285" data-original-width="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQDHVfm7Pglx2k2_d6ST3LVetMYcy8Gs0QjyPaojmDWhaf5w6AMx_4UOhpjFXoRr5yf0CtRYenqAeCCtqT-h2jT8zFQ_ZL1Bvc0XjKv70jphGRKTrTPUZNb-4cjxPY3fLKKNIIJAB9ntc/s1600/sankofa_bird.gif" title="http://sites.psu.edu/leadership/2018/01/26/sankofa/" /></a>What exactly is a Sankofa? Here's one explanation I found online: "Sankofa is a sacred ancestral term from the Akan people of Ghana, West Africa and can be translated as 'We must go back and reclaim our past so we can move forward - so we understand WHY and HOW we came to be who we are today!'"<br />
<br />
The Sankofa symbol is a mythical bird with feet facing forward while the head rotates backward. This image illustrates the idea of forward direction while acknowledging where you've been.<br />
<br />
I didn't fully grasp what these explanations and concepts mean, but accepted Gina's invitation to join her and Jenny.<br />
<br />
Why would I say yes to something I didn't quite understand? Something that sounds likely to be awkward and intense? And something that sounds, to a person like me (who has been known to insert my foot in my mouth on numerous occasions), like a situation where I'm likely to say words or act in a way that is very ignorant and will result in more foot-mouth experiences?<br />
<br />
I said yes because Gina, Kristen, and I have been talking about bridge building for a few years. There's a quote by JF Newton that says, "We build too many walls and not enough bridges." My friends and I have taken that to heart, talking about how to intentionally seek people who are different than us so we can cross the barriers and dividing lines that seem to separate us. We've been challenging and encouraging each other to do this with people of different gender identities, faith backgrounds, sexual preferences, and skin colors.<br />
<br />
The Sankofa seemed to align with those intentions, so I said yes! (Unfortunately, Kristen couldn't make it - but I'm pretty sure she'll be on the next one!)<br />
<br />
I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but I showed up with an open heart and a praying soul. God walked with me throughout the day (and into the next 24 hours, too - a story for another post), and I'm so excited and humbled to share my experience with you here.<br />
<br />
Before I get to the exhaustive details of the highlights and stops we made, let me give you the bird's-eye-view of what I carried with me when it was over.<br />
<br />
My first emotion was humility, due to my ignorance. I admit I was uneducated (and still am!) about a number of system-wide policies that were placed on blacks in our country. I knew segregation existed in the past, but I considered it ancient history. And if not quite <i>ancient,</i> at least it was long enough before I was born that it feels ancient. Thanks to the Sankofa, I realized these things aren't ancient, nor are they exactly history. They're <u>current</u> events. And the fact that I was so ignorant of these things makes me cringe, because I'm embarrassed to admit my vantage point never covered other people's views.<br />
<br />
My amateur education in race relations started with some videos I watched before the Sankofa and a few articles I read, like these:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKgZM8y3hso&t=11s">The Pruitt-Igoe Myth</a></li>
<li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gdX8uN6VbUE">Lucky ZIP Codes</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.bbc.com/news/av/magazine-17361995/crossing-a-st-louis-street-that-divides-communities">The Delmar Divide</a></li>
<li><a href="https://www.stlmag.com/news/the-color-line-race-in-st.-louis/">The Story of Segregation in St. Louis</a></li>
</ul>
<br />
Since I didn't grow up in St. Louis, I was unaware of the history of race relations in my city. The outbursts and emotions that surfaced after Michael Brown's shooting in Ferguson caught me by surprise, but I've heard from other native St. Louisans that it wasn't a huge surprise for them. Watching those videos I linked (above) and reading that article educated and awakened me to new views.<br />
<br />
But it wasn't until I experienced the Sankofa that my education transformed from information into narration. The information went from my head to my heart.<br />
<br />
We started the morning meeting at a church in St. Ann. We made introductions and got an overview of the day, and Stephanie (our leader) asked us to be brave and mingle with other people we don't know. She even went so far as to ask the white participants to make an effort to sit by a black participant on the bus so we could share our stories. After praying, we boarded a school bus and our trip began.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxM3WdDu04Glm9VgxZ3CsE2KwJmeiSw8XUNzL58KAgy3Fn33oYAzx0sbof_fvw-aoCVqSFX8ZwcpZd0vO8fMkQ1zq4a69g-n7hf0q3sLH0Mn57ul-ioWPeKOEi_ueZuu8q_qEEQDvixY/s1600/20180414_135959445_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxM3WdDu04Glm9VgxZ3CsE2KwJmeiSw8XUNzL58KAgy3Fn33oYAzx0sbof_fvw-aoCVqSFX8ZwcpZd0vO8fMkQ1zq4a69g-n7hf0q3sLH0Mn57ul-ioWPeKOEi_ueZuu8q_qEEQDvixY/s320/20180414_135959445_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I sat with my friend Mary, who I already knew because we used to work together at our church. We also went to <a href="http://sixgoldencoins.blogspot.com/2018/02/guatemala-day-1-saturday-102117.html">Guatemala together last October</a>, so it was like a bus reunion of sorts for us. Mary started chatting with others across the aisle, and the black woman in the seat in front of me turned around to introduce herself. Her name was Tasha, and she asked me if this was my first Sankofa.<br />
<br />
Poor Tasha, she asked me one question and my awkwardness took over. I was so afraid of saying something stupid or offensive that I just started a verbal vomit of the story of my friend inviting me and Kristen on the trip. I told her how the Bridge Building mindset started for me, when my gay friends asked me to speak at their wedding. That gave us common ground, as she asked me about how I've talked with my kids about homosexuality. She said she's been wondering how to start the conversation with her five- and six-year-olds, and I was happy to share my experience. (Poor Tasha, listening to me ramble!)<br />
<br />
We arrived at our first stop of the day: Canfield Drive in Ferguson, where <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shooting_of_Michael_Brown">Michael Brown was shot</a> by a police officer in 2014.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDP1fO_bLh_yoGnJIj-ex4A8zLrq4JUr__eSpQihARPzCKhvUfppX5YiFMIhMryq2rt17l7FAdEfouhyphenhyphenTeY2Mgc286FdhBFCFljcd72yzdyj2w8c8KfT6DmGDiLVUkjFBxu8JwDwu_8GU/s1600/1+stop+-+Canfield.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="746" data-original-width="638" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDP1fO_bLh_yoGnJIj-ex4A8zLrq4JUr__eSpQihARPzCKhvUfppX5YiFMIhMryq2rt17l7FAdEfouhyphenhyphenTeY2Mgc286FdhBFCFljcd72yzdyj2w8c8KfT6DmGDiLVUkjFBxu8JwDwu_8GU/s320/1+stop+-+Canfield.png" width="273" /></a></div>
<br />
Before the Sankofa started, I knew we'd be going to this place and it was the stop I was most nervous about. Like the rest of the country, I had seen television footage of the scene at Canfield Green Apartments plus hours of video of protests and riots in Ferguson. I had assumed Ferguson was a dangerous place, and Canfield Green Apartments would NOT be a good place for a white person to be. I don't know what I imagined would happen: would black residents be annoyed at a group of whites arriving in a bus to gawk at a place they considered a sacred battlefield? Would someone yell at us? Would we even be safe in this bad neighborhood?<br />
<br />
We got off the bus and gathered in the grass nearby. Stephanie introduced a man named <a href="https://www.demarco4congress.com/">DeMarco Davidson</a> to us. He's a pastor and also works with the <a href="http://michaelodbrown.org/">Michael Brown Foundation</a>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibvzXraAByg-KQbUBCPOcYAVpuyAbrF8eauZ66F66aLUhVxJOYyUtNXw41yEus8myU8KPlHzUFuUW0Mq2M-qmVN8mc3XhI-GbYloW6cnLhz_ZqjxGOquCXVcMYP6Wk09C5PlwU3YQpPNM/s1600/P1250786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibvzXraAByg-KQbUBCPOcYAVpuyAbrF8eauZ66F66aLUhVxJOYyUtNXw41yEus8myU8KPlHzUFuUW0Mq2M-qmVN8mc3XhI-GbYloW6cnLhz_ZqjxGOquCXVcMYP6Wk09C5PlwU3YQpPNM/s320/P1250786.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
He introduced himself and asked us a question: "What comes to mind when you think of Ferguson?" Our answers varied from not even knowing it existed until Brown's shooting to fears of being in the area because it's so violent. DeMarco then spoke to us about what life was like before, during, and after the shooting. He told us about the racial tension that already existed between the police force and residents, noting his regret that the words "police" and "force" are even used together in our country. He said people often accuse him of having an agenda, which he acknowledges by saying, "I <i>do</i> have an agenda!" His agenda is helping people hear the story of Mike Brown and what happened in Ferguson, and working for healing and against the "othering" we do when we draw lines between people.<br />
<br />
DeMarco then told us what happened on August 9, 2014. He said he could tell the story of Mike Brown and his life, or he could tell the story of the Brown family's experiences, or the story of their church, or the people who live in this area. "But I'll tell the story using the words of Officer Darren Wilson, who murdered Mike Brown. And I use the word 'murdered' on purpose." DeMarco quoted court documents and testimony given by Darren Wilson to tell the story of what happened, especially that day in the hours after the shooting. He told us that Brown's body laid in the street for four and a half hours, the amount of time it would take for you to drive to Kansas City or Memphis. He was angry that Brown's body wasn't covered up and it lay exposed. As he talked, he would point down the road to a patch of new asphalt that had been poured. He reminded us the shooting happened in the heat of August and Brown's body and blood were left exposed for hours, baking into the pavement. After the body was removed, the blood couldn't be so the city tore up the pavement and poured new asphalt.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQLzLOnIZQBI6C4cneULLhVEGRAwy96fvZygnGQf6z5bVk27bsZhVq6Wdckt8FQ0u4hTITXpd1nyyMf9gloajznUOrA3GcEgJf1cYEvBofvNIb1EKuDYssqJknF3a2VGVlV5kHv8iV9g/s1600/P1250789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQLzLOnIZQBI6C4cneULLhVEGRAwy96fvZygnGQf6z5bVk27bsZhVq6Wdckt8FQ0u4hTITXpd1nyyMf9gloajznUOrA3GcEgJf1cYEvBofvNIb1EKuDYssqJknF3a2VGVlV5kHv8iV9g/s320/P1250789.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
DeMarco invited us to walk down the street to the spot, and to see a small memorial that was placed there. We walked quietly, observing the cars driving by and the people going about their lives in the apartments.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Lzz1M2KsFpM7L0xbTLEzUOEiZVLf1YqvQg8BOIC_23PupEsiayv_PPAYcKLQRthQro12qC7FANTmkwLE4t7C4QwOJKGK-YOsbHvIyfqG23ycJe4wrKIthk6IM-AZ9Z0vAQxw7zjbCkQ/s1600/P1250793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Lzz1M2KsFpM7L0xbTLEzUOEiZVLf1YqvQg8BOIC_23PupEsiayv_PPAYcKLQRthQro12qC7FANTmkwLE4t7C4QwOJKGK-YOsbHvIyfqG23ycJe4wrKIthk6IM-AZ9Z0vAQxw7zjbCkQ/s320/P1250793.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
We stopped on the sidewalk adjacent to the new pavement patch, then crossed the road to stand on the opposite sidewalk where a dove has been placed to mark the location parallel to where Brown's body lay.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOUkNWxZFj7Ag3ar5-uPqdHldy5w1SG4hUpgQCrFvCVR-l1q810l5IU6O_FywOsyXHA_BWtRZQdm5WfDF7KsMRWUG6uVQuSB0soaFn_X5Q02l9fQt6PB5MeqXtpKwzkGBTb2x6yM3vGfU/s1600/P1250801.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOUkNWxZFj7Ag3ar5-uPqdHldy5w1SG4hUpgQCrFvCVR-l1q810l5IU6O_FywOsyXHA_BWtRZQdm5WfDF7KsMRWUG6uVQuSB0soaFn_X5Q02l9fQt6PB5MeqXtpKwzkGBTb2x6yM3vGfU/s320/P1250801.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
A resident in the building directly behind us came out on her balcony and DeMarco waved to her. She told us she was there the day Michael Brown died. DeMarco spoke to our group to say he doesn't know who she is, but he tries to be friendly to all the neighbors when he comes out to Canfield Drive. He wants them to know he's not there to cause problems, and he also told us that he speaks to Michael Brown's parents before he visits the area. He wants the Browns to know what he's doing there each time.<br />
<br />
We walked back toward our bus, then past it to visit a plaque that was placed in another sidewalk as a memorial to Michael Brown.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDItvEhevvFLV-9dRDDBkSqqhBHLlfwe9e0o-eeyncSdu3UN32zIgr5lzTHHx3Wmdg77ouSMlqQneesEPu69q4S0DM3V1NWkxMBbA4TZqn1xHyPOS21-LjOQW3S1nCvu6i-FD9pXQxug/s1600/P1250804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDItvEhevvFLV-9dRDDBkSqqhBHLlfwe9e0o-eeyncSdu3UN32zIgr5lzTHHx3Wmdg77ouSMlqQneesEPu69q4S0DM3V1NWkxMBbA4TZqn1xHyPOS21-LjOQW3S1nCvu6i-FD9pXQxug/s320/P1250804.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeSAVOUgJ12nTkyRkdzwoo52y4kJwv9Kw7B8fwKTHtPCtm0bK23XkJ7KDYqfm7IyWmSEvGI-YM3PtQn5genjkYvdnSrXnp_lUwFig1f8LrGHEpnq0w-CuBlERulFSX2ABdMLkoJRBlzU/s1600/P1250805.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeSAVOUgJ12nTkyRkdzwoo52y4kJwv9Kw7B8fwKTHtPCtm0bK23XkJ7KDYqfm7IyWmSEvGI-YM3PtQn5genjkYvdnSrXnp_lUwFig1f8LrGHEpnq0w-CuBlERulFSX2ABdMLkoJRBlzU/s320/P1250805.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
It was time for us to load the bus and head to our next stop. I sat with Mary again on the bus and we chatted about what we had just learned. She asked about my experience growing up in the South, and I told her about living in an affluent, predominantly white county. I explained there was a white boy in middle school that a bunch of classmates picked on when they found out he was a member of the KKK, and the kid eventually left our school because of it. I think we patted ourselves on the back for that, as if it proved we weren't racists and there could be progressive whites in our white-dominated school. I also told her about high school, when some of my friends and I made it a point to invite fellow black students into our lives.<br />
<br />
Our second Sankofa stop was at the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Courthouse_(St._Louis)">Old St. Louis County Courthouse</a>, where the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dred_Scott">Dred Scott trial</a> was held.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHN7ISVfzsypQ4aC0GMpZ6REb7YEA4uQOOAOIimaxdc235rOTLPXE7JUXkcoE8OO72caJMovTpiXbs418HS32BHJiWPKqUHZ_Dtf9f-g8WsYvGNL3PiCzHK4iMwgYeAkpT3MDYrV2di9g/s1600/2+stop+-+courthouse.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="751" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHN7ISVfzsypQ4aC0GMpZ6REb7YEA4uQOOAOIimaxdc235rOTLPXE7JUXkcoE8OO72caJMovTpiXbs418HS32BHJiWPKqUHZ_Dtf9f-g8WsYvGNL3PiCzHK4iMwgYeAkpT3MDYrV2di9g/s320/2+stop+-+courthouse.png" width="272" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF4H1JvHk8VPCiiNp8ncX3Pc9zEAMoCP7h0e3sIyQfYzby28MZIVOQR0gmhvPyNGt1EW9jA6m0GOE8xbOy6cpb0rJH4dplOn3Lv7qd37Vt9oLK5iXXNjS8M_Eg9oLqcg7sNvGURHTet0c/s1600/P1250806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF4H1JvHk8VPCiiNp8ncX3Pc9zEAMoCP7h0e3sIyQfYzby28MZIVOQR0gmhvPyNGt1EW9jA6m0GOE8xbOy6cpb0rJH4dplOn3Lv7qd37Vt9oLK5iXXNjS8M_Eg9oLqcg7sNvGURHTet0c/s320/P1250806.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
We had a limited time to walk through the building and read a few of the displays about Dred Scott. I wandered, knowing I'd have to come back to read the exhibits in-depth.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOTWdpJpMZENHjN6jj_aYwyS7xXWzNd3Ay76REdJ0bCBjGUEoshAsW3X50VDhTYi728hHiLcCzu4YRvb_VTpQS2Tpv12n9a3nE9NGAjx1nY_quZM9pUGRzC36rkt8lYrSNHVP6YFN30xY/s1600/P1250809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOTWdpJpMZENHjN6jj_aYwyS7xXWzNd3Ay76REdJ0bCBjGUEoshAsW3X50VDhTYi728hHiLcCzu4YRvb_VTpQS2Tpv12n9a3nE9NGAjx1nY_quZM9pUGRzC36rkt8lYrSNHVP6YFN30xY/s320/P1250809.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Jessica, another woman on the Sankofa, and I happened upon a park ranger who was giving a tour to a group and allowed us to tag along for the last 10 minutes of his speech. He unlocked a gate to an upstairs courtroom so we were permitted to enter and actually sit in the courtroom chairs.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiMslde9FMm71vM7suW_OycIwBPYQxrhDaMbxlPRd91JhtI22zC7K9cREjPMyYdhScULZqeluiDg9Ddzz-BpkbicmK0Id2P5jLQJnqUW9bFkW2ho3ELYbUoMkSXfiDDCXaDWmhIZt34v4/s1600/P1250824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiMslde9FMm71vM7suW_OycIwBPYQxrhDaMbxlPRd91JhtI22zC7K9cREjPMyYdhScULZqeluiDg9Ddzz-BpkbicmK0Id2P5jLQJnqUW9bFkW2ho3ELYbUoMkSXfiDDCXaDWmhIZt34v4/s320/P1250824.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
He explained this was likely the courtroom where the Dred Scott trial was held. He told us the background of the case, and how it dragged on for 11 years. A large portion of Scott's legal fees were covered by the Blow family, his original owners. Eventually, Scott's legal owner (Widow Emerson, who had remarried a man who happened to be an abolitionist), sold the Scotts back to the Blow family for $1 each (a total of $4), and the Blows gave the Scotts their freedom.<br />
<br />
The fact that the Blow family (former slave owners) changed their original beliefs and were so committed to abolishing slavery that they paid for some of Scott's legal fees started to unravel me. I wanted to sit in that courtroom and consider this, but Jessica and I knew we needed to get back to our group. They were all meeting outside the courthouse. While we met, we looked toward the Gateway Arch and the Mississippi River, where ships would deliver slaves for sale on the courthouse steps.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRl8o1xqpnFNqChjoDwDUPz2al6X9X1sR3ktK3eKC6IePGRKXUYJhrBViLwvkCz2IL5yR7-oL_qCLtdzwotToSmtCTk1Dz0DG1aHTprQh5ceP7m8KtewlOGgNamlDTKFgIUEjorg_PXmk/s1600/P1250835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRl8o1xqpnFNqChjoDwDUPz2al6X9X1sR3ktK3eKC6IePGRKXUYJhrBViLwvkCz2IL5yR7-oL_qCLtdzwotToSmtCTk1Dz0DG1aHTprQh5ceP7m8KtewlOGgNamlDTKFgIUEjorg_PXmk/s320/P1250835.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
We listened to Terry, one of the Sankofa leaders, as he read a slave's account of being sold at auction. When Terry came to the part where the slave's wife was sold to another owner, effectively separating them for life, he broke down crying because his own wife, LeShae, was just a few steps away. The tears started flowing for many of us, thinking what it would be like to lose your beloved like that. What a horrific experience, and knowing it was normal for slaves makes me feel such shame and grief.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglWiqvY2DTHJhKb77TxlVTDiIHvWH71HVIjOwEIART7_LfDRTGtFrmUc6bQcaiM_Hu44tA7TDFPxei_WJjQsPXOb2ibi284wNSuJc6dblge-pF7g0t9iSDdlZ0Zq36v2_jq-xytGu7Hz4/s1600/P1250832.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglWiqvY2DTHJhKb77TxlVTDiIHvWH71HVIjOwEIART7_LfDRTGtFrmUc6bQcaiM_Hu44tA7TDFPxei_WJjQsPXOb2ibi284wNSuJc6dblge-pF7g0t9iSDdlZ0Zq36v2_jq-xytGu7Hz4/s320/P1250832.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
After reading the slave's story, Terry passed around some historical photos of lynchings and whites attacking blacks. The grainy photos were difficult to look at, not because of the print quality but because of what they captured. What really turned my stomach was the look on the faces of many whites in the photos. There were smiles and glee, even hints of laughter on the faces - including the <i>children</i> in the photos.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU7-V6MZbNznSpETS2ic9qQQkuoxRGpnldD821KAPE49iV-g_y3rjh_7EhW9sY1iZkpm7POHRzGU0OIQTX6w6vfNBgB0mJNPvuFtvNZaVFjlrMnTu-7V8CC2E9A0BdGfP1BfQ4xQD-KNM/s1600/P1250837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU7-V6MZbNznSpETS2ic9qQQkuoxRGpnldD821KAPE49iV-g_y3rjh_7EhW9sY1iZkpm7POHRzGU0OIQTX6w6vfNBgB0mJNPvuFtvNZaVFjlrMnTu-7V8CC2E9A0BdGfP1BfQ4xQD-KNM/s320/P1250837.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Terry remarked that through the decades, we have been taught to listen to the narrative of the blacks as they explained their lives of slavery. He said that was appropriate, of course, but somewhere along the way we stopped listening to the white narrative. He pointed to a smiling white girl in one photo and asked, "What did this do to <i>her</i>? What is <i>her</i> story?" He has heard many people discuss slavery saying it was something done in previous generations, and it's something that we don't have to own because we didn't DO it ourselves. But for Christians, we understand the ramifications of sin that our original ancestors (Adam and Eve) chose on our behalf, and we live under the ramifications of that sin - maybe not willingly, but we know there's not much we can do to change sin's impact on us. Terry asked why we don't have that same sense of ownership in regards to prior ancestors' involvement with beliefs that certain races are superior to others.<br />
<br />
That unraveling I mentioned a few paragraphs above? It was in full swing now. I had never considered a slave auction in regards to my personal story, nor had I felt compelled to take responsibility for my ancestors' poor decisions. The "ick" feeling grew darker and heavier in my heart.<br />
<br />
We left the Courthouse and drove to our third stop, the <a href="https://www.stlouis-mo.gov/government/departments/mayor/news/on-the-map-mary-meachum-freedom-crossing.cfm">Mary Meachum Freedom Crossing</a>. It was part of the Underground Railroad.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6j6sq0E_ACuhNF98DSL6_Tl53aYvlZ91BAEedIw87aCFlUdRbNcjZjfhbHWMXZGJstGjVpNLUOA4v6aju1-2ZIbbzWtuHSmYQIcRE8NvSztGhKksrIWCcEBydFV4Kw6q8JKYobBV_ARc/s1600/3+stop+-+freedom+crossing.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6j6sq0E_ACuhNF98DSL6_Tl53aYvlZ91BAEedIw87aCFlUdRbNcjZjfhbHWMXZGJstGjVpNLUOA4v6aju1-2ZIbbzWtuHSmYQIcRE8NvSztGhKksrIWCcEBydFV4Kw6q8JKYobBV_ARc/s320/3+stop+-+freedom+crossing.png" width="275" /></a></div>
<br />
As we pulled into this stop, I looked at the Mississippi River and the shore of Illinois on the other side and imagined someone saying to me, "Your freedom is on the other bank of this river. If you want it, you have to swim to it." I watched the river's strong current and thought I could possibly drown if I tried to swim across. If I were trying to get to the free state of Illinois on the other side, would I attempt the swim? Or would I choose safety (and slavery) on this side of the river?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiJCoEtkMfxLubQa404pg2NzFekLZSC-4M5HfIjrBDXTHXL9gKYz4jwTbEOLvBtbDgOuFwIE-bkQwvM6F95-p8x6v4LMEUkJXK3lGYel9BI3mwbnxwWYBFkdAjhfvnE6t4wysuSS8WvkQ/s1600/P1250842.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiJCoEtkMfxLubQa404pg2NzFekLZSC-4M5HfIjrBDXTHXL9gKYz4jwTbEOLvBtbDgOuFwIE-bkQwvM6F95-p8x6v4LMEUkJXK3lGYel9BI3mwbnxwWYBFkdAjhfvnE6t4wysuSS8WvkQ/s320/P1250842.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Our group gathered in a metal building used as a rest stop for people on the Mississippi Greenway and we spoke about the Underground Railroad. One of our leaders, Rev. Mike Atty, read a poem about a river, then we were allowed to look at the river from the building's balcony or walk down the trail to see the crossing. Rain had started drizzling, but I decided to follow the trail anyway with a few others. We came to a set of broken stairs that lead down the riverbank. I snapped a few photos, then headed back to the bus.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucN6nnHbjppBNX5DuFIGsuiCB2Q8ET1re4vlPrS-iS7CC31po-f4zZWUgBIQOVMShaaKLdZFNYZbVfHM7dknGD6fhwB9FtznMJ-ngzt2IL8HbrApyN6DDCjX5pLfrP5dkAUJ05A8Ilzc/s1600/P1250847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucN6nnHbjppBNX5DuFIGsuiCB2Q8ET1re4vlPrS-iS7CC31po-f4zZWUgBIQOVMShaaKLdZFNYZbVfHM7dknGD6fhwB9FtznMJ-ngzt2IL8HbrApyN6DDCjX5pLfrP5dkAUJ05A8Ilzc/s320/P1250847.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
As the bus pulled away I was distracted by a phone call from my husband to discuss some details about our kids and schedules, so I missed the group discussion on the bus. Shortly after, we arrived at our fourth stop: <a href="http://www.firstbaptistchurchstlouis.org/home">First Baptist Church of St. Louis.</a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHaq7oOayHZgfxc_Pgw3UqpYhKGU5TiEd18TImAyazAUpayz_4sVjNVG4RgtsgUnj-ZFKp0UkzV7nT0KqFL1_azGmdabWZPeHpQ_C5gWvXC8NFk4hPQp9ym4L-FkCDVOcJNa0KDIzMJCQ/s1600/4+stop+-+first+baptist.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="746" data-original-width="639" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHaq7oOayHZgfxc_Pgw3UqpYhKGU5TiEd18TImAyazAUpayz_4sVjNVG4RgtsgUnj-ZFKp0UkzV7nT0KqFL1_azGmdabWZPeHpQ_C5gWvXC8NFk4hPQp9ym4L-FkCDVOcJNa0KDIzMJCQ/s320/4+stop+-+first+baptist.png" width="274" /></a></div>
<br />
This fourth stop has ties to our third stop. It's part of the church Mary Meachum and her husband, John Berry Meachum, helped start in 1825: First African Baptist Church. This was the first Protestant church for African Americans in St. Louis. The Meachums also ran a school through the church, disguised as a Sunday school class because slaves and blacks weren't allowed to be educated at the time.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmsWaqYQaXK_blp_ovR72kmYVS6zSYITrsicSr08w5D5PlkDE1yLeBopULn2pvTTVyGU9K1OkdYoRcKd2mmmXVrcwauowhj2vc6dU8zqaeySdjFaZPNeJ7ss7CBCS5P3aTLfJEJfRZQmM/s1600/20180414_184852037_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmsWaqYQaXK_blp_ovR72kmYVS6zSYITrsicSr08w5D5PlkDE1yLeBopULn2pvTTVyGU9K1OkdYoRcKd2mmmXVrcwauowhj2vc6dU8zqaeySdjFaZPNeJ7ss7CBCS5P3aTLfJEJfRZQmM/s320/20180414_184852037_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
We were welcomed into the church's sanctuary by the pastor's wife, who received a gift book from our Sankofa leaders. The pastor, Rev. Henry Midgett, then told us about the church's history.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCfNRJvQOlJFHpHcZzep-reK8Zh4vN42yebmovvaTD7w8jUNQdP3wSimo2RBNmrY2RLRhF-9arpJmMK3oA3oJt8seazxKxrVUMQl0Z-wkZqtxEfGr2qoLkU6WWfQTWrXYCDkvqhTxr58/s1600/P1250854.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCfNRJvQOlJFHpHcZzep-reK8Zh4vN42yebmovvaTD7w8jUNQdP3wSimo2RBNmrY2RLRhF-9arpJmMK3oA3oJt8seazxKxrVUMQl0Z-wkZqtxEfGr2qoLkU6WWfQTWrXYCDkvqhTxr58/s320/P1250854.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
We heard one of the first pastors died while preaching in the pulpit, and it happened again to another pastor 100 years after the first. Rev. Midgett told us the first building burned in 1940 and was rebuilt. He explained the fountain behind the choir loft, which is also the church's baptismal font. On the first day of church after the building was rebuilt, the pastor asked everyone to pick up a rock on the way to service. The rocks were collected and later used in the mural. Water trickles down, cascading over the cross and into the glass basin at the bottom.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhhtjNlCVaSRf_ZNLjNNEk4Sojv_8WCJB4NEI6hWl_35IUBB09YdTTQPqddx_vyxYn1A4_gKX2WiXxLssdmlEFhyVxkoXopakMJ-g0M5zyb4Q4bgZBlT45PIn7RubNcpoH9zMbWdhjt4/s1600/P1250856.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhhtjNlCVaSRf_ZNLjNNEk4Sojv_8WCJB4NEI6hWl_35IUBB09YdTTQPqddx_vyxYn1A4_gKX2WiXxLssdmlEFhyVxkoXopakMJ-g0M5zyb4Q4bgZBlT45PIn7RubNcpoH9zMbWdhjt4/s320/P1250856.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Everyone walked to the basement for lunch: sub sandwiches, chips, and packs of the sweetest pineapple many of us ever tasted. We were encouraged to sit by someone new, so I placed my lunch box on a random table. I ended up sitting beside Niah (Tasha's aunt), April, and Terry. We chatted while we ate, then a church elder who sings with the St. Louis Symphony agreed to sing for us. He got some help from two ladies to sing a portion of "Lift Every Voice and Sing."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXk9C-f3XY9rau7PkfcChw6NtO6OZijSvqXTyXmb0e2T9nHDeWLJ0ZIdyL80XN4DDfUBXc42Ns9xWAbjQKMt9nrfJHYxaarJ2EDwXlYkgoD6sTGBPCV2-M7MBR2g4zzbo_pICAn_aa4Co/s1600/20180414_175504722_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXk9C-f3XY9rau7PkfcChw6NtO6OZijSvqXTyXmb0e2T9nHDeWLJ0ZIdyL80XN4DDfUBXc42Ns9xWAbjQKMt9nrfJHYxaarJ2EDwXlYkgoD6sTGBPCV2-M7MBR2g4zzbo_pICAn_aa4Co/s320/20180414_175504722_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
The elder explained to us that people commonly call that song the Black National Anthem. He said that's incorrect; <i>his</i> national anthem is "The Star Spangled Banner." This song can be called the Black Anthem, but not the <i>national</i> anthem.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2VmvKZAF00sKz72BRm6VRb97o63PHek4De0DfE9j8N5dTwMC2XLGVXyp0FUhM-B5wdX3VldU0iR_OiebVZ35LXhbj3NcvSaYhTmGb04PWANvWA7jx12WH7H00OCz1BzFW8a_PC1GrzY/s1600/20180414_175622045_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2VmvKZAF00sKz72BRm6VRb97o63PHek4De0DfE9j8N5dTwMC2XLGVXyp0FUhM-B5wdX3VldU0iR_OiebVZ35LXhbj3NcvSaYhTmGb04PWANvWA7jx12WH7H00OCz1BzFW8a_PC1GrzY/s320/20180414_175622045_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
While we ate, Terry overheard talk at the table behind him. Cindy, a white woman, had asked Matthew, a black man, what he wants someone of a different race (specifically, the white race) to know. Terry asked Cindy to repeat the question for everyone to hear, then a few of the black people in the room gave their answers.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFacGTFFzgY1fOJQuGQcwDmxvtpXyAkTyeVaSJVkkhQD2dZaqQko97pMwIc969lWRJzWEsMtl8zaq8mNLxXednd7Z20W7-omeWiRHY_EjDyxDAn3mX0L3vYW_ryKjc6eUCaF51-NUBdU/s1600/20180414_183627517_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFacGTFFzgY1fOJQuGQcwDmxvtpXyAkTyeVaSJVkkhQD2dZaqQko97pMwIc969lWRJzWEsMtl8zaq8mNLxXednd7Z20W7-omeWiRHY_EjDyxDAn3mX0L3vYW_ryKjc6eUCaF51-NUBdU/s320/20180414_183627517_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The church elder who sang explained how he'd never experienced racism until he went into the military. He grew up in a predominantly black area in St. Louis, so he was never confronted with it until he served our country. He also expressed his desire for the younger generation to learn better values, and for their parents to teach those values to them instead of letting bad behavior. The pastor's wife, Jackie, shared an experience of shopping with her daughter. One of the white salesladies threw away her daughter's own clothes when her daughter left the changing room to show Jackie her outfit. It was a heartbreaking story, and a shock for a lot of the whites in the room to hear. But many of the blacks in the room concurred with Jackie, saying they've had similar experiences of racism.<br />
<br />
Matthew gave his answer to the question: he wants our white culture to realize how much of the United States was built by the twelve generations of black slaves, an entire population of unpaid labor that contributed to the current success of our country. Matthew, his daughter Niah, and his granddaughter Tasha are part of the <a href="http://unpaidlabor.com/">Unpaid Labor movement</a>, which calls for remembering our country's history in order to heal race relations. Tasha told me later that we can't ignore our past and we must embrace it for healing to happen, for mistakes to be acknowledged, and for those who sacrificed to be properly honored. As their website says, "without black, there would be no red, white, and blue."<br />
<br />
It was time for us to move on to our fifth stop, Fairgrounds Park Pool and nearby Beaumont High School.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKmJAN_3VQo48H8ZwRhHFXoUEDHNLQvBixq8KTQggruUOmP-Ck9gjnkRl6TYtUnLn5-DC32ALrI0JPV6E-Wr37TYJhCcqTEBs50R9Z7NVCg1Z4df-YlfbY2rbLCJefhwKWhNbOwfqnbDI/s1600/5+stop+-+fairgrounds+park.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="746" data-original-width="639" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKmJAN_3VQo48H8ZwRhHFXoUEDHNLQvBixq8KTQggruUOmP-Ck9gjnkRl6TYtUnLn5-DC32ALrI0JPV6E-Wr37TYJhCcqTEBs50R9Z7NVCg1Z4df-YlfbY2rbLCJefhwKWhNbOwfqnbDI/s320/5+stop+-+fairgrounds+park.png" width="274" /></a></div>
<br />
The pool at Fairgrounds Park was the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Fairground_Park_Riot">site of a riot in 1949</a>, started by whites when blacks were allowed to use the pool for the first time. City officials had opened the pool to blacks after a federal court case ruled a law prohibiting blacks from public golf courses was a violation of the 14th Amendment. Whites gathered at the pool, shouting and harassing the black children who were swimming. It led to a riot that made national headlines.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5ccnrofwjebceheyGaQAJdbvTPhQqpgppxSKxtdlsBf_O0WnYyzudVk5kySJ99FlEZ_Ks7_i7Zk-vLdl9APXD9Edbqx02NAtlQ5VqskQspHh4LELMWii0ZOOySJwohIb2QXJEjN2xmo/s1600/P1250863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5ccnrofwjebceheyGaQAJdbvTPhQqpgppxSKxtdlsBf_O0WnYyzudVk5kySJ99FlEZ_Ks7_i7Zk-vLdl9APXD9Edbqx02NAtlQ5VqskQspHh4LELMWii0ZOOySJwohIb2QXJEjN2xmo/s320/P1250863.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Across the street from the park is <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beaumont_High_School_(St._Louis)">Beaumont High School</a>. I've been inside Beaumont before, when I was involved in a mentoring program about 15 years ago. It is important to our Sankofa journey because it was one of the first all-white schools in St. Louis to desegregate in 1954. But in the 1970s, it was re-segregated and became an all-black high school. It is currently closed. The rain kept us from getting out of the bus at the park and the high school, so I'd like to go back and visit the park especially some other time.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsG80Fc43Zoxeql-f6kPILZwcPtdTp7wM7LnubXdwsDaonbOj3Mn3tNA8YuBXzZ01EgXcrfZzDWyd0Qo57wUe7EnDAJSnzfPVDkpaEj8XSZ-V1QYr68JJ-KKrsnTfHa2PAO4DqdW63T2c/s1600/P1250864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsG80Fc43Zoxeql-f6kPILZwcPtdTp7wM7LnubXdwsDaonbOj3Mn3tNA8YuBXzZ01EgXcrfZzDWyd0Qo57wUe7EnDAJSnzfPVDkpaEj8XSZ-V1QYr68JJ-KKrsnTfHa2PAO4DqdW63T2c/s320/P1250864.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Our next stop was on the edge of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pruitt%E2%80%93Igoe">Pruitt-Igoe</a>, a high-rise public housing development that was built in 1954. It was a massive failure, and the buildings were demolished in the '70s.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRDkSLj9icofRpGxzydoccFJhnnIjGfq1-Gaj8wTjTNwIEOZg6-q2GB4xWqAbK62UzjEhafSEVHSCI1HmhIDyz9gXH8fgV-VCnDPkxv8TFNB8fXcSH42YFOHUVvu0LDNA-ayrM0njThA/s1600/6+stop+-+Pruitt+Igoe.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="746" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRDkSLj9icofRpGxzydoccFJhnnIjGfq1-Gaj8wTjTNwIEOZg6-q2GB4xWqAbK62UzjEhafSEVHSCI1HmhIDyz9gXH8fgV-VCnDPkxv8TFNB8fXcSH42YFOHUVvu0LDNA-ayrM0njThA/s320/6+stop+-+Pruitt+Igoe.png" width="274" /></a></div>
<br />
Since I grew up in Georgia, I wasn't aware of Pruitt-Igoe's existence, failure, or the fact that it was such a sore spot in St. Louis history. Before the Sankofa, I watched a documentary called <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Pruitt-Igoe_Myth">The Pruitt-Igoe Myth</a></i> and it helped me understand more of the history. There isn't much to see now because the area is <a href="http://www.stltoday.com/business/local/mckee-buys-pruitt-igoe-site-a-symbol-of-st-louis/article_5e8c71c2-dd04-5381-8e50-fd7bf4a99783.html">under development again</a>, after years of abandonment.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFt1iMSeaSNKtM_aIDpziJfJpeiCAdEsuKwbYx3zhzbg47KH8hrmf3INauoc_AcZPP5rAQTVpubwCnDSsqKhKPmkt5lg01qsALNHtDNz0TmE5G9U1BGnF5BhKvxkKSJhcv0czQ7Zmrby8/s1600/P1250867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFt1iMSeaSNKtM_aIDpziJfJpeiCAdEsuKwbYx3zhzbg47KH8hrmf3INauoc_AcZPP5rAQTVpubwCnDSsqKhKPmkt5lg01qsALNHtDNz0TmE5G9U1BGnF5BhKvxkKSJhcv0czQ7Zmrby8/s320/P1250867.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Our seventh stop was Jefferson Bank, the <a href="http://mohistory.org/blog/jefferson-bank-a-defining-moment/">site of protests and demonstrations</a> in 1963.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueiNr-f1MmS6v1LHbea039NbP8P8GIaZEt-O6Mbw_nsxTv9dTPeti2CybYNg74FMG4jHE2LvmKlIiXm862OmKCJujEJAbCjk5LMFZTdGjsLoko7PTnrU0VXFXGGdG0MLS9ERInpTtkEQ/s1600/7+stop+-+Delmar+divide+and+Jefferson+Bank+protests.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="747" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueiNr-f1MmS6v1LHbea039NbP8P8GIaZEt-O6Mbw_nsxTv9dTPeti2CybYNg74FMG4jHE2LvmKlIiXm862OmKCJujEJAbCjk5LMFZTdGjsLoko7PTnrU0VXFXGGdG0MLS9ERInpTtkEQ/s320/7+stop+-+Delmar+divide+and+Jefferson+Bank+protests.png" width="274" /></a></div>
<br />
The bank and the demonstrations held around and inside it represent the most significant parts of the St. Louis civil rights movement in the '60s. The building is still there, but the bank has moved and expanded to other areas in St. Louis.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCpU7LzddQbZ0JwJpI03MpY2H3jyryzjXZoWQiHv3rMSJCy7qqLm3bMLQ3IJY99ztNpezG22GA9lmjceRZD6B3uPw7dg_BSG8J4yP5aj_meBIrVsy-297dvyTL2XGviqJofeuVXvRAdM/s1600/P1250871.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCpU7LzddQbZ0JwJpI03MpY2H3jyryzjXZoWQiHv3rMSJCy7qqLm3bMLQ3IJY99ztNpezG22GA9lmjceRZD6B3uPw7dg_BSG8J4yP5aj_meBIrVsy-297dvyTL2XGviqJofeuVXvRAdM/s320/P1250871.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The deposit window is still embedded in the outside wall.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1Xh7ETcE5dFDUcpTon5M2m0lfGsXVbo4iHnQeX5ufx2OY_kTX8YQX0uOvqwk-R-SihgPCkrNapXtwYhwgPUhz9ajFfmRMWp4m1g3LWmtFLaBpVCITlUxsYpOmkUI-cpKN-Yfhnqh2Es/s1600/20180414_193552214_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1Xh7ETcE5dFDUcpTon5M2m0lfGsXVbo4iHnQeX5ufx2OY_kTX8YQX0uOvqwk-R-SihgPCkrNapXtwYhwgPUhz9ajFfmRMWp4m1g3LWmtFLaBpVCITlUxsYpOmkUI-cpKN-Yfhnqh2Es/s320/20180414_193552214_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Our next Sankofa stop wasn't really a stop; it was more of a drive. We left Jefferson Bank and drove to Delmar Boulevard. Rev. Atty, a pastor with <a href="https://mcustlouis.org/">Metropolitan Congregations United</a>, asked us to pay attention on the drive and see what we might notice. He said racism isn't just about an attitude, it also concerns "where we allow some and not others."<br />
<br />
We drove down what is called the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delmar_Divide">Delmar Divide</a>, because this street divides racial lines in an obvious way: traditionally, homes to the north of Delmar are undervalued and homes to the south are much more pricey. Besides property values, there's a marked difference in incomes, racial makeup, and education. Before watching the <i>Pruitt-Igoe Myth</i> and taking this Sankofa journey, I had never heard of <a href="http://www.bostonfairhousing.org/timeline/1920s1948-Restrictive-Covenants.html">racially restrictive covenants</a> or a practice called <a href="http://www.bostonfairhousing.org/timeline/1934-1968-FHA-Redlining.html">redlining</a>. (I can't tell you how uneducated and embarrassed I feel to admit that!) I was shocked to learn there were - and still are! - realtors who diverted home buyers from certain areas because of their race.<br />
<br />
We stopped at the end of Delmar Boulevard and discussed what we saw. Some people mentioned the state of property upkeep or disrepair, others said they noticed a change in types of businesses on different sides of the street (Aldi versus Straub's grocery store). Rev. Atty quoted the bible's directive to love your neighbor, but the question is who is your neighbor? He pointed out the fact that in our city, the Missouri River is the Delmar Divide for our counties. What do we do with these divides? Do we let them continue to exist and divide, or do we try to cross them and find common ground? Rev. Atty said we must focus not on creating a "safe space" for people to gather and grow, but a brave space. We're not here to stay safe and unchallenged; we're here to be brave and to grow by sharing and learning.<br />
<br />
Our eighth stop was at the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shelley_House_(St._Louis,_Missouri)">Shelley House</a>, which is a National Historic Landmark.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxWLoTBZLelr7Ig337Xgyo4dsD8BOghm-vfe9bQ9MKvviCNj4XpUSWynwfnBFYmIsU4uNeccW14yLFrGKTdG6fqpVcwodZKDgN9HVfIQhAvaWPDxzVWs0C1dqLG180mRmvBxECfEl_gDs/s1600/8+stop+-+Shelley+v.+Kraemer+house.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="895" data-original-width="639" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxWLoTBZLelr7Ig337Xgyo4dsD8BOghm-vfe9bQ9MKvviCNj4XpUSWynwfnBFYmIsU4uNeccW14yLFrGKTdG6fqpVcwodZKDgN9HVfIQhAvaWPDxzVWs0C1dqLG180mRmvBxECfEl_gDs/s320/8+stop+-+Shelley+v.+Kraemer+house.png" width="228" /></a></div>
<br />
This property was the focus of the Supreme Court case <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shelley_v._Kraemer">Shelley v. Kraemer</a></i>, which made racially restrictive covenants unenforceable in court. You can see the stone that designates this an historic landmark in the front yard of the house, but you can't see the brass plaque that describes what the house is. Why? Vandals recently stole the plaque. (And this was not the first stop on our Sankofa that had vandalism; the Freedom Crossing was also vandalized and the historic marker was damaged.) As we drove off, Terry told us he works in the mortgage business and still regularly comes across racially restrictive covenants in paperwork he handles. They aren't legal covenants, but they're still embedded in our culture.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP8xZlAerpvpIZtuprvTJ31xbrvRZkwUZwvrAOmZq31Ta_UBiep_0BAPPxo6fRPahyphenhyphenQYZ6tW5onkBkHGnAgUfB_w_xGDHf1p337xydY-T0EaCJNYYigO8njTTbi4u5tUIte-I01W7HS0w/s1600/P1250878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP8xZlAerpvpIZtuprvTJ31xbrvRZkwUZwvrAOmZq31Ta_UBiep_0BAPPxo6fRPahyphenhyphenQYZ6tW5onkBkHGnAgUfB_w_xGDHf1p337xydY-T0EaCJNYYigO8njTTbi4u5tUIte-I01W7HS0w/s320/P1250878.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Our ninth stop was one of the most moving and sacred ones for me. Our road trip ended in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calvary_Cemetery_(St._Louis)">Calvary Cemetery</a>, at the grave of Dred Scott.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT2GcU8hzUyOs91x42dleVntVI0HxqydKjTox1YuxJnyH3ZB9e7yiYsrXqHGUOm6SmMUJ5KgwdqNl-xfNHjuZw4DIRWO_PeeyUTL4CSpmG6aOwPe4qWgeeB1nuglbm9tXyFVHtyXE6zHk/s1600/9+stop+-+Calvary+Cemetery.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="741" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT2GcU8hzUyOs91x42dleVntVI0HxqydKjTox1YuxJnyH3ZB9e7yiYsrXqHGUOm6SmMUJ5KgwdqNl-xfNHjuZw4DIRWO_PeeyUTL4CSpmG6aOwPe4qWgeeB1nuglbm9tXyFVHtyXE6zHk/s320/9+stop+-+Calvary+Cemetery.png" width="276" /></a></div>
<br />
Scott died only sixteen months after he was given freedom by Taylor Blow. I read that Scott was originally buried in another cemetery, but Taylor Blow moved the grave to Calvary when the other cemetery was closed. Calvary is a Catholic cemetery, but allowed burial of non-Catholic slaves if they had Catholic owners. I assume even though Dred Scott was a free man, Taylor Blow was somehow able to get his burial approved.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PpHbhsJ8IfLyKyy28BAA3CqdWohgvFR3LWI1JaoXaTkx1TkcFQ1ERkrgHbn00xvDsQz_jH6K2S1m36CEelgUNT-QsK-DaApoSfVeEWfcqAxfiF0eWA72QCHq1uuEHDrkG6BGn2mOvGw/s1600/P1250906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PpHbhsJ8IfLyKyy28BAA3CqdWohgvFR3LWI1JaoXaTkx1TkcFQ1ERkrgHbn00xvDsQz_jH6K2S1m36CEelgUNT-QsK-DaApoSfVeEWfcqAxfiF0eWA72QCHq1uuEHDrkG6BGn2mOvGw/s320/P1250906.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
There's a tradition of people leaving coins on Dred Scott's grave, especially Lincoln pennies as a tribute to President Lincoln's participation in freeing the slaves. We gathered around the grave, speaking a few words.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8oxQaNAWp4hf6XDcR0NGrIZeF4M4ZTLK5l6n5-FEYbGbxp8HwvJLoKaptqTNJkpFmhVUNiYxlJQmtRwkxZjo3Yw2QzGOC_WVL3Y1unpMDPVH_rTfdJrTuryGxLLqpnG7DINNceRByr4U/s1600/P1250893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8oxQaNAWp4hf6XDcR0NGrIZeF4M4ZTLK5l6n5-FEYbGbxp8HwvJLoKaptqTNJkpFmhVUNiYxlJQmtRwkxZjo3Yw2QzGOC_WVL3Y1unpMDPVH_rTfdJrTuryGxLLqpnG7DINNceRByr4U/s320/P1250893.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
We prayed together before boarding the bus one last time.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcf7LxTUsA-ot3wVSIr9GdcdHqa_rHoEvlTw3g3Qs-5bf6zZQ1FbULEx7MwLgn-BJBsSAuzBpB2naqkl6DhvJzVGBNYjexU2BPBdWNB0kqJm_-OjpTX08K9lJe_JVMpn41jf-9-Xh2ig/s1600/P1250902.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcf7LxTUsA-ot3wVSIr9GdcdHqa_rHoEvlTw3g3Qs-5bf6zZQ1FbULEx7MwLgn-BJBsSAuzBpB2naqkl6DhvJzVGBNYjexU2BPBdWNB0kqJm_-OjpTX08K9lJe_JVMpn41jf-9-Xh2ig/s320/P1250902.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Before boarding the bus, I placed my penny and a rock on Dred Scott's grave. I picked up the rock at the start of our Sankofa, when I was on Canfield Drive learning about Michael Brown's death. I planned to take it home with me, but decided it belonged at the cemetery. It felt like closing the circle from the past to the present.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL4YifPi-vhj6ztbA9Q9uY5BrIFsxO-YmAsV4SLdC-bBezzaRbJIC6MHHB2rEV1BrWid9WfXGs2pPgkq0qt94oO_nbuYE7a3cVeOi_0czDELOHqyoGeg0GfWLPjh8pyyJhIIRe0Vo9utI/s1600/P1250904+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL4YifPi-vhj6ztbA9Q9uY5BrIFsxO-YmAsV4SLdC-bBezzaRbJIC6MHHB2rEV1BrWid9WfXGs2pPgkq0qt94oO_nbuYE7a3cVeOi_0czDELOHqyoGeg0GfWLPjh8pyyJhIIRe0Vo9utI/s320/P1250904+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
We arrived back where we started, at New Voice Church. I felt weighed down with a lot more emotional baggage like shame and remorse, mixed with a glimmer of liberation and hope.<br />
<br />
After a bathroom break and helping ourselves to pizza and salad, we settled in to our tables to talk a bit. I sat at a table with my friend Gina, her sister Jenny, and a woman named Shantel who Gina and Jenny spoke with throughout the day. Shantel told me some of the stories she had shared with Gina and Jenny earlier. One of them was a story about trying to bless a woman in a white, upscale grocery checkout line only to be told "We don't accept food stamps here." Shantel wasn't on food stamps, nor was she planning to use them. The white cashier assumed the black shopper only had food stamps for her purchase.<br />
<br />
Shantel also told us about a recent party she hosted, called a Conversation Party. She described inviting people from different walks of life to come with two questions that would be asked anonymously and answered by the gathered people. I was fascinated by this, and inspired by her curiosity of the world and the people in it. I told her she reminds me of Bob Goff, which anyone who knows me KNOWS that is a big compliment! Shantel didn't know who Bob Goff was, and my friend Gina looked at me and knew I was about to go all Bob Goff myself. I told Shantel about Bob's book <i>Love Does</i>, and asked for her address so I could mail a copy to her.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Hp9hWKkU-KuB2VVnFjzQL26UB92SiSFM-hO1XBeHv2Rbd6jCbtNsgvNVLBJYlIYlmktRS7cP1yWtZZ84RiqGYwCz3NxPKsi3ugERtbj_hwqOBmPWFa7uA6akZDOniCNoU4CmG-Q0QiQ/s1600/20180414_225147166_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Hp9hWKkU-KuB2VVnFjzQL26UB92SiSFM-hO1XBeHv2Rbd6jCbtNsgvNVLBJYlIYlmktRS7cP1yWtZZ84RiqGYwCz3NxPKsi3ugERtbj_hwqOBmPWFa7uA6akZDOniCNoU4CmG-Q0QiQ/s320/20180414_225147166_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Our group moved from the eating portion of dinner into the experience processing portion. Rev. Atty spoke, saying racial reconciliation isn't only about how some people are born already on second base, while others haven't even gotten up to bat. It's educating ourselves about the past then learning how to rectify it and avoid it, then talking to others about it. But first you must learn through events like these, because you can't teach something you don't know.<br />
<br />
I thought to myself, "It isn't about changing THE world, but about changing MY world." If we can all do that, THE world will change.<br />
<br />
Rev. Atty commented that we often talk about oppression and how it wrongs the oppressed, but we don't discuss how it wrongs the oppressor. He said slavery caused whites to lose their ethnicity. They became simply "white" instead of British-American or Polish-American or German-American, and so on.<br />
<br />
Then Rev. Atty said, "Using only one word, describe today's experience or what you feel after experiencing today's Sankofa." Our answers ranged all over the place. Words like hopeful and encouraged butted up against words like sorrow and burdened. I had a list of words I could have spoken such as guilt, remorse, curious, ashamed, embarrassed, and grieved, but ignorant was at the top of the list for me.<br />
<br />
I consider myself a mostly intelligent person, aware of the real world and attuned to a general sense of knowledge about the goings on around me. The Sankofa journey blew that assumption out of the water, exposing my ignorance and lack of education. I felt disgusted by my ignorance. There's so much racially divisive history in St. Louis that I was unaware of! How could I have been so blind? But I did give myself a slight bit of grace when I realized this truth: I can assume there's the same kind of history of racial unrest in every American city (some more than others, of course), but most white Americans have never taken the time to dig and find it. Maybe that's because of a lack of interest, or maybe because we simply never needed to dig. Why would we? It's awkward and hard and embarrassing and heavy.<br />
<br />
Someone mentioned the tension they felt during the day's journey, and Rev. Atty commented that sometimes the tension is necessary and can even be good, moving us into health. He compared it to a piano: "If there's no tension, a piano key can't make music."<br />
<br />
Rev. Atty next asked us, "What was THE moment for you today?" Was there an Aha! moment, or a specific point in the day when something made sense in a way it never had before? I raised my hand, then proceeded to babble a bunch of randomness that didn't sound in my head like what came out of my mouth.<br />
<br />
I started by describing the moment at the Courthouse when I realized the Blow family went from participating in slavery to abolishing it and supporting Dred Scott's legal case. A slave owner's heart was transformed drastically enough for him to, first, forgive his own actions so he could become a abolitionist and, then, to pursue his former slave's freedom. And here's me, in 2018, at the end of a day when my ignorance has been exposed, my heart has been mired in guilt, and I feel ineffective and insufficient. How can I possibly expect to move forward and help right those wrongs?<br />
<br />
Then I described the related moment I had on the Courthouse steps, when Terry was reading the account of the slave couple being separated by sale and how that affected me. Terry had asked us about the white narrative in all those photos, which I hadn't really considered. I told everyone that I've looked at racism as a past problem, thinking "if I'm nice" to black people now, the problem has been solved. I have always assumed I had slave-holding relatives who lived about five generations before me, which means it didn't involve me. But earlier in the day, Tasha and I were talking on the bus and I told her about my grandmother's black maid named Pinkie, who raised my dad and his siblings. From what I understand, it was like the book/movie <i>The Help</i>. And that was only <b>one</b> generation before me! So the day's journey brought realization that racism wasn't that long ago for me and my family. The Sankofa also helped me see the ways I've tolerated racism and sometimes even contributed to it, even if I wasn't fully aware of it. That grieves me.<br />
<br />
Tasha raised her hand to answer Rev. Atty's question too. She spoke about some of the moments she experienced and explained some of her family history. She has aunts and female relatives who were the black maids like my family's Pinkie, and Tasha said she had never considered the story from the side of the families they served until she and I talked earlier. While I felt shame, Tasha said it helped her feel hopeful and gave her understanding. I was blown away by that and wanted to respond, but Rev. Atty wanted to hear from people who hadn't spoken yet.<br />
<br />
One man talked about what he learned and how it was good to speak these things out loud with whites, especially when a white woman inquired about his experiences with racism. Rev. Atty asked the man, "How many times have you had a white woman ask how you feel?" The man chuckled out a response: "It doesn't happen."<br />
<br />
LaShae described what black life is like in a white culture. She often puts on a mask to navigate the world outside her front door, learning the pop culture interests of whites, like music and TV shows, all while trying to squelch her ethnicity. She said as a black, you don't want to stand out and isolate yourself from the white world. Tasha and Niah agreed, saying they have coworkers who don't know anything about them because they're never asked but they know plenty about the whites in their lives because it would be rude or stir up tension if they didn't try to fit into the white world.<br />
<br />
Terry spoke up, saying, "We have to coexist without you insisting I be you!"<br />
<br />
Rev. Atty said it's important for us to not just walk in someone else's shoes, but to embody the other person's experience. And even though our current racial tensions might not be from anything we specifically did, it still needs to be dealt with and not ignored.<br />
<br />
Cindy, one of the white participants, said one of the things she learned during the day was "the whiter you are, the safer you are."<br />
<br />
Then Rev. Atty's asked his last question: "What's your next step?" The answers ranged from things like researching, reading, seeking people from different backgrounds, and having a lot more compassion for people of color in their lives. One white woman said it helped her understand what her black boyfriend has endured that she never understood before.<br />
<br />
The first word that came to my mind was <i>grieve</i>. I felt like getting in the car and weeping the whole way home for the losses and damage that people have done (and are still doing). I knew I would need to verbally process the Sankofa, and yet I wanted to stop speaking words that jumble my head even more. I said I wanted to not speak for a few days and my friend Greg muttered, "That would be a miracle." Ha!<br />
<br />
After our dinner and discussion ended, I exchanged contact information with Rev. Atty and Shantel. I discussed plans to have Rev. Atty come barbecue with my husband some day, and made a promise to order Bob Goff's book for Shantel and deliver it to her soon.<br />
<br />
Gina remembered I hadn't responded to Tasha's words earlier, so she snagged Tasha before she left. I told her I was shocked so many of the blacks in the room chose their "one word" to be something positive like <i>hopeful</i> or <i>encouraged</i>. Tasha had used a positive word too, and I told her that confused me. How could she be encouraged after learning all we learned today? It didn't encourage me, it shamed and horrified me! But Tasha disagreed, explaining it was encouraging for her because - finally! - whites and blacks spent the day openly talking about our shared history, along with change and reconciliation. That encourages her because it means we can continue to learn and share each other's viewpoints. She said, "I thought you knew how we felt." Those words clarified the day for me, and suddenly I had tears in my eyes.<br />
<br />
Tasha thought I, as a white woman, knew how she felt. And in spite of that knowledge, I existed with a "live and let live" kind of mentality, never trying to repair past hurts or even reach across the dividing lines to seek out someone of another color. I put myself in this scenario: imagine I felt small and invisible, forced to play along in a game where the rules are against me. How frustrating that would be to feel like a second class citizen, ignored and irrelevant, and then to have no one acknowledge my feelings. After a while, I think I'd get pretty mad! Especially at the people who seem to see me but obviously don't care enough to interact with me or rectify our disparities... never knowing that those people I'm angry with really don't know what my life is like.<br />
<br />
To me, it sounded like Tasha didn't realize that whites don't know what her life as a black woman is like. Both races assume the other knows all this history and all these feelings, and chooses not to do anything about it. And until we talk openly about these issues, we'll go on assuming and driving the wedges deeper between us.<br />
<br />
The Sankofa encouraged Tasha to have hope that we'll keep learning and talking and those wedges between us will diminish. And when you put it that way, I can see hope too!<br />
<br />
Gina, Jenny and I left the church at 6pm and drove back to Jenny's house and my car. We shared our reactions to the day and discussed what we might do next. I knew more than anything, I needed to get a good night's rest and let my brain have time to make sense of things.<br />
<br />
-----<br />
<br />
Before April 14's Sankofa, I thought we as a country could simply agree to move beyond our country's past racial history and all the tension would go away. I wanted to erase slavery and the impact it's had on our country and our people. But the Sankofa taught me slavery can't be erased. It was abolished, but I can't expect that to mean it was erased. There's too much that needs to be acknowledged, not forgotten. So instead of moving forward by <i>forgetting</i> the past, the Sankofa helped me understand the only way to move forward is by <i>honoring</i> the past. It seems contradictory, right? Delving into our past seems like it would stir up pain and fan the flames of racial tension, not ease it. But I'm finding that isn't true, especially in God's kingdom. Sometimes what makes the least sense is what's best for our growth.<br />
<br />
I have been writing this blog post off and on for almost three weeks, as my brain is still making sense of the experience. I've had a few more Aha! moments as I assess my lifelong prejudices, my actions (or inactions), and the duty I now feel to change my little corner of the world. I still don't know what that looks like, but I do know this blog post is a good start for me to express and share what I'm feeling.</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-64940273310356987662018-04-18T22:00:00.000-05:002018-04-19T11:20:14.566-05:00Happy 11th Birthday, Jackson! (Plus 3 Weeks)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Jackson,<br />
<br />
This past year, I've learned more about you that solidified what I already suspected: you are silly, wild, noisy, wordy, loving, funny, friendly, and an enthusiastic friend.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ZwwLXTmh1nsAh7LZKTgQd8H5Tuga-17t1ObqmZ7T4E54A_86B22Gr6YPV7xEoV5sFV036LW10LHKcVCZs0tUank5T79u601g5j1MA2rqD5Oe1FQ13me0Kn_wc9VIPBlGyhcn5KpFg2g/s1600/20180224_035251581_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1201" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ZwwLXTmh1nsAh7LZKTgQd8H5Tuga-17t1ObqmZ7T4E54A_86B22Gr6YPV7xEoV5sFV036LW10LHKcVCZs0tUank5T79u601g5j1MA2rqD5Oe1FQ13me0Kn_wc9VIPBlGyhcn5KpFg2g/s320/20180224_035251581_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm the kind of person who gets jazzed by hanging out with people. I love to talk, hear stories, and experience life with others. In the past, I've been told that my energy can be a little overwhelming. Allegedly, the Elizabeth Type of Love is exuberant and somewhat exhausting.<br />
<br />
Before you entered my life, comments about my "exuberance" never quite sunk in; I sort of suspected what people meant, but couldn't understand that vibrant love could possibly be exhausting. In my thinking, I figured if regular love was good, exorbitant over-the-top LOVE would be even better. Right?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvFa_Nc7M_nU2u0SwT1KpRHdD8Ok9f35yUimqMFW6Ei7HoYCKBEVF9jPcxsSxHuuEqCXYxZqZdnJC87PDpmGtpiI99ZQhCYyxzAVQVrQOQ_5flPX4v2hQaD3eeYm-BrLxqlG1dGEIwyQI/s1600/20180129_000559764_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1594" data-original-width="1600" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvFa_Nc7M_nU2u0SwT1KpRHdD8Ok9f35yUimqMFW6Ei7HoYCKBEVF9jPcxsSxHuuEqCXYxZqZdnJC87PDpmGtpiI99ZQhCYyxzAVQVrQOQ_5flPX4v2hQaD3eeYm-BrLxqlG1dGEIwyQI/s320/20180129_000559764_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And then, I had a ten-year-old Jackson. <i>(To be fair, it didn't start in only your tenth year of life.)</i> A ten-year-old Jackson whose life motto could be summed up: "Go big or go home."<br />
<br />
Like the Elizabeth Type of Love, the Jackson Type of Love is intense and emotional, full of magical highs and crashing lows. You are fiercely independent while sweetly dependent; you're self reliant, and yet so needy. How can the two coexist? Somehow those two personas live within you.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFLihebec80Y4sk34hVXmkH6lyAhIMQkHM_p3L5KaG8oMsV27VS8ZUWECLYgV8blfjk3htlMczPNFsVt7nSE55NKDCIoOXCDeWQW9YsNXONdv8QTd_r9eFCEC4A1NJ_j9WqoVwMxn5vZk/s1600/2018-02-22+5th+grade+spring+picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1005" data-original-width="696" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFLihebec80Y4sk34hVXmkH6lyAhIMQkHM_p3L5KaG8oMsV27VS8ZUWECLYgV8blfjk3htlMczPNFsVt7nSE55NKDCIoOXCDeWQW9YsNXONdv8QTd_r9eFCEC4A1NJ_j9WqoVwMxn5vZk/s320/2018-02-22+5th+grade+spring+picture.jpg" width="221" /></a></div>
<br />
You have an incredible ability to remember details most people forget, and a dogged determination to follow whatever the moment's focus might be at any given time. Once your brain latches on to something or someone, it takes a different Something or Someone to get you to change course. I love this about you, because having a wishy-washy son would probably madden me to no end. Your passion is tangible and your enthusiasm is contagious. (Unless, of course, it's an "enthusiastic" tantrum. Those are no fun.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3_-Q4T4o_IuJja4YXLAsOnddTLDQl2XvF7TFMMdW1qvST_44F5juGUhmSQ_ScltydeBoHLkViYqu-88Gm8LspR9NPtQZES4HjCGgCpTkT7GrZpG0FG3eiAoURamewUj45qoEDIVFey88/s1600/20180113_195501117_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3_-Q4T4o_IuJja4YXLAsOnddTLDQl2XvF7TFMMdW1qvST_44F5juGUhmSQ_ScltydeBoHLkViYqu-88Gm8LspR9NPtQZES4HjCGgCpTkT7GrZpG0FG3eiAoURamewUj45qoEDIVFey88/s320/20180113_195501117_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Sometimes, my exuberance and your passion don't quite complement each other. When I've been scorched by your intensity and sigh in exasperation to Daddy, he looks at me with one eyebrow raised as if to say, "Really? You think HE'S intense? You should try being married to you!" Of course, he means it lovingly and also as a reminder to me that you and I are made of the same kind of stuff:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Big highs and deep lows<br />
Joy<br />
Emotions in motion<br />
Loyal friendship<br />
Dreams and ideas<br />
Laughter<br />
Delight<br />
Action<br />
LIFE and LOVE</blockquote>
Remember in the movie <i>Inside Out</i> when Joy thinks Sadness is a downer, only to realize Sadness is what gives Joy its meaning? Life can be similar to that for people like you and me: we can love deeply because we can feel deeply (which means we can lose deeply too). Feeling deeply means we are equipped to help others with their feelings, instead of just exploding our feelings on to them. Feeling deeply compels and enables you to stand with people not just when they are happy, but when they are sad too.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv-Z9XQP7gluVnogl-1vufHUHLa7jTCJaBpaB_OZ69xzn8tEezrb01k1Wm8a_SPjYdQoPHW9nUmKcwKfWpd19Duilf3v5wqHOMU0dmhTbzbCRcq_SdqYZYBVD9lyAsyUs4zzKSCYkdrUU/s1600/P1230114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv-Z9XQP7gluVnogl-1vufHUHLa7jTCJaBpaB_OZ69xzn8tEezrb01k1Wm8a_SPjYdQoPHW9nUmKcwKfWpd19Duilf3v5wqHOMU0dmhTbzbCRcq_SdqYZYBVD9lyAsyUs4zzKSCYkdrUU/s320/P1230114.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
In this coming 11th year of your life, one of my goals as your mama is to help you develop a different side of love: compassion. You're so good at feeling <u>your</u> feelings, and now I'd love to see you harness the joy of feeling other people's feelings, too.<br />
<br />
I firmly believe you are an unstoppable force in this world, Jackson. Daddy and I have a calling to help harness the "force" that is Jackson and point it in a Godly direction. I'm praying God will show us the way this year, knowing there are big transitions coming our way. (Middle school especially - eeeeek!)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMMb-HcnqODu3ArZTeYva0jB2b1474y0qJWhuymSLrKAw68LgH7RlStUVP4Bi-uTRcKac1l3S-sGpMyuGVLFrwVJXsXNG47uNHTXptRjV2p5yuS_SLVzZc3m3wruG0ww16f5Rc-a_tHA/s1600/20180331_010507763_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMMb-HcnqODu3ArZTeYva0jB2b1474y0qJWhuymSLrKAw68LgH7RlStUVP4Bi-uTRcKac1l3S-sGpMyuGVLFrwVJXsXNG47uNHTXptRjV2p5yuS_SLVzZc3m3wruG0ww16f5Rc-a_tHA/s320/20180331_010507763_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm so happy to have a seat of honor in the life God is growing in you.<br />
<br />
I love you,<br />
Mommy<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32Jaswo-8oMQxQqcN1wLScCrGNHOLtl0bsfWbOtF3U2PODg4-2_6-6LAD1T1WNtcCLgMs4WhM-DlomKQ12ujN02CSQyDa31tTcSrwos-53vQkUXJOFhTev4W1QnQXwzxhXjPWGJoBm4Q/s1600/20180304_210239347_iOS.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32Jaswo-8oMQxQqcN1wLScCrGNHOLtl0bsfWbOtF3U2PODg4-2_6-6LAD1T1WNtcCLgMs4WhM-DlomKQ12ujN02CSQyDa31tTcSrwos-53vQkUXJOFhTev4W1QnQXwzxhXjPWGJoBm4Q/s320/20180304_210239347_iOS.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-80319773030537950642018-02-08T08:00:00.000-06:002018-04-19T11:22:34.939-05:00Guatemala, Day 8 (Saturday 10/28/17)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>[Would you like to start reading this travel blog from the beginning? <a href="http://sixgoldencoins.blogspot.com/2018/02/guatemala-day-1-saturday-102117.html">Click here to start with day 1</a> and follow along.]</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
THREE IN THE MORNING, people. That’s what time I was up,
bleary-eyed and packing. I took a couple photos of our dormitory-style room,
then we loaded everyone for the hour-long drive to the Guatemala City airport. (Lucky
me, I got to ride in the truck with Jaime one last time!)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPGY5FDlT1rdpeUH6oFGF0H7Lj4lbHoJSYvZbe5n43wbHs6jPFb7XC2cqigOLX_P9Wq4-mw3Kf0G_fScsbGFYFYvOUrkU80ZHQIcCC9prZR_UqG84954-dhx1NbwRN-72rGhdtzX_LR2M/s1600/20171028_094933953_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPGY5FDlT1rdpeUH6oFGF0H7Lj4lbHoJSYvZbe5n43wbHs6jPFb7XC2cqigOLX_P9Wq4-mw3Kf0G_fScsbGFYFYvOUrkU80ZHQIcCC9prZR_UqG84954-dhx1NbwRN-72rGhdtzX_LR2M/s320/20171028_094933953_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgygsKtX6ddchaPT9tbVvDV74VHHGQGIex0qUJDw7VX95IMqgYGG36aD61b9INmeLxcKGCrZ3ql5kwYLr-W0I6nOqW3Ens9Ng8PsU65lTaj4cBpyzy4PBK_YNiFkYzUWKIIAyMblyKhJ5Y/s1600/20171028_094951354_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgygsKtX6ddchaPT9tbVvDV74VHHGQGIex0qUJDw7VX95IMqgYGG36aD61b9INmeLxcKGCrZ3ql5kwYLr-W0I6nOqW3Ens9Ng8PsU65lTaj4cBpyzy4PBK_YNiFkYzUWKIIAyMblyKhJ5Y/s320/20171028_094951354_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was still dark when Jaime and Nestor dropped us at the
airport and hugged us goodbye. Oh, how I wished we could stay!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifw8XIi3VKUurU3gXytGl9vClhED62dVkNkU9GxyUh9GcPW5LzQ1JpRbMtvQNLYdzn_tUVnnyHWgZld6TTApvFECZgWtVWLy_PYNtNtV4-oWCA6UOxVVgoEHRO4qQHmmpxfJZBtU70adk/s1600/20171028_105302177_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifw8XIi3VKUurU3gXytGl9vClhED62dVkNkU9GxyUh9GcPW5LzQ1JpRbMtvQNLYdzn_tUVnnyHWgZld6TTApvFECZgWtVWLy_PYNtNtV4-oWCA6UOxVVgoEHRO4qQHmmpxfJZBtU70adk/s320/20171028_105302177_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We worked our way through the airport and immigration (with
Jesus in My Pocket), bought a last few souvenirs (pens and a leather bracelet),
and our flight departed.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC-FhJOoMIjK_klg-aJL3_FOGoENFVMymJQw-J3_sCCtcHDYHYy787qphNHzKZG6UAhNKGiVKKkBS16E9pClcJ-pjvYTT0EX2vLd1y1YaQ8S5fSMNC-qk9CURvJFfzWatcRSf81BQzTYw/s1600/20171028_121053568_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC-FhJOoMIjK_klg-aJL3_FOGoENFVMymJQw-J3_sCCtcHDYHYy787qphNHzKZG6UAhNKGiVKKkBS16E9pClcJ-pjvYTT0EX2vLd1y1YaQ8S5fSMNC-qk9CURvJFfzWatcRSf81BQzTYw/s320/20171028_121053568_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sun was up by then, so I got a last few photos of Guatemala
– including some grainy photos of a volcano burping ash.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYSTTtl_jXEl3MaakvSmK-FXrKy-LImy8uP6zY1_H4UrzriYmmOkpM_Ez2wsneuw-DbaT2mVB_jwy0dLhXhAbCHgL0uzVjOxZiPBjfcFosT_vPvbR1rSsxKnUWdiEg_KF2zk8u0KLyCY/s1600/P1200749+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYSTTtl_jXEl3MaakvSmK-FXrKy-LImy8uP6zY1_H4UrzriYmmOkpM_Ez2wsneuw-DbaT2mVB_jwy0dLhXhAbCHgL0uzVjOxZiPBjfcFosT_vPvbR1rSsxKnUWdiEg_KF2zk8u0KLyCY/s320/P1200749+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before I knew it, we were landing in Texas and back in the
United States.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb8HssmxT7-Xfy8UpEmlAoYldogTXIdt9afBGVdfvOYMpmrkAQC_gvkDvc2tLnf-eO0Nh61BI_VPr2yOOCybW-kEicLSX46vXahiZq-FKe35ncUi7dUtZZO8cn8BS_QvVZEehO7-59hZg/s1600/20171028_162216032_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb8HssmxT7-Xfy8UpEmlAoYldogTXIdt9afBGVdfvOYMpmrkAQC_gvkDvc2tLnf-eO0Nh61BI_VPr2yOOCybW-kEicLSX46vXahiZq-FKe35ncUi7dUtZZO8cn8BS_QvVZEehO7-59hZg/s320/20171028_162216032_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We made it through customs (they have these new-fangled self
checkout kiosks!), did some subway surfing back to the main terminal, and
parked ourselves for lunch at Friday’s. YUM! HAMBURGERS!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8MGKhUuPAPpSB7QAJqJbwMVr7ROLkIx5rK1DBLLOnlAQGI5k-3AGucqaxiHIQLEozaZfALY1a8HEPtYBaWPLrUcNR69RKXkeuTdxHC71ZNpVboOjwevB7-53pHPVBawPfvkInRxQc4B8/s1600/20171028_180405579_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8MGKhUuPAPpSB7QAJqJbwMVr7ROLkIx5rK1DBLLOnlAQGI5k-3AGucqaxiHIQLEozaZfALY1a8HEPtYBaWPLrUcNR69RKXkeuTdxHC71ZNpVboOjwevB7-53pHPVBawPfvkInRxQc4B8/s320/20171028_180405579_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFqvXxgTNQZf-Ml8R9zokbkPvCiLmmGMQb_YvCLSTAt_IdOim6jxh2uwLbatC1iUjRhzUtIT5yTvmUyohyphenhyphena0evkl1yz8C5DNrH4A6dZ-RmxrJdI8kYgnNIZ4al721hKHMVXLA_JOQmktA/s1600/20171028_180420555_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFqvXxgTNQZf-Ml8R9zokbkPvCiLmmGMQb_YvCLSTAt_IdOim6jxh2uwLbatC1iUjRhzUtIT5yTvmUyohyphenhyphena0evkl1yz8C5DNrH4A6dZ-RmxrJdI8kYgnNIZ4al721hKHMVXLA_JOQmktA/s320/20171028_180420555_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
One more dose of eyedrops for the girls in the bathroom,
where we could enjoy the luxury of American sewers and FLUSH OUR TOILET PAPER.
(You laugh, but it’s amazing the things we take for granted in America!)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Yei8NtXetBCzkP4OXmgTsyN4SBbSmIYtg3V6sIlxRfvuFOZZqhsxRkcc6kaaovYbP_CskvT-O2j8CS8TWJsPJ2OdCd7Doqlp14lMH-YKOR8Hm6nA-lvnzfMI3LabaoOcv95GC5sjk24/s1600/20171028_185202444_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Yei8NtXetBCzkP4OXmgTsyN4SBbSmIYtg3V6sIlxRfvuFOZZqhsxRkcc6kaaovYbP_CskvT-O2j8CS8TWJsPJ2OdCd7Doqlp14lMH-YKOR8Hm6nA-lvnzfMI3LabaoOcv95GC5sjk24/s320/20171028_185202444_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We settled at our gate and played one last round of
Bananagrams. But this time, Mary insisted we play it Guatemala style. It was a
free-for-all, spelling anything we wanted in no particular order with one
condition: any word we spelled had to reference our week in Guatemala. Here’s
our finished product.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhH9blmkqp9NgA6g_NROSjXzuXPc4j2pChigla1J-kD_bUt3SVpqzsOY3qyvTFhiAQVEWFdLbRJG69RDHCd3kNTh6sV6dnJu_OAvcMbeyon4ynn4BC6crmKr-Igcr0l6REPT3W7s6tBzA/s1600/20171028_192535825_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhH9blmkqp9NgA6g_NROSjXzuXPc4j2pChigla1J-kD_bUt3SVpqzsOY3qyvTFhiAQVEWFdLbRJG69RDHCd3kNTh6sV6dnJu_OAvcMbeyon4ynn4BC6crmKr-Igcr0l6REPT3W7s6tBzA/s320/20171028_192535825_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We boarded our last flight to St. Louis, arriving home happy
and exhausted.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLd8yCRrPiSlqF6-oW9fMLKaH3X6EQ5z9FX7fJBsPO_FrsrDc4q_PB3n7RzVRFo1WMFxxFNHfFxOHTsAkHDQmYjnyFglMpuAnf-AMa5fx7dXJYY5s-TFew8oEWO8exUiTRHsJtwGfqqI8/s1600/20171028_192854046_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLd8yCRrPiSlqF6-oW9fMLKaH3X6EQ5z9FX7fJBsPO_FrsrDc4q_PB3n7RzVRFo1WMFxxFNHfFxOHTsAkHDQmYjnyFglMpuAnf-AMa5fx7dXJYY5s-TFew8oEWO8exUiTRHsJtwGfqqI8/s320/20171028_192854046_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few days after we got home, I used the One Second Everyday app on my phone to make a video of our trip. Keep in mind: I only used the photos I already had on my phone, and the video goes really fast on purpose. (There’s a reason it’s called “One Second.”)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/IyGyZBplYDI/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/IyGyZBplYDI?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To any of you brave souls who read through this entire trip
log, thanks for following along on our story. Now, here’s the question: when
will YOU be traveling with Living Water International? I’d love to hear about it,
or answer any questions you have. Just leave me a comment below!<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-32661952378199055712018-02-07T08:00:00.000-06:002018-04-18T15:14:10.165-05:00Guatemala, Day 7 (Friday 10/27/17)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our last full day in Guatemala started a little later than
normal and we weren’t up and moving towards breakfast until 7am. It felt like a
vacation! (Ha. <i>Not quite.</i>)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Katie woke with her other eye red and swollen, so we knew
the pink eye had spread. To make it worse, Hannah also woke with swollen, red,
crusty eyes. The pink eye had spread to her too, so we started her on the same
eye drops. Katie didn’t want to leave our room because her eyes hurt and she
didn’t want people to look at her all day. I tried to coax her out for
breakfast, and she finally went to eat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During breakfast, Jaime asked me how Katie was feeling. I
told him she’s struggling, and he said he’s never had anyone on any of his
teams get pink eye. He said it’s common in Guatemala because it’s spread by
mosquitos, but I told him that didn’t sound right to me. He said he asked his
wife when he got home the previous night, and she agreed it was probably spread
by a mosquito. After I finished breakfast, I made a beeline to the wifi area so
I could do some Googling. Yep… I went down that terrifying rabbit hole.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I Googled “pink eye and mosquitos.” I didn’t find any
evidence that pink eye is transmitted by mosquitos, but I found plenty of
information saying pink eye (conjunctivitis) is a symptom of the Zika virus. So
is a rash (I had noticed one on Katie’s face the day before) and achy joints
(she had complained that her arms and legs ached). THAT’S when I went into
freak-out mode. I read more and found that Zika isn’t a huge concern unless
you’re pregnant, and there is no treatment for it. It’s confirmed with a blood
or urine test, but even if you have it there’s not much to do besides wait it
out. But I was worried anyway!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I tore down to the main house, found Dan drinking his
coffee, and with wide-eyed terror told him we needed to get Katie to a doctor. He
calmly told me to calm down and calmly asked what I was talking about. I didn’t
want to be calm, and told him he should go to the wifi with me. Lisa (Hannah’s
mom) decided to go with me instead, so we Googled some more. Lisa found out the
same information, and I tried to find the travel warnings from the United
States TSA so I could know if a person with Zika would be permitted into the
country. Without any concrete evidence, I ran the situation through every
worst-case scenario and decided I’d stay in Guatemala with Katie for a week or
two until she was permitted to travel. I’d send Dan home to take care of
Jackson and go back to work.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a little while, Lisa and I ventured back to the main
house to find Jaime and ask about seeing a doctor. That’s when he shared the
best news with us: one of the Living Water employees who works in the compound
where we were staying was a doctor and she could see our girls. Yay! We only
had to wait for her to come to work, then she could see Katie and Hannah.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At 9:30am, Jaime took Lisa, Hannah, Katie and I to meet the
doctor. We brought the eye drops we’d been using, and she looked at the girls’
eyes. She asked about the symptoms they’d been having, and I mentioned the rash
and the joint aches. She asked if Katie had discharge in her eyes, and we
confirmed she had. The doctor said the discharge was good – that if Katie
didn’t have that, there would be concern for Zika. But the discharge was a
clear symptom of pink eye, so we should continue with the drops and lots of
hand washing. She said the drops weren’t the most modern medicine and would
take a little longer to do the job, but they’d still work. I was so relieved to
hear this, and I think Katie thought I was crazy to be so relieved. (But she
didn’t realize I had already diagnosed her with Zika!)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1nBDqJ3ajEGCk2k9H7NrqIJGWt4GW87ac-pbNrKU7OxsTFEkgv46OL0upUyRexAyeqoz0_mQdZiq936umyjqFtta3ZzHJdWrKmE-y5MvAWRZ3MMROjJTFQ2Lkzz6oLA6G0r1RSXBuD8U/s1600/P1200377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1nBDqJ3ajEGCk2k9H7NrqIJGWt4GW87ac-pbNrKU7OxsTFEkgv46OL0upUyRexAyeqoz0_mQdZiq936umyjqFtta3ZzHJdWrKmE-y5MvAWRZ3MMROjJTFQ2Lkzz6oLA6G0r1RSXBuD8U/s320/P1200377.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Once our emergency doctor visit was over, our team piled
into the van and we headed out for a day of sightseeing. Katie wasn’t too
thrilled at first, because her eye hurt and she was still self-conscious about
how it looked when she went without sunglasses. But at least Hannah could
commiserate with her on this day (unlike the day before), so Katie had a little
more pep in her step.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our first stop for sightseeing was <a href="https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cerro_de_la_Cruz_(Antigua_Guatemala)">Cerro de la Cruz</a>, the
mountaintop where a large stone cross overlooks the city of Antigua.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKwFgHBva11GvFvG99fBd4eJEy9Pf-oeVXdsSWtbIatyTD1ya9OWjncr-FWtdDw8HWwTT7gH2LAWOueB9ea7_PA8ZYUU8tnYzO7G1aSvLhjIm01Jg1DgyOIKHTWEqUUopxgE6wzy4bok/s1600/P1200401+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKwFgHBva11GvFvG99fBd4eJEy9Pf-oeVXdsSWtbIatyTD1ya9OWjncr-FWtdDw8HWwTT7gH2LAWOueB9ea7_PA8ZYUU8tnYzO7G1aSvLhjIm01Jg1DgyOIKHTWEqUUopxgE6wzy4bok/s320/P1200401+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrV4AtkuaGlu0oCii1m2GluZKX2sQvoDUfiytyeHuPdCGURShZoJGAoZi1aAW0Rtp-T2ACxOmxiLiBPoDmtq4Fdf-ULl1MUpWYNrqhAczjjMVTnMkVTgo_y8ReRZD2Ate-ppYud_WmmDw/s1600/P1200402.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrV4AtkuaGlu0oCii1m2GluZKX2sQvoDUfiytyeHuPdCGURShZoJGAoZi1aAW0Rtp-T2ACxOmxiLiBPoDmtq4Fdf-ULl1MUpWYNrqhAczjjMVTnMkVTgo_y8ReRZD2Ate-ppYud_WmmDw/s320/P1200402.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN02LUQw-zcEF8XyfNli1MVsDwgX3EHmtElOw4mfKTUamXiH0Wc5sWv3ora6Z5MJSE58fbGAUGUZtB4Ee4SRh9RJUAbLdbKf8np5zA78gZHXzMolIGBIuCAQlByk3fCiy7wI9qUKHH8Bg/s1600/P1200418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN02LUQw-zcEF8XyfNli1MVsDwgX3EHmtElOw4mfKTUamXiH0Wc5sWv3ora6Z5MJSE58fbGAUGUZtB4Ee4SRh9RJUAbLdbKf8np5zA78gZHXzMolIGBIuCAQlByk3fCiy7wI9qUKHH8Bg/s320/P1200418.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEG1eomdpsEIQlzvpOfZEDZd6QYIMK5ajfo_cRdzmtw4tsH1rOHIsdNiWTSMi2FglkBuWOWZoF3vOy8KPReS5hVsVmHpFXTmKX46GIhOj-nSSwlZxuuVv4Y6hs7k9ZBGLxNk2aNs1lxP8/s1600/P1200428.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEG1eomdpsEIQlzvpOfZEDZd6QYIMK5ajfo_cRdzmtw4tsH1rOHIsdNiWTSMi2FglkBuWOWZoF3vOy8KPReS5hVsVmHpFXTmKX46GIhOj-nSSwlZxuuVv4Y6hs7k9ZBGLxNk2aNs1lxP8/s320/P1200428.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We walked down the mountain to meet Nestor waiting for us in
the van at the bottom.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY2D5tMyeJ-tAcfjwwqP9gtqL8MtB0ajhBAqcrdn2WdY3b8hfn-qrD9RPFctXCmbGN0bp_Pz2TAXbxYyOq-7qEIDpqsLDqB-0okweKttzk3XOchTqq-BiG_hK6TuCWSzv5pl7QIDJ4vqI/s1600/P1200463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY2D5tMyeJ-tAcfjwwqP9gtqL8MtB0ajhBAqcrdn2WdY3b8hfn-qrD9RPFctXCmbGN0bp_Pz2TAXbxYyOq-7qEIDpqsLDqB-0okweKttzk3XOchTqq-BiG_hK6TuCWSzv5pl7QIDJ4vqI/s320/P1200463.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our next stop was at a jade store in Antigua. We learned
where jade comes from, took a tour of their factory, and got to see the artists
working on different jade pieces. A few months later, Santa delivered a little
jade turtle underneath our Christmas tree.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfDWKjyC_P9F0fAJaU50WUVFlM6eZjNoaZei6WnAtoPJzCBgHcJ4Qi-WdoSRNX43fOw-9KG7uFN4md7B4JR0D24KJtPksZM2a0wTtlp8V60owl_ylwxz8-dgLkAoRmrSbWQW8W3a65md4/s1600/P1200496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfDWKjyC_P9F0fAJaU50WUVFlM6eZjNoaZei6WnAtoPJzCBgHcJ4Qi-WdoSRNX43fOw-9KG7uFN4md7B4JR0D24KJtPksZM2a0wTtlp8V60owl_ylwxz8-dgLkAoRmrSbWQW8W3a65md4/s320/P1200496.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We arrived next at <a href="http://cafeazotea.com/">La Azotea, the Museo del Café</a> – the museum
of coffee – and this sign made me chuckle. I think it’s telling visitors that
no headless dogs are allowed inside.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOweLGghFD0IDQrbYfuHkq9SkjNNlkLghu11_xto33Z2Q0vS0XkJClA722mbx6GSk0QtnyLTrVqoz856WTHEEvLHjb_9sggCQXrcxkT-2-7q197y1kVcdgs3OqLS_OAcOjXv4CdpC9O3c/s1600/P1200505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOweLGghFD0IDQrbYfuHkq9SkjNNlkLghu11_xto33Z2Q0vS0XkJClA722mbx6GSk0QtnyLTrVqoz856WTHEEvLHjb_9sggCQXrcxkT-2-7q197y1kVcdgs3OqLS_OAcOjXv4CdpC9O3c/s320/P1200505.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A guide walked us through the exhibits that explain the
processes of growing, harvesting, roasting, and drinking coffee. It was very
informative (you know I like to geek out on that stuff), and Connie immersed herself in it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvdH6QUZ9HZ3rPfeXXN7OmXYuL6JQwzT4geX3sqnFMQEz9VyIVXxPZxZLbtv0G8fZqS1WToUthCkRFnQ0oZamEu4l99ZAeIp5Ab6uZN6bUkGe2YW17rAsHjjuCcpgKJWWXWVxOY8QPYY/s1600/P1200509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvdH6QUZ9HZ3rPfeXXN7OmXYuL6JQwzT4geX3sqnFMQEz9VyIVXxPZxZLbtv0G8fZqS1WToUthCkRFnQ0oZamEu4l99ZAeIp5Ab6uZN6bUkGe2YW17rAsHjjuCcpgKJWWXWVxOY8QPYY/s320/P1200509.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We saw the terraces where harvested coffee beans are dried
before roasting, then watched the roasters hard at work. (The smell was
DIVINE.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhKHiC8fnXJ7hF31vSrQNeDTO3hzA9GVr-e9QWIkMur_wpCmJYZ4sPK3Yp8iu9e0g5Xmmcqi_RTF57I7DYh5yhaUyCllv5H7TvUnRCdc7SkheROSW5ZDFvgiKHQDWCtZ31XiSG2qpGcbM/s1600/P1200529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhKHiC8fnXJ7hF31vSrQNeDTO3hzA9GVr-e9QWIkMur_wpCmJYZ4sPK3Yp8iu9e0g5Xmmcqi_RTF57I7DYh5yhaUyCllv5H7TvUnRCdc7SkheROSW5ZDFvgiKHQDWCtZ31XiSG2qpGcbM/s320/P1200529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We walked through the coffee fields and saw coffee beans still
ripening on the branch.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-spPdFN_ePDSnHRAU1SPrkZtvRDBxIaO4fJixCNs8KJWBAWimTMvKCSDRZ2X5YhAk0sel5GUHCJn_KGHZNhBWMBc0_J2UZRTK7k470o46pH1EaQtGXr7UVXtEc89N3z0cblLX3eqMGk/s1600/P1200563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-spPdFN_ePDSnHRAU1SPrkZtvRDBxIaO4fJixCNs8KJWBAWimTMvKCSDRZ2X5YhAk0sel5GUHCJn_KGHZNhBWMBc0_J2UZRTK7k470o46pH1EaQtGXr7UVXtEc89N3z0cblLX3eqMGk/s320/P1200563.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I found this gorgeous butterfly that appeared to have glass
wings. You can’t tell from this photo, but the wings were transparent and so
delicate.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje6NuUob5F_WUyYSanibIYOQcSQdsAejcwZLiJV_Z6aHn8xSaTPJpVfenSOy6D8y71PoyXl92IaKoTWH1oBPTOwcr6oSSZ6ZiW19SYrW1jSVjUQLANbCXdDWiBcWlr0EGHkZGahyDxTsU/s1600/P1200559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje6NuUob5F_WUyYSanibIYOQcSQdsAejcwZLiJV_Z6aHn8xSaTPJpVfenSOy6D8y71PoyXl92IaKoTWH1oBPTOwcr6oSSZ6ZiW19SYrW1jSVjUQLANbCXdDWiBcWlr0EGHkZGahyDxTsU/s320/P1200559.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Besides coffee, La Azotea grows beautiful gardens full of
exotic flowers. We wandered for a bit, but I could have spent hours there
taking photos and investigating plants. (Dear Lord, I have officially turned
into my father – channeling the giddy way he acted when we saw tulips in
Holland!)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9v-RtNOE_9ZqAp0YkKPIfwTLp8-GYGfXgzYzoCoAn9WXeGyj3SAQVovlCEB5nijM3mDPzSi2xbeq-pSvqoithPCVG00NzA2KyCwOVXlkKce9Qhx45lLct5CMOAdgV4StxmHrZTpuu1TM/s1600/P1200602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9v-RtNOE_9ZqAp0YkKPIfwTLp8-GYGfXgzYzoCoAn9WXeGyj3SAQVovlCEB5nijM3mDPzSi2xbeq-pSvqoithPCVG00NzA2KyCwOVXlkKce9Qhx45lLct5CMOAdgV4StxmHrZTpuu1TM/s320/P1200602.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What kind of plant IS THIS?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHbFXee2Iz4k_NRekU6kDI6IU4NVxdNn7Xm0X_ckLr3-qZDyhSqzUy5S7foQnObp7NDFs-Vrbb5TEwGMRcamZ3aSmISQKgwUNww4mpjwtEiyWkbkZH7k1-DC1-VISuq9aVVaEUc0PADn4/s1600/P1200596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHbFXee2Iz4k_NRekU6kDI6IU4NVxdNn7Xm0X_ckLr3-qZDyhSqzUy5S7foQnObp7NDFs-Vrbb5TEwGMRcamZ3aSmISQKgwUNww4mpjwtEiyWkbkZH7k1-DC1-VISuq9aVVaEUc0PADn4/s320/P1200596.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By this point, Katie was feeling slightly better. Good
enough to let me take a few photos of her!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FV1f-EZ1215gt7Yw1bNejzfegJNnHw26RdpDljblJ8Bu79LDtZ5-Obps19n6q0lzhW_I4aVtUI0N9X5QLY6j9ikgQ-yvefQFpqS8pS5ylynoghMH_8u235BFKgM3V3VLrsnVg6iTlQU/s1600/20171027_190303474_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FV1f-EZ1215gt7Yw1bNejzfegJNnHw26RdpDljblJ8Bu79LDtZ5-Obps19n6q0lzhW_I4aVtUI0N9X5QLY6j9ikgQ-yvefQFpqS8pS5ylynoghMH_8u235BFKgM3V3VLrsnVg6iTlQU/s320/20171027_190303474_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wish I could share every single photo I took at La Azotea,
because the place is stunning.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9bEacEITDv4x4s5c_VIa9_2rsp4k5TPqY0j6zZ-gAGh6N7g4K-G6MgmOWhNGAP46cC9OTwfeScpH37gB4ghrLnyWQH8UuiQJOGv0Gx_6rxl1AbgG_rERpowpp0Pi7Uz9skLDh22UglE/s1600/P1200633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9bEacEITDv4x4s5c_VIa9_2rsp4k5TPqY0j6zZ-gAGh6N7g4K-G6MgmOWhNGAP46cC9OTwfeScpH37gB4ghrLnyWQH8UuiQJOGv0Gx_6rxl1AbgG_rERpowpp0Pi7Uz9skLDh22UglE/s320/P1200633.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After our tour, we took some time in the gift shop and found
goodies to take home. Some we decided to share, some we kept for ourselves!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQJCoxQdU3BzGcbQ9jLDSBHhqkOEh2Kk3GdKU1s-qCahyYOi5XKmCOQiJIJEw_x1_fdybH4TH5_hiIxpRNsXBxRX_urcFkxYeRMfuBbL0SKtpgk2CIdiYEiOKu1Iy16a7zOxKMhmSBoM/s1600/P1200641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQJCoxQdU3BzGcbQ9jLDSBHhqkOEh2Kk3GdKU1s-qCahyYOi5XKmCOQiJIJEw_x1_fdybH4TH5_hiIxpRNsXBxRX_urcFkxYeRMfuBbL0SKtpgk2CIdiYEiOKu1Iy16a7zOxKMhmSBoM/s320/P1200641.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Katie and Hannah sampled the coffee…<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicHd3fdbwK-BVfza7O5sOmwy3QUNrSZapC9oc7W6huprZbtmqb_y4SwbHnALnc_LJi5s88Ydi2OIlx-4Fyh3SwCcrwyIhQck4WwkKXFZ-SGW5oeK231N8XO7UhvD7KYJaRU6QwXDgz6Eo/s1600/P1200646.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicHd3fdbwK-BVfza7O5sOmwy3QUNrSZapC9oc7W6huprZbtmqb_y4SwbHnALnc_LJi5s88Ydi2OIlx-4Fyh3SwCcrwyIhQck4WwkKXFZ-SGW5oeK231N8XO7UhvD7KYJaRU6QwXDgz6Eo/s320/P1200646.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…which perked them right up.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx9JhVeUaj3F72OCUHmUzdm2CgZccWZxwv2IkFz1AaUKanhcdgUkIrovzvYTFOYAsuT58mMlTbS5NOA-oMwykuiFrGMes2AZ0nJxqrehRUX4kerxeLdujdEmHXKKANkpGWM_D48MXEWjE/s1600/P1200656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx9JhVeUaj3F72OCUHmUzdm2CgZccWZxwv2IkFz1AaUKanhcdgUkIrovzvYTFOYAsuT58mMlTbS5NOA-oMwykuiFrGMes2AZ0nJxqrehRUX4kerxeLdujdEmHXKKANkpGWM_D48MXEWjE/s320/P1200656.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we loaded into our van, sprinkles of rain began to fall.
We headed back to our compound for lunch and a little rest time. After eating, Katie
and I found the hammock and set up my ENO. This moment was pretty fantastic for
me.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSrCIeHwMswjcRDp83XvPLhML3TsHdyAsVy8VInTH-KNQHeJ4iLjg2VkX3J8-EL7Y4N3h5aLD5c3u-XsPCRnqYMgodsJrrpnkqZPTIuQd_h_wM-IwMbhVvMl3ICc7QjF-2oEasGdzzl5Q/s1600/20171027_213113464_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSrCIeHwMswjcRDp83XvPLhML3TsHdyAsVy8VInTH-KNQHeJ4iLjg2VkX3J8-EL7Y4N3h5aLD5c3u-XsPCRnqYMgodsJrrpnkqZPTIuQd_h_wM-IwMbhVvMl3ICc7QjF-2oEasGdzzl5Q/s320/20171027_213113464_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the late afternoon, we drove back into Antigua and had an
hour and a half of free time for shopping and wandering. This was our chance to
find our last souvenirs: silver earrings for me, sandals for Katie, a soccer
jersey for Jackson, postcards, and a beaded Christmas tree ornament.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9G6dosdswQwzTrsdN_r-8VoCUBmJvaxQl1s_Kdyd1numkk0_rD06dA6UzAta22cWsVVfASHUbHw3U6fbVd3f_xILnx2ZVlSYlXmtn9ZytDRqHEEJ_spsY3y0tuZeOVP0EDa79KhfW5Xc/s1600/20171027_223932466_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9G6dosdswQwzTrsdN_r-8VoCUBmJvaxQl1s_Kdyd1numkk0_rD06dA6UzAta22cWsVVfASHUbHw3U6fbVd3f_xILnx2ZVlSYlXmtn9ZytDRqHEEJ_spsY3y0tuZeOVP0EDa79KhfW5Xc/s320/20171027_223932466_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dan, Katie, and I split off after a bit and wandered until
we found a really cool restaurant with a patio on the roof. The view was
spectacular.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz22jIvjK1VzD4Xkz2jantYAhrQ7_m1rnGfXK0nCRDD1i9O6HH0Jd1KBTrjh4BjFNGdXEz6Qc4-CgH3nveAt3IHIXkwzH9O_MjV-aJpaBaRIPSsFHubYmBg6JPjFcOn4aaeXRAQ5hg7WY/s1600/P1200686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz22jIvjK1VzD4Xkz2jantYAhrQ7_m1rnGfXK0nCRDD1i9O6HH0Jd1KBTrjh4BjFNGdXEz6Qc4-CgH3nveAt3IHIXkwzH9O_MjV-aJpaBaRIPSsFHubYmBg6JPjFcOn4aaeXRAQ5hg7WY/s320/P1200686.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Through the fog that was rolling in, I got a photo of Cerro
de la Cruz, our first stop earlier in the day.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4Q2XssWqK4MqqqOMHeMFAW3NCgz-abQP1StjtQLQGprzMC2mDwNkwPe-c5XogQc0IReDwcErNrEYSpyuBgqfNiYIJNNAeP6tdZluICy7q2tIcSFCxinAk1ypGLUuob42sO25uK494Ss/s1600/P1200694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4Q2XssWqK4MqqqOMHeMFAW3NCgz-abQP1StjtQLQGprzMC2mDwNkwPe-c5XogQc0IReDwcErNrEYSpyuBgqfNiYIJNNAeP6tdZluICy7q2tIcSFCxinAk1ypGLUuob42sO25uK494Ss/s320/P1200694.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We walked back to the center of town to meet the team for
dinner, and the town had come alive with people out on a Friday night. There
was live music and lots of activity. This photo of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palacio_de_los_Capitanes_Generales,_Antigua_Guatemala">Palacio de los CapitanesGenerales</a> (Captain General Palace) at dusk is one of my favorites. Down at the
end, you can see the stage where musicians played.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIaVRQHsX2XmU_gplvwUr_s7mVd6EZflzJuP_1fd6X-PpEDa8FeSCLXu-hwiVsygoNN0yFYDz5-dxEXcDYFtOA74LTtLlKOqZzoT-yeolOzZof1SJPx_pPBea6CH46U9JqP_iaVXJ6vv4/s1600/P1200731.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIaVRQHsX2XmU_gplvwUr_s7mVd6EZflzJuP_1fd6X-PpEDa8FeSCLXu-hwiVsygoNN0yFYDz5-dxEXcDYFtOA74LTtLlKOqZzoT-yeolOzZof1SJPx_pPBea6CH46U9JqP_iaVXJ6vv4/s320/P1200731.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dinner was at Las Antorchas Restaurante, where the team eats
often enough to warrant our own menu.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja6PwSnYYTxz6o3lNiJ5PeK2wSnfppY3M0smf5Ts7AmaaYg7pZ5mo9FbjWYOx_s59FkySI-qDfN4UZPzPbUcNs67CwXK8kq8mHEglm8-cMxeYZEbjv9Jttc7Fhm8leCShZ_2Xf_7zhGe4/s1600/20171028_000040954_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja6PwSnYYTxz6o3lNiJ5PeK2wSnfppY3M0smf5Ts7AmaaYg7pZ5mo9FbjWYOx_s59FkySI-qDfN4UZPzPbUcNs67CwXK8kq8mHEglm8-cMxeYZEbjv9Jttc7Fhm8leCShZ_2Xf_7zhGe4/s320/20171028_000040954_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The highlight of the meal was the drink selection, all
non-alcoholic of course. Katie ordered her favorite drink that our Hispanic
neighbors introduced us to last summer (Jamaica, pronounced huh-my-kuh).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPnzXD3LO-EVBFLw142cKhopFAzNVaYBYyOtPzqI4WGhsh33S1E5OREMaSRoFYw8IQNtvTvbG1HZt-mYI7JRjpIaevC9fcb84dsneaEBrxInhCJ2pIEQkMFXQjeJLbpnk1AmAxA3VrmM/s1600/20171028_001343715_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGPnzXD3LO-EVBFLw142cKhopFAzNVaYBYyOtPzqI4WGhsh33S1E5OREMaSRoFYw8IQNtvTvbG1HZt-mYI7JRjpIaevC9fcb84dsneaEBrxInhCJ2pIEQkMFXQjeJLbpnk1AmAxA3VrmM/s320/20171028_001343715_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Connie told us about this drink called a Mickey Mouse, which
was her favorite the last time she went on a Living Water trip. We ordered it
and giggled when the waiter delivered it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7fh-M9wZNlcftOKLd920hOOD_FE5bJjR1MDA05-a5d2s6n1MD8yU3dL11GNkGNfgC4Z4-ywTJWa8GCuC07wbhVHdUNQ2_iQIgtIHcwQNhgkvGVhOp6db6kBmFudWYVCd9U5gJA20Po7Q/s1600/20171028_001542165_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7fh-M9wZNlcftOKLd920hOOD_FE5bJjR1MDA05-a5d2s6n1MD8yU3dL11GNkGNfgC4Z4-ywTJWa8GCuC07wbhVHdUNQ2_iQIgtIHcwQNhgkvGVhOp6db6kBmFudWYVCd9U5gJA20Po7Q/s320/20171028_001542165_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our meals were so tasty; mine was squash soup, salad, a
juicy steak with baked potato, and we all shared bites of our desserts. We took
turns at dinner speaking about what we learned on our trip and specifically
praising our leaders for the way they guided us all week. My favorite moment
was when Dan spoke to Jaime and called him not only a leader but a pastor
because of the way Jaime encouraged us spiritually all week.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQPVLQKwPEkIlfviU3ZsQgTClcoiZJQPY1ZlN7RFuGGTXAJ2vaEDfoRzPdCRS9LHXKNALgVXbxsf44TNk4Zj5b9L0xDGaJ-5j8FVCMu4r0attJE52A8-OLkvD23O894J6YI50Hx5xIAMI/s1600/20171028_003528380_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQPVLQKwPEkIlfviU3ZsQgTClcoiZJQPY1ZlN7RFuGGTXAJ2vaEDfoRzPdCRS9LHXKNALgVXbxsf44TNk4Zj5b9L0xDGaJ-5j8FVCMu4r0attJE52A8-OLkvD23O894J6YI50Hx5xIAMI/s320/20171028_003528380_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our dinner was winding down as other tables started filling
up in the restaurant. As to be expected when the table is full of 15 people, we
got pretty loud and rowdy. This is when Sonja told us the waiter passed a
message to her from people at another table, saying we need to keep the ruckus
down a bit. Personally, I was a bit offended but tried (not very successfully)
to use my inside voice. Only after we left the restaurant did Sonja tell us she
made the story up. What a stinker!<br />
<br />
We parted ways with Blanca at the restaurant, promising to keep in touch on Facebook. When we arrived at the compound, we packed our suitcases and did our last preparations to depart EARLY in the morning. I used the wifi to make one last email check and found a slightly disturbing message from home. I woke Dan and we called my family member who sent the message, and realized it wasn’t an emergency. After that scare combined with the travel jitters, it was a little hard to wind down and fall asleep. Eventually, I did fall asleep but I did so wishing I had another day and night in Guatemala.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://sixgoldencoins.blogspot.com/2018/02/guatemala-day-8-saturday-102817.html">Click here to read about day 8, our last few hours in Guatemala.</a></div>
</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-3037695396495566162018-02-06T08:00:00.000-06:002018-04-18T15:00:07.144-05:00Guatemala, Day 6 (Thursday 10/26/17)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thursday morning required a little more get-up-and-go so we
could eat breakfast, check out of the hotel, and load our luggage in the truck.
While we waited, I took a few last photos of the hotel grounds and also snapped
this photo of our team’s back rub train. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcWOJuUmDx13NhrVu83FzKtBgGJ1OQggfg-izfffOZMzJpd3fu0Amw_O4fvIeR0LKM8Ax2q4uyyaoifoLorBuilMlViuNWnMrD1GvTxtLnm12FCJksHwsSCmkuHbt58pMbIHK_llvULN0/s1600/IMG_9013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcWOJuUmDx13NhrVu83FzKtBgGJ1OQggfg-izfffOZMzJpd3fu0Amw_O4fvIeR0LKM8Ax2q4uyyaoifoLorBuilMlViuNWnMrD1GvTxtLnm12FCJksHwsSCmkuHbt58pMbIHK_llvULN0/s320/IMG_9013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Taking one look at Katie’s eye, we realized the problem
wasn’t an irritation from the water party. It looked to me like pink eye had
set in. We showed her eye to Blanca, who conferred with Jaime. Katie hated
everyone looking at her swollen, red eye – and it was hurting her, too. Jaime
made a call to a pharmacy, planning to pick up some eye drops on the way to
Caballo Blanco.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We left the hotel, stopped at the pharmacy, and I gave Katie
her first dose in the parking lot of the pharmacy. She was already struggling a
bit with the pain and the belief that everyone would be staring at her red eye.
She decided to wear her sunglasses all day long to cover up her eye.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We got in the van and made our last drive to Caballo Blanco.
On the way, Nestor and Jaime agreed to let us stop at a beautiful overlook we
had passed every day. We got a quick group photo, then hopped back into the
car.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg508B1ce7rpKAHpbuS-1kyJTT6Vj7SpTxEn5j9St5HRNJV0G_pJYQP0nwEwRLQ1P256_mJ6S7V4WHRCOv3U4MgesMH0v5qG5EvV18zte9WB3cC3wcvksCMQSFsHBAW5dwCsecAqrRw4Sk/s1600/P1200147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg508B1ce7rpKAHpbuS-1kyJTT6Vj7SpTxEn5j9St5HRNJV0G_pJYQP0nwEwRLQ1P256_mJ6S7V4WHRCOv3U4MgesMH0v5qG5EvV18zte9WB3cC3wcvksCMQSFsHBAW5dwCsecAqrRw4Sk/s320/P1200147.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also on the way, we stopped at another photo opportunity. We
had passed fields of these beautiful red flowers every day, and I always begged
Nestor to stop the van so I could take photos. Finally, Nestor agreed and I got
to snap a few photos through the van windows. Blanca jumped out of the van and
snagged one for us to see up close. It’s called Brain Celosia or commonly known
as Red Cockscomb. Jaime told me they’re grown once a year and sold specifically
for Day of the Dead.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZemXhh22LnAFcVdE4XjP71IzW9ZvDWbt2jM3pkzNy57a8YojF7JCht3pk0qwq4GAWJzNl-cXXFwFu3xcZb9aBu71AzbcZ2qXe_v6p8NkcyyGKkOhW7Vsmshe7iQEpjXpfY4E2D9xA9-o/s1600/P1200140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZemXhh22LnAFcVdE4XjP71IzW9ZvDWbt2jM3pkzNy57a8YojF7JCht3pk0qwq4GAWJzNl-cXXFwFu3xcZb9aBu71AzbcZ2qXe_v6p8NkcyyGKkOhW7Vsmshe7iQEpjXpfY4E2D9xA9-o/s320/P1200140.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once we arrived at Iglesia Bethania, Jaime gathered us and
the pieces for the pump so we could assemble it and lower it into the well. But
before that, we got one last look into the hole before it was capped.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE47Y6lCDcVioguMB4Z249e3A52QpqD1MNTaGZo0qALohyphenhyphen7H4pZX-ZSP8rh2dY3Uk8h6inb-dmo48upTLs9EDzxYo8hILujLSKYOUaTDN2K1rpYBpNzXWz7_T-bLIXonb0Sa23al9wW4w/s1600/P1200167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE47Y6lCDcVioguMB4Z249e3A52QpqD1MNTaGZo0qALohyphenhyphen7H4pZX-ZSP8rh2dY3Uk8h6inb-dmo48upTLs9EDzxYo8hILujLSKYOUaTDN2K1rpYBpNzXWz7_T-bLIXonb0Sa23al9wW4w/s320/P1200167.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then we got to work. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF84oTUImzsLB3xaVwgNW9TAdT2V05BF1rcb_5Uu7WzfzGxnP4BvlD0b1ThF-DKM1Jh5JPfjpX9i8Hm6r2dRwC0IpuuVHv9hZjXzzTLxwM7H8y_oWZqO58CTc7L_8PhPldv8H-NxiRgEg/s1600/IMG_9048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF84oTUImzsLB3xaVwgNW9TAdT2V05BF1rcb_5Uu7WzfzGxnP4BvlD0b1ThF-DKM1Jh5JPfjpX9i8Hm6r2dRwC0IpuuVHv9hZjXzzTLxwM7H8y_oWZqO58CTc7L_8PhPldv8H-NxiRgEg/s320/IMG_9048.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each person grabbed a section of PVC pipe that was attached
to a rope held by Connie and Mary. The first pipe section was lowered and then
the second section was glued and fitted to the first section, then lowered. The
third section was added, and so on until we reached the bottom of the well.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJtRvd2r6eAlc4MFcPbWVxET71WtcKfM9pYYqEmxgEWhMU1dMYRadgCUtUF02mGiLA1gp8qzU7TnbI4x_Aj1HfL4k-R1l7C0FYh-dhiuZcA2DJgtKGPuHIwuKqcJHdHFwANQ_XgJtP7C4/s1600/P1200184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJtRvd2r6eAlc4MFcPbWVxET71WtcKfM9pYYqEmxgEWhMU1dMYRadgCUtUF02mGiLA1gp8qzU7TnbI4x_Aj1HfL4k-R1l7C0FYh-dhiuZcA2DJgtKGPuHIwuKqcJHdHFwANQ_XgJtP7C4/s320/P1200184.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next, each team member grabbed a metal bar with a loop on
one end and a hook on the other. These bars were lowered piece by piece into
the PVC pipes we just installed in the same way – all the way down to the
bottom of the well.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcB4lTKnutwklFWOWdFOhOVAu3XP9Kk8LLaifLkfEvQUuwin519fQ8_fjMo3mWrQImYj1PEcKHOZooHrQzkEYNCUhhWfqNa6QtUfXqd0ZhlO8lKCuHI-0tpY_2R0tiQ4O7Lukg1psUucg/s1600/P1200194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcB4lTKnutwklFWOWdFOhOVAu3XP9Kk8LLaifLkfEvQUuwin519fQ8_fjMo3mWrQImYj1PEcKHOZooHrQzkEYNCUhhWfqNa6QtUfXqd0ZhlO8lKCuHI-0tpY_2R0tiQ4O7Lukg1psUucg/s320/P1200194.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jaime and Nestor capped the well then added the pump handle.
While they worked, Sonja started teaching the kids who were hanging out with us
a few songs. Of course, they started with the Baby Shark Song! Then the kids
taught their own songs in Spanish, and Blanca helped translate the words.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHTxRPH7yyTPABXQ0isY2SO46ziB-3_SjCcMKz6fwjJ-VSLsziWmoqBbSAx3N590ugztGJVx7PYz9oGX-vlW3fjVGtnlEb7coKesfvGG-HwNjPlC8J9xRCqasrbg2nRzcaAmZ2v2_v4ZY/s1600/20171026_144215580_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHTxRPH7yyTPABXQ0isY2SO46ziB-3_SjCcMKz6fwjJ-VSLsziWmoqBbSAx3N590ugztGJVx7PYz9oGX-vlW3fjVGtnlEb7coKesfvGG-HwNjPlC8J9xRCqasrbg2nRzcaAmZ2v2_v4ZY/s320/20171026_144215580_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the handle was installed on the pump one of the men
started priming the pump, working the handle up and down until – FINALLY! –
clean water started pouring out. Once the water started flowing, all attention
turned to the well. Everyone crowded around and the kids took turns pumping out
clean water.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWDys6Z5gw_AJNylOJzpIDr73gc_fkX0cdzPpMypO8LMPFa29Ch3Xz6kZGhfWpQ6QynZMK44uSADwgBbhN7puVy2pTF50tmIMj9T_3e8TCyDPWDRZBxpnIrKW8OSZgwHGkZWODk74O1-E/s1600/P1200216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWDys6Z5gw_AJNylOJzpIDr73gc_fkX0cdzPpMypO8LMPFa29Ch3Xz6kZGhfWpQ6QynZMK44uSADwgBbhN7puVy2pTF50tmIMj9T_3e8TCyDPWDRZBxpnIrKW8OSZgwHGkZWODk74O1-E/s320/P1200216.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Someone produced a bar of soap and hand washing began in
earnest.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHRNkl4eH1oPbrJCLd2RZRemvGlCkgU_WMH6tIVg4ySYQ4CGo93iDoBQjmJ-XPpIGjOCgTRZirXuQnX9muS9yNqm1dJ2M_X87CzrcFmXL5YT0z6XMhoSWZLoipCFaa1COva9P-khRB_iM/s1600/P1200227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHRNkl4eH1oPbrJCLd2RZRemvGlCkgU_WMH6tIVg4ySYQ4CGo93iDoBQjmJ-XPpIGjOCgTRZirXuQnX9muS9yNqm1dJ2M_X87CzrcFmXL5YT0z6XMhoSWZLoipCFaa1COva9P-khRB_iM/s320/P1200227.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a few minutes, one of our team members decided to fill
their water bottle at the pump. This was a really beautiful sight to see
because it was the proof the locals needed that the water from this well is
SAFE to drink. Every day we had been there, the gringos were careful to never
drink local water. The Guatemalans knew this was because the water wasn’t clean
and could make everyone (including them) sick. All of a sudden, the new well
was spewing water that was drinkable even for the gringos! The very next thing
to happen was one of the women approached the well with a glass and filled it
up, then drank from it. This was the moment when everything crystalized for me:
all these days of hard work, all the months spent preparing for the trip, and
all the years since Katie was seven years old and won this trip and started
saving to fund a well on her own. We got to see a dream come true as clean
water gushed forth from “our” well.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVpRS9hp5gwydp8wjP7eQz4fgRHv0427N3ScuJogpmnkjoLW2Oz8f8nQizfwWFr0FMToh6rSl_BmrNf3aR5yE82vHskQ1DIcZIAdlVsu17qWX1FxEY_LSvOfvdoxg6GHQA7XqLdG5ELI/s1600/P1200254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVpRS9hp5gwydp8wjP7eQz4fgRHv0427N3ScuJogpmnkjoLW2Oz8f8nQizfwWFr0FMToh6rSl_BmrNf3aR5yE82vHskQ1DIcZIAdlVsu17qWX1FxEY_LSvOfvdoxg6GHQA7XqLdG5ELI/s320/P1200254.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone lined up for photos around the well: photos of
Katie and Hannah with the kids, photos of our team with the kids, and then a photo
of just our team.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm5P2rLsMZnO6eu_ZkXrgyO3f4U-5G8CUcu4Ku-D8SXBG8QiyYZbvzMkDp2ksZ_xVSuwqI_AGPPxK0O5N7Ideycxde0JuQFUeTOyb8QyXlC5cBb_P17yWahv2xBdEIaiuDMiAzmxwuMn8/s1600/P1200291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm5P2rLsMZnO6eu_ZkXrgyO3f4U-5G8CUcu4Ku-D8SXBG8QiyYZbvzMkDp2ksZ_xVSuwqI_AGPPxK0O5N7Ideycxde0JuQFUeTOyb8QyXlC5cBb_P17yWahv2xBdEIaiuDMiAzmxwuMn8/s320/P1200291.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In celebration of this moment, I pulled out a pineapple
stamp and an ink pad and asked Hannah to stamp each kid’s forearm while I took
photos. It was my way of passing on the love for my Hawaiian ohana, Leilani
(who is called the Pineapple Princess by her family).</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbZl5RcNeQpRup1EL7o_LIUNrrCK9GoBxzrYhY8VuXsObqiL4VkLcJaNWwFq9Fx-YTfiCuGaxADw2pdbYFRFnvawZiM7meq_Zx8ph7GSRFc916SgNmRldO51H2OlOm-6y40WkuzeGy3s/s1600/P1200303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbZl5RcNeQpRup1EL7o_LIUNrrCK9GoBxzrYhY8VuXsObqiL4VkLcJaNWwFq9Fx-YTfiCuGaxADw2pdbYFRFnvawZiM7meq_Zx8ph7GSRFc916SgNmRldO51H2OlOm-6y40WkuzeGy3s/s320/P1200303.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was time for us to head inside the church for our
dedication ceremony and worship service. The church members had reserved the
front row seats for our team and it took me a moment to realize the men were
separated from the women. After we sat, we were welcomed by the pastor and
elders and then a few soloists got up to lead us in worship songs.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghZCWwM0pQnggfsY9Bfip-2qSt0ut4Hk5uJG6cIsNJJrSaDnOfEGNsYlpM7fR_vlm2jM7OQFKE0hn73h7Y0hzjASWsSTpRmOl3wYTJk4pZpbTYqOhXdcx9aWYwk1t_Z8gdY6c7IFpD1mc/s1600/P1200305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghZCWwM0pQnggfsY9Bfip-2qSt0ut4Hk5uJG6cIsNJJrSaDnOfEGNsYlpM7fR_vlm2jM7OQFKE0hn73h7Y0hzjASWsSTpRmOl3wYTJk4pZpbTYqOhXdcx9aWYwk1t_Z8gdY6c7IFpD1mc/s320/P1200305.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Katie was very self-conscious during the service because she
removed her sunglasses to be respectful in church. She was also in pain from
her swollen eye and sweaty from being inside the hot church (we all were),
which made her pretty miserable. It was hard for her to enjoy the service.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a while, our team members were asked to come stand at
the front of the church. I wasn’t exactly sure why, until every church member
stood and formed a line to hug us one by one. It was overwhelmingly beautiful
and such an honor.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXuLWqZZmQFa20jC6HaR-0xUqPEKg8ApC1n_gGrdhf_gYILB5G17VqYUDiWJfyMyhdA6mjx9c7aBfgLMWkvTKhpdfwfG7B-_QWtBLFOcFDm1R6qCNnWBk34TKud2guvU_avWuGswVVb9w/s1600/P1200307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXuLWqZZmQFa20jC6HaR-0xUqPEKg8ApC1n_gGrdhf_gYILB5G17VqYUDiWJfyMyhdA6mjx9c7aBfgLMWkvTKhpdfwfG7B-_QWtBLFOcFDm1R6qCNnWBk34TKud2guvU_avWuGswVVb9w/s320/P1200307.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At one point, I stepped out of line to take a photo and
happened to catch Dan’s eye. His chin was trembling and he was tearing up, just
like me. A thought popped into my head about the significance of this day in my
life: on October 26, 1996 my brother Jackson died from cancer. Now, 21 years
later, I was celebrating life on what has typically been one of the hardest
days of the year for me. I felt God redeeming this day in a way I never
expected.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After the line of hugs ended, everyone took their seats
again. The pastor asked any team members who wanted to speak to come to the
front and say some words. One by one, we spoke while Blanca translated for us.
As much as I hate public speaking, this was actually the most enjoyable public
speech I’ve ever made. Maybe because I had to slow down and wait for
translation? Or maybe because I felt like the room was full of people I could
consider friends and extended family.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtCSjwf-jbpkQt_QwJSXF5KYIMTHZ_iuCnpsdYv27YhIA6vRGktRCj8TzncgY0849-97rioqrnVY4193gtP73RBCrWoLplruxUq5SiPz1CmajgiL7YONs3EiChFrBHqmf2QmgJUrDqko/s1600/20171026_161259463_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtCSjwf-jbpkQt_QwJSXF5KYIMTHZ_iuCnpsdYv27YhIA6vRGktRCj8TzncgY0849-97rioqrnVY4193gtP73RBCrWoLplruxUq5SiPz1CmajgiL7YONs3EiChFrBHqmf2QmgJUrDqko/s320/20171026_161259463_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
When our speeches ended, boxes of Bibles appeared and each
team member grabbed a pile to hand deliver to every adult in the church. Every
person I handed a Bible to had this look of pure joy and gratitude on their
face. Not only had we helped this village access clean water, but we got to
give them God’s Word – the true living water that sustains eternally.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQeWaSwqHCXGGCWbeDE5iq9-BxJlDa6qbvRY538uSs7YWxqZfGthvbUpdLpDaGNaRlQiWLeehr66L6ItQrWPObIZ7vA982DzPYlHSXRXxw9MSbxFMvyVbKc19usUn1MguKLtNoUoJrUQ/s1600/20180207_221225768_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="819" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQeWaSwqHCXGGCWbeDE5iq9-BxJlDa6qbvRY538uSs7YWxqZfGthvbUpdLpDaGNaRlQiWLeehr66L6ItQrWPObIZ7vA982DzPYlHSXRXxw9MSbxFMvyVbKc19usUn1MguKLtNoUoJrUQ/s320/20180207_221225768_iOS.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
The pastor ended the service by asking everyone to step
outside and circle around the well. He prayed a dedication over it, gave it a
few pumps, and we all clapped when the ceremonial first water poured out. We
spent some more time taking photos around the pump. This family photo includes
a drawing Jackson made for us to take to Guatemala, so it’s the closest thing
to having Jackson there with us.<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaYnzE40STGDEZppx06Mu5SOvElPYqnc1HCL4FzNwL1LNiYPnSebkBh5zgsaNaKbO_y6fmaYS6F8dUDOUQgWM2_kxgbpmPZJRT0gNPGWLsRthwxEJgkGZ8TCq9-ENELJlCXCnOWXbkV4/s1600/20171026_172902220_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaYnzE40STGDEZppx06Mu5SOvElPYqnc1HCL4FzNwL1LNiYPnSebkBh5zgsaNaKbO_y6fmaYS6F8dUDOUQgWM2_kxgbpmPZJRT0gNPGWLsRthwxEJgkGZ8TCq9-ENELJlCXCnOWXbkV4/s320/20171026_172902220_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just ten minutes later, it was time for us to say goodbye
and leave town. We gave countless hugs and many thank yous, and just as we were
about to depart our friend Alder ran up to give us one more goodbye. He didn’t
think he’d be able to see us before we left, but he got out of school and raced
to see us. It was the perfect farewell, then we loaded the van and waved
goodbye while some of the kids chased our van down the road.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHiT0f2tQC4ya1Oo7hIYTJW5RuedvYlhEPfj07y9gYEP-Pim14IzzzV607IQdpPZzWIxPYTdxbdfLze0OiN4vqrcrwKPUuxb3_VE8yJX5OHnes89ylofJX6WautpUF0NPU4v7jrSBH0xE/s1600/20171026_174057353_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHiT0f2tQC4ya1Oo7hIYTJW5RuedvYlhEPfj07y9gYEP-Pim14IzzzV607IQdpPZzWIxPYTdxbdfLze0OiN4vqrcrwKPUuxb3_VE8yJX5OHnes89ylofJX6WautpUF0NPU4v7jrSBH0xE/s320/20171026_174057353_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We made a short stop on the side of the road when we were
talking about crops we were passing. Blanca told us the fields were full of
sesame seed plants, which made us very curious. She snatched a plant and showed
us the pods on it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqqpZl-HlvS9hWTv12uaz2wizVFEZM-ruUqjAWpclIwXlaRe5fj3QNYt7pvkiVj8IPTGHQbJe_EN5ZBHheH3MnCZdQYiu3DZLWiUOuEkH0stAtwcJvfxGstIy_-J8-3u-BODn2V_h7xQ/s1600/20171026_175451588_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqqpZl-HlvS9hWTv12uaz2wizVFEZM-ruUqjAWpclIwXlaRe5fj3QNYt7pvkiVj8IPTGHQbJe_EN5ZBHheH3MnCZdQYiu3DZLWiUOuEkH0stAtwcJvfxGstIy_-J8-3u-BODn2V_h7xQ/s320/20171026_175451588_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
When you split the pods, you find tiny sesame seeds inside!
Blanca told us the farmers let the pods dry on the plants, then harvest the
seeds by walking along and shaking the plants to loosen the sesame seeds into
waiting baskets.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9bUrfExo8999O199hm1Srec2qlJPU52qWzL_mUrgOHX2azJCaIEY7pweywAB4ICUokPE7EAwakeD5zrG9f6XJWh3G5GLe8b3vXVNfTvimxEwgFR2c7yCq7vXh35qeVbJgywKdZH5d6x8/s1600/20171026_175731316_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9bUrfExo8999O199hm1Srec2qlJPU52qWzL_mUrgOHX2azJCaIEY7pweywAB4ICUokPE7EAwakeD5zrG9f6XJWh3G5GLe8b3vXVNfTvimxEwgFR2c7yCq7vXh35qeVbJgywKdZH5d6x8/s320/20171026_175731316_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We drove an hour back to Retalhuleu and stopped at our hotel
for a potty break, then hit the road for Antigua. The time stamp on my last
photo in Retalhuleu said 12:51pm, which will become an important fact a bit
later.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb9nD5bo-D6NjSQrUY6h4W70llDwwvM34mcgbuy0Q3noazU6BU09_-fxvWk6dq_38J3gm0WmFdbaJGcK9PAJnJGw1OGdneFtQAYhMPVvb2i6V0GriE6UnPMOTy5TCUxbr0l_uxcIAZBmE/s1600/20171026_185146493_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb9nD5bo-D6NjSQrUY6h4W70llDwwvM34mcgbuy0Q3noazU6BU09_-fxvWk6dq_38J3gm0WmFdbaJGcK9PAJnJGw1OGdneFtQAYhMPVvb2i6V0GriE6UnPMOTy5TCUxbr0l_uxcIAZBmE/s320/20171026_185146493_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Katie’s eye was hurting a lot, and she needed some quiet
time to withdraw. She sat in the van’s back row and listened to music on her
phone, while the rest of us chatted a bit and settled in to relax for the
two-hour drive.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmAQmN6DfIMeAYrbNCn879_0g2pxgmXO7a6ZfjxFLJTdNpwpAqXbkzr7U2PF_AKsoSJ6cOI-3ivdrweuVTBCZTLm3JztH7X7HSLhqCJNhJdoFixyFHWYW7EZXsNJQvmVX24f-s55J2_6s/s1600/20171026_190100500_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmAQmN6DfIMeAYrbNCn879_0g2pxgmXO7a6ZfjxFLJTdNpwpAqXbkzr7U2PF_AKsoSJ6cOI-3ivdrweuVTBCZTLm3JztH7X7HSLhqCJNhJdoFixyFHWYW7EZXsNJQvmVX24f-s55J2_6s/s320/20171026_190100500_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
About thirty minutes into the drive, traffic came to a
standstill. We sat patiently, then curiosity got the best of Dan and he opened
his Waze travel app on his phone to find out what the traffic issue was. He
could see an incident just a little bit up the road, and we realized this was a
good time to refuel, have one last bathroom break, and buy snacks at a gas
station right beside the road. While we waited for the bathroom and bought
snacks, rain started falling. All of a sudden, Nestor and Jaime started
hurrying us to get back into the van. Some of us were still buying snacks and
got flustered with converting the money, and I think we ended up spending WAY
too much money on Snickers and Cokes!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we got back into the van, this was our view of the road
and the huge traffic jam that had only worsened while we stopped. Yes, traffic
was stopped both ways, with drivers making their own lanes on the road’s
shoulders.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv-VTUwGL_h6UvGNifnCNKn7pGKjZEg_44J7e5HM2pLnGuQ5IESPapwYSQqbNYD36K0woBzM00oN8C8Ux76FwhSBcWBklMv7rv5YrJoZ4w35hqROsD1cTXfD9ViViD6R3yjtdEi6TnIdM/s1600/20171026_211754789_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv-VTUwGL_h6UvGNifnCNKn7pGKjZEg_44J7e5HM2pLnGuQ5IESPapwYSQqbNYD36K0woBzM00oN8C8Ux76FwhSBcWBklMv7rv5YrJoZ4w35hqROsD1cTXfD9ViViD6R3yjtdEi6TnIdM/s320/20171026_211754789_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nestor and Blanca explained what Jaime found out at the gas
station: apparently there wasn’t a traffic accident up the road. It was a
highway shutdown! Local truck drivers were protesting working conditions by
simply stopping their trucks in the middle of the road and causing chaos for
the police to clear. Jaime was told the mess could take a few hours to clear or
maybe even a few DAYS. What?! Jaime’s plan was to slowly work his way through
the traffic and get to the area where the protests were centered, which is
where the traffic jam ended in one direction and started in the opposite
direction. We all hunkered down for a long drive, thinking it would just be a
slight delay. Yeah… right! Eventually, we passed a gas station where a bunch of
protestors were gathered. You can’t see it well in this photo, but this was it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqixp7el2ZiS5ggf9JmwekQXWHWw_PNloFqDz541DX3njV_fRe2vo3UYlNKy1VWuxr58Lc8XtU7Id8Vp2pVbEVHYtSEjLe6RNvveg_k6T9z6Q8G4e290aCjm8Iqdb34UdP_nkC1jqXZE/s1600/20171026_212546762_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqixp7el2ZiS5ggf9JmwekQXWHWw_PNloFqDz541DX3njV_fRe2vo3UYlNKy1VWuxr58Lc8XtU7Id8Vp2pVbEVHYtSEjLe6RNvveg_k6T9z6Q8G4e290aCjm8Iqdb34UdP_nkC1jqXZE/s320/20171026_212546762_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLWDKqcaqQpm3vHHU0nfgJPNvX4V7iDBZDJEvjBMflkFWvemTtZ0tqCHNpYV4GP__mWmn2bJLBplexs0B8jU_l0pqb1AauEdrimTHK23Y9bak9wY_X8CU6zuCjclzwzkRGCcvI9Vx6xs/s1600/20171026_212540188_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLWDKqcaqQpm3vHHU0nfgJPNvX4V7iDBZDJEvjBMflkFWvemTtZ0tqCHNpYV4GP__mWmn2bJLBplexs0B8jU_l0pqb1AauEdrimTHK23Y9bak9wY_X8CU6zuCjclzwzkRGCcvI9Vx6xs/s320/20171026_212540188_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6H-RdUQgYTOKK4Tmnp0liCb1h36pOJY4ZsUEb60TjuhYbr1ir1qmoTWzAkLkd_yzNy9K2FwLnXqagqqfos_kovhSWtYb70BIjSVpAGNY9YSYKM7uqbEPL7p3nOEkT2VdzusVKXiybvzo/s1600/20171026_220638531_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6H-RdUQgYTOKK4Tmnp0liCb1h36pOJY4ZsUEb60TjuhYbr1ir1qmoTWzAkLkd_yzNy9K2FwLnXqagqqfos_kovhSWtYb70BIjSVpAGNY9YSYKM7uqbEPL7p3nOEkT2VdzusVKXiybvzo/s320/20171026_220638531_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Katie had been steadily feeling worse because her eye kept
hurting, even with ibuprofen. She was still sitting in the back row of the van
and seemed to be caving into herself the longer our road trip took.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We kept driving slowly for what seemed like forever. The
traffic would clear just a little bit, only to get bogged down in other areas
because now the oncoming traffic had a huge jam. Once we cleared the major
messes, we stopped on the other side for a quick break. When we stopped, I asked
Katie to hop out of the van and let me add more drops to her eyes. By this
point, I had started putting drops in both eyes because I noticed her touching
the “good” one once in a while. She refused the drops until we were far enough
away from the van where no one could see her, then broke down crying on my
shoulder when I finally got them in her eyes. My heart ached, wishing I could
make this hurt less for her – or at least get us back to Antigua so she could
go to sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we got back in the van, Katie and I hogged the back row
so she could stretch out with her head on my lap and (hopefully) sleep. As we
started the last leg of our epic road trip, someone decided we should start
singing hymns to pass the time. This is when the holiest part of the entire
trip happened for me. At first, I barely sang in the back seat because I didn’t
want to wake Katie if she slept. Instead, I tried whispering the words as a
prayer to God to help her feel better. Pretty soon, the whispers turned into
shaky songs and then became full-out worship. From my seat I could see everyone
in the van, singing along and even raising their hands in praise to God. I had
my sweet daughter’s head in my lap, giving her comfort and stroking her hair.
Dan was in the front seat, nodding his head with the singing. In the midst of
this bizarre, endless road trip situation with our bodies crammed into a van, our
stomachs empty, pink eye spreading by the minute, and not knowing when we’d
make it home, we could actually turn it into a two-hour long worship service
unlike any I’d ever witnessed. I felt God’s presence in that van with every
song we sang in testimony of His glory.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wish I could share photos of these moments, but the van
was dark and the roads were bumpy. I do have dark videos of the singing, but
only because the audio is something I wanted to capture so I could relive the
moment later. Of course, no video/audio recording could ever measure up to
those moments in the van on a dark Guatemalan highway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We finally arrived at the Living Water compound in Antigua around 8:30pm, after leaving Caballo Blanco at 11:40am. What should have taken three hours took a total of nine hours. We were hungry and tired, and Katie was barely hanging on so I whisked her to our room and got her into bed. I wet paper towels for her to wipe her eyes (then throw away), and we curled into bed together. She finally fell asleep without eating dinner, so I went to grab a quick dinner before everyone headed to bed.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://sixgoldencoins.blogspot.com/2018/02/guatemala-day-7-friday-102717.html">Click here to read about day 7 of our trip to Guatemala.</a> <i>(The link will work when the next blog is posted. Soon!)</i></div>
</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-26798273997738709142018-02-05T23:30:00.000-06:002018-04-18T12:36:46.253-05:00Guatemala, Day 5 (Wednesday 10/25/17)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wednesday started just like Monday and Tuesday: breakfast at
5:15am, depart hotel at 6:00am, stop for gas and ice, then arrive at Bethania
Iglesia. We had Connie and Mary back with us, so our team was at full power.
This was a good thing, because Wednesday was a day for more lessons, clean up,
and also my favorite part of all: our water party!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once we arrived on site, our team split up into two groups.
One group joined Blanca to teach the last lessons while the other group cleaned
all the equipment including pipes, hand tools, gaskets, hose connectors, and
hard hats.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-jZT0NUUg3y-W5O3sGNfxzG529sQpYzMcgLPO_fF4U42WFYqCuqo-uKwWPZR1ZZqXK1jRpoO3Be9obs7A73zNhAvedHhjGkTksc1OjA0b7FRaelo9ESwqvk_HzmujnW0zOVxBAowJ9g/s1600/IMG_8974.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-jZT0NUUg3y-W5O3sGNfxzG529sQpYzMcgLPO_fF4U42WFYqCuqo-uKwWPZR1ZZqXK1jRpoO3Be9obs7A73zNhAvedHhjGkTksc1OjA0b7FRaelo9ESwqvk_HzmujnW0zOVxBAowJ9g/s320/IMG_8974.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Lisa McCutcheon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The mood on Wednesday was light hearted and full of
happiness. We worked hard and sweated, but laughed a lot too.<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj12oCGAttHoe5Wm4H_wZZNol_GXphn-QS6hGMQdXGqBK_cirEllRPfLanaIMqg7Tr63lgONVrIqa8H8dItVJ4VqSvru9UQ_Xub2hiMhjHeVvsneTBQJePjsakQfAQrVgFfQJ162XCZAO8/s1600/20171025_152049646_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj12oCGAttHoe5Wm4H_wZZNol_GXphn-QS6hGMQdXGqBK_cirEllRPfLanaIMqg7Tr63lgONVrIqa8H8dItVJ4VqSvru9UQ_Xub2hiMhjHeVvsneTBQJePjsakQfAQrVgFfQJ162XCZAO8/s320/20171025_152049646_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Connie asked me to get this photo of her with a huge pickaxe
because she looked so fierce. How can you not have fun when one of your best
friends is running around looking like this?!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6dgGcSkVDIHdbs7v0FTqYBl_Rmlg_JgvUV5pDXLqEayDt4qIu8uIwZbWixlntA68oWHgxlQtSI0K0FudTq5gZPvQfa2D4XQe9QuRaEjbddZrO6lXH5Q02l0655cirWN2NM7bvZ4fLin8/s1600/P1190721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6dgGcSkVDIHdbs7v0FTqYBl_Rmlg_JgvUV5pDXLqEayDt4qIu8uIwZbWixlntA68oWHgxlQtSI0K0FudTq5gZPvQfa2D4XQe9QuRaEjbddZrO6lXH5Q02l0655cirWN2NM7bvZ4fLin8/s320/P1190721.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
After we worked up a good sweat, our friend Maria told Jaime
she bought each of us a special treat: fresh coconuts to drink! Jaime took a
handful of us and we followed Maria behind the church to her house, where Jaime
chopped the coconut tops off so we could drink them.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWu9pxkKW9H8zGgyA2ju_B9VNiRl7iJkqbl8YDmowbi2JBAxYI7eyGUSk4lmPs2n4fnYxgFN_5ziGXDkJwikHv0UTReXiqLTi0Grkf1B7TBWXGb7_NFQSOfcaOjzVks4PiDjIhwg1C8Y/s1600/20171025_155020912_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWu9pxkKW9H8zGgyA2ju_B9VNiRl7iJkqbl8YDmowbi2JBAxYI7eyGUSk4lmPs2n4fnYxgFN_5ziGXDkJwikHv0UTReXiqLTi0Grkf1B7TBWXGb7_NFQSOfcaOjzVks4PiDjIhwg1C8Y/s320/20171025_155020912_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
While we waited, we got to see a little of Maria’s house. We
saw two lizards Maria had in a cage in her kitchen area. Jaime told us the
lizards weren’t pets, but are meant for a meal. Maria offered to show me and
Katie her “tortugas” behind her house, so we got to see her turtle pen. I
wasn’t able to count all of them, but I think there were about 20 turtles in
all.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdWXqvOIM2Au-8Vwi0IsMuOpHbhUzRFq4W_27kIuhDrsQb-gZAk-udajQ7wSg23A-W_RuJOPs80TASUho_QxP3AsfVezQnjyrryIaAal0ZD2dQKwoDEjSPjvqoXdajznR59jcMAbQmBKM/s1600/20171025_155408259_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdWXqvOIM2Au-8Vwi0IsMuOpHbhUzRFq4W_27kIuhDrsQb-gZAk-udajQ7wSg23A-W_RuJOPs80TASUho_QxP3AsfVezQnjyrryIaAal0ZD2dQKwoDEjSPjvqoXdajznR59jcMAbQmBKM/s320/20171025_155408259_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Katie also stopped to meet one of Maria’s cats.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzn11b0vX1FiksTocxOeX82OjI_R43B_UmbsP0rLMq7p60fQmsByG8YiGkV65TORgHV07u4ffLRowtdKRrTSOUXlnsRj1pLAJ_oHSLH7BuuokJIcjJJwl_UGG6UPdudkUIMWKf7StvcmM/s1600/20171025_155723646_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzn11b0vX1FiksTocxOeX82OjI_R43B_UmbsP0rLMq7p60fQmsByG8YiGkV65TORgHV07u4ffLRowtdKRrTSOUXlnsRj1pLAJ_oHSLH7BuuokJIcjJJwl_UGG6UPdudkUIMWKf7StvcmM/s320/20171025_155723646_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Katie and I were called back when the coconuts were ready,
because our arms were needed for carrying them back to the church.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRdG4EjQWfpmEfLvXFSK81r8WLHqwR_TjT241b7oh3sK3-tfHpQsm_F0QPNYiwbYPk6oXGEEF-yhnSkgOnq3sz6oqcHk0u4LVjvJ39IHomQJAlW8ppeW7pWmLcXd78iqXIOy1pUpP2bgM/s1600/20171025_155839108_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRdG4EjQWfpmEfLvXFSK81r8WLHqwR_TjT241b7oh3sK3-tfHpQsm_F0QPNYiwbYPk6oXGEEF-yhnSkgOnq3sz6oqcHk0u4LVjvJ39IHomQJAlW8ppeW7pWmLcXd78iqXIOy1pUpP2bgM/s320/20171025_155839108_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD8EZFjki4aQMT249Di-EoWoxdJzcZ4ZP9m1yxgOjWflte8XWLgaoE82vwu50KwtUGQX1GAqJZFAs_yJaS0rzvVyg7PrStooHlFdiDlURrtDzeUjXJM9suCzTzNpBxhHa0iUieWCRbSGY/s1600/20171025_155847692_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD8EZFjki4aQMT249Di-EoWoxdJzcZ4ZP9m1yxgOjWflte8XWLgaoE82vwu50KwtUGQX1GAqJZFAs_yJaS0rzvVyg7PrStooHlFdiDlURrtDzeUjXJM9suCzTzNpBxhHa0iUieWCRbSGY/s320/20171025_155847692_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Coconuts are not your regular kind of drink. For one thing,
you cannot put them down because they don’t have a flat bottom so you have to
hold them pretty much the entire time.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh3EY2r2v8boiEEUDhEaYQOWybc3sskwNz3pAFiHtMCH8F-ILyPxi1An9HwKuXMQUV2XrL8z7dOA37DGwCOLHQlUV7WblyA-LhnNRzK6kurviFDKc9ztUl8XukFWzZ86_kuTd5zWjOyn0/s1600/20171025_161812689_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh3EY2r2v8boiEEUDhEaYQOWybc3sskwNz3pAFiHtMCH8F-ILyPxi1An9HwKuXMQUV2XrL8z7dOA37DGwCOLHQlUV7WblyA-LhnNRzK6kurviFDKc9ztUl8XukFWzZ86_kuTd5zWjOyn0/s320/20171025_161812689_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
While we enjoyed our coconut treats, the local men worked to
remove the sludge from the trench around the new well site. Then they used dirt
to fill the trench and packed it down with their feet.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxxi4pkmayivhhBTmN0VYiWMbXTh7P0UqifG4HvuLrDLL_f2MOlblEAnN6ZdB-C5YMQs7kQKVfnd_gjcoZqbnqcns8fbgmL9MJiZQ2shm2NuUAGF4ATWgdjWg4PnJzBHtjohK_UlA7VF0/s1600/P1190701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxxi4pkmayivhhBTmN0VYiWMbXTh7P0UqifG4HvuLrDLL_f2MOlblEAnN6ZdB-C5YMQs7kQKVfnd_gjcoZqbnqcns8fbgmL9MJiZQ2shm2NuUAGF4ATWgdjWg4PnJzBHtjohK_UlA7VF0/s320/P1190701.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The women were busy in the kitchen, preparing our lunch and
making the daily allotment of corn tortillas.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRCjhalAQdr1x_JmDBr-IeGQGpllVijUgUHlc9I5RuK73t9SFC202QH-COKqg1BsA5tUhqZeSDWwwoj5sFRfAims8LxhjRwttyIdgQ8Rs4trNJ7YWWhfy9RTJAwZYVSnCoicOE3byi4eg/s1600/P1190709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRCjhalAQdr1x_JmDBr-IeGQGpllVijUgUHlc9I5RuK73t9SFC202QH-COKqg1BsA5tUhqZeSDWwwoj5sFRfAims8LxhjRwttyIdgQ8Rs4trNJ7YWWhfy9RTJAwZYVSnCoicOE3byi4eg/s320/P1190709.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meanwhile, some of our team took a snack break and cheesed
for the camera.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7p7py6xdtMbGs779Vp1dQpQIThg6gy33pvxU5qeAvoiB6b_WjGKofCHpTR0eGZsQW5lr2USPD2oUCx00itR51fu5yHF-JiSfyfR6zYNwUK_eYd0F9O6ndRFKwhWmciOZu5XO70Q2MhzU/s1600/P1190717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7p7py6xdtMbGs779Vp1dQpQIThg6gy33pvxU5qeAvoiB6b_WjGKofCHpTR0eGZsQW5lr2USPD2oUCx00itR51fu5yHF-JiSfyfR6zYNwUK_eYd0F9O6ndRFKwhWmciOZu5XO70Q2MhzU/s320/P1190717.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
After morning lessons finished, there was a little bit of
play time in the street. This time, the soccer ball (football?) was turned into
a basketball with a little volleyball spin. I’m not sure anyone knew the rules
of this hybrid game, but everyone had fun playing it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1j6haxzRGNYDlEn7azX1Q8fL6FHvybneEvdsNtUwhbB9lmYR7wIbRm3ycAPQdMCZ9LVaGjflqp28TZUbN9xOSP6cq48yfb_5r2zvBFfXH4M3e38veE-RW8a5bTKXyBrnW9M2JifjXOE/s1600/P1190733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1j6haxzRGNYDlEn7azX1Q8fL6FHvybneEvdsNtUwhbB9lmYR7wIbRm3ycAPQdMCZ9LVaGjflqp28TZUbN9xOSP6cq48yfb_5r2zvBFfXH4M3e38veE-RW8a5bTKXyBrnW9M2JifjXOE/s320/P1190733.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lunchtime came, and we sat down to a big meal of veggie
noodles.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8x-LjHqVWflfBJsrdke0f_T-yGGCHNYAoDF0ZqqA14pSTSAULoUQFl96Y8Y5FncEnon-OCnhBzQyW10ECrgG94UJQiZFJ-Pw4zeP61FFrkv0xglABp4TzVL8__uEHpHakMJrFJFV63co/s1600/IMG_8989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8x-LjHqVWflfBJsrdke0f_T-yGGCHNYAoDF0ZqqA14pSTSAULoUQFl96Y8Y5FncEnon-OCnhBzQyW10ECrgG94UJQiZFJ-Pw4zeP61FFrkv0xglABp4TzVL8__uEHpHakMJrFJFV63co/s320/IMG_8989.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had worked really hard so far to eat what was served by
our hostesses, but the noodles pushed my gluten limits a little too far. I
asked Blanca to help me ask the ladies for a modified meal. Maybe just the veggies
without the noodles? She explained my non-gluten diet and the women offered to
scramble some eggs for me. I felt terrible asking them to go out of the way for
me, but also knew I shouldn’t skip a meal. I jumped at the offer of scrambled
eggs, and was also asked what else could be added to the eggs. Tomatoes? Yes! Peppers?
Not if they’re spicy. Pretty soon, I was served one of the best meals of all:
perfectly scrambled eggs that made everyone at the table around me a teeny bit
jealous. Aaaah!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other best part of this meal was the men of the church
offering us all ice cold Cokes, Sprites, and other carbonated sugary drinks. Jaime
gave us permission to drink them. I say “permission” because up until this
point, Jaime had told us to decline offers of sodas because what we really
needed to be drinking was lots of water and maybe only one Gatorade per day.
The Coke I drank was such a great treat! And when the bottles were empty, Katie
had a little fun with them.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzS_C5tfAfm0D9chS5X8Enz8CU-HHNkUP0rOa3AB0k0xsOyAMsMI9MH0e6uiEACRU6M3LNwrn_n1NnR5UX1yYpCt6gY2kbnEP4VBjajs2mVlyIAx4gpfZPUhgU8dbvt3UoeHyEwoNkrH0/s1600/20171025_185051302_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzS_C5tfAfm0D9chS5X8Enz8CU-HHNkUP0rOa3AB0k0xsOyAMsMI9MH0e6uiEACRU6M3LNwrn_n1NnR5UX1yYpCt6gY2kbnEP4VBjajs2mVlyIAx4gpfZPUhgU8dbvt3UoeHyEwoNkrH0/s320/20171025_185051302_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hannah got in on the fun too, and she learned how to fill
the bottles just a little and blow into them to make a mini concert for us.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik4Ptd1CpRfXEwnvsc2jXezlpx3GLBfEnNuyXsOADLViHS8AKBlODzxUHRgp9en_Z42JYhgKruzcY2rpOD9JUFCrgr41PcsmXHcgSy3QVmqCtmMvjsaA-sDHZ-f0x0OFE-kujw_N9ivsI/s1600/20171025_185735858_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik4Ptd1CpRfXEwnvsc2jXezlpx3GLBfEnNuyXsOADLViHS8AKBlODzxUHRgp9en_Z42JYhgKruzcY2rpOD9JUFCrgr41PcsmXHcgSy3QVmqCtmMvjsaA-sDHZ-f0x0OFE-kujw_N9ivsI/s320/20171025_185735858_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the first tasks we did that morning was to insert an
air hose into the drill hole. I didn’t quite understand why we did this then,
but after lunch it became obvious. The hose was used to blow all the dirt and
muck out of the well piping. This was drained out a very long PVC pipe that dumped
into the street outside the church courtyard.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8f-BR81-ggZVyaCEgpL7xuw4S6RhGBgthrFeNA3nilAOygbZU5g4CTpwywnXMH22gkjJxcIKhdBGHpO5yVibd_fZMMqfAAcMLH023FchM2-M5DpZRchlFqKPoNZOhyphenhyphenYhSCNOc-mxc0dE/s1600/P1190698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8f-BR81-ggZVyaCEgpL7xuw4S6RhGBgthrFeNA3nilAOygbZU5g4CTpwywnXMH22gkjJxcIKhdBGHpO5yVibd_fZMMqfAAcMLH023FchM2-M5DpZRchlFqKPoNZOhyphenhyphenYhSCNOc-mxc0dE/s320/P1190698.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Throughout the morning and during lunch, air kept pushing
muddy water through the pipe. Shortly after lunch, the mud subsided and clear
water started spewing out of the pipes. This was our cue: it was time to CELEBRATE!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We ran over to the end of the pipe and watched clean water pour
out. It came in fits and starts, blowing out in great bursts. Before I knew it,
Sonja stood in front of the pipe and bent over so her head was directly in the
water’s flow. She was soaked! And that’s all it took for the rest of us to step
up and get our heads wet too. We spent the next 30 minutes laughing and
splashing and getting drenched in joy. It was AMAZING! Little kids dunking each
other in the streaming water, grandmothers holding their grandkids in the spray,
then buckets getting filled and dumped over heads. There’s so much life in this
water!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnTGNlOZwFZUc0mQO2uOrdyQ9u_5fWdUo3EIijuKWuOE5-AQdXr4N1eEcSlhaKe-FFD6NmacEGzCc7HfHQwIzdI_fitR6dZoRjclBEqxXpZO0yufJV1RrdrJe1HO340-2KNiqPgrVfFE/s1600/20180206_014840515_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnTGNlOZwFZUc0mQO2uOrdyQ9u_5fWdUo3EIijuKWuOE5-AQdXr4N1eEcSlhaKe-FFD6NmacEGzCc7HfHQwIzdI_fitR6dZoRjclBEqxXpZO0yufJV1RrdrJe1HO340-2KNiqPgrVfFE/s320/20180206_014840515_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love these two photos of Katie bent over in front of the
pipe, with one of the local woman’s arm around her. The water poured over them,
then they lifted their faces to show huge smiles.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNvwVf_jZWgGBp_QMwcchIOADQvf3HSsbo0tHYKMsVHBbRhexSaW7aEW7KrAycI_iEtsSDPZLk9vTBN7EM6dQ8GWdvVreF26232QIPJfJBf7FrTY0mQm-l7L76MEHMO_bTWrIRcDwinuU/s1600/20180206_015037356_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNvwVf_jZWgGBp_QMwcchIOADQvf3HSsbo0tHYKMsVHBbRhexSaW7aEW7KrAycI_iEtsSDPZLk9vTBN7EM6dQ8GWdvVreF26232QIPJfJBf7FrTY0mQm-l7L76MEHMO_bTWrIRcDwinuU/s320/20180206_015037356_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the water fun continued, Dan came to tell me I should
head back to the drill site to see the installation of the concrete pad and marble
plaque. I did, and got to see this glorious beauty in its new home.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrF3mUrRCm871_94DXjjeX3KmG80y4Y3MmTRwHAxavOpbRTBea7CLTuhgNTwixVbuhzj0CBd2H_3KanREYIA_biCOoz56yayIdihlzC55oa3Tqutbg7-yYGjFaM17tscF5Rnfu9COjZtk/s1600/P1200014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrF3mUrRCm871_94DXjjeX3KmG80y4Y3MmTRwHAxavOpbRTBea7CLTuhgNTwixVbuhzj0CBd2H_3KanREYIA_biCOoz56yayIdihlzC55oa3Tqutbg7-yYGjFaM17tscF5Rnfu9COjZtk/s320/P1200014.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next few hours were spent teaching lessons, cleaning up
tools, and waiting for concrete to dry. I wandered with my camera, taking
photos and getting some of my favorite portraits.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEM3nedaxrkBf-Z1rygVb9UsvabQKYk7KazaemkFaP8Y7EqJ4u9DrUqcOSng9cEjGELsli98zl9m6GR5_gi3Lt2RPnVzfGWpL7C5x4xQA3he6cT3gvW1VqSuakn7WPwftQDASY549VfIA/s1600/20180206_015911270_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="819" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEM3nedaxrkBf-Z1rygVb9UsvabQKYk7KazaemkFaP8Y7EqJ4u9DrUqcOSng9cEjGELsli98zl9m6GR5_gi3Lt2RPnVzfGWpL7C5x4xQA3he6cT3gvW1VqSuakn7WPwftQDASY549VfIA/s320/20180206_015911270_iOS.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once the afternoon lessons ended, I happened upon a sad scene
outside the church walls. Our friend Alder was saying goodbye. He would be
attending school the following day, when we had our worship celebration and final
departure. He was tearfully hugging Mary and Connie.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PeHZWzXt0Gs6JmQNV5zBxwMrnGUSpCN5FJMIm_yh0-km6bloF201h14tE_cPfaLUxPeDR02CvuEP3DB1dT8kSRSsZKDEIc1DOh_FPzLEeA2YKQtVeFGDP7CwNRT1_pmh1hzkw3VQfyg/s1600/20171025_223344500_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PeHZWzXt0Gs6JmQNV5zBxwMrnGUSpCN5FJMIm_yh0-km6bloF201h14tE_cPfaLUxPeDR02CvuEP3DB1dT8kSRSsZKDEIc1DOh_FPzLEeA2YKQtVeFGDP7CwNRT1_pmh1hzkw3VQfyg/s320/20171025_223344500_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I suddenly remembered the flashcards and Spanish-English dictionary
I had shown him earlier in the day, and I ran to retrieve them from my bag in
the van. I found Jaime and asked permission to give these items to Alder, and
Jaime agreed. I thanked him, then told him if he said no I would have done it
anyway. I ran back to Alder and gave him my gift before hugging him goodbye.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCkv0Q2-rL9za-kFslAnZr_TmuwG5hox0SN0v3i5r3KM_UNkohYEcIxlJJjPQbIbxk2uoePRlWGbNcQ2hjsG9paTYnfG1BlxbTzdZoXTLK_-MX-dPJ8fyyryHO1k9uBpDEFaR2xXDWfyk/s1600/20171025_223400018_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCkv0Q2-rL9za-kFslAnZr_TmuwG5hox0SN0v3i5r3KM_UNkohYEcIxlJJjPQbIbxk2uoePRlWGbNcQ2hjsG9paTYnfG1BlxbTzdZoXTLK_-MX-dPJ8fyyryHO1k9uBpDEFaR2xXDWfyk/s320/20171025_223400018_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
But before Alder left and before we piled into the van to
leave for the night, I insisted on one photo of him with Hannah and Katie.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl56-GmvI1sjGbfjzt7Cb0pUDt_FsohYSLFFwLeRB6elKyTW7d_OUfI2y40dNsGNt7D5ANsYGxggu08hyphenhyphenUJBf_GtwGq6uCV9iEpo7mAcJfXGn9eUHGAeN0aeUmXc58NFHvbT3zNYoBwIM/s1600/20171025_223647418_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl56-GmvI1sjGbfjzt7Cb0pUDt_FsohYSLFFwLeRB6elKyTW7d_OUfI2y40dNsGNt7D5ANsYGxggu08hyphenhyphenUJBf_GtwGq6uCV9iEpo7mAcJfXGn9eUHGAeN0aeUmXc58NFHvbT3zNYoBwIM/s320/20171025_223647418_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The truck had been loaded earlier with pipes and equipment
that we transported, along with the drill rig, to a nearby school when we left Iglesia
Bethania. Jaime told us the school is the next Living Water drilling site on
his list. At the school, Jaime greeted his contacts and unhooked equipment to
leave with them. He also took a few minutes to show them where the well would
be drilled, and drew out the plans for them to dig a trench similar to the one
in the courtyard of Iglesia Bethania where we had been drilling.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYwseM406_HCrT3j9wYit_jup3-GbrF9SqDfMMWy6_Myo7skOPdnVF1smRhVeojCASv8ZjvzITl8JlaQ72MqNCqhDpBG37KjF3js21VXP5aV58Cf_U1KSEmMtHKzz-nMDMmk12iAvH58/s1600/IMG_9009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYwseM406_HCrT3j9wYit_jup3-GbrF9SqDfMMWy6_Myo7skOPdnVF1smRhVeojCASv8ZjvzITl8JlaQ72MqNCqhDpBG37KjF3js21VXP5aV58Cf_U1KSEmMtHKzz-nMDMmk12iAvH58/s320/IMG_9009.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Lisa McCutcheon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We finished our drive back to our hotel, where we showered, ate
a late dinner and had team devotion time.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqutgzuO1qA_InTWmjTCiSQtFawmaYbqtUGQDclXwo6JhmVbLCtR-6I6vcVjQvwVrWlgRq_Qem5qVFWya0gv0ySQECWwMu4xiROJXbTn2B-r4PKc4ZpiXM3P0mfXyl7fZrwMG480h8D4/s1600/20171026_031136856_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqutgzuO1qA_InTWmjTCiSQtFawmaYbqtUGQDclXwo6JhmVbLCtR-6I6vcVjQvwVrWlgRq_Qem5qVFWya0gv0ySQECWwMu4xiROJXbTn2B-r4PKc4ZpiXM3P0mfXyl7fZrwMG480h8D4/s320/20171026_031136856_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Before we left the dining room and headed to bed, Katie told
me her right eye was hurting. It was very red, so we showed it to Blanca. Her
first thought was maybe in the water celebration Katie got squirted in the eye
and the water pressure caused her eye to be red and irritated. We discussed the
possibility that it could be pink eye, since the day before we had all noticed one
of the kids in the village had very swollen, pink/red eyes. Blanca gave Katie
some saline eye drops, and Katie said they helped. I also figured her eyes were
simply irritated after the water celebration, plus Katie was tired and it was
compounded. After a quick good night hug, we parted and all turned in for the
night.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<a href="http://sixgoldencoins.blogspot.com/2018/02/guatemala-day-6-thursday-102617.html">Click here to read about day 6 of our trip to Guatemala.</a></div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-20137447821255749312018-02-04T06:00:00.000-06:002018-04-18T15:03:56.490-05:00Guatemala, Day 4 (Tuesday 10/24/17)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tuesday started just like Monday: breakfast at 5:15am,
depart hotel at 6:00am, stop for gas and ice, then arrive at Bethania Iglesia.
The one difference on Tuesday is we were down two team members. Connie and Mary
decided to stay at the hotel together and recover from Monday’s illness. They
were very sad to miss the day they planned to work on the drilling team!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZFCd2GPhVciBbsAfw64oLT-5kUOaZrzoKhNt4wp9QXOB6_DJvm4fa4LE_4jQg95zMvtdEentesAYIGv4PyrRTX1_CXgCgTByJoLDy4XEkBv10ELGZaA3GrAxga_Ixc8GJjWaa5fRAyN4/s1600/20171024_113847776_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZFCd2GPhVciBbsAfw64oLT-5kUOaZrzoKhNt4wp9QXOB6_DJvm4fa4LE_4jQg95zMvtdEentesAYIGv4PyrRTX1_CXgCgTByJoLDy4XEkBv10ELGZaA3GrAxga_Ixc8GJjWaa5fRAyN4/s320/20171024_113847776_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before we left the breakfast table, I told the team that
October 24<sup>th</sup> is a special day. It’s the birthday of my cousin,
Leilani, who died on March 31<sup>st</sup> in Hawaii. Leilani would have turned
two this day, so I asked the team to wear special pink bracelets all day in
memory of her. I also told them my hope that we would hit clean water and
finish drilling today, as a little birthday gift for our Leilani. The rest of
the day, I loved seeing the pink bracelets on the arms of our team.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmgr-z3ZrFwvrcyUIOk7l2_HOLfGO62HI-se20sVz1oF0R8J_9cBwp9t1mRAkCJ6qT3loC6j5uO2QfzXSsOPK-sfVFLKNQTvcl2fKF_3M9GcBRKbleSMbJoaj5ixaW5d24kyaEfgMQik8/s1600/20171021_213241173_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmgr-z3ZrFwvrcyUIOk7l2_HOLfGO62HI-se20sVz1oF0R8J_9cBwp9t1mRAkCJ6qT3loC6j5uO2QfzXSsOPK-sfVFLKNQTvcl2fKF_3M9GcBRKbleSMbJoaj5ixaW5d24kyaEfgMQik8/s320/20171021_213241173_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One other difference about Tuesday was a short stop we made
on the way to Iglesia Bethania, when we visited a church where Jaime helped
drill a well two months ago. We investigated their well and the church grounds
for a few minutes before finishing our drive.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUpJsOhyosyRXKSBctFk5L1lM5rM7yttsCvRWSZ6iTPYM3NmrdkjQBwNBLM5OleSEN7BrJOUa3qeXFtVWxWjk-H2Z0jag_GvvAdbpVJ4xA-pJP5o5e00WLH77BAXuI3erY0xYykufj-ig/s1600/P1190192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUpJsOhyosyRXKSBctFk5L1lM5rM7yttsCvRWSZ6iTPYM3NmrdkjQBwNBLM5OleSEN7BrJOUa3qeXFtVWxWjk-H2Z0jag_GvvAdbpVJ4xA-pJP5o5e00WLH77BAXuI3erY0xYykufj-ig/s320/P1190192.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tuesday’s routine was similar, but our tasks were different
as we switched crews around. Sonja, Katie, and I joined Lisa and Greg on the
drilling team.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQFT0HRgNvSyCUoaRytZi6RfnMljYcxV_buDFPGhGN-9_W9pAY65Vs22ZAmahtsjiOsqlwX7DleukIHwKOau7BSz2oOmbGf2V8VQo521TUlBlMbnCGFxSSpPK3BEWLIEtNZZB5-0LX8Oc/s1600/20171024_143436239_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQFT0HRgNvSyCUoaRytZi6RfnMljYcxV_buDFPGhGN-9_W9pAY65Vs22ZAmahtsjiOsqlwX7DleukIHwKOau7BSz2oOmbGf2V8VQo521TUlBlMbnCGFxSSpPK3BEWLIEtNZZB5-0LX8Oc/s320/20171024_143436239_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since Lisa and Greg had drilled the day before, they showed
us some of the ropes as Jaime gave us lessons on drilling. When it was my turn
as head driller, Katie played the role of assistant driller to me. It was
pretty cool to actually – finally! – do with Katie what we’d been talking about
doing for so many years.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFev9Yvm_MGr_m42cx4THqYT0pxSb8DF5AKSyqRkazPB-3UEoWyoB8AyO-Z_kQIvZAjKj2CS7gijRxrjMSxfnBQ3q9M16XZM18Mkp4PcvcPhCebxDaCE5pDV5L7QMOeTgiCHfM_rXefY/s1600/P1190229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFev9Yvm_MGr_m42cx4THqYT0pxSb8DF5AKSyqRkazPB-3UEoWyoB8AyO-Z_kQIvZAjKj2CS7gijRxrjMSxfnBQ3q9M16XZM18Mkp4PcvcPhCebxDaCE5pDV5L7QMOeTgiCHfM_rXefY/s320/P1190229.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meanwhile, Dan and Derek joined the prevention team and were
teaching upstairs in the classroom. I snuck up there to take some photos.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiTnRPTNx-4rFIFvHYAwHhXvpM7SOpInLryc-KeNHQEEvhmaItBqfGYGbRmuPGnnhnFzz00Xsqxs2sX2w6IT5zb8YrL_mvK7Xa9-fKfjWuPNErFW0KzJyRpYOgmcNOMuABnbhdMnhJFAU/s1600/P1190244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiTnRPTNx-4rFIFvHYAwHhXvpM7SOpInLryc-KeNHQEEvhmaItBqfGYGbRmuPGnnhnFzz00Xsqxs2sX2w6IT5zb8YrL_mvK7Xa9-fKfjWuPNErFW0KzJyRpYOgmcNOMuABnbhdMnhJFAU/s320/P1190244.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Drilling continued, and it felt much slower than Monday’s
drilling. For one thing, we kept hitting rock and jamming the drill bit. I
learned to lower the drill a fraction of an inch at a time, getting into a
rhythm of counting to eight before barely tapping the lever to lower the bit.
Any quicker than that and the drill would make this sharp “stuck” sound and I’d
have to reverse out of the hole just a bit and try again. This was the part of
drilling that scared Katie, because she felt like she was breaking the machine.
Lisa was her assistant driller at the time, and Katie told Lisa she wanted to
quit so Lisa could take over. Lisa, being the pro mom she is, wouldn’t give in
to Katie and made her finish her turn. I am so glad for that, because Katie
stuck it out and later told me she’s glad she did.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6odR3xX3eFERcxrsJO1w83zJdMNKGW6zG-GcgBa7rUD7WIySswtb18YwwbFJo0VBl1BpE5M0-Drc52uRRxdNl_hxO-3VkXiiv5Grul0EqjJjeo0KnHqZ3NDGHhC-k6uyLLJTsLRX-3iU/s1600/P1190241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6odR3xX3eFERcxrsJO1w83zJdMNKGW6zG-GcgBa7rUD7WIySswtb18YwwbFJo0VBl1BpE5M0-Drc52uRRxdNl_hxO-3VkXiiv5Grul0EqjJjeo0KnHqZ3NDGHhC-k6uyLLJTsLRX-3iU/s320/P1190241.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Drilling is kind of a solitary job. The rig is too loud for
you to talk much to anyone around you. As head driller, you have to pay
attention to the drill’s rotation. As assistant driller, you stand and wait for
the cue to shut off the water and clamp the drill pipe. As I stood beside the
drill and waited for progress, I started paying attention to the sensations around
me: the subtle shifts in noise made by the drill (which signify its stress or
success), the smell of generator smoke, and the sensation of the rig shaking
the earth under my feet as it chewed and chomped through layers of rock. I
could feel the vibrations, and it made me think of stories in the Bible where
God descends to His people with such power that the ground shakes under their
feet. Was this a slight glimpse of what those moments were like? The drill
roaring in my ears with the glory of God, and the rock under my feet trembling
as it surrendered. Before I knew it, the song “Tremble” by Mosaic MSC started
playing in my mind and I started singing it under my breath. After all, no one
could hear me over the noise of the rig! <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Jesus,
Jesus, you make the darkness tremble. Jesus, Jesus, you silence fear. Your name
is a light that the shadows can’t deny. Your name cannot be overcome!”</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My thoughts turned to prayer, and I started praying for the
villagers who would spend future days drinking water at this well. I looked at
the work crew around me, full of old men and young men, and wondered why
exactly they would give up so many days of their lives (and, I assume, time
away from work that paid) to come sweat while digging and scraping gravel and
mud. Who would jump at the chance to volunteer for a team like that?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghLOTfjqU6H2O3P-z6KB3l-A1TEy1yulhUg2koBDM0qp1IQU5XekW8AIVYPayU3QO3HjQkRebSlBZgjfaJCmvxtrkC6k5pZNC_JYz_11d_OUum5-eTRuD1qjaciX17NuYG0hPdT_A-oRE/s1600/P1190489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghLOTfjqU6H2O3P-z6KB3l-A1TEy1yulhUg2koBDM0qp1IQU5XekW8AIVYPayU3QO3HjQkRebSlBZgjfaJCmvxtrkC6k5pZNC_JYz_11d_OUum5-eTRuD1qjaciX17NuYG0hPdT_A-oRE/s320/P1190489.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then I remembered Blanca telling us about a drill team
she led recently. On the first day in their village, the team met a mother with
a very sick baby. On the second day, the baby died. The team knew it was a
waterborne illness that killed the baby, and they naturally wondered if the
baby could have been saved if the village well had been drilled earlier. On the
third day, they attended this baby’s funeral.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stood beside our drill, and the thought hit me: the
elderly men on the work crew were busting their butts to make sure the grandkids
of their town wouldn’t die from dirty water. The young bucks on the team were
working hard to provide for their own children. One man on the team, Wesley,
had a baby on the way. No wonder he worked 12 hour days of hard manual labor;
he wanted to give his unborn child a good chance at LIFE.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAjo7FS6AzqWMQQ9aVnKTz_tV261TRPuiv08ZkQzHjJiCOs8raY5iL1CZmSJrHtcfH4jMeKMVsvoD5zFOvcaUj2-qReTCKlCvURY6OeAwknXtgdiP6f6D3idMalnKpOuSIbNKkIWDfcLw/s1600/P1190492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAjo7FS6AzqWMQQ9aVnKTz_tV261TRPuiv08ZkQzHjJiCOs8raY5iL1CZmSJrHtcfH4jMeKMVsvoD5zFOvcaUj2-qReTCKlCvURY6OeAwknXtgdiP6f6D3idMalnKpOuSIbNKkIWDfcLw/s320/P1190492.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh, the things I take for granted! Forgive me, Lord.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We ate lunch in shifts on Tuesday. Jaime wanted to move
forward with drilling, so the team took a break to eat while he and the work
crew kept drilling. It took us a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i>
long time to eat, though. The ladies served us our lunch, which was a clear
broth vegetable stew. It was flavorful, but MAN was it hot! Imagine sitting
down to eat steaming hot soup after sweating in the 100 degree heat all
morning, dressed in long pants and boots. I couldn’t even get the soup in my
mouth until it cooled down, and then I wasn’t too eager to eat it when I felt
so hot that I’d prefer an ice bath.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0GkojCPrcmEt9tV9X2GIy5XcI9Vf13d_bYfh7FXMALUMuxXNyJEFWmLqSNuBhDyHK0Igq2NslxIHeUY7Lqn9rD9qndY9RS6d8HBPJIAt7OW4__fuHamawpKW7hEAGoddkRZqhaZsziDw/s1600/20171024_175136353_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0GkojCPrcmEt9tV9X2GIy5XcI9Vf13d_bYfh7FXMALUMuxXNyJEFWmLqSNuBhDyHK0Igq2NslxIHeUY7Lqn9rD9qndY9RS6d8HBPJIAt7OW4__fuHamawpKW7hEAGoddkRZqhaZsziDw/s320/20171024_175136353_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Katie sat beside me at lunch, and started looking a little
pale. I had reminded her to drink water all day, but she hadn’t consumed nearly
enough. I asked if she needed to take a break and sit outside the church
courtyard to get away from the drill noise and find fresh air. She said yes, so
we walked outside with some water to drink. A few kids followed us, because
they liked to tag along with Katie. Blanca came out to check on her, and Hannah
came to say hello. After a few minutes away from the lunch table, Katie perked
up and the kids asked her to play. Before I knew it, we had a soccer ball and a
frenzy in the middle of the street. I had so much fun watching and snapping
photos.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvPLxu_2UMXxrhUlv_q0PyXfZDbd2baIgIIZktsIguCFUKSvzvey46M7HatMu51PwAIc8Kw1KAAR6-XOrFHRPDhwnWClhy1A__mmXrYSQkuZ3qYehrXUTT2SelIXL5ywC29eQnCG7XbE/s1600/P1190331.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvPLxu_2UMXxrhUlv_q0PyXfZDbd2baIgIIZktsIguCFUKSvzvey46M7HatMu51PwAIc8Kw1KAAR6-XOrFHRPDhwnWClhy1A__mmXrYSQkuZ3qYehrXUTT2SelIXL5ywC29eQnCG7XbE/s320/P1190331.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The soccer game (which became a mixture of volleyball,
soccer, and basketball) lasted less than 40 minutes, because rain started
pouring down.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWvEclb1sgqp4goD5u2oyyvyi0sBIVrbqlJ_BLjlGCbO6uw7cWtD7F-Z3foBaccfQ6xJbI0Huc_hV_5Veu1zQevt2eTCEzTTYzK0T2VMo7gjpMnsHkrn5wD15cjBk-VE4vD-vIOchhUYs/s1600/P1190412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWvEclb1sgqp4goD5u2oyyvyi0sBIVrbqlJ_BLjlGCbO6uw7cWtD7F-Z3foBaccfQ6xJbI0Huc_hV_5Veu1zQevt2eTCEzTTYzK0T2VMo7gjpMnsHkrn5wD15cjBk-VE4vD-vIOchhUYs/s320/P1190412.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meanwhile, the drill team kept at it and brought on two new
members as it was Shauna and Tami’s turn to take a break from teaching.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI29iOsFGGYxLsX8nakYPWnkCG0yp17I6pls5CKT8tO5Yhmw-UjWNbP4v4UCiLXRZKXioewQC0KMQvDR3_Sqq2N-5p2ZC1AFzWgAMBj2VCjAqldRYVGjPvtWvHmnPhwEUQ8bOz1vlJxv8/s1600/P1190343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI29iOsFGGYxLsX8nakYPWnkCG0yp17I6pls5CKT8tO5Yhmw-UjWNbP4v4UCiLXRZKXioewQC0KMQvDR3_Sqq2N-5p2ZC1AFzWgAMBj2VCjAqldRYVGjPvtWvHmnPhwEUQ8bOz1vlJxv8/s320/P1190343.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stood in a dry spot and used my zoom lens to observe the
activity, and take some secret portraits like this one of a boy as he watched
the rain and drilling.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbq29_e2CLYQvcDo4q2H-_5mB97z-Uyo7PnIfw7355psQ59BvX6J-txQQu3WlXa4vl4yakmYXzQufAOxBMGxoZ825MBukJeBfnx9hEVzCbbz2zDygo8gtqWfWYmdqV4D9lv78N9xGBp1U/s1600/P1190336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbq29_e2CLYQvcDo4q2H-_5mB97z-Uyo7PnIfw7355psQ59BvX6J-txQQu3WlXa4vl4yakmYXzQufAOxBMGxoZ825MBukJeBfnx9hEVzCbbz2zDygo8gtqWfWYmdqV4D9lv78N9xGBp1U/s320/P1190336.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This daddy comforted his daughter while she cried.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirEkVt92rMANKBoUGn7ULA-KLa-gAAT37Im6kY38PF-R3fRlTMUEgxyZ8u03DiJCNfOxsRa5melrAT99VZhEEca__rOZdUgI1tld8KCI4Vp7tyjV0wkaxsoSIv7YAx10TM7dSkgnx6lNs/s1600/P1190378.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirEkVt92rMANKBoUGn7ULA-KLa-gAAT37Im6kY38PF-R3fRlTMUEgxyZ8u03DiJCNfOxsRa5melrAT99VZhEEca__rOZdUgI1tld8KCI4Vp7tyjV0wkaxsoSIv7YAx10TM7dSkgnx6lNs/s320/P1190378.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miley blowing bubbles.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji4RGgl9-6dBugngYXCbVmjo9C4YIz2h4ZNyY6Yq9fPaEbiCOq_nGuS96HI9Vfuk2Sj949yTbaFaFB9_os7hxN8QECuVKyXcHHjNFIwKs11_XXoTONOWeokWXX_D8QRh3uG9HlgK0vFXU/s1600/P1190463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji4RGgl9-6dBugngYXCbVmjo9C4YIz2h4ZNyY6Yq9fPaEbiCOq_nGuS96HI9Vfuk2Sj949yTbaFaFB9_os7hxN8QECuVKyXcHHjNFIwKs11_XXoTONOWeokWXX_D8QRh3uG9HlgK0vFXU/s320/P1190463.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peekaboo with this sweet boy.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KSQ4ZrbrDZvfb86a46ErEPefhYiPG0_BvvvyjADcOw9QaYUFYqVGr7rIfbhZBpixIImDzifzEOwKwBMzB0p_UDwnr1ULvzLU_ELOl7hofvwiV8E9sfj_pBYMbutToAbIYrvZ33N6Xaw/s1600/P1190504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KSQ4ZrbrDZvfb86a46ErEPefhYiPG0_BvvvyjADcOw9QaYUFYqVGr7rIfbhZBpixIImDzifzEOwKwBMzB0p_UDwnr1ULvzLU_ELOl7hofvwiV8E9sfj_pBYMbutToAbIYrvZ33N6Xaw/s320/P1190504.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After many attempts, I finally caught this momma smiling.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmeowuoE7UmiFPNGbkgsPqGKdrhCUO8s_hM8pt88D5d_brYQjKfyhllscM-ZtFYwei6-DVYir9TQslJZ3ArmP2EWDjatAMkWOGWfyja-A-vdMz66Z0Zb_kJIJAOFX_UhV-zah_kfZ0rR0/s1600/P1190519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmeowuoE7UmiFPNGbkgsPqGKdrhCUO8s_hM8pt88D5d_brYQjKfyhllscM-ZtFYwei6-DVYir9TQslJZ3ArmP2EWDjatAMkWOGWfyja-A-vdMz66Z0Zb_kJIJAOFX_UhV-zah_kfZ0rR0/s320/P1190519.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Afternoon lessons rolled along as the rain slowed and drilling
finally finished. There wasn’t much fanfare when Jaime started withdrawing the
pipes from the drilled hole, but I noticed them getting wiped down before being
stacked back on their pallet.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPLFpgn3kjegZzabnkIK-mH1sZaCixncqk2MnHXxNmjpR3UMlQNHCWDXJGF-c7B_J13lHGzPs1Ygmy3zCtdeAhkG2jn6PVXKXiAcak4h7Pp1_Hz6nWa8KciuIuv2HXVq_dBnhVYg2Sdo0/s1600/P1190643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPLFpgn3kjegZzabnkIK-mH1sZaCixncqk2MnHXxNmjpR3UMlQNHCWDXJGF-c7B_J13lHGzPs1Ygmy3zCtdeAhkG2jn6PVXKXiAcak4h7Pp1_Hz6nWa8KciuIuv2HXVq_dBnhVYg2Sdo0/s320/P1190643.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where the metal pipes had just been removed, the crew
lowered the PVC pipes that would permanently line the well. The hardest
drilling was over, and Dan stood by the well to show his pink bracelet for me
to take his photo. Happy birthday, Leilani!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMu8RVKGCl2Usg8TWlLaJWHnT2GbNrnNPYp6V4GaDs5EryxvK_kuTTf_yJItJc8IqlSmJLIiHHuRp_zGiVBv_CNClU9-P5qFT7UlIi68MAolWDKCr5KYpGaMfEhPWPPRdMARTtgpw-8os/s1600/P1190639.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMu8RVKGCl2Usg8TWlLaJWHnT2GbNrnNPYp6V4GaDs5EryxvK_kuTTf_yJItJc8IqlSmJLIiHHuRp_zGiVBv_CNClU9-P5qFT7UlIi68MAolWDKCr5KYpGaMfEhPWPPRdMARTtgpw-8os/s320/P1190639.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We got to have a little celebratory break for coffee and
sweet bread. There were sugar cookies embedded in the puffy rolls and some sort
of honey sugar in the coffee. Pretty spectacular!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZP2C1zg_-BciHXS-iZ0bD5wt1TOacEaIdJuiYODXUj1wIsoSQ42xH33DPHkHcskH9WYnXsu3Nifh5rfkLsabQyBQ4b74MyULCQAPUoYyCcMLHHNYWxp5z2pw78bALRdAgYu4ZUluanbI/s1600/P1190656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZP2C1zg_-BciHXS-iZ0bD5wt1TOacEaIdJuiYODXUj1wIsoSQ42xH33DPHkHcskH9WYnXsu3Nifh5rfkLsabQyBQ4b74MyULCQAPUoYyCcMLHHNYWxp5z2pw78bALRdAgYu4ZUluanbI/s320/P1190656.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next step for the crew was to add gravel to the drilled
hole, to surround the PVC pipe and stabilize it. Hannah kept track of how many
buckets were dumped, and Jaime and Nestor measured the depth of the hole yet to
fill. Katie and I tried to carry a few buckets of gravel together, but they
weighed WAY more than we expected!</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHmOoKAxzjx_EKWrMaWkCawAYtgY6j3Z6wi4Wf_sI8E-VqFtgDhyTh6bqIqkOPGn7r-je6K4jv4gFqgHJKxSLQwOyLgzvP9Q1bSztIWzViowVejymewjjdONzzeYOJ1JtpLxXnvq_exwc/s1600/IMG_8911.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHmOoKAxzjx_EKWrMaWkCawAYtgY6j3Z6wi4Wf_sI8E-VqFtgDhyTh6bqIqkOPGn7r-je6K4jv4gFqgHJKxSLQwOyLgzvP9Q1bSztIWzViowVejymewjjdONzzeYOJ1JtpLxXnvq_exwc/s320/IMG_8911.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Lisa McCutcheon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the rest of the team waited, Katie and Hannah started
singing that old song from their childhood. You know, the one that goes “Baaay-beee
shark, doo doo doo doo dah-doo. Baby shark, doo doo doo doo dah-doo.” Blanca
had never heard that song, and the girls delighted in teaching it to her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a while, I noticed our friend Alder sitting at the
table with Katie. He asked for her help on a handwritten English-Spanish
dictionary he was creating. And it wasn’t just a dictionary – Alder was
illustrating it with his own drawings. I was amazed by this, and promised to
bring my flashcards and dictionary the next day to help him.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgghxTfBzDGeKTYLIQWMzw-tnfaI7u40h6X-e3OhUh8L6bLLgba3QFd9JchGiIry5LmdtOkRKhvkwfEV_z-KBa39HTfupMonlHkcBBpGIzNnmoFTj6MgAB1CKd4PX-_y7qJfKmc638Q08M/s1600/20171025_002912703_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgghxTfBzDGeKTYLIQWMzw-tnfaI7u40h6X-e3OhUh8L6bLLgba3QFd9JchGiIry5LmdtOkRKhvkwfEV_z-KBa39HTfupMonlHkcBBpGIzNnmoFTj6MgAB1CKd4PX-_y7qJfKmc638Q08M/s320/20171025_002912703_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, the day’s work was done and around 7:30pm, we piled
into the truck and van for the drive back to the hotel. There were many rounds
of “Baby Shark” on the way home, and we arrived at the hotel with good news to
share with Connie and Mary: the drilling is done! They had good news for us,
too: “We feel better!” Smiles, showers, and dinner all around before we turned
in for the night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://sixgoldencoins.blogspot.com/2018/02/guatemala-day-5-wednesday-102517.html">Click here to read about day 5 of our trip to Guatemala.</a></div>
</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-35899040293066116282018-02-03T06:00:00.000-06:002018-04-18T15:08:36.947-05:00Guatemala, Day 3 (Monday 10/23/17)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
5:15 on a Monday morning is not my favorite way to start a
week. But breakfast is a great incentive to get me moving, so I rolled out of
bed at 5am to make it to breakfast on time. Our team members muttered morning
greetings to each other over cereal and orange juice, loaded our gear, and hit
the road at 6am. I got to ride with Jaime again – lucky me! We stopped for ice
and gas, then left the urban area for rural roads. We had to pick up pipes for
the drill rig from people Jaime knew at one of his last sites, so we stopped
and got to meet a family who invited us to see their chicken coop and hold
their chicks.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyeXtqLigg4oW-i_B4oy0S4jtdCW1iQdTAsMuHW4AAWvFxZ2fEQtwxwy0_CUgdsanpjO0vtHLPTZkyiTYEyT4CYigI_xXs-C5VprCD6A74Y_yIy8hcJ6-YJ0ahM2IZUyIz7e6WLj02wSg/s1600/IMG_8693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyeXtqLigg4oW-i_B4oy0S4jtdCW1iQdTAsMuHW4AAWvFxZ2fEQtwxwy0_CUgdsanpjO0vtHLPTZkyiTYEyT4CYigI_xXs-C5VprCD6A74Y_yIy8hcJ6-YJ0ahM2IZUyIz7e6WLj02wSg/s320/IMG_8693.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Lisa McCutcheon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Their son showed us his treasure under one of the hens.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZ-bqmINOUHKIg4fNvTFymt6vGEujM8ZYgXBN4N3qG34unFjOarPU8kIHy3FLrUfXyVJIEkLrMoXX4wsLX1rpgCoQ2j89IRKl5zmpMO5PxsqXVVJ45A2bD0v-VPdFscD3x9HCiq92vlc/s1600/20171023_130416944_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZ-bqmINOUHKIg4fNvTFymt6vGEujM8ZYgXBN4N3qG34unFjOarPU8kIHy3FLrUfXyVJIEkLrMoXX4wsLX1rpgCoQ2j89IRKl5zmpMO5PxsqXVVJ45A2bD0v-VPdFscD3x9HCiq92vlc/s320/20171023_130416944_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We got back on the road and arrived at Iglesia Bethania in
Caballo Blanco less than 10 minutes later. The pastor and a work crew (formed with
church and community members) greeted us with a formal hello. One of our
leaders, Sonja, returned the greetings and then the pastor and church prayed
for us.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rabbit trail: I’m used to the kind of corporate prayer that
my church practices. We politely pray one at a time, listening to each other’s
words and nodding or “amen-ing” or “mmm-hmm-ing” in agreement. Not everyone has
to pray if they don’t want to, and we do it “popcorn” style with those who want
to pray jumping in when someone else finishes. At Iglesia Bethania, those
“polite” prayers go out the window in favor of bold, loud, all-at-once prayers.
Everyone from the church prayed <i>at the
same time</i> and the messiness was so perfect. It didn’t matter that our team
couldn’t make out any words in the jumble of voices. What mattered is these
prayers were spoken to our poly-lingual, multi-cultural, everlasting Father who
is omnipresent enough to decipher each word that each voice spoke, even at the
same time. Later, our team discussed why we don’t pray like that back home.
Isn’t God big enough to hear simultaneous prayers? Or do we pray “politely” one
at a time because we’re more interested in the other people around us hearing
our prayers than God Himself?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After the “amen” was said (it’s the same in English and
Spanish, ya know!), each team member received a hug from every man on the work
crew. And then, we jumped in with both feet.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-EdsSl2XsditRggL_FoQjpdqa52xn11bE9yT_2Lg8fulKqQX0Tp0ueCs7DivHkAu_ozWnwBHy9daKGK2N8pDw-SBZj_54xfO5vgoOPgXMQ9VDLbJTkZkjUx0FMcwtUZx_br7p37SmZI/s1600/P1180589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-EdsSl2XsditRggL_FoQjpdqa52xn11bE9yT_2Lg8fulKqQX0Tp0ueCs7DivHkAu_ozWnwBHy9daKGK2N8pDw-SBZj_54xfO5vgoOPgXMQ9VDLbJTkZkjUx0FMcwtUZx_br7p37SmZI/s320/P1180589.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pipe was unloaded. Craft supplies were carried to our Sunday
school classroom. The drill rig was backed up to the pre-dug trench. Chairs
were moved from the church to the courtyard. We found the bathrooms, got the
lay of the land, introduced ourselves to some of the adults and kids, and got
to see the church’s current water well in the courtyard. It’s 30-feet-deep,
carved by hand, and not exactly <i>clean</i>.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6j0NQ8WPAZg8TEFeophgI6RRRDU6T8ZE2OweHayEO5EH4dhBmx2M3d9kyufi4oWvv9wFicyWbDSamFpGuWdAxiDqkkkyhy-6xxQlstWNW-N9hkphgltkDg1uiV7mEBpHI1RogIQCeLzs/s1600/P1180657.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6j0NQ8WPAZg8TEFeophgI6RRRDU6T8ZE2OweHayEO5EH4dhBmx2M3d9kyufi4oWvv9wFicyWbDSamFpGuWdAxiDqkkkyhy-6xxQlstWNW-N9hkphgltkDg1uiV7mEBpHI1RogIQCeLzs/s320/P1180657.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our team of 12 had previously split up into hygiene and
drilling teams (Remember the “fight” Sonja and Blanca had previous night?), so
the drilling team donned their hard hats and started working. The hygiene team
met our local escorts for a community walk. Alder and Marvin are two teenaged
boys who walked us door to door to meet neighbors and invite them to the church
later in the day to hear lessons on clean water and prevention. (We were taught
to say “prevention” instead of “hygiene” lessons, because hygiene makes it
sound like the locals need lessons on how to be clean – which could offend some
of them. Disease prevention is information everyone needs, no matter where they
live or who they are.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our first stop was at the house directly across from the
church courtyard. We met a mother and her kids, and got to see the family’s
water source: a hand-dug well with a few mushrooms and algae growing on the
sides.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORK8ojKhaeaW_y7BGi_qBK5bq2TXsFBJhsM29yXMPZrDk6RAfjDPLDmVYdIXhW8SyovpVaG34hHw4TFKhvlhfAzaZRCF7FjsLTXfsReOJBcQL5tDPc2mgQg55ohyphenhyphenzBQ-naj8DyWzMwKQ/s1600/P1180664.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORK8ojKhaeaW_y7BGi_qBK5bq2TXsFBJhsM29yXMPZrDk6RAfjDPLDmVYdIXhW8SyovpVaG34hHw4TFKhvlhfAzaZRCF7FjsLTXfsReOJBcQL5tDPc2mgQg55ohyphenhyphenzBQ-naj8DyWzMwKQ/s320/P1180664.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We met other neighbors like this carpenter who runs a
door-making business. He showed us his work and said it takes him and his crew
a week to make one door. The finished products show great craftsmanship.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8J6x595m6y1DwAgQe4-EbcEqPlo5TphkBYq0p-3r3d6wO0FlauX3GVvfHdRM9NEVRh-XmEtQTyJzQnuE-tAkidxYXKWZ4Y0skzunGcD9gPde5Yk9-A4buSpcjqAIggyRh1iJ8__1DqNY/s1600/P1180679.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8J6x595m6y1DwAgQe4-EbcEqPlo5TphkBYq0p-3r3d6wO0FlauX3GVvfHdRM9NEVRh-XmEtQTyJzQnuE-tAkidxYXKWZ4Y0skzunGcD9gPde5Yk9-A4buSpcjqAIggyRh1iJ8__1DqNY/s320/P1180679.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we wandered around town, we definitely drew a few
glances. Why wouldn’t we? I’m sure groups of gringos don’t often walk the
streets of Caballo Blanco.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaLPT8y9G9N5TVt7DlV1FYtVn5pQC199w4iM7yVaS05uumsGnQZD0u4d6Rfsyq_O_wmLdr0CGuuzm1unOaBP97wfXGlqLyoTKu8rNGMtO-qOZgGIVLlaKfAqVWYxVs1VjWzDt5rzN3jwA/s1600/P1180686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaLPT8y9G9N5TVt7DlV1FYtVn5pQC199w4iM7yVaS05uumsGnQZD0u4d6Rfsyq_O_wmLdr0CGuuzm1unOaBP97wfXGlqLyoTKu8rNGMtO-qOZgGIVLlaKfAqVWYxVs1VjWzDt5rzN3jwA/s320/P1180686.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
At one house, we got to sit on the front porch with a
seamstress who makes uniforms for a living. Tami decided to take a turn
inviting the family to our prevention classes, and Blanca translated for her.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqjqIkusNNd894im4rLGG9SQ698N8exh27cOD_nfRSCQp5dnfm2woJQro911E_W-6KhubDpqxqzw7j_BAsVq5adurgFAIfH9KB3ZcldfimYaSnKUV7RRK4cOWXDiVHMNcTTN7L2LkrGg/s1600/P1180688.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqjqIkusNNd894im4rLGG9SQ698N8exh27cOD_nfRSCQp5dnfm2woJQro911E_W-6KhubDpqxqzw7j_BAsVq5adurgFAIfH9KB3ZcldfimYaSnKUV7RRK4cOWXDiVHMNcTTN7L2LkrGg/s320/P1180688.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
At our next stop, Shauna did the inviting and then we talked
with the family and they told us about their daughter, Grace Amaryllis, who’s
been ill since age three. The mother said it was something to do with
bronchitis that developed into a deeper illness and affected Grace’s motor
functions and development. She brought Grace out to meet us, then we offered to
pray for Grace and ask God for healing. It was a special moment.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBrJiqcUT7crlta9IVAFbu_e-KUy9bd2QCrVuwf4QmOyO8J2hC1X2WQwOr2BPRBe1dt-ePKnYPYaB8nSBLTa-q54_4qxfu1y9pmHBN6HWc9xBuAI2OkszZ2qifDIQaShtO0Fy-U7JjTM/s1600/P1180695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBrJiqcUT7crlta9IVAFbu_e-KUy9bd2QCrVuwf4QmOyO8J2hC1X2WQwOr2BPRBe1dt-ePKnYPYaB8nSBLTa-q54_4qxfu1y9pmHBN6HWc9xBuAI2OkszZ2qifDIQaShtO0Fy-U7JjTM/s320/P1180695.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We continued to travel through the town, meet people, and
invite them to the church. I was so curious about people’s houses and their way
of life and tried to restrain myself from gawking and asking dumb questions.
(It’s so so hard to restrain myself from those dumb questions!) The good news
is I wasn’t the only one who was curious. The locals were just as intrigued by
us and our differences. At one of the houses, one woman commented on my white
skin and told our translator to make sure I wear sunscreen so I don’t get a
sunburn souvenir from Guatemala!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiezjuUuF-tNuOQaXLA4oqsd-YagZGG4vU-pTKbhHog1sp4dLthhclgxf7F5xtyApXYlwWYP5XoyyXUUpt4WUj3XA5O2aONWPfL70mj-6dsjiIdBZSM1xMO0RijyRBrXPrUL6uJJDnGMZ8/s1600/P1180702.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiezjuUuF-tNuOQaXLA4oqsd-YagZGG4vU-pTKbhHog1sp4dLthhclgxf7F5xtyApXYlwWYP5XoyyXUUpt4WUj3XA5O2aONWPfL70mj-6dsjiIdBZSM1xMO0RijyRBrXPrUL6uJJDnGMZ8/s320/P1180702.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we arrived back at the Iglesia Bethania, kids had
already arrived for our morning class and drilling had begun. I soon found out
that drilling involves a special mixture of bentonite clay that is pumped
through the drill bit. It coats the inside of the drill and also provides
lubrication while flushing out rocks and dirt. It makes for a pretty muddy
mess, especially if it sprays out at you when you’re adding extra pipes to the
drill rig.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWhHxV3EWI4NRQUmwXPFimby6HbyrCQNehAOG3a33VlFTiKcVa1xBrKfQ9V952bhC2zHBo2vVwQWuI6ebwIM_GHC_sxTIoyfV1e2R1-mjIKR8k4JgLGYmv6GIOwbJ5vi449sekQ359B4/s1600/P1180712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWhHxV3EWI4NRQUmwXPFimby6HbyrCQNehAOG3a33VlFTiKcVa1xBrKfQ9V952bhC2zHBo2vVwQWuI6ebwIM_GHC_sxTIoyfV1e2R1-mjIKR8k4JgLGYmv6GIOwbJ5vi449sekQ359B4/s320/P1180712.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While our team drilled, the work crew (make up of church and
community members) were assigned the job of sifting the bentonite clay/water
mixture as it flushed back out of the drilling hole. Since the mixture was
recycled back into the drill pipes, their job was important to keep too much
gravel and dirt from recirculating back into the mix.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPLD8F_pUSKGbDIYSDVC4poyjq8OzOmvyMHuIo4peiDkcOvvm0BjOhgk9Y3SRj7KfwZNn0oJUK9HzXcmrtir9yKOaZgg2X67r0PPq5JVH6BDd9FU_TC9Uu4XaKIYauO517FiA_zuMmgMo/s1600/P1190063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPLD8F_pUSKGbDIYSDVC4poyjq8OzOmvyMHuIo4peiDkcOvvm0BjOhgk9Y3SRj7KfwZNn0oJUK9HzXcmrtir9yKOaZgg2X67r0PPq5JVH6BDd9FU_TC9Uu4XaKIYauO517FiA_zuMmgMo/s320/P1190063.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before our morning prevention class started, some of our
team got to help the church ladies make tortillas for lunch. Mary cracked me up
as I watched her pat her corn meal into circles, tenderly lay them into the hot
pan, and try not to get burned. The ladies giggled at her attempts to make
perfect circles because the circles turned out not-so-circle-y. We joked and
called her Tortilla Maria.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMGGu5fQq6qN1Q1FBMURBpCq-bOtHiq4x2RvYSbfO33riVh_GVfWkZZrgboEu4NYOo0-WSwcwEAnCoM4lqns9zVTG-tXzlecxEc8Aw6O7g64CPaYSOlRHVGPqfKwDumcSCUbOz0HXNNzM/s1600/P1180740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMGGu5fQq6qN1Q1FBMURBpCq-bOtHiq4x2RvYSbfO33riVh_GVfWkZZrgboEu4NYOo0-WSwcwEAnCoM4lqns9zVTG-tXzlecxEc8Aw6O7g64CPaYSOlRHVGPqfKwDumcSCUbOz0HXNNzM/s320/P1180740.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Katie jumped in and tried her hand at making tortillas, too.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYncxJqX8F9WrSG2J8vtsGdvokKOEi-fxb9nQS6nAYSe5ybEnvdSJNNUQKA-EJSeFpkb8rD3JZAVO0fdwHy2pjVg-dk2qWj_dhTV3baJPRImMJ15HaxKCUQvwe4CrThKj1dQw3qhxDs9Q/s1600/20171023_162038948_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYncxJqX8F9WrSG2J8vtsGdvokKOEi-fxb9nQS6nAYSe5ybEnvdSJNNUQKA-EJSeFpkb8rD3JZAVO0fdwHy2pjVg-dk2qWj_dhTV3baJPRImMJ15HaxKCUQvwe4CrThKj1dQw3qhxDs9Q/s320/20171023_162038948_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was time to start our classes. We had so many kids show
up for the day’s three lessons. We started with a lesson on clean water and why
it’s so important, then moved into a lesson on germs and hand washing
demonstrations.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqgg-h6wiDIFmlWdjKR5D6UsFMQc-BiNtYNYvHkebovwNVgoPL2n-VGpjKnZ9K-s7KU2QuOmTWUqpX-3uojSa4HTrOdmD-DI8bYTg6Tpc9Rg90TBfb4cy31AWeWm55BgEeDTwv9P9lTl8/s1600/P1180808.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqgg-h6wiDIFmlWdjKR5D6UsFMQc-BiNtYNYvHkebovwNVgoPL2n-VGpjKnZ9K-s7KU2QuOmTWUqpX-3uojSa4HTrOdmD-DI8bYTg6Tpc9Rg90TBfb4cy31AWeWm55BgEeDTwv9P9lTl8/s320/P1180808.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our third lesson (which Katie taught in the morning and I
taught in the afternoon) was about how germs are transmitted by our hands and
animals (like flies) and other ways (bathroom habits). Pretty gross but it
involved a great skit where Tami pretended to be Josefina, who pooped out
Play-doh that a fly (it was a toy one) landed in before landing on people’s
clothes, food, and skin. Her play-acting poop skills brought laughter from
everyone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone took a break to eat lunch at a long table in the
church courtyard. We were treated like royalty, with a fabric tablecloth and
the first servings of all the food. Monday’s lunch was unusual but tasty: an
entire fish, with its head still attached. Of course, lunch also included rice
and tortillas. Mary was proud of her lumpy labor of love!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgq9uH25b11mZKyj8at5kt0vAe_W-Q51jkAN7CwZv7_zWS_5xItUNDSiLpdFLk1g1iBP74L9zEN4CRO_Eyo3Ahd798aQd9nc14wPtJZmF45iHAdoU7cBiN7Ms-gUA1PXmrMGkA4U0zIk/s1600/20171023_185145879_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgq9uH25b11mZKyj8at5kt0vAe_W-Q51jkAN7CwZv7_zWS_5xItUNDSiLpdFLk1g1iBP74L9zEN4CRO_Eyo3Ahd798aQd9nc14wPtJZmF45iHAdoU7cBiN7Ms-gUA1PXmrMGkA4U0zIk/s320/20171023_185145879_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few of our gringos aren’t fish eaters, especially when the
fish’s fried eyeball is staring up at you. I think Connie tried only one nibble
before passing her plate to Jaime to eat. The church ladies were stirred up by
this, asking Blanca in Spanish what was wrong with Connie. Is she sick? Does
she not like the food? Could they make her something else? It was an offense to
the ladies if we didn’t eat the food they worked hard to offer us. Connie
realized her mistake and felt terrible about it, and promised not to pass her
food off so early in the meal again. We all realized offending the church
ladies could be minimized if we timed food rejection a little differently and
waited until much later in the meal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We split back into our work crews after lunch, with the
drilling continuing in the courtyard and the lessons continuing in the
classroom. The afternoon lessons were the same as the morning lessons, with a
new audience: all the mommas! Blanca had warned us that adults tend to be very
late for events in Guatemala, while children are on time if they aren’t early.
This proved true, as the mothers slowly trickled in to class. We treated them
to manicures while we waited for the crowd to grow, and they giggled over the
fun color selections each other made. We also pulled out adult coloring books
and colored together to pass the time.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsXOhW51IvHDuNXoRdbd9cnzwvePrEVfdmP2qvBVTZh_cM2qwzOT2vAGWwNZDiQgr3Qv41K3u-VM_KtW6Goof9QfsGb8eA4RHZ4VAFCQ-jadwa4MfrE502ysqxCxmblL0c630nBzpQzPo/s1600/P1190106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsXOhW51IvHDuNXoRdbd9cnzwvePrEVfdmP2qvBVTZh_cM2qwzOT2vAGWwNZDiQgr3Qv41K3u-VM_KtW6Goof9QfsGb8eA4RHZ4VAFCQ-jadwa4MfrE502ysqxCxmblL0c630nBzpQzPo/s320/P1190106.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The lessons started, the ladies giggled a lot, I took a lot
more photos, held a baby (who looked so hot in her sweatpants and sweatshirt!)…</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLREF_2WUl2kDM13YlJLKsUhjt16hyqGTqVxz72mn50YWbvrfmNUkN145QDvUjdHgWwTVzy7O9ypW4aVRSoGEodrkk1RhPQESoHAsCcKt9fuioezSvpiqal6hUuLqG7mId1fO3KrvHyyg/s1600/20171023_213126271_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLREF_2WUl2kDM13YlJLKsUhjt16hyqGTqVxz72mn50YWbvrfmNUkN145QDvUjdHgWwTVzy7O9ypW4aVRSoGEodrkk1RhPQESoHAsCcKt9fuioezSvpiqal6hUuLqG7mId1fO3KrvHyyg/s320/20171023_213126271_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we got too hot in the classroom, we’d step out on the
narrow balcony to get a little breeze and sit down for a moment. That’s where I
found Connie, looking slightly pale and hot. She perked up when a little girl
came out to chat.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37GUBoP1z4YP16E2CYjhAyzAZMYpDw3n6uoiImXRsOppr6CwHvRHxgbUuMQZQSbNuxI8j1MfjnQfPGWuHoyGJLf0WbXjwHnJ8kuyE9gz1f9uOrYN5VWfoD49Pt-AeqHgeHGhB7MK7DdY/s1600/P1190158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37GUBoP1z4YP16E2CYjhAyzAZMYpDw3n6uoiImXRsOppr6CwHvRHxgbUuMQZQSbNuxI8j1MfjnQfPGWuHoyGJLf0WbXjwHnJ8kuyE9gz1f9uOrYN5VWfoD49Pt-AeqHgeHGhB7MK7DdY/s320/P1190158.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next time I saw Connie was about 45 minutes after that
photo, when she was puking outside the church. Mary was helping Connie, and
asked me to alert Blanca to Connie’s situation. I did, and then talked to
Connie and Mary to find out how I could help. Pretty quickly, I realized Mary
was declining too. While she wasn’t puking (yet), Mary felt very weak and
nauseated and hot. Eventually, I pieced some clues together and figured out
Connie was ill because of dehydration, and Mary was ill because of a migraine
that was brought on with all the fire pit smells, generator smoke, and the incessant
noise of the drill rig in operation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It made for a rough end to the day, and we finally packed up
and left sometime after 5:00. I got to ride in the truck with Jaime one last
time while everyone else piled into the van. I didn’t realize until we got to
the hotel that the van turned into a mess on the way back: Connie and Mary had
gotten sick in the van. I found this out when we parked at the hotel, and I
went to the van to help unload. All of a sudden, the van door slid open and
everyone (except Connie, Mary, and Greg – who was helping Mary) fled the van.
Dan told me Connie had been sick, so I dropped my things and jumped in to help
her. Slowly, I got Connie out of the van and carried her things – including her
bag of barf – so she could creep her way upstairs to her hotel room. She had to
pause for a while on the stairs because they were too strenuous to climb.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once I got Connie to her room and into bed, I found a trash
can (with a liner) to put by her bed, along with a fresh water bottle. At this
point, the rest of the team had finished cleaning the barf out of the van. We
took time to shower and eat dinner, then met for a little devotional time on
the balcony to discuss what we learned today.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYvboMWsR9f1B0sFSeawTQpKEisZnUyxvYY6N5ez11bGRSr939BURVIPVr-BiqkE0JZiZnXuZaFu4BHbRvjw3hiHQOL5ih2NYikpzq8DHtBmFfKgZBunn65gjIvrDGHIoyosE35-XI_ww/s1600/P1190170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYvboMWsR9f1B0sFSeawTQpKEisZnUyxvYY6N5ez11bGRSr939BURVIPVr-BiqkE0JZiZnXuZaFu4BHbRvjw3hiHQOL5ih2NYikpzq8DHtBmFfKgZBunn65gjIvrDGHIoyosE35-XI_ww/s320/P1190170.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><o:p></o:p>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pretty soon, we said our good nights and headed to bed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://sixgoldencoins.blogspot.com/2018/02/guatemala-day-4-tuesday-102417.html">Click here to read about day 4 of our trip to Guatemala.</a></div>
</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-58913580326921733962018-02-02T09:34:00.002-06:002018-02-04T16:07:23.919-06:00Guatemala, Day 2 (Sunday 10/22/17)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Day 2 started so early, I thought at the time. In
retrospect, I realize being ready to go at 6:30am made Sunday one of our
“lazier” days.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before we left the Living Water compound, we took turns
standing on the patio railing to get a glimpse of the nearby active volcano as
it spewed smoke and ash – a pretty cool way to start our first morning in
Guatemala.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We piled in the van, driving to the city center of Antigua.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-bw9zGNt-P71c0hxeMAYNaRzb58F3keBPQEJZRI2goFuTMYqLPxRpIxJz8uWivUspkFb1wVlyRZsBHdmnqh6siAEDxafx3ddQSGDsm0k2aJf3zh76eNZjBxcGjh4-AhS2TlspYA6_FE/s1600/IMG_8598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-bw9zGNt-P71c0hxeMAYNaRzb58F3keBPQEJZRI2goFuTMYqLPxRpIxJz8uWivUspkFb1wVlyRZsBHdmnqh6siAEDxafx3ddQSGDsm0k2aJf3zh76eNZjBxcGjh4-AhS2TlspYA6_FE/s320/IMG_8598.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Derek McCutcheon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Arriving early on a Sunday morning gave us some beautiful views. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuvHl93He-wBuDUpXyDbSeM5hEKmirS6Coy63s7XDFUJcjlMeOVR3VZ-8MODzIWGrWFR37N3K_cqd4-CAhScGFWoeouBzH9INtgi1VJfdnBRxWOWPMKnPx1kjjhhdFXKbSpPKDfWIkYPI/s1600/P1180403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuvHl93He-wBuDUpXyDbSeM5hEKmirS6Coy63s7XDFUJcjlMeOVR3VZ-8MODzIWGrWFR37N3K_cqd4-CAhScGFWoeouBzH9INtgi1VJfdnBRxWOWPMKnPx1kjjhhdFXKbSpPKDfWIkYPI/s320/P1180403.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nestor parked our van and we headed to breakfast at Café Condesa.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxbICVkELiMGz42UZoejMNJ8JnDgVlBhYKuRt-RZg8xle_kUV7g4wlV897qCyCURvN1dS16TUjQNfdeiGvNF6s51ybvRP7MhXIQAqjn9-wbvaVYvYhRjoDmo_MxVzjpQAv9-g8RKHCJrc/s1600/P1180419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxbICVkELiMGz42UZoejMNJ8JnDgVlBhYKuRt-RZg8xle_kUV7g4wlV897qCyCURvN1dS16TUjQNfdeiGvNF6s51ybvRP7MhXIQAqjn9-wbvaVYvYhRjoDmo_MxVzjpQAv9-g8RKHCJrc/s320/P1180419.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was an incredibly wonderful meal, with all kinds of new
flavors (Turmeric in the coffee? Semi-sweet syrup?) and I enjoyed my gluten
free pancakes (cornmeal pancakes). We all giggled like 10-year-old boys about the fountain in the
room where we ate, and sampled each other’s dishes.<span id="goog_1757361043"></span><o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi219IvoltRJEYPI2EssQV0ED5PtRxrFbcRQaV67NCRBfhYSJq6Ty0eC74vT2vMZbynf0TQlup6EWJoX4CzlbErDyzJ7hGLefznNIirbCTfZzTmeQLXz-OpcqZSy-Gt1liKe023V8iZ7Kk/s1600/20171022_131559376_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi219IvoltRJEYPI2EssQV0ED5PtRxrFbcRQaV67NCRBfhYSJq6Ty0eC74vT2vMZbynf0TQlup6EWJoX4CzlbErDyzJ7hGLefznNIirbCTfZzTmeQLXz-OpcqZSy-Gt1liKe023V8iZ7Kk/s320/20171022_131559376_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_1757361042"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before leaving Café Condesa, we found a map on the wall that
gave us a visual of where we’d be drilling in Guatemala.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi609qGtd06O5BRiZaDRq5qQvmdsbLy-HBlE01d8ecVJuHB_uGy9pp5Cwo0VFBEwNjSP_tIIhvjGI4bGuiej4Zty05plCjEbPPtAR8SI_VkE8ITNxd8Ta6IERn1VdDhMiOGC203DerHC5U/s1600/20171022_131737610_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi609qGtd06O5BRiZaDRq5qQvmdsbLy-HBlE01d8ecVJuHB_uGy9pp5Cwo0VFBEwNjSP_tIIhvjGI4bGuiej4Zty05plCjEbPPtAR8SI_VkE8ITNxd8Ta6IERn1VdDhMiOGC203DerHC5U/s320/20171022_131737610_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After breakfast, we stopped at a bakery in Antigua to get
bread for our upcoming daily breakfasts and then explored the town center for a
few minutes.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguXl_2Mx7BPNhyphenhyphengOB7ugnMCVKQcwJVly40T5ro-Pekm7gBgXWCTyu9ttN6ZtPFfu0lMw-thPSZd8UbvIpUiZn6G_JMwOKGsLcMSdeLvX6fE2tGWgcecuHllFf0HZudb1GG7LSOcQUP6l0/s1600/P1180444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguXl_2Mx7BPNhyphenhyphengOB7ugnMCVKQcwJVly40T5ro-Pekm7gBgXWCTyu9ttN6ZtPFfu0lMw-thPSZd8UbvIpUiZn6G_JMwOKGsLcMSdeLvX6fE2tGWgcecuHllFf0HZudb1GG7LSOcQUP6l0/s320/P1180444.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Katie and Hannah did a mini photo session with me in front
of some of the beautiful government buildings.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSz2u4OiWThXEJJi4cnQYEygLANxArnnYmcccV2_eTISlvYGgU4XS1pSaOskAEq06tiKyQvjUq1a5HOPo-o5Kj0M2PmzAuYfjgJR33-CWHzrqiv39KqNHWx6pvWuYw0KtZ4cAV9nyJVAA/s1600/P1180483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSz2u4OiWThXEJJi4cnQYEygLANxArnnYmcccV2_eTISlvYGgU4XS1pSaOskAEq06tiKyQvjUq1a5HOPo-o5Kj0M2PmzAuYfjgJR33-CWHzrqiv39KqNHWx6pvWuYw0KtZ4cAV9nyJVAA/s320/P1180483.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our team met up and walked to a nearby church for Sunday
services.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOTJ_Oy8nnV5IhSGk4F7uSvYsntnWV-TF7o3g8p3pP3K8ZM2dwsYBXr5oRMR_vtCzamcrkA3jhGAPtwV-AizTWelxkuVePeccBDZd2d9WGdxBgn6oVxyQp0P_ieQ_JQfQfhNCOnqKnf-A/s1600/P1180429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOTJ_Oy8nnV5IhSGk4F7uSvYsntnWV-TF7o3g8p3pP3K8ZM2dwsYBXr5oRMR_vtCzamcrkA3jhGAPtwV-AizTWelxkuVePeccBDZd2d9WGdxBgn6oVxyQp0P_ieQ_JQfQfhNCOnqKnf-A/s320/P1180429.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The church services are in Spanish and English. The worship
leaders sang a song I’ve never heard, then we sang <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">One Thing Remains</i> in both languages. That was a new experience for
me. Our sermon was on the book of James (aka Santiago), and halfway through
Katie felt a little woozy so we stepped outside to get some air. She put her
head in my lap and a cool breeze helped her feel a little better so we could go
back into church for the last worship song, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">King
of Heaven</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh43YPZpkNb9j8o7d4OipHbeJbK6ZG7mvituuxBUrYXzWD34nk7plECdQsGyJqAiEKaEn7fOHgtOCYdBUy6Jnqb5XHueM2HRJ704tiPTCAefEKODK7g3hcg9IPt8Qn59WGp9L2GqY5_urw/s1600/20171022_162838728_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh43YPZpkNb9j8o7d4OipHbeJbK6ZG7mvituuxBUrYXzWD34nk7plECdQsGyJqAiEKaEn7fOHgtOCYdBUy6Jnqb5XHueM2HRJ704tiPTCAefEKODK7g3hcg9IPt8Qn59WGp9L2GqY5_urw/s320/20171022_162838728_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After church, we headed back to our house to pack our bags,
eat lunch, connect to wifi one last time, and play with the local dog named
Negro.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEKUQt_OWViylhtJ7wGlDcJDnEdKXB2mY_7_pQGRAaqKf0qxN7YYr822Ev9MO0BemPxgiSBp3h3ZFgtXC4GveJ-73J8bPb2W2z1XTWdiybSrFEhw3p0zSlgBI3WqTSo6VZG1n-EuWdpgg/s1600/P1180519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEKUQt_OWViylhtJ7wGlDcJDnEdKXB2mY_7_pQGRAaqKf0qxN7YYr822Ev9MO0BemPxgiSBp3h3ZFgtXC4GveJ-73J8bPb2W2z1XTWdiybSrFEhw3p0zSlgBI3WqTSo6VZG1n-EuWdpgg/s320/P1180519.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We also met our translator, Blanca. To call her simply “our
translator” feels dishonest because that woman did so much for our team all
week. Not only did she help us bridge the language barrier, but she played the
roles of a nurse and tour guide and manual laborer and teacher and pastor and
actress and historian and mama bear. But when we met her, we didn’t know all
those roles yet so we greeted her and the time came to load the van and head
out for our drive to Retalhuleu.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFxYWG1TJEwhMWJphQS-daW7Qq6zhKdJrnxFY6J5Z08KFxkGF39DOh2rDFluOXTKZtvzKTBdfWbuFoa3Eo-hdU6DgxufaKtLDBdiUDJKUo4YHfYckvnAajMtJwmS3AcVTYC8KwMTy84KU/s1600/P1180531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFxYWG1TJEwhMWJphQS-daW7Qq6zhKdJrnxFY6J5Z08KFxkGF39DOh2rDFluOXTKZtvzKTBdfWbuFoa3Eo-hdU6DgxufaKtLDBdiUDJKUo4YHfYckvnAajMtJwmS3AcVTYC8KwMTy84KU/s320/P1180531.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I lucked out and got to ride in the work truck with Jaime
for the four hour drive. We talked the entire time. He pointed out interesting
scenery like this mountain that’s being farmed in a way that makes it look like
a crop quilt.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjSrcXgc2TcnfJwsOzLhhpPRRQRpY8uN4rs_BdIrtXRzmRu3x3As1vIWzJPwf7OsLomqd9vLq4I69AztfTy8ho-3n31MvRy_vhXpzvGqTHANV9nGaQPWHHty_8nc83ecCNhdS3-INg66w/s1600/P1180542.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjSrcXgc2TcnfJwsOzLhhpPRRQRpY8uN4rs_BdIrtXRzmRu3x3As1vIWzJPwf7OsLomqd9vLq4I69AztfTy8ho-3n31MvRy_vhXpzvGqTHANV9nGaQPWHHty_8nc83ecCNhdS3-INg66w/s320/P1180542.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jaime and I talked about Guatemalan customs such as
Halloween and Day of the Dead, and the differences in how our cultures
celebrate them. We talked about above-ground cemeteries, the way Jesus found
both of us, and how Jaime met his wife. We discussed Living Water and the
boundaries they have in place for selecting where to dig wells and their strict
focus on the gospel and providing clean water. We talked about photography,
other teams he’s led, snow in Michigan when he worked stateside, and crime in
Guatemala versus the United States. He told me how his countrymen reacted to
the recent news of the shooting in Las Vegas, then we talked about gun violence
and how Guatemalans think about gun ownership. He told me their main news
stories right now are focused on extortionists who hijack “chicken buses” and
threaten to kill the drivers if the bus company owners don’t pay them off.
Drivers are scared to drive buses so owners have to hire police to ride the
buses and protect their employees, otherwise the drivers will strike and refuse
to work. That led us to a discussion on protests in St. Louis, and what life is
like for us back home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Halfway through the road trip, we stopped to stretch our
legs and eat ice cream at a gas station while it rained.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglz3GEuvh2xMoz77Ayb055S1U6h0CdAFYMZFd43O3tXw5Skahvnv6iHRMgHhJpkzEv8OTaoZtznUC2zP_l-FxeuhDFDrmnOb7rlHSvSAh4IIZxU-SeM8dZ-CGk58uOb7zUP4jjSILgqXc/s1600/20171022_203018335_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglz3GEuvh2xMoz77Ayb055S1U6h0CdAFYMZFd43O3tXw5Skahvnv6iHRMgHhJpkzEv8OTaoZtznUC2zP_l-FxeuhDFDrmnOb7rlHSvSAh4IIZxU-SeM8dZ-CGk58uOb7zUP4jjSILgqXc/s320/20171022_203018335_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We arrived at our hotel in Retalhuleu in time to unload and
rest for a bit. Dan took a nap, while I sat poolside with some of the adults
while Katie and Hannah swam.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_wNTg86E4tnFuD4iUIv01HFdPztZXyEgeBmXbHyfpcP8wvK_E3J6mxf_QNFfSrAj7f4PDdt91s4fVYO9e9cZAgsv8uXV0agUAKwUOPy1yzUfeR76roSx_ulUVry84F0gZ8H9kj3ixDRM/s1600/IMG_8668.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_wNTg86E4tnFuD4iUIv01HFdPztZXyEgeBmXbHyfpcP8wvK_E3J6mxf_QNFfSrAj7f4PDdt91s4fVYO9e9cZAgsv8uXV0agUAKwUOPy1yzUfeR76roSx_ulUVry84F0gZ8H9kj3ixDRM/s320/IMG_8668.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Lisa McCutcheon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Derek noticed a gorgeous sunset over the pool
wall, and I scrambled to a balcony to capture it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih4Q23Q1rrzxy3JwtCtUSIzdB_I5CM3gfOOX7Juaa7YIYIcsxbqUFRP3T3s5xRKjALFMPSXfTkyCt5G7henlbtRi7OEHbpRGSGpg4aPLYC44-OB_ZRl6VZBsfXlmZuFBB52_fxP1Yal-Q/s1600/P1180563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih4Q23Q1rrzxy3JwtCtUSIzdB_I5CM3gfOOX7Juaa7YIYIcsxbqUFRP3T3s5xRKjALFMPSXfTkyCt5G7henlbtRi7OEHbpRGSGpg4aPLYC44-OB_ZRl6VZBsfXlmZuFBB52_fxP1Yal-Q/s320/P1180563.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We had dinner at the hotel, followed by a fight between
Blanca and Sonja. We’d been talking about the next day’s agenda when Blanca
asked us to decide which team we’d be working on: hygiene or drilling. Sonja
spoke up and said we weren’t deciding that until tomorrow morning. Blanca said
she needed to meet with the hygiene team tonight to go over the lessons. Sonja
countered with some measly reason about why we didn’t want to split the team
just yet, then Tami and Mary jumped in and tried to smooth the ruffled
feathers. That’s when Sonja threw up her hands, put her forehead to the table,
and started chuckling. Blanca smiled too, and the rest of us stared in
confusion.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sonja and Blanca told us we’d been punked and the
disagreement was planned as part of our evening devotion time. The fake
argument set us up for a discussion on how each of us handles conflict and
frustrations. We learned a little more about each other’s personalities so we
could be better equipped to lovingly care for each other (or lovingly avoid
each other!) at the job site when things got discouraging or exhausting. After
we each described our typical behavior when we are challenged or tired, Jaime
gave us the agenda for the next day – which included breakfast at the ungodly
hour of 5:15am. Ugh!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We then organized our supplies for the hygiene lessons we’d
be teaching in Caballo Blanco.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb4BHxHYesmvAyLHNs-g7VeoAQ3ZULyOYZlANY3H-yV22QftJ_yuK0L-9VzQkIn7zfR3FcQNcDE2xQvcIudIRKb4xiKjaz0bH91oup_wl_YJZY4aiRWZXibXF6lFgeYKjipBD0DMmGq70/s1600/20171023_020859596_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb4BHxHYesmvAyLHNs-g7VeoAQ3ZULyOYZlANY3H-yV22QftJ_yuK0L-9VzQkIn7zfR3FcQNcDE2xQvcIudIRKb4xiKjaz0bH91oup_wl_YJZY4aiRWZXibXF6lFgeYKjipBD0DMmGq70/s320/20171023_020859596_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
As much as I wanted to stay up and socialize, I
think we were all still wiped out from our 3am airport arrival the day before
so we headed to bed. (And did I mention this perfect little hotel offered air
conditioning in our rooms, along with hot showers? It was pure bliss!)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://sixgoldencoins.blogspot.com/2018/02/guatemala-day-3-monday-102317.html">Click here to read about day 3 of our trip to Guatemala.</a></div>
</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-15712671674508084292018-02-01T06:00:00.000-06:002018-04-18T15:10:56.396-05:00Guatemala Day 1 (Saturday 10/21/17)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our adventure started at the crack of dawn, otherwise known
as 3:00 in the morning. I had slept terribly for less than four hours, because
I was anxious about the trip and what I might have forgotten to pack.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bleary-eyed, Dan, Katie, and I loaded the car with our
suitcases then headed to Connie’s house. Her husband, John, drove us to the
airport so we wouldn’t have to leave our car in long-term parking. On the way,
I got a little slap happy and Connie and I devolved into snorting fits of
laughter.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Airline check in took longer than I expected, but security
was fast because we had TSA Precheck for the first time. We met up with the
rest of our crew of twelve when we got closer to our gate and found them in
line for Starbucks coffee. We made sure to get a group "before" photo.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkr-4qVTVuKUUi13dlCneRm7w0Uh0GqyHFo0prfLFgjgPNXmZRYu5HgzUeMRD2rOFAkOFrIbH1LX71aSocAcwep5Y0HzK3B_C04SAp3daFxQc9HhiD-JG5NVD_mFSOBgUAkPdQTSjcbjs/s1600/20171021_111529638_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkr-4qVTVuKUUi13dlCneRm7w0Uh0GqyHFo0prfLFgjgPNXmZRYu5HgzUeMRD2rOFAkOFrIbH1LX71aSocAcwep5Y0HzK3B_C04SAp3daFxQc9HhiD-JG5NVD_mFSOBgUAkPdQTSjcbjs/s320/20171021_111529638_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Hurry Up and Wait segment of our travel started as we
waited to board, then waited to depart, then waited to land and disembark (such
a fancy word) in Dallas. When we got to our gate in Dallas, the flight to
Guatemala City was already boarded and we got hustled on to the plane. Katie,
Dan, and I settled in to our seats and I <s>grudgingly</s> graciously let Katie
have the window seat so she would have the best view as we arrived in
Guatemala.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once we were seated, we perked up when we saw each seat had
its own TV screen/tablet. Dan found a trivia game on the screen, and we figured
out how to compete against each other. For just a few rounds, I was actually
winning until my family overtook me. Boo.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we started our descent into Guatemala City, Katie and I
crammed our faces into the airplane window so we could see the beautiful
mountains and landscape of Guatemala. Once we landed, we grabbed our carry-ons
and hustled off the plane so we could start a new round of Hurry Up and Wait:
wait for the bathroom, wait for customs, wait for luggage. Our team amused
ourselves by trying to beat each other through customs, and I’m happy to say
our family wasn’t last.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We got our suitcases, gathered ourselves, then followed our
team leaders (Sonja and Connie) towards the exits. That’s when I saw a mass of
humanity pressed up against the glass doors from outside the airport. The first
thing to flash through my mind was an image from the TV show <i>The Walking Dead</i>, when zombies similarly
pressed up against glass doors. When we got closer, I realized it was a crowd
of people waiting for loved ones to arrive at the airport – plus street vendors
mixed in. But we still had the task of pushing our way through the crowd, so we
followed Sonja and Connie. I kept Katie in front of me so she was always in my
sight, and we plunged in.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0A6uwwLGeS-y5kJq5kMQI1nhFwvIdUGjKr0K5yWculqZlLT_pvdUefnqIFMhyWN007GnP1fgQVjIMdFg-jfnlDG7vx7Z3mw9t8GPrMa7DQdHWRYrDtPqNBzDeNFjxFWT8gLoKsN8pzg/s1600/20171021_184556703_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0A6uwwLGeS-y5kJq5kMQI1nhFwvIdUGjKr0K5yWculqZlLT_pvdUefnqIFMhyWN007GnP1fgQVjIMdFg-jfnlDG7vx7Z3mw9t8GPrMa7DQdHWRYrDtPqNBzDeNFjxFWT8gLoKsN8pzg/s320/20171021_184556703_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the other side of the crowd, we waited on the curb until
our Living Water Guatemala director, Jaime, found us. While we waited, Katie
asked me about the crowd of people still pulsing near the airport doors. She
asked, “Mom, are they protesting?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We live in St. Louis, where the current cultural climate
means protests are an everyday happening. It never occurred to me that Katie
would see the crowd as a group of protestors, but it’s the reality she knows
from life back home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Team leader Jaime and Nestor, our second-in-command and van
driver, loaded our suitcases into a truck and then loaded the Americans into
the van, and we hit the road for the hour-long drive to Antigua. At first, my
brain worked overtime to take in all the sights outside the van windows. Katie
and Hannah, the other 14-year-old on our trip, sat in the back seat and giggled
and made hand puppets out the back window.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-z0SRgrNbw2Uw4sbZKvLGkmuHf14rMd33rCWK8PsJB7YHwadi3FloUnS2l3BVnhhgUzUOJQaliwwwNunM9IhIPN0XKPVne8V7WrTROLKxjsCROiX8ezQCTNEu2_5OR-Wc0nPYFiFIKE/s1600/20171021_193545353_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK-z0SRgrNbw2Uw4sbZKvLGkmuHf14rMd33rCWK8PsJB7YHwadi3FloUnS2l3BVnhhgUzUOJQaliwwwNunM9IhIPN0XKPVne8V7WrTROLKxjsCROiX8ezQCTNEu2_5OR-Wc0nPYFiFIKE/s320/20171021_193545353_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a little while, my brain went
into sensory overload and the airplane exhaustion and early morning wake up
time hit me hard. I was desperate to fall asleep in the van, but being in the
next-to-last row on curvy roads made my drowsy turn into woozy. I laid as flat
as possible and tried to doze until we arrived in Antigua.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVCgwYVte_3pZiB-cNprBV_fyTyQJibcx0nyfv1UJQjoU0bhtpplc23NJACuwiOMhJ_nTN2eX-imudYZDMinnAW9ygtXG0CRLNE18JYBSRdIjLHYCR107NkGOUB1OzY-rOQMxykQwYiQ/s1600/IMG_8532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVCgwYVte_3pZiB-cNprBV_fyTyQJibcx0nyfv1UJQjoU0bhtpplc23NJACuwiOMhJ_nTN2eX-imudYZDMinnAW9ygtXG0CRLNE18JYBSRdIjLHYCR107NkGOUB1OzY-rOQMxykQwYiQ/s320/IMG_8532.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Lisa McCutcheon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Living Water office compound is behind a gated stone
wall that’s protected by an armed guard. Our vehicles rolled through the gates,
which closed behind us. We grabbed our baggage, divvied up rooms, and had a few
minutes to settle in before getting a mid-afternoon snack that was prepared by
a cook and Jaime’s mother: corn tortillas filled with cheese, and fresh strawberry
juice to drink.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsfrmbiDJvOdDD-EQ9_qUTOsv1pNDi3bO8Ic4m6OGFMv6tvXPsgvxEh8rxh75tSELVJ_Epaee7LHqUFPf_YBnbJeWxRFBSbf_MfduXOaD-DnhOlVyuA0YlWL0CrqtHC18nARn8uWUYzQ/s1600/IMG_8540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsfrmbiDJvOdDD-EQ9_qUTOsv1pNDi3bO8Ic4m6OGFMv6tvXPsgvxEh8rxh75tSELVJ_Epaee7LHqUFPf_YBnbJeWxRFBSbf_MfduXOaD-DnhOlVyuA0YlWL0CrqtHC18nARn8uWUYzQ/s320/IMG_8540.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Lisa McCutcheon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a while, we loaded back into the van and headed into
Antigua through cobblestone streets that jostled and bumped. Nestor proved his
driving skills by parallel parking in the tightest spot I’ve ever seen.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbcsYBE-lR7LBUpect22i1RQrZ06_TGfFEyrM976pBtGVpk7WC2NVD3s4YjV-mpwmME5ecS_RrKcKVLeomIPfPZqnVceA8qLWGZ_tiirea1sOk8YdNjmhBu9j-JCMf-bAuWDFhhoEGOQ/s1600/20171021_220027903_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbcsYBE-lR7LBUpect22i1RQrZ06_TGfFEyrM976pBtGVpk7WC2NVD3s4YjV-mpwmME5ecS_RrKcKVLeomIPfPZqnVceA8qLWGZ_tiirea1sOk8YdNjmhBu9j-JCMf-bAuWDFhhoEGOQ/s320/20171021_220027903_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jaime led us to the local version of a Wal-Mart, a large
store with everything you could imagine inside: fruit, fresh meat, cereal,
chips, drinks, socks, underwear, toiletries, electronics, etc. There was so
much to look at, but not much time to wander.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcAsp8aKGl5EgXSFt6XPCjPJQO5Asxdx8AR4NEa9sQiVwiqU0bZfcYTgFgqQZO6RfBBmpCwZonWrrxVJWPhs8ACm65ErePXEqzZNlgfCkqg4PYbHQyK81OmRZyb8O4r8Wi03RBvJ20VY/s1600/20171021_221708951_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcAsp8aKGl5EgXSFt6XPCjPJQO5Asxdx8AR4NEa9sQiVwiqU0bZfcYTgFgqQZO6RfBBmpCwZonWrrxVJWPhs8ACm65ErePXEqzZNlgfCkqg4PYbHQyK81OmRZyb8O4r8Wi03RBvJ20VY/s320/20171021_221708951_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We each picked out some breakfast
items and snacks for the job site, paid and then headed to a nearby market
where Jaime bought fresh fruit from a vendor. (And the vendor let us each have
a mini banana.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We loaded back into the van and headed to the compound for
downtime (we found wifi at the Living Water offices and crowded outside it) and
dinner.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWUMb191qHvLAfdWTNPQ2-gkFCW0Xq_NBI7ThtOD4XhFf4LvJEzM6g5xJSs4ar_Kw-DFPtg1q10KncJZwA1hvkUpTwXlyjF7KyL0rCIYmAWcNSCI91VGp9f_-mSaPQt1a74KJ9zRpIfw/s1600/20171021_233024803_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWUMb191qHvLAfdWTNPQ2-gkFCW0Xq_NBI7ThtOD4XhFf4LvJEzM6g5xJSs4ar_Kw-DFPtg1q10KncJZwA1hvkUpTwXlyjF7KyL0rCIYmAWcNSCI91VGp9f_-mSaPQt1a74KJ9zRpIfw/s320/20171021_233024803_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After dinner, we spent a little time on group introductions so Jaime
and Nestor could get to know our names and we could learn about our two guides.
We each talked a little about why we came to Guatemala, then Jaime gave us the
run down of our next day’s plans.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVQMBGYro7qm9IFkRBZX_WOR6M7C8de9vKvpAbovMB0iu_fp4Jxpfe7f8Sjz_EPr9uJMqCrd1lOl-HDH0xDOeEIst0QGb6CdsLGH5F1hjPMVZghHPPCnDKEihLTBJGXY6-G4am6x_V-94/s1600/20171021_235100445_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVQMBGYro7qm9IFkRBZX_WOR6M7C8de9vKvpAbovMB0iu_fp4Jxpfe7f8Sjz_EPr9uJMqCrd1lOl-HDH0xDOeEIst0QGb6CdsLGH5F1hjPMVZghHPPCnDKEihLTBJGXY6-G4am6x_V-94/s320/20171021_235100445_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After wrapping up, we tried to coordinate a card game while
others showered. Hannah and Katie taught a handful of us how to play the game
Mafia, but we didn’t last long because our travel day had exhausted us. Off to
bed!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXJty_e2Wi_UjeshaNVsHl0-f7z5DLFQBa3LdD_z_fNKgYmbOMOjgTv6iC5clPOzRYhWmqwzstnhhpbaATxOxFSCmXe5Fe93bcmKNge2diXPHEXgM6iKgnPPT2AqdOX8pMxqtQW7iAR88/s1600/IMG_8584.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXJty_e2Wi_UjeshaNVsHl0-f7z5DLFQBa3LdD_z_fNKgYmbOMOjgTv6iC5clPOzRYhWmqwzstnhhpbaATxOxFSCmXe5Fe93bcmKNge2diXPHEXgM6iKgnPPT2AqdOX8pMxqtQW7iAR88/s320/IMG_8584.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://sixgoldencoins.blogspot.com/2018/02/guatemala-day-2-sunday-102217.html">Click here to read about day 2 of our trip to Guatemala.</a></div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-22766221333497767622017-11-09T10:52:00.000-06:002018-04-19T11:23:55.506-05:00An Overview of Our Guatemala Trip<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been almost two weeks since Dan, Katie, and I returned from our trip to Guatemala with Living Water International. I've waited to write about it because I hoped a little time would give me insight into the experience and cut away the excess words I want to use to describe it. Instead, I've found the words just keep multiplying because the experience continues to have weight and meaning for me.<br />
<br />
I figured the experience would end when the well was drilled and the trip was over and we returned home safely. I was wrong. The trip has continued to splash its lessons into my life, and I get the feeling my experience is far from over.<br />
<br />
So how do I write about this? The journalist in me wants to chronicle the entire trip day by day, hour by hour. Without that play-by-play, I run the risk of forgetting the little moments that mattered so much as I was living them. But a play-by-play would surely bore my readers to tears. However, this blog isn't written for my "readers." I write it for only two Readers, Katie and Jackson, as a virtual scrapbook of their lives and the woman who's raising them. And since one of those Readers is so integral to my Guatemala experience, I'll run the risk of boring all you bystanders and tell the stories in my words as I recall them.<br />
<br />
This blog post serves as your introduction and general overview of the trip. In the coming days, I'll post the play-by-plays through new entries as I sift through the photos, the memories, and the relationships God built in my life in Guatemala.<br />
<br />
In the last twelve days since our return flight landed in St. Louis, I've had countless people ask the same words: "How was your trip?" Every time, I'm torn about how to answer. Is the asker wanting a quick factual reply or the in-depth <i>feeling</i> response? Either way, it's not a simple answer but I end up saying some variation of, <i>"It was great. Exhausting and hot and we were all pushed out of our comfort zones. I learned a lot about my daughter's limits and my own, too. But there's a clean water well and the people we met? Oh, they're amazing."</i> Sometimes I'll go a little deeper and glance off the illness parts of the trip: puking and pink eye. But mostly, I'll keep it at level two.<br />
<br />
There have been a few people who don't accept the level two answer, and they want to go all the way to level four and even level five, if we have time. These are the ones who portioned off their personal time to meet with me and let me have full run of our conversation. They gave me the freedom to turn the conversation into a monologue by letting me describe the colors and flavors and painful-turned-sacred moments. What a gift!<br />
<br />
Not everyone has the ability to offer that kind of gift, so I'm learning not to push my details on them. That's what this blog is for, right? Ha!<br />
<br />
If you want the level two answer (maybe it's even a level three), here's the long and short of it, again:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>It was great. Exhausting and hot and we were all pushed out of our comfort zones. I learned a lot about my daughter's limits and my own, too. But there's a clean water well and the people we met? Oh, they're amazing.</i></blockquote>
Now, let's go deeper. No pun intended.<br />
<br />
On paper, the trip was a success. We drilled deeper than our team leader, Jaime, said he ever drilled before: 270 feet! There's now a functioning well in the courtyard of Iglesia Bethania in Caballo Blanco, Guatemala. That's the concrete part of the trip we can measure to show success, and it worked, so we get a gold star. Right? Right!<br />
<br />
But what about the immeasurable part of the trip? Did we educate the people of Caballo Blanco and teach them how to prevent disease? Did we form connections with our team members and the community members, connections that will last even after this life? Did we see and feel and hear God in the midst of sweat and mud?<br />
<br />
Yes. Yes. And <i><b>yes.</b></i><br />
<br />
The immeasurable, unquantifiable parts seem like they'd only be the byproduct of the primary mission of digging a well. Education and relationships are the secondary goal after the primary goal of providing clean water. At least that's what I thought before the trip began. Now that it's over, I'm not so sure.<br />
<br />
If the only goal was to build a working well, Jaime and Nestor wouldn't need a group of 12 American tourists to be there. Because the truth is, we slowed them down. Jaime and Nestor are so good at operating the rig, drilling the well, and delegating tasks to the townspeople. They work seamlessly and diligently, barely skipping a beat when the rig jams or one of the little rotating thingies (is it called a drill bit?) falls off. Taking the time to teach the gringos (a term of endearment for tourists in Guatemala, unlike the insult it would be in other Spanish-speaking countries like Mexico) how to operate the levers, attach new pipes, assess the soil samples, mix the Bentonite, and a thousand other things slows the drilling. If the only goal was to build a working well, I'd think the Living Water organization could skip all the extra involvement of having gringos on the mission.<br />
<br />
But the well isn't the only goal. It's the dangling carrot that got me (and my daughter) interested in the trip so many years ago, but I'm starting to think the well is secondary to all the other pieces of the trip. Because here's what became primary for me:<br />
<br />
Hugging Alder and seeing his smile when he learned a new word in English.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA5BDoaG7-Yx_1Ge2AnYueNOQGf83fZcowb413sUr_rD1KEnLAdpytOXw0aoBulPf_uQNhl1uD8Nh_M-gNkL1i6CBnx8LCIlX8s5aKS7QKsdIfMu77bELsiW613Igg1RyPqg5zwK5_nAk/s1600/P1190793.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA5BDoaG7-Yx_1Ge2AnYueNOQGf83fZcowb413sUr_rD1KEnLAdpytOXw0aoBulPf_uQNhl1uD8Nh_M-gNkL1i6CBnx8LCIlX8s5aKS7QKsdIfMu77bELsiW613Igg1RyPqg5zwK5_nAk/s320/P1190793.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Making tortillas with Maria.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIlegvAGUOzYfWJRVXp1kSyVF2vIy8QSguX10hgWD4WK5nb7qv1BDiuPg__9MOPiU3TnSPNj60KowrvDAq6iFhUbJIb6rMbq8Z2yPdShAtmaY5UmMFDL_Sic1hYDz56c_VltTh1GMy9k/s1600/P1180726.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIlegvAGUOzYfWJRVXp1kSyVF2vIy8QSguX10hgWD4WK5nb7qv1BDiuPg__9MOPiU3TnSPNj60KowrvDAq6iFhUbJIb6rMbq8Z2yPdShAtmaY5UmMFDL_Sic1hYDz56c_VltTh1GMy9k/s320/P1180726.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Hearing Liliana's laughter echo out above the full-throttle noise of the rig.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdw30lVq4DemrlxWcUjrO_j3kvgT7podfzqPKGwiNyfkqnGw6PuczvWSNgjQ5xmt389VrczIeWh4IjLIirx0v2RkSWxnDTGlchSylVzdSuM3e1Ki0jqJuUmILH2MZwSQw4gfLQiXWsdVs/s1600/P1200046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdw30lVq4DemrlxWcUjrO_j3kvgT7podfzqPKGwiNyfkqnGw6PuczvWSNgjQ5xmt389VrczIeWh4IjLIirx0v2RkSWxnDTGlchSylVzdSuM3e1Ki0jqJuUmILH2MZwSQw4gfLQiXWsdVs/s320/P1200046.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Painting the nails of Jordy's mom, and watching her giggle with delight when I added polka dots and stripes.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpO-EwA-W6br2IKSLZ9jy53VNMRMK-9i1JFY-lrmagmg99ELcJt4UH-TTuPFHDaxpj_561V2ynskMQUv9s3X0C9VP2OAZRv9Sz_qj11g1XIYz4cg8xMxGCE9iD4M71jXcKOT1YD6g3QY/s1600/P1190106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpO-EwA-W6br2IKSLZ9jy53VNMRMK-9i1JFY-lrmagmg99ELcJt4UH-TTuPFHDaxpj_561V2ynskMQUv9s3X0C9VP2OAZRv9Sz_qj11g1XIYz4cg8xMxGCE9iD4M71jXcKOT1YD6g3QY/s320/P1190106.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Hugs every morning when we arrived at the church.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0TusRospglrPyOj3T-_A3Matr4YpfvjfLTEDW3Lcpc_YeNDMG_5TWqkRF8N98ZFagPXBR2lGYlxJZeTI5pjLVdBjY73DddvW4VNwPH3QysHp-YgqFUymK1E4ZV4xU8k7rVKDGAp0SEM/s1600/P1180589.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ0TusRospglrPyOj3T-_A3Matr4YpfvjfLTEDW3Lcpc_YeNDMG_5TWqkRF8N98ZFagPXBR2lGYlxJZeTI5pjLVdBjY73DddvW4VNwPH3QysHp-YgqFUymK1E4ZV4xU8k7rVKDGAp0SEM/s320/P1180589.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Praying for Gracie Amaryllis on her front porch.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMxIFivVT0MvNBjnqw0v8hkpZRjiQyM9isBhsJZNXjoAtzV7RlMVC6ENLUi6_wiQJrhfVvFQbLq_iZRSidNLnBAzKiEVdpdyejLK7pmzK9RcLXeyh_Qi9NBYcDo8ar2bUO2svPIMTXO18/s1600/P1180695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMxIFivVT0MvNBjnqw0v8hkpZRjiQyM9isBhsJZNXjoAtzV7RlMVC6ENLUi6_wiQJrhfVvFQbLq_iZRSidNLnBAzKiEVdpdyejLK7pmzK9RcLXeyh_Qi9NBYcDo8ar2bUO2svPIMTXO18/s320/P1180695.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
People who didn't give up communicating with me even when my limited Spanish was SO WRONG. (<i>"We can work on it coneja. Together!"</i> and later, I learned coneja does <u>not</u> mean together. It means <i>rabbit!</i> Oh, man...)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIxjtkM-3M7qqfakWgqOL9VIygl5fN2qlmmeFJOrNfUrEbMUNNFbnOjmE-BnbYdNyxWKKEMUMtX2MKsYouj0-4PsmewO__k7UCUkAKw9v0mqUIGTt05I5coJGdyCt2GMMtcB93wXAKcpo/s1600/20171025_223400018_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIxjtkM-3M7qqfakWgqOL9VIygl5fN2qlmmeFJOrNfUrEbMUNNFbnOjmE-BnbYdNyxWKKEMUMtX2MKsYouj0-4PsmewO__k7UCUkAKw9v0mqUIGTt05I5coJGdyCt2GMMtcB93wXAKcpo/s320/20171025_223400018_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Jesus, always in my pocket.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1tJoRTM7BGsi8LEHi9YI3TcgrmuQc7ID4Og3yPKKP2HFdYhQc0fWTj897ZnSRhYLg7KtUlZDuHx4V813xzOm-H_rguhCBH7Jvl1YoyumxK1T5lUEkKHMXlWhgk_mPKJG5hXgeoOl4Lk/s1600/20171023_121731257_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1tJoRTM7BGsi8LEHi9YI3TcgrmuQc7ID4Og3yPKKP2HFdYhQc0fWTj897ZnSRhYLg7KtUlZDuHx4V813xzOm-H_rguhCBH7Jvl1YoyumxK1T5lUEkKHMXlWhgk_mPKJG5hXgeoOl4Lk/s320/20171023_121731257_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Watching Guatemalan men labor intensely with few breaks to insure the health of their families, to stop wasting money on bottled/bagged water, and to accomplish something as a community that they couldn't do individually.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGxbs4wb7kCiNUmjQ77Nj2oRoY0PPHwUTi0YGygNWqlJqvZrIj_yp-IYoLS84o6K8l0I-WaYbaA1JugdV9DvWW6U2SOqaMOAdO9eW8Gtkc4TwktyStiOEst7ON3RyAbnHbzYUcTBjaeA/s1600/P1180712.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGxbs4wb7kCiNUmjQ77Nj2oRoY0PPHwUTi0YGygNWqlJqvZrIj_yp-IYoLS84o6K8l0I-WaYbaA1JugdV9DvWW6U2SOqaMOAdO9eW8Gtkc4TwktyStiOEst7ON3RyAbnHbzYUcTBjaeA/s320/P1180712.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Katie, arms akimbo, pushing through her fears and doing something hard.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8bxi7epnxcTb0v0HyCWOZ7I62iTQg8VgbqCMe2520yb838BlKg8btZqRrjflqh3XrfkIPsXIwdoW7bpE-VKelyZj0WFELQmW9yljBQoA-40Xmy07N_hkddHVw-14OI8yO9EWQZtUcMKw/s1600/P1190235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8bxi7epnxcTb0v0HyCWOZ7I62iTQg8VgbqCMe2520yb838BlKg8btZqRrjflqh3XrfkIPsXIwdoW7bpE-VKelyZj0WFELQmW9yljBQoA-40Xmy07N_hkddHVw-14OI8yO9EWQZtUcMKw/s320/P1190235.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Finally discovering the living water that has been there all along - we just needed help to find it and we needed to do it together. Such a visual for my faith life, too!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLJ5STuaBNI8LBlVjo26nM0IV9_TRA7SdNtZwjJKneR65OsRq5hif1eioFcypoFBq7AfU7zacUcH-ydwFtCjOY2dnpo_Lb_OSGp6akt0QdyJdZ7tgjwvuklGChBx0HhaixolEHQVZeks/s1600/P1200167.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLJ5STuaBNI8LBlVjo26nM0IV9_TRA7SdNtZwjJKneR65OsRq5hif1eioFcypoFBq7AfU7zacUcH-ydwFtCjOY2dnpo_Lb_OSGp6akt0QdyJdZ7tgjwvuklGChBx0HhaixolEHQVZeks/s320/P1200167.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And, lastly, eight of the hardest road trip hours I've ever endured that ended with two hours of the best worship I've ever experienced. I'll save <i>that</i> for another blog post.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh02hVgLBMjggZtI_w8olM7EHA4mTMXOrbjj33p2CW_Y-yI7fRN8ZK6gMEiheaVyMjrfSpV8EFgK0p5phFS6vgTdJ5mkr7jJd-7SYV_PM-sxWAGjZmrNTSM0K-TWqemgyW6tgI6zKqsqI/s1600/20171026_220638531_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh02hVgLBMjggZtI_w8olM7EHA4mTMXOrbjj33p2CW_Y-yI7fRN8ZK6gMEiheaVyMjrfSpV8EFgK0p5phFS6vgTdJ5mkr7jJd-7SYV_PM-sxWAGjZmrNTSM0K-TWqemgyW6tgI6zKqsqI/s320/20171026_220638531_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Stay tuned...<br />
<br />
[Would you like to jump straight into the day-by-day recap of our trip? <a href="http://sixgoldencoins.blogspot.com/2018/02/guatemala-day-1-saturday-102117.html">Click here to start with day 1.</a>]</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-77225126707680272782017-09-24T22:00:00.000-05:002017-09-25T00:24:51.853-05:00Death Has Changed Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I can remember so many details about September 24, 2016.<br />
<br />
Dan and I decided to take the kids with us to a Mizzou game in Columbia, instead of having an adults-only day. We drove our friend Hayden too, because his parents were already there while his sister Bryn was in the hospital for surgery.<br />
<br />
I didn't know it until many hours later, but around this time my friend Sean took his last breath.<br />
<br />
The rest of my afternoon was really good. Going back to my college campus, sharing old memories with my college sweetheart and our kids, and making new memories of our own.<br />
<br />
We drove home that evening, and I felt like it was a satisfying and full day. We got the kids to bed a little late, then exhaled on the couch together around 10pm.<br />
<br />
My phone rang, and it was my friend Beth. She doesn't call often and never so late, so my first thought was alarm because I knew her husband was a firefighter. I don't think I even greeted her when I answered the call and started with, "Is everything okay?"<br />
<br />
No. <i><b>Okay</b></i> disappeared with the words, "Sean died."<br />
<br />
I won't try to describe the sounds that came out of my mouth as I tried to unhear what Beth had said. Sean had taken his own life during a shift at the firehouse that day.<br />
<br />
You can imagine what the next hours, days, weeks, and months brought. Thankfully, I was already back in counseling so I had a professional helping me through this new wave of grief but it was still overwhelming. I just couldn't make sense of Sean's death. This was a man who loved deeply and laughed often and every single person he met became his friend. How could I have been so blind? How did I not know he was in such deep despair that he didn't want to live any longer?<br />
<br />
I can't answer those questions, so the enemy of my soul tries to feed me lies in place of answers. He tells me I obviously wasn't a good friend if someone I love took his own life. He tells me I didn't fight for my friend Sean. He tells me I could've changed things if I had just paid attention.<br />
<br />
I <i>know</i> all of that is a lie. I know Sean's death was way bigger than anything involving me. But that's how the enemy likes to spread despair around: trick us into thinking we are bigger than God and could have changed the outcome. He wants us to think we are in control so when something bad happens, we'll shoulder the blame.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong: I have plenty of regret, especially when I think about the last time I saw Sean. But I'm learning to match every drop of regret with a helping of grace. I know I am doing the best I can at living my life, making the best decisions I know of with the resources I currently have. I still wrestle with my regrets, of course.<br />
<br />
And yet I'm choosing to honor my friend by letting his death change my life.<br />
<br />
September 24, 2016 changed me and brought a different Elizabeth to September 24, 2017. I've spent the last year channeling the love and grief I have for Sean into the people who I love.<br />
<br />
I've spent the last year making shelter for other people's hearts. I've reached out to friends I know are struggling, instead of "giving them space" like I would have done before. I've asked people I love if they have intentions of harming themselves. Sean's death expanded my vocabulary on mental health issues, and it opened my eyes to see so many hurts I was oblivious to before.<br />
<br />
Like I mentioned already, I had started therapy again just before Sean died. His death changed my treatment and I went deeper into my struggles much faster than I expected. Sean's death taught me not to be embarrassed to ask for help. My brain is an organ, just like my heart and my lungs and all the other systems in my body. If I had pain or weakness in my heart, I'd get help. Why wouldn't I do that for my brain? Sean's death helped me shake off shame. This last year, I became braver about getting help for an obsessive-compulsive disorder I've lived with for 30 years. It isn't gone by any means, but I'm bringing it out of the dark and shining some Light on it.<br />
<br />
I've also spent the last year intentionally seeking out the theme of forgiveness: how to cultivate forgiveness and how to offer it without being so stingy.<br />
<br />
I've gone out of my way to build bridges with people I might have said, "Live and let live" to prior to Sean's death.<br />
<br />
I've prayed daily for first responders and those living with PTSD. I've checked in with my police, firefighter, and military friends a little more often. I've read the articles Beth has shared about the signs of PTSD, depression, and suicidal behavior. I'm educating myself. There's still so much to learn!<br />
<br />
I've been trying to seek out delight this past year, keeping my eyes open for blessings - even in really hard times. I've even tried intentionally creating good memories as a way of "banking" joy to nourish myself when future despair hits. I'm trying to remind myself that hard times don't last and hope wins. I've visited cemeteries a lot more than I'd like, but that's also part of looking for joy. Sitting at Sean's grave makes me immensely sad, but it also convicts me to live a deeper, more vulnerable life.<br />
<br />
I'd give anything to go back to September 24, 2016 and change the outcome of that day. And besides that day, there are a few other dates in my personal history I'd like to rewrite. While that's impossible, I can allow those dates to change the person I'm becoming. Doing so turns the ache into a revision.<br />
<br />
I miss you, Sean. I am so sorry your pain was so unbearable. There aren't enough "I wishs," "I shoulds," and "If onlys" to make sense of things. You left behind your world of hurt, but created a brand new one in your absence.<br />
<br />
You were - and still are - very loved.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijsuMP_SfHBiipWD12PMB-QW2E8b1OrWyN4TnHxBDHH5bU-A4k1FkUsnjmWS-nO3M72G8gxwKP9GHpsjVHARRCKVbOIfHVrvGk7f5gxZTKZ8fG-LctMfodnlD2PUYZMhiDwAy9Y0CesS0/s1600/20170924_234131207_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijsuMP_SfHBiipWD12PMB-QW2E8b1OrWyN4TnHxBDHH5bU-A4k1FkUsnjmWS-nO3M72G8gxwKP9GHpsjVHARRCKVbOIfHVrvGk7f5gxZTKZ8fG-LctMfodnlD2PUYZMhiDwAy9Y0CesS0/s320/20170924_234131207_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-25234347848439318512017-08-03T22:57:00.000-05:002017-08-04T22:47:33.941-05:00Happy 14th Birthday, Katie! (Give or Take 48 Days)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Katie,<br />
<br />
You've been 14 years old for 48 days now, and I'm just now getting around to writing your birthday letter. Yes, I am definitely in the running for 2017's <b>Worst Mom of the Year Award</b>. Yippee!<br />
<br />
There are two reasons I haven't written your annual letter until now:<br />
<br />
1. We have been BUSY this summer. (Lame excuse, I know.)<br />
<br />
2. I've been staring at you for 48 days now, waiting for this current acceleration to slow down for one cotton-picking minute so I can recover from the whiplash and collect my thoughts. But that hasn't happened yet... and tomorrow is your first (gulp!) unofficial day of high school.* It's Transition Day for 9th graders, also known as The End of Denial for all the freshman mommies.<br />
<br />
<i>*Cue all the "oh-my-gosh-where-did-the-time-go" comments, except I know </i>exactly<i> where the time has gone. </i><a href="http://sixgoldencoins.blogspot.com/2012/08/where-did-time-go.html" style="font-style: italic;">This link</a><i> will tell you!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Yes, we are in a turbo growth period this summer. If you don't believe me, let's look at a side-by-side comparison of you on May 28 and July 27.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWk-yEjQcAqft_p7AnuFa3xBqnMr50TRXNhXokXi1CUhPYanOqyfCHURuQx1F7S7tWdquuy0pKKgqWpSzCNrPPF3GN9WQM28PK7hQTx2TJ0fK1Y1mJqqt4thZBds1RBhXtYwuDT3r03-Y/s1600/May+28+to+July+27+2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWk-yEjQcAqft_p7AnuFa3xBqnMr50TRXNhXokXi1CUhPYanOqyfCHURuQx1F7S7tWdquuy0pKKgqWpSzCNrPPF3GN9WQM28PK7hQTx2TJ0fK1Y1mJqqt4thZBds1RBhXtYwuDT3r03-Y/s320/May+28+to+July+27+2017.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
At first glance, the hair has obviously changed. But look again. Do you see the slight change in the shape of your face? And what's even more apparent to me is the confidence slowly solidifying in your character. Maybe you can't see that in this photo, but I can. And I've witnessed it for the last two months.<br />
<br />
It started the first week in June when we were at youth camp together. I got to share an especially holy moment with you and Jesus, and I won't forget it as long as I live. (In fact, this moment will ring into eternity, so I'll be reliving it for a loooong time!)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7eQIoGqfZMrc1KsYQiUgph3SGjIgoX2J5KivR4RC4Qa8CozJ_YJ2NUNdjgb0meUMIRuj-ephmsfYttv30f1AjqCsBInErZuNgFxn1XNvDGtNF2GIFI7-pQhixBl2jqaytIojwQ-GQnD8/s1600/20170608_022913427_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7eQIoGqfZMrc1KsYQiUgph3SGjIgoX2J5KivR4RC4Qa8CozJ_YJ2NUNdjgb0meUMIRuj-ephmsfYttv30f1AjqCsBInErZuNgFxn1XNvDGtNF2GIFI7-pQhixBl2jqaytIojwQ-GQnD8/s320/20170608_022913427_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Your June birthday was also a milestone moment. That night for the first time, we turned on the new patio lights that Daddy installed. We opened your gifts, then had private time with you when Jackson went to bed. We gave you a special ring, talked about your future, then Daddy invited you to dance with him to the song "Perfect" by Ed Sheeran. (I tried not to think of the foreshadowing of this moment, but it was hard to keep my mind from wandering and wondering what your wedding day will be like. That night was the first time I could actually picture it happening one day.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggb4LmyEvugxeRk_SBAifMu2TYTVfpPH2R_8WT3fI7dhvICMl7ijQNrIHKamTXfG99uJcg2B0S-QZgrgTXiB5o3hKU7-RXyDtlNjPs-k26VlrGcQ1z-ieVxE7kwj36PKH4cRufaHecIo4/s1600/20170804_031540160_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1118" data-original-width="1600" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggb4LmyEvugxeRk_SBAifMu2TYTVfpPH2R_8WT3fI7dhvICMl7ijQNrIHKamTXfG99uJcg2B0S-QZgrgTXiB5o3hKU7-RXyDtlNjPs-k26VlrGcQ1z-ieVxE7kwj36PKH4cRufaHecIo4/s320/20170804_031540160_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjXewmendjDYP9eMitFFTRzQSRnvKJq20HWVMUD6l5xf3yYG-9NpkaOdn3gOCiajs5SssQ1ikqoz0__z-5SS4og1lEx5WIe_0YDTU9OPLesWzG08BywbrwffybyYTyO6rW7_oex3w58WY/s1600/20170804_031450094_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1128" data-original-width="1370" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjXewmendjDYP9eMitFFTRzQSRnvKJq20HWVMUD6l5xf3yYG-9NpkaOdn3gOCiajs5SssQ1ikqoz0__z-5SS4og1lEx5WIe_0YDTU9OPLesWzG08BywbrwffybyYTyO6rW7_oex3w58WY/s320/20170804_031450094_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
We went fishing on Father's Day, and I watched you through my camera lens as you sat with your grandfather. The look of contentment on your face spoke to your new ability to sit quietly at peace without forcing yourself into a situation. Does that even make sense? What I mean is: just a few years ago, a fishing trip like this would have meant constant busy-ness and intensity as you moved around and about, wanting another worm or a hook or skipping to a new spot to catch fish. This time, you relaxed and waited for the world to come to you - instead of running out to chase it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLk9Rse3T5YRGdo2mCeHhgC0PhmYf4NQGkgpCDH6sDsSAmjasF6EwMhRV4AzTaPpxDx_o_ik0vLj3q6OKiXJyhlw5T5RuoyQICYFdcbm18BZ8rDL-cSjynAVW0oitDXmWunBlLsdL7yI/s1600/P1100481.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLk9Rse3T5YRGdo2mCeHhgC0PhmYf4NQGkgpCDH6sDsSAmjasF6EwMhRV4AzTaPpxDx_o_ik0vLj3q6OKiXJyhlw5T5RuoyQICYFdcbm18BZ8rDL-cSjynAVW0oitDXmWunBlLsdL7yI/s320/P1100481.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The rest of June involved your first high school class (online freshman health), some new babysitting gigs (what maturity!), your first visit to Six Flags with friends and without an adult (what growth!), and your very last softball game (what an athlete!).<br />
<br />
Daddy left for a week-long fishing trip to Canada in July, so you and Jackson and I went on a few adventures and you had a "sleepover" in my bed every night. The second week of July, we drove to South Carolina with your friend Ashleigh so we could spend a few days with Aunt Mimi at the beach.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha-Vlx8tVMumB5ZI4UxtY9w0IHMyXS95y3f3q0dwKyJGVtBP7on7joERm52rnymD_p4hxBWaqp-8BvZjM-t2kGI22-VyRUoPBP3-zq3kLPrZA2GUo3cdKhHCy_a5tG7qLRCc15eOOaOVA/s1600/P1120236.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha-Vlx8tVMumB5ZI4UxtY9w0IHMyXS95y3f3q0dwKyJGVtBP7on7joERm52rnymD_p4hxBWaqp-8BvZjM-t2kGI22-VyRUoPBP3-zq3kLPrZA2GUo3cdKhHCy_a5tG7qLRCc15eOOaOVA/s320/P1120236.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
You earned new freedom at the beach: you and Ash walked the dog by yourselves, stayed up late, watched more "mature" movies we wouldn't have seen a few years ago, and you got yourself up early enough to watch the sunrise over the ocean. Heck, I even let you drink lots of Coke! <i>Say what?!</i> One morning, you made a special plan to watch the sunrise with me. Man, this moment was priceless!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfEBKid6WALmQzM1pOUoMFcr-PEGP7UqRgk3D5cc2CYzxxPaOixbGUHL3ZvcNZZu9QSOQHpXqvS8hxoqT7YkYd1AOE00eLZsAskONeOvO3mQwZoKkY_Q13W3xthiAdvlU7ENdpJIgb3Y/s1600/P1110974.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfEBKid6WALmQzM1pOUoMFcr-PEGP7UqRgk3D5cc2CYzxxPaOixbGUHL3ZvcNZZu9QSOQHpXqvS8hxoqT7YkYd1AOE00eLZsAskONeOvO3mQwZoKkY_Q13W3xthiAdvlU7ENdpJIgb3Y/s320/P1110974.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Then you started marching band camp.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgof2T-5sHmObclCsoo3iTyjukflqCEyqB-90WxDfiWEpznf7L3ogXZl8ysjRUGeZBF8nzvQqoMkl3MWqcVkk5LKWkXGtkoxhWXn2yL7OQSeIDfavs9H41MPazdxrN9YCn3QrmqryfjFO0/s1600/P1120449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgof2T-5sHmObclCsoo3iTyjukflqCEyqB-90WxDfiWEpznf7L3ogXZl8ysjRUGeZBF8nzvQqoMkl3MWqcVkk5LKWkXGtkoxhWXn2yL7OQSeIDfavs9H41MPazdxrN9YCn3QrmqryfjFO0/s320/P1120449.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And all of a sudden, the accelerated changes went into hyper drive. I can hardly describe it! When you were a preschooler, I knew you were changing regularly but couldn't quite see it until hindsight gave me clarity. But the last two weeks of July, I saw growth every single day. It was as if your soul was thickening right in front of my eyes, like the concrete foundation of your childhood was now strong enough to support a substantial structure. I gasped the day you came home from band camp and spontaneously decided to get a hair cut. I about fell over at the hair salon when you decided to cut off 10 inches so you could donate it to Locks of Love. <i>Flabbergasted.</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVZAF1b2b4nOHUMABGD1cVkWDo3P5qv9OCAzymQqnQMgai7NKyHsci5fnCnLPhhIJfS4bO_5pOIvAlcdU3XhusNd6BhhEIxBZ0BrhptSBAcYBeL3gF0H4P9j-ThxMTBlDYHyFYK_64Q4I/s1600/20170720_005034693_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVZAF1b2b4nOHUMABGD1cVkWDo3P5qv9OCAzymQqnQMgai7NKyHsci5fnCnLPhhIJfS4bO_5pOIvAlcdU3XhusNd6BhhEIxBZ0BrhptSBAcYBeL3gF0H4P9j-ThxMTBlDYHyFYK_64Q4I/s320/20170720_005034693_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></i></div>
<br />
You've been painting your nails. Sporting jewelry. Wearing your hair down! I mean, <i>I can't even...</i><br />
<br />
I don't want to gloss over the growth and changes that gradually appeared in the year before June - before you turned 14 - but I can hardly remember the person you were before this lovely, vibrant, 14-year-old <i>young lady</i> emerged. Now do you understand what I meant when I spoke of whiplash at the start of this letter?<br />
<br />
I am having the time of my life, exploring you and watching your personality unfold. I know the relationship I have with you is special. You tell me often that your friends don't talk to their moms like we talk. (You know this because your friends tell <i>you</i> this!) I wonder if I should be waiting for the other shoe to drop when you'll become a surly, eye-rolling, harumph-ing teenager. Maybe that phase is on its way, and maybe it isn't. At this point, I'm enjoying myself too much in the present moment to be distracted by any possible angst on the way.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9EJhL0WzFbQpR2xCgQUftAuhZiv8tFXSI-7LcTCujL0n3D5lVTrLsSsFiC3qv0aXqjV4Fffng70mu88cQxSlAvfJzMsJChUrtWwbGgKSkWEEhmP_au_Q8rNHKCfCq71P15_KnYWBcRzk/s1600/P1130264-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9EJhL0WzFbQpR2xCgQUftAuhZiv8tFXSI-7LcTCujL0n3D5lVTrLsSsFiC3qv0aXqjV4Fffng70mu88cQxSlAvfJzMsJChUrtWwbGgKSkWEEhmP_au_Q8rNHKCfCq71P15_KnYWBcRzk/s320/P1130264-2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
You delight me, Katie. I can't believe I get to be your mom! What a fun ride we're having.<br />
<br />
I love you,<br />
Mommy</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-76472924595270965872017-05-17T08:00:00.000-05:002017-05-17T08:00:07.538-05:00My Favorite (iPhone) Photos<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Remember <a href="http://sixgoldencoins.blogspot.com/2017/05/my-new-gear.html">this post</a> from a few days ago? I wrote about my new camera and how we've been "getting to know each other" recently. The post is a part of <a href="http://light.co/">Light.co</a>'s #VantagePoint photography project, where photographers are invited to share their favorite photos and why they love them.<br />
<br />
For that post I limited myself to photos I've taken with the new Panasonic Lumix, but also came across two other favorites I want to share separately. These were taken with my iPhone and my favorite camera gadget: <a href="https://www.easy-macro.com/">an Easy Macro lens</a>. (Trust me, people: it's the best $10 you'll ever spend and works on ANY phone, even with a phone case in the way!)<br />
<br />
This first photo is one I took in June 2014. The kids and I were on a walk when we came across this ladybug munching on another insect's eggs. I love how much detail you can see in this tiny little creature and its meal.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzeLmOk5NU9KGxr5OLOWcJNBccy7AEuzGzRGb7IEbqu8kcqiP8cNnz1F_J8sYcm6xo3E3OEJW9Cijc-A6ftK7s9E4EiCnpxpMMLGHxropMBd5D3NfrqosxAGWXSBx0Ii5A-Ndtbgjdefs/s1600/20140613_154700000_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzeLmOk5NU9KGxr5OLOWcJNBccy7AEuzGzRGb7IEbqu8kcqiP8cNnz1F_J8sYcm6xo3E3OEJW9Cijc-A6ftK7s9E4EiCnpxpMMLGHxropMBd5D3NfrqosxAGWXSBx0Ii5A-Ndtbgjdefs/s320/20140613_154700000_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
This second photo is one I took this past March, when beautiful snowflakes fell outside our house. I got the kids on their school buses, then froze my fingers off while chasing flakes around my yard. It's a wonder my neighbors don't call the police on me. But can you blame me for running around trying to capture this kind of masterpiece? It's glorious!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSEgiySsY4MtfgQVcJGLvk_VLOO9wiSmo50-AON3sOaNxfSIKy94Ui6zmj1N76R1wxWZjZO7F-I4LACKGvwdau8vOdz5e9WMsPwmF6BcPCJKprbpU1rhVSN_FqWN2KYcroCM4WSZBLwZ4/s1600/20170314_141751969_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSEgiySsY4MtfgQVcJGLvk_VLOO9wiSmo50-AON3sOaNxfSIKy94Ui6zmj1N76R1wxWZjZO7F-I4LACKGvwdau8vOdz5e9WMsPwmF6BcPCJKprbpU1rhVSN_FqWN2KYcroCM4WSZBLwZ4/s320/20170314_141751969_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
What's the best or most favorite photo you've ever taken?</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-32760114078250428122017-05-15T22:55:00.000-05:002017-05-15T23:06:53.801-05:00My New Gear<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Last year, I realized my favorite camera (my starter Pentax K200) was starting to fail me. I had <a href="https://www.howtogeek.com/130826/how-to-fix-a-stuck-pixel-on-an-lcd-monitor/">stuck pixels</a> and a gummed-up power button. The local repair shop said buying a newer model would be smarter - and likely cheaper - than fixing those issues.<br />
<br />
So about four months ago, I made the decision to buy a new camera. I did lots of research first, and kept stumbling upon articles <a href="https://improvephotography.com/gear/recommended-dslr-cameras/">like this one at Improve Photography</a> that recommended switching to a mirrorless camera. I didn't even know what that meant, because I don't personally know any professional photographers who own mirrorless cameras. It seemed risky to go against the industry standard. Then I visited the local camera shop and held mirrorless cameras in my hands, and I swear it's like my heart started beating faster.<br />
<br />
It's not that I had stopped loving photography. Not at all! But I was getting into a rut of using my iPhone more often because my two DSLRs were so bulky to carry. Although my iPhone photos can't compare to the images I get with a DSLR, the convenience trumped quality most of the time. (Unless, of course, I had a client photo session.)<br />
<br />
When I held a mirrorless camera in my hand, I felt all kinds of jazzed up to get outside again and adventure with a "real" camera. When I looked at the specs and price tag, it seemed like a no-brainer to me. So I took the plunge and went mirrorless, buying a Panasonic Lumix G7.<br />
<br />
Here's a photo (ironically, taken with my iPhone) of all my fancy pants cameras. The Lumix is on the far left. My Pentax K200 is in the middle and boat-anchor-heavy Nikon D200 is on the right. All cameras have the zoom lens mounted on them in this photo, but it's obvious that even with the zoom lens the Lumix is way smaller.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXsoKDHPJJRUeossf7LVeGScJ6Rf6KylVelmk2iZku6fmi4VEPCAzKkp15IAbOYvPKmbSBw8UAToOcP3HbriiJ-zqbosBiS7Z6cXI2tDyvB0tjoa8jJjnehrBotZND9S4vsLf9ZSemas/s1600/20170118_213803665_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXsoKDHPJJRUeossf7LVeGScJ6Rf6KylVelmk2iZku6fmi4VEPCAzKkp15IAbOYvPKmbSBw8UAToOcP3HbriiJ-zqbosBiS7Z6cXI2tDyvB0tjoa8jJjnehrBotZND9S4vsLf9ZSemas/s320/20170118_213803665_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
When I have a wide angle lens attached to each camera, the Lumix weighs only 1lb 3oz. That's about half the weight of my favorite (the Pentax weighs 2lb 5oz), and a third of the weight of the Nikon (which weighs 3lb 9oz).<br />
<br />
But I was comfortable with my old cameras, so trying to figure out the new bells and whistles on the Lumix frustrated me at first. I had to force myself to take the camera with me on made-up outings so I could get used to the feel of it. It wasn't until spring break that I fell in love with the Lumix. That's when Dan and I took the kids to visit Aunt Mimi and Uncle Wally in New York City.<br />
<br />
For the first time, I was able to keep up (mostly) with the family instead of my usual pattern of rushing along behind them because I've stopped to take photo after photo. With the Lumix, I still stopped to take photos but the LCD screen meant I didn't have to put the gear to my eye, focus, and snap. I could just whip it up in front of my face (not lining it up with an eye) and touch the screen to take photos. Dude! It was fast and easy and I took terrific shots. Not to mention my back wasn't killing from hauling around a camera bag and extra lens each day.<br />
<br />
I loved being able to turn and snap a photo before my kids even knew I was watching. This photo of Jackson on Ellis Island, searching for our family name among the list of immigrants, is one of my favorites from the trip. The way he is reflected on the wall of names feels like he's searching for himself in the history of our country. Which, to be honest, he truly was doing.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhto1FATXpRhuWpo8r338KUCRsPcbqeqBAEcZWogER7QPQAEWPt7mBJQ8UmmmzFNdxARuP7kNgoZOQS9o3myZat8iazLhaFsrN5RvipTyUJUFD0sDOWAJPYqEm1ty0ljHFiu50mUFB3BVk/s1600/P1050192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhto1FATXpRhuWpo8r338KUCRsPcbqeqBAEcZWogER7QPQAEWPt7mBJQ8UmmmzFNdxARuP7kNgoZOQS9o3myZat8iazLhaFsrN5RvipTyUJUFD0sDOWAJPYqEm1ty0ljHFiu50mUFB3BVk/s320/P1050192.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">APERTURE: 4.8, SHUTTER SPEED: 1/160 sec, ISO: 500</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The new camera made me so excited for photos again - <i>real</i> photos, not just the kind I snap with my phone. Now I wanted to seek out new adventures to photograph and push myself with the new gear. At the end of March, I hit the jackpot of photography in my very own back yard.<br />
<br />
I noticed a mama bird starting to build a nest in the tree right outside our kitchen window. It was like my own personal National Geographic photography documentary. I went a little nuts, even taking the screen out of the window in the upstairs bathroom so I could hang out of it and shoot down into the nest. The day I found the first two eggs, I lit up like a Christmas tree.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglP9R8edckrI-1uiOHt7BNZsH-3HkLBmcZ7x5uga0tWgc3Qm0rtoMiU0C6XgWZXZDceGmqdizWUDGvYERcx0WylixkZnfO-WBWOxvSulHNbjvLTJ86NfM0AqwyqOMGk-wVocUUCKFerqw/s1600/P1050653.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglP9R8edckrI-1uiOHt7BNZsH-3HkLBmcZ7x5uga0tWgc3Qm0rtoMiU0C6XgWZXZDceGmqdizWUDGvYERcx0WylixkZnfO-WBWOxvSulHNbjvLTJ86NfM0AqwyqOMGk-wVocUUCKFerqw/s320/P1050653.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">APERTURE: 5.6, SHUTTER SPEED: 1/320 sec, ISO: 8000</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I wish y'all could have seen me hanging out the second-story window with my arm stretched out to the right. The Lumix has a rotating LCD screen, which means I can shoot at an angle that's contrary to where my body is. And since I can change my focal point right on the display, I can get a perfectly focused image.<br />
<br />
Three weeks after the above image was shot, I captured this one of the hungry babies waiting for their mama to come feed them.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimb9FCaLXddIPtlKJKdWt0a7k1cuYRR17LfmmQ_Cc8BYoo3tz0tMNoQqZJtRGQ8tOFh393TIyhm0JgegjH_8mQME5p2_EAf4Rh3JwFYlvnxYUMck25dUKkSF07XIl87n8wRWwy18CZfvY/s1600/P1080651+day+27.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimb9FCaLXddIPtlKJKdWt0a7k1cuYRR17LfmmQ_Cc8BYoo3tz0tMNoQqZJtRGQ8tOFh393TIyhm0JgegjH_8mQME5p2_EAf4Rh3JwFYlvnxYUMck25dUKkSF07XIl87n8wRWwy18CZfvY/s320/P1080651+day+27.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">APERTURE: 5.5, SHUTTER SPEED: 1/80 sec, ISO: 1600</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Again, the lighter gear and the rotating screen helped me photograph at an angle I probably couldn't have captured (at least not in focus) with my traditional DSLRs. This next photo, shot two days after that one above, gives you an even better understanding of the Lumix. I was able to hold the camera above my head and shoot down into the nest, without having to hang from my bathroom window. (Ha ha.)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyD5v4GEBrvMSEUoOIpBZa85abxRAI48HcaDW2qIYbenXeGkH9OdGvNcwhNDaWEMKOnY6ixmHlMaUS0gfYfFq6GE5Yipe0kafvMH6T9CQonDCHrMLowk-cmN3m3BGahuEH99Bx7fcxLhg/s1600/P1080719+day+29.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyD5v4GEBrvMSEUoOIpBZa85abxRAI48HcaDW2qIYbenXeGkH9OdGvNcwhNDaWEMKOnY6ixmHlMaUS0gfYfFq6GE5Yipe0kafvMH6T9CQonDCHrMLowk-cmN3m3BGahuEH99Bx7fcxLhg/s320/P1080719+day+29.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">APERTURE: 5.3, SHUTTER SPEED: 1/125 sec, ISO: 4000</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Y'all. I've always wanted to take a photo like that but never had the chance or the proximity to do so. This photo makes me so happy and fascinates the nature geek inside me. It's a bunch of the best things in life rolled into one image: new life, God's provision, perfect timing, and challenging photography. Happy happy, joy joy!<br />
<br />
About a week into April, I traveled to Hawaii for a very sad occasion. That's a whole separate story that I'll tell one day, but not yet. Suffice it to say Hawaii is a literal paradise on earth. While I would give anything to change the reason I was there, I was able to take in the beauty of God's creation and also gift my extended family with some special photos of our time together. Most of them are private photos we'll share only within our family, but here are a few of my favorite photos from my visit there.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkbSHqhQUAj4c1tBc07oDGuDXMcBeqD6LywoXh_lE5jdfQHtuvBEFbR1yXAyYMV_RB4CQZYg4Xk3U8cZr5aftI2MpFhlCsYNVwfpYqeFPkelgPhFvQs9F2ON3Wsi0ny-bLrA8KfD66EE4/s1600/P1070168.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkbSHqhQUAj4c1tBc07oDGuDXMcBeqD6LywoXh_lE5jdfQHtuvBEFbR1yXAyYMV_RB4CQZYg4Xk3U8cZr5aftI2MpFhlCsYNVwfpYqeFPkelgPhFvQs9F2ON3Wsi0ny-bLrA8KfD66EE4/s320/P1070168.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">APERTURE: 9, SHUTTER SPEED: 1/1000 sec, ISO: 400</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm showing these photos because, again, my Lumix gear was light enough to carry all over Hawaii with me - even to the ocean's edge at the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banzai_Pipeline">Banzai Pipeline</a>.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6z0tGy64hZhGKVFQHGdcz1atuOTsAjMl2t20fUkmhqzP7s5-P8n-L8gtFcsy5EcN_TpJeMQrZ6wJMzgE3YRRNXn3r13xzXdvdBxbTbe70Z7tZxeGHdvbem_CnRH8oLIydpQZdeFbDRwE/s1600/P1070332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6z0tGy64hZhGKVFQHGdcz1atuOTsAjMl2t20fUkmhqzP7s5-P8n-L8gtFcsy5EcN_TpJeMQrZ6wJMzgE3YRRNXn3r13xzXdvdBxbTbe70Z7tZxeGHdvbem_CnRH8oLIydpQZdeFbDRwE/s320/P1070332.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">APERTURE: 6.3, SHUTTER SPEED: 1/1000 sec, ISO: 200</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
On my last day in Hawaii, I was returning to our rental house after my last walk on the beach when I I spied these blossoms at the top of a Plumeria tree. It seemed they were reaching to heaven, and it is the photo I most love from my time there: beautiful, heavenly flowers.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNEU_DqzGrubwtVXjpssddaBTu6fKxblmT5DClCjzQcHp1y1xaDCAGYarRHVWr3kEL8vKjfWmJc9ySIqY8GSkQqFVJ2l96oJFL3HEXmeeZVmRqEYh7-gKQ_Gtr-M_j_ADbcdha0kNY66E/s1600/P1070903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNEU_DqzGrubwtVXjpssddaBTu6fKxblmT5DClCjzQcHp1y1xaDCAGYarRHVWr3kEL8vKjfWmJc9ySIqY8GSkQqFVJ2l96oJFL3HEXmeeZVmRqEYh7-gKQ_Gtr-M_j_ADbcdha0kNY66E/s320/P1070903.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">APERTURE: 6, SHUTTER SPEED: 1/400 sec, ISO: 200</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm still getting to know the Lumix gear, but I'm finally comfortable enough to use it in client sessions. Just last week, I had a pre-Prom shoot with my friend Grace, and I captured this photo of her standing in the wind with her eyes closed and her hair blowing.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiVHYO3BQ1xDjceWj38WF9fC6GzGAjcAX4AgpFLWMCfbSw06o1ChG-edhrRWmESnV69i6DJJSuzqex-zRqz_AGE2SK8qnmFXDTAZCtUV8v6QIesfnwvIzzxwr9av03sKjd4zYOC7RAmeg/s1600/P1090182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiVHYO3BQ1xDjceWj38WF9fC6GzGAjcAX4AgpFLWMCfbSw06o1ChG-edhrRWmESnV69i6DJJSuzqex-zRqz_AGE2SK8qnmFXDTAZCtUV8v6QIesfnwvIzzxwr9av03sKjd4zYOC7RAmeg/s320/P1090182.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
The only thing that would make my new camera even more appealing is if I could put it in my pocket. But that's unrealistic, right? Well... not quite.<br />
<br />
There's actually a new camera that has the quality of a DSLR but it's tiny in comparison. It's called the L16 and it's manufactured by a company <a href="https://light.co/">named Light</a>. (You should really click on that link to see what makes this camera so amazing. Or <a href="https://light.co/technology">click here</a> to see a quick video describing the SIXTEEN lenses embedded in its slim body. It's all kinds of bionic and futuristic!) It's currently sold out and I'm pretty sure when it becomes available again it will be out of my price range. But a girl can dream, right?!<br />
<br />
For now, I'll keep challenging myself to grow with my trusty <strike>old</strike> new Lumix. We have lots of adventures ahead of us!<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of Light.co's #VantagePoint photography project. It got me thinking about my favorite photos, which led me to two other favorites I'll show you in an upcoming post. Stay tuned!</i></div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-15483690225816355672017-03-28T23:20:00.000-05:002017-03-28T23:20:09.447-05:00Happy 10th Birthday, Jackson!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiXiCS8scgXw7dJFHeGdbbfdLsynnU2ZoII6OJQiEcMcS8JAuorpcz17c0YRD3tPc0_hPYqhasBYlkCMq3lhJzmYjY1jugffw44GdiQuonXnYTyiC-jYoo5xNfyPOyColFx7FnXjtAE4Q/s1600/20170328_124152317_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiXiCS8scgXw7dJFHeGdbbfdLsynnU2ZoII6OJQiEcMcS8JAuorpcz17c0YRD3tPc0_hPYqhasBYlkCMq3lhJzmYjY1jugffw44GdiQuonXnYTyiC-jYoo5xNfyPOyColFx7FnXjtAE4Q/s320/20170328_124152317_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Jackson,<br />
<br />
Ten years ago, I started worrying about you and I don't think I ever stopped.<br />
<br />
Ten years ago tonight, my worry was whether to send you to the hospital nursery so I could get a good night's sleep or whether I should just bite the bullet and plunge into endless nights of sleeplessness. (For the record, I am NOT crazy and decided to hoard every bit of sleep I could; you went to the nursery until a nurse wheeled you back in the wee hours for a feeding.)<br />
<br />
But these days, my worries have taken on more shape, weight, and baggage.<br />
<br />
I worry whether you are happy, which makes me wonder if my parents ever worried about <i>my</i> happiness. Not that they didn't care, but I think my generation had a few less helicopter parents than yours does. There was more of the "you get what you get and you don't throw a fit" mentality than I see these days. Even though I know this, I still worry whether you are satisfied and will have good, happy memories of childhood when you are an adult.<br />
<br />
I worry whether you're eating enough. You're skinny and smaller than your classmates, and I'm always playing the Italian-grandmother-role by trying to ply you with extra calories - but only the nutritional, substantial kind because you get enough junk already. I want you to grow big and strong, and not be the small kid who gets ridiculed. (Tonight, you saw Army helicopters fly by and we talked about you becoming a pilot one day. Maybe being compact would be an advantage?)<br />
<br />
I worry about you being a good friend. When you have a friend over to play, I hear you poke at each other and whine during Nerf gun fights. Will your friend get annoyed at this and lose patience - and loyalty - in your friendship?<br />
<br />
I worry about your character. I've told you so many times that I'm not as concerned about the grades on your report card as I am concerned about the citizenship, respectfulness, and cooperation marks you get. I already know you're smart; I want you to be known for your heart as much as - if not more so - than your brain. Are Daddy and I instilling good character?<br />
<br />
I worry about so much more: are you brushing your teeth well? (Boo for cavities.) Are you spending too much time on a screen? (And what exactly is this Roblox thing anyway?) Are you reading too many graphic novels and shrinking your intelligence when you could be diving into a classic? Do you get away with too much because you're the baby of the family? Should we crack the whip more?<br />
<br />
Aren't parents supposed to worry more about the first child? I thought the first one was supposed to be the "guinea pig" with the parenting mistakes, and parents are supposed to have it figured out by the time any siblings roll around. I don't think that's the case with you: Katie seems to roll right along, while I worry more about how I could be messing you up.<br />
<br />
It's so easy for me to get caught up in hand-wringing and "what if." Yes, it's true there is concern even though there's not so much <i>cause</i> for concern. I own it: the concern is my own making and part of the problem is my desire to be a "good" parent (whatever that means).<br />
<br />
The truth is what you and I discussed with your pediatrician today at your 10-year checkup: you are a good kid.<br />
<br />
You excel academically.<br />
<br />
You have a normal social life.<br />
<br />
You eat pretty well.<br />
<br />
You are very active.<br />
<br />
You encounter emotional difficulties sometimes, like most 9- and 10-year-old boys do.<br />
<br />
You love Minecraft, graphic novels, Nerf gun battles, library visits, cuddling, hiding (then jumping out to scare people), movies, screen time, Nutella, Katie, Pokemon, and the New York Yankees.<br />
<br />
You are always on the move but you still let me hold you like a baby every now and then.<br />
<br />
You can write and spell unlike any 4th grader I know.<br />
<br />
You love intensely and to a fault, and friends are your fuel.<br />
<br />
Your faith is matter-of-fact and you show me what it looks like to be secure in God's love: you simply don't question it.<br />
<br />
You are passionate, loving, funny, smart, and - best of all - MINE. Life with you isn't *quite* worry free, but it <i>is</i> happy.<br />
<br />
I'm glad you're my son and that I've been gifted ten years of life with you.<br />
<br />
I love you!<br />
Mommy<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Dz0qJ7RqwQhvBUoAwsm7tIKrrYgWcvo1pLWiIV_NSR804GutL-6ZBhA2zc4PVXDzuzDtO54dnH9NdWHZMsQ-bT4lEf3YbU3NrBlb2_3_DSnPvZ0calJ3uqmfbMth_BeBMDaz0NzwH7w/s1600/20170328_195311759_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Dz0qJ7RqwQhvBUoAwsm7tIKrrYgWcvo1pLWiIV_NSR804GutL-6ZBhA2zc4PVXDzuzDtO54dnH9NdWHZMsQ-bT4lEf3YbU3NrBlb2_3_DSnPvZ0calJ3uqmfbMth_BeBMDaz0NzwH7w/s320/20170328_195311759_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-89733643509374962142017-02-11T16:58:00.000-06:002017-02-11T16:58:12.332-06:00I'm Sure It's Nothing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I felt the tiny lump late at night when I was reading in bed. I wasn't alarmed, thinking it was so small that I was probably imagining it. I was so unworried that I didn't remember it until the next afternoon when I was preparing to shower. I had to lay on the bed to find it again.<br />
<br />
After my shower, I called the doctor but the office was closed. I told my sister about the tiny lump that night, repeatedly saying, "I'm sure it's nothing." I chuckled when she responded, "Are you trying to convince me or you?!"<br />
<br />
First thing the next morning, I called the doctor and made an appointment for two days later. Two days isn't very long, right?. And, truly, I wasn't feeling any fear or anxiety about this. The only reason I told three of my close friends is because we had a lunch date that had to be cancelled because the doctor appointment was at the same time. I didn't tell them because I was worried; I told them because I'm practical.<br />
<br />
Later that day, I told Dan about it during a phone call. Again, no fear. No anxiety. That night, I asked him to feel the lump. Every time I've gone to feel the lump, I keep expecting it be gone as if it were a fluke and I made a silly mistake.<br />
<br />
With Dan's words, "I feel it," the small dyke holding back Anxiety was breached and the sludge of fear began trickling out.<br />
<br />
Today is the between day. It's the day between the "I feel it" confirmation from Dan and the day before my doctor's visit. I hope tomorrow is a "Nope, you're good. There's nothing to worry about" kind of day.<br />
<br />
But what if it isn't?<br />
<br />
What If is a hope stealer, a thief of monumental proportions (mostly because I give him monumental access). What If is the red carpet invitation for doubts to parade into my mind and stick out their tongue at my faith.<br />
<br />
I combat What If by silently repeating, "I'm sure it's nothing" inside my head. It's on repeat: "I'm sure it's nothing. I'm sure it's nothing. I'm sure it's nothing. I'm sure it's nothing." Until What If's quiet whisper pricks my ears:<br />
<br />
<i>"What if it's something?"</i><br />
<br />
Am I in the best health of my life, able to fight at a moment's notice? No. You don't get a training calendar to prepare for cancers. When a diagnosis comes, you realize your training calendar was all the non-training days leading up to That Day... and no one told you That Day would become race day. So am I ready, if it <i>is</i> something? No. <i>Hell, no.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And could it <i>really</i> be something? What are the chances? Aaah, that's when What If scores a major victory! My brother and father both died from cancer. My mom's death was a result of multiple complications, and doctors suspected breast and/or ovarian cancer. Her mom had breast cancer, too.<br />
<br />
Can you hear the high-pitched whine in my head at this very moment? What If has turned up the heat and Anxiety is now squealing like a stove top tea kettle. Eeeeeeeeeeeee...<br />
<br />
I forcefully (metaphorically) place my hands on Anxiety's shoulders and shake her back to reality. While she stands there stunned, I punch What If in the face and shout for him to get the hell out of my head.<br />
<br />
I remember one of my favorite lines from the movie <i>Big Fish</i>, when the main character says, "That's not how I die."<br />
<br />
I deliberately and intentionally choose to turn my face from the wreckage Anxiety created when she paid so much attention to What If (poor, sweet Anxiety - bless her heart!), and fix my gaze on the One - the only One - who has beaten the tar out of What If and lived to tell about it.<br />
<br />
The One stands in defense of me, in defiance of loss and death and disease and endings. This One is the one who makes all things new, and turns endings into beginnings. He's the One who tells me I have hope instead of despair, and I'm not crazy to look for light in the darkness.<br />
<br />
The One takes What If and transforms him into EVEN IF. The One is my Savior, my Redeemer, my Jesus Christ.<br />
<br />
Only He can take the despair What If is so good at making and turn it into a faith-building, hope-festering, strength-infusing moment of delight and joy. What If loses his power, his might, and his manipulating bullying in the face of Jesus's EVEN IF.<br />
<br />
Nothing can withstand <b><a href="http://shereadstruth.com/2015/08/25/but-if-not-he-is-still-good/">EVEN IF</a></b>.<br />
<br />
<i>"If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire; and He will deliver us out of your hand, O king. But </i><b style="font-style: italic;">EVEN IF HE DOES NOT</b><i>, let it be known to you, O king, that we are not going to serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up." </i><a href="http://biblehub.com/daniel/3-18.htm">(Daniel 3:17-18 NASB</a>, emphasis mine)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcWpoQA8J79JzJw84C0VSDvSzd84eeE0QdahktlMdnDdffp8m57cDgQixCP_deTsLeNhHbk8FbfSgDOYva61k0MbI-CxcU1DGDxeQvmVHac0Kfu4l8BNlCDbpy-xY26dkmqYvuzEex1XE/s1600/Even+if+not.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcWpoQA8J79JzJw84C0VSDvSzd84eeE0QdahktlMdnDdffp8m57cDgQixCP_deTsLeNhHbk8FbfSgDOYva61k0MbI-CxcU1DGDxeQvmVHac0Kfu4l8BNlCDbpy-xY26dkmqYvuzEex1XE/s320/Even+if+not.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
-----------------------------<br />
FOLLOW UP: I wrote this post on Thursday, February 9. I saw the doctor on Friday, February 10. I praise God for a calm, kind, and compassionate doctor who gave me good news that the lump seems to be a normal nodule and there are no worries.<br />
<br />
So should I publish this post, if the news turned out to be a non-issue and there wasn't even a blip on the radar? Yes, I'm publishing it anyway. Maybe there's someone else being attacked by What If, and this post will remind you to focus on the EVEN IF God who sees you and never leaves you.<br />
<br />
I'm also publishing this in case there comes a day when I need to revisit what I wrote because I've allowed fear to get a leg up on my faith. EVEN IF no one else gets anything out of this post, that's okay. It isn't for you anyway - it's for me and my family, and it's a record of how we've spent the days of our lives pursuing hope instead of fear.</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3201900948561468627.post-77334806242398914562017-02-07T15:39:00.001-06:002017-02-07T15:39:54.707-06:00It Takes a Child to Raise a Parent<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGSTqucEFM4XP8KKvw2aZsot1NlOzdp85nrlTJFIMoALWBqodSxOTR5ceM8rmvRx20YVSyZL9G1wcZ2jie0eNN5Srjh8QfyrYJ3PCfaGyKoloxA3LGFrvg3QaatVtcSV5EP4w0CIDNCcQ/s1600/2007-03-28+%2528e%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGSTqucEFM4XP8KKvw2aZsot1NlOzdp85nrlTJFIMoALWBqodSxOTR5ceM8rmvRx20YVSyZL9G1wcZ2jie0eNN5Srjh8QfyrYJ3PCfaGyKoloxA3LGFrvg3QaatVtcSV5EP4w0CIDNCcQ/s320/2007-03-28+%2528e%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
If the saying, "It takes a village to raise a child" is true, then I'd like to take it a step further and say it takes a child to raise a parent.<br />
<br />
When Dan and I decided it was time to start building a family, I don't think we were quite aware of what we had in store. (Is anyone ever?)<br />
<br />
I envisioned a cooing baby, cuddly blankets, and fuzzy ducks. That vision dissolved about four days in to motherhood, when I realized parenting looked a lot more like sleepless nights, a sore body, and more extreme highs and lows than a Six Flags roller coaster.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY93Po96FPK1cBRKgQmO6gmX1OosdChDS-0XBrSfCFYvSWFEvZfMGu3FMKyuaPE3_E5wvg-FXw9yDEdD5y-vP8Bv4tnZ4KTt6ZQ7zgzYkw1vvSz-yjanNtorVOx9gAv4WmBCC4LRFAVMk/s1600/2003-06-17+c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY93Po96FPK1cBRKgQmO6gmX1OosdChDS-0XBrSfCFYvSWFEvZfMGu3FMKyuaPE3_E5wvg-FXw9yDEdD5y-vP8Bv4tnZ4KTt6ZQ7zgzYkw1vvSz-yjanNtorVOx9gAv4WmBCC4LRFAVMk/s320/2003-06-17+c.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<br />
To say parenting is the hardest thing I've ever done is an understatement. I've never had to be more on my game with less resources (sleep, patience, or elbow grease) for this length of time with this much focus on end results. I've never wanted to quit anything else in my life as often as I've wanted to quit parenting, and I've never questioned my strengths and weaknesses to this extent.<br />
<br />
Parenting is a butt kicker!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJNIy8NRyDCZlPqeo3N2IF80gR5bPzALDq9dF-5EKk5xd_CH2QuPpRYjmHhNLS6O130hbQwmLJrm6woi7zCuPzElkXfe3byMgR99utIb4pnEtbNESSx9prAWo80PjYlI77znaLutLufoQ/s1600/20160507_151507823_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJNIy8NRyDCZlPqeo3N2IF80gR5bPzALDq9dF-5EKk5xd_CH2QuPpRYjmHhNLS6O130hbQwmLJrm6woi7zCuPzElkXfe3byMgR99utIb4pnEtbNESSx9prAWo80PjYlI77znaLutLufoQ/s320/20160507_151507823_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
In the midst of a butt kicking, a moment of clarity often sneaks up on me and I remember parenting is the single most noble responsibility I've ever had in my short/long life. Nothing else has refined me or defined me like parenting has. It is a painful blessing that constantly brings me to the end of myself and drives me into the arms of my Savior.<br />
<br />
If I could talk to the pre-pregnancy Elizabeth of 2002, I would tell her to let go of the baby-coo-cuddly-blankie-fuzzy-duck fantasies and cling tightly to her faith, her husband, and her seat belt because parenting is about to up-end her life. I would tell her parenting is:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Digging deep into your reserves and finding a measure of happiness in the morning when you are NOT a morning person and hate being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 6am. Positive parenting means dying to your flesh and not biting your kids' heads off even when they are cackling and over their breakfast smoothies and driving you crazy.<br /><br />Walking your youngest to the bus stop every morning, stealing a quick kiss as the bus arrives, and reminding him to wipe his mouth. Patient parenting means giving the reminder Every. Single. Day! if necessary, and doing it without the exasperation you so badly want to express.<br /><br />Building a fabulous tree house the kids never use because they dreamed about camping in the backyard but decided bugs aren't worth the overnight. Gracious parenting means not holding it over their heads and being willing to play in the tree house with them anyway.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1C2gy99bFcnEuMPw-Asb90zLMkSQ87sPvP00UQ8FTa2haJJ9KA0yxNP9VkysleB2Y-eaC0Y54UbvYhB16UrkThA7V5VCcgtBjRhptnWLSV_xCHZunGLbB7BIK_NwnCFqkJZBVjW9WwVI/s1600/20160509_004720081_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1C2gy99bFcnEuMPw-Asb90zLMkSQ87sPvP00UQ8FTa2haJJ9KA0yxNP9VkysleB2Y-eaC0Y54UbvYhB16UrkThA7V5VCcgtBjRhptnWLSV_xCHZunGLbB7BIK_NwnCFqkJZBVjW9WwVI/s320/20160509_004720081_iOS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />Standing on the driveway and hearing your oldest cough as she walks to the bus, wondering if she's ready to return to school after a sick day. Confident parenting means trusting the ibuprofen and antibiotics to do their jobs.<br /><br />Having coffee with the parent of your kid's friend so you can wrestle through worries about your kids' growth and find the balance between faith and fear. Faithful parenting means remembering God loved our babies before we ever could, knowing He has a plan for their lives that we may never see come to fruition (at least not in our lifetimes), and trusting in His plan more than our own dreams.<br /><br />Trying to stay one half step ahead of the changing landscape in your child's world that includes new technology and ancient math techniques and spelling words and Pokemon characters and sports teams and wavering loyalty to best friends. Strategic parenting means discerning which obstacles in the changing landscape are worth an intervention and which ones are simple distractions that don't ultimately affect the end game.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizrpOmitG_8Qnfxozi017f1PBTuCOwpPalPrERhtSf_KUERqZ8SeIUqTUp0-fpOA1b3IqDWZZ0vpouk3lVVcVd_MdxSupMLjTfUqSjjQ3zKAAvYJ8tDEkpyHiCkSy-hP8zxpcQN9d9B4/s1600/IMG_7825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizrpOmitG_8Qnfxozi017f1PBTuCOwpPalPrERhtSf_KUERqZ8SeIUqTUp0-fpOA1b3IqDWZZ0vpouk3lVVcVd_MdxSupMLjTfUqSjjQ3zKAAvYJ8tDEkpyHiCkSy-hP8zxpcQN9d9B4/s320/IMG_7825.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />Moving forward with an appointment you know is crucial for developing your teen's confidence and character, even though she begs you to not make her do this one thing. Steadfast parenting means getting out of the car amidst your child's protest, ringing the doorbell, and standing beside her while an expert teaches techniques to enhance her natural beauty.<br /><br />Planning donut dates and getting up early with your kid on a Saturday morning, when you'd rather sleep late. Energetic parenting means sharing your newspaper ritual because your child just wants to be close to you and do the things you do.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxPdZZwjglNt8SVvgKKpGqBhrCVy_bqS4N8fn3q912bOZ0iAt3tBgcHX3hj2lrmFd1FMTrCHzgj5JvxwPElierxEudVFtZAfUhrzR5Un_pCTBIxFVg_N42nteGdIKenasPxXaSfc0DdxI/s1600/IMG_7197.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxPdZZwjglNt8SVvgKKpGqBhrCVy_bqS4N8fn3q912bOZ0iAt3tBgcHX3hj2lrmFd1FMTrCHzgj5JvxwPElierxEudVFtZAfUhrzR5Un_pCTBIxFVg_N42nteGdIKenasPxXaSfc0DdxI/s320/IMG_7197.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />Cracking jokes and starting tickle fights because SOMEONE needs to lighten the mood in the house. Joyful parenting means seeking out moments of whimsy because memories are made when we're laughing together and finding adventure wherever the wind blows us.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxecQ7VQRDz0SGdjv0B8IxNmV0e0x5OSD7MrTLYnI1HptVS6GWyYsr4CnJEf18Rwm_rQwQVPUq38nmHNmFrs3ZksE1V0RBvJkRQoC595io6PvNXCkgmRC8Jqj447ytVnyK97kd8uh6A-4/s1600/20160626_201152081_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxecQ7VQRDz0SGdjv0B8IxNmV0e0x5OSD7MrTLYnI1HptVS6GWyYsr4CnJEf18Rwm_rQwQVPUq38nmHNmFrs3ZksE1V0RBvJkRQoC595io6PvNXCkgmRC8Jqj447ytVnyK97kd8uh6A-4/s320/20160626_201152081_iOS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />Saying yes, finally, to that dog she's been asking for since her preschool days. Generous parenting means granting wishes every now and then, and making the desires of your child's heart become reality (and it also means loving that dog as much as she loves him, too).</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgUIBne3-4v4E2AsyKbX2_qi17REXjUgQg8nzIBOF1ZhT9E-gRZVdlJGLaSogMOf7zqh8Vy89MI1GPZ_341I1MXLl_O1qtwXSVEXjIrY-nDH53VB__LaRD6B427OEhdRDJBUvOowbR_eQ/s1600/IMGP6177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgUIBne3-4v4E2AsyKbX2_qi17REXjUgQg8nzIBOF1ZhT9E-gRZVdlJGLaSogMOf7zqh8Vy89MI1GPZ_341I1MXLl_O1qtwXSVEXjIrY-nDH53VB__LaRD6B427OEhdRDJBUvOowbR_eQ/s320/IMGP6177.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />Calling a counselor when you see signs of the very same struggle you had at that very same age, realizing you aren't an expert and there's no shame in asking for professional help. Hopeful parenting means letting go of the guilt you heap on your own shoulders <i>(wondering if you're to blame for your child's struggle)</i> and hopeful parenting sees the wisdom God had in giving that kid to THIS parent because THIS parent is one of the few who would understand the struggle and could share the experience like no one else.<br /><br />Being needed for the routines of life in a busy household: making the meals, folding the laundry, morning wakings and bedtime snuggles, signing the school papers, going to PTO/Scout/fundraiser meetings, volunteering, and remembering which yogurt is the favorite when you're standing in the grocery aisle (the one without chunks). Sacrificial parenting means the kids won't be able to return the favor and you may never see the investment pay dividends, but you do it anyway simply because it was done for you.<br /><br />Taking joy in your child's triumphs and successes, but not taking the credit because you know you're only a stone's throw away from failure and hard life lessons. Wise parenting means praying for protection from pain while simultaneously asking God for a tiny, manageable bit of loss because you know loss is what grows your kids' maturity.<br /><br />Looking like a complete fool when you're the only one wearing a superhero costume to the school's family fun night, or you plan a family picnic beside a stream that ends up being full of runoff from a nearby sewage treatment plant. Resilient parenting means laughing at yourself, saying "Oops," and - literally - going with the flow.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqi0VpJ4JaJWfac0YDkZxLLh7ZAPIKLUma2dJPVOiRrWaiXleMqOGGSbucHlnL_bwDkmmjdFZqe9-UF4sW7FUbEVyWhbksbue3ab6GPio0HKThxUaYpLjpPVu8yfdpos-F2BGu_KY7RkA/s1600/IMG_5657.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqi0VpJ4JaJWfac0YDkZxLLh7ZAPIKLUma2dJPVOiRrWaiXleMqOGGSbucHlnL_bwDkmmjdFZqe9-UF4sW7FUbEVyWhbksbue3ab6GPio0HKThxUaYpLjpPVu8yfdpos-F2BGu_KY7RkA/s320/IMG_5657.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />Nagging them to empty the dishwasher or clean their bedroom until their conscience takes over the task. Responsible parenting means working myself out of my job as I teach my kids to take care of themselves so one day they actually can.<br /><br />Modeling surrender to God's call on your life so your kids will see how faith's whispers are somehow louder than fear's shouts. Submissive parenting means you're a family leader only because you first learned to be a follower of Jesus, knowing you can't lead well unless you've learned how to follow first.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wNfcnuThz_WqNS6ZNg401HrXhXicGo_z2JhezlvugiZFMBGodX8wQVPtSc4fp_gicb9bw5wORWIOgEgBQEejBpL8hmEMU7eVg0nBzIKz2wo-4FGnBiVD-x1_shwnceRWYfSactgE-UI/s1600/Baptism+-+Unprotected.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wNfcnuThz_WqNS6ZNg401HrXhXicGo_z2JhezlvugiZFMBGodX8wQVPtSc4fp_gicb9bw5wORWIOgEgBQEejBpL8hmEMU7eVg0nBzIKz2wo-4FGnBiVD-x1_shwnceRWYfSactgE-UI/s320/Baptism+-+Unprotected.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />Putting your hand on your heart and singing the National Anthem when no one else is doing it because you know it's the right thing to do and you want your kids to learn what duty and honor look like. Honorable parenting means showing respect to the people who lead us, those who have sacrificed for us, and pursuing liberty for people who can't fight for themselves.<br /><br />Modeling vulnerability, admitting your mistakes, and asking forgiveness when you've caused pain to someone else. Humble parenting means apologizing (especially to your kids) when you've been less than your best.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Parenting is being intentional about setting yourself aside for the growth and well-being of another human being. It's the hardest job I've ever had, but I'm grateful for my two trainers named Katie and Jackson.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
They are making me better at it every single day.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwJkAjx4hOeZajTdVEwSaW7n-_jJqrfj3lvTgAzDwZADWNRbwTThwASBNTFLy13TD4NweXvN8PjC4HjBgdCFMtIwp0GClCTQRxEhUmSYTv_cacIwcJTUqfu_G07PK6vTvVJlLSD7RGpmo/s1600/IMGP8690.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwJkAjx4hOeZajTdVEwSaW7n-_jJqrfj3lvTgAzDwZADWNRbwTThwASBNTFLy13TD4NweXvN8PjC4HjBgdCFMtIwp0GClCTQRxEhUmSYTv_cacIwcJTUqfu_G07PK6vTvVJlLSD7RGpmo/s320/IMGP8690.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04185549963848472081noreply@blogger.com0