This is Guatemala

The hot, humid, pungent smell of fresh fish catches you the moment you open your car door at the fish market. The heap of snapper and corbina bass, the aggressive invitations to buy from each vendor, the friendly bartering, the fresh squid being shown off by the seven year old who can clean them almost as quickly as his dad... the old fridges, lying on their backs, rusting at the edges, filled with ice and the fresh catch of the day... the bare hands being used to eat while grabbing fish and plopping it into the same tin pan that weighed everything else... they all confirm it: This is not North America.

We had a good day in El Gorrión Thursday. Tori, Aaron, Hannah, and Matthew helped at the public school there. Bonnie and I worked in the clinic which we are now doing every week in this village. Bonnie’s a great enfermera (nurse). We cared and prayed for a 36 year old single mom of seven children, who came in with her four year old grandson. Not surprisingly she is struggling with feeding and clothing her family. It’s all too common a story here in Guatemala.

That same afternoon our new credit cards arrived—a miracle! The whole story could take pages, and you might not believe it anyway. (If you’d like to read a little more, it’s the last entry below.)
The other day I went the wrong way down a “one way”. It’s okay, it was only a block. People do that here—like the two bare-headed policemen flying down the street on their motorbike. Oh well, this is Guatemala: As Aaron says, “una via” is more of a “guideline”. Una via and alto signs are stuck to the side of buildings here, and they might be on the left or right, so you need to watch close!
Bicycles are fun. Somebody has flooded the market with cheap kid-size mountain bikes, or maybe people prefer them? (Most Guatemalans makes me feel tall.) There are adults everywhere bumping along the cobblestone streets hunched over on these bikes, sometimes with a passenger or cargo.
And motorbikes are simply an economical form of family transportation, or substitute for a small pickup. While it’s rare to see bikes larger than 125cc (many are 100cc scooters) it’s common to see families of three or four riding one one at one time. One staff member here saw five. Moto’s are handy for hauling things like full 50lb propane tanks loosely tied to the back, cross-ways, while winding between lanes of traffic. You don’t see many helmets around. Occasionally they’re actually worn on one’s head, but sometimes they’re just hung around one wrist while cruising the highway or navigating the very bumpy cobblestone streets in Antigua. Or like one bright father discovered, you can get your baby to hang on to the handlebars while you talk on your cell phone! (Using a cell phone while driving is actually illegal here, but of course remains a common practice.)
There are things on your car you don’t use much at home, but are essential here in Guatemala: You need your hazards to indicate that you’re going to park, or you’re waiting for someone else to park, or there’s backed up traffic ahead, or you’re just creeping along because you’re watching the scenery. And in many spots your mirrors should be folded in when you park. Otherwise they’re liable to be accidentally broken off by a pedestrian walking the narrow sidewalks, or by a car navigating a narrow street. Your horn goes without saying.
Buses are a phenomena here. You should read my friend Nic’s posting on their blog called: Chicken Bus for the Soul. http://bekaerts.in.guate.googlepages.com/cb4ts
Of course they don’t have Air Care here. The other day we were right behind a 20’ truck with the back doors not just open but removed. There were people bouncing around at the back of the box, but we could only see them occasionally when the black cloud of exhaust cleared.
Antigua and the capital are fairly modern cities, yet the large majority of adults in Guatemala cannot read or write. This makes prescriptions tricky, whether you give somebody medicine with instructions, or give them a prescription to get at a local pharmacy, where everything is simply purchased from behind the counter regardless of a prescription.

The average yearly income per household is probably around $5000, and at least 10% of Guatemalans live on less than $1.50 a day. The biggest source of income into the country is money sent from family members working abroad.

In order of importance, the following account for about 40% of years of life lost: perinatal mortality, pneumonia, HIV, diarrhea, and violence. While there is supposed to be health care available to everyone, the resources are extremely limited, and people do not trust the national hospitals. From conversations and experience we can see why.

Last week at the home for the elderly we were told that 88 year-old Maria just didn’t want to get out of bed, despite being up and around the day before. She said her legs hurt. On further examination I discovered she had fractured her hip. We brought her to the national hospital where she saw an orthopaedic surgeon, a great doctor I had met before. He said she will need a transfusion which she can get, but she will have to find people to donate to the bloodbank to keep it supplied, unit for unit. Furthermore, while the surgery is “covered”, the hardware is not. That will cost her about $300. Fat chance. Tomorrow I will find out how much more blood or money is needed, and hopefully we will be able to help.

There are many more stories that put faces to the statistics. Please pray for the people we meet, and for us to help spread God’s love and kingdom the way He wants us to.

Careful where you use your Credit Card

Apparently about a month ago we used our credit card at a business which was “compromised,” so the account was frozen. Hey, this happened before and didn’t bother me much, because I knew it was for our own security, and the new cards arrived very quickly in Canada.
So this time we waited for UPS to deliver the new cards. And we waited. Finally I called the bank. Wait a few more days, they should arrive, we were told. They didn’t. I called UPS, who told me the cards had been ordered back to Canada because they were undeliverable here. Why? Not sure, bit of a language barrier... So it turns out our cards were already back in Canada while we were advised to wait here. Okay, our bank said, that didn’t work. We’ll have to cancel the new cards, and try again.
This time I followed the UPS tracking number daily! ... Lots of time on the phone—with both UPS and the card company. That’s okay our bank said, we can reimburse you, just keep your phone receipts. What’s that? This is Guatemala. You don’t get a record of cell phone time or money spent. (You walk up to almost any tienda, hand them some cash and tell them your phone number, and 20 seconds later your account is “recharged.” It’s great, actually.) So last week I called UPS Guatemala, and was advised to call back the next day to speak with Luis, he will tell you about some outstanding charges. Another international call to our bank, who said this is completely unusual, but they will reimburse us. The next day after a couple tries I finally got Luis on the phone. Unfortunately he didn’t speak English either, but he told me there are now two packages he must deliver, and both have taxes which will have to be paid first. You can pay them there in Antigua.
To the bank. Of course I picked the line-up that didn’t move. This is Guatemala—I tried to be patient, even after a few people that arrived after me had been served and gone. Finally my turn: You can’t make deposit without the account number. Oh, Luis didn’t give me that. Cell phone use is not allowed in the bank, so back outside I went to call Luis. Anyway, you get the picture so I won’t go on with more details. I paid the taxes. I was told the packages would be delivered mañana. Mañana came. No packages. I called again. They will come, later today? ...or more likely mañana. Sure enough, mañana it was.

Semana Santa, Part 2

HE'S ALIVE!!

This morning we went to a small Easter Celebration at the Saravia’s (S.I. director). It’s about time. The processions are getting a little old. I mean, it’s been a wonderful experience, culturally intriguing and spiritually challenging. But after processions every weekend of lent, and in the past week at least a couple processions almost every day—four on Friday—through all hours of day and night, filling the atmosphere with pungent incense, and dirges with tubas and drums and cymbals, and morbid figures of Christ carrying a cross and crying Virgin Mary’s... well, we’re ready to celebrate that Jesus is totally ALIVE.

We were glad to see quite a few alfombras made for the Easter procession today, which turned out to be my favorite. This one was fairly modest—less incense and no robes for the carriers—and more upbeat with singing and clapping. You can’t really get tired of the alfombras, and the crowds haven’t bothered us like they might some of the locals. Except for the commotion around the procession, today there are mainly a few leftover gringos on the streets. Antigua has been full of people for Semana Santa (Holy Week). It seems to be a religious pilgrimage for some, a big party for some, and a tourist destination for others. For most it’s probably all of these.

The people of Guatemala are well-acquainted with the story of Jesus, his pain and crucifixion. We have developed a real respect for the way they recognize Christ’s sacrifice for us. They have such a vivid reminder every year. We could learn from the way they honour Jesus with these efforts. At the same time I have struggled with how our understanding differs from theirs. I guess for many people, faith is more trying than trusting.

I had a great conversation with one of our neighbours on Thursday while the 200+metre alfombra was being made outside our street. (His English was excellent, so I can be more confident that it actually was a good conversation!) After learning of our purpose here and telling me of some really great things he was involved in, he essentially said “I hope I go straight to heaven.” I’m pretty sure he meant he hopes not to spend much time in purgatory. It gave me a great glimpse into the mindset of his people, and an opportunity to share with him the possibility of knowing where we stand with God: The good we do is not really the reason we go to heaven. I mentioned a passage that I had happened to look at in the morning (Matthew 7:21-23), where Jesus describes what He will say to some religious people who had done lots of good things, “Get away from me, I never knew you!” Our neighbor seemed to recognize this truth. (He also commented on being able to tell what kind of people we were by the relationship we had as a family.)

At the crucifixion ceremony Friday afternoon in Central Park, a preacher was talking about (amongst other things) Jesus' thirst while he was on the cross... thirst for peace, for justice, for love. Although the language barrier was fairly high, I thought this was quite insightful. I noticed something yesterday evening as we watched the story again in “The Gospel of John”, a fantastic word-for-word depiction: It is very apparent that Jesus also had a great thirst for us to know His Father, through knowing Jesus himself, and that this relationship would remove fear and bring life and power to his followers by the presence of His Spirit.

Thank God that He has power over death, and that Jesus proved it by living after dying! This is the message of Easter. This is the good news—that we have ultimate life if we daily live His life instead of our own. That’s what it means to take up our own cross (Luke 9:23-25). Not just during Semana Santa, but every day. And the only way to do this is to rely on His life-power, not hope in our own efforts.

Wow didn't mean to preach so much... guess I've been thinking a lot about this stuff lately. Lighter stuff next time, and cheers to all!

meanwhile

Last week when the El Gorrion clinic was quiet we decided to visit the family with two brothers that both have muscular dystrophy. Their mother cares for them and sells tortillas. SI staff frequently stop in to assist with basic physiotherapy, etc. When we arrived, we discovered it was Fernando’s 8^th birthday. He still walks well, but his brother (10), has to use a walker. While we sang happy birthday, their father lay face down on the opposite bed, passed out in a drunken stupor. He didn’t stir until we decided to pray for him. As we did, he teared up and expressed his desire to be free of his addiction. We prayed for him and for his freedom. He and his family have ongoing contact with SI staff. Some of the donated funds are helping supply the brothers with vitamins. Thanks for praying for them.

(Alcoholism is a very common problem in Guatemala, and particularly in El Gorrion.)

Bonnie’s birthday was happier...

Our family recently went to visit the elderly in the same home I have been to before. The photo doesn't really show it, but this guy was so friendly:

Yesterday we went on a hike. At the top we found an unexpected playground/park. Pics at http://picasaweb.google.com/jkornelsen/Meanwhile#

Huge thanks for all kinds of support. We really would be lost without you. While we are having a good time, and helping advance a few things here, the kids are missing friends and home lots at times. Life here is the same as everywhere: every day we need to follow and rely on God.

Today we enjoyed another walk around Antigua. It's amazing to live in a place where you constantly run into beautiful places and sites (but it's hard to not take too many photos!)

Semana Santa, Part 1

Yesterday we made an alfombra for Jesus. It was a fun. First we headed to the market, fighting through a crowd waiting for the procession on the way. We didn’t find much at the market, but bought a whole bunch of flowers for about $10, including gerberas and lots of fresh rose petals. Unable to find any sawdust to buy, we decided to take a tuk-tuk home. We abandoned it a few blocks later, because walking in Antigua is faster than riding in slow traffic. After asking a few people who were making their own alfombras, a very friendly fellow gave us a bag of untinted sawdust and refused to take anything for it. We brought it all to our streetfront, and found a way to make it into a small but pretty arrangement. The neighbours enjoyed watching our gringo rookie efforts, and seemed impressed with the result. Then we watched it get trampled by the procession. That’s how it’s done. Here are a few photos, but as always there are plenty more at http://picasaweb.google.com/jkornelsen/SemanaSanta1#

Cuaresma (the 6 weeks before Easter, ie. lent) is pretty significant around here, but Semana Santa (Holy Week) is absolutely huge. People come from all over Central America and other places to join in the festivities. With the arrival of Palm Sunday, the city of Antigua has become crowded and very colourful. The vendors are everywhere, selling ornate palm-branch thingies, sunglasses, rosaries and relics, balls, balloons, and toys, snacks and typical food and popcorn and cotton candy, and any number of trinkets. The entrance areas of the cathedrals have become marketplaces. It’s fascinating, but the religious commercialism is almost sickening. Just as sickening is the realization that it hardly compares to what we do at Christmastime in our part of the world.

The tradition of the processions apparently started with the Spanish colonialists demonstrating the story of Jesus to the indigenous people. First there were the soldiers who took Jesus, and then came a bloodied Jesus carrying his cross, followed by Mary whose pain is as evident as her son’s. This was part of the Spanish approach to evangelism, er, colonialism, which also included forced labor. Of course the native Central Americans became Catholic, and more than an ocean away from the centre of the church in Europe, the religion took an interesting form. The indigenous people identified mostly with the suffering Christ, and syncretised their own beliefs including forms of sacrifices, etc.

The modern version of the procession has taken on a life of its own. People pay (around $25 to $75) to carry the anda (float) for only a block at a time. There can be a few to over a hundred men carrying a float at once (the largest requires 400), and the processions may weave around the city for over 100 blocks. The biggest will last from before dawn until after midnight. Women carry their own float, with a statue of Mary, and follow the main float. The bands usually play a dirge along the way. We haven’t exactly figured out the meaning of the incense, but it sure fills the air. (Once again, here's a great primer on Semana Santa in Antigua: http://www.questconnect.org/guat_semana_santa.htm )

The alfombras (carpets), made of coloured sawdust, pine needles, flowers, and sometimes fruits, are beautiful and sometimes artistically exquisite. They are very impressive, particularly for something that gets destroyed shortly after its completion ...reminiscent of a jar of perfume wasted on Jesus feet, actually. I appreciate the extravagant form of worship: These people have found a beautiful way to honour the Lord, and His sorrow and death. I wish the celebration extended to His resurrection, but we hear the Easter procession barely exists. Please join our prayer that they would experience the wonder of relationship with a living Saviour.

good slavery

Phil 1:1 (& 1st verses of Titus, James, 2Peter, & Jude)

I am a slave of Jesus Christ. He bought me; I am not my own. I own nothing—everything around me is his. My time is his. I do whatever he wants, right when he wants me to. My life is ordered by his will. Even my wife and children belong to him. He owns me, and it is so good: He provides everything I need. He protects me and cares for me, and does more for me than I could imagine. My Master is so kind, so patient, so loving and good. He is my Guide, my Companion, and my Friend. I lack no good thing. I am safe and at rest with him, even while I am working for him. I have joy, and I have peace. I have love, and I have true life.
P.S. He adopted me; He is my Father and I am His son. (Romans 8:15!)

The other morning I started reading the letter the apostle Paul wrote to the Philippians. I didn’t get past the first verse, and started writing the above paragraph. It struck me that Paul considered himself a slave of Jesus (as did at least a few other apostles). I should really consider myself a slave. I imagined what “slave” meant at that time, and I imagined Kunta Kinte in "Roots" and other stories of slavery. A number of other spots in the New Testament mention this. (Rom 6:22 & 1Pet 2:16, etc.) I am a voluntary slave of God, but bought for a very high price—the death of his Son. When experienced in fullness, this is the most wonderful arrangement possible, because I also become a child of the Father of the Universe!

Yesterday on my way to clinic I passed a couple walking up a steep part of the road. The woman was carrying a child, the size that would normally be walking. I wondered if the boy was ill, or if they needed help. Following God’s prompting, I offered them a ride and they climbed in. The mother had a repaired cleft lip, but her speech revealed that her palate was not repaired. I found out the boy was unwell, and they were planning on heading to the hospital in Antigua. I dropped them off at the clinic and promised to check him a short time later. After I did so, I started him on some antibiotics for pneumonia. It turns out Elvin is 6 years old but can’t walk or speak. He was developing normally until 6 months’ age, when he got meningitis. He has a 12 year old brother who is also disabled, but from birth. This couple has been caring for these boys, as well as three healthy girls, all these years in their home, with little support. I was impressed. They are following Jesus. After we prayed with them, the father was visibly moved—a sight I haven’t seen so far in this country. We plan to visit them in their home. (By the way, only two of the daughters are still at home. The oldest, 15, got married to an 18 year old fellow and moved out of the house just two weeks ago. She’s fine, it’s normal, the father reassured me ...I was partially reassured.)

Would I take time to reach out and help someone at home? I asked myself. Maybe sometimes?

Quite some time ago at night, I received a phone call from a colleague who was requesting my presence while someone else was on call. I can’t remember what I actually said, but I clearly recall thinking “If I start doing that, my life will be over.” After I hung up the phone, I may as well have heard God’s audible voice: “Your life ended long ago, when you gave it to me.” Believe it or not, I felt His joy in me after I changed my mind and was driving to the hospital a few minutes later. The life He has for me is better than any I could live, anyway.

This is the kind of slavery that I choose. The paragraph I wrote helps me remember my identity. More than anything, I'm his chosen child, loved beyond comprehension.