People who hold reformed doctrines tend to be labeled many times as arrogant and overly adament in the expression of their views on grace. This is a great injustice to the doctrines of grace, since those who hold to these doctrines (such as myself) should really understand humility deeper; after all, we are those who believe that it was of no work or choice of our own that we are in Christ and that the work of God chose us, the vile things, out of his infinite goodness and wisdom. I never saw myself as one of the arrogant and overly adament until this week when I seriously scarred a relationship with one of the most important people in my life with my own puffed up attitude and relentless attacks. For this, I repent to this person and to God, and only hope that He will mend what I have wounded.
Since this experience, I have been thinking a lot about how to love with the truth as we are called to do in Ephesians 4:13,14: "Then we will no longer be infants,...Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will in all things grow up into him who is the Head, that is, Christ." I definately received a humbling blow with the knowledge of my lack of maturity and lack of sensitivity this week. In stressing my opinions in an overly aggressive way, I gave many false implications of what my faith is all about. Although I still believe that love for this person motivated me, I distorted true doctrines and true love into my own soapbox. I spoke the truth, but the love was not that of Christ. May the Lord lead me as a person of belief in reformed doctrines of grace to always be humble in the manner in which I present the truth of the impossible (yet believable) love of God for unworthy sinners, of which, as I was assured this week, I am the worst.
I give praise to God that his sovereign reign is able to undue the damage that I have done in distorting Christianity to this person whom I love. I repent of the harm I may have done to this relationship and, more importantly, to the harm I may have done to this person's view of God and Protestant Christianity. My hope is that they can forgive me and see beyond the arrogance to the truth of what I have presented. May the Lord guide me to speak the truth in love through the humility expressed in the life and death of Christ.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Siempre esperamos una despedida...
We always await a goodbye.
I read a book this semester by a Mexican author called "La piel muerta" (The dead skin) that was incredibly sad about how we have relationships in life but that there is really no hope because the only state of a relationship is waiting for the end. Today Silvia left for la Ciudad de Carmen, her hometown. However, as a believer in the care of God for his children and the hope of redemption, I am sad because I don't know when I will see her again and because I no longer have her care and love. I am not said because I believe that we are only allowed relationships that will not have eternal durations or because I the pain of losing her scares me so bad that I fear even having a relationship with her.
Silvia wrote me an incredibly beautiful letter, which she presented me with in the taxi ride to the bus station. Once at the bus station, we bought M&M's, looked for a present for her parents, tried to finish Ephesians (which we have been reading together), and I presented her with a large stuffed cow (which she informed me was the best cow she had ever received, which is something coming from her). After all of this, Silvia read me her letter out loud and we both, standing in the walkway because there was no room for us in the seats in the waiting area, began to weep. There is something about crying together over shared experiences that is incredibly comforting yet terribly disconcerting. In this instance, our reminiscing of these memories signified the end of our time together as of now and the beginning of a time of uncertainty as we have a relationship between countries.
We got about halfway through the letter when it became apparent that her bus could leave without her if we didn't leave off there. So, I hurriedly gave her a goodbye hug and kiss and that was that. Fighting tears I wandered to a table in some restaurant in the main, open part of the bus station. There I continued reading the beautiful letter and really broke down crying. It was so beautiful to review our experiences through the medium of her letter.
All this to say, I am incredibly sad that the woman I care so much about is now going to be thousands of miles from me for an unknown amount of time. But, I do not feel the tension of awaiting a permanent goodbye. I'm not sure if the Lord will preserve the relationship or not. I know that I will continue to pray for Silvia and for myself and what God would have for our lives. Today was a goodbye, but not the goodbye. As the great hymn goes "What´ever my God ordains is right," I know that I am not aimlessly wondering, fearing the breakdown of things. Oh that God would give me the faith to sing and pray that great line with honesty!
I read a book this semester by a Mexican author called "La piel muerta" (The dead skin) that was incredibly sad about how we have relationships in life but that there is really no hope because the only state of a relationship is waiting for the end. Today Silvia left for la Ciudad de Carmen, her hometown. However, as a believer in the care of God for his children and the hope of redemption, I am sad because I don't know when I will see her again and because I no longer have her care and love. I am not said because I believe that we are only allowed relationships that will not have eternal durations or because I the pain of losing her scares me so bad that I fear even having a relationship with her.
Silvia wrote me an incredibly beautiful letter, which she presented me with in the taxi ride to the bus station. Once at the bus station, we bought M&M's, looked for a present for her parents, tried to finish Ephesians (which we have been reading together), and I presented her with a large stuffed cow (which she informed me was the best cow she had ever received, which is something coming from her). After all of this, Silvia read me her letter out loud and we both, standing in the walkway because there was no room for us in the seats in the waiting area, began to weep. There is something about crying together over shared experiences that is incredibly comforting yet terribly disconcerting. In this instance, our reminiscing of these memories signified the end of our time together as of now and the beginning of a time of uncertainty as we have a relationship between countries.
We got about halfway through the letter when it became apparent that her bus could leave without her if we didn't leave off there. So, I hurriedly gave her a goodbye hug and kiss and that was that. Fighting tears I wandered to a table in some restaurant in the main, open part of the bus station. There I continued reading the beautiful letter and really broke down crying. It was so beautiful to review our experiences through the medium of her letter.
All this to say, I am incredibly sad that the woman I care so much about is now going to be thousands of miles from me for an unknown amount of time. But, I do not feel the tension of awaiting a permanent goodbye. I'm not sure if the Lord will preserve the relationship or not. I know that I will continue to pray for Silvia and for myself and what God would have for our lives. Today was a goodbye, but not the goodbye. As the great hymn goes "What´ever my God ordains is right," I know that I am not aimlessly wondering, fearing the breakdown of things. Oh that God would give me the faith to sing and pray that great line with honesty!
Thursday, December 08, 2005
La policía
If you know me, you know that I have a great respect for our police force in American mainly based upon my love for the tv show "cops." However, I'm sure we have all heard the horror stories of the corrupt police force in Mexico that pulls people over and tells them they found drugs in the car just to get that extra 300 pesos or so. Before a few nights ago, these were just stories.
It all started when Silvia and I went for "churros" (giant cinnamon sticks) in the center of town, which has become our delicious ritual. After finishing, she told me she wanted to go to the church. Thinking she meant the church in the zócalo (which is where we were), I agreed quickly. But, she quickly corrected me and told me she wanted to go to the church on top of the piramid. This is the piramid with the largest base in Mexican and has a quaint, catholic/pagan church on the top. It was about 10 o´clock at night and I couldn't help but think how beautiful the view of the city from the top would be. I was in.
We arrived at the base of the piramid with no gates and no opposition. We began the journey up the stairs and passed a group of three people that didn´t say anything to us. About 10 minutes later we arrived at the church. There were gates showing that it was closed, but we decided to jump them and enter anyway. After about 15 minutes of us being moderately loud on the top, because we didn't think anybody was there, a man came out of the church. We were just standing and looking at the city, so he just told us we had to leave. We complied, although sad that we wouldn't receive the same view from farther down the piramid.
About 50 yards down from the church was a grassy hill that we decided would make a good city-gazing spot. We planted ourselves and just sat tranquilly staring and talking. About five minutes into our time there three police officers walked abruptly up to us. "I need to see your credentials please. This is a restricted area as it is an arcealogical zone. Where are you from? Where do you live? You can't be here because this is an arcealogical zone." All of this was said by the leader of the three in a matter of about 10 seconds. Silvia didn't have her i.d. from the university, but I did, so I gave it to them. The leader continued to badger us. He lead into his big speach for about the second time about how this was an "arcealogical zone" when I said, "look, we didn't know, we will go, all we needed was a warning." But, they wouldn't let us go. At this point, I thought about making a run-for-it and just leaving my i.d., but I noticed that they had guns at there hips and decided that wouldn't be the best move. Silvia, being the actress that she is, led into a big speal about how she was only 17 (she´s 18) and how they were just trying to badger us. The two followers engaged her arguement while the leader took me aside. "Look, you´re going to have to pay us", he said. "Well, how much?" I responded. He took a few seconds to calculate an amount he thought I would pay and that would satisfy his greed. He responded, "3", meaning 300 pesos (about 30 dollars). All I know is, I was not about to pay 30 dollars for sitting on a hill at night and being harrassed by 3 dirty cops!
At this point Silvia was on the brink of fake tears in her arguement with the other 2, so I left my conversation about the bribe and went to comfort her. At this point one of the followers threw out the comment, "Just leave them alone, it's not worth it." So, after about a 15 or 20 minute ordeal, they decided to let us go. But, when I went to get my i.d. from one of the follower cops, he told me I had to pay him. He named his price at 50 pesos (5 dollars). However, I told him I didn't have any money. Tired of the whole ordeal (which is the approach you have to take towards police who want to hassle you), they told us we could go.
So, I had my first run-in with the police here. I can't imagine what they would have done to me, an American, if Silvia had not been there to wear them out with her dramatic performance. All I know is that I am so thankful for the moderately just police force in American. I'll take moderately just over mostly corrupt any day!
It all started when Silvia and I went for "churros" (giant cinnamon sticks) in the center of town, which has become our delicious ritual. After finishing, she told me she wanted to go to the church. Thinking she meant the church in the zócalo (which is where we were), I agreed quickly. But, she quickly corrected me and told me she wanted to go to the church on top of the piramid. This is the piramid with the largest base in Mexican and has a quaint, catholic/pagan church on the top. It was about 10 o´clock at night and I couldn't help but think how beautiful the view of the city from the top would be. I was in.
We arrived at the base of the piramid with no gates and no opposition. We began the journey up the stairs and passed a group of three people that didn´t say anything to us. About 10 minutes later we arrived at the church. There were gates showing that it was closed, but we decided to jump them and enter anyway. After about 15 minutes of us being moderately loud on the top, because we didn't think anybody was there, a man came out of the church. We were just standing and looking at the city, so he just told us we had to leave. We complied, although sad that we wouldn't receive the same view from farther down the piramid.
About 50 yards down from the church was a grassy hill that we decided would make a good city-gazing spot. We planted ourselves and just sat tranquilly staring and talking. About five minutes into our time there three police officers walked abruptly up to us. "I need to see your credentials please. This is a restricted area as it is an arcealogical zone. Where are you from? Where do you live? You can't be here because this is an arcealogical zone." All of this was said by the leader of the three in a matter of about 10 seconds. Silvia didn't have her i.d. from the university, but I did, so I gave it to them. The leader continued to badger us. He lead into his big speach for about the second time about how this was an "arcealogical zone" when I said, "look, we didn't know, we will go, all we needed was a warning." But, they wouldn't let us go. At this point, I thought about making a run-for-it and just leaving my i.d., but I noticed that they had guns at there hips and decided that wouldn't be the best move. Silvia, being the actress that she is, led into a big speal about how she was only 17 (she´s 18) and how they were just trying to badger us. The two followers engaged her arguement while the leader took me aside. "Look, you´re going to have to pay us", he said. "Well, how much?" I responded. He took a few seconds to calculate an amount he thought I would pay and that would satisfy his greed. He responded, "3", meaning 300 pesos (about 30 dollars). All I know is, I was not about to pay 30 dollars for sitting on a hill at night and being harrassed by 3 dirty cops!
At this point Silvia was on the brink of fake tears in her arguement with the other 2, so I left my conversation about the bribe and went to comfort her. At this point one of the followers threw out the comment, "Just leave them alone, it's not worth it." So, after about a 15 or 20 minute ordeal, they decided to let us go. But, when I went to get my i.d. from one of the follower cops, he told me I had to pay him. He named his price at 50 pesos (5 dollars). However, I told him I didn't have any money. Tired of the whole ordeal (which is the approach you have to take towards police who want to hassle you), they told us we could go.
So, I had my first run-in with the police here. I can't imagine what they would have done to me, an American, if Silvia had not been there to wear them out with her dramatic performance. All I know is that I am so thankful for the moderately just police force in American. I'll take moderately just over mostly corrupt any day!
Thursday, December 01, 2005
should i or shouldn't i
So, I know that I haven't posted in awhile, and I apologize for that. However, this isn't going to be a very serious post. I have been considering smuggling some Cuban cigars back into the states, and I'd like to know what you guys think. Worth the risk or not? Let me know by posting here. I've got this whole plan about switching the labels to mexican cigar labels and I think it could work....hmmmmm. I'll try to post something better soon. Don't give up on me!
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Worth...Rest
So, I've been thinking about worth lately. I think it's something I've been fighting (both against society and against myself) since my wretched preteen years. There are so many times that I have felt confronted with the fact that I need to prove myself by what I can do or how I can perform. In Mexico, it has turned to a need to prove how smart I am. Even amongst the foreignors I feel that we have this need to prove to others that we understand the story for literature class or that we can speak better Spanish than the next person. It's easy to pride myself on this philosophy when I am the best speaker in the group, but it is also incredibly humbling (and sometimes I just feel really stupid) when I don't understand a story that everybody else does. Frankly, I'm tired. I've never wanted to participate in this way of assigning worth but I feel like my sinful nature reverts to it so often. Lately it's played out in the fact that I don't feel like I can study as well as people from other countries. I am finding out how different study habits and educational systems are from all over the world. I want to learn, but sometimes I feel so inferior to some people who can sit down for 4 hours and soak up the information in front of them.
Donald Miller has some great thoughts on this whole system of trying to prove and assign our worth in his book Searching For God Knows What. He basically says that we have a "lifeboat mentality" in which we are all in this lifeboat and want to prove that we shouldn't be thrown out. We do that by performing (in my case struggling to find worth in how I perform in Spanish and desiring to perform better in school and be more educated in general). The reality is that this philosophy is empty of assigning any real worth. To me, that is obvious because I never rest when I am in this mentality. But, oh to rest. To rest in being a child of God. To rest in knowing that I have been unworthily given a "love that will not let me go." That is the challenge. To fight my nature that wants my worth to be about me and find my worth in the love of God. I have a feeling this may be a lifelong fight, but I have hope of rest.
Donald Miller has some great thoughts on this whole system of trying to prove and assign our worth in his book Searching For God Knows What. He basically says that we have a "lifeboat mentality" in which we are all in this lifeboat and want to prove that we shouldn't be thrown out. We do that by performing (in my case struggling to find worth in how I perform in Spanish and desiring to perform better in school and be more educated in general). The reality is that this philosophy is empty of assigning any real worth. To me, that is obvious because I never rest when I am in this mentality. But, oh to rest. To rest in being a child of God. To rest in knowing that I have been unworthily given a "love that will not let me go." That is the challenge. To fight my nature that wants my worth to be about me and find my worth in the love of God. I have a feeling this may be a lifelong fight, but I have hope of rest.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
this is not a dream
As you can imagine, being in Mexico (or any foreign place) provides a number of different feelings and emotions. I've had this really surreal experience quite a few times when I actually stop and think, "I am in Mexico" which is usually followed by sincere thankfulness for where I am and what I am doing. Today was one of those times. My good friend/special friend (not exactly sure what to call her at this point) Silvia and I went to the market this morning. We took the bus, which went the long way today, through the really ancient city that I live in, Cholula. I couldn't help but bask in the sun and the experience of driving down a dirt road which included basic housing, random horses, a field of wild yellow flowers, and cows (which Silvia is absolutely in love with). When we got to the market it was my time to really observe, so I watched Silvia buy her groceries for the next few hours. Please note the difference between market (which is the open-air place with fresh stuff and indigenous people) and supermarket (which would be Wal-Mart). So, I watched Silvia buy Papaya, Cactus, Cilantro, Avocado, and a bunch of other fresh foods. We walked by raw hanging meet, dead, skinned chickens with their heads hanging over the counter, and candy skulls made for "day of the dead." It was great. If you enjoy people watching (or even just observing for that matter), the experience is intensified like 20 times when you are in a different country.
After the market, we made our way to the supermarket, which consisted of taking a bus back to the school and then walking to the "bodega." The scenary of the walk was basically wasteland with views of poverty and bridges and restaurants. I know that I've said this before, but today was another time when redemption in the face of poverty was very real to me. I woke up realizing that I was in a foreign country and was amazed by the things I observed. There is a certain contentment that comes with being with someone you care about and observing created things. There is the fall, but there is also redemption. Redemption was real to me today. I pray that I might believe and enjoy it more every day.
After the market, we made our way to the supermarket, which consisted of taking a bus back to the school and then walking to the "bodega." The scenary of the walk was basically wasteland with views of poverty and bridges and restaurants. I know that I've said this before, but today was another time when redemption in the face of poverty was very real to me. I woke up realizing that I was in a foreign country and was amazed by the things I observed. There is a certain contentment that comes with being with someone you care about and observing created things. There is the fall, but there is also redemption. Redemption was real to me today. I pray that I might believe and enjoy it more every day.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
the Laotian mission and the Gospel...
As many of you know, during my senior year in high school I had the amazing experience of helping out at the Laotian Baptist Church in Spartanburg down near the Deaf and Blind School. To say the least, it was a season of change, and to really be honest, it changed my life forever. And I´m not saying that lightly. I fell in love with the kids, and with Mrs. Tucker, and with Linda who helped there too. Well, there was a pretty big falling out between Mrs. Tucker (the director) and the Baptist network and she ended up leaving. Ever since, the Laotian mission has basically been treading water and, from a heart standpoint (as far as I can judge the heart), is pretty much dead. That leads us to the problem.
One of my good friends Gary (who just happens to be Laotian) and I have both worked at the mission and, if you know either of us, you know that we are both reformed. What does that mean? Well, basically, it means that we trust that salvation is from God from first to last. If that is too vague, I would love to talk with you about the matter. Well, the new guy who works at the mission is named Leroy. I'm going to try and be loving towards him, but I must admit that I struggle to love the guy because of his actions at the mission. He is your typical hyper-conservative Southern Baptist minister. What this means is that every sermon or talk with the kids about the gospel centers, and sometimes only consists of, "you need to ask Jesus into your life." Gary and I, being reformed, have a huge problem with this. We believe it is much more biblical to preach Christ, preach his glory and his attributes and his salvation, which is completely about him bringing His people through life from choosing to glorification, even when they are whores. If you don't believe me, read the Old Testament. I've just recently realized that it is a story with that being the storyline.
Anyway, the Laotian mission is dying at the hands of a weak gospel and Gary and I, but mostly Gary as he still lives in Sprtnbrg, must stand by and watch. Gary has shared many times with me how much he longs for the kids to hear the gospel of a loving God who brings prostitutes from their whoredom and loves them, really loves them (read Jeremiah if you don't believe me on that one). So, Gary just emailed me saying that Leroy basically preached a sermon at Gary, and not to the kids, this past Sunday. In Gary's words, here's what happened, "He [Leroy] said some people ask Jesus into their heads but not into their hearts. He also said some people think that they understand the Bible but they don't. We may never understand the Bible, he says. Basically, he [Leroy] says theology is irrelevant." And here is Gary´s answer to that thinking, "Its sounds very disturbing, I know. We're not going anywhere if we won't come to a conclusion of what the gospel really is. I believe that it's the gospel of grace. " Man, I couldn't agree more. We must not stand for the belief that the study of God is not important. A concrete prayer prayed after a preacher never saved anybody, it was God softening their hearts. I really hope that this is the gospel that will be preached from our churches (and Laotian missions). That God comes to sinners when they have been beaten and left for dead, when they are at emnity with Him, and transforms their standing and lives. If you were "saved" by saying the sinner's prayer or by catechism class and have really been brought from death to life I pray that you will realize that you were saved by grace. Even when you labeled it something else (as I did in the past), it was God taking your cause in hand and promising to carry you through. I pray that the Laotian kids will know this truth. Please pray for them too. In love, Jared.
One of my good friends Gary (who just happens to be Laotian) and I have both worked at the mission and, if you know either of us, you know that we are both reformed. What does that mean? Well, basically, it means that we trust that salvation is from God from first to last. If that is too vague, I would love to talk with you about the matter. Well, the new guy who works at the mission is named Leroy. I'm going to try and be loving towards him, but I must admit that I struggle to love the guy because of his actions at the mission. He is your typical hyper-conservative Southern Baptist minister. What this means is that every sermon or talk with the kids about the gospel centers, and sometimes only consists of, "you need to ask Jesus into your life." Gary and I, being reformed, have a huge problem with this. We believe it is much more biblical to preach Christ, preach his glory and his attributes and his salvation, which is completely about him bringing His people through life from choosing to glorification, even when they are whores. If you don't believe me, read the Old Testament. I've just recently realized that it is a story with that being the storyline.
Anyway, the Laotian mission is dying at the hands of a weak gospel and Gary and I, but mostly Gary as he still lives in Sprtnbrg, must stand by and watch. Gary has shared many times with me how much he longs for the kids to hear the gospel of a loving God who brings prostitutes from their whoredom and loves them, really loves them (read Jeremiah if you don't believe me on that one). So, Gary just emailed me saying that Leroy basically preached a sermon at Gary, and not to the kids, this past Sunday. In Gary's words, here's what happened, "He [Leroy] said some people ask Jesus into their heads but not into their hearts. He also said some people think that they understand the Bible but they don't. We may never understand the Bible, he says. Basically, he [Leroy] says theology is irrelevant." And here is Gary´s answer to that thinking, "Its sounds very disturbing, I know. We're not going anywhere if we won't come to a conclusion of what the gospel really is. I believe that it's the gospel of grace. " Man, I couldn't agree more. We must not stand for the belief that the study of God is not important. A concrete prayer prayed after a preacher never saved anybody, it was God softening their hearts. I really hope that this is the gospel that will be preached from our churches (and Laotian missions). That God comes to sinners when they have been beaten and left for dead, when they are at emnity with Him, and transforms their standing and lives. If you were "saved" by saying the sinner's prayer or by catechism class and have really been brought from death to life I pray that you will realize that you were saved by grace. Even when you labeled it something else (as I did in the past), it was God taking your cause in hand and promising to carry you through. I pray that the Laotian kids will know this truth. Please pray for them too. In love, Jared.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Things I love about Mexico...
I must say, when I hear other people from the study abroad program here talk about how they don't like studying here because it's no France or Spain or whatever, it makes me quite mad. The fact is, I love this country, and here are some reasons why:
The mornings-I love walking out of the gate of my house in the morning. The alley I live in forms a tunnel into the light. So, I ride my bike over the cobblestone street into the warm of the morning sunshine. It's really great. Then, I turn onto the main road which basically looks like the Mexican road you would picture if someone told you to think about a Mexican road. It's really simple and beautiful. There are taco stands, stray dogs, pollution-making cars (i know because it kills my lungs as I ride my bike), women walking with babies strapped to their backs with really indigenous looking blankets, children in school uniforms, and two of the most beautiful (ok and only) volcanos I've ever seen. That's why I like the mornings.
The women-If you know me, there need not be an explaination here. I walk around my campus every day and think about how beautiful the "chavas" are here.
Public Transportation-I take the bus almost every day here. Two days a week I ride it an hour into Puebla and an hour back for community service. I have learned to love people watching and just being amongst other Mexicans. Sometimes it's really hot and sometimes I have to stand up for almost 45 minutes of the ride, but other than that, it's really special. I'm gonna miss it. Why doesn't America have better public transportation?
Tacos-I was never a huge taco fan before coming here, but I have to say, I have been converted from my evil ways. These tacos are made from meet sliced off of a warm rotating masterpiece of beef and there is always spicy salsa and lime available for my tasting pleasure. Hmmm.
The mornings-I love walking out of the gate of my house in the morning. The alley I live in forms a tunnel into the light. So, I ride my bike over the cobblestone street into the warm of the morning sunshine. It's really great. Then, I turn onto the main road which basically looks like the Mexican road you would picture if someone told you to think about a Mexican road. It's really simple and beautiful. There are taco stands, stray dogs, pollution-making cars (i know because it kills my lungs as I ride my bike), women walking with babies strapped to their backs with really indigenous looking blankets, children in school uniforms, and two of the most beautiful (ok and only) volcanos I've ever seen. That's why I like the mornings.
The women-If you know me, there need not be an explaination here. I walk around my campus every day and think about how beautiful the "chavas" are here.
Public Transportation-I take the bus almost every day here. Two days a week I ride it an hour into Puebla and an hour back for community service. I have learned to love people watching and just being amongst other Mexicans. Sometimes it's really hot and sometimes I have to stand up for almost 45 minutes of the ride, but other than that, it's really special. I'm gonna miss it. Why doesn't America have better public transportation?
Tacos-I was never a huge taco fan before coming here, but I have to say, I have been converted from my evil ways. These tacos are made from meet sliced off of a warm rotating masterpiece of beef and there is always spicy salsa and lime available for my tasting pleasure. Hmmm.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Surprise...
Things I didn't expect to be popular in Mexico that are:
- The faux (pronounced "fo") hawk
- the three wheeled bicycle-these things are amazing, two wheels in front with a big bucket for carrying stuff and one wheel in the back
- The Nightmare Before Christmas (who would have thought? but the merchandise is everywhere)
- Kneck braces (people drive crazy here and it shows!)
- The fact that nobody has change. Sometimes I need to pay for something that costs 30 pesos with 50 pesos and a store won't have change (note-that's like paying 5 american dollars and needing to receive 2 dollars back). This is a serious problem!
- The fact that everybody smokes. It's like I'm in Europe or something.
- The fact that the majority of people at my university speak at least 3 languages moderately fluently. Most speak Spanish, English, and French.
- The fact that there are so many clowns. I see so many of these guys in the center of town and on the buses it is really ridiculous. They are professional clowns who make their living doing clown things. Wow, now that's a foreign concept.
Monday, October 10, 2005
the state of things
One thing I did not expect out of this trip to Mexico was the extent of the situation of poverty here. Through assigments for school and just experiencing the culture I have come to realize that the poverty of Mexico is something foreign to me and almost everyone who comes from the 1st world. More than 40% of the people here live below the poverty line. I was astonished to find that the minimum wage in my city (Puebla) is about 46 pesos a day. That's about $4.50 American dollars a day! A person can work a day at McDonalds here and make what a person in the states will make in an hour. 25% of the people who have degrees can't find work that pays what their education says they deserve. It is because of these two things that there is such a huge immigration problem to the U.S. No, it is not because they think America is an amazing country and want to experience life there. It is because they can work 1 hour doing intense physical labor that no one else will do and make more than they would make in one day in Mexico. This has been on my mind a lot lately.
I sat near a family of three one day coming home on the bus from church. They sold nuts and fruit and had huge buckets with all of their goods. The mother was reading her son's math book. The son was guarding the bucket of nuts as it was sliding everywhere when we went around turns. He seemed quite content. The father carried a bag of two sodas that I assumed would wash down their lunch. I was struck with the simple beauty of the family. They were dirty and poor, but they seemed satisfied. As they got off the bus the woman carried a sack of goods on her back and a bucket in her hand. The man carried the heaviest bucket and the sodas. The boy struggled with the last bucket which I am sure weighed more than half of his weight. There I was, in the face of poverty. My guess would be that the family makes less than 10 American dollars a day (that's the whole family). Yet, they went about what they were doing with love. In a situation like that complaining seems past trite. I think about the complaining I hear from above middle class people constantly and it really looks ridiculous. There is redemption among the poverty. A poor family of three with no hope of ever accomplishing monetary success or even comfort can live for the shear love of each other. And, whether they realize it or not, they live in the image of their creator, whose love is seen in their family far clearer than the middle class family down the street who complains about their lack of luxury and will be ripped apart by divorce in 5 months.
I sat near a family of three one day coming home on the bus from church. They sold nuts and fruit and had huge buckets with all of their goods. The mother was reading her son's math book. The son was guarding the bucket of nuts as it was sliding everywhere when we went around turns. He seemed quite content. The father carried a bag of two sodas that I assumed would wash down their lunch. I was struck with the simple beauty of the family. They were dirty and poor, but they seemed satisfied. As they got off the bus the woman carried a sack of goods on her back and a bucket in her hand. The man carried the heaviest bucket and the sodas. The boy struggled with the last bucket which I am sure weighed more than half of his weight. There I was, in the face of poverty. My guess would be that the family makes less than 10 American dollars a day (that's the whole family). Yet, they went about what they were doing with love. In a situation like that complaining seems past trite. I think about the complaining I hear from above middle class people constantly and it really looks ridiculous. There is redemption among the poverty. A poor family of three with no hope of ever accomplishing monetary success or even comfort can live for the shear love of each other. And, whether they realize it or not, they live in the image of their creator, whose love is seen in their family far clearer than the middle class family down the street who complains about their lack of luxury and will be ripped apart by divorce in 5 months.
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