Feliz Navidad!

I'm pretty sure we explained what was going on to Berta before hand but, it is what it is...
(Here´s a little translation, "eso que es" means, "what is this".) Enjoy.


Merry Christmas,
Craig and Krista

History of Paraguay... Part 1 "Stick a Flag in it."

  Well dear readers, I promised you a discourse on Paraguayan history, and you'll probably end up getting more than you paid for.  

  I started my research at the library of the Mennonite Seminary close by my house.  Unfortunately, this soon turned sour because it seemed that, at the seminary at least, nothing had happened in Paraguay since a Mr. Werner Redekopp chronicled a few details back in 1962.  Suspecting that perhaps things had happened in this country since that book was published fourty-six years ago (and no, I was not going to read Gilbert Franz's "Reise durch Paraguay" and consider it objective history), I asked around at a couple friends' homes and finally discovered "Historia del Paragauy" published by the esteemed Oceano Group.  Really, I know nothing about them, but it seems from their fine cover art that this Spanish firm knows its Paraguayan history. (If there was one thing that I learned after two years as a Goshen College History major, it is that you should always, always judge a book by its cover.)  On with the history:

The Guaraní

  Surprisingly, (at least to the European adventurers) Paraguay did exist, at least in its geographic form, before the Europeans started showing up at the beginning of the 16th century.  There is some debate as to how long humans have lived in South America, but the majority of evidence suggests that people have been leaving things buried in the Paraguayan soil for anywhere between 10,000 and 40,000 years.  Three major cultural groups or periods are suggested to have existed prior to 1500 AD, and the latter of these three, the Guaraní, are the people that the Spanish encountered when they started to show up without a dinner invitation.

  The Guaraní that inhabited Paraguay (in fact, they were all over central-South America) were a very organized society, with a combination of agriculture, gathering, hunting, and communal living helping to sustain a decent population.  That and polygamy.  The people had extensive knowledge of the "natural science" of their surroundings, and books chronicling their healing remedies exist in Paraguay to this day.  The Guaraní were also polytheistic, holding belief in a number of gods that would control different parts of the natural cycles.  (There are actually parallels of Judeo-Christian stories within the Guaraní religious lore, but they are more likely attributable to the influence of Catholic missionaries blending the old, for example, creation stories, with the new Christian version.)        

(Modern Guaraní warriors... the club really is named after the people)

  

  But, "without a doubt" say the folks at Oceano Group, the lasting impact of the Guaraní culture on this history of Paraguay is the contribution of the Guaraní language (I would like to insert the "that and polygamy" phrase again here... you will understand when you read the next installment).  From my time in Paraguay, I have read a number of different statistics that indicate how many people still speak this ancient tongue, but suffice to say that the lowest estimate that I have so far encountered said that 87.5% of Paraguays are fluent in Guaraní, with other estimates ranging as high as 99%.  This explains, dear reader, why I can tell you, "Che aipota tembi'u heta tereí". "I want good food."  I learn the basic survival needs first.

The Spanish

  Ah, the Spanish.  I'm sure many a young Mennonite got lost during sixth grade in daydreams of adventuring with Cortez, Pizarro and the other conquistadores to the New World in search of glory and gold.   Of course, to later learn that they basically killed, enslaved, or robbed everyone they met may have thrown something of a moral wrench into the dream, but it was a fine one nonetheless while it lasted.

  When speaking of the Spanish explorers who ended up near Paraguay, the story seems to be somewhat repetitve, which is nice when trying to write summaries 500 years or so later.  Basically, an explorer (for example, Sebastián Gaboto) gets a mandate from Carlos V, King of Spain, to go and take possesion of the land in what is now South America for the Spanish crown.  You know, stick a flag in the ground, build a fort, "civilize" the people you find, and Presto! the land is yours.  However, upon arrival, our explorer catches gold fever and tries to set out on some wild expedition into the interior of South America to look for treasure.  

  Unfortunately, one of these wild goose chases did turn up something under the leadership of Alejo García (credited with "discovering" Paraguay).  Mr. García managed to get the foothills of the Andes and pillage an Inca village.  He brought back some shiny metal, and then there was no stopping the Gold Rush of the mid-1500s.  

  However, another common theme of the Spanish adventures was that whatever explorer did manage to make some sort of name for himself inevitably wound up dying at the hands of an angry indigenous mob (Mr. García learned this lesson in 1525).  It may have had something to do with the killing, the enslaving, or the robbing.  Perhaps two of the three or the whole package.  It is hard to say, some folks get angrier easier than others.  But it is sufficient to note that no one who came, at least for the first while, ended up hanging around very long.    

  Finally though, after a couple disasterous preliminary expeditions, the Spanish did manage to make it up the Paraguayan river and set up a fort under the leadership of Juan de Salazar de Espinosa.  They christened the new domecile "Nuestra Señora de la Asunción" in 1537. 

Look for the second installment of "History of Paraguay": "Polygamy vs. the Cow Head"

Mango Hunting, Now with Video Evidence...

Krista, searching for Mangoes again with our host Berta.

Right of Weight

  Upon arriving in Paraguay, it seemed that there was no real order to the flow of traffic here.  Often, there did not seem to be any visible street signs, and the few traffic lights that I noticed seemed either to be turned off, or with such a weak light as to be rendered unnoticable.

However, upon close observation, there is an unspoken order here that is, in fact, very logical.  The hierarchy that exists will be laid forth for you here.  I have deemed it, "The Right of Weight":

1) If you are a semi pulling one or more trailers, you need not stop at any lights, signs, or intersections.

2) Drivers of light trucks and buses need only make sure that semis are not barreling through the intersection.

3) Personal four-wheeled vehicles need to watch out for the two categories above, but need not worry about motorcycles.  (Note: within this category exists plenty of sub-categories based upon size and, inversely, condition of the vehicle.)

4) Motorcyles need to pay good heed to the above three classes of transportation lest they end up underneath of any one of the three, or several at the same time.  However, free reign is given to terrorize pedestrians.

5) Pedestrians at no time should expect to be given the right of way.  The pedestrian has dominion only over his/herself and any smaller specimens of the same class.  

   5a. (It was at first thought that pedestrians had the upper hand over the street dogs.  However, this is an exception to the hierarchy.  Generally, the street dogs are smaller, but will not move out of the way of the pedestrian.  They simply lay in the middle of the sidewalk daring you to step on them.  Their general hygiene is such that seldom do the pedestrians take the opportunity to assert their dominance and instead defer to the proud specimen that is the street dog.)

Black Friday.

 (Post actually written last Friday)

  So I read the news today from the States, and it reminded me of getting packed for Paraguay.

  A couple months back, when I was deciding what all to take with me for a year in South America, I laid out all of my clothing on the bed.  Now, I generally tell myself and others when preparing for trips that, at least when it comes to clothing, you need to lay everything out that you want to take, immediately cut the pile in half, and take only that.

  I organized what I wanted to bring with me, then cut it in half.  Now I am in Paraguay, and I realize that I should have cut it in half again, at least.

  To give a better idea of my actual closet down here, I will make a list:

8 t-shirts

5 dress shirts (for teaching)

3 pairs of pants

2 pairs of athletic shorts

some socks and underwear.

  That is obviously not an exhaustive list.  But hopefully it made you gasp at how little it was.  The point is, I should have no more than 4 t-shirts, 2 pairs of pants, and a pair of shorts.  I wear sandals basically all of the time, so bringing so many pairs of socks was a waste of luggage space.

  The reason for me suggesting the new 1/4 packing rule is that Krista and I have learned two things about the clothing reality here in Paraguay.

1) The washing machines are small, and we have to rinse things by hand, so letting a bunch of laundry pile up is not advisable.  I'll let Krista fill you in more on that process some time.

2) People just get by with less here.

  That last point brings me back to the news from the States as I was browsing the Internet today.  I had nearly forgotten that Black Friday existed.  Apparently though, CNN thought it important enough to be the headline in front of some attacks that are happening in India.  NEWS:  AMERICANS SPEND MONEY.

  People here spend money too.  The monetary system here in Paraguay is based around the Guaraní.  Currently, One US dollar equals about 5,000 Guaraní.  The net effect of this exchange rate is that it tests the math skills of any penny-pinching North American.  Everything seems REALLY expensive, even though it is usually close to the same price.  "2,300 Gs. to ride the bus?!? Outrageous!"

50,000 Gs. = about $10

 The economy of Paraguay is based largely on the sale of agricultural products and the exporting of natural resources.  It actually happens to be the world's largest exporter of hydro-electric power, thanks to the massive Itaipu dam which you can see in the picture here.  Also, the powers that know tell me that Paraguay produces a decent amount of cow-related products for its relative land area.

  The problem with an agriculture based economy, as some of you budding Adam Smiths might know, is that your country's market will depend a lot on world food prices.  Right now, prices are high, and Paraguay is doing well, but a stable guarantee, it is not. 

  All this might be theoretical and boring unlesss we stop to compare some numbers between Paraguay and the US.  

  However, the average Paraguayan, according to a 2007 estimate by the CIA World Factbook, makes roughly $4,000 dollars a year.  Think about that for a second.  $4,000 dollars a year means about $350 a month, or $90 a week, $13 a day. (Compare this with the $45,800 annually earned by your average neighbor in the States.)  Poverty, according to one count, affects 40% of the population.

  The difference between our North American economic reality and the reality here comes up a lot in the simple stuff.  I've had two Paraguayan friends ask about fast food prices and reply: "$5 for a hamburger and fries at McDonald's?  For 25.000 Guaranies (the same price after exchange) I can buy the same thing for four friends and I here."         

  It is not as if everyone down here is struggling just to make ends meet.  Truth be told, it is cheaper to live down here, in some respects.  And there are even rich people.  Really rich people.  We'll deal with that fact in another post.  But in general, like I said, people just get by with less.

PS-

  The joke that has been repeated by several Paraguayans down here to me goes like this:  "What does it mean that the U.S. is in an economic crisis? Answer: Each family can only have two cars instead of four.  What does it mean if Paraguay is in an economic crisis?  People have to stop taking the bus and walk everywhere."  I suspect the last part of the "joke" has some truth to it.  The first part probably does too, at least in terms of stereotypes.

Whew, that was long.

Central Ohio Success

  So just a quick note to boast about Ohio sports.  It seems that my leaving the country was a catalyst for everyone to start doing well.  The Columbus Crew won the MLS Cup this last Sunday (three of you may have noticed), the Buckeyes thumped on the Wolverines (really, who hasn't this year though), the Cleveland Cavs are somehow ranked #3 by ESPN (at least until Lebron leaves for the Nets...), and my youngest brother's Mount Vernon University soccer team is heading to the NAIA national tournament in California.  Congratulations Chris.

  Side note:  It appears that even catalysts like my leaving cannot help the Browns.  Is there some Cubs-like curse on them that I/they don't know about? 4-8?  Honestly?  We were supposed to be better than last year.  Instead, we mimick vacuum cleaners.  

Is Paraguay in Africa?

  

  While experiencing a bit of writer's block (or lack of writer's will- no one talks about that problem much...) over the past month, I happened to be reading over the posts that make up this blog currently.  I realized, much to my chagrin, that nothing was really put up here about Paraguay as a country.  This is a short attempt to remedy that with words and links...

  A commment that I have received in Asunción more than once is that somewhere along the line, someone down here met a North American who foolishly confided in a Paraguayan that he was pretty sure before his trip that Paraguay was in Africa.

  Well it is not.  And shame on him for exposing the shaky nature of our geographic education up north.

  In fact, Paraguay is one of only two landlocked SOUTH AMERICAN nations (the other being its northern neighbor Bolivia).  Although it is far from an ocean, water abounds here.  As you might be able to see from the best online map of the country I could find, Paraguay is surrounded by rivers of a pretty good size.  Now, we're not talking the Mississippi here, but one of them, the Rio Paraná is powerful enough to run the largest hydro-electric dam in the world, Itaipu.

  The Rio Paraguay cuts the country known as the heart of South America in to two distinct regions.  The northwestern one is known as the Chaco, and is dry as all get out and hot to boot about year 'round.  Many of you may be familiar with this place as the land that the Mennonite immigrants from Europe (see history post) turned in to an agricultural/economic miracle while simultaneously pretending that there were no idigenous inhabitants already on the land.  "Oh! Look!  Here we were trying to develop a plantation and these laborers just showed up out of nowhere!  What luck!"  (This is a slight over-simplification, again, await the history post.)

  The southeastern section of the country, home to the capital of Asunción, is still hot as a 4th of July Barbeque, but gets a decent amount of rain per year.  The country is generally considered to have a sub-tropical climate, which means that 115 degree days in the summer months of December, January, and February (no, not crazy - Southern Hemisphere, remember?) are not unheard of.     

  From the map you can see that Bolivia, Brazil, and Argentina are hugging this little country.  It is the size of Montana, slightly smaller than California, and home to roughly 6 million people.  These 6 million people largely congregate in the southeastern part of the country.  The aforementioned Chaco is only home to about 2% of the population, even though it is 60% of Paraguay's land.

  There.  If you stuck out that geography lesson, you're a trooper.  And now you know that Paraguay is not in Africa.

The Prince and the Pictures

So this is just a short note to inform all of you loyal readers that, if you haven't already noticed, there is a link to view our web albums of Paraguay off to the side there.  No, a little lower.  Too low.  Right.  Right there.  Good.  Now, there might still be some kinks that need worked out, but more or less you should be able to see what we see.

On another note, uploading all of the pictures to the web this morning allowed me the chance to remember our trip to the countryside and that they are teaching about "The Little Prince"  in the school there.  Those kids, if they read that book, will turn out just fine.

Sorry.  The lighting on the picture is not good... but you get the idea.  I was excited to see it on the blackboard.

If you do not know about this book, allow me to tell you that it is possibly the greatest book ever written.  I know what you are thinking.  "Well Craig there is this..." No.  No arguments.  Find this book and read it, and you will see. Antoine de Saint Exupéry wrote the book way back in 1943.  It was a work of genius then, and still is now.  Here, check Wikipedia.  

Anyhow, my German Host-mom Sylvia first gave me this book when I was in Germany, and it was the first book I ever read in German.  (It was originally written in French, but it's in a bunch of different languages now.)  It should be required reading for anyone who is going to be an adult, anywhere in the world.  CEMTA (the Mennonite Seminary here) also has the book in Spanish, and so I read it again in Spanish.  One day I will read it in English, and then in any other language people find the book in and give to me.  It is that good.

Face Off

   For the past two weeks I've been having a nasty reaction to something in Berta's (our new host mom) home.  Unfortunately, this little bugger has been affecting my face, making it itch like mad, and therefore, swell up and become beautifully dry.  It has woken me up at all hours of the night, only to remind me that I in fact have not figured out what I'm allergic to!  However, Craig and I were willing to try anything, even if it means sleeping in separate beds.  We have 2 beds in our room, a twin and a double, and I apparently was allergic to either our bed, my pillow, or Craig.  So we bought a new pillow, switched beds, and I now sleep alone.  And you know what?  I finally slept through the night!  I feel like a new mom, experiencing the first time that her child has slept the whole night through!  What a relief, and even more wonderful is that my face does not itch, and is back to its normal size.  Praise the Lord!  :)  

    

Get with the Beat!

We've all had the experience of going to a concert, worship service, or while sitting with an uh-hum, older person, and the song starts.  Now it has a pretty good beat, you're enjoying it, until... oh dear help us all, someone starts to clap on the 1st and 3rd beat of the song!  If this sounds like you - you can't keep a beat, and can't figure out why everyone else is clapping on the off beat - Ahh yes, then you should move to Paraguay!  

That's right my friends and family, you're "off the beat" here in Paraguay if you clap our "normal" 2nd and 4th beat to a song!  So a big thank you for all of you out there, (you may not know who you are, but we do) who have prepared me for this cultural difference that is probably the most difficult to adapt to!  

Give me all the cheeks you want, I'll kiss them, I'll take the cold showers on a cool morning, I'll even deal with the dust here that makes my face itch like mad!! Just don't make me clap on the 1st and 3rd beat!  So as you go to church on Sunday morning, remember me as you clap along, however you do it.  

Cutting the cord...

Although the title may make some people cringe, it´s happend. For five weeks we were comfortable in the house of Maria, her wonderful meals, surrounded by people who have once been in our shoes and learned a language other than their own, and encouraged by their slow talk. ¨Snip¨goes the sissors, and off we go. This past Monday, we were scattered to our assignments for the next 9 months, to learn from the people, and teach English.

It´s always a shift when you hear different people speak Spanish, it´s an adjustment. The different speeds at which people speak a language is obviously another setback. Craig and I are now living in San Lorenzo, just a 10 minute walk to the Mennonite Seminary (CEMTA) here. We live with a very livly, and talkative Reberta, or ¨Berta¨as she likes to be called. 

Now she´s a sweetheart, she really is, however, she loves shortened names, and really so does much of Paraguay. So only naturally to her, she says, "Oh Krista, we´ll shorten that to Kris. That's how everyone does it in Paraguay." Now, I like to think that I´m a flexible person, and many of you know how I feel about Kris. But Kris!!? I suppose if my group member Scott, can handle Escott, since Spanish speakers have a hard time saying "S" without an "e" sound preceding, I can handle "Kris" for 9 months. I guess.  

Besides adjusting to my new name, things are going well. Once my new host mother found out how much Craig and I love mangos, we went on a hunt to find some. Not to a supermarket, and sadly not to her backyard, but to the streets! Many people have mango trees, and when the ripe mangoes fall from the street and into the road, other people stop by an snatch them up. I have to admit, I felt a little timid taking other people´s fruit, but she did it first! :) They were so good I could have eaten them until I was sick! Berta told me one time when they were just coming into season, which is actually in December, she collected and ate 20 mangos in one sitting! My new comfort food. Love it.

The Other White House

A couple of notes on the Paraguayan White House: Based on no other information other than personal observation, it has to be said that the Paraguayan White House is at least 10 times bigger than its counterpart in Washington D.C. How else do you explain the difference in the two pictures I have taken?

Then there is the matter of security. You are able to get much closer to the Paraguayan White House. There is no huge, black fence surrounding the compound. There are no snipers on the roof.  There are no stewards shooing you away from the fence if you stand/sit/look/breathe there too long. In fact, there are only a few guards with automatic weapons, but even they mostly sit around drinking a local herbal concoction while reading the newspaper.  

Crocodile Meat

Learning another language can be like walking through a minefield when it comes to innuendos. Make sure that when you try and learn the local indigenous language of Guarani that you are really asking for crocodile meat and not suggesting that you desire someone else’s wife. Make sure that when you ask a person if they heard the drums on the street that afternoon, you annunciate clearly and use tambor instead of tembor. One is a drum, the other is a Guarani word for the part of the body specific to males. Context clues should help you sort out the two.

Yes Virginia, There is a Paraguay...

Honestly, where should I begin? How do you describe a week anywhere, let alone a new country, climate and culture, with any kind of justice in a few sentences or even paragraphs without it turning into the War and Peace of blog entries?

I could go into detail about the physical aspects of the experience. The fact that landscape and infrastructure of the suburb of Mariano Roque Alonso reminds me of some kind of cross between Florida and rural Guatemala. Or the oppressive mid-day heat that already exists here in spring. Or yes, even the new smells while packed into the bus on the way downtown.

Then there are the experiential things to discuss, the warm reception of the church that first night, that nearly violent encounter Nestor and I had with the old drunk while walking home with our wives from Maria’s, or the adventure that became of the simple task of exchanging a 20 liter bottle of water in another language.

But these will all take thirty pages to describe, so I will simply end by saying that, yes Virginia, there is a Paraguay, and Krista and I are experiencing it. That and, most importantly, I have already had the chance to play soccer with some pretty stiff competition. I held my own, and could have left proud if I hadn’t played one game too many for my out of shape body.

Building my Character

My parents say, “what doesn’t break you, only builds your character.” I don’t plan on going home broken!

As I write this we’ve been in Paraguay for one week, and I can honestly say I overall am thoroughly enjoying myself. This is not to say, I haven’t been frustrated when I don’t understand a sentence after it has been broken down to the “Nth” degree, or when I can’t even understand a 5 year old. It’s humiliating! But I can’t explain how happy I feel every time I say a complete sentence that people don’t need to correct, or ask me to say again. Or the best is really when I think of what to say, smash all of the Spanish words together that I think I need and struggle through the sentence, 30 minutes later when I finally finish my sentence, the person I’m talking to asks Craig, “what did she say?” Yep that‘s really the best. J (insert sarcasm here) However, as difficult as it may seem sometimes, I think that it is maybe better than I’m coming to Paraguay to teach English and not be fluent in Spanish myself---empathy.
I will say now, those of you who are planning on coming down for Mennonite World Conference, be gracious with the new English speakers that will be helping with the convention! The Radical Journey group met with the Mennonite World Conference persons today at their offices and talked about why our role is important in this conference. It really connected the picture for me that we are not in Paraguay to specifically be apart of a program, Radical Journey, but to assist in the communication between Mennonite persons in Kidron, Ohio, and persons in Asuncion, Paraguay-- to help somehow bridge the language barrier, and in doing so give those persons learning English a gift that will surpass World Conference --the ability to communicate in a new language.


Much more to come, thanks for your prayers of support.

30 Hours Later...

To make the story more interesting, I could say that we rushed around Tuesday morning trying to get everything together for the flight, but the fact of the matter is, when you spend a month living in a 15X12 foot room it means that your stuff hasn’t gone very far, and there ain’t much of it.

In fact though, the story didn’t need spicing up. Logistically, we needed to get from the West Side of Chicago to O’Hare airport with public transportation and all of our baggage. That meant a half-mile walk with all our groups luggage, including the bags of Scott and Dorothea which were grounded enough in antiquity that they did not possess the luxury of wheels. We were a grand caravan of pack mules to behold! (see illustration.)

The experience of flying in and of itself was never something that I have been a fan of. And let it be known that I am all for sacrificing personal comfort to save money, but after thirty hours in transit from Chicago, over Miami, to Lima, Peru, to Santiago, Chile, before landing in Asunción the next day, I am ready to abstain from flying for at least a year.

In the Last Days

The last several days of orientation in Chicago passed without much outside incident, save that I discovered that Dunkin Donuts managed to make a pumpkin-flavored additive that renders their otherwise unpalatable coffee very addicting. While groups were packing up to leave Chicago, there was yet again another round of “lasts” that found Krista and I traveling downtown with different people in order to see Chicago one last time and to take a ride to the top of the Hancock Building to accomplish the task in spectacular fashion.

nside the house, the teams began leaving, forcing those of us left behind to consider now that our time to go was indeed very close and very real. First, the team to England left on Saturday. Then Brazil left on Monday morning, meaning that only our group and the three Sweden folks were left...

On the Diving Board and Ready to Jump!

It’s strange how in just a month, you can entirely become comfortable in a once uncomfortable place, and seemingly forget what is about to come!  Our “Radical Journey” group of 16 has just dropped to 13, with the first group, England, leaving for their year of service on Saturday, October 4.  It reminded me how each person in our house has played an integral part, and with the three of them gone, it’s apparently obvious that our group is no longer complete.  

Friday night as a last night “hurrah”, we all went, along with KD, Darrell Gascho and Liz Weaver, to a restaurant that promotes giving homeless people experience with being a chef, in hopes that they then will be able to go out and get a job as a chef in a competitive restaurant with this experience.  The food was excellent, and I had to hold myself back from wanting to take pictures of every dish. J  This is something that Craig has yet to understand about me, and I have a sense that this will be something that we never see eye to eye about--and I am completely comfortable with having that difference between us.  I love food, and everything about it!  But I’ll try not to diverge.  

After the delicious dinner, we walked over to the lakefront.  Once there, we had a time of prayer and sending for every group, with each team surrounded by the others while we prayed for them.  Whether it was to give every team a little break from

 the frigid temperature, or to give the groups a sense of our support and prayer, I’m really not sure, but it was nevertheless a meaningful time as we let go of racing minds with what the future holds for us.  

Skipping to Sunday, Craig and I were planning to go to Community Mennonite Church that is housed in the church that Craig and I are living in.  However, what we did not know was that the one day that we decide to go to a Mennonite church was the Sunday that they were having “house church Sunday.”  So, instead of finding a church last minute, we had our own church, going to the (free) Chicago Zoo, cheap Thai for lunch, st

opped for some coffee and finished by reading our books at Barnes and Noble.  My mind ran wild, and butterflies jumped in my stomach as I asked Craig, “just think what we will be doing next Sunday!”  Ahhh! 

And for those of you wondering about the no ketchup on a Chicago hotdog, may I recommend a book to you:

One Week Closer

On the whole, the “radical journey clan” is comfortable living together, sharing meals together, knowing the ebb and flow of the city, and it’s easy to be distracted enough by our surr

oundings that we forget that we will soon once again, be kicked out of our comfort zone and be thrown into our different countries.  Although “thrown” is a strong word, we’re all excited, and for the most part ready for this new adventure.  However, it is only 9 short days until the Paraguay group flies the coop.  

 

This past week was once again full, showing us new sights and sounds.  We started the week with a group of us going to Trinity United Church of Christ last Sunday.  Yes, it’s the church that’s been in the political spotlight, Obama’s most recent home church.  Although there were some things that made us feel uncomfortable, it was a church that was full of thanksgiving and praise to God.  

Jumping to today, a smaller group of us went to Catholic mass.  As I sat in mass I thought to myself, “it’s hard to hear them; I wish we would sing/say something that I know; I’m not really feeling very connected here.”  It was in the middle of mass that I realized that for the next 10 months I am going to feel disconnected, not understanding everything, and it can be a lonely time of thinking that I am not connecting to God, or I can make a choice that my God is in everything, and it is up to me to see him in everything.  Although it’s going to be different, I’ve got to search deeper to see God in ways that I skip over at East Goshen Mennonite (our church in Goshen), or at Kidron Mennonite (my home church).

  

On a more random note, in case you’ve always wanted to know what exactly makes up a Chicago hot dog…let your wondering mind be comforted!!  

Letterman Cringes...

Part of the Radical Journey month in orientation has included a group study of Richard Foster's Celebration of Discipline, a book that looks at the Christian devotional life through various physical, mental, and spiritual practices.  

One chapter concerning study (in particular the study of the Biblical text)  urged people of faith to become familiar with the book that is at the center of their belief.  In light of this, KD challenged the group to come up with a list of their top ten most important Bible passages.  "Important" was a word that was left somewhat intentionally undefined.  It could be those passages that we felt every Christian should know, or those passages that we thought summarized the Bible well, or even just ten passages that were important to us in terms of our own spiritual formation.

Here goes...

-Micah 6:8

  There are times when people like to make faith and Christianity in particular a very complicated thing.  For me, this verse always cures that urge to make things difficult.

-Hebrews 11

I have always seen this passage as an important retelling of especially the Old Testament in a Heilsgeschichte-style faith history. 

-John 1:1-18

Much like the Hebrews 11 passage sums up the entire Biblical story, I've always liked the John 1 passage because it tells the Gospel story in a very consice, almost abstract way, which is a nice change of pace from the literal story mode of most other passages.  Then too, I also like the light and dark imagery of the passage and can relate that to the story of the cross and the conquering of death.

-John 4:1-42

Two things I like about this passage. 1) Jesus is breaking down a lot of social barriers in talking to the woman at the well.  2) Towards the end, Jesus tells his disciples to get off their bums and start doing the stuff that they've been talking about.  Perhaps a good reminder for some committees.

-Matthew 5-7

It could be that I'm just trying to act like a good Mennonite in including the Sermon on the Mount, or it could be that Jesus' restatement of the law in many senses helps me to see that love should be the basis for most rule making and enforcement rather than legalism.

-Numbers 22:22-35

  Balaam's talking donkey.  Shows that God has a sense of humor, that you should never question a donkey's actions, and that if you smack your donkey in public, an angel just might come smite you.  All important lessons.

-I Kings 3:3-14

  From a very young age, I was always impressed that Solomon could have had anything he wanted from God, but asked for wisdom.  It was also encouraging that because he asked for that specifically instead of riches or long life, God gave those to him as well.  Whether or not there is a lot of wisdom in keeping that many concubines around shouldn't be for us to judge.

-Acts 20:7-12

  Again, I like that the Bible can be funny, and frankly, not much is funnier in the Bible than Eutychus falling out of that window when Paul was preaching too long, dying, and then Paul brings him back to life just so he could keep preaching until daybreak.

-Matthew 4:1-11

  Call it plagarizing John H. Yoder (even he may have got this analysis from somewhere else), but I think there is something very important for us to learn about the mission and gospel that Jesus brought to Earth by looking at what he didn't want to be... a military/political messiah, a religious miracle worker messiah, or an economic/welfare messiah feeding people bread all the time. 

-Matthew 22:15-22

  This is just one example of a couple of different short exchanges between Jesus and the Pharisees that I like.  Sure, there is a good lesson to be learned in this passage about where we give our allegiance and honor, but I'm always impressed with how clever Jesus was, getting out of the traps those guys tried to set for him. 

***

Looking back on my passages, I note that there are an abundance of examples from the Gospels...  What can I say?  I like Jesus.

Pictures: Now in Technicolor!

So I think I figured out how you can all see what we see this year thanks to my friends over at Seeds of the Kingdom (check out the "Other Things Worth Reading" link in the sidebar).  Click on this link and there should already be a folder of some Chicago pictures up... more soon:

http://picasaweb.google.com/krista.craig

A time of focus

It’s possible that I haven’t paid attention in school, not connected with my teachers, and it’s even possible that with my Christian Mennonite education I’ve been apathetic to what is being taught!  (Gasp)  However, I would like to think that 10 years ago when I began high school, I began truly contemplating this talk of faith, beliefs and God.  Naturally faith develops and matures over a life time, and I’m starting to see the tip of the iceberg, as they say, with this development.  

I was in the third grade, and my Dad was driving into the garage in our great 5-speed brown Mazda 323, and he said, “So Krista, what do you want to do?”  Now we have pictures of me as a two year old, dressed up as a doctor/nurse, so my response was not a surprise.  “I want to be a nurse,” I naturally responded.  “Well, Hesston College has a 2-year nursing program that would be great for you” he said.  Done, finished, seal the envelope, I had made my decision.  I would go to Hesston College and major in nursing.  Ever since that day, I honestly can say I’ve never doubted that, and have put everything into working towards that dream, and calling to be a nurse.  However, since finishing my classes, obtaining my BSN, and passing my boards, I’m realizing how much I’ve missed out on some key “intellectual”, if you will, faith development.  

  Having conquered public transportation during our first week of orientation, we moved on to the next mission:  Spiritual Development and Discipleship.  This one may take 2 weeks to accomplish a full understanding of all the bus, subway and detour routes in God’s secret roadmap.  J  Monday, Darrell (Director of Radical Journey) joined us again at our house, for an open discussion with Krista Dutt (also known as K.D., our leader in Chicago) with common spiritual questions on faith.  A number of factors played into this being a very moving and insightful time for me.  Number one, K.D. and Darrell had differing opinions which helped others, including myself, not feel ostracized for having differing opinions.  Number two, having lived with the group in a very close setting for a week, trust was beginning to form.  And number three, being the oldest in the group, I didn’t feel pressured into conforming to the rest of the group‘s opinions, or being “looked down upon” for not having opinions formed by years of theological study.  I was accepting myself during this time as myself, with the mind that I had, and experiences that have shaped my beliefs.  

The discussion between Krista and Darrell was open for us to chime in, and was focused on “simple” (HA) questions such as: who is God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit; Is there a plan for my life, and is there a heaven or a hell?  It was a wonderful time to listen, and a chance for me to begin to finally verbalize and dig deeper into my faith, in a very non-judgmental setting.  This is not to say that all of the other faith focused settings that I have been apart of have not challenged me, but more to speak to the fact that I was not ready to let my focus stray from nursing.  I was overly focused on the task at hand.    

Since our Monday discussion, we have then been taking Myer-Briggs personality tests, test determining Spirituality Types, and finally Craig had to take, as well as everyone else, a test on LOVE LANGUAGES!! 

Reiterating what I’ve said, this week has been a blessing to talk about things I’ve discussed before, and taking tests again but doing all of these things with nothing else looming over our heads.  I’m not having to worry about my job (or lack there of), bills, classes or up coming plans.  I’m excited and relieved to see this time during orientation as a time for me to relax, listen and learn.  

Bad Moon Risin'

  Today, there had to have been a full moon.  One of those days where you certainly do not leave your room if you cling to any sense of personal safety.

  It started innocently enough.  Some folks from the Mennonite Mission Network staff came out and asked questions about why we were doing the program, what we hoped to get out of the year, and invited us to evaluate the experience thus far.

  As we left the church to break for lunch over in the house though, I noticed David Graber (a member of the Brazil team and also a member of East Goshen Mennonite Church) talking to a man outside of the church building.  

  Plenty of people pass by out front and stop to talk, or at least express wonder at what in the world such a large group of white people are doing in the largely African-American neighborhood of Garfield Park.  That is to say, nothing seemed that out of the ordinary so far.  

  Inside Faith House, I spent some time catching up with Jeremy Kempf, a good buddy who had come out with the MMN staff.  Everyone was inside cooking, talking, or reading when the doorbell started to sound.  As I went to answer the door, I immediately recognized the man at the door as David's conversation partner from the sidewalk earlier.  

  Sticking my head out the door, I greeted the man, who introduced himself as Daniel Lucas, and asked what had brought him up the steps.  He asked about whether David was around, and mentioned that David had invited him over for lunch.  I called David out to the porch and listened in uninvited to make sure that everything was alright.

  Daniel explained, in no uncertain terms, that the five dollars that David had loaned him to get home on the bus had just been stolen by two guys with guns who had knocked him down and, "oh, don't shake my hand so hard 'cause I fell on that arm."  What he really needed, he explained, was eighteen dollars to get a taxi home.  Daniel said he was a city engineer, and repeated over and over how embarrassed he was that he was in this position and asking for this much money.  He had been at a meeting close-by with an architect when his Porsche Cayenne had been towed for being illegally parked.  If we could only lend him the money, he would make sure to return and double, no, triple any money we could lend him.    

  David was obviously in an awkward position.  This was a matter of making an on-the-spot judgement of someone's character, honesty, and need.  I suggested that we all step inside, eat the lunch of potato soup that was waiting for us, and (to myself) mull over our options.  

  Let's pull no punches here.  Daniel Lucas was a big guy.  (I would later joke with him that he could break me in half if he wanted to.)  He was also black.  The only black man currently standing in a house full of about twenty white Mennonites.  I cannot nor should not speculate on what was running through the minds of the rest of the people in the room when David and I informed them that Daniel was joining us for lunch, but to their credit, the table that Daniel, David, and I sat down to eat at quickly filled up and we talked about Daniel's job with the street department, where he grew up, and Michigan-Ohio State football.  He is a Wolverine.  I am an unashamed (at this point in the season) Buckeye.

  The light topic of conversation allowed for my backup brain to race for some kind of "third way" solution that could fulfill Daniel's request, keep David's funds intact, but also allow David and I to show Daniel that we trusted him, no matter how many stories about con artists we have heard.  

   

  If you really look closely at the life of Jesus, you'll find, I think, that the guy was simply creative with his responses to the corners that the Pharisees tried to back him into.  I'd like to think that the solution that popped into my head originated from a similar source.

  Our group has been travelling around Chicago by using month-long transit passes, so I had the idea to borrow one and get David to come along with me and simply take Daniel home.  Wherever that was.  I checked it out with David first when he and I had a moment alone in the kitchen, and he was ready to jump on board.  The idea was, if Daniel was being sincere about his need to get home, then our offer would cover his need and only take an hour or so out of our orientation time.  

  Daniel, almost to my surprise, took the offer right away.  I had of course advertised the plan to him as a win-win situation.  He would get home and we, as newcomers to the city, would get further training on how to get around with an experienced guide.  Whether David and I needed the extra training is debatable.  

  Daniel grabbed a banana for the road, and the three of us headed off toward the Green Line, taking us into the center of the city.  Our guest had laid out the plan:  Green Line to Clark and Lake, transfer to the Red Line, and then his stop would be somewhere near Wrigley Field.  

  While in route, we talked more about his job, and his life in general.  A couple kids, he is divorced, his wife being a lawyer for the State of Illinois.  I asked whether getting divorced from a lawyer made the process harder or not, but I can't remember exactly how quickly he changed the subject.  Daniel also mentioned a couple famous immediate family members and that he had briefly played football for the University of Michigan.  Judging by his exposed forearms, this last claim could easily be accurate.  

  After a short ride downtown, we got off to change to the Red Line, and I ran over the plan again with Daniel.  He said again that he lived right off the Red Line, so I told him that, in light of David and I needing to get back to orientation, we would get him in through the Red Line turnstiles and then head back the way we came.  

  He seemed okay with this change to the playbook, but curiously avoided asking me and jumped right on David for the eighteen dollars again, asserting that he would have no way to go and reclaim his car.  David and I had talked earlier and I told David that I would leave any funding decision up to him, but there on the corner of State and Lake we both assured Daniel that we would love to help him further by taking him to wherever we needed to go to get his car, but that we simply did not have eighteen dollars to give him.  

  What was running through his mind is anyone's guess, but instead of any of the responses that I thought might be possible, he stepped back from us and exclaimed that he should run over to his friend Cecil's office now that we were downtown and that Cecil could definitely help him out.  He thanked the two of us profusely, bear hugging both of us and saying that we had restored his faith in humanity.

  The next five minutes of the return journey for David and I was spent reflecting on where exactly our faith in humanity lay at that point.  We both agreed, we wanted to trust Daniel.  That seemed like the right thing to do.  But there were so many weird aspects to his story.  If he was meeting with an architect, why was he in jeans and a T-shirt?  If we could get him home, and his apartment manager could get him in, why did he need money from us?  (Now that I type that last line, it makes the whole thing seem even more naive.)  

  Riding the train back didn't provide any answers though.  It in fact just produced more strange happenings, with a subway musician hitting on a couple of University of Illinois girls.

  Bottom line:  David and I just left convinced that there was a full moon out, and that we had better just lock ourselves in our rooms for the rest of the day.  We had had enough of singular experiences.  

(Since I first wrote this, there have been two Daniel sitings, one by me as I was jogging near the church, and one by David on Blue Line heading toward the church.  Both times Daniel responded positively to us.)      

     

The General Run of Things...

  Periodically, changes in scenery, living situation, or season provide a chance to reevaluate one's lifestyle and critique (at least in my case) a certain lack of discipline and to try get into what the organized folks around us call a "routine." 

  As dawn broke on Monday morning, it felt a little like New Year's.  I got up at 6:30 (perhaps the time change made this a little easier than it should have been), jogged around the park close to the church, did some calisthenics, and showered all before heading off to breakfast.  One day down...  if it only took one day to make something a "routine"...

  Orientation has also followed something of a routine over the past few days.  My notebook's record of Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday looks like this:    

MON-Breakfast, Covenanting Time, Lunch, Maps of Chicago Orientation, Supper.  TUES- Breakfast, Group Time, City Walk, Stop at YMCA for computers, Covenanting time, Supper. WED- Breakfast, Group Devotions, Map/City scavenger hunt, end at the zoo, Observation walk, Dinner on a Dollar.

  Many of you will of course note that Wednesday's ending presented something a little different, and thus worth explaining.  After a long day of traipsing around the city, it was generally agreed that a big, delicious supper would be a good thing.  KD had mentioned the day previous and throughout the day Wed. that we would be eating out in the city.  Krista in particular was looking forward to this mystery dinner out.  Maybe Indian food...  maybe Thai...  who knew?  

  As we all finished our tour in Millennium Park, the news was given to us that we would in fact each be given one dollar and should find a way to eat with just that dollar in our country groups.  That's correct.  One dollar per person.  In downtown Chicago.  

  The goal of the exercise seemed fairly obvious- to give the group a window onto the experience of many of Chicago inhabitants' daily predicament.  It was unclear, however, how well the spirit of learning a lesson and building character caught on among the 16 walk-worn Journeyers.  Character should really work at a way to become less painfully accessible.  

  Paraguay's team, having six members, certainly had a little advantage.  With six dollars, the world was at our fingertips.  Nothing could be denied us, so long as it did not cost $6.01.  A plan was agreed upon to venture out of the downtown area, back toward Faith House, and see what the Aldi grocery store near the house could provide us.

  Though the situation did seem dire at first, Aldi's low, low prices (no advertisement intended) helped restore some degree of peace.  Comparing prices, suggesting the menu, and figuring out how to cut corners proved that our team will do just fine in the "creativeness" category throughout the year.  As evidenced in the picture accompanying this post, the meal finally ended up consisting of chips and salsa, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (with one of those cans of PB&J already together in one can of course), a two liter of knock-off Sprite, and a little can of Vienna sausages, the latter ingredient mostly purchased because of Scott's curiosity and my insistence that no cheap meal is complete without some sort of mysterious meat.

    Our dubious potluck was consumed in the park separating Aldi and our house and, in all honesty, it was fun.  Now, it was by no means healthy.  We were severely lacking on the vegetable front.  However, for one evening of experimentation, we learned just how far a buck could go, especially in group cooperation.  It also was a good reminder that good nutrition is very hard to achieve unless you have a decent budget for groceries, which many simply do not have.

  We left the park full, and wrapped up the evening listening to other groups' reflections on the experience, trying to keep the Vienna sausages quiet.       

In Training

  The two hour drive from Goshen, IN to Chicago was spent talking to Darrell Gascho (head of the Radical Journey program) about his life, our lives, and what we would be experiencing in the coming year.  Krista and I had spent the night in Goshen after Terry and Kay graciously drove us out on Saturday.  We spent a good afternoon/evening with Roger, Rhonda, Matt and Amanda that included lunch with Krista's Grandpa and Grandma Nussbaum.  More "Corn Hole" was played that evening at Jeremy and Laura's house, with a cameo appearance by Nathanael Shue, soon to be flying around Bermuda.

  When we left that Sunday morning at 8:00, we were ready to go.  This seems like a simple phrase to use, but you must understand that when you have been preparing for a certain thing for 5+ months and have spent the last three to four weeks saying extended goodbyes, ready to go is ready to go.  

  The house that we finally pulled up to in Chicago was the home of the DOOR director, Krista Dutt.  DOOR is a program that encourages people to interact and learn from the people, the places, and the God that is in our cities nationwide.  (Because my wife Krista shares the same first name with the same spelling, I will be required to refer to Mrs. Dutt from here out as "KD," something that hasn't necessarily been cleared with her... forgiveness please.)

  KD showed us to our rooms on the second floor of the adjoining First Brethren Church of Chicago, located at 425 S. Central Park just off of Interstate 290.  We were told that those in the group of 16 Radical Journey participants who had already arrived would be waiting for us in the house on the other side of the church deemed, "Faith House," where the other 14 would be staying for the month.  Church would start at 11:00, and we could go meet the others at anytime.  

  As we unpacked in the little half-triangle, sky-lit room, I thought about Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own and thought that perhaps "a room of one's own and fifty pounds a year" was after all a reasonable request for a decent life, though I still don't know why she wanted to put on fifty pounds a year...

The service with First Church of the Brethren  included a prayer request time that unsettled more than a few in the group when petitions were brought forth for two people who had recently been shot in two separate incidents.  We certainly aren't in Kansas, Dorothy.  The congregation has a history longer than this short entry will allow, but it is wrapped up in the Brethren hey-day in Chicago, a seminary, a growing community, a full building.  And then, the realities of "white-flight", the strug

gle to keep the doors open.  Revitalization as a certain man by the name of Martin used the church for a second office while he worked at community organizing (ask Mrs. Palin what that is if you don't know) before returning South to continue giving his life to the cause of reconciling this divided country.  The history then speaks of more years of nearly closed doors, days when 10 people were all the congregation could count on, up through times of community unrest, depression, violence, and ultimately up to today.

  

Orientation proper for the 16 of us began in the upper room of the Faith House.  We were, among other things drawing up a covenant about how we were to live with each other during the month, much like Jesus drew up a covenant with his housemates a couple thousand years previous.  Whether the results of our endeavor came close to matching that precedent is hard to say.  Besides, they had wine, and it is difficult to predict what effect the inclusion of that element would have had on our proceedings.

  The group and living situation is what one of our old high school classmates turned orientation-mate Lee Matsos has deemed "The Mennonite Real World".  Thirteen Americans and three Canadians.  All hailing from somewhere within Oregon, Pennsylvania, Indiana, Iowa, Ohio, South Dakota, Arizona, Ontario, and Manitoba.  Nine women, seven males.  Surely, more will come up about this motley crew later.

  

  Before closing, there is a word to say about Larry, the security guard who lives at the church.  However, time is short, so hopefully this word will be enough to remind me of his small mattress, mini-tv, and his short jug of Kool-Aid.    

  

        

Monkey See, Monkey Do

  The two weeks following our exit from Goshen found Krista and I spending time with our families in Kidron and Smithville.  We spent Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday at the Shues' with the general schedule of exercise, studying Spanish, watching over cousin Harper, playing "Corn Hole" (or "Corn Toss" or "Potty Toss" depending on your regional preference) and watching the Democratic National Convention.

  By Friday morning, we were in the car again, headed to Dayton, Tennessee with my mom and dad.  Before we get to the real reason that we were in Dayton, let me explain what this average, "Main Street USA" town is famous for.  Way back in 1925, Dayton became the center of a nearly Trans-Atlantic media frenzy with the indictment of high school science teacher John Scopes on charges of teaching evolution in a Tennessee classroom.  This was a direct affront to the Butler Act, which stated that it was against the law in said state, "to teach any theory that denies the story of the Divine Creation of man as taught in the Bible, and to teach instead that man has descended from a lower order of animals."  (Yes, I got this off of Wikipedia...  what can I say, quick and easy to quote.)

  This will eventually connect back to our purpose in Dayton, I promise.  Just let me say that one of the interesting aspects of this trial (which was popularly referred to as the "Scopes Monkey Trial) was that both the prosecution and the defense sought to bring in big name celebrities (of that time) to make their case hold up.  

The defense recruited Clarence Darrow, an accomplished attorney on the national level, while the prosecution roped in William Jennings Bryan.  Bryan was, among other things, a three time presidential candidate, a populist, former Secretary of State, and a firm believer that Genesis stated scientific fact.

  Whatever your personal opinions on this case might be, Scopes was convicted by the Rhea County court and appealed to the State Supreme Court, where the case was basically dropped and declared pointless.  

  As for Bryan, he felt his victory in regards to the county trial was not enough to ensure that Christian/Creationist ideals would continue to be taught in that locale, so he set up Bryan College, a school where folks could ostensibly learn to be smarter than monkeys. 

  Which is where my family comes back in.  My youngest brother Chris, a midfielder for the Mount Vernon Nazarene Cougars' men's soccer team had a tournament to play at Bryan College against the hosts and two other schools.  I really enjoyed the opportunity to get to watch Chris play... I'd rave about how good he is, but you would assume that I have some sort of bias.  I also was reminded that sporting events can sometimes bring out the worst in fans... myself unfortunately included.  But they did foul Chris pretty hard.

  Other than soccer and monkeys, Dayton does have some other interesting spots.  My parents took Krista and I out to Fehn's 1891 House, a restaurant/boarding house with a lot of class and an interesting story to tell.  We also had time for a great hike in the area to a local waterfall.  

  Before getting on with the rest of our "vacation time" I will note briefly that long car rides enable you to learn things about people that you either did not know, or had forgotten.  I, for instance, had forgotten my mother's passion for people being good drivers.  I'll leave you the reader to fill in the blanks on that one.

  The final week before we were to leave for Orientation in Chicago was spent at the Shues in another whirlwind of Spanish study, cousins, a visit from the Shue grandparents, puzzle (the latter two are connected), and giving time to the Republican National Convention.  Mentioning both conventions reminds me that I found a new appreciation for John Stewart and the Daily Show.  This is perhaps an appreciation that not everyone would share, and that is ok, because God made us different.

  There are plenty of details that could be expounded upon for that week at the Shue household, the black snake on the wall at Tim and Jennifer's; the meetings with Thomas, Lydell, and Rebecca; or the final breakfast with my parents and then the final Thai meal with Krista's family.  But I am rather tired of writing... I gave too much of my time to monkeys, and I'll leave Krista to fill in any details. 

 

Wandering Aimfully

The 18th of August marked something of a milestone for Krista and I. Freshly returned from a month in Miami and Toronto with Youth Venture, we were helping our housemates of this last year, Beth Miller and Jesse Smith, move out of our house while we tried to wrap up last minute details before “the guys” moved in. Six Goshen College guys (maybe five) will be taking care of our house through this next year, and we were pretty sure that they were moving in on that Monday sometime that afternoon.

My parents had been out for the weekend to help with some of the clean-up. It is truly mind-boggling how in even two years of living in one place, so much “stuff” can pile up and turn moving in/out/around into a monumental task. Shampooing carpets (yes, we shampooed carpets before six guys moved in), trimming trees with a pole-saw and a shoe tied to an electric extension cord, and wiping out cupboards.

  Shakespeare said something about, “the best laid plans of mice and men”, but I’m not sure if it applies to our situation or if was even Shakespeare who said it. Our plan was to be on the road for Ohio that Monday afternoon. The guys, we found out, weren’t coming until the next Monday (25th) and we weren’t really ready to leave, in all honesty, by that particular Monday afternoon anyway.

By some stroke of providence, we sold our car on Tuesday. That may have introduced the subject too quickly, but suffice to say, we had been debating whether to get rid of our 97 Nissan Maxima, and it just so happened that a friend from Hesston and his wife were looking for one at the same time. It worked out for us that Krista’s dad and sister were coming out to Goshen for meetings on Wednesday the 19th and could take us back to Kidron with them, allowing us to part with our wheels early.

As an unnecessary aside, I will say that selling something that large for the first time in our lives was somewhat nerve-racking and telling for Krista and I. Nerve-racking in that there are now two of our friends driving around in a car that ran perfectly well for us, and we just pray that it continues to run perfectly well for them for another 500,000 miles. Telling in that it proved how little business sense the both of us possess. They were looking for a car, and when they told us this, they asked how much we wanted for the car. $3,500 I said. “Great,” he replied. “We have budgeted for $5,000.” (Obviously we were all relatively new to this process.) “Oh good,” I replied. “We’d be happy with even $3,000 because of the dings it has in the door.” Looking back, the haggling process in most used-card deals might be somewhat opposite of this exchange.

Car-less and, for all intents and purposes, homeless, we left Goshen with Terry and Bethany on Wednesday. We spent several short days with my parents, ate a meal with the Shues and made cameo appearances at Kidron Mennonite and Smithville Mennonite’s annual Camp Luz Sunday.
Monday the 25th arrived too quickly and by 7:00 am Krista and I were on the road back to Goshen in a mooched vehicle, my parent’s, to hand over the keys to our house to the aforementioned “guys” and sign some papers making things seem adult-like. If you want to try something surreal for a change in scenery, try coming back to a house that had been your home for two years, walking in with everything looking very sterile, devoid of most of the décor that makes it homey, and then hand it over to some people with the instructions to avoid making the neighbors angry. Two hours before the guys arrived, and while Krista and I had some time to check that most everything had been attended to, the silence of each room really spoke volumes about the closing of another chapter of our lives, and the uncertain beginning of another.

By 2:15 pm, the deed had been done, and we were officially homeless. We planned on spending the night at Krista’s cousins’ house (Jeremy and Laura) but for the next several hours, we faced the prospect of having really nowhere to go. Friends were at work or away and so we hung out at the Goshen College Library among other places before wandering to the Electric Brew. Mentioning this landmark reminds me of a trend that I am willing to bet is practiced by at least a handful of others besides my wife and I. This is the practice of using the excuse, “This is our last time here!” to justify over-spending, over-eating, or over-anything else at any place with an ounce of emotional appeal. My waistline of late is proof of that tradition’s pull at one particular Goshen landmark- The Chief. (Ice cream stand extraordinaire for those of you not lucky enough to have been there.) This brings up yet another point. Unless you want to eat a gross ton of toasted coconut ice-cream, make sure you know for sure that no one else plans on taking you out for another “last time” to the same ice-cream stop you had just been to three hours previously.

That seems like as solid wisdom as any to end on for now.