Happy Mother’s Day Mom!  Having 3 boys in four years was the easy part.  After than you had to raise us!  What a warrior!

I get a lot of things from my mom.  My smile, my skin that burns simply after reading the weather prediction on a summer day, a love for reading, and my introversion.  When you make her laugh too hard she starts to cry…and can’t stop.  And when all of ‘the kids’ are in town it is easy to tell that she is in her element.  From her I have also learned what a servant’s heart is.  She has a quiet steadfastness that seeks no glory but merits much.  She loves without condition and forgives without request.  She is the definition of a care giver.  She puts up with me living on the other side of the world as long as I don’t tell her the stories that would make her worry, and makes sure that I know that I am missed at home.  She taught us to assume the best in people, to not judge, to extend grace.

Happy Mother’s day to the woman who raised me!  I love you!

It's a Good Friday

Today could easily be about remembering my failures. The worst of me. Those ugly blemishes on my character, heart, and relationships that I hide down deep and wish didn’t exist. The past sins that, if I really think about them, can end up enslaving me once again to the lies of shame and guilt. But thankfully today is not about my worst. Today I remember that tree that held the worst of us all nailed to our Holy God. I reflect on that sacrifice that took “Him who had no sin to be made sin, so that we might become the righteousness of God.” Today we don’t look back to that Friday. We celebrate the Friday only because it made possible that Sunday. That morning when the dead became alive and ‘newness’ reigned. New hope, new identity, new life.

“And behold, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.”

A Good Friday indeed.

Forgive me. I am embarrassed that five months have passed without a blog update. Since my last post I have really settled into life here in La Plata. I really enjoy many things about what I do here, from our English classes to hanging out at the orphanage; my days are as varied as they are interesting. Thanks so much for your continued support and prayers.

A quick story about New Year’s Eve in La Plata:

Since it is summer here, New Year’s Eve takes place mostly outside. I met up with some friends, we had an ‘asado’ (cookout) and then we set off fireworks, some of which might be illegal in the US. Luckily all of my fingers are still attached to my hands. At about 2 AM we went downtown to watch the burning of the ‘muñecos’. Muñecos are giant characters, for lack of a better word, made from plaster and filled with explosives. Think of a parade float that blows up. There were 140 at various locations in the city ranging in size from 6 feet to around 30 feet. There was snoopy, spongebob, and hundreds of other characters. We only watched 2 of them burn, but that was plenty. The individuals who built the muñeco are responsible for the burning. They start by setting off fireworks around the muñeco so the people know that it is about to begin. Then they try forcing people to move back in order to create a safe perimeter around the muñeco before lighting it on fire. The flames reach up to 50 feet high and each of the hundreds of explosives inside sounds like a car bomb accompanied by a blast that you feel in your chest. People go nuts. With hands over their ears they run away from the fire, distancing themselves and their poor ears from the blasts. It is the closest thing I have seen to a war zone. If I were to make a list of the top 10 places in the world to be on New Year’s Eve, La Plata would have to be on it. Schedule your 2012 vacation time accordingly.

I'm not a lefty.

When I was in Colorado Springs for training in January the staff at Mission Training International compared life in a foreign culture to writing with your non-dominant hand. Give it a try. Unless you’re one of the few ambidextrous people who are lucky enough to not understand this simile, it is quite awkward. When I first heard the analogy I thought it was interesting, but I wasn’t convinced that it would be that big of a deal. But then I moved to Argentina and began to live the analogy. Imagine an entire day using your off-hand. Try writing a shopping list with your weak hand. It’s slightly difficult, but it is not terrible since you are at home and have the time and privacy to get it done without feeling rushed. But once in the store you notice people looking over your shoulder noticing the ‘different’ handwriting. You feel slightly embarrassed that they notice your deficiency, but it’s still not a big deal. At the cash register you hold up the line because it requires more focus and time to write a check with your off-hand. The line behind you backs up and people become noticeably annoyed. The cashier struggles to read your handwriting because your off-hand doesn’t communicate as clearly as your dominant hand naturally would. After multiple attempts at reading the dollar amount you wrote on the check, the cashier asks if he can just fill it out for you and then have you sign it. It is now not just awkward and inefficient to YOU that you are working out of a significant weakness, it is exhausting and requires more effort from those around you as well. It’s tiring.

Almost 4 months in, I still feel like I am using my ‘off-hand’ in most things. I do, however, feel it getting stronger. The positive aspect of this weakness is that God has used my cultural deficiencies to open doors with people. The fact that I am obviously not from around here is always a great conversation starter. His power is made perfect in weakness. During cultural adaptation the tendency is to look inward and reflect on thoughts, emotions, hurts, joys, etc. While important, it can easily distract my focus from setting my ‘eyes on Christ, the author and perfecter of our faith.’ The more internal the focus, the deeper the realization is that the heart is in dire need of renewal.

As you are battling 100 degree weather in the States, most of you will probably by jealous to hear that it is cold here. But I would switch climates with you in a heartbeat. The constant cold, combined with high levels of humidity and the lack of central heating systems here means that my poor toes are always cold. I seem to be able to warm the rest of my body with coats, blankets, and the gas heater in my apartment, but there are not enough socks in the world to warm my toes.

Another realization that I have made, though completely unrelated, is that university ministry is terrible for the human physique. Yes, physique, not psyche. It can actually be quite good for the psyche. Ministry with college students means that I eat pizza, empanadas, or choripan (grilled sausage sandwich) fairly frequently in the late hours of the night. So as you can see, great for the psyche, bad for the physique. That is why I have begun training for a half marathon that I plan to run in Buenos Aires in September. Come join me!

-***Stop reading here if honesty makes you uncomfortable.

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Part of the reason I have delayed in blogging is that I find it very difficult to communicate what has been going on in my heart and mind recently. I struggle to find the words to express myself, and then once I find them I wrestle with whether or not they will even be understood by a listener or reader. An abstract artist slings paint seemingly haphazardly at a canvass with the hopes that a viewer somewhere down the road will share enough of his life experiences to connect with the splatter of colors and shapes. So here is my color splatter, my abstract painting of the past month: On a spiritual level I would describe this season as one of learning, or an attempt at learning. Learning about myself, about who God says I am, and about what God truly values in his beloved. I want to reconcile man’s apparent insignificance in the world compared to the infinite value and significance God has placed upon us. The tiny specks of dust in an ever-expanding universe that, though they occupy a rather insignificant amount of space, still fill up the heart of the One big enough to create that universe. As people, we crave a purpose. We want to see our progress, our contributions. However the conflict comes when we realize that God is significantly less concerned about those issues than we are. What God desires is a ‘broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart’. But that is not something we innately possess nor is it given to us. It is something we acquire through being broken. I am finding that I do not have a broken and contrite heart and that is the very thing I feel God trying to change in me at the moment. The problem is that I do not want to be made broken; it hurts. International ministry is full of blessings and joys, but also challenges and trials. I am in a setting in which I feel like all of my strengths have been ripped away from me. But the question is, “Why is that difficult?” Simple. I want to be seen as valuable. We all do. I have strengths, let me use them. But what is behind these feelings is pride, a sin Scripture says that God hates, and self exaltation and entitlement. Even in a ministry context, what the human heart has the tendency to desire is the praise of man. Pretty ugly, huh? As is most abstract art. I told you not to read if honesty made you uncomfortable. “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Srength, purpose and contentment. The good news is that I’m pretty sure God is all three of those things and much, much more.

There is a picture of him wearing a Hawaiian shirt in the hospital the day I was born. I don’t remember that moment, but there are thousands of others that I do. Like the time he took the training wheels off of my bike and worked with me until I could ride it on my own. If that isn’t a metaphor for life then I’m not sure what is. He spent countless hours with his baseball glove in the backyard teaching me how to pitch. He would wake up at 5:30 on Saturdays to take me to wrestling tournaments, and then would encourage and instruct me through the several wins and many losses. He taught me how to pitch a tent, build a fire, clean a gun, and pack for a backpacking trip. He quietly, and unknowingly, taught me discipline as I saw him reading his Bible every morning at the kitchen table. My brothers and I HAD to volunteer (which by definition is not volunteering) because he knew we needed to learn how to serve our community. He didn’t let me drive until I could demonstrate how to change a tire and the oil in my ’91 Caprice. He made us watch over his shoulder as he fixed the plumbing, electricity, drywall, carpet, tile, or whatever else we had broken in the house so that we would be able to do it the next time. He taught me the importance of a commitment, finishing what I start, and staying true to my word. He silently allowed me, time and time again, to tell him he was wrong because he knew that he was right and that one day I too would understand. Well Dad, today I understand. Thanks for being the man that taught me how to be a man. Happy Father’s Day!

It’s June! And I’m freezing…

As fall in Argentina begins to make the chilly transition into winter, the streets are coated with yellow leaves that have recently fallen, the sky is the same beautiful grey-blue I’m used to seeing in Texas in December, and my skin is whiter than it has been my entire life…Seriously, I’m really pale. I don’t think I’ve seen the sun since August. But other than the reality of missing summer altogether this year, things are going very well here. Last Sunday I moved into my apartment and finally feel like I can begin the adjustment process. During my first 5 weeks in La Plata I stayed in 5 different homes and was able to learn a lot about Argentine culture that I would never have learned living by myself. Through these 5, invaluable experiences I was welcomed into the daily lives of 5 different households and was blessed in so many ways by their hospitality. But after five weeks living out of a suitcase, five different houses, five different beds, five different locations throughout the city to navigate to and from in public transportation, it feels great to be in my own place. Though I would not necessarily describe this past week in my own apartment as more ‘stable’ or ‘normal’, especially since some aspects of culture shock have begun to sink in recently, I am very grateful to finally feel like I have friendships and social groups that I feel accepted in.

There are many aspects of Argentine culture that are so easy to adapt to. The value this culture puts on friendship is amazing. I have already learned so much about how to be a good friend by watching those around me. Public transportation here is great, there are parks all through town, and you are never more than just a couple of blocks from the nearest grocery store. But there are a few things that this ‘Yankee’ (as they call me) from Texas isn’t quite used to yet…Staying up until 5 or 6 in the morning on weekends. Eating dinner at 10 PM. Not being able to find a to-go cup of coffee anywhere. NO peanut butter. And if you want a big hearty breakfast you had better make it for yourself. These, however, are small prices to pay.