Lent!

Dead Jesus. There were several on the loose in the streets of Antigua.

Jesus carrying his cross in a sea of purple people.

The Virgin always follows Jesus. The early rain caused her to be put in a plastic bag. 

After Jesus, the virgin, purple people, Roman soldiers, and incense, there is always a band!

Don't forget the cleanup crew.

One of the carpets made of flowers and colored saw dust before a procession passed with the Roman soldiers standing guard.

Roman soldier in a horse drawn carriage.

Judas. And the fair below. 

FOOD

Lichas. Hairy Fruit.

My host dad preparing a coconut to eat... with a machete... scary.

The word for Pie and foot are the same! We thought it was a festival of feet until we realized it was a bakery!

YUMMY. Estofado is three kinds of meats cooked and stirred until the bones literally just fall out. 

Molletes. I believed I already explained these are MY FAVORITE desert. Traditional for Lent and Day of the Dead. Bread with sweet cream, rolled in egg and fried. 

Green, yet perfectly ripe and sweet orange.

Rapadura. More healthy and unprocessed traditional sweetener.

Gabriel, 6 year old host brother's favorite food! Grilled meat.

Traditional tortilla making station.

My part eaten Mollete.

Banana Tree. Did you know that technically banana trees are a type of grass?

Another traditional desert... Some kind of pumpkin like squash...with a TON of sugar.

Women of the family making tamales for Christmas!

The stuff in a chuchito.

Chuchitos ready to cook.

Mixing up the chuchito batter.

Chuchitos ready to eat!

Boiling platanos. They are NOT bananas.

Learning to make rellenitos with Dona Tina!

RELLENITOS... which are really my FAVORITE. Platano, sweet black beans, and cinnamon...fried. YUM.

I have always been so good with being on time... Theme for the day=Dia de Los Muertos (November 1st)

The yummy part. These are called Molletes--sweet, saturated, bread, sweet cream, sugar, fried.

Decorating, cleaning, and repainting the family tomb.

Decorated Graveyard.

Colorful graveyard

The nasty part. Fiambre.

Up close view. Fiambre-all kinds of canned meats and veggies... not to mention beets. 

Kite flying. Day of the Dead tradition. My host brother (6 years old) and host dad. 

Host brother (14 years old), Alfonso.

Focusing hard. Julio is a pro kite flyer. 

A Few Pictures!

My goal is to add a few... in no particular order each week. I apologize for the lack of visuals so far this year! 

Cerro de la Cruz. Its a park that overlooks Antigua!

This is the view of my town, San Miguel Duenas, from the roof of my house!

Learning to cook Guatemalan style with my host mom Marta and my 6 year old brother, Gabriel. Chuchitos!

Learning the coffee process... its a TON of work, but gosh its good!

The bus stop sign. Really not necessary or accurate. The bus stops wherever people wave it down making for a very long bus ride. 

The four of us Guatemalan superstar YAVs after learning about coffee.... ALL DAY LONG.

COFFEE! 

My classroom for sewing. Its a garage... for cars and open on two sides! Ironic that having classes outside at Vanderbilt was such a privilege.  

The Road to Emmaus

Luke 24 holds the account of two disciples who forgot Jesus’ face even as he physically walked with them and the reminder that He gave of his life to us all. In my own story here, I needed to realize that even in the bible the disciples lost track of Jesus’ face and his hope. A few weeks ago, I told another YAV that I didn’t find it very easy to see God working in my Guatemalan journey. I did inexplicably know that I didn’t think my time was up here. I am not yet supposed to go home even though I often think that would be the easiest solution to my struggles here. When our minds take over and we can’t see God, perhaps our hearts still burn within us as the men on the road to Emmaus experienced. When we listen to our hearts as they are on fire even in hard times, maybe that’s when we can see Jesus. The disciples fully recognized their savior not when he walked them through the story of His life on earth, but when they broke bread. In the replaying of some of the most difficult moments of their lives, when their Savior’s body was broken for us, they recognized Jesus. I know that I cried my way through two days with my PSF community, and now that they are safely home in Nashville, I can see that God sent them to remind me of his face, to bring me hope and renewed strength to continue forward in my YAV year. Seeing some of my church family was my opportunity to break bread, to recognize in my hard times, God is here. Yesterday, I believe, I was able to recognize what might be the next little circle of light. And that, in this moment and in this place, is a miracle. 

The Great Commissioning

In devotional with the PSF group from Nashville, we used the text of the great commissioning on the first of the two nights I was so blessed to be with them. That night, I was reminded of my purpose here as they were reminded that they are commissioned not only to come, but return home with new eyes.

He commissioned us to check in with each other, to take care of each other, to refuse to pass judgment over someone else’s or our own hardship, and most importantly, to cultivate relationships so everyone feels heard. God doesn’t miss it when a child cries over a lost toy, when a family struggles to eat, when homesickness and loneliness settle in, when a test in college is hard, when there is a cultural misunderstanding, or when a father leaves to go to the US to work. He sees it all. It might seem strange that the juxtaposition of the struggles of my Vanderbilt community and the struggles of my Guatemalan community was clear enough for me to remember a valuable lesson. I really needed to remember that all people have pain no matter their situation in the world. None of that pain goes unseen by God.

I think that living in Guatemala, I have started to numb myself to the pain I see around me. In the first few months, I clearly saw and was moved by the way people suffer here in Guatemala. It is so different than the how we suffer in the states that I came to the assumption that my pain was not as significant. I could see that reading with the kids in the library, though it didn’t serve any long-term solution, brought the students life. I could see that good relationships were a healing source and I worked hard at these little things even through my broken Spanish. But, I pushed aside my homesickness, my lack of exercise, and my loneliness. However, as the year progressed, I think I did exactly what we do in our own cultures. I started to take things for granted. I let my unacknowledged pain wear me down. The shock of the situation faded and it was easier to turn a blind eye when my energy was running low. I think this is exactly how we can ignore when a friend who clearly needs to talk or how we justify speeding past the man on the corner selling the Contributor (homeless newspaper in Nashville). It doesn’t matter where we are or what the problem is, God commissioned us support each other in our pain. 

Reminders

Almost two years ago, I shared my story with my friends in PSF. I described some of the hurt, physical, mental, and spiritual that I had battled in my first two years of college. The conclusion I drew referred to a friend who was worried that his extreme mission trip experiences apart from his girlfriend would draw a hole in the relationship. I told him that I knew that God doesn’t allow that—not in relationships based in Christ.

This I knew to be true, but I needed to be reminded of my own words. Last week was as if God knew of my memory loss.

Both the Vanderbilt group and I had an eventful week leading up to our reunion. I cannot put into words how much I miss the Presbyterian Fellowship and its leaders. Christ calls us to community. We NEED community. In being called to care for and support others, we are called to need each other—community defined.  

On Thursday, when I was able to finally join the group in Chimaltenango, I couldn’t stop crying. I was overcome with so many emotions positive and otherwise. I find it ironic, looking back, that I finally managed to encounter my PSF family during a visit to an organization of women called Corazón de Mujeres (The Heart of Women). They are a remarkable group of Mayan women intensely affected by the Guatemalan civil war. These women came together to support each other in all aspects of life by developing a weaving cooperative. Together they encourage women’s rights, self-confidence, education, and most importantly community.

Sitting between two of my most important college mentors, Bob and Jennifer, I couldn’t get a grasp on my emotions. (Something I continued to struggle with for the following two days.) As many tears as I have shed in my six and a half months here, these were the most meaningful…and most abundant. I didn’t feel silly crying. I didn’t regret that I was crying. I wasn’t embarrassed. These were tears I NEEDED to share with my community.  I wasn’t crying over a specific situation or a certain emotion. I was crying because I had become overwhelmed with seemingly no release. I often feel that I don’t know where to look for the community I need here in Guatemala. As a result I have tried several times to just shut off my feelings, and shut off my real needs.

 It isn’t EVER possible to handle a struggle on your own. We grow up hearing we are to be reliant on God—that we are never alone, God is with us. And while I believe this to be perfectly true, I think God also says, “Look, I have called you to community—to love one another, so that you can rely on me. You are not alone. I am here. I am with you always. I am in your community.” I needed to cry with my community. I needed them to see everything I have been through. Not just the bad. I needed them to see my excitement, but also my exasperation. We are in this together. This life is ours together. When we separate ourselves or allow others to separate themselves we have ignored a call from God. I find that when I ignore God, emotion, tension, and discomfort build up only to boil over later.

It was such a blessing to talk and to listen to the PSF group. They may not have really understood or known what I was dealing with as I cannot the full extent of their hardships, but it was so good to know that we can support and encourage each other in our stories.

So I believe that the two days I was so blessed to have with my PSF family were not only a gift from God, but a reminder that, yes, Torren, exactly as I concluded two years ago…

PSF has shown me love. I have learned that love fills those holes that we can’t explain. That those experiences in life that are too out there to explain in words, that you just have to experience yourself aren’t separating. It may sound cheesy, but it’s really true—great relationships and great love can fill any hole so far as I am concerned.