God's Calling

My cousin recently asked Brooks and I to help him with a video to answer the question for young Christians, “What is God’s call?” and, “How do we know when God is calling us to do something?” While both of us have yet to make and send in our entry (sorry cuz, I promise it will happen), the deadline is coming up soon and is causing me to think on my time here in Guatemala and how I feel God’s calling and blessing here. And while I have felt God’s blessing many times here, this has been an especially perfect week for this reflection; this week alone, we have experienced both that which we see His hand in, and those things we wonder maybe He is telling us are not for our doing.

            To begin, one thing that has happened in the past week that can only be viewed as a gift from the God is the success of our Pen Pal Program. When I first came up with the idea I thought it was a very small idea, and I didn’t know how many people from the States would be interested in participating. I was dragging my feet quite a bit to start it – Brooks had to give me the push – because I was scared to put myself out there and get rejected. But the exact opposite happened. We received a flood of interested e-mails and messages, some people we didn’t even know or think would be interested. God pulled people from all corner’s of our lives; friends, family, friends of friends, friends of family. By the end of the weekend, we had close to 60 people signed up, and the list is around 90 now and still growing. We were worried about each kid in the specific rooms having someone to write to, but now there are multiple kids with two pen pals. Brooks and I were blown away by the response, and although we both admit we are terrible at giving the glory to God – we are proud people that feel we ‘earn’ our blessings – this program showed us that the success was all God’s doing, and we felt Him smiling on our time here in Guatemala.

            Something else we have been blessed by here in Guatemala – which I have written about multiple times – is our Guatemalan family. Linda, the Texan missionary that Brooks met on his first two trips, recommended them to us and we had no idea what the situation would be like. But we have experienced so much joy with them; I don’t think this experience would have been the same if we had stayed elsewhere. This weekend we enjoyed two parties with our families, both full of love and happiness. Saturday night our family had a party for Sheny’s mother, Maria. Maria was celebrating her 84^th birthday, and recently she has been slipping further and further into Alzheimer’s (or something similar. She is still mostly undiagnosed), having difficulties carrying on conversations, forgetting her children’s names, and needing to be watched every minute of the day. It has been an exhausting task for Sheny, and we could tell she was a bit hesitant about the party, not sure how Maria would act or respond to it. But it turned out to be amazing. Sheny spent the days before making mountains of intricate tamales, and Saturday night about 15 of their friends and family came over with gifts in hand. We enjoyed the delicious tamales, and took pictures as we watched Maria blow out the candles on her birthday cake. After cake we danced in the living room, and Brooks and Sheny’s brother took turns dancing with Maria. We had heard that Maria was a sprightly woman before the Azlheimer’s, and we could see the sparkle in her eyes that I’m sure everyone knew in her before. It was a blessing from God for both Maria and Sheny; when Sheny was giving her toast to Maria, we could see how deep her love for her mother was, and it was beautiful to witness such an important moment for the family.

            The next day we were invited to Cony’s father’s farm for a birthday picnic for Cony. Although her birthday had been last week, she planned her celebration for this weekend so her friends and co-workers from the Peace Corps could join. Brooks and I made another fruit pizza (we had made one for Maria’s party but it didn’t turn out as well as the one for Cony’s party), and met up with four Peace Corps volunteers to head out to her father’s farm. It must have been the most gringos in one spot Huehue had seen in a while; Brooks and I have gotten so used to being the only white people around it’s always something exciting and different to meet other American’s here. Two of the volunteers work with Cony at her foundation, Seeds of Help, and the other two work in nearby villages. It was great to chat with the volunteers, asking them about their experiences and asking them what places they recommended traveling to in Guatemala. And Cony’s father’s farm was so picturesque; we only walked 20 minutes outside of the city but it felt like we were a world away; fresh air, trees, and chickens and roosters roaming around. We were joined by some of Cony’s other friends, and again I felt so blessed to be enjoying good food with good company in such a beautiful setting. It’s moments like this when I smile, sit back, look around, and am completely content to be here.

            Along with the blessings we have received this week, we have also experienced a couple of setbacks, things we feel God is telling us, “No, that is not what you are supposed to be doing right now”. In both of these things, it is still so difficult to discern whether God was telling us to back off, or if it is simply a challenge that we need to work through. The first is our connection with our church down here. We had started attending the church that Brooks and his team helped construct during their time on their mission trip. Although it has a small but sweet congregation, and although the pastor’s sermons are filled with passion, something has always felt just a little off for me. At first I told myself it was because they do things differently than I am used to, and I was uncomfortable because they were so much more raw then the American churches I was accustomed to. But after the service this past Thursday, Brooks and I both shared with each other that we were not feeling quite right about the church, and didn’t know if it was for us to continue going. It’s far outside of the city, and every time we wanted to go we had to call Brooks’ friend, Herson (one of the only congregation members with a car) to pick us up. It became such a hassle, and we hadn’t been able to attend frequently. This actual barrier of getting to church was discouraging, and again, once we finally got there it always felt a bit off. So we both gave it some thought and prayer, and felt that maybe it would be best for us to search for a church closer that jived better with our needs. Again, this was a perfect example of the question of God’s will for our lives, and we were, and still are, having a hard time discerning God’s will from our own. It seemed so strange to me to be praying to God to ask if I should not go to a church anymore, and perhaps we are still supposed to go and are reading the signals wrong. But this is a facet of Christianity, following God’s call, that has always been fuzzy to me, and I know only religious maturity will help.

            Something else, quite small but still significant to our discernment of God’s wishes for our time here, has come in the form of the English class we are teaching at the orphanage. We had decided a few weeks ago to take over the English class the German volunteer had been teaching, to make us feel that we were adding something a bit more formal to the orphanage besides just loving on the kids. But we have only been able to hold class a couple of times, because different visitors and events had interrupted our class meeting. Last week, our first class session after more than a weeklong break, Brook and I decided to have a fun challenge with teams to see if the kids could remember the words we had taught them two weeks before. Although it was planned to be enjoyable, it ended up as a total disaster. Kids were running around, we were stuck in a loud, echoing room, the kids would get angry if they got a word wrong, and we were getting frustrated by how unfun the process was becoming. At one point Brooks and I were sitting down, looked at each other and said, “I don’t think God wants us to have this English class”. Again, it was difficult to discern what was God telling us to back away, and what was us just needing to be stronger. We have decided to change our class to help more with their English class homework from school and to work on translating the letters that come from the pen pals in the Sates, but it is still so overwhelming to question where and how we see God speaking to us.

            Maybe this is something that comes more easily to other Christians, but to be honest I’m sure there are thousands of Christians that don’t even take God’s call into consideration; they simply go to church on Sunday, and go about their regularly scheduled life without interruptions. I have to admit I used to be one of those Christians, a planner by genetics. But here in Guatemala, I am in a place to move freely with God’s call, and it is presenting itself to be much more difficult than I had thought. The system I seem to be going by now is this: When we feel that peace and tranquility and correctness in something, I feel God’s presence, and when things don’t seem to be fitting right, I feel God telling us to back off a bit. I am not positive if this is the right formula, and I’m sure a formula isn’t even the right way to look at this; none of our choices have felt very black and white. I know only time and prayer will enhance my Christian maturity, and my understanding of God’s will for my life. 

Abundance and Reconciliation

            There is something that has been bothering me lately, and I think it’s something we all feel when serving those less fortunate then ourselves: It’s that feeling that we don’t deserve the abundant life we have in the States, and it’s not fair for us to ‘want’. Obviously I’m not talking about wanting in excess, but wanting things like good food, a comfortable place to sleep, wanting to travel and go to concerts and get coffee with your friends. During our time here in Guatemala, I have been panged with guilt when I miss the comforts of the United States and the food that I am accustomed to; by feeling like I am ‘roughing it’, I feel like I am showing contempt for the Guatemalan lifestyle. This is their lives that I have been invited to be a part of, and for me to want more – more comfort and more familiarity – makes me feel like I am being selfish. And honestly, I really am not even roughing it here; we are fed three home-cooked meals a day, go to the gym, shower daily, have comfortable beds to sleep in and light to read by at night. We are absolutely fortunate to be living with Sheny and Otto, because there are thousands more families we could be living with here that do not have such beautiful homes and enough money to eat so well every day. And even that makes me feel selfish – counting my blessings that I am in a nice home here so I don’t have to experience too much discomfort. It’s such an interesting paradox in life; how do we immerse ourselves in service, trying to feel the pain of the other, and then not feel guilt when we are glad we are not that other? Here are a couple of stories to illustrate my point: Two years ago, I went on an alternative spring break trip with my school. The focus of the trip was looking at AIDS, homelessness, and poverty in the San Francisco area, and we spent most of our days serving in soup kitchens and learning about the desperate spread of AIDS in the city. After a morning of serving breakfast to hundreds of homeless men, women and children, our group decided we wanted to see the nicer parts of the city. We found an H & M Store, which at the time we didn’t have in Oregon, and everyone got so excited, rushing in and looking for the latest sundress. But a couple of us held back, realizing the juxtaposition of our day didn’t feel right. How could we go shopping and spend money on something as trivial as a sundress when we had just met hundreds of people literally living in the streets? I am not trying to say we were saints and they were bad people; any other day, we would have gladly joined the group shopping. But because of what we had just seen, the self-serving action of shopping just didn’t feel right.

Another story that adds to the complexity of this feeling: A few weeks ago, I read a note one of Brooks’ friends had posted about her experience in poverty-stricken Mexico, working with underprivileged children. She spoke out boldly against the American style of giving, which is throwing money at charities but not actually paying attention to the issues in our world. She thought about all of her “poor college student” friends, who by the standards of these children are filthy rich. And she wondered, if everyone had donated the money that they spent on a concert ticket for that day, if they had donated that money to Mexico, how much more could be done with that money? It felt as though she was reprimanding all of her friends that chose to enjoy life by buying an expensive concert ticket. Although I’m sure she had the best of intentions, and we can all understand that being placed in the middle of poverty changes the way someone looks at life, I didn’t feel that this was the right way to address the situation either. Is the best way to help others, and not feel guilty about your America life, to criticize those that are not doing anything and ‘selfishly’ spending money on themselves? I saw this many times on my university campus, people getting angry about social injustice and essentially alienating those that were doing nothing. And although a lot of good has come out of people angry enough about something to change it, I just can't help but think about the peaceful way Jesus spread change all over the world.

Brooks and I were talking about this very topic, and he brought up the point that those who are able to see God in every situation of life can thank God for the blessings He has given them, and can feel that their great house and great job are not something to be ashamed of, but something to praise God for giving. And both of us felt that we have a hard time seeing life this way, that we both felt weak in our faith that we could not see God in something like the blessing of a beautiful home. It’s easy to see God in the smile of an orphan, but how many of us see the abundant life we have been given and guiltlessly praise God for it?

            Another example of this guilt hit me two nights ago, when Brooks and I stayed overnight at the orphanage. I was talking to one of the older girls, and I told her we would not be making it to the orphanage on Friday because we had to get a party ready for Brooks’ host mom, Cony. As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt the pang of guilt. Here I was, talking to a girl that has no parents, and has basically been told to give up her freedom to be in charge of 10 other girls ages 8-13. I not only have amazing biological parents in the States, but now I was talking about host parents that I have here in Guatemala, and the freedom I have to choose not to go to the orphanage so I have time to bake a cake. Wanting to have a party for someone, and wanting to enjoy that party, is not something that would normally make me feel guilty and probably should not make someone feel guilty. But given the circumstance, I could not help but feel the blessings that God has handed out have not been evenly distributed. My mind has gone back many times to the passage in Luke 12:48, which says, “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked”. But what is that ‘much’? Do I have to give up all my happiness and comfort before I have finally given enough? I understand that following Jesus is not an easily life, but honestly at times I wonder if I really am following Jesus when I want to be in a soft bed, and to wake up to the breakfast of my choice. How do I balance living joyfully in the abundance I have been given, but still experience apathy and selfless generosity for those that are less fortunate than myself? Or are we even supposed to be asking the question about this balance; did Jesus really mean it when he told us to sell everything we have, love Him more than our biological families, leave them and follow Him? Maybe I am too weak and too American to truly do this.

This thought is something that will be ever present in my time here in Guatemala, and as much as I want an easy answer to this dilemma, I honestly will probably never find it. The only thing that I can take comfort in is that maybe God didn’t intend for us to have answers to everything, but that we shouldn’t stop asking the questions.

            On a happier and mostly unrelated note, the party we threw for Cony was amazing. Brooks took her out for coffee as a cover-up, and Yesi made a delicious Pepián (a traditional Guatemalan dish), Brooks made sweet potato fries, and I made a carrot cake and naranjada, an orange drink. We snuck all the food into Cony’s house while she was out with Brooks, and hide behind the counter to jump out and say “Surprise!” when she walked in the door. We were joined by Cony’s father and sister, as well as a friend that boards a room in her house, and her artist friend from Chiantla, who actually lived in Eugene for 20 years some time ago (he had long hair and hippie dance moves – it made so much sense that he had lived in Eugene). We ate our delicious dinner, accompanied by kind words said about Cony by Otto, Brooks, and her father, and after dinner we enjoyed the cake and danced in the living room to marimba music. It was incredible; again, I counted my blessings that we are living with this family. They are truly special.

Sleepless in Guatemala

One word that I would use to describe this weekend: Exhausting. Brooks and I had made the decision that every Friday night we would like to stay over at the orphanage, reading them books before they go to bed, helping them get ready, and just being there if the kids needed anything. We headed over around 4pm that afternoon, planning to not leave until early the next morning. I was worried the afternoon would drag on, but luckily it went by quickly and joyfully. I spent a couple of hours in retreat in the baby room, changing diapers, feeding kids, and feeling the calm that comes from holding a baby. Brooks and I had dinner with the kids, and after another hour of play, it was time to get ready for bed. I went over to the Kinders’ room and had them all crowd on a blanket on the floor with me, where I read them the “Hungry Caterpillar” in Spanish. They were so attentive and sweet, making “ooooh” noises every time I turned the page because of the bright colors. After saying good night to the Kinders, I went to the older girls room, where girls ages 8-12 slept. When I walked in, they were all clustered by their clothes, picking out dresses for church the next morning. After they all found the perfect dress and set them aside, I gathered them over to the bed I was staying in and read a couple of books. After reading time, the girls all started to putter around, getting ready for bed, and I was reminded so much of how it felt to be a summer camp councilor. As I’ve stated before, it’s incredible how much the orphanage feels like summer camp, but a summer camp that sadly never ends. After saying good night and turning off the lights, I was ready for a good night of sleep. Unfortunately, I was so wrong in hoping I would sleep well that night. At scattered hours of the night, different girls would quietly crawl into my bed to sleep, probably to feel for the first time what is was like to cuddle to sleep with another person. I thought it was endearing when the first girl crawled in, but by the time 3am rolled around, I had gotten no sleep, and there were three girls and myself in my bed, I was starting to miss the calm of sleeping comfortably in a bed alone. By 5am it was lights on, and the girls started to slowly get ready for their day. Brooks and I left around 6am, and I found out on our walk home the little boys were also excited by the idea of having a warm body to share their bed. The little boys were asking Brooks where he was going to sleep that night, and after jokingly saying, “in Elmer’s bed”, Elmer’s eyes light up with excitement. After that a couple of other boys asked if he would sleep in their bed another night. Brooks had to gently remind the kids that if they tried to share a bed with him they probably would end up squished, but he was touched by the fact that boys, who pride themselves on being tough, still craved that parental affection. Upon returning home, we discovered that the gate to my house was locked, and I ended up sleeping on a small couch in Brooks’ hosts mom’s house until breakfast. Was staying the night worth the lack of sleep? Absolutely. Will I be thinking on better ways to actually get some sleep for next Friday – eye masks and ear plugs in the running? Absolutely. The rest of Saturday was used up with time at the gym, and relaxation to recuperate from my exhaustion.

            Sunday morning, Brooks and I woke up at 5:30am and met up with Yessi’s cousin, Jorge, to experience a grand Huehue event – a half marathon race up to the view pointnear Huehue. Both Sheny’s brother and another of Yessi’s cousins, Jorge’s brother, were running in the race, and Brooks and I didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to share in this event with them. Originally we were going to try to navigate getting there by ourselves, but luckily we found out at the last minute that Jorge was planning to go and was willing to take us with him. And man, was that a blessing. We ended up catching first a bus and then a micro up the viewpoint, and honestly if Brooks and I had tried to figure out the transportation by ourselves, we would have been back in bed by 7am, having completely failed at the adventure. The drive up to El Mirador was quick, and when we hopped out of the micro to walk a little further, we could not believe what sight we were greeted with. TIG. When there’s a race in town, the festivities are for everyone. They had a long gauntlet of food stalls set up, with indigenous pueblo families selling fried chicken, French fries, beans and tortillas. And up at the very top, the spot of the actual viewpoint, the local cell phone company had set up a giant stage where they were playing music and games with people on stage. We enjoyed the festivities by walking around, checking out the view, and getting some hot chocolate. By 9:45am, only an hour and fifteen minutes after the race had begun in the city center, the first finisher crossed the line, barely looking exhausted. Let me just lay out for you what this race consisted of, in case you were not impressed enough by me stating it was a half marathon to a viewpoint. About 1000 people participated in this race, and they ran around 6km through town, and then 14km straight up a mountain. These runners were beasts. And the thing that impresses me the most is that without specialized running diets or running gear, or even proper running shoes (Sheny’s brother, Rene, was running in Sketchers), these men and women were supreme athletes. I was amazed. Jorge’s brother ended up finishing 9^th overall, and after his race he drank a hot cup of coffee, put on his sweats, and walked around like nothing had happened. When we asked him if he was tired, he said “Naw”. And, “Are you going to rest this afternoon?” “Naw”. Rene, in his fifties, finished the race in about two hours. After Rene finished, we walked around a bit more to see the festivities, and then TIGed our way down to town. We ended up catching a ride with one of Jorge’s friends, meaning we were 10 people standing in the back of his pick-up truck, half of which were in their 40s or 50s and had just run a half marathon straight up a mountain. We swerved and switch-backed our way down the mountain, and I couldn’t help but smile, realizing nothing like this would ever happen in the States. When we were almost to the bottom, the truck ended up over heated, and we walked the rest of the way down into Chiantla, a town neighboring Huehue, where we caught a bus home. And after eating lunch with our host family, and asking the two runners again if they were tired and planning to rest that afternoon and again hearing “no”, I shamefully and happily took a 2 ½ hour nap, recuperating all the sleep I had lost this weekend. 

The "Haves" and The "Have Nots"

This weekend I had been thinking a lot about the “haves” and the “have nots” of this world, our mental classification based on who has things and who does not. When we think of the “have nots”, we pity them, and extend them aid and grace in a way that tells them it’s okay for them to not live lives as fully as ourselves, as long as they are living and breathing. We assume that because they don’t have the basic markers of success in this life, it is too much to ask for them to seek to better themselves and seek after the love and joy that marks a life brimming with accomplishment. Conversely, when we think of the “haves”, we extend them no grace or aid, thinking that because they possess the things of this world – money, food, clothes, or education – they need nothing more from us, their fellow humans. But during my time here in Guatemala, in a country of “have nots”, my eyes have been opened to these black and white distinctions, realizing there is so much more to these classifications than meets the eye; in terms of understanding the riches of life, it’s possible we could all be considered part of the “have nots” category.

On Saturday, Brooks and I went with his host mom, Cony, to “Escuela Abierta”, which are free classes the government offers to their citizens, classes such as painting, dance, crafts, karate, English, computations, and communication skills. Along with the classes offered every Saturday and Sunday, they provide a free lunch, all made in the kitchen of one woman to feed hundreds of people. We asked Cony if many come just for the free lunch, and she said maybe a handful of people, but the majority there had come to learn a new skill or hobby. Brooks and I both were so impressed by the idea of these classes, and the fact that it was not simply a good idea that didn’t go anywhere, but that there were whole families and communities taking advantage of this opportunity to better their lives. In a country of “have nots”, it doesn’t stop so many from living out their lives to the fullest. And in this sense, they are so much better than myself, a person of the “haves”; So many times during college I found myself wanting to be lazy instead of digging into my education and really taking advantage of the opportunity. And while I’m not necessarily knocking these lazy indulgences, the great need for “me time” that fills American culture does not seem to exist in Guatemalan culture. They all work extremely hard for their families and ambitions, and their lack of what we consider “necessities” in the States – a closet full of clothes, a running car, or even running water – does not stop them continuing to live their lives to the fullest.

On Sunday, Brooks and I also attended and helped with a children’s night at Gloria del Libano. Again, I was reminded that even in an impoverished country, the difficulty of daily life does not stop them from embracing the extras of life as well, and seeing the true meaning of this life. Brooks and I worked this morning with two girls from the church, both in high school and completely in charge of the children’s programming at the church. As I’ve said before, much is expected of children in Guatemala at an early age, and this was no exception. These two girls organized a skit for the children, and recruited different congregation members to lead games at the children’s night. That evening, around 30 kids showed up to the church, some that attended Sunday School every week, and others that were just community members. They orchestrated the whole evening of games, songs and skits, sharing the love of Jesus with so many children probably unfamiliar with the faith. At the end of the evening, they gathered all the children in a circle, with the adults around them, praying for the children. It was beautiful to see the pure passion with which children pray, with their eyes tightly shut and their hands raised high. The girls in charge could have easily been discouraged by the lack of organization, resources, and help they received, but instead they took this opportunity to dutifully share Jesus with lots of children. And isn’t that the point of the Gospels, to share the joy of Jesus with others? Especially with children, who were so very precious to Jesus.

While reading my Bible this morning, I came across the story of the rich man and Lazerus in Luke 16, which applied perfectly to what I had bee observing this weekend. The story shares that rich man got his reward during his worldly life, through wealth and comfort. But he failed to extend any help to Lazerus, a poor beggar with painful sores all over his body, who sat outside of the rich man’s house. At the end of their lives, Lazerus was carried up to heaven to be with the Father, and the rich man brought down to hell. The rich man begged to have Lazerus cool the tip of his tongue with a simple drop of water, yet Abraham reminded the rich man that he already had his good during his life on Earth, and now it was Lazerus’ turn to receive good, forever in the kingdom of God. What party do you think you fall into – that of the rich man or Lazerus? I pray that the blessings of money, comfort, and my nationality haven’t shadowed my eyes so much that I fail to see I too could be like the rich man, concerning myself only with this life and not with the eternal life hereafter. I pray that Jesus humbles me, and continues to make me realize that in this country of “have nots”, there are so many Lazerus’ that will be seated at the right hand of God in heaven. I see in their churches that they understand the implications of this story, and with the passion that they pray, sing, love, and give, they understand that this life is just a blink in the spectrum of the life we will life eternally.

TIG: This is Guatemala

Traveling in Guatemala is hectic. Brooks invented a new phrase for our time here in Guatemala: TIG, This is Guatemala. It was said anytime something happened that would not take place in the States... And TIG was said a lot this weekend. We started our adventure by taking Los Halcones Bus with Laura to Guatemala City, which is one of the only direct and nicer buses we have encountered in Guatemala. I feel so fortunate that it is the bus that goes between Huehue and The City; it made at least that leg of the journey less of a difficulty. We arrived in Guatemala City in the afternoon on Saturday, and took a taxi to our beautiful hotel, the Barceló. It was a large and luxurious hotel Laura treated us to for her last night in Guatemala, and it was a totally pampered experience. Brooks and I spent part of the afternoon in the grand pool and hot tub, had dinner that night at “Strikers”, an American style restaurant, took hot showers with real water pressure, and slept in soft beds with luxurious duvets. I felt like we were a world away from Guatemala at that point, and to be honest it made me miss comfort and luxury from the States. Our next day of travel, though, reminded us that we were indeed in Guatemala, and nothing comes easily here. We had a delicious continental breakfast at our hotel, and took the shuttle with Laura to the airport. After saying goodbye to her, we went over to the bank of taxis to get a ride to our bus station, one of the only safe bus stations for Americans to hang out in Guatemala City and the only one with direct buses to Panajachel, a town on Lake Atitlán. The taxi driver, who had already been giving us bad vibes, pulled up to what was supposed to be the bus station, only to find it was closed and on a deserted street in the city. Laura once told me Guatemala City is the third most dangerous city in the world, so we were not interested in hanging out much longer. Brooks went over, knocked on the bus station door, someone came out and told us it was closed on Sundays, which was obviously not stated anywhere on the websites we had been checking. TIG. What you read on the Internet rarely lines up with what actually happens in Guatemala. We panicked for a bit, trying to decide if we should risk going to another bus station or go back to the airport to get a shuttle to Antigua. We finally decided to pay the taxi driver to drive us to Antigua, which is about a 30-minute drive from the city, but is a much safer and heavily touristed town in Guatemala. After asking around and most likely overcharging us, the driver dropped us off at a travel agency that arranges shuttles to Panajachel. They were very friendly, and it eased our concern from the morning. We signed up for the shuttle, and killed a couple of hours walking around Antigua. Antigua is a beautiful and tranquil city, quite different from anywhere else we have been in Guatemala. And the shuttle ride to Pana was great. We were in a clean and safe van for about 3 hours, chatting with other Americans and a British man. Because we have not really been tourists yet in Guatemala, it was so strange to see Guatemala from the tourist side, and to be lumped in with all other gringos, a.k.a. those to be harassed to buy things or take over-priced transportation. I didn’t much care for being lumped into this tourist group, and I’m glad to be back in Huehue now where I feel I am a part of this family and the community at the orphanage. Once in Pana, we organized a boat ride over to San Pedro La Laguna, where we were planning to spend our time at Lake Atitlán. TIG. The locals are all just trying to make money off tourists, and they are all competing against each other for your business. Ergo, they will tell you pretty much anything to get you on their side, fibbing mostly about how long you will have to wait for something, how long a ride will take, and how much it will cost. After being confused and bouncing between two boat drivers, we ended up on a boat to San Pedro for the agreed upon price. San Pedro was a quant pueblo, seemingly populated by more young, American tourists than natives. It is considered the hippie destination of Lake Atitlán, and the food choices and local color available to us did not disappoint. Our boat ended up taking us to the wrong dock, and as a result we wandered around a bit, trying to find our hotel and finally asking at a little tienda if they knew where the hotel was. A man rode up on his bike, and when he heard what we were looking for, he began walking us there. Brooks and I were at first not happy about this, because we assumed he was just trying to make some money off of us by leading us to our hotel. But after talking with him for a bit, we found out he was a hiking guide who also owned kayaks and horses. Salvador became our new friend in San Pedro, and ended up renting us kayaks and being the guide for our hikes. TIG. After finding our hotel and realizing it was more expensive than a lot of the other hotels in San Pedro, we bargained down the price with the hotel manager. Only in Guatemala can you bargain the price of a well-established hotel. We ended up moving down the price from 75Q a night (around $10) to 55Q a night (around $7). Score. The food in San Pedro was also incredibly cheap, most of our meals costing around $3. And the flavors available were amazing. We had crepes, falafel pita, tofu wraps, and pesto sandwiches, ingredients we didn’t even know were available in Guatemala at super cheap prices. We were in food heaven. The next day, Monday, we rented kayaks from Salvador and kayaked over to San Marcos, where Salvador had told us there was cliff jumping available. We randomly spotted the place, and paddled over to a 10-meter high platform that hung out over the water. It was so fun to jump from, and we met gobs of other Americans and Brits jumping as well. In this group of Americans were two girls named Rachel and Heidi, who were believers and prayed with us before we left. What a cool experience. The next day, our adventure consisted of hiking up “Indian Nose”, a viewpoint around 2,000 meters tall. It was a tough hike for me, but so rewarding to complete. Unfortunately it is the rainy season in Guatemala right now, so the view from the top was fogged in. But the hike was still worth it, including the coffee bean plants our guide showed us, and the Tarzan vine he cut for us to swing on (which Brooks ended up breaking). That night we went back to one of our favorite restaurants (we only went to about three restaurants the whole time), and found out they were showing a movie that night, which was so exciting because Brooks and I had been missing American movies. They ended up playing “Horrible Bosses”, a poorly pirated copy of the movie, but funny and entertaining nonetheless. The next morning Brooks hiked up Volcán Sad Pedro starting at 4am, but because I wasn’t feeling well and am not in as good of shape, I voted to stay in, watch the sunrise, and sleep a little more. Brooks ended up running the last couple of miles at the end of his hike so he could make it back in time, shower, and trek up the hill to the “bus station” for our “11:30 bus”. TIG. Bus stations don’t really seem to exist, as well as bus schedules and set bus prices. After rushing out the door and making it to the “bus station” (a corner where some guys were sitting), we found out that the 11:30 bus, which Brooks had asked about the day before, was not happening anymore. TIG. If a bus chooses not to show up, it doesn’t have to. After a frustrating conversation with the man that had told Brooks yesterday that yes, there would be an 11:30 bus to Xela today, we were talked into getting in the back of his friend’s pick-up that would take us up “rapido” to the International Highway, where we could catch a bus to Xela and then connect onto Huehue. Bad, bad plan. After sitting in the back of the pick-up for 15 minutes, asking multiple times when the pick-up was leaving, how much it would cost, and if it would indeed take us where we wanted to go, we realized we were getting a convoluted story. The driver kept raising the price, from 15Q to 25Q to 50Q, and told us it was a 5 minute ride when in actuality it was an hour plus. We made a quick decision, jumped out of a pretty much moving truck, and decided to start again. Back at the “bus station”, we were met by a storekeeper who told us those guys were crazy, that a bus was coming in 15 minutes that could take us up to the highway for 20Q. We were still wary about what going to the highway would be like – everyone told us there was a bus station there, but given our previous experience with Guatemalan bus stations we were not convinced – but at noon the bus arrived, a real bus with other passengers, and it looked like we were going to make it home after all. After getting on the bus we thought there was plenty of space for us to spread out, sit with our backpacks on the seats and be comfortable, but TIG. It’s not two to a seat in Guatemala, seats of old school buses, but three to a seat. Guatemalans know how to pack their buses. We were three to a seat as well as a full isle, and the bus attendant actually walked on the top of the seats to get payment from everyone. After a long and curvy ride, we arrived at the International Highway. We met another man up there, bus angel #2, who told us direct buses to Huehue would come by soon, and told us what side of the road we needed to wait on. And every time a bus to Xela stopped and tried to convince us to get on, he would wag his finger from across the street to tell us this was not the bus we wanted. After waiting 45 minutes, a Huehue bus ended up zipping by, missing us at our “bus stop”, pulling over further down the highway and making us run to catch the bus. It was all worth it though; when we sat down we knew in 2 ½ hours we would be back home. Huehue has already become a home away from home for me, and I was so excited to see familiar sites, unpack my bag, talk with my host family, and know that I could relax here until our next Guatemalan adventure. TIG.