A late but still sincere Feliz Navidad to all! There is no doubt that I have missed home and all of you so much more this holiday season, a time when friends and families gather to partake in traditions that relive pleasant comforting memories from the past while creating new ones for the future.

Little kids still in shepherd and angel outfits running around with bags of peanuts, Wrigley’s gum and Snickers after the Christmas Eve program.

Trudging back from sledding across the road with my sisters to thaw out and sip hot chocolate.

Digging the familiar Christmas tree ornaments out of the box to the sounds of Mannheim Steamroller in the background.

4 part Silent Night, in English and in German, with the soft glow from encircling candles casting flickering shadows on the brick walls of our sanctuary.

Grandma’s cooking on Christmas day, watching a movie with the family after opening presents, the list goes on.

So much of the joy of Christmas is the comfort and security of routine. I didn’t really think of it in those terms until I spent a Christmas where everything I did and experienced was strange and new. That said, I had a wonderful Christmas here in Mexico.

To my great disappointment, holiday consumerism runs as rampant here (if not more) than in the U.S. This is further saddened by the fact that many churches here do not celebrate at all, pointing to the fact that it takes its roots from a pagan holiday. I’m not sure how taking Jesus out of Christmas really puts the pagans in their place. I also am unsure why the whole “pagan influence” reasoning doesn’t keep the Virgin of Guadalupe from being celebrated with about 10 times the intensity as Christmas.

That said, our congregation does celebrate Christmas. The sanctuary was thoughtfully and beautifully decorated. Even Advent candles were even set out, though they were never lit or made mention of. In the pastor’s house a Christmas tree was set up. I found all of this surprisingly comforting.

Our sanctuary in its Christmas best.

The night before Christmas Eve our congregation had a special celebration. The sanctuary was packed with many people I hadn’t seen before. The Christmas story was read, several members of the congregation shared brief messages, and the youth brought the special music.

I found my musical upbringing was useful in helping organize and lead this portion of the service. I introduced “Cantemos al Señor”(55 in your blue hymnals) and helped bring a very different feel to a shaky but sincere unison singing of Silent Night with my bass guitar.

Afterwards the tables were brought out and a Mexican potluck with all the trimmings was brought forth. I was asked if I had any Christmas movie on my Ipod, so everyone talked and ate merrily to the calming Christmas melodies of John Rutter. My Great-aunt Mavis will be so proud.

I tried a few new things at this meal including a taco covered in cheese and seemingly filled with a grape jam of sorts. However nothing topped the holiday punch, a huge vat of hot apple cider with chunks of guava, grapes, and sugar cane sticks bobbing in the mix. A tradition I could get used to.

Afterwards everyone gathered outside to watch the young ones swing blindly at several piñatas filled with candy, a tradition as central to a Mexican Christmas as our Christmas trees. The fruit and candy that eventually flew everywhere was enough for all of us, and enough of a sugar high to keep all of the young boys that came over afterwards to our house for a sleepover the energy to stay up until six in the morning.

Pinata time! I tried to find spiritual significance to the carrot, but came up with nothing...

The mad scramble that ensued after the tragic mauling of the carrot...

The boys only Christmas party at our our place after the service

Christmas Eve Mario and I spent with the pastor’s family. I introduced the concept of sugar cookies, and an enthusiastic hour was spent decorating them. The pastor’s wife had a roast in the oven that rivaled any I have seen (one that we are still working on finishing).

As we sat around the table of Styrofoam cups and plates and an abundance of food, sharing what we were grateful for, I realized how blessed I am. Despite being so far away from what I am used to, I am still surrounded by so much love from a community that has adopted me as one of their own, after only four months. God is good.

I may have mentioned in a previous blog that my Monday nights are spent at “band practice.”

Allow me to elaborate.

I was proudly told by the youth just minutes after meeting them, that Mario had a rock band. I smiled politely and asked the mandatory questions. Really, who doesn’t have a band? As it turns out though, Mario’s band (H20, here pronounced “ah-che-dos-oh”) is actually pretty good. Good enough to have a gig somewhere in the city almost every weekend.

Mario plays bass and Elias (who I spend time during the week) plays drums. Attending the weekly 2 hour or so practice in the church sanctuary with several of the other youth that come to hang out and listen, I have since become good friends with Hacinto and Saul, the two guitar players/vocalists.
I have become their most loyal fan on account of my golden rule here: Where two or more youth are gathered in the name of about anything, there I am also. As ambiguous as my job may sometimes seem, I am always where the youth are.

Mario

The past few weekends they have played in several Christian festivals with other local Christian groups, with crowds ranging from 200-500. Tagging along has not only allowed me to become “part of the band” it has also allowed me to get to know some of the Christian bands that play in the area and make connections with more youth.

Elias

Everywhere we go there are small groups of youth, swimming against the stream, struggling to live out their faith in an environment that threatens to drown them out. It is for these youth that RECH is for, but in a city of 25 million where church buildings sometimes blend in with the house next door and there is no semblance of a church directory, how do you even start to network? This is my job, and what better place to start with this exciting challenge?

Saul

The venues H20 tends to play in are quite evangelical, with fiery speakers in suit coats and ties and praise bands that sing the same phrase for 15 minutes to maximize the religious euphoria. One venue opened the event with a PowerPoint of married gay couples with daunting heavy metal playing in the background. This led into the last 15 minutes of the Passion of the Christ movie. When Jesus finally rose from the dead everyone cheered and started chanting “Jesus lives!” I half expected Jesus himself to take the stage and play Free Bird.

Has

After this particular gig, while relaxing with the band and goofing off, I happened to mention to the band that their hit remake of “I Have Decided to Follow Jesus” was actually sung in English as well. We talked about how neat it would be to have me sing an echo in English. This got them excited, and before I knew it, they had also assigned me the blazing fast rap solo at the end, where the band and the crowd go wild.

I enjoy rap. I listen to my fair share of it. I also have enough of a sense of rhythm to play around with it or put on a rapping skit during crazy singing at Swan Lake Christian Camp. That all said, I am not a rapper. I don’t have the confidence or stage presence.

But heck, it sounded like fun and you only live once right? So I agreed.

A week later, having just about forgotten about it, Mario came into my room with a sheet of lyrics, wondering if I could translate and memorize the rap lyrics before their next gig. In two days.
Translating and memorizing a song in 48 hours is tough enough, but what really raised the stake was the size of their next gig.

From the day I got here about four months ago I have heard about the dream concert H20 was invited to give, an hours worth of music in the Stadium Azteca, home to one of Mexico’s best soccer teams. If rumor was to be believed, it was supposed to be a full house.
And the stadium holds 15,000 people.

So I spent the next 2 days feverishly repeating lyrics in an attempt to at least maintain some level of dignity when I took the stage. Saturday came and the band piled into Mario’s car and we headed for Toluca.

We arrived at the stadium alongside the two full semis loaded with audio equipment and a horde of teenagers wearing angel wings that I assumed were part of some drama routine. Mario headed over to talk with the organizer of the event, and from the looks of it, something was wrong.

In a sudden twist of events that to me highlights some of the shortcomings of Mexican planning, the organizers had only realized today that the stadium was going to cost almost half a million dollars to rent for the two day festival, which was well outside their price range.

So with people already showing up, the organizers were on the phones, frantically trying to find another venue. The day was spent mostly waiting, until a convention center was booked nearby. By this time, the first day of activities needed to be canceled and we were told to come back the next day.
After the hour drive the following day we arrived at the convention center as Cha Chas, who had arrived with the pastor and his family a while earlier, was walking out. The band excitedly asked him how many people were there. Cha Chas thought about it for a bit and said “Definitely over fifty.”

Good thing they didn’t stick with the stadium. That would have cost them about $10,000 per person.

The count at the end of the day had risen to 210, but well under the expected thousands. By the look of the sea of empty chairs and bags upon bags of bread, it seemed the turnout was a bit less than expected.

After getting my first ever backstage pass, we waited. And waited. After a speaker who yelled into the mic for 90 minutes left the stage, the praise band came on, playing a lengthy repetitious song while youth streamed forward, crying and shaking on their knees with their hands in the air, some eventually passing out from the intensity of the moment. I have never seen anything quite like it.

Waiting backstage

Finally it was our turn to take the stage. The stage manager came up to us and said they had time for two songs, considerably less than the hour they had been promised. Disappointed and a little irked, the band decided to put three songs together into one, with no space in-between. I was to come on for the second song.

H20 Rocks for the masses

Highly doubting my ability to remember the words in front of the teeming masses, I had written some cue words on a piece of paper, which I handed to Hacinto to put on stage when he went up.
When my turn in the limelight finally came I took the stage and immediately noticed two things.
First of all, I had no idea what to do with myself while I waited for my verse. Years of choral singing did little to prepare me for the stage presence needed to not look stupid during rock concert. The second thing I noticed was that my cue sheet was nowhere to be found.

With the song already in full swing, it was apparent that I would just have to wing it. As my solo drew near I found I had blanked on about every word in the English language. As the music roared and the light system designed for a crowd of 10,000 flashed around me, I somehow came up with the first two lines of my rap.

Then everything went blank.

At this point I had the option of stopping and walking off the stage. But I still held one distinct advantage. As far as I knew, I was the only person there who spoke English.

So maintaining the necessary level of enthusiasm and fake confidence, I continued to quite literally scat and Scooby-Dooby-Doo my way through the next twenty seconds or so.

Rap attack!

I was told afterward by just about everybody that it was an incredible performance. Sometimes actions speak louder than words.

Tomorrow the band travels back to Toluca to play a wedding. I’m on deck for another round. And why not? Why stand in the front row when you can hop on stage and join the band?

Perhaps it is because I am reading Kathleen Norris, or perhaps it is just the mood I'm in, but I'd like to take a short break from dry witty narrative to write in a more poetic-prose fashion for this post, as I feel it is the best way to "bring you here" as it where...

Night descends softly on this city.

As the sky fades to grey and then to black,

Street lights flicker on to fill the void.

On my farm I could feel the darkness descend like a blanket,

Bringing with it a silence so solemn that to break it would seem almost sacrilege.

Not so in the city.

When the plains of South Dakota fall into their pitch black slumber,

The city catches its second wind.

Combis own the roads after dusk, lined bumper to bumper through the winding streets

They fill fast with those on their way home after work,

Their blacklit interiors casting a soft blue glow on those inside, shoulder to shoulder, patiently riding out the bumps and sudden jolts.

Shrines to the Virgin Mary illuminate otherwise dark street corners, the light glancing off the sparkling streamers hung above.

Some vendors pack up their wares into small carts, weaving home through the backed up combi traffic.
Others come to set up, filling the corners left vacant just minutes before, setting up racks of illegal DVD’s or chaotic streams of Christmas lights and trinkets, emitting a cacophony of high pitched Christmas tunes

Husband and wife work side by side in the family owned food stands lit by single bulbs, cutting cilantro and shaving spits of meat which turn slowly on a steady flame, casting light on the patrons who gather to its warmth, sitting on stools so close to where the food is prepared you could reach out and prepare it yourself. Some chatter quietly among themselves while others watch with mild curiosity the telenovela playing on the small grainy black and white television in the corner.

Youth gather on street corners, bundled up and taking in the evening, sometimes in packs, wandering the streets or playing foosball on tables brought out onto the sidewalk, and sometimes as couples, sharing intimate moments in the dark shadows of crumbling graffitied walls.

The pace seems to have slowed only slightly, but the atmosphere is more relaxed, somehow friendlier.
I miss nights on the farm, the light hum of the only light in the center of the yard and the rustling of cattle. Of rounding the corner by our wind generator tower where the yard light holds no sway and relying solely on the sparkling sea of stars and my knowledge of the layout of the land to guide me back around.

I look forward to these late night walks when I return.

But for now I take joy in the bustling city nights, where the air is filled with an unidentifiable anticipation and from the right corners, the sparkling sea of lights stretching for miles take your breath away, as though the stars rest like dew upon the earth

Some have asked, “How is working with youth in Mexico different from working with youth in the United States?” I guess my answer is that youth are youth, wherever they are, all experiencing the exciting liberties and challenges of leaving childhood and becoming adults. They like their music loud, their nights late, and mornings even later. They struggle to find the person they are without leaving the safety of the person their peers will approve of. They alternate between looking unbelievably cool and painfully awkward. They wear their emotions on their sleeves, never afraid to show when they are bored yet fully energized and motivated when something excites them. At the same time they all put on a face to hide the pains and pressures that growing up so fast in today’s world bring.

In short, they are always complex, never boring, and so much fun to work with.

Throughout college I was consistently approached by finger wagging adults, warning me of the long and boring life ahead of me. So I prepared for it. I entered the adult world, getting my first 8-5 job during the summer.

And then I was asked whether I could be a role model and leader to provide a positive alternative for the youth of Mexico City by staying out late, starting the mosh pit at concerts, and participating in the kind of craziness that student activity boards plan for incoming freshman during the first week of college.

Yes.

I think I could do that.

I wasn’t quite ready for the adult world anyway.

I have found that my first few months here have involved a light ritual hazing of sorts. I came in knowing very little Spanish and very little about the culture. This makes me live bait. I am given misinformation on names, the content of the next day’s activities, and cultural norms. And I fall for it almost every time.

I am encouraged to say phrases I have never heard out of the car window to young ladies. (This one is not quite as successful. I don’t use a word until I have heard it used in front of the pastor with no significant backlash.)

I endure jokes about me that are never translated, and have finally given up on the hope of being told where we are going when we all pile into Mario’s car after church.

Often my errors in language are not corrected, so that I may be the butt of my own joke for a prolonged period of time. It wasn’t until two months in that I was finally informed that I was saying “I don’t think,” instead of “I don’t think so.”

But I was given the advice in Kindergarten that if they tease you, it means they like you. So I weathered the storm in hopes that this advice still rings true 10-15 years later. And I think it does, because I truly feel I have finally been accepted as part of the group.

A Club Rech event that is just too complicated to explain

This is a big step, because while youth are naturally skeptical and cautious, once you are in, there is a very strong sense of family. They go out of their way to track down friends when something is going on, even if it means having to ride in the trunk of the car to make space for them.

When someone new walks into a room full of youth, they greet everyone with the standard handshake (open palm slide followed by fist bump, or kissing cheeks with the girls) and they do the same thing when they leave. It doesn’t matter if you are in the middle of a conversation or playing guitar, you always stop to acknowledge and greet.

White Elephant gift exchange

After church the youth don’t scatter, they do something together. Almost every Sunday. I have to admire this, despite the fact that my body screams “nap” every time.

Just like youth events back home, RECH is composed of 80% attenders, who come to enjoy the show and are gone by the time to clean up, but at the core of the group are 20 or so motivated youth, willing to give whatever it takes to offer a positive and hope filled alternative to what is otherwise a pretty grim future for the youth of Mexico City.

The Rech soccer team celebrates their third place finish in a church tournament. This was likely won because I was away for the week...

I hope that even after this year of service I can find work and a calling like this one. Always complex, never boring, and so much fun to work with.

One of the things I noticed about rural Mexico is how much more attention is paid to the Virgin Mary. During the first twelve days of December the Virgin of Guadalupe is paid special homage, and the shrines are everywhere.

I understand find shrine to be a strong word, but I find it to be the most accurate. Right on the outskirts of Olinala is a large hill, with a Catholic church on top, built especially to honor the virgin of Guadalupe. During our week there, several of us took the time to climb the winding gravel road to the top. Along the way are four highly decorated stations of the Cross, each depicting a scene of the Virgin of Guadalupe revealing herself to Juan Diego (for more info on all this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Our_Lady_of_Guadalupe).

At the top is a small church, the inside decked top to bottom with flowers and other ornamentation. I’m told when people really want something, they visit to pray for it, and if they receive what they ask for, they are required to return with flowers as a gift of thanks.

However, it is the exterior that really caught my attention. Music blared from a loudspeaker on the church’s steeple, and throngs of people gathered around vendors, selling everything from pizza to ice cream, to arts and crafts. Quite frankly I was appalled.

Jesus got quite upset when consumerism took advantage, and then center stage, of the religious realm. If Mexican Catholicism can often be boiled down to a friendly blend of ancient cultural practice and the cross, to be visited once a week to ask for what you want and then to join the party right outside the doors, it is no wonder to me that the Mexican Catholic churches are losing their youth. Where is the focus? What is the point?

My scathing review by no means is a blanket stamen on Mexican Catholicism (as I am sure there are many admirable aspects), merely what I observe as an outsider looking in.

What you just finished reading was written about a week ago, as I intended to attach it to my Guerrero blog. And then came the 12th of December.

As I mentioned, the authenticity of traditional Catholicism is more apparent in the country. I found out on Friday that what it lacks in “traditional practice,” Mexico City makes up for in flair.

Mario had told me a few days before that there would be a lot more activity than usual going on Friday night. I had pushed that to the back of my mind and almost forgotten it until our usually lengthy Bible study was cut dramatically short so that people could get home before the streets closed. I felt this was a bit of an overreaction, until I was dropped off at my house.

Not 30 feet from our house, where the nearest shrine to Mary sits, sparkling streamers hung over the street from the roofs of houses. The street was blocked off at both ends and tables were being set up in the streets. A professional DJ set up enough sound equipment to power a decent size concert, and laser lights flashed chaotic patterns everywhere. Laser lights! As a fan of both dancing and music, I can honestly say I have not been in an establishment in the Midwest that has had laser lights.

This perhaps would not have been quite as incredible if this was the city’s hot spot for the night, but a fiesta such as this one was set up about every 3-5 blocks through the entire city. All was very quiet until 11 or so as small services were held, and then the parties began in earnest, with the thundering explosions of fireworks and music and food of all sorts. People danced in the streets or sat around chatting, in a celebration that went all night. The magnitude rivals Independence Day here, and Mexicans are very patriotic.

I’m not sure how I feel about this. On a purely festive level, the whole thing was right down my alley. Food? Fireworks? Lights? Music? Dancing? Just tell me where and when. There was no doubt that people were enjoying themselves and community was being built.

But on a religious level I’m not sure it holds much weight. Not that I think religious celebration has to be solemn and void of fun, I just don’t think there are many people who celebrate it for religious reasons anymore. I don’t think one needs a religious festival to party and have a good time, but if you are only associating religion with carnival like parties (see blog post on Dia de los Muertos) I think people start losing the image of what it signifies to be a Christian. Most people celebrating these holidays don’t set foot inside a church.

All in all I find it very interesting and exciting. Yet I wonder where we need to draw the line between partying in the name of God and using the name of God as an excuse to party.

LEARNING TRIPS
Of course our entire trip wasn’t just meetings. One day was set aside to travel to the local villages where the MCC Guerrero team works. Of all of MCC Mexico, over 2/3 of the team works in Guerrero, and for good reason. There is a lot of work to be done.

The heavily mountainous region is beautiful, reminding me a lot of the Verde Valley area in Arizona where much of my mother’s side of the family lives. But the villages scattered throughout are isolated, accessible through precarious winding roads and only by larger vehicles. So we piled into the MCC trucks (young-uns in the back on foam pads) and headed out for the middle of nowhere. The dust and bone jarring potholes took me right back to Africa, though the joy of riding in the open air with friends as opposed to a packed combi with cold strangers made the ride thoroughly enjoyable.

We visited several villages where MCC works. In some, Meredith and Kiara work with the women on gardening projects, giving advice on how to maximize variety and production of food with fertilizer and planting techniques. Though Meredith and Kiara help organize these garden clubs, the projects are eventually run by local women.

Another project is the construction of large cement water tanks to collect rainwater. I was told that when MCC asks these villages what their needs are, the first answer is almost unanimously “water.” MCC trains a team of individuals on how to construct the tanks and then that team helps to train the next team that wants to build one. A tank, which can be built in two days, can provide water for 5 or 6 local families. MCC donates the supplies and the families are in charge of putting together the work crew and feeding them, etc. Thousands of people have clean drinking water thanks to these tanks.

The third project MCC works with is the construction of dry latrines, simple and practical bathrooms that take advantage of the earth’s natural decomposition instead of requiring water. Most people in rural areas use the bathroom wherever, and the waste contaminates the water (see above). Families desiring these latrines lay down a small portion of the building costs and MCC helps with the rest. They have built several hundred over the last couple of years.

These villages are very isolated from the rest of the world, living much like they lived 100 years ago. I imagine it will be years before that will change much. In a way, I feel that’s a good thing. It is a very simple way of living, but it appears to be a happy one.

A BIRTHDAY PARTY
One night after an enjoyable supper under the stars with the MCC team, chatting over many interesting things and sipping jamaica juice (a delicious brew made from a tree flower that tastes like the juice from my mom’s canned Bing cherries), I was asked if I wanted to go to a birthday party. Of course I did, so I got into the truck with Martin, Meredith, and a large carrot cake and we drove to the house of the lady who cleans the MCC office.

Her son was celebrating his first birthday. He won’t remember a bit of it, but the excited swarm of waist-high kids that ran to greet us likely will. We sat at the living room table while his mother ran outside to dish us up some soup from a pot about as large as a full size trash can (Prepare once a month and reheat I guess). While the kids impatiently poked and prodded the cake, we chatted with the father of the house, and his time spent in New York City, raising money to buy the house.

It seems almost every family has someone who at one point or another has gone to the U.S. to raise money. It is a dilemma for MCC, as the people would like to learn English, so as to be able to go to the U.S. Zacongo, a villiage of 400 or so where one MCC family works, sometimes shrinks down to almost half that during certain times of the year. MCC would prefer to support projects that encourage people to stay in Mexico and contribute to their own self sufficiency.

This last week I was called from my day to day duties in Naucalpan to attend MCC team meetings in the state of Guerrero, about eight hours south by bus (I can already hear my dad flipping through the atlas). I will try to break up this post into manageable and less intimidating segments to encourage you to stay with me through the end, as it will likely be a large post.

MEXICAN BUS TRAVEL
This might come as a surprise to some, but the Mexican bus system puts the American one to shame. The majority of long distance bus travel happens at night, when the roads are clear. Therefore buses are designed for you to sleep so you can spend your days doing other things. Smart huh?

We got on the bus at 8:00 PM for what turned out to be one of the wildest bus routes I have ever taken. The first four hours curve through the mountains, but the final four hours was one hairpin curve after another. The bus needed the entire road to make the turns. Another reason to travel at night.
I found out only later that MCCers have an arsenal of medication to deal with this trek, which makes some about as sick as they have ever felt in their lives.

We finally pulled into Olinala, the large town in the area of about 4,000 at around 5:00 AM. I could immediately feel the differences in my surroundings. I boarded the bus in a large station where I waited in line to board, only after being searched and patted down. In Olinala there was no bus station. A lady sitting in a department store sold us our tickets for the way home, and the bus had to back up almost a quarter mile just to get out of there.

BACK AMONGST GRINGOS
I love my job. I also love the people I work with. But there is nothing so enriching as spending time with people who share the same culture and speak the same language as you do. Team retreats are an important and almost essential part of maintaining your sanity during time abroad. Our Mexico team is a diverse and fun loving group of people and they have become very dear family to me. I couldn’t ask for better.

Sam and I (who make up all of SALT Mexico for this year) stayed with Meredith and Kiara, who are around the same age, doing full time MCC assignments. What a wonderful time to talk without the limitations of a second language and share and laugh about the joys and trials of living in a foreign land. Meredith and Kiara also enjoy cooking and I can’t say I minded toast made from homemade bread every morning (although I’m told the butter actually has to be imported from Mexico City).

COUNTRY LIFE
Spending a week in Olinala was quite literally a breath of fresh air. A different Mexico from the one I experience. One where roosters wake you in the morning and farmers in large sombreros bring in their wares from the country on the backs of donkeys. Where traditional Catholicism is still strongly maintained and everyone knows each others names. I was taken quite off guard by the friendliness at first. I have become so accustomed to the coldness of city life, where anybody you do not know personally is simply ignored. May I never become too accustomed to city life.

MEETINGS
It has been a fascinating experience for me having run around barefoot as an MCC kid to see how MCC works from the inside. We met for team meetings almost every morning until 1 or 2 in the afternoon, reporting on assignments, talking over objectives and difficulties, and having team evaluations.

As a child, MCC was a flawless machine, working effortlessly across the world. Now I am blown away at the amount of organization and effort it takes to make everything run smoothly. It is easy in this stage of my life to want to sit back and wait for concrete answers. But I see how MCC operates and I am inspired. There is so much flexibility and creativity that is needed when you are trying to fit the needs of people. A government organization can come in with professionals, build 20 schools, and leave, but the job of MCC is so much more complicated. They don’t have unlimited funds, and more than often they are working with passionate people that lack any professional training (here enters me).

But instead of sitting back and waiting for God to write it on a post-it, MCC dives into things, improvising and being creative where they need to, correcting mistakes along the way, and always listening carefully, both to locals and to the subtle but always present guiding hand of God. Jesus’ call to bring the kingdom of heaven to earth starts now, not when I have life figured out, and what better organization to be with on such an amazing journey and calling.