After months of planning, calling and leaving messages for bands that were slow to respond, passing out 1500 posters, raising money, and checking and rechecking the details, RECH’s biggest event to day is finally under our belts.

Concierto Expressate (Concert Festival “Express Yourself”) pulled itself through its third run (the second one happening a few months after I got here), and had bigger bands, bigger sound system, bigger attendance and oh yeah, a bigger bill.

The youth chipped in considerably out of their own pockets to pull it off, but we are still several thousand dollars short. Somehow though we will find a way to make it work. I’ve seen it happen before and like to believe that in some small way its God’s way of repaying acts of faith done by people trying to change the world in small ways.

It looked for a while that it was going to be quite a flop. A skateboarding exhibition was supposed to start at 2:00, along with music videos projected on the wall. By 3:15 the audio still wasn’t set up, the projector wouldn’t project, and none of the skaters had shown up.

An hour later we finally had things under control, but one of the biggest lessons I am learning here is that no matter how well or intensely you plan things, chances are most of it won’t go according to plan, and as long as everyone is enjoying themselves, that’s just something you have to make peace with.

The concert was supposed to end at 8:00, but didn’t wrap up till 10:30. This was in part because of audio hang-ups, bands arriving late, and a 12 person band called Pablitos (with a cheaper by the dozen look and one person assigned solely to wave a Pablitos flag during the songs) decided to ignore our message that time was up and go with the crowd to plow through two more songs. I have never seen such a bold and offensive move by a band in all my concert going days.

By the end of the evening we were exhausted, but the last group that played was a group of 5 thirteen year old boys, guitars almost as tall as they were, who we snuck into the schedule at the last minute. It was their first concert ever and the few remaining people found extra energy to cheer them on. It was a wonderful moment, because giving youth an opportunity to express themselves is exactly what RECH is about.

Of course afterwards we had to take down all the sound equipment, load it back in the truck, and unload it again at the warehouse. Some of us didn’t fall into bed until almost 2:00 AM. Concerts are hard work.

For those of us in H20 it was up again at 7:00 AM to travel out of the city a ways to play another gig. This time it was a church service and we were to play “praise and worship.” I found this interesting as our band has never once played any such songs. We got there, set up, and 2 minutes before we played, nailed out a list of 7-8 songs (half of them I had never heard of) and then started playing.

Its an interesting experience taking the stage to play music you barely know (which I have done with H20 numerous times) but it gets even trickier when you are playing songs you have never heard before that everyone else knows by heart. There is nowhere to hide and very little room for error.

The church we played at was a very evangelical one. Prayers worked themselves into a frenzy and new visitors were required to come forward where they were given the five minute Jesus speech in front of everyone and then required to repeat a prayer of repentance. Quite frankly, the type of Christianity that likely would have caused me to leave the church after high school had I been raised in such an environment.

They responded to our music with enthusiastic jumping and clapping, hands raised and sobbing. I’ve never been part of leading such a powerful worship service. I’m not sure how I feel about being such a central part of a service that otherwise really turned me off, but on the other hand, I feel very humbled to have been used in such a special and meaningful way to such a style of worship, regardless of my personal opinion of it.

Our first set was around 30 minutes. About the time I finally started to feel like I was getting into the groove, our new lead singer (who is spectacular at leading praise and worship) felt the spirit lead and turned around in the middle of a song to tell us to take it up half a step.

Just when you finally start feeling like you know what you’re doing, everything changes.

The story of my year and for most people, the story of our lives. Never a dull moment.

VISITORS FROM UP NORTH

A couple of months ago a friend of mine brought to my attention the adventure of two young men biking from Virginia all the way to Mennonite World Conference in Paraguay. Imagining they would likely pass near Mexico City on their way through (and never being one to turn down a chance to hang out with a couple of crazy Mennos), I sent them an email offering to show them the city if they were to indeed be in the area.

Several weeks ago I received an email back and as it turned out, they had a free day on Tuesday, which happens to be my free day of the week (as weekends aren’t exactly “free time” when you’re working with a church).

We met at the MCC offices and then took off to see the beautiful Castle of Chapultepec, finishing out the day by sharing a liter of cappuccino ice cream while watching the sun set over the Mexico City’s largest city park. Jonathan Spicher and Lars Akerson are both close in age to me, and having the chance to play the Mennonite Game and converse, crack jokes, and trade tales in English was wonderful. I sometimes forget the part of my life that I miss so much: Friends with whom I share a common language.

For more information on their incredible journey check out their blog: http://americas.bikemovement.org/

A DAY IN HUIXILUCAN
Huixilucan (pronounced “Whiskey-Lue-Kahn) is a municipality of the state of Mexico that is adjacent to ours of Naucalpan. For much of my time here I have known it as the border where the lavish and wealthy apartment complexes begin as well as home to some of the areas beautiful national parks.

The town of Huixilucan (within the municipality of the same name) is about 40 minutes away, and occasionally RECH events have a fairly strong showing from one of the congregations there. It was at one of our concert events that I met Josh.

Born to a Mexican father and American mother, Josh is about my age, and though he looks and talks as American as me, he has decided to call Mexico home, and now lives in Huixilucan with his parents, where he runs a small sushi restaurants among other things.

Josh and I hit it off right away, sharing some of the same tastes in music, theology, and a relaxed approach to life. He also fascinates me, in the respect that while all his siblings have chosen to settle in the US, he decided to stay here, where he has carved out a comfortable niche for himself. While I have a hard time envisioning being able to ever break past the barriers of skin color and nationality to actually feel comfortable and accepted here, Josh has done just that, all with his laid back smile and friendly charm.

After a few run-ins at RECH events it was decided that I needed to visit him on his turf. Together with a great youth by the name of Claudio, we went to one of the nearby forested national parks and caught the fish that would eventually be our dinner.

It was a wonderful change of pace from the city life. Claudio and I share the same romanticism of heading out into nature with nothing but a bamboo pole and catching and preparing your own fish, complete with slow cooked onions, tomatoes, chiles, and a generous sprinkling of lime.

All of the days activities took place at the building where Josh makes sushi and his English classes, music classes, and special tutoring takes place. Outside the kitchen is a lounge full of sofas and a TV where youth come to hang out, watch movies, eat sushi, or play guitar hero.

There is a purposeful and contented buzz about the place with so many things happening at once. Josh’s family started the place and can essentially be called lifelong missionaries. The facility is an excellent gathering place for the community, and its truly a shame that RECH doesn’t have the funds or location to have a similar facility.

As my Thursdays are free until the evening, I hope to make weekly trips to spend with the youth in that area when time allows. Where two or more youth are gathered, there I am also.

TAKING MCC TO THE BOYSCOUTS
This last weekend the MCC Mexico team gathered near Tepoztlán to enjoy a retreat together intended for rest and relaxation. We camped out at a beautiful area a few miles out of town, surrounded by steep rock cliffs and forest. The area also happened to be the only boy scout camp in Mexico.

While we were virtually the only tents there when we laid down for the night, the sound of excited boy scouts filled the night and we awoke amongst a sea of tents. Though we had very little interaction with them, it was a bit of a bizarre experience.

Aside from a worship service and brief business meeting, we hiked, played table games, relaxed, and sang for hours around a campfire, trying to sort out the normal marshmallows from the gross strawberry ones in the dark so we could enjoy some decent s’mores.

Alongside the fun that comes with just spending time together as a team, we also discovered a wonderful small spaghetti and pasta restaurant in the town of Tepoztlán that had both an excellent atmosphere and wonderful pizza. This is likely on account of the fact that when the cooks brought out the pizza we discovered they could only speak Italian. Always a good sign.

After taking in the sights of Tepoztlán on Sunday (I visited the town once during language school, so you can refer back to an earlier blog post for pictures), we headed for home.

On the way back two clown boarded the crowded metro and proceeded to make me part of their act, asking me such questions as “Do you know how babies are made?” I figured that was as good a time as any to play the dumb tourist routine.

As the evening drew on and the now nearly empty metro neared our destination, 6 armed men in camouflage and facemasks boarded the metro. I knew that this was either the police or I was in some serious trouble.

Thankfully it was the police, overreacting in my opinion, to a rowdy crowd of soccer faithful who had taken over half of the metro in their costume, drum banging, and enthusiastic chanting. While I appreciated the protection from the somewhat unpredictable soccer fanatics, I would appreciate if in the future, the police saved the ski mask routine for taking down dangerous drug lords. I wonder who I talk to about that…

I’ve always liked my personal space. On the farm there is no more exhilarating experience for me than taking out the four wheeler at sunset and driving around our land, down dusty gravel roads and bumpy paths carved by the constant rhythem of tractor wheels. I sometimes stop and take in the panoramic view around me, breathing in the crisp country air and knowing that I have the freedom to head in any direction I please. It’s a feeling that makes my spirit soar.

When I went off to college I immediately sought out secluded spaces I could call my own, a cozy corner in the back of the library, a small forgotten classroom, a grove of trees off the beaten path. Even living in Hesston over the summer put stress on my need for personal space.

Kathleen Norris speaks of the openness of the plains as being sacred space. While I think this can be appreciated by those who live in the Midwest, I don’t think one sees the full depth of that statement until you’ve spent some time outside of that environment.

Especially if you’re living in Mexico City.

The sprawl of Mexico City is home to about 25,000,000. The neighborhood I live in is known as “La Mancha” or “The Stain.” Several generations of family live in cheaply constructed and structurally suspect three or four story housing. Space for building ran out years ago, so as the family grows, more cinder blocks are hauled up the stairs and soon the house has another level.

Saying you are from La Mancha carries the same weight as saying you are from the Bronx. I am sometimes introduced or remembered as the “gringo from La Mancha.” To my great amusement, this gives me immediate street cred. With the exception of a few Mormons, I am one of the only white people living here.

So how do you find personal space in a neighborhood so populated that it long ago gave up building out and started building up? The answer in short is that you don’t. You find ways to cope.

Coping is undoubtedly easier when you don’t know what you’re missing.

Occasionally I get a chance to talk with street kids. When I initially pass them all I get is solemn stares, but at about 30 feet they start feeling a little braver and usually try out some of their English to get a reaction. I take this opportunity to go back and chat.

Talking with kids is such a pleasure because they skip the formalities and go straight to the important questions. Do I know any celebrities? Do all Americans drive sports cars? Is ___ really a bad word? Do Americans really hate us?

I remember being asked by a group of wide eyed kids once “Is it true that Americans have basements?” How novel to have the equivalent of an extra house below ground!

That question seems amusing, but recently I have found myself equally awed by open space.

On my Tuesdays, which is the day of the week I have to myself, I often explore the city. On one particular day I visited the National Art Museum. Inside is a lovely courtyard not open to the public. I was struck by how odd it was to have such a wide open space with no people.

On the weekends Mexican families flock to the city parks to enjoy the “wide open spaces.” Though Mexico City boasts some of the biggest city parks in the world, the sheer number of people renders the grass dusty, trampled, and usually littered. There are so many people there that sometimes people struggle to find space to have a picnic.

I have the privilege of having my own room. But I find myself often with cabin fever of sorts. Stepping out my bedroom door takes me into the dark garage, and the door to the garage leads into the crowded streets. Nothing but a sea of concrete as far as the eye can see.

I realized the other day that I do not know the Spanish words for “front yard” or “back yard.” What would be the point of learning them? Who has a yard? They might not even be familiar with the terms.

Living without a space of my own is something I have made peace with for a year, but I hope I never have to go without for this long again. Sometimes in the morning when I wake up to the street noise outside I close my eyes and take a virtual walk around my farm and my heart beats faster, the yearning and anticipation for spiritual space.

One of the things I have thought a lot about this year is the question: “what is it that we are seeking in this life?” Guess I’m starting at the top of the question pile and working my way down.

Perhaps part of the reason this question takes such high priority is that I came all the way to Mexico to work with youth, and it isn’t because they need a babysitter. It is for a variety of reasons to be sure, but one of the reasons is to help them in their struggle to find what they are looking for in life. And who doesn’t have that struggle? I know I do.

To break it down a little bit, I think whatever angle we take, we are in the end all looking for purpose, because we believe that with purpose comes true happiness and peace of mind.

True happiness and peace of mind. That’s what we want.

The obvious question we have been asking since the beginning of time is “How do we get that?”

I think as Christians we’ve been given a pretty big hint in the life of Jesus: To be forever serving and worshiping. I feel a deep sense of pity for those who don’t get to start out with this compass.

But even that seems a bit broad, and we get lost trying to find that happiness and inner peace. What are we missing?

Well, I believe two big things we often overlook are number one, enjoying the small things, and number two, living in the moment.

Through the inspiring writings of Wendell Berry, Kathleen Norris, and numerous others, I have been led to find great joy in small things. The first buds of spring, a busy trail of ants, and the smell after a rain. These things give me life.

I struggle deeply with this here in the city. With the crowdedness and pollution, quite frankly the details are…well, disgusting, and not at all of God. I have a hard time finding God in the city. I believe God is everywhere, so I continue to search with an open mind. At the same time I can’t help but feel that God never intended people to live like this, so surrounded by the construction of man and isolated from His beautiful creation.

Maybe some of our problems in finding peace and happiness are of our own doing.

The second thing I think we do a poor job of is living in the moment. What does it mean to live I the moment? Well, in college I read an essay that described it like this:

We live the vast majority of our lives worrying about what happened in the past or what is going to happen in the future. Those very short snippets of time that we experience every once in a while where time “seems to fly by”? That is when we are living in the moment.

If we go by that definition, we don’t spend too much time in the moment. We can’t WAIT to graduate high school, then we can’t WAIT to graduate from college. Then we can’t WAIT to finish work, can’t WAIT to retire, and by the time we’re reaching the end of our life we find ourselves wondering why we needed to WAIT to find the peace and happiness we were looking for.

How do we become part of the moment? Well, I really think it has to do with point number one, finding joy in the small things.

A year of service has really challenged me to live in the moment. When you leave your culture, family and friends behind to go to a foreign land, it’s really easy to count down the days till you go back home. There are many things I miss about home. But if I let my thinking about the future cloud the amazing experience I am having in the present, I am not living to my fullest potential. Because the truth is, for the rest of my life I will look back fondly (and likely longingly) on this year of service. It would be a shame to only have truly enjoyed it after the fact.

A few days ago I opened my inbox and read an email from MCC telling me that with just over four months left, they were planning on buying my return ticket home.

I stared at my screen in a daze for a number of minutes, and I was hit with an overwhelming feeling of homesickness. Not for the US, but for the job, family, church and community that I will soon be leaving, possibly never to return to again.

It was a wakeup call for me to always remember to live in the moment.

In a little over four months I will board a plane and fly home.

But for now I ask you to pray that I may dive into my job here, soaking up the miracle and wonder of life, as I learn what it means to find purpose, to find happiness, and to find the inner peace that God intended for all of us.

I invite you to join me in the first part of a continuing series: Things Mexicans Like. I have spent considerable time pondering these things in my mind and thought it was time to put it in print, so that you may ponder them as well.

BRIGHT COLORS – Most Mexicans that can afford to paint their houses paint them like Lego houses, bright blues, yellows, and reds. Interior decoration is a bit more sporadic and very random. There might be a framed picture of a semi truck from a 1970’s calendar hanging high in the corner or random dark and blurry family pictures. As far as I can see, there is no pattern to any of this.

BUYING FOOD A DAY AT A TIME – No canning here. For that matter, nothing kept and frozen. Occasionally there are ice cube trays in the freezer but rarely anything else. You buy it fresh, you use it fresh.

CORN FLAKES, FROSTED FLAKES, AND COCO PUFFS. Not much more as far as cereal goes. Milk comes in a carton and has a 6 month shelf life without refrigeration. Supposedly all the bacteria is boiled out of it before it is boxed. It is milk without a soul.

POP – Water from the tap is undrinkable here, and if given the option to buy water or pop, most Mexicans almost always go for the latter. Mostly Coke and Pepsi, but also a grape drink that tastes like wine without the alcohol and a decently disgusting carbonated apple juice.

NICE CARS – not sports cars or anything, but it is amazing how many decent cars there are here in very poor neighborhoods where the houses are falling apart. Where you spend your money is all a matter of priority.

FRUIT ON A STICK – vendors make good money peeling oranges, mangos etc, covering them generously in chili powder, and selling them to people on the go. Fast fruit if you will.
LINKIN PARK, SYSTEM OF A DOWN AND THE RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS – US bands past their prime should finish their careers in Mexico. Mexicans are listening to Toxicity and Hybrid Theory like they came out yesterday as opposed to 9 years ago. My apologies to my demographic of readers who didn’t understand anything I just said.

THE DISNEY CHANEL – I have a steady fill of Drake and Josh, Zoey 101, the Jonas Brothers, and High School Musical 1-12. I will admit to enjoying the innocence and catchiness of young pop musicians, but the fakeness of their wonderful Disney lives makes me a tad queasy.

MALCOLM IN THE MIDDLE AND HOUSE – I find House an interesting choice because its so deeply sarcastic and dry yet nobody has even heard of Arrested Development of The Office. As for Malcolm in the Middle, good for them, because I don’t think we ever really liked it in the US.

MOVIES WITH TALKING DOGS – There is always a movie in the theatres with talking dogs. Since there hasn’t been a good movie with talking dogs since Homeward Bound, this is a tragedy. Beverly Hills Chihuahua did some serious damage to my sanity.

KFC – You can find McDonalds and Burger King here as well, but nothing quite as popular as KFC. You can have it delivered to your door by motorcycle. Now that’s finger lickin good…

Those of you who faithfully read my blog know that I am now a rock star.

Stop laughing.

I may not be a rock star, but I am part of a rock band.

In my mind I’ve always fantasized about being a rock star. Those who know me best know that I play a mean air guitar and that I sing along to my music quite loud, whether I’m by myself or not. However, I’ve always been realistic, never confusing dreaming about being in a rock band with actually putting in the time, money, and energy to “pursue the dream.”

But now that I am in a rock band, I see no reason not to “live the dream.”

A few weekends we played a festival called “Lovefest.” I played bass, sang, and rapped. I estimate there were between 300-500 in attendance. This last weekend we had a similar gig. For those of you who don’t believe me, I have put some video online:

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-4876476985516534296

I can already tell that once you’ve done the rock thing, it’s hard to get out of your system…

Fine tuning my bass seconds before we start as the tech people rush around me making sure I’ve got enough sound in my monitor.

Giving the cheering crowd a polite nod as the radio DJ that is MCing the concert says in a booming voice “All the way from the United States, on the bass guitar…”

Dropping out all the sound but the bass drum to hear the whole crowd screaming the lyrics to our hit song “Yo Quiero Mas”.

Turning our backs on the crowd, the note of our last song still ringing, while the crowd chants “uno mas!” (one more song!).

Talking music and theology with the other bands in our cool and quiet green room, supplied with food and beverages.

Signing CD’s for shy and wide eyed kids after the show

When I come back to the U.S. all of that disappears. It makes me sad in a way. But as fun as it is, I think what God has in store for me will be just as fulfilling. But until then I am thoroughly content with the opportunity God has given me.

Rock on.

I remember when I was first reading my job description back when I was accepted for this assignment, the part that made me most nervous was the part about teaching English. I imagined myself in front of a classroom of 40 or so Mexicans looking at me expectantly while I fumbled through my materials, mumbling apologies.

My high school science teacher Ted Spangler once admitted to us that his biggest fear on his first day of teaching was that one of us would stand up and say: “You don’t know what you’re DOING, do you?” Years later I finally understood what he was talking about.

I graduated from Bethel with an English major. This should not be confused with an English EDUCATION major where you actually learn to teach. I actually shied away from English Education precisely because I couldn’t imagine myself teaching. My knowledge of the structure of the English language has always been a nightmare. I graduated from high school still being a bit foggy on the differences between adjectives and adverbs.

This fact did not inspire confidence when I thought of explaining my language to a group of people whose English was limited to “How are you?”

But service was all about stepping out of my box, and after all, who else but MCC would offer me a chance to teach with no experience or training? Who know, I might even be good at it and enjoy it. Stranger things have happened.

That said, I was still relieved to find upon arriving, that my responsibilities as “English professor” would not start until January.

To bring you back to the present, I am now two months into my life as an educator, and like most of the things I lost sleep over; I should not have worried myself.

I teach two English classes per week (if my schedule allows,) one on Friday evening and one on Saturday evening. These classes are free and open to the public, though realistically, this mostly means people from my congregation and youth from RECH.

Originally the plan was to have a beginners class on Friday and a conversational class on Saturday. I planned appropriately for my beginners class and three showed up, which was frankly three more than I was expecting on the first week.

Around 10 showed up on Saturday, and it became immediately apparent that none of them had any more English experience than my Friday class, so I scrapped my plans for a light conversation and settled on two beginner classes.

Classes are held in the church and I set them up to be very informal. It takes the pressure off of them and it takes the pressure off of me. Most of my students have had formal English classes already during high school and nobody really enjoyed them.

If I can show that learning English doesn’t need to be like pulling teeth, I will have already accomplished a lot. I don’t have any experience, but my pronunciation and knowledge of the English language is superior to the vast majority of teachers in Mexico.

I realized early that one class every week for 6 months (especially with the typical relaxed Mexican attendance policy) was not enough for in-depth classes like the ones I had in high school or college.
So I decided to make it my goal this year to teach my students how to carry on a good five minute conversation. Some of the luckier students may spend some time in the US some day, but the majority will have most of their English speaking contact with incoming foreigners. Thus I have narrowed my scope down to basic conversation and if they want to learn how the present perfect subjunctive works out in English, well then God bless them, I’m more than happy to work with them one on one.

Though students come and go, I have two in particular that have really dedicated themselves to learning. This means putting in the suggested outside of class time work. It is with them that I have found the most joy in teaching, in watching their progress and interest in learning.

I have learned a lot about English in the process. When you speak your native language it just happens, you don’t need to think about it. In learning Spanish I do not have that liberty. I have to learn the structure in order to know why things are said the way they are. My knowledge of the Spanish language is considerably better than that of English.

This becomes obvious when I need to answer tough questions from confused students. Sometimes my answer boils down to: “I’m not sure, we just do. I guess that is kind of dumb.” No wonder English is such a tough second language to learn. I’m glad it’s my first.

I’m not sure what level my students will be at when I leave. I hope they can impress the next SALTer when they introduce themselves. But regardless, the opportunity to teach gives me another way to share my culture, to contribute in a concrete way, and who knows, maybe this experience someday down the road will lead to something more. Adverbs and adjectives will never seem me coming.