April 9, 2005

April 9, 2005… a day to remember as my little sister married her best friend… someone who she had been friends with since seventh grade. A relationship whose communication was strengthened and sustained by nearly daily phone calls from Bosnia to Moorhead Minnesota… local calls thanks to satellite technology and our armed forces.

The morning came and people gathered from all over the United States, all over Northfield and even from Guatemala to share to witness and to have fun. My dad and I went to the reception place “Grandpa’s Garage” to help Tim and his mom… it was fun to watch my dad help make the flower arrangements for each table… out of character but fitting for the love he had for his daughter and desire to make her and Tim’s day special. Maren and mom went to get their hair done and Maren in her dress.

When we gathered at the church… my dad came in to see Maren before the other men… and in true Danish fashion, while tears welled in his eyes, his responded with a smile and a thumbs up.

Before they saw one another…the bride was relaxed in her wedding dress and tennis shoes. The groom was enjoying the family who had already gathered in the church. When they saw each other is was clear; they have a solid foundation to build this marriage upon. Both were and are ready to begin their married life together.

Jenny sang… we all processed in… Pastor Craig preached… Maren and Tim married one another… and Randy and I signed on as witnesses of the marriage of Maren and Tim Sevcik!!!

The dance was a blast. The Danes left early and while initially disappointed by the Rowan’s when assured that he just needed to wait another hour, Tim’s expectations of the Rowan’s were met. We danced until the day ended… and then many slept it off into the next. Tim’s friends had it figured out… they went out onto the dance floor, pitcher in hand… granted each time it seemed as if the groomsmen had a few less layers of clothing… Nick Haugen tore up the dance floor yet again… he should really consider hiring himself out as a party starter. Alex Rowan caught the guarder and I caught the bouquet.

It was so wonderful to see people… and to try to talk with as many as possible. Especially since both Tim and Maren are Northfielders… many in the church service and in the reception were shocked that they knew so many people on the “other” side.

I joyful day and a joyful beginning to their life ahead. May God bless them and all those who are married abundantly. Amen.

Being Catechized.

Airports and Flights are such unique experiences. Most people are a bit anxious, they are going or coming… most breaking their everyday routine from a vast array of reasons. We get herded into a narrow cylinder and assigned seats… Window, Aisle, in the middle… sometimes by family and friends, and sometimes by complete strangers. I know, I know… nothing new. Most have experienced the excitement, the anxiety, the frustration and the expectation of flying. Within a few hours, all your senses will soak in a different place… and not just location wise but a different place to see and experience who you are.

The last two times I have returned to Minnesota to visit home, the in-between has been eventful. When I returned for Christmas I was seated in a row with an Amish man from out west who talked about his call and his family’s call to leave their home and move out west to fight the spiritual fight for God. He cried as he talked about his faith and what God was calling him to do. Plainly dressed in jean slacks and jacket, straw hat in hand, he his simultaneously fear of leaving and faith that he would be well were apparent. We both shared our confession and blessed the other as we landed and went our way.

Today as I was leaving Guatemala City, I ended up in a seat next to Jeff-- a 47 year old free spirit from Ann Arbor, Michigan who was returning to the States after 2 months in Guatemala. He immediately wanted to know what a Lutheran was and then we went on to talk about faith and life. He, like many, has a strong institutional and organizational distrust. While he grew up Christian Science, which might explain some of his ideas whether or not he will claim them or not, for him the church was an organization like any other that he did not need because he could decide how to live his life and make good decisions on his own. He liked the idea of saint and sinner, and grace got his attention. He is going to tell his mother who lives in Washington near Silverdale to attend Silverdale Lutheran Church when I am there in two weekends.

So time in transit… conversations to be had, not all comfortable but usually interesting (in the Minnesota use of the word). I enjoyed my trips to Minnesota and while I arrived weary from a long day of travel, I arrived having met a few more people who I had spent some time with… tray tables in the upright position in the long cylinder with wings.

Karate

Kempo Karate

Ley del puno con mano vacía. (Law of the fist with hands empty.) This might be what Tempo Karate means but for me I have felt the reality in a much different way.

The idea of having an activity, and opportunity to exercise outside of the office, was very appealing to me. It is a challenge to learn to move my body as is required in Karate. For 10 years, I trained it how to spirit… run straight and occasionally turn left. My broken back also significantly affected my movements. And now to get it to execute round kicks and side kicks, well, it has been a bit of a challenge. Then you throw in another language and vocabulary that does not exactly come up in conversations in church… it has been a test of my patience.

I do think it is fun to wear the white uniform with my white belt… I am ready to test for white belt with a level but since I am coming home for my sister’s wedding that will have to wait for the next round of testing.

But sometimes, it is so hard not to get frustrated. I do not understand what my sensei is asking me to do all the time. It is hard to make your body do new things when you do not understand what is being asked… and Karate as an activity of discipline, respect, concentration… it is challenging to struggle additionally due to the language barrier. Once I understand what I am supposed to be doing, and learn the vocabulary, the different punches, kicks and movements have become easier… but then we learn more.

Push-ups

It has also been at times a time to learn about Guatemalan culture. For instance, early on my sensei kept telling me to do my push-ups on my knees, I am very proud of the fact that I am strong and can do push-ups just fine without any special allowances. I got mad the second week when he told me to go to my knees so asked if I could do the push-ups normally from now on. He said, yes if I could do them well. So at the end of our hour, he had us all doing push-ups. I did them all, even though it was getting hard… but I felt like after making such a big deal out of it I needed to gut it out. Well, it turned out that I was the only one that was able to do all of the push-ups. My sensei noticed and told everyone this and then because I finished and they did not made everyone do more. I misunderstood, and thought that he was saying that since I went so slowly that we all had to do more. I felt terrible and did the additional ones as well, only to find out what he had really said afterwards… which made me feel bad for a different reason. To add to this all, I found out that the sensei had not been telling me to go to my knees because he thought I could not do the push-ups rather because he did not want my arms to get to muscular because that is not a desirable attribute of a woman in Guatemala.

My first fight

Fridays are combat days. I have been attending but avoiding actually fighting. It is intimidating but also I am afraid that I will hurt someone. I am bigger than most of the other girls and stronger… and since I am just starting to learn Karate I lack control… both power wise and placement wise. But the time came to try. There is a green belt who is young but has patience, control and is already a good teacher. I put on the head protector and hand protectors and gave it a go.

I actually did better than I expected. My height is an advantage and I got some hits in on her head and managed to be loose and move around trying out the combinations and blocks that I had been taught. It helped make the drills we do make more sense… but my lack of control did come into play and I hit harder than I should have in a combat with another from my gym… I do not know how to hold back yet… so she responded in kind with more force as well. My lack of positioning came into play too… I kept on doing round kicks and side kicks and she would block me… hitting my foot repeatedly with her elbow. By the end of our match, my right foot had a huge goose egg that was purple and growing as I was looking at it. I elevated it right away but ended up not being able to walk without help for about a day and then as the goose egg spread out my entire foot was bright purple and swollen (could not see any of the tendons) for a week… and now over two weeks later some purple remains around the edges of where the bruise was. Next time… foot protectors and maybe focus on position!

So I am learning the law of the fist… that getting hit will most likely leave marks but is also applies in other aspects of my life here in Guatemala… the reality of confrontation, of political motivations, of unwillingness to compromise, of agendas… they too can leave marks. To some in Guatemala those marks are mal-nutrition and empty bellies, they are apparent in tattered clothing and the lack of resources… to others it is the memory of war and death… to others it is the reality of bureaucracy and unwillingness to allow others to grow and develop.

But I am also learning how to respond, to understand the law of the fist but know the options I have to fight back… and that does not mean to hit back each time. Creativity is important in Karate as is patience, concentration and discipline.

And mano vacia… empty hands. I come with who I am… an America who is learning Spanish, who is loving what she is doing in Guatemala… who comes not with answers but with the willingness to use my hands… to deliver the gospel to people who yearn to hear it as they experience the law of the fist. I come not bearing something I am not but with hands open and ready to receive and to be in the midst. I am ready to hold the hands of others… to fill my hands with theirs and to walk together. What I have to offer, what I have to use is the gifts that God has given me. My hands may be empty but that does not mean that I am immobilized.

Night between Death and Resurrection

We all gathered that Saturday night in the dirt streets in El Mirador. It was a bit cold outside and the wind was sending dust into our eyes… but we gathered… granted it was an hour and a half after we had originally planned, but when Guatemala is playing in the World Cup Selection, Holy Saturday or no, it did not take from the Vigil that we waited until the game was over, and Guatemala had beaten Trinidad and Tobago. The focus remained on the victory of Christ over death.

Gathered outside the church, we lit a small bonfire in the middle of the dirt street outside of the church building. No one was likely to come our way. We gathered each with a small white candle and I held the Christ Candle. I was a bit nervous as it was my first time leading an entire service in Spanish, and this Vigil would require a lot of speaking on my part over the course of two and a half hours. We began with the confession and absolution. There was something strangely beautiful about pronouncing the absolution to those gathered as we began… our night lit only by the bonfire, awaiting the light of Christ, the light of forgiveness for us, the Light of the World.

A small but faithful group we read the texts, and the psalms, and sang… remembering the night between the death and resurrection of our Lord. We know that night well… it seems that many of us remain there between being put to death in our suffering, in our sin, in our pain and waiting… hoping… for the joy of the empty tomb… yes this new life we await is not without fear, as the Mary’s and the Disciples know well… but it is gift and promise and it is to have in sight what is now ours in Faith.

At times my voice was shaky as I got weary from the demand of leading a Vigil in a language that is still not my own… but I managed to settle in the depth of the night, to read slower (not a small feat for me even in Spanish) and let the words that we were reading both the liturgy and the biblical texts sink into us.

Starting late actually worked out beautifully, for we reached midnight at the point during our service right before we moved from the Old Testament reading to a reading from Romans and then a reading from the Gospel of John… so as we were about to read from Romans, I had us sing the Gloria. We read the text from Romans and John through the eyes and ears of the resurrection that is ours in Christ.

Exhausted but satisfied, we returned home at about 1:00am. Home to sleep in the peace that is ours. We all returned for the Easter Service later that evening in which we shared in the Body and Blood of Christ.