On Sunday, Jonathan and I hosted an Easter potluck. I was expecting 10 or 15 tops, but we ended up with about 25 people. If you've never been to our house, it's pretty small. The kitchen/living room was piled high with food and people. If anyone else showed up, they would have had to sit in other people's laps. It was good times. The potluck was complete with casseroles, Mexican food, deviled eggs, lasagna, fried chicken, cookies, pink salad dessert stuff, fruit, tea, veggies, mashed potatoes, sweet potato pie, and probably other stuff I'm forgetting. Needless to say, everyone got plenty to eat. I was struck by how great my friends, both new and old, are that live here in Abilene (of course, like a father loves his children equally, I cherish my other friends equally who live in AK and scattered everywhere else). I hope to make the most of my time and deepen friendships before our stays in Abilene are over. I know these are people who will encourage and affect me the rest of my life.
Other than that, I've been chuggin away on the Spanish, working on finishing up some song I've been writing and buckling down on my training for the Canada-to-Mexico ride with my dad this coming September. This is obviously a major training time in my life where I'm being equipped for the future, near and far. It's requiring a lot of self discipline, but I'm finding a surprising amount of energy to complete daily tasks. God's definitely pourin on the grace. It's been extremely helpful/motivating to feel a sense of purpose in my daily activities. Good seeds are being sewn, and surely there is a harvest of good fruit coming.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Oh Dogs!!!!!!!!!
Just to warn you, I'm not going to talk about anything important in this entry. I hope you will be mildly amused if you so choose to continue reading.
You would think that my daily 0.3 mile walk to work would be a nice, quiet stroll where I could mentally prepare myself for the imminent onslaught of salsa-crazed patrons. Ya, that's the expectation I usually start out with.... but then comes the dogs. Dun-dun-duuuun!!! I kid you not. On a good day (or bad day depending how you look at it) I walk by nearly a score (that's 20 if you're not Abraham Lincoln) of yipping, skipping, yapping and snapping little critters who have nothing better to do than interrupt my peaceful, little 3-block saunter. That's almost one dog per house passed! To me this seems a little disproportionate for a west Texas city block. I know you're dying to know about each moment of my day (you must be if you're still reading), so here's the rundown:
1. First comes Rightie: I have named him this because he lives to the right of my house and has no other distinguishing feature. I've actually never seen this dog. I only hear the occasional bark, sniff or shuffle. I usually forget him.
2. Next comes Leftie (Brownie to his friends). You guessed it. He lives to the left of my house and is a medium-sized chow-like animal. During the day hours, Brownie (that's right, I consider myself his friend during the day) lies dormant. I have come to discover he's merely saving his energy for the smallest noise to provoke him once I go to bed. I think Leftie thoroughly enjoys barking ceaselessly in the wee hours of the morning, especially right by my bedroom wall (Jonathan can verify this). While Brownie rarely directly affects my daily walk to work, I will sometimes remember my angst from the preceding night and glare in his direction as I pass by. That'll learn'em.
3. The rest of the way down my street is uneventful with only the occasional dog siting, and I only have my favorite dog trio coming into sight to think upon. As I turn the corner, an elderly woman releases the hounds. I'm totally serious. This lady waits for me to pass by every day and lets her dogs out to briefly keep me company. If her dogs weren't so sweet, I would resent this. Ok, I lied. Really only one of the dogs is sweet. The other 2 are pretty useless. As the door cracks, Puggie, Lil6 and Lil7 burst forth in all their canine glory. Puggie is a little scruffly pug. For literary purposes, I call the other two Lil6 and Lil7, because they're just little nondescript black things with no personality (I'm assuming Lil1 through Lil5 have already come and gone in the long line of Lil-dogs I presume this lady has owned). I usually don't give Lil6 and Lil7 much attention, because Puggie is putting on the real show. Puggie quickly scales down the ramp into the front yard and gracefully puts on the brakes just before running into the chain link fence. Puggie ferociously kicks leaves and grass backwards as he grunts and sniffles heavily. On a good day, he might get one bark out. He's an introvert. Lil6 and7 start off on a mission, but quickly lose resolve and train of thought and abate to wander around the yard in confusion occasionally attacking a helpless leaf. Take that plant! I'm pretty sure they're blind and senile. Make no mistake, Lil8 (and possibly Lil9) will be soon in coming. I laugh, give a wave to the old lady and continue on my way.
4. The next block or so is a little sketchy in my mind because of what dominates the balance of my walk. Looming a few houses down on the left is "The Pack and Friend". Oh dear. More than filling the presence of their 1000 square foot yard, Collie, Grayie, Blackie, Labbie and Spottie prepare for full-auditory assault with their across-the-fence friend, Yippie in tow. Collie is a medium-sized collie, Grayie is a midrange, shaggy gray dog who's shaved in weird places, Blackie is an averaged-sized, black post-puppy, Labbie is a black lab, Spottie is a small black dog with gray spots and Yippie is a tiny brown dog who has a really high pitched bark/yip. Here's how it starts: From a long way off Grayie will spot me and start barking to alert "The Pack" of pending danger. Ya, I'm pretty dangerous. Then, from the four corners of the globe, the rest of "The Pack" rushes the fence in hopeful expectation of ruining the peacefulness of my walk. This alerts Yippie who, without haveing a clue of what's happening chimes in with his painful yipping and starts bouncing up and down. All the dogs give it a good bark, except Blackie. Blackie is the only good dog in the mix. As I walk by, I usually say, "Blackie, you're the only one I love." After I pass by, most of the dogs give up the dream and let me be, expect Collie and sometimes Grayie. They continue barking at me until I am completely out of sight and/or earshot. I have different strategies for dealing with "The Pack". On somedays, when I'm feeling a little feisty, I'll act like I'm not paying attention, and then out of nowhere, I'll quickly turn to look at them and pounce toward the fence. That really sets them off. I then proceed to quickly glance around to make sure no one saw me provoking the dogs. On other days, when I'm feeling a little more annoyed, I'll just simply stare them down and shake my head in disapproval. When I'm feeling a little apathetic, I'll just walk by slowly and stare off into space thinking they'll lose interest.
5. In the heat of "The Pack's" attack, I get caught off guard by Scrufflie and Scrafflie. They're 2 small, gray rat-dogs who give a yelp or 2 and quickly back down when I look in their direction. Domination.
6. After that I'm home/work-free and quickly navigate by a few uninteresting dogs and enter the safety of Los Arcos.
It's as exciting as it sounds.
You would think that my daily 0.3 mile walk to work would be a nice, quiet stroll where I could mentally prepare myself for the imminent onslaught of salsa-crazed patrons. Ya, that's the expectation I usually start out with.... but then comes the dogs. Dun-dun-duuuun!!! I kid you not. On a good day (or bad day depending how you look at it) I walk by nearly a score (that's 20 if you're not Abraham Lincoln) of yipping, skipping, yapping and snapping little critters who have nothing better to do than interrupt my peaceful, little 3-block saunter. That's almost one dog per house passed! To me this seems a little disproportionate for a west Texas city block. I know you're dying to know about each moment of my day (you must be if you're still reading), so here's the rundown:
1. First comes Rightie: I have named him this because he lives to the right of my house and has no other distinguishing feature. I've actually never seen this dog. I only hear the occasional bark, sniff or shuffle. I usually forget him.
2. Next comes Leftie (Brownie to his friends). You guessed it. He lives to the left of my house and is a medium-sized chow-like animal. During the day hours, Brownie (that's right, I consider myself his friend during the day) lies dormant. I have come to discover he's merely saving his energy for the smallest noise to provoke him once I go to bed. I think Leftie thoroughly enjoys barking ceaselessly in the wee hours of the morning, especially right by my bedroom wall (Jonathan can verify this). While Brownie rarely directly affects my daily walk to work, I will sometimes remember my angst from the preceding night and glare in his direction as I pass by. That'll learn'em.
3. The rest of the way down my street is uneventful with only the occasional dog siting, and I only have my favorite dog trio coming into sight to think upon. As I turn the corner, an elderly woman releases the hounds. I'm totally serious. This lady waits for me to pass by every day and lets her dogs out to briefly keep me company. If her dogs weren't so sweet, I would resent this. Ok, I lied. Really only one of the dogs is sweet. The other 2 are pretty useless. As the door cracks, Puggie, Lil6 and Lil7 burst forth in all their canine glory. Puggie is a little scruffly pug. For literary purposes, I call the other two Lil6 and Lil7, because they're just little nondescript black things with no personality (I'm assuming Lil1 through Lil5 have already come and gone in the long line of Lil-dogs I presume this lady has owned). I usually don't give Lil6 and Lil7 much attention, because Puggie is putting on the real show. Puggie quickly scales down the ramp into the front yard and gracefully puts on the brakes just before running into the chain link fence. Puggie ferociously kicks leaves and grass backwards as he grunts and sniffles heavily. On a good day, he might get one bark out. He's an introvert. Lil6 and7 start off on a mission, but quickly lose resolve and train of thought and abate to wander around the yard in confusion occasionally attacking a helpless leaf. Take that plant! I'm pretty sure they're blind and senile. Make no mistake, Lil8 (and possibly Lil9) will be soon in coming. I laugh, give a wave to the old lady and continue on my way.
4. The next block or so is a little sketchy in my mind because of what dominates the balance of my walk. Looming a few houses down on the left is "The Pack and Friend". Oh dear. More than filling the presence of their 1000 square foot yard, Collie, Grayie, Blackie, Labbie and Spottie prepare for full-auditory assault with their across-the-fence friend, Yippie in tow. Collie is a medium-sized collie, Grayie is a midrange, shaggy gray dog who's shaved in weird places, Blackie is an averaged-sized, black post-puppy, Labbie is a black lab, Spottie is a small black dog with gray spots and Yippie is a tiny brown dog who has a really high pitched bark/yip. Here's how it starts: From a long way off Grayie will spot me and start barking to alert "The Pack" of pending danger. Ya, I'm pretty dangerous. Then, from the four corners of the globe, the rest of "The Pack" rushes the fence in hopeful expectation of ruining the peacefulness of my walk. This alerts Yippie who, without haveing a clue of what's happening chimes in with his painful yipping and starts bouncing up and down. All the dogs give it a good bark, except Blackie. Blackie is the only good dog in the mix. As I walk by, I usually say, "Blackie, you're the only one I love." After I pass by, most of the dogs give up the dream and let me be, expect Collie and sometimes Grayie. They continue barking at me until I am completely out of sight and/or earshot. I have different strategies for dealing with "The Pack". On somedays, when I'm feeling a little feisty, I'll act like I'm not paying attention, and then out of nowhere, I'll quickly turn to look at them and pounce toward the fence. That really sets them off. I then proceed to quickly glance around to make sure no one saw me provoking the dogs. On other days, when I'm feeling a little more annoyed, I'll just simply stare them down and shake my head in disapproval. When I'm feeling a little apathetic, I'll just walk by slowly and stare off into space thinking they'll lose interest.
5. In the heat of "The Pack's" attack, I get caught off guard by Scrufflie and Scrafflie. They're 2 small, gray rat-dogs who give a yelp or 2 and quickly back down when I look in their direction. Domination.
6. After that I'm home/work-free and quickly navigate by a few uninteresting dogs and enter the safety of Los Arcos.
It's as exciting as it sounds.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Where the Mop Hits the Tile
The last few weeks have been great. I've again learned how important it is to work and have some semblance of structure in my life. It enables me to be so much more productive in everything. One of the biggest things has been motivating me to learn Spanish. I've settled into a nice little routine M-Th which usually goes something like this:
1. Wake up at 8:30 or 9:00 a.m
2. Check my email, play guitar and eat breakfast
3. Work the lunch shift
4. Play more guitar
5. Go to the library to study Spanish for a couple hours (I'm 1/3 of the way through La Quinta Montaña)
6. Workout/run/ultimate frisbee.
As you can imagine, I'm learning a few things working as a server. I won't go into all of them now, but being that I'm a server, I've been thinking a lot about serving, both in and out of work. Despite what you may or may not think, I don't naturally just love to do stuff for people all the time when it gets in the way of what I'd rather be doing. When I'm enjoying a conversation with someone, I don't want to go do the dishes. When I'm resting after a hard day, I don't want to jump up and take out the trash. Shocking, I know. I've recently been making a point to read through the gospels repeatedly for some help in that area (since Jesus dominates in that area (and in just about everything else (that's worth doing))). I'm learning the beauty of being the least, the last and the lowest.
One of the biggest places the rubber has been hitting the road has been interacting with one of my coworkers who can be a bit, shall we say, unpleasant sometimes. She is eager to give advice (whether you want it or not), but not so eager to take it. I started to find myself, during and after work, getting stuck thinking about how annoyed I was with her and about what I was going to say the next time she told me to do something again. I was reminded to pray for those who persecute you, so I started praying for her (I know there are much worse forms of persecution). I was reminded to do to others what you would have them do to you, so I helped her out knowing the favor probably wouldn't be returned. I was reminded give to the needy in secret so that I would be rewarded by my Father, so went out of my way to do things for her and not even hint that it was me who had done it if possible, because I didn't want my reward to be her approval. I was reminded that he who wants to become the greatest must become the least, so I started to intentionally take the worst jobs and keep her from having to do them.
It has been so incredibly freeing. My attitude has changed so much. Through an ample supply of grace, I'm starting to judge the success of my day not only by how much I make in tips, but also in how much I was able to serve those around me. Today I finally felt these labors taking root in my heart and become pure and life-giving. I can feel my love growing for the rudest, dirtiest, cheapest, and hardest-to-get-along-with coworkers and customers at Los Arcos. As if that wasn't enough satisfaction, I'm even starting to see small, positive changes in the behavior of my aforementioned coworker. Man, Jesus knew what he was talking about with all that foot-washing stuff.
1. Wake up at 8:30 or 9:00 a.m
2. Check my email, play guitar and eat breakfast
3. Work the lunch shift
4. Play more guitar
5. Go to the library to study Spanish for a couple hours (I'm 1/3 of the way through La Quinta Montaña)
6. Workout/run/ultimate frisbee.
As you can imagine, I'm learning a few things working as a server. I won't go into all of them now, but being that I'm a server, I've been thinking a lot about serving, both in and out of work. Despite what you may or may not think, I don't naturally just love to do stuff for people all the time when it gets in the way of what I'd rather be doing. When I'm enjoying a conversation with someone, I don't want to go do the dishes. When I'm resting after a hard day, I don't want to jump up and take out the trash. Shocking, I know. I've recently been making a point to read through the gospels repeatedly for some help in that area (since Jesus dominates in that area (and in just about everything else (that's worth doing))). I'm learning the beauty of being the least, the last and the lowest.
One of the biggest places the rubber has been hitting the road has been interacting with one of my coworkers who can be a bit, shall we say, unpleasant sometimes. She is eager to give advice (whether you want it or not), but not so eager to take it. I started to find myself, during and after work, getting stuck thinking about how annoyed I was with her and about what I was going to say the next time she told me to do something again. I was reminded to pray for those who persecute you, so I started praying for her (I know there are much worse forms of persecution). I was reminded to do to others what you would have them do to you, so I helped her out knowing the favor probably wouldn't be returned. I was reminded give to the needy in secret so that I would be rewarded by my Father, so went out of my way to do things for her and not even hint that it was me who had done it if possible, because I didn't want my reward to be her approval. I was reminded that he who wants to become the greatest must become the least, so I started to intentionally take the worst jobs and keep her from having to do them.
It has been so incredibly freeing. My attitude has changed so much. Through an ample supply of grace, I'm starting to judge the success of my day not only by how much I make in tips, but also in how much I was able to serve those around me. Today I finally felt these labors taking root in my heart and become pure and life-giving. I can feel my love growing for the rudest, dirtiest, cheapest, and hardest-to-get-along-with coworkers and customers at Los Arcos. As if that wasn't enough satisfaction, I'm even starting to see small, positive changes in the behavior of my aforementioned coworker. Man, Jesus knew what he was talking about with all that foot-washing stuff.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Two and Two
Los Arcos is so local. What I mean by that is that many of its employees and customers live and/or work within a couple miles of it... like me. Los Arcos is in a large residential area and borders (or is in, I don't know exactly) what I've heard called "Little Mexico". I'm sure you're smart enough to figure out where that name comes from. All the time, I see people walking from across the street to come in and eat. The owners' house is literally right across the street. One of the dishwashers lives 4 houses down from me. It's a restaurant's for the people, by the people. I've already started to notice there are several people that frequent Los Arcos. It's very apparent that the majority of our customers come weekly, if not more frequently. I've definitely even seen some people eating there 3 or 4 times in my first week of working there. There's always a buzz of conversations going on between multiple tables and servers. Everyone knows somebody. I never know if they were previously friends or have just seen each other every week for the last some odd years and conversation has deepened beyond razzing each other for always ordering the #10 (The 2 and 2 plate). I'm sure it's a combination. It's weird for me to see the same dozen people every day (coworkers) that I don't even live with. I've been dropped into a tight knit community that I have no choice but to become part of, not that that's a bad thing. Speaking of which, I better get to studying Spanish so I can understand half of said community.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Apurate Cocinera!!!
Work has been going pretty well. Every day is increasingly easier. I still have a lot to learn, but I am starting to feel comfortable in knowing what I'm supposed to do. When I originally talked to the owner about how many shifts I'd have, she said she only had 3 shifts per week, but she'd see if she could get me some more. Man did she. I'm working 7 days a week with a double on Fridays. Just in case you're interested in coming to see me at work, here's my detailed schedule:
Sun: 9:30-3:00
Mon: 10:30-2:30
Tues: 10:30-2:30
Wed: 10:30-2:30
Thurs: 10:30-2:30
Fri: 10:30-2:30 & 5:00-9:30
Sat: 3:00-9:30
It's been very interesting being in a different culture. I've found out that almost everyone loves it when I try to use Spanish. It's been pretty great having so many people around who are speaking Spanish and more than willing to help me learn, customers included. There are a couple regulars that told me next time I wait on them, they're going to speak to me entirely in Spanish. It's so fun. I'm adding a handful of words to my repertoire daily. The most diverse interactions have been with the cooks. There's only one cook who speaks English, but I think he's only part-time. The full-timers only seems to know food/kitchen related words. Jose, the head cook is my favorite. He's got a sweet, curly mini-mullet and 'stache. He totally dominates. He loves to razz me and talk to me in Spanish. A couple of the other cooks haven't been won over so easily. At first, it seemed like Maria (not to be confused with Maria the server) refused to believe I could speak any Spanish. When I'd ask her a question in Spanish, she'd get someone over to translate. When I'd answer her finger pointing in Spanish, she would just repeat the choices in English even though I had already said "pollo" (chicken), "res" (beef) or "queso" (cheese). Finally, after 4 days, I think she's finally starting to believe I know some Spanish. As I was leaving today, she actually said see you later and asked if I was working tomorrow in Spanish. It's only a matter of time before we're chattin away. I also found out there's one other person I work with who isn't fluent in Spanish... but this is her last week. It seems learning Spanish is God's will for my life.
Sun: 9:30-3:00
Mon: 10:30-2:30
Tues: 10:30-2:30
Wed: 10:30-2:30
Thurs: 10:30-2:30
Fri: 10:30-2:30 & 5:00-9:30
Sat: 3:00-9:30
It's been very interesting being in a different culture. I've found out that almost everyone loves it when I try to use Spanish. It's been pretty great having so many people around who are speaking Spanish and more than willing to help me learn, customers included. There are a couple regulars that told me next time I wait on them, they're going to speak to me entirely in Spanish. It's so fun. I'm adding a handful of words to my repertoire daily. The most diverse interactions have been with the cooks. There's only one cook who speaks English, but I think he's only part-time. The full-timers only seems to know food/kitchen related words. Jose, the head cook is my favorite. He's got a sweet, curly mini-mullet and 'stache. He totally dominates. He loves to razz me and talk to me in Spanish. A couple of the other cooks haven't been won over so easily. At first, it seemed like Maria (not to be confused with Maria the server) refused to believe I could speak any Spanish. When I'd ask her a question in Spanish, she'd get someone over to translate. When I'd answer her finger pointing in Spanish, she would just repeat the choices in English even though I had already said "pollo" (chicken), "res" (beef) or "queso" (cheese). Finally, after 4 days, I think she's finally starting to believe I know some Spanish. As I was leaving today, she actually said see you later and asked if I was working tomorrow in Spanish. It's only a matter of time before we're chattin away. I also found out there's one other person I work with who isn't fluent in Spanish... but this is her last week. It seems learning Spanish is God's will for my life.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Los Arcos: Not to be Confused With "The Golden Arches"
Four or five months ago, when I realized I was moving to Abilene, I started looking for a job. I had little idea what kind of job I was looking for. What I had was more or less a list of what kind of job I didn't want: jobs I've already done that I was pretty sure weren't my "calling" (i.e. accounting). You may remember I got pretty far along in the screening process for an insurance job before I was abruptly sent an email saying "they were continuing their search". After that fell apart, I pretty much lost all my job momentum. I applied for all kinds of jobs, some I was qualified for and some I was overqualified for, but to no avail. At this point, I was pretty discouraged. I've never had any trouble getting a job before. Somewhere along the way, I thought, "why don't I just get a job at Los Arcos?", but I didn't apply. A part of me even felt like maybe that's where God was leading me. I didn't trust that feeling though. I thought that I had to be making it up. Then I got in a wreck and just like that, no longer had transportation. I again thought to myself, "I should just work at Los Arcos. I could walk to work from my house and work on my Spanish." That voice came back again, and still I pushed it away. After all, I do have a college degree and they'd probably laugh at me for applying, because I'm unmistakably white. I didn't have much trust in my ability to hear God's voice, so I gave into fear and didn't make a move. I narrowed my search to places close by and applied for a couple jobs that I thought should have been a sure thing. Nothing. I became really discouraged and tried to think of reasons why I couldn't seem to get a job. Was it because I had a gap in my work history that looked suspicious? Was it because I shouldn't be living in Abilene? Was it because I didn't know the right people? Was it because I had moved so many times in the last year? Was it my fault, was it someone else's fault or was God behind all of this? As January came and went, I aimlessly looked for any answer and finally just had to come to the conclusion that I had no clue. For the first time in 2 or 3 years, I couldn't see where my path was at all. I had to admit that I didn't know what obedience looked like in my life anymore and I was botching the whole thing. I could think of so many possible next steps, but didn't know which was the first step (or if there even was one right choice). It was a time to lean into God's grace and hope for His hand to be clear and visible. It was all I could do.
A few weeks ago I was having a time of prayer and decided to read out of the Bible a bit hoping God would reveal something to me. I ended up in Jonah reading about how he ran away from God's call and those around him suffered because of it. Don't you know reading that sent my mind a million directions. I could think of half a dozen possible meanings to that, so I logged it away until further notice (which it turns out was while I was writing the previous paragraph) when hopefully that would make sense. Shortly after that, after some more hopeful job opportunities had fallen through, I decided I would get away from the job search and work for my dad for a week. During that week, I felt a little bit of healing and some hope returning. This Sunday, my last day in Arlington, I was eating some Chinese food with my mom and the fortune cookie said, "You will finally make a long overdue personal decision." Now I must say, I do believe God speaks through all kinds of things, including fortune cookies. I half jokingly, half seriously thought, "I guess I should finally apply at Los Arcos and get a job." Two minutes later, Katrina calls me, but my phone's on silent, so I don't realize it. She leaves a message saying her and Mark are eating at Los Arcos and the waitress complained that she had to work that day, because someone was quitting and I should apply. No joke. I still wasn't confident that this was God speaking to me, but I decided that I was going to apply this week.
So, I picked up an application on Tuesday (I thought they were closed Monday, but it turns out they're open for lunch that day). After I filled out the application, I was still doubting that this was for real. I halfway decided that if this didn't work out, I was going to work for my dad for a little bit to save up money and then take a trip to Costa Rica (you can get round-trip tickets for $350 in February!). The next day, I stopped by during the slow time with my application hoping to score an interview right then and there. I had been going through hypothetical questions and answers in my head, so I was ready. When I gave my application to the owner, she looked it over for a second and we talked about what shifts were going to be open. She said she'd call me that afternoon when she knew for sure the shifts that I could work. No interview. As the afternoon came and went, I started thinking about how she seemed amused when I was talking to her and how she was probably planning on blowing me off. Stupid gringo. When 7 o'clock rolled around, I gave up the dream. I popped in The Sting and wondered what to do next. Obviously, my imagination had gotten the best of me, and I had been making the whole thing up in an effort to make myself feel better or something.
At 9 p.m., the my phone rang. Before I fished it out of my pocket, I tried to think of who could possibly be calling that I wasn't going to screen. I wasn't in the mood to chat it up. It was a number I didn't have in my phone. It had the Abilene area code. Here came the final nail in the coffin. Sure enough, it was Los Arcos. Instead of telling me something like "they were pursuing other candidates" or "they're continuing their search", she asked me if I needed to work. Surprised I said, "soon would be good." She told me to come in the next day at 10:30 a.m. After finding out what I needed to wear, I hung up and wondered, "what happened to having an interview?" I sat in disbelief. Did I just get a job?
Sure enough, when I showed up this morning, they put me to work (after asking if I was there to pick up a takeout order). The first thing the owner asked me was if I had been a server before. I could tell she was expecting a yes. When I said no, she paused for a very long second and awkwardly smiled saying, "Well, I hope you like it." Later on, after asking me some more questions, it was clear she hadn't really read my application. After going over the menu, their policy on substitutions, where to drop off tickets and where to put dirty dishes, she said, "The next table is yours. If you have any questions, ask Debbie." Nothin like hittin the ground runnin.
I felt a little overwhelmed today at times, but I'm pretty excited about it. It's 3 blocks from my house, I don't have to wake up early, I don't have to sit at a desk, I get sweet Mexican food for free and I get to work on my Spanish. I'm most assuredly the only gringo who works there. No one in the kitchen really speaks English aside from the names of food. I don't know exactly what shifts I'll be working or even how much I make an hour. All I know is I've got a job, I'm pretty sure God's behind it, I made $27.72 in tips today, and it feels good. It'll be interesting to see what happens over the following months in this cozy, very authentic Mexican joint.
Just to clear things up (in case you're wondering) Los Arcos means, "The Arches."
A few weeks ago I was having a time of prayer and decided to read out of the Bible a bit hoping God would reveal something to me. I ended up in Jonah reading about how he ran away from God's call and those around him suffered because of it. Don't you know reading that sent my mind a million directions. I could think of half a dozen possible meanings to that, so I logged it away until further notice (which it turns out was while I was writing the previous paragraph) when hopefully that would make sense. Shortly after that, after some more hopeful job opportunities had fallen through, I decided I would get away from the job search and work for my dad for a week. During that week, I felt a little bit of healing and some hope returning. This Sunday, my last day in Arlington, I was eating some Chinese food with my mom and the fortune cookie said, "You will finally make a long overdue personal decision." Now I must say, I do believe God speaks through all kinds of things, including fortune cookies. I half jokingly, half seriously thought, "I guess I should finally apply at Los Arcos and get a job." Two minutes later, Katrina calls me, but my phone's on silent, so I don't realize it. She leaves a message saying her and Mark are eating at Los Arcos and the waitress complained that she had to work that day, because someone was quitting and I should apply. No joke. I still wasn't confident that this was God speaking to me, but I decided that I was going to apply this week.
So, I picked up an application on Tuesday (I thought they were closed Monday, but it turns out they're open for lunch that day). After I filled out the application, I was still doubting that this was for real. I halfway decided that if this didn't work out, I was going to work for my dad for a little bit to save up money and then take a trip to Costa Rica (you can get round-trip tickets for $350 in February!). The next day, I stopped by during the slow time with my application hoping to score an interview right then and there. I had been going through hypothetical questions and answers in my head, so I was ready. When I gave my application to the owner, she looked it over for a second and we talked about what shifts were going to be open. She said she'd call me that afternoon when she knew for sure the shifts that I could work. No interview. As the afternoon came and went, I started thinking about how she seemed amused when I was talking to her and how she was probably planning on blowing me off. Stupid gringo. When 7 o'clock rolled around, I gave up the dream. I popped in The Sting and wondered what to do next. Obviously, my imagination had gotten the best of me, and I had been making the whole thing up in an effort to make myself feel better or something.
At 9 p.m., the my phone rang. Before I fished it out of my pocket, I tried to think of who could possibly be calling that I wasn't going to screen. I wasn't in the mood to chat it up. It was a number I didn't have in my phone. It had the Abilene area code. Here came the final nail in the coffin. Sure enough, it was Los Arcos. Instead of telling me something like "they were pursuing other candidates" or "they're continuing their search", she asked me if I needed to work. Surprised I said, "soon would be good." She told me to come in the next day at 10:30 a.m. After finding out what I needed to wear, I hung up and wondered, "what happened to having an interview?" I sat in disbelief. Did I just get a job?
Sure enough, when I showed up this morning, they put me to work (after asking if I was there to pick up a takeout order). The first thing the owner asked me was if I had been a server before. I could tell she was expecting a yes. When I said no, she paused for a very long second and awkwardly smiled saying, "Well, I hope you like it." Later on, after asking me some more questions, it was clear she hadn't really read my application. After going over the menu, their policy on substitutions, where to drop off tickets and where to put dirty dishes, she said, "The next table is yours. If you have any questions, ask Debbie." Nothin like hittin the ground runnin.
I felt a little overwhelmed today at times, but I'm pretty excited about it. It's 3 blocks from my house, I don't have to wake up early, I don't have to sit at a desk, I get sweet Mexican food for free and I get to work on my Spanish. I'm most assuredly the only gringo who works there. No one in the kitchen really speaks English aside from the names of food. I don't know exactly what shifts I'll be working or even how much I make an hour. All I know is I've got a job, I'm pretty sure God's behind it, I made $27.72 in tips today, and it feels good. It'll be interesting to see what happens over the following months in this cozy, very authentic Mexican joint.
Just to clear things up (in case you're wondering) Los Arcos means, "The Arches."
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Back in a Tent
This last weekend, I slept in a tent for the first time since I was shot. As you might guess, sleeping in a tent again made me think about everything that went down last summer. Many people have asked me what I learned, how I've been affected, or what's changed as a result of being shot. It's been hard to give answers because of how many different and interconnected answers there are to those questions. In this one post, I am going to attempt to answer all those questions in no particular order, so buckle in. It's a short novel.
1. Awesome People - Firstly, in everything that happened, I was so encouraged by the reaction of the body of Christ: my brothers and sisters. From the very start Ross was there. Night and day, he was there. There's a good chance I would've died if Ross wasn't on top of things that night and didn't get me to a good hospital when the 1st one didn't even have a real doctor working. In the next couple weeks, Ross was a stud (as usual). He had to deal with every bodily fluid you could imagine, plus get woken up by me repeatedly in the middle of the night. On top of all that, he was my bouncer, interpreter, doctor, closest of friends and tons of other things. Right behind Ross were tons of Christians in Ecuador. There were people from the church we had gone to the night before that would come to visit me almost every day. Eduardo came twice a day usually. There were other Christians I had never met who brought us things like flip flops, cells phones, food and money, gave us rides to places and interpreted for us. There must of been at least 50 Ecuadorians who visited me in the hospital. My parents dropped everything and made it to Ecuador a few days after I was shot. That's pretty impressive considering my dad was all the way in Africa at the time. Their presence was so encouraging and their attempts at communication in Spanish were entertaining to say the least. Also, I was so blessed to have them get me back to the U.S. and continue taking care of me. When I got back to Texas, my family was awesome (not that they weren't before and don't continue to be still). My sister, brother and aunt Sara took turns staying with me in the hospital. They picked up where Ross left off. They all got a chance to read to me as I would inevitably fall asleep several times requiring them to go back a few pages each time and reread. My mom and dad went back to work but still came to the hospital for several hours a day. Sara got to deal with me for a couple months after that back at our parents' house. She took such good care of me, walked me at the mall and drove me all over the metroplex. I also had some awesome doctors who not only worked to heal my body, but prayed for my well being. Next came the thousands and thousands of Christians who prayed, visited, hugged, sent cards, gave money and made food. Their response, both in quantity and quality, was shocking. I expected my friends, relatives and a few people from church to visit and send cards. Instead, I received dozens of visitors, 100's of cards, 1000's of dollars and 10,000's of prayers, if not more. It was amazing. I saw first hand how powerful and mobile Christ's body can be when called to action and united in purpose. It is incredible to have 1000's and 1000's of people caring about and fighting for your life, many of whom have never met you. So, thanks to each one of you. I feel like God gave me a peak into what He sees everyday from His children and into what He desires for his church to be doing daily. Huge blessing.
2. I Had It Coming - I don't mean that in a I-was-bad-so-I-should-have-been-punished kind of way. What I mean by that is that God had been hinting that some kind of persecution was waiting for me in Ecuador. In one of the blogs I wrote shortly before I left, I indirectly talked about that. Of course, I hardly expected to be shot. Who grows up in suburban America and really expects to ever be shot? I was picturing something more like people not being my friend or getting a bloody nose. I see being shot as a spiritual attack more than anything. It shouldn't surprise us that when we do follow God, we become Satan's target. As a result, I haven't had a hard time coping with the fact that God allowed me to be shot while on a trip to serve Him. I'd even say I was joyful about it at times. Those verses about rejoicing in suffering and enduring trials are real, though I know it can sometimes be extremely difficult to rejoice in the midst of suffering.
3. Not Gun-Shy - I'm surprised and thankful that being shot hasn't caused me to be fearful. Quite the opposite actually. For instance, when I was in a wreck spinning out of control last month, it just didn't phase me at all. I jokingly told a few people that when you've been shot, a car wreck just isn't that big of a deal. I just can't get my kicks pulling 180's and running into trucks anymore. In a real way, getting shot has freed me. My perspective on pain and suffering has been a bit tweaked. Related to that, I have no apprehension in going back to Ecuador. For the sake of people who care about me, I probably wouldn't stay in a tent again. I wouldn't want to cause them unneeded worry.
4. No White Picket Fence - When I saw a flash, heard a bang and the tent stopped shaking, the first thing that went through my head was, "did I really just get shot?" It wasn't panic or fear, but disbelief. I suspect this is somewhat normal even for those who live in dangerous places or fight in wars and know their life is on the line. Days, weeks and months after it happened, I would still have moments when getting shot didn't seem real. I'd look down at my scars to make sure it wasn't just a vivid dream I had woken up from. This might be normal, too, but it made me think about the paradigm I grew up in that still shapes how I view the world. I don't know whether everyone explicitly said it or it was just something implied by people around me, but my expectations for life were pretty simple. Growing up I thought I'd go to college, get married around graduation, get a normal 8 to 5 desk job, work my way up, buy a house, have a few kids, coach little league, go to church twice on Sundays and once on Wednesdays, be a deacon and then an elder, rarely leave Texas, except on the occasional mission trip somewhere in the contiguous 48, raise my kids to do the exact same thing, retire and die. Up until my junior year in college, I still believed that's where my life was headed. My girlfriend at the time and I even decided we should break up, because she wanted to travel all over the place and do missionary-type stuff, and I knew I'd never do that... So you're probably all laughing now. I had no clue. The life I just described is a great life. That's exactly what a lot of people were made to do. But, I've come to the realization that my life will look almost nothing like I thought it would 4 short years ago. Suffice it to say, getting shot was the final nail in that coffin. I've given up on trying to predict my life anymore. All I've got to go on is what God lets me in on.
5. Did I Think I Was Going To Die? - This has perhaps been the most asked question. The answer is "kind of." I really didn't think about it right off. I lied in the tent bleeding for 30 minutes without it crossing my mind. It wasn't until I was getting carried to the ambulance on a stretcher that I realized I might die that very night. What a weird thought to have... well, not considering the circumstances, but in general. The surge of panic only lasted for a moment and then I felt God saying something to the effect of, "I'm not done with you yet" and peace washed over me. From then on, I didn't think I would die again. I sure came pretty close though.
6. What Was God Up To? - More than anything, I felt protected by Him. That sounds pretty backwards, but it's the truth. Any of a dozen variables could have changed and I wouldn't be writing this blog right now. For starters, the way we set our tent up was strange. It was so awkward, we almost moved it. I'm convinced the banditos couldn't figure out where the door to the tent was, because it was between 2 small banana trees. Who knows what would've happened if they had got into the tent while we were still asleep? Second, where the bullet went in was like hitting a bull's eye. If it had been a 1/4 of an inch in any direction, I probably wouldn't have made it to the hospital alive. Third, if Ross didn't know what was going on, who knows what would've happened in the first, poorly-staffed hospital we didn't end up staying at? Also, after 9 or 10 days, the doctor had decided he was going to do a colostomy if my white blood cell count didn't go down to a certain level by the next day. Thankfully, it did and I didn't have one. Months later, when I was having a follow up visit with one of my doctors, she told us how impressed the surgeons were with how bad I was when they operated. Serious nasty infection. We asked her what would have happened if I'd had a colostomy in Ecuador, and she said that would have sent the infection out of control. Seeing all of that gives me confidence that God was protecting me from death each step of the way. 6b. The second part of what I think God was doing is a little harder to communicate. I guess I feel like my trip to Ecuador and getting shot was an initiation into a new stage/season in life. In other words, I feel like that was something that needed to happen so I would be prepared to do the work God has prepared for me in the future. The details of said future are fuzzy at best. If getting shot on a mission trip in a foreign country is a starting point for something, that could mean a myriad of different life directions. I could guess what those are, but that would be a whole other post. In whatever happens, I'm confident that God is straightening my paths by whatever means necessary.
7. New Insights - Another big outcome of this is my new understanding of what people who are dealing with tragedy and suffering are going through. Previously, I had no clue what it felt like and how people would react to you. It was so interesting to see how people I didn't know felt intimately involved in my life and would come hug me and ask me all kinds of questions. Conversely, some others, even among people I know well, just didn't know what to do or say, so they didn't do or say anything. I definitely have a new spot in my heart for people in hospitals and for people who are dealing with a long term illness. I had no idea before.
I'm not thinking of anything else to say right now, but I'm sure there's more. If anyone has any other/similar insights they'd like to share with me, I'd love to hear them. All in all, I feel strangely blessed to have gone through all that and thankful for all the people who have been along my side throughout the journey.
(I eagerly await the day that I get to play 2 truths and a lie with people who don't know me. No one will ever guess getting shot in Latin America is one of my truths.)
1. Awesome People - Firstly, in everything that happened, I was so encouraged by the reaction of the body of Christ: my brothers and sisters. From the very start Ross was there. Night and day, he was there. There's a good chance I would've died if Ross wasn't on top of things that night and didn't get me to a good hospital when the 1st one didn't even have a real doctor working. In the next couple weeks, Ross was a stud (as usual). He had to deal with every bodily fluid you could imagine, plus get woken up by me repeatedly in the middle of the night. On top of all that, he was my bouncer, interpreter, doctor, closest of friends and tons of other things. Right behind Ross were tons of Christians in Ecuador. There were people from the church we had gone to the night before that would come to visit me almost every day. Eduardo came twice a day usually. There were other Christians I had never met who brought us things like flip flops, cells phones, food and money, gave us rides to places and interpreted for us. There must of been at least 50 Ecuadorians who visited me in the hospital. My parents dropped everything and made it to Ecuador a few days after I was shot. That's pretty impressive considering my dad was all the way in Africa at the time. Their presence was so encouraging and their attempts at communication in Spanish were entertaining to say the least. Also, I was so blessed to have them get me back to the U.S. and continue taking care of me. When I got back to Texas, my family was awesome (not that they weren't before and don't continue to be still). My sister, brother and aunt Sara took turns staying with me in the hospital. They picked up where Ross left off. They all got a chance to read to me as I would inevitably fall asleep several times requiring them to go back a few pages each time and reread. My mom and dad went back to work but still came to the hospital for several hours a day. Sara got to deal with me for a couple months after that back at our parents' house. She took such good care of me, walked me at the mall and drove me all over the metroplex. I also had some awesome doctors who not only worked to heal my body, but prayed for my well being. Next came the thousands and thousands of Christians who prayed, visited, hugged, sent cards, gave money and made food. Their response, both in quantity and quality, was shocking. I expected my friends, relatives and a few people from church to visit and send cards. Instead, I received dozens of visitors, 100's of cards, 1000's of dollars and 10,000's of prayers, if not more. It was amazing. I saw first hand how powerful and mobile Christ's body can be when called to action and united in purpose. It is incredible to have 1000's and 1000's of people caring about and fighting for your life, many of whom have never met you. So, thanks to each one of you. I feel like God gave me a peak into what He sees everyday from His children and into what He desires for his church to be doing daily. Huge blessing.
2. I Had It Coming - I don't mean that in a I-was-bad-so-I-should-have-been-punished kind of way. What I mean by that is that God had been hinting that some kind of persecution was waiting for me in Ecuador. In one of the blogs I wrote shortly before I left, I indirectly talked about that. Of course, I hardly expected to be shot. Who grows up in suburban America and really expects to ever be shot? I was picturing something more like people not being my friend or getting a bloody nose. I see being shot as a spiritual attack more than anything. It shouldn't surprise us that when we do follow God, we become Satan's target. As a result, I haven't had a hard time coping with the fact that God allowed me to be shot while on a trip to serve Him. I'd even say I was joyful about it at times. Those verses about rejoicing in suffering and enduring trials are real, though I know it can sometimes be extremely difficult to rejoice in the midst of suffering.
3. Not Gun-Shy - I'm surprised and thankful that being shot hasn't caused me to be fearful. Quite the opposite actually. For instance, when I was in a wreck spinning out of control last month, it just didn't phase me at all. I jokingly told a few people that when you've been shot, a car wreck just isn't that big of a deal. I just can't get my kicks pulling 180's and running into trucks anymore. In a real way, getting shot has freed me. My perspective on pain and suffering has been a bit tweaked. Related to that, I have no apprehension in going back to Ecuador. For the sake of people who care about me, I probably wouldn't stay in a tent again. I wouldn't want to cause them unneeded worry.
4. No White Picket Fence - When I saw a flash, heard a bang and the tent stopped shaking, the first thing that went through my head was, "did I really just get shot?" It wasn't panic or fear, but disbelief. I suspect this is somewhat normal even for those who live in dangerous places or fight in wars and know their life is on the line. Days, weeks and months after it happened, I would still have moments when getting shot didn't seem real. I'd look down at my scars to make sure it wasn't just a vivid dream I had woken up from. This might be normal, too, but it made me think about the paradigm I grew up in that still shapes how I view the world. I don't know whether everyone explicitly said it or it was just something implied by people around me, but my expectations for life were pretty simple. Growing up I thought I'd go to college, get married around graduation, get a normal 8 to 5 desk job, work my way up, buy a house, have a few kids, coach little league, go to church twice on Sundays and once on Wednesdays, be a deacon and then an elder, rarely leave Texas, except on the occasional mission trip somewhere in the contiguous 48, raise my kids to do the exact same thing, retire and die. Up until my junior year in college, I still believed that's where my life was headed. My girlfriend at the time and I even decided we should break up, because she wanted to travel all over the place and do missionary-type stuff, and I knew I'd never do that... So you're probably all laughing now. I had no clue. The life I just described is a great life. That's exactly what a lot of people were made to do. But, I've come to the realization that my life will look almost nothing like I thought it would 4 short years ago. Suffice it to say, getting shot was the final nail in that coffin. I've given up on trying to predict my life anymore. All I've got to go on is what God lets me in on.
5. Did I Think I Was Going To Die? - This has perhaps been the most asked question. The answer is "kind of." I really didn't think about it right off. I lied in the tent bleeding for 30 minutes without it crossing my mind. It wasn't until I was getting carried to the ambulance on a stretcher that I realized I might die that very night. What a weird thought to have... well, not considering the circumstances, but in general. The surge of panic only lasted for a moment and then I felt God saying something to the effect of, "I'm not done with you yet" and peace washed over me. From then on, I didn't think I would die again. I sure came pretty close though.
6. What Was God Up To? - More than anything, I felt protected by Him. That sounds pretty backwards, but it's the truth. Any of a dozen variables could have changed and I wouldn't be writing this blog right now. For starters, the way we set our tent up was strange. It was so awkward, we almost moved it. I'm convinced the banditos couldn't figure out where the door to the tent was, because it was between 2 small banana trees. Who knows what would've happened if they had got into the tent while we were still asleep? Second, where the bullet went in was like hitting a bull's eye. If it had been a 1/4 of an inch in any direction, I probably wouldn't have made it to the hospital alive. Third, if Ross didn't know what was going on, who knows what would've happened in the first, poorly-staffed hospital we didn't end up staying at? Also, after 9 or 10 days, the doctor had decided he was going to do a colostomy if my white blood cell count didn't go down to a certain level by the next day. Thankfully, it did and I didn't have one. Months later, when I was having a follow up visit with one of my doctors, she told us how impressed the surgeons were with how bad I was when they operated. Serious nasty infection. We asked her what would have happened if I'd had a colostomy in Ecuador, and she said that would have sent the infection out of control. Seeing all of that gives me confidence that God was protecting me from death each step of the way. 6b. The second part of what I think God was doing is a little harder to communicate. I guess I feel like my trip to Ecuador and getting shot was an initiation into a new stage/season in life. In other words, I feel like that was something that needed to happen so I would be prepared to do the work God has prepared for me in the future. The details of said future are fuzzy at best. If getting shot on a mission trip in a foreign country is a starting point for something, that could mean a myriad of different life directions. I could guess what those are, but that would be a whole other post. In whatever happens, I'm confident that God is straightening my paths by whatever means necessary.
7. New Insights - Another big outcome of this is my new understanding of what people who are dealing with tragedy and suffering are going through. Previously, I had no clue what it felt like and how people would react to you. It was so interesting to see how people I didn't know felt intimately involved in my life and would come hug me and ask me all kinds of questions. Conversely, some others, even among people I know well, just didn't know what to do or say, so they didn't do or say anything. I definitely have a new spot in my heart for people in hospitals and for people who are dealing with a long term illness. I had no idea before.
I'm not thinking of anything else to say right now, but I'm sure there's more. If anyone has any other/similar insights they'd like to share with me, I'd love to hear them. All in all, I feel strangely blessed to have gone through all that and thankful for all the people who have been along my side throughout the journey.
(I eagerly await the day that I get to play 2 truths and a lie with people who don't know me. No one will ever guess getting shot in Latin America is one of my truths.)
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