Street Fighter night

Last night was our monthly outreach and we called it "Street Fighter Night – en vivo." ("that means Street Fighter - live") We had four teams and we competed in MarioKart, fusebal, and live Street Fighter. And we ate cereal all night.

For street fighter, we each had a character. David was a pot bellied bus driver of the busses on the most dangerous road in the world (which they say is here in Bolivia) complete with trucker hat. Ali was japenese beauty, Shen Lui (how do you spell that?) from the original Street Fighter arcade game, complete with deadly chop sticks sheathed in her hair. John was a plaid shirted lumber jack. And I was a disgruntled war veteran.

We would put two characters on the stage and would pick two audience members to command them to either Golpea (punch), “Patea!” (kick), “Atapar” (block), or “Saltar!” (jump). Randy was the fight announcer and sound effects box. Then the two characters would act out a fight on stage complete with sound effects and specialized super moves.

I made an 8-minute video called “Rich Living” or “Vida Plena”. And we watched that. I’m pretty happy with how it came out. I wish I could show my dad and people back home. It seems like a pretty good representation of a big theme in my life, and a good reason to believe that God has a good plan for us.

At the end of the night we watched “The Emperor’s New Groove.” We had a good time. I got to talk to some of the kids and try to build relationships with them, so I will know how I can help them the best.

Hey Evo, que tal?

I was walking through our neighborhood today and I came across a group of political supporters. I recognized someone on the stage. The president of Bolivia, Evo Morales, had come to La Paz and was speaking in our neighborhood, Sopacachi! There were probably 100 people in the crowd. There were bands blowing in reed flutes and pounding on big skin-covered drums.

A couple other people spoke and then Evo spoke. I couldn’t understand him (which means I need to learn a lot more Spanish). Then some women climbed onto the stage and laid out piles of hard boiled eggs, beans, potatoes, corn and lots of other stuff on colorful blankets. The crowd pushed each other to get their hands into the big raw, messy piles of food. This is the Bolivian version of a Potluck and they call it Aptapi. They handed out a corn alcohol called Chichi.

It’s sad to see how much more willing we become to shove each other when there’s something good given to us.

I talked to one of the men helping Evo and asked him, "What is the best way to help the youth in La Paz?" He said, "They need to learn good character. Help instill this in education from when they're young until they are old."

Shorn, like Aslan

It was the all night basketball lock in. I was captain of all of the white teams. Kavil was captain of all of the green teams. Our hair was at stake. Whoever lost would soon be bald.

It came down to the last game, Kavil’s team versus my team. We were the obvious underdogs and the obviously undersized. Then they decided to heighten the competition by letting Kavil and I play with our junior teams.

In the first half we gained the lead: 18 to 10. I was the tallest person on the court (if you can believe that!) and they weren’t prepared for my fast breaks, nor the small distance between my hands and the rim (comparably). It was still a fairly novel experience for my team when we would score and my boys would cheer like Superman had been subbed in, he had just punched the bad guy out, and there was hope again. The first half ended.

The next half brought some more new faces onto the other side of the court. The strange thing was, I don’t think they were on Kavil’s team until they were down by eight. This changed the tide. They caught up quickly and we couldn’t do much with their new players. We struggled that half, but I told myself, I would trust in my players and we kept passing and playing as a team.

It came down to the last minutes and it was now 18 to 20; we hadn’t scored a point since half time. I called a time out and I asked my guys what should be our strategy. They suggested we pass more. I was so proud that they were still problem solving and thinking like a team. So when we began again and I got a fast break I remembered what they said and would pass it off instead of going in for the perhaps more reliable layup myself. I was proud of myself for honoring my boys’ strategy and teamwork over my beloved hair. I wanted to show them how much they meant to me and I wanted to teach them good sportsmanship.

As the last minute rounded out to zero, while their new players had guarded me, Kavil had almost single-handedly scored all the points that gave his team the possession of the trimming shears.

It was a bittersweet loss because the crowd had all seen the teamwork and rebirth of hope and enthusiasm in our underdog team, even as we fell under the curse of baldness.

I felt like Aslan as I kneeled down and willingly let them shave my head. One of the sweetest volunteers that was helping out with our night of basketball, Mariana, was at my side catching my hair mourning the loss, “Ohhhhh, Ross.” It made me think of the women crying over Jesus as he was being crucified.

A few days ago, Randy had talked to me about how Jesus has put the incredible job of carrying on his kingdom into our hands. Jesus put the responsibility of the kingdom into the hands of the disciples, as small and confused as they seemed. He left and said carry my message to all nations. I had put the basketball into the hands of my small teammates, and had gave them the responsibility to carry on the game, even if it made me bald.
I had put faith in my team and though we had not won the game, I felt like something deeper had been at work. Perhaps that is how it works with Jesus.

Hans isn't homeless

I went to the fountain on El Prado where I had planned to meet Hanz, the drunk belligerent kid from a couple nights ago. He showed up just a few minutes after I got there. he was with a friend named Carlos. Carlos had lighter skin and a more northern, slimmer face and long hair. He asked for “a big favor”: that we could go up to the corner where his mom was because his mom wanted to know what type of people he was hanging out with. We walked up El Prado.

They finished a bottle of refresco and I’m pretty sure I saw Carlos throw it close range at a passing boy. It was thrown back at us, and it hit my butt.

We went to the corner where Carlos said his mom was but he went inside the building, a bank or something, and never came out.

Hans and I walked a bit and then left to go to his house. I wasn’t planning on doing this but somehow we ended up in a bus going up the mountain supposedly towards his house. He had told me the night before that he lived in a cardboard box. Now he said he lived with his grandma in a house.

We were rising out of La Paz. I knew that El Alto was above La Paz and that it was known to be dangerous and crawling with pick pockets. We got out and walked down a wide, clean, quiet, cobblestone street. He had been telling me that from his house there is a wonderful view. When we got to his house, I saw that he wasn’t lying about this. He and his grandma lived in the upper floor of a humble, brick house. We went out onto the patio, which was probably the size of the inside rooms put together.
He said to the lady I believe to be his grandma, “Good afternoon. Can you make something very Bolivian for us?” He had been talking about peyote (a drug) and Mescal (an alcohol) at his house. I told him that I don’t want to try any drugs ever, that for some reason I am trying to stay clean. I had a fear that if I ate anything at his house, it might be drugged. It would be an easy, profitable crime for him, except for the fact that I know where he lives now. I guess he wouldn't have to let me live. I lost all the worries when I saw the beautifully prepared, delicious meal that he brought for us from his grandma. He also brought an unopened bottle of soda that he had gone to the corner to buy.

We ate in his room as we listened to his music. His room looked like the messy arrangement of someone’s un-harnessed mind, crumpled kleenex, dirty clothes, unmade bed, all scattered about the cement floor. There were lots of music posters and music pictures ripped out from magazines. He had colored and drawn on a lot of them. He said he liked to draw.
When we were in the little van coming up he had told me he doesn’t believe in God. Now he was telling me that he believes in a loving God. He seemed to be contradicting but now I told him it sounds like we believe in the same God.

He asked for my phone number and I said I don’t have one- well, that it was for lots of people in my house. He said, “you don’t trust me yet.” I said, “I need to get to know you better.”

I found out we were born 10 days apart on the same year. His birthday is on the 2nd of November. Mine is the 12th.

I found out he goes to college for Anthropology. He had a big chart of how to pronounce the English letters that he had made at his university (I think) on his wall.

I told him I had to be down to El Prado at 4:00 to meet a friend and that I would like to leave at about 3:00. In typical Bolivian style (as much as I tried to push the punctual American way) I was not able to say goodbye and catch the bus until 3:40.

When I got in I asked if it goes to El Prado, and they looked at me like it was an unusual question, though it seemed to me like El Prado was the biggest street in La Paz. They also said it would take about an hour to get down.

The thing is I told Rolando that we would meet at 4:00. I realized that the chances were very slim that I would get there on time and one of the last things I want to do is be inconsistent with my new friends. I want them to trust me. I prayed that I would not let Rolando down.

We still seemed to be near the top of the hill when I heard a man’s watch beep like it had just turned 4:00. When we got near the bottom of the hill, what seemed like 45 minutes later I asked the man beside me if we were close to El Prado. He said we were a block away. When we got close enough we got out and I asked him the time. He told me the time was now 4:00 exactly. Amazing. I didn’t know if this could be possible. To make sure I asked a poor old, scared lady who said she didn’t have the time and avoided my gaze. Finally after walking towards where we planned to meet I saw a kid walk by with his arm over a girl and his watch revealed, and I almost asked him the time, but I realized I had seen it right there in front of me as his arm had passed right by me. It said it was now 5 after.
I got to the place where I was to meet Rolando. I looked around for a minute or so and asked a guy who was in a little kiosk selling things what the time was. He said 10 after.

I looked across the street and realized Rolando was sleeping on a bench.

Our meeting was quick. Rolando told me he needed school supplies.

The amazing Alvar and the Lion

In the morning we went to the children’s hospital, to the burn unit. I sat down with a a young boy named Alvar. His face was covered with thick gauze soaked in a blood/scab colored salve. His hands were wrapped in thick gauze and just his fingertips poked out. He had a clipboard and was drawing on a paper bag. He asked for another bag to draw on. I brought one to him and I asked him what he would draw. He had a lion king coloring book on his lap that he was looking at. He said, “A lion.” I started telling him a story about a boy named Alvar and lions. I stopped several times in the middle of my story because I was amazed at his drawing. It was amazingly proportional and there were no mistakes. Finally, he finished it off by coloring it in.

After a while I was trying to think of something to say and I pulled out my notebook and showed him my drawings. He wanted to see more and more. Finally he asked me to draw them again for him. So I started drawing one of them again but this time on a paper bag. Before I finished he was asking me to draw the next one. I had drawn like 5 of them and then some invented ones by the time I had to leave. He was enthralled. He asked me if I was coming back and if I would bring him a drawing.
God used my gift of drawing to connect to this boy. We’re going back tomorrow.

Hans the homeless

While ten of us were waiting outside of the church for our meeting to start a young man came close and leaned against a car. He looked distressed and he was not in any shape to be tactful about how he laid his eyes upon us so heavily. A few minutes later he approached some of the Bolivians with us and started talking about wanting to fight and being robbed and he made a lot of offensive gestures. He was intoxicated, probably with alcohol and drugs. The Bolivians who knew best looked away from him and turned their backs to him to protect the rest of us.

Now before going to Bolivia I tried to make myself ready to risk my life in the case that it could help another. I saw in his red eyes and violent nature, another to help.

I leaned around the friends that were protecting me and found his eyes, "Hey, what's your name?" He had found an audience. His name is Hans, (or Juan in Spanish). He drew close and his eyes focused on me and he began his story.

He said he had just been robbed. It was police that robbed him of his cell phone and everything, he said. He told this story over and over and when he told it he clenched his fists and cussed, and then pointed his fingers like guns at me and then at his own temples, with tears dropping from his eyes. “Mi propio gente! Mi propio gente!” He would scowl, “My own people, my own people did it to me.”

In the mean time, it was decided that the meeting was cancelled so we should go get a nice italian meal. I read their body language and much of it was saying, 'ok, Ross, this is a good excuse to get rid of him.'

My evening hadn't been filled with enough risk to fill me up so I pushed it, "Should we buy him dinner?" The looks suggested it was not a good idea. "Can I buy him dinner?"

Randy heard my request and with no hesitation approved it.

Some of the other Bolivians with us told us to be very careful and that they had seen a couple other boys hanging around below us. I thought their advice was very healthy, but I thought this opportunity was worth the risk.

We waited for dinner. Hans told me over and over, with animated belligerent hand movements how they had stole his cell phone and money, his own people! He told me how he wanted to kill them, on the day of justice, when he is reincarnated. I asked him what that would gain? I suggested to change the hate into love and tried to appeal to him by the heroic nature in this. He said, but they would not understand this, they were not people of the spirit, but people of material things. He went on to talk about Darma (good Karma) and Karma (bad karma).

He said he liked Hitler. Because he hated the Jews. He had worked at four jobs which had Jewish owners. They had been very tight with their money. He asked me what I thought of Jews. I told him I grew up in a home where they said all people are equal and that I had no experiences like his to make me think of Jews as any less valuable.”

A few times when we eventually came around to reach the same conclusion on something very deep, like turning hate into good, he would take my hand, intertwine our fingers and squeeze it between us vehemently and look into my eyes. At other times, in the heat of his stories he held his same fingers in my face and clasp them into fists and shake them before me.

I have found that giving gifts is very important to Bolivians. He appreciated the dinner we bought him and appreciated my sincere ear. In this spirit he gave me two things. He tugged on the necklace hanging from his neck and it snapped off. He put it in my hand and said it would protect me. The leather strap held a wire twisted into shape of a sun's rays, or a hand's fingers or a marijuana leaf. The other emblem on the strap was a Mayan cross. It is a symmetric cross with steps in between the arms and a circular hole in the middle. I wasn't sure what they meant, and by the looks of one of the other Bolivians at the table watching us, it wasn't good. I told him, this is the symbol of amistad, of friendship between us. The other thing he gave me was the empty cell phone case around his belt. I promised him I would find a good use for it, therefore turning a bad event into something good.

He knew a few words and cultural facts about many cultures. He quoted some American songs. He said a few words in English.
I told him we were Christians and that we wanted to help him.
I asked him, “can I trust in you?” He said yes. I said, “you can be a very good person.” He said, “I am a good person.” I had doubted much of his story and imagined he had a very rough street life. But I had faulted in giving him the grace that someone has so unequivically given me.

He talked about people getting high. He said he wanted cerveza when I asked him what he wanted to drink. He talked about Mezcal and Peyote. When we were paying for dinner he pulled out his wallet and looked for cash to pay me. I said, its ok, I will buy your dinner. He looked for something in his empty wallet to pay with and all he could find was a paper folded into a pocket. He gave it to me. I opened it far enough to see small dark green shavings inside. I gave it back to him and said, no, but thank you anyways. He said thank you.

I offered to go for a run with him to get his angry energy out. He thought that would be a good idea. I knew it could be dangerous but I would try to lead us and take us only to lit areas. But as we were leaving David told me that Kavil (one of the Bolivian volunteers) had said, be very careful, make sure Ross doesn’t do anything dangerous. I took that as a sign and I told Hans that they told me I had to do something with them now and couldn’t run with him. We planned to meet the next day at the fountain on the Prado.

I asked him where he would go now. He said he would walk home. I asked where was home. He told me very far and that he had no money to get a taxi. I hesitated and the others didn't think it was a good idea to impersonate an ATM. I apologized to him and he nodded like, 'I was hoping for more but that's what I expected.' He said, "I'm Aztecan. We are tough. Don't worry about me." We left him at the corner and I looked back many times. He was not following us. I did not trust him very much still. I wanted to but I did not want to be stupid. I had learned once before not to trust someone though they seem to be a new friend.

I'd take a punch in the face for these kids

Every Thursday of Lent from now until Easter (seven weeks) kids make a pilgrimage to a certain church in the south of La Paz. They spend all night walking and spending time in the plaza outside the church. It is a catholic tradition so we saw much opportunity to talk to people about faith.

Last night, at 2 am we went down there with a video camera and began asking kids questions. A lot of the questions were fun and were meant to get to know them, and a lot of the questions were religion related. I said I could be the DJ and go talk to the kids. Miguel and Mariana went with me to help with Spanish and filming. The kids seemed to be generally receptive. My Spanish needs a lot of work and I think I probably made a fool out of myself a couple times, but it was a challenge and I learned what to do better, and it’s better than doing nothing at all, and we did get some interesting conversations going.

One time I went up and started getting to know a group of kids who were walking. Then I started asking deeper questions. “How do you avoid hell and get to heaven?” They said, “you must try to live a good life.” I asked, “Is it harder for people to live a good life when there is a lot of poverty? Do they have to steal and lie more, to survive?” They said, “Yes, I guess so.” I continued, “Then how is that fair, that it is harder for a people in a poor country to avoid hell than it is for people in a rich country, like the United states or somewhere?” One of them said, “That’s just how life is sometimes.” It's interesting to see their perspectives. Randy and I were talking about their concept of fairness, and in some cases it has a different twist than we think it does.

There was a soccer game going on in the street at the side of the main plaza by the church. I asked if I could play with them and we began to play. About an hour into it I noticed a kid from each time, pushing each other and throwing punches. I saw no direct hits but I moved in quickly. I put myself between them and started probing into the problem. I shouted, “The game is won by talent, not anger. We’re playing soccer now, not fighting.”

I looked into the eyes of the kid on my team, and he just pointed to the other kid and said, “It’s him. He’s just…” His face was red and his eyes were squinty. I could almost see the heat rising from his face in the night. As he seemed to protest how unfair the other kid was, I told him, “We can be better by being more fair than them.” I revisited him several times to see how he was. I told him that if he wants to switch positions with me (he was the goalie), just tell me. I asked him how he felt and if everything was ok. He said, “No you’re good. It’s ok.” His hand shake and a sincere nod through his squinty eyes and heated face seemed to infer a bit of friendship.

I was not afraid to take a punch. I lose so little for what could be gained. I could get a broken nose, but my nose is already crooked. I could get a black eye but those heal. What we maybe gained was perhaps a bit of wisdom, and maybe an example of good sportmanship. I think of how amazing someone has to be to make an impression on my life, big enough to change it. And I am such a rookie that I don’t think any lives could be changed by how I handled the situation. But I have hope, and the faith that if I do my best with the situations God gives me, he can work through them to change lives, in his time. I have a lot to learn on how to treat the situation better next time, but with the knowledge that I had, and the willing heart to take a punch and be a good presence, I feel contentment that God could have used me.

Rolando: the friend without manners.

We made a cake for Rolando’s birthday. I met up with him in the usual spot and walked to our house. On the way up he stopped at a toy store and looked in the window and talked about the toys. I felt that even though I don’t want to just keep giving him money, I would be a bad friend if I didn’t buy him a birthday present. And above all I’m trying to be a good friend. I said, I would like to buy something for you for your birthday and asked him what type of things he might want. Eventually we went in and looked at prices but we decided to come back later.
We went to my house and I fixed up some cake and ice cream and the candles and sang a quick song to him. The traditions here set up a little bit of extra confusion. He waited to blow the candles out. He kept looking towards the doors of Randy and Jon’s rooms as if waiting for them to come out. Finally when I asked him what he was waiting for, it made more sense. He was thinking of what to wish for. Eventually David, Jon, Randy, Kavil, Ali, and Hannah had all stopped in and had a little cake together or a steak and egg sandwich.
On our walk back down to the Prado Rolando asked me if instead of using the money to buy a toy, it could go towards helping him buy the pants and shirt he said he needed for school. I said that was a great idea. But then he started doing the math and saying if the toy was going to cost 48 B’s (the most expensive toy we looked at) and then he could get better pants for 35 B’s and add a shirt for a little more… I got disappointed and told him, with a little bit of the disappointment coming through in my voice, I’m not a bank.
That very morning, at our morning devotional/gringo meeting we had talked about giving and what the Bible says about giving. The Bible seems to say that you should give them more than they ask for and keep on giving (if he asks for your coat, give him your tunic too, if he asks you to carry it a mile, offer to carry it a second). It seems like the Bible infers that the poorer you are financially, the richer you are spiritually. That makes sense, to me: when you don’t have the money to be your safety net, God has to become your safety net.
I told Rolando how I felt used and that what I wanted to give him was a gift, not a bank account for him to tap. After I got that out on the table, things were better. You know when you are holding something against a friend, or family your whole time together suffers? It’s like there is a wall between you, and it is very difficult to play over that wall. Sometimes it seems to help to get it out on the table. After I did, it was finally fun to hang out with him again. We were laughing and joking. He actually said Thank You for these things you’re giving me. And that was long-awaited. It felt really good to hear it. And I guess in some way it felt more right than if he had said it like polite Americans say it right away. The fact that he said a while afterwards meant that he was still thinking about it and probably wasn’t saying it just because it was the polite thing to do.
I think it’s interesting, interacting with Rolando. He didn’t grow up with parents to teach him the things most kids learn, like manners. He was given to an adoption house shortly after he was born. I think it’s interesting because I get to see maybe what a person would be like without the front of manners hiding who he really is. Some might say that being educated is part of who you are, and I think that’s true, but with Rolando, I think I can see his root instincts bared in what he does. When sometimes that’s uncomfortable for me to be with him, other times it seems more valuable because I get to see the real him.

When we finally got to go buy him pants so he could go to school, I was surprised that he went to get sweat pants and a Bolivar Jersey. I asked him if that was really what he needed to go to school, and why. He said yes, and that it was so that if he fell he could clean them better. I later asked Pedro (the Bolivian YFC boss down here) if that made any sense. He said, no. He said, I should say they have to ask him if they want us to buy them something.
The next day I met up with him and I asked how he was. He said his not so good- that his stomach was very empty. Again that barrier grew between us and I felt like a bank again. I had taken him out to lunch before and I can see how it would seem like it was becoming a habit. I told him I was full but if we wanted to get something cheap from one of the stands I would pay for half. We went over and got some cookies.
From the time he said, I’m hungry, until we parted, there seemed to be that wall that was very hard to play over between us. In fact it was he that said, he had to go do something instead of spend the rest of our usual time with me. I have to say I was relieved but a little bit sad that our friendship was suffering. I think next time I need bring something else to focus on. Like have him teach me how to make the bracelets that he says he can teach me.
He did do me a couple favors, which I see as his way of giving things to me. I had a 200 B bill (which is a unusual bill because it is worth so much). I said I needed to get change. He said, there on the corner is a friend of his that will change the bills for 1 B if I ask him, but for free if Rolando asked him. So I gave him the 200 B bill, a little bit of a test with the roughly 25 dollars walking away from me in the hands of someone who I felt thought of me as a bank.
The other favor he did for me was that he tried to save a shoe shiner box for me. I told him I wanted to buy a shoe shining box so I could start shoe shining. He had seen one for sale at a good price and tried to ask them to save it for me, but they didn’t. Rolando is a good guy for favors like that.
Rolando had told me that he doesn’t like to wear a mask when he is shoe shining, but today, and lately he had been wearing one. I asked him why. He pointed to the big scar on his face and I think he said, “I don’t want to scare people away.” And also he said that he didn’t want certain people to know he was a shoe shiner because then they wouldn’t talk to him. I have a hunch that also he has problems with certain kids because they beat him up.

Tall, blonde, water balloon targets

Carnaval is the weekend before Lent when everybody is supposed to get out all of their sinful desires before they have to give them up for 40 days. This mostly takes the form of trying to kill people with water balloons.

It was the second to last day of Carnaval, the prime day for water ballooning and we had to walk along the Prado, through one of the main balloon assault areas to get down to teach our English class. David and Ali were going to take a taxi as Hannah and I were to walk. Hannah, a tall blonde girl walking down the Prado turned out to be the target they had been waiting for the whole day. It started out with a few balloons lobbed our way which we could dodge. Then there were more, getting harder to dodge. And then finally as a great battle cheer rang out across the street as the rest of them saw us, the unavoidable barrage began. It was a group of 50 to 100 young people that had seen us and declared us the targets. We were easy prey. For the next 30 seconds it was hailing water balloons. I could avoid some of them but not all; there were probably 5 balloons splattering over us or the pavement by us every second. Hannah, being an even more prized target than myself, was hopeless. She had to keep her eyes on the sidewalk to compensate for her lack of depth perception, but I don't think it would have helped much even if she could look up.

Suddenly, as they saw our hopelessness, and inability to defend ourselves at all, they charged. A solid wall of cheering, bloodthirsty high schoolers coming across the road at us. Balloons were unavoidable. I realized we needed an escape; we would be in bad shape after a few more seconds of this. I looked up and saw a stairway (the only escape on our side of the road for the equivalent of several blocks). I grabbed Hannah’s hand and we climbed the steps. A few people continued to chase us up the steps to exhaust their ammunition on us. One of those balloons that Hannah received had an extra little ingredient to add insult to injury. It was full of mud and rocks.

After all was thrown and wet, we were both soaked and Hannah had a thick stripe of mud on her face and back, and a bruise underneath it. We decided it would be too dangerous to walk back down there to the English class. We tried to get taxis but they said that the street was closed off right now (probably because two blonde americans had almost just been killed there), so we started to walk back along the streets above.

However, we found out, our challenges weren't over yet when a couple of kids standing in a doorway pulled balloons out from behind their backs and smiled mischevious smiles, ready to throw. I gave them a competitive smirk and slowly shook my head. It was enough to buy us us 20 feet. We were across the road when one came running at us. He threw the balloon. After the war of balloons we had just survived, this challenge was nothing more than an opportunity. With my backpack on my back and my notebook drying out in my left hand, I caught the balloon with my right and strated to run the kid down. His friends in the doorway were yelling at him to hurry. I was quickly gaining on him. Finally, from only a few paces away, I let loose. The water balloon splattered over the back of his legs. I gave his friends a look that said, "Hope that was as much fun for you guys as it was for me" and turned around to walk away. I heard cheers from across the street. A couple old men were smiling and clapping because they had seen the whole thing.

Finally, after getting a call from David and Ali, we tried again and finally a taxi said that the Prado was now open and he could take us to our English class. All our sweet little kids snickered at us that afternoon, as we stood at the board in all our wet clothes, shivered as we tried to teach of bit of english.

Song by David and Ross

Overflowing:
(Capo 1)

Verse 1
It is not safe
It is not comfortable
But it’s good

And I’m hungry
And tired
But he’s close, he’s close

My vessel is small
And it overflows so easily
My vessel’s so small
And it overflows with joy

Chorus:
Just a whisper in my ear
Just a word, I am here
C#m B
And I’m broken and I’m undone
A
again

Just a song that I can sing
its a fragile heart I bring
I’m so broken and I’m undone
again

Verse 2
C#m
What if its just some product
Of science and evolution,
All this ridiculous snot and tears?

The early sun rises
On my empty stomach
I struggle in the silence

Chorus

Verse 3
My vessel is small
And it overflows so easily
My vessel’s so small
And it overflows with joy

He is the Word
That fills me from within,
And I’m Over,
overflowing, overflowing.