Trouble Is A Brewing

What? Trouble in Mexico? Say it isn't so...

It was a long day, but not necessarily a bad one. I guess it depends on who's point of view you're looking at it from. My day started out bad anyway. I mean, I don't get much sleep as it is, like I need less. But I still didn't get much sleep at all, just enough to get me to breakfast where I loaded up on sausage (to get me through the rest of the day of course).

So here's the thought of the day. Justice. God's justice. Now think about it, what does justice really mean from God's point of view? I mean, the first thing that entered my mind when we were talking about it was Judge Judy freaking out on someone, but is that really what God means when He talks about justice? How do love and justice co-exist? Yet they do in God's eyes. Just more to ponder throughout the day (we talked about it a lot at group time in the evening). But that was our devotional for the day (look at James studying so diligently).

It was shortly thereafter I found out that Carrie, our fearless Youthworks leader in Juarez, was in the hospital last night thanks to a bug bite. It just so happened to make a really nasty bruise in the exact same spot, so it looked really ugly and she went to the hospital, the first visit of the summer for our site. That's important, tally now at 1... We also had a small problem as one of our vans we use to get all our groups to their work sites had a flat. It was fixed that afternoon, but it made for a lot of shuffling in the morning.

Kids Club was a little more fun today. First we painted a room bright, bright orange. As in you would go blind if you stared directly at the walls. Bright. So bright. My retinas are burning just from the memory of it. Did I mention bright? But then we had fun playing with the kids. I was doing crafts again, but this picture's of the song time down the hall. Are they dancing? I have no idea. I'm hoping yes.

I actually even learned a little more Spanish today. It was kind of forced on me. One of the kids showed up and told our director Stacie (the crazy white person looking at the ceiling above) they knew where one of our Youthworks soccer balls were, but the kids wouldn't give it back. Her brilliant idea? "Troy, go with him and get it back." So I do the normal thing and ask what Spanish I'll need. "Oh, none, just go and look tough." So to bully people, I'm now the first choice. Yeah, Mexico's a little messed up. But I went, two kids almost got in a fight, lots of fun. The only part that made me happy were the fighters were two tiny kids that I could lift up with one arm, while all the big huge guys thought it was funny and were trying to joke with me in Spanish. I also got killed again in soccer upon bringing the ball back. I should have left it with the other kid.

But then we had one more problem. The guy in the picture is Zak. I'm sure he wished I picked a better picture of him, but I don't care, he ticked me off. I have been at Fishers United Methodist Church for three years and have not had a single injury. Not one. Liz has had people get hurt from catepillars. Troy, still nothing. Until Zak decided to walk too close to a metal gate over a window. His left arm had a nice sized gash in it and upon request from Youthworks we needed to take him to the hospital (I told him to tough it out, but meh).

So we have to take Zak to the hospital. Only one small problem. We're in freaking Mexico! No, he couldn't get hurt in the good ol' U. S. of A., he has to get hurt in Mexico. So Carrie and I load him up in the van with the new tire and drive to the border. More background information. I never have a good time at the border. I have been stopped, I have been searched, I have been given a pat-down. It never turns out good. So we're in line and the guy asks our nationality. "American", "American", "Canadian". He looks all dumbfounded. "Canadian? Do you have papers? Why are you here?" Yes, if I wanted to sneak into the country from Canada, I wouldn't go from the Canadian side, I'd travel to Mexico and try to get across there. After pointing out the kid with the bleeding arm and the whole need for the hospital, he hurries things up a little.

Then we get to the hospital. If I ever get hurt, I am going to the hospital on Mesa in El Paso. What a great facility! And quick. Zak got thirteen stitches (yeah, the Youthworks people were right, he needed to go) and was out really quick. As in from the time we left our camp, it was an hour and fifteen minutes. Across the border, stitched up and out the door in 75 minutes?! That's nuts. And we were held up too. Guess what young man didn't have his Social Security Number on his health form? The best part was when I called his mom to get it (we work together) and she answers with, "Troy! Wait, that means this can't be good..."

So while we are gone, the rest of the group gets to go on a walking tour of Juarez, looking for things, learning about the town, etc. Alex, the guy over Carrie who met us at the hospital, is nice enough to give Zak and I a short tour as we drive home, letting us see what the other guys saw without leaving the comfort of our pick-up truck. Here's a picture of something you would have seen. A tiny little house, one wall made out of a tarp. Notice the tires too. There is no foundation anywhere here. The ground is all dirt (grass is precious, we only saw it three time, at a church, at Oscar's, and one other place I'll mention tomorrow, and all grass was under lock and key). So tires are used as a foundation of sorts all over Juarez. Hey, it's cheaper than cement. By the way, tally now at 2...

I learned one more lesson today. Since we were back kind of late, we let the guys and gals in the student ministry stay up for a bit, but they were asked to be quiet. Apparently, it is impossible to be quiet. When talking outside, our bodies are physically unable to whisper, or so it seemed. And the larger the group, the harder it was. Noise is infectious. I hope the neighbors didn't mind too much. And after this writing for today, we'll give it a rest, but this is nothing compared with tomorrow.

T