Plans were meant to be changed

Hi folks,

A lot has happened in the past week.  For one, I am no longer going to Argentina (or Ecuador, for that matter).  I’ve decided to stay where I am, in Rosarito.  There was a place for me here from the moment I arrived, almost like it was planned long ago.  I have a family here. I get to work with young kids and with youth.  I get to do drama, which I put on my list last year (along with missions) as something I’d like to try.  I get to do evangelism, as when sometime this summer we load up the “Heaven Bound” school bus and have a tent revival under the stars.  I get to learn from someone who’s been a pastor for 30 years, a father for 50, a man for 70.  I get to bask in the affection (and great cooking) of a doting mother.  I have a computer in my room, internet four blocks away, and a cheap phone card to call home (although the cordless phone and Mexican telecom make for a lousy connection).  I’m a few hours from civilization (if you call California civilized) for critical supplies like floss picks (for those who know me well).  Once in a while, I get to hang out with friends from church back home who come to do (or are already doing) missions work down here.  And of course, it’s a lot closer than Argentina, which makes it more feasible for Ellison (or any of you folks) to come for a visit (I was supposed to leave next week for Ecuador, so she bought a ticket to come see me this weekend – it will be great to see her and lounge around San Diego for a few days).

My plan was just to take a step in the direction of missions, and ask God to redirect my path as necessary, and He is faithful!  Argentina was pretty arbitrary – I wanted to study missions, and with YWAM I could basically choose anywhere in the world, and I’d always wanted to visit Argentina.  I liked the Compassion focus of the Discipleship Training School in Mendoza.  Plus, I’d always heard about how beautiful the Argentine women were, which fit into my plans of finding a wife.  But then I met Ellison a month before leaving, which is exactly how such things happen (rather than planning them ourselves). And then after the hospital experience in Guatemala City, I was starting to question whether I had enough heart to handle Compassion ministry after all.

In any case, YWAM may end up as an option for me and Ellison to do together someday, as a foundation for a life of missions together (assuming we decide to get married, which is a bit premature at the moment, since we only met about 10 weeks ago and I’ve been gone 5).  I am bummed that I won’t be able to visit my host family from Ecuador 14 years ago, but that too may be better to wait for Ellison (I’d have to make another trip with her anyway).

One additional benefit of staying in one place is that I´ll actually have contact information..  You can call the church directly at 011-52-661-613-37-43 (Jose speaks English, don´t worry), or you can send post c/o Jose´s daughter in Imperial Beach, CA:

Tos Fackenthall
c/o Jose & Yolanda Garza
863 10th Street
Imperial Beach, California 91932

Thanks for your prayers, please keep them coming!

More later,

-Tos

One month gone by!

Well, here I am one month into my mission trip. In some ways it feels like it’s been much longer, in others it feels like the time has flown by. It has been more difficult than I thought to find the time to write (much less email), so I wanted to share some memories of the past month before they get too hazy. (If I ever get the photos labeled on the website, you should be able to put faces with most of the names/events below.. http://photos.yahoo.com/tfackenthall (under “2007 Guatemala” and “2007 Mexico”).

(From Guatemala) I remember the beautiful, purple-flowering bushes that grow everywhere like a weed. I remember the great chemistry we had among our mission team, and how different the trip would have been if any one of us had not been there. I remember Edwin’s stories, gracious hosting, and passion for ministry.

(From Huehuetenango) I remember the surreal feeling when the poor campesinos pulled out their camera phones to snap pictures of the visiting gringos. I remember the Indian teenagers proudly explaining to Katherine and me the distinctions between the “classic” indigenous dress for their region and the “stylish” versions (all hand-made by each girl). I remember playing (and teaching) baseball with kids at the Mayan ruins. I remember a group of Indian women playing duck-duck goose with all the laughter and enthusiasm of children. I remember the layered rhythms of the rug factory. I remember my teammates smiling and shaking their heads as I ran off at any available moment (of which there were few) to check for email from my girlfriend, Ellison. I remember the ladies singing a cappella in their hammocks, and the acoustics of the stone, open-air house we stayed in. I remember sharing life stories (and lots of laughter) with my teammates before heading off to sleep. I remember the interesting clicks and guttural sounds of the Mayan language. I remember the 4-hour church service under the stars at the coffee plantation (or “finca”), and the little girl who came over to visit (and tickle) us. I remember the foreman Carlos’s 11 beautiful children, and how he tried to remember my real name but it came out differently every time (Aris-tos?). I remember his 3-year old daughter, who I called “Boo” because her garbled mix of Mayan language and giggles reminded me of the character in the Pixar movie “Monsters, Inc.” I remember the sand and gravel pile that, with some encouragement from Paula, was transformed into a tiny village, complete with road, flowers, church, and volcano (fitting for Guatemala). I remember Carlos’s 10-year old daughter and her friend making flower bouquets for all of us. I remember the chaos and excitement of trying to coordinate and explain games to 150 kids, most of whom only spoke Mayan. I remember getting swarmed by kids when we visited the local school (just as they were getting out). I remember the delicious food prepared by Edwin’s assistant, Gail. I remember the dozens of inside jokes that are impossible to explain but would send us all into fits of laughter.

(From Antigua) I remember the picturesque cobblestone streets and earthquake-devastated churches.

(From Guatemala City) I remember the oasis of Seteca Bible Institute, and the 20-year old kids who adopted me into their community for a few days. I remember Mike Glick’s beautiful family and generous hospitality. I remember 10-year old Astrid’s beautiful and courageous smile, laying in the hospital severely burned over 90% of her body, and how helpless and heartbroken I felt as she whispered to her devastated mother, “Tengo dolor” (“It hurts”).

(From Rosarito, Mexico) I remember the four German Sheperds (3 pups) greeting me each morning with incessant licking of any exposed skin, and my morning “treasure hunts” to pick up their poop before Yolanda had to walk the gauntlet to the kitchen. I remember having a cold for most of my time here, staying true to my name (¨tos¨means ¨cough¨in Spanish – lots of jokes, even without the cold). I remember riding shotgun with Jose as he went on everyday errands in his very non-ordinary way. I remember going to San Diego to attend the Garza’s granddaughter’s birthday party at Chuck E Cheese (which Jose translates unnecessarily as “Chuck AND Cheese”), and sneaking out to call Ellison on the pay phone outside. I remember Rosalva and friends coming faithfully three times a week to clean the church before services. I remember attempting to translate a guest speaker’s sermon real-time for Jose’s friend Hank, and trying to balance his lack of hearing with me trying not to disturb others. I remember Jose’s surrogate daughter Mary, who runs the childrens ministry and is herself a big kid (and one who took a little while to warm up to me, but now we’re good friends). I remember Jose’s grandson, Jojo, who leads worship and the youth program, and who has a huge heart (to go with his huge size). I remember the incredible number of people who call Jose and Yolanda “Papá” and “Mamá” (including me, at least for Yolanda), which says a lot about who they are to this community. I remember 4-year old Eliana’s visits to Jose and Yolanda every afternoon (he calls her “Morenita”, little brown girl, and Yoli calls her Princesa, which she truly is). I remember 6-year old Andrea’s big eyes and beautiful smile. I remember 8-year old Cinthia’s enthusiastic singing (some might call it shouting) and her attempts to be in every photo I took. I remember 4-year old Elias hamming it up for the camera while I was trying to film the “Kids’ Campaign”. I remember 3-year old Alex pulling on my hand and giving probably me the tiniest peck on the cheek I’ve ever received (he still refers to me as El Payasito – the little clown – even without my suit/makeup, and is sweetly devoted to me, even running up during the middle of my skit to return my fallen balloon hat). I remember Lorena, Sarai, Gina and Susana, the talented and funny ladies who were my co-clowns, and the fun skits we did for the kids. I remember 2-year old Abigail singing the children´s song “La Tortuga” (The Tortoise) for everyone at church, delighting when her brother on the keyboards increased the tempo. I remember 15-year old Marcos and friends, who turned most high-energy worship songs into a sanctified mosh pit in the front row (and I’m probably a half-inch shorter for all the times I went over to join them). I remember Elias, the 11-year old preacher during the Kids Campaign, who may not have the life experience yet to be a “real” preacher but certainly has a beautiful heart and a remarkable photographic memory which should serve him well in that endeavor in the future. I remember the enthusiasm of the kids (performers and otherwise) during the Kids’ Campaign and how even after 4 days they did not want it to end.

Today 25 men from my church back home arrive, most to build houses in Tijuana perhaps others to help Jose with some manpower-intensive projects around here, such as digging fencepost holes or painting the church. In any case, I´ll more than likely have to do some actual work for the next few days.. (doh!)

I hope you are well, please continue to keep me updated with what is going on in your life (even if I don´t get back to you for a while).

Love,

-Tos