Consciousness drifts in. I'm aware of a new day. Quiet prayers in my mind. The rest of the family start to wake up. All of us but Zack anyway, our youngest son, who is lightly snoring. We wrestle jeans on, search for other clothes to wear and last minute items to be packed, sip on coffee, consult Rand McNally for the best driving directions to the border--didn't like the Mapquest ones. There's excitement in the air, anticipation. We're driving to Mexico....again! Will the Froggy make it (our green 1997 Ford Windstar) without breaking down? Only God knows for sure. It's been to Canada three times and a prior Mexico trip. It should be okay. It's just a couple of minutes to the door now. Do we have the passports? Are we forgetting anything? Do you have the keys? Yes, no, yes! The van is loaded, the rear door slams shut. The boys start to settle in. Have we forgot anything? Our family pauses in prayer for a moment asking for God's safety as we travel. We're off!
We drive two blocks and remember we forgot something! We're thankful it was only two blocks and not twenty miles! We double back to get that pesky forgotten item and were off, again! The drive is long. Two days to the border and another day to Estado de Mexico--Mexico state. Quiet conversations between mom and dad. Pit stops for gas provide a nice little break. The boys wanna help clean the windows. "Papi, can I help you pump the gas?" We stretch for a couple of minutes and back on the road. Lunch breaks come later in the afternoon and are usually preceded by two hours of questions about when we're going to stop for lunch and what we're going to have. After two days of driving, questions, complaints, stinky emissions (not from the van!), pit stops, lost crayons and laughter we find ourselves road weary and at the U.S./Mexican border.
The following day we're up extra early. It's another 688 miles to Toluca, Mexico. The excitement's still there but tempered by the tiredness of two days of driving. Before we cross into Mexico we stop for gas. Several different men approach and ask us if we want to nationalize our vehicle making it legal for us to get Mexican license plates and to stay in the country. "Gracias, pero no gracias, Senor." ("Thank you but no thank you, Sir.") Ten minutes later we're in Mexico. As we cross the border we see a man sitting in a chair. He didn't seem too concerned about why we we're entering Mexico. He didn't even ask us to stop.
For hours we drive through deserts and up and down mountain roads. Every now and then a big black bull appears on a mountain top in the distance. It's the symbol for a cement manufacture in Mexico. We're convinced that the bull was following us. We pass slow moving trucks and are passed by quicker moving cars. We stop occasionally for gas at Pemex--the only gas company in Mexico. Our pit stops are different. There is no self-service. They pump the gas for you and usually clean your windshield. A bathroom break will usually cost you 2 pesos or about 20 cents. After the hours pass and we get closer to Toluca the altitude increases.
Our pit stops are more difficult now because of the dizziness brought on by the high altitude, about 8000 feet above sea level. In the deep "V" shaped median between the road in and out of Toluca we see several trucks overturned. Driving is very challenging in this part of Mexico. Speed-bumps fill the streets and sometimes traffic signals and signs are little more than suggestions. Over a two day period in Mexico state three people will die in traffic related accidents.
After the nightmarish drive through Toluca we find our relative's house. We unload the van and exchange warm greetings. Food is brought out. Laughter, love, questions about our trip and family back home. The altitude hits me the hardest. I can hardly sit up, let alone stand. I smile weakly, wave my hand and retire for the evening leaving my family to finish the meal and catching up. It takes two days to get adjusted to the altitude.
Before breakfast the next morning I make my way out to the front "porch" or what would be better described as a car-port area. It's enclosed by wrought iron and concrete (concrete's everywhere in Mexico, that crazy black bull). It has a corrugated plastic roof. During heavy rain or hail it's almost deafening to stand underneath it. It's relatively quiet this morning and I'm spending quiet moments in my mind with God. Occasionally the smell of Guayabas (a Mexican fruit), beans and eggs crosses my nostrils.
I look up out into the street to see a couple in their 70s making their way, arm in arm, to the market a couple of blocks away. After all these years they are still in love. I couldn't help but watch them as they walked. Somehow the lady sensed my presence and glanced over at me. Her face was wrinkled but still beautiful and her spirit was soft and warm. Our eyes met. I desperately wanted to blurt out "Buenos Dias" but for some reason I couldn't. She just looked at me with one of the warmest smiles I have ever seen. I smiled back. In a moment they were out of sight. Was she an angel? For a brief moment I thought so.
Later comes our own trip to the market. During the walk there I notice a woman on the roof of her house air drying her clothes on a line. The clothes sway gently in the breeze. Very few people have "real" dryers. That's more of a luxury for those with more disposable income. The market is an all out assault on our senses. People shouting. Music blaring. The hustle and bustle of business. The smells are incredible: flowers, fruits, urine, garbage, chocolates, tacos and onions cooking, raw meats, fish, leather. It's amazing. Pig and cow heads on display. Chickens are hung in a row lifeless ready to be sold. We enjoy our time there. It's almost like a date for us. I don't mind the stares. Not many Mexicans in Toluca have seen an American outside of television and the movies. Some say hello. Most just stare and try not to look like they're doing it. The children are full of questions and have little inhibition. They ask questions about a tattoo on my arm and find others sticking out under my shirt sleeves. More questions. They smile and laugh a lot and are exceptionally friendly. They enjoy our company and we enjoy theirs.
We visit so many people: friends, family, missionaries. Our visits take us over many miles and through several states. There are sad stories to hear and poverty to see. Sad stories and poverty go hand in hand. Yet in all of this it's impossible not to see God working in lives. We listen to Christians tell their story of how they came to Christ. We attend small house church services to worship with other Christians and listen to the Word preached. We're left with a feeling of deep gratitude towards God for allowing us to re-visit friends and meet and make new ones.
Back in Toluca I spend a few moments in what has become my sanctuary, my quiet place, the carport. It's late in the evening and dark. The mountain air is cool and crisp. I lightly grasp the iron bars that make up the entry door to the carport and peer into the sky. I notice light dancing on top of a wall that surrounds a house across the street. For a brief moment I am mystified. Then I realize that the light from a street lamp is passing through the glass shards cemented on top of the wall. They're there to keep people out. A soft chuckle later and I'm back to my thoughts with God....It's nice to be in Mexico again.
We drive two blocks and remember we forgot something! We're thankful it was only two blocks and not twenty miles! We double back to get that pesky forgotten item and were off, again! The drive is long. Two days to the border and another day to Estado de Mexico--Mexico state. Quiet conversations between mom and dad. Pit stops for gas provide a nice little break. The boys wanna help clean the windows. "Papi, can I help you pump the gas?" We stretch for a couple of minutes and back on the road. Lunch breaks come later in the afternoon and are usually preceded by two hours of questions about when we're going to stop for lunch and what we're going to have. After two days of driving, questions, complaints, stinky emissions (not from the van!), pit stops, lost crayons and laughter we find ourselves road weary and at the U.S./Mexican border.
The following day we're up extra early. It's another 688 miles to Toluca, Mexico. The excitement's still there but tempered by the tiredness of two days of driving. Before we cross into Mexico we stop for gas. Several different men approach and ask us if we want to nationalize our vehicle making it legal for us to get Mexican license plates and to stay in the country. "Gracias, pero no gracias, Senor." ("Thank you but no thank you, Sir.") Ten minutes later we're in Mexico. As we cross the border we see a man sitting in a chair. He didn't seem too concerned about why we we're entering Mexico. He didn't even ask us to stop.
For hours we drive through deserts and up and down mountain roads. Every now and then a big black bull appears on a mountain top in the distance. It's the symbol for a cement manufacture in Mexico. We're convinced that the bull was following us. We pass slow moving trucks and are passed by quicker moving cars. We stop occasionally for gas at Pemex--the only gas company in Mexico. Our pit stops are different. There is no self-service. They pump the gas for you and usually clean your windshield. A bathroom break will usually cost you 2 pesos or about 20 cents. After the hours pass and we get closer to Toluca the altitude increases.
Our pit stops are more difficult now because of the dizziness brought on by the high altitude, about 8000 feet above sea level. In the deep "V" shaped median between the road in and out of Toluca we see several trucks overturned. Driving is very challenging in this part of Mexico. Speed-bumps fill the streets and sometimes traffic signals and signs are little more than suggestions. Over a two day period in Mexico state three people will die in traffic related accidents.
After the nightmarish drive through Toluca we find our relative's house. We unload the van and exchange warm greetings. Food is brought out. Laughter, love, questions about our trip and family back home. The altitude hits me the hardest. I can hardly sit up, let alone stand. I smile weakly, wave my hand and retire for the evening leaving my family to finish the meal and catching up. It takes two days to get adjusted to the altitude.
Before breakfast the next morning I make my way out to the front "porch" or what would be better described as a car-port area. It's enclosed by wrought iron and concrete (concrete's everywhere in Mexico, that crazy black bull). It has a corrugated plastic roof. During heavy rain or hail it's almost deafening to stand underneath it. It's relatively quiet this morning and I'm spending quiet moments in my mind with God. Occasionally the smell of Guayabas (a Mexican fruit), beans and eggs crosses my nostrils.
I look up out into the street to see a couple in their 70s making their way, arm in arm, to the market a couple of blocks away. After all these years they are still in love. I couldn't help but watch them as they walked. Somehow the lady sensed my presence and glanced over at me. Her face was wrinkled but still beautiful and her spirit was soft and warm. Our eyes met. I desperately wanted to blurt out "Buenos Dias" but for some reason I couldn't. She just looked at me with one of the warmest smiles I have ever seen. I smiled back. In a moment they were out of sight. Was she an angel? For a brief moment I thought so.
Later comes our own trip to the market. During the walk there I notice a woman on the roof of her house air drying her clothes on a line. The clothes sway gently in the breeze. Very few people have "real" dryers. That's more of a luxury for those with more disposable income. The market is an all out assault on our senses. People shouting. Music blaring. The hustle and bustle of business. The smells are incredible: flowers, fruits, urine, garbage, chocolates, tacos and onions cooking, raw meats, fish, leather. It's amazing. Pig and cow heads on display. Chickens are hung in a row lifeless ready to be sold. We enjoy our time there. It's almost like a date for us. I don't mind the stares. Not many Mexicans in Toluca have seen an American outside of television and the movies. Some say hello. Most just stare and try not to look like they're doing it. The children are full of questions and have little inhibition. They ask questions about a tattoo on my arm and find others sticking out under my shirt sleeves. More questions. They smile and laugh a lot and are exceptionally friendly. They enjoy our company and we enjoy theirs.
We visit so many people: friends, family, missionaries. Our visits take us over many miles and through several states. There are sad stories to hear and poverty to see. Sad stories and poverty go hand in hand. Yet in all of this it's impossible not to see God working in lives. We listen to Christians tell their story of how they came to Christ. We attend small house church services to worship with other Christians and listen to the Word preached. We're left with a feeling of deep gratitude towards God for allowing us to re-visit friends and meet and make new ones.
Back in Toluca I spend a few moments in what has become my sanctuary, my quiet place, the carport. It's late in the evening and dark. The mountain air is cool and crisp. I lightly grasp the iron bars that make up the entry door to the carport and peer into the sky. I notice light dancing on top of a wall that surrounds a house across the street. For a brief moment I am mystified. Then I realize that the light from a street lamp is passing through the glass shards cemented on top of the wall. They're there to keep people out. A soft chuckle later and I'm back to my thoughts with God....It's nice to be in Mexico again.
1 comment:
Wow, I was right THERE with you! What other tattoos??? Huh, confession time:)
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