Real Life and Faith: Mexico…Wednesday

Yesterday was a day of concrete and rocks. Today, it's back to digging ditches. It's a bit harder than it needs to be, because when we dug the first footing, we were instructed to out the dirt where the second footing is to be. Now the dirt must be moved to the top of the hill...to the flat area. Five gallon buckets.

Again.

Shovel, fill, pass up the bucket line...UP the bucket lines. Twist and lift. Six hours. Heavy, wet soil. We didn't stop...though by 10 am the buckets were half full...and by the last leg around noon, about a third. The ditch “only” has to be six meters deep, so I expect to be digging to China the rest of our days here.

Wednesday afternoon/evening, we drove an hour to worship with a church in Matzam, another small village straight up the mountain. We were warned the temperature would drop by 20 degrees as we drove. True that. The Matzam congregation rapidly outgrew their first small sanctuary. Their new church seats 1000. We trekked straight up the mountain, feeling the temperature drop about every 10 minutes. The area is simply, breathtakingly gorgeous. Bromiliads grow wild in the trees. Angel trumpet is like a weed. Corn and beans were everywhere. Greenhouses nestle in the crannies of the mountain; roses and callas are the crop of choice. Here, you can get a dozen callas for two pesos, about a quarter.

The hospitality is overwhelming. They are eager to greet Americans, gracious to welcome us over and over. We had a delicious meal of chicken soup with rice and limes—and chilies if you wanted. Tortillas are a given, but they had cooked some crispy...truly delicious with a rubbing of lime and a little salt.

Before we left for Matzam, the women of our village had dressed us all in native clothing. It was really fun and surprisingly comfortable. The skirt is a heavy fabric—wool is my guess. It is a huge circle of cloth. They form pleats in the front, then belt it with a very stiff belt, tied very tightly. It was like a back brace...wonderful for my aching muscles. I think I could wear it every day. The village was highly tickled that we came dressed like them. The skirts were much shorter on us, however. We are about twice their height.

Down the mountain was more adventurous. The constant pumping of brakes to get them to catch, pretty disconcerting. I was riding in a 15 passenger van...no belts...three in the front seat. Just as I thought we were stopping in front of the house from which we departed, he pumped the brakes several times and headed straight down a very steep driveway. If the brakes had not held, we would have gone through the clothes-washing station and straight down the mountain. I just closed my eyes and said my prayers. Such is life in Mexican villages. Letting go of what you can’t control is the theological lesson of the day.