Dancing con Aguafiestas!

Brendan Scott

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Quick, name the best dancer you know.  If Brendan, my name, hasn’t popped up into your head, then you’re crazy.  I know how to cut a rug and then knit it back together again.  I know how to shake a leg and then skimmy.  I’m the real Jimmy.  Oh, you don’t know my name?  What?  You haven’t seen my moves.  You don’t know my skills?  I have around 129 views on my dance video (On Youtube).

Sometimes my life can be a little like my dance moves.  I’ll be having fun, the toast of the party, feeling great, and then suddenly a migraine will twirl in and nock me out.  It seems like at every dance party there is a jealous dancer who tries to outdo me, my migraines always try to do the same.  They are aguafiestas (Spanish for party poopers). The aguafiestas I suffer from are Abdominal Migraines.  They’re rare, but they do exist.

Before I spin my gruesome tale of migraines, let’s grind our way through all of the fun that was had celebrating Stephanie and Fernando’s joint bachelor parties at the lake.  Lake Atitlan is about two hours away from Xela, but that’s as the bird flies.  As the car drives it takes much, much longer.  Especially with all of the tumulos (Guatemalan for speed bump, which in Spanish actually refer to the bumps made by burial mounds).  As we drove through the first town off of the Pan-American Highway, located just off of km 148, Fernando’s car scraped bottom.  The little town of San Marcos or Filepe or Lucas or Mateo (or whatever and I’m not sure how it got sainted) has more speed bumps than miracles.  Anyway, Fernando’s car is a small red Nissan and didn’t have the clearance to climb over these pesky paved speed reducers.  Especially not with five people in the car.  Every 100 feet or so we were forced to evacuate the car in order for Fernando to ease the Nissan over the sizable bump.

A three-toed sloth would’ve moved quicker.  We’d start to pick up speed, a blazing 10 miles an hour, and a tumulo would halt us in our way.  So, we’d exit the car as the town’s people stared.  I guess they’d never seen gringos (In Guatemala) practicing the Chinese fire-drill before.  After the 5th speed bump in no less than 25 yards we decided to tell Fernando to drive ahead, leaving us to dance through the cold town.  We passed a church gathering, whose people seemed to be more interested in our dilemma than praying, and several cows who mooed empathetically, knowing what it’s like to walk over all the speed bumps.  The horses and chickens weren’t quite as friendly.  They taunted us with their neighing and clucking.  I was glad to climb back into the safety of that warm Nissan after we’d danced all the way through that little town.

Fortunately dancing through San Juan de los tumulos didn’t bring on a migraine.  Neither did driving down a steep set of switchbacks with near 1,000 foot cliffs on either side of the road.  Halfway down to the lake we had to stop, not for a speed bump, but to cool the brakes off.  If we’d gone any farther the car might have ended under one of the many burial mounds we’d driven over along the way.   As Fernando dumped a gallon or so of water onto the hot tires we danced around like guerrillas in the mist.  I do a great guerrilla dance.   Trust me.

If only the fun had continued into the next day.  Unfortunately, like those fighting guerrillas, the migraine sprung on me like a leaping ballerina by late afternoon the next day.  (If you don’t think ballerina’s are fierce just go watch Black Swan.  That movie was disturbing.)  Anyway, just like Natalie Portman’s character spun from good to bad so did my  trip.

After a relaxing morning in San Pedro, we decided it was time to make our way back to Xela.  Fernando and Stephanie were going to Antigua, so we didn’t have access to the car.   We figured we’d take a chicken buss, sadly the busses stopped running at 11 a.m. and it was now 3.  Our only option was the pay a guy to drive us all the way up to the highway in the back of his truck.  All 11 of us (some had not been as fortunate to sloth through San Juan in the Nissan) jumped in the back of a beat up pick up and we putted off.  It was already crowded and we had a long assent ahead of us, so we only stopped to pick up a few Guatemalans who only wanted a ride to the next town.

Pueblita after Pueblita we subired.  The old truck climbed smoothly until we stalled out in a little town and were forced to watch a parade of tuc tucs.  It was terrible, those slow tucs took tons of time to trek through town, but it didn’t give me a migraine.  The migraine sprung after the truck stalled on a steep incline.  I had been enjoying a magnificent view of the lake when we passed by our fifth hairpin turn and the truck stopped.  We leapt from the truck like graceful guerrillas (ok the girls were just graceful).  With the lighter load the truck roared to life and sped up the hill.  I can run for miles, but dead sprints really kill me, especially when they are straight up hill.  30 yards in I knew I was done.  Several of my friends gracefully leapt back into the truck bed, but I couldn’t do it.  As I walked up to where the truck was waiting for me my heart danced madly in my chest (A typical indicator that an unwanted dancing partner was about to force its way next to me).  30 minutes later as we bounced through San Juan de los Tumulos I tossed my lunch out the back of the pick up.  The migraine had set in.

I made it home with out throwing up again and I can say my weekend was a lot of fun, even though it ended with a migraine, which spun my weekend a direction I didn’t want it to go.  I would have rather written a story about how great of a dancer I am, but I guess you’ll know now that, even though I am an extremely talented dancer, I suffer from migraines.  I am human!  All kidding aside,  I might not be the first person you think of when it comes to dancing, but I guess that doesn’t matter.  Life’s a dance and I’m going to keep on grooving, even if a migraine leaps in my way and splashes water all over the party.

Let’s Get Spiritual: Retreat from Facebook!

Brendan Scott

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What to give up, what to give up, what to give up.  The other week I was reading my dad’s blog as I prepared to take the high school and middle school students at IAS off on the annual three day Spiritual Emphasis Retreat in Reu, Guatemala.  The retreat is a time where we step away from our regular classes and challenge our students to grow spiritually.  It is also a time to get to know the students on a more personal level.  I love everything about retreat, even all of the pranks that the kids like to play.  Anyway, my dad wanted to know what his readers were giving up for Lent.  Typically I only give up silly things for Lent, like lint or I give up on giving up things.  So, what makes this year different?  Spiritual Emphasis Retreat challenged me to take my time with God a little more seriously.  On Tuesday Mr. McNabb (The school’s director who has no relation to Donavan McNabb) challenged all of the students to be salt and light.

Fun fact there are 14,000 known uses for salt and one of the most interesting is that it has to be present in all Jewish sacrificial offerings.  When Jews fast for God they do not give up salt because you cannot give up God, so they continually add God to their lives.

So, I felt challenged to give something up for Lent.  I wanted to feel challenged in my daily life and see how God added himself back into it.  But what to give up, what to give up, what to give up?

As I finished reading my dad’s blog all of the high schoolers and middle schoolers boarded big chicken busses that would take us down to Reu for the retreat.  As we bounded down the Pan-American Highway, sometimes passing slower moving cars when no sane person would pass, I committed myself to leading my students by good examples.  My hope was that they would see God in me, through my actions.  The theme for our time in Reu was New Beginnings.  I believe it’s hard to start anew if I first don’t give up something old.  How can God speak into my life if I am too busy with the daily routine or worrying about who’s commented on my Facebook wall.

And so I tried to put aside thoughts of Facebook, man I hope they like my current status, and tried to enjoy the best thing about retreat; life with out distractions.  Spiritual Emphasis Retreat is a real time to focus on God because, besides all of the blackberries my students have, we are away from it all.  And on this retreat I really felt like we came together as one and did not let our normal everyday routines and addictions hinder us.  I mean it was a challenge at times because I just wanted to know if my little sister was on Facebookchat so I could talk to her.

Fortunately, I really enjoyed leading discussion groups with Hugo, Luis Pe, Oscar, Lenin, Jose Pab, Sani, and Kain.  I’ve taught most of these boys for the last three years and so some of our discussions were very deep.  Like who’s hotter Salma Hayek or Penelope Cruz.  No wait–that was an argument I had with two grown men.  The boys and I talked about our choices and how they affect our lives.  They wanted to know why I have chosen to wait to have sex until marriage and that led into their thoughts on abortion and the responsibilities of being a teen father.  I might not have had all of the answers, but what I tried to tell them is, we all make choices and we must live with the consequences.  I challenged them to be the men God created them to be, which I believe means not backing down from the difficulties life throws at us.

And so how can I expect them to face the big challenges in life if I am not even facing the smaller challenges.  As retreat went by and maybe because I wasn’t getting any sleep (you try to stop six 14 and 15 year old boys from sneaking out of the room to go prank and manage to attain a wink of sleep as well) I felt God challenging me to give up something that I knew would be difficult to live with out; Facebook.  As funny as it sounds it’s a big part of my life and as I write this I am five days into my fast and it’s been difficult.

On Thursday, the second day of retreat, Miss Cromwell, the school’s principal, spoke about how media affects our lives.  Two years ago none of the students had blackberries or iPhones, now they are constantly connected.  I found myself in several conversations about what our lives would be like if we were not on Facebook.

I remember my life before Facebook and now I check it every day.  It has ingrained itself into my existence.  Like James Cameron it directs my daily schedule, yet my life is no Avatar.  I am a real human being who wakes up everyday and checks Facebook; my online life.  I fill my free time flipping through photo albums on Facebook, constantly friending and defriending, liking and commenting, chatting and thinking up witty statuses for people to comment on.  Facebook is a powerful form of media, it might even be how you found this blog.  Media as a whole influences everyone in many different ways, not all of them bad (my blog), but I am not sure I want Facebook to have the influence it has on me.  I do not want to live my life online.

At dinner on the second night I was sitting with Ale, Sharom, Dani, and Gaby.  We were talking about media and the importance of tuning out some of the lies it tries to sell us, what we should look like and what we should buy, and the importance of placing God at the center of our lives.  Right then and there I decided I needed to take a fast from Facebook, and what better time to do it than Lent.  How can I challenge my students to place God first in their lives if I am not willing to do so myself?  Only Ale took me up on my idea of giving up Facebook for Lent.  I am excited for both of us.

Retreat ended and we all went back to our normal lives, but I hope that the little break from normality stirs a desire for change in each of my student’s lives.  I do not know if they have decided to use Lent as a greater retreat and a time to focus on God, but I hope, even if they don’t give anything up, that they do start to add God into their lives in a greater quantity.

Even though we all are now back and in our separate homes and disconnected from each other (not a bad thing, I am enjoying not having to room with 6 high school boys) I hope what God accomplished on retreat keeps us connected on a spiritual level.  I hope my retreat from Facebook helps me realize more of what God has for me.

The worst thing, for me, about retreats is that they end and I go home and have to spend time alone.  Giving up Facebook has only magnified that feeling.  Right now I feel disconnected.  I will publish this blog and it will appear on Facebook, but I wont be able to log onto Facebook to tell people to go read it.  I can only hope people do.  Maybe that is the kind of faith God wants me to have.  He will keep me connected to him no matter what.  My life doesn’t have to be lived online to be connected to those around me.  And so I hope I am able to add a little faith into my disconnected life, which I am now living apart from Facebook.

How Did I End Up Here?

Brendan Scott

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Here I am stuck in the third world.  Three years pinned down with no guarantee of electricity, dry streets, or connection to the outside world.  Maybe stuck and pinned aren’t the correct words, but sometimes they’re the only way to describe how I feel.  I felt stuck at times during my first year in Xela, when I didn’t feel like I had any friends.  I felt stuck when my friends’ weddings passed me by and I couldn’t go.  I’ve missed at least two weddings and one birth; not fun.  And I felt stuck last June when tropical storm Agatha wouldn’t let me leave; all I wanted to do was be home with my family.  It was as if I had my hand pinned between a rock and I couldn’t move, just like Aaron Ralston, who’s harrowing struggle with a rock was the subject of the Oscar nominated movie “127 Hours” staring James Franco.  Fortunately over the course of two and a half years I’ve realized what a blessing it has been to be stuck in Xela.  And after watching “127 Hours,” I’m glad I didn’t have to give up an arm to realize the importance of having a community.  I’ve celebrated three birthdays away from my family and the friends I grew up with, and it’s been hard not having them around.  But it has also shown me how blessed I am here in Guatemala.  I am not alone.

I came to Guatemala as an individual, all alone.  Unlike Aaron Ralston, I didn’t come as a man who wanted solitude, dreaming of living life on my own, but as an individual who wanted to see what life outside of the states had to offer.  From the very start, when I was only 24, I knew I needed people around me to make my life worth living.  Now I am 27 and I feel like I have more of what it takes to be a man than I did when I first found myself stuck in the guat.  I know being a man doesn’t mean doing everything on my own, but having a community to share with.

Most people would say Brett Favre and Aaron Rodgers are men, despite both having played for the Greenbay Packers.   According to stats I’ve read about Brett Favre and Aaron Rodgers, both won their only Super Bowls at 27.  At 27 I have yet to win a Super Bowl.  But who knows I might move back to the states and join the Broncos and win multiple Super Bowls.  If men are judged on what they have done, then am I a man?  Sadly, I haven’t won a Super Bowl yet.  I could win multiple Super Bowls (Be better than Brett and Aaron) but that’s not what would define me.  You know what I have done though, what defines me?  I have begun to write again.  I have decided to go after my dreams, not Aaron’s or Brett’s.  Last month I applied to a creative writing program.  If I am accepted or not, at 27 I know that I am doing what it takes to be a man.  Each day I set out to love those around me in the best way that I can.  Because maybe they need to know that they need someone.  I am adding my life to the community around me and hopefully with a little love mixed in I’ll end up at age 28 stuck right where God wants me.

Here are some of the fun memories from my 27th birthday.

-On my Birthday I was showered with hugs and choruses of Happy Birthday (both in English and Spanish).  I think my favorite gift was when I walked into the elementary lunch room and the Kindergartners jumped up with excitement and started singing to me.

-That night most of my friends, most everyone on the Inter-American staff, came out to have dinner at Don Rodrigos, a little restaurant that serves beer and burgers.  I had a sandwich and an Orange Crush, ha!

-On Saturday night my students, most of the high schoolers, took me out to pizza.  Sometimes the freshmen boys, especially Skyy and Jose Pab, are a little crazy, but they know how to make someone feel appreciated.  And I am grateful for them.

-On Sunday I went ziplining with Jon, Laura, Kacey, Blake, Amy, Fernando, Stephanie, Mike, and Karen at Velo Xtremo, just a few of the people my life has been mixed with.  We all risked our lives and had a zipping good time doing it!

Life would not be worth living if I didn’t have all of you, my readers and my friends in Guatemala, around me.  Thank you for the part you have played in my past 27 years.  Here’s to many more!!

Groundhog Day: Your Life Will Soon Be Gone

Brendan Scott

Like a rolling river, days pass into weeks and weeks into months and months into years and years into decades and so on and so on into the sea.  From the cradle to the grave our lives have a finite number of days.  But what if we didn’t die?  What if like in the movie “Groundhog Day” we lived our lives forever?

Phil Connors, in the movie, must live one day over and over and over again, maybe up to 1,000 years of repeated days.  An eternity.  Phil, yearns for finality.  His eternal existence depresses him to a point where death is preferable to monotony.  (Would we wish for the same?  Or maybe we should take joy in death because it brings us closer to God.) As only comedies can do Phil’s repeated failures at death seem inocent and bring quite a laugh.  But the fact that he wants death is telling.  Just as it is natural for a river to flow down into the sea it is natural for us to grow older and to die.  But because Phil can’t die he must live his repeated day.  And by living he comes to a point where he wants to grow old.  His strongest desire is to change, but to achieve that desire he realizes he must make each day special.  He must begin to love, but not the me first need based love, the unselfish love that places others needs ahead of his own needs.  Once he starts living for others his endless number of days, which must have been terribly monotonous at times (imagine seeing the same people struggle with the same problems day in and day out), become special.  Once he starts living for the people of Punxatawney his attitude toward them changes.  Where there was once hate there is now love.

I know I am going to die someday.  I have not been stuck in some horrible time warp where I live the same day over and over again.  But sometimes my days can feel that way.  My life in Guatemala can feel extraordinary and some times it can just be plain ordinary.  Every Monday I wake up and go to work.  I teach 2nd grade, 1st grade, and then kindergarten PE.  This repeats again and again.  Is my job a stagnate eddy or a river rolling along to somewhere greater, changing me into a better man.  If it is an eddy my job would be pointless.  If it is a river taking me somewhere then that changes everything.  I believe the only way to know is to answer the question Phil Connors asks, “What would you do with your life if you had one day to live?  What do you want out of life?”

I am starting to feel like I have one more day left to live in Guatemala.  I know I have a couple of months, but those months flow right by like a raging river.  My time in Guatemala is finite.  I feel like I need to live each day to the fullest, because a chance like living in another country and learning another language isn’t something everyone is able to take advantage of.  As my days roll by I want to choose to appreciate where God has me, even the small things.

Teaching Kindergarten PE could be very monotonous.  All they ever want to do is play tag.  Freeze Tag, Zombie Tag, Toilet Tag, Turkey Tag, and Santa Tag!  But often it is the highlight of my day.  Little kids know how to enjoy life.  Before Christmas we were playing Santa tag.  Just incase you’ve forgotten the rules to Santa tag, because it’s been years since you’ve played, let me give you a quick refresher course.  You have two taggers who run around tagging the little kids.  Once a kid is tagged he becomes Santa and has to sit down and say, “ho, ho, ho.”  To become unsantafied another kid, who isn’t a tagger or a Santa, has to come up to the Santa and sit on his or her lap and say,” Santa I want a … for christmas.”  The kids are so enthusiastic about this game they drag me into playing it every time.  They always tag me.  They’re fast little tikes.  “Ho, ho, ho,” I said as one of the little girls rushed up to me and innocently jumped onto my knee.  “Santa,” she said with a sweet little smile.  “I want Mr. Scott for Christmas!” How can my days not feel special after a moment like this?  However, it’s not what I can gain from each day but what I can give.  Another time, while I was teaching Kindergarten, I was complimenting each student.  “Nice jump,” I said to one.  “Great half twist,” I said to another, who I am pretty sure was trying to do a cartwheel (If you ever want to brighten up your day ask a 3-6 year old kid to do a cartwheel).  “I love the color orange,” I said to another.  The little girl quickly responded, “I love you.” Little moments like these make my days special, but if I had one day to live would I spend every moment playing tag with the Kindergarten class?

Pretty soon today will be gone like yesterday is gone and who knows what tomorrow will bring, if anything.  Phil Connors never knew which day would be his last to finally get it right and so by the end of the movie he is doing his all to be the best he could be.   Every day we borrow will bring us closer to the end.  So why not live life as if we had nothing left to lose?  I believe this idea is what brought me down to Guatemala and now I believe it is bringing me back to the US.  Guatemala has been the best thing that has ever happened to me (I’ve changed and grown closer to God and made great friends, who could want more?) and I am excited to see what happens next.  Because I know the life God has given to me is special and even on my dull days I know it’s worth living because I have a chance to show love to everyone around me.  And I am not going to waste my chance to love, because life is a day that won’t last for long.

Tarantula Poop in Tikal

Brendan Scott

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Twas a month or so past I treked up to Tikal.  There I took hold a terrible tarantula, whom mistook my arm for a toilet.  Probably trying to be polite but it was perturbing.  Perhaps my skin was appealing and so pooping on my arm was pleasing.   I ponder not.

Maybe the Mayan monthly calendar was marked for a might of exscramient on my clean arm.  Maybe December 20th 2010 marked the mutual end of my relationship with spiders.  Possibly pesky spiders pretend to be pets, patiently pining their time to poop on the unsuspecting passer by.

Terrible tarantula try not to use the arm of another poor person.  Maybe make a mess on the grass.  Perhaps you probably thought you were only going to pass gas.  To trust a toot is a thing I hope you try not again.  Promptly I plopped the primevil eight legged plodder on the ground close to the pyramid before the tarantula tried ploting to poop again.

I’ll be home for Christmas

Brendan Scott

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote the poem “Christmas Bells,” which is used in the song above, while he was grieving the fact that his nation was at war.  He was lonely on Christmas because his son had left to fight in the Civil War.  Loneliness around Christmas time is a pain that mocks the song, peace on earth and good will to men.  Christmas would have been extremely difficult for me if I hadn’t been able to see my dad open his Tim Tebow jersey or my mom unwrap her new cook wear.  It’s nice to think about peace on earth and good will to men, but my selfish desire was to be home.  Unfortunately I didn’t make it home.  I decided to stay in Guatemala so I could go to Hawaii this summer with my family, but it meant my first Christmas away from my family.  But Christmas Eve, as the old familiar carols played, it was very difficult.  Mostly because those carols were in spanish, but also because they made me think of home.

Every year of my life, as far as I know, I’ve spent every Christmas Eve helping my dad out at church.  If you define the word help by fighting with Katie, my older sister, in front of 1,000 people, or dropping the lighter as I tried to light the Christ candle, setting the sanctuary carpet on fire.  But this year I celebrated Christmas Eve Spanish style, with the sermon and carols in Spanish.  I know all of the Christmas carols by heart, but it was dang near impossible to sing in English while everyone else was singing in Spanish.  I forced myself to try to sing with them, but wild and sweet the words repeated with more of a fra, ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, ra! (At least I wasn’t being forced to eat Chinese food like Ralphie) Yet as I heard the bells on Christmas Eve I thought how, as the night had come, there were fireworks to be lit.  The blasts were strong and the colors bright.  Then peeled the bombs more loud and clear.  It was midnight and the birth of Christ had come.

As weird as it may seem, I woke up on Christmas morning with the lyrics I’ll be home for Christmas if only in my dreams in my head.  Maybe in my dreams I had been able to make it home for Christmas.  Instead I woke up in my bed in Guatemala.  At 7:30 am on Christmas morning, I’ve never been one to sleep in on Christmas day, a cold fog still weighed itself over Xela.  It made it seem a little like a white Christmas.  It was cold so I hopped back in bed and waited for my parents to Skype me.

8 came and went and as great of an invention as Skype is, it still takes two to tango.  Fortunately gmail has a nifty little call function that allows me to make free calls to the states.  I called up my dad on his cellphone.  He answered with a sound of shock in his voice and immediately hopped on Skype.  I was able to be home for Christmas via modern technology.  I enjoyed watching Emmy, my sister, open up my gift for her.  While we were shopping in Antigua, she eyed a coffee bag purse.  I knew she wanted to buy it for herself so I had to convince her it was hideous.  It wasn’t as easy as it sounds.  Try convincing a fashionista something they think is cool is fopa. Ha! What do I really know about style.  But she listened to me and was pleasantly surprised when she unwrapped her gift.  It was very special.  It’s beautiful how something as simple as giving a gift can bring to mind peace on earth.

I was blessed to Skype with my family and spend the day with friends that I have made down here.  If everyone can spend Christmas being reminded they are loved, the wrong shall fail and the right prevail and we’ll all be home for Christmas.

Emmy, Guatemala, and a Turkey!

Brendan Scott

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Thanksgiving is a time for turkeys and families or since my Grandpa used to call me a turkey maybe it’s just a time for turkeys.  For the first time in two years, I was able to spend my Thanksgiving with a turkey . . . I mean family member.  Emmy, my little sister, traveled down to visit me and my students (I think she spent more time with them than she did with me).

Having family visiting me was a delectable, no wait that’s just how good the Thanksgiving feast was at my school.  Emmy and I went zip lining, hiked up La Muela (my favorite hike), and went to Antigua so we could summit a volcano and spend an exorbitant amount of time shopping.  Emmy is a shopaholic and I just wanted to spend time with her, so I obliged.  We weaved in and out of the artisan market as if we were skilled lab rats sniffing out the cheese.  Emmy filled her entire second suitcase with gifts, and not all of them were for herself!

Before I list all of the gifts that Emmy bought, let’s back up to our time in Xela.  Emmy stayed with the Figeuroa’s.  They have a beautiful house and Dani, my student who’s just a year younger than Emmy, graciously shared her room.  The Figeuroa’s have been great to me over the last two years, so it was nice for Emmy to meet them.  Upon her arrival they invited us over for dinner.  I’d forgotten to tell them Emmy doesn’t eat meat, I guess I’m the turkey, but she ate it anyway.  Later that night I baked a pizza and we played games.  It was a real blessing to have Emmy here and for her to have a beautiful place to stay.

While staying in Xela was nice, it couldn’t top our trip down to the coast where we zip lined.  Zip lining with Emmy was amazing.  Two years ago when she came down with my parents, the only thing she’d wanted to do was zip line, but the course we’d picked left us both unsatisfied.  So, I made sure we tried it again.  Emmy and Dani started off the day terrified for their lives.  I had to reassure Dani several times that she wasn’t going to die. Dani’s a turkey because she assured me she was going to die while we hiked up to the top of the mountain before we zipped down.  I think she thought the hike was going to kill her.  However, by the end of the trip they were so excited that the girls were trying to spit on cars as they cruised over the top of the highway.

Taking Emmy up La Muela was a blast, literally.  La Muela used to be an active volcano and what is left now is everything the blast left behind.  When she’d visited before, her hip wasn’t strong enough to do the hike.  I guess that’s what happens when you dislocated it twice.  Dislocated hips sure are turkeys.  Yet this time Emmy made it up to the top like a champ.  The view at the summit of La Muela is beautiful.  You can see all of mountainous Xela.  Sharom, another one of my students who hiked with us, kept saying, “I can see my house!!”  She also said stuff like, “I can’t make it.  I’m done. No, really, I’m done.”  What a turkey.  Fortunately she made it all the way up to the top.  Even though she said she’d never do the hike again, I’m pretty sure she’s proud of herself.  Seeing my little sister in one of my favorite places in Guatemala was a real blessing.

I think Emmy enjoyed the hike almost as much as she enjoyed playing turkey tag with my kindergarten class.  All of the little kids were hamming it up, or should I say turkeying it up while Emmy was around.  They love to show off how cute they are to new people.  And you can’t get much cuter than the kindergarten class.

When Emmy and I finally made it to Antigua I was ready for some brother and sister bonding time.  She was ready to shop.  She also wanted to see lava so I took her up Pacaya, the evil volcano that delayed my fight home last May.  The hike was easy, but the guide decided to take us to where the lava wasn’t flowing.  What a turkey!  We did get to roast marsh mellows but, it wasn’t over flowing lava.  I guess nothing is perfect.  Even though we didn’t get to see lava, my time with Emmy was perfect.  I’m glad my turkey season was graced by my turkey of a little sister.

The Five People You’ll Meet At The Finish Line!

Brendan Scott

Who would you want to see at the finish line after a long race?  I’m a runner and I’ve learned that just like in life sometimes the unexpected can happen while running.  A running friend of mine told me that she loves running because she constantly sees connections between running and life.  She believes it’s much more fun to run with a partner than alone and like life, it can leave you feeling empty but invigorated at the same time.  Let me take this a step further, if running a race is like living, then the finish line is like heaven.  Somehow I don’t think I’m the first one to think up this analogy, but run with me on this anyway.

For the last two months, I’ve been training for the Xela half-marathon.  13.1 miles of pure fun (I can’t say hell, this is a family blog.)  I have now trained for 3.5, half marathons and ran two.  I love training because it helps me set a goal and I run each day knowing it will push me closer the finish line.  Yet, training is hard and this year was no exception.  Fortunately the knee problems I’d been having lessened and most of my long runs went well.  The only major set back during training occurred when my training partner,  Yasi, came down with tonsillitis the week before the race and had to back out, which disappointed her and forced me to run alone.

Running alone can be fun.  I raced alone last year and finished with a rather respectable time.  But, like life, running is more fun to with other people.  For example, try to play a game of monopoly by yourself, it’s no fun; trust me.  And who really wants to spend life playing solitaire?

Back to running.  Two weeks before the race, Yasi and I went out on the Day of the Dead, November 1st for those of you not up on all of the many Spanish holidays, and ran 11 miles.  We started out around 8 in the morning, a great feat in itself for a day off, when I would’ve liked to sleep in.  Unfortunately, both life and running require early wake up calls.  It was worth it.  We jogged out of sleepy Xela, to around 8,000 plus feet in elevation,  making it back for 11 miles in around two hours.  We passed small painted churches and cemeteries alive with guests paying their respects to the dead.  Many of whom were littering the air with kites as if they were sending messages skyward to their dead relatives. As I pressed on, I wondered if the dead were up in heaven partying like they’d just finished a long and tiring race.  (side note, if you haven’t got to a cemetery on the Day of the Dead you really should.) The next week I ran 12 miles in one hour and fourty-five minutes.  I knew I was ready for my race.

So, early on the unseasonably warm morning of the 14th of November, I jogged down the colorful streets of Xela to the European style arches on Independence Street, which were serving as the starting line.  Runners were jogging up and down the streets.  Bouncing up and down to loosen their limbs.  It was like a river of Salmon all swimming up stream in their bright bright yellow half-marathon shirts.  As I waded down stream through the crowd of runners, which seamed to be much larger than last year, I still managed to find my friend Maria Marta.  Maria and I had run a 10 k together a month earlier and, with an unspoken agreement, we set off together at the starting gun.  She matched my pace for the first 10 kilometers, passing people when I passed them.  Weaving in and out through the packed streets.  Every time I wanted to slow down, she would either be right there pushing me on.  It’s hard to slack off when you have someone running right by your side.

I ran all the way until the 14th kilometer.  Maria had finally fallen behind.  Around 12 kilometers in, we’d reached the Cuesta Blanca, the big hill on the race (it’s so big cars struggle up it’s slope), and she was gone, somewhere behind me.  My heart was pounding out of my ears and my mind wouldn’t push my body any harder.  I had no one to keep me going, except my iPod.  AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long blasted me onwards toward the next water station.  And then my iPod died.  I no longer had any desire to go on.  But I knew I had to press forward or it would be hours until I finished.  I had trained so hard.  I couldn’t let it go to waste.  I walked in the heat.  Ran in the shade.  Pushing my self toward the finish line.  Encouraged by my students who had come to watch.  Each heavy footfall on the pavement brought me nearer to the end.  From the Minerva Temple I could see Heaven, the finish line, and I knew I’d made it.  Euphoria set in when I realized I’d completed the race.  My time wasn’t what I had hoped for, but that’s life right?  We don’t always get what we want, but we wind up at the end anyway.

Just like life, the best part of the race was when I had someone to run with.  Finishing the race all by myself was hard.  I’d like to say I didn’t finish as well last year because my iPod died, but I really think it was because I didn’t have anyone to push me at the end.  I walked into the finishing tent alone and received my medal and Powerade.  Yet, as I looked up from the finishing line, I saw people I knew.  There was a girl I had gone on a date with, but hadn’t called back because she was crazy.  Awkward!  There were my housemates Mike and Denise, a few people from work, and several of my students.  I felt very encouraged to see them cheering me on at the finish.  It made the hard run worth it.  And I think life and heaven will be like that.  We will finish the race and see people we thought we’d never see again and it will make all of the hardships we went through worth it.

Dear Anastasia

Brendan Scott

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I was in the 7th grade when you bounded into my life.  You were a Christmas gift to my older sister.  She’d been begging for a dog, but she never loved you the way I have.  It’s not her fault.  She didn’t know that she wasn’t a dog person at that point.  But I do know she loved the way you cocked your head when you were listening to something.  She needed your love and she loved you the best she could, but when she left for college she gave you to me.  She’s always given me good gifts and you were the best gift she’s ever given to me.  And from that point on you’ve always been my dog.  Right by my side, at least until the television turned off and then you bolted for bed.

When you were little you would jump up on top of the fence post next to the house and wait for us to come home.  I wish you could be there waiting for when I fly back in June.

I am going to miss our hikes up into the crisp mountains behind our house in Edwards.  The way you would sprint ahead and then sprint back to check up on me.  The dirt kicked off your feet like a small tornado.  Yet, you always had time to sit and wait with me and let me pet you.  I will not be able to hike up through the aspen’s on East Lake Creek Trail with out thinking of you.  I think maybe, you loved that hike more than I did.  You used to go crazy when we would mention the word hike.  After your leg injury, which I am still sorry about, I loved how you would try your hardest to jump into the back of the Pathfinder and then yelp when we would help you make it up the rest of the way.  You still wanted to do things on your own.

I am going to miss how you would nudge my elbow in the mornings so I would pet you while I ate breakfast.  Let’s face it, you could never be petted enough.  I love how you loved to be loved.  You would lick a guy to death just to say I love you in your own little way.

You were always a puppy at heart.  Even when you lost all the hair on your tale and didn’t have any energy, you still loved to jump on command.  And after we started giving you medications for your thyroid and your hair grew back, it was as if you grew 5 years younger in a week.  I think you became addicted to the cheese we gave you the medicine in.  Why else would you jump for medicine?  Even this summer when we went up to the flat tops people asked me if you were a puppy.  And you smiled and wagged your tale.  Your beauty has lasted beyond your sicknesses and your weird behavior.  Even when you ate some of my clothes and I caught you red mouthed, you were still cute.

I am going to miss how you greeted me with that warm smile of yours every time you saw me.  And how big that smile was when I drove all the way up to Wyoming to pick you up.  You jumped when you saw me.  I jumped too.  Stasia, I wouldn’t drive 16 hours in one day for many other reasons.  Even after you woke me up at 5am on New Years Day having pooped all over my room.  You were sheepish and I was mad, but I cleaned it up and I forgave you.  Then you did it again the very next morning at the very same time.  You couldn’t ever figure out how to bark just to let me know you needed to go.  Yet, I love you still.  You have been my dog and my friend.  You may have kept me up and night with your snores, strange dreams, and worse smells, but I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything.

I know that I haven’t been around much over the past few years.  My job has taken me out of the country.  And it is hard living so far away from the ones I love.  I have missed my fair share of family events, weddings and birthdays.  But not being there to say goodbye and seeing you go is by far the hardest.  Living down here in Guatemala has had it’s fair share of rewards.  I have a special bond with my students.  I hope they know I love them, but it is still very hard to live and work down here when you are sick back home and I am missing you.

I will love you always,

Your pal, Brendan

I Throw My Hands Up In The Air Sometimes

Brendan Scott

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Have you ever listened to Tiao Cruz’s song Dynomite and thought, “I need to live that way?”

“I throw my hands up in the air sometimes
Saying ay-oh, gotta let go.
I wanna celebrate and live my life
Saying ay-oh, baby let’s go.
Cause we gon rock this club
We gon’ go all night
We gon’ light it up
Like it’s dynamite.
Cause I told you once
Now I told you twice
We gon light it up
Like it’s dynamite“

Over the last few weeks, I’ve learned a few lessons from my students and the songs that they’ve given to me.  Songs with words like party, caraba, fiesta forever.  Dance like it’s your last night.   When I blast those songs, I have to fight the urge to throw my hands up in the air and let go, to have fun, and not worry about what others think of me.  You might think that a guy who’s known for fist pump dancing wouldn’t ever have reservations but, I feel like I need to let go of expectations others have for me.  Their love is my drug.  Life’s too short to hold onto the worriers about what others think. It’s only going to break, break, break your heart.

Os Guinness, one of my favorite Christian authors, believes we are all living in front of an audience.  He Says, “Only madmen, geniuses, and supreme egotists do things purley for themselves.  It is easy to buck a crowd, not too difficult to march to a different drummer.  But it is truly difficult-perhaps impossible-to march only to your own drumbeat.  Most of us, whether we are aware of it or not, do things with an eye to the approval of some audience or other.  The question is not whether we have an audience, but which audience do we have?”  He wants to know if we are living for others or for Christ.

Guinness made this statement clear when he said, “A life lived listening to the decisive call of God is a life lived before one audience that trumps all others-the Audience of One.”

I think, if I am living for Christ, then I take the song Dynomite and learn to let a few things go.  What if  I just threw my hands up in the air and lived my life?  What would I not have time for?  Seriously, I gotta feelin that life is a lot like my student’s dance parties.  Life’s just one big performance, but who is in my audience?  Am I making sure that God’s opinion of me is the only one that really matters?

My students could dance until they died.  They love to throw dance parties. The weekend of October 10th they got their fill.  Ashley and Alisa, in seventh grade, celebrated with a huge combined 13th birthday bash at Club Tennis, a local hot spot for birthday parties.  The dance floor was decked out with lights and fog machines.  There were kids from all over the city, rockin from side to side, side, side to side, just dancing, having fun.  The next day Sharom, Ale, and Luispe celebrated their 16th birthdays, and of course they rocked it with a dance party too.  At the sweet 16 party, just like all other parties, the kids formed a circle.  Everyone on the outside of the circle kind of rocked back and forth in a semicircular line dance.  Typically, someone does something unique, but for the most part it’s a mosh of silly dances and then randomly someone is shoved into the middle, to shake it like a Polaroid picture.  And no matter what those moves are, everyone on the outside cheers.  It’s interesting to be in the audience and then suddenly be on stage.

Two years ago I saw Sharom steal the show while she was dancing on stage for her Spanish Flamenco dance recital.  She really knows how to dance.  And then once last year at lunch she taught a few of the girls how to use the Castanuelas, hand clappers, and so if anyone wanted to know how to dance, she’d be the person to consult.  But she is also very good at just having fun at these parties.  Therefore, I was shocked when she was forced into the middle of the dance floor and she threw down my fist pump move like a pro.  And then she asked me to join her.  Of course I obliged.

The problem with posting a dance video on Youtube is that it could go viral.  Now all of my students have seen it, and I’ve become a mild dancing celebrity.  Just the other day Emlio, a kindergartner, came up to me and started doing my moves.  Never thought that would happen.  I can’t go to a party without being asked to show off my moves.  I guess the club can’t handle me right now.  And so I stepped out into the middle, pumped my fists into the air, grabbed my leg and gyrated around and around.  I must’ve looked a fool.  But on the dance floor, in the middle of everyone, with the music blasting, I didn’t have time to worry about that.

I’m willing to act foolish on the dance floor because I know only God’s opinion of me matters, but I feel like he is asking me to transfer this to my every day life.  Life’s a serious matter and with God as my only audience member he is requiring that I live a certain way.  In Xela I live surrounded by wealth and poverty.  As a member of the middle class, I feel like I need to be doing more for the poor.  The other day I was at Wendy’s and a little kid came in asking for my small change, so that he could eat.  I didn’t have any, and before I realized that I should have just gone up and bought him food, he’d vanished.

If I’m living for Christ, then I’m taking the serious things in this world and placing them ahead of the frivolous things.  I must let go of my self doubt, whether my students like me or not.  Or if I am in good enough shape to consider myself fit.  Or what my co-workers think of me when I do go make a fool of myself on the dance floor.  If I’m living for Christ I am throwing my hands up in the air and worshiping him with all I do.

Following Christ looks foolish sometimes.  It might even look a little like my dance moves, very silly, but I believe once I start moving to the beat, I’m really caught up in the rhythm that God wants me to be in.  I know he is challenging me to let go of what other people think.  To perform my life as if he is the only one watching.  He will cheer even louder than my students do when I try to dance, if I step out and serve him without any reservations.  He wants me to throw my hands up in the air and move, move, move.