This week has been a better one for me. There were still a few days where I wasn’t overly fond of Quito and wanted to go home to Kansas (Lord help me!), but the last couple of days have really been enjoyable here.

On Friday, I went down the hill and met Rachel for lunch. We ended up at a great little open-air cafe just outside the gates of the school, and ran into several of the AAI faculty there. We sat with three ladies, all three of whom are from Ecuador (and one of whom graduated from AAI with Rachel!). The conversation jumped in and out of Spanish, and I followed pretty much all of it. I got to ask “locals” about the government and the new president. It was a fascinating time. I feel like I learned more about Ecuador in that 20 minute lunch than I had in all the weeks of googling Rafael Correa prior to our departure.

Today, we accompanied Lois Wells to El Ejido, a park where local artists display their work on the weekends. We came home with a painting, for which we paid $38. It will go nicely with what we have planned for our living room. Then we went to La Mariscal Sucre, a shopping district. We ended up at this great little collection of shops/stands, all selling various and sundry Ecuadorian “stuff”. We got Rachel a scarf at a booth where a lady had all sorts of knitted and woven goods. When Rachel told her that my head was too large for most hats, she assured us that was nonsense, and pulled a lovely pink, red, orange, black, and white piece out of the pile. I had to model it! We opted to leave with only the scarf. Later, we ventured out on our own farther south into the city than we’d previously gone. We did some shopping for furniture, but came home empty-handed. We’ll find those perfect armchairs yet. By the way, “butacas” is Spanish for armchairs. I learned that this week.

I’ve been working for the last couple of days, during my free time, on a layout of the apartment to assist us in buying and placing furniture and appliances. You can see it here, if you’re interested. The background grid is square feet, if it helps give you a idea of the size. We really love our place here!

Rachel and I were invited this past weekend to a staff retreat for Alliance Academy International. (We thought that was particularly kind, since Rachel doesn’t technically start until tomorrow!) The retreat was an overnighter held at the swanky Swissotel Quito, which by some accounts is the nicest to be had in the city. We had tons of free time, got some furniture shopping in across the street, and met lots of new people. We also got to see a lot of the city that we’d not seen yet. Here’s a panoramic shot of the view out our tenth story window. The big mountain is Pinchincha, an active volcano.

We were oh-so tired. This has been pretty much the second craziest week in our lives (exceeded only by the week before we left KC), but I’m really glad we went. We had a couple of times of worship together that were really quite meaningful. It felt good way down to the heart of me to start to believe that this is a community that we might, some day, really settle into.

We have plans with some new friends tomorrow night. I’ll be meeting a couple of guys for dinner and then going to see The Bourne Ultimatum (I really hope it’s got subtitles, and isn’t overdubbed), while Rachel will be hangin’ out with the wives. Then I think the plan is to meet all up together afterward. This doesn’t feel like “home” yet, but I did get through the day without crying.

… this is what we woke up to. We’d flown in after 11:00 pm, so there wasn’t a lot of city to see. I was all giggly, regardless of the overcast conditions. I know, I’m still kinda confused by the palm tree, too. They’re all over the place here. How palm trees survive at 9,300′ is a total mystery to me.

Evidently rooftop access is a common thing in Quito. Rachel and I ventured up to see the view from the top of our building this afternoon. Here’s what we saw.

It’s a question that has nagged at me from the very first days of beginning to contemplate this move. The other school counselor at Alliance Academy International, who conducted Rachel’s first “interview” asked her whether or not we’d be working on raising support. My immediate response to the question was a confused “Of course not!” Missionaries are people like my parents, who leave their families behind in their early twenties, travel thousands of miles from home, and set up house for themselves and their coming children in foreign lands in order to share the gospel with those who would otherwise never hear. My father led, mentored, preached, counseled, wept, practiced diplomacy, dealt with local government agencies, established local ministries, and planted churches. I’m a graphic designer. Sure Rachel would be working for a Christian school, but the job of school counselor, while rife with opportunities to help and serve kids and teachers, still seemed quite “secular” to me.

I really thought of us as moving to Ecuador because we could. We didn’t own a house, didn’t have any kids … why not now? It would be a fun thing to do. (In retrospect, it’s clear that I have a sadistic definition of the word “fun”.) No one was sending us, we were just going. To me, at the time, it seemed almost disrespectful to “real” missionaries to ask people to support us financially as we set out on what amounted to a really long vacation.

Yesterday, I got to meet the guy who got me started down the road to different thinking on the matter. His name is Bill Evans, and I’m still not really sure what his job is at AAI, but he conducted Rachel’s second “interview”. He didn’t suggest that we raise our own funds, but the rhetoric he employed made it clear that he considered what we were considering to be authentic missions. So I let him have it - all the questions and doubts I’d been struggling with for the previous couple of weeks. I laid it all out for him. His response was subtly devastating. He told me that he didn’t want to interfere with my personal sense of calling, but that he would caution me not to tie my experience to inextricably to someone else’s. He went on to say that it wasn’t really his to decide, but that from his perspective, leaving one of the richest counties in the United States in order to come to one of the world’s poorer countries in order to speak truth and love into the lives of kids was “missions” at the definitive level. I didn’t really know what to say. My mind returned to a conversation I’d had with another “real” missionary almost a year prior.

Chris Granberry is the head of Sacred Road Ministries, a mission to the Yakama Indian Nation in south central Washington state. Chris and his family tore up roots in Birmingham, Alabama to go and live in one of the most desolate and hopeless places in the country, to bring help to a people who desperately need hope. It’s the goal of Sacred Road to establish a Christian church among the Yakama people, but they didn’t go about it the traditional way. Chris hit the reservation, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work. The lives of hundreds upon hundreds of the Native Americans in Washington have been impacted in visceral ways as Sacred Road has built homes, painted, roofed, refurbished tribal properties, fed, clothed, loved and served. Oak Hills took a team of 26 people (that included Rachel and I) to the Yakama reservation to roof and paint houses, love on kids, and most importantly, invest sweat capital into Chris’s account that he could spend with tribal leaders. God has given the Granberry’s unprecedented access to the Native American people, and it’s entirely because they came not with arrogant demands that people abandon their culture and embrace what many there see as the “white man’s God”, but instead came with humility, patience, and a heart to build up, heal, and make better.

Early on in the week we were there, I cornered Chris and asked him how he, as a white American, dealt with the reality that it was his ancestors that committed genocide against this people group. He admitted that it was hard, but suggested that I might be asking the wrong questions. Maybe the question we should be asking is not about what we can do about what happened “then”, but what’s happening “now”. He then went on to say something that would kinda change my life. He said that he’s growing increasing uncomfortable with the word “missions”. He said that he thinks it does two things. First, it makes those who “go” feel isolated and alone. They are the representatives of those who send, and it’s their responsibility to carry the weight of the gospel to the dark corners of the our world. Secondly, it lets those who “send” off the hook. After all, they supported and sent missionaries to those poor people. Isn’t that enough? Chris said that he didn’t really think of himself as a missionary. He said that he kinda feels like he’s doing the same thing he shoulda been doing all along, just in another geographic locale.

That stuck with me. I realized that I’d stepped over needs on my doorstep to fly halfway across the country on a missions trip. I realized that I didn’t need to hit the inner city of KC to find poverty. I realized that there were people less than a block away from me that were living 10-15 to a two-bedroom home. It made me wonder what my responsibility was.

More recently it’s made me think this; that maybe I’ve been asking myself the wrong questions about what God’s doing in my life here in Ecuador. Is it missions? I don’t know. I know this, though. I know that as soon as we find a church home here, that I’ll want to hook into their music ministry. It’s what I do, it’s what I am. I know that as soon as I can, I want to start working with the CSO groups at the school, bible study/ministry groups for young people who want to make a difference in their culture and in their world. It’s what I do, it’s what I am. Am I a missionary? I don’t know. I don’t feel like one. I guess maybe it’s okay to feel like I’m just doin’ here what I was doin’ there. Maybe I’m just building on another corner of the same Kingdom.

Several of you have asked for information on how to support Rachel and I while we’re here. I’m humbled by the request, but maybe my initial reaction was wrong. Maybe that’s just you doing what you’re supposed to be doing there. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you how you should or shouldn’t build the Kingdom. To that end, I’ve created an additional link to the right that will take you to a page with information on how to route support to us through an agency that will quickly get it to us, and will provide you with receipts for tax purposes.

So, I guess all that’s to say thanks to Bill Evans, Chris Granberry, and everyone else in our lives who have served to push us toward God’s plan for us. We love you, miss you, and covet your prayers.

Last Friday, September 14th, at about a quarter ’til two, Eastern Time, I watched American soil fall away beneath me, not knowing when I would return. There aren’t words for that feeling.

I’ve grown up as what some call a “third culture kid” - a child of American parents living abroad. Though Jamaican by birth, and raised in the Cayman Islands, I never felt more connection to those cultures than the typical nostalgia of youth. Neither have I ever felt a strong connection with U.S. culture. I don’t bear any dislike for the United States, but just never really felt a part of it. I don’t think the flag nor the national anthem has ever moved me to tears. I don’t get fuzzy inside about it, I don’t feel patriotic … about any place.

All that’s to say that leaving the U.S. was weird beyond words for me. But I suppose I should just get on with the story.

We flew out of Tampa Friday afternoon. (Incidentally, the security personnel at KC’s airport should SO bring someone in from a place like Florida where they know how to do airport security. Everything went remarkably smoothly at the checkpoints at both Tampa and Miami. The agents were meticulous, but very efficient.) The flight from Tampa to Miami took just over an hour. I’d been through the Miami airport many times as a child, but that didn’t prepare me for the sheer size and spectacle of the place. It really is a cross-section of the globe. We got turned around a little bit making the airline switch, but finally found the South American airline Avianca and got to our departure gate in plenty of time. The trip from Miami to Bogota, Colombia took about 3.5 hours, and we spent it sitting in the only row on the airplane without a window. At first I tried to lean my seat back far enough to see out, but it turns out we were also pretty much right over the wing, and there were a lot of clouds. I saw a little bit of water, a little bit of land, and a few lights here and there - fairly anti-climactic, really.

I started to get a taste for what the next few years would be like right away. I’m sure Avianca fancies itself bilingual, but really it’s no more so than I am when I have a cheat sheet of Japanese phrases phonetically written out. I understood almost nothing. They did, however, have one thing up on U.S. airlines. Food! … and good food! Even on the flight from Bogota to Quito, which only lasted an hour, they still fed us. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I passed the time reading a collection of sci-fi short stories I’d picked up in Florida, and soon we began our descent into Bogota.

I have a word of advice for any non-Spanish-speaking friends or family that might one day travel to Ecuador. Use a travel agent, and make sure that you fly directly into Quito from a hub in the U.S. I have NO idea how I would have navigated the Bogota airport if I hadn’t had my own personal translator. We walked for what seemed like miles, then came to a security checkpoint similar in process and function to it’s U.S. counterparts. One of the security personnel insisted on carrying my laptop computer for us past the checkpoint. We walked up a flight of stairs, after which she handed it back. I was confused. I didn’t tip her. We walked for a ways farther and then came around the corner and encountered a veritable guantlet of armed guards in military-style uniforms, arranged behind two rows of tables we had to pass through. Additional guards stood between the tables at the far end facing us. They immediately separated Rachel and I, and I had no clue what I was supposed to do. I kept walking until I got to the guards between the tables, who patted me down (thoroughly) and let me through. Rachel wasn’t so lucky. She was selected to have her belongings rifled through. The guards were amazed at her squishy pillow and commented on the practicality of her makeup kit. I took a picture and immediately got in trouble. One of the guards came over and took my camera and tried to scold me in Spanish. Seeing that had no effect, he pointed to the camera and gave me the universal “no-no” sign, the wagging finger. Rachel finally caught up to me and explained that they would be satisfied if I deleted the picture I’d taken. I did. I’ve already written here about my misadventures on my trip to the restroom. All in all, I’ll be happy if I never really have to go through Colombia again.

Our seats on the flight from Bogota to Colombia were much better. The attempts at English weren’t. Had food again, though … and a window seat. We ended up sitting in front of a lovely couple from Dixon, MO of all things. I’d been out of the country only six hours or so, and hearing other people speaking English was already like music. The flight from Bogota to Quito, as I mentioned during a tangent earlier, was very short. I saw the lights of the city when we were still a good way out. I’d been wondering what it would feel like. I’d wondered whether or not I would feel a connection to the place - whether or not I would look down and see a place that I could finally think of as “home”. I’m not sure what I felt, but I got a little misty. I told Rachel that I might well get on the ground and encounter more surly, scary guards, but that right now I felt a great affection for that sea of lights below us.

We landed about 15 minutes behind schedule, at 11:05 pm (Central Time). They wheeled one of those staircase dealies out to the plane. I don’t think I’d been on one of those in more than 20 years. So, we actually touched Ecuadorian soil (tarmac) before we even got into the airport. The airport personnel in Quito were actually much more friendly and helpful than even the ones in Kansas. We got through the entire process fine, customs was a breeze, the guys who checked our stuff through customs even insisted on toting it out to the parking lot for us (for a small fee). Considering what all we brought with us, though, it was a small price to pay.

We saw the Wells’ standing near the door with a sign that said “Alliance Academy International”. Lois later told us that Rachel looked just like she’d expected her to. (She didn’t say anything about how I looked!) Overall, the trip was pretty easy. Quito looked like any other inner city by dark, even down to the severely intoxicated man who stumbled off the curb and almost into the path of the van on the way home. Morning came, though, and it was a different story. That’s the story that’ll be unfolding from here on out. Stay tuned.

This is my first attempt at embedding a video clip. If it works, it’s a 4.5 minute clip of Rachel and I seeing our apartment for the first time. Lois Wells is taking the video. She is the wife of the new director at Alliance Academy International, and has, along with her husband David, pretty much been our training wheels here for the last few days. Lois found the apartment for us, did tons of research for us on appliances, cable, internet access, etc. I really don’t think we could have done this without them. Incidentally, Lois knows all this after only two months here herself!

This is for you, Russ!

… that’s still sinking in. Thought you might want to see some of the visuals.

Well, we are in the process of settling into our new apartment. Rick says he will try to post pictures soon. I am not so talented w/ the computer! We have purchased most of our appliances (microwave, stove, washer, dryer, and fridge) and are waiting for the technicians to come and install the washer and dryer today. We have internet and cable connected, which means that our Vonage phone (913 area code, for all you KS folks) is up and running. Our phone number is 913-538-6435. Since it is computer based, it acts like a cell phone, receiving calls and allowing calls to our friends in the States w/ no added fees. We are sooooo excited, and have made several phone calls to family and friends already.

We are still getting used to the altitude, and are drinking lots of water. We walk just about everywhere, so our muscles are pretty tired. Rick had to make a mad dash up and down the hill to bring the laptop to the apartment when the internet installer were here. He was pretty tired when he got here, but made good time. That same evening we went to the grocery store, but couldn’t build up the energy to walk back uphill home, so we took a cab. I’m pretty sure he charged us too much, but it was worth it at the time.

We have been to the Alliance Academy International several times so far, observing an elementary school chapel and completing some paperwork. I think I will probably start work this next Monday. I am pretty overwhelmed w/ the job description, as it is pretty different than what I have done in the recent past, but I am very excited about working in a Christian environment and being able to speak openly about my faith.

I won’t try to tell all that has happened over the last few days. I will try to leave some of it for Rick to tell. He has some beautiful pictures of Cotopaxi! It feels like we have been here several weeks already. We have gotten so much done, but have so much left to accomplish.

May God bless and keep you all!