Dear Friends:

It's been a while since Brady has written, but we know you're praying for us anyway. That is great comfort and beautiful grace to us. Thank you. The Saints Alive Class at Cedar Springs (our home church in Tennessee) has been asking us for specific prayer requests this fall, so we asked them to pray for our camps in November. Brady is sending out this letter to them today to tell about how things went, and we realized that you, who've been praying for us all along, might like to know as well how God is answering your prayers. I read the letter and saw the pictures and started crying, and can't believe I get to be part of this. YOU are part of this. Thank you, dear friends!

We love you!

Cindy

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Dear Helen (and Saints Alive)

I'm sorry we haven't written in a few weeks; we were at camp with kids, and Cindy's been sick since then, so we've not been able to sit down and write. She's on antibiotics and who knows what else, but she's got something up in her sinuses and it won't go away. I think it's been three weeks now for her, and she's pretty tired of it.

But, camps. The first - Cindy may have told you? - was an outreach camp for kids who have never come to any sort of Young Life camp before. In other words, we were inviting kids who were far from the gospel. And in some ways they were tough kids! I suppose almost everyone from these neighborhoods is. It's just a tough place to grow up. Things went very well. Our Rebeca (Guatemalan on Young Life staff) was the camp speaker, and she made the clearest, most attractive presentation of the gospel I've ever heard in Spanish. I was and am very grateful for her and so glad to see her use her gifts well.

This was also the first camp we've done where we were able to have neighborhood kids who are a little farther along with Christ form a work crew. Others served in cabins as junior leaders. This is actually much more exciting than it might sound: it means that there are kids who are actually identifying themselves with the gospel message, and rearranging their lives to fit better with what they know of Christ. It's absolutely beautiful.

It was a loud, wild, exhausting four days, and none of us really slept. Our hope was to proclaim Christ in every way possible, so when we were tired, it was worth being tired. All of the kids who served on work crew and as junior leaders were first-time campers in years past, so we're hopeful about the future for the kids who came this year as campers. They all go home with a leader's arm around their shoulder.

The second camp, which began the day after the first ended (whew!) was designed for young mothers. I never can remember numbers - I think there were around 15 mothers and 20 or so little kids. We also hosted 9 women and one man from Chicago - they came to help with the kids (so the mothers could enjoy certain parts of camp - namely the talks and discussion times - in peace). Two old friends of ours from Knoxville, Grace and Lindsay, also came to help with the kids and to just be with us. Having them here was a great joy and encouragement for us!

Some of the young mothers were really moved, and the gospel seemed to have a profound effect on them. Again, each girl goes home with a Vida Joven leader's arm around her shoulder, so it will be exciting to see what the Holy Spirit does in their lives. As Grace and Lindsay asked about the girls' lives, we realized that each one has an incredibly difficult and sad story. Unthinkable abuse, neglect, constant threat of physical harm, and on and on - not one of them has much cause for lightness or laughter. The truth is that it's very difficult to really be involved in the lives of folks here. The temptation is either to pretend the darkness isn't there ("Jesus will immediately solve everything!") or to give in to despair ("Even Jesus couldn't solve all of this!"). But Estela and her leaders continue to love these girls well, and continue to move into their lives. I don't know of many clearer pictures of Christ's love.

We took the boys to the second camp, and that was great fun for them, and for us. They got to spend time with loving friends (Vida Joven leaders and staff) and got to run around camp (which they can never do in the city). A great gift for the whole family.

Cindy's still sick, but every night she promises she'll be better in the morning...it will pass soon, surely. On Thursday we have invited our staff and their families (plus a few other friends who might not have anywhere else to go) over for a big American Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday by far: you gather with people you love, you eat good food, and you express your gratitude. Simple, profound, wonderful. I think the current list is about 35 guests, and I think we're having to cap it there or we won't have enough food. It's great fun to host and we're looking forward to it. Years ago, when we first moved into this house, we sat in bed one night as one of our neighbors threw a party. We lay in bed, listening to all the voices and laughter, and we talked about how one day we hoped we'd be throwing a party with Guatemalan friends (at that time, I don't think we had any!). So these days, we're grateful for the community that God has created around us, and grateful that he's used us in bringing it about. That's cause for thanksgiving.

And we're grateful for Saints Alive and your prayers. Thank you. I'll stop writing - I tried to condense it as much as I could but condensing is not my specialty. I'll attach some fotos below.

Grateful-

Brady

Having a good time at camp

All of camp is designed to present the gospel, including lots of silliness and humor

Four of our work crew

Most of the work crew, including Travis and Pete (the two gringos in the back), who moved to Guatemala to help start a small business in partnership with Vida Joven. They were a great help at camp, and we pray the business will do well!

Staff, leaders, and junior leaders. Sandra (back row, 4th from the left) had t-shirts printed up for the leaders. The shirts say "Not only am I handsome, I'm also Guatemalan." I love that she gave me one!

Moms and kids from the Mamacitas camp

More holy silliness

When lives are this broken, laughter really can holy and healing.

Fito (one of our staff) in a skit

Estela

The kids and their moms having a good time. they don't get to do this in the city!

Nancy, a leader

Diony, from the Dominican Republic. She came to help with camp.

The women from Chicago brought everything to give foot massages, manicures, and pedicures. Some of the girls wept.

This is all the girls, all their kids, and most of the helpers and work crew. Cindy and Charlie are on the back row (the other boys were running around somewhere with the rest of the workcrew).

Kevin and Clemente

Clemente and Kevin, longtime friends of ours, were shot dead this week. Regular readers of these emails will know the names; almost anyone who has come down on a workteam will remember Kevin. 

The two of them, along with Noé (Clemente's brother and Kevin's uncle), were some of the first kids I ever met here. Clemente was already in his twenties, working and supporting the family, but Kevin was just a boy then. 

I wrote the following, anticipating that I would be expected to say something at the funeral, but now I realize it was probably for myself. And maybe for you.

Pray for Noé, who is now feeling quite alone.

-Brady

“Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, in our likeness.’”
Genesis 1:26

Clemente was the first person in this country who ever invited me into his home. It was raining one night, and Noé and I were getting wet, so he invited me in. He was sick and he had been sick for some time; he had lost a great deal of weight and was not eating because he had little to eat. Noé and I stood while Clemente sat down on his bed. Noé reminded me just a minute ago that we all ate some sweetbread together.

Clemente liked to talk, if the situation was right. Certain women and girls, whose presence might cause embarassment, and certain boys and men, who would not understand his sense of humor or logic, would never be entrusted with his flowing conversation, although even with them he would extend the usual courtesies. But when the time was right, and when certain people were around (and certain others gone), Clemente would hold court. He loved a good conversation. He loved riddles - telling them more than solving them - and he loved a joke. He had a certain way of delivering a punch line (if telling a joke), or an answer (if revealing a riddle), or a serious thought (if engaged in deep discussion): he would repeat himself three or four times, and then make a little noise, as if he were agreeing with himself. He would ask me, for instance, "Chepe, what's invisible, spherical, and smells like carrots?" It never mattered that he had told me the answer many years ago, and that I repeated it to him every time since. "A rabbit fart,” he would say, pausing for effect. “A rabbit fart!" Another pause, a look into my face, to make sure I got it and was laughing (which I always was; I happen to like that one even though I’ve heard it so many times). Then one more, closing his eyes and bobbing his head in the affirmative: "A rabbit fart. Hmmm."

He was generous with what little he had - he once showed me how to build and weld a steel door, complete with lock and latch, just because he knew I thought it was interesting. He told me stories about himself that were not flattering, stories that he was ashamed of. I know he told them because he wanted to share them with someone. He wanted to be known, and he wanted to be loved.

-

Kevin liked a joke, too – clean, dirty, funny or not. He loved to make us – his family, friends, and even perfect strangers – laugh. Some of you know that groups of foreigners come down to work in the community, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that at least one person in every group that ever worked with Kevin sooner or later called or wrote to ask, “How’s Kevin? He was so much fun! We loved being with him!”

And that was Kevin. He loved to be with people, to come crashing into their lives somehow, with hard work, or a joke, or a smile.

I used to have a habit of walking around the park. My friend Nathan and I developed this custom years ago, when we were trying to get to know the community and the kids who lived in it. We would walk around and introduce ourselves to anybody who looked like they might not beat us up (or worse), and that's how we met Kevin, Clemente, Noé, and others. I kept up the habit for years, even when there didn't seem to be much reason for it.

One morning I went walking in the park, over by the basketball courts they built a couple of years ago. This was about a year ago, after Kevin had started to change into a man, at least in his own mind. In those days, I suppose we had all begun to be very concerned for him. We'd noticed that he was trying to carry a little more than he was able to handle. He was becoming a little harder. He was less and less like a boy, and more and more like a kid, and like all kids, he was thinking he knew everything and didn't need anybody.

And that day, I was walking right over there by the basketball court, looking for who or what I don't know, and I saw something amazing. It was the middle of the morning, and there were eight or ten older women doing layup drills! Right there in our park! They were all in their unfashionable sweats, and in various states of fitness and basketball ability, but all very earnest and serious about their practice. And there, practicing with them, not as a coach but as just another player, was Kevin.

As they ended their warmups and started playing a game, I found a place where I could sit and watch but where I wouldn't be too obvious.

I don't think it would have mattered if they had seen me. The old women played with an abandon and a joyful intensity. They were clearly having such a good time that they could not have been concerned with how they looked or what anyone thought of them. And so it was, I think, with Kevin. He wasn’t thinking about his image, his reputation, his supposed passage into manhood. He just played hard, had a good time, and enjoyed the company of these women, who were obviously enjoying his. All of them were older than Maritza, and some of them were older than Doña Rosa! [Maritza is Kevin’s mother; Doña Rosa, his grandmother. –BG]

I want to say two things here. One, that Kevin and Clemente were marked by God. They bore his fingerprint. As the scriptures say, they were created in the image of God. I celebrate this. We celebrate it. Thank God that he gave us all so many years with them both! They were his unique creations, and he loved them infinitely. This is worth thinking about, and it is worth our lasting gratitude.

The other thing is this. It was in their moments of what most of us would call weakness that the two of them lived most deeply. When Clemente told me all those stories of all those things he was so ashamed of, he showed me who he really was. He abandoned the coldness and the silence he used so often to protect himself. And what was the result? I loved him all the more, of course! In other words, he was sometimes desperate, and sometimes felt lost. He did, and I do, and you do! But it’s in the recognition of our lostness that we might find the beginnings of our long hoped-for foundness!

When Kevin was a little less macho and a little more like a boy, in the sense that he really wanted to be present with me (or with you, or with total strangers), it was then – in his weakness and in his need to be loved that he came closest to who he really was, and who he wanted to be. In the moments when he was most himself – like with those women that day, and with so many of us here at other times over the past 18 years – he was most present with the people around him. He was beautiful then, and he was most alive.

And I invite you to live that way today. People are going to say to you, “Be strong!” And I understand what we mean when we say that to each other. But you’ll please excuse me when I say I don’t agree. Noé, Maritza: Don’t be strong just yet. Friends of Kevin, friends of Clemente, all of us who are trying to get used to this empty space next to us, where Kevin and Clemente used to be: instead of pretending to live, let us all live. Let us recognize our need for God. Let us recognize our weakness. Let us turn toward it, instead of running from it. It will be in that moment and not until then that we may begin to experience the perfect love of the living God, who turns tears into songs of joy.



“Those who sow in tears 
will reap with songs of joy.
He who goes out weeping, 
carrying seed to sow,

will return with songs of joy, 
carrying sheaves with him.”

Psalm 126

VJ Staff and Families

The Vida Joven Staff and their families came over for a US Thanksgiving meal in November. 

It's a gift to get to be with them.

Brady

Whiteboard Gratitude

The Vida Joven Staff met for two days this week, praying, discussing, and planning out the rest of the year. The first thing Monday morning, I asked them where they saw God move in 2008, and I started writing some of it down on a dry-erase board. We ran out of room. 

I loved the image, and I thought you might also.

Click on the picture and read along if your Spanish is up to it - use your imagination if it's not. (You'd better have a pretty extraordinary imagination, though; it was quite a year.)

-Brady

Mamacitas Christmas Party