*note: I am posting this a few days after the described events.



Last night, at around one in the morning, my tio-abuelo died. The brother of my dad’s dad. He was fine just a few hours before, then fell sick, nauseous basically, threw up several times with a force not to be exerted by a man of 87 years, and it complicated things in his already-complicated inner organs. The young man suffered for just a couple hours, while the doctors did all the could to figure out what was wrong and how to help. In the end, he simply asked them to leave him alone. And he slept.
Meanwhile, I was staying home with his wife, to keep an eye on her. She was the one that was supposed to die first. It made more sense that way. She is already bedridden, and isn’t in this world half the time. Her reality is a mix of today’s current events and those of ten or twenty years ago. For the mere twenty or so minutes I say in the room with her, I saw her try in vain to undo her covers, apparently not satisfied with the table cloth maybe? I saw her reach for hidden ingredients from the cupboard and heard her remembering the errands for the day. I saw her face cringe in a bout of pain as her hand instinctively reached down to her side where she suffers from a sickening bedsore. And all the while, I was thinking. And reading. Matthew 7 is where I was at in my reading of the said book. Ask and it shall be given to you. Do you unto others what you would have them to unto you. Famous, true, and truly simple teachings of our Lord. And so there I was, thinking about those things. Thinking thoughts new to me, grasping concepts and ideas never before seen by my mind. But I was also thinking about my Tio and Tia. Both suffering in their own ways, separated now, and as it turns out, forever until Jesus comes again. It must have been tough for my Tio-abuelo to deal with all the pain and delusions his wife was going through. Not to mention his agedness and a new discovery of cancer in his withering body just the week before. And yet, this giant of a Christian among the bajitos of this world never complained. He never let on as to the amount of suffering inside his heart. If he felt sick before that surprising night, I never knew. He was a gentleman, didn’t want to bother people. An example for me. And I realize that there are other personalities out there, other folks who wouldn’t agree with the way he dealt with these issues. But it is something I greatly admire. Something I hope I can accomplish when my time comes to hide certain things. I believe he did it because he loved us, we who were living with him and those family members away also, and didn’t want us to worry about him. He never brought attention to himself. Never. Kind of reminds me of a certain man who saved us from our sins. What a cool tio-abuelo I have, and all because of that certain man, that certain man he always tried to emulate.
And then on the other side of the story, on the other side of the room, lays my hallucinating Tia. That dear old Napoleon of the house. The spotless, proud, demanding young woman who enjoyed her cats and her little dogs. The assertive wife of an unassuming husband, who at the prime of her life, was despised by not a few for a certain number of her particular character traits. A woman with everything under control. Think Martha. And now, now what is she? Who knows? She may be a young girl at the moment, or a middle-aged mother, or an again grandma. She could be throwing a little birthday party, or preparing the Sabbath lunch for a number of guests, or grocery shopping a few blocks from home. Or she might simply be the aged mother of two, easing into an eventual wakeless sleep. It just depended. And there I was, witnessing a most interesting play, acted about by a woman of skin and bones, who felt no shame in her delusions, he acted her part without feeling guilty for being a little lost. It was interesting. Entertaining, almost. And intimidating. How do you talk to an old, dying commander? He do you answer questions that don’t make any sense at all? Especially when spoken in a language not quite fully grasped at a rate and with words not quite comprehendible? But not to worry. She soon forgot about me and continued writing her own story in her own world far away. I kind of wished I could visit. But I think it’s better that I stayed in my own world.
So there it is. The story of a night most unusual. A night of real darkness. And yet, for me, a night of a soon-coming dawn. Ask and it shall be given. I don’t have to ask, He already gave. Seek and you shall find. I don’t need to seek, He is coming to find me. Knock and it shall be opened for you. I don’t need to knock, He already did. Our Lord, our Savior, is doing unto others, unto us, what He wants us to do for Him. He did it first, so that we may know how. That we may be encouraged. That we may know, that by giving our lives for Him, that it will all turn out ok. It did for Him, it will for us. One day, that new day with a pure, clear, most sincere dawn, Jesus will come again for us and take us home. There I will see my Tio-abuelo. He will not be aged and stiff as he walks. He won’t vomit his insides out anymore. He won’t have to secretly suffer about his dying wife. He will be new. He will be happy. And he will be able to see the man, face to face, who he looked up to and tried to follow all the days of his dear life. And as for his commander wife? She won’t need to make up stories anymore. Or stress about parties, or run errands. She won’t need to wince at the pain of her giant bedsore or struggle with her constricting sheets. She will have more than just skin and bones. She will be new. She will be happy. She also, will be able to see her Savior. The man who never forgot who she was, the God who was able to suffer for her. First.
And that’s what I thought about that lonesome night while I sat there with Matthew 7 open in my lap. And it’s a good thought. Although sad at first, it ends in grand comfort. Encourage each other with these words, directs Paul, talking about the reminder that Jesus will come again, that we will meet Him in the air, and that we will be with the Lord forever. Those, most definitely, are encouraging words. The only thing we have to put up with until then, is how awful long our measly lives seem sometimes. But when the end ends up so well, I’m sure we will quickly forget about the secret or unknowing suffering we went through. It’s all good. I will see them again. Soon enough.

I don't have much to say right now. I'm not inspired or anything, I just wanted to write something. And try and see if I can put on a picture here or something...experiment, I suppose. I ain't to creative when it comes to these things and the little detalles of it all don't come simple.

I've had a rough last couple days. I miss home. I rode my bike like fury for a little bit a couple nights this week when I just couldn't stand it. Had to get away to a little alone spot. Which for me ends up being a little dirt road behind the town that doesn't have lights beside it lighting it all up. I could just lay in the rocky dirt and look at the stars and imagine my God being up there looking back down and feelin for me. I bet He missed home too when He was here. Although, I'm sure He was more patient than me. I'm not staying for thirty-three years. I only have about six weeks left, and even that seems too long. If someone gave me the option of running away tonight and flying home I'd have to seriously consider it. I'd probably do it if it weren't for the feeling I'd have after five minutes of running, that my relatives here, Tia Susi especially, would feel rejected and terrible. And that I would have wasted the six weeks left. And that I wouldn't have fully taken advantage of and enjoyed all the time offered me here. After all, I have said it before and will keep saying it: I believe that this has been a gift of God. He blessed and now I'm here. It's been great. But there is Justin in India for an entire year, Tim in Europe for who-knows-how-long, there have been and will be others gone for much longer. I will have been here seven and a half months or so. Not too long. And yet I feel alone. I think I am just too much of a sucker to make friends. And that's my weak spot. It's big though.

Anyway, life is good though, I must admit. Argentina lost yesterday however, and that does make it a little less good. I have a job though, I have family and friends who treat me too well, I am still able to practice a second language, and best of all, there is this global network that allows me to have seemingly eternal contact with fellow folks from far away that I love. Awesome.