And the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living soul.”
— From Genesis,
Look it up
You get pretty postcard pix with breathtaking views for your Lenten thoughts today.
And speaking of breathtaking–let’s reflect on breath and breathing a bit.
So I’m heading to Texas tomorrow for the first 2013 Jitterbug “Home to Texas Tour” (be sure and buy your tour-stop t-shirts) for time with family, friends, church business and (gad) taxes.
Tuesday morning, I found myself starting to really stress over all the travel planning involved in simply getting from San Ignacio to the bus station for the three-hour ride on a crowded chicken bus to Belize City (half that time in a 4-wheel vehicle but I do as Belizeans do), and then getting my favorite Belize City cabbie Lincoln to link up and get me to the airport 20-plus miles away.
And then there’s the stress of customs to look forward to at Bush Intercontinental Galactica Airport, and getting out of there at night (flight arrives Houston at 7, we can only hope on time) and living to tell about it with my lifelong homeboy friend “Big Hal,” who will be scooping me up and hosting me at his Huntsville home for the night.
All this if things go according to plan. But you know what they say about God and our plans.
Once the stress started seeping into me, a mysterious voice spoke to me, saying, “To hell with this–pack a picnic and go up to Xunantunich and kick back a few hours. It’ll all get done. It always does. But remember to wait to get there to the ruins around noon when all the rush hours of morning tourists are wore out and heading back across the ferry to catch the buses back to San Ig.”
I don’t know about you, but I this mysterious voice talks to me sometimes, although, more often than not, only when I’ve had a mountain of Mayan Nachos piled on a plate at the Mayan Prince Restaurant here in San Ignacio and I’m verily screaming, “Oh God, too much!”
Well, this time it spoke to me Tuesday morning when I was stressing, so I relaxed and looked forward to a picnic and relaxing time atop a Mayan ruin where one can sit and see miles and miles of Belizean mountains and rainforests, not to mention miles more of the same in Guatemala.
One’s stress level reduces to near zero when you live in Belize, where you’re forced to accommodate yourself to that languid B.T. (Belizean Time).
But that’s not to say that I and other expats who grew up and thrived on Western time and efficiency aren’t driven at times to madness by third world ways.
I have two great Canadian expat friends I get together with often and we tend to start out our visits by complaining to the high heavens about all the inefficiencies and crazy, counter-productive ways of life, the government bureaucracy, the long lines and long waits for service promised yesterday–all the downsides of Belize that can make life even in paradise stressful and hard. If you let it–if you don’t go with the wonderful B.T. flow.
When our griping and whining starts getting too intense, one of us will snap out of it and say, “Wait a minute! Look around! We’re in Belize for God’s sake!”
And then another will remind, “And above ground!”
Above ground–alive, and breathing, that is; and breathing clean, fresh air, no less, of the sort that God gave us to breath (and that must make Christ weep over our polluting of it).
And we’re complaining?