Wherein I Actually Man Up And Get This Tattoo I've Been Talking About

Since coming up with what I believed was an awesome idea for a tattoo and getting an image of what it would look like on me, the talk of actually getting it escalated. The thing is, talk often doesn't mean that much in my world because I do so much of it. Regardless, the idea was clearly gaining momentum in my head, but I was content to just talk about it for awhile. Of course, this could only go on for so long before someone eventually called me out on it.

My close friend, Kamar, had her golden birthday earlier this spring, but she had a desire to do something a little more extreme to commemorate the year. Something that came to mind for her was getting a tattoo. Once she heard me talking about my tattoo idea, she started to discuss us going to get our first tattoos together. I tried not returning her calls, text messages and e-mails concerning the matter, but eventually I had to acknowledge her existence. This was the catalyst that led to me eventually following through on all that talk I had been doing.

The day before Easter was the day everyone was planning to celebrate Kamar's birthday, and I had spoken to some friends and found a reputable tattoo parlor. We had a couple of hours available to us in the afternoon, so we went together to check it out. Full Disclosure: I really hadn't committed myself to getting the tattoo at all at this point. I had been told that this particular tattoo artist would be happy to do a mock up of the tattoo and let me walk around with it a little bit. Sort of see how it fit. In my mind, I was going to having him draw it on, walk out of the parlor and in all likelihood, back out. I would still save face, though, because we would have gone to the parlor and had the experience and actually gotten ink put on us, I just wouldn't have to make a life long commitment. The tattoo parlor was busy enough that they couldn't fit us in that day. Again, I saw an opportunity to back out. Unfortunately, the very friendly (and covered in ink) girl that worked the counter was happy to make us an appointment for the next day. While I considered what I was getting myself into, Kamar responded, "Awesome! Tomorrow's Easter! Resurrection Tats!" I did my best to feign the same level of excitement, but as I was handed an appointment card for the next afternoon, I had a sinking feeling that I would actually be getting a tattoo the next day.

I picked Kamar up the next morning still thinking that I wasn't going to actually get a tattoo. I still figured I could get away with simply having it drawn on and walking away, giving myself time to get used to the idea and decide if this was really something I wanted to do. When we arrived at the tattoo parlor, things started to change. Mark, the tattoo artist, was an exceedingly nice guy, but he prepared the needles at the same time he prepared our stencils. It seemed that by getting our designs stenciled on, we were already committing to the entire process.

For whatever reason, Kamar ended up going first. After taking a couple shots at placement, she had an inked out stencil of what would soon be an awesome tattoo. As she looked in the mirror and evaluated it, I affirmed that it looked great. She hesitated only briefly before deciding to make it permanent. Kamar sat in a chair and faced me, giving Mark room to work on her back. He informed her that he was about to start and in the following moments her facial expression did not change in the slightest. I was puzzled, as Mark was clearly digging a needle full of ink into Kamar's back, but she appeared to be in no pain whatsoever. Kamar was finished within ten or fifteen minutes and it was about to be my turn. She had quickly solidified her decision and taken the pain like a champ. I cursed her for her courage and decisiveness.

(This smile remained fixed on Kamar's face throughout the whole process. Never go to a tattoo parlor with the toughest woman you know, it makes you look bad.)

Now I was in a very tough spot. I had walked into the tattoo parlor uncertain the prior day and my condition had not changed by this morning. Kamar's tattoo looked great, but I was still not sure that I wanted to have something permanently put on my body. The problem was, I had made several fatal mistakes. First, I went to a tattoo parlor in my pastel aquamarine polo on Easter. Second, I had allowed a girl to go before me. Third, the girl I chose to go with is totally BA. Fourth, all of this had transpired in front of a very nice guy who tattoos people for a living and has a son who is a Hell's angel.

I had chosen the location for my hypothetical tattoo - the inside of my upper arm - and asked Mark to determine the size and exact placement. I had him stencil it on, then immediately texted a picture of it to my mother for confirmation. She argued with me about it, claiming that I should have it done in "nice" writing rather than her handwriting, while also inquiring about several aspects of my personal life, all in front of everyone in the tattoo parlor (Thankfully, mostly close friends at that point). When this stall had finished, I asked Mark a series of stupid questions to further delay the inevitable. Ultimately, I knew that I just had to man up and do it, so I laid down on the table and Mark got to work.

(This is the stencil that would become my tattoo. This is also the photo I sent my mother for confirmation.)

He told me he was getting started, but I didn't feel a thing. Within minutes, I could feel some pain, but it wasn't too bad. Of course I was talking with friends much of the time and laughed once or twice, shaking in such a manner that could possibly make a mess of the lines that would be on me for the rest of my life. Mark did a great job of not allowing me to screw the whole thing up. He finished up at the beginning of the phrase, in the area closest to my armpit, which did start to sting a bit.

(This is what it looks like when a nervous man with a receding hairline gets a tattoo. Please ignore the sweat stains on my shirt. Again, I was nervous.)

It was surreal to know that when he was finished I actually had a tattoo, in fact, it still is surreal. I looked at it for awhile and loved it. I am glad I didn't have an idea for a second tattoo, because as we walked out, I had the compulsion to walk right back in and get a second one.

(Finished product.)

The moments afterward were filled with a lot of excitement as Kamar and I enjoyed the fact that we had actually done what we had talked about. Since then, the excitement has quickly calmed down. For the most part, I don't really think about it. Sometimes when I am reminded that it is there I get really psyched. Occasionally, I go into a very brief but complete panic over the fact that I actually have something permanently inscribed on my body. When this happens, I am quickly comforted by it's meaning. I have a message for myself and others to see that will hold me accountable to my beliefs, remind me of my brokenness and the many blessings I did nothing to deserve, and hopefully be tribute to my mother.

Adelante!

-Clint

The Makings of an Indelible Mark

A note from Clint: Yes, I've been a little bummed out by some recent happenings in my life. No, I am not actually depressed, despondent or demoralized (Could someone who was use alliteration so deftly?). Last week's post was purposefully dramatic and over the top. I appreciate those who checked up on me after that post. It was very thoughtful. That said, my post was not a cry for help, it was merely me making light of my own sensitive sensibilities. This post will be more positive.

A Long-existing, Unfulfilled Desire

As far back as I can remember, I have always wanted a tattoo and/or a piercing. Honestly, the desire for a piercing left me years ago, but my "need" for a tattoo has persisted. I think I've always been more fascinated with the idea of having a tattoo than anything else. It just seems like one of those things you need to do at some point. While I have claimed that I wanted one, I was never sure what it would be or where I would put it. These minor details, along with some other contributing factors are what always kept me from actually following through and getting one.

New Life

I dance around this concept quite often. The idea of becoming reborn or a different person is used pervasively in our culture and specifically within the context of my faith. As it relates to The Bible, this language is very rich, but I believe we have come to cheapen it in a lot of ways. Perhaps it is the fact that no matter how much we are reborn or improve, we still have glaring weaknesses that detract from the image of being "born again." I think another issue is that we wear these types of titles on our sleeves rather than letting our actions speak for the men and women we have become. Despite my hesitance to describe myself as such, the fact is that I have become a different creation in the past year. I still have glaring flaws: I suffer from inappropriate desires, I have a mouth that runs for days with plenty of awful stuff coming out of it, and I manage to be a poor witness to my beliefs on a regular basis. I am certainly a broken vessel. That said, I am the most willing vessel I have ever been. There have been numerous watershed moments within the past year that have shown me not how strong I am, but the strength of God's presence in my heart. At several points throughout the year, I thought it would be appropriate to commemorate my life changes and God's faithfulness through a tattoo. I also just thought it would be cool to finally get one. Ideas came and went. Verses, symbols and phrases were considered, but nothing had the staying power I needed to commit.

One Universal, Inescapable Truth

It occurred to me that if I was to have something permanently put on my body, I would want it to always be true. For this reason, I looked to The Bible and similar literature. When you commit yourself to this type of reading and studying, you begin to find a lot of truth. I fell in love with a lot of what I read, but then one book and phrase knocked me off my feet. As a gift for being one of his groomsmen, my brother, Jason, gave me a copy of Abba's Child by Brennan Manning. I was in a place where I had grown quite insecure and struggled with my flaws and value. The reading I did in this book helped to dispel many of the fears and insecurities with which I was wrestling by helping me come to terms with the true nature of God's love for me. One phrase Manning lifted from the novel "Diary of a Country Priest" struck me especially: Grace is Everywhere. I began to look at the past year and all I had learned and realized just how true this phrase was.

Grace is Everywhere

God and my loved ones have shown me a tremendous amount of Grace throughout my life, but specifically in the past year. God brought me, a broken creation, to a new place specifically to use me for His service. I dealt with a lot coming out here. I had to come to terms with a broken relationship and both forgive and be forgiven for it's failure. I felt grace as I made mistakes early on in my new job and my coworkers supported me. My friends and family showed me grace and support as I mourned my broken relationship and all I had left behind. I also learned to show grace to those around me. Despite all the poor decisions I had made, I have been given too many gifts to count in the last year. Before long, I found myself in a beautiful, new relationship. Within the context of this relationship, I felt a deep, intimate grace not only for my past transgressions, but for ones I made in the present as well. God's grace is perfect and everlasting and intangible. When a person alongside you can forgive the worst of who you are, it helps you get a better grasp on God's incomprehensible grace. I was also given the opportunity show some grace in this relationship. I felt that being able to exercise grace taught me even more about the nature of it. I learned from all the grace I gave and was given throughout the year, but a new depth of understanding came from being in an intimate relationship in which grace was so freely given and received. Through all this, I came to understand that for a man a broken as I am to be given the immense blessing I have, it must be true that grace is everywhere.

Another Meaning

I had also strongly considered getting a tattoo that would be a tribute to my mother. As I mulled over the idea of grace in my life and how thankful I am for it, I thought about the most quietly graceful person I know: My momma. In my mind, my momma's greatest testament to her faith is her service to others. She has raised four strong-willed boys, a couple of whom have a streak of being quite abrasive and at times troublesome. In addition, she's got a husband from whom her boys inherited some of these traits (My father is an incredible, sensitive, loving father and husband, but all of us Barnes men can be a huge pain.). Despite constant battles of will and just flat out battles in a house with five men, she has served and loved us unwaveringly, with a quiet dignity. I now look at the way she approaches coping with her sickness and see pure grace. Again, she does everything she has to with a quiet dignity and confidence that God's will is being done. I have heard her described by friends and relatives time and time again as graceful. Grace is also fittingly her middle name. I know that although they have been late to bloom, she is largely responsible for planting many of the seeds of service and grace in my heart. I pale in comparison to her, but I will always be able to, in some small part, carry her name and values with me. With this understanding, I know that Grace is everywhere I am.

As I thought about how to solidify the influence of my momma in this phrase, I recalled how much I always admired her beautiful handwriting growing up. Even through high school, she would write notes and put them in my bag lunch. While I acted embarrassed, I loved that she did it. Although it was a simple act, the thought of my momma's handwriting and memories such as these really exemplify the depth of her love for me. After a bit of thinking, I asked her to write "grace is everywhere" on a piece of paper, scan it and e-mail it to me. A close friend looked at the paper with me and wrote the phrase on my arm in her approximation of my mother's handwriting. It was a special moment to me and I loved it. Although I would waver over the permanent nature of the tattoo and the location would change, I think I made the decision then that I would get it.

This post was meant to be about my adventure of getting a tattoo, which wasn't really an adventure at all, it was just me going to a tattoo parlor. That said, those that know me well know that I can turn any benign story into an adventure, given some time to add in some over the top adjectives and hyperbole. That said, I am pleased that this post actually turned out to be a tribute to the past year and my mother. Tune in tomorrow or in the next couple days to read about how I can turn a very boring story about getting a tattoo into an adventure. It will include pictures.

Adelante!

-Clint

I Don't Deal Well With Disappointment

Late last summer into fall, a series of unfortunate events befell me, leading me to write this post. In form, the post appeared to be an attempt to reach out to others in similar circumstances so that I could use my pain and what I had learned to help them. In truth, the post was just me vainly grasping at more productive ways to cope with the less desirable events in life. The reason I had to work so hard on this list is because of the way I normally respond to anything that upsets me. In one word: poorly.

The Lead Up

I was in the field seven of nine weeks, leaving me exhausted and weak. I still adore my job and served people the best I could, but I also felt my emotions beginning to unravel. I began to spend my free time occasionally complaining about my work day and felt overwhelmed by tasks that I usually handle with ease. I also lost discipline with very regular habits. I tried to limit my occasional outbursts and sense of disappointment, knowing that rest and relaxation were on the horizon. I also had, in hand, tickets to what I was thoroughly convinced would be the greatest concert in the history of the world, ever. Although I was getting slowly worn down, I knew I had enough left in the tank to handle everything in front of me. I simply had to. This has been my life and my job. Although I am sensitive I am not of weak constitution. Well, maybe sometimes I am.

The Dominoes Begin to Fall

Then three weeks got especially intense. My Mother had a particularly bad response to one round of chemo and it did not have the positive effects for which we had hoped. Work got tougher: I had a couple of especially challenging groups and even had a fender bender in a company vehicle. When I returned home, I did not have the same comforts I had begun to expect. I could feel the tension building up inside me. Passive aggressive behavior began. I spent extensive amounts of time curled up on the couch by myself. There was still hope on the horizon though. I would soon be soothed by the live melody of my favorite band in all of the cosmos. I could hold onto this and start my road to recovery, right? Wrong. My carefully made plans had been laid waste. Mumford was taken from me. The downward spiral began. It was unstoppable.

I am a Sensitive Sally: Everyone Must Feel My Pain

This would have been the perfect time to think of the things I'm thankful for, have a beer, eat some s'mores or slay some sweet singletrack (impossible right now, for reasons I will explain in another post, also contributing to my depression). Instead, I chose to do the following things, not necessarily in this order.

1. Pretend I can change something I have absolutely no control over - When I've made a poor decision or am confronted with something I wish were different, I try to make it different in my mind. I try to find a loophole when I know there are none. I bend and melt my mind trying to somehow alter the reality in which I exist. Throughout this process, it does not occur to me that I cannot change things that I cannot change. I convince myself that I can. This is an emotionally and physically exhausting process. Ultimately, I never admit that I cannot change my reality, I simply consider myself a failure for not being able to do so. I find this to be the emotional equivalent of a dog chasing but never being able to catch it's tail. This leads to despondency.

2. Mope around, listlessly - I have perfected this action. I am fairly certain that my tall, lanky physique and typically outgoing personality make me especially adept at moping around listlessly. I begin by simply remaining silent and sort of slouching my neck and shoulders. I often stare at the ground or into space in a decidedly forlorn manner. The coup de grace is when I sigh heavily to myself in others' presence and make thinly veiled remarks cryptically referring to whatever is bothering me. If whoever I'm with is either naive or really cares about me, they will inevitably ask what's wrong. This immediately results in a thorough lesson on why one should never be naive or care about what's wrong with Clint.

3. Talk excessively about whatever is wrong with me - Misery loves company and when I am miserable, I am extremely talented at increasing my company at a phenomenal rate. Most people that know me well are familiar with the fact that I have the gift of gab. This is especially true when I am upset. I absolutely cannot help but talk about whatever's wrong with me, who's fault it is, how it can be fixed, how it can't be fixed, how my life has been irreparably damaged by recent turns of event, and how these types of things always happen to me, all while wondering aloud why life is such a cakewalk for everyone else. Talking excessively about whatever is wrong with me also helps me accomplish #1 on this list. By talking to other people and asking for advice about things I clearly cannot change, I encourage them to participate in my vain attempt to find simple solutions to complicated problems. Shortly after I begin this stage I find myself with a lot of alone time.

4. Let my disappointment bleed into every area of my life and subsequently ruin every minute of the day - I have a unique ability of figuring out a way to allow anything under the sun to be a reminder of whatever happens to be bothering me. I'll give you an example. I love s'mores, but if someone were to offer to make me a s'more right now, I would refuse due to the following logic: One usually makes s'mores over campfires. A typical campfire activity is playing or listening to music. I love music, which makes me think of my favorite band, Mumford & Sons. I was looking forward to a Mumford & Sons concert, which I did not get to attend. This makes me upset. Therefore, s'mores make me upset. So, no I would not like one, thank you very much.

5. Retreat to my cave of depression and self doubt - I remember a scene from Fight Club where the narrator is encouraged to find his power animal. He finds himself in a cold, dark cave in search of his power animal and he is disappointingly confronted with a penguin. According to an online quiz I just look in the last minute and a half, my power animal is a jaguar. Awesome. Unfortunately, he does not reside in my pain cave. All that exists there is sadness, darkness, depression and self doubt. When I retreat to my cave of depression and self doubt, my sorrow has reached it's greatest depth, greater than that of the Mariana Trench.

Once I hit this point I came to a pretty solid conclusion. I needed to get over it. No amount of thinking, talking, moping or sitting in cold, dark places was going to change any of my circumstances. I've got a lot of people around me that care about me and that I can count on. I'm getting a nice solid break from the field and have the opportunity to spend some solid time with all of these people. I am learning a ton from these people and God. I will continue to deal with the challenges in my life better and better as time goes on. There will be more Mumford concerts, even if there aren't any in the near future for which I could get tickets for less than $400. I've got some awesome things to look forward to. It's not like there's a fembot sent here from another planet strictly to ruin my life. Things are good and I am happy. And I got an Easter tattoo.

Adelante!

-Clint

I Have a Lot to Declare

Last Sunday, they asked what I was bringing into Mexico, so I told them. I'm not sure anyone else got the joke.

Run of The Mill Plus: Momma Barnes Update

Well, it's been over a month since my last post on this blog. I would feel the need to apologize to readers if I felt that anyone's life had been less fulfilling in my blogging absence. Therefore, I will not apologize. I will assure you, though, that this blog is not dead, it's merely been in a month long coma.

Desensitized

Usually when you hear or see this word, it is referring to multimedia experiences. The conversation about how movies, tv, video games and music desensitize consumers has been beaten like a dead horse. I find the truth is that these stimuli in our lives are not to blame for our desensitization. We do fine on our own. We've been getting bored and disinterested since the beginning of time. Think about it, what happens in the story of Genesis? Adam and Even are given all of creation and each other to reign over and enjoy. With an unlimited amount of exploration to do and fun to have, what happens? They get bored and crave more, venturing into and taking from the one part of creation which is forbidden. Let's stop blaming Ke$ha, 50 Cent and Quentin Tarantino (Btdubz, are any of these people still cool? I have no idea, I'm less than two years away from thirty). The fact that we fail to enjoy the human experience in it's entirety and continually get restless was an issue way before the advent of hip hop and Xbox.

The reason that I bring this up is because of how this tendency has affected my life and this blog. Everything is still awesome right now. I have an incredible job, awesome friends and I am growing daily. But, I am kind of used to that now. Events that I would have once perceived as miracles now qualify as "the norm." There are still a couple things that rock my face off, but everything else kind of flies under the radar. Whereas I used to be constantly blown away by everything that was going on in my life, I can now look at amazing happenings and accept them rather easily, without awe.

This blog, just as so many journals and personal accounts like it, is a sort of outlet for a person who has been overflowing with emotion and personal experience. As I have gotten used to everything that is going around me, some of that overflowing has ceased. I have learned a lot about dealing with this sort of sentiment from my job. Constantly traveling and working with so many different people is extremely fulfilling and exciting, but it is also draining. As the days become harder and longer, I have to look to different, new places for motivation at times. In addition, I have to figure out new ways to do things to maintain and increase my excitement and motivation. I think this is what I will find myself doing with this blog as time goes on. While the changes may not be obvious to readers, I am going to try to reevaluate the way, the amount and the frequency with which I write, hopefully providing a better, more consistent product.

In short, the blog is back and despite some of the usual challenges, my life is pretty much awesome right now. I have a couple of pretty decent posts in my head right now, one of which I'm extremely excited about. It was actually a friend's idea and may turn out to be the best post ever here. I've also got a few really cool things going on in my life that could be a lot of fun to share as time goes on. If you've stuck around this long, thanks. I can't wait to continue down this road with you.

Adelante!

-Clint

*Momma Barnes Update*

About ten weeks ago, my mother started a weekly regimen of chemotherapy and a monoclonal antibody. The goal of these treatments was to reduce the size of some of her swollen lymph nodes and get her system ready for a bone marrow transplant. At the time this regimen was prescribed, everyone expected it to be successful and the anticipated date for her bone marrow transplant was estimated to be mid April. Unfortunately, her body has not responded the way the doctors hoped. Her lymph nodes remain more swollen than is optimal for a transplant. To help combat this issue, she was admitted to Johns Hopkins for a five day slow drip chemo treatment. The date of her transplant is now fairly unpredictable. Mom is used to outpatient procedures, rather than being in the hospital 24/7, and has had a tube installed for her treatments, so she's going through some stuff she is not used to. Please pray that she will keep her positive attitude and faith through these changes.

This slightly longer term treatment has prompted our family to recognize a need to start organizing friends and family for the help that we will need in the future. After receiving some good advice, we have decided to utilize www.lotsahelpinghands.org as a hub for all the activity concerning Mom. This is a host site that allows family to set up calendars with events and needs, updates and blog posts, among a number of other useful tools. The group we have started is called "Grace is Everywhere" and may be accessed at the following web address:

https://lls.lotsahelpinghands.com/c/639400/login/

Right now, we have not done much apart from establish the group, but as time goes on, this will be the place to find out anything Momma Barnes related. Please visit the web address, input your email address and we will approve your membership. We appreciate everyone that is not only willing to contribute, but is also interested in Mom's story. Thanks.

Seriously, America?

So, I have had this series of posts where I lightly poke fun at the way things are sometimes done in Mexico. In actuality, working in Mexico more often highlights how ridiculous Americans can be. Yesterday, the sort of silliness that I often witness hit an all-time high. I have found a coffee shop in Mexico with wi-fi because I simply cannot wait to share this story with my 4.5 readers.

Yesterday was a big day for arrivals in our Puerto Penasco camp and I spent much of the day running people to their work sites from camp. One of the times I came back into camp, I noticed a Jaguar XK convertible parked along with some other vehicles. A quick trip to Jaguar's website identified this vehicle as having a base price of $89,000. Due to this value combined with it's extremely low profile and limited ground clearance, this struck me as an odd choice for a vehicle to bring down to Mexico on a missions trip. All the same, I assumed it would stay at camp and the gentleman who brought it would hop in someone else's vehicle for the rough, sandy ride out to the work site.

The thing about assumptions is that they are often wrong and it only took a few minutes for mine to be proven incorrect. As I led a group out to the work site, I noticed the Jag at the end of the caravan as we pulled out of camp. At the most convenient opportunity I had everyone pull over so that I could run back to the Jag owner and warn him of what was up ahead. I informed him that as we got closer to the site it would get increasingly loose and sandy and I was concerned about his ground clearance. He asked me, "So you're telling me were going to get stuck?" I replied that it was his ride and he could do want he wanted, but that I did not think it was a good idea for him to continue. He first responded, "I should have brought my Hummer," then continued with "Let's give it a try."

Side note: I hate Hummers. H2's and H3's are the embodiment of all that is evil in the world. They are chunky, expensive and slovenly. I. Hate. Them. The fact that GM managed to take the original Humvee, the vehicular equivalent of a lion in the savannah and turn into a household tabby makes me very, very sad. I am soooooo glad that throwing a bunch of gawdy, squared, boxy sheetmetal on top of a Surburban chassis no longer qualifies as an adequate marketing tool in the U.S.. Hooray for the Hummer name going under and being sold to China.

I was already a little bit vexed by the situation and the fact that I walked away from this exchange actually wishing the gentleman had brought a Hummer further perplexed me. Anyway, onward ho.

I continued my lead in to the site and kept a close eye on the Jag. He held tight and didn't experience any significant problems. As we got to the softest part of the sand (withing 150 yards of the worksite) I pulled over to give him one last warning. I waved everyone else by and awaited the Jag. As he pulled up, the window was down as he began to shout triumphantly and the following exchange took place:

Guy Driving Jag: You just gotta know how to drive like a professional, bro!

Me: That's great, I'm glad you made it. You can see the house around the corner and this is really the area I was warning you about. You might want to just park here and walk the rest of the way.

Guy Driving Jag: Nah, I got it.

(This is what it looks like when an $89,000+ vehicle becomes as worthless as a rock in the Mexican desert.)

I found the moments that followed to be absolutely hilarious. The Jag was buried withing fifty feet of the point at which I tried to advise him against pressing on. The icing on the cake was when the FJ cruiser pictured above first came over to help out. He positioned himself in front of the Jag to help pull him out. Another priceless exchange took place:

Jag Guy: What are you doing?

FJ Helper: Well, I was going to try to pull you out.

Jag Guy: We need to go backward. Look at that sand, going forward wouldn't make any sense.

This is the point where driving your Jaguar Sports Coupe that cost the better part of $100,000 dollars ceased to make sense? Not when you were pulling out of the driveway for a missions trip? Not when you hit rough roads in Mexico? Not when the guy who drives these roads everyday warned you twice? That he finally chose to drive, I mean draw, a line in the sand here matches Caddyshack in it's absurd hilarity.

Despite the above conversation, FJ Helper stuck around to unstick Jag guy. Fully Loaded White Lexus SUV Guy also helped out (this is another vehicle choice that confuses me, but at least this confusing vehicle choice has four wheel drive and a reasonable amount of ground clearance. Despite the frustrating start, this group quickly won me over as the day progressed. They are an awesome group of guys and they don't always get it, but they openly admit this fact.

The truth is, I am a complete idiot. I prove this to myself and those around me every day. Whether it be having a forgetful moment, not connecting the dots on something really obvious or falling short in my moral decisions and execution of my faith, I am constantly failing. There is a strength in admitting and coming to terms with this fact. Many of these gentlemen see themselves as the worst of the worst and the lowest of the low. This is a freeing way to see yourself. It allows you to give and accept grace at a phenomenal rate. And you never know when you're going to need that grace. It could be in the middle of the Mexican desert.

Adelante!

-Clint

P.S. - I'm having trouble with my spacing whenever I add pictures in blogger. Does anyone know how to fix this? Thanks.

Seriously, Mexico?

Even when you love your job and the people you work with, sometimes you have one of those days. Some people call it a case of the Mondays and some people call it waking up on the wrong side of the bed. It was not a Monday and what I sleep on in my trailer can hardly be considered a bed, but the last time I was in the field I was just not my normal self for a day. I was a little bit irritable and short tempered. I did my best not to let it show on the outside, which sometimes makes it even harder on the inside. Sometimes when I'm feeling like this, I find it is best to make myself available to the people around me, but busy myself with something that requires a little bit of focus. On this particular day a door needed to be installed in the house we were building, and this fit the bill as the project I needed. I went to work getting my measurements down and my hinges set on the door. Then, I went to install the door in the frame and I had a slight issue:

(My vocabulary is not expansive enough to express my disappointment. Well, it is, but we keep it family friendly here.)

In the above picture, my friend Mary holds the heads to five screws in her hand. The problems with these heads is that they're no longer attached to their appropriate screws. As I was installing them, the heads came off, but left the screws buried in the door and frame. This meant I had to move the location of my hinges and reinstall them. Fortunately, additional screws came in the hardware packaging (this never, ever happens), so I was able to use the additional screws to get the door installed.

This was not a terrible ordeal, but enough to frustrate and irritate me considerably. It is not uncommon that the building materials we receive from our supplier leave a little something to be desired. This is never a big deal, often just a small inconvenience like this situation. Was the door was set properly and I was happy with it, I was very nearly over it. Then this happened:

(Can you tell what's wrong with this door?)

(Possibly the coolest, most artsy photo I have ever taken. Not sure how this happened.)

The problem with this door is there is no hole for the bolt to the door knob. Having already been frustrated with my materials earlier in the day, I sort of reached a breaking point when I saw that the door I had put up was not ready for a lock. I took a little time to myself, recovered and ultimately ended up using a drill and chisel in combination to make the hole. Not the prettiest solution, but it worked.

In the end, everything worked out alright, and I got a good laugh at how pathetically I used a chisel and drill to fashion a whole for the bolt. Just the same, I feel the need to say, "Seriously, Mexico?"

Adelante!

-Clint