A Story To Tell

The following takes place between the fifth and eleventh of March.  All events, names, and places may have been changed to protect the individuals involved.  Proceed at your own risk.  This message may cause worry, concern, anguish, passion, fear, fainting spells, humour, tummy rubbing, romance, random laughter, babies crying, vomiting and diarrhea.

The trials began when the beast arose in the classroom bearing a new face with a new challenge and a new learning curve.  The students knew from the start that they would have to apply themselves heavily to this matter.  The beast however consistently proves to be necessary in the environment in which the students have been living.  The beast is Spanish class.  With great gusto the brave students put forth best efforts to learn and use this ability and beast.  Slowly but surely they have learned the ways of Spanish and how to conquer the beast.

The real trials began, when the fellowship parted ways.  The souls with heart, strength, determination and perseverance knew that the upcoming weekend would be critical to the group.   It would change the fate of their lives.  Thus it began, placing one foot in front of the other over and over again.  The brave champions had their task; few knew if they would make it to the top.  Even less knew if they would ever see home again.  What they did know was that slow and steady wins the race, that the last are not the least, and that there is hope higher up the mountain.  As the climbers clambered upward it became clear that the mountain, the grand volcano of Santa Maria, would succumb to the group’s endless effort.  They climbed higher and higher and at each rest point gained a greater view of the surrounding terrain.  Nearing the top the air began to cool and came as a relief to the hikers; they knew and feared that it would get much colder as the night progressed.  Upon arrival at the top each soul rejoiced and each celebrated at the worthwhile view.  

From here they set up camp, rolling out tents, air mats and sleeping bags.  Over the little camp stove that could they cooked their meal in an elated mood.  Nothing could stop these champions.  Long after the sun had set and the moon had begun to rise, did the adventurers scamper over to the viewing point of the nearby volcano.  Raging and bursting with steam, Santaguito, was a waiting game.  There they sat waiting, cuddled and huddled together in their puffy down jackets, eyes peering into the darkness.  Miraculously on the queue of one of the group the volcano blew, sparks of red flew through the air, plumes of smoke rose as the volcano released its fury.  With joyous laughter and amazement the group stared on, amazed at what had just occurred.  Enticed by the eruption’s destruction they knew they had to see it again.  They waited, huddled and chilled as they were; they made a point to see two more of the grand eruptions.  Not long after with the cold setting in, they crawled into tents and snuck into cozy sleeping bags.  Despite the apparent cold some were most certainly warm blooded and sweated the night away as the tents continued to warm in temperature.  

 Being as they were on a mountain top, where the view can be so clear, they rose early to watch the sun rise above the line of clouds that made for the horizon.  With the beauty of the rising sun and the clear view they ate breakfast with gusto and packed up their tents and bags.  In good time and no rush at all they enjoyed the view and the awesomeness of the creator God.  As the time did pass, they headed back down the mountain.  Easier than going up, but a timeless challenge it still proved to be.  The altitude had certainly hit many of them (they were 3,772 metres up after all) and were looking forward to getting down the mountain.  Downward they went each climber amazed at their accomplishments.  Just like they began they placed one foot in front of the other, convincing themselves the end was near.   The bottom was a welcome sight and so the group crashed and collapsed and made it to the end.  Hardcore climbers they were, with stories to tell and views to share.  While the climb was difficult it was well worth the mile and the strenuous effort.  They did after all climb a volcano.

  

However, meanwhile the other approximate half of the fellowship traveled to a lake, to a moderately small town called San Pedro.  It was there that they spent their weekend.  Little could be said of the group, who spent much of their time passing time.  Enjoying the cold water of Lake Atitlan and comfortable hammocks they spent much time in one another’s company.  Literally they were “hanging out” in hammocks.  While little might have been said of the group, it is certain that they have stories to tell.

Still yet there was another group, notorious for doing something different, they stayed back in their homes, or put themselves up in quaint hotels.  Their time was spent in yet another manner, some wandering the city, the markets, the avenues and the ruins.  

While the fellowship of the group was split and the challenges that arose varied, it was with smiling faces and many stories that they reunited that fateful Sunday night.  A fateful night it was, only because the future lay ahead of them, just like it always had.  Each moment in life, is just as a fateful as the next.  So make it a story, make it a tale, make it a life you’d be happy to tell, your life is a story more powerful than any fairy tale.  Don’t stop here our story is not done, go imagine and create.

You stay classy San Juan del Obispo 

Love Jutters, David, and Raymond (aka the Pretty Man Group)

Written by: Raymond

Because it’s a story and because we have great fun, we may have embezzled and stretched a word here or there, fabricating out of truth the story you read here.  Don’t you fear it’s fabricated from truth, we all did quite swell, and are happy to have stories to tell.  So enjoy, imagine and know we are safe, our limits know no bounds.