the other day i had a curiuous incident with a man on a bus. he was sitting in front of me, and upon reazling that I was a forgienger he proceeded to turn around and casually stare at me for the remainder of the trip. I thought this was odd, and at times he would try to mumble to me in low spanish. I wasn´t quite sure how to respond, so I acted in a reserved manner and tried politely not to converse with him. He seemed to want to tell me about his family that lived in that states, but as we are taught, when we have red flags go up, obey them.
i went home and laughingly told the my communiuty about the man who stared on the bus. We chuckled and everyone shared stories of the same thing that had happened to them. I felt weird about it though, like maybe I hadn´t done what was right, and if he was a harmless old man, longing to regale stories of his past to a youth who might hear him out, I had sadly failed him.
Two weeks passed when I got on the bus again and who was sitting right in front of me but my buddy. My friend Carolina who happened to get on at the next stop, hopped on and in English I asked her if she remembered the man who stared. Looking to my left she noticed the old man, gaping again, and we both giggled out loud.
The next stop a few vendors climbed on to sell their goods, and the man in front of me bought a bag of fruits that they have in Ecuador. By the man´s clothes and his lack of teeth, I could see his poverty, and knowing that he was headed to the same place I live, I knew he didn´t have much spare change to spend. After he fished out 20 cents from his pocket, I hoped in earnest that he would face forwards and not continue to look at me as he ate. But to my dismay he held out the bag for me, and asked me to accept a gift from him. I told him that I couldn´t, but thank you for the offer. He insisted however, with the generosity of the people here that I will never understand, and upon taking the bag I smiled at him warmly to let him see my gratitude, the response he had put his 20 cents towards.
He turned around and for the first time making direct eye contact, he said, ¨We are all sisters and brothers. We are all the same. God bless you.¨
I felt shame rise up inside of me, for turning him down, for refusing to converse with him earlier, for looking at him the same way that everyone else on the bus did; like he was different. He humbled me right on the spot, and humilty, although a virtue, is always painful. That is what makes it humility.
I have been seeing that love has no divisions. I have divisions. I divide out what I think I can afford to give to others, or what I think they need, or in vain, who I think will give back to me. Love doesn´t hold back, there isn´t a shortage of it. Love is God, and God is in all things. We kill and destroy that love when we refuse to give it to all equally, because we think we know. I don´t know. I have no answers. Yet God in his mercy, still gives me love.
And that´s how I saw the face of Christ on a bus.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Anger
Angry. This is a new feeling for me. I grew up most of my life feeling like I wasn´t allowed to feel angry, always assuming that it was wrong and that I should get rid of the buildling emotion inside of me so it never fell out and hurt someone. For so long I have learned to hide anger, to stuff it down, or to let it out in small ways that don´t hurt people.
But here in Duran, I am angry. And I am realizing that it is okay.
The other day at our afterschool program we had to kick out two of our students for 2 months. What happened is that we asked them to leave the program earlier that day for fighting, and they proceeded to sneak back in and play in the dangerous part of the park (open sistern) and collect sharp objects. We had to chase them around the dangerous area, one of them already had a cast from a previously broken arm, all the while they laughed and giggled at their evasive game. In the end when we finally caught them they grabbed handful of rocks and threw them at the kids as we passed by on the way to the exit, physically carrying them out.
What breaks my heart, and what makes me mad, is that this is not their fault. They live in environment where they are not appreciaited, or loved, or given the opportunity to be kids. And they will soon, one day, be entering adolescence, where it will only get progressively harder for them to ever feel like they have value or that they are deeply cared for. The reason we have our program is for kids like them, who need to be reminded how special they are, to have a safe space to play, and to be surronded in an environment of caring people.
This incident opened up a huge wound in me, one that hurts for all the people that I am working with. I realized in the situation with my kids at the program that this evil, of many evils, is not their fault. They are victims of something much bigger, and they have no way out. Our system has mistreated them, and it will likely do so until they are old.
I have neighbors who have to run out of their houses and scream at passing water trucks in order to have enough to get by for a day. Sometimes these tanks stop, other times they do not. The piercing cries of women and chilldren up and down the street makes me wonder how I got here, and how it is that I am so spoiled. The hardest is to see the eyes of my neighbors when the tankers have passed; I see their worries spill out in front of me. If they will be able to feed their kids that day, or wash their clothes or bathe their bodies. How long will it be until another truck passes? Tomorrow? Two days? and what if it doesn´t stop again?
And the thing that is hardest for me is that I have water, in great abundance. At the turn of a faucet I could let it run for hours, fill bukcts and tubs and pots and pans, but 30 feet away from my house is a woman who will have to tell her child that today they won´t be any dinner. This injustice, boling under my skin, makes me angry.
But what do we do with anger? How do we carry all the pain in the world? I don´t want to be it in my community, I don´t want to internalize it, I don´t want to put it in on the kids, or their parents, who were likely raised the same way. I am angry at a system, a system that I am part of and contribute to. Whether in my power, in my ingroance, or in my privilege, I am in some way contributing to the harm of my brothers, the pain of my sisters, and the distress of my neighbors. We are all somehow connected to the evil that is being dumped on the human race.
The problem is that I want to do something to change it, but I cannot. I am not bigger than the system. I have no answers, which turns me directly to the one who does: God. God is the only person big enough to carry the weight and pain of injustice, and if I think what I am experiencing here is injustice, I cannot even fathom the things that people around the world live through and have to carry for the rest of their lives. Which brings me back to the fact that I am an instrument of God´s love, and that is the first thing I am ever called to be: love. God does not call me to change the world, or stop injustice. He doesn´t even call me to understand it, He knows I never will. But what He does call me to do is love, and not just my kids and my community, but even my enemies, the people that seem impossible and void of all humaness.
So that is where I am, at this difficult, impossible crossroad of love. What do I do with my anger? I have to give it to God, and pray. I cannot make myself love. I can try, but it won´t be enough. I don´t have enough to give. I have to have faith that the Holy Spirit is in me, and working through me to do the things God asks us to do for the kingdom, that are not of this earth. I have to believe that He will work through me, and in me, to change who I am.
A saying that has helped me is, ¨All lives have the same value, no matter where they are going.¨ If I am going to believe in God, and what he says, I have to start with love, and the belief that every human being has the right to be loved because God loves them.
I am trying to love. Please pray for me in that. I am praying for you as well, that the love of God will abound radiantly in you, and that together, with our anger, we can come into a deeper understanding of who God is. And why we are here.
But here in Duran, I am angry. And I am realizing that it is okay.
The other day at our afterschool program we had to kick out two of our students for 2 months. What happened is that we asked them to leave the program earlier that day for fighting, and they proceeded to sneak back in and play in the dangerous part of the park (open sistern) and collect sharp objects. We had to chase them around the dangerous area, one of them already had a cast from a previously broken arm, all the while they laughed and giggled at their evasive game. In the end when we finally caught them they grabbed handful of rocks and threw them at the kids as we passed by on the way to the exit, physically carrying them out.
What breaks my heart, and what makes me mad, is that this is not their fault. They live in environment where they are not appreciaited, or loved, or given the opportunity to be kids. And they will soon, one day, be entering adolescence, where it will only get progressively harder for them to ever feel like they have value or that they are deeply cared for. The reason we have our program is for kids like them, who need to be reminded how special they are, to have a safe space to play, and to be surronded in an environment of caring people.
This incident opened up a huge wound in me, one that hurts for all the people that I am working with. I realized in the situation with my kids at the program that this evil, of many evils, is not their fault. They are victims of something much bigger, and they have no way out. Our system has mistreated them, and it will likely do so until they are old.
I have neighbors who have to run out of their houses and scream at passing water trucks in order to have enough to get by for a day. Sometimes these tanks stop, other times they do not. The piercing cries of women and chilldren up and down the street makes me wonder how I got here, and how it is that I am so spoiled. The hardest is to see the eyes of my neighbors when the tankers have passed; I see their worries spill out in front of me. If they will be able to feed their kids that day, or wash their clothes or bathe their bodies. How long will it be until another truck passes? Tomorrow? Two days? and what if it doesn´t stop again?
And the thing that is hardest for me is that I have water, in great abundance. At the turn of a faucet I could let it run for hours, fill bukcts and tubs and pots and pans, but 30 feet away from my house is a woman who will have to tell her child that today they won´t be any dinner. This injustice, boling under my skin, makes me angry.
But what do we do with anger? How do we carry all the pain in the world? I don´t want to be it in my community, I don´t want to internalize it, I don´t want to put it in on the kids, or their parents, who were likely raised the same way. I am angry at a system, a system that I am part of and contribute to. Whether in my power, in my ingroance, or in my privilege, I am in some way contributing to the harm of my brothers, the pain of my sisters, and the distress of my neighbors. We are all somehow connected to the evil that is being dumped on the human race.
The problem is that I want to do something to change it, but I cannot. I am not bigger than the system. I have no answers, which turns me directly to the one who does: God. God is the only person big enough to carry the weight and pain of injustice, and if I think what I am experiencing here is injustice, I cannot even fathom the things that people around the world live through and have to carry for the rest of their lives. Which brings me back to the fact that I am an instrument of God´s love, and that is the first thing I am ever called to be: love. God does not call me to change the world, or stop injustice. He doesn´t even call me to understand it, He knows I never will. But what He does call me to do is love, and not just my kids and my community, but even my enemies, the people that seem impossible and void of all humaness.
So that is where I am, at this difficult, impossible crossroad of love. What do I do with my anger? I have to give it to God, and pray. I cannot make myself love. I can try, but it won´t be enough. I don´t have enough to give. I have to have faith that the Holy Spirit is in me, and working through me to do the things God asks us to do for the kingdom, that are not of this earth. I have to believe that He will work through me, and in me, to change who I am.
A saying that has helped me is, ¨All lives have the same value, no matter where they are going.¨ If I am going to believe in God, and what he says, I have to start with love, and the belief that every human being has the right to be loved because God loves them.
I am trying to love. Please pray for me in that. I am praying for you as well, that the love of God will abound radiantly in you, and that together, with our anger, we can come into a deeper understanding of who God is. And why we are here.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Duran Duran
I thought I would be so much better at blogging since I love to journal, but its been tough getting to a computer that is fast enough to upload, so I apologize for those of you who have bee faithful in checking this and have been dissapointed.
Beach Day:
this past weekend was the first time that we went out of town for what we call ¨needed vacations.¨ Amy, Gina, Tracy and I all headed to the imfamous beaching spot in Ecuador, which we were told by everyone to visit. So come 6 in the morning we are awake, lotioning up and packing lunches and towels to go. It was a lovely 3 hour bus ride to the coast, but our dreams of laying in the sun all day were smushed by one small factor: there was no sun that day. In the cloudy and windy weather, so unlike what we have experienced here, we forged on to the beach to find an empty and mildly deserted strip of sand. It was cold and we shuffled along the playa looking for a dry spot to camp out and rest. While we were lookiung for spots a woman walked up to us and in frank Ecuadorian style she asked why were at the ugly beach. We said we didn´t know, and she invited us to follow her to the pretty beach.
After walking across the naval base we arrived at what appeared to be a much more tranquil and appealing spot and we proceeded to get to know our new friend. She was from Quito and offered up her house and free tour guides (her 2 sons) whenever we would have another weekend to get away. Before we knew it we were like old friends, chatting and regaling over the chilly weather. When her husband arrived, dressed lavishly in business attire, they proceeded to buy us peanuts with lime juice from a passing vendor and soon after we all had Pilsners, the local beer, in our hands. Their generosity was greatly appreciated and for a small moment I had my own flashback to Milwaukee, minus the lime.
We spent the rest of the day chasing away bored vendors who had the most intertesting assortment of things. From shell earrings to fresh lobster to table ends and lamps. We saw it all. We concluded the day at the beach with a rampage for the perfect eatery, trays over flowing with patecones, maderas and french fries, and then a final walk to the local ice cream store. Perfect.
To our surprise, we went to the bus stop and a bus headed to Guayaquil pulled in immediately. We boared, assuming a 15 minute wait to fill the bus. But sure enough, the second we hopped on the bus driver got on board and took off, leaving us to our own private coach bus. We chatted with the bus driver and his attendant, and after a while we were all taking pictures, including some shots offered by the driver to sit up on the coveted motor. Haha. Jimmy and Manuel proceeded to try to get our numbers for their upcoming 12 day vacation, but we politely declined and giggled our way back to the safe surrondings of Arbolito after our chillest day yet in Ecuador.
Scrubs:
The scrubs finally came in this week, and boy did it change more than we thought. To start, mine are 3 sizes too big so I feel like a little girl playing dressup or a college-aged student going out on Halloween. Everytime we leave the house I feel like an imposter. The first day on the bus though, all eyes were on us and it felt pretty funny to me that people thought we were doctors. If only they knew that I was in the stupid-kid science class at Marquette, ¨Plants, Pathogens and People¨ for non-science majors. Even when we crossed the busy streets, cars would stop and let us pass by, and one guy even offered us a friendly good morning and welcome to my country in english. nice.
but the best thing about the scrubs is the sudden transformation in the hospital staff we have seen, that may or may not be coincidental. The first day I wore the scrubs a nurse pulled me out of a room and invited me to have snacks in the forbidden break room where Andrew and I aren´t really allowed to go. After that another nurse approached me and asked for my help taking a patient down to get an X ray. On top of that, they have now asked us to help with more home visits (see next paragraph) and today when I brought in my latest medical slip, they gave me all of my medications for free and we had a good laugh about the parasites (following paragraph) that have been living in me.
Home Visits:
Our technical names at the hospital are case workers, but really they should call us entertainment directors or clowns because our main jobs are not nearly as important as they sound. I spend a good majority of the morning making silly faces at babies and having tickle fights with the kids. However, after a meeting with the head of the Department she feels like we are being under-utlized, which we agree, and she decided that we could start visting the homes of the outpatients with the social worker. My first visit was this past week. We went to a home a half hour outside the city. and when we arrived we had to climb up the broken steps to a second floor apartment. The room was bascially empty, save the piles of large medical boxes which we came to learn were for the grandmother who is bed ridden and needs a feeding tube.
After talking to the grandmother, who is the sole caregiver of our patient, we discovered that the downstairs was infested with rats, and that the aunt who was living with them at the time could only be there for another week. That means that the 13 year old girl is responsible for all duties in the house, and the 15 year old brother is responsible for providing for the family. It was heart breaking, to hear their struggles and know that the happy little boy in the hospital would return to this home, where he would have to grow up much quicker than any child.
The same can be said of all the children I have encountered here so far. Their eyes tell stories and hold wisdom that most children in the states will not carry until their early adult years.
Parasites:
I am the second to last person in the house to bring in a poop test, a process that every volunteer in the past has gone through. So earlier this week I finally took in my sample and the results came back as no surprise. Two parasites. I currently have worms and another parasite that I don´t know what it is in english. As of right now, everyone in the house has something, and most of us have the same thing. It isn´t serious, its nothing that some antibiotics won´t kill and I dont feel sick at all. In fact, after eating today I realized that the worms in me are also eating my food, and therefore figured out that I can technically get away with eating a lot more. Natural diet? I wouldn´t advise it. But when in Ecuador . . .
Jesus:
Jesus has been my most constant friend here. We did a spirituality night on the person of Jesus last week that focused on his Divine Humaness. Jesus was more human than any of us are, and the God we serve is in the same. He is a humble servant, continually loving us and serving us and taking the lowest position in our lives. God does not want to control us and have our obedience. He wants to give us everything He has, and on top of that He wants us to know that we are loved and free. Thinking of Jesus at the bottom makes me desire the same nothingness that he preached. That letting go of self has been one of my huge struggles here, and I am praying that I continue to walk in the divine humaness of Christ, instead of an exalted state of spiritual being. Many days when I feel tired and burdened by the weight of the world in Duran, I remember that Jesus too carried all of the emotions and pain, and that He walks with me through it all.
Beach Day:
this past weekend was the first time that we went out of town for what we call ¨needed vacations.¨ Amy, Gina, Tracy and I all headed to the imfamous beaching spot in Ecuador, which we were told by everyone to visit. So come 6 in the morning we are awake, lotioning up and packing lunches and towels to go. It was a lovely 3 hour bus ride to the coast, but our dreams of laying in the sun all day were smushed by one small factor: there was no sun that day. In the cloudy and windy weather, so unlike what we have experienced here, we forged on to the beach to find an empty and mildly deserted strip of sand. It was cold and we shuffled along the playa looking for a dry spot to camp out and rest. While we were lookiung for spots a woman walked up to us and in frank Ecuadorian style she asked why were at the ugly beach. We said we didn´t know, and she invited us to follow her to the pretty beach.
After walking across the naval base we arrived at what appeared to be a much more tranquil and appealing spot and we proceeded to get to know our new friend. She was from Quito and offered up her house and free tour guides (her 2 sons) whenever we would have another weekend to get away. Before we knew it we were like old friends, chatting and regaling over the chilly weather. When her husband arrived, dressed lavishly in business attire, they proceeded to buy us peanuts with lime juice from a passing vendor and soon after we all had Pilsners, the local beer, in our hands. Their generosity was greatly appreciated and for a small moment I had my own flashback to Milwaukee, minus the lime.
We spent the rest of the day chasing away bored vendors who had the most intertesting assortment of things. From shell earrings to fresh lobster to table ends and lamps. We saw it all. We concluded the day at the beach with a rampage for the perfect eatery, trays over flowing with patecones, maderas and french fries, and then a final walk to the local ice cream store. Perfect.
To our surprise, we went to the bus stop and a bus headed to Guayaquil pulled in immediately. We boared, assuming a 15 minute wait to fill the bus. But sure enough, the second we hopped on the bus driver got on board and took off, leaving us to our own private coach bus. We chatted with the bus driver and his attendant, and after a while we were all taking pictures, including some shots offered by the driver to sit up on the coveted motor. Haha. Jimmy and Manuel proceeded to try to get our numbers for their upcoming 12 day vacation, but we politely declined and giggled our way back to the safe surrondings of Arbolito after our chillest day yet in Ecuador.
Scrubs:
The scrubs finally came in this week, and boy did it change more than we thought. To start, mine are 3 sizes too big so I feel like a little girl playing dressup or a college-aged student going out on Halloween. Everytime we leave the house I feel like an imposter. The first day on the bus though, all eyes were on us and it felt pretty funny to me that people thought we were doctors. If only they knew that I was in the stupid-kid science class at Marquette, ¨Plants, Pathogens and People¨ for non-science majors. Even when we crossed the busy streets, cars would stop and let us pass by, and one guy even offered us a friendly good morning and welcome to my country in english. nice.
but the best thing about the scrubs is the sudden transformation in the hospital staff we have seen, that may or may not be coincidental. The first day I wore the scrubs a nurse pulled me out of a room and invited me to have snacks in the forbidden break room where Andrew and I aren´t really allowed to go. After that another nurse approached me and asked for my help taking a patient down to get an X ray. On top of that, they have now asked us to help with more home visits (see next paragraph) and today when I brought in my latest medical slip, they gave me all of my medications for free and we had a good laugh about the parasites (following paragraph) that have been living in me.
Home Visits:
Our technical names at the hospital are case workers, but really they should call us entertainment directors or clowns because our main jobs are not nearly as important as they sound. I spend a good majority of the morning making silly faces at babies and having tickle fights with the kids. However, after a meeting with the head of the Department she feels like we are being under-utlized, which we agree, and she decided that we could start visting the homes of the outpatients with the social worker. My first visit was this past week. We went to a home a half hour outside the city. and when we arrived we had to climb up the broken steps to a second floor apartment. The room was bascially empty, save the piles of large medical boxes which we came to learn were for the grandmother who is bed ridden and needs a feeding tube.
After talking to the grandmother, who is the sole caregiver of our patient, we discovered that the downstairs was infested with rats, and that the aunt who was living with them at the time could only be there for another week. That means that the 13 year old girl is responsible for all duties in the house, and the 15 year old brother is responsible for providing for the family. It was heart breaking, to hear their struggles and know that the happy little boy in the hospital would return to this home, where he would have to grow up much quicker than any child.
The same can be said of all the children I have encountered here so far. Their eyes tell stories and hold wisdom that most children in the states will not carry until their early adult years.
Parasites:
I am the second to last person in the house to bring in a poop test, a process that every volunteer in the past has gone through. So earlier this week I finally took in my sample and the results came back as no surprise. Two parasites. I currently have worms and another parasite that I don´t know what it is in english. As of right now, everyone in the house has something, and most of us have the same thing. It isn´t serious, its nothing that some antibiotics won´t kill and I dont feel sick at all. In fact, after eating today I realized that the worms in me are also eating my food, and therefore figured out that I can technically get away with eating a lot more. Natural diet? I wouldn´t advise it. But when in Ecuador . . .
Jesus:
Jesus has been my most constant friend here. We did a spirituality night on the person of Jesus last week that focused on his Divine Humaness. Jesus was more human than any of us are, and the God we serve is in the same. He is a humble servant, continually loving us and serving us and taking the lowest position in our lives. God does not want to control us and have our obedience. He wants to give us everything He has, and on top of that He wants us to know that we are loved and free. Thinking of Jesus at the bottom makes me desire the same nothingness that he preached. That letting go of self has been one of my huge struggles here, and I am praying that I continue to walk in the divine humaness of Christ, instead of an exalted state of spiritual being. Many days when I feel tired and burdened by the weight of the world in Duran, I remember that Jesus too carried all of the emotions and pain, and that He walks with me through it all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)