i knew this, anyway: that my wish, indeed my continuing passion, would be not to point the finger in judgement but to part a curtain, that invisible shadow that falls between people, the veil of indifference to each other's presence, each other's wonder, each other's human plight.
-eudora welty-
try to remember some details. remember the clothing
of the one you love
so that on the day of loss you’ll be able to say: last seen
wearing such-and-such, brown jacket, white hat.
try to remember some details. for they have no face
and their soul is hidden and their crying
is the same as their laughter,
and their silence and their shouting rise to one height
and their body temperature is between 98 and 104 degrees
and they have no life outside this narrow space
and they have no graven image, no likeness, no memory
and they have paper cups on the day of their rejoicing
and paper cups that are used once only.
try to remember some details. for the world
is filled with people who were torn from their sleep
with no one to mend the tear,
and unlike wild beasts they live
each in his lonely hiding place and they die
together on battlefields
and in hospitals.
and the earth will swallow all of them,
good and evil together, like the followers of korah,
all of them in their rebellion against death,
their mouths open till the last moment,
praising and cursing in a single
howl. try, try
to remember some details.
It never ceases to amaze me that my experiences here can be so different from my fellow YAGM--even from those also serving in Mexico. I wish I were doing a better job of following other people's blogs, but time is limited, and I frequently feel frustrated when I spend all afternoon on my computer instead of spending time enjoying Mexico.
I am also consistently impressed by Anneli's writing, the complete clarity of thought she shares on her blog. I especially want to direct your attention to this stunning post, in which she writes, "How grateful I am to have shoes that fit, shoes that don't cause me pain, shoes at all. The man at the busy intersection I pass every day has shoes too. I haven't asked him if they fit or not. Perhaps I should." [read more]
Last week at work, I learned to make buñuelos. Unfortunately, I can't prove it--it happened on the one day of the week I didn't carry my camera with me!
If you're not familiar with buñuelos, the best way I have of describing them is as Mexico's response to the elephant ear. They're much thinner, though, and crispy. They're topped exclusively with sugar and ground cinnamon. One of the women who was helping to teach me told me that she only makes them for the Christmas season.
I remember growing up my pastor parents tried to impress upon us the meaning of advent. I spent most of the season worrying about what gifts I was going to get. Perhaps it's the fact that gift-giving isn't so essential to the Christmas tradition in Mexico as it is in the states. Perhaps it's my personal commitment to live simply this year, and my attempt to resist the urge to get a bunch of new toys. Perhaps it's the fact that the weather in Cuernavaca still isn't cold enough for football season to be over, let alone nearing Christmas. But somehow, I find myself patiently waiting for Christmas to start. I enjoyed saying the rosary for the Virgin with my neighbors last week. I'm excited about the posadas that will start next week. I'm stuffing myself with buñuelos.
by Jelaluddin Rumi
translation by Coleman Barks
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
I want to say thanks to Gita for e-mailing me this poem! It's been one of the texts I go to lately when I feel stressed out or tired.
I love Thanksgiving. It's easily surpassed Halloween as my favorite holiday in recent years. My friend Anneli described the feeling of the holiday as being pure. Christmas gets all mixed up in worry about shopping and wrapping presents and making things equal, but Thanksgiving is only about food and family and being present at the table. So, last week was a little hard for me.
I knew we would have our dinner here in Cuernavaca on Saturday (which quickly became known, thanks to yours truly and my overabundance of enthusiasm, as THANKSFRIGGINGIVIN), but I still woke up sad on Thanksgiving Day. I couldn't help but think about who was up already, pre-heating the oven for the turkey. Who would be making the sweet potatoes? What would be forgotten until the last-minute scramble? The half hour I allotted to making a few phone calls home didn't help as much as I thought they would, since the holidays in both parts of my families were pretty drastically different from tradition this year. It was hard to think the holiday might go on without me. It was harder to realize that my family's holidays are changing, and that the Thanksgivings of my childhood might be gone for good.
All of us YAGM-Mexico volunteers are, I think, getting over our honeymoon with Mexico. I recently described the feeling to a friend as "Things are getting real." My enthusiastic "These fresh tortillas are delicious!" has changed to an aggravated "Why can't I just have some dense whole-wheat bread for once?!" We've had three months to get used to the major cultural differences, and now we're working on more nuanced expectations. It's a difficult time, even without the holidays. But I am trying to remember to be thankful for this experience, even through my sadness at being so far away from home. I am trying to remember that the most influential experiences I've had in my life were also difficult at times. But mostly, I am trying to remember the prayer we sing every day before eating dinner at Casa Tatic: Demos Gracias al Señor, We give thanks to the Lord,
Demos Gracias.We give thanks.
Demos Gracias al Señor.We give thanks to the Lord.
En la mañana, que se levantaIn the morning, the rooster sings
El gallo canta, just because he's awake,
y yo canto al Señor. and I also sing to the Lord.
Our THANKSFRIGGINGIVIN dinner, by the way, was amazing.
My mom is a quilter. There's quilts everywhere in my parents house, and we never use half of them, honestly. Me? I've always thought of myself as more of a comforter person--at least until I discovered the wonder of the german duvet. There's something about curling up with big, fluffy bedding that I really, really like, and I have usually resisted the quilt, thinking it wasn't as cozy.
The first quilt Mom made for me.
Although it's known as the City of Eternal Spring, global climate change and the arrival of big box stores like Walmart and Costco have changed Cuernavaca's climate noticably over the last five years or so. It's just starting to get cold, and very few buildings (mostly just Walmarts, ironically enough) have heating or cooling. I love my house and my family here, but I also miss my mom's handiwork. This winter, I'm craving the dense, dead weight of a thickly batted quilt.
I mentioned in my newsletter that I asked a student "That's not respectful, is it?" This has become my personal teaching mantra. Respect is an idea that seems to be understood at a much earlier age here than in the US, and yet something that is so rarely enacted. Talking about respect has proven my single greatest tool in behavior management both in and outside the classroom. A five-year-old snatches a crayon that doesn't belong to him away from another child. "That's not respectful, is it?" "No, maestra." An eight-year-old is talking loudly in class instead of paying attention. "That's not respectful, is it?" "No, maestra." A pre-teen throws a ball at a toddler to watch them topple. "That's not respectful, is it?" "No, maestra."
There is a four-year-old in the la estación kinder who introduces himself as "Luisito." His enthusiasm for chatting up his classmates is sometimes a source of frustration for us, since his work rarely gets completed, and he's behind his classmates in terms of motor skills, color and letter recognition. But he has one of the best memories I've ever seen; it reminds me of Caleb's movie-quoting. If you say something directly to Luisito, he will remember it. The other day when we were eating our lunches outside, a teenager (who didn't seem to have a connection to any of the kids in the kinder) threw an empty potato chip bag in the middle of the road when he was done eating it. This isn't uncommon in Mexico, and especially not in la estación, but nevertheless, Luisito tore off after him, screaming "¡Éso no es respeto, hombre!" The teen was so surprised by this public outcry that he picked up his trash and put it in a nearby bin. Luisito has a masterful strut for a four-year-old.
This weekend, I got the chance to go make pan de muertos with Anneli and her host family. It was so much fun, both because we got to play with bread dough, and because Anneli's host family reminds me so much of my extended family in North Carolina. It felt surprisingly like home.
Delphilia, trying to show me the right way to shape my hand
so as to make the balls of dough smooth and even.
Anneli wrote a really beautiful post that I hope you'll read about the process and experience. I especially love the final paragraph:
We take home three large cardboard boxes full of bread. Golden brown and colorful, some of it will adorn our Día de los Muertos altar and be an offering to the dead. The rest of it we will share with neighbors and the rest of the extended family, and all will enjoy eating it for the next several weeks. For today, this tradition in honor of the dead has invited us to treasure life and remember those who have died. It has brought together three generations of the living and people and traditions from the north of the United States to the south of Mexico. As far as I can tell, that's what the Day of the Dead is about.
Today, 2 November, was Día de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead. Sam was here visiting after our monthly community gathering (which I was surprised to learn I'm alone in calling "community day," a throwback, I'm sure, to my BSC days), and we visited Ocutupec, a pueblo just north of Cuernavaca that is known for its celebrations on this holiday. Any household that has experienced a death within the last year opens its doors to visitors, who pass by an ofrenda to the deceased, heavy with flowers, littered with candles, and stacked with piles of sweets, breads, favorite foods, soda, and alcohol. Visitors bring a gift of candles or marigolds, the traditional flower of Día de los Muertos, to offer the family. In return, the family offers a snack, most commonly pan de muertos and ponche, a seasonal punch that tastes not unlike cider.
Visiting these ofrendas was such an exciting cultural experience, but also one that made me feel more like a tourist than I usually do. It was sometimes hard to get a feel for what was expected of visitors. Is it okay to take pictures? Should I clap when the mariachi band finishes a song? Is this a party, or a wake? I quickly found that the expectations, and the experience, varied from house to house. Some seemed happy to have so many visitors, honored to be able to offer hospitality, and glad to be celebrating life. Some were obviously still mourning their loss in such a personal way that I felt like an intruder into a very private space. I think it will be a long time before I have fully processed the evening.
Licha, my "mexomom," went to the cemetery yesterday to drop off some flowers, and again this morning, but she invited me to return with her after lunch today. She said the whole family would be there, hanging out for most of the afternoon and evening. I was a little unsure as to whether I would be intruding on an important family event, but I was curious to see a Mexican cemetery, so I agreed.
When we got there, I was surprised that they handed me two small chairs to carry in so we had a place to sit. There were people on the street selling more marigolds and candles. The graves were spaced close together, some at odd angles so as to fit another casket in between existing ones. It was impossible to walk between the graves, but it didn't seem to bother anyone at all to walk right on top of them, as long as they didn't disturb any of the decorations in the process.
Along the way, Licha pointed out her brother, mother, in-laws, cousins, family of her brother-in-law, and a son who died in infancy. She said we were going to sit near her husband's family, because there was more space. All of the graves of "our" family had already been decorated, but I noticed families all around us arranging silk flowers, weeding the top of the graves, and watering the potted marigolds. We greeted aunts and cousins and then sat for a while in contented silence; I remembered visiting my Mawmaw and Pawpaw's graves just before leaving for language school. I felt it should be a somber occasion for reflection and remembering, but the air felt so light, so full of life. Everywhere people were chatting or laughing or singing songs or saying prayers, but no one was crying. No one was kneeling by a grave whispering into the dirt. We were there, in the presence of those who have passed, but our attentions were turned to the living.
As my role of maestra (teacher) is further solidified here, more and more people have started talking to me about the educational system in Mexico. Everyone knows that their children need to go to school, that it's the most important thing they can do to help their kids have a better life. But they also know that their kids hate school, and they're not really learning anything.
I want to start off with a disclaimer and say that I'm working with some of the most under-privileged people of Cuernavaca. I don't know a thing about the schools in other places, or what it's like for wealthier children to attend school. I also know that there have to be good teachers somewhere, because their are highly educated people, but I spend most of my time tutoring kids, not observing teaching methods. That said, these are some of my reflections on what I've seen.
From what I've seen, the developmental milestones which were so helpful to me in my work in Las Cruces, that describe what most children are able to do and understand at different ages, aren't in place as guidelines here. Three-year-olds in the US are encouraged to scribble on blank paper, hopefully in semi-vertical lines. Three-year-olds in Mexico are expected to color neatly within the lines. Most six-year-olds in the US are still learning to write their names. Four-year-olds in Mexico are asked to write theirs without help.
Perhaps the most frustrating thing to me, though, is that pre-school isn't mandatory in Mexico, but the level of knowledge first graders are expected to posses before entering is not only beyond their developmental reach in my opinion, but also impossible to obtain unless they attended pre-school for at least two years. In the US, I think it's hard to deny that children who attend pre-school are ahead of the game. But I also think we try hard not to teach anything essential until the point at which ALL children are attending--early childhood curriculum, while encouraging skills that will enable future learning of reading, science, and math, really tend to lean on motor skills and social development.
I'm thinking, especially, of reading; if, in Mexico, your child doesn't learn to read when they're four, in pre-school, very little is done within the standard school system to make sure they learn how. If your child can't read, your child can't do their homework in any subject, and this line is drawn from the word go. And if your child can't do their work, gets consistently bad grades, and you have little to no time or energy to help them (if you can even read), how will your child feel about school? They're not likely to like it. They're not likely to want to go. They're likely to feel frustration and embarrassment and shame.
I am fully aware that I went to public school in a state with notoriously bad public schools. But I am so grateful for the talented and patient teachers I had (although I also had my share of bad teachers, I think), and that I never had to doubt whether I would have the opportunity to go to school. I ask you to remember that, although I write about Mexico, there are also people in the US who don't have the same opportunities for education that you and I often take for granted. Please, please, support the DREAM Act, which would give undocumented minors who have been in the US for an extended amount of time a chance to go to college. It's not difficult to write a quick letter or email to your representatives, and it makes a huge difference in the outcome of legislation. I definitely don't think that the DREAM Act is perfect, but it's a step in what I consider to be the right direction; it's a step toward realizing the ideals of freedom, liberty, and justice for all.
Some of you know my long-standing avoidance of the Harry Potter series, but I'll briefly explain it here for those who don't know.
I read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone when it first came out, like essentially everyone of my generation, but I wasn't grabbed by it. I only vaguely noticed what a cult phenomenon it was becoming while I was in high school. But when I was studying literature in college, I became increasingly annoyed by the people in my upper level courses, trying to tie every concept to Harry Potter. I'm sorry, but no. Harry Potter is adolescent literature. It's really good adolescent literature, but it still isn't a substitute for Marquez or O'Connor or Camus or Tolstoy. Read a book. This I maintain.
At the same time, I made best friends with a real Harry Potter fan, and I went to see the movies with him. Despite his arguments, I still refused to read the books, but I was intrigued most by his claim that the themes and conflicts get increasingly complex as the characters grow.
So what broke me? During my BSC year, I was really struggling with how awful the world seemed, and I felt like I couldn't read any of the "serious" books I owned. So I borrowed... Twilight. I know. I know. But it was available, and mindless, and I was bored. At the same time, excitement was building for the movie of Harry Potter andthe Half-Blood Prince. We went to the premiere. Despite complaints about the movie's accuracy, I was definitely intrigued by how dark this movie was, by the honestly compelling emotional trauma of characters good and bad. So, I decided that if I could get through Twilight, Harry Potter couldn't be that bad.
Before the spoiler-hiding-cut, I have to say that
Neville is clearly the man!
Also, have you seen a recent picture of Matthew Lewis?
Yowza! Who'dathunkit that he'd ever grow into those teeth!
photo here.
So, now that I'm done, here are some of my thoughts.
**SPOILERS FOLLOW** If you don't want to know some things about the ending, don't read any more! Or don't be mad at me if you ruin it for yourself!
I got mail this week! WAHOO! and what an ordeal it was!
The details are boring. The thrust is this: if you're planning to mail me anything other than a letter (which can be sent through the normal mail fairly safely), use DHL, and make sure it wasn't made in China (I'll have to pay a lot of money to get it) or it isn't food (I may or may not get it, and I may or may not have to pay for it). Also, you should know that my mom is awesome. AND, that's the world's most expensive candy corn and it took me at least 10 pieces to get them stuck on my teeth right. I feel richer and more wasteful than I have since getting here.
I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in under 30 hours of receiving it, and that included two full work days. I... I have too much to say.
I've also been excitedly knitting, since about four skeins of sock weight yarn got through customs. I'm having fun making this pattern for someone, although I have to confess I'm less pleased with the color combination now that I'm mid-project than I was when I picked the yarn out. I think, mostly, because it's one I've used before, and I usually try to be a little more original than that. Oh well. You'll get over it, mystery-gift-recipient ;).
Firstly, I wanted to thank all of you for the many messages of support and concern I got since I last wrote. It means more than words can say to know that you are all thinking of me and my community of service.
I wanted to share that the young woman I wrote about in my last post has been found, dead, in a different part of town. While it's horrible that she was taken from this community, the general feeling is of relief that at least now her body can be at peace, and we can rest in the knowledge of knowing where she is. There have been additional deaths, but Andrea, Fresvinda, and I are agreed that while we're not ready to change my work schedule back, there's still no reason to think I need to be removed from the place entirely.
I had a good conversation with Andrea yesterday in which I was finally able to voice my confusion, indeed my frustration, about my work placement (stick with me here--this is good news). I had hoped I wouldn't have to teach English this year. I had hoped I would be able to work more hands-on in women's issues. I had hoped.... for so much. It's impossible not to romanticize something that doesn't exist yet. I think it's only natural that upon arrival for a year of who-knows-what, we start to think "What am I DOING here?!"
I wrote a lot in my last newsletter about the neighborhood where I spend most of my working hours, la estación. I feel it's important to share a news update, but I first want to stress that I am fine, that there's no reason to think I'm in any more danger now than I was when I first agreed to come to Mexico, and that there are lots of people spending a lot of time thinking about my safety.
The thrust is this: please be praying, in whatever way you can, for the people of this community. For their safety, for their peace, for their restored ability to trust one another, for the opportunity and the challenge we now face: to join one another in the small steps that can better our world.
My friend and fellow YAGM Anneli was kind enough to come to a 5 year old's birthday party with me this weekend. I thought this picture was fantastic and I wanted to share it with you this week. We got covered in confetti, which was annoying at first, but then it suddenly became unbearably funny (mostly because of how much ended up falling down my back and into my pants, I think) and we were scraping it off the table to throw more at each other.
I haven't been taking a bunch of pictures, since I'm still trying to get know people, and I think whipping out my camera separates me from the action of life, but there are a few new things posted on my flickr, mostly of birthday parties.
I've really only been in Mexico a short time, but already I'm feeling like I've been gone for years. Okay, maybe not years, but definitely a long time. Mainly, I'm sure, this is because I kind of missed an entire season already. Admittedly, summer is not at all my favorite season, and I happily spent all but two days of August out of the state of South Carolina--the time when, I'm pretty sure, the Devil himself goes on summer vacation to Richland County, and brings the oppressive, unbearbly-hot, overly-humid climate with him straight from hell. Ask any meteorologist. I'm sure they'll agree.
One of the things I really enjoy about traveling for extended periods of time is the opportunity to spend special occasions outside of my own culture. It's kind of refreshing, and definitely humbling, to realize how little the rest of the world cares about the things that are huge events for us. "Big deal," the world seems to say, "we've got holidays all the time!" Although, I have to confess that the two times I spent Independence Day in Germany were quite different than this year, when I was in Guatemala. In Germany, people are familiar enough with world history to recognize that the day had significance for me, but in Guatemala there was no mention of it whatsoever.
Perhaps more pointedly, I must confess that even I probably wouldn't have noticed the anniversary of 9/11 if it hadn't been from an email I got from ELCA-Global Missions about the proposed Q'uran burning in Florida. I don't mean to say that the day was unimportant. I just mean that I got up that morning and I went to work like everyone else. I'm living in a country, that although it has a love/hate relationship with the country of my birth, it is a primarily Catholic country, a country that's got bigger fish to fry than whether or not the "War on Terror" is justified, a country that honestly cares very little if a radical pastor in Florida decides to set flame to a bunch of books, or if a community center is built in Manhattan.
Sam made these awesome videos for us to share with our friends and family back home, since we thought y'all might like to meet our fellow YAGM-Mexico volunteers. So here they are, my lovely co-YAGMS! Amy Anneli Catherine Kate Sam Polina
We met Reuben when we were visiting Mexico City, and I think he's the coolest. He's a therapist, and some time recently decided to start a public therapy project. Three days a week, he stands on a busy street corner with a dove-shaped sign that says "SMILE--BE HAPPY--HUGS" on one side and "Love and Peace for EVERYONE" on the other and grins at people who walk by. We thought it was such a cool thing to be doing that we went up and talked to him (which was when we got his name and whatnot). He says that a lot of people see his sign or his smile and kind of scowl at him, that so many people--especially in busy places like the Mexico City Zocolo--are in such a rush that they don't take the time to let the therapy work for them. They think he is crazy; I think he is a genius.
I'm off to make a public therapy sign. See you later.
Shortest post ever, probably. I just wanted to let you know that you can read my July/August newsletter over at the LCM-C website. Sorry it's a little late. We're still working on the system for distribution.
Monday, August 23, 2010
I’m sorry for the lack of posts in the last two weeks. This has been my time for a brief return to the US before departing for Mexico, and I have been doing what I can to live into the moment, be present with my friends and family, and focus myself on the year to come.
As of now, I am at YAGM Orientation in Chicago, and it has been unbelievably cool to reconnect with all the people I met at the DIP (interview) event back in April, and to form new relationships with some of the people that I didn’t get a chance to spend time with back then, too. It has been an affirming and loving three days, and I am continually overwhelmed by the excitement that I could not be serving with a more incredible group of people.
Of particular importance to me has been our morning workshops, a series called Packing Your Soul’s Backpack, which relates to some “new” spiritual practices we might want to take with us on our year of service and beyond. The first tool we picked up was Centering Prayer, which I think was difficult for many of my fellow YAGM, but for me finally felt like a worship space I could enter into without hesitation. During the process of applications, interviews, placements, preparations, and now orientation, I have sometimes had to remind myself that our spiritual communities aren’t always what we might first choose for ourselves, and that more important (to me) than sharing creeds or worship practices is forming those communities and living fully in them. But through speaking with Pastor Goinia, our Backpacks presenter, and sharing what has been called “The Quaker Connection” with my fellow YAGM, I’ve slowly been realizing that while I might not be ready to start attending a Lutheran Church again, many of the tools I use to worship can be welcomed resources in Lutheran circles.
My fellow YAGM and the Alum Teams have been asking me thoughtful and thought-provoking questions about my beliefs throughout the week. Yesterday eight (!) YAGM decided to use their last opportunity for Sunday morning worship to attend Quaker Meeting with me in Hyde Park. So cool.
Okay. Back to orientation sessions. I'll try to write again before I depart, but the next time you hear from me I may be in Mexico!!
Sick again. This one’s been a bit more of an ordeal.
I will say again that I don’t recommend getting sick in a foreign country as a new hobby for anyone, but I’ve gotten sick in several different countries, and I have to say that Guatemala is not at all the worst. In fact, despite the draw-back that you’re more likely to get repeatedly sick here than in Germany, I’ve really been more satisfied with the kind of good-natured, gentle care I’ve received here, in contrast to the gruff, matter-of-fact professionals of modern Europe. Plus, antibiotics are super cheap here, and even something simple like ibuprofen is expensive enough to justify taking out a second mortgage on your home in Germany.
Let me apologize, as well, for allowing this blog to morph into something that primarily has to do with my illnesses. I don't know exactly what makes me think this is the best thing to write about. Maybe it's just because if I didn't write about being sick, all I'd have to tell you is that Spanish classes are going well. I started taking weaving classes this week, too, and I love that more than I could have imagined. I've also I've been watching TV to keep myself in bed (I’m out of books again), and the Simpsons are hard to understand. I went to the Chichicastenango market last weekend, and it was really crowded, but kind of a cool experience. been able to get to know the family of my weaving teacher, which has been interesting. One of her daughters is an English teacher, and I’m going to visit her class on Monday night. Less than a week remains of my time in Guatemala. I’m tired and ready to come home for orientation, but I’ll also miss this place in a way I don’t think even I understand yet.
These things don't seem like exciting things, to me. But if you don't want to read this nonsense, I understand. I'm doing much better now, and things, overall, and going great.
Since you already know the general process of going to the health department, I’ll save you the details of the ailment and the journey. I’ll just say that last Sunday, I got stuck out in what was undoubtedly the strongest downpour I’ve seen in a depressingly rainy five weeks, and at one point I was wading through the knee-high river that had taken over the street. I had my umbrella with me, but it did little to protect me from the rain splashing upward. Perhaps the only thing that kept me in a halfway-good mood in that situation was the guy that passed me, without an umbrella but just as dry, and shared the worst Forrest Gump impression I’ve ever heard: sometimes rain even seems to come straight up from underneath!
I didn’t think a lot about this adventure, but I guess the dampness that persisted through my dinner and the cold that set in that night after the storm was enough to knock me off balance. I have been in an American Gladiator style fight to the death with this nasty flu bug that has made three rounds at the school. So far, I was the clear champion. But oh, how I got double teamed by that little guy and the rain.
Monday during the day I felt a little congested, but didn’t put too much thought into it. But by Monday night, I couldn’t sleep for the insane, hallucination-producing fever that kept my whole body shaking and my teeth rattling despite the three wool blankets I hijacked from my host family’s beds. I don’t remember much, but I’m pretty sure at some point, I was using the tassels on my bedspread to say the rosary (I’ve been reading a book about a catholic family. Don’t judge.), and my umbrella was talking to me in Mary Poppins’ voice. Occasionally, the physical sensation of the fever would break, and I’d jump out of bed happily, convinced it was all a very bad dream, but then go running into the bathroom and remember that this was real. Very real. And the night was only halfway over.
Tuesday at breakfast, I wasn’t hungry and I clearly wasn’t in any condition to go to class. Rosa called the school and I went back to bed. By the afternoon, I had slept as much as I could, and I was fighting the boredom that was trying to convince me to go walking around town. “You’ll feel better!” it insisted. I wouldn’t. After a lunch of get-well-soup that Rosa so kindly cooked for me, but I still didn’t want to eat, she convinced me to go to the health department again. The doctor was nice enough (he even spoke a little English, and happily helped me look up the words I wasn’t understanding in my dictionary), but the news that I had a throat infection, a kidney infection, and an intestinal infection—this most likely due to some variety of irritating parasite—was not welcome.
Pause. Do you remember when I got stung by the bee in Germany and my foot swelled up until I couldn’t wear shoes or walk? Steffi took me to the doctor after three days then, worried that the swelling wasn’t going down, despite our treatments (cold water and onions). But my German wasn’t perfect at that point, and when the doctor said, “Well, thankfully, it doesn’t look like you have an infection…” I only heard “infection,” and I freaked out. So, when this doctor said the word parásito, I checked my fear, laughed, and double-checked: “But at least I DON’T have a parasite, right?”
“No. Sorry. I can’t be sure without sending samples to the lab, but most likely… well, we usually see this kind of thing in touristas who have contracted parasites.” In my mind, I can see myself wading through that water on Sunday night. I think about all the stray dogs, and the dismal state of sanitation in San Pedro. I think I’m going to puke. I’m not sure if it’s because of my train of thought, or my friend, who I have since named Manuel.
Yes. I named it. Yes. Manuel.
So, the doctor gave me a variety of antibiotics, decongestants, pain relievers, fever reducers, re-hydrators, and whatnot (yes, you read that right, he GAVE them to me. For free.), a complicated schedule of when to take them—some every four hours, some every six, some every eight, some every twelve—and sent me on my merry way, saying my prayers that he didn’t suspect dengue (there has been a recent outbreak in Guatemala, and a couple cases in the district. I was nervous.). Wednesday I went back to class because I was just too bored to stay in bed any longer. I also started taking weaving lessons. But all week, I’ve been going to bed around 8, or, honestly, earlier, and walking very slowly, taking breaks on the big hills I had just gotten used to climbing without getting out of breath.
And so, Manuel. As in:
“Hey, Kat, do you want to go get a beer after class?”
“Man! Well, I want to, but I can’t drink on these antibiotics.”
Or:
“Hey, Kat, are you going to salsa lessons tonight?”
“Aww maaaan. Well the thing is I’m just worn out and me and my parasite, Manuel, are going to bed early.”
I hope he goes away soon. I’m tired of him. I’m also tired of pedialyte, which tastes like warm milk here, and I don’t think is doing anything to make me feel better.
I'm sorry. I have very little in the way of adventures to write about today. The only thing I did other than go to class this week was go kayaking to San Marcos on Saturday morning, and that was pretty uneventful. I feel like I just talked about it in great detail, really, just telling you that there was a kayak and some water involved. I'm sunburned, despite my sunscreen.
What I do have to share, however, is some fantastically good news. I got my work placement for Cuernavaca! YAYYYYYYYYYYYY! I'll be working at La Estación Kinder and Community Center as well as Casa Tatic. Five mornings a week I'll be at La Estación, starting with the breakfast program at the Community Center. Three mornings a week, I'll work in the Kinder program, most likely teaching English in all the classes, but possibly also working on reading skills one-on-one. The other two mornings I'll remain in the Community Center with the mothers who work to keep the center running. The work in this part will vary greatly.
Each week I'll eat my lunches with a family involved in the La Estación programs. I'm especially excited about this part, since it will really provide me with time to get to know the people of the neighborhood. Two afternoons a week I will return to La Estactión and offer workshops. I have a lot of flexibility as far as this is concerned, including having the option to offer them myself or find presenters to come in to the center. During this time I might be working with kids or adults.
The remaining three afternoons each week will be at Casa Tatic. The details here are also fairly open, but Casa Tatic has a special focus on teaching computer skills to the children that are involved in their programs. I could also be working one-on-one reading skills here, or as a teaching assistant. One day a week I should be able to work with the mothers, who are provided with time and space to practice handicrafts they can sell to support their families.
Welp, that's pretty much all I've got. Hope you're having a great week.
This past weekend, I went on my first excursion with the language school. Kanopy. AKA Ziplines. It was... interesting.
I've seen pictures and heard stories about some of my friends doing this before when they visited places with really intense mountains and/or rainforests. It was one of those things that always kind of terrified me, but I also kind of always wanted to do--or at least be able to say that I had done. 150Q seemed like an entirely reasonable price for putting my life in danger, so I decided, what the heck. There's no time like the present.
We left the school Saturday morning at 7am. While I am usually up by 6:30am here (San Pedro, while it seems to be a sleepy little town, does not have much respect for people who actually sleep during the night), 7am is much earlier than I ever have to be anywhere. I was not super psyched about this part. But I made it, and my fellow students and I stood around comparing sleepiness for a little while before Mynor told us it was time to go get in the car.
Perhaps I should take a moment to talk about transportation in San Pedro. Cars and drivers licenses are very expensive here. Most Guatemaltecas I've talked to have never driven a car, and don't even really like riding in cars. Therefore, the people who do have/can drive cars are in a great position of power. Most people in San Pedro walk most of the places they need to go. If they happen to have a lot of stuff to carry or they're in a very big hurry, they have two options. The most commonly used is the tuk-tuk I wrote about in my last post. If you can imagine that a moped and a go-cart had a baby, you might have a good idea of what these look like: one front wheel, centrally positioned driver, cramped backseat with a low ceiling, and generally covered in whatever stickers and decals the driver/owner could get his hands on. The second, less common but more durable option is the pick-up. It's a very complicated Spanish word that roughly translates to pick-up in English. That's right. Pick-up trucks with a metal frame around the bed and flashing blue lights cruise around and take people in between towns, up and down the mountain, to the campo, etc. It was this second option that was our "car" to the zipline.
So all 11 of us pile in to the bed of this pick-up and hang on for dear life since we immediately start driving up one of the biggest hills in San Pedro. We rode up the mountain in the back of this thing for about an hour and a half, excepting the 15 minutes when we had to get out and walk up an especially steep hill because there were too many of us for the truck (which seemed to be surprisingly low on horsepower considering its vocation) to handle carrying. By the time we got to the zipline, I was feeling pretty ill.
We get out, admire the view of the lake for a little bit--which, I must confess, was really incredible--and then head up to the office. We get on our gear and start hiking. It takes about fifteen minutes to get to the first line. Essentially, they hook you up to this wheeling contraption that glides over a cable and you step off the face of the rock. The first line was really awesome. My feet almost touched the tops of the trees the whole way across, and I felt like I was flying... for about 25 seconds. After a terrifying stop by a guy with tire rubber wrapped around the cable, I laughed like a maniac for about three whole minutes. Luckily, everyone seemed to have the same reaction.
Another hike, since the second line is higher up, takes about 25 minutes (at least for me, because 3,000meters is really high elevation for an east coast girl who's badly out of shape). I'm severly nervous about this next line, because I can tell just by the hill we walked up that we have to be much much further from the other end of the cable. I elect to be the last to go. I get hooked up and I think the operator had to tell me three times to step down onto the platform before I actually did it because I was thinking don'tletmediedon'tletmediedon'tletmedie so loudly in my own head that I didn't know he was talking to me. The second line, I am told, takes just under a minute to cross. It seemed like much longer. The platform is well in the trees, although you can see that the trees eventually drop off, but when you reach the .7second point and the trees around you actually do suddenly go away, it's quite unexpected. For the next 55 seconds, there is nothing between you and the tree tops but hundreds and hundreds of feet of air. I will confess that it was really exciting, and a beautiful view. But it was also terrifying.
I'm barely unhooked from the line, and still shaking like a leaf when the guide from the other platform comes zipping across himself, casually breaking and gliding to a stop like it's no big deal at all to fly across a valley. We take an insanely quick group picture. Hike back over to the lodge. Return our gear. Get in the truck. Head back down.
If I thought I was feeling ill on the way up the mountain, I was mistaken. Maybe I had waited too long before eating the breakfast my host mom so kindly packed for me. Maybe the adrenaline did gross things to my stomach. Maybe standing in the back of a pickup truck flying down a mountain in neutral is a dangerous and barf-producing way to travel. But I barely made it back to San Pedro without losing it all over myself and my friends in the back of a pickup truck. I went back to bed.
I haven't talked to my parents about this yet. Hopefully they won't be too mad to read it before they hear my voice and know I'm okay. I AM OKAY. I tried to call you guys, but you didn't pick up. Totally not my fault.
I got sick.
I'm not sure how.
I spent most of Saturday afternoon walking around with Teagan and Oli, enjoying the nice weather that had been avoiding us for so long. We ate out lunch, but it was a restaurant I had been to before, and I ate all the same things as before. Saturday night I had planned to meet Teags and Oli, as well as some friends from the language school at the pub.
I noticed that I was a little itchy when I lay down for a nap, but there are a lot of bugs around, so I didn't think about it. After about five minutes, I couldn't sit still anymore. I itched. Everywhere. I had broken out in hives like never ever before. Even my eyelids were swolen and itchy. I figured I got bit by something a little more irritating, ditched my plan to go out, took a benadryl and went to bed. Around 1am, I woke up, itchy again, and unable to use my hands. They were so swolen I couldn't touch any of my fingers to my thumb. I could feel that my eyes were more swolen than before, as well, and my lips felt like they were going to pop right open. Somehow I managed to take another benadryl and went back to sleep.
When I get up in the morning (around 8am), the swelling had spread to my feet as well. I freakout, but luckily Dan, the guy who was living in the room next to mine, comes over to say hey. He gets Doña Rosa for me. She asks me what I ate or did the day before to cause this and I tell her I didn't know. I think she is just going to shrug and walk away, because Sunday is the day they're all supposed to have off, both in the school and in the host families. Dan tries to tell me that everybody gets sick when they travel and this isn't a big deal. He says he'll go get breakfast if I want, or go with to the doctor. After a while, Doña Rosa comes back to my room and says she couldn't get anyone from the school on the phone, but to get ready to go to the doctor. She, Dan, & I pile in a tuk-tuk, the tiny tricycle-style taxis that zip around the city. The doctor at the health department confirms that I am having an alergic reaction, and not, as I feared, a recurrence of rheumatic fever, but since we don't know the cause she would just get me a shot to take care of everything, and hopefully it won't happen again. At least the visit is free.
So, Doña Rosa, Dan, & I pile back into a tuk-tuk and go to the pharmacia, where a guy not wearing gloves tries to give me a shot from across the counter until Doña Rosa insists that I be allowed to sit down. Back in the tuk-tuk again, and I go straight to bed as soon as we get home. After about an hour, Doña Rosa comes to my door with soup (even though she isn't supposed to cook for me on Sunday) saying I need to get better. When I wake up four hours later, I don't itch anymore, but my hands and feet are still swolen. I'm sick of being in bed. I spend less than an hour sitting on my front stoop, in which time pretty much every member of Doña Rosa's family comes by to check on me. They all ask if I went swimming, or drank water from the tap, or bought drugs in the street. I think this illness has solidified my position in the family.
A few more hours pass, and Dan takes me back up to the pharmacia for the second shot, even though he moved out of the house and has no obligation to help me. He translates, haggles a cheaper price for the tuk-tuk we decide to take because of the rain, confirms for the millionth time that the needle, at least, is a new and clean one, gets me a receipt for the sketchiest medical care I've ever received, jokes with the pharmacist, and is just generally the nicest person I think I've ever met. I thank him, but not enough times.
This morning, the visible swelling is gone, but I can still feel the stiffness when I try to make a fist or walk. I thank Doña Rosa again (and again not enough) for going to the doctor with me, and for the soup. She asks (for the fifth time) if I ate all the soup. She says, gesturing between herself and Domingo, that while I am living here, they are my parents, and most important to her is that her children are healthy and happy. She asks if I want more coffee.
I made it to Guatemala! I had a little bit of a hassle with delayed and cancelled flights, but I arrived in San Pedro la Laguna in one piece, if a little tired.
I am taking 6 hours of Spanish courses a day. My teacher uses a very conversational style of instruction, which I really like because it gives me a lot of practice. Vocabulary is coming slowly, but my grammar has improved vastly already. I look forward to the next five weeks. The grounds of the school are absolutely incredible. We have a great view of the lake from the office area, and instruction takes place in little thatch roofed huts in the garden. I'm surrounded by flowers and cacti and coffee trees.
I'm living with a family in San Pedro. Rosa is the mother, who spends all day cooking and cleaning and generally caring for us and her children. She and Domingo have three sons living at home, ranging in age from 16 to 22. Their two daughters don't live at home right now. One is studying nursing in Xela, and the other lives in San Pedro with her husband and 1 year old daughter. My room opens up on to the garden, which is full of avocado trees; we eat fresh guacamole almost every day. Beyond the street in front is an awesome view of the mountains to the east. When I walk out into the street, the hill slopes down to the lake. It's beautiful. I'm in heaven. That is, I would be if it would stop raining. The mornings are usually somewhat cloudy--sunny but cold if we're lucky--but in the afternoons it rains without exception.
I would love to write a more in-depth entry today, but I don't have the time. Teagan, one of my roommates from Border Servant Corps, is in town, and I have lunch plans with her and her boyfriend. Maybe I will make it back down tomorrow, but if not, until next week know that I am safe and having fun and learning MUCHO!
I should go on and say, I haven't put things in suitcases yet. I'm having trouble--a lot of trouble--looking at eight pairs of shoes and thinking they'll be enough. But I'm getting closer. This list is what I have decided I will need. It's possible that my suitcase will have slightly different contents, but hopefully not to the point of having more... things. I also want to note that this is the packing list for the year in Mexico. In Guatemala, I'm a lot less concerned with looking like a tourist and/or a bum. I will most definitely be taking more casual clothes (and less of them!) and hardly any accessories.
socks
undies
casual skirt
casual skirt
dressy dress
dressy dress
1 pair shorts
jeans
jeans
jeans
1 pair khakis
1 pair capris
1 nice pant/skirt
1 nice top
tank top
tank top
long sleeve tee
long sleeve tee
1 sweatshirt
1 sweater
nice tee
nice tee
nice tee
nice tee
light jacket
light jacket
1 pair sweatpants
1 lounge pant
pj shirt
pj shirt
workout top
workout top
workout pant
workout pant
bummin around shirt
rain jacket
bathing suit
1 backpack
1 nice purse
casual purse (small)
casual purse (large)
1 tote bag
1 light scarf
1 medium scarf
1 warm scarf
1 belt
wallet
watch
umbrella
mascara (1)
eyeliner (1)
concealer
lipstick
lipstick
chap stick (1)
eyeshadow (1)
hand salve
sunscreen
lotion
brush
comb
hair elastics
bobby pins
shampoo
face wash
deodorant
tweezers
hiking boots
running shoes
casual shoes
casual shoes
nice sandals
casual sandals
dress shoes
house shoes
iPod
stationery (1 set)
photos of home
jewelry (1 box)
sunglasses
füller
pen
pencil
sharpie
knitting needles
crochet hooks
yarn (1 small tote)
camera
computer
external hard drive
journal
cell phone (to be purchased in Mexico)
books (2 for fun, Span/Eng dictionary, Mexico guidebook, Bible)
sleeping bag
pocket knife
alarm clock
dvds (1 zip up case - 12 disks)
day planner
measuring cups
reusable water bottle
The Essentials & Incidentals List:
toothbrush & toothpaste
contact lenses, case, & solution
glasses
prescriptions
soap
hand sanitizer
small first aid kit (anti-histamine, motion sickness prevention, & ibuprofen)
So, here's the list of "rules" I've developed for myself so far. A lot of this, honestly, looks just like Guy Named Dave's. What can I say? The man knew what he was doing. Final packing list comes on Wednesday at the latest.
Philosophical Goal: to reduce my need to keep impractical items, and my impulse to acquire new things. Tangible Goal: to live with only 100 personal items for a year. "Personal items" are things that are entirely or mostly mine and cannot be defined as "absolute essentials." • I will be honest with myself about what "absolute essentials" are. This list will be small, and fixed. It includes my toothbrush, contact lenses and glasses, and soap. "Absolute essentials" is not synonymous with "personal hygiene items." In short, "absolute essentials" are those items which would impair my bodily well-being if I didn't have access to them on any given day. For example, this category does not include a razor, makeup, or any clothing, although the general category of "clothing" is, in my opinion, essential; if I could go three days without it, it's not essential. It does not include anything that has emotional value. • I will count some things as groups. In order to be eligible for grouping, the members of that group must be interchangeable. For example, underwear and socks are okay, but not shirts that need to be matched. My library counts as one item out of necessity (it would be out of control to count them all), but I will sort through the books I've been hanging on to and get rid of those I have actually read all the way through, but haven't re-read. I will allow myself access to the books I already own (my parents have agreed to ship me books throughout the year), but I can only have access to five at a time, while the others should be given away or put back in storage. Jewelry will also be included in this category initially, but I will try to be honest with myself about why it is I am still keeping the jewelry I have--because I actually wear it, because it has sentimental value, or just because--and gradually weed that collection out. • I will not acquire new things, except as replacements for something old or broken. I will think carefully about purchases before I make them. If I get new things, I have to throw something away before I can have/use it.
BUT THERE'S MORE! The real danger I face every time I move somewhere is not even the things I take with me. Worse still are all the things I've left in storage for years and years. So, I'm working on leaving fewer things here. Helping with that is that my parents are redecorating the room I usually leave my things in. So here are the plans for what I'll leave behind: • I can keep one bin of clothes that still fit, but I won't be taking to Mexico. • I can keep one bin of clothes that don't fit. If these clothes don't fit when I return in August, I will give them away. If I don't wear them by six months from then, I will give them away. • I cannot keep any toiletries or cosmetics in storage. If I don't need it for a year, I don't want it ever. • I can keep one bin of books. Yes: This is going to be hard. Yes: It will be a big bin. • I can keep one bin of items with emotional value. • I can keep three bins of craft supplies. • I can keep two bins of housewares (dishes, bedding, towels, etc). • I can keep one bin of miscellaneous items/kitsch/decroations.
Okay, so these were awesome goals, until I realized that there was a black hole in my parents' closet where my stuff was stored. The rules above do apply to the things that are in my apartment currently, but if I don't have time to sort everything that is already in storage bins, it's okay. Or rather, I would prefer to put it in storage and spend my time with the people I love instead of looking at things that I'll probably end up throwing out, so I'm not going to be as strict with myself as I might've hoped to be. I have already done a marvelous job, imho, of putting things in the "get rid of it" pile, however. It's possible that I won't have a lot more than this, even if I'm not trashing the things that were at my parents' house. The biggest thing is the box of junk I kept from high school, and I have a sneaking suspicion I'm not emotionally ready to sort through that box anyway.
I think I may have posted about the 100 Thing Challenge on here before, but I hope you'll forgive me for repeating myself. If you haven't heard about it, here's a summary from the Guy Named Dave website:
The goal of the 100 Thing Challenge is to break free from the confining habits of American-style consumerism. A lot people around the world feel "stuck in stuff." They feel like their closets and garages are too full of things that don't really make their lives much better. But how to get unstuck? Reduce (get rid of some of your stuff) Refuse (to get more new stuff) Rejigger (your priorities) I totally believe that living without abundance of personal possessions for an extended period of time is the first step we ought to take in order to realize that we don't need ever-more stuff. If you do this -- if you will give up your stuff for a while -- I am sure you'll never go back. You'll spend the rest of your life creating a more valuable life, instead of wasting your money and time on stuff. You will be glad. And best of all, the people around you will be blessed by your efforts to prioritize more meaningful pursuits. Goal: I will live with only 100 personal things for one full year. Rules: Remember, this is my 100 Thing Challenge. I get to set the rules and decide when a rule can be stretched or outright broken. Basically I'm going by the spirit of the challenge not the letter of the challenge.
My preoccupation with keeping things has become somewhat of a joke among my family members--although one look at my grandmother's house or my mother's "sewing room" proves I come by it honestly. And while I do struggle every day to throw even the least important things away (movie tickets from first dates of ill-fated relationships, receipts from groceries long ago consumed, class notes from courses dropped mid-semester, and the list goes on), I also realize how much having these things hinders my ability to live my life the way I'd like to.
I move a lot. I usually end up moving back to Clemson. And every time I come back to Clemson, I pull all of my things out of the closet and out of the boxes and I look at all those things that I haven't looked at in a long time. I can't throw them away. I usually either put them back in a different box, or they sit on the shelf and I still don't use them. It's pointless. So, I'm going to use this year to force myself to change. This move isn't like moving to Las Cruces. I've got to fly internationally and I've got to move in with a complete family I don't know. So, I'm going to pare down.
I just got my recommended packing list from GM this morning. I'm taking today to continue packing things I know I won't be taking to Mexico. In the remainder of the week I'm going to compare their packing list with the "1ooTC" list I had developed for myself, and figure out what parts of my rules are realistic and where I need to give a little. This weekend I'm going to actually put things into suitcases to see how they fit, and at that point I will be posting another post with my rules and my list, if you're interested.
Just wanted to remind everyone who lives in/near Clemson that there will be hot dogs available at University Lutheran Church after both services this Sunday. Heather and I will both have little booths set up with information about our placements and it'll be a great time to visit with everyone. I know it's also Father's Day. While you're more than welcome to take a seat in the fellowship hall and eat your lunch with your family, to-go orders will also be available for those who'd like to go on home. Either way, we hope you'll stop by for a little bit, even if only to say hello.
"I have always felt a deep inclination to serve others," said Doidge, a member of St. James Lutheran Church, Portland. "I want to do something more hands-on, engage in a more fulfilling task. I feel that it's time. Going abroad with YAGM focuses on leading a life of purpose, finding a place in the world. "Living in a city like Portland I've encountered homelessness, mental illness and other social problems. I'm interested in experiencing how the church works to combat social problems," said Doidge. "There are people who have basic needs to be fulfilled, like finding shelter. That is starting to become more important in my mind than identifying a new paint color," she said. "I want to work with people and hear their stories."
Here's a link to a story from ELCA News about YAGM, including some comments from my co-missionaries, if you're interested.
or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the... Church.
I had a couple interesting conversations at work last night, and I figure the topic warrants a blog post. I should probably say, for those that aren't aware, that although South Carolina law says there's no such thing as a bar in our state, I work in a bar. Lucky for me, it's a beer bar--which means, thanks to prohibitive cost & a limited availability of things that taste suspiciously like water, we don't get a lot of undergrads--but we're frequented by professors and undergrads, and not a lot of church goers.
I'd also like to preface this post by saying that these reflections are representative of mypersonal experiences and feelings, and they're not intended to offend in any way. I welcome your comments and feedback as long as they're presented respectfully. Please remember that we can have different and yet equally valid viewpoints.
I'm not unlike a lot of PKs (Pastor's Kids) in that I have tried my darnedest to run, not walk, away from the Church. Admittedly, not all of my dissatisfaction was because of my parents' careers, but that's a subject for another time. The point is, I don't think I've told anyone "I'm a Christian" since I was in high school. I'm someone who is comfortable talking about things I don't understand, as long as they're related to facts. I'm not comfortable with talking about things like faith, or prayer, or, especially, calling. I'm really not comfortable talking about salvation. Most of the relationships I've formed as a young adult are reflective of this aversion. I know a lot of scientists, a lot of activists, and very few tithers. So, when I signed up to be a missionary, I had to think about how to tell people that.
Back to the bar. We had a fundraiser last week, and it was incredibly well attended, but there's no telling if people wanted to support my year in Mexico or if they just wanted to drink some beer. Last night, a couple of our regulars who know me fairly well were asking whether I had any new news. Another guy (who I can call by name, but I know essentially nothing else about him) was standing near by, and asked, "Wait, what're you going to do in Mexico?" Because I was in the middle of a sentence, I just said, "I'm going to be a Missionary." He gave me a really surprised look. An anxious look. I said, "Not the converting-the-heathens kind. The providing-social-service kind." Later, he asked me again, "You're sure you won't go running around proselytizing?" Only after many promises did he hand me a donation.
A lot of things happened at the YAGM discernment event to help me feel more comfortable with calling myself a "missionary" for a year. Not least of which was the discussion we had on accompaniment, the model for mission currently in use by the ELCA. In brief, I remember Rev. Rafael Malpica Padilla using the parable of the lost sheep as an illustration. The traditional model for mission (think of The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver or The Mission starring Robert DeNiro and Jeremy Irons) essentially says, "God is on my side, and you are the lost sheep. You are the one crying for help, and God has sent me here to bring you back to the flock." Accompaniment, in contrast, says that it is only when we understand that God is in all of us and all of us are of God can our experience of the Holy be complete (this, by the way, is very similar to the Quaker principle of the Light Within). There are not two separate relationships we're seeking to maintain, but rather three balanced parts of one relationship: you, me, and God.
Rev. Rafael Malpica Padilla reminded us that we are not shepherds. It is not our responsibility to seek out the lost lamb. We are the 99 sheep who are actively listening for the voice of the Shepherd and trying to follow him. We are less than whole when our brothers and sisters aren't walking in partnership with us and God.
On the one hand, I don't blame the guy from the bar. I wouldn't give someone money if I thought it was going to be used so they could stand on street corners and scream the truth of the Lord Almighty when their message flies in the face of people's real experience. But I also don't understand why we, who are believers of one sort or another, have such little patience with different expressions of belief. I mean, I really don't think throwing Bibles in people's faces or embarrassing them is the best way to share faith, but I don't believe the world would be better if we were all faithless. I am still struggling with being labeled "missionary." I still worry about what assumptions people will make if I call myself a "Christian." But for now, all I can do is walk in the hopes that someone will walk up beside me and hold my hand.
Thanks so much to everyone who came out to the beer tasting on Tuesday night! It was a success, in my opinion, and I think--I hope--everyone had fun. Anyway, I just wanted to share two recipes from the evening. I'm glad that the black bean hummus I made was a hit, and Kenny's "Cracked out Crackers" are probably the best thing ever, and they're both super easy recipes. So here ya go.
Kat's Black Bean Hummus
1 15oz can each chickpeas & black beans
3 cloves garlic
1 Tbsp olive oil
2 Tbsp lemon juice
2 tsp cumin
1 Tbsp dried parsley
1 Tbsp fresh cilantro
Process spices, garlic, olive oil, & lemon juice as finely as possible. Then add beans a little at a time. Don't rinse the beans, or your hummus will be too dry. In fact, I'd save some of the water in the cans in case it's too dry anyway. That way, you can make it the exact texture you like.
Kenny's "Cracked out Crackers"
1 1/3 c canola oil
1 pkg dry ranch (1 oz)
2 tsp crushed red pepper
2 tsp cayenne pepper
4 sleeves saltine crackers
Put all ingredients except crackers into a 2 gallon ziplock bag and shake until fully mixed. Then add all four sleeves crackers to the bag and shake gently until fully coated. Let sit in the bag for two hours or so. When you take the crackers out of the bag, they should be pretty much dry. Just throw them in whatever serving tray you'd like. Yep. I know. No baking. It's crazy. But it's true.
A couple people pointed out that I forgot to tell you where to send money on the last post. To receive a receipt for your tax-deductible donation make your check payable to Lutheran Campus Ministry at Clemson, PO Box 1337 Clemson, SC 29633. Please remember to put "Kat - YAGM" in the memo line. I also wanted to let you know that the tavern where I work is hosting a beer tasting for me tomorrow night. It's going to be a total blast. I hope, if you're any where near Clemson (or if you feel like a weekday road trip), you might come by.
Oh the Places Beer Tasting Tuesday, 25 May, from 5:30-8:30 P.M. @ Nick's Tavern & Deli 107-2 Sloan Street, Clemson
FEATURING: Romulan Ale, Guatemala Tusker Premium Lager, Africa Negra Modelo Amber Lager, Mexico Xingu Black Lager, Brazil Mönchshof Schwarzbier, Germany Coast HopArt IPA, South Carolina Fuller's London Porter, Great Britain Bell’s Kalamazoo Stout , Michigan Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar, Oregon Highland Seven Sisters Abbey Style Ale, North Carolina Dogfish Head Midas Touch Ancient Ale, Delaware
Prices include finger foods, a tasting glass from Foothills Brewing and 3 oz. tasters $25 for all eleven beers ~ $15 for any six beers
"Why these places?" you may ask. The beers we've chosen for this tasting represent some of the countries and states where I have lived, plus a couple of my favorite beers. The profits from this Beer Tasting will help raise funds for my stipend and in support of the Young Adults in Global Mission program.
I’m excited to have accepted a year-long missions position with Young Adults in Global Mission (YAGM) in Mexico. YAGM is a project of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) for young adults aged 19-30 to participate in a year of service around the world. This August, I will depart to the city of Cuernavaca, which is about an hour south of Mexico City. Nicknamed the “City of Eternal Spring,” Cuernavaca is best known as a vacation spot for the most affluent of Mexicans & many famous Americans as well. However, in order to support tourism and resort living, there are many who flock to the city in hopes of opportunity, only to find themselves in desperate need of the most basic human services. I will be joining a team of six Young Adults who will be carrying out the Church’s mission with these children of God.
I have agreed to give a year of my life to work with this project. I am asking you to help the Church fund the work we will be doing. The total cost of a YAGM year is $10,000—only $30 per day. Over $6,000 of this cost is provided by the ELCA, while my commitment is to raise $4,000 toward supporting the program before I leave in August. Please consider sponsoring a day on your birthday, anniversary, or perhaps a day in the life of someone else you know who shares my passion for caring for others.
I will be entering the community of Cuernavaca in order to explore with the people there how my gifts might best be put to use there. This year’s YAGM will be involved with a variety of issues, including domestic violence, drug rehabilitation, financial empowerment, wheelchair accessibility, and education. More information about the Young Adults in Global Mission Program can be found at the Global Missions website.
Two events will be taking place in Clemson in order to gather together prior to my departure. Tuesday, May 25ththere will be a special beer tasting at Nick’s Tavern & Deli from 5:30-8:30pm. On June 20th, University Lutheran will host a hot dog lunch after the 11am worship service. Donations received prior to this date will be eligible for a 1-to-1 matching grant from Thrivent Financial for Lutherans. I hope you will be able to join me on one or both of these occasions.
Please continue to keep my family, my host community, and me in your thoughts and prayers, as I’m sure this experience will contain ups and downs for us all. You can continue to contact me by email now and during my time in Cuernavaca. You can also keep up with me via this blog, or by signing up for my newsletter mailing list. If you have questions about any of these, please leave a comment below including your contact information.
I recently had the opportunity to meet the wonderful collection of 43 gifted and passionate young adults who will likewise be leaving their homes in August. I am honored to be included in this impressive Global Missions team. I hope you will also join in the partnership with us by offering your prayers, posting comments on our blogs, and offering whatever financial gifts you are able. Thank you.
