Messiness

Greetings from Guatemala. Once again, it’s been many weeks since I’ve been able to write. Things have been busy, messy, difficult, sad, painful, joyful, and hopeful, not necessarily in that order.

This past week I made the difficult decision to leave Kano’j earlier than I had originally planned. There are things about my experience here that have been more unpleasant and unhealthy than they should have been. I have been in a “troubled” emotional state for a while, and have finally realized that I need to remove myself from the project in order to take care of myself properly. Next week I will be leaving for San Antonio, where I’ll stay for a few weeks. I will then stay in Wisconsin until July 7^th, when I’ll return to Guatemala to tie up loose ends at Kano’j and then move to the capital.

I feel relieved to have made a decision. While it will be difficult to leave the kids behind, I know this is the right thing to do.

Here is a quick summary of what has been going on with the kids the past month:

Josefa sprained her ankle really badly in gym class, doing a human pyramid. I am of the opinion that they do too many unnecessarily risky things in gym here. Sprained ankles are always a pain, literally and figuratively, but Josefa’s was exceptionally difficult. Because the girls’ house is up a very bumpy hill from the boys, it was very hard for her to get around. Almost four weeks later, she is finally able to walk without crutches.

A few days after the sprained ankle incident, Vilma was accidentally pushed into a wall and smacked her wrist hard. The tissues surrounding her bone immediately swelled up, so I took her to the hospital fearing another break. It turned out to be an unnecessary visit as there was nothing wrong. I was thankful and a little embarrassed that as a first-aid instructor I failed to properly check for a fracture.

Just before I wrote this, I heard one of the girls hopping on one foot outside my room and I cringed when she knocked. Sure enough, we have another sprained ankle, this time Jackaline. It doesn’t look to be too severe though, thankfully.

The girls have suddenly taken an interest in beading. They are making mounds of bracelets, necklaces and earrings. Despite their complaints about sore eyes and cramped fingers, I practically had to drag them away from it last night to get them to go to bed.

We girls spent last Saturday morning going on a shopping spree! Each girl got a new corte, a traditional Mayan skirt. There was also enough money to buy each a new traditional blouse, and some bought a faja, the embroidered belt used to hold up cortes. When I announced that we would be going shopping for these things, they screamed and hugged for a whole minute. They were so happy. All the cortes and blouses have to be hemmed or made, but I will take a picture of them as soon as I can.

Thank you so much to my friends Kristin Ciezki and Vishwa P, and GOMAD, the student council of Saint Joan Antida High School for raising funds for the clothing. Your generosity sent a message to the girls that they matter. They are greatly appreciative of the time and effort you put into caring for them, and send a big, big ¡MUCHAS GRACIAS!

After shopping, the girls and I went swimming and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly, although three of the four are still very scared of the water. I promised to jump off the rather high diving platform in order to convince them to let go of the wall. I did it, but couldn’t get myself to dive off it (the lifeguard in me rationalized that it was much too shallow). Truly, I was scared of diving from that height, and I always have been. Having an obvious fear like shoved in my face was humbling but empowering at the same time. I began to think a lot about fear in general, and the fears I have successfully faced or ran from this year. Much more to think about.

Something that has been consuming a lot of my time this month is working to help Mariano get into university and find scholarships. He really, really wants to study at a university. If he succeeds, he would be the first one from the Kano’j project to do so. This is not because none of the kids have wanted to… indeed, many do. But the cost is prohibitive for their families, and scholarships are hard to come by.

He’s decided to apply to the Universidad del Valle, which is very close to where I’ll be teaching next year. He will take his entrance exam next month. Please make a special pray that he does well. He is very confident that he will pass, but I am secretly doubtful, as the schools he has attended aren’t very good. Mariano is extremely optimistic, almost to the point of naivety. I still haven’t completely convinced to stay in the country to study. He’s read about scholarships to Cuba, the Czech Republic and Taiwan, and is now very excited and interested in them. However, he doesn’t realize the high level of academic achievement (and English fluency) required for these scholarships. I haven’t even been able to secure a scholarship for him within Guatemala. I found about five different sources of scholarships, but unfortunately, he doesn’t qualify for any of them. I must say though, he is extremely determined and my gut feeling is that he will eventually find a way to do this.

Thank God the rain is finally starting to return. I am so tired of the dust, and we are seriously short of water. For almost two weeks, we’ve had no water from our tap, having to draw dirty water from the well to wash dishes. The rainwater stored from last season for showers is nearly gone. For many weeks, the clear night sky has been filled with mysterious lightening, and slowly but surely the air has become damper. The clouds finally let loose last night.

Two quick stories from a run last week:

I’m trotting along and see a very old woman stares at me from her doorway. She says something I can’t understand over my cheesy Spanish-pop. I turn it off, and ask her to repeat it several times. I think she is saying something like, “Juan and Maria already passed by here.” “Oh, I didn’t know that,” I say with feigned interest. All of a sudden this small, deeply wrinkled lady has me tight by the wrists and says, “Will you give me that?” referring to my MP3 player. Unnerved, I say no, buenas noches, kiss her hand, and twist out of her grip. Apparently, Latino politeness is really becoming rooted in me. Running evenly away, I realize that I’ve experienced my first Guatemalan “assault”.

As I finish my run, I realize that I wasn’t a bit bothered by honking today. When I first started running here I was so irritated by getting honked it by every passing car. But it seems that I was a little self-centered to think that all the honking was directed at me. Everyone here honks all the time, at everything.

I make a mental list of all the reasons why people honk. They honk to say hello, call me later, goodbye, and thanks for moving over. They honk advise people or dogs or cattle or pigs to get out of the way. They honk when going around curves or uphill to say: “Warning, I’m in the middle of the road.” They honk to indicate that there is space in the car if you want a ride. They also honk to say, “You’re cute”.

Let me end with some humorous language mistakes I have made in the past few months:

I mixed up veneno (poision) with venado (deer):
“Where I’m from, many people hunt poison.”

Mixed up concha (seashell) with cancha (blond-hair; also, soccerfield):
“I’m the only one of my sisters who is a seashell.”

Mixed up pelear (to fight) with pelar (to peel):
“Miguel, will you please fight with the garlic?” (I make this mistake so often that the kids are all saying it is as a joke).

Mixed up maleta (suitcase) with muleta (crutch)… also not to be confused with multa (a fine):
“Josefa, why aren’t you using your suitcases?”

Mixed up doñas (ladies) with donas (doughnuts):
“Do you girls want to help me fry ladies tonight?”

Lastly, and perhaps worst of all, I mixed up pene (penis) with peine (comb):
“You need new ones? What’s wrong with the penises you already have?”

Honestly. Whoever invented the Spanish word “comb” was very inconsiderate of us poor second-language learners.

A Quickie

Once again, it’s been a really long time since I blogged. The past month has been very crazy, with Semana Santa, the retreat in Mexico, and a visit from the Incarnate Word Missionary directors. I’ve also worked on finding a new position for the next year. A quick summary of what’s been going on:

My Semana Santa was great. I spent the whole week on the ”most beautiful lake in the world”, Lake Atitlan, and did exactly what I wanted to do: soaked up the sun hiking, kayaking, swimming and reading and enjoying the company of new friends. Of course, I also observed some of the elaborate Holy Week processions. Check out the pictures, along with a ton of other new ones, on my photo site (link at the right).

A side note: as my friendships with Guatemalans deepen, I am learning about other ways to love and communicate. This will sound stereotypical Latino, but I have found that my relationships here (with non-indigenous) are more passionate and have higher expectations than I am used to. For example, the other day, after talking to a friend for a good chunk of time, I said that I had to go because I wanted to call a friend in the U.S. before dinner. This Guatemalan friend was so hurt that he hung up on me! Also, I sense a greater desire for dependency and less inhibition in my friends here. At first, this frightened me, but I am starting to appreciate this. It makes some of my other relationships look methodical, detached, and cold in comparison.

The week was so stress relieving and fun that, honestly, I didn’t really want to come back to Quiché. It was good to be back with the girls though. But a few days later I was gone again, first for an interview. It was for a 7th grade life science position at Colegio Interamericano in Guatemala City.

I went into the interview having no idea if I wanted the job, and left feeling the same way. In fact, when the director of the school wrapped up the interview by saying some very positive things about me and asked if I was still interested, I said, ”I don’t know.” How is that for ending an interview with a bang! Yeesh. Thankfully, they must have at least appreciated my honesty, because I got the job.

The school is K-12 and serves very wealthy students. Instruction is in English. About ¼ of the teachers are Canadian or United Statesian. While the salary is less than a U.S. position, they provide you with a very nice apartment, utility stipend, and so on. They also give a ton of prep time, so I (should) barely have to work at home! YAY! P.S. I should be home for a few weeks in July.

It certainly will be an enormous change from what I am doing now. At first, I felt guilty about it, as if I am abandoning the kids. However, I feel very good about the choice now. I simply cannot financially afford to continue as a missionary at this point, and I am excited to go back to teaching. I can’t find a job that excites me in the U.S., so I might as well stay here. It will also be nice that I’ll still be relatively close to the kids, so I should be able to come up and visit them occasionally. Concerns? Yes, I am homesick sometimes. I miss my family and friends. And there are safer cities on the planet than Guatemala City. But I feel in my heart that this is the right thing to do right now. So that’s that.

Our missionary retreat in Mexico was okay. It wasn’t what I expected… it ended up being more like a class than a retreat of prayer and peace. But the setting was beautiful. The best part was catching up with Tessia, my fellow missionary who is teaching at a school in San Antonio. The company of each other eased loneliness and gave each other strength to continue.

Another highlight was going to the basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe in Mexico City with Tessia and one of our directors, Megan. That was a wonderful and special experience.

Megan, and our other director, Tere, came back down to Guatemala with David and I to learn more about the project and life here. It was good to share some of my experiences with them more directly.

Last Friday I attended the opening of a ”capacitation center” a few hours north of Quiché, that was built with the help of a missionary. The most interesting part was hearing one of the leaders of the project talk about his hope for fair trade for him and his fellow farmers. He described the long process of planting, caring for and harvesting onions, taking them to the capital, and getting paid 200Q a quintal, only to have the buyer, who had barely worked, turn around and sell them for 500Q. He gave other worse examples too, and I left feeling like I had been confronted face to face, for the first time, with the realities of the nasty ”free trade” agreements of my own government.

At the project, all of the kids got decent grades this quarter. Things with the girls are fine. I am working to be more available when they are most “mentally” available, in order be as supportive as possible.

Well, this is it for now. More thoughts soon.

Palm Sunday and Other Odds and Ends

I am writing this upon return from the most elegant and spiritual Palm Sunday mass that I’ve ever attended. Unfortunately, I forgot to check my camera battery, so I have no visual evidence of this. But I will describe it the best I can.

It started at 6:30 a.m. outside the bright-yellow painted temple several blocks away from the cathedral. There, a crowd of a couple hundred gathered, purchasing small bunches of palm leaves out of the back of a pickup truck for a quarter. Some also carried tiny bouquets of purple flowers. We were a mixed group- Maya, Ladino (non-indigenous), old, young, poor and not, me with my blond hair, and two tall, grey-haired Sisters from New York.

The bishop began with a prayer, and then walked through the crowd blessing the palms. As he passed, a man next to me exclaimed softly, “how beautiful!”, and I looked back to see only the yellow-green palms held high against the light-blue sky. In the low, golden morning sun, the sprinkled Holy water fell on the palms like sparkling beads.

The original “Palm Sunday” scene was read and everyone listened quietly. Then we headed towards the sun and the humble white cathedral, led by a cross, candles, and incense which ascended to join the thin morning haze. The bishop, from the back of the procession, led us in song through a fuzzy-sounding microphone. Eventually though, the front half of the crowd broke into chants, like Viva Cristo Rey- Long Live Christ the King. It felt like a parade, a football game, and a church service all in one.

Inside, it was crowded, with the center and side aisles totally filled with people. Fortunately, it was still cool, and I felt amazingly tranquil and attentive. I noticed that everyone else seemed to be also. It was unusually quiet outside in the park- I could only hear one radio thumping.

In his homily, the bishop focused on Christ’s love and humility, something that was so present to me during the service. We knelt down on the hard floor of the cathedral, a multitude of humble, repentant people, praying that God would impart upon us His mercy and grace. I thought about the nearness of Easter, of the coming of God in my life. But somehow, at the same time, I felt far from God. The week between now and next Sunday seems to stretch out endlessly and makes me feel despairing. For me, it represents a lifetime of temptation, sin and apathy which puts distance between myself and my Creator.

I will spend this week in a country with people who, in a way, embrace their weaknesses and sinfulness. They are conscious of their nature, and elicit God’s help in overcoming it. I know, at least on the surface, that this is truly the only way to inner peace. However, this utter dependence on God is almost frightening for a “Miss Independent” like me, to the extent that I withdraw for Him. This is frustrating. I couldn’t even allow God to walk by my side through the entirety of Lent. Fortunately, I am in the company of persistent individuals who are showing me the Lord’s Love and Healing Power by confidently seeking forgiveness and strength, week after week. If I only had a fraction of their faith!

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• The other day, I realized that (if I leave on my planned date) I have less than 20 weeks here! There are so many things that I’d hoped to do that I haven’t, and it is good to feel a little time pressure. Mostly, I need to really start focusing on teaching the girls how to advocate for themselves.
  

• Also, after break, I will be working with David, Pedro and the kids to re-organize study-time here. I am looking forward this because it is something tangible that I can do that could make a big difference for the kids. It works out that they end up sitting in one place for 3 ½ hours, first doing silent “reading”, and then secondly “studying”. I put them in quotes, because it is so obvious to me that half the time they are doing neither. They are falling asleep, staring off into space, checking out the clock every few minutes, poking the dogs, etc. Even when they think they are studying, they aren’t- they are just mindlessly reading or staring at the page. It seems that what is needed all around is an understanding of attention spans and different techniques of studying and learning. I anticipate resistance- change is always tough, and so is actually thinking when you’re trained not to.
  

• I would also like to re-start the “spiritual group” that I started with them. Though it went well, it fell off quickly because of a lack of time. But I think about it often, and I can sense a strong craving for something like that amongst the students, especially in my talks with the oldest boys. I may try just meeting with them in small groups once or twice a month, which would be better than nothing. May God grant me the energy for this!
  

• Things were quiet at the house, and I liked it. With the exception of a few who prefer not to leave, the kids have all gone home to spend Holy Week with their families. I was the only one left in the girls’ house, but now I'm at the lake. Everyone kept asking me if I was lonely or scared, and if I wouldn’t prefer to sleep in the other house. My desire for solitude and lack of fear at being alone is odd to them.
  

The quietness has brought space and opportunities for new ideas and understandings amongst us left. Hopefully, they will make a true difference when the kids return. It has been amazing to realize how the everyday stress, plus constant flow of kids, animals and demands makes for difficult communication, agreement, even kindness.

• It’s getting quite warm as this part of the world heads into “summer”. (I’ll admit to being really confused when I heard that on the radio the other day. “Summer is starting?” I thought. When did it end?) People are complaining about the heat, but at 75°, sunny and dry, I am the happiest little duck. The good things are that I can now wear a skirt without getting chilled in the shade and I no longer have to wear long-underwear to bed! The negative side is that it is very windy and dusty. Also, despite my best efforts to protect it, my poor nose is always either a touch pink or peeling slightly.
  

• After Holy Week, I’ll have a week here, and then leave again for our retreat in Mexico. I am really, really looking forward to this much-needed time and space to be renewed by my directors, prayer, and just “being”. When the week is up, the two directors will come down to Guatemala with David and I, which I am also looking forward to.
  

• I have been able to spend a little more time with the boys this month, which makes me feel a little more balanced. The oldest ones, 18-20, have begun to come up to my room to chat or ask for help studying. It’s funny though- it takes about ten minutes before I can figure out what they’ve come up for. Like in many Latin countries, it is rude here to ask for what you want right away. So I sit down with them on the floor of the corridor, and we talk about our days, about being tired, about the weather, and then they finally come out with it. Interestingly, the more unusual the request, the longer it takes!

I enjoy my time with them. These boys are politically conscious, smart, hard-working, forward-thinking, hopeful. Their optimism makes my heart ache. They deserve to have their wildest dreams come true- but will they, really?

• On the topic of the boys, last week, once again, one of them brought up the topic of novias- girlfriends- with me. One of the rules of the project is that you cannot have a girlfriend or boyfriend while you are in the project, inside or outside of the house. This is not a favorite rule of some of the oldest ones. They ask me what I think of it and if I can change the rule for them. My response is always very careful. “Remember,” I tell them, “I come from a very different culture.” I explain that, in general, dating is considered a normal part of adolescence in the U.S. BUT, it simply is not here, and I understand and respect that. Among the indigenous, in general, even having friends of the opposite sex is looked down upon. I also remind them that, above all, they are here to get an education, and having relationships could distract them from this objective. They reluctantly agree.
  

Personally, I believe that one disadvantage to the lack of friendship or dating is that teenagers don’t learn how to appropriately socialize with the opposite sex. I think that this leads to a lack of understanding about how to communicate, respect and get along with each other, something which can’t be good for marriages. It also seems to me that this lack of understanding must make working with the other sex in job situations quite difficult! Of course, there are disadvantages and advantages to both our way of thinking and theirs.

• I am nowhere nearer to making decision about my “next move” than I was last week. But I feel patient and without anxiety, embracing the uncertainty as if a joyful surprise were waiting around the corner, which it is. I am remembering that it was exactly this time last year, a cold and snowy Holy Week, that I retreated to Denver and emerged with the decision to leave the country for a while. I know that with time and prayer I will figure this out, just as I did before.

Words of advice to me from Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist:

“Don’t be impatient,” [the boy] repeated to himself. “It’s like the camel driver said: Eat when it’s time to eat. And move along when it’s time to move along.”

“If you can concentrate always on the present, you’ll be a happy man… life is the moment we’re living right now.”

Internal Turmoil?

I have been invited here. Why, exactly, I’m not sure. I am trying to figure that out, drawing from David’s perspective and the perspective of the people who live here.

I have certain unique knowledge and skills that are not utilized here. For example, I (nearly) have a Master’s degree in education. I know something about teaching and learning. However, my ideas and opinions in this project which seeks to educate are generally not welcome. That’s fine, right? They want to do things their own way, the way it’s always been done, so fine. If they really like things the way they are, who am I to tell them differently?

On the other hand, who I am NOT to tell them differently? Who am I to believe that my hard-earned knowledge is inferior? Who are THEY to think that? What of the endless hours I’ve spent studying good teaching and learning and (trying) to practice it? Put to use, my knowledge could make serious improvements in the ability of these kids to think, something which they are not taught how to do.

Have you ever been really excited about (what you though was) a good idea, only to be met with dead silence and blank stares when you went to share it with others? That’s kind of how I feel often here. I know I need to get over myself though. It seems to me that the people I work with are really resistant to change, more than any group of people I’ve ever worked with. I’m not saying this is bad or good- it just is what it is. I’m beginning to see though, that with LOTS of time and increasing friendship and trust, they allow me to carefully, oh-so-subtly, plant teeny, non-invasive and non-threatening ideas in their hearts and minds.

One of my directors and friends, Meghan, recently provided me with an article written by Albert Nolan that addressed, among other things, “romanticism” of the poor.

“We can get ourselves into a position where, if somebody is poor and says something, then it is infallibly true. Or, if somebody comes from the Third World, we must all listen simply because they come from the Third World. And if they do something, it must be right. That’s romanticism, and it’s nonsense.”

As I told Meghan, I am struggling within this idea right now. Early in my time here, I found myself mildly romanticizing the poor Mayan people I work with. I guess that was appropriate. Better to start my work with a sense of admiration and respect, than not. I gave them lots of space to show me and teach me who they are and how they think.

Now, I have little romanticism left in me and even less tolerance for those who do romanticize them. But I feel afraid to admit that I strongly disagree with them on some things. There, I said it! I DISAGREE WITH YOU. Is it disrespectful to disagree? No. Is it respectful to tell them I disagree? In this culture, I’m not sure. Maybe sometimes, but not other times? When is it appropriate? And why should I even bother? I’m not going to able to change deep-rooted beliefs, habits or ways of thinking. Perhaps I could change a little though. Does a little count? Is “a little” change worth the enormous effort it takes to affect?

But then again… “I am not here to change.” I think I wrote that it in a blog a few months ago. “I am here to be changed.” I still feel like that is the main reason I am here- to be transformed within my own soul and in my own thinking. But how can I stand by silently witnessing discrimination and the resulting oppression, even within my own relatively progressive working environment and not say anything?

The fact is, with my U.S. feminist perspective, I have “eyes to see” these things which some Guatemalans, or people who have lived in Guatemala for a long time, don’t or can’t see. And some of those who do “see” don’t know they have, or don’t know how to use, their “voice to speak” against such things.

Is it my responsibility then to speak and help others speak? But what if they don’t want to hear it? Do I keep talking anyway? If so, to what extent? Do I shout? Do I try different approaches? Or just shut up? After all, I am an invited guest…

Another missionary in Quiché would say that the project has indirectly asked for my opinion. This person says that if they (Guatemalans) don’t want foreign ideas, they shouldn’t invite foreigners in their country, and with having foreigners work in their organizations comes the responsibility of learning to be open to new ways of thinking and working.

Maybe. But maybe I wasn’t invited for my ideas. Maybe I was just invited to be a body. A body to shop for groceries, make lunch, sit at the doctor, help with homework and ensure that chores get done. Honestly, a lot of times I feel like that’s why I’m wanted here. And that bothers me. A LOT. If they just want a body, they could invite anybody. Why bother with me? Why… I am going to dare say it… should I “waste” my experience and education where it’s not wanted, not to mention the time and money I’ve had to spend to be here?

But what of the spiritual aspect? I am a Christian missionary, after all. Am I not really sent to brighten the light of Christ within myself and to help people recognize it in themselves? That may not be why I was invited here by the project, but that is why the Sisters sent me here. Maybe it doesn’t matter if I change unjust thinking or not, as long as I just love? However, for me, “love” is more of a verb than a feeling (such a scientist, I am). To truly love these people I need to love as God loves, and free them to truly live as God wishes them to live: as sacred beings, in equality, justice and harmony with each other and with Him.

Rachel has really encouraged me to focus intensely on the girls- on helping them to become wiser, stronger, smarter, and ready to tackle the challenges of being poor, indigenous and female in a developing country. The importance of this challenge alone makes every other role of mine seem pale in comparison.So, I guess I have to continue to keep talking, keep working to address the injustices… even if it some people don’t want to hear it, even if my ideas make them uncomfortable, even if it seems like I’m not getting anywhere. It’s not okay to do nothing.

Being Female

I’ve talked vaguely about “addressing injustices” here, but I have not talked about what they are. That is because I don’t think it’s appropriate to outline them in public, at least not right now. But I feel free to say that in general, I don’t like way the girls are treated here. They, and I, feel that they are too often discriminated against and treated like they are second-class compared to the boys. It’s very important to note that this appears to unintentional! While that doesn’t make it right, it explains why it is so hard to change. It is habit; it is ingrained in their thinking to not automatically think of the rights of females.

And unfortunately, the girls have not been taught to speak up for themselves. Rachel started to show them how to do that, and I am trying to continue. It’s a slow, difficult up-hill climb though! Wow. With the exception of one exceptionally feisty girl, they balk at the idea of confronting a MAN. How does one teach girls to be indignant, confident, strong, and full of voice? It’s something that is natural in me. My society, my community, my family taught me these values. The opposite values were taught to these girls, for the most part.

I am trying to lead by example. If am too scared to say something, or if I give up immediately, what does that say? I am also trying to teach them see injustice for themselves; how to act “assertive” on the passive-aggressive scale; how to present arguments; that saying nothing is so unhealthy and makes them feel powerless.

I can safely say that I have thus far convinced them of none of the above. But perhaps, with time, I will. Or perhaps this is one of those situations in which I simply have to trust that I am a “seed-planter” and that God will see to the “watering” of my ideas at the right time.

At the same time as I try to make things better for the girls, I am trying to refrain from actually doing it myself, and instead try to make it possible for them to do it. Also, one of the oldest boys surprised me (though I shouldn’t have been surprised) by bringing up some inequalities he’s noticed. We had a good discussion, and I am relieved to have a male in the house with whom I can have an open, easy conversation to exchange ideas and perspectives. It’s important for the girls to know too, that there are men in the country who want equality too; it’s just a matter of finding them and working together.

To Go or Not to Go

For about a month now, I have been struggling about what I should do next. I last wrote that I was thinking about staying here at Kano’j. But recently, when I think about that, I get a heavy heart. Part of that is because I really, really miss teaching. I miss the energy and life that it brings out in me. While I enjoy what I do here, being “mom” or tutoring is no substitute, nor is teaching the English class.

Additionally, a recent check at my finances made me realize that if I stay in this position for another year, I will return to the U.S. nearly penniless. We do receive a small stipend, but it doesn’t make the month here, where prices have risen to be nearly to equivalent to the U.S… and I am certainly not living extravagantly!

(I wonder if I am one of few young missionaries to have this problem. I can’t be, although at times it feels like it. The other missionaries in Quiché are all in their 30’s, have houses, careers, generous stipends, and a government which welcomes them back into their previous jobs with open arms. Irksome Irish).

The whole thing about money makes me anxious and gives me a bad feeling in my stomach. On one hand, the small stipend keeps me in solidarity with the poor that I work with. I feel like it’s not right to complain about it. I’m also lucky to be getting a little bit of help from folks in Milwaukee. And as a relatively wealthy Guatemalan recently pointed out to me, I have the education/environment/government/luck to pull myself out of any economic poverty I put myself in. I should knock it off and stop feeling sorry for myself.

On the other hand, don’t I have the right to certain comforts (although I’m not sure if I would call it that) as I give a year of my time? I have the right to regularly e-mail and call my family and friends; to buy vitamins and food necessary to keep me healthy; to be spend time away from the house on occasion; to enjoy a meal and time with other missionaries; to not walk around in ill-fitting and torn clothing; etc. These are the things that are slowly eating into my meager savings.

It is one thing to give a year or two of my time, knowing that I’ll have to spend some money and lose a year of income. It is another thing to come back totally broke, at 27, facing an ever-increasing mountain of student loan debt, and certain inescapable expenses of living in the U.S., knowing that for the rest of my life, my chosen career will pay pittance for the amount of education I have.

People will respond by saying that I am having an irreplaceable experience here. Yeah, yeah, I am, I know it. But does it have to set me back this much financially? It is one thing to say that God will take care of me. But don’t I have the responsibility take care of myself too?

I’ve always had a problem knowing when to stop giving. Although I’ve gotten a lot better in recent years, I still don’t really know when to stop sometimes, as in this instance.

I am remembering a verse from the Bible… something about being a cheerful giver. It would be wrong to stay here if I feel resentful of my situation. I will need to remember this and be sure to make the right choice for me, based on my heart and the guidance of the Holy Spirit, without fearing what others will think.

Obviously, my head is a mess right now. I feel like I have a thousand options on my plate, and I am going to consider all of them. I know that with time the answer will come to me. But prayers and any words of advice or encouragement are welcome!

There is so much more to write about, but so little time! I am planning on writing again this weekend, so check again soon.

Bumpy

The last few weeks have been filled with some wonderful ups, and some challenging downs.

Up: I had a long-time friend visit from the U.S. last week It was nice to have company and share my life here with someone from home. It was also nice to get away from Quiche and the project- I had my first totally free day in seven weeks!

Up: We did some fun things while she was here. One surprising thing was the Dia del Cariño or Valentine’s Day celebration here at the house. We randomly picked names and presented valentines, ate tamales, a special treat, played a few games and danced the night away. It was probably the most fun time I’ve spent with the kids yet.

Up: Melissa and I also climbed Pacaya, an active volcano near Antigua. It was shorter then Ipala, the one I climbed in December, but still a little challenging due to the fact that our funny guide, Euesbio, practically ran us up the loose dirt covered volcano. The top was neat. It was fog filled, hot, and the rock was very hard. I didn’t except the lava to be running all over the place in little pockets. The climb down was tough. It was dark, very foggy, and raining lightly. Thankfully, Eusebio had a flashlight, and he walked with it behind his back to light the way, entertaining me all the while with stories about his 20 years as a Pacaya guide. He also told me about the various times he’s almost died and what it’s like to ride a mule.

Up: We spent a few days in Panajachel, which is on Lake Atitalan. We really enjoyed our time there. We visited a well-designed nature preserve, where I viewed spider monkeys in the wild for the first time. They also had some waterfalls and a beautiful butterfly garden. I plan on going back for a whole day just to sit in it.

Up: In Panajachel, I made my first Guatemalan friends (outside of the project) when we went out to experience a little of its nightlife. They were fun, funny and interesting, albeit a little young. For this reason, I don’t see us developing a serious friendship. However, it was very good for me meet some people. I realized, once again, how alone I have been here. I am going to start making great efforts to make new friends. I may be an introvert, but this is the worst time in my life to not have friends physically present. My friend-making will have to happen when I leave Quiche though, because it is just so hard to make friends here.

Down: Long, but semi-interesting story: one afternoon, I decided to take Melissa across the lake to a town called San Pedro La Laguna. I thought she’d enjoy the boat ride and the good food at a restaurant I’d been too. Well, our food took an hour to arrive (despite the fact that we were two of six people in the restaurant) and we missed the last public boat back to Pana. There was also a group of seven Czech people who also missed the boat, but had to get back to Pana. When we arrived at the dock, the leader of this group was arguing with a Guatemalan man who was offering a private boat back. The Guatemalan was going to charge about twice the normal rate, claiming that there’d be no one on the other side to bring back to San Pedro, so he’d be losing money. I thought that was a somewhat valid argument. Plus, the man clearly had the upper hand- we had no other way to get back! I’d probably charge more also- simple supply and demand, right? The Czech man, however didn’t see it that way, and just kept arguing and arguing. At one point, he lost his temper and called the Guatemalan a ladron- a robber. That’s when I stepped in and politely asked the Guatemalan if he would lower his price 50 quetzales (about $6). He immediately said yes, and the other group eventually agreed. Happy to be done with it, I got in the boat with the rest and we set off.

When we arrived on the other side, the Guatemalan accepted my money at the agreed per-person amount, but nervously told me not to leave. I soon realized with much dismay that the Czech people weren’t going to pay the agreed-on amount. They only paid the amount would normally be charged by the public boats. Totally angry and frustrated, I tried rationalizing with the Czech leader in a combination of English and Spanish, and he spat back at me in three languages. We got nowhere. I’d already seen how stubborn he was, and knew it was no use to keep arguing. What was I to do? We had an agreement with the Guatemalan, and I didn’t want to be a part of a group that was, for all practical purposes, stealing from him. I gave him the rest of the money, and it was done.

I turned away feeling so upset and embarrassed to be a part of the whole ordeal. My friend informed me that the Czech people told her they couldn’t afford the higher amount. I’m sorry, but who can afford to travel half-way across the world, but can’t pay $3 more for their only possible boat ride?? In my opinion, the true ladron in this case was definitely not the Guatemalan. It certainly made me more sympathetic to people who have to deal with tourists on a daily basis. UGH. Maybe we can all at least be relieved that, in this one instance, the naughty tourist wasn’t from the U.S.! (Nothing against Czechoslovakia, of course).

Down: Unfortunately, my wallet was snagged in Antigua… or I accidentally set it somewhere. But I’m pretty sure I didn’t. It didn’t have that much money it. But I did lose my driver’s license (for like the 10^th time in my life- I can almost hear my friends laughing), my USB drive, and my knife. I’m most sad about my knife. But I re-learned an important lesson- don’t travel when you are tired! I was hot, sleepy and a little cranky as were searching for hostels, and my distractedness led to the loss. At least it wasn’t worse.

Down: I have been constantly sick for over a month now. First, with a cold, then a very nasty stomach thing, and now, another bad cold that refuses to go away. I am also tired no matter how much I sleep, which is probably the result of many things (stress, altitude, sickness, diet, etc.). Unfortunately, my appetite has left me again. I was doing so well at the end of January- actually interested in eating beans several times a day- but it didn’t last long. Once again, even when I am really hungry, I have to force myself to eat.

Up: Mom and Leila sent me food! At least I have awesome soup and chocolate to eat when nothing else interests me.

Up: As promised, I’ve been looking for signs of Easter here. This is what I’ve found so far: the extraordinarily beautiful, enormous orchids and roses that grow in the oddest places here; the laughter and play of children too little to know about or care of their extreme poverty; the jubilant dancing of our students; the quiet, serene way in which some of our boys talk to me; and the effort so many of our students to be constantly joyful.

Down: One of the girls broke her collarbone in gym class this week- the same one who sprained her toe a few weeks ago! I spent the time in the hospital with her again, but this time our mood was different. She was in a lot of pain, and still is. I’m doing my best to mother her with pain meds and gentle adjustments to her brace. The other girls are being helpful with her chores and such.

Down: I get a little a frustrated with money sometimes. I get $80 a month. At least half of this goes to phone and internet. Another $20 goes to food that I buy for myself, like yogurt. That doesn’t leave much left over. It’s not a huge problem, but some months I have more expenses than others. Like this month, I need new clothes (I am down to one pair of pants that fits, and it has holes) and a new flash drive. Which do I buy? Not complaining… the stipend is adequate and helps us to live in solidarity with the poor. But it certainly requires planning.

Down: The spiders haven’t left me. There’s been a little bit less, but they are definitely winning the battle with their persistence. I stopped counting around number 600. I am just so sick of killing them. Most of the time, I just glare at them or stick out my tongue.

Sideways?: I am thinking about extending my time here about 6-8 months. I’m not sure if that’s good, bad or otherwise. Right now, it feels like it would probably be a good decision. I feel like it would add just the right amount of time. I am hesitant to come back in August and try to reorganize my life in three weeks. I can just see any peace of mind and strength I’ve gathered here falling to pieces instantly. And I certainly wouldn’t be able to teach well in that state.

Fear not people! I am NOT going to marry a Guatemalan nor will I nationalize. I will come back by next spring, I PROMISE. I just think I need a little more time.

On the other hand… to be honest, I am quite unhappy with some aspects of my current situation. Some days I tolerate them okay; other days, I am not sure if I can handle it even a few more months. To me, they are very important things, and I’m not sure if my current tactic, “patience and persistence”, is the answer if I’m to be here for a while longer. I wonder if it would be better for me to move on to something else? A different project? Plus, I think I’m starting to feel a little restless here. I don't feel energized, interested or enthusiastic.

I am taking this decision one day at a time, waiting for the answer to be reveled.

Up: I’m now six months into my time here. My friends, family, neighbors and even complete strangers have been very supportive of me in many different ways. I really want to thank each and everyone of you- I can’t, but I am going to make a short list:

Thank you parents, sisters, nephew, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, Renee and Jonah, Kristen, Katharine and Drew, Dustin and Mandy, Lisa and Kyle, Jacob and friends, Vishwa, Stacy, Emily S., Jesse, Melissa, Rachel, St. Francis Xavier Catholic Women, Meghan, Tere, Sr. Rose Ann and the rest of the IW community, Emily T., Nicole, Todd, Tessia, Joylyn, Fr. Mike, the Milwaukee World Mission Office, Tim, Mary, Cindy, Mike and the rest of the staff and students at SJA.. plus all of the many people who I didn’t mention!

You know who you are. Your e-mails, artwork, donations, cards, packages, thoughts, prayers and precious time on the phone provide me with great strength and comfort. I truly could not do this if you weren’t so kind and loving to me. I hope you know that I miss you all and think of you often.

Click here to see one of my blogs-turned-article for the Incarnate Word newsletter, "The Word Today".

Belonging and Not

Since I’ve been back, I have had two strong experiences of belonging and not belonging that stick out in my mind.

The “not belonging” experience occurred at a Mayan ceremony that we held at the alter in our backyard to celebrate and ask for blessings for the new school year. I had a busy day, and looked forward to what I knew would be a quiet, slow-paced, spiritual time. I knew most of it would be in Quiché, but I told myself that I would just use that time for myself.

From what I could understand, the father of the house began the ceremony by talking to the kids about ceremonies and he also explained about the god of the time that we are in (okay, it’s not really a “god”, persay, but I don’t know how to explain it right now). Then the priest talked…. and talked, and talked.

We sat, stood and kneeled in a circle around him, our faces lit by a burning mass of honey, incense, candles, and other stuff. Everyone laid their own candles on the pile, and also tossed sesame seeds into the pile (Josefa said this is to ask for nutrition and health for the animals and plants). At different times, they would bow down and kiss the ground. I didn’t do that… I hope I wasn’t being disrespectful, but I just didn’t know what or why they were doing, and I’m not a big fan of doing meaningless actions.

The priest blessed each of the students, using the name of their god (again, not really a god). Then he asked who I was, and there was a mini-discussion about me in Quiché. Then he asked where I was from, and said a prayer about me that I couldn’t understand.

The whole ceremony lasted about two hours. It left me feeling a little bored, tired, cold, empty, and lonely. They included me the best that they could, and I appreciate that. But I felt like I total outsider. I understood very little of the various symbols, and really don’t get their spirituality at all. I feel like I should be making more of an effort to understand it, but honestly, I don’t have room in me for that right now.

My greatest feeling of belonging is when I am at mass. This surprises me a little because when I first arrived in Guatemala, mass felt a little awkward.

The scene here at mass is different- here I am surrounded by small, dark-skinned people. The women have long, black hair and wear brightly-colored tops and long woven skirts. Some have little ones slung on their backs or toddling along behind. Some of the men are dressed formally, but most come as they are, clothes dusty and boots scruffy. Their folded hands are dark from the sun and creased with dirt.

There is no such thing as quiet in this church. Sometimes kids run up and down the aisles or poke and laugh throughout mass. The electric keyboard music of mass projected throughout the church by loud speakers competes with the noise from the square- a band playing, car speakers blaring, fireworks exploding, kids playing, people selling. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy filters in, swirling with the church’s incense and smoke.

In this church, there is no such thing as perfection. People enter and leave throughout mass. Some pray at the side alters. Some come up to the front alter, kneel to pray, and then leave. Once, a heavily intoxicated woman walked right up to the priest while he was giving the homily and pushed him. Standing, sitting, kneeling and praying out loud are done in waves and at one’s own pace. Despite polite pleas from the altar, people step up to receive communion en masse, gently (or not) pushing themselves into a line (or not).

There is little that is beautiful in this church. To me it is bare, rather ugly. The walls are white, dirty. Their huge size dwarfs the little Stations of the Cross. The wood ceiling is a long, curved dome that reminds me of a barn. The kneelers are wooden. The altar is backed by a crooked green cloth. The many statues are old, faded, chipped. Small bouquets of pretty fresh flowers always adorn the main altar, and dozens of candles burn around the statues.

Somehow, in the midst of these differences which now seem miniscule, this church has become comfortable. When I am there, I am not a stranger, a gringa, a white girl; I’m a Christian, or at least try to be. I kneel with them, grieve with them, pray with them. They smile at me; they offer me a sign of peace. In church, we are the same. How universal, indeed, the church is called to be!

“This is a Penitential People”

I arrived at mass on Ash Wednesday a few minutes early, and was surprised to see the church full. I searched the vast church for a seat, but couldn’t find one. As I made my way back to the entrance to stand, I spotted Eamon, an Irish missionary. “It gets worse,” he warned me. I watched in amazement as every available foot of space became filled with bodies, including the wide entryway and the side and center aisles. It was so crowded that I found it hard to concentrate and even harder to breathe. I wondered how long mass would last with a sea of people needing to receive ashes and communion. But the priest stopped giving ashes after ten minutes and continued on with mass. Lay ministers continued to administered ashes for the next fifteen minutes, wandering through the thick crowd which had spilled out onto the cathedral steps.

My experience echoes that of Henri Nouwen. He observed, visiting the people and churches of Peru, “Nowhere did I see a sign of the resurrection, nowhere was I reminded of the truth that Christ overcame sin and death… All was Good Friday. Easter was absent… this is a penitential people.”

And 25 years later, he is also right that the rest of the Western church could learn much from the Latin American people about being humble before God. They constantly come before Him confessing, trusting, asking for mercy in a way that we seem to be to proud to do. I know that I personally will have the most profound Lenten experience of my life because of their example. But what of Easter? I guess that remains to be seen.

Shadows that Move by Themselves

Get ready for another mega-blog! It’s taken me a week to write this whole thing.

We girls were able to join the boys in their Sunday fun last weekend, for the first time. The girls played some basketball for a little while, and then sat around bored. The boys played soccer, and I joined them. It was really fun, albeit a tad different than my usual game. Let’s just that I never really knew how luxuriously soft green grass was until this unforgiving ground treated me to knee full of nasty scrapes and gravel.

After soccer, we went swimming, which was definitely the highlight of my week. (Ha ha Wisconsin- you get one snowstorm after another, and I get to swim outside in February). It made me so happy to be in the water. The girls had been looking forward to it all the week, and talked about how they wanted me to teach them to swim. I was happy to oblige, but they pretty much chickened out. It was easier for them to shriek and laugh and cling to the wall then to try and fail in front of the boys. Sigh. Not at all unlike some United Statesian girls.

For modesty’s sake, the girls swim in shorts and shirts. I joined them, with my suit on underneath, but eventually my shirt had to go… I was playing tag with the boys, and it was slowing me down. There were a couple of non-Mayan girls there swimming in suits, so it wouldn’t be totally taboo for me to just wear my suit. On the other hand, I got stared at enough as it was, so I’ll probably stick to the shorts in the in future too.

Both of our babies, Kimberly and Rono, and baby Josefa next door got very sick with some sort of stomach virus. Rono’s mom took him to a natural healer in our village. When that didn’t help, she and her mom took him to another town to have a healing ceremony for him. Kimberly’s mom, on the other hand, took her to the hospital. Josefa ended up there also. They all appear to be getting better now.

I also got very, very sick this past weekend. It seems to be amoebas. Whatever it is, it isn’t going away very fast. But at least I have “arisen from the dead”, as David put it.

I struggle to not be critical of the great trust they put in “natural” “cures” here. I’ve always been skeptical of these words. It’s not that I don’t think that some work- some do work well. It’s just drives me crazy that some people assume that just because something is called “natural” it’s going to work. There is also a general lack of understanding about what makes people sick or injured and what makes people better. They also blame everything on the cold, including my sickness. I’m like, look, I have a 102° fever, severe stomach pain, and I am so weak I can hardly walk- the cold did not do this!!

Why does it bother me so much that they handle health so differently? Well, I don’t want to see them suffer unnecessarily. It frustrates me. I should be more encouraging and respectful of the knowledge that they do have, of various medicinal plant treatments that have probably been used in their culture for a long time. But my scientific mind wants proof that these things work.

I’m becoming more and more aware of the superstition that pervades their culture. Here is a list of some things that have caught my attention:

- If one sleeps in their bed backwards, they’ll have bad dreams.

- Cutting a whisker from your kitten and burying it under the wood stove will keep it from straying.

- Circling a new animal (I’ve seen it done with a chicken and a cat) over the fire several times and whispering a chant will also keep it from straying.

- It’s a sin for an animal to look at or sniff your food.

- Looking at a bruise makes it swell more

- Don’t wiggle your hands to make a shadow- the shadow will keep moving by itself, even after you’ve stopped moving your hands.

I’ve just smiled and nodded at most of these things. But I couldn’t keep my mouth shut when I learned of the last two. To the girl who told was awkwardly hiding a bruise, I explained why people bruise and that my looking it could not possibly make it worse. She didn’t believe me.

The shadow thing made me berserk. Here are two very bright young ladies, 13 and 16, and they are seriously telling me that it’s not good to make shadows for too long with your hands, because then the shadows will dance by themselves. “WHAT?!” I said. You seriously think that? Of course, they said, looking at me with somber faces. NO, I said. Look- I wiggled my hands all over the wall- they’re not moving by themselves!! They can’t! They aren’t alive! They are just blocking the light! They giggled at my enthusiasm and smiled doubtfully.

It helps to remember a major message from my science education classes: people have very strong ideas about the how the world works, and it is really, really hard to change these ideas. Even when you present serious evidence against their ideas, they will still cling intensely to them.

That is fine. I am not here as a science educator. But I can’t help but be totally fascinated with what I perceive to be awfully unusual ideas about the world. It’s interesting how firmly these ideas continue to exist in their culture, even in those who receive a relatively decent modern education. I could probably learn something from that fact.

I am beginning to truly feel like a mom to the girls, and was recently honored with the title “nuestra tercera madre”- “our third mother” (Rachel being the second). This week I found myself reading and re-reading the part of Romeo to help Julieta (Josefa) memorize her lines; making late-night study snacks; listening to their typical teenage-girl he-said she-said stories; needing three tries to wake them up; doctoring colds and cuts; soothing hurt feelings; and laughing as they imitated how Shakira’s hair moves when she dances.

David’s truck got broken into last weekend, while it was parked in town. The people stole money and tried to steal the radio, but only succeeded in totally messing it up and breaking the heating panel. It’s unfortunate that it happened on a busy street in plain view of a bunch of people, but that they were admittedly too scared to say anything.

We received word this week that Magdalena’s ex-husband/Rono’s father is back from the States and in Quiché. You may remember that Magda, who married him at 15, was treated very badly by him and his family. When he went to the U.S. to work, and things didn’t improve, she came back to live with her family at the project last fall. It sounds like he was deported.

Everyone is very worried about Magda and Rono’s safety. Apparently the man made some comments about needing to “take care of some business” here, and the fear is that Magda and Rono are the business. We are all being extra-vigilant and taking precautions to help keep them safe. It’s so unfortunate that there has to be an additional layer of fear over the house… as if people, especially the girls, weren’t fearful enough to begin with.

I was almost truly scared here for the first time last night. Soon after I’d climbed into bed, I heard barking dogs, yelling, gunshots, whistles, and people running. I forced myself to stay in my bed, despite my curiosity. The next day, I was told that some boys tried to rob one of our neighbors and that the man shot at them. I’m not sure what the result was.

Sometimes, if one of our kids forgets to do a chore or does something wrong, someone will jokingly call out “castigo Maya!”- Mayan punishment! They told me that traditional Mayan punishment for women is to have their hair cut off, which is totally humiliating. For men, it’s some combination of humiliation and mild torment.

I’d read about small Guatemalan communities, fed up with crime and lacking any police protection, “taking justice into their own hands”. But I didn’t realize how they did this until I opened the paper the other day to a large photo of true Mayan punishment. Three young men had robbed and beat a driver in their town late one night. The neighbors searched for them, caught them, and locked them in a house for the night. The next day, the whole community gathered to view their punishment. Stripped of their clothes, they had to painful things like crawl over sharp rocks.

I have no comment about any of this. It’s interesting though.