it's a little disconcerting for me how hard it is to write these days. don't really know why, but it becomes increasingly difficult to form something coherent. let's see what we can find.
i miss free time. i have free time, obviously, but it is usually suffocated by the ever-present list of things to do. isn't there a mute button somewhere on that annoying soundtrack?
why is it that when you CAN sleep in and have a good time to rest, you don't sleep well? it's like there's this rebellion in my body that refuses to rest...i don't know if it's stubborness, a martyr complex or some bizarre health issue. what i do know is that it's frustrating.
things i've enjoyed lately: riding out to the farm on a limitless sunny day with my husband, chocolate supplies, a slowly growing ability to put space between me and my job, time alone with my husband, reading....a lot, glee, sunny saturdays so my laundry dries, the book of samuel, toasted buns with butter, working with my students towards their success, perfect fitting calvin kleins that cost me 7 dollars, being ok with me.
only 8 weeks of class left, then exams, then the end of my 2nd year at NCA Nejapa. time is speedy here. still learning so much.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
for the sake of consistency
after weeks of division, a coming together.
hours of running to be met by a moment of rest.
agitation turned into peace.
answers found. energies recuperated. trust restored.
above all - reconciliation.
today was a good day.
hours of running to be met by a moment of rest.
agitation turned into peace.
answers found. energies recuperated. trust restored.
above all - reconciliation.
today was a good day.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
rhythm
if my life were a EKG or lie detector test, there would be wicked leaps and drops, nothing really steady and certainly few things that remained in constant.
i'm wanting to add some rhythm, some constancy to my life, where i can. many of the things that make it so topsy-turvy are completely out of my hands, but i have a tiny bit of control over some things and am really needing to find a rhythm in all of it.
some efforts i've tried so far: daily bible reading, daily prayer with my husband, preparing my lunch to take everyday to school, writing to my husband weekly, afternoon rest moments, looking at the positive side of things. and now i want to add weekly blogging. (i have to admit i am really bad at getting this rhythm down, so forgive me ahead of time.)
so often i have a lot i'd like to write, but i don't for one of the following reasons: it's too harsh, it's too messy, it's too personal. but as i've been teaching my advanced kids about story, and how it is important to tell a story, one you believe in, one that makes you feel positive and reaches others, i've realized i need to tell these stories. not all of them will be world-shaking or even very interesting. but there is something in telling that allows us to recognize new sides of the thing we are experiencing.
so in the midst of all the things from this weekend: no city water, constant rain, blackouts, my nephew's dad in jail for an accident, debts they will have to pay, a continually flooding school, allergies, weariness, irresponsibility, and the sticky stain of corruption on this country, i want to tell you a story.
a good story. i hope.
it was friday afternoon, and all were anxiously awaiting the news that the new pump had finally been installed and we would have water again. i had just woken up from a fabulous nap under the watchful eye of the brewing storm, the applause among the plantain trees the perfect lullaby. my husband and i went to check the water situation only to find out it would be another 2 weeks before the water would be back. like many things here, the new pump did not work and they would have to wait to buy another.
so we got to thinking. and planning. and shoving. not each other that is, but old pvc piping. alongside my husband, nephews, brother-in-law,and church members on the soaked ground, we came up with a device to catch rainwater and direct it into our water tank. it made me smile to see us all there, muddy and wet but laughing as we wrestled with various pipes and glue to make this contraption that stretched 8 feet from the roof to the opening of the tank. there was this triumph evident in their eyes, excited that they found a way to beat our circumstances.
since it had rained pretty hard, i had a full barrel of water and i could finally wash some clothes. my nephew started hauling water from one tank to where i was washing clothes, one after the other. my husband bounced around from one project(a soccer ball stuck in the gutters causing a flood) to another (fixing the piping we didn't use). as i scrubbed out the week's dirt and let my thoughts swirl around in the lather, i felt grateful. in the midst of not very fun circumstances, i had seen how we had come together, how each one gave what they could to make it work, to live. there is so much need here. so much that we don't have. and without this kind of unity and support, we drown. we dry up and get beaten down. and it was refreshing to see it work, to find that it just came together. with the sun peeking out apologetically, i hung those clothes up with satisfaction. who cares if it's not fixed? we have what it takes to make it through...and i see this apply to hunger, poverty, corruption, fear, betrayal, lack, emptiness.
maybe we can't 'fix' nicaragua. but we can be the best versions of ourselves, together, without letting our surroundings weigh us down.*
(*this is often so very hard to do. case in point: brother-in-law in jail for an accident in which neither has insurance and the kids on the motorcycle were injured, lots of debt from that, waiting around in the dim police station trying to negotiate and all of a sudden, a thief has gotten into a bus in the police station parking lot and stolen the radio. and they send the youngest girl member of the force to run after him, slipping and sliding in the mud.obviously she didn't catch him.
it makes me want to scream...inexplicably difficult for me to be the best version of myself or for us to overcome with unity. pressed down. but not crushed.)
i'm wanting to add some rhythm, some constancy to my life, where i can. many of the things that make it so topsy-turvy are completely out of my hands, but i have a tiny bit of control over some things and am really needing to find a rhythm in all of it.
some efforts i've tried so far: daily bible reading, daily prayer with my husband, preparing my lunch to take everyday to school, writing to my husband weekly, afternoon rest moments, looking at the positive side of things. and now i want to add weekly blogging. (i have to admit i am really bad at getting this rhythm down, so forgive me ahead of time.)
so often i have a lot i'd like to write, but i don't for one of the following reasons: it's too harsh, it's too messy, it's too personal. but as i've been teaching my advanced kids about story, and how it is important to tell a story, one you believe in, one that makes you feel positive and reaches others, i've realized i need to tell these stories. not all of them will be world-shaking or even very interesting. but there is something in telling that allows us to recognize new sides of the thing we are experiencing.
so in the midst of all the things from this weekend: no city water, constant rain, blackouts, my nephew's dad in jail for an accident, debts they will have to pay, a continually flooding school, allergies, weariness, irresponsibility, and the sticky stain of corruption on this country, i want to tell you a story.
a good story. i hope.
it was friday afternoon, and all were anxiously awaiting the news that the new pump had finally been installed and we would have water again. i had just woken up from a fabulous nap under the watchful eye of the brewing storm, the applause among the plantain trees the perfect lullaby. my husband and i went to check the water situation only to find out it would be another 2 weeks before the water would be back. like many things here, the new pump did not work and they would have to wait to buy another.
so we got to thinking. and planning. and shoving. not each other that is, but old pvc piping. alongside my husband, nephews, brother-in-law,and church members on the soaked ground, we came up with a device to catch rainwater and direct it into our water tank. it made me smile to see us all there, muddy and wet but laughing as we wrestled with various pipes and glue to make this contraption that stretched 8 feet from the roof to the opening of the tank. there was this triumph evident in their eyes, excited that they found a way to beat our circumstances.
since it had rained pretty hard, i had a full barrel of water and i could finally wash some clothes. my nephew started hauling water from one tank to where i was washing clothes, one after the other. my husband bounced around from one project(a soccer ball stuck in the gutters causing a flood) to another (fixing the piping we didn't use). as i scrubbed out the week's dirt and let my thoughts swirl around in the lather, i felt grateful. in the midst of not very fun circumstances, i had seen how we had come together, how each one gave what they could to make it work, to live. there is so much need here. so much that we don't have. and without this kind of unity and support, we drown. we dry up and get beaten down. and it was refreshing to see it work, to find that it just came together. with the sun peeking out apologetically, i hung those clothes up with satisfaction. who cares if it's not fixed? we have what it takes to make it through...and i see this apply to hunger, poverty, corruption, fear, betrayal, lack, emptiness.
maybe we can't 'fix' nicaragua. but we can be the best versions of ourselves, together, without letting our surroundings weigh us down.*
(*this is often so very hard to do. case in point: brother-in-law in jail for an accident in which neither has insurance and the kids on the motorcycle were injured, lots of debt from that, waiting around in the dim police station trying to negotiate and all of a sudden, a thief has gotten into a bus in the police station parking lot and stolen the radio. and they send the youngest girl member of the force to run after him, slipping and sliding in the mud.obviously she didn't catch him.
it makes me want to scream...inexplicably difficult for me to be the best version of myself or for us to overcome with unity. pressed down. but not crushed.)
Saturday, August 21, 2010
rain pounded on the zinc overhead...
and i half-shouted over the giggling 5th graders to help them finish their project. They colored and cut and glued and glittered, as i glanced at the rising water collecting from the heavy rain.
the final bell rang and we shouted a prayer to keep us safe, as the kids shifted their backpacks and fiddled with their white shirts, untucking them a stretch at a time. as we left the classroom, they all chattered excitedly over the situation, but i was remembering the last time this occurred: the steadily growing tide that consumed the office and the high school,a wake of recess snack bags and sludge cluttering the normally shiny surfaces, and the resulting wave of illness from the wet clothes and disgusting liquid squishing in our shoes. i put them to study math as i waited impatiently to know how we were going to resolve this one.
at 3:12, the stragglers crossed the soggy soccer field with me and a couple of other teachers, only to find the cafeteria a swirling pool of sticks, trash and a foot and a half of water. We huddled in the remaining sprinkles of the rain and i went to check on the office situation. there i found my other teachers with the director, now past the nervous stage and on to the witty stage, a skill we have from living in a continually negative and unstable world. if only we had known what that slithering pool around our feet was doing just a kilometer away...
now, i don't know about you all, but i tend to shy away from things i KNOW i'm not good at...like volleyball. and overwhelming crowds of people. and resisting chocolate temptation. and grief. maybe there isn't anyone whose really good at grief, but i feel especially unequipped at it. being a very sensitive person whose emotions swell and spiral and suffocate, i become very delicate and...different. and i just don't like it.
so you can imagine how much i was dreading yesterday, as i had to face my co-workers and students after the drowning of a dear 10th grader. that water that changed our afternoon as it twisted by our school changed anita's life as she tried to get home.she was trying to pass an unpassable turn that was running with the current, while my fellow teachers and i were up to our ankles in that same filthy water, laughing from some quip about the photocopier that was teetering on the table. it's sobering to think about just how NOT in control we are, for all we'd like to pretend and imagine.
i felt like a zombie as i walked through the day, pasting on a smile in front of the primary school kids as they had normal classes, tucking that grief away in the roof of my mouth, speaking with care so as to not dislodge it. but when i found myself with those i could be open about my grief with, i swallowed it, stone-faced and cut off. and all i could keep thinking was, how is one supposed to deal with grief? sure there are a ton of books and strategies and 'tools' that can be accessed, but i think it's like marriage and childcare and 'life crises'...they are just things that happen to you in life, things that you enter and depending on who you are and, i would say, how you relate to God, will affect how you deal with it.
as i listened to isaac sing 'alaba' and watched the students maintain vigilance over anita throughout the service, i rested in that pain. i let it be there and allowed myself to acknowledge it, to experience it. to cry and to laugh and to let it drip through my fingers.
i think my reaction, and that of many, is to hurry it up, to get it over and done with and to not let it take up too much space or time. but then i think of the truth that His power is made perfect in our weakness. and though i don't understand it, that it's ok to let that be true, to believe it, to apply it to my life. and not just with grief, but disappointment, fear, pain, loss, anxiety, worry, waiting, trials, tests, growth, change...whatever.
let it take the space it needs. but remember that the One who is in control, is the One who overcomes and brings us out of it. and Who will use it for His glory, which in turn always means good for us.
may His peace and provision cover her family and friends and may His presence be a balm on the rawness of this grief.
the final bell rang and we shouted a prayer to keep us safe, as the kids shifted their backpacks and fiddled with their white shirts, untucking them a stretch at a time. as we left the classroom, they all chattered excitedly over the situation, but i was remembering the last time this occurred: the steadily growing tide that consumed the office and the high school,a wake of recess snack bags and sludge cluttering the normally shiny surfaces, and the resulting wave of illness from the wet clothes and disgusting liquid squishing in our shoes. i put them to study math as i waited impatiently to know how we were going to resolve this one.
at 3:12, the stragglers crossed the soggy soccer field with me and a couple of other teachers, only to find the cafeteria a swirling pool of sticks, trash and a foot and a half of water. We huddled in the remaining sprinkles of the rain and i went to check on the office situation. there i found my other teachers with the director, now past the nervous stage and on to the witty stage, a skill we have from living in a continually negative and unstable world. if only we had known what that slithering pool around our feet was doing just a kilometer away...
now, i don't know about you all, but i tend to shy away from things i KNOW i'm not good at...like volleyball. and overwhelming crowds of people. and resisting chocolate temptation. and grief. maybe there isn't anyone whose really good at grief, but i feel especially unequipped at it. being a very sensitive person whose emotions swell and spiral and suffocate, i become very delicate and...different. and i just don't like it.
so you can imagine how much i was dreading yesterday, as i had to face my co-workers and students after the drowning of a dear 10th grader. that water that changed our afternoon as it twisted by our school changed anita's life as she tried to get home.she was trying to pass an unpassable turn that was running with the current, while my fellow teachers and i were up to our ankles in that same filthy water, laughing from some quip about the photocopier that was teetering on the table. it's sobering to think about just how NOT in control we are, for all we'd like to pretend and imagine.
i felt like a zombie as i walked through the day, pasting on a smile in front of the primary school kids as they had normal classes, tucking that grief away in the roof of my mouth, speaking with care so as to not dislodge it. but when i found myself with those i could be open about my grief with, i swallowed it, stone-faced and cut off. and all i could keep thinking was, how is one supposed to deal with grief? sure there are a ton of books and strategies and 'tools' that can be accessed, but i think it's like marriage and childcare and 'life crises'...they are just things that happen to you in life, things that you enter and depending on who you are and, i would say, how you relate to God, will affect how you deal with it.
as i listened to isaac sing 'alaba' and watched the students maintain vigilance over anita throughout the service, i rested in that pain. i let it be there and allowed myself to acknowledge it, to experience it. to cry and to laugh and to let it drip through my fingers.
i think my reaction, and that of many, is to hurry it up, to get it over and done with and to not let it take up too much space or time. but then i think of the truth that His power is made perfect in our weakness. and though i don't understand it, that it's ok to let that be true, to believe it, to apply it to my life. and not just with grief, but disappointment, fear, pain, loss, anxiety, worry, waiting, trials, tests, growth, change...whatever.
let it take the space it needs. but remember that the One who is in control, is the One who overcomes and brings us out of it. and Who will use it for His glory, which in turn always means good for us.
may His peace and provision cover her family and friends and may His presence be a balm on the rawness of this grief.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
we belong here.
tiny hands and dripping paint and muddy flipflops might seem like an atrocious mess but God, was it beautiful. these little members of my community, the ones that smile at you with their eyes and offer up love like there's no end to it, were there in their squiggly lines, enjoying the various crafts that our beloved Colorado team brought down. I got to be a part of the hand-printing mural and for me it was so so powerful...not because I'm super-psyched about painting hands, but because it was incredibly overwhelming to make these little ones a permanent part of our clinic. Placing those smudgy hands with their name neatly woven in ballpoint, right between those teensy fingers, was a joyous act, a commemoration, if you will. and not just because of the image that developed, but the profound look reflected in their eyes that says, this is mine. i am a part of this. I BELONG HERE.
I can't really convey through words the sweet swelling that balloons in my chest when I think about it...it's one of those emotions that fills, that soothes the raw edges and relaxes the tense places that come from doing this kind of work. it says, little by little, what we are doing, is helping form and shape these little ones, in a way that matters...just that pixel of change, that they would feel a part of and not just one who receives. it's these things, the small and often unnoticed attitude and value changes that tell me El Crucero will be different in a few generations. and who cares if I'm not here in those future generations, the best part is just knowing it will be different...and hopefully, a lot brighter.
I can't really convey through words the sweet swelling that balloons in my chest when I think about it...it's one of those emotions that fills, that soothes the raw edges and relaxes the tense places that come from doing this kind of work. it says, little by little, what we are doing, is helping form and shape these little ones, in a way that matters...just that pixel of change, that they would feel a part of and not just one who receives. it's these things, the small and often unnoticed attitude and value changes that tell me El Crucero will be different in a few generations. and who cares if I'm not here in those future generations, the best part is just knowing it will be different...and hopefully, a lot brighter.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
something new
sometimes you just get on this speeding path without ever really thinking about how you got there nor if you really want to be there. sometimes you find yourself up to your neck in things and think, what? why am i doing this?
there are so many opportunities to be disappointed and let down in this work. there are so many plans that fall apart, hard work that doesn't get noticed, time that gets stripped away.
weariness and sheer exhaustion and overworked are all common descriptors for those involved, the growing weight of the need that you see around you smothering, the hunger clawing to be noticed.
but none of these are the worst crisis for someone in some type of service. the real gut-wrencher is when you find yourself with absolutely no more desire to continue. when you find that you could turn it all over to someone else without a second thought of what would happen to those little tummies, those growing minds, those desperate eyes and grasping hands.
it's not even the weariness or heaviness or difficulty of it all that bothers me....its this new, flippant and oh-so willing part that wants to wash her hands of it all.
i sat yesterday, stewing in this and watching the sunlight glisten off the leaves...and just sat. i haven't just sat in a real long time.
and the bottom line is this: there is a need for balance. and rest. and sharing responsibilities. but more than that there is the reality that this work, this thing that i do...it's woven into my soul....its not even the place or the people or the circumstances but the profound knowledge that this is what i was made for. so even though this alarming new sensation is ever present in this moment, i know that it's just a false self, a shadow of who i thought i could be, but nothing like who i really am.
and with that, i could breathe. there is something about being anchored that allows you to hold on in the midst of whatever gust that comes your way. i'm thankful for that.
there are so many opportunities to be disappointed and let down in this work. there are so many plans that fall apart, hard work that doesn't get noticed, time that gets stripped away.
weariness and sheer exhaustion and overworked are all common descriptors for those involved, the growing weight of the need that you see around you smothering, the hunger clawing to be noticed.
but none of these are the worst crisis for someone in some type of service. the real gut-wrencher is when you find yourself with absolutely no more desire to continue. when you find that you could turn it all over to someone else without a second thought of what would happen to those little tummies, those growing minds, those desperate eyes and grasping hands.
it's not even the weariness or heaviness or difficulty of it all that bothers me....its this new, flippant and oh-so willing part that wants to wash her hands of it all.
i sat yesterday, stewing in this and watching the sunlight glisten off the leaves...and just sat. i haven't just sat in a real long time.
and the bottom line is this: there is a need for balance. and rest. and sharing responsibilities. but more than that there is the reality that this work, this thing that i do...it's woven into my soul....its not even the place or the people or the circumstances but the profound knowledge that this is what i was made for. so even though this alarming new sensation is ever present in this moment, i know that it's just a false self, a shadow of who i thought i could be, but nothing like who i really am.
and with that, i could breathe. there is something about being anchored that allows you to hold on in the midst of whatever gust that comes your way. i'm thankful for that.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
fingerprints
things that have been leaving their mark lately...in various forms.
one of the 4 year old twins(whose mom just died from a plastic surgery gone wrong...who on earth gets plastic surgery in Nicaragua
??)just bawling because he couldn't get his cut-outs to stay glued down...me kneeling, helping him and seeing that it really has nothing to do with cutouts or glue, but overwhelming loss.
being a mom to a 14-year old. Moises' nephew is living with us. and in the midst of all this is the growing ability to see how He provides. how nothing is impossible. and how there is always enough.
fruits of partnerships and the fullness they bring. there is nothing quite as sweet as seeing your dreams and visions sprout up and reach people, to see them change their lives, to see them overcome and smile at this new place they are coming into.
quietly and carefully tending to my marriage with my husband in the little garden of our lives. seeing him pour into it as much as i do. being united in one purpose.
that place of rest that always finds you when you ask, no matter the to-do list, the projects, the laundry, the whatever.
my soul clings to you; Your right hand upholds me. Psalm 63:8
one of the 4 year old twins(whose mom just died from a plastic surgery gone wrong...who on earth gets plastic surgery in Nicaragua
??)just bawling because he couldn't get his cut-outs to stay glued down...me kneeling, helping him and seeing that it really has nothing to do with cutouts or glue, but overwhelming loss.
being a mom to a 14-year old. Moises' nephew is living with us. and in the midst of all this is the growing ability to see how He provides. how nothing is impossible. and how there is always enough.
fruits of partnerships and the fullness they bring. there is nothing quite as sweet as seeing your dreams and visions sprout up and reach people, to see them change their lives, to see them overcome and smile at this new place they are coming into.
quietly and carefully tending to my marriage with my husband in the little garden of our lives. seeing him pour into it as much as i do. being united in one purpose.
that place of rest that always finds you when you ask, no matter the to-do list, the projects, the laundry, the whatever.
my soul clings to you; Your right hand upholds me. Psalm 63:8
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