Sunday, November 23, 2008
Malaysia added to next year as placement
So,We have exciting news. Malaysia has been added to the list of countries that YAGMs can spend their year. This is an exciting development and we will keep you posted when we have more details. So tell your friends, tell everyone the exciting news!!!
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Sukhamano, state-siders (Issue 7) - Rob in India
And we're back. The "Kerala Exchange" has now become the
"Kerala Quarterly" and, man, have I got an issue for you.
Since I left you last time (in February, yikes) classes were just letting out and the students left for summer break. Life as I'd known it for the past half of a year changed dramatically, but this break from the usual duties also gave me a chance to pursue some big adventures. My March adventures don't fit into this newsletter, so to get that story you're going to have to visit the blog at malayalamartin.blogspot.com. April was spent mostly on the All India Tour; a 28 day rough and tumble romp through the northern regions of India. Those of you paying close attention to the web album have probably already been staring at the photo evidence of that excursion for weeks. From the very day we arrived back in Kerala, until near the end of May I was engaged in camps of various sorts. This extended edition of the "Kerala Quarterly" will take you on a virtual tour of these past two months.
The All India Tour has long been a part of this volunteer program. After seeing one tiny corner of the country for most of the year, it gives us a chance to catch a glimpse of what else is going on in this vastly diverse country and put some perspective on our Kerala home. I'd say that goal was met, and then some. In four weeks we travelled from the southern tip of the continent to the Himalayas. We saw deserts, rice paddies, golden fields of grain and villages cut terraced into the heighest mountain range in the world. Every place we visited was home to one or several languages we didn't even know existed. Yes, there is a difference between South-Central L.A. and Fargo, ND, but the diversity we encountered in our travels made the American melting pot look like an Easy Bake Oven.
The Jodhpur fort was home to many a Mughal monarch, it's the gateway to the Thar Desert and beyond them thar dunes lies Pakistan. This fort may also be home to the one truly satisfying audio tour in existence. If you ever make it out here it's really worth the Rs. 400. The fact that the entire fortress was hewn from solid rock into beautifully intricate designs is nothing short of miraculous. There is just something deeply satisfying about the geometric intricacy of Muslim art. Check out the level of detail around this window…
We spent one day in Jodhpur and then took a night train to Jaisalmer, home of another big ol' fort. The train arrived at 5:30 a.m. and left us unsure about "what next." What happened was this: We were completely overwhelmed by people offering us rooms, travel packages, auto rickshaw rides, and camel excursions. We put on our best, "Get outta my face" faces, but our assaulters had developed some kind of immunity to this, the deadliest weapon in our body language arsenal. Somehow me managed to escape the railway station, but not before one man pulled me down by my backpack to show me his brochure. It looks like we've entered Tourist Hell...
The fort was only a couple of kilometers from the
station, and once the sun came out most of the wild-
eyed salesmen disappeared. The fort by day was actually a very pleasant place- a veritable castle of sand. I probably could have done without this audio tour, but we did meet a lot of interesting people along the way. One lady who owned a handycrafts store, (actually, she was the only female shop owner we met all day), told us this story about the "sustainable" community from which her goods came and to which her proceeds went. The word "sustainable" evokes oohs and ahhs from environmentally concious people the world over, and it was the perfect sales pitch for us. Just before we left she gave us a CD and said, "Take this and you can see what I'm talking about." Later in Delhi we popped the CD into a computer and, what do you know, it appears she was telling us the truth about everything. I think we were all a bit surprised that we found a devoted and honest souvenir seller in Tourist Hell.
Stepping out of our home communities in Kerala into the tourist world of Rajasthan was a bit of a surreal experience. We were used to living in a place where people knew us and shared their lives with us. Suddenly, we jumped into this world where everyone saw us as tourists. That is, of course, logical for them to assume, but we didn't really feel like tourists. We felt like displaced Keralites. Yes, the forts were amazing, but as a group we decided early on that forts weren't our forte. We wanted the rest of our journey to involve less sightseeing and more people seeing.
As we took another night train to Delhi we were excited to see some familiar faces again. Our stay was arranged with a family of Presbyterian missionaries posted in Delhi. We also anticipated meeting with our friend Binu who is studying in Delhi, and is the son of our program coordinator, Thomas John Achen.
When we arrived in Delhi we took a taxi armed only with directions and an address scrawled on a piece of paper. While we've managed to conquer the various transportation systems in Kerala, in this town we were back to squarea one - we didn't even have one word of Hindi between the four of us. We did manage to arrive safely at the Hudson residence, and were warmly greeted by the good Reverend Hudson himself. Without missing a beat he began cooking up some hot noodles for us, mixing some icy drinks and sending us out in shifts for a hot shower. We've haven't had pasta, ice cubes, or hot showers since August 2007! This is something really amazing to us. And that first experience pretty much summed up the level of hospitality that the whole Hudson clan extended to us during our stay.
From the Hudson's house we traveled to the Taj Mahal, of course. We also made several excursions out into the city with the Hudsons as our guides. Along the way we had some incredible meals including, much to my surprise, the absolute best South Korean food I've ever set my teeth into. Though the Hudsons were invaluable in helping us around the city, they also gave us a really unique perspective on our own time in Kerala. Though we've offered one year of our lives in this country, the Hudsons will be here for at least three, and they've already completed stints in Pakistan and South Korea. Suddenly, a year in India as a recent college grads doesn't seem like such a big deal.
From the Smith residence we trekked deeper into the Himalayas
in search of adventure, full body fatigue and snow. We found
all of these things. On our first hike we trekked up a beautiful stone path through green fields and budding rhododendrons. Despite this lush first leg, the snow capped peaks surrounding us stood as a reminder of what lay at the end of our climb.
After a couple of hours of hiking, some mountain-sized clouds began to roll towards us, thundering all the way. The girls figured that getting caught on top of a mountain in a storm is a bad thing, but I reasoned that if we're going to die on a mountain we might as well die at the top. So the girls found shelter and I ran on ahead. At the top there stood an old, stone temple to Shiva, a lot of snow, and dozens of dreadlocked, face-pierced hippies. I took a couple of snaps (of the buildings, not the hippies) and quickly headed back down to join the girls. Scarcely did we begin our decent before the heavens unleashed a torrent of heavy hale balls. Turns out the girls were right afterall. So we found some shelter and waited out the storm, no worse for the wear, but now we can tell our grandchildren that we were trapped on a Himalayan mountaintop in an ice storm.
Our next stop, Daramshala, was selected so we could get a taste of Tibetan culture, and of course, food. We got much more than we planned for. Well, initially we got exactly what we had hoped for – cooking lessons. We traveled through a long corridor of back streets to arrive at Sanje's kitchen. As we prepared our Mo-Mo Soup we asked some questions about Sanje's journey from Tibet to India. It turns out he had quite an incredible journey, and for travelers willing to listen, you get a lot more than some cooking tips out of Sanje. He told us about his midnight escape from his village, he didn't tell anyone or leave a note for fear of endangering his loved ones. He made the four week journey into Nepal on foot and then eventually moved to Daramshala to work as a cook. It was eight years before he made his first phone call back home. We've been hearing about Chinese atrocities in Tibet for years, but this first hand account gave us a face to match with the issue.
As we exited the maze of buildings back onto the main street we were surprised to see a flood of monks carrying banners denouncing Chinese occupation of Tibet. The procession went on and on. After the monks came the city people, then the school kids, and then a smattering of travelers from all around the world also joined in the march.
We just happened to be at the seat of Tibetan government as the Olympic torch passed through Delhi, and this protest was staged to coincide with the relay. This display of raw emotion made quite an impression on all of us, especially after our eye-opening conversation with Sanje. We felt humbled to be at the epicenter of this Olympic-sized issue.
Summer Camp - Kerala Style
T he very day after returning to Kerala I was invited to help
lead a three week summer camp for kids aged 6-16. Actually,
I was introduced to the camp as the "dance teacher." I tried to explain that the only dance experience I had was with tap dance, and I didn't think attempting tap with over a hundred kids simultaneously was a good idea, but the organizer reassured me, "It's ok, we're sure you'll come up with something good."
Even now I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I managed to put together some steps for a punk rock version of "I Fought the Law." The kids young and old seemed to really like it. I guess, since the typical Malayalam film does depict random dancing as a fact of life, they were an accepting audience. One of the young girls came up to me after I taught them the dance, gave me a big smile and said, "Great moves!" Hey, if she's happy then I can be satisifed with my utter dance awkwardness.
During these three weeks I also served as song leader, magician, jungle gym and resident expert in paper airplane folding. I worked at a summer camp for three summers in America, but I'd completely forgotten what an incredible joy it is to get to know these small people. Though the differences between this culture and American culture are innumerable, these Keralite kids had just as much energy, mischief, and as many questions as the American variety.
The day after that camp ended, I awoke with a feeling of disappointment - there would be no more camp today. Luckily for me, a new camp began the very next day. This camp was for older students – college kids. The program was organized by the Student Christian Movement, though students from any religion were encouraged to attend. Entitled, "Student Empowerment and Communicative English" the camp sought students who came from the poorest sections of society namely Dalits. Though education is freely available in Kerala, all things aren't exactly equal. As it has become necessary to have some skill in the English language to succeed in most desirable occupations, primary educations that focus on English training have also come into vogue. The families with lots of money can send their kids to schools that offer special language training, or even an international school. The students from the poorest section of society, however, cannot afford these special services.
Over the next two weeks we met and bonded with the students at this program. We were asked to lead the grammar portions of the program, and we did do that, but we also focused a lot of our energies on building up the confidence of these students to engage their language skills, no matter what their proficiency.
The program turned out to be very rewarding, not only because we got to meet so many amazing students, but also because of the change we saw in them in just two weeks' time. Monday through Wednesday was like pulling teeth, especially during the group participation portions of our lessons, but by the following Monday these students felt comfortable communicating with us no matter how proficient or limited their vocabularies. We eased some of the tension by speaking in a form of hybridized "Manglish" when necessary.
On the final day we broke the students into four groups and gave them a scavenger hunt to complete. Once they had collected the items we instructed them to make a skit incorporating all of the things they found. The results were absolutely astounding. One group presented a play detailing the struggle of the tribal populations of Kerala to cope with the pressures of modernization. Another group gave us an incredibly nuanced portrayal of some of the negative effects of globalization. I was utterly blown away; these were the same students who refused to speak at all only two weeks before.
That's it for now, congratulations on making it through, and thank you for coming with me on my journey thus far. I think my next newsletter will be my last from India, though I'll give you one follow up issue after my return. Now that students have returned I'm busy again with classes, visits to Kanam and a couple of side music projects as well. For those of you familiar with the Holden Evening Prayer, it's coming to Kerala with a bluegrass twist. Get ready.
"Kerala Quarterly" and, man, have I got an issue for you.
Since I left you last time (in February, yikes) classes were just letting out and the students left for summer break. Life as I'd known it for the past half of a year changed dramatically, but this break from the usual duties also gave me a chance to pursue some big adventures. My March adventures don't fit into this newsletter, so to get that story you're going to have to visit the blog at malayalamartin.blogspot.com. April was spent mostly on the All India Tour; a 28 day rough and tumble romp through the northern regions of India. Those of you paying close attention to the web album have probably already been staring at the photo evidence of that excursion for weeks. From the very day we arrived back in Kerala, until near the end of May I was engaged in camps of various sorts. This extended edition of the "Kerala Quarterly" will take you on a virtual tour of these past two months.
The All India Tour has long been a part of this volunteer program. After seeing one tiny corner of the country for most of the year, it gives us a chance to catch a glimpse of what else is going on in this vastly diverse country and put some perspective on our Kerala home. I'd say that goal was met, and then some. In four weeks we travelled from the southern tip of the continent to the Himalayas. We saw deserts, rice paddies, golden fields of grain and villages cut terraced into the heighest mountain range in the world. Every place we visited was home to one or several languages we didn't even know existed. Yes, there is a difference between South-Central L.A. and Fargo, ND, but the diversity we encountered in our travels made the American melting pot look like an Easy Bake Oven.
The Jodhpur fort was home to many a Mughal monarch, it's the gateway to the Thar Desert and beyond them thar dunes lies Pakistan. This fort may also be home to the one truly satisfying audio tour in existence. If you ever make it out here it's really worth the Rs. 400. The fact that the entire fortress was hewn from solid rock into beautifully intricate designs is nothing short of miraculous. There is just something deeply satisfying about the geometric intricacy of Muslim art. Check out the level of detail around this window…
We spent one day in Jodhpur and then took a night train to Jaisalmer, home of another big ol' fort. The train arrived at 5:30 a.m. and left us unsure about "what next." What happened was this: We were completely overwhelmed by people offering us rooms, travel packages, auto rickshaw rides, and camel excursions. We put on our best, "Get outta my face" faces, but our assaulters had developed some kind of immunity to this, the deadliest weapon in our body language arsenal. Somehow me managed to escape the railway station, but not before one man pulled me down by my backpack to show me his brochure. It looks like we've entered Tourist Hell...
The fort was only a couple of kilometers from the
station, and once the sun came out most of the wild-
eyed salesmen disappeared. The fort by day was actually a very pleasant place- a veritable castle of sand. I probably could have done without this audio tour, but we did meet a lot of interesting people along the way. One lady who owned a handycrafts store, (actually, she was the only female shop owner we met all day), told us this story about the "sustainable" community from which her goods came and to which her proceeds went. The word "sustainable" evokes oohs and ahhs from environmentally concious people the world over, and it was the perfect sales pitch for us. Just before we left she gave us a CD and said, "Take this and you can see what I'm talking about." Later in Delhi we popped the CD into a computer and, what do you know, it appears she was telling us the truth about everything. I think we were all a bit surprised that we found a devoted and honest souvenir seller in Tourist Hell.
Stepping out of our home communities in Kerala into the tourist world of Rajasthan was a bit of a surreal experience. We were used to living in a place where people knew us and shared their lives with us. Suddenly, we jumped into this world where everyone saw us as tourists. That is, of course, logical for them to assume, but we didn't really feel like tourists. We felt like displaced Keralites. Yes, the forts were amazing, but as a group we decided early on that forts weren't our forte. We wanted the rest of our journey to involve less sightseeing and more people seeing.
As we took another night train to Delhi we were excited to see some familiar faces again. Our stay was arranged with a family of Presbyterian missionaries posted in Delhi. We also anticipated meeting with our friend Binu who is studying in Delhi, and is the son of our program coordinator, Thomas John Achen.
When we arrived in Delhi we took a taxi armed only with directions and an address scrawled on a piece of paper. While we've managed to conquer the various transportation systems in Kerala, in this town we were back to squarea one - we didn't even have one word of Hindi between the four of us. We did manage to arrive safely at the Hudson residence, and were warmly greeted by the good Reverend Hudson himself. Without missing a beat he began cooking up some hot noodles for us, mixing some icy drinks and sending us out in shifts for a hot shower. We've haven't had pasta, ice cubes, or hot showers since August 2007! This is something really amazing to us. And that first experience pretty much summed up the level of hospitality that the whole Hudson clan extended to us during our stay.
From the Hudson's house we traveled to the Taj Mahal, of course. We also made several excursions out into the city with the Hudsons as our guides. Along the way we had some incredible meals including, much to my surprise, the absolute best South Korean food I've ever set my teeth into. Though the Hudsons were invaluable in helping us around the city, they also gave us a really unique perspective on our own time in Kerala. Though we've offered one year of our lives in this country, the Hudsons will be here for at least three, and they've already completed stints in Pakistan and South Korea. Suddenly, a year in India as a recent college grads doesn't seem like such a big deal.
From the Smith residence we trekked deeper into the Himalayas
in search of adventure, full body fatigue and snow. We found
all of these things. On our first hike we trekked up a beautiful stone path through green fields and budding rhododendrons. Despite this lush first leg, the snow capped peaks surrounding us stood as a reminder of what lay at the end of our climb.
After a couple of hours of hiking, some mountain-sized clouds began to roll towards us, thundering all the way. The girls figured that getting caught on top of a mountain in a storm is a bad thing, but I reasoned that if we're going to die on a mountain we might as well die at the top. So the girls found shelter and I ran on ahead. At the top there stood an old, stone temple to Shiva, a lot of snow, and dozens of dreadlocked, face-pierced hippies. I took a couple of snaps (of the buildings, not the hippies) and quickly headed back down to join the girls. Scarcely did we begin our decent before the heavens unleashed a torrent of heavy hale balls. Turns out the girls were right afterall. So we found some shelter and waited out the storm, no worse for the wear, but now we can tell our grandchildren that we were trapped on a Himalayan mountaintop in an ice storm.
Our next stop, Daramshala, was selected so we could get a taste of Tibetan culture, and of course, food. We got much more than we planned for. Well, initially we got exactly what we had hoped for – cooking lessons. We traveled through a long corridor of back streets to arrive at Sanje's kitchen. As we prepared our Mo-Mo Soup we asked some questions about Sanje's journey from Tibet to India. It turns out he had quite an incredible journey, and for travelers willing to listen, you get a lot more than some cooking tips out of Sanje. He told us about his midnight escape from his village, he didn't tell anyone or leave a note for fear of endangering his loved ones. He made the four week journey into Nepal on foot and then eventually moved to Daramshala to work as a cook. It was eight years before he made his first phone call back home. We've been hearing about Chinese atrocities in Tibet for years, but this first hand account gave us a face to match with the issue.
As we exited the maze of buildings back onto the main street we were surprised to see a flood of monks carrying banners denouncing Chinese occupation of Tibet. The procession went on and on. After the monks came the city people, then the school kids, and then a smattering of travelers from all around the world also joined in the march.
We just happened to be at the seat of Tibetan government as the Olympic torch passed through Delhi, and this protest was staged to coincide with the relay. This display of raw emotion made quite an impression on all of us, especially after our eye-opening conversation with Sanje. We felt humbled to be at the epicenter of this Olympic-sized issue.
Summer Camp - Kerala Style
T he very day after returning to Kerala I was invited to help
lead a three week summer camp for kids aged 6-16. Actually,
I was introduced to the camp as the "dance teacher." I tried to explain that the only dance experience I had was with tap dance, and I didn't think attempting tap with over a hundred kids simultaneously was a good idea, but the organizer reassured me, "It's ok, we're sure you'll come up with something good."
Even now I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I managed to put together some steps for a punk rock version of "I Fought the Law." The kids young and old seemed to really like it. I guess, since the typical Malayalam film does depict random dancing as a fact of life, they were an accepting audience. One of the young girls came up to me after I taught them the dance, gave me a big smile and said, "Great moves!" Hey, if she's happy then I can be satisifed with my utter dance awkwardness.
During these three weeks I also served as song leader, magician, jungle gym and resident expert in paper airplane folding. I worked at a summer camp for three summers in America, but I'd completely forgotten what an incredible joy it is to get to know these small people. Though the differences between this culture and American culture are innumerable, these Keralite kids had just as much energy, mischief, and as many questions as the American variety.
The day after that camp ended, I awoke with a feeling of disappointment - there would be no more camp today. Luckily for me, a new camp began the very next day. This camp was for older students – college kids. The program was organized by the Student Christian Movement, though students from any religion were encouraged to attend. Entitled, "Student Empowerment and Communicative English" the camp sought students who came from the poorest sections of society namely Dalits. Though education is freely available in Kerala, all things aren't exactly equal. As it has become necessary to have some skill in the English language to succeed in most desirable occupations, primary educations that focus on English training have also come into vogue. The families with lots of money can send their kids to schools that offer special language training, or even an international school. The students from the poorest section of society, however, cannot afford these special services.
Over the next two weeks we met and bonded with the students at this program. We were asked to lead the grammar portions of the program, and we did do that, but we also focused a lot of our energies on building up the confidence of these students to engage their language skills, no matter what their proficiency.
The program turned out to be very rewarding, not only because we got to meet so many amazing students, but also because of the change we saw in them in just two weeks' time. Monday through Wednesday was like pulling teeth, especially during the group participation portions of our lessons, but by the following Monday these students felt comfortable communicating with us no matter how proficient or limited their vocabularies. We eased some of the tension by speaking in a form of hybridized "Manglish" when necessary.
On the final day we broke the students into four groups and gave them a scavenger hunt to complete. Once they had collected the items we instructed them to make a skit incorporating all of the things they found. The results were absolutely astounding. One group presented a play detailing the struggle of the tribal populations of Kerala to cope with the pressures of modernization. Another group gave us an incredibly nuanced portrayal of some of the negative effects of globalization. I was utterly blown away; these were the same students who refused to speak at all only two weeks before.
That's it for now, congratulations on making it through, and thank you for coming with me on my journey thus far. I think my next newsletter will be my last from India, though I'll give you one follow up issue after my return. Now that students have returned I'm busy again with classes, visits to Kanam and a couple of side music projects as well. For those of you familiar with the Holden Evening Prayer, it's coming to Kerala with a bluegrass twist. Get ready.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
May and a half newsletter - Katie in Mexico
“The End is Coming”
Cuernavaca, Mexico Newsletter
May 2008
By Katie
No denying it, time is flying and bringing me closer and closer to the end of my year in Mexico. With that realization comes a mix of emotions that seems to ebb and flow several times each day from one extreme to the other. I have a difficult time articulating this current state of confusion and contradiction and constant change; but nonetheless, as many friends, coworkers, and family members start asking me about what “the end” feels like to me, I will take a stab at the impossible and try to make sense of the muddled emotions swimming through my brain. As a visual and graphic learner myself, I present to you a visual metaphor by using a familiar Taoist symbol: the yin yang.
The yin-yang represents the opposing duality of two energies, each very distinct but also interconnected. The two sides compliment and transition into the other and the whole circle emerges. One energy cannot exist without the other. July 9th. One day. “The end.” Two very different and separate worlds of emotions and realities, yet one side does not exist without the other. Together, “leaving Mexico” and “returning home” create the whole, “the end.”
Leaving Mexico
I moved to Cuernavaca last August and have spent the past ten months or so creating a life here. I was welcomed into a Mexican host family, a wonderful one at that, and I continue to develop and evolve in our relationships. I stepped foot into very challenging and rewarding job sites. Both jobs pushed me to struggle through my misguided attempts to serve a community that I didn’t understand; confront my inadequacies; come to terms with the fact that I can’t change the community (or the world); adapt to work within and be a part of those communities; and to find joy and love in accepting the communities as they are. Meanwhile, I formed silly friendships with my coworkers. I grew to crave the moments of children’s unconditional love, wonder, and innocence that they share with me daily through a hug or smile or small success in class. I made friends with other gringos and Mexicans and find so much pleasure in our opportunities to meet and share an afternoon or an evening together. I walked this journey with four other volunteers and my country coordinator who have all served as my rocks, my breaths of fresh air, the guiding light at my feet, and the tides that pull me to new realizations and perspectives. I learned the intricate map of shortcuts and scenic routes of southern Cuernavaca; the good stands in the market; my favorite hideouts downtown to get a (cheap) coffee or beer or bite to eat; and numerous ways to blend in like a local despite my blonde hair and light eyes.
Not all of it has been bliss and I have struggled to find peace in the cross-cultural conflicts of day-to-day life in Mexico. I had an unbelievably difficult time adjusting to my work sites and letting go of my US-American expectations of what “education” should look like. Although I am more flexible with the inconsistencies at my work sites, my work still continues to raise my blood pressure and leave me exhausted at the end of the day. On some days I love the slow pace of not having plans and a “what’s the rush?” attitude… other days that mentality tests my US-American patience and leaves me irritated and thinking to myself “there is so much else I could be doing right now.” I still despise machismo and feel like I am on the verge of clinical insanity caused by excessive catcalls, unwanted attention, and objectification. I am looking forward to not having to question the “safety” of food at restaurants or street-stands, or having to disinfect almost every piece of produce at home with iodine drops. I’m looking forward to not getting some sort of digestive illness and inevitably wind up stupefied, not knowing what caused it or how to treat it. Leaving Mexico will be more heartbreaking than anything… but I would be a liar if I didn’t say that it might also be a slight relief.
Soon I will leave this place with never-fading summer warmth; flowers continually in bloom; loud traffic and stifling exhaust; bustling markets of noisy vendors, fresh vegetables, fruits and meats; a pace that slows and morphs for any unexpected visitor or invitation; and simple living and simple pleasures. Soon I will say goodbye to the kids who hugged me, played with me, and pulled me through the dark days. Soon I will say goodbye to the volunteers who understand this year on a level that I can never fully express to my friends and family back home. Soon I will say goodbye to Marce, my confidant, my nurse, my friend, my Mexican mother and loyal caretaker.
Denial: I’m knee-deep in it… no, better yet, I’m luxuriously bathing in it. I am starting to slowly ponder how “leaving” will affect me, but I will openly admit that my thoughts are almost completely wrapped up in enjoying my last weeks and the daydreams of returning to the things I’ve missed from home. Time is moving quickly now and no amount of mental or emotional preparation will save me from some tears, heartache, and the occasional longing to stay in Mexico. Soon I will confront the reality of saying goodbye, boarding a bus to the airport, and spending five hours in flight that will take me from one side of the yin yang to the other.
Returning Home
To be completely honest, I’ve been looking forward to my return home ever since the beginning of my time in Mexico. Even during the most marvelous and joyful days in Mexico, I have still felt ties to the pieces of home that are so much a part of me. I have always looked forward with excitement and anticipation for the reunification with those things. I lack the words to describe how soul-lifting it will be to see my family and friends; how grounding it will be to feel my feet in the grass at my parents’ home or in the sand by the lake; how encouraging and reassuring it will be talk with those of you who have been following my journey (for which I am eternally grateful); how centering it will be to return Madison and spend a sunny afternoon on the Terrace with friends; how energizing it will be to go for scenic runs, bike rides or swims; and how spiritually enriching it will be to walk into Bethany Lutheran where I know the faces, where I know the hymns, and where I can always find a piece of myself and my faith.
In almost every way, I am deeply and genuinely excited to return home. That being said, I also have to recognize the difficulties awaiting me. Coming home might be a very isolating experience as I haphazardly navigate my way through reverse culture shock. I fear my own inability to relate to US-American culture; I fear my inability to relate to others; I fear others’ inability to relate to me; I fear my inability to articulate what this year really means to me. I fear the confrontation with the pieces of US-American culture that run counter to my post-Mexico self (some which that never felt right to me before; others will be new to me after this experience).
As I re-transition into the United States, I will attempt to find a way to build a grounded, healthy, and soul-satisfying life in which my Mexican self can breathe and grow within my US-American environment. This is my greatest aspiration for my future and leaves me wondering what that obstacle-ridden journey will look like. What decisions can I make that honor and acknowledge how this year has changed me? How can I share with others my Mexican experience and new perspectives with grace? How can I find an open and spiritually-honest lifestyle that finds a balance between my Mexican self and my US-American self? I certainly have hopes for certain Mexican lessons and philosophies I want to bring home, but keeping them in practice will be challenging when so many of them do not easily fit into US-American way of living. Unfortunately, in this world we cannot always cherry-pick from our favorite places, foods and flavors, holidays and traditions, social interactions, and mentality (of ourselves and others) and surround ourselves only with the things that make our souls sing and rejoice. Life is sometimes not what we hope it will be. I cannot wave a magic wand and change certain parts of US-American culture to fit the measure and rhythm of my post-Mexican self. Nor would I want to change it. But I can hope, pray, and attempt to maintain those pieces of my post-Mexican self that bring me life and joy.
This hope of mine reminds me of the book I am currently reading, Plan B: Further thoughts on faith by Anne Lamott. In one chapter she references a man named A.J. Muste who stood in front of the White House during the Vietnam War with a candle every night. A reporter once asked him if he believed that standing with a candle would actually change the government’s policies. He replied, “I don’t do it to change the country, I do it so the country won’t change me.” Oooo, I like that. Let’s see that one again: “I don’t do it to change the country, I do it so the country won’t change me.”
I may not hold candles at night, but I might march or protest for immigration reform. I might spend time during the summer volunteering in the desert with No More Deaths (No Más Muertes). I might pride myself on making handmade tortillas and savor the Mexican flavors I can recreate at home. I might throw my To-Do list out the window and change plans to make time for an unexpected call from a friend or family member – as my Mexican brothers and sisters teach me, sometimes our time is the greatest gift we can give. After beginning to consider some of the lifestyle choices that I can make, I hope that I have the strength and determination to firmly grasp onto the choices that allow me to put my feet on the path that I preach. And I won’t do it to change the country (or my friends, or family, or neighbors); I’ll do it so the country won’t change me.
Conclusion
Just like the yin-yang, I am currently feeling an opposition and a duality between “leaving Mexico” and “returning home.” Each side is distinct and each carries distinct fears, expectations and hopes. At the same time, I cannot have one without the other. It will be a difficult transition for me, probably in more ways that I can begin to imagine; nonetheless, I am also greatly looking forward to seeing you all on the flip side of the yin-yang come July.
Photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/klgavle
Blog: http://klgavlemexico.blogspot.com/
Cuernavaca, Mexico Newsletter
May 2008
By Katie
No denying it, time is flying and bringing me closer and closer to the end of my year in Mexico. With that realization comes a mix of emotions that seems to ebb and flow several times each day from one extreme to the other. I have a difficult time articulating this current state of confusion and contradiction and constant change; but nonetheless, as many friends, coworkers, and family members start asking me about what “the end” feels like to me, I will take a stab at the impossible and try to make sense of the muddled emotions swimming through my brain. As a visual and graphic learner myself, I present to you a visual metaphor by using a familiar Taoist symbol: the yin yang.
The yin-yang represents the opposing duality of two energies, each very distinct but also interconnected. The two sides compliment and transition into the other and the whole circle emerges. One energy cannot exist without the other. July 9th. One day. “The end.” Two very different and separate worlds of emotions and realities, yet one side does not exist without the other. Together, “leaving Mexico” and “returning home” create the whole, “the end.”
Leaving Mexico
I moved to Cuernavaca last August and have spent the past ten months or so creating a life here. I was welcomed into a Mexican host family, a wonderful one at that, and I continue to develop and evolve in our relationships. I stepped foot into very challenging and rewarding job sites. Both jobs pushed me to struggle through my misguided attempts to serve a community that I didn’t understand; confront my inadequacies; come to terms with the fact that I can’t change the community (or the world); adapt to work within and be a part of those communities; and to find joy and love in accepting the communities as they are. Meanwhile, I formed silly friendships with my coworkers. I grew to crave the moments of children’s unconditional love, wonder, and innocence that they share with me daily through a hug or smile or small success in class. I made friends with other gringos and Mexicans and find so much pleasure in our opportunities to meet and share an afternoon or an evening together. I walked this journey with four other volunteers and my country coordinator who have all served as my rocks, my breaths of fresh air, the guiding light at my feet, and the tides that pull me to new realizations and perspectives. I learned the intricate map of shortcuts and scenic routes of southern Cuernavaca; the good stands in the market; my favorite hideouts downtown to get a (cheap) coffee or beer or bite to eat; and numerous ways to blend in like a local despite my blonde hair and light eyes.
Not all of it has been bliss and I have struggled to find peace in the cross-cultural conflicts of day-to-day life in Mexico. I had an unbelievably difficult time adjusting to my work sites and letting go of my US-American expectations of what “education” should look like. Although I am more flexible with the inconsistencies at my work sites, my work still continues to raise my blood pressure and leave me exhausted at the end of the day. On some days I love the slow pace of not having plans and a “what’s the rush?” attitude… other days that mentality tests my US-American patience and leaves me irritated and thinking to myself “there is so much else I could be doing right now.” I still despise machismo and feel like I am on the verge of clinical insanity caused by excessive catcalls, unwanted attention, and objectification. I am looking forward to not having to question the “safety” of food at restaurants or street-stands, or having to disinfect almost every piece of produce at home with iodine drops. I’m looking forward to not getting some sort of digestive illness and inevitably wind up stupefied, not knowing what caused it or how to treat it. Leaving Mexico will be more heartbreaking than anything… but I would be a liar if I didn’t say that it might also be a slight relief.
Soon I will leave this place with never-fading summer warmth; flowers continually in bloom; loud traffic and stifling exhaust; bustling markets of noisy vendors, fresh vegetables, fruits and meats; a pace that slows and morphs for any unexpected visitor or invitation; and simple living and simple pleasures. Soon I will say goodbye to the kids who hugged me, played with me, and pulled me through the dark days. Soon I will say goodbye to the volunteers who understand this year on a level that I can never fully express to my friends and family back home. Soon I will say goodbye to Marce, my confidant, my nurse, my friend, my Mexican mother and loyal caretaker.
Denial: I’m knee-deep in it… no, better yet, I’m luxuriously bathing in it. I am starting to slowly ponder how “leaving” will affect me, but I will openly admit that my thoughts are almost completely wrapped up in enjoying my last weeks and the daydreams of returning to the things I’ve missed from home. Time is moving quickly now and no amount of mental or emotional preparation will save me from some tears, heartache, and the occasional longing to stay in Mexico. Soon I will confront the reality of saying goodbye, boarding a bus to the airport, and spending five hours in flight that will take me from one side of the yin yang to the other.
Returning Home
To be completely honest, I’ve been looking forward to my return home ever since the beginning of my time in Mexico. Even during the most marvelous and joyful days in Mexico, I have still felt ties to the pieces of home that are so much a part of me. I have always looked forward with excitement and anticipation for the reunification with those things. I lack the words to describe how soul-lifting it will be to see my family and friends; how grounding it will be to feel my feet in the grass at my parents’ home or in the sand by the lake; how encouraging and reassuring it will be talk with those of you who have been following my journey (for which I am eternally grateful); how centering it will be to return Madison and spend a sunny afternoon on the Terrace with friends; how energizing it will be to go for scenic runs, bike rides or swims; and how spiritually enriching it will be to walk into Bethany Lutheran where I know the faces, where I know the hymns, and where I can always find a piece of myself and my faith.
In almost every way, I am deeply and genuinely excited to return home. That being said, I also have to recognize the difficulties awaiting me. Coming home might be a very isolating experience as I haphazardly navigate my way through reverse culture shock. I fear my own inability to relate to US-American culture; I fear my inability to relate to others; I fear others’ inability to relate to me; I fear my inability to articulate what this year really means to me. I fear the confrontation with the pieces of US-American culture that run counter to my post-Mexico self (some which that never felt right to me before; others will be new to me after this experience).
As I re-transition into the United States, I will attempt to find a way to build a grounded, healthy, and soul-satisfying life in which my Mexican self can breathe and grow within my US-American environment. This is my greatest aspiration for my future and leaves me wondering what that obstacle-ridden journey will look like. What decisions can I make that honor and acknowledge how this year has changed me? How can I share with others my Mexican experience and new perspectives with grace? How can I find an open and spiritually-honest lifestyle that finds a balance between my Mexican self and my US-American self? I certainly have hopes for certain Mexican lessons and philosophies I want to bring home, but keeping them in practice will be challenging when so many of them do not easily fit into US-American way of living. Unfortunately, in this world we cannot always cherry-pick from our favorite places, foods and flavors, holidays and traditions, social interactions, and mentality (of ourselves and others) and surround ourselves only with the things that make our souls sing and rejoice. Life is sometimes not what we hope it will be. I cannot wave a magic wand and change certain parts of US-American culture to fit the measure and rhythm of my post-Mexican self. Nor would I want to change it. But I can hope, pray, and attempt to maintain those pieces of my post-Mexican self that bring me life and joy.
This hope of mine reminds me of the book I am currently reading, Plan B: Further thoughts on faith by Anne Lamott. In one chapter she references a man named A.J. Muste who stood in front of the White House during the Vietnam War with a candle every night. A reporter once asked him if he believed that standing with a candle would actually change the government’s policies. He replied, “I don’t do it to change the country, I do it so the country won’t change me.” Oooo, I like that. Let’s see that one again: “I don’t do it to change the country, I do it so the country won’t change me.”
I may not hold candles at night, but I might march or protest for immigration reform. I might spend time during the summer volunteering in the desert with No More Deaths (No Más Muertes). I might pride myself on making handmade tortillas and savor the Mexican flavors I can recreate at home. I might throw my To-Do list out the window and change plans to make time for an unexpected call from a friend or family member – as my Mexican brothers and sisters teach me, sometimes our time is the greatest gift we can give. After beginning to consider some of the lifestyle choices that I can make, I hope that I have the strength and determination to firmly grasp onto the choices that allow me to put my feet on the path that I preach. And I won’t do it to change the country (or my friends, or family, or neighbors); I’ll do it so the country won’t change me.
Conclusion
Just like the yin-yang, I am currently feeling an opposition and a duality between “leaving Mexico” and “returning home.” Each side is distinct and each carries distinct fears, expectations and hopes. At the same time, I cannot have one without the other. It will be a difficult transition for me, probably in more ways that I can begin to imagine; nonetheless, I am also greatly looking forward to seeing you all on the flip side of the yin-yang come July.
Photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/klgavle
Blog: http://klgavlemexico.blogspot.com/
May Newsletter - Mark in Slovakia
Mark's Mission Notes
Ahoj and Greetings from Slovakia.
My May has been quite interesting. I saw the Maj Strom go up,
Confirmation, Sväty Duch and had opportunities to travel. My time here is getting closer to when I return and it seems like every week is flying by faster and faster. I'm starting to realize that I will be
going home and what that means for me.
And as usual I have been writing some other updates on my Blog for those of you who are Internet savvy. The address is http://www.moltron.net/
I also have many more pictures available at
http://flickr.com/photos/themoltron
On the First of May, the village had a huge celebration and erected a
Maj Strom or May Tree…basically a big pole with a small tree on top. It stays up during the whole month. It was great seeing all the familiar faces and sounds in the village. Pan Gavornik, who takes pictures of everything, the kids from school running around crazy, the small brass ensemble playing classic Slovak tunes and the pleasant sound of laughter.
That Sunday we had Confirmation Sunday. Confirmation is considered a huge deal, a rite of passage for many of the youth. The Service was packed and the confirmands were dressed in their finest. The Girls in stunning white dresses and the Boys in suits. For many this is the first time I've seen them in something other than jeans and a t-shirt. Family members from all over came for this special occasion. Each confirmand was called up to the altar and given a blessing from the Pastor. Večera Pánova (Communion) is only given a few times a year and this was one of those occasions. I was asked to help which I felt honored. It took about half an hour because there were so many people. The Service itself was
beautiful and it took a little longer because of all the pomp and
circumstance.
Afterward I had some reflections about my own Confirmation. Is it just something that people do and just go through the motions? It is a hard thing to determine, I can't see people hearts. The week before confirmation the confirmands were asked to answers questions about their faith. The answers they gave were from a textbook. I can remember during my confirmation learning answers to questions just because I had to know them. I not sure I was any different. There are many things that point the way and help us to wrap our heads around Faith but Faith isn't found in a textbook. It is found when our hearts meet God's. I think this is one of the greatest struggle our church faces. That we think faith can be distilled down to the right answers.
The Next Sunday was Sväty Duch Nedela or Holy Spirit Sunday. The Pastor asked everyone in the village to wear Kroj (the traditional Slovak folk Costume, each village has a slightly different costume). Flo and I spend the day before walking around the village trying to find Kroj for us to wear. What an experience. Apparently not many men wear kroj so only a few people had things we could use. We walked from house to house. Everybody told us of someone else who maybe had something. In process we were given our fill of kolačky(cookies), Obed(lunch) and Kava(coffee).
We were blessed so much from the hospitality. After being stuffed full of food and conversation we were able to find everything we needed. So on Sväty Duch we wore Kroj and were like real Slovaks for a day.
After all these events I took some much needed time for travel. My first stop was in Budapest with some of the other Volunteers in Slovakia. Budapest is such a beautiful city. There are times I'm traveling that I'm in disbelief of where I am. You hear and see things about cities like Budapest and when you get there it is a little surreal. Many of the sites we like being in a movie or fairy tale. We visited many interesting places and were lucky enough to be there when they had a folk festival going on at the National History Museum. I was wonderful to see, hear and experience some of the native culture. Of course when you're in Hungary you have to eat Hungarian Goulash, which by the way is amazing. Hungary being so close to Slovakia you would think the language would be similar but, No. Very different indeed. Apparently it is related to Norse and Icelandic languages.
Then I headed off to London. Being in Slovakia and not being around very many native English speakers for quite a while, arriving is London interesting. I couldn't help listening in on people's conversations just because I could understand them. It also made me realize just how much I will miss speaking Slovak and that my time there will soon be coming to a conclusion. In London I met up with one of the other YAGM volunteers Eric who is living in a neighborhood of London called Camden. I arrived on Corpus Christi, so I was able to celebrate a traditional Church of
England mass. Smell and Bells as they call it. Incense and lots of
ringing bells. In some ways it felt like being home worshiping in
English. I also made me realize how much of our worship traditions come from England. I traveled all around London visiting Parliament,
Westminster Abbey, and Piccadilly Circus. I even traveled to Greenwich Village and stood across the Prime Meridian.
As Much as I wish I could assimilate myself into this strange and now somewhat familiar culture. I am constantly being reminded that I am and always will be a foreigner. Sometimes I'll try to say something in my best Slovak and people don't understand. Why Slovaks don't grasp the concept of a coffee machine or when they don't understand No!!! When you say you've had enough food. I will never understand but I love them for it anyway. We are all like foreigners trying to make sense of our environment based on previous experiences, expectations and values. How does God shape our experiences, expectations and values? How does our
own culture shape our Faith? I'm still trying to figure that out. I have
grown from my experience here, seeing how others see and worship God in a completely different context than I'm used to. It has given me a larger view of God and a different lens to see the influences my home culture has on my faith.
Lord,
Open are eyes to really see the influences on our Life and Faith
Shape our lives with your Presence
Give us Compassion for understanding
Help us to makes sense of what it means to be a Christian in today's world
Amen
God's Blessings and Peace be with you,
- Christ’s Servant in Slovakia
Mark
Ahoj and Greetings from Slovakia.
My May has been quite interesting. I saw the Maj Strom go up,
Confirmation, Sväty Duch and had opportunities to travel. My time here is getting closer to when I return and it seems like every week is flying by faster and faster. I'm starting to realize that I will be
going home and what that means for me.
And as usual I have been writing some other updates on my Blog for those of you who are Internet savvy. The address is http://www.moltron.net/
I also have many more pictures available at
http://flickr.com/photos/themoltron
On the First of May, the village had a huge celebration and erected a
Maj Strom or May Tree…basically a big pole with a small tree on top. It stays up during the whole month. It was great seeing all the familiar faces and sounds in the village. Pan Gavornik, who takes pictures of everything, the kids from school running around crazy, the small brass ensemble playing classic Slovak tunes and the pleasant sound of laughter.
That Sunday we had Confirmation Sunday. Confirmation is considered a huge deal, a rite of passage for many of the youth. The Service was packed and the confirmands were dressed in their finest. The Girls in stunning white dresses and the Boys in suits. For many this is the first time I've seen them in something other than jeans and a t-shirt. Family members from all over came for this special occasion. Each confirmand was called up to the altar and given a blessing from the Pastor. Večera Pánova (Communion) is only given a few times a year and this was one of those occasions. I was asked to help which I felt honored. It took about half an hour because there were so many people. The Service itself was
beautiful and it took a little longer because of all the pomp and
circumstance.
Afterward I had some reflections about my own Confirmation. Is it just something that people do and just go through the motions? It is a hard thing to determine, I can't see people hearts. The week before confirmation the confirmands were asked to answers questions about their faith. The answers they gave were from a textbook. I can remember during my confirmation learning answers to questions just because I had to know them. I not sure I was any different. There are many things that point the way and help us to wrap our heads around Faith but Faith isn't found in a textbook. It is found when our hearts meet God's. I think this is one of the greatest struggle our church faces. That we think faith can be distilled down to the right answers.
The Next Sunday was Sväty Duch Nedela or Holy Spirit Sunday. The Pastor asked everyone in the village to wear Kroj (the traditional Slovak folk Costume, each village has a slightly different costume). Flo and I spend the day before walking around the village trying to find Kroj for us to wear. What an experience. Apparently not many men wear kroj so only a few people had things we could use. We walked from house to house. Everybody told us of someone else who maybe had something. In process we were given our fill of kolačky(cookies), Obed(lunch) and Kava(coffee).
We were blessed so much from the hospitality. After being stuffed full of food and conversation we were able to find everything we needed. So on Sväty Duch we wore Kroj and were like real Slovaks for a day.
After all these events I took some much needed time for travel. My first stop was in Budapest with some of the other Volunteers in Slovakia. Budapest is such a beautiful city. There are times I'm traveling that I'm in disbelief of where I am. You hear and see things about cities like Budapest and when you get there it is a little surreal. Many of the sites we like being in a movie or fairy tale. We visited many interesting places and were lucky enough to be there when they had a folk festival going on at the National History Museum. I was wonderful to see, hear and experience some of the native culture. Of course when you're in Hungary you have to eat Hungarian Goulash, which by the way is amazing. Hungary being so close to Slovakia you would think the language would be similar but, No. Very different indeed. Apparently it is related to Norse and Icelandic languages.
Then I headed off to London. Being in Slovakia and not being around very many native English speakers for quite a while, arriving is London interesting. I couldn't help listening in on people's conversations just because I could understand them. It also made me realize just how much I will miss speaking Slovak and that my time there will soon be coming to a conclusion. In London I met up with one of the other YAGM volunteers Eric who is living in a neighborhood of London called Camden. I arrived on Corpus Christi, so I was able to celebrate a traditional Church of
England mass. Smell and Bells as they call it. Incense and lots of
ringing bells. In some ways it felt like being home worshiping in
English. I also made me realize how much of our worship traditions come from England. I traveled all around London visiting Parliament,
Westminster Abbey, and Piccadilly Circus. I even traveled to Greenwich Village and stood across the Prime Meridian.
As Much as I wish I could assimilate myself into this strange and now somewhat familiar culture. I am constantly being reminded that I am and always will be a foreigner. Sometimes I'll try to say something in my best Slovak and people don't understand. Why Slovaks don't grasp the concept of a coffee machine or when they don't understand No!!! When you say you've had enough food. I will never understand but I love them for it anyway. We are all like foreigners trying to make sense of our environment based on previous experiences, expectations and values. How does God shape our experiences, expectations and values? How does our
own culture shape our Faith? I'm still trying to figure that out. I have
grown from my experience here, seeing how others see and worship God in a completely different context than I'm used to. It has given me a larger view of God and a different lens to see the influences my home culture has on my faith.
Lord,
Open are eyes to really see the influences on our Life and Faith
Shape our lives with your Presence
Give us Compassion for understanding
Help us to makes sense of what it means to be a Christian in today's world
Amen
God's Blessings and Peace be with you,
- Christ’s Servant in Slovakia
Mark
Saturday, June 14, 2008
April/May Newsletter - Karin in Argentina
Family and Friends,
One month more. Gratitude is the sentiment that comes to mind as I reflect back on the past 10 months. I am just so grateful.
As the year comes to a close and little more than a month remains, I thought it best to do something a little bit different. Attached you will find seven newsletters within one. One excerpt has been taken from each volunteer in Argentina throughout different moments and moods of the year. My hope is that by reading it, you will feel connected to the volunteers who have supported and shared their lives and stories with me (and now, with you), throughout the year; and also that you will gain a greater understanding of our brothers and sisters of Christ in Argentina.
If your name is James, Kate, Kevin, Kim, Kirsten, or Kristina and you are living in Argentina right now, you are not allowed to read this newsletter until after our retreat. It is one of our morning devotions. Seriously. Don't read it.
Attached is the newsletter. Enjoy.
Karin
****************************************
Ubuntu:
I am because you are.
Africans have this thing called Ubuntu. It is about the essence of being human. It embraces hospitality, caring about others, being able to go the extra mile for the sake of others. I am human because I belong. It speaks about wholeness; it speaks about compassion. We believe that a person is a person through another person; we affirm our humanity when we acknowledge that of others. My humanity is caught up, bound up, inextricably, with yours. A person with Ubuntu is welcoming, hospitable, warm and generous, willing to share. Such people are open and available to others, willing to be vulnerable, affirming of others, do not feel threatened that others are able and good, for they have a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that they belong in a greater whole. When I dehumanize you, I inexorably dehumanize myself. The solitary human being is a contradiction in terms and therefore you seek to work for the common good because your humanity comes into its own in belonging. The quality of Ubuntu gives people resilience, enabling them to survive and emerge still human despite all efforts to dehumanize them.
-Archbishop Desmond Tutu
________________________________________________________________________
“Che it looks like the end of the world is coming. “
“ Nah it’s probably just going to rain real hard” I said. But the clouds kept racing across the sky in a way I’ve rarely seen them move before. What made me worry was the fact that you couldn’t hear any of the birds that usually sing around that time of day there song had been replaced by other noises.
“ Che Andre what’s that noise?” asked Marcos.
“ It sounds like the boards from the construction next door being rattled together.” I said.
“ No, it’s not that.”
Now I really got worried as pastor Andrea’s made a face as if she was remembering something very unpleasant. The wind that was moving the clouds touched the earth and started blowing us around. Wuuuuuuuuuuu, wuuuuuuuuuu came the sound and the water tank that is almost as tall and wide as I am tall started to drag across the ground! Andrea, Marcos and I pushed it into the hall way in between houses and then tried to put the door to the yard back on being that we had to take it off its hinges in the first place to get the tank out side. We had barely hooked it and we’re trying to shut the door when hail the size of balled up fists started to fall inside sliding into the hallway threatening to smack us on the feet. We fell into action I grabbed a large wooden table top and threw it across the entrance because the doors weren’t closing, Eugenia one of the girls who also lives at HUL had come down stairs to see what was going on I looked at her and said “ Euge the window’s in the office are open! “ She ran up stairs and closed all the window blinds of the house that are made out of wood and scroll down as part of the architecture of the window. It started to rain and the lights went out…
We all heard the glass, we heard how things were shattering not only in the temple but in the house as well. . . We listened in that present darkness to how the world around us was breaking. But just as in that first Holy Friday the suffering came to an end and we were able to in the darkness light candles and bare witness to those things that had been lost and a midst all the brokenness realize how much God loves us.
Resurrection, Sunday in the morning others arrived for breakfast before service and as we sat drinking tea and eating pastries we looked at the blue sky that broke through what had survived of the yellow glass. As I said in the beginning storms can take many things and leave others, for us we were left with the reminder of a promise of an act of love on our behalf by means of the brokenness of a body that was resurrected. It means an opportunity to realize that we are not alone and that those who we least expected it from have reached out form the four corners to accompany us in this faith walk. From that day we have felt the support of the communities and how most importantly God keeps us very close to his heart.
-Kristina, La Plata
It is about the essence of being human. It embraces hospitality, caring about others, being able to go the extra mile for the sake of others. I am human because I belong. It speaks about wholeness, it speaks about compassion. We believe that a person is a person through another person;
As we set out two years ago on this journey to South America, I did not fully comprehend that our destination was not a geographic place but rather a spiritual and theological place within ourselves. The process of getting there is a gradual leaving behind of all that is known and certain, of all that comes to define us if we do not let it go and see what is left.
I now have the sense that I’ve reached the Land’s End of my spiritual geography—a craggy ledge hanging over the raging sea. There is not another step of firm ground in front of me. I feel raw and exposed.
It is only now, as I stand completely exposed to the ocean that rages before me, the sea of my own darkness and the darkness of a world of human injustice that I am fully open to receiving God’s grace. It is only from my own vulnerability that I can begin to comprehend Christ’s crucifixion as God’s ultimate act of solidarity with human suffering and brokenness. In the paradox of the Cross, Christ saves us from our sinful nature by completely submitting to the imperial domination of political, economic, and religious powers of his day. “Forgive them Father for they know not what they do.”
God’s call to us as a Church and as individuals is not to turn back from the raging sea of human injustice and suffering but to let it penetrate and transform us. God does not call me to seek consolation for my sorry but rather to heed it as a sacred clamor from deep within, urging me to be an ever more committed instrument of transformation and hope in this broken world.
-Kate, Buenos Aires
We affirm our humanity when we acknowledge that of others. My humanity is caught up, bound up, inextricably, with yours;
By taking the step to participate in the YAGM program, one makes the most of their year by dedicating their lives to a greater cause. As scary and uncertain as this unknown may be, it is an invaluable opportunity. When considering the YAGM program I asked myself, ‘If not now, then when?’ which is a question that has helped me to take advantage of every situation. Tomorrow is never a guarantee, so each experience today – every fight between the kids at La Obra, every smile, every struggle, every beso – needs to be lived to the max. That is what these last two months are for me, taking it all in and taking advantage of each moment and opportunity.
During a conversation with one of the adults from Minnesota, I asked what struck her most about Uruguayan culture. Not to my surprise, she immediately spoke about the Uruguayans’ friendliness and the importance of sharing. This conversation definitely confirmed what I have seen thus far; if nothing else, this year has shown me the importance of sharing your gifts, love and resources with your community. Even though one apple isn’t much, you can always cut it to share with another - with as little or as much as you have, it is more important to enjoy it together than to keep it for yourself. It was wonderful to be able to have these conversations and to see the best of both cultures throughout the week.
-Kirsten, Montevideo
A person with Ubuntu is welcoming, hospitable, warm and generous, willing to share;
For the past two weeks, I have found Valentina´s shoe in the corner. It is dirty white, no larger than the palm of my hand, and there is always just one. I thought little of this at first, until it kept showing up: same spot, same foot. Later I saw standing in its place a plastic, purple and pink high-heal--the kind that Barbie wears, only made a couple of sizes larger to fit 3-year-old Valentina´s left foot perfectly.
So each day, for the past two weeks, Valentina has teeter-tottered around the room, one heel two inches larger than the other. It throws her a little off balance, often causing her to stumble and, on occasion, fall down. Regardless, every morning there is a little white shoe in the corner, and it belongs to Valentina.
As a friend recently wrote in a letter, now is the time in my abroad experience where I have "stopped redefining what it means to live, and instead started living it." All of the expectations and ideas I entered into this with have fallen away, and I am instead focusing on just living. And I am loving it.
Valentina´s plastic and pink high-heal requires me to ask which shoe am I failing to put on because there is only one, or because I will walk a little crooked while wearing it, or because I will be more likely to fall as I walk? These past five months have taught me that our human brokenness and vulnerability can be the bridge between us if we allow it. It is a lesson I am still learning.
-Karin, Comodoro Rivadavia
Such people are open and available to others, willing to be vulnerable, affirming of others, do not feel threatened that others are able and good, for they have a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that they belong in a greater whole;
In early April, I spent the morning with Alberto and his wife on their farm. They took me on a tour of their pig farm, and showed me where they were drying the tobacco to be sold in Alem later in the month. He explained to me the oppressive system of tobacco producing, in which he is involved. In order to grow the tobacco, the company requires that he buy the tobacco seeds, the fertilizer, the chemicals, even the compost and soil, from the company. The money spent in buying the products will be taken off the final cost of the final product of tobacco at a high rate. The company explains to Alberto exactly how to grow the tobacco, and hires workers to come to his farm to make sure that he is following all of the procedures explained to him. If he has not followed correctly, money will be taken off his final product as well. The actually growing process involves the application of dangerous chemicals, ones that inhibit the growth of the tobacco flower, to continue the growth of the leaves. This chemical is not permitted usage in the United States of America because of its toxicity level! The most frustrating aspect is the soil that the producer is required to buy. Why on earth would a producer need to buy soil that has been shipped from New York when the red soil of Misiones is known to be extremely fertile? The collection, drying, and sorting process is a while other story. After Alberto has sorted and bunched his tobacco together, he will bring it to a collective in Alem that will evaluate his crop and give him a final value. After he is given his final value, the debt that is owed will be taken off. This last year, Alberto earned about $7,000 pesos, which is equivalent to less than $2,500 U.S.D. And that is Alberto’s annual income.
How is it possible that people are spending the amount of money on cigarettes, and the tobacco companies are making billions of dollars a year, and yet Alberto comes out with $2,500 a year? It is hard for me to take in the lack of equality in this system. This year, I am working with producers to search for other methods to bring in an annual income, other than a work that not only generates very little income, but also puts its producers at risk daily. Producers suffer for not only the chemicals that they are exposed to in the producing, but also a high daily dose of second hand smoke, just from working with the crop. Producers suffer from high risks of emphysema and cancer due to the working of this crop.
-Kim, Obera
When I dehumanize you, I inexorably dehumanize myself;
Focus, Che, Focus
Yesterday, Wilma and I were talking in the church office about this. I remember how slowly the first few months passed. My brain was still desperately trying to recall how to piece together coherent sentences, and then conversations, in Spanish; I didn’t know how to do anything work-wise; I didn’t know anyone, and the language struggle was only making that harder. Time dragged; every day felt like a week. Then, sometime in early November, the ice in my brain thawed and the water began to flow again. Carrying on a conversation in Spanish no longer felt like a torture devised by the Inquisition (perhaps “NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition!” is the best tagline for my language struggles of September and October), work frustrations became “this isn’t going to plan” as opposed to “what IS the plan?” and I began to feel surrounded by friends rather than just sympathetic strangers. And, just like a river, the time began to flow – first a trickle, then a slow-moving stream, and then the Amazon, forcing its way on to the sea.
And now, I can practically see the breakers – Texas and my pre-Uruguay life, Chicago, who knows what surprises. I find myself asking myself the question – “what now?” How do I make these last few weeks count?
The answer came to me, as it often has this year, on Wednesday afternoon with the kids. One of the young ones, Federico, has glommed on to me. He always saves the spot next to him on the bench for me, and without fail, always ends up resting up against me within 15 minutes. There are the others, too. We always have a greeting/welcome song at the start of our time with the kids, and between the verses we go around and shake hands, joke around a little bit with the kids, etc. One of the girls, Gretel, has March acted very afraid of me since she joined us in March – I’ll stick out my hand, and she’ll shake her head no and look away. But last week...she shook my hand with a big smile on her face. After the welcome song, we listened to a story that came with a song (a monkey cumbia). We all got up and danced to the song (yes, me too), and everyone, every single kid (and the three adults, and even Milton when he popped in the room to see how things were going), danced like a goofball and belted out the song (and occasional monkey noise) with gusto. Everyone danced together, too – people took turns spinning others and being spun, we had a conga (erm, cumbia) line at one point.
I guess that’s the answer to my question. When the monkey cumbia is blaring, you dance. When the students show up with English, North American or African Geography, History, Chemistry, Music, or Computer Science/Information and Research Skills homework, you work with them. When the cook is looking bored in the kitchen, you chat and joke around with her. When the big life questions come up in Bible Study, you talk. When the time is running short, you don’t just watch the sand slip away and feel poorly about it. You accept, reluctantly at times, that such is life, and you make the most of what you have, and you save your Dogon Country daydreams for later.
-Kevin, Montevideo
The solitary human being is a contradiction in terms and therefore you seek to work for the common good because your humanity comes into its own in belonging;
“Do you like life?” I was asked tonight by my friend as we sat and drank mate at her house. When I started my normal speech of the things I enjoy doing and dreams I have, she stopped me, and clarified by saying the question again. “Do you like life? Not your life James, who wouldn’t like your life, you’ve been all over, you are talented, no, Do you like life, sickness, hatred, hunger, and everything that is involved in the human condition” I walked around the barrio after that question in a sort of stunned state. I looked at my surroundings and saw the dirt roads after rain the night before that are impassable now. I thought of the shack homes of pieces of wood and scrap metal that I see as I take the bus to and from the barrio, without water or electricity. I thought about the Toba Indians that are dying of hunger every day here in the Chaco, and I pondered this question. I am almost embarrassed sometimes to talk about how easy my life has been. It is hard to demonstrate to someone that you understand that life is hard, when they tell you that they were hit everyday as a child, and when they ask you about your life you can only answer that your parents love you move than anything in the world. It is hard to show you understand when a 26 year old woman tells you about the three jobs she works to provide for her mother, grandmother, and aunt on top of studying in college. The money I’ve made from working has gone towards vacations, clothes, and coffee shops.
There is so much joy here though, as much as I have seen in anyplace I have been. Kids still laugh at every opportunity. People love to dance, ohh how they love to dance. People help each other, and we talk about how fun falling in love is. In the horrible oppression that this world offers up, most from other humans and their actions, people always find opportunities to laugh and to love. Dancing all night on a dirt patio, watching kids draw and color for hours, drinking mate and talking for hours, being shown a drum set that is made from scrap metal and wood, people sharing food with me, Sunday dinners where they stay and talk for the rest of the day talking after the meal. These are all things that I have seen in the midst of poverty, that make me think that I do like life.
-James, Resistencia
The quality of Ubuntu gives people resilience, enabling them to survive and emerge still human despite all efforts to dehumanize them.
I am because you are.
One month more. Gratitude is the sentiment that comes to mind as I reflect back on the past 10 months. I am just so grateful.
As the year comes to a close and little more than a month remains, I thought it best to do something a little bit different. Attached you will find seven newsletters within one. One excerpt has been taken from each volunteer in Argentina throughout different moments and moods of the year. My hope is that by reading it, you will feel connected to the volunteers who have supported and shared their lives and stories with me (and now, with you), throughout the year; and also that you will gain a greater understanding of our brothers and sisters of Christ in Argentina.
If your name is James, Kate, Kevin, Kim, Kirsten, or Kristina and you are living in Argentina right now, you are not allowed to read this newsletter until after our retreat. It is one of our morning devotions. Seriously. Don't read it.
Attached is the newsletter. Enjoy.
Karin
****************************************
Ubuntu:
I am because you are.
Africans have this thing called Ubuntu. It is about the essence of being human. It embraces hospitality, caring about others, being able to go the extra mile for the sake of others. I am human because I belong. It speaks about wholeness; it speaks about compassion. We believe that a person is a person through another person; we affirm our humanity when we acknowledge that of others. My humanity is caught up, bound up, inextricably, with yours. A person with Ubuntu is welcoming, hospitable, warm and generous, willing to share. Such people are open and available to others, willing to be vulnerable, affirming of others, do not feel threatened that others are able and good, for they have a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that they belong in a greater whole. When I dehumanize you, I inexorably dehumanize myself. The solitary human being is a contradiction in terms and therefore you seek to work for the common good because your humanity comes into its own in belonging. The quality of Ubuntu gives people resilience, enabling them to survive and emerge still human despite all efforts to dehumanize them.
-Archbishop Desmond Tutu
________________________________________________________________________
“Che it looks like the end of the world is coming. “
“ Nah it’s probably just going to rain real hard” I said. But the clouds kept racing across the sky in a way I’ve rarely seen them move before. What made me worry was the fact that you couldn’t hear any of the birds that usually sing around that time of day there song had been replaced by other noises.
“ Che Andre what’s that noise?” asked Marcos.
“ It sounds like the boards from the construction next door being rattled together.” I said.
“ No, it’s not that.”
Now I really got worried as pastor Andrea’s made a face as if she was remembering something very unpleasant. The wind that was moving the clouds touched the earth and started blowing us around. Wuuuuuuuuuuu, wuuuuuuuuuu came the sound and the water tank that is almost as tall and wide as I am tall started to drag across the ground! Andrea, Marcos and I pushed it into the hall way in between houses and then tried to put the door to the yard back on being that we had to take it off its hinges in the first place to get the tank out side. We had barely hooked it and we’re trying to shut the door when hail the size of balled up fists started to fall inside sliding into the hallway threatening to smack us on the feet. We fell into action I grabbed a large wooden table top and threw it across the entrance because the doors weren’t closing, Eugenia one of the girls who also lives at HUL had come down stairs to see what was going on I looked at her and said “ Euge the window’s in the office are open! “ She ran up stairs and closed all the window blinds of the house that are made out of wood and scroll down as part of the architecture of the window. It started to rain and the lights went out…
We all heard the glass, we heard how things were shattering not only in the temple but in the house as well. . . We listened in that present darkness to how the world around us was breaking. But just as in that first Holy Friday the suffering came to an end and we were able to in the darkness light candles and bare witness to those things that had been lost and a midst all the brokenness realize how much God loves us.
Resurrection, Sunday in the morning others arrived for breakfast before service and as we sat drinking tea and eating pastries we looked at the blue sky that broke through what had survived of the yellow glass. As I said in the beginning storms can take many things and leave others, for us we were left with the reminder of a promise of an act of love on our behalf by means of the brokenness of a body that was resurrected. It means an opportunity to realize that we are not alone and that those who we least expected it from have reached out form the four corners to accompany us in this faith walk. From that day we have felt the support of the communities and how most importantly God keeps us very close to his heart.
-Kristina, La Plata
It is about the essence of being human. It embraces hospitality, caring about others, being able to go the extra mile for the sake of others. I am human because I belong. It speaks about wholeness, it speaks about compassion. We believe that a person is a person through another person;
As we set out two years ago on this journey to South America, I did not fully comprehend that our destination was not a geographic place but rather a spiritual and theological place within ourselves. The process of getting there is a gradual leaving behind of all that is known and certain, of all that comes to define us if we do not let it go and see what is left.
I now have the sense that I’ve reached the Land’s End of my spiritual geography—a craggy ledge hanging over the raging sea. There is not another step of firm ground in front of me. I feel raw and exposed.
It is only now, as I stand completely exposed to the ocean that rages before me, the sea of my own darkness and the darkness of a world of human injustice that I am fully open to receiving God’s grace. It is only from my own vulnerability that I can begin to comprehend Christ’s crucifixion as God’s ultimate act of solidarity with human suffering and brokenness. In the paradox of the Cross, Christ saves us from our sinful nature by completely submitting to the imperial domination of political, economic, and religious powers of his day. “Forgive them Father for they know not what they do.”
God’s call to us as a Church and as individuals is not to turn back from the raging sea of human injustice and suffering but to let it penetrate and transform us. God does not call me to seek consolation for my sorry but rather to heed it as a sacred clamor from deep within, urging me to be an ever more committed instrument of transformation and hope in this broken world.
-Kate, Buenos Aires
We affirm our humanity when we acknowledge that of others. My humanity is caught up, bound up, inextricably, with yours;
By taking the step to participate in the YAGM program, one makes the most of their year by dedicating their lives to a greater cause. As scary and uncertain as this unknown may be, it is an invaluable opportunity. When considering the YAGM program I asked myself, ‘If not now, then when?’ which is a question that has helped me to take advantage of every situation. Tomorrow is never a guarantee, so each experience today – every fight between the kids at La Obra, every smile, every struggle, every beso – needs to be lived to the max. That is what these last two months are for me, taking it all in and taking advantage of each moment and opportunity.
During a conversation with one of the adults from Minnesota, I asked what struck her most about Uruguayan culture. Not to my surprise, she immediately spoke about the Uruguayans’ friendliness and the importance of sharing. This conversation definitely confirmed what I have seen thus far; if nothing else, this year has shown me the importance of sharing your gifts, love and resources with your community. Even though one apple isn’t much, you can always cut it to share with another - with as little or as much as you have, it is more important to enjoy it together than to keep it for yourself. It was wonderful to be able to have these conversations and to see the best of both cultures throughout the week.
-Kirsten, Montevideo
A person with Ubuntu is welcoming, hospitable, warm and generous, willing to share;
For the past two weeks, I have found Valentina´s shoe in the corner. It is dirty white, no larger than the palm of my hand, and there is always just one. I thought little of this at first, until it kept showing up: same spot, same foot. Later I saw standing in its place a plastic, purple and pink high-heal--the kind that Barbie wears, only made a couple of sizes larger to fit 3-year-old Valentina´s left foot perfectly.
So each day, for the past two weeks, Valentina has teeter-tottered around the room, one heel two inches larger than the other. It throws her a little off balance, often causing her to stumble and, on occasion, fall down. Regardless, every morning there is a little white shoe in the corner, and it belongs to Valentina.
As a friend recently wrote in a letter, now is the time in my abroad experience where I have "stopped redefining what it means to live, and instead started living it." All of the expectations and ideas I entered into this with have fallen away, and I am instead focusing on just living. And I am loving it.
Valentina´s plastic and pink high-heal requires me to ask which shoe am I failing to put on because there is only one, or because I will walk a little crooked while wearing it, or because I will be more likely to fall as I walk? These past five months have taught me that our human brokenness and vulnerability can be the bridge between us if we allow it. It is a lesson I am still learning.
-Karin, Comodoro Rivadavia
Such people are open and available to others, willing to be vulnerable, affirming of others, do not feel threatened that others are able and good, for they have a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that they belong in a greater whole;
In early April, I spent the morning with Alberto and his wife on their farm. They took me on a tour of their pig farm, and showed me where they were drying the tobacco to be sold in Alem later in the month. He explained to me the oppressive system of tobacco producing, in which he is involved. In order to grow the tobacco, the company requires that he buy the tobacco seeds, the fertilizer, the chemicals, even the compost and soil, from the company. The money spent in buying the products will be taken off the final cost of the final product of tobacco at a high rate. The company explains to Alberto exactly how to grow the tobacco, and hires workers to come to his farm to make sure that he is following all of the procedures explained to him. If he has not followed correctly, money will be taken off his final product as well. The actually growing process involves the application of dangerous chemicals, ones that inhibit the growth of the tobacco flower, to continue the growth of the leaves. This chemical is not permitted usage in the United States of America because of its toxicity level! The most frustrating aspect is the soil that the producer is required to buy. Why on earth would a producer need to buy soil that has been shipped from New York when the red soil of Misiones is known to be extremely fertile? The collection, drying, and sorting process is a while other story. After Alberto has sorted and bunched his tobacco together, he will bring it to a collective in Alem that will evaluate his crop and give him a final value. After he is given his final value, the debt that is owed will be taken off. This last year, Alberto earned about $7,000 pesos, which is equivalent to less than $2,500 U.S.D. And that is Alberto’s annual income.
How is it possible that people are spending the amount of money on cigarettes, and the tobacco companies are making billions of dollars a year, and yet Alberto comes out with $2,500 a year? It is hard for me to take in the lack of equality in this system. This year, I am working with producers to search for other methods to bring in an annual income, other than a work that not only generates very little income, but also puts its producers at risk daily. Producers suffer for not only the chemicals that they are exposed to in the producing, but also a high daily dose of second hand smoke, just from working with the crop. Producers suffer from high risks of emphysema and cancer due to the working of this crop.
-Kim, Obera
When I dehumanize you, I inexorably dehumanize myself;
Focus, Che, Focus
Yesterday, Wilma and I were talking in the church office about this. I remember how slowly the first few months passed. My brain was still desperately trying to recall how to piece together coherent sentences, and then conversations, in Spanish; I didn’t know how to do anything work-wise; I didn’t know anyone, and the language struggle was only making that harder. Time dragged; every day felt like a week. Then, sometime in early November, the ice in my brain thawed and the water began to flow again. Carrying on a conversation in Spanish no longer felt like a torture devised by the Inquisition (perhaps “NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition!” is the best tagline for my language struggles of September and October), work frustrations became “this isn’t going to plan” as opposed to “what IS the plan?” and I began to feel surrounded by friends rather than just sympathetic strangers. And, just like a river, the time began to flow – first a trickle, then a slow-moving stream, and then the Amazon, forcing its way on to the sea.
And now, I can practically see the breakers – Texas and my pre-Uruguay life, Chicago, who knows what surprises. I find myself asking myself the question – “what now?” How do I make these last few weeks count?
The answer came to me, as it often has this year, on Wednesday afternoon with the kids. One of the young ones, Federico, has glommed on to me. He always saves the spot next to him on the bench for me, and without fail, always ends up resting up against me within 15 minutes. There are the others, too. We always have a greeting/welcome song at the start of our time with the kids, and between the verses we go around and shake hands, joke around a little bit with the kids, etc. One of the girls, Gretel, has March acted very afraid of me since she joined us in March – I’ll stick out my hand, and she’ll shake her head no and look away. But last week...she shook my hand with a big smile on her face. After the welcome song, we listened to a story that came with a song (a monkey cumbia). We all got up and danced to the song (yes, me too), and everyone, every single kid (and the three adults, and even Milton when he popped in the room to see how things were going), danced like a goofball and belted out the song (and occasional monkey noise) with gusto. Everyone danced together, too – people took turns spinning others and being spun, we had a conga (erm, cumbia) line at one point.
I guess that’s the answer to my question. When the monkey cumbia is blaring, you dance. When the students show up with English, North American or African Geography, History, Chemistry, Music, or Computer Science/Information and Research Skills homework, you work with them. When the cook is looking bored in the kitchen, you chat and joke around with her. When the big life questions come up in Bible Study, you talk. When the time is running short, you don’t just watch the sand slip away and feel poorly about it. You accept, reluctantly at times, that such is life, and you make the most of what you have, and you save your Dogon Country daydreams for later.
-Kevin, Montevideo
The solitary human being is a contradiction in terms and therefore you seek to work for the common good because your humanity comes into its own in belonging;
“Do you like life?” I was asked tonight by my friend as we sat and drank mate at her house. When I started my normal speech of the things I enjoy doing and dreams I have, she stopped me, and clarified by saying the question again. “Do you like life? Not your life James, who wouldn’t like your life, you’ve been all over, you are talented, no, Do you like life, sickness, hatred, hunger, and everything that is involved in the human condition” I walked around the barrio after that question in a sort of stunned state. I looked at my surroundings and saw the dirt roads after rain the night before that are impassable now. I thought of the shack homes of pieces of wood and scrap metal that I see as I take the bus to and from the barrio, without water or electricity. I thought about the Toba Indians that are dying of hunger every day here in the Chaco, and I pondered this question. I am almost embarrassed sometimes to talk about how easy my life has been. It is hard to demonstrate to someone that you understand that life is hard, when they tell you that they were hit everyday as a child, and when they ask you about your life you can only answer that your parents love you move than anything in the world. It is hard to show you understand when a 26 year old woman tells you about the three jobs she works to provide for her mother, grandmother, and aunt on top of studying in college. The money I’ve made from working has gone towards vacations, clothes, and coffee shops.
There is so much joy here though, as much as I have seen in anyplace I have been. Kids still laugh at every opportunity. People love to dance, ohh how they love to dance. People help each other, and we talk about how fun falling in love is. In the horrible oppression that this world offers up, most from other humans and their actions, people always find opportunities to laugh and to love. Dancing all night on a dirt patio, watching kids draw and color for hours, drinking mate and talking for hours, being shown a drum set that is made from scrap metal and wood, people sharing food with me, Sunday dinners where they stay and talk for the rest of the day talking after the meal. These are all things that I have seen in the midst of poverty, that make me think that I do like life.
-James, Resistencia
The quality of Ubuntu gives people resilience, enabling them to survive and emerge still human despite all efforts to dehumanize them.
I am because you are.
Jenny's Mexican Adventures Vol. V - Mexico en la Piel
Hello all,
Happy June! I hope this finds you all happy and healthy. As my time here in Mexico begins to wind down (in days, not in the fullness of the experience!), I find myself a bit torn between these two worlds, and quite torn emotionally, feeling both joy in the anticipation of returning, and deep sadness in the idea of leaving all of this behind.
Ten months as a Cuernavaca resident, and this place and these people have become a part of me. (And, dare I say it, I even see myself as part of this crazy, beautiful reality.) This volume's title, "Mexico en la Piel", means "Mexico in the skin." As such, please allow me to take this opportunity to explain part of what I love so much about here, in some sort of effort to articulate what I mean when I say that
I will truly miss this. (As always, these are generalizations based on my own personal experiences here, which does not mean they hold true for every Mexican, nor "false" for every U.S. American.)
There are so many simple, cultural things that I treasure…
- Mexican hospitality and open invitations that allow one to be invited into the culture, the sharing of spaces and stories, the entire concept of "convivir" (living together- more accurately translated as sharing lives.) Mexicans value a "fiesta" culture; life can get so hard so fast, they take almost any opportunity to celebrate, be it a birthday, a baptism, or a Thursday.
- Hand-made ("hecho a mano") tortillas. Not only are they delicious, but they are the stereotypical Mexican food for a reason-employing Mexico's staple crop of corn, they are the literal base for most Mexican food, even doubling as utensils. (Mexicans often break tortillas into small pieces and sort of scoop up the accompanying meat, beans, etc. like a spoon. As a bonus, it makes washing the dishes that much easier.)
- Pride. Mexicans are a proud people, well-versed in their history and traditions. Given that every pueblo has a patron saint, that there are altars dedicated to the Virgin of Guadalupe on every other corner, and that just about everyone has an oversized Mexican flag ready to display for Independence Day, this is no small feat.
- Slang and playfulness in speech, an assumed sense of humor even in the sense of interacting with a gringa such as myself.
- The absence of over-preparedness. Mexicans tend to buy things only when they need them, even to the extent of going to the store to buy 1 diaper. In our world of Costco and stocking up in case of any possible nuclear fallout or mere power outage, this "live as life comes" attitude is something I find refreshing.
- Going hand in hand with the above, I'm happy to say that parts of Cuernavaca still operate in a smaller, local economy. While bigger chain stores are making their ugly way into the market, there are still many "mom and pop" convenience stores and restaurants that line our roads and fill the infamous Mercado, bringing fresher foods to our table and supporting our neighbors' businesses.
- An uncanny ingenuity to reuse or make due given what one's got. Our fridge is filled with rinsed-out sour cream containers instead of Tupperware (which often has the comic effect of having to open 6 to find the salsa you were looking for), and a friend of mine jokes that he can build or fix anything with packing tape. I marvel at how efficient and creative the people here are.
As a result of the above, and so much more, I find myself changed in ways that both surprise and rejuvenate me. I'm more relaxed, I try to keep my priorities a bit more "in check", and my view of the world has gotten just that much bigger. I have learned so much more about the relationship between the U.S. and Mexico, and am deeply interested in the roles that we play in the reality of our neighbors here. This includes…
- Immigration, not only how we interact with immigrants, but also our role in their economic reasons for making the journey.
(http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/02/us/politics/02penn.html?_r=1&ex=1207886400&en=8f2f2406784ef9c0&ei=5070&emc=eta1&oref=slogin,
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/24/us/24immig.html?ex=1212292800&en=be30054cd7b280d5&ei=5070&emc=eta1,
http://www.sojo.net/index.cfm?action=magazine.article&issue=soj0709&article=070910,
http://www.nomoredeaths.org)
- NAFTA and U.S.-Mexican commerce in general: globalization & market
domination, maquilas & work conditions, etc.- yes, our purchase choices do matter! (http://fairlabor.org/, http://nffc.net/,
http://en.maquilasolidarity.org/).
- The U.S.'s role in educating and training Latin American military officials and presidents at the School of the Americas and universities such as Harvard, and the implications when those whom we educated or trained commit human rights violations and other offenses against their people. Also, the continued governmental and military "aid" from the U.S., such as the proposed "Plan Mexico." (http://www.soaw.org/,
All of these issues are complex, and I am still learning about all of the interplay, so please don't just take my word for it. I ask for your help in exploring these issues, and in keeping me accountable as well. Also, while I am ever more conscious of my/our role(s) in all of this, I do recognize the obvious importance of Mexico's own government, military, corporations, and citizens, as well as the roles of corruption and poverty which further aggravate these conditions.
So, my dear ones, in many ways I feel like I have fallen in love with Mexico, even with all of its faults, and my true hope lies in my carrying over this "Mexican" reality back into my old/new/mixed U.S. reality in a few short weeks. I invite you all to continue this journey with me.
With love and immense gratitude,
Jenny
Happy June! I hope this finds you all happy and healthy. As my time here in Mexico begins to wind down (in days, not in the fullness of the experience!), I find myself a bit torn between these two worlds, and quite torn emotionally, feeling both joy in the anticipation of returning, and deep sadness in the idea of leaving all of this behind.
Ten months as a Cuernavaca resident, and this place and these people have become a part of me. (And, dare I say it, I even see myself as part of this crazy, beautiful reality.) This volume's title, "Mexico en la Piel", means "Mexico in the skin." As such, please allow me to take this opportunity to explain part of what I love so much about here, in some sort of effort to articulate what I mean when I say that
I will truly miss this. (As always, these are generalizations based on my own personal experiences here, which does not mean they hold true for every Mexican, nor "false" for every U.S. American.)
There are so many simple, cultural things that I treasure…
- Mexican hospitality and open invitations that allow one to be invited into the culture, the sharing of spaces and stories, the entire concept of "convivir" (living together- more accurately translated as sharing lives.) Mexicans value a "fiesta" culture; life can get so hard so fast, they take almost any opportunity to celebrate, be it a birthday, a baptism, or a Thursday.
- Hand-made ("hecho a mano") tortillas. Not only are they delicious, but they are the stereotypical Mexican food for a reason-employing Mexico's staple crop of corn, they are the literal base for most Mexican food, even doubling as utensils. (Mexicans often break tortillas into small pieces and sort of scoop up the accompanying meat, beans, etc. like a spoon. As a bonus, it makes washing the dishes that much easier.)
- Pride. Mexicans are a proud people, well-versed in their history and traditions. Given that every pueblo has a patron saint, that there are altars dedicated to the Virgin of Guadalupe on every other corner, and that just about everyone has an oversized Mexican flag ready to display for Independence Day, this is no small feat.
- Slang and playfulness in speech, an assumed sense of humor even in the sense of interacting with a gringa such as myself.
- The absence of over-preparedness. Mexicans tend to buy things only when they need them, even to the extent of going to the store to buy 1 diaper. In our world of Costco and stocking up in case of any possible nuclear fallout or mere power outage, this "live as life comes" attitude is something I find refreshing.
- Going hand in hand with the above, I'm happy to say that parts of Cuernavaca still operate in a smaller, local economy. While bigger chain stores are making their ugly way into the market, there are still many "mom and pop" convenience stores and restaurants that line our roads and fill the infamous Mercado, bringing fresher foods to our table and supporting our neighbors' businesses.
- An uncanny ingenuity to reuse or make due given what one's got. Our fridge is filled with rinsed-out sour cream containers instead of Tupperware (which often has the comic effect of having to open 6 to find the salsa you were looking for), and a friend of mine jokes that he can build or fix anything with packing tape. I marvel at how efficient and creative the people here are.
As a result of the above, and so much more, I find myself changed in ways that both surprise and rejuvenate me. I'm more relaxed, I try to keep my priorities a bit more "in check", and my view of the world has gotten just that much bigger. I have learned so much more about the relationship between the U.S. and Mexico, and am deeply interested in the roles that we play in the reality of our neighbors here. This includes…
- Immigration, not only how we interact with immigrants, but also our role in their economic reasons for making the journey.
(http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/02/us/politics/02penn.html?_r=1&ex=1207886400&en=8f2f2406784ef9c0&ei=5070&emc=eta1&oref=slogin,
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/24/us/24immig.html?ex=1212292800&en=be30054cd7b280d5&ei=5070&emc=eta1,
http://www.sojo.net/index.cfm?action=magazine.article&issue=soj0709&article=070910,
http://www.nomoredeaths.org)
- NAFTA and U.S.-Mexican commerce in general: globalization & market
domination, maquilas & work conditions, etc.- yes, our purchase choices do matter! (http://fairlabor.org/, http://nffc.net/,
http://en.maquilasolidarity.org/).
- The U.S.'s role in educating and training Latin American military officials and presidents at the School of the Americas and universities such as Harvard, and the implications when those whom we educated or trained commit human rights violations and other offenses against their people. Also, the continued governmental and military "aid" from the U.S., such as the proposed "Plan Mexico." (http://www.soaw.org/,
All of these issues are complex, and I am still learning about all of the interplay, so please don't just take my word for it. I ask for your help in exploring these issues, and in keeping me accountable as well. Also, while I am ever more conscious of my/our role(s) in all of this, I do recognize the obvious importance of Mexico's own government, military, corporations, and citizens, as well as the roles of corruption and poverty which further aggravate these conditions.
So, my dear ones, in many ways I feel like I have fallen in love with Mexico, even with all of its faults, and my true hope lies in my carrying over this "Mexican" reality back into my old/new/mixed U.S. reality in a few short weeks. I invite you all to continue this journey with me.
With love and immense gratitude,
Jenny
May Newsletter - Jessica in Slovakia
Jessica’s May Newsletter
Updates from Slovakia
A lot of fun things happened in May, both here at the center and as I was traveling. One weekend I went to visit my old placement in Horná Mičiná for their confirmation, and I enjoyed visiting with everyone again. It was really interesting to see what confirmation is like in Slovakia, and how it is similar to and different than confirmation in America. Saturday evening the confirmands had an examination at the church. Each of them had to stand in front of the congregation and answer seven questions about the mission of the church, the Bible and confirmation. The pastor then asked the congregation if they agreed that these young people were ready and fit to be confirmed. Sunday morning was the confirmation service and it was interesting how important this Sunday was for everyone. The church was decorated with white flowers, the girls being confirmed wore fancy white dresses and the boys wore suits, and the church was full of people. During the service the confirmands were presented with a Bible and a certificate, and the pastor said a prayer for each of them. The confirmands sang two songs for the congregation and presented the pastor and church-keepers with flowers, thanking them for their work. The Lord’s Supper was also celebrated on this special occasion. After the service I was invited to a party for Miška and Paťa, who are sisters that were confirmed. It was a lot of fun being a part of the celebration they had after confirmation, and getting to spend some time with the people from the village.
I took a long weekend trip to Budapest with Mark, Mary, and Ashley (three of the other American volunteers in Slovakia). It was great to spend time with them, and we had a wonderful time in Budapest. As much as I love the work here it is always refreshing to get away for a bit and spend time with other volunteers. One of the Friday nights last month the group of ladies here at the center had a night out, and it was so much fun! Eva (one of the directors), Monika (one of the worker’s wives, Janka (one of the worker’s wives), Kristen, Claire (Kristen’s friend who was visiting from America) and I went to a nice pizza restaurant in Poprad for the evening. We ate pizza, drank Kofula (the Slovak soft drink) and had Mak štrudla (a pastry with lots of poppy seeds) for dessert. It was so much fun to spend more time with them and get to know them better.
One of the things I have noticed is the emphasis on fellowship among the community here. At one of our Bible studies last month we read Philippians 2:1-2 where Paul writes, “If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose” (NIV). We talked about how the community here can have this unity that should be among Christians. How can we work together and serve one another as Christ did? I think true fellowship is often neglected in our churches today. Of course there is often a “fellowship hour” after church or every so often, but I am not sure if this is always the same fellowship Paul talks about. Last month we had a longer Bible study one morning with some of the workers and I was thrown off guard a bit, but reminded of what true fellowship is. Vlado (who is in charge of the finances), Igor (who works construction with the guys), Momci (who also works construction with the guys), Pali (the cook), and I had read a passage from the Bible and talked about it as we usually do. Then, they began to talk about how they had been feeling at work recently, about feelings they had about the work with the guys here, and their Spiritual life. I couldn’t believe that I was sitting there with four men just expressing our feelings for maybe an hour and a half! Maybe this is normal for some people, but I was a bit surprised. It made me think about when we had read the passage from Philippians, and that this was a way the work team builds fellowship, better enabling us to do service. In order to do the social service and Christian outreach work that is done here it is necessary for the community to be like-minded (my Bible points out that like-minded does not mean uniform in thought, but the common disposition to work together to better serve). It is something that we are always praying about, and we are always talking about how it can improve so that we can serve better.
The work that I have been doing here has been going well; Kristen and I continue to help in the kitchen, have English classes, Bible studies, and teach swimming. The last week in May Pali needed to help with the construction work that some of the guys are doing down the street, so we took over in the kitchen for him. It was a busy week and somewhat stressful to be responsible for breakfasts and lunches here, but we were happy to be able to help. It was also nice to see how encouraging everyone was of our Slovak cooking. Everyday the guys and the workers told us our cooking was wonderful and complemented everything (even if it was something really easy…or not very good!). Their encouragement was so helpful though! English and Bible studies are about the same with some days having a good number of people and other days just a couple. Now that the weather is warm playing futbal outside has become a popular evening activity as well.
Along with the enjoyable things about the work, there were also some difficult things happening last month. One of the guys who always came to English and Bible studies left the center. He dropped out of school and went to the Czech Republic to find work. This was difficult, because he came to talk to me often when he was having problems in school or with other guys here. We had talked about his school many times before and I really wanted him to be able to finish. He has so much potential, but he was not doing well and wanted to go try to find work on his own. Another worker tried to convince him to stay here and work, but he had already made up his mind to leave. I guess it showed me that sometimes you can only do so much and now all I can do is pray for him.
It is hard to believe that it is already almost halfway through June now, and I have just about a month left here before I come home. I have started to think about how it will be exciting to go home, but also really hard to leave here. I am trying to just spend a lot of time with the people here and enjoy every day left.
Thank you for your prayers and support!
-Jessica
Updates from Slovakia
A lot of fun things happened in May, both here at the center and as I was traveling. One weekend I went to visit my old placement in Horná Mičiná for their confirmation, and I enjoyed visiting with everyone again. It was really interesting to see what confirmation is like in Slovakia, and how it is similar to and different than confirmation in America. Saturday evening the confirmands had an examination at the church. Each of them had to stand in front of the congregation and answer seven questions about the mission of the church, the Bible and confirmation. The pastor then asked the congregation if they agreed that these young people were ready and fit to be confirmed. Sunday morning was the confirmation service and it was interesting how important this Sunday was for everyone. The church was decorated with white flowers, the girls being confirmed wore fancy white dresses and the boys wore suits, and the church was full of people. During the service the confirmands were presented with a Bible and a certificate, and the pastor said a prayer for each of them. The confirmands sang two songs for the congregation and presented the pastor and church-keepers with flowers, thanking them for their work. The Lord’s Supper was also celebrated on this special occasion. After the service I was invited to a party for Miška and Paťa, who are sisters that were confirmed. It was a lot of fun being a part of the celebration they had after confirmation, and getting to spend some time with the people from the village.
I took a long weekend trip to Budapest with Mark, Mary, and Ashley (three of the other American volunteers in Slovakia). It was great to spend time with them, and we had a wonderful time in Budapest. As much as I love the work here it is always refreshing to get away for a bit and spend time with other volunteers. One of the Friday nights last month the group of ladies here at the center had a night out, and it was so much fun! Eva (one of the directors), Monika (one of the worker’s wives, Janka (one of the worker’s wives), Kristen, Claire (Kristen’s friend who was visiting from America) and I went to a nice pizza restaurant in Poprad for the evening. We ate pizza, drank Kofula (the Slovak soft drink) and had Mak štrudla (a pastry with lots of poppy seeds) for dessert. It was so much fun to spend more time with them and get to know them better.
One of the things I have noticed is the emphasis on fellowship among the community here. At one of our Bible studies last month we read Philippians 2:1-2 where Paul writes, “If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose” (NIV). We talked about how the community here can have this unity that should be among Christians. How can we work together and serve one another as Christ did? I think true fellowship is often neglected in our churches today. Of course there is often a “fellowship hour” after church or every so often, but I am not sure if this is always the same fellowship Paul talks about. Last month we had a longer Bible study one morning with some of the workers and I was thrown off guard a bit, but reminded of what true fellowship is. Vlado (who is in charge of the finances), Igor (who works construction with the guys), Momci (who also works construction with the guys), Pali (the cook), and I had read a passage from the Bible and talked about it as we usually do. Then, they began to talk about how they had been feeling at work recently, about feelings they had about the work with the guys here, and their Spiritual life. I couldn’t believe that I was sitting there with four men just expressing our feelings for maybe an hour and a half! Maybe this is normal for some people, but I was a bit surprised. It made me think about when we had read the passage from Philippians, and that this was a way the work team builds fellowship, better enabling us to do service. In order to do the social service and Christian outreach work that is done here it is necessary for the community to be like-minded (my Bible points out that like-minded does not mean uniform in thought, but the common disposition to work together to better serve). It is something that we are always praying about, and we are always talking about how it can improve so that we can serve better.
The work that I have been doing here has been going well; Kristen and I continue to help in the kitchen, have English classes, Bible studies, and teach swimming. The last week in May Pali needed to help with the construction work that some of the guys are doing down the street, so we took over in the kitchen for him. It was a busy week and somewhat stressful to be responsible for breakfasts and lunches here, but we were happy to be able to help. It was also nice to see how encouraging everyone was of our Slovak cooking. Everyday the guys and the workers told us our cooking was wonderful and complemented everything (even if it was something really easy…or not very good!). Their encouragement was so helpful though! English and Bible studies are about the same with some days having a good number of people and other days just a couple. Now that the weather is warm playing futbal outside has become a popular evening activity as well.
Along with the enjoyable things about the work, there were also some difficult things happening last month. One of the guys who always came to English and Bible studies left the center. He dropped out of school and went to the Czech Republic to find work. This was difficult, because he came to talk to me often when he was having problems in school or with other guys here. We had talked about his school many times before and I really wanted him to be able to finish. He has so much potential, but he was not doing well and wanted to go try to find work on his own. Another worker tried to convince him to stay here and work, but he had already made up his mind to leave. I guess it showed me that sometimes you can only do so much and now all I can do is pray for him.
It is hard to believe that it is already almost halfway through June now, and I have just about a month left here before I come home. I have started to think about how it will be exciting to go home, but also really hard to leave here. I am trying to just spend a lot of time with the people here and enjoy every day left.
Thank you for your prayers and support!
-Jessica
May Newsletter - Kristen in Slovakia
May Newsletter
Spring is finally here
May brought about warmer weather and many exciting things in Velky Slavkov. Claire came and visited in the beginning of May, so we were able to spend time together and do some traveling before coming back to my placement. We started in Vienna where she flew in and explored the city for the day. We managed to stumble upon the Thiel Choir, my college choir, who were on tour in Europe for the week unbeknownst to us and we heard their concert in St. Stephan’s Cathedral. We also visited Bratislava, Slovakia’s capital city, and Krakow, Poland. We saw many castles and palaces, historical buildings, Auschwitz II, churches and cathedrals, marketplaces, gardens, and much more. Afterwards, we came back here to my placement for a few days and she was able to spend time with the people here and work with us in the kitchen and teaching English. It was wonderful to see her and have her experience a small taste of my life here.
Also, while Claire was here we had a girl’s night out with Eva (my host mom), Monika (the woman who’s family now lives at the center and who’s husband works at the center), Janka (the wife of one of the workers), and Jessie. Eva had finished her final exams for school so we went to celebrate by going out to their favorite pizza place for pizza and Kofola (the Slovak version of cola with a hint of licorice which I actually enjoy more than coke or pepsi). We had a good time with lots of laughter and enjoyed spending time together outside of the center.
Randomly one morning Jessie and I were told by my host dad, Stano, that soldiers and army trucks were going to be coming. A little confused by what he meant but knowing that we had understood the words, we waited to see what would happen. As it turns out, two giant army trucks and soldiers did appear that morning at Myln. They had come to deliver leftover army food and our center was the place to store it for all the centers in the eastern area of Slovakia. The boys spent most of the morning moving the boxes into our dining room and it was amazing how many boxes were in there by the time they finished. Over this month, many different centers have come in with vans and trucks to haul most of it away. And of course we get to eat the food as well. Jessie and I tried the canned meal of cabbage, sausage, and rice which was better than expected, and the tea which wasn’t quite as good. Also, we have become masters of opening cans with an army can opener which isn’t near as easy as it looks and is a rather useful talent now since our normal can opener has broken. I’ll be bringing one home if anyone wants to give it a try.
Also, over May I had the opportunity to get to know the Matas family much better. They recently moved into Mlyn and are now living in the flat where my host family used to live. Vlado Matas works here at the center with the finances and Monika, his wife, teaches English in Poprad. They have two children, Oliver, age four, and Kubko (Jakub), age six. Monika had us over for dinner for the first time at the end of May and she is definitely the typical Slovak hostess with lots of pushing for us to eat vast amounts of food and offering anything to eat or drink that she could think of. She is very sweet and fun to talk with. The two little boys had a lot of fun with us and enjoyed tying us up to the table and blindfolding us, as well as showing us their toys and giving us marshmallows to eat. We laughed a lot that night and have enjoyed stopping by for coffee or to talk since then. Whenever we see the little boys they run over to give us hugs, show us something like the fort they had built, or to play with them.
Finally, May has thankfully brought about some nice, warm, sunny weather which we have been able to enjoy by spending a lot of time outside. I love to go running out on a dirt path in the back by the mountains and open fields. Hiking in the Tatras Mountains, which are right in my backyard, is another enjoyable outdoor activity right now. Also, there are often games outside with the boys, usually either soccer or volleyball. And, of course, many cookouts which feature cooking sausages over the fire.
Thank you very much, as always, for all of your support and prayers. I really do appreciate them. I hope that everyone is doing well and enjoying their summer!
God’s blessings,
Kristen
Spring is finally here
May brought about warmer weather and many exciting things in Velky Slavkov. Claire came and visited in the beginning of May, so we were able to spend time together and do some traveling before coming back to my placement. We started in Vienna where she flew in and explored the city for the day. We managed to stumble upon the Thiel Choir, my college choir, who were on tour in Europe for the week unbeknownst to us and we heard their concert in St. Stephan’s Cathedral. We also visited Bratislava, Slovakia’s capital city, and Krakow, Poland. We saw many castles and palaces, historical buildings, Auschwitz II, churches and cathedrals, marketplaces, gardens, and much more. Afterwards, we came back here to my placement for a few days and she was able to spend time with the people here and work with us in the kitchen and teaching English. It was wonderful to see her and have her experience a small taste of my life here.
Also, while Claire was here we had a girl’s night out with Eva (my host mom), Monika (the woman who’s family now lives at the center and who’s husband works at the center), Janka (the wife of one of the workers), and Jessie. Eva had finished her final exams for school so we went to celebrate by going out to their favorite pizza place for pizza and Kofola (the Slovak version of cola with a hint of licorice which I actually enjoy more than coke or pepsi). We had a good time with lots of laughter and enjoyed spending time together outside of the center.
Randomly one morning Jessie and I were told by my host dad, Stano, that soldiers and army trucks were going to be coming. A little confused by what he meant but knowing that we had understood the words, we waited to see what would happen. As it turns out, two giant army trucks and soldiers did appear that morning at Myln. They had come to deliver leftover army food and our center was the place to store it for all the centers in the eastern area of Slovakia. The boys spent most of the morning moving the boxes into our dining room and it was amazing how many boxes were in there by the time they finished. Over this month, many different centers have come in with vans and trucks to haul most of it away. And of course we get to eat the food as well. Jessie and I tried the canned meal of cabbage, sausage, and rice which was better than expected, and the tea which wasn’t quite as good. Also, we have become masters of opening cans with an army can opener which isn’t near as easy as it looks and is a rather useful talent now since our normal can opener has broken. I’ll be bringing one home if anyone wants to give it a try.
Also, over May I had the opportunity to get to know the Matas family much better. They recently moved into Mlyn and are now living in the flat where my host family used to live. Vlado Matas works here at the center with the finances and Monika, his wife, teaches English in Poprad. They have two children, Oliver, age four, and Kubko (Jakub), age six. Monika had us over for dinner for the first time at the end of May and she is definitely the typical Slovak hostess with lots of pushing for us to eat vast amounts of food and offering anything to eat or drink that she could think of. She is very sweet and fun to talk with. The two little boys had a lot of fun with us and enjoyed tying us up to the table and blindfolding us, as well as showing us their toys and giving us marshmallows to eat. We laughed a lot that night and have enjoyed stopping by for coffee or to talk since then. Whenever we see the little boys they run over to give us hugs, show us something like the fort they had built, or to play with them.
Finally, May has thankfully brought about some nice, warm, sunny weather which we have been able to enjoy by spending a lot of time outside. I love to go running out on a dirt path in the back by the mountains and open fields. Hiking in the Tatras Mountains, which are right in my backyard, is another enjoyable outdoor activity right now. Also, there are often games outside with the boys, usually either soccer or volleyball. And, of course, many cookouts which feature cooking sausages over the fire.
Thank you very much, as always, for all of your support and prayers. I really do appreciate them. I hope that everyone is doing well and enjoying their summer!
God’s blessings,
Kristen
Monday, June 9, 2008
May Newsletter - Laura in India
"The Baggage of 5:00pm"
I have an irritation.
A pet-peeve, if you will.
Something that has bugged me for years, and for no particular reason,
Other than it just annoys me.
5:00pm.
That's right.
5 o'clock in the evening.
I can't stand it.
This abhorrence may stem from years of activities that kept me busy during precious days where one learns to live in harmony with all o'clocks: volleyball practices, rowing practices, summer camp, afternoon work shifts and such. Due to these, I've never had to face the irritable qualities of 5pm, thus leaving a bitter taste for the time.
For starters, is it late-afternoon, or early evening? It can't decide for itself. Then, should you suffer through the goosebumps of a cool 5pm, or put on a jacket, risking a sweatiness that will surely chill you by 6pm?
And to top it all off, the day's closure is making for a darkened room. You're sitting in this funky-semi-sunlit-space. You want to turn a light on. So you do. But, what is this? The light doesn't do squat. Your room is still funky-semi-sunlit, but now with a glowing corner where your lamp is pathetically trying to have an effect. Then you check your watch. Ah. It's 5pm. That's right. At 5pm, it's not dark enough to turn a cozy lamp on, but outside light won't penetrate past the curtains.
Hmmph. 5pm. Can't live with it; surely, can't live without it. To say I've been suffering anxiety attacks at 4:59pm would be a bit of an exaggeration. But, I have been fully aware of the weight of the baggage I brought to India, having packed both the concentrated past, and the futility of personal pet-peeves. As much as I hoped, nothing got lost along the way; it all arrived; everything is here. Even 5pm.
But, to my surprise, India has given me more than a place to put the luggage down. It gave me a time change. At 5pm, everything comes alive for our 'neighborhood'. I spend this time with my friends of the assisted living facility. By 5pm, afternoon naps are finished, our tea has been drunk, and we are ready for fresh air and fresh faces. Everyone is ready for the 5pm socialization hour:
There's Dr. Mani and his wife, Ann. Dr. Mani is a retired Physics professor, originally from Kerala, but lived in North Carolina for almost 40 years, teaching at a local university. When Alzheimer's became a reality for Ann, Dr. Mani opted for the less costly health care India could provide. Dr. Mani and Ann made their voyage back to Kerala, where he has been her primary care taker. With the help of their home nurse, Banu, I watch each day as Dr. Mani's courage, love, persistence, sense of humor and wonderful smile never diminish.
After we drink tea, Banu and I sit with Ann, and Dr. Mani takes his walk. When I see his Nike's laced on, and the leather sandals on the door step, I know it's 5pm.
There's Maya Ammachi and her daughter, Susan. Maya and her father were freedom fighters with Gandhi. She's closing in on 92, and due to a fall last year, she's finding it harder to recall names and places.
Our conversations may start with a story, but a few sentences in, she'll be clouded with a strange look, and then with a wave of her hand say, "Gone...Forgot." And while we chuckle together at what might have been a great story, Maya lets her two front teeth shine from the guard of her lips. One such interaction:
Maya: I saw your friend the other day.
Laura: Oh, who was that?
M: She was looking...very bad.
L: Oh my. That can't be good.
M: No. It wasn't. She was doing quite bad. Your friend...(trying to
find the name)
L: Kat? Beth?
M: No. Your friend...
L: Uhhh...Rob?
M: No. Your friend, that's a girl....
L: Uhhh...my mother?
M: (clearly frustrated) No. That one friend. Obama's friend.
L: Uhhh...Hilllllary Clinnnton?
M: Yes! That's the one! Your friend Hillary. I saw her in the paper.
L: Oh good! My friend Hillary. How is she?
M: She's not doing well against that Obama fellow.
L: I'll have to talk with my friend, Hillary.
And, the chuckling begins.
When I see Maya Ammachi on her porch chair, her smile perching, and waiting to chat about politics and my friends Obama and Hillary, I know it's 5pm.
When I see Thomas Appachen watering his flowers; when I hear Bavakutty Kochamma's contagious laughter; when I hear the home nurses teasing one another and singing songs, I know it's 5pm.
And I couldn't be more excited.
That which irritated before, is what I anticipate and look forward to each day.
For, 5pm has been transformed.
My prejudices, my judgments, my apparent understandings of myself have been flipped, flopped, and forgone. It's as though India has allowed me to leave this luggage whirling around the baggage claim. And so I must ask myself, what other baggage is it time to let go of?
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." Matthew 11:28.
I have an irritation.
A pet-peeve, if you will.
Something that has bugged me for years, and for no particular reason,
Other than it just annoys me.
5:00pm.
That's right.
5 o'clock in the evening.
I can't stand it.
This abhorrence may stem from years of activities that kept me busy during precious days where one learns to live in harmony with all o'clocks: volleyball practices, rowing practices, summer camp, afternoon work shifts and such. Due to these, I've never had to face the irritable qualities of 5pm, thus leaving a bitter taste for the time.
For starters, is it late-afternoon, or early evening? It can't decide for itself. Then, should you suffer through the goosebumps of a cool 5pm, or put on a jacket, risking a sweatiness that will surely chill you by 6pm?
And to top it all off, the day's closure is making for a darkened room. You're sitting in this funky-semi-sunlit-space. You want to turn a light on. So you do. But, what is this? The light doesn't do squat. Your room is still funky-semi-sunlit, but now with a glowing corner where your lamp is pathetically trying to have an effect. Then you check your watch. Ah. It's 5pm. That's right. At 5pm, it's not dark enough to turn a cozy lamp on, but outside light won't penetrate past the curtains.
Hmmph. 5pm. Can't live with it; surely, can't live without it. To say I've been suffering anxiety attacks at 4:59pm would be a bit of an exaggeration. But, I have been fully aware of the weight of the baggage I brought to India, having packed both the concentrated past, and the futility of personal pet-peeves. As much as I hoped, nothing got lost along the way; it all arrived; everything is here. Even 5pm.
But, to my surprise, India has given me more than a place to put the luggage down. It gave me a time change. At 5pm, everything comes alive for our 'neighborhood'. I spend this time with my friends of the assisted living facility. By 5pm, afternoon naps are finished, our tea has been drunk, and we are ready for fresh air and fresh faces. Everyone is ready for the 5pm socialization hour:
There's Dr. Mani and his wife, Ann. Dr. Mani is a retired Physics professor, originally from Kerala, but lived in North Carolina for almost 40 years, teaching at a local university. When Alzheimer's became a reality for Ann, Dr. Mani opted for the less costly health care India could provide. Dr. Mani and Ann made their voyage back to Kerala, where he has been her primary care taker. With the help of their home nurse, Banu, I watch each day as Dr. Mani's courage, love, persistence, sense of humor and wonderful smile never diminish.
After we drink tea, Banu and I sit with Ann, and Dr. Mani takes his walk. When I see his Nike's laced on, and the leather sandals on the door step, I know it's 5pm.
There's Maya Ammachi and her daughter, Susan. Maya and her father were freedom fighters with Gandhi. She's closing in on 92, and due to a fall last year, she's finding it harder to recall names and places.
Our conversations may start with a story, but a few sentences in, she'll be clouded with a strange look, and then with a wave of her hand say, "Gone...Forgot." And while we chuckle together at what might have been a great story, Maya lets her two front teeth shine from the guard of her lips. One such interaction:
Maya: I saw your friend the other day.
Laura: Oh, who was that?
M: She was looking...very bad.
L: Oh my. That can't be good.
M: No. It wasn't. She was doing quite bad. Your friend...(trying to
find the name)
L: Kat? Beth?
M: No. Your friend...
L: Uhhh...Rob?
M: No. Your friend, that's a girl....
L: Uhhh...my mother?
M: (clearly frustrated) No. That one friend. Obama's friend.
L: Uhhh...Hilllllary Clinnnton?
M: Yes! That's the one! Your friend Hillary. I saw her in the paper.
L: Oh good! My friend Hillary. How is she?
M: She's not doing well against that Obama fellow.
L: I'll have to talk with my friend, Hillary.
And, the chuckling begins.
When I see Maya Ammachi on her porch chair, her smile perching, and waiting to chat about politics and my friends Obama and Hillary, I know it's 5pm.
When I see Thomas Appachen watering his flowers; when I hear Bavakutty Kochamma's contagious laughter; when I hear the home nurses teasing one another and singing songs, I know it's 5pm.
And I couldn't be more excited.
That which irritated before, is what I anticipate and look forward to each day.
For, 5pm has been transformed.
My prejudices, my judgments, my apparent understandings of myself have been flipped, flopped, and forgone. It's as though India has allowed me to leave this luggage whirling around the baggage claim. And so I must ask myself, what other baggage is it time to let go of?
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." Matthew 11:28.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Newsletter! - Sarah in Mexico
Loved not for what I do, but for who I am…
Ubuntu: I am because you are.
“Africans have this thing called Ubuntu. It is about the essence of being human. It embraces hospitality, caring about others, being able to go the extra mile for the sake of others. We believe that a person is a person through another person, that my humanity is caught up, bound up, inextricably, with yours.
When I dehumanize you, I inexorably dehumanize myself. The solitary human being is a contradiction in terms and therefore you seek to work for the common good because your humanity comes into its own in belonging.”
-Archbishop Desmond Tutu
“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.’ So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.”
2 Corinthians 12:9
I celebrated my 23rd birthday last week, and was humbled and overjoyed by the way my friends and co-workers gave of themselves, their time, their food, and their joy to celebrate with me. The week of constant fiestas made me so keenly aware of the abundant love that surrounds and uplifts me—here in this place and across the world. In the spirit of gratitude for my life and the love that sustains it, I’m choosing to reflect in this month’s newsletter on the way my experience in Mexico has drawn me into authentic relationship, and instilled deeper belief in a God who embraces the world and each one of us with unconditional love.
One of the things that has been very clear to me throughout the year is the way this call has challenged my traditional way of living and being in the world. I come from a culture that keeps me on the go, that encourages me to seek, do, and buy more, that affirms me when I try harder, work longer, get better, and climb higher. It’s more, more, more, and it’s do, do, do. While I recognize the self-centered, exhausting, and unremitting cycle of our culture’s pace and expectations, I also know I find a part of myself there. I am a doer. I love to be active. I make lists and devise plans. I enjoy taking on many projects and doing them well. This is part of who I am and always will be, but it’s a part of me that I see with new eyes after the past ten months. Coming to Mexico as a missionary has turned much of that “Sarah Rohde” on her face, and I’m grateful for the learning that’s spun out of that.
My job description, more than anything, is to accompany my brothers and sisters in Mexico in their journeys, struggles, and joys. In the first several months, this meant quite literally showing up, sitting, observing, smiling, nodding, and asking questions when it felt appropriate. As I’ve become more familiar with the communities I serve and people with whom I work, I’ve found more occasions for participation and more responsibilities to undertake. My work with the organization, CIDHAL, has allowed me to facilitate a discussion group with young women from Mexico, Spain, Canada, and the U.S. on various issues and themes related to justice and feminism. My work in the indigenous communities has given me opportunities to lead cooking classes, assist in workshops with children for the prevention of sexual abuse, help the women with their pottery and sewing projects, and document weekly meetings and decisions. To this day, though, my most important work still consists of being present, of listening to others’ stories and sharing my own, of visiting homes and attending important events, of receiving generosity in whatever form—a conversation; an invitation to a family birthday party; a traditional, all-natural, totally despicable and unsuccessful remedy for diarrhea; a smile; a tortilla doused in pork fat and cheese; a church service; etc.—that my Mexican friends here are so itching to give.
This work has in many ways freed me—and forced me—to step out of a familiar identity and leap into new, unexplored parts of who I am. When I think about my identity in the past, I’m aware of how quickly I jump to the things that I’ve done to describe myself: I’ve been a student, musician, leader, camp counselor, traveler, teacher, accompanist, and writer. I’m also aware of the control I carried over the things I did and the way I did them. My perfectionist self liked to be good at things right off the bat; therefore, I chose to audition for choir and not for basketball; I majored in religion, Spanish and music, not in accounting or chemistry; I preached often in chapel, but didn’t even consider the debate team.
These activities and actions certainly do form a part of me, but I wonder if a focus on these roles has also distracted me from knowing myself at a more raw level, and created a veiled sense of worth or entitlement. Defining too much of myself by the things I do, achieve, and accomplish probably fosters—albeit unknowingly—a belief that I deserve certain attention, affirmation, and love. Because I’ve done all these things, then I should get… This is not to say that we shouldn’t put forth awards and accolades to celebrate each other’s gifts and excellence, but what concerns me is when we find our sense of being and worth more in what we do than in who we are, when we believe love is something we deserve, rather than the greatest gift we’ve been given.
No one in Mexico knows of the Concordia Choir. No one knows I graduated with honors. No one knows of my involvement in Bread for the World. No one has heard me play the piano. While I yearn to recover these parts of myself, to again be known as a leader, a musician, and a go-getter, I also love what I’ve learned by stripping away these titles and identities. It’s made me see, feel, taste, and touch more closely something I’ve always believed to be true: that love is sheer gift. Such an affirmation forms the bedrock of our faith, as nothing we do makes us more worthy of God’s love and grace. It’s who and whose we are that makes us worthy. And such knowledge can’t help but stir in me a spirit of immeasurable gratitude and deep, deep humility.
It hasn’t been the easiest lesson for me to learn or believe. As I struggle to put my thoughts into Spanish, I often think to myself, “Ugh, if they could just hear me speak in English, they’d have so much more respect for me.” When I go get the tape recorder (la grabadora) instead of the stapler (la grapadora), I just want to whip out my diploma from this reputable liberal arts college as proof that I’m smart and capable. When I try to dance salsa and am this crazy, Norwegian blonde that has obviously only danced to 4/4 time, I want to escape back to comfortable ground, where people look like me and get me. But these are exactly the moments that have turned my world upside down, as it’s there that I’ve discovered the most real, authentic love. While I have thoughts of “If I could…,” “If I were…,” If I did…,”—this idea that doing and being more would make others love me more—my siblings in Mexico show me another way.
Before my Mexican friends know what I do, own, or study, they see who I am. Part of that is noting the difference in my skin and eye color, and knowing I’m a U.S. American; the other part is seeing me as just another human being who has stories to tell, laughter to share, tears to shed, mistakes to make, pain to bear, joy to spread. It wouldn’t be fair to the experience to say our differences have been washed away, but I would say that such extended time together has invited us to work through our pronounced differences and realize each other’s authentic personhood. We are all imperfect beings. We all have lessons to learn and knowledge to share. We all need to love and be loved. We are each living out a different story, yet it has become so real to me that our stories are deeply interwoven, interdependent, and inextricably bound to one another. This whole process of seeing humanness more completely, of discovering myself in the face of another, and of knowing love without conditions and expectations has been one of the most powerful experiences of my life.
Friends and family, it is my hope and prayer that you always know you are loved not for what you do, but for who and whose you are.
Peace and love,
Sarah
Ubuntu: I am because you are.
“Africans have this thing called Ubuntu. It is about the essence of being human. It embraces hospitality, caring about others, being able to go the extra mile for the sake of others. We believe that a person is a person through another person, that my humanity is caught up, bound up, inextricably, with yours.
When I dehumanize you, I inexorably dehumanize myself. The solitary human being is a contradiction in terms and therefore you seek to work for the common good because your humanity comes into its own in belonging.”
-Archbishop Desmond Tutu
“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.’ So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.”
2 Corinthians 12:9
I celebrated my 23rd birthday last week, and was humbled and overjoyed by the way my friends and co-workers gave of themselves, their time, their food, and their joy to celebrate with me. The week of constant fiestas made me so keenly aware of the abundant love that surrounds and uplifts me—here in this place and across the world. In the spirit of gratitude for my life and the love that sustains it, I’m choosing to reflect in this month’s newsletter on the way my experience in Mexico has drawn me into authentic relationship, and instilled deeper belief in a God who embraces the world and each one of us with unconditional love.
One of the things that has been very clear to me throughout the year is the way this call has challenged my traditional way of living and being in the world. I come from a culture that keeps me on the go, that encourages me to seek, do, and buy more, that affirms me when I try harder, work longer, get better, and climb higher. It’s more, more, more, and it’s do, do, do. While I recognize the self-centered, exhausting, and unremitting cycle of our culture’s pace and expectations, I also know I find a part of myself there. I am a doer. I love to be active. I make lists and devise plans. I enjoy taking on many projects and doing them well. This is part of who I am and always will be, but it’s a part of me that I see with new eyes after the past ten months. Coming to Mexico as a missionary has turned much of that “Sarah Rohde” on her face, and I’m grateful for the learning that’s spun out of that.
My job description, more than anything, is to accompany my brothers and sisters in Mexico in their journeys, struggles, and joys. In the first several months, this meant quite literally showing up, sitting, observing, smiling, nodding, and asking questions when it felt appropriate. As I’ve become more familiar with the communities I serve and people with whom I work, I’ve found more occasions for participation and more responsibilities to undertake. My work with the organization, CIDHAL, has allowed me to facilitate a discussion group with young women from Mexico, Spain, Canada, and the U.S. on various issues and themes related to justice and feminism. My work in the indigenous communities has given me opportunities to lead cooking classes, assist in workshops with children for the prevention of sexual abuse, help the women with their pottery and sewing projects, and document weekly meetings and decisions. To this day, though, my most important work still consists of being present, of listening to others’ stories and sharing my own, of visiting homes and attending important events, of receiving generosity in whatever form—a conversation; an invitation to a family birthday party; a traditional, all-natural, totally despicable and unsuccessful remedy for diarrhea; a smile; a tortilla doused in pork fat and cheese; a church service; etc.—that my Mexican friends here are so itching to give.
This work has in many ways freed me—and forced me—to step out of a familiar identity and leap into new, unexplored parts of who I am. When I think about my identity in the past, I’m aware of how quickly I jump to the things that I’ve done to describe myself: I’ve been a student, musician, leader, camp counselor, traveler, teacher, accompanist, and writer. I’m also aware of the control I carried over the things I did and the way I did them. My perfectionist self liked to be good at things right off the bat; therefore, I chose to audition for choir and not for basketball; I majored in religion, Spanish and music, not in accounting or chemistry; I preached often in chapel, but didn’t even consider the debate team.
These activities and actions certainly do form a part of me, but I wonder if a focus on these roles has also distracted me from knowing myself at a more raw level, and created a veiled sense of worth or entitlement. Defining too much of myself by the things I do, achieve, and accomplish probably fosters—albeit unknowingly—a belief that I deserve certain attention, affirmation, and love. Because I’ve done all these things, then I should get… This is not to say that we shouldn’t put forth awards and accolades to celebrate each other’s gifts and excellence, but what concerns me is when we find our sense of being and worth more in what we do than in who we are, when we believe love is something we deserve, rather than the greatest gift we’ve been given.
No one in Mexico knows of the Concordia Choir. No one knows I graduated with honors. No one knows of my involvement in Bread for the World. No one has heard me play the piano. While I yearn to recover these parts of myself, to again be known as a leader, a musician, and a go-getter, I also love what I’ve learned by stripping away these titles and identities. It’s made me see, feel, taste, and touch more closely something I’ve always believed to be true: that love is sheer gift. Such an affirmation forms the bedrock of our faith, as nothing we do makes us more worthy of God’s love and grace. It’s who and whose we are that makes us worthy. And such knowledge can’t help but stir in me a spirit of immeasurable gratitude and deep, deep humility.
It hasn’t been the easiest lesson for me to learn or believe. As I struggle to put my thoughts into Spanish, I often think to myself, “Ugh, if they could just hear me speak in English, they’d have so much more respect for me.” When I go get the tape recorder (la grabadora) instead of the stapler (la grapadora), I just want to whip out my diploma from this reputable liberal arts college as proof that I’m smart and capable. When I try to dance salsa and am this crazy, Norwegian blonde that has obviously only danced to 4/4 time, I want to escape back to comfortable ground, where people look like me and get me. But these are exactly the moments that have turned my world upside down, as it’s there that I’ve discovered the most real, authentic love. While I have thoughts of “If I could…,” “If I were…,” If I did…,”—this idea that doing and being more would make others love me more—my siblings in Mexico show me another way.
Before my Mexican friends know what I do, own, or study, they see who I am. Part of that is noting the difference in my skin and eye color, and knowing I’m a U.S. American; the other part is seeing me as just another human being who has stories to tell, laughter to share, tears to shed, mistakes to make, pain to bear, joy to spread. It wouldn’t be fair to the experience to say our differences have been washed away, but I would say that such extended time together has invited us to work through our pronounced differences and realize each other’s authentic personhood. We are all imperfect beings. We all have lessons to learn and knowledge to share. We all need to love and be loved. We are each living out a different story, yet it has become so real to me that our stories are deeply interwoven, interdependent, and inextricably bound to one another. This whole process of seeing humanness more completely, of discovering myself in the face of another, and of knowing love without conditions and expectations has been one of the most powerful experiences of my life.
Friends and family, it is my hope and prayer that you always know you are loved not for what you do, but for who and whose you are.
Peace and love,
Sarah
Saturday, May 31, 2008
May Newsletter! - Eric in the UK
St. Pancras News
May
Being Still in Ireland
Earlier this month I was able to take a week of retreat time and head to Sligo Ireland! Because of a mix up in communication with the priests at my parish (due to us being without a head priest), I only heard that I actually had this time a couple weeks before hand. I was very lucky to find the place that I did.
Holy Hill Hermitage is located on the northwest coast of Ireland near Sligo. The monks (both men and women) are associated with the Carmelite order and have two hermitages- one in Ireland and one in Colorado. Since the group originally started in Colorado, all of them are American (including the five "apostolic hermits" in Ireland). The hermitage was a grand old manor house which was owned by a wealthy Irish businessman in the early 19th century. The man eventually died and the family finally gave it to the Catholic diocese. The church in turn handed it over to this order of monks who took it upon themselves to rebuild the entire property. When it was the acquired, the house was in terrible condition and the stables were just walls with trees growing inside. 15 years later, this is a very different story. The stable area was turned into apartments, a kitchen, and a library that contained 6,000 volumes. The house has been totally redone and now incorporates many offices, sitting rooms, and a chapel. There are now about 10 cabins on the entire estate (5 of which the hermits use) and are rented out to retreatants. Perhaps the most amazing thing about this site is that these Carmelite monks did most of the construction and restoration themselves.
I flew out of London at 8am and got into Dublin at around 9am. After finding the main train station, I boarded a train and headed across Ireland (from the East Coast to the West Coast) and got into Sligo at around 2pm. What I did not think out clearly was the fact that it was a Bank Holiday that day (the UK and Ireland have Bank Holidays on specific dates- they are glorious things). My next step from Sligo was to take a short bus ride to the little village of Skreen where the monks were supposed to pick me up (though I had not made recent contact). Stumbling up to the bus station with all my things, I realized that no buses were going to Skreen that day because of the Bank Holiday. Wondering what my next step was, I called the hermitage and finally got through. One of the sisters answered and seemed surprised to hear from me. Apparently, one of the other monks had misread my email and the dates that I gave for staying there. They actually expected me a day later instead of the Bank Holiday. On top of that, she said that they usually don't take retreatants on Mondays because it is there "Desert Day", or the day where they have complete solitude and are out of the office. "You are one lucky young man!", she said. The only reason why she was in the office was to grab some keys for the hermitage vehicle to take another retreatant back to the train station in Sligo (because the busses were not running). Luckily, my phone call intercepted her while she was there and she randomly decided to pick up the phone. It was a day that I had the Lord on my side!
After arriving and unpacking in my wonderfully furnished cabin which lay about 20 ft. away from a mountain stream, I went for a walk around the property. It was an incredible evening (the weather followed the same theme every day of the week- warm and sunny), and I found wonderful places of peace among the flowers, trees, and vegetables that lay all around. The hermitage lay at the foot of a large mountain which rose impressively above our cabins. From the manor house, one could stretch out and read in front of a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean and other mountains across the bay.
In my week with the monks, I participated in many community activities of gardening, mowing, and hiking. One of the monks, Brother Thomas, really connected with me as we both have a deep interest in hiking. Thomas was the first insulin dependent diabetic to hike the 2,000 mile Appalachian Trail straight through. He hiked it in 121 days!! "That is how I decided to become a monk", he said. "I needed to be with nature." Thomas used to be a public accountant before turning to the monastic life. He summed up his incredible story by saying: "You just need to be still sometimes." Being still was a very important part of my time in Ireland. For the first time, I could listen to the birds, water, leaves, and wind and really take something deeper in.
This fact proved incredibly true on my last day in Ireland when I decided to bike down to the beach (or "Strand" as the Irish call it). It was a cooler day and overcast which contrasted with the beautiful week of weather that we had previously. When I arrived at the beach I found that I was the only person there. This beach stretched about 8 miles down the coast and presented you with the most incredible Irish countryside views. Being surprised at the fact of me being the only one there, I first became sheepish and just sat near the car park and watched the waves come in. However, seeing this as an opportunity to be with God, I later got up and started to walk and then playfully run across the vast stretches of beach! As my footprints dotted the shoreline, I stopped again and listened.... The waves crashed along the shore and my heavy breathing were the only sounds that anyone could hear for miles around. Time seemed to stand still.
Sometimes it is the moments that we have alone with God that refreshes us the most. For me, Ireland filled me with the most incredible joy and hope. We all need retreats I think. We all need to be with God in a new way.
London: Experiencing it with a Friend
The month of May has been very busy on multiple levels. Parish work continues to rumble along at a good pace and the realization of a time when I will be leaving this place keeps poking at me in stronger ways. This month has also been a time where more than ever, my two worlds (the world of Minnesota and the world of London) keep crashing into one another.
No more is this apparent then when I am hosting friends here. EVERYONE it seems wants to come to London. I sometimes think I should quit my work in the church and just open "Eric's Hotel" at the Vicarage. Along with many of my fellow traveling volunteers now realizing that they only have a couple months left here, there have also been a couple friends from the United States that have made the adventure to this wonderful country known as England.
One such friend who just spent 10 days here is called Nicholas. Nicholas and I met two years ago in Glacier National Park when we were both on an ACMNP (A Christian Ministry in the National Parks) worship team. Having both discovered our passion for Lutheran theology and music, we hit it off and have become very good friends ever since. Nicholas just completed his second year of seminary at Luther Seminary and is about to head off to his internship.
When you are volunteering abroad for a year, you have to be very careful in how you see your past friendships fitting in with your current life. It can be very hard at times as these two different worlds don't overlap much at all. What is incredibly beneficial about it if you do get it to work, however, is that it becomes an opportunity where you can show them a glimpse of the struggles, joys, and environment that you unknowingly have grown to love (at least for me).
Because of Nicholas being so involved in the United States with the church, I decided I wanted to show him as much as I could on how this parish in London works. One such event that I brought him to was an outing with 40 Year 6 (Grade 5) school children to Hampstead Heath from Brecknock Primary School. This opportunity was perhaps the greatest window into the deep, varied, and rich culture of London. Nicholas later commented how incredible it was to be around so many kids of different faiths and cultures. Nicholas saw first hand how to interact and relate to others. "Do you pray??", asked one of the Bengali Muslim girls to Nicholas. "Yes", he replied. "We pray too! Why do you pray?", she asked. "Well", he said, "It's a good chance to give thanks for the things that we eat and thank God for life." "Yeah, but sometimes I forget to pray.... do you forget to pray?", she asked again. "Of course, we are human", he said, "We forget sometimes." Immediately, a big smile appeared girl's face. For these kids, ministry is being there and relating to them, not lecturing them. It is a chance to show both them and us that we have more in common than what we think. Nicholas and I both came away from this experience with a new sense of life in our hearts.
Nicholas also joined me for an event in the parish called "Parish Club". This group is basically made up of older church woman that get together every other week for tea and talk about various subjects. Realizing that a lot of people here know that I am Lutheran but are unaware of what exactly that means I decided that it would be a lot of fun to tell these Church of England women about the Lutheran Church. After explaining a little about Luther's life and theology, we wrapped up with a triumphant hymn of "A Mighty Fortress". The women absolutely loved it! A couple days later, one of the ladies came up to me and said "You know what? After your presentation I went out and acquired a book about Martin Luther. I already have a que up of people who are going to get it next after I read it!" It was quite an honor indeed.
This morning Nicholas left for home to start his new summer job. We both walked down to Kings Cross Station having a wonderful discussion on the future and what lies ahead for us. After embracing, I watched my friend get on the train bound for Heathrow Airport and kept thinking to myself: Nicholas is no longer a friend who will be hearing stories of London from me, but a friend who has experienced London with me. In a future that lends itself to being uncertain, that is a foundation I can count on.
May
Being Still in Ireland
Earlier this month I was able to take a week of retreat time and head to Sligo Ireland! Because of a mix up in communication with the priests at my parish (due to us being without a head priest), I only heard that I actually had this time a couple weeks before hand. I was very lucky to find the place that I did.
Holy Hill Hermitage is located on the northwest coast of Ireland near Sligo. The monks (both men and women) are associated with the Carmelite order and have two hermitages- one in Ireland and one in Colorado. Since the group originally started in Colorado, all of them are American (including the five "apostolic hermits" in Ireland). The hermitage was a grand old manor house which was owned by a wealthy Irish businessman in the early 19th century. The man eventually died and the family finally gave it to the Catholic diocese. The church in turn handed it over to this order of monks who took it upon themselves to rebuild the entire property. When it was the acquired, the house was in terrible condition and the stables were just walls with trees growing inside. 15 years later, this is a very different story. The stable area was turned into apartments, a kitchen, and a library that contained 6,000 volumes. The house has been totally redone and now incorporates many offices, sitting rooms, and a chapel. There are now about 10 cabins on the entire estate (5 of which the hermits use) and are rented out to retreatants. Perhaps the most amazing thing about this site is that these Carmelite monks did most of the construction and restoration themselves.
I flew out of London at 8am and got into Dublin at around 9am. After finding the main train station, I boarded a train and headed across Ireland (from the East Coast to the West Coast) and got into Sligo at around 2pm. What I did not think out clearly was the fact that it was a Bank Holiday that day (the UK and Ireland have Bank Holidays on specific dates- they are glorious things). My next step from Sligo was to take a short bus ride to the little village of Skreen where the monks were supposed to pick me up (though I had not made recent contact). Stumbling up to the bus station with all my things, I realized that no buses were going to Skreen that day because of the Bank Holiday. Wondering what my next step was, I called the hermitage and finally got through. One of the sisters answered and seemed surprised to hear from me. Apparently, one of the other monks had misread my email and the dates that I gave for staying there. They actually expected me a day later instead of the Bank Holiday. On top of that, she said that they usually don't take retreatants on Mondays because it is there "Desert Day", or the day where they have complete solitude and are out of the office. "You are one lucky young man!", she said. The only reason why she was in the office was to grab some keys for the hermitage vehicle to take another retreatant back to the train station in Sligo (because the busses were not running). Luckily, my phone call intercepted her while she was there and she randomly decided to pick up the phone. It was a day that I had the Lord on my side!
After arriving and unpacking in my wonderfully furnished cabin which lay about 20 ft. away from a mountain stream, I went for a walk around the property. It was an incredible evening (the weather followed the same theme every day of the week- warm and sunny), and I found wonderful places of peace among the flowers, trees, and vegetables that lay all around. The hermitage lay at the foot of a large mountain which rose impressively above our cabins. From the manor house, one could stretch out and read in front of a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean and other mountains across the bay.
In my week with the monks, I participated in many community activities of gardening, mowing, and hiking. One of the monks, Brother Thomas, really connected with me as we both have a deep interest in hiking. Thomas was the first insulin dependent diabetic to hike the 2,000 mile Appalachian Trail straight through. He hiked it in 121 days!! "That is how I decided to become a monk", he said. "I needed to be with nature." Thomas used to be a public accountant before turning to the monastic life. He summed up his incredible story by saying: "You just need to be still sometimes." Being still was a very important part of my time in Ireland. For the first time, I could listen to the birds, water, leaves, and wind and really take something deeper in.
This fact proved incredibly true on my last day in Ireland when I decided to bike down to the beach (or "Strand" as the Irish call it). It was a cooler day and overcast which contrasted with the beautiful week of weather that we had previously. When I arrived at the beach I found that I was the only person there. This beach stretched about 8 miles down the coast and presented you with the most incredible Irish countryside views. Being surprised at the fact of me being the only one there, I first became sheepish and just sat near the car park and watched the waves come in. However, seeing this as an opportunity to be with God, I later got up and started to walk and then playfully run across the vast stretches of beach! As my footprints dotted the shoreline, I stopped again and listened.... The waves crashed along the shore and my heavy breathing were the only sounds that anyone could hear for miles around. Time seemed to stand still.
Sometimes it is the moments that we have alone with God that refreshes us the most. For me, Ireland filled me with the most incredible joy and hope. We all need retreats I think. We all need to be with God in a new way.
London: Experiencing it with a Friend
The month of May has been very busy on multiple levels. Parish work continues to rumble along at a good pace and the realization of a time when I will be leaving this place keeps poking at me in stronger ways. This month has also been a time where more than ever, my two worlds (the world of Minnesota and the world of London) keep crashing into one another.
No more is this apparent then when I am hosting friends here. EVERYONE it seems wants to come to London. I sometimes think I should quit my work in the church and just open "Eric's Hotel" at the Vicarage. Along with many of my fellow traveling volunteers now realizing that they only have a couple months left here, there have also been a couple friends from the United States that have made the adventure to this wonderful country known as England.
One such friend who just spent 10 days here is called Nicholas. Nicholas and I met two years ago in Glacier National Park when we were both on an ACMNP (A Christian Ministry in the National Parks) worship team. Having both discovered our passion for Lutheran theology and music, we hit it off and have become very good friends ever since. Nicholas just completed his second year of seminary at Luther Seminary and is about to head off to his internship.
When you are volunteering abroad for a year, you have to be very careful in how you see your past friendships fitting in with your current life. It can be very hard at times as these two different worlds don't overlap much at all. What is incredibly beneficial about it if you do get it to work, however, is that it becomes an opportunity where you can show them a glimpse of the struggles, joys, and environment that you unknowingly have grown to love (at least for me).
Because of Nicholas being so involved in the United States with the church, I decided I wanted to show him as much as I could on how this parish in London works. One such event that I brought him to was an outing with 40 Year 6 (Grade 5) school children to Hampstead Heath from Brecknock Primary School. This opportunity was perhaps the greatest window into the deep, varied, and rich culture of London. Nicholas later commented how incredible it was to be around so many kids of different faiths and cultures. Nicholas saw first hand how to interact and relate to others. "Do you pray??", asked one of the Bengali Muslim girls to Nicholas. "Yes", he replied. "We pray too! Why do you pray?", she asked. "Well", he said, "It's a good chance to give thanks for the things that we eat and thank God for life." "Yeah, but sometimes I forget to pray.... do you forget to pray?", she asked again. "Of course, we are human", he said, "We forget sometimes." Immediately, a big smile appeared girl's face. For these kids, ministry is being there and relating to them, not lecturing them. It is a chance to show both them and us that we have more in common than what we think. Nicholas and I both came away from this experience with a new sense of life in our hearts.
Nicholas also joined me for an event in the parish called "Parish Club". This group is basically made up of older church woman that get together every other week for tea and talk about various subjects. Realizing that a lot of people here know that I am Lutheran but are unaware of what exactly that means I decided that it would be a lot of fun to tell these Church of England women about the Lutheran Church. After explaining a little about Luther's life and theology, we wrapped up with a triumphant hymn of "A Mighty Fortress". The women absolutely loved it! A couple days later, one of the ladies came up to me and said "You know what? After your presentation I went out and acquired a book about Martin Luther. I already have a que up of people who are going to get it next after I read it!" It was quite an honor indeed.
This morning Nicholas left for home to start his new summer job. We both walked down to Kings Cross Station having a wonderful discussion on the future and what lies ahead for us. After embracing, I watched my friend get on the train bound for Heathrow Airport and kept thinking to myself: Nicholas is no longer a friend who will be hearing stories of London from me, but a friend who has experienced London with me. In a future that lends itself to being uncertain, that is a foundation I can count on.
Monday, May 26, 2008
May Newsletter - Kevin in Uruguay
This month´s topic: simplicity.It´s amazing how often we use, and hear, the word "simple." Keep it simple, stupid. The simple life. This whatchamacallit is simply amazing. Simple minds, simple pleasures. Simply irresistable. Plain and simple. For the older or old-fashionedly polite, there's talk sometimes about the "simple" aunt or cousin who has the mind of a child in an adult's body. The word "simple" is so used that we sometimes forget what it really means - simply put, simple is simply meaningless to the average person in the U.S.So, you can imagine the sort of questions I had in my mind when I was asked to live "simply" during my year as a YAGM. How simple is simple, after all? Was this mandate to live simply a rigid rule, or a set of basic guidelines and principles? Is simple what the poorest people I work with would consider what's needed to live, or a middle class person? Is there a universal form of simple living, or does it depend on social and cultural context?The simple life of this YAGM has been a journey. In order to play it safe, I began the year living as simply, or perhaps more accurately, as cheaply as was feasible. Why take a bus when you can walk, even if it IS 10 C and raining? No, I don't need to buy meat - beans have plenty of protein and are better for you anyhow. My own mate and associated items isn't necessary - everyone else has them, and in the morning at work, the yerba is just a part of operating costs, so it's not even as if I'm taking advantage of people. Sampling local goodies, like beer, pizza with cheese, alfajores...not that necessary. New clothes? Naw, don't need those, either, even if my wardrobe isn't suited to the climate.Six or seven weeks into this sort of simple-to-the-point-of-monastic-vows lifestyle, I faced my first simple living crisis. For our choir concert in Colonia, I was expected to have black pants. I didn't own any. I either had to buy pants or else throw off our groove and, let's be honest, be the subject of jokes from Seba and Fafre. So, I bought pants...I paid more than I would've really liked, but so it goes. I took care of an honest need, and did it in a fairly budget-friendly way...and I didn't feel bad about it afterwards, or like a total rich yanqui. I did what an Uruguayan would've done if they didn't know anyone their size to borrow from. Simple life lesson number one: Living simply isn't being a skinflint; it's being a wise, thoughtful steward.I started to wonder if I was REALLY living the right sort of simply after the pants episode. After all, even the just-scraping-by doorman in the building was able to spring for a pizza now and again, and the broke college students always seemed to have bus fare, plus ground beef and cerveza in the fridge. Of course, things were seldom done alone - my grupo de jóvenes friends would never spend 300 pesos on a meal for just one person. That amount of money would be spent to make one or two big dishes of insert-your-favorite-food-here, and then the whole gang would come over and bring a drink or bag of chips - everyone brought something to the table. Then, the next weekend, someone else would have a party, and the person who'd shelled out the most bucks and effort for last week's just brought a 20 peso bag of chips, and ya está. There were (well, are) the meals, too, where one person would do the grocery shopping, save the receipt, and after dinner, divide the amount by the number of guests and ask for, say, 30 pesos a head. From all of this, I learned simple life lesson number two: living simply means living in community - sharing, giving, and trusting that other people will share and give, too.Life got more fun after that, suffice it to say. Then, the holidays rolled around, which raised two new themes - gift-giving and traveling. I decided to try my hand at making Christmas gifts; after all, you always hear of people doing it and then talking about how much more rewarding it was than just buying a gift card (much less an ugly sweater or fruitcake), and what better time to try it out than while living in another country? I made salsa for Wilma and Milton's families, picture cds for family and friends back home, and "free-dinner" coupons for my housemates. I'm not likely to go back to the world of just buying a quick gift and calling it done. I felt connected to the people I gave gifts to - it wasn't a soulless card, for a change. It wasn't safe, though - after all, a $20 giftcard to your favorite store is guaranted to please, unlike "hey, I'm making you the dinner of your choice - hope I know how to cook it!" I learned lesson three: living simply is being willing to take a risk now and then.Then, it was time to travel. How does one travel simply? I did what I normally did - stayed in hostels. You meet cool people and save money - so long as there's not a snorer in the room, it's great. I looked for free, or at least cheap, things to do - I went on day-hikes, walked around the towns I was in, hung out with people from my hostel. That enabled some sharing of costs for things like, say, a beer, or a pizza at a restaurant. I tried to figure out the free museum days for various place I visited and planned, within reason, accordingly - why pay today to get into a museum you can go see for free tomorrow? As for food, eat where the normal people eat - the food's probably better there, anyway. I also found bus services that included food, so I got transportation and a meal for one price. For those days spent hiking, there's nothing wrong with packing a sandwich, some fruit, and a bottle of water. And, you know what? My two big trips in South America, plus my African travels and Eurobackpacking-on-a-bidget have been way more fun than the three, pre-packaged, live like a tourist excursions in Europe I did in high school (well, 2 in high school, and once chaperoning for my high school as a college sophomore). Lesson four - living simply when you travel lets you see the world in much richer ways, and brings you closer to the people you meet along the way.So, that all was some time ago, and besides, we all know that nobody has four lessons on their list - it's three lessons, or five lessons. Not four - either shut up early or talk until we come full circle. The summer (well, MY summer) rolled on without simple life difficulties, and then came fall. We were blessed in that the fall was long, warm, and sunny...but I knew winter was coming. Short, dreary days, lots of rain, plenty of cold. I mentioned, several lessons ago, that my wardrobe wasn't suited for the end of the Montevideano winter. That didn't magically change during the spring and summer. I had to go clothes shopping. I combined my shopping with a trip to Argentina, since clothes are cheaper there. I didn't go to boutiques and hit up large, bargain-friendly stores...and the Salvation Army for a coat. So, we're set for winter...but there was one thing lacking. Many people who know me also know that, perhaps, my feet tend to sweat a lot when they get closed up inside shoes. Wthout going into a ton of detail here, this results in rather odiforous feet, socks, and shoes, and the latter item just perpetuates the cycle. In summer, this isn't a problem - I wear sandals, my feet air dry, and no problem is had. However, in the winter, when wearing sandals outdoors would probably result in a lot of cold, wet foot discomfort, they get closed up all day in my boots, and así viene el problema. So...I bought the Uruguayan equivalent of Gold Bond powder to dry my feet and shoes while wiping out odor. And so, I learned lesson five, which is really just a corollary of lesson one: simple living doesn't come at the expense of self-care; you yourself are an asset to protect and care for, not simply a valueless blob of matter. Being a good steward means being a good steward of your body, too.Living simply isn't always the easiest path. After all, it does require sacrifices - not buying this book I want today so I can get produce at the fair tomorrow. It requires budgeting, and (that hardest of things) self-discipline. But...it pays off. Sure, it saves money. You learn what you need to live, what you want to make living easier, and what you want simply because it's a luxury and you want it, and you learn how to prioritize those things. You learn that yes, you can in fact use empanada shells to make tortillas for 1/3 the price you'd have paid for the imported tortillas at the store. Even better, you learn to be part of a community. You learn that life is people and your times with them, and not the things you have or the money you spend.
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