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.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
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.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
May Newsletter - Sarah W. in Kenya
May 2008
It is always important to remember when working at the Nairobi Animal Orphanage that you should NEVER let yourself become attached to any of the baby animals in the nursery. I thought I had learned this lesson well, but I was wrong. During my time here I have seen countless young animals come and then eventually die, none of that ever affected me until a few weeks ago when we received a young zebra.
We called him Kiseme and he was around two weeks old, umbilical cord still attached when he arrived. He was so friendly right from the start, following anyone and everyone wherever they went. My coworkers, who can easily become annoyed by the antics of our young buffalo, were extremely tolerant of the zebra who often found himself in their way. Around the zebra’s third day at the Orphanage he began to realize who his new mother was, and forgetting the guys, took to following only me. I of course was ecstatic. It was wonderful to have little horse hooves following me everywhere I went, and a little horse nose to nudge me for constant attention. I was more than happy to spend my entire day around the Orphanage so that he could drink mild every one to two hours But all this quickly ended when after being with us for only one week, Kiseme died in the middle of the day. I had done all that I could for him that morning, but the fact that he had been given cow’s milk his first two days at the Orphanage had poisoned his system anyway.
I was sad and disappointed but tried to hide it from the guys and continued work as usual. My coworkers were not fooled. They had seen how happy I had been with the zebra around and knew I was upset. The out pouring of sympathy and compassion that they showed me the rest of the day was like nothing I have ever experienced. As I’m sure you can imagine, working all day with over 15 guys is typically anything but compassionate, but this day they all changed. Guys who I spend my day giving and receiving sometimes harsh, but always playful jokes and comments with suddenly became quiet, sweet, and caring. I received more understanding hugs, kind smiles, and heartfelt words than ever before in my life.
This out pouring of sympathetic love from them showed me how much I really mean to them and how much they all mean to me. None of them were sad for the zebra, they were sad because of me. I can’t begin to explain how much it meant to me that they cared so much about my feelings. I can now clearly see that we are all a big family, and the best part is that I’m a member of it. I truly believe that I experienced God’s love that day in the most real way possible. God took this sad moment in my life and used it to show me how I have become a valued member of a community. He allowed me to see that I have had an impact on the people around me in Kenya. I can now feel inside of me why God sent me to Kenya and also what Kenya has become for me.
I thank God for little Kiseme and they joy he brought me, but even more for fully revealing my true Kenyan family to me.
It is always important to remember when working at the Nairobi Animal Orphanage that you should NEVER let yourself become attached to any of the baby animals in the nursery. I thought I had learned this lesson well, but I was wrong. During my time here I have seen countless young animals come and then eventually die, none of that ever affected me until a few weeks ago when we received a young zebra.
We called him Kiseme and he was around two weeks old, umbilical cord still attached when he arrived. He was so friendly right from the start, following anyone and everyone wherever they went. My coworkers, who can easily become annoyed by the antics of our young buffalo, were extremely tolerant of the zebra who often found himself in their way. Around the zebra’s third day at the Orphanage he began to realize who his new mother was, and forgetting the guys, took to following only me. I of course was ecstatic. It was wonderful to have little horse hooves following me everywhere I went, and a little horse nose to nudge me for constant attention. I was more than happy to spend my entire day around the Orphanage so that he could drink mild every one to two hours But all this quickly ended when after being with us for only one week, Kiseme died in the middle of the day. I had done all that I could for him that morning, but the fact that he had been given cow’s milk his first two days at the Orphanage had poisoned his system anyway.
I was sad and disappointed but tried to hide it from the guys and continued work as usual. My coworkers were not fooled. They had seen how happy I had been with the zebra around and knew I was upset. The out pouring of sympathy and compassion that they showed me the rest of the day was like nothing I have ever experienced. As I’m sure you can imagine, working all day with over 15 guys is typically anything but compassionate, but this day they all changed. Guys who I spend my day giving and receiving sometimes harsh, but always playful jokes and comments with suddenly became quiet, sweet, and caring. I received more understanding hugs, kind smiles, and heartfelt words than ever before in my life.
This out pouring of sympathetic love from them showed me how much I really mean to them and how much they all mean to me. None of them were sad for the zebra, they were sad because of me. I can’t begin to explain how much it meant to me that they cared so much about my feelings. I can now clearly see that we are all a big family, and the best part is that I’m a member of it. I truly believe that I experienced God’s love that day in the most real way possible. God took this sad moment in my life and used it to show me how I have become a valued member of a community. He allowed me to see that I have had an impact on the people around me in Kenya. I can now feel inside of me why God sent me to Kenya and also what Kenya has become for me.
I thank God for little Kiseme and they joy he brought me, but even more for fully revealing my true Kenyan family to me.
April Newsletter - Sarah W. in Kenya
April 2008
One evening several weeks ago, Mercy and I had just finished cooking dinner and we were talking as we put food on our plates. I set my plate in the sitting room and then headed back to the kitchen to continue our conversation. When I stepped in the doorway I saw Mercy, who only seconds ago had been talking with me, standing with her dinner plate, eyes closed, completely silent and still. I was taken by surprise at seeing this and my first thought was “oh my gosh! She’s fallen asleep?!” I called her name, slightly worried. No reply. I said her name again and she looked up at me. I asked her if she was ok and she replied “of course! I was just praying.” Needless to say we had a good laugh about it but this scene made me think more about prayer here in Kenya.
In many churches in America there is a specific time, place, and way of praying and anything else can come as a surprise. Here though prayer is accepted as a much more normal thing. If the person sitting next to you on Sunday morning began speaking quietly but rather emotionally during prayers, hymns, or even announcements you would probably question their actions, while here that is a very common form of prayer, happening multiple times in every worship service.
The Nairobi Arboretum, one of the most beautiful and popular parks in town, is also a popular place to go and pray. My first time there it took me a while to realize that people were actually praying. Kenyans will find a tree off the path and either standing near it or walking around it begin to pray rather loudly, sometimes even shouting, in a variety of languages from English, to Swahili, to their mother tongue or tribal language. While at work at the Animal Orphanage I have seen Muslims stop to kneel and do their daily prayers right in the middle of the Orphanage. Their devotion to God was not hindered by their public location.
I think as Americans we can learn something from Kenyans about prayer. Conversations with God should not be forced to fit into a specific setting. We should never feel embarrassed or ashamed to talk to our Heavenly Father. Maybe you don’t pray before eating inside a restaurant because you wonder what other people will think. Maybe you force yourself to pray in silence so that others aren’t disturbed or so that they won’t know you are praying. While it is true that God doesn’t want us to become arrogant and pray publicly just to draw attention for ourselves, I don’t think He wants us to think we can only pray in certain places or ways.
Mercy and other Kenyans have made me feel much more comfortable about prayer. They have shown me that where and how you pray doesn’t matter, but it’s the setting inside your heart that counts.
One evening several weeks ago, Mercy and I had just finished cooking dinner and we were talking as we put food on our plates. I set my plate in the sitting room and then headed back to the kitchen to continue our conversation. When I stepped in the doorway I saw Mercy, who only seconds ago had been talking with me, standing with her dinner plate, eyes closed, completely silent and still. I was taken by surprise at seeing this and my first thought was “oh my gosh! She’s fallen asleep?!” I called her name, slightly worried. No reply. I said her name again and she looked up at me. I asked her if she was ok and she replied “of course! I was just praying.” Needless to say we had a good laugh about it but this scene made me think more about prayer here in Kenya.
In many churches in America there is a specific time, place, and way of praying and anything else can come as a surprise. Here though prayer is accepted as a much more normal thing. If the person sitting next to you on Sunday morning began speaking quietly but rather emotionally during prayers, hymns, or even announcements you would probably question their actions, while here that is a very common form of prayer, happening multiple times in every worship service.
The Nairobi Arboretum, one of the most beautiful and popular parks in town, is also a popular place to go and pray. My first time there it took me a while to realize that people were actually praying. Kenyans will find a tree off the path and either standing near it or walking around it begin to pray rather loudly, sometimes even shouting, in a variety of languages from English, to Swahili, to their mother tongue or tribal language. While at work at the Animal Orphanage I have seen Muslims stop to kneel and do their daily prayers right in the middle of the Orphanage. Their devotion to God was not hindered by their public location.
I think as Americans we can learn something from Kenyans about prayer. Conversations with God should not be forced to fit into a specific setting. We should never feel embarrassed or ashamed to talk to our Heavenly Father. Maybe you don’t pray before eating inside a restaurant because you wonder what other people will think. Maybe you force yourself to pray in silence so that others aren’t disturbed or so that they won’t know you are praying. While it is true that God doesn’t want us to become arrogant and pray publicly just to draw attention for ourselves, I don’t think He wants us to think we can only pray in certain places or ways.
Mercy and other Kenyans have made me feel much more comfortable about prayer. They have shown me that where and how you pray doesn’t matter, but it’s the setting inside your heart that counts.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
newsletter - James in Argentina
April is a journal filled with memories now. Things are happening here, inside me and the barrio. Energy that moves and produces scenes of whirling creativity and beauty. A start to the tale of April could be my birthday where I spent my 21st amongst sixty screaming children and surrounded by the people I have come to love so genuinely here. It was a quick celebration as sixty children in a small room with cake and soda is always a difficult force to contain, but the letters written by the friends I’ve made here will be carried with me as such powerful symbols of love and acceptance.
Shared poetry and music.
We send an entire day organizing a concert of a band we produce that day. La Paz we call ourselves. As the tale spins from 10 in the morning until the eventual concert at 4, the children create signs and banners displaying our name. As I learn anew everyday, the preparation of something is often more important than the event itself. We are presented shyly by a 14 year old who takes his role of announcer as seriously as possible. Oscar is his name. I on the guitar and vocals, giving ridiculous explanations of songs I clearly didn’t create. Victor, a 15 year old, laying down a rhythm on a drum set he created from scrap everything and anything. Alfredo, a ten year old, faking the best he can a bass beat on a nylon string guitar with the truest smile I have ever witnessed. It is the most rewarding concert of my life.
Sharing a meal made for 3, with 14 children, and it being enough. My greedy mind is always surprised by such happenings and demonstrations of selflessness.
A group and I go around the barrio drawing anything in nature that we find beautiful, in hopes of using the drawings for a future mural. Trees, plants, and animals are brilliantly represented using the simple medium of markers in that, one line can represent the world, style that children instinctually have.
An afternoon spent playing camp games in an international day of peace.
More shared poetry.
I spend a day planning a puppet show with a group of 6 year olds. A donkey, horse, and Minnie and Mickey, teach the other children watching, about the importance of telling your family where you are going when leaving the house. 100% produced by the children. It is a simple display of the creativity the mind of the young contain.
Leaf piles and walking the rest of the day with hair filled with little leaf memories of the joy that I have been a part of.
Teaching English to two little girls using the donkey puppet for no real reason at all, and listening to them respond in such funny accents as they pronounce their first English words.
Colonia, Uruguay becomes in my mind the land of Santo Lindo, an old Brazilian musician who teaches me the real soul of the blues, a top his improvised garbage can drum. He tells me of the power that music has, above skin color, creed, and race, as we drive down the narrow cobble stone streets in his 47 ford. The beauty of the fall back to earth, as we are launched into the air going over speed bumps, waiting for the next in the hope to hear that deep wild belly laugh of his. The word wonderful will forever be dedicated to you Santo Lindo.
Moments, beautiful moments in every corner of my life. Moments on beaches, in grass, in dirt, on porches. Feelings of floating with arms wrapped around pure sorrow searching for words I still haven’t found. My memories become color as friends here bring up the past which I am now a part of. I am surrounded by such positive energy here in my life and the gospel becomes action with that presence near by. I am fascinated with the idea of being able to improve one’s actions in this life. That I am wholly who I am, but that I have a power in what I am in the lives of other, positive or negative, and that we can use our time to improve the lives of others. I am influenced.
james
Shared poetry and music.
We send an entire day organizing a concert of a band we produce that day. La Paz we call ourselves. As the tale spins from 10 in the morning until the eventual concert at 4, the children create signs and banners displaying our name. As I learn anew everyday, the preparation of something is often more important than the event itself. We are presented shyly by a 14 year old who takes his role of announcer as seriously as possible. Oscar is his name. I on the guitar and vocals, giving ridiculous explanations of songs I clearly didn’t create. Victor, a 15 year old, laying down a rhythm on a drum set he created from scrap everything and anything. Alfredo, a ten year old, faking the best he can a bass beat on a nylon string guitar with the truest smile I have ever witnessed. It is the most rewarding concert of my life.
Sharing a meal made for 3, with 14 children, and it being enough. My greedy mind is always surprised by such happenings and demonstrations of selflessness.
A group and I go around the barrio drawing anything in nature that we find beautiful, in hopes of using the drawings for a future mural. Trees, plants, and animals are brilliantly represented using the simple medium of markers in that, one line can represent the world, style that children instinctually have.
An afternoon spent playing camp games in an international day of peace.
More shared poetry.
I spend a day planning a puppet show with a group of 6 year olds. A donkey, horse, and Minnie and Mickey, teach the other children watching, about the importance of telling your family where you are going when leaving the house. 100% produced by the children. It is a simple display of the creativity the mind of the young contain.
Leaf piles and walking the rest of the day with hair filled with little leaf memories of the joy that I have been a part of.
Teaching English to two little girls using the donkey puppet for no real reason at all, and listening to them respond in such funny accents as they pronounce their first English words.
Colonia, Uruguay becomes in my mind the land of Santo Lindo, an old Brazilian musician who teaches me the real soul of the blues, a top his improvised garbage can drum. He tells me of the power that music has, above skin color, creed, and race, as we drive down the narrow cobble stone streets in his 47 ford. The beauty of the fall back to earth, as we are launched into the air going over speed bumps, waiting for the next in the hope to hear that deep wild belly laugh of his. The word wonderful will forever be dedicated to you Santo Lindo.
Moments, beautiful moments in every corner of my life. Moments on beaches, in grass, in dirt, on porches. Feelings of floating with arms wrapped around pure sorrow searching for words I still haven’t found. My memories become color as friends here bring up the past which I am now a part of. I am surrounded by such positive energy here in my life and the gospel becomes action with that presence near by. I am fascinated with the idea of being able to improve one’s actions in this life. That I am wholly who I am, but that I have a power in what I am in the lives of other, positive or negative, and that we can use our time to improve the lives of others. I am influenced.
james
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