Trapeze Swinger

A small sentimental tangent

2006-08-15T19:03:00.000-07:00

I miss my chicitos today.

I miss the way Manuela would put on a pair of adult shoes and walk around until she tripped and laugh at herself and do it all over again.

I miss how Daniela and Vilma would pull my hair clips out of my hair to pull back their own hair even though they had a million little bobby pins, clips, and ponytail holders. they always wanted mine regardless.

I miss the way Daniela would fall asleep when you were checking her head for lice.

I miss Tito's laugh and the million-miles-a-minute pace he kept until 7 pm bedtime hit and he was the first to fall asleep

I miss sitting beside their beds and watching them fall asleep

I miss Vilma's sassy little walk that leaned slightly to the right

I miss the "husband and wife" game Tito and Vilma would play that always ended up with them trying to trip or tackle each other

I miss picking them up out of the shower and wrapping them in towels and for that one minute they were totally mine, not going anywhere, doing anything wrong or wanting anything more

I miss Vilma's butterfly kisses. And her ritual questions that she asked at the end of every night

I miss seeing Tito scrunched down real small and compact as he played marbles with the other boys

I miss swimming with them and watching them fly into the air before they jumped off the dock and seeing their little bodies work so hard to swim back to the ladder to do it all over again.

So that was just a personal share session mainly for myself. One of those entries you need to do every now and then whether or not anyone else will connect with it or not.

culture shock is alicia shock

2006-07-20T22:45:00.000-07:00

I've been home for about a week now and been able to talk to many friends on the phone and hang out and lounge around with my family quite a bit. Friends have been warm and curious in their reception asking me how I am adjusting and if culture shock is too bad. And I have been responding that it's actually not bad at all and I have no complaints so for the time being I will soak up the honeymoon while it lasts. But then I started thinking about why I felt like there was a slimy little film settling on my heart this week. I wouldn't call this culture shock. Or at least it's not what I expected culture shock to be. Then again that is probably why it's called a shock because it is exactly that, the unexpected. What I mean is that I was afraid that culture shock would mean I would walk around wide eyed, and develop a cynicism about American culture and a disappointment with the setting I have now found myself in. Yet I have been able to take a week of Dallas, Texas in without any extreme reactions. And that's just it. It should be harder for me and it isn't. I wish it were strange to adopt a lifestyle of creature comforts but I've perhaps taken up the old Alicia too quickly. It's been harder coming back to Alicia than coming back to the U.S. I guess the pre-Guatemala Alicia never really left she just took a break while I went away for awhile.

I think I had hoped for more permanent change in some areas without realizing that a necessary component of the change process, making choices, was absent at Casa Guatemala. Facing two sets of choices and learning how to make the better decison and from that establishing new patterns of living seems to be how lasting change comes about. Yet in Casa Guatemala my circumstances were prescribed for me. I didn't really have much in the way of choices. I was a minimalist because life is made minimal for you. It was only logical to live the way I did. There is no reason or possibility to fix your hair or paint your toenails. You have 4 pairs of pants or shorts to choose from and that's if they are all clean. You don't worry about the calorie content of your food, you only hope that there might be a vegetable served with the usual rice and beans of the day. You don't make out a to do list or call and set up arrangements and appointments to fill up your day. At Casa my schedule, the hours I worked or rested was set for me and I had a clear purpose and a goal set before me. It was exhausting most days but I felt like all of my abilities were used and every part of me was either tested or pushed towards the goal.

So today after having changed my outfit more than once before leaving to run some unessential errand in my air conditioned car and I sat down and let the incredible disappoint sink in. Not in Dallas or Texas or the United States. I was disappointed in me. That here I was back to my old vanity, and my consumption mindset. After only one week I feel like I bought things I didn't need, looked in the mirror too much, and spent too little time searching out God, who I desperately clung to ever hour of the day when I was on my hands and knees chasing after kids in Guatemala, trying to pour love into their bruised little hearts. I remember my friend Scott Zeller commenting a few months ago to me that I was really lucky to be in a place where "learning new things about yourself and being forced to think about why you do certain things or act certain ways is a daily activity." He said that when life is easy like it often is in a given, normal, American day you can go a long time without reflecting on your choices. I agree and see that you can go for quite some time before you start redirecting yourself towards the direction you want to be moving.

I overheard my mom telling someone on the phone today that she knew that when I was at Casa there were days when I would have given anything to be free from my circumstances for just 24 hours (or just having all my limbs to myself for 24 hours would have been enough). She went on to say that she can tell that now that I am at home constantly thinking of those kids I would give anything to be there. And it's almost true. I would like to be there again but more that that I just want to be somewhere where the upkeep of Alicia, physically and emotionally, is not the main objective of the day. If you find that place, let me know.

Putting your feet up or closing the door

2006-06-28T19:19:00.000-07:00

While sitting around laughing and chatting, drinking coffee and eating sweet bread in the girls dorm at casa guatemala with the five guatemalan orientadoras who are the moms of casa guatemala I was thinking to myself that I feel like I can finally put my feet up, emotionally in this place. In this strange, backwards orphanage in Guatemala I at home. geeze five months later she finally feels at home. Yet after five months seeing my real home never sounded so good.

So I've arrived at my last week at the orphanage and I have been wondering if I am suppossed to be thinking, feeling or doing anything in particular during the last week of a 5 month stretch. Some volunteer's last week here is a breeze. They see the end in sight and suddenly they find that last bit of energy and the little things no longer bother them. Others wear that "I have to survive one more week" look all over their faces. I'd love to say that I am peppy and only positive this week but the disappearance of my voice would tell you otherwise. At the same time, though I am seeing how incredible this place can be more clearly than ever. So what does a 'leaving week' look like for me....

It's not taking things so seriously and letting the chicitos dance in the cafeteria when they should be eating the rest of their rice and beans. It's laughing at the hilarity of their funny, growing minds and smiling at them more just because they are beautiful creatures...

yet in the next hour it can be an absolute lack of any patience and incredible frustration with all the whining, hitting, complaining, and what seems to be an acute deaf syndrome in the ears of four year olds when they hear the words, "come here" "stop" or "right now."

It's appreciating, even liking people who I thought I might despise for the entire duration of my stint here. However it is also finding the once "cute" or "endearing" habits of your favorite kids here to be getting on your very last nerve.

It's feeling known in a place where you are foreign. It's reaching the point where the chicitos know your lullabies and can even sing along with you in english. Yet it is also feeling a painful ache in my heart to be with those who know me most deeply, Daydreaming about those who I will get to hug and where we will go to have coffee together.

It's being asked by the older kids the time and location of the going-on's at Casa Guatemala as if I were in charge or actually understood how this crazy place functions.

It's dreading the energy I will have to muster up to resist the gluttony of American culture when I get back.

So 'goodbye' is not always warm and sentimental, sometimes it's closing a door when you see your heart starting to leave before your luggage has. It can be painful realizing how insufficient your love is and how far you miss the mark but yet the beautiful moments when you share a smile and laugh little arms wrap around you for a hug and you don't need any translation or explanation keeps the door cracked open forever.

Word Fast Part II

2006-06-14T17:13:00.000-07:00

By the end of college some of my closest friends might have told you that I had a tendency to hold back from speaking off the cuff or that I was decently good at listening before speaking. And I had gotten so used to them having to request a response from me that I started to think it was true. "Maybe I am a good listener and I don't always have to get my word in edgewise..?" FALSE. I have found through the second part of my involuntary word fast in Guatemala that I am not genuinely a passive speaker or a natural listener. The ugly truth is that inside I feel I have a lot to say or a lot of words to share with people that I tend to think might be helpful or insightful or simply worth hearing. But here in Guatemala without my full arsenal of verbal skills at hand I realize how much stock I put in my ability to explain, respond or question with my words.

This really hit home after one particularly trying day for the chicitos. Sunday morning the five of us were headed to the arts and crafts room when an older woman calls out to Daniela with arms open for a hug, "My granddaughter!" Daniela paused for a moment, seemingly unsure how to respond (I'm not sure whether it was because of how unfamiliar this woman was to her or the fact that her grandmother could hardly remember Daniela's name). After being around Daniela and her grandmother for only one hour I was able to get a clearer picture of how messy Daniela's family life (or lack thereof) is. Her grandmother was falling asleep most of the day and when she was awake she kept making comments about how Daniela wouldn't leave her alone. And she continued to talk about Casa Guatemala and the institution as if she were some sort of investor rather than a grandmother, "how is the construction on the clinic going....Oh look there's Angie, the director...etc, etc." This is when I realized I have a mean judgmental streak and not a lot of patience for families who abandon their children to orphanages. I wanted to shake her and say, "don't you get it, this isn't some great boarding school you send your kids off to because you want a bright future for them. This shouldn't be some option for families who feel it's not worth the time or sacrifice to take care of their kid. you have one day. one day with your granddaughter. how hard is it to stay awake for one day?!" But no like the good southern bred woman (i.e. passive aggressive) that I am I smiled and tried my best to explain the delay on the clinic and respond to her other questions as well. Daniela was strange that day. She is usually incredibly thoughtful and giving and today she was hoarding things for her and her grandmother and she was stand-offish to everyone but her grandmother.

Vilma carefully watched Daniela all day long, as she had just the week before watched Tito when his mother had visited. She looked pensive and unsure all day. When we were finally alone as walking from the soccer field to the cafeteria to get a drink of water I asked her as she stared off distantly what she was thinking. She said she was thinking about her mom and dad (who have passed away) because Daniela's grandmother was there. As I racked my brain to search for the most meaningful response in Spanish that I could find she was distracted by something and changed the subject. But as we walked back I made sure to ask her if she knew that I loved her, and so did her other orientadora, teacher, friends and brothers. She shook her head 'no' naively or perhaps out of embarrassment. It felt overly simple to say in regards to such a difficult trial for a 4 year old but it was all I had.

That same afternoon the chicitos' teacher left, it being her last day at Casa Guatemala. So I had Vilma sad and confused, realizing one of her fears yet again which is having people who love her leaving and an hour later Daniela is crying because the grandmother who casually steps in and out of her life left again. That evening as I put them to bed, Vilma angrily cried herself to sleep weeping for mother and father and refusing to receive any consolation from me (which I can understand. I would be pretty ticked off at the world if I were 4 years old and lost my parents as well). Daniela, wired from the intensity of the day, finally fell asleep next to the grotesquely enormous doll her grandmother gave to her. And so I sat there watching them sleep thinking of all the things I would have said throughout the day but couldn't in Spanish. So I started praying instead because I knew that even if I could have said everything I wanted it would still have fallen short of the ultimate solution, an invitation to the kingdom of heaven where all of us who have been orphaned by our own fallen nature find our father again.

I think those of us with a social work, pyschology, or counseling background sometimes fall into the trap of thinking that we can find some magical combination of words to heal people as if cognitively or emotionally we can convince a person of a solution to their woundeness. But they will still only be words. I cannot step inside a heart like God can. He moves in our hearts, lives in them reshaping and bandaging the broken places, something that my words no matter how empathetic or truthful they may be cannot do. So my words are probably better used in conversation with God telling him what I desire for these chicitos. Trying to fix little lives on earth is futile, but kneeling before the Lord asking him to bring them home someday is never an empty exercise. Although I often feel utterly helpless on days like this one I have to remember that the solution was never in my hands to begin with. I will never own the solution, not in English, not in Spanish, not with a social work degree or 20 years of counseling experience. God always possesses it in his hands. It has been so challenging to me to be content to be silent at these times. Especially in these situations where I want to verbalize something in order to remedy a problem. Or I want to ask more questions or understand more about the person or the problem. And not just in the situations where the chicitos are heartbroken. No folks, don't let the 'orphanage volunteer' label fool you - I am no saint. I often wish I could quit this fast from freely speaking my mind at all times for the sake of my own image or for the sake of being able to contribute my two cents to a problem we are trying to solve as a volunteer staff. Instead I will have to let any perception of me (that I might otherwise explain or defend more clearly) simply stand as is. And the painfully broken system we have at Casa Guatemala will keep functioning without my meddling with it. Ultimately His word is final, his word is sovereign. My words, regardless of how much they might reassure me on the days that I think I'm running my little world, only float on the surface of things. Yet His word plunges deep into the hearts of the orphans he is waiting to adopt.

When the storm roars

2006-06-04T13:08:00.000-07:00

"I just want to be somewhere colder..." this is what I was thinking to myself on day 3 of being passed out on my bed sick from amoebas (apparently I didn't have dengue fever....so amoebas are much better but it's still no fun to be sweating and sleeping your days away at Casa Guatemala). This isn't something that usually comes out of my native Texan mouth but being sick in Guatemala heat has changed my attitude about weather.

So once I finally had the strength to leave for my week off I headed for Nebaj, somewhere colder, slower, and mountainous. I was aiming to leave the rain behind as well but instead I was met with more of it. Which was fine because I didn't have grand ambitions for my week off. I just wanted a place to reflect, observe, absorb, and participate a little in the surroundings, as well but mostly I just wanted to think. I wanted to gear up for the last stretch of my stint here because I had a suprisingly desperate but fleeting desire to leave after my sick spell. I'd rather spend my last month thinking about how to live than how to leave. I think without my realizing it all of my usual optimistic energy and faith was used up by immune system when I was sick. When I called my Dad to say I was running a nasty fever my dad said, "i'm ready for you to come home baby." That's when I felt I could jump on a plane in that moment and go straight home without looking back. I guess my daddy's girl syndrome accompanied my amoebas as well. But a few days later I realized I didn't really want to leave and one week of vacation would be remedy enough.

So in the little mountain community of Nebaj, I was able to get a little perspective with the help of the very rain I was hoping to escape. The thing is you can't do anything when it's raining. As you sit indoors you have to resign yourself to the rain and let the steady, quiet rhythm do it's therapy. And I realized I need to carry over the effect of the rainy days during the dry ones as well. Live a rain lifestyle (insert witty comment about my last name here). Because there is no use trying to change the rain. You just have to acknowledge the one in control of the rain. The one stopping you and reminding you that you were about as in control of your little world as you were in control of the rain. I only have to take a glimpse at my 4 year olds to realize how against our nature it is to relinquish control, to admit helplessness. Any time I try to help brush teeth, put on shoes or comb hair I am immediately met with, " No, I can do it!" How many times does God look at me and smile and say 'ok go ahead. I'll be here waiting for you when you realize it's easier when I do it.'

And the timing couldn't be better. I think the 'I quit' sentiment rang so true for me a week ago because I have completely run out of gas. I have run out of spanish, out of wonderment, out of patience, out of energy, and out of gratitude. I have even worn out that young, proud 'I-have-something-to-prove' pact with myself. All that is left is a reminder of a promise, God's promise- "stay Alicia, and I will show you my glory in your weakness." How many times have I heard this little lecture in my life? I heard it as a camp counselor, I heard it as a young life leader, and I heard it on mission trips and in sermons on Sundays. I even sing it to the chicitos at bedtime from the childhood church camp song I know,

"...when the storm roars, when the storm roars when the storm roars all around, hey! He is strong when I am weak by his might I hold on tight. When the storm roars...."

So my eyes are peeled, waiting to see what the final touches on this experience will be when God takes over because Alicia has quit. My friend Andrea gave me a helpful tip about this point in my trip. Don't reflect too early. She's right. In a way this is the beginining of the end of Guatemala for me. But my focus should be on the beginning aspect, rather than the end aspect. Rather than become overly reflective, which is what you do when you are looking back I desire to have an attitude of expectancy, what you do when you are looking forward with hopefulness. Because I don't want to remember my last days as a time when I was squeezing the last drops out of my own well of energy. I don't want to live in survival mode, conserving what little energy I have for what?...the next day? The next day will come one way or another and instead of merely surviving I can flourish. Instead I can pour out, gush, overflow when the source is His well spring. If I ask for the rain and he will break the floodgates. I think this last time around I will look for the storm to roar, and look forward to experiencing his strength in my weakness.

Meet the chicitos

2006-05-17T20:49:00.000-07:00

I have been blessed with the company of 7 chicitos (3 of them I only see during the school day for 2 hours during their lunch break). These kiddos would suprise you with how much personality they can have after 4 short years of life.

Vilma: she puts up a hard shell at the beginning, she is almost mean to you until you have earned the right to be a part of her world. She is sassy and has quite the attitude, but my father would probably tell me that I am getting my share of what he had to deal with when I was a half pint. She is fiercely independent, stubbornly so at times. When you need everyone out the door for school and she won't let you help her comb her tangles out of her hair this can become a problem. She is a big comedian and she loves to play jokes and this big grin comes over her face when she believes she has successfully pulled one over on you. I love it when she laughs, and especially when I can diffuse a situation by making her laugh. She actually thinks it's funny when I do impressions of her "attitude" face, which has become a helpful teaching tool as well. Vilma lost her parents in a tragic accident and my co-volunteer pointed out to me that the reason Vilma asks a million questions isn't just because she is a curious child but an anxious one as well. The other night I mentioned that she asks a lot of questions and she laughed knowingly. But then I asked her if it was because she was scared. I asked her at what times did she have fear and she replied, "when volunteers go back to their countries...snakes, spiders, scorpions..." I turned away for a moment so that she wouldn't see my eyes well up with tears after that response.

Daniela: Vilma's best friend. The girly, girl who always chooses a dress to wear each day, or anything pink. She is very clever and everything intrigues her or catches her attention. In one sense this is good but when you simply want her to wash her hands and instead it takes her ten minutes because she has discovered how to make bubbles with the soap it can be a problem. She can harldy finish a meal in under an hour because she gets distracted by conversation after every other bite. She is an excellent swimmer and content to play alone as well as with Vilma and the others. She is temper tantrum crazy and on average starts crying just about every 20 minutes. no exaggeration here. She often explodes with anger and suprises herself by how out of control she can be. Yet her sensitive side is often endearing as well. She cares about the feelings of others and is the first to comfort her friends. When I explained to the others that Manuela would be calling me 'Ali' because she has trouble speaking. Daniela said "well we (the chicitos) are going to help her learn how to talk." She loves to point out to me when she behaves well or when she is doing exactly what I ask her to do because it is so rare.

Manuela: This chicito drives me crazy one minute and the next melts my heart. She was born with a cleft palate and after a major surgery and over two months of recovery she has come back to Casa and is finally learning how to speak. This challenge often causes a lot of problems in instances when you aren't sure if she is saying I want a "tortilla" or "medicina." She throws tantrums like it was her job. I guess I can see how after years of frustration from having words trapped inside her head and no way to express them this the only way she knows how to react. This probably led to people catering to her every whim and spoiling her. So now we are trying to undue years of bad patterns. Not exactly a small feat for a group of young 20 year olds who have never been parents before. But when Manuela is happy and she often is happy she laughs so hard it makes everyone around her laugh. Her whole face lights up and she practically wears herself out from laughing. She is incredibly affectionate but often times she wants to be held and to hit you all at the same time. Needless to say she is challenging but loveable (as they all are). I have found one fail proof trick with Manuela, anytime I call her "my monkey" she usually drops whatever she is doing and calms down and if I am lucky a smile might even break through.

Tito: Tito is the youngest of four kids in his family and yet the oldest of the chicitos. So he is basically the baby of Casa Guatemala (being one of the veteran chicitos along with Manuela) and the King of Casa Guatemala all at the same time. He enjoys "taking care" of his little sister chicitas and all things considered he is quite patient given that he has to wait for three girls to shower, get dressed and eat in the morning. He tries to talk in this tough guy, gruff voice and often wears a fierce little face but ever since I asked him to start smiling more he loves to randomly show me a smile just to suprise me.

Pablo: the other boy of the group but he comes only for the school day and often times we are lucky if he makes it 3 out of 5 days of the week. Pablo is hilarious. He is quite short and has this big round belly which causes his pants to sag until they almost fall off, especially if he is running somewhere, and he runs everywhere. However, if he isn't running he has this great little skip, if you can call it that. Actually it's more of a hop on one foot. Pablo is from the neighboring Mayan village so Spanish is his second language. Add onto that a lisp and everything that comes out of Pablo's mouth is amusing..."¿Shñra vamosh a eshcuela?" Pablo is incredibly mischevious but whenever I try to reprimand him I usually break into laughter because he thinks everything is a game. Half the time when I am half heartedly attempting a reprimand he jumps into my arms and gives this big hug and presses his nose to mine to the point that I can hardly move my head. Pablo usually smells funny...sometimes like cerveza and usually he has a lot of holes in his clothes and his shoes on backwards but all things considered he is one of the happiest kids I have ever known.

Erica: Erica is equally as happy and adorable. the permanent smile on her face, her huge round eyes and equally big cheeks make her an irresistable child. Her hugs are preceded by a dead sprint and a jump into your arms. And then she has the ability to hold onto you even when you drop your arms. she can even climb up onto your shoulders with hardly any help as well. This one almost never throws fits, and is never in trouble. I would take her home for sure.

Leslie: Leslie is a bit strange but equally as loveable. Leslie usually sits back and watches the others wide-eyed until she has figured out what she should do or what she wants. Then she goes a bit overboard trying to copy the behavior of the others but you feel a bit sorry for her because she wants to be one of the pack so badly.

Alicia (the caretaker, yours truly): you will often times find her being used as a jungle gym, kleenex, towel or sponge. She is often tired, impatient and dumbfounded as to how to do her job. She finds herself dirtier and sweatier at the end of every day and yet usually carrying the scent of baby shampoo. Her hands can usually be found in the hair of the chicitos searching for lice. Although this week you can find them in her own hair scratching her head, and not because she is curious about something, yep she has lice, too. At the end of the day her head is often swollen but when her heart is swollen, too she is reminded of how lucky she is too have this job.

valer la pena

2006-05-03T15:25:00.000-07:00

Giggles arose from a traveling blue bundle as three little chicitos (4 year olds) traveled down the path all underneath one sarong, careful not to trip over one another or go too fast as to lose one from the huddle. When you are only two feet nothing a lack of towels after a swim in the river is easily remedied with only one grown-up size sarong. Nina looked over at me and said "it’s at these moments that I wish I had my camera with me." After agreeing with her I realized that I had become like one of those moms that finds everything about her kids either utterly adorable or tragic.

A week ago I changed my volunteer position at Casa Guatemala from teacher to caretaker. I have a new group of kiddos, chicitos or toddlers, and it has made a world of difference for me. As an English teacher I noticed that my patience was beginning to grow thinner and thinner along with my ability to see my purpose in it. Out of wishful thinking I asked the volunteer coordinator about working as an orientadora or caretaker for the chicitos. I didn't expect it to actually work out but only one day later one of the volunteers for the chicitos decided to leave early for health reasons among with others. I started on Wednesday and by Friday each of them had already carved out a little place in my heart. As a teacher I had been crossing off the days and weeks and although I was going to stay until the middle of July it seemed like an immense feat for me to do so. It was hard for me to believe in my work as an English teacher because frustration often outweighed what I saw grow into relationship. But as a surrogate mother for the chicitos it is impossible for me not to believe in my work. With the chicitos everything is challenging and beautiful all in the same moment. While one is throwing a tantrum in the corner of the bathroom refusing to get in the shower the other three are melting your heart as they laugh from the chill of the water while you rinse off soap from little munchkin legs. The tantrum that Manuela threw at 11 am, the one that Daniela threw at 12, and the second one Manuela threw at 1 are all worth the stress when at the end of the day Vilma kisses your cheek goodnight- "valer la pena" or worth the cost (a new phrase I learned this week in language school, where I am spending my week off).

This new job is a bit more of what I originally expected before coming here. I realized my emails before this change often detailed how hard my job was for me. There's nothing wrong with handling the unexpected or sticking out a struggle but I am relishing the challenge more with this new group of kids. However, one unexpected change is being reminded of exactly where I am working. I realized that in a sense I had forgotten that I was working at an orphanage while I was a teacher. You can't escape this aspect when you are acting as mom for toddlers though. The tragedy of an orphanage is brought to your attention in a stronger sense. When Manuela crawled into my bed in the morning and mistakenly called me 'Mama' words got stuck in my throat as I wondered how to explain that I was only her temporary caretaker. While putting Vilma to bed I (perhaps too hastily) told her "Did you know that I love you?" She smiled, paused but then replied, "And when will you go back to your country?" I gulped hard but my response was interrupted when Nina walked over and told Vilma that Alicia would sing one more song to her before she went to sleep. I did my best version of "tu-ra-ru-ra-lu-ra" (an Irish lullaby my mom used to sing to us as kids) off key and making up some of the words as I went along. Lucky for me Vilma doesn't know English. After Vilma's question I suddenly felt like part of the problem rather than the solution. Like I was contributing one more loss to her life, somehow replaying the same loss of her real mother as each person who cares for her eventually leaves. For the first time at Casa I actually wondered to myself what it would take to bring one of these kids home. It's crushing to me to know that at 4 years old Vilma has already learned how to prepare herself for people to leave her. And now I've started to think that short term volunteer work with kids like this is not so healthy for them. But for now I can only keep trying to plant the truth about love and safety into their minds and hope that their hearts endure these struggles.

This new work is often a headache after 10 tantrums, often a heart-break after poignant questions, and often a back ache after holding a different toddler every hour. However seeing big eyes, big cheeks, having little kisses, holding little hands, and pouring yourself dry to hoping to help form a little heart- valer la pena, indeed.

kid drama makes for better stories any way

2006-04-19T19:49:00.000-07:00

(some of my energetic second graders)

I had several posts worth of drama to write about after this fiasco with one of the volunteers happened two weeks ago but now that some time has past it doesn't seem as significant or as helpful to express in a blog like other venting sessions sometimes are. Basically a volunteer was asked to leave because he had a lot of enthusiasm and great ideas and didn't want his ideas to be tossed aside. So he stood up for his work that would have really benefited the kids that he cared so much about. Quite a discouraging situation and once again it lead some volunteers to leave or at least cut their time shorter. But I have found that the sort of life "drama" that really shows me the aspects of human nature that I treasure learning about comes from the kids and rather than happenings with the volunteers. The other week one of my second graders, gave me just that sort of theatrical event to chew on.

I had just finished telling Jairon to put the lollipop away or else I was going throw it away for him. But I am not so cruel as to take a lollipop away without giving a kid one fair warning. Well not 5 minutes later did I see the yellow lollipop appear again. But somehow this time it was in Melvin's hands, rather than Jairon's. As I put the teacher look on my face and looked at Melvin he had to know what was coming. But rather than swiftly toss the lollipop into the trash can when I asked him to he responded with a calm, blank look on his face so I knew this lollipop was going to give me more trouble than I had bargained for. "Melvin throw it away now or you will get one mark" (i have a three strikes and you're out sort of system in my class). He didn't even flinch. I put a mark by his name on the chalkboard. I'm thinking either he isn't clear on what I am asking or he isn't taking me seriously. So I say "Alright, second mark." Nothing. I was suprised that Melvin, innocent, quiet, smart little Melvinn was willing to put his normally good record on the line for this lollipop. Then again I am working at an orphanage where lollipops are worth their weight in gold and some kids would readily sacrifice their right arm to save such a treat. After writing to 'X's' by his name I looked at him and said, "Three marks?" I could see that now the wheels were turning behind his big brown eyes but his brain had yet to send any pertinent messages to his hands telling him to throw the lollipop away. He looked frozen, unable to make any sort of quick decision. Granted, Melvin hardly does anything quickly. He is so timid and unassuming that to assert himself with any sort of speed faster than a crawl would bring entirely too much attention to himself. However, I had noticed that within the last couple of weeks Melvin had been acting up more and more. Probably because I teach in survival mode and bad kids often receive more attention (negative attention but more attention, nonetheless). The well behaved kids get checks and smiley faces on their papers along with a pat on the back but they disappear into the background more than the roudy ones. It seemed Melvin was trying his hand at getting attention other than the usual "bien hecho" in his notebook.

"Four marks Melvin. That means missing part of recess. You can throw it in the trash or go to your teacher." With each mark his eyes seemed to grow wider and his limbs stiffer. I started walking towards the door to get his teacher when he finally put the lollipop in the trash. At this point the whole class was laughing. My first urge was to squelch the little uprising but then I paused and realized just how funny it was and instead I joined them with a smile. The rest of the students were as shocked and amused as I was that Melvin would take such a brave stand for his lollipop. To risk recess, the 30 minutes of unregulated freedom these kids have everyday on top of a getting a scolding (which he rarely receives) seemed quite bold. After he threw it away Melvin didn't know whether to laugh, look afraid, sit or stay put. So I had to physically sit him down at his desk. His face was solemn and adorable, but impossible to read. I attempted some speech about there being no more candy in my class in the future but in the humor of it all the meaning was lost on them. At the end of class when the kids lined up at my chart to receive their good behavior points Melvin didn't moved from his desk. When most kids get in trouble they still try to redeem some sort of point for the day or at least try to sneak out without me keeping them back for recess but Melvin simply sat defeated at his desk. After 5 minutes of recess had passed I told him he could leave. His head stayed glued to his arms which were folded on top of his desk and I pulled his head up to find a pair of watery eyes looking away from me. I explained to him that I wasn't angry and that I still thought he was very smart and well behaved and that it was only today that we had some problems. It didn't seem to have any effect on him. It wasn't until after three or four more goodbyes and more coaxing that he finally got up from his desk. He only made it to the hallway where he gazed out at the other kids at recess knowing that the fun of recess was lost on him for the day.

I sat down at my desk a bit heartbroken over dealing such a harsh blow to such a sweet spirited child. I thought about how strikingly polar his reactions 'pre-lollipop' and 'post-lollipop' were. Melvin showed that he had little fear of trite consequences and after grieving at his desk he demonstrated real reverence for right and wrong. I used to think that Melvin was different because he was one of the rare quiet kids in my classes. But now I see that although seemingly demure, Melvin has more conviction than any child I have met here and many adults for that matter. Yes, I realize that it seems like a big deal over a mere lollipop but it meant something to him and he wasn't loud or showy about it and he didn't even use words to express his decision. And after realizing the error in his choice rather than remain obstinate he demonstrated solemn regret, revealing a deep, soft spot in his character that many other kids at Casa have unfortunately lost because harshness tends to builds up over years spent living in an orphanage. He has got a hold on my heart strings for sure.

blah

2006-04-11T13:37:00.000-07:00

i'm sick on my week off. some sort of tummy grossness that i got from bad fish or bad empanadas. so much for vacation in El Salvador. anyways, i will have something much more interesting to share when i feel better in a few days. right now it would all be "poor pitiful me stuff" and who wants to read that? next post will include the details of the volunteer stand off with the program director. oh it's drama folks, but hopefully it will have simmered down by the time i get back from El Salvador.

The other side of the bridge

2006-04-01T12:56:00.000-08:00

This past Thursday night was birthday night. The monthly fiesta where the kids who had a birthday that month get a gift and we throw at them more sugar and craziness than they know what to do with. During the fiesta I was sitting down next to Sandra in her teal green dress twirling her braids around to the rhythm of the music when I realized I had been here a little over a month. It felt like a milestone for me. Now I know that a month is really nothing but as I was experiencing this first month it felt like an eternity for me. But now looking back it seems to have gone so fast. How can you have those two opposite feelings all at once? I think some of it might have to do with the fact that it is hard for me to live presently in each day.

I catch myself day dreaming a lot because it is easier to live in pleasant memories or an unknown exciting future than wake up for the test that each day brings me in the now. I wander off thinking about sitting in Austin cafes with my college roommates (yes, here I am admitting it...I miss college, or at least my personal college experience) or reflecting on other travel experiences I have had. Or I think about memories from my childhood because being around so many other kids in the midst of childhood makes you think back on your own experiences. In the other direction I let my imagination linger into the future where I contemplate potential jobs or places I might live someday. I think about what or where I will create as my home someday. Who will be my in family, church, or grocery store. But 'now' strikes me with a place that isn't so easy to think on because here every day I face what I am not and who I wish that I was and I don't really even know who that is.

But I remember where I was a month ago well. My first night at Casa was February fiesta night and I felt like a deer caught in headlights. Sensory overload is an understatement. Imagine a small cafeteria with loud awful music blaring and 100 or so kids popping balloons, jumping, screaming, jammming chips and chocolate into their mouths and running around in what little space exists between each person. I looked around at the volunteers, some with kids on their shoulders or dancing around with them and others sitting back watching the chaos ensue. (sounds a bit crazy but luckily I can look at the same scene in March and smile, and laugh at how lovely the chaos appears to me now) I also sat back, terrified. Scared to start relationships, meet kids, volunteers, ask questions, reveal the bumbling spanish that came out of my mouth. Scared to ask for help or share my feelings with anyone. Basically scared to carve out a place for myself here. I don't feel these things anymore. However, I haven't received any sort of settled feeling yet, there is a regularness that is lacking. Or maybe the opposite is true. I don't feel like newness or change has come yet (although I know it is a bit early to expect much).

Today when I was walking over the bridge in town, something I do at least two or three times every weekend I have off, I thought about the patience that change requires. I don't like walking over this bridge. It's a 15 or 20 minute walk and sometimes it's quite hot, and lots of big trucks are spewing exhaust everywhere or honking at you but you have to walk it to get to the other side of town, where everything besides the hostel is, shops, grocery store, internet, etc. You start walking uphill on this bridge and it seems like a long trek but slowly you begin to approach the crest of the hill. You don't see the landscape change and the feeling of walking downhill is hardly noticeable and before you know it you are suddenly on the other side.

I guess that's change. A long tedious, uncomfortable walk to the other side. It's not a big leap of faith for me to know that the town will be there on the other side of the bridge but it does take patience to get there. Whereas heart change takes both faith and patience. Not only do you have to cease resisting the status quo, but you have to believe that change is possible so it is a faith process, as well. I do believe that God can take Alicia, this little, slow moving, weak and insecure girl and give me a heart that has assurance in his grace and confidence to live how He created me to be. The other side sure feels far off. I wonder who I will find on the other side.

Word fast

2006-03-26T08:24:00.000-08:00

Most days in the classroom it feels like I spend half my time repeating the things I ask my students to do rather than actually teaching concepts. After the fifth time you ask Susi to sit down you feel like shaking little Susi and saying "What about sit down did you not understand? Was it unclear the 3rd time or the 7th time that I asked?" Sometimes I think there must be a little filter in their heads that keeps the sound of adult voices from penetrating their brains.

On Friday we were playing Jeopardy to review several concepts that the 3rd graders had been learning. I divided the kids into teams and asked a few of the students to move seats so they would be sitting with their whole team. They looked up at me as if to say, "You want me to do what? Actually get out of my chair and move all the way across the room?" Not a giant request, right? No one moved a muscle. I was getting frustrated and when you get mad the part of your brain that usually takes care of translating is preoccupied telling some other part of your brain that you are really ticked off. So instead of being able to process into a spanish some sort of explination or reprimand all that came out of my mouth was "ahhgrrrrr!" along with a pulling out my hair gesture. The kids looked up at me confused and somewhat amused when Felicity stepped in to pull the class together. Luckily, we laughed about it later.

I have been thinking about how much differently I would teach or handle situations if I could speak the same language as my students. I would use more words and cognitive rewards/punishment processes than simply telling a kid he will lose 5 minutes of recess if he hits his classmate again. But simple is all I have right now and I usually feel like a pretty crummy teacher, angry and impatient a lot. I tell myself it's because I can't explain myself or process my emotions with words, which is half true perhaps. But maybe the real problem runs deeper than that. I am reminded of something Richard Foster wrote in a chapter on fasting. He says that often we arrive at the point when we feel cranky or short tempered when we are fasting because we say "well, I haven't eaten all day so of course I'm impatient." The same could be said of sleep or anything else that we are used to having in the regular rhythm of our lives. Just fill in the blank: not having_____makes me______. Foster explained that actually we already had anger or (whatever the reaction) in our hearts and it was only the fast that brought it to the surface. Anger was already in my heart waiting for something to provoke it. Anger was inside me lying dormant in my comfort zone waiting for a chance to rear it's ugly head. Somedays I have to stop myself and say, "Alicia, Julio is only 9 years old and although it is a royal pain every time he tries to walk off with one of the two pens you own he is only being a silly kid who likes to be playfully mischevious." I see this anger boil up inside me so fast, and then simmer down again. Sometimes it shocks me and often the kids as well if I happen to express it. I don't like when someone takes a condescending tone with me but in my impatience (when words don't come as fast as I would like them to) a negative tone gets the point across faster than a detailed explination. I have rarely seen this Jekyl/Miss Hyde part of my personality but this fast from words has been showing me my insides like never before.

Without the help of words I have been facing two big challenges: how to ease the frustration that pops up far too easily inside me and dismantling the fear that comes around when I want to initiate conversation and relationships with people but I care too much about the words which I want to make an impression with. So I think that while I am undergoing this Guatemalan fast from words I will need to replace them with peace and humility in order to root out anger and pride.

ending the day with elephants

2006-03-19T08:56:00.000-08:00

I moved into a new room this week (this is a big deal...get excited here) out of the dungeon that is the main volunteer house, from which you can only upgrade into bigger and better places. I moved into Justine's (my nurse friend from Xela) room in the ninas' dorm. She has her own room in there because she has to be close to the clinic and more centrally located than the other volunteer houses so that she can be easily found if someone has a health problem. I bypassed the waiting period I would have had to endure if I wanted to move into a better room or house based on time/seniority by asking Justine if I could move into her spacious room (with its own bathroom and even a few hours of electricity every day!) I found that the main volunteer house was taking a toll on me (think noisy, usually smells like pot, crowded, basically all around nastiness) and I was beginning to retreat more than was probably necessary. Now that I am living in a room with only one other person but with the company of 75+ little girls right outside my room a new balance is being struck.

I got up on Wednesday morning and spent some time on this somewhat undiscovered dock watching the day begin. It was one of the few times I have felt true peaceful solitude at the Casa. This spot will be my new getaway that I hope to visit daily. That evening I had some preparations to do for my classes (making body bingo for the students to learn english words for the body). Having no table in my room, I walked out into the common area where many of the girls were sprawled out on the floor or around the big table coloring and drawing. I sat down at the table in the thick of it all and began working on my project when Flori asked me to draw her a flower. I drew the daintiest flower I could to please the likes of a second grader and went back to my project. Then two little pig tails popped up underneath my arm as Shirley (pronounced more like Chile) crawled up into my lap. I used my free right arm to continue bingo when little Sandra asked me if I would draw her an elephant. hmm...an elephant? ok, basically just two big ears with some form of a massive animal-like body attached right? Apparently it was distinguishable enough for 5 more little girls to ask me to draw elephants for them, followed by more flowers and hearts as well. By the time the girls' bed time rolled around I had barely made a dint in bingo. And yet my day couldn't have felt more complete. Had there been a desk in my room originally I might have retreated to my room to complete my task efficiently and quietly. I know there is nothing wrong with alone time, but I realized I would have missed out on being treated to the pleasure of color time. Time when I can just be with these little ones, simply amongst them, soaking up their presence not having to think about what to say or teach. Each day provides enough intensity for me to reasonably want to seek peace and calm whenever I can get it. However, there is a temptation for me to hold back that last bit of energy I could give or not volunteer for extra tasks because I think it will over exhaust me, burn me out to soon and keep me from getting my full dose of alone time. Instead I often withdraw to refuel with a book or my journal but I don't think I need it as much as I have been telling myself. Sometimes I walk away more refueled when I am emptied further, when I love more and in return I receive a joy that refuels my spirit to greater depths. Yes, alone is good but sometimes elephants are better.

Neglected space between the shoulder blades

2006-03-11T12:38:00.000-08:00

After two weeks at the Casa I found myself going back and forth about how easy or hard it will be to do 6 months here. I don't think I would have been thinking about it so much had it not been for other volunteers voicing their own doubts (and these are the volunteers I have grown closest too as well). Jake has already decided to leave tomorrow (p.s. Jake is this wonderful British guy who asks great conversation-starter questions and walks around smiling most of the time) after only 3 weeks. Basically they have too many volunteers here right now, which really isn't true they just haven't been able to match the people who need help with the people who have help to offer. It's a mismatch that no one has had the time to fix and unfortunately people are going to start leaving if nothing changes. You have people at two polar ends, those that are in danger of burnout because their jobs are overwhelming and those who are in danger of disappearing because the feel underused and unnoticed.

Jake found that they really didn't have anything for him to do that used any of his abilities and when he would suggest ways he could help he got turned down. But he also admitted that he didn't want to be as utterly exhausted as some of the volunteers are. I think the perception is that to earn a job that is a bit more purposeful you have to be willing to be totally spent at the end of the day to the point that you might as well turn the offer down.

Nathan (one of the other english teachers, incredibly talented and always looking to reinvent "the system") has a similar problem in a different form. His job is hard but not challenging. He doesn't feel that it taps any of his skills and he knows he has a lot to offer if someone would just let him create change. He wants a uniqueness in his duty so that if he were gone people would notice.

I have found it hard not to consider the same thoughts myself because quite honestly Casa Guatemala doesn't have a very supportive environment for volunteers. I can see how some people don't think it is worth it. Even if you do have your mind set on doing it for the benefit of the children there are plenty of days when the kids are ungrateful 9 year olds with serious attitude problems. And that just doesn't help much when your heart needs some fuel. I'm finding that there is a place between everyone's shoulder blades that needs to be patted. That "good job...you are needed here...your presence adds a unique contribution to this place" is something we all long to hear. So when 50 people that are all very capable are volunteering in one place the encouragement winds up short.

I'm trying not to allow myself to adopt these reasons, though valid, for myself because I didn't come here to receive a hero's job or a hero's praise either. It is something that is understandable to seek when you leave your country and your paycheck to volunteer for 6 months instead I am trying to embrace a low-totem pole status. It feels incredibly unnatural, and painful in fact. And I don't know if I have what it takes to stick it out but for now I am going to try and let fool status run it's course and create humility in me. Some say if you are not happy then leave, no sense in wasting time in misery. But happy isn't my goal. Now it does suck not being happy but happy is temporal and permanent heart change often requires a long stay in an unhappy place.

I started reading the book on brother Lawrence's thoughts and life, "Practicing the Presence of God." In it he says, "It isn't so much the dimensions of our work as with the love in which it is done." And in 1 Corinthians 13:1 I see that "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, (which my tongue would love to speak spanish right about now) but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal." I see that if I am working for Casa or working for the kids I will always be disappointed. If I am trying to be a hero I will always come up short and their will always be bigger, needier projects out there. Doing any job out of a motivation to love (God and others) for the sake of God's pleasure and glory is the only task that will fulfill me. He built this into our hearts even though we often seek to settle this desire in other ways. Funny that the one who doesn't need us at all gives us the true affirmation for our work, speaks to our desire to be wanted, and desires our love in return. And yet he is complete without us. I cannot add anything to God and this is somehow freeing, knowing that my God in his completeness will say to me you are special, unique and desired even when he has no need of me.

Solace in Piggyback Rides

2006-03-04T10:01:00.000-08:00

2:30 March 1: I walk out of my 2nd grade class with chalk on my pants and frustration on my face. How can I explain to Antonio in spanish that I would appreciate it if he didn't mimic me when I can harldy say ¨please copy a blue triangle into your notebooks please¨ in spanish. I have 4 classes as an english teacher (2 second grade classes and 2 third grade classes) at Casa Guatemala and I have never known a more trying 45 minutes of mental exhaustion before. What used to get me by in the states, my abilities to get a job done, get a degree, make friends, even have a simple conversation has been stripped from me. I told God last night that I feel like a skeleton needing to be filled in with meat and muscle that i have no ability to create. And to think I sought this sort of scenario out for myself. I desired an experience that would bring me to my knees. Well I sure got it. And after a rough first two days at Casa I panicked. Things like ¨I can't do this...how naive could i have been...how will i last 6 months?¨ weighed heavily on my mind. But a week passed by and I got a bed (it's a little packed in the volunteer house to say the least) I made some friends and received some peace. There was magic in my week as well as disaster. Like on thursday after my kids left my 2nd grade class i said out loud to myself, ¨I feel so stupid right now¨ and that feeling felt so deep and true that i just about broke into tears. But somehow God brings something to me right after these moments to remind me that he hasn't forgotten my needs. I am revived when every 3rd kid out of five smiles back. I am revived when a basic meal of rice beans and tortillas is somehow made better after eating it on a dock while the sun goes down. Or like yesterday I left yet another frustrating 2nd grade class and three little girls, Elvia, Andrea, and Modesta giggled as I walked by and I turned around to find 3 beautiful faces waiting with curiousity to explore my backpack and my the curls in my hair. Something about little hands playing with your hair and jumping on your back is therapeutic for me. the tension in my shoulders eased and a smile that had been missing from my face reemerged. They probably had no idea how much i needed them, how much joy it brought me to give them a piggyback ride. It is a bit discouraging when my conversations with these girls end after ¨what is your name?¨ and ¨how old are you?¨ But perhaps this will teach me to be more childlike in my love. Kids don't use words nearly as much as adults. They speak in smiles, giggles, fists, and frowns. And Lisa Goins was telling me that wounded kids don't really trust words any way, because they often become broken promises or hurtful words that pierce their fragile hearts. I complicate love so much and think I need to clarify it in words and spell it out in conversations. I think I have to make it unique and my love has to be special in order to count more and in order to make me important. As if it were for my benefit. But love is basic and childlike and humbling to learn. And I changed the request that I had at the beginning of last week from ¨please Lord help me speak spanish¨ to ¨please Lord help me speak love¨ One involved a desire to accomplish a job the other requires a job to be done on my heart. And I need the work on my heart much more than the words on my lips.

a colorful landscape of characters

2006-02-22T10:13:00.000-08:00

I've been in Rio Dulce for almost a week now doing my preliminary volunteer week at the hotel (more like a quaint, lakeside hostel which sends a portion of its profits to the orphanage) bar tending no less...haha and I only thought I had left behind working at a restaurant/bar. Tomorrow I will leave to go across the other side of the lake to begin volunteering at the actual orphanage. So much seems to have passed in a week where little actually happened. My mind soaked up so much during one of the slower and more peaceful weeks of my life. My friend Laura commented that volunteering at the hotel felt a little like Real World (Guatemala style) because you live, work and hang out with these new people 24 hours a day. so here is the run down of new characters

Scotty: a middle aged guy who drove all the way down from Colorado with his loveable dog, Tikki. Scotty is quite the superstitious character who talks a lot and usually fills silence with some interesting piece of information or one of his many stories. Scotty found a place for himself behind the hotel bar and seems to feel at home in a place where he has become the veteran. He has gained a sense of belonging here because he is needed. it is also nice for people to see a familiar face behind the bar and he will continue to stay for who knows how long, unless cabin fever gets the best of him.

Laryssa: (her current choice of spelling for her name as of this week) A punky lanky 19 year old from Canada. Laryssa is a quirky girl with piercings to share and green streaks in her blonde hair. She would lose track of her hands if they weren't attached to her arms. Her opinions still hold traces of adolescence but her adventurous spirit holds bravery beyond her years.

Laurance: An artsy bohemian girl from Quebec with dreds in her hair. She was traveling with a rag tag street circus crew before landing at the hotel to volunteer. She makes jewelry to fund her travels and gets along well with everyone, tolerating the drunks I tend to shy away from at the bar. the only bit of frustration i have seen her express is when she lost her all natural toothpaste.

Laura: (laura left last week but she was a favorite of mine after only a few days) A 24 year old from Washington, with a soft relaxed demeanor, comfortable in her own skin. I found I connected with her in our travel philosophies and the ways in which we viewed our futures. She didn't need to prove anything or seek validation from volunteering at the hotel. She acknowledges that she is still a work in process slowly being molded by her travel experiences and she is humble enough to admit fear or loneliness when it strikes her. Her fiesty humor crept out around Scotty and the two of them became an entertaining pair to be around. I miss her after only knowing her for a few days

Isa: a 30 year old girl from Taiwan who is not your typical demure, quiet Asian girl. Rather she has strong opinions that often go against the grain. She doesn't seem concerned about whether or not she ruffles some feathers. She sees through facades and maintains her own authenticity with ease. She doesn't try to be overly outgoing and prefers a small group over a crowd. She picks up on the irony in certain aspects of tourism and doesn't forgive the invasion of foreign culture on Guatemalan soil. She truly wants to be in amongst the people rather than an awkward observer which is why she asked to work in the kitchen rather than the bar, where gringo culture abounds. She asks some hard questions and admitted to me yesterday that she doesn't understand life's purpose much of the time and hasn't found a place that brings her happiness. Isa is my favorite. I think she is brave and I am sad to have to say goodbye to her so quickly.

the waitresses: I wish I could jump to the next level with these girls but the language keeps blocking my way. Yet I have been suprised by how much you can know about a person without verbally communicating with them. They are a young, fun loving, cheerful group even when their jobs provide them with little to be excited about. I have enjoyed their affection and their prompt acceptance of me after only a few days.

A Leaving Experiment

2006-02-10T13:28:00.000-08:00

(the posts may slow down a bit after this one because the free internet access is over when i leave the Celas Maya school on Sunday)

I have started to read "Through Painted Deserts" a book by a favorite author of mine, Donald Miller and it has resonated so deeply with me. The story is about two friends on a road trip, but more importantly it is about leaving and the chemistry that occurs in a leaving experience...

"...every person has to leave, has to change like seasons...everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons...I want to keep my soul fertile for the changes, so things keep getting born in me, so things keep dying when it is time for things to die. I want to keep walking away from the person I was a moment ago, because a mind was made to figure things out, not to read the same page recurrently."

I did not leave Texas and come to Guatemala to "find myself" because I knew where Alicia was and frankly it's wasn't a place I wanted to be anymore. Rather than "find myself" I want to be shaped. Changed by this place and these circumstances. As scary as it is for me I want to face my fears (learning a new language being one of my bigger fears) and experience the brokenness that comes of it. Brokeness that I hope will help me exchange the security I place in things like money, youth or even familiar relationships with a deeper security. One that arrives after facing a fear and finding at the end of that experience I still have 2 arms, 2 legs, a beating heart and I am in the hands of a good God who loves me.

Leaving is helping me ask questions and develop a curiousity that had become dormant in me. Miller says, "It's interesting how you sometimes have to leave home before you can ask difficult questions, how the questions never come up in the room you grew up in, in the town in which you were born. It's funny how you can't ask difficult questions in a familiar place, how you have to stand back a few feet and see things in a new way before you realize nothing that is happening to you is normal." My questions; how do people in other lands or cultures carry on in their souls and how does that differ from my experience under privileged American circumstances. What makes it a good day to a person in Guatemala? What do they value in other people? What do they want most deeply for themselves? Discovering these things may be the best thing you can get out of a travel experience. Not a bunch of nice pictures or cool stories, rather a better understanding of the human story.

So I felt like I needed to leave to change my thinking, my patterns and my desires. Maybe it's impatient of me to not want to wait for the normal progression of change I could experience at home but I am reminded of something my mom told me that has stuck with me. When I was wavering back and forth about whether to go to Guatemala or not she looked at me and said, "Just go Alicia. It may never be the perfect opportunity and it won't be easy but go." Yes, this place may get lonely and hard but I know I won't return home the same and that's all I want.

"Leave. Roll the word around on your tongue for a bit. It is a beautiful word, isn't it? So strong and forceful, the way you have always wanted to be. And you will not be alone. You have never been alone. Don't worry. Everyone will still be here when you get back. It is you who will have changed. " -Donald Miller

The Characters

2006-02-08T14:32:00.000-08:00

If my last week and a half read like a play these would be the character descriptions of the people I have been interacting with the most. Lanier and I tagged along with the random group Justine had already established after her first week here (trudy, oliver and rob). I don't know that I would have ended up in this group otherwise but I am thankful for the variety now.

Justine: main character (other than myself I guess). Somehow Justine and I ended up in the same host family together without knowing that we would both be volunteering at Casa Guatemala at the same time. A fabulous coincidence that I should credit God for orchestrating. Justine is one of those people that doesn´t realize how cool they are. She is a nurse from Canada, and yes I have found that Canadians are quite cool in case you were wondering. She has traveled a lot, (she did a medical volunteer stint all over Africa) and tries all sorts of cool sports like field hockey, ultimate and surfing. She is independent, laid back, enjoys good mellow music (she also loves Iron and Wine), she knits and isn't afraid to speak her mind. She understands more spanish than I do and often at the dinner table my host dad or mom will ask me something and i look over at her and she rescues me. My favorite stories she tells consist of quotes from her traditional Philipino mother or any number of incidents involving a bathroom or a full bladder. It's hard to get myself to stop speaking english with her because I find we have a lot in common and our spanish just doesn't suffice for good conversation yet.

Rob: hmmm, how to explain Rob? think 35 year old scruffy englishman with 16 year old dred locks on the top of his head. Rob accidently got off in the wrong city, Xela, but decided he might as well stay here and learn spanish for a month. He has retained a lot more cerveza than spanish but this usually serves to enhance his already hilarious stories. I've found that most curse words, spanish words and well...most words in general are a lot more amusing in a thick rural english accent. I've cried more times than i can count after Rob opens his mouth. Typical Rob line: "I´ve never known anything to want to get out of my body so fast" referring to all the "bano" action he has been seeing.

Lanier: Med student from New Mexico who is a bit shy but a whole lot of sweet. She smiles a lot, listens a lot and makes people happy to be around her. She has encouraged me spiritually quite a bit and her truth and kindness have been a huge blessing to my time here.

Oliver: French Canadian guy from Quebec that looks more like a surfer from California. Imagine the reaction from the latinas when they see this tall young guy with long blonde curly hair. Justine dubbed him the alpha male within the first few days of knowing him. And he has no problem with that label either. He knows he can snag the ladies and he bears his confidence on the salsa floor. His 24 year ego gives him an aloof demeanor but his humor and french accent will warm you up to him.

Trudy: (sadly Trudy left this week) You can imagine that a tall fair skinned German guy sticks out a bit in Guatemala. Trudy is an engineer who Justine thought was a complete nerd the first week she met him, but only because his quiet nature and incredible intelligence. Trudy will surpise you with his witt when you least expect it.

Mike: (mike also left this week) Berkeley grad who works in the forest science field. (super smart park ranger scientist type). Also plays cool sports like lacrosse, ultimate, and rock climbing. Mike has traveled a fair amount and he doesn't mind telling you. He also enjoys his cerveza but defends his habit as being only a weekend endevor.

Santos and Lydia: my host parents. Santos is a machismo latino man who enjoys speaking slow simple spanish to his two beginner spanish babies, Justine and I. Lydia, his wife, and him do not have any children so I think he likes to have students as his outlet to share little wisdom stories with someone at meal times. Lydia is a small hard working woman with big beautiful tired eyes that want to tell you a story. They have a simple home where the hot water does not come frequently, but the hot meals do. They like to watch movies and listen to American music, which strikes me as a bit odd, but I don't profess to understand the idiosyncrasies of foreign cultures.

I´m sure their wil be more characters to come once my location changes.....

This is also Guatemala

2006-02-07T11:08:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday 6 of us went to the big market in Xela. When Justine and I told our host mom where we were going she told us to be very careful and to watch our bags. This served to raised our curiousity and justine wanted to see what it was all about. So we piled into a minibus (think 15 passenger van packed with 25 people and a few cats). After a 15 minute ride we were free from the confines of the sketchy van. We walked into the narrow aisles of the market to find a scene that was busy to say the least. Aisles packed with vendors, various stands of food and merchandise, and a lot of useless junk. I wondered how many people were actually buying anything in proportion to the people that were selling things. It is hard for me to believe that Guatemalans who are already struggling to make ends meet have use for crow bars, broken telephones, mismatched shoes, and a lot of questionable produce. After glancing over the food being sold I'm guessing that Guatemalans must regularly have "bano" issues and my former assumption that only travelers got hit with montezuma's revenge was just a myth. There was trash everywhere and the smell was bad. It was loud and unsightly and I understood why we were the only gringos in the whole place. Of course there wouldn't be any gringos- nothing for a wealthy westerner to buy or "ooh and ahh" over. And yet so many of the vendors were selling tourist junk. Some of our teachers said they wouldn't even go to this market.

It makes sense. No one wants to see this side of Guatemalan culture. It's unpleasant and uncomfortable. Who wants to be seen gawking at the brutal reality of city life in Guatemala- a market full of children selling fruit and only a portion of it actually gets sold. Yet somehow I think it was important for me to see. As my shoulders tensed and my grip on my bag tightened I had to remind myself that this too is Guatemala. Not quaint or picturesque and you would never see this market in a guide book photograph. You can tell a lot about a culture from what they buy and sell. From what Guatemalans buy and sell you can tell that tradition still holds strong. For many women they wouldn't trade modern trends for their traditional clothing. You can see that they find vibrancy in a life that has little to hope for from the bright colors in their clothing and the buildings they paint. But you can also see from these markets that futility abounds. Yet strangely, you can see that chaos somehow coincides with a simple life with simple needs. I also noticed that children are not separated from the raw aspects of adult life in the way that they are in the states. It must be that they have strong backs and penetrating voices and therefore they can contribute to the family income. Children in the states benefit from the luxury of safety and their hours are spent in day cares and schools with the language of play rather than commerce.

I was glad to finally see the end of the market and head back to the town center where students can be seen in the park and families mill about. Where gringos are not so obviously out of place. But at least now I know what sort of struggle lies behind the relaxed demeanor of so many Guatemalans. I look forward to making it to Rio Dulce even more where the air will be clean and the cars will be few. Where I can pick up a child who might have been selling tomatoes last year and allow them to partake in the childhood that is rightfully theirs.

The pre-departure thoughts in my head

2006-02-02T12:57:00.000-08:00

So I named my blog Trapeze Swinger cause I kept running into this theme during the weeks leading up to my departure. It started after I was listening to one of my favorite songs by Iron and Wine (also entitled the Trapeze Swinger). I haven't written any sort of poetry since junior high so this out of my box to say the least.

The Trapeze Swinger

Sitting high above the circus
Watching better acts below
Wondering when to leap
Hoping the light blinds my inhibitions

So leap
Let go
Fly

Hanging in the sky
Turning possibility into form
End over end precedes my landing

Are they watching?
Cheering?
Empty applause my safety net

Music times my motivations
A different rhythm, his beating heart
Beckons me to leap

Arms reach out
Surrender dreams and fears

So leap
Believe
Embrace

The elegant fall into his hands

Ser and Estar

2006-01-31T13:09:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: the next two weeks worth of blog entries might not be the most coherent writing because i have already used up most of my brain power during my five hours of intensive spanish classes

The verbs we use most frequently in any language say a lot about the basic human condition: to want, to need, to like, to think, to go, to do, to be. I have been busting my chops learning to conjugate these words and it is interesting to me that the majority of conversations center around what we want/need/like and where we are going/what we are doing and our state of existence-ser or estar (p.s. ser and estar are currently on my mental hit list. I would kill them off if I could. I hate this “to be” business and all its rules). Our own languages seem to reveal that we are by nature people who are always wanting or doing something. Kinda seems like we are needy and antsy little beings. doing and wanting. And apparently we have a lot to say as well. thinking and liking something about everything. It kind of makes me see how it takes a lifetime of work to think about something other than ourselves. The most essential verbs in language and conversation are about having needs met and expressing what we do. Not trying to be profound or anything, just trying to think about something other than the list of vocabulary I have to memorize.

3 hours to go

2006-01-28T00:15:00.000-08:00

I'm not sleeping. I'm eating golden grahams, it's 2:15 am and my flight leaves in 3 hours. There was no use trying to sleep tonight. Instead I'm making a music list. If you could only take one cd to a desert island what would it be? Ok maybe not a desert island, try a village off the eastern coast of Guatemala and it's closer to 25 cds. Here's who I'm taking:

Iron & Wine
Nickel Creek
Ben Kweller
Enter the Worship Circle
Caroline Cobb
Wilco
Damien Rice
Dave Matthews
Sam Roberts
Gorillaz
Meredith's "Guata-Holla Back Mix"
Patty Griffin
Gabe Dixon Band
Shane Barnard
Matt Wertz
Coldplay
Dave Barnes
Bob Schneider
Decembrists
Shins
David Crowder
Mat Kearny
Keane

first blog snippet for you

2006-01-18T20:02:00.000-08:00

As I was driving to mozart's this evening to finish my peace corp application I was thinking about what sort of position I will be in after returning from Guatemala in 6 months. Will I find that I am ready for something more long term like a 2 year stint with the peace corp or teaching at an international school? All along I have been thinking this will be a good test for me to see if I am cut out for this sort of overseas work. As if this was going to show me what I was really made of. But I don't think at any point while in Guatemala I am going to say to myself, "yep, Alicia you got this down, you are stronger than you thought you were. Go take on the peace corp now." Nope. I think instead I will see how I respond to being utterly broken. I will most likely find out more about where I fall short and how lonely it is to be in another country without the people who know and love you most. Perhaps I need to find out if brokenness is a state I can embrace and be used in. Can I let go of my pride to let myself be miserable for awhile and not run from it as if being sad or discouraged is a state of failure. I saw Cheryl Fletcher at Lindsey's wedding last weekend and after I told her that I was going to Guatemala alone she smiled, nodded her head, and said, "Yeah sometimes God calls people to really lonely places for awhile." I told her that yes, for some reason I have even sought out this lonely place in order to move out of what has been a dry and restless place for me. Maybe I'm incredibly dumb and will be kicking myself for making such a idealistic move, but there's no turning back now so I'll find out soon how much kicking I will be doing.