The other volunteers have left so it’s only me, the four adults, and 18 chilluns’. I spend most of my time with the babies. I usually have Deborah or Donna with me, but when you’re around a certain group of people more than anyone else, you tend to bond with them; even if they don’t talk.
I’ve never been around babies before, so I started out as a student in baby-caring. I used to be afraid of caring for them; they seem so fragile and innocent, like I could infect them just by touching them. And I didn’t know what to do with them; people always talk to them, but it’s not like the kid can understand them, and bouncing them up and down makes you look ridiculous. But, babies are ridiculous little critters. So…I learned to change diapers, how much and often they eat and sleep, how flexible and sturdy they are, how easy it is to shove a bib or bottle in their open crying mouths, how puffy their diapers are which I think are specifically designed to pad falls, and how to toss them into cribs. All in all, babies are not nearly as fragile and frightening as I thought they were. And I’ve discovered that ALL BABIES ARE OVERSIZED CHIPMUNKS.
Jacob has enormous eyes and chubby cheeks used for storage. He likes to shove food in his mouth so hours later we’ll find broccoli on the floor. He was just hitting my laptop so I slapped his cheeks as he tried to bite my hand, until he crawled away. He also likes to vomit frequently, escape from the play room, play with the VCR after repeatedly being smacked, and crawl over the smaller babies. He has a goofy laugh that sounds like he’s nervously stuttering, and a soft little baby wail which is refreshing compared to Mynor’s, which can be heard from the other house.
Josué just walked up and did the same to my poor abused laptop, so I did the same to his cheeks. He had a very confused look on his face and then decided he…liked it. And drooled on my hand. He also has incredibly chipmunkish cheeks that go “flap flap flap” when I slap them, and Mayan heritage which gives him little beady black rodent eyes. When food is placed on his height chair, he takes a fist full and shoves it in his mouth-fist and all. With parents so genetically close (his mother is also his sister and his father is also his grandpa), you’d think he’d be retarded, but he is the smartest baby. He’s an escape artist, enjoys playing with the TV and VCR, loves stealing other babies’ bottles if they’re laying around. He’s one of the easiest to take care of because his temperament is so laid back, but I’ve diagnosed him with ADHD. He’s always on the run, hates sleeping, and refused to be held until recently. Somehow, without trying to, I’ve captured his little heart. Sometimes he crawls his diaper-padded butt over to me and lifts his arms up and whines to be picked up, then sits contently in my lap and cries if I put him down. He has an amusing, mournful cry, which is the only time he tries to talk, so it’s like a “waaaah wah ba ma maaaaaa!”He is by far the cutest baby here, and also my favorite.
Mynor the whiner is a year and a half old and communicates with screaming bloody, gory, eaten-alive-by-cannibals murder (he has alcohol syndrome) and…pointing and squeaking. He screams when someone leaves the room, when his diaper is being changed, when a baby takes his toy, when he’s put down, put in his height chair, and especially when he’s put in bed. He has a belly that reaches farther than his face, waddles with baby steps, has cheeks that take up more than half of his face and a mouth that takes up the rest, and large black eyes. A baby chipmunk, clearly. Although, his temperament is more like that of a rabid squirrel; he pushes, bites, and hits the other babies and takes toys away from them, so he is frequently smacked on the hand and put in the corner. We tell him that when the babies grow up, the three boys are going to gang up on him; but all they’ll have to do is call him a wimp and he’ll start screaming.
Mercedes is 7 months old and is also of Mayan decent; she has chubby cheeks, beady black eyes, and a tiny pointed mouth. She eats slowly because she chews like a sloth and she shrieks, not cries. She poops twice her weight in a day and I think may grow up to be pretty smart, as she must be preoccupied with toys at all times or she cries. She doesn’t have much hair, but she’s fun to dress in cute little girly clothes.
The volunteers and I called Karina “trolly”. She looks like one of those plastic, wild-haired trolls with the big eyes and goofy facial features. She’s got all of these, including the uncommon full head of hair at only 5 months; but that makes it fun to put it into strange hairstyles. She smiles randomly, is as tiny as a Chihuahua, and is pretty laid back. Her poop tends to be yellowish and slimy so I try my best to avoid changing her, but she has the cutest collection of donated clothes that we like to dress her up in.
Isaac is more like a zombie. He was abandoned in a hospital and was left in a crib with no stimulation for the first 6 months of his life, so at 1 year old he’s at the same level as a 6 month old. He communicates with grunting and cries with an eardrum-piercing scream constantly, which worsens his hernia and makes it pop out more…which is only visible while changing his diaper…which is so disturbing that I refuse to change it. He only crawls with one leg, drools like a Saint Bernard, and likes to chew on unsuspecting feet and hands. He has a stupid looking, square chubby face, that I pray he’ll grow out of. Donna tries to spend time with him so she can learn to love him. I only spend time with him to shove a bottle or bib in his mouth.
Davey is a spoiled little gringo. A gringo is what Guatemalans call Americans, who they charge more for everything. Davey has blonde hair, blue eyes, pointy chin, and lumpy cheeks that make an interesting scrunched up face when he’s angry. Everyone says he’s cute, but Tab and I agree that he’s not. He is a few months younger than Mynor and he talks and walks better, but is just as whiny and ten times as bratty and never gets spanked for throwing the same fits. He mostly only cries when someone is looking because he’s a little attention whore, but cries over EVERYTHING, so I see his ugly scrunched up face more than his clownish smile. He is separated from the babies a lot so I’m not around him much, and when I am I avoid him out of a secret and suppressed contempt.
Rosa isn’t a baby but she’s always around them, except for naps. She’s three years old and has every awful common quality attributed to her age. She always asks why, makes pointless messes, stalls like a turtle when she’s asked to do something, and plays the stupid card like no one ever has which is why I gave up on teaching her how to count to 10 and the alphabet after 3 days. And in the middle of a conversation when you and she are the only people in the room, she randomly asks “who, me?” Yes Rosa, you little horror. YOU.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Saturday, July 9, 2011
This Is How I'm Serving God
I’ve been asked a lot about what I do here, so I’ll list some things.
I change diapers, unless I can pawn them off on someone else.
I feed babies. Jacob likes to store food in his chubby cheeks like a chipmunk, and doesn’t understand the concept of swallowing so he sometimes chokes. Isaac likes to use his saliva to turn any solid food into paste to paint himself with.
I bathe babies. This is annoying. Some think being in water is hilarious, so they continuously kick water onto me and the floor. Others sob the whole time.
I put babies in their cribs for naps and bedtime-the best part of my day!
I make sure the babies don’t eat things (this is hard, as there are 7 of them), escape, hurt each other or themselves.
I sometimes help prepare meals and set the table.
I play Dutch Blitz, a four player card game. I highly suggest it.
I help the kids with their homework.
About one night a week I go to Esther and Eliud’s house to watch a movie.
I read a lot of stories to Rosa and Mynor.
I just got done dancing with the girls in the kitchen. There are these two really fun songs that they’ve been teaching me the goofy dances to.
I play games with the kids.
My Martina day is Sunday
I take the babies outside to put them in a swing, on a slide or trampoline, to see the puppies, walk them around, get them dirty and keep them from eating leaves. -_-
I sometimes help with dishes, sweeping, and clean-up.
I take the kids to the tienda, which means “store”. There are a million everywhere, and they’re all alike. Kinda like Walmart! I like going there because it gives me a break. The last time I went, I got 2 bags of chips, 6 lollipops, 4weird cookie things, and a bottle of soda for one American dollar and a few odd cents The kids here ask a lot about what things in the States cost, and are shocked that my little plastic pink bunny watch cost $5.
My schedule is something like this:
Wake up at 6:30, throw on clothes and deodorant and put my hair up
Get the babies, change their diapers and maybe their clothes, and put them in their high chairs.
Breakfast at 7:30.
Clean the babies’ faces and take them to the sala (living room). I watch them, help kids with school or play with Rosa.
Kids go to school at 9. Most go to the other house, but two of them stay here and are taught by Deb.
Babies nap at 10:30-for this hour and a half, I read my Bible and pray, and either blog, read, or nap.
Lunch at 12 or 12:30
I usually help with lunch clean-up
I play with babies or help kids with school or play with Rosa-it’s rainy season, so like clockwork it starts to rain around this time.
Babies to bed at 3-I teach the kids karate, blog, help with dinner, shower, or clean.
Dinner at 5 or 5:30
I usually help with dinner clean-up then stay in the sala for family time until the babies are put to bed at 7:30.
I crave chocolate about this time.
Until I go to bed-I blog, go online, play card games with the team, shower, or play with the kids.
I’m in bed by 9 or 9:30, and Tabby joins me in our full size bed around then. If she’s in bed before me, I ritually tackle her. It gets cold at night, so we snuggle close for body heat, and she makes jokes about cheating on her boyfriend with me. We usually talk a while before sleeping. We’ve known each other since my first semester in college, and have gotten a lot closer here. She leaves Monday and I’m going to die of loneliness. But the rest of the team leaves on Wednesday, so I’ll be able to spend more time online! =]
I change diapers, unless I can pawn them off on someone else.
I feed babies. Jacob likes to store food in his chubby cheeks like a chipmunk, and doesn’t understand the concept of swallowing so he sometimes chokes. Isaac likes to use his saliva to turn any solid food into paste to paint himself with.
I bathe babies. This is annoying. Some think being in water is hilarious, so they continuously kick water onto me and the floor. Others sob the whole time.
I put babies in their cribs for naps and bedtime-the best part of my day!
I make sure the babies don’t eat things (this is hard, as there are 7 of them), escape, hurt each other or themselves.
I sometimes help prepare meals and set the table.
I play Dutch Blitz, a four player card game. I highly suggest it.
I help the kids with their homework.
About one night a week I go to Esther and Eliud’s house to watch a movie.
I read a lot of stories to Rosa and Mynor.
I just got done dancing with the girls in the kitchen. There are these two really fun songs that they’ve been teaching me the goofy dances to.
I play games with the kids.
My Martina day is Sunday
I take the babies outside to put them in a swing, on a slide or trampoline, to see the puppies, walk them around, get them dirty and keep them from eating leaves. -_-
I sometimes help with dishes, sweeping, and clean-up.
I take the kids to the tienda, which means “store”. There are a million everywhere, and they’re all alike. Kinda like Walmart! I like going there because it gives me a break. The last time I went, I got 2 bags of chips, 6 lollipops, 4weird cookie things, and a bottle of soda for one American dollar and a few odd cents The kids here ask a lot about what things in the States cost, and are shocked that my little plastic pink bunny watch cost $5.
My schedule is something like this:
Wake up at 6:30, throw on clothes and deodorant and put my hair up
Get the babies, change their diapers and maybe their clothes, and put them in their high chairs.
Breakfast at 7:30.
Clean the babies’ faces and take them to the sala (living room). I watch them, help kids with school or play with Rosa.
Kids go to school at 9. Most go to the other house, but two of them stay here and are taught by Deb.
Babies nap at 10:30-for this hour and a half, I read my Bible and pray, and either blog, read, or nap.
Lunch at 12 or 12:30
I usually help with lunch clean-up
I play with babies or help kids with school or play with Rosa-it’s rainy season, so like clockwork it starts to rain around this time.
Babies to bed at 3-I teach the kids karate, blog, help with dinner, shower, or clean.
Dinner at 5 or 5:30
I usually help with dinner clean-up then stay in the sala for family time until the babies are put to bed at 7:30.
I crave chocolate about this time.
Until I go to bed-I blog, go online, play card games with the team, shower, or play with the kids.
I’m in bed by 9 or 9:30, and Tabby joins me in our full size bed around then. If she’s in bed before me, I ritually tackle her. It gets cold at night, so we snuggle close for body heat, and she makes jokes about cheating on her boyfriend with me. We usually talk a while before sleeping. We’ve known each other since my first semester in college, and have gotten a lot closer here. She leaves Monday and I’m going to die of loneliness. But the rest of the team leaves on Wednesday, so I’ll be able to spend more time online! =]
I Feel Like A Real Girl!
Last night our team treated Dave, Deb, Josh, and Donna to the Posada for dinner. The Posada is a really nice hotel and restaurant with expensive food (on American standards, it’s average) and its bathroom doors have a list and explanation of all the famous people who’ve visited there.
I was so excited to get out of the house and eat out again and wear normal clothes and jewelry and make-up just like a real girl! I wore a pretty black skirt, white tank top, flip-flops (I didn’t have room in my suitcase for dress shoes), a necklace and my purity ring, and my vanilla perfume. I felt like I was in America again! I was so happy, I was dancing around our room.
It was Tabby and her boyfriend’s six month-aversary. Since she couldn’t see him, so she got dressed up and went to a fancy restaurant with me as her date.
I had steak, veggies, and rice for dinner, and a brownie for dessert. I asked Deb to ask the waiter for a box for the rest of my brownie (I’d already eaten more than I normally do) and instead, he gave me another brownie wrapped in tinfoil. She tried to explain that I only wanted a box for the one I already had, so he wrapped up my first one. When I tried to hand him back my first one, he shrugged and waved his hand and walked away. It was my lucky night!
It was one of the best nights I’ve had here, so I thought I’d share.
I miss quite a few things; chocolate, for sure. I crave it all the time, but it can only be found in the city 3 hours away. Showers as long as I want; I wouldn’t mind showering every other day if everyone else did, but these short showers are most annoying. Shaving. I only get to shave my legs about every 3 days. My dad. Make-up and dressing nice. T-shirts and Bermuda shorts are not my thing; I feel more comfortable looking nice than dressing down. Being online as much as I want. My best friend. Watching Glee on Netflix. Waynesburg. Freedom from a schedule. Not yelling at people. Knowing that everything I touch is sanitary. My phone. Food I like. The luxury of not having to worry if I’m using too much toilet paper or water to wash my hands.
I do miss these things, but not nearly as much as I miss having people who I love around me. I love these kids, but I need peers and people who are close with me to converse with and have fellowship with. Our team has devotions every day, but it’s not fellowship. I could give of myself forever, as long as I had one person to fill me back up. I’ve already been spending at least an hour on average with God every day, but I think that the three weeks after the team leaves will bring me closer to Him, as best friends.
I was so excited to get out of the house and eat out again and wear normal clothes and jewelry and make-up just like a real girl! I wore a pretty black skirt, white tank top, flip-flops (I didn’t have room in my suitcase for dress shoes), a necklace and my purity ring, and my vanilla perfume. I felt like I was in America again! I was so happy, I was dancing around our room.
It was Tabby and her boyfriend’s six month-aversary. Since she couldn’t see him, so she got dressed up and went to a fancy restaurant with me as her date.
I had steak, veggies, and rice for dinner, and a brownie for dessert. I asked Deb to ask the waiter for a box for the rest of my brownie (I’d already eaten more than I normally do) and instead, he gave me another brownie wrapped in tinfoil. She tried to explain that I only wanted a box for the one I already had, so he wrapped up my first one. When I tried to hand him back my first one, he shrugged and waved his hand and walked away. It was my lucky night!
It was one of the best nights I’ve had here, so I thought I’d share.
I miss quite a few things; chocolate, for sure. I crave it all the time, but it can only be found in the city 3 hours away. Showers as long as I want; I wouldn’t mind showering every other day if everyone else did, but these short showers are most annoying. Shaving. I only get to shave my legs about every 3 days. My dad. Make-up and dressing nice. T-shirts and Bermuda shorts are not my thing; I feel more comfortable looking nice than dressing down. Being online as much as I want. My best friend. Watching Glee on Netflix. Waynesburg. Freedom from a schedule. Not yelling at people. Knowing that everything I touch is sanitary. My phone. Food I like. The luxury of not having to worry if I’m using too much toilet paper or water to wash my hands.
I do miss these things, but not nearly as much as I miss having people who I love around me. I love these kids, but I need peers and people who are close with me to converse with and have fellowship with. Our team has devotions every day, but it’s not fellowship. I could give of myself forever, as long as I had one person to fill me back up. I’ve already been spending at least an hour on average with God every day, but I think that the three weeks after the team leaves will bring me closer to Him, as best friends.
I Heart Near Death Experiences!
Wednesday was yet another near-death experience, but I needed one after being in the orphanage for 2 weeks. We drove an hour and a half to a bus stop in the middle of nowhere. At this stop we met Maximum, who was the only English speaking villager Panamache. He learned because his wife, who was a short-term missionary from Iowa, taught him. She decided to become a long-term missionary when she married him. This wasn’t the first time we heard of a missionary falling in love with a native and deciding to stay here.
Panamache was relocated to land given by the Guatemalan government because of mudslides, and was renamed Los Victorales. We parked the van that we had rented when we first got here in the middle of nowhere, and walked down the street to the “bus stop”—a curb on the side of the road, in front of a steep cliff. It was only 10:30, but we decided to eat our lunch there instead of in front of the kids. We got out our bread, and jar of Goober—the fancy stuff that has peanut butter and jelly in it—and realized we had no knife. So being the resourceful person that I am, I thoroughly sanitized my hand, stuck it in the jar, and made everyone’s sandwiches. Meanwhile, Leister and Shane were scheming up ideas for how to make a ski lift or zip-line to get down there.
Instead, we went the old-fashioned Guatemalan way—piling in the back of a truck and wobbling down the steep drop off on the other (guardrails don’t exist in this country). For some reason, we had to drive down the mountain, and then back up the other side to reach Panamache, instead of driving around. Apparently the unsafe way cuts off a lot of time.
Jill, one of the new volunteers, had panic attacks, while Shane sang “Living on A Prayer” by Bon Jovi and every song having to do with a mountain; “she’ll be comin’ round the mountain when she comes, she’ll be comin’ round the mountain when she comes!” I was a bit nervous so I prayed in my head, contrary to Leister’s prays that could be heard from the other side of the valley, as he’s nearly deaf. What really made us nervous were the dark clouds; so we prayed for God to blow them the way we had come. And He did.
And as we prayed, Shane sang Miley Cyrus; “There’s always gonna be another mountain! I’m always gonna wanna make it move! There’s always gonna be an uphill battle, sometimes I’m gonna have to move!”
When we got there, we put our 8 suitcases into the church-er, concrete building with a tin roof and the only locked doors in the village-and took the ones with the stuffed animals and hats to the school, which was a concrete building with a lopsided tin roof and no doors. We had Maximum translate to them who we were and why we were here-friends from America, here to give you gifts-and distributed the donated animals and hats to the individual kids as they sat in their desks. Some said “gracias” but most eagerly took the gift and stared at it before smiling and hugging it or putting it on. I don’t think they knew what most of the animals were.
The kids’ clothes were as dirty as their faces and were obviously donated: t-shirts with Spongebob and Dora hanging off their boney shoulders, jeans that were either too big or too small, or skirts tied to their malnourished waists with rope. Some of them had donated backpacks, and they carried mugs to get water from the village well.
When we were done at the school, we weaved through the maze of shacks and little concrete huts to find little bambinos to give McDonalds beanie babies (they were all we had left) and hats to. The hats were pink or blue and were a Safari style, and were pretty ugly for American fashion, but the mothers went nuts over them. They were so happy to have something to keep their heads from burning. We also brought care packages filled with necessities: thread, deodorant, soap, band-aids, and shampoo, meant to be given to every family (70 families resided in Los Victorales), but since we were there at midday and most parents and eligible children were in the fields, they’ll be distributed on Sunday. We wished we could be there. Maximum said “you saw the mothers’ smiles when we gave their children stuffed animals—you should see their tears when they receive necessities!” When Leister was here last year, he saw a woman washing her clothes in a pot of water. He reached in a bag and pulled out a bar of soap to give to her, but a woman grabbed it from him, literally breaking a finger and bending three back. Reading what I’ve written about these people dressed in dirty clothes and living without electricity or sanitized water, speaking a Mayan language, might paint a picture of savages living in a tribe in rough terrain. At the orphanage, even though showers are limited to 10 minutes, we’re allowed to shower every day. Could you imagine not being able to shower, ever? Could you imagine taking off your sweaty clothes that you worked in the field in all day, sitting your bare butt in a bucket of water filled up by last night’s rain and scrubbing yourself with your hands, with no sweet smelling lather to reassure yourself that your body is free from ringworm, rashes, infection—and then putting your dirty clothes back on? Just like the Holocaust’s concentration camps where people stole from each other and fought their fathers to the death for a piece of bread, this is a Holocaust of poverty—and I think most of my friends would break a finger for a bar of soap too.
On the way back, we realized we had a few stuffed animals left; Jill and Shane took a lot of joy from their game of “toss the donated stuffed animal to the starving Guatemalan child in the field.”
Well, that was my heart-wrenching story of the week. The orphanage is nice and the kids here aren’t starving, so I often forget I’m in a third-world country; but this place really is a life saver for 19 people. However, to save these lives, two permanently sacrificed the comfort, luxuries, and safety provided by the U.S. They were lounging on the couch together when the babies were in bed, playing Mario like normal 20-something year olds. I felt a mix of sympathy and admiration for them.
Panamache was relocated to land given by the Guatemalan government because of mudslides, and was renamed Los Victorales. We parked the van that we had rented when we first got here in the middle of nowhere, and walked down the street to the “bus stop”—a curb on the side of the road, in front of a steep cliff. It was only 10:30, but we decided to eat our lunch there instead of in front of the kids. We got out our bread, and jar of Goober—the fancy stuff that has peanut butter and jelly in it—and realized we had no knife. So being the resourceful person that I am, I thoroughly sanitized my hand, stuck it in the jar, and made everyone’s sandwiches. Meanwhile, Leister and Shane were scheming up ideas for how to make a ski lift or zip-line to get down there.
Instead, we went the old-fashioned Guatemalan way—piling in the back of a truck and wobbling down the steep drop off on the other (guardrails don’t exist in this country). For some reason, we had to drive down the mountain, and then back up the other side to reach Panamache, instead of driving around. Apparently the unsafe way cuts off a lot of time.
Jill, one of the new volunteers, had panic attacks, while Shane sang “Living on A Prayer” by Bon Jovi and every song having to do with a mountain; “she’ll be comin’ round the mountain when she comes, she’ll be comin’ round the mountain when she comes!” I was a bit nervous so I prayed in my head, contrary to Leister’s prays that could be heard from the other side of the valley, as he’s nearly deaf. What really made us nervous were the dark clouds; so we prayed for God to blow them the way we had come. And He did.
And as we prayed, Shane sang Miley Cyrus; “There’s always gonna be another mountain! I’m always gonna wanna make it move! There’s always gonna be an uphill battle, sometimes I’m gonna have to move!”
When we got there, we put our 8 suitcases into the church-er, concrete building with a tin roof and the only locked doors in the village-and took the ones with the stuffed animals and hats to the school, which was a concrete building with a lopsided tin roof and no doors. We had Maximum translate to them who we were and why we were here-friends from America, here to give you gifts-and distributed the donated animals and hats to the individual kids as they sat in their desks. Some said “gracias” but most eagerly took the gift and stared at it before smiling and hugging it or putting it on. I don’t think they knew what most of the animals were.
The kids’ clothes were as dirty as their faces and were obviously donated: t-shirts with Spongebob and Dora hanging off their boney shoulders, jeans that were either too big or too small, or skirts tied to their malnourished waists with rope. Some of them had donated backpacks, and they carried mugs to get water from the village well.
When we were done at the school, we weaved through the maze of shacks and little concrete huts to find little bambinos to give McDonalds beanie babies (they were all we had left) and hats to. The hats were pink or blue and were a Safari style, and were pretty ugly for American fashion, but the mothers went nuts over them. They were so happy to have something to keep their heads from burning. We also brought care packages filled with necessities: thread, deodorant, soap, band-aids, and shampoo, meant to be given to every family (70 families resided in Los Victorales), but since we were there at midday and most parents and eligible children were in the fields, they’ll be distributed on Sunday. We wished we could be there. Maximum said “you saw the mothers’ smiles when we gave their children stuffed animals—you should see their tears when they receive necessities!” When Leister was here last year, he saw a woman washing her clothes in a pot of water. He reached in a bag and pulled out a bar of soap to give to her, but a woman grabbed it from him, literally breaking a finger and bending three back. Reading what I’ve written about these people dressed in dirty clothes and living without electricity or sanitized water, speaking a Mayan language, might paint a picture of savages living in a tribe in rough terrain. At the orphanage, even though showers are limited to 10 minutes, we’re allowed to shower every day. Could you imagine not being able to shower, ever? Could you imagine taking off your sweaty clothes that you worked in the field in all day, sitting your bare butt in a bucket of water filled up by last night’s rain and scrubbing yourself with your hands, with no sweet smelling lather to reassure yourself that your body is free from ringworm, rashes, infection—and then putting your dirty clothes back on? Just like the Holocaust’s concentration camps where people stole from each other and fought their fathers to the death for a piece of bread, this is a Holocaust of poverty—and I think most of my friends would break a finger for a bar of soap too.
On the way back, we realized we had a few stuffed animals left; Jill and Shane took a lot of joy from their game of “toss the donated stuffed animal to the starving Guatemalan child in the field.”
Well, that was my heart-wrenching story of the week. The orphanage is nice and the kids here aren’t starving, so I often forget I’m in a third-world country; but this place really is a life saver for 19 people. However, to save these lives, two permanently sacrificed the comfort, luxuries, and safety provided by the U.S. They were lounging on the couch together when the babies were in bed, playing Mario like normal 20-something year olds. I felt a mix of sympathy and admiration for them.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Day19-Happy 4th Of July!
Tabitha and I have just decided that she has chubby cheeks, but I have prominent cheeks, giving me the look of a chipmunk.
Today was the 4th of July, and being an English speaking household in which the heads come from America, we went all out on the holiday! We had a picnic!!! Deb and Dave invited Esther and Eliud, the teachers/sister and brother-in-law of Deb, and some friends who were originally American who moved here for God knows why. One woman came with her adopted kids: a black boy, a Chinese girl, a Caucasian girl, and a Guatemalan boy. Tabby pointed to them and said “my family will look like the one day.” I seconded that. We also had all sorts of food: grilled hotdogs and barbecue chicken, potato and egg salad, fruit salad, Jell-o, corn, baked beans, and...get this…soda! We never have soda! We also roasted marshmallows over the fire, went swimming, and blew up fireworks. Well, everyone but Tabby and I. We stayed in the watch the babies, put them to bed, and relax with a book and blogging. It was a bit nippy out anyways.
It was a pretty exciting day, so I decided to let you guys in on it—er, Justin and Dad, anyways. Does anyone else even read these?
God bless America, and God bless you guys too!
Today was the 4th of July, and being an English speaking household in which the heads come from America, we went all out on the holiday! We had a picnic!!! Deb and Dave invited Esther and Eliud, the teachers/sister and brother-in-law of Deb, and some friends who were originally American who moved here for God knows why. One woman came with her adopted kids: a black boy, a Chinese girl, a Caucasian girl, and a Guatemalan boy. Tabby pointed to them and said “my family will look like the one day.” I seconded that. We also had all sorts of food: grilled hotdogs and barbecue chicken, potato and egg salad, fruit salad, Jell-o, corn, baked beans, and...get this…soda! We never have soda! We also roasted marshmallows over the fire, went swimming, and blew up fireworks. Well, everyone but Tabby and I. We stayed in the watch the babies, put them to bed, and relax with a book and blogging. It was a bit nippy out anyways.
It was a pretty exciting day, so I decided to let you guys in on it—er, Justin and Dad, anyways. Does anyone else even read these?
God bless America, and God bless you guys too!
Day 19-Finally! The Ministry I Was Born For!
Last night a few of us girls went to the other house down the street where the kids are taught, to watch a movie called Wives and Daughters. The first half was good enough to hold my attention, and I haven’t been able to sit down and indulge in a movie, which is why I lazily said no when Leister asked me to join in a skit they’d be performing the next evening in church that would be “better with a sixth person”. Then some of the volunteering girls came upstairs again to tell me I needed to be a model in the Everything skit by the band Lifehouse. I did the skit years ago with my youth group and loved it, and felt guilty not participating, so I went downstairs to see Shane teaching Emily the beginning of the main part. “Have you ever seen the Everything skit?” asked Leister. “Yea, I was in it.” “Oh! You were in it! You were the model?” “No, I was the main chick.” “OH! YOU WERE THE MAIN GIRL! Ok, trial run with Rachel as the main girl!” So we ran through it once with a few mishaps, but it was obvious I knew most of it, so I was wordlessly accepted into the part. Tiff had fun throwing me into my pantomimed vomit and poking my eye with her gun, and everyone else had fun pushing me around and onto the ground. It’s fitting that the main girl is the smallest of the group.
On the way home, I walked a little ahead of Tiff, Em, and Beth, who were walking slowly because they were trying to hide from the slight drizzle under an umbrella. When I was standing in the kitchen waiting to make sure they got in ok, I heard Em say “Rachel! Come here, there’s something wrong with one of the puppies!” I rushed out and saw Tiff holding a toad half as big as my head. The saying here is “Everything is bigger in Guatemala!” WHen I get ahold of it, I'll upload the picture of me kissing my prince. He turned into a really obese Guatemalan man who ran away chasing flies.
We performed Everything, along with a few other that didn’t come anywhere close to how dramatic and intense the Everything was ;), last night at the church that Deb and Dave go to. Performing is one of my passions; I was in theatre for 5 years and would continue to be, if I didn't dislike WU's theatre program so much. The skit went fairly well, except Andrew, who played my lover boy, messed up and didn’t caress my face with his flower like he was supposed to. He also reminds me of a red-haired version of Edmund from the Chronicles of Narnia.
Afterwards, Leister preached a bit about God’s Love and the importance of being saved, closed us in prayer, and told the tiny congregation of natives that if they wanted to accept Christ as their savior that he or any of his team could pray with them. During this, Rosa kept turning around and staring at me, which is a little weird, even for her. When I caught her, she’d smile. After a few times, I told her to sit on my lap. Next, the preacher spoke in Suto Heel (spelling??)which is the language that the Mayan natives speak. The service usually lasts from 6-9 P.M. but thankfully!!! Only lasted until 7:30ish. When it was over, the congregation got up to have meet and greet time, in which Jeamy came up to talk to me. She is a very pretty 13 year old, and told me she wanted to go up when Leister asked if anyone wanted prayed for, but was too afraid. I was shocked. “…Why did you want to go up?”
“Um...well, I don’t want to talk about it now.”
“Can we talk about it when we get home, please?”
“Ok!”
Then I looked below my chair to find my camera, and it wasn’t there. I looked around…and panicked over no sign of it. My camera is a little over a hundred dollars, but I love it like a child, and my dad would be furious if I lost it. I asked around, and then Vidalia walked up to me and asked “are you looking for your camera?” “Yes…where is it?” I asked the mischievous little twerp. She grinned and said “I don’t know!” Then looked at Mrs. Willman, one of the new volunteers who arrived a few days ago, who was suspiciously rolling her eyes away from the rectangular bulge in her pocket. So I dumped a bit of water from my water bottle on Vidalia’s head. She was soooo mad, she continually hit me and chased me around trying to grab my water bottle to dump some on me until we got into the van. Not only does she have an attitude and likes to pull tricks on people, but she holds pretty good grudges. When we got home, I took off my glasses and watch and handed her my water bottle. She threw some on me, handed it back, and held my hand as we walked up the steps and into the house.
Someone put on this popular song called “Los Ninos” that has a funny dance to it. Jeamy asked me to teach her how to dance so I started dancing like I do at dances. She just stared at me, then said “No! Like…normal dancing!” So I started doing the Macarina, the Electric Slide, and the Cha-cha Slide. Then I taught a bunch of the kids the chicken dance, which they thought was hilarious.
Jeamy’s bedtime is 8:30, so we didn’t have time to talk. This morning she met me in the baby room where I was sorting Rosa’s clothes, sat across from me cross legged, and spilled. She thinks she isn’t saved. She says she used to be, but fell back to her old ways. She freely admits that she struggles with lying, gossiping, and being mean. She wants to be kind and not fall so easily into temptation, which she says she can feel the devil pulling her with. She says she prays a lot, but only for other people. Her mother gave her and her siblings away when she was 9 years old, without her father’s knowledge. Her parents went to church and were even in the praise team, until they started fighting with each other a lot and wouldn’t allow their kids to go back. She also pointed out what her adopted sisters do that is obviously sinful, even though they claim to be saved, and how it confuses her. I told her that even as a Christian, it’s a constant struggle not to go back to our “old ways” and give into temptation, but the difference between Christians and non-believers is that we try to break free from that sin, and with Jesus in our lives, we’re not addicted to it anymore. She said that she’s talked to her parents (the kids call Dave and Deb their parents) but they told her to pray by herself, which surprised me. She said that all she wants is for someone to pray with her; so I took her hands in mine, and prayed for her family’s salvation, for God to strengthen her against temptation, for others not to get her down, His super-natural peace, for her to feel His Love, and for His glory to shine through her so that others can see what Jesus can do in their lives. She thanked me a dozen times before she went downstairs, and said she felt better. I felt better too, as I finally got to do the kind of ministry I love best.
Right now I’m upstairs in the loft above the kitchen, sitting in a comfy reclining chair, waiting on Tabby to get off the internet. Jamie said something about Tabby’s boyfriend, and then asked if I had one. “No” I stated, “and I don’t want one!”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because they’re pains in the butt.”
“Why?”
“Because boys are stupid.”
“Oh. Well then I’ll never have a boyfriend.”
“Good! Well…just be really picky about who you choose.”
“No, I’ll never have one! Well, except Jesus. I’m already in a relationship with him.”
I high-fived her. :)
On the way home, I walked a little ahead of Tiff, Em, and Beth, who were walking slowly because they were trying to hide from the slight drizzle under an umbrella. When I was standing in the kitchen waiting to make sure they got in ok, I heard Em say “Rachel! Come here, there’s something wrong with one of the puppies!” I rushed out and saw Tiff holding a toad half as big as my head. The saying here is “Everything is bigger in Guatemala!” WHen I get ahold of it, I'll upload the picture of me kissing my prince. He turned into a really obese Guatemalan man who ran away chasing flies.
We performed Everything, along with a few other that didn’t come anywhere close to how dramatic and intense the Everything was ;), last night at the church that Deb and Dave go to. Performing is one of my passions; I was in theatre for 5 years and would continue to be, if I didn't dislike WU's theatre program so much. The skit went fairly well, except Andrew, who played my lover boy, messed up and didn’t caress my face with his flower like he was supposed to. He also reminds me of a red-haired version of Edmund from the Chronicles of Narnia.
Afterwards, Leister preached a bit about God’s Love and the importance of being saved, closed us in prayer, and told the tiny congregation of natives that if they wanted to accept Christ as their savior that he or any of his team could pray with them. During this, Rosa kept turning around and staring at me, which is a little weird, even for her. When I caught her, she’d smile. After a few times, I told her to sit on my lap. Next, the preacher spoke in Suto Heel (spelling??)which is the language that the Mayan natives speak. The service usually lasts from 6-9 P.M. but thankfully!!! Only lasted until 7:30ish. When it was over, the congregation got up to have meet and greet time, in which Jeamy came up to talk to me. She is a very pretty 13 year old, and told me she wanted to go up when Leister asked if anyone wanted prayed for, but was too afraid. I was shocked. “…Why did you want to go up?”
“Um...well, I don’t want to talk about it now.”
“Can we talk about it when we get home, please?”
“Ok!”
Then I looked below my chair to find my camera, and it wasn’t there. I looked around…and panicked over no sign of it. My camera is a little over a hundred dollars, but I love it like a child, and my dad would be furious if I lost it. I asked around, and then Vidalia walked up to me and asked “are you looking for your camera?” “Yes…where is it?” I asked the mischievous little twerp. She grinned and said “I don’t know!” Then looked at Mrs. Willman, one of the new volunteers who arrived a few days ago, who was suspiciously rolling her eyes away from the rectangular bulge in her pocket. So I dumped a bit of water from my water bottle on Vidalia’s head. She was soooo mad, she continually hit me and chased me around trying to grab my water bottle to dump some on me until we got into the van. Not only does she have an attitude and likes to pull tricks on people, but she holds pretty good grudges. When we got home, I took off my glasses and watch and handed her my water bottle. She threw some on me, handed it back, and held my hand as we walked up the steps and into the house.
Someone put on this popular song called “Los Ninos” that has a funny dance to it. Jeamy asked me to teach her how to dance so I started dancing like I do at dances. She just stared at me, then said “No! Like…normal dancing!” So I started doing the Macarina, the Electric Slide, and the Cha-cha Slide. Then I taught a bunch of the kids the chicken dance, which they thought was hilarious.
Jeamy’s bedtime is 8:30, so we didn’t have time to talk. This morning she met me in the baby room where I was sorting Rosa’s clothes, sat across from me cross legged, and spilled. She thinks she isn’t saved. She says she used to be, but fell back to her old ways. She freely admits that she struggles with lying, gossiping, and being mean. She wants to be kind and not fall so easily into temptation, which she says she can feel the devil pulling her with. She says she prays a lot, but only for other people. Her mother gave her and her siblings away when she was 9 years old, without her father’s knowledge. Her parents went to church and were even in the praise team, until they started fighting with each other a lot and wouldn’t allow their kids to go back. She also pointed out what her adopted sisters do that is obviously sinful, even though they claim to be saved, and how it confuses her. I told her that even as a Christian, it’s a constant struggle not to go back to our “old ways” and give into temptation, but the difference between Christians and non-believers is that we try to break free from that sin, and with Jesus in our lives, we’re not addicted to it anymore. She said that she’s talked to her parents (the kids call Dave and Deb their parents) but they told her to pray by herself, which surprised me. She said that all she wants is for someone to pray with her; so I took her hands in mine, and prayed for her family’s salvation, for God to strengthen her against temptation, for others not to get her down, His super-natural peace, for her to feel His Love, and for His glory to shine through her so that others can see what Jesus can do in their lives. She thanked me a dozen times before she went downstairs, and said she felt better. I felt better too, as I finally got to do the kind of ministry I love best.
Right now I’m upstairs in the loft above the kitchen, sitting in a comfy reclining chair, waiting on Tabby to get off the internet. Jamie said something about Tabby’s boyfriend, and then asked if I had one. “No” I stated, “and I don’t want one!”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because they’re pains in the butt.”
“Why?”
“Because boys are stupid.”
“Oh. Well then I’ll never have a boyfriend.”
“Good! Well…just be really picky about who you choose.”
“No, I’ll never have one! Well, except Jesus. I’m already in a relationship with him.”
I high-fived her. :)
This Is Where I Am
This orphanage is nothing like I thought it’d be. When I decided to go to an “orphanage”, I imagined large rooms filled with beds and kids dressed in rags and eating meager rationed meals. But it’s more like this:
We live in a large stone house with bars over every window and door (they were robbed a few times), and 7 bedrooms; the boys in one room, Donna and Josh have their own room, Deb and Dave have their own room, the babies are all in one room, the volunteer girls get their own room, and the girls get 2 different rooms, and each room has its own bathroom. The volunteer boys sleep in the other house. We eat meals in the huge kitchen at 2 plastic tables, one with chairs and the other with benches where the kids sit at. We use a dishwasher and wash the cooking dishes by hand, and we all have to eat every crumb on our plates—no wasting anything! If we don’t, we wrap it in cellophane and put it in the fridge to eat for the next meal. After every meal, Dave reads a Bible story, puts on a Bible story tape, or separates them into teams for Bible quizzing.
The food here is kinda decent. For breakfast we have a very cheap version of Cocoa Puffs called Choco Puffs that we eat at least every other morning (I’m getting sick of them now), pancakes, crepes about once a week (sooo good!), or eggs with peppers and onions. For lunch and dinner we have sandwiches, rice and beans about every day, spaghetti, salad, cooked veggies, and various disgusting concoctions made from the donated 32 bags of lentils.
The kids each have a pair of crocs that they wear around everywhere, and hand-me-down clothes that sometimes actually match, which they wear until they’re visibly dirty. We do use washers and dryers, but have to put in a full load. They have lots of games, puzzles, Kinex building toys, some stuffed animals, a few bikes, 5 bookshelves full of all kinds of books, a small TV in the sala (living room) and apparently someone donated a WII and some games (Mario!). They also have a large cabinet filled with movies and DVDs, which they’re digitalizing onto a hard drive so they can pick movies from a menu, as the physical movies are getting moldy.
The babies’ diapers aren’t to be changed unless they’ve pooped or are really full of pee, and wipes are only used on poop; yet they go through a thousand diapers a month! We put them down for two hour naps twice a day, which is my semi-quiet free time. During these hours, I do devotions and pray for an hour, shower, take a nap (not nearly as often as I’d like), get online, read, or help with meals. The bambinos each have a different colored bottle assigned to them, filled with this powdered milk called “replacer” mixed with water, which everyone drinks. They also each have an individual crib, which is nice. The Steukenbergs who ran the orphanage before Dave and Deb were very blessed to have quite a few churches that supported them. When they left two years ago to take care of Deb’s grandmother, leaving Deb and Dave (newly-weds of one year) to run the orphanage, the churches had new administration by then and decided to pull out to spend their money on other non-profit organizations, so there is less money now.
The internet here sucks, and we have an allowance of a certain number of bytes each day. I was not banking on this when I came. So, I only have a short amount of time to be online each day, never at a specific time, if I even DO get to get online. That’s why I’m typing this on my laptop, which I’ll hook up to the Ethernet cord and post on my blog when I’m finished.
Their yard is very nice; along with the exotic foliage, they have nice rocks to climb on, a jungle gym with slides and swings, a trampoline, an in-ground (but unheated) pool, and berry bushes that they like to stuff their faces from.
They have two dogs, Cheespa and Cody. Cheespa was “fixed” but apparently not well enough, as she gave birth to 4 puppies right before I came. She drowned one in the rain and ate it, and stopped taking care of the runt which died the day after we brought him inside. The runt was too adorable for words. He was black and fuzzy, with a head too big for his tiny body. We fed him replacer milk with a syringe, and put him in a plastic crate with some towels and a heating pad. He was smart, as he refused to pee in his sleeping area, so he kept escaping to go on the floor, and then crying for attention. He was an absolute attention whore of a puppy! We kept him in our room for a night so we could take care of him, and every time he got out to pee, he’d cry at the top of his tiny lungs to wake us up so he could crawl in our laps and nuzzle his head in our arms, as if we were his pseudo-mommies. We found him as cold as ice one morning, so we put him on the heating pad and covered him up with towels. He had a few syringes full of milk, but his little body had had enough. Josh buried him in the woods.
Cheespa 7 years old and has messed up hormones, which explains why she’s such a horrible mother. She walks around when her puppies cry for her, and rarely sits still for them to nurse. I understand she’s just a messed up dog, but I had no sympathy for her when I heard she might be put down because of her mange, until Dave called a friend who told him where to get medicine.
A black and white cat named Muffy resides here as well. She somehow got outside one evening and found a handsome looking Tabby cat; thus birthing the love of my life, Tack. I constantly cuddle the kitten, who is beside me now, and have at least 50 pictures of her. She is the cutest baby here; partly because she’s litter trained.
They recently bought two beef bulls which they’re going to raise and sell for a decent profit. Josh and Dave asked me to film them tackling and branding them, because they were just so proud of themselves. Before the bulls arrived, they had the kids split into 2 teams and build huts for them, which occupied their afternoons for a week. Deb and Dave are pretty good at finding fun projects to keep the kids of out trouble.
The boys’ room is downstairs, and at night an alarm is turned on so every time the door opens, it sounds so the entire house can hear them. They’ve had trouble with boys in the past, so they don’t take any chances.
The weather here sucks a lot. It’s a little warm in the mornings, cold at night, and ALWAYS rainy in the afternoons and evenings, if not all day. I wear jeans or long shorts, a t-shirt, and oftentimes a hoody because the house is colder than outside.
It is really nice here. It sounds like they’ve got more material possession than most of us, but their lifestyles certainly aren’t enviable. They each do quite a few chores every day, wear clothes that were passed down from someone else (I think they’re usually pretty cute, but they may not, and may sometimes end up with some that aren’t) and wear them until they’ve spilled something on them or played in the dirt (if you’re OCD, this might bother you), and if you’re not an enthusiastic Christian you may not like hearing about God at every meal, memorizing entire passages from the Bible, going to church twice a week, or getting told “that is not very Christian-like!” It’s not like they shove the religion down their throat to the point of vomiting; it’s very easy to see the Bible as just poetic words on how to live, and their parents’ expectations of a Christian as a lifestyle they only have to except for a few years until they’re free. Since there are so many kids, the adults can’t be patient with them, so discipline is tight. When they do something wrong, they immediately get reprimanded and possibly punished.
I like sharing a room with other people, and sleeping in the same full-sized bed with Tabby. Otherwise, I’d be lonely. I don’t like following a schedule or eating what I don’t like to avoid hunger pangs, and the babies give me headaches. But all things considered, I am comfortable here. I hope you guys are happy after reading what it’s like here. I hope I gave you a good enough description, even though I haven’t been in a writing mood.
See you in 4 weeks and 4 days! God bless!
We live in a large stone house with bars over every window and door (they were robbed a few times), and 7 bedrooms; the boys in one room, Donna and Josh have their own room, Deb and Dave have their own room, the babies are all in one room, the volunteer girls get their own room, and the girls get 2 different rooms, and each room has its own bathroom. The volunteer boys sleep in the other house. We eat meals in the huge kitchen at 2 plastic tables, one with chairs and the other with benches where the kids sit at. We use a dishwasher and wash the cooking dishes by hand, and we all have to eat every crumb on our plates—no wasting anything! If we don’t, we wrap it in cellophane and put it in the fridge to eat for the next meal. After every meal, Dave reads a Bible story, puts on a Bible story tape, or separates them into teams for Bible quizzing.
The food here is kinda decent. For breakfast we have a very cheap version of Cocoa Puffs called Choco Puffs that we eat at least every other morning (I’m getting sick of them now), pancakes, crepes about once a week (sooo good!), or eggs with peppers and onions. For lunch and dinner we have sandwiches, rice and beans about every day, spaghetti, salad, cooked veggies, and various disgusting concoctions made from the donated 32 bags of lentils.
The kids each have a pair of crocs that they wear around everywhere, and hand-me-down clothes that sometimes actually match, which they wear until they’re visibly dirty. We do use washers and dryers, but have to put in a full load. They have lots of games, puzzles, Kinex building toys, some stuffed animals, a few bikes, 5 bookshelves full of all kinds of books, a small TV in the sala (living room) and apparently someone donated a WII and some games (Mario!). They also have a large cabinet filled with movies and DVDs, which they’re digitalizing onto a hard drive so they can pick movies from a menu, as the physical movies are getting moldy.
The babies’ diapers aren’t to be changed unless they’ve pooped or are really full of pee, and wipes are only used on poop; yet they go through a thousand diapers a month! We put them down for two hour naps twice a day, which is my semi-quiet free time. During these hours, I do devotions and pray for an hour, shower, take a nap (not nearly as often as I’d like), get online, read, or help with meals. The bambinos each have a different colored bottle assigned to them, filled with this powdered milk called “replacer” mixed with water, which everyone drinks. They also each have an individual crib, which is nice. The Steukenbergs who ran the orphanage before Dave and Deb were very blessed to have quite a few churches that supported them. When they left two years ago to take care of Deb’s grandmother, leaving Deb and Dave (newly-weds of one year) to run the orphanage, the churches had new administration by then and decided to pull out to spend their money on other non-profit organizations, so there is less money now.
The internet here sucks, and we have an allowance of a certain number of bytes each day. I was not banking on this when I came. So, I only have a short amount of time to be online each day, never at a specific time, if I even DO get to get online. That’s why I’m typing this on my laptop, which I’ll hook up to the Ethernet cord and post on my blog when I’m finished.
Their yard is very nice; along with the exotic foliage, they have nice rocks to climb on, a jungle gym with slides and swings, a trampoline, an in-ground (but unheated) pool, and berry bushes that they like to stuff their faces from.
They have two dogs, Cheespa and Cody. Cheespa was “fixed” but apparently not well enough, as she gave birth to 4 puppies right before I came. She drowned one in the rain and ate it, and stopped taking care of the runt which died the day after we brought him inside. The runt was too adorable for words. He was black and fuzzy, with a head too big for his tiny body. We fed him replacer milk with a syringe, and put him in a plastic crate with some towels and a heating pad. He was smart, as he refused to pee in his sleeping area, so he kept escaping to go on the floor, and then crying for attention. He was an absolute attention whore of a puppy! We kept him in our room for a night so we could take care of him, and every time he got out to pee, he’d cry at the top of his tiny lungs to wake us up so he could crawl in our laps and nuzzle his head in our arms, as if we were his pseudo-mommies. We found him as cold as ice one morning, so we put him on the heating pad and covered him up with towels. He had a few syringes full of milk, but his little body had had enough. Josh buried him in the woods.
Cheespa 7 years old and has messed up hormones, which explains why she’s such a horrible mother. She walks around when her puppies cry for her, and rarely sits still for them to nurse. I understand she’s just a messed up dog, but I had no sympathy for her when I heard she might be put down because of her mange, until Dave called a friend who told him where to get medicine.
A black and white cat named Muffy resides here as well. She somehow got outside one evening and found a handsome looking Tabby cat; thus birthing the love of my life, Tack. I constantly cuddle the kitten, who is beside me now, and have at least 50 pictures of her. She is the cutest baby here; partly because she’s litter trained.
They recently bought two beef bulls which they’re going to raise and sell for a decent profit. Josh and Dave asked me to film them tackling and branding them, because they were just so proud of themselves. Before the bulls arrived, they had the kids split into 2 teams and build huts for them, which occupied their afternoons for a week. Deb and Dave are pretty good at finding fun projects to keep the kids of out trouble.
The boys’ room is downstairs, and at night an alarm is turned on so every time the door opens, it sounds so the entire house can hear them. They’ve had trouble with boys in the past, so they don’t take any chances.
The weather here sucks a lot. It’s a little warm in the mornings, cold at night, and ALWAYS rainy in the afternoons and evenings, if not all day. I wear jeans or long shorts, a t-shirt, and oftentimes a hoody because the house is colder than outside.
It is really nice here. It sounds like they’ve got more material possession than most of us, but their lifestyles certainly aren’t enviable. They each do quite a few chores every day, wear clothes that were passed down from someone else (I think they’re usually pretty cute, but they may not, and may sometimes end up with some that aren’t) and wear them until they’ve spilled something on them or played in the dirt (if you’re OCD, this might bother you), and if you’re not an enthusiastic Christian you may not like hearing about God at every meal, memorizing entire passages from the Bible, going to church twice a week, or getting told “that is not very Christian-like!” It’s not like they shove the religion down their throat to the point of vomiting; it’s very easy to see the Bible as just poetic words on how to live, and their parents’ expectations of a Christian as a lifestyle they only have to except for a few years until they’re free. Since there are so many kids, the adults can’t be patient with them, so discipline is tight. When they do something wrong, they immediately get reprimanded and possibly punished.
I like sharing a room with other people, and sleeping in the same full-sized bed with Tabby. Otherwise, I’d be lonely. I don’t like following a schedule or eating what I don’t like to avoid hunger pangs, and the babies give me headaches. But all things considered, I am comfortable here. I hope you guys are happy after reading what it’s like here. I hope I gave you a good enough description, even though I haven’t been in a writing mood.
See you in 4 weeks and 4 days! God bless!
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Day 12, I Think-The Kids
I’ll describe the kids so you can understand what I’m dealing with.
First, you need to know that this place is a safe haven. The kids don’t want to leave it. Here, they are told they’re loved, fed, given freedom, and enough food to eat-and a warm bed. Their own bed. The small towns around here are Indians, and some don’t speak Spanish, but a weird Indian dialect. Other Guatemalan towns are happier, friendlier, and better off than here. But these towns are owned by Satan. They worship a god of prostitution and alcohol, which leads to the accepting of molestation/rape/abuse of kids. They also drink alcohol like water. When we went into town the other day, we saw men standing with young girls and beckoning passersby.
Lucia is a victim of this. She was fortunate enough to go to school, where a teacher asked her why she wasn’t participating in sports. She replied, “I’m pregnant.” The teacher had the situation investigated into. Lucia and her son, Josue, showed up at Hands of Compassion’s door, 12 years old and a few months old. The responsibility of a child has been lifted off of her small shoulders here, and she treats him as a little brother (well, he is) when she feels like it. She actually prefers Isaac to take care of (the girls have to help with the babies).
Despite having such genetically close parents, Josue is the most advanced of all the babies. He’s usually happy, cries the least, can almost walk, and is always getting into trouble.
Mercedes is a few months old. She was found by the side of a river, with the umbilical cord still attached. Abortion is illegal here (one thing Guatemala has done right) so they resort to dirty illegal abortions and throwing newborns in the river or trash.
Jacob is a year old. He has enormous brown eyes that make him look like the pathetic puppy. He was found in a field, crying. He was taken to a hospital for 5 months until he was given to Hands of Compassion, which is why he is a bit behind.
Isaac is even more behind. He was left in the hospital for 5 months as well, and hates doing anything but lying around. He is a year old and can barely crawl.
Mynor was neglected by his alcoholic parents. He has symptoms of Alcohol Syndrome. This means that he is INSANE. He acts like any other baby-always needs attention and his own way, except it’s accentuated. His screams can be heard from 100 feet away, inside of another house. But he’s adorable. He has chubby cheeks, waddles around, and instead of talking, he points and makes squeaky noises.
Korina was also neglected by her alcoholic parents (everyone around here is an alcoholic) and is the youngest. She is tiny and has the facial features and hair of one of those toy trolls. She’s the best behaved baby and Josh and Donna might adopt her.
I don’t touch Davey, who is Deb and Dave’s son. He is a few months younger than Mynor, but is the same size. They fight a lot, but Davey is favored and gets lesser or no punishments for the same thing Mynor does.
Anjelito, or On-hell-eeto, and his sister Vidalia were abandoned to live off worms in a dump. When they came here, Vidalia had lice and Anjelito’s belly was swollen and had grey hair, which is a sign of malnourishment. They’re beautiful, loving kids, but still have issues. Vidalia was caught cheating in school last week, and Anjelito is so lazy that he is late for breakfast everyday because he takes so long to do his chore, and wets the bed.
Esai, or Ee-sy-ee, looks like a monkey and acts like one too. I don't know his or his siblings' past.
Saul, or Sa-ool, is a taller version of Esai, which makes sense since they're brothers. I don’t spend much time with either of them.
Jeamy, or Jamie, is 13 and has been here for 4 years. She speaks incredible English, is active and helpful, but gets in trouble a lot, mostly social issues with the kids. She's bossy, even with the volunteers, and has the attitude my mother accuses me of having.
Angel, or On-hell, speaks near perfect English and is waiting to renew his visa so he can go back to the states with his adopted parents, the former orphanage directors. He lies sometimes, but is usually pretty helpful.
Maria was abandoned in a hospital when she was 4, and since no one wanted her, she stayed there till she was 7 when her mother decided she was old enough to make money off of by prostituting her until she died when Maria was 10. Maria was then adopted by an old lady who didn’t treat her nicely, and was raped several times while living there. The old hag decided she was too much, and gave her up to HOC. Maria is now 12 years old, quiet, helpful, and stunningly beautiful. She seems so innocent, you’d never guess what her past was like.
Rosa is the second biggest pain here, the first being the almost constant chorus of screaming babies. She is an adorable 3 year old who can barely talk, likes to lie, and doesn’t know colors, animals other than a sheep, the alphabet, or how to count to 10. I tried teaching her, but gave up after 3 days of watching her play the dumb card. I tried bribing her with play time and choco-puffs, the cereal we eat for breakfast every other day, and make Tabby sick.
Yelsi is 17, and I don’t know her past either. She speaks English, and is very mature for her age. She works in town on Saturdays, goes to school in town (while carrying mace on her wrist, of course) and does a ton around here. She is considered one of the adults.
Martina is a special needs child. She is 14 years old, but looks 8. She was thrown into a fire by her mother, (but was rescued by someone else), which is why her face, neck, and arms are deformed. Not only is her body a mess, but she is very mentally retarded. She can’t walk or talk, except when she gives this weird moan-laugh. Each day, an assigned girl (Emily and I have Sundays) drags her out of bed, bathes her, chops up her food to feed her for every meal, lets her sit on a toilet for 20 minutes after wards, reads to her, lets her sit buckled in on a swing outside, makes her stand leaning against a wall for 2 hour-long sessions, makes her walk by holding onto her arms from behind and pushing her feet, changes her diaper, and puts her to bed. This duty is grueling and grotesque. I don’t know how people can do this for a living.
All in all, I love the kids here. They give me headaches, confound me with their stupidity, amaze me with their bilingual skills, make me want to slap them with their attitudes and laziness, and make me want to fix their problems with their lack of innocence, that was taken too early. I was surprised to hear that all of them had been molested except the babies, because they don't show it anymore; the first few weeks however, some of them were touching each other inappropriately.
Of course, they aren't enough to keep me in Guatemala-this is the part where I gush cheesiness. I am actually a bit homesick for the people I love, and I want fall asleep thinking about them every night.
First, you need to know that this place is a safe haven. The kids don’t want to leave it. Here, they are told they’re loved, fed, given freedom, and enough food to eat-and a warm bed. Their own bed. The small towns around here are Indians, and some don’t speak Spanish, but a weird Indian dialect. Other Guatemalan towns are happier, friendlier, and better off than here. But these towns are owned by Satan. They worship a god of prostitution and alcohol, which leads to the accepting of molestation/rape/abuse of kids. They also drink alcohol like water. When we went into town the other day, we saw men standing with young girls and beckoning passersby.
Lucia is a victim of this. She was fortunate enough to go to school, where a teacher asked her why she wasn’t participating in sports. She replied, “I’m pregnant.” The teacher had the situation investigated into. Lucia and her son, Josue, showed up at Hands of Compassion’s door, 12 years old and a few months old. The responsibility of a child has been lifted off of her small shoulders here, and she treats him as a little brother (well, he is) when she feels like it. She actually prefers Isaac to take care of (the girls have to help with the babies).
Despite having such genetically close parents, Josue is the most advanced of all the babies. He’s usually happy, cries the least, can almost walk, and is always getting into trouble.
Mercedes is a few months old. She was found by the side of a river, with the umbilical cord still attached. Abortion is illegal here (one thing Guatemala has done right) so they resort to dirty illegal abortions and throwing newborns in the river or trash.
Jacob is a year old. He has enormous brown eyes that make him look like the pathetic puppy. He was found in a field, crying. He was taken to a hospital for 5 months until he was given to Hands of Compassion, which is why he is a bit behind.
Isaac is even more behind. He was left in the hospital for 5 months as well, and hates doing anything but lying around. He is a year old and can barely crawl.
Mynor was neglected by his alcoholic parents. He has symptoms of Alcohol Syndrome. This means that he is INSANE. He acts like any other baby-always needs attention and his own way, except it’s accentuated. His screams can be heard from 100 feet away, inside of another house. But he’s adorable. He has chubby cheeks, waddles around, and instead of talking, he points and makes squeaky noises.
Korina was also neglected by her alcoholic parents (everyone around here is an alcoholic) and is the youngest. She is tiny and has the facial features and hair of one of those toy trolls. She’s the best behaved baby and Josh and Donna might adopt her.
I don’t touch Davey, who is Deb and Dave’s son. He is a few months younger than Mynor, but is the same size. They fight a lot, but Davey is favored and gets lesser or no punishments for the same thing Mynor does.
Anjelito, or On-hell-eeto, and his sister Vidalia were abandoned to live off worms in a dump. When they came here, Vidalia had lice and Anjelito’s belly was swollen and had grey hair, which is a sign of malnourishment. They’re beautiful, loving kids, but still have issues. Vidalia was caught cheating in school last week, and Anjelito is so lazy that he is late for breakfast everyday because he takes so long to do his chore, and wets the bed.
Esai, or Ee-sy-ee, looks like a monkey and acts like one too. I don't know his or his siblings' past.
Saul, or Sa-ool, is a taller version of Esai, which makes sense since they're brothers. I don’t spend much time with either of them.
Jeamy, or Jamie, is 13 and has been here for 4 years. She speaks incredible English, is active and helpful, but gets in trouble a lot, mostly social issues with the kids. She's bossy, even with the volunteers, and has the attitude my mother accuses me of having.
Angel, or On-hell, speaks near perfect English and is waiting to renew his visa so he can go back to the states with his adopted parents, the former orphanage directors. He lies sometimes, but is usually pretty helpful.
Maria was abandoned in a hospital when she was 4, and since no one wanted her, she stayed there till she was 7 when her mother decided she was old enough to make money off of by prostituting her until she died when Maria was 10. Maria was then adopted by an old lady who didn’t treat her nicely, and was raped several times while living there. The old hag decided she was too much, and gave her up to HOC. Maria is now 12 years old, quiet, helpful, and stunningly beautiful. She seems so innocent, you’d never guess what her past was like.
Rosa is the second biggest pain here, the first being the almost constant chorus of screaming babies. She is an adorable 3 year old who can barely talk, likes to lie, and doesn’t know colors, animals other than a sheep, the alphabet, or how to count to 10. I tried teaching her, but gave up after 3 days of watching her play the dumb card. I tried bribing her with play time and choco-puffs, the cereal we eat for breakfast every other day, and make Tabby sick.
Yelsi is 17, and I don’t know her past either. She speaks English, and is very mature for her age. She works in town on Saturdays, goes to school in town (while carrying mace on her wrist, of course) and does a ton around here. She is considered one of the adults.
Martina is a special needs child. She is 14 years old, but looks 8. She was thrown into a fire by her mother, (but was rescued by someone else), which is why her face, neck, and arms are deformed. Not only is her body a mess, but she is very mentally retarded. She can’t walk or talk, except when she gives this weird moan-laugh. Each day, an assigned girl (Emily and I have Sundays) drags her out of bed, bathes her, chops up her food to feed her for every meal, lets her sit on a toilet for 20 minutes after wards, reads to her, lets her sit buckled in on a swing outside, makes her stand leaning against a wall for 2 hour-long sessions, makes her walk by holding onto her arms from behind and pushing her feet, changes her diaper, and puts her to bed. This duty is grueling and grotesque. I don’t know how people can do this for a living.
All in all, I love the kids here. They give me headaches, confound me with their stupidity, amaze me with their bilingual skills, make me want to slap them with their attitudes and laziness, and make me want to fix their problems with their lack of innocence, that was taken too early. I was surprised to hear that all of them had been molested except the babies, because they don't show it anymore; the first few weeks however, some of them were touching each other inappropriately.
Of course, they aren't enough to keep me in Guatemala-this is the part where I gush cheesiness. I am actually a bit homesick for the people I love, and I want fall asleep thinking about them every night.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Day Three-The Orphanage
6/21/2011
Just a heads up-I'm a bit delirious and am not in a writing mood, so bare with me.
This is a beautiful place, on every level. The orphanage is a huge stone house with either wooden or tile floors. Outside is a large fenced in yard, covered in berry bushes, a playground, two dogs and their three baby puppies, flowers, two cows living in shacks made by the kids, large rocks good for climbing, and exotic foliage all over the place. There are 24 kids, all of them beautiful and scarred. I'll post a blog about all of them later. Dave (23) and Deb (26) are the owners. Deb has lived here for years with her parents, who left a while ago to take care of their sick mother in the States, leaving their newlywed children in charge. Dave met Deb when he came on a mission trip here. They talked nonstop, and he came back a year later. When he left, he knew he made a mistake, and was about to call Deb’s father but received an email from him instead, telling him to come back. Deb had also emailed him, quoting “since you’ve been gone, it feels like the prince has left the palace.” So he asked her father permission to return and start a relationship with her. They’re celebrating their 2 year anniversary July 4th. I think that’s adorable! Josh (21) and Donna (22) are also a married couple who are living here for two years. The teachers of the kids’ home-schooling program will only be living here for a few months, which is sad because they’re a huge help with getting the kids out of the house in the mornings and afternoons.
If you’d like to know the atmosphere-well, with 24 kids, 5 dogs, 2 talkative cats, 4 adults, and 3 volunteers, it’s bound to be chaotic. It is also extremely loving. On the first night here, Dave explained that these kids are not orphans. They call Dave and Deb mom and dad, because they are their parents now. Even though the kids were born in the lying and cheating Guatemalan society, they’re being raised to treat each other with respect. It is also so very accepting, as every kid here has their story.
It amazes me at how young these 4 people are that decided to take on the raising of 24 kids, 8 of them below the age of 4. It makes me scoff at people who are too afraid to give up their lives to God, because here are Dave and Josh talking about shooting people in a computer game while changing 7 diapers in a third-world country.
Just a heads up-I'm a bit delirious and am not in a writing mood, so bare with me.
This is a beautiful place, on every level. The orphanage is a huge stone house with either wooden or tile floors. Outside is a large fenced in yard, covered in berry bushes, a playground, two dogs and their three baby puppies, flowers, two cows living in shacks made by the kids, large rocks good for climbing, and exotic foliage all over the place. There are 24 kids, all of them beautiful and scarred. I'll post a blog about all of them later. Dave (23) and Deb (26) are the owners. Deb has lived here for years with her parents, who left a while ago to take care of their sick mother in the States, leaving their newlywed children in charge. Dave met Deb when he came on a mission trip here. They talked nonstop, and he came back a year later. When he left, he knew he made a mistake, and was about to call Deb’s father but received an email from him instead, telling him to come back. Deb had also emailed him, quoting “since you’ve been gone, it feels like the prince has left the palace.” So he asked her father permission to return and start a relationship with her. They’re celebrating their 2 year anniversary July 4th. I think that’s adorable! Josh (21) and Donna (22) are also a married couple who are living here for two years. The teachers of the kids’ home-schooling program will only be living here for a few months, which is sad because they’re a huge help with getting the kids out of the house in the mornings and afternoons.
If you’d like to know the atmosphere-well, with 24 kids, 5 dogs, 2 talkative cats, 4 adults, and 3 volunteers, it’s bound to be chaotic. It is also extremely loving. On the first night here, Dave explained that these kids are not orphans. They call Dave and Deb mom and dad, because they are their parents now. Even though the kids were born in the lying and cheating Guatemalan society, they’re being raised to treat each other with respect. It is also so very accepting, as every kid here has their story.
It amazes me at how young these 4 people are that decided to take on the raising of 24 kids, 8 of them below the age of 4. It makes me scoff at people who are too afraid to give up their lives to God, because here are Dave and Josh talking about shooting people in a computer game while changing 7 diapers in a third-world country.
Day Two-The Dirty Work
6/19/2011
I haven’t ached this much since I took my four hour long (only a 2 minute break, and no drink breaks) black belt test. My calves, back, hands, fingers, and shoulders hurt like never before and my hands are blistered. Yesterday, we went a half hour away to a feeding center on Foot’s Hill, by infamous NASCAR driver, Richard Leister! He claims he has a Guatemalan driver’s license; well, he drives dangerously fast over rough terrain, dodges other vehicles coming directly at him, and doesn’t make sure all his passengers are wearing seatbelts. He surely does have a Guatemalan license! Drivers here are worse than drunk American drivers. The road to Foot’s Hill was mostly unpaved, was constantly steep, and wet. Imagine riding in the back seat of a boxy 13 passenger van, all of which were praying, with an old deaf man fish-tailing on skinny, wet, mountainous roads. After we finally got as far as we could go , we walked up a littered dirt road surrounded by free running chickens, cows, gorses, and diseased dogs which I resisted petting. Our jobs at the feeding center were to build steps into the hill, and add more space to their “soccer field” by leveling off this here cliff. We did this by loosen to dirt and rocks with a pick, hoeing it down, and shoveling it into wheel barrows from 10 A.M. to 3:30 P.M. with a half hour lunch break. Owies!
I obviously hate this kind of mission work. I'm a 107 lb bag of wuss, and I feel like my body could best be used elsewhere, than feeling useless compared to everyone else who were much more productive. But at the same time, I was doing what I loved; helping people. I don't care if I still ache three days later and sweat like a pig (I hate sweating) and am so bored I'm naming the worms I find in the dirt. I'm doing what God wants me to do--
and this isn't just an optimistic Christian viewpoint I guilt trip myself into saying. I hated what I was doing, and even though I didn't get to see the outcome, I sincerely am glad I did it.And then I remember all my friends who asked why I wanted to go to a third-world country for 7 weeks, and told me they would never have the guts to do what I'm doing. Open your eyes. There are children eating worms in dumpsters and who have never had a stuffed animal. It costs $24 a month to clothe, feed, and educate them. I understand that not everyone is called to be a missionary, but we are called to love each other and have compassion.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Day One,At The Hotel Villa Espanol!
I'm chilling in our hotel complex's lobby (I say it's a complex because of the concrete walls and gate protecting us from annoying people wanting to do things for us for tips), listening to...Miley Cyrus and Eminem...in Guatemala now. In a hoody. Apparently June is the rainy season.
Anyways, flying down was pretty much a breeze. When Rich, the director of Field of Harvest Missions, booked our flights they told him we were each allowed two check through bags and two carry-ons. The rules changed without notice, and we had to pay an extra $30 for each extra check through suitcase we had, which were ironically filled with ministry materials and stuffed animals for the orphans. Thanks, American Airlines. This is exactly what we want at 4 freaking A.M.
The flight to Miami was 2.5 hours and I slept against the window, and next to an old guy. The flight to Guatemala was also 2.5 hours, and I slept against the window and next to a Guatemalan kid and his mom. They looked at me funny =}
We breezed through customs where they looked at our passports and papers we filled out (I've a feeling it won't be so easy getting back in) and we made it to the other side!
My team is pretty sweet. I listened to Shane sing Tom Petty in every airport and scream at his IPod games on the way to the hotel. Emily is the name of my roomie. She makes really good conversation and has the same aspirations for her life as I do. It feels really nice to be understood; to have someone else who lives their life day-to-day, waiting on God to call them to the next school, town, or country, for only He knows how long.
I just told my dad "I'm so happy to be out of that country and away from its idiots!" referring to specific people, of course. Hpwever, Guatemala is obviously uncomparable to America. In America, little men don't try to handle your luggage without permission and ask for tips. We have alarm systems, not barbed wire and ten foot tall gates around our property. We have educated parents who know not to move their eyes away from us when we're toddlers. We also have much better fashion sense than even the wealthiest Guatemalans. =]
For those of you WU kids who know Esteban Saldi, he is an amazing teacher. I wish I spent more time with him now, because I've no idea what anyone is saying. But since English is an influential language enough for its popstars to be blasting from hotel lobbies a on other continents, most people speak at least a little. For instance, the chick at Burger King (we've also got McDonalds down here) knew what Ketchup was. And it was Heinz!!!
Tonight we're going to practice our skit, eat dinner at Poyo Campero (the Guatemalan version of KFC) and go to a Guatemalan mall (HIGH EXCITEMENT!) Then a reallyyyy long nap in an actual bed, which I haven't slept in for 24 hours. Hooray!
I hope everyone is doing well up there! Let me know if Obama gets assassinated while I'm gone. Peace out, girl scouts!
Anyways, flying down was pretty much a breeze. When Rich, the director of Field of Harvest Missions, booked our flights they told him we were each allowed two check through bags and two carry-ons. The rules changed without notice, and we had to pay an extra $30 for each extra check through suitcase we had, which were ironically filled with ministry materials and stuffed animals for the orphans. Thanks, American Airlines. This is exactly what we want at 4 freaking A.M.
The flight to Miami was 2.5 hours and I slept against the window, and next to an old guy. The flight to Guatemala was also 2.5 hours, and I slept against the window and next to a Guatemalan kid and his mom. They looked at me funny =}
We breezed through customs where they looked at our passports and papers we filled out (I've a feeling it won't be so easy getting back in) and we made it to the other side!
My team is pretty sweet. I listened to Shane sing Tom Petty in every airport and scream at his IPod games on the way to the hotel. Emily is the name of my roomie. She makes really good conversation and has the same aspirations for her life as I do. It feels really nice to be understood; to have someone else who lives their life day-to-day, waiting on God to call them to the next school, town, or country, for only He knows how long.
I just told my dad "I'm so happy to be out of that country and away from its idiots!" referring to specific people, of course. Hpwever, Guatemala is obviously uncomparable to America. In America, little men don't try to handle your luggage without permission and ask for tips. We have alarm systems, not barbed wire and ten foot tall gates around our property. We have educated parents who know not to move their eyes away from us when we're toddlers. We also have much better fashion sense than even the wealthiest Guatemalans. =]
For those of you WU kids who know Esteban Saldi, he is an amazing teacher. I wish I spent more time with him now, because I've no idea what anyone is saying. But since English is an influential language enough for its popstars to be blasting from hotel lobbies a on other continents, most people speak at least a little. For instance, the chick at Burger King (we've also got McDonalds down here) knew what Ketchup was. And it was Heinz!!!
Tonight we're going to practice our skit, eat dinner at Poyo Campero (the Guatemalan version of KFC) and go to a Guatemalan mall (HIGH EXCITEMENT!) Then a reallyyyy long nap in an actual bed, which I haven't slept in for 24 hours. Hooray!
I hope everyone is doing well up there! Let me know if Obama gets assassinated while I'm gone. Peace out, girl scouts!
Monday, May 16, 2011
Yeah, That's Right. I'm Talkin To YOU!
Psalm 139:14
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
The only incentive we need to take care of ourselves. Because God is GOD! He is EVERYWHERE: from the depths of the ocean to the top of the tallest snow covered mountain, from the bottom of Loch Ness with Nessie to inside your bedroom, from inside Alcatrez to inside your heart. He made EVERYTHING: the stars, psychology, sleepovers, laughter, hugs, fireplaces, snowball fights, Waynesburg University, kittens, Sea World, music! He’s brilliant, a genius, a mastermind. God doesn’t create trash. He creates fetuses that are meant to be beautiful and dance in white dresses and form close bonds with each other, but somehow are born from the womb and are influenced and messed up by the world and make the wrong decisions and hurt instead if Love each other.
This all-powerful Being created you: your desires, yours needs, your passions, your traits, your beautiful body. Being created by Him is an honor all in itself. But the sad thing about being human is that we have human eyes and not only can we not see His complete glory, but we can’t see the complete beauty in ourselves. We are fearfully and wonderfully made. That means that you are a complicated, intricate, interesting, admirable, inspiring, beautiful being.
So take care of yourself. Eat your veggies and don’t stress yourself out too much. Treat yourself with respect. Dress modestly, don’t purposely hurt yourself, and don’t let anyone see what’s meant for your hubby, who will Love you unconditionally and bring you flowers just because and make you laugh harder than anyone else and make you feel the most comfortable and safe you’ve ever felt around anyone.
He doesn’t want you to be going through this. He wants you to know that you’re loved, and he’s waiting for you.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
I'd Hide Myself In A Hole If I Weren't Such A People Person
With every compliment, my self-esteem is lowered a little bit.
I’d like to attract a friend who doesn’t develop feelings for me; someone who isn’t a “friend with other intentions”, or at least someone who respects me as a person enough to still be my friend after I turn him down.
I’d like a boy to look at my mouth when I talk, not what I honestly try to cover.
I’d like a boy to hang out with me because he thinks I’m clever/funny/sweet/interesting, not attractive.
Maybe I bring it upon myself.
Do I draw attention to myself? I admit, I wear makeup. I wear pretty cute clothes. I wear more tank tops than t-shirts, but my cleavage rarely shows. I wear jewelry and spend more than five minutes picking out an outfit each day but in all honesty, it’s like a hobby for me. Like most girls, I like coordinating clothes with makeup and jewelry. It’s another creative outlet.
So I’ll blame you.
I’d like to attract a friend who doesn’t develop feelings for me; someone who isn’t a “friend with other intentions”, or at least someone who respects me as a person enough to still be my friend after I turn him down.
I’d like a boy to look at my mouth when I talk, not what I honestly try to cover.
I’d like a boy to hang out with me because he thinks I’m clever/funny/sweet/interesting, not attractive.
I’d like a boy to give me more compliments on my personality than my body.
I’d also like a car. Perhaps a Ferrari? My relationships with boys matter to me, because most of my friends are boys. I relate more to girls but boys are funnier, relaxed, and more open to my sense of humor, so I connect with them better. It doesn’t help that I’m a social butterfly and crave interaction with other human beings at all times. But boys, you are getting hard to put up with!
Maybe I bring it upon myself.
Do I draw attention to myself? I admit, I wear makeup. I wear pretty cute clothes. I wear more tank tops than t-shirts, but my cleavage rarely shows. I wear jewelry and spend more than five minutes picking out an outfit each day but in all honesty, it’s like a hobby for me. Like most girls, I like coordinating clothes with makeup and jewelry. It’s another creative outlet.
Maybe the Muslims have a point.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we all dressed alike and every woman had to cover every inch of her body except her makeup-less eyes? They would have to treat us like individuals. They couldn’t tell how big our boobs are or how cute our faces are. It’d be nearly impossible for them to hit on us, because they’d have to know us first. They’d have to be turned on by our sweetness and our smarts, not how low our shirts are. We wouldn’t have to try to impress them with our looks. We’d all look the same but different heights and widths. Wouldn’t it be great to be treated like an intellectual and not an object all the time?
But we can’t do that. To demand that every woman respect herself enough to cover everything up would be an invasion of our personal rights.
Damn you, freedom! Damn you!Maybe I should stop complaining and make a change.
I’ve thought about not wearing makeup and only wearing t-shirts all the time, but I don’t want to be considered unattractive. I just want to look nice. I don’t want to cringe every time I look in the mirror—I’d rather be confident that I am a good looking person. I just want to know that I am able to charm a boy, not turn multiple boys on. Maybe there’s a switch for my femininity?
Maybe these silly physical things shouldn’t matter to me so much.
If someone treats me differently because of the way I look, I shouldn’t want their company. It’s as simple as that, and as hard to accept as rocks are to chew. People make their first impressions within the first fifteen seconds of meeting someone and the rest of their time is spent subconsciously finding evidence to support his or her judgment. By wearing makeup to please and dressing to impress, I’m playing that game. I’m recognizing the way girls are treated differently because of their external qualities, not their internal ones, and I am allowing myself to be put above some of them. So I’ll blame you.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
The Black Seems Less Vast This Time
I am writing this on a bus. It’s a Megabus that you order tickets from online and the sooner you get them, the cheaper they are, prices starting at $1. Megabuses attract foreign people and college kids like myself; much different from Greyhound buses that are twice as expensive but more popular, and attract old people and business people. I’m travelling from Philly to Pittsburgh, and then getting a ride back to campus from a friend.
I have an Asian girl sitting next to me. She’s quiet and is content with staring straight in front of her.
I remember the last time I rode this bus. I wasn’t able to sleep, so I stared out the window at the complete blackness. 313 miles of the world passed before my eyes, but it was just the abyss to them. The road stretched on forever as I was cooped up in a bus for six hours, and I wondered how long it took the tired men to pave it.
You’d think that since I can’t see anything, I’d feel like there is less matter surrounding me, but the black makes the entire world bigger as I feel smaller. The thought of travelling never scares me since my life is lived in a suitcase, but I took a mental step out of my life to look at it in third person. There I was, an eighteen year old child, travelling to another city by herself. She was leaving a campus filled with hundreds of peers but she didn’t feel as if she were in a community. More lost in a crowd of other faces not looking to make new friends. I was leaving a dorm where I lived, with a hometown with no home. I felt extremely alone right then…but I don’t remember feeling lonely at school…maybe since I was surrounded by people at school, I felt especially alone doing something by myself for the first time in a while.
Less lonely and more afraid. Like imagining all of the universe’s planets, suns, black holes, and meteors that could strike at any moment; and here is our tiny Earth, seemingly huge to us, just suspended in midair-there is no air in space-mid-nothing, only orbiting the sun. The rotation around the sun…the very foundation of normalcy that connects us all, but isn’t completely reliable. Does this frighten anyone else? It does for me, which is why I hate astronomy.
Now imagine you, a tiny person floating around Earth’s surface, with only your money and connections suspending you in normalcy and recognition as a person, which essentially makes you who you are; your relatives, where you’re from, where you live, who you know, what your job is if you have one. Am I right?
I realized what little I have of that. I realized how much my fate relies on chance and who knows me and is willing to not take advantage of me or give me a break. “God is everywhere,” said that Sunday school teacher. She was so sure of herself, but I felt as if humanity is alone on this Earth and God only touches us from where He is in His otherworld haven. Why would he want to dwell here more than how long He made Jesus live here already?
Because He is in me. The Holy Spirit tells me what place I should travel to next, what I should do with this life and its gifts, and sometimes gives me the perfect things to say.
God is in me, and I’m here. God is here, and I’m never alone.
The sun takes its time setting, leaving the sky a violet that’s more colorful than what’s below it. Then it disappears completely.
The black seems less vast this time around.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Whether You Believe It Or Not, We're Standing On Common Ground
You and I, Dee, we’re years apart, but our lives are going through the same turmoil. Telling people a bit of information about our personal lives-our families, our childhoods, our pasts-is terrifying. Letting them in is playing the lottery that has only wasted our time and emotion in the past. It’s like God is telling us to only trust Him and not to put faith in humans at all. Everyone we’ve come to trust started out with a perfect friendship, but then betrayed us in some completely unpredictable way. Is God telling us that we’re only supposed to reply on Him? That our trust is a gift and shouldn’t be given to anyone but Him? I thought so, but my doubting eyes were looking at it the wrong way.
God is trying to tell us something, but not through hurting us. He’s always telling us to rely on Him more and to let only Him be our strength, not them.
2 Corinthians 12:9-“Each time He said, ‘My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.’”
We are weak. We succumb to strong, close relationships, that have the tendency to have power over us. When they fail us, we curl up in fetal positions under our covers like children hiding from monsters who’ve deceived us by looking like elfin fairies, believing that we understand the grime of the world and why it needed Jesus.
Psalm 56:11-”In God I have put my trust; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?”
What can they do to us if God is our strength, the foundation in our very cores? They can beat us and steal from us, but these bodies are only shells and these material possessions will not last anyways. Humans cannot damage God, and if God is at the heart of everything we do and feel, they cannot touch us.
It is ok to get close to people. They can’t break us. He designed us to be sociable beings and to form bonds through fellowship with other believers (1 John 1:7). We need to grow close to people who fear the same God, especially those who only want to help us. The Bible says to store up treasures in Heaven (Matthew 6:19); one way to understand this is to look at what we have on Earth that will also be in Heaven. NOTHING, besides fellow Christians. Those people, in all their flaws and beauty, are our treasures. Your roommate, me, my dad, and your other believing friends are your treasures. The connections you have with us sparkle like gems, even if they look uncertain now--not because we fear the same God and are walking the same path, but because these connections are miracles in themselves. Though sometimes painful, they are gifts from God Himself. It’s not right to ignore what He has done in our tiny lives with His own, almighty hands. We shouldn’t trust and rely on each other completely but value, listen to, and share with each other with complete acceptance and honesty.
We want you. We Love you. We are here for you. Please forgive us our sins of our pasts and those against you recently. If we could live our lives in which our words and actions only helped you, we would. But we are human. Just like you.
So let’s be friends.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
I Am An Individual Who Is Not Mean To Be Individual
Hi. I love you. I want to marry you.
I want to have a bed with you where we’ll fall asleep holding each other, wake up next to each other’s smiling faces in the morning-or afternoon-and make thunder under the covers.
I want to have meals with you where I’ll learn what you hate and never make it for dinner and learn what you love and surprise you with it after a hard day.
I want to live a life with you.
I want to take care of you in the special way that I’ll only care for you in, just as you’ll take care of me because my life will be spent serving others. But you’ll be in my life, the one good thing in my life, that keeps me strong and keeps me patient. I want to be there during the bad times. When someone close to you dies and you feel like there’s nothing left to live for, I’ll remind you of your purpose. When you experience a traumatic event, the kind that creeps up on good people and no one ever finds out why it happened to you, of all people! I want to give you security. When you’re feeling low and hating yourself, I want to show you Love. When you’re tempted with the sins of your past, I want to remind you of who you have strived so hard to become. When you forget me, I want to forgive you, because you’ll be worth it. When you mess up, big time, I want you to chase after me because I know I’ll be waiting for you if you just show me that it was a mistake and you still care for me the most. We all do unbelievably stupid things, don’t we?
I want us to have jobs that we can support each other with, but we’ll be passionate about so we can come home to tell each other about them. I want you to take me to your work parties and you can visit my school to meet my students. We can go to friends’ holiday parties and socialize with other people, but sit by each other and be “that couple” that everyone envies. I want to sit together in church and talk about the sermon on the drive home. I want to hear every stupid detail about your day and I’ll listen as if it’s the best story ever told, because it will be just as exciting coming from your mouth.
I want to grow old together.
I want our grave stones to be side-by-side, and we’ll have a double funeral because as soon as you die, I’ll die too. I won’t kill myself, or die of starvation or bulimia. But once you leave this world, I won’t have the will to stay in it. My immune system will shut down, along with the rest of my organs, one by one, until I am too thin to stay on the ground and too tired to get up, all the while praying I’ll shut down faster.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
He's All I've Ever Had
Butterfly—that’s what my heart turns into when he speaks to me, fluttering around, weightless. My stomach turns into a bullfrog that jumps up and down and tries to escape from my abdomen. The same compliments I’ve always heard from other boys actually mean something coming from his mouth. When people ask about him, I can’t tell them anything because I don’t know where to begin; and having people associate him with me steals my breath with excitement.
Falling in Love is a funny thing.
Unlocking the twenty padlocks and bolted door to my closet and having him see the cemetery full of skeletons I’ve done so well with hiding…feeling forgiveness. Telling him all about what is bothering me when I said I don’t want to talk about it five minutes ago, without having to be interrogated. Telling him things about me that no one else knows, and feeling completely accepted for it. Dialing the first number on my speed dial every time something horrible or exciting happens, like a nightmare or a new job. Singing and dancing like a drunkard around the room and seeing his grin every time I twirl in his direction; my silliness is appreciated, not judged. Feeling special when reading beautiful poems he wrote for me. Laying under the sheets, our legs and arms tangled in each other, his body radiating heat and his chest as my pillow, feeling completely comfortable. Feeling safe when getting lost in downtown Pittsburgh at 1 AM with him, because you have to want to be somewhere else to be lost. Listening to his heartbeat and thinking that as long as it’s still there, so am I. Making plans for times we’re decades away from, and believing we might carry them through. Cracking one of our thousand inside jokes and feeling the closeness I never thought I could achieve with another person.
Feeling in Love is a funny thing.
Yelling over the phone until my voice cracks. Crying until I’m dehydrated. Staying up until no one else is awake, even on weekend nights, to keep myself unhappy with arguing because I think it can make me happy in the long run. Not being able to pay attention to any homework, especially the paper in which I’m writing about a poem that compares love to suicide. Feeling ashamed when my friends know the exact and only reason I’m feeling down; snapping at them when they tell me I deserve “better”. Swallowing my pride and ignoring faults I think are disgusting, because I care more about him and our relationship’s outcome—also known as “compromising”. Wondering what life would be like with complete independence, but knowing I wouldn’t have it any other way than this.
Being in Love is a funny thing.
Staying out with whoever I want and wherever I want, with no one to be angry at me when I get home at the wee hours of the morning. Getting my belly button pierced, because I can. Not caring if guys hit on me, because I have no loyalty to uphold. Making plans to go to other states, possibly other countries. Not dreading the possibility of having a male friend develop feelings for me. Not feeling the need to impress anyone. Feeling freedom, for the first time in ages.
Falling out of Love is a funny thing.
Sleeping in a bed, alone. Sleeping on other peoples’ floors, couches, and beds so I don’t have to sleep alone. Making plans to go places by myself. Turning boys down because they’ll never compare, not because I’m taken. Listening to only screamo music, that numbs my thoughts. Sleeping with the light on. Not being able to be alone, ever. Responding with “fine” when people ask me how I’m doing, and feeling like a total liar. Crying spontaneously in classes. Wanting to sleep all the time, without feeling tired.
Brokenness is a funny thing.
Butterfly-that’s what I feel like when I dance around my room to praise music, leaping and spinning, light-footed and lithe. Reading my Bible multiple times a day, as if it is medication. Crying out to unseen ears. Sobbing for hope and the supernatural peace that I’ve been missing. Putting my life in invisible hands. Praying as if I am conversing with a friend. Feeling offended by things I used to indulge in. Saying things I thought were only said by prudes. Feeling like a nun when I refrain from doing things with my friends because they’re against my morals. Forgetting “priorities” I thought were so important. Asking for approval before every step I want to take is taken.
Falling in Love with God is a funny thing.
“You never know God is all you need until God is all you have.” Frederick Warren
Saturday, March 26, 2011
My Heart In A Suitcase
“The heart is where the home is.”
“My home is not a place, it’s people.”
My life is lived in a suitcase. My heart however, has been in once place, with one person, even when I didn’t realize it. But its beautiful white home with a wrap-around porch and butterfly garden and tire swing hanging from a giant oak tree has been infested with termites that are eating it from the inside out. My heart loves its home, with its entirety, but termites are nasty and will eventually eat its gorgeous home from the inside out until it caves in. So I picked my heart back up and put it in the bottom of my suitcase, zippers locked and safe from sleazy pick pocketers.
Now my heart is here in Waynesburg, with me. I have no one here, or anywhere, who I would dare to trust it with, so it’s mine again for the first time in ages. It’s a very strange lifestyle—being independent, running my own life without it directly affecting anyone, deciding my own schedule, socializing with whoever I please until whenever I please. Or go to Slingin Ink downtown and having this dude put metal through my stomach. I went with a friend who was getting her trachea pierced, and I was debating on getting a belly button piercing on the way there. I watched him put on gloves, sterilize his utensils, and give her thorough instructions on how to clean it (“don’t talk on the phone on this ear, or sleep on dirty pillow cases, or let boys lick your ears, or girls, or cats”) as I held her hand. Then he told me to lift up my shirt. Then he put yellow goop all over my stomach. Then he told me to lay down. Then he stuck a metal clamp on either side of my naval. Then he stuck something very sharp that wasn’t a needle or a gun, through my skin and down my flesh. My fingers instinctively slid towards the pain and he said “do you want your fingers pierced too, while I’m at it?” I gave them to my friend to hold instead. I asked if it was bleeding. ‘Yea man! Can’t you feel that warm liquid running down your side?”
“It’s not bleeding at all! Stop trying to scare her!” said my friend to the joking man with the sharp things in my gut.
I looked down and faintly said “Dude! There’s metal in my stomach.…”
“Yeah! How about that?!” He laughed.
All this nonsense sounds freeing, especially after having someone in the passenger’s seat with me for so long, but it’s a lonely road with just me and my heart in a suitcase. There is no one to argue over what music to listen to or what road to take or where we should stop to eat. There’s no one to greet me when I get off the bus…because I don’t have a destination anymore.
Now, every part of me is packed in my handy little black suitcase, and ready to hit the open road.
I don’t even need my suitcase. I don’t need this baggage and this heavy heart that adds another ten pounds to the price of luggage at the airport! Really, it’s just me and God’s direction as my travel guide, His word as my travel reading, and His Spirit as my travelling companion.
“Not all those who wander are lost.”-Gandalf.
My life in a suitcase consists of going wherever God tells me to go next on His creation.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)