Time flies when you're having fun I guess.
Things are going great with the girls. The eight I primarily work with because they have so much difficulty (academically and behaviorly) in school are inching ahead. Their teachers have been noticing changes and a few are completely caught up in several subjects. They're controling themselves better in class, taking responsibility for their work, and expressing themselves in much healthier ways. It feels great to have been a part of that. The women here in charge of seeing that the girls get their chores done, wash their clothes, get from here to there on time, etc have asked me to try my hand at applying similar methods to their chores and responsibilities in the hogar with these eight and possibly a few others. It's interesting to be able to show some of the people here that a little positive attention, well planned rewards and consequences, and helping the girls to think through their decisions and emotions (before or after, depending) goes a really long way. Realistically I'm working with the eight most difficult grade-schoolers in the hogar and things are improving. I hope no one ever gives up on any of these girls, they're wonderful and have the capacity to show that to everyone! Not to mention how obviously better they feel about themselves now that they're doing better in school and expressing themselves in healthier ways. Don't get me wrong, it's still really tough some days. First graders throwing two hour screaming tantrums, fourth graders breaking pencils and throwing flashcards, girls directly refusing to participate in anything for the day...or week. But things really are improving and it's so exciting for all of us. It's really tough though, to see the girls make such improvements, to become so darn lovable, and have no one take a real interest. Some girls have family that never comes to see them but they still say things like "I'm going to save my division test to show my dad!" or "I'm going to keep practicing this book and read it to my aunt!" But they spend day after day in the same room with me and I realize that, in some cases, I'm filling that role for them too. And one day I'll be gone also. Ouch.
This week has been a great one. Jerica, the volunteer who was finishing up her year as I arrived, came back to visit and brought two of her friends. They're a blast to have around. We made cheesesteaks for the sisters a few days ago, which was hilllarious. Wednesday and Thursday we celebrated Dia de Saun Juan Baptista, the primary festival in Itocta, so the school and church and field between the two was filled with vendors and carnival games and trampolines and fooseball tables. We had about five masses over the course of two days (an unheard of amount for a community that has no permanent priest), and danced danced danced as different bands and dance troups came through to perform. I also learned that "well, I have to get back to my daughters" doesn't startle drunk men (even from Holland) as much as your average Joe, unfortunately.
The next day I went to dance class at night and as we were warming up my teacher stormed in to the room and yelled "Go change! We're going to the Michael Jackson concert!" Everyone left running and squealing to the dressing rooms and a few minutes later we were in La Plaza de Banderas, which was filled with people who had come to, as the banners around the city declared, "pay homage to the king." A few groups performed tributes to Michael Jackson until finally THE MJ impersonator of Bolivia came out to perform. Well, really just dance around and occasionally forget to move his mouth to the music. It was a blast to spend some time outside of class with my friends and hillarious to watch them sing along to music they didn't understand at all. I translated a few things but I think after translating Billy Jean we decided the music was kind of more fun when you didn't understand it. It may be helpful to add here that the people in my studio are absolutely MJ fanatics. When he died, they did an entire tribute show downtown. The last show they had, a few months ago, was half jazz half Michael Jackson and their program gives a long introduction which begins by announcing the impact of "one incredible man" who "was criticized by some but adored by many," whose "choreograph was precise and awe-inspiring" and whose "videos were small works of art." It ends the suspense simply by announcing "we are speaking, obviously, of Michael Jackson." Naturally. So I spent a great night with some friends in the city, listening to them sing along to songs they didn't understand and pretending to be deeply sympathetic to their, aparently, still fairly raw grief.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Happy Birthday to Me...
It's been an exciting few weeks!
My mom came to visit for my Birthday last Saturday and we had all sorts of adventures. Despite going on one adventure after another for over a week, I still feel like there was so much more to show her. It was fun to see her respond to things that have become so normal to me (dogs running around the church during mass, vans packed full of un-belted people swinging around potholes and outracing one another turning through intersections, high schoolers dancing diablada, morenada, and caporales in high heels and miniskirts for their music grade, etc). The sisters told me not to worry about the hogar, but to go have fun with my mom. They said my job was to make her like Bolivia so that she'll let me stay. Turns out they were very serious. At the end of the week they sat down at lunch and asked her about her time in Bolivia; what she liked, what surprised her, how she felt seeing where I lived, etc. Then they asked her if she would let me stay if that's what I wanted. When my mom said I could do whatever made me happy, they all clapped and shouted and celebrated. I'm not sure how long I'll be here, but it's definitely nice to know I'm wanted.
My birthday was absolutely wonderful, and full of people I love. My mom, of course, was here, and we started off celebrating with the sisters at breakfast like we do with all the sisters. We sang and ate quesadilla (a cheesy corn-bread type cake Hna. Alicia bakes for every birthday) and the sisters gave me a beautiful cross necklace and saints bracelet in addition to the coat they took me to pick out in La Paz ("you just never keep your lungs warm enough, Niki!"). The Zapata family (a family I've been visiting every Saturday in the city) called me to wish me happy birthday and ask if they could throw me a party that afternoon, but we already had some big plans for the day. After a quick birthday visit from the girls from the transition home across the street, who completely surprised me with a beautiful rosary and a new wallet, we headed out for the day. The school put on an all-day ballet folklorico festival complete with elaborate costumes and traditional dishes for lunch. Almost all our girls danced and I have some great pictures I'll put up as soon as I get a chance.
After the dancing finished up the girls killed an hour in the hogar dressing me up in all their traditional costumes. Those pictures, however, might not be posted. Fortunately I peeled off my Morenada boots (or, rather, the girls worked together to pry those ridiculous things off me) just before my two Sunday English students arrived with a beautiful (and far out of their budget) birthday cake complete with my name written on top. They had practiced all week to greet my mom, ask her name, introduce themselves, and play "go fish" in English. A few hours later they left right as they started up a birthday party in the hogar. After a fantastic dinner, the girls danced danced danced danced danced (again...pictures to come) until we ended the night leaping around dancing "Torba," cake in hand in the salon. I honestly can't imagine a better day. I felt so loved and appreciated by this community that I've grown to love so much. It's strange to think about how overwhelmed and out of place I felt nine and a half months ago when I feel so at home now.
This last week, though my mom has headed back home to recuperate from a wild week at nausea-inducing altitude, has been just as busy. Things with the girls are going great and the programs I'm putting in place for the girls struggling the most in school are starting to get some notable results. It feels really good to see them starting to move forward bit by bit. Just about every free hour has been taken up by dancing. The high school seniors asked me to choreograph and teach them a dance to perform Monday (they asked Tuesday and it's a four minute song. That's pretty good notice for Bolivia) for our belated celebration of Mary Help of Christians (Maria Auxiliadora de los Cristianos). That, in addition to the dance I'm performing myself Monday, plus my twice a week class in the city (I was invited to join the Cuerpo de Baile and the Jazz Academy. It's been tough but I'm learning a lot...and really sore) had me busy enough when the girls asked Thursday to create and teach them a dance for Hna. Angelita's birthday on Friday (that's a much better example of Bolivian preparation). But we did it! And they looked great! We're going to clean it up a bit and perform it next Friday for Dia del Profesor. Hopefully Monday's dances and my own piece for next Friday turn out just as well.
So, as you can see, I'm quite settled here. Work that I love, a community that takes great care of me, new friends of all ages (Rosby Zapata, the mother of the family I visit each week took me to meet all her extended family and introduced me as her adopted daughter). It was great to be able to show this new life to my mom. It was funny to see it so brand new and strange to her, while it's become so natural and complete for me. It's strange to think that many of the volunteers in our program have already bought their tickets to come home and new volunteers are applying for their visas to come replace them. I don't know what I would do if I had to leave this place right now. I have a hard enough time accepting that some day, a year or so in to the future, I'll have to head back to the US to pay off my loans and head to grad school. That's going to be a really tough transition and I spend a lot of time trying to avoid thinking about it.
My mom came to visit for my Birthday last Saturday and we had all sorts of adventures. Despite going on one adventure after another for over a week, I still feel like there was so much more to show her. It was fun to see her respond to things that have become so normal to me (dogs running around the church during mass, vans packed full of un-belted people swinging around potholes and outracing one another turning through intersections, high schoolers dancing diablada, morenada, and caporales in high heels and miniskirts for their music grade, etc). The sisters told me not to worry about the hogar, but to go have fun with my mom. They said my job was to make her like Bolivia so that she'll let me stay. Turns out they were very serious. At the end of the week they sat down at lunch and asked her about her time in Bolivia; what she liked, what surprised her, how she felt seeing where I lived, etc. Then they asked her if she would let me stay if that's what I wanted. When my mom said I could do whatever made me happy, they all clapped and shouted and celebrated. I'm not sure how long I'll be here, but it's definitely nice to know I'm wanted.
My birthday was absolutely wonderful, and full of people I love. My mom, of course, was here, and we started off celebrating with the sisters at breakfast like we do with all the sisters. We sang and ate quesadilla (a cheesy corn-bread type cake Hna. Alicia bakes for every birthday) and the sisters gave me a beautiful cross necklace and saints bracelet in addition to the coat they took me to pick out in La Paz ("you just never keep your lungs warm enough, Niki!"). The Zapata family (a family I've been visiting every Saturday in the city) called me to wish me happy birthday and ask if they could throw me a party that afternoon, but we already had some big plans for the day. After a quick birthday visit from the girls from the transition home across the street, who completely surprised me with a beautiful rosary and a new wallet, we headed out for the day. The school put on an all-day ballet folklorico festival complete with elaborate costumes and traditional dishes for lunch. Almost all our girls danced and I have some great pictures I'll put up as soon as I get a chance.
After the dancing finished up the girls killed an hour in the hogar dressing me up in all their traditional costumes. Those pictures, however, might not be posted. Fortunately I peeled off my Morenada boots (or, rather, the girls worked together to pry those ridiculous things off me) just before my two Sunday English students arrived with a beautiful (and far out of their budget) birthday cake complete with my name written on top. They had practiced all week to greet my mom, ask her name, introduce themselves, and play "go fish" in English. A few hours later they left right as they started up a birthday party in the hogar. After a fantastic dinner, the girls danced danced danced danced danced (again...pictures to come) until we ended the night leaping around dancing "Torba," cake in hand in the salon. I honestly can't imagine a better day. I felt so loved and appreciated by this community that I've grown to love so much. It's strange to think about how overwhelmed and out of place I felt nine and a half months ago when I feel so at home now.
This last week, though my mom has headed back home to recuperate from a wild week at nausea-inducing altitude, has been just as busy. Things with the girls are going great and the programs I'm putting in place for the girls struggling the most in school are starting to get some notable results. It feels really good to see them starting to move forward bit by bit. Just about every free hour has been taken up by dancing. The high school seniors asked me to choreograph and teach them a dance to perform Monday (they asked Tuesday and it's a four minute song. That's pretty good notice for Bolivia) for our belated celebration of Mary Help of Christians (Maria Auxiliadora de los Cristianos). That, in addition to the dance I'm performing myself Monday, plus my twice a week class in the city (I was invited to join the Cuerpo de Baile and the Jazz Academy. It's been tough but I'm learning a lot...and really sore) had me busy enough when the girls asked Thursday to create and teach them a dance for Hna. Angelita's birthday on Friday (that's a much better example of Bolivian preparation). But we did it! And they looked great! We're going to clean it up a bit and perform it next Friday for Dia del Profesor. Hopefully Monday's dances and my own piece for next Friday turn out just as well.
So, as you can see, I'm quite settled here. Work that I love, a community that takes great care of me, new friends of all ages (Rosby Zapata, the mother of the family I visit each week took me to meet all her extended family and introduced me as her adopted daughter). It was great to be able to show this new life to my mom. It was funny to see it so brand new and strange to her, while it's become so natural and complete for me. It's strange to think that many of the volunteers in our program have already bought their tickets to come home and new volunteers are applying for their visas to come replace them. I don't know what I would do if I had to leave this place right now. I have a hard enough time accepting that some day, a year or so in to the future, I'll have to head back to the US to pay off my loans and head to grad school. That's going to be a really tough transition and I spend a lot of time trying to avoid thinking about it.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Easter Encounter
One of the things I love about the Catholic Church is the progression through the liturgical seasons. Right now, of course, we're in Easter. Being that the resurrection of Christ is the center of our faith, there's A LOT to think about this season, but one of the things I have been prompted to think about by the readings lately has been the importance of relationship in conversion. We recognize the Risen Lord not by theology or logic or signs, but by daring to engage in a relationship with Him.
One of the first readings this season (John 20: 11-18) depicts Mary Magdelene encountering Jesus at His tomb. He's supposed to be wrapped up in his burial cloths, peacefully decomposing behind the giant stone at the entrance of his tomb, but when she gets there, Jesus' body is nowhere to be found. As she sits there weeping, Jesus appears to her and asks her why she is crying. Mary, oblivious that she is speaking to her Lord, explains her situation and even asks Him if He knows where Jesus' body is. In fact, Luke tells us that Mary thought she was talking to the gardner. All the prophecy about Jesus rising from the dead, His own words, the empty tomb, the faith of her companions who ran to spread the news...none of it is sufficient to open Mary's eyes to Jesus standing right in front of her. It is not until He speaks her name that she recognizes Him. I imagine it was something in His voice, a tenderness and familiarity as he calls her, that suddenly awakens her to the truth. The history they share together, their friendship, is recalled in this moment and she finally recognizes Jesus, calling out "teacher." It is their relationship that finally reveals what scripture and signs and the testimony of her brothers could not.
A few days later, the mass reading (Luke 24: 13-35) told the story of a few of the disciples on the road to Emmaus. Along their route they encounter Jesus, but again, He is unrecognized. They travel for miles together, and as they walk Jesus interprets the scriptures from them. But it doesn't matter how clearly they are taught, they still fail to see Christ. Once again, Christ is revealed through relationship. As they break bread together, an act of fellowship and togetherness, they finally realize the identity of their companion.
In both of these stories, Jesus is present long before even His friends recognize Him. He walks with them, talks with them, consoles them, teaches them, as they continue to search in vain for Him. The scriptures, the marvels, the faith of their companions, is useless in revealing Christ to them. Only a true and intimate relationship allows them to see the presence of Jesus Resurrected.
Things haven't changed much over the last 2,000 years. All of us, sometimes without even realizing it, are seeking Christ. We pour over the scriptures, cling to the testimony of our friends, seek out marvels and miracles to support our faith, engage in discussions and debates about the nature of God and His relationship to the world, but often in vain. These things guide us, teach us, direct us and comfort us...but they do not take the place of a genuine relationship with Christ. Though we grow to know Christ through these means, only a true friendship with God, cultivated through prayer and service to Him, can reveal His presence to us. Similarly, all the apologetics in the world are not a substitute for a ministry of relationship. We can offer "proof" and logic and theology but really, the only lasting evangelization exists in guiding people in to relationship with Jesus by reavealing His presence through their relationship with us. Theology is refuted, the faith of others is suspect, but personally encountering God's goodness and mercy is irrefutable evidence of His presence in the world. There is no substitute in ministry for seeking to be the hands of our merciful God on earth. Jesus tells the crowd in the Bread of Life Discourse "Amen, amen, I say to you, you are looking for me not because you saw signs but because you ate the loaves and were filled." Lasting faith, the kind that moves us to seek God over and over every day comes not from miracles or reason, but from drawing near enough to Him to be fed, to partake in the Bread of Life, to be nourished by Jesus' presence in our lives. It was true for His followers thousands of years ago and it's true today. How do we allow this to inform our ministry and evangelization, and even our own conversion experiences?
One of the first readings this season (John 20: 11-18) depicts Mary Magdelene encountering Jesus at His tomb. He's supposed to be wrapped up in his burial cloths, peacefully decomposing behind the giant stone at the entrance of his tomb, but when she gets there, Jesus' body is nowhere to be found. As she sits there weeping, Jesus appears to her and asks her why she is crying. Mary, oblivious that she is speaking to her Lord, explains her situation and even asks Him if He knows where Jesus' body is. In fact, Luke tells us that Mary thought she was talking to the gardner. All the prophecy about Jesus rising from the dead, His own words, the empty tomb, the faith of her companions who ran to spread the news...none of it is sufficient to open Mary's eyes to Jesus standing right in front of her. It is not until He speaks her name that she recognizes Him. I imagine it was something in His voice, a tenderness and familiarity as he calls her, that suddenly awakens her to the truth. The history they share together, their friendship, is recalled in this moment and she finally recognizes Jesus, calling out "teacher." It is their relationship that finally reveals what scripture and signs and the testimony of her brothers could not.
A few days later, the mass reading (Luke 24: 13-35) told the story of a few of the disciples on the road to Emmaus. Along their route they encounter Jesus, but again, He is unrecognized. They travel for miles together, and as they walk Jesus interprets the scriptures from them. But it doesn't matter how clearly they are taught, they still fail to see Christ. Once again, Christ is revealed through relationship. As they break bread together, an act of fellowship and togetherness, they finally realize the identity of their companion.
In both of these stories, Jesus is present long before even His friends recognize Him. He walks with them, talks with them, consoles them, teaches them, as they continue to search in vain for Him. The scriptures, the marvels, the faith of their companions, is useless in revealing Christ to them. Only a true and intimate relationship allows them to see the presence of Jesus Resurrected.
Things haven't changed much over the last 2,000 years. All of us, sometimes without even realizing it, are seeking Christ. We pour over the scriptures, cling to the testimony of our friends, seek out marvels and miracles to support our faith, engage in discussions and debates about the nature of God and His relationship to the world, but often in vain. These things guide us, teach us, direct us and comfort us...but they do not take the place of a genuine relationship with Christ. Though we grow to know Christ through these means, only a true friendship with God, cultivated through prayer and service to Him, can reveal His presence to us. Similarly, all the apologetics in the world are not a substitute for a ministry of relationship. We can offer "proof" and logic and theology but really, the only lasting evangelization exists in guiding people in to relationship with Jesus by reavealing His presence through their relationship with us. Theology is refuted, the faith of others is suspect, but personally encountering God's goodness and mercy is irrefutable evidence of His presence in the world. There is no substitute in ministry for seeking to be the hands of our merciful God on earth. Jesus tells the crowd in the Bread of Life Discourse "Amen, amen, I say to you, you are looking for me not because you saw signs but because you ate the loaves and were filled." Lasting faith, the kind that moves us to seek God over and over every day comes not from miracles or reason, but from drawing near enough to Him to be fed, to partake in the Bread of Life, to be nourished by Jesus' presence in our lives. It was true for His followers thousands of years ago and it's true today. How do we allow this to inform our ministry and evangelization, and even our own conversion experiences?
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Another...month? I think?
Well, friends. I'm behind once again on my updates, so you'll have to deal with another jumbled list of events in Bolivia I've neglected to report on. But first, if you haven't read my last post, or if you have read it and are on the fence, I haven't found any help for my friend yet. Please think about whether this might be a opportunity for you!
Easter came and went and was beautiful! Holy Week is so wholeheartedly celebrated here! On Palm Sunday, we had a procession with Padre Pepe riding a donkey down the road as we waved our palms and sang. Though much of Holy Week is a reflection on Christ's profound humility, it is inextricable from His Kingship and exaltation. Pretty much exactly how the hymn in Ephesians sums it up.
As Padre Pepe road his donkey to the church, reenacting Jesus' entrance in to Jerusalem, the clapping and singing and celebration in memory of Christ's triumphant arrival seemed so right.
As the people circled around our sacrificed king, present in the eucharist, in the tabernacle on Thursday night, bowing in silent adoration of Our Lord, it seemed so right.
As we followed the bobbing crucifix through the town on Good Friday, stopping to pray stations of the cross at home-made alters around Itocta, birds lining the power lines and even the cows standing at attention, it seemed so right.
Though we rebel against it at times, our entire being is shaped to pay homage to our King and Creator. The world ought to stop and take notice, to weep for Jesus' bloodshed and rejoice in His resurrection. Itocta seems to "get it" and I really enjoyed spending Holy Week here.
I didn't stay for all of it though...
On Friday night, eating a late dinner, the sisters were talking about sending Hna. Lettie to La Paz for elections because she's registered to vote there. Of course, she shouldn't go alone, so they decided to send the tall scary white girl to protect her. Or something. But anyway, I heard my name, looked up, and the sisters asked "wanna go to La Paz?" Uh...sure! When? "tomorrow morning." Nothing like deciding about twelve hours before leaving.
So I was in La Paz with the small community (only four sisters!) for Easter. It was great to see another school and parish run by HDS and get to know a few more of the sisters. La Paz is pretty cold, especially this time of year. Bundling up in the cold, laying around with the sisters watching spider man between masses, and being "surprised" about every hour by one of the aunty-like sisters with some new treat or chocolate or full-on feast...it was actually a lot like Christmas with my relatives. It was also an interesting experience to watch elections in another country. The school the sisters run was a voting station for the county so everyone came to the school to get their ballots, mark them with their fingerprints, and cast them there. Vendors set up in the surrounding streets like it was a fair. It'll take some time to see how the new local government leaders (these elections were for mayors, governors, etc) will interact with the socialist system developing since December's elections.
Last weekend Jenna and Margaret, two of the SLMs working in other hogars in the Santa Cruz area, came to visit. It was so great to see them! It's easy to forget we're a little isolated out here until someone shows up to enjoy Cochabamba with us. The three of us went to a fabulous concert on Saturday night -- Los Kjarkas and Kala Marka, the two best-known folk music bands around. The concert was yet another great lesson in Bolivian culture.
I picked up our tickets earlier that week and sprung the extra three dollars for floor seats in the stadium (we were feeling extravagant, I suppose) and the tickets said 8. So we showed up at 7:45 and found a line stretching around the corner. We started walking. And walking. And walking. Every time we thought we were getting to the end of the line, it snaked again, wrapping around the stadium and ending a few blocks from the entrance. So we jumped in line, figuring we'd only wait fifteen minutes before things started moving. Apparently we had forgotten what country we were in. At about 9:15 they opened the doors and people finally starting enterring, over an hour after the concert was scheduled to start. When we finally reached the doors, they took our tickets, let us in, and we realized we were in the bleachers with no way to get to the floor. We went to talk to the people who took our tickets and some huge bouncer-looking man took pity on us and told us to follow him...then took off sprinting in a circle around the stadium to yet another unmarked line where apparently we were supposed to have known to enter. In the end, it was pretty much irrelevant, because there were no seats left and we stood with a few other hundred VIPers on the ground floor. Which was actually great...it gave us a chance to jump and dance and leap around with the rest of the stadium. Both Los Kjarkas and Kala Marka play very traditional music accompanied by some amazing ballet folklorico on a stage in front of the band. It was so moving to see people so excited and empassioned, celebrating their culture and shouting in turn for Bolivia and their individual departments. Pretty cool. Patriotism definitely encompasses a lot more than it seems to in the US. It's hard to compare what took place at the concert with something in The States. Unfortunately, we had to leave a few songs in to Los Kjarkas' set because it was already after 12:30 and time to head home. But all in all, a really great night.
While they were here we also had ourselves a little adventure finding another orphanage run by the same congregation Jenna works with. After travelling to a completely different city and finding a different hogar outside Cochabamba, we had a little more success the next day visiting Hogar San Francisco. The sisters were so welcoming and we had a great visit, but as we talked with them about the hogar we had found the day before and a few other hogars they were acquianted with, I felt a little overwhelmed. There are over 150 hogars in the department of Cochabamba alone. Ours, with fifty girls, two sisters, two employees, a secretary, a cook, and two volunteers, is one of the better-staffed. More and more I hear about the incredibly over-whelmed social-service programs (not to mention sisters, staff, and volunteers) doing their best to support the people. Hogars of fity children with one sister and a few drop-in volunteers. An hogar of seventy with three sisters and three afternoon tutors. A special needs orphanage of over eighty children, some of whom aren't even mobile, with three sisters and six staff. It's hard not to get discouraged hearing things like that, and it definitely makes me more thankful for how well-staffed we are, though it took me a realize how good we have it.
Things are still moving along in the hogar. The sisters are trying to get some girls to build some better habits, especially some of the teenagers who are overweight, so every evening after dinner I lead some sort of work out program for about an hour. They've gotten pretty in to it and it's fun to teach them about their bodies. It's shocking how little they've learned about excercise and self-care. They come to me panicked the day after a hard workout because their muscles are sore and they've never experienced that before. Or while doing some aerobics one or two will declare they are "burning up" and throw themselves dramatically on to the floor. Inevitably someone will ask "what's this for" every time we stretch and usually when I tell them to drink water too. It's pretty comical and I'm having a blast. A few of the girls get up with me at 5:30 a few times a week for a little dance class as well. So things are busy,the usual tutoring and computer lab duties, plus their new excercise program, and attending daily parent teacher conferences for our most difficult students. It's all keeping me on my toes but I'm definitely happy and loving life here still.
Easter came and went and was beautiful! Holy Week is so wholeheartedly celebrated here! On Palm Sunday, we had a procession with Padre Pepe riding a donkey down the road as we waved our palms and sang. Though much of Holy Week is a reflection on Christ's profound humility, it is inextricable from His Kingship and exaltation. Pretty much exactly how the hymn in Ephesians sums it up.
As Padre Pepe road his donkey to the church, reenacting Jesus' entrance in to Jerusalem, the clapping and singing and celebration in memory of Christ's triumphant arrival seemed so right.
As the people circled around our sacrificed king, present in the eucharist, in the tabernacle on Thursday night, bowing in silent adoration of Our Lord, it seemed so right.
As we followed the bobbing crucifix through the town on Good Friday, stopping to pray stations of the cross at home-made alters around Itocta, birds lining the power lines and even the cows standing at attention, it seemed so right.
Though we rebel against it at times, our entire being is shaped to pay homage to our King and Creator. The world ought to stop and take notice, to weep for Jesus' bloodshed and rejoice in His resurrection. Itocta seems to "get it" and I really enjoyed spending Holy Week here.
I didn't stay for all of it though...
On Friday night, eating a late dinner, the sisters were talking about sending Hna. Lettie to La Paz for elections because she's registered to vote there. Of course, she shouldn't go alone, so they decided to send the tall scary white girl to protect her. Or something. But anyway, I heard my name, looked up, and the sisters asked "wanna go to La Paz?" Uh...sure! When? "tomorrow morning." Nothing like deciding about twelve hours before leaving.
So I was in La Paz with the small community (only four sisters!) for Easter. It was great to see another school and parish run by HDS and get to know a few more of the sisters. La Paz is pretty cold, especially this time of year. Bundling up in the cold, laying around with the sisters watching spider man between masses, and being "surprised" about every hour by one of the aunty-like sisters with some new treat or chocolate or full-on feast...it was actually a lot like Christmas with my relatives. It was also an interesting experience to watch elections in another country. The school the sisters run was a voting station for the county so everyone came to the school to get their ballots, mark them with their fingerprints, and cast them there. Vendors set up in the surrounding streets like it was a fair. It'll take some time to see how the new local government leaders (these elections were for mayors, governors, etc) will interact with the socialist system developing since December's elections.
Last weekend Jenna and Margaret, two of the SLMs working in other hogars in the Santa Cruz area, came to visit. It was so great to see them! It's easy to forget we're a little isolated out here until someone shows up to enjoy Cochabamba with us. The three of us went to a fabulous concert on Saturday night -- Los Kjarkas and Kala Marka, the two best-known folk music bands around. The concert was yet another great lesson in Bolivian culture.
I picked up our tickets earlier that week and sprung the extra three dollars for floor seats in the stadium (we were feeling extravagant, I suppose) and the tickets said 8. So we showed up at 7:45 and found a line stretching around the corner. We started walking. And walking. And walking. Every time we thought we were getting to the end of the line, it snaked again, wrapping around the stadium and ending a few blocks from the entrance. So we jumped in line, figuring we'd only wait fifteen minutes before things started moving. Apparently we had forgotten what country we were in. At about 9:15 they opened the doors and people finally starting enterring, over an hour after the concert was scheduled to start. When we finally reached the doors, they took our tickets, let us in, and we realized we were in the bleachers with no way to get to the floor. We went to talk to the people who took our tickets and some huge bouncer-looking man took pity on us and told us to follow him...then took off sprinting in a circle around the stadium to yet another unmarked line where apparently we were supposed to have known to enter. In the end, it was pretty much irrelevant, because there were no seats left and we stood with a few other hundred VIPers on the ground floor. Which was actually great...it gave us a chance to jump and dance and leap around with the rest of the stadium. Both Los Kjarkas and Kala Marka play very traditional music accompanied by some amazing ballet folklorico on a stage in front of the band. It was so moving to see people so excited and empassioned, celebrating their culture and shouting in turn for Bolivia and their individual departments. Pretty cool. Patriotism definitely encompasses a lot more than it seems to in the US. It's hard to compare what took place at the concert with something in The States. Unfortunately, we had to leave a few songs in to Los Kjarkas' set because it was already after 12:30 and time to head home. But all in all, a really great night.
While they were here we also had ourselves a little adventure finding another orphanage run by the same congregation Jenna works with. After travelling to a completely different city and finding a different hogar outside Cochabamba, we had a little more success the next day visiting Hogar San Francisco. The sisters were so welcoming and we had a great visit, but as we talked with them about the hogar we had found the day before and a few other hogars they were acquianted with, I felt a little overwhelmed. There are over 150 hogars in the department of Cochabamba alone. Ours, with fifty girls, two sisters, two employees, a secretary, a cook, and two volunteers, is one of the better-staffed. More and more I hear about the incredibly over-whelmed social-service programs (not to mention sisters, staff, and volunteers) doing their best to support the people. Hogars of fity children with one sister and a few drop-in volunteers. An hogar of seventy with three sisters and three afternoon tutors. A special needs orphanage of over eighty children, some of whom aren't even mobile, with three sisters and six staff. It's hard not to get discouraged hearing things like that, and it definitely makes me more thankful for how well-staffed we are, though it took me a realize how good we have it.
Things are still moving along in the hogar. The sisters are trying to get some girls to build some better habits, especially some of the teenagers who are overweight, so every evening after dinner I lead some sort of work out program for about an hour. They've gotten pretty in to it and it's fun to teach them about their bodies. It's shocking how little they've learned about excercise and self-care. They come to me panicked the day after a hard workout because their muscles are sore and they've never experienced that before. Or while doing some aerobics one or two will declare they are "burning up" and throw themselves dramatically on to the floor. Inevitably someone will ask "what's this for" every time we stretch and usually when I tell them to drink water too. It's pretty comical and I'm having a blast. A few of the girls get up with me at 5:30 a few times a week for a little dance class as well. So things are busy,the usual tutoring and computer lab duties, plus their new excercise program, and attending daily parent teacher conferences for our most difficult students. It's all keeping me on my toes but I'm definitely happy and loving life here still.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
March
It's been a tumultous few weeks. Two weeks ago I found out one of my dearest friends, Lee Stover, had passed away in his sleep. Lee was, literally, the first person I met when we pulled in to the Whitworth parking lot. We shared a lot of amazing experiences, talked through a lot of crisises and celebrated a lot of victories together over the last three and a half years. He was the first person I talked to from Bolivia (sorry, Mom), and the six months of emails we shared since I arrived is another reason to be thankful that I'm here.
It was really hard to get the news and know I couldn't be with my friends and mentors who had known and loved Lee too, but I am so grateful for the emails and messages I received that have kept me part of the community during all this. I sent an email to a few of the people that Lee and I were both close to sharing some of the things he had written to me since I got here and that had been a huge consolation as I was making sense of his death. It was read at his memorial service and shared in some of the announcements to the Whitworth community and it brought me a lot of peace to be able to participate in the community's celebration of Lee's life. Like the other hundreds of people that knew Lee, I miss him. But God has been generously passing along bits of wisdom and comfort and I feel like the tree in Jeremiah 17 (the green one, not the one dried out in the wasteland. I'm not writing it here for you because I like the idea that maybe you'll be curious enough to crack open your own bibles. Or read online at www.usccb.org/nab). God's grace and peace, rather than being overshadowed, are even sweeter in our most painful moments. Remember that.
In the meantime, the girls have not let me forget for a moment that, no matter what may come, the world is full of light and life and work to be done. In addition to the normal runny-nose-wiping, "I don't care what she did, don't hit anyone ever," last minute algebra homework, and giant good-night hugs routine, Hermana MariaLuz, the school principal, gave me a short list of dates that she would like me or the girls to dance for, so I've been hunting down music to start preparing for that.
Don Bosco's remains visited, of all places, Itocta last Saturday. It was probably the most exciting hour that Itocta has ever seen and was absolutely worth the months of planning beforehand. Not to mention every Salesian's dream. Thirteen schools crammed in to Colegio Laura Vicunia's field to sing and dance and welcome Don Bosco. All the students got a chance to file past after the Celebration of The Word. I hearded around our six youngest girls, dressed as angels with cardboard wings about three times their size. Later that afternoon Johanna and I headed to the Cathedral in the city with the sisters from our town and neighboring Primero de Mayo and Pucarita, where the whole Salesian family was gathering for mass with Don Bosco's urn present. The sisters had been invited to sing for the event so we even had garunteed pews. Not a bad deal. It was amazing, especially coming from a country where the Salesians aren't nearly as present, to see how moved people from the community were to be next to the body of the founder of the Salesians. All the schools, daycares, tech schools, catechesis programs, feeding programs, parishes, etc. that sustain and support the children and families in our communities started with the humble ministry of one man hundreds of years ago. It was moving to see his remains and the huge, spirit-filled family he inspired under one roof celebrating the Eucharist together.
Finally, one of the sponsors arrived from the US on Monday and I've been acting as translator this week, which is a great opportunity to test my Spanish and also have a chance to see a few more faces of the projects going on around the community. It's also encouraging to see people from as far away as the US involved in the girls' lives.
So life is up and down and all around. And it's only/already month 7. Of how many...I have no idea.
It was really hard to get the news and know I couldn't be with my friends and mentors who had known and loved Lee too, but I am so grateful for the emails and messages I received that have kept me part of the community during all this. I sent an email to a few of the people that Lee and I were both close to sharing some of the things he had written to me since I got here and that had been a huge consolation as I was making sense of his death. It was read at his memorial service and shared in some of the announcements to the Whitworth community and it brought me a lot of peace to be able to participate in the community's celebration of Lee's life. Like the other hundreds of people that knew Lee, I miss him. But God has been generously passing along bits of wisdom and comfort and I feel like the tree in Jeremiah 17 (the green one, not the one dried out in the wasteland. I'm not writing it here for you because I like the idea that maybe you'll be curious enough to crack open your own bibles. Or read online at www.usccb.org/nab). God's grace and peace, rather than being overshadowed, are even sweeter in our most painful moments. Remember that.
In the meantime, the girls have not let me forget for a moment that, no matter what may come, the world is full of light and life and work to be done. In addition to the normal runny-nose-wiping, "I don't care what she did, don't hit anyone ever," last minute algebra homework, and giant good-night hugs routine, Hermana MariaLuz, the school principal, gave me a short list of dates that she would like me or the girls to dance for, so I've been hunting down music to start preparing for that.
Don Bosco's remains visited, of all places, Itocta last Saturday. It was probably the most exciting hour that Itocta has ever seen and was absolutely worth the months of planning beforehand. Not to mention every Salesian's dream. Thirteen schools crammed in to Colegio Laura Vicunia's field to sing and dance and welcome Don Bosco. All the students got a chance to file past after the Celebration of The Word. I hearded around our six youngest girls, dressed as angels with cardboard wings about three times their size. Later that afternoon Johanna and I headed to the Cathedral in the city with the sisters from our town and neighboring Primero de Mayo and Pucarita, where the whole Salesian family was gathering for mass with Don Bosco's urn present. The sisters had been invited to sing for the event so we even had garunteed pews. Not a bad deal. It was amazing, especially coming from a country where the Salesians aren't nearly as present, to see how moved people from the community were to be next to the body of the founder of the Salesians. All the schools, daycares, tech schools, catechesis programs, feeding programs, parishes, etc. that sustain and support the children and families in our communities started with the humble ministry of one man hundreds of years ago. It was moving to see his remains and the huge, spirit-filled family he inspired under one roof celebrating the Eucharist together.
Finally, one of the sponsors arrived from the US on Monday and I've been acting as translator this week, which is a great opportunity to test my Spanish and also have a chance to see a few more faces of the projects going on around the community. It's also encouraging to see people from as far away as the US involved in the girls' lives.
So life is up and down and all around. And it's only/already month 7. Of how many...I have no idea.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Language...still
So we've been here about half a year, we should be feeling relatively competent, right? Maybe.
I've heard some great comparisons between entering a new culture and restarting childhood. As the months have passed we've tottered through and "grown up" a bit. I can decide where I want to go and how I'll get there. I know my Bolivian ID number. I can take myself to the doctor. I can take responsibility for the work I do and bring new ideas to the table. Of course, culture is like an iceburg and there's a lot that I have yet to realize is there, let alone adapt to, but over all I finally feel more likea "big girl" in Bolivia...except for one big glaring obnoxious hole: the language.
Yes, I know, I teach in Spanish, translate letters between girls and their sponsors, translate documents and emails, make small talk with strangers on busses...I'm not exactly incompetent. But every once in awhile, I get slammed with a situation that makes me feel incredibly child-like. The other day I was at a meeting with the sisters and they read a letter from the rector-major that I understood perfectly. After they finished the director of the community asked me a question about it and I just sat there for a good thirty seconds, completely oblivious that a question had even been posed to me, let alone what it was. Why was everyone looking at me? What just happened? Finally I stammered out an irrelevant and vague answer and tried not to stare to helplessly at Hermana Ellie sitting next to me who had clued me in by whispering "you're turn, Niki. Talk!" Of course, my image of competence was totally blown at that point when it appeared that I did not even understand the letter we had been reading pieces from for three days in a row. Damn.
The superior of formation of the entire order is visiting from El Salvador in place of the Mother Superior and she and I have had some passing small talk during her visit. Knowing that my language still isn't the best I can't help but feel a little intimidated when we talk, which certianly doesn't help me understand her any better. The other day she came up to me at a party and asked if I had been thinking about what she had told me. Um...what? Sure...of course...every day? Great then. For how long? The year or longer? In Bolivia or El Salvador? How did my family feel about it? And don't worry, we can arrange it with the mother superior. WHAT!? What did I just do!? Damn my mono-lingual ears! The next day in mass, she came to my pew after communion. Oh my gosh, please God don't let her be here to talk to me! So I did the best thing I could think of...I ran away while she was praying. That's right. I'm a coward and hid from a nun because I didn't feel like speaking Spanish...or being invited to move to El Salvador again.
I used to be a competent, articulate, confident person. Last week I ran away from a nun. There seems to be a bit of a contrast here. Cross cultural work is tough, friends. You have to give up a lot of your abilities and power. I'm not bold in Spanish. I'm not tactful or intelligent either and I'm definitely not witty. Maybe I wasn't overwhelmingly any of those things in English either, but I at least had a shot. That's okay though. There's a parable in Matthew about a merchant who discovers a pearl of great value and sells everything he has to buy it. It seems silly. Why would you give up your security, your status, the things you've worked hard for, for a pearl? Because it's that good, and you know it's that good. Why would you give up your confidence, your competence, your image of composure to come to Bolivia and stammer and stumble through your day like a confused little kid? Because God's call is a treasure of infinite value. It's that good, and despite the frustration and embarrasment and fatigue, I know it's that good. Praise God for the things in our lives that are worth sacrificing (even our language) for.
I've heard some great comparisons between entering a new culture and restarting childhood. As the months have passed we've tottered through and "grown up" a bit. I can decide where I want to go and how I'll get there. I know my Bolivian ID number. I can take myself to the doctor. I can take responsibility for the work I do and bring new ideas to the table. Of course, culture is like an iceburg and there's a lot that I have yet to realize is there, let alone adapt to, but over all I finally feel more likea "big girl" in Bolivia...except for one big glaring obnoxious hole: the language.
Yes, I know, I teach in Spanish, translate letters between girls and their sponsors, translate documents and emails, make small talk with strangers on busses...I'm not exactly incompetent. But every once in awhile, I get slammed with a situation that makes me feel incredibly child-like. The other day I was at a meeting with the sisters and they read a letter from the rector-major that I understood perfectly. After they finished the director of the community asked me a question about it and I just sat there for a good thirty seconds, completely oblivious that a question had even been posed to me, let alone what it was. Why was everyone looking at me? What just happened? Finally I stammered out an irrelevant and vague answer and tried not to stare to helplessly at Hermana Ellie sitting next to me who had clued me in by whispering "you're turn, Niki. Talk!" Of course, my image of competence was totally blown at that point when it appeared that I did not even understand the letter we had been reading pieces from for three days in a row. Damn.
The superior of formation of the entire order is visiting from El Salvador in place of the Mother Superior and she and I have had some passing small talk during her visit. Knowing that my language still isn't the best I can't help but feel a little intimidated when we talk, which certianly doesn't help me understand her any better. The other day she came up to me at a party and asked if I had been thinking about what she had told me. Um...what? Sure...of course...every day? Great then. For how long? The year or longer? In Bolivia or El Salvador? How did my family feel about it? And don't worry, we can arrange it with the mother superior. WHAT!? What did I just do!? Damn my mono-lingual ears! The next day in mass, she came to my pew after communion. Oh my gosh, please God don't let her be here to talk to me! So I did the best thing I could think of...I ran away while she was praying. That's right. I'm a coward and hid from a nun because I didn't feel like speaking Spanish...or being invited to move to El Salvador again.
I used to be a competent, articulate, confident person. Last week I ran away from a nun. There seems to be a bit of a contrast here. Cross cultural work is tough, friends. You have to give up a lot of your abilities and power. I'm not bold in Spanish. I'm not tactful or intelligent either and I'm definitely not witty. Maybe I wasn't overwhelmingly any of those things in English either, but I at least had a shot. That's okay though. There's a parable in Matthew about a merchant who discovers a pearl of great value and sells everything he has to buy it. It seems silly. Why would you give up your security, your status, the things you've worked hard for, for a pearl? Because it's that good, and you know it's that good. Why would you give up your confidence, your competence, your image of composure to come to Bolivia and stammer and stumble through your day like a confused little kid? Because God's call is a treasure of infinite value. It's that good, and despite the frustration and embarrasment and fatigue, I know it's that good. Praise God for the things in our lives that are worth sacrificing (even our language) for.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Half a Year?
Happy Six month anniversary (Wednesday) to us! Time really does fly. In reflecting on what this half year has meant to me here in Bolivia I decided to look back at some journaling I had done about deciding to come here, preparing for a month in New York, and eventually arriving and settling in. I found this entry, from the my last night in the US, and felt it was a pretty good reminder of what I'm doing here and why. Why did I feel compelled to come to Bolivia? How does I understand my arrival in Bolivia as a response to the gospel? What am I striving towards not just through my labor, but through my growing love for these girls and our neighbors? So here it is. You're reading my journal right now, is that awkward?
"I've been exploring the layers of Jesus' example to us over this last month. Jesus demonstrates to us loving interpersonal relationships. We carefully examine who he passed the time with, what they spoke about, how they treated each other, etc. We look to our own personal relationships with Jesus for a model of relationships with our family, friends, and even enemies. We cannot forget, though, that Jesus also is presenting to us a model of relationship with the world. He is not simply speaking to us about God's relationships with each individual person, but also about God's relationship with the whole earth. What is Jesus's message, not just to the poor man beside Him, but to the poor of the earth? What about the oppressed? The grieving? The rich and prideful? I fear that we embrace the task of following Christ by being a loving companion, but we forget that Christ's primary example by the cross is reconciliation and restoration of the world as a whole. To neglect our role in bringing peace and justice in to the world, not just our homes, is to deny the major significance of the cross and the restorative work we are invited to partake in when we "take up" this cross. To honor our baptismal call we must look at the mission of Christ the companion of each individual soul, and Christ the redeemer of the whole earth, together. Christ's message is to the world. His works are for all people. He restores the entire human race together and His concern, as ours should be, is for the state of entire world. He was sent to bring peace to humanity, not just to your dinner table. This fact alone places a demand for social justice and global evangelism at the heart of our Christian faith.
If Christ shows us that we must be concerned with the state of the entire earth, He also teaches us that this concern is a call to genuine and loving interpersonal relationships. We see by His incarnation that we can step back to engage the global injustices we encounter by stepping forward to enter in to the lives of the individuals Christ came for (that would be all of us...the great and lowely alike). Remeber that the crucifixion is staggering, not simply because the Lord died for us, but because to do so He had to take on man's mortality to begin with (Think about Ephesians 2:5-11 and be awed again by the incarnation). He came near to participate in our suffering. He became intimatly connected to our lives in ways we could see and touch and perceive, and it was through this intimacy, this connectedness, that the love which freed us was revealed. Thus Jesus showed us that, following His example, we must seek to heal the world, but this healing must be accomplished through loving and compassionate relationships the individuals around us. The interpersonal and the global are equally essential in our response to the gospel, though we rarely express our faith as though it were so.
We cannot ignore the role of social justice in the gospel. How often does Jesus speak in favor of the poor and marginalized? How clear was His condemnation of those abusing their riches and power? Though we each individually are invited to receive His grace, His redemptive sacrifice was intended for the world as whole. Thus we too must follow Christ and take an interest in the world as a whole. We must bring good news to the poor and reject the abuse of wealth and power. Our mission, as followers of Christ, must absolutely take us beyond our own neighborhoods to engage the world as Christ did. This however, is not a sterile and distant mission. Again, God redeemed the world by coming near to us personally. Jesus' miracles frequently are preceeded by an expression of His pity and compassion. He knew these people. God walked amongst us and entered in to our suffering. He wept with the grieved and celebrated with the joyous. He accomplished His salvific work by entering in to our lives and showed us that, to take part in His plan, we too must abandon our status and enter with love and humility in to the lives of the suffering around us. Christianity was never meant to bind us to our familiar "circles." In fact, Jesus' first followers were instructed to do just the opposite. As we look beyond ourselves, however, we must be willing to love the poor and despairing and suffering not simply through our wallets, but as God did by the presence of Christ: in the flesh."
Also, our director, Adam came to visit for a few days. It was a great time. We ate steak and played guitar and overall felt very spoiled. He took some great photos of us actually working (as opposed to partying like all our other photos) and of Johanna teaching voice and me teaching dance. There are also some great shots of the scenery and the gorgeous February flowers (what? it's snowing there? haha, suckers).
"I've been exploring the layers of Jesus' example to us over this last month. Jesus demonstrates to us loving interpersonal relationships. We carefully examine who he passed the time with, what they spoke about, how they treated each other, etc. We look to our own personal relationships with Jesus for a model of relationships with our family, friends, and even enemies. We cannot forget, though, that Jesus also is presenting to us a model of relationship with the world. He is not simply speaking to us about God's relationships with each individual person, but also about God's relationship with the whole earth. What is Jesus's message, not just to the poor man beside Him, but to the poor of the earth? What about the oppressed? The grieving? The rich and prideful? I fear that we embrace the task of following Christ by being a loving companion, but we forget that Christ's primary example by the cross is reconciliation and restoration of the world as a whole. To neglect our role in bringing peace and justice in to the world, not just our homes, is to deny the major significance of the cross and the restorative work we are invited to partake in when we "take up" this cross. To honor our baptismal call we must look at the mission of Christ the companion of each individual soul, and Christ the redeemer of the whole earth, together. Christ's message is to the world. His works are for all people. He restores the entire human race together and His concern, as ours should be, is for the state of entire world. He was sent to bring peace to humanity, not just to your dinner table. This fact alone places a demand for social justice and global evangelism at the heart of our Christian faith.
If Christ shows us that we must be concerned with the state of the entire earth, He also teaches us that this concern is a call to genuine and loving interpersonal relationships. We see by His incarnation that we can step back to engage the global injustices we encounter by stepping forward to enter in to the lives of the individuals Christ came for (that would be all of us...the great and lowely alike). Remeber that the crucifixion is staggering, not simply because the Lord died for us, but because to do so He had to take on man's mortality to begin with (Think about Ephesians 2:5-11 and be awed again by the incarnation). He came near to participate in our suffering. He became intimatly connected to our lives in ways we could see and touch and perceive, and it was through this intimacy, this connectedness, that the love which freed us was revealed. Thus Jesus showed us that, following His example, we must seek to heal the world, but this healing must be accomplished through loving and compassionate relationships the individuals around us. The interpersonal and the global are equally essential in our response to the gospel, though we rarely express our faith as though it were so.
We cannot ignore the role of social justice in the gospel. How often does Jesus speak in favor of the poor and marginalized? How clear was His condemnation of those abusing their riches and power? Though we each individually are invited to receive His grace, His redemptive sacrifice was intended for the world as whole. Thus we too must follow Christ and take an interest in the world as a whole. We must bring good news to the poor and reject the abuse of wealth and power. Our mission, as followers of Christ, must absolutely take us beyond our own neighborhoods to engage the world as Christ did. This however, is not a sterile and distant mission. Again, God redeemed the world by coming near to us personally. Jesus' miracles frequently are preceeded by an expression of His pity and compassion. He knew these people. God walked amongst us and entered in to our suffering. He wept with the grieved and celebrated with the joyous. He accomplished His salvific work by entering in to our lives and showed us that, to take part in His plan, we too must abandon our status and enter with love and humility in to the lives of the suffering around us. Christianity was never meant to bind us to our familiar "circles." In fact, Jesus' first followers were instructed to do just the opposite. As we look beyond ourselves, however, we must be willing to love the poor and despairing and suffering not simply through our wallets, but as God did by the presence of Christ: in the flesh."
Also, our director, Adam came to visit for a few days. It was a great time. We ate steak and played guitar and overall felt very spoiled. He took some great photos of us actually working (as opposed to partying like all our other photos) and of Johanna teaching voice and me teaching dance. There are also some great shots of the scenery and the gorgeous February flowers (what? it's snowing there? haha, suckers).
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| Adam's visit |
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