The investigation on the youth of the vicaria is zooming along. This is probably one of the most interesting and meaningful things I’ve ever participated in. It’s also one of the most exhausting. The project is so necessary, but so immense. I wish I could just post my briefings on here so you could learn everything you ever wanted to know about where I live, but it’s all in Spanish. I’ll try to put up a few summaries soon, particularly about the more peculiar aspects of the vicaria, like land regulation in the agricultural district. Okay…maybe that’s only interesting to me.
Here’s a little summary of what I’ve been doing and why you haven’t heard from me in weeks:
To begin with, the zone assigned to us is right in the middle of the poorest and historically neglected region of Cochabamba. In addition, the vicaria where we operate spans two districts, one of them is primarily urban and the most densely populated in the region. The other is the largest and least densely populated, where the majority of the habitants don’t even have access to water or electricity. The two are both extremely troubled areas but about as different as you can imagine. Right now I’m doing a massive literature review and collection of secondary data, but I’m already starting to see themes emerge that we can begin to plan our own studies on. Because the information is so poorly synthesized I’m getting a crash course in land regulation, school administration, urban planning, migration studies, cartography, economics and labor distribution, public health, etc. etc. etc. The information comes as fast as I can retain and process it. At the end of each month I give two presentations and turn in two reports: one to all the social services coordinated through the church (which is the majority of the social services, given that everyone is afraid of Zona Sur. The state hasn’t even established police presence here despite it being almost half the population of the county), and the other to the Comisión Juveníl, a small group dedicated to identifying and responding to the problems of the youth in the zone.
The first was a geographic and demographic study of the two zones, an analysis of their common and contrasting characteristics from the perspective of our social services, and some ideas about how their characteristics both illuminate or hide psychosocial difficulties, For example: district 5 supposedly enjoys a dramatically higher quality of life than most other districts, but indicators of community violence, school enrollment, etc. are pretty grim. Looking carefully at the census data you can see that the majority of the indicators they used for standard of living don’t have anything to do with the actual socioeconomic situation of each family, but rather access to government-regulated resources like water and electricity due to proximity to the city center. The location of the district improves some factors but hides a lot of the actual needs of the community.
The second will be a summary of psychosocial conflicts and identity formation in migrant communities in the periurban zones of the vicaria. Most of the information comes from interviews from neighboring districts. The university had a bunch of interview transcripts that they just gave me. Never underestimate what you can get hold of simply by asking. Using existing research I’m trying to identify which communities are comparable. Can I use an interview about internal migration from Villa Pagador to talk about the experience of young people in Loma Santa Barbara? Yes. To talk about youth in Itocta? No. Because one hit its population boom six years before the other and one community is primarily from Potosí while the other is from Oruro. What a mess. But it’s REALLY helping to identify some of the most urgent concerns in the vicaria and will give us an idea of how and where we want to do our own studies soon.
The summaries and presentations help us to coordinate, extend, and improve services. A lot of the existing works, including all the ones run through the church, don’t communicate and don’t necessarily recognize the needs outside their particular region or specialty. Laying out the data gives everyone a common lens to view the problems in the populations we serve and a common vocabulary to begin problem-solving together.
Finally, when OFPROBOL is searching for a financer for a new project in the zone, they need a briefing on how, empirically, we know there’s a need for the project. I’m preparing one now on why we suspect a high instance of sexual violence despite the very low reporting rate in the zone. We’re hoping to create a second operating base in Zona Sur for CUBE, an organization dedicated to preventing and responding to sexual violence. When they get settled, probably early next year, I’ll be extending one of their previous studies to be able to compare sexual violence and reporting rates amongst teens in the Zona Sur and the wealthier city center.
So that’s the basic outline of what I’m doing this year. As you can see, the year is going to fly by!
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Videos 1 and 2
Some noisy sugary fun from awhile back in the hogar
Alicia and I dancing in the hogar for the anniversary party
Alicia and I dancing in the hogar for the anniversary party
Monday, June 20, 2011
The Power of Presence
I know that you’re waiting for more of an explanation about my decision to stay, but I’d rather post some old stuff first. Sorry. Kind of.
I remember early in my second year I was teaching some of the older girls to make pancakes and they were telling me stories about past volunteers. One of the oldest girls, who I had recently had some pretty intense talks with, looked at me with her eyes full of some unspoken meaning and said “lots of people have come. You’re the only one who stayed.” It was then that I realized that, yes, my work was becoming more meaningful and more effective, the longer I stayed and the more I learned, but the act of staying in itself was its own message. It was a way of saying to the girls, “I’ve seen you at your best and at your worst, I’ve witnessed the good and the bad. Despite the bad, and because of the good, I want to keep walking with you.”
I taught, I scolded, I celebrated, I danced, I learned, but, more than anything, I was simply here. Here to teach five year olds to tie their shoes, here to light candles when the power was shut off for weeks, here to listen as a girl whispered to me about her nightly flashbacks of being raped by her cousin. Here to hold a nine year old in my arms after she tried to take her own life. Here to teach second graders to turn cartwheels, here to accompany a teenager to court to face her abusive stepfather, here to say to them after they danced in the church for the first time “I’m so proud of you!” and here to tell our little girls “I remember when you were this big.” I’ve done a lot of different things here over the last two years, drawn upon a lot of experiences, and learned a lot of new skills, but I don’t think any task has been as important as the simple act of being here.
It shouldn’t be any surprise, really, that simply being present with someone can be such a profound, though challenging, act of love. God’s greatest act of love was to die for us, but I’d argue we undervalue His showing up on this earth to begin with. We know we are loved by God because “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:11 ). Though his miracles and teachings were essential, sometimes when I read the gospel I feel it was his ordinary presence, walking amongst the poor, kneeling beside the sick, eating with the rejected, that shocked and confused and comforted the most. In fact, it was in the ordinary act of sitting down to share a meal with his disciples, not the hours of teaching and interpreting of prophecy beforehand, that Jesus was recognized on the way to Emmaus.
When we come to teach, to plan, to heal, to develop new projects, we are making a statement about the worth of others; they deserve a better life and future. But a lot of our girls, in addition to these things, desperately need to simply know that they are worth the love and attention of others, just as they are. That message isn’t conveyed by all the work we do to shape them, though yes, that is important. It is revealed by simply being here with them. It’s a way of saying, goals and dreams and "development" aside, I´m happy to be with you, just as you are.
I remember early in my second year I was teaching some of the older girls to make pancakes and they were telling me stories about past volunteers. One of the oldest girls, who I had recently had some pretty intense talks with, looked at me with her eyes full of some unspoken meaning and said “lots of people have come. You’re the only one who stayed.” It was then that I realized that, yes, my work was becoming more meaningful and more effective, the longer I stayed and the more I learned, but the act of staying in itself was its own message. It was a way of saying to the girls, “I’ve seen you at your best and at your worst, I’ve witnessed the good and the bad. Despite the bad, and because of the good, I want to keep walking with you.”
I taught, I scolded, I celebrated, I danced, I learned, but, more than anything, I was simply here. Here to teach five year olds to tie their shoes, here to light candles when the power was shut off for weeks, here to listen as a girl whispered to me about her nightly flashbacks of being raped by her cousin. Here to hold a nine year old in my arms after she tried to take her own life. Here to teach second graders to turn cartwheels, here to accompany a teenager to court to face her abusive stepfather, here to say to them after they danced in the church for the first time “I’m so proud of you!” and here to tell our little girls “I remember when you were this big.” I’ve done a lot of different things here over the last two years, drawn upon a lot of experiences, and learned a lot of new skills, but I don’t think any task has been as important as the simple act of being here.
It shouldn’t be any surprise, really, that simply being present with someone can be such a profound, though challenging, act of love. God’s greatest act of love was to die for us, but I’d argue we undervalue His showing up on this earth to begin with. We know we are loved by God because “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:11 ). Though his miracles and teachings were essential, sometimes when I read the gospel I feel it was his ordinary presence, walking amongst the poor, kneeling beside the sick, eating with the rejected, that shocked and confused and comforted the most. In fact, it was in the ordinary act of sitting down to share a meal with his disciples, not the hours of teaching and interpreting of prophecy beforehand, that Jesus was recognized on the way to Emmaus.
When we come to teach, to plan, to heal, to develop new projects, we are making a statement about the worth of others; they deserve a better life and future. But a lot of our girls, in addition to these things, desperately need to simply know that they are worth the love and attention of others, just as they are. That message isn’t conveyed by all the work we do to shape them, though yes, that is important. It is revealed by simply being here with them. It’s a way of saying, goals and dreams and "development" aside, I´m happy to be with you, just as you are.
Found this under my bed...Holy Week
Holy week in Bolivia is absolutely beautiful! The entire week is packed full of traditions and images and prayers that force everyone to stop and really think about this beautiful time and what it means for our faith. An extra special effort is made to show that, for Bolivian Catholics, Holy Week is the climax of the liturgical year, and the events it celebrates are the core of our faith.
I apologize that this post is a little “dry.” It doesn’t really have much of the imagery it should to truly capture the events of the week. But…if it’s any consolation, there are pictures (uh…soon)!
Every palm Sunday the crowd gathers together a few “blocks” down the road to listen to the gospel reading in which Jesus, amidst the excited crowds that laid olive branches in his path, entered Jerusalem on a donkey. Padre Pepe, both years, took care to explain that entering on a donkey was a symbol of humility and peace (a horse-mounted king would be a symbol of war). Then Padre Pepe climbs on a donkey, and we reenact the same scene, waving our palm branches and shouting praises to our God, who sent us a just and peaceful king in Jesus Christ. It´s a wonderful opportunity to put the imagination to work and consider what it would have been like to witness this event in Jerusalem and to consider how it impacts our lives today. It’s kind of alike a big interactive Ignation exercise.
On Thursday, we celebrated mass, and we of course reenacted Jesus washing the disciples´ feet. Because this is the day we celebrate the institution of the Eucharist, mass was followed by a holy hour filled with prayers for world peace.
The next day, Good Friday, we gathered in the church at 5 am to carry the big crucifix through the town to pray the Stations of the Cross. As the sun slowly rose, we stopped at houses throughout the area where the owners prepared little altars. After praying one of the stations, we pray for whoever lives there. Padre blesses their home, and we continue, singing, down the road. The whole thing lasts something like three hours, but it’s definitely one of my favorite events of the year. There’s something really special about the parish gathering together to bring the reality of Christ’s passion outside the walls of the church and in to the community. Although it’s typical to fast on Good Friday in the US, in Bolivia there’s a tradition of feasting. There are twelve different foods, including fish, arroz con leche, and bizcochos that the people eat while traveling to different churches. Sometimes they just set up a makeshift barbecue outside the church and have a cook out. The funny thing is, I can’t seem to find anyone to explain exactly why they do it. They usually mumble something about the twelve apostles, then shrug and say “it’s just what we do.”
Saturday night, Easter vigil, is the height of the celebration. The mass is what you would expect in a US church; everyone gathering outside to light their candles, the blessing of the Holy Water, etc. The three newest girls in the hogar were baptized that night and looked absolutely adorable in their matching white dresses. After mass, most of the catechesis classes and the girls from the hogar perform dances in celebration of Jesus’ triumph over death.
This year, I helped the girls put together a particularly special dance. I wanted to get the older girls thinking about their role in the hogar and also to get them thinking about what Easter really means to them. The first half of the dance only featured the older girls. When we were putting the dance together I asked them what words and phrases expressed what Easter meant to them. They came up with words like joy, togetherness, no fear, etc. Then I asked them to come up with a movement that expressed that feeling or idea. They demonstrated things like jumping, bowing, holding hands and moving in a circle, etc. After they all had a chance to share, I helped them arrange their chosen movements in to a finished piece of choreography. The portion they created ended with them kneeling on the ground, at which point the little girls entered carrying baskets of flowers. The little girls had some simple choreography, mostly just simple “follow the leader” style movement, which ended with the little girls kneeling in a circle and the older girls dancing their “togetherness” movement around them. Then each girl knelt with one of the little girls on their knees in front of her. From behind, the older girls guided the little girls’ hands in a series of movements that echoed the first piece of choreography the teens had created. They guided them to bow, to reach, to yada and todah and all those other wonderful things I learned from Judy Mandeville’s sacred movement class. Finally, the older girls helped the little ones to their feet, and lead them to throw petals from their basket towards the adorned cross by the altar as they exited.
I was so proud of the girls. What they danced was truly their creation and a genuine offering to the Lord. The little girls looked so small and innocent and the older girls looked like guardian angels teaching and guiding them in prayer. The church was so uncharacteristically quiet and I felt like the girls were truly communicating something about this most holy day.
I apologize that this post is a little “dry.” It doesn’t really have much of the imagery it should to truly capture the events of the week. But…if it’s any consolation, there are pictures (uh…soon)!
Every palm Sunday the crowd gathers together a few “blocks” down the road to listen to the gospel reading in which Jesus, amidst the excited crowds that laid olive branches in his path, entered Jerusalem on a donkey. Padre Pepe, both years, took care to explain that entering on a donkey was a symbol of humility and peace (a horse-mounted king would be a symbol of war). Then Padre Pepe climbs on a donkey, and we reenact the same scene, waving our palm branches and shouting praises to our God, who sent us a just and peaceful king in Jesus Christ. It´s a wonderful opportunity to put the imagination to work and consider what it would have been like to witness this event in Jerusalem and to consider how it impacts our lives today. It’s kind of alike a big interactive Ignation exercise.
On Thursday, we celebrated mass, and we of course reenacted Jesus washing the disciples´ feet. Because this is the day we celebrate the institution of the Eucharist, mass was followed by a holy hour filled with prayers for world peace.
The next day, Good Friday, we gathered in the church at 5 am to carry the big crucifix through the town to pray the Stations of the Cross. As the sun slowly rose, we stopped at houses throughout the area where the owners prepared little altars. After praying one of the stations, we pray for whoever lives there. Padre blesses their home, and we continue, singing, down the road. The whole thing lasts something like three hours, but it’s definitely one of my favorite events of the year. There’s something really special about the parish gathering together to bring the reality of Christ’s passion outside the walls of the church and in to the community. Although it’s typical to fast on Good Friday in the US, in Bolivia there’s a tradition of feasting. There are twelve different foods, including fish, arroz con leche, and bizcochos that the people eat while traveling to different churches. Sometimes they just set up a makeshift barbecue outside the church and have a cook out. The funny thing is, I can’t seem to find anyone to explain exactly why they do it. They usually mumble something about the twelve apostles, then shrug and say “it’s just what we do.”
Saturday night, Easter vigil, is the height of the celebration. The mass is what you would expect in a US church; everyone gathering outside to light their candles, the blessing of the Holy Water, etc. The three newest girls in the hogar were baptized that night and looked absolutely adorable in their matching white dresses. After mass, most of the catechesis classes and the girls from the hogar perform dances in celebration of Jesus’ triumph over death.
This year, I helped the girls put together a particularly special dance. I wanted to get the older girls thinking about their role in the hogar and also to get them thinking about what Easter really means to them. The first half of the dance only featured the older girls. When we were putting the dance together I asked them what words and phrases expressed what Easter meant to them. They came up with words like joy, togetherness, no fear, etc. Then I asked them to come up with a movement that expressed that feeling or idea. They demonstrated things like jumping, bowing, holding hands and moving in a circle, etc. After they all had a chance to share, I helped them arrange their chosen movements in to a finished piece of choreography. The portion they created ended with them kneeling on the ground, at which point the little girls entered carrying baskets of flowers. The little girls had some simple choreography, mostly just simple “follow the leader” style movement, which ended with the little girls kneeling in a circle and the older girls dancing their “togetherness” movement around them. Then each girl knelt with one of the little girls on their knees in front of her. From behind, the older girls guided the little girls’ hands in a series of movements that echoed the first piece of choreography the teens had created. They guided them to bow, to reach, to yada and todah and all those other wonderful things I learned from Judy Mandeville’s sacred movement class. Finally, the older girls helped the little ones to their feet, and lead them to throw petals from their basket towards the adorned cross by the altar as they exited.
I was so proud of the girls. What they danced was truly their creation and a genuine offering to the Lord. The little girls looked so small and innocent and the older girls looked like guardian angels teaching and guiding them in prayer. The church was so uncharacteristically quiet and I felt like the girls were truly communicating something about this most holy day.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Your attention, please!
Life keeps flying by. I keep thinking of wonderful topics (community visits in Santa Cruz, my trip to the US, the continuing adventures in the hogar, Holy Week, dance competitions, birthdays and mothers day, and on and on and on) to write about and finally get serious about my goal to share more of my experience here with you all. I really will recommit to the task soon. For now, however, I'm skipping over these subjects, no matter their importance or how long they've been waiting in the background, to make an important announcement.
In my last post, I wrote about being comfortably directionless, ready to do more, but in no hurry to leave. I was immersed in discerning the best place for me next year, and God has generously dropped a beautiful opportunity right in to my lap! My current director put me in touch with another Salesian office of project development. They coordinate the funding and development of projects like technical schools, food banks, day care centers, etc. initiated by Salesian groups. We had a long talk about everything they were willing to teach me about project development, and all the ways I could use my research and statistics skills to support their work. They asked if I would be willing to work with a priest to evaluate a series of projects, beginning with a technical school, that he's been building to support families, children, and young adults living in rural poverty throughout his diocese. It's basically a "create your own position" job that will allow me to use everything I know to the extent I'm willing, and give me opportunities to learn plenty more besides. And it's all for the service of others within a faith-based organization. Does it get better?
Here's the carefully avoided punch-line: It's here. The priest, unbeknownst to the folks at OFPROBOL when we first spoke, is my own parish priest, Padre Pepe, who is often considered the father of our hogar. I'll be living in the hogar for a third year, enjoying the relationships that have grown and deepend over the last two years, taking care of our littlest ones in the morning, then heading out with Padre Pepe to spend the bulk of the day immersed in this new exciting position.
I'm sorry to everyone who got an extremely vague response when they asked at any point over the last month "when are you coming home?" I was waiting to work out the details with my director and the sisters, discerning my final decision, and breaking the news to my immediate family first.
I still have a lot more to say about other factors that influenced this decision, how much I miss you all, and a few more thoughts about the transition from year two to year three, not to mention all the things I haven't shared over the last few months. For now, however, I'm just happy to share this exciting news with you all.
I love and miss you all. I couldn't be here without you.
In my last post, I wrote about being comfortably directionless, ready to do more, but in no hurry to leave. I was immersed in discerning the best place for me next year, and God has generously dropped a beautiful opportunity right in to my lap! My current director put me in touch with another Salesian office of project development. They coordinate the funding and development of projects like technical schools, food banks, day care centers, etc. initiated by Salesian groups. We had a long talk about everything they were willing to teach me about project development, and all the ways I could use my research and statistics skills to support their work. They asked if I would be willing to work with a priest to evaluate a series of projects, beginning with a technical school, that he's been building to support families, children, and young adults living in rural poverty throughout his diocese. It's basically a "create your own position" job that will allow me to use everything I know to the extent I'm willing, and give me opportunities to learn plenty more besides. And it's all for the service of others within a faith-based organization. Does it get better?
Here's the carefully avoided punch-line: It's here. The priest, unbeknownst to the folks at OFPROBOL when we first spoke, is my own parish priest, Padre Pepe, who is often considered the father of our hogar. I'll be living in the hogar for a third year, enjoying the relationships that have grown and deepend over the last two years, taking care of our littlest ones in the morning, then heading out with Padre Pepe to spend the bulk of the day immersed in this new exciting position.
I'm sorry to everyone who got an extremely vague response when they asked at any point over the last month "when are you coming home?" I was waiting to work out the details with my director and the sisters, discerning my final decision, and breaking the news to my immediate family first.
I still have a lot more to say about other factors that influenced this decision, how much I miss you all, and a few more thoughts about the transition from year two to year three, not to mention all the things I haven't shared over the last few months. For now, however, I'm just happy to share this exciting news with you all.
I love and miss you all. I couldn't be here without you.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
What now?
When I was finishing my BA at Whitworth, I was pretty much a grad school fiend. I read APA journals for fun. I had “brain crushes” on developmental psychology researchers. I was ahead of schedule according to the multiple drafts of my color coded “four year (turned three year) plan” for graduation. I was so excited to start working towards a clinical psych PhD and couldn’t think of anything else I could possibly be happy doing after graduation. Beginning my senior year I could only imagine myself doing one of two things after graduation: starting grad school…or sulking all year long over rejection letters until starting grad school the next year.
Eventually, however, I started to wonder if there might be something a little unhealthy about that mentality. Of course, it’s important to have goals and it’s good to be determined about them, but I worried that I was getting too obsessed with moving forward forward forward. I think I was more shocked than anyone when I decided to join Salesian Lay Missioners instead of moving on to grad school that year. I couldn’t explain why I made that decision; I just knew I was called to it.
I remember a friend asking me what I thought would be most difficult about my year abroad. I said that all my life (as typical of…well…just about everyone my age) I had been preparing for the next step, pushing towards the finish line, striving for the goal. But I knew that in Bolivia, there was no finish line, no ultimate goal, no “next step.” Past volunteers had talked about the importance of being present, of simply sharing life with the girls in the orphanage one day at a time. I didn’t know how to do that. I just knew how to race onward. But now there was nothing on the horizon to run towards. Just the long, unconquerable year stretching out ahead of me. I left knowing that God had something meaningful in store for me, but I truly doubted I would be completely content until I was in grad school where I belonged.
Well, guess what, folks. Two years later I have received my fifth and final “thank you, but…” letter from clinical/community PhD programs..and l am the most content I have ever been. All five programs only accepted between 2 and 4 percent of their applicants, so my feelings aren’t too hurt. More importantly, however, is the fact that I really did learn to “just be.” Yes, psychology, especially research, is still my vocation. Yes, I want to be in school still. Yes, grad school is essential to prepare me for the work I feel called to. But the person I am today looks at the degree-hungry girl of two years ago and pities her a bit. I want to tell her she’s more than her resume. I want to warn her that at this rate she’s going to spend her whole life preparing to “do” and never actually “doing.” I want to tell her that she is capable of meaningful things without a string of letters after her name. I want to tell her that everything happens in its proper time, and that what looks to her like a tidy path forward is actually a graceless trampling of the experiences and people she’s ignoring on the way towards her unknown future. I can’t tell her these things, but it looks like she figured them out eventually anyway.
I’m happy to announce, friends, that I did it. Or, rather, God did it to me. Though I still happily anticipate the career path of tomorrow, I have finally discovered the beauty of today. I explained to a friend recently that I honestly have nothing to worry about. The most beautiful thing someone can do with their life is wake up in love with God and eager to serve the people around them. My plan for now is to do exactly that every day. Then, when it’s time, I’ll do it someplace else. Maybe in Oregon, maybe in Hawaii with my sis, maybe in Chicago or Alaska or Rwanda or Bolivia or Antarctica. I don’t really know. If you have some ideas, send them my way. But above all don’t be worried, because, to my own surprise, I’m certainly not.
Eventually, however, I started to wonder if there might be something a little unhealthy about that mentality. Of course, it’s important to have goals and it’s good to be determined about them, but I worried that I was getting too obsessed with moving forward forward forward. I think I was more shocked than anyone when I decided to join Salesian Lay Missioners instead of moving on to grad school that year. I couldn’t explain why I made that decision; I just knew I was called to it.
I remember a friend asking me what I thought would be most difficult about my year abroad. I said that all my life (as typical of…well…just about everyone my age) I had been preparing for the next step, pushing towards the finish line, striving for the goal. But I knew that in Bolivia, there was no finish line, no ultimate goal, no “next step.” Past volunteers had talked about the importance of being present, of simply sharing life with the girls in the orphanage one day at a time. I didn’t know how to do that. I just knew how to race onward. But now there was nothing on the horizon to run towards. Just the long, unconquerable year stretching out ahead of me. I left knowing that God had something meaningful in store for me, but I truly doubted I would be completely content until I was in grad school where I belonged.
Well, guess what, folks. Two years later I have received my fifth and final “thank you, but…” letter from clinical/community PhD programs..and l am the most content I have ever been. All five programs only accepted between 2 and 4 percent of their applicants, so my feelings aren’t too hurt. More importantly, however, is the fact that I really did learn to “just be.” Yes, psychology, especially research, is still my vocation. Yes, I want to be in school still. Yes, grad school is essential to prepare me for the work I feel called to. But the person I am today looks at the degree-hungry girl of two years ago and pities her a bit. I want to tell her she’s more than her resume. I want to warn her that at this rate she’s going to spend her whole life preparing to “do” and never actually “doing.” I want to tell her that she is capable of meaningful things without a string of letters after her name. I want to tell her that everything happens in its proper time, and that what looks to her like a tidy path forward is actually a graceless trampling of the experiences and people she’s ignoring on the way towards her unknown future. I can’t tell her these things, but it looks like she figured them out eventually anyway.
I’m happy to announce, friends, that I did it. Or, rather, God did it to me. Though I still happily anticipate the career path of tomorrow, I have finally discovered the beauty of today. I explained to a friend recently that I honestly have nothing to worry about. The most beautiful thing someone can do with their life is wake up in love with God and eager to serve the people around them. My plan for now is to do exactly that every day. Then, when it’s time, I’ll do it someplace else. Maybe in Oregon, maybe in Hawaii with my sis, maybe in Chicago or Alaska or Rwanda or Bolivia or Antarctica. I don’t really know. If you have some ideas, send them my way. But above all don’t be worried, because, to my own surprise, I’m certainly not.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Can I Have a Redo?
The sisters gave me an impossible task on Holy Thursday. I had less than an hour to get all 45 girls (hyper-active kindergartners and capricious teenagers alike) to eat dinner, clean the kitchen, change in to their Sunday best, and arrive smiling in the pews for mass. Oh yeah…and I was completely on my own. As I ran around the hogar screaming over my shoulder for kids to get back in the dining room, huffing and puffing at little girls for constantly losing their socks, and shooting teens annoyed looks for “going to church dressed like THAT” I suddenly could see so clearly how far I was from the volunteer I wanted to be.
Where was the unshakable calm from my teaching time last year? Where were the playful comments that used to be enough for most of the girls to get the hint? Where were the private, compassionate corrections so characteristic of the Salesian way? Where was the girl who insisted that all discipline should strengthen a child’s skills and relationships, not merely scare her in to behaving? That girl was nowhere to be found. Instead, this crazy, red-faced educadora was running around screaming across the hogar, dragging kids by the hand here and there and demanding to know why nobody was chewing fast enough. This is not who I want to be. I was so ashamed and so angry to realize that I see this stranger more and more often as the year progresses.
I think part of my struggle is feeling like there’s too much work, too many girls, too little time, too little consistency to discipline and correct the way I want to. I feel like my primary role now is to meet practical needs, to get the kids organized, and discipline. That doesn’t leave much time to give the kids the attention they deserve when they truly behave, or the supervision that would stop a lot of issues before they started. I’ll be completely frank. I don’t really like my new role as much as I loved teaching and working one on one with our higher-needs girls. There are a lot of things I love about my work still, but there is little opportunity to give the kids a more holistic upbringing when their needs are constantly competing for my time. I hate seeing who I become when the stress overwhelms me, and I especially cringe when I think of the effect it may have on the girls.
I realized last night during mass that a HUGE contributor is the change in my prayer life. I used to spend almost an hour and a half every morning in prayer with the sisters before I even saw the girls. I would end each night with a focused Ignatian examen to look critically at my day through God’s eyes. I was growing. I was grounded. I was filled and ready to overflow on to these little girls. This routine slowly dwindled as I started working as an educadora, until I was praying a distracted and regularly interrupted liturgy of the hours in the morning and chopping my examen down to “thanks for this day. I probably screwed up. Remind me to think about that later. Sorry for whatever. G’night” as I crashed in to bed.
Spending an hour in prayer before the blessed sacrament last night after mass helped me really put things in perspective and see how I could start over again. It was incredible how much of a difference even just that one isolated hour made in my attitude towards these girls the rest of the night and all through the next day. It was also refreshing to see how much more effective my old means of correction and discipline truly were. Even though I know that returning to a more active prayer life will bring me back towards the volunteer I was six months ago, I think I may just desperately need a vacation.
Fortunately, I’ll be leaving Wednesday to spend a few days with some fellow volunteers in Santa Cruz, and then flying out Friday to be with my sis and her family for a week (and my parents for a few days too!). Hopefully it will give me the boost I need to finish this second year with as much joy and love as I started it with.
Where was the unshakable calm from my teaching time last year? Where were the playful comments that used to be enough for most of the girls to get the hint? Where were the private, compassionate corrections so characteristic of the Salesian way? Where was the girl who insisted that all discipline should strengthen a child’s skills and relationships, not merely scare her in to behaving? That girl was nowhere to be found. Instead, this crazy, red-faced educadora was running around screaming across the hogar, dragging kids by the hand here and there and demanding to know why nobody was chewing fast enough. This is not who I want to be. I was so ashamed and so angry to realize that I see this stranger more and more often as the year progresses.
I think part of my struggle is feeling like there’s too much work, too many girls, too little time, too little consistency to discipline and correct the way I want to. I feel like my primary role now is to meet practical needs, to get the kids organized, and discipline. That doesn’t leave much time to give the kids the attention they deserve when they truly behave, or the supervision that would stop a lot of issues before they started. I’ll be completely frank. I don’t really like my new role as much as I loved teaching and working one on one with our higher-needs girls. There are a lot of things I love about my work still, but there is little opportunity to give the kids a more holistic upbringing when their needs are constantly competing for my time. I hate seeing who I become when the stress overwhelms me, and I especially cringe when I think of the effect it may have on the girls.
I realized last night during mass that a HUGE contributor is the change in my prayer life. I used to spend almost an hour and a half every morning in prayer with the sisters before I even saw the girls. I would end each night with a focused Ignatian examen to look critically at my day through God’s eyes. I was growing. I was grounded. I was filled and ready to overflow on to these little girls. This routine slowly dwindled as I started working as an educadora, until I was praying a distracted and regularly interrupted liturgy of the hours in the morning and chopping my examen down to “thanks for this day. I probably screwed up. Remind me to think about that later. Sorry for whatever. G’night” as I crashed in to bed.
Spending an hour in prayer before the blessed sacrament last night after mass helped me really put things in perspective and see how I could start over again. It was incredible how much of a difference even just that one isolated hour made in my attitude towards these girls the rest of the night and all through the next day. It was also refreshing to see how much more effective my old means of correction and discipline truly were. Even though I know that returning to a more active prayer life will bring me back towards the volunteer I was six months ago, I think I may just desperately need a vacation.
Fortunately, I’ll be leaving Wednesday to spend a few days with some fellow volunteers in Santa Cruz, and then flying out Friday to be with my sis and her family for a week (and my parents for a few days too!). Hopefully it will give me the boost I need to finish this second year with as much joy and love as I started it with.
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