Don't do it. Just DON'T do it: Drink the water that is.
You know, just when you think you've gotten the hang of this Mexico gig, and your stomach is all iron clad and ready for a punch from any parasite/bacteria that comes your way, you suddenly find yourself humbled once again at the porcelain thrown. When they tell you to never drink the tap water in Mexico, you should really just listen and not do it. Alas, my stubborn spirit tried to fight another uphill battle and lost. I thought to myself, "just a handful of this water wont kill me, I'm sure..." This is a very similar story to "Eating these notorious roadside strawberries wont kill me, I'm sure"...When will I ever learn?
Nonetheless, I find an interesting parallel to this situation I'm in with the lives we are living here in Mexico right now. We've been here now for about 4 months, and man have we been humbled-time and again. I've felt homesick (and I mean sick) for the strangest things-from missing the wide range of junkfood available to me at a moments notice in the States, to sitting in a room with my old roommates and chatting about nonsense for hours on end. Its been a difficult journey, one filled to the brim with ups and downs, and I am humbled.
-I thought that because I had moved so much throughout my life, from Texas to Georgia to Tennessee to Arizona, that this meant I would very easily adjust to a new culture abroad. I thought that because I had lived in the very polarized cultures of the Conservative South and the Liberal West that that would allow me the experience to successfully adapt to Mexican culture. I am humbled.
-I thought that because I had a degree focused on development and written a 90 page thesis about development that I would have a clue about what that development looked like amidst an actually impoverished community, amidst my bouts of homesickness, amidst culture clashes, amidst the inevitable adjustments required in a new marriage. Boy, am I humbled.
-I thought that because we came here to serve that we would have a vast range of duties and responsibilities that nobody but us could fill; that we were an invaluable resource to the community. I am humbled.
Sometimes, these lessons in humility are like a grown up version of spankings by your parents when you're five. You feel immediately ashamed, and then sheepish to talk to anyone about what you did (or in this case, learned) after the fact. But I do not want to come back home and lie to everyone's face by only sharing the good. And the good here is REALLY good. There are 50 children living in a town outside our city who are lucky to see their parents or eat a bit of food each day. Now, they are being loved and cared for twice a week by committed adults. And the children ADORE our visits and meet us in the same spot in the same park every week for more love. THIS is something good!
Now, of course, there is the bad. The heartache of longing for the comforts of my own culture grows stronger every time I am humbled by something else here. Its a resilient monster to fight each day. I can't lie to all and say that I've conquered the monster and that I love this place more than my old place and never want to go back to the States. That would be a filthy lie. However, I can say that I am adjusted to life here better than ever. I know more about what to expect from people here because I understand their culture more, therefore I don't live in constant anxiety about whether my actions or comments have offended or will offend anyone. This, I can conclude, is a success. I have not just traveled to a new country for a week and made claims and sweeping generalizations about a new culture. That, I know now, is impossible to do without having really lived somewhere. But I have LIVED here, and I DO understand the culture more. For that reason alone, I can call this a success.
Yet still, I am humbled. Day in and day out.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Just When You Think You Are Purposeless...
First off, I'd like to apologize to all the family and friends who have been disappointed in how little I've posted in the past few weeks. However, in my defense, I did heed you all fair warning, did I not? In reality, I have only kept my promise to be terribly inconsistent at writing, and thus, you should be nothing but proud :)
Anyway, an update from the Speck crew...wow, where to begin. I suppose we can start with last Monday.
I hope you all remember about the Monday night kids group we started to run in a very impoverished neighborhood called Landeta (sp?). I hope you also remember that the last time I wrote about it we had approximately 15 children, and I was quite excited about how quickly it grew. My how things have changed. Over the course of the 2.5 months that we have been investing in that community, our average base of children has grown to approximately 50+ per week! Two weeks ago, we had over 80 children...I repeat, 80 children!
This is an absolutely astounding number of children to consistently show up at 5:30 pm in a dirt field every Monday to meet us for a very "classroom"-esque environment. These children range in ages from 3 to about 18, and we seem to be more and more respected and trusted in the community the longer we are here. When we first started this gig, I was so perplexed by how consistently the kids showed up, often sitting patiently on the curb in front of a massive field consisting of mostly dirt, a few rusted picnic tables, and some netless soccer goals. I asked myself, "why are these kids so interested in playing with old people, hearing a Jesus story, and making crafts every week?" I imagined myself as an 8 year old, and I couldn't fathom having any interest in it. But then I remember the very tragic and broken childhoods of these kids. For most, they are being raised by one parent (mainly mothers), and have a number of siblings from other "fathers" who are not in the picture. These mothers work their tails off through the day and into the night to feed and clothe their children, and the sacrifice for survival is quality time with their kids. The end result: most of these little guys are essentially raising themselves, without the presence of a consistent adult in their lives. WE have become the consistent adult in their lives, and for that reason alone, the same faces show up week in and week out. And for that, WE will continue to show up week in and week out.
We have an eight year old boy who is completely illiterate and does not attend school. His awareness of being academically behind his friends has made him angry and aggressive toward other children. We have girls no more than 17 years old come up timidly with their babies on their hips to watch us play with the kids. One 13 year old girl broke her flip flop during a game of kickball, and she walked away from the game and sat by herself under a tree for a while. I asked our director what was wrong and she responded, "Those were her only shoes, and she can't go to school without shoes." One day, Jacob, a young guy studying children's ministry at seminary came to help us. He was so fun and engaging for the kids, and to my utter shock the kids wanted to pray. So he asked the group of 50+ children what they would like to pray for, and these were some of the answers:
-"For my Daddy to stop drinking so much alcohol"
-"For my Mom to find a job"
-"For my Daddy to stop getting drunk"
-"For my parents to stop fighting"
-"For my Daddy to stop drinking"
-"For my Mom to come home more"
Noticing a pattern here? It breaks my heart to hear so many of the same concerns that all relate back to the adults in their lives. We'll see drunk, shirtless men passed out in the middle of the dirt path leading up to the field. Sometimes, very suspicious-looking men will lurk around the field and watch the children from a close distance, clearly drunk.
I am now the leader of the young girls ages 11 and older. I usually get between 6 to 12 girls a week, and I am both excited and petrified to lead these young women every week. I am absolutely terrified for them in the dangerous environment they live in. Gangs permeate the neighborhood, and I see way more young men than women crowding around the rest of the field. The risk of pregnancy and STDs is so high from both the high-risk of rape, as well as the culture that glorifies dating and sex at an extremely young age (not so much different from our own stomping grounds I suppose). The difference is poverty. Due to the level of poverty, contraceptives are not very accessible or affordable to these kids, which only heightens the risk for pregnancy and STDs. If I were leading a group of young girls in suburbia, U.S.A., I would do a lot of "life dreaming" activities, where I encouraged the girls in various ways to go after their dreams...that anything is possible, thus providing them with the most impacting motivator not to have sex at that age. With these girls, I'm not sure where those boundaries are. Do I indoctrinate them with the notion that they should pursue their dream of being doctors and lawyers, when the chances of them even graduating high school are so low? Do I focus on communicating the importance of waiting on having sex with their 12 year old boyfriend in order to achieve their dreams, or take a more 'survival mode' approach that may or may not include passing out condoms and teaching about contraceptive use? These are big questions, questions about my worldview compared with theirs, my endless field of opportunities compared to their very narrow walkway.
To make our program more effective, we are starting to visit twice a week instead of once. We now go on Thursdays to have a more laid back, bonding day with the kids that is still structured, but less classroom-like. Kyle and his partner will play soccer with the boys, Lindsey and her partner will play games, sing songs, and make crafts with the kids under 5, and I teach English to any of the teens in the neighborhood who want to learn this very practical life skill. In my first week I had four teens ages 11-16, and I expect more next week as the word spreads through the neighborhood that free English classes are being offered at the rusty picnic table across the field.
Now that we have a solid base of kids, we can anticipate more needs and structure our weekly activities much more than before. As we move into the second half of our time here in San Miguel, here are some major concerns we have for our little rag-tag, grassroots program:
-Raising up mature, committed leaders to sustain and grow this program where God is clearly moving. Our biggest struggle is finding consistent leaders who can commit long-term to this program. Team Speck is very concerned about the state of the program and the emotions of the kids once we leave if there is no one to take our place. We are desperately praying for and seeking out new leaders to mentor into these challenging but rewarding roles.
-We are quickly improving our language skills, and are much better at communicating mostly anything we need to say to people. However, we get much more tired more quickly here, and sometimes discouraged by the ever present language and cultural barrier that we face every day. These barriers inevitably affect the successful development of our little program, and for us Americans who are used to order and structure and linear thinking, the cultural barriers in terms of mere cognitive differences can be very frustrating for both parties.
-Since most of the children are raising themselves, the very notion of discipline and obedience are outside of their realms of comprehension. Some of the boys punch other kids, and discipline is a very critical and immediate need as our numbers grow. We are trying to figure out how we want to implement behavior rules and punishments for the kids, while remaining loving, supportive, and understanding of the difficult circumstances in which they live day in and day out.
In light of above disciplinary concern, I do have a rather hilarious story for cyberspace with which to conclude my blog:
Two weeks ago, we had 80 children show up with only 7 leaders. Our director, Barbara, brought a gigantic plastic bag of bouncy balls(you know, the kind in the giant baskets you always begged your mom for at the grocery store, but she'd always say no?). To our dismay...there were only 40 balls...
Barbara found herself in a mild state of panic as 80 children began to whine for a ball. She went up to Lindsey, eyes wide with fear, and asked, "What do we do with these balls?" Well, we decided to play a structured game boys vs girls to determine which team would win them. The boys decidedly won the game, and Kyle picked up the bag to gently offer the prizes to the gloating winners. Instead of hands cupped and patiently ready for their prize like Oliver and his soup, 40 boys formed a full blown stampede toward the bag in Kyle's hands. As I heard an unmentionable curse emit from Kyle, he turned and sprinted the opposite direction with the bag above his head as fast as his ginger legs could take him. Please try your best to imagine the sounds emitted from a wild herd of no less than 50 children as the girls joined the stampede, tearing after your husband. Kyle sprinted for a solid two minutes, I suppose to try and wear them out. Unfortunately, Kyle is a bit out of shape, and halted in the middle of the field. He raised the bag high above his head, as 50+ children scratched and clawed up his body. For a fleeting second, we locked eyes, and for maybe the first time ever, I saw blood red fear flash in his wild eyes. He gripped both ends of the bag, gave a resounding roar, and ripped the bag in two. Colorful balls scattered like an explosion of fireworks, and kids tackled one another like cats in a bag.
We love you all, and miss you terribly. Please keep us and our 80 rugrats in your thoughts and prayers as we try and hold on to strength and sanity together and with our amazing God :)
Note to readers: Kyle Speck is alive and well, and has suffered no noticeable physical or psychological trauma from the episode described above.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
What the Amoebas Have Taught Me
Well, the tests are done, the results are in. Folks, it seems I have been attacked by a mob of amoebas... Though microscopic in size, these little hooligans have done quite a number to my stomach, my energy level, and thus my ability to feel in any way useful to this community. Its been a struggle not to get totally disheartened by this mess while I continue to grow further and further out of the loop with each passing day. Let me tell you, I've spent a lot of time watching subtitled movies in Spanish...
On a brighter note, I've learned some really interesting things while on bed rest (or bathroom rest, whichever you prefer) that I might otherwise never have known about. For example, my host mother, Mercedes, and Lindsey's host mother, Marisela, have given me a number of natural remedies to common ailments. For example:
1) If you have an achy stomach
-Down two tablespoons of olive oil. The oil smooths out the irritated stomach lining. I can think of almost nothing more repulsive, but apparently its a cure all for sour stomach. Who knew!
2) If you have a stomach bug that wont quit (note: discounting amoebas of course, they apparently play on an ENTIRELY different level)
-Mince a fresh clove of garlic and mix with a small amount lemon juice. If you are a weakling, dilute with water. Apparently, bugs that get in the stomach have an intense aversion to garlic and often purge themselves from the body when in contact with it. Good to know for us poor in-college or post-college kids who don't want to drop 10 bucks on a bottle of TUMS!
3) If you have red eye from allergies
-Make a pot of chamomile tea and let it sit out until it is at least room temperature. Apparently chamomile is safe on the eyes and alleviates red eye. Use the tea as eye drops in the affected eye, and the redness will go ka-put!
So there you have it, some homemade remedies for all you naturalists out there in cyberspace!
Oh, and as promised, I have something to add to Ramon's advice of the Day:
Ramon found it imperative that we understand the time differences between Mexicans and Americans. Our first two weeks here, we found ourselves the victims of gringo time. Ramon explains this phenomenon to us with the following tale...
An American and a Mexican decide to have a business meeting the following day at 10am. They say, ok, we will meet at this bench at 10am. The next day comes around, and the American checks his watch ten times before he is supposed to be there, you know, so he doesn't run a minute late! The American gets to the designated bench promptly at 9:50 am. Right on time, he thought to himself. Ten o'clock strikes and the American starts to feel a little restless. "I wonder where he is?" the American wonders to himself. After five minutes past 10am, the American begins wringing his hands, wondering if something terrible happened to his friend. The time is 10:05 am
Meanwhile, the Mexican is enjoying a pleasant, leisurely breakfast with his family. Ten o'clock rolls around, and he muses, "Well, its a bit of a walk to the bench, so I suppose its time for me to leave," He strolls tranquilly down the road, looking forward to a meeting with his friend.
The Mexican approaches the bench at 10:45am and the American is all shaken up and begins to interrogate his friend. "Why are you so late? I thought we were supposed to meet at 10 o'clock!" The Mexican gives him a strange look and glances at his watch. He responds to his American friend, "What do you mean I'm late, its 10:45. It IS still ten!"
This piece of advice may sound wildly overgeneralized, but I must admit that we see the cultural difference on a daily basis. Our weekly conversations start promptly at five every Tues and Thurs. However, this start time is what we call the "gringo start time". It is so amusing because even though the class always "starts" at 5, the only people present are white, English-speaking Northamericans trying to learn Spanish like us. Thanks to Ramon, we have learned better, and now we arrive promptly at 5:15 for every class, and as sure as the sun sets, there are our Mexican friends, ready to engage in conversation to learn English and help us gringos with our Spanish!
Needless to say, living in a new culture is a total trip, and we are constantly being humbled here. But thanks to Ramon, we have a heads up on these things :) More advice from Ramon to come, I'm sure!
On a brighter note, I've learned some really interesting things while on bed rest (or bathroom rest, whichever you prefer) that I might otherwise never have known about. For example, my host mother, Mercedes, and Lindsey's host mother, Marisela, have given me a number of natural remedies to common ailments. For example:
1) If you have an achy stomach
-Down two tablespoons of olive oil. The oil smooths out the irritated stomach lining. I can think of almost nothing more repulsive, but apparently its a cure all for sour stomach. Who knew!
2) If you have a stomach bug that wont quit (note: discounting amoebas of course, they apparently play on an ENTIRELY different level)
-Mince a fresh clove of garlic and mix with a small amount lemon juice. If you are a weakling, dilute with water. Apparently, bugs that get in the stomach have an intense aversion to garlic and often purge themselves from the body when in contact with it. Good to know for us poor in-college or post-college kids who don't want to drop 10 bucks on a bottle of TUMS!
3) If you have red eye from allergies
-Make a pot of chamomile tea and let it sit out until it is at least room temperature. Apparently chamomile is safe on the eyes and alleviates red eye. Use the tea as eye drops in the affected eye, and the redness will go ka-put!
So there you have it, some homemade remedies for all you naturalists out there in cyberspace!
Oh, and as promised, I have something to add to Ramon's advice of the Day:
Ramon found it imperative that we understand the time differences between Mexicans and Americans. Our first two weeks here, we found ourselves the victims of gringo time. Ramon explains this phenomenon to us with the following tale...
An American and a Mexican decide to have a business meeting the following day at 10am. They say, ok, we will meet at this bench at 10am. The next day comes around, and the American checks his watch ten times before he is supposed to be there, you know, so he doesn't run a minute late! The American gets to the designated bench promptly at 9:50 am. Right on time, he thought to himself. Ten o'clock strikes and the American starts to feel a little restless. "I wonder where he is?" the American wonders to himself. After five minutes past 10am, the American begins wringing his hands, wondering if something terrible happened to his friend. The time is 10:05 am
Meanwhile, the Mexican is enjoying a pleasant, leisurely breakfast with his family. Ten o'clock rolls around, and he muses, "Well, its a bit of a walk to the bench, so I suppose its time for me to leave," He strolls tranquilly down the road, looking forward to a meeting with his friend.
The Mexican approaches the bench at 10:45am and the American is all shaken up and begins to interrogate his friend. "Why are you so late? I thought we were supposed to meet at 10 o'clock!" The Mexican gives him a strange look and glances at his watch. He responds to his American friend, "What do you mean I'm late, its 10:45. It IS still ten!"
This piece of advice may sound wildly overgeneralized, but I must admit that we see the cultural difference on a daily basis. Our weekly conversations start promptly at five every Tues and Thurs. However, this start time is what we call the "gringo start time". It is so amusing because even though the class always "starts" at 5, the only people present are white, English-speaking Northamericans trying to learn Spanish like us. Thanks to Ramon, we have learned better, and now we arrive promptly at 5:15 for every class, and as sure as the sun sets, there are our Mexican friends, ready to engage in conversation to learn English and help us gringos with our Spanish!
Needless to say, living in a new culture is a total trip, and we are constantly being humbled here. But thanks to Ramon, we have a heads up on these things :) More advice from Ramon to come, I'm sure!
Monday, March 1, 2010
When Mexico Hurls You Into a Pit of Lions...
You know, when I knew we were coming to Mexico I assumed that I would be met with culture shock of some kind. I thought I might do or say a few "silly gringa" things here and there...you know, like realizing two weeks into my stay that instead of saying "I'm excited" I've been saying, "I'm turned on" the whole time...to my horror that NOBODY had corrected me. I expected to make a few of these innocent language hiccups that got me a few mocking laughs here and there. I really didn't think I'd be hit hard with any real soul shifting culture clashes...I mean, I'm an International Studies major, right? Riggght....
It was our first Sunday at the church, and I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy in my new Mexican community. I sang in joyful ignorance to the Spanish worship songs, gave myself a headache from not blinking throughout the entirety of the pastor's moderately incomprehensible sermon, and introduced myself with the rest of our little team in front of the congregation. To my pleasant surprise, two teenage girls from the youth group approached Lindsey and I following the sermon, and asked us if we would like to accompany them the next day to one of the more impoverished areas on the outskirts of town to go hang out with the children of a couple families. We said yes of course, and were so excited (not to be confused with turned on) to go with them. I was beginning to feel so comfortable here…I suppose I forgot for a moment that Jesus never promised us lives of comfort…
So the next day Linds and I don’t really think too much about the coming event considering we were just asked to accompany these girls the day before. We walked toward our designated meeting place, and were met on the road halfway by the two girls. Without any explanation, we head in the opposite direction, and head to a nice house we had never seen before. Mildly confused, but already well-acquainted and unphased by the sensation at this point, we absent-mindedly waltzed into the woman’s house. We quickly exchanged the usual formalities, and took a blissfully ignorant seat on her couch. The two other girls sat caddy corner to Linds and I on another couch, and the woman, Barbara, began to speak rapidly to them in Spanish. I desperately tried to decipher the details of the conversation, as I was already confused enough as to why we were in this woman’s nice house instead of on our way to the rancho. Barbara began to look a tad disgruntled as she spoke directly at the girls, and I could only make out the phrases “No Bibles,” “No prepared,” and “Lets go then, the children are waiting.” This conversation goes down without one word spoken to Lindsey or myself, so we just continue to do our best to not get in their way and play our well-rehearsed role of the ignorant foreign girls.
As we get up to leave, the three phrases I did manage to decode began to sink in, and I felt a very uneasy feeling in my stomach. As we load into the car I ask Barbara in the best Spanish I could muster, “Barbara, what are Lindsey and I doing today at the rancho?” Barbara looks at us, and pointedly states in Spanish, “You are going to teach the lessons to the children today. The other girls are not prepared, so you will teach them.” At this point my stomach is sinking deeper and deeper into my bowels as I try to envision Lindsey and I planning a Bible lesson in Spanish. I’m trying to stay calm, thinking, ‘ok, I’m sure this place is pretty far, so maybe we will have time to put something mediocre together on the way.’
“Barbara, how long a drive is it to the rancho?” I ask. Barbara waves her arm in the air nonchalantly and says, “Oh not far, like 10-15 minutes.” Can I be quite honest with you all in cyber space that in that moment I am quite certain I have never felt so panicked in all my life. Me, Tarah Anne, NOT prepared, NOT in control of the situation!? It was a swift and crippling blow to my confidence and my sense of self as I know it! Well, I began fighting the urge to have a massive panic attack as we bump and rock down the uneven roads all the way to the rancho (all 10 minutes). First of all, let me start by saying that children terrify my. I don’t speak child, and I never have I don’t think. So the notion of teaching a children’s Bible lesson on the fly that would hold their attention struck the fear of God into my shuddering soul. Lindsey and I quickly decide to tell the story of David and Goliath by acting it out, giving away candy as prizes for right answers, and playing a really simple game that involves making pig noises in the other person’s face. I thought to myself the whole way there, “I’m toast.”
Now, I’m a little embarrassed to say that everything went perfectly smoothly, and that I completely overacted. But if I didn’t tell you how outlandishly stressed I was, then I wouldn’t be being honest with you all. There were five children there, and they laughed and smiled their way through the whole story. It even held significance for them when they described different times in their life when they felt as small as David up against a big, strong Goliath. It was actually one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, watching those kids internalize ancient scripture in a very real and tangible way. All through a 10 minute, propless and lesson planless act performed by two English speaking gringas and a teenager who (thank God) did her best to translate. We led the class again today, and our little group of 5 became 20. Next week Barbara predicts twice as many as the kids begin to tell their friends throughout the streets of the women who bring stories and sweets. Glory be to God. He works wonders regardless of whether we are prepared, or even speak the same language. The children responded to the story of Jesus walking on water today, and I realized that his message transcends any of my lesson plans or my painful inadequacies of their language; because the language I speak is a language of love, and I’m pretty sure they understood everything I said.
So while I’m learning that the Mexican way is to simply throw yourself into things rather than over analyze, over prepare, and over stress is both petrifying and purifying. It strips me of the control issues I hold dear to my heart, and bears me open and raw to the world, when literally all I can offer is love. Oh Mexico, the things you do for my soul. A DIOS.
It was our first Sunday at the church, and I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy in my new Mexican community. I sang in joyful ignorance to the Spanish worship songs, gave myself a headache from not blinking throughout the entirety of the pastor's moderately incomprehensible sermon, and introduced myself with the rest of our little team in front of the congregation. To my pleasant surprise, two teenage girls from the youth group approached Lindsey and I following the sermon, and asked us if we would like to accompany them the next day to one of the more impoverished areas on the outskirts of town to go hang out with the children of a couple families. We said yes of course, and were so excited (not to be confused with turned on) to go with them. I was beginning to feel so comfortable here…I suppose I forgot for a moment that Jesus never promised us lives of comfort…
So the next day Linds and I don’t really think too much about the coming event considering we were just asked to accompany these girls the day before. We walked toward our designated meeting place, and were met on the road halfway by the two girls. Without any explanation, we head in the opposite direction, and head to a nice house we had never seen before. Mildly confused, but already well-acquainted and unphased by the sensation at this point, we absent-mindedly waltzed into the woman’s house. We quickly exchanged the usual formalities, and took a blissfully ignorant seat on her couch. The two other girls sat caddy corner to Linds and I on another couch, and the woman, Barbara, began to speak rapidly to them in Spanish. I desperately tried to decipher the details of the conversation, as I was already confused enough as to why we were in this woman’s nice house instead of on our way to the rancho. Barbara began to look a tad disgruntled as she spoke directly at the girls, and I could only make out the phrases “No Bibles,” “No prepared,” and “Lets go then, the children are waiting.” This conversation goes down without one word spoken to Lindsey or myself, so we just continue to do our best to not get in their way and play our well-rehearsed role of the ignorant foreign girls.
As we get up to leave, the three phrases I did manage to decode began to sink in, and I felt a very uneasy feeling in my stomach. As we load into the car I ask Barbara in the best Spanish I could muster, “Barbara, what are Lindsey and I doing today at the rancho?” Barbara looks at us, and pointedly states in Spanish, “You are going to teach the lessons to the children today. The other girls are not prepared, so you will teach them.” At this point my stomach is sinking deeper and deeper into my bowels as I try to envision Lindsey and I planning a Bible lesson in Spanish. I’m trying to stay calm, thinking, ‘ok, I’m sure this place is pretty far, so maybe we will have time to put something mediocre together on the way.’
“Barbara, how long a drive is it to the rancho?” I ask. Barbara waves her arm in the air nonchalantly and says, “Oh not far, like 10-15 minutes.” Can I be quite honest with you all in cyber space that in that moment I am quite certain I have never felt so panicked in all my life. Me, Tarah Anne, NOT prepared, NOT in control of the situation!? It was a swift and crippling blow to my confidence and my sense of self as I know it! Well, I began fighting the urge to have a massive panic attack as we bump and rock down the uneven roads all the way to the rancho (all 10 minutes). First of all, let me start by saying that children terrify my. I don’t speak child, and I never have I don’t think. So the notion of teaching a children’s Bible lesson on the fly that would hold their attention struck the fear of God into my shuddering soul. Lindsey and I quickly decide to tell the story of David and Goliath by acting it out, giving away candy as prizes for right answers, and playing a really simple game that involves making pig noises in the other person’s face. I thought to myself the whole way there, “I’m toast.”
Now, I’m a little embarrassed to say that everything went perfectly smoothly, and that I completely overacted. But if I didn’t tell you how outlandishly stressed I was, then I wouldn’t be being honest with you all. There were five children there, and they laughed and smiled their way through the whole story. It even held significance for them when they described different times in their life when they felt as small as David up against a big, strong Goliath. It was actually one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, watching those kids internalize ancient scripture in a very real and tangible way. All through a 10 minute, propless and lesson planless act performed by two English speaking gringas and a teenager who (thank God) did her best to translate. We led the class again today, and our little group of 5 became 20. Next week Barbara predicts twice as many as the kids begin to tell their friends throughout the streets of the women who bring stories and sweets. Glory be to God. He works wonders regardless of whether we are prepared, or even speak the same language. The children responded to the story of Jesus walking on water today, and I realized that his message transcends any of my lesson plans or my painful inadequacies of their language; because the language I speak is a language of love, and I’m pretty sure they understood everything I said.
So while I’m learning that the Mexican way is to simply throw yourself into things rather than over analyze, over prepare, and over stress is both petrifying and purifying. It strips me of the control issues I hold dear to my heart, and bears me open and raw to the world, when literally all I can offer is love. Oh Mexico, the things you do for my soul. A DIOS.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
THIS...is San Miguel.
Well, it looks like I have been struck by what all the locals thought inevitable but I thought I was invincible from...the travelers poo :/ The downside, of course, is that I cannot move far from our little casita without having to take an immediate about- face back toward the porcelain throne. Lets just say, Kyle and I's first official "esposos" night did not go quite as romantically as planned. WARNING TO FUTURE MEXICO TRAVELERS: don't even think about eating an entire bowl of homeade salsa from a restaurant without asking if the ingredients are washed in filtered water. Kyle and I = Tourist Fail.
But enough with the downside, the upside is that I now have to time to write a little about what has been going on down here. Let me tell you about our new friend Ramon...
Ramon is our wonderful friend who picked us all up at the airport, dazed and confused as we were from over 15 hours of travel. He is also the host father of Lindsey. He has taken on the role of advice giver of all things Mexico, which has been a real blessing for all of us. (More advice from Ramon to come). The night we arrived, it was already after 11 o clock and we all expected to just crash in our beds, thinking that everyone else here had the same idea. Oh no, not in San Miguel. We were met with a full meal of fresh frijoles, rice, rolls (I can't remember their Spanish name), Guacamole, and fresh cream. The whole family was there to greet us! This was my first impression of the people in this city, and I can say, it made me never want to go back to the states. "What a warm and thoughtful welcome, they must be so tired but are wanting to serve us food as a welcom," I thought to myself in my stupor.
The next morning we were told to meet for breakfast at 9 am. Well, 9 am turned to 9 15 which turned to 10:30, and then we were off to breakfast with Maria (more about Ramon's lessons on Mexico time to come). I thought this would be like an orientation type of breakfast. You know, to tell us our schedule of activities for the church and the expectations held for us. You know what I mean, business-type stuff, the real important things.
Instead of sitting down to a moderately serious meeting with Maria, we were met by all the host families, including the pastor and his wife. They were already ordering food and laughing and talking away. No business here, just talking. I sat down in my chair a little disillusioned, wondering what was going on...my expectations were shattered...and I had been so nervous that Maria and us were late. We spent the next two hours chatting away about life, having different foods explained to me, and learning new words in Spanish. Everyone seemed so happy together, this big family with the pastor and his wife. I felt warm and at home already. I couldn't help myself, I had to inquire about this new culture. I had to understand if this was some strategically planned event to make me feel at home or if this was normal life for them.
"Ramon," I leaned forward across the table, a little embarrassed to ask my following question. "Do you guys always do this, you know, eat together as a big group and talk together all the time? Or is this a special occasion?"
Ramon gave me the tiniest hint of a smile and nodded at me. "This is what we do here. We eat together, and we talk together. We are together all the time."
"THIS..." said Ramon as he lifted up his large sandwich full of huevos rancheros, waving it in a large circle to gesture around the table at all the smiling faces, "...is San Miguel."
But enough with the downside, the upside is that I now have to time to write a little about what has been going on down here. Let me tell you about our new friend Ramon...
Ramon is our wonderful friend who picked us all up at the airport, dazed and confused as we were from over 15 hours of travel. He is also the host father of Lindsey. He has taken on the role of advice giver of all things Mexico, which has been a real blessing for all of us. (More advice from Ramon to come). The night we arrived, it was already after 11 o clock and we all expected to just crash in our beds, thinking that everyone else here had the same idea. Oh no, not in San Miguel. We were met with a full meal of fresh frijoles, rice, rolls (I can't remember their Spanish name), Guacamole, and fresh cream. The whole family was there to greet us! This was my first impression of the people in this city, and I can say, it made me never want to go back to the states. "What a warm and thoughtful welcome, they must be so tired but are wanting to serve us food as a welcom," I thought to myself in my stupor.
The next morning we were told to meet for breakfast at 9 am. Well, 9 am turned to 9 15 which turned to 10:30, and then we were off to breakfast with Maria (more about Ramon's lessons on Mexico time to come). I thought this would be like an orientation type of breakfast. You know, to tell us our schedule of activities for the church and the expectations held for us. You know what I mean, business-type stuff, the real important things.
Instead of sitting down to a moderately serious meeting with Maria, we were met by all the host families, including the pastor and his wife. They were already ordering food and laughing and talking away. No business here, just talking. I sat down in my chair a little disillusioned, wondering what was going on...my expectations were shattered...and I had been so nervous that Maria and us were late. We spent the next two hours chatting away about life, having different foods explained to me, and learning new words in Spanish. Everyone seemed so happy together, this big family with the pastor and his wife. I felt warm and at home already. I couldn't help myself, I had to inquire about this new culture. I had to understand if this was some strategically planned event to make me feel at home or if this was normal life for them.
"Ramon," I leaned forward across the table, a little embarrassed to ask my following question. "Do you guys always do this, you know, eat together as a big group and talk together all the time? Or is this a special occasion?"
Ramon gave me the tiniest hint of a smile and nodded at me. "This is what we do here. We eat together, and we talk together. We are together all the time."
"THIS..." said Ramon as he lifted up his large sandwich full of huevos rancheros, waving it in a large circle to gesture around the table at all the smiling faces, "...is San Miguel."
Monday, February 22, 2010
Bienvenidos a San Miguel!
Hello to all in cyberspace!
Tarah here. First off, welcome to our little blog. It took me a while, but I finally got around to setting this up to share about our new Mexico adventure. I hope nobody is too disappointed in how long this took me to create, and I hope you wont be equally disappointed when you realize how undisciplined I am going to be about writing on this thing. I like to consider my unreliable nature for all things journaling more like an appreciation for 'living in the moment' than flat out indiscipline. I encourage you to see it this way as well, for it will save you any potential frustration with me over the next six months :)
The four of us (Lindsey Speck and Anthony Molieri as well) have been given a number of responsibilities here by the church leaders. We will be starting our weekly English classes on Monday, and will provide an adult, children, and teen class to everyone in the church and the rest of the community. This is an exciting and challenging opportunity for us because we have never taught an English class before, and already people in the church are sharing with us their own excitement to learn the language. Lindsey and I will be taking weekly trips to an impoverished area of town to spend time with two families and their children who live very far from the church but desire to be in community. There are a lot of retired gringo(a)s here in San Miguel, so the pastor has asked us to also conduct weekly English services. These will most likely look like Bible studies rather than traditional services, but we are excited for this challenge as well.
Our first priority here is to learn Spanish...ASAP. We can only be as effective as our level of communication will allow. Regardless of my 10 years of Spanish class, it is difficult to keep up with the speed at which people speak here. We are attending biweekly conversation classes to help with this issue. Last night at conversation, I had a discussion with a Mexican man about the US's position as global 'dictator' and the mechanisms of control it uses on other countries through the economy, etc. By the end of the conversation, my brain felt like an egg on a frying pan and I wanted to sleep for a week straight. Nonetheless, I knew my language was making progress. I have now moved passed the "Where are you going?","This is a boat", and "The cat is running" phase in my language progression. Praise God-I don't know how long my sanity could hold up speaking only at a 1st grade level to everyone I met. And God help the people that have to listen to me talk about what I had for lunch or what my favorite subject in school is every day...
My goal for this blog is to share a diverse range of experiences while we are here in San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Mexico. Something I noticed after my stay in Guatemala 3 years ago was that I found myself telling the same stories over and over again when I returned to the States. After awhile, I had my lines down like an elevator speech, and my memory bank of stories and emotions during the entire experience became thinner and much less rich than when I first returned. I hope that I can prevent that phenomenon by maintaining this lovely little blog affectionately titled "The Chronicles of Kyle and Tarah," and that we can always return to it to remember the smells, sounds, and stories of San Miguel de Allende.
Bienvenidos a nuestro blog :)
Tarah here. First off, welcome to our little blog. It took me a while, but I finally got around to setting this up to share about our new Mexico adventure. I hope nobody is too disappointed in how long this took me to create, and I hope you wont be equally disappointed when you realize how undisciplined I am going to be about writing on this thing. I like to consider my unreliable nature for all things journaling more like an appreciation for 'living in the moment' than flat out indiscipline. I encourage you to see it this way as well, for it will save you any potential frustration with me over the next six months :)
The four of us (Lindsey Speck and Anthony Molieri as well) have been given a number of responsibilities here by the church leaders. We will be starting our weekly English classes on Monday, and will provide an adult, children, and teen class to everyone in the church and the rest of the community. This is an exciting and challenging opportunity for us because we have never taught an English class before, and already people in the church are sharing with us their own excitement to learn the language. Lindsey and I will be taking weekly trips to an impoverished area of town to spend time with two families and their children who live very far from the church but desire to be in community. There are a lot of retired gringo(a)s here in San Miguel, so the pastor has asked us to also conduct weekly English services. These will most likely look like Bible studies rather than traditional services, but we are excited for this challenge as well.
Our first priority here is to learn Spanish...ASAP. We can only be as effective as our level of communication will allow. Regardless of my 10 years of Spanish class, it is difficult to keep up with the speed at which people speak here. We are attending biweekly conversation classes to help with this issue. Last night at conversation, I had a discussion with a Mexican man about the US's position as global 'dictator' and the mechanisms of control it uses on other countries through the economy, etc. By the end of the conversation, my brain felt like an egg on a frying pan and I wanted to sleep for a week straight. Nonetheless, I knew my language was making progress. I have now moved passed the "Where are you going?","This is a boat", and "The cat is running" phase in my language progression. Praise God-I don't know how long my sanity could hold up speaking only at a 1st grade level to everyone I met. And God help the people that have to listen to me talk about what I had for lunch or what my favorite subject in school is every day...
My goal for this blog is to share a diverse range of experiences while we are here in San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Mexico. Something I noticed after my stay in Guatemala 3 years ago was that I found myself telling the same stories over and over again when I returned to the States. After awhile, I had my lines down like an elevator speech, and my memory bank of stories and emotions during the entire experience became thinner and much less rich than when I first returned. I hope that I can prevent that phenomenon by maintaining this lovely little blog affectionately titled "The Chronicles of Kyle and Tarah," and that we can always return to it to remember the smells, sounds, and stories of San Miguel de Allende.
Bienvenidos a nuestro blog :)
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