Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers this past month. It has meant so much, made such a difference. I was so glad of your support, so glad to be with family during a time of such sadness amidst a season of such celebration.
And now I am back. I've been blessed to have friends and family who have taught me that one can have many homes. As I've returned, I've recognized once again that Suchitoto is one of my homes.
As with all homes, there are things that are easy and others that are difficult, there is joy and sadness, but we help each other along. The other volunteers here are amazing beyond words, and in this first week back I have already been inspired by them, and humbled, to see the work they are doing with such love, with such self-gift, amidst circumstances that can be shaking and challenging. There actions, there presence is calling me forth from myself, to give and be present and love and not preoccupy myself with the self-guilt or pressure which I can tend to. They make this place home.
The Salvadorans here, too, make this place my home. Walking through the plaza this morning, a young boy called my name and come over and said hello. On a walk this morning, a man on a horse walked is horse at my speed for several minutes and talked as we journeyed toward el centro. Minutes before, a pick up whizzing by had stopped to offer my a ride up the hill. One of my students -- one of those students who has stolen my heart -- came by yesterday asking when our classes would be starting again, and then hung out with me while I watched the skate park. One of my friends who runs a tienda near by kept hugging and hugging me when she I visited to let her know I was back, as glad to see me I was her. Eva, the woman I live with, too. They make this place home.
This country makes itself my home -- the smell of the air, the heat of the day (sometimes scorching), the coolness of the night, the beans with every meal, the green and now brown country side, the breezes.
And I make this my home. Alex, one of my fellow volunteers, sent out an email over Christmas with the phrase "as we plan for the new year in Suchitot, we all know now what we need to feed us..." what we need to make this place home. So I've been going for walks in the morning, taking in the beauty of the countryside, the lake, my neighbors. Mother Theresa says "The fruit of silence is prayer. The fruit of prayer is faith. The fruit of faith is love. The fruit of love is service. The fruit of service is peace." So I am grounding each day in the silence which is the breath of life.
13 January 2011
20 December 2010
December
Dear Friends,
I am writing to you all with sad news. This past December 10, my grandfather passed away. I had been able to return to Colorado about a week earlier, having heard he was in very poor health and getting worse. It was a privilege to spend that last week with my grandfather. At times his eyes would sparkle and he would smile, just as he always did when I was growing up. He would look at my grandmother and say "Oh look how beautiful she is." or "Oh, I love you." I had the blessing to help to take care of him even as, once again, he took care of me, helping me begin to find some important questions.
I don't know if I know what the questions are yet. But I am so aware of them. And all I can do is cry Amen and Alleluia because God is and He was there.
He was there in the organizing of plane tickets -- originally my whole family was going to visit El Salvador for Christmas, but gracias a dios we were all here.
He was there in the love my grandparents had for each other -- in there 60 years of marriage and particularly this past week.
He was there in the way my family came together
He was there the three nights before my grandfather died when he got out of bed for the first time in months and sat in a chair for an hour and a half chatted with us, blues eyes snapping and smiling, and even walked a few steps
He was there in my grandfathers strength of spirit character and love to the very end.
He was there at the funeral when the servicemen presented my grandmother with a flag, something that touched her so deeply that she remembers it even in the midst of Alzheimer's.
He is here now with each of us as we mourn and grieve and keep loving and laughing. Asking questions and looking towards the future with hope.
I will return to El Salvador at the beginning of the New Year, renewed in life from the testament of my grandfather, discovering the questions
I am writing to you all with sad news. This past December 10, my grandfather passed away. I had been able to return to Colorado about a week earlier, having heard he was in very poor health and getting worse. It was a privilege to spend that last week with my grandfather. At times his eyes would sparkle and he would smile, just as he always did when I was growing up. He would look at my grandmother and say "Oh look how beautiful she is." or "Oh, I love you." I had the blessing to help to take care of him even as, once again, he took care of me, helping me begin to find some important questions.
I don't know if I know what the questions are yet. But I am so aware of them. And all I can do is cry Amen and Alleluia because God is and He was there.
He was there in the organizing of plane tickets -- originally my whole family was going to visit El Salvador for Christmas, but gracias a dios we were all here.
He was there in the love my grandparents had for each other -- in there 60 years of marriage and particularly this past week.
He was there in the way my family came together
He was there the three nights before my grandfather died when he got out of bed for the first time in months and sat in a chair for an hour and a half chatted with us, blues eyes snapping and smiling, and even walked a few steps
He was there in my grandfathers strength of spirit character and love to the very end.
He was there at the funeral when the servicemen presented my grandmother with a flag, something that touched her so deeply that she remembers it even in the midst of Alzheimer's.
He is here now with each of us as we mourn and grieve and keep loving and laughing. Asking questions and looking towards the future with hope.
I will return to El Salvador at the beginning of the New Year, renewed in life from the testament of my grandfather, discovering the questions
12 November 2010
Peace Train!
So some exciting news!
As many of you know, my thesis last year was creating a Peace Education class for children in El Salvador. This January, my class will start!
It is amazing to see things start to pull together. So December (in addition to watching over the skate park and "Historical Memory" Museum and teaching an English class) my job is to get everything ready to go!
There are three parts to this preparation:
1. Review my thesis and the foundation (pedagogical and contextual foundations I already have) and pull together the units and day to day lesson plan, as well as all of the materials!
2. have weekly (or twice weekly) meetings with my equipo -- my team. I am asking five or six 7th 8th or 9th graders to be my helpers. They will each have two or three 1st or 2nd graders that they will mentor through the class. So, we will be meeting and talking about peace and why it's important. we'll go over the peace train problem solving steps. some of the other volunteers and i will likely do skits and they'll have to use the train to resolve the conflict. sweet!
3. build the peace train! out of wood! There's a young man here who knows about constructing things, so he is team leader/manager of the train constructing project. I asked him is he would work with a couple elementary school kids and he said yes but that he would also need one more big person. SO! There's a team of 4 who will be building the 6-car peace train.
I am so excited! And so can't hardly know where to begin! I'll be in Connecticut for Thanksgiving and am planning on moving into Barnes and Noble and finding pictures books of Peace Makers to read -- quizas in Spanish, but if not I guess I'll translate.
I have to talk to Peggy and figure out special guest peace makers from the community to invite in, as well as decide what our first "project" will be. The converting of my thesis from the theoretical to the actual!
As many of you know, my thesis last year was creating a Peace Education class for children in El Salvador. This January, my class will start!
It is amazing to see things start to pull together. So December (in addition to watching over the skate park and "Historical Memory" Museum and teaching an English class) my job is to get everything ready to go!
There are three parts to this preparation:
1. Review my thesis and the foundation (pedagogical and contextual foundations I already have) and pull together the units and day to day lesson plan, as well as all of the materials!
2. have weekly (or twice weekly) meetings with my equipo -- my team. I am asking five or six 7th 8th or 9th graders to be my helpers. They will each have two or three 1st or 2nd graders that they will mentor through the class. So, we will be meeting and talking about peace and why it's important. we'll go over the peace train problem solving steps. some of the other volunteers and i will likely do skits and they'll have to use the train to resolve the conflict. sweet!
3. build the peace train! out of wood! There's a young man here who knows about constructing things, so he is team leader/manager of the train constructing project. I asked him is he would work with a couple elementary school kids and he said yes but that he would also need one more big person. SO! There's a team of 4 who will be building the 6-car peace train.
I am so excited! And so can't hardly know where to begin! I'll be in Connecticut for Thanksgiving and am planning on moving into Barnes and Noble and finding pictures books of Peace Makers to read -- quizas in Spanish, but if not I guess I'll translate.
I have to talk to Peggy and figure out special guest peace makers from the community to invite in, as well as decide what our first "project" will be. The converting of my thesis from the theoretical to the actual!
10 November 2010
Sketches and Reflections
It's been a week of many goings-on. My story class only has two pages left to illustrate. Last weekend was the anniversary of the Massacre in Copapayo and this weekend is the anniversary of the 6 Jesuits who were killed at the UCA 31 years ago. A week ago to the day was the Day of the Dead. It's been a week of challenges, as I learn again how to live here and how to live into myself (my created self!) and recognize and acknowledge that createdness in those around. It's been a week of hard work (and rewarding!); a week of, very literally, life and death.
And so in the midst of this, I've felt this desire to draw, to create myself something beautiful and to, through pictures, somehow express the mezcla of everything, when the words escape me or just aren't enough. It has been a way to prayer.
This first is a drawing of the cemetery where Eva's mother's family -- parents and siblings -- are buried. The tradition here is on the day of the dead, every one decorates the graves of loved ones with flowers. More than anything else, this day was a day of celebration: of the lives of the ones gone, of the family coming together to remember them. We drove an hour and half to arrive at the cemetery -- a road that Eva told me they used to walk three hours when she was growing up. We drove through Cinquera and the tone of the day was sent. The park outside of the church of Cinquera has the tail of a bomber plane on a concrete pillar. It the fence around it, sawed-broken guns are attached; a promise to never forget the war. The church bells are three bombs (duds). Hit with a rock, the make a beautiful ringing sound. What a powerful symbol: this transformation of objects of destruction to calls to worship. From death to life. The line, it turns out, is very fine indeed.
From Cinquera we continued on and came to the cemetery. The whole family was already there and we spend the morning decorated the crosses, surrounded by these luscious green plants. (In the drawing if you look closely you can see 8 crosses, in two lines of 4, among the green plants to the left of the big tomb adorned with floods of flowers). When it was time to go, Eva's mom said "Good bye until next year, and if we cannot come, others will."
This image is one that has been developing and growing in levels over the past several years. In the center is a heart - jar. By which I mean it is at once a heart and a funny shaped clay jar. The aorta and vena cava form the mouth of it and water is being poured in. Yet it is a broken jar, wounded. And through the brokenness the water is flowing out. I remind myself that it is often through my own hurts and brokenness that I can be a vessel of God; and my prayer that God's love and grace may be poured through me (because my love on its own can be so small) and that even my failures, imperfections, and wounds may be ways through which that love may be shared.
Finally. This one I painted last night in my house -- the only paint brush I brought with me is one from my Taiwanese friends I met during World Youth Day in Sydney, used to write characters. So, in this one I was going for a some what Oriental style. Yesterday was a hard day in my house. Eva and Rosa had had terrible days at school among other things --everything hard at once. I think perhaps this picture is wiser than I am, so I can do nothing more than tell you what I see and perhaps you, my friends family and supporters, could let me know as well what you think and see:
On the right there is a cross with a vine bearing fruit growing up it. On the cross is a small person picking the fruit and giving it to the big person on the ground, putting it in the basket. To me, I think of how connected life and death are, the fruit that is born amdist suffering and death, the necessity of working together to have this life-giving fruit -- the big one needs the little one, clearly, but the little one will need the big one for help to get down. There is life even in death
And so in the midst of this, I've felt this desire to draw, to create myself something beautiful and to, through pictures, somehow express the mezcla of everything, when the words escape me or just aren't enough. It has been a way to prayer.
This first is a drawing of the cemetery where Eva's mother's family -- parents and siblings -- are buried. The tradition here is on the day of the dead, every one decorates the graves of loved ones with flowers. More than anything else, this day was a day of celebration: of the lives of the ones gone, of the family coming together to remember them. We drove an hour and half to arrive at the cemetery -- a road that Eva told me they used to walk three hours when she was growing up. We drove through Cinquera and the tone of the day was sent. The park outside of the church of Cinquera has the tail of a bomber plane on a concrete pillar. It the fence around it, sawed-broken guns are attached; a promise to never forget the war. The church bells are three bombs (duds). Hit with a rock, the make a beautiful ringing sound. What a powerful symbol: this transformation of objects of destruction to calls to worship. From death to life. The line, it turns out, is very fine indeed.
From Cinquera we continued on and came to the cemetery. The whole family was already there and we spend the morning decorated the crosses, surrounded by these luscious green plants. (In the drawing if you look closely you can see 8 crosses, in two lines of 4, among the green plants to the left of the big tomb adorned with floods of flowers). When it was time to go, Eva's mom said "Good bye until next year, and if we cannot come, others will."
This image is one that has been developing and growing in levels over the past several years. In the center is a heart - jar. By which I mean it is at once a heart and a funny shaped clay jar. The aorta and vena cava form the mouth of it and water is being poured in. Yet it is a broken jar, wounded. And through the brokenness the water is flowing out. I remind myself that it is often through my own hurts and brokenness that I can be a vessel of God; and my prayer that God's love and grace may be poured through me (because my love on its own can be so small) and that even my failures, imperfections, and wounds may be ways through which that love may be shared.
Finally. This one I painted last night in my house -- the only paint brush I brought with me is one from my Taiwanese friends I met during World Youth Day in Sydney, used to write characters. So, in this one I was going for a some what Oriental style. Yesterday was a hard day in my house. Eva and Rosa had had terrible days at school among other things --everything hard at once. I think perhaps this picture is wiser than I am, so I can do nothing more than tell you what I see and perhaps you, my friends family and supporters, could let me know as well what you think and see:
On the right there is a cross with a vine bearing fruit growing up it. On the cross is a small person picking the fruit and giving it to the big person on the ground, putting it in the basket. To me, I think of how connected life and death are, the fruit that is born amdist suffering and death, the necessity of working together to have this life-giving fruit -- the big one needs the little one, clearly, but the little one will need the big one for help to get down. There is life even in death
28 October 2010
Cuéntame....
This afternoon I had my Cuéntame... class at Centro Arte para la Paz. I have five 3rd, 4th, and 5th graders. We are choosing an important event that has been life changing, writing about it, illustrating it, and then binding it into a book! I've had four classes so far, but this feels like the second "real" one -- partly because the first two happened before I hurt my toe and so we had a week without classes -- but mostly because I just figured out this morning the step we needed to actually write our stories. We'd be sitting in class, in a circle the kids would share their ideas with me : going to school for the first time, graduating kindergarten, meeting their best friends, meeting their dad, becoming a magician ... each of them with a strong idea they were excited to write about. Yet, when we went to put them on paper it was near impossible to tell what they were about.
I think a lot here about scaffolding -- a concept from both my childhood development psych class and my TESL certificate class: how could I provide the structure (the scaffold) to allow these stories to really be given voice and bloom without feeding them words?
So this morning I had a brainstorm, and here is the result:
Hola. Me llamo _________________________________. Voy a contarles una historia bien importante en mi vida. Tenía ________años cuando_________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________.
______________ comienzó cuando__________________________________________
__________________________ y yo sentí _______________________________por que _____________________________________________________________Mi familia sentío _______________________________ por que ___________________
__________________________________________________________________
Mi vida ha cambiado desde ese momento por que ________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
Last class we worked for an hour and a half trying to get a beginning middle and end and the kids were dying to draw, to start illustrating. So today we are started illustrating and "revised" our stories by putting them in this form. It was amazing. I had little "reuniones" with each student as they worked and explained the beginning of and they were off, occasionally asking questions or just wanting to show me their progress part by part. As I met with each of them the rest were working on their illustrations. Today's project was to get out construction paper first to back the background (and show the setting) and then in front to cut out and color a person: themselves, the main character! And they were getting a kick out of drawing cutting and sticking!
I walked around the class, read over their stories, and watched as the first page grew and my heart, cliche as it may sound, just swelled with emotion for these kids --love and pride. Our stories have ended up to be: the first day of school, graduating from kindergarten, meeting dad and little sister for the first time, meeting best friends, and becoming a magician. Such a variety. And every class at some point they ask: and today we'll be in class until 5 right? ...for a class scheduled to go from 2 - 3 pm.
What a joy, a privilege ... an es muss sein to be here, to be with these kids, giving this class and getting to hear and figure out how to help them express their story.
Wow.
I think a lot here about scaffolding -- a concept from both my childhood development psych class and my TESL certificate class: how could I provide the structure (the scaffold) to allow these stories to really be given voice and bloom without feeding them words?
So this morning I had a brainstorm, and here is the result:
Hola. Me llamo _________________________________. Voy a contarles una historia bien importante en mi vida. Tenía ________años cuando_________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________.
______________ comienzó cuando__________________________________________
__________________________ y yo sentí _______________________________por que _____________________________________________________________Mi familia sentío _______________________________ por que ___________________
__________________________________________________________________
Mi vida ha cambiado desde ese momento por que ________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
Last class we worked for an hour and a half trying to get a beginning middle and end and the kids were dying to draw, to start illustrating. So today we are started illustrating and "revised" our stories by putting them in this form. It was amazing. I had little "reuniones" with each student as they worked and explained the beginning of and they were off, occasionally asking questions or just wanting to show me their progress part by part. As I met with each of them the rest were working on their illustrations. Today's project was to get out construction paper first to back the background (and show the setting) and then in front to cut out and color a person: themselves, the main character! And they were getting a kick out of drawing cutting and sticking!
I walked around the class, read over their stories, and watched as the first page grew and my heart, cliche as it may sound, just swelled with emotion for these kids --love and pride. Our stories have ended up to be: the first day of school, graduating from kindergarten, meeting dad and little sister for the first time, meeting best friends, and becoming a magician. Such a variety. And every class at some point they ask: and today we'll be in class until 5 right? ...for a class scheduled to go from 2 - 3 pm.
What a joy, a privilege ... an es muss sein to be here, to be with these kids, giving this class and getting to hear and figure out how to help them express their story.
Wow.
19 October 2010
La SuperGringa
It's a Bird!
......It's a Plane!
.............It's a ...SuperGringa?
So much to share with you all. As usual, but head is overflowing with 2, 3, 4 stories, blogs, ideas I want to share with you and finally here I am sitting down to write one of them. Know that you, my family friends supporters, are in my thoughts and prayers even when I am absent. There is still so much I have to learn here, about being, about being connected to others across space and/or culture.
Every Sunday evening el equipo (Me, the other 5 gringo volunteers and Sister Peggy) meet in Peggy's house for prayer/reflection. This past week we read some Mary Oliver (oh my friend, Mary!). Such reflections always help put my week into perspective, help me to process what has happened and so allow me to go deeper. At the end of this past week, I made a pledge to myself to allow myself more time to site and ask and engage in the questions that just always sit on my shoulder here. At the forefront: what does it mean to human? For all of us, and particularly what does it mean for me to human, for me to be Christy?
My humanity was extraordinarily highlighted to me this past week, with a thump over the head (and the foot!) in a rather ridiculous manner. Colin was visiting (woohoo!) and Tuesday morning it was our turn to watch the Patinaje (skatepark). We decided to skate for the last 40 min with the kids. I however didn't have closed toed shoes, so was going to watch when of the young salvadoran girls said to me "You need shoes, I have some, I'll go get them you can borrow them and skate!" When she returned with shoes, she was thrilled to tell me that they had pink on them! Which just so happened to match the brand new hot pink knee- elbow- and wrist- guards Colin had brought back from the States. And so decked out (+ a pink helmet, of course!), I was given a new name: La SuperGringa. Across the skate park, the 8 kids skating, stopped and encouraged me on to the park.
However, it turns out that appearances can be deceiving. My pink garb definitely gave the impression of a SuperGringa, but I've never skateboarded before in my life. So my friend Alex (the same from a few post before) started to help me. Showed me how to stand and then how to go down the smallest ramp. All of the kids took turns showing off for me and then it was my turn. balancing the end of my skate board on his knee and the other on the edge of the ramp, Alex showed me where to put my feet and held my hands for balance. And off a I went. to the ground. After that, with lots of hands and help, I mostly stayed up. After 3 successful goes like this, Alex announced he thought I was ready: "ahora, Sola" I climbed to the top of the ramp (I full two feet up!), looked down and said "ok...no! no! tengo miedo" And was helped again. But then I decided to try. I hadn't fallen in a while...at least 5 goes of it! So up I went .... and with a terrific them came down again. Looking up to a sea of concerned face, I hear an 8 year old from the side say with a gasp and a whisper "La SuperGringa se cayo" (the SuperGringa fell).
After regaining my breath, I stood up and noticed my toe felt a little funny. Later in the day (two hospitals and a free x-ray later!) I discovered I had fairly magnificently dislocated my toe.
It's back in now, not hurting, healing, but even more than the realization that I am not a Super Skaterboard (ay heartbreak!) my toe has been a source of reflection this week. From the times when Rosa has announced at school that we need to make sure to find a car to get back home instead of walking because 'Christy is bad in the toe" (I mean it's a toe! such a tiny thing to have to change everyone's plans!). To being dependent on Peggy to drive me home at night instead of walking. Asking the other volunteers to watch the skatepark and let me be in the museum so I can walk less and actually give it time to heal. Asking for help is something I've had to learn (rather painfully in highschool when I had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome). Yet at the same time, feeling very loved and cared for by all here (people from the office drove me all the way to the capitol to go a hospital that had a really good orthopedist, one the guards now calls me "corazon", one of the cooks rubbed my foot when she found out I fell and now asks how it is every time she sees me, and on and on...)
I am called back to my favorite game I play with my students. With yarn we created a spider web, wrapping it around our wrist and throwing it across the circle. We stand up, touch the floor and then all do different things. We talk about how what one person does affects every other person, for good or for bad. I am very aware of the spiderweb or relationships of my life this week, and grateful for the support of Colin, my parents, Sister Peggy, the other volunteers, my friends from home who have stayed in contact with me even as I've been a terrible correspondent. I am grateful to you all, to the goodness you bring to me and so many others.
What it means to be human: to be grateful, to admit and gracefully accept our interdependency and limitedness, and, sometimes, to fall -- and allow others to helps us stand back up again.
......It's a Plane!
.............It's a ...SuperGringa?
So much to share with you all. As usual, but head is overflowing with 2, 3, 4 stories, blogs, ideas I want to share with you and finally here I am sitting down to write one of them. Know that you, my family friends supporters, are in my thoughts and prayers even when I am absent. There is still so much I have to learn here, about being, about being connected to others across space and/or culture.
Every Sunday evening el equipo (Me, the other 5 gringo volunteers and Sister Peggy) meet in Peggy's house for prayer/reflection. This past week we read some Mary Oliver (oh my friend, Mary!). Such reflections always help put my week into perspective, help me to process what has happened and so allow me to go deeper. At the end of this past week, I made a pledge to myself to allow myself more time to site and ask and engage in the questions that just always sit on my shoulder here. At the forefront: what does it mean to human? For all of us, and particularly what does it mean for me to human, for me to be Christy?
My humanity was extraordinarily highlighted to me this past week, with a thump over the head (and the foot!) in a rather ridiculous manner. Colin was visiting (woohoo!) and Tuesday morning it was our turn to watch the Patinaje (skatepark). We decided to skate for the last 40 min with the kids. I however didn't have closed toed shoes, so was going to watch when of the young salvadoran girls said to me "You need shoes, I have some, I'll go get them you can borrow them and skate!" When she returned with shoes, she was thrilled to tell me that they had pink on them! Which just so happened to match the brand new hot pink knee- elbow- and wrist- guards Colin had brought back from the States. And so decked out (+ a pink helmet, of course!), I was given a new name: La SuperGringa. Across the skate park, the 8 kids skating, stopped and encouraged me on to the park.
However, it turns out that appearances can be deceiving. My pink garb definitely gave the impression of a SuperGringa, but I've never skateboarded before in my life. So my friend Alex (the same from a few post before) started to help me. Showed me how to stand and then how to go down the smallest ramp. All of the kids took turns showing off for me and then it was my turn. balancing the end of my skate board on his knee and the other on the edge of the ramp, Alex showed me where to put my feet and held my hands for balance. And off a I went. to the ground. After that, with lots of hands and help, I mostly stayed up. After 3 successful goes like this, Alex announced he thought I was ready: "ahora, Sola" I climbed to the top of the ramp (I full two feet up!), looked down and said "ok...no! no! tengo miedo" And was helped again. But then I decided to try. I hadn't fallen in a while...at least 5 goes of it! So up I went .... and with a terrific them came down again. Looking up to a sea of concerned face, I hear an 8 year old from the side say with a gasp and a whisper "La SuperGringa se cayo" (the SuperGringa fell).
After regaining my breath, I stood up and noticed my toe felt a little funny. Later in the day (two hospitals and a free x-ray later!) I discovered I had fairly magnificently dislocated my toe.
It's back in now, not hurting, healing, but even more than the realization that I am not a Super Skaterboard (ay heartbreak!) my toe has been a source of reflection this week. From the times when Rosa has announced at school that we need to make sure to find a car to get back home instead of walking because 'Christy is bad in the toe" (I mean it's a toe! such a tiny thing to have to change everyone's plans!). To being dependent on Peggy to drive me home at night instead of walking. Asking the other volunteers to watch the skatepark and let me be in the museum so I can walk less and actually give it time to heal. Asking for help is something I've had to learn (rather painfully in highschool when I had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome). Yet at the same time, feeling very loved and cared for by all here (people from the office drove me all the way to the capitol to go a hospital that had a really good orthopedist, one the guards now calls me "corazon", one of the cooks rubbed my foot when she found out I fell and now asks how it is every time she sees me, and on and on...)
I am called back to my favorite game I play with my students. With yarn we created a spider web, wrapping it around our wrist and throwing it across the circle. We stand up, touch the floor and then all do different things. We talk about how what one person does affects every other person, for good or for bad. I am very aware of the spiderweb or relationships of my life this week, and grateful for the support of Colin, my parents, Sister Peggy, the other volunteers, my friends from home who have stayed in contact with me even as I've been a terrible correspondent. I am grateful to you all, to the goodness you bring to me and so many others.
What it means to be human: to be grateful, to admit and gracefully accept our interdependency and limitedness, and, sometimes, to fall -- and allow others to helps us stand back up again.
28 September 2010
My Morning Walk to Centro Arte para la Paz
Most mornings I get up at about 5:15. The days I go to school, a pickup comes at 6:15 to take us to the lake. The others days, when I go to the center I leave by 5:30. Just as the light is peeking out in the sky, I begin my walk:
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