Friday, 22 April 2011
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To My Son/Daughter
I've realized in the past couple weeks how hard I'm willing to fight for the things I believe in. For whatever reason, I've always modeled my actions to fit this image of the submissive, pacifist Christ as he made his sad journey to the cross. And so I've always felt guilty to stand my ground and defend my cause no matter what the issue. Thinking about it now, I see a determined and strong-willed man as he marched to his death, fighting against our sins. During these couple weeks, I also read the account of God intervening on the behalf of Gibeon when they became allies with Israel in Joshua 10:1-14. In the middle of battle, God sends a hailstorm that wipes out more enemies than the people doing the actual fighting. Then when the battle was just about won, Joshua asks God to have the sun and moon stand still. And the story ends with this verse, "There has never been a day like it before or since, a day when the Lord listened to a human being. Surely the Lord was fighting for Israel."
Out of all the things I've balked at when it comes to fighting for something, admittedly you've been on the list a time or two. But don't worry, it's not because of you. It's because I want to know that I'm the perfect fit for you and that with all my faults I can still do right by you. Someday you'll understand what a distraction fear can be.
What I am sure about is this- while other people are starting their families in a more conventional way, I always thought of you and wanted it to be this way. Few other parents get to say that they've chosen their children to the degree that we've chosen you. Language, distance, and the past can't keep us from becoming a family. So remember that rezaré por ti siempre y un dia vamos a estar juntos. Ya eres mi luz y mi esperanza y mi amor.
It might take a long time for us to be a family, but no matter how long it takes know that I'm fighting for you.
Thursday, 31 March 2011
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The Ache
It's hard to get Peru off my mind no matter how hard I try. I'm still writing their curriculum, so my thoughts are still very much centered around Kinder. (I'm not even half way through the first unit, and I've reached the 100 page mark. It's taking FOREVER!)
I wonder if everyone feels this way when they get back. Those kids were so much more than just my students, and I miss all of them and the volunteers like I would my family. I loved, and hated, when the little ones called me "mama," but it reminds me how close we were. So in tribute of them, I'm posting some hopefully new photos.
I miss the sight of little Abel praying during Tutoria. He is a prayer warrior!
Contest of who can put on the most clothes!
Yuriko and Jhon- They were such good pals.
Junior being silly
Jose Luis giving his trademark hugs.
Jhon thinking.
Monday, 07 March 2011
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The Aftermath
We've been home for almost a week now, and I'm still very Peru-sick and missing my kids. It is a slower pace of life here that doesn't require the same daily concentration and deliberate actions. I'm realizing that my American comforts aren't as comforting as I imagined they would be. And I think I'm starting to understand that I don't just miss my experience, but I have a calling- something to look forward to a few years in the future.
I have a vision of writing curriculum that will be used to create a new type of Christian school or Children's Church. I want to teach children how to read the Bible and draw meaning from more difficult texts, such as the NASB, KJV, or even its original language. We live in an age where children simply don't pick up a book for entertainment, and students across America are struggling to become fluent readers. The most accessible versions of the Bible are written at reading levels most children cannot read independently. The NIV is at an 8th grade reading level. The KJV is at 12th grade level. According to Illiterate America, 50% of American adults are at the same level as an 8th grader. At these levels, the average child will grow up without the skill set necessary to draw meaning from the Kings James Bible, let alone the motivation to try. From my perspective, the Bible is becoming inaccessible to our generation. Sure, there are many easier versions coming out, but the majority do not own these versions.
So what I want is to start children out young and incorporate scripture into the reading curriculum. Each year will add more complex reading material, in the form of different translations, as the students progress through the Bible and also learn some basic hermeneutics. I would also like to provide different genres of the Bible that will appeal to different students, such as the comic Bible or a magazine format. All of this would be a supplement of a regular reading program and be used to equip our children with the skills necessary to independently unlock the scriptures. That is something that Peru has challenged me with by allowing me the opportunity to help revise their curriculum. This is a dream I would like to bring to other nations, and whenever I start dreaming about this, I always imagine it kicking off somewhere in South America.
The other thing that has been on heart and will not leave me is the longing and responsibility of adoption. God has opened that path for my life through Peru. So I'm swelling with dreams and ideas that surpass the ache of leaving for the moment. ...But.. maybe just because my dreams include more contact with Peru...
Thursday, 24 February 2011
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The Muffins
As many of you know, we weren't able to raise the money to stay and are going home to Minnesota on Monday. I've been holding on for so long, and our nearing departure date is quickly changing everything. I'm now looking at the experience of working in the albergue as a whole. In all phases of my life there are still frames that define that period. For example, the still frame memory of my early elementary years is running down our windy driveway after school. I have a stop motion image of pigtails floating in the air, a single orange leaf paused in its descent, and the anticipation of an after school snack if only I can beat my brothers to the door.
There are a number of prominent memories from Peru, but I know the one that will come to mind most often is the stop motion image of Rosita, mouth open in a scream, eyes fixed on the window, and white knuckles clutching a bag of muffins.
It happened on the fly. I was asked to do an overnight house covering in the Chispas for a last minute thing. It was uneventful at first. I walked in, sat down, cooed at Jessica, and sunk into a deep internal debate over whether or not Hilda has an unhealthy obsession with rabbits. Just as I bent down to pick up a stuffed rabbit that also moonlights as a centerpiece, Rosita came bursting into the room screaming. I had hardly processed the fact that she had come in until she was crouched down by the window, pounding at the glass, bawling and shrieking.
I immediately knew what had happened. I caught a puzzling glimpse of her a few minutes prior to this incident. I had stumbled upon Rosita and Alejandro in the office talking to the social worker. They were emotionless and still as stone, and I could see them leaning onto somebody. Curious, I came a little closer to see if I could catch a better look at this mystery person. And sure enough, after 3 months of separation, the children were in the same room as their mother.
So when Rosita came back to watch at the window as her mother left once again, I knew I was going to spend the rest of the day battling for this little girl. She didn't come out of it right away, and when she finally did, the smallest provocation would put her over the edge. That afternoon, I coaxed her out from underneath a bed, stopped her from banging her head against the wall, and held her hands down so she would stop pinching herself.
By dusk she had calmed down. Alejandro was brought into the house to be a comfort to her, and the two of them sat together and watched Jessica scoot across the room in her walker. Rosita, who had been inseparable from the small bag of muffins her mother brought, slowly released her hold on the bag and passed the muffins out to her siblings. I started to cry as I watched Rosita with tear lines still on her face, passing out the only reminder of her mother she had to her siblings. At the time, I felt the injustice of it all. The temporary visit, perishable gift, and the abandonment even I, myself, would have to make in this deeply wounded child's life.
Now I've allowed myself to trust that God will do the fighting in my absence, and so will all the other volunteers and workers that love her so much.
Still, trusting God can be an incredibly difficult thing.
-Leah
Wednesday, 16 February 2011
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Change
I've always found it so intriguing that we can perceive so much of others, and yet know so little about ourselves. I like to think I have a pretty good "people sense", but when I look in the mirror at myself I am utterly mystified as to who exactly that person is.
Likewise, I can see in these kids the changes that they've gone through in 6 months, but I cannot see changes in myself. For example, I can see that Isobel is more respectful, that Yamelit is less of a drama queen, and that Josue has a much better outlook on life. But I don't really feel any different. I do see hints of change, small alterations of perspective that seem to be popping up more and more frequently lately. When I think of what life in the States will be like after Peru, it feels more liberating and more uncertain than it did before, as though I'm looking ahead at a million identical pathways before me. A million choices, but impossible to decide. Living in Peru feels so natural now, and the things that were so alien have been accepted and adapted to. I've learned a lot about the mixing of cultures, and the right and wrong ways that well-meaning, more fortunate people can contribute to a less fortunate people.
I've learned a lot, but we don't ever see how something truly changed us until we can look back at it objectively. Whenever I step off the plane in America again, I suppose the culture shock will be the first indicator. It's been wild, and I hope it can continue. I've experienced things here that I will never again have happen in my life. But if we don't get to stay, I still know that I'll be carrying a lot of Peru with me.
Harrison
