English Club

Began English Club today with six students, Chiky's, and a stack of Question of the Week cards.  Relying on my experience with helping Academic Team, the kids had to slap in to answer the question correctly.  "What is your name?" Slap. "Dara."

"Where do you study?" Slap. "I study at Colegio La Senda."

"What chores do you do at home?" Slap. "I make my bed."

The next two competitors face each other and tensely hold their hand a few inches above the desk, willing it to be the first to make contact.

"What do you like to do on the weekends?" came the next.

Slap. "Clean my room!" yelled Alvaro. 

The other five students nearly died laughing.  Eduardo laughed so hard tears streamed down his face.  Alvaro looked a little confused, until one of the others pointed out the question was about the weekend, not chores. "I guess you could like cleaning your room on the weekend," I said, making the students laugh all over again.  Alvaro shook his head and sat down, a little perturbed, but in good spirits nonetheless.

Every Thursday, starting today, I look forward to working with these students after school.  They are the ones who are below the language level of their peers and who are, I'm afraid, many times in their own little world for the English portion of the day.  Through English Club, I hope to boost their language skills by covering the basics that they have not yet mastered and help them study for their Friday quiz.  I also hope it continues to be a lot of fun.  I have found that my lowest language level students really show more of their personality when they aren't in the presence of their more intimidating, nearly fluent classmates.

Resting at Breakneck Speed

Semana Santa (Holy Week) in Guatemala is synonymous with the beach. 

For the La Senda kids, it was no different--Hermana Zucy planned a trip for the kids to a beach house on the Pacific, and I got to accompany them.  Besides playing in the biggest waves I've ever seen (and, along with Lito, serving as live life vests for some of the kids), we swam in the pool at the beach house, saw beautiful beach at the estuary, observed the salt beds, and took a boat out to waters where sea turtles swim.  And with frequent applications of SPF 50, I actually managed NOT to get burned.

La Senda at the Beach 

 Pool time!

 Observing the sea salt harvest

Headed out to see a few sea turtles

On Thursday, Anita invited me to accompany her to tour the Easter celebrations in Antigua.  We attended mass at her church, where the homily was most enlightening, and ate dinner with her family.  At 9:30 in the evening we began our walking tour of several Catholic churches that feature scenes from Jesus's life during Holy Week.  After the first church, we ran into a drenching rain and attempted to wait it out under the eaves of a neighborhood bar, but the water never quite abated.  So, we continued to the other four churches.  Later, we witnessed parts of the late-night processions, including gigantic floats (of sorts), carried by parishioners, entering a church, and later, men dressed as Roman soldiers running in formation through the streets to stop at intended locations and announce the death of Jesus. After observing this, we toured some of the sawdust rugs families were creating in the streets, an Easter tradition here.  Normally they'd be completed by this time, but with the rain, the artists were just beginning their labors. We returned to her house at 1:15 in the morning.

 My favorite church display

 The Roman guard traipsing through Antigua--on horse and on foot

A sawdust rug in progress

Friday night the five youngest boys stayed at my house for a sleepover.  We made pizza, and they had a pillow fight and watched the movie Robots.  I had intended to have a campout on the roof, but the rain cancelled those plans; hence, the boys constructed forts of sorts in the living room.  This morning we dyed Easter eggs, used Resurrection Eggs to tell the Easter story, and had an Easter egg hunt.  My neighbor Litzy joined us for this part, which made all of the boys fall over themselves in their shyness of having a pretty girl their age among them.

Pizza making 

 Pillow fighting

 Egg coloring

Manhunting the last egg

So, I learned very quickly that a house full of boys is quite the experience.  After the third time of going into the bathroom and seeing a seat wet with what I'm sure was not water, we had a lesson on how to use the bathroom at someone else's house.  And tonight I'm pretty sure it was a booger I cleaned off the bathroom wall.  I guess they thought they could take a mini-vacation from all the good hygiene skills they teach at La Senda. Nevertheless, it was a good time with them.

I got to relax with friends--Vero, Christian, and Heidy--this afternoon.  They wanted to show me Tikel Futura, a large mall.  I'm thankful to have people to laugh with and who are quite patient with my Spanish.  They can tease me mercilessly when I say things incorrectly, but they are also quick to help me figure out how to say stuff and ultimately wait for me to make myself clear.  That's nice.  Our highlight of the afternoon? Climbing into the glass elevator in the adjacent hotel and riding it to the top floor and back down again. Felt like I was 15 again. :)

Tomorrow I look forward to church service and Sunday dinner at La Senda.

Sunglasses and Dirty Socks

Even though I am teased about wearing my white sunglasses with the fake diamonds in the sides and having dirty socks, I am grateful to spend time with Veronica and her family.  They love to joke around, enjoy being in each other's company, and love the Lord.  And they have extended their love to me, letting me feel right at home with them.

Together, we ate tons of yummy food.  We talked much, played games, and took walks.  Unfortunately, Veronica lost her cell phone along the way, quite possibly after she played Ding Dong Ditch and we had to run away fast from that house.  It was quite unfortunate.  We also attended church this morning and made cookies this afternoon.

Tomorrow I am going with the La Senda home kids to the beach for three days.  It's Holy Week, and here everyone has vacations.

Sadly, this week is not without its sadness.  I hear more people have accidents this week than almost any other.  Already tonight I arrived home to my mourning neighborhood.  One of the women was hit by a car as she was walking home along the highway.  We knew the news couldn't be good when we drove past the police and ambulance and saw a sheet-covered body lying along the side of the road.  Please pray for comfort and peace for her family during this week.  And pray for protection as we and many others travel.

The Davises

 Joey and Me

 The Three Brothers: Tom, Joe, and Tim

 Cousins: Jenny, Christina, Me, Sarah

 Renea, Cousin Joe, and Joey

 Piper, Julia, Little Gabriel, Darrell, and Cousin Lisa

My family with Brent, Doneda, and Jonathan Downs

Twenty-Seven? You're Halfway to Heaven

So said my grandpa to me the last time I saw him.  Probably twenty times.  Every time he asked me how old I was (he forgot quickly, given his dementia), he reminded me promptly of my proximity to death.  At first it was surprising and funny, and then it started to bother my growing consciousness of my age.  However, when my mom pointed out that Grandpa was probably saying this because it rhymed, I felt much more at ease.

Grandpa was always one to have a witty saying on the tip of his tongue.  Whether we visited the OK Café for breakfast and he bantered with the waitress or he greeted one of us kids, he was always ready with an expression that made us smile.  He loved to tell us a tall tale or exaggerate some truth just enough to make us wonder about the veracity of it, until he let us in on his secret that he was pulling our legs.

Some of his tales were true, though they sound more like they sprang from the novels of western writers.  My personal favorites were the buffalo stories.  As a boy, his father owned a buffalo who had a penchant for running away to find himself some lovely cows.  Many a time the neighbor farmers called his father to tell him of his delinquent buffalo, and they had to work hard to trick the buffalo into coming home.  Finally, the fellow was laid to rest and placed in the Hastings museum, where we visited him from time to time on our vacations out west.

The other fantastic Grandpa story was of the Hastings hold-up.  As the son of the mayor, Grandpa was perhaps privy to a bit of the investigation of the now-famous bank robbery where the robbers left with $27,000.  The police couldn't find any of the money; but Grandpa, at eleven years old, and after receiving permission from his father, searched the robbers' getaway car and found $10,000 of the missing money.  A month before he passed, the local news aired an interview with an author who has used this robbery story for fodder, including an interview with Grandpa.  He looked good.

Last week I travelled with my family to remember Grandpa and his adventuresome life.  He was a man of many accomplishments and great intelligence, but above all, I will remember him for his love for us and how he, along with my grandma, always made us feel special when we visited them.

Bank Heist Author, Grandpa Interview

I'm a Shrimp

True, in the States, I am a bit on the shrimpy side height-wise.

Here, though, "Estás pura camarón" [You're pure shrimp] means that you're lobster red.

And after spending the day at the beach with Johana and her family, that's exactly what I am.  What more can you expect from the white skin of a gringa?

When Typos Turn Gangsta

Imagine how the chapter titled "The Hot-Potato Man and Other Mothers" would play out.

I see the main character as a big round man who is known for sweating, aka The Hot-Potato Man.  In his gang along Market Street, we'd have Corn Dog Bob, the skinny and pimply street vendor; Here Boy, the short old man who grunts for his answers but comes at the shortest whistle blown just so; and, of course, Salsachup, the slick youth whose ways are as greasy as his hair.  Average, or sub-average, people during the day, terrors to the neighborhood by night with their revolvers and penchants for attempting to rob any living and moving creature.

What a twist to the The Whipping Boy's chapter titled "The Hot-Potato Man and Other Matters."

Antonio-ism #1

While playing with the kiddoes, I knelt down to pick up something Antonio dropped.  He studied the top of my head while I studied the ground, and then he announced that my hair was gray.

"Gray!" I exlaimed.  "I don't think so!  How about yellow or brown?"

"Hmm," he said, thinking seriously over the matter.  "Yes, you're right.  It's gold.  Pure gold."

I about died laughing right there.

Tonight he joined our teenage Bible study.  He's 5.  But he sat quietly and listened, later helping me prepare the snack.  He laid out the napkins for each person, carefully straightening each one on the table and then counting and recounting to make sure there were enough.

I think I should nickname him Sombra--Shadow.

"Street" Evangelism

Antonio, Ian, and I were playing together this afternoon. We'd already played by the swings, and now the boys were flipping through a Toy Story 3 coloring book as we sat along the curb.  I was reading to them from the children's Bible, attempting to translate it into Spanish.

We landed on the story about the lost sheep.  Antonio was very attentive, coloring quietly and interjecting a question or two.  Ian, at three years, ran around, interested neither in the coloring nor the story about the sheep.

I started to read a sentence that said, "God loves us so much..." when Antonio announced he had some bad news about God.  "What is it?" I asked him.

"God dies," he said, his face downcast in due respect for the dead.

"Hmm," I said.  "Well, I have some good news for you.  He raises from the dead three days later." And we talked a little more about Jesus and our sins and forgiveness and God's love for us and Easter. 

We returned to the story of the lost sheep, and then kicked around a little green ball that was too hard for soccer.

Weekend Buckets

An opportunity came up to help out church families in a nearby town that is known to be fairly poor.  With the home fifth graders (Mimi, Yeny, Phillip, Victor, and Brandon (4th)), we worked together to put together food bins, using money that someone had donated to be used here.  Johana helped us out a ton in Chimaltenango's market, negotiating lower prices given the quantity of product we were buying.  We also enjoyed the excitement of a scuffle breaking out four feet from us.  As I shooed the kids to the car to drop off some purchases, I was reminded that high school isn't the only place fights break out.

With $200, we were able to make 26 bins with  a little money left over to give one family whose cow died--the animal was their primary source of income.  Each bin had a pound each of rice, beans, oatmeal, and sugar; soap for the pila; and cooking oil.  Pam and Steve also donated avocados from their trees and maseca, corn flour Guatemalans use to make tortillas.

The kids and I attended the church service last Saturday night and delivered the goods to the church.  The pastors texted the next day to let us know that there were enough bins for each family and that the people walked away with smiles on their faces.

 Brandon

 Measuring out the maseca

Ready to go!

Expectation

The buses had already left.  Only a handful of students played around the principal's office, shooting marbles or running back and forth to the treehouse while waiting to be picked up.  Prof William and I sat on the cement against the office wall; Anita stood guard at the imaginary line separating the anxious students from the dangerous driveway of moving vehicles.

One little boy spotted his mom pulling up to the gate at the bottom of the hill.  He quickly picked up his lunchbox and shouldered his bookbag.  He took a forceful step forward, as if to run; then, checked by an unseen hand, stopped abruptly.  He shuffled his lunchbox in his hands and stared longingly at the white SUV just now passing through the gate and past the guard, and sighed at the delay.  His eyes, locked on the vehicle, with his thoughts surely on the person within, followed it to the top.

The three of us exchanged grins as we appreciated his intensity and unabashed anticipation.  Miss Anita extended her hand, and he eagerly rushed forward to grasp it, his ferry across the invisible line separating him from home.

Post #200: Beating Me to the Punch

One of the highlights of the day is being in charge of the hand-washing line in the preschool room prior to their morning snack.  The kids are super cute (as long as I don't have to teach them).  I've decided this is a good time to help them practice their English.

We're working on answering the question, "How are you?" instead of simply repeating it.

This past week we began working on manners.  I prompt students to say, "Soap, please," when it is their turn.

On Friday, one kid finally had it figured out.  Before I even had a chance to ask him how he was, he put his little hands out together in front of him, looked up at me, and quickly said, "Fine, thank you. Soap, please."

He knows how to get things done.

Afternoon Tea

Last Sunday I had the pleasure of having a few La Senda and neighborhood girls over for a tea.  They came dressed in their favorite clothes, and with the new tea set my Spanish teacher helped me find in the market, we had a delightful tea with all sorts of goodies to eat.  We also talked about true beauty, the gospel, and who we are in Christ, with the overarching idea that we are daughters of the king.

 Ready for the tea party! (No, it was not political. :))

 Several of the lovely young ladies.

 Yumminess!  Litzy helped me cook the night before.

 Astrid shared she always wanted to be a princess.  

 One of the teenagers.

 Yenifer's eyes lit up when she heard as daughters of the king, we are princesses to God.

 Post-tea relaxation time.

La Senda chicas

Overheard...

Just heard the little neighbor kids whispering outside my door before they knocked.  "Only a little kiss [of greeting] and then we go!"  They kept their visit that short. :)

On the Outskirts of Mourning

I drove down dirt roads for the first time yesterday.  Canvasing the bumps and different grades of dirt was a bit challenging, especially given my low-sitting car with all five of us inside.  Lito made a face as I scraped the bottom of my car--again--only to reverse and let him guide me through.

We asked the man who had his cows tied to the tree if we could park there, because there was no other flat space.  He said yes.

We walked from there through the little neighborhood, with its pentecostal church, tienda, visiting neighbors, and houses built from cement block with tin roofs.  We found her house up the lane.  She was sitting up in bed, watching TV.

We came, my colleagues and I, because her husband was killed this week.  My colleagues wanted to pay her a visit since she used to work with us; though I knew who she was, I was more the chauffeur. We sat all together in her room and listened to her story.  How her husband had left at the normal time.  How he hadn't returned home.  How she had decided not to worry about it. How she found out the next day of his death.  How the newspaper had picked up its story, and how her young son had rifled through the pages under pretense of looking for futbolistas only to end his search when he found the article about his father's death.

She shared that she is feeling sad, of course, but she has a sense of peace.  And these last few months had been good months in her family, having made good memories, ones they can pass on to the little one due later this year.

She is my age.  With one son and another on the way, and now a widow.

Guatemala Linda

Sunrise from my roof

Sex Ed

In college I breathed a mental sigh of relief every time the professors alluded to the phys ed majors' resposibility to teach health--and with that, sex ed.  Glad I don't ever have to teach that in English! I thought to myself.

Well, wouldn't you know.  God has a sense of humor.

I started teaching about human reproduction today.  Okay, I don't have to get into all the nitty gritty details about sex, but as one who blushes at the name of those body parts, it's going to be an interesting three weeks.

Before we get to the science of it, we are starting off with what the Bible says about our bodies.  We are created in his image.  We are fearfully and wonderfully made.  Some parts are designated by special modesty, as are some parts in the body of Christ.  We are the body of Christ.  And, our speech--about anything, including references to sexuality and others' bodies--should be uplifting and glorifying to God. 

With this unit, we [Pam has given me a lot of good advice] hope to give the students a healthy framework to learn this material, so not only are their educational and intellectual needs met, but also their emotional and spiritual needs, too.

Education.  Rarely a dull moment.

Finding Humor in their Mistakes

Seeing how I add almost daily to my growing list of Spanish faux pas, I don't mind chuckling at a few of my students'.  Most recently, from their quizzes:

May I go to the badroom?
Sure, but make sure you put your nose in the corner once you're there.

May I go to the batroom?
If I get to be Robin!

I'm dreaming...

Can dreams get any weirder?

During one of my 12 hours of sleep in the last 24 hours, I dreamed I was in a delectable bakery where every bread and cookie item was covered in chocolate.  White chocolate, dark chocolate, semi-sweet chocolate.  Oh, the choices!  I couldn't decide which two to pick to put in my basket.

And in a new twist on my recurring dreams of making painstakingly careful revisions to the blueprints of familiar buildings (most notably, the building for Christian Tabernacle and the house of family friends I used to dogsit for), I rearranged geography last night.  I was in search of Estonia.  I zoomed in (Google Earth style) on a country I was sure to be it.  A little later I realized, no, I was wrong, and that Estonia was on the other side of the body of water.  Hmmm, I thought.  That's an odd shape.  Which was when I realized Russia had moved all of the population of Estonia to the other side of the continent.  Why?  I don't know.

Weird, I tell you.  Weird.  But I'll take these over dreams that prey on my fears.

Prayer

Prayer has been something that I have been trying to figure out since high school.  "Why do we pray?" I remember asking my youth pastor while studying Know Why You Believe.  Yes, Jesus prayed.  So we should follow his example.  Yes, Paul encourages us to pray "on all occasions."  Somehow, though, these answers and several others weren't enough for me.

I still wondered why we should pray when God already knows everything.

As a result, my prayer life has gone in cycles.  Very disciplined at times, I've made lists of people to pray for, which in high school turned into 5 pages long.  Thus, I ended up having a separate list for each day of the week.  Later, trying to move out of my legalistic ways, I decided to pray "as the Spirit led."  Well, this quickly turned into praying very rarely--evidently, I was not tuned into when the Spirit was leading.  Other times, I made shower times my prayer times, or bed time, or when I first woke up. 

Always in search of what prayer should look like and be, I am always eager to hear other people's opinions or to learn something new.

Today, then, when it was time for Day 4, Week 3: "The Obstacle [to living a victorious life in Christ] of Failure to Pray" in Beth Moore's Breaking Free study, I knew that it could be a big deal.

In her commentary she pointed to a familiar scripture: Philippians 4:4-7. 

"Rejoice in the Lord always.  I will say it again: Rejoice!  Let your gentleness be evident to all.  The Lord is near.  Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." 

I thought to myself, that's it!  An answer I've been looking for for nearly 15 years--right in front of my face!  What joy!

Why pray?  One solid reason: so we know God's peace.

For some reason, I find this answer more sustaining, more satisfactory, than anything I've heard or learned before.

And I continue to be pleasantly surprised at how God knows these little things about me--my doubts, my fears, my confusion--and how he surreptitiously meets these needs through Bible studies or church services or an encouraging word from another.

Which leaves me feeling thankful.  And humbled.  And excited.