Como Miguel Pro tocó mi vida... una reflexión de una voluntaria

Con algunas de mis alumnas de cuarto grado de primaria, día familar 2017

Nuestra misión entre los voluntarios jesuitas es una de servicio y formación. Cuando pienso en mi experiencia de servicio en Miguel Pro, me siento que esta experiencia me formó mucho más que podía dar en dos años. Apliqué para los voluntarios jesuitas porque quería crecer en los cuatro valores: espiritualidad, comunidad, justicia social y la vida sencilla. Estos valores son muy queridos para mi. Me siento que son parte de mi personalidad y mi espíritu. Así que, quería vivir estos valores intencionalmente por dos años para fortalecerme. Cuando me comunicaron que iba servir en Tacna, Perú, me emocionó… aún más cuando me explicaron que mi obra sería Colegio Miguel Pro. Me contaron de la fundación y misión del colegio y Habitat. Del inicio fue obvio que Miguel Pro es una comunidad única: unida en la fe y dedicada de la misión. Vine acá con la expectativa de enseñar inglés y la esperanza de colaborar en una comunidad educativa fuerte. Aprendí que ser voluntaria en Miguel Pro no es solamente ser maestra. Es ser madre. Enseño inglés. También, juego vóley después de las clases. Preparo montones de galletas. Hago trenzas para el grupo de gimnastica rítmica. Ayudo a mis niños con sus tareas. Colaboro con proyectos del colegio. Acompaño mis alumnos—desde los grandes hasta los más pequeños. Abro mi casa para compartir. Abro mi corazón para celebrar los logros y lagrimear las tristezas. Estos fueron los momentos que tocaron mi vida.

Este no es un proyecto ni un trabajo. Verdaderamente es una experiencia... de vivir en familia. Todos nosotros en esta comunidad colaboramos para criar nuestros alumnos, para formar hombres y mujeres para los demás. Así que, no aprendí esto de mis propias esfuerzas. Aprendí de la profesora que me enseño como manejar mi clase. Aprendí de la madre que se preocupa por su hijo. Aprendí de mi alumno que sueña sobre su futuro. Cada persona me formó. Crecí en nuestros valores pero también como una hija, amiga, acompañante… como madre. Entonces, Miguel Pro realmente, concretamente cambió mi vida. Entiendo mejor lo que es participar en una comunidad unida en la fe y dedicada a la misión.  Significa echar una mano, tomar un paso más y mirar siempre más alto…. No para mi pero para mis hermanos y hermanas, hijos de Dios. Ahora, como cada voluntario antes de mi, me toca despedir nuestra familia acá. Y como todos, estoy aprensiva. Es posible que este paso sería lo más difícil. Pero puedo tomarlo porque yo sé que esta familia estará conmigo. Siempre llevaré esta experiencia en mi corazón y en mis acciones, dedicada a la misión de amar y servir. Entonces, sigo con fe y esperanza porque sé que mi camino nunca será el mismo. Será siempre más alto. 

The Dreaded Dis-O

Here is a little about Dis-O and my experience this year

The mission of the Jesuit Volunteer Corps is service and formation. It’s both. As a part of our formation as international Jesuit volunteers, our program coordinators facilitate a reorientation/disorientation retreat for us.  The first year is so cool! You get to reorient to the mission, gear up for another year, and spend time with your fellow volunteers from other communities. However, the second time around they call the retreat disorientation. It marks the beginning of the end. We begin to talk about “next steps” and “saying goodbye.” I was nervous going into the retreat… The beautiful part of this experience is that we enter into life here. But that makes it impossible to say goodbye… How do I say goodbye to a life?

My nerves make me hesitant, resistant, guarded. I resigned to just pray for a miracle because the impossibility of saying goodbye made it too ridiculous to be true. It’s certainly out of my realm, my mere human capabilities, so I’ll toss it to God.

God answers prayers. I warmed up to the space and community on the retreat. By the time we reached the last day and were asked to begin thinking how to share our experience with our stateside communities, I was surprisingly willing to enter into the exercise. First I wanted to pray—for each person who will ask, “How was it?” I hope I can pray for each of you: my family who loves me but can’t wrap their heads around my off-the-wall life decisions sometimes, my friends who want to know everything, and even those college friends and neighbors who have grown out of touch but will undoubtedly ask, “Where were you? What were you doing?”

I’m nervous to share my story… I want to honor this experience and the people here. I don’t know how to communicate two years of life living. I want to share. I’m scared to share. I want to be understood. I egotistically think that no one will understand me sometimes. I’ll be imperfect and inadequate. But I’m praying for each of you, and I hope and trust that’ll fill in the gaps.

Here is a reflection from my disorientation retreat.

It’s a beginning of goodbyes and hellos.

{Full disclosure: This could be viewed as a compilation of all the prayers and saints who accompany me. Almost all is borrowed. I’m not original.}

I’m posed the question: How have you grown and what have you learned in this time as a Jesuit volunteer? It boils down to my mission (and that of St. Terese of Liseaux):  to be love.

The final word is love of course.

But I’ve learned, grown and been formed because I got lost. I find a lot of truth in our JVC slogan, “The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.” That’s how it happened. Baby step by baby step I ventured a little more, gave up a little more, unlearned a little more.
I gave myself to this experience: “full-time, long-term service.” Not shifts at a soup kitchen. Not Saturday mornings. Not a mission trip. I gave up my culture, future plans, expectations, family, friends, my skill set… all I have to this life. I gave to my students and teachers, to my neighborhood and the JVC community, to Tacneños like my host family. And as all those things I gave up slowly melted away or changed or grew into something better… I slowly began to find myself. I became attentive to the little moments of clarity, the presence of God. For brief, divine moments I saw/ understood clearly who and whose I am becoming. A person moved by faith. A daughter. A mother. A teacher. A servant. Giving myself to the adventure of increasing attentiveness to God’s presence, I woke up a little more. I experienced communion—with God and others. We can only know love in community—from our Triune God to our neighbors: sisters and brothers. We must understand more divine connectedness. I think I’m understanding a little more—that the secret is love and that love comes with community. That heaven is a banquet and life is a banquet too. That we know each other in the breaking of the bread—in the sacred ordinariness of living together. When we know that sacredness, the GLORY of the everyday and the call to GLORIFY the Lord by our own light, we can’t help but sing and dance and exclaim shouts of praise.

I prayed to God, and she answered my prayers. She showered me in Graces, the ones I’ve been begging for since the very beginning of my discernment with JVC

Openness     Gratitude      Courage

She held my hand. Ever so gently and slowly She led me into the wilderness. She changed my lot, empowered me to be a bold participant, rather than a saint-in-waiting.

It really has been a bold, wild adventure—falling in love. But for all the greatness, the deepness, the vastness, the courageous foolishness of this love, it really was all very small how it happened. It happened in the walks to school and trips to the market. It happened over lunch and laughing on the living room couch. It happened in a hug and a smile. I fell in love when I was welcomed in as sister, mother, daughter and friend. I fell in song and dance. In laughter, triumph and failure. I fell in love walking through the mountains and playing kickball. I fell when I received notes from students and when they included me in on their jokes. I fell in love looking up at the desert stars and admiring the sunset each day. I fell in love smelling freshly baked bread and eating avocados and mangoes…. Even in doing laundry and cooking dinner!

It was all very small, except for the Graces I received and the joyful peace that I felt. It was so small and simple how it all happened—as we sat there talking. It is not until we step back and take the long view that we realize that it really happened.

We lived into each day with spirituality, community, social justice and simple living. We lost ourselves in the service, in the living of daily life, and we woke up to find ourselves in these values. They are a part of us and us them. It’s a beautifully messy thing of overflow. It’s an unbound love for God and the world that cannot be undone. We are ruined for life.

It all happened while we sat there talking, and it is still going on.

I hope I communicate these values through my being. This beautifully terrible love has no words. I hope others come to know the little way—that they feel the Divine, joyful peace and encounter their own Graces. I hope in the freedom I’ve found.

I trust that this is only the beginning, a step along the way, and opportunity for God’s Grace to enter in and do the rest.

Praise be to God that this is a life-long adventure of increasing attentiveness to Her presence, growing in dependence and failing foolishly, dangerously in love.

                                                                                                          Amen.

because we´re still talking about Katrina

I wrote this reflection awhile back after listening to a podcast about Memorial Baptist Hospital during Hurricane Katrina. It was a strange experience... listening, learning and remembering such a familiar, intimate memory from an outsider, foreigner, non-New Orleanian... hit me with some weird feelings
So I prayed to God for the gift of tears

As we´re remembering once again this time of year, I thought I´d share how I recently remembered this event. It´s honest and unsure and unfinished.
It´s my prayer

And the Tears Don´t Come

I wanted to cry, but I couldn´t cry

I wanted to break down and cry over the trauma and hurt that happened to MY HOME,
and I couldn´t
Because I am/was so far removed. Protected. Bubbled. Lucky. Blessed.
I am priveleged.
So much so that now when I want tearws of solidarity to well up adn overflow to honor the memory of those we´ve lost and partake in the suffering of my people...
The tears don´t come
I´m grasping for a kinship with a people who aren´t my own.
My New Orleans is not their New Orleans.
My Katrina is not their Katrina.

Now that I´m 12 years older
and just a little wiser
I see and hear this traume

in ways I could not understand

when it was actually happening to me

I want to know and love my home.
I want to share in my community
I want to participate in an active history

But the tears don´t come
And I feel like a stranger

Amen.

The Two-Year Thing

There is a unique feature of the international Jesuit volunteer program that grabs your attention—for better and worse. That is we stay here in country for two years. No backsies. It’s a real shock factor when we share about our experience. The general public (in both countries) seems to think that two years is a long time. I once was a part of the general public. Now I’m ruined for life.  

The two-year thing was a major player in my discernment process. The thought of two years away from my friends, family and beloved New Orleans made me pause. Hesitate. However, I also saw the value of a two-year international program. I believed in the process. I trusted and stepped into my vocation of “long term service.” Then when I moved to Tacna the two-year thing didn’t just make me pause. I froze. Doubted. Maddie Keeble’s big move felt so permanent. The thought of building a life amidst so much uncertainty and newness was intimidating. I trusted and stepped into each day. Sometimes faith is about just showing up.

In the first year I couldn’t think beyond my time in Tacna. Everything was about investing into the next year. That in and of itself was so marvelously challenging that anything beyond these two years seemed far into the future. Seriously thinking about the return home seemed ludicrous. However, I could envision myself as the FJV sage returning to the United States to impart my wisdom on the aforementioned general public. I’d probably have a dread lock and some funky pants. Wild flowers would blossom as I walked. I would reek of the Holy Spirit. People would stand in shock not because I’m strange enough to commit two years of my life to voluntary service but because I’m just that cool and sage-like. This vision is clearly not serious thinking or discernment. (Also, I was exaggerating for comedic effect. Just to be clear.) However, the hope that one day I’d come out on the other side of this a better person carried me through some tough times. Cultivating that hope helps me grow in other virtues like faith and charity.

We joke here that as a volunteer you’re either new or you’re leaving. That is true. On a two-year time line every event is your first or your last. In the past year and a half I have experienced my first and last mes de mission, my first and last día familiar and my first and last “first day of school.” That’s not counting the day-to-day events I wish were innumerable, such as market adventures, recesses, community nights and lunches with my host family. I said a lot that my experience abroad in Argentina with the CASA program felt like a microcosm for life. There are many times when I feel that JVC is similar to CASA in that way. These two years are filled with un-learning and learning how to live. The two-year thing doesn’t just help me appreciate the present moment. I savor, relish, and totally delight in every event. That includes the big holidays and birthdays as well as every plate of ceviche, salsa dance and hug from one of my students. I must value every experience here because I will only live it once or twice. I must be present to the person in front of me because I won’t meet her/him again. I no longer have the option to checkout or ignore the moment before me. This opportunity will not present itself at some other time. This moment will not come again.

While you’re a first year it’s tough to see that because you have an entire year more! Also, it’s tough to adjust to this new life. While you’re a second year it’s tough to savor the present moment because you’re already leaving! It’s easy to be a whiny first year or a sappy, dramatic second year. I have been both. But every now and again I have the Grace (help from God) to see the present moment for what it is: sacred. I’m not complaining or nostalgic. I am unfocused on the timeline, and I am simply grateful. I realize that time is such a wonderful gift. You’re not running out. You’re really running in. –Trevor Hall

Lately, I feel like I’m running. My days are stupendously full of life and love that are beautiful and terrible. My heart is warmed and broken. At the end of the day I am left in awe of the work God is doing in and around me. For a long time here my prayer has been “Empower me to be a bold participant, rather than a patient saint in waiting.” A year and a half into the timeline it occurred to me that God answered this prayer. (Yeah, I’m a little slow.) I am no longer painfully, slowly stepping into my time here. I am walking boldly in my school, community and city. That doesn’t mean that I’m perfect or a saint. For every day I come home raving that I have the dream job, there is a day when I feel like I’m failing as a teacher and mentor. Being a bold participant does mean that I am alive and engaged. I am offering everything I have and all that I am. I am receiving all that life has and all that God wants to make of me.

            Being a bold participant is my answer to the dare proposed to me by JVC over a year and half ago. Each cautious step and exciting leap is a dare to change. But it’s more than discerning how to live my vocation as a Jesuit volunteer. This dare is not bound to the two-year timeline. The dare to change is a boundless venture to savor not just these two years but also every moment of my life. That’s a little daunting, but I find consolation there. The delight, wonder, joy, heartache, solidarity, care, generosity, love… has no timeline. For as long as I walk upon this sacred earth I can choose to be a bold participant. I have hit the point of no return. I am ruined for life. Now I trust and step into the present. I let myself be touched by the world around me, and my life is saturated with all that is good and terrible and beautiful and meaningful. That means that my heart will break in six months when I leave Tacna. My heart will continue to break again and again as I allow myself to be deeply moved by the people around me. But that’s what happens when you fall in love and stay in love… it decides everything. No backsies.

Nothing is more practical than finding God,

that is than falling in love in a quite absolute, final way.

What you are in love with,

What seizes your imagination,

Will affect everything.

It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning,

What you do with your evenings,

How you spend your weekends,

What you read, who you know,

what breaks your heart,

and what amazes you with joy and gratitude.

Fall in love, stay in love

And it will decide everything.

-Pedro Arrupe

Vacation time was full and fun! Here are a few moments from the last couple weeks... 

The family visits Peru! Big thanks to yall for coming all the way here to see me-- and for the great trip!

Día Familiar. I got to celebrate our school community by participating in a traditional Peruvian dance with the teachers and cheering on my students in their dance competition. Here the senior class and I are enjoying our last family day. 

Our community recently took a hiking retreat in Peru´s GLORIOUS Colca Canyon.

My mantra for the retreat was ¨Peace is every step.¨ Thanks, Thich Nhat Hanh

The earth tree and the pot vine

I’m looking at two trees. One in a pot and one growing from the earth, The tree growing from the earth is mostly sticks. The earth is hard, packed, dusty. The tree in the pot was placed against the twiggy, earth tree for support. The pot tree is a limp vine with beautiful leaves but cannot stand up on its own. It is not planted in the earth. It’s green and strong, but it can’t grow up like the earth tree, The pot is placed next to the sticky tree so that the vine is supported. The earth tree supports the pot vine. Because it gives to the pot tree, the vine can grow up. One tree makes the other stronger, and they are both more beautiful. 

Follow up to life in the desert: I took a walk...

I like to take a walk in the mornings. It serves as a walking meditation. It helps me move my body a little and center myself before I hurdle into the business of life. However, the other day I took my walk in the evening before the sun went down. I was in wonder and awe at the glory of an evening walk as opposed to the morning walk. I enjoyed the low sun and the WARMTH. (We are now in winter here.) What really struck me were the MOUNTAINS. I came home raving about my walk, and the girls told me that the mountains always look like that. I refused to believe them on two counts. For one, the mountains looked stupendous. There is no way they look like that all the time. Secondly, I’m a little prideful and didn’t want to admit to being quite so unobservant.

If you’ve been following the blog, you are probably very confused.
I have written that Tacna has sand dunes. It is also an expansive desert of nothingness. It is a border town. It is a city. It is a beach.
You’re probably thinking, “Where the hell are these mountains coming from?”
Just go with it.

The Tacna terrain is something supernatural. On a clear day, from our tiny corner of the universe, we can see the tips of the Andes Mountains just over the sand dunes. But on the day of my earth shattering walk the dunes and the mountains seemed so close. I felt like I could reach my arm out and lift myself up over the dune and to the world beyond. I know the way to the center of town, the way to the beach and the way to Chile. I do not know what lies beyond that particular side of the sand dunes. If I just reach my arm out, I will be “on the way to something unknown, something new.”

I walked and marveled at the mountains and the sand dunes. I noticed the cactus farms and the homes in my neighborhood. The houses here seem peculiar to us coming from the USA. They have long metal rods sticking out the tops of the bricks and cinder blocks. People construct their home bit by bit as they have the resources to do so. The rods, jutting against the sky and the dunes, are signs of hope. They are faith in the goodness of the future and trust in the prosperity of days to come.
They are long, rusting, crooked metal rods that would probably violate about twenty health and safety codes in the United States.

I say that Tacna is a living miracle because it is a wonder to me how a city can exist in the middle of the desert. Tacna is a city of faith—faith that one day roads will come, faith that there will be enough water, faith that the cactus will bear fruit and the watermelons and olives will continue to grow. Tacna is also a city of workers. Living in the deserts is work. People are constantly coming and going. They come looking for work. They go looking for work. They are traveling, buying and selling products. People are building roads, gas lines, water reservoirs, houses, schools…
People work with the good faith that the desert can be their home. Together, this community of people creates life in the desert. And they become strong. For me, this is why Tacna is the heroic city. It isn´t because of the war fought long ago. This community courageously creates life. What comes forth isn´t perfect or ideal, but the people are strong.

Living on this side of the dunes requires faith, hope and courage. Inspired by my neighbors, I pray for these Graces and the strength to lift myself over the dune and step into the great beyond. The mountains are calling me to something unknown and new. This environment is not natural. God’s creation is supernatural. 

Follow up to post: Living Simply isn´t about Tile Floors

A hilarious follow up to the post in which I said that living simply isn´t about tile floors...
my bed frame recently broke in a valiant effort to sweep and mop every corner of my floor.
Since I had lost my voice that weekend, I could barely even laugh at the hilarity.
The whole situation resulted in a somewhat pathetic picture I hope all can enjoy.
(Thanks, Shannon for capturing the moment.)

I did not actually have to sleep on the floor because we have an extra bed in the house (privelege). But I could have because, you know, my floor is made out of tile. And it was really clean.

Arriving to the desert

I live in a desert.

I don’t mean like Phoenix.

I mean like drive an hour north, and you’ll find nothing around you but sand.

Drive an hour south, and you’ll find… more sand.

My neighborhood, Habitat, is about thirty minute outside of the city in the…

End of the highway, full view of the dunes, cactus farms, occasional smell of burning trash, neighborhood construction…

Desert.

Walk from the annual school field trip to a monument for the soldiers who died in the War of the Pacific

Tacna is the first desert that I have ever seen.

My first impression of the expansive permanency of the desert was my first month in country. I traveled with my host sister for about three hours through the desert to the next largest city, a literal oasis. On this particular day, this NOLA girl was feeling a little homesick, and she thought, “What have I gotten myself into?” Little by little this past year and a half I’ve arrived to the desert.

Tacna is the first desert that I have ever experienced.

Arriving to the desert is a physical process.

I arrived when my hair and skin weren’t constantly dried out.

I started taking showers in the morning because the water is often cut off at night.

There was the grand revelation of saving water by bucket flushing laundry water.

Then we had the grand inspiration to start composting for a community garden.

And we had the grand failure of fruit flies and ants infesting said compost.

With the perspective and courage of a second year JV, I’ll admit that my first impression of the desert was mixed. I was in awe of a sky full of unclouded, unobstructed stars on the beach. The sight of sand dunes next to the ocean astounded me. More than the beauty, it was the utter hopelessness of the desert that struck me. I passed homes made out of straw in the middle of nothing and was overwhelmed by the unimaginable horrors that moved a person to such a barren land. How can anyone live here? The desert is the first nothingness I have ever seen.

Moving through seeing to experiencing, the desert’s beauty opens my eyes and my heart. She speaks to my soul. Arriving to the desert is a spiritual process. I’m coming to know my spiritual desert. I’m coming to understand my mission as accompaniment and stewardship. I’m walking with God’s people journeying through the desert. I’m learning how to create and participate in oases, which I can only understand as paradise. Surely something as incredible as life in the middle of the desert is a miraculous manifestation of God’s Kingdom. I think Christians and even our JVC community are called to, often miraculously, create oases (build the Kingdom of God).    

The English teacher in me would like to point out the use of the present continuous here (the ing verbs) because I am still very much arriving. Each new start or transition (there are many) is accompanied by an arrival. Each moment of Grace and each time I see something differently are arrivals. The most recent treasure I discovered beholden to the desert is the desert sun. God gives those of us living in the desert and outside of the city the tremendous opportunity to see the sunrise and the sunset each and every day.

I intentionally call our desert sun an opportunity rather than a blessing or a gift. The sun isn’t simply given to you. You have to go out to meet it. Farmers wake up with the sun to get a full day of work. We go to the beach to be warmed and consoled by the sun. We close our eyes and look up to the sky to feel the Divine’s presence. Each day God gives me the opportunity to see the sunrise and the sun set. I just have to go meet it. If I simply get out of bed on time for my morning walk (rare) and sit on our upstairs landing in the evening (rarer), I will see the glory of the sunrise and the sunset. Just. Simply. Those are tricky words. I may see the sun in these ways, but to really experience the miraculous beauty of the desert sun I need just a little more intentionality. Going to meet requires me to leave another place. I must leave my house, leave my comfort zone, leave my culture, leave my ego and my expectations.

Sunset from our upstairs landing

I must let go and let myself be. (This is still hard for me. Rachel, I’m still not a sage.)

I must let go and let myself be

to gratefully welcome the opportunity of each day as an adventure.

The adventure of increasing attentiveness to God’s presence

Since that first month, I’ve prayed to give myself fully to this adventure

Each morning I humbly and hopefully empty myself

and go out to meet the sun

I actively let myself be touched by the Divine

In my work, my family, my friends, my community

Each evening I breathe praise and thanksgiving

And welcome the Graces of wonder and awe

As the sunsets, I marvel at the blessings and challenges of my day

And how I’m coming to live here

Some days are like this—fully alive and attentive. But some days I’m pretty whiny (sorry community), doubtful and/or holed up watching seasons 8-10 of Grey’s Anatomy for the 100^th time. I don’t always take the opportunity to experience the desert sun. Sometimes missing that opportunity really bothers me. When I have enough humor and Grace to be gentle with myself, it bothers me about as much as it bothers my students when I tell them that they´re wasting their English talents by not studying. When I do I find the faith and humility to embrace the desert, I leave my attachments and arrive home.

I’m proud to call Tacna just that

Home.

Vulnerability Part II: What´s in the rolling backpack?

Photo Cred: Hannah Peterson

It’s that time of the year again.

Every morning last I heard the sound of a rolling backpack being rushed across the sidewalk outside our front door.

My neighbor on his way to school

“Good morning, Miss” without words

The first welcome to each school day

It was often also a reminder that I was running late to school!

This year I awaited that sound with excited, hopeful anticipation. The rolling backpack—it’s not just a 90s fad passed down from the United States. The actual child’s rolling suitcase with theme-coordinating lunchbox perched on top is much more than trendy. Although the suitcases are undeniably stylish and functional, what really matters is what is INSIDE the backpack. What is the student carrying—or rather dragging to school? In Tacna that backpack holds other quirks—like elaborately decorated notebooks and pencil cases with black hole capabilities that manage to hold the entirety of a school supplies store. Even more, my students bring their own quirks to school. They bring their personalities—developing; their hopes and dreams—discovering; their ears and anxieties—unsettling. My students carry their histories and realities to school. All that they are, all that they have been and all that they will be… everything comes to school.

So each of my kids arrives at their desk as their whole self. They humbly sit and allow themselves to learn. They allow themselves to say, “I don’t know. Teach me. Care for me. Take me as I am.” To be a student requires some degree (largely varying) of vulnerability. I am called to meet my kids in that vulnerability. I present my whole self, all my inadequacies, and I humbly ask them to learn with me. I allow myself to say, “Please welcome me and accept me. Please trust me and let me know/love you. Take me as I am.”

We all bravely say, “Yes.” It’s an act of faith.

In my work, this covenant between teacher and student comes to life in a unique and special way. I challenge my students to communicate in a foreign language. For many students, English class feels unnatural and uncomfortable. They not only take on the role of student. For forty-five minutes they take on the role of foreigner or outsider. And for forty-five minutes I meet them in that grace-full discomfort. I too am a foreigner. I also communicate in a language that is unnatural to my tongue. As they are learning how to learn, I am learning how to teach. All thirty-something of us in that classroom are called to accept the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.[1]

God gives me the Grace to connect with my kids in a way that many people do not. I share in their vulnerability. I partake in the awkwardness of kids and teenagers, and I affirm them. As we walk together I help them lean into discomfort. As I pray myself to be a bold participant, I empower and challenge my kids to let their lights shine. I listen caringly when they bravely choose to let me know them, and I give thanks to God when they want to know me. I let myself feel the injustices my kids experience: being talked over, given unreasonable expectations (too high or too low), deprived of innocence, treated as half-people. I want to be their advocate, and sometimes they even let me. When Grace touches vulnerability, we encounter faith.

God, give me the faith of a child.[2]

The faith of a child is a radical trust. My kids show me their zealous belief when they dedicatedly follow the rules of their own games at recess; when they belief student government can make a difference; when they share their dessert at lunch trusting they will one day be repaid; when they express their opinions and stick up for their friends. Clearly my faith has also become more radical and my love more unreasonable. I say that because someone who walks by my classroom does not see the idealism, beauty and hope reflected in this writing. Actually, in today’s forty-five minute encounter with the Divine, someone saw one kid swinging from the ceiling and one kid rolling on the floor.

            Diosito fortalece mi corazon[3]

Staying in that room is how I stay true to the covenant.

Staying

Dedicated

Passionate

Unreasonable[4]

Radically loving

Subversive[5]

Faithful[6]

Our covenant is how we live our faith, and I believe that a covenant is mutually directional. My students and I are teaching and learning. Both. Together.

We don’t always get it right. As Dorothy says, “At times it has been, in the words of Father Zossima, a harsh and dreadful thing, and our very faith in love has been tried through fire.”[7] Sometimes we’re left feeling raw and hurt, or at the very least insecure and uncomfortable. But every now and then we taste the heavenly banquet.

When my kid sits down next to me at a picnic table during a quiet afternoon. Companionship.

When we collaborate on a school project. Community.

When my students call me their mom. Family.

When I’m welcomed to school by hugs from the entire first grade class. Love.

Real communion.

These moments inspire us to faithfully to show up with our whole selves.

We bravely, humbly allow ourselves to sit together and know each other.

Misstep by misstep we live and let live.

---

[1] “Patient Trust” by Teilhard de Chardin; Aunt Shannon, Mimi, Bizzy, Lizzy

[2] I first prayed this after meeting mayan children near Punta Gorda, Belize.

[3] God, strengthen my heart… prayed when I need some extra strength to love during wild clases!

[4] We are called to love unreasonably… taken from By Little and by Little… which probably got it from St. Paul´s ¨folly of the cross¨

[5] ¨This was her subversion. She had connected.¨ Radical Faith: The Maura Clarke Story

[6] ¨Stay faithful¨ Beth Joubert

[7] The Long Loneliness; Doc Wilson; CASA; Rachel Nease

Vulnerability Part 1

C.S. Lewis wrote that to love is to be vulnerable.

I have no idea where he wrote it. I received the quote in a letter from a sweet friend. The more I live into this experience (or rather life in general)… the more I let love… The more I come to know this truth: to love is to be vulnerable. Just as much as I’m learning to love, I’m learning to be vulnerable. My understanding of vulnerability is changing. I think at one point I thought that being vulnerable means pouring out all my thoughts and feelings. At one point it meant sharing all my secrets. There was a time when being vulnerable meant allowing myself to get hurt. Vulnerability was stepping outside of my comfort zone and stepping into the space of another—perhaps even the Other if I was feeling really risky.

As mature or underdeveloped as any of these statements might be, I think there is an underlying theme. Vulnerability has to do with spaces of encounter. In an honest encounter, we have the courage and security to be vulnerable. When we are vulnerable, we create spaces of encounter: someplace where two people can meet as their authentic selves.

Now I’m wondering if more than reaching out yourself, vulnerability means allowing yourself to be touched by another being. Love isn’t just about being generous or caring or merciful. Just as we are called to love others, we are to let ourselves be loved. (This includes loving and being loved by God! Being vulnerable means allowing yourself to be touched by a divine being too.)

These past few months I’ve had some particularly special experiences here.

There was the end of my first school year; the grand visit from my mom; Christmas; new years; saying goodbye to Christie and Emily (2^nd year volunteers); mes de mission (month long service trip with the junior class); vacation time with Lauren in the other JVC community in Peru; an awesome and quick vacation with great friends from home; and now entering into my second year here with a wonderful new community!

It wasn’t the things I did or the places I went that made these past few months special. It was the people I was with. Life’s about love, y’all. So I’d like to highlight some people who’ve touched my heart and livened my spirit. Dorothy Day wrote about her friends and Catholic Worker family, so it was only a matter of time before I tried to do something similar. Here are my teachers of love and vulnerability, people who generously and whole-heartedly meet me as I am. Here are some of my role models and inspirations. They also all happen to be strong and faithful women. Who run the world? Girls.

Mom

Sharing Christmas traditions

In December MOM CAME TO TACNA! There were many tears, culture shock and a luggage mishap. However, the long-awaited meeting of the moms was a huge success. My Peruvian mom, Carla, had my United States mom on the dance floor the first night they met. I am consistently amazed by my host family’s continued generosity. We were welcomed to a beautiful Noche Buena in their home by Carla who opened the door and said, “Es jazz!” Sure enough. There was a youtube New Orleans jazz mix playing in Mom’s honor. More dancing, fireworks, Amazonian food, gifts from the USA, and unbelievably kind words welcomed baby Jesus into the world. We got to return the favor by having all the volunteers and their host families over to the TacBloc for Christmas dinner: gumbo. Mom shared the story of Our Lady of Prompt Succor. Christmas was truly a space of encounter, where we shared who we are and where we come from. Mom’s visit was pure accompaniment. She said that she wanted to simply enter my life here, and that she did! She spent time at school and baked cookies for the Christmas party. Met the neighbors. Walked all around Tacna multiple times. Mastered the bus line. Washed all my clothes—by hand. We simply enjoyed each others’ company for the week… and several RomCom movies!

We topped off the visit with a trip to Cusco! I wanted Mom to see one of the wonders of the world, Machu Pichu. She definitely put her bravery on, being high up in the Andes Mountains! This picture captures our trip; we spent a lot of time looking at some pretty impressive rocks. Mom’s favorite Spanish word is mira!

Mom and I spent our vacation looking at rocks.

La Gran Fiesta

Last year´s community: Shannon, Emily, Christie and me

Classic date night: matching sweatshirts,
snack and VHS classic

Soon after I said goodbye to Mom I also said goodbye to Emily and Christie, the two second-year JVs and my best friends this past year. These girls became real Tacñenas. Rather than a sad farewell, they decided to throw la gran fiesta for the people and place that became a part of their hearts and souls these past two years. These ladies are my inspiration. Their love and service is something real and big. They gave their all to this place and this experience, and they allowed it to become a part of them. Authentic love and vulnerability. Thank you for being my role models. Thank you for showing me how to be here and how to live this life to the fullest. Thank you for supporting me and empowering me to be my best self. Thank you for sharing each day with me here: the hopes and fears, tears and laugher, joy and pain. Thank you for the endless brownies, dance parties, date nights and prayers.

I was asked, “What are you going to do without Emily and Christie next year?”

I thought for a second and responded, “Emily and Christie helped me stand on my own two feet here. Now that I have my grounding, I can walk on my own.”

 I’ll miss you more than the VHS player.   

Mes de Misión

Some of the women who touched my heart this month. Ines has a generous spirit and contagious laughter.

This year’s month of mission brought us to Talabaya, a small town about 3,000 meters into the highlands around Tacna. 30 students, 10 group leaders, 3 classrooms, and 1 kitchen. No stores and minimal medical services and transport. Almost no sunlight. As you may have seen in the news, this rainy season in Peru has been disastrous. We made it up to the mountains before the floods and mudslides, but it rained (and often hailed) every single day of the month. Despite the rain, I was again moved by this month of service. The town was incredibly hospitable to us, welcoming us into their homes and teaching us to work alongside them in their fields. In this month we all strip ourselves down: minimal possessions and contact with home, even less personal space and time. In this way, we all lean on each other... teachers and students, pobladores y misioneros. We create something beautiful: Christian community. I was touched by how the townspeople and my students welcomed me into their lives. I was grateful to welcome them into mine, to know them and love them.

My group from this year´s service trip. This is the month when my students become my kids.

Lauren

As much as I love mes de misión and my students, I was looking forward to a month of summer vacation in February! I visited our other JVC community in Andahuaylillas, a small town near Cusco. For my second trip to the Sacred Valley, I was excited to enter this space from a JV’s point of view rather than a tourist. Most of all, I was excited to visit my good friend, Lauren. While I was at Lauren’s soccer game, one of the women asked me who I was. I explained that I was a volunteer like Lauren, and I was there to visit her. She replied, “You two must be good friends.”

Over and over again I give thanks to God for blessing me with such a wonderful friend to share this experience with. This strong, faithful woman consistently inspires me, supports me, prays with me, and adventures with me! Thank you, Lauren, for welcoming me into Anda and sharing your life here with me. Thank you for walking with me throughout our journey. 

 Molly, Molly and Lizzy

They will undoubtedly make fun of me for choosing this picture, but I love it. 

The best part of the trip was actually
the king cake. 

The woman at the soccer game in Anda was the first but not the last person to tell me that I must have good friends. Each time I tell someone here that I had a visit from friends from the USA, they also respond, Wow, tienes buenas amigas. It is true. I have the most loving, dedicated, big-dreaming, adventurous friends. I was so touched that these ladies came all the way to Peru just to see me… and a beautiful beach sunset, mountain town, carnival parade, glaciers and cows. Friendship really is a powerful force of love. I felt so much comfort, love and gratitude in our days together. I enjoyed simply being together in the beauty of God’s creation. I also enjoyed sharing this culture I have come to know and love with people I truly care about. More than anything, I felt  gratitude. Thank you for loving me and accompanying me, wherever life takes us. 

The quick photo from the top of our gloriously exhausting hike. Not pictured: the hail falling on us.

Daleska

This past month my Peruvian sister, Daleska, invited me to dance with her and her dance group in Tacna’s carnival parade.

Dancing in a carinival parade

Want to talk about love?

How about putting up with the embarrassment of a large, white girl dancing a traditional, Peruvian dance?

Want to talk about vulnerability?

How about presenting a dance in public for the first time… in front of the whole city while being sprayed by silly string and water guns.

The group chose an “easy” dance, cholones, which is a traditional dance from the Amazon rain forest. It involves a lot of jumping, hip movement and some pretty bold costumes. I was terrified. But Daleska and her entire group encouraged me every misstep of the way! My sister has been one of my biggest sources of accompaniment and encouragement since I arrived at their house over a year ago for my host stay. She is my #1 here in Tacna. I am forever grateful to her for her patience and positivity. I admire her honesty and strength. Gracias, Hermana por la manera que compartes tu vida conmigo—siempre! Gracias por ser una gran persona.   

These past few months were filled with love, vulnerability and accompaniment. I’m entering into the new school year feeling the sadness of saying goodbye to such treasured friends and family. I also carry the hope and joy of starting my second year teaching. I have the comfort and support of a beautiful new community. More and more, I’m coming to know the love of Tacna, Peru.   

“It seems like blessings keep falling in my lap.¨
 –Chance the Rapper

Trust your feet: Living simply isn´t about concrete floors

I was recently asked which of the four pillars of JVC is my favorite. The four pillars of the Jesuit Volunteer Corps are community, spirituality, social justice and simple living. Now, that final pillar can be the real kicker. Oftentimes when I’m explaining the values of JVC, the well-meaning friend, family member or random acquaintance nods along. I imagine their thoughts are something like this:

“Oh, how nice. Yes, community living that sounds interesting. Focusing your life on spirituality… how beautiful. Yes, I’m also deeply concerned with social justice... this girl’s on to something here.” Then I mention simple living. The nodding and commentary stop. The friend/family/acquaintance says, “Oh, I could never do that.”

Down goes the pillar and down goes the house. It’s a shame that I have thus far been unsuccessful in my attempts to explain the beauty and depths of this pillar over small talk because simple living has grown to be my favorite pillar of JVC.

Selfie with a llama in this great ¨live simply¨ hat my even greater brother gave me. Basically a walking add for JVC

That is because living simply goes far beyond this world. It’s got a soul and a spirit that I can only pray may animate my life. I’m obviously still learning, feeling and discovering how to live simply. I do know that simple living isn’t just about concrete floors. That’s really good news because the Jesuits recently put tile floors in our house. As one of the oldest JVC international houses, our community is working through pros and cons of home improvements (i.e. structural stability and sustainability of the house and desires to live like our neighbors). Ultimately, the new floors make me want to dance around in my bare feet singing, “I’m so fancy” by Iggy Azalea. That’s what really matters.

I do think that limiting our possessions and limiting the noise around us (internet, TV, notifications, etc.) helps us to live simply. When we limit the junk in our lives we have more space to encounter God and other people. It is important to intentionally strive to live in solidarity. For some people that means downsizing their possessions to two suitcases and moving to Peru. (I feel compelled to say here how currently looking around my room gives me a sense of lightness that my walk-in closet has never offered.) But we all have our own ways in which we choose to live closer to our brothers and sisters. The key is to feel and know the responsibility of living in an interconnected human family.

Although I did leave a bunch of junk in the United States, I’ve realized that I brought a lot more with me than I anticipated. I have more simplifying to do. I’m learning to simplify my schedule. We worship our agendas, y’all. Each day is a gift, so instead of trying to fill my planner I try to take what is given to me just as it comes. Sometimes that means planning my classes, taking the girls to a volleyball game, being back in time for a meeting and teaching all afternoon. Sometimes that means listening to a little girl talk about her dogs during recess. All is a gift, and there is always time. We live simply when we give thanks for what is in front of us, and we want for nothing more. We lack nothing.  Simplifying my schedule also involves simplifying my work. That’s because productivity and the planner go hand-in-hand. United States culture is very dependent upon on the value of productivity. We equate our personal, human worth with how much we can produce. In my work this past year, I’ve had to let go of my need to be productive and lean in to a ministry of accompaniment. My work is very simple. I teach a few English classes, lend a hand when needed, and accompany the community here. I listen. I am present. I am enough. That playground conversation is just as important as getting all 410 students fluent in English. Also, I am returning to the USA with more knowledge of pokemon, yu-gi-oh, and several other cartoon-card games series. This is privileged information. It is a privilege to sit and listen to children.

My work is simple, unproductive and worthwhile. I’m learning to welcome this work and whatever else God gives me with a gracious heart and willing spirit. This is one of the ways I simplify my desires. In addition to my culture, I brought my own desires, plans and ambitions with me here. When we enter into JVC, we enter into a lifestyle. We don’t just take on a service project. The boundaries of our service aren’t straight and defined. I enter into every part of my life as a volunteer. Living a life of service means that I belong to everyone… everyone by myself. I learn to empty myself. I let go of my desires and allow myself to be filled with Grace. I’m filled and sustained by my students’ dreams, my coworkers’ smiles, my community-mates’ support, the love of God, and hope of the Holy Spirit. Eventually, little by little, with enough Grace and prayer my desires and God’s become one. I live a life of service simply because it’s who I am. Living simply is authentic service. 

Learning to sit and listen has helped me to live simply by loving simply. When I accept the give of each day, I can give to my brothers and sisters more freely. What greater gift is there than to love someone simply because she or he is a child of God? Service for me here and now is not about what I can do. More important than any talent or skill I possess, are the people I am accompanying. My service is giving others the freedom to be exactly who God made them to be. I love them. They are more than enough.

Molly and I enjoying 15,000 feet on our most recent hike

When we choose to live simply, we gain space. There is space for God to enter, and experience Grace. There is room to live and grow (for us and the people around us). There is freedom to love and be loved. Living and loving simply means allowing myself to be loved too. How often do we give ourselves the space to simply be loved? How often do we feel the liberating reality of just being? My best friend gave me some good advice recently while hiking: “trust your feet.” Part of simple being is letting myself alone and trusting my own feet. I feel the simple life when I manage to stop the internal monologue, the worries and anxiety and the achievement pressure. In this way, I allow the people around me and myself to simply be who we are. We live simply when we give ourselves the space to honor and live out the divine presence within us. That’s a hard thing to do, what with all that stuff. We let all these things complicate our lives: the stuff, the schedules, the work, the obligations, the desires, the insecurities and the fears. But when we let ourselves alone—when we give ourselves the space—we can live into our goodness. We discover ourselves as beloved children of God. God is enough.