It's been a while since I posted anything even remotely current. My life right now feels like a hurricane of activity, and I am terrified of the collateral damage that seems inevitable. Despite the negative connotations of such a metaphor, it excites me more than frightens me. So I guess that's a plus.
The semester is winding down as far as school work goes, yet I somehow seem just as busy as ever. Today marked the turning in of one of my three remaining assignments, a burden which I didn't notice until it was lifted. I have spent the entire semester working, it seems. I have barely kept my head above the workload threatening to drown me, and only now can I see how perilously close I came to such a fate.
Work has been especially, especially busy these last few weeks. With the musical approaching entirely too quickly, it seems that my afternoons are devoted to preparation for the musical or playing catch up on the things which got bumped from the time the musical claimed.
I have decided not to be an resident assistant next semester. Despite the fact that I did not do nearly the job I wish I had done, and I will always regret such a short service with many broken commitments, I feel God tugging me away from the dorm and into Life House more deeply. Plus, without the harness of being an RA I can now do the things which I wanted to do as an RA (the catch-22 of dorm life).
What will I be doing at Life House? Well, honestly, I'm not really sure what it will look like, but I know it will be time consuming. For the past several weeks, I have been going to meetings and brainstorming and praying about a project that I want to start in the neighborhood. A mentoring project. What started as a small idea has grown into a dangerous whirlwind that threatens to plow me over at any moment. Basically, the idea is to partner with the school, the parents, and the existing ministry to provide mentors to kids that Life House already has consistent communication with. I have met with several people, including the principal of the elementary school all of the children attend, and this small idea that the Holy Spirit put on my heart has grown and grown and grown into something that I never saw coming. People have been so incredibly receptive and encouraging, and while it has been a lot (A LOT) of work, it hasn't been an uphill battle in the least. Working out the logistics is a headache after headache affair, but I have had tremendous support. Soon, soon, soon the launch for a summer trial run is approaching. Soon I will be approaching the parents about this idea. I need all the prayer that I can get!
In all of these things, I am so vastly impressed with the work of the Holy Spirit. As much as I'd love to take credit for all this and avoid sounding all new age-y and mystical, I can't. From the very beginning, the Spirit has been guiding me and working on people's hearts. It's an amazing picture. I know that this is where God wants me and this is what he wants me to do, but I can't rule out the possibility that this will fall flat on its face or morph into something entirely different. And I think that I am okay with that. I am trying to be, at least.
God has been teaching me so much in these last weeks. My heart and mind have been torn open and stitched shut, my circumstances have been altered, my expectations entirely shifted. I feel like so much is still up in the air and that few things are certain right now. As much as I hate ambiguity, I see the necessity of this. I am learning to be laid back, to take things as they come, to love people rather than tasks.
Life right now may be full, and it may feel like a hurricane some days, but I am learning so much about the Father and the Spirit and the Son, and I daily find myself more captivated by their work and their character and everything about them. There are so many things I'd love to articulate, so much about my feelings that I'd love to express but they remain simply feelings rushing around my head. This I do know: I dearly, dearly love my Savior, and I am constantly finding myself falling more in love with Him.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Honduras - Schools
Wednesday ushered in my first exposure to international education. Long ago, I dreamed of (felt called to would be a more appropriate description) teaching in a missionary school, so I was anxious for hands on experience. And I definitely got it. My father accompanied the missionary and I to the school. The roads were less smooth, and the route took us up through some poor communities, much like what you would expect to see on late night TV pledge commercials. It was an interesting juxtaposition for a five to ten minute drive - the commercial metropolis was a stone's through away, yet shanties cluttered together in small communities seemed to pervade the miles surrounding the school. Upon arrival, an armed guide suggested I sign in. I took his advice. I met briefly with the principal,and all too soon my father left and I was alone, in a foreign country, unable to speak the native tongue, unable to communicate via phone, and unable to even try to find my way to the house. I had a brief moment of panic, but it was mostly a surreal knowledge. It's so unusual in the States to have any one of those circumstances, let alone all of them.
The principal led me to the director, who introduced me to the teacher for first - third grade. I expected to observe, or help in the classroom. She sent me with the third grade to teach. As I led the students to the playground (the easiest place, in my mind, to work) I was more than a little overwhelmed. Fortunately, the students had worksheets they were supposed to go through. We talked through them, in broken English (I was not so bold - desperate? - as to try communicating in the rusty, extremely elementary Spanish vocabulary that had laid dormant for two years)we worked through them to the best of our ability until recess. I wasn't sure of the difference between recess and lunch (both times seemed characterized by the same activities and food), but at both I heard students playing some version of tag, taunting each other with "Gringa, Gringa." It made me laugh, but I don't think I could've felt any more conspicuous. Thank goodness they liked my eyes (I got several compliments on my blue eyes).
After recess I worked with the second graders, of whom there were several. They were far from fluent, so we accomplished one worksheet with minimal difficulty, but there was no way I would be able to teach them an entire lesson in Science (it was on farming. I tried to demonstrate, but apparently I'm an even worse actor than I remember). I was loosing them, so I got out my camera (and of course had their attention right away). We finished what we were working on, I took a few pictures (they LOVED pictures. a few girls pressed their faces against mine as soon as I took my camera out. guess they've got some experience with the American self-portrait - which I am sure is rather universal, but still...). Before too long, I took them back up and was told to work with the third graders again. I appreciated their fluency so much more, and we were able to get several worksheets done before lunch. I ate lunch with some of my students, then went and sat with the teacher. We talked a little, but mostly I just watched the kids play. They were having so much fun.
After lunch I was given the first graders, who spoke no English. There were only three of them, but they were a handful. I had them for the rest of the day and was given Math and Science books to go over once they had completed spelling. I am not sure what the teacher expected, but in the two hours we were together, almost all of the students finished their spelling, and I considered that a victory. A crucial part of classroom management, I've realized, is speaking the language of the students. The "mom look" - which I've received enough to do a decent impression - is universal, but only as long as the kids think that you'll back it up. About ten minutes before school let out, I gave up and we went outside to play.
I rode the bus home with the students. "Bus" is an exaggeration - it was just a church van, crammed full of students. I got to see a lot of different places in the city as we dropped the students off, and we arrived back at the missionary's house before I knew it. The team was still at the church for the sewing class and medical clinic, and I was exhausted and glad for the alone time. The team was back a few hours later, and we had a delicious dinner and a wonderful evening together.
Friday morning, my Dad spoke at the chapel service of the missionary's daughter's school. The missionary, my father, Anna, Andrea, Alyssa (who taught the sewing class) and I loaded up early Friday morning to head to school. This school was much more structured from the get-go. The campus was neat and tidy and the students were much more calm. The building was simple but decorated tastefully. The entire service was conducted in English, except for the national anthem and the pledge to the flag. Dad's sermon seemed pretty engaging, and after the chapel service we took a tour of the facility. Everything is open and airy, which is nice. The classes are set up with "offices" for the students, which essentially are tables with dividers set up to make it feel almost like a cubical. Because of the curriculum they use, everything is very individualized and all at the pace of each student. In spite of this, the classrooms were still colorful and welcoming. After the tour, I was given the option to stay behind. I was hesitant - the memory of Wednesday was still rather overwhelming and the idea of being stranded at a school with no way of saying that I wanted to leave caused a moment of panic - but the realization that this was my last opportunity won me over and I stayed. After everyone left, I had the opportunity to sit down with the principal and chat. She is an American and supervises only the English education component of the school. When each students graduates, he or she receives a degree recognized by the Honduranean school system and by schools abroad. It's pretty legit. We talked for a while about what her life was like as an American living in Honduras, and it was awesome.
Afterwards she put me in a classroom with the second and third graders. That teacher was so amazing. He was welcoming from the beginning, and he asked me simply to practice conversation with some of his advanced students. I am excellent at speaking English, so I readily agreed. The kids were so much fun! They peppered me with questions, and we talked about so many topics. Soon they asked me about my family, and I pulled my camera out to show pictures. When the camera came out, they all started posing. So goofy. We had been conversing for a while, so I figured we could take a break. The students suggested we go down to the courtyard, and I agreed. We took pictures and went back to work briefly, but soon it was recess. I agreed to play with them, and during an intense game of freeze tag, one of the administrators pulled by aside and politely whispered that we were in a forbidden area. Excellent. We quickly left, and I went back and talked to the teacher, a kind man who was studying foreign language at the university. He spoke excellent English and was very interested in the culture. One of the students came up to me and asked if I liked one of the traditional breakfast-y/snack foods. When I replied I had never tried it, the teacher went to the cafeteria and bought me one! It's been several weeks since I tried it, granted, but I liked it. It was a tortilla with mantequilla and red beans, I think. It made me feel very welcome, and I appreciated the generosity of the teacher.
After recess, I worked with a little boy who was struggling. He was a very cute little boy, but he didn't have a lot of focus or dedication to his work, which was not what I was used to. We worked through the necessary pages with a lot of re-focusing and some mild off-task antics while the teacher was gone. In the hour or so we worked together, he seemed to get a lot done, though I don't know the typical standard. During our time together, it was cool to watch the teacher in action. He used some of the same American classroom management techniques we're learning about in my education class at MSSU, which was super cool. When I asked him about it, he said that it just made sense to use the callbacks, etc. I was pretty impressed with him.
Lunch was delicious - fresh fruit, fresh avocado - mmmmm. It was fun to watch the kids play and laugh. I also got more opportunity to speak with the teacher, which I really enjoyed. It was fun to see him interact with the students during their recess time as well.
After lunch, the students studied in Spanish. A calligraphy teacher came in to instruct them, and the teacher worked on some grading. We talked about American culture for a while (he's really into movies), and then the principal invited me to play with the kindergartners during their recess. I agreed, since my time at the school was drawing to a close.
The kindergartners were a mischievous bunch. I thoroughly enjoyed the few minutes I had the opportunity to spend with them before I had to leave. They loved the camera, of course, and they loved playing with me. They had an awesome tree house that they climbed around fearlessly. What a joy it was to see children play without the cumbersome restriction that the US imposes on recess! It was a wonderful way to end my school days in Honduras.
The principal led me to the director, who introduced me to the teacher for first - third grade. I expected to observe, or help in the classroom. She sent me with the third grade to teach. As I led the students to the playground (the easiest place, in my mind, to work) I was more than a little overwhelmed. Fortunately, the students had worksheets they were supposed to go through. We talked through them, in broken English (I was not so bold - desperate? - as to try communicating in the rusty, extremely elementary Spanish vocabulary that had laid dormant for two years)we worked through them to the best of our ability until recess. I wasn't sure of the difference between recess and lunch (both times seemed characterized by the same activities and food), but at both I heard students playing some version of tag, taunting each other with "Gringa, Gringa." It made me laugh, but I don't think I could've felt any more conspicuous. Thank goodness they liked my eyes (I got several compliments on my blue eyes).
After recess I worked with the second graders, of whom there were several. They were far from fluent, so we accomplished one worksheet with minimal difficulty, but there was no way I would be able to teach them an entire lesson in Science (it was on farming. I tried to demonstrate, but apparently I'm an even worse actor than I remember). I was loosing them, so I got out my camera (and of course had their attention right away). We finished what we were working on, I took a few pictures (they LOVED pictures. a few girls pressed their faces against mine as soon as I took my camera out. guess they've got some experience with the American self-portrait - which I am sure is rather universal, but still...). Before too long, I took them back up and was told to work with the third graders again. I appreciated their fluency so much more, and we were able to get several worksheets done before lunch. I ate lunch with some of my students, then went and sat with the teacher. We talked a little, but mostly I just watched the kids play. They were having so much fun.
After lunch I was given the first graders, who spoke no English. There were only three of them, but they were a handful. I had them for the rest of the day and was given Math and Science books to go over once they had completed spelling. I am not sure what the teacher expected, but in the two hours we were together, almost all of the students finished their spelling, and I considered that a victory. A crucial part of classroom management, I've realized, is speaking the language of the students. The "mom look" - which I've received enough to do a decent impression - is universal, but only as long as the kids think that you'll back it up. About ten minutes before school let out, I gave up and we went outside to play.
I rode the bus home with the students. "Bus" is an exaggeration - it was just a church van, crammed full of students. I got to see a lot of different places in the city as we dropped the students off, and we arrived back at the missionary's house before I knew it. The team was still at the church for the sewing class and medical clinic, and I was exhausted and glad for the alone time. The team was back a few hours later, and we had a delicious dinner and a wonderful evening together.
Friday morning, my Dad spoke at the chapel service of the missionary's daughter's school. The missionary, my father, Anna, Andrea, Alyssa (who taught the sewing class) and I loaded up early Friday morning to head to school. This school was much more structured from the get-go. The campus was neat and tidy and the students were much more calm. The building was simple but decorated tastefully. The entire service was conducted in English, except for the national anthem and the pledge to the flag. Dad's sermon seemed pretty engaging, and after the chapel service we took a tour of the facility. Everything is open and airy, which is nice. The classes are set up with "offices" for the students, which essentially are tables with dividers set up to make it feel almost like a cubical. Because of the curriculum they use, everything is very individualized and all at the pace of each student. In spite of this, the classrooms were still colorful and welcoming. After the tour, I was given the option to stay behind. I was hesitant - the memory of Wednesday was still rather overwhelming and the idea of being stranded at a school with no way of saying that I wanted to leave caused a moment of panic - but the realization that this was my last opportunity won me over and I stayed. After everyone left, I had the opportunity to sit down with the principal and chat. She is an American and supervises only the English education component of the school. When each students graduates, he or she receives a degree recognized by the Honduranean school system and by schools abroad. It's pretty legit. We talked for a while about what her life was like as an American living in Honduras, and it was awesome.
Afterwards she put me in a classroom with the second and third graders. That teacher was so amazing. He was welcoming from the beginning, and he asked me simply to practice conversation with some of his advanced students. I am excellent at speaking English, so I readily agreed. The kids were so much fun! They peppered me with questions, and we talked about so many topics. Soon they asked me about my family, and I pulled my camera out to show pictures. When the camera came out, they all started posing. So goofy. We had been conversing for a while, so I figured we could take a break. The students suggested we go down to the courtyard, and I agreed. We took pictures and went back to work briefly, but soon it was recess. I agreed to play with them, and during an intense game of freeze tag, one of the administrators pulled by aside and politely whispered that we were in a forbidden area. Excellent. We quickly left, and I went back and talked to the teacher, a kind man who was studying foreign language at the university. He spoke excellent English and was very interested in the culture. One of the students came up to me and asked if I liked one of the traditional breakfast-y/snack foods. When I replied I had never tried it, the teacher went to the cafeteria and bought me one! It's been several weeks since I tried it, granted, but I liked it. It was a tortilla with mantequilla and red beans, I think. It made me feel very welcome, and I appreciated the generosity of the teacher.
After recess, I worked with a little boy who was struggling. He was a very cute little boy, but he didn't have a lot of focus or dedication to his work, which was not what I was used to. We worked through the necessary pages with a lot of re-focusing and some mild off-task antics while the teacher was gone. In the hour or so we worked together, he seemed to get a lot done, though I don't know the typical standard. During our time together, it was cool to watch the teacher in action. He used some of the same American classroom management techniques we're learning about in my education class at MSSU, which was super cool. When I asked him about it, he said that it just made sense to use the callbacks, etc. I was pretty impressed with him.
Lunch was delicious - fresh fruit, fresh avocado - mmmmm. It was fun to watch the kids play and laugh. I also got more opportunity to speak with the teacher, which I really enjoyed. It was fun to see him interact with the students during their recess time as well.
After lunch, the students studied in Spanish. A calligraphy teacher came in to instruct them, and the teacher worked on some grading. We talked about American culture for a while (he's really into movies), and then the principal invited me to play with the kindergartners during their recess. I agreed, since my time at the school was drawing to a close.
The kindergartners were a mischievous bunch. I thoroughly enjoyed the few minutes I had the opportunity to spend with them before I had to leave. They loved the camera, of course, and they loved playing with me. They had an awesome tree house that they climbed around fearlessly. What a joy it was to see children play without the cumbersome restriction that the US imposes on recess! It was a wonderful way to end my school days in Honduras.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Honduras - Arrival
Three weeks ago, I was preparing to leave Joplin for Honduras (with a stop in Kansas City for a couple of days). What a strange thought. In some ways, I feel like I returned yesterday. In other ways, three weeks seems to have stretched into a lifetime that now separates me from that experience. However, I did promise that a post would appear relating my experience, and now seems as good a time as any. Since the week that was spent there was rather busy, I think I will just post segments at a time, also to ensure that I don't spend my whole life on one long, boring post that no one will ever read entirely.
The excitement mounted as we drove to the airport in the damp, cold, dawn air. It was almost surreal to think about spending the evening in an entirely different country. Although it was early, we were plenty awake. We met up with the rest of our team in the lobby of MCI - an eclectic group of people that were somehow drawn into the mission of the ministry of one man, his obedience to God, and the products therein. The flights were uneventful, except to mention that we lost some luggage - the box containing the medical supplies and the box containing the sewing supplies. Thankfully, their delay lasted only a day.
We arrived in Honduras around three, I think. I know that our first act upon arrival and clearing customs was to eat Burger King. Naturally it was an excellent introduction to the culture... After BK, one of the women and I did venture to a legitimate Honduranean business - a coffee shop that rivals DD. It was wonderful. The streets on the way to the missionary's home were interesting, although typical of Tegucigalpa (from what I saw). There were no lawns and every house was gated. Though the gates were ornate and beautiful in many cases, they failed to entirely conceal the reminder of their purpose: to keep people out. The streets were narrow and cars were parked on both sides, making some roads a little more treacherous. In my journal, I described it this way: "Tegucigalpa is an odd blend of American 90s culture and Hispanic. The architecture is Hacienda-reminiscent - lots of reds, oranges, and pale yellows. There are no front yards here - only gated patios. The trees are blooming, with palm trees and mango trees mingling with bright purple flowered trees and trees with no flowers, just vibrant green leaves. It creates a wonderfully picturesque scene."
The missionary resides on a dead end. The front gates of the houses form a continuous wall on either side of the street, replacing anything that would be considered a front lawn with colored concrete. While the house seemed small by American standards, it was more than adequate for the purposes of the family. It even had a small pool (which seemed like more of a baptistery) and a wonderful deck (for lack of a better term) with comfortable lawn furniture (a paradise to reflect, journal, and read). It was also where we ate our meals.
Anna and I were shown to a room with two sets of bunk beds with the two other girls on the trip. The room functions as an office for the missionary when there aren't visitors, and it is right next to the missionary's daughter's room (a fourteen year old who could talk from now into eternity, and wished to especially in the later hours of the night). It was clean and roomy, although four suitcases definitely cluttered it up quickly.
After getting settled in, we met to talk about logistics, then we went to pick up supplies to replace what had been delayed. This included a frightening road trip to pick up a woman working with us for the week, a trip to the mall, and a trip to Walmart.Two rules govern the roads of Honduras:
1. Don't do anything dumb in front of the police
2. Biggest car wins
A much simpler system that we Americans have. We returned home for a much-anticipated dinner, where we met a wonderful woman who works with the ministry and lives across the street. My parents were staying with her (given the constraints on space) and my sister spent the summer learning Spanish from her. Adjectives that spring to mind when thinking of her: strong, determined, practical, passionate. She was so fun and so funny, and she reminded me a lot of my mother's mother, which was wonderful.
The evening was over before it got too late, as we were all pretty wiped out from our early start. Also, Wednesday morning came quite early, and I was glad for the extra rest of an early bed-time.
The excitement mounted as we drove to the airport in the damp, cold, dawn air. It was almost surreal to think about spending the evening in an entirely different country. Although it was early, we were plenty awake. We met up with the rest of our team in the lobby of MCI - an eclectic group of people that were somehow drawn into the mission of the ministry of one man, his obedience to God, and the products therein. The flights were uneventful, except to mention that we lost some luggage - the box containing the medical supplies and the box containing the sewing supplies. Thankfully, their delay lasted only a day.
We arrived in Honduras around three, I think. I know that our first act upon arrival and clearing customs was to eat Burger King. Naturally it was an excellent introduction to the culture... After BK, one of the women and I did venture to a legitimate Honduranean business - a coffee shop that rivals DD. It was wonderful. The streets on the way to the missionary's home were interesting, although typical of Tegucigalpa (from what I saw). There were no lawns and every house was gated. Though the gates were ornate and beautiful in many cases, they failed to entirely conceal the reminder of their purpose: to keep people out. The streets were narrow and cars were parked on both sides, making some roads a little more treacherous. In my journal, I described it this way: "Tegucigalpa is an odd blend of American 90s culture and Hispanic. The architecture is Hacienda-reminiscent - lots of reds, oranges, and pale yellows. There are no front yards here - only gated patios. The trees are blooming, with palm trees and mango trees mingling with bright purple flowered trees and trees with no flowers, just vibrant green leaves. It creates a wonderfully picturesque scene."
The missionary resides on a dead end. The front gates of the houses form a continuous wall on either side of the street, replacing anything that would be considered a front lawn with colored concrete. While the house seemed small by American standards, it was more than adequate for the purposes of the family. It even had a small pool (which seemed like more of a baptistery) and a wonderful deck (for lack of a better term) with comfortable lawn furniture (a paradise to reflect, journal, and read). It was also where we ate our meals.
Anna and I were shown to a room with two sets of bunk beds with the two other girls on the trip. The room functions as an office for the missionary when there aren't visitors, and it is right next to the missionary's daughter's room (a fourteen year old who could talk from now into eternity, and wished to especially in the later hours of the night). It was clean and roomy, although four suitcases definitely cluttered it up quickly.
After getting settled in, we met to talk about logistics, then we went to pick up supplies to replace what had been delayed. This included a frightening road trip to pick up a woman working with us for the week, a trip to the mall, and a trip to Walmart.Two rules govern the roads of Honduras:
1. Don't do anything dumb in front of the police
2. Biggest car wins
A much simpler system that we Americans have. We returned home for a much-anticipated dinner, where we met a wonderful woman who works with the ministry and lives across the street. My parents were staying with her (given the constraints on space) and my sister spent the summer learning Spanish from her. Adjectives that spring to mind when thinking of her: strong, determined, practical, passionate. She was so fun and so funny, and she reminded me a lot of my mother's mother, which was wonderful.
The evening was over before it got too late, as we were all pretty wiped out from our early start. Also, Wednesday morning came quite early, and I was glad for the extra rest of an early bed-time.
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