Colombia July 2007 - my journal entries
07.09.07 – Human Nature vs. Trained Nature
I have a habit of stealing in-flight magazines. It seems i can't resist saving articles about the Inuit tribes in Alaska or the wolf packs in Canada to read again later. And if it's not the articles that draw me, it's the photography. Some of the photos i keep simply to look at and transport myself to a different place where my mood inevitably changes, and some photos i keep to use in my collages. The July 2007 edition of The Continental was disappointing and failed to measure up to the standard i've apparently set for most in-flight magazines.
In other words, it's not worthy of being stolen.
But I consider myself a fairly open-minded person. There was an article entitled, "Legends of the Devil's Isle: Discover Bermuda's myths, luxury and lore." Sounds intriguing, right? - especially to someone so obsessed with pirates. Well, for some crazy reason i just didn't feel like reading it. So i read it. And wouldn't you know, it was amazing. If i wasn't already interested in seeing Bermuda, i would be now.
Sometimes in life we have to do things we don't want to do, things we just "don't feel like" doing. In fact, i think oftentimes doing something you don't want to do is more important and in many cases more fulfilling than doing something you want to do. These things are building blocks. They build character. They make us stronger, more patient, more open-minded people. (Not to mention more interesting.)
Yesterday morning, for example, i forced myself to take a very quick, very cold shower to prepare for the week ahead of me. Did i want to? Heck, no. Warm, leisurely showers are nearly as precious to me as air. But i knew that i'd have to put aside the desires of my flesh in order to fulfill the desire of my heart, which was to prepare myself in every way possible - even physically - to be able to serve my Colombian family to the best of my ability.
Taking a quick, cold shower is a small-scale example of someone doing choosing to do something against their trained nature. I say trained because i sometimes feel that in general, we have no idea of the extent of the abilities of human nature. We train ourselves to life live a certain way, which can include something as simple as how many hours of sleep we require or as complex as how we manage our money. Some of these patterns are relatively harmless, while others can be dangerous or even stunt our personal growth. We think we are immunizing ourselves by coating our choices with phrases like "that's just who i am," but instead we are actually limiting ourselves.
If i never did anything i didn't want to do, i still would not know how to swim or ride a bike. I would have no idea that i'm capable of prophesying or speaking to a crowd ot changing a diaper or letting go of a dog that meant everything to me. I would be caught in a stale cycle of safety and routine, with no room for learning and growing and changing. Bermuda would still be that exotic place where Merlin the Wizard went on vacation instead of a natural and architectural wonder with a vibrant history of smugglers, revolutionary leaders and sunken vessels.
What causes us to be unwilling to do something against our trained nature? It is fear. Fear of drowning if we step out into the water. Fear of getting hurt when entering into a new relationship. Fear of having doubt about our beliefs if we study another religion. No matter what we do or how safely and routinely we live our lives, uncomfortable or negative outcomes will always be possible. We cannot be so blind and naive to think that by obeying our trained nature we are in control of anything. If we do so, we are allowing FEAR to control us, and we will - quite literally - be closing ourselves off from a whole world of possibility and discovery.
And as a reminder of this lesson, i have decided to steal my in-flight magazine after all. Bermuda awaits.
06:15 PM same day – Beautiful Strangers
As i sit here listening to the Latin music channel on the in-flight radio, i realize that i am exactly where i am supposed to be - on my way back to Colombia, where we'll land in just a few hours. There are very few things in my life that i'm sure about, and Colombia is one of them. While i'm all about adventure and spontaneity, it feels so good to be sure about something.
My heart is still slightly apprehensive, but i'm finally starting to relax and get excited. A few weeks ago, i still had no idea which children from last year would still be living at El Camino and which, if any, had left. I finally e-mailed Aldrin, one of our translators who became like a brother to me, and asked him the dreaded question. Even though i had completely prepared myself for the expected answer, i couldn't stop the tears when he told me that the two brothers i had bonded with the most were gone. Apparently, no amount of consideration can prepare you for the loss of someone you love or have grown attached to, even if you are not losing them to death. But i have come to accept and understand that this is a new season and that there will be other children who need my love and attention now. Not that i can't be sad or miss those boys, but i owe it to the rest to set aside these emotions for now so i can offer up my whole self in this time of growth and servanthood.
Switching gears, there has been one man during our travels that stood out to me more than anyone else. He stood in front of me during the security check in Houston and brought himself to my attention when he made a comment about my sandals. He said i was smart for wearing them to the airport because it simplified the whole removal and replacement of the shoes process. I agreed that it certainly did make things easier and proceeded to notice the shoes in his hands, which were grubby with dirt and worn and torn almost to the point of being unusable. My gaze trailed down to his feet, veiled with thin black socks that boasted a hole for nearly every toe.
We moved up in line, each grabbing plastic gray buckets for our things. I placed my backpack and sandals in my bucket. The man had two buckets - one for his laptop, and another for his bag, his shoes, and a seemingly endless string of miscellaneous items being fished from his pockets. Pockets that i began to believe were housing everything this man owned.
My observational tendencies kicked into gear and i watched the man carefully, taking pity on this clearly tedious unloading procedure he was going through. I stopped short of offering to help, noting the way the wrinkles around his gentle blue eyes strained wearily behind large glasses. His salt-and-pepper hair hung in soft curls at the nape of his neck, which was flecked with odd clusters of freckles. His drab gray shirt, obviously one of his best chosen to accompany an adequate pair of Dickies khakis, was ruined by tiny random stains and holes - but it was ironed.
Another conveyer belt was made available, and i turned to carry my tray over to it but was cut off by on onslaught of eager travelers that had rushed out from behind me. I returned to my spot behind the nameless man, whose eyes had changed somehow. They were apologising. He was embarrassed.
"If you ever see me in a line," he said, "you should run for another one. People know. I'm like this everywhere i go. Even the grocery store..."
"Oh, i don't mind," i smiled. "It's really alright."
I think the man almost felt too bad to hear what i was saying, or to even accept my smile. The truth was, my heart went out to him and i wished, as i sometimes do with certain characters i run into, that i could hop onboard whatever flight he was taking and accompany him for a week, whatever that entailed. As a friend, as someone to talk to. I wondered why he'd felt so shamed by something that i considered a common occurrence and what he meant by "people know." Was he given a hard time on a daily basis by others? Were people so callous and impatient that they would cause a kind and gentle, aging man to feel guilty about such trivial matters? Or were they judging him by appearance alone?
I'm finding it interesting that my team leader has given us the theme of "choices (opciones)" for this trip, and so far my journal entries have been all about fighting fear, building character and harboring compassion. It is getting quiet now, and too dark to write. I may try to sleep some now, or continue getting to know the Colombian girl next to me who hates traveling alone. Her name, by the way, is Valentina.
07.11.07 - Home
To say it's a struggle to find words suitable for describing how it feels to be here would be almost insulting to the truth. There is no greater burden than spending one's days caring for children and youth whose families either never loved them or could never afford to love them.
It is day two, and the fact that i'm lying here in bed journaling while the children are outside playing in the midday sun in killing me. I've learned from experience that unless i practice self-discipline and pry myself away every from the activities every now and then, nothing will ever get recorded. But these entries will be scatterbrained, as i'm obviously wanting to be somewhere else doing something more important while i'm writing them.
Already, this trip has played out so differently than last year - in good ways and some unfortunate ways as well. Due to some error in communication, Senora Gabriella was under the impression that we were arriving on the 18th (which is when we're leaving), so they had not been expecting us for nine more days and consequently the cooks we hired are working elsewhere at this time. This has meant that the gardener's wife, Alejandra (who just had a baby girl several weeks ago), along with Leidy, have had to work harder and cook our food as well. At first when we tried to help them, they refused our assistance like the hospitable Colombians they are and closed the doors to the kitchens to keep us out. But they soon realized that we Americans can be stubborn as well, and it has been wonderful working with them to clean dishes and serve dinner to the children.
The night we arrived, none of the children were up waiting for us as we expected. We were disappointed, and even more so when we realized that more of the kids we'd bonded with last year had left El Camino than we thought. This took some time to digest and accept, but the process has been gentle. The new boys and girls here are such a joy, each personality so very different from all the rest. But what blesses me and fills me with happiness the most is the transformation i see in the older boys from last year. The ones that remained distant and seemingly disinterested then (it had taken me until the end of our trip to coax some of them out of their shells) are now the most loving and involved of the whole group. The difference between the boys here and the boys in America is like night and day. Here, even the 11-15-year-olds will hold your hand and hug you, and they will still hug and kiss you goodnight. They will pick flowers for you and write letters, and on occasion they will nickname you. Last night i was dubbed "Trinity" because apparently the haircut i had last year reminds them of Trinity from The Matrix. The fact that my hair looks nothing like that now is irrelevant. Quite honestly, they can call me whatever they want and i actually think Trinity is a pretty cool nick.
Some might consider our mornings here rough. If you're lucky enough to get more than a dribble of water from the shower, it's absolutely frigid. If you're not woken by the birds than begin singing odd tunes here at an ungodly hour, you will surely be woken by Lincoln, the goat. Our bathrooms are harboring small cockroaches and giant palmetto bugs this year, and lizards skitter freely across the ceilings over our bunks. We meet by the pool at 8:00 (later than last year!) for team time, where we sing a few songs and talk about what we're going to do and pray. During this time the children finish their morning chores, then wander the yard waiting for us to wrap up, some clinging earnestly to the fence around the pool, watching and listening. But after this time we eat breakfast, which usually consists of some form of eggs, toast, and freshly squeezed juice of either mandarin, banana, pineapple, the delicious tree tomato or my and Kayla's absolute favorite in the whole wide world, lulo. Lulo fruit is shaped like a tomato and appears as one on the inside, but has a bumpy rind that looks like a cross-breed of an orange and a lime. Kayla and i have thought long and hard about it, and finally came up with the ultimate question: What if the tree tomato and lulo fruit had a baby? The thought alone was enough to satisfy our liquid needs for a lifetime.
Due to our setbacks, the middle of our days have been a bit lackadaisical so far but that's okay. It's relaxing and soon the olympics and outings will begin. Nighttime is again by far the best time of day, however. The children will take our hands and lead us to their dinner tables, where we'll sit with them and watch them eat chicken and rice, soup or plantains. We brought more money for food this time, so they are eating much better this week than last year, which makes me so happy for them. Then they will hurry up to their rooms to change into their pajamas and brush their teeth and then join us on the porch to sit as a giant group in the evening talking, laughing...Pastor Alex will break out his guitar and the children will sing a few songs. There is a whole lot of snuggling going on. :) When it's time for bed, every kid will come and hug and kiss us several times over. Some of our team will go inside to chat and have coffee while the rest of us hang out with the older boys who don't have to go to sleep yet. We sit outside in the dark and lie down in the courtyard together staring at the stars. The boys will try to say things to us - or just about us to one another, as they know we can't understand a lot of what they're saying and have therefore felt free to say things they probably shouldn't and then laugh. :) We've learned to tell when this is happening. Even when the boys finally go to bed, they don't really sleep but continue patrolling their balcony in the dark or calling things down to us from their open windows. We'll remain lying down on the ground stargazing and listening to scattered hisses of "Trinity!" and "Goodnight!" Last night in particular was beautiful. It was warm, the stars were incredibly large and clear, and lightning was flashing nearby without a trace of thunder. I couldn't imagine myself anywhere else in the world in that moment.
I am home.
07.12.07 - Revival
Revival: An awakening. Restoration to life. Strength.
My dad gave a message of revival to the people of the church we visited last night. It was amazing. He had asked me before we left for Colombia to read his notes and i really liked it, but his delivery was incredible and the people received it with such humility and enthusiasm. I was so proud of my dad because he'd known for a very long time that he was going to give an important message to the church of Colombia and went for it full-throttle and courageously, without ever having stepped foot in the country before and without the ability to speak their language. But the awesome thing about being brothers and sisters in Christ, and the awesome thing about love in general, is that language is never a barrier. Yes, Orlando (who I will describe for you in much better detail later) translated for my dad, but as you will soon find out, words are not necessary for communicating much.
What happened after the message was given is not adequately describable at all, but some record is mandatory so i will give it my best shot. Our team was called forward to stand at the front of the church (which was constructed of thick bamboo stalks and concrete, and covered with a sheet of metal) to pray for whoever wanted it. An elderly woman with oppressed eyes shuffled as quickly as she could to the front of the room and stopped before me and Sam. We laid our hands on her and immediately i felt heavier, as though a weight had been placed over my shoulders. I knew that God was allowing me to feel the burden that she was carrying. We began to pray for her, speaking freedom and release and peace into her life. She was weeping, her tears wetting the cold floor. Whether or not God allowed her mind to understand our English i'll never know, but her heart understood exactly what was happening. When we were finished, she moved towards me and i took her in my arms and held her for a long time, both of us feeling lighter and speaking volumes to each other in our silence. The next forty or so minutes went likewise. We joined some of our other team members in praying for different people. The band got onstage and began to sing and play, but we continued praying. At one point Dee, Kayla, Ilya, Sam and i were all laying hands on this one young man and praying for him at the same time, hardly able to hear what anyone else was saying over the volume of the music. I remember nearly every word i said to this young man and every word of prophesy God had for him. Since he couldn't understand English and we couldn't even hear what the person next to us what uttering, i know this young man's reaction was not to our spoken words but to the Holy Spirit. He began to cry and his entire body shook as though a private earthquake was taking place where he stood. Then his feet stamped and he spun around in such an oddly perfect fashion that i knew the motions were not of his own doing. From what i gather, knowing what i had prayed and later finding out some of what Dee had prayed, i believe that we were witnessing both the effect of the very real presence of God and perhaps demons fleeing his body as several curses over his life were cast out and replaced with blessings of protection and prosperity. It was like nothing i had ever witnessed before.
The prayer eventually stopped, but the worship went on and only got more amazing as the night progressed. People were dancing and singing and holding absolutely nothing back. Orlando took me and Dee into the aisle and danced with us. Others ran down the aisles as if they had been set free from some kind of bondage, and it's likely they were. I know my dad took some video of this whole ordeal, and i'm looking forward to revisiting that incredible night. It lasted for hours. Orlando spoke. We didn't leave until about midnight and by that time we were emotionally and physically spent. Great night.
This morning after breakfast, we broke out the wiffle ball equipment and in keeping with tradition attempted to engage the boys in the good old American pastime. It actually lasted much longer than last year and the boys seemed to have a lot of fun with it. As usual, however, there comes a point where the whole rules thing gets thrown out the window and reigning them in becomes a laughable option. So baseball was scrapped for a sport that NEVER gets old in Colombia - futbol, or soccer as we know it here. These boys play futbol every single day, for several hours with no mercy, no rules and no exceptions. Let me just put it this way: if you cannot handle getting bodychecked by a barefoot, barebacked nine-year-old with the grace and good sportsmanship of a humble man, save yourself the embarrassment and don't bother. In conclusion, i will end with this amazingly awesome list put together by Kayla, who bravely and not without her fair share of suffering endured not just one but several games of futbol with our little Colombian brothers:
07.14.07 – Near-Death Experiences (not to be confused with cow tongue)
You are not going to believe what happened at breakfast yesterday morning. Orlando put a slice of cheese into his coffee. Yes, cheese. He called it a "Colombian microwave." Apparently this is a common improvisational method with Colombians lacking this little, now to be deemed critically necessary, appliance. The cheese slice gets placed into the coffee and stirred just for a moment, then left alone for a bit to melt. After a minute or so, the cheese is removed with a knife and spread onto toast. Believe me, just watching the process was painful and our entire team nearly lost our appetites. Not only was Orlando's coffee ruined with a hint of cheese, but his toast was ruined with more than a hint of coffee. And he proceeded to ingest both the coffee AND the toast - happily, i might add.
Incredible day. Just like last year, we took a bus ride up into the mountains to a pool resort - not quite as impressive as our previous location, but still beautiful and just as satisfying. The ride was definitely more interesting this time around. (I sat next to Marcos, an 11-year-old boy who was for the most part distant last year and who i've been getting very close to now. Everything about him fascinates me - his beautiful face, his lust for learning English, his mischievous streak...he fills me with warmth and brings out all the motherly inclinations in me. I love to snuggle with him.) We were about 50 passengers onboard this bus, which rumbled through the mountains along very long, narrow, curvy dirt roads with no guardrails or anything to prevent us from propelling several hundred feet off the cliffs should a landslide or any number of other accidents occur. With no other vehicles behind us and none coming at us, our destination began to seem rather mysterious. In fact, the roads were actually being repaired in front of us as we drove, leaving some of the team with a not-so-great feeling. I personally have grown so used to the Colombian way that i'm just finding humor in every given situation. I love it.
The water was quite cold, so i allowed myself to bake in the sun for a bit before diving into the pool with my friends. It was refreshing, but unlike the pool back at El Camino, i could only stay in for a few minutes at a time. Eventually, we all made it up to the outdoor cafeteria for lunch where i had...*drum roll please*...cow tongue!! I was feeling adventurous and Orlando said he'd eat it if i didn't like. But i liked. At first, the consistency (a bit like that of liver, but worse) threatened to ruin the experience, but the taste resembled that of roast beef and i managed to eat the whole, er, slice. Dee and Kayla braved it as well and took a bite so they could check cow tongue off their list of things to eat before they die.
No trip to Colombia would be complete without a near-death experience by Pastor Alex and Orlando. Indeed, i can see this is quickly becoming another tradition. Instead of jumping off a building into the river this year, they decided it would be fun to jump off a cliff into the pool. We had relocated to a pool in the back of the park that was now occupied by our group alone. Despite numerous warnings (which were clearly all made just so it could be said that they were given, as everyone knew full well that nothing would stop these two daredevils and besides, we'd be lying if we said we didn't want to see it happen), Pastor Alex and Orlando dove in. Very, very stupid - but both survived and went on with their day and everything was great.
Not.
Orlando, who has come to epitomize the term foolhardy, could not be satisfied with just one jump into the pool. He couldn't just be happy with the amazing photo that Caren took of him jumping off the cliff, gloat a little, thank God he was still alive, and move on. He had to jump in again, resulting in a late-night trip to the hospital as his head hit the bottom of the pool (surprise, surprise) and left him with a bloody head and severe pain in his neck. None of which stopped him from heading up the mountain to play an intense game of futbol with the boys, of course.
Even the ride home was interesting. On top of the simple thrill of thundering back down the mountain, one of the girls vomited in the back of the bus, forcing many of those who were seated back there to head to the front and squish themselves among the already packed crowd there. Everyone was exhausted, so the only activity we did upon arriving home was a devotional, which was really just me and Sam reading a children's book that i wrote and he illustrated. The kids seemed to like it, so i was happy.
Caren hasn't been feeling well, so she went to bed early. Since she and Wilson (El Camino's accountant - awesome man, very sweet) were going on a trip the next day, the rest of us wanted to stay up and plan what we were going to do with the kids. When that was done, my dad broke out his guitar and we sang a few songs there in the living room, starting with "Wrap Me In Your Arms." It was a very powerful, intimate time as a team. The song was hardly over before Kayla started telling us how it touched her and before we all knew it, she was bawling her eyes out giving us her incredibly moving testimony. Not one person could stop their own tears from flowing and just when we'd all settled down and started to breathe again, Kayla started prophesying over each one of us as though she'd been doing it her whole life. She even made us all move into the bedroom where Caren was sleeping to lay hands on her and pray her sickness away. It was amazing - definitely one of the most defining moments for our team during the trip.
Every night, long after we've said goodnight to the kids a thousand times and walked around the facility appreciating its spectacular beauty, Orlando will come back from wherever he's disappeared to with treats for those of us who are still awake. This is tradition #3, by the way. One night he brought us empanadas with cilantro sauce. Another night he came back with three different kinds of bread - coffee bread (no, really, with ground coffee beans in it), fried corn bread, and this mmmmmdelicious loaf filled with sugary paste and raisins. Last night we tried so very hard to stay up but Orlando was out for so long that we just had to go to bed. The makeup came off. The teeth got brushed. The lights went out and we climbed into our bunks and fell asleep for all of maybe ten minutes before there was a knock on our door. "Come on, i have something for you babies," Orlando was saying, and we all smiled and dragged our sleepy faces and clean teeth out to the table. Pastor Alex had come to join us, as he does some nights. Orlando had brought us goat cheese and banana pizza, which actually tasted really good. The cheese was very mild and the banana complemented it well. Of course we all wanted to know how Orlando's hospital visit went, and apparently a few pills and a "don't be stupid" would suffice. No major harm done.
Today has so far been fairly relaxing. Mom, Dad, Sam, Holly and Wendy acted out a few puppet skits for the younger kids while Dee, Ilya, Kayla and i took the older ones to the backyard where we played Knot and Winkum, a few team-building games that went over really well. We also served ice cream sundaes to the kids in the late afternoon. The best part though, i think, has been when my dad and Sam took the oldest three boys (plus Jhonatan, Brayan's friend who is visiting during our stay here) into the house and with a translator got to spend some man-to-man chat time with them. My dad was able to ask them what the hardest part about living at El Camino was, what kind of things they were interested in, and what kind of things the few of them would like to do the next time we come. The problem for the older boys here is that they are living with lots of little kids and always have to do little kid things and be in big-brother mode all the time. They are constantly being told "no." Despite all of this, they are still well-behaved but definitely have moments when the frustration shows. So having us come and spend time with them, throwing one another in the pool all afternoon or staying up later than everyone else together means a lot to them. We are consciously aware that they get overlooked, so we make an effort to include them or do special things separately with them. It's hard because the younger kids get jealous and need so much attention. So we've decided to plan things ahead of time to do with the older kids next time we go.
07.15.07 – From Humble Feet to Happy Feet
After such an exhausting 48 hours, the slow pace of today was much-needed and very welcomed. Church is always incredible here. Pastor Alex, who plays the keyboard, has acquired a drumset since last year which Brayan has learned to play very well. Emilio is still singing and his voice has only gotten better. After worship, my dad shared a little message with the kids and then Orlando asked our team to stand up and form a line, calling all the children up as well to stand around us and lay their little hands on our shoulders. He began praying and knelt down to anoint our feet with oil and pray over each one of us seperately. I couldn't help but remember last year when the children themselves were down on their hands and knees praying over our feet, which is still my most humbling experience to date. I am willing to bet that nothing else will ever compare to that pure, innocent expression of love and humility from the children, which broke me in so many ways and simplified my entire life down to that one defining moment. I wept oceans that morning. Today was a bit different, but still...when someone humbles himself and takes on the heart of a servant and touches your feet with oil, crying and praying over them as if you were the most valuable object in existence, something happens that is simply unexplainable. There is no question; it will change you.
Jhonatan stood between me and Sam during church. This boy is 15 years old and has already lived several lifetimes of devastation and corruption. His mother was killed by guerrillas in the mountains and one of his brothers died of heart failure. Years ago, he'd left El Camino to move back in with his 4-year-old sister and father, who sells drugs and pornography. Because of the things he's been exposed to and the effect they've had on him, Jhonatan is not being allowed back into the children's home out of fear that his deep-rooted problems will corrupt the other children. However, he's best friends with Brayan, the oldest boy living at El Camino, and has been allowed to stay here while our team visits. During this time, Sam and i have taken a natural liking to him. The fact that he knows virtually no English means nothing where communication is concerned. I hug him as often as i can. We pray for him. He throws me into the pool and Sam tackles him to the ground. The two of them even share an inside joke. He has now started calling us Mother and Father, which has taken me completely by surprise.
After lunch, my parents did their devotional, which was followed up by the building of balsa planes. The kids absolutely loved putting them together, painting them, and flying them around the courtyard. Several got lost to the rooftops.
Tonight we gathered all the kids into our house to watch Happy Feet. Wendy made popcorn in a skillet on the stove and served it with Coke. I'm a big fan of Movie Night, but it always makes me sad that the kids have to watch from a cold, hard floor. There are no couches. Some of us retrieved pillows and sheets from our beds because the kids started lying down and even falling asleep on the stone tile. Oh, what i would give to be able to snuggle up with some real blankets on a real bed with some of these kids...
07.16.07 - Reflections
Shopping Day definitely needs to be eradicated from our trips to Colombia. First of all, we can only bring a few kids with us - which is usually the oldest few boys, which is awesome just because they do need that special big-kid time - but saying goodbye to the rest of the kids in the morning and waving as we leave the facility in the van without them is way too hard. It means time spent away from them, time that they will spend being bored and sad and maybe feeling a bit jealous. Secondly, it's selfish. Us Americans need more things like we need holes in our heads. Yet here we have thirty children all in desperate need of shoes, socks and underwear and we're wasting away several hours buying souvenirs for ourselves in Cali. Granted, this year (since the need for the basics in clothing has grown) we did drive around for a while searching for things like shoes and pajamas. What we should have done was spent the whole day doing this until we came home with these basic needs met. Instead, we gave up the search in order to have ample time for shopping and only managed to purchase a pair of pajamas for each child on the way home. Talk about feeling guilty about something. I repeat: Shopping Day must die.
We did have a good time, though, and i know the boys enjoyed themselves. When everyone was done shopping, we went to an outdoor mall for lunch and i was able to have some Lulo juice! Bottled, though - not nearly as delicious as the homemade Lulo juice I’ve been spoiled with at El Camino - but still a nice treat.
Even better of a treat was coming home and being able to just laze around doing nothing in particular with the kids. They are all so starved for love in their own way that you can literally feel the need grabbing ahold of you when you're around them. Every time one looks into your eyes or rubs your arm, your heart breaks a little more. They have no one to call Mommy or tuck them into bed at night. They don't even have pillows. So you try to do the best you can at filling some of these enormous holes in their lives, all the while knowing that soon you will have to leave them and once again they will return to their daily routines as their childhoods quickly disappear.
We ate dinner and then went back outside for more lounging in the dark. I brought my bedsheet out and in one of the leather chairs on the porch, wrapped Marcos up in my arms. He lay contentedly in my lap, an intimacy he only gets to experience maybe once a year, and held my hand. Over the last several days, he'd been pointing to anything and everything in sight and asking me what the English word for it was. He'd also come up with some words on his own that he wanted to know - like "mentiras," for example, which is their word for "lies." He quickly made up a game with this word, which he proceeded to play tonight while snuggled in my lap. He would point to my shirt and ask me in Spanish what the English word for it was. So i'd say "shirt" and he'd turn his head away with squinty, mischievous eyes and say "Liiieees!" Then he'd point to the chair and i'd say "chair" and he'd say again, "Liiieees!" And as i'm writing this out, i truly hope that at some point in the next couple days this game gets caught on film because it's absolutely hilarious and Marcos looks so cute doing it. Every time he accuses me of lying, i just crack up!
It was so beautiful out tonight that some of us couldn’t imagine going to bed just yet. Sam decided to go swimming and Kayla and i sat at the edge of the pool, soaking our dirty feet. There are no lights by the pool here, so when Ephraim heard that we wanted to hang out there, this man moved heaven and earth to provide us a light source. After a while, we begged him to stop because we didn’t really need that much light and as usual, he really was going out of his way for us. The end result? He wired an extension cord through one of the bathroom windows and hooked it up to an indoor lamp, which he placed outside and directed toward the pool. The man is a miracle worker.
Anyway, on second thought, beautiful doesn’t describe the night accurately enough. I’d never seen the sky so clear or the stars so big and bright. It was warm, but there was a slight breeze. There were lots of bats out, and they were swooping down close to our heads (gracefully, though, not in a threatening way), which actually just made the experience all the more incredible. It was a great time to just sit and appreciate where we were, talk about all the amazing things that had happened during the trip, and begin preparing ourselves mentally for the emotional aspect of the final day and saying goodbye.
I would have wept at this time if the night hadn’t been so peaceful and feeling as though it would never end.
07.17.07 – We All Need A Healing Room
Breathe. Don't think.
It is our last day here, and despite its obvious horrible connotations, it has been one of my favorite days out of the whole trip. This is because, with the exception of the fiesta we have planned for this evening, we have nowhere to go and no real activities to do. Like last night, we've been able to just relax and love on the kids all morning.
Still, the day has been laced with its inevitable sad moments. We had our final team time before breakfast, which really just entailed singing a few songs. One of them, which has become a team favorite, is called "El Camino mi Corazón." My dad wrote it. Every time we sing it i get immensely emotional, and since this was the last time we would sing it before leaving and because it manages to encapsulate so much feeling and truth about being with the kids at El Camino, i just began sobbing. When we got to the "one child at a time" chorus, the dam inside of me broke and i felt my heart breaking with it.
Fast forward to a happy moment. I'm sitting on the porch in the back of the house with Marcos, and he's making me teach him more English. Then Cristian and Pastor Alex's daughter Karin come along and join us, and for the next half-hour to forty minutes i'm in conversation with them. We talk about candy and sharing and more English words and Cristian starts telling me all about winter - hats, earmuffs, jackets, mittens, hot chocolate and even snow angels. He tells me he's never seen snow, not even a photo of it, but he wants to. I tell him when i come back i'm going to bring some pictures of snow. He starts memorizing me and says that he wants my white skin and my blue eyes. I tell him i'd trade with him if i could, but that he's beautiful and perfect just the way he is. At this point Brayan walks by eating a coconut and as soon as he realizes i'd like one he yells over to Ephraim, who's cleaning the pool again, that one of the Americans wants a coconut. Ephraim drops everything, grabs a very long metal pole, sticks it through the fence, and begins jabbing the coconuts in the palm tree nearby. After about 10 minutes of this gladiator-like sport, two coconuts finally drop to the ground. Ephraim disappears and then returns with a machete, which he promptly uses to whack at the coconuts on the grass. He rips off the course brown outer layer and chops off the top so i can drink the milk inside, then proceeds to break the coconut into pieces with his bare hands so i can eat the flesh. I know i already said this, but i LOVE Ephraim. I feel as though this man would bring me the moon if i asked him to, and in a way for me he did. No one has ever retrieved a coconut for me before, especially in such primitive fashion. For that one act alone, there will always be a special place in my heart for Ephraim.
Fast forward to another sad moment. I'm in the backyard with Cristian and Jhonatan. They are the first ones to sign the back of my team t-shirt. They spend a lot of time getting it right and taking photos of what they wrote with my digital camera so that i can see. When they're done, i can tell that Cristian's emotions have taken a turn, which every child eventually does in their own way in their own time. He begins asking me when i'm coming back and if i'm going to forget him. My heart is breaking again. Then he hangs his head and i know the tears are falling. An enormous lump forms in my throat and i'm thinking, i can't do this alone. There is still half a day to get through and i cannot fall apart right now. So i hug him tightly and take his hand and lead him to "The Healing Room." This is what i've begun calling the room my parents are using, because every time one of the kids gets sad or injured, my mom takes them in there, closes the door, gives them some chocolate and talks to them. Cristian humbly accepts the chocolate but saves it for later. We wipe his tears and ask him what he’d like us to bring next time we come, and he answers, “snow.” We smile and Mom explains to him why this is impossible, but that we can bring photos. This seems to satisfy him. We hug him several times and soon he is ready to go back outside.
Now i sit on my bed, feebly attempting to collect myself so i can follow Cristian out and brave the next 8 or so hours with some amount of strength.
Breathe. Don’t think…
07.18.07 - Brokenness
The moment of brokenness came in the form of a haze that cloaked his body with the pity, gentleness and determination of a mother applying alcohol to her child’s wound. Yes, it would hurt. But the pain would be necessary for the healing process to begin.
He had been happy and laughing right along with the rest of the young people up until that moment. The night was cool yet balmy, and thoughts of our team leaving early the next morning were temporarily warded off as the singing, breakdancing and cupcakes served as welcome distractions. Sam and i sat with him in the back of the crowd and we teased each other as everyone else finished their meals.
In the midst of our laughter last night, Jhonatan suddenly grew quiet. I looked over and he was hunched over, his face in his hands, tears slipping through his fingers. Others began drifting over to ask what was wrong and he took off, heading for the bedrooms. Sam followed after him a few minutes later and i waited a while before making my way through the dark up the stairs and down the balcony to the room where the older boys slept. Sam stood there and glanced at me with pity in his eyes. I looked up and there was Jhonatan, curled up on the very top bunk in fetal position, heaving like a small boy, face covered. No words had been exhanged between them. I had been sent to retrieve Sam for a skit that we were acting out, but when he tried to leave, Jhonatan just kept saying, "No."
My heart, just as i imagine Jhonatan's, was breaking into a million pieces as i stood there in the doorway watching as right before my eyes this young man who had been forced to grow up far too quickly was reduced to a hurting, desperate little boy who had never experienced the feeling of being loved. For the next two hours straight, he remained in the same position and wept heavily nonstop, leaving me wondering when the last time was that he'd allowed himself to cry at all.
It was no mistake that Jhonatan was there at the children's home when our team was visiting. His life experiences had left him numerous holes in his heart, and for so long he had attempted to mask them. But because we were able to recognize these holes, we were also able to fill some of them up - with the freeing, forgiving love of God that he never had known before.
Although Jhonatan doesn't live at El Camino, he represents many of the children, both older and younger, who do. Children who every day face very real giants of rejection, neglect, abuse, loneliness and fear. Children who have nothing and literally would not survive without this love that heals and restores. Children who have been rescued and kept safe for the time being but still harbor the looming question of how they will ever make it once released from the protection and familiarity of the four walls built around them. They need mothers. They need brothers. They need consistency and lots of affirmation and assurance.
So many people do not feel as though they have much to give to children so in need. But Sam and i were just ordinary people doing what came naturally, and the result of that was the breaking down of a boy who for the first time had been shown that his life had value. I will never forget him, and every time i see his face i will be reminded that love truly is the greatest gift of all.
Aside from that incident, the fiesta was great. We served the kids a dinner of grilled pork, potatoes and bread, and they had a blast showcasing their talents on the stage. I have mixed feelings about the timing of it, though. On the one hand, the event certainly distracts us all from thoughts of saying goodbye on the last night, which i suppose is preferable for the kids because the last thing we want is them focusing on those negative emotions. On the other hand, i sometimes wish the final night could be more relaxing and we could appreciate each kid and give them all individual attention before we go. It’s hard to explain, but when you know that the instinctive motherly or fatherly love that you show these kids is the only love of that type that they’ll receive all year, it becomes difficult to justify occupying your time doing anything else but lavishing that love on them. I know the kids always enjoy and remember the fiesta night, though, and that’s all that matters.
This flight out of Colombia always feels like a flight to my death, with nothing but emptiness and depression waiting for me at the other end. I have left my family, my passion, my purpose for…what?
I look like a train hit me. There was a noise at the girl’s room window this morning and we drew the curtain to find seven or eight boys standing there in the rain, waiting to say goodbye to us. That will go down as one of the worst moments of my entire life, just so you know. And it was not too much later that we were all standing on the porch hugging and kissing and crying and feeling as though our hearts were being ripped out of our chests. Cristian wrapped his little arms around my waist and looked up at me and asked if i would remember him always – another moment for the record books. I struggled to answer him adequately in Spanish, as he simply has no idea that i think about him every single day of my life and would take bullets for him in a second as though he were my own.
Jhonatan had me sit next to him on the ride to the airport in Cali and he cried the entire way there. When we all waved goodbye in the terminal, he was sobbing into Orlando’s shoulder. With the exception of my fellow teammates, no one will ever understand what it was like to leave him in that state – a teenage boy with a horrible past and tormented soul who seemed to have just found and bonded with his long-lost family, only to have them walk out of his life. It broke him, and it broke us.
My emotions are a mess and my thoughts are a jumble, so it’s hard for me to write coherently. I’m going to force myself to fall asleep now in an attempt to escape reality, if only for a few hours.
I have a habit of stealing in-flight magazines. It seems i can't resist saving articles about the Inuit tribes in Alaska or the wolf packs in Canada to read again later. And if it's not the articles that draw me, it's the photography. Some of the photos i keep simply to look at and transport myself to a different place where my mood inevitably changes, and some photos i keep to use in my collages. The July 2007 edition of The Continental was disappointing and failed to measure up to the standard i've apparently set for most in-flight magazines.
In other words, it's not worthy of being stolen.
But I consider myself a fairly open-minded person. There was an article entitled, "Legends of the Devil's Isle: Discover Bermuda's myths, luxury and lore." Sounds intriguing, right? - especially to someone so obsessed with pirates. Well, for some crazy reason i just didn't feel like reading it. So i read it. And wouldn't you know, it was amazing. If i wasn't already interested in seeing Bermuda, i would be now.
Sometimes in life we have to do things we don't want to do, things we just "don't feel like" doing. In fact, i think oftentimes doing something you don't want to do is more important and in many cases more fulfilling than doing something you want to do. These things are building blocks. They build character. They make us stronger, more patient, more open-minded people. (Not to mention more interesting.)
Yesterday morning, for example, i forced myself to take a very quick, very cold shower to prepare for the week ahead of me. Did i want to? Heck, no. Warm, leisurely showers are nearly as precious to me as air. But i knew that i'd have to put aside the desires of my flesh in order to fulfill the desire of my heart, which was to prepare myself in every way possible - even physically - to be able to serve my Colombian family to the best of my ability.
Taking a quick, cold shower is a small-scale example of someone doing choosing to do something against their trained nature. I say trained because i sometimes feel that in general, we have no idea of the extent of the abilities of human nature. We train ourselves to life live a certain way, which can include something as simple as how many hours of sleep we require or as complex as how we manage our money. Some of these patterns are relatively harmless, while others can be dangerous or even stunt our personal growth. We think we are immunizing ourselves by coating our choices with phrases like "that's just who i am," but instead we are actually limiting ourselves.
If i never did anything i didn't want to do, i still would not know how to swim or ride a bike. I would have no idea that i'm capable of prophesying or speaking to a crowd ot changing a diaper or letting go of a dog that meant everything to me. I would be caught in a stale cycle of safety and routine, with no room for learning and growing and changing. Bermuda would still be that exotic place where Merlin the Wizard went on vacation instead of a natural and architectural wonder with a vibrant history of smugglers, revolutionary leaders and sunken vessels.
What causes us to be unwilling to do something against our trained nature? It is fear. Fear of drowning if we step out into the water. Fear of getting hurt when entering into a new relationship. Fear of having doubt about our beliefs if we study another religion. No matter what we do or how safely and routinely we live our lives, uncomfortable or negative outcomes will always be possible. We cannot be so blind and naive to think that by obeying our trained nature we are in control of anything. If we do so, we are allowing FEAR to control us, and we will - quite literally - be closing ourselves off from a whole world of possibility and discovery.
And as a reminder of this lesson, i have decided to steal my in-flight magazine after all. Bermuda awaits.
06:15 PM same day – Beautiful Strangers
As i sit here listening to the Latin music channel on the in-flight radio, i realize that i am exactly where i am supposed to be - on my way back to Colombia, where we'll land in just a few hours. There are very few things in my life that i'm sure about, and Colombia is one of them. While i'm all about adventure and spontaneity, it feels so good to be sure about something.
My heart is still slightly apprehensive, but i'm finally starting to relax and get excited. A few weeks ago, i still had no idea which children from last year would still be living at El Camino and which, if any, had left. I finally e-mailed Aldrin, one of our translators who became like a brother to me, and asked him the dreaded question. Even though i had completely prepared myself for the expected answer, i couldn't stop the tears when he told me that the two brothers i had bonded with the most were gone. Apparently, no amount of consideration can prepare you for the loss of someone you love or have grown attached to, even if you are not losing them to death. But i have come to accept and understand that this is a new season and that there will be other children who need my love and attention now. Not that i can't be sad or miss those boys, but i owe it to the rest to set aside these emotions for now so i can offer up my whole self in this time of growth and servanthood.
Switching gears, there has been one man during our travels that stood out to me more than anyone else. He stood in front of me during the security check in Houston and brought himself to my attention when he made a comment about my sandals. He said i was smart for wearing them to the airport because it simplified the whole removal and replacement of the shoes process. I agreed that it certainly did make things easier and proceeded to notice the shoes in his hands, which were grubby with dirt and worn and torn almost to the point of being unusable. My gaze trailed down to his feet, veiled with thin black socks that boasted a hole for nearly every toe.
We moved up in line, each grabbing plastic gray buckets for our things. I placed my backpack and sandals in my bucket. The man had two buckets - one for his laptop, and another for his bag, his shoes, and a seemingly endless string of miscellaneous items being fished from his pockets. Pockets that i began to believe were housing everything this man owned.
My observational tendencies kicked into gear and i watched the man carefully, taking pity on this clearly tedious unloading procedure he was going through. I stopped short of offering to help, noting the way the wrinkles around his gentle blue eyes strained wearily behind large glasses. His salt-and-pepper hair hung in soft curls at the nape of his neck, which was flecked with odd clusters of freckles. His drab gray shirt, obviously one of his best chosen to accompany an adequate pair of Dickies khakis, was ruined by tiny random stains and holes - but it was ironed.
Another conveyer belt was made available, and i turned to carry my tray over to it but was cut off by on onslaught of eager travelers that had rushed out from behind me. I returned to my spot behind the nameless man, whose eyes had changed somehow. They were apologising. He was embarrassed.
"If you ever see me in a line," he said, "you should run for another one. People know. I'm like this everywhere i go. Even the grocery store..."
"Oh, i don't mind," i smiled. "It's really alright."
I think the man almost felt too bad to hear what i was saying, or to even accept my smile. The truth was, my heart went out to him and i wished, as i sometimes do with certain characters i run into, that i could hop onboard whatever flight he was taking and accompany him for a week, whatever that entailed. As a friend, as someone to talk to. I wondered why he'd felt so shamed by something that i considered a common occurrence and what he meant by "people know." Was he given a hard time on a daily basis by others? Were people so callous and impatient that they would cause a kind and gentle, aging man to feel guilty about such trivial matters? Or were they judging him by appearance alone?
I'm finding it interesting that my team leader has given us the theme of "choices (opciones)" for this trip, and so far my journal entries have been all about fighting fear, building character and harboring compassion. It is getting quiet now, and too dark to write. I may try to sleep some now, or continue getting to know the Colombian girl next to me who hates traveling alone. Her name, by the way, is Valentina.
07.11.07 - Home
To say it's a struggle to find words suitable for describing how it feels to be here would be almost insulting to the truth. There is no greater burden than spending one's days caring for children and youth whose families either never loved them or could never afford to love them.
It is day two, and the fact that i'm lying here in bed journaling while the children are outside playing in the midday sun in killing me. I've learned from experience that unless i practice self-discipline and pry myself away every from the activities every now and then, nothing will ever get recorded. But these entries will be scatterbrained, as i'm obviously wanting to be somewhere else doing something more important while i'm writing them.
Already, this trip has played out so differently than last year - in good ways and some unfortunate ways as well. Due to some error in communication, Senora Gabriella was under the impression that we were arriving on the 18th (which is when we're leaving), so they had not been expecting us for nine more days and consequently the cooks we hired are working elsewhere at this time. This has meant that the gardener's wife, Alejandra (who just had a baby girl several weeks ago), along with Leidy, have had to work harder and cook our food as well. At first when we tried to help them, they refused our assistance like the hospitable Colombians they are and closed the doors to the kitchens to keep us out. But they soon realized that we Americans can be stubborn as well, and it has been wonderful working with them to clean dishes and serve dinner to the children.
The night we arrived, none of the children were up waiting for us as we expected. We were disappointed, and even more so when we realized that more of the kids we'd bonded with last year had left El Camino than we thought. This took some time to digest and accept, but the process has been gentle. The new boys and girls here are such a joy, each personality so very different from all the rest. But what blesses me and fills me with happiness the most is the transformation i see in the older boys from last year. The ones that remained distant and seemingly disinterested then (it had taken me until the end of our trip to coax some of them out of their shells) are now the most loving and involved of the whole group. The difference between the boys here and the boys in America is like night and day. Here, even the 11-15-year-olds will hold your hand and hug you, and they will still hug and kiss you goodnight. They will pick flowers for you and write letters, and on occasion they will nickname you. Last night i was dubbed "Trinity" because apparently the haircut i had last year reminds them of Trinity from The Matrix. The fact that my hair looks nothing like that now is irrelevant. Quite honestly, they can call me whatever they want and i actually think Trinity is a pretty cool nick.
Some might consider our mornings here rough. If you're lucky enough to get more than a dribble of water from the shower, it's absolutely frigid. If you're not woken by the birds than begin singing odd tunes here at an ungodly hour, you will surely be woken by Lincoln, the goat. Our bathrooms are harboring small cockroaches and giant palmetto bugs this year, and lizards skitter freely across the ceilings over our bunks. We meet by the pool at 8:00 (later than last year!) for team time, where we sing a few songs and talk about what we're going to do and pray. During this time the children finish their morning chores, then wander the yard waiting for us to wrap up, some clinging earnestly to the fence around the pool, watching and listening. But after this time we eat breakfast, which usually consists of some form of eggs, toast, and freshly squeezed juice of either mandarin, banana, pineapple, the delicious tree tomato or my and Kayla's absolute favorite in the whole wide world, lulo. Lulo fruit is shaped like a tomato and appears as one on the inside, but has a bumpy rind that looks like a cross-breed of an orange and a lime. Kayla and i have thought long and hard about it, and finally came up with the ultimate question: What if the tree tomato and lulo fruit had a baby? The thought alone was enough to satisfy our liquid needs for a lifetime.
Due to our setbacks, the middle of our days have been a bit lackadaisical so far but that's okay. It's relaxing and soon the olympics and outings will begin. Nighttime is again by far the best time of day, however. The children will take our hands and lead us to their dinner tables, where we'll sit with them and watch them eat chicken and rice, soup or plantains. We brought more money for food this time, so they are eating much better this week than last year, which makes me so happy for them. Then they will hurry up to their rooms to change into their pajamas and brush their teeth and then join us on the porch to sit as a giant group in the evening talking, laughing...Pastor Alex will break out his guitar and the children will sing a few songs. There is a whole lot of snuggling going on. :) When it's time for bed, every kid will come and hug and kiss us several times over. Some of our team will go inside to chat and have coffee while the rest of us hang out with the older boys who don't have to go to sleep yet. We sit outside in the dark and lie down in the courtyard together staring at the stars. The boys will try to say things to us - or just about us to one another, as they know we can't understand a lot of what they're saying and have therefore felt free to say things they probably shouldn't and then laugh. :) We've learned to tell when this is happening. Even when the boys finally go to bed, they don't really sleep but continue patrolling their balcony in the dark or calling things down to us from their open windows. We'll remain lying down on the ground stargazing and listening to scattered hisses of "Trinity!" and "Goodnight!" Last night in particular was beautiful. It was warm, the stars were incredibly large and clear, and lightning was flashing nearby without a trace of thunder. I couldn't imagine myself anywhere else in the world in that moment.
I am home.
07.12.07 - Revival
Revival: An awakening. Restoration to life. Strength.
My dad gave a message of revival to the people of the church we visited last night. It was amazing. He had asked me before we left for Colombia to read his notes and i really liked it, but his delivery was incredible and the people received it with such humility and enthusiasm. I was so proud of my dad because he'd known for a very long time that he was going to give an important message to the church of Colombia and went for it full-throttle and courageously, without ever having stepped foot in the country before and without the ability to speak their language. But the awesome thing about being brothers and sisters in Christ, and the awesome thing about love in general, is that language is never a barrier. Yes, Orlando (who I will describe for you in much better detail later) translated for my dad, but as you will soon find out, words are not necessary for communicating much.
What happened after the message was given is not adequately describable at all, but some record is mandatory so i will give it my best shot. Our team was called forward to stand at the front of the church (which was constructed of thick bamboo stalks and concrete, and covered with a sheet of metal) to pray for whoever wanted it. An elderly woman with oppressed eyes shuffled as quickly as she could to the front of the room and stopped before me and Sam. We laid our hands on her and immediately i felt heavier, as though a weight had been placed over my shoulders. I knew that God was allowing me to feel the burden that she was carrying. We began to pray for her, speaking freedom and release and peace into her life. She was weeping, her tears wetting the cold floor. Whether or not God allowed her mind to understand our English i'll never know, but her heart understood exactly what was happening. When we were finished, she moved towards me and i took her in my arms and held her for a long time, both of us feeling lighter and speaking volumes to each other in our silence. The next forty or so minutes went likewise. We joined some of our other team members in praying for different people. The band got onstage and began to sing and play, but we continued praying. At one point Dee, Kayla, Ilya, Sam and i were all laying hands on this one young man and praying for him at the same time, hardly able to hear what anyone else was saying over the volume of the music. I remember nearly every word i said to this young man and every word of prophesy God had for him. Since he couldn't understand English and we couldn't even hear what the person next to us what uttering, i know this young man's reaction was not to our spoken words but to the Holy Spirit. He began to cry and his entire body shook as though a private earthquake was taking place where he stood. Then his feet stamped and he spun around in such an oddly perfect fashion that i knew the motions were not of his own doing. From what i gather, knowing what i had prayed and later finding out some of what Dee had prayed, i believe that we were witnessing both the effect of the very real presence of God and perhaps demons fleeing his body as several curses over his life were cast out and replaced with blessings of protection and prosperity. It was like nothing i had ever witnessed before.
The prayer eventually stopped, but the worship went on and only got more amazing as the night progressed. People were dancing and singing and holding absolutely nothing back. Orlando took me and Dee into the aisle and danced with us. Others ran down the aisles as if they had been set free from some kind of bondage, and it's likely they were. I know my dad took some video of this whole ordeal, and i'm looking forward to revisiting that incredible night. It lasted for hours. Orlando spoke. We didn't leave until about midnight and by that time we were emotionally and physically spent. Great night.
This morning after breakfast, we broke out the wiffle ball equipment and in keeping with tradition attempted to engage the boys in the good old American pastime. It actually lasted much longer than last year and the boys seemed to have a lot of fun with it. As usual, however, there comes a point where the whole rules thing gets thrown out the window and reigning them in becomes a laughable option. So baseball was scrapped for a sport that NEVER gets old in Colombia - futbol, or soccer as we know it here. These boys play futbol every single day, for several hours with no mercy, no rules and no exceptions. Let me just put it this way: if you cannot handle getting bodychecked by a barefoot, barebacked nine-year-old with the grace and good sportsmanship of a humble man, save yourself the embarrassment and don't bother. In conclusion, i will end with this amazingly awesome list put together by Kayla, who bravely and not without her fair share of suffering endured not just one but several games of futbol with our little Colombian brothers:
07.14.07 – Near-Death Experiences (not to be confused with cow tongue)
You are not going to believe what happened at breakfast yesterday morning. Orlando put a slice of cheese into his coffee. Yes, cheese. He called it a "Colombian microwave." Apparently this is a common improvisational method with Colombians lacking this little, now to be deemed critically necessary, appliance. The cheese slice gets placed into the coffee and stirred just for a moment, then left alone for a bit to melt. After a minute or so, the cheese is removed with a knife and spread onto toast. Believe me, just watching the process was painful and our entire team nearly lost our appetites. Not only was Orlando's coffee ruined with a hint of cheese, but his toast was ruined with more than a hint of coffee. And he proceeded to ingest both the coffee AND the toast - happily, i might add.
Incredible day. Just like last year, we took a bus ride up into the mountains to a pool resort - not quite as impressive as our previous location, but still beautiful and just as satisfying. The ride was definitely more interesting this time around. (I sat next to Marcos, an 11-year-old boy who was for the most part distant last year and who i've been getting very close to now. Everything about him fascinates me - his beautiful face, his lust for learning English, his mischievous streak...he fills me with warmth and brings out all the motherly inclinations in me. I love to snuggle with him.) We were about 50 passengers onboard this bus, which rumbled through the mountains along very long, narrow, curvy dirt roads with no guardrails or anything to prevent us from propelling several hundred feet off the cliffs should a landslide or any number of other accidents occur. With no other vehicles behind us and none coming at us, our destination began to seem rather mysterious. In fact, the roads were actually being repaired in front of us as we drove, leaving some of the team with a not-so-great feeling. I personally have grown so used to the Colombian way that i'm just finding humor in every given situation. I love it.
The water was quite cold, so i allowed myself to bake in the sun for a bit before diving into the pool with my friends. It was refreshing, but unlike the pool back at El Camino, i could only stay in for a few minutes at a time. Eventually, we all made it up to the outdoor cafeteria for lunch where i had...*drum roll please*...cow tongue!! I was feeling adventurous and Orlando said he'd eat it if i didn't like. But i liked. At first, the consistency (a bit like that of liver, but worse) threatened to ruin the experience, but the taste resembled that of roast beef and i managed to eat the whole, er, slice. Dee and Kayla braved it as well and took a bite so they could check cow tongue off their list of things to eat before they die.
No trip to Colombia would be complete without a near-death experience by Pastor Alex and Orlando. Indeed, i can see this is quickly becoming another tradition. Instead of jumping off a building into the river this year, they decided it would be fun to jump off a cliff into the pool. We had relocated to a pool in the back of the park that was now occupied by our group alone. Despite numerous warnings (which were clearly all made just so it could be said that they were given, as everyone knew full well that nothing would stop these two daredevils and besides, we'd be lying if we said we didn't want to see it happen), Pastor Alex and Orlando dove in. Very, very stupid - but both survived and went on with their day and everything was great.
Not.
Orlando, who has come to epitomize the term foolhardy, could not be satisfied with just one jump into the pool. He couldn't just be happy with the amazing photo that Caren took of him jumping off the cliff, gloat a little, thank God he was still alive, and move on. He had to jump in again, resulting in a late-night trip to the hospital as his head hit the bottom of the pool (surprise, surprise) and left him with a bloody head and severe pain in his neck. None of which stopped him from heading up the mountain to play an intense game of futbol with the boys, of course.
Even the ride home was interesting. On top of the simple thrill of thundering back down the mountain, one of the girls vomited in the back of the bus, forcing many of those who were seated back there to head to the front and squish themselves among the already packed crowd there. Everyone was exhausted, so the only activity we did upon arriving home was a devotional, which was really just me and Sam reading a children's book that i wrote and he illustrated. The kids seemed to like it, so i was happy.
Caren hasn't been feeling well, so she went to bed early. Since she and Wilson (El Camino's accountant - awesome man, very sweet) were going on a trip the next day, the rest of us wanted to stay up and plan what we were going to do with the kids. When that was done, my dad broke out his guitar and we sang a few songs there in the living room, starting with "Wrap Me In Your Arms." It was a very powerful, intimate time as a team. The song was hardly over before Kayla started telling us how it touched her and before we all knew it, she was bawling her eyes out giving us her incredibly moving testimony. Not one person could stop their own tears from flowing and just when we'd all settled down and started to breathe again, Kayla started prophesying over each one of us as though she'd been doing it her whole life. She even made us all move into the bedroom where Caren was sleeping to lay hands on her and pray her sickness away. It was amazing - definitely one of the most defining moments for our team during the trip.
Every night, long after we've said goodnight to the kids a thousand times and walked around the facility appreciating its spectacular beauty, Orlando will come back from wherever he's disappeared to with treats for those of us who are still awake. This is tradition #3, by the way. One night he brought us empanadas with cilantro sauce. Another night he came back with three different kinds of bread - coffee bread (no, really, with ground coffee beans in it), fried corn bread, and this mmmmmdelicious loaf filled with sugary paste and raisins. Last night we tried so very hard to stay up but Orlando was out for so long that we just had to go to bed. The makeup came off. The teeth got brushed. The lights went out and we climbed into our bunks and fell asleep for all of maybe ten minutes before there was a knock on our door. "Come on, i have something for you babies," Orlando was saying, and we all smiled and dragged our sleepy faces and clean teeth out to the table. Pastor Alex had come to join us, as he does some nights. Orlando had brought us goat cheese and banana pizza, which actually tasted really good. The cheese was very mild and the banana complemented it well. Of course we all wanted to know how Orlando's hospital visit went, and apparently a few pills and a "don't be stupid" would suffice. No major harm done.
Today has so far been fairly relaxing. Mom, Dad, Sam, Holly and Wendy acted out a few puppet skits for the younger kids while Dee, Ilya, Kayla and i took the older ones to the backyard where we played Knot and Winkum, a few team-building games that went over really well. We also served ice cream sundaes to the kids in the late afternoon. The best part though, i think, has been when my dad and Sam took the oldest three boys (plus Jhonatan, Brayan's friend who is visiting during our stay here) into the house and with a translator got to spend some man-to-man chat time with them. My dad was able to ask them what the hardest part about living at El Camino was, what kind of things they were interested in, and what kind of things the few of them would like to do the next time we come. The problem for the older boys here is that they are living with lots of little kids and always have to do little kid things and be in big-brother mode all the time. They are constantly being told "no." Despite all of this, they are still well-behaved but definitely have moments when the frustration shows. So having us come and spend time with them, throwing one another in the pool all afternoon or staying up later than everyone else together means a lot to them. We are consciously aware that they get overlooked, so we make an effort to include them or do special things separately with them. It's hard because the younger kids get jealous and need so much attention. So we've decided to plan things ahead of time to do with the older kids next time we go.
07.15.07 – From Humble Feet to Happy Feet
After such an exhausting 48 hours, the slow pace of today was much-needed and very welcomed. Church is always incredible here. Pastor Alex, who plays the keyboard, has acquired a drumset since last year which Brayan has learned to play very well. Emilio is still singing and his voice has only gotten better. After worship, my dad shared a little message with the kids and then Orlando asked our team to stand up and form a line, calling all the children up as well to stand around us and lay their little hands on our shoulders. He began praying and knelt down to anoint our feet with oil and pray over each one of us seperately. I couldn't help but remember last year when the children themselves were down on their hands and knees praying over our feet, which is still my most humbling experience to date. I am willing to bet that nothing else will ever compare to that pure, innocent expression of love and humility from the children, which broke me in so many ways and simplified my entire life down to that one defining moment. I wept oceans that morning. Today was a bit different, but still...when someone humbles himself and takes on the heart of a servant and touches your feet with oil, crying and praying over them as if you were the most valuable object in existence, something happens that is simply unexplainable. There is no question; it will change you.
Jhonatan stood between me and Sam during church. This boy is 15 years old and has already lived several lifetimes of devastation and corruption. His mother was killed by guerrillas in the mountains and one of his brothers died of heart failure. Years ago, he'd left El Camino to move back in with his 4-year-old sister and father, who sells drugs and pornography. Because of the things he's been exposed to and the effect they've had on him, Jhonatan is not being allowed back into the children's home out of fear that his deep-rooted problems will corrupt the other children. However, he's best friends with Brayan, the oldest boy living at El Camino, and has been allowed to stay here while our team visits. During this time, Sam and i have taken a natural liking to him. The fact that he knows virtually no English means nothing where communication is concerned. I hug him as often as i can. We pray for him. He throws me into the pool and Sam tackles him to the ground. The two of them even share an inside joke. He has now started calling us Mother and Father, which has taken me completely by surprise.
After lunch, my parents did their devotional, which was followed up by the building of balsa planes. The kids absolutely loved putting them together, painting them, and flying them around the courtyard. Several got lost to the rooftops.
Tonight we gathered all the kids into our house to watch Happy Feet. Wendy made popcorn in a skillet on the stove and served it with Coke. I'm a big fan of Movie Night, but it always makes me sad that the kids have to watch from a cold, hard floor. There are no couches. Some of us retrieved pillows and sheets from our beds because the kids started lying down and even falling asleep on the stone tile. Oh, what i would give to be able to snuggle up with some real blankets on a real bed with some of these kids...
07.16.07 - Reflections
Shopping Day definitely needs to be eradicated from our trips to Colombia. First of all, we can only bring a few kids with us - which is usually the oldest few boys, which is awesome just because they do need that special big-kid time - but saying goodbye to the rest of the kids in the morning and waving as we leave the facility in the van without them is way too hard. It means time spent away from them, time that they will spend being bored and sad and maybe feeling a bit jealous. Secondly, it's selfish. Us Americans need more things like we need holes in our heads. Yet here we have thirty children all in desperate need of shoes, socks and underwear and we're wasting away several hours buying souvenirs for ourselves in Cali. Granted, this year (since the need for the basics in clothing has grown) we did drive around for a while searching for things like shoes and pajamas. What we should have done was spent the whole day doing this until we came home with these basic needs met. Instead, we gave up the search in order to have ample time for shopping and only managed to purchase a pair of pajamas for each child on the way home. Talk about feeling guilty about something. I repeat: Shopping Day must die.
We did have a good time, though, and i know the boys enjoyed themselves. When everyone was done shopping, we went to an outdoor mall for lunch and i was able to have some Lulo juice! Bottled, though - not nearly as delicious as the homemade Lulo juice I’ve been spoiled with at El Camino - but still a nice treat.
Even better of a treat was coming home and being able to just laze around doing nothing in particular with the kids. They are all so starved for love in their own way that you can literally feel the need grabbing ahold of you when you're around them. Every time one looks into your eyes or rubs your arm, your heart breaks a little more. They have no one to call Mommy or tuck them into bed at night. They don't even have pillows. So you try to do the best you can at filling some of these enormous holes in their lives, all the while knowing that soon you will have to leave them and once again they will return to their daily routines as their childhoods quickly disappear.
We ate dinner and then went back outside for more lounging in the dark. I brought my bedsheet out and in one of the leather chairs on the porch, wrapped Marcos up in my arms. He lay contentedly in my lap, an intimacy he only gets to experience maybe once a year, and held my hand. Over the last several days, he'd been pointing to anything and everything in sight and asking me what the English word for it was. He'd also come up with some words on his own that he wanted to know - like "mentiras," for example, which is their word for "lies." He quickly made up a game with this word, which he proceeded to play tonight while snuggled in my lap. He would point to my shirt and ask me in Spanish what the English word for it was. So i'd say "shirt" and he'd turn his head away with squinty, mischievous eyes and say "Liiieees!" Then he'd point to the chair and i'd say "chair" and he'd say again, "Liiieees!" And as i'm writing this out, i truly hope that at some point in the next couple days this game gets caught on film because it's absolutely hilarious and Marcos looks so cute doing it. Every time he accuses me of lying, i just crack up!
It was so beautiful out tonight that some of us couldn’t imagine going to bed just yet. Sam decided to go swimming and Kayla and i sat at the edge of the pool, soaking our dirty feet. There are no lights by the pool here, so when Ephraim heard that we wanted to hang out there, this man moved heaven and earth to provide us a light source. After a while, we begged him to stop because we didn’t really need that much light and as usual, he really was going out of his way for us. The end result? He wired an extension cord through one of the bathroom windows and hooked it up to an indoor lamp, which he placed outside and directed toward the pool. The man is a miracle worker.
Anyway, on second thought, beautiful doesn’t describe the night accurately enough. I’d never seen the sky so clear or the stars so big and bright. It was warm, but there was a slight breeze. There were lots of bats out, and they were swooping down close to our heads (gracefully, though, not in a threatening way), which actually just made the experience all the more incredible. It was a great time to just sit and appreciate where we were, talk about all the amazing things that had happened during the trip, and begin preparing ourselves mentally for the emotional aspect of the final day and saying goodbye.
I would have wept at this time if the night hadn’t been so peaceful and feeling as though it would never end.
07.17.07 – We All Need A Healing Room
Breathe. Don't think.
It is our last day here, and despite its obvious horrible connotations, it has been one of my favorite days out of the whole trip. This is because, with the exception of the fiesta we have planned for this evening, we have nowhere to go and no real activities to do. Like last night, we've been able to just relax and love on the kids all morning.
Still, the day has been laced with its inevitable sad moments. We had our final team time before breakfast, which really just entailed singing a few songs. One of them, which has become a team favorite, is called "El Camino mi Corazón." My dad wrote it. Every time we sing it i get immensely emotional, and since this was the last time we would sing it before leaving and because it manages to encapsulate so much feeling and truth about being with the kids at El Camino, i just began sobbing. When we got to the "one child at a time" chorus, the dam inside of me broke and i felt my heart breaking with it.
Fast forward to a happy moment. I'm sitting on the porch in the back of the house with Marcos, and he's making me teach him more English. Then Cristian and Pastor Alex's daughter Karin come along and join us, and for the next half-hour to forty minutes i'm in conversation with them. We talk about candy and sharing and more English words and Cristian starts telling me all about winter - hats, earmuffs, jackets, mittens, hot chocolate and even snow angels. He tells me he's never seen snow, not even a photo of it, but he wants to. I tell him when i come back i'm going to bring some pictures of snow. He starts memorizing me and says that he wants my white skin and my blue eyes. I tell him i'd trade with him if i could, but that he's beautiful and perfect just the way he is. At this point Brayan walks by eating a coconut and as soon as he realizes i'd like one he yells over to Ephraim, who's cleaning the pool again, that one of the Americans wants a coconut. Ephraim drops everything, grabs a very long metal pole, sticks it through the fence, and begins jabbing the coconuts in the palm tree nearby. After about 10 minutes of this gladiator-like sport, two coconuts finally drop to the ground. Ephraim disappears and then returns with a machete, which he promptly uses to whack at the coconuts on the grass. He rips off the course brown outer layer and chops off the top so i can drink the milk inside, then proceeds to break the coconut into pieces with his bare hands so i can eat the flesh. I know i already said this, but i LOVE Ephraim. I feel as though this man would bring me the moon if i asked him to, and in a way for me he did. No one has ever retrieved a coconut for me before, especially in such primitive fashion. For that one act alone, there will always be a special place in my heart for Ephraim.
Fast forward to another sad moment. I'm in the backyard with Cristian and Jhonatan. They are the first ones to sign the back of my team t-shirt. They spend a lot of time getting it right and taking photos of what they wrote with my digital camera so that i can see. When they're done, i can tell that Cristian's emotions have taken a turn, which every child eventually does in their own way in their own time. He begins asking me when i'm coming back and if i'm going to forget him. My heart is breaking again. Then he hangs his head and i know the tears are falling. An enormous lump forms in my throat and i'm thinking, i can't do this alone. There is still half a day to get through and i cannot fall apart right now. So i hug him tightly and take his hand and lead him to "The Healing Room." This is what i've begun calling the room my parents are using, because every time one of the kids gets sad or injured, my mom takes them in there, closes the door, gives them some chocolate and talks to them. Cristian humbly accepts the chocolate but saves it for later. We wipe his tears and ask him what he’d like us to bring next time we come, and he answers, “snow.” We smile and Mom explains to him why this is impossible, but that we can bring photos. This seems to satisfy him. We hug him several times and soon he is ready to go back outside.
Now i sit on my bed, feebly attempting to collect myself so i can follow Cristian out and brave the next 8 or so hours with some amount of strength.
Breathe. Don’t think…
07.18.07 - Brokenness
The moment of brokenness came in the form of a haze that cloaked his body with the pity, gentleness and determination of a mother applying alcohol to her child’s wound. Yes, it would hurt. But the pain would be necessary for the healing process to begin.
He had been happy and laughing right along with the rest of the young people up until that moment. The night was cool yet balmy, and thoughts of our team leaving early the next morning were temporarily warded off as the singing, breakdancing and cupcakes served as welcome distractions. Sam and i sat with him in the back of the crowd and we teased each other as everyone else finished their meals.
In the midst of our laughter last night, Jhonatan suddenly grew quiet. I looked over and he was hunched over, his face in his hands, tears slipping through his fingers. Others began drifting over to ask what was wrong and he took off, heading for the bedrooms. Sam followed after him a few minutes later and i waited a while before making my way through the dark up the stairs and down the balcony to the room where the older boys slept. Sam stood there and glanced at me with pity in his eyes. I looked up and there was Jhonatan, curled up on the very top bunk in fetal position, heaving like a small boy, face covered. No words had been exhanged between them. I had been sent to retrieve Sam for a skit that we were acting out, but when he tried to leave, Jhonatan just kept saying, "No."
My heart, just as i imagine Jhonatan's, was breaking into a million pieces as i stood there in the doorway watching as right before my eyes this young man who had been forced to grow up far too quickly was reduced to a hurting, desperate little boy who had never experienced the feeling of being loved. For the next two hours straight, he remained in the same position and wept heavily nonstop, leaving me wondering when the last time was that he'd allowed himself to cry at all.
It was no mistake that Jhonatan was there at the children's home when our team was visiting. His life experiences had left him numerous holes in his heart, and for so long he had attempted to mask them. But because we were able to recognize these holes, we were also able to fill some of them up - with the freeing, forgiving love of God that he never had known before.
Although Jhonatan doesn't live at El Camino, he represents many of the children, both older and younger, who do. Children who every day face very real giants of rejection, neglect, abuse, loneliness and fear. Children who have nothing and literally would not survive without this love that heals and restores. Children who have been rescued and kept safe for the time being but still harbor the looming question of how they will ever make it once released from the protection and familiarity of the four walls built around them. They need mothers. They need brothers. They need consistency and lots of affirmation and assurance.
So many people do not feel as though they have much to give to children so in need. But Sam and i were just ordinary people doing what came naturally, and the result of that was the breaking down of a boy who for the first time had been shown that his life had value. I will never forget him, and every time i see his face i will be reminded that love truly is the greatest gift of all.
Aside from that incident, the fiesta was great. We served the kids a dinner of grilled pork, potatoes and bread, and they had a blast showcasing their talents on the stage. I have mixed feelings about the timing of it, though. On the one hand, the event certainly distracts us all from thoughts of saying goodbye on the last night, which i suppose is preferable for the kids because the last thing we want is them focusing on those negative emotions. On the other hand, i sometimes wish the final night could be more relaxing and we could appreciate each kid and give them all individual attention before we go. It’s hard to explain, but when you know that the instinctive motherly or fatherly love that you show these kids is the only love of that type that they’ll receive all year, it becomes difficult to justify occupying your time doing anything else but lavishing that love on them. I know the kids always enjoy and remember the fiesta night, though, and that’s all that matters.
This flight out of Colombia always feels like a flight to my death, with nothing but emptiness and depression waiting for me at the other end. I have left my family, my passion, my purpose for…what?
I look like a train hit me. There was a noise at the girl’s room window this morning and we drew the curtain to find seven or eight boys standing there in the rain, waiting to say goodbye to us. That will go down as one of the worst moments of my entire life, just so you know. And it was not too much later that we were all standing on the porch hugging and kissing and crying and feeling as though our hearts were being ripped out of our chests. Cristian wrapped his little arms around my waist and looked up at me and asked if i would remember him always – another moment for the record books. I struggled to answer him adequately in Spanish, as he simply has no idea that i think about him every single day of my life and would take bullets for him in a second as though he were my own.
Jhonatan had me sit next to him on the ride to the airport in Cali and he cried the entire way there. When we all waved goodbye in the terminal, he was sobbing into Orlando’s shoulder. With the exception of my fellow teammates, no one will ever understand what it was like to leave him in that state – a teenage boy with a horrible past and tormented soul who seemed to have just found and bonded with his long-lost family, only to have them walk out of his life. It broke him, and it broke us.
My emotions are a mess and my thoughts are a jumble, so it’s hard for me to write coherently. I’m going to force myself to fall asleep now in an attempt to escape reality, if only for a few hours.
posted by audrey at
12:37 PM
1 Comments:
Sometimes, sitting in an air-conditioned house with my siblings playing brand new video games on a big-screen television, i hate my life. I hate America, in all its self-serving wonder, and the fact that capitalism, like a vacuum, sucks you out of such a wonderful place back to this rat race where you spend each pointless day earning money to keep said meaningless cycle going.
Since there's no point in arguing over whose writing is better, for i think we'll both always take the humble route, i'll simply say that your insight and opportunities are envied by me. I can picture the beauty and wonder of your trip and it's even more wonderful when displayed against the wretched backdrop of the world we live in.
I need to go to Africa next summer. And reading this reminds me why.
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