Busy busy busy

Hello family and friends... I know it has been a long time since last writing in my blog... and there is so much that has happened, and that continues to go on daily, that honestly, I don't even know where to start, what to tell. Let's see...

-On June 17th my site partner Andrea flew back home to start Veterinary school. It was really hard to see her go, and it has been a struggle to adjust ever since she left.

-A two year old nicknamed 'Luchi' fell out of her crib in June and broke her leg. It was so sad to see her stuck in her bed because she is a super active kid and is always yelling, running around and talking. When I first went to visit her, she just looked at me with these big puppy-dog eyes, and threw off her sheet to show me the cast all the way up to her hip. After the first 48 hours, the poor thing didn't understand why she couldn't go be with everyone else.

-In June, all of the 5-10 year olds (without exception) got their hair chopped off up to the ear as punishment for bad hygiene and rampant fungus and systemic bacterial outbreaks. Everyone was super embarrassed, and I felt bad because they did all look a little ugly (except for one little girl who looked super cute and cleaner). However, I did not stop myself from laughing a little and taking photos when the head Madre turned her bathroom into a hair salon. hehe.

-Since Andrea left, I am now the Hogar nurse. (I know, a scary thought). In my first week I had an appendicitis case, girl with dengue, and a girl mutilated her finger in an accident with the cookie-maker iron press. Naturally, I am pretty squeamish around blood, but with the whole finger incident: in the room with the girl, I was on the verge of passing out and was fighting with myself to not leave the 10-year old girl alone, however... I left the room to recover.

-And we had a group of visiting nurses who offered physicals to all the girls over age 10 (a fantastic opportunity, however a little overwhelming as I was in charge of orchestrating something like 60 girls' urine, poop and blood tests... and the medicine that came afterward). However, I can tell I am really improving in the infirmary (the first few days included some heavy praying)... :) And I can look at and heal a lot grosser stuff than when I started.

-All year, I have been in charge of running a sponsorship program that the volunteers set up many years ago... it is extremely grassroots, as all is by word of mouth, and it has to get fit in when I can find the time. However, when I arrived we had 40 out of 120 girls without sponsors; by the grace of God, and mostly Him sending them my way.... in the month of June (since January) we ran out of children without sponsors - and we currently have a waiting list of people who want to sponsor a child! Much of the past 6 weeks has been trying to get these last 10 or so sponsors oriented and enrolled in the program.

-We had two 7-years olds go out on adoption to Spain. One of them I was really close to, and she was super sassy and a prankster, so it was hard to see her go... yet it was the best thing she could have received and it was an answer to prayers for her well-being and love in her life. The hardest part was that when her family (who has to stay in Bolivia for 2-3 months with the child) came to visit us, the first day she acted like she didn't know me, and after, like she didn't want to play with me. However, the Madres had already told me that this is totally normal, as the child tries to disassociate with everything that has to do with the Hogar. Moreover, any form of maternal love I was providing that the child was lacking, she is now receiving in abundance and so I am also not needed. And may it be so, if that is the price of her happiness and love in a family!

Ok, that is all for now... oh, except in June it was actually really cold here! Really cold! And my room window doesn't have glass, so I would sleep with my snow hat on, and a sweatshirt, etc. I hope to write more soon, and I pray all is well with you in the States.

Vigilence to Silence

As I was going in for my quarterly parasite-poop test... it hit me that I am starting my last quarter of my year in Bolivia. How do I feel I am doing? Are there any things that I feel I have made significant progress on, or things I feel I need to pick-up in these last 3-4 months?

I do have one fear. A fear that stems from my core. A fear I need to address or at least gain peace with: Have I wasted precious time here at the Hogar? Have I given Him my all? Will I go home and regret not having loved more?

When preparing for mission, I tried very hard not to imagine my situation, any responsibilities or surroundings. I had heard, and could imagine, that all would fall short, and many expectations could go unfulfilled. For the most part, I feel I did a good job. However, there was one expectation that I couldn't help but form - a wish that bubbled out my very being (the wish for which this blog is named). I hoped to listen.

Each one of us is granted gifts of the Holy Spirit... and I feel that my ability to listen is something which bears fruit for Him and of Him. I felt it was something that I could abundantely offer, a gift that would be so beautifully used, living at an orphanage of unwanted and unloved children. Listening is something that gives me great joy, as I see it helps someone else; it can fill me with Life (with Him).

And yet, the gift of opportunities to listen, or girls opening up to me, is a grace that God has continued not to grant me in my time in Bolivia.

I used to tell myself that it was the language barrier, or perhaps that the girls just didn't feel like they knew me. Yet, as these challenges are passing, I feel as though I keep vigilence in silence, hoping that I might be able to love someone using my 'gift'... that I might listen to something besides silence.

A part of me feels as though it was a gift that I had already been blessed with, and responded to, in love of Him and the people in my life. Perhaps God is asking me to grow in other ways on mission, to stretch my abilites as a person, and even develop new skills or realize another gift that He wants to grant me. And yet it does not seem fair, especially when I hear stories about girls who are living at my side here at the Hogar, who are suffering from such emotional pain. Lord, why won't You grant me the moments when I could listen to one of them, and help them carry their cross?

Another part of me is wondering if He is challenging me to 'let go' to another level... as this is not my mission but His, and He will make it what it is supposed to be. I don't want to force something on mission that is not there. No matter how much I know of a girl's story, or how much suffering I see in their eyes - especially the older ones - you cannot force a friendship, the needed level of trust. It pains me to see it, to know some of those emotions and dark places where the girl(s) reside, and yet I feel so helpless, at times worthless. I am here, living with the poor in Bolivia, so willing to love, and still I cannot.

Along with the older ones not letting me in, of not being blessed with the opportunities to listen... I constantly feel like the 5-10 year old dormitory is around me, or running up to me, swarming around me, or yelling for my attention. I have been trying to be present to each moment that I am granted: to serve, love, and minister to that next one in my path. So it seems, that my mission has been focused on the children under 10 most.

I do not want to be ungrateful for the blessings I am granted through this age-group: the love they are able to show me, the way He loves me through them, the progress we have made in some of the attitudes and behaviors, the amount of fighting and hitting, the growth of patience and love in me... I want only to be grateful for these gifts, and to love the 5-10 year-old girls even more than my limited-self can do now... Yet I can't help but ask myself: Am I not fighting hard enough, with the needed perserverence and courage to break down walls in the older girls' hardened hearts? Am I supposed to make extra time for the older girls, or exclude the younger girls in hopes of creating a 'safe' or 'stable' environment for conversation? Am I missing opportunities that You are granting me? Do I say 'no' to movements of the Holy Spirit in my heart to provoke conversations? ... Will I go home and regret not having loved more?

Bittersweet Mother's Day

In Bolivia, May 29th is Mother's Day, and it is quite an event here. The volunteers hosted a special lunch in honor of the spiritual 'mothers' at the convent, and I tried to encourage the girls to be thankful for their tireless work at the Hogar. We also had a special little program for all of the mothers who work at the Hogar, including dances, songs and skits.

At the end of the program, the Madres arranged for all of the daughters of the workers to bring a gift to their mothers. As I was watching them, I was dumbfounded when an 8-year old girl appraoched me with a gift. I remember just sitting there, half expecting her to figure out she went to the wrong person. But when she did not move, I asked 'Wait, for me?'

I wish I could explain the look in her eyes: she was so excited and proud that she was chosen to bring me my gift - the gift from the daughter to the mother. Besides the excitement and pride of having something to give me, there was something painful behind it all... something that longed to be held, loved and accepted. Almost a pain of actually wishing that I could be her mother. It was a haunting exchange of looks that I don't hope to forget for the truth it held. I gave the girl a kiss, yet felt it so lacking. I could never love this one, (or any of the 134 others) as she deserved to be loved. And as much as I would love to be a mother to her, her mother, there are so many complications as to why this can not be, why I will always lack what I know the girls need.

Later, thinking about her eyes, I was reminded of what a priveledge it is to try and love these girls, to try and be a motherly figure to them. It was weird at first, to be acknowledged as a mother... although at the same time, it felt good to be recognized for a job that is not glamorous or ever 'thanked'.

Shortly after processing this 'surprise', my site partner and I were asked to be representative mothers at a local high school program. It was a really neat little program, as only mothers were allowed in, and upon arrival, we received foam flowers and were escorted by high school boys to our seats (a cute touch I thought). I was pleasantly surprised to walk into a gym packed with laughing mothers. It was so awesome to see these women, much of whose work goes unnoticed, being celebrated, being allowed to enjoy themselves, even being waited on with snacks and sodas. One of our seniors in high school sung a song with a fellow classmate. It was a song in gratitude to 'her mother', and in the chorus it specifically said thanks for 'not abandoning her'. I had a hard time watching our girl sing this song to a packed gym, full of mothers... her classmates backstage... knowing full well that her mother had in fact abandoned her. How could she sing this song? Did she just think of all of the other mothers she was singing to, hoping they were better mothers than her own?

One of our girls also won a raffle prize for her 'mother' to collect. My site partner went up to the stage to collect a basket of flour, oil, chocolates, and other kitchen necessities. It made for quite the photo-op to see a 23-year old, blond haired-blue eyed choquita lugging the big prize around (to the envy of many mothers).

At Mass that night, the priest had a hard message to swallow... (although afterwards in reflection, I knew he was calling us to the Christian response). To a chapel of orphans, abandoned children, and neighborhood children who might have hard home-lifes, he said 'Even if your mother is an alcoholic, even if she left you... you still have to be grateful to your mother because she gave you life'. I had such a hard time with this statement - for its unfairness. These girls didn't choose to be left. They didn't choose to live in a home, and constantly be stigmatized and isolated from the other 'normal' kids. They don't deserve it. At times, in public, it can look like they are lepers or something, as people even sneer and say 'Oh, they're an Hogar girl'.

...And yet they are supposed to be thankful to their mothers for bringing them into this life, where they feel so rejected and unloved by the very blood that made them. How can they love themselves when their families don't even think they are worth the effort? I try and remember how self-conscious I was in high school, all of the emotions and uncertainties of being a teenager... and I had a loving family behind my every step. How much more painful, lost, and unworthy-to-be-loved would one feel? A fellow volunteer and I talked even today... about the difference in deepness of wounds: between being an 'Hogar girl,' and knowing that you are an 'Hogar girl'... Either being rejected by your family or with no family living to claim you, to reaffirm in you the dignity of being human. The older ones know that they were abandoned, that their souls are not whole... a feeling that is only amplified as they continue to be rejected by society.

'Partying hard'

So I really have no idea where to begin... I realize I haven't written a blog entry for almost two months now... but all the same, the months of February, March, and April have really flown by, each in its own style and pace. I thought I could try and relay some of my life living in this perpetual whirlwind by describing some of the punctuations in Bolivian life - that being the parties, or fiestas... (which are frequent even where there isn't exactly a valid 'reason'). :)

In March, I celebrated my 24th birthday here at the Hogar. It was a very special birthday, and one that I will never forget. It was amazing to watch how the girls tried to show me that they cared for me - their acts being so limited by material items, that it made them all the more filled with love. For instance:
-One girl who has a very special, unspeakable place in my heart, asked me which day was my birthday the following week... and me, in my forever-lacking spanish, mixed up Monday and Tuesday (when the actual day was a Tuesday). Low and behold, at 5:20 on Monday morning I woke up to eager rappings on my door, as this girl wanted to be the first to wish me a happy birthday, and to give me a card she had made for me. I felt awful, as it wasn't quite my birthday... although she was the first to tell me happy birthday. :)
-The littlest ones threw me a surprise birthday party with balloons and a homemade cake (well their caretakers helped with that part). It was cute to see their faces as they knew it was something special that they were doing for me.
-The 5 year olds each gave me half of their mid-morning snack - a huge gift, I thought, as normally the girls will fight each other for every last piece of food. And a handful of the 7-10 year olds folded up pieces of paper from school to look like an envelope, and wrote my name on it for my birthday gift.
-Also my fellow volunteers here in Bolivia, went to a lot of effort to make the day really special and memorable, with my site partner making homemade chili and cornbread for a little home-cooking.
-We also ate special chocolate with all of the girls!

Then there was Carnaval. Here in Bolivia, it is a three-day event, where the city shuts down for all of the festivities.
-The first night we had a huge party here at the Hogar, where all of the dormitories competed to have their representative be named Queen of the Hogar. They all worked so hard making individual outfits out of trash or recycled goods. I was super impressed with what they produced! Materials included such things as: recycled newpaper, brown paper and cardboard, saran wrap and tin foil... oh and the 0-5 year olds sported toilet paper bras and yarn wigs. There was also a huge barbeque and bumping music with lots of dancing... the next day I had two moto-taxi drivers ask me about the 'awesome party' at the Hogar last night... :)
-The second day is designated in all of Montero as a water-fight (seriously). But things escalate quickly, and super soakers are filled with paint, clothing dye, mud, even car oil. There is also loads of foam spray to attack people with. I made sure to stock up on lots of water balloons to attack the girls from our volunteer 'post'. :) The girls stood on our street corner drenching people in buckets of mud... a part of me felt I should have been the reasoning (disciplining) force and tell them to just stick to water, as throwing buckets of mud at moving motocycles is a bit 'dangerous'... but it was just too much fun! (Besides, its the culturally acceptable thing to do).
-By far one of the best moments of the 3-day extravaganza occured mid-afternoon during the "water" war. A group of 5-10 boys approached our corner - I am sure for an 'easy' battle with a bunch of girls - and they attacked us with lots of purple paint, foam and water guns... but our girls were ready... they played downright nasty, and creamed the boys! They stole their foam sprays, water guns, and pushed them into mud piles they had made, literally shoving the boys' faces in the mud. I was so proud!

After Carnaval, there was Ash Wednesday and the start of the Lenten season. For Lent, I went to mass every day, and as a community we gave up all english. At first it was pretty tiring, and a little frustrating to try and work through certain ideas or conversations without just switiching back into the common, highly communicable language... but our spanish improved a lot, including our vocabulary, practicing new verb tenses together, and being able to think more quickly. We have continued with this practice even after Lent (apologies for any misspellings or missayings... some times I have to think hard in english in order to remember how to word a phrase).

In April, I was in charge of planning the large celebration for Children's Day here at the Hogar. It was a little hectic, as I wasn't really aware that I was in-fact in charge, until 4 or so days before the big event... but it went off fine, and I think the girls really enjoyed themselves.
-The staff and volunteers here did 3 or 4 skits for the kids, trying to make them laugh. Some of which included dressing up as frogs for a dance, and a skit that I made up where Andrea (my site parner) and I were parrots yelling at the girls over and over again... (it wasn't hard to make the skit, as we acted out something that happens 3 times a day: getting all 100 girls to come to the dining room for a meal together). It was complete with feather costumes that I made from crete paper.
-I also arranged for a monster cake and pop, and pinatas for each dormitory... a big hit I think.
-And there were lots of games and contests for the girls.

At the end of April was Holy Week and Easter (my favorite holiday)! Although I especially missed ND during this time, the Easter traditions were equally rich here.
-We celebrated a beautiful Holy Thursday. Something that I love about church here in Montero, is that there are 12-14 alter boys each Sunday, and at least 2-3 for a short daily mass... it is so inspiring and beautiful to see the boys so reverant up on the alter... and it was neat to see them get their feet washed by the priest.
-We also celebrated a very reverant Holy Friday, complete with a youth group acting out the Passion of the Christ, even fake-crucifying Jesus -I was very impressed with the creativity and thought that went into it all. We also terminated the weekly Lenten tradition of Stations of the Cross in the streets with a 2-hour Viacrusis, each station being acted out by youth.
-The Saturday Easter Vigil was beautiful... and long. I forget when we actually got home and got to bed, but it was late... only to wake up at 4.30 to walk in the streets, with nuns yelling into a megaphone "Aleluya! Christ has risen! Trully, Christ has been resurrected, aleluya!" It made me think of the first Christians, the excitement and energy at proclaiming the good news (as well as the danger)... It also made me think in a new way about the meaning of the Easter 'Vigil', the vigil of Mary Magdalene at Jesus' tomb. We arrived at the church to celebrate Christ's Resurrected Body as the sun broke out from the Earth.
-Easter afternoon consisted of a wonderful buffet lunch and an easter egg hunt that we arranged for the girls. During the week, I prepared three eggs for each girl with their names, and we had 4 major egg hunts - my fellow volunteers being the stellar hiding-team. There were extra prizes for first to find their eggs, as well as bonus eggs for chocolate! After three hours we had to call it quits as the sun went down.

Now, in May, the month dedicated to the example and hope that Mary offers us, the girls and neighborhood continue to get up every morning at 4.30 to say the Rosary in the streets. This coming week we will be celebraing the feast day of Mary Help of Christians specifically, which I am told is very beautiful... and coming in July, there is the biggest fiesta all year long at the Hogar - that celebrating the Sacred Heart of Jesus!

Mi ahijada

A few weeks after arriving here at the Hogar, there was a baptism for the girls who had not yet been baptized. I forget the actual number of how many there were, but I think something like 15 children were baptized. And my site partner and I, along with other volunteers and friends of the Hogar, were selected as the godparents. My goddaughter, or ahijada, is Maria Deysi and she just turned 8 years old.

I was pretty excited to become her godmother in October, and it has only continued to be a great blessing as our relationship is continuing to grow (also, she is just such a special girl). At first, I felt privileged to be her godmother because for my first week here at the Hogar, she was Christ to me. Each day during my first week, she would somehow catch me walking out of my room, or the bathroom, and would give me a big smile and an even bigger hug. For being in a new place, not understanding anyone, and just being overwhelmed... yet waking up to one of Deysi's hugs... was like Christ hugging me each morning, assuring me that 'This is where I want you, and I will provide you with everything you need'.

Deysi has an incredible personality. She is super welcoming to all who come to the Hogar, and there is just something warm and inviting about her. She loves to joke around, and she thinks its hysterical to make fun of my mistakes (this photo was taken at an outing when I stepped in gum, and she laughed for maybe 5 minutes solid). :) She is quick to laugh with her whole face from deep within. And she loves freely.

However, right now my ahijada is in Boston recovering from surgery at the Shriner's Hospital. When she was still an infant, she suffered extreme burns on her face and hands. Her mother had left Deysi, along with her 2 and 4 year old brothers in their lean-to, in search for food. While she was gone, an ember from the dying fire made its way up to the tarp roof, which quickly caught fire. By the grace of God, Deysi covered her eyes with her little hands, with the rest of her body in a blanket. The severe burns on her face and hands are from the melting tarp dripping onto her skin.

Only in certain moments does she become aware that she is different than the other girls. And as she is growing older, she is starting to become more self-conscience (I am told that this only started this year). When we were preparing Deysi for her Baptismal gown, one of the Madres commented on the possiblity of her traveling to the States for a free surgery with the Shriners, and as the Madre touched Deysi's face, Deysi looked up at me with the most heart-wrenching eyes: it was as if she thought I hadn't seen her burn scars until that moment... and that I might not love her anymore.

But God is so good, and He arranged for the free surgery, along with gifted flight tickets, for Deysi to have a series of surgeries done on her face and hands. The first surgery was March 28th, and it was the first of 2 or 3 visits. Before arriving in Boston, Deysi enjoyed many little adventures with our American nun, Madre Anita. At first, when I heard about all of the great things Deysi was going to be doing, I couldn't help but have a twinge of pain in my heart. Because I can just imagine her expressions, with the general awe she has about the world around her - to be present to watch her face as she saw the ocean for the first time, for the flight, for the forest of New York City! How amazing that would be! (Regardless of me not being able to share these things with her, what a treat for Madre Anita to be a mother one-on-one for such a period of

time!)

Although in these emotions, and in having to say goodbye to her for a 3-month stay in the States, I realized that I had only sipped from the Chalice of suffering that my parents must drink from - must feel for me and my sisters. And the inescapable fact that children grow up and you have to

let go. But also, thoughts, questions came to me about when I am the one leaving these girls behind, His girls behind... I already dread these goodbyes and the deeper pangs of love that will surely pierce my heart.

(Of what I know, Deysi's surgery went well, and it was a minor surgery, with the next visit being the major surgery. If anyone wants to read more of her American adventures, there is a blog at: thedeysidiaries.blogspot.com.)

Layers of poverty

As Jean Vanier puts it in Father Henri Nouwen Road to Daybreak:

"Everytime we think we have touched a place of poverty, we will discover greater poverty beyond that place. Beyond physical poverty there is mental poverty, then... spiritual poverty and beyond that there is nothing, nothing but the naked trust that God is mercy."

In Montero there is physical poverty... and as a recent architecture grad, and a visual person in general, visual poverty fits under this umbrella of physical poverty; it is a poverty that affects me more than the average person, and something I think about often.

There are two types of visual poverty: God-made nature and man-made city. In Cochabamba, where some more Salesian volunteers are located, there are views of the Andes mountains from all places. This summer I visited the village in Uganda - Kyeitabya, where there are the hills of red-dirt road that let you see out over subsistent farming, all kinds of crops and trees; also an easy appreciation of God's diverse animal kingdom. And the air smells sweet and refreshing. But here in Montero there are none of these things. Just a flat town trying to be a city, hot humidity, without vistas to catch your breath during the day.

But the visual poverty that affects me more is the poverty of the built environment here. Not to say that I need to live in a Chicago or a Rome to think the built environment is worthy to be called 'rich'. In fact something I love the most about the built environment is visiting places of material poverty; for in these places there is usually very smart and extremely creative ideas about how to use what is available. The brilliance of man's ability to problem solve is seen in its rawest form. Moreover, in the village of Kyeitabya, Uganda, there is a certain care taken of their homes and surroundings - a certain pride of place that makes the place charming and unforgettable on its own accord.

But here in Montero, these glimpses of the beauty of humanity are not abound. The sidewalks are littered with trash. People simply step over cow' legs that are just tossed into the sidewalk. Certain areas smell of urine. In general, buildings are not kept up well (although they may be doing the best they can). There is no ideal for which to reach - to enhance man's own experience of himself. The subtle connections between humanity and that which he builds: from the brick, to the building, to the street-scape, to the urban design... are there psychological implications on the montereño whose environment only enhances his feelings of being downtrodden and without dignity?

The type of physical poverty I do not experience living in an orphanage is poverty of food, poverty of a place to sleep, and clothes to wear. All of these things are provided for me. But going back to Vanier's words, beyond one poverty, there is yet more, each one more heartbreaking than the one just encountered. Mental poverty. Poverty of emotional stability. Poverty of love. Poverty of morality and the frequent stories of people being used, abused, raped even by loved ones. And then poverty of the knowledge that God is Love... whereby these girls who have been broken don't know that they will be healed - healed in His wounds. They think they don't want to know, but how much peace would it bring them if they simply knew that right now, Someone knows them completely and simultaneously loves them completely in all of their woundedness.

And then deeper yet... the poverty within myself. Witnessing all of this, and just praying that God is using me in someway in all of my weakness.

Sacrificial love

So for the feast day of St. John Bosco, our Hogar, along with all of the hogars in the city of Santa Cruz, got together to celebrate Mass, have a dance competition, and a carneval in the afternoon with lots of Oratory-style games. (St. John Bosco, or Don Bosco, is the patron saint of youth, and it is with emphasis on his spirituality, that I am serving this year). We were gone for at least 12 hours in Santa Cruz... a long day for a child.

Around 5 pm, the children were getting noticeably more tired, as they had been going strong since 7 am... and they hadn't had an afternoon snack. I was in charge of a 5-year old that day,

and had bought her a popsicle... which thereby ended up on

her shoes, her clothes, her hands and face... her mouth too. Upon taking her to wash her hands, I saw two of our girls huddled in a corner: a 9-year old who we will name Maria, and her little sister, aged 5. They looked

frightened that I had 'found' them, which instantly made me suspicious, curious. I babbled in

Spanish, mainly trying to put them at ease, but also buying my eyes enough time to take in more

details of the situation.

Bit by bit, it occured to me: Maria had stolen two pieces of bread from breakfast along with a hard-boiled egg, and had carried them around all day, now making an evening snack for her little sister because the nuns, nor us volunteers, had

provided for the little one.

And in that moment, what I knew of Maria's history flashed into my mind: she was the oldest of three girls, ages 9, 7, and 5. They had been abandoned by their parents, and Maria had taken care of her sisters for some time on the streets before coming to the Hogar. And yet, after years of living at the Hogar, she was still providing for her sister, caring for her more than herself. It is quite humbling to learn how to love - to learn sacrificial love - from a child.

I only wish there was some way to show Maria how special she is, to show her how much God absolutely adores her and is grateful for her.