The Stages of Life

Recently, Mary and her five month old son, Juan were accepted to Visitation House.  While a plan was getting setting up for Mary, I babysat Juan for a few days.  I love children, but I don't often interact with babies.  However, Juan, a pudgy and strong boy, is a delight to be around.  He is a happy baby who smiles frequently revealing his small dimples.  As I babysat Juan, I took notice of how dependent babies are on their caretakers to meet their needs. It was interesting to see Juan play on the floor.  His movements seem awkward as he tries to discover his own abilities.  In trying to grab a toy, he overstretches his arms as they squirm to grab things.  Likewise, he wants to crawl but has not managed to figure out how.  While lying on a mat, he can bring his knees to his chest and push but he can't hold himself up on all fours.  This reminds me, that hard as it may seem, I too was once a baby.  Looking at Juan, I realize how much I have grown and how much of that growth was because of people who cared for me.  It fills me with gratitude to think of the numerous people who have supported me.  It also challenges me to be a support for others. 

  

            Eli, a five-year-old girl, allows me to see another stage of life.  In kindergarten, Eli is just beginning to learn how to read.  Every day at seven o'clock this spirited, dramatic and Disney princess loving diva and I work on handwriting and reading.  She can correctly identify all the letters in the alphabet and almost all the sounds they make.  Listening to her read inevitably brings a smile to my face.  Her beginning reading books are about six pages and usually have no more than five words on each page.  However, she treats each book as if it is novel.  When she sits down to read, she releases a heavy sigh as she begins her momentous task.  Sounding out letters isn't a problem for her but combining all the sounds together is something she is working to improve.  She repeats the sounds over and over again.  duh-ah-duh. duh-ah-duh.  duh-ah-duh. duh-ah-duh. Finally, after about seven tries she guesses what the word is.  DAD!  Teaching Eli to read reminds me of the patient people who sat with me as I sounded out letters and tried to form words.  It made me aware of the challenges each stage of life brings.  As we get older, these challenges get harder, but our abilities to handle them are increased so we can aptly face life's obstacles. 

            Every day I am reminded of my teenage years though the life of Tina.  Tina is twelve and proudly calls herself a teenager.  In middle school, Tina is going through a tough stage of making friends, fitting in, and discovering herself.  While a smart and usually obedient girl, Tina is moody and sometimes irritable.  She is the oldest child in the tutoring program and thinks she is cooler than the others.  She commonly asks them, "Are you smart or dumb?" Once answered, she continues to ask them trick questions and gloats when they get them wrong.  Interacting with Tina makes me grateful for my parents and siblings who put up with my attitude and mood swings at this age.  It also lets me know that in every stage in life, there are lessons to be learned and even though life may be hard, the stage will eventually pass.

            When in the presence of Irene, I cannot help but feel that I have much to learn.  In her sixties, Irene is no stranger to struggle.  A San Antonio native, Irene is undoubtedly full of strength and sass.  About a year ago, Irene lost her only son.  Despite this loss, this pain, Irene is full of life.  Having a great outlook on life, when hardships come her way, she accepts them.  She doesn't complain or play the victim seeking sympathy from others.  Nor does she lash out and become bitter because she is hurting.  She acknowledges the situation for what it is, realizes what is within her control and then calmly pursues a logical course of action.  When things don't work out as she may have hoped, she does not despair.  Instead, she finds solace in knowing she tried her best and leaves the rest up to God. 

            These people exemplify only a few of the many stages of life.  As I look at them, I am able to see how far I have come and how far I still need to travel. 

           

Angelique "Jelly" Snyder, Incarnate Word Missionary

Essence of "Being" and being available

Some of the greatest times at the Guardaria are in the ¨being.¨ Jesus came down to earth, and entered into life to ¨be¨ with us.  God is continually telling us through scripture that, “I will be with you.”  What does that mean, and what does that look like in every day life?  One of my personal desires is to live that reality of “being with,” being available, accompanying, in daily life.  That is one of the things I strive for here, and I treasure the one on one time I get to spend one on one with others.      

             Last week, I noticed that one of our four year olds had been sleeping through music class. This had not been the first time, and he had been having a much harder time listening, staying in his seat, and seemed to be crying much more easily than normal.    So, after music, I pulled him in for a chat.  At first, he thought that he was in trouble and started crying, but I put him in my lap and we chatted for about ten minutes.  Why was he so tired?  Why was he having trouble “comporting bien” at school?  Was everyone okay at home?  No.  Was mom okay?  Yes.  Was dad okay?  Yes.  Hermanos?  Yes.  Friends?  No.  They were older and too big, and couldn't go to school with him.  As he talked, he stopped crying, and started rattling on about his friends.  We talked a little more about “comporting bien” and the fact that we missed his voice as we were learning our Christmas songs.   I gave him a hug and sent him off to play.  The next minute he was tearing around the playground with the others.  

The next day, I was standing outside of the classroom working on another project, and he yelled out to me, “Miss Kristi!”   I turned and looked.  He was the first person in line, and he looked proud.  He was actually just about quivering with proudness.   He yelled out, “Miss Kristi!  I’m comporting bien!”  His teacher had chosen him as the line leader (a great honor for a preschooler).  He wanted me to know.  It made my mouth smile and my heart laugh.

Part of me can get so task oriented at times, but I am so glad of the reminders.  The dignity and the wonder of a little man’s soul.  And the profound, beautiful gift of glimpsing that soul as one to which that soul takes into confidence.

Kirsten Kyle, Incarnate Word Missionary

Jelly's Random Thoughts

Forgive me but this week doesn't have a specific theme.  Nevertheless, these are some of my current thoughts...

This week has been quite eventful with Monday being Halloween, Tuesday, All Saints Day and Wednesday was Dia de los Muertos.   I wasn’t' expecting much on Halloween because when I asked the kids if they were going trick or treating they responded, "We don't do that.  We're Christian."  It was more of a rehearsed line because their mother is not a fan of All Hollow’s Eve.  However, when Halloween rolled around, they were begging to go out decked in costumes looking for candy.  So, I offered to take them and their mother obliged.  The kids were fully dressed in their costumes, hair done, make-up on and accessorized in less that 20 minutes.  An artist, Hannah Montana, a witch and I wondered the streets looking for the neighborhoods with the best candy.  When we started our adventure, there were only a few houses per block that were light up.  It seemed that the Halloween spirit I remembered as a child had faded.  However, as we trekked on, we came to a wealthy neighborhood that was hopping with people.  The kids were so excited through everything.  Even when we started out and things seemed rather glum, the children never lost hope that we would have a successful night.  They were so simple and easy to please and I enjoyed the lighthearted humor they brought.  Trick or treating with them made me feel like a kid again.  It made me lower my expectations and be happy with whatever I was given, good or bad.  Their attitudes are what made my night enjoyable.

 On Dia de los Muertos, two of the sisters I share community with and I were discussing the relationship we have with those who have died.  We talked about the Mexican culture and it's strong relationships with friends and family members despite death.  Something that struck me was that Sister Yolanda said, " When we die, we get sucked into God's love."  This gave me a great visual of the soul of a person leaving their mortal body to enter into God' ever loving presence. 

One day I only had John Paul (a 10 year old boy) in the car with me and I was driving him to be tutored in reading.  I looked in my rearview mirror and caught John Paul deep in thought. "What are you thinking about John Paul?" I asked. To which he responded, "a house".  I was left silent.  This boy desperately wants a home to call his own for himself and his family.  He has been in transitional housing for almost three years now.  I wondered what I thought about when I was a child his age.  Most likely it was what will my new Barbie be? I have never had to worry about one of my most basic needs being met, shelter.  What would it be like if I were in his shoes?

A house would mean a lot of things for John Paul.  To him, and to many of the families here, a home is more than a place for shelter.  It is a safe refuge, a place they share their love, their meals, and their family.  A home is something that belongs to only them, something no one can take away.  They have never felt that sense of security and long for it.  This made me acknowledge the abundance of opportunities I have been given, many of which I fail to realize.  I hope that one day, John Paul and his family can have the sense of security that a home would bring.  I also hope that their experience here at Visitation House is carefree and that he no longer worries about the uncertainties the future holds but instead enjoys the friends and wonderful times he has had thus far.

Angelique "Jelly" Snyder, Incarnate Word Missionary

Musical Moments

by Emma Buckhout, IWM serving in Mexico City

Just like a clear sunny day or seeing Orion from my roof, music has the ability to remind me of God's presence wherever I am. Music surrounds us anywhere we go, no matter the country. Yet recently I have been more in tune to how it weaves through each facet of my missionary experience here in Santa Fe, Mexico City. Whether music is on in the background, or I am listening to people singing or playing, watching a dance, or singing along myself, music is a powerful force pulling people together, expressing individual and communal creativity, relating history, praising God, and teaching me more about myself, my community, and my God.

---

“Hola niños, hola niñas, hola todos, es tiempo de música.”

Since Kirsten arrived in our IWM community in Santa Fe with her music therapy background, my (volunteer missionary) preschool teacher job description now includes part-time music teacher. Three days a week Kirsten and I give four special music sessions to the classes of two, three, four, and five-year-old children at the guardería. The purpose of the class is to reinforce the established curriculum, promote following directions, and improve fine and gross motor skills, creativity and expression. So far some of the lessons have focused on numbers and counting—“Sally the Camel”, emotions—“If You´re Happy and You Know It”, colors, days of the week, creating and following rhythm or dance, and playing tambourines or maracas along with the music. Needless to say, I have learned a lot of children's songs in Spanish. The most rewarding part has been seeing a student who struggles to focus and is always in trouble, like three-year-old Brian, sitting rapt in his seat, grinning and singing along.

---

“El Espíritu de Dios está en este lugar.”

The children's choir, averaging about eight kids ages five to sixteen, sings out from the choir loft at the 1pm mass on Sundays. They sing and play a rain stick, tambourine, and maracas as Jessi plays the organ and I sing along, help direct, and make sure no one leans too far over the railing. It was really hard to sing in mass when we first arrived because there are no hymnals or song books. People that have grown up in the church know the common songs by heart. Singing with the choir has been my way of catching up a bit. Jessi tries to choose songs that the youth enjoy and that the congregation can sing along with. It was really confusing at first, but there is a beauty of tradition and shared culture. And yet the children's choir, with all their energy and spunk that is sometimes easier to direct than others, adds their own life to the celebration of mass.

---

“All of You is more than enough for all of me.”

We have set every Monday night is aside for community night with Tara, Kirsten and me. We prepare dinner, check-in on any community logistics, share how we are and for what we need support, and spend time in open prayer with and for one another. These nights have been a very intimate and special time of vulnerability, conflict-resolution, and sharing in God´s Spirit. A couple nights of prayer have even ended in singing praise songs, with and without Kirsten's guitar. After all, it was said, “He who sings prays twice.” Praise singing has brought me a very special awareness and communication with God, so it has been truly special to share that with my community members. It is a rare harmony of voice and prayer.

---

“Do your ears hang low, do they wobble to and fro?”

Sometimes music just comes as the release of pure joy, energy, and silliness. Tara and I simultaneously burst into a rendition of “Do Your Ears Hang Low” while shopping at the market one day. Kirsten was mildly surprised when we entered the house with a choreographed dance. And no, it had nothing to do with teaching preschool music. I don't even want to know what anyone who passed us on the street thought.

---

“There goes the baker with his tray like always, the same old bread and rolls to sell….”

Kirsten and I also spontaneously sang most of the “Belle” song from Beauty and the Beast while preparing dinner one community night. I'm not sure how it started, but once started there was no stopping.

---

“Guantanamera”

During the week of the Jornada Teológica del Norte, a conference to discuss liberation theology in Mexico, the United States and Canada, Miriam organized a “Noche Bohemia” at the parish for some friends that were participating. After a panel on human rights, we headed back to Santa Fe for dinner and music. The music “tocada” included three guitars, an accordion, the occasional water glass percussion and quite the collection of voices: Father Salvador, three priests, a jóven from one of their parishes, Miriam's Mexican friend who currently works with migrants in California, friends from the parish young and old, and us missionaries from the United States, Canada and Ireland. We sang mostly Mexican ranchera songs, but one priest performed a German yodeling song, and we all joined in a bilingual version of “El Rey”. The climax of the evening came with a drawn-out rendition of “Guantanamera” during which everyone around the table added their own verse, even those of us who speak Spanglish. It was a beautiful moment of open sharing of appreciation of music and one another's presence.

---

“Tuyo Soy”

On Thursday afternoon it can be difficult to talk in our kitchen because song drifts in from the chapel in the front of our house. Each Thursday, two ministers from the church spend their day in our chapel for Adoration. People passing on the busy street can stop as they wish and join. And when I get home from work to have a snack, above the noise of the traffic outside, I am reminded of the holiness that is in our house but also in the whole of Santa Fe.

---

“Bendice Señor nuestra mesa, y enséñanos a compartir nuestra alegría aleluya, y nuestro pan también.”

We sang to bless the meal with the Incarnate Word Sisters Martha, Guillerma and Fabiola of Santa Fe along with several gathered friends as we had lunch at the parish on Sunday in honor of Kathy's visit. Then we sang the next day before our meal on retreat in Cuernavaca. So many tables are shared with me here in Mexico. I hope that I will always be as generous and quick to share my table, happiness and bread as well.

---                            

“Yo no sé mañana si estaremos juntos si acaba el mundo.”

I rock out to one of my favorite pop salsa songs as I walk down the sidewalk or it plays in zumba class or the bus driver turns it on. I get really excited when I can sing along with what I hear without stopping to think if it is in Spanish or English.

---

Music is a universal language. I have always loved to sing, but here in Santa Fe I have a whole new repertoire of songs to learn. I have a lot of listening yet to do, but I am extremely blessed that so often I am invited to join in, whether or not I know the words yet, and whether they are in English or Spanish.



Two-year-old music class participants like what they hear



Children's choir prepares for rehearsal

Words

Emily Ruskamp:
“Evangelize,” says one bullet point on the Youth Minister’s “How we show our Christian commitment” presentation. “We need to spread the message of Jesus Christ.”
Later, I hear a knock on the door. “Do you read the word of God? Let me show you a few passages. You’re a missionary? But you don’t go door-to-door? Let me show you where the Bible says God wants us to go door-to-door…”
Later still, my theater group performs an interpretation of Saint Francis’s Canticle of Creation. I am fire. We spend two hours wrapping ourselves with colored cloths and painting each other’s faces, plus taking pictures, dancing around the dressing room, getting nervous, calming our nerves, enjoying the rare luxurious mirrors and lighting, laughing, yelling, panicking when something or someone is missing, and solving last-minute glitches. I am not nervous because my fire dance is well-practiced, but I worry a little that we won’t impress the one hundred youth who are gathering in Chimbote for a regional conference. All-in-all, it goes well, they applaud us, and we take an hour-and-a-half scrubbing our faces and singing children’s songs in the dressing room, then we meander back to the parish, conversing, laughing, and talking about our hunger. As we approach the parish, we slowly split up, each one to her or his own house.
Another day in youth ministry. Another day evangelizing. Another day not going-door-to-door, but doing my best to let God work with me nonetheless. Today it was a Franciscan fire dance, tomorrow who knows what it will be!


Kelli Nelson:
He walked toward me sharing the sidewalk in his dust washed jeans, simple brown jacket, worn sneakers, a grand toothless grin, his thin body carrying a head held high with what seemed a disposition of, “life is good.” I watched him, drawn by this composition, suddenly sucked into his world. It was as though he was moving to his own soundtrack making other creatures come to life with his nod, the point of his finger, or shine of his eyes. Stopping abruptly as if he had dropped something, he spun around, retraced a few steps and reached to greet a small butterfly who without hesitation claimed home on his hand. The man of about forty or so years stood, turned, and continued his walk in my direction glowing with a contentment that became my own. As we approached the point of meeting he invited the butterfly to his chest where it lingered. Our eyes met, the man’s and mine, and we shared a smile that filled me up and continues to do so this very moment. How I wish to speak of God’s love like him.



Katie Langley:
Miscommunications have become a daily part of my Peruvian life. Speaking in another language is hard, and it is even harder when your comments are constantly being misinterpreted into something else entirely. Here in Chimbote, for example, if you compliment someone’s garden, the reply will most likely be, “Ok, this Saturday at 4pm you come over and I will teach you how to garden.” All of a sudden your intended side-comment to start a conversation becomes an obligation.
Two weeks ago I was in a patient’s house and her daughter was crocheting a scarf. I was standing alone with her in the living room and decided to speak with my toddler-age Spanish after about 30 seconds of awkward smiling.
Me: Me gusta tu chalina. (I like your scarf)
Her: Gracias!! Sabes que como tejer?? (Thanks!! Do you know how to crochet??)
Me: No, no puedo. (No, No I can’t)
Her: Bueno, este Jueves a las 4 in la tarde puedes venir y te enseño. Puedes comprar linea in Al Centro hoy dia antes de 9. (Great, this Thursday at 4:00 in the afternoon you can come and I will teach you. You can buy yarn downtown today before 9pm.)

Needless to say, this situation escalated into a twice a week visit to this lady’s house to learn how to crochet my new red scarf. I have about 6 inches done so far, 3 more feet to go. Two days ago, I was talking about cooking lunch for my community every Monday with another nurse. It went a little something like this:

Me: Tengo que cocinar cada Lunes (I have to cook every Monday)
Her: Que te gusta cocinar?? (What do you like to cook??)
Me: No puedo cocinar muy bien. Puedo cocinar pasta y otros cosas muy facil. (I can’t cook very well. I can cook pasta and other easy things.)
Her: Pues, este noche tengo tiempo libre. Me llamas antes de 6:00 y puedo venir a tu casa enseñarte como cocinar Estofado de Pollo. Hasta luego!! (Well, tonight I have free time. Call me before 6:00pm and I can come to your house and teach you how to make Estofado de Pollo. See you later!!).

I was left standing there mid-sentence (“But I have English class tonight and can’t….), a vegetarian with a date to learn how to make a chicken and rice dish before 6pm.
At first this attitude seemed presumptuous and frustrated me, but I am starting to see the beauty in it all. The Peruvians attitude is to drop everything they are doing just to share their culture and lives with someone they barely know. In The United States, we are all so rushed and living inside of ourselves that it is a huge inconvenience to have to pause and share something with another person. Our usual way of communicating is to have an interaction to get our point across. Here in Chimbote, the interactions are so much more about sharing presence, life, stories, hobbies, language, and love. Their openness and willingness to bring you into their culture with open arms is so beautiful and genuine. While I might not be too excited about having 3 more feet of red scarf to crochet, I feel blessed to have this time to share with the Señora who is teaching me. It is about the conversation and the presence, not just the messy ball of red yarn sitting beside me.

Communication:

I whip out my cell phone and say “Uh-huh” under my breath as I check my email.

“Well, what do you think?” my friend asks.

“About what?” I answer while I text “Happy Birthday” to a co-worker after a Facebook reminder pops up on my cell’s screen.

“About what I should do?” they answer.

“…about what you should do…about what?” I respond, finally looking up.

My friend shrugs apathetically, “Never mind.”

“I’m Sorry. Okay, start from the beginning. I’ll listen this time, I promise.”

Just then my phone chirps and vibrates for attention from my lap. I wince when I realize it’s trying to remind me that my meeting starts in fifteen minutes. 

“Hey. I just remembered that I have a meeting right now. Do you mind if we talk about this later?”

“Uh-huh,” my friend responds with a blank stare now directed at the laptop on the table between us.

“Maybe we could get something to eat—” I remember I already made plans to meet the guys for dinner, “…or something?”

“Yeah, sure,” my friend says halfheartedly as the tapping noise of keyboard keys punctuates the silence.

“Alright, text me then. See you later.”

“Later. Have a good meeting.”

“Thanks, you too—I mean…you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I get you. See ya.”

Let’s just say, things are a little different now.

           

            “Hey, Kyle!” comes a loud, gruff, yet feminine voice from a house on my way home.

            “Hola, Lucha.” I yell back through her open front door.

            “How are you? Where are you coming from?” says the little old Peruvian woman as she gets up from her dining room table and makes her way to the door.

            “I’m good. I’m cooking today!” I hold up a bag of groceries.

            She laughs.

            “I’m going to try to cook today.” I correct myself.

            She laughs again, “Come in, come in! Have a little something to eat first. I made some soup you should try.”

            “Aw, Lucha, I don’t have time.”

            “I don’t have time!” She mocks me before grabbing my grocery bag. She may be tiny, but she has a strong grip and before I know it I’m sitting at her table with a steaming bowl of…something, in front of me.

            “Eat, eat. So, tell me what you’re making.”

            “Well, I’m going to try to make yucca today.”

            “Mmm…yucca is delicious. How are you going to prepare it?”

            “—and that’s the problem.”

            “Well, you pretty much just cook it like potatoes.”

            “Easy.” I reply, but after a few spoonfuls of her soup I ask, “So, then, I cook it in water?”

            She sighs politely and shakes her head.

            Twenty minutes later I’m on my way home again, but with a bag of freshly peeled and cut yucca and a game-plan.

            “Bye Kyle, good luck! It’s going to be delicious.”

            “Thanks a lot Lucha.”

            “No problem!”

            “—and Kyle.”

            “Yeah?” I say as I stop and turn to hear what she’s going to say.

            “Take care of yourself.”

            “Thanks, Lucha. I will.”

            I didn’t know how warm and real communicating with other people could feel until I came here, even casual, everyday relationships. Now it seems like I have many more opportunities to really connect with people. Sometimes, even without words.

The other day as I was helping weigh children in Cambio Puente, a little boy became terrified of the scale for some reason. He kicked and struggled to avoid being put in the carrier that we hang from the balance. He cried out, and suddenly grabbed his mother tightly around her neck. She gently turned so that he could see me, and whispered something to him. I nodded my head in agreement with whatever she was saying. He slowly released his vice-grip and allowed me to put him in the carrier. I looked at his mom and smiled in thanks. She smiled back and smoothed her son’s ruffled hair.

Moments like these force me to see how important and rewarding interacting with the people around us can be. It makes me wish I’d always taken the extra time to look a person in the eyes and say, “Hey…you take care of yourself, alright?” and really mean it. 

Kyle Seymour, Incarnate Word Missionary