Home Is Where the Heart Is

By Angelique “Jelly” Snyder, IWM serving in San Antonio, Texas

Maya Angelou writes, “I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.”  This quote currently resonates very strongly with me.  This past July I finished a year of service with FrancisCorps in Costa Rica.  Costa Rica was my home for a year and it was terribly hard to leave that home: to leave the amazing people with whom I formed meaningful friendships with, to leave the 35 kids I worked with daily, and to leave my four fellow volunteers with whom I shared every joy as well as every struggle.  Upon my arrival into the United States, I spent two weeks in Syracuse, NY, being “disoriented” followed by a few days at the house of one of my fellow volunteers.  Afterwards, I stayed in San Antonio for two days for a wedding and then began my three-week orientation for Incarnate Word Missionaries.  While my time spent in training was enjoyable, especially thanks to my fellow missionaries, I was nevertheless restless to start my job and move in to my apartment, a place I hoped to make home. 

Visitation House, my current site, is a transitional living program for homeless women with children seeking to better their lives.  While living here, women make a commitment to study or work full time. The women that I was to work with were homeless for years, living in and out of friends or families’ places as well as shelters, ever vigilant to be sure a place was safe for their children.  While feeling sorry for myself as I lived out of my suitcase and transitioned frequently, I began to think of these women.  How could I even begin to complain about the places I was staying when I was welcomed by people who genuinely and wholeheartedly cared for me and my every need? On the other hand, the Visitation House women, many of whom were victims of domestic abuse as well as unable to speak English, have undoubtedly gone through tough times; yet, they are resilient and have worked hard to improve their lives.  Feeling for an evanescent time what these women perhaps felt for years, I was overwhelmed with gratitude.  I am blessed to have a family with whom I always feel at home.  I am blessed to have made a home wherever I have lived due to hospitable people.  I am blessed that I have never been truly homeless.  I am blessed. 

I have learned that home is not simply a concrete place you go to lie your head down; rather, it is a place where one’s mind is at rest.  Home is not merely a place to eat, but where meals and conversations are shared.  Home is where you make it and with the help of my supportive community, I am making Visitation House my new home. 

New Beginnings

By Kirsten Kyle, IW Missionary serving in Santa Fe, Mexico City, Mexico

I have almost finished my second week in Santa Fe and, apart from a large lack of Spanish on my part, the place already feels like home. Everyone has been so much more than friendly. There is a singing-fest going on outside of the long-term missionary's door as I write this and we as missionaries have been welcomed into this rather boisterous, large family. Yesterday an eleven-piece mariachi band just "happened" to stop by and serenade us for about an hour during a baptism reception, another nine-piece one tonight, and any night of the week at least 8-10 people are gathered around the table talking and eating until ten or eleven at night.  

My first night here there were fireworks; literally, both inside and outside the church. We arrived on the Assumption of Mary, a huge day of fiesta in Mexico. The church was packed, and myself and the other two short-term missionaries were called upon to place the crown on Mary's head as fireworks went off over us inside the church.

Outside, after mass, was a concert and los toros locos, the crazy bulls. Los toros locos are bulls built into a two foot frame filled with fireworks. These fireworks are lit, and then someone places the entire frame, fireworks and all, on their head and runs through the crowd with fireworks shooting off their head into the crowd at entirely unexpected times. What an introduction!

The rest of my time here has been less flammable.

Last week, myself and the two second-year missionaries with whom I am living, trooped around Mexico City. We saw many of the sights; visited the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the government palace, the central Cathedral, and marketplaces. The plaza in Mexico City is one of the largest in the world, second only to Moscow's, and it faces the main government building.

It was very powerful to see that most of the square was full of tents/banners protesting government corruption, and foam tombstones representing the over 40,000 people who have been murdered in the last four years. The central part of the square is dedicated to concentric painted red squares with each tile containing a message of love for Mexico or a call to end the killings/corruption.

This second week began with the colors of a two-hour Aztec dance of thanksgiving for the harvest, held in our parish courtyard, and Emma and I started back at the Guardaria working with the 4-year-old preschool class. Our first day began by being placed in charge of the class when the teacher in charge quit rather unexpectedly. A couple of late nights ensued while we tried to come up with art projects, songs, and lesson plans to fill up the time before they find a replacement teacher. I ended the week by coming down with a 101 degree fever that took me out for Thursday and Friday, leaving Emma alone with the kiddies. Thankfully, Wednesday, we got some help and were able to finally set up the room, and that person was able to help Emma the last two days while I was out. We were all a little tired after our first week, and welcomed the last few days of festivities.

"Prayer for the Christian is always a response to the living Christ...anything less than that is inadequate." - Prayer is a Hunger, by Ed Farrell

"Through a Smile"

By Nicole Tardio, RN, IW Missionary serving in Mongu, Zambia

So I know I have said this many times but I am inspired each day by the people I meet here. It never ceases to amaze me the challenges they face and how they overcome them. I would like to share a story about a young boy I met who I will never forget.

I remember the first time I met Jonathan. I walked onto the Children’s ward at the hospital one morning and he caught my eye immediately. He was waving at me and smiling; when I acknowledged him and said good morning he quickly hid his face. So our relationship went on like this for a while. He was always there whenever I entered the ward and I could always count on the biggest smile from him. He broke his leg playing soccer a couple months before. He would talk about how he just can’t wait until he can play soccer again. So after many complications he ended up with a very bad infection in his leg. When the doctors were talking about having to amputate his lower leg it absolutely broke my heart.

I never saw despair from him only hope. After the surgery he only talked about getting his new leg and how he couldn't wait to walk again. I did his dressing changes several times which caused him a lot of pain. Afterwards his dad would dry his tears. I was afraid he would never smile at me again. Actually this is one of the most challenging things I have found working in Children’s Ward.

The kids don’t understand that often the pain us nurses cause them is really just to help them get better in the future. But Jonathan was different. He never held it against me. For three months he brightened my day with his smile and courage. I was there the morning he was discharged from the hospital after a very long stay. He was still in the healing process and had to wait to be fitted with a prosthesis but I wished him luck with his future soccer matches. It was sad to see him go because I knew I would look to his bed whenever I was on the ward and he would not be there to make me smile or make me laugh. But at the same time I was happy for him and very optimistic for the future of this young boy.

About two months later a friend called me up to go to a home for disabled children run by an order of Sisters here in Mongu. We went for the afternoon to paint fingernails. The home is for children of all ages with varying levels of disabilities. Some kids live there permanently and others go there for a period to receive physical therapy after surgery and to recover. So I walk in and the first face I see is Jonathan’s with the biggest smile. I am shocked, number one because I never expected to see him again, and secondly, I am so happy to see him. He has not been fitted with his prosthesis yet, but he is getting around with crutches and manages to kick the soccer ball around with some of the other volunteers. So I paint nails and Jonathan sits next to me and he absolutely warms my heart with his presence. Once again I say bye to him and wish him well.

Just last week I had another invitation to go to this same home with the youth group from church to sing songs with the children. I was excited because I thought I might get to see my little friend and see how he was doing. When I first saw him I could tell he was being a bit shy like the first time I saw him in the hospital when he hid from me.

Then as I got closer to him I could see he had gotten his new leg. He was sitting on a bench during the whole song and dance performances by the youth and the children in the home. At the end of the program, as I was saying goodbye to everyone, I turned to look for Jonathan to say goodbye and he was walking over to me. I was so moved by this little boy I can’t even explain it. He walked over and gave me a huge hug. I couldn’t say anything in that moment, but no words were needed. He looked up at me and smiled.

All along, I knew this boy would recover and thrive because of his determination and positive outlook, but I thank God I was able to see his process of recovery. Most of the time as a nurse, you watch patients during their hospital stay and as they walk out the door you realize you will probably never see them again and just have to trust that they will survive and thrive. I am a better person because of Jonathan and I am encouraged and motivated by his spirit that he shares through his smile.

Saludos and Despedidas

By Emma Buckhout, IWM Serving in Santa Fe, Mexico City, Mexico

Saying hello and goodbye is one of the most beautiful rituals of Mexican culture, and also one of the most difficult for North American foreigners. Everyone clasps hands or hugs and cheek-kisses everyone else upon both meeting and leaving. That includes when walking in or out of a room or running into someone on the street. The entirety of a sixty-second encounter may consist of saying hello and goodbye, but that is polite. The custom jars with North American concepts of personal space and rushed time. At first I found it overwhelming and awkward to walk into the full kitchen at the parish and squeeze around the table to greet everyone individually. And goodbyes are never quick. It seems excessive or unnecessary to take the time to hug and kiss everyone that you will see the next day. And yet, I have come to appreciate the attention of these saludos and despedidas. It is personal and meaningful, even if you don’t know the other person well. It seems strange now to omit them and I greet my non-Mexican friends here in the same way.

However, this morning I had the chance to reflect upon how much I still have to learn from this custom. As Tara and I walked back from zumba class we crossed the street to avoid saying hi to a woman I know from the parish who works at a newspaper stand. I wanted to get home and on with the day. I was afraid I would get into a conversation about helping coordinate a class at the parish or just small-talk. Yet I know that not acknowledging acquaintances on the street is considered rude. As I continued to process my decision on the way home I grew increasingly embarrassed. What does it say about me and my priorities if I can’t take even an extra five minutes to say hi to someone on my walk home?

I avoid greeting people sometimes because I am in a rush, but is anything else I have to do possibly more important than fellowshipping, even briefly, with another person? I had a vision of rushing to class in college and running by friends with just a wave because I was always late. I have always struggled with leaving time for random human interactions. Here as a missionary in Santa Fe, even though I am still customarily late, my schedule and the (usually late) Mexican culture provides more grace for stopping with people along the way. And in that stopping to say hello and goodbye, with or without more conversation in between, lies true beauty. It is love. It is worth. It is human dignity. It is appreciation for another. It is sharing a smile. It is giving and receiving energy to go on with the rest of the day. It is the Incarnation. I am thankful that I have another year here to learn more about this part of Incarnation and I hope that I can take it back to the US in my own form.

We Are Thankful

By Marcelle Keating, Kelli Nelson and Emily Ruskamp, IWMs serving in Chimbote, Peru

Thank you, sun, for warming the cement!  Coming into August, we here in the southern hemisphere are in the heart of winter.  In Chimbote, that means cool temperatures and a lot less sun.  But when the sun comes out, it washes away the gloomy grayness with a loving embrace that is hard not to smile at.  It is especially significant for me right now, as these couple of months have brought many “shady” moments of questioning, challenge, and frustration.  There are conflicts I never expected to encounter as a missionary – in my service site, my house community, and my personal life – and problems which I’ve felt ill-equipped to handle.  I knew, for example, that there would be challenges of cultural misunderstandings, frustrations at the poverty that surrounds us, and meaningful conversations lost in translation.  But what happens when my roommate feels offended by something I thought was harmless, or when the youth council breaks out in an emotional argument fueled by long-lasting group conflicts that I’m supposed to create something positive out of, or when my Peruvian friends open their hearts to me when all I can offer is myself in the present with no way of making long-term promises?  These are just a small slice of what have been some moments of “shade” that at times just feel cold and gloomy.  I have gratitude, though, because shade can’t exist without the sun!  As Sister Katty told me, the fact that a certain situation hurts means that we have truly come to love the people and the work involved in that situation.  So, in short, I am grateful for the nights I’ve spent unable to sleep and the tissues that have been damped by my tears, because they are a living testament to what happens when we really invest our hearts in something.  Plus, they are pushing me to discover new capacities inside myself – new capacities of patience, of reason, of laughter, and of love -- and they are teaching me that I can’t do it all; this is a team effort that’s not just about me.  So let’s walk through the shade smiling, because we know, one way or another, that there is sun behind it!

--Emily Ruskamp

***

Rita (una de mis mamas peruanas),

I know I tell you “thank you” a lot: “Gracias por todo, gracias por todo, gracias por todo…” over and over and over again, but I don’t think you know just how much I mean that.  Your effortless generosity and kindness is my teacher these days among classes in the kitchen (from butchering ducks to frosting cakes to eating and eating), sharing birthdays, weddings, and woes over coffee and cookies.  Though busy with taking care of your mom, your family, baking and selling cakes and crafts, volunteering with me, and combating injustice in your many ways, you’ve opened yourself up to me like I never thought possible here.  You’ve invited me into your life and have given me a sense of home, which is a gift that, as Henry Nouwen would say, touches that original goodness inside of me, and allows me to see myself as the Beloved, and want to be better.  Remember that day we were both struggling with things and we cried at your table passing back and forth the one napkin we had?  We held hands between wiping tears and dunking crackers in our tea. The raw nature of that moment is one I revisit often, and each time it’s like opening a new gift.

Be seeing you,

Kelli

***

I am filled with gratitude as I finish my service.  I am thankful to the Sisters of Charity of the Incarnate Word who gave me this opportunity to serve the people of Chimbote.  I am thankful to all the people of Chimbote who have looked out for us in the mission house.  Our neighbors, friends, the people in the parish and in our volunteer sites-- they are all truly inspiring with their generosity.  They have taught me how to get by with less and not feel limited.   They make the best of what they have and never fail to share the riches of their culture of music, food and dancing.  Peruvians do know how to celebrate life.   My Spanish is not fluent but I know I will be able to communicate with Spanish speaking patients in a hospital setting so I have not wasted my time.  I was told back in 2009 to enter missionary service is life- changing.  Without the perspective of time, I cannot tell you what my most valuable life-lesson has been.   I have grown a lot spiritually and I am grateful for God’s unconditional love that has followed me so closely on this journey.  To quote John Walsh, a Maryknoll  Missionary, “Mission is to go to a no-place, to serve God’s no-bodies, and, in the eyes of the world, to accomplish no-thing.  Yet in doing this we realize we are at the heart of what time, meaning, and history are all about.”   So check back with me in a few years, I may have an answer for you.

– Marcelle Keating

Who forgot the truth?

by Tara Hurford, IWM serving in Sata Fe, Mexico City, Mexico

I wrote this poem . . . several weeks ago now, after a chance encounter Emma and I had one night with a lady that is heavily addicted to sniffing solvents: the drug, not of choice but of necessity, here in Santa Fe pueblo, as it is so cheap.  For the purposes of this poem (blog), I will call this lady María.  We know her because she often visits the Sisters down the hill for breakfast or other meals.  We often see her sitting on the sidewalk, sometimes alone, sometimes not.  María is a gentle woman and has a strong sense of God, as well as her call to recover, but still struggles hard with her addiction.  It is unclear to me whether she has a home, or not.

One of the people our long term missionary, Miriam, interviewed in her community survey was the leader of the AA groups here in Santa Fe.  He told her that the chief causes of addiction in Santa Fe were poverty and its vicious cycle, and childhood abuse – of every kind.  According to Dr. Alfredo Nateras, statistics show that 4-5 out of 10 Mexican youth have endured physical abuse in their own homes.[i]  Worldwide statistics show that 1 in 4 people have been sexually abused or assaulted; the statistics are even higher if you are a woman.[ii]  With regard to Santa Fe, I am not aware of any available statistics for abuse.  However, keeping in mind what the AA leader said, a friend of mine, a recovered addict and someone who has worked with addicted youth, estimates that about 40% of the youth in Santa Fe are addicted, whether it be alcohol, solvents, prescription or illegal drugs.[iii] 

This encounter we had with María would not leave my mind and though I do not write much poetry, phrases started to come to me, and so I continued to write a free-verse poem.  I do not know if this poem correlates with María’s story, but if not, surely it is a representative piece. The last line means, “God bless you,” in the familiar Spanish form.

María, who forgot you there?

María, who forgot you there,

Sitting in the Dark, on the urban filth-covered sidewalk,

Inhaling your poisonous elixir,

With your dirty, matted hair covering the Beauty of your eyes,

And the pain of a truth?

María, who forgot your truth --

Repressed, oppressed it back in the Dark time and space of a room?

Was it you, María, to mask the pain of that and many moments?

Or you coerced by another as if to hide themself --

From their own excruciating truth?

María, who forgot the truth,

In the layers of cultural taboo and Dark social propriety,

That makes far too many of us sick off solvents,

Right here in our communal backyard?

María, who forgot to listen?

Who neglects our truth, María,

Our truth that we refuse to acknowledge

Sitting here in the Dark, on the cold urban filth-covered sidewalk?

And still comes the whisper, María, from your cracked and Beautiful lips, “Dios tebendiga”

---

[i] Nateras, Alfredo. Diplomado en Pastoral Urbana.  7 July, 2011-07-17

[ii] Levine Peter. Sexual Healing: Transforming the Sacred Wound. Audio CD.

[iii] Julio.  Discussion about Santa Fe Youth.  15 July 2011.

Every day is another chance to learn.

by Nicole Tardio, IWM serving in Mongu, Zambia.

Today was quite difficult, I must admit. It all started yesterday when I got a call from one of my friends that there was a 7 year old boy in a village about 40 miles outside of Mongu that had gotten a snake bite a while back on his leg. Almost one full year later his leg is so badly infected that part of the bone was now outside the skin and had recently fallen off.

They informed me that they were bringing him to the hospital and asked if I could meet them there to help get him admitted to the ward, to see a doctor, and be treated. He came from the village last night, and I met them at the hospital this afternoon. Not wanting to intrude too much I stayed outside the room when they went in to see the clinical officer; knowing that the x-ray they had just taken had shown severe osteomylitis, I was sure he would be admitted and treated from there, getting to see the doctor first thing in the morning.

The boy's father came out and said that the boy was not being admitted but instead had to come back next Wednesday in order to see a doctor. So the boy, father, and brother proceeded to the pharmacy to get the tylenol that was prescribed. I was baffled by this initially, and then frustrated knowing that prompt treatment is necessary when concerning bone infections. So I marched right up to the nurse in charge of the emergency room (who hadn’t been filled in on the situation), I explained what had happened, and requested nicely to consult with the clinical officer once again to see if the decision could be changed considering the circumstances. After I caused a little bit of a scene (not too much of one though, don't worry!) I soon found out that the dad had refused to have the boy admitted when the clinical officer made the suggestion. The boy could obviously not be  admitted without the parent’s permission, so they gave him a prescription for tylenol and was ready to send him back to the village.

My friend and I sat down with the father and asked what the reasoning was behind refusing admission. After about an hour or so of going back and forth, I was getting quite frustrated and I was ready to give up, knowing that you can’t make someone do something even though you think it's for the best. Then I looked over at the little boy and my heart broke, knowing that there is no way they would manage to come back to the hospital next Wednesday to see a doctor due to lack of transport and the boy hardly being able to walk. Finally the father voiced the real reason why he didn't want the boy admitted: he didn't have the means to feed him if he stayed on the ward. He said it was better if they went back to the village with the rest of the family and they would have food.

I regret not being more understanding and patient with the father. His concerns were very real to him, and I was quick to judge him on not wanting what was best for his child medically, which wasn't the case - he just saw a more immediate concern, like what they were going to be able to eat tonight and tomorrow. With that being said I am thankful for the opportunity today to learn. I am thankful that the boy is admitted on the ward tonight and will be seen in the morning by the doctor to hopefully start his long recovery.