Cuando Ya Seamos Grandes

Both times that I have spent three months in Sumpango, Guatemala, it has been through Los Olivos Church.  When I e-mailed Oscar, one of the leaders in the church, about coming back here, it was to say I wanted to serve the church in whatever way I could. 

In the last few years Los Olivos has been developing a partnership with the local public school where I work.  In great part because Los Olivos provides English teachers (I’m the third gringa to work there and two more will be coming this summer), the school is also willing to open its doors to church run sports camps and other activities where church members can present the gospel to the students. 

I have loved my school and my students and also enjoyed working in an afterschool program in a nearby village.  But ever since I booked my plane tickets into Guatemala City I have been looking forward to the time when I could return to La Senda, the children’s home and school where I worked four years ago.  La Senda is less than a half a mile outside of Sumpango, but the road there is a narrow winding highway full of traffic careening at full speed around the sharp curves.  A taxi there shouldn’t be too expensive, but everything here is at least twice the price for gringos.  But with a little bit of planning and figuring out rides I have been able to spend some of my free afternoons and evenings with my former students. 

The first day that I visited La Senda I spent the afternoon with the children who live there.  Those I worked with the most, Carlos, Gerson, Jefferson, and Steven, were in kindergarten and first grade at the time and are now fourth and fifth graders.  At first they were a little shy and I thought that maybe now that they were older and more self conscious they were going to keep their distance.  But before long I was playing soccer and tag with them and they were showing me all their pets.  The boys have gotten a little bit taller, but I recognized them immediately.

The next week I got to spend an evening in the home with them.  Brenda, the young woman that I worked with four years ago, is now studying in another school but still lives in the home.  She’s fifteen now and next week I’m going to bring my computer to La Senda so she can show me the pictures of her Quinceañera, her fifteenth birthday celebration.  It was such a blessing to see her again and to see how she’s grown and matured in four years.

In the four years since I left Guatemala, I’ve thought often of my last day at La Senda.  Each school day ended with an hour or so with my three little angels, Ana Belen, Danielita, and Rocío.  They were in preschool at the time and only had classes in the morning.  Most of their classmates went home around noon once classes were over but they stayed until the end of the school day and we would play on the swings, sing songs, or even pick up trash.  For those of you who are thinking I’m the meanest babysitter ever, picking up trash was their idea and one of their favorite activities.  I can still see them, my little beauties, prancing around with their trash bags, screaming with excitement when they found a candy wrapper or a juice box a careless student had thrown on the ground. 

My last day I remember taking them up to my makeshift classroom where I taught my preschoolers and first graders.  I took the chart that I’d made for my kindergarteners off the wall.  It had all of their names on it and marked whose day it was.  On their day each student got to put a sticker next to his name and got to hand out papers and help me with any activities.  Before long they knew the order and when their day was coming up. 

I took the name tags off all the chairs.  About a week into classes I came up with a seating chart that separated the troublemakers at different corners of the table in between the more well mannered girls.  I taped names on the chairs and from then on they accepted that seating chart as law.  One day my car broke down and I got to school a half an hour late.  The students had been in another teacher’s classroom while they waited for me, but when I got there they dutifully trooped up the stairs with their chairs.  By the time I got there they had arranged the chairs almost exactly according to the seating chart.

I took all the drawings off the walls and swept the floor one last time.  And as I took one last look around the room, Rocío turned to the other girls and explained, “La seño va a regresar cuando ya seamos grandes.”  “The teacher will come back when we’re all grown up.”  I was remembering that four years later when La Senda’s secretary, Lesbia, took me to the various classrooms to let me see my students before they left for the day. 

As my kindergarteners rushed up to me one by one I recognized Benjamin with his cleft palette and his endless enthusiasm, Alex with the same quizzical expression on his face, Alejandro with much longer hair but the same smile that he used to wear when he would tell me, “Seño, hoy es mi día!”  “Teacher, today is my day!”  Steven still has the same throaty voice and Keili the same melancholy smile.  Alexis was sick that day and some of the students no longer go to the school, but I almost cried to see my them again.  They were all eager to show off their English and all I can say is they’ve learned a lot in the last four years.

I wasn’t sure if they would remember me, but they all did and were thrilled that I remembered all of their names. When it was such a struggle to learn them in the first place, how could I forget?

I visited my first graders and couldn’t believe how Ana Lucía is almost as tall as me.  That’s really tall for a Guatemalan.  Daniel was his same hyperactive self and Brandon was still as polite.  I had already seen Gerson and Jefferson and Carlos but they gave me hugs anyway.  I still couldn’t believe that after four years I was back in the place that I had thought of so often.  As I walked the halls and climbed the stairs again it felt like I’d never left.  I had seen this place so often in my mind that I didn’t feel as though four years had gone by.  I couldn’t believe that I was seeing my students again.  How many times had I thought and prayed for them in the last four years and looked at the pictures of the them and felt far away?  I remembered how I had prayed for my students and their futures and now here I was seeing a part of that future.  Seeing God’s provision and tender care in the lives of my students.

And as the bell rang and students began to line up and prepare to get on their busses I searched the crowd for my preschoolers, now eight-years-old and in third grade.  Ana Belen rushed by me and I recognized her instantly.  She’s only gotten taller and more beautiful.  Her bus still hadn’t arrived and as I made my way toward her I told myself not to expect her to remember me.  I tapped her on the shoulder and she turned toward me and her beautiful face lit up.  I still can’t believe that God is his mercy has allowed me to come back here and see the continuation of His work in Sumpango and La Senda.  I’m grateful and humbled to have a small part in that work and in the lives of the children. 

A minute later Rocío pranced down the stairs and before I had a chance to say anything, cried “Miss Amy!” and flung her arms around my neck.  The little princess who had announced to everyone that I would come back when they were “all grown up” still has the same beautiful smile and prancing way of walking.  I had the privilege of being their teacher and loving and caring for them as Christ cares for them for three months in 2008.  It broke my heart to leave them, and I don’t think the scars ever quite healed.  But I’m starting to understand that that is as it should be.  Those scars brought me back to Sumpango, Guatemala four years later.  Those scars wouldn’t let me forget this place or the people that I met here. 

For three months I poured out my heart at La Senda.  Hearing the tragic stories of these children brought me to my knees in prayer that I could be Christ’s hands and feet in that place.  And then the clock ran out and it was time for me to go home.  As I think back to that, there are so many things I didn’t know or understand.  And one of the things that I hadn’t had a chance to experience was how God works outside of our time tables and often his plan is too big for us to understand.  I affirmed that intellectually of course.  But when I boarded my plane home on May 9th, 2008, I felt that I was betraying my students.  I wasn’t sure if I could trust God to take care of them.  I thought he needed me to do that. 

As I return to Sumpango and La Senda four years later and see my students in the care of capable teachers and see how they have grown I can now see myself and my work in a better light.  I was just a small piece of the puzzle.  I was one small person sent to love and serve these children for a short time.  I was given the privilege of sharing in their lives, of listening to them say their ABC’s and recite their multiplication tables.  I got to referee their wrestling matches and tie their shoes.  I got to watch them master new concepts and record the weather for science class.  When they listened and participated in class I left the school with a spring in my step.  On tough days when I felt more like a frustrated parent or babysitter than a teacher, I squared my shoulders and told myself tomorrow would be better. 

Seeing my students again, seeing the teachers, putting myself back in the place that I couldn’t forget, all I can do is thank God for bringing me here in the first place.  And thank him for bringing me back.  God is doing a great work in La Senda and in the lives of the children there.  Please pray for them as many will be leaving La Senda in the next few years.  Pray that God, in his abundant mercy will continue to provide for them and to continue to call people to work and minister to them.

In Christ,

Amy               

Translating God's Love

There's so much to write about. I think part of the reason it took me so long to begin blogging is that I was simply overwhelmed. There's so much to say and yet words cannot do my students or my friends or this place justice. But I have been thinking lately about how quickly things become routine. About how easy it is to take opportunities and blessings for granted. How soon I can become acclimated to needs and stop thinking about them. It's easy to walk into a class and just wish they would all be quiet. It's become almost instinct to say "shhhh" every few minutes--as if silence is ever really achievable in a classroom of ten and eleven-year-olds. It's easy to shrug and say that I'm fighting an uphill battle. There's only so much I can teach given the circumstances. I can find any number of excuses and reasons to set the bar low. Who can get anything done with classes of forty students? Is it my fault that classes are often canceled or that school assemblies get in the way of English class? How am I supposed to get through to the students who just don't want to learn? But I didn't come here to make excuses or to become complacent. I came here to give my students my best regardless of the circumstances. Often I need to remind myself to step back--to stop thinking of students in terms of classes but as individuals. It's easy to see them as an unruly mass to be put up with and kept under control. But when I think of the lives they live and the homes they come from everything changes. I can forgive the boy who spent the entire class whistling and giving me a headache. I don't mind that I have to tell them a hundred times to raise their hands and sit down and be quiet. I taught them "sit down" and "be quiet" the first day. Now when I walk into a classroom they start telling each other, "Sit down!" Be quiet!". If they learn nothing else, at least they will know those words by heart. I can't get frustrated at the students who greet me with smiles and hugs and then don't pay attention in class and don't let the students sitting next to them pay attention either.
I have been rereading old blog posts from the last time I was here four years ago and thinking about short term mission work. Sometimes it feels like three months is too little time to make much of a difference. How much English will my students really learn in that amount of time? How much can I really get to know people in three months? But the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that three months can be a long time. It's a long time to see the same students everyday. It's a long time to live with a new family. It's a long time to be immersed in another language and culture. In the three months that I am here, this is my reality. I have been working in a nearby village in the afternoons and one of my first days there I got a chance to talk with one of the missionaries in charge of various projects in that village. And one of the things he said was, "How wonderful that you're here." The more I travel the more I am convinced that there is no substitute for being in a place. I spent three months in Sumpango in 2008. And ever since this place and the people here have kept a firm hold on my heart. I knew I needed to come back. Something about this place and all that I learned and experienced here drew me back more than any other place I've ever traveled to. I can forget an article that I read about the needs in other parts of the world, or even in my own town. But I can't forget people that I have lived alongside. I can't forget the students who make up my day. Students who sometimes make me want to hug them and other times make me want to run screaming from the room.
And I believe and I've seen that God truly does honor our efforts, however small they may seem. God uses so many people to shape our lives and if I'm someone who was an encouragement and a smiling face to my students that is enough. If I'm someone who gave them a hug and made them feel special, that's enough. If I'm someone who gave them a chance to learn something new, that's enough. I can't fix all of my students' problems. I can't give them all the opportunities they lack. But I can give them what I do have. I can give them my love and energy and patience and enthusiasm. I can constantly seek to be a better English teacher and to faithfully pray for them. Sometimes it seems like a cop out to me to say that all we can do is pray and do our best and leave the rest to God. But as one of my professors once asked me gently when I said as much to her, "What else can we do?" I will make mistakes. Some days I will go to school wishing that I could just send all the students home and go back to bed. I will sometimes forget how precious this opportunity to serve is. But God is faithful and he loves my students more than I ever could. And in his grace He allows me to play a role in showing them that love.
In Anne of Green Gables the author describes the young orphan girl as knowing "nothing about God's love, since she had never had it translated to her through the medium of human love." That phrase has stuck with me and in many ways describes what I seek to do here. If in some small way I can translate God's love for my students through the medium of human love, then I suppose it's okay if some of them never quite learn how to pronounce the "v" sound and if I still can't tell whether they're trying to say "Tuesday" or "Thursday".

In Christ,

Amy

Wonderful to Be Back

I have been in Sumpango, Guatemala for nearly five weeks and I still wake up some days and can’t believe I’m here. I had been praying that I might be able to return since I left four years ago. I still cannot believe that by the grace of God I am here again. It has been a blessing to worship at Los Olivos Church and to reconnect with friends I made and have kept up with since I was last here. It is a privilege to once again be a small part of the work Los Olivos is doing in Guatemala. His grace still amazes me.
The last time I was here four years ago I taught an afternoon English class to students around the ages of ten to thirteen. I remember toward the end of my three months teaching them we were talking about their school. I couldn’t believe what these students told me about the lack of resources at the local public schools where they studied. The main thing that stuck with me and that I remember writing about on this blog was the class sizes. After spending three months struggling with classes of 10-15 students in a private school I couldn’t imagine how any teacher got anything done with 35 to 50 students in a class. I remember praying for these public school teachers and their students and asking readers to pray as well. It seems like too much of a coincidence and more likely an answer to prayer to find myself back in Sumpango and teaching in public schools.
I arrived in Guatemala late on a Friday night and had the weekend to sleep and adjust before school started on Monday. This was the start of a new school year for Guatemala so I was told that I wouldn’t actually be teaching. The day was supposed to be mostly about introductions, figuring out a schedule for classes, and finding my way around the school. I think everyone knows where this story is going. I was scheduled to teach fourth and fifth graders and one of the fourth grade teachers was sick. There is no substitute teacher system in Guatemala; if a teacher is sick or cannot come for whatever reason the students are either sent home or are given work to do while another teacher checks in on them from time to time. It only made sense that I step in as an emergency substitute teacher. So much for a day of introductions. And, of course, it made even more sense that each of the fourth grade classes should have their first English class that morning, thus allowing the teachers to take turns keeping an eye on the teacherless students.
As I faced a class of 35 fourth graders for the first time, I just had to laugh. Things always seem to work out this way. Things happen and we’re thrown into new situations before we’re quite sure we’re ready. And thankfully my students were too shy and impressed with the idea of English classes to think of misbehaving. They’ve long since gotten over that, but at least I got off to a good start.
About two weeks into teaching I woke to someone banging on my door. Why are they waking me up in the middle of the night? I have to get up early tomorrow to teach! And then I looked at the clock and, of course, it wasn’t the middle of the night at all. It was 6:55 am. I was supposed to meet a fellow teacher, Olga, outside my house at 6:45. My host mom was knocking on my door to tell me that Olga was waiting for me. In the three weeks since this happened I can’t count how many times my family has told the story of how I opened the door all in a panic, told my host mom to tell Olga not to wait for me, that I would get there as soon as I could. I’ve never gotten ready that fast (except for 8am classes), but I made it to school, including a ten minute walk by 7:25. And I learned a new word that day, pashtuda. It means “disheveled and with your hair all in a mess.” Every time the story is told, pashtuda always describes how I went to school that day.
All things considered, however, maybe I should make that my daily routine. The students were energetic and cooperative and classes went wonderfully all day long. I rushed out the door without packing a snack and in my class right before recess one of my students handed me something. It was some kind of snack wrapped in a leaf and I at first thought he wanted me to open it for him. But it was a gift. A sort of tamale with black beans.
Later that day I began class only to realize my last marker had run out of ink. Luckily there was one on the (absent) teacher’s desk. This teacher had loaned me markers before so I didn’t think she would mind me borrowing one now. As I started to write I noticed a stronger smell from the marker than I had noticed in other markers. I wish I could say that the marker was labeled in Spanish so I had some sort of excuse. But there it was, written in English in big letters: Permanent Marker. Now I was ruining another teacher’s whiteboard. But then a student raised his hand and said, “Teacher, if you write over it with another marker, it will erase. Here, I have one!” I wish I could say he said it in English, and that we’re making that much progress, but we’ll get there. All the students were delighted with the innovative solution, and sure enough, the “permanent” marker came off. That day, as in many other days, it felt like the students were taking care of me. I supposedly came here to bless them and minister to them, but it seems like it’s the other way around.
That was a good day with my fifth grade class, however. The next class with them was a different story. I had slowly begun incorporating games into classes and the students loved it. Sometimes they were borderline out of control in their enthusiasm, but I figured that was better than them being bored. On this particular day we were playing a game that involved students writing down answers as quickly as possible before raising their hands to show me their answer. Whoever raised their hand first got the first opportunity to answer and score a point for their team. The game had gone well in other classes and I assumed 5B (fifth grade, section B) would like it, too. I didn’t realize how tough it could be to decide who raised their hand first in a big class full of enthusiastic participators. And I had forgotten how keen ten-year-olds’ sense of justice is. Before long Byron, one of the class leaders and someone other students look up to, decided that he had been cheated. And he would have none of it. He slammed his notebook shut, folded his arms across his chest and glared at me. I wasn’t going to force anyone to play so I just ignored him. But he is one of the best students in the class and before long, without him playing, his team started to fall behind. And before I knew it he had begun to convince his teammates to close their notebooks and not play either. Suddenly I had 20 fifth graders on strike.
In all my lesson planning it hadn’t occurred to me to plan for this. Who had foreseen them taking the game this seriously? I asked them if they were refusing to play because they were losing and they just shook their heads. At that point the only thing to do seemed to be to shrug and keep playing. I had told we would play until a certain number of points and we still had a ways to go. I could have knelt down and kissed the feet of the little boy in the front row who ignored his teammates and kept playing, slowly getting the team back into the game until the rest of them came around. I heaved a sigh of relief when class was finally over. The next day the fifth grade teachers had to leave early, right after recess. Ordinarily they would have just sent the students home, but they decided they may as well have English classes. 5B was supposed to wait for an hour without a teacher while 5A had class. I wish I could say I was just a little bit disappointed to find an empty classroom, but I wasn’t. I was relieved. This was Thursday and 5B doesn’t have English classes on Friday so I didn’t have to deal with them until Monday.
And as always, Monday came before I was ready. I was planning on having my students make Valentines in English on Tuesday, but since a few sections wouldn’t have class that day, I had them make them a day early. The activity went well with my first class. But activities always go well in that class. I braced myself for 5B. The class is 75% boys and I was afraid they would make fun of the craft and spend the whole period beating each other up.
I walked into the class and immediately the students started saying, “Seño, disculpa!” “Teacher, excuse us!” I was concentrated on rounding up the students still playing outside and getting everyone to sit down and couldn’t understand what they were saying with all of them talking at once. I thought they were saying “excuse us” because they wanted to ask me something. The other day they wanted to know how to say Martian in English.
I finally got them quieted down and told them I didn’t understand what they were saying and asked them what it was they wanted to ask me. This time Byron said, “Teacher, excuse us for not wanting to play last week. We’re very sorry.” That’s when I finally realized that by “excuse us” they meant, “forgive us” or “pardon us”. Once again, I wasn’t prepared for that. And I wasn’t prepared for them to cheerfully copy down and repeat all the vocabulary and then go on to carefully cut and decorate Valentines. One of the biggest troublemakers in the class was quiet the whole period as he drew a detailed border around his heart. They were all brimming with pride to show me their handiwork at the end of the period.
I wish I could say they have been on their best behavior ever since and are speaking fluent English already. They are still fifth graders with short attention spans. But that day I got to relax and just enjoy working with them. I got to remember why I’m here. And that I’m not just called to love the students who sit quietly and raise their hands to answer questions.
If I could sum up my experience teaching in the last four weeks I would say that my student keep me on my toes. Sometimes they surprise me with how quickly they grasp a concept, or by how enthusiastically they respond to questions. But 5B isn’t my only class of troublemakers. Another morning, in a fourth grade class, I gave groups of three or fours students cards with the days of the week written on them. Their assignment was to put the days of the week in order as quickly as possible. I was congratulating myself on how well the game was going and how much my students had retained when suddenly several students in the front row started yelling, “Seño! Trampa!” “Teacher! They’re cheating!” While I was looking on proudly, my students’ sharp eyes had seen what I had missed. Two students had copied the days of the week onto their palms. Who would have thought of that? Apparently lots of students. The next class I was again watching proudly as a student quickly put the days of the week in order when I realized he was working too quickly. Sure enough, there on his palm were the days of the week, copied down carefully.
What can I say? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. My next class I was determined to check all of their hands before they could participate. I felt a little bad at first, like I was treating them as guilty until proven innocent. The third group came forward, three angel faced little girls. I asked them to show me their hands and they immediately started giggling and one of them shoved her hand behind her back. That certainly set the tone for the rest of the game. All the students were impressed to say the least. Woah, the teacher’s on to us. How did she know? I played that game for the last time today and when I asked to see one student’s hands he immediately asked for permission to go wash them. Granted.
I’m afraid I’m not painting an accurate picture of my students. The reality is, the times they cause trouble just make for better stories. There are plenty of times when they do sit quietly and take notes and answers questions. I have 275 students in seven different sections and I’m slowly but surely making progress in learning all of their names.
I learned another name today when a student refused to participate and all his classmates yelled, “Denis, it’s your turn! Get up there!” He dragged up to the front and I asked to see his hands before he could play and he showed them to me and then swaggered back to his seat without playing. I shrugged, told myself I would at least remember his name now, and called on another student to participate. At the end of the day when all the students were let out and I was waiting for Olga to walk home, Denis passed by me, and in the crowd of students hurrying to leave, put his arm protectively around his much younger sister. I was already more than willing to overlook his attitude in class just for that gesture when he turned back to catch my eye, waved, and said “See you later, Seño.” A little bit of Spanglish, but a step up from the usual, “Hello, goodbye.” At least he’s learning something.
As the weeks go by more and more my classes have gone from being a sea of faces to being filled with students whose personalities and expressions are already eating away at my heart. Randy claimed a place there the first day just by having the same name as my younger brother. I ran into him in the street a few days after I got here and was able to say, “Hello, Randy.” His face lit up in a smile that I had remembered his name.
Jeffy always has the same quizzical expression on his face whether he’s listening to me repeat a phrase in English or accepting praise for getting an answer right. You get the feeling that he’s not quite sure what to make of you, but he’s willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.
Rudy is always anywhere but his seat, but at least I remembered his name early on and can use it to tell him to sit down.
The second day of class as I was writing something on the board to review, Myra politely raised her hand and said, “Seño, ya lo hicimos.” “Teacher, we did that already.” She was ready to learn something new.
Hilda sits in the far corner and is consistently shy and hesitant to participate. When encouraged, she almost always knows the answers and has turned out to be one of my best students.
Yessica can always be counted on to get to answer before anyone else and to pronounce it carefully and with her sweet smile.
I wish Wilmer applied himself to English like he does to his drawings. I always hate to tell him to put away his markers when my instinct is to tell him how much I like his picture and to keep going.
Elvis wins the prize for best name and best hair. He does pretty well in class when he’s paying attention. And I can’t get irritated at him for getting distracted from time to time, because when he’s concentrating and trying to get the answer right he has this look of utter sincerity, like there’s nothing he wants more than to respond correctly.
Helene is such a little beauty. She’s smaller than her classmates and always comes to class dressed simply, but in such a way that I can’t help thinking she should be a model. Whether it’s her scarf or her shoes or her beautiful hair, I keep thinking I should ask her for fashion tips.
There’s so much to write about, so many more students, and pictures of course. Soon!
Thank you for your prayers. Please pray that each day I would have new patience and love for my students. That each day I would come to class prepared to be flexible and creative when things don’t go as planned. That in some small way I could shine the light of Christ in this school. That I would be joyful in everything.

Hasta Pronto!

Amy

A Million Pieces

My friend, Hilda, loaned me "traje typico" to wear to church on Sunday. She had asked me once a long time ago if I wanted to wear one of the traditional outfits and her brother suggested that I borrow one of hers. She didn't mention it again and I figured she had just said it in passing. When she brought up the subject again and suggested that I borrow one last Sunday I was elated.

I don't know how anyone can work or really do anything in those outfits but they are beautiful. Her family was so excited to help me put an outfit out and take pictures. If my smile looks a little forced in the pictueres, it might be because I can't breathe. My family and the people at church were delighted. They told me I am a real Guatemalan now and I can't possibly leave. Hilda is already planning the oufit I am going to wear to church this Sunday.

Hilda and her family have been wonderful friends to me. I go running with her and her brothers when I have time and I am always welcome at her house afterwards for fresh fruit and something to drink. Her father is an elder in the church and is in my English class. Most of the pictures were taken in their garden.

Last Saturday I was sitting in their garden enjoying fresh cut watermelon after a run and talking with the family. Hilda's mother was gardening. Today most of her work consisted of chopping off dead leaves and plants. After she chopped off one especially big plant she smiled at me and shrugged, saying, "No sirve." "It's no good. It has no value." It's as simple as that. When Jesus spoke throughout the Gospels and especially in John 15 about cutting off the plants that bore no fruit he was pointing out an unarguable fact. He was explaining a deeper spiritual principle but there was nothing confusing or arguable about what he was saying. He was stating the plain truth. Earlier, in the course of conversation, Hilda mentioned two trees that are growing on their property. They need to cut one down. One bears fruit and the other doesn't so they will cut that one down. She wasn't talking about anything more than two trees. She didn't have to.

As I come to the end of my time here and attempt to sort through everything I have learned here and all the work I have done I am sometimes plagued with doubts. Have I really born fruit here? Fruit that will last? John 15 gives only one way that I can bear fruit: Remain in him. And in order to remain in him I must remain in his love. If I will do that I will bear fruit. If not, I'll be cut down, no longer good for anything.

I recently learned that another young women, Sarah Natvig, will be coming to Sumpango on May 27 to stay for about five weeks and continue the work that I have been doing here. Like me, she traveled to Sumpango for a mission trip last summer and felt called to come back. Please pray for her. I am so excited that God has called her to come and to serve the children and the people of Sumpango. I am especially excited that my students at the church will be able to continue learning English.

I'm having a really hard time thinking about leaving the children in barely a week. Each day I have to entrust them to God and know that He loves them more than I ever could and He will take care of them. This has been a great assurance for me that He is in control and He is raising up workers for the field.

Sarah e-mailed me today to ask for any advice or words of wisdom that I might be able to give her after spending nearly three months here. Please pray for wisdom for me as I sort through how I can best help her. And please pray that God would continue to send workers into the field. A long time ago I began praying for someone to continue teaching English at the church and He has been faithful.

Please pray for Erick and Erlinda. I have Erick in my PE class once a week and he is always an outsider. I don't ask them to form partners anymore because it always broke my heart to see him left out. Once I told them they needed to run for fifteen minutes and they formed a group and ran all around the grounds together--everyone except Erick. He just ran around and around the circle. I asked Pamela how he is doing and she said there was no way around it--he and his sister, Erlinda, are depressed.

They don't understand why they are at La Senda when their three other other siblings are at home. When their mother died in November their father came to Steve and Pamela out of desperation because he couldn't take care of five children. He works eleven days and then has three off. Their brother is too old to go to school at La Senda and their two-year-old sister too young. Their eleven-year-old sister could be studying at La Senda but her father chose to keep her at home to cook and take care of her little sister. She probably isn't going to school at all. These three children spend most of their time with their elderly grandmother while their father is working.

Pamela told me that they are both equally miserable but are dealing with their unhappiness in different ways. Erick is quiet and distant and rarely tries to reach out and interact with anyone. Erlinda, on the other hand, is always in trouble. I have her in math class and she misbehaves more than anyone. I took Erick and Brenda to Guatemala City on Saturday to go out to eat and play. I wanted to take Erlinda, too, but Steve and Pam couldn't let her go because of her awful behavior the previous week. It broke my heart to drive away without her.

Another teacher told me that she used to get so excited on Fridays as she looked forward to her dad coming to take her and her brother home for the weekend. Now he comes to get them only once a month. She was already counting the days three weeks ago. Please remember them in your prayers. They have been through so much in such a short time and they are only children. They get to go home this weekend and for that I am praising God.

My three little princesses, Ana Belen, Danielita, and Rocio, have established themseves as the official trash patrol. The other day after lunch Ana Belen came running up to me with her eyes shining to say breathlessly, "Seno, vamos a recoger 'trash?'" "Teacher, are we going to pick up trash?" Don't you love her Spanglish? Well, I suppose you can pick up trash since you've been such a good girl today. You've earned the privilege."

Ana Belen picked up a piece of trash and rather than putting it in her bag told me that she was going to give it to Rocio since Rocio hadn't found as much trash for her bag. Rocio was delighted. Mom always said to share, I'm not sure if that was what she had in mind but at least they aren't fighting over it anymore.

Their preschool group did a presentation of fruits and veggies and all the things they do for our bodies and our health. I could barely hear most of them but I could have watched them parade around in their little costumes all day. Ana Belen was first and marched out with a big smile on her face and her Bob the Tomato costume to anounce that she was a tomato and had vitamins A, B, C, and E. There are pictures of her and Danielita and Rocio in their costumes in the slideshow "The Children."

On Wednesday, rather than practicing reading, Brenda and I just talked. She's opening up to me more and more. She was telling me more about her daily life at La Senda and the picture she painted was pretty bleak. La Senda is a wonderful place and Pamela and Steve love the children and take wonderful care of them. The grounds of spacious with lots of flowers and trees and places to play. The home is big so most of the children only share a room with one or maybe two others.

But Pamela and Steve can only stretch themselves so far and keep the children entertained for so long. They have had a lot of trouble finding good nannies and that has been doubly hard on the children. Furthermore, they can't just take 30 children to the beach or to McDonalds or to a movie. Any excursion requires careful planning and someone is always left out. Most of the weekends the children are just bored. They have to live and get along with 30 other children who aren't their siblings. Those who board there miss their families. Growing up is hard enough without all these added challenges. Please pray for the children at La Senda.

I went to a service at church last night and did my best to pay attention to the sermon. I remember what he said, it was a good message. But my eyes and heart kept wandering to the two young boys sitting a few rows in front of me with their mom. Fredy and Emerson are two of my best English students, especially Fredy. In my classes I often ask questions for the students to respond to and I usually start by asking questions to the whole group before asking individuals. The problem is that when the group is answering it is really Fredy answering. He knows the answer before the rest of the group has had time to process the question.

He and Emerson always sit in the same place, right in front. I will ask Emerson a question and he will say the first word or two of his responce and then stop and frown and say, "No" thinking he said it wrong. I will nod to encourage him that he's right and he'll go on. I wish you could see his expressions and his imitations.

Some time ago Emerson told me that his dad was in the United States and so I assumed that he was a lucky boy who's dad had good work and could travel to the United States. Not long ago I learned the truth. Their dad abandoned them. He went to the United States some time ago and was sending money for awhile. Now they don't know where he is, maybe Mexico, and he no longer sends money. Freddy is twelve, Emerson ten.

The sermon was on a Christian's response to affliction and he spoke about the specific problems troubling Guatemala at the moment. I watched the two of them sitting up there with their mom, Freddy with his head on his mom's shoulder, Emerson turning around to grin at me ever so often. I thought of the world they're growing up in, a scary world, a cruel world, for two little boys without a father. Please pray for them.

All of my English students go to school but I learned yesterday more about the kind of schools they go to. Heidy and Josefina are in the same grade but different classes at school. Heidy's class has 52 students, Josefina's 56. They said that the teacher has no end of trouble trying to keep order, the students are always misbehaving. Having had enough trouble teaching--at most--fifteen students I can't imagine how their teacher can even learn their names, much less teach them anything. Please pray for the teachers in Guatemala, especially in the public schools, and that those who want to learn would be able to learn. Heidy and Josefina are wonderful students and it is my prayer that they would have many opportunities to study and learn.

Someone said that I am going to leave my heart in Guatemala. I will leave my heart, but not whole. I will leave a piece with Ana Belen, another with Erlinda, another with Erick, another with Fredy, another with Emerson--even as I write this I can see them all. They've broken my heart into a million pieces.

I see their faces even when I'm not with them and I can hear them asking, "Do you care that our father abandoned us? Do you care that our mother has died and we are lonely and afraid? Do you care that we don't have the opportunities that you do? That you were taught at home and given every opportunity to study while we are in a class of 56 students and sometimes can't come to English class after school because we have to help at home? Do you care that you grew up in a loving home while my father killed my mother and I live in a children's home? How long before you forget me?"

Cockroaches and Kickball

I had been rescuing a hapless little girl from one of her classmates and his pet catepillars when the kindergarten girls came rushing up to me with big eyes to tell me to come quickly, there were huge cockroaches in the bathroom! Oh well, then, call an adult, someone in charge--like a teacher. Oh wait. They think I am an adult, I am in charge here, I am a teacher. Well then.....I'll call my brother Randy. Yes, Randy always kills bugs for me. But....Randy is currently on another continent.

Well if I didn't have my kindergarteners awe and respect before I certainly have it now. Even as I finished removing the intruders amid wide eyed stares and squeals I couldn't help but laugh as I remembered something four-year-old Andrew had said about his creepy crawly friends, "God doesn't think they're gross." Who can argue with that?

We are learnig verbs in preschool English class and on Monday we learned, "I play." So we played. There are six students and one started with the hat and took off running. Whoever caught him got the hat next and so on. The only problem was that every time one little guy got the hat no one could catch him and that's when the other teacher and I got a work out. Every little while we would form a circle and repeat: "I play."

We took a break in the shade and Rocio sat down next to me and said, "Jesus died on the cross to save us, right? Because we are sinners." Later as we were working on a craft I had to tell the boys to patient, the teacher would get to him with the glue in a minute. Another of the little ones piped up, "Love is patient."

PE class went really well this week. They chose their own teams while I set up the bases for kickball and the only three boys in the class insisted on being on th same team. The team of all girls said they were fine and so I figured it would be easier to leave well enough alone. In the first inning the girls weren't able to score at all--the boys caught everything they kicked. Exactly what I was afraid of. The boys were celebrating and being...boys. But then I had the unexpected pleasure of seeing the girls take the boys down before they even knew what hit them. Brenda, a student I spend extra time with several times a week, kicked the ball further than any of the boys. I wish you could have seen the boys expressions when they realized they were being beat.

Brenda is in fourth grade and has fetal alcohol syndrome. She speaks English well but struggles to read and write. We practice reading a lot and I've been encouraging her to read books with fewer pictures. I told her she could decide when she was ready and she said she'd be ready in September. I guess I just assumed she knew I was leaving in a few weeks. She just looked at me and broke my heart when she said, "But who's going to give me class?"

Pamela and Steve have had a hard time lately with nannies and only recently got two new nannies. One more change in an already difficult life. Pamela thinks that it has made a big difference to have someone spend an hour and a half reading with Brenda each week, which is all I do. There are so many children at the home and so few people to devote themselves to them. It is difficult enough to provide for their practical needs not to mention all the emotional and spiritual needs that are further complicated by past abuse and living in a home without parents. Please pray for the children at La Senda.

One of the greatest blessing I've received here is the opportunity to get to know brothers and sisters in Christ here in Guatemala. The teachers who pour their time and energy into the little ones and into helping and supporting each other and making a "Gringa" feel welcome; my family who have really made me feel like I am part of their family and belong with them; my running friends who invite me to take a break for ice cream now and then; church members who stop to talk to me after church and help me forget how much I stand out; the man in charge of the building who opens the church for English class everyday and always has a kind word and a smile.

Thank you so much for you prayers. Please pray:

For nannies at La Senda who will devote themselves to loving and caring for the children.

For Jasson, one of my English students at the church. He is eleven and his parents don't go to church. At the beginning of class he came irregularly and rarely took notes so I didn't consider him as one of the better students. We had tests and he didn't write anything. There was a group who always came and then some other who came on and off and rarely knew the answers and I mentally had him in that group. But recently he has surprised me with how much he knows. He can't read or write much in English but he is one of the best when we practice speaking and that is what this class is really about.

That I would continue to love as Christ loves us. I know I keep coming back to that but I can't say it enough. It doesn't matter who they are, even if they are orphans or abused children, the hardest to love are always those closest to you, the ones you come into contact with everyday. If you don't love them, you don't love anyone.

Be Careful What You Pray For

I spent Saturday with Erick and his sister, Erlinda, two children who live at La Senda. Erick is eleven and in fifth grade and Erlinda is eight and in second grade. Their mother died in November leaving their father to care for five children, the youngest only two years old. Erick and Erlinda attend La Senda as a boarding school and go home during breaks and one weekend a month. Their father only has every other weekend off so the other three children spend most of their time with their elderly grandmother.

Erick and Erlinda have been at La Senda since the school year started in January and are adjusting to life there but it is difficult. It's always a joy to see how the two of them look out for each other and especially how Erick takes care of his younger sister. I often see the two of them together during recess and he'll often have his arm around her or let her hold his hand.

We drove up to La Senda to pick the two of them up on Saturday morning and all of the other children crowded around the car. I wish I could have taken all of them. Joselyn and Jonathan are almost the same ages as Erick and Erlinda so Armando took the five of us to Guatemala City to run errands and go out to eat.

We went to Pollo Campero, a Guatemalan favorite. The kids voted for pizza and had a great time in the Play Place while we waited for it to arrive. I think my favorite part of the day was watching Erlinda eat. I had two pieces of pizza and was satisfied and this teeny tiny little girl had three pieces and some fried chicken. The two of them were shy at first but Armando is good with kids and before long they were smiling and giggling and talking more and more. One of Erlinda's teachers told me on Monday that Erlinda had excitedly told her all about our outing first thing that morning.

Monday was a tough day in PE class. They were all so excited when I told them they could play Capture the Flag, but they couldn't even choose teams without fighting. We had barely started to play before everyone had begun to fight about the rules, the placement of the flag--the other team was always cheating. By the end of the hour my ears were ringing with their whining and complaining and fighting. I was ready to give them all zeros for the day.

I sent them back to their class and began to put things away. And without a million voices ringing in my ears I was able to recall the verse I had been meditating on that day, Deuteronomy 4:39, "Acknowledge and take to heart this day that the Lord is God in heaven above and on the earth below. There is no other." So what did that mean for me there and then? It at least meant that a class of whiny fourth graders wasn't the end of the world after--surely God is not unfamiliar with whining.

And then I remembered 2 Corinthians 4:18, "So we fix our eyes not on what is seen but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." What is seen? A bunch of whiny kids. What is unseen? God's master plan, including his work inside each of us as He uses tough experiences to make us into what He wants us to be. And finally I remembered Romans 5:4, "Taken in the right spirit these very things will give us patient endurance; this in turn will develop a mature character, and a character of this sort produces a steady hope, a hope that will never disappoint us." What isn't worth enduring for the sake of promises like that?

And just in case I hadn't fully turned my spirit back to God and accepted the difficulties as a blessing in disguise, I got a reminder from four-year-old Ana Belen. I was in the middle of finger painting and shoe tying when she marched up to me with a big smile on her face and said, "El amor es paciente!" "Love is patient!" I did pray for love didn't I? Who knew I'd get an answer of a bunch of fourth graders who can't even play Capture the Flag without fighting?

My little preschoolers teach me something new everyday. We were outside playing one day when Pamela (the director from the States) walked by and commented that they should be the trash patrol and actually throw away the trash they pick up rather than playing with it. Usually the children who live at La Senda are stuck cleaning up everyone's mess at the end of the day. She got plastic bags for Rocio and Ana Belen and Daniella and we set out on our little "treasure hunt." Rocio screamed and jumped up and down everytime she found some trash and rushed to show me. Ana Belen told me not to show her--she wanted to find the trash herself. There was hardly enough trash to go around and I had to mediate several arguments about who got to pick up a certain piece of trash. I suppose there are worse things to fight about. It's all in how you look at it, isn't it? Who knew picking up trash could really be a treasure hunt?

English class at church has been going well. Before I teach them something new I try to start with something that they're good at and can do well. That way they won't get discouraged right away with something tough. I was sure the lesson today was going to be difficult and I wasn't sure if we were even going to have enough time to finish it, but before I knew it they had picked up the pattern. I thought we would have to go over it and over it before they would understand. It's not often that I'm so glad to be wrong.

We played Bingo today and I wish you could have seen Emerson dance when he won. Heidy brought her six-year-old brother and all the other students were eager teachers. When it came time to practice dialogs with the puppets I let him participate while the other students crowded around to whisper the responses in his ear.

Someone asked me what I've learned in Sumpango. And I realized that of the greatest things I've been learning here I can't really claim to have definitely learned any of them. I've only begun to learn what it means to love unconditionally, to die in order to live, to fix my eyes on what is unseen, to live in the present tense and trust God to take care of tomorrow. Those aren't the kind of things that make a nice checklist of things learned. But even a checklist is seen and things seen are temporary. There are many things I can't grasp right now--things that are unseen, things that are eternal.

John 15:17

I went to a Guatemalan wedding last week and a reception afterward. I waited at her house with the others while her mom and maid of honor helped her with her veil and lined up the ring bearers and flower girls. She followed the traditional Guatemalan clothing with white adornments on her skirt and in her hair. We followed the Bride through the streets to the church. The music started and the attentendents filed down the aisle, stopping at their appointed stops and then separating and raising their long flowers to form a sort of canopy for the Bride and Groom to pass under. Just as the Bride began her walk down the aisle a "promotion van," a perferred form of advertising in Guatemala, passed the corner and the men began to blare their unintelligible slogans. I guess that made the wedding all the more authentically Guatemalan but I was disapointed.

After the ceremony was a reception served in the community center with the traditional wedding food of Pepien with, of all things, a Sprite. One of the things that's been funny for me here is seeing Guatemalan culture and Western influence blend together into something distinctly Guatemalan. They sell Skittles and Doritos and Corn Flakes in tiny little stores that you only see when you are right upon them; there must be three of them for every block and they sell everything from chocolate to shampoo, fresh bread to cell phone cards.

That's another thing that's been funny to see. Nearly everyone here has a cell phone, maybe a greater majority than in the States because they are so cheap and people need them for safety. I have several first graders at La Senda with cell phones and I've had cell phones go off in my English class at the church, too. Women in the traditional Mayan clothing, carrying baskets on their heads, making tortillas, carrying children around on their backs with just a piece of cloth, also have their cell phones tucked into their pockets. It wasn't uncommon at the clinic I worked at when I first got here to have patients pull their cell phones out of their pockets. These were people who hadn't been to a doctor in years, whose children had maybe never been to a doctor, and yet they had cell phones.

Tuesday was a tough day. I've just started helping Mayra, another teacher, in her science class. She is from Guatemalan but lived in the States for a number of years and is one of the English teachers in the school. She teaches the science class in English and I am there to help with pronunciation and discipline and just to be someone else to speak English to the children. I've only been doing this for a couple of weeks and I have finally learned all of the names of my new students and it's been a blessing to get to know more children.

On Tuesday we divided the children into two groups. We each took a group and went outside to read books to the children and then to walk around and talk about the difference between sunlight and shade. Doesn't sound too hard, does it? I took them to a sunny spot in the grass overlooking the hills and the beautiful scenery and asked them to form a circle so we could read. Before I knew it two of the boys were wrestling, others were throwing tufts of dried grass all over and finally I was pulling the stuff out of my hair and trying to figure out what hit me. The rest of that hour and during math class they all seemed determined to make themselves as "unloveable" as humanly possible.

The hour ended and I sent them all to recess and then tried to figure out what had happened. I didn't want to see another child. Why did they persist in trying my patience? I had been praying since I got there weeks before that I could share the love of Christ with all of the these children every chance I got. Why was it so hard? Children should be easy to love, right?

But as I prayed I began to realize what God was doing. He was stripping away any superficial love I might have for these children, based on their cuteness or sweetness or bright smiles, in order that it might be replaced with real love. He was making me see what real love is. And real love has nothing to do with what others do and everything to do with what I do.

Shall I love the little girl who just climbed into my lap and put her arms around me and not the little boy who has not been able to stay in his seat for more than thirty seconds this entire hour? Shall I love those who obediently run in PE class and not those who hide in the bushes? Shall I love those who run and greet me when I get to school and not those who just dumped dry grass in my hair? Shall I love the little boy who colored me a picture and not the little boy who has been making the girls cry? What kind of love is that? If I don't love the latter I don't love the former either.

As long as I cannot find it in me to love the little troublemakers, the squirmy ones, the ones who appear completely deaf at times, then I don't really love anyone. And if I can't love anyone then I don't have much of a faith to offer to the world and I don't have much of a Savior. "This is my command: Love each other." (John 15:17)

God is good. He's given me the strength I need to love even those who try me. He's given me new energy and patience and courage to love as He loved. I've begun to see those I might before have seen as sent to make my life miserable, as sent to teach me what it really means to love.

I've been comforted and strengthened by Deuteronomy 13:3b-4: "The Lord your God is testing you to find out whether you love him with all your heart and with all your soul. It is the Lord your God you must follow, and Him you must revere. Keep His commands and obey Him; serve Him and hold fast to Him."

I've been looking through my pictures and realizing that they really do say "a thousand words." But then, there is so much that they cannot say, that even words cannot convey. I wish that I could make you see my little "chiquititas," Danielita, Rocio, and Ana Belen as they run to the swings after lunch; Danielita is by far the smallest but somehow she is unmistakably the ringleader of the three. I wish you could see how Rocio never walks, she prances; how Ana Belen concentrates as she carefully carries a block over to the swings so that she can step on the that and then climb onto the swing without any help; how they show me the new "moves" they learned doing "aerobics" with another teacher and how they chant: "Fisica de Musica" as they begin. I wish you could see Erick and Erlinda, two students who board at the school, run to meet their Dad when he comes from the city to get them for the weekend; a kindergartener's face light up when he realizes that today is "his day" and he gets a sticker and gets to pass out papers. I wish you could hear the tiny voices practicing English words or lisping the Beatitudes; the shouts of children playing capture the flag; the children in my English class at Los Olivos singing "Jesus Loves Me;" the chorus of "Hola" Buenos Dias" Adios" in the streets.

I joined church members last Sunday in a city wide evangelism outreach. We went door to door asking people if they knew Christ and if they wanted to here how they might be saved. I went with two others from the church and at first didn't see any need to speak, indeed was afraid to speak. The others with me knew more Spanish, let them talk. But as I went along I felt the Holy Spirit prompting me to speak. The others had been telling me to let them know when I wanted to say something and so I told them that I was ready. But then we knocked on door after door and no one answered; I got more and more nervous with each house we approached.

When someone finally opened the door, she didn't offer any encouragement but said she would listen. I wish I could say I was filled with eloquent words to say and she made a declaration for Christ right then and then but the the reality is my Spanish still needs work and she only nodded and said she would think about it. As we walked away I realized that if Jesus is not Lord than all of that was for nothing. It reminded me of the woman annointing Jesus (Mark 14:1-9). Others thought her sacrifice a waste, the perfume could have been sold to help the poor. But Jesus defended her. Because He is Lord and only because He is Lord did her sacrifice have any meaning. In my case I was just a "Gringa" with imperfect Spanish, there were others who could have shared with this woman, but God asked me to. And because He is Lord He can take and use this little sacrifice as well.

Thank you so much for your prayers. Please pray:

For Lesbia, one of my English students at Los Olivos. She hasn't come to class since Monday and I'm not sure what happened. Her father died a number of years ago and since her mother works from early in the morning until late at night, Lesbia takes on the role of mother to her younger siblings. She is 11 and the oldest of four. When they are sick she needs to care for them. She could really benefit from learning English and she is very smart and was doing so well in class.

For Marilyn, on of my kindergarteners. She is from the coast where there is hardly any educational system so she attends La Senda along with some other children as a boarding school. She went home to be with her family over Holy Week and since she returned she is often crying during class and when I ask her what the matter is she says she wants to go home. She's only in kindergarten and already living far away from her family.

That I would be continually strengthened to love the children and everyone else I come into contact with, with the love of Christ. (1 Corinthians 13)