11:07 AM
I want to write about the rain. It's been on my mind a lot lately. I've grown to really enjoy rain. It gets a pretty bad rap. But growing up in Massachusetts has led me to the certain truth that rain is alwyas better than snow. Always. In college, I would sometimes find myself caught in rain as I walked bvack to my dorm at night. By senior year, when this would happen, I had already gotten into the habit of choosing to walk back with my hood down and umbrella in my bad. I like control, and I have a nasty habit of trying to control as much as I can. But rain will not be controlled by a person. It-s too big. So after a long day of managing my classes, organizing homework, preparing and running acappella rehearsals, and jumping around to and from my three different jobs on campus, my soul really needed, not to LOSE control, but to have it taken from me...because I never would have chosen it myself. Walking in the rain was one way-- and sometimes the only way-- I reminded myself that I could not control everything. And that is okay. Recently, I've been stressed about our calendar. As a self-stated lover of control, I really love calendars and planning. That being said, it's like tequila-- good in moderation but can (and will) lead to self-destruction. There are many calendars I look at...
Ash Wednesday was one of these days--it was a lot. I was back at both of my worksites after spending the weekend through Tuesday in the war of Carnaval. Lots of plans. I ended up attending Mass twice, which is a challenge because Mass is still a hard place for me here in Ecuador. Half-way through Mass, everyone heard the rain start. I looked down to realize I didn't bring an umbrella. Of course. At the end of Mass, I walked ot the back of the church where our director, Manny, was standing watching the rain. Me: What are you waiting for? Manny: It's raining. Where's Henry? Me: He left. Let's go. As we walked our a few steps Manny turned to me, Manny: Are we going to run? Me: Are you gonna melt? I'm walking, it won't kill me. We'll just get wet. We walked more and I told him that whenever it rains I always remember a former student, Chloe. She loves the rain, so when I feel myself impatient in the rain I think, "Chloe would love this!" and I typically feel better. Gratitude is pretty magical. Manny turned to me... Manny: I actually like this! It's refreshing. As I took my hair out of the bun I'd had in all day, I shared about my cross-campus walks and the reminder that I'm not in control. And we laugh because we're SOAKED. We arrived abck to my house and shared a mutually wet hug and appreciation for the cathartic walk. Manny left and I felt calm for the first time in a week. Rain does that. It cleanses us and renews us--if we let it. One of the kids in our neighborhood recently asked me, " ¿Vas a bañarte en la lluvia?" and I answered her, "¡tal vez!" (maybe). In college, and on Ash Wednesday, I needed moments of cleansing to wash away all the things that make it hard for me to see and feel clearly. When you're getting soaked in rain you can't worry about your schedule, your Spanish level doesn't matter, and typically you can only focus on that moment. Rain demands presence and cleans out everything else. I feel like my emotions mimic the rain cycle. It all builds up until water needs to start falling. I've always been a fan of water and mesmorized by it's grandeur and healing powers. And I think that's it... water seems to heal me: the ocean, tears, and teh rain. I would say I'm blessed to be here, in this place that breaks me and heals me, wears me down and gives me life, shoves me in metaphorical (and literal) mud and then cleans me off with some of the strongest downpours I've ever experienced. It's thick mud but it's stronger rain.
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I get this question, or something very similar pretty often. At first glance I feel like this question is lame, but now, after being asked by almost everyone I know, I have had to come to the harsh truth that I have never really explained how my experience unfolded after I left. Where do I work... what do my days look like... who do I live with... do I live in a church... do I only eat rice... how do I get around...what does a typical day look like... etc. And so, ladies, gentlemen, and other humans, here I am to answer it all. (first, I NEED everyone to know that someone's cell phone just rang at the cyber and their ringtone is the Harry Potter theme song music. Okay, we can continue) I feel like running everyone through what should be a typical day is the best way to approach this... I also did NOT prewrite this blog post as I used to do earlier this year. I wake up anytime between 5:00am and 7am. I have been trying to incorporate yoga into my daily life because it makes my whole life better, and so sometimes I do yoga in the morning. I will then shower, get ready, and start making coffee in our french press (Evan Korol if you are reading this YES I learned how to use a french press and it's amazing and amazingly easy) unless a communitymate has started that process. {Let us now talk about community... I live in a community of 4 women pictured to the left: Sarah, Caro, Clari, and me. We live in a volunteer house in the greater community of Arbolito (translation: little tree). We have our own rooms but share the rest of our home together. That includes many things you would find in a regular home... we have bathrooms, a kitchen, living room, a house chapel, laundry area, hammock outside... the usual. We have two dogs: Wookie and Maní. They cute. We have a gate around our property and guards always on duty. Our guards are cool people but as someone who has lived on my own for a while now, it's hard to ask someone to let me out when I want to go buy eggs down the street, ya know? (Brit Christopher, if YOU are reading this please don't make me check in with you when I want to leave our apartment but please be prepared to hug me on the daily because that's a part of my life now.)} Clari and I leave for our morning worksite anytime between 6:45am and 8:30am depending on what the day has in store. If retreat groups are visiting us at Damien House (aka my morning worksite) {Morning worksite info: Damien is a home for people who have been diagnosed with Hansen's Disease and you have access to Google so you can do that Better yet, you probably have Facebook and/or Instagram so follow us there! FB: La Fundación Padre Damian IG: damienhouseinc and then if you have questions about it please ask me, I'm happy to answer questions!} then we need to leave super early, and if we get distracted by neighbors or community discussions then we leave super late. Typically we strike a 7:45 middle ground. We take the bus, which is sometimes like being packed inside a sardine can, and sometimes it's relatively packed but there are seats. Bus ride takes around an hour. We start at 9/9:30.... Working at Damien means anything could happen, and typically everything does! Sometimes we are hanging out with patients and play dominoes, sometimes we paint a mural, sometimes we shop for things across the street, sometimes we bake banana bread, and other times we fold clothes or organize donations. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I make felt animals with the ladies though. That always happens. We eat lunch there around 12:30pm and it always includes rice. Lunch is a soup with a plate of food. Rice is always there, even if you think it's not. It is. From there, Clari and I walk to the bus stop to catch our second buses. We don't work together in the afternoon, so I hop on the 3 ruta 40 bus and ride it to the last stop, a community called, Una Sola Fuerza (our translation: One United Force). *There I spend about two hours in the afternoons Monday through Thursday hanging with a bunch of wild kiddos at an afterschool program called, Semillitas (Little Seeds). Our program is aimed at instructing these beautifully wild humans. They are cute and crazy and all my teaching nightmares have come true inside my half of a small classroom that I share with another teacher. I do not teach English. In fact, for the first several months, the kids taught ME Spanish (thank God). I teach math. Or I try to. I really love teaching and in my career I have been blessed to have experienced some beautiful "Aha!" moments with my students. I think all of those moments are magic and my soul thrives off of them. I see God's grace move through each moment, each human who sits in front of me or stands at a white board, trying to understand a concept and then finally having it click. I won't compare those moments, but I will say that there are some moments here in Ecuador that still bring chills to my arms and tears to my eyes. Moments so beautiful I don't feel worthy of having witnessed them in person. But I did. I have cried from the beauty and cried from the stress, the laughter and the frustration, the joy and the injustice. I could (and probably will) write about my experience at Semillitas, and if you have questions I would encourage you to reach out and ask me. I do a lot better with questions. I leave Sola anytime from 5:30pm to 6:30pm depending on the day. It takes me around an hour and fifteen minutes to get home on the bus, despite the ride in car being only twenty minutes. The bus has been a big way for me to practice patience. I'm still working on it. When I get home I either cook dinner or wait for it to finish being prepared. We rotate jobs so some nights I cook and sometimes I pray or do dishes. Dinner is typically a run down of everyone's days. In the beginning this conversation turned unfortunate moments into hilarious stories (thanks to Sarah) and slowly transformed into trying to unpack a lot of the hardness that we see. We still laugh a fair amount at the chaos that we exist in, and we still try to unpack things that we can barely understand. We listen. We share. Sometimes we cry. and typically we laugh. Because something we all agree on is that our neighbors have shown us how to hold suffering and joy at the same time. Weekends look different. But it's a Tuesday, more than a month after I started this post, and I have to get going to work. Like I said before, I do a lot better with questions than with self-disclosure. If this post leaves questions with you, please let me know. Time is slipping here and I am starting to feel it. This daily routine may seem simple to whoever reads this, or maybe it seems confusing. But it's how I've spent majority of the last nine months. There is a lot of beauty in this routine and lots of things I haven't mentioned... neighbor time... hosting retreat groups... any true details about my experiences... But my hope wasn't to put a magnifying glass to my experience, only to give you a picture and allow you to decide where you aim your focus. Where I aim my own changes daily as the picture itself transforms and changes. All I know for sure is it's a crazy photo with lots of colors, some blurriness, and lots of light. *This is where I continued adding new stuff a month after I had originally started this post... if you notice a difference in tone and style....that's why. ya girl got busy! Honestly.... I feel like I don't have anything to say and that I am just typing a blog post becaue it's been six months, I haven't posted since early October, and I should probably update people that I am alive.
BUT I actually think it's the opposite problem. There is TOO MUCH to say, and to try to find the right words is overwhelming, especially when I am paying for internet, the keyboard is sticking, and I could be eating lunch at a neighbor's. Today my communitymates and I hit the 6 month mark of being here in Ecuador. It's a pretty big deal I guess.... It's the longest I have ever been away from home. I've never lived outside of Massachusetts, let alone, out of the country. and this experience is pretty big, beautiful, and heavy. and what we have been reminded of a lot lately, is that it's half over. In reality, I feel like I am beginning. Yesterday, I translated for a neighbor who does not speak any English. It was the first time I've done that, and I wasn't planning on it until we sat down, I was next to her, and she looked at me and started speaking. I am able to make jokes in Spanish now. And sometimes I can even be sarcastic. I don't feel completly lost in conversations, only when I am zoned-out or not paying attention. I like more Spanish music than when we first got here, understand more of the readings at Mass, and even know parts of prayers. I feel motivated to talk about God more. I engage in more conversations. I feel more connected. I feel less phased by things that don't actually matter. I can eat a lot more rice before feeling like I am going to expload. I've also been feeling really heavy and sad, as I confront more challenging and complex situations. I physically ache from worrying about the kids in my after school program who go home to poverty and all its complex intricacies that I don't have the energy to type out. I struggle to stay mentally here while decisions for my life back at home get finalized. I guess I can list some things I have learned in the past six months... or memories I have... or challenges.. or hopes...or all of them.... LEARNED: 1. Spanish 2. How to bachata 3. How to make rice well 4. Spanish 5. Spanish 6. How to be bad at almost everything. MEMORIES 1. Poma bowling with my communitymates 2. Sarah dancing with Pepe (a dog) 3. Dancing with Sinai for Jess's birthday 4. Dancing together with Sinai, our community, Manny, and Henry after the Christmas party 5. Translating for the first time 6. New Years Eve and Day CHALLENGES: 1. Spanish 2. Missing people 3. Lice 4. Holding saddness and joy at the same time 5. Staying present 6. Being myself in another language HOPES: 1. Be myself in another language 2. Keep learning more Spanish 3. Embrace new experiences, both fun and uncomfortable 4. Pray more 5. Learn more lyrics to Spanish songs 6. Love more, even when it hurts and so I guess that's it. It's a super unplanned, authentic, spur-of-the-moment blog post, but I guess that's pretty much my life here. So yeah, I'm alive. Still in Ecuador. Still 100% sure I was called here. But rather than trying to find out WHY, I'm just trying to BE, and let the why find me. I'm not sure how to start writing.
I know I should write, but it feels like a really big undertaking. I know people back home read my blog, and the thought of trying to encapsulate this experience so far in a single blog post, paired with the perfect, slightly sarcastic tone, and just the right amount of self-depricating humor halts me. I have things I want to write about and share. I made a list. I started writing a reflection on kindness back in the middle of September but never finished it. There's the sunsets I see every day as I ride my first bus home, which reminds me there is beauty in each day. There's my kids at my second job site. They are dirty andbeautiful. There is the feeling I experience when Michelle hugs me, or when Genesis finally mastered adding zero to other numbers. I'm convinced that if everyone would feel even an ounce of the joy I experienced that day seeing her sit a little taller in her chair, we'd all be floating, and yet I don't have the words (in Spanish or English) to accurately describe it. All I can say is I'm almost moved to tears remembering it now. I could write about missing people back home. How sometimes I can't sleep because I wake up to wonder how someone is doing, or I space out at my worksites trying to figure out a way to be in two places at once, and ultimately get mad at myself for failing to be present. I could write about having lice. Yeah, that's right. That sucked, but ultimately showed me how compassionate my communitymates are and how much gratitude my heart is capable of. I could write about how tiring it is to be cat-called. Or about the time a man yelled in my face once I sat down on the bus, but I don't know what he said because when I am in these moments my spanish-processing part of my brain shuts down and I just stare. Then again, these things happen at home, but I understand the words shared. I could write about all the ways I mess up. There's the time we were celebrating our two month anniversary of being in Ecuador and I ordered french fries for our table, and when they came it was a plate of boiled baby potatoes. Or last week, when after taking communion by mouth for two months, I extended my hands AND opened my mouth at the same time, confusing the priest, the altar server, and myself. There's the fact that I still don't know how to say, "put those in the box," because I don't know the word for "box." I could also write about how, despite praying multiple times daily, attending Mass, and being a volunteer in a program called Rostro de Cristo (Face of Christ), I don't allow God to sit next to me and be in this experience with me as I process. And I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I don't know how we let people stay like this. I'm not saying that all the people here should live like we do in the U.S. because quite frankly, that system has its own brokenness. But how do we keep moving forward? How do I explain the reality that last month my community was without water for more than a week, and woke up one morning without electricity, too. I'm not even talking drinking, or running water. I mean no water. My heart feels broken by the things I see and hear daily, but quickly mended with each hug and laugh. When I stop, sit, and talk to God those wounds open again. When you know the names of the poor your view of the situation changes. It hurts more. And I guess that's part of why we stay away. It's a form of protection, a way to guard our minds and hearts. But that's not what hearts are for. Personally, I have kept my own heart pretty guarded throughout my life, and this experience is busting through those walls and kicking down the doors I've built to keep pain and fear out. As I sit with God, my mind goes to the infamous quedstion, "What do I do?" And that's the trouble. I took a vow in this program and I am called to BE not to DO. It's a concept that is both crippling and transformative, infuriating and magical. So, that is my aim. To BE sad, to BE present, to BE grateful, to BE hugged, to BE awoken, to BE challenged, to BE loved, to BE fed, to BE embarrassed, to BE confused, to BE joyful, to BE here, to BE uncomfortable, to BE changed, and to BE honest. I guess I'll write about that.... and I will also share this picture of these amazing women I am blessed to BE here with, and our dogs. :) I take a Mercedes Benz to work every day.
It's the nicest brand of car I've ever ridden in regularly. My high school boyfriend used to drive his dad's Mercedes and I remember being slightly intimidated by such an elite brand. In the States I drive a pre-owned 2012 Nissan Versa, so you could say I'm doing okay. This Mercedes I ride in doesn't have any seatbelts and also transports anywhere from 20 - 100 other people during my 45 minute commute. The faces change daily, but the route remains the same. We drive over a bridge out of our neighborhood, Arbolito, and get on the highway. We cross over our second bridge and approach a very wealthy neighborhood. They have grass. Grass is something I have grown used to not seeing. They also have palm trees, sprinkler systems, parks, and garages for their family cars. I don't know many people outside of our foundation who own cars, and if someone does have a car, they definitely don't have a room of their home dedicated to storing it. I have grown to really dislike driving through here. I've also grown to realize that I feel that way because it represents who I've been. It's funny how sometimes all we need to do in order to see a situation fully is to get up and move ourselves. Rather than simply imagine, or think about the other side, we need to stand in it with our own two feet and look back at where we had previously been standing. The view always looks different. The next bridge in our journey leads us by the airport. The airport is an ever-present reminder that I have a way out. This week I thought about a hypothetical situation where my program director, Manny, asked me if I wanted to go home and I reflected on how I would answer. There's a lot to that scenario: I miss my mom. I miss my friends and family. I miss sweet potatoes and coffee shops. So I allowed myself to imagine what saying "Yes" looks like... I get on a plane... get to Logan... hug my mom and other loved ones... and as I prepare for bed (after taking a warm shower and eating sushi) I know I would sit and wonder what the point was. I would ask myself why I did this at all if I was just going to duck-out early. Was there a point? And that is why I need to say "no" to that hypothetical offer. I believe there IS a point. I have absolutely NO idea what it is, but I believe it exists. About six months ago I was in Ecuador with a reatreat group. It was during that week that I first met my previously mentioned program director, Manny. One night Manny was sharing about his own story and told me that he has come to realize that there are some things he is not meant to understand, but he is meant to believe. Some things I am not meant to understand, I am meant to believe. That line has stayed with me since that night when he first said it. I thought about it when I arrived home from Ecuador in February and felt a stirring in my heart. I thought about it as I uprooted my life and applied to this program. I thought about it as I said my "see you laters". I think about it every day I board the Mercedes, pay $0.35, and ride past the people who symbolize who I've been, and also as I reflect on who I am becoming. It's like I said before, the faces change daily, including my own. I am not the same prson today that I was yesterday. I'm growing, reflecting, questioning, and transforming. The change is something I don't fully understand, but I believe. During the first lesson I ever taught in grad school all my technology failed.
We were in a classroom on the first floor of Harkins Hall at Providence College, it was our first evaluated lesson, and pressure was on. I had made a decked-out Prezi (because it was WAY cooler than PowerPoint) with videos and movements. I was excited to teach the room about beatboxing, which was a skill I had been honing for two years. I got up to the computer, and nothing would load. No videos. No fun movements. Nada. I looked back at the director of my grad program, Br. Pat, and he sat there intrigued, waiting to see what I would do next. Would I shrug my shoulders and give up, or would I get up off the ground I had fallen to and make music (both metaphorically and literally). See, what Br. Pat knew in that moment, and something I have come to realize, is that this moment, and more importantly my response, defined who I would be as an educator. What did I do, you may be wondering... hold on! A week ago today marked my first day of work in Ecuador. I travel to my morning sight with a community-mate, Clari, and we had a beautiful morning of coffee, making friends, and learning the art of dominoes. We take different buses in the afternoon, so we got to our bus stop and waited to wave down our buses when they came. This is where we started to get anxious. We were both really excited for our morning site, but felt the pressure setting in for our afternoon ones. I was nervous about a few things: 1. I don't speak enough Spanish. 2. I am at my worksite alone without another volunteer. 3. I still don't really know my way around the community I work in. 4. I realized I forgot my set of keys at home. So, I got on my bus and almost immediately convinced myself it was the wrong one, but talked myself off that ledge quickly. After about an hour, I was the only person left on the bus (this isn't suprising because I work in a community that few people are traveling to). The driver turned around to me and said, "Bienvenidos," or, "Welcome," which was his way of saying I had arrived, only he didn't bring me all the way I was used to from the days I shadowed an old volunteer. In my rookie Spanish I asked him what translates to, "You go there?" (side note: I am SUPER dumb in Spanish) and he simply said, "No," which translates perfectly to "No." I got off the bus (because I am also a pushover in Spanish as seen in this moment, and the time I was charged $0.25 for a banana, which is the equivalent of robbery). I walked the 5-10 minute walk to my worksite, let myself into the gated area, and sat in the shade waiting for my mentor to arrive. After some time a little boy showed up, then more kids started arriving, but alas, no mentor, and no keys. So I called my mentor, no answer. So I texted. Then my phone rang. "Hola Hermana. Estoy aqui. ¿Donde esta?" "Estoy in Quito." Quito is an 8hr bus ride from where I was standing. She told me she had told the kids no class and didn't know why they were there but she had to go and we would talk about it tomorrow. As I hung up the phone, six kids looked at me asking where hermana was and as I told them she was in Quito, I saw them look at me with the same look Br. Pat gave me five years ago. The "What now?" look. Back in 2013, when my tech failed, I had the two options previously mentioned: give up or get going. I can vividly remember seeing the "What now?" look on Br. Pat's face and accepting the challenge. I looked down at what was around me, grabbed an expo marker, and started my lesson. We made music that day, including Br. Pat, which had no intention of beatboxing that day, but he quickly learned that I would not be taking no for an answer. Not in my class. See, I like rising to the challenge, surpassing expectations, and getting what I want. That day I wanted him to beatbox, and I got what I wanted, and it laid the foundation for the day when I found myself standing in Ecuador, locked outside a classroom with six kids staring at me wondering, "What now?" I said, "Hoy nosotros aprendemos matematicas, ven aqui." We sat in a circle in the shade and I looked into my bag to see what I had to use. No expo markers or white boards today, but I did have a notebook and a pen. I ripped pages into smaller pieces as the kids looked on to see what the gringa was trying to do. On each piece I wrote down a number. We spent an hour practicing counting, number recognition, addition, greater than/less than, and played war. All with some notebook paper, a pen, kids who wanted to learn, and a teacher who likes getting what she wants. Lots of things went wrong, don't get me wrong. I should not have forgotten my keys, I should have told parents to get their kids at 5:00, not 5:30, I could go on... BUT what I have realized many times over is that it's more important to focus on what you can do, rather than on what is falling apart around you. I don't pretend that I can control everything or that I am free from mistakes--I make SO MANY every freaking day. But something I appreciate about myself is my grit. I don't quit when things get hard. I dig in and I dig deep. I keep moving, keep fighting, keep working. I do the thing. I fall and I rise. I get up, wipe off the dirt, and make the music. I show up and I show up the next day. With keys. :) Alright-- to be honest, I'm approximately 40 minutes away from giving back my computer and am struggling to find a way to write something of quality AND be time-conscious.
If you have come to this blog, you know some version of the story. I'm Kate. I'm 27. I've been teaching for five years and really love being an educator, but at this point in my life I feel called to do something different. That "something different" is to spend the next year as a volunteer in Ecuador. During my thirteen months in Ecuador I will be working at a ministry site, hosting retreat groups, and immersing myself fully in the culture and my neighborhood. To be honest, I've gotten really good at rambling off the synopsis above, and for a while this whole endeavor is something I have spent a lot of time talking about. But over the past few few days (as I moved out of my apartment, packed up my belongings, said goodbye to friends, and prepared to turn in my technology, ID, and keys to my school) the reality is setting in that this is not simply something I am talking about. I'm doing it. I'm doing the thing. I envision this blog as a way to keep people up to date on things that are happening, although this vision is one of a person who is sitting in an air conditioned room typing this on a MacBook, NOT the version of me that will be sitting in heat inside a cyber cafe. Knowing myself, I will journal to keep track of the experience, and share excerpts from those journals here. If you want to stay in touch personally, you can find my email address under the "contact" button, and know I'd love to hear from you and will try my best to return emails in a timely fashion! :) If you choose to follow this blog, know that I am grateful for your willingness to stay connected throughout this journey. I can't promise perfection here, but I can promise authenticity. I chose the name for the blog because the concept of "grace" is something I've been praying about and reflecting on throughout this year. So when it came time to title this collection of thoughts and experiences, the word came to mind again. I don't believe in coincidence, so I'm just going with it. Based on my past experiences in Ecuador, I'm sure grace will not only come up but will be ever-present. We shall see.... |
AuthorHi! I'm Kate and I am spending the next year in Ecuador as a volunteer with a service organization. I am using this platform to share pieces of the journey as I go. Archives
May 2019
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