Wednesday, July 18, 2007

The Gogo's Garden

Many times I have read the Psalms of praise as redundant phrases that foster God’s ego, they no longer become the cries of my own heart but at times empty words sent up to God. This was until a professor of mine taught me how to truly read the Psalms. She offered that one way in doing that was creating a picture in your mind of what the Psalmist is painting. Since my new understanding Psalm 148 has been a Psalm not only of praise to me but one of hope in a new creation both materially and spiritually in this world. The Psalmist paints a picture of creation as it was when God first ordered it into being. She goes through each command that God gave in the cosmos. I would like to think that her Picasso was not only one of memory, but mission. She sets forth a vision for what the world can look like again, a picture of garden is what I gather from the text. I have preached on this vision of “green” living and environmentally friendly living and new life and have even tried to take steps in my own life to see the garden come alive again, but it wasn’t until I met a Gogo in her garden that the Psalmist vision took hold of my heart.

A week ago I went to visit Gogo Teresa’s garden which the Phakamisa ministry helped her to start. I not only saw her garden but seven others which she had trained and helped other woman to start. The gardens were not just a hobby for the gardeners but they were actually their only hope for food in their forsaken part of this land. The Gogo’s lived in informal settlements and townships. Most of them cared for up to eleven grandchildren or other children that have been orphaned in the community. Many of the children that they love, feed, bath, and care for have AIDS and would die if not for the Gogo’s guardianship.

As we drove with “Mother Teresa”, the name many of her friends called her, we stopped at all the different gardens and met all the other Gogo’s who ran the gardens. Each one was so proud of her spinach, tomatoes, Zulu Cocumba, pumpkins, onions, peppers, and potatoes. Each vegetable had its proper place and they explained to me how they planted and nurtured each of the different plants. They told me how they were given simple seeds and how they grew to be food for them and their children. Which not only provided something to put on the dinner table at night but also helps give the nutrients they need for their ARTs (Anti Retriviral Treatment) to be effective in their bodies to fight against AIDS.

Teresa’s garden was the last one way saw that day and it was the biggest garden, not because of her work alone, but because she had invited others in the community to plant there as well. The garden became a community undertaking providing not only food but the soil for relationships to be planted, rooted, and grown. In many ways the garden provided new life. The simple Gogo played God and was literally the hands and feet of the creator as she planted new life in the soil that was given to her, while at the same time planting hope and happiness in the children and other Gogos that she continually helps.

In Gogo Teresa’s vision and in her mission I was able to see with my own eyes and even taste with my own taste buds the picture the Psalmist painted in Psalm 148. I did not know that day as I entered the informal area made of sticks, a few bricks, and lots of rubbish that I was in fact stepping into the Garden of Eden recreated by the heart of God and the hands of the Gogo Teresa.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

We had CHURCH.

This past Sunday morning we celebrated the 13th anniversary of our little church. The people spent the weekend with each other, but Sunday was the big day. Last week, at the end of the service, we planned the food schedule for the weekend. Each of us committing to bring something to contribute to the meals so that the church would not be stressed financially by the weekend. I brought disposable plates on Saturday, and Sunday, I brought a chicken. Yes, an actual entire chicken (already dead), but head, feet, intestines and all. It was a first for me. I walked to church with chicken in tow, giggling with Meredith along the way about the fact that I was currently carrying a chicken carcass.

When we arrived, Cesar was teaching Sunday school and there were lots of visitors listening to what he had to say. We knocked on the door of the kitchen and our friend let us in. I was so surprised when I walked into the kitchen because there behind the table of chopped up vegetables and the other 5 or 6 whole chickens was a MAN in an apron and a chef’s hat. Another man was helping him, along with two young women. I have been going to this church for about two months now, and before Sunday, never saw a man in the kitchen.

He invited us in, told us to sit, and gave us bread and tea. Then they told us stories of snakes in the jungle and other adventures. It was a great way to start the day.

The culto (worship service) began while we were chatting, so we snuck out of the kitchen and found a seat in the crowded little storefront church. The culto included children singing, young people presenting what they learned in Sunday school, the young adults leading the congregational singing, a sermon by the District Superintendent, more singing, lots of praying and a benediction by a woman (which is a big deal).

I spent the majority of the service with tears in my eyes, wishing that I had more time here, and knowing that God was really there with us. After the service we had a HUGE meal (the typical Peruvian sized lunch), and some good fellowship. We had CHURCH.

As I was leaving I thanked the chef for his work, kissed so many cheeks, and went to say goodbye to Cesar. I asked him as I was walking out who this man was who was cooking for us today. He said, “Oh, Estefani, He is new. He came up to me a few days ago and said, ‘I know how to cook… why don’t you let me help?’” I stood dumbfounded for a minute, Cesar laughed at me and said, “I was surprised, too, but what a gift. God is good.”

Monday, July 9, 2007

Back on the Streets

Well, I am back on the streets. For a few weeks I have been out of my regular routine due to confirmation camp, flu, and a visit to the Drakensburg Mountains. So I have been getting places mainly by car. I also have had to stop my running routine because of the flu but today I was able to walk to church and then back to the lodge where I stay. Then I went on a forty minute jog with my pastor upto Howie's Hill to get a great view of Pinetown, the city which I am staying in. Then I walked back to the church and here I am. When I walk I am usually the only white person on the roads walking and I get the privilege to see so much of the kind of "real life" of everyday life for a person here. I get to see mothers spanking their children for being naughty, or men running to get to work on time, children walking home from school, etc. I noticed today how much I missed walking on the streets. It made me realize how easy it is to create or own little bubble of a life. When we have transport for the most part we can see what we want to see when we want to see it and if there is something that we might not want to see, well, we can speed right past it. So, the past few weeks, it feels as if I really have been living in the white christian woman's bubble. Whether the surroundings I have found myself in have been in places of poverty or privilege, I have chosen to go there and have been able to prepare myself for those experiences. It has been a true blessing to be out of a bubble and on the streets. I wonder if any others of you in international places have experienced this kind of bubble as well?

Monday, June 25, 2007

The Clinic

I recently spent a week translating for a Clinica Mobil. This is basically a doctor’s office in a trailer. The clinic offered services in General Medicine, Pediatrics, Dentistry, Ophthalmology, and Gynecology. They needed seven different translators, one for each different clinic, plus one in triage (getting all of the basic information down), and one in the pharmacy (which offered free medicine). Cesar needed Meredith and me to serve as translators. From the moment we arrived at the first day of the clinic, I was so impressed with the group of volunteers. It was about 9:00am when we arrived with the other translators, and there was a hustle and bustle underway. Half of the team from Central UMC in Florence, SC was already working hard on the construction of a church in Concepción (a town about 30 minutes outside of Huancayo), while the other half was organizing their medical posts. Not one of theme seemed unhappy to be there.

Because I am a woman (there were few women translators), I was needed in Gynecology. Meredith got to spend the day playing with children in Pediatrics, while I learned a whole slew of new vocabulary, as one would imagine, in order to accommodate our patients.

The second day of the clinic we were in a pueblo near Huancayo called San Jeronimo. The line was already wrapped around the side of the building when we arrived. We served many women that day, some pregnant, some not… some sick, some well… but there is one woman whose face will never leave my memory. For the sake of honoring her privacy I will call her Maria. Maria came to see us late in the morning. I asked her the usual questions while Sloan, the OB/GYN nurse, took down my translations of her answers. Then Maria began to cry. I walked over, and sat beside her on our make-shift exam table and asked her what she felt that she needed that day. She said so meekly, “I fear that I might be pregnant.” Sloan immediately grabbed a pregnancy test out of the many mounted containers of medicine, and we directed her to the bathroom so that we could do the test in the privacy of our trailer. When she returned, I hurried her to the front of our line, much to the dismay of some of those who were still waiting… I had to do some crowd control, to which they responded graciously. I helped Maria up on to the exam table where she looked at me with fear and dread. Because I was the translator I was the one who had to tell her that indeed she was pregnant. I took a deep breath, and invited her to relax and do the same. She cracked a little bit of a smile. Then I told her, “Maria, the test is positive, which means that you are pregnant.” She began to cry.

Sloan told me everything that I needed to explain to her, from the approximate due date of the baby, to prenatal vitamins, to the clean-home delivery kit. (I am pretty much a pro at explaining how to cut an umbilical cord). I asked Maria if she would like to talk to a pastor before going home. She said that she would, so I ditched my post at gynecology for a few minutes, thanked the women in line for their patience and then escorted Maria to the church (which was the waiting room). I invited her to sit and went in search of Cesar Sr. (my supervisor’s wonderful dad), for a pastoral presence to be with Maria. When I couldn’t find him, I felt kind of defeated, and went back to sit with Maria for a few minutes. We sat in silence while she held my hand and cried. Then I realized something.

I heard myself saying inside my head, “Stephanie! YOU are a pastor. Why don’t YOU do this??” I know that sounds like a pretty delayed response… how could I have been so slow to realize it? I was so caught up in my tasks as a translator for the week, and a teacher during my time in Peru, that I forgot that indeed I AM a pastor. I confessed my idiocy to Maria, and asked her if she would like to talk to ME. I felt a little unqualified, but indeed she wanted me to listen to her. We talked about how this baby, even though it is baby #6 being born into uncertain financial situations, is a gift. I told her that God loves her and her child, and that the Psalmist tells us that God knits us together in the wombs of our mothers. I touched her newly pregnant stomach and told her that there was LIFE here. She put her hand on top of mine and said, “Sí, Mamita… sí.”

After we prayed, she cried and I choked back tears. I told her that I would be praying for her. She kissed my cheek and held me in an embrace for a long time. I was being summoned back to Gynecology to translate and I needed to go.

That afternoon, I saw countless faces of women who came in and out of the clinic. I played volleyball with a couple of school girls while we were waiting for our next rush of patients. I can’t remember any of their names, and only a few of their faces. Later that afternoon, as we were about to leave, I saw María walking past the clinic with 4 small children chasing after her grabbing on to her legs, and saying “!Mamí! Mamí!” She looked up from the kids for a moment, still carrying her prenatal vitamins and other medicines, and our eyes met. For the first time that day, María smiled. I jumped down out of the clinic (keep in mind that it is a trailer you have to step up into), and she turned around and walked back to me. I kissed her face and told her that I loved her. She held my hand for a minute, said, “God bless you, Mamita,” smiled, and walked away holding her vitamins in one hand, and the hand of her 3 year old with the other.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Come for Supper!

So! Last weekend, I made a fabulous, jet-setting trip (read: my flight was rebooked, I heard my name in the airport multiple times as I almost missed connections, and when switched to another airline, my luggage was oh-so-conveniently lost) back to DC and "the" Universityfor a dear friend's wedding weekend. Though many of us haven't seen each other in some time, we all came together from around the country to gather and celebrate the love, laughter, friendships, and blessings of our lives. It was so refreshing to spend time with the girls, and feel so instantly at ease and at home with folks I just don't get to see much anymore, but who I love all the same ... Not to mention, I'm realizing how important REST and RESPITE are to the daily life of a minister (or any human being, for that matter!). Sometimes we just get into a rhythm and go go go, not realizing we need a break or vacation until we arrive there. Only in the last week or so has the work here at L'Arche gotten to be just a bit tiring (okay ... exhausting), so I am glad that the opportunity for self care presented itself and I capitalized on it!

After such a great reunion of friends, it was completely to my surprise that when I arrived back in Canada, I found a very special note waiting for me!




"Amey Come For Supper Love Linda." Haha ... this gives new meaning to the idea of making one's requests known! Let me explain a bit ... Linda is a wondeful, energetic, joyful woman who lives in one of the L'arche houses down the street. She visits Corner House (my home) every Tuesday for supper. For whatever reason, Linda has taken quite a liking to me and is very insistent that I come spend time with her (how sweet!) She works with Leah, an MTS student at Duke, and always asks when Leah's "sister" is coming (ahem ... this is me, though Leah and I are opposite in appearance in almost every way!). Whenever we see each other at a L'Arche gathering or in passing, she invites me to sing and dance and spend time with her ... For Linda, there is something very critical about relationship and bonding that is connected to sharing a meal and communing with one another. It is important enough to write a note (my name is even spelled correctly! wow!), a brief but direct letter to make sure I knew I was invited, welcomed, and wanted for dinner.
I cannot tell you (a) how completely hilarious this was, knowing Linda's buoyant personality, or (b) how deeply touching this was. I had just spent a crazy weekend in the States being reminded that the concept of "home" is rooted in relationship, in community, in knowing and being known, in loving and being loved. With nostalgia and the comfort of being "home" with close friends in hand, I returned to the Corner House to find myself, once again, at home ... fully welcome, deeply missed, and truly loved. Moreover, to find myself among amazing people I now call friends who I never expected to be so close to!

My invitation reminded me of the words in Revelation: "Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me." (3:20). How many opportunities to dine together, with God or the people of God, do we miss every day? Christ invites us daily to "come for supper," to be filled with daily bread, to feed others along our way. Do we take the invitation seriously? Do we realize the sign of love and relationship that supper represents? The pace of life here at L'Arche is so different from the rushed and hectic pace of life in the "real world," and it has slowed me down enough to be grateful for the smallest of moments in the days. L'arche has shown me the beauty of sharing life together, and made so clear the reality that communion/community/relationship are at the heart of what it means to be the people of God. I'm just grateful not to be so wrapped up in the sounds of society to miss the gentle knocking of Christ upon my heart through this experience.
May we all take a moment to enjoy the abundant feast of life before us, and share our joys and gifts on this journey. Take time for God, take time for self, and take time to "Come for supper ..." Oh! And as for Linda, we have a dinner date planned next week ... I can't wait!

Linda with Talia and Donna at Corner House.

Poopy Pants

As a young child (well it actually lasted into college) I suffered from an awful "Audreyism" as some of my friends my call it. My problem was getting very excited, which doesn't seem like a problem within itself, but what would happen when I got excited was really the difficulty that was distressing. You see when I would get excited I would pee in my pants! Well a few days ago I met my match in a young boy from Claremont.

Last Tuesday I went with Phakimisa on a field trip to St. Mary's School (an all girls private school). Each year the girls in the school prepare a package for a different child in one of the preschools that Phakimisa supports. So around 10:00 am we loaded thirty children on each taxi (what we might call a 16 seater bus) and made our way to the school. For many of the children involved this was their first time on a taxi and their first time seeing a whole lot of white people. Once we got to the school the staff played with them for a while, then the bell rang and a rush of girls dressed in blue uniforms rushed to greet the children. We all played on the tennis courts for a while and then went to the little party that was set up with biscuits, and tea, and presents. For the three to five year old this venue was really like Christmas, it only happens once a year and is full of gifts and surprises. So each of the children were called by name to come and receive their gift and they all sat with the girls and played with their toys and had biscuits and tea. As we were wrapping the afternoon up the children started to head back to the taxis, but one boy was still waiting in the grass and had the most distressing look on his face. I went to him and asked what was wrong and why he had such a sad face on and got no response. So I helped him stand up and when I did there was a new smell in the air other than freshly cut grass. So I looked on the ground and saw nothing, then I turned my head and saw the child's pant was completely brown. I then saw the need for the sad face. His teacher took notice and came over and took him to the bathroom, where he lost his pants and came to the taxi butt naked. By miracle in his gift he received pants and was able to where those. I inquired why the boy pooped in his pants. I didn't know if he wasn't potty trained or didn't know where to go. The teacher's answer was so simple: "He told me that he just got so excited that he pooped his pants!"

Speaking from experience, I must say it is a bittersweet problem to have. Many times your happiness, most thrilling moments are stained in some way by the mess you make. My heart ached for the boy as I noticed what real vulnerability there is in being excited, even in truly experiencing life. As one whose pride increases with age, as one who tries to keep her emotions under control (and bodily functions these days), and as one who might even exchange truly living for perfection, it was refreshing to be with a boy who simply let it all hang out. It was amazing to see a little boy who let himself experience life so much that he had no control over his body or his actions. Maybe this is the kind of freedom that Christ has set us free for. Not that we are now free to use the bathroom wherever we want but maybe it is this kind of freedom, which lets us truly live, that is the factory of love. I pray that I might experience this freedom of life more and more while I am here. I pray that I might be so wrapped up in life, and the liberating presence of Christ that all I can think to do is to love, and maybe once, just once be so excited that I pee in my pants!

Sunday, June 17, 2007

The River


Last Friday morning Meredith and I left for La Selva (the Amazon Rainforest) where we were asked to teach a weekend seminar. As we were driving to La Selva I began to feel a little bit puny for the first time in my 5 weeks in Peru. Perhaps it was the winding down the mountains, taking each curve a little bit faster than I would have if I were driving; but I am convinced that my puniness was largely because the music that was accompanying our journey for the first couple of hours was not any kind of beautiful Peruvian melody, but the dissonant sounds of a tea salesman. That’s right… tea. The funny thing about the trip is that I would have probably enjoyed some tea, but the man gave a shpeel that lasted at least an hour before he began to walk up and down the aisle of the bus aggressively and loudly attempting to guilt people into buying his tea. I generally do not react violently to situations, but I was about 1 step away from lurching over my seat, throwing up on him and then shoving his tea in his mouth so as to mute his unnecessarily loud sales pitch. Then, I realized that Jesus probably would not have done that, so neither should I.

The second half of our trip began as a group of 3 musicians boarded the bus. They were funny and friendly, and won my heart as they played the music of the Peruvian Andes that I love. As they were playing, the mountains changed from the dry high mountain ranges to a lower range covered completely in green. We were getting close to La Selva. I opened my window and breathed the air of the Amazon rainforest for the first time in my life. We were almost there.

After a 5 hour bus ride, and a one hour car ride, we arrived in Pucharini. We were greeted by the most beautiful scenery; their names were Moises, Ruth, Sadith, Dan and Brion. This family housed and fed us for three days, and became our friends. We taught our “seminar” Friday and Saturday, relying heavily on Godly Play to tell the stories of the Old Testament. On Saturday after I facilitated my last class, we played, worshipped, had dinner, sang songs in the native language Ashaninka (taught by the children of Pucharini at the dining room table of Moises and Ruth), and slept like babies. When we were awoken early Sunday morning by the rooster crowing and the dog barking, we went to go bath in the river.

Even though, by our North American standard we were filthy, in some ways I have never felt so clean. There was something that I can’t seem to name that changed in my soul in those minutes of washing my face, feet and hair in el Rio Perene. It was as if I was cleansed of the grime of the city, of my life of convenience, of the annoying tea salesman, of my pride, and of my fear. Something about bathing in this river woke me up. Maybe it was the cold water on my face, or the balancing act I did on the rocks, but in those moments when Meredith and I were guided to the river bank by Sadith, our 13 year old hostess, I felt the Spirit of God with me more strongly than I ever have before. (This is Sadith.)

After our last bath in the river on Sunday morning, we were driven up to the church, which is high into the green, jungle-covered mountain. We talked, played and laughed for about an hour before the service started. Moises invited Meredith and I to come into the sanctuary to ask which of us would be preaching. Meredith looked at me and said… “It’s your turn.” She had preached off the cuff on Saturday evening in a time of prayer, singing and praise that we had to end our time of teaching. I sat down on the banco (bench), covered in leaves and probably lots of small bugs after playing in the jungley hillside with the kids and opened to the Psalms. The whole weekend, I had been hearing the words of Psalm 8 play through my mind. So, we prayed the Psalm together and by the grace of God, there was a sermon.

The same God who loves that obnoxious tea salesman, who sings through the traditional music of the Peruvian Andes, who covers the mountains with green, who fills the riverbeds with sparkling water, who shines through the faces of Moises, Ruth, Sadith, Dan and Brion, who leads me to the riverside, who cleanses me of my sins, who guides me with her hand on the steep walk up from the river… I felt that same God with me as I fumbled through my spontaneous Spanish sermon, and remembered that God’s name truly is majestic in ALL the earth.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

The Face of Jesus

I have been praying over the last few days to see the face of Jesus. One would think for a seminarian this would be a rather regular occurrence, but for some reason the past few weeks my eyes have been preoccupied in looking at the whole new world that I am living in rather than where Jesus might be within it. Yes, I have reflected on the church and Jesus working in and through the church through the different ways they are engaged in the community. I have even been wrapped up in what Jesus seems to be doing in this place. But I have been yearning to see Jesus and really praying for that. Today I saw her.

This morning I spent my time with Phakamisa Ministry at my church. The word Phakamisa means "to lift up, and let grow" in Zulu. The ministry does many things but primarily trains women to be preschool teachers and caregivers in their townships. The ministry runs five days a weeks and four of those mornings begin with a time of worship. The worship time is spent in singing, prayer request, and the lighting of candles (a candle is lit for every person they might know who has died in the past two weeks, six candles were lit today). In the service today Jesus was sitting next to me. She was small and had the most beautiful smile that was laced with wrinkles on both sides. Her eyes as well were painted with the wrinkles only brushed on by wisdom. Between every prayer there was a song and during each song she would rise and slowly walk to the music and pray as though she carried the world on her 75 year old shoulders. This Gogo (a name used for woman who are older and caregivers) took care of eleven children in her small home.

In our closing song I began to think about this Gogo and also began to think of Jesus, and his words in Matthew saying, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." In that moment I knew Jesus had shown up for me! And also that Jesus shows up everyday to the eleven children she gives care too! In that same moment Gogo's cell phone went off with some obnoxious tune and she quickly grabbed it out of her shirt (many people keep it there so no one will steal it). The ring abruptly shattered my highly spiritual moment. Yet, after that we both laughed and hugged, and she held my hand through the closing prayer rubbing it gently as could imagine Jesus did when Matthew says, "when he had placed his hands on them, he went from there." I started to tear up during our prayer, for in her touch I realized that I was simply a little child who needed a touch from Jesus, and as Jesus always does, he showed up!

Monday, June 11, 2007

Taking it Easy

Greetings again from Guatemala.

Having spent the better part of a decade at Duke, I´ve gotten pretty used to being busy, to always having an assignment to turn in or something to check off my to-do list. So my first week here, I saw all the sights, studied real hard and started to get frustrated that I was not yet fluent in Spanish. After all, I had been immersed in it for a whole week. As it turns out, I needed to relax a little.

When I signed up to go to Central America this summer, somewhere in my mind I was thinking that I´d have a nice, laid-back summer. And for the most part (at least so far), I have been right. Granted, I´ve had some struggles and I´ve had to make some adjustments, but I´ve got it pretty good here. I learn Spanish for a few hours in the morning, my adopted Guatemalan sisters have lunch ready for me when I get home, and I have the afternoons and evenings free to do pretty much whatever I want. I have a lot of free time and very few responsibilities. And to be honest, there have been some days where I was bored out of my mind. I think I have walked down every street in the city. And I can only conjugate so many verbs and hike up so many mountains. With nothing pressing to do, I´ve really had to learn how to relax.

In some places, taking it easy is part of the culture. I´m not sure that´s the case here given the speed at which the buses dart around mountain curves. And I have never heard people honk their car horns so often. In any case, relaxing isn´t really part of the culture I have been in for the past few years. As such, I´ve had to work really hard at slowing down and taking it easy.

And work I have. I´ve found a couple of quiet little cafes. And I´ve bought a few good, used books. And I´ve spent hours at a table drinking the same (no longer) hot chocolate. It´s all still fairly new to me. And I admit, I have been tempted, while sitting in one of my favorite new spots, to make a list of all the things I need to do before I head to El Salvador later this week. But I´ve held off, because in forcing myself to relax, in forcing myself to slow down and take it easy, I think I´m learning a little more about what it means to be human. As a student in the Divinity School, I´m blessed with many wonderful opportunities and experiences. But often, I find that it´s not until well after those experiences that I even realize how wonderful they were. But even my reflection and belated enjoyment are rushed by the need to get on with the next thing.

But now I´ve had a taste of what it´s like to slow down, to live in the moment, as they say. And I rather like it. I can get lost in my thoughts. I can read a book for fun. I can stare off into the distance, watching the clouds dance up the side of the mountain without worrying about what´s not getting done. I can truly begin to feel the life and love that fills every place because I´m no longer busy plowing right through it.

Seann Duffin
M.Div. ´08
Quetzaltenango, Guatemala.

Thursday, June 7, 2007

And a picture ...

This is a picture of a core member and myself on a walk last week ... another assistant was taking random shots and got this one. I hope you all are enjoying the simple moments in life, wherever you are (especially to you friends in South Africa -- I know how cold it is!)

Love,
Amey


Rhythm of Life

Note: This is my reflection for the Center for Reconciliation. I hope you enjoy! - Amey

Tap. Tap. Tap. My outstretched hand gently raps upon the maple dining table in shared anticipation by all seated in the round. For a moment silence echoes a reminder of the gift that is to come, the beat of our hearts relinquished to the steady sound of fingertips suspended in midair. Lauren* is hungry and rocks her body to and fro in time with my hand, her fiery eyes fixed trance-like upon the heavens. With a heavy sigh her eyes meet mine with an intensity that, under other circumstances, would be riddled with austerity. But the eyes of my heart perceive this look to be one of compassion and love. Eyes again focused away but with expert quickness, Lauren grips my hand and instinctively takes over the beat. In a rich, gravelly contralto, Lauren slowly makes out the first few words of the familiar song. Kum-Bah-Yah! Out of tune, the others at the table eagerly join in on My Lord! Kum-bah-yah! Internally I shed a tear of joy, knowing that while it is perhaps polite to ask, overwhelming evidence indicates that God has not just ‘come by here,’ but permanently resides in this place.

This scenario takes place nightly before dinner at Corner House, my home in L’Arche Daybreak. Daybreak is but one part of an international federation of communities dedicated to living and working alongside people with profound disabilities. For my placement, I and other house assistants participate in and share life together with the core members of our community. Those here with disabilities are indeed at the ‘core’ of life, not because they are less independent, but because their simple gifts of love and grace prophetically speak to the world about the true essence, the very core, of life in Christ. L’Arche seeks to understand itself as part of the body of Christ by creating intimate and authentic community with those whom the world easily ignores. With faith and commitment, L’Arche creates home; I am eternally grateful to be part of this family.

The scenario above features Lauren, a brilliant woman who loves to sing, play, and listen to music. Lauren does not communicate verbally, but is able to form some words and utilize hand signals to convey her desires. She is dependent upon assistants to help her in most aspects of life but displays amazing alertness and vibrancy.

Like most of us, Lauren requires a good deal of time to establish a bond of trust before she will allow a person into her space. Upon our first greeting, she was agitated and disinterested. Our second greeting left me with scratches. After that, I made sure to give her space, but slowly began to form a bond with her through music. Lauren loves to hold your hands while you clap or keep time against the arm of her wheelchair. Where words aren’t always adequate, melodies seem to fill the spaces between.

One day, as I sat down to fiddle around at the piano, another assistant asked Lauren if she wanted to play with me. She rolled her wheelchair closer and gently placed Lauren’s hand upon mine. This was one of the sweetest touches I have ever experienced. As I played, Lauren moved in closer and closer. I looked her in the eyes as we sang a worship melody. Without warning Lauren grabbed my arm and rested against me; in that moment, time stopped. After weeks of working, Lauren’s hug confirmed the love and trust we have begun to share.

How much easier would life be if we so fully trusted God? The ladies I work with depend on others for everything, but are so gracious and grateful in the process. When Christ calls us to follow, He does not always include a detailed map. Rather, we are to trust the leading and direction of the Spirit with faith to believe that God makes our paths straight and will provide our needs. L’Arche reminds me of my own dependency upon God to be my daily sustenance; it is the only way I can live and love abundantly. As I look forward to the sacred moments and lessons of my time here, I pray the cadence of life here is one I will not quickly forget.

Amen.

Monday, June 4, 2007

Eyes to See

Okay, okay ... my apologies for disappearing in, well, Canada (here is where I must tell you that I still feel just a bit silly posting on the international blog ... but a technicality is a technicality!). It isn't that I haven't wanted to share. In fact, I've got quite a few drafts saved in Blogger as we speak. I just have had a difficult time in my attempts to be authentic and real knowing the inadequacy of language to express this experience ...

You see, three of the four core members (those living with disabilities) in the L'arche home that I live and work with are unable to communicate with words. And, as someone who LOVES to talk, er, I mean ... as someone who loves to write, and has a deep appreciation for poetry, means of communication, and rich theological texts ... I've realized yet again how much language fails us, and how profound the adage actions speak louder than words really is.

What do you say to an amazing woman who is surviving muscular leukodystrophe? As a child, her parents were informed that she would probably not live past ten years of age. Next month, I will be here to celebrate her 35th birthday. Don't tell me that miracles don't happen. Don't think that eloquence quickly bridges the echoing silence that grips my heart every time I see her precious, sacred soul.

I'd like to share a story about this amazing woman (I'll call her "Sasha"). When she was diagnosed with this devastating disorder as a child, her parents were informed that she would soon become blind. Her father was stricken with grief, but, as he tells it, Sasha's mother brought him back to reality. Knowing that their beloved daughter would soon be able to see no more, they made the decision to fill her mind with as many beautiful visual memories as they possibly could while they still had time.

As such, the entire family (mom, dad, Sash and her younger brother and sister) piled into an RV headed initially to visit family six hours north in Canada. And where exactly did they end up? In Tijuana, Mexico!!! Can you believe it? They traveled throughout Canada as well as the States. Riding through the desert, the family drank Coke after Coke to keep cool and keep quiet. Sasha rode on her father's back as the family hiked the Grand Canyon. Not to mention, she has been on EVERY single ride at Disney World. In the midst of tragic news, her family chose to breathe life into their daughter. To show her the world while she had eyes to see, so that when her physical sight failed her she would always perceive and remember with her heart.

Her hearing is fading these days, but I speak in a calm voice and make sounds that she can recognize. Comfort is the priority in a daily routine that cycles around medicines and tubes and creams. She never learned English, but I sing to her anyway. She doesn't leave the house these days, so I sit alongside her and gently massage the hands that do not unclench on their own. I move quickly to apply pressure to the soles of her feet when her muscles begin to violently spasm. I clumsily attempt gentleness as I hourly reposition her small body.

Every time I look at Sasha I behold the beauty of the Lord. I cannot tell you how humbled I am to see her wide, blind eyes gazing up at me. The wave of love and compassion that she causes to wash over me is indescribable. And I am convinced that she is indeed able to see. Perhaps not the forms and faces of those around her. But Sasha sees the heart of God. She isn't concerned about what I look like, dress like, act like, want to be like. She has no use for the things deemed important by the world. She sees prophetically beyond all of these things and searches my heart for that which is authentic and that which is real. She can see love and compassion, and God's lavish outpouring, more clearly than anyone I know. She sees beyonds my many flaws, and is teaching me what it means to truly love, to truly be Christ in the world.

With blind eyes and no words, Sasha speaks. She speaks of what it means to be a part of a body, a community, founded in love and compassion and grace. She speaks of the amazing faith and heart to survive the worst of circumstances. She leads me into a greater knowledge of the Kingdom. Her profound message is one that causes me to stop and reconsider the gift of breath I breathe each moment, and to more fully engage ministry definitively as an act of service.

Sasha's eyes are wider than mine. They are filled with something altogether lovely. They are of a keen clarity. I pray God continues to use her to give me new eyes to see ... she has already filled me with beautiful memories and visions that my heart will never lose sight of.

Paralyzed by Politics

The past few days in the part of South Africa that I am located (the Natal Region- the North West Coast) have been very interesting and have opened up for many political conversations. The word in the air is strike! Yes, last week workers that get paid by the government (teachers at public schools, doctors and nurses at public hospitals, construction workers, road workers, etc.) have been on strike. Not all of them, but a vast majority. Their plea is for a 12% increase in their pay, not that much when you consider higher up officials in the government have recently received a 30% increase or more to their salary. For South Africa this will be a telling moment about the post 1994 Government. Many wonder if democracy will reign, it seems that most of the people I have talked to believe it will and even believe the full request will be met. This topic struck up a conversation between me and two doctors from this area who were friends of friends and not really associated with the church. One of them worked in the private sect, the other in the public sect. Race was of course a man topic at hand. They spoke about the equity that occurs in the workplace (this is a formula for race at the workplace, both private and public, different for every area and even for most businesses. The goal is to balance the race within the workplace) and how it is a good thing but also frustrating because if there is no one that fits the race description one is looking for then the job does not get filled. In the course of our conversation they mentioned Cuban doctors. This sparked my interest because of my huge connection with the Cuban Methodist Church.

The conversation started with them simply explaining the process of doctor exchange with Cuba but ended in a rather heated battle, of which I went away rather bruised with much to think about. The main source of heat surrounded the topic of South Africa's involvement with Cuba. I did not understand why South Africa, a country which fought for liberation of its people, would be in close relationship with Cuba, a country which I have always understood to have a fairly oppressive government. I thought my question was fairly rational, yet my political conversation partner thought that it was filled with Western North American propaganda. His response to me was a quick comment on the oppression that the American government has on its own people and expressed to me that my thoughts on Cuba were taken from my Western perspective. He explained to me how Cuba helped South Africa win its independence from Namibia years ago and many people in the East or other third World countries view Castro as an anti-imperialist hero. And even if the government saw injustice in an ally country he told me that many times countries will overlook domestic issues of their allies in fear of a lack of international support. (This is also a way to explain South Africa's silence to the oppression in Zimbabwe at the current moment.) I understand all of these politics but at the same time it does make me rather sick that fraternity pledges have become the litmus test for international relations rather than integrity or ethical standards. I guess it is time for me to crawl out of my naive notions of the world and accept the reality of international relations.

Over the past few days I have accepted that I do have a western mind. I am coming to understand that not everyone has the ability or strength or desire to have armed forces and is unwilling to wage war at the drop of a hat or get involved in another countries domestic policy because they have issues. All of that I can understand. I think what my doctor friend did not understand about me is that although I have grown up with a Western mind of privilege and prosperity, I am not comfortable with it- my country, my own economics, and my president. I don't think that he understood either that I have been to Cuba twice, and have heard and seen oppression in that place, as well as a great health and education system, but it is not a coincidence that many of the doctors who came on exchange from Cuba found spouses and have stayed in this country. I understand that international relationships between countries are complex but I also understand the web that is oppression is complex, and as an American I am apart of that complex mixture of oppression simply by buying clothes from a company that maintains sweat shops. This complexity leaves me rather paralyzed at the moment. Yet, I know the church has something to say, to the strike the government workers are involved in, to the politics of countries such as Cuba, yet, I wonder how the church says what it has to say. Every situation is different and requires different tactics of resistance so I guess I can't know the answers to all these issues right now! But, what I do know is that I cannot stay paralyzed by politics and either can the church. So for right now I guess I must pray for the Holy Spirit to snap me out of my paralyzed state and show me in each moment where I must speak , or smile, or hug, or say no, or simply pray.

Friday, June 1, 2007

Slowing Down

Hello again from Guatemala. I was happy to read Audrey´s post (see Small Words below) about communication difficulties and the need to use small words. Believe it or not, the four of us who came to Guatemala with little to no Spanish skills have had our fair share of communication difficulties. And while it is awkward to use very simple words and even more awkward to use only one verb tense, I have been amazed at what I can say and what I can understand if I have the patience to try.

Monday through Friday we are enrolled in a language school here in Xela. Most of my time is spent learning verb conjugations and memorizing vocabulary words. But sometimes I have been able to just sit down and talk with my tutor, Luis. Now, I have a patient and curious teacher who asked me to tell him about Methodism. Over the course of two afternoons, I explained to him the history and structure of The United Methodist Church--to the best of my knowledge and ability anyway. I´ve also explained to Luis the crazy concept of camping out for Duke basketball tickets. And conversely, Luis has told me about the Guatemalan civil war and the complex structure of the fan base of Los Super Chivos (Xela´s professional soccer team--2007 national champions, by the way).

Using only the most basic concepts and phrases, we have learned a whole lot about some seriously complex issues. But like I said above, it has taken loads of patience (mostly on Luis´ part). His willingness to use only small words and to sit patiently while I flip through my Spanish-English dictionary to find the word bishop or conference or tent has allowed us to communicate information that is important in our lives. The understanding is partial, at best, but I´m pretty certain that is better than no understanding at all.
Being spoken to only in Spanish has changed the way I listen to others. I can´t think ahead or prepare a response before the other person is finished speaking. I can only concentrate on every word, hoping for some understanding. Now, I wonder what will happen when I return to the U.S. and can once again speak in my native tongue to other English speakers. I wonder what I will be able to explain or what I will be able to understand if I slow down and use simple concepts, if I use small words, and if I listen patiently while others try to explain to me something that is important to them.

Seann Duffin
M. Div. ´08
Quetzaltenango, Guatemala

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Ruth

Since my last blog post, my week has consisted of a youth retreat (for a detailed account read meredithinperu.blogspot.com), a delightfully church-filled Sunday, a week of preparing for and teaching two different classes, and my attempt at fighting off this cold/cough that is attacking a good percentage of Huancayans because of the sudden drop in temperatures. But amidst all of the things I have been doing, I feel anything but overwhelmed. I feel peace.

As I prepare to leave today for another retreat with a different group of high schoolers, I am thinking about my favorite part of last weekend's retreat. It was not the hilarious crisis of painting our group "banderola"/flag, nor was it the fact that one of the students swiped the key to the main door of the girls casa, nor was it the endless screeching of the girls who would not go to sleep, nor the sad truth that we did not have running water the next morning, nor that we began our devotional at 7:30 am (try herding 24 cranky chicas to a time of prayer at that hour). No, my favorite time of the retreat came in an unexpected package.

My group had been semi-participatory throughout the retreat, but were a bit reluctant to talk about the theme of the weekend: La Amistad de Jesús/The Friendship of Jesus. Saturday morning we discussed different things that build walls between ourselves and others; And in the afternoon we were to discuss family relationships. The morning went relatively well and the kids seemed to enjoy their time together, despite the fact that they were tired and un-bathed. Yet, when it came time for our afternoon session, every attempt at a conversation-starting question that I asked was responded to with dead silence, the occasional yawn, and sometimes a cricket chirp. I recalled that in one of the facilitator planning meetings we discussed the art of story telling, and how powerful it could be. I began to tell one of my favorite stories of the Bible, the story of Ruth. I framed it in a contemporary setting, Ruth being from Lima, Naomi and family from Huancayo, etc. I told the story quietly, and the kids were leaning in, trying to hear. They actually wanted to hear the story. After I finished telling the story, we talked a little bit about the family of Ruth and Naomi, and discussed what that teaches us. It was beautiful. But this was not even the best part.

My group of 10 fifteen year olds decided that for their presentation to the entire group of fifty-something people, they would re-enact the story of Ruth as though it happened today. The kids were so creative and fearless in their practicing of the drama. Two girls sat with Bible in hand and recounted each detail of the first chapter, which was proving to be the toughest to coordinate, as you have the deaths of Elimelech, Mahlon and Chilion. After a series of interesting twists to the story, the kids finally perfected their drama.
During the presentation, which was about 15 minutes too long, the kids had the full attention of their peers, full of applause and yelling. What was so special about this scene was not the goofiness of Mahlon and Chilion who had an entire drawn out section of courting Ruth and Orpah (a detail left out by the story’s original redactors), nor the words “where you go, I will go” from Ruth to Naomi, and not even the way that Mahlon learned one line of the Wedding March that he played over and over again throughout the entire wedding scene of Ruth and Boaz (another detail omitted by its authors).

I could not wipe the grin off of my face during the entire dramatic presentation because I realized this: They got it. They spent the last hour of our group time picking phrase by phrase through the tiny book of Ruth so that they could tell the story of a different type of family who loved each other dearly. Yes, they got it. And because they got it, so did I.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Simple Words

Hello Friends! First of all I must apologize for my lack of blog post. I have found that every bit of time I have allotted to blog has been taken over by an amazing conversation or a sudden turn in my plans, and I have to admit that I will have to submit to those surprises before I submit to the blog. Hopefully I can share those surprises along the way! I am now in Pinetown, South Africa and have been since Thursday! I was whisked away on a church family camp (family meaning church family) on Friday and got back on Sunday. It was a wonderful opportunity to meet people and understand the dynamics of the church a little bit. The folks on the trip were both black and white. The blacks being mostly Zulu and the whites being mostly from English descent. It was a weekend of firsts for the church, the first time they had done family camp, the first time they had a camp that was of mixed races, and the first time many people met each other, even though they went to the same church. Its interesting how different services can divide people but also interesting how weekends away can bring them together! More thoughts on this weekend later. One thing I did find striking was how often all of us had to use simple words in talking to one another. I befriend a little man named Stingo (4 yrs) and he spoke Zulu and would speak to me in Zulu like I knew what he was saying, it was rather funny. My only responses to him were simple words in English, like, "You are such a good boy!" or "You can run so fast" or "wow, you are swimming!". Although little was said it felt like much was being communicated in simple words. Every time I spoke with him he had the most amazing smile on his face, and the same when he spoke to me. It made me think about how much I talk and many times don't say anything! Overall in the area that I am in and the people that I have been surrounded by it seems that simple words, even among adults are common. I heard one woman tell another today, "good girl" when she heard of a mission project she was involved in. Simple words actually remind me of my grandmother who often would communicate in simple but meaningful words. She has always been so slow to speak and quick to listen. I believe this is how Jesus must be...slow to speak and eager to listen, and when he is listens he truly hears and when he speaks it is simple, yet sensational! May all of us in our complex new cultures find ways to use simple words!

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Greetings from Guatemala. The four of us--Paige Martin, Cindy Frisch, Jonathan Anderson, and me, Seann Duffin--arrived here in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala on Sunday afternoon. I think the biggest challenge for us so far has been settling into a routine. Don´t let anyone tell you that it´s easy to go to a country where you don´t speak the language. Of course, that is why we are here. For the next four weeks, we will be studying Spanish at a language school in Quetzaltenango (or Xela, as the locals call it).

As soon as I stepped off the plane in Guatemala, I knew that, for the next ten weeks, my life would be completely different than it is back home in Durham. As I´ve wandered around Xela and gotten to know my host family, I have had plenty of opportunities to think about privilege and possessions. I am a self-avowed middle-class, educated white male who is used to a certain standard of living. My accommodations here are not quite as comfortable as those to which I will return in July. However, I´ve noticed something strange. I am no worse off without all those things. In fact, my life might even be easier not having a car, sharing a bathroom with 6 other people, and being able to check my email only once in a while. I have much less than I´m used to, but I still have everything I need. Three meals each day, a warm bed to sleep in, and clean water to drink.

I miss the luxuries of home, but I feel incredibly lucky to have what I have here, because I encounter people each day who do not have even the basic things that I have. We´ve been so busy here that I haven´t had a lot of time to reflect or form many coherent and profound thoughts, but these are just some of my reactions to my first few days in Xela. And I´d like to challenge all of you back home and abroad to look around you and think about what we think of as necessities. There are a hundred things I thought I couldn´t live without until I came here and began to live without them.

Peace of Christ and love from Guatemala.
Seann Duffin
M.Div. ´08
Quetzaltenango, Guatemala.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

What Beauty.


We have begun teaching. In both of my classes and both of Meredith’s we spent the majority of the first class getting to know our students and doing typical “first day stuff.” We talked about our syllabi, our final projects, our hopes for the classes that we are teaching, and gave general introductions to our different courses. (The photo is of one of my classrooms.)

The most profound moment for me was tonight as I was listening to Meredith teach. Meredith and I are attending each other’s classes so that we can help if we get into a Spanish mental block (which happens more often than one would think), so that we can offer suggestions of other ways to approach a tema (theme/topic), and frankly, so that we can learn from each other. This partnership has been wonderful, and the moment of beauty was something I was able to observe because I did have to think about what I was going to say next. I was able to be a listener—something that I think we fail to do often in our daily hurried lives.

Meredith’s class at one of the seminaries is about Diakonia—the life of service. After the basic introductions and syllabus discussion, we participated in a dinámica (game to help with learning). The basic notion of the game is to pass out little sheets of paper and have everyone write their name on their sheet. Then they pass the papers back in (with only their name written on them), the leader mixes up the papers and redistributes them so that everyone receives a sheet with a different person’s name written on it. The student then writes on the paper something that they want for the other person to do. For example, “sing your favorite song,” “recite a poem,” “dance around the room,” “act like a monkey.” Ultimately, each person has to do what they wrote down, not what they were assigned to do. This embodies the notion of “doing unto others as you would have them do unto you,” but in the context of service, Meredith taught us that it breaks down the “us” and “them” barriers… reminding us that we are all “Hijos de Dios” (Children of God).

Gladys, a women in Mere’s class, is about 70 years old…the oldest in the class by a good 45 years. She goes to our church and has a spirit so kind that one cannot help but feel at ease around her. She wrote on the paper she received during the dinamica an instruction for her classmate to sing a song of praise aloud to all of us. When it came time for Gladys to do the action she had assigned her friend, she struggled to come up with something to sing, and appeared a little bit flustered. Without missing a beat (literally… no pun intended), the members of the class began helping her sing the song, and before we knew it, we were all singing. This, my friends, was a moment in which, without any doubt in my mind, the Spirit of God was present in our little classroom. The words we sang were:

Tú has venido a la orilla
no has buscado ni a sabios ni a ricos
tan sólo quieres que yo te siga.
Coro: Señor, me has mirado a lost ojos
sonriendo has dicho mi nombre,
en la arena he djado mi barca,
junto a ti buscaré otro mar.

Lord, you have come to the lakeshore
looking neither for wealthy nor wise ones.
You only asked me to follow humbly.
Refrain: O Lord, with your eyes you have searched me,
kindly smiling, have spoken my name.
Now my boat's left on the shoreline behind me;
by your side I will seek other seas.


It was beautiful.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Cold, but Warm

Well, I'm sitting on the steps of the "White House" aka the administration building at John Wesley College (really its just a big white building and that is how it got its name- really no correlation to the White House in the US ) hoping my Internet connection will stay long enough for me to send in this blog. At the moment it is 8:00 pm in South Africa, but 2:00 pm according to my internal time clock. So I am exhausted and very cold sitting here on the steps of the White House, it is about 40 degrees and to a girl from Florida, that is cold. Yet although it is cold, it has been incredibly warm at John Wesley college.

The students greeted us when we got here with hugs and kisses and a meal that they had prepared for our arrival. We said we were tired and not hungry, but we must have just been jet lagged because we ate all the food on our plate and sat with them at their table for over two hours talking. We all had to rationalize that we needed sleep and they needed to study to move us from the table, but I'm sure if reason were not apart of the picture we could have talked for hours, and since then we have been able to. Our conversations have been warm as well. It seems that in the respect granted by new situations and strangers we are able to really listen and hear and wonder with each other. Most of our wondering is of course grounded in the area of church since we are all preparing to be pastors of some sort. It has been remarkable to see the similarities between the strengths and struggles within both of our churches that are 8000 miles apart. Maybe those of you in other international context can relate. We talked about the lack of the prophetic voice of the church, the struggles concerning mission and outreach, attendance and discipleship, economic class, racism, and the struggle in countering the prosperity gospel. Although we did not solve the church's problems or the world's in our small conversation over coffee and tea, it was a pleasure and privilege to talk and listen and wonder with them, our fellow brothers and sisters and ministers, it was actually quite warm!

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Contribution in Canada

Well, after an hour and a half plane ride (indeed, my pilot had a lead foot!), I found myself in a very chilly Toronto last week. It is hard to believe that I am already here, fully immersed in one of the most profound experiences of my life -- living and working with the invisible, those with profound disabilities, those easily forgotten because they do not contribute to society.

This idea of contribution had me thinking yesterday on my day away. As I meandered through the Art Gallery of Ontario in downtown Toronto, I came across this painting titled "Woman in Bathtub" (Alex Colville). Between a still life of a jar of apricots and a portrait of Henry VIII (bringing horrible flashbacks of the English Reformation to mind!), lay this naked woman in a bathtub. The theology behind all of this? In short, this picture reminded me of Abigail*, one of the ladies that I live and work with here in L'Arche. Abigail has cerebral palsey, which means that she is unable to control her muscles or communicate verbally. She is known for her famous smile, however, by which we communicate. As such, this week I have been trained in the personal care of Abigail, to include how to bathe her.

As I stared at this painting, I couldn't help but think of how helpless Abigail is while in the bath. Whoever is assisting her is unable to turn away, for in a few brief moments alone she could slip down and drown. She requires constant attention, loving care, and gentleness. And, of course, she needs our help to be washed clean. And, as I looked at this woman in the bathtub, I couldn't help but think of the condition of humanity. How we, as people, are in need of someone to watch over us. Someone to give us constant attention, loving care, and grace. And, of course, to be washed clean from the sins that pollute our very being.

Perhaps the idea of contribution, woven into our societal obsession with progress and innovation, needs to be revisited with a different lens. For when we see ourselves from God's perspective, we realize that if our acceptance into the body of Christ is based on our contribution to the Almighty God, we are in trouble. Rather, God sees something valuable in each person, fearfully and wonderfully made. And with every breath, we all have a chance to contribute to bringing God glory, even if it isn't in the ways that we typically expect. Even if it is reflected in the care with which I wash Abigail's body. Even if it is reflected in the humility, surrender, and enviable trust that Abigail demonstrates towards God, and those who desire to serve God by serving her. I'm just so very grateful to be a part of this experience. Abigail, as well as the other members of this community, have contributed to my life and ministry in more ways that I could have ever expected or imagined. I only pray that I have something to offer this community that has already given me so much.

Believe me ... bathtime will never be the same.

*Name has been changed for privacy.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

The Little Things

el 15 de mayo, 2007

Today begins our third full day in Huancayo. After some drama with our flight on Thursday (a mechanical problem with the plane kept us from leaving in time to catch our connecting flight), we had to reschedule our flights for Friday, getting us safely to Lima Friday night. We were picked up by Gladys and Raul (the most wonderful Peruvian travel agents) at midnight and taken straight to our hotel to rest. On Saturday we rode from Lima to Huancayo for 7 and a half hours on a bus that went up over a n 18,000 foot peak and gradually down into the valley (about 10,000/11,000 feet) where Huancayo is nestled.

We spent Sunday morning in worship (about 3 hours), an afternoon of almuerzo (lunch) with the church community, and errand running with Cesar and family. The day ended in our cute little piso (apartment), with the sounds of the city accompanying my life here.

Since I arrived, I have been thinking about the little things that seem to make this experience so wonderful. The little things like seeing the smiling faces of Gladys and Raul as we sleepily wandered through customs into a crowd of strangers; the little things like the two tiny Dramamine pills that made the bus ride so much more bearable; the little things like being greeted by name in Huancayo--Cesar approached me saying, “Estefani?” to which I responded, “Cesar?”… we had a moment; the little things like meeting one of the students of the high school Sunday morning in worship whose name is Estefani, we bonded over our names; the little things like playing a made-up game with several children and a role of tape; the little things like the random heavy rain shower that caused a bunch of water to shoot through the window of the van into the face of my supervisor’s son, Diego (age 10), subsequently causing me to crack up to the point of tears. I love these little moments of peace, comfort and JOY that remind me that our lives would not be at all profound if it were not for the little things that tell our stories.

Yesterday, (Monday) was our first “official” meeting with our supervisor, Cesar, during which we talked about all of the things he hopes for our time here. The idea of teaching in this setting is intimidating, but also empowering. I pray that I can learn enough to be an effective teacher. Our classes at the seminary begin on Monday, May 21. I am teaching Monday nights from 6-7:30 and Thursdays from 6-9:15; my classes at the high school begin the same day in the afternoon.

Very soon, I will begin teaching in the high school about the Kingdom of God. Today I remembered that the Kingdom of God surely is found in the little things (the mustard seed, the leaven in the loaf, the friendly smile of a stranger, the rain). Don’t get me wrong. I’m not comparing the Kingdom of God to Dramamine. I am, however, recognizing that what is going to make this experience “theologically profound” are the little things that make each day one that glorifies God. I am excited to see how God will use the little things of tomorrow to make such a day!

Wednesday, May 9, 2007

Vamos...

Tomorrow I leave for Peru.

As I sit among the piles of clothes, books, travel documents, and my own personal pharmacy, I break from my packing and semi-anxious pacing to remember why I am going in the first place.

My supervisor’s instructions were extensive. He asked us to teach both in the local seminary as well as in the “Colegio Metodista”/Methodist High School. In the seminary, I am teaching a class called “Acompañamiento Pastoral de Jovenes”/Pastoral Accompaniment of Youth. He wants me to discuss ways to embody effective pastoral ministry with youth as we pursue goals and dreams for the life of the Church. In the high school, I am working within the topic of “El Reino de Dios y Justicia Social”/The Kingdom of God and Social Justice. I am so excited to begin learning from the people of Huancayo, but am anxious that they might be getting the short end of the stick by having me as their teacher. I pray that God will truly be in our midst, and that I we will recognize Jesus in each other's faces.


When I was in Peru last Spring, I learned what it felt like to truly feel the Spirit of God, and to recognize God in our midst in the "now", rather than after reflection. The simple words of Daniel Iverson’s hymn are my prayer today as I prepare for my journey:

Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me.
Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me.
Melt me, mold me, fill me, use me.
Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me.
My prayer for this journey as that God's Spirit will move, and that I will be faithful enough to see how.

Saturday, May 5, 2007

In Preparation for L'Arche

Amey Victoria in May 2006 working in Tegucigalpa, Honduras.
In six days I will leave for the great unknown that they call Field Education. In only six short days I will find myself groggy, possibly having slept but with equal potential to have kept watch through the night packing, waiting alone in a chilly airport to catch my 6:00am flight to Toronto. In six days, God created the heavens and the earth. And in six days, I will begin my brief but powerful experience serving in the L'Arche community for the summer (www.larchedaybreak.com/). Funny how much can be shaped and formed in but a few days ... funny to imagine that in six days, even this blog entry will be viewed in such hindsight ... funny, not knowing what lies ahead, but knowing and expecting so much!

Fast forward one year, and she is again pulling out the backpack to adventure with God!

Did I mention that I am scared out of my mind? I've noticed my tendencies toward selfishness in the recent weeks. Amidst exams and papers and deadlines and quirky circumstances and misunderstood conversations and questionable intentions (ah, its good to be in Divinity School come finals week), I've found it much easier to be the Myers-Briggs qualified introvert I am than to overly engage life. Everyone else is out for themselves, taking care of their own, so I might as well be, too, eh? (Don't mind me - I'm just practicing my new Canadian endings here). But deep down I know this is just a cover for insecurity. Somehow, the great sweep of papers and tests took off the edge of ministry. Only now, once again, am I realizing the daunting task of serving for the summer. Only now, once again, am I able to reflect on how well (or not so well) I embraced the daily chances to minister and share life together in this past year. And it is only now, having climbed the daunting mountain that is first-year, that I once again realize how marvelously knitted into the plans of God my life actually is ...

And so, I'm headed to L'Arche Daybreak to live in community with adults living with various disabilities, and perhaps most literally, those considered to be the least of these. And yet, I already can see that these who seem to have least have so much more than the world recognizes. Needless to say, there is little room to be selfish here, or to be so caught up in one's own story that we stop seeing the bigger story, God's story. So, as I spend the next six days saying goodbye, getting over myself, and humbling myself for the work of the Spirit, I welcome this blessed opportunity to share, to learn, to grow in the lives of God's people. Pray with me as I embark upon this journey ...