I realized that I only have ten weeks more of quiet afternoons, so I've finally begun trying to collect all my memories in one place, beginning with the airport in Peoria. Part of that "research" process, is reading my journal, emails, notes, prayer journal, etc, to remind myself of my initial thoughts, fears, struggles, and so on.
Life has become so normal, even mundane at times, I don't really feel like a missionary, it just feels like- life. (Which can be frustrating because while I like things that look or sound big and glorious-the reality of my life is not quite hardly so fabulous or "holy" as I would like.) It is so strange to look back on my "early days." The days of being clueless in regards to the language, the days of being ignorant of the culture, the days of fearing public transport, the days of not knowing the kids, the days of loving the idea of loving the kids- Don't get me wrong, I liked them, but I didn't understand their words or their personalities and they really frustrated me. They still frustrate me at times, but it is a different kind of frustration now. It's the kind that can look at them, shake my head, rebuke them and then still cuddle up to read a story or have a tickle fight. The kind that, even though I have to punish them, they know I love them, and I know they love me. In my first months here, I didn't have any authority and barely any vocabulary, I would just get frustrated and feel like a failure.
God has been gracious and taught me so much, the language for one, and also so much about how to love and live with these kids. He has opened my eyes and my heart to see their value and their brokenness, to reflect on the beauty of adoption, but also the tragedy that necessitates adoption.
Then, He opened my eyes even more, yes they are orphans, but they are individuals that I have come to know and love for who they are, not just a pity for their fate, but a love for their smile, their laugh, their infatuation with fashion, or movies, or books, or stickers. To recognize their cries, to know how to set it right. My heart melts and breaks when I walk into the girls' house and my Fabi comes running to me calling, "Mami!!! Tia Mami!!!" Damaris close at her heels. It's interesting to see how relationships have developed and changed over the past ten months. I never would have thought that I would be closest with Fabiola out of all the kids, but so it is, (especially since the transition of homes.)
In my first few weeks, even months here, I never imagined that my heart would squeeze and my eyes well with tears at the thought of having to say goodbye forever to these kids, but now it is true. I hated going to parties in my first few months here, I didn't know all the kids, I felt awkward and out of place and I didn't understand what was going on. Last night I went to a graduation party, (was an hour and a half late because I had trusted a twelve-year-old and not asked anyone else the time for the party!) I danced with the girls, young and older, laughed, talked with other tias, goofed off with a couple of the older girls, ate Bolivian food, switched between Spanish and English... All the things I never thought I'd be able to do. Or how earlier this week I was chatting with Dalia, (I think she's 16) and she saw that I had brought a book to read with the girls, she was asking if I had more books that I could lend her. In the midst of that conversation, I learned that she really wanted to read 'Pride and Prejudice' (one of my favorite stories ever!) I own the book and the movie, I told her I'd lend them to her, and her eyes got so big with excitement! Almost my entire Spanish book collection is now at the girls' house being passed around until all the older girls have read them. To be able to share my love of reading with a bunch of Bolivian high school girls has been a highlight this month, and something that I never imagined happening!
This year has been marked with tears, guilt, shame, but also with joy, laughter, learning, and love. Many times this year I have cried out to God and said,
"If I'm not serving you, I just want to go home. I don't see how I'm making a difference." While I certainly hope that I have made a difference for the Kingdom of God, I wouldn't change these months for the world, unless it would be to go back to my hardest months and tell myself that the time goes too fast, to stop whining and to embrace a little more the moment. To stay a little longer at the orphanage with the kids, even if I'm tired, to laugh a little harder with Raquel, to chat a little longer with Josue, to answer Jose Luis' questions a twentieth time... Time goes too fast, memories become distant, and children grow up too fast, I'll go home, and life will go on- but oh these precious children, I want their memories to last forever in my mind. (Actually, I want to bring them all home with me... But that won't be possible.)
I have learned so much, and these kids have come to mean so much to me, more than I could have imagined. God is good, He is faithful, He knows what He is doing, and He has filled my heart with thankfulness, love, and joy.
Life has become so normal, even mundane at times, I don't really feel like a missionary, it just feels like- life. (Which can be frustrating because while I like things that look or sound big and glorious-the reality of my life is not quite hardly so fabulous or "holy" as I would like.) It is so strange to look back on my "early days." The days of being clueless in regards to the language, the days of being ignorant of the culture, the days of fearing public transport, the days of not knowing the kids, the days of loving the idea of loving the kids- Don't get me wrong, I liked them, but I didn't understand their words or their personalities and they really frustrated me. They still frustrate me at times, but it is a different kind of frustration now. It's the kind that can look at them, shake my head, rebuke them and then still cuddle up to read a story or have a tickle fight. The kind that, even though I have to punish them, they know I love them, and I know they love me. In my first months here, I didn't have any authority and barely any vocabulary, I would just get frustrated and feel like a failure.
God has been gracious and taught me so much, the language for one, and also so much about how to love and live with these kids. He has opened my eyes and my heart to see their value and their brokenness, to reflect on the beauty of adoption, but also the tragedy that necessitates adoption.
Then, He opened my eyes even more, yes they are orphans, but they are individuals that I have come to know and love for who they are, not just a pity for their fate, but a love for their smile, their laugh, their infatuation with fashion, or movies, or books, or stickers. To recognize their cries, to know how to set it right. My heart melts and breaks when I walk into the girls' house and my Fabi comes running to me calling, "Mami!!! Tia Mami!!!" Damaris close at her heels. It's interesting to see how relationships have developed and changed over the past ten months. I never would have thought that I would be closest with Fabiola out of all the kids, but so it is, (especially since the transition of homes.)
In my first few weeks, even months here, I never imagined that my heart would squeeze and my eyes well with tears at the thought of having to say goodbye forever to these kids, but now it is true. I hated going to parties in my first few months here, I didn't know all the kids, I felt awkward and out of place and I didn't understand what was going on. Last night I went to a graduation party, (was an hour and a half late because I had trusted a twelve-year-old and not asked anyone else the time for the party!) I danced with the girls, young and older, laughed, talked with other tias, goofed off with a couple of the older girls, ate Bolivian food, switched between Spanish and English... All the things I never thought I'd be able to do. Or how earlier this week I was chatting with Dalia, (I think she's 16) and she saw that I had brought a book to read with the girls, she was asking if I had more books that I could lend her. In the midst of that conversation, I learned that she really wanted to read 'Pride and Prejudice' (one of my favorite stories ever!) I own the book and the movie, I told her I'd lend them to her, and her eyes got so big with excitement! Almost my entire Spanish book collection is now at the girls' house being passed around until all the older girls have read them. To be able to share my love of reading with a bunch of Bolivian high school girls has been a highlight this month, and something that I never imagined happening!
This year has been marked with tears, guilt, shame, but also with joy, laughter, learning, and love. Many times this year I have cried out to God and said,
"If I'm not serving you, I just want to go home. I don't see how I'm making a difference." While I certainly hope that I have made a difference for the Kingdom of God, I wouldn't change these months for the world, unless it would be to go back to my hardest months and tell myself that the time goes too fast, to stop whining and to embrace a little more the moment. To stay a little longer at the orphanage with the kids, even if I'm tired, to laugh a little harder with Raquel, to chat a little longer with Josue, to answer Jose Luis' questions a twentieth time... Time goes too fast, memories become distant, and children grow up too fast, I'll go home, and life will go on- but oh these precious children, I want their memories to last forever in my mind. (Actually, I want to bring them all home with me... But that won't be possible.)
I have learned so much, and these kids have come to mean so much to me, more than I could have imagined. God is good, He is faithful, He knows what He is doing, and He has filled my heart with thankfulness, love, and joy.
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