Changes and Cuba

Days 169-212

I’m back in the Dominican Republic after a very successful and interesting trip to Cuba.  I’ll describe more about that trip in the latter part of this entry.  First, I must update you all with a few bits of news and changes here in Barahona.

The variety of La Habana.

Each August 5^th is a special day for the Salesian Sisters as it is a day to celebrate their founding, but also a time for change.  Sor Elizabeth and Sor Dulce both were chosen to work in Santo Domingo, ending their time (for now) in Barahona.  With great sadness we had to say goodbye to these fantastic Sisters, but also welcomed the new director, Sor Pilar, back into the community.  Sor Pilar has many years experience already in Barahona and the community is very fond of her, so she received a warm reception upon her entrance into Barahona.  

Sor Elizabeth’s parting was difficult for everyone in many ways.  For the community, they had grown to depend on her presence and leadership over the past four years.  For her, she has poured her time and energy into developing the community here and has grown to be a part of it.  For me, Sor Elizabeth has been my director and guide for the past 7 months, both in work and faith.  It is a difficult parting and a challenge, but I’ve learned that is how we grow.  It is more important to remember the good parts of the past and look forward to the future than to dwell on the past and wish things hadn’t changed.

The bakery is thriving now and I can have a sense of peace in my mind that, unless something drastic happens, it should keep growing for years to come.  It is in good hands and we planned carefully in the beginning stages.  It feels good to be a part of it, but better to know that the community can benefit from it for years to come.  

Guanabacoa Sunset.

School is back in session again, just proving how quickly time flies.  Many familiar faces greeted me when I came back from Cuba making Barahona my home away from home.  There is that new energy upon the start of a new school year, when the kids are still excited and motivated to be here each day.  It’s contagious and I think will help me get back into the swing of things.

We survived tropical storm Isaac, but Barahona itself suffered some damage.  Due to the softer soil and shallow roots of the trees here, many houses were damaged and crops destroyed.  Of course, in an area such as this, they will re-grow rather quickly.  Flooding of rivers and creeks wreaked the most havoc here by far.  I was grounded in Santo Domingo for an extended stay after Cuba because a bridge was out on the ONLYroute from Santo Domingo to Barahona.  Before this, I had not realized that there is no other way to access the south besides that one highway.  It was another reminder to me of the good fortune we have in the US of our highway systems.

 

Now, about Cuba.  Cuba is quite a different world; I’m not sure how better to describe it simply.  Yes, we know our history with Cuba and that it is still a communist state, but what is life in Cuba like?  That’s what I wanted to know, and I found out on my trip.

I was presented with the opportunity to help out with a Summer Camp for the kids in the community of Guanabacoa, Cuba, a couple months ago.  I jumped at the opportunity, knowing I might not have another good chance to visit Cuba in my life.  I had learned a bit more about Cuba from some other Cuban volunteers here in Barahona, but just stories.  I wanted to have the opportunity to witness the country firsthand.  

However, the Sisters warned me that life was a bit difficult in Cuba.  Since we were going though, they used the opportunity to send some provisions to the Sisters in Guanabacoa, since they’re not easy to come by there.  We were each to take two suitcases with us, one with our belongings and the other with materials for the kids’ camp and provisions for the Sisters.

After preparation, I set out for Cuba on August 9^th with two other Dominican volunteers: Ana and Melianny.  We had our bags weighed and boarded the Cubana Air plane, headed for La Habana.  I noticed immediately the rules on the plane were a bit more relaxed, as people walked freely down the aisles, even during ascension.  The flight was short, but eventful.  With only 10 minutes left in the flight, we hit the strongest bit of turbulence I’ve ever felt.  Luckily for me, I was in my seat with my seatbelt.  However, one man was waiting to use the restroom and we dropped and recovered so quickly that he became airborne and hit the floor fast enough to fracture hit ankle.  The plane was shaking, he was screaming, the pilots were yelling in Spanish over the intercom.  Not my ideal scenario for a flight.  Luckily we landed safely 10 minutes later.

The propaganda in Cuba is a sight in itself in Cuba.

This was only the beginning of our troubles though.  After we got off the plane, we were asked to show our documents by a man in civilian clothes.  The man turned out to be a government agent screening “suspicious” people.  We were questioned for a half an hour about our intentions in Cuba.  We mentioned we were volunteers, which ended up being a mistake.

Painted on the wall next to the sign: "Socialism or Death."

After he wrote down all our information (repeat ALL our information), we went through security to get our bags.  Things seemed fine at first, and we were almost at the door when a group of officers came towards us and told us that they needed to search our bags.  It turns out that the agent in civilian clothes had flagged us and radioed to other officers to search us.  So, for the next three hours, we have our bags searched thoroughly.  Article by article, they went through everything.  It turns out that they declared many of our things “gifts”, which they do not permit people to bring into the country.  This included our materials for the kids and provisions for the Sisters as well as other items.  They took our passports and kept us under surveillance the whole time.  I wanted to say that this isn’t right, but remembered that I was not in a democratic state.  

After three hours, we were able to leave the airport – missing three bags.  They had confiscated them, claiming contraband.  We heading to Guanabacoa a bit tired and frustrated.  The days leading up to the camp, we scrounged for materials and prepared the best we could.  The frustration wore off as the camp started, with the kids bringing an energy and aura of joy with them. They were one of the most well-disciplined groups of kids I've ever worked with and must say that I grew quite attached to a few of them in the short time I was there.

Every day during our stay in Cuba, one determined Sister, Sor Lupita went to the airport everyday to request our bags.  I want to note what a sacrifice this was, as it took 30 minutes to get to the airport, using the Sister’s van with precious fuel.  Finally, after 8 days, our bags were released with everything inside.  We were all pretty amazed that none of the items had been removed during that time and thanked God (and Sor Lupita) for the provisions.  However, at this point, there were only 2 days left of the Summer Camp and we had gotten by on the supplies we had.  That didn’t keep us from feeling a bit relieved though with a plethora of supplies for the last two days.

Santiago, Ana, Jairon, and I in Villa Maria.

After the camp finished, we had made acquaintances with various parents and leaders of the communities.  We were invited to a dinner party in one community, Villa Maria, and turned out to be an unforgettable night in Cuba.  As a citizen of the United States, I was unsure how I would be treated in the villages.  I can assure you though that the people welcomed me warmly and greeted me with respect and kindness.  Though they did admit they had a few qualms with our government, they noted that it was not my doing, just as they were not to blame for living under Fidel.  That night, the kids showed me their houses, I learned to dance salsa, and ate a variety of Cuban dishes prepared by the community.  

I found it interesting how the various communities acted as large families, a by-product of living in a communist society.  They all knew who was who and openly depended on each other’s strength to fulfill daily requirements.  Unfortunately, the downside is that the relationship community to community suffered.  People normally wouldn’t talk to one another if they weren’t acquainted, just because you never know who is on which side.

Dancing in Villa Maria.

Another event happened the following day, during lunch in another community.  As we were eating and enjoying ourselves, a man came by the house and asked for the head of the household.  He went to the front door and his wife motioned for us to be quiet.  The man at the door was working for the government and was making his random inspections of household allotments: water, bread, cheese, milk, energy, etc.  Though we were not talking about anything of importance, his wife later told us it was better to keep quiet in times like those.  It’s the small experiences such as those that remind me how lucky I am to be free.

Mango tree in full bloom in Guanabacoa.

This is not to say that Cuba does not have anything to offer.  The plethora of fruits, vegetables, fresh cheese, and milk available (for tourists) was worth noting.  Both the cheese and the milk were amazingly cheap and fresh, something I could definitely get used to.  It is hard to go back to store-bought dairy after having eaten real dairy.  The coffee and (so I’m told) tobacco is both cheap and of high quality in Cuba, with the same exact price in every single shop.

Scene from Mad Men?  No, just a typical street in Cuba.

La Habana was another experience as well.  Setting foot in La Habana, you might feel as if you’ve stepped into a time machine and gone back to the mid 1950’s.  Old Chevy’s and Ford’s are the most common sight and all the buildings have a colonial Spanish style to them.  I was amazed at the size and number of buildings with beautiful facades in La Habana alone.  Unfortunately many buildings are in need of renovations and reparations.  With just a little bit of money, La Habana could be one of the most beautiful cities I’ve seen.  It was as if everything had stopped in the 1950’s.  Oh wait…

La Habana Vieja Residential District

La Habana Vieja Tourist District

Ultimately, after two weeks, we left La Habana and headed back to Santo Domingo without incident.  Upon arriving in Santo Domingo, I felt a feeling I hadn’t fully experienced before: liberty.  I wasn’t even in my native country, but I felt safer and more secure.  It’s interesting the psychological impact and feeling of control the government has in Cuba.  Too many things are made too difficult: the transportation, the food, the money, the communication, and education.  For this reason, and my experiences, I have to admit that I never want to live in a Communist society and hope that there is a non-violent change on the way in Cuba.  

Santa Maria Beach, Cuba.

I could write for hours about the many experiences in Cuba, but unfortunately I do not have the time to document all them.  To me, this entry seems a bit shallow compared to my overall experience, but I’m afraid it will have to suffice for now.  However, I want to make the impression that I am extremely happy that I was able to experience these things and get to know the people of Cuba, for they are some of the nicest and humble people I’ve met.  I’ve learned from them and their life and will pray for change and their well-being. 

Community

Days 125 - 168

Note: As with my last entry, this one is again personal for me.  However I realize that my last entry was very serious and not too uplifting.  I don´t want to send the impression that every day is like that.  While the reality is that people do live in those conditions, they don´t live in a continual state of melancholy and sorrow. This entry is a continuation of sorts to my last entry, but with a more positive tone.  

The events that happened in May left me with the feeling that I was still missing something.  Though I had been here for a little over three months, I still didn´t quite understand everything.  In my mind, I thought I felt I had absorbed a fair amount of knowledge about the community, yet was often still treated as an outsider.  Of course it still frustrated me, but I tried to look at it with a new perspective.

Oftentimes we mix needs with wants and can easily confuse the two. I wanted to feel a sense of belonging, but didn´t want to work and wait for it.  Trust can only be formed with time and shared experiences.  Of course it was harder for them to build up trust than I when so many volunteers come and go here in Barahona.  For me, I was out of my comfort zone, out of my community – and I wanted to be a part of this one.  

It is common knowledge that our Western society has spoiled us a bit to the point that we oftentimes prefer instant gratification rather than waiting for the fruits of our labor to ripen.  I am just the same way, wanting to be initiated into the community as soon as possible without trial and due process.  I should know from my own experiences that real relationships need time and a solid foundation for stability.  

Luckily for me, I have a lot of time to spend here in Barahona with the Sisters and members of the community.  I´ve begun to notice a slow and gradual initiation into the community here, and it brought me joy that my prayers were being answered - with God´s time, not mine.

Sancocho!

On my birthday, the day started off great with many people greeting me at morning mass and a special blessing from Padre Edvard.  The Sisters arranged the kitchen with festive items and even went out of their way to get me a few things.  Ana, our excellent cook, knew my favorite meal (Sancocho!) already and made it for us that day.  Other people stopped by the school just to wish me a happy birthday.  I felt very fortunate to be working in such a community that cares enough to go out of their way just to stop by and wish me well.

Later that day, I went for a run down the Malecón (street by the sea, almost every coastal town in the DR has one).  I have made it a habit to run a few times a week and enjoy getting to different people of the community when I go.  On my birthday, something unusual happened.  As I reached the Malecón, I recognized kids from the school who were also jogging.  They asked to run with me and I gladly accepted.  We made our way down to the beach where we encountered many more kids, who somehow all knew it was my birthday.  I felt bad in the fact that I didn’t even know all their names.  We parted ways at the beach and I headed back into town to continue my run.  

El Malecón in Santo Domingo.

Not two minutes later, another man caught up with me, a Haitian.  I had seen him running before, but had never had the chance to talk with him.  He mentioned that he had seen me run a number of times and wanted to introduce himself.  His name was Spelucia (I probably did not spell that right, as it is a French-Creole name pronounced speh-loosh-cha) and he was training for marathons here in Barahona.  We ran together and told each other how we both came here, me as a volunteer, him with him father when he was younger.  Again, it brought be pleasure to have company instead of stares and odd looks.

 

It seemed that this was just the beginning for my running companions.  Since my birthday, I´ve had at least 10 other people wish to run with me, many of them being kids from the Mini Basketball team I helped coach.  At one point, three kids from the team and I were running and we passed a house they knew.  The mother of the house asked the kids what they were up to, and they replied that they were running with their friend, Russell.  I couldn´t hold back my smile.  

Apart from that, I´ve had another great gift in recent days – my whole family came to visit.  It was a very busy week, as I showed them Barahona, Santo Domingo, Pedernales, Polo, and Jarabacoa, but a once in a lifetime experience.  Again, the planning, the execution, and the last minute requests showed that people here would go out of their way to help me, and I was so thankful for them.  I could go on and on and tell about the adventures my family and I had here, but since many people who read this blog are my family members, I’m sure they’re heard it firsthand.

My family and I in Jarabacoa!

My family coming to visit me also brought about an unexpected effect on my life here in Barahona, something I hadn’t planned for.  The people in the community appreciated that I brought my family here to Barahona and they really enjoyed getting to meet them!  They know that a lot of tourists come to the Dominican Republic, but it was somehow different with my family.  They liked the fact that we spent the majority of our time here in the South, and not the north or the east like the majority of the tourists.  Even people who did not get to meet my family have come up and told me that they were happy that I was happy that my family came.  

Reflecting on these comments and recent events, I’ve realized that the one thing I was missing is starting to fill in: community.  I believe strongly we all need some form of community in our lives, what we group we decide to be a part of is our choice.  Here, I was easily accepted into the community with the Sisters, but it took a while to build trust with the larger community of the school and neighborhood.  This trust and sense of community must be a mutual feeling, and it finally was.  For the people here, they had a community before me and will have a community after I leave, which is why it can be doubly hard to be initiated into the community.  As humans, we know this and it is often the reason why we have difficulty accepting new people and groups into communities we feel are whole.  Why change something that’s functioning and risk injury to our pride and heart?  For one, we also know deep down that investment in others can also lead greater rewards than pain.  Because of this delicate balance between risk and reward, we must evaluate the person before initiation.  In my case, I was able to invest my time and energy into helping here and the people have recognized this and now done the same for me.  

I’m sure there are other psychologists who have stated all this much better than I could, but the revelation came through experience and being on the opposite side of the fence. 

Other good news relating to trust – nearly a year ago I was fortunate enough to travel to Ethiopia with Grace Giving International, a very generous non-profit organization who founded a school in the small town of Burayu and was in their first year of running the school.  During my stay in Ethiopia, I befriended a teenager named Dika who was always helping around the church and the school.  I noticed that for his age, Dika was a bit taller than the other kids, closer to my height in fact.  However, he wore a pair of sandals and pants that looked like they had been worn for many years and were long out-grown.  Towards the end of the 11 day trip, I noticed that he had never changed clothes while we were there.  I asked another volunteer who had lived in the community for an extended time about him and she filled me in on some details: his mother was sick and everything he earns goes towards her medicine and feeding his family.  He had received other gifts from organizations, but ended up selling them for money for food.  My heart ached.  Before I left, I wrote him a note to encourage him and left a pair of pants and tennis shoes for him.  The volunteer who’d be staying there said he might end up selling those too, but I was ok with that, I had a feeling that I needed to.  

Dika and I in Ethiopia

A few weeks ago, I received an e-mail from one of the board members of Grace Giving International telling me about the trip this year.  The email was filled with positive news of growth and well-being, but also held a gem for me.  Dale had encountered Dika this visit, who asked about me.  Dale informed Dika that I was unable to come this year but would pass on the greetings.  Dika also wanted me to know that he still had my shoes and pants and only wore them on special occasions, so as not to wear them out.  It is hard to express the rewarding feeling I felt when I heard this.  However, I must not pat myself on the back too much, as I believe it was GGI’s hard work in establishing trust and building a community in Ethiopia that allowed me to walk in and help where I could.       

The Hardest Day

Days 101 - 124

Note: This entry is a small story of what took place over a month ago.  Yet, it took a long time to reflect on what had happened.  Through meditation, prayer, and guidance from many people I have been able to take the positive out of this seemingly negative experience.  This has been hard for me to write as it digs deep into my true thoughts, emotions, and actions.

I still remember it all like it happened yesterday.  It was one of those days that you know you’ll never forget, one you’ll take with you the rest of your life.  The bad thing is that life never warns you when these things will happen.  Sometimes they happen slowly and other times they’re thrown at you like a blindside punch. 

It was a Sunday like any other at first with Mass at 8 in the morning.  Padre Edvard had given a long sermon and the announcements seemed to take another half an hour after mass.  When we left the church, I spent some time talking with my friends outside the church.  I was holding my songbook in hand when Maria, a young Dominican girl who goes to the school here, came up and snatched it.  She ran off with a grin and lost herself in the crowd.  I was not worried, as this was a normal occurrence – besides Maria felt like a younger sister to me.  She always accompanied us to the mountains for catechists.  It really is inspiring to see an 8 or 9 year old to teach and  help other kids her age discover their faith.

Maria and I.

When I returned back to the school and headed toward my room, I found Maria waiting for one of the sisters outside the door.  On Sundays after Mass, people in the town can come by and sign up to receive a few basic commodities from the sisters.  When I was talking with Maria, two elderly women approached me and I greeted them.  The following conversation ensued:

“How are you all doing?” I asked.

“Not very well, we don’t have any money.  Life is very hard for us,” one of the ladies responded.

“Yes, I understand.  It is very hard here in Barahona,” I replied.

“Listen, can you give us some money?  We need to buy charcoal and water to cook with.  We have no money and no jobs.  What can you give us?”

Whenever I hear this, I am torn.  Certainly, I have money to spare, especially for small commodities such as water and charcoal.  However, it’s a difficult position: giving money feeds into the impression that all volunteers have money and should always give money when asked.  In this case, I had no problem giving them money, but wanted to clarify my position, so I said:

“I don’t have much (which was true to an extent, I didn’t have many pesos), but I can spare a little for you all.  However the sisters don’t normally want me to give money to people, but I’ll make an exception this time.”

I went to my room to look for some change.  Maybe I chose the wrong words to say, or maybe my Spanish didn’t come out right, but I overheard them talking through my window.  They were asking Maria about me.

“Where is he from, the volunteer?” they began.

“The United States,” Maria answered.

“That’s what I thought.  He said he understands us, but he doesn’t.  He doesn’t know how we live, what life is like here.  He says he has no money but he has nice clothes and things.  He has money and he doesn't understand that we don't have anything.”

They went on talking about me for a minute and it hurt and angered me a bit to hear these things behind my back.  I had to take a second to calm myself down and returned with the money.  I smiled, handing them the money for their commodities.

“God bless you, young man!” the woman said.  They then took their leave and I took a seat next to Maria.  Somehow she could tell I was hurt, she is very smart in that way. I turned to her and said,

“Maria, when you see a person like me: an Americano, a gringo, whatever, what do you see?”

She knew exactly what I meant, and I didn’t need to explain myself further, “Money,” she replied.

We went on talking for a bit after that.  I explained how it wasn’t always easy being the outsider; being a volunteer.  I wanted to fit into the community so badly, to be accepted by the people. But it’s difficult when they assume that you have money and therefore that life is easy.  I told Maria that it was true I have a little bit of money, but that it was all relative.  With my savings, I couldn’t last very long without a job in the US.  Yet, I knew that the difference was that if I needed money, I have a strong family connection and an education.  I was speaking to Maria as if she was an adult, but I knew she understood what I meant.  I wrapped up the conversation telling her not to judge someone until you’ve walked in their shoes.  Little did I know, at that time, that it was the exact same advice I should have been giving myself.  Maria gave me my book and left.

During the afternoon, things started looking up for a bit: another VIDES volunteer from Italy, Antonio, was coming to stay for a couple days.  I had the chance to meet him earlier in Santo Domingo and really enjoyed his company then.  On top of that, he speaks English pretty well, which is a rarity here in the Dominican Republic.

Myself, Rafael, and Antonio in Moca...in Santo Domingo!

He arrived here with another sister, Sor Angela, who was the Director here in Barahona for a few years before Sor Elizabeth, the current director.  After lunch, we headed out to the different barrios (districts) so Sor Angela could stop by and visit with the community.  It was obvious from the start that her heart was still here in Barahona: from the way the people greeted her, from the way she smiled and hugged them, to the way she knew the alleys and side streets like the back of her hand.

Laundry day - Photo courtesy of Antonio

As we entered one alley, we found a house the sisters were looking for – a family with a sponsored child in the school.  The house itself held more children that just that one and we were greeted warmly by the family.  As the sisters spoke with the mother, Antonio and I looked on at the innocent children playing naked in the street.  It was a very common sight on weekends as Saturdays and Sundays were laundry days and the people don’t have the luxury of more than a couple sets of clothes.  

The sisters continued along the side of the house and motioned for us to follow, and I was again put in a situation I couldn’t prepare for.  As we walked along the side of the house, there was a ledge that looked over into the next “yard” of their neighbor.  On that ledge in a chair sat a boy with muscular dystrophy.  It was one of those moments where you’re conscious of where your eyes go, and you know that the person you’re looking at knows that you’re shocked by what you see.  In this case, his thighs were no bigger than my arms.  His knees looked like bones with skin tightly around them.  He did not wear a smile on his face.  

The alley where the boy and his family lived, on the left.

The sisters were talking about the sanitation in the back and left Antonio and I on the ledge with the boy.  I spoke to him in my broken Spanish, thinking it was the least I could do.  He responded quietly to my questions and soon enough the sisters asked us to continue along.  I put my hand on the boy’s shoulder and said I would pray for him.  He shook his head, held out his hand and asked for money.  My heart sank at the request; even more when I drove my hand into my pocket and felt nothing buy my keys.  I said I was sorry and I had to go as a confusion of pity and grief took over my heart.  

As we headed back to the house, we made one more stop to a house with a recently deceased family member.  Antonio and I stood in the doorway a listened to the grieving family.  Across the street, we heard a father threatening his son before him a swift blow to the face, followed by the boy running out of the house crying.  Antonio and I exchanged sad glances with each other looked on.  Another man approached us and started talking to us soon after.  This time, I knew it was coming, I knew he was going to ask for money – and I hardened my heart. I smelled alcohol on his breath and he told us about his family and how he just wanted a bit to buy milk for his kids.  Again, I told him that I didn’t have any money, but I would certainly keep him and his family in my prayers.  In my mind, I was convinced that he just wanted money to buy more alcohol.

When we left, he walked with us, asking the sisters for money and telling them his story.  We approached another house and a little boy no more than 4 years old ran to the man and wrapped his arms tightly around his legs.  Other children came out of the house and the man told us that these were his kids.  He instructed his son to introduce himself to us and greet us kindly.  When he did the man chuckled and we all smiled.  Yet, I felt such guilt in my heart.  How naïve and conceited was I?

When we finally got back to the house, I wanted to rest, but I needed clarity.  Still thinking about myself, I approached Sor Elizabeth and told her all that happened today.  Why are people so concerned with money here and why do they think that is all I’m good for?  I asked her these things and she sat down with me to explain them to me.  I wanted a compassionate answer, to be in right, but she gave me the truth.  

“Russell, what the women said, is true.  You don’t understand what it is like to live here.  You have a bed here, you have electricity, you have clean water and food provided to you.  Have you ever wondered when your next meal would be?  Had to drink unclean water and pray you don’t get sick?  Even if you didn’t have anything here, you’re educated and have a beautiful and loving family who could take care of you.  Those are gifts and luxuries that many people here don’t have.  That’s just the reality of the world.  The work you do here is wonderful, you show the people that not all Americans fit into a mold.  You break that mold by being here and helping out, but you must know that life is not easy for the people here and you can’t fully understand it all until you’ve lived like they have.”

I looked down, not feeling any better about myself at these words.  I thought, Comparatively, I am not poor and do not know what it feels like to struggle to get by.  I do have decent clothes and things that only the wealthy would possess here.  But it pains me to hear them say that I don't understand them, because of my background, because of who I am.  I am here to learn and give my time, but is that all I will ever amount to?  An outsider looking in; like watching a movie of the life of these people?  I would say no, it's more than that, especially from everything I've experienced so far.

This, I have learned, can be a problem of being a volunteer.  People always tell you what good work you do and how great it is that you give up your time for others.  Sometimes, this can add to a person’s ego, even if they are a “humble volunteer”.  In my mind, because I had seen much including astonish poverty of Ethiopia and Guatemala, I took it that I understood it all, but it was far from that.  At that time, I did not realize it though.  I wanted re-affirmation, so I went to Sor Gloria, the VIDES USA director, for guidance. 

I asked her the same questions and told her the same stories, wanting some sort of sympathy.  However, her responses were somewhat the same.

“It is probably true [about me not understanding the women]. Who of us has really lived poverty, hardship, and misery as they have?  Stay with the pain… Let it touch you deeply… And pour your heart and your love into who you are and what you are doing… Your very presence there will speak volumes to them now and when you’ll be gone. Your words are much more precious than money.  All that we do should have a goal to lead them to help themselves. I hope they also get to realize the great sacrifice you are doing of giving of your life and talent to help them help themselves.”

Hearing her words helped a little, but I still wasn’t feeling great about myself.  I wanted so badly to fit into the community that I’m helping, yet I felt so much like an outsider.  For the moment, I put the events behind me and continued my day.

In the evening, I had the chance to talk with my parents, before dinner.  The sun was still out, so I didn’t need to have the lights on.  My room was illuminated by the evening sun and I was glad to hear their voices after the long day.  We were talking and catching up on events that occurred the past week.  I was enjoying the lighthearted conversation as a contrast from the heavy things I witnessed today.

However, I started talking about my day that day and everything started coming out: the women, the conversation with the sisters, and my frustration with not fitting in.  I continued to talk and talk and talk and finally got to the part with the boy sitting on the ledge.  The memory made tears swell in my eyes and my throat tighten.  I stopped speaking for a minute to regain composure, I had to be strong and I didn’t want my parents to see my cry like this.  I started talking again, but the memories were too fresh.  It was like opening the gates to the dam and letting water flow, there was no stopping once it started.  That’s when it began to hit me: It wasn’t just the boy who will never walk, nor the abusive father, nor the women who will continue to struggle each day, nor the father or the countless children in this village alone who are hungry.  It’s the reality and gravity of the whole situation; that this is the world that we’re living in.  I was born into a good life and am different.  It’s not a fair world and it never will be.  I was tired and confused.  Is this the world you created, God, in all its glory? Reveal to me the truth of it all!

I looked at myself on my computer screen, the mini image projected from my web cam.  The sun was setting and my face was obscured, I was glad as they couldn’t see the pain in my face.  But, they are my parents, and know me all too well – they could hear the pain in my voice.  My parents offered me healing and kind words that only parents can truly give.  For that conversation, I’ll keep between us.

Over the next month, I revisited the words of Sor Elizabeth, Sor Gloria, and my parents.  I prayed continuously for clarity and truth.  In time, it came, little by little.

I now have seen that it is true – I cannot fully understand what it is like to live as they live, but I can do my part to help.

Reflecting on pictures such as this reminds me of the gravity and reality of my surroundings.

God has answered my prayers and I feel connected with the community, but I need not let my ego get in the way.  The other day, while running in the street, a boy from the school started running with me.  He told me how he sees me running all the time and has wanted to come with me, but didn’t have the courage until today.  The small gesture did wonders for my spirit.

I am praying to continue to see and not to have my ego clouding my vision.  Surrendering the ego makes me feel weak and vulnerable many times, but through that I am able to find a greater sense of reward in the work I do and a certain inner peace.  

I am learning that I am not important, nor should I ever think I am.  However, the paradox is that we are all special because we are unique.  The soul needs meaning as much as the body needs food. I think sometimes we overuse the term, “Jesus saves”.  It is a very true and delicate phrase, but He is saving us from ourselves, from our emotional neediness and hurt.  By having this sort of sense of meaning, we don’t have to rely on outside comforts to pull ourselves up from pain, God will pull us up every time if we allow him and let him take control.  This is perhaps the hardest lesson for me to accept.  To realize that in the spiritual life, what we think we are doing is actually being done to us, and all we have to do is say, “yes”.

Freedom to love.

I also realize now that I would not have grown to learn these things without first feeling that pain.  Pain pushes us out of our comfort zones and we feel like we’re not in control.  As I handed the reigns over to God, it was easier for him to show me where I went wrong in my thinking.  As I meditated, I saw my selfishness and conceit.  But it would not have been possible without first letting go and falling.

I will not change the world being here, probably not even the small town I am in.  But, if I am able to love and have the people- even just a few- know that I love them and care about them then I know I have connected on a spiritual level.   We all have that spiritual hunger and their fulfillment is also my fulfillment, which is the glory and mystery of it all.  If I can do just that, my mission here will have been a success.