Young Adults in Global Mission

December Updates from Jerusalem and West Bank by Chelsea Mathis

2009-01-05T11:20:00.000-08:00

An Overview of the Conditions and Situation in Gaza

On Saturday, December 27th an intensive Israeli
airstrike on Hamas targets began in the Gaza
Strip. Now in its seventh day, the massacre has
taken nearly 428 lives and caused almost 2100
injuries. What does this all mean? What’s the deal
with Gaza? What does it look like from where I
am? I’ll try to answer these and other questions in
this newsletter at a basic level, so that the current
news headlines will make a little more sense.

What is Gaza?
Gaza, or the Gaza Strip, is a 139 square mile area
of land nestled between the Mediterranean Sea,
Israel, and Egypt (Wikipedia). Gaza is a part of
the Palestinian Territories, consisting of the West
Bank and Gaza, and the people living in Gaza are
Palestinians.

What is the population of Gaza?
The population of Gaza is 1.4 million. 99% of the
population is Muslim and 1% is Christian
(Wikipedia).

What is the humanitarian situation in Gaza?
For those of you from Southeast Michigan, an
easy way to think of the conditions in Gaza is
taking an area of land equivalent to Ida, Dundee,
and Raisinville Townships and increasing the
population from 16,186 to 1.4 million. Now
imagine that 75% of the people are refugees,
56.8% are living below the poverty line, and
44.6% are unemployed (Palestinian Central
Bureau of Statistics). The borders of Gaza are
controlled by Israel, and since the 2007 Hamas
takeover, Israel has completely closed the borders
on several occasions to all goods, humanitarian
aid, and people. Power plants do not have enough
fuel to keep producing electricity, hospitals are
running out of supplies, and even relief agencies
have struggled getting food assistance into the
territory. These were the conditions before the air
strikes began.

What is Hamas?
Hamas is a militant political party in the
Palestinian Territories. Hamas gained popularity in
Palestine by sponsoring extensive social service
projects. In 2006, Hamas was rightfully won the
general legislative elections acquiring the majority
of the seats in the legislative council of the
Palestinian National Authority. Then, in Gaza in
2007, Hamas seized control from the competing
party, Fatah. In the same year in the West Bank,
members of Fatah ousted elected Hamas members
from the PNA. Hamas is listed as a terrorist
organization by the United States and several other
countries for its use of suicide bombing and
guerilla warfare, and its charter calling for an end
to Israel (Council on Foreign Relations/
Wikipedia).

Why is Israel bombing Gaza?
Growing resentment for Israel due to its policies of
closure on Gaza and the resulting humanitarian
crisis drove Hamas to sporadically launch rockets
into surrounding areas in southern Israel. Once the
Egypt-brokered cease-fire agreement between
Hamas and Israel expired on December 19th,
Hamas stepped up these attacks. While a nuisance
and danger to Israeli property, these projectiles had
not caused any injuries or deaths since two injuries
occurred back in June of 2008. Israel claims that in
order to protect its citizens, a full offensive was
necessary (Aljazeera/Wikipedia).

What’s the situation in Gaza like now?
As I mentioned earlier, today is the seventh day of
attacks on Gaza. The death toll stands at 428 with
the number of injuries topping 2,000. The United
Nations states that the humanitarian situation is on
the brink of catastrophe. A proposal for a ceasefire
suggested by France was turned down. Israel has
massed troops and tanks at the Gaza border,
supposedly preparing for a ground invasion. The
situation is dire, yet the United States refuses to
call for an immediate ceasefire.

Where am I? Am I in danger?
I currently live near Beit Jala in the West Bank. Beit
Jala is 45 miles Northeast of Gaza. In terms of risk
due directly to the fighting in Gaza, there is little.
Because I live in the Palestinian Territories, rockets
and projectiles fired from Hamas in Gaza would not
be directed here, nor could they reach this far.
Israel’s attacks have been concentrated on Hamas
targets in Gaza and will not spread into the West
Bank. Calls for uprising in the West Bank from
various militant factions around the Arab world have
largely gone unanswered. There has been increased
security provided by the Palestinian National
Authority in Bethlehem and by Israeli police in
Jerusalem helping to keep protesters safe and
demonstrations calm. Nevertheless, there are places
here that are unsafe and where conditions are
changing rapidly. With good communication and
increased consciousness of surroundings, I still feel
safe and at home here.

Are the Bishops still coming?
As of today, the 2009 Bishop’s Academy will still be
taking place as planned. While the overall number
has dropped, Bishops from across the United States
and Canada will be arriving on Tuesday, January 6th.
The Bishops will be meeting with representatives and
organizations from both sides of the conflict and
learning about the work of the Evangelical Lutheran
Church in Jordan and the Holy Land.

Other News from December

This month I traveled to Jordan for a week on
retreat with the rest of the Young Adults in
Global Mission team. We hiked in Petra then
went camping in the desert in Wadi Rum. Shortly
after returning to Bethlehem, I flew to Istanbul on
a personal vacation with my boyfriend, Matt.
(Yes, I’m allowed 3 weeks of personal vacation
during my year of service). Christmas in
Bethlehem was a very special time. The
celebrations in Manger Square near the Church of
the Nativity in Bethlehem were well attended, but
the Christmas spirit was most present in the
dinners, gatherings, and carol-singing sessions
with close friends throughout the week. I went to
church Christmas Eve at the Church of the
Reformation in Beit Jala. Rather than a traditional
Christmas Eve service, the children performed a
play about the wise men trying to get to
Bethlehem but were blocked by the wall and
Israeli soldiers. It makes me wonder, how is the
message of Christ being spread beyond the wall
in these days? I’d like to think part of our reason
for being here is to enable the Christians in this
land to continue what they’ve been doing for
2000 years now.

New Slovakia and Hungray Program

2009-01-05T11:17:00.001-08:00

Some Exciting news, YAGM has added Hungary to list of Country sites. This will be part of a Slovakia and Hungary Program emphasizing the needs of the Roma-Gypsy population in the Regions.

Here is a full Description:
This program partners with the church and the Roma-Gadje Dialogue Through Service project that provide volunteers the opportunity to build inter-cultural awareness, understanding, sensitivity and solidarity among Roma communities in central Europe. These communities face persecution, forced assimilation, mistrust, fear and banishment from the dominant culture. Through their placements, Gadje (non-Roma) work alongside Roma in local community projects, particularly education, after-school activities, youth work and church-based programs. Volunteers engage in inter-cultural dialog and gain understanding of the social, cultural, political and religious issues affection Roma.

For more info check out
Young Adults in Global Mission

Malaysia added to next year as placement

2008-11-23T15:48:00.000-08:00

So,We have exciting news. Malaysia has been added to the list of countries that YAGMs can spend their year. This is an exciting development and we will keep you posted when we have more details. So tell your friends, tell everyone the exciting news!!!

Sukhamano, state-siders (Issue 7) - Rob in India

2008-06-18T04:38:00.000-07:00

And we're back. The "Kerala Exchange" has now become the
"Kerala Quarterly" and, man, have I got an issue for you.
Since I left you last time (in February, yikes) classes were just letting out and the students left for summer break. Life as I'd known it for the past half of a year changed dramatically, but this break from the usual duties also gave me a chance to pursue some big adventures. My March adventures don't fit into this newsletter, so to get that story you're going to have to visit the blog at malayalamartin.blogspot.com. April was spent mostly on the All India Tour; a 28 day rough and tumble romp through the northern regions of India. Those of you paying close attention to the web album have probably already been staring at the photo evidence of that excursion for weeks. From the very day we arrived back in Kerala, until near the end of May I was engaged in camps of various sorts. This extended edition of the "Kerala Quarterly" will take you on a virtual tour of these past two months.
The All India Tour has long been a part of this volunteer program. After seeing one tiny corner of the country for most of the year, it gives us a chance to catch a glimpse of what else is going on in this vastly diverse country and put some perspective on our Kerala home. I'd say that goal was met, and then some. In four weeks we travelled from the southern tip of the continent to the Himalayas. We saw deserts, rice paddies, golden fields of grain and villages cut terraced into the heighest mountain range in the world. Every place we visited was home to one or several languages we didn't even know existed. Yes, there is a difference between South-Central L.A. and Fargo, ND, but the diversity we encountered in our travels made the American melting pot look like an Easy Bake Oven.
The Jodhpur fort was home to many a Mughal monarch, it's the gateway to the Thar Desert and beyond them thar dunes lies Pakistan. This fort may also be home to the one truly satisfying audio tour in existence. If you ever make it out here it's really worth the Rs. 400. The fact that the entire fortress was hewn from solid rock into beautifully intricate designs is nothing short of miraculous. There is just something deeply satisfying about the geometric intricacy of Muslim art. Check out the level of detail around this window…
We spent one day in Jodhpur and then took a night train to Jaisalmer, home of another big ol' fort. The train arrived at 5:30 a.m. and left us unsure about "what next." What happened was this: We were completely overwhelmed by people offering us rooms, travel packages, auto rickshaw rides, and camel excursions. We put on our best, "Get outta my face" faces, but our assaulters had developed some kind of immunity to this, the deadliest weapon in our body language arsenal. Somehow me managed to escape the railway station, but not before one man pulled me down by my backpack to show me his brochure. It looks like we've entered Tourist Hell...
The fort was only a couple of kilometers from the
station, and once the sun came out most of the wild-
eyed salesmen disappeared. The fort by day was actually a very pleasant place- a veritable castle of sand. I probably could have done without this audio tour, but we did meet a lot of interesting people along the way. One lady who owned a handycrafts store, (actually, she was the only female shop owner we met all day), told us this story about the "sustainable" community from which her goods came and to which her proceeds went. The word "sustainable" evokes oohs and ahhs from environmentally concious people the world over, and it was the perfect sales pitch for us. Just before we left she gave us a CD and said, "Take this and you can see what I'm talking about." Later in Delhi we popped the CD into a computer and, what do you know, it appears she was telling us the truth about everything. I think we were all a bit surprised that we found a devoted and honest souvenir seller in Tourist Hell.
Stepping out of our home communities in Kerala into the tourist world of Rajasthan was a bit of a surreal experience. We were used to living in a place where people knew us and shared their lives with us. Suddenly, we jumped into this world where everyone saw us as tourists. That is, of course, logical for them to assume, but we didn't really feel like tourists. We felt like displaced Keralites. Yes, the forts were amazing, but as a group we decided early on that forts weren't our forte. We wanted the rest of our journey to involve less sightseeing and more people seeing.
As we took another night train to Delhi we were excited to see some familiar faces again. Our stay was arranged with a family of Presbyterian missionaries posted in Delhi. We also anticipated meeting with our friend Binu who is studying in Delhi, and is the son of our program coordinator, Thomas John Achen.
When we arrived in Delhi we took a taxi armed only with directions and an address scrawled on a piece of paper. While we've managed to conquer the various transportation systems in Kerala, in this town we were back to squarea one - we didn't even have one word of Hindi between the four of us. We did manage to arrive safely at the Hudson residence, and were warmly greeted by the good Reverend Hudson himself. Without missing a beat he began cooking up some hot noodles for us, mixing some icy drinks and sending us out in shifts for a hot shower. We've haven't had pasta, ice cubes, or hot showers since August 2007! This is something really amazing to us. And that first experience pretty much summed up the level of hospitality that the whole Hudson clan extended to us during our stay.
From the Hudson's house we traveled to the Taj Mahal, of course. We also made several excursions out into the city with the Hudsons as our guides. Along the way we had some incredible meals including, much to my surprise, the absolute best South Korean food I've ever set my teeth into. Though the Hudsons were invaluable in helping us around the city, they also gave us a really unique perspective on our own time in Kerala. Though we've offered one year of our lives in this country, the Hudsons will be here for at least three, and they've already completed stints in Pakistan and South Korea. Suddenly, a year in India as a recent college grads doesn't seem like such a big deal.
From the Smith residence we trekked deeper into the Himalayas
in search of adventure, full body fatigue and snow. We found
all of these things. On our first hike we trekked up a beautiful stone path through green fields and budding rhododendrons. Despite this lush first leg, the snow capped peaks surrounding us stood as a reminder of what lay at the end of our climb.
After a couple of hours of hiking, some mountain-sized clouds began to roll towards us, thundering all the way. The girls figured that getting caught on top of a mountain in a storm is a bad thing, but I reasoned that if we're going to die on a mountain we might as well die at the top. So the girls found shelter and I ran on ahead. At the top there stood an old, stone temple to Shiva, a lot of snow, and dozens of dreadlocked, face-pierced hippies. I took a couple of snaps (of the buildings, not the hippies) and quickly headed back down to join the girls. Scarcely did we begin our decent before the heavens unleashed a torrent of heavy hale balls. Turns out the girls were right afterall. So we found some shelter and waited out the storm, no worse for the wear, but now we can tell our grandchildren that we were trapped on a Himalayan mountaintop in an ice storm.
Our next stop, Daramshala, was selected so we could get a taste of Tibetan culture, and of course, food. We got much more than we planned for. Well, initially we got exactly what we had hoped for – cooking lessons. We traveled through a long corridor of back streets to arrive at Sanje's kitchen. As we prepared our Mo-Mo Soup we asked some questions about Sanje's journey from Tibet to India. It turns out he had quite an incredible journey, and for travelers willing to listen, you get a lot more than some cooking tips out of Sanje. He told us about his midnight escape from his village, he didn't tell anyone or leave a note for fear of endangering his loved ones. He made the four week journey into Nepal on foot and then eventually moved to Daramshala to work as a cook. It was eight years before he made his first phone call back home. We've been hearing about Chinese atrocities in Tibet for years, but this first hand account gave us a face to match with the issue.
As we exited the maze of buildings back onto the main street we were surprised to see a flood of monks carrying banners denouncing Chinese occupation of Tibet. The procession went on and on. After the monks came the city people, then the school kids, and then a smattering of travelers from all around the world also joined in the march.
We just happened to be at the seat of Tibetan government as the Olympic torch passed through Delhi, and this protest was staged to coincide with the relay. This display of raw emotion made quite an impression on all of us, especially after our eye-opening conversation with Sanje. We felt humbled to be at the epicenter of this Olympic-sized issue.

Summer Camp - Kerala Style
T he very day after returning to Kerala I was invited to help
lead a three week summer camp for kids aged 6-16. Actually,
I was introduced to the camp as the "dance teacher." I tried to explain that the only dance experience I had was with tap dance, and I didn't think attempting tap with over a hundred kids simultaneously was a good idea, but the organizer reassured me, "It's ok, we're sure you'll come up with something good."

Even now I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I managed to put together some steps for a punk rock version of "I Fought the Law." The kids young and old seemed to really like it. I guess, since the typical Malayalam film does depict random dancing as a fact of life, they were an accepting audience. One of the young girls came up to me after I taught them the dance, gave me a big smile and said, "Great moves!" Hey, if she's happy then I can be satisifed with my utter dance awkwardness.

During these three weeks I also served as song leader, magician, jungle gym and resident expert in paper airplane folding. I worked at a summer camp for three summers in America, but I'd completely forgotten what an incredible joy it is to get to know these small people. Though the differences between this culture and American culture are innumerable, these Keralite kids had just as much energy, mischief, and as many questions as the American variety.

The day after that camp ended, I awoke with a feeling of disappointment - there would be no more camp today. Luckily for me, a new camp began the very next day. This camp was for older students – college kids. The program was organized by the Student Christian Movement, though students from any religion were encouraged to attend. Entitled, "Student Empowerment and Communicative English" the camp sought students who came from the poorest sections of society namely Dalits. Though education is freely available in Kerala, all things aren't exactly equal. As it has become necessary to have some skill in the English language to succeed in most desirable occupations, primary educations that focus on English training have also come into vogue. The families with lots of money can send their kids to schools that offer special language training, or even an international school. The students from the poorest section of society, however, cannot afford these special services.

Over the next two weeks we met and bonded with the students at this program. We were asked to lead the grammar portions of the program, and we did do that, but we also focused a lot of our energies on building up the confidence of these students to engage their language skills, no matter what their proficiency.

The program turned out to be very rewarding, not only because we got to meet so many amazing students, but also because of the change we saw in them in just two weeks' time. Monday through Wednesday was like pulling teeth, especially during the group participation portions of our lessons, but by the following Monday these students felt comfortable communicating with us no matter how proficient or limited their vocabularies. We eased some of the tension by speaking in a form of hybridized "Manglish" when necessary.

On the final day we broke the students into four groups and gave them a scavenger hunt to complete. Once they had collected the items we instructed them to make a skit incorporating all of the things they found. The results were absolutely astounding. One group presented a play detailing the struggle of the tribal populations of Kerala to cope with the pressures of modernization. Another group gave us an incredibly nuanced portrayal of some of the negative effects of globalization. I was utterly blown away; these were the same students who refused to speak at all only two weeks before.

That's it for now, congratulations on making it through, and thank you for coming with me on my journey thus far. I think my next newsletter will be my last from India, though I'll give you one follow up issue after my return. Now that students have returned I'm busy again with classes, visits to Kanam and a couple of side music projects as well. For those of you familiar with the Holden Evening Prayer, it's coming to Kerala with a bluegrass twist. Get ready.

May and a half newsletter - Katie in Mexico

2008-06-15T18:01:00.000-07:00

“The End is Coming”
Cuernavaca, Mexico Newsletter
May 2008
By Katie

No denying it, time is flying and bringing me closer and closer to the end of my year in Mexico. With that realization comes a mix of emotions that seems to ebb and flow several times each day from one extreme to the other. I have a difficult time articulating this current state of confusion and contradiction and constant change; but nonetheless, as many friends, coworkers, and family members start asking me about what “the end” feels like to me, I will take a stab at the impossible and try to make sense of the muddled emotions swimming through my brain. As a visual and graphic learner myself, I present to you a visual metaphor by using a familiar Taoist symbol: the yin yang.

The yin-yang represents the opposing duality of two energies, each very distinct but also interconnected. The two sides compliment and transition into the other and the whole circle emerges. One energy cannot exist without the other. July 9th. One day. “The end.” Two very different and separate worlds of emotions and realities, yet one side does not exist without the other. Together, “leaving Mexico” and “returning home” create the whole, “the end.”

Leaving Mexico
I moved to Cuernavaca last August and have spent the past ten months or so creating a life here. I was welcomed into a Mexican host family, a wonderful one at that, and I continue to develop and evolve in our relationships. I stepped foot into very challenging and rewarding job sites. Both jobs pushed me to struggle through my misguided attempts to serve a community that I didn’t understand; confront my inadequacies; come to terms with the fact that I can’t change the community (or the world); adapt to work within and be a part of those communities; and to find joy and love in accepting the communities as they are. Meanwhile, I formed silly friendships with my coworkers. I grew to crave the moments of children’s unconditional love, wonder, and innocence that they share with me daily through a hug or smile or small success in class. I made friends with other gringos and Mexicans and find so much pleasure in our opportunities to meet and share an afternoon or an evening together. I walked this journey with four other volunteers and my country coordinator who have all served as my rocks, my breaths of fresh air, the guiding light at my feet, and the tides that pull me to new realizations and perspectives. I learned the intricate map of shortcuts and scenic routes of southern Cuernavaca; the good stands in the market; my favorite hideouts downtown to get a (cheap) coffee or beer or bite to eat; and numerous ways to blend in like a local despite my blonde hair and light eyes.
Not all of it has been bliss and I have struggled to find peace in the cross-cultural conflicts of day-to-day life in Mexico. I had an unbelievably difficult time adjusting to my work sites and letting go of my US-American expectations of what “education” should look like. Although I am more flexible with the inconsistencies at my work sites, my work still continues to raise my blood pressure and leave me exhausted at the end of the day. On some days I love the slow pace of not having plans and a “what’s the rush?” attitude… other days that mentality tests my US-American patience and leaves me irritated and thinking to myself “there is so much else I could be doing right now.” I still despise machismo and feel like I am on the verge of clinical insanity caused by excessive catcalls, unwanted attention, and objectification. I am looking forward to not having to question the “safety” of food at restaurants or street-stands, or having to disinfect almost every piece of produce at home with iodine drops. I’m looking forward to not getting some sort of digestive illness and inevitably wind up stupefied, not knowing what caused it or how to treat it. Leaving Mexico will be more heartbreaking than anything… but I would be a liar if I didn’t say that it might also be a slight relief.
Soon I will leave this place with never-fading summer warmth; flowers continually in bloom; loud traffic and stifling exhaust; bustling markets of noisy vendors, fresh vegetables, fruits and meats; a pace that slows and morphs for any unexpected visitor or invitation; and simple living and simple pleasures. Soon I will say goodbye to the kids who hugged me, played with me, and pulled me through the dark days. Soon I will say goodbye to the volunteers who understand this year on a level that I can never fully express to my friends and family back home. Soon I will say goodbye to Marce, my confidant, my nurse, my friend, my Mexican mother and loyal caretaker.
Denial: I’m knee-deep in it… no, better yet, I’m luxuriously bathing in it. I am starting to slowly ponder how “leaving” will affect me, but I will openly admit that my thoughts are almost completely wrapped up in enjoying my last weeks and the daydreams of returning to the things I’ve missed from home. Time is moving quickly now and no amount of mental or emotional preparation will save me from some tears, heartache, and the occasional longing to stay in Mexico. Soon I will confront the reality of saying goodbye, boarding a bus to the airport, and spending five hours in flight that will take me from one side of the yin yang to the other.

Returning Home
To be completely honest, I’ve been looking forward to my return home ever since the beginning of my time in Mexico. Even during the most marvelous and joyful days in Mexico, I have still felt ties to the pieces of home that are so much a part of me. I have always looked forward with excitement and anticipation for the reunification with those things. I lack the words to describe how soul-lifting it will be to see my family and friends; how grounding it will be to feel my feet in the grass at my parents’ home or in the sand by the lake; how encouraging and reassuring it will be talk with those of you who have been following my journey (for which I am eternally grateful); how centering it will be to return Madison and spend a sunny afternoon on the Terrace with friends; how energizing it will be to go for scenic runs, bike rides or swims; and how spiritually enriching it will be to walk into Bethany Lutheran where I know the faces, where I know the hymns, and where I can always find a piece of myself and my faith.
In almost every way, I am deeply and genuinely excited to return home. That being said, I also have to recognize the difficulties awaiting me. Coming home might be a very isolating experience as I haphazardly navigate my way through reverse culture shock. I fear my own inability to relate to US-American culture; I fear my inability to relate to others; I fear others’ inability to relate to me; I fear my inability to articulate what this year really means to me. I fear the confrontation with the pieces of US-American culture that run counter to my post-Mexico self (some which that never felt right to me before; others will be new to me after this experience).
As I re-transition into the United States, I will attempt to find a way to build a grounded, healthy, and soul-satisfying life in which my Mexican self can breathe and grow within my US-American environment. This is my greatest aspiration for my future and leaves me wondering what that obstacle-ridden journey will look like. What decisions can I make that honor and acknowledge how this year has changed me? How can I share with others my Mexican experience and new perspectives with grace? How can I find an open and spiritually-honest lifestyle that finds a balance between my Mexican self and my US-American self? I certainly have hopes for certain Mexican lessons and philosophies I want to bring home, but keeping them in practice will be challenging when so many of them do not easily fit into US-American way of living. Unfortunately, in this world we cannot always cherry-pick from our favorite places, foods and flavors, holidays and traditions, social interactions, and mentality (of ourselves and others) and surround ourselves only with the things that make our souls sing and rejoice. Life is sometimes not what we hope it will be. I cannot wave a magic wand and change certain parts of US-American culture to fit the measure and rhythm of my post-Mexican self. Nor would I want to change it. But I can hope, pray, and attempt to maintain those pieces of my post-Mexican self that bring me life and joy.
This hope of mine reminds me of the book I am currently reading, Plan B: Further thoughts on faith by Anne Lamott. In one chapter she references a man named A.J. Muste who stood in front of the White House during the Vietnam War with a candle every night. A reporter once asked him if he believed that standing with a candle would actually change the government’s policies. He replied, “I don’t do it to change the country, I do it so the country won’t change me.” Oooo, I like that. Let’s see that one again: “I don’t do it to change the country, I do it so the country won’t change me.”
I may not hold candles at night, but I might march or protest for immigration reform. I might spend time during the summer volunteering in the desert with No More Deaths (No Más Muertes). I might pride myself on making handmade tortillas and savor the Mexican flavors I can recreate at home. I might throw my To-Do list out the window and change plans to make time for an unexpected call from a friend or family member – as my Mexican brothers and sisters teach me, sometimes our time is the greatest gift we can give. After beginning to consider some of the lifestyle choices that I can make, I hope that I have the strength and determination to firmly grasp onto the choices that allow me to put my feet on the path that I preach. And I won’t do it to change the country (or my friends, or family, or neighbors); I’ll do it so the country won’t change me.

Conclusion
Just like the yin-yang, I am currently feeling an opposition and a duality between “leaving Mexico” and “returning home.” Each side is distinct and each carries distinct fears, expectations and hopes. At the same time, I cannot have one without the other. It will be a difficult transition for me, probably in more ways that I can begin to imagine; nonetheless, I am also greatly looking forward to seeing you all on the flip side of the yin-yang come July.

Photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/klgavle
Blog: http://klgavlemexico.blogspot.com/

May Newsletter - Mark in Slovakia

2008-06-15T13:44:00.000-07:00

Mark's Mission Notes

Ahoj and Greetings from Slovakia.

My May has been quite interesting. I saw the Maj Strom go up,
Confirmation, Sväty Duch and had opportunities to travel. My time here is getting closer to when I return and it seems like every week is flying by faster and faster. I'm starting to realize that I will be
going home and what that means for me.

And as usual I have been writing some other updates on my Blog for those of you who are Internet savvy. The address is http://www.moltron.net/
I also have many more pictures available at
http://flickr.com/photos/themoltron

On the First of May, the village had a huge celebration and erected a
Maj Strom or May Tree…basically a big pole with a small tree on top. It stays up during the whole month. It was great seeing all the familiar faces and sounds in the village. Pan Gavornik, who takes pictures of everything, the kids from school running around crazy, the small brass ensemble playing classic Slovak tunes and the pleasant sound of laughter.

That Sunday we had Confirmation Sunday. Confirmation is considered a huge deal, a rite of passage for many of the youth. The Service was packed and the confirmands were dressed in their finest. The Girls in stunning white dresses and the Boys in suits. For many this is the first time I've seen them in something other than jeans and a t-shirt. Family members from all over came for this special occasion. Each confirmand was called up to the altar and given a blessing from the Pastor. Večera Pánova (Communion) is only given a few times a year and this was one of those occasions. I was asked to help which I felt honored. It took about half an hour because there were so many people. The Service itself was
beautiful and it took a little longer because of all the pomp and
circumstance.

Afterward I had some reflections about my own Confirmation. Is it just something that people do and just go through the motions? It is a hard thing to determine, I can't see people hearts. The week before confirmation the confirmands were asked to answers questions about their faith. The answers they gave were from a textbook. I can remember during my confirmation learning answers to questions just because I had to know them. I not sure I was any different. There are many things that point the way and help us to wrap our heads around Faith but Faith isn't found in a textbook. It is found when our hearts meet God's. I think this is one of the greatest struggle our church faces. That we think faith can be distilled down to the right answers.

The Next Sunday was Sväty Duch Nedela or Holy Spirit Sunday. The Pastor asked everyone in the village to wear Kroj (the traditional Slovak folk Costume, each village has a slightly different costume). Flo and I spend the day before walking around the village trying to find Kroj for us to wear. What an experience. Apparently not many men wear kroj so only a few people had things we could use. We walked from house to house. Everybody told us of someone else who maybe had something. In process we were given our fill of kolačky(cookies), Obed(lunch) and Kava(coffee).
We were blessed so much from the hospitality. After being stuffed full of food and conversation we were able to find everything we needed. So on Sväty Duch we wore Kroj and were like real Slovaks for a day.

After all these events I took some much needed time for travel. My first stop was in Budapest with some of the other Volunteers in Slovakia. Budapest is such a beautiful city. There are times I'm traveling that I'm in disbelief of where I am. You hear and see things about cities like Budapest and when you get there it is a little surreal. Many of the sites we like being in a movie or fairy tale. We visited many interesting places and were lucky enough to be there when they had a folk festival going on at the National History Museum. I was wonderful to see, hear and experience some of the native culture. Of course when you're in Hungary you have to eat Hungarian Goulash, which by the way is amazing. Hungary being so close to Slovakia you would think the language would be similar but, No. Very different indeed. Apparently it is related to Norse and Icelandic languages.

Then I headed off to London. Being in Slovakia and not being around very many native English speakers for quite a while, arriving is London interesting. I couldn't help listening in on people's conversations just because I could understand them. It also made me realize just how much I will miss speaking Slovak and that my time there will soon be coming to a conclusion. In London I met up with one of the other YAGM volunteers Eric who is living in a neighborhood of London called Camden. I arrived on Corpus Christi, so I was able to celebrate a traditional Church of
England mass. Smell and Bells as they call it. Incense and lots of
ringing bells. In some ways it felt like being home worshiping in
English. I also made me realize how much of our worship traditions come from England. I traveled all around London visiting Parliament,
Westminster Abbey, and Piccadilly Circus. I even traveled to Greenwich Village and stood across the Prime Meridian.

As Much as I wish I could assimilate myself into this strange and now somewhat familiar culture. I am constantly being reminded that I am and always will be a foreigner. Sometimes I'll try to say something in my best Slovak and people don't understand. Why Slovaks don't grasp the concept of a coffee machine or when they don't understand No!!! When you say you've had enough food. I will never understand but I love them for it anyway. We are all like foreigners trying to make sense of our environment based on previous experiences, expectations and values. How does God shape our experiences, expectations and values? How does our
own culture shape our Faith? I'm still trying to figure that out. I have
grown from my experience here, seeing how others see and worship God in a completely different context than I'm used to. It has given me a larger view of God and a different lens to see the influences my home culture has on my faith.

Lord,
Open are eyes to really see the influences on our Life and Faith
Shape our lives with your Presence
Give us Compassion for understanding
Help us to makes sense of what it means to be a Christian in today's world
Amen

God's Blessings and Peace be with you,
- Christ’s Servant in Slovakia

Mark

April/May Newsletter - Karin in Argentina

2008-06-14T22:18:00.000-07:00

Family and Friends,

One month more. Gratitude is the sentiment that comes to mind as I reflect back on the past 10 months. I am just so grateful.

As the year comes to a close and little more than a month remains, I thought it best to do something a little bit different. Attached you will find seven newsletters within one. One excerpt has been taken from each volunteer in Argentina throughout different moments and moods of the year. My hope is that by reading it, you will feel connected to the volunteers who have supported and shared their lives and stories with me (and now, with you), throughout the year; and also that you will gain a greater understanding of our brothers and sisters of Christ in Argentina.

If your name is James, Kate, Kevin, Kim, Kirsten, or Kristina and you are living in Argentina right now, you are not allowed to read this newsletter until after our retreat. It is one of our morning devotions. Seriously. Don't read it.

Attached is the newsletter. Enjoy.

Karin

****************************************

Ubuntu:
I am because you are.

Africans have this thing called Ubuntu. It is about the essence of being human. It embraces hospitality, caring about others, being able to go the extra mile for the sake of others. I am human because I belong. It speaks about wholeness; it speaks about compassion. We believe that a person is a person through another person; we affirm our humanity when we acknowledge that of others. My humanity is caught up, bound up, inextricably, with yours. A person with Ubuntu is welcoming, hospitable, warm and generous, willing to share. Such people are open and available to others, willing to be vulnerable, affirming of others, do not feel threatened that others are able and good, for they have a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that they belong in a greater whole. When I dehumanize you, I inexorably dehumanize myself. The solitary human being is a contradiction in terms and therefore you seek to work for the common good because your humanity comes into its own in belonging. The quality of Ubuntu gives people resilience, enabling them to survive and emerge still human despite all efforts to dehumanize them.
-Archbishop Desmond Tutu
________________________________________________________________________

“Che it looks like the end of the world is coming. “

“ Nah it’s probably just going to rain real hard” I said. But the clouds kept racing across the sky in a way I’ve rarely seen them move before. What made me worry was the fact that you couldn’t hear any of the birds that usually sing around that time of day there song had been replaced by other noises.

“ Che Andre what’s that noise?” asked Marcos.
“ It sounds like the boards from the construction next door being rattled together.” I said.
“ No, it’s not that.”
Now I really got worried as pastor Andrea’s made a face as if she was remembering something very unpleasant. The wind that was moving the clouds touched the earth and started blowing us around. Wuuuuuuuuuuu, wuuuuuuuuuu came the sound and the water tank that is almost as tall and wide as I am tall started to drag across the ground! Andrea, Marcos and I pushed it into the hall way in between houses and then tried to put the door to the yard back on being that we had to take it off its hinges in the first place to get the tank out side. We had barely hooked it and we’re trying to shut the door when hail the size of balled up fists started to fall inside sliding into the hallway threatening to smack us on the feet. We fell into action I grabbed a large wooden table top and threw it across the entrance because the doors weren’t closing, Eugenia one of the girls who also lives at HUL had come down stairs to see what was going on I looked at her and said “ Euge the window’s in the office are open! “ She ran up stairs and closed all the window blinds of the house that are made out of wood and scroll down as part of the architecture of the window. It started to rain and the lights went out…

We all heard the glass, we heard how things were shattering not only in the temple but in the house as well. . . We listened in that present darkness to how the world around us was breaking. But just as in that first Holy Friday the suffering came to an end and we were able to in the darkness light candles and bare witness to those things that had been lost and a midst all the brokenness realize how much God loves us.

Resurrection, Sunday in the morning others arrived for breakfast before service and as we sat drinking tea and eating pastries we looked at the blue sky that broke through what had survived of the yellow glass. As I said in the beginning storms can take many things and leave others, for us we were left with the reminder of a promise of an act of love on our behalf by means of the brokenness of a body that was resurrected. It means an opportunity to realize that we are not alone and that those who we least expected it from have reached out form the four corners to accompany us in this faith walk. From that day we have felt the support of the communities and how most importantly God keeps us very close to his heart.
-Kristina, La Plata

It is about the essence of being human. It embraces hospitality, caring about others, being able to go the extra mile for the sake of others. I am human because I belong. It speaks about wholeness, it speaks about compassion. We believe that a person is a person through another person;

As we set out two years ago on this journey to South America, I did not fully comprehend that our destination was not a geographic place but rather a spiritual and theological place within ourselves. The process of getting there is a gradual leaving behind of all that is known and certain, of all that comes to define us if we do not let it go and see what is left.

I now have the sense that I’ve reached the Land’s End of my spiritual geography—a craggy ledge hanging over the raging sea. There is not another step of firm ground in front of me. I feel raw and exposed.

It is only now, as I stand completely exposed to the ocean that rages before me, the sea of my own darkness and the darkness of a world of human injustice that I am fully open to receiving God’s grace. It is only from my own vulnerability that I can begin to comprehend Christ’s crucifixion as God’s ultimate act of solidarity with human suffering and brokenness. In the paradox of the Cross, Christ saves us from our sinful nature by completely submitting to the imperial domination of political, economic, and religious powers of his day. “Forgive them Father for they know not what they do.”

God’s call to us as a Church and as individuals is not to turn back from the raging sea of human injustice and suffering but to let it penetrate and transform us. God does not call me to seek consolation for my sorry but rather to heed it as a sacred clamor from deep within, urging me to be an ever more committed instrument of transformation and hope in this broken world.

-Kate, Buenos Aires

We affirm our humanity when we acknowledge that of others. My humanity is caught up, bound up, inextricably, with yours;

By taking the step to participate in the YAGM program, one makes the most of their year by dedicating their lives to a greater cause. As scary and uncertain as this unknown may be, it is an invaluable opportunity. When considering the YAGM program I asked myself, ‘If not now, then when?’ which is a question that has helped me to take advantage of every situation. Tomorrow is never a guarantee, so each experience today – every fight between the kids at La Obra, every smile, every struggle, every beso – needs to be lived to the max. That is what these last two months are for me, taking it all in and taking advantage of each moment and opportunity.

During a conversation with one of the adults from Minnesota, I asked what struck her most about Uruguayan culture. Not to my surprise, she immediately spoke about the Uruguayans’ friendliness and the importance of sharing. This conversation definitely confirmed what I have seen thus far; if nothing else, this year has shown me the importance of sharing your gifts, love and resources with your community. Even though one apple isn’t much, you can always cut it to share with another - with as little or as much as you have, it is more important to enjoy it together than to keep it for yourself. It was wonderful to be able to have these conversations and to see the best of both cultures throughout the week.
-Kirsten, Montevideo

A person with Ubuntu is welcoming, hospitable, warm and generous, willing to share;

For the past two weeks, I have found Valentina´s shoe in the corner. It is dirty white, no larger than the palm of my hand, and there is always just one. I thought little of this at first, until it kept showing up: same spot, same foot. Later I saw standing in its place a plastic, purple and pink high-heal--the kind that Barbie wears, only made a couple of sizes larger to fit 3-year-old Valentina´s left foot perfectly.

So each day, for the past two weeks, Valentina has teeter-tottered around the room, one heel two inches larger than the other. It throws her a little off balance, often causing her to stumble and, on occasion, fall down. Regardless, every morning there is a little white shoe in the corner, and it belongs to Valentina.

As a friend recently wrote in a letter, now is the time in my abroad experience where I have "stopped redefining what it means to live, and instead started living it." All of the expectations and ideas I entered into this with have fallen away, and I am instead focusing on just living. And I am loving it.

Valentina´s plastic and pink high-heal requires me to ask which shoe am I failing to put on because there is only one, or because I will walk a little crooked while wearing it, or because I will be more likely to fall as I walk? These past five months have taught me that our human brokenness and vulnerability can be the bridge between us if we allow it. It is a lesson I am still learning.

-Karin, Comodoro Rivadavia

Such people are open and available to others, willing to be vulnerable, affirming of others, do not feel threatened that others are able and good, for they have a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that they belong in a greater whole;

In early April, I spent the morning with Alberto and his wife on their farm. They took me on a tour of their pig farm, and showed me where they were drying the tobacco to be sold in Alem later in the month. He explained to me the oppressive system of tobacco producing, in which he is involved. In order to grow the tobacco, the company requires that he buy the tobacco seeds, the fertilizer, the chemicals, even the compost and soil, from the company. The money spent in buying the products will be taken off the final cost of the final product of tobacco at a high rate. The company explains to Alberto exactly how to grow the tobacco, and hires workers to come to his farm to make sure that he is following all of the procedures explained to him. If he has not followed correctly, money will be taken off his final product as well. The actually growing process involves the application of dangerous chemicals, ones that inhibit the growth of the tobacco flower, to continue the growth of the leaves. This chemical is not permitted usage in the United States of America because of its toxicity level! The most frustrating aspect is the soil that the producer is required to buy. Why on earth would a producer need to buy soil that has been shipped from New York when the red soil of Misiones is known to be extremely fertile? The collection, drying, and sorting process is a while other story. After Alberto has sorted and bunched his tobacco together, he will bring it to a collective in Alem that will evaluate his crop and give him a final value. After he is given his final value, the debt that is owed will be taken off. This last year, Alberto earned about $7,000 pesos, which is equivalent to less than $2,500 U.S.D. And that is Alberto’s annual income.
How is it possible that people are spending the amount of money on cigarettes, and the tobacco companies are making billions of dollars a year, and yet Alberto comes out with $2,500 a year? It is hard for me to take in the lack of equality in this system. This year, I am working with producers to search for other methods to bring in an annual income, other than a work that not only generates very little income, but also puts its producers at risk daily. Producers suffer for not only the chemicals that they are exposed to in the producing, but also a high daily dose of second hand smoke, just from working with the crop. Producers suffer from high risks of emphysema and cancer due to the working of this crop.
-Kim, Obera

When I dehumanize you, I inexorably dehumanize myself;

Focus, Che, Focus

Yesterday, Wilma and I were talking in the church office about this. I remember how slowly the first few months passed. My brain was still desperately trying to recall how to piece together coherent sentences, and then conversations, in Spanish; I didn’t know how to do anything work-wise; I didn’t know anyone, and the language struggle was only making that harder. Time dragged; every day felt like a week. Then, sometime in early November, the ice in my brain thawed and the water began to flow again. Carrying on a conversation in Spanish no longer felt like a torture devised by the Inquisition (perhaps “NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition!” is the best tagline for my language struggles of September and October), work frustrations became “this isn’t going to plan” as opposed to “what IS the plan?” and I began to feel surrounded by friends rather than just sympathetic strangers. And, just like a river, the time began to flow – first a trickle, then a slow-moving stream, and then the Amazon, forcing its way on to the sea.

And now, I can practically see the breakers – Texas and my pre-Uruguay life, Chicago, who knows what surprises. I find myself asking myself the question – “what now?” How do I make these last few weeks count?

The answer came to me, as it often has this year, on Wednesday afternoon with the kids. One of the young ones, Federico, has glommed on to me. He always saves the spot next to him on the bench for me, and without fail, always ends up resting up against me within 15 minutes. There are the others, too. We always have a greeting/welcome song at the start of our time with the kids, and between the verses we go around and shake hands, joke around a little bit with the kids, etc. One of the girls, Gretel, has March acted very afraid of me since she joined us in March – I’ll stick out my hand, and she’ll shake her head no and look away. But last week...she shook my hand with a big smile on her face. After the welcome song, we listened to a story that came with a song (a monkey cumbia). We all got up and danced to the song (yes, me too), and everyone, every single kid (and the three adults, and even Milton when he popped in the room to see how things were going), danced like a goofball and belted out the song (and occasional monkey noise) with gusto. Everyone danced together, too – people took turns spinning others and being spun, we had a conga (erm, cumbia) line at one point.

I guess that’s the answer to my question. When the monkey cumbia is blaring, you dance. When the students show up with English, North American or African Geography, History, Chemistry, Music, or Computer Science/Information and Research Skills homework, you work with them. When the cook is looking bored in the kitchen, you chat and joke around with her. When the big life questions come up in Bible Study, you talk. When the time is running short, you don’t just watch the sand slip away and feel poorly about it. You accept, reluctantly at times, that such is life, and you make the most of what you have, and you save your Dogon Country daydreams for later.
-Kevin, Montevideo

The solitary human being is a contradiction in terms and therefore you seek to work for the common good because your humanity comes into its own in belonging;

“Do you like life?” I was asked tonight by my friend as we sat and drank mate at her house. When I started my normal speech of the things I enjoy doing and dreams I have, she stopped me, and clarified by saying the question again. “Do you like life? Not your life James, who wouldn’t like your life, you’ve been all over, you are talented, no, Do you like life, sickness, hatred, hunger, and everything that is involved in the human condition” I walked around the barrio after that question in a sort of stunned state. I looked at my surroundings and saw the dirt roads after rain the night before that are impassable now. I thought of the shack homes of pieces of wood and scrap metal that I see as I take the bus to and from the barrio, without water or electricity. I thought about the Toba Indians that are dying of hunger every day here in the Chaco, and I pondered this question. I am almost embarrassed sometimes to talk about how easy my life has been. It is hard to demonstrate to someone that you understand that life is hard, when they tell you that they were hit everyday as a child, and when they ask you about your life you can only answer that your parents love you move than anything in the world. It is hard to show you understand when a 26 year old woman tells you about the three jobs she works to provide for her mother, grandmother, and aunt on top of studying in college. The money I’ve made from working has gone towards vacations, clothes, and coffee shops.
There is so much joy here though, as much as I have seen in anyplace I have been. Kids still laugh at every opportunity. People love to dance, ohh how they love to dance. People help each other, and we talk about how fun falling in love is. In the horrible oppression that this world offers up, most from other humans and their actions, people always find opportunities to laugh and to love. Dancing all night on a dirt patio, watching kids draw and color for hours, drinking mate and talking for hours, being shown a drum set that is made from scrap metal and wood, people sharing food with me, Sunday dinners where they stay and talk for the rest of the day talking after the meal. These are all things that I have seen in the midst of poverty, that make me think that I do like life.

-James, Resistencia

The quality of Ubuntu gives people resilience, enabling them to survive and emerge still human despite all efforts to dehumanize them.

I am because you are.

Jenny's Mexican Adventures Vol. V - Mexico en la Piel

2008-06-14T15:15:00.000-07:00

Hello all,

Happy June! I hope this finds you all happy and healthy. As my time here in Mexico begins to wind down (in days, not in the fullness of the experience!), I find myself a bit torn between these two worlds, and quite torn emotionally, feeling both joy in the anticipation of returning, and deep sadness in the idea of leaving all of this behind.
Ten months as a Cuernavaca resident, and this place and these people have become a part of me. (And, dare I say it, I even see myself as part of this crazy, beautiful reality.) This volume's title, "Mexico en la Piel", means "Mexico in the skin." As such, please allow me to take this opportunity to explain part of what I love so much about here, in some sort of effort to articulate what I mean when I say that
I will truly miss this. (As always, these are generalizations based on my own personal experiences here, which does not mean they hold true for every Mexican, nor "false" for every U.S. American.)

There are so many simple, cultural things that I treasure…
- Mexican hospitality and open invitations that allow one to be invited into the culture, the sharing of spaces and stories, the entire concept of "convivir" (living together- more accurately translated as sharing lives.) Mexicans value a "fiesta" culture; life can get so hard so fast, they take almost any opportunity to celebrate, be it a birthday, a baptism, or a Thursday.
- Hand-made ("hecho a mano") tortillas. Not only are they delicious, but they are the stereotypical Mexican food for a reason-employing Mexico's staple crop of corn, they are the literal base for most Mexican food, even doubling as utensils. (Mexicans often break tortillas into small pieces and sort of scoop up the accompanying meat, beans, etc. like a spoon. As a bonus, it makes washing the dishes that much easier.)
- Pride. Mexicans are a proud people, well-versed in their history and traditions. Given that every pueblo has a patron saint, that there are altars dedicated to the Virgin of Guadalupe on every other corner, and that just about everyone has an oversized Mexican flag ready to display for Independence Day, this is no small feat.
- Slang and playfulness in speech, an assumed sense of humor even in the sense of interacting with a gringa such as myself.
- The absence of over-preparedness. Mexicans tend to buy things only when they need them, even to the extent of going to the store to buy 1 diaper. In our world of Costco and stocking up in case of any possible nuclear fallout or mere power outage, this "live as life comes" attitude is something I find refreshing.
- Going hand in hand with the above, I'm happy to say that parts of Cuernavaca still operate in a smaller, local economy. While bigger chain stores are making their ugly way into the market, there are still many "mom and pop" convenience stores and restaurants that line our roads and fill the infamous Mercado, bringing fresher foods to our table and supporting our neighbors' businesses.
- An uncanny ingenuity to reuse or make due given what one's got. Our fridge is filled with rinsed-out sour cream containers instead of Tupperware (which often has the comic effect of having to open 6 to find the salsa you were looking for), and a friend of mine jokes that he can build or fix anything with packing tape. I marvel at how efficient and creative the people here are.

As a result of the above, and so much more, I find myself changed in ways that both surprise and rejuvenate me. I'm more relaxed, I try to keep my priorities a bit more "in check", and my view of the world has gotten just that much bigger. I have learned so much more about the relationship between the U.S. and Mexico, and am deeply interested in the roles that we play in the reality of our neighbors here. This includes…
- Immigration, not only how we interact with immigrants, but also our role in their economic reasons for making the journey.
(http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/02/us/politics/02penn.html?_r=1&ex=1207886400&en=8f2f2406784ef9c0&ei=5070&emc=eta1&oref=slogin,
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/24/us/24immig.html?ex=1212292800&en=be30054cd7b280d5&ei=5070&emc=eta1,
http://www.sojo.net/index.cfm?action=magazine.article&issue=soj0709&article=070910,
http://www.nomoredeaths.org)
- NAFTA and U.S.-Mexican commerce in general: globalization & market
domination, maquilas & work conditions, etc.- yes, our purchase choices do matter! (http://fairlabor.org/, http://nffc.net/,
http://en.maquilasolidarity.org/).
- The U.S.'s role in educating and training Latin American military officials and presidents at the School of the Americas and universities such as Harvard, and the implications when those whom we educated or trained commit human rights violations and other offenses against their people. Also, the continued governmental and military "aid" from the U.S., such as the proposed "Plan Mexico." (http://www.soaw.org/,

All of these issues are complex, and I am still learning about all of the interplay, so please don't just take my word for it. I ask for your help in exploring these issues, and in keeping me accountable as well. Also, while I am ever more conscious of my/our role(s) in all of this, I do recognize the obvious importance of Mexico's own government, military, corporations, and citizens, as well as the roles of corruption and poverty which further aggravate these conditions.

So, my dear ones, in many ways I feel like I have fallen in love with Mexico, even with all of its faults, and my true hope lies in my carrying over this "Mexican" reality back into my old/new/mixed U.S. reality in a few short weeks. I invite you all to continue this journey with me.

With love and immense gratitude,

Jenny

May Newsletter - Jessica in Slovakia

2008-06-14T14:30:00.000-07:00

Jessica’s May Newsletter
Updates from Slovakia
A lot of fun things happened in May, both here at the center and as I was traveling. One weekend I went to visit my old placement in Horná Mičiná for their confirmation, and I enjoyed visiting with everyone again. It was really interesting to see what confirmation is like in Slovakia, and how it is similar to and different than confirmation in America. Saturday evening the confirmands had an examination at the church. Each of them had to stand in front of the congregation and answer seven questions about the mission of the church, the Bible and confirmation. The pastor then asked the congregation if they agreed that these young people were ready and fit to be confirmed. Sunday morning was the confirmation service and it was interesting how important this Sunday was for everyone. The church was decorated with white flowers, the girls being confirmed wore fancy white dresses and the boys wore suits, and the church was full of people. During the service the confirmands were presented with a Bible and a certificate, and the pastor said a prayer for each of them. The confirmands sang two songs for the congregation and presented the pastor and church-keepers with flowers, thanking them for their work. The Lord’s Supper was also celebrated on this special occasion. After the service I was invited to a party for Miška and Paťa, who are sisters that were confirmed. It was a lot of fun being a part of the celebration they had after confirmation, and getting to spend some time with the people from the village.
I took a long weekend trip to Budapest with Mark, Mary, and Ashley (three of the other American volunteers in Slovakia). It was great to spend time with them, and we had a wonderful time in Budapest. As much as I love the work here it is always refreshing to get away for a bit and spend time with other volunteers. One of the Friday nights last month the group of ladies here at the center had a night out, and it was so much fun! Eva (one of the directors), Monika (one of the worker’s wives, Janka (one of the worker’s wives), Kristen, Claire (Kristen’s friend who was visiting from America) and I went to a nice pizza restaurant in Poprad for the evening. We ate pizza, drank Kofula (the Slovak soft drink) and had Mak štrudla (a pastry with lots of poppy seeds) for dessert. It was so much fun to spend more time with them and get to know them better.
One of the things I have noticed is the emphasis on fellowship among the community here. At one of our Bible studies last month we read Philippians 2:1-2 where Paul writes, “If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose” (NIV). We talked about how the community here can have this unity that should be among Christians. How can we work together and serve one another as Christ did? I think true fellowship is often neglected in our churches today. Of course there is often a “fellowship hour” after church or every so often, but I am not sure if this is always the same fellowship Paul talks about. Last month we had a longer Bible study one morning with some of the workers and I was thrown off guard a bit, but reminded of what true fellowship is. Vlado (who is in charge of the finances), Igor (who works construction with the guys), Momci (who also works construction with the guys), Pali (the cook), and I had read a passage from the Bible and talked about it as we usually do. Then, they began to talk about how they had been feeling at work recently, about feelings they had about the work with the guys here, and their Spiritual life. I couldn’t believe that I was sitting there with four men just expressing our feelings for maybe an hour and a half! Maybe this is normal for some people, but I was a bit surprised. It made me think about when we had read the passage from Philippians, and that this was a way the work team builds fellowship, better enabling us to do service. In order to do the social service and Christian outreach work that is done here it is necessary for the community to be like-minded (my Bible points out that like-minded does not mean uniform in thought, but the common disposition to work together to better serve). It is something that we are always praying about, and we are always talking about how it can improve so that we can serve better.
The work that I have been doing here has been going well; Kristen and I continue to help in the kitchen, have English classes, Bible studies, and teach swimming. The last week in May Pali needed to help with the construction work that some of the guys are doing down the street, so we took over in the kitchen for him. It was a busy week and somewhat stressful to be responsible for breakfasts and lunches here, but we were happy to be able to help. It was also nice to see how encouraging everyone was of our Slovak cooking. Everyday the guys and the workers told us our cooking was wonderful and complemented everything (even if it was something really easy…or not very good!). Their encouragement was so helpful though! English and Bible studies are about the same with some days having a good number of people and other days just a couple. Now that the weather is warm playing futbal outside has become a popular evening activity as well.
Along with the enjoyable things about the work, there were also some difficult things happening last month. One of the guys who always came to English and Bible studies left the center. He dropped out of school and went to the Czech Republic to find work. This was difficult, because he came to talk to me often when he was having problems in school or with other guys here. We had talked about his school many times before and I really wanted him to be able to finish. He has so much potential, but he was not doing well and wanted to go try to find work on his own. Another worker tried to convince him to stay here and work, but he had already made up his mind to leave. I guess it showed me that sometimes you can only do so much and now all I can do is pray for him.
It is hard to believe that it is already almost halfway through June now, and I have just about a month left here before I come home. I have started to think about how it will be exciting to go home, but also really hard to leave here. I am trying to just spend a lot of time with the people here and enjoy every day left.

Thank you for your prayers and support!
-Jessica

May Newsletter - Kristen in Slovakia

2008-06-14T13:55:00.000-07:00

May Newsletter

Spring is finally here

May brought about warmer weather and many exciting things in Velky Slavkov. Claire came and visited in the beginning of May, so we were able to spend time together and do some traveling before coming back to my placement. We started in Vienna where she flew in and explored the city for the day. We managed to stumble upon the Thiel Choir, my college choir, who were on tour in Europe for the week unbeknownst to us and we heard their concert in St. Stephan’s Cathedral. We also visited Bratislava, Slovakia’s capital city, and Krakow, Poland. We saw many castles and palaces, historical buildings, Auschwitz II, churches and cathedrals, marketplaces, gardens, and much more. Afterwards, we came back here to my placement for a few days and she was able to spend time with the people here and work with us in the kitchen and teaching English. It was wonderful to see her and have her experience a small taste of my life here.

Also, while Claire was here we had a girl’s night out with Eva (my host mom), Monika (the woman who’s family now lives at the center and who’s husband works at the center), Janka (the wife of one of the workers), and Jessie. Eva had finished her final exams for school so we went to celebrate by going out to their favorite pizza place for pizza and Kofola (the Slovak version of cola with a hint of licorice which I actually enjoy more than coke or pepsi). We had a good time with lots of laughter and enjoyed spending time together outside of the center.

Randomly one morning Jessie and I were told by my host dad, Stano, that soldiers and army trucks were going to be coming. A little confused by what he meant but knowing that we had understood the words, we waited to see what would happen. As it turns out, two giant army trucks and soldiers did appear that morning at Myln. They had come to deliver leftover army food and our center was the place to store it for all the centers in the eastern area of Slovakia. The boys spent most of the morning moving the boxes into our dining room and it was amazing how many boxes were in there by the time they finished. Over this month, many different centers have come in with vans and trucks to haul most of it away. And of course we get to eat the food as well. Jessie and I tried the canned meal of cabbage, sausage, and rice which was better than expected, and the tea which wasn’t quite as good. Also, we have become masters of opening cans with an army can opener which isn’t near as easy as it looks and is a rather useful talent now since our normal can opener has broken. I’ll be bringing one home if anyone wants to give it a try.

Also, over May I had the opportunity to get to know the Matas family much better. They recently moved into Mlyn and are now living in the flat where my host family used to live. Vlado Matas works here at the center with the finances and Monika, his wife, teaches English in Poprad. They have two children, Oliver, age four, and Kubko (Jakub), age six. Monika had us over for dinner for the first time at the end of May and she is definitely the typical Slovak hostess with lots of pushing for us to eat vast amounts of food and offering anything to eat or drink that she could think of. She is very sweet and fun to talk with. The two little boys had a lot of fun with us and enjoyed tying us up to the table and blindfolding us, as well as showing us their toys and giving us marshmallows to eat. We laughed a lot that night and have enjoyed stopping by for coffee or to talk since then. Whenever we see the little boys they run over to give us hugs, show us something like the fort they had built, or to play with them.

Finally, May has thankfully brought about some nice, warm, sunny weather which we have been able to enjoy by spending a lot of time outside. I love to go running out on a dirt path in the back by the mountains and open fields. Hiking in the Tatras Mountains, which are right in my backyard, is another enjoyable outdoor activity right now. Also, there are often games outside with the boys, usually either soccer or volleyball. And, of course, many cookouts which feature cooking sausages over the fire.

Thank you very much, as always, for all of your support and prayers. I really do appreciate them. I hope that everyone is doing well and enjoying their summer!

God’s blessings,
Kristen

May Newsletter - Laura in India

2008-06-09T00:35:00.000-07:00

"The Baggage of 5:00pm"

I have an irritation.
A pet-peeve, if you will.
Something that has bugged me for years, and for no particular reason,
Other than it just annoys me.
5:00pm.
That's right.
5 o'clock in the evening.
I can't stand it.
This abhorrence may stem from years of activities that kept me busy during precious days where one learns to live in harmony with all o'clocks: volleyball practices, rowing practices, summer camp, afternoon work shifts and such. Due to these, I've never had to face the irritable qualities of 5pm, thus leaving a bitter taste for the time.
For starters, is it late-afternoon, or early evening? It can't decide for itself. Then, should you suffer through the goosebumps of a cool 5pm, or put on a jacket, risking a sweatiness that will surely chill you by 6pm?
And to top it all off, the day's closure is making for a darkened room. You're sitting in this funky-semi-sunlit-space. You want to turn a light on. So you do. But, what is this? The light doesn't do squat. Your room is still funky-semi-sunlit, but now with a glowing corner where your lamp is pathetically trying to have an effect. Then you check your watch. Ah. It's 5pm. That's right. At 5pm, it's not dark enough to turn a cozy lamp on, but outside light won't penetrate past the curtains.
Hmmph. 5pm. Can't live with it; surely, can't live without it. To say I've been suffering anxiety attacks at 4:59pm would be a bit of an exaggeration. But, I have been fully aware of the weight of the baggage I brought to India, having packed both the concentrated past, and the futility of personal pet-peeves. As much as I hoped, nothing got lost along the way; it all arrived; everything is here. Even 5pm.
But, to my surprise, India has given me more than a place to put the luggage down. It gave me a time change. At 5pm, everything comes alive for our 'neighborhood'. I spend this time with my friends of the assisted living facility. By 5pm, afternoon naps are finished, our tea has been drunk, and we are ready for fresh air and fresh faces. Everyone is ready for the 5pm socialization hour:
There's Dr. Mani and his wife, Ann. Dr. Mani is a retired Physics professor, originally from Kerala, but lived in North Carolina for almost 40 years, teaching at a local university. When Alzheimer's became a reality for Ann, Dr. Mani opted for the less costly health care India could provide. Dr. Mani and Ann made their voyage back to Kerala, where he has been her primary care taker. With the help of their home nurse, Banu, I watch each day as Dr. Mani's courage, love, persistence, sense of humor and wonderful smile never diminish.
After we drink tea, Banu and I sit with Ann, and Dr. Mani takes his walk. When I see his Nike's laced on, and the leather sandals on the door step, I know it's 5pm.
There's Maya Ammachi and her daughter, Susan. Maya and her father were freedom fighters with Gandhi. She's closing in on 92, and due to a fall last year, she's finding it harder to recall names and places.
Our conversations may start with a story, but a few sentences in, she'll be clouded with a strange look, and then with a wave of her hand say, "Gone...Forgot." And while we chuckle together at what might have been a great story, Maya lets her two front teeth shine from the guard of her lips. One such interaction:

Maya: I saw your friend the other day.
Laura: Oh, who was that?
M: She was looking...very bad.
L: Oh my. That can't be good.
M: No. It wasn't. She was doing quite bad. Your friend...(trying to
find the name)
L: Kat? Beth?
M: No. Your friend...
L: Uhhh...Rob?
M: No. Your friend, that's a girl....
L: Uhhh...my mother?
M: (clearly frustrated) No. That one friend. Obama's friend.
L: Uhhh...Hilllllary Clinnnton?
M: Yes! That's the one! Your friend Hillary. I saw her in the paper.
L: Oh good! My friend Hillary. How is she?
M: She's not doing well against that Obama fellow.
L: I'll have to talk with my friend, Hillary.

And, the chuckling begins.
When I see Maya Ammachi on her porch chair, her smile perching, and waiting to chat about politics and my friends Obama and Hillary, I know it's 5pm.
When I see Thomas Appachen watering his flowers; when I hear Bavakutty Kochamma's contagious laughter; when I hear the home nurses teasing one another and singing songs, I know it's 5pm.
And I couldn't be more excited.
That which irritated before, is what I anticipate and look forward to each day.
For, 5pm has been transformed.
My prejudices, my judgments, my apparent understandings of myself have been flipped, flopped, and forgone. It's as though India has allowed me to leave this luggage whirling around the baggage claim. And so I must ask myself, what other baggage is it time to let go of?

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." Matthew 11:28.

Newsletter! - Sarah in Mexico

2008-06-02T18:33:00.000-07:00

Loved not for what I do, but for who I am…

Ubuntu: I am because you are.
“Africans have this thing called Ubuntu. It is about the essence of being human. It embraces hospitality, caring about others, being able to go the extra mile for the sake of others. We believe that a person is a person through another person, that my humanity is caught up, bound up, inextricably, with yours.
When I dehumanize you, I inexorably dehumanize myself. The solitary human being is a contradiction in terms and therefore you seek to work for the common good because your humanity comes into its own in belonging.”
-Archbishop Desmond Tutu

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.’ So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.”
2 Corinthians 12:9

I celebrated my 23rd birthday last week, and was humbled and overjoyed by the way my friends and co-workers gave of themselves, their time, their food, and their joy to celebrate with me. The week of constant fiestas made me so keenly aware of the abundant love that surrounds and uplifts me—here in this place and across the world. In the spirit of gratitude for my life and the love that sustains it, I’m choosing to reflect in this month’s newsletter on the way my experience in Mexico has drawn me into authentic relationship, and instilled deeper belief in a God who embraces the world and each one of us with unconditional love.

One of the things that has been very clear to me throughout the year is the way this call has challenged my traditional way of living and being in the world. I come from a culture that keeps me on the go, that encourages me to seek, do, and buy more, that affirms me when I try harder, work longer, get better, and climb higher. It’s more, more, more, and it’s do, do, do. While I recognize the self-centered, exhausting, and unremitting cycle of our culture’s pace and expectations, I also know I find a part of myself there. I am a doer. I love to be active. I make lists and devise plans. I enjoy taking on many projects and doing them well. This is part of who I am and always will be, but it’s a part of me that I see with new eyes after the past ten months. Coming to Mexico as a missionary has turned much of that “Sarah Rohde” on her face, and I’m grateful for the learning that’s spun out of that.

My job description, more than anything, is to accompany my brothers and sisters in Mexico in their journeys, struggles, and joys. In the first several months, this meant quite literally showing up, sitting, observing, smiling, nodding, and asking questions when it felt appropriate. As I’ve become more familiar with the communities I serve and people with whom I work, I’ve found more occasions for participation and more responsibilities to undertake. My work with the organization, CIDHAL, has allowed me to facilitate a discussion group with young women from Mexico, Spain, Canada, and the U.S. on various issues and themes related to justice and feminism. My work in the indigenous communities has given me opportunities to lead cooking classes, assist in workshops with children for the prevention of sexual abuse, help the women with their pottery and sewing projects, and document weekly meetings and decisions. To this day, though, my most important work still consists of being present, of listening to others’ stories and sharing my own, of visiting homes and attending important events, of receiving generosity in whatever form—a conversation; an invitation to a family birthday party; a traditional, all-natural, totally despicable and unsuccessful remedy for diarrhea; a smile; a tortilla doused in pork fat and cheese; a church service; etc.—that my Mexican friends here are so itching to give.

This work has in many ways freed me—and forced me—to step out of a familiar identity and leap into new, unexplored parts of who I am. When I think about my identity in the past, I’m aware of how quickly I jump to the things that I’ve done to describe myself: I’ve been a student, musician, leader, camp counselor, traveler, teacher, accompanist, and writer. I’m also aware of the control I carried over the things I did and the way I did them. My perfectionist self liked to be good at things right off the bat; therefore, I chose to audition for choir and not for basketball; I majored in religion, Spanish and music, not in accounting or chemistry; I preached often in chapel, but didn’t even consider the debate team.

These activities and actions certainly do form a part of me, but I wonder if a focus on these roles has also distracted me from knowing myself at a more raw level, and created a veiled sense of worth or entitlement. Defining too much of myself by the things I do, achieve, and accomplish probably fosters—albeit unknowingly—a belief that I deserve certain attention, affirmation, and love. Because I’ve done all these things, then I should get… This is not to say that we shouldn’t put forth awards and accolades to celebrate each other’s gifts and excellence, but what concerns me is when we find our sense of being and worth more in what we do than in who we are, when we believe love is something we deserve, rather than the greatest gift we’ve been given.

No one in Mexico knows of the Concordia Choir. No one knows I graduated with honors. No one knows of my involvement in Bread for the World. No one has heard me play the piano. While I yearn to recover these parts of myself, to again be known as a leader, a musician, and a go-getter, I also love what I’ve learned by stripping away these titles and identities. It’s made me see, feel, taste, and touch more closely something I’ve always believed to be true: that love is sheer gift. Such an affirmation forms the bedrock of our faith, as nothing we do makes us more worthy of God’s love and grace. It’s who and whose we are that makes us worthy. And such knowledge can’t help but stir in me a spirit of immeasurable gratitude and deep, deep humility.

It hasn’t been the easiest lesson for me to learn or believe. As I struggle to put my thoughts into Spanish, I often think to myself, “Ugh, if they could just hear me speak in English, they’d have so much more respect for me.” When I go get the tape recorder (la grabadora) instead of the stapler (la grapadora), I just want to whip out my diploma from this reputable liberal arts college as proof that I’m smart and capable. When I try to dance salsa and am this crazy, Norwegian blonde that has obviously only danced to 4/4 time, I want to escape back to comfortable ground, where people look like me and get me. But these are exactly the moments that have turned my world upside down, as it’s there that I’ve discovered the most real, authentic love. While I have thoughts of “If I could…,” “If I were…,” If I did…,”—this idea that doing and being more would make others love me more—my siblings in Mexico show me another way.

Before my Mexican friends know what I do, own, or study, they see who I am. Part of that is noting the difference in my skin and eye color, and knowing I’m a U.S. American; the other part is seeing me as just another human being who has stories to tell, laughter to share, tears to shed, mistakes to make, pain to bear, joy to spread. It wouldn’t be fair to the experience to say our differences have been washed away, but I would say that such extended time together has invited us to work through our pronounced differences and realize each other’s authentic personhood. We are all imperfect beings. We all have lessons to learn and knowledge to share. We all need to love and be loved. We are each living out a different story, yet it has become so real to me that our stories are deeply interwoven, interdependent, and inextricably bound to one another. This whole process of seeing humanness more completely, of discovering myself in the face of another, and of knowing love without conditions and expectations has been one of the most powerful experiences of my life.

Friends and family, it is my hope and prayer that you always know you are loved not for what you do, but for who and whose you are.

Peace and love,
Sarah

May Newsletter! - Eric in the UK

2008-05-31T07:40:00.001-07:00

St. Pancras News
May

Being Still in Ireland
Earlier this month I was able to take a week of retreat time and head to Sligo Ireland! Because of a mix up in communication with the priests at my parish (due to us being without a head priest), I only heard that I actually had this time a couple weeks before hand. I was very lucky to find the place that I did.
Holy Hill Hermitage is located on the northwest coast of Ireland near Sligo. The monks (both men and women) are associated with the Carmelite order and have two hermitages- one in Ireland and one in Colorado. Since the group originally started in Colorado, all of them are American (including the five "apostolic hermits" in Ireland). The hermitage was a grand old manor house which was owned by a wealthy Irish businessman in the early 19th century. The man eventually died and the family finally gave it to the Catholic diocese. The church in turn handed it over to this order of monks who took it upon themselves to rebuild the entire property. When it was the acquired, the house was in terrible condition and the stables were just walls with trees growing inside. 15 years later, this is a very different story. The stable area was turned into apartments, a kitchen, and a library that contained 6,000 volumes. The house has been totally redone and now incorporates many offices, sitting rooms, and a chapel. There are now about 10 cabins on the entire estate (5 of which the hermits use) and are rented out to retreatants. Perhaps the most amazing thing about this site is that these Carmelite monks did most of the construction and restoration themselves.
I flew out of London at 8am and got into Dublin at around 9am. After finding the main train station, I boarded a train and headed across Ireland (from the East Coast to the West Coast) and got into Sligo at around 2pm. What I did not think out clearly was the fact that it was a Bank Holiday that day (the UK and Ireland have Bank Holidays on specific dates- they are glorious things). My next step from Sligo was to take a short bus ride to the little village of Skreen where the monks were supposed to pick me up (though I had not made recent contact). Stumbling up to the bus station with all my things, I realized that no buses were going to Skreen that day because of the Bank Holiday. Wondering what my next step was, I called the hermitage and finally got through. One of the sisters answered and seemed surprised to hear from me. Apparently, one of the other monks had misread my email and the dates that I gave for staying there. They actually expected me a day later instead of the Bank Holiday. On top of that, she said that they usually don't take retreatants on Mondays because it is there "Desert Day", or the day where they have complete solitude and are out of the office. "You are one lucky young man!", she said. The only reason why she was in the office was to grab some keys for the hermitage vehicle to take another retreatant back to the train station in Sligo (because the busses were not running). Luckily, my phone call intercepted her while she was there and she randomly decided to pick up the phone. It was a day that I had the Lord on my side!
After arriving and unpacking in my wonderfully furnished cabin which lay about 20 ft. away from a mountain stream, I went for a walk around the property. It was an incredible evening (the weather followed the same theme every day of the week- warm and sunny), and I found wonderful places of peace among the flowers, trees, and vegetables that lay all around. The hermitage lay at the foot of a large mountain which rose impressively above our cabins. From the manor house, one could stretch out and read in front of a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean and other mountains across the bay.
In my week with the monks, I participated in many community activities of gardening, mowing, and hiking. One of the monks, Brother Thomas, really connected with me as we both have a deep interest in hiking. Thomas was the first insulin dependent diabetic to hike the 2,000 mile Appalachian Trail straight through. He hiked it in 121 days!! "That is how I decided to become a monk", he said. "I needed to be with nature." Thomas used to be a public accountant before turning to the monastic life. He summed up his incredible story by saying: "You just need to be still sometimes." Being still was a very important part of my time in Ireland. For the first time, I could listen to the birds, water, leaves, and wind and really take something deeper in.
This fact proved incredibly true on my last day in Ireland when I decided to bike down to the beach (or "Strand" as the Irish call it). It was a cooler day and overcast which contrasted with the beautiful week of weather that we had previously. When I arrived at the beach I found that I was the only person there. This beach stretched about 8 miles down the coast and presented you with the most incredible Irish countryside views. Being surprised at the fact of me being the only one there, I first became sheepish and just sat near the car park and watched the waves come in. However, seeing this as an opportunity to be with God, I later got up and started to walk and then playfully run across the vast stretches of beach! As my footprints dotted the shoreline, I stopped again and listened.... The waves crashed along the shore and my heavy breathing were the only sounds that anyone could hear for miles around. Time seemed to stand still.
Sometimes it is the moments that we have alone with God that refreshes us the most. For me, Ireland filled me with the most incredible joy and hope. We all need retreats I think. We all need to be with God in a new way.

London: Experiencing it with a Friend
The month of May has been very busy on multiple levels. Parish work continues to rumble along at a good pace and the realization of a time when I will be leaving this place keeps poking at me in stronger ways. This month has also been a time where more than ever, my two worlds (the world of Minnesota and the world of London) keep crashing into one another.
No more is this apparent then when I am hosting friends here. EVERYONE it seems wants to come to London. I sometimes think I should quit my work in the church and just open "Eric's Hotel" at the Vicarage. Along with many of my fellow traveling volunteers now realizing that they only have a couple months left here, there have also been a couple friends from the United States that have made the adventure to this wonderful country known as England.
One such friend who just spent 10 days here is called Nicholas. Nicholas and I met two years ago in Glacier National Park when we were both on an ACMNP (A Christian Ministry in the National Parks) worship team. Having both discovered our passion for Lutheran theology and music, we hit it off and have become very good friends ever since. Nicholas just completed his second year of seminary at Luther Seminary and is about to head off to his internship.
When you are volunteering abroad for a year, you have to be very careful in how you see your past friendships fitting in with your current life. It can be very hard at times as these two different worlds don't overlap much at all. What is incredibly beneficial about it if you do get it to work, however, is that it becomes an opportunity where you can show them a glimpse of the struggles, joys, and environment that you unknowingly have grown to love (at least for me).
Because of Nicholas being so involved in the United States with the church, I decided I wanted to show him as much as I could on how this parish in London works. One such event that I brought him to was an outing with 40 Year 6 (Grade 5) school children to Hampstead Heath from Brecknock Primary School. This opportunity was perhaps the greatest window into the deep, varied, and rich culture of London. Nicholas later commented how incredible it was to be around so many kids of different faiths and cultures. Nicholas saw first hand how to interact and relate to others. "Do you pray??", asked one of the Bengali Muslim girls to Nicholas. "Yes", he replied. "We pray too! Why do you pray?", she asked. "Well", he said, "It's a good chance to give thanks for the things that we eat and thank God for life." "Yeah, but sometimes I forget to pray.... do you forget to pray?", she asked again. "Of course, we are human", he said, "We forget sometimes." Immediately, a big smile appeared girl's face. For these kids, ministry is being there and relating to them, not lecturing them. It is a chance to show both them and us that we have more in common than what we think. Nicholas and I both came away from this experience with a new sense of life in our hearts.
Nicholas also joined me for an event in the parish called "Parish Club". This group is basically made up of older church woman that get together every other week for tea and talk about various subjects. Realizing that a lot of people here know that I am Lutheran but are unaware of what exactly that means I decided that it would be a lot of fun to tell these Church of England women about the Lutheran Church. After explaining a little about Luther's life and theology, we wrapped up with a triumphant hymn of "A Mighty Fortress". The women absolutely loved it! A couple days later, one of the ladies came up to me and said "You know what? After your presentation I went out and acquired a book about Martin Luther. I already have a que up of people who are going to get it next after I read it!" It was quite an honor indeed.
This morning Nicholas left for home to start his new summer job. We both walked down to Kings Cross Station having a wonderful discussion on the future and what lies ahead for us. After embracing, I watched my friend get on the train bound for Heathrow Airport and kept thinking to myself: Nicholas is no longer a friend who will be hearing stories of London from me, but a friend who has experienced London with me. In a future that lends itself to being uncertain, that is a foundation I can count on.

May Newsletter - Kevin in Uruguay

2008-05-26T13:23:00.000-07:00

This month´s topic: simplicity.It´s amazing how often we use, and hear, the word "simple." Keep it simple, stupid. The simple life. This whatchamacallit is simply amazing. Simple minds, simple pleasures. Simply irresistable. Plain and simple. For the older or old-fashionedly polite, there's talk sometimes about the "simple" aunt or cousin who has the mind of a child in an adult's body. The word "simple" is so used that we sometimes forget what it really means - simply put, simple is simply meaningless to the average person in the U.S.So, you can imagine the sort of questions I had in my mind when I was asked to live "simply" during my year as a YAGM. How simple is simple, after all? Was this mandate to live simply a rigid rule, or a set of basic guidelines and principles? Is simple what the poorest people I work with would consider what's needed to live, or a middle class person? Is there a universal form of simple living, or does it depend on social and cultural context?The simple life of this YAGM has been a journey. In order to play it safe, I began the year living as simply, or perhaps more accurately, as cheaply as was feasible. Why take a bus when you can walk, even if it IS 10 C and raining? No, I don't need to buy meat - beans have plenty of protein and are better for you anyhow. My own mate and associated items isn't necessary - everyone else has them, and in the morning at work, the yerba is just a part of operating costs, so it's not even as if I'm taking advantage of people. Sampling local goodies, like beer, pizza with cheese, alfajores...not that necessary. New clothes? Naw, don't need those, either, even if my wardrobe isn't suited to the climate.Six or seven weeks into this sort of simple-to-the-point-of-monastic-vows lifestyle, I faced my first simple living crisis. For our choir concert in Colonia, I was expected to have black pants. I didn't own any. I either had to buy pants or else throw off our groove and, let's be honest, be the subject of jokes from Seba and Fafre. So, I bought pants...I paid more than I would've really liked, but so it goes. I took care of an honest need, and did it in a fairly budget-friendly way...and I didn't feel bad about it afterwards, or like a total rich yanqui. I did what an Uruguayan would've done if they didn't know anyone their size to borrow from. Simple life lesson number one: Living simply isn't being a skinflint; it's being a wise, thoughtful steward.I started to wonder if I was REALLY living the right sort of simply after the pants episode. After all, even the just-scraping-by doorman in the building was able to spring for a pizza now and again, and the broke college students always seemed to have bus fare, plus ground beef and cerveza in the fridge. Of course, things were seldom done alone - my grupo de jóvenes friends would never spend 300 pesos on a meal for just one person. That amount of money would be spent to make one or two big dishes of insert-your-favorite-food-here, and then the whole gang would come over and bring a drink or bag of chips - everyone brought something to the table. Then, the next weekend, someone else would have a party, and the person who'd shelled out the most bucks and effort for last week's just brought a 20 peso bag of chips, and ya está. There were (well, are) the meals, too, where one person would do the grocery shopping, save the receipt, and after dinner, divide the amount by the number of guests and ask for, say, 30 pesos a head. From all of this, I learned simple life lesson number two: living simply means living in community - sharing, giving, and trusting that other people will share and give, too.Life got more fun after that, suffice it to say. Then, the holidays rolled around, which raised two new themes - gift-giving and traveling. I decided to try my hand at making Christmas gifts; after all, you always hear of people doing it and then talking about how much more rewarding it was than just buying a gift card (much less an ugly sweater or fruitcake), and what better time to try it out than while living in another country? I made salsa for Wilma and Milton's families, picture cds for family and friends back home, and "free-dinner" coupons for my housemates. I'm not likely to go back to the world of just buying a quick gift and calling it done. I felt connected to the people I gave gifts to - it wasn't a soulless card, for a change. It wasn't safe, though - after all, a $20 giftcard to your favorite store is guaranted to please, unlike "hey, I'm making you the dinner of your choice - hope I know how to cook it!" I learned lesson three: living simply is being willing to take a risk now and then.Then, it was time to travel. How does one travel simply? I did what I normally did - stayed in hostels. You meet cool people and save money - so long as there's not a snorer in the room, it's great. I looked for free, or at least cheap, things to do - I went on day-hikes, walked around the towns I was in, hung out with people from my hostel. That enabled some sharing of costs for things like, say, a beer, or a pizza at a restaurant. I tried to figure out the free museum days for various place I visited and planned, within reason, accordingly - why pay today to get into a museum you can go see for free tomorrow? As for food, eat where the normal people eat - the food's probably better there, anyway. I also found bus services that included food, so I got transportation and a meal for one price. For those days spent hiking, there's nothing wrong with packing a sandwich, some fruit, and a bottle of water. And, you know what? My two big trips in South America, plus my African travels and Eurobackpacking-on-a-bidget have been way more fun than the three, pre-packaged, live like a tourist excursions in Europe I did in high school (well, 2 in high school, and once chaperoning for my high school as a college sophomore). Lesson four - living simply when you travel lets you see the world in much richer ways, and brings you closer to the people you meet along the way.So, that all was some time ago, and besides, we all know that nobody has four lessons on their list - it's three lessons, or five lessons. Not four - either shut up early or talk until we come full circle. The summer (well, MY summer) rolled on without simple life difficulties, and then came fall. We were blessed in that the fall was long, warm, and sunny...but I knew winter was coming. Short, dreary days, lots of rain, plenty of cold. I mentioned, several lessons ago, that my wardrobe wasn't suited for the end of the Montevideano winter. That didn't magically change during the spring and summer. I had to go clothes shopping. I combined my shopping with a trip to Argentina, since clothes are cheaper there. I didn't go to boutiques and hit up large, bargain-friendly stores...and the Salvation Army for a coat. So, we're set for winter...but there was one thing lacking. Many people who know me also know that, perhaps, my feet tend to sweat a lot when they get closed up inside shoes. Wthout going into a ton of detail here, this results in rather odiforous feet, socks, and shoes, and the latter item just perpetuates the cycle. In summer, this isn't a problem - I wear sandals, my feet air dry, and no problem is had. However, in the winter, when wearing sandals outdoors would probably result in a lot of cold, wet foot discomfort, they get closed up all day in my boots, and así viene el problema. So...I bought the Uruguayan equivalent of Gold Bond powder to dry my feet and shoes while wiping out odor. And so, I learned lesson five, which is really just a corollary of lesson one: simple living doesn't come at the expense of self-care; you yourself are an asset to protect and care for, not simply a valueless blob of matter. Being a good steward means being a good steward of your body, too.Living simply isn't always the easiest path. After all, it does require sacrifices - not buying this book I want today so I can get produce at the fair tomorrow. It requires budgeting, and (that hardest of things) self-discipline. But...it pays off. Sure, it saves money. You learn what you need to live, what you want to make living easier, and what you want simply because it's a luxury and you want it, and you learn how to prioritize those things. You learn that yes, you can in fact use empanada shells to make tortillas for 1/3 the price you'd have paid for the imported tortillas at the store. Even better, you learn to be part of a community. You learn that life is people and your times with them, and not the things you have or the money you spend.

May Newsletter - Sarah W. in Kenya

2008-05-25T06:37:00.001-07:00

07-08 Kenya - Sarah W.
Originally uploaded by YAGM

May 2008

It is always important to remember when working at the Nairobi Animal Orphanage that you should NEVER let yourself become attached to any of the baby animals in the nursery. I thought I had learned this lesson well, but I was wrong. During my time here I have seen countless young animals come and then eventually die, none of that ever affected me until a few weeks ago when we received a young zebra.
We called him Kiseme and he was around two weeks old, umbilical cord still attached when he arrived. He was so friendly right from the start, following anyone and everyone wherever they went. My coworkers, who can easily become annoyed by the antics of our young buffalo, were extremely tolerant of the zebra who often found himself in their way. Around the zebra’s third day at the Orphanage he began to realize who his new mother was, and forgetting the guys, took to following only me. I of course was ecstatic. It was wonderful to have little horse hooves following me everywhere I went, and a little horse nose to nudge me for constant attention. I was more than happy to spend my entire day around the Orphanage so that he could drink mild every one to two hours But all this quickly ended when after being with us for only one week, Kiseme died in the middle of the day. I had done all that I could for him that morning, but the fact that he had been given cow’s milk his first two days at the Orphanage had poisoned his system anyway.
I was sad and disappointed but tried to hide it from the guys and continued work as usual. My coworkers were not fooled. They had seen how happy I had been with the zebra around and knew I was upset. The out pouring of sympathy and compassion that they showed me the rest of the day was like nothing I have ever experienced. As I’m sure you can imagine, working all day with over 15 guys is typically anything but compassionate, but this day they all changed. Guys who I spend my day giving and receiving sometimes harsh, but always playful jokes and comments with suddenly became quiet, sweet, and caring. I received more understanding hugs, kind smiles, and heartfelt words than ever before in my life.
This out pouring of sympathetic love from them showed me how much I really mean to them and how much they all mean to me. None of them were sad for the zebra, they were sad because of me. I can’t begin to explain how much it meant to me that they cared so much about my feelings. I can now clearly see that we are all a big family, and the best part is that I’m a member of it. I truly believe that I experienced God’s love that day in the most real way possible. God took this sad moment in my life and used it to show me how I have become a valued member of a community. He allowed me to see that I have had an impact on the people around me in Kenya. I can now feel inside of me why God sent me to Kenya and also what Kenya has become for me.
I thank God for little Kiseme and they joy he brought me, but even more for fully revealing my true Kenyan family to me.

April Newsletter - Sarah W. in Kenya

2008-05-25T06:17:00.000-07:00

April 2008

One evening several weeks ago, Mercy and I had just finished cooking dinner and we were talking as we put food on our plates. I set my plate in the sitting room and then headed back to the kitchen to continue our conversation. When I stepped in the doorway I saw Mercy, who only seconds ago had been talking with me, standing with her dinner plate, eyes closed, completely silent and still. I was taken by surprise at seeing this and my first thought was “oh my gosh! She’s fallen asleep?!” I called her name, slightly worried. No reply. I said her name again and she looked up at me. I asked her if she was ok and she replied “of course! I was just praying.” Needless to say we had a good laugh about it but this scene made me think more about prayer here in Kenya.
In many churches in America there is a specific time, place, and way of praying and anything else can come as a surprise. Here though prayer is accepted as a much more normal thing. If the person sitting next to you on Sunday morning began speaking quietly but rather emotionally during prayers, hymns, or even announcements you would probably question their actions, while here that is a very common form of prayer, happening multiple times in every worship service.
The Nairobi Arboretum, one of the most beautiful and popular parks in town, is also a popular place to go and pray. My first time there it took me a while to realize that people were actually praying. Kenyans will find a tree off the path and either standing near it or walking around it begin to pray rather loudly, sometimes even shouting, in a variety of languages from English, to Swahili, to their mother tongue or tribal language. While at work at the Animal Orphanage I have seen Muslims stop to kneel and do their daily prayers right in the middle of the Orphanage. Their devotion to God was not hindered by their public location.
I think as Americans we can learn something from Kenyans about prayer. Conversations with God should not be forced to fit into a specific setting. We should never feel embarrassed or ashamed to talk to our Heavenly Father. Maybe you don’t pray before eating inside a restaurant because you wonder what other people will think. Maybe you force yourself to pray in silence so that others aren’t disturbed or so that they won’t know you are praying. While it is true that God doesn’t want us to become arrogant and pray publicly just to draw attention for ourselves, I don’t think He wants us to think we can only pray in certain places or ways.
Mercy and other Kenyans have made me feel much more comfortable about prayer. They have shown me that where and how you pray doesn’t matter, but it’s the setting inside your heart that counts.

newsletter - James in Argentina

2008-05-21T22:36:00.000-07:00

April is a journal filled with memories now. Things are happening here, inside me and the barrio. Energy that moves and produces scenes of whirling creativity and beauty. A start to the tale of April could be my birthday where I spent my 21st amongst sixty screaming children and surrounded by the people I have come to love so genuinely here. It was a quick celebration as sixty children in a small room with cake and soda is always a difficult force to contain, but the letters written by the friends I’ve made here will be carried with me as such powerful symbols of love and acceptance.
Shared poetry and music.
We send an entire day organizing a concert of a band we produce that day. La Paz we call ourselves. As the tale spins from 10 in the morning until the eventual concert at 4, the children create signs and banners displaying our name. As I learn anew everyday, the preparation of something is often more important than the event itself. We are presented shyly by a 14 year old who takes his role of announcer as seriously as possible. Oscar is his name. I on the guitar and vocals, giving ridiculous explanations of songs I clearly didn’t create. Victor, a 15 year old, laying down a rhythm on a drum set he created from scrap everything and anything. Alfredo, a ten year old, faking the best he can a bass beat on a nylon string guitar with the truest smile I have ever witnessed. It is the most rewarding concert of my life.
Sharing a meal made for 3, with 14 children, and it being enough. My greedy mind is always surprised by such happenings and demonstrations of selflessness.
A group and I go around the barrio drawing anything in nature that we find beautiful, in hopes of using the drawings for a future mural. Trees, plants, and animals are brilliantly represented using the simple medium of markers in that, one line can represent the world, style that children instinctually have.
An afternoon spent playing camp games in an international day of peace.
More shared poetry.
I spend a day planning a puppet show with a group of 6 year olds. A donkey, horse, and Minnie and Mickey, teach the other children watching, about the importance of telling your family where you are going when leaving the house. 100% produced by the children. It is a simple display of the creativity the mind of the young contain.
Leaf piles and walking the rest of the day with hair filled with little leaf memories of the joy that I have been a part of.
Teaching English to two little girls using the donkey puppet for no real reason at all, and listening to them respond in such funny accents as they pronounce their first English words.
Colonia, Uruguay becomes in my mind the land of Santo Lindo, an old Brazilian musician who teaches me the real soul of the blues, a top his improvised garbage can drum. He tells me of the power that music has, above skin color, creed, and race, as we drive down the narrow cobble stone streets in his 47 ford. The beauty of the fall back to earth, as we are launched into the air going over speed bumps, waiting for the next in the hope to hear that deep wild belly laugh of his. The word wonderful will forever be dedicated to you Santo Lindo.
Moments, beautiful moments in every corner of my life. Moments on beaches, in grass, in dirt, on porches. Feelings of floating with arms wrapped around pure sorrow searching for words I still haven’t found. My memories become color as friends here bring up the past which I am now a part of. I am surrounded by such positive energy here in my life and the gospel becomes action with that presence near by. I am fascinated with the idea of being able to improve one’s actions in this life. That I am wholly who I am, but that I have a power in what I am in the lives of other, positive or negative, and that we can use our time to improve the lives of others. I am influenced.
james

Acting 4 England Spring Newsletter - Kristin in the UK

2008-05-16T09:39:00.000-07:00

07-08 UK - Kristin
Originally uploaded by YAGM

A Glimpse of Community in Potters Bar

After a busy, and somewhat stressful, week at Act 4 I started flipping through some of the information I received in Chicago at orientation. I came across a sheet of paper titled "Thoughts to consider throughout the year." One of the points that really struck me was this:

"Invest your energies in people. Don't try to perfect 'the machine.'"

My week is filled with school assemblies, designing the new website, working on the newsletter and the 2008 Holiday Club application and so many other technical things.

Those of you who know me, know that I LOVE routines, schedules and lists. Sometimes I love these planning tools so much that it captivates my life. I become trapped in them. I think we, as humans, all get trapped into our schedules and routines.

When I read this point, I started to worry a little that I wasn't focusing my energies on people but on my lists, agendas and the Act 4 "Machine."

On Fridays, I help out at a youth club which is run at St. John's Methodists Church in Potters Bar. This club is for secondary age kids, mainly middle school and high school.

I started working at this club in September and only worked it every other week. The first four months I sat behind the tuck table (candy table). I didn't communicate that much with the kids. I would walk around for a bit but then always returned to the tuck table. I don't know what stopped me from talking with the kids at the club but I just didn't seem to find my niche.

In February I said to myself "Right, Kristin you are not going to sit at the tuck table and instead you are going to hang out with some of the girls."

And that week I sat and talked to some of the girls. And after that week and the week after that I talked to more kids. Now, I hang out with the same group of kids every week at the club. I stopped going every other week and started going every week because I wanted to go and I needed to go.

I went from sitting at the tuck table and not conversing to giving out my mobile number and telling them to call me with questions throughout the week, getting hugs from them as they leave the club and more importantly, listening to them.

I do get caught in my agenda throughout the week as I spend time taking pictures of puppets, dressing up as a mermaid in front of 200 primary school kids, working on a media list and preparing Holiday Club.

But on Friday nights I'm at St. John's Youth Club listening to Joe's music on his i-Pod, hearing about Olivia's new boyfriend, talking to Emma about stupid teachers and just laughing with a great group of kids!

Adventures in March & April

I got to see one of my sorority sisters, Kate Labriola in London with two of her friends. I hadn't seen Kate for about three years and it was wonderful to reunite with her and hear her crazy laugh! We had dinner and a great evening walking around London!

I saw Les Miserables with my friend Kelly, another YAGM volunteer. We met in London and had a picnic near the London Eye before seeing the show. Les Mis was amazing and I had the music in my head for like a week after seeing it. After the show we met up with our friend Amanda (YAGM volunteer) for Mexican food… something I've missed a lot while in England!

I went over to my supervisor's house for dinner one night. His son Ruari, who is 2 years old, finally said my name and was obsessed with me the entire evening. He even wanted me to put him to bed so I had to sit with him for 30 minutes until he went to sleep. My supervisor said it was good training for any future little Kristins– that's not going to happen anytime soon though!

I hung out with my friend Anthony (YAGM volunteer) one Saturday in London. We went to Canary Warf and did some other sightseeing. On Sunday we attended St. Anne's Lutheran Church in London with our friends Kelly and Amanda (YAGMs). Having not gone to a Lutheran service for eight months I was so excited to sing the liturgy, "Crown Him with Many Crowns," and "Take O Take Me As I Am." I really felt that the Lutheran part of my soul was filled by attending the service!

My Sense of Salzburg, Austria

In March I traveled to Salzburg, Austria for a holiday with my friend Maren, another YAGM volunteer. We had a great time and here are some memories from our trip!

I saw breathtaking views from the top of the Untersberg Mountain. Maren and I took the cable car ride up to the top. I was a little nervous about this but Maren said I had to do it– and I'm so glad I did! There was so much snow up at the top and Maren and I had a fabulous time taking in the mountains!

I smelled pretzels and sausages every day as we walked through the market during lunch time! Not only did I smell them but I tasted them too!

I tasted the Salzburger Nockerl! This dessert was mentioned in my Salzburg book and I was so excited to try one. Little did I know that you could seriously spilt this sweet soufflé with about 10 people! When it came to our table Maren and I lost it because it was so big! We could barely finish half of it. The soufflé is whipped into three large peaks, signifying the three Salzburg mountains.

I touched hand painted eggs. One of the stores in Salzburg had at least 2,000 different kinds of hand painted eggs. They were all beautiful and I wanted to buy them all while Maren felt tempted to smash them!

I heard the Sound of Music being played as we drove through the hills on our Sound of Music tour! We did the tour on our first day in Salzburg and I'm so glad we did. It was absolutely amazing and we got to see a lot of the sites from the movie. My favorite part was seeing the gazebo where Leisel sings "I Am Sixteen Going on Seventeen." We returned to this site during our trip and even got to go inside it (it's normally kept locked)- Maren and I were thrilled!

-- ~Kristin

April Newsletter - Mark in Slovakia

2008-05-15T06:37:00.000-07:00

Ahoj and Greetings from Slovakia.

Well April has arrived quickly. Spring has arrived. What an experience
to see Life coming back into the surrounding hills. Green leaves and
flowers of every color. It has been so much fun seeing kids playing
outside. Sometimes after-school I play soccer or hockey ball with the
kids. It is nice getting to know some of my students when I don't have
to teach them English. I am meeting new people and getting to know
friends better. I've celebrated name days and birthdays. I've started to
call this once completely foreign place home. And in that there is
something significant.
And as usual I have been writing some other updates on my Blog for those
of you who are Internet savvy. The address is http://www.moltron.net/
I also have many more pictures available at
http://flickr.com/photos/themoltron
Spring in my Village has to be the most beautiful I've ever seen. All
the houses have flowers and the hills surrounding the village are filled
with green and yellow pastures. The trees have blossoms and will soon
bear fruit. Almost every house has a Slivka or Plum tree.
In the Slovak Culture there is a name celebrated on everyday and mine
was on April 25th, Marek. The name day or Menniny is celebrated like a
small birthday. You receive little gifts, cards and blessings from
everyone. I had a fantastic day. It was also great seeing the kids in
the Village named Marek too and we celebrated together.
Another small event that was really enjoyable was Pan Zigmund's Birthday
or Narodenniny. We celebrated at Spevakol or Choir Practice. He brought
his Accordion and we played and sang a bunch of traditional Slovak
songs. It was amazing. I'm not sure how old Pan Zigmund is but he is so
young at heart. He is one my favorite people in the Village. He, the
other volunteer Oli and I keep the bass section of the Choir going.
I'm not sure of what else to share this month other than with what I am
struggling with internally. I'm realizing how close it is getting to the
time I will be leaving. It seems like the weeks get faster and faster.
In one sense I'm glad to be going home but now I'm just starting to get
to know people and grasp the language. I feel like my heart and my head
are often in several places. In some small way I'm starting to grieve
leaving. The people, the language and this place have become a part of
me. My return home will be another journey all together.
I'm starting to get to know people more and I wish I'd had these
opportunities earlier. I'm trying to value every moment I have to speak
Slovak and these people who are now part of my life. There are other
moments when I think these people are crazy but, then a kid says
something funny or one of the old ladies tells me I need to find a
Slovak girl and then I'll learn perfect Slovak. It is strange to think
at the beginning of my journey here, I wasn't sure what to expect and I
still not sure. I am different person. Not only because I've gotten used
to the Slovak Culture and Language but also, because God has molded my
heart to be a little more like Jesus in some small way. I've learned to
see people through eyes love. It is said if you climb the hill of
struggle you suddenly find, the hill you thought was so hard to climb
has become a blessing. A new favorite song of mine by Sanctus Real
describes how I am feeling and how important it is walk this journey
with God is
"Whatever You're doing inside of me,
It feels like chaos but somehow there's peace,
It's hard to surrender to what I can't see,
But I'm giving in to something heavenly..."
The Biggest struggle for me is not knowing what I am going to do next. I
feel torn between home and this new place I call home. Will I come back?
Will I not? Will I forget the Slovak I learned? Will these people
remember me? Will I remember them? These are all really tough questions
that only God knows the answers to. So as I struggle, I'm learning what
trust is and embracing my fears about the future. If you expect to share
the Gospel and not be changed yourself then you are not sharing the
Gospel. If God is love then the Gospel is Love. Love can be painful
sometimes. God has a habit of turning people's lives upside-down. It has
already since I've arrived in Slovakia. I'm not so sure I want it to
happen again. On the other hand God's journey are always the most
exciting. If I could have one wish for all of you it would be that you
would trust God and let him turn your life upside-down a little. That is
when you experience the Gospel.
Please continue to pray for me and the other Volunteers around the world.
Lord,
Love is a crazy thing,
It is Joyful and Painful,
Help us to embrace the unknown,
Help us to realize that life changes,
Give us peace about the future,
Shack up our Lives a little,
That we may live for you and not by Fear.
Amen
God's Blessings and Peace be with you,
- Christ’s Servant in Slovakia
Mark

April 2008, Update from Gatundu! - Sarah L. in Kenya

2008-05-11T03:23:00.000-07:00

April 2008 Newsletter: Update from Gatundu, Kenya

The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts, and though all its parts are many, they form one body. So it is with Christ.
-1 Corinthians 12:12
This verse has a great deal of significance for me as I serve in Kenya. …And though all its parts are many, they form one body. Throughout the post-election chaos and aftermath, it is blindingly clear that Kenya is made up of many parts-its 40+ tribal groups. Even before the presidential election, a common question to ask a new acquaintance was what tribe they belong to. What may often be just curiosity or a hope for a better understanding of a new friend's heritage, has unfortunately become a source of fear amongst the Kenyan people.
Since January 2008, several individuals have begun to turn on their neighbors of different tribes due to propaganda that "others" could not be trusted. *Please note that I am not generalizing that this applies to all Kenyans or even many Kenyans.* People were even afraid to share their names because many names divulged their tribal heritage. Many Kenyans who did not live in homogeneous communities packed up their lives and moved (generally to police stations or IDP-Internally Displaced Persons-camps) in fear that their own neighbors would turn on them.
This is why I think this passage in 1 Corinthians 12 is so relevant to my current context: The eye cannot say to the hand, 'I don't need you.' And the head cannot say to the feat, 'I don't need you!' … But God has combined the members of the body so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. If one part suffers, every part suffers with it. If one part is honored, every part rejoices with it. (1 Corinthians 12: 21, 24-26). Verse 26 has been especially true in the past four months. No matter who was considered a victim, an instigator, or who played the part of Switzerland, everyone has suffered from the post-election violence.
Only on Sunday were some of the IDPs returning to their homes, where likely a home no longer existed. Food prices have risen exponentially because hundreds of thousands of people were displaced and therefore, unable to harvest and cultivate their crops. An outbreak of cholera swept through the IDP camps, in addition to the malaria, dysentery and HIV/AIDS that plagued the areas. Even though the majority of the violence has subsided, Kenyans continue to suffer from the aftermath.
What I like about his passage in Corinthians is that it reminds us that we are all in this together (12:27). We are all part of God's plan and no person is placed about another. In order for us to function as one body, we must realize that we cannot survive without each other.
A quick update from the field:
April is a holiday month for most Kenyan schools between Term 1 and 2. I spent most of my time recuperating in Nairobi (there are far less bugs there!), however, I did have the chance to travel to South Africa with another volunteer. We specifically wanted to learn more about the effects of the apartheid, so we travelled to Soweto, the township where Nelson Mandela did much of his work/organizing. We also went to Robben Island off of Cape Town where Mandela and other political prisoners were kept. The prison only closed in 1994!
I am now back at school in Gatundu for my last term. The term ends at the end of July and I will be returning to MN in August.
While on holiday, I learned several new Kiswahili phrases (that I should've learned a long time ago):
Una kuja saa ngapi?: What time are you coming?
Ume fika nyumbani?: Have you reached home?
Tuonane kesho: See you tomorrow.
Prayer Requests:
1. For those living in IDP camps as they prepare to return to what is left of their homes
2. For a fellow Young Adult Volunteer, who has had to end his year of service early due to a family illness
3. For the students of Icaciri Secondary School as they begin their 2nd Term
Thank you for your continued prayers and support!
Blessings,
Sarah Larson
Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.
1 Corinthians 12: 27

April Newsletter - Katie in Mexico

2008-05-10T12:12:00.000-07:00

¡Sí, yo puedo!
Cuernavaca, Mexico Newsletter
April 2008
By Katie

Sí, yo puedo is my mantra in Mexico. It is what makes me similar and it is what makes me different. It is what helps me pull through tough days. It is how I rage against the parts of this culture that get under my skin. It is what makes me wonder about the way that I can choose to live my life upon my return. Sí, yo puedo. Yes, I can.
Sí, yo puedo as my identity
I am a gringa that sticks out like a sore thumb in Mexico. No questions about it. But the whole point of this year is to walk with my Mexican brothers and sisters, to try to be in solidarity with them and with their communities. I can observe, I can listen, I can question and discuss, I can imitate, and if I get really desperate to fit in I can even change my hair color. As it turns out, I am fortunate to have a daily opportunity to learn, imitate, and appreciate this culture while deepening friendships with my Mexican friends. Food.
My first weekend in Mexico I went to the pachanga to celebrate Marce’s mom’s 92nd birthday. It was a crazy weekend of so little sleep and so much activity that my mind was absolutely swimming in the culture shock and overload. What better time than that to be flung into the art of making tortillas? *rolling my eyes* This is no small task, nor is it easily mastered, nor is it a part of the meal that Mexicans regard with flippant apathy. This is the tortilla we are talking about, after all, the staple of the Mexican diet and culturally sacred and respected. Despite the intimidation factor and my own exhaustion, I gave tortilla-making a try and I didn’t do a very good job; I tried again and tore a little hole while laying it on the grill; tried again and a big piece ripped off on the edge; and I tried again and tried again and tried again… the rest is history. I can now proudly make tortillas, no holes and no rips, flipping them when necessary and knowing how to check for even cooking. My tortillas even inflate sometimes, which is the ultimate test of one’s tortilla-making skills (not to brag or anything). I do not have the speed or casual ease of an old pro like Marce or our friend Guille across the street. I don’t have the skill of the women I see working in restaurants or street stands to make all of my tortillas inflate like balloons. And I definitely do not have the desensitized fingertips of an expert and my fingers still suffer minor burns… but the point is that I try, I’m getting better, and my Mexican friends seem to love that I care to be a part of the process.
The one thing that trumps the act of trying to be an active and interested member of the kitchen is actually liking the food too. Next to Italians, Mexicans might be one of the proudest people of their cuisine and with good reason. There is a certain degree of obligation here to enjoy fresh tortillas, pozole, mole, or any other traditional dish. It is also obligatory to enjoy anything spicy. Here is Mexico, the chile reigns. If you don’t like it, well, thanks for visiting and would you please leave quietly so as not to disturb those of us enjoying the meal?
By mere fact of being a blonde and fair-skinned American, many doubt my interest in chile. At a recent birthday party, I got on a rant of “Si, yo puedo” with the host family which then became a fascinating sport during of putting spicy things in front of me to see what exactly I could eat and still enjoy. Of all the things that I was ranting about they most wanted to know if yes, I can eat salsas like they can. Whoops. The stubborn side of me ate everything, ignoring the pinpricks of sweat appearing on my forehead or a runny nose. The surprised and impressed looks on their faces were enough encouragement to keep me going like an 8th grader in the cafeteria taking bets from friends with disgusting cafeteria-food concoctions.
In examples like food and my participation in cooking, Si, yo puedo is a part of my identity that makes me blend in with the people here. To another extent this Si, yo puedo mentality is a part of my identity that sets me apart and makes me different. Yes, I can read and write, I can get a good public education, I can go to college, I can spend a year in a foreign country with no income, I can go visit other parts of Mexico with friends and family, I can cross the border between Mexico and the United States without having to walk across a desert and risk my life in the journey… Si, yo puedo is a testament to the benefits of being born a white, middle-upper class, woman from the United States. Without choice or effort, I was born into a privilege that sets me apart. Si, yo puedo makes me the same but I see that it also makes me very different.
Si, yo puedo as my lifejacket
Believe it or not, this experience for me is not always a Mexican paradise of warm weather, sun, palm trees, delicious food, and an easy-going lifestyle. Most of the time, I have 10-hour days of working with kids between 2 and 6 years old. I am their toy, their goofy playmate, and their jungle gym. I have to be active, smiley, patient, and enthusiastic the whole time. I have to take care of kids who know more swears than I do, kids that still wear diapers and already know how to beat someone up, kids that vomit, kids that pee their pants, and kids who don’t listen to a word I say and ask the same question a million times. But Si, yo puedo… Yes, I can give these kids my love because many of them don’t get enough at home. Si, yo puedo because there are worse ways to spend a day than playing with little kids. Si, yo puedo because the kids give me daily the gift of the sweetest smiles that I have ever seen. And even if their overly-enthusiastic hugs border on physical assault, they want to give me hugs and they want to love me back. Yeah, it is exhausting but it is also life-giving.
Fortunately, I get a much-needed break in my day to go home after my morning job to rest and eat with Marce before starting my second job. But even my time at home can be tiring. There is a feeling of host-daughterly duty to be present and talkative at home with Marce and Sarah who visits daily. I love their company and I know that they also are my confidants, saviors, supporters, and best friends here… but sometimes I just want to curl up with a book, something to eat, and a few hours of peaceful time to myself after these long days. But then I think again. I can give a few hours to my friends who are ready to come to my defense when I need another fighter in my corner, the shoulder to cry on, and a giver of a gentle hug when I miss home. I can give a few hours to Sarah who listens to me blabber on and on about my boyfriend, my work, the exciting moments in my day, and the things that bug me about being here in Mexico. Sarah is my understanding friend, who just gets me and is always ready to come to my rescue. I can give a few hours to Marce, the woman who takes care of me everyday, my teacher of swear words and other useful expressions in Mexican-Spanish, and my nurse who gave me three injections in the butt and watched over me when I had an intestinal infection in November. Marce is my Mexican mother in the many senses of the word. Yes, I can give a few more hours of my day to them.
Si, yo puedo as my battle cry against machismo
I remember reading alumni advice for both of my study abroad experiences. In both Italy and Mexico, former students complained about the machismo and catcalls and I always thought those anonymous writers were silly and thin-skinned for being bothered by it. I rolled my eyes and thought to myself, “It is just a cultural difference and not worth getting bent out of shape. Anyway, you can just ignore it, right?”
For the first few months, I barely noticed the catcalls in Mexico. For those who have never been to Cuernavaca, it is a colorful city with windy and hilly roads with an over-stimulating array of people, places, and daily events to observe. Early in the year I was too busy making sure I didn’t get lost while trying to simultaneously enjoy the vibrant, new surroundings. After awhile, I became comfortable with my walking routes and I started to notice the machismo and catcalls but I chose to ignore it. After another couple months the male attention started bugging me so I would sarcastically respond with a “Gracias” under my breath to try to make a joke of what was starting to become quite irritating. Eventually the joke got old and useless, and now I want to flick-off every self-entitled machista out there who feels the insatiable need to make kissing sounds, call me his “beautiful queen,” tell me “I ouf you,” or brazenly offers an invitation to climb into his car (and Lord knows what else that invitation might entail). Machismo is an aspect of this culture that gets so deep under my skin that I nearly scream out loud in frustration. What right do you have to objectify me and talk to me like that?! Gross. I am reminded of my old self, “You can just ignore it, right?” The older and wiser me now chuckles and shakes my head, saying to myself, “Not after over 8 months, honey. Eventually you take notice.”
Never to be a woman to lay myself on the chopping block of patriarchy, machismo, or anyone who thinks they know my needs better than me… what to do? I am a rebel and fighter with a mile-wide stubborn streak, so I hold my head up high, send vicious looks, and sometimes go out of my way to prove a point. Because yes, I can.
Not to long ago I got myself in such a tizzy reflecting on machismo that I just had to prove a point, even if only to myself. Marce and I needed milk so I offered to buy the large shipping box that contains 12 smaller boxes of milk (1 liter each, so 12 liters in total). Marce told me I was nuts and it is way to heavy; I should just buy 4 individual boxes instead. I insisted that si, yo puedo and she allowed me to take enough money to buy all of it with a look on her face that reminded me not to be an idiot and to remember that just 4 will do. So I went for a long walk for exercise and then stopped by the grocery store on the home stretch. Without really thinking twice about it, I bought the full shipping box and proceeded to walk the half-mile back to my house carrying this (I’ll admit it) heavy box of 12 liters of milk. I did it with a defiant and determined smile on my face, thinking, “You see me?! Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean that I can’t be strong and capable of taking care of myself! Watch me do this!” I got home to a half-surprised Marce and our friend Sylvia. They got such a good laugh out of my rebellious streak of good ol’ fashioned feminism and my slightly ridiculous way of showing it. My arms were shaking and sore for the next few days, but I didn’t care. Si, yo puedo.
I also take advantage of every opportunity to break gender norms at school telling the kids that I like to wear blue more than pink, that I like sports, and that I think Spiderman is awesome. They think I’m weird and often reply with the same blank expression that I get when I get tongue-tied and speak bad Spanish to them. “What is Maestra Katy talking about?” I also try to break some gender roles in my host family to provide a living example of a different perspective. I tell them about playing soccer in Tepoztlan, accept a beer offered when only the men are drinking, and engage in conversations in the kitchen with the women just as often as conversations on sports or politics with the men. When the women say that they can’t do something I always insist that they can. Maybe they also stare at me blankly and wonder, “What is Katy talking about?” but I have a hidden hope that this whole Si, yo puedo mantra is contagious.

Si, yo puedo as my upcoming life challenge
This entire year has challenged me to consider the ways that I can use the perspectives and knowledge gained in Mexico to serve others when I return to the United States. What can I do with this year? I’m starting to realize that I can do almost everything and anything I want. Yes, I can is a powerful statement and it is one of the beautiful things of being born in the United States and having a wealth of opportunities and privileges. Knowing who reads this newsletter, I know that many of you have been blessed with the same benefits and abilities.
Unlike my Mexican brothers and sisters in Chiapas and Guerrero, I do not fear kidnapping in the dark of night, torture, and execution by an oppressive and corrupt government. I can come home and speak my mind (loudly) about this world’s injustices and how our government perpetuates many of them. I can create artwork that expresses my opinion. I teach others of my experiences. I can vote in November for a candidate that promotes social justice and responsible immigration policies. I can pursue jobs that can link me closer with the Latino community and their struggles. Yes, I can continue my involvement in the things I am learning this year.
The bigger question is not if I can do something with this year, it is if I will do something with this year. It should come as no surprise by now that I desperately strive to satisfy my own belief in serving others but now I recognize that the biggest obstacle in my path is actually myself. For all my preaching and passion I barely scratch the surface of taking advantage of the benefits of being US-American, financially stable, and educated. As I rephrase my own question to “What will I do?” I realize the depth of this challenge that I just presented to myself. Knowing that I can’t walk away from this challenge, I struggle to say Yes, I will with the same grit and determination of Yes, I can. It will mean more of my time, more of my heart given to the fight for justice, more dashed hopes, and more seemingly miniscule attempts to do my part to make this world a better place… but it is what I’m called to do. It will be hard, but Yes, I can and yes, I will.

April Newsletter - Laura in India

2008-05-10T04:33:00.000-07:00

"Psalm 121"
When paging through a National Geographic, gawking at the peaks and
climbers alike, I often ask myself, what do those hikers think about
while scaling the tops? What do they ponder while trekking? Surely,
being professionals they have discovered pure, mountain zen. Surely,
they have found oneness with the paths and peaks, thus never growing
weary, but gaining strength with each passing step. Surely, their
hiking thoughts are nothing like mine:
Huff. Huff. Puff.
My goodness.
Huff. Huff. Puff.
Okay. Not tired. Nope. Not tired.
Geez, Thompsen, you're breathing hard.
Nope. Don't think that. Keep going. Look at the trail. Press on.
Oh, that's good. Press on.
That's it. Watch your feet. Good, watch the trail.
Man, your feet are big.
Huff. Huff. Puff.
Big shoes, too. Big enough to hold weights.
Uff-da. It feels like they've got weights. Yep, 1000 lbs in my shoes.
Huff. Huff. Puff.
Must distract yourself. Sing a song. Watch the trail and sing a song.
"I see trees of green...Huff.
Red roses too...Huff.
Uh...I see clouds of white...Puff.
Um...What a wonderful world...Huff."
Maybe I should pick a song I know.
Huff. Huff. Puff.
Okay. Just watch your feet.
I often wonder if my hiking companions recite poems or think deep
philosophical thoughts while climbing versus huffing and puffing. I
often wonder if I'm the only one who has such a love-hate relationship
with mountain trails. I love the challenge and I love the climb; but,
I can't wait for the trail to end and I hike anticipating the next
water break. I often wonder if others also spend more time looking at
the trail than at the landscape around them.
Thus, I went into our Himalayan excursion with the slightest hope that
I had outgrown this hiking habit. Maybe this passage would be my
passage to more mature inner monologues.
Yet, while we climbed about, surrounded by some of the most majestic
peaks in the world, I could not keep my mind off my huffs and puffs,
nor my eyes off the trail. As we walked through valleys that surround
Everest, I could not keep from hoping that around the next bend we
would finally finish.
At this, I grew more and more discouraged. Why do I think this on
every hike? Why do I eagerly anticipate the trail, yet once begun, I
cannot think of anything but its completion?
We soon came to a clearing with some of the most beautiful mountain
peaks I have seen. The Himalayan range is massive. They seem to take
up the entire sky. And better yet, they seem to know their beauty, as
they stand proud, majestic and full of grandeur. Our eyes wanted to
continue staring, but the trail continued. So, we did as well.
Back to huffing and puffing, I thought. Back to the battle in my
mind. Worst of all, back to gazing at a stupid trail that looks like
all the other stupid trails I've been on. Trails are trails. But,
mountains are not just mountains; they are something more. They are
worth gazing at. They are worth keeping your eyes on. I wanted to
climb higher, but that meant keeping my eyes down, motivating my feet
to press on--a habit I've developed through the years. And the last
thing I wanted was to spend another two hours going up a mountain
without seeing a mountain.
While pondering all this, I was reminded of a Psalm; a Psalm I've read
many times this year. Psalm 121:
I lift my eyes up, unto the mountains-
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
The Maker of Heaven and Earth.
I was surrounded by mountains. I was in need of inspiration. It
seemed like Divine intervention that this Psalm came to mind. But,
instead of a spring in my step, I was just given more questions. Big
surprise.
What is it about mountains that reminds the Psalmist of God, the
creator of majesty and grandeur? What is it about creation, God's
creation, that comforts the Psalmist? It does not read 'we lift our
eyes to the Taj Mahal' or 'we lift our eyes to the forts of Rajahstan,
where does our help come from'. For, we do not turn our eyes to a
being of this world, but to a source of this world.
And, from that, I had to simply ask myself, why do I not lift my eyes?
Why had I always resorted to watching my feet, watching the trail
pass, as I walked my path? I've been told to watch where I am
stepping; that there is danger in keeping my eyes elsewhere; that I
may stumble if I do not watch closely enough. That is, I hold some
control of the journey if I watch every step. Yet, in gazing up, I
will not only be reminded of the creator of my challenge but also the
helper of that challenge. I can release my control once I have faith
in gazing at the mountains.
How much of my life have I been watching the trail instead of the
mountain? How often am I too ashamed to lift up my eyes? For in that
lifting, I admit my weakness. It is in staring at the mountains that
I am humbled. I confess that I am in need of strength, in need of
help. In taking my eyes off the trail, I find myself not knowing
where the next step may be. In taking my eyes off the trail, I trust
that the Maker of the mountains will bring me through their passes. I
trade false assurance for active dependency.
So, as the path continued, so did we. But, this time, I kept my eyes
up. I watched the clouds roll over those mighty Himalayas; I squinted
as the sun beat down; and I marveled at the snow falling around them.
And, there, I did enter a new passage of hiking. One with the same
huffing and puffing; one with more stumbles and blunders; but, one
with an incredible view.

April Newsletter - Jessica in Slovakia

2008-05-05T13:37:00.000-07:00

07-08 Slovakia - Jessica
Originally uploaded by YAGM

Jessica’s April Newsletter
Updates from Slovakia

Each month I am here seems to go by faster and faster, and April just flew by so quickly. The work here continued as usual and I kept busy on the weekends with some trips around Slovakia. Helping Pali in the kitchen is still a lot of fun, and Kristen and I are learning a lot about Slovak cooking. While Pali was out sick for a couple of days we were able to cook lunch for everyone and made some of our favorite Slovak meals. We also realized even more how much work goes into preparing a big meal for about thirty people!
We continue to have English classes on Wednesday and Friday evenings. This past month we taught vocabulary words about the city (street, post office, restaurant, etc…). We taught how to say where they are going and where they will go during the week. We also taught about the weather and how to say that it is sunny, rainy, cloudy, and so on. It can be difficult at times because they want to learn a lot, but have trouble retaining everything. However, they enjoy learning what they can, and it is good time to spend with them. It is really nice when some of the guys try to talk to me in English, even if it is just “Hello, how are you?”. The Bible study with the guys continues to be each Monday evening, and similar to English classes, sometimes there are a good many guys there, and other times a small turn out. However, it is always a nice time to spend together. We have been working through the book of Acts, and usually concentrate on a couple of verses each week. This past month we had one of our Bible studies outside with a bonfire, and it was nice to have this time for fellowship too.
The weekends this past month were exciting, because I took some trips around Slovakia. The first weekend some of the other volunteers and I traveled to Sečovce to visit another volunteer’s placement. It was a really nice and refreshing time to spend together. We spent some time in Košice, which is the second to largest city in Slovakia, and in Michalovce, which is a city close to this area. We were also able to attend an English worship service at a Lutheran church in Košice that Sunday morning. After eight months of services in Slovak, it was wonderful to be able to understand everything so easily and to just have the familiarity of an English hymnal.
Last Saturday Marek, a Slovak volunteer who comes here on the weekends took a group of about fifteen guys along with Kristen and me to Prešov, a city about an hour from here. The children’s homes in Slovakia put on a special concert each year where each of the different homes has children performing by singing, folk dancing, or break dancing (quite a variety!). The guys really enjoy going and seeing people from the homes that they grew up in. I enjoyed spending this time with them and seeing the program the children’s homes put on. Towards the end of the concert Marek took Kristen and I to his church for their mladež (youth group gathering). One of the girls, Zuzka, was an exchange student in Indiana for a year, and she was very helpful in translating for us. It was a lot of fun to meet some high school aged students and see what an active youth group is like in Slovakia.
Last Sunday Kristen, Pali, his friend Mirka, and I were able to go to Lomnicky Štit, which is the second to tallest mountain in the High Tatras (2,655 meters). Zuzka’s mother (Zuzka lives next to us and her husband works here) gave us tickets to go up to the peak of the mountain. We went by car to the village of Tatranska Lomnica (about 15 minutes away) and from there took cable cars up to the peak. It was a beautiful clear day and the view from the top was amazing.
As the weather has been finally getting warmer here it has been nice to spend more time outside, and we have been able to do more activities outside. The guys enjoy playing futbal (soccer), riding bicycles, and just sitting outside listening to music. It has also been fun to cook sausages over the fire for dinner every once in a while. Overall April was a great month and I am looking forward to the next couple of months here!

April Newsletter - Ashley in Slovakia

2008-05-04T16:44:00.000-07:00

07-08 Slovakia - Ashley
Originally uploaded by YAGM

Life in Hybe
Ashley, Young Adults in Global Mission

Hello all! Happy spring! (Actually I feel a bit bad sending spring cheers, as you have had snow through this entire month…sorry about that.) The weather is finally getting warm, and it’s so exciting! All through winter I kept asking, “How warm is May, usually? How hot will it be in June? July?” Their weather here is supposed to be pretty comparable to our weather in Minnesota and Wisconsin, so I was hoping for really warm weather this summer. But the answers I kept getting weren’t so hopeful. “Um, well it actually never really gets THAT warm here” or, “It should be pretty warm by the end of July, or early August, around the time you’ll be leaving to go home.” That made me a bit disappointed, but I’m happy to report now that the weather has been pretty warm in the past few weeks! I’ve spent quite a few nice afternoons reading outside against our fence in the driveway path, sporting my big green sunglasses. My host mom and Starka think I’m a bit strange, and often come out to give me more towels or pillows to sit on, and ask me if I’m cold. I will really be tempted to drag a beach towel and lay out in the yard in a bathing suit with a book and my tunes, once the weather gets really hot, but then they make think I’m REALLY crazy. So we’ll see.

The process of getting to know the kids and teenagers in the youth group has been a bit slow and challenging at times, but it’s still going steadily. The pastor is always very encouraging and tells them that they must speak in English to me for practice, but they are still shy. I think they are afraid of speaking because they’re embarrassed of their English, therefore most of my communication with them is in Slovak. This is good practice for me, presents limitations obviously, but we are getting along better and better all the time. I had a really nice time playing with a group of kids last week at the playground equipment near the church. I played tag and hide and seek with them (which was pretty great, I haven’t done that in a LONG time!) and I learned 6 new names: Dominik, Marek, Filip, Tomas, Linda, and Dominika. They even tried to speak some English with me, which was quite exciting! I count that as a lot of progress. Their approaching me in Slovak is progress for sure too, but their attempts to speak with me in English really mean a lot to me. This coming week we will be going on a 3-day retreat together, so I’m looking forward to that opportunity to hang out with them, and will update you on how it goes next time!

I have also found another way to communicate with them this month (well, maybe the younger teens and children, more so than the older kids, but they still find it amusing too). I introduced my cheek flapping talent to them, and it’s gone over REALLY well! Haha! Who’d have thought some stupid useless talent would’ve come in so handy here? Not me, for sure. It’s a super impressive talent, let me tell you! (Or maybe not so much…:-P) When I was 14 and our family hosted a foreign exchange student (Yay Paarnaq!), she dazzled me with her cheek flapping abilities and inspired me to learn. And so I spent a lot of time practicing, and now I’ve passed it on in Slovakia. It’s been a really funny way to connect with the kids, and I’ll take whatever connection I can get! Some of the kids I’d never talked to before, the ones who were to nervous to approach me, now come up to me and smile and point to their cheeks, “Mozes?” (which means, “Can you?”) And then they giggle or smile. It’s pretty fun. I also do a nostril-sucking trick, but this one isn’t as popular (thankfully, because I usually feel lightheaded if I do it too much). Thanks God, for giving me the ability to do stupid things with my face! (Here is a picture of Radko’s reaction to my cheek flapping!)
My english classes are becoming more and more comfortable, so that’s exciting! I have some faithful regulars for my community classes now, especially for my beginner class. The same three come every week, and we have a pretty fun time together! It’s a nice challenge for me, speaking only Slovak while teaching them, and in return I get the chance to learn some things in Slovak from them. I really appreciate their willingness to learn the basics, and their enthusiasm with writing and practicing their notes. Their attitudes, and the informal and small class size make the classes really enjoyable! Also, my days teaching at the Liptovsky Hradok school (with the boys) have been really fun this month. I’ve spent a lot of class time helping the boys prepare for their conversation exams in May, having one-on-one conversations with them about various topics. If you’d like to read more about the funny times I’ve had there, please check out my blog and read “Giggly Boys.” I’m especially happy to be there because of the fun atmosphere and because of how much fun I have with Zuzka! She’s a riot.

I got together with volunteers a few different times this month. Kristen came to visit for a nice weekend! We spent most of it with Zuzka, taking her boys for a hike, and she also came to both Mladis and Dorast youth group meetings with me. Also, some of us met up in Secovce (near Kosice) for a weekend to visit Mary. We spent some time with the pastor she works with, Mariana, and had dinner with her family. I had the chance to participate in a Bible study in English (led by Mary), which was really exciting! After Easter, I was feeling especially frustrated with the language barrier at church, so I really appreciated that time, as well as the English church service we went to in Kosice! At the service, we got to meet some other volunteers from the ELCA (volunteers of all ages), which was really fun! They aren’t here through the Young Adults in Global Mission Program, but through the ELCA teaching program. We had the chance to visit with them during fellowship time at the church, as well as visit their apartment afterwards. It was fun to meet more Americans (some from Wisconsin!) and share experiences about living here long-term (most of them have been here longer than a year).

Something that has been a bit strange for me in this past month or so is the attention I’ve been getting in the area. Everyone keeps telling me that I’m such a “celebrity” now, because in the last two months I’ve been featured in the church magazine “Zvon,” in the city newspaper, in the Liptov newspaper (the newspaper that covers the bigger region), as well as the country-wide newspaper for educators and school members. My picture has been in all of these, articles of information, interviews with me, as well as interviews with my family (from when they came to visit in March). I’ve met people on the street, and they tell me, “Ah, I saw your article and picture! I know who you are!” It’s a bit strange. I guess it’s pretty common for foreign volunteers to come to Slovakia to teach English, but they are usually only sent to Bratislava or Kosice, to the bigger cities. It’s really rare for a small village to have a native speaker around to help with English classes, or to attend church activities. I’m pretty grateful that I’m in a smaller community (although I admit it’s challenging at times, coming straight from Minneapolis, which I loved so much) because the relationships and experiences I have here will be much more personal. I have the opportunity to get to know people really well, I feel safe and looked after, and the atmosphere is just cozier than it would be in a city.

Also, one thing I wanted to tell you about is something that happened in March, but I thought I would save it for my April newsletter: my family (Mom, Dad, and Jake) came to visit me here in Slovakia!!!  It was so amazing to see them, and sometimes now it doesn’t even seem like they were really here, a bit hard to believe. They were here for about a week, and it was a whirlwind, but really fantastic! We spent a few days in Hybe, where they had the opportunity to meet my host family (my mom even made Halusky, the traditional food of Slovakia, with my host mom and grandma!), Zuzka and her family, the pastor and his family, as well as many other people from the church and community. They had the opportunity to visit both of the schools I help teach at, see both the adult and youth choirs reherse, sit in on a Lent church service, have dinner with 3 different families, and have hot chocolate at an old castle-made-restaurant. After our time in Hybe, we traveled to Koseca to visit the people and places from my first placement. It was really special that they met people from both parts of my year, and that they were able to see so many things during their time here.

In Koseca (and the area around it) they were able to see the nursing home where I worked and lived, meet some of the nurses, residents, and Zuzka! (And of course, Frankie the bird too.) We went to visit Obchodna Akademia in Ilava, where I first helped teach english, and met with the teachers and the headmaster of the school. We even went into a few of the classrooms while class was in session! They let the students ask my family some questions, and it was pretty entertaining. We also met other friends and people in my life from Dubnica, and then we were on our way again. We next traveled to Bratislava and spent the night there, getting a little taste of Slovakia’s capitol, and took a day trip to Vienna, Austria the next day. In Vienna we tried some fun restaurants, toured the Belvedere Palace, saw the St. Stephens and St. Peters cathedrals, and were able to tour the city center for awhile. We all had a great time together, and it really meant a lot to me that all four of us could be together! We ended the exciting, jam-packed week with a goodbye in Bratislava, and although goodbyes are always hard, it was much more content than the first time. I’m quite excited to see them again on August 19th in Minneapolis!

Although we had no prompt this month for a question to respond to, I thought I would add a quick response to last month’s question. “ How is your leadership shaped by the crosscultural or multicultural experience you are facing?“ My response to this would be that it has been shaped into something completely different than I’ve ever had to deal with, because of the language barrier challenge. I’ve felt so frustrated at times because it has been a bit impossible to be a leader (in a traditional way). I would really like to help teach Sunday school classes, or sometimes lead a discussion at a youth group meeting, but the language barrier prevents me from doing so. It has been difficult, trying to think of myself as a leader in this context. I guess my leadership role, in this way, can be filled only with actions and the example that I set with my attitude. It’s not exactly the way I had imagined “leading“ when I was preparing for this year of service, but it has taught me to think outside of the box.

From this prompt, also, I got to thinking about leadership within the communities I’ve served in this year. It is always valuable life experience to work with different types of leaders, watch them, learn from them. This has been a unique experience, in that I’ve had the chance to work with religious leaders this year. I’ve worked near or with pastors in both of my placements and have had two really different experiences. During orientation we were told, “You’re probably going into this year thinking, ‘I don’t have any expections‘ but it’s not true. You all have expectations, whether you think you do or not“ and I’ve found that to be true in many different cases. One being the attitude and leadership of pastors. I had an interesting conversation with my fellow YAGM volunteers about this topic, and some agreed that they’ve had similar reactions to the pastor’s they’re around. I think it really has been great life experience, seeing how different religious leaders approach their communities, their jobs, and how their attitudes reflects their actions.

Ok, well this is quite long, so I better wrap it up. Thanks so much for reading this, for your support! I ask you to also check out my blog when/if you get a chance. I’m trying to be more consistant with adding blog entries, and knowing that you guys are reading them makes me excited (and gives me the energy to write even more)! I hope this finds you well! Thanks again

God Bless,
Ashley

April Newsletter - Kristen in Slovakia

2008-05-04T07:52:00.000-07:00

April Newsletter

April Happenings

The warmer spring weather in April brought about some more weekend trips and the opportunity to visit some different cities in Slovakia as well as the usual work here. Some of the different cities that I was able to see were: Kosice, Michalovce, Secovce, Tatranska Lomnica, Presov, Levoca, and the mountain peak of Lomnicky Stit.

The first weekend in April, the four female American volunteers in Slovakia decided to meet and visit Mary’s placement which is in Secovce. First we all gathered together and explored the city of Kosice, which is the second largest city in Slovakia. Later that evening, we went to Mary’s pastor’s house where we were able to stay the night and enjoy the small excitements in life like homemade pizza, girl scout cookies, and tortilla chips with salsa – the things that you don’t realize you miss until you taste them again. On Saturday we were able to see more of her home village and meet her host family and went into the nearby city of Michalovce to explore the city and meet the pastor and her daughter for coffee in the afternoon. In the evening, her host family let us use the grill to make dinner (I learned the Slovak word for “to grill” is “grillovat,” no joke!) and we had a good time with that once we finally got the fire started. Then, Sunday we were able to go back into Kosice in the morning and go to an English service that is held there (there are several American teaching volunteers there as well as some families whose husbands work in the US Steel industry there). I enjoy the Slovak worship services here a lot but it was wonderful to be able to have a service where we used the LBW (Lutheran Book of Worship) and everything was said in English, including the sermon. Definitely an exciting weekend with a taste of things from America in it.

The next weekend we had a nice surprise when the mother of Zuzka, the woman who lives next door to us, invited Jessie, Pali, and I to accompany her to the village of Tatranska Lomnica and then up to the second highest mountain peak in the Tatras Mountains, Lomnicky Stit. We headed off on a gorgeous morning and arrived to find that we were too late to get the tickets to head up the mountain peak so we ended up walking around and enjoying the spring weather in the village. We took a walk up and around this nice pond with tons and tons of frogs, the historical church, a really fancy hotel, and then back through the village, and ended in a café where we enjoyed coffee and cake before heading back. Zuzka’s mother bought the tickets for two weekends in advance and we made plans to return then.

When we did return, we had another gorgeous day where the weather was very clear and we were able to make it up to the top. To get up the mountain you have to take cable cars up to the top, much like the ones you find in an amusement park except they are going up the steep side of a mountain and move much faster. The view from the top was amazing, although very cold with a lot of snow still left, and well worth the trip up.

Our friend Linda, one of the German volunteers here with our program, also made a trip out to visit Jessie and I here in Velky Slavkov. We enjoyed some hiking in the Tatras, shopping in Poprad, and visiting the historical city of Levoce. Also, while she was here, Monday night for Bible study we had a nice change of pace and had a bonfire outside. We gathered together and cooked sausages, had some guitar playing, and just enjoyed spending time together.

Last weekend, we had the opportunity to visit yet another city, Presov, the fifth largest city in Slovakia. Every year the children’s homes in the area put on a free concert and Jessie and I were asked if we wanted to go with the boys to see it. Of course we said yes if there was room for us, and the boys were really excited for us to go with them. The concert was an interesting mix of programs – everything from traditional songs and dance with costumes, to hip-hop and break dancing, to singing pop songs (in Slovak and even one in English). It was a really enjoyable experience and afterwards Marek, the weekend volunteer here, asked if Jessie and I wanted to go to Mladez, the youth group at his church while the boys went to the dance party that was held after the concert. We said yes so he took us there, found someone who speaks English to translate, and told us to have fun. We played an ice breaker type game outside with the group and then went upstairs. There was a wonderful video presentation which one of the guys in the group put together, where there was a video made up of pictures and video clips that illustrated how his life had changed now that he has become a Christian. It was really powerful and moving. Then we had a Bible study which was translated for us and finally, we wrote down prayer requests and exchanged them with others and had some time for prayer. It was a great opportunity to experience a different church and youth group.

Everything else here in the placement is still going really well too. Bible studies, English class, working in the kitchen, and teaching swimming are all still fun and a good way to continue to grow in my relationships with people. I am very thankful to all of you for all of the emails, letters, and prayers. I hope that everyone is doing well at home!
God’s blessings,
Kristen

April Newsletter! - Eric in the UK

2008-05-03T16:53:00.000-07:00

St. Pancras News
April

Being Lost and the "Found"

After some long and extensive weeks, I decided to take a free day and go to the beautiful village of St. Albans (about 30 miles outside of London). It was so nice as the town contrasts London so greatly with the more peace and quiet. In my hurried preparation to go, I didn't really put in any details of the village in my bag so I didn't really have any idea where anything was. I decided that this was ok and just wandered around for a bit. I finally (after walking the wrong direction) found the high street and Central Square of the town. Then, walking further, I came upon the medieval Cathedral. I sat in the Cathedral for a while and then went walking around again before deciding to come back to the Cathedral. A wedding was just ending in the chapel, so I quietly stood around and admired the windows.

Upon my viewing of the various things in the Cathedral, I had a surprising tap on my shoulder and a rather tatty looking elderly man smiling at me. "I've seen you twice now walking up and down the high street and around the Cathedral", he said. "Now this is the third time I have seen you and with due respect sir, you look lost." Being surprised at this comment, I chuckled a little bit and said that I was just here from London and making it a day out. We talked for a little while about the wedding that was just ending as he knew the groom involved. "Would you like to walk up to the pub with me to get a drink- or don't you drink?", the man asked. Not being really sure (because of the man's outward appearance) if I would be the one paying for the drinks I hesitated for a split second. However, something about the man really struck me as being very genuine and real so I took him up on his offer.

He was, in fact, true to his word and bought me a pint of Guinness. As we sat down he said, "Now back at the Cathedral, I only meant partly that you look lost geographically.....I'm just going to be honest with you sir, you also look weighed down by something." Again, I was surprised at his very honest and upfront nature and replied that I did indeed feel weighed down by things. I suddenly realized that this day was probably the first day in a many weeks that I could actually allow myself to feel lost in a way. The stresses of work in London and my future obligations in life continue to put a lot of weight upon my shoulders, but don't allow much opportunity to outwardly show the stresses. "You can't let yourself be sucked in by things all the time.", the man said. "I'll be honest with you, I've been in that place too." He went on to explain how his job in aerospace engineering consumed both himself and his marriage. "I'll just be honest with you, you need to let yourself have times to express your insecurities but then also have people there for you who can walk with you in those insecurities. I've hadn't had that a lot in my life.", he finally said.

I was greatly inspired by what he had to say and his really honest spirit. We both sat and shared a lot about ourselves and what makes us feel "lost". After about a two hour discussion in the pub, it was time to go. "I'll be honest with you, you're a fantastic kid with lots of spirit and I respect you a lot.", he said as he shook my hand. As I was walking out of the pub, I turned around quickly forgetting to ask his name! "My name is Eric!", I said. "What's your's?" "Michael", he replied as he toasted his beer glass to me.

What I finally realized as I was walking back to the train station was the whole beauty of presence. Here was a man who thoughtfully acknowledged my being "lost" and who gracefully wanted to help. In many ways, Michael too was "lost" and gratefully thanked me for being there to help as well. BOTH of us needed each other in a way. We all get "lost" in our lives sometimes and burdened down with the stresses and responsibilities. In that struggle, there can sometimes be no more powerful thing than the presence and attention of another human being. Michael didn't give me any quick answers to solve any of the stresses or fears that I have, nor did I really give him any either. But what did lift both of us in the pub that day was the fact that there are human beings in this world that can give respect and share in struggles and stresses. Michael reminded me of that in a very real way. May we all have the courage to do to the same.

Tis' the Season of Taxes and Annual Church Meetings

There comes a point in every year where you take the time to pour over all of the numbers and issues of the past and try to focus on a new set of statistics. For many of us good citizens of the world, this comes in April where we pay our tribute to the spirits of tax and rebate. In the UK, there is no difference in this annual ritual and the church also participates. As part of a governmental order by the Church of England, all parishes need to have their Annual Parochial Church Meeting (APCM) in the month of April. Thus, I had the privilege to continue my observation in the way a church is run.

After mass at St. Michael's, all of the parishioners, priest, and church council (observed by some homeless people in the back of course) gathered in the sanctuary for the meeting. Father Bruce started off with his priest report which gave a very positive message on how St. Michael's has done without their parish priest of 12 years (Fr. Nicholas) so far. "We must continue our positive energy and show this community that we are not just a building, but a family ", he said.

Then it was Will's, the treasurer of St. Michael's, turn to share his report. Unfortunately, this report wasn't as rosy. Because of the dramatic rise in living costs within London, gifts to the church just haven't been able to keep up with the need. Therefore, St. Michael's Church has had to do some dramatic moves to keep it's costs down. One of these measures was not turning on the heat for the building this winter. The debate among the parishioners then began to commence. It was the question on everyone's mind: What can we do to keep costs down?

Now, it is a challenging job to keep any meeting on track sometimes. However, for some weird reason, church meetings are always the worst at getting off track. Being that St. Michael's is made up of such a varied population, it undoubtly is the king of "getting-off-the-beaten-path" meetings. "Why can't we just close the door when we are having mass?", asks one person. "I think we should invest in environmentally sustainable ways of heating our building", another person immediately responds. "Now going back to that first question", replies a third person, "We can't shut the door because it won't give as welcoming of a message." "And it lets the pigeons in!", came a response from the back. "Yeah! Pigeons are a huge problem right now, we just can't have them inside flying around." "I think we should shoot 'em", said a younger boy in the front row. "Yes! I motion that we get a guy in to shoot the pigeons in our church!", yelled an older lady. "I refuse to come to this church if we shoot pigeons...that is ethically wrong. We should have a picture of a hawk in front of the door.", yelled a younger parishioner. "Well, that will just look frick'n ugly!", said a person who I swore walked in just a minute ago. Father Bruce and Emily (the church warden) finally mentioned that we were on the topic of managing our costs, not of hiring someone to come in and shoot pigeons. Needless to say, it was one of the most amazing "meeting adventures" I have ever had! Amazingly, we actually were able to get some things done in the end. The parishioners voted in a new church council in, decided on some logical ways to cut costs, and even took some steps to start doing something with the pigeons. It's amazing on what can be accomplished, even when everyone seems to want something different.

I acknowledge Fr. Bruce and Emily for leading such a good meeting. One never really thinks about the usefulness of having skills to lead a good meeting, but they are very good indeed! In many ways, it must be the grace of God that some decisions are made in parishes. Father Bruce said it best as we were leaving the church. He turned to me, smiled, and said "See, there is a God."

A Lesson of Love

This past month I had the opportunity to spend some time with my girlfriend Abby. She arrived in the middle of Holy Week, the busiest week of the year for me in the parish. My schedule was very intense as I had to: prepare for mass every day on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, help create a Garden of Repose (very important in the Anglican tradition) and be at the four-hour long Vigil on Thursday, prepping two 3 hour long masses back to back on Friday, and finally helping with both the Easter Vigil on Saturday and Easter Masses on Sunday. Needless to say, the week was jam packed. Incredibly, we were able to find things to do alone together as in going out for dinner and even going to a West End production of Les Miserables.

It still amazes me as to how a relationship grows and matures in a long distance environment. The state of being in a long distance relationship continues to pose new challenges and questions that I never expect. Ironically, I found that this was never truer than when my significant other was physically two feet away from me! Funny how that is....

I think one of the joys and challenges that face any relationship which spreads a distance is that of images. These images of your partner build themselves within our minds, even when we perhaps don't intend them to. When you are living in a world that is independent from the world of your partner, I think it is quite easy for these images to flourish. And for the most part they should! Knowing that your girlfriend or boyfriend is there with you in spirit is a powerful thing that has helped me a lot through tough and stressful times in London. In this sense, there is something comforting within this deeply personal and almost spiritual presence of your significant other. I find this to be an amazing and incredible gift when you find it. It emphasizes another dimension to your relationship that is quite special and reminds you that you are never alone.

In another way I think that images from long distance can be challenging. I have found out that you must not let your images of the person turn into expectations. This is very hard, if not impossible to not let happen at least a little bit. When not reminded of the true physical person, your imagination starts to build upon their unique qualities and attributes- especially within stressful situations that you really want them there for. Without being acknowledged, these feelings can command your perspective of the relationship. In some ways, I think this happened to me.

Instead of walking off the plane as the "sexual goddess who always says the right things and does no wrong", Abby walked off the plane as .....Abby. So thus, the challenge came to start things over in some ways. Of course I did know who Abby was on one level throughout the 7 months of phone calls and emails. But what surprised me more than anything was how much I did not know her on other levels. One forgets when they are in a long distance relationship about all of the levels in a relationship. I found that I had forgotten about her physical energy and her amazing facial expressions, how she walks and carries herself, and her general physical zest for life. All these things create the balanced whole. Getting to know each other again can be quite stressful and hard. Especially in a foreign environment when you don't truly know which way is up or down.

What I learned more than anything about having Abby here was the many qualities of love and what it takes to enter fully into a relationship with one another. Love is romantic and should be full of "highs" as having a romantic dinner or walking along the beach. College relationships are perhaps more abundant with these "highs" and you get used to the constant buzz of romance. But love also has a tough side, a side that needs commitment and patience. This side of love can hit you like a ton of bricks and leave you feeling unprepared. It is something that couples usually have to struggle through- especially when dealing with long distance. However, when you come out on the other side of this love, which will happen, I find that you will be all the stronger and grounded.

And you know what? It's worth it. Perhaps it is God talking within me that is giving me the strength to carry on, or perhaps it is craziness. It is probably both. Whatever it is, I know how blessed I am to have this girl in my life and for us to share a love that spans 4,000 miles. It was an incredible faith and emotional journey to have her here in the UK with me. What will I remember most from the whole thing? Falling in love with the "real" Abby all over again.

April Newsletter - Gretchen in the Philippines

2008-05-02T22:59:00.000-07:00

The month of April was yet another one of transitions for me. In the beginning of the month I traveled to Bacolod, Negros Occidental Province to engage in immersions for three weeks before returning to Manila, uniting with the 6 other interns, and participating in an Indigenous Peoples’ awareness program and our group’s reflection in the mountains of Northern Luzon.

The economy on the island of Negros is characterized as mono-crop and agriculturally dependent with sugar cane fields blanketing every corner of the island. A highly labor-intensive crop to plant, grow, and harvest, sugar cane and the exploitive landlessness for farmers inspires the saying “the sweeter the sugar, the more bitter the farmers.” The farmers that I stayed with were subject to the Pakyao system in which work is organized and payment given on a three-day basis, precariousness of subsistence living, when work is only promised for three days at a time, and of course the pay cannot sustain most families. With the recent rice crisis, the grip of poverty squeezes already struggling families to severe proportions. When I arrived in August the price of rice was 25 pesos per kilo, yet amidst the instability of food on a global level the price has risen to more 35 pesos per kilo, a 40% increase as seen worldwide. The average family of six consumes one and a half kilos of rice per day, leaving little money of the meager pay left for other food, educational expenses for children, and other necessities. I witnessed the intensity of physical labor needed for harvesting sugar cane, which occurs at the end of the eight-month growing period. Farmers covered with layers of clothing to shield themselves from the damaging “summer” sun chop cane at the base with a large machete, or bolo as it is called, with an eight-inch section often saved for the next planting. The stalk and leaves are separated with the stalks then bundled with a long piece of rubber and carried up a long plank into a massive dumptruck. Farmers on the truck wait with bolos to chop the sugar cane into smaller pieces to fit more crop until the truck seems to be dangerously overloaded for transport to the sugar mill. As with the rest of the country, the profit from agriculture mostly benefits the landowners holding vast tracts of land while those who till reap no advantages. Having spent so much time in the Philippines within the urban context, I was able to witness the struggles that the majority of the population who live in the rural areas encounter.

In addition to the immersion with the farmers, I integrated with three different organizations focusing on youth in Bacolod. Anak Bayan is the national organization focused on youth, which actually encompasses ages from 14 to 35. Much of the attention and advocacy lies along educational lines since graduation from high school in the rural areas is attained by a minority. The quality of education from the public schools is generally poor with lack of funding and overworked teachers who are burdened with the bureaucracy of national reports and are often taken away from their classes for extracurricular activities occurring during the school day. Beyond high school, the exorbitant costs of higher education allow only about 1 in 10 Filipinos to graduate from college. And of course a diploma does not ensure a job with unemployment widespread; the alternative is working as an Oversees Filipino Worker (OFW), which can disjoint families. I observed the summer camp held by Iglesia Filipino Independiente, or Philippine Independent Church. IFI has a nationalistic theology since it sprung from the Philippine Revolution and was established in 1902 in opposition to the Spanish as well as the Roman Catholic Church. The majority of tenants from the Roman Catholic Church were retained though IFI priests can marry. The priests I met were among the most inspiring churchworkers I’ve encountered in the country with many holding leadership positions in progressive organizations in addition to their clerical duties. The summer camp for youth was one part church camp, one part cultural celebration, and one part education of national struggles. Rather than simply encouraging youth to lead theologically-centered lives, IFI realizes the strong ties of the church to the country and demands working for the improvement of Philippines run parallel to the self. The summer camp was not a free-for-all but an enriching experience for the youth who I hope will continue in service. Lastly, I attended another summer camp geared toward youth hosted by Gabriela, an organization and political party (of the multi-partylist system) with the moto Babae, Bata, at Bayan, or Women, Children, and Country. In line with IFI’s approach, Gabriela hosted seminars for the youth on violence against women, nutrition, and the national situation. The summer camp was an opportunity for children from the rural parts to enjoy a couple days at the coast but was also a tool in educating the masses not yet engaged in the political scene.

My host family in Bacolod, Siegfred and Cynthia DeDuro, provided me the opportunity to witness as I have before the sacrifice that goes into serving the people. Both Siegfred and Cynthia were detained under Marcos’ dictatorship, and during that time their daughter was sent to the U.S. with a relative, eventually being adopted and continuing to live there. I enjoyed hearing their stories as well as their willingness to welcome me into their home, if even for a short time. Despite the positive relations I made during my time in Bacolod, many aspects were quite difficult. There was a lack of warning that I was coming to Bacolod, and though people scrambled and provided the best schedule they could for my time, in many ways the lack of preparation did not allow people to understand why I was there. Without the tools to communicate effectively what I wanted to learn (I don’t speak the local dialect of Ilonggo and many people in the rural areas speak little English) many lapses in understanding occurred. The time there was relatively short though and following the three weeks, I was yet again joyfully reunited with the other interns, eager to be enveloped with understanding that many of the cultural struggles I have experienced others know all too well; they also know how hard it really is.

We all headed to “the north” as it is called for Indigenous Peoples’ Cordillera Day via 24+ hours of land travel. As one might guess travel by bus and jeepney here is always full of surprises; fording rivers, riding on unpaved roads, and winding around treacherous turns were in the making. The theme of “Cordi” Day was “Resist Mining Plunder and State Terrorism,” appropriate since gold and copper deposits abound in the mountains in Northern Luzon. As with many other money making operations involving transnational corporations in the country, state terrorism is utilized as a means to quell any opposition. The most enjoyable aspect of Cordi Day for me was the celebration of culture. Before and after every session or seminar, men pounded rhythmically on metal drums that resemble a frying pan called pattong while the women danced in a large circle in time with the movements of the men who initiate the various steps. During one morning session, people danced more than six times, ever excited to engage in traditional culture and invite other Filipinos and foreigners to do the same. On solidarity day, elders of various tribes donned their native dress, different styles for men and women though of the same tightly woven colored cloth specific to their region, and enacted plays for interpretation of their situation as Indigenous People struggling for self-determination. At one point the women initiated the dancing by playing the pattong themselves, symbolic of women in the community and in the struggle together with the men.

Our third reflection was held in the quaint, quiet town of Sagada in Mountain Province (aptly named). In many ways, Sagada felt as if another world apart from the Philippines that I had been exposed to. To find of place of beauty and serenity often means turning to a resort-type area in which many of the establishments are supported by foreign funds and run by ex-patriots. Sagada does rely partly on the tourist economy but is run and operated by natives of the area. In opening the town up to tourism, the community refused to forgo their way of life and in doing so keeps strict rules on public conduct, e.g. 9 pm curfew. The result is foreigners can enjoy Sagada for the same reasons the inhabitants love their town without a degradation of culture occurring. I was so pleased to be in the mountains in the coldest temperature I had experienced yet in the country with the lows probably in the 50s; 90-degree weather year-round has worn on me. In addition to the settings, our group was able to reflect over the past few months, supporting and encouraging each other with what lies in the future.

As many of you know, this will be the last newsletter I will be writing from the Philippines. After much discernment, I have decided that I will return home to Ohio shortly rather than remaining in the country until August. This of course has been a difficult and rather long process to come to this decision, but I feel it is the best for me now. Throughout the past months, I have been amazed at the support I have received from so many of you. In many ways, it has kept me continuing in this difficult journey as long as I have. But I know my time here has come to close. I am thankful for all the communiqués, the prayers, and even those silent feelings of encouragement I have received. I look forward to sharing more individually about my experience in the coming months and maybe even years as I continue to process and allow those inexplicable lessons to become clear. Peace.

April Newsletter - Amanda in the UK

2008-05-01T13:32:00.001-07:00

Dear family and friends,

It seems like it was just Easter with snow on the ground, but April has rushed past and it’s already May! Spring is quite rainy in London, but I can’t possibly complain, especially when I hear of the droughts and fires back home. The rain has caused our garden to explode with life. My housemates and I spent last Saturday spread out under the lilac tree, drinking tea and playing guitar. All of the gloomy, rainy days are worth the effort.
And while springtime and Easter bring about new birth and resurrection, our church is suddenly facing difficult transitions. Our vicar, Father Robert, announced just after Easter that he is leaving his position at St. Mary’s to become a bishop in Stockport (northern England). Due to the tight constraints put on by the diocese, he was unable to announce his move until the last minute. No more than four weeks separate his announcement and his final Sunday at St. Mary the Virgin, Primrose Hill.
Robert has been at St. Mary’s for nine years, and so many in the congregation have found it quite difficult to cope with the news. I’ve faced stunned parishioners who are very anxious about the future of St. Mary’s. Yet I’ve seen pastors move about in my own church experience, and have come to regard it as part of the business. No one is going to “replace” Robert; whoever shall take the post will bring his or her own ideas and energy. Robert is ready to move on, and I am excited for this new challenge in his life.
However, two weeks after Robert’s announcement, the youth team received a bombshell of their own: Paul, our supervisor and head youthworker, is moving on at the end of the summer. Suddenly I find myself asking the same questions as the grieving congregation: What will happen to youthwork once Paul leaves? Is it sustainable? Who can possibly “replace” Paul?
I’ve been coping by reminding myself that Paul’s departure corresponds with my own, so I don’t have to deal with as much of the transition as my colleagues. Yet I can’t help but think about how invaluable Paul’s contribution has been to youthwork at St. Mary’s, and more so, in fostering community in our area. Paul started St. Mary’s youthwork from scratch three and a half years ago. He established our “church-based” side through an alternative worship for teenagers as well as opportunities for confirmation and cell groups. But Paul’s philosophy is that Christian youthwork is not just about evangelizing or supporting kids who belong to your church. It also involves reaching out to the greater community in a spirit of love and inclusiveness. We preach the gospel to all young people, not through words of evangelism but through our hospitality and desire to include and love all kids.
Thus the bulk of St. Mary’s work has spread beyond worship and bible studies and other typical forms of Christian youth work. This choice has more to do with the lack of young people in our congregation than any conscious decision on Paul’s part. I am reminded of the parable of the banquet, in the gospel of Matthew, where the master invites his friends to a dinner and no one shows up. So he goes out into the streets and invites the marginalized people and they graciously come and enjoy his hospitality. Similarly, the privileged youth at our church don’t have time outside of Sundays, but the young people from the council housing are quite eager to get involved with what St. Mary’s Centre has to offer.
And in the mere three-and-a-half years that St. Mary’s has done youthwork, the amount of projects and funding has exploded. Our staff consists of Paul, myself (the current Time for God volunteer), as well as Anna and Clare, who study Youth and Community Work in Cambridge and dol their work experience with us. St. Mary’s also supports Jason Allen and his Eirini Project, an inner-city program to work with at-risk youth and young offenders. So in a typical week all sorts of young people come through St. Mary’s doors, from Christian elementary students to thirteen-year-old drug dealers.
I am in awe of how much work has come out of a program that is only three-and-a-half years old; and furthermore, how it is all due to the dedication, vision, and hard work of Paul. So I, with everyone else, am left asking: What next? Will the “new person” be as hard working as Paul? Will they get along with the staff? I can’t imagine working with a better supervisor, as Paul is fun and energetic, as well as being sensitive and a superb person to talk to.
So inevitably, thoughts of leaving and of new beginnings are on all of our minds. It reminds me that I, too, will be leaving St. Mary’s at the end of the summer. I can’t help but feel a bit guilty to leave in a midst of so much transition, even though my contract has always been for one year. Yet my concern is not so much about finding someone to “replace” me, but whether or not I’ve really made a valuable contribution to St. Mary’s. I’ve spent so much of the past eight months adjusting to a new city and lifestyle that only now do I feel as though I am making a tiny contribution.
What will I say to people when they ask about my year of mission? What can I show those of you back home, who have supported me through money, prayers, and words of encouragement? I will return to the States, leaving St. Mary’s much as I found it. I didn’t initiate tons of new programs. I didn’t bring more kids into our sessions. And St. Mary the Virgin hasn’t improved much in the way of community, still feeling like another big church in the middle of London.
I don’t want to let all of you down. I don’t want to let myself down, either. Can one put a price tag on missionary work? Is it about numbers and visible work? Is it about coming into a new environment and completely changing it? Not necessarily. Only now do the words from my orientation so long ago finally make sense to me: we are sent out to partake in a ministry of presence. This means that, above all, our goal should be to accompany the people we encounter and meet them where they are, just as Jesus meets us wherever we are at right now.
I still struggle to understand and apply this philosophy, especially when I try to see if I’ve “accomplished” anything in the past eight months. A ministry of presence is countercultural in that it does not value success by visible signs. No, I’ll probably return without making much of a dent. The young people I’ve encountered will continue to grow up and meet new youthworkers and soon forget about the American girl who was with them so briefly. And when people ask, I’ll smile politely and tell people that my year of mission was amazing, although part of me will always feel that I should have done more.
Maybe, if anything, it was me who was impacted, me who was changed. Youthwork has a completely different set of rules in central London than it does in rural North Dakota; and so rather than utilizing my years of experience with young people I had to start over. It has not been easy, and it’s often not fun; and consequently much of my year has been adjusting to a foreign model of youthwork. Yet at the same time I am thankful that I was not put into an easy placement at a small and friendly church. The extreme challenges of this year have opened my mind up to many new worlds. I can confidently answer that the biggest change that I made was not in London’s youth, but in myself.

With all of my love,

Amanda

March Newsletter - Amanda in the UK

2008-05-01T13:32:00.000-07:00

07-08 UK - Amanda
Originally uploaded by YAGM

Dear friends and family,

I hope you all had a blessed Easter. I have to admit that I got a bit homesick during the Eater holidays. All of my roommates suddenly got time off and decided to go to home. I woke up Easter morning, a bit sad and lonely…and found it to be snowing outside! “It’s a Christmas miracle!” I thought, before remembering which holiday it was. The snow was a nice treat, and a start to a good Easter. My supervisor and his wife had me over for dinner, along with their flatmates and guests. It sort of resembled the last supper, as all twelve of us crowded around a low table on the floor to share an Easter meal together.
Lent itself was a beautiful experience in our High Anglican Church. Things are taken quite seriously; we covered up the cross and altar as well as the icons for the entire season of Lent. We also held Lent groups in people’s homes, focusing on the gospel of Mark and its Easter account. And it seems like everyone in the congregation had a list of “fasts” for Lent, giving up things such as chocolate, alcohol, and meat. My supervisor even spent two days a week as a vegan.
As a good Lutheran, I considered fasting during Lent but didn’t actually follow through with anything. As it is famously said, “You know you’re a Lutheran when you feel guilty about not feeling guilty.” I admire my friends for giving things up, but I have never felt called to sacrifice something as mundane as candy. Last year I tried to give up chocolate; but rather than experiencing spiritual growth I went a bit neurotic. So this Lent season I decided not to occupy myself with worrying about chocolate or TV.
Yet it impressed me how much preparation, fasting, and waiting there is before the Easter celebration. Things were especially intense during Holy Week. The church seemed to be shrouded in a perpetual cloud of incense due to the additional services. I attended the Maundy Thursday service, which lasted an hour and a half, followed with a two and a half hour prayer vigil.
Just before the vigil started, we sang the words Jesus said to his disciples in the garden of Gethsemane: “Stay with me, pray with me….” I intended on staying the entire vigil—‘Yeah, Jesus, I won’t fall asleep;’ but after only an hour I was Jesus’ disciples, unable to keep my eyes open. It also left me too “church-outed” the next day to go to our Good Friday vigil, a three-hour service in the middle of the day.
So High Church Lent is beautiful, but also a bit too rigorous for me. Yet I found it quite inspirational to be surrounded by so much ceremony and discipline. More than anything, it made me think about the merits of giving up innocent indulgences and holding services that last more than an hour. I realize these little sacrifices are not necessarily superficial; they potentionally bring the bigger picture into our daily lives. They are a daily reminder of what the Easter season is all about.
This struck me as I was contemplating what to include in this month’s newsletter. Aside from Lent, March has been a rather uneventful month. It’s been wonderful. My life here in London feels settled and familiar. Aside from Easter, I haven’t felt homesick, and actually have begun to see London as my home. I thankfully still have opportunities to be challenged and to grow, but things have pretty much settled down to a comfortable pace.
The danger of being comfortable is losing innovation. Our routines focus us on the necessary tasks of each day. It is healthy to take life one day at a time; but now that I’m stepping back to write my newsletter, I realize that I have taken little time to reflect on the bigger picture of my ministry. I haven’t been grappling with redefining the term “missionary” for my post in Primrose Hill, London. I haven’t reflected on the mission statement of St. Mary’s Centre and whether our work is engaging in it. And I’ve pushed the thought of leaving in this fall to the back of my mind, carrying on as though I’ll be here quite a while.
Maybe it’s a defence mechanism; I spent my first three months stressing over the fact that I was not a “traditional” missionary and didn’t make any clear differences. Focusing on today and the people I encounter helps me to make a small but real difference—but I must not stop dreaming big. I came with a vision of real community for this spiritually impoverished area. I had dreams of uniting people together, starting as small as potlucks or family gatherings. I’ve put many of these dreams aside, because I didn’t find support or simply got too busy with daily tasks.
So now that I am comfortable where I’m at, I can use this time to make my dreams a reality. Moments such as these, when I prepare my newsletter and reflect on my work as a missionary, remind me of the “bigger picture.” It’s like the Lent sacrifices that remind us, in the busyness of our daily lives, that there is more to life than what we see immediately before us.
Thank you again for the letters and emails of support that I’ve received from many of you. These are truly humbling and remind me to make the most of my time at St. Mary’s. They also challenge me to do my best and not just remain “comfortable,” as I am not working alone but carry the encouragement and support from so many back home.
I pray that you have a nice spring and enjoy some much-needed sunshine. Until next time, God bless!

Much love,

Amanda

April Newsletter - Kevin in Uruguay

2008-04-28T20:43:00.000-07:00

This month´s newsletter will, like February´s, be a departure from the Franklin´s Choice formula, albeit for a different reason this time around; namely, that Franklin hasn´t sent us a prompt and it´s almost the end of the month. Today´s topic: Time.

It has been almost 8 months since my arrival in South America. Two-thirds of a year have gone by. When I left the United States, John McCain was all but being encouraged to drop out of the presidential race, Barack Obama wasn´t a household name, and gas still cost less than $3.00 a gallon in southeast Texas. No news organizations had put up hyperlinks to a New York call girl´s MySpace page yet, no senators had been accused of lewd acts in airport bathrooms, and an ounce of rice did not yet have the same approximate value of an ounce of pure gold. The Patriots hadn´t had a perfect season (yet still lost the Super Bowl), the Rockets hadn´t won twenty games in a row, and nobody thought that an Olympic torch relay could become political. There was no “Soulja Boy” on the radio, the screenwriter´s guild hadn´t gone on strike yet, and movies that came out about the time I left are now being released on DVD.

I feel, in some ways, a little bit like a cultural Rip Van Winkle. I remember when I came back to the U.S. after a half-year in Africa and Europe. People would whine about how overplayed certain songs were, only to get a puzzled look from me…half the time, I hadn´t even heard the song in question! I had no idea what was playing at the movie theatre, and I definitely couldn´t tell you what was on T.V.

However, I´m not in a vacuum. My eight months in Uruguay have been filled with other changes. When I arrived, the peso was 24 to the dollar; now, it´s 20 to one. Bus fare was 15.50 pesos; now, it´s 13.50. Argentina still had a male president, and the Partido Colorado hadn´t lost an election for decades in Paraguay. Patito Feo is at least not QUITE as omnipresent, and we all know who ended up with who at the end of “Son de Fierro.” When I arrived, Agarrate Catalina hadn´t swept the Carnaval competition, no shroud of smoke had prompted Uruguayans to dare Argentina to say the word “papermill” again, and it was potatoes and tomatoes, not rice, that were prohibitively expensive.

More personally, I couldn´t read a novel in Spanish (and DEFINITELY could not read Jorge Luis Borges, like I´m doing at the moment), or remember how to say “I´m excited” rather than “I´m exciting” en español. The members at Nuestro Salvador had never heard of enchiladas, tacos, or the Texas Longhorns, and the members included several people fewer than now. La Obra was physically about half as large as it is now, there were 35 rather than 54 kids enrolled in the afternoon program, Fabiana hadn´t had her baby yet, Natalia was out for a sprained wrist, and neither Roman nor Patricia had come, or gone, yet. I weighed 30 pounds more, had a moustache, and much shorter hair on September 5th, and I´d never worked with kids for longer than a few hours every now and again.

I think of the people, too. José, one of the students who comes to La Obra for homework help, has a new, deeper voice compared to when we first got here. His older brother, Gustavo, and another participant from the first half of the year, Ximena, passed all the required exams to move on to the more specialized upper levels of secondary school. Santiago, one of the kids in Escuelita 1, is now no longer missing both of his two front teeth…suffice it to say his Dracula impression has now been ruined, as his canines don´t stand out nearly as much these days. Alejandra, the five year old daughter of two of Carlos and Carla at Nuestro Salvador, has started learning English at school and can count to 10...not always in the right order, but she knows all the words. The grupo de jóvenes at the Valdense church has changed some, as well – a few people have graduated and moved away from the city, and there are some new faces in the group, too. Dorothea is back in Germany, working hard at the university; I have to confess that I miss my talking-about-the-kids-and-making-fun-of-the-news partner.
And then there are the things that are coming full circle. The weather reminds me of October here – sunny and 22 C one day, cloudy and 15 C the next…or occasionally all in the same day. The days are getting short again. Activities that took summer breaks, like the choir at the Valdense church, are back in full swing like nothing ever happened. People come into Centro de Estudios half-panicked about tests, just like in November. Life goes on; the more things change, the more things stay the same.

Lutheran World Travels - Anthony in the UK

2008-04-15T10:30:00.000-07:00

07-08 UK - Anthony
Originally uploaded by YAGM

Anthony Presents

Lutheran World Travels

First Quarter Report

Greetings,

So it has been awhile and I have fallen behind with my monthly installments of what I have been up to. I figure why not just give you the first quarter report for 2008.

A lot has happenedover the course of the past few months.

In February my parents came to visit and spent a week with me. They got to see where it isthat I spend my days living and working. We also spent time running around Oxford and London. My mother was convinced that after I had successfully led her around London without getting to lost that I would be alright to make it on my own. My favourite part of their visit was sitting in the little pub not to far from our hotel in London andsharing a laugh and spending time with one another. The thing that I learnedfrom their visit is that we can often take certain relationships for grantedand it is only when we aren’t able to be with those people that we realise howmuch they really mean to us and how much we love them.

In March, myattentions had turned to running. I had the opportunity to take part in theReading Half-Marathon. It was a fantastic day and there were nearly seventeenthousand people that gathered at the Madejski Football Stadium to take part in the race.I was running the race as a sponsored run to raise money for Door of Hope, theplace where I work. In the end, I finished the race in 1 hour 45 minutes andraised £300 for the house.

As Easter rolled around I decided since I had a four-day holiday, I wanted totravel to see a little bit more of the country. I made my way up to visit a fellow volunteer in Saltburn, England. I had a fantastic time in the littlenorthern seaside town. I had proper fish & chips, great walks and conversationwith my friend, and it snowed for the first time that winter/spring.

We are now into April and I am beginning to think about my next big adventure here. A co-worker and I are getting ready for our cycle ride from the frontdoor of Hope House to Paris, France. We are undertaking this journey to raisemoney for Door of Hope and I couldn’t think of any better way of taking in thesights and smells of the French countryside. We will leave Hope House in Reading on May the 13th andride 65 miles to Portsmouth on the south coast of England. There we will board the overnight ferry toLe Harve, France. Upon our arrival there they will begin our 130-mile tripthrough the French countryside before we arrive in Paris, where we spend 2 daysresting and sightseeing and then begin our trip back towards England.

We have a set up a website that explains more about our trip and why we are going, http://www.justgiving.com/hopehouse2paris.I am truly looking forward to opportunity and sure that by the end of our tripI will have taken way to many pictures. I am also looking forward to sharing mystory from this experience as well.

Lots of Love from your Lutheran traveller,

Anthony

Soli Deo Gloria

Newsletter - James in Argentina

2008-04-14T20:58:00.000-07:00

“The poor are poor because they do not want to work and are lazy, what you are doing here is good and all, but it is sort of well, useless”. I hear this phrase said with all the certainty in the world, a fact in the mind of a upper middle class woman I speak with here. I remain quiet the rest of my time with her trying to think of a response to a phrase that speaks against everything I hold true. I dissect the phrase and find story upon story to try to change this woman’s incredibly distorted view.
I think of a mother breaking down in tears telling me how ugly a life it is without an education. Her parents never cared enough or were too busy to encourage her to study, so she never did. She tells me the only jobs she can get, are cleaning the floors and toilets of the rich. She has dedicated her life now to stop that cycle from consuming her children’s life. She is studying now along side her children in order to be able to help and push them to study. She does this on top of working two jobs a day, volunteering in the comedor passing out milk and bread, and having a six, nine, ten, and twelve year old to bring to and from school, do laundry for, cook and being a wife. How could this be called lazy?
I think of my supervisor Ofelia spending all day working with a boy to write the story of his life. After learning to use a computer and typing the story up, he brought it to his parents who didn’t give him the light of day, not a word of encouragement. What is that boy’s motivation to continue with school if no one ever tells him that what he is doing is good?
A pair of brothers has just started school again because of the positive influence that Ofelia has on their lives. They could only start participating in the workshops if they started up with school again. After a month of reminding them everyday to enroll, and telling them they were too smart to waste there time without going to school, they themselves started up again. The incredibly influential power a positive force has in someone’s life. Where I work is a positive force in the barrio. It is a place where children feel loved and special, where they are encouraged to dream the big dreams and where they are challenged to treat others with respect. It is a place where we focus on matching our words with our conduct. Our lips speak the world love while we show it with our actions.
It is a frustrating reality because small change in individual lives is not noticeable by a passerby, or someone who lives a kilometer away from the barrio. Instead of seeing a woman who works every minute of her life struggling to be able to provide her children with a better future than the one she inherited, they will see a tipped over dumpster in the middle of the street with men along side dogs picking through the waste. Instead of seeing a child that just dedicated his day to help clean and fix the inside of a church they will be bothered by that same child asking them for change on the street at night. It is a frustrating but necessary struggle to work toward change that affects people one by one. It is the gospel. The son of the creator of the universe wandered around and listened to people’s problems and ate in people’s homes to talk about them. While Jesus was the savior of all of creation he still healed people one by one.
The poor are not poor because they are lazy. There is poverty because we have forgotten that every man, woman, and child on this earth, we are to love as our family. We can not talk about poverty as if it is a separate entity from the world of the rich and privileged. There is exists incredible wealth in the world because there exists systems of oppression and injustice that provide wealth for a select few while dealing out pain, hunger and disease to the majority of the globe. The gospel defies this reality. It teaches us to love and to care, and struggle one with one for a tomorrow that is better and more just than today.
-james

March Newsletter - Sarah in Mexico

2008-04-13T15:00:00.000-07:00

Sarah's March Newsletter

¡Provecho!
(Spanish equivalent to “Bon Appetit!” “Var så god” or “Forks Up!”)

I’ve heard it said that some people eat to live, while others live to eat. Well don’t waste too much time trying to figure out which category I fit into! Nearly all my favorite things in this world involve food—camping, socializing, traveling, cooking, holidays, etc.—and that remains just as true here in Mexico. So, this month’s newsletter hits on a lighter part of life south of the border, and is dedicated to the culinary beauty of Mexico and some of my most cherished moments in the kitchen.

Simple Ingredients, Countless Entrees, Exquisite Flavor!
Get a bunch of tomatoes, some onion, a couple cloves of garlic, a handful of chile peppers, loads of cheese, a good bit of salt, corn tortillas, rice, and beans and you’ve got yourself the principle ingredients for Mexican cuisine. Despite the fact that the ingredients don’t vary much from meal to meal, I’ve found Mexican food to be surprisingly diverse and wonderfully flavorful. A resourceful and creative people, Mexicans have found myriad ways to embellish their staples and spice up the palate. They make salsas of every color, texture, and spiciness. Sometimes the peppers and tomatoes are boiled and then blended, other times they’re grilled and then mashed by hand in a stone bowl. Rice may be served white, green, or red. Chicken may come to you in many forms—leg, breast, wing, foot, even stomach. Tortillas may be round, oval, oblong, diamond; they can be made of blue, white, yellow, or red corn; sometimes they’re grilled over an open-fire and other times fried in a pan of sizzling oil. Chile peppers appear in every color, shape, and size; some are sold fresh, others have been hung and dried; their spiciness ranges from subtle and mild to off-the-charts hot. Imaginative and delicious, Mexican cooking has yet to bore me! Some of my favorite platters include enchiladas, quesadillas, tinga de pollo (spicy chicken often served in quesadillas), and pozole (a hearty soup of corn and chicken, garnished with lime, chopped onion, dried chile, oregano and avocado).

The blessed tortilla
For Mexicans, no meal is complete without tortillas…I mean several tortillas. In fact, I just read in the newspaper last week that Mexicans devour over 300 million tortillas daily!

One begins to understand how Mexicans consume so many tortillas by simply watching them eat. Instead of using forks and spoons, Mexicans find the tortilla to be equally, if not more, functional. They rip off half of the tortilla and use it as a sort of “mitt” to help them peel off some meat, cut through the beans, or scoop up the broth; then they curl up the edges of the tortilla to keep food from spilling, and quickly lift it directly into their mouths. This may sound like an exaggerated description of the short transport from plate to mouth, but it illuminates the amount of concentration it requires for me to follow suit. It’s an art, I’ve decided, as I rarely get through a meal without refried beans seeping out of my tortilla, or bright, red salsa dripping down my forearm!

My favorite tortillas are those that come straight from the cornfield near Cuentepec, as I’m able to witness the entire process—from plant to plate—every week. During the harvest season, the women and their husbands spend days and weeks in the unyielding heat, hauling bushels of corn from the country to their homes. They scatter the plants out on the roof to dry, and then separate the stalks, kernels, husks, and cobs. Not wanting to waste one part of their produce, they will use the husks to wrap tamales, the cobs and stalks as “kindling” for the fire, and the kernels for tortillas. Soaked overnight in water and a bit of limestone (this limestone powder has, for centuries, been a significant source of vitamins and minerals for the indigenous people), the kernels are then brought to the molino (a machine that crushes the kernels) and ground into masa (dough). It is a lengthy and arduous routine, but the women noticeably take pride in their labor and tradition. I value the opportunity to take part in this custom, as I see in it a great testament to the organic interconnectedness of humanity and earth. I see the fields from which the food comes, I am able to name all of the ingredients, I see the hands that pick and prepare the food, and I know the names of all those who serve and feast with me. It can be tempting to label indigenous lifestyle as behind-the times, inept, and inefficient, but they have something to teach us about love of land, appreciation of and dependence on natural resources, and deliberate, organic living.

Living Local
Though mega-stores and super-Walmarts are starting to spring up all over the city and wipe out local commerce, I’m grateful that many Mexicans are trying to hold on to the way of life they know and love. The idea of going to a giant supermarket to take care of everything on the errand list—fruit, dried goods, shoes, cosmetics, etc.—is so contrary to this culture and these people. Having grown up without refrigeration and pantries, most Mexicans are accustomed to daily (sometimes multi-daily) trips to local markets, little convenience shops, and corner fruit stands. They go to the people’s market to pick out the season’s freshest fruits and vegetables, swing by Maria’s papeleria down the street to find paper or make copies, count on Jorge’s carniceria to provide fresh cuts of beef and poultry, stop by Marce’s next door when they need household cleaning products, and wait for the nearby tortilleria to come out with kilos of steaming, 100% corn tortillas every afternoon at 2. It’s a treat to watch this hustle and bustle come to life—bopping around from shop to shop, or home to home, with carts dragging behind or hefty, canvas bags draped over shoulders, Mexicans stroll from one errand to the next, never passing up an opportunity to greet the neighbors and catch up on the day’s latest news. Though I notice the inefficiency (when the convenience store is out of the one thing I need, when the woman selling bread doesn’t have any change, or when a sign says “Open at 9,” but there’s still no sign of life at 10:15), I also notice freedom, neighborliness, and support of local community. They know each other and each other’s commerce not by sign or advertisement, but through relationship and communal living. Well aware of the influence of international corporations, it’s getting harder and harder for local businesses to make it. It is my hope that Mexicans are able to resist the power of these monopolizing markets and continue to fill their kitchens and homes with the produce and labor of friends and neighbors.

“Ahorita vengo.”
(I’ll be right back…)
It’s just delightful to me how this rhythm of local and communal living does not at all lend itself to planning ahead. Take, for example, a typical Saturday morning brunch at Marce’s. We’ve decided to make scrambled eggs and beans, so Marce will start up the oil in the pan, chop up the tomatoes, onions, and chiles, heat up the tortillas and pour the juice, and then suddenly realize she doesn’t have any eggs—a critical ingredient! “Oh mother of Mary,” she’ll say, “Ahorita vengo,” and off she’ll go with coin purse in armpit to the corner food stand. She’ll hustle back, we’ll finish preparing the meal, we’ll just get seated at her cozy, kitchen table, and up she goes. “We really should have some avocado with this meal, don’t you think?” It’s not really a question, as she’s out the door before we can assure her it’s wonderful as is. This happens at nearly every meal, and though it’s a little strange to rarely begin and finish a meal with everyone seated together at the table, it’s also simply adorable and amusing!

There’s spicy and then there’s spicy
Many of my Mexican hosts were wonderfully gracious in the first months of my being here. They tamed down on the chiles and made it more accommodating to my untrained, Scandinavian tongue. But now that I’m “more Mexican,” as they like to say, and have mastered consumption of spicy food without getting watery eyes and a dripping nose, it’s become kind of a joke to see if they can get me. Mexicans actually use the verb “enchilar,” which I guess I would translate “to be chilied” or “to chilefy.” After a spicy meal, they’ll often ask, “Te enchilaron?” (Did you get chilied or chilefied?) Gives new meaning to the expression, “You are what you eat.”

A sacred place
Aside from these common, often comical snapshots of the Mexican kitchen, I’ve grown to see the kitchen as a profoundly holy place. I’ve always seen mealtime as important and sacred, but while in Mexico, I’ve realized the way in which the kitchen and its simple tasks often generate space for intimate conversation. Let me tell you about my friend Lore…

Lore is a co-worker of mine at CIDHAL. She is in charge of the cleaning and landscape on our campus, and she works harder than anyone else in the office. Over the past months, Lore has shared pieces of her story with me, a story that begins with poverty, abandonment, homelessness, unemployment, and self-negation, and moves toward growth, health, family, pride, and self-respect. Left by her partner with two young daughters, a junior-high education, and no job, Lore began with a house made of cardboard, beds made of newspaper, and meals of rice and corn. Now, after twenty-five years of tireless work as mother and domestic worker, Lore and her two daughters live in a very small, 2-room, cement home in Nueva Morelos, a community about 45 minutes from Cuernavaca. She and her daughters share one bedroom, they wash all dishes and clothes by hand with water that comes from an underground cistern, they shower by heating up water on the stove and pouring it over their bodies, the bathroom is nothing more than a toilet seat and hole in the ground, and the kitchen is good-sized and amazingly-furnished with refrigerator, stove, table, and dishes. Life is simple there. Life is also rigorous there.

It was an honor to be invited to Lore’s for dinner a few weeks ago. When I walked into her home, I was immediately struck by both her compassion and anxiety. It was clear I arrived earlier than they were expecting, as Lore was scrambling around the house, washing buckets and rags, rinsing the corn for tortillas, and sweeping more vigorously than the winds of the prairie. No matter how many times and ways I offered to help, she insisted that I sit and relax. She got me a chair, set it right in the middle of the patio, and told me to stay put. Because she and her daughters were scurrying around the yard, in and out of the house, and up and down the street, they were never in one place long enough for us to really have a conversation. So I sat there. I felt very uncomfortable, but wanted to respect their wish to host and serve me as guest. Never before have I been so aware of the ‘elite’ status I carry in some social situations. Lore was clearly excited to have me there, but overly apologetic, expressing her regrets multiple times that the house was so small and dirty, that the meal was not ready, that she doesn’t have a more comfortable chair for me, etc. I was caught off guard by her unnecessary preoccupations, and wasn’t sure how to respond to such veneration. What could I say or do to tell her that none of that mattered to me? How could I show her how blessed I felt to be invited to her home? How could I say with sincerity and admiration how beautiful I think her home is? How could I start to deconstruct the walls and differences our world has placed between us?

After a couple hours of waiting in my chair, Lore was ready to begin the meal. I told her of my fascination with cooking, and she invited me into the kitchen to help. Perfect! We began chopping onions, washing apples, cleaning the various parts of the chicken (my favorite job!) and pressing tortillas. I think there’s something about these mundane tasks for the way they shed barriers, transcend language complications, permit silence, inspire humor, and invite vulnerability. We began to have wonderful conversation about our families, traditions, and stories. Lore opened up more about her past and entrusted to me stories of past relationships, challenges of single parenting, the realities of immigration, (all but one of Lore’s seven siblings are living in the U.S. as undocumented immigrants), and her aspirations for herself and her children. I remember there being a short period of silence—I was chopping carrots and Lore was frying the chicken—and then Lore turned to me and admitted, “Sarita, pensé que nunca ibas a venir a mi casa.” Translated, she said, “Sarita, I thought you were never going to come to my house.” Her doubt and honesty startled me, and I asked her to expound. She explained, “You are from America, the wealthiest country in the world. And even though you’re living in Mexico, you have been to many nice and big homes in Cuernavaca, and I live here in this tiny and ugly home.” I was spellbound, uncomfortable, moved, humbled. It pained me to know that my being American, white, and well educated made such assumptions completely normal and valid. Our differences in upbringing, wealth, education, and skin color do not carry equal respect and power; rather, history has given power and privilege to mine over hers. It was a vulnerable moment for both of us, as we confronted pride and shame in our own roots. But her openness gave me the opportunity to express so clearly my gratitude for her hospitality, my admiration for her altruism and determination, my belief that gifts of love and welcome transcend all monetary worth. Since living in a foreign country and being so aware of my yearning for familial togetherness, I’ve been moved to deeper thankfulness for authentic warmth and welcome. “This feels like family to me, Lore,” I told her, and she responded with my favorite Mexican phrase, “You are in your home, Sarita, and I’d love to call you daughter.” It was a holy moment. My whole being felt like it had been drenched in a shower of grace and love. I was able to tell her that I—this young woman that society places above her—needed her. There was a powerful spirit at work within and around us that afternoon, as we were taken beyond labels and inequalities to a place of fuller understanding and real connection. To think about where we began—with our differences so palpable and divisive—and where we ended—with our differences acknowledged, but our unity as sisters and companions surpassing any division—still moves me to tears. And it all brewed out of that little, “poor” kitchen…

Thanks again for reading this month! Just as I relish in the flavors and feasts of Mexico, so do I also look forward to sharing a meal with each of you when I return.

God’s peace,
Sarah Rohde

If you feel so called to “get chilied” yourself, give this recipe a whirl!!!

Tinga de Pollo-Spicy Chicken Quesadillas
(from the kitchen of Marcelina Fitz)

4 chicken breasts
4 tomatoes, diced
2 onions (1 whole, 1 sliced)
2 cloves of garlic
2 chipotle peppers (in can)
(*chipotle peppers are very spicy, so add according to personal preference/stamina*)
1 Tbs. oil
Chicken bullion cube

Cook the chicken breasts in boiling water with onion and a couple cloves of garlic. Let the chicken cool and then shred it. Save the broth.

In a frying pan with oil, cook the slices of onion until transparent, then add tomatoes and 2 chipotle peppers (also diced). Sautee until soft. Add a small cube of chicken bullion and a little of the leftover chicken broth. Lastly, add the shredded chicken and bring to a boil.

Fill tortillas with chicken mixture and lots of shredded cheese. Grill sides until chicken and cheese melt together.

¡Buen Provecho!

March Newsletter - Sarah W. in Kenya

2008-04-12T03:03:00.000-07:00

March 2008

The month of March has been a very busy one for me. I have spent everyday of the week except for Sundays working at the Animal Orphanage and Safari Walk. Because of spending so much time at work I have been able to take many pictures of my animals and friends and wanted to share some of them with all of you. Hope you enjoy!

This adorable animal is my newest baby at the Orphanage. She is a Lesser Kudu, a member of the antelope family, and around 3-4 months old. Although it’s hard to tell from this picture, she is incredibly small, about the size of small dog, with her head barely reaching the height of my knees! She arrived on a Sunday when I wasn’t working, so on Monday when I came the guys at work all said to me “Sarah, did you know you gave birth yesterday?” She doesn’t have an official name yet, but she responds to my voice and follows me around the nursery area whenever I’m there.
Here is a picture of me and Julius, my brother who I mentioned in my last newsletter. On this day he and several of the others guys were working on a pipeline connecting water between the Safari Walk and Animal Orphanage. For a period of over two weeks we could only get water from one tap at the Orphanage, which became extremely tiresome because obtaining water from that one tap often meant climbing over multiple fences to carry the water to the desired destination. The management decided that a trench and pipeline connecting the two places would be more efficient, so the guys spent an entire week digging. Ironically, water has come back to the Orphanage on its own, without the pipeline, therefore the project has been abandoned. That’s sometimes how things work around here.

This is one of my favorite coworkers Samuel with two of our lion cubs. Yes, those big animals are cubs! Sammy does a lot of work around the Orphanage from fixing fences to animal care. On Sundays or days when I can’t come into work he is the one who takes care of my babies for me, making sure they all get their milk on time and come into the nursery at night.

Here is a picture of me in my work overalls with Kofi, a chimpanzee who was staying at the KWS vet office for one month. Kofi was rescued from Rwanda and was on his way to a chimpanzee sanctuary in Kenya. We had him for a one month quarantine to ensure he was fully healthy before moving onto the sanctuary. Kofi had his own private caretakers from the sanctuary, but his keepers and I became friends and they allowed me to visit him often during his stay with us. Kofi understands more Swahili than me! He also offered his hand for a greeting handshake whenever I came to see him.

My last picture is of my beloved buffalo, Bob. Bob has been with us at the Orphanage since he arrived around 3 weeks of age in early December last year. He is most recently recovering from a very serious digestive problem that left him weak and near dying. He is a little fighter and has pulled through rather quickly, now returning to his annoying antics of following me so close that he hits the backs of my knees causing my legs to buckle beneath me. Bob is my most loyal child, running to greet me whenever I am in sight and making it his personal job to go anyplace I do, even if that means right next to the lion or hyena cages.

It is the memories and stories like these that I have shared with you that make my time here in Kenya so wonderful. I am reminded everyday of how blessed I am to be able to experience God so fully in the simplest activities of everyday life.

March Newsletter - Mark in Slovakia

2008-04-10T10:51:00.000-07:00

07-08 Slovakia - Mark
Originally uploaded by YAGM

Mark's Missionary Notes

Ahoj and Greetings from Slovakia.

Well here is my March Update. My March was spent mostly in preparation
for Easter or Velka Noc. I was great to experience some of the very
unique customs and celebrations. March was also filled with many guests
and fun.

And as usual I have been writing some other updates on my Blog for those
of you who are Internet savvy. The address is http://www.moltron.net/
I also have many more pictures available at
http://flickr.com/photos/themoltron

I have continued to teach English in school. I find it one of the most
challenging things I do here. I try to plan exciting and interesting
lessons but every week it is a gamble. Sometimes they seem interested
and other times not. As my Slovak is getting better it makes teaching
more difficult because they don't want to speak English. Despite this
frustration I keep trying, they are learning probably more than I think.
I have also been teaching drum lessons to several of the kids. This is
also a challenge because sometimes they kids show up and sometimes they
don't. I have to remind them to come often. When they do show up I enjoy it.

The weeks leading up to Velka Noc were a fun time in youth group. We
took the time to read the story of Jesus' journey to the cross. We then
made an illustrated time line. It was amazing how many things we forget.
We sometimes think we are familiar with story of Easter that we forget
to remind ourselves of the details. It took us 2 weeks to read, draw and
discuss the events. For me, it helped to get a better picture of the
passion of Christ and just how great Christ's love is for us. I can only
hope that the youth somehow got as much out of it as I did.

Good Friday or Velky Piatok was a big service. We had about 400 people
at the service. The church was packed. I sang with the choir and heard
the kids' choir sing. They had the brass ensemble perform and some
people play guitar. It was fantastic. Communion is served only at larger
events and significant times during the church year. It took about an
hour for everyone to receive it.

The Saturday of Velka Noc, or Biela Sabotu, we had more youth than
usual. Mostly from young people returning from school for the holiday.
We played a quiz game about the events of the Resurrection and
immediately after. With questions like, how many times did Jesus appear
to his followers after his death? How many people saw Jesus Alive? The
answers aren’t simple and it sparked some lively debate and thorough
searching of the bible for answers. From what I have found Jesus
appeared at least 5 times and he appeared to at least 20 people
according to combined facts from all the gospels. Don't take my word for
it. Find out for yourself.

The Monday after Easter was filled with a very unusual tradition. The
tradition involves young men getting girls wet and then hitting them
with green branches called a Korbača. The girls then give the guys
Chocolate and a Ribbon to be proudly displayed on the boy's Korbača.
Basically this only process is a huge flirting ritual. I had one of the
youth guys make me a Korbača.

Flo, one of the other volunteers from Germany, was leaving early Monday
morning. We waited until midnight and went to visit Zorka, who is the
vicar and lives next door in our building. We knocked on her door and
when she opened it, she was rather surprised. Nothing quite like being
splashed with water and being hit by Korbača and then reciting the rhyme
goes with it. "Šibi ryby mastné ryby, kus kolača od korbača" She then
gave us a ribbon with her name on it and chocolate.

After Zorka we travel to another house that at 3 young ladies living
there. When the first girl answered the door we surprised her with
water. She then told us to wait so she could get her sister. At the same
time the mother Shouted, "Already, it's so early, quick give me your
water buckets, I'll go fill them." It was quite a shock to see the
mother and the other girls helping us. After all the girls had gone
through the ritual we were invited in for coffee and snacks and each
girl gave us a ribbon for our Korbača. Well it was early in the morning
so no one else was up so, we went to bed. Later in the morning at a more
reasonable hour I went around the village with some of the other young
men participated in this ritual at several other houses. It was a fun
day and I met many nice girls.

They also traditionally have a small service. The Pastor arranges for
all the doors to be locked except for one. Then when all the ladies file
out of the Church he can hit them with his Korbača. Apparently they
considered it Good Luck, and wishes for Health and Beauty in the future
when they are hit by a Korbača. With the women being treated like it is
often said they boys should watch out the next day but usually nothing
happens.

March was also filled with a variety of Guests. Flo's family arrived to
spend Easter weekend in Vrbovce and then go to the High Tatry. It great
to meet new people and see the family of people I work so closely with.
His mother father and 2 younger sisters were quite a joy. Zorka and I
were invited to join in their family Easter egg hunt/walk after the
Service on Easter. When Flo and his family left for the High Tatry
another group of guests arrived the next day. Oli had spent his Easter
in Germany with family and arrived back with his Pastor and 2 friends.
They spoke decent English and Oli was able to translate well. I also
have been picking up a little German too so that helped. We had some
interesting conversations about life in Slovakia. They were here in
Vrbovce for about 3 days before they returned. After all these big
events I was feeling a little tired and wanted to return to a somewhat
normal routine.

Well, what I have I learned this month? I learned how Slovak's celebrate
Easter or Velka Noc. I learned and strange tradition of hit girls with
sticks the day after Velka Noc. I have also been learning about patience
and catching God's plan. Much like the Disciple's after Good Friday, I
sometimes think, "Where is God?" When I'm frustrated with working on
something I see no end to or I'm teaching English with kids who really
have not interest or when I have to chase to remind kids tom come to
youth group or drum lessons all the time and then they don't show up.
The disciples heard everything Jesus said but they just weren't sure
what was next. On Easter and many times after Jesus reminded them, "I'm
here! I'm Alive".

We too need to be reminded that Jesus died for our sins but he is a
Living God. When the 2 women went to take care of Jesus' body in the
tomb, they met an Angel who said, "Why are you looking for the living
among the dead?" We must ask this question to ourselves when we are
frustrated or lack vision. The fact that Jesus was resurrected as he
promised makes all his other promises more real. How can a dead God keep
his promises? He can't but Jesus is Alive.

I am reminding myself of God's Grace everyday that he is working, he is
living. I may not see results of my work now or even in a few months but
God is there, walking with me through all my joys and frustrations.

Lord,
Thank you that we worship you, a Living God
One who keeps his Promises
Help us to remember
You are Alive and walking with us
This is not another figure of speech, it is True
You showed yourself to the Disciples
And later gave of yourself to them your Holy Spirit.
We are your Disciples too!!

In your Holy Name, a name that has power of the living and the dead
Jesus Christ

God's Blessings and Peace be with you,
- Christ’s Servant in Slovakia

Mark

March Newsletter - Eric in the UK

2008-04-07T05:29:00.000-07:00

07-08 UK - Eric
Originally uploaded by YAGM

St. Pancras News
March

A Celebration of Father Nicholas’s Ministry in Paris
Father Nicholas has worked for 12 hard years to promote the church within the new billion pound St. Pancras International Station and high-speed rail service. With his and other people's hard work, there now is a dedicated chaplaincy within the rail station and a name of St. Pancras that is retained- both of which Eurostar officials were originally opposed to. Our parish has now "twined" with a church on the other side of the channel called St. Vincent de Paul in Paris. With all of this work now seeming to pay off, it was only fitting that on the last official day where Father Nicholas was Team Rector of the Parish of St. Pancras that the staff and church council ride the Eurostar line to meet our new friends in France.
Without much sleep at all, we arrived at St. Pancras International at 6am to check in for our train that departed right on time at 6.55am. The ride of the train was incredible as it felt like we were literally floating. However with a top speed of 184 mph, a person sitting in a seat facing backwards (like the seat I was sitting in) can still be prone to motion sickness. When we got to Paris 2 hours later, I still tried to hold my head up high... but I sure didn't feel very well.
Our friends from St. Vincent de Paul were at the Gard du Nord Station with smiling faces and open arms. They immediately took us to their grand church which is only about 5 blocks away from the train station. After drinking wonderful French coffee and eating some tasty pastries, we went on a tour of the church. St. Vincent de Paul has had a similar history to that of St. Michael's Church (one of our four churches). It is a wonderful, grand, old building that is becoming tired and worn out. We were told the very familiar story of how the parish is struggling to raise enough money in order to keep the building together. Currently it is the roof that is the problem being over 100 years old. There are large buckets stacked along the walls ready to catch dripping water during a rain storm. "We hope we can replace the roof before the wood floor is completely gone", said Father Bruno as he was taking us around the chapel. In the fact that we would not be able to go on top of the Eiffel Tower because of the tremendous crowds on a Saturday, Father Bruno and the parishioners took us on a private tour up of the roof of the church. "We think this is an even better view!", said one of the parishioners. "The best part about it too is that it is free!" And what a magnificent view it was indeed! All of Paris seemed to be stretched out in front of us. It was a sight I will not forget for a long time!
After a wonderful reception at St. Vincent de Paul, the 18 of us from St. Pancras boarded a city bus and headed to the Eiffel Tower. I know from past conversations that you shouldn't expect to be "wowed" by the height of the Eiffel. What is incredible to see, however, is the size of the base. It's HUGE! What an incredible achievement the structure of the Eiffel Tower is! For lunch, we boarded a boat and cruised down the Seine River admiring the French architecture as we went. At the end of our boat ride, we came right into the presence of Notre Dame Cathedral. Now I have seen a lot of churches in my day, but I think I can honestly say that Notre Dame is one of the most beautiful churches I have ever been in. There is something about the gothic design that absolutely captivated me. It was lovely! At the end of our time, we all decided to sit down in a wonderful French cafe by the Cathedral and indulge ourselves in some French cuisine. Indeed, I was not disappointed as my Crepe' was wonderfully tasty!
My time in Paris, though short, was very meaningful. Though the views, buildings, and food were all beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful thing was to be with this parish family as it came to the end of a chapter in it's life. Fr. Nicholas could not stop smiling the entire day and was grateful to all of us for helping make this trip a reality. Everyone knows that after all the celebrations and parties are over, things will be different. This family will never be the same again. Though in many ways, that is what this trip in my mind tried to emphasize. A church family is always changing as it is continually saying heartfelt goodbyes to the "old faces" and warm welcomes to the "new faces". What links this group together is a belief that there is something more to the equation than just pure chance. We all have our lives to go live and sometimes that means physically leaving people who you really love. However, ties are not just physical at all and remain within us just as the hope and faith in God remains in us. It is important to take time and celebrate the current family ties that you have, but also to take time in knowing that the love of one another will go forth with you always for the rest of our lives.

Royal Albert Hall and a New Sense of Life
This last week, Mrs. Trigg- the headmistress at St. Michael's Primary School, asked me to accompany the Year 5 class on a field trip to the Royal Albert Hall. St. Michael's was part of a huge group of schools invited to the hall to participate in the Camden Music Festival. Over 2,000 kids from around the Borough of Camden participated in this event. What an event it was indeed! Knowing that this would be an incredible experience, I didn't hesitate to say yes to this invitation.
At the end of the school day, the 20 kids from Year 5 and four adults boarded a coach and braved London traffic to get to the Royal Albert Hall. The ring leader of all of us was an energetic and goofy Year 5 teacher named Mr. Russel. While on the coach, Mr. Russel did not hesitate to join in with the kids as they were singing some of the songs for the evening concert. He joked around and seemed in his prime with the kids. His inspiring energy made the long trip through the heavy traffic go quickly.
Royal Albert Hall is one of the largest performance halls in the world as it houses around 4,500 people. Thus, the 2,000 kids who were participating in the evening concert barley filled up half of it. It was an incredible sight to see all of the various school uniforms color the already beautiful hall. St. Michael's school was instructed to take a place right up on stage. I've never been so thrilled! There we were, with the pipes of the GIGANTIC Royal Albert Hall pipe organ rising in our background, sitting on stage at one of the most famous concert halls in the world! Then all the kids started to sing....and what a sound it was! There were so many kids (three sections of the hall were filled) singing during the mass choir pieces that it took four conductors to keep everything together. I still can't believe how the three choir conductors and an orchestra conductor kept everything in line. They even managed to pull off a rather descent sounding Gloria by Vivaldi. The British do not shy away from challenge in the arts! Perhaps Americans could learn a thing or two about the English passion for challenging music.

The period in-between the rehearsal and the concert got challenging as the energy from the kids got higher and higher. So what do you do with 2,000 10-12 year olds who become restless? Good question... I dont' really know. The organizers didn't really know either so consequently we had piles of kids running around and playing tag in the fancy corridors. To my amazement, some of the kids actually got THE WAVE started before the concert began. Yes ladies and gentlemen.... I have seen the wave go around the entire Royal Albert Hall like it was a football stadium. A site to see!
Because of the kids starting to go bonkers, Mr. Russel decided to take the St. Michael's kids out and have them run around in a nearby park. As the kids were playing a British version of Red Rover, I got the chance to look up and see the moon rise right above the Royal Albert Hall. It was a very clear and brilliant night as one could see even the London eye peaking through the trees. It was one of those moments for me when time decided to stop for an instant and I reflected on how blessed I was to be in that very spot. I was incredibly thankful for that moment as it created a space where I could back up for one instant and actually see where I was at and what I was doing. We all get so focused and buried within all the activity that goes on in our lives that it sometimes becomes quite difficult to see the "big picture".
Spring has started to come in London and things are beginning to change. Not only can I see the new buds start to form on the trees and the flowers start to bloom, but a new look on people's faces. It is a fantastic time of new life and hope. I saw the first glimmer of this outside Royal Albert Hall this week. I pray that we all might have the chance to stop where we are and acquire a new sense of life this spring.

February/March Newsletter - Karin in Argentina

2008-04-05T20:04:00.000-07:00

07-08 Argentina - Karin
Originally uploaded by YAGM

"Every authentic encounter with God makes a person less insular, less complacent, and more restless, more inspired, more committed to the world and humankind."

Anthony Gitten

Every morning on my three-block walk to work, I pass Cordoba´s garden. It sits at the intersection of Avenida Kenney and La Roca, where people pass by with frequency and immediacy, myself included. In the past seven months, I have acquired many saludos and smiles, three potted-plants, a handful of Valentine´s day chocolates, and a poster. I encounter God in Cordoba.

My mornings begin at the guardaria, a daycare center for 35 children providing support for surrounding low-income neighborhoods. I see God in Ana, my co-worker, who gives everything that she has to the children and their families. She spends over-time hours on chocolate bunnies at Easter, ornaments at Christmas, and handmade cards for Mother's Day. I see God in her hospitality, organization, and efforts to integrate me into her community in Comodoro by welcoming me into her family, her church, and her daycare center. I encounter God in Ana.

I see God in the food and support of Elsa, the cook, who is always nearby to help when I feel overwhelmed and who makes, I am convinced, the best food served at any daycare center in the entire world. I see God in our early morning, five-minute chats, where she talks about her sore muscles from the gym the previous night and I talk about my sore pansa, or tummy, from my dinner the previous night (which, proportionately, could have fed 5). I see God in Elsa´s efforts to bring home to me on those tough days, by making my favorite apple pancake recipe and cooking up personal Elsa favorites. I encounter God in Elsa.

I see God in the children, like Tiziano, who has a kick and catch that is bound to make him one of the greatest futbol players of his time, in Sophia who is shy but strong, in Mariano, whose smile could make anyone melt, and in Tomas, who loves to read and learn, and who can sing "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" louder than all of the rest combined. God is made clear to me in their simplicity and affection. I encounter God in the children.

I see God in the untiring patience and gracious teaching of Monica. She cares, she listens, and she shares her life with me. Even when it takes me mistake after mistake and sentence after sentence to articulate thoughts in Spanish, Monica listens. She is, to me, a face of kindness, concern, compassion, and understanding.

I see God on Saturday nights at Estudio Biblico, where ten or so neighborhood children gather together to learn, play games, and work together. I see God in the hours we spend jumping rope, drawing and eating cookies. I also see God in the service that follows, with the familiar melodies and chords of Holden Evening Prayer or La Oracion de La Tarde.

I encounter God in my next-door neighbors: Gustavo, Solange, Leandro (10), and Lourdes (8). I see God in the chick-flick and pochoclo, or popcorn nights with Solange, in the home-made pizzas of Gustavo, in the card games and laughter of Leandro, and in the drawings of Lourdes´ that cover my refrigerator. I hear God as we sit around and share laughter and conversation together, either over mate, or The Simpson's, or current political events. There is always an extra chair that sits around the dinner table. I encounter God in my neighbors.

So there it is, a year made up of small kindnesses, and endless encounters with the living God.

Que Dios te bendiga,

Karin

Feb/March Update from Gatundu Kenya - Sarah L.

2008-04-05T07:24:00.000-07:00

February/March 2008 Newsletter: Update from Gatundu, Kenya

I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live a new life.
-From one of my favorite childhood camp songs from Luther Park Bible Camp in Danbury, WI

I seem to always begin my newsletters by apologizing. This one is no different. But I wish you would try to pry yourself away from political commentators, English marking schemes, My So-Called Life reruns and 10 shilling (20 cent!) chai tea long enough to write a newsletter. =)
As I write this, I am spending my days and nights marking end-of-term examinations for my Form 1 and 2 English students during the what-seems-to-be-endless rainy season. The term will end on April 9th when the students and I will have three weeks of r&r before second term begins in May. I have been entrusted to be the “head teacher” for an enter class of new Form 1s. I think after two months of teaching and preaching, the students have finally stopped smirking at my accent and funny hair color and have started to actually learn something from me. Who else is going to teach them the differences between collective nouns and phrasal quantifiers?
In the beginning of March, I had the great fortune of entertaining my parents in Kenya for two weeks. It was calming to finally show them the desk in which I plan my lessons and wonderful people I have been able to share my life with this year. I am sure that many of you have already seen the pictures and received the memo from the Kenya Tourism Agency (my mother) about the wonders of Kenya and its people.
I know that the season of Lent has come and gone, but since this newsletter is tardy, please bare with me. Recently, I’ve been reading this fabulous handbook that I had picked up at Luther Seminary by Daniel Erlander, Baptized, We Live: Lutheranism as a Way of Life. For anyone who survived off of Cliff’s Notes in high school, this handbook is for you! Among the simplified explanations for Lutheran liturgy and why Lutherans think the way they do, there is a thought-provoking section on Martin Luther’s Theology of the Cross.
Throughout the season of Lent, we are constantly reminded of the extreme sacrifice that Jesus made for us, his death on the cross. In his book, Erlander writes, “We [must] accept [the] reality that we humans would do almost anything to avoid, to ignore, to escape, to evade. That reality is this: We are called to die in order to live.” We are called to die in order to live. Luther’s Theology of the Cross, calls us to do just that.
I don’t know about you, but this is not an easy concept for me. How do I let go of myself, how do I die, so that I may give myself completely to God? A concept I struggled with all throughout seminary, Erlander makes very clear. Luther is calling us to drown our sins and self and be renewed in the Holy Spirit. He calls us to be renewed in our Baptism each and every day. My favorite part of Luther’s theology is that we meet God where he chooses to find us, in our sorrow, our pain, and our weakness.
While serving in Kenya, I’ve been reminded time and time again that I do not call the shots. Whatever happens, whatever I experience, whomever I meet, is not of my own doing. God’s plans are so much bigger (and wiser) than my own. Meet God wherever he chooses to find us… This year, I am constantly aware, and often reminded, of my fears and weaknesses. How refreshing to remember that it is only through these fears and weaknesses, only through my letting go of myself, that I may die in self and be renewed in the Holy Spirit. While living in Gatundu, I have learned to put my absolute trust in God.
As a community and as a country, we have endured numerous hardships and heartaches in the past seven months that I have lived here. But even amidst all of the heartache, I still hear (and am reminded) daily that, God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good. He is always watching over us. The faith of the Kenyan people continue to shine brightly each and everyday. It is only through giving ourselves completely to God that we may truly live. I am very fortunate to have been able to witness Luther’s Theology of the Cross lived out daily in my community.

Kiswahili lesson:
Nimechoka: I am tired Nimeshukuru: I am thankful
Nahisi njaa: I am hungry Nimeokoka: I am saved
Nimeshiba: I am full/satisfied

Prayer Requests:
1. For the outbreak of cholera in the camps for Internally Displaced People (IDPs) from the election violence.
2. For the continued effort on the sides of President Kibaki and Prime Minister Odinga to honor the coalition government agreement mediated by Kofi Annan and his team.
3. For peace, truth and justice in Zimbabwe, in regards to the presidential elections that some fear may be following in Kenya’s footsteps

Thank you all for your continued support.
Peace be with you,
Sarah

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it.” Matthew 16:24-25

March Newsletter - Katie in Mexico

2008-04-04T14:12:00.001-07:00

Visiting Hours are now over...
Cuernavaca, Mexico Newsletter
March 2008
By Katie

Well, here I am. It is the end of March and this month flew by with two different arrivals of visitors and Mexican Holy Week celebrations. In a couple of days it will be April and I am seeing the fast-approaching end of the year. But before I launch into some of my personal reflections and musings... an update.

At the beginning of March three of my best friends from high school (Katie, Jill and Molly) came to visit me in Mexico. It was a long weekend of fun, travel, girl talk, and reminiscing. We did a whirlwind tour of Cuernavaca and Tepoztlan while also enjoying quality time with some quality girlfriends.

At the end of March my parents and best friend from college, Angie, came to visit. In addition to the tour of Cuernavaca and Tepoz, we also went to Mexico City and the archeological site of Teotihuacan. Once again, it was great to have visitors that wanted to catch a glimpse of the Mexico I know. Although, I have to admit that it is a formidable challenge to explain the experience I’ve had over seven the past months to my visitors who can only come for seven days. It feels limiting, but it is undoubtedly better than nothing.

We ate at some great meals and I ate up every moment with them. We saw the sights and I saw our relationships through new eyes. I am blessed to have such incredible friendships in my life in which we love and support each other while giving each other the freedom to grow and change and seek new paths. It is an awe-inspiring and humbling moment when I realize that we celebrate our differences, embrace the ways we challenge each other, and still love each other with such loyalty and strength.

As always, having visitors is such a blessing and reminds me of the people waiting off stage that are supporting me, cheering me on, and looking forward to seeing me again when I return from this great adventure. However, it is also a balance of maintaining and recognizing my identity as a volunteer in Mexico while also eating out, staying in hotels, and visiting museums. Not only does it take me away from my “purpose” here but it also takes me away from the relationships that I have formed here in Mexico. I love visitors and always will, but I also love who I am and what I do here and I have a hard time shelving that for some vacation time.

By the time I read, reread, edit, reread, edit, reread and finally send this short newsletter, it will be April. April! My departure from Mexico is sneaking up on me and I know that it will come sooner than I can imagine. I am feeling the pulls of being ready to return home, but I also feel my time here flying by. Seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, I am reenergized and ready to pour myself into every moment of these last three months. I am ready to recommit to my work and students and coworkers that bring me such fulfillment. I am ready to plunge back into the friendships here that continue to give me so much life, joy and hope every day. As I enter into April, I take a deep breath, sigh and think to myself, “I am ready.”

March Newsletter - Kristen in Slovakia

2008-04-03T15:08:00.000-07:00

March Newsletter

Easter in Velky Slavkov

Christ is risen. He is risen indeed, Alleluia. Happy Easter to everyone! The highlight of March was Easter. We really did not do much here related to the season of Lent until the week before Easter. On Palm Sunday, Kvetna Nedela, we went through a series of readings from the Old Testament with the boys, which is used in the churches here. Then on Good Friday, Velky Piatok, we had a service here with the boys where we read through the passion of Christ in the Gospel of Matthew. Following this we watched the movie “The Passion of Christ” which was a really good visual representation for some of the boys who weren’t quite as familiar with the Bible and the crucifixion story. It really made an impression on some of them.

On Saturday, Jessie and I decided to bring some American traditions to Slovakia and dye Easter eggs with the boys. In Slovakia they decorate egg shells after they have the egg inside blown out through a small hole, so the boys were amazed that the eggs were still full when they were decorating them. We had a lot of fun playing around with the crayons and dye and ended up with about 50 decorated eggs. On Easter, since Jessie and I had weekend service(meaning we did the cooking, planning of activities, and general watching over of the boys), we went to the Lutheran church next door earlier on Sunday morning and enjoyed the service there. Afterwards, we finished cooking lunch, resin (schnitzel – pork which is breaded and fried), potato salad, and chocolate for desert, while the boys had an Easter service upstairs.

Surprisingly, Easter Monday here is also a big holiday. The tradition is that the boys drench the girls (we are talking about with buckets of water or dragged over to the bathtub, not just a little cup of water) and all week the boys were excitedly telling us about this. We were a little worried, especially since when we woke up and heard a girl outside screaming, but since we still had service we were busy making lunch and managed to remain dry. Along with this, it is also a tradition for the boys to spray the girls with cheap perfume which the stores carry especially for this occasion. We did manage to experience this when one of the boys sprayed us.

Also, to carry on sharing American traditions, we planned an egg hunt for the boys on Easter Monday morning using both the dyed eggs we made as well as some plastic eggs filled with candy. Unfortunately it snowed a lot the night before and that day, so we had to have it inside, but this is a big building so we made do just fine. The boys had a good time finding the eggs and eating them.

Everything else here is going pretty much the same as always. On our Monday night Bible studies we are still working our way through the book of Acts. Some of the topics of our recent Bible studies were anger management, spiritual gifts and how to apply them in our lives, prayer, and temptation and how to deal with it in our lives. Our Bible studies start and end with us singing praise songs and praying together. In the middle we read the passage from Acts and then have a discussion. Jessie and I have started asking and answering the questions in Slovak that we have prepared ahead of time, so that is an added challenge. It is a good chance for us to have discussions with the boys in a smaller group so that they are more willing to be open and share.

English lessons are also going well. This month we have learned about rooms in the house, clothing, parts of the body, and morning routines. We have done activities such as designing their own house and labeling the rooms, writing sentences about the clothing they are wearing, labeling parts of the body on pictures cut out of a magazine, crossword puzzles, word searches, dialogues, singing “head, shoulders, knees, and toes,” playing Simon Says (Kristy or Jessie Says), worksheets with matching and fill in the blank, and much more. We have a few students who are working very hard to learn English and are enthusiastic for the lessons as well as the others who wander in and out randomly when things look interesting. It is fun to have lots of hands-on activities for them.

Well that is a small taste of life here in the month of March. As always, I enjoy hearing from all of you. I hope that everything is going well for you and your families.

God’s blessings,
Kristen

March Newsletter! - Jessica in Slovakia

2008-04-03T14:19:00.000-07:00

07-08 Slovakia - Kristen and Jessica
Originally uploaded by YAGM

Jessica’s March Newsletter

Updates from Slovakia

This month Tyler came to visit me and we had a great time traveling and spending time at the center here. I had a nice break from work and we were able to travel to Vienna, Banska Bystrica, Krakow, and Bratislava. After traveling he was able to see my day to day life here in Veľký Slavkov. Everyone enjoyed meeting him and appreciated his musical contributions to our Sunday morning worship. It was a lot of fun to have someone from home here, and I was able to explain some of the cultural customs to him and teach him some basic Slovak.
Veľká noc (Easter) in Slovakia
Easter was a different experience for me while in Slovakia and I celebrated the holiday much differently than in America. The Lutheran churches in Slovakia do not have an Ash Wednesday church service so the beginning of Lent felt different without that. Kvetná Nedeľa (Palm Sunday) was celebrated here at the center with a service of Bible readings, prayers, and singing. Tyler was here for this service and played piano for the songs, which sounded really nice. Holy week was different, because there was not a Maundy Thursday service. However, there was a service for Veľký piatok (Good Friday) here with the guys. It was very informal, as the services are at the center, but it was nice to be able to get together and read the passages in the Bible about Jesus’ crucifixion. From Friday until Monday Kristen and I had service, which means that we prepared the meals for everyone here. It kept us busy for the weekend, but we also enjoyed doing some activities with the guys. Saturday afternoon we made a lot of hard boiled eggs and showed them how we dye eggs in America. We used these and some plastic eggs filled with candy for an Easter egg hunt on Monday morning. It was fun to share this American tradition with them and they enjoyed the candy! Easter Sunday I attended the church service at the Lutheran church in the village. It was a nice service, but a little unusual to be bundled up in my winter coat, scarf, and gloves during church on Easter! Then Kristen and I prepared the Easter meal, which consisted of Zemiakové šalat (a special potato salad) and rezeň (breaded pork that is fried).
The guys were excited for Easter Monday because of one of their Slovak traditions. During the morning boys and men dump water or perfume on girls and women. After the girls get wet they are supposed to give candy to the guys. Guys generally go from house to house getting girls wet, and enjoying it very much. I had heard a lot about this day before and when I woke up in the morning I was watching my every move. I actually heard a girl yelling “Pomoc!” (Help!) when I woke up and I thought I was really in for it being in a house full of guys. Surprisingly, Kristen and I were both safe, because we were working in the kitchen cooking their lunch. We got some threats in the morning and one guy filled a huge pot of water “to make coffee” (and he never drinks coffee) but when we asked him if he wanted lunch on time or not he had mercy on us. We ended the day dry, and with only having a couple sprays of some nasty smelling cologne.
Easter here was different than at home, and it almost did not really feel like Easter to me. I thought a lot about what was different and similar between Easters at home and Easter here. At home there is so much other stuff that goes along with Easter. Usually I get dressed up to go with my family to church on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, and the services are more formal and traditional. On Easter Sunday at home it is also a big deal to get dressed up nicely for church, and spend the day with my family. As I thought about what I missed about Easter here I realized that the most important part about Easter was the same. It was a time of remembrance and celebration of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Even though it would have been nice to be with my family during this holiday, I was able to be with the guys here who do not have families to be with.
Leadership
What does it mean to be a leader within the church? How is my leadership in the church shaped by the cross-cultural context I am in? Franklin shared an interesting quote with the volunteers this month regarding these questions. Eric Law writes, “In a multicultural community, doing the work of justice requires us to understand the different perceptions of power from different cultural points of view. Doing justice in a multicultural environment requires us to understand the consequences of these cultural differences in power perceptions. Doing justice commands us to reveal this unconscious and disproportionate distribution of power. Doing justice compels us to develop new leadership skills that can confront injustice”.
I think a lot of times the term leadership implies that someone with more power or more experience is directing or in charge of a group of people. However, I have been discovering the problems with this form of leadership, especially in a cross-cultural context. In a group where one person is dictating or directing I think it is very difficult for members to grow and learn from one another. Not only this, but in a cross-cultural context it can give the impression that one culture stands above another. The guys here have been receiving the message from society that they are not as smart or that they are less of people because they are Gypsies. I need to be a leader here in a way that will confront this injustice and not perpetuate it. When Kristen and I lead Bible studies and English classes we try to engage the guys as much as possible and create a dynamic where they are just as much involved as we are. If we were to simply try to lecture them on the Bible or how we think they should live their lives there would be this disproportionate distribution of power that Eric Law talks about. Not only would we be perpetuating the injustice they already experience, but it would be boring for them and for us. Especially in Bible studies I think it is really important for the leader to make sure there is dialogue in the group, because we can help each other learn. Maybe it is better to think of a leader as someone who can guide the group and help engage everyone in this dialogue where we can learn from one another.
Thank you for your prayers and support!
-Jessica

March Newsletter - Ashley in Slovakia

2008-04-01T12:29:00.000-07:00

07-08 Slovakia - Ashley with hosts at dinner table
Originally uploaded by YAGM

A highlight for me this month was also the history book party event. A man who lives in Hybe just recently finished writing his second book, a history book about the village. In celebration of the book release, the town had a ceremony to celebrate. The celebration took place in a fairly small room (or at least too small for an event like this) in the city building of Hybe. I went to the celebration with my host family, and by the time we got there the whole room was filled with people, as well as the hallway leading into the room. The only place we could manage to squeeze into was the back corner on the right side, right next and literally IN two trees. It was quite funny. My host sister Katka and I giggled quite a bit as we swatted branches out of our faces, and tried to arrange them under and between our arms. Anyways, the ceremony was nice. My friend Vierka, who works as an assistant to the mayor of Hybe, opened the ceremony with a welcome message and poem (although I couldn’t understand much of it). Both an accordian player and violin player played a piece of traditional Slovak music, and Stanislav Ziska spoke a bit about the book and his process of writing it. At the end of the ceremony, we all stood in line to shake his hand and receive a free copy of the book! It was awesome! It’s a nice hard cover book with a lot of pictures (which is great, since I’m not able to read most of it). After the ceremony, everyone gathered in another small room (even smaller than the first) to have a reception, complete with cakes, fruit, alcohol and many other drinks and snacks. This is pretty typical of Slovak celebrations: everyone gathering in a small room around a giant table full of food and drinks, always standing instead of sitting because there isn’t enough room, and socializing and toasting to events. Anyways, the book is a really nice keepsake, and even more special because my host sister Janka had him sign it personally to me. Stanislav Ziska is also my host sister’s history teacher, so that’s pretty fun. She says he is a really great teacher and he is a big reason that she enjoys history so much.

Something new that happened this month was the start of my community English classes. The pastor and a woman from the church thought of the idea to open up a basic English class for whoever was interested in the community, so we held a meeting to see who was interested. It turns out that quite a few people were interested, so the one community class for beginners turned into three community classes (beginner, intermediate, and second intermediate). They have been an interesting challenge, because even though the classes are split up into different levels, there is still a broad mix of ability within the classes.There are mostly adults in my beginner class, and a mix of teenagers and young adults in my two upper level classes. It has been going pretty well and it’s been another great opportunity to meet more people in the community.

Here are some other random highlights for this month: I got my first Slovak Bible! It’s a children’s Bible, so hopefully I will be able to read and understand all of it by the time I leave in August. That is one of my goals. My host sisters and I bought matching kiddy toothbrushes! We were pretty exciting. I love how my family enjoys buying matching things. It’s hilarious, and it really makes me feel like part of the family. I have a green rabbit toothbrush, Janka has a blue puppy toothbrush, and Katka has a purple elephant toothbrush. Good times! I was interviewed for two papers, and for the church magazine (that’s usually published 4-5 times per year). The magazine for our church is called, “Zvon,“ which literally means “bell“ in Slovak. The newest printed edition came out on Easter Sunday, including my interview and picture! Wow, I felt sort of famous! The interview is also published on the church’s website, in both Slovak and English. You can find the interview on the church website (link provided on my blog), as well as on my blog itself, under the posting title “My Interview.“ And, this month I took my first trip “out back“ to see the Turcanova’s animals! I asked my host sisters, sometime in early February, if we could go visit their animals (they live in a little barn that is connected to their garage, right behind the house). They thought I was a little strange, but said yes. And so we finally went in March! They have two rabbits (which they eventually butcher and eat), a cow (which they maybe butcher and eat?? I’m not sure), twelve chickens (or so...they say they don’t actually know), three sheep, and two pigs. One big pig (who they will butcher in a few weeks, to restock their freezer’s meat supply for the upcoming months), and a little pig (who will be butchered next year sometime). I thought it was nice to go back there, just to see how many animals the Turcanovas had, and just because I think it’s fun that the barn is attached to the house (and they live right in town by one of the grocery shops). But from my excitement and interest, they made the assumption that I’ve never seen or been around farm animals before. I tried to explain to them the area in which I live, but I think they still think I’m a bit crazy. But we got to go visit the barn anyway, so I was a happy camper! I also have become a regular at a community aerobics class, held at the school gym on Monday nights. This has been a really nice way to get involved in activity without the language barrier being a roadblock, and it’s been a nice way to work off the steady Slovak diet of meat, potatoes, and chocolate cake.

One more really fun event for the month was the youth choir recording a cd! The younger kids and teenagers are all grouped together to make the youth choir, and they have been practicing these 18 songs for months and months. They finally recorded a cd a few weeks ago, recording all 18 of the songs, complete with flute and recorder additions and solos from the Pastor and some of the kids. And, from me! When I arrived in Hybe back in January, the kids in the youth choir learned a song in English to sing for me in church. Well, we sang this same song for the cd recording, but instead of letting the tape recording sing the main part for them, I sang it and the kids filled in the rest of the song and joined in at the chorus. It was pretty fun, and I hope it sounded ok. We are all anxious to see how the songs turn out! Will keep you posted, and hopefully you’ll get a chance to listen to us sing in the future.

Thanks for reading, and thanks for all of your support! This month I’ve been updating my blog more often, and fixing it up, so please check it out when you have a chance! Ok, hope you all had a fantastic March, and a blessed Easter!

God Bless,
Ashley

March Newsletter - Kim in Argentina

2008-03-31T17:18:00.000-07:00

07-08 Argentina - Kim on MST visit to Brazil
Originally uploaded by YAGM

When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, ‘Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, “Why are you untying it?” just say this: “The Lord needs it.” ’ So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, ‘Why are you untying the colt?’ They said, ‘The Lord needs it.’ Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying,
‘Blessed is the king
who comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven,
and glory in the highest heaven!’
Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, ‘Teacher, order your disciples to stop.’ He answered, ‘I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.’
As he came near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, ‘If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. Indeed, the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up ramparts around you and surround you, and hem you in on every side. They will crush you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave within you one stone upon another; because you did not recognize the time of your visitation from God.’
Then he entered the temple and began to drive out those who were selling things there; and he said, ‘It is written,
“My house shall be a house of prayer”;
but you have made it a den of robbers.’
Every day he was teaching in the temple. The chief priests, the scribes, and the leaders of the people kept looking for a way to kill him; but they did not find anything they could do, for all the people were spellbound by what they heard.
Luke 19:29-48

Out of all of the activities that I had over Holy Week here in Misiones, Argentina, what stands out most to me is the Bible Study I was a part of in Olas Petri, the Lutheran church in Oberá (where I worship when I don’t have activities in San Martin or Caa-Yari) the Tuesday before Palm Sunday. We read the text of Luke 19:29-48, the text always read during Palm Sunday. Except we read further than I have ever heard the text read in the Presbyterian churches in the U.S.A.
Why did I not remember that after Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem, Jesus cleanses the temple? All of the people were in the streets, shouting Hosanna, asking Jesus to save them. Yet, where were they just a while later when Jesus cleansed the temple? Were the people really ready to do what needed to be done to be saved and to save others? We, the people of God, look to our Messiah to save us, but are we ready to do the actions needed in order for us to have world peace and God’s kingdom on earth? Are we ready to make the necessary changes? Or, would we prefer to point the finger at the one who tells us what actions need to be changed and say, “Crucify him!”? Are we ready to make personal choices that can create peace and justice?
As world citizens and Christians, with all kinds of power, including consumer power, are we ready to make choices that affect the world? Are we ready to make choices and actions that create the world we want to live in?

March Newsletter - Laura in India

2008-03-28T12:04:00.000-07:00

07-08 India - Laura getting fire wood
Originally uploaded by YAGM

"Doris the Dell"

I had debated on bringing Doris to India. She's been a loyal friend;
logging in many late nights in college with papers and exams, staying
awake with me while I plugged away at emails, and with only a stubborn
'm' key, she's never given me trouble. For being a five-year old,
simple laptop, I can only give Doris, my Dell computer, praise. She's
a trooper, but, could she make the journey to India? Even more,
should she? I spent many pre-India hours debating the issue. I was
coming to India to live simply; I have voiced with my friends our need
to live in solidarity with the poor. Would bringing Doris only
contradict this mission? Would my voice of solidarity be frosted with
hypocracy if Doris was strapped under my arm?

After advice from friends and previous volunteers, they all encouraged
Doris' trek. She would be helpful, they insisted, in pre-writing
emails and newsletters and she'd provide music of home to ward off
homesickness. So, finally, I folded. The selling point was a
friend's observation: keep Doris in my room, not advertise that I had
a computer, and remember she was there for convenience, not necessity.
Ah, Doris' journey was justified.

The first months were successful in keeping Doris' presence unknown.
At night, we'd jam out to tunes, upload pictures and enjoy one
another's company. During the day, she'd sit idly in my room, waiting
for my return. I kept her sleeping as much as possible, to remember
the simplicity I had promised myself, and felt quite pleased with her
private existence.

That was until a friend was preparing a presentation, but the DVD she
needed refused to play on any of the machines. She was stressed, and
running out of options. I immediately thought of Doris. But, I
hesitated. If I expose her, then what? Will my ideals of simplicity
be simply blown away? Would the guilt I was trying to justify finally
surface? Would I become that fancy-dancy American, feeling good with
her charity work while basking in the glories of expensive luxuries?
But, my friend was stressed, and I knew I could help. I took a deep
breath, and mentioned Doris.

"Really??!?!!"

She was overjoyed. I brought the laptop to her office and we tried
the DVD. Pure success. (Like I had any doubts...come on, it's Doris)
That Saturday, I brought the laptop to the community hall and showed
a room full of underprivileged children a movie. Throughout the film
I felt encouraged by Doris' new role. Perhaps she could be a
technological tool: I could use her to assist in events and lectures,
ones that needed the convenience and flexibility a laptop can bring.
What I didn't realize was while I was justifying Doris' use, word was
spreading quickly of her presence.

Not too many days later, a few wardens approached me in hopes to
borrow the computer to transfer music onto their cellphones. I felt
trapped. They knew Doris existed. They knew of her capabilities.
They knew I had no excuse.

"Suuuuuuuuurrrrrrrre," I drawled out. "That'd be ffffffiiiiinnnnne, I
guesssssss," hoping that my hesitation would drop a hint.

Nope. No hint caught. So, I let Doris go for the evening. Her first
sleepover. It would be lie to say I was not lonely that night.

But, she came back in good spirits the next morning, and I was feeling
better and better about her open and known existence. The wardens
were comfortable and respectful in asking to borrow her and my friend
requested Doris' presence at other community functions. I've even
watched the confidence in the girls rise, the more I give them Doris.
They know how to start movies, open various documents and music, and
we've even begun typing lessons. I've learned a lot about sharing
this year, so Doris' active involvement in our community, I thought,
was becoming a symbol of this new learning.

Then it hit.

I didn't expect it. I didn't even see it coming. It just hit.

My true nature.

It snuck up on me, and hit me. Hard.

Doris was being passed from one person to the next. I don't think she
came home for almost a week straight. She was with the wardens, then
with the girls. Back and forth, back and forth she went. Getting
tired of this shenanagens and wanting her home for some R&R, I had
left her with the girls one afternoon, and told them I'd pick her up
by night. So, as I walked up the stairs, I was not surprised to see
the back of 11 heads huddled around a desk. They were watching
another movie. Doris was doing what she does best, and the girls took
full advantage of it. I stopped midway up, though, and snapped:

What is this?, I thought. Another movie? Are you kidding me? Here I
openly give them Doris to use, and they just milk it for all its
worth. I can't believe this! She's mine. I have not had Doris for
days, and here they are using her again. I know sharing is a
beautiful thing of God, but come on. Really. She's mine. I paid for
her. I counted bugs and delivered newspapers for a summer so I could
buy her. I've done the hard work. She's mine. Not yours....

And as quickly as my tantrum came, I realized who was talking. My
greed. My selfishness. My jealousy. My life of power and privilege,
my real understanding of sharing, was coming to the surface. When I
have something to give, I'll give it, until I want to stop. I'll
share, but I'll keep the power of that sharing. I'll stay in power
and keep the freedom to exercise that power when and how I want. And
you. You will learn to be grateful for my generosity.

I was drenched in "I"s and "me"s.

And I was ashamed.

I paused long enough to see the beauty and richness of the scene in
front of me. 11 girls, who, with Doris, have the freedom to watch a
movie when they want. 11 girls who are learning to be self-sufficient
with a computer. 11 girls who live in a world of technology, yet do
not have daily access to exercise their technological knowledge. But,
at least with Doris, they were getting a taste. And best of all, they
were treating Doris as if she was their own. As it should be. What
is mine is yours. Openly and Freely.

So, it dawned on me, what if I had not brought Doris? What if Doris
stayed at home? I remembered what almost kept Doris in America was my
search of solidarity; my need for simplicity. But the actualization
of what I considered 'simple' was a denying of what I actually had:
great access and great freedom to share. Not out of boast or charity,
but from simple understanding and responsibility to get to my
neighbors what is theirs.

There is truth, honor and a desperate need to walk the footsteps of
our fellow man. To try and understand the life lived by others. But
living in solidarity does not mean negating the fact that you've been
given privilege; it's not about denying your circumstance. It's about
mutual enrichment: uplifting those under society's pressure and
degrading atmospheres, while realizing the equalization of the human
race.

I may have worked that summer for Doris, but it was not for myself.

It was so she could be in the hands of all her rightful owners.

March Newsletter - Kevin in Uruguay

2008-03-25T15:38:00.000-07:00

The word on the street these days is “leadership.” In the past month, it has come up in scholarship applications, discussions with other volunteers, congregational development projects, and even in my newsletter prompt for the month. It´s a huge theme – really, how does one condense the idea of leadership, even in the specific context of a cross-cultural environment, into a congregation-friendly newsletter essay?

If you´re me, the answer is to talk about work. One of my assorted jobs this year has been assisting, and over the past few months, leading, the Wednesday evening Old Testament Bible Study at the church. I´ve no doubt mentioned the Bible Study, and its distinct tendency towards the less-than-normal, before – this, after all, is the only Bible Study in which I´ve participated that has involved questions about the color of the Holy Spirit, as well as whether or not the creation story in Genesis discusses the seven chakras. As Wilma has said to me on at least one occasion, it doesn´t matter that I haven´t been to seminary when it comes to this Bible study – they just don´t teach classes that prepare you for answering, with a straight face, an honest inquiry as to whether or not the Holy Spirit is a white light or a purple light.

It is, in some ways, impossible to prepare for the study. There is no telling what the participants will bring to the table or, for that matter, who the participants will be. Apart from choosing the text (helped by a guide through the Old Testament) and familiarizing myself with its contents, context, and themes, I can only go in on the proverbial wing and a prayer, ready to be surprised. And I´m the LEADER.

I am finding that the only way to lead a Bible study, and perhaps lead in general, is to engage in dialogue. Without conversation, there is nothing – no safe space is created, nobody shares, nobody grows. It would turn into a monologue as I pour out four years of theological and historical education, and no matter how interesting a monologue it might be, it would nonetheless be just a lecture, a top-down, unilateral exchange of information - Kevin Baker, the learned biblical expert, sharing his knowledge of the Holy Writ. No matter how much I know, I can never know enough to warrant placing myself in that position, especially when it comes to a matter of spirituality. If I were to place myself as the learned master pouring out from the deep well of knowledge for the benefit, then I would do no good to anyone or anything except for my ego.

In my very first month as a student at TLU, I was required to read a selection from Paolo Freire´s Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Freire was a Brazilian educator and champion of social justice who devoted much of his life and work to teaching illiterate adults how to read. He identified two models for teaching, learning, and (I´ll make the extension) leadership – the banking model and the dialogical model. In the former, one person gives knowledge, the other receives, and that´s that. Think about your worst class in high school; chances are, the teacher presented material this way. It had nothing to do with your context, interests, or needs; it was just information to be crammed into your head. The dialogical model takes the opposite approach – the teacher is a part of a circle rather than the exalted master, the community takes an active role in its own learning through questions, contextualization, and…dialogue. It is in the talking about what´s being learned – how it relates to people´s lives and needs, what´s easy and what´s hard about it, why they´re learning and wanting to learn – that the true learning takes place…and learning is, after all, transformation.

It´s transformative for the teacher, too. I´m not so arrogant as to view myself as a fabulous example of dialogical leadership, but it´s something I value and strive toward, and I have yet to leave a Bible study here without coming away with new insights and new questions. In fact, I will go on record and say that this is the first Bible study in which I´ve participated in (in the sense of studies with a group, regular meeting time, etc. outside of the confines of an official classroom) which I have not been bored, felt unchallenged, and been attending for strictly social reasons. And it´s all in the conversation.

So, in Bible study, we talk. We talk about how the cleansing of Naaman the leper relates to social class in 21st century Uruguay; we talk about how Elisha and the widow´s oil gives all of us at Nuestro Salvador a model for ministry; we talk about how the sufferings of the Messiah in Isaiah 53 are repeated every day in acts of domestic violence. As we share, we all grow and learn. I can bring to the table what I know from class, other people bring what they know from their own training and work, and we all bring our life experiences. After an hour or better of talking – about history and geography, theology and psychology, last week´s rough times at work and this week´s concerns about sick friends and family, how we´ve seen God in suffering and how we´ve seen God in life´s blessings – we´ve done something far more important than learn about the layers of symbolism in Hosea´s account of his adulterous wife. We´ve formed a community.

I shy away from calling myself the leader of this group. I am a leader in the sense that I do the official planning, but once we all sit down and start reading, I´m just another person in the circle. Maybe this form of leadership hasn´t built empires or Fortune 500 companies, but it´s built faith, and it´s built relationships. At the end of the day, I´ll take faith, relationships, and the little blessings of life over the empires and stock portfolios and never once think twice about the choice.

Acting 4 England Midwinter Newsletter - Kristin in the UK

2008-03-21T19:45:00.000-07:00

Breaking Down the Barriers
"Well, I don't think he's a converted Christian," she said as she poured me a cup of tea.
The statement took me by surprise, especially since it was made by someone who considers herself a Christian leader in our community. It was also hurtful because the person she was talking about is someone who is very dear to me, and has shown me great kindness and hospitality. I really couldn't think of anything to say but "Oh-right," and simply nod my head.
I walked away from that evening puzzled and very upset. How can we really say who is and who is not a Christian? Is it because one has not given a particular kind of public testimony? Is it because one has not claimed to have 'accepted Jesus as one's personal Lord and Savior,' as others have?
The 'unconverted Christian' is one of the kindest people I have met in England. He may not be particularly vocal about his faith but he attends worship every Sunday and is a strong financial contributor to the church.
The word 'Christian' is a very popular word for those who associate with the church and declare themselves Christians in the UK. I have heard numerous people use this word in their vocabulary, "He's not a Christian," "When I became a Christian…," "I don't think we should go because it's not Christian" Every time I hear these comments, I want to say "SO? Why does it matter if they are Christian or not?"
When I first arrived in England, many people asked me "When did you become a Christian?" and my common response has always been "22 years ago when I was baptized as a Child of God."
After living here for six months, I have realized that the use of the word "Christian" is sometimes used as much to divide and condemn, as it is to proclaim good news and bring healing. While much of England's history is associated with the Church, it is not surprising, given this judgmental version of Christianity, that a great majority of people in the UK have no connection with any religion or the Church.
This term, Act 4 is going into schools teaching children the importance of breaking down barriers and communicating with those who are different than you. Working with an organization called Through the Roof, which works with disabled people; we tell the story of the two friends who take the paralyzed man to see Jesus. Our message during the assembly is to make sure that we do not build walls to condemn others or divide ourselves from them, and if those barriers arise that we do all we can to knock them down.
As I read the Gospel, Jesus often had words of judgment for people who were pious and ready to condemn others, and, more often than not, He built bridges of love and acceptance to people perceived as sinners and the unconverted.
I have a diverse group of friends whom I love and absolutely adore. Some of them are affiliated with a church or religion and many of them do not associate themselves with any sort of religion.
It seems that some Christians who talk the talk, don't always walk the walk, even as those who are not particularly vocal about their faith or claim any faith sometimes act more Godly and Christ-like. Maybe St. Francis said it best, "Preach Good News all the time. When you need to, use words.
Love, Peace & Cheers!
Kristin
Meet Luisa Gorry: Act 4 Administrator
How did you get involved with Act 4?
I knew Sam from my last job with Hertsmere CVS which Act 4 is a member of and was interested when I heard they were looking to grow their team.
What do you do for the charity?
I am responsible for the day to day running of the office. From booking all the assemblies and keeping track of events in the diary, to getting in touch with church representatives and other supporters of Act 4. I also help the Act 4 team and Sam with any projects or upcoming events. Basically, I am the first point of contact for any general questions regarding Act 4.
What do you enjoy best about working with Act 4?
Act 4 is doing something that I feel really strongly about and it seems to fit in well with my lifestyle. I love the role I play in the charity and the people I come in contact with each day.
My Sense of England
I saw the green countryside of Wales in January. During the cold and wet weather, 150 Time for God volunteers gathered for a mid winter conference to reflect on our journey here in the UK. This event was a great opportunity to catch up with other YAGM volunteers and meet other international volunteers who are also serving in the UK.
I heard the screams and fireworks on New Years Eve in downtown London. I have never had a New Years quite like this one! After a fun dinner party, five YAGM volunteers and I traveled downtown to be with a crowd of 400,000 people to welcome in the New Year. It was a very memorable New Years celebration!
I smelled the farm when my friend Anna and I went to visit fellow YAGM volunteer Kelly in Weald, Kent. She lives on a dairy farm in a beautiful house that is 400 years old! We went on lots of country walks and even visited the milking parlor. It was wonderful to see a different part of England and to see a good friend!
I tasted hot cross buns, my new favorite pastry. I love hot cross buns and every time I eat them I always sing the nursery rhyme. Trisha, my host mum, has been buying lots of them recently and they are very tasty.
I touched daffodils in February! I went into London one Sunday to hang out with Maren, Anthony, Amy and her family and there were beautiful daffodils in St. James Park. The weather was gorgeous and it really felt like spring!
~Kristin

February Newsletter - Ashley in Slovakia

2008-03-20T16:20:00.000-07:00

FEBRUARY NEWSLETTER
Hello everybody! Wow, the month of February was a busy one, it flew by really quickly!! It was another month of adjustments for me, almost like another September, getting familiar with all of the new wonderful people in my life at my new placement. I’ve been really blessed here in Hybe, and am thankful for everyone and for all of the new adventures I’ve had this month.

To kick off the month, I was formally invited to “Ples rodicov a priatelov Zakladnej skoly v Hybiach”, also known to everyone in the community as simply “Ples.” This is the formal dinner and dance party held every year for friends and family members of the Hybe School. My first few weeks helping with English at the school went well, and the teachers warmed up to me quite quickly! They invited me to Ples during my second week of teaching, and I accepted (not really knowing what it was). When I told me host family later that evening, they shrieked in excitement and my sister Katka ran to get her ball gown. I didn’t realize the event was formal (dress/suit and tie formal). When the night of the ball came, my host mom and sisters were CRAZY excited to dress me up. I was their Barbie doll for the evening. They ran around the house, yelling “SHE NEEDS A PURSE! SHE NEEDS EARRINGS! WHERE IS THE GOOD PERFUME?!?” My host sister did my hair and put me in her formal graduation party dress and pointy white dress shoes (both of which I would never wear at home). It was the first time in my life I’ve carried a glittery purse, worn a shiny pink shawl, and worn so much make-up that I could’ve scraped it off in layers, but it was a really fun bonding experience for me with my host mom and sisters. The ball was a really fun time! It was fun to see everyone all dressed up. The oldest students from the Hybe School wore matching dresses and suit/tie combos, and performed a few dance numbers to open the ball. After that, the dancing and celebrating began! At midnight they served cabbage soup, as they traditionally do every year. Enjoyable night for all!

Another highlight for the month was the youth group’s trip to Orava (a little city in the mountains, about 70 kilometers from Hybe). We (myself and 11 others) went up to stay in Adrianka’s (pastor’s wife) brother’s cabin in the woods. The scenery there was beautiful, and the cabin was secluded and quiet. It was a bit insane at times, spending four days in a little cabin with 11 teenagers who don’t speak a lot of English, but it was a great experience all in all. I ended up connecting with some of the kids more, so I’m thankful for that time. Some of the things we did: Had worship, played guitar and sang, cooked soup, made snowmen, read and relaxed, played games, had theme discussions on youth in pubs/disco clubs, homosexuality, love and relationships, and the Holocaust (they were roughly translated for me later, so I got something out of them), and watched movies. We watched some movies in the Czech language (because Slovak subtitles on films are rarely available, and the Czech language is so similar to Slovak that all of the Slovak people can understand Czech). We even watched a movie in English, and I tried to translate for them! Ha! That wasn’t a booming success, but I did get a few things across and it was pretty exciting when they understood.

In the middle of the month, the other volunteers and I decided that we wanted to plan a weekend to get together and visit each other’s placements (since I am not terribly far away from two of the other volunteers). We met together on a Friday in Velky Slavkov (a small village about 30 kilometers from Hybe, where we had our language training classes back in September) to visit Kristen and Jessica at their placement. They work at a center for gypsy boys (around the ages of 18-24) planning activities, helping in the center’s kitchen, teaching English and swimming, running Bible studies, and more. We even got to get in on an English lesson on Friday evening when we were there and hang out with some of the boys a bit. I’m really enjoying seeing the other volunteers’ placements and getting to experience them a bit first-hand. I’m glad we all think it’s important to visit each other during the year and get a feel for what each other’s lives are like. On Saturday I took the volunteers back here to Hybe to have dinner and sleep over at my host family’s house. My host family was REALLY excited to have 5 Americans visiting, and they learned the names of places of the home states of all of the volunteers. They also came with me to church the next morning. We went up in front during the service and introduced ourselves, and where we were staying for the year! The pastor was excited that everyone was in Hybe together and requested that we sing a song during church, so we sang, “Open the Eyes of My Heart Lord.” I thought it would be a good choice because the youth group in Hybe also sings the song (in Slovak and English), so they knew it and could follow along with it. It was a really great weekend, and as always I enjoyed spending time with my fellow YAGM’s.

While the month was full of great events, it was a challenging month for me as well. After becoming familiar and independent after four months in my old placement, it was difficult to go back to square one, new cities and villages, new bus and train routes and schedules, new methods of doing things, new lifestyles, and more. The transition, from living practically alone to living with a host family, has been intense at times because I’m confronted with the language barrier all day and every day. Also, this is the halfway point for my year and the realities of life after my year of service have started to hit me. What will I do next year? Where will I find a job? How will I deal with readjustment back in the U.S.? How will I process this year of volunteer experience after it’s finished? God only knows. For now I’m just trying to live life day-by-day here (which has proved to be challenging at times), trying to stay in the moment. Dealing with these challenges has helped me to become a more patient and tolerant person, and for that I am grateful.

So the question to address for this month’s newsletter was a bit overwhelming, so I thought I would choose small pieces of the questions to reflect on a bit.

“Theologian Kathryn Tanner argues that Christians form a ‘separate’ group within the wider culture by virtue of how we see ourselves in an intimate relationship with God. But, God’s grace finds us as no more deserving than others outside the Christian community, she says. While Christian identity can lead to lives of peace and love; and we believe that the power of the grace of Christ transforms human lives; can we really congratulate ourselves on the possession of some unique perfection?”

I think this is a really good point, and was glad to see such an important reflection question pop up in my newsletter email. I think the answer to the question is no, that we can’t congratulate ourselves on some unique perfection, because we are in no way perfect. We are all human, and we are sinful. Some of the best friends I’ve had in my life have been Christian. And some of the best friends in my life have not been Christian. I don’t feel that I am any more deserving, or any better than them. I think we all struggle in life, and everyone is at different stages in their faith walks (or not on faith walks at all), and it is reality. I think that people understand things differently. They understand the idea of a family differently. They understand other parts of the world differently. They understand societal duties differently. They understand God differently. God made us all to be different. Christians come in all shapes and sizes, different bodies, minds, gifts and abilities. I believe that my job as a Christian is to love and accept all of them to the best of my ability, regardless of their ideas or beliefs.

This leads into another question asked, “Is there or should there be a distinct Christian ‘culture’ vis-à-vis the world around us?” I believe the answer is no. If God made us all to be different, and put us in different parts of the world with different beliefs and/or ideas, I don’t see how it’s possible for one distinct Christian ‘culture’ to exist. I say accept differences, and embrace them, because differences are what make God’s world and people interesting. What should be the basic common thread amongst Christians? LOVE God. LOVE each other.

And another question, “Where do we as a church stand in our societies?” I believe that the purpose of the church, of God’s house, is not to seclude ourselves into a ‘separate’ group, but to create a foundation. This foundation is solidity and comfort fellow Christians seek, in order to meet fellow Christians and find more inspiration needed to go out and live their lives in the way God intended, and to shine as His examples. The purpose of the church is to invite and to welcome, not to seclude.
These questions are important, and a lot to think about! Hopefully you followed my thoughts alright, they were a bit difficult to organize with all of the questions to ponder. Ok, thank you VERY much for reading, for checking out my blog, for all of your support!! I appreciate it more than I can express!

Until next time,
Ashley

*To read more about my experiences, please check out my blog online at: www.ashleyrenslovak.blogspot.com

February Newsletter - Laura in India

2008-03-19T00:11:00.000-07:00

07-08 India - Beth, Laura, Rob and Kat in the Maldives
Originally uploaded by YAGM

"Just Float"

Out of India we went. Our visas were no longer valid. Each year the
volunteers leave the country after six months in order to reenter and
stay for the next 180-day span. The last week of February signified
the halfway mark for our year; our week away was an essential time to
regroup, rejuvenate and refocus. Past volunteers have spent their
'visa-renewal-getaway' in Sri Lanka, but with the rising violence and
after several anxious parental emails to Achen, we spent our week in
Maldives, a small country south of India.

Quick facts about Maldives: it is 100% Muslim, there are over 1000
islands that form the country, and being a tropical paradise, most
islands are converted into resorts, thus making it Tourism-Central.
Thus, a piece of bologna costs $10. On sale. Thus, our first episode
of "Maldives on a Dime" will be airing soon.

Nevertheless, the country is breathtaking with its white beaches, its
clear, bright ocean, and its salty breeze, both warm and relaxing.
Stepping off the plane was like stepping into a postcard: a picture
perfect paradise that you try to capture on film, but the best shot
remains the one in your memory.

Throughout the week we found plenty of adventures: local shops to
investigate, restaurants to try, a new culture and religion to
understand, and an ocean to soak up. Yet, one of our favorite
adventures was spent snorkeling over a coral reef.

After much investigation, we finally landed a spot on a local
outfitter that suits up scuba divers and snorkelers. With great
excitement and anticipation at what lay ahead, we eagerly loaded the
ferry that carried a dozen other snorkelers, as well as a dozen scuba
divers, most of whom were other tourists. During the boat ride to the
dive in point, I became quite aware that my inexperience and complete
lack of knowledge of snorkeling might be a rare commodity; everyone on
that boat released an air of confidence saying that diving into the
depths of the ocean goes next to brushing one's teeth on the day's
to-do list. I tried my best to air a confidence, but the thousand
questions I was asking Rob and Beth, the ones with previous snorkeling
experience, may have blown my breeze.

What if my goggles fog?
Rob, my goggles are fogging now.
They'll get fogged in the ocean, won't they?
That can't be good.
Rob.
Oh my, Rob. I can't see a thing.
My goggles are fogged. How will I see the fish?
Oh, what if the goggles are full of water?
What then? How will I see the fish?
Rob, what if this tubey-thingy gets full of water?
How will I breathe?
How will I see the fish if I can't breathe?

His patience and understanding with us was incredible. Though the
boat was trolling around, waiting for us to jump in, Rob ran over the
essentials, checked us over, and we dove in. What we missed in our
'Snorkeling: a Cliff Note Basics' speech, was to be soon learned.

When I first entered the water, the beauty was breathtaking. The
vastness of the ocean and the oneness I felt with creation was enough
to want to stay bobbing up and down in its waves all day.

But, then, I realized I was bobbing up and down.

The boat pulled away, and I saw the vastness of the ocean. Its real
vastness. Its hugeness. Its incredibly, huge, real vastness. And I
remembered I was only a little head, bobbing up and down.

Trying not to think of my insignificant, bobbing head, I tried to
refocus my attention. I jammed my goggles down, shoved the breathing
tube between my teeth and dropped my head down. Perhaps if I focus on
this whole snorkeling thing, I justified, I will forget that I'm
floating in the Indian Ocean.

First breath.

Mouth full of salt water. I jerked my head to the surface, half
swallowing half spitting all that I had inhaled. Trying to regain my
breath, which was becoming more and more needed as the sea-tredding
was becoming tiring, I found myself panicking further as my goggles
kept my nose plugged and the waves kept crashing over the tube,
filling it with water. I had one last resort. Rob.

Rob!Rob!OhMyGoodnessOhMyGoodnessThisIsn'tWorkingICan'tBreatheThereAreNoFishBecauseICan'tSeeAThingBecauseICan'tBreatheOhMyGoodnessOhMyGoodness...

As he swam by, he turned his head, and simply said, "Just float.
Relax. Put your face in. And just float."

Easier said then done, but it was my only option. I had to relax.
And I had to float. I had to stop resisting the ocean's waves, and
let myself be taken by them. There was no other way. My tredding
water, my need to want to control the sea, was only causing me to sink
further into unjustified anxiety and fear. I had to let go. And
float.

I held my breath. Put my face under the surface, and felt my body
rise to the top. At this, I exhaled from the tube and sucked in. No
water. Just air. As my body rose and sank in rhythm with the waves,
so did my breathing. Ah, I could breathe. So I opened my eyes.
No peptalk or preparation could have prepared me for all that lay underneath.

Fish, brightly speckled with oranges, yellows and blues. Coral
covering the entire seabed, and hiding the thousands of creatures that
call it home. Fish as big as my turso swimming about, not noticing
me, the intruder, on top.

It was a sacred moment. I was watching a part of creation from a
distance, yet I felt a part of it simply by observing. The sealife
kept on with its routines, its comings and goings, not in the least
disturbed by my watching. Yet, I was witnessing a part of God's
creation I never knew existed in such a capacity. Its beauty,
strength, majesty, its complexity, yet simplicity, was captivating.

I soon forgot about my bobbing head anxiety, as the mystery of what
lay below the surface was more important than the worries that
remained on the surface. The unknown danger of the ocean quickly
decimated with the awesomeness of all that was unknown and unseen
within it.

And to think, I would have missed it if I had refused to just float.

Febrero despues de esta volveran a ser normales- Februrary after this one they'll go back to being normal - Kristina in Argentina

2008-03-16T14:33:00.000-07:00

Con Febrero llego la lluvia, la cuaresma, un tiempo de preparación, el fin de algunas cosas y el comienzo de otras. Trae arrastrado con el seis meses de andar diferente abriendo mi caja de memoria colectiva pero esta vez miro para sacar recuerdos específicos de un tiempo específico. Para esto mi gente necesito entrar en mi cajita por que aya dentro existe un jardín lleno de árboles de distintos altos y anchos sembrado por personas distintas a lo largo de mi vida.
En febrero visité dos árboles cuyas raíces se extendían profundamente en mi pasado. El primero es de cuando tenía diez años; escrita sobre ella estaban las canciones que aprendí en el campamento de verano en Maguayo cuando recién nos habíamos mudado de vuelta a puerto rico. Estas canciones daban vuelta a un grupo de nombres que estaba escrito en su centro entre estos estaba, Dimas Javier, Cristina, Juan Pablo, Willie, Yamil, Mary Lisa, Lisa Mari, Rafú, Chachie, Harrybel…
Juntos ellos sembraron la semilla que se convirtió en aquel gran árbol y mientras me senté a sus raíces recordando esos tiempos me dio las herramientas y la valentía para compartir eso con los niños en el campamento de escuela bíblica en Montevideo. Sin embargo ese mismo día cuando me sentía muy preparada recibí una carta Harrybel había partido ese mismo día a morar con el señor. Tropecé cayendo hacia atrás entre dos árboles aun mas viejos que el que me había acordado a Harrybel. Me agarre del mas cerca mirando hacia arriba buscando no se que mas aya de sus ramas. Este árbol era el árbol de Margarita ella había fallecido apenas el año pasado durante la época de pascua.
Mi corazon se lleno de angustia pero su nombre se encendió sobre el tronco y ahí escrito palabras de ellas:
“Todo lo que necesitas para salir de este lugar de dolor esta dentro de ti” Estas fueron sus palabras para mi en otro momento de mi vida y eran recordadas y aplicables en este momento también. Sus palabras se encendieron más brillantes que su nombre antes de convertirse en ceniza pintando mis manos tan negro como cuando ayude a preparar las cenizas para el miércoles de cenizas. Pero aun así sus palabras no quedan como polvo que se lava sino más bien como una marca en mi corazón, visible sobre mis manos marcando a todo aquel que yo toque. No soy quien era cuando se sembraron aquellos árboles mis ojos están abiertos a un mundo que amenaza con caer sobre mi cabeza. Hasta mi manera de hablar ha cambiado, se ha transformado la forma en que me expreso hasta el punto de volverse un hibrido extraño entre puertorriqueñismos y argentinismos que por el momento tienen sentido; ¿pero lo tendrán cuando vuelva a casa? Jeje será interesante ver pero si te animas podrías llamarme y verlo por tu propia cuenta: 54-221-452-5206 me encantaría saber como le van las cosas por aya.
Otros árboles se encienden con palabras que me recuerdan que desde el momento en que empezaron a crecer aquellos árboles ya yo era diferente ya había cambiado. Estas palabras nuevas me doy cuenta son lecciones que surgen al oírlas repetidas por los compañeros que me rodean.

Por ejemplo mi amiga Kim estaba compartiendo conmigo y con los demás voluntarios la historia de los niños con los cual trabaja en San Martín. Son todos niños pero a pesar de que son nuevos en el mundo están aprendiendo cosas claves como lo es el compartir no tan solo cuando tenemos poco sino también cuando tenemos mucho. Aprendiendo que no es necesario lanzarse con un puño para agarrar mas cantidad de galletitas en la merienda, que es mejor cuando tomamos nuestro tiempo agarrando uno solo a la vez para darnos cuenta de que todos podremos comer. Recuerdo cuando niña el haber aprendido esta lección y ahora como joven adulto tiene aun mas significado cuando miro al estado del mundo en que vivimos.

También recordé otra lección de mi infancia al salir de entre los árboles mientras otro amigo voluntario mío James compartía sobre parte de sus experiencias. Hablaba de cuando se sentaba a tomar mate y compartir algunas galletitas con una compañera de trabajo. A pesar de que para el lo que tenían era suficiente para compartir entre ellos ella llamaba a todo aquel que estaba cerca para compartir, para que comieran de su mesita. Supongo que los discípulos de cristo se habrán sentido igual en aquella tarde después de la predicación de Jesús al ver que la multitud seguía cerca pero en vez de enviarlos a buscar en donde dormir y comer por que se hacia tarde les llamo y dijo vengan tenemos pan tenemos pescado cortémoslo con amor y compartamos vengan todos tomen su porción hagamos una ronda y tomemos mate.

Es posible que se hayan sentido igual que todas las personas de mi familia ahora en el pasado y lo mas seguro en el futuro cada vez que adoptábamos a un extraño a la familia expandiendo nuestra mesa.

Al terminar de escuchar su relato el viento se comenzó a levantar y mis compañeros voluntarios ya se estaban preparando para partir a sus respectivos hogares luego de un tiempo compartido y mientras esperábamos bajo un cielo nublado observe mi reflexión en un charquito de agua. Podía ver como caían las semillas a todo mi alrededor llevados por un viento que los regaba desde mi jardín al de mis compañeros y viceversa. Mi cuerpo entero estaba cubierto de ceniza y las hojas de los árboles empezaron a caer también en aquel proceso de renovación, pero cuando me mire de nuevo con mas intención me di cuenta de algo muy particular y muy importante. La ceniza que había caído sobre mí en aquel momento era más que ceniza era palabra viva también y en esa palabra viva leí todo sus nombres.

Gracias

No hay nada como el regresar a un lugar que se ha mantenido igual, para poder ver las maneras en que tu mismo has sido cambiado.

-Nelson Mandela.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

February brings fall rain, lent, preparation the end of some things the beginning of others. It brings six months of walking differently opening my box of collective memory but this time to pull out specific thoughts from a specific time. But for that my friends I had to step inside the box because inside is a garden full of trees of different widths and heights planted at different times in life by different people. In February I visited two trees whose roots extended deep into my past. One from when I was ten; written all over its trunk were songs from that first summer camp after moving back to Puerto Rico. Many names are on the bottom of that trunk, Dimas Javier, Cristina, Juan Pablo, Willie, Yamil, Marylisa, Lismari, Rafú, Chachie y Harrybel…

Together they all planted that seed and as I sat remembering that time it gave me tools and courage to share with the kids in Montevideo the things that I had learned. Then I received a letter Harrybel had passed away that same day. I stumbled backward falling in between to trees older than the one I had been looking at before. I held on to one looking up in to its branches. This was Margarita’s tree she had passed away only last Easter. My heart was filled with anguished but her name burned brightly on the trunk and there written were words:
“All you need to come out of this place of pain is inside you.” These were words she had said to me at another time they were words remembered now. They burned and then were dust the ashes painting my hands black as when I helped prepare the ashes for ash Wednesday, but her words are not dust they are a mark on my heart. It is on my hands marking everything and every one I touch. I’m not who I was when these trees were planted my eyes are open to a world that threatens to collapse upon my head. Even the way I speak has changed transforming the way my expressions to the point that my speech becomes some sort of strange hybrid between puertoricanisms and argentinaisms that makes sense now but will it make sense when I get home. Hehe I wonder. Other trees ignite other words burning bright reminding me that from the moment of their germination I was already different all ready changed. Their words burned bright as well repeating lessons learned by those who surround me during this walk.
For example my friend Kim was sharing a story with me and the other volunteers about her “kids” ( the ones she works with) in San Martin they are children but all though they are new they are still learning what it means to share not only when there is little but also when there is more than enough. That it isn’t necessary to grab fist first into the bowl of cookies to have more if we each take one at a time we can all eat. I remember learning this lesson too as a child as a young adult it means so much more when looking at the world.

I was reminded of another childhood lesson while coming out of the forest at last by another friend James as he talked about sitting down to drink mate and eat cookies with a fellow worker in the barrio and how she would call out to the others around them to come in and share what he had seen as enough for just the two. I can only image that the disciples must of felt the same way when the crowd had gathered and the day was coming to an end and instead of sending on their way to find food and housing he called them in instead saying we got fish we got bread come in take a piece drink some mate.
The same way generations have felt with in my family as we adopt members expanding our table.

By this time the wind had picked up my fellow volunteers were getting ready to part ways after a time of meeting and as we waited under a clouded sky I looked at my reflection in a puddle. I could see new seeds falling all around me carried away from my own garden and into theirs and from theirs into my own. My whole self was covered in ash and the leaves upon the trees were renewing themselves, but as I took a closer look I saw that the ash that had fallen upon me was not just dust no, upon taking a more intentional look I could see that the ash was word too and in that word I read all of your names.

Thank you

There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged, to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.

-Nelson Mandela.

February newsletter, better late than never - Katie in Mexico

2008-03-13T23:53:00.000-07:00

07-08 Mexico - Katie and Sarah
Originally uploaded by YAGM

Breaking down the border
Cuernavaca, Mexico Newsletter
February 2008
By Katie

My experience in Mexico is constantly challenging me to see the familiar through new eyes. From daily interactions with friends and my host family to discussing major socio-economic-political issues with the volunteer group, I am confronting new ways of thinking about the realities of our world while also confronting my own perspectives that I have grown up hearing and believing. As I reflected in one of my previous newsletters, “I am because you are.” Through a daily existence in a country, culture, and people that are different than me, I am more aware of who I am and what advantages I have from being born a white, middle-class, university-educated female in the United States. I am becoming aware of how my comfortable lifestyle is made possible by the working hands of people from every corner of this earth. I am realizing how my way of looking at something is not the only way, nor is it the best way. I am finding an infinite array of shades of gray in a world that sometimes tries to be black and white.

At the end of February, our volunteer group went to the US-Mexican border to learn about immigration, border policies, and to confront new perspectives on this particularly familiar issue. It is a common topic of debate in the United States, one on which almost everyone has a few opinions. Walking into this year in Mexico, I was confronted with an overwhelming amount of new information, stories, and views on immigration… but this time from the other side of the Wall. The perspective that I brought with me to Mexico was shattered. Now I am picking up those pieces and gluing them together with the pieces of my Mexican mentality to find a truth that resonates on both sides of the border within me.

I find that I am struck with a mix of emotions when reflecting on my constantly evolving understanding of immigration. I am frustrated and hopeless with the governments that fail to protect the needs of the people by creating or allowing dangerous policies to pass or by keeping already flawed policies in place. I am in awe of the resilience of the people who live in a system of injustice but fight a daily struggle of survival in jobs that are more strenuous than I can imagine for wages that I am too spoiled to ever consider. I am empathetic to those who are forced to immigrate, the last option to keep their family alive, and I find myself hoping and praying that they will cross safely and find a job. I am outraged by the ineffective waste of money that the US has thrown at “tightening border security” which has done nothing to curb migration but has forced migrants to risk their lives to cross dangerous desert passes resulting in hundreds of deaths every year. I am heartbroken when hearing about families that have suffered the loss of a father or a son or a brother who tried to cross. I was ashamed of my home when a Mexican asked me, “Why do you hate us?”

The migrants searching for work are hungry and have no hope of finding decent wages at home. After exhausting all other options, they have to leave their family and their home to enter into a country that openly discriminates and rejects them – migration isn’t a desirable choice, it is the last choice. Nonetheless, they are willing to risk their life spending several days crossing dangerous parts of the desert to feed themselves and their families. They aren’t criminals; they are victims of flawed trade agreements and government policies. They are in need.

It makes me wonder what role I will have now that my eyes have been opened to a new view of immigration. How will I live into my new understanding of the reality of immigration and what will I do with it? Doing or saying nothing is not an option for me, the call is just to clear to ignore. The call to serve my brothers and sisters transcends borders, racial lines, and language or cultural barriers. How will I follow my faith and the call to serve the “least of these my brothers?” (Matthew 25:40) How will I serve the stranger in the midst from my home in the Midwest?

The past six months, and especially our border trip, have remolded my understanding and my opinions about immigration. It is a situation that is too multi-faceted for me to sum up in a newsletter. Trust me, I tried - it was 5 pages and I could have written more. I have created a few entries in my blog about various aspects of immigration and I passionately invite you to explore some of the information and my reflections there.

Amanda in the UK

2008-03-12T13:49:00.000-07:00

Dear friends and family,

February was quite an eventful month. I’ve been busy at work trying to fill David’s role, the other gap year volunteer who finished his service in January. I now find myself leading the sessions and realizing how lucky we were to have David around. Furthermore, the schools broke up for half-term in February, and I ended up chaperoning a junior high retreat. And in the midst of all of this, I took a week off to travel to the Holy Land. I am therefore finding it rather difficult to squeeze so much experience into one newsletter! Please forgive me if I get a bit carried away.
The opportunity to visit Jerusalem came up in November, but I actually didn’t purchase my tickets until January. I hesitated, not because I was apprehensive about going, but because my mother was quite worried. It seems as though all we Westerners ever hear about Israel is suicide bombers and terrorist attacks. Even the U.S. State Department highly cautions everyone who is thinking of travelling to Israel. So my mom had reasons to be worried. But being young and reckless, I was still eager to go; and so, after much thought and prayer, I bought my tickets. My friends encouraged me not to pass up such an amazing opportunity.
My friend Eric, another ELCA Young Adults in Global Mission volunteer, has a college friend who is living and working in Jerusalem. Eric had been planning on visiting him and invited me along. We would stay with this friend, Paul, at the Lutheran World Federation headquarters on the Mount of Olives. It was an ideal situation. I had recently been more interested in Israel and Palestine and quite eager to travel there; and now it seemed like my chance had come.
I tried to prepare for my trip by reading memoirs on pilgrimages, as well as familiarizing myself on the history. Nonetheless, I was still unsure what to expect. If I anticipate a spiritual experience, will I be disappointed? Do I instead focus on the historical sites? Is Jerusalem still a “Holy City,” or is it completely corrupted by warfare? My head spinning with such questions, I decided to leave my expectations behind and let God show me what He will.
My first impression, after landing in Tel Aviv, was that this is not a land of fear-stricken people. Israel may suffer from violence, but people also call it home. This is the Israel we don’t see on the media: the ordinary lives of individuals. I guess it’s sort of like when my young people ask me if everyone in America carries a gun. They are always surprised to hear that I don’t know anyone who’s ever been shot. America has a gun problem, but we don’t walk around in constant fear; so why should we expect Israelis to?
The other “Israel” that we don’t often see is that of the ordinary Palestinians, who live under the rule of the Israeli government. The history of the State of Israel is a complicated subject that I don’t think I’ll ever understand. Very simply, the British took control of Palestine from the Ottomans after World War I, and soon opened up the borders for immigration by Jewish people. Jews from all over Europe and beyond relocated in Israel to escape anti-Semitism, as did many Holocaust survivors after World War II. However, native Palestinians had been occupying the land for nearly 2,000 years. The British displaced many of them from their farms and homes to make room for the Jewish settlers. In 1958, the Jewish people declared their independence from British rule and the State of Israel was born.
So right from the start, Israel was an unstable country with conflicts stemming from displacement and religion. Fast forward to the present, and you have a strong Israeli government that not only controls Israel but also occupies the Palestinian territories of the Gaza Strip and West Bank. Israeli citizens live in a Western society of shopping malls and night clubs. Palestinians, however, have limited rights to own land and to move around in their own country. And the ugly truth is that the Israeli government is trying to force even more Palestinians from their homes in the West Bank.
Paul drove us through an Israeli settlement just outside of East Jerusalem. It was a gorgeous oasis in the desert with large homes and palm trees, reminiscent of southern California. Yet its construction meant that many Palestinians lost their homes, as well as access to the precious water supply on which the settlement was built. Driving past the security guards at the gate takes you to a completely different world, with Bedouin shepherds living in shacks.
It is not my intention to turn this newsletter into a soap box and preach to you about politics. But I can’t help but share the stories of the ordinary Palestinians I met. One of Paul’s co-workers has a permit to work in Jerusalem, but he has to cross several checkpoints just to reach Jerusalem from his home in the north. His 60-mile trip turns into a four-hour ordeal. As a result, he must live in Jerusalem during the week and risks the journey back on the weekends to see his family.
Other Palestinians living in East Jerusalem must only cross the security wall to get to work. Nonetheless, these permit-holding Palestinians line up as early as 4:30 a.m. to cross the wall and be to work by 8 a.m. The security wall, built in 2004, attempts to stop illegal movement in the border and thus keep out prospective terrorists. But it also functions to humiliate and further complicate those Palestinians who have genuine passes. We went through such a security point after accompanying Paul on a work trip to the West Bank. Only two or three people were let through the gate at a time. They showed their IDs and answered quite a few questions before being allowed to pass through. And they must do this each day, just to get to and from work.
Not all Palestinians are even this lucky, though. The ones who are unable to get work permits are not allowed any movement between Israel and the West Bank. We met Palestinian Christians in Bethlehem who cannot travel to Jerusalem for the Easter Festivals. Paul also told us of a Palestinian man whose father was dying of cancer. They live on opposite sides of the wall. Paul’s hospital applies for a medical pass to visit their hospital, just so that the father can come through for a day and see his son.
The persecution of the Palestinian people has led some to extreme action, who revolt against the Israelis through terrorism. You probably heard about the shooting at a Jerusalem rabbinical school last week that left eight people dead. The Israelis are justifiably concerned about preventing such attacks, and the security wall is an attempt to keep out potential terrorists. And so terrorist attacks such as these only causes the Israelis to take more precautions and to further restrict the movement of the Palestinian people.
So, as you can see, the situation in the Holy Land is anything but peaceful and, furthermore, represents a long and complicated struggle to which there is no clear solution. My visit opened me up to the Palestinian perspective, which the media scarcely highlights; yet it is clear that both sides contribute to conflict and violence. I just wanted to share what I learned and to give voice to those whom I met. Hopefully, my narrative will help you see more of Israel than is shown on the news.
I just realized that I’ve filled two pages without talking about the holy places. This was also a pilgrimage, after all! I’ll end with a few reflections about what I saw.
Israel is teeming with holy sites. It seems as though you can’t walk a block without stumbling into some important site, such as the birthplace of Mary or the site of the Last Supper. Some sites are quite questionable, such as the stone from which Jesus blessed the loaves and fish. Other events are commemorated in more than one place; there are, for instance, two churches of the ascension that both claim to be the authentic place where Jesus ascended into Heaven. One quickly learns that the event itself, not the precise location, is what is important.
Other sites seem to have more credibility. The Garden of Gethsemane, for instance, has been replanted; yet it still contains two olive trees that are more than 2,000 years old. And the Garden Tomb, discovered in the late 19th century and preserved by British volunteers, has very convincing evidence that this empty tomb could have been where Jesus was laid to rest.
On my last day in Jerusalem, I wandered around the Garden Tomb for a second time, to contemplate Jesus’ death and resurrection. I sat silently in the tomb, looking at the empty room and trying to let it all sink in. I imaged that, just perhaps, this site was authentic; that the glorious resurrection of Jesus occurred in that very room. Yet my mind kept wandering back to the events of the past week and all that I had been exposed to. Suddenly, it felt as though God was speaking to me, whispering the words engraved on the tomb’s door: “He is not here; He has risen.” It was then that I finally realized it did not matter whether or not this was Jesus’ tomb, or whether he blessed the loaves and fishes on that particular stone or gave the Sermon on the Mount on that particular hill. For our Lord Jesus rose from the grave; why do we look for him among the dead? Jesus is everywhere and with everyone, and he is especially with those who suffer.
I left Jerusalem with my head still swimming and with quite a heavy heart; but I no longer felt the burden of having special encounters with Jesus in the Holy Land. Instead, I was reminded in the Garden Tomb that we are to look for Jesus in our neighbors, and to proclaim him through promoting love and reconciliation. My heart still aches for the endless conflict in Israel and Palestine. But I have faith that Jesus will not abandon it forever, that peace can still be found among such violence and hatred from both sides.
Please forgive me for such a long newsletter, and for not speaking of my work here at St. Mary’s. I commend you for getting this far! Please continue to keep our ministry in your prayers, as I also pray for you back home.
Also, please note that we youth workers must submit a blog each month for St. Mary’s. If you haven’t had enough of my ramblings, feel free to check it out. Go to www.stmaryscentre.org.uk, and click on “What we’re thinking” at the top. Then look for the picture of me as a pirate.
That’s all for now! Take care, and I hope you have a blessed Easter,
Amanda

newletter february - James in Argentina

2008-03-12T11:22:00.000-07:00

An afternoon somewhere in the past my supervisor and I sat down to do an evaluation of my time here so far, and my supervisor being the wonderful wise woman that she is, suggested we try and do some sort of artist demonstration to sum up everything we had talked about in the day. The program I am doing here has this wonderfully slow feel to it, where every step you take is so analyzed that every action in your life becomes so important and valued. There is something so beautiful about being aware of your life and your actions. I began to think about what this year has meant to me so far and what I would like the year to come to look like and I came to this conclusion. I don’t believe I ever before appreciated the interconnectedness of life; how every action affects the next, how every decision is really a decision for the next decision, with it never ending the time we have here.
To represent my life I drew my head with all this chaos behind it, not an ugly chaos, but a chaos of confusion and uncertainly. Everything in my life that I had learned and experienced everywhere, in every action I did, but never consciously guiding my actions. In front of me I drew what I hope to be the future, as I already feel is near in my recent present, colors focused, all of the chaos of my past and present, still complete, in that every color and line still existed, but centered. A sort of prism that sucks in light and spits out a rainbow. I have been thinking about this quite a bit lately as I read and find out more about poverty and underdevelopment in the world.
I had the opportunity to read “Open veins of Latin America” by Eduardo Galeano during the month of February, and have been fascinated by it ever since. It talks about the real and factual history and current exploitation in Latin America, which leads up to the current situation of some of the riches countries in the world in terms of natural resources having people dying of hunger. The prism in my mind is starting to put into focus my reality here, as I see hundreds of people living inside shacks of cardboard and scrap metal. The forces that drive thousands of hungry families from the farms and country to cities such as Resistencia, to make a living collecting bottles and cardboard in horse draw carriages at night. Poverty is not television program or commercial, it is a little girl I know coming up to us as we eat at a restaurant and confessing she is on the street every night until 6 in the morning selling Valentines Day cards, her sisters and her supporting the family on change. And as I understand more of the realities of the world we live in, I discover this remarkable web that covers our existence here.
It is scary to think that our actions affect so much more than ourselves. Every product we buy and use, every leader that we elect, every natural resource we decide to consume affects people on the other side of the world. This world is so injust, and for centuries this interconnectedness has been used for oppression and hurt, but we have the power to change that. Look at the interconnectedness of the church. I live in a city where over 80% of the population identifies themselves as a Christian, and I would bet another 10% identifies themselves with other religions. What a rallying point that is in itself; if we could only start living the beautiful messages religion around the world teaches us, how couldn’t we change this world?
My skewed vision that I saw the world with for so many years is being altered but as I become more and more critical of my own ways and the ways of my people I also find so much hope. I find hope in knowing so many movements of change have already been started and work. We cannot wait though for someone to place into our laps a handbook on how to live for change. It comes to the point where we can no longer wait to be informed of the problems of this world, we have to search and long for knowledge. That is where transformation and hope for a new tomorrow will come from. As I am connected to all of you, so now are you connected to every person and story I know, and I to your story. Through this stringing together of human lives we will span all humanity and carry each other towards a new understanding of what love and life can be. Steps over stumbling step we will walk together, uncertain and scared, but together.
Over the “less than half year remaining” hump, and so nervous and excited by that
-James

Feb. Update!!!! - Mark in Slovakia

2008-03-10T10:11:00.000-07:00

07-08 Slovakia - Mark with Marek and Marek
Originally uploaded by YAGM

Mark's Missionary Notes February 2008
News about what God is doing in Slovakia

Ahoj and Greetings from Slovakia.
February has been an interesting month with comic and frustrating
moments. There were
moments when the month seemed to take forever and moments when it seemed
to fly by very
fast. This marks about the mid-point of my year here, it is hard to
believe. Thank you all for your
continued prayer and thoughts. Please pray for all the other people who
are serving in various
places around the world as well.

And as usual I have been writing some other updates on my Blog for those
of you who are
Internet savvy. The address is http://www.moltron.net/blog/
I also have many more pictures
available at http://flickr.com/photos/themoltron

For me February is usually the month where things seem to drag on and
you feel like somehow
that the great new beginning of a year had in January is long gone. For
me this month has been a
time when many of cultural frustrations are starting to come to the
surface. I'm also realizing that
it is about that time I have to start considering what I will do when I
get home. Despite all these
things this month has been fun.

February has been interesting because we've been catching up on the some
of the smaller projects around the village. The Kulturny Dom (Civic
Center), which is being renovated, is full of junk and old clothes. We
have cleaned, burned or thrown away most of these things making it
easier to get some of the larger work done. In the process we have found
old newspapers and others antique things. It is interesting seeing how
the village and cultural has changed. In the Stara Škola (Old School)
where we live, we have been doing some small repair projects that
involve some electrical work. Much of the stonework around the
church is starting to fall apart this includes the front steps to the
church. We have been working making some to concrete steps. I am not an
expert but we take our time and think things through we end up making
really nice work. When projects are more of a mental challenge it makes
the work that much more enjoyable.

The youth group has been going well, although sometimes we ended up
planning things at the last
minute. One of these last minute plans was the week before Valentines
and we talked about what
it means to love and what love is. Discussion is not a very popular
thing in Slovakia for some
reason. So our conversation was somewhat brief but I think they got
something out of it. We then
made Valentines for people they might not usually give Valentines to. We
encouraged them to
not just say love your neighbor but show it. As much as I want the kids
to get out of youth group,
I find planning and preparing a source of spiritual renewal.

The following weekend I had the opportunity to take a mini-vacation to
Velky Slavkov and Hybe where some of
the other American Volunteers are. It was great to see them and see some
other Slovak faces than the ones in my
Village. One fun thing we did was visit and Wild West Tavern in Poprad.
(On a side note: Most of what the
Slovaks know about the Wild West is from German author Karl May who was
never actually in America.)
Nothing like the Wild West in Slovakia. In Velky Slavkov I visited the
home for Gypsy Boys. I
helped Kristen and Jessica (the volunteers working there) with an
English class and had some interesting
conversation. In the area I live there is not a very large gypsy
population. So it was interesting to interact with
them. Getting to know them as people instead of just those Gypsy boys.

After my short trip it was back to work. This particular week the
students we out for vacation. Because of this we were
invited to several families to eat lunch instead of going to the school.
I don't think I have ever been more stuffed in my life.
Slovaks enjoy eating and feeding people. One of the other Volunteers
hears quite often "Food is for eating" implying you
should eat even when you're not hungry. It was an enjoyable week
visiting and talking with the various families. I feel like
I'm getting to know the village more and sense of appreciation for the
work I am doing here.

As I've mentioned before Language is a constant struggle. I am learning
something new everyday and the more I learn the
more I find I don't know. The struggle now is trying to learn and
communicate beyond just getting by. Some days I just
don't want to speak Slovak, some days I do. One of the things I'm
learning is that this year for me has been an exercise in listening.
Learning to understand and really listen even when I don't have a strong
desire to so.

One of my other struggles is related to Alcohol. They have a very
liberal view of Alcohol and
generally most people drink in moderation. It is not uncommon for
everyone to have a shot of
Slivovica (Plum Liquor) before lunch or dinner. The struggle I have is
with how they treat and
ostracize members of the community who are Alcoholics. It happens in
America too but here
because Alcohol is such a commonplace thing for everyone being an
Alcoholic is common and to
find recovery or help of any kind is non-existent. One such man is
Ivanko; he is unemployed and
works at the church doing various things on occasion. The other
Volunteers and I have tried to be
his friend and encourage him when he sober. There is really little else
I can do. I pray that he
finds hope in the situation and that my actions will make others see how
to love their neighbors.

One of the small things I do on occasion is assist (or should I say
lead) the Kid's Church. The Pastor has asks us to fill in when he can't
find someone at the last minute. It is difficult but, we try and the
kids seem to enjoy it. During the sermon the kids leave the church and
have a small lesson for about 30 minutes or so. It is quite a struggle
to keep about 15-20 kids entertained and
teach a bible lesson when you don't know the language. Many of the kids
we know from teaching school or from guitar and drum lessons, so they
help us. For all of you who say they can't lead a kid's bible study try
doing it in Slovak.

As I am passing the mid-point I can't help but think of home more often.
One of the many things
that give me a sense of home is music. Especially one particular song
during my times of struggle and longing.

"So if I stand let me stand on the promise that you will pull me through
And if I can't let me fall on the grace that first brought me to you
If I sing let me sing for the joy that has born in me these songs
But if I weep let it be as a man who is longing for his home"

This Chorus from a Jars of Clay song has spoken to me and given me strength.
The last line particular speaks to me especially, I am here enjoying my
time and serving the Lord
but I am a man longing for his home. I am thinking about and craving for
the familiar. Hot Dogs,
Peanut Butter, Baseball, Family, Friends, English Language. I began to
think about what home
means to me. It's not just a place. It is people, small things and
cultural quirks. It is a feeling of
being accepted and loved for who you are. I then began to think, what
about our Heavenly home?
Do we as Christians have a sense of what our Heavenly home will be? One
Vision of heaven is
described in Revelations,

"The main street was pure gold, translucent as glass. But there was no
sign of a temple, for the
Lord God – The Sovereign-Strong – and the Lamb are the temple. The City
doesn't need sun or
moon for light. God's Glory is its light; the lamb is its Lamp! The
nations will walk in its light and
earth's kings bring in their splendor. Its gates will never be shut by
day, and there won't be any
night. They'll bring the glory and honor of the nations into the City.
Nothing dirty or defiled will
get into the City, and no one who defiles or deceives. Only those whose
names are written in the
Lamb's book of Life will get in." Rev. 21:21-27

What a description of Heaven. A whole City in the presence of God. We
should be people who
are longing for a heaven home, a place of God's Presence. A place of
love, forgiveness and grace.
When the early immigrants came to the United States they set up
communities to reflect a sense
of home. You can see it in the China Towns and Little Italys. It just
feels like you are walking
into another culture sometimes. This sense of making a home in a foreign
land is reflected in the
bible during Israel's exile in Babylon. God commanded the Israelites to
make homes in the place
they were. "Make yourselves at home there and work for the country's
welfare, Pray for her wellbeing."
- Jeremiah 29:7 Later Jeremiah announces "[God] will show up and take
care of you as
promised and bring you back home" in verse 10. Jesus showed us how to
live and through his
death and Resurrection made it possible for us to be citizens of heaven.
God's command is not to
twiddle our thumbs but, to make a heavenly home here on earth so that
when he comes in full
glory we will be that much more familiar, that much more prepared.

What are we doing to reflect a sense of our Heavenly Home? How are we
conveying Forgiveness
and Grace? I am realizing this longing I have for home is a reflection
of a deeper desire for my
heavenly home and deeper desire to see God's Presence Reflected no
matter where I am.

Lord,
Let us be people who long for our heavenly home,
Helps us Pray that it will come sooner
But, that we would build reflections of your hope
Here and now in the places we live and work
Amen

God's Blessings and Peace be with you,
Christ’s Servant in Slovakia
Mark

A very late February Newsletter - Kevin in Uruguay

2008-03-10T10:01:00.000-07:00

I am, quite sadly, almost 2 weeks late with my February update. It has been an incredibly busy few weeks around here, though – Mate Monday´s latest few entries should tell you quite a bit about what I´ve been up to for the past while. This month, I am not going to be using the Franklin´s Choice format for my newsletter entry; the prompt wasn´t a bad one, by any means, but I have other things on my mind – one episode that has only casually been mentioned in Mate Mondays.

On the second night of the Minnesota group´s stay with us in Montevideo, Daniela (our doctor/friend/neighbor), KD, Dorothea and I were sitting around the church office after hours, working on a photo show about the kid´s camp from a few weeks back. We were talking, laughing at Dorothea´s playing the Las Divinas song from Patito Feo, and in general having a good, laid-back time. And then Amanda entered the room. Her grandmother, Jean, was feeling very ill and disoriented, and Amanda asked if there was a doctor nearby who could take a look at her. Daniela, of course, volunteered, and I went along as the translator.

It was not hard to tell from the look in Amanda´s eyes that something more than just a stomach ache was bothering her grandmother, and as soon as we walked into their room (they were staying in Carlos and Carla´s apartment, which is also in the church building), it was obvious that Jean was not well at all. She seemed incredibly disoriented and dizzy, her speech was slurred, and she could barely move or control the right side of her body. I´ve taken enough First Aid to have been able to recognize immediately what was likely happening to Jean – those are the classic signs of a stroke. Jean was very obviously worried; she knew First Aid, too. Amanda was worried. For that matter, I was worried, but I didn´t show it. Daniela very calmly began her investigation, and so I translated for Jean. I never thought my Spanish skills would be use to ask a 75 year old woman if she´s been having regular bowel movements, or have to say in Spanish that among her medications is one for vaginal dryness.

After a basic examination, Daniela decided that a hospital visit was in order – it didn´t seem as if Jean´s condition was serious, but neither was it something treatable in the “take two of these and call me in the morning” manner. Jean´s blood pressure was skyrocketing, though, and so Daniela gave her a blood pressure med – mostly nerves, we assumed. From there, it was time to make hospital arrangements, and then the fun began. We had to use Jean´s travel medical insurance, and in this delightful system, you end up making about 7 phone calls, including one to Jamaica, just to talk to a live person. In the end, after all kinds of going back and forth between the phone downstairs and the upstairs bedroom, an insurance agent from the U.S. called Daniela´s cell phone...to talk to Jean. Yes, needing to talk to the patient is ALWAYS the best way to authorize emergency medical care – stroke patients are always lucid, happy, and able to share a description of their conditions with a penpusher back in the United States. Fortunately, by the time Poindexter finished grilling her, she felt better, looked better, and didn´t need a hospital visit after all – our best guess is that she had an extremely minor stroke (there´s a proper medical name for them, but I´ve forgotten it), and once it passed, she was back to normal.
Daniela, however, was livid over the episode – in Uruguay, if you´re sick, you go to the hospital. They treat you, and then they ask about insurance, and since the state (cash-poor as it is) pays for a reasonable chunk of medical expenses, people without the financial means to pay don´t have to. It made no sense to her that someone having a stroke should have to physically get permission from an insurance agent on another continent to receive medical treatment.

It doesn´t make much sense to me, either. If a country that meets at least some official definitions of “third world” can provide adequate, treat-first-and-ask-questions-later medical service, then why can´t the world´s wealthiest nation find a way to take better care of its citizens? When did we decide to let soulless corporations, who could care less about the individual so long as they get their money, run virtually everything in our country? What would have happened if Jean had died because Poindexter was in the bathroom for 5 minutes too long before returning our call, or if we had just gone to the hospital without authorization and the insurance company used this as grounds not to cover her treatment, thus stiffing her with a huge bill? 2008 is an election year; it´s time to start finding some answers to these questions, and an acceptable answer is not “stay the course” this time around.

Soapbox speeches and residual anger aside, the God of the Cross was there that night, in the midst of pain and anxiety. God was there, calming us – we watched as Jean got better, as her blood pressure went down, as she began to talk and think clearer. We watched as Amanda managed to hold in her own fears and be a strong, calming presence for her grandmother. We watched as Daniela and I tried simultaneously to keep it together and communicate in adverse conditions, even though we were both tired and frazzled. The next day, after Jean and Amanda got some sleep, things went back to normal – they re-joinec group activities in the afternoon, and went and did everything the rest of the group did for the rest of the week.

I think about my position in it all – the translator, the person having to bridge a communication gap rain, shine, or stroke – and I think about how far I´ve come in 6 months. I couldn´t have done this in September. I would have been almost as clueless as the two non-Spanish speakers were. However, just for being here, for having ears and a mouth and a brain, I´ve learned Spanish, and something else along the way - that God gives us what we have, and what we need, and then finds ways to use us where we are. Maybe that´s my lesson of the year.

Sukhamano, state-sider - Rob in India

2008-03-10T01:40:00.000-07:00

January/ February Mega-Double Issue

And we're back … back from a trip to the Maldives, back to normal life at our sites, and back with the newsletter after two months (yikes!). This is the long awaited double issue, but double only in the fact that it covers two months, not double in length per se. We have to keep these things a manageable length. I don't want to discourage the few die-hards who actually read these each month.
I'm back in Kottayam, I'm healthy and I'm ready for action. But wait, where has everyone gone? If I ever had a semblance of a weekly routine, it has now been completely obliterated. We had the last day of classes at the college two weeks ago, many of my friends at the theological institute have been accepted into seminaries and are moving to far-away lands, Thursday is my final day at Baker LP and I'm feeling just a little emotional about all this. I will keep relatively busy until Easter, splitting my time between the boys at KNH Hostel in Kanam and preparing for two musical performances during Holy Week, but then what? You're just going to have to stay tuned to find out. In the meantime, let me give you the brief on these last two months – they have truly flown by.
Attending conferences has become a monthly activity. Some are poorly managed, unspeakably dull and, in general, a huge waste of time. The conference I attended in mid-January was the opposite of all of those things. The topic was, "Globalization: Life and Livelihood Issues." The attendance was small, maybe fifty people, but they represented most of South India, some states in the North and contained a wealth of experience and knowledge on the subject. During the week we heard from social activists, professors, pastors and priests, villagers and city folk. We heard first hand accounts from people who have made it their life's work to oppose many of the negative effects of globalization. Actually, the only people with little field experience were the four Americans, but we had a unique perspective on the discussion as well. While many people in Kerala have frustrations relating to globalization, a lot of times their complaints are vague: "Globalization is bad" or "America is the source of all that is bad about globalization." While there is certainly some truth in these statements they simplify a very complicated issue. No one mentioned even once either of these all too common accusations. Rather, they identified a specific concern (for example Pepsico sucking up all the ground water of a village, leaving the villagers without the basic resource for survival) and then discussed how to react to that threat. It was a hugely inspiring time and we made some close friends. We hope to visit many of these friends in April and get a closer look at the grassroots work they're doing.
In the last week of January, I visited the homes villages of several of my student friends, attended yet another wedding, experienced the craziest Church festival I've ever seen, and participated in the yearly C.S.I. Convention held in Kottayam. That church festival really was a crazy experience, maybe that'll become a blog post.
Emily came to visit during the first two weeks of February. We spent some time seeing the "sights of Kerala," as you can see on my Web Album, but we also spent some days in and around Kottayam. I really enjoyed exposing her to many of the people and places that make up my life in India. My newsletter may be magnificent, but it doesn't quite replicate the actual experience of being in India. I'm glad that Emily was able to get a first hand glimpse of the reality. Anyway, it's handy to have one more person back in America who understands when I say, "I was at the KSRTC stand and a goat drank my tea."
After Emily's departure I had one week back in Kottayam before my Indian visa expired and I had to leave the country - what a week though. Tuesday was sports day, which featured departmental tug off way, and the hilarious "slow race" on motorbikes. Wednesday was College Day. Many students presented dances and songs, and even yours truly got on stage for one number with the band "Rockin' Saints."
And then Kat, Beth, Laura and I went to the Maldives. I suppose that deserves some sort of explanation. The plan was always to go to Sri Lanka in February when we needed to renew our passports. Well, one large bombing in the Colombo railways station put and end to those plans, so at the last minute we diverted our trip to the next closest country, the Maldives. The Maldives is only about an hour flight from Trivandrum, but it's a whole world away. No, that is not their tourism slogan, though it would be a good one, it's simply the truth of it. Flying into the capital island, Male, was an impressive sight. The sea below us was dotted with dozens of islands; a green forrest nucleus, a white sand beach cell wall, azure sea ectoplasm and a rich blue … look I haven't had cellular biology since 9th grade. You get the idea anyway; it was really cool looking.
We did face one large problem upon arrival to the Maldives – a complete lack of cash. Our budget would have suited us quite well for Sri Lanka, but in a land where the economy literally floats atop a sea of tourism, bargains were hard to find. We did find a relatively cheap place to stay. The toilets reflected this cheapness by utterly refusing to function properly, but we managed. We also had trouble finding a beach, which is astounding being in a country with 1,190 islands. The problem was that most beaches were privately owned by resorts, and to use a resort beach you had to pay their (exorbitant) fee. Ah ha, but we got creative. We took a passenger ferry to a local island, one not controlled by a resort, and spent two glorious days enjoying a half a mile of beach, and an expanse of shimmering blue water all to ourselves. We also smuggled ourselves aboard a SCUBA boat and snorkeled over a beautiful coral wall, visited the national art museum, discovered how and where the locals eat and, my favorite, enjoyed relaxing for hours in a coffee shop, sipping an actual cup of coffee. That coffee thing may seem like a trifle, but after six months of limited access to western style coffee and no access to western style "just sit and read for an hour" coffee shops, it felt like a huge luxury.
That's it for now. Keep checking my blog for periodic updates, and don't forget to look at the updates to my web album. Ya, no Maldives picks yet. They will come.

KNH (Kindernothilfe) Hostel (Bala Bhavan) in Kanam

I've alluded to the rascals many times, but now I officially present to you the boys of KNH Hostel in their very own article.
Since sometime in late October I've been visiting KNH Hostel. The KNH actually stands for a German word, Kindernothilfe, which means "Helping poor children." KNH Hostel is also often referred to as Bala Bhavan, which means "boy's home." I normally just say, "I'm going to Kanam," Kanam being the village where the hostel is located. This hostel is home to about 60 boys ranging for elementary school age to college age. It is a place for boys who, for one reason or another, cannot study and live at home. Some of the children are orphaned; others come from poor households that cannot accommodate the expenses of schooling a child. Though almost every one of these children comes with a heart-breaking story of their own, my visits there have (almost) always been extremely joyful affairs. The boys are full of life and energy, lots of smiles and they are never shy to teach me some new tricks.
The first time I visited Kanam was something of a traumatic experience. Once my conversation with Mercy Miss, the head warden of the hostel, ended, children overran me. "WHATISYOURNAME?" "HOWAREYOUIAMFINETHANKYOU!" "WHEREAREYOUGOING?" I answered as best as I could while trying to manage five or six handshakes at a time. Thomas, another one of the wardens, shooed away the younger children and so I was left alone with just a few of the older boys. We sat down together in the main courtyard and started to learn about each other. I asked them their names, what they're studying, which is their favorite subject, etc. They answered politely, and then scrutinized me at length in Malayalam. Finally, one the oldest boys, Subin, paused, gave me a good once over and proclaimed, "You have a very large nose." "Yes and you have a very large mouth" I thought to myself. This cat and mouse game of dialogue finally came to a close when I saw it was time to catch my bus to Kottayam. I only spent a few hours at the hostel, but at that point, I was convinced that I didn't need to come ever again. Somehow I ended up back the following week.
I'm glad to say that the first visit was the only one where I actually feared for my life. Each time I went back to Kanam I enjoyed it a little more and a little more. Now I can say that it's probably my favorite weekly activity. I absolutely adore those guys. I go when I have time, usually on the weekends, and stay from one to three days at a time.
My daily activities there are basically split into two categories: time with the little ones and time with the big ones. Time with the little ones usually occupies my early afternoon hours. One common activity is going for "wild" walks. I call these walks "wild" for many reasons. They usually involve walking across many people's private property and entering homes without warning. We also often disturb tourists at a nearby "rustic retreat." To these boys, no land in or around Kanam is off limit and they move about it with incredible confidence. Normally by the time I catch up with one to say, "Deepu, we really shouldn't be in this man's yard" we are already inside his house and drinking a cup of his tea. The strange thing is, most people don't seem to mind the intrusion.
These walks are also a lesson in local flora. They pick literally every flower they see and give it to me; usually the gift comes along with some sort of message like "I love you, Uncle" – incredibly endearing. We also have tasted every edible thing in the nearby forest. We eat oranges the size of a bowling ball, pineapples, the chewy lining of pods dropped for trees, coconuts, and these incredibly sour pink fruits. I always look forward to these walks, but they have been toned down recently. Now Mercy Miss insists that several older boys come along as well. This usually mitigates the wildness by a significant margin.
The other main chunk of time is spent with the big ones. These guys are more the conversational type. We often go for quiet, non-wild walks in the early morning, sometimes not speaking for minutes at a time, but simply enjoying the coolness of the air. At night we often stay up way past curfew and discuss all things Malayali and American. One of our favorite activities is trying to tell jokes. This is an incredibly difficult task.. Most jokes assume some level of inside knowledge of a culture, and also utilize some sort of wordplay so we have to tell each other these jokes using a combination of Malyalam and English. Usually the jokes don't translate and the response to a punch line is only the sound of a cricket chirping in the distance, but occasionally we have a winner. Here's my favorite so far:
"Yesterday (name someone in the room) was trying to get a coconut from the tree by throwing stones at it. He failed because one of the leaves kept getting in the way. So finally he climbed the tree with his machete, cut down the leaf and slide down again, satisfied that he could now dislodge the coconut with a stone."
Now that's a great joke. I'm headed off for Kanam this very afternoon so who know what adventures await me. I'm excited because it's been almost two weeks since my last visit, but no worries, in May when all of the students are off campus, I may just make Kanam my temporary permanent home.