On a Missionary Journey

Demons Dancing in the Streets

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 00:15:00 +0000

The last week in September marked the annual festival of San Jeronimo. San Jeronimo is the local patron saint of the area of Cusco where I live (also called, amazingly enough, San Jeronimo). In English, you may know him as Saint Jerome, who translated the Latin version of the Bible known as the Vulgate. San Jeronimo here is a large statue that dwells inside the church, comes out over Holy Week in March or April, returns a week later (accompanied by much dancing, food, and drinking), and is taken out of the church and paraded around again during the last week in September. Most schools in San Jeronimo have holidays over this time. Since PROMESA is not exactly into saint worship, we don't. But as we are in classes, we are hear strains of horn and drum music (typical fare for a saintly procession) floating across the air. For months before the actual event, leaving from the school in the afternoon, we see people practicing typical dances in the roofed concrete sport court close to the school. These people have to sign themselves up for these dances and pay for the teacher to come teach them. There is one family in charge of each dance. Someone estimated that these families probably spend 3000-4000 soles each on this event. This is equal to roughly $1000-$1300 American money, which is quite a considerably larger percentage of one's resources here than in the States. Unfortunately, the use of this money on the festival of San Jeronimo usually means that the money is not used on things that it really should be, things such as improving one's house or taking care of one's children. The actual festival seems to be mostly an excuse for a lot of drunkenness. Alcoholism is a real stronghold here. The picture of the horn player with the beer bottle in his hand shows this well. Our friend Marga's husband Cesar has a barber shop right along the main street in San Jeronimo. During the week of celebration, one afternoon contains a parade which passes right by the front door of the barber shop. Marga invited my roommate Carrie and I to go with her and her family to watch the parades in front of the barber shop. For me, it was a very interesting afternoon full of questions and thoughts. I was surprised by the number of dances that involved demons (hence the title of this blog post). My thought was "If San Jeronimo is a saint (to the Catholics here) and people worship him as such, then why in the world would there be so many demon dances during a festival to honor him? What fellowship does light have with darkness?" In my way of thinking, it didn't make sense. I think it really hit me when the parade got stopped a little ways down from us. Two girls ran down the middle of the street to look at it. They came back yelling "Saqra! (Devil in Quechua)" with the chill of thrilling terror that ghost stories around a camp fire often give children. Even some of the dances contained "Saqra" in the name. My friend Lisi gave me an explanation for this phenomenon that I really liked and which really made sense to me. She said, "If San Jeronimo is a demon (from an evangelical point of view, since he is worshipped as an idol), then it makes sense that other demons would be around him and be a part of the celebration." Simple. True. Another interesting fact that Marga shared with us later, while reflecting on the dances, is that they are changing as the world changes. Skirt hems move from knees to thighs to upper thighs. More dances involve demons and ugly masks. Fewer are innocent and beautiful. There are more dances. It was interesting to note this bit of information. All in all, it was an interesting, afternoon of dances, music, food and lots of color. It made me realize again just how lost those of the world are, those who carry around their unmoving gods on their shoulders, dancing as demons for demons.

Unsung Heroes

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 23:36:00 +0000

There are many unsung heroes here in Cusco, people who often work unrecognized or under-appreciated. Yet, without them, our lives would be much different and much more unpleasant. Today, though they'll never read this, I'm sure, I'd like to dedicate this post to some of them:
To the bus, combi and taxi drivers - If you've never been here, Cusco driving is....well, let's say different....than United States driving. (If you don't believe me, ask my parents). Drivers here have to be a lot more alert and agressive. Horns are just as necessary (if not more so) than brakes. Swerving in and out of traffic is so normal that I don't even think about it. My parents were on the edge of their seats many times during their times here, while I am so used to this driving style that I read books through it while going to town (and love doing so). Not having my own car, I rely almost exclusively on public transportation. Though car accidents are not unknown, I have been safe throughout the year and 9 months I've been here. I realized the other week that I owe my road safety up to this point to God and to the good driving of all the many bus, combi and taxi drivers in whose cars I have ridden. Thank you!
Public sanitation department - Litter. It's a big problem here. Big. There is litter on the streets all the time. The custom here is eat it and toss it, no matter where you are. Though people are becoming more aware of litter and lack thereof, it's going to be a LOOONG process to change a society's ways. But in the midst of the litter problem, there is the public sanitation department. These courageous men and women walk the streets with their face masks, brooms and trash bags, cleaning up after the rest of society. Or they ride on the back of the trash truck, listening the warbling music flowing from the speakers mounted on top, grabbing people's trash bags. Or they ring a triangle in front of the trash truck so that people will remember it's time to put out their trash (it really is a nice reminder). The other week was the parade for the local saint, San Jeronimo. The main street of San Jeronimo was, well, to put it nicely, not the cleanest afterwards. The next morning I observed on the way to school that the remnants of the parade had all been swept away and the street looked presentable again. Another morning I was walking to school from the bus stop and saw piles of trash in the middle of the street. Walking further, I saw someone sweeping them up. Of course, with four schools on our one street, it didn't last long, but it looked nice while it did last.
Maids - They are generally looked down upon and not respected (I'm trying to change that, at least in our case). They go to someone else's house, cook and clean for them , run errands and generally do whatever else that person doesn't have time to do. (Some very important things are only open while we are at school....like customs at the post office and the telephone company). Then they go back to their own homes and do the same thing. Usually, they work for peanuts, even by Peruvian standards. But their work is such a blessing. In our case, since we don't have a mom or a husband to cook for us, don't eat lunch at school and Crock-Pots are an unknown invention here, having someone to cook lunch, the main meal of the day, is a necessity and a blessing. And spending a great deal of time working on school stuff in the afternoons and evenings makes not having to clean a blessing. Marga, our maid, is one of my best friends here and a true sister in Christ. I saw a sign on vacation in Arequipa that summed it up perfectly: Not even the king would eat if the worker did not work".
There are many more, but these are the ones that stuck out to me while thinking about it lately. So here's to the unsung heroes in our lives and thank you for all you do!

What Would Jesus Do....one step further

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 00:13:00 +0000

The other week I was disturbed out of my devotional time at 7:15 on a Saturday morning by the doorbell being rung insistently. Till it w as all said and done, the man next door is working on his house and was convinced that a small room beside our front door, not connected directly to the house, was going to fall down should he begin digging around its foundations. We later learned he may have had a point, but the insistency with which he was saying that the room should come down and the urgency of it happening in order for their apartment building to be raised next door did not sit well with me at that point. I must confess that I did not exactly treat them like Jesus probably would have. It made me think, though. I began to wonder what it would be like to know exactly what Jesus would have done in every situation. I began to think how nice it would have been if the Bible contained the complete record of everything Jesus said and did in every situation.
And then I began to think of the ramifications that would bring. And God began to speak to my heart of the ramifications that it would bring. Imagine with me, if you will, that the entire life of Jesus was chronicled in the Bible....everything He said and did, every situation in which He found Himself. Imagine yourself as a God follower in this situation. You have your Bible. And then you have a massive book that chronicles where to find any incident in Jesus' life. Someone stole your wallet while walking downtown? Look up stolen belongings in your reference book. Gospel of Peter 4:17. You flip open to the Gospel of Peter and look up what Jesus did in that situation. And then you "go ye and do ye likewise". It would make "What Would Jesus Do?" a whole lot simpler, wouldn't it?
And then God showed me the horrid reality that that would really bring. If all I had to do was know where to look in the Bible and then follow what it said in that passage, that cuts off relationship right there! Why do I need to know God's heart and search to know Him more, if all I have to do is know where to find the correct answers about Him? Knowing where to find answers of how to live correctly in any situation in the Bible means God becomes a formula. If A, then B. If B, then C. And then who would really care about God as God anymore? Christianity would become just another religion, people trying to get to heaven by doing everything right.
And then God showed me something freeing and beautiful. He cares so much more about having a relationship with us than about us getting everything right. He created us with free will so that we can choose what we're going to do, whether it's what is right or what is not right. Yeah, we're going to make some wrong choices, but the relationship is still there. And then He provided us grace so that when we do choose what is not right, we can still have that relationship with Him. It's so simple, so complex, and so beautiful.
So I can ask myself "What would Jesus do?", but the answer might not be found in red ink in my Bible. The answer just might be found in seeking His heart and in wanting to know Him better. The answer just might be found in being in relation with Him. And I think that's a pretty good place for it to be hiding.

People of faith: Rene

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Sat, 12 Sep 2009 16:22:00 +0000

Sometimes it's a rare opportunity to meet brothers and sisters from around the world. As I've been here in Peru, I feel privileged to have met many new family members who have encouraged me and become a precious and important part of my life. I wanted to share some of their stories with you, to give you the privilege of "meeting" them too. This, I'm hoping, can become a series of blog posts over the next few weeks or months.
The woman with me in this picture is Rene. She has become a dear friend over the months that I've been here. Rene is in her early forties and is a single mom to Nando, who just turned 14 in June. Rene is on the worship team with me at my church in Huacarpay. Our friendship really started to grow last year when I joined the worship team. I was told that practice started on Saturday evening at 6. Thinking like an American, I arrived around 6, to find the church locked and no one there. So I decided to go down the street a little way to Rene's house, since I knew where it was and it was close. This ended up becoming a normal routine, one that has been a blessing to me (and she says it is for her too). Rene lives in one large room, which she has divided into three with curtains. The front room is a hair salon/tailor shop/small clothing and accessory store, which provides her with income. The other two rooms are a bedroom and a dining room. Her kitchen is semi-outside in a patio with corrugated tin acting as a roof. Yet, despite humble circumstances, Rene has a heart bigger than many people I know. Whether it's bread and tea or leftovers from lunch, or even lemonade, she always gives me something to eat. Even more importantly, she has shared with me her friendship and love. We have become part of each other's support system and family. Since Rene became a Christian, her family has been very distant and has not wanted to hear what she has wanted to share with them. She told me one time that she feels more close to the people from the church than to her own family. I also look forward to the times I get to spend with her every week. We have a relationship of mutual trust and sharing from the heart.
One day recently, when I was in Huacarpay, Rene shared with me that her aunt, who owns the house where she is living, asked her to move out by the end of September. Her aunt apparently wants to do some renovations or something. So Rene's looking for a place to live. She can live in one of the rooms of the church, but she has no place there to put her shop. She also bought a small lot in a neighboring town, but has no money thus far to start building a house. She is hoping that one of the men in the church who have a truck can help her get some rocks to start the foundations. She says sometimes she feels alone. I keep reminding her that she is not. And in so doing, I am reminding myself of this truth as well. We are a part of the body of Christ, which means that we are never alone.
Her faith in the midst of everything is beautiful. Last week when I went out to Huacarpay, there was no light at her house, for some reason only known to the electric company. Silhouetted in the light of a candle, as we cooked together on her small stove, she shared with me what God had spoken to her as she read the story of one of the kings in the Bible. An enemy king was attacking Israel. The enemy king had said that the Israelites shoudldn't trust God, that no one could deliver them from his hand, not even God. But the Israelite king decided to trust God anyway, since he knew that God's power was greater. And God ended up killing the enemies of Israel without the Israelites even having to do a thing. Rene shared the story with me and spoke of her faith that God will do the same for her, that He will deliver her and help her. It is beautiful to see how God has taken Rene from someone who used to worship the local saints and journey annually to Ccoyllorrity to worship the god-image there, to someone who now worships the God who lives in her heart, the God who has never abandoned her, the God who always provides. She has become a precious sister to me and I'm thankful for the opportunity of having her in my family and in my heart.

Starfish and footwashing

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 02:43:00 +0000

Being a teacher, there are some days when I just get plain down frustrated. My kids aren't cooperating or things aren't turning out the way I was hoping or I feel like I'm not doing a very good job. Any number of things can cause this frustration. This morning was one of those mornings. My parents are here visiting and yesterday was a rather difficult day in all my classes, which they, unfortunately, got to see. I was sharing my frustrations with them this morning. I realized the need to let those frustrations go before I needlessly took them out on my kids. So the combi on the way to school turned into my prayer closet as I asked God to minister to me and "wash my feet" this morning. I got to school and as I was there, I began to feel better, though I was still not where I wanted to be. And then it happened. God reached down and washed my feet. We were in chapel and between doing motions for the songs and throwing out things that my kids had in their mouths, I was standing in the back behind my kids. Johana motioned with her hand for me to come over. She pulled something out of her backpack and handed it to me. Turning it over, I saw a starfish pin that said "I make a difference" and a card with a story on it. I knew the story, so I explained it to her, since it was in English. The story goes something like this, "There once was a young man who was walking down a beach. He came across a man throwing starfish from the sand back into the water to save their lives. There were hundreds of the creatures strewn across the beach. The young man asked the older man, 'Why are you doing this? Don't you know there are hundreds and you can't possibly save them all? Why bother?' The old man picked up another starfish and threw it back into the ocean. Turning to the young man he said, 'It made a difference for that one'." After I explained it to her, she indicated that it was for me. In that moment, I knew it was God speaking through her. I have no idea where she would have gotten such a thing or why she gave it to me. It was completely out of the blue, but it was unmistakably God at work in my life this morning. The pin stayed on my jacket all day and now got transferred to my backpack. It's a reminder for me of the love and grace of God and His ministry to me, no matter how or when or where or through who.

June in Cusco - Corpus Cristi and Inti Raymi

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 02:22:00 +0000

June in Cusco is quite the month. Seems like just as one celebration ends, another begins. I wanted to share with you a bit of the culture of Peru and what June looks like here. The month begins with the celebration of Corpus Cristi around the 10th. Corpus is supposedly a celebration of the body of Christ. Supposedly, because it really has nothing to do with the body of Christ. It is a Catholic adaptation of an ancient Incan Native American tradition in which the mummies of former Incas (rulers) were paraded around the plaza of the city to celebrate and honor them. When the Spanish came and conquered and wanted to convert the Incas to Catholicism (mostly by force), they decided to replace the mummies with saints and parade the saints around. (I've even heard that in some cases they put the mummies inside the saint statues in some way in order to heighten the acceptance of Catholicism). The tradition has persisted for the last roughly 500 years in that manner. Various churches around Cusco have their own resident saints. The part of Cusco where I live is called San Jeronimo. Surprisingly enough, the patron saint of this part of town is San Jeronimo! Since I'm not in the Catholic church, I don't know exactly how all this works, but this is what I understand. Every year, people who worship these saints are chosen or asked to be in charge of making clothes for the saints or carrying them into Cusco. It's a great honor. But it also comes with its downside. Many times people spend excessive amounts of money to fulfill their responsibility to the saint, so much so that their families suffer. I was talking to my friend Rene the other week. She gave me some interesting insight into this tradition. She told me she used to carry a saint before she became a Christian. She said she really believed the saint was God. I asked her if she ever wondered why, if this was the case, there were so many different saints. She said she'd asked and was told that they are all different expressions of God (or something like that). Coming from my Christian worldview of growing up hearing "Don't worship idols", I still have a ways to go to understand all this. Anyway, all the 15 saints receive richly ornamented, expensive, lavish new clothes and are carried into Cusco on litters from their various churches of residence. They meet in the plaza and form a parade around the perimeter. One by one, they are carried into the cathedral where they supposedly have some sort of party for a week. The entering of the cathedral is solemn. Each of the saints is preceeded by a band consisting of horns and drums. There are also highly decorated banners that preceed each saint to proclaim the name of the saint, where it comes from and some of its worshippers. Afterwards there are traditional dances. It is a procession full of color and noise. Most of the schools in Cusco have off that day, since it's a religious holiday. The plaza is packed with people. However, the holiday is not completely religious. It is also somewhat of a tourist attraction and many people come to watch and eat chiriuchu (a plate of cold food including guinea pig, chicken, fish eggs, seaweed, toasted corn, cheese and a thick, cakey omelet....I'm not sure how to describe that part). This dish is usually only eaten during this time of year. Close to the main plaza there is another plaza called the Plaza de San Francisco. The plaza is full of vendors all selling chiriuchu and beer. Can't forget the beer. No Peruvian religious celebration is complete without it. Many people go home drunk. Another one of the sad realities of Peruvian religious celebrations is that they are often followed by abuse due to drunkenness.
A week later, the saints are taken from the cathedral and carried back to their places of residence throughout the year. Though this is not as big a deal as is their advent to the cathedral, it is still important. People set up stands all along the route back home, selling mainly food and beer. We saw San Jeronimo's procession resting and eating in front of the prison on the way home from school.
Just as the saints are being taken back home, the parades for Cusco Day begin. Cusco Day is celebrated on June 24th. As its name suggests, it is a holiday celebrating Cusco and coincides with one of the most important religious festivals of the Incas: Inti Raymi. More on that in a bit. The 2 weeks leading up to Cusco Day are full of colorful dances celebrating the typical culture here. Schools work hard to prepare dances (during this time we are working hard on schoolwork, not dances, at PROMESA.) and participate in a contest in the main plaza. One night I went to the post office only to discover that one entire side of a main road had been blocked off in order for this competition to happen (this is a quite normal phenomenon and is accepted without complaint by the motorists of Cusco). I decided to head up to the plaza to see what was going on. I stood there for about 2 hours watching the dances (unfortunately, I didn't have my camera with me). The dances also continued on for a while after I left around 9 PM. The funniest part was the man with the big drum protruding from his stomach Energizer bunny-style and the Energizer knapsack on his back. That one made me laugh.
The dances and parades continue day after day, with virtually all the schools and colleges participating. Bellas Artes, a local art college, does its own parade every year with all sorts of floats. The culminating parade is on June 23, the night before Cusco Day. Businesses, organizations, neighborhoods, people from the communities around Cusco - all are invited to participate. The parade lasts for hours, with music, some floats, dances, and a ton of people in ponchos walking.
Cusco Day dawns bright and early. Again streets are blocked off and the celebration of Inti Raymi begins. Inti Raymi literally means Festival to the Sun. The Incans believed themselves to be children of the sun and worshipped the sun as their supreme deity. Inti Raymi was celebrated in Incan times and repressed by the Catholic church with the advent of the Spanish. For hundreds of years it was not celebrated until someone decided in the mid 20th century that the practice should be resurrected. It is a time of asking the "father sun" to be kind and to bring a good harvest and not forget the people. It's also a major tourist attraction, probably even more so than an actual sun-worship ceremony. The festivities begin in Korikancha (the ancient Incan temple of the sun - the name literally means "the golden place"), early in the morning. During the times of the Incas, Korikancha was built in such a way that the sunrise on the morning of June 24th hit the temple of the sun just right and the whole room, covered with gold, shone brilliantly. Today there is a colonial church built on top of it and there is no gold (thanks to the Spanish) and that part is lost. It is, however, still the beginning point for the celebration of Inti Raymi. The Inca, after much fanfare on the part of the court (honestly, sometimes it felt more like they were worshipping the Inca rather than the sun), emerges from Korikancha and sings a song to the "father sun". The ceremony is entirely in Quechua, since that is historically accurate. The Inca is played by a professional actor. Royal Incan lineage plays (or has historically played) somewhat of a part in the choosing of this person. The ceremony here is rather short and all the courtiers and lastly the Inca then move to the main plaza of the city for stage 2. The courtiers enter the plaza in groups - the musicians, the dancers, the soldiers, the princesses (literally chosen young women called ñustas who served the Inca), the Inca's wife and lastly the Inca himself. There is much fanfare, dancing, ceremony, color, music and celebration. Again, the Inca sings to the "father sun" and meets with the mayor of Cusco to admonish him to be a good ruler of Cusco and remind him of the values of his people. After this ceremony, the entire group moves up to Sacsayhuaman, the ancient Incan fortress overlooking the city, where the main sun worship ceremony takes place. Again the fanfare. Again the worship. Again the ceremony, the music, the color. Since Inti Raymi is such a tourist attraction, the only really really good views are from the main stage area (which costs about $70 a ticket). But the hills are covered with people for hours before the beginning of this ceremony, trying to see what they can from where they are. The entire procession enters the stage area, again with much ritual. The Inca receives reports from the four regions of the empire and then there is the reading of the coca leaves and the most important part, the sacrifice of the llama (due to animal rights, this is not truly carried out, but is simulated). It's a long day, ending about 3-4 PM. My friends and I left early to go home, so there are no pictures of either of these parts.
However, if you'd like to see more pictures of all these events, please click here to view the album I made on facebook.
Being here in Cusco, sometimes it is hard to know where worship ends and tourism begins. During these holidays, some people really are worshipping the saints and the sun. Others are just there for the chiriuchu or the tourist aspect. Vendors selling ice cream in the streets make a killing. But, whatever the motives of the people may be, I pray that God opens blind eyes and softens hard hearts so that people can see who He truly is and be open to Him. I pray that the glory of the Lord shines upon Cusco and that all may truly know Him. Jesus, You are the only one really worthy of worship.

Majorities and Minorities

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 02:25:00 +0000

The past month in Cusco has been full of many things. June begins the dry season and winter. The mornings are cold and the days are warm and sunny. Just before mid-June, Corpus Cristi happens. This festival celebrates the saint statues that are housed in various cathedrals around Cusco. They all are brought to the main cathedral for a week. More to follow on this, but suffice it to say that, wow, there are a ton of people. The main plaza is completely blocked off to traffic. None could get through anyway. There are that many people packing out the plaza.
Just when Corpus Cristi is over and all the saints are being returned to their various places of residence, Cusco Day happens. Every June 24, Cusco Day is celebrated. Before this day, there are dance competitions with all the schools in Cusco (we don't participate, we actually do work throughout this time). There is also a huge parade of many of the employees of various businesses and residents of various neighborhoods. Again, lots of people and blocked roads.
The actual day of the 24th, there is an annual festival of the sun, a ritual dating from the Incan times. It's mostly touristic at this point, however, it seems. Again, lots of people and more blocked roads.
And then today, we had a March for Jesus. It was easy to tell that we were the minority. Life as normal swirled around us. Cars waited for us to pass. People watched us curiously as we walked by. It wasn't a big deal for anyone but us. It was sad to realize this fact. As I entered the plaza, I remembered how packed it had been the last few times I was there. Now, it was much emptier. The police were standing in a row, if by any chance, just in case there would be some kid of behavioral chaos.
And yet, small as we were, we worshipped. And it was beautiful. We came with hte PROMESA kids, singing and cheering Jesus all the way in English and Spanish) and none of them complained about the long walk, even thouh they were quie tired by the tine we got the plaza. And God was there. We may be the minority, but someday, in faith, maybe we'll be the majority. Maybe someday we'll fill up the plaza, just like everyone else. Till then...keep marching!

My kids

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 21 May 2009 00:12:00 +0000

I wish you could meet my kids. Guess that sounds strange in a way for a single person to be saying. One of my third graders asked me the other month if I had kids. I told her I had 55. She looked at me rather agog, mouth and eyes both wide open, and said "55 kids?!". I calmly responded "Yeah, third grade, fourth grade and fifth grade". She thought this over for a few seconds and then said "So, we're your kids?" "Yes, you are", I replied.
I really do feel like my students are my kids. And rather than contradicting this feeling, my kids only feed it. They regularly call me Mami (mommy in Spanish) in class, always correcting themselves and laughing about it afterwards. I even got called Grandma the other week. I won't incriminate anyone on that one... :) They don't wake me up in the middle of the night complaining of hurting tummies or bad dreams, but they do enter my dreams in the middle of the night and they keep me burning the midnight oil sometimes to get everything done on time. They don't clamor at my shoulder for me to come play with them after school and lunch are done, but I do end up working for them during that time. They don't ask me for money, but I do spend it without them knowing. They give me hugs and tell me they don't want me to leave. I give them hugs back and tell them I'm not leaving for a while yet. They tell me they love me. I tell them the same.
My kids make me laugh. Like the other week when Dany was conducting an orchestra in the middle of singing a song in class. His whole little heart was into it and it made me laugh so hard that I couldn't keep singing and the entire class was wondering what was wrong with their teacher! Or the times that they say or do something funny that just makes my day.
My kids make me frustrated. Like when they don't know a word that I'm sure they should know because they've heard it a ton of times. Or when they don't pay attention in class. Or when they are talking during class and I have to keep talking to them.
My kids bless me. Like when they write on their homework "I love you Miss Bethany" or when they come up and give me hugs as I come into the room. Or when they get excited to see me. Or like the other day when I was having a private counseling conversation with Magna during recess and Mabelin made sure we were done before she left the other 5th graders enter the room.
My kids also make me want to cry sometimes. I am not one who cries easily whatsoever. But they make me want to. My heart breaks for Magna and her family situation, for the horribly mean things her dad says to her, for the stress she's under at home because of her dad's affair, for the fact that her little life only has peace when her dad's away. I feel like I know her situation best because she actually talks to me about it. But there's also Alejandra, whose family is also in turmoil right now. And Leo. And Medli. And Ibet, who lives with her dad and misses her mom. And all the others whose problems I don't know about or only have inklings of.
The other day, because of an unexpected emergency, I taught third grade's Bible class on the story of Ruth. We'd just gotten done talking in the teachers' meeting about some of the situations in the school, so that was on my mind. It occurred to me as I thought about the story that it could apply. So as I dramatized the story for them, I emphasized the fact that God never left Naomi alone. The family had problems. Naomi had problems. But God was always with her in that and never left her without someone to comfort her and someone to be with her and provide for her. In Naomi's case, that was Ruth. In the cases of my kids, who knows who that is. But I've been very thankful the last few days that God is an omnipresent God who can help my kids in all their problems and be with them always. Their parents might be fighting. They might be seeing abuse before their very eyes. Their family might be separated. They might have other problems. But God is with them. He is there to hold them and to never ever ever let them go.
So, in answer to my third grader's question, yes I have kids. 55 to be exact. Having 55 kids is a challenge. It's tough, but I love it. It's frustrating, but it's so rewarding. Sometimes I feel a bit like Old Mother Hubbard. Sometimes I feel like the queen of the world. Sometimes I want to ream out parents. Sometimes I want to ream out myself for not being more like Jesus for my kids. I want to be able to love them all unconditionally, no matter how they respond to me in class or what nasty habits they have. I'm finding I need to work on that part some more. They drive me nuts. They drive me to laughter. And they drive me to Jesus and to realize more about my own self.
I have 55 kids. And I wouldn't trade where I am for the world.

Thou shalt have no other gods...

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Tue, 12 May 2009 02:28:00 +0000

Recently, there have been two instances when I have been made keenly aware again of the idolatry that runs rampant here in Cusco. Thanks to the influences of both Incan Native American beliefs and Catholicism, religion in Cusco is a nice syncretistic thing involving, among other things, witch doctors, reading coca leaves, adoration of saints, and making burnt offerings to the Mother Earth. At this time of the year, there are two festivals: Holy Week and the Velada de la Cruz. Holy Week begins in Cusco with the procession of the patron saint of Cusco, Señor de los Temblores (Lord of the Earthquakes). I'm a little unclear on the exact beginnings of this particular image, but it was somehow involved in supposedly stopping an earthquake or it wasn't damaged in said earthquake or something. So now it is revered as the patron saint of Cusco. Its home is in the cathedral of Cusco, where it resides for about 363 days of the year. The Monday of Holy Week (the week before Easter), it comes out and gets paraded around the city. It ends up back at the Plaza de Armas (the main plaza of the city where the cathedral is located. The last 500 yards of its journey are surely the most difficult. The plaza is packed with thousands of people wanting to touch the statue and receive blessings from it. Many eager hands clamor to touch it and the path of those carrying it is strewn with flower petals. After crawling its way through the crowd, it is then returned to its home in the cathedral, behind golden doors, on top of an altar adorned by flowers, flanked by Mary and Joseph on either side. Recently, I had the opportunity to go into the cathedral for a concert. I took a picture of the Señor de los Temblores, to share on here at an opportune moment. Looking at the Señor de los Temblores, the verse in the Bible that talks about being able to freely approach the throne of grace came to mind. Here is the patron saint of Cusco, locked up in a church building behind a grated, golden door, at the top of a massive altar, so far away no one can possibly touch it. Even taking a picture of it is not necessarily permitted (shhh....don't tell anyone!). In front of the golden doors that form one wall of the home for this saint are candles ready to be lit as part of petitions. There are also wooden boxes to collect alms for the Señor de los Temblores. In the middle of the aisle along which he rests is a kneeling bench for people to come and pray to the Señor de los Temblores about whatever they want. The night I was at the cathedral, there were a surprisingly large number of people who utilized this bench. It all is very sad to me. During Easter week at school, I was talking with my kids about Easter. In third grade, we got to talking about the Señor de los Temblores. I asked my kids "Does he have ears?" No. "Does he have eyes?" No. "Does he have a brain?" No. "Does he have a heart and lungs?" No. "Do you think he can really hear you?" No. I found it interesting, standing there observing during the concert, watching people kneel before the image to pray, that children get what adults do not. Good Friday in Cusco is actually, in some ways, more celebrated than Sunday itself. People go to mass and the faces of the saints are covered. Supposedly, since Jesus is now dead, the saints are as well and people can basically do what they want. In Lucre, a village close to my church in Huacarpay, where the Mennonite church also has a building and where about 15 of our students at PROMESA come from, there is a procession of priests carrying saints to various places and then returning them to the church again. The whole week is full of idolatry and many excuses for drunkenness (as if any were needed).
Last week, I went out for my weekly pilgrimage to Huacarpay. When I arrived, I was informed that I had come in the middle of Velada de la Cruz, a festival that worships the cross - not Jesus, not what He did on the cross, not what the cross means, just the cross. We heard fireworks as we were preparing the songs for worship the next morning. At one point, Rene said "Run to the door and you'll see a procession of people carrying a cross down the street." Sure enough, she was right. Unfortunately, I didn't take my camera (bad timing!) to capture any pictures, but I saw at least two such processions throughout the weekend. Right next to the pastor's family's house, where I sleep on Saturday nights, is a shrine where there was much cross-worshipping happening all night. Fortunately for me, the room where I stay with Lisi and Abigail, the pastor's two daughters is the farthest away from the shrine. Add that to perpetual tiredness and I slept like a log all night, not hearing anything. Ines, the pastor's wife, however, assured me the next morning that, yes, the music and partying went on all night. Walking to my friend Juana's house with her and her sisters after church the next day, I saw another makeshift shrine to the cross set up along the side of the street. Under a dark green tent, a cross sat. In front of the cross were racks of candles, some lit, some not. I did notice, however, that more were lit when I was leaving than when I was coming. Or so it seemed. This festival apparently lasts for 3 days every year.
These two instances lately have reminded me of the idolatry that surrounds me here and the lostness of the people of Cusco. There are many more things I could add, but I'll leave it at that. Please join me in prayer for God's light to dawn on Cusco and drive away the ever-present darkness of sin, to bring God's freedom and saving grace to this needy land.

Never a Dull Moment...

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Tue, 05 May 2009 22:34:00 +0000

I had a funny experience today in third grade. Walking into the room for English class right after recess and snack, the first thing I saw was Winny with a container containing lettuce and cucumbers sitting beside her. Presumably her snack. THEN I saw the two big snails on top of the lettuce. I connected the snails with the salad and thought "What in the world? Did she really find those snails while she was eating her salad? How did her mom miss that one?" So I asked her. "Winny, were those snails in your salad?" She explained that the science teacher asked them to bring in animals for their science class today. I told her what I had thought and we both laughed. I must admit to feeling relieved.
The class eagerly informed me (and showed me) that besides Winny's snails, there was Hefzi-Ba's fish and Sebastian's cat (yes, a real live cat that stayed in his desk until it distracted him, at which point he put it in his backpack and fed it crackers because it was hungry...I am not making this up!). Earlier Franco's dog visited the class too.
Then, as we were beginning class, I happened to see Hefzi-Ba with her mouth on a straw. The other end was in the bottle serving as the temporary home of her very frightened fish. Again, in the instant thoughts of a teacher, my brain connected the two and I blurted out, "Hefzi-Ba, are you drinking your fish water?!" She looked at me like "Are you crazy?" and said, "No, I'm giving him oxygen". At which point I said okay, again very relieved.
And then as we were reading our monthly Bible verse, my brain wandered to these two incidents and I had to control myself to keep from laughing in the middle of the verse. Instead, I waited till the end to burst out laughing and recount the two incidents to the entire class, who laughed right along with me.
Oh what a day...call me Noah.

Easter, parasites and being incarnational

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 14:08:00 +0000

This morning I've been thinking about the Incarnation. It's a word that's thrown around a lot in Christian circles, especially around Christmas time. This year, I'm thinking about it at Easter instead. In - well, you know what that means. Carn - flesh. So the Incarnation is literally the act of coming into the flesh. That's what happened when Jesus came to earth as a baby.
Similarly, incarnational is a word that is commonly used in missions circles. It describes a ministry or a person who is living "in the flesh", not in the way that it is often used of being sinful. But in the way that the person is able to relate to those around them in a way that is recognizable by those people and is approachable. This morning I've been thinking a lot about that word. Why? Because of parasites.
The last week and a half I've been having this stomachache/diarrhea thing. It's off and on, but it's there. It's not bad enough that it requires complete bedrest, but it's bad enough to be annoying. It's restricted my diet to mostly soup, bread, apples, bananas, apple juice, Sprite, water and tea. Beyond that, I run the risk of making my stomach unhappy. I got a test done looking for parasites and it came back negative. Thankfully, we have two doctors on our team, so I showed them the results. They said it's possible I could still have something they wouldn't have seen under a microscope, so they gave me medicine for giardia (a certain type of parasite). Who knows if it will do the trick or not, but I have to teach again on Monday and I'd rather be feeling better by then if possible. I have no idea where I picked up whatever I have. It could have been in any number of places.
As a single person here, without parents or other family members, I think people don't want to let you ever feel lonely. Thus, I am constantly eating at other people's houses. Today, for example, I have been invited to go to the houses of some of the families from my church to eat the traditional 12 plates (or at least some of them) that are served here on Easter week (I don't even know what all they are, but they are very famous and very traditional. Maybe that can be my next blog posting). The up side of eating at other people's houses is that I can be incarnational and get to know people in their homes and build relationships and learn Quechua and they get to feel comfortable with me (and I learn how to cook Peruvian food...at least a little bit). The down side is that being in more places obviously exposes me to more parasites, germs, etc. Getting sick from eating something is actually really common here, even among Peruvians. If you say your stomach doesn't feel well, one of the first questions people will ask you is "Where (or what) did you eat?" I've never had a problem with eating at other people's houses. But this morning, the "once burned, twice shy" concept entered my head. Now that I've gotten sick from something I ingested, wherever that may have been, the question entered my head "What do I do now?"
And then I thought about Jesus. Living in heaven for all eternity, Jesus never experienced hunger, sickness, cold, pain, discomfort, animal dung in the streets, etc. When he chose to take on flesh and become a man (Incarnation), he also chose to take onto himself the reality of being hungry, sick, cold, in pain, of walking in animal dung, of experiencing what we as humans experience, of eventually dying a horrible death. All because of His love for us, which is greater than His love of His own life. Thinking about Jesus, I realized I have two choices. I can sacrifice relationship for the sake of more sure health. Or I can love and live like Jesus did and trust God to keep me well (while using common sense), in the midst of fellowship, relationship and food. And yeah, sometimes I might get sick. But I also have a powerful God who can take care of that. I know what Jesus chose and I know what He'd say in this situation too.
So happy Easter and I'll see you when I get back from Huacarpay.

Exciting announcement and a very quick update

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 02:15:00 +0000

I am pleased to announce that we now have water in our house again, as of the other day, after 23 days of being waterless! Thank you Jesus! This morning I took a shower in my own house for the first time in almost 4 weeks. Aaaaaaah.
Things are going well at school. The kids are relaxing after the initial two weeks of novelty wore off. I continue to learn a lot about classroom management and about how to love my kids all the time and yet be strict and put into place the boundaries they need as well. Teaching is one of those things that I don't know if you ever really get "down". The fruit of the Spirit song continues to be very popular and I'm still wanting to take the fruits out of the song and put them more in my life. That's gotta be the work of the Holy Spirit. That's all I can say. School keeps me very busy. I always seem to have plenty to do.
We are getting ready for Easter here. I'm also excited to see my youngest brother and his junior class in a few weeks when they come down for a missions trip. So that's a little bit of what's up here. Blessings to you all!

Life without Water

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Sat, 21 Mar 2009 21:40:00 +0000

It's easy to take water for granted. Those tiny little crystalline droplets shooting out of the faucet are always there and abundant. But what if you had to live without water for two weeks? That's the situation at my house right now. They decided to start paving our street so they ripped everything up and then I don't know exactly what happened, but they haven't exactly been working on the street the last few days. So we've been without water. The picture is from one day that we were collecting rainwater in various buckets and dishpans. It was great, until I realized it was only enough for about one toilet flush.
God's spoken to me about a lot of things the last two weeks (okay, thirteen days to be exact). I've learned that without water there is no independence to be had. A lack of water creates community. For instance, without water, I can't take a shower at my house, which necessitates me going to someone else's house to use their shower. We can't drink the water out of the faucet without boiling it, so if we want drinking water, we go to Ron and Regina Shultz's (another missionary family) and fill up our water jugs, since they have filtered water. Were I to be independent at this point and refuse the help of anyone else, I'd be expending way too much energy to make it worth it. I realized this relationship between water and community when, after 3 days of being without water, I decided to take a bucket bath, then realized it was a decision between using that water to bathe or to wash dishes. I poured it back and called Ron and Regina to ask if I could use their shower before school.
One of the biggest blessings in the last week has been the advent of a public spigot about a block from our house. With a bit of ingenious rigging of multiple hoses from multiple missionary families, a system has been developed by which we can bring water directly from the spigot to our house. It's not quite the same as pushing the handle on the toilet and having it magically flush or turning a little knob and having water spew out, but at least we don't have to decide between bathing or washing dishes.
And then on Thursday, something happened to the piping that brought water to the public spigot. It ruptured or something. And there was...again....no water. Yet, in that moment, God spoke to me so strongly. I was starting to feel a bit uneasy. They said this could go for up to about a month or so. What if we have no more public spigot for the rest of that time? How would we do that? And in the same breath, God spoke to me: "Do not worry about what you will eat or drink, or about what you will wear." Okay God, I can trust You. Just then God reminded me as well of the story of Jonah and challenged me with Jonah's example. At the very end of the story, Jonah is sitting outside the city sulking because it's not being destroyed. God causes a vine to grow up and shade him. And then He sends a worm to eat the vine and Jonah gets mad. God basically says, "Okay, let's think about this. You did nothing to have that vine, yet you are mad because I took it away. You're concerned about the vine, but you have no care for the 120,000+ people in that city down there." I'd never understood that part of the story before. But God spoke to my heart. "You did nothing to have the spigot. It was put there and you benefit from it. But now it's taken away and you're concerned about where you're going to get water. How much more am I concerned about the people of Cusco - my creation and those who I care for and love - who are trapped in idolatry and don't know me. And how much more should you be concerned for them?" I don't think I'll forget the meaning of that story for a long time. For the record, the piping was repaired and we had water the next day. Maybe God just wanted to teach me a thing or two?!
And in the last two weeks, I've experienced so many blessings. There was the time that I was going to Ron and Regina's to shower and I got a free ride from my stop to their stop (which was very close, but I didn't have time to walk it). There are all the people who have been letting us use their showers. Like my friend Mari who, when I told her it could be up to a month, said, "Don't worry about where you'll take a shower. You can always take one at my house". Or Ron and Regina, whose house has been turned into a public bath of sorts for the missionaries (there is another family besides us who has no water). Or my pastor and his family, who let me use their shower last weekend when I was at their house. Or John and Cindy, another missionary family who have been letting us use their shower. And there was the woman at the little snack stop for the combi drivers. We live at the end of a public transportation line and there is a little snack stop there. Last weekend I heard there was a truck right near there that was giving out free water to people. I had some stuff to do but then went to get mine, but by the time I got there, the truck had left. I asked the women who were at the snack stop and they told me the truck comes every day but it had left for the day. But one of the women was kind enough to give me the better part of her 5-gallon bucket of water. And then there's our dear friend Marga who helps us out in our house, who has been wonderful in helping us keep our buckets and cans and things filled with water.
So, yeah, we have no water. But in the midst of that having no water, I've received so many more blessings and words from God. Yeah, it would be nice to not have to brush my teeth with a cup or pour water into my toilet to flush it. And it would be nice not to have to plan when I'm going to take a shower and rely on the mercy of others for said shower. But I think, for me anyway, the inconveniences have been more than made up for by the blessings and hearing God's voice in the midst of them.

The First Week of School

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 23:50:00 +0000

Since tomorrow is the end of the first week of school, I'll give you a little update on what's been going on here.
I was approaching the beginning of the school year with many mixed emotions. Last year I had some very difficult students. One of them, I found out over break, is not returning. This brought me great amounts of relief, although it sounds horrible to say it. Jesus, teach me how to truly love like You do. But still, I faced the prospect of another year with a certain amount of trepidation. Mixed in with that feeling was one of excitement and enthusiasm for a new year, a clean slate, a chance to improve over last year. On top of that was wondering how it was going to go teaching three grades instead of two.
Monday dawned cold and rainy. On top of that, there was some sort of agricultural strike which affected public transportation. Between these two factors, many of our kids didn't show up. Most families here don't have their own car and depend solely on public transportation to get around. So when there's no public transportation, things come pretty much to a standstill. But, undaunted, we started anyway.
As the week has progressed, nearly all of our enrolled students have showed up, thankfully. Our enrollment is about 130, up from 90 last year. It's been a good week overall. Yes, there have been challenges, but it's been positive so far. I am teaching third, fourth and fifth grade English this year, since we have a shortage of English teachers right now. Despite the busyness and the crazy running here and there, I'm enjoying it.
My third grade class is proving to be my most challenging so far. Managing them is difficult. There are several who I feel like I am constantly talking to. And there's Nohelia. Nohelia is being raised by her brother and sister, since her parents died about 2 years ago. The family is struggling to make it financially and Nohelia is struggling to make it emotionally. The complaint of teachers last year is that she doesn't want to do anything in class. She just sits there. Same story when you talk to her. She just sits there and doesn't respond. The third grade teacher this year echoed that thought when I talked to her yesterday. I noted her reluctance to cooperate yesterday as well in my class. My theory is that she needs a lot of love and a lot of discipline. So I'm trying something. I ask her every time I see her if she needs a hug. And she usually does. I don't know if it will work or not, but it's worth a try. Jesus, thank You for arms and a heart that love to give hugs!
My fourth grade class is a blessing! Last year they frustrated me quite a bit with their bad attitudes and a difficulty with listening and paying attention and obeying. Not all of them, but enough of them that just entering the room made my stress level rise many days, especially towards the end of the year. This year, they are so different! The absence of several students makes a difference, as well as the fresh motivation and some maturing after two months of break. They have been great for me this week and I'm really enjoying them! Thank you Jesus!
Fifth grade continues to be a blessing as well. They enjoy English, are motivated, and generally have a good ability to learn the language. They understand well and are also willing to speak. We have a good rapport. The class has a love affair with pizza which was revisited the second day of class when they asked me when we can make pizza in class again. Oh boy...
I decided to do something new this year and choose a student every day to choose an English song to sing. It's great English practice for them and they really seem to enjoy it. I've also taught all my classes this week a song about the fruit of the Spirit, since that's both a theme in the school this year and the verse we're learning this month. The song talks about how the fruit of the Spirit is not a coconut, banana, raisin, kiwi, cherry, watermelon, grape, etc. Each of the fruits has a motion to it. All three classes love the song and ask to sing it every day. I was very impressed to note today that a good number of my fifth graders are actually getting the words, despite the fact that they are fast and in English! Whooohoooo! Singing together has probably been my favorite part of the week thus far.
I realized, in processing all this tonight, that God has been so faithful and good and truly has answered many prayers for this year, especially as far as fourth grade is concerned and as far as I personally am concerned. I can tell that my attitude is much better since the break than it was before. As I teach my kids the fruit of the Spirit, that's been a focus in my own heart as well. I've realized since being here that my tree needs to be bearing much more fruit. I need to be more like Jesus.
So I'm looking forward to the rest of the year. Oh, I won't say that it won't have its difficult times. I won't say it already hasn't. But I know that I'm not alone in this and that God will continue to be my help and enable me to bear more fruit.

My cold hands and Isabo

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 01:04:00 +0000

I have almost perpetually cold hands. Always have. Probably always will. Enter Isabo. Isabo is in Carrie's summer English class. She's going in to first grade. She's a quick little girl who loves to talk and sing and participate. Yesterday we were standing in a circle with all the kids singing "Hallelalalalelalelujah". And then we grabbed hands to pray. Isabo happened to be standing in between me and Jessica, another girl who is here for several months helping out in the school. Grabbing both of our hands, which were both cold, she said, half to herself, half to whoever else happened to be listening "Alalau!", which is the Quechua word for "Brrrr!". (They don't get brrrrr here.) That in itself made me laugh.
So after we prayed, I said, "Isabo, I'm sorry. My hands are freezing!" She looked at me in all sincerity and simply said "Guantes" (gloves). And again I had to laugh.
Then today we went to the zoo with all the English class kids. Isabo was sitting on my lap on the bus on the way there. All of a sudden, her hands grasped mine. Before I knew it, my hands were crammed into the tiny pocket on the front of her sweatshirt, half of my palms sticking out either side. My fingers, amazingly, began feeling warmer. And then she put her little hands on top of the backs of my hands that were sticking out of her pocket, covering them protectively. And my whole hands started to feel the warmth. Pretty soon, they weren't cold anymore. My heart, at the same time, was melting too, for the record. Here was this tiny little girl, half my size, was taking care of my cold hands and warming them up as best as she knew how.
And so God showed me love today through the warm hands of a 6-year-old Peruvian child in a blue sweatsuit on the bus on the way to zoo.

Women and Technology - a different perspective

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 15:45:00 +0000

Here's a little story, just to make you smile.
Washing machines here are a luxury. The majority of Peruvian women wash their clothes by hand and teach their kids how to do it too. Realistically, it would be extremely rare to find a Peruvian who had never had the experience of washing clothes by hand.
My friend Marga's washing machine broke down the other month. Apparently, several weeks ago she was lamenting this fact to someone at church and David, the pastor overheard her.
"Only lazy women use washing machines", he told her.
"No David," she replied. "I'm not the lazy one. While I'm washing clothes, I'm also cooking, cleaning, washing dishes, and taking care of my kids. I get a lot done in a short time! The lazy one is the woman who doesn't have a washing machine and spends all day washing clothes, not getting anything else done!"

Adventures in Bolivia

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Tue, 13 Jan 2009 03:19:00 +0000

I'm in Arequipa right now and don't have my computer with me. So I won't have pictures for this one, but thought I'd give you all a good laugh anyway. :) Hopefully I can add pictures once I get back home.
So I went to Santa Cruz, Bolivia with my friend Marisol to visit her brother Alfredo, who is working in a children's home and studying there. We left on Sunday night, January 4, at 10 PM on a bus, en route to La Paz, Bolivia, the first leg of our journey. We crossed the border with no problems whatsoever (thank you Jesus!) and about 2 hours later, pulled into La Paz. Arriving in the bus terminal there, we decided to look for tickets for Santa Cruz. After hearing from about two bus lines that there were no tickets, I decided to ask why and was informed that there were landslides on the road to Santa Cruz and no buses were going there. We asked what our other options were and were told that we could go to Cochabamba in a bus and then get a smaller van from there to take us to Santa Cruz. That was the only way, short of flying. We opted for the bus, since it seemed like a reliable option. There was a bus leaving in about half an hour, so we bought tickets and headed out of La Paz less than an hour after arriving. Wow!
7 hours later, around 8:30, we arrived in Cochabamba. Inquiring about vans headed to Santa Cruz, we were told that there was one leaving immediately. It was expensive, but "guaranteed" to get us there. So we loaded all our stuff in. The only place for it was right where our feet needed to go. So we put our feet on top and I tried to find a comfortable angle to stretch out my feet without putting them in anyone else's personal space....hmmm....hard to do when there are 8 people in a minivan with luggage and all. We traveled out of Cochabamba, to the tune of an older woman of obvious Quechua descent who was making sure the driver knew he could not drive too fast or too dangerously. For about 2 hours, we traveled in this fashion, until we stopped, thanks to a traffic jam. The driver got out, leaving his 7 passengers trying to find sleep in a stuffed van with a man who snored very determinedly. We sat there for about 3 hours till we could finally go. Traveling about a half an hour more, we got stuck again. This time, we decided to wait out the rest of the night (only a few hours at this point) and see what would happen in the morning. Later I found out that we were stopped due to the fact that there had been a landslide and part of the road had fallen out of place and was now completely impassable. In the early morning, no one was exactly sure when there would be a way through or if there would be. So we decided the best bet was to walk. We joined the human stream of people flowing towards the site of the landslide. It turned into a human river the closer we got. We ended up walking for 2 hours, carrying all our stuff, shifting it between us in order to avoid our muscles from getting too sore from carrying too much weight for too long. We tried at one point to wrap up all my stuff in my blanket so I could carry it more easily on my back. We had to try about 3 times to get it all comfortable, much to the amusement of the people from the country who were sitting there watching this gringa try to get a large load on her back, with much assistance from my friend Marisol. We finally got it on and I started walking, only to realize that the material in my blanket was highly stretchy and my load was shifting lower and lower and lower. We abandoned the idea quickly, laughing all the while. Finally, we reached the site of the landslide and waited for the road equipment to finish working so we could go across to the other side. Arriving on the other side, we decided we didn't want to walk the 7 kilometers that apparently were still between us and a bus that would take us to Santa Cruz. So we took motorcycles conveniently parked there and doing quite a brisk business shuttling people back and forth. Minutes later, the motorcycle drivers deposited us at the makeshift bus stop where buses were heading back to Santa Cruz, after having lost their passengers in the mass of people moving to where we had just come from. We found a bus leaving right away, a regular city bus. The next 9 hours or so were spent traveling on this bus (which became very uncomfortable after about 7 hours), which finally took us to Santa Cruz.
The first thing we did after arriving was call Alfredo, who was waiting for us at another bus terminal. While waiting for him to come, I discovered that Bolivia is the land of unexpected ups and downs when the sidewalk and I had a close encounter. End result: a skinned knee and a nice little hole in my sweatpants. :( Welcome to Santa Cruz.
The rest of the day went much better. We took a much-needed shower and went to the mall to watch a movie. It ws good to see Alfredo again. I knew him when I was here with YES, but hadn't gotten to reconnect till now, beyond email and facebook.
We asked Alfredo what he wanted to eat from Peru. He immediately answered aji de gallina, which is like chicken in a yellow sauce, served with rice and potatoes. You gotta understand that Marisol hates cooking and I don't know how to do it very well. So we got our heads together. After getting all the ingredients, we began to cook. Between the two of us, we made it, though we had a moment of panic when the aji sauce turned out super salty. A little more bread and milk and some more boiling took care of that one. Two heads are definitely better than one.
The week was spent getting to know some of the people and places that are a part of Santa Cruz. One day we visited the random sand dunes that are plunked down in the middle of the countryside outside the city. Before we got to see the dunes, however we spent an hour pushing Alfredo's friend Noel's taxi out of the sand where it got severely stuck. Thanks to some ingenious engineering involving flip flops, sticks, water, car jacks and stones (some successful and some not so much), we got the car unstuck and went to see the dunes, which were beautiful and rather mystifying, seeing as how I have no idea how God dropped all that sand there.
Another day, we went to see Las Cabañas, a collection of restaurants housed in thatched-roofed huts with no walls, serving typical Bolivian food. Yummy!
We spent lots of time walking around downtown Santa Cruz, enjoying the scenery and shopping. We saw several movies and spent time getting to know Alfredo's friens. Mari wanted to stay longer, but I needed to leave earlier to get back to Arequipa for the missionary retreat. So I decided to fly part of the way back. Sunday morning at 6:30, I flew out of the Santa Cruz airport, landing in La Paz 1 hour later. From there, I got a van to the border, about 2 hours away. The van dropped me off about half a mile from the border, but I had no idea where to go, so I took a tricycle - basically like a big, 3-wheeled bike with a large wooden box in front, pedaled by a driver, in which I and all my stuff could fit. Thankfully, I had another uneventful border crossing (it's always kind of nerve-wracking to cross the border with nothing but a Peruvian green card. I'm never quite sure if they're going to accept it as valid. So far I haven't had any problems, but I have friends who have.) From the border, I found a bus headed to Arequipa. 9 hours later, around 8 PM, I arrived in Arequipa. The Arequipan taxi driver who "just happened to" be sitting next to me on the bus, and to whom I had a chance to talk about God, helped me find a taxi to take me to my hotel and made sure he didn't charge me too much.
And so it all worked out. Yes, I had adventure. But, despite all the craziness, traveling actually went pretty smoothly. I never had to wait more than half an hour to find any kind of transportation. I always had people there who knew what they were doing. And I had a big God by my side. And I need to go because the computer battery is dying quickly. Blessings to you all and hopefully pictures will come soon!

Going to the campo and I'm serving hot chocolate

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 01:26:00 +0000

This past weekend I went to the campo, the countryside of Peru, away from the lights and sounds of the city. A group of 7 of us went from the three churches in the vicinity of Cusco, in order to deliver some Christmas cheer, in the form of hot chocolate, bread, toys, clothes, and balloon animals. We left on a sunny Saturday morning in a van laden with feed sacks and several garbage bags full of clothes donated by church members, matresses, tents, our own stuff, food, supplies for hot chocolate....everything except the kitchen sink, basically. Driving in the campo in Peru is quite an adventure. Let me see if I can give you a mental picture. All around are huge, green mountains, like immense folds of green cloth draped randomly on the earth, stretching as far as the eye can see. At this time of the year, they look somewhat like patchwork quilts, lots of tiny fields joined together with red-brown adobe walls. Cut into the sides of these mountains are thin, winding dirt roads with no guard rails, in most places just wide enough for one car (luckily we didn't see any other cars while we were going out). Around the blind curves (of which there seemed to be a lot), we blew the horn, just in case. One side of the road is cut into the mountain. The other side is a large drop-off, plunging down the side of the mountain. Occasionally, a cluster of adobe houses clings to the side of the mountain. Even more occasionally, you'll see a village. We traveled on these roads for several hours, stopping several times to make sure the road was passable. Since it's the rainy season, there are mud puddles and slippery spots where the van wanted to slide around and fishtail. I didn't get too worried most of the time, but there were a few times that I stressed out for a minute. We were headed to a village called Limacpampa, where the church has not been working yet, which was still about an hour down the road when we came to a serious problem. There had been a landslide on the road and it was now blocked. With the help of picks and muscles, we shoved enough rocks off the edge of the road so that we could get the van through. Happy with ourselves, we climbed back into the van and continued our journey...for about another 500 feet till we came to another landslide. Roberto decided that it was not safe for us to continue, because the mountain still looked unstable. And besides, there were at least two more landslides on the road that we could see. So after a quick conference, we decided to go to San Juan de Quihuares and Yarccacunca, two villages where the church is already established. So we turned around and headed back to San Juan de Quihuares. As we pulled into the village, it was raining. Hard. The rain turned all the dirt roads to mud. When it stopped, we decided to walk down the slippery mud path to the church. I followed Roberto's boot prints, walking past the pigs grazing and climbing over the fence that keeps someone's bulls in their pen. Yes, that's really how the people get to church there! We eventually carried everything into the church and surveyed our new surroundings. The church sanctuary is big, built in faith because the people are few. Next to the church is a kitchen, a small adobe room with a stack of adobe bricks in the middle. The stove in the church is really complex....ready for this? Take one adobe brick and place it against the wall/stack of adobes that are in the middle of the room. Take another adobe brick and place it about a foot away from the other one, against the wall as well. Build a fire between the two bricks. Place a pot on top and there's your stove! The bathroom is even more complex. Go into the cornfield beside the church.
We cooked our dinner and went to bed early, knowing we'd need to get up early the next morning. Tip for the wise that I learned that night: when cooking over an open fire, rub mud on the outside of the pot to keep it from getting all black. It really works; try it! I got up at about 5:30 and dressed, to the sound of one of the men from the church chopping firewood in the kitchen (people in the country get up early). We decided that the best time to give out hot chocolate and things would be 8 AM, since kids in the country have to help take care of the family's animals and things during the day. We melted the chocolate bar in some water, then began boiling a huge 50-liter pot of water to make the hot chocolate for about 130 people. It took a really long time to boil that much water. At one point, I had a moment of panic when I realized that I hadn't seen any cups whatsoever in which to serve the hot chocolate. The Peruvians reassured me that, nope, the kids bring their own cups. After the water boiled, we dumped in the chocolate, added powdered milk and sugar, stirred it all together and we had hot chocolate! Just in time too. The kids started coming, a few at a time, heads disheveled, clothes dirty, feet protruding from rubber-tire ojotas. They shyly held out their tin cups (or small pitchers or disposable small soda bottles) for their hot chocolate. "T'antayki kaypi kashan", I told them. Here's your bread. And, happily, they went outside to makeshift benches or the grass to savor their treat. While they were eating, Carrie, Hilda, Roberto and Ruth handed out toys, clothing and balloon animals, while Pamela and I served hot chocolate and bread in the kitchen. There was one little girl who was so cute. She just sat on the bench in the kitchen by the door for the longest time, not saying a word, eating her bread so daintily, dipping it in her hot chocolate and letting the drips run off before popping it into her mouth. She couldn't have been more than 3. Every time we tried to talk to her, in Spanish or Quechua, she just stared at us, not saying a word. We ended up serving about 130 people.
After the last people came through the line and the crowd drifted away, we had church out on the lawn in the sun, sitting on low wooden benches. There were about 25 people in church that morning, listening to Roberto preach about Jesus as Emmanuel. The service was simple and fairly short. At the end, one of the leaders of the church made an announcement about wanting help to construct the church bathroom. I was thinking he was talking about sometime in the next few weeks or months. But as we were cooking lunch after church, some of the hermanos came back with picks and shovels and began to hack at the long grass by the fence surrounding the church property. I asked Roberto what they were making and he replied "the bathroom". By the time we finished eating lunch and packed up to go to Yarccacunca, the foundation was dug and the adobe brick walls were beginning to take shape. We wound again around mountain roads, en route to Yarccacunca. Arriving, we had to carry everything again from the van to the church, about a 5 minute walk, but not as easy as it sounds, since it was all uphill - steep uphill. We were pleased to find, on arriving, that there was a bathroom and a kitchen with two adobe woodburning stoves (actual stoves, not adobe bricks). We hung out for a while, then the youth started coming for their weekly youth meeting. It was awkward at first, with no one talking, no one knowing quite what to say. People are more shy to talk in the country. Then we started the meeting and everyone warmed up to each other. After the youth left, we cooked supper and roasted marshmallows and Peruvian hot dogs over the fire. The next morning, we woke up early and began the process of making hot chocolate again. Again, there was the long wait for the water to boil, again the line of disheveled children shyly holding out their mugs for hot chocolate, then sitting around on the grass happily munching. The child who most tugged at our hearts in Yarccacunca was Nelson. No more than 4 years old, Nelson is the son of an absent father and an alcoholic mother. According to the church leaders and Roberto, he eats, sleeps and goes wherever he wants to, without any kind of supervision. His situation was so sad. We were expecting that there would be considerably fewer people in Yarccacunca, only to find out as we were preparing the chocolate that there were about the same number of people, prompting fear that there would not be enough bread for everyone. We prayed hard and as it turned out, there was just enough bread for everyone and for us as well. Thank you God! We finished up the second chocolatada, packed up all the clothing to leave at the church, ate lunch, and left Yarccacunca to return to Cusco, our load much smaller than when we came. The drive back was quite fun, always keeping our eyes out for children along the road to whom we could give the few extra toys that were left over and the balloon animals that Carrie was twisting in the back seat of the van. Driving back toward Cusco, the sunset was absolutely beautiful - the sky stained pink and orange, surrounded by huge mountains on every side, with some beautiful snow-capped peaks in the distsance. We slowed down to let a llama amble across the road and then to avoid hitting sheep from the flocks that were being driven home by Andean women in their hats, braids, ojotas and brightly-striped q'eperinas (blankets). Finally, we saw the lights of Cusco spread out below us. Then we were driving through Cusco, recognizing the sights. And then we were home. Back to the comforts of the city, to running water in the house, to a warm, soft bed, to a bathroom and a stove that doesn't require firewood. So different from life in the countryside. I had to ask myself "What did we really do?" We fed the tummies of country kids and clothed their bodies. Seems so simple. Yet as I think of that, I have to remember the words of Jesus - "Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did it for me." The difference between the city and the country is immense. It was good to get to know a bit of the countryside. I left and came back home, but those in the country...well, that's their life! My prayer is "Lord, don't let me forget and become so surrounded by creature comforts that I lose touch with the reality of what life is really like for so many people." So that was my weekend. Quite full, but quite rewarding. Definitely a good experience. Definitely worth it all.

A Christmas Greeting from my Kids and I

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 00:27:00 +0000

We worked really hard in third and fourth grade the past month or so to learn Luke 2:11-12 in English, in the form of a song. The kids did wonderful in the program! I was so proud of them. So I wanted to put the video on here so you could all see it. Unfortunately, I had difficulty uploading it onto Blogger, so I put it on YouTube. To see the video, please click here and enjoy. Merry Christmas from my students and I!

Doorknobs and gingerbread men: A tale of God's grace

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 01:18:00 +0000

It all started when I decided to do a unit on Christmas around the world. I thought it would be fun to make gingerbread men with both classes. The only problem. We don't have gingerbread man cookie cutters here....that I know of anyway. Problem solved: Moms are wonderful! She told me she'd send me some. So I waited for the package to arrive. For various reasons, it took a while to come. I kept pushing back and pushing back the project. Finally, with 2 weeks left of school, I decided to start the Christmas in the United States week without the cookie cutters, in faith that they would come. And they did - the day before I was going to start making the cookies. In that simple fact alone, I saw God's grace and his care for my kids and for me. It was a good reminder that He cares about the little things I do...even if they don't always seem to me to be that eternally important.
So we started making gingerbread men yesterday. Fourth grade was fine (again I got told that I am more attractive in an apron...weird). But third grade....well, they were third grade. At least Jonatan was his normal self. He decided he wanted to eat something during English class. Which is not allowed, at least in my class. So Sharith decided to take things into her own hands and took his snack away from him. Which got her shoved roughly onto the cement floor by Jonatan. Which made me decide that I needed to take away his privilege of participating in the making of the cookies. Which obviously didn't make him too happy, since he'd been looking forward to making cookies, along with the rest of the class, for several weeks now. So he decided to make life miserable for me and for the rest of the class for the rest of the day. At every possible opportunity, he was trying to snitch pieces of dough from the bowl we were working from. It was very annoying, both for me and for his classmates, who were warning me at every opportunity to watch out for Jonatan. End result: he lost the privilege of participating again today and I called his grandmother, who he lives with, to make her aware of the situation.
This morning I was asking God to give me love in my heart for Jonatan because I wasn't feeling particularly loving towards him today. Only He could have imagined how that prayer would be answered. First of all, Jonatan's dad came today, having heard from the grandmother that there were problems yesterday. So I got to talk to him and explain to him what happened and he heard me and was supportive and concerned about his son - a major blessing. And then for some crazy, unexplained reason, the outside part of the doorknob fell off the third grade door. It's a fairly new doorknob. I don't know what happened. It just fell off! It wasn't a problem, all morning since there was always someone in the room, until all the kids left for recess and the door closed (or did God close it, just to teach me a lesson? Hmmm.....). So there I was...the door closed, I needed to teach fourth grade music class for Ron, who had to go to a meeting today, and I had no idea how I was going to get in the room to work on making gingerbread men with third grade last period. Thankfully, third grade was in gym class, so we didn't have to worry about what was going to happen with them for 45 minutes, while I taught music class. The first thing, however, that came to mind as a possible solution was "Ask Jonatan". This kid loves fixing things. And he's really good at it too. So I called him. He came right away, which in itself amazed me. I told him I had a challenge for him. He took one look at the hole where the doorknob should have been, stuck his fingers in it, and announced that he needed a pliers after gym class. I was wondering if I should trust his judgment. Thankfully, Ron came back right in time to help switch the two classes to where they needed to be (we do gym class at a big covered playing field down the street cause we don't have enough space at the school itself). I explained the situation and said that Jonatan said he'd need a pliers. Ron agreed that would work, if we had one. A scissors was the next best option. So Jonatan stuck the scissors in the hole in the doorknob and wiggled it around for a while. Finally, click, the door popped open and third grade surged inside! Jonatan was an instant celebrity in third grade. It felt good to finally be able to say "Great job Jonatan! I'm so proud of you!" And you could tell he was proud of himself too. He was absolutely beaming.
I still didn't allow him to participate today in the making of the gingerbread men. Consequences are consequences and need to be felt. But I'm planning on him participating tomorrow. He went to work with the psychologist today during English class, at my request. But when he came back and we were still working on the cookies, he was a totally different child from yesterday. He was cooperative, didn't even try to snitch cookie dough, though he had ample opportunity. He was helpful and respectful. He was great!
I'd like to think that maybe God knocked the doorknob off the door to show me His grace. Yesterday I was so frustrated with Jonatan, after a whole year of fighting with him and feeling like he needs things I can't give him, that I was feeling like the next 6 days of school would be torture and I had no desire to teach him next year. But then, God came through today and showed me again that yes, He is there and yes, I can do it with His help. Now, this does not mean I might not ever get frustrated with Jonatan again. The chances of that being the case are slim, considering his track record. But today, in the midst of my own human weakness and lack of grace, God again reminded me of His grace, not only for Jonatan, but for me as well. If I've learned one thing this year as a teacher, it is that God's grace for me is so huge, so endless and so amazing. Seems like every time I need it, I see it pull through for me. Every time I need it, there it is. I stand amazed at it, at God, at His goodness and love for me and for my students.

adventures in cooking

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Tue, 25 Nov 2008 22:35:00 +0000

This past weekend, there was a marriage retreat at the San Jeronimo church on Saturday afternoon. Carrie, Shannon and I were asked to make food for the event. Okay, not asked. Volunteered. We weren't that crazy about the idea, but you just do what you're asked to do.
Friday, our friend Marga helped us get massive amounts of chicken breasts, potatoes, carrots, green beans, other assorted vegetables, strawberries, and cake ingredients. Friday afternoon, I came home from school to find 3 people in the house, washing vegetables in dishpans, colanders, containers, whatever - even the mop bucket (disinfected, of course)! After we finished washing just about everything, the water decided to stop flowing from the spigot. This happens regularly at night at our house, usually mostly in the upstairs bathroom. But when we really need water for something, it always seems to turn off during the day too. This time was no exception. There was no water whatsoever anywhere. Yes, we had some buckets full of water awaiting such an occurrence, but, not knowing how long we would be without our water, we didn't want to use too much from them. We had enough water to cover the potatoes so they didn't get brown. And some greasy, nasty dishwater in the sink that we didn't want to let go down the drain, just in case we'd need it for something. And then we set to work, preparing all the vegetables. I went outside with the 25 pounds of green beans and got right down to business, stemming and snapping them. Reminded me of summer in the States. Meanwhile, others were peeling carrots and potatoes. There were various people helping throughout the evening. With all the hands working fast and furiously, we managed to make and bake 6 cakes, peel 50 pounds of potatoes, and peel and cut 50 pounds of green beans and carrots. Oh, and someone managed to drop some mostly still-wet chocolates on the kitchen floor. By the time we stopped laughing and got to cleaning it up, it had hardened on the floor. Without the aid of water, getting it up was, let's just say, difficult. So we cleaned up what we could and left the rest. Coming back into the kitchen before going to bed and seeing it sprawled out there on the floor, I took one look and began laughing. It looked exactly like a cow! In my sleep-deprived mind, it looked quite like a cow had died on our kitchen floor. So I took a whiteboard marker and outlined it so everyone else could see what I was seeing. I think we all got a kick out of the chocolate on the floor. Our kitchen was....well, a bit messy, as you can see. But what can you do when you have no water to wash all the dishes that are generated when cooking for such a massive amount of people? We decided to call it a night around 11 and slept really well!
Thankfully, the water was back on when we woke up on Saturday morning and we were able to wash some of the dishes that had accumulated the night before. Then we set to work again, cutting up onions, strawberries, potatoes, celery, parsley, and oregano and grating cheese, making stuffing, making whipped cream in the mop bucket (please remember it was clean!), filling chicken breasts, seasoning potatoes, and putting everything in baking pans. We ended up with 14 of them till we were done. Where do you bake 14 baking pans full of food? Luckily, if you're in Peru, you likely have a community oven close. Community ovens are a wonderful thing. Since many people don't have ovens in their homes, community ovens are open to anyone. Many people who have them in their houses are bread makers. But they have extra room in their ovens on a regular basis. So people can bring things and they'll bake them for a small fee. You drop them off, come back after a while and voila! You have cooked food! We lugged the 14 baking pans between 5 of us over to the oven, about a block from our house. They easily fit into the oven. Then we called one of the men from the church, who has a taxi, and asked if he could pick us and the food up when we were ready to go out to the church. That detail taken care of, we decided to go out to the church awhile to begin cooking the vegetables. When we got there, we found out that we wouldn't be eating till about an hour later than what we'd thought. So we hung out at the church for about an hour till we had to go pick up the food. Right as we were getting ready to go, it began to rain. Now, around this time of year, often when it rains, it hails. That's just the way the weather is. Yeah, you guessed it. We were running through hail to the bus stop to pick up public transportation to get home to get the food out of the oven. Well, when we got to the bus stop at the bottom of the huge hill on which our house sits, there was no rain. (Not only is rain in Cusco accompanied by hail, it is also very spotty). But till the combi came to pick us up and take us up the hill, it was definitely raining. So we ran up the last bit of hill to our front door in the rain. After changing into dry clothes, we went to the oven with Hermano Satu in his taxi and collected all our various baking pans of chicken and potatoes. Covering them with blankets in the back of the taxi, we headed to the church. In a steady rain, we carried all of the pans to the church kitchen, where we covered them with blankets on the floor till we were ready to serve the food. Hurriedly, we dumped the vegetables in pots so they could boil and be ready by the time everyone was ready to eat. And then it was a mad, scurrying rush of serving and grabbing bites to eat and serving cake. And then it was time to clean up and wash all the dishes, which took us far into the night. Around 10:15, David came back with the church combi from taking the people from Huacarpay and Lucre back to their homes. We loaded in, all our dirty baking pans in tow to wash at home in the morning. We got home around 10:45, tired, with the feeling of having done our job pretty well and now wanting to get some shut-eye! Carrie (my roommate) declared quite emphatically that it will be a while before she cooks for that many people again. It was quite the adventure and tired us all out. It was fun, in a way, but I'm glad I don't have to do it every day. It was, however, a good roommate bonding experience. :)

Moments of Merriment and Mirth with a Mexican Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 23:13:00 +0000

Okay, I'll admit it. There are sometimes that I just want to laugh at my students. Today there were several of them in third grade. First of all, let me back up and say that we are studying Christmas around the world in both third and fourth grades right now. Last week, we spent the week in Sweden learning about St. Lucia's Day and Tomte (the Swedish Santa Claus) and their Christmas trees with edible decorations. We did several exciting projects. This week we're in Mexico learning about Las Posadas and manger scenes and how Mexican children put their shoes out so that the 3 kings can put gifts in them (I think my kids were somewhat grossed out by that little tidbit of information!). Today in fourth grade, we made a yummy Mexican dessert called Merengon. In third grade we're making piñatas out of balloons, newspaper and toilet paper. And of course paste. Lots and lots of paste. It wasn't a problem on my kitchen table...honest!
And then I took paste into third grade yesterday. Lucky for me, it's just flour and water...not a bad combination. Being the adult, orderly by nature, in my first year of teaching, never having done this with 20 kids in my charge before, it never occurred to me to have the kids bring in an old shirt or something they could use to cover themselves. The result of that was that yesterday, I had 20 kids covered in varying degrees by flour-water paste and a bunch washing out their uniform jackets during recess (the difference between American kids and Peruvian kids is that many Peruvian kids are used to washing clothes by hand). Let me just put a disclaimer on this: doing laundry during recess was completely their idea and was not provoked in any way by their English teacher. So I decided I'd get smart and tell the kids to bring in an old shirt today, for everyone's peace of mind. Well, anyone who's ever worked with kids knows how reliable their memories can be when you don't want them to be and how unreliable they can be when you want them to remember something. The end result of my announcement was about 5-7 old shirts appearing today. The rest of the kids somehow magically remembered when they walked in the school door today. Thus, I was barraged with numerous pronouncements of "Profe, I didn't bring my old shirt". I was contenting myself with just telling them "Then you'll have to be really careful not to get paste on you".
They, however, must not have been content with that (or else they didn't want to wash their uniforms by hand again). I must explain that I had given each one of them a plastic grocery bag with their name on it yesterday on which to lay their piñata as it was drying. When they came in from gym class, their piñatas were on their desks and their grocery bags were lying along the walls of the classroom so they could again place their sticky piñatas on them overnight. Jonatan was the first one to get the brilliant idea. He came up to me with his grocery bag on like an apron and said "Profe, can you tie this for me?" I marveled at his creativity. It took all of about 5 seconds for his idea to spread like wildfire through the entire class. Thus, while several were donning old shirts, numerous others were coming up to me saying "Profe, can you tie this?" Grocery bags, however, unfortunately, have an opening smaller than the waist size of your average Peruvian third grader, causing problems. And then Isaac came up with another brilliant idea. He stepped through the bottom of his grocery bag, pulling it up like a bathing suit, and putting the handles over his shoulders like straps. In the end, this (or variations of it) proved to be by far the most popular design. It didn't take long for me to have virtually 20 third graders decked out in the latest grocery bag fashions. In the midst of the madness, Ron entered to collect library books. Through the myriad rustle of plastic bags, I called "I have a class of artistic geniuses!" He looked at them, in various stages of plasticating themselves, and said "This was their idea?" I assured him I had had absolutely nothing to do with it, to which he laughed and replied "I need to get the camera!" Luckily I had mine too.
I had another interesting thing happen in third grade today - funny, yet thought-provoking too. I decided that since I'd gotten paste on myself as well (funny how that happens when you're working with kids but not when you're doing it by yourself at home...), I'd bring an apron today. So I brought this very old and thin Peruvian style apron that we have at home. I felt a little funny with it on, since I'm not accustomed to wearing aprons of any style - Peruvian or American. (Peruvian aprons, just for the record, cover the front and back and tie on the sides. In the front they have several big pockets. Most more traditional women wear them often. And I think pretty much anyone who sells in the market wears one.) The kids were at gym class when I put it on. When they came back, I met some of them in the hallway to tell them to enter the class calmly and orderly so we could get started right away on our project. Isaac ran up to me, gave me a hug and said "Profe, you look beautiful!" Later, Shally said the same thing. The only thing I can figure out is that this was the first time they'd seen me looking more Peruvian and they liked it! As I was working on putting on plastic bag aprons in the classroom Miriam came in. She came right up to me and, pretending I was a vendor in the market, asked "Do you have any tomatoes?" I played along "6 soles a kilo", I told her. "Do you have change for a 10?" she wondered. Then she wondered if I had potatoes. I told her I didn't. It was a strange, amazing and funny phenomenon all at the same time, how my kids reacted to me in the apron. I'll have to do further experiments with the apron in the future. I'm curious now. (Plus, it has nice big pockets which really come in handy as a teacher!)
Sometimes I just want to laugh. And now that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I have a class full of artistic geniuses, I wonder how I can incorporate more artistic aspects into the class, especially in learning grammar.
The pictures are, from top to bottom: Isaac in his bag, Alejandra, Diana and Miriam in their bags, Bethany, Alejandra, Miriam, Yuli and Dany in their bags, Dany in his bag, Stefany and Saraí in their bags.

And so we are coming to the end...

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 23:52:00 +0000

The end is in sight. Not that I am desperately awaiting its arrival, but I can't help but realize that the school year is winding down. I have now handed in my last month planning and we are in the middle of our last unit both in third and fourth grades. It's a longer unit, since it covers the last 6 weeks of the school year instead of the normal 4-week units. And I decided to take advantage of everything that the kids are supposed to learn and make them into 2 units about Christmas around the world. Fourth grade's focus is food and third grade's focus is...well, varied. It includes meeting people, having sensory experiences, etc... We're doing a lot of craft-type projects, which the kids love. And when the kids love what they're doing, they behave better. Which makes me happier too. The rule of thumb that applies to moms also applies to teachers, I think. "When the teacher ain't happy, ain't nobody happy". So far at least, I think we'll end the year on a good note in both classes.
I'm teaching all my students a song that I learned as a child from a tape of Scripture verses in song that we had. It comes from Luke 2:11, 12: "Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: you will find the baby wrapped in cloth and lying in a manger." The kids seem to be enjoying it. We've talked about what the words mean, but I really want to get to what the heart of the verse means as well. Jesus the Savior was born for us. He was born humbly. He was born as the promised one sent from God for us. I was very excited the other week when I introduced the verse to my fourth graders. I was telling them that this was the last verse and the last unit for the year. Ronaldo burst out "Awwwww.....this is the last verse?" He's always the first one to wonder when we're going to change the verse (which we do every month), so I've always thought that he didn't really enjoy them. But the disappointment in his voice and the fact that, when I asked him, he told me he wanted more verses, told me otherwise. It was good encouragement to keep going.
And then last week the first graders did a chapel for the whole school based on the armor of God. Over the summer, we worked for several months learning that passage in fourth grade. Since it was so long, we put motions to it and everything. So I decided to do a little review with them after chapel. We went through the entire verse and most of the kids seemed to remember it well. I was very impressed.
This past week we studied Sweden. Fourth grade made St. Lucia buns and third grade made a St. Lucia crown of candles out of paper plates and construction paper. I'll have to put pictures on here. There are definite maturity differences between the two classes (beyond just the fact that one is third grade and the other is fourth). Fourth grade has a much longer attention span, so they caught a lot more of what I was telling them. Next up is Mexico. Should be interesting.
It's been a good last few weeks. Yes, they've had their challenges, but things have been going much better lately than they were during the summer. I'm learning a lot. Teaching is definitely a very complex and delicate process. And it all seems to happen at 80 miles an hour.
5 weeks left. 5 busy weeks. 5 short weeks. 5 weeks of teaching and learning. It's hard to believe. The year has gone so fast. I can definitely feel God's help in so many ways. And yes, I can most DEFINITELY feel the prayers of so many people. Thank you! Here's to the final weeks of the school year.

Moments with my kids

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 02:39:00 +0000

I've had several moments with my kids the past week, ranging from funny to exciting, that I wanted to share.
First of all, I've realized again the value of the spelling bee practice I had when I was in middle school. I asked my fourth graders to bring in pictures of animals, since we're studying them this month. Sara brought in a picture of a bird she called a zarapito. I had no idea whatsoever what it was called in English. So I looked it up on the Internet, only to find that it is called a curlew in English. That wouldn't be funny, except that when I was in about 6th grade, I got out of a spelling bee because I spelled that word incorrectly. So when I saw it, it made me laugh. Sometimes I like to tell my fourth graders random stories. And they seem to enjoy it too. So I decided to tell them the story about the curlew. Well, when I told them, they surprised me and told me they wanted to have a spelling bee in class! So...we had a spelling bee in fourth grade last week and they seemed to love it. Who would've ever thought...maybe it will become an English class staple.
Then there was Jonatan on Friday. I'd brought in prizes for my third graders and told them that I was going to double check what all I had when I got home. If I was missing anything, I'd stop handing out tickets for good behavior until it was found (we've had difficulty with stealing at the school this year at times). At recess, I saw Shally and Jonatan talking. And then, Shally came up to me and gave me a sheet of stickers which I recognized from the prizes I'd bought the night before. "Jonatan wanted me to give you this", she explained. I called Jonatan over and told him that, though I wasn't happy with what he'd done, I was very proud of him for admitting it. We're trying to work on honesty and values in the kids at the school. It was some what of a miracle, very welcome, that Jonatan actually admitted what he'd done and made it right. It was encouraging.
And then today, I had to laugh in fourth grade. We have routines that we do every day and the kids know by this point, almost at the end of the year, what I say every day while we do these routines. Today, some of them decided that they knew them so well that they wanted to say them with me as we did them. So I had a chorus of little parrots saying what I was saying. It made me laugh, but it was also great practice for them.
So those are some of the "teacher moments" from the last week. Hope you can laugh with me as I enjoy the silly and wonderful things that my kids tend to come up with.

He carries the lambs in His arms

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 23:04:00 +0000

A verse that I've been thinking about a lot lately is Isaiah 40:11 - "He tends his flock like a shepherd. He carries the lambs in His arms and gently leads those that have young". I've got a lot of little lambs in my care that so desperately need to know the Father-love of the Good Shepherd. One of the phrases that many of my students have learned this year is "Do you need a hug?" While I'm not God and I don't always show them His love perfectly, I do have a wonderful, God-given pair of arms that has given hundreds of hugs this year.
Many of my students come from difficult home and family situations. Those that act up in class usually have deep emotional needs that fuel the behavior. For instance, there is Jonatan, who, until the last week or so that he has been living with his grandparents, was alone from about 6 AM till he came to school, then went home to an empty house, cooked lunch for himself, and spent the afternoon alone till his dad came home from work in the evening. His parents are separated and he's had experiences he should never have had to have in his short life. Dany and Lucero are brother and sister. They also go home to an empty house, because their mom works really hard selling in the market to make ends meet so they can attend PROMESA.
And then there are the ones who are living only with one parent. Like Yuli, Ibet, Alicia and Shally. And some other ones I'm sure I don't know about.
And then there are the ones whose parents are having marriage problems. The kids don't talk about that one very much, but sometimes I know of one or another. The one breaking my heart right now is Magna. Magna is one of my fourth graders - a precious, sweet, serious girl. She struggles in English, but lately, I've noticed her improving, at least in her participation in class and her ability to understand what I'm saying and translate it. The last week or so, she's been coming to school noticeably very sad. Wednesday we had a school outing to celebrate PROMESA's fourth anniversary. I noticed she looked upset, so I asked her "Magna, are you okay?" She told me she was sad. I asked her what was wrong. "Profe (that is what the kids call their teachers here, in general)", she said, "Have you ever lived with your parents fighting all the time?" My heart broke for her as I hugged her.
And yet, in my mind, I keep coming back to this verse. He carries the lambs in His arms. God is the one taking care of these little ones and He is the one who puts His arms around them when they are scared or sad or lonely or angry. I looked the verse up in Quechua this morning. Not that I understand that much Quechua, but sometimes I find it interesting to read verses in another language or version. It brings new light to the verses. More or less, between my little understanding and a handy-dandy Quechua-Spanish dictionary, I pieced together that this verse says that God carries the little ones in his arms, on his chest. As I thought about those phrases, it struck me as such a beautiful picture of intimacy and deep love. He carries them on his chest, right on his heart. Yes, Jesus carries my little ones on His heart. Even though I can't always be there when their parents are fighting or when they're lonely or sad or angry, Jesus is there carrying them on His heart. What a beautiful picture.
I also like the last phrase of the verse - "He gently leads those that have young". Okay, so I might not be a parent, but I feel like I have young, since I regularly have 33 in my care. Sometimes it feels overwhelming. And then there's Jesus, right there, reminding me that He is gently caring for those who have young. Like me. Like those who are parents. Like all who are responsible for the upbringing of little ones. There He is, shepherding, caring, comforting, being tender with those responsible for their young.
So lately, I've really loved this verse. It's such a beautiful picture of intimacy and God's help and concern for those who are vulnerable. No matter who on this earth lets them down, I want my students to know and learn that God is always there holding them to His chest and wrapping them in His arms.