What
happens to a dream deferred?
Does
it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe
it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or
does it explode?
-Langston
Hughes
I had a dream in 4th grade--join the Peace Corps. I decided in my own slightly altered way to live out that dream, didn't want it to dry out, you know? And so that lead me to Honduras, to Juti, to 50 wonderful students, and a life changing experience.
And shoooot...I've learned a lot this year--the
precise angle upon which to dump a bucket of water on my head for a shower; the
most effective stomp, pickup, garbage, raid cockroach killing method; how to
drink water from a bag; how to teach more with my body than my words; that I
should arrive approximately 3 hours late to any Honduran activity--and
that's just to name a few of, course. When you're living out your dreams,
you're sure to learn a lot. Above all that, however, I think I can safely
say that one thing I've experienced a lot of and learned a lot more about this
year is that...
God is a God of surprises. Full of
surprises.
Unexpected, unbelievable, life giving,
challenging surprises. Surprises, I've learned, that always come directly
from God although we may not initially (or for a long time) understand
why.
While I may have learned this, however, nothing
could have prepared me for the latest surprise
that Sunday evening.
Speaking of surprises, it's surprising how
everything always unfolds. Surprising that I came home that Sunday
evening from a conversation discussing life and
the future. I left the meeting with a myriad of thoughts, questions, and
bursting with excitement to share my new knowledge with my "my people" to really once and for all discern a 2nd year in my Honduran
dream.
That all changed when Laura entered the house
that night. She may have said hi and
Mario and Lalo may have appeared bubbly, but I knew from one look at Laura that
something awful had happened.
And so the abridged version of the story
enfolds: Laura was with Mario and Lalo and a group of 10ish volunteers
from the US travelling to a community in which they served for several years.
After a lovely visit, the group headed back to San Fran. 5 or so of them
walked and the rest followed directly behind in Mario's truck. That's
when 4 masked men came out of the bushes and assaulted the group. Laura
was face down in the ground, gun in her back, praying for hers and the lives of
the other volunteers to be saved. And praise the Lord they were and
nobody was hurt.
Like, I said--surprises. It sure is
surprising how this could happen and surprising how it happened right when I
was discerning year 2. Totally
unexpected, hard to believe, terrifying, maddening and worrisome surprises.
It also always surprises me how we never
actually realize how blessed and lucky we are until the end or something bad
happens. It went without saying that we would all move our mattresses
into the living area of our small colonia house to be near each other, comfort
one another, freak out and work this out together. As we lay there we managed a laugh, among the tears and worry about the future, realizing that
at some point over the course of the year we had truly formed one amazing
community. And in same community fashion we all sat by one another, held
hands, and one-by-one called home and listened to the almost desperate pleas of
our families to come home sooner rather than later.
We'd been through this before, it was a dilemma
we'd come to know so well: Stay or go? Stay or go? But, always in
the end, leaving was NEVER an option one of the 5 of us considered seriously. I knew deep down for me that if there was
ever an inkling of a way for me to stay, hands down I would. Honduras is home to me.
In a lot of ways I feel more at peace and more myself living there.
I have 50 students that I could never abandon midway through the year, friends
that I was growing closer to each day, an unfinished bucket list of adventures,
I had lessons to learn, a faith to nourish, goals to achieve, and more
experiences to have. Until this point, Carlos, our fearless director, willingly would donate his right arm (he did donate his car) if it meant keeping us here to help us live out those dreams. Carlos eventually always had a plan, a glimmer of hope.
But then came the next surprise. Carlos.
He hadn't even made it all the way through the doorway of our house as he
came over to discuss the latest situation, when we asked him,
"Carlos, what do we do?" And he immediately responded
"Plan B." What is "Plan B" we wondered? It
means we go home.
Surprise.
And so the final word was spoken. We were
going home. Going home. Home. H.O.M.E.
But, I wanted to cry out, I don't understand.
How can I go home when I AM home?
And so we did. But what about our students? What about the school? What about our home, our lives, the foundation, the mission? You mean you don't have an alternative for us? It's only 5 weeks. I'll live school-home-school-home. I always said I'd do anything for my students, I can't leave?!?!
Honduras is my home, my life, as I know it for
the present time--everything I have, need, and want.
I have a community of 5 volunteers—each of us
different, each of us with beautiful gifts. Gifts that I was still
learning about and learning from. I wasn't ready to give that up yet. The 5 of us had been secluded in our
tiny, but wonderful, home for months and in that
time we learned, we grew, we laughed, and we cried. We shared, we taught,
and we listened to one another. We faced challenges everyday and yet I knew that I could go home, share it honestly, and be
supported, loved, and comforted. We were a community community
committed to living the fullest life in Honduras, a brave community that never
stopped listening, learning, and growing, a courageous community that
persevered in the face of challenges that no other volunteer group ever saw.
I have friends and family in Honduras. I
like to play soccer when I can on Fridays and go out dancing when possible.
I meet with Wendy to intercambio and share stories. Together we
cook meals and dance zumba. She brought me in and made me part of her
family. Even her daughter, little Ana Valeria (just 2), on our last night
together, "I love you." "Miss Sarah, Miss Sarah."
"Love." "No te vayas." (Don't go). Then there's Carlos and my OAF
family. I was the luckiest to be Andree's teacher and am so grateful for
the enormous hug I received without fail every time him and dad came to the
house. Then there's Tin, Yessica, and Fanny. Our weekly
intercambio friends whom we could sit with for HOURS just chatting away, English
or Spanish no importa. We could go on crazy adventures *cough*cabra
negra*cough* or drink horsehair-tree liquor or play Kings in Spanglish or make pizza and sit at the table for hours losing track of the time in quality
conversation. And there's Mario, more than willing to go to the moon and
back for us. Always loving and taking care of us, willing to help us and
make things happen--trips to San Fran, cooking nights, walks around the circle,
soccer games, family visits, the Hogar, and so much more.
I have a life in Honduras. I wake up at
5:00. Get on the Pancho's crazy bus at 6, ride for 50 minutes through
roads, dirt, and fields surrounded by students and bachata. I teach.
I come home. I work out, have hammock time, read, and catch up with
community. I cook dinner. I go to Wendy's house or hang out with
Tin. Carlos comes over for a check-in. We go on some new and
exciting OAF adventure. I play soccer and visit with the neighborhood
kids. I clean the house and wash the clothes. I go to the orphanage. The orphanage. Every Sunday
usually after attending Padre Celios (?) life-giving mass at St. Gertrudis and
after pan de banana from the nuns’ bakery, Deirdre and I head to the orphanage
for arguably the best part of our week. Our afternoons are thus filled
with the love that only one of the Maria's can give (Maria Jose, Maria Isabel,
Maria de los Santos), the smiley Jose David, the pouty Walter, an always
entertaining Alberto, the bundle of joy Gilian, and the ever-growing and
strengthening little Dina--to name a few of my orphanage faves :-) Maybe
we'll spend Saturday with Caesar and Day Star friends at the Boquerón pool or
we'll head to the rio for a hike and to cool off. We may lose power and
water may be an issue, but I'm used to it. I know to a "T" my
Saturday routine with and without power and the subtle changes from tea to iced
coffee, planning to chores/reading it brings. It's a rico life, it
really, honestly, and truly is.
I have students, a school, and teacher friends
in Honduras. I was blessed into the BEST team of first grade teachers at
Santa Clara--Fanny (my aide), Rosita (1st grade Spanish), and Flor (Spanish
aide). Fanny and Rosita especially have welcomed me into their
friendship, homes, and life with the warmest and most open arms. We
adventure together in Catacamas on the weekends and share lunches on a daily
basis. Fanny is the creative genius behind so many of first grade's
projects and takes care of every little detail I'm too busy or overwhelmed to remember.
Rosita pushes and challenges me to be a better teacher and person.
Her joyful spirit, dedication, and faith have consoled me, pushed me, and
encouraged me. We work together, both of us compassionate and desiring to
create the safest, most loving environment possible to meet the needs of all
our students. We laugh together, tell jokes, play jokes, and goof around.
Then there's Sylvia, Yohely, Claudia, Karol, Dora, Wendy, Jeimy, Bessy,
Liseth, Ana, Stefany, Flavia, Lupita, Milsa, Gloria, Michell, Claudia, Brenda,
and Ela to name a few. Women who have modeled Honduran life,
perseverance, courage, strength, resilience, and dedication to life, the
students, and Honduras. Women from whom I've learned so much.
Women whom I've laughed with and spent time with.
And then there's the 50 reasons why I absolutely
cannot go through with leaving--my students. When I stepped into 1st
grade 8 months ago in August, I wanted to pull my hair out. I spent my
day in front of 50 kids who understood nothing. I spent my day like a broken record and trying to maintain composure
as I struggled to completely change the norms of the classroom and my students
slowly learned that with the Miss they would actually need to sit in their
chairs, raise hands, listen quietly, participate when called upon, and get
permission to leave the classroom. We started by learning to say,
"How are you? I'm fine thank you." and we learned what our shapes
were and we drew pictures to answer questions. We ended the
year saying "(S) he’s bothering me." and adding/subtracting 2-digit
numbers, and writing complete sentences in English (I like to play soccer.).
I always have high expectations for my students, but this year my 50
bundles of joy sure taught me that when you have no expectation for English, you get to have a mini-party every time your kiddos choose English. And I can proudly say a few of them did adopt an English-only
mentality. Each of my 50 students
has given me reasons to love more, hope more, live more, laugh more, learn
more, experience more, and grow more. They've taught me the beauty of a
hug, they've showered me with love and kindness, they've challenged me in new
ways, and they've welcomed me into their precious lives.
I have Honduras, which contrary to what the
media says is a fantastic country--a country that has taught me so much about
true and pure rico living. Sure it's struggling--it's the 2nd poorest
country in the Western Hemisphere. Sure it's violent. It's a Third
World country. But, it's got so much more than that. It's got
beauty from oceans to rivers, palm trees to plantains, mountains to
fields. It's got community from the deep sense of family and pride for
community. It's got simplicity, where you learn to enjoy and hardly mind
power outages and lack of water because you've got people to be around, time to
share, stories to hear, hammocks to be used, soccer to be played, and laughs to
be had. It has food, culture, adventure, love, and hope. It has all
of that NOT despite the struggles and challenges it faces but alongside those
struggles and challenges because Hondurans are always
"aprovechar-ing" (making the best of) with "animo" (cheer,
energy, and spirit) too. And unfortunately many of those struggles and challenges
come from the drug violence that plagues Honduras. A drug violence that
is tearing apart a country and hindering it from improving, that in my opinion
is mostly America's fault (I can get into that later). In a country that
struggles to create an identity because of the pain and poverty it experiences,
it flip-flops constantly between trying to be more like America (why, I ask?) and
maintaining their original way of life.
I came to Honduras to serve in the classroom and
to learn. I didn't come to Honduras to change it. I didn't come to Honduras to be treated
as a white volunteer here to impose culture or make changes. Sure I'd love to make a difference and impact on
someone or something, but more than that I came to learn, to serve, and to
grow. I'm not better than anyone else and I don't want any more privilege than
the next person, but I have some and I wanted to use it to share, to
experience, and to learn. Yes, I came as a volunteer, but I didn’t want special
treatment or exceptions. I'm not special. I just want to live and
serve and learn and grow.
So how can I leave that? How can I leave ALL of that?!?! How can I look at
50 sad first grade faces and say to them, so for whatever reason I was born
into a different life situation than you and it's unsafe for me here and so I
get to leave and I get to go back to the comfort and security and you, well you
have to stay here in an “unsafe” environment and now you're without the teachers that
are attempting to help change that "unsafe-ness" through education? How do I look at my
Honduran friends and say, I get to leave, that this life is an option for me,
that I can say the magic words and hop on an airplane and be back in a life of
security and comfort? And how do I look into the faces of my students'
parents as they APOLOGIZE for what their country has done to me? I don't
want an apology; I should be the one apologizing for leaving! How do I
make them understand that I don't hate their country, that I don't want to
leave, that I love it here, that I wish it wasn't this way, and that I haveWONDERFUL memories?
It seems unfair, premature, and it's
heartbreaking. I've never cried or shared the amount of tears that I shared that week. Because I had to be obedient and I had to go "home." And I'm left wondering, questioning, pondering: WHY, WHY,
WHY?
And so I did it, the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It's hard to even type out the word, but I left. I sobbed, I shook, I practically had to be dragged onto the Viktor bus as we all said a VERY sad, tearful goodbye to our home and life. All the time wondering, but why? And I don't know why and in the short week I was
given to say my goodbyes and attempt to find some closure and peace to my
Honduran life, there wasn't time to begin grappling with the whys because this
was a surprise. And, as I said, I've learned a lot about surprises this
year. I know they always come from God and because of that I trust that
someday I will find peace and begin to grapple with the whys.
There's always a reason and a plan. I know
that--it still sucks. I've never given up or left something
unfinished before. Surely there will be a lesson in that. Coming to
Honduras was and still is a dream—a dream that arose in the heart of a young,
dreaming 4th grader and a dream that I considered living out for a 2nd Honduran year.
A dream I wanted so desperately to achieve and now it seems as if it's a
dream deferred. I’m left wondering as Hughes says "Maybe it
just sags/ like a heavy load. //Or does it explode?"
As time has passed (I'll blog more
about coming home later), part of me sort of feels like in
a twisted sort of way I got what I wanted (at the worst and higest price)--to not be considered a
"volunteer." My Honduran life wasn't sheltered or protected
simply because I was a volunteer, I made sure of that. In doing so I got to truly know and
experience the rico life. I gave my all into ever lesson, every encounter, and jumped at ever opportunity. But I also had to face and experience the very real and
often scary realities of Honduran life. I learned a lot during my 8 months in Honduras--A LOT. I was challenged in ways I never thought possible. I experienced so much and I've grown in ways that I don't even know yet. I'm BEYOND grateful for the opportunity I had, the people and students I met, and this experience. But in throwing myself 100% into my Honduran life, I ultimately had to face the
choice of staying or going. My heart BREAKS every time I hear of a family
that has to leave his or her own country to come to the US for safety. I
dream and hope for a world in which everyone can be safe in their respective
country. And I NEVER wanted to have to be someone that made that choice,
but it was made for me and I was obedient to that trusting again that God is
always guiding me.
So I don't know where that leaves my dream.
As I sit in the comforts of my American home it sure feels like a
sagging, heavy load on my heart. The return home has been difficult, I can honestly say I've never felt this sad, down, or heart broken before. But I can also feel it exploding within
me and hopefully around me. I don't know why all this happened yet, I
have a feeling I'll be asking that question for years to come. But I also
know that with every surprise God has given me in this life, I always find
hope, meaning, and resiliency. So maybe it will explode and explode in a
way that will create positive changes and differences in the lives of my
Honduran friends and students or in those in the US making choices that often
directly and negatively affect Honduras. I don't know yet what it means
or why, but I know someday it will become clearer. Until then, I hold
Honduras, my friends, my students, and my life there in my prayers, my
thoughts, and in my heart. Knowing
that I will be back and I will use this life experience for some good
somehow. And I know that wherever
all this leads next will surely be another one of God’s unexpected, unbelievable, life giving, challenging surprises.
