Upward Over the Mountain

'Cause I've been running a long time

2011-03-17T14:29:00.000-07:00

Hi! I just wanted to let any interested parties know that the real party has moved to my other blog: knowmoreastranger.blogspot.com. It's less angsty than this blog and also I have a husband who writes on it too! So update your blog rolls if you feel like it!!

Love Rachel

I want your flowers like babies want God's love, or maybe as sure as tomorrow will come

2010-02-14T20:34:00.000-08:00

This was my Valentine's Gift to JJS today. This connection came to me with perfect clarity by dawn's early light a few weeks ago and the symbolism jolted me. I wanted to make it into a poem, but I don't think I have enough of that stuff that makes poems left in my soul. I miss the feeling of being able to write. So this is the fragmented, watery version of the poem that could have been, but maybe there's something here. Happy. Valentine's Day.

TEACUPS

My old friend told me once that being young and unattached is like sitting in a spinning teacup at that ride at Disneyland. He said we spend our years whirling in circles, propelled from one side of the platform to the other. The company we keep with other riders feels intense, rich with meaning, but everything changes swiftly as the cups twirl far and away from each other, lurching close together again, finally flying apart. “When everything stops,” he wrote me, “who knows where we’ll all be?...I hope I end up somewhere near you.”

I clung to that metaphor like I would have to the sides of my painted teacup. I wanted to keep my heart spinning free away from anything that seemed to be a fetter. Whenever I felt my cup slowing down I would shove off again.

I knew nothing ugly could happen if I could keep the cup from shuddering to a halt. There were so many nightmarish shadowy creatures that might tear me apart if even slowed down. I carried that dense fear with me for years. All I saw, did and tasted taught me that to stay spinning was the only way to be safe, the only way to be free.

I attempted to tie my companions to me, sometimes, but the velocity with which I moved always broke us apart. There were cracks in the cups, and sometimes an aching dizziness.

Imagine this lovely irony; the golden morning in the canyon. The leaves and sun were so bright in a jubilant echo of summer. I felt all the good thoughts I’d ever had bubbling up in me like a spring; I wanted to pour them all out for you and have you look them over. Look me over. Please let me please you. I was anxious my lessthan would show on my face, but my skin and heart felt alive with the sun and the warmth of your goodness. You sliced through the fakery and my real soul sprang out terrified and rejoicing. And you! And you! And you with me! The air around me was teeming with poems and lyrics and hope.

I was hoping. And then you handed me a teacup. And I knew that finally I wanted to stop.

In the moonlight, you'll dance til you fall, and always be here in my heart

2009-11-30T07:40:00.000-08:00

I wrote this in November.

The words first seeped out, then fleetly flew around pouring under doors and dancing, chanting in my sleep, no it's not true, you misunderstood. Trying to collect the black paint and pour it back in the bottle before it dried. All I did was stain my hands. I'll never be happy again, not like that. You should have let me split my love, there was enough to go around. Music like razors searing the flesh of my wrist, my heart. "If that's how you're gonna leave, straight out from underneath, then we'll see who's sorry now." Hi, I'm eighteen, haunted and beautiful. How far can I push you? So close I was dizzy, a few more days... running up the back stairs and the door to my heart swings open, his face holy with elation. "Awww, girl..." and what a beautiful mess, what a beautiful mess I'm in. Stayed out so late that spring came early one morning. Do you have to leave? You may go away, but I'll have both arms around you and leave my empty cicada body behind. This is now, this is you, this is all I've ever wanted if I can keep my heart from drowning in my own badness. You're so far away, so much higher than me in the better tree. Watch me break myself for you; library books tumbling down, chasing toddlers on a dreary playground. I write you restrained, straining for an ehco of love, my sweetness stilled by your mandates. Every book the box doesn't bear me a letter I feel my soul stillborn, still burning for you. Other boy on the tiger-print lovesack reverently touches my fingers--"Juliet"--but I recoil, terrified to betray you. I spin them all the shadows of my sorrow until they are desperate to save me. Chain, chain, chain, if there is hurt and loss it will be on my terms only. I love you like the stars above, I'll love you til I die, that will be ours, okay? Tell me it's not real, it feels too real, you want details by the mouthful but I only give you words salted with hopelessness. I am so surrounded by soldiers, but so lonely. I save every song for you in a treasure trunk I'm keeping for tomorow. SPRING AT LAST! I want to disappear from the righteous burdens, want to disappear under blankets. Just a sweet taste, and I put it down in a minute and everything will be as before. Pacify the concerns with splashes of truth. And there's a place for us. There is no place for YOU! Leave me alone leave me alone leave me alone because you might convince me. Sweet child in my arms, what will become of us? You're like a star telling me I am a stranger, broken heart in a broken game, we all fall down. 3 quarters, 3 wishes and a compelling memory. Dread and blue fringe on the letter, are you ever coming home again? Through the bright you are found again but maybe I am lost now. I am crying in the back room, the songs don't fit after all so who do we all belong to? How did you know?! The sky and the earth have been ripped away and all is ash, all the former glory charred and vanished. He can't erase me, I've been there in the corners waiting all along. Who could love him sweeter than I? I have lost my blue light, and I am so sorry! You're the hero in all my memories now, and I am the dove to your morning. To your mourning. I am impossibly cruel. I am both barbaric and mortally wounded. I lost my soul with the tag and where is the light now? How do I find my way home? Blind creatures find each other in the dark and with dismay in the morning see how hideous they have made themselves. This wasn't who I was supposed to be. I can't abide these waste places.

So please Lord, I want you to take it all away. Let me leave behind ancient sorrows and carve the lies I've been taught by the foolish and the foul out of my heart. Pass Thy hands over my weeping sores. Let me be free of the heartbreaks that cracked open so long ago. Help me release the weight of my memories. I want to walk out into the sun, into the bright of a clean day. Take this and place it in the sepulchre where the worst of us lies, where the corruption we resist and slough off can be entombed. Forgive the horror of my selfishness. Take all this from me and let me live a new life. I want this, I want this, I trust You. I want a new set of good intentions like an unused box of paint. The old picture is muddy, I'm starting over on a clean page.

She was listening for the angels just like me

2009-10-19T18:09:00.000-07:00

4 years ago today was the beginning! I can't believe how much time has swirled by since then, I can't even acknowledge all the changes before they rush past. I still cling to commemorating the important days though. Morena, todavia estas conmigo? Me accompanas en lo que tengo que enfrentar ahora?

One way to be my journey, this way could be my book of days.

2009-09-30T12:07:00.000-07:00

I saw this on someone's blog and it intrigued me. Here is my own voice from the dust, telling you about September 30th (or the date closest to it) over the years. I edited for darker content, and I've given everyone who might need one a fake name. Commentary I couldn't resist making is in brackets. I know it's lengthy and kind of heavy so I don't expect anyone to wade through it, but it's been a fascinating experiment for me. There happened to be many September entries that were especially full of angst, but don't judge, I promise I wasn't emo all the time, I think writing was just cathartic for me. It's kind of amazing to see how much of a thunderous cliche I was (am?) but I also see glimmers of my best self, which gives me heart. :)

September 8, 1996, 12
I have observable evidence that Natalie has been reading my journal...I like school, to some extent. We had the relatives over today. [Seriously? Who talks like that? 'The relatives'?] I think I have a neat family! I'm a pretty lucky kid when I think about it...I want to remember always that when Grandpa gave me my KEEP PACE sign, he told me as we walked out of the chicken coop, "Everyone who's my best friend has to have a Keep Pace sign." I love that.

September 26, 1997, 13
I'm sorry I haven't written in so long! I've missed talking to you. I've been very busy. We had a very exciting morning. A million things happened and they all made us laugh. When we got paid for the paper route we went to Media Play and bought the Star Wars trilogy! I'm so excited but we can only watch TV on the weekends now. No more TV on school days. I forgot to tell you that Princess Diana died in a car wreck because some disgusting photographers were chasing her on motorcycles.

September 30, 1998, 14
[After a lengthy and melodramatic description of a confrontation with a parent:] Jesus said we need to forgive 70 times 7. That's 490. I've been keeping track in my notebook and I have 31 already. Just this year, too.
Today Johnny sat diagonal from me on the bus and we talked a lot about gym. He is so stunning. I am so happy whenever I can make him laugh but I want to die whenever we have to run laps in front of the boys. It's bad running with them too but I decided having them watch is worse.
I think my brother Bill is lonely sometimes. Tonight I babysat him while Mom was at the piano recital. He was the only one home besides me. He said he wanted to play Clue or Monopoly. I asked him if he knew how to play those games and he said "Well, no, but the other kids won't let me play, and you could teach me." We played Adventure Park, which is a psychologist game that has cards with psychological questions. I think Dad got it from a psychiatrist. One of the questions was, "What do you wish people would do more often?" Bill thought about it and then he said, "Play with me." I hate Adventure Park. I cheated so Bill would win and he cheated so he'd win, too. We were both happy. After that I helped him paint a picture on the computer.
I'm having fun in debate. Mark said yes to Marcie when she asked him to the Christmas dance. I am so happy for her! News Flash! Lindsay got her tongue pierced. It's kind of cool I guess, but it makes me think of the nails in Jesus' hands. [HAHAHAHAHAHA! Also, WTF?]
We have a concert in choir soon. My favorite line in "O Holy Night" is "A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn." That's all my news for today!

September 15, 1999, 15
Today was so very disappointing. Why can't things ever be easy or fun anymore? When I talk to my friends on the phone it's like a counselor session. I'm always GIVING. I am so tired and I am in such a bad mood that everything looks black right now. I need some sleep and I need to read my scriptures and ask Mr. Hilton about my research paper and study my history notes and do my speech over and forget about stupid GUYS. This morning Mom and I were in an argument about how I don't want to get married. She was saying I was being selfish and that I was going to break a lot of guys' hearts. Excuse me. "Mom," I said, "No guy has ever liked me in my life." And this is the truth. [This was not the truth.] "You're only fifteen!" She exclaimed. I'm only fifteen?! I'm a joke. There is so much I've already missed out on. Katie Davis has had guys falling all over her since third grade and now she has a senior boyfriend, she's always dating and going to movies on top of having perfect grades, tons of friends and being a Tigerette. What do I have?

Some things. I have some things. This morning I did the devotional for Seminary and I talked about little children being like the kingdom of heaven and volunteering at Lewis and loving everyone. I think it was a good talk, it made me feel very spiritual and powerful. I love the Lewis kids so much. I want to give something to so many people.
Things with Dad are starting to be like they were before. I need to do better.

September 27, 2000, 16
"I don't believe you when you say, everything will be wonderful someday"
I'm sorry I haven't written for so long. I'm feeling very discouraged right now. And I can't even blame it on anyone. I feel like my hands and face are covered with black paint, but I painted myself, like I was trying to get attention, and it didn't work. All I want is for him to notice me. That's it. All he has to do is talk to me. Or say hi in the hall. I can fill in the holes by myself. And if I can't than the bottom falls out from under me and there's nothing to land on and when the floor shifts and slip-slides away I remember how fake it is.

Sometimes I look at people I know are unhappy and wonder why no one else can see. Like Josh? There are times when I can tell he is a seriously tormented human being. Everyone thinks he's really annoying but I feel miserable for him. He's a masochist and so am I occasionally. Is that why I..I was to say "understand him" but I don't understand him! I can't see where he's coming from. But no one else even wonders about the reasons he acts like he does...I think he's so insecure and scared and out of control and when someone is like that, and they have such severe problems, you can't just pass them off as obnoxious and put them away...on the other hand, I don't know one thing in the world I can do to help, he's not interested in anyone being a good example.

The Student Government social was so fun! No one had any inhibitions, and we just played around and bonded. The senior boys threw us in the pool with our clothes on. I had the best talk with Miss Rob about letting other people shine and faking confidence even if you don't feel it, and how I can develop the qualities I admire in other people instead of just feeling bad about myself because I don't have them.

Miss Rob drove me and Calie home and said we were good sports about being thrown in the water. But I really didn't mind because I loved it, and there was an added bonus because I got to play around in the water but didn't have to look fat in a swimsuit. I really bonded with Calie cause she has a bigger crush on Johnny than I do. On the way home I made Miss Rob drive by his house and I told her to drive slow cause there was a blind kid in the neighborhood. She said, "Is he IN the ROAD?"

Mr. Butler is cynical but amazing and very smart! I am learning so much in that class just by talking and listening to him talk. I feel overcome with ideas. I'm finding out what I really think about issues...like do I even believe in the American Dream?
I'll write more tomorrow night cause I have a ghastly test I have to study for.

September 30, 2001, 17
Hey hey! I haven't written for more than a month mainly because I misplaced this book. There have been many times when I have collapsed into my bed weary and battleworn, when I wished I had recorded my endeavors and emotions of that day, I know it takes time but I think it's worth the effort to write every day. So much is lost and forgotten if you don't write it down and preserve it. From now on I am going to try to write just a little bit every night about my life--this dying swansong of seventeen. I have recently grasped the awful concept that my days of youth are fleeting away and will be plunged into darkness come June!!
Naturally this knowledge distresses me greatly. Of course there will be the glorious time of power, courage, endurance and conviction when I will be called to serve, but the time before and after will be bleak and dreary. Everything light and fun will end when I graduate from OHS and my life will become emptied of joy...

I meant to say that life is wonderful. No math this year. I'm slightly concerned about college and scholarships but you know me, I go ducking out from under it and dance merrily on my way like it'll take care of itself and I know someday it's going to bang me in the face and knock me cross eyed, but I could care less as long as I don't end up at Weber.

Today was the Relief Society broadcast and I tried not to let it make me uncomfortable, but it did...I wish someone could answer my questions but I'm not even sure what I'm trying to ask. I can't make this okay in my head...It's swirling around like some gigantic painful stew and I hate it. I was trying to write about some happy days but the torture has resurfaced and I am struggling to make it go away again. How can you be married to someone and hate them? What did they do to deserve this? They aren't bad people. But if it's like this for everybody then what's the point and I wish Nephi would have written about his wife. She must have had incredible experiences. I wish I could at least know her name. Why didn't all these great men of God consider the possible merits of having some female heroes among those voices from the dust? Maybe no one else would care but it would mean so much to me. And the very fact that they didn't consider it must mean we're insignificant. I love the story of the Stripling Warriors but it is given to Sam and JJ and not to me. What stories of ourselves ARE given to girls? What can I wish for?

I can still comfort the weary and strengthen the weak. I guess that's all I can do--it's the only constant I have. I will continue to serve and try to give freely and the Lord will bless me. With what? I worry I can never have the things that will make me truly happy. Who knows? Maybe we'll all get blown up tomorrow.

September 26, 2002, 18
Hey, it's me! Do you have any idea how much I'm pimpin' it up here? Mostly I love everyone and everyone loves me! I struggle so much trying to study with my overactive social life. I don't feel like a freshman emotionally (I mean scared or confused). I am out and about always and everywhere. I LOVE it here!!! It has everything I loved about high school except for the assemblies. I get to stay up later, spend less time in class, and there are no parents. I just wanted to say how thankful I am that the Lord helped me prepare and present my lesson today in R.S. I was so nervous but once I got up there it was a smoothbeautifully folded miracle.

October 2, 2003, 19
Thank you for music, and thank you more for the sunset this night. It was so glorious!--I was so happy to see it. I can't see a sunset without thinking, "How great thou art!"

I played tonight, and I shouldn't have. Ben asked me out again and tonight Eric took me to the combined choir concert. It was stunning and knocked my perspective back into place. He brought me flowers and played his guitar for me but i. just. want. Casey. I'm really glad that Melanie has my back about Casey being the right one for me, it makes it that much easier.

I couldn't help tasting the sweetness of those things Eric says to me and I really can TALK to him, not just make conversation, but even as I was out under the stars, clutching those daisies and listening to those songs, my heart was bursting with the hope of being back with Casey someday. What wouldn't I give for one more moonlit night on the back staircase of Wells Hall. And, oh, so much longer til I see his face again! I don't know if I could stand it if I saw that face and didn't know it, or if his eyes lost that warmth and the joyful look he had for me. At the same time I can sense the stone cut out of the mountain without hands and he's working SO hard. I'm so proud of him and more than a little worried I'll never catch up. I hope there is more to me than Casey, but he is so unselfishly, wholeheartedly good, I have never known anyone better and I know I could never make a better decision than to have that powerful goodness by my side. And oh, so much I miss my friend!

September 26, 2004, 20
"How long thy love has blessed me, sure it still will lead me on"
I'm sitting on one of the benches in front of the ASB and it's absolutely the most gorgeous, peaceful Sabbath afternoon ever. It's so warm and beautiful outside and church was AMAZING today--the Spirit burned and melted my heart so many times. I feel refreshed and humbled and desperate to get to Romania and to the mission field. Our message is so flawless, I love it! Jesucristo is truly the light of the nations, He is our Rock and HE LOVES US. I can feel it. Today Jenny taught about 3 Nefi 11 and the 3 days of darkness before the Son of Righteousness came to visit the Nephites. She turned off all the lights and had several guys read the scriptures in different languages. Then we sang "Come unto Jesus, from every nation." Then in R.S all the returned sisters sang "I'll Go where you want me to go" in their mission languages. It really touched me, I know Hollie loved it too. We're both trying to work hard and prepare ourselves for our missions. I want you to know that at this moment, right now, I feel sure that Heavenly Father loves us his daughters so very much and that it must hurt and infuriate Him when men treat us so badly. I'm thankful to Him for keeping me safe and blessing me with so much. I want to keep this Light, bind it to me and spread the joy of the gospel. I know I'm prone to wander, but I don't want to be!
I love going places in Provo and running into people I know! My life I live it to the limit and I love it. I had the best date with "El Presidente" last night, we went to Chilis and got quesadillas and then watched Pirates of the Caribbean after the boys fixed the DVD player. I'm not exactly sure what El Presidente thinks about me, but presumably he likes me a little since he always holds my hand and we hecka cuddle whenever we watch movies. Actually I just need to get over myself and stop being a player (sometimes I go with 3 different guys during one day, all spaced out--not good!) and work harder at all the responsibilities I'm privileged to have. Wish me luck, thanks for listening! It's a beautiful DAY!

September 24, 2005, 21
Casey means so much to me, it's exactly the way it used to be with us except "coupled with eternal glory." My day doesn't start til I see him and I can't stay away. He really is my joy. I love all our late nights on the couch watching the O.C and playing Gin with the Tail. I love him so much. Last Sunday my grandparents took us to the Spanish devotional about Jose Smith at the conference center. It was SO POWERFUL singing in Spanish with that many people! I loved the message and the sounds of the words. Casey started crying during the opening hymn and when I saw it my eyes got teary, too. It touches me so much to see how loving the people in his mission affects him. I wish missing that country and those experiences were something I could share with him. He kept turning away and trying not to let me see him crying, but he didn't need to, nothing could have been more attractive. I haven't felt the Spirit like that since I left Romania, probably since my experience teaching Elena with the Elders. It was amazing and so tangible. There was a very sweet little hispanic down syndrome boy who kept peeking at me from under his hands and I kept wanting to hold him on my lap. Casey means everything to me, being with him gives my life more meaning. My children would be so blessed to have him as a father. My life would be so blessed spent beside him. He's so funny and spastic like me, but sometimes he gives jaw-droppingly wise counsel. I respect him so much.

September 17, 2006, 22
"May angels lead you in..." The caged bird is singing redemption songs and I feel a sort of creeping despair because my brother writes so beautifully. Occasionally I think I was born without powers of reason, completely blind and deaf but able to react with exaggerated and uncoordinated emotional flailing at hot and cold. I had no idea how much philosophy was involved in missionary work at in saving men's souls. The fact that it is distressingly complicated does not lessen the glory of the youth of Zion preaching glad tidings to a rotting world, but it can be disillusioning at times to be hammered and sprayed with so much excellent advice than on occasion can see contradictory. We all want to work, we all want to do good, we just lack faith and ingenuity and we get too extreme instead of seeking balance.

This transfer feels like it's stretching me more than the last one although we have more good work to do...I know receiving Hermana Pidwerbecki as a companion was TRULY a blessing from the One who knows all things because she has a keen eye on all my weaknesses, speaks truth, and somehow seems to keep me from making disastrous mistakes. :) She's definitely seen me at my worst and that's embarrassing, but somehow less lonely. I have endless improving to do as a missionary, but when I think of the pride and naivete that was present in me when I entered the CCM, I feel queasy.

These are sweet days because they are setting the tones for my spiritual strength the rest of my life. Sometimes I think the only question I have to settle is whether I hate myself more than I love the Savior. That's a very bleak thought and I'm sure not an original one, but sometimes hideous memories, slimy tales from the homefront and well-deserved criticism make me want to cease to exist. I don't know why I felt so much peace in Bryan and it's different here, but I know that peace was real and sweet and it didn't just come from the environment or from my companion, but because I swung open the gate to my heart. I'm not sure what exactly slammed it shut again. I'm still prideful, see? In the same moments I'm trying to create a legacy of faith, catch the scope and vision and breadth and fire of the gospel, I find myself narrowing into a more cynical creature. Why would I care about any of that if I really believe in a God of miracles, in a Savior of the orphans?...
...And there is a deep wound in my heart for Eric because of how dearly and painfully I love him but how truly loath I am to let myself be with him. It's UGLY because he feels so much after me that I lose respect for him and the proposal on paper was almost stingingly accusatory that I've made him wait on a bed of nails but he does it gladly. I have no comprehension of how to defend myself and protect him in the same moment--I am going to beg and plead that the powers of heaven guide my pen--

I guess what I'm really trying to say is that Francisco prayed the other night in tears after watching FFIC--in tears!--pleading to know if someone was aware of him, and he felt a warm hand on his back. He said he knows for sure that God is aware of his struggles and loves him despite everything. He said the feeling of love and mercy came so powerfully that he wanted to run out in the streets and tell everyone that the Savior lives. He told me he believed it before but he knows it for sure now; he even prayed for his mother and felt something speak to his heart, "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted." Even though I know he will fall again, it was a glorious moment for me to hear this--more than I can explain. I have worked and struggled so hard with him, but I have always felt that literally the Lord has His hand on Francisco's back. Do you think it's on mine as well and I'm just not as good at feeling it?

I guess when they talk about losing your life, they really mean it--supuestamente you can turn it in for a better one. TO BE CONTINUED...Love, Morena.

September 11, 2007, 23
I have the sweetest, clearest bell chiming in my heart right now so I wanted to tune in...I am so happy to be back in beautiful, memory-laden white-bread Provo. I'm still struggling with myself but I believe that my Father can help me. He helped me become Hermana Morena, He can take my empathy and humiliated humility and give me the experiences I need to help me become a competent social worker.

Before it spins even further away, I have to mention how bomb it was to go back to H-town--the miraculous/disastrous, ridiculously lucky journey, and the marvelous days with mis homies. I have such a tender love for the dear ones I was called to serve. When we drove over the state line from Oklahoma to Texas at 2 AM I was suddenly alert and filled with this energy and elation--I was going HOME! I felt so happy and alive and in love with the gospel and that feeling stayed with me throughout the duration of our time there. I'd forgotten how much I loved the sudden thunderstorms and the Spanglish and the way the air feels like a sauna. My time with Los Sosa y Serrano melted my heart and it's too precious and sacred for me to find the words right now to describe how I felt when Sixto prayed over dinner and Ismael taught me about el Espiritu Santo when I went to mission prep with him. I felt too full, too joyous, it's something too wonderful to happen to me!

The Spirit is like a sweet light inside me that gives me comfort and courage. I am not lost to my Father and I know He loves me despite my many weaknesses. I am not afraid to be sincere. I feel so thrilled in all my classes to have the ability to express myself well and learn from all the social working warriors. I want to figure myself out. I feel loved right now, it's so fun to have new friends and feel fearless. I'm changing in good ways and becoming who my Savior would have me be, I hope. I know there are brothers of mine who have fallen by the wayside and are just suffering in the dark. I know what it's like to be a human being in pain and I want to be a bearer of light to help them move to higher ground. The Lord will always require so much, but than in itself is a blessing. I'm ready for Him to tune me into a different kind of instrument, I'm in another white field, white with tears and tragedy. I know He won't leave me alone if I'm trying to help another of His children. I'm privileged to be here!

One word about guys ----------> I seem stuck in a swirling pool of misery and desperation that consists of, seemingly, every male who was ever associated in any way with my relationship with Casey. It never ends! I guess it's complimentary but I still feel hurt and undignified. I don't want to hurt anyone, but the lonely are such delicate things. :(

I still miss my mission, but I feel filled with hope. I think good things can happen to me and of me...I miss the old days but these days are good, too.

September 22, 2008, 24
Buenos dias! I found the capilla yesterday and the office in Volcanes today all on my own! The members were so kind to me and the wife of the obispo invited me to noche de hogar tonight at her house! I am feeling liberated and elated. I loved walking down the street this morning and the smell of salsa in the air when I passed the shops. I want to absorb Mexico into my skin, into my soul. I love the colors and the broken-down-ness, the quick fluttering of Spanish everywhere. To a certain extent I miss going to class and discussing all the roots of the world and mercy from heaven, but for now I want to work work work!

You've been in the desert underneath the charging sky

2009-08-01T19:30:00.000-07:00

These are my most loved poems by e.e cummings. I love the first one because it holds all the precious things in patterns but to noone and anyone it doesn't matter how many times it's happened before, they are always Adam and Eve and the only story that matters is theirs.

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

Here is the second poem. Naomi gave it to me before I left for Romania and it cleanly fit the spirit of everything jumping around in my heart. It's energy and joy and it is the sun's birthday!

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of allnothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

This is ourselves under pressure

2009-07-31T09:08:00.000-07:00

Any way you try to twist the story I still feel trapped, trapped, trapped. Like I am de-railing everything I hoped for. But maybe that train was never on its way. The alternative is black nothingness or toolboxes or the Land of the Misfit toys. I promised to commit with mi corazon entero and plead with heaven to shine some light on my conondrum. For so long I balked and resisted and pouted and wept and then suddenly I just slipped into his pocket. I've been fighting to get out ever since but what if that's where I belong?

Where you gonna go with a heart that gone?

2009-06-24T10:35:00.000-07:00

This week I experienced 48 hours of WIN! Perfect days are rare, I need to chronicle this glory before it fades.

*I thought the drive down here would get tedious (especially because I was alone) but it was actually such a lovely, introspective time for me to take a dive through my thoughts. There have been times in my life when I've felt steeped in regret, aching so much for my mistakes that I felt paralyzed. Right now I feel like running everywhere, there's a delicious freedom swirling through my life that makes me feel like all my dreams are on their way. I don't hate myself for being so impossibly old, for the gradual descent into the life I never meant. I did mean it. I do.

*I made it to Phoenix on time to attend a panel my professor was having in another class of hers--on human trafficking and survivors of prostitution. It was heartbreaking and fascinating--I learned so much. One of the speakers was a vice officer whose perspective has changed from seeing prostitutes as criminals--now he understands that they are victims. One of the women who is a survivor explained that after awhile the drugs don't work anymore, you can't get high enough to help you forget or feel good, and that the "little box" you have in your head where you store all the horrible things that happen to you starts to overflow. She had sold or lost everything. All the hideous things that you can imagine happened to a human being happened to her over and over again...and when the only way out was up she was not strong enough to take charge of her own healing process--she had to be carried. Now she works with the DIGNITY House that helps women involved in prostitution and carries other women through. She said that now she is addicted to service. When I left that night I couldn't stop thinking about them...I see the world so differently and there is so much ugliness out there that has never touched me. It's so important to remember that so many people walk through hell every day...and that even people who have been so badly burned can change. It was horrible and hopeful at the same time.

*It's such an unusual blessing to feel at home with someone else's family! My aunt and uncle and cousins have been so amazingly good to me. From the moment I got here they were like ants of kindness swarming all over me, chattering, carrying in my stuff, showing me around. I love having scripture study with them every night (they have an unbroken record of study every night for 10 years!), exploring the pond with my little cousin Jared and talking to Mikey, Matt-Matt and Grant. My aunt Carol loves to tell stories just like I do and my uncle Lee is loving and strong like all the Pace men. I'm so lucky to be here and they tell me all the time how happy they are to have me. It's a good situation.

*I have a Batman blanket. I think that was a goal I had at one time and I have suddenly achieved it.

*In my room I have a skinny mirror like the one in the Fairbanks apartment on my mission = great for the self esteem :)

*Coming out of the back apartment in the morning with the pool and the sunshine makes me feel like Ryan Atwood on the O.C :)

*My soul loves all the sun! There is a different brightness here than in Utah.

*I'm usually easily lost anywhere I go, but I've had an unusual ability to go directly wherever I need to go...even by accident! Yesterday I was driving to school from Mesa to Phoenix and I had decided just to follow the mapquest directions backwards...I thought I needed to get on the East 10 but at the last minute I wrenched the car out of the exit lane for no reason. It was completely unconscious, then I thought: why did I do that? Now I have to find another exit and I'll be late for school! Then, to my shock and delight I saw that the next exit was for the very street I needed to go straight to the downtown Phoenix campus. I'd had no idea! I think Jesus took the wheel so I could make it to class on time. CHAS GRACIAS!

*When I got to class my professor handed back a log I'd written the week before and told me that I was an excellent writer and that I should consider doing research. !!!! :) :) Then she lowered her voice and said, "I haven't told anyone else that this semester." I'd been anxious about my first paper at ASU and hadn't thought it was my strongest, but that's always so nice to hear. It gave me animo.

*I can't explain what a flood of joy it is to be back in school. It's like my mind is jumping back into activity after months of laziness, this glorious stretch! I love learning about social work and don't even mind the 8-hour classes (much). The class is challenging and my professor is engaging. I've started thinking that if I never have a family I'd like to get a PH.D in a few years.

*I love having friends from my class now to go to lunch and walk out with. The first day I thought I would feel so isolated and lonely, but there is warmth and camaraderie. I just feel good here. I made friends with the people who work at the Subway near the house of my tios and talked to them for a long time. They told me to come back and see them often.

*I'm so glad to live near the fabulous Emily Brems again and spend time with her and Rob! 6 years later it's still a party!

*Exactly one month after I left my job at NuSkin I was offered a part time position at My Sister's Place. It's not a ton of hours unfortunately, but I'll love working at a DV shelter again and they are offering me $14.80 an hour because I speak Spanish!!! Que milagro! It's in Chandler, 15 minutes from where my tios live and depending on how it goes I could potentially keep the job when school starts full time in the fall.

*Oh and also! Apart from all the good school stuff I get to read, I started East of Eden, I'm in the middle of En El Tiempo de Las Mariposas, and my estimado grandfather sent me a book by the wonderful Barbara Kingsolver called Bean Trees about a (barren?) girl who goes to Arizona. How terribly blessed I am!

Light up, light up, as if you have a choice

2009-05-31T23:12:00.001-07:00

Kahlil Gibran, THE PROPHET, from The Coming of the Ships

"But as he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart:

How shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city.

Long were the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the nights of aloneness, and who can depart from his pain and his aloneness without regret?

Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache.

It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands.

Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst."

The city I left as a tiny child has a name that means hope for me. A phoenix lives a thousand years before it ignites itself and then is reborn from its own ashes. It is an allegory of resurrection, of perpetual existence and joy. For this the ashes don't mean mourning, they mean watch out! I am spinning back to life again. I have whirled into fire, crumbled into dust, and found myself whole and triumphant again. So many times I have broken for sorrow with that flame, but why? Nothing is lost, another thousand years of life are beginning.
The Phoenix is rising.

Think sad, your troubles double, think glad, they burst like bubbles

2009-05-08T23:46:00.002-07:00

Tonight I had a tragedy exploding in my mind so I found these messages on resiliency and positivity (the first and last videos). Charlotte's Web reminded me of being little (listen to the words of the song, it's cheesy but kind of powerful) and then I got distracted looking up the theme songs to my favorite shows when I was a kid and successfully eradicated the tragedy...if you were born in the 80's these are pretty much guaranteed to brighten your day.

This one is my favorite. :)

Acompáñame a estar solo

2009-04-14T20:18:00.000-07:00

La primera vez que escuche esta cancion estaba en el salón de mi amigo Isai Rojas; estuvimos laborando en un regalo navidadeño para mi cuñada. En aquel momento yo sentía un poco dolida por algo que pasaba en mí trabajo con Juconi. Al estar con Isai me hizo sentir mucha mas tranquila. Isai me enseñó un disco de "las mejores voces" y cuando escuche esta cancion sentí una calma muy grande. Tal vez la letra no sea la mas profunda que existe, pero en el momento fue un recuerdo que el amor nos sana, no importa lo que sean las heridas que traemos. Ahora extraño mí 'vida poblana,' los niños que me iluminaron con su luz, extraño los días cuando todos mís hechos fueron para servirle a Dios y a mis hermanos. Es difícil seguir adelante por varias razones, y a veces me desespero, pero creo con todo corazón que pueda yo hacer cualquier cosa que Dios me manda cumplir, yo puedo sobrevivir todo y estar feliz con tal de que confíe en mi Salvador y que sea humilde. Me da consuelo imaginar que El me diría estas palabras.

Voy a curarte el alma en duelo
Voy a dejarte como nuevo
Y todo va a pasar
Pronto verás el sol brillar

Tú más que nadie mereces ser feliz

Ya vas a ver como van sanando
Poco a poco tus heridas
Ya vas a ver como va
La misma vida a decantar la sal que sobra en el mar

Y aunque hayas sido un extranjero
hasta en tu propio país
Si yo te digo ¿cómo dices?
Tú aún dices ¿qué decís?
Y lloras de emoción oyendo un bandoneón

Y aunque parezcas despistado con ese caminar pausado
Conozco la razón que hace doler tu corazón
Por eso quise hacerte esta canción

Ya vas a ver como van sanando
Poco a poco tus heridas
Ya vas a ver como va
La misma vida a decantar la sal que sobra en el mar...

I do believe it's true that there are roads left in both of our shoes

2009-03-17T17:29:00.000-07:00

So I was [most unnecessarily] freaking out about ASU's confirmation deadline this Friday. I had the uncomfortable feeling of being squelched in one of those 'Choose your own Adventure' books, although I could never choose, and tried to keep fingers in all of the pages so I could follow all the different endings down to the grisly conclusion. Sometimes in real life situations I do the same thing, I can't stick with one storyline and see it through. There are very few decisions I have made with clear confidence (my mission, deciding to go to BYU when I was 18). I always "wonder til it drives [me] mad, what would have followed if i had" [chosen another storyline].

Ergo, I'm struggling a little with knowing where I should go to grad school. I've had "crushes" on all the schools I've applied at one time, but who knows how I'd feel once I actually got to know them? They might turn out to be shallow, or hostile, or distressingly incompatible with me. I do know that I felt all squirmy and reluctant when I realized I had to make a decision about ASU so soon. At the moment I didn't have any other options, though, until today I got through to the beloved Cynthia at the OLLU Admissions office, who has so patiently and lovingly dealt with my neurosis and incessant questions during the application process.

I apologized for pestering her yet again, and she was full of awesomness and tenderness as she checked on my application and told me I had been...ADMITTED! And O what wondrous light and joy filled my soul! I became all pageant girl on the phone and Cynthia told me to call her when I got out to Texas so she could give me a tour of campus. I think I will bring her flowers. Seriously, this could maybe be a diaster but it sounds ideal to me right now. After all I've been through with the Virgencita, what could be more fitting than this? :) Also: going back to Texas. Something about that just rings with amazing.

Mother I made it up from the bruise on the floor of this prison

2009-03-09T21:28:00.000-07:00

"And the dove came in to [me] in the evening, and lo, in her mouth was an olive leaf pluckt off."
--Genesis 8:11
The olive leaf said I had been admitted into the Downtown Phoenix Masters of Social Work Program. I'm still waiting to hear back from some other schools, but this news gave me heart!

There is enough sunshine there to cover a multitude of doubts. Also, I was born in Phoenix and I like the idea of going back to the start. And I have been aching so much for Mexico and Spanish, it would be nice to get that much closer to the frontera. Today at orientation two women were chatting in Spanish behind me and I felt overcome with this dizzying longing to be back in Puebla. Another day.

I keep thinking of Paul Simon's lyrics slightly altered: Take this child Lord from Phoenix Arizona, give her the wings to fly through harmony and she won't bother you no more...

Winter tucks her children in, her fragile china dolls

2009-02-22T20:50:00.000-08:00

I always save up these gleaming stories to blog about and then they fade a little in my delay. Everyone said "no es un adios, es un hasta luego." I realized that even with my inadequacies my kindness stretched farther than I could have ever imagined and that is something I cling to in this coldness.

Some people I miss but I could see them opening up their wings enough to know that they will be all right. Others are weighing so heavy and sweet on my heart. Leobardo, Wincho, Luis, Silva, Ortiz who I pushed on the grocery cart my last day. I feel motherworried for them. I think sometimes people erroneously believe that God doesnt notice how much suffering, loneliness, and grief is rotting in the hearts of His children, but of course He knows and feels the weight of that more than we can comprehend, and for all that is broken, He has made arrangements to mend, heal, and glorify. I really believe that above all else. Bless all the dear children in Thy tender care.

I'm home to the Wood Between Worlds. I like to think of the applications I've sent out as birds of hope flying to sunny lands and when they come back to me hopefully they will bring an olive leaf telling me there is life somewhere else.

I fold in half so easily when I put myself in the picture of success

2009-02-04T19:05:00.000-08:00

I have a week left here and I am trying to breathe everything in before my heart freezes. I try to arrange my thoughts delicately so I don't flood my mind with pain. I read the Conference talk "Joy in the Journey" and felt gratified that the prophet felt the same about "Our Town" that I did...it's hard to fully appreciate the moments when you're in the middle of them, even if you really want to, it's when you see the painting on the wall and realize it doesn't belong to you in the same way anymore that you understand how precious it all was.

What feels amazing is the successful interchange of monedas and climbing on the bus, people in the market who know me now, in Juconi, so many open arms, so many beaming faces. I just live here, I have a best friend and places to go and people who love me and it's all a world I carved out in the last 5 months. This was a dream I dreamed for myself and my life really is so young but it's felt so full to me. I have been so blessed. This is what I found in the sunlight that surrounds me. I will be so grateful for all of these days, and I will be grateful for a new adventure to pour my life into.

This is the largest statue of the Virgen that exists in the world (Chignahuapan, Puebla). She is amazingly, massively gorgeous! Her big toe is about the size of my torso. There is a little staircase and you can climb around in back of her...the wall behind her is covered with names and pleas scribbled on the wall, like the "eloquent" graffiti on the pearly gates. "Senora ruega por nosotros..." I wanted to read everything but Lupita wouldn't let me. I understood that they were fragments of soul. That was why I wanted to read. I know I had a vendetta against the Virgen on my mission, but I feel sort of like I'm friends with her now.

Bendita eres tu entre las mujeres...

Adam and Eve are huddled in the folds of the Virgen's skirt...

...hiding from him...

The beloved Hermano Sergio

With Lupita Sunday morning by the waterfalls

Isai dancing with his little cousin at Ilan's pachanga

In Mexico City con mi chilangito

Sweet note from one of the Casa Juconi boys. I love being Recher almost as much as I love being Morena. :)

In so many churches the Lord is huddled in a coffin like this, all weak and broken. I don't like to think of Him that way, I think we're supposed to remember He left us gazing up into Heaven.

This is part of a trail we climb to visit one of the families in TRACA. I don't want to forget.

Chignahuapan and the mist covered mountains

This Wincho and he has my heart

Wincho's front yard

Gaby helping her father spell something

Isai helping me with my GOTH

Isai's parents getting their dance on

Isai's "tios inicuos" who offered me tequila and were spectacularly good company

Going to the mountain of the Lord in Mexico City

I took this from the back of the motorcycle going about 90 mph

Waiting for the bus at the end of temple day

I love it here.

If you don't know me by now...

2009-01-24T22:18:00.000-08:00

Que crees! I got tagged by my impresionante amigo Jarrett E. Casey to list 25 Random Facts about myself! I love being tagged and I'm IT! Aqui las instruciones: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. Orale pues...

1-I have an incredibly flexible back. I can bring my legs up around my back and touch my head with the tops of my shoes.

2-If there is anything broken, ghetto, run-down, dilapidated, in need of repair or sketchy-looking, I seek after those things! I'm also disdainful of really luxurious, expensive or nice things. I’m not sure why I am like that; but I will chose the proletariat over the bourgeois every time.

3-I worked as a figure drawing model for the BYU art department for 10 months and had a BYU issued bikini. I had to sign a document affirming that I would not wear said bikini on occasions other than modeling shifts. I know, it was SCANdalous.

4-When I was 12 I played Dorothy in a production of The Wizard of Oz.

5-I prefer to read while I eat, so I like to eat alone. I can adapt and be social, but sometimes when someone comes in while I am in them middle of a book/meal I get really irritated (secretly).

6-I saw the first Pirates of the Caribbean 9 times in theaters (and only paid for it twice)

7-My best friends from HS and I had porn names based on inside jokes, which we have never revealed to anyone (at least I haven't).

8-On occasion I can do really good impersonations of people. Also, when someone with an accent is speaking with me, I automatically copy it when I speak back to them. I promise I don't mean to do it.

9-I still know all the words to most Eminem songs although I have been off the Slim for awhile.

10-Some of my songs with boyfriends have been (this is in chronological order)
99 Red Balloons by Goldfinger
Drowning by the Backstreet Boys (hee!)
Hold Me Now by the Thompson Twins
With or Without You by U2
Motorcycle Drive By by Third Eye Blind
Beautiful Mess by Diamond Rio
End of the Road by Boys II Men
You're Still You by Josh Groban
Romeo & Juliet by Dire Straits
Another Day from Rent
Wake Me Up when September Ends by Green Day
You & Me by Lifehouse
Volverte a Ver by Juanes
Wow, there's a good range there of poignant to embarrassing, which I guess can also describe the relationships themselves. :)

11-I alway wanted to have *12 children* but I think it's a little late for that now. I also wanted them all to be sons, I have never wanted a daughter.

12-I love onions and spicy food. Si no pica, no rica!

13-I love metaphors and when other people describe things in metaphors it delights me.

14-My favorite GA is Jeffrey R. Holland. The GA I am most terrified of is Elder Bednar.

15-I am constantly plugged into my ipod (in ancient times it was a discman) and I love to walk places while listening to music.

16-I was a solo sister in the MTC and my "companions" were 7 of the raddest elders of all time.

17-When I took the ACT, I got 36 on the reading, 17 on the math. I had to get diagnosed with a math disability in order to waive a remedial math class so I could graduate from college.

18-I am horrible with directions and anyone who trusts me is insane because I will get you lost. I can barely find my way out of a building. It's demoralizing.

19-I am a fan of fake special ops positions and giving titles to groups of friends and significant times in my life. (The Dynasty, NRA, the Yahtzee Boys, the Summer of George, the Bravey Bunch, commissioner of Christmas Celebrations, Caroling and Baptism Specialist, the Quiet Police, Chief Judge, Zone Leaderette)

20-I suffer for people who suffer.

21-When I lived in Romania I loved to go "gypsy hunting;" I would visit gypsy villages and make friends with them. Once before I left my favorite family dressed me and my friends up in their traditional gypsy wedding clothes and we took fake engagement pictures with all the guys in the neighborhood. Gypsies still fascinate me and I wish I could live among them for awhile like Isabel Fonseca, but once again being a white girl is ruining my life.

22-I had a really hard time getting called stateside and even though I loved! my mission sometimes I am still a little sensitive about it.

23-I have a real live soul-mate but we are star-crossed and will never be together. (It was just that the time was wrong.)

24-Kyle Kenny is going to make a movie about me being barren and it will be called BLOODLINE: rated PG-13.

25-On my mission in Houston, I taught a gang member who tattooed my name on his chest. This is possible the number one coolest thing about me, ever. :)

That moment in time when we'll be set free

2009-01-19T15:40:00.000-08:00

I love walking in the graveyard here. I love the statues and the stories carved in wood and stone. I found this grave of Maria Ines Flores. Fallecido en 1955. Do you think she is the tree now? It's like she escaped and kept on living.

Every page begins with You

2009-01-15T20:03:00.000-08:00

I have had a terrible dearth come upon my blog. I don't know if I'm ready to catch up on everything but I didn't want that whiny lesserthan post at the top of the page anymore. (I am effectively convinced of social work again. It's okay if I am not as quick or bright as other people, because I can be willing to learn.) There will be a few other new ones below, they are little fledglings not fully formed but I will let them fly anyway.

There's a Catholic picture that I just love that has Christ placing his hand on his heart (it is probably el sagrado corazon sticking grotesquely to the outside of his chest, but luckily we can't see it because of His Hand), and from his heart are glowing pink and blue lights. Every time I am out somewhere and I see a store of idolos or a stand of pictures at a feria, I have to stop and check if they have this image. Isai always tells me when he sees it somewhere, "They have your picture for 30 pesos at the mercado." I have three of these cuadros in my little room right now and every time I look at them I think of "glory streams from thy holy face, with the dawn of redeeming grace." The lights also remind me of lightsabers, which makes me feel protected. "Not peace but a sword." But really, at this time, just peace.

Today was the first grupo de adolescentes I have attended since early December and oh the glory to see the kids come running in! "Ay maestra, ya regresaste!" The directoras of TRACA left me to run the group today and we did a New Years activity; we folded a piece of paper in half and on one side drew a trunk, on the other side a suitcase. In the trunk we drew and listed the things that we wanted to lock up and leave behind from the old year, the experiences, memories, and behaviors that caused us pain. The suitcase we filled with all the things we wanted to take with us on our journey into the new year. At the end, we cut away our heavy baggage and left it there, the suitcases we took home with us.

This caught my imagination although some of the kids struggled with it. The ones who don't go to school sometimes stumble with artsy expressive projects. Luis needed me to write for him and I told him he could whisper his ideas if he felt shy. He said gruffly, "Write in the trunk that I don't want my parents to fight anymore." He had me write "tristeza, enojo, miedo, contencion" in the trunk. He wanted to fill his suitcase with flowers, love, and friends. He drew stick figures holding hands and flowers in between them. I loved his bashfully delighted look when we clapped for him later. Juan reminded me of my brother Bill when he said he was leaving the video games he played at the public arcade behind: "They are making me waste my life. " (HA!) Winchel might have the most full and cluttered trunk in real life, but the reality is that it's Pandora's box and at 12 there is not much he can shut away. I think he didn't know how to articulate that and that's why he sat silently for so long. Finally he said, "Put in the suitcase that I want to be a mechanic like my brother. And that I want to go to school." I do anything to make Winchel smile because his whole face is starving for it and when it comes it is so filling.

And me? What will I leave behind this year? More broken angels. In my trunk I wrote pride, intimidation, criticism, bad memories which I drew as dead leaves. I drew a sun in my suitcase for the esperanza I want shining brightly before me. 3 hearts for faith, charity, and love. Books and a chain of stick figures for being "bien accompanada" (well accompanied?). I could have drawn a yellow bird, but not yet, not yet, not yet. I feel tonight that I have the vida abundante. I have such a short time yet to love this and let everything sink into my heart before I get lost in a February song. I am going out into the morning sun of the open road with my suitcase. How can I regret this life? It is so beautiful streamed with earth sorrow, longing for home.

When Luis left this afternoon he gave me the besito on the cheek that everyone exchanges in comings and goings but then he threw his arms around me and hugged me, hard. I can't explain. I hope I can make them feel a little of how much I love them.

Crash this Train

2008-12-25T23:53:00.000-08:00

About a week ago Juconi had a posada (Christmas party) and all the families came to chant the posada to the innkeeper, watch a program, break pinantas, eat, dance reggeton and generally make merry. Mary and Joseph were played by Don Victor and Dona Irma, one of the families we work with in TRACA. I didn't get a picture of them in their Biblical finery, but here they are in a family session:

The posada is sort of a song, but more of a long, tuneless poem that is split between those outside a building, (seeking shelter like the parents of the Christ Child.) and those inside who represent the Innkeeper. It's bien Catolico because the Innkeeper doesn't really concern himself with the Messiah, but once he realizes that Mary, "The Queen of the Heavens" is outside, he opens right up! Hee. I wanted one of my old companeras to giggle with at that moment.

It was such an exciting night--the music and the colors were so vibrant and everyone seemed happy collecting candy, cheering the skit some of the kids put on, chanting for the crowd favorites in the pinata contest. At events like these, a few of the families of the boys in Casa Juconi show up and it is incredibly warming to see them sitting hand in hand with their mothers or cradling a baby sister. I want them to feel so loved in those moments that it will feed them during the long weeks between visits, that it will smooth away the sting of the reasons why they don't live at home anymore.

These mother and child reunions throw into sharp contrast the boys who don't have anyone. Several of them have been abandoned and Juconi has no contact with any of the boys' relatives. Instead of monthly family visits they get "compensatory visits" when Juconi staff takes them to a movie or swimming.
The night of the posada I felt it thud into my heart--again--the dearness and necessity and rightness of having a family--any kind of family. One of the boys who is an orphan from Mexico City--Angel Ortiz--lost in the pinanta contest and ran off crying. Some of the educators followed him and I thought, he should have his mother here to tell him it's okay, she's proud of him anyway. I had a vision of a woman with Angel's sweet eyes drawing him into a side hug and telling him they'd put the pinata up in the house, and that she liked it best. For some reason this thought was agonizing to me that night and every time I think of it I tear up. I can't stop thinking of Angel and of Silva's plaintive little face playing the cat and mouse game with me through the crowd. His brother ran away in November and that was his last tie to family.

Last night my father told us about having Christmas with his Italian grandmother. We shared scriptures of the Savior and talked about why we were grateful for his birth, we sang, "sleep in heavenly peace" and "peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled." My mother gave my brother a picture of Christ and Lazarus and told him that anyone can be healed from the very worst pain. I do believe that, I feel wretched that I can't get rid of my own entitlement. I just want to take the boys home with me and shield them from any more hurt. I want to stave off their loneliness with hope. I love being here with my own dear family. I cannot relax completely because I keep remembering that night and how the wrongness of being Motherless distilled on my soul.

It does feel so good to be back!

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me

2008-12-10T22:42:00.001-08:00

I think I have a good heart, but I get intimidated too easily and I am not the most professional guera you will ever meet. Really. Trying to write my statement of intent for admittance to an MSW program makes me feel like a hypocrite. The worst section is the analysis of my strengths and weaknesses. My only strength is that I have a heightened sense of compassion and love for the underprivileged. I am absolutely riddled with the kinds of weaknesses that would make me a mediocre social worker. Jini Roby once said that social work is not all about having a caring, bleeding heart, but it's having the skills and instincts to be able to help effectively. (Also to set appropriate boundaries in a client/worker relationship, effectively communicate, and in general avoiding being a spaz.) Maybe I was wrong all the time, except for the 3 weeks of spring semester right after my mission when I suddenly and desperately wanted to change my major to special-ed. That frantic phase of neurosis passed quickly in what I thought at the time was a "smoothbeautifully folded" miracle but now I have a heavy heart about it again.

I LOVE social work, everything about it is glorious to me. I love the idea of seeing the whole person in the whole environment because that is what Christ does. I know studying it has made me a better person and I have gotten to know AMAZING people. But maybe actually practicing it not be in the best interest of anyone? In any case, it's always good to have a plan de respaldo (back up plan) so I tried to make a list of possible other careers that are in line with my skills set. Since it's unlikely that I can gain employment playing checkers, making toast, or reciting Slim Shady lyrics, my ideas are working in a tanning salon or in a mall kiosk. Paper route? Lemonade stand? Let me know if you have any brilliant ideas. I'll be back from Mexico in the bleak midwinter...unemployed. (In Greenland).

Opened my eyes, had a dream last night, that both my arms were broken...

2008-12-08T17:04:00.000-08:00

I had written a couple of faceless, stillborn vignettes about Christmas and dance parties and lighthearted tales about Casa Juconi, but they all seem so trivial and tasteless now and publishing them feels humiliating, like the smoldering wounded feeling right after someone slaps you.

Last night I dreamed I was on the back of a motorcycle driven by the person who has hurt me the most in this world, racing over cracking concrete and crossing rickety bridges chased by sinister figures. I had to cling to him to survive, and in my dream I told him what I really felt, not the angelic words of self-depreciating sugar I spun for him. Don't worry about it, this is what I deserve. You go on and be happy, that's what YOU deserve. I resent the tricks my mind plays on me while I am sleeping. I'm over the missing but I don't know if I will ever be over the shame and the indignity of that kind of Leaving, my heart stores those feelings up and casts them over me in freezing burning poisonous nets of paralysis that I have to shake off.

I took the train underwater today instead of immersing myself in the words of Christ. Sometimes I need a minute to mourn before the answers blaze in my mind and allow me to go merrily on my way with the dove of peace singing in my heart. This is the truth: "We love you regardless." Allowing disapproval to taint friendship makes me a judgmental hypocrite. I ache for what will never be, but it's not my story to write. I'll exorcise that bitter feeling. I'll be a character in your story, always your sister, I will try to always be bright and loving with you still, or I will listen and follow you into the dark. Thank you for trusting me. Please hang on. Don't forget your yellow bird.

Simon Joyner:

Came a yellow bird outside my window
Said bring me water and crusts of bread
Came a yellow bird outside my window
Said bring me water and crusts of break
For I’m injured and I’m haunted
By the storms in which I fled
I tried to fly to New Orleans
But I got lost in heavy rains
I got many holes in my two wings
From arrows that you aimed

It wasn’t I wounded you, any arrows I could shoot
I’m just a lonely man, I never left this room
Besides that I, how on earth could I
Hurt anything so frail as thee
When we’ve never met before this moment
When you called for help from me

Now yellow bird step down into my room
And she chose her words carefully
She said you were aiming for the sun
And I was just in-between
And every time you wish to die
An arrow was released
And the only thing between dark and light
Was my breast or yellow wings

Well this can’t be true I shook with fear
Though I knew she didn’t lie
I never wanted to harm anybody else
It’s just I who wish to die
And then the tears came rolling down
And the floor fell underneath
And the yellow bird folded her wings together
And I dragged her down with me

You said the trapeze act was wonderful but never meant to last

2008-11-27T07:16:00.000-08:00

Today is Thanksgiving Day in the U.S but just a normal day here. I'm leaving in 10 minutes to go play with my boys, then I have group in the afternoon. Tonight Isai is going to help me work on my GOTH--oh yeah!
I made some changes and have been more conscious of my blessings since I heard Elder Bednar's talk about prayer (even though I am still terrified of him). When I start a prayer listing all the things I am grateful for, I feel my appreciation for my Padre Celestial deepen and the rest of what I say is more careful and focused. I feel a stronger connection. I've struggled sometimes because I feel like my prayers have been rushed--"so sorry, so selfish, but please just send help!" but there will always be more blessings than burdens and it is good for us to be conscious of that. It's also hard to be demanding or sorry for yourself after painting a picture of the goodness of your life.

Today I'm grateful for a family who understands and appreciates what I am doing here, parents who have taught me by compassionate example our responsibility to the "wretched of the earth." I'm grateful for my mother's enthusiasm for the gospel and her seemingly endless energy for good works. I'm thankful for my Father who explains his life with Paul Simon songs and passages from A Christmas Carol, for the strengthened friendship I have with him. I'm grateful to have a family I can laugh with and where I am always welcome to be home. I'm thankful for younger sisters who are my best friends, and so wonderfully kind and loving to me even though they are vastly better people. I'm grateful for my brother Toot on a mission and that he had glad tidings for us in his last letter. I'm thankful for that for the most part we have been better friends as we've grown up. I'm grateful I got to see my brother and sister be married in the temple (not um, to each other) and that they both have amazing companeros. I'm grateful for summers in Mexico, for memories of the Old House, for Walmart Tag and nonsense scrabble and a "veritable cornucopia" of inside jokes. I'm grateful my family forgives me for being generally defective and obnoxious in many ways. I'm grateful for being healthy and for the things I have been able to understand about life and people. I'm grateful for diamond minds of friends, professors, leaders and authors who have polished my mind. I'm VERY thankful for the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and for a Savior who is the captain of the poor and who knows and loves everyone so fully and dearly. I'm grateful for the love and beauty I feel from Him. I'm grateful for the scriptures that bring lights to my path and peace to my frenetic heart, that seem to change with me as I get a little sadder or a little darker or a little stronger. I'm thankful to have served a mission, which was a wish of my heart always, and for having souls to rejoice with in the glorious kingdom. I'm thankful for my fellow-soldiers and my mission President and for being able to speak Spanish. I'm thankful for priesthood blessings and the white light they provide for me when I'm humble enough to ask for them. I'm grateful for the hymns of Zion and for people who have been willing to endure hard and heartbreaking things to build up the kingdom of God. I'm grateful for all my friends who are so loving and patient with me and whose company is so wonderful. I'm thankful for probably a thousand children who I have loved very dearly and whose "walls are continually before me," if that doesn't sound apostate. I'm grateful for Lewis Elementary, Jaycee Park, ABC Daycare, Westridge Academy, Provo School District, the Section II orphanage and the hospital in Iasi Romania, the Center for Women and Children in Crisis, for giving me a chance in spite of my incompetence and letting me get to know those sweet kids. I'm grateful to be living and working hard in Mexico. I'm thankful for Christmas music and the Pace family and the gift of being able to change. I'm grateful for anyone who can put words together beautifully to create emotion or a conjure a memory. There is more but that's enough. Y doy fin a mis palabras.

On another note, I love LOVE love Iron and Wine (hierro y vino?). My blog is named after one of their songs and I'm going to try really hard to ignore the fact that Sam Beam sold out to the Twilight soundtrack and as a result one of the best groups in the world will be ruined by a million revolting teenyboppers claiming fanhood, but it's okay. I have been thinking and listening so much to this song but I can't write about why--so I thought I would just post the lyrics.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

Trapeze Swinger--Iron and Wine

Please, remember me, happily,
by the rosebush laughing
with bruises on my chin, the time when
we counted every black car passing
your house beneath the hill, and up until
someone caught us in the kitchen
with maps, a mountain range, a piggy bank
a vision too removed to mention

But please remember me, fondly,
i heard from someone you're still pretty
and then they went on to say that the Pearly Gates
have such eloquent graffiti
like: “we'll meet again” and “f*** the Man”
and “tell my mother not to worry”
and angels with their great handshakes
but always done in such a hurry

and please remember me, at Halloween
making fools of all the neighbors
our faces painted white, by midnight
we'd forgotten one another
and when the morning came I was ashamed
only now it seems so silly
that season left the world and then returned
and now you're lit up by the city

so please remember me, mistakenly
in the window of the tallest tower
call, then pass us by, but much too high
to see the empty road at happy hour
gleam and resonate just like the gates
around the Holy Kingdom
with words like: “lost and found” and “don't look down”
and “someone save temptation”

and please remember me, as in the dream
we had as rug-burned babies
among the fallen trees and fast asleep
beside the lions and the ladies
that called you what you like and even might
give a gift for your behavior:
a fleeting chance to see a trapeze-
swinger high as any savior

but please remember me, my misery
and how it lost me all i wanted
those dogs that love the rain, and chasin' trains
the colored birds above there runnin'
in circles round the well, and where it spells
on the wall behind St. Peter
so bright on cinder gray in spray paint:
“who the hell can see forever?”

and please remember me, seldomly
in the car behind the carnival
my hand between your knees, you turn from me
and said the trapeze act was wonderful
but never meant to last, the clowns that passed
saw me just come up with anger
when it filled with circus dogs, the parking lot
had an element of danger

so please remember me, finally
and all my uphill clawing
my dear, but if i make the Pearly Gates
i’ll do my best to make a drawing
of God and Lucifer, a boy and girl
an angel kissin’ on a sinner
a monkey and a man, a marching band
all around the frightened trapeze-swinger

I still see the way the moon plays this tune, though our lights died

2008-11-23T20:54:00.000-08:00

C-Mar and I had our first date in over 2 months on Saturday night--we set up a video call on MSN and played chess and checkers online. He didn't mind me slaughtering him at checkers (it's the only thing in the world I'm 100% excellent at) and then he put me in check in about 5 moves. We talked about memories.

Today I was remembering Sunday afternoon last summer in San Carlos, Mexico. We had comp study in the room C-Mar was sharing with my brother and finished up by singing about 15 jubilant Spanish hymns. We might have gotten a little loud in our enthusiasm. When we went into the kitchen we found that my parents had been spying on us, listening and laughing. Also while in Mexico, we challenged Dit and Aya to a Called to Serve dual, with us singing in Spanish and them singing in Japanese. We finished the song about 2 verses ahead of them, as they had to fit in a lot of extra syllables. ;) The Spanish hymn singing was more successful than my attempts to get C-Mar to participate in my movie script ideas with me on the beach. I would think of a story, describe the plot to him and then try to get him to act it out with me. My best one was where I was a native islander who had to rescue a sailor washed up from a shipwreck (cliche I know) who had gone temporarily blind from "being exposed to all the exposure." I remember the sailor's nickname was Fin because he was such a good swimmer...which is why he had managed to swim to shore. Other scenarios involved mermaids and lots of what Cow and Toot like to call snogging. HaHA!

I love my life here in Mexico and I know (beyond a shadow of a doubt with every fiber of my heart with no doubt in my mind and all the other Phrases of Deep Knowing) that I needed to be here for a million splintering reasons, for light and dark, for trouble and peace, for learning and loving the loveless. But I do miss my dear friends. And I miss having fun with C-Mar.

It was so good to see his face, even if it was just in a little square on my laptop screen. Distance and patience have wrought some tiny miracles for us and relighted our candle of hope that I spent the spring and summer blowing out. I have a tentative prayer floating up to heaven, for peace and a warm December.

Two years ago on November 22, I was transferred to Louetta to whitewash with Giles. Elder Marousek was the one who showed us our apartment on Jones road. He kindly told us he was sorry about the roaches. Part of the story had already been written then, but I didn't know it until after. I'm excited to see what happens next. :)

Sons can be birds, taken broken up to the mountain

2008-11-20T12:56:00.000-08:00

Another volunteer told me this week that Casa Juconi is the most difficult "site" for her because she's still learning Spanish and can't quite keep up with the boys yet. That made me think...one of the reasons Romania was so dreamlike and holy for me was that I really understood so little of what was going on around me. With our little band of "Americancas" we set out own rules for interpreting our environment and the context of our experiences--we LOVED! so purely! It still feels so sweet to think about it--holding angel infants in the hospital of savages, gyring and gimbaling in the playroom. I couldn't ask about the families or thoughts of the other orphanage workers, I had to depend on the broken-down English of others to make friends in the hospital and on Mihai my intrepid interpreter when we went gypsy-hunting.

Being HERE I am so much more aware of complexities, contradictions, and conflicts because I am able to speak the language. I can appreciate the excellent work the social workers and educadores do. I can't spin as many snowflake-beautiful tragedies to fill in the gaps because there is a normalcy about this that I didn't have hedged around me in the otherworldliness of Iasi. There was a sacredness about being there among so much innocence. I love Mexico and the blithe humor and affection, the humility and there's sort of an endearing griminess about the whole thing, swinging free, that is so appealing. I love the Spanish marching on like a victory to the horizon! On days I am with the boys, every one in awhile I realize with a jolt that I've been jabbering in Spanish for hours without having to think about it. It's an amazing feeling! Little Morena despairing in the MTC would be happy to see me now.

I love working at the Casa Juconi. I want to describe the Boys and the dynamics there so you can love them too, pero me faltan las palabras aptas. Sometimes they're like a merry band of brothers, other times they are vicious with each other. They are volatile and more experienced with dark shadows than children should have to be. One minute they will be playing with trucks and making car sound affects and then at lunch they'll talk about whether it's easier to snort cocaine through a straw or straight. They know how to fight and when they do fight it's really ugly. They are all incredibly cuddly with the staff and with each other. They are old and young for their age at the same time. They talk about stealing and drinking with their friends, but even the 14 and 15 year olds will curl up next to you to read a story.

One of the boys (Jose Manuel) is schizophrenic and painfully delayed in his social skills. He is 15, one of the older boys, but all of them are scornful of him; he is universally disliked. It's awful to watch him be kicked down over and over again. Whenever he makes a comment, another boy scowls or tells him to shut up. Of course everyone reprimands the other boys for being horrible, but stilling the insults doesn't create friends. I see this boy shriveling for want of kindness. I play games with him and he struggles to remember the rules; invariably another boy will come and shove him out of the way. He is just now learning to read; his mother was mentally ill also and his father abused him horrifically. I asked this boy once what he wanted to be when he was older and he told me "a singer, like Don Omar. It's not necessary to study." I asked him if he knew how to sing, and he shrugged. "I just need to find some people to write songs for me." In the afternoons I let him listen to my ipod. He's still confused on how to work it, so whenever he wants a new song he comes to me and I change it. He writes down his favorites in a notebook "for when I have my own ipod." On the list are several EFY songs. A week ago he ran away to his uncle's house for the night. Everyone was so worried and then he showed up the next morning back at the Casa Juconi. One of the educators told him, "We were very concerned," and he said, "The guys weren't. They'd be happy if I left." When I look at him I see a struggling little animal caught in a trap. Sometimes the weight of all the lonely people is crushing. But I rejoice in the moments I have to be a friend to this boy.

One afternoon earlier this week we were working on a project that involved looking up the boys' names and talking about the meanings, pictures of famous people with the same name, websites that talk about characteristics. When it was Manuel's turn, I read him the definition of his name--it's a variation of Emmanuel, which means "God with us." I got a little choked up because I love that name for the Savior. I told Manuel his name is really special and it should always remind him that God would be with him. Instead of looking up pictures of politicians and singers with the name Manuel, like I'd done with the other boys, I showed him pictures of Christ with children. All the little guys crowded around and they loved it. I wanted him to have hope. I don't know if he understood everything I wanted to communicate to him, but one of the other boys commented, "There are a lot of feelings in this room right now."

I love the line in the Blake poem promising a little chimney sweep that if he were good, "He'd have God for his Father and never want joy." I wish these boys could feel that they have a loving Father. In occasional moments of stillness sometimes I daydream about being home with my family for Christmas and then I remember where I am and feel a little ashamed, and deeply grateful. It's important to remember the kids who don't get to go home for Christmas. I am being as good to them as I can, I wish I could take them back with me. :)

If I find my way, how much will I find?

2008-11-13T19:27:00.000-08:00

I am feeling some intense joie de vivre lately.

These last few weeks I have been busy with the project "Mis Vida desde Mis Ojos." I get a half hour to an hour to accompany the kids as they take pictures of anything that strikes their interest. At first some of them were not too enthused, twisting the camera in their hands and mumbling, "What am I going to take pictures of?" Most of these families do not own a camera and it is intimidating for them. It's so fun to watch their creativity spark with the kindling of my encouragement. I get to teach them to capture pieces of their world. It's amazing to see how much kids respond to energy we give them--how as I get excited about what they are doing, their eyes glow brighter and become more innovative; dragging me to another street where there is graffiti they like, or with sudden confidence posing little brothers and neighbor kids like models, arranging them like dolls for the perfect shot. I have learned so much from this project because I do get to see "their life through their eyes"--their ideas for what to photograph are often so different from what I would choose. I also love the one on one time with them. There were two or three kids who were not very vocal and outgoing in the group setting and they have come alive with this project and I've been able to deepen my friendship with them. It is so wonderful to be here, so worthwhile and so golden. Before we leave I always review the shots with them and point out the really good ones, and they beam with pride. There's an intimacy about sharing creativity with someone like this and I love it. (And Lizzie, you would be so good at this, I wish you could be here!)

These are some of my favorite pictures the kids have taken so far:

And since I'm already sharing un choro de fotos, here are some from the Mexico City temple open house. The temple grounds were crawling with missionaries showing their investigators around and that made me trunky, but I held it together. It was a bright peaceful day at the Lamanite temple.

This is Manuel's sister Alnair and her boyfriend Samuel (el Lamanita).

Lights will guide you home...

And lastly, here are some pictures Lolis asked me to take of a tutoring session with a sweet family. These kids do not go to regular school so the social workers tutor them once a week. Carla (pictured below) was having a session with the mother in the house, so we went out to a sunny meadow and the kids worked while I played around with the camera. I will never be professional and definitely do not know what I'm doing, but I had fun!

I love this picture. I felt just like him when I was writing Seipel's paper.

Slow motion, see me let go...we'll remember these days

2008-11-06T20:44:00.000-08:00

This is Caro! Isn't she darling? (This picture was taken by Caro's cousin Anahi, so it's not shady, no se preocupen.) Lolis and I visit her family first on Mondays. Because of some turbulent family problems of a "fuerte tema," I usually work with Caro while Lolis works with the parents. I love Caro so much, When I come into the room she screams and wiggles with happiness, much like Larisa of old. We draw pictures and work on her colors and shapes. She's 3 and can't sit still for long, and sometimes her parents' session gets intense and air gets dense with emotion and it's better for Caro not to be there, so usually we wander outside and look for colors there (so far everything is azul, but we are getting there!) or pick flowers for Caro's mother. When the neighbors are blasting music, we dance. I haven't been around a child for a long time who seemed to feel so much sheer joy in living. Por todo se entusiasma, por todo se regocia! Today we were playing in the campo by her house when a neighbor came by with a flock of sheep. Caro made a jubilant "Maaaaa" sound and several of the sheep responded (baa ram ewe). She was so excited she screamed. I love every minute I get to spend with her and I especially love how she boosts herself up on the low concrete wall of her yard so she can wave at me until we drive away. It gives me heart. I don't think there is a better feeling than having a little kid love you.

O Come O Come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel

2008-11-04T19:52:00.000-08:00

When I first came to JUCONI, Travis (the director) and I had a conversation about the difference between "inspiring poverty" and "depressing poverty." The inspiring kind is represented by the innocent victims of circumstance who present some kind of aesthetic or emotional appeal; some charm or sweetness that makes us yearn to help them. Those are the "worthy poor," the Fantines of the world whose tumble into tragedy is virtuous and poignant. The world feels good about giving to them, because they "deserve" it. The depressing kind of poverty is the kind that makes the darker angels of our nature secretly wrinkle their noses in disgust; it's the drug-addicted mother who is dropping her baby on the floor, the people who neither speak nor smell pleasantly, the ones who won't take good advice and who make poor choices over and over and over again. Does God differentiate like we do?

I feel so troubled when I find biases within myself; it's like discovering a tumor. This is what felt so heavy for me today: I entered homes in conditions that sickened me; not because I thought ill of the people there, but because it burned me, distressed me that children would have to live like that, grow up like that. I have learned and tried very hard to be understanding, compassionate, and merciful about poverty--I have tried to understand the context, lack of education and resources, how it must feel to be constantly downtrodden, to have your face ground by those who believe themselves superior, to feel so deeply less-than that it crystallizes into apathy--all the time knowing that I don't really understand at all. I really don't know a thing about economics, capitalism, wealth distribution. I don't know which theories are valid. I need to read more, but when I read sometimes I'm not sure who to believe.

I was disturbed today because I couldn't think of any compassionate (i.e politically correct) synonyms for the words I have refused to use and those I have criticized others for using to describe human beings and their environment--filthy, dirty, trash, dump. But I can't deny that these words had a factual application in what I was seeing! I've written a little before about the pueblecitos, the dirt roads and broken-down buildings streaked with graffiti, but this was different. The house of Luis is half concrete blocks stacked together and half canvas tent stretching to the ground. The kitchen so overloaded with junk, dust, filth that there was barely a clear path to the table. The stench of rotting food. The children shoving blackened hands into a bowl of chips. Outside, a pot of leftover soup on top of the hens' cage. Toys stuck in the tin roof, no space to walk for the boxes, broken bicycles, wrappers and bottles, moldy tortillas. No place to wash your hands. My words are weak, but it is one thing to see a dirt floor and think, Oh, this family doesn't have money...and another to see little human beings living and playing in a home absolutely teeming with trash. It hurts to see that. The next house was almost worse because it was nestled on the mountainside and could have been peaceful and serene, but it looked like someone had cleared a small space for the one room house, shoved in the beds and the stove in the middle of a garbage dump. The house was drowning in moldering trash, when I asked one of the boys if the neighbors put it there, he cheerfully replied, "No, it's all ours!" I started to think maybe I was just having some kind of elitist cultural reaction, but the children, again, were incredibly filthy (I hate the way that sounds, but what other world would be better?), their hair was matted with dirt, their fingernails were black, their hands an even darker shade of brown up to their shirtsleeves. Mud on their clothes. The snottiest words kept coming to my mind, explanations for scenes that have never belonged to me. Maybe "these people" don't know much about hygiene? What do I know? The sight of this, the little home buried in garbage and the beautiful dark-eyed children who ran out to greet us, was overwhelming to me. It felt so wrong and so hopeless.

I was pierced by the irony of the little boy from this home who came with me to work on the camera project; he took picture after picture close-up of flowers. There is no beauty near his home, but he tugged my hand and said, "Maestra, my neighbor has a garden.." He took gorgeous pictures of the hearts of roses. I kept thinking, "I know our filthy hands can wash one another's/and not one speck will remain."

I thought of families I know who have a horror of anything below their sparkling towers. How would they explain these things? Am I just like them? I don't know how to make it fit. Manuel asked me once what it's like for the poor in my country and I wasn't sure what to say. I thought of the women's shelter, trailer parks in Houston, the much-maligned "below Harrison" world in Ogden, Jorge siphoning his neighbor's electricity, Hno. Rosales giving me and Steele half the tamales in the otherwise empty fridge, 3 kids who used to stuff themselves during lunch at the daycare I worked at because it was the only meal they had during the day. And all of them had "more" than what I saw today. What is really necessary to sustain life and how much is indulgence? How revolting must entitlement be to our Father in Heaven when things like this exist and we are so rotten and demanding about what we don't have? What does poverty have to do with dirt, and is the dirt really what is painful about all this? Why does the idea of children filthy in their own home disturb me so much? There are so many complexities tied up with this, I'm not smart enough to even ask the right questions, to piece together what I may already know, but I do want to be here with them and try to understand, try to help even though I know I will just be bringing in dandelions.

I think almost anyone could have thought this out and written it better than I, but when it feels "too heavy for Superman to lift" the only thing that helps me feel peace is to remember the Captain of the poor. There is so much about "the first shall be last and the last shall be first" that we can't fathom. There will be healing and rejoicing and restoring of sight to all of us who are so blind. I can't wait for that day, there are so many little ones I want Him to come to. There is so much hurt and neglect that I want Him to heal. I really believe He sees into homes and lives and hearts. Maybe I come back to this every time because I'm not clever enough to have any theories of my own, but if "everything that is wrong in this world can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ," everything else is just dust in the wind. He is my only hope and the hope of those children who are growing up in what everyone has thrown away. We are captive our sin and pain and our circumstances, but we have God with us. And because I know that, I want to feel what He feels for these people. I want to overcome whatever bleak judgment lurks in my heart and just be an advocate and an hermana to anyone who has fallen by the wayside of the world. I do see light in every face I see, despite the marks of weakness, marks of woe.

I felt better being in the sunshine with Jose Luis and seeing him take his careful pictures, mostly of flowers, and I felt joy seeing how excited he got when I praised him. I wanted to give him every kind word I had. Here are some of his best shots. He knows how to find beauty in his life. He helped me see it too.

In your love, my salvation lies in your love

2008-11-02T16:57:00.001-08:00

I've had so many memories creeping into my thoughts lately. Are they important to record? Sometimes I find myself wanting to chronicle my stream of consciousness consistently so I can go through it later and connect the dots (nothing gets crossed out) and see what the picture is stretched out in the sky of my mind. I was remembering a trailer park I used to tract with Hermana Gaw on Sunday evenings in Katy. Nights there were so thick black because no one ever turned their porch lights on. We always talked to a number of men in various stages of intoxication. Some of them were so tender with us and asked if God would forgive them. Others felt compelled to explain their entire life story and philosophies on the world. (Someone very wise once told me that anyone inebriated is automatically attracted to the missionaries. Truedat!)

I was still green teetering on anxiety and choking out my testimony in feeble Spanish. We taught two men in a tool shed; they stopped their work and pulled out stools for us and sat on the floor at our feet. The wind whistled through the walls and I remember feeling so exhausted and hurt. Gaw tried to share a scripture and they explained that they couldn't read. She and I looked at each other weary. I shivered. For some reason the first lesson that night didn't seem to fit, it was too heavy for them, so we sang Accompaname (Abide with me!). That song cut into my heart and embraced me so much as a missionary because it's the song of a frightened child calling out--the night is coming, I'm afraid, please stay with me. I'm incompetent and awkward and I can't express myself. Please love me anyway, please help me shoulder these hard things. Please keep me close to You. I felt tears stinging my eyes and I promise I felt warm arms around me right then, gentleness and light. I remember thinking the shed must be glowing, such a brightness crept in. "En las tieneblas accompaname..." The two men we were teaching had tears glinting in their eyes as well. "Pero ustedes cantan como angeles!" They cried, You sing like angels. The only obvious thing to do was testify of the Savior. This feeling is real, He loves you. If you are patient we can explain our message, it is of Him and it will bring you joy. I remember feeling my heart unburdened as I spoke of glad tidings in less-halting Spanish. The words were there hanging in my mind like ripe fruit and I spoke them.

I think this came to my mind because I had an experience this week where I was struggling to express myself. I am very exigente (demanding) and a little snotty about my Spanish. It kills me whenever I mess up. In this situation last week I felt intimidated and embarrassed of my Spanish and I chose to harden my heart and become prideful and sullen and annoyed at myself instead of being patient and letting it come. Whenever I did that as a missionary, my Spanish became even more mangled and I lost the words. Sometimes I wonder if I really know this language at all or if "here by the grace of God go I"--if it's not a crystallized skill but the gift of tongues still in effect. I think speaking Spanish is like the Liahona for me--it stops working as well when I doubt or become prideful. And its main purpose is to edify and to testify of Christ. On my mission a very dear friend wrote me something simple but profound that always knocks my perspective back into place with regards to Spanish. He said, "The thing about languages is...there's always more you can learn." I LOVE that because it neither extols me falsely for my accomplishments nor allows me to sulk over my imperfections. It's inspirational, a reminder that there is always more terrain to climb. That's true with anything we "master," we never really arrive anywhere, but keep climbing. I love the gospel of Jesus Christ and continually seeking more light and truth. When I fall back a little I lose so much ground. If I am really bound for the promised land I need to understand that it will be a hard climb, and I know there will be times when I need to force myself to stay humble and cry out for that brightness I felt that night in the tool shed. I know He will always come to us.

You didn't get to heaven but you made it close

2008-10-30T16:49:00.000-07:00

Carla let me plan our group activity for the teenagers today. In the spirit of cultural relativity, I decided I wanted to teach the kids how to carve jack-o-lanterns (also because I just wanted to do it myself, ha.). I told Carla what materials we would need and she said she'd take care of everything. Today when I got to Volcanes she showed me all the GREEN and WHITE pumpkins she had bought! She told me the orange ones were too expensive to buy for all the kids. I was a little worried because they were incredibly thick and tough and we only had some wimpy kitchen knives to carve them with. It all worked out wonderfully though. The kids were soldiers and didn't seem to mind wrestling against hard pumpkin flesh (probably because they have nothing to compare it to) and they loved taking out the pumpkin guts and getting all sticky. They all kept tasting the raw pumpkin, which I thought was a little weird, but it's all real chill. I did slice half my thumb off carving a "chimuelo" smile for my buddy Luis, but that's real chill too. I heard you get extra blessings for bloodshed.

Two of the older boys were leaving for "work" right afterwards (their work is washing cars in the crucero) and gave me their pumpkins because they didn't want to carry them through the streets. I am happy? because Carla tells me attendance of the older teenage boys has improved substantially since my arrival. (I hope Megan reads this!) Sometimes they even bring their friends, and the friends keep coming! These boys in question have stopped going to school and work all day in the street washing cars. Thursday afternoons they take a little time off to come to the group. I wish their choices were different, but it makes me so glad that they make time to participate...whatever their reasons. They go through so much heavy ugly stuff. Today I asked Miguel how his week was and he said with a smile, "Well, there wasn't much good, maestra, but I don't want you to hear about the bad." Miguel and his younger brother stopped working in the calle during the 3 years JUCONI worked with the family, but now they are back to their old ways. It's a difficult situation and I know I don't know the half of it.

I spent a lot of my time at Casa Juconi this week drawing skeletons for the boys to color. Dia de los muertos is this weekend. The basic tradition as I have learned is to put out the "ofrenda" (the offering) on a table for departed loved ones, to let them know they are still remembered. The ofrenda table is decorated with skulls, incense, pictures of deceased family members/celebrities, and pictures of calaveras (skeletons.) Nayeli at Casi Juconi showed me these pictures online and we traced some of them for the boys:

Creepy, verdad? The one in the middle is the most famous, and is called Katrina for some reason. Nayeli said that the calaveras are portrayed dressed in normal clothes and participating in normal activities in an attempt to normalize death, to insinuate the perpetuation of life and the idea that "the dead are not really that different from us." Ha. I got really into it though! I don't think I have ever drawn a skeleton before in my life, but I got lots of practice because I was supposed to draw one for all the boys to color and Jesus Arthur took about 9 of them because he couldn't decide which one he liked best. (He also did my hair for me this week, which was awesome. He braids like a cholo!) My favorites that I did were of a gang banger skeleton, mariachi band skeletons, and a Shakira skeleton. If you ever need anyone to draw you a skeleton, let me know and I will hook you UP!

In other news: I made it 7 weeks here before getting molested. MEXICO: 1. ROMANIA: 253

We're made out of blood and rust, looking for someone to trust without a fight

2008-10-25T21:41:00.000-07:00

Me faltan las palabras aptas para describir las luces que ahora brillan en mi vida, más que nada el cariño que siento para estos niños preciosos con quienes me toca a trabajar.

This week was so lovely and thick with goodness. I think the first couple of weeks of anything new are a little jolting and no matter how eager I am to work it takes me awhile to learn the rhythm. I feel it now! I am perfectly content here. I want to say that now so that when I come home and I'm having a dramatic fit about something insignificant you can tell me that my life is not fraught with trauma and that I have been truly happy and will be again. Halle-hallelujah, as Hermano Niel would say. :)Here are some of the brightest lights of my week:

*CASA JUCONI--I am loving those boys so much! They are such complex little creatures and despite the roughness and experience that some of them have, there is an endearing innocence about them too. I've been teaching them all the card games I know with Rook cards. I know that would make my grandmother happy to know that these little gamin are playing Gin with a Tail, Pyramid and Doughnut. (I haven't taught them Eights yet because I think if I try to explain it in Spanish I will just confuse them. I need another month in!)

*There are such sweet moments that come being with the boys. There is one 11 year old (Leobardo) who is not as naturally gifted at sports as the others are and I can see how he suffers for that. I wince when he tries to kick the ball and misses and the other boys laugh at him, when he is automatically removed from the team if the numbers become uneven. I've felt a little of that hurt and I'm sure it stings him more than I know. One day I showed him how to play "Reloj" with basketball (just shooting from different points on the court) and I wouldn't let anyone else join. I was worried he'd get bored, but now every few hours he comes to find me wherever I am with the basketball in his hands. "Maestra, want to come play with me?" It's our special game now and I know it means a lot to him that I spend that time with him. It feels so good to be able to do that especially since I have always been a "gran fracaso" at sports and I really do know how he feels.

*Angel Jose, the little boy I wrote about last time, is my constant shadow and that means so much to me. He always wants to be where I am and to hold my hand. He'll say, "Maestra, is it okay if I give you a hug?"

*On Friday I was about to leave and I went into the playroom to say goodbye already wearing my backpack. While I was talking to someone one of the older boys unzipped the front pocket to see what was in there and my hymnbook fell out. They all asked about it and I told them it was a book of songs about God. They asked me to teach them one so I turned to the Christmas songs and we sang some of them. They asked me to teach them one they didn't know, so I turned to "Soy un Hijo de Dios" (I am a Child of God). I sang the first verse for them and they all stared at me open-mouthed and clapped (HA!). Then they all crowded over my shoulder and sang the next few verses with me. This might sound cheesy, but there really was a quiet feeling of love in the room that there hadn't been before we started singing. I could tell they felt it too because their faces were so peaceful and right after we stopped singing they all just grinned at me.

When I walked down the street afterwards I was thanking God for that moment. Growing up I never really appreciated that song, but during the last several years I have had so many experiences singing it with children who have not been blessed with "parents kind and dear," but who respond to it with reverence and wonder because it still speaks the truth, they are children of God, and even if they're been thrown away, injured and abandoned by this world, they still belong to Him and He knows them and loves them. It makes me feel like a child at home as well; if I just hang on He will take care of me and help me be strong enough to endure hard things and to serve Him well. I hope the boys let me sing with them again.

*I love doing anything with Lolis from TRACA. She is incredibly warm and good-natured and an excellent social worker. She is also one of the people I can be funny with in Spanish. I laugh the most with her. I told her how it's funny to me that she, Carla, and Marce call each other "Gorda" (Fat) affectionately because "en mi pais" most American women are dissatisfied with their bodies and calling someone fat is one of the worst things you could say. Lolis thought that was hilarious! She said, "Well, we know we're fat and we've accepted it, so being called Gorda doesn't bother us!" Lolis is very protective of me and whenever I'm in the mercado with her she won't let me walk too far away from her because she's worried harm will befall me (even though I go there by myself all the time!). She is also mildly obsessed with getting me to try every kind of food available in Mexico and is constantly buying me fried platanos, tortas with carne enchilada, pueblan candy, chips from street vendors. If she herself is eating something she'll ask if I've had that thing before and even if I say yes she will always give me some.

*In our group with the teenagers this week a professional photographer came to speak with the kids about taking pictures for the project we are doing, "Mi Vida desde Mis Ojos" (my life through my eyes.) We are going to have the kids in the TRACA program take photos along the parameters of various themes and then choose the best pictures to auction off in the U.S to garner donations for JUCONI. It's similar to the project done with the children in the movie Born into Brothels. I'm very excited because I get to supervise the children while they go take pictures! I feel like we got a righteous wind at our backs here. Totally righteous!

*I've been reading "The Bible" on addiction recovery and I felt so sharply that the only way a human being can overcome any kind of addiction is to strengthen their relationship with the Savior. There can't be any other way. We are too frail and too pathetic and too vulnerable to the suction of our vices. We need heavenly arms to hold us back. Carla wants me to find this information to help with the fathers in TRACA who have a drinking problem. I want to use this opportunity to be an ambassador of Christ if it comes to me.

*Habanero chips are a light in my life, but won't be much longer if I can't stop eating them. They are to me what Joes were to me in Romania. Irresistible, intoxicating influx of calories.

*I was in the mercado this afternoon and wanted to take so many pictures but it would all involve bothering people and trying to ask permission, when really I just wanted to freeze some slice of the moment and asking would destroy the spontaneity. I would have taken a picture of a little girl curled up asleep in a cardboard box beside her frantic mother who was selling pottery, a man with birdcages filled with live parrots stacked on his back, all the smoky haze in the air from people selling incense for dia de los muertos, an ancient woman sitting serenely on a stool by the guayaba booth, a father playing soccer with his little girl who was wearing a pink dress, two little brothers sitting behind a booth with their arms around each other, a drunkish man begging who had eyes like Rasputin. Maybe next time I will ask.

*I do have this visual from Friday sports day, taken by one of the TRACA girls who was fooling around with my camera. Bien tierna, verdad? I told you it was a good week.

You make me happy, oh when skies are gray, and gray, and gray

2008-10-25T09:58:00.000-07:00

I've been wrestling with some thought-demons this week regarding grad school...trying to weigh how much damage going somewhere far far away would do to me financially versus how much damage staying in Provo would do to me emotionally. During trying times of such heavy decisions, it's good to counsel with friends. This is me counseling with J. R Jarstad when he waxed SUPER wise and poetic:

Robby Jarstad: I think I may have started to become provo as much as hate it.
Raquelita: what is provo, anyway?
Robby Jarstad: I don't know it's the opposite of sehnsucht I think
Robby Jarstad: It's an answer every question before it's asked.
Robby Jarstad: It's a song that is sung by a 20 year old attractive female american idol winner but written by a crusty 50 year old chain-smoker and formulated to move units.
Raquelita: i have to write these down
Raquelita: what else?
Robby Jarstad: It's believing radical change can come from the electoral college.
Robby Jarstad: It's like kissing a sibling.
Robby Jarstad: It's like planning to be spontaneous.
Robby Jarstad: It's like pretending that a bologna sandwich is your favorite food?
Raquelita: can we make this into, like, a pamphlet and distribute it on campus?
Raquelita: or a children's book? haha
Robby Jarstad: Haha a children's book!
Raquelita: like an educational children's book, ha
Robby Jarstad: Yeah. The kid is like, when I grow up I want to go to BYU and then the mom's like I don't know honey...
Robby Jarstad: And the kid's like why what is provo like?
Robby Jarstad says: And then the book starts.
Raquelita: you are too clever
Robby Jarstad: nosotros
Robby Jarstad: Dude I'm gonna be walking to the orphanage every day trying to think of what else provo is.
Robby Jarstad: Provo is that super european dude with too much cologne and that slightly skanky euro chick that's into that.
Robby Jarstad: It's like your dad letting you win at ping pong...
Robby Jarstad: And you not knowing till his funeral.
Robby Jarstad says: I AM these things.
Raquelita says: how?
Robby Jarstad: I don't know it just started sinking into me over time.
Robby Jarstad: When I was offended by my own friends on tour I think I realized it.
Raquelita: oh, really? i think i'm a lot more provo too, when i'm out of it
Robby Jarstad: I guess that's not really evidence because Jesus is probably a little provo too.

After this scintillating conversation, and upon further reflection, Robby wrote this chilling metaphor on the Facebook wall of our mutual friend bleedingern567. Every time I read it I cannot stop laughing. There is so much I could say to explain why this clicks with me, but I know at least a few of you who read this will understand without me having to say anything at all. This is for you!:

"Once I had a unicorn, but one day a masked man hunted and murdered every last one, including my own. "That unicorn was my hopes and my dreams," I cried, "The one creature who understood and brought light to my bitter and sorry existence. Who would ever do such a thing, Who are you?!"

To which despair, this unfaced murderer replied, "I am Provo.""

Oh tell me you love me, come back and haunt me, oh and I rush to the start

2008-10-19T18:00:00.000-07:00

3 years ago today I became an MTC n00b. I had stayed up late the night before playing cards with my mother and sisters (I also prayed for my "companion" who turned out not to exist. Ha!). I was fresh-faced and beaming in my red and white Jody dress, feeling extra-righteous in nylons.

My heart was whirling from the glowing promises given to me and from wanting to think more deeply, stand up and be stronger and more grateful--stretch my arms out to the heavens and let the rain fall. During the cheesy Called to Serve video I was wriggling with excitement and when they told us to go our separate ways I hugged everyone and made a beeline for the other side. My sisters and mother were crying.

When I got up the stairs all I was leaving behind suddenly felt a little heavy. My arms were so empty. I told myself that my world would "remain within a frame like a painting on the wall" and when I came home I would just climb back into the frozen scene and yell "ACTION!"
I think maybe every missionary needs to believe in that, a little bit, at first.

I had no idea how thoroughly I was about to get rocked.

I feel so far now from that first day. I was so little and didn't even know it. The sky ripped open and God showed me the lining of the world, the lining of my soul. There really is a voice of mercy from heaven and a voice of truth from the earth. I untangled myself from the roots of this life so I could please Him who chose me to be a soldier (2 Tim 2:3-4). He stood by my side in every moment and caught me every time my knees startled buckling. When I think of how the heavens really did rain down miracles, I know I shouldn't complain about anything in my life.

It's bittersweet how time is pulling me away from my mission. Even though I was naive and unassuming, I'm glad I raced up those stairs at the beginning. If I could have seen a piece of the future, I might have walked more slowly. If I could have seen all of it--I would have run faster. :)

I miss you, Morena!

Y sí tu me pagas con eso, yo ya no te doy mas de esto amorrr

2008-10-18T06:21:00.000-07:00

The posters advertising the Juanes concert on 10.17 were some of the first things I saw when I got to Puebla and my heart leaped for joy, but the concert sold out awhile ago. Manuel insisted we could get tickets anyway, so last night we jumped on la moto and hied ourselves to the XXI theater. I kept telling him it was okay if we didn't get in, that I wouldn't be mad. He laughed at me, "Mujer de poca fe! Espera." There were plenty of scalpers trying to shell their tickets for 6, 7 times the original price. Manuel would tell them we didn't have the money and they'd lower it a little and then threaten to leave when we wouldn't budge. Later they would come back and lower it a little more. 20 minutes before the concert started we had 5 or 6 people
crowding around us jockeying for position, yelling that they had better seats, etc. Manuel held out until the end and got us two ROCKSTAR seats for 500 pesos (the online selling price was 400 pesos for ONE ticket!). I was so excited!!! We got in line and I was jumping up and down screaming. Manuel grinned at me and said, "You know I've never been to a concert before." I said, "No manches! Are you kidding? How did you know how to work it with the ticket scalpers then?" He was all, "Por ser mexicano!" ("I'm Mexican!") Ha!

Either way, he worked the system like a pro and our seats were AMAZING!!!! We made best friends with the people sitting near us and the whole place was buzzing with energy. When Juanes came out everyone went completely crazy y ni sabria que decirles porque el concierto fue TAN PADRE!!! Juanes es un cantante super talentoso y igual si se sabe moverrrr! Casi todos en el cuarto se pusieron de pie y estaban bailando, cantando y gritando, me imagino que era yo la unica presente que le faltaba ritmo. Jaja. Ni modo, me entusiasme muchismo y jamas he disfrutado tanto a un concierto! Lo que mas me gusto fue que Juanes fue tan agradable como persona y no se porto con mucho orgullo. Estoy LOCA por el!!!

Juanes is an INCREDIBLE performer and he played absolutely everything I love: La Paga, Volverte a Ver, A Dios le Pido, Gotas de Agua Dulce, la Camisa Negra, Mala Gente, Para tu Amor, Fotografia, Me Enamora, Nada Valgo sin Tu Amor. He also has a new anti-war song called "Odio por Amor" that is awesome. I can't remember ever being happier at a concert, this might be my favorite one ever.

Here is an awesome video of Juanes performing "La Paga" with Black Eyed Peas! This is back when he was working his Ashton Kucher/Mowgli hair. I LOVE this video with BEP running around in the background, jajajaja. I was obsessed with this song right when I first got home from my mission.

Now Juanes looks like this and he is FIERCE! This is one of his newest songs, "Gotas de Agua Dulce." Check out what he does at the beginning of the song. Oh man. Ese hombre me enloquece!

I snuck this picture at the concert before they kifed my batteries. My cameria isn't great but this is proof that I was PRESENT for the raising of the Columbian goblet of rock!

Y por fin aqui estamos despues del concierto, SUPER FELICES!!!!!

Having a BFF with a motorcycle is PIMP because we got to skip all the after-concert traffic by weaving in and out of the lanes and, a veces, driving on the sidewalk. We went to Los Angeles for midnight tacos arabes and to uncrazy ourselves from the concert. :)

There were peasants singing and drummers drumming, and the archer split the tree

2008-10-17T12:03:00.000-07:00

Sports day at Centro JUCONI! After Israel ran the normal activities, I ended up teaching a bunch of the mothers how to play basketball...I know, ME, right? I find that all I have to do is surround myself with people who don't know how to play at all and then I can unleash my inner Latrell Spreewell. :)

Most of these mothers are indigenous women around my age or younger and they each have several children. They have lived in the pueblecitos outside Puebla for most of their lives and have limited activities outside of their homes. They were hesitant at first, giggling and ducking when someone tossed the ball at them, but as we kept playing they got more aggressive and kept trying to steal the ball from each other. I kept coaching and cheering for them and we didn't stop until everyone had made at least one basket. One mother, Lupita, got it together and started making it every time she shot. Each time the ball went in she screamed in delight. I told her this could be a new career option for her and that she should go practice with the jovenes in her neighborhood in the afternoons. She asked who would make dinner for the family and I said her husband should do it sometimes so that she can focus on her new talent. :) She loved that and thought it was so funny, mostly because it is depressingly unlikely that her husband would ever consent to that plan. He's a little machista, ese.

After the basketball game we had a pushup contest which I would love LOVE to have pictures of because everyone's form was so terrible! I kept trying to explain that your back/rear end should be straight and only your arms should bend, but they all kept contorting themselves and it was hilarious. All of the falling over and laughing created camaraderie and afterwards we walked back to the paradas for the buses all together with two of the little girls clinging to my hands, twisting to look up and talk to me. I feel so much love from those little birds. I've been here about a month now and I am so glad to see my days getting longer. Too many words again, right? Just four more in this section. I AM SO HAPPY!

So: Centro JUCONI is on the other side of the mercado Hildago, which is so huge and deeply winding that it makes the Pulga in Houston look like a mall kiosk. It's also the kind of place that gives you an eerie feeling that you could disappear, be murdered under some tarp and no one would ever notice. The sketchiness doesn't disturb me much, but these things did!:

Chicken lynchings:

These white things are cow stomachs (panza de rez). People just buy these and march off with them!

"SOME PIG." They murder Wilbur and put his head on display, and people take it home and make posoli, which I will maybe never eat again.

Gahhh! There are seemingly endless tables heaped with the corpses of dead animals. These were some of the less graphic meat stands. Another one I saw had raw cow hearts hanging off the table, turning slowly in the breeze. Everything in this part of the mercado is splattered with blood and smells hideous. I told Marce that I think in my country we try to hide our meat and kind of pretend it isn't really part of an animal carcass. Anyway, I just wanted to share the carnage.

There is a light and it never goes out

2008-10-15T21:49:00.000-07:00

I can feel my spirit stretching and uncurling itself. I learn so much from being here and from everything I see when I am humble...I miss so much when I'm not! It's crazy painful how my heart keeps hardening and softening over and over again--I feel that when I am engaged in some kind of service that strikes a pure chord in me it's a little easier to keep it soft because my children just make me melt. Being here, I am considerably less cynical than I tend to be in Provo and I'm thankful for this time I have had in my youth to serve and to have adventures. I don't feel anymore that I missed some essential crossroads and derailed myself--I used to have ugly knots in my heart about my wrinkled fate slash face, and my heart was very rocky, but now I feel peace and power knowing God has always known exactly what would happen in my life, and He sees the path before me winding back home to Him. What more could I ask for?

This week Carlita and I wrangled my schedule a little bit so I could divide my time between TRACA and the Casa JUCONI where 24 (former) street kids live. I had a *secretheart* always to get in there and get to know those boys,(kind of like my west wing again, the Forbidden Room) and I didn't even have to ask for it, Carla told me they needed a volunteer who had good Spanish and she suggested that I go there on the days that TRACA works in the office. I'm realizing there is more than enough to keep me busy at JUCONI! Mondays I go on family visits with TRACA, Tuesdays and Wednesdays I will be with the lost boys in Casa JUCONI, Thursdays I have the grupo de adolescentes (and in the mornings I work on putting together a recovery program for addiction), and Fridays I will go to the Casa JUCONI in the mornings to do art projects and activities, and in the afternoons I go to sports day with the TRACA kids. I honestly can't think of anything better than this!!!1

The other day I expressed a worry to Carla that I don't know the culture well enough to make good decisions about what to do when I'm in charge of the group, and she told me that I'm actually doing better than some native employees they have had. She said, "Tienes mucha empatia, ganes muy facilmente a las personas, aun los que no confian en cualquier persona." (That I have a lot of empathy and I win the people over very easily, even those who don't trust others very easily.) That was so good for me to hear! It's fun being here and feeling welcome. In Romania it felt like everyone hated on us my matter what we did.

This is already too long (again) but I just wanted to write about the Casa JUCONI--right now it houses 24 boys who have lived on the streets at some time. They all have that in common although their reasons for being there vary. Some were living in overcrowded orphanages and were invited to come live at JUCONI. Two brothers were abandoned by their mother. Their grandmother took them in but was too poor to feed them, so they started working and sleeping in the street. Several of the boys ran away from home because they were being beaten by their parents. Most of them have noticeable scars on their skin. One boy listed 3 or 4 different shelters and homes he has stayed in, each time for a year or more, but doesn't remember his family well. He was placed in an orphanage at the age of 4. Some boys entered Casa JUCONI as young as 7, and the boys there now range from 8-16. When they get older they can go to the casa de jovenes (also run by JUCONI) until they are in a position to live on their own. Many of them go to school in the afternoon; others have never been before and do not know how to read or write. All of them have been through so much ugliness; many have been sexually abused and all of them without exception come from families where addictions and violence are present.

One of my assignments as a volunteer there is to work with 3 boys who are very behind academically. I have an 11 and a 12 year old that I will be teaching to read, and a 15 year old who just started reading last year. Nayeli (one of the educators) went over all the lesson plans with me and I was amazed at how many dynamic and creative ways they had devised to make the principles accessible and interesting for the boys. I know all the vocabulary now to teach about decimal placement and simple math. :)

I love getting to know the boys and making friends with them. Some of them are very outgoing and love to sit with me and ask me all kinds of questions about myself, the U.S, music. I like making them laugh. It took me awhile to figure out who "Ill-erry Doof" was, also "I-rawn Mai-den." One of their favorite things to do is to ask me how to say certain words in English, especially their names. "How do you say Paco? How do you say Luis? How do you say Marcos?" One little boy was very excited to find out that his name translated to "Jesus Arthur" in English and he kept running around to the other boys and shouting, "HELLO, MY NAME IS JESUS ARTHUR! NICE TO MEET YOU!" It sounded profane to me but it was funny. They wanted to know what all the English curse words they've seen in American movies mean. They wanted to learn how to insult each other: "How do you say, 'you are'? Okay, how do you say 'ugly'?" I won a lot of respect the morning we played basketball (I know what you're thinking!), where I held my own mostly because I'm taller than all except a few of them. I was like Kevin Garnett ballin' it up, ha! It was so fun playing with them, they are all amazingly good but they foul it up like you wouldn't believe, scratching each other and pulling hair. Haha. I laid the beat down and it got a little better.

The youngest boys break my heart, they are so sweet and eager to please and reminded me of my little brother Chris. One of them, Angel Jose, is too shy to say much but always tries to sit by me. He has a hideous jagged scar right over his left eyebrow. I asked him what happened just to see what he would say: "Maestra...es que...I have a lot of family problems." He loves to show me the small treasures he owns; his Yugioh cards and the pogs he saves that come free with a bag of chips. He is eight years old and has been living at JUCONI for a year now. On Wednesday he had a family visit and he wanted me to help him choose what he should wear out of his three outfits. We decided on a shirt that had his name on it: ANGEL. He was getting so jittery and excited as he washed his face and combed his hair; by the time the social worker arrived to take him to see his family he was practically dancing with glee. "Will you be here when I get back, Maestra? Are you coming every day?"

I asked the directora how often the boys are able to go back and live at home again, and she said unfortunately that rarely happens. The boys invited to come live at the house are the most extreme cases. She told me that only one boy in the last 2 years has been able to successfully transition back home. In some cases the boys thrive on the environment at JUCONI and going back home to less than nurturing circumstances is even more traumatic for them. Other times, the family has worked hard and progressed, but the boy is not willing to make changes himself, and ends up running away to the street again.

I look at their bunk beds stacked up in the rooms, the little lockers that they use for closets, and it hurts to think about how most of them won't ever go home, that they don't have mothers. But at JUCONI they do have people who care about them, they have opportunities, they have advocates. So much effort goes into soothing their hurt, helping them grow. I'm glad they are here and more glad that I have this brief time with them.

Good eye, sniper! Here I'll shoot--you run

2008-10-14T16:51:00.000-07:00

Yay! I just got tagged by my dear friend Eliza Jane Sproulberger *(not her real name).* Eliza is one of my favorite people in the world, not only because she is so clever, funny and kind, has a memory for details that makes others feel loved, and does amazing orphan impersonations, but also I think some pieces of our souls were cut out of matching cloth. It's refreshing to see something precious to you reflected and perfected in someone you admire. Also I've secretly always wanted to get tagged on a blog post, (you know, the Kimberley Caldwell in me) so I am exceedingly pleased. This is awesomeness effulgent! I get to pick my favorite number (7!) and list 7 items under every category.

7 TV Shows I Love to Watch
1-American Idol! (especially vintage Seasons
2&4. Especially Season 4. A-Fed, Jaclyn Crum, Faith Gatewood, A'sia Jackson, Mary Roach, the Mofetta twins, woman songs, "smoldering," Toot Savol, the rockers, the Paula/Corey Clark scandal.
Cow, I still think Bo Bice is the real Hogwarts champion.)

2-ANTM *drops face into hands, deeply ashamed* I don't have an excuse for this.

3-The O.C. I haven't actually watched it for a couple of years but my love was deep enough that I think it needs to be on this list. Around 2004-2005 I used to force people with VCRs to tape it for (and wow that sounds retro) and when I got the first season DVD I would make all my friends watch it with me. It's just--being from Ogden I really related to Ryan Atwood, growing up in the hood in Chino. And I loved the music. I loved Seth and Summer together, I even loved Luke and Julie as a couple! It gets worse, though. Elder Park and I used to quiz each other on O.C trivia over breakfast in the MTC *cringe*. Then when Elder Patino came to Houston as a visa waiter (and none of us were ever the same after) he told me how he called up FOX to protest Marissa's death. He was a more dedicated fan than I was--it was traumatic for him. Once he tried to get permission from the ZLs so he could call me in another zone and discuss it with me. (I am not making that up).

4-Seinfeld. I know it's old but I never get tired of it. I remind myself of Jerry sometimes when I talk about people I've dated. Plus I dance kind of like Elaine.

5-The Office! I can't get enough of it! I don't follow it but I love to watch the seasons on DVD. Gracias Felipe for introducing me when I got home from my mission.

6-I like any show about murder cases and forensics. I get freaked out later but I still think they are so interesting.

7-Little House on the Prairie. I haven't seen this forever either but I think the cumulative time I spent watching it combined with the number of family inside-jokes it inspired makes it list-worthy. It's the best show ever about mere Christianity, blind people and puberty.

7 Things that Happened Yesterday
1-We went to visit a new family in the TRACA program and the kids were so darling! They are the kind that are cuddly right away and so excited about everything you do. We sang a get-to-know you song about a cow and drew pictures together. That's the kind of stuff my soul delighteth in. "O! Adrian! La vaca eres tu! Si te jalo por la cola, que nombre dices tu?"

2-I talked to my parents on Skype for a little bit. I can't call the US while I'm here, and the internet is so fickle that I don't connect with my family often. It was good to talk to them and to feel that they are a little more proud of me than they are ashamed of me for being barren.

3-I listened to Live's "Lightning Crashes" over and over again. It was a song Eliza and I used to listen to in Romania and I love the energy in it, and also that it includes the word "placenta."

4-After work I went for a walk in the rain to the OXXO. There are no gutters here and all the water just pools around the curb. I had fun jumping over lakes. I passed a section on the road where they were doing construction and it was extremely muddy and flooded. One of the workers made me a little path with bricks so I could cross without getting wet. :) So nice!

5-Manuel came over to say hi on his way to the gym. From what I have observed, Mexicans who go to the gymnasio typically work out in these humiliating short-shorts. (It may be a fresa thing.) Every time I see those shorts I throw up a little bit and I have to disassociate myself mentally from the situation, just like Sybil. Maybe there's something wrong with me, but I'm just not interested in seeing that much of any guy's legs. Ever. (Manuelcito is still awesome though!)

6-I re-read the Star Thrower and started craving Christmas right after, so I read Luke 2. Glad tidings!

7-I had a good talk with a friend of my soul who is far from me.

7 Favorite Places to Eat
I am all about eating out, (lack of domesticity) but I'm not very classy, so this will be easy:
1-SUBWAY! I could eat there every day. I never get sick of it. I get the same sandwich every time, which is absolutely divine and heavy on the onions and southwest chipotle sauce. Occasionally I ask for one tomato, randomly placed. C-Mar is totally jacked up to me about my special designer sandwich and complains for like the next week that he can taste onions, but I think he secretly likes it. :)
2-Cafe Rio
3-In & Out (when I'm lucky)
4-Olive Garden or anywhere else I can get fetticini alfredo and breadsticks
5-El Nuevo Amanacer in Ogden (pupusas!)
6-Outback
7-Mi Cuidad here in Puebla

7 Things I'm Looking Forward To:
1-Getting my MSW on SOON!(location to be determined. Maybe BYU now after all? *confused face*)
2-The re-dedication of the Mexico City temple and accompanying extravaganzas
3-Going to Casa Juconi tomorrow to be with my little guys
4-Christmastime!!!!!1
5-Well's wedding on Dec. 27
6-My brother Elder Toot coming home from his mission in July 2010
7-The Second Coming (I really am looking forward to that! When all that was promised the Saints will be given)

7 Things on My Wish List
1-The ability to understand "no day but today..." and to enjoy the present without agonizing over the past or gnawing my fingernails off about the future

2-Peace and understanding for my parents. Oil of joy for their mourning.

3-Unlimited cash flow so I could travel all the roads left in my shoes and SERVE in NGOs and orphanages for the rest of my life.

4-A box filled with all the stories and poems I have written and lost in my life. I would love to find them again. Also, all the emails and letters I have received that were glory and subsequently misplaced.

5-Ojala que pudiera hablar el espanol como si fuera yo nativa!

6-Hijos. So...finding out if I really am barren. :)

7-Being able to write poetry again. I miss that.

7 People I TAG:
Ha, as if 7 people even read this thing. Well, I can't help but notice in all my blog-stalking experience that it's usually girls who fill out tags, so I'ma go ahead and tag some HOMBRES! Oh yeah! (And y'all have to do it, even if you think it's beneath you.)

1-Robby Jarstad--grave robber extraordinaire
2-Kyle Kenny, who is one of the people I forced to tape the O.C for me. Thanks for that!
3-Scott Earl, faithful follower of Elder Hales' counsel
4-PGD (Caught you reading this!)
5-Christina! (Stephens!)
6-Brenda my amor
7-Tanya B

The angel opens her eyes

2008-10-13T19:44:00.000-07:00

"But I do love the world," I whispered to a waiting presence in the empty room. "I love its small ones, the things beaten in the strangling surf, the bird, singing, which flies and falls and is not seen again...I love the lost ones, the failures of the world." --Loren Eisley from The Star Thrower. I think of that story so often here. It is spiritually stunning to me, and not just because Robby and I had to plunder Hugh Nibley's grave to retrieve it. :)

These are part of a mural some of the kids did at the JUCONI office in Volcanes. I can't take pictures of the kids without permission. You would love them, though! Take a second and look at these murals. There is a lot in them.

I was telling my father tonight that when we go out to the villages to visit families, I want so badly to capture what I see: glowing dark eyes in thin dirt-smudged faces, pigeons bobbing on the kitchen table, the mother who doubles over and rocks herself back and forth as she tells us about her husband's "other family," an old man slowly trudging up the street with firewood on his back, teenage father building an extra room on the back of the house with concrete bricks, five little children in their peering through a broken wooden gate. The houses scattered on the hills. It seems crass though, to snap pictures of these things and label them as poignant/tragic when they would be pictures of someone's life, someone's home. I don't want to be exploitive. There is beauty in it but I think most of it will come with me learning to be a star-thrower, ("Throw well. One can help them.") which I want so badly, which I am starving for. So, not too many pictures...I will need to learn to make them with words.

I did snake this shot of the murderous turkey who brought me grief last week. There he is in all his foul glory. The leche and jugo in the corner of the picture are part of the "dispensa" we brought today to all of the families. It was like Christmas.

One more picture. This is Manuel Isai Rojas Solano. My co-star in the telenovela that is my Puebla social life. :)

Cliiimb Ev'ry Mountain

2008-10-12T21:04:00.000-07:00

Just thinking of that song from The Sound of Music cracks me up slash brings me a sense of triumph for these reasons:

#1-When I was younger my father used to put a towel on his head (like a nun's habit), and couple of oranges in the front of his shirt, and sing that song in a passionate, quavering falsetto. He made an awesome Reverend Mother. The best part was at the end when he would shriek out the final notes: "Tiiiil youuuu fiiiiind! YOUR! DREEEAM!" Oh man! My dad is the steeze!

#2-It reminds me of A-Fed, the basilisk, singer of woman-songs. I think one of A.I's finest moments was when Anthony Federov sang "Climb Ev'ry Mountain" on Season 4's musicals night...also in a passionate, quavering falsetto, but without a towel on his head, which really could have only improved the performance. As I recall, Simon told him, "Everything about that was hideous." Although that might have been what he said when A-Fed sang Celine Dion.

#3-Today Manuel and I went to the rest home again to visit the hermana Maria Eugenia and her imprisoned comrades. So many of them are so desperately lonely. Once again Maria mentioned how much she misses the singing from church and began to hum "Jesus wants me for a Sunbeam" ("Que brilla! Que brilla!"), she said that song began to be very sweet to her once she realized she could cope with her trials better if she was trying to be the sunlight for someone else. She just turned 90 yesterday. I had my hymnbook in my bag from church and I was thinking, "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" It didn't seem right that we couldn't sing to her, when it was such a simple thing that would have meant so much. Manuel had told me that we weren't allowed to sing our hymns because it is considered proselytizing, but I couldn't understand why a Catholic-run organization would be against singing hymns about Christ. Just as I was churning with rebellion, the Reverend Mother swept into the room and beamed at us. She seemed so kind, like she might just burst out in song if anyone needed her to help them make a choice between marrying Captain VonTrapp or getting locked up in a convent. I hissed to Manuel that we should ask her again if we could sing. Upon asking permission, she said she thought that would be all right if they were just hymns about Jesus Christ. We promised that there would be no praising the man or in our lovely deseret-ing. That was the triumph because now we can sing hymns about the Savior to Maria and to any of the residents who want to listen. When I'm old and lonely and forgotten I imagine that the hymns would bring so much peace to my soul. They are songs of hope and counsel and kindness. Maria wept when we sang and promised that it wasn't because we sounded bad. :) So I am grateful that the Reverend Mother was down with it.

Mormon 7:7: "And he hath brought to pass the redemption of the world, whereby he that is found guiltless before him at the judgment day hath it given unto him to dwell in the presence of God in his kingdom, to sing ceaseless praises with the choirs above, unto the Father, and unto the Son, and unto the Holy Ghost, in a state of happiness which hath no end."

We both go down together

2008-10-08T14:52:00.000-07:00

Today I did my laundry, talked to some people I love very much and fretted about my future. :) My heart's getting righter--I hope--but there's some shady pride in me I can't seem to stamp out. I don't disbelieve Christ and I know I wandered off in a forbidden road--maybe that's why things look so dark sometimes, it's just the dust and sheets pulled over furniture and heavy silence in the rooms of faith I abandoned for a little while. I've tiptoed back in and now I'm struggling to open the windows, let the air and sunlight back and so faith can breathe. It will be all right, I can live in here again... Sometimes I feel someone taller than I am reaching above me to lift the latch for me.
Thank you!
I am going to try very hard to have heart. Now I'm off to a birthday party...("it's YOUR birthday party. Happy birthday, darling!")

We fall but our souls are flying...

2008-10-07T16:21:00.000-07:00

I am still loving my life here! Weekdays are full of business with JUCONI and nighttimes and weekends I always seem to have more than enough fun. I went to a really "fresa" mall this weekend, Angelopolis, which has stores like Prada and Gucci. Definitely out of my league. Mexico has no middle class; it seems like people either have tons of money or none at all. The other day Manuelcito picked me up and we went to the Centro on his motorcycle to look for a missionary backpack and it was so exhilarating weaving through traffic in the dim streets. We have so much fun. C-Mar, you would love it here because everyone drives like they're in a video game. Stop signs are erroneous and you can turn left from whichever lane you want.

Mondays and Tuesdays are especially exciting for me because I love doing the family visits. I love the trip out there in the mornings, it's been so sunny and hopeful lately and just looking out the windows of the caminon at all the marketplaces and little stores and people spilled all over the streets is very exciting for me.

We take the bus out to these dusty villages in the middle of nowhere with dirt roads and houses scattered all over the hills. Many of them are built out of cement blocks and they drape curtains all over to form separate rooms. In the winter, they tell me that they place blankets in the windows to help insulate the home. There are always stairs leading up to the roof where they hang the laundry. Most of the homes we visit don't have running water or electricity. A few of the homes are so far away from everything industrialized that walking around them you can pretend it's a few hundred years earlier. Animals are everywhere, stray dogs sleeping in the sun and cows and goats and horses are tied up near trees or fence posts. Some families have pigs and chickens running around in their front yard.

One family we visit has a particularly aggressive turkey that will jump at you and try to peck at your face. Yesterday when we came in the yard and the kids ran out to greet us, he was hiding and suddenly scuttled out towards the smallest little girl, Yami, who is 2. I scooped her up and then he chased us around the yard for a few minutes. He is a seriously menacing bird! The kids control him by chasing him up onto the roof with the broom. I think a better way to control him would be to make him into soup, but hey. You can't just go telling people what to do with their turkey.

When we are walking in the streets in these little villages (Santanita, 2 de Marzo and Chachapa) there are many people who recognize us. People call us "Las JUCONIs," which isn't nearly as good as "las hermanas," but in either case it means little kids bursting out of the house running happy to see us, people confiding in us about their quiet sorrows, and hopefully doing a little bit of good.

What we do in the visits depends on the needs of the family and how far they have progressed in the TRACA program. We have family group therapy sessions, sometimes we split up and help the kids with their homework (Lolis and Marce have special workbooks that they bring for each child), sometimes we play games with the kids while someone else goes into another room with the mother in the family to talk to her privately.

Sometimes I get an achy kind of almost-missionary feeling and I have to admit that I'm growlingly jealous of everyone who got to serve here. It would feel so good to teach these families about the gospel. I do mention the Church as often as I can and expressing faith in God is definitely very culturally accepted, but as far as my work with JUCONI goes, busting out with the Jose Smith story wouldn't really be appropriate. But I do feel needed; at least, I feel useful. There are a few families with so many children that one or two social workers really can't spend one on one time with everyone. It feels so clean and beautiful to be able to help! I'm getting to be good friends with the mujeres in TRACA and they make me feel that they enjoy having me around. They are very patient with and protective of me.

This morning we had an adventure! Carla and I went out to Chachapa to visit a family and to tell them about a meeting TRACA is having tomorrow. We arrived to find the mother in great distress. Her husband was very sick and she had no way to get him to the hospital because she lives so far away from the city, and the roads are so muddy and rocky that taxi drivers refuse to go up there. The husband was in a very bad way; from what I understood, he had stopped drinking for the space of a time but this last weekend disappeared for a few days and came home very drunk. He was having horrible stomach pain and vomiting constantly.

Carla got her husband to come bring the car and it took an agonizing 10 minutes for them to get the sick man up from the bed and out to the yard. He was groaning bien feo. He could not stand by himself and once he got out of the house he fell to his knees and began vomiting blood. It was awful to see and hear. His wife and daughters were just wailing. I pulled the little girls away because they were panicking and Carla left me with the kids while she and her husband took the parents into town to the hospital. The little girls were understandably agitated and cried for awhile but then they calmed down and I suggested we say a prayer for their father. We held hands and prayed for him and afterwards I let them listen to Rebelde on my ipod and we went outside to play. They cheered up considerably and I was happy I was there so that their mother could be at the hospital and they wouldn't be left alone. They are such sweet and beautiful girls, I really do hope their father will be alright.

Later Marce and Lolis came for me and we went back to Volcanes (where the TRACA office is) on the bus. I was sitting in front of them with an open seat next to me and an old man (Jose) came and sat down next to me (haha, I feel like I'm writing a chapter in Zara). He turned to me, paused dramatically, and said, "You have the most beautiful eyes!" (I have to be honest that people tell me this about a million times a day here. It's like the Pulga). I thanked him politely and turned to look out the window but he asked me, "Do you believe in love at first sight?" Actually, what he asked me translates more to "Do you believe that love can be born between two people the moment that they see each other?" I told him no, I didn't, and he said, "I need to sing you a song about your eyes." (What???) He then cleared his throat and burst out singing a very sweet song about this girl whose eyes are like the sea and like fire and some other stuff I couldn't understand because I was so embarrassed. Everyone on the bus was smiling and Marce and Lolis behind me were cracking up. Then he asked me if I would sing the song with him and I said I didn't know the words, so he taught it to me very slowly and then we sang it together. After that, thankfully, he got off the bus.

Jajajaja...I just wanted to share that story because I thought it was funny. I have so much more I could say but I have to get ready to go to Michel's setting-apart. Conference made me think so much of my mission and I wanted to give a shoutout to mis homies on the front lines: I am so proud of all the missionaries I know this week: my brother Scott, all ready to go out and teach songs of freedom to the Czech Republic, Mihaitsa, who is tearing it up "like a beast" in Montreal, Ismael Sosa who gets locked in tomorrow and who is going to drop bombs, my cousin Nick with his adventuous spirit who played the piano for church in a country I can't pronounce the name of, and my cousin Karl who will be one of the most humble and powerful assistants ever known to mankind. Los quiero mucho a todos!!!

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten

2008-10-03T21:59:00.000-07:00

I'm realizing how darkly I was seeing through the glass this last year. Now my eyes are adjusting to more light. I needed this so badly, just to be ripped out of my world and shaken down to a humbler place. I love the roughness and broken-downness and the colors of Mexico. There is so much treasure here for me.

Yesterday I directed the group therapy session by myself! The kids and I drew pictures of family traditions and then talked about what they all had in common. I also introduced the photography project we will be working on in the next few months. It went really well and the kids are sweet and patient with me when I need to reword things..a lot of this is new vocabulary for me and even though I struggle sometimes I love learning!

Today I went to the Centro Juconi to help with the sports day they have every Friday for the kids. Most of the families TRACA works with live in Santana or other pueblecitos outside the main city--the poorest families here tend to live on the outskirts of the Capital instead of the inner-city (which is pretty upper/middle class). Those pueblitcitos are desperately poor--most of the houses have one room with several beds on one end and the kitchen area on the other. All possessions are cluttered together and many of them don't have running water of electricity in the house. They are places you can feel are a little bit sketch just by the way people look at you, hard and hungry and mean. Because these neighborhoods are often dangerous (there are significant problems with drugs and gang activity), many families try to keep their kids inside, so JUCONI faciliates this day when they can come and get some excersise and positive social interaction. I had so much fun talking to the mothers and running around playing with the children. One of the mothers had a wonderfully chubby 10 month old baby who kept stretching out his arms to me and leaving sweet sticky kisses on my cheeks when I held him. I really do think Mexican children are the most darling. Gibran would say that there's a solution for that. :)

After work I went with Manuel to a friend's despedida de la mision (mission farewell) which was in a huge park and we got some love from the members and some carne asada. We also had a pull-up contest on the bars of the playground and I totally beat him, much to the delight of several 10 year olds who were watching. :)

Afterwards, he wanted to take me back to his house and teach me to salsa dance. (Now that I think about it, this may have been a machista attempt at revenge after the pull-ups contest.) Naturally I was horrified, I told him about my genetic uncoordination which has been the bane of my existence, but he didn't believe me...they never do until after. My protestations were in vain and we spent about an hour and a half "dancing." I have to admit it was pretty fun, not that I really progressed. Of course he is an amazing dancer and an enthusastic teacher, but I really am impossible. When we were downing some jugo de guyaba after I told him I that I had always felt humilated because I couldn't t dance and he said, "But it's possible for us to learn anything! Even if we don't have any natural ability for something, that doesn't mean we can't work hard and get better at it. We're part of God, we can do anything if we are willing to work." I loved that--not necessarily as it relates to dancing, but insasmuch as it made me realize that I really do have a mental list of things I am not good at and thus avoid systematically so I won't look like more of a fool than I usually do. I think I should get rid of that list because it is limiting to me, and I don't really want my life to be that way.

Later on Manuel and I were talking a little about our missions and he mentioned that--from his perspective--his American companions seemed to have so much gospel knowledge than he did; but he said, "Nosotros los Mexicanos, ensenamos mas del corazon." (The Mexican missionaries taught more from the heart.)

I feel that I have been "taught from the heart" very profoundly and firmly since I have been here, it's a dizzyingly humbling experience...a sincerity that is so sweet and direct that it makes me ashamed of all the times I have been complicated and cynical. There really are not as many shadows about me as I have sometimes thought, and I have been lacking in faith, painting my life with my own colors instead of just trusting the Lord. I feel so loved by my Savior. I feel that He was smiling at me so kindly while I was breaking myself against all my dark thoughts, compelling me to just look Up and remember Him and how good He has been to me. There is a bright, bright light in this dismal world and it is worth hanging on to, sweet to follow. I just want to be Home with all the people I love.

Time like your cheek has turned for me...

2008-10-02T11:05:00.000-07:00

The other night I had an unexpected piece of light from heaven given to me in the form of a two-way monologue with an ineffably dear friend with whom I had not expected to speak agan. His slow fade from my life was always a sore spot I tried not to bump with too many memories...since I knew all too well why we had to decrease. For leaving, for ending, for anger, for growing, for pretty strangers, for rejecting cousel and comfort, for the faint fluttering of a yellow bird, for finally dropping burdens that maybe never belonged to us. There was always an emptiness in my heart that I tried to ignore, and I couldn't scrub the starlight from the lines in my palms because he knows the truth, knows me so well.

Every time we don't speak for months I feel that time flooding past slipping from my fingers and I think wait...wait. I haven't written, I won't remember this piece of today. So much time lost. I could never explain to anyone. I always convince myself that we must be strangers to each other and that if we ever do talk again it would be a pale, frail version of what it used to be...an aching shadow of the past, people we'd been before lingering on and trying to find each other but not being enough a part of us to reach past the Now. But it hasn't ever been true, not yet...

Me: You're right, I've had lots of kindred spirits, but you were always special. That's all I'm saying.
Mi Amigo: can i ask a tough question?
Me: yeah go ahead
Mi Amigo: here's the question: what is it that makes you say to some people, you understand me, and to others, you don't?
Mi Amigo: is it just the appreciating the best parts about you?
Me: that is tough to explain. can i say it's something vague, like a feeling? :) no, no listen...i think it's more of an accurate complete evaulation
Mi Amigo: yes!
Me: i think you saw my light but also where i was weak and why...and that was so comforting to me
Mi Amigo: you have mde it so far
Me: like i was fully visible to someone
Mi Amigo: so far from that summer
Mi Amigo: it makes me really happy
Me: oh, that made me cry
Mi Amigo: you can admit the whole package, not just focus on what you're terrified of, not just dismissed all that good people can see it all. you have embraced the full package and, i dare say i think you truly love it anyway.
Mi Amigo:"have you forgotten how to love yourself?"
Mi Amigo: i think you've learned in this last year.
Mi Amigo: what a beautiful, dark, lovely, depressing year
Me: amen
Mi Amigo: you don't understand. i hope you do. do you know how much agony i went through to try and get you to do that?
Me: i'm sorry!!!!! i had to grow up
Mi Amigo: do you know how hard it was to hear you essentially not understand yourself? it was mind boggling really
Mi Amigo: so, goodness, say it again, i want to read it again, i'm excited about it
Me: you're so awesome
Mi Amigo: say it again ;)
Me: which part?
Mi Amigo: i have light and darkness, i have good and bad, i know my mistakes, but i will not let them tear me from the love of God, and so i can love myself as well as others, i can accept me as those who understand me love me
Mi Amigo: something like that
Mi Amigo: it was too good for me to try and word again really
Me: i do believe that.
Mi Amigo: you really do?
Me: i'm human and i'm worth it
Mi Amigo: hell yes!Q
Mi Amigo: with a Q apparently!
Mi Amigo: don't forget the Q!

So the other night I found my friend again and felt my soul stretch with relief. It felt so cleansing to tell him all my discoveries, little stinging thoughts that plague me and the bleeding parts of my heart...and to have him show me the colors of his life now. Since it's trust then it's soul and I think that's why it feels so real. I believed him when he said he had forgiven me. I tried to explain how much he taught me, even if I wasn't ready at time. For all the pain that has shortened our patience, disappointment that has slowed us down, bridges we didn't see for bewilderment, who we have been in every stage and day of our lives, we still met on the other side of the abyss. Not strangers. And that was the gift...not that everything is back to the way it was, not that one good talk obliterated all that pain, but that we still know each other. It feels clear like a bell and a promise.

Tengo muchas alas para llegar al cielo

2008-09-30T10:31:00.000-07:00

Every day here feels like it comes sailing in straight from heaven. I think I actually wake up smiling, I really feel like I have "the dove of peace" singing in my heart, like the song says. Unequivocally coming here was the right decision, I'm so glad I didn't let anything deter me...I have been perfectly led!

I wanted to write about Monday, when I went out on family visits with TRACA, because it was a piece of soul, but I felt disinclined because I realized I'd have to explain how JUCONI works and the complexities of the program and it started to feel like a research paper in my mind--I just want to write about what's precious to me, but I also figured I would explain what I'm doing here in Mexico. JUCONI is very deeply structured and there are many levels of organization; basically they are a non-governmental organization that focuses on providing services for 3 vulnerable populations: children who live in the street, children who work in the street, and children who work in the Hidalgo market. If you want to know more just ask me, or look at http://www.togetherwiththechildren.org/--it's the site of JUCONI's U.S based office.

Basically my volunteer work here will be in the TRACA program, (TRAbajadores de la CAlle) which focuses on street-working children and their families. TRACA is a team of three of the most excellent, warm-hearted and brilliant social workers I have ever met--Carla, Marci, and Lolis. Carla is the director and I work most closely with her. She is utterly amazing. All 3 of them are so kind and attentive and willing to include me in everything and explain words I don't understand. It's so different working with people who make you feel appreciated (I am thinking of Dr. Cibano in the orphanage who wanted to throw us out half the time). I feel affection from them and even though I'm obviously just starting out with them, they praise me for everything I do! The other day when we were doing family visits, every time we left from a house I would tell Carla and Lolis what impressed me about their interactions with the people and how I thought they were just bubbling over with goodness..Carla thanked me at the end of the day and said that me being there was very encouraging because they don't often compliment each other like that, "but [they] should." She said it made her feel good all day...and her telling me that made me feel like I was contributing a little, and it was nice. I love watching them work because I see them applying techniques I learned about in social work textbooks and classes...things like starting where the client is, identifying strengths, encouraging self-determination..principles that can sound a little dry and technical unless you see them in action, and then it just looks like...love. It is absolutely inspiring to see. This is all I have ever wanted to do.

TRACA works with a number of families who are involved in working the "crucero." This kind of street work can involve anything from selling flowers and candy to being a street performer to dealing drugs to prostitution. Some cases are more severe and horrifying than others, but children who work in the street here tend to come from very poor homes where violence, addictions, abuse and exploitation are present--and obviously they are exposed to many dangers on the streets as well. Many families rely on the income the kids bring in from the street to sustain them (I was surprised that street workers actually do generate a significant income; often it is even greater than a typical Mexican salary--so you can understand the attraction of continuing to live that way.) The crucero essentially exists as a livelihood for many families; in many cases the parents work there with their children, who grow up without ever attending school or training for another vocation, and eventually take their own children to the crucero. It's a very tragic and damaging cycle and I am so impressed with the work that JUCONI does in helping families break it and transform their way of life. The archives in the office are full of stories of miracles...JUCONI is founded on good principles and really does generate positive change for so many people who need it. In the TRACA program participating families receive individual and family therapy, advocacy with potential employers, schools, etc, access to medical care, in-kind benefits like food and cleaning supplies, and "intangible" resources such as support, education and hope. (Haha I feel like I'm writing a policy paper, after SOCW 331 I don't know how else to describe these things!)

It's amazing to listen to the stories of how much these families have been transformed. We'd walk away from a home where there were clearly some painful defecits and Carla would say, "You should have seen them 3 years ago..." Carla was telling me that she was diagnosed with a painful illness 5 years ago and was advised by her doctor to stop working, but she said, "How can I stop? When I've seen people stop drinking and show affection to their children, when I see a little boy who was on drugs a year ago graduating from school, how can I stop?" I told her that God knew her heart and how much she gave and that I thought He would help her stay healthy enough to keep going. She hugged me and said she thought so too.

TRACA does not usually have volunteers because the nature of their work is slightly dangerous (going into the homes of families with serious problems, working out in the ghettos), varies erratically from day to day and can often be "pesado" (emotionally taxing and discouraging). Whenever I hear a job description like that I just start waving my hand and jumping up and down! PICK ME! When I first arrived, the JUCONI director, Travis (he is the only American here besides me...he's from Colorado and is a huge stud; he has done a ton with the Peace Corps and other community development projects. He started out as a volunteer at JUCONI and is raising his family here in Puebla!) told me that my experience and language level would qualify me to do something other than to work in the offices or in the Montessori kindergarten, which is where they place most foreign volunteers...they can have a great experience learning Spanish and being with the kids, but he thought I would be happier having a hands-on social work experience because that's where it seems like my heart is. He is pretty much exactly right,and also a genius.

I can't explain how exhilarated I feel to be here and to work with these families! This is what I have always wanted. It's a different kind of sweetness than holding forgotten angel children in Romania, but this is an opportunity for me to learn how to give effective service in a country that I love so much, in a language that is like sugar to me. I can't get enough of it, every day I'm so excited to go out and learn more and meet more people and I'm realizing this is already too long for anyone to get through; sorry, and I also apologize for my meandering writing style and the overabundance of parentheses. Where are the tangent police when you need them huh? THOSE TO COME: A gift to my soul, my first day out in the calle, choice details about living here and drama at Institute! Oh yeah!

Like a Prayer

2008-09-28T19:31:00.001-07:00

You know how sometimes they say you're beating a dead horse? I just fell into a tiny canyon of depression thinking of some dead horses on whom I cannot seem to resist performing CPR (when I'm not flogging them just to make sure they're not faking). I just need to quit being in denial about their accidental deaths and stop getting horse slobber all over me. I've been given signs and wonders and direct counsel from friends of my soul and as much as it is going to hurt to leave My Little Ponies behind, I have to pull it together and just work it, bring my A game (wow sorry, too much ANTM! It's the new O.C. You have to have some kind of thrashy link to American pop culture when you're all alone in a foreign land.). I had to get over my depression real fast by doing pushups to Michael Jackson's "Black and White" (that's a Sunday song, right? 2 Nephi 26:33! Well, it's after midnight anyway.), and now I'm ready to write! I have to say I've been much more enthused about blogging since Eminem left a comment on my last post. Seriously so blessed, freestyle-style.

But My Little Ponies. Wow it's hard--it's so hard. Sin embargo, sliding into this world has been like sliding back into my real self--for the first time in a long time I wake up every morning feeling bright and clean and happy. The world fits with me again, I don't feel as much bitterness clouding my heart, I got to leave a lot of demons behind...Provo was getting a little toxic for me in my advancing age and my vision was twisted by things I was thinking. Here, I honestly feel washed with light. I can't express what a sweet relief it is being in the company of the members here. They have reminded me of the glory of my Savior and what a treasure His gospel is. I never completely forgot, but my perspective had shifted just enough that the artificial culture was starting to strangle my testimony of real truth. I know life is a never-ending battle to keep that from happening--to constantly keep your focus heaven-ward--but this is a glorious time of refreshing for me. I needed it so much.

I spent most of this weekend with my friend Manuelcito. I met him when he taught the institute class on Thursday. He is such a tender and powerful teacher that it makes you want to pass out King Lamoni style...he's just so strong and clean and bright that talking to him erases my cynical thoughts and insecurities and I just want to be good, and not worry about anything else. Manuel has an amazing gift to motivate people this way. He served in Guadalajara and I knew some of the elders in his mission from the MTC (47F, if you are reading this...it was Pugmire. Ha!). Manuel is in medical school right now and his dream is to start a foundation for the poor in Mexico who cannot afford health care. He wants to have enough supplies and resources so that he can visit rural villages and offer medical treatment to people who need it. He is the young men's president in his ward and also their seminary teacher--they all love him and follow him around at church. Besides the fact that he is generally a much better person that I am, we have a little bit of the same spirit in us. He told me that today..."Me siento mucha confianza contigo, de veras. Tu me comprendes bien." My mission president gave me a blessing before I left for Mexico and promised me that I would find myself among brethren who would strengthen and uplift me, and that's really happening already! Gibran came back from Utah this week (after like 5 days) and we got Mexican hamburgers and went to a playground to eat. Mexican burgers have pineapple and cheese and onions, and some other things I couldn't identify that taste amazing together, unless you go on the swings right after. :) I told him about "yo sabo" and tried to convince him that "quesoburgesa" and "celefono" are real words. He has been amazing with me, too--so has my friend Adriana, the bishop's family, and Manuel's family, Los Rojas. I have been exceedingly blessed.

Today was like a drop of sunshine! It really was a perfect Sunday. Attending church services in Spanish still feels like a pillar of yes to me--I'm like a little sponge of appreciation. I love the way faith and dedication to the gospel are expressed in the Spanish language, it is stunning to me. Certain phrases and principles that I struggle with in English seem to be softened and sound more loving. All the members are too good for me and I'm getting used to giving all the hermanos un besito when I meet/saludar them. After church I ate with Manuel's family and his mother practiced her English--painfully--on me. I asked his little brother Ilan what American music he likes, and he eagerly told me, "Madonna and Hillary Duff." (JAJA! I get such a kick out of asking people what American music they like here because invariably the bands are extremely different from each other--the other day the bishop's son told me he likes the Killers and Amy Winehouse.)

After Church Manuel told me he had a surprise for me and that we were going to do something I would love...so we went to a nursing home to lift up the hands that hang down. :) (See, that's why we'll be good friends.) There was an enormous courtyard with a bleeding-heart statue of Christ in the middle...most of the residents were sitting on benches that lined the balconies above the courtyard. As we walked past them they all greeted us and seemed so eager for company, it made my heart ache. I squeezed their hands and asked them how they were and let them touch my hair; I wish I could do something real for them that would make them feel strong and needed and fully loved again. President Monson speaks often of the lonliness of the elderly and how meaningful a kind visit can be for them. I thought about that all afternoon.

We went specifically to take the sacrament to an hermana who is very ill and can't leave to come to church anymore, but we talked to many of the residents there--I was surprised that we had to show ID and go through double doors like at the youth detention center. Visiting hours are very strict, too, and since it is a Catholic nursing home we aren't permitted to sing our hymns there because it is considered proselyting. I felt a little dismal about that because the hermana was talking about how much she misses being at church and hearing the singing. I wanted to sing to her. Sometimes on my mission all we could do was sing because there were no words we could come up with that wouldn't trivialize genuine suffering. Manuel told the hermana about the rededication of the Mexico City temple in November and she began to weep softly and cried, "I can't go to the temple...I want to go to the temple." I felt her despair burning me. We read some scriptures with her and Manuel gave her a blessing and she was smiling and joking by the time we left. I love meeting people like her because even though it's dreadful to see unhappiness, at least they will have one more wisp of a prayer going up on their behalf. I am deeply happy being here and grateful for this gift of a Sunday.

These Songs are True, These Days are Ours, These Tears are Free

2008-09-24T19:55:00.000-07:00

It rains every afternoon here, no matter how sunny and promising the mornings are. Once I got over my initial distress that Puebla wasn't like a sauna all the time, I began to love walking home in that dim rain with the sky all muddled gray swallowing blue and people everywhere ducking for cover. There's some kind of sweetness in that, I don't know. There are certain songs I always listen to when I'm walking in the rain--one of them in Paul Simon's The Obvious Child. I love how the Brazilian drums seem to catch the beat of the raindrops falling.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QJdAAozwq5Y

Here is a video of Paul Simon singing this song live--it's almost too good.
The recorded version sounds pretty different but it also amazing. And here are the lyrics:

Well I'm accustomed to a smooth ride
Or maybe I'm a dog who's lost its bite
I don't expect to be treated like a fool no more
I don't expect to sleep through the night
Some people say a lie is just a lie
But I say why
Why deny the obvious child?
Why deny the obvious child?

And in remembering a road sign
I am remembering a girl when I was young
And we said These songs are true
These days are ours
These tears are free
And hey
The cross is in the ballpark
The cross is in the ballpark

We had a lot of fun
We had a lot of money
We had a little son and we thought we'd call him Sonny
Sonny gets married and moves away
Sonny has a baby and bills to pay
Sonny gets sunnier
Day by day by day by day

I've been waking up at sunrise
I've been following the light across my room
I watch the night receive the room of my day
Some people say the sky is just the sky
But I say
Why deny the obvious child?
Why deny the obvious child?

Sonny sits by his window and thinks to himself
How it's strange that some rooms are like cages
Sonny's yearbook from high school
Is down from the shelf
And he idly thumbs through the pages
Some have died
Some have fled from themselves
Or struggled from here to get there
Sonny wanders beyond his interior walls
Runs his hand through his thinning brown hair

Well I'm accustomed to a smooth ride
Maybe I'm a dog that's lost his bite
I don't expect to be treated like a fool no more
I don't expect to sleep the night
Some people say a lie is just a lie
But I say the cross is in the ballpark
Why deny the obvious child?

Other than the sweet drum solo and poignant lyrics, this song is also special to me because it's one of my father's favorites--the one he says he wants played at his funeral. (I have a feeling my mother is going to try to thwart this particular desire--she thinks Paul is "too cynical--" but I'm here for you Dad! I'll make sure it happens!) Dit and I used to dance around to it when my father put on his records on Monday nights, back in the early 80's when we were also Mungo Jerry and Rumple Teaser. When I re-discovered the song, I was old enough to understand.

My father told me his favorite verse is the one where Sonny is looking at his high school yearbook and marveling at the passage of time; how quickly years spiral away. The people Sonny went to school with are not children any longer; life became very hard and painful them...they grew up. In the end even the remembrance of their struggles is crumbling away as they age and their own children take the stage. I can see why this song is so intriguing to my father, because I've spoken with him in some of his Sonny-like states--telling me about a person he knew well who has passed away, describing moments in his life that are still so sharp and clear to him that it's staggering to realize they happened so long ago.

It's very bittersweet to me because I (and I think relatively I still count as "young," except maybe in Provo years, where my age is roughly 53) also have those tearing thoughts about my childhood and other glory days when it really seemed like everything I touched was golden, before real suffering came. Other times nostalgia makes me stagger not because those other times really were superior to now--just that they are gone! Sometimes it seems so hurtful that you can never crawl back into a moment when you were happy. I see in this song a lifespan--the inevitability of fading youth--"the night receives the room of my day"--everyone has their day in the sunlight, when the world and all the songs in it "belong" to them. Time passes on and those days in the sun turn into memories. Life is a struggle and wrings everyone into some sort of weariness eventually--the dog that's lost its bite.

...I also used to listen to it on the way to Dr. Seipel's class (my last one at BYU) and think to myself, "It's strange how some rooms are like cages." :)Oh, and one more funny story about this song: one night after dinner last summer we were discussing names for Garrett and Aya's future children. Aya told me that she and Dit liked the name Mae because it worked in English and in Japanese. In an effort to be culturally sensitive, I suggested "Yamaha," "Toshibi," and "Sony" as possible considerations. While we were giggling, my father cleared his the throat from the end of the table--he was smirking the way he always does before he makes a joke--and sang, "We had a little son, thought we'd call him Sony...Sony gets married and moves away, Sony has a baby and bills to pay..." Mary and I began to cackle and I remember everyone else at the table was bewildered, and my Dad was pretty pleased with himself. It was SO funny. I remembered that today and started laughing in the street. :)...I love my Father.

Adventures and Tormented Yowling

2008-09-21T16:23:00.000-07:00

So let's not forget ourselves dear friends...I haven't been very diligent with my blog. This is partially because this week was the bi-annual staff training at JUCONI and I didn't get to do much besides read policies and meet people (which nevertheless was thrilling) and I have been exploring "La Ciudad Con Alas" everywhere from ancient ruins to cathedral light shows to mist-covered mountains to Catholic Churches on top of pyramids. It is all breathtaking and so much fun to do, but probably less fun to read about. Also I'm self-conscious writing because I read blogs where people talk about what they had for dinner and what color of shirt they wore that day and what they gave the cat for lunch, blah blah blah and I have a vested interest in not being dull nor pretentious. Probably I am both, but maybe people who care about me won't mind and will read anyway :).

I spent the weekend with my good friend Gibran. He is an amazing tour guide and a marvelous human being. Our joke is that the solution to all perceivable problems is to marry a Mexican. It started on Indy Day when I was lamenting my weak post-mission Spanish and Gibran's friend said, "Just marry a Mexican, problem SOLVED!" Since then if I remark that I think Hispanic kids are the cutest, if I comment that the U.S doesn't have as much "culture" as Mexico, if I mention in that poems and songs are much more romantic in Spanish, Gibran reminds me that all of these desirable things can be mine if I marry a Mexican. :) Here are some fierce shots of Mexican radness: an Indy Day parade we saw last weekend on our way to Cantona! The one of me soaking wet is from the day I tried to go to the store to buy tape and encountered a torrential downpour. The others are from the ruins at Catona and the mountain I climbed with Gibran. Oh, and also me bored waiting at a bank (Not necessarily in that order. Or any order.):

I've been trying to be conscious of whether or not I've been experiencing culture shock since I got here, and I can honestly say the only uncomfortable feeling I've had is a growing cold guilt feeling for being white and American. I listened to someone go into a long diatribe about Mexican-American war and how the U.S greedily seized all the land and left Mexico with few resources after murdering many Mexican soldiers. I'm not well-versed in the history of wars and rumors of wars, but the bitterness in the conversation stung. Basically this person was telling me that all Mexicans should detest Americans instead of trying to suck up to them and performing all the "low" jobs in the US while they are exploited and treated horribly. Wouldn't you feel the same way?? This conversation sparked a series of thoughts and observations that left me feeling gradually more ashamed. When people gave me deferential treatment based on assumptions, I started thinking about how entitled the U.S must seem (and IS) to so many people. The class distinctions here are all about the inferiority of people who are or appear indigenous, versus those who are from Spanish descent with their fairer skin. It's a type and a shadow of the erroneous idea that is implicated almost everywhere; that white is "better." I feel such heavy weights hung on my heart when I think of all the suffering, indignity and wretchedness that has occurred from that lie. I don't understand everything it means or how it works; all the racism theories from community development have a different explanation, but it truly disgusts me. I don't want to feel that I am better than anyone, I really don't think I am. This weekend I saw and heard many things that made me feel uncomfortable with the comforts I have had, and I'm not sure how to make it fit for me. Right now it feels disjointed and painful, like I sprained something in my mind. Maybe that's the way we should feel all the time.

Saturday night Gibran was in a race that took place in the Centro. He had to go ahead to make it on time and he yelled back over his shoulder, "You know how to get there, right?" Um. Yeah, yeah, go right on ahead! I wandered around for about half an hour lamely hoping that I was going towards the Centro (this hope was enlivened by a massive parade of school kids running with banners and screaming "CAL-DER-ON! CAL-DER-ON!"--the name of the President of Mexico. It reminded me of nothing so much as "PERON, PERON, PERON!" :)I asked directions from a police officer who kindly said, "Que te pasa, preciosa?" He directed me 10 blocks from where I was. I promise I followed his instructions exactly. When I ended up in a dark alley that smelled like rotten fish I decided that perhaps he was insane in the membrane. I found another officer (I don't know what my obsession with cops was that night; I guess I figured they were more trustworthy?) who told me I was totally in the wrong part of town and sent me in the opposite direction. (This phenomenon has occurred several times since I've been here--and since anyone who knows me knows that I can barely find my way out of a building, it has cost me some time. But I am learning. Anyway, today my roommate Joyce was telling me that Mexicans often give convoluted instructions if they themselves aren't sure where something is, or if they don't understand the question. She said they're so eager to help that they don't make the effort to find out exactly what you need and the result is massive miscommunication and ending up in fishy alleys. :) But it's ALL GOOD in the HOOD! I'm learning!

What I really meant to say is that when I finally arrived at the Centro that night to watch the end of the race, I was felt so defeated. I found a place to sit and wait that happened to be right next to a man who was begging from the people who had come to cheer on the runners. He was crouched in his wheelchair and his prosthetic legs were basically just wires and two blocks of wood--material to fill out his pants, never to help him walk. He was a torso with such a kind smile. I gave him all the change I had in my bag--it clinked despairingly into the empty bowl--and then watched agonizingly as he lifted up his bowl over and over again and people stepped past him, pushed away his outstretched hand. I know all the things people say about beggars and I understand those, but sitting here bedraggled and exhausted I couldn't get over the fact that this man had lost his legs and at the end of the day where did he go? Who took care of him? He broke my heart. I've seen so many people like him before, everywhere I've gone of course there are people physically broken by accidents and disease--but I have never sat for an hour and watched. There was no lesson I could take away that justified the irony of him begging at a track meet. It was heavy and it still feels heavy. By the time Gibran came to get me I had tears streaming down my face and I was embarrassed to tell him why. He laughed a little but then he said "Tu tienes un corazon muy noble." This is my Good News:

This is a mural hanging in the municipal building in Cholula Puebla.

It is labeled, "Fundacion de Cholula" "The foundation of what?" I asked Gibran. He pointed out what Quetzalcoatl is holding in his hand--a sheet of metal. "The foundation of metal," he replied. "According to the legend, He taught the people to write their story. On metal plates." He added, "People say He's just one of the Gods of the old world now, but we know the truth..."

Seeing it hit me so hard my knees buckled. I know it won't be as powerful for you, this dingy picture online, but it was a beautiful moment for me to see the mural and what it was depicting when many of the people who walk past it every day don't understand...it was like a piece of home. My Savior does not esteem the people of one nation more than another. He came for the broken and the lost, He died for people who have been given everything and wasted it, and for people who have never had anything. He is the true Light of our world, our only and every hope.
D y C 133:53: "En todas las afliciones de ellos, el fue afligido. Y el angel de su presencia los salvo; y en su amor y en su clemencia los redimio, los sostuvo y los llevo todos las dias de la antiguedad."

Song Sung Red White and Green

2008-09-17T20:59:00.000-07:00

This goes out to all those well-meaning homies of mine who tried to warn me about biiiig, baaaad, D.F (Mexico City), home to 19.2 million people, most of whom (according to varied sources) are cold-hearted, bloodthirsty gangbangers who specialize in victimizing young blond girls from Utah. Sorry, guys, but it was totally NBD. Not the wretched hive of scum and villainy everyone depicted it as. I made it through the airport and all the way to Puebla on the bus without being the victim of (or viewing any) kidnappings, stabbings, beheadings, shootings, robberies or other delinquent behavior. In fact, I’ve been in the country for 3 days now and haven’t even been molested yet, which indicates that Mexicanos are a little more self-controlled/respectful than the citizens of some other cities I could mention (*cough*Bucharest!) where I’d been off the plane 10 seconds and the guys were getting fresh.

The malatero who helped me with my bags at the airport told me I didn’t have to tip him. “My country receives so much help from yours,” he told me. “It’s a privilege to serve you, don’t worry about the money.” YES, I tipped him, durrr! Maybe he only said that to get a better tip, but however you look at he didn’t cheat me, right? He also, miraculously, helped me skip all the lines at customs (aduana) so I was out of there en el abrir y cerrar de un ojo! (in the blink of an eye!) The trip to Puebla was pleasant, mostly because I sat next to the most amicable Testigo de Jehova I have ever met in my life. We had a great conversation sprinkled with Biblical references. I totally appreciated the lack of wrath. I remember writing an email home about the arrival to Iasi almost 4 years ago and I’m realizing that, for some reason, coming to Mexico has felt kind of natural. Taking that ancient train out of Buch into the black forest felt like we could be driving off the edge of the world. The first few days I felt like I was being smacked in the face with the frying pan of foreignness; all the familiarity was stripped away and it was exhilarating. There is something so appealing about the idea of being out of my own world. I don’t feel that rawness here, but I do see thousands of things that make me smile and my heart does a little Yo-ha dance every time I remember I’m here at last!

Puebla is very different from Sonora; in San Carlos and Guaymas there are a lot of touristy things directed towards Americans and you don’t see any of that here. The houses in the colonia where I live are like the ones I saw in Guaymas; brilliantly colored and equipped with an equally brightly painted gate that you unlock before entered the courtyard in front of the house. It’s been heartbreakingly cold the last two days, tragically overcast and rainy. I asked some friends who are from this area what the weather was like and they told me it could get chilly…I didn’t like that answer so I blithely chose to hope that they were crazy and that I would find myself in a sauna-like jungle. Not so much, although, I have reason to believe that the winter will go easier on me than on all y’all in Utah. :) However, the buildings here don’t tend to have insulation or central heating, so I guess we’ll see who suffers more.
So, now that I’ve mentioned Romania about 80 times, this might be a good time to bring up that fact that I wanted to try to avoid comparing this experience to Romania…but there are so many little things that trigger my Iasi memories here! All of the bathrooms, for instance, smell exactly like the entryway to Podul de Fier (as in, well…faci), cigarettes and car exhaust also smell like they did in Romania, milk and juice comes in boxes, everyone stares at me with muddled expressions of bewilderment ranging from irritation to lust, and there is rampant PDA everywhere. All of these little details embedded here remind me of the girls I was with in Romania and make me wish I had Liz or Megan or Cassidy here with me to be new and get lost and make mistakes together. Instead I am a solo sister once again.  Haha, but we all know I can do that and rock it, right? Right?

I know it can be terrifically boring reading all the minute details of someone’s trip, but I had to tell y’all that I got here on the Mexican Independence Day and it was the perfect day to arrive! Some friends of my good friend Cristina picked me up from the bus station and we went party-hopping that night. We went swimming in a huge building that used to be a textile factory but has been used exclusively for sweet parties ever since it closed down. In the back of the building there was a program going on and while we were there eating tacos del pastor (ahhh rica!) we saw a fashion show with typical Mexican styles (all fierce!), some little kids doing the Mexican hat dance, and (my favorite) Mariachi Estrella, which is considered the best Mariachi band in the city of Puebla. I love the Mexican culture so much, but there are some things that just make laughter bubble up inside me and so I smile very broadly so that giggling out loud will not necessitate explaining to anyone that I find what is going on just a little ridiculous. Mariachi bands are one of those things that are hard for me to take seriously; men dressed in 3 Musketeers uniforms with enormous sparkly sombreros, playing accordions, guitars and trumpets. But the best is the way that they SING! I can’t describe it, it’s this passionate warble and even when they have amazing voices it’s just so cheesy for me. I love it; I really do, so I hope this doesn’t sound insulting to anyone. Anyway, the lead singer of this group was called El Osito Polar (the Polar Bear), and he turned out to be an older gentleman with an enormous booming voice and stomach. Jaja. He was super dramatic and worked the crowd like a champ singing patriotic songs of Mexico (these songs all must make mention of the Virgen de Guadalupe, of course). Every once in awhile when the music was really upbeat he would do a little booty shake to accompany the men singing the chorus. I LOVED HIM! That was one of the moments when I really wished I had someone from home with me to appreciate the moment, he was truly too much, it was perfect. See? Aren't they the steeze?

Later that night we went to dar el Grito (give the Shout) in the centro of a city outside Puebla. On the 15th of September at 11 PM everyone participates in el Grito led by a town official. Basically the shout consists of repeating “VIVA!” after the official says, “VIVA MEXICO!” and some other things. At the end of the shout, everyone yells “VIVA MEXICO!” several times and then everyone bursts into the national hymn of Mexico. Following the hymn there is a massive fireworks show. The streets were teeming with ecstatic and frenzied people, there was so much energy that I felt absolutely elated and it wasn’t even my holiday! (I was having a lot of fun with the guys I was with, as well, my Spanish kicked in again Morena style and it was nonstop laughter. We got the colors of the Mexican flag painted on our faces, ven? You might have to click on it to make it bigger.

I wish I could have taken pictures of all the people there packed together like at a concert. Everyone was blowing special noise-makers that are the colors of the flag, people were spraying foam on each other, there were street vendors selling flags and t-shirts, jewelry and hats all in the colors of the red white and green. Men were carrying their little kids on their shoulders and the children had flags in both their hands. Lots of people were drinking; one lady passed out and was being trampled by the crowd so she had to be carried out by the paramedics. It was all insane. We pushed and elbowed our way to the middle so we could have a good view of the fireworks. They literally shot off the roof only a few feet above the crowd, showering all the people with sparks; one green spark fell right in front of me and took a few seconds to fizzle out. I’m pretty sure a couple of people lost an eye, but it didn’t matter because everyone was so happy and screaming VIVA MEXICO! It was absolutely nuts! Then the roof caught on fire from some of the fireworks! That is not a joke! I thought that was the best thing ever, I mean the roof was literally on fire! Some bomberos put it out and everyone kept singing and shouting like there was no manana. It was absolute bliss. Then when it was all over everyone tried to leave at the same time and that was madness because nobody could move. We managed to scramble over to a nearby paleta store (ice cream) and had dragonberry ices while we waited for the crowd to disperse. It was a perfect night. The Fourth of July has nothing on that, let me tell you.

Wow, I got so excited writing about the Grito that I forgot how long I had made this post. TMI? Convoluted? Sorry. My point is that I’m safe, happy, and learning so much! Tomorrow I will write a little about JUCONI and my assignment here, I love it already. I’m thinking about joining the Peace Corps so I can do this thing forever. Ciao pues! Leave me comments b/c I don’t have many friends here yet and I need to have lots of attention or I’ll just DIE! Kidding. Kind of.

Dia de Gozo, Luz y Paz: Echo of Glory!

2008-09-08T17:50:00.000-07:00

This beautiful family is the Familia Sosa-Ibarra from Vera Cruz, Mexico. They are one of the miracles of my mission, and on 9/6/08 I had the privilege of being present for their sealing in the Houston Texas temple. Before I left for Houston in 2005, my Grandfather took me out for lunch and gave me some wise and sweet counsel regarding missionary work. He told me that if was a righteous messenger and bore pure testimony, I would have no idea the effect it could have on people, maybe even years later. He told me that there would be a feeling of glory that came to me whenever I taught a good lesson, saw an investigator progressing, or came home at the end of the day knowing I'd used every hour serving my Savior. He explained that the feeling of glory would reverberate through all the years in my life and echo back to me the goodness of God long after my mission was over.

I know that relatively, I haven't been home that long, but I felt an echo of glory so clear and powerful this weekend being at the temple with my converts! I never dared to hope too hard that this day would come because sometimes the path is so littered with disappointments, but the Lord granted me and Hermana Giles this treasured day to go back to Texas and go through the temple with this sweet family. One of the reasons their sealing meant so much to me was that the Sosas were never a typical golden family who accepted the gospel readily and easily. They had experienced some serious darkness and turbulence in their lives, everything from addictions to domestic abuse to jail time to infidelity to gang activity. Someday I want to unfold the whole story but it's complicated (and LONG)...What I really want to say is that I've never seen anyone change so much, unexpectedly and brilliantly, and if I've ever seen a light come into someone's face, it was the mother in this family, Maria Pilar. When I met her she was a Testiga de Jehovah and absolutely wretched to teach. She was hostile, abrasive, and disagreed with everything we said. She was also a First Vision interrupter, which I'm sure some of you can appreciate is highly intolerable. :) I felt defensive around her because I didn't think she was giving the message a chance. Then one night Giles and I were teaching about the Plan of Salvation and when I taught about the Atonement I felt a brightness softly flooding the room without me even anticipating it or hoping for it. I looked at Pilar and Wendy sitting in front of me on the couch and suddenly felt it thud in my chest how precious they were to the Lord. As I spoke with new tenderness I saw tears shining in Pilar's eyes and suddenly she grabbed my arm and said, "Hermana Morena, God is speaking to me through you right now!" I gulped and asked, "What is he saying?" She explained that something we had taught that night had answered a doubt she had always had, and then she sat back on the couch with a soft smile on her face and told us, "I am convinced." From that point on she not only progressed, but she became ravenous for the good news and everything unfolded smoothbeautifully. There were so many miracles with that family that must have shaken the heavens just a little bit...I know every missionary who ever taught them felt it. They were being strangled by roots of the world, lost in the wilderness and the Good Shepherd knew exactly where the find them. It was a gift being with them in those precious first days of learning and changing, and to be gathered together with them now under the wings that heal.

Pilar asked me to be her escort when she went through the temple, and that was glorious for me because I felt like her missionary again, explaining things and pulling her forward. There was one very sweet moment in the waiting room upstairs right before we went into the (Spanish!!!) endowment session. Pilar was explaining some thoughts she had had during the first ordinance and she was overcome with tears. Giles and I were sitting at her feet dressed in white and when we both reached out to her she clenched our hands and said she was so happy to be in the temple with "her angels." We sat like that smiling up at her with our hands all together and it felt like heaven. Right then her husband, Sixto came out all dressed in white and they smiled shyly at each other. Sixto, who used to run from the house when we came over to teach, who once put on a gorilla mask and danced in front of us during a lesson, who I once described to C-Mar saying, "His mind is like a kaleidescope," was reverent and loving with his wife and children as they stood in front of the mirrors and saw their eternal family. It was so incredibly beautiful. I'll never forget how it felt to be with them that day. I am so grateful for knowing this family and for the Savior who put me in their path and allowed me to teach them when I had no idea what He had in mind for them. I was so naive and prideful and distrusting, but He knew them and called after them, and they heard His voice. I have been given in good measure, pressed down and shaken together (Luke 6:38). I know the whole story has not been written yet so I'm not trying to imply a "happily ever after" assumption, but this was a day of marvelous light and an echo of glory. SERIOUSLY SOOOOO BLESSED!!!! :)

Time and All You Gave

2008-08-27T09:37:00.000-07:00

So the last time I cried in here (in front of this very computer, in a doughnut shop on Clay Road in Houston Texas--we used to check out email here on P-days) it was because the radio was playing Green Day's "Wake Me Up When September Ends" and the song drenched me with bitter memories. That song, while insipid, had significant sentimental value because it had been my pre-October MTC entrance love song with my boyfriend. I was lonely and a little lost and brokenly incompetent, it hurt to feel the words bring back a day that would never be again. Today I'm crying for other days that will never be again. My mind feels cloudy when I try to remember the streets and how they connect. I keep expecting Steele to appear beside me and remind me where to turn. I see ghosts of my little missionary self on every street, flitting from door to door, feeling brightness come into dark rooms and staggering under disappointment. We bought mangos from the street vendors and tracted with sticky hands. We marched over to the men who whistled at us and told them about Jose Smith. We were more than welcome in a few places--treasured--and far from home we gloried in that love. I lived a few blocks away from here for four and a half months, I can see us merry there in the nighttimes laughing about all we did, planning under early November Christmas lights, scurrying everywhere in the city trying to push the light we had into every door and through every crack. Last August when I was here I expected to feel this soul-aching nostalgia, but it never came...of course not, because I hadn't been home 5 months yet then. All the magic still belonged to me in those days, I knew all the faces on the transfer board and my new freedom hung like heaven. We turned the key and found the fairy kingdom again just as it was. Now the THM is someone else's story, starring an entirely new cast. I miss my friends and the years we spent as soldiers on the front lines. I miss the purity and power I felt pulling me forward. Still, still, still, last night I had family prayer with Los Serrano and Laura prayed, "Gracias Padre que tu nas has dado un dia de tantas bendiciones...gracias por traer aqui nuestra Hermana que nos enseno el camino..." I stayed up until 2 laughing with Mary Caroline and today I get to have a carne asada with Los Escalante and Davila. La Morenita has not been forgotten. :) But there is something sorrowful in the stillness of memories.
EDITED TO ADD: Fratello Kyle Kenny has brought it to my attention that I was being whiny and angsty in this post for NO REASON, since I have more contact with people in my mission than (a) most people do and (b) is healthy. I apologize to everyone for misleading them and making them think that I had a horrible and pathetic experience in Houston, when in fact I enjoyed it SO IMMENSELY that I went AGAIN a week later! Thanks Nawfside H-town for bein' so good to me!

Let's get it started in here!

2008-08-26T10:18:00.000-07:00

I know that this is pretentious, and at the very least, cliche, but I've kind of been anhelando to start a blog for awhile now, so here we go! This is my excuse--I'm going to live in Puebla, Mexico for 6 months to volunteer with the JUCONI program (http://www.juconi.org.mx/). Whenever I am out of the country...or out of Provo, really, I feel the windows of my soul flying open with understanding and "the ears of my ears awake" like e.e cummings says. So this will be the documents of those experiences. I know I'm cheating and starting a little early since I don't leave till September 15th, but I was just too excited! Les dejo on the eve of this great adventure!