Viva La...Informacion

Today a close family member had surgery at an openly Catholic hospital.  In a mark of pure idiocy, I showed up to the hospital wearing this shirt:

a spoof of the "Viva la Revolution" logo with Che Guevara:

I didn't even pay attention to what shirt I was putting on.  I simply wore clothes that made me look like a softball player (ifyoucatchmydrift).  I didn't even think about wearing a Martin Luther shirt to a Catholic hospital.  Dur!!  So my choices were to keep my arms over my shirt, looking really cranky, or have to look the icon that faced me in the eye and wear this rebellious shirt.  I'm sure Martin would have been proud.

My sister tells me that it doesn't matter, no one thinks about it and, more shockingly, no one knows the history of Martin Luther.  I was appalled.  Is she right?  Do average Americans not know this critical piece of world history?  He was a weirdo, but an inspired weirdo responsible for dividing Christian churches into Catholic and Protestant.

Please.  Tell me you knew this.

Gracias, Pedro

I just learned of the death of a great man, and one that was extremely influential in my life.  Today, Pedro Hernandez passed away after many years with illness.  Pedro and his wife Donie are instrumental in forming a children's home and ministry for orphaned/abandoned/neglected children in the Guatemala City, Guatemala area.  Their ministry is called Casa Bernabe.  I first met Pedro in the year 2000 when I traveled to Guatemala to care for orphans.  I thought I was going for a few weeks of fun with adorable kids and travel in a beautiful, beautiful country.  When I stepped off that airplane and onto Guatemalan soil, I had no idea how my life would change.

To inadequately explain it, I fell in love.  Big time.  Pedro and Donie put all of their time, finances and lives on the line to create homes for children who were absolutely desperate.  These are children that have been prostituted.  They have been pulled from a dump, buried alive in garbage.  These children have been abused in every way possible and sniff glue to stave off hunger pains.  These are not children that are easy to love, and yet you can't help but love them.

Pedro and Donie created a safe place for children to be loved and cared for.  Pedro was so much fun!  He had an incredible zest for life and was always laughing.  When he would come in, the children would  flock to him, hanging on him and playing with him.  Pedro was officially a father to several children as it was, but he was also a dad to hundreds of children that would never legally belong to him.

As soon as it was time for me to leave, I knew I had to return.  I had to return as SOON AS POSSIBLE.  As in, like 10 minutes ago.  A few months later I went back for a three month stay.  I learned so much from Pedro about being selfless, using humor to break down barriers, and using love as your greatest resource to make a difference in the life of others.

It all seems so far away and so foreign now.  I spent extended time in a third world country with people I didn't know?  I was fluent enough in Spanish to be the only translator for a group of dumb Americans, Brits and Canadians?  I stayed somewhere that required me to know, intimately well, the Spanish words for lice and fleas?  I washed my clothes using a garden hose?  I could tell when the local volcano was going to erupt because of earthquakes?  For extended periods of time, I took showers without getting water in my eyes or mouth, and never flushed toilet paper?  ME??

And yet, when I think about it, or talk about it, a flood of emotions so deep and overwhelming crush me to my core.  It's hard for me to talk about, because it was such an important part of my life.  Sure, I love speaking Spanish and was completely fluent at that time.  Yes, I enjoyed teaching orphans in a private school.  Of course, I LOVED Guatemala - the color, the food, the sweet people.  But that wasn't what was so incredible for me.  It was the children.

Just writing this makes me bawl.  Even after all of these years, I still cry thinking about the children.  It was my honor to care for them.  I loved every minute of it.  These poor children have nothing.  They are beautiful inside and out.  Life has dished out the crappiest things possible for them, and yet so many of them were so very grateful for what little they had.  They constantly would seek your attention.  I used to spend quite a bit of time watching a group of boys roller skate.  They would purposely crash and come to me to bandage them up, just because they wanted attention (of course I was more than happy to oblige!).  One little boy called me Mami.  I would always correct him, but I loved it.  Shortly before I left for good, we took the children to a water park and one of my little shadows, William, sat down beside me.  He leaned against me, very tired.  Instead of going to play with the others, he eventually made it to my lap and dozed off.  I let him sleep in my lap for an hour, a big 9 year old boy.  As I traced his hairline with my finger, his eyes fluttered open.  He reached up, put his hand on my cheek and said "Please don't leave me."

My heart burst into a thousand pieces.

I wish I could tell you more, but I can't honestly bear to think about it.

In the end, I chose to make my career a priority back home and leave that part of my life behind.  I would be lying if I didn't admit that I regret that a tiny bit every day.  For months I grieved after I left there.  I think that leaving behind those precious children was almost like a death to me.  When I see pictures of the children today, I can still tell you so much about each of the kids.  They have never left me, even though I left them.  Time has not healed that wound, at all.  I still get very upset when I think about that part of my life and that it's "over."  It is so odd.  Part of me wishes I could just live there full time.  Part of me wants to be here.  None of it would have been possible if it weren't for Pedro and his tenacity.   Casa Bernabe has changed dramatically since I was there.  They had very few resources, and lived in some pretty sad conditions.  But it still provided the children with at least two meals a day and shelter.  Today, Casa Bernabe is extremely developed and nice.  It is giving children with few chances a big step forward in their lives.

I'm happy for Pedro, because his suffering is over and I know that he's so happy to be with children who were sick and passed away while at Casa Bernabe.  He had such a heart for children and it would crush him to not be able to do more for the children.

Thank you, Pedro, for all you did for the children, and for the opportunities that you gave me to grow and learn more about myself.  Thank you for showing me how amazing adoption can be, and for planting a seed in my life for a family of my own.  Thanks for all the dinners at your house, and for driving me all over creation showing me your beautiful country.

Te exrano.

Why I Quit Preschool

I used to teach preschool at my church.  I took care of 35 three, four and five year olds. THIRTY FIVE. No one would help with them at my church, so I agreed to.  Keep in mind, the children's names are not simple things like "Bob" or "Dylan" (Hey! I didn't mean to do Bob Dylan. Funny!)  Oh no. These kids have names like Missouaiwani or Fredizingibolb. Or the 13 variations of the name Kali/Cali/Kaylee/Kayley/Kaleigh.  And of course, their names can only be located on the name tags on their back, because I can't remember 35 kids names. Once upon a time there was one other woman in there with me, and she had her own kid. I hated that! They should make rules against that! She fussed over her little darling the whole time, leaving me drowning in a sea of children. She told me that she was taking her kid to use the bathroom, and was gone for half an hour. The service is 1 hour and 15 minutes. Geez.  Not a shocker that she quit shortly after.

And of course, there is also a HUGE difference between a three year old, and a five year old. They wanted us to sit down and play with water pitchers and talk about Jesus being kind to the Samaritan woman at the well.  Being the good Christian that I am, I took one look at the pitchers, one look at those 35 kids stomping the heck out of one another, and promptly said "Oh HELL no!"  Don't even get me started on the activity where they had paint cups for each child, a straw, and I was supposed to monitor 35 children as they blew paint out of the straw onto a large sheet of paper.

There must be a special place in Heaven for those who teach preschool. Because I'll sure never know.  After two years of blood, sweat and tears, I quit!

So next Sunday, think of the poor preschool teachers. They could be stuck in a crazy room with 35 kids , saying things like "No no, Ellebellamorganfreeman, we don't pee pee on other people. No, Zoinka, don't throw the dinosaur at her. HEY! We keep pee pee in the TOILET."

I'm tired just thinking about it. 

Just a little tip

 If you're an altar worker, helping pass out communion, you should most definitely look at the part of your body that the people kneeling to receive communion will see.

It really takes the seriousness out of communion to see a robed assistant wearing blue (chipped) toenail polish.  It might even make you want to spit out your wine.

The Girl Curse

I am someone that gets along easily with others.  I think that I don't have a lot of conflict with others, and I work really hard (almost unhealthily, I suppose!) to keep everyone else happy.  So when something goes wrong, I don't take it well.  I'm good at what I do, I follow the rules, and try to be flexible.

Today a teacher that I thought I got along well with was ugly toward me.  I truly don't think I had done anything wrong, I think I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was the unfortunate victim of a "Drive-by Crabbing."  Anyway, some unsavory conversation took place in front of all of my coworkers.  I was shocked, confused, and embarrassed.  The moment the Snarky One left, all of my coworkers were like "What?!  What is she even talking about?  Don't worry, Non-Mommy, you're always in control of your class.  She was just in a bad mood."

Then...the Girl Curse began. The meeting we were waiting on was beginning.  I could feel a lump in my throat. "NON-MOMMY, NO" I told myself. Then I could feel that tightness around your eyes and in your throat that mean tears are imminent. "You cannot let anyone see you cry!!!!"

I hopped up and raced to the restroom, hoping no one would see.  Didn't matter.  It came out.  I hate being a girl sometimes. I truly envy you people that don't cry, because it's the last thing I want to happen in situations like this.  I wasn't crying out of guilt. I was crying because I was so frustrated that I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't say to her that I didn't do anything. I was stuck.

Did you know that when you are super blonde, people can see on your face, all day long, that you've been crying? I just LOVE the Girl Curse.

I hate crying.  It happens when I'm mad.  It happens when I'm frustrated.  It happens when I watch anything sappy.  When I feel the Girl Curse coming on, I need to think about these things to get my mind back out of the dumps.

Why are you cast down, O my soul,
   and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
   my salvation

^{Psalm 42:5}

Thanks!

This was such a crazy  Thanksgiving holiday.  I won't bore you with the details, just know the story involves starvation on a certain picky blonde's part, sleeping in my brand new ski jacket, hat and gloves, and coming home smelling strongly of bacon. 

Instead, I want to talk about being thankful.  Seriously, the last year of my life was almost the worst it could possibly get and I came about 10 seconds away from having to go into the looney bin, but I made it through.  Victory!  If I talked about all the things that have happened in my life, all the blessings through the rotten pain, I would cry.

You don't want to make me cry.  Trust me.

So, instead, I am going to talk about the silly things that I am thankful for.  I mean, I am genuinely thankful for these items, but not as much as the important people in my life and the way God has taken care of me.  My coping mechanism is humor, so humor you get!

1.  I am thankful for friends who will send me or pick me up food from Trader Joe's.  Trader Joe's, despite my deepest love and support, and many letters written to them, has refused to put a store within a reasonable driving distance from me.  I love you, Trader Joe's!  Stop snubbing us!  We need your unique and organic goodness just as much as everyone else!  So, until they finally decide that I am a genius and build a store closer to me, I am instead grateful to people who will buy me things like chocolate covered edamame or Meyer lemon thins.

2.  I am thankful for flat iron spray.  Without the stuff, my attempts at flat iron curls would, well, fall flat, for lack of a better term.

3.  I am thankful for the electric blanket.  Whoever created that baby was a genius.  I salute the inventor of the electric blanket from September to May.  Bravo, inventor!

4.  I am thankful for my missing appendix.  Because of its absence, I will never have to have another appendectomy.  This saves me a great amount of pain, time out of commission, and money.

5.  I am thankful that I get to work with a man.  In the education world, men are rare.  Without any testosterone present, the women work themselves into a frenzy and rip one another to shreds.  Even though I am female, sometimes I just need to hang out with the guys.  In my case, guy.  He's hilarious and he lets me use his restroom, which is much cleaner than the overly used ladies' room.

6.  I am thankful for bell peppers.  Without bell peppers, this certified veggie hater would be in big trouble.

7.  I am thankful that I have the ability to play the piano.  I don't play it well, and certainly don't want anyone to hear me play it, but it's a pretty cool feeling to be able to do it.  I enjoy it.

8.  I am thankful for Google Reader.  Thanks to Google Reader, I am able to keep up with lots and lots of blogs - and it even recommends new ones for me!

9.  I am thankful for the tankini swim suit with a skirt bottom.  Who knew that just a few more inches of fabric would make me strut around the pool belting out "Boom, chica wah wah!"  OK, not really.  But hey, the fact that I'm even walking around the pool at all is progress.

10.  I'm thankful that I have a job in which I can require my students to put on flower leis and dance to Elvis Presley's "Blue Christmas" every day during the Christmas season.  Is it educational?  Welllllll......

What random things are you thankful for?

Single Sundays

I feel very fortunate to have been brought up in a Christian home, and have attended church my entire life (with a few peaks and valleys there, but consistently nonetheless).  I am very sure of my faith and am comfortable with the church community.

I must admit, however, that being single and attending church is really hard!  It's hard for me for a variety of reasons.

1.  I associate church as a family activity.  This means that I feel kind of lonely going to church alone, even if I am going to meet friends there!

2.  I feel like I have a giant "I am a single loser!" tattooed on my forehead.  I know that I don't, and I know that it shouldn't matter, but I feel like everyone is looking at me like "Aww, poor single gal!  Wonder what is wrong with her that she is still single?"  Come on, admit it, you've thought it about people!

3.  Given this irrational feeling, walking into church every Sunday feels like such a hard, difficult walk.  And I've been single a long time, so when am I going to get over this?!

4.  I sit in church and look around, watching couples all snuggly.  I watch all the families.  And then I get jealous.  I repeat, jealous.  In church, nonetheless!  It's a wonder I'm not struck with lightning on the spot.

5.  My attempts at finding other single Christians out there have been less than stellar.  I've gone to singles groups.  My findings are that they are filled with 19 year olds who are SO STOKED ABOUT LIFE!  AND COLLEGE!!  RAH RAH!  Or, 40 year old divorced people.  I don't have a problem with either group, but I have nothing in common with them!  I have to bite my tongue to not say something snarky to the college group, and not get all depressed listening to the divorced group talking about custody issues. when at this rate I'd just be happy to get a date! 

Or, there was the time I asked in a church about a singles group and they asked me if I'd like to start one.

Or, there was the time that I attempted to join a singles Life Group, only to be told that at the next semester, they would start coed groups, but for now, they are separating them by gender.  So, I joined an all female group.  Now, church is not a meat market, but you know, I work in a basically all female environment, so I wasn't super enthused about that.  I patiently waited for the next semester, put on a pretty outfit, and went to join a Life Group to discover that the groups were STILL gender separated!  Well, now what?!  I got up the nerve to ask about this, trying desperately to not sound, well...desperate.  They told me that they'd had so many problems with coed groups fighting, and also with perverts from the community showing up to the groups and targetting women, that they disbanded the whole coed concept.  The sad part is, this is not the only church I've heard having this problem.

So, my choices are to hope I meet some like minded person in a bar, when I am not a bar kind of person, or to hope that someone setting me up will work (when trust me, BEEN THERE, done that, not doing it again!), or hope that somehow single men my age will suddenly flood the educational world, or go to the divorced group and pretend I have a child that is conveniently never in my physical custody and complain about my imaginary ex (I wonder if I named him "George Glass" if anyone would get the Brady Bunch joke?).  Or, just pluck up the courage to take the "Walk of Death" from the parking lot into the church every Sunday and keep on keeping on.

Sometimes it's not easy being single!