Hello dear bloggership! These days, I'm doing quite well. The interpersonal stress in my household over gender/personality issues has calmed down a little, and while they mostly remain unresolved, things are at least friendly. I'm feeling more comfortable in this house and with work, things like community meal (when 20 people show up to eat dinner with the 10 of us) no longer stress me out.
Tonight I just finished a small batch of applesauce. Our biggest pot was full of apple slices, but they boiled down to 5 quarts. They're next to the computer and one of them happily popped a few seconds ago, signaling the successful sealing of the jar. Without decomposing bacterial invasion, that seal is capable of preserving the applesauce inside for many years to come. About a month ago, I picked up some jars from an old Fellowship of Hope (intentional community) house, some of which had food still in them. The lids said 95 and 97. Everything still looked good, so I broke that precious seal on a jar full of pears, then ate them all. They were delicious. But not nearly as delicious as my 5 quarts of applesauce will be when I open them up with some loved ones in the dead of winter.
There's something that I've wanted to write for a long time but I haven't gotten it out, its about bikes, specifically why I love them so much. Not only do they build amazing muscles in your legs that allow you to go all day and not get tired, help your body stay strong to ward off diseases, prevent future medical complications, and save you money on car insurance, maintenance, and gas, they also build community. Riding a bike, you go slowly, at 20 miles per hour or less. At this speed, and lacking the metal box enclosing most street travelers, you can make eye contact with and say hello to people sitting in their driveways, enjoying the afternoon.
I thought all of this was well and good, perfect even, until now that I've been doing it for a long time and I still haven't gotten to know my neighbors. I've made eye contact with, smiled at and said hello to many people who pass by my bike shop as I work and also many people on a few streets around Elkhart as I ride my bike around. But just that isn't enough for me to have a sense of community.
Earlier this week I stopped at Ox Bow Park on my way to Goshen to take pictures of the beautiful leaves and trees. Breaking my ride up like that really helped me to relax and feel great, also to appreciate nature. Riding my bike is great for me, but I still need to stop and take time to relax.
In Honduras I really felt comfortable in my town when I could walk around and greet people by name. Towards the end I started to hear 'A wiki-wiki WAMBA!!!' when local high schoolers would see me. They were just repeating the camp chant that I had taught them, but it helped me to know that I was a part of their lives and their community. It is a beautiful feeling, something I will cherish forever.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Staying Out of Trouble
Adjustment to life in the MVS house has been a little hectic. Weeks fly by like seconds. Thursday night happens before you take your first deep breath after the weekend. That is, if you get to take a breath on the weekend. Exciting projects have coupled with my desire for community involvement and the work realize personal dreams. The first month of this life happen without time to sit in the hammock and read, as I spent so much time doing in Honduras.
This last month has also been full of anti-racism and anti-sexism talk in the house and outside of it. Its all been well and good, except that the tight-packedness of it has left very little time for reflection and collection of thoughts. Anyway these thoughts have seeped into every interaction that I have. I feel like I suddenly have a window into (what I've been told) is the dark side of systemically oppressed people's thoughts. Its a little bit unnerving.
Working at the bike shop behind the house gives me a lot of opportunities to interact with local people. If I see a Caucasian kid taking charge and his significantly older sister or an African-American kid letting him take charge, I wonder how much of that is happening because of socialization. Much, apparently, despite the Caucasion kid's high mechanical aptitude. I must admit that the things I see do make sense under these new lenses.
Before the (Damascus Road) anti-racism training, I had spoken with an African-American male teenager outside of the bike shop. I asked what was up, to which he responded that he was just trying to stay out of trouble. Being taken back to the hundreds of times I had heard my dad say that in a joking way, I laughed and told him that that was what I was trying to do too. What struck me immediately was that for him, keeping out of trouble was a very real struggle. Every day I'm sure he struggles to keep out of trouble with gangs, drugs, and police. He, walking alone or with his friends, is immediately suspect. I don't know the statistics, but I do know that he, simply by being African-American, is much more likely to do time in prison or in the back of a cop car. And even though I disregard traffic law and have done stupider and more illegal things in the past, I was and am not as likely to get arrested for it.
But I see hope. A growing wave of racial and sexual discrimination awareness is bringing these things into more and more benefiting people's conscience thoughts. A smile and salutation still have the power to blast warmth and acceptance through people's reluctantly built walls of bitterness, anger and fear. And Maisha (housemate) and I were welcomed to the neighborhood last night by an Angel, a woman who lives down the street.
This last month has also been full of anti-racism and anti-sexism talk in the house and outside of it. Its all been well and good, except that the tight-packedness of it has left very little time for reflection and collection of thoughts. Anyway these thoughts have seeped into every interaction that I have. I feel like I suddenly have a window into (what I've been told) is the dark side of systemically oppressed people's thoughts. Its a little bit unnerving.
Working at the bike shop behind the house gives me a lot of opportunities to interact with local people. If I see a Caucasian kid taking charge and his significantly older sister or an African-American kid letting him take charge, I wonder how much of that is happening because of socialization. Much, apparently, despite the Caucasion kid's high mechanical aptitude. I must admit that the things I see do make sense under these new lenses.
Before the (Damascus Road) anti-racism training, I had spoken with an African-American male teenager outside of the bike shop. I asked what was up, to which he responded that he was just trying to stay out of trouble. Being taken back to the hundreds of times I had heard my dad say that in a joking way, I laughed and told him that that was what I was trying to do too. What struck me immediately was that for him, keeping out of trouble was a very real struggle. Every day I'm sure he struggles to keep out of trouble with gangs, drugs, and police. He, walking alone or with his friends, is immediately suspect. I don't know the statistics, but I do know that he, simply by being African-American, is much more likely to do time in prison or in the back of a cop car. And even though I disregard traffic law and have done stupider and more illegal things in the past, I was and am not as likely to get arrested for it.
But I see hope. A growing wave of racial and sexual discrimination awareness is bringing these things into more and more benefiting people's conscience thoughts. A smile and salutation still have the power to blast warmth and acceptance through people's reluctantly built walls of bitterness, anger and fear. And Maisha (housemate) and I were welcomed to the neighborhood last night by an Angel, a woman who lives down the street.
Friday, September 4, 2009
The Work Pew
I'm getting settled in here in Elkhart. I moved into the MVS Jubilee House almost two weeks ago and I've been working a lot doing projects with my dad, projects at Jubilee and getting the bike shop set up. Its been exhausting and I'm already drawing clearer lines between work and personal space so that I can preserve calm, peace, and energy throughout my time here. The MVS unit here is coming together a little more every day and I'm really enjoying the friendships that I'm making here. We fill our time with good laughs. :)
Last week as I was rearranging the attic over the bike shop, I found a small section of one-legged pew from Prairie Street MC that had been cut off several years ago to make space for wheelchairs. I carried it down into the bike shop, thinking it would be a great chair to put into Jubilee. When Simon Gingrich (Prairie Street MC's pushing-90 workhorse) gave a suspecting sideways look at it and said it was one of his challenges to cut a few years ago because the wood curves while it's thickness changes.
Later that week I found a suitable piece of wood, sawed it up and nailed it onto the legless side of the pew. Then I sawed it again so that the pew would sit straight. Smiling to myself, I took a good look at my work. This little disabled pew now had enough legs, it supported my weight. The torn cushion and cover were as comfortable as they had ever been, happy to be able to serve a purpose again.
Sitting on the pew, I was overcome by an urge to sing a hymn, to rejoice for all that God provides. My upbeat heart sung all day, now with a place to sit and examine old dysfunctional bikes, take them apart, wipe of decades of grime, patch their tubes, true the wheels, tighten the brakes, scrape off rust, and grease up their mechanical pieces. Yesterday five other people came to work at the bike shop doing all of the above. One old neighbor man, Uncle Ed, sat on the pew and made wheels, fenders, and handlebars shine brighter than any of us would have believed possible.
With this work, some lines have been blurred rather than better defined. One has been the line between work and worship. For me, it has become an act of worship to rehabilitate an old pew and a few old bikes as well as teach some bike repair. New familiarity with each other, the feeling of being useful, the dissipation of fear of the unknown, the swelling joy from riding a pretty bike, the empowered glint in the eye of a new bike mechanic who understands her machine, all of it gave me a glimpse of the Kingdom. Its a beautiful sight to watch from a seat in the crutched work pew.
Last week as I was rearranging the attic over the bike shop, I found a small section of one-legged pew from Prairie Street MC that had been cut off several years ago to make space for wheelchairs. I carried it down into the bike shop, thinking it would be a great chair to put into Jubilee. When Simon Gingrich (Prairie Street MC's pushing-90 workhorse) gave a suspecting sideways look at it and said it was one of his challenges to cut a few years ago because the wood curves while it's thickness changes.
Later that week I found a suitable piece of wood, sawed it up and nailed it onto the legless side of the pew. Then I sawed it again so that the pew would sit straight. Smiling to myself, I took a good look at my work. This little disabled pew now had enough legs, it supported my weight. The torn cushion and cover were as comfortable as they had ever been, happy to be able to serve a purpose again.
Sitting on the pew, I was overcome by an urge to sing a hymn, to rejoice for all that God provides. My upbeat heart sung all day, now with a place to sit and examine old dysfunctional bikes, take them apart, wipe of decades of grime, patch their tubes, true the wheels, tighten the brakes, scrape off rust, and grease up their mechanical pieces. Yesterday five other people came to work at the bike shop doing all of the above. One old neighbor man, Uncle Ed, sat on the pew and made wheels, fenders, and handlebars shine brighter than any of us would have believed possible.
With this work, some lines have been blurred rather than better defined. One has been the line between work and worship. For me, it has become an act of worship to rehabilitate an old pew and a few old bikes as well as teach some bike repair. New familiarity with each other, the feeling of being useful, the dissipation of fear of the unknown, the swelling joy from riding a pretty bike, the empowered glint in the eye of a new bike mechanic who understands her machine, all of it gave me a glimpse of the Kingdom. Its a beautiful sight to watch from a seat in the crutched work pew.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
And if the salt has gained new flavor?
I have now arrived in Akron, Pennsylvania and am with the SALTers from around the world. Its been a wonderful couple of days. I'll move on to visit my brother and EMU people in Harrisonburg, then to a family reunion at Laurelville Mennonite Camp then to Liz' friend's wedding in Newton, Kansas. then I'll take a train to Purdue and hopefully connect with friends from Camp Tecumseh (where I worked last year) and friends from Purdue, then my parents will come pick me up. and take me back to Elkhart. All of that is extremely exciting, but I'm sad about the fact that I'm already exhausted. Not doing consistent exercise for about a year will take a toll on you.
Its quite apparent that the same affliction has fallen on most of the rest of the SALTers as well. Evidence was shown in the disappearance of tone and muscle size during our ultimate frisbee game the other day. My calves are still killing me. I've started out into vegetarianism as well and I'm struggling to find sources of lots of protein.
But personal fitness was the least of our worries. Today we had small-group meetings where we talked about our greatest struggles this last year. It was quite powerful as many SALTers shared deeply about being trapped in social or physical boundaries. We all were trapped at some point because of language difficulties, some people unexpectedly had to learn an indigenous language. People shared about tough host family, work, and community situations that they dealt with the whole year. In a few cases, they were able to come out at the end with an acceptable resolution, but a lot of them just had to learn how to cope. Some people who were bubbly last year are now startlingly quiet, others where had appeared muted and emotionless last year expressed powerful emotion and passion.
Its been tough. We are tired. We were hit with things we never expected and confused for months over things that shouldn't have been ours to worry about in the first place. We have cried nights away, spent hours clearing out abused intestines, and run away to hundreds of worlds in the books we read. I think we have all come out of the experience stronger. We have more understanding of ourselves and definitely more understanding of foreigners and their cultures. We have developed passion for personal and community development, passion for right relationships, passion for life, love, and peace. Please, be gentle with us.
Its quite apparent that the same affliction has fallen on most of the rest of the SALTers as well. Evidence was shown in the disappearance of tone and muscle size during our ultimate frisbee game the other day. My calves are still killing me. I've started out into vegetarianism as well and I'm struggling to find sources of lots of protein.
But personal fitness was the least of our worries. Today we had small-group meetings where we talked about our greatest struggles this last year. It was quite powerful as many SALTers shared deeply about being trapped in social or physical boundaries. We all were trapped at some point because of language difficulties, some people unexpectedly had to learn an indigenous language. People shared about tough host family, work, and community situations that they dealt with the whole year. In a few cases, they were able to come out at the end with an acceptable resolution, but a lot of them just had to learn how to cope. Some people who were bubbly last year are now startlingly quiet, others where had appeared muted and emotionless last year expressed powerful emotion and passion.
Its been tough. We are tired. We were hit with things we never expected and confused for months over things that shouldn't have been ours to worry about in the first place. We have cried nights away, spent hours clearing out abused intestines, and run away to hundreds of worlds in the books we read. I think we have all come out of the experience stronger. We have more understanding of ourselves and definitely more understanding of foreigners and their cultures. We have developed passion for personal and community development, passion for right relationships, passion for life, love, and peace. Please, be gentle with us.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Las Palabritas
The last couple of weeks here have been kind of crazy. Honduras has been undergoing some serious political issues. In case Michael Jackson has taken priority over Honduras in your news, I’ll recap.
Former president Mel Zelaya had been pushing a public inquiry to open the constitution to change in a way many suspected would be similar to Venezuelan Hugo Chavez’ recent changes (highly left-wing, but also with a clause to allow him to run for president again). On the day that the inquiry was to happen, Honduran military took Zelaya to Costa Rica and Roberto Micheletti (presidential candidate in recent caucus) was put into power by Congress. Zelaya and Chavez threw threats of war around for a couple of days then settled to push Zelaya’s reinstatement through the Organization of American States (OEA). Zelaya also went to the UN, where he found support. From what it looked like on the TV, protests for and against the new government were raging in the biggest cities around the country. Lastimosamente, one or two protesters were killed by police when Zelaya tried to fly in to Tegucigalpa last week. Since then, aid money to Honduras has been delayed and there have been vague threats of trade/oil embargos which do a fairly good job of striking fear into rural people. Zelaya has said that he is going to appear in Honduras sometime soon.
Though life goes on as usual, it has been a pretty frightening experience out here in La Campa. I think that’s mostly because being so far away from all the action and straining all day to hear reports of anything on the radio really gets your imagination going. I went to San Pedro Sula over one weekend that looked a little dicey, but the 10pm to 6am curfew made sleeping downtown feel like La Campa, minus the roosters.
Zelaya was taken out on a Sunday. Similar to Amanda and Andrew’s experience, church that day was very good to me. A guest speaker preached an uplifting message of hope and faith because as Christians, our citizenship is of heaven, not of any country, and we know that God is with us. During the church service, I couldn’t stop looking at the plump, smiling, wide-eyed babies all around me. It weighs on my heart that this event is and will continue to provoke a massive uncertainty for the future of those babies. What does this mean for their education? For their life opportunities, slim as they may be? Will they be like the children of Baghdad, six years old and unaware of an empowered life, always subject to the whim of a random bomb or rocket attack?
Thankfully, protests have not become seriously violent. As always, we are reminded to pray for the future and these children. The national (and global) divide between the ultra-rich and the rest as well as their grip on politics and the economy continue to grow. All of this leaves room for plenty of incertidumbre, a good, awkward word to describe feelings of unsureness.
As I prepare to leave, I find myself looking into the eyes of my Honduran friends and trying to push away that shadowy, persistent demon of incertidumbre. And then we talk and the bond of life, joy, friendship, love, and hope starts shining and brightening between us.
Former president Mel Zelaya had been pushing a public inquiry to open the constitution to change in a way many suspected would be similar to Venezuelan Hugo Chavez’ recent changes (highly left-wing, but also with a clause to allow him to run for president again). On the day that the inquiry was to happen, Honduran military took Zelaya to Costa Rica and Roberto Micheletti (presidential candidate in recent caucus) was put into power by Congress. Zelaya and Chavez threw threats of war around for a couple of days then settled to push Zelaya’s reinstatement through the Organization of American States (OEA). Zelaya also went to the UN, where he found support. From what it looked like on the TV, protests for and against the new government were raging in the biggest cities around the country. Lastimosamente, one or two protesters were killed by police when Zelaya tried to fly in to Tegucigalpa last week. Since then, aid money to Honduras has been delayed and there have been vague threats of trade/oil embargos which do a fairly good job of striking fear into rural people. Zelaya has said that he is going to appear in Honduras sometime soon.
Though life goes on as usual, it has been a pretty frightening experience out here in La Campa. I think that’s mostly because being so far away from all the action and straining all day to hear reports of anything on the radio really gets your imagination going. I went to San Pedro Sula over one weekend that looked a little dicey, but the 10pm to 6am curfew made sleeping downtown feel like La Campa, minus the roosters.
Zelaya was taken out on a Sunday. Similar to Amanda and Andrew’s experience, church that day was very good to me. A guest speaker preached an uplifting message of hope and faith because as Christians, our citizenship is of heaven, not of any country, and we know that God is with us. During the church service, I couldn’t stop looking at the plump, smiling, wide-eyed babies all around me. It weighs on my heart that this event is and will continue to provoke a massive uncertainty for the future of those babies. What does this mean for their education? For their life opportunities, slim as they may be? Will they be like the children of Baghdad, six years old and unaware of an empowered life, always subject to the whim of a random bomb or rocket attack?
Thankfully, protests have not become seriously violent. As always, we are reminded to pray for the future and these children. The national (and global) divide between the ultra-rich and the rest as well as their grip on politics and the economy continue to grow. All of this leaves room for plenty of incertidumbre, a good, awkward word to describe feelings of unsureness.
As I prepare to leave, I find myself looking into the eyes of my Honduran friends and trying to push away that shadowy, persistent demon of incertidumbre. And then we talk and the bond of life, joy, friendship, love, and hope starts shining and brightening between us.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Photos to pass the time
Probably the last photos I will post here in Honduras
I'm at the MCC farm near Lago Yojoa with the Stephens family. Its been fun to to hang out and see some farm work and dull a machete on some rocks. The political situation here has been preoccupante this week. I feel like it should be alright, but the situation is a little more worrying for the Hondurans as international aid money is being cut and possible sanctions could be applied. I went to church last Sunday after hearing that the president had been taken to Costa Rica and I saw the usual load of babies and small children there. With the political situation as it is, it makes me wonder about their future. It is heavy on my heart that while I can leave easily and carry on with my life, the children of Honduras's education, their parent's livelihood, and a million other things are in jeopardy. So please, take a moment to pray for Honduras and its people, wisdom for Honduran and other Latin American leaders.
Thanks!
Monday, June 22, 2009
Culture Accepted as Truth
This last week I finished my work with the camps. I’ve said this before, but I’m so glad that I’ve gotten to help with them because I’ve seen such a wonderful effect of the work. Amanda and Andrew came to visit me on the weekend and we had a good time hanging out and talking. I also took each of them on a short moto ride and they both got pretty scared, but they managed well in the end.
One thing that has been very interesting to see is how some cultural taboos work. In North America, most everyone except for some young women have never danced moving their hips from side to side, in fact most think it’s not possible. If a North American tries it, they will undoubtedly laugh out of embarrasement and convince themselves not to try it again. Men would never dance moving their hips. Here, all you have to do is demonstrate how you want the jovenes (young adults) to move their hips, and they (the non-evangelicals, at least) get to it right away, without a hint of embarassment. Either that or they say they can’t do it and watch in envy.
Cheating also has a contrasting taboo. In North America, cheating is generally prohibited, unless you’re playing one of those card games that is based on it. Whether we’re playing Mafia, walking around blindfolded, or answering surveys, cheating normally comes out as the prefered method to complete the task at hand. If theres another way to do it that seems like it might be easier, people go for it. There seems to be no real concern for ‘the letter of the law,’ sometimes even when it is repeated and reiterated that it must be followed. Cheating appears to be fully acceptable.
That perception of mine makes me wonder if that’s how so many government officials get away with corruption. Two of La Campa’s three hotels are owned by former mayors, along with one or more nice vehicles. The current mayor has a very nice truck and several large milking cows, which together have a value of around 6 years of his actual salary. I’m not saying that any of them pocketed La Campa funds, but its just a little suspicious that the three (by far) most well-well off families in La Campa have held La Campas highest government post.
I am fascinated that depending on where you grow up, you can develop distinct attitudes toward the same thing. In La Campa, we admire a man who can shake his hips. We understand that cheating is acceptable. We crave meat, beans, and tortillas. We see a hungry man unless a woman is close by to cook and serve him food. We go to bed at 9pm and get up at 5am. We ask why the present NGOs aren’t giving us houses and petroleum-based fertilizers. We wonder how, without the NGO’s constant donations, we can ever make our country developed and respectable. We see green grass and we look for the horse or cow that should be eating it. We look for tasty/medicinal monte (shurbs) and mushrooms on the road or path that we walk on. We talk in hushed voices about the corruption we see up the street. We are so busy incriminating politicians that talking about solutions hardly crosses our minds.
We’re so used to all this, we can’t even imagine things any other way. We’re convinced that the way we see it is the (t / T)ruth. But then breaking that in ourselves and in others is why cultural exchange is always so rich and rewarding.
One thing that has been very interesting to see is how some cultural taboos work. In North America, most everyone except for some young women have never danced moving their hips from side to side, in fact most think it’s not possible. If a North American tries it, they will undoubtedly laugh out of embarrasement and convince themselves not to try it again. Men would never dance moving their hips. Here, all you have to do is demonstrate how you want the jovenes (young adults) to move their hips, and they (the non-evangelicals, at least) get to it right away, without a hint of embarassment. Either that or they say they can’t do it and watch in envy.
Cheating also has a contrasting taboo. In North America, cheating is generally prohibited, unless you’re playing one of those card games that is based on it. Whether we’re playing Mafia, walking around blindfolded, or answering surveys, cheating normally comes out as the prefered method to complete the task at hand. If theres another way to do it that seems like it might be easier, people go for it. There seems to be no real concern for ‘the letter of the law,’ sometimes even when it is repeated and reiterated that it must be followed. Cheating appears to be fully acceptable.
That perception of mine makes me wonder if that’s how so many government officials get away with corruption. Two of La Campa’s three hotels are owned by former mayors, along with one or more nice vehicles. The current mayor has a very nice truck and several large milking cows, which together have a value of around 6 years of his actual salary. I’m not saying that any of them pocketed La Campa funds, but its just a little suspicious that the three (by far) most well-well off families in La Campa have held La Campas highest government post.
I am fascinated that depending on where you grow up, you can develop distinct attitudes toward the same thing. In La Campa, we admire a man who can shake his hips. We understand that cheating is acceptable. We crave meat, beans, and tortillas. We see a hungry man unless a woman is close by to cook and serve him food. We go to bed at 9pm and get up at 5am. We ask why the present NGOs aren’t giving us houses and petroleum-based fertilizers. We wonder how, without the NGO’s constant donations, we can ever make our country developed and respectable. We see green grass and we look for the horse or cow that should be eating it. We look for tasty/medicinal monte (shurbs) and mushrooms on the road or path that we walk on. We talk in hushed voices about the corruption we see up the street. We are so busy incriminating politicians that talking about solutions hardly crosses our minds.
We’re so used to all this, we can’t even imagine things any other way. We’re convinced that the way we see it is the (t / T)ruth. But then breaking that in ourselves and in others is why cultural exchange is always so rich and rewarding.
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