From St Louis to Bolivia

Songs

2011-04-09T05:26:00.000-07:00

Twinkle, twinkle little star!
How I wonder what you are?
Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle little star. How I wonder what you are?

Donde esta la luna? (Where is the moon?)
Allah esta la luna. (The moon is over there.)
Comiendo aceituna. No me quieres da. (Eating olives. You don’t want to give.)
Me pongo a llorar. Bien pajarito me hace callar. Shhhh…. (I make myself cry. Good little bird makes me quiet.)

These two songs have become quite important in my mission. And, I never would have expected to sing especially these two songs because I do not like to sing in front of anyone. For example, I have always avoided singing in church unless it was the mandatory parts like the Lamb of God or the Gloria. Other church-goers would give me the hymnals to participate more fully in the Mass and yet, I kindly gave them back. I said that I don’t sing. Friends have even tried to get me to sing in the Mass and every time, they are unsuccessful. They said that singing was another way to pray. I responded that I would pray extra during the week to make up for not singing during the Mass. These are the ways that I have avoided singing in my life. However, I learned that these methods no longer work. Kids love songs especially if there are hand movements to go with a particular song.

So, I started to embrace the fact that singing was going to be part of my daily life with the kids that I work with. And, it is absolutely amazing the effects of these two songs on the kids. One by one, each kid starts to calm down. There is less shouting and sometimes, less crying. The song, Donde esta la luna, changes the atmosphere of the dining room before eating breakfast, lunch or dinner. They sing the song very loudly at first and then, little by little they are lowering their voices. Soon, they are quiet and ready to pray before receiving their food. Then, they begin to eat and there is quietness in the house.

How to Say Good-bye?

2011-03-20T08:02:00.000-07:00

Just a couple of weeks ago Carolina, one of the girls from the older girl’s home, moved out. Her sister came with a signed court order that authorized the move. In less than two hours, Carolina said good-bye to all the girls as well as the tias and with the help of the other girls in the home packed up her stuff. She and sister left in a taxi with 3 suitcases and a black garbage bag and headed to the bus terminal. They were going back to Santa Cruz where the rest of her family lives.

As she was moving her stuff from the house to the taxi, she said good-bye one final time to everyone. When she said good-bye to me, tears started to roll down my cheeks. I was at a loss of words and could only express myself through my tears. I could not even make eye contact with her as she left through the door of the girl’s home that was leading her to the beginning of a new life. I did not want to see her leave. I was hoping that this was all a joke and I would see her the next time that I was at the girl’s home. Sadly, this was not a joke and she was in fact leaving.

As I thought more and more about my reaction to her good-bye, I was grieving for the loss of the physical presence of Carolina in my life. She and I had a connection on my first day of work. I rang the doorbell to the girl’s home and was very scared as to what was going to happen that day. However, I did not need to fear anything because she was there with me the entire time. She introduced me to all of the girls and the tias that worked there. She talked to me using very simple Spanish because I forgot every word in Spanish that I had just learned at the Maryknoll Institute. At lunch time, she included me in the prayer by asking God to take care of me during my time in Bolivia. From this moment, I knew that she was a special girl and was going to help me a lot during my mission. I was not sure how, but I was going to be fine here. She had given me the confidence that I needed.

My good-bye was not my best moment. I have never been great with saying good-bye to anyone. In fact, all of my good-byes turn into moments like the one that I just described. Then I wonder, how could this have been better? Is there another way to say good-bye without the involvement of crying? I do not know. Crying will just have to be part of my good-byes until I figure out another way.

Breaking Candy

2011-03-07T10:42:00.000-08:00

So, there is a little girl that I work with. Her name is Arianna. She has only been living at the older girl’s home for about four months. She and her siblings were very famous here in Cochabamba for a while. A newspaper article told their story. She and her four siblings were left in a locked room for 3 days without food or anything to drink. However, it was normal for the mom in the family to do this but only for one day. When three days had past without sight of the mom returning home, the neighbors were worried and called the social services department. The social services department acted quickly with this phone call by taking them out of the home. Then, all five kids were placed with my ministry site because we had enough space in both homes to keep them together.

Now that Arianna and her sisters had been living at the home for quite some time, they have been invited to go on the annual vacation with the rest of the girls from the home. This year’s destination was Potosi and Sucre. These places are 12-15 hours away from Cochabamba. We used a bus to get there. It was during the bus ride that something amazing happened between Arianna and I. We were sitting next each other and someone had given her a gummie bear sort of treat. It was not very big which meant it could be eaten in one bite or maybe two bites. She took this small piece of candy and broke it in half. I was confused about what she was doing. Was she breaking it in half to save it for later or breaking it in half to savor the flavor more? She then looked at me and with her hand outstretched, she offered this half of her candy to me. She used no words, only gestures.

I think about this moment a lot every time that I see her at the girl’s home. I don’t view her as this little 5 year old girl who came from a sad situation, but as someone whose heart is full of love. She is a giver of what she has. For me, it was this tiny piece of candy that she offered me. And yet, this small piece of candy tasted sweeter than anything I have ever had in my life. It is a moment that I will always carry in my heart.

Home

2011-01-30T09:32:00.000-08:00

I am reminded of this scene from Almost Famous, one of my favorite movies, of which the subject of home becomes the topic of conversation. Patrick Fugit’s character has been on tour with a band for almost year. He yearns to be home where he knows everything and everyone. He no longer wants to be living on a tour bus going from city to city. He just wants to be with his mom. With these thoughts running through the mind of Patrick Fugit’s character, he says to Kate Hudson’s character in a tone of desperation, “I want to go home.” Kate Hudson’s character responds, “Poof! You are home.”
I thought a lot about this scene because I spent my Christmas Eve with the older girls that I work with. We ate a big lunch and then opened presents. The girls showed their presents to one another as well as the tias. They looked carefully through their stockings which was filled with candy, socks, underwear, and rubber bands for their hair. Once the candy was discovered, each girl immediately began to eat the candy. I then was able to swindle a piece of candy from certain girls by asking if there was anything for me inside their stocking. It was a great trick. I think that I learned that from my dad. Since the girls had eaten too much at lunch, we drank tea and ate cookies for dinner. After dinner, the girls did their chores and we watched Christmas movies. Once the movies finished, I began putting the younger girls to bed. The older girls did not need my help. When I was putting each of the younger girls to bed, I kissed all of the younger girls on the cheek and said, “Merry Christmas!” With the older girls, I said “Merry Christmas” and gave a hug to each one. All of the girls though responded in the same manner by saying, “Merry Christmas, tia!” and giving me a hug.
When I putting each girl to bed, I thought about what does it mean to be at home. What are the characteristics of being at home for someone? Is it your friends and family? Is it having all that is familiar to you like certain smells, different landmarks, a favorite grocery store in which you know like the back of your hand, or driving past a certain street and memories begin to pour into your mind? Is it having particular traditions that your family has? What exactly is it that makes a place home for someone?
For me, it is the feeling that I am surrounded by people that love me. It is a love that accepts me no matter what I have done or not done, what I have said or not said, how I comfort a crying child. It is an unconditional love. I am constantly reminded of this love when I laugh at a comment that one of the girls or tia just said. I spill hot water on my shirt by accident and then shout, “hot, hot, really hot.” I am trying to cool my shirt by dancing in quite a silly fashion. The girls and tias laugh at my facial expressions when I don’t have the Spanish words to convey what I want to say. So, this unconditional love is very much present whenever I am with the girls. However, it was a lot stronger on Christmas Eve because they took me in and made me part of their family. I am part of their lives. I am wanted here. I am needed here. I am home.

Social Justice

2010-12-03T12:18:00.000-08:00

Lately, I have pondering the meaning of this phrase of social justice especially in relation to my mission placement. My mission placement works the pediatric AIDS population as well the at-risk female youth in Cochabamba. It varies from day to day what I do with both populations. With the pediatric population, the kids live at a group home and their ages range from 10 months to 5 years. I change diapers that sometimes are filled with poop. I am still impressed with the smell that emanates from these diapers. It is a little rough. I brush teeth after lunch and after dinner. I fold laundry because the kids can get through a lot of clothes in one day. I put the kids to bed which is hard because I do not have experience in this at all. I read books. I sing songs in both English and Spanish because it is a great way to distract them as we are waiting for the snack or lunch. The “Wheels on the bus” song is very popular right now. The kids request this one more than “Twinkle, twinkle little star.” I play different games like putting together puzzles or painting various shapes. When the kids are tranquil such as nap time, I drink tea with the ladies that work with me.
With the at-risk female youth population, they also live in a group home and the ages range from 6 years to 15 years. In this population, there are a least 5 groups of sisters and my organization wanted to keep the 5 groups of sisters together. This is why there is such a variety of ages. These girls have come from abusive home situations. They have seen and experienced a lot in their lives. They now have the chance to rebuild their lives and be a normal kid. They have crushes on boys and talk endlessly about them. They listen to Justin Beiber and tell me everything about him. They read and watch the Harry Potter series and know more about Daniel Radcliffe than I do. They invent and play their games. They skateboard in the park near their house. These are all things that kids in the States do. I am impressed with these girls every time that I go over to their house. When I arrive at their house to work, I pretty much talk the entire time that I am there. I help out homework as well as read books and magazines. They brush my hair and sometimes fight who is going to do this. I usually receive at least 3 different hairstyles within the span of 30 minutes. We laugh at lot about my Spanish mistakes or other stories from school. I attempt to learn new recipes from the girls but then I forget everything in 5 minutes. It is never boring with these girls.
I continue to think how I am doing social justice in the time spent with these girls and with my babies. I am not changing policy in Bolivia about how money is spent on the Pediatric AIDS. I am not a social worker taking kids out of abusive home situations. I am advocating to the President in the States about the status of AIDS in Bolivia. I am not running a support group for families affected by AIDS. I have yet to meet other AIDS activists in the Cochabamba area. I simply change diapers and laugh with the girls. I enjoy my time with these girls and my babies.
Perhaps though in these simple tasks, social justice is being created though. I am literally accompanying and spending time with a population that is often forgotten about. Their life is given value because someone thinks it is important. Hope is being formed just by talking and giving time to someone.

Can you hold my baby?

2010-10-21T08:49:00.000-07:00

“Even the smallest smile or act of kindness can make a big difference.”
--Briana Colton

This quote comes from one of my best friends. She wrote this to me before I began my missionary experience in Bolivia. She wanted to give me a reminder of what I learned during my service year in St. Louis. Through a smile, hug, or an act of kindness, anyone can change the world.
I thought of this quote as I was waiting to catch a bus that would take me to Yoga class. As I was waiting for the bus, I saw an indigenous woman and her baby. She wore a felt, knee-length skirt; her hair was long with two braids in the back; she held her baby in aguayo which is a type of cloth used by indigenous women to hold babies or other items. She carried another bag with her that was filled with newly bought items. Perhaps, she went to the Cancha and now, was looking for a bus to take her and her baby home. At the same time, she had this look in her eyes which indicated her tiredness from the day and frustration with the public transportation system at the moment. That night, every bus or trufi was filled with people. People were standing in the stairs of the bus or people were so close to each other in the bus that you barely had any room around you. I looked at her and her baby as I was standing and looking for a bus that had less people in it. I smiled and checked my watch because it was getting closer and closer to the start of my Yoga class. I was getting a little anxious about being late to Yoga. I did this a few times. Then something unusual happened. She asked me to hold her baby while she rearranged her aguayo. Her plan was to take her baby out of the aguayo and place her newly bought items into the aguayo. Then she was going to hold her baby in her arms. However, this action required additional help. And, this is my part. I reached out my arms and she handed her baby over to me immediately. I held her baby for less than 5 minutes and yet, it felt as though time stopped during this moment. She then finished placing her stuff in her aguayo. I gave her baby back to her. I found a trufi that took me to Yoga. She waited patiently for a trufi that would take her and her baby home.
This story is important to me because it demonstrates that a smile really can break the barrier between strangers. It dissolves potential fear and creates a relationship. Since a relationship has been created, a stranger is no longer a random person that you happened to meet in the street. This person is now part of your community and part of your life. We are part of a worldwide community that works to form relationships in the moment. So, we are all in this together now.

Possible Answer

2010-05-27T08:05:00.000-07:00

I have been reflecting a lot about the theme of poverty and what actions can bring about change. I think that when we see and become overwhelmed by poverty, we have two options. First, we can close our eyes. By doing this act, we are essentially ignoring the problem and pretending that poverty does not exist. This method works for a while which allows for a happy existence. It is a life without problems; a life in which all needs is being met. Second, we can choose to engage in it. Engagement has so many different meanings. We can begin by asking questions about why poverty exists in our world. We can become involved in the peace and justice movement. We can volunteer our time in a non-profit agency. We can literally converse with the person who is asking for money.
I like all of these methods of engagement. I have used all of these methods at various points in my life. I volunteered for one year in St. Louis. My volunteer placement consisted in talking and listening to individuals with mental illness and drug addictions. I then began to work full-time in my former volunteer placement for three years. I worked with at-risk youth in East St. Louis. In college, I studied sociology and put an emphasis on poverty studies. I started to work with the anti-war movement and learned about the rights of immigrants. I even thought about living in a Catholic Worker house for a hot minute because I wanted to be more in solidarity with other peace activists in St. Louis. All of these experiences created an awareness of the injustices that exist in our world. It is with each of these experiences that deepened my faith and therefore lead me to Bolivia. However, I only learned about the last method of engagement about three weeks ago. It was through observing a friend as she was talking to a child who wanted to sell us some chocolate.
We were waiting for a friend to arrive and once our friend arrived, we were going out somewhere. As we were waiting, a beautiful little girl approached us and asked us if we wanted to buy chocolate. My natural instinct in this situation and other similar situations is to say, “No gracias” and then walk away. It is not great but it works. My friend took a different approach. She asked the little girl what her name is, how many brothers and sisters she has, what grade she is in, and where she sleeps at night. As I was watching this moment unfold, I stood slack-jawed and silent. She proceeded with confidence in this conversation. She talked as if this little girl had been in her first grade class in which she had previously left to become a missioner in Bolivia. She gave this little girl all of her attention as if no one else existed in the in the city of Cochabamba. She encountered Christ in the other, in the poor, and in the marginalized.

Tanta Pobreza

2010-05-10T09:01:00.000-07:00

As I walk through the streets of Cochabamba, I am witnessing a different type of lifestyle. There are old men who are just sitting outside and watching people walk past them. There are people who are waiting for the buses to arrive and take them somewhere. There are indigenous women selling fresh fruit and vegetables. They wear a knee-length skirt which is blue, pink, green or another color. There are also two very long braids in the back of their heads. Open spaces transform themselves into an area for a lunch break. The whole business world stops for an hour as the workers replenish their body with food.
As I continue my journey throughout the city, there are other images that present themselves to me. There is an overwhelming amount of women and children selling stuffed animals, candy and gum, cigarettes, fake flowers, and water to anyone who is willing to make eye contact with them. They sell during the day and night in order to make their lives a little bit better. There are number of older indigenous women and men who hold their hands open to receive money from any who pass by them. With their hands open, there is a hope within their eyes that someone is going to give them money. There are glue-sniffers. They sniff glue and become high from the smell.
With these images ever embedded in my mind, the question is how does one escape from being a witness to this poverty? Is it as simple as closing my eyes? Do I listen to my I-Pod which drowns out the plea for money? Do I cross the street in order to avoid the older woman asking for money? Should I use sunglasses so I literally do not see the poverty? Do I pretend not to understand Spanish? Do I stay in my room and not venture out into the city? I am so confused in how to act in these situations. I want to give money or purchase something but then does it really help to solve the problem. Is their quality of life being improved with the act of buying something? I don’t know. Then, how I do help when I am surrounded by so much poverty? I wish that I had an answer, but I can always ask questions.

Just Dance!

2010-04-25T14:38:00.000-07:00

I have “Just Dance” by Lady Gaga stuck in my head. It replays itself over and over in my head. I simply cannot get rid of it. Its presence in my head is not because I secretly love the song. And, I really do love that song. It is in my head because those were the instructions given to me last week at my abuela’s birthday party.
I thought, really, I just have to dance with my abuela. There are many things that I can do to help out during the party. I can wash dishes and keep the kitchen clean which is my favorite activity to do. I can serve drinks to the guests and practice my Spanish at the same time. I can pick up trash. There is a small group of kids outside and I wonder if they want another player in “Duck, Duck, Goose.” I can run fast in a small circle. I play well with others. I am skilled in so many things and different areas. However, I needed to dance and I did exactly that. I danced with her, my uncle Eddie, my aunt Mersa, and my cousins to every song that was playing.
Throughout the party, everyone took turns dancing with her. Each person was utilizing a different dance. Sometimes, it was the Cueca. Other times, it was the Morenada. Both are great Bolivian dances. As each person danced with her, her demeanor changed. She was laughing with her whole body and smiling from cheek to cheek. There was a sparkle in her eyes and an overwhelming sense of joy that was present in her. She was filled with happiness. This moment meant so much to her because she was surrounded by so many people that love her. What a wonderful birthday gift!

Hospitality

2010-03-29T11:35:00.000-07:00

Within the Bolivian culture, I have been observing the virtue of hospitality that seems to be infectious here. It is present in the streets, homes, churches, and the people. All it means is sharing what you have. It is nothing more than that. If you have extra food, then invite family members to the house and eat. If you have extra toys, then give them to someone who does not have any. If you have extra clothes, then give them to someone who needs it more. If there is extra space in the pew at church, then you make room for the person who needs it. If you are lost and need to find a particular street or a bus, there are people who will readily give the information. It is absolutely amazing to see and live in this hospitality.
As I witness this hospitality, I think about what it truly means to love the stranger. To love the stranger is really to give all what you can offer. Here in Bolivia, it is the gift of time. My host grandmother invites me to watch “Walker, Texas Ranger” with her every Sunday night. She says “Walker” and I head to her room to watch it. During commercial breaks, I ask her questions just to make sure that I understand the plot line. It is my favorite hour during the weekend. The guard at the Maryknoll Institute listens to my Spanish as we talk for hours. There is always a range of topics which challenges me to use my Spanish vocabulary. He and I both enjoy each other’s company. In these simple actions, I appreciate the time that is being given to me. This is more precious to me than what money can buy.
The Bolivian people are living out the Gospel spirit of loving the stranger with their hospitality. So, what is the best way to love the stranger? It is to spend time with each other.

Fabian

2010-03-23T08:15:00.000-07:00

I am sitting next to Fabian, one of the little boys in my house. He is playing a computer game while I am trying to think of something to write about. He is more successful than I am at this moment. However, I truly admire this little boy. It is not because of his amazing computer skills, it is more about the invitations that he gives me. He constantly wants me to play with him. Sometimes, I just watch as he invents new games. When we both have homework, he invites me to do my homework as he is doing his. This means that we can play sooner than later. He asks me which movie or television show I want to watch. He gives me toys so I can have a respite from my homework and other obligations. He helps me understand why his little brother does not want to play a game with me. He is patient with me as I speak Spanish to him. Most of all, he gives me a lot of moments to laugh about.
When I think about all of these invitations, I reflect on how he is in the beginning stages of becoming a missioner. He is only 6 years old, but I see this in him. He is generous with what he has. He is genuine in his actions. He asks hard questions that cause you to think about your actions. For example, he asked me why I don’t play with him more often. I replied that I have more homework and other things to do. He said something in Spanish that is still a bit foreign to me. He welcomes and accepts anyone into his life. I am just impressed with this little boy.
Through all of these actions, I mull over of what I can learn from him. He is an example of what I hope to be in my life. I want to share more of what I have. I want to welcome anyone into my life. I want to be more accepting of people that are different from me. I want to be more understanding of situations and circumstances that people are in. So, I need to take lessons from Fabian.

Typhoid Fever

2010-03-13T11:29:00.000-08:00

Yes, it is true. I had typhoid fever. The doctor in my family confirmed it. This was probably the worst pain that I had ever felt in my life. At various times, I would be freezing cold and then I would be blistering hot. When I was hot, I was sweating through my clothes and using a fan in an attempt to cool me off. Aspirin could not break the fever. I had aching pains in every part of my body. These pains went deep into my bones. It hurt every time I would walk or getting dressed in the morning. I felt nauseous. I did not want to eat anything because the smell was horrible. I was dehydrated even though I was drinking water. It was impossible to think or do anything because I had no energy. I still have no idea how I received it.
I was and continue to be humbled by this moment. In my moment of sickness, I was completely out of my element. In the United States, I know how to treat my diseases and what type of support that I want. Here in Bolivia, I had absolutely no idea what to do. I did not know a doctor or even how to schedule an appointment. I did not know what type of medicine to take or how to obtain medicine. I did not know what type of food that would help, not harm my condition. I was completely helpless. The best thing that I could do was to tell my abuela. She would have the answers that I was seeking.
In sharing information about my health, I learned about community. My Bolivian family genuinely cared about my well-being. Everyone knew what I needed without me asking for it. The kids in my house did not ask me to play. My abuela asked me how often I went to the bathroom and listened during the night on how often I used the bathroom. She gave me cinnamon tea to help my stomach. She made bland food so I could at least eat something. She told the kids in my house to be quiet when I took 2-3 hour naps. She called the doctor in our family to diagnose me. He gave me some medicine which broke my fever. He then gave me a list of things that I need to get done at the lab. After I received my lab tests, my tia arranged for me to go to his hospital so he could explain the test results. I had no idea what my results meant. He then gave me a prescription for Cipro which would take away all of my symptoms. All of these acts demonstrate that in community, we need each other. We rely on each other. Community is based on mutual giving.

Wake Up Every Morning

2010-03-01T12:58:00.000-08:00

I sometimes have to pinch myself to know that I am in Bolivia. I am no longer talking and dreaming about being a missioner in Bolivia. I am here. There are many signs that serve as reminders for living in Bolivia. I hear Spanish everywhere I go. It is in the grocery store, restaurants, buses, on the street, and in my new home. I am attending school instead of going to work. I have homework that is due the next day. I have a textbook so I can follow along with my teachers. I drink bottled water instead of drinking from the tap. My money is in Bolivianos rather than dollars. I have a voltage converter so I can use my laptop. There are dogs in the street, in the park, and on the sidewalk. Laundry is hung outside to dry. I hear 80’s music in every taxi that I ride in so I can get to my next destination. These are all the outward signs that I am living in Bolivia. I am in still in awe and amazement that I am here in Bolivia.
What captures my thoughts about Bolivia is how I wake up each morning. I hear the sound of a rooster which is my other alarm clock. It crows several times. I also hear the rain on the roof. It is the rainy season now. The rain has a distinct sound. It is hollow and loud. It also comes down fast and strong. After two hours, the rain is done. The evidence from the rain is the mud puddle outside. The light from the sun streams through my curtains even though I want to sleep more. I turn over so I can block the light with my body but it is not enough. I must wake up to start my day. I smell the beginnings of lunch. It always smells tasty with all the spices that my abuela uses. She lets the food simmer so all the spices are in a perfect arrangement with each other. This smell makes me excited for lunch and I can’t wait to come home after classes. I see the daily activities of my abuela in the morning. She makes my breakfast and sets it out for me to eat. She fills a pitcher of water to water all of the plants as long as it did not rain early in the morning. She has coffee and bread ready for a worker in the neighborhood. She takes food out to Whiskey, our ferocious and kind dog in the backyard. She puts the dishes away from last night’s dinner. If there are dishes to wash, she washes them. She offers little conversation which is a relief because my brain cannot form sentences in Spanish at 7:20 in the morning. I leave for school and she says something that I don’t quite understand yet. In my mind, it is “have a wonderful day at school.”
My walk to school is an amazing sight as well. In every direction, I see mountains. These mountains are lush and green, and extremely tall. I am inspired to go hiking and yet, I think I need to go to school. I can hike this weekend. I see people who are waiting for the bus or taxi trufi to take them where they need to go in the morning. I don’t know where they are going. I walk carefully to school. There is a high number of dogs that live in the street. Some of the dogs can be a wee bit mean and may have rabies. There are two ways of dealing with the dogs. One way is to pick up a rock which scares them. The other way is to let them walk past you. Both ways are helpful so as to avoid a potential bite. If you know someone that already has the rabies vaccine, then you can push them in front so they can be bitten first.
As I approach the entrance of the Maryknoll Institute, I see men washing cars. They take buckets with ropes attached to them and plunge them deep down into a canal. This canal consistently flows with water. I am not sure where the water comes from but it is a good business. There are always cars in the morning, afternoon, and evening. I walk a little bit closer and see women washing clothes. They are using the same water that the men are using. Then, they hang the clothes. Sometimes, the women chase after kids in between washings. I learned from the guards at the entrance that all of the men and women come from the southern zone. In the southern zone of the city, there is very little water. Since there is little water there, they must come to this area by the school. By the end of the day, they have packed up their things and go back to the southern zone. The routine starts the very next day.

Yoga in Spanish

2010-02-02T07:18:00.000-08:00

Well, I had a little bit of an adventure last night. I, James, and MacKenzie, friends from school, decided to go to a Yoga class. We met at Maryknoll and took a taxi to the yoga studio. None of us knew exactly where the yoga studio was. We trusted that the taxi driver would know how to get there as long as we provided the address. This was a bad idea in retrospect. The taxi driver did not know the address either. We drove around for a while. He stopped twice to ask other taxi drivers about this yoga studio. One driver directed us to the general location of the studio. The second driver told us the exact location. Each time we stopped for directions, we all could hear a string of words coming from the mouth of our taxi driver. We all imagined them to be bad words and being directed toward us. When we arrived at the yoga studio, we tipped our driver at least 15 Bs in addition to the cost of the ride. 15 Bs is roughly 2 American dollars. It was guilt that made us tip more.
We entered into the yoga studio. The yoga studio is a house which is divided into several rooms. There is a different class in each room. This type of setup provided a peaceful and relaxing atmosphere. Tonight, our class was the only one in the studio. First, we needed to pay for the class and find out if there is room in the class. The class was the same amount of money as the tip that we gave to our taxi driver. Fortunately, there was enough room for the three of us. We walked through the wrong door to get to the yoga room. Our instructor politely told us to walk out and go into the side door. We had to remove our shoes, and grab mats, a block, and a blanket. The room was small and we all had to be extremely close to each other. I think there were about 15 people in the class. Our instructor said that the class was going to be in both English and Spanish because of us. We told our instructor that we all were learning Spanish so it would actually be beneficial for her to speak in Spanish. The majority of the class was in Spanish. She insisted to speak in English at various times so we could understand the positions.
This yoga class was a combination of Hatha flow and Yengar. Hatha flow yoga is focused on the fluidity of the movements. Through a repetition of moves, a person becomes familiar with each move and slowly builds up endurance to hold each position longer. I consider Hatha yoga as a great introduction to yoga. It is more for beginners. Yengar yoga is focused on holding each position for 2-3 minutes at a time. In holding each position, a person develops muscle and eventually able to hold the position for a longer length of time. Yengar yoga is definitely for more experienced persons.
The class started with Hatha as a way to warm up our bodies. Then, she began using Yengar. The class was little over an hour. She showed us positions that I have never done. One position was using the block and the wall as a prop. We walked four and half steps on our mat. We then placed our right hand on the block, lifted our left leg up and put our left leg on the wall. Our right leg remained on the mat. My hips still hurt this morning. The class was exhausting and wonderful. She invited us to come back to this class and try other classes at the studio.

Update Part 2

2010-01-21T08:01:00.000-08:00

I spent my month of December saying good-bye to friends and family. One good-bye moment took place in St. Louis. Ah.. St. Louis is a city that I fell completely in love with. It is a city of “firsts.” I volunteered for a year after college through the Gateway Vincentian Volunteers. My volunteer placement site was Places for People. Places for People then became my first job. I got into first car accident and consequently, it was my first car that I took to the junk yard. I became part of the peace and justice movement. I even offered to go to jail for peace. I did not go to jail. However, I met so many people whose focus is creating a just world and will work for it. I became part of a parish that is loving and welcoming to anyone who enters through its doors. I met my friends that have been so crucial for me in getting to this point in my life. I became an adult.

My visit to St. Louis was filled with so much love. I experienced this love when I walked through the doors at Places for People. Every client had their arms open for a hug; their eyes lit up with excitement; their smiles became bigger and bigger. This was only the entrance. I still needed to make my way through the rest of the building. A dance was held in my honor. As I danced with my clients, I kept hearing, “Is she back for good? She lost weight. She looks happy. Did she meet her husband in DC?” I had my favorite lunch. It included lasagna, salad, and jello cake. My favorite part of this Places for People moment was seeing my best friend. She got off work early and came by to see me. We then talked endlessly to our friends at Places. She later took me to our favorite coffee shop and to dinner with our friends. This by far was the best welcome that I could ever receive. It is a moment that I will never forget.

This was only one of my many wonderful experiences in St. Louis. Each experience taught me that I will not be forgotten. Each friend has a story that has helped me get to this moment. Each client at Places for People can remember something about me whether it was my favorite food or riding my bike to work even in the coldest weather. There are so many stories about me that it is impossible to forget me. This is a good feeling to have as I prepare to go to mission. I know that I have a huge community in St. Louis. This huge community is supporting me in wanting me to be the best person that I can be. It is such an amazing moment to have in my memory. I am a lucky girl to be loved by so many people.

Update Long Overdue

2010-01-14T10:16:00.000-08:00

Yikes! It has been a while since I last wrote. Well, I can give an update as to what has happened to me. I celebrated my birthday in November. It is a birthday that I will remember because it was the last one in the United States until I come back from mission. It was special in that the focus was spending time with my brother and his family rather than gift giving. For a brief weekend, it was as if I had been living in New Jersey for my entire life. I was absorbed into all of their family activities. We went to their garden and planted autumn vegetables. I went grocery shopping and chose what I wanted for my birthday breakfast which was raspberry whole wheat pancakes and soy chocolate milk. I went trick or treating my niece who was dressed up as Lady train from Thomas and Friends. I attended mass and received many kisses and hugs from my brother and his family. I went to a birthday party at Chuck E Cheese because it was my niece’s friend’s birthday. After the birthday party, my niece and I played at lot of games while my brother made dinner. Then, after playing and eating dinner, we all walked to CVS and picked out birthday ice cream. It was amazing because my gift from brother involved just being present to him and his family.

Another event in November involved my commissioning as a Franciscan Lay Missioner at St. Camillus Catholic Church in Silver Spring, Md. This experience was absolutely incredible. I as well as my other missioners stood in front of this community. As I stood in front of this community, I was thinking that I am doing this. There is no going back now. I am going to Bolivia to learn a way of life that is completely different from my own. I am going to be present to a people that are strangers to me now, but soon they will be part of my community. I am going to be transformed in ways that are unknown to me right now. My capacity to love is going to increase because my heart will be open to receiving love. I am answering the call to mission.

How did you get here?

2009-10-05T17:13:00.000-07:00

I should use a proper greeting in this first blog post. It is only natural that I introduce myself to all of my readers. My name is Clare Lassiter. I am a missioner in training with the Franciscan Mission Service in Washington, D.C. I have one sister and one brother who is married to an amzing girl. They have the cutest 3 year old I know. My parents are alive and well in Virginia. So, back to answering the question...

Well, I could answer this question in several ways. First, I could say that I drove in a car from St. Louis to Washington, D.C. Next, I could say that my mom gave birth to me. All of these answers are sarcastic in response. However, I like to say that how I decided to become a lay missioner with the Franciscan Mission Service came from an experience in the Dominican Republic.

During my senior year in college, there was an advertisement about participating in an alternative spring break. I had heard of these type of breaks from my sister but never actually participated in one of them. An alternative spring break focused on doing volunteer work either in a foreign country or around the United States. This year, it was in the Dominican Republic. The requirements for participation were fundraising, being open and flexible, and doing some kind of manual labor. I figured that I could totally do this. I have a background in construction due to my dad and I am sure that I raise money for this project. I did not know Spanish but fortunately, the Peace Corp volunteer who helped to coordinate this break was fluent in it.

Although my intention during this week in the Dominican Republic was to help build a bank, I realized the real work was in being present to a family that I had met. I met this family through looking out for Joel, who is their son. He was running barefoot through the construction area which had nails and pieces of wood strewn throughout. All of these things can be painful especially in the foot. I know because it had happened to me as a wee one. I would yell out danger in Spanish because it was the only word that I knew at the time. I showed him the nails and wood and try to model how it is painful to step on it. He was a tough crowd so we ended playing. It involved running on a dirt road and trying to catch each other. I liked this job a lot more than the actual construction of the bank. So, the mom observed me doing this and called out to the Peace Corp volunteer to invite me into her home and show me how she provides for her family. At first, I did not want to do it. I thought that it was degrading to women. Women should have the choice to have a career, babies or do both. After all, it is the 21st century.

I soon got over that attitude and went inside her home. I would be rude if I did not go inside. When I entered into her home, I noticed the smile on her face. She was proud to show me how she makes food for family. She pointed out where she gets the water to wash clotehes. She directed my eyes to look at where she hangs the pots on the kitchen wall. She showed me all the toys that her husband makes for the kids, including Joel. At that moment, I let go of all of my attitudes about women in the Domincan Republic especially her. I saw the Divine in her which I had be reluctant to see before. All I did was to be there in her home with her. I was present to her.

So, how does this story answer the original question? Well, I knew that at that moment, I was ruined for life. I wanted to volunteer on a full-time basis at least for a year in the United States and eventually, I wanted to be an overseas missioner. We all know that volunteering does not pay.