Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving

Thursday night seven of us loaded onto a bus bound for Puerto Vallarta.  I was hoping to purchase my bus ticket to the airport in Mexico City before leaving the bus terminal, but I realized that I had lost my debit card somewhere between Wednesday afternoon and then.  Luckily I had taken out enough cash to get me through the weekend, and I tried not to worry about the lost card—God is still Sovereign even in our clumsiness!  Our bus left around 8:15 pm and we were given a packaged sandwich, a granola bar, a pop or juice and a bottle of water before we boarded.  All of us sat near each other and were giggly for the first 30 minutes of the trip.  The first movie that they showed was “Father of the Bride” in English with English subtitles—weird.  After that they showed three more movies, all dubbed in Spanish.  Most of the girls slept on and off, but I didn’t sleep well at all.  The seats seem like they would be really comfortable: they were wider than regular bus seats and reclined at almost a 140* angle, and there were little footrests that kind of propped your feet up.  I found that the footrest just made my feet fall asleep, and I usually sleep on my side or stomach.  At the end of the almost 10 hour bus ride, I think I slept a collective two hours.  We made it to our hotel around 6:15am and were able to check into the Holiday Inn early and head down to the beach to watch the sunrise.  Four of the girls were able to get into their room right away, but our keys didn’t work.  It turned out it wasn’t our fault; one of the hotel employees tried four or five different times with his little machine and then finally gave us another room at the end of the hall.  After breakfast we laid on the beach all day, soaking in the sun, dipping in the pool, and fending off vendors. 

There are few things more calming than the sound of gentle waves lapping upon the shore.  The problem with Puerto Vallarta is that the sound is constantly being interrupted by hawkers peddling their wares.  Most of the beach is government property except for the roped off areas right in front of the hotels, and people are allowed to sell whatever as long as they are wearing all white.  “Hola, you want hat? Practically free…which one you want…what you want today…Hey beautiful womans, what you like…you want necklace? One peso…off”  The worst by far is when they try to guilt-tip you into buying something.  “You no have money, I no have money; you need buy so I feed family.”  And as soon as you step foot on that beach, regardless of skin or hair color, the barrage begins and does not relent until sunset.  At first I was intrigued, but after a few hours it was just annoying.  I know they are just doing their job, but by the second day I couldn’t even politely say no; I just ignored them.

Friday evening Melanie, Lauren and I went for a horse ride on the beach at sunset.  I have never ridden a horse before and I’ve heard many different reactions to riding horses.  Some people love it and want to own their own or already do, and others are terrified.  I figured that I would just go into it with an open mind and see what happened and just hope I didn’t fall off!  The three horses that were waiting for us were definitely older and seemed pretty docile, and two of them were only slightly larger than ponies.  Unfortunately, I don’t remember the name of my horse, but I really enjoyed the ride.  The wooden saddle wasn’t very comfortable, especially when we galloped a bit, but I would love to ride a horse again.  Our guide walked along beside us for a while until we came to a small stream.  He told us to cross and ride down to the marina and come back.  So I said a silent prayer, leaned back as the horse descended the small bank, leaned forward as he scrambled up the other side and waited for my friends.  We had fun working our way down the beach, seeing people’s reactions to us, and taking pictures of the sunset and each other.  It was a fun adventure.

I treated Saturday pretty much the same as Friday except I wore a t-shirt to keep from burning my chest and back more and without the horse ride.  We met three firefighters from Edmonton, Alberta and played volleyball with them in the afternoon.  Then Melanie, Abby and I scrambled to shower, change, pack and head downtown to dinner before having to catch the 9:00pm bus back to Queretaro.  The bus ride back was a bit worse for me.  I got to sit next to strangers, and the bus only showed one and a half movies—the half was in English… Every time I tried to read I got car sick, and the guy who sat next to me kept invading my seat.  Finally when his head hit my shoulder I sat bolt upright and flicked the seat up so it hit him in the face!  I think I only slept about an hour collectively on the nine hour ride back.  When we pulled into the terminal, Melanie took care of getting us a cab and even paid for my bus ticket to the airport since I still hadn’t found my debit card—which was good because I was NOT coherent due to lack of sleep and an oncoming cold, and trying to think and talk in Spanish was not working for me, just ask Melanie! :) 

Stepping outside we were greeted with a cold wind and temperatures in the low 40s (yes, I’m still working in Fahrenheit…).   The taxi ride took a long time to get home because they had a major street closed for some kind of running event or something, but eventually we got to Melanie’s and then I walked home from there.  After rummaging through my bags again in search of my lost debit card, I took a long, hot shower, popped a few nighttime cold pills and spent the rest of the day slipping in and out of consciousness.

Monday, of course, came way too soon.  The school day went well.  Cristi from HR called and cancelled my debit card and found out that no one had used the card since my last transaction!  DEBTET!  After school Danielle (my AP) drove me to the bank, waited in all of the lines, and helped me get a new card.  Then she even drove me home!  What a gal! 

In summary, while I missed my family for Thanksgiving, I certainly had an adventure and I’m thankful for the opportunity!

Words from Teachers

It’s amazing how far a kind word goes.  After struggling with high flying students and getting discouraged over my lack of success with them, I decided to email the parents of my really good kiddos.  I can think of few things that make me feel better than saying nice things about other people.  I’m only half way through my list of kiddos, but I’ve received many emails back from parents telling me how much they appreciate a nice note instead of a nasty gram.  One of the parents went as far as to email my principal to tell her how much she appreciated my note home!  Despite words of affirmation being my love language, I often forget just how important positive words are to others.    

As an educator especially, it is so important for me to be pouring into my students and encouraging them to grow.  Proverbs 15:4 says, “Gentle words are a tree of life; a deceitful tongue crushes the spirit.”  Have I been speaking gentle words of encouragement to all of my students?  It’s easy to be nice to the kids who always follow directions, but have I been speaking gentle words to my irksome students?  I need to find simple ways to encourage my behavior problem kids, not only to keep from crushing their spirit, but also for my sanity!   

I remember back to comments teachers said to me in school.  In high school, teachers like Ms. King and Mr. Burnett saw something in me past just the frumpy mess, and encouraged me.  So much of who I have become is due to the kind words of teachers.  My English teacher, Ms. King, took a previously homeschooled student who had never written a paper in her life and helped me see that I could be successful.  Not only did she express kind words in class, she made an effort to come to my choir concerts and brag to my parents how wonderful I was in and out of class.  Mr. Burnett, my drama and stage tech teacher praised me for the bold choices I made in monologues and my willingness to learn in everything lighting and sound.  My passion and talent for music was spurned on by all of the choir teachers because they told me I have a talented voice and they gave me constructive criticism on how to become even better.  In college my favorite professors saw talents and told me what they saw.  It’s these people (plus countless others) who took the time to pour words of affirmation into me that have shaped who I am today.  Will I follow in their footsteps with my students?  I sure hope so. 

Dribble on Worship

Worship is more than just melodic phrases and passionate riffs—it is a lifestyle.  When I am cradling my guitar and letting my voice resound, I know I am surrendering my all in worship and I do not have to think about it.  In many ways, music is my love language.  It’s easy for me.  If worship is a lifestyle, am I experiencing the same reckless abandon in my work and relationships as in my music?  This is the part I struggle with.  Do my words and actions outside my music reflect a “reverent devotion and allegiance pledged to God” (NLT Study Bible dictionary)?  I wish I could say my life exudes the characteristics above, but sadly I replace “God” with other objectives: money, comfort, entertainment, recognition.  If only living a life of worship was as simple as the music…  My focus for the remainder of this semester is to strive for the fulfillment of this idea with God.

Lulu

Tonight I want to tell you about Lulu.  Like so many schools, JFK could not subsist without her.  Not only is she the MS school secretary, she is like a second mom to many of the teachers and students in the building.  Lulu is a warm, squat, woman in her early 50s with short-cropped hair that she dyes various colors depending on the season and her mood; she wears bright clothes with tasteful patterns, and her glasses have a hint of red around the rims.  She desires to be an elementary teacher some day but worries she may not.  You see, here in Mexico there is a mandatory retirement age of 65 years old.  12 years stand between Lulu and accomplishing her dream.  Her husband does not earn a high enough income for Lulu to attend education classes full time without working, and JFK is one of the best employment opportunities in the area, so she attends classes a few times a week, works full time at the school, and volunteers in a classroom on Saturdays.  I don’t know how she does it because her job at school would be enough to make me retire early.  In the midst of constant interruption from students, staff, phone calls, and her boss, she somehow manages to accomplish all of her tasks and still pour into the people around her in Spanish or English.  I can spend a whole period just conversing with her about any topic, and I always feel like that was time well spent.  I do not know what the future holds for Lulu, but I trust God with her and pray she will have a classroom of her own before time runs out. 

Homeless

It’s amazing what a paper-trail can do.  Since Tuesday of last week, I have been without running water in my apartment because the water company capped the wrong tenant’s pipes.  After going through the appropriate channels to no avail, I wrote a formal letter of complaint and emailed it to the General Director of my school.  Within 30 minutes I had a reply from her, and miraculously I have water again.  No, the water company has not fixed its error, but the maintenance staff at my school managed rig my piping to feed off of a huge water container above my building, which they somehow managed to fill.   

The people here in Mexico are masters at making things work.  Everywhere you look you will find traces of patch-jobs and ingenuity that would make even Red Green marvel.  Most things here in Mexico are second-hand; just because you have gotten your use out of something doesn’t mean it’s done.  Everything from clothes to vehicles to electronics will see as many lives as a cat is thought to possess. 

Now I’ve always been resourceful (just ask my parents), and that has come in handy here.  The welcome-crate that contained food to get me started when I first arrived is my clothes basket; empty bottles and plastic containers become places to store odds and ends; pillowcases become carrying bags to tote my laundry to the lavandería; a gift bag doubled as a lunch bag for a while; my plastic tub doubles as a coffee table and storage; the list goes on.  When you have little to work with, you are forced to problem-solve and invent solutions with what’s readily available.  I understand this concept as this is how I was raised, and in many ways this makes me feel at home.  But I don’t think I will ever fully feel at home here.

Part of that is because Mexico is so far removed from my comfort zone, but the other part is I’ve come to realize (again) that this world is not my home.  It’s ok to be uncomfortable because it forces me to keep going and try new things.  I would much rather be back in Colorado Springs, sharing a meal with a good friend at Panera Bread, or watching TV with my parents because those things are known.  I don’t think I’m meant to live that kind of life right now.  I feel like the fictional characters that I read about who reach a turning point in their lives in which they can never go back to how things were.  There is sadness in that thought, but I am also encouraged because I feel like there is so much more waiting for me. 

I do not know what my future holds, but I’m excited to see how it unfolds… running water or not! 

I want my mommy!

Some days are “mommy days”, when all you want to do is be hugged by your mom and told everything will be ok.  Unfortunately, the older you get the less those days are accessible, especially when you’re in Mexico and your mommy is in Kenya. 

Let me take a moment to tell you about my mommy (and daddy too).  My parents have decided, at the ripe age of 60+ (if I told you exact years, my mom might kill me…), to pour out their lives for an orphanage in Kenya.  Not only do they devote much of their time and energy gathering money, children’s clothes and other supplies to ship to Kenya, they actually travel to the children’s home to physically love on the kids and staff.  They get to witness first-hand the healing and power of God in the lives of 106 kids (and counting—that’s right Duggers family, you ain’t got nothin’ on this “family”!).  The joys and heartaches that my parents have experienced with this place would overwhelm many to inaction, yet they continue to give their all to help.  Currently, my parents have embarked on a two month endeavor to give the live-in caretakers some time off to visit family and friends back in the US.  With the help of another couple, they are in charge of 106 kids and a slough of staff, including food, bookkeeping, and trips to the health clinic with sick kids.  There are very few people in this world that would be willing to give up their time and money to help kids half-way around the world, let alone people who should be enjoying a selfish retirement.  I am so proud of my parents’ willingness to follow God’s calling in their lives and to endure so many hardships in the process.  If you think about it, please pray for them and the children’s home, and if you want to find out more information about what they are doing, check out this website: http://www.rehemainstep.com/

Moses in Mexico?

This past week I’ve been reading in the book of Exodus.  In many ways I identify with the characters and events, not because I view my life in Mexico like the Israelites’ lives in Egypt, but because I see myself in Moses especially.  I find myself wondering what kinds of blessings eluded Moses because he felt incapable of accomplishing the task God laid before him and told God “No”.  Did Moses ever regret asking God to send someone else and see that God chose Aaron to be His voice?  I also marvel in the fact that God saw something in Moses that He wanted to use and did not let Moses off the hook completely.  Aaron would speak, but Moses was still in charge.  If Moses and I were to meet, I think we would have a lot in common.  Ever since my emotional breakdown I’ve been thinking about what I’ve possibly missed out on.  What fun has escaped me and what opportunities to be a conduit of God’s Grace have I missed because of my attitude and telling God “No”?  At the same time I see that God refuses to let me off the hook.  I may not be doing all that was envisioned for me to complete, but God has brought me to Mexico and I’m here until the first part of July.  Like Moses, I’m timid and unsure that God has chosen the right person for this task.  I have days when I feel like no one listens to me, not my students, not my administration, not my peers.  But I think about when God commanded Moses to lead His people out of Egypt, it wasn’t conditional upon how people reacted to Moses.  In fact, God hardened Pharaoh’s heart and didn’t allow him to listen to Moses.  Right now I feel like God has given me a seemingly insurmountable task—of which I’m not even sure, but I know that I am not responsible for the reactions and responses of others, only my own.  I cannot control all of the obstacles that may cross my path, but I can choose how I respond to them.  Despite my inefficiencies, God has chosen me for this task and I must do the best I can.