Today, I...

(ok, and some were yesterday too but I couldn't figure out a way to make that into a non-awkward-sounding title)

Was taught a new dodgeball-esque type game (I was bad at it)...

Read to the girls from "Harry Potter y La Cámara Secreta" (Chamber of Secrets) for over an hour (reading out loud or being read out loud to is one of my favorite things ever, in any language)...

Was told very mock-concernedly that I should have a third bowl of soup because "Emily, you're too pale" (followed by raucous laughter)...

Answered approximately 800 questions about what "Los Estados Unidos" are like...

Was told that I have to marry a Bolivian man because then I can have half-Bolivian children...

Watched a sweet 13-year-old breastfeed her 5-month-old baby...

Had a conversation with a 14-year-old where she told me that she loves living at Mosoj Yan because she didn't know "the love of God" before and now she does...

Reached to tuck the same girl's hair behind her ear and as I did so saw the scars on her face hidden behind her bangs- she was abandoned as a baby and taken in by a woman who physically abused her for years...

Walked past more beggars than I chose to count, trying not to think about if I'm ignoring them really because I believe there are more strategic ways to help or because I don't want to think about how I don't know what to do with the fact that my God loves them...

Helped with dinner by peeling several potatoes with a knife, each in one long strip (my proudest Bolivian accomplishment thus far)...

Sat on a stool with my host mom chopping said potatoes while Dimelsa (13 year old host sister) stood behind me putting a bunch of tiny braids in my hair...

Watched Cinderella in Spanish with the host sibs...

Read and got comfort from Rilke (and wondered when I turned into such a HNGR cliche)...

Met up with friends of Ryan and Kendra's who are missionaries here for great conversation and a delicious dinner (cooked from the More with Less cookbook, too, yeah!)...

Learned how to say "Mom" in Quechua (my host parents' first language) and started calling my host mother that (Mamai), and heard it returned with the Quechua term for daughter (Wawai).

I realize that this is sort of a random assortment of experiences. Reading Harry Potter and physical abuse; dodgeball and children feeding their children. Laughter and joy, sitting next to pain.
But that's pretty much my time here.

I wouldn't trade any of it.

This week I realized that I am just under half-way through my time in Bolivia. And wondered- is that only half-way through, or already half-way through?

At times it's felt like both, but overall- definitely already. I would give more than I can count to see certain faces or hear certain voices (not just over Skype), but three more months feels short.

I am thankful.

Joy, Too.

This week I started spending part of my time at another Mosoj Yan house- Casa Albergue, the second step in the program. It's for girls who were abused physically or sexually, as well as for girls who've finished their process of drug detoxification at Renovación (the house I've been working at so far).

Gabi, the girl I wrote about last week, finished her Ren process recently and moved to Casa Albergue. I was thrilled to be reunited with her and her adorable 13-month-old, Yoselin, and when I saw them I immediately tossed Yosi up in the air and blew raspberries on her belly. Then I set her giggling self down, and she immediately toddled over to her mother who was sitting nearby.

She toddled over to her mother who was sitting nearby.

Pause...

Wait, did she just- Could she do that at Ren- What!?-

"Que-"
"Yosi!"
"O!!!"

The courtyard errupted in exclamations and hugs for this WALKING baby, as she took her first steps right in front of us.

She spent the rest of the afternoon glowingly teetering between my and others' delighted arms and her proud, beautiful 18-year-old mother's affirming kisses.

I'd spent the morning, as I sort of hinted at in the entries yesterday, feeling sick to my stomach and afraid as I've read this month's HNGR readings on poverty and thought about how far I fall of the mark laid out in the book I claim to live by. As I headed to work that day, what I really wanted to do was go into the bathroom and cry for a little bit.

Instead I got to see and be a part of a baby taking her first steps. It doesn't change anything about what I pray I am learning and I don't want it to.

But there is no shortage of joy here, or in life, either.

Trying To Share Harder Stuff, Part One...

This was actually intended to be in one post with my whole long rambly thoughts on blogging I just posted, but then those got long and rambly. So, thus, its own post.

When I first got here, I tried hard to notice and learn about the ways in which my host family's life was harder because of "the causes and consequences of Third World poverty and hunger within an increasingly interdependent and resource-scarce world" (taken from the HNGR website). I made observations of things like the fact that my host sisters had a much smaller selection of clothing to choose from every day than I did, and I felt great sympathy with my host mom that she had to wash all the floors and do the laundry without conveniences like vacuum cleaners and a washing machine. Man, I thought. Poverty sucks.

(Just for the record, I'm not trying to be funny, these were real thoughts in my first couple weeks).

This is an excerpt from the assessment letter I sent to HNGR after my third week, when I started getting tiny glimpses into ways poverty affects individuals, families, and communities, besides having to wash dishes by hand.

Some background- I don't remember if I mentioned this on here before, but my host parents are actually the foster parents of my three host siblings. Their parents live in Spain with the two oldest of the five siblings (the second of whom is visiting for the summer, which is why I've mentioned having four host siblings). This is a very typical situation in Bolivia. It's incredibly hard to find work here which pays enough to support a family, and often parents leave children with relatives or friends in order to go to the United States or Spain to send money back. Generally the intention is that they'll be able to save enough to return or bring the family over soon, but often it takes way longer than expected. In my family's situation, the kids will be moving to Spain to reunite with their parents and siblings later this fall. But at this point, it's been six years that they've lived here with my host parents (since the littlest one was THREE), so they're really leaving not only their home but the main parents they have known.

"The last two weeks have also been marked by three events/conversations that helped me get a glimpse more into the effects of poverty. An answer to prayer, for which I’ve felt deeply grateful- as well as so sad.

I mentioned that my host siblings’ parents have lived in Spain for the last few years but that they seem very “well-adjusted”. That’s still true, but I’ve gotten to see more of the effects of it (duh, Emily!). Their older brother (15) has come visit- their first time seeing each other in three years. They were all silent with nervousness as they waited for him, and when he walked off the plane all four of them sobbed. Seeing how deeply they’d missed him and how happy they are to all be together made it hit home more just what a sacrifice not getting to live with your family is. Seeing how good he is with them is beautiful, but also makes me ache realizing what they’ve missed by being forced by poverty to grow up separately.

A few days later I had a conversation about it with one of my Spanish teachers, and she gave me more background on what a common situation that is- where families are forced to split up in order for the parents to find work to be able to provide for the kids back home. My siblings really have an ideal situation with such loving foster parents- most of the time the kids are left alone with a more distant relative just checking on them every other week or so, not providing emotional support. She told me about the many teens in her church in such a situation, including one who committed suicide last year. We both cried. The need we all have for parental support is really important to me, and this conversation and my host siblings’ situation made the quote from the June reading about “poverty destroying families” make much more sense..."

Some thoughts on blogging.

I started this blog about a year ago. For most of that time, to my knowledge about 5 people read it, virtually all of whom I either lived with, saw every day, or talked to weekly. They were generally the people I was already processing all the stories and thoughts in here with, anyway. Which might make the concept of a blog redundant, but hey, I like writing and it's fun to give people shout-outs.

Most importantly, I felt happily secure in the fact that everyone who read this blog had long ago made commitments to loving me even when I'm self-centered and overanalytical, rambly, or even (gasp) grammatically incorrect. So while I still maintained my rules about only blogging things I'd already processed in person with God and the people important to me, I was able to write and post when I chose to with minimal self-consciousness, and enjoy the fun of thinking-through-writing in a (very minimally) public forum.

And theennn... I sent this freaking link to virtually everyone I know. Aahhh!! What was I thinking :-)

Quite possibly there are still only five people who read this (judging from the comments I could hardly think otherwise, and yes, you absolutely should all take that as a hint :-)). But technically, a lot of other people COULD be reading it, including my entire extended family and several of my professors. So all of a sudden I find myself feeling self-conscious about what I'm posting, rereading and editing everything 8 times, wondering "how I'm coming across", what people are thinking, if they agree, if they don't agree, if I sound as narcissistic and shallow as I think I do sometimes... Not even to mention the whole I-love-Jesus-but-not-everyone-who-reads-this-does thing! Not that that's ever stopped me from talking about Him, but it is something to think about in terms of word choice here.

I'm committed to trying to keep this as authentic and un-self-conscious as possible, because that's what's fun for me to write. And also because this whole HNGR thing and this whole living-life thing are really so much better shared when they're not insanely censored. I'll never let blogging replace quality conversations with best friends, and there's certain things I just think are unhealthy to be sharing online without the necessary vulnerability and love that comes with intimacy and face-to-face contact. But I do want anyone who wants it to get a real glimpse of a bit of what life here is like, and what's going through my head and my heart- even if it's only a partial glimpse.

However. The problem. Is. That... at 10 weeks in I'm starting to think about harder things, here. Yes... oh no... I think the HNGR angst may be starting a teeny-tiny bit (Crap! I totally thought I was gonna get away without it, too!). Which maybe is the most important stuff to share, in some ways, because part of HNGR is supposed to be that we are changed by the poverty we see and experience and then share those changes and lessons with others.

But I'm not that brave. I'm not even sure I know how to share everything I'm thinking in conversations with my closest friends, so I have no clue how to put into blog posts. Or when it's a good idea to, or when it's not. What would make sense across the ocean, and what's going to sound like angsty over-processing.


This week I actually thought that maybe I should start keeping this blog to pics and funny stories of how much I suck at Spanish, but then I was like, no. I want to at least attempt to write about the harder stuff. Even if it's just tiny bits of it. (Don't worry, you'll still get lots of the Spanish goofs, there are too many not to share...)

So! My whole long-time-to-get-to point is that, while it is hard/impossible for me to ever forget that technically a lot of people COULD be reading this and to not feel self-conscious about that, and what they're all thinking, and what posts I'm going to look back on and wince about... I am going to try to continue to be real, on here. And I humbly ask that all of you would give me grace in my blog-strivings :-).

So. Yes. Those are my thoughts. Thanks for reading, Heather, Laura, Matt, David, and Claire :-).

from "Coming to God: First Days"...

"...Lord, I would run for You, loving the miles for Your sake.
I would climb the highest tree
to be that much closer.

Lord, I will learn also to kneel down
into the world of the invisible,
the inscrutable and the everlasting.

Then I will move no more than the leaves of a tree
on a day of no wind,
bathed in light,
like the wanderer who has come home at last
and kneels in peace, done with all unnecessary things;
every motion;
even words."

-Mary Oliver

Reading poetry here has been so wonderful. Mary Oliver rocks and I'm planning on starting some Rilke soon.

Moments...

• Last week as I was getting to leave Ren one morning, one of the women workers asked me if I wouldn´t mind accompanying one of the girls to a doctor´s appointment in the city. I said of course, but inwardly I sighed... I was REALLY hoping to have extra time that morning to go sit quietly in a plaza and read and pray, see, in order to fill my heart with love for the girls... and I wanted to have lots of energy to put into my full day of Spanish classes... so that I could better learn how to communicate... with the girls...

So I mean, it´s totally obvious why I´d be kind of annoyed at being asked to actually help and spend time with one of them...

And of course, as generally happens whenever I am preemptively annoyed about something, it turned out to be totally the highlight of my week. (Note to self, don´t be such a jerk, kthanks).
I went on the bus with Gabriela and her 13-month-old. The women had just asked me to get her there on the bus and said I didn´t need to stay, but when we got there Gabi asked if I wanted to come in with her. A) Duh, and B) By then I was in a better mood and was really enjoying the chance to have one-on-one time with her (my general favorite way to connect with people, and a rarity in a situation where 7 girls live in one not-huge home and aren´t allowed to leave the house or yard without a chaperone...)
So we went in, the appointment took maybe fifteen minutes, and then we headed back to the street. At this point I was supposed to send her home, but instead I totally broke every Mosoj Yan rule about equal treatment, etc., etc., and was like, "So, want to get something to eat?!". She was like YEAH! So we bought this potato-sausage-sauce mixture that´s really popular here and fresh-squeezed orange juice from a street vendor and just stood on the corner holding the baby and talking. I LOVE QUALITY TIME!!! She´s probably the quietest of the girls, but she really opened up in that situation... on our way to the doctor´s we had run into a girl she had known before she came to Mosoj Yan, and I asked her about her friends and she told me about them and how she felt about her friendships now at the house, etc. It was just wonderful.
And ever since then she´s acted way more comfortable with me. It´s great. She´s still kind of shy when I come in but then she´ll look up and give me a big smile and she always comes to sit by me and cuddles up a bit when we all watch a movie or something. I love it.

• My host dad is completely set on me meeting and marrying a Bolivian man. Oh, how I would love to tell you that I am joking, but no. Last week a neighbor asked me how old I was and I started to say "Twenty on-" and he leaned over and interrupted, "Y, lista para casarse!!" ("And, READY FOR MARRIAGE!!")

My phone rang this morning and he goes, "Quien es?! Quien es??!! Tu CHICO?? Chico boliviano para casarte?" ("Who is it, who is it- your boyfriend?? A Bolivian boyfriend for you to marry??!"). (It was not my Bolivian boyfriend, in case you´re wondering. He only facebooks me... JUST KIDDING, I do not have a Bolivian boyfriend, I promise.)

He has also taken to introducing everyone to me by way of explaining what eligible bachelors they´re related to. As in:
"Oh, Emiliana, meet my cousin´s wife´s sister. She has a son, twenty-two years old, VERY handsome boy, speaks perfect English... well... speaks some English, but VERY handsome boy, would LOVE to get married..."
I am not exaggerating. That exact conversation actually happened (as well as several others following the same format). With the potential mother-in-law standing by nodding and beaming at me proudly. It was just fantastic.

• My host family is also causing me to completely break the Wheaton Community Covenant. And no, not the way you´d expect when studying abroad in a country with virtually no drinking age. We have been playing cards after dinner every night for hours and they are big fans of everyone putting in one Boliviano (about the equivalent of 15 cents) per game. Yes... that´s right... Emily Goldberg is GAMBLING. Don´t tell Dr. Litfin. I´ll claim it´s a cultural experience. Trust me, with my complete lack of ability at card playing, I´m not reaping any earthly rewards from it. I had to drop out the other night or I wouldn´t have had change to get to work in the morning.
  

• This one makes me so happy... My 13 year old host sister had an assignment for her English class to learn an American song. So every day after work and school for the last few weeks, we´ve sat on my bed and gone over and over all the words to Gotta Have You by the Weepies. I know, right, I so would. She has it down pat, I´m so proud. And the hilarious thing is that now the entire household has heard it so much (she sings it all. the time.) that the other siblings all know most of the words just by default. The other day my 15 year old way-too-cool host brother was peeling tomatoes and all of a sudden broke out in, "OH, sach a PRIMA DONNA, sor-ree fo myy-self, but green..." I was like, heck yes.

Thankfully, I have long ago proven I cannot get sick of that song, or else I would probably be a little nuts by now. (Unfortunately, I can´t say the same for my roommates, who had to hear it in the apartment all year long, or Matt and David, who had to listen to it for the better part of a week´s drive through Canada. I heard a rumor that it once came on when David was in a van with a bunch of RAs and he screamed and made them turn it off...)

(I have to just say, the fact that I have my host family singing the Weepies and my Spanish teacher reading Henri Nouwen, makes me feel that no matter how the next four months go, my time in Bolivia could not have been in vain. Now I just need everyone to be addicted to Caribou Coffee, praying from Celtic Daily Prayer, and crying over Grey´s Anatomy episodes... They already all kiss each other on the cheek, so I can´t claim credit for that one.)

• So a good amount of American music plays everywhere here, but it´s pretty hilarious what gets chosen. I´ve heard everything from the Fray to David Bowie. This week I was on a bus listening to the Grease soundtrack, of all things. And the other day everyone in my Trufi-taxi turned and stared at me because I started cracking up when I heard, "Her name was LO-la... she was a SHOW-girl!!". I mean, really? In Bolivia?

• And finally... I FOUND A CAFE I LIKE!!!!! This is huge for me. I know I´m ridiculous, but for whatever reason, coffee shops are generally just one of the easiest places for me to relax and connect with God in my daily life, and have been all through college. I don´t know why, they just are, and I had really been missing my Caribou and Starbucks hours here. It´s right on the corner of Cochabamba´s main plaza (which means it´s great for mountain-gazing and people-watching, too). In order to beat crazy traffic, I have to get into the city about an hour before I need to be at Spanish class anyway, so I´ve been going there to grab a quiet table by a window on the second floor, drink a vanilla latte, and read my Bible and journal. It´s lovely, and I can seriously feel a huge difference in my overall feeling of sanity. And my HNGR guilt for hanging out in a cafe is quenched by the fact that it´s dangerous to sit in a plaza that early in the AM anyway, plus I´ve almost only ever heard Spanish there so I still feel authentic.

Although one time a bunch of American tourists came in, and I was so bitter. I was like "YOU ARE RUINING MY ILLUSION OF BEING HARD CORE! LEAVE MY BOLIVIAN CAFE, PLEASE!!". I know, I´m so obnoxious. I like pretending that I´m not really a short-term gringa here like everyone else.

• Well, this post is already long, but writing about my cafe (love love) reminded me that I´ve been wanting to post this sweet prayer beautiful Heath wrote in the journal she made me for my time here (have I mentioned that my roommates rock?). She wrote above it that it reminded her of me and me "coffee house quiet times" :-), so it seems appropriate!

"Somehow, Jesus, I like praying with a cup of coffee in my hands. I guess the warmth of the cup settles me and speaks of the warmth of Your love. I hold the cup against my cheek and listen, hushed and still.
I blow on the coffee and drink. O Spirit of God, blow across my little life and let me drink in Your great life. Amen."
-from Richard Foster. Isn´t that awesome?


Well, on that note... love and miss you all!

The "Two Emilys"... and what I'm learning from them...

Every two weeks I have to send a self-assessment letter of my time to the HNGR office, describing everything I'm doing and how I'm feeling about it, etc. In my latest one, I described myself as "incandescently happy". It's pretty true. Definitely not all the time! Sometimes- often- I am grumpy, exhausted, sick of trying to speak another languge, thinking longingly of the concept of personal space (not a Bolivian value!), etc. But most of the time, guys, I seriously am having such a blast. I love this city. I absolutely adore my work with the girls, my host family rocks, and I couldn't be more excited about my independent study. I'm having a sweet, sweet time.

Yet, about two days after I wrote the incandescently happy remark, I was sitting on a bus after work, leaning against a window, gazing out at the streets going by, and thinking sad thoughts. I was thinking to myself about how in a few weeks all of my friends are going to be back at Wheaton without me. And picturing their faces (as well as many in Maryland!) and thinking how much I freaking MISS THEM! And thinking how great it would feel to have a hug from someone who's known me longer than two months. And imagining how much fun I would have if right now I was running errands with Mary, or helping take care of my beautiful mentor Mary and her new BABY, or going to downtown Naperville with my roommates, or studying at Caribou with Matt. *BIG SIGH*. (I know, right, they should make a Lifetime movie about me).

And then I remembered that I had just described my time here as wonderful and myself as incandescently happy. Whoops!

The thing is, I really was (am!). I meant that remark and I think it is true. Yet, as I pondered the direction my thoughts had taken on that bus ride, I realized that they represented a pretty consistent pattern for me... that of having what almost seems like two separate experiences here, in my mind. There are two Emilys in Bolivia!!!! One is ecstatic with disbelief at the uniqueness of this experience. She is, though frustrated at times, truly excited to be learning a new language. She loves exploring this city, doing homework in parks, having quiet times in cafés, going home at the end of the day to wrestle with host siblings and be loved on by host parents. She's making friends with missionaries and Bolivian college students, she's falling in love with the girls at work. She can navigate public transportation (well, usually) and she knows which street vendors have the best empanadas. She is overwhelmingly grateful to be doing HNGR, and thrilled to be in Bolivia!

Yet there is- I won't even call it an undercurrent, because that suggests that it's deeper than Incandescently Happy Emily, which isn't true. But there is another, very real side to this experience. Where I am checking the calendar on my cell phone almost every day to count weeks and see if I can rearrange my days off to get home a little bit earlier. Where I am constantly remembering the last weeks of the semester and my time at home and how it felt to be with my family and my closest friends, and rehearsing favorite conversations and memories over and over in my mind. Incandescently Happy Emily is too present now, two months in, for me to wish I hadn't done this. I really do love it. But the Other Emily is here, too. (She doesn't have a name yet. Any ideas? Did Jane Austen, from whom I stole the incandescently happy remark, make any apt descriptions for homesickness?)

So, I'm learning two main things from the Two Emilys.

One, is that I have a constant choice which Emily I choose to be. I could have continued that bus ride (it's long!) thinking sad thoughts and sending myself to another place in my mind instead of being in the incredible opportunity that I am. Or, I could choose to give myself a little shake, remind myself of where I am, and go grab a papaya juice, call a Bolivian friend to make plans, try out my newest Spanish words on someone, and head home to play a loud and competitive game of cards with the host fam.

I've thought much about this quote from Henri Nouwen:

"...It is important to realize how often we have had chances to be grateful and have not used them. [In every circumstance], there are very concrete reasons to offer thanks: be it with words, with flowers, with a letter, a phone call, or just a gesture of affection... we are faced with the freedom to make a decision. We can decide to be grateful or to be bitter. We can decide to recognize our chosenness in the moment or we can decide to focus on the shadow side. When we persist in looking at the shadow side, we will eventually end up in the dark... When we keep claiming the light, we will find ourselves becoming more and more radiant."

I have a constant choice here, to choose to be grateful to God for this opportunity or to be consistently focusing on the hard parts and what I'm missing. It's not just something I get to name as my M.O. for my time and call it done; every single day, here, sometimes multiple times in a day, I need to be re-choosing gratitude, re-choosing wonder and thankfulness and presence here, in Bolivia.


There is a second thing I am learning from the Two Emilys, though, particularly from the second, sadder (still unnamed) Emily. Often, that sadness and lack-of-presence is reflecting my choice not to be thankful. Or because it's just easier to think about people from home than to go to work a little early or go over the Spanish subjunctive one more time.
But sometimes, it is real and actual pain, and I need to pay attention to that. Though it's not about Bolivian culture or whatever, missing home and people from home IS an actual part of my HNGR experience, whether I think it should be or not. My BFF Sarah sent me wise encouragement to "make a conscious effort to sit with and be attentive to your painful experiences". At times when I can manage to do this without being self-pitying (which isn't always, because I am really quite impressively good at self pity!), I have tried to think about what exactly is going on in my heart and mind when I am longing for home and specific people so much. I've learned a lot from that (how much God meets me in my loneliness, and how much I fear change, for starters, but I'll save those for other posts).

One of the biggest things that's happened from reflecting on those things, though, is that this time has turned into a season of total rejoicing over my relationships from home (Sorry, I know "Season of rejoicing" is complete Christianese, but it's true anyway :-)). I remember this from freshman year of college, too, actually, that being a step away from my support system resulted in a new gratitude for it and recognition of just how incredibly blessed (or "charmed" as Matt Maloy put it once) my life has been. I didn't expect this to be one of my main lessons on HNGR, but the theme of amazement and thankfulness for all of the people at HOME is weaving itself throughout my entire time here.

So, I guess Second Emily isn't totally useless, as long as I can keep her from whining too much :-).

Mountains; or, I Can't Believe I Get To Live Here!

Cochabamba is completely surrounded by mountains. Like, if you stand anywhere in the whole city and slowly turn 360 degrees, you see mountains.mountains.mountains.mountains.mountains, the whole time.

It is hard to put into words just how much I completely freaking love this.

When walking down the steps five feet from my bedroom door I see mountains. When I'm having my quiet time in a café in the morning I look out the window and see mountains. When I'm reading in a plaza. When I'm running to catch the bus. When I'm buying lunch or walking to work or talking to the girls.... mountains, mountains, mountains, mountains, mountains! All the time!

I walk about a kilometer from the bus stop to work every afternoon... straight into this view:


Sometimes at that point in the day I'm tired or in a bad mood. Doesn't last too long during that walk.

I took these picture sfrom the top of the stairs right near my bedroom:



On my second Sunday night here I was homesick to the point of tears. I walked a few feet down the hall and stood by myself, cried a little bit, and just looked. For whatever reason, looking at the mountains helped.


Earlier this summer I sent a friend who's also a 'mountain person' Psalm 121. Now on harder days, I, too, have daily reminders of those words... "I lift my eyes up to the hills; where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth...".


And on normal days, when I'm just doing HNGR readings in the plaza or chillin' with the Ren girls in the yard or whatnot, and I happen to glance up past the office buildings and see the mountains peeking out beautifully, I just think to myself...


"I CANNOT BELIEVE I GET TO FREAKIN' LIVE HERE!"