Ingrid.

So, I just wanted to say a great big thank you to those of you who have extended your gentle and
accepting support to my exploration of harder emotions on this HNGR journey. And by "gentle and accepting support", I really mean, "sharing your completely uncensored glee at the prospect of Emily Goldberg being even a tiny bit angsty" (you know who you are, SARAH AND BREANNE).

Seriously, it is good for me to try to write about the harder things I am seeing and feeling and experiencing. It helps me process it and I like trying to share stuff.

But at the moment?
I am SO UNBELIEVABLY SICK of writing about HNGR angst.

So, instead, today I'm going to write about Ingrid Michaelson.

I love her. Really. If we met on the street, I promise we would be best friends within an hour because she is adorable and I would win her over to Emily's Land of Pursuing Friendships With Adorable People.

I've listened to her fairly incessantly on HNGR. I love her unique voice and that of her back-up singer, I love her quirky lyrics, I love her melodies that are both beautiful and fun. "The Way I Am" helps me wake up, "Sky" makes me dance, "The Chain" makes me WEEP, "Keep Breathing" is beautiful, and I'm going to dance to "Giving Up" at my wedding. I'm totally serious. Can YOU think of a more romantic song than pledging to always stay together, even if I "never let you win/and chase you with a rolling pin"? I know right. That is commitment. Heck yes.

And you know, she helps cheer me up when I just wanna be okay, be okay, be okay, I just wanna be okay today, and she helps me experience Bolivia on a deeper level when I just wanna feel today, feel today, feel today, I just wanna feel something today.

She really helps me orient my heart towards service, too. I mean, after listenin' to some Ingrid, I feel SO motivated to give you my sweater if you are chilly, or buy you Rogaine if you are losing all your hair.

And she helps me affirm my love for my parents. Mom and Dad, get excited. If I get rich someday, I'm TOTALLY gonna buy you a home in the South of France.

If you're reading this and feeling a bit confused, or even a little bit bruised, don't you worry there my honey. I'll soothe your worried looks... by telling you that YOU JUST NEED MORE INGRID IN YOUR LIFE!!!

Which I have made quite easy for you because two of her songs are on the playlist at the bottom of my blog.

I also am extending this post as a gift to all current and future HNGR interns, to help with their self-esteem. In those moments where you are lying sweating under your mosquito net, thinking how you are just a TERRIBLE HNGR intern because you are NOT grateful for your mosquito net but in fact find it claustrophobic, and you are SICK of trying to learn the local language, and unlike some earthy spiritual annoying intern in this week's newsletter who wrote a beautiful dissertation on how much she discerned the Holy Spirit in the tribal drums this week, YOU spent your whole indigenous church service thinking how much you wanted to sing Chris Tomlin...

You can remember how I not only (gasp) listened to AMERICAN MUSIC while on my HNGR internship (on my IPOD, no less), and not only (gasp) UPDATED MY BLOG regularly, but also (unbelievable), UPDATED THE AMERICAN MUSIC ON MY BLOG.

And then you can think to yourself, "Well, I may suck as a HNGR intern, but at least I'm not Emily Goldberg. How did she even get IN??!!".

I promise that when I glide away from Bolivia on soapy heels, I'll come home with nice sweaters and teach you all how to dance.

*happy sigh* It feels nice to not be angsty. Deeper entries to come later this week.

Thanks for taking me the way I am, y'all.

Why I Love Matt Hiltibran

(I mean there are so many reasons...)

But this email conversation's a pretty good example:

Me: (insert near nervous breakdown venting here, ending with:) ...and I just wish I could schedule an hour just for venting out all of my HNGR questions without even expecting a response...

Matt's reply: We totally should. How's Wednesday?


Um, dear God, thanks for giving me the best friends ever, love, Emily.

I miss my BFF.

(EDIT: The pic finally loaded! This would be Matt holding an ice pack on my face. I had dental surgery this summer and he flew in from Ohio to spend two days watching Grey's Anatomy, making me cold packs, and laughing at me as I jealously watched him eat all the delicious things I couldn't. This AND he puts up with my HNGR angst. True friendship.)

Another "Seriously".

“Do not despise your place,
your gifts,
or your voice

for you cannot have another’s,

and it would not fulfill you if you could."

-Henrik Ibsen

(Hat tip: Lovely Sarah K (Current HNGR Intern, Uganda))

Two Helpful Conversations I Had Yesterday, on the "September Blues"

1. With my patient and timely God, via Psalm 73:

(I think "yet" may be my favorite word in the Bible after rereading this passage. Maybe tied with "still"...)

"Then I realized that my heart was bitter,
and I was all torn up inside.
I was so foolish and ignorant- I must have seemed like a senseless animal to You.
YET, I still belong to You; You hold my right hand. (Thank GOODNESS)...
My health may fail, and my spirit may grow weak,
but God remains the strength of my heart; He is mine forever." (vs 21-26)

Dear Jesus, thank You for still liking me even when my attitude sucks. Love, Emily.

And...

2. With my hilarious and lovely Elise, via Gchat:


Elise: it will get better

me: im not crazy?

Elise: never!!

I've been reading sylvia plath lately

she was crazy

not you
me: lol

Elise: its all relative :)

Dear Elise, thank you for putting it all in perspective (and making me laugh). Love, Emily.

Seriously.

"...Every summer the lilies rise
and open their white hands until they almost
cover the black waters of the pond. And I give
thanks but it does not seem like adequate thanks,
it doesn't seem
festive enough or constant enough, nor does the
name of the Lord or the words of thanksgiving come
into it often enough. Everywhere I go I am
treated like royalty, which I am not. I thirst and
am given water. My eyes thirst and I am given
the white lilies on the black water. My heart
sings but the apparatus of singing doesn't convey
half of what it feels and means...
there is everywhere the luminous sprawl of gifts,
the hospitality of the Lord and my
inadequate answers as I row my beautiful, temporary body
through this water-lily world."


-Mary Oliver, from "Six Recognitions of the Lord"

Ask the questions...

So, normally, when we have a paper to write for school, the traditional thought process is that it´s going to be about conclusions. Right? We all know the drill. Thesis statement, expand on three supporting facts, wrap it all up with a nice conclusion paragraph...

Yeah, so, every month for HNGR we have to write a 5 or 10 page paper responding to some quotes from our assigned readings for the month. I finished my August one on Saturday and sent it in.

My final 6 page paper had FIFTEEN question marks in it. Almost every single paragraph ended in a question mark... and the one that didn´t ended in the sentence, "I don´t know" (and was preceded by a sentence which ended in a question mark). And we´re not talking like, question marks at the end of rhetorical questions I used to make my brilliant (conclusive) points... The paper had fifteen question marks because that´s what the responses of my heart AND mind are to the readings this month, and to the specific quotes on which I was writing. Questions, questions, and more questions. A few conclusions ("God cares about the poor??"), but I´m slightly scared to make them because they´re DEFINITELY going to lead me to even more questions ("So what do I do now?").

After I sent the paper to the HNGR office, I sent a personal email to Dr. Robinson, HNGR´s faithful director. Basically just pointing out everything I just wrote here- uhh, I feel like normally I try to make statements when I write papers! But I´m not in a place to do that right now. Is that okay?? Is that normal? What the heck, please?

He wrote back that yes, it is fine and even great that everything here is leading me to questions- quote from his email, "I think the hallmark of a liberal arts education is not to provide you with the answers, but to teach you to ask the questions. This is also, I believe, the essence of the life of faith...". I love that. (Maybe because it´s also the essence of the life as the daughter of two psychotherapists! ;-)).

And he included this quotation from Rilke:

"...Be patient towards all that is unsolved in your heart
And try to love the questions themselves
Like locked rooms and like books
That are written in a very foreign tongue.
Don’t search for the answers,
Which could not be given to you now,
Because you would not be able to live them.
And the point is, to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps then, someday in the future,
You will gradually, without even noticing it,
Live your way into the answer."

OK then. I´ll keep asking them. And trying to live them, even if falteringly.

(This entire interaction, by the way, is a really good example of why I love Wheaton professors SO much. They really are just that amazing.)


OK, so I wasn´t planning on including this part, but, I just decided that I´m going to!... here´s one of the quotes I was responding to, and a few of the questions I am asking, in my paper and my heart.

“God always takes His stand unconditionally and passionately on this side and on this side alone: Against the lofty and on behalf of the lowly; against those who already enjoy right and privilege and on behalf of those who are denied and deprived of it". -Karl Barth. How do you react to this?

Bits from my paper:
"My first reaction to this quote, and to all other ones similar to it in other pieces of writing and especially in the Bible, is to be really freaked out." (Yeah, I used the phrase "freaked out" in a formal essay. How great a writer am I, not.)
"...Deep down, don´t my lifestyle decisions say that I believe that I am “different” from the people I see here? That somehow, my “needs” are different- I just need more. Or even that I secretly believe that I deserve more??"
"...And when it comes to “identification”, if my life is structured around avoiding suffering, how am I going to be able to truly identify with those who suffer?"
"...Do the poor know my Lord in a way I don’t… are there sides to Him they get to see that I cannot?"


And in case anyone´s wondering what these readings are, there have been several but the biggest one was:

Missions and Money by Jonathan Bonk
as well as The Scandalous Message of James: Faith Without Works is Dead by Elsa Tamez.

My Friends Rock

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Emily. Emily was having sort of a tired and stressful week. One morning she woke up, read her Bible, checked her email, and then walked to work, Trying (not necessarily successfully) to Be Cheerful.

Emily's cheerfulness factor soon got much easier to maintain, though, because upon arriving at the office to check in, the secretary handed her a package that had arrived in the mail the day before.

What! thought Emily, A PACKAGE! She then opened it, finding art supplies, chocolate(!), and beautiful letters. (And this amazing drawing):


And then Emily cried. And all of a sudden it wasn't as hard to be cheerful. And not only did the week get better, but Emily got reconvicted about how completely filled with undeserved joy and love and friendship her life is, and suddenly the good attitude came more out of gratitude than gritted teeth.

OK, writing in third person's getting a little annoying.

Not only is getting mail ever SO encouraging, but it really was perfect timing in terms of brightening a down-ish time. The letters of course are always the best part... and they also included this new favorite quote:

"...May joy be with you and the girls. May your capacity to love increase beyond all expectations. And may chocolate facilitate in all of these things..." -NR.

(yeah, they sent me DOVE CHOCOLATE... did I mention the FRIENDS ROCKING PART?!)

Wow. Amen. And thank you for providing me with a new life prayer.

However, once I brought the package home it became clear that I may not even be the person happiest about it...


Yes. Sending art supplies pretty much has you at superhero status now in this house. The kids immediately wanted to know where they came from and when I said, "My great friends Alex and Nate" they set right to work...

(They LOVED the orange pencil sharpener btw, brilliant idea... There have been a few fights over who "gets" to sharpen dull pencils :-)).

I bit my lip SO HARD to keep from cracking up but I couldn't help it... I laughed out loud with absolute joy when I saw that they each drew little pictures of "the three of you" (I tried to include a closer-up shot but it won't load...). If that isn't the cutest thing in the entire world EVER I don't know what is. If you guys ever want to come to Bolivia, you have a fan club ready and waiting, trust me. We've spent all week coloring in the living room after dinner.

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am so blessed and lucky.

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!"

Hard to love...

I´m here for six months.

I kept thinking that sentence to myself about every five seconds throughout my first week or two here, generally followed by the thought, "WHAT WAS I THINKING??!!!". In those first few overwhelming days, six months seemed interminable, ridiculous, like it was the longest stretch of time I´d ever spent anywhere ever and it was never ever ever going to end. (If you can´t tell, what my mother calls "Em's tendency to be melodramatic" happily survived its travel across the Equator quite intact...)

Ever since I accidentally blinked and found myself six weeks in, however, the phrase "six months" hasn´t felt nearly as long. I mean, sometimes it does, but other times as I ponder it I realize that it´s actually a relatively short amount of time.

What's really taken me by surprise is that so often I think "six months", when I find myself starting to love things here.
I've been finding little places around Cochabamba that feel like "mine", you know- this plaza, that café; I'm starting to feel at home in this city, and then I think, "Six months, I'm only going to be here for six months". Who knows if I'll ever come back to Cochabamba- how much am I going to miss these streets, these parks?
I start opening myself up to the girls at Mosoj Yan and taking the first steps at forming the kind of relationships I have with my high school girls from home. Then my mind goes to December and how, unlike with my girls from home, these relationships sort of have a time limit. What does forming close relationships look like when I don't have two or three years to plan on with them?

With virtually every relationship I've ever formed before I've had at least the hope of permanency... lived in the same town my entire life, went to a four-year college. I don't generally have a hard time loving people or places quickly. I've been surprised by how hard it is for me here to fully let myself love and be loved without paying attention to the mental countdown in my head. I've been really surprised at how present the temptation is to guard myself, to stay just a tiny distance away so that I can have a Really Great and Positive Cross-Cultural Experience, but not be in great pain next semester. Or maybe even a little bit of pain, forever.

My great friend Nate, who spent last year in Ethiopia on a HNGR internship, copied the following quote into my HNGR devotional book (emphasis' are mine):

"Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."

-C.S. Lewis

I prayed that quote for him and the other interns last year, and a couple weeks ago I copied it into the first page of my journal here because I realized I needed to be praying it for myself, too. I've found myself turning to it frequently, rereading the words and reminding myself of the charge, love and be vulnerable.

It's really the only choice...

I really like this prayer.

"O Tree of Calvary,
send Thy roots deep down
into my heart.
Gather together the soil of my heart,
the sands of my fickleness,
the stones of my stubbornness,
the mud of my desires;
bind them all together,
O Tree of Calvary;
interlace them with Thy strong roots;
entertwine them with the network
of Thy love."

-from Celtic.

Pics!!

Since I fail miserably at sending out email updates (for some reason blogging takes less emotional energy, I think because I can pretend no one will actually read it...), here's some pics of my host fam and house! Ones from the internship will come later, after my awesome friend Danae posts them on FB for me to steal...

Cute cute host parents (Don Nicanor and Doña Felicidad).


Beautiful host sisters... Dimelsa, age 13, and Noemi ("Nena", or Baby), age 9 (but 10 on Wednesday, she would want to make sure I pointed out.)


Crazy host siblings. The boys are Ivan (11) and Danny (15). Ivan was not quite as into the whole posing-for-the-camera thing as everyone else...


My happy rooommmm! I love it.


Nena cooking "cena" (dinner).


Sisters knitting on my bed... I'm not sure why they both look kinda grumpy in this pic. They're not, I promise.


See, now Dimelsa's happy like normal :-) She's so much fun.


Me with Nena. This is a common position. "Caigame!" ("Carry me!") was one of the first phrases I learned to recognize quickly...


Me with my host dad. When he sees me he says, "Loca!" which means "Crazy girl!" and I say "Loco!" ("Crazy man!") back, and then we laugh and he kisses me on the head. I love my host parents a lot. Note my host mom cooking bread in the back... we eat A LOT of bread (see a few pics down...)


Me with the padres.


And here they are both shoving bread in my face. While this picture was taken as a joke, the sentiment behind it (trying to feed me ALL THE TIME) definitely is very for real. Trust me.


The beautiful prayer flag Sarah sewed as my going-away present... it hangs above my bed and I pray the prayers on it in the mornings.


So... that's a visual glimpse into my Bolivian life! It took so ridiculously long for the pics to load it may be the last one shared for awhile...

LOVE and miss y'all. So much. :-)

Bits!

I should probably write a blog entry actually really detailing what I'm DOING here. Except... I'll put it all in an email update. That I'm going to send out. Eventually. Really!

But um, here's a small, completely random sampling of some of my HNGR activities...

*Making homemade pizza in the kitchen of Renovación (the girls home I'm working in!) with the girls while rocking out to Beatles music, some of which was in Spanish (hilarrrious)
*Getting my nails painted by the girls- they look awesome.
*Learning the plot lines to several Bolivian soap operas after weeks of watching them every afternoon with the girls AND at night with my host family... and worse, starting to care ("Oh my gosh! I hope her half-brother survives the drowning or else her mother will lock her in the wardrobe again!"). I can now sing the theme song to the channel ("Más cercaaaa de tííííí!") perfectly. It makes my host sister laugh.
*Hiking up a gorgeous mountain with a bunch of other students and teachers from my language school on Saturday. This was such a sweet day... beautiful scenery, fun people, and we spoke in Spanish but it was low-pressure because we're all learning.
*I saw a bunch of monkeys in a tree!
*I also learned how to squeegee a kitchen floor.
*Which is more fun than squeegeeing the bathroom floor... WHILE showering. Which I have also, by necessity, learned how to do.
*I'm so busy and really enjoying myself that I'm hardly homesick at all, which REALLY surprises me (and probably surprises those of you who walked me through my weepy freshman year even more!). But in those moments when I am? Oh man, if someone handed me a plane ticket home (or to Wheaton, Alabama, or Hungary, for that matter!), oh MAN, would I take it. Good thing no one has yet, because an hour later when my host sibs come to cuddle on my bed or I'm cracking up with one of the girls at work, I think six months isn't SO long after all :-)
*I brought a Bilingual Bible, which is really nice to have for church and reference... but to my surprise I NEVER want to read the Spanish side. I've actually avoided it like the plague. Jesus-in-English for me, please. I told this to one of the missionary couples I'm getting to know and they said it's actually very normal... for people in culture shock, we want to pray in our "heart language"! Makes me understand even more why Bible translation into even tiny dialects is SUCH an important thing,
*I am SO SO excited about my independent study, which is just starting to take shape. I think it's gonna be about the girls' perceptions of s-xuality (spelling it that way so I won't get censored on y'all's bloglines)... what messages does s-x send to them, what are they looking for in it? Still early stages but fascinating and important to me, and hopefully helpful to MY's HIV/AIDS prevention department- one of my goal's for the project.
*Last night (I'm staying at Reno with the girls overnight for two weeks, along with another volunteer, while the normal woman who does it is on vacation- definitely different and hard as well as really special... more on it later... maybe)... ok so last night, we watched Pride and Prejudice in Spanish!! The Keira Knightley version!! I love it so much. We get to finish tonight. I'm excited.
*I have lost enough weight in the last month that my clothes noticeably don't fit. Like, if I stand still long enough my jeans fall down to an inappropriate degree. I was slightly concerned about this as I'm more or less doing nothing but eating uncomfortably large portions of carbohydrates at every opportunity, but my Spanish teacher reassured me that it's normal... yes they eat nothing but carbs here, but it's all natural and fresh food. So just by cutting high fructose corn syrup and preservatives, etc., out of your diet (without meaning to), you lose weight. I decided that buying new jeans would be kind of a hassle, though, so my strategy for dealing with this is to get addicted to this Bolivian chocolate bar called Gobanzo. Oh. M. Gee. They may be my favorite thing about HNGR thus far. OK, maybe not, but they're pretty fantastic. I'm averaging about three a day and thus expect my clothes to be fitting again in no time! ;-)
*My host parents pat me on the head and call me "mi hijita" ("my little daughter") a lot. I love it.

Moooore Birthday!

This week was (the awesome) Chester Anthony Mancini's 21st birthday!


Super sadly, we were not all together to take him out for bowling and Chinese food, as is the ultra-hardcore Wheaton College version of celebrating a 21st birthday. So he must get a blog post of old photos instead.

Chet and I had an awkward meeting during orientation week freshman year (if you really want to hear the story, y'all can hunt him down because this is my blog and I like to make myself sound cool, not awkward. Usually.), after which I turned to my roommate and said, "That guy thinks I'm weird now, doesn't he?". To which she replied, "Umm... well... it's okay, you'll probably never see him again."

Thankfully, her prediction was wrong. Not only did I see him again but we developed one of my closest and most fun and encouraging friendships at Wheaton.

This is despite the fact that we are "fundamentally different" (his words, not mine). They came in the context of going out for dinner one Sunday night. He, as the driver, wanted to know something lame like where we were intending on going. I, as the planner, of course had thought we would all just decide that once we were actually on the road. When he expressed concern that he didn't actually know which way to drive, then, and I expressed confusion about why this would bother him, the classic comment was made.


He was my "Big Sibs" partner- a Wheaton tradition where two sophomores take a group of new freshman into the city during orientation week. He patiently put up with my making him carry a sign like this:and making our group refer to themselves as "Team Awesome" (and do a corresponding chant), and balanced out my hyper-enthusiasm with actual helpful information about adjusting to Wheaton and making sure no one got lost.


Chet...
*has one of the biggest hearts of gold of anyone I know and would do absolutely anything to help someone in need.
*He is one of the quickest people I know with an encouraging word and is never embarrassed or hesitant to point out positive characteristics, growth, and ways he sees God at work in others.
*He also has been a source of challenging words at times for me, and I've so appreciated the ways he's refused to let me wallow in self-pity or insecurity (Story: I sent out an overapologetic text message once, over nothing in particular. This was immediately following a series of conversations about all of us needing to trust each other and ourselves more, which I was conveniently deciding to forget about in favor of the asking for affirmation. Instead of replying to it, he walks in to our apartment to hang out later that night, looks straight at me, and kindly but without preamble goes, "So, I thought we were done being insecure about Thursday dinners." This might not be that funny to anyone besides our apartment and the boys, but it was kind of awesome timing, and definitely what I needed to hear.) At times when I have asked him for honest feedback and he's given it, he's never made me feel judged or looked down upon but instead manages to help me see ways I can grow but also ways I am growing. It's a hard thing to be able to do, and it is truly a gift he has.
*He's way funnier than he gives himself credit for. Really. Were we to ever have dance parties in our apartment, which we definitely wouldn't because they are against the rules, but hypothetically were we ever to, and he came, you would definitely agree with me.
*When I need to remember the Gospel, he is one of the first people I go to. Many a text message has been sent to this kid (I'm sure not only by me) asking for a Scripture reference or a reminder of truth when I'm feeling stressed or scared, and he is always quick to give it.

*We loved living in the apartment right across from him this year and nights when he would come hang out and drink tea and do homework at the kitchen table were one of my favorite parts of junior year.
*He gets especial props for several times where he did so just because I had to stay up late to finish a paper and I was bored and falling asleep being the only one up.
*And also for being willing to come out of his apartment late at night in pouring rain when my roommates and I needed someone to take our picture.

*He's been one of the most consistent people reminding me he's praying for me over HNGR.

Consistency, is, in fact, one of the biggest things I appreciate about Chet. I was describing a bunch of my friends to someone recently and when I got to him I started thinking about how I would say that he is truly a rock in our group of friends. He is consistently present, encouraging, friendly, available to help or hang, and seeking God, and we all appreciate it so much.



Even though he managed to avoid both the Canada and the Minnesota road trip with ridiculous excuses like "two months in the Middle East" and "family vacation". Really?


We love you, Chet! Wish I could see you to celebrate.

Missing People

I found this passage totally by accident, and it has meant a lot to me so far in my time here. Every line I read, I was like, "Oh, that´s good. Oh, that helps. Oh, true.¨And finally just decided that I love the whole thing, so here it is. I know it´s ridiculously long for a blog post, so I will just say that the first paragraph is my favorite (but I learn different things and am challenged in a different way by each part every time I read it... which this week has been almost every day...).

"When you ´love´ someone or ´miss´ someone, you experience an inner pain. Bit by bit you have to discover the nature of this pain. When your deepest self is connected to the deepest self of another, that person´s absence may be painful, but it will lead you to a profound communion with the person, because loving each other is loving in God. When the place where God dwells in you is intimately connected with the place where God dwells in the other, the absence of the other person is not destructive. On the contrary, it will challenge you to enter more deeply into communion with God, the source of all unity and communion among people.

"It is also possible on the other hand that the pain of absence will show you that you are out of touch with your own deeper self. You need the other to experience inner wholeness, to have a sense of well-being. You have become emotionally dependent on the other and sink into depression because of his or her absence. It feels as if the other has taken away a part of you that you cannot live without. Then the pain of absence reveals a certain lack of trust in God´s love. But God is enough for you.

"True love between two human beings puts you more in touch with your deepest self. It is a love in God. The pain you experience from the death or absence of the person you love, then, always calls you to a deeper knowledge of God´s love. God´s love is all the love you need, and it reveals to you the love of God in the other. So the God in you can speak to the God in the other. This is deep speaking to deep, a mutuality in the heart of God, who embraces both of you.

"Death or absence does not end or even diminish the love of God that brought you to the other person. It calls you to take a new step into the mystery of God´s inexhaustible love. This process is painful, very painful, because the other person has become a true revelation of God´s love for you. But the more you are stripped of the God-given support of people, the more you are called to love God for God´s sake. This is an awesome and even dreadful love, but it is the love that offers eternal life."

-Henri Nouwen (shocker), from The Inner Voice of Love

Now I know I'm really HERE!

I just spent twenty minutes of my Spanish conversation class explaining to one of my teachers why I love Henri Nouwen so much. It ended in me trying to translate some of my favorite titles into Spanish and her promising to look them up.

Hol-lerrrrr!