And They're Gone

And the kids are gone. Just like that. Even though Familia Feliz is technically an orphanage, most of our kids are boarding students and, as a result, head home for the summer. Yeah, it’s just the beginning of summer over here. I know those of you in the states are currently heading into snowstorms and hot chocolate and Christmas movies, but personally I’m considering moving into the fridge.

Wednesday all our boys packed up their stuff. My goodness. The amount of clothing and shoes and toys they can fit into one little backpack would blow your mind. If I were to put all my belongings I own into one place, I’d probably need a truck. These kids? One or two backpacks and they are good. Simple living, folks. It’s the way to go.

Each of my boys has plastic shelving where they keep all their stuff. Their clothes, their toothbrushes and toothpaste, their toys. They’re always filled with stuff that grows and collects. It’s a constant battle to keep them all neat and clean. But now? They’re empty.

Getting Rodrigo’s that way was a process and a half. He had so many little papers and broken car pieces and belt buckles and who knows what else.

Here, Teacher. These papers are for you.

Thank you so much Rodrigo, but I don’t want your trash.

I have a lot of trash, Teacher.

I am well aware.

Fermin was the first to go. He actually left a couple days before everyone else. The night before he left we had our last worship altogether. I was trying really hard to hold it together. I just really love Fermin. He was getting into a lot of trouble in the beginning of the year; he just wouldn’t listen. But these past couple months? He has been such an angel. And goodness I am going to miss his sweet smile and no, no when I tell him how sweet he is and his eternal hugs goodnight.

And so that last night as Dani and I sat out in the living room with all of them, I was on the counter and looked over at Fermin with a sad look on my face as I knew he was about to leave me and he crawled over to me and put his little arms around my neck and I just lost it.

The boys have never seen me cry before, so they found it rather entertaining. “Crocodile tears, Teacher! Your tears are large like a crocodile!”

Ah shucks boys. That’s pretty cute I’m sure.

I just sat there and held my little Fermin for one of the last times for way too long and honestly kind of interrupted worship and so of course chaos went down and Wilfredo turned his chair around as he was rather over it and I’m sure Luis Migel caused some sort of havoc and so then I finally got control and we put them to bed and

being a mom to eight little jungle boys is the most challenging and wonderful thing I have ever done.

I’ve been preparing for this “kidless” life for a while now. I knew they were all going to head home, leaving the campus quiet and calm behind them.

But I didn’t know how badly I would miss them the second they left.

Today my last little Fruito Seco left. Little Rodrigo.

He stayed with me at Candace and Courtney’s house last night. We weren’t sure when, or if, his dad was coming to get him. I was secretly hoping I would get to keep him all break.

But early this morning Dani came into the room.

His dad’s here.

And so we woke up little Rodrigo, who was half-asleep and confused. And we took him to the house and packed up his bags. I gave him my student missions backpack as he had more stuff than he had room for in his little backpack and plastic bag. Also it’s red and he loves red.

I watched him walk off with it around his back. He walked over to his dad and gave him a big hug. And then I told him goodbye, tears streaming down my face, and then walked into an empty house.

No Hugo giggling.

No Ronald throwing his arms around me in a giant hug.

No Gabriel hammering things and making incessant noise.

No Luis Migel saying ridiculous things and being the ringleader of trouble.

No Henry knocking on my door, “Teacher! Teacher!”

No Wilfredo asking if he can go to the Frijole’s house.

No Fermin sitting up on the sink with his scrawny arms and legs, watching the world go by.

And no Rodrigo, that little bundle of joy, stomping around and smiling with his big brown eyes and little teeth.

And I cannot believe four months have gone by since I got here. And I cannot believe that I got to spend them these precious boys. And I cannot believe that in such a short amount of time someone can steal such a huge part of my heart.

No Matter How Old

So let’s be real. I don’t write a whole lot about the classroom. I’m not really sure why, as spending hours in a room with ten little children trying to teach them in a foreign language is not a dull thing to do. I’m sure every day I could tell some random happening that is rather memorable.

Like the time I was teaching about culture and asked the class what examples of “cultural American clothes” are and Wilfredo shouted BOXERS!

Those aren’t really a thing here.

Or when I decided to tell my class the story about when I was ten and a bird pooped in my eye because I thought it would be funny but really it was just awkward. That story just doesn’t really have a moral.

So yeah a bird pooped in my eye and I was so scared and I ran to the house with Jessica and washed my eye out.

Rare classroom silence. Blank stares.

 Okay time for math.

Let me just be really real. I don’t speak Spanish. I mean I do now a whole lot more than I did before. Honestly sometimes I surprise myself. But there are moments when I’m standing in front of the classroom getting ready to teach social studies and I’m like

hahaha I’m about to do what?

There is a girl in my classroom named Fabiola. She came late in the school year.

It took me all of about thirty seconds to decide that she was one of the most adorable, joyful, loving little humans on this planet.

And I was right.

Every morning when she enters the classroom she gives me a giant hug and says, “I love you so much, Teacher.”

And before recess.

And after recess.

Eventually she replaced the word teacher with mom and my heart melted about fifteen million times.

You’re my mom. I’m going to miss you so much when you leave. I am going to cry.

I am going to break.

Fabiola is thirteen and in fourth grade. She is easily my most dedicated student. Her notebook is perfectly neat, she always stays a couple minutes once recess starts to make sure she understands the homework, and she’s the one I put in charge of the classroom whenever I leave for a few minutes.

Okay, I have to leave for a minute. Everyone listen to Fabiola.

Oh, but Teacher!

Gracias Fabiola!

The week before last we had exams. So the past couple weeks of class have simply been reviewing. I’m honestly really proud of my students in math. They didn’t even know what a fraction was, and now they can draw, add, subtract, and multiply them. Along with all the many other things they’ve learned.

But when Fabiola found out there was a comprehensive exam, she became incredibly nervous.

Teacher, I’m so nervous for the test!

You don’t need to be, Fabiola! You’re smart and you understand everything.

No I’m not, Teacher.

She asked me if I would help her study, and so I told her to ask me whenever she wanted.

A little bit later I was working in the kitchen and she came up to me.

Teacher, will you help me?

I only had a couple minutes as we were almost ready to serve lunch, but I walked out into the main area and sat down with her at a table. She pulled out her notebook and opened it to the page with all the review problems.

She couldn’t even remember how to add.

Eight plus five, Fabiola. How do you do that?

I don’t know, Teacher.

Yes you do!

No, I don’t. I don’t remember.

I was really frustrated. She was way past addition in math. I’d watched her do far harder things for months. How could she not remember?

I did what I could in the couple minutes I had, then headed to the kitchen and told her to ask me for help any other time she wanted.

A few days before the exam, I realized I hadn’t heard anything from Fabiola about the test, other than a few comments in class about how nervous she was. So I headed to study hall to see how she, and my other students, were doing.

A few minutes after I got there I walked over to Fabiola. Thankfully she had remembered how to add, but she could not for the life of her figure out how to subtract numbers when the bottom number on the right hand column was greater than the top number in that column. You know? Like 43 minus 17, and you have to make the 3 a 13 and the 4 a 3. She couldn’t get that.

Anyways, sorry. I’m sure you’re not dying to do math right now. And if you are, props.

I took her into my classroom and wrote some problems on the marker board and explained them to her.

And explained them to her.

And explained them to her.

She just would not understand. Eventually I left the room to help someone else and when I came back and looked at the board, the problems she had done in the time I was gone were done incorrectly.

She was frustrated. I was frustrated. It was time to go and I told her I’d help her again the next night.

And so the following night I went back to study hall. I sat down by Fabiola at the table, asked her how her math was coming along, and she burst into a million tears.

I took her outside and looked into her eyes and said

Fabiola, you are so smart. You don’t have to get a perfect score on this test. You have learned so much this year and that’s what counts. I don’t get perfect scores on my tests, either. It’s okay. It’s okay.

She just stood there. Crying, sniffling, frustrated and nervous and sad.

And so I decided that I would not give up until she learned how to subtract.

I took her back into the classroom, wrote more problems on the board. And we stood there together and went over them over and over again.

And again.

And again.

I’d erase the problems and write new ones on the board. Erase the problems and write new ones on the board.

And finally, after so many problems, she looked at me, her eyes wide, and said

Teacher, I understand.

I wrote three problems on the board and left. A few minutes later I came back.

They were all finished. Perfectly.

I looked at her.

They’re all correct, Fabiola.

She threw her arms in the air, that joyful smile covering her face, and said

I understand, Teacher! I understand!

She was bursting. I gave her a hug and she kept saying

I understand, Teacher! I understand!

Again and again.

She must have said it at least ten times.

She got 19 out of 20 on her exam.

My heart. She beamed when she saw her score.

And I guess that’s what teaching is all about. Yeah it’s frustrating. Especially in a language different from my own. But knowing that I helped Fabiola understand a basic concept, and knowing that she can look at that test score and know she earned it? It makes it so worth it. Worth it all.

And I know she’s thirteen. When I was thirteen I was in seventh grade. But I think that moment gave her a bit of confidence. I think it made her proud of herself. It made her feel smart and capable. And goodness, that’s a lesson we all need to learn, no matter how old we are.

Wherever You Are

October 31

There are a whole lot of things I could write about.

Like the fact I pulled my first tooth the other night. Gabi, one of the most precious people alive, came to volunteer for a couple weeks. She is a dentist and so we took a bunch of the kids to the hospital and borrowed their dentist office and were there until midnight. She was kind enough (and trusting enough) to let us help. I’m pretty sure I was more scared than the kid but hey, the tooth’s gone, so I did something right.

Or I could write about the other day when Kevin, Dani, Courtney, and I attempted to fix a broken toilet together in one of the school bathrooms. I discovered it when checking to see if the kids had cleaned it well. It was spewing out water from some pipe and I figured that was wrong. So I got my pals to come help me. Personally I don’t have a degree in plumbing and I’m pretty sure they don’t either, so I guess that explains why after we “fixed” the toilet, it was the same. Except now it was spewing out even more water. Killin it.

 Oh I had a really bright teacher moment the other day. I was giving my four English students a test. I wrote all the words in Spanish on the board and then asked them to write the same words on their paper, but translate them to English. Right before they were finished I looked up to see, right next to the words in Spanish, all the answers in English that I had written there a couple days ago. Instead of being calm and collected and all that professional stuff I just freaked out in my chair and looked at them with wide eyes and they were all like what Teacher! Is the world ending?! and then I tried to play it cool and was like oh nothing. I’ll tell you later. Anyways they handed their tests in and “didn’t know the answers were there” and so yeah. None of them got a perfect score so I’m assuming they’re telling the truth. But not my brightest moment.

Tonight Dani, Courtney, Candace, and I were together in the room and were all sitting down on Candace’s bed and there were candles and it was so peaceful and then Candace was like “WHOA TARANTULA!” so we got the tarantula that was climbing up Courtney’s hammock out of the room and then sat back down and kept talking. And I was like whoa. What is this life.

I realized the other day that Lechuga, one of the students here (his real name is Joel…not lettuce) is taller than me. So that was rather exciting as honestly being here kind of makes wonder if I’m actually be a giraffe.

OH! The Southern SM’s here had a Skype date Friday with John, the SM President. And we also got to see Nicole Woodcock and Nicole Davis and Kim and Kenny and Kevin and Obi (is that how you spell it?) and John and we talked and laughed and got interviewed for SM Vespers and they showed us fall on the promenade and tried to telepathically send a leaf through the phone AND IT WAS SO FUN AND I LOVE SOUTHERN AND I MISS ALL OF THE PEOPLE THERE.

And I’m sure there are many, many other things I could write about. Every day unexpected things come up. Children say or do precious things. My boys make me laugh.

Like the other morning when little Rodrigo was on the counter with his little bum up in the air singing, “Ching ching ching! Shake your little tail!”

I see something that makes me stop and think how grateful and blessed I am just to be here, on this little patch of earth.

Tonight Gabi, the dentist who has been volunteering here for the past couple weeks, had to leave. She was planning on staying longer but ended up leaving today and taking her son, Carlos, who has been going to school here almost all semester, with her.

It was an exciting day for him as he got baptized today and we all went to the river together to watch and support and celebrate.

But tonight? Instead of the smile he wore this afternoon his eyes were filled with tears. Because he was saying good-bye to all the friends he’s made here. And my eyes were filled with tears too as, personally, having Gabi around has been so wonderful as she is kind and caring and she cooks for us and talks with us and always has a warm smile on her face.  And Carlos has been here for a few months now and I am really going to miss seeing him around and the sweet hugs he always gives.

And so we gathered around in a circle and prayed. And then we hugged them good-bye.

And being here has kind of made me feel like I am in a bubble. It’s kind of like a little corner of perfection: no stressful homework, no messages to respond to, no giant to-do lists. All I have to think about is what is right in front of me.

But tonight I was brought back to reality. To good-byes.

And goodness I can’t wait for when I don’t have to say them anymore.

I have seen a different piece of life here. I have gained a new perspective. And I know I have so much more to learn, so much more to experience

but what I know right now for sure

is that we have an absolutely incredible God.

The One Who created us loves us infinitely and passionately and unconditionally and forever.

And sharing kindness and love with those around us? In the small or big ways we can?

That is what life is about.

Whoever you’re with. Wherever you are.

I'm Movin In

October 29

A lot has gone down.

Dani and I, along with our little childrens, experienced some plumbing problems. And by plumbing problems I mean our house was in chaos.

For one, our toilet has been struggling for a while to keep its head above water. Literally. Sometimes it flushes. But by sometimes I mean rarely. Or quite possibly never. To be honest I gave up using that little darling a long time ago. Don’t worry I still go to the bathroom. I just make the journey to Candace and Courtney’s house.

It just kept getting worse and worse. Until finally we made the executive decision that BOYS LISTEN NOONE USES THAT TOILET. EVER. Because, to be brutally honest, IT WAS GROSS.

And so Andrew did the kind and daring task of digging a giant hole in our front yard (as it was flooding because a pipe underneath the ground had a giant leak) and repairing the leaking pipe. Which made it even more clear that no. We could not use our toilet.

Then one night I took a shower and was realizing that my shower was somewhat turning into a foot bath as the entire bathroom was suddenly filled with like three inches of water. And low and behold then we realized our shower drain was clogged.

By morning it had gone down, but when we reattempted using the shower? Well, it happened again.

You know when you’re like oh yeah all the evidence shows it’s definitely clogged but maybe if I just shower one more time and hope really hard and look down the drain and whisper kind words to it the water will go down? Yeah. Doesn’t work.

So Dani and I were all like well okay. Now we can’t shower in our house either. But phew. At least we’ve got a sink.

Yeah. Until one day someone used the sink and suddenly water is literally bubbling up out of the shower drain and our entire house is flooding.

So now I shall describe to you what goes down when our house floods.

If you’re picturing those really cute machines that suck up water like you get at the dentist? Except a lot bigger as hopefully our house is bigger than your mouth? Well, go ahead and get that picture out of your head.

It’s more like we get dustpans (which don’t have poles by the way as our little boys are constantly taking the poles out of the dustpans and out of the brooms and doing, well, honestly I have no idea what with them) and bending over and scooping the water into buckets and then emptying the buckets outside and bringing them back in to fill up with gross water again. Meanwhile someone else is on guard with a squeegee in our room, constantly pushing the water out that is so desperately trying to come in and destroy all our stuff as our room is directly next to the bathroom.

And I’m sure this sounds like a really fun and enjoyable experience, but honestly by the third time in a day I’m pretty over it. Especially when we finally get all the water out and then my brain decides to be a genious and a half and is all like “Darian you should wash the sink” and I’m all like oh yeah great idea! And then I wash the sink. And then I hear water bubbling up from the shower drain. And then I’m all like

Oh. Probably shouldn’t have washed the sink.

So yeah. I don’t know if I’m eighty or what but bending over with my back and scooping up water kind of makes me think I might die.

Dani and I desperately tried to make it an enjoyable experience.

We tried the optimism attempt: blasting Frozen music through the house and being all like wow this is fun!

We tried the denial attempt: Everything is perfect. I love scooping dirty water into buckets. Oh dear drain, please flood my house again.

We also tried the reality attempt: I hate this. I can’t.

In fact, little Wilfredo kind of picked up on it as one time, when the drain started bubbling up, I heard him shout through the house, “OH. MY. WORD.” (He speaks Spanish so that’s pretty funny, in case you didn’t get it.)

But the reality is your house flooding a million times a day and not having a toilet, or a shower, or a sink, or sanity, is kind of sad.

So we moved.

Across the way (which is my fancy way of saying a few hundred feet from where we first lived) is a house that is not used. The reason being the roof leaks, so when it rains all your stuff gets wet. Miguel used to live there and loved it, but had to move as it was soaking all the stuff in his bedroom and needed repairing.

But since it was pretty much our only option unless we disrupted everyone else’s living arrangements, this is where we ended up.

Okay so I have been in this house before. I saw it in March and earlier this year Kevin and I cleaned it with our work crew. But somehow I remained unaware of its beautiful bounty.

So now we are moved in and I am going to tell you all the wonderful things I love about our new house. Be prepared because I’m livin the dream.

Its tile. Like I touch it with my bare feet.

There is no ceiling below the roof so sometimes I mistake it for a mansion.

The walls are nice. And tannish.

And then there is the big news. Like brace yourself.

DANI AND I HAVE OUR OWN BATHROOM.

Like our own toilet. And shower. And as soon as it is put in we will also have our own sink.

I’m not going to lie, the first time I took a shower in there I almost cried. Like for cereal. It’s that exciting.

We even have a new shower head. And yeah it spews out cold water but to be honest I love cold showers. You should try it. And if you like it I’ll trade you for your hot shower.

Also our room is just way bigger. It’s super spacious. And we decorated it and made it homey and put pictures everywhere and basically I am living the dream.

Like every time I walk to my house I feel like skipping. And singing. And shouting IF I NEED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM I SHALL BECAUSE I HAVE MY VERY OWN IN MY VERY OWN ROOM WOW I LOVE EVERYTHING.

So yeah. That’s one of the many things that have gone down. And to be honest one of my favorites.

Miguel said we are only living here for three weeks, until summer break starts. Because they have to repair it and stuff.

But I’m going to go with the denial attempt on this one and just say this is where I will be chillin for the next big while cuz I’m digging it.