Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Reflections on 5 months...



Ecuador has taught me a lot in 5 months. Things I never imagined and in ways I never could have envisioned. It’s impossible to share all that has run through my head or made its way into my journal, but I would like to share a few of the reflections I’ve drawn (and a few quotations from books I’ve read here in Ecuador).  

“Ministry is entering with our human brokenness into communion with others and speaking a word of hope. This hope is not based on my power to solve the problems of those with whom we live, but on the love of God, which becomes visible when we let go of our fears of being out of control and enter into his presence in a shared confession of weakness” – Gracias by Henri Nouwen

I feel I am constantly being humbled and affirmed during my time in Ecuador. A few weeks ago I had another eye-opening experience. I visited one of my close neighbors while she and her daughters were doing pedicures. She beckoned me in and filled a tub of water to wash my feet in before painting my toe nails. I had this odd, sudden pang of shame – hesitating to take my sandals off and reveal my dirty feet covered in dust and grime from walking the streets of Mt Sinai all day. This moment reminded me of the concluding prayer session of our senior MAGIS retreat (a church leadership program at Holy Cross) where we did a foot washing ritual. It was harder to be the person having one’s feet washed than to be the person doing the actual washing. The same held true in this moment, and by extension how I felt at that moment about my time and “service” in Ecuador. It is relatively easier to sit with somebody else in their own vulnerability – to attend to another’s wounds. But to expose one’s own weakest, unkempt part (the foot in this analogy of the body) is not quite as easy. It is important to learn to be comfortable in both roles – as the washer and the “washee”. In this year in Ecuador I have constantly been humbled and invited to bear my own “dirty feet” and sit in solidarity with others bearing their own “dirty feet,” without shame or doubt, in “a shared confession of weakness”.

“It is difficult not to have plans, not to organize people around an urgent cause, and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress. But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them” – Gracias by Henri Nouwen

The mission statement of Rostro de Cristo focuses on a mission of presence – not of doing but of being. I have gained a new appreciation for the ministry of pure presence in this year. I have had two deep and moving conversations with neighbors where they said never, never did they expect to ever host a “gringita” (term for American) in their home. It was again, such a humbling moment for me. It didn’t matter what we did together in my visit or what we talked about. Just my willingness and actual desire to enter her home, to sit in her own space, and open myself and receive her was enough – enough to move her to tears. All that any person needs or desires is to be recognized, to have his/her own humanity dignity recognized and affirmed. As I believe Mother Teresa once said, ‘our greatest fallacy is that we forget that we belong to each other.’

“To find oneself alone in a great city, without a single friend or acquaintance, without provision of any kind, whether it be physical equipment or the support and security one derives from ordinary human relationships; to be poor even as far as language is concerned, unable to express oneself, to tell people what one is, what one knows; always to be in a position of inferiority, a child just learning to speak, contemptuously dismissed in every discussion, painfully aware of the poor impression one is always making, and of the pity, or else the hostility, with which one is regarded – all this brings home to a person better than empty theorizing what poverty, in the radical sense of dis-possesion, really means. Not only does it take away external attachments, it makes one truly humble of heart; for to be poor is to be humiliated, and it is from humiliations that one learns humility” – Essential Writings of Pedro Arrupe

Throughout my time here, and in my doubts and the struggles of the first few months to learn the language, I have questioned how my lack of fluency has affected my experience. How would my experience change if I did understand everything, if I could converse without even thinking? While at times I definitely beat myself up for not knowing the language perfectly, it has come with its own unique gifts in this year. Sure, there are questions that go unasked or stories that I don’t fully understand. But does that go against my mission here as a volunteer? I don’t believe so.

A few months ago I sat on rice bags in between two homes hiding from the brutal sun with a neighbor as she recounted her life growing up in and raising children and grandchildren in poverty to me. Mid-way through I thought to myself what a shame it was I didn’t understand everything perfectly, and what a disservice to her this was. But upon leaving and hearing her barrage of gratitude for my visit I realized it didn’t matter. She just needed somebody to recognize she was there – hidden between the two homes – present and suffering. She just needed an ear willing to sit and listen to her thoughts, all that occupies her all day.
Similarly, the first couple months working at Ana’s after school program I left most weeks feeling useless and incompetent without the proper vocabulary to effectively teach or discipline the kids. What a humbling experience it has been to be greeted every single week with warm hugs and flowers picked from nearby trees and again upon leaving. We are loved here for who we are, not necessarily for what we do. Humility and gratitude are two of the biggest graces I have learned from the example of my neighbors. These are lessons I could not have learned without silence and idleness.

Last week as a neighbor and I were shaking with laughter she told me, “you have to laugh at the world before the world laughs at you.” This quotation brought to mind a presentation given by Fr. Jim Martin during our orientation back in July entitled Laughing with the Saints. In part of his presentation he presented the case for what a tool humor is: humor evangelizes; humor as a tool of humility; humor welcomes; humor heals; humor deepens our relationship with God. Then when I think of my time spent visiting neighbors I think of how much of that is spent laughing – A LOT. We laugh at my terrible dance moves, our bloopers of Spanish mistakes, and random events of our lives (me getting chased and nibbled on by our new puppy was popular!). I believe it is through sharing our humor and laughing at the world that we also share our authentic selves.

“The easy smile of the poor and their readiness to celebrate have a basis in reality. While they show us that life is more cruel and evil more tenacious than we ordinarily admit, they also help us recognize that there is something going on in the world that is much more wonderful that we had imagined” – A Call to Discernment in Troubled Times by Dean Brackley

I can in no way neatly conclude all of Ecuador or these 5 months into one post. All that I can conclude is that Ecuador is abundant – it is sadness and its joy – both felt with every fiber of your being. Every single day is a unique adventure.

Love and miss you all,
Colleen

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