Catching Water

I won't cease wondering what kind of impact this experience of living and working in Guatemala will have on our girls. I think about the visits to communities in which we work. I carry images of my girls playing alongside indigenous children, their brightly colored guipiles (traditional Mayan clothing) in stark contrast to my girls' outfits bought at a large department store in the US. 

From a trip a couple years ago:

Duck, Duck Goose (Pato, Pato, Ganso)

Makes friends fast, a life-long skill.

My girls have experienced a lot. With time their memories will fade and become more ideas than specific recollections.  

On the way to Honduras a couple weeks ago we stopped to visit a project that MCC supports near the Guatemalan border. Guatemala has the 4th highest malnutrition rate in the world, and within Guatemala this area is among the poorest. 

It’s starkly impoverished. Children with extended bellies wearing clothes intended for kids half their size. The poverty is real and unbelievable and yet there it is, begging us to notice. 

We were welcomed in the community by a group of women, the leaders of the community working to improve their access to water and food. They fed us bread soaked in a sweet corn-based liquid. 

Photo credit: Ellie

Ruby really enjoyed it, and the women enjoyed her. 

The rest of us offered ours to the kids sitting near us. “We just ate lunch. We’re a bit full." 

 We went on a walk to visit their local water source, the most dinky watering holes imaginable.

Peering at one of the "wells."
(Don Peters, MCC Canada Executive Director, joined us on this trip)

These women wake up at 4:30 every morning to walk here and gather water. It can take two hours to fill a small container. These plastic bowls “hold” their place in line, as the water trickles in over the course of hours. 

 I couldn't help but feel the irony in carrying around our plastic water bottles to quench our thirst as we stared into the small puddles of water. 

This is their reality, their daily ritual, whereas my morning ritual, in contrast, is to take a hot shower, drink hot coffee, and check my Facebook. 

This area has been hard hit by the drought that has passed over Central America over the last couple years. MCC’s work here has been to support a local NGO to construct water catchment systems that save and store water for individual families. This water can then be used for things like watering gardens. 

Retrieving water from the Catchment System

The girls were with us, and we trudged up and down the dusty paths, visiting sparse but proudly demonstrated gardens, water systems, and these watering holes. As happens often while living here, I was unsure how much of the desperate situation to explain to my 3 and 5 year-olds. 

It was hot and sweaty and dusty. I carried Ruby on my back up the steep hills. There were several complaints from our girls. “It’s hot. I’m tired. My legs hurt. Are we done yet?” 

I don’t want to instill a sense of guilt in our girls. That’s not the point. But I do want them to know that there are others who have very little. That basics like running water are not a given for all people. (Ironically, as I wrote this, our electricity and water were out for more than five hours due to a thunderstorm). So I explained in simple terms that these women are people Mommy and Daddy work with, that our job with MCC is to help them figure out ways to catch rain water and feed their families. 

“These women have to walk along here to get water. You know how we have water in our house, in the faucet? These women have to carry their water all the way from these water holes to their house. Every day. Lots of times every day. It's a lot of work.”

The next day, as we continued our travels towards Honduras, it began to rain. 

“Mommy! It’s raining!” This, from Ellie. "That means our friends from yesterday can have some plants.”

I just looked at her. Somehow, some little piece of the day before had stayed with her. She made the connection that these “friends” will be thankful it’s raining, that the rain will be helpful. That with this rain, their plants will grow, and their children may get some food.

I hope and pray that these moments will be nestled deep in their hearts, that the feelings of compassion and joy for others will be nurtured. That our life here and the stories we will choose to tell them as their memories of Guatemala fade, will shape our girls and our family in unfathomable ways. 

Injustice

We've been conducting interviews recently and a question we sometimes ask got me thinking. Here's a paraphrased version: 

Of all the injustices in the world, which one are you most likely to care about?  

This got me thinking about a potential list of injustices. 

I brainstormed, and in no way is this an exhaustive list, but some injustices that came to mind:

Hunger

Childhood poverty

Cycles of generational poverty 

Inequality

Racism 

Sexism

Hatred

Bigotry 

Sex trafficking

Child labor

Sweat shops 

Homelessness 

Lack of services for veterans (ptsd and mental health issues)

Illiteracy

Access to medical care

Access to clean water

For-profit prison systems

Corruption in government 

Development of business trumping the poor

Indigenous populations losing their culture

Global warming

Over-consumption

Child abuse

Domestic abuse

Female genital mutilation

Child brides

Child soldiers

Fair wages

The problem is that many people ignore these and choose to focus on trivial issues. 

Complaints about too many social programs and taxes? For real? From your safe, comfy home with decent schools and maintained roads? Really? Or, maybe you want to focus on a person's sexual orientation? How about your right to carry a weapon without any accountability? That's what you're pissed about? That's where your energies lie, when people are dying, children are being abused? I simply don't understand. We are having completely different conversations. Or rather, we see the world very differently and therefore aren't even at the same table.

This isn't just about hashtag-first-world-problems. I can acknowledge a time and place for that. This is another level, getting angry and worked up over things that, in comparison, don't mean squat.

And this is even more frustrating because most of these trivial concerns come from my fellow(I hate to say that because it implies we are somehow coming from a similar point of view) Christians. If you, my fellow Christ-followers, could put aside abortion and gay marriage, just for a minute, then what? What else could you focus on? You're pro-life? Great. Lets talk about the women who chose not to abort. How do we ensure their babies aren't hungry or malnourished? That they are treated with respect and dignity as human beings? Is the right of two people who love each other marrying really affecting your ability to raise your children? Please, move on to something that actually matters in this world. 

It's not about guilt. I know it's overwhelming, the list of issues that actually matter. But pick something that matters. Don't feel guilty. Don't just get mad. Figure out how to advocate for someone in a position of injustice, without a Voice. Acknowledge that there truly are injustices. Begin there, with a lens of empathy and understanding.

This isn't about being self-righteous. It's about caring about Love more than Hate. Righting wrongs. Ending cycles of ignorance and acknowledging privilege. Being the Change you want to see. 

What injustices are you going to care about ? And, how are you going to respond?

Death in our context

Our days ebb and flow like the ocean. Some days are like strong, cruel waves, crashing down with a deafening thunder, pulling under with a brutal strength anything in its path. Those days feel heavy, at times unbearable, and we hope for as few of these days as possible.

Other days the waves are so gentle, so soft, one can barely notice movement. It's easy to appreciate beauty in peaceful moments. 

In less than a week I've written about a variety of things. Mundane things, like reading and hot chocolate, and milestones of life, like my baby's first steps.

Today I carry a heavy story.

Our housekeeper arrived to our house this morning, after her usual two hour bus ride from her house to ours. She travels more than 4 hours by crowded bus, three days a week, to clean and occasionally cook for us. Soon she will add to her duties caring for Ruby for a few hours so that I can go to the office some mornings. She's been with us for about 5 months. She works extremely hard despite an ailing body to provide as a mother, a grandmother, and up until 4 days ago, a wife.

On New Year's Day her husband was walking with their 15-year old son to visit family when he was shot. It's assumed that some idiot drunk was shooting off his gun and it hit her husband. She arrived to the scene while he was injured but alive, only to watch him bleed to death.

We stood there in our kitchen this morning, her hands covered in suds while she washed our dirty dinner plates, tears in all of our eyes as she recounted what happened. I asked her what we could do, which I know is not helpful in situations like this, but the question still came out. Her response: "Pray. Because the pain in my heart is so great."

I was humbled. And we did pray for her. 

This type of accident is common enough that the newspapers felt compelled to issue a safety warning around the holidays regarding safe practices with fireworks and guns. Still, there were accidents reported, just like this one. 

The next day he was buried, there was a service, and life continues. She's back to her four hours of commuting to provide for her family, a job I assume she holds even more dearly without her husband around.

I'm sharing this story because I'm reminded how common death is here in Guatemala. This kind of accident happens in the US too, and I don't even want to go into the statistics of gun deaths by people who own their guns legally. But here in Guatemala, death is pervasive. Between extortions and gangs and bus driver murders, between corruption and poverty and desperation, almost everyone we know has been affected by death. Our first housekeeper became a widow with 4 young kids when her husband was murdered while driving a bus. For other people we know death is commonplace in their communities, among their family and friends and neighbors. Here, though, justice is rarely served (whatever that means). The person behind the trigger is rarely caught, let alone held accountable. It feels inevitable. Helpless. 

Death and pain is everywhere. Some days it's on the forefront of our minds, like today. There's not much to say or do in a situation like this. Pray. Hug my husband and my kids. Hug our housekeeper and cry with her as she mourns and grieves. 

2 years in Guatemala

Yesterday marked two years in Guatemala.

At the airport in Portland, April 20, 2013, ready for a grand adventure.

Our flight to Guatemala.

It's so cliche, but the truth is it has flown by. I look at pictures of my girls when we arrived two years ago, and I'm almost floored. Where have two years of their lives gone? Or the last year?

A sampling of our first few months:

Hazel was sick a lot in those first few months.

We talk about going "home" to the Pacific Northwest after our 5-year term is finished, but I can't wrap my head around the fact that in three years we will have a 7 1/2 year-old, a 5 1/2 year-old, and a 3 year-old. 

Some days I grit my teeth and get to the tedious tasks that fill up the majority of our days of work and administrative tasks in the office. I see myself pushing through, forging past this task or that, looking to the next team meeting or travel planned, those things that give me more life and energy. But I realize I have to be careful. If I push through too blindly, I'll push past these formative years of my girls. 

5 years is nothing to sneeze at. If and when we head back to the States after this experience, the girls' sense of "home" will be Guatemala. They will be uprooted from their friends and their school and their lives here. 

In two years we've learned a lot. There's a steep learning curve in this role in the first year or two, so to be finally feeling like we have a handle on some of the expectations feels good. The job is extremely cyclical, with reports and plans and meetings on a yearly calendar. It's easy to live month to month or between activities.

There have been surprises along the way. We're living in our 4th (and hopefully last) home since arriving in Guatemala. I'd say my Spanish has improved immensely (from very basic), but I think I would have expected it to be even better by now. I hope I'm not saying that in three years. 

I didn't know how hard it would be to balance working part-time, being at home with my girls, the stress of a new language and not really having any close friends.

Our lives have changed. We've changed. We came as a family of 4, now we're 5. We came with one language, our house is now filled with "Spanglish." Our girls are getting older every day.  

We came as vegetarians. We no longer abstain from meat, mostly when we're outside of the home. 

One of the best parts of living here: fresh squeezed juice. I will never want juice from concentrate again.  

There's a lot more I could say about our first two years here, or the fact that three still remain in our contract. I will continue to write and reflect and record our experience here. We have a lot of life to live in the next 3 years.

On Knowing She's Our Last

Having our third (and final) child has already been a fascinating experience. Today Ruby is 5 weeks old. There is such a range of emotions with a newborn in the house, and it's definitely true that the last one brings its own unique set of experiences.

Knowing it's my last means I can acknowledge the parts I will miss. Like, the incredible miracle of seeing that positive pregnancy test; feeling those first flutters of movement and knowing a baby is moving and growing; excitement and wonder about what the gender is, and what name we will choose, and who this little person will become.

On the other hand, I was so ready to be done being pregnant. I won't miss feeling humongous and not being able to sleep on my stomach. I won't miss the nausea or having to pee every 5 minutes. I won't miss having no lap for my girls to sit on, or not being able to tie my own shoes, or the swollen feet. I'm looking forward to being able to exercise and know that every effort I make won't be in vain, since I won't be expecting another round of weight gain.

I won't miss everyone telling me how big I am. I won't miss maternity clothes, though since I can't fit into my regular clothes yet, I have yet to say goodbye to most of them. I look forward to the day I pack them away, though this time will feel different, knowing I won't be saving them for a potential "next time."

I won't miss the dread of potential labor pains and fear surrounding the birth. Yet, I can never replicate hearing that first loud squeal right after birth, when I'm so relieved to hear her crying and my heart is suddenly flooded with so much love that it feels like it could burst. I've been blessed to experience that three times in my life, and nothing will ever come close to the emotions and love I have felt in those first precious moments of relief mixed with tears of joy and thankfulness and awe of such perfect creation.

I won't miss being spit up on, but I will miss having a baby so small she can cuddle on my chest.

I won't miss waking up every 2-3 hours in the night to a deafening cry, but I will miss being able to soothe and comfort her when no one else can.

I won't miss the stress and soreness of those first few weeks of learning together how to nurse, but I am grateful I have the ability to provide nourishment for my child, and that we've figured it out. I'm thankful I have the option to nurse, that my body is strong and that I get enough nourishment myself to be able to feed my baby too. (I've been reflecting on this privilege because I know there are many women who would nurse if they could, but may be so malnourished or have other issues so that they can't produce the milk they need to adequately feed their baby).

I will miss the smallness of a newborn and those little frog legs that haven't stretched out yet.

I hope I don't forget how enamored Ellie and Hazel are with Ruby. I want to remember how much they love holding her and kissing her. How much they adore her little nose and feet and how excited they get when Ruby grabs ahold of one of their fingers. How Ellie constantly tells me how cute Ruby is. How Hazel calls Ruby, "mine." I want to remember those moments someday when I have three girls fighting and screaming over what I can only imagine to be my future with three girls.

I don't want to rush through these moments with Ruby as a newborn since I know they are the last. I'm trying to savor the parts that I know I will miss of this stage of life with my three sweet girls. 

It's going to be a crazy, wild ride. Not a day goes by that I don't remind myself what a blessing it is to have three amazing, beautiful, healthy little girls, none of which I want to take for granted.

We Survived Year 1

We landed in Guatemala in April of last year. 

On the plane to Guatemala

We’ve lapped the one year mark.

These girls have changed so much in a year.

Our first week in Guatemala

How have we changed? Who are we, one year later?

It’s been a dense year, full of changes in culture, lifestyle, language, 3 home moves, a steep learning curve to a very demanding job, watching our 9 month-old and 2 year old grow in confidence and language skills, and, not to be overlooked, learning to work together as a couple.

Often change happens so slowly that we can’t name it until there’s a stark contrast from “before.” 

So, how have we changed?

-We eat meat again. I still don’t cook with it at home but we eat out regularly with our travel schedule and the girls really love chicken.

-We continue to think about what it means to live with less. We downsized to 8 duffel bags to move to Guatemala, and then inherited a house full of items from past MCC workers. I am more aware of how much we have in excess than what we lack, especially compared to people we come into contact with every day.

-Simple things like brown sugar from the States bring a lot of joy. After months of putting up with weird brown sugar here, my life is changed for the better because I can enjoy the flavor of my oatmeal again, thanks to my in-laws bringing me packages of brown sugar from the States. 

Goodies from the States I don't get here.

-I’ve heard that personalities change in different languages, and that seems to be true for us. Normally a verbal processor, I don’t have many English speakers with whom I can talk with freely, besides my husband. This has been extremely difficult since I don’t speak Spanish super well, and especially not to the level where I can express myself like I often would like. I’ve become more introverted, quiet, less chatty in group situations. In contrast, because of his high level of Spanish, Michael has stepped up and become more outgoing, intentional in conversation, and to most people here is much less the introvert. I wonder if 4 more years of this pattern will form and shape us more permanently? 

-We don’t get many date opportunities. In the States, we had our occasional dinner out away from the girls and even a couple nights, thanks to trusted friends in Fresno. Here, we have left the girls exactly 3 times, twice after they were in bed for a couple hours where someone stayed in the living room, and once over night when their aunt and uncle were here. We have less freedom to make time for ourselves as a couple. That has a multitude of implications. 

-My girls are amazingly adaptable. They've adopted to life and language and frequent traveling with so much ease.

 -I care less about certain material things. We are still American consumers, and with a bounty of opportunities to partake in American stores, (Costco, Sears, fancy malls), we can still easily get caught up in “stuff” here. But, there’s been a shift. I’m rarely on Pinterest, except when I need to find a specific recipe. I don’t look for how to make my house “nice.” I already live in abundance, even if all my things are mismatched or partially glued together. My girls don’t have a well painted, smartly-decorated room with matching bedspreads and wall hangings and floor rugs. Yet they’re still happy.

-It’s hard for me to take “first world problems” seriously when Guatemala has one of the highest country chronic malnutrition rates in the world (usually swings between #3 and #4). Many people in this country don’t have access to clean water or basic food. I just can’t care that you found a good deal on those expensive shoes that could have fed families here for weeks. I'm not judging, I just don't know how to share that joy.

-We greet everyone with a kiss on the cheek. It’s a habit now. 

-We lock our doors in the car every where we drive.

-We don’t always wear our seat belts.

-Though both my girls are almost always in their carseats (and my 22 month-old is still rear-facing), there are times when at least one of them is unbuckled, sitting on my lap. This is a common reality here and doesn’t induce panic in this safety-mongering mom like it did when we first arrived. Sometimes it’s simply more practical. Either Ellie sits on my lap, or I force someone to sit in the truck bed. Fortunately, for my own sanity, Hazel has very rarely not been in a car seat. She’s just too squirmy. 

-I’ve learned how to make popcorn in a pot on the stove, without my beloved Whirley Pop, how to use a pressure cooker to cook beans in an hour (this was a major paradigm shift), and how to to knead dough by hand without my KitchenAid. 

Our MCC Office

-It’s hard to be a part-time worker and a full-time mom. Really hard. I haven’t figured out yet how to do it well. I'm not sure I will ever figure it out.

-I’ve learned living in another country can be exciting, scary, comfortable, uncomfortable, challenging, and life-changing.

Adventuring together in Peru last month.

So far, it's been worth it.

Western Highlands and Hiking a Volcano

Western Guatemalan highlands, as seen from our car.

Last night we returned from a trip to San Marcos, a department (state) of Guatemala in the western highlands bordering Mexico. The purpose of the trip was to accompany a new staff member to the community where he will serve and live with his host family, as well as to visit some projects. We stayed in a small community called Sibinal, nestled in between two active volcanoes, Tajamulco and Tacana.

A common site along the road.

MCC partners with agricultural cooperatives in two communities in this very rural corner of Guatemala. The community we visited is called La Linea, which means "The Line". (Not to be confused with the other La Linea, in El Salvador. See this post.) It is called La Linea because this community finds itself on the border of Guatemala and Mexico.

To get to this community we drove on a very rocky, steep road for more than an hour around the volcano from Sibinal, often having to use 4-wheel drive. It was a bumpy ride. We arrived and these students welcomed us. The community has one road that leads to the school, and then to get to the homes there is a trail straight up the side of Tacana to the community members' homes. This trail is one of two approaches to summit the volcano.

The welcoming committee.

A rousing game of futbol.
(The blue building is the local school).

Watching the students play soccer. 

Fast buddies. These girls helped Ellie pick flowers.

This little girl was washing her cup in the outdoor kitchen sink.

In this community, MCC helps support a number of families to create greenhouses and home gardens. The greenhouses mostly have roses and chrysanthemums that are sold at local markets in Guatemala and just across the border in Mexico, and the home gardens are to help provide a way of sustainable living.

A greenhouse full of flowers.

A special flower with healing properties that is dried to make tea.

More flowers in the greenhouse ready to be cut and sold.
(And a daughter of one family with a greenhouse.)

A major motivation behind these projects is to help families afford to live without needing to migrate to Mexico or the US to work for several months of the year. Instead, these families raise enough food to eat and make enough money selling their flowers to not need to find other work. We met many people who once had to migrate for months at a time who now can stay and provide a livelihood for their families at home.

First sign of strawberries.

Almost every house had several plants growing like this one.

After visiting each house we hiked up more to visit more homes and greenhouses. 

Three levels of greenhouses, each owned and operated by a different family.

We hiked up this volcano to about 8500 feet for over 30 minutes. The volcano's peak reaches over 13,000 feet.

 About half way up the side of the volcano we stopped for lunch.

The kitchen where chicken soup was cooking on the stove.

The girls seem to make friends wherever we go.

Lunch.
("The dining room")

The border between Guatemala and Mexico, divided by occasional cement markers.

After a knee-jarring trip back down the mountain, we got back in the truck and drove about one minute down the road, where it abruptly ended and led to the abyss of a pine forrest. We had reached the porous border with Mexico.

We headed back to Sibinal to take a hot shower and eat some comida tipica, reflecting on the harsh reality of living on the side of an active volcano. We are excited to work with these communities in the coming years. More pictures to come.