The Best Worst Day

You may have been counting down until today. But I’ve been dreading it, fearing it, hoping it’d never come. So have the kids. Every day, I’m surrounded by a chorus of “No te vayas (don’t go).” I’m presented with a new suggestion (Visit your family and come right back. If you can’t pay for the air ticket, ask Superhero Monkey to take you, or have a million parrots carry you. - Stow me away in your suitcase. - Come back for Christmas, for my birthday, in January.). Every day I feel my eyes fill with tears, and beg them not to spill over, not yet.

No matter how hard I try, though, I can’t slow time. And today is finally here. My last day. After frenzied packing, letter writing, and party preparation, I walk to the school for the last time, practicing smiling through the pain.

When I arrive, I see my same feelings reflected in the eyes of my kids. But they look beautiful, wearing their decorated t-shirts from yesterday and smiling just like me, through, unshed tears. I gather the kids, and we hike up to Torre Torre for a picnic. I give my girls a disposable camera to use, and they stop for pictures every few steps. I try so hard to memorize every detail, Lizbeth’s goofy laugh, Ingrid’s cautious baby steps on the rocky trail, Maribel’s million camera poses, Diana’s yell to hurry up, and Thalia’s gorgeous face trying so hard to maintain her smile.

After we have our snack, I announce that it’s time to head back to the school. I know that my girls can sense the time running out, like an hourglass down to the last few grains of sand. They fight to hold my hand, to take one last picture with me, to have me sign their shirts. They beg me not to leave.

When we get back to the school, and I hand out bags with pictures, letters, candy, and most of the clothing I’ve worn for the last 3 months, the floodgates are cast open. Lizbeth, Diana, and Maribel run to me, and I can hardly breath.

Wrapped in the arms of three sobbing fourteen year old girls, I’m overwhelmed by emotions: guilt for making them so sad, for breaking their little hearts, for seemingly abandoning them- pride for having earned such strong love from every child- sorrow at not knowing when I will next see their shining faces- fear that they will not be here when I return- and of course the overwhelming feeling of my heart being ripped out of my chest: not in one swift blow, but slowly and painfully like a child who peels their bandaid off slowly instead of letting their mother rip it off.

I look around and see Habran, who isn’t even in my class, sobbing and Thalia with silent tears running down her face. “Te amo (I love you)“ she says, “Y nunca voy a olvidarte (and I’ll never forget you).“ As I hug each of them goodbye, I finally understand how my mother felt when I left. Yet instead of losing one child, I’m losing 10, and there are still 50 more to go. So I wipe my eyes, wave goodbye, and step into the kindergarten class.

Immediately, Miss Yolita directs me to a chair in front of the class. She counts to three and the kids start singing, or more accurately screaming, belting the song with all of their heart. All I can understand is, “Vue, Vue, Vuela en un avion (fl, fl, fly in a plane),” and I laugh and cry at the same time. Luis sees my video camera and starts dancing and rolling on the floor. I feel my already ripped open heart being chopped into pieces. As each kid comes up to give me a hug, I never want to let them go. Waving goodbye, I wish I could once again hear “Hasta lunes, (see you Monday).”

the younger morning class

my morning class

my girls

Not three hours later, I step off the bus by the school and find two of my girls waiting for me, scrambling to take my bags and hold my hand. For the last time. I can tell they’re upset, but I make them promise to smile and have fun until the end of the day.

Like the morning, the afternoon goes absolutely perfectly. The kids laugh and smile as we play crazy games. We tie balloons to their ankles and have them stop on each others,’ we have them holding on to each other in a line with the head trying to catch the tail, and we have them play tug-o-war. It starts raining, but only for long enough to go inside, eat a snack, and take some more pictures. Then it is bright and sunny again.

At the end of the day, we make the kids stand in line as we hand each of them a tissue full of flour and tied with a knot…a flour bomb. On the count of three, everyone goes wild, drilling each other with the flour bombs that explode upon impact. My hair turns from gringa light brown to old lady white in seconds, and I laugh as kid after kid pours flour on me. When the bombs run out, they scoop the piles off the ground and keep playing. I just stand there and watch, absorbing their joy like the stray dogs that lay in the street soaking up the sun. I wish that I could stay right here, for hours or days or a month.

But the clock keeps on ticking. When the flour runs out and is too scattered to be scooped off the ground, I get out their goody bags and start handing them out. Again, everyone is so grateful. My class oohs and aahs, and in return, I am handed beautiful cards and letters, cut into shapes, covered in stickers, and layered with different colored paper. I stick them in a folder for later, and see the first of my afternoon kids come to say goodbye. Little Kevin doesn’t cry, but I almost do, especially when a group forms behind him.

I hug and kiss Efrain, Jimi, Nikol, Shayuri, Nidia, Ruth, Ronald, and then I see Johan. Johan is the craziest kid at the school, always making annoying jokes and being ornery. And he is sobbing. I had no idea that he even liked me, and somehow I’ve broken his little heart. I give him a big hug and try to cheer him up with one of his own stupid jokes, but he runs home crying. Poor baby. My heart now seems to be in a blender, and I’ve never felt worse in my life.

After Johan, I bid farewell to Alejandra, one of the first kids I talked to, the little kindergartners that came this afternoon just to see me one last time, and Anghelo, whom I taught to go across the monkey bars by himself. I say goodbye to the older girls, Yeraldine, Margoth, and Joselin, who were always so quiet and sweet, and then the older boys: Justi, who looks so grown up, Antonio, who at age 10 already wants to help the poor, and Jaime, who is wearing his usual adorable grin. And Kevin. Kevin who brought me roses and drawings and presents every day for the last two weeks. The oldest boy in the school, he too is crying as he kisses me on the cheek, leaves, and then comes back to say goodbye one more time.

My own class is the hardest, especially because I am leaving them teacherless. Benyi is one of the first to leave. The one little boy that I would’ve adopted in a heartbeat if he wasn’t so happy where he was, is trying so hard not to cry. As soon as the first tear escapes, he hops up, hugs me goodbye, and runs home, clutching my cross necklace that hangs around his neck.

My girls walk me part of the way home. At the first crossroads, I say goodbye to Liz, Isabel, Jenny, Elizabeth, and Esperanza. When we reach Ana’s house, I have to pry her off of me. She begs me for at least the millioneth time not to leave, and I hug her tight.

At the end of the dirt road by the school, I hug Yadira, the star student of my class. I tell her that she’s in charge now, and she sobs as she promises to help the other kids when I’m gone.

Then comes the hardest goodbye. During my time in Peru, Lizbeth has been like my little sister or my daughter. Every single day, she brought be gum and candy and presents. At the end of class, she always held my hand to the end of the road, and pleaded to come home with me. Now, she weeps in my arms for what seems like hours, and I know that I am probably breaking her heart even more than she is breaking mine.

As it starts to rain, Lizbeth looks at me through her tears and says, “El cielo esta llorando porque estas saliendo (The sky is crying because you’re leaving).” And it was. Its chilly drops washing away the tears but not the memories.

My afternoon class

Ana

Benyi

Luis got really into the flour war Lizbeth

Lizbeth and Liz with my handprints on the wall

Jungle Book

Sorry, I'm a bit behind right now. Here is my blog from last week, and I will be posting another tomorrow or the next day.

Chapter 1: Driver Dude

I don’t think I was ever so close to dying as the day we drove to the jungle. Crammed in the backseat of a cab, Jenny, Ian, and I held our breath as our driver, dubbed Driver Dude, flew down curvy mountain roads going 80kmph when the speed limit was 20. It didn’t matter that it was dark and raining or that we were in the left lane when another car was coming, Driver Dude never slowed down. I sat there taking Dramomine and wishing I had a seatbelt. Then, just three hours after the start of our supposedly five hour drive, we were there….in the mighty jungle, where everything was green and the air was hot and muggy.

Chapter 2: Tarzan

First thing after lunch, Leslie told us that we were going to a waterfall. She went away and came back with a Peruvian kid wearing huge rainboots and carrying a rope. Wondering what it was for, we followed him across a rickety wooden bridge and into the rainforest, lathered in bugspray but getting bitten nevertheless.

Right off the bat, our guide, who I will call Tarzan for reasons to be explained later, started teaching us about the wildlife. Pointing out different plants, he said, “This plant will kill you in five minutes if you touch it,” “Here, chew this leaf, but don’t swallow it, it’ll make you sick,” and Now, feel the fibers in this leaf, but don’t put your hand in your mouth, it’s poisonous.” Jenny, Ian, and I looked at each other and wondered what on earth we’ve gotten ourselves into.

After a short walk, we started walking up the creek/river. When we reached a waterfall that looked unpassable, I learned what the rope was for. Tarzan, who for the record was barefoot (he gave his boots to Driver Dude who only had dress shoes), climbed the rock, tied the rope to a tree, and told us to follow. As I clambered up the slippery walk, I had a feeling this was going to get harder before it got easier.

We climbed several more waterfalls and then reached two that were very large. Expecting to take some pictures and turn around, we were shocked when Tarzan started scaling the wall and threw down the rope. Instead of swinging down on it while beating his chest, though, he beckoned us upwards. We followed him and then had to use tree roots to climb the rest of the way up. It was scary because of how easy it’d be to fall down onto the rocks below. Somehow we all survived, though, so we walked back to the car and set off on our next adventure.

Chapter 3: Ponkey…or Something Like That

After the waterfall and a quick stop at a coffee place, we headed to a native village. We stepped out of the car and were immediately led to put on traditional costumes. The giant brown sacks were about the least flattering thing you could imagine, and we topped them off with a beaded sash and feather headdress. Then we sat down and waited for the chief, who came over, talked and talked and talked, but wasn’t understood at all. Next, he started beating a drum and his family appeared out of nowhere, singing and wearing the same Jedi costumes. When the music switched from slow and mournful to quick and playful, the kids grabbed our arms and dragged us to the fire, not so successfully trying to teach us their crazy dance that got faster and faster and never ended. I felt like a toy that keeps getting wound and wound and never gets to stop. Eventually, though, it ended. The boy that danced with me took me to his shop and told me to buy something to remember. Scared of offending anyone, I bought a bracelet. Before we left, we held parrots and climbed a treehouse. As we walked out, the people all thanked us in their language. Ponkey, pounky…I don’t remember…
Chapter 4: A Wing a Wop, A Wing a Wop

In the jungle the mighty jungle, the gringos sleep tonight….

Finding a place to sleep was so hard. Since there were no rooms available in the village, we set off to find a hostel. For some reason, Tarzan was still with us as we tried hostel after hostel. After the third or fourth one, Tarzan offered some jungle rum to Driver Dude. That was quite unnerving. For that reason, we settled on the next hostel despite that all five of us would be in one room that was about 100 degrees.

Chapter 4: Tirol Falls

The next day, checked out the botanical gardens, which were full of PINK flowers. Our guide was only 9 or 10, but she was adorable. After an hour or so with her, we were off to waterfall number 2. This one had a normal hike but was absolutely amazing. When we finally reached the 82 foot waterfall, we just stood there in awe for a few minutes. Then we took our shoes off and waded into the water. Standing just a few feet back, I could look up and see the water crashing over the edge of the rocks as if it was going to come down on my head. Ian and I ducked under the falls, which felt like a massage from a very angry person. We stood behind the screen of water and posed for pictures without being able to see anything or hear beyond the roar of the water. Finally, thoroughly soaked, we hiked back, drank some fresh coconut milk, and hopped back in the taxi.

Chapter 6: Who Turned Out the Lights?

The cave was supposedly the largest cave in South America, but most of it is underwater. So we only went in 3 meters. But those three meters were scary! Once again, we climbed walls with nothing but a rope. Only this time, seemingly bottomless holes and drop offs waited on both sides to swallow up anyone that was careless. Vampire bats fluttered about, and it was completely dark minus the flashlights, not like American caves with lamps every few feet. Our guide pointed out many figures in the rocks, most of which were thought up by someone with TOO much imagination. When we finally made it back out, we were ready to head back home. Thankfully, it’d be too dark to see Driver Dude’s horrific driving, and I was too tired to care anyway.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

Here are things my kids have written or said that I thought would be fun to share. Everything is translated for the sake of your enjoyment:


Using Vocab Words (the body) in a sentence
Ingrid: My finger is very big.
Maribel: My knees is very beautiful.
Ronald: My shoulders are pretty.
Kevin: You have 1 eye.
Lizbeth: My head is orange.

When Asked the Most Important Thing in Their Life
Jaime: Pollo a la braza (rotisserie chicken- they’re equivalent of a happy meal)

Practice with Future Tense
Liz: I will eat pants.
Lizbeth: The dog will eat its foot (food).

Random
Diego: Miss Yolita (who was drawing a flower on the white board), don’t color like Luis. He’s bad at coloring. Color like me.

Anna: Do you wash your legs?

Anna: Please give me your hair (as a gift).

What Do Plants Need to Grow?
Diego: EXERCISE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

During Recess
Kevin: Please give me a test!
Matt (other volunteer): No.
Kevin: Please!
Matt: Fine, if you win at soccer, I will give you a test.
Kevin: YESS!!!

When they Tasted Pop Rocks
Edelinda: It’s like stars exploding in my mouth.

Guy on the Street
Hello. My name is Good Morning.

When Kids Found Out I was Leaving Nov 20
Kevin-“You must stay longer.”
Me-”I can’t. I already bought my plane ticket.”
Kevin- “I will hide it.”
Me- “You can’t. It’s on the internet.”
Kevin- “I will blow up the internet with a bomb.”

Maribel: I will kill myself when you leave. (thankfully she was smiling when she said that)

Liz: Don’t leave. Bring your family to come live here with you.

When Asked What They’d Like Me to Send from America
Lizbeth- I just want a picture of you.

The Goodbye of Miss Molly (by Diana)
The goodbye of Miss Molly went very sad for we the students of the school Tinkuy Peru. And the same day celebrated Halloween and went very fun because the Miss Josy and Miss Molly brought us gifts very beautiful and we yelled strong very and said thankyou and later finished.

The Happiest Day of My Life
On July 25th, 2010 went the happiest day of my life because knew a very handsome boy and I liked a lot. Then he came to live near my house, that day we went to walk very happily, for my this went a day very beautiful but, with the time made us friends and later boyfriends.

When Asked About Huancayo
Jannyna: My favorite part of Huancayo is the supermarkets and other jobs because they provide work for the people of Huancayo. These businesses provide the people of Huancayo with the salary they need to survive.

The House That I Dream of Forever (by Thalia)
I always dream of a very beautiful house with the form of a castle and many windows and doors. I like the color pink and want my house to be of that color. I want it to have many beds, twelve bedrooms with large curtains, and many flowers. And it will have very large stairs in the form of a spiral, painted floors, and a very wide, smooth bed for sleeping comfortably. It will have many things like a tv, blender, radio, and refrigerator filled with sodas, fruits, vegetables, chickens, fish, ice cream, and others. Also, it will have a very big swimming pool, a field for playing volleyball with my family, many floors, and green grass.

Dreams
Diana (14): I want to study in an American university because I want to practice more English. I want to be an English teacher, a journalist, and a policewoman because I want to shoot. I want to be president of Peru so I can go to war.

Kevin (9): I want to be a traffic policeman because there are a lot of crashes, and I can take care of and watch the road.

Esperanza (11): I want to be a lawyer to defend the innocent. I want to be like Hannah Montana because I like to sing.

Benyi (11): I want to be a singer because I like to express my ideas with a crowd. I want to study in the University Continental because it is big, and I can learn a lot. I want to live in a house with five floors. I want to see America because I want to know all the countries. I want one wife and two boys.
Johan (9): I want to visit Lima because it has a beach and very sunny weather.

Jaime (12): I want to study at the Peruana in Lima. I want to study science and make experiments because I like explosions. I want to visit the United States on July 4th because they have grand explosions.

Margoth (12): I want to visit the United States to see my previous English teacher that I miss. I want to live in Huancayo because my family lives here and it is very important to me. I want to teach English to people so they can travel to the United States and have very good jobs.

Joselin (12): I want to study design at Eckerd College because my miss studies there. I want to make and sell clothes. I want to be like Hannah Montana because she designs clothes.

Justi (12): I want to visit the city of Las Vegas in the United States because in Las Vegas it is very easy to win a lot of money. I think I will have better luck in a Las Vegas casino. When I am rich, I will play soccer with my friends every day. And after, I will go see Avatar movies.

Kevin (13): I want to study science in the University of Peru in UPLA. I want to be like Michael Jackson because I like his music. I want to live in Lima because it is near the beach, and I like to swim.

Jannyna (15): I want to study at State University because they have a good program for engineering. I want to live in the United States because maybe there are more jobs for engineers there. I want to work in New York because it is large. I want to visit Korea because I like their music and people.

Yeraldine (16): I want to study many languages at an American university. I want to be a hairdresser.

Antonio (10): After I leave the Andean school, I want to study in the University A Las Peruanas in Lima. I want to study law and be a lawyer. I want to help the poor, malnourished people in Peru by educating them and building them a school. I want to have a pretty happy family. I want to be good like Tino and have a job like him because he helps make my dreams come true.

Thalia (17): My future is destined to be a teacher of kids (3-7 years old) and study in the Institute “Lencio Prado.” I am very patient and this an advantage. My studies last three years and later they give me a certificate so I can refill my Curriculum Vitae. I will be very happy to meet this objective, but first I need to study a lot and complete much homework. The uniform I wear is a short skirt, a coat, shoes, and a scrunchy. I love English, and I also love speaking it. I thank Gof for putting my Miss Josy and Molly in my life because they are so good and pretty with us.

So You Wanna Know Me?

“AHHHHH!” screamed my girls as they jumped up and down. I forced myself to enjoy their excitement instead of submitting to my instincts and covering my ears. I smiled as they tore open their bags and lifted out their new clothing and toys. Thali, a calm and mature seventeen year old bounced and screamed like a five year old on Christmas when she pulled her brand new gray boots out of her bag. Upon seeing their white shirts with little jean vests, Diana and Lizbeth ran up to me and suffocated me in a big bear hug. The other girls in the class soon joined, and I couldn’t put my finger on the source of my inability to breathe. Was it the hug making me claustrophobic or the joy shooting up from my heart like a geyser? It was unbelievable that I could be SO happy just because they were. I would never again doubt the common phrase “It’s better to give than to receive,” and I envied whoever would get to play Santa Clause in Huancayo this year.

That afternoon, as I set the black bags of gifts at each place, I couldn’t wait for the screaming and jumping I’d experienced with my morning class. When my kids ran into the room, I got out my camera and awaited the screams. But they didn’t come. Instead, I heard a groan, and a whiny voice that pieced my heart like a sword, “But I wanted a pink dress!” Despite the fact that Dayana was only six years old, I wanted to scream at her. She had no idea how much time I’d spent trying to find a pink dress, and how, being unsuccessful, I’d carefully picked out an adorable pink shirt as a substitute. As more children came up to me with complaints, I wanted to cry. I’d spent literally all of my free time the past week shopping for them. My feet and back ached, and I was exhausted. I’d dealt with the obnoxious salespeople that handed me size 12 blue pants that read “Sexy” when I asked for size 10 black pants for a boy. When donated money ran out, I’d been happy to use my own to cover the rest because I cared deeply about each and every child. But they weren’t grateful. Yes, some of them were as thrilled as my afternoon class, and that made me SO happy, but my heart longed for the unhappy children to be thankful, to appreciate the good things I’d worked so hard to give them.


Although I was upset at the time, I soon realized that God had answered a prayer, not my prayer for every kid’s clothing to fit perfectly and be adored, but my prayer to know Him more. Just like God offers salvation, I gave my children gifts that I hoped would bring them joy. Some of the kids were grateful. They accepted my gifts with awe and wonder, and that made my heart melt. But others rejected what they’d been offered because it wasn’t exactly what they wanted or thought they needed. This rejection let me experience God’s longing for His children to accept His gift, His heartbreak at their refusal, and His desire for their love. I won’t deny that I wish every kid had loved their presents. Yet I am glad that I got to see a glimpse of another piece of the huge heart of my heavenly father.

everyone with their masks at the Halloween party

a small part of our present stash


you can see about half of the gifts from this shot

my morning class

a few girls in my afternoon class

To Be a Firefly

Everybody knows that a S’more is one of the best things in the world…everybody in America, that is. But four thousand miles away, in Huancayo, Peru, roasting marshmallows is a completely foreign idea. Nevertheless, I decided to bring the ingredients to the school on Friday and turn the kids’ world upside down.


“Ezmooor” the kids repeated as I explained my favorite traditional American snack. The first group of kids in my classroom were not nearly excited enough until I began placing candles in front of them. Then their eyes grew wide. They watched in awe as I demonstrated, holding the marshmallow just above the tiny flame and letting it bubble and burn.

Two seconds after I let them start, every candle had been snuffed out by their excitement. As I relit each one, I realized that I was going to need a lot more matches. I passed the flame over and over again to each person, feeling like I was trapped in a scratched DVD of a Christmas eve church service. Over the course of ten minutes, the tiny candles blinked on and off like fireflies, their golden flecks of light twinkling in the dusky room. And like fireflies, though they flickered out repeatedly, they left a happy glow in the eyes of each child.

When the marshmallows were as black as night, a mess of crumbly ashes, they put them on their S’mores with a blob of chocolate syrup, and opened wide. Those first bites brought some of the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen. Kids watching through the window begged to come in and have a turn.

After everyone had tasted a S’more, it was time to leave. On the way home, five year old Luis looked like he was walking on air. His sticky chocolate lips bore the grin of a child on Christmas. “Luis!” I called, very amused by his angelically joyful face. “Fue el mejor dia de tu vida? (Was that the best day of your life?)” With an enthusiastic nod, his grin grew even wider (almost like the Joker but adorable instead of creepy), and he bounced away with the gusto of the Energize Bunny fueled by sugar.

Just fyi, the blue is icing. We let them decorate the grahm crackers too, so it would take up more time.

Three Kinds of Smiles

I didn’t remember taking a ride in a time machine, but straddling my beautiful gray horse with adobe houses on both sides, I was sure that I was back in time. Could there really be parts of the world that still remained so untouched by human advancement and technology? On my right, a woman was leading a flock of sheep down the dirt road, clad in homemade clothing with a baby slung on her back. On my left, a man was training two oxen in a yoke so they could later plow his giant field. The village around me consisted of garage sized mud houses with ceramic tile roofs whose crumbling walls and collapsing ceilings made me wonder at their age. Farmland stretched for miles, and rolling mountains framed the village on every side. As we waved at the staring villagers (gringas are apparently fascinating in any age), I half expected Paul Revere to ride up behind me shouting, “The British are coming!”

But when I saw a car parked next to a tiny house with a llama tied nearby, I remembered that I was not in colonial America, but 21st century Peru. I would not be meeting George Washington or John Adams on this particular day. Nevertheless, when thunder boomed, I kicked my horse to go faster and smiled confidently as my imagination transformed me into a galloping 18th century heroine racing to beat the storm.

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When you find out you’re only going to have eight out of thirty five kids the next day, you know you have to do something fun. So yesterday when we showed up at the school, we came bearing gifts. The kids arrived to find the tables laden with cupcakes, colorful icing, fudge sauce, M&Ms, sprinkles, and everything else necessary to decorate a cupcake. With wide eyes, they each sat down next to a cake and grabbed a bag of icing. Not ten minutes later, every cupcake looked like the Mile Hile City, with mountains of icing piled on top. Towers of candies and mounds of chocolate adorned each one.

A frenzy followed the signal to begin eating. Seeing their faces, you’d have thought the day’s activity was face painting. I burst out laughing when I saw Benyi lick off his icing and hand his now plain chocolate cake to Efrain, who put it in a bag for later. Soon, the only sign of the cupcakes were the stains on the kids’ lips and noses. As they looked up at me with their Cheshire cat grins, I pitied their mothers. Sugar high…sugar low.

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A chilly breeze slipped under my blanket of hair raising goose bumps on my neck and sending a shiver down my spine. But though I was chilly, my right hand was warm. Lizbeth clutched my hand tightly as she walked next to me. Her grip was neither the reluctant hold of a child too old to hold her mother’s hand while crossing the street, nor was it the obnoxiously tight squeeze of an ornery boy trying to be difficult. Instead, she held my hand as if it contained a hundred soles that she was determined not to lose.

I felt her gaze as I talked to Krista and Molly. She watched me intently although she couldn‘t understand our English. Her smile widened each time I said goodbye to one of the children tagging along, and her satisfaction was evident when she was the only one left, finally having me to herself.

When I reached her road, I bent down to kiss her cheek and say “Hasta mañana (see you tomorrow).” But instead of kissing me back, she turned her head and clutched my hand tighter. “No!” she exclaimed. “Voy a tu casa. (I’m going to your house).” Despite my shaking head, I felt my smile stand on its tiptoes to reach my eyes and somehow also reach all the way down to my heart.

Over the Rainbow

This is an excerpt from a scholarship essay that I'm writing.

Four thousand miles away from all of my famiy and friends, my hair blows in the wind as I push three-year-old Araceli on the swing. Her eyes glitter like jewels she will never be able to afford, and her laugh is like an oasis in the Sahara. Yet despite her unadulterated joy, the marks of the pain she’s endured linger like footprints in wet cement. Her cheeks are pink with marks of abuse instead of the healthy glow or bashful blush of a happy child. Crumbs are scattered around her lips, not reminders of a tasty snack, but of a hastily devoured meal eaten in desperation and fear of when the next would come. The nippy air slips in through holes in her sweater, and her broken shoes threaten to fall off at any moment. Watching her swing, I cannot tell if the tears pooling in my eyes spring from joy or sorrow.

Suddenly, I see Araceli’s grip weaken on the handles of the swing. Just as I yell, “¡Cuidado!” she tumbles onto the dusty ground. As giggles turn to wails, I scoop up the sobbing child and cradle her in my arms while dormant pain erupts from her like an angry volcano. She cries for the mother that abandoned her in the jungle, the father that she never met, the adoptive mother that beats her, and because she feels like Dorothy, longing to escape to a world beyond the rainbow. Yet instead of living in the black and white world of Kansas, her world is bright with color: the blue of her loneliness, the red of her new mother’s rage, and the yellow of her fear. If only she would realize that I’m here to love her, to be the tornado that lifts her into a world where she is cherished and protected. How I wish I could sacrifice everything and promise to never leave.

When her well of tears begins to dry, I grab her grubby hands and start to spin. A smile plays peek-a-boo at the corner of her lips as we dizzily topple to the ground. When her smile finally takes center stage, I turn and whisper in her ear, “Araceli, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Update: Since I wrote this essay, Araceli stopped coming to the school. Apparently, she is back in the jungle working in a coffee field with her mother. However, we don't know if this is her real or adopted mother or if/when she is coming back. Please pray for her.

Through the Wardrobe

Every day at eleven o’clock, I follow my class of kindergartners out of Huancayo and into the world of their imaginations. Although we never visit the same place twice, the lands we visit are equally as complex and fascinating as Narnia. And we certainly never fail to have an adventure.

My first trip through the wardrobe was exhausting. Reeking of death, bodies of small children littered the chalky pavement, and every now and again a cry would ring through the still air. Despite the fact that the kids were clearly dead, I approached the nearest one and listened for a heartbeat, a breath of life, anything. Disappointed, I scooped up the child and lifted her into the ambulance that had suddenly appeared, sirens blaring. As we sped to the hospital, I thought I heard a giggle from the body--must’ve been my imagination. The second we arrived, I laid the child in front of a surprisingly young doctor. Expecting him to shake his head and tell me it was too late, I was shocked when he knelt beside the dead girl and started tickling her. I was even more stunned when the child’s eyes fluttered open and her hands reached to block her ticklish belly. Realizing that in this strange place, death was only temporary, I hopped in my ambulance and set out to raise the dead.

The next time I stepped into the land of imagination was a very different experience. I found myself in a world bursting with life, every shade of green clearly represented. As I studied my surroundings, I suddenly heard the whiz of an arrow shooting past my ears. Before I had time to duck, two tiny warriors charged through the tall grass, launching several grenades straight at my face. I tottered for a moment, and then collapsed, sputtering dramatically before I died. However, once again, I found that death was not permanent. When I woke, three small girls stood before me, armed with impressive swords and looking fierce. I lifted my own sword just in time to block a blow to my face, and the clang of metal on metal rang through the trees. We fought for hours, always regaining what was lost, be it limbs or life breath. Their band of warriors slowly grew, and eventually, thoroughly exhausted, I convinced them join me on a quest instead of repeatedly stabbing me to death.

So…we set off through the jungle. Creeping quietly to avoid the attention of lions and tigers, we hacked down any plants that stood in our way. We leapt across paths of stones to avoid fire spewing from the ground . The kids shot down enemies and rescued friends (even when we had to make a chain of people through the sinking sand). Everything was fine until I lagged behind with the two youngest warriors. Their little legs simply couldn’t keep up with the others. Suddenly, a huge dragon appeared before us, its emerald green scales sparkling in the sun with smoke rising from its nostrils. Sayuli clung to me as Duvan charged the mighty beast. He jabbed and swung his sword at the dragon‘s chest, ignoring the mighty flames that threatened to engulf him. His bravery came as no surprise after seeing him punch and spit at Matt, a volunteer whose knees are at the same level as Duvan‘s head. The dragon was slayed in no time, and we proceeded on our journey through the “selva“ without incident.

The last time I slipped out of reality with the class, I found myself in a nearby store. It sold everything you’d expect to find in a kid’s school lunch: yogurt, fruit, crackers, cookies, juice boxes, and even a container of rice. Nearby was the home of the family that owned the store: a young mother with several children. When I stepped into the itty bitty house, I saw several small beds filled with children: three sleeping girls and two boys who were giggling in a tone far above a whisper. With unexpected energy, the three girls leapt out of bed. Upon seeing the two boys, they screamed bloody murder and proceeded to drag them out of the house….by their hair. The boys, now laughing hysterically, resisted exit until the mother/storeowner burst into the house. With one bloodcurdling shout of “Afuera!” the troublemakers scattered. However, just after the mother left and the girls went back to “sleep“, the ornery boys snuck back in and repeated the whole scenario. Not finding my niche in this particular place, I remained a bystander, smiling and silently longing for a bit of popcorn.

There’s really no way of telling where I’ll find myself during recess with the kindergartners. Once Matt leaves, I’ll probably end up out west, the faithful steed of several crazy little cowboys. Or maybe my next stop really is Narnia. Who knows?