Paying It Forward

     Do you ever give yourself a pat on the back?  I know I don't, or at least I very rarely do.  Rather, I often spend my time thinking about all the "not good enoughs" in my life:  I'm not active enough, I'm not helpful enough, I'm not thankful enough, I'm not nice enough, I'm not giving enough...you get the idea.  I very rarely give myself credit for the things that I do do because I always see the human weakness in them. Perhaps I brought dinner to a new mom but there are two other new moms I know whom I've neglected to help.  Or I finally sent that long awaited Thank You note but it should've been sent weeks sooner.  I think that's one of the biggest, most crippling things that hangs over my head--my inadequacies that really just make me human.
     I am not an Evangelical in the religious denomination sense of the word but try to live my life in an evangelizing way.  I try to live a life that sets an example to others whom I come in contact with because you never know who and how you are impacting others.  I think of that friend who said those simple words that led me to believe I wasn't parenting so terribly bad.  Or that person at the store whose smile was so big, I could see her joy radiating right into my own very being.  It's those things I try to remember when I go about my own daily ways.  I try to remember that although I may often see myself and all my imperfections, I'm still exactly who God made me to be.
     Tuesday was one of those rare occurances where I was confronted with that--while I'm nothing special, God proved that He still uses me just the same.  Back track two weeks and I was running around frantically trying to put together a care package for dear friends of ours who are missionaries in Belize.  I was wrapped up in the busyness of the season and kicking myself for not sending the package sooner so as to assure it would arrive in time for Christmas.  I ran into a friend of mine at a store and was telling her about the package I was trying to fill for shipment asap.  We then shared pleasantries and went our separate ways.  I hadn't thought much of it but aah, that's when God steps in.  Inspired by my continual (albeit at times "not enough") efforts to help those in Belize, my friend then went home and nominated me for a local news program's Pay It Forward segment.  The next thing I know, on Tuesday a news crew shows up at my door to hand me $500 to "pay it forward" in Belize!  I'm elated by all the possibilities that this money can be used for.  And really, I could not think of a better Christmas present but somehow I still allowed negativity to creep in.
     Obviously, I was very surprised by this attention, especially when I don't feel as though I deserve it.  But then again, I don't.  After all, it's not about me anyway and really, I've never viewed it as such. After they left, in spite of the fact that this news station found our efforts worthy enough to encourage, I kept thinking about all the "not enoughs".  I hadn't gotten service groups committed to delivering supplies for me fast enough, I hadn't mailed checks soon enough, I hadn't touched base with my contacts in Belize often enough. Had I really just allowed this great blessing to somehow feel like a failure in my own eyes??
      And then shortly after the news crew left I opened my mail and God had a little message for me.  In it was a Thank You note from a friend telling me how touched beyond words she was by a gift bag of goodies I'd left her a week back. Again, it was just something I thought I should've done sooner, but apparently did at just the right time.  I did it because a friend had given me the same bag labelled "Mom's Break" filled with different goodies and touched by that, I wanted to do the same to someone else.  Here I was already paying it forward and hadn't even acknowledged it.  Someone touched me, had an effect on me, and I in turn, touched someone else, had an effect on them, all without fully realizing--until that moment that is.
     It's the littlest things we do that set us apart from everyone else.  We are, or can be, a living example of God's love to others:  in our smile, in the words we speak, in the way we help others, and often times in the most discreet of ways.  We never know when God will use our actions to inspire or encourage others but let's try to live our lives in a way that leaves us open to that.  I'm nothing special, I'm not holier than though, I'm just a regular mom and wife who chugs away at daily life trying to set an example for others and often times failing in my actions.  That's ok.  God doesn't want me to be perfect, He knows I can't be but I tend to believe that He delights in our good works, even the simplest ones and He enjoys using us to bless others.  Mother Teresa is believed to have said, "we can do no great things, only small things with great love."  Let's stop allowing ourselves to be disabled by all the "not good enoughs" in our life and choose to live each moment of each day as an example of God's love.  You never know when or how you will impact others whom you come in contact with and you never know how that will in turn, impact others even.  So instead of reaching for a bar set too high, I'm going to keep trying my best to be the best example I can be.  Not great, not perfect, but hopefully an example that God can be proud of.  Because, I never know when, or how I will impact someone next.  And in the meantime, I will try to give myself this one time, a pat on the back.
     Thank you God for using me in ways I hadn't even realized.

P.S. if you are interested in viewing my story on the news, tune in to St. Louis' Fox 2 news on Thursday Dec. 27 at about 9:55 pm.
Here's the link to the story: http://fox2now.com/2012/12/27/pay-it-forward-kuhnert-family/

Somethin' to talk about

     We will be giving our first two presentations on our experience in Belize during October.  The first will take place at St. Dominic Savio church in Affton, MO on Sunday, Oct. 21 after the 10:30 am service in the church cafeteria (Feuerbacher Hall).  The second talk will take place on Wednesday, October 24 at 7pm again at St. Dominic Savio in Affton in the parish hall.  Both talks are open to everyone who wishes to come hear about our experience from the past year.
     Due to some obvious time constraints, we would love more than anything to focus on what it is that you would like to hear about.  If you have any questions or specific topics that you would like to see addressed please let us know.  Feel free to post a comment or you may email us directly.
     In the meantime, if you would like to have us present to your group, church, or organization, we are currently scheduling dates.  We are really excited about getting the opportunity to share with you on the amazing year we spent serving the poor in Belize.

You Gonna Eat That? Part 3

So now that we've touched on shopping and cooking in Belize let's talk about my favorite subject:  eating in Belize.  While admittedly, Belize isn't exactly the culinary mecca that it's northern neighbor, Mexico is, that doesn't detract from the fact that Belize has some really amazing dishes all its own.

     Latin American in location, yet Caribbean in much of its influence, Belize has put together its own meal time staples that rarely leave a stomach wanting for more.  It's almost as if its plates are a marriage of Latino and Caribbean, yet intermingled with some Indian influence (brought on by the Indians who arrived as indentured servants some 150 years ago).

     The absolute number one most popular dish in Belize, one that can be found available at nearly every party gathering, every restaurant, every market food stall, and on many weekly dinner/lunch tables is stewed chicken and rice and beans or sometimes beans and rice--the latter different than the former (and cole slaw on the side if you really want to get technical).  And if you're lucky, you'll find it served with one or two slices of fried plantain, yum yum.  There's just something about this dish that our family loves and whenever we feel like we need some true comfort food, we almost always cook up a batch of it.  In fact, when we returned back to the states, stewed chicken was the very first meal that I cooked our family.

     Chicken, being the most popular meat served in Belize, is also excellent served as curry chicken, BBQ chicken, chicken terkari, escabeche and fried chicken.  The best part about these dishes is that they can be found at any number of local restaurants for anywhere between $2.50 and $5 for a full meal, except for BBQ chicken which can usually be picked up by any number of roadside vendors on Saturdays for no more than $3 a plate.  

     But while chicken is the most popular dish, there are also many other great culinary delights that we enjoyed common to Belize.  Over the months we had opportunities to try fish such as jewfish & snook, gibnut (a delicious large rodent), armadillo, iguana (known locally as bamboo chicken), crab stew (made with the local crabs that run around the streets during rainy season), hudut (a garifuna stew with fish and a coconut milk broth and mashed plantains on the side) and one of my all time favorite dishes in the world--cohune cabbage (no cabbage involved).  

Crab stew made from local land crabs

Panades w/cabbage relish,
cohune cabbage & tortillas

     Every so often a local Mayan will come by, selling bags of cut cohune or even an entire "log" of cohune for about $5.  Cohune is a type of palm tree common to the area and by cutting down the tree and removing the heart you've got the basis for cohune cabbage--think hearts of palm but in large quantities.  The main spices are tumeric (locally known as yellow ginger) along with salt and pepper.  The cohune gets chopped up and boiled with a sauteed onion and spiced.  It's often cooked with chicken pieces and always served over rice.  Surprisingly simple, I find the dish to be nothing short of spectacular and I made it whenever I could get my hands on some cohune.

     One of my absolute favorite things about living in Belize are the umpteen different adults and kids who walk or ride around selling different goodies door to door:  ice cream cones, bread buns, creole bread (similar in flavor to Hawaiian bread), johnny cakes, meat pies, coconut tarts, "fudge" (a gooey conglomeration of sesame seeds, chocolate and who knows what else), sticky buns, tamales (complete with whole chicken parts as filling), panades (fish, beans, or chicken style empanada), corn tortillas, and our absolute favorite--corn fritters.  All averaging about 50 cents a piece or less.  A lot of times moms would send their children out to sell their homemade goodies.  As much as possible, we would try to buy whatever the kids were selling because I knew that most times, the children could not come home until all of their items were sold.  It's no fun seeing a 10 year old out in the dark begging people to buy his last 4 buns so he could go home.  Consequently, kids loved coming up to our door to sell us mom's baked goods and we loved trying the new things they had to offer.  

     Belizeans use a handful of common spices, at least one of which can be found as a basis for nearly every dish cooked there. Recardo (what you may know as adobo) is a very common seasoning added to dishes along with curry powder, tumeric, chicken bouillon, ginger and coconut milk, all of which I learned to appreciate and administer accordingly to the appropriate dishes.  Oregano is used often in whole dried leaf form along with cilantro and culatnro (cilantro's flavorful and easy to cook with cousin).  Surprisingly, most Belizean dishes are not spicy--though habaneros are extremely common here and hot sauce is more common than ketchup--it's served on pretty much everything.  

Custard apple (tastes like a plum)

one of the many varieties of bananas

   Living so close to the tropical rain forest, fruits abound here.  Between the 7 of us, I would say we've tried more new fruits (and veggies) here than varieties we'd previously tasted in our past years combined.  Some were delicious additions to our palate such as custard apples, cacao pods, breadfuit (a starchy fruit similar in flavor to a potato), bilimbi (made into juice) and the multitude of banana varieties.  Many others, well, let's just say, we're happy to leave those in Belize.  I think that what I found to be most surprising is that there are so many local fruits available that not even all Belizeans are familiar with every variety, plus, our children could always be seen munching on a new fruit that a friend grabbed for them from a tree in their yard.

cashew fruit (the nut is seen encased
on top left fruit) this was one fruit we
did not care for

 

cacao pod:  you can eat the
white membrane around the
 cocoa beans

  Being that there are so many different cultures here in Belize, the foods reflect that.  The Mayans may offer cacao drink to a guest while the Garifuna people would probably serve cassava bread.  Each ethnic group has a few foods that are unique to them.  But, the different cultures serve up a lot of the same foods as well, with just slight variations in the spicing.  While the Belizean menu isn't as extensive as a foodie such as myself might hope for, there never seemed to be a loss of opportunities to try something new.  I could probably write an entire blog on each food group and the foods available in Belize. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed learning about a few of the different foods available in our host country and find yourself encouraged to both want to try perhaps something new and appreciate some of the amazing varieties that we do have available in the US.   

     

  

You Gonna Eat That? Part 2

               So now that you’ve had a chance to become acquainted with some of our shopping adventures in Belize, I wanted to touch on cooking and eating in Belize—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

                I knew cooking would be its own challenge when we moved to Belize, and though I welcomed the challenge at first, I soon found that I was a bit of a “slow learner” when it came time to getting a handle on cooking and eating in Belize. 

For the first few months, it would take me anywhere between 2-5 hours to put together a meal.   So, the first thing I wanted to do was find out how other Americans had been doing it in my area, to see what their typical meal looked like and how it was prepared.  Soon after we moved to PG, I’d arranged a visit with an American missionary “supermom” who managed to grocery shop once a week and put together some amazing meals.  Unfortunately, her family was operating on a budget that was quite a bit higher than ours and many of her meal ideas had to be altered for us or wouldn’t work altogether but I did learn a lot of tips on meal planning and cutting down my time in the kitchen.  Later I met, and became good friends with, a missionary mom whose family is similar to ours: tight budget (though a bit tighter than ours), 5 young kids, and two hungry adults.  They had recently adjusted their budget due to a drop in support and the mom quickly realized that food is one area where they could control what they were spending.    This amazing mom gave me the confidence to reorganize myself and my mindset that would help change the way I “thought” my family needed to eat.   But like I said, I was a bit of a slow learner.

The real catalyst for quick change happened about 2 or 3 months after we moved to Belize, and of course it hit me in the head like a 2x4.  I had been in the kitchen cooking up some Chicken Curry (a common Belize dish).  As I stirred my skillet full of simmering chicken, the 11 year old neighbor looked on.  As she peered over the stove top, she looked at my pan and then looked up at me and said “you gonna eat that?”  I replied, “yes, we’re having this for dinner.”  And then she said, “no, you gonna eat all of that?”  That’s when I realized, panged with guilt, that I was cooking a skillet full of chicken for my family but it was an unreasonably huge amount of meat—an amount that I thought we needed.  At this point my family definitely wasn’t stuffing ourselves at meals but I also now realized that meat did not have to be such a huge part of the meal.  No one around us is eating anywhere near this much meat, not even middle to upper class Belizeans, nor is the missionary family (whose family is the same size as ours), and they also are not wasting away to nothing.  And so began my most important cooking lesson in Belize. 

Now, what had previously been enough meat to feed our family one meal (plus a lunch or two for a few people the next day) could be stretched to cover two meals by simply adding more starch (namely rice), homemade breads, and veggies.  It took some getting used to—we still felt hungry after meals, craving more meat, for a short while—but so soon enough, I got a handle on it.  Meal prep began to decrease (even more so if you include the fact that I was regularly making a meal to last two days), tummies were satisfied, and the weight we had dropped the first few months began to get put back on.  Meat was no longer the star of the show, just an important sidekick, and our plates really did appear to be a lot more balanced and healthy.  More importantly, I was cutting back on our spending and feeling a lot more in solidarity with those whom we were in community with.  Though admittedly, my family still cannot eat as much rice as a typical Belizean does at meal time—usually at least a pound per family I would guess. 

Best of all, I now was getting a better opportunity to cook real “Belizean style” and open up my family to a world a great food and tastes—some of which are still favorite dishes in our house.   (And which will be the discussion for the 3^rd and final part of this blog topic.)

Charlie helping knead the dough:  a new common activity at our house

Getting ready to cook up the string of Red Snapper that we'd bought at the market

You Gonna Eat That? Part 1

          While we may be living in the US now (2 weeks and counting), our blog posts do not have to end right?  We have a lot of reflections and observations that have been made and are still in the making and would love to continue to write about them as time permits.

           Since we’ve been back, one of the more basic questions that has been asked of us is “what did you eat in Belize?”  So, I thought some might find it interesting if we wrote about some of our food adventures—shopping, cooking, and eating the foods of Belize.  In an effort to keep from droning on in one post, I will write about each separately and break them up into a couple of different posts. 

When we first moved to Belize we felt like we’d faced a lot of food challenges.  It took some major adjustments learning to cook for a family of 7 with limited ingredients, virtually no prepared foods, no snack items, and limitations on when ingredients can be purchased.  At first, it felt like we were never getting enough to eat—chicken is the most affordable and widely available meat for purchase and the chickens here are significantly smaller than their American counterparts.  It would take me at least two hours to prepare even the simplest of meals and everyone seemed to be asking for more at meal’s end.  But, as time wore on so did my ability to adjust and improvise and my family began to reap its rewards.  One of their favorite things about Belize became my cooking.  

Shopping for food began the first challenge.  Meals have to be planned in advance because if it involves the use of any vegetables or fruits, then they must be purchased at the market which is only open during the mornings.  Back up meals must also be planned should a few necessary ingredients not be available for purchase that day.   Cabbage, carrots, and onion are staples there but beyond that, there is no guarantee that what I wanted to purchase would be available at the market.  Saturdays, Fridays, and Wednesdays are the busiest days at the market as those are the days in which buses run from the villages and the Mayan women come in to sell some of their produce.  The Mennonite farmers also come in most often on those days, especially on Saturdays.  Mennonite produce is often, though not always, superior in flavor and quality as they practice more developed farming strategies here in Belize.  They are also the only ones at the market that have any dairy products:  usually cream or a salty non-melting cheese.

 In addition to purchasing produce, fresh fish and pork (and sometimes beef) can also be purchased at the market.  There is a building at the end of market row in which you can select and purchase fish or seafood from one person and take it to another to have it cleaned.  The building is adjacent to the sea and has a dock that heads straight to the fish market’s back door.  The fishermen head straight from their boat to the market and it is not uncommon to find fish still flopping about as I am making my selection.  The best bargain to be had is what is referred to as a string of fish.  For about $5 you can purchase about 10 small red snapper that have already been cleaned and are strung together on a palm leaf.  We’ve done this several times but in all honesty, the fish are so small that there are quite a few bones in them and my kids found that to be really bothersome. 

Opposite the fish market is the meat market.  It is a small tiled room with about 6 stalls.  Here you can purchase pork at $2.50/lb for any piece of the pig.  There are 3 basic parts to the pig to order:  shoulder, butt, and rib.  I order what I want of the 3 and let the butcher know whether or not I wish them to be cut into “chops” and approximately how much meat I want in pounds.  The butcher then proceeds to bring the meat over to his chopping log and hack off the desired amount with a machete.  Since pork is double the price of chicken, I did not purchase it often but over the months I did learn that when I did buy pork, I could have the skin removed and get more meat for my money.  Many people here cut the skin off themselves and fry it up for a snack of chicharron (essentially pork rinds). 

There is one store, Balona’s, which we referred to as the “Chicken Store.”  It is the only air conditioned store in town and they have freezers full of chicken and turkey, though they do have other typical American style meat cuts, most of which we felt were over our budget to purchase.  They also sell ground beef here in 3 forms:  ground steak, ground beef, and ground meat.  The cows in Belize are bred differently to withstand the heat and consequently the beef here is very tough.   Ground meat, whatever that may be, was $1.45/lb and fit most in our budget so that is what we most often ate of the 3.  Surprisingly, it was also consistently the most reliable in flavor and texture.  I found that on the occasion that I would purchase ground beef instead, it would sometimes have a gritty texture and a strange flavor.  Even a simple meal of spaghetti with meat sauce would be almost unpalatable.

Basic grocery items can be purchased at any of the dozen or so Chinese owned grocery stores, known locally as “the Chiney.”  While a dozen shops sound like a good amount of grocery choices for a town of only 5000, they all sell virtually the same things and each is about the size of a 7-11.  Though it never fails, when I have a specific item I need, I usually have to hit at least 5 or 6 stores before I can find it in stock.  Most Chinese stores are open from 9 to 9 and even over the past year, more and more are staying open on Sundays and during lunch hours.  Much of the food here is close to or past its expiration date and it is my understanding that many items have arrived via the black market.  It’s not uncommon to see items from Sam’s that have been broken down into smaller sizes to be resold here.  You can find US brands here in everything from shampoo, to cereal, to cake mix, to spaghetti sauce but expect to pay at least double what it costs in the US.    Sliced bread is also available but without any preservatives, it is usually dry and crumbly by the time we use it.  Eggs can be bought here individually or by the tray and are never refrigerated.  You can also purchase raw pigs feet by the pound which is stored inside the shops in vinegar inside 5 gallon buckets and served up with tongs into plastic bags.  All stores sold dry beans, flour, rice, and sugar which come in 100lb sacks but are rebagged into 1 to 10lb bags for individual sale.  These items are some of the only food items which sell for less than in the US.  Though, the stores would often run out of sugar because of the occasional sugar plantation strike and the smuggling of sugar across the border (which can be then resold for a higher amount in both Mexico and Guatemala).  Famous advice from every expat I met living in PG, “if you see something at the store that you’ve never seen before, or that you really need, then buy it because you might not ever see it again or not for some months at least.”  So true.  Welch’s grape jelly was often for sale and we went through a lot, as pb& j sandwiches were a lunch staple in our house however , at one point, it was about a month and a half before I could find it on the shelves again. 

It’s been quite a change since moving back to the US and finding myself once again inside mega grocery chains with all their snacks, choices, and availability (and freezing cold a/c).  While I do enjoy the selection, I’m also trying to remind myself that fresh foods over canned goods, homemade items over processed foods, and simple fruits over snack foods really has been rewarding over the past year.  It’s maintaining the balance of the good of both which I hope to continue with in my grocery shopping “adventures” here.  

Got any ID?

     It was nearly 9 pm on Friday when Andy and I managed to sneak away and hit up Asha's Culture Kitchen, a quaint restaurant and bar down by the sea.  There were a few groups of diners there but the real reason we came--drumming.  Tonight a friend and an acquaintance were here (along with a little help from Andy) to whoo us with their high energy West African/Creole rhythms.  Emmeth Young and his friend Boombay, originally hale from Gales Point, Belize--a small lagoon-side village about 35 miles south of Belize City.  Gales Point is a creole village and Emmeth has been playing it's rhythms on various handmade drums ever since he was a young boy.  He's good; arguably one of the best drummers in Belize (and likely beyond).   Our friend Emmeth made his way down here with his family 2 years ago and has called the Punta Gorda area home ever since.

L to R:  Andy, Emmeth, and Boombay playing the rhythms

     I've had the privilege of hearing Emmeth play dozens of times over the past 13 months, many times he's played with my husband, some times solo, often times w/various tourists who'd like a "turn" at the drum, but what I remembered about Friday night is that the sound is taken to a whole new level when he plays with Boombay.  There's just an unmistakable energy when the sounds come rippling from the head of the drum when these two Belizean Creole men play together.  It's a sound that tugs at my inner core and gets me excited--here I am, sitting in an ocean side bar, in Southern Belize, listening to some of the most amazing, authentic drumming in the world.  That's pretty awesome.
     The interesting thing is that it's not just the drumming itself that I love so much.  And after it being some months since I'd last heard Emmeth and Boombay playing together, it suddenly dawned on me--it's the culture.  Emmeth doesn't just play the music, he owns it--the drums, the clothes, the food, the hair, the life style.  It's creole (with its West African undertones) right down to the core.
     One of my most favorite things about Belize is that it is a confetti mix of cultures here, yet not quite in the same way that the US is considered a melting pot.  Here, the people hold tight to the ways of their people, whether it be the Creoles, Garifunas, Mayans, Latinos, Indians, Mennonites or Chinese.  They all have their own foods, clothes, dress, and language.  In the small town of Punta Gorda alone, on any given day, one can find 8 different languages being spoken.

Garifuna girls dance and process with offertory gifts

     On the second Sunday of every month my church celebrates garifuna Mass.  It is bar none, my favorite time to attend mass here.  The Garifuna are a Black Carib people whose concentrations exist in just a handful of villages along the Central American Caribbean coast.  They too have their own clothing, language, food, and spirituality.  Somehow that culture is able to intertwine with Catholicism in a way that makes for a powerful and energizing Mass.  The drums beat and the choir sings and though I don't know the language myself, I feel moved when I sing along to their songs, I feel connected to both God and the people.  The entire congregation is united, pinkies clasped as we all sing and move to the words "Waguchi Bungiu, lidan sun fulasu,"  the first line of the Lord's Prayer--my all time favorite version of the Our Father ever. Though certainly not everyone in the congregation is a Garifuna, the ones that are can easily be spotted on Garifuna Sundays.  Sure many of them are wearing their traditional clothing, but it's more than that.  It's obvious to me when I observe them that they feel a certain connection and a pride as they recite the prayers and songs in Garifuna.  They move more passionately, they seem to listen more intently and it reverberates throughout the entire church.  The whole place just seems to feel more alive with the Spirit on those Sundays, and more connected to each other.
     It's that very same thing that gives Emmeth and Boombay a better sound I think--it's cultural identity.  Cultural pride is something that no one can take away from you--you'll always have it whether or not you are surrounded by others of the same culture.  It's always a part of someone and is a huge part of what makes people who they are (if they choose to hold on to it).  I love that about the people here.  The different cultures all co-exist and they all seem to thrive so well in Belize.  I suppose in some ways I am almost a bit envious of that.  I'm a typical American woman who is made up of such a varied mixture of backgrounds that I would say I have little, if any, cultural identity.  Most of all though, I enjoy seeing it alive in other people.  It's certainly one of the things that makes Belize so great and in some ways, I think it makes the melting pot of America pale in comparison.  Blending together can be a good thing but standing out, being a part of and belonging to something is what makes this such an amazing world we live in.  In a lot of ways, I think it's the heartbeat (or drum beat if you will) that beats in such a way that the the whole world can dance to the rhythm--from West Africa, to the Caribbean, to the Orient, to the highlands of South America--everyone is dancing to their unique dance.

Camp is great...when I'm not in charge

     Last week was the culmination of some of the busiest weeks that I have had since we've been here:  high energy days, working late into the night, and frequent last minute shopping trips.  But what else could be expected when I decided to take on running an art camp for over 75 children?
     Well really, it wasn't my decision at all.  You see, I've had a lot of seemingly great ideas since we've been in Belize and a few have taken off into full on projects.  There's one thing I've noticed with each and every one of my great ideas, they were mine and mine alone, I never consulted God in the matter, I just did what I thought was right.  Stubborn as I am it's taken me many months to really listen to what God has been trying to tell me all along.  "Although  your intentions may be good, they are not necessarily My intentions."  How often do we all do that?  We commence doing something or starting something new, without consulting God first, and yet we fully expect him to tag along for the ride.  What kind of friend or daughter am I when I do that?  Not a very good one that's for sure.  God has been giving me umpteen reminders to just stop and listen to Him first--to do His will not mine--because only He can really know what's best for me.  And finally, after reaching a point in my life where I've been completely broken down (Belize has not exactly been easy on me), I'm allowing him to build me back up because after all, God knows what's best for me and all He really wants is for me to listen and obey.
     Rewind about 8 weeks.  Our plan was in place for an end of July departure from Belize and yet I still had 2 tubs full of art supplies, just waiting to be used.  Then one day I got this idea:  what if I held an art camp after school got out?  I immediately shunned the idea, thinking that there was no way I could handle such a task.  Then the idea popped up more and more.  Over the next 2 weeks I began to think about it often but it was then I realized that there was no way something like this could work out unless it was something that God willed me to do.  So then I began to put it to prayer.  The more I prayed the more I heard nothing, absolutely nothing.  At times I would grow anxious, thinking that if this were something I was supposed to do then I was running out of time to plan.  I mentioned it to my husband and he suggested I go to Mass and pray about it there.  No way I said.  Weekday mass is at 6:30 a.m. and I am NOT a morning person.  So I kept praying and waiting...and waiting.  Still no answer.  As much as I wanted to start working on preparations I promised obedience and I tried ever so hard to trust, fully.  Then I tried to reason, "God I have not even woken up that early this week.  If you want me to go to Mass then you will just have to wake me up."  Sure enough, the very next day, my eyes peeked open,  I was suddenly wide awake.  I looked at the clock:  6:07 a.m.  Rats I thought, just enough time to get to Mass.  As much as I wanted to roll over and head back to bed I knew that I was awake for a reason and now was not the time to disobey.  I arrived at Mass just as it was beginning.  Within a few minutes the first reading began and I began to listen, "How long will you straddle the issue, if the Lord is God follow him, if Baal, follow him.  Lord...let it be known this day that you are God of Israel and I am your servant and have done all these things by your command.  Answer me Lord!  Answer me that this people may know that you Lord, are God, and that you have brought them back to their senses."  Of which God commences to make himself known to the people and alas they respond, "The Lord is God, The Lord is God!"  (1 Kgs 18:20-39)  Wow, I had straddled the issue for quite some time and all He wanted was for me to follow Him--to listen to Him.  The Responsorial Psalm of that day continues on to say "Keep me safe oh God; you are my hope.  You will show me the path to life, fullness of joys in your presence, the delights at your right hand forever."  (full inclusion is Psalm 16: 1b-2ab, 4, 5ab, 8 & 11)  I got the message loud and clear--all He wants of me is to wait on His timing and His Word and He will bless my actions in return.
     And so, with just 2 weeks before school let out, I began to plan for my first ever art camp--Camp Creative (yes I did just say 2 weeks).  Don't get me wrong, I wasn't always perfect in my planning.  That very same night I had the privilege of sleeping on the floor of the PG hospital tending to my 2 year old son who was recovering from a poisonous bite.  While it was a true blessing that he was healthy and recovering, I began to cry as I thought of all the planning still involved with the upcoming camp and the seemingly awkward timing of this incident.  And then I stopped and I remembered, if I continued to be obedient, God would continue to be in charge and all things would be taken care of.  This happened numerous times over the next several weeks--God provided us with a whopping 60 campers registered, access to extra materials would run into snags, volunteers had only stepped forward in small numbers, and the fees we were charging for camp did not cover our costs.  Of course I worked hard, very hard, to put the camp together (which could not have happened without my husband on my team as well) but as I continued to give it all up to God, the stress levels disappeared.    
     I've planned many elaborate events in the past, though none as large as a day camp.  I've got a knack for details and can often plan and rework things to work out just perfectly--you might say I've been a tad guilty of micromanaging.  This time, I really truly put God in charge and let Him worry about all the details.  On Monday morning, the first day of camp, I only knew for sure that there would be 2 volunteers to help corral at least 60 kids (I anticipated more would just show up that day), and was not sure that I could get all the supplies needed for both Thursday's and Friday's planned crafts.  And yet, I still didn't worry.  Not only did I know God was in charge, I let Him be in charge, and most importantly, I completely trusted.  And as the morning commenced volunteers began to arrive: teachers, parents, godparents, Sunday school teachers, along with a handful of teenagers.  All wanting to help.  We ended up with over a dozen volunteers, 80 registered campers, and the supplies to complete each and every project.  The children had an amazing time, parents came to tell us what an incredible experience this was for their children, kids begged us to hold a camp again next year.  After camp was over, we had enough supplies left over to donate to teachers and volunteers to fully cover the surfaces of 3 cafeteria tables--supplies they could never get their hands on down here.  Most rewarding of all, one of our teacher volunteers enjoyed the experience so much that she hopes to continue and expand the camp next year to include more campers (I'd only sent registration forms to one of the 4 schools in town)! 
     And THAT my friends is what it's all about--what my mission and purpose is here in Belize.  God has taught me complete trust and obedience and I have worked to give the people here a hand up, not a hand out.  I look forward to Camp Creative continuing on in future years and I only think that would be possible because I had put it in God's hands instead of just my own. 


   "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding;  In all your ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct your paths."  -Proverbs 3:  5-6


(Below is a slideshow of some of our great fun at camp.  Many more pictures are on our mission facebook page.  To see those just click on the facebook link on the top right of this webpage or the link here http://www.facebook.com/kuhnertfamilymission--you needn't be registered on facebook to view the page.)
  

Happy Anniversary!

     Wow has it already been a year?  There are times when I look back and reflect and I am amazed at all that has happened in the past year—how much our family has grown—both literally and figuratively. 

     At times it seems like it was eons ago that we stepped off the plane onto foreign soil.   We feel at home here now.  Punta Gorda Belize is our comfort zone.  In fact just last weekend we made a trip across the border to Guatemala.  Upon return, after many hours of travelling we stopped in Belmopan (Belize’s capital city) to eat.  Much to my surprise nearly all of us ordered stewed chicken and rice & beans (Belize’s unspoken national dish).  This has become our new comfort food and it felt so refreshing to eat “normal” food again after having been away for several days. 

     It’s the little things like that which make our life here feel completely ordinary and as though we’ve been living this way our whole lives.  Nights on the hammock, meals on the veranda, 2/25 cents frozen choco-bananas, all these things have become a comfortable routine and I couldn’t imagine life any other way.  And yet, in just 1 short month, our lives will return to the old “normal” and these things will be no more for us.  Admittedly, that part makes me a little sad. 

     One the one hand, we long for the old ways:  fresh and fully stocked grocery stores, repairs that can be made with the right parts and the right tools, limited strange creatures sharing our dwelling space, oh and how could I forget, A/C.   Yet, there’s something about life here, the way it’s really grown on us—the pace, the friendliness, the year round summer, children playing in the streets, the beautiful sea at our fingertips—that will be so very hard to give up.  Is it a fair trade?  Sometimes I think yes and other times I think no.

     I can’t even begin to put to pen and paper the ways that we’ve changed, all the experiences that we’ve had, the people we’ve worked with, the relationships we’ve built, and the way God has worked a number in our lives (only to have Him start over and do it again and again and again).  But, when I look back and reflect on our one year anniversary in Belize, I smile (well mostly I do) and I wouldn’t trade any of it. 

     What a long road we’ve travelled in just a short time.  Have we reached our destination?  No, our journey is far from over.  So long as God continues to bless us with His purpose for our lives, then whatever challenges and blessings the next year brings, I say bring it.  And as we wind up our work here and prepare for what lies ahead, my prayer is and always has been the same:  Lord, not my will but yours be done.  And I hope, because of that, He is smiling at us right now.  We haven’t been perfect, He hasn’t been easy, but it’s been an amazing one year anniversary.  Happy Anniversary!  Cheers.

“For I know the plans I have for you” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.  You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”  Jeremiah 29: 11-13 NIV

Lessons From a Preschooler

Best buddies Adam and Bernie

              Taking our 4 year old to preschool—a 1 mile bike ride with him straddling the handlebars—is a task that I surprisingly enjoy.  Why?  Because that is how Belizeans travel and I feel like balancing our son in his pint sized blue and khaki preschool uniform, is my very own rite of passage, the one thing that says “I fit in.”  As I ride down the streets of PG with him in tow I wave at passersby and proudly smile.  A smile that for me seems to say “hey I fit in, I’m not just a ‘visitor,’ I’m just like you, see I have children in school to prove it.”  It’s one of the few times here where I feel established and a real part of the community.  It’s also one of the few times that I feel like people aren’t looking at me wondering what I’m doing here or when my flight heads out.          

                Our preschooler is 100% boy and 4 years old.  He has a best friend, Bernie, literally born days apart from him, who lives right next door.   Bernie is Mayan, full of smiles and also 100% boy.  After about a month of shyness those two finally made each other’s acquaintances and it’s been a match made in heaven ever since.  Virtually every minute of every day these boys spend together—playing super heroes and adventurers or spending their down time in front of Bernie’s TV watching pro-wresting and Scooby Doo.  They never skip a beat and when one is gone or ill the other waits at the end of their front porch anxiously for a time when play can resume.  They know no barriers with each other—no language issues, no cultural conflicts and certainly no prejudgments of one another.  The life of a preschooler appears to be socially perfect.  Yet, at some point, without warning those attitudes and feelings change. 

                When did we change?  That’s a question I find myself asking.  And now that I live where I do, I find myself pondering that question a whole lot more.  Our daughters, ages 8, 11, & 12 have already begun to notice a difference.  While things have improved over the months and although children have gotten to know them better, they’ve certainly experienced their fair share of prejudices—children making “white girl” remarks and classmates hesitant to make friends with them altogether based on their differences.

                As an adult it’s even more apparent.  There’s just something about our differences that has made it hard for people to open up.  On my end that sometimes elicits strange looks from passersby—almost a look of “what are you doing here, you don’t belong?”   Or that uncomfortable feeling I get when I feel like I’m being targeted for my skin color—when someone asks to borrow money or when something that belongs to me gets stolen.

                It’s times like these that I step back and reexamine my own feelings and attitudes.  Here, I view my neighbors and the people I interact with generally as clean, respectable, hard-working citizens.  Yet I wonder:   if some of these same people had moved to my hometown in the U.S., how would I view them there?  Admittedly, I’m not sure I’d view them in quite the same light.  I may assume that, based on their accent and skin color, they have less money than I and work in the lawn care, hotel, or other service type industry.    Until we moved to Belize, I’ve been in the majority for my whole life.  There’s an element about that where, even if not completely, I have always fit in.  Prejudice, it’s a life of pure prejudice, and the same prejudice that I find myself fighting against as a minority in a foreign country.  When do these prejudices become a part of us?  When do they start to creep in?  When do we let cultural differences and skin color get in the way of potentially building some amazing relationships? 

                Living here in Belize has been extremely humbling for me.   I always stick out and no matter what the situation, I rarely fit in completely.  I have an expat friend who has lived in Belize for 6 years now yet she admits that it’s still difficult for her to break those barriers and to make deep connections with many residents here.  I don’t think it’s necessarily a refusal to accept each other’s cultural differences that prevent connections from being made but I do think that deep inside, it has somehow become ingrained in us to close off that openness that could otherwise allow us to see each other in the same light.  Are we not all human, sons and daughters of the same God?  Do we not all have hopes and dreams?  Do we not all want the same things in life—to be loved and to love?  Yet all too often, when it comes to relationships we choose to go with what is comfortable—with what we know.  Tolerance is one thing, I’m a tolerant person who enjoys experiencing other cultures.    Openness is another.  How open have I been in the past to reaching out and attempting to build relationships with my international neighbors or with those from different socio or economic backgrounds? 

               Take it from me, there are a lot of people who live on this earth in an environment that makes them feel different.  I think it’s up to me to try to embrace the perspective of my preschooler and to focus on our commonalities.   My hope for myself that I take away from this past year’s experience is that I don’t ever forget what it feels like to try to fit in with a different culture.  My hope with you reading this is that you too feel challenged to connect yourself with those who may otherwise have no connections.   Smile at the woman wearing the burqa, strike up a conversation with the mestizo at the farmer’s market, bring some brownies over to the single mother who just moved here from Mississippi.   These small acts of openness may open doors to meaningful relationships that could otherwise be overlooked. 

4 Weddings and a Funeral (alright so really it was 2 Confirmations and a wedding)

     Today was a great day!  A really great day.  Great days are the best when they come when you're least expecting them and I certainly wasn't expecting today to be such a great day but it sure was.
     Today was the 3rd day of my monthly "food for the poor" run.  The first day is always spent packing rice, beans, and flour into 5lb bags.  This week we packed 1000 lbs of food and were short handed so the task was left mostly to myself and one other Jesuit Volunteer (JVI).  Anyway, I digress.  So today was the 2nd day of our drive out to the villages to deliver 15lb of food to elderly recipients.  We just had 2 villages to deliver to today but they each are about an hour away and an hour apart from each other so it typically takes all day.  I have always enjoyed our food delivery days but to be honest, the last few months of delivery have just been long, hot and dusty and we haven't gotten much opportunity to visit with the recipients in the recent months--the part of the service that really makes it worthwhile to me.
    Today, was very different.  Myself and two JVI's got an early start and headed out, first to San Jose and then on to Santa Cruz village.  After making a few deliveries, we stopped by the church in San Jose.  It was now about 10:30 am and mass was just ending.  Today was a special day as the Standard V students were celebrating the sacrament of Confirmation.  The celebration of Confirmation here is similar to the Catholic celebration of First Communion in the U.S.  The boys all wear black pants, a white shirt, and a black tie and the girls look absolutely stunning in their elaborate white dresses and veils.  They looked gorgeous and it was such a treat to see them dressed up and looking so beautiful.  The bishop of Belize, along with a priest friend, and a JVI, who normally comes with us on our food runs, were all in attendance and we stuck around to say "hello" to them before they head out to celebrate Confirmation in another village (the 15th in 6 days).  Before we knew it, the 3 of us were being invited to a luncheon celebration for one of the newly Confirmed boys.  The best part, it was barbecue!  Even better, it was barbecue pork--of which I've had a personal craving for the past couple of months--and Belizean pork happens to be the best and most flavorful I've ever had.  I've had lunch as a guest in a Mayan home a half dozen or so times--almost always caldo and otherwise stewed chicken so barbecue was a true break from the norm.  Every time I'm a guest, it always brings about a slightly uncomfortable feeling as I sit in a large open room with all eyes on 'the white people' as everyone sits quietly and only the occasional chatter is heard.  Mayans are incredibly hospitable but they are notoriously shy and quiet.  Today was very different.  Mr. Felipe and his family were outgoing and many spoke English.  On top of the ice cold Guatemalan soda and the finger licking good bbq and tortillas, it was a really nice visit (though if you haven't figured it out yet, food makes me happy).  We felt welcomed and comfortable and able to contribute to some conversation and stayed for quite a while.   Bellies full, off we went to finish our deliveries.  We stopped at the next thatched house down the road and dropped off the food.  Before we even got back in the car, while one of the JVI's found himself engaged in a conversation with a young man from town, the other JVI and I were approached by a villager and invited to have a luncheon celebration with her family and their newly confirmed relative.  Of course this time we regretfully declined--though seconds of bbq might have been nice--but we did stop to chat for a while and enjoyed meeting her sisters and nephew.  Her grandmother used to be a recipient of our food and I wanted to be sure to offer our condolences on her passing as she had been one of the nicest and most gracious of recipients that we've ever visited and this was the first time I'd spoken with a relative since her passing in November.
     We dropped off food at a few more houses, gave a ride to a mother and her two small children, and went on to the next village.   Of course some of the real excitement along the way came when we stopped to look at the Fer-de-lance snake that was slithering across the road.  I'm pretty sure the Mayan woman riding in the car thought we were crazy when we stopped to get a closer look but hey, it's not every day you get a chance to spot one of Belize's most deadly snakes in the wild--and for what it's worth, I do hope it is the only time I ever spot Belize's deadliest snake in the wild.  Still, it was pretty cool to see.
    We arrived at Santa Cruz by about 1 o'clock or so and since it has just 3 houses that receive food deliveries it is the shorter of the two trips.  Often times we are in and out in about 15-20 minutes.  Today, we first dropped off food at Angelina Choc's house.  She is thin but lively and loves to talk with Kathleen, the outgoing JVI who always makes her arrival known at the Choc house with song.  Today Angelina was there with 3 of her daughters and they loved the conversation and talking to us about their lives.   One of her daughters was proud to show us a jipijapa basket that she had been working on weaving.  She explained to us that it takes her about 3 months to weave a basket in her spare time.  She then hopes to sell the basket in town for between $25 and $35.  Her, like many Mayans, survive on subsistence farming (farming only enough to eat) and selling baskets is her only source of income.  Imagine earning about $10/month and using that to cover additional groceries and staples, along with clothing, and any medical assistance needed throughout the year.  These women were so sweet and happy and were such a pleasure to visit with.  They even allowed us to take their photo--something I rarely feel comfortable asking of a Mayan. While we chatted away, the other JVI dropped off food at the 2nd recipient's house and so we decided to all go to the 3rd, and final, house together.

JVI,  Angelina, and her 3 daughters with jipijapa basket and firewood

     When we arrived at the last house we were greeted by 3 sisters, all nieces of the woman who lives there.  They had just arrived from the Orange Walk District, a largely Mestizo area in the north.  Because they had moved away from the village years ago, they all spoke English as their main language and so they were easy to converse with.  The woman of the house was wearing a traditional Mopan skirt and was shirtless but the 3 sisters all had on Western clothing as they hadn't resided in a Mopan village in years.  It seemed to be an interesting merge of two worlds as Albina, one of the sisters, told us about her house with a/c (yes I said real actual a/c) and how her daughter had her own room at home with a regular bed.  This night would be the little girl's first time sleeping in a hammock in a one room, dirt floor, thatched roof, Mayan hut.  After conversing for a while we discovered that they were all in town for the celebration of their cousin's wedding this Sunday.  After telling us this they then actually invited us to the wedding.  We smiled and nodded assuming it was one of those "you should come" kind of statements.  We realized the invitation was sincere when they enthusiastically asked us before we left "so, are you coming on Sunday?"  As grateful as I was to be invited to a Mayan wedding, I knew that catching a ride back out to the village on a Sunday morning would be next to impossible and so I regretfully declined.  After spending over an hour in the village, we wished the groom-to-be well and headed home.
     Normally, when we make our "food for the poor" deliveries in Santa Cruz and San Jose it takes about 4-5 hours from start to finish.  Today's trip took almost 7 hours.  How could spending almost 3 extra hours doing my job make for such a great day?  These last few months have admittedly been a bit rough at times and both Andy and I often find ourselves focusing on our work--things that need to get accomplished, appointments that need to be made, business that needs to be tended to.  That's not to say that those are not all important things and essential to our mission here.  Yet it's the real 'people factor' that make it all so worthwhile.  Thinking back over the years, are most of our fondest memories something we accomplished, or someone we shared it with?  Taking the time to really connect with other people can be both rewarding to me and rewarding to those with which I'm connecting.  I'd rather "waste" 3 hours getting to know some of the people I serve than I would just getting my job done and not making a single connection along the way.  And because of that, today was a great day!
     Accomplishing the task at hand is important but taking the time to stop and make a real human connection--to touch or be touched by those connections--is vital to our time on this earth.  I hope that I remember that the next time I've got "work" to do.

The Road Less Traveled

This was a day that Mr. Joe Caye and I had been planning formore than a month, the trip to Machakilha, one of the most remote villageschools in the Toledo district. Unfortunately, the “better” of the two trucks was already reserved byanother volunteer so we were forced to endure the more reliable, but less thanaesthetically pleasing beast known as the “white truck”. With over 400,000 miles and lacking anyshocks, the body of this vehicle literally fell apart a week or so ago, but theengine is solid. I’ll refer you toJesuit Volunteer, Greg’sblog for that story. Anyway, Iarrived at the parish lot at the time that Mr. Caye and I agreed on the daybefore. Joe arrived 30 minutes later andwe loaded up with “goodies” such as pencils, notebooks, a soccer ball,volleyball and a box of donated encyclopedias. As we enter the cab, Mr. Caye reminds me that this will be a very longday. I agree and he goes on to tell methat we will need to finish delivering a message to several schools on our wayto Machakilha, including a couple that will add at least an extra hour or so toour trip that day. We are on the highwaybefore 6:45 and hit the rough road around 7:15. We picked up a teacher and deliver him and our message to Barrancovillage school before doubling back on our route. Next up is Conejo, Sunday Wood, Corozon andthe two teacher school of San Lucas. Wepass back through Corozon to carry the communication to Otoxcha and our finaldriving destination of Dolores around 10am. Joe spends a few minutes with the principal here before cutting theconversation short as we must begin a long hike into the jungle. We are met by two men from Machakilha villagewho have brought a horse to carry the load. I found it ironic that we were delivering outdated encyclopedias on aneven more outdated form of transportation.

So our foot journey began with 2 Mayans, Mr. Caye, myself and ahorse. Joe and I tried our best to keepup with the horse as our pacemaker, but soon enough we found ourselves bringingup the rear as our guides disappeared down the distant jungle path. The road was a mostly muddy clay-likeconsistency, dried by the sun and beginning to crack. This is the dry season and we scheduled thistrip during this time due to the fact that the road would be in the bestcondition of the year. Despite this, theroad was marked with vehicle ruts at least one to two feet in height, remindingme that the only trucks that dared to travel here were the large rosewoodtrucks that may or may not be obtaining their harvest legally. Oftentimes, the middle of the road was softand muddy, requiring us to walk on top of the ruts “tightrope style” and attimes the only passable spots were on the extreme edge of the road brushing upagainst the adjacent brush. Trails leadin and out of the bush in places of complete mud while sticks and logs had beenlaid over soft and wet spots. The lengthof the trip was not that difficult and although the heat was not too awful, Joeand I showed signs of sweat soaked shirts and brows.

The terrain was the most difficult and itbegan to wear on us after almost 2 hours. The last leg of the hike climbed quite a decent elevation before wefinally saw the familiar site of smoke rising through thatch roofs. Upon arriving into the village, we were greetedby two women who appeared to be in their mid-thirties. I was surprised to find out that they are the“alcaldes” or village chiefs. I supposethat I would expect a village this remote not to be so progressive in thisway. Joe believed that they had beenchosen based on their ability to read and write, so it may reflect on the stateof literacy of the village. We spentabout 15 minutes with these women discussing the state of village affairs asJoe and I catch our breath in the shade. My Keckchi language skills are next to zero so I did my best to smile asthey laughed and joked. As we left thesevillage leaders, Joe got me caught up on their impressions of the school andthe teachers there. They had mostlypositive observations with a few minor issues that one might expect at anyschool in suburbia…work load for students, staying after school, and communication. As we arrived at noon, the principal waspreparing to release the students for lunch break. He provided us with bagged water, a commoncommercial product available here. Ihave never tasted a better bag of warm water in my life as it was the firstliquid to touch my lips since starting this arduous journey. We then were led to the teacher’s house whereour lunch would be served and upon entering, we exchanged the usual pleasantry“Quabanu” which I believe means “May I enter?”. After being introduced to thecooks, we were offered hammocks to rest our tired legs until the meal was readyto serve. Traditional caldo (Mayan soup)with local chicken and warm corn tortillas…delicious! The real treat for me was the sweetTang-like juice that was served. I haveto admit that I probably took more than my share but I couldn’t helpmyself. It really quenched my thirstafter our long jungle hike. It wasn’tuntil later that my wife questioned my decision to partake in this drink as itmost likely was made with straight up river water. Oh well, I’m still alive. Lunch conversation covered everything fromschool matters to recent politics to the Guatemalan radio station playing inthe background. It is notable that JoeCaye, the 2 teachers and myself were seated at a central table while the womenand children ate separately sitting around the edge of the thatch house. I understand that this is the custom in thismale dominated culture, but it is curious that the women who prepared our mealwere not even interacting with their guests at all. After the meal, we again exchangedpleasantries. “Tohoqray” = “Thank you”and “Masachool” = “Very Delicious”. Wewere given a brief tour of the village as we headed back to school for theafternoon session. We saw the welllocated in the jungle and a sign that pointed back to the home that we justvisited.The clearing opened and Isnapped a picture of the school garden and then the familiar sight of childrenplaying football (aka soccer).

A quickpeek into the library revealed a “well stocked” and organized resourcecenter. I was surprised to see thatthis remote village had such a full library; neat, clean and ready for students and teachers to use. The principalrang the hand bell and the students filed into the classroom to hear Mr. Caye’spresentation. Joe introduced himself andhis position. He talked about how thisschool is special because of its location and how impressed he was with thecompound. We distributed the “goodies”carried by horseback and the children sang songs and poems to show theirgratitude. As I scanned the classroom, Iwas also impressed with the amount of hand-made manipulatives, especially areplica of the comprehension cube I introduced him to at a workshop just a few shortweeks ago.

Students were released fromthe afternoon session early so that we could meet with the PTA to discussschool matters. About 6-8 villagers werepresent including the alcaldes as well as the two teachers, plus Mr. Caye andmyself. The meeting that began inEnglish with translation quickly switch to Keckchi with heateddiscussions. I was reduced to anobserver paying close attention to people’s reactions, tone and bodylanguage. I consider myself fairlyequipped to handle most social situations, but I have found myself in thisposition more than once and each is uncomfortable. Everyone knows that I cannot understand theword being said but I am expected to participate all the same. As hard as I tried, I eventually gave up andbegan writing this entry that you are reading right now. Eventually, the meeting came to a close andthe teachers, Joe and I prepared for the hike out of Machakilha village. It had rained briefly during our meeting whichwas a welcome relief from the heat, but we were not very optimistic about thepossibility of it returning before we reached the truck. The horse and our guides had set the pace forthe incoming trip and now the outbound pace would be set by the weather. So what began as a drizzle for the first 30minutes of our return trip eventually built itself into a full rain that softenany bit of dry path left. The dry spotsthat appeared soft before were now worse and “bridges” made of logs and sticksbecame slippery.

At one point, I lost mystep and immersed my left shoe into 12 inches of mud. The rain continued to “bless us” for the next90 minutes as we trudged toward our vehicle awaiting us in Doloresvillage. Every 10-12 steps, I had tokick the gooey Earth from my feet flinging it into the bush in order to clearthe “Frankenstein” feel it gave my shoes. I took care not to complain about the rain and long hike as theseteachers make this journey regularly. Itwould not have done any good to complain about it. In fact, the more I accepted the rain, evenembraced it, the easier the journey became.

At one point, the principal made the comment that this would be goodmaterial for me to write about. Iadmitted to him that I had already begun to develop my blog post and that thisfinal leg of our trip had allowed me some reflection. How lucky was I to share this with him? Not many foreigners get to experience this remoteplace at all, let alone in such an authentic way. There was no tour guide or jungle lodgewaiting to pamper me. How unbelievably blessed was I to walk his walk? To eatin his home? To share the hardship of histravel? I began to think about theendless numbers of people in the world who walk miles each day to work, farm,wash and hunt. I am reminded of the ageold saying from our grandparents that “used to walk 5 miles uphill in the snow”to get to school. Life is hard, but inthose real moments I was afforded the time to reflect, to appreciate theblessing that life gives me. Oftentimeswe view a difficult situation as obstacles in our life. Instead we are called to accept and embrace theseobstacles in order to received God’s grace. Embrace your cross. Hold it tightand know that there are many rough edges to it. Accept it. The more we fightagainst it, the harder life will be. Only when we walk with it and own it will the load be lightened.

The Women at the "Well"

     Yesterday I checked an experience off my "Belize Bucket List." The kids had the day off school and we miraculously managed to snag a truck so that we could venture out to the village of Pueblo Viejo. Andy has made acquaintances with the principal of the school there and was welcomed to come visit the village with his family at any time.

     Pueblo Viejo is a mostly Mopan Maya village that lies about 7 miles from the Guatemalan border. It's fairly remote and takes about 1 1/2 hours to get there by truck in decent weather. The reason why I'd placed it on my "bucket list": I had heard about an amazing series of falls they have on the river that runs through their village. (For you Missouri residents who are reading this, the description of the falls sounded very similar to Johnson's Shut-ins though on a grander scale.) Needless to say, they sounded lovely and like a water playground for our children who are of all ages.

Our kids at a "pool" near the top of the falls

     So we packed a lunch, piled our 7 into a small Toyota double cab, and headed out there, arriving about noon. Andy greeted the principal at his home who then helped us make our way out to the falls. The waters were lovely--a series of waterfalls and pools that eventually descended about 200 ft over the course of several hundred yards.

     For the most part, the places that we visit on leisure time often have other outsiders visiting as well but Pueblo Viejo, being more remote, does not get many visitors and therefore, our playground of waterfalls is also the village destination for cleaning and community. At first it was just our family left to explore the river on this lovely sunny afternoon. Then, after about 30 minutes an older Mayan girl showed up with her own group of youngsters ranging in age from about 10-2. For the first 20 minutes or so we felt like animals in the bear pit at the zoo as they gathered around to watch this white skinned family swimming in their waters. While this certainly wasn't the first time we distinctly stuck out in our environment, it did feel weird to be stared at for so long (even though we'd made a few attempts to wave and exchange pleasantries). Eventually, the universality of childhood broke through as our outgoing two year old approached the group and had them in smiles as he worked to wow and entertain the children. Within a matter of minutes I had Elvira, the 12 year old elder, engaged in conversation (children learn to speak English at school) while much of the group had dispersed--some to play with our children and others to show Andy how to explore further down the river beyond some of the larger falls. (I figured that if a 7 year old could scale some of those rocks then certainly it would be safe for Andy to do so).

Our son making friends with some of the children

     Once everyone opened up it was great. Elvira was easy to talk to, she was curious about our lives here and our country of origin and about what Emily's, her 12 year old counterpart, responsibilities were. Though I did find myself slightly embarrassed when I relayed to her that Emily only did a little bit of cooking and no laundry. Elvira seemed very patient and maternal as she cared for the two smaller children who shyly stayed close by her side and who did not likely speak any English. Elvira was there to do what any responsible daughter would be doing on their day off school--laundry. As the younger children explored and played in the water, Elvira scrubbed each piece of clothing against a rock quickly and gently--she looked as though she'd been doing this for years. Trying to keep out of the Belize sun, my oldest daughter and I sat in the shade of the riverside as we chatted with the girl--we were impressed to learn that Elvira is one of 17 children (that's a big family even for Belizean standards) and that she was the oldest girl at home. After she finished her laundry, we then watched the girl gently bathe the two toddlers still at her side, who by this time were themselves engaged in splashing games with my 12 year old.

Playing in some of the falls on the river

     After a while of our being there, some more children showed up with a tub full of dirty dishes which they then quickly plunged into the river for soaking and commenced conversing with the others. As Elvira was finishing up bathing her little sisters, her mother then showed up with more of her children so that they could all bathe as well. The mother, whose grace bore 17 children (all of which I gathered are still living), was just as friendly as her daughter. Because she was likely uneducated, she did not speak English however, she could speak Spanish and so she and I used our 'second language' to communicate. The majority of our conversation was questions about our families. She was very interested in my children, how old they were, and even how old I was and what my husband did for a living. While I did not quite feel comfortable asking her age, I would guess her to be somewhere in her forties, especially since she had both grandchildren and babies of her own.

     I think of the stories I read in the Bible during Jesus' time--the stories of all the encounters at the well. If you look up the world "well" in the Bible you will be amazed at all the times it is used. For the Mayan villages here, I view their river or creek as just like the well of Jesus' time. The river is a village's source of life, just as a well is in the Middle East during Jesus' time. When Jesus speaks to the Samaritan woman at the well (John 4) he refers to himself as "the living water." I think that concept of "living water" could be easily grasped then by the Samaritan woman just as I can see how it can be grasped now, especially when I see the water at the center of a Mayan village. Men come here to fish. Women and children come here to do their work, to bathe, to play, and most importantly, to connect (to live).

     Coming to Pueblo Viejo, I felt that we somehow were able to get a better sense of that connection, of how their river can be such a life source. Our children were able to indulge in the universal language of play--something that has no language barriers. I was able to feel welcome and to have real conversation with the people who live here. We talked about the things that females all over the world often feel most connected with--our food, our work, and our families. While communities like Pueblo Viejo may be small in number, they are held together by the people's ability to communicate and connect and it was a real blessing to see for one day how their beautiful river is able to play such a key part in the community.

     How simple it is for me now to grasp that concept in my life of Jesus as the living water. Water is life and that life pours from the water of a village river. How wonderful it is then that Jesus is even more of a living water than that. It is in Him that I work, I connect, I live. Though even I sometimes find myself wandering around on dry land, whenever I do seek out the Living Water I find myself no longer thirsty--it is in Him that I feel truly connected. Much to my blessing, I think after yesterday's check off my "bucket list" I can now grasp that concept much more so.