Monday, March 1, 2010

I don't know.

Brokenness: What is brokenness to you? How do you deal with it, how do you move on?

I don’t know.

What do you do with that?

When your feeling hurt, when your feeling down…. How do you move on to the better day?

I don’t know.

I feel like I don’t know anything, and the things I think I do know are only going to let me down time after time…. After time.

So, all in all what do I have, I have the tiniest piece of hope, a sliver of faith, and the idea that life should be more than what we so often make it.

What do I do with that?

Keep it inside? Reassure myself of it day after day, or do I live it?

And if I try to live it, what will that look like today, tomorrow, next week?

I like plans, but how do you plan for not having a plan?

I don’t know.

How do you forgive, honestly, completely forgive?

I don’t know.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

11:38 P.M. october 14

So, I’ve been taking this class this semester and its about suffrage of Palestinian and Israeli women. It can be a pretty heavy class, and I honestly am only taking it because I signed up for classes way to late. As I was going through this weeks reading I stumbled upon this statement- “No news report can communicate the atmosphere of palpable fear, everyone tensed in apprehension of the next eruption of rage from one or both parties to the conflict. The ear quickly learns to interpret no shout as a greeting, no crackle of explosive as a care backfire; the eye learns to trust no scene as tranquil; there is no such thing as relaxing the alert, even for a second.” This is talking about a camp called Rafah in the Gaza Strip.

 

Through this semester we have gone through some boring to interesting to gory facts about life for women in this area. I have had to read some passages that were honestly hard to get through one because it was boring and two sometimes because it was so unbelievable. Out of all that this quote has stood out to me the most. It says “No news report can communicate the atmosphere of palpable fear.” . . . I don’t even know the feeling of palpable fear. This life, the lives of these people are so far away from my own that I can’t even fathom the realization of this quote, and this quote isn’t even the worst of it.

 

It just makes me wonder what I can do to actually help them, discussing their lives in a classroom, picking a side, refusing to buy a magazine, sporting a bumper sticker. These sound so frivolous, they sound like things we do to make ourselves feel like we are doing something for the greater good, but are we? We all are immune to the diluted one-sided news clips, so I know we aren’t helping with are listening ears. And even if the news wasn’t biased and watered down, what would we do… pity them? Sometimes I just feel like there are such big things in the world, things that we should all care about, or at least want to understand. I feel useless because none of my actions will ever directly help any of these people, or other people in situations like these.

 

I wish people cared more about people then they did about, well about other things. Recently I’ve heard a lot of news via my social networks about how life changing, astonishing, breathtaking, some musical performances were. That’s all fine and good and people can take part and enjoy whatever they please, but so much of me wishes that the passion people place on feeling ‘apart’ of a 15,000 plus rock show… they put towards changing the lives of people who could really use it. I’m all for inspiration and motivation, but some people literally have nothing, and on top of that are being persecuted for who and what they are. Can’t our motivation and inspiration go bigger than our own lofty goals, or own self worths and stem into an inspiration and motivation to just help people?  

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Hope in a Concrete Floor


 

 

It was a cloudy day, which is unusual for Costa Rica, and you could almost smell the rain in the air. It was early and I was sitting at the back of an old 13 passenger van. The ride seemed to take forever. This was another Missions Trip for me and we were in South America, Costa Rica to be exact and today we were headed towards La Carpio, which is the ghetto of San Jose. That morning we were told that we would be laying a concrete floor for a church that is in La Carpio. On the bumpy van ride there I remember thinking this wouldn’t be hard, I’ve seen someone lay concrete a few times before. I soon realized that we were all in for a big surprise and that mixing concrete in this 3rd world country was going to be a lot different than doing it back home.

 

The conditions that the people in La Carpio deal with are almost unreal, this community has basically made their life around the dump and sewage system. The smell isn’t that pleasant, but you get used to it in a matter of hours. They have dirt roads, which are mud most of the time and they seem to make do with anything that they can find. Most houses are made out of sheets of tin, cardboard and sometimes… sometimes wood. These homes do not have doors but sheets in there place, and most certainly like most rural places in a 3rd world country they have dirt floors. To the people of La Carpio and too many people from un-developed countries having what I just described is the perfect life, and they take much pride in having that. Even with their dirt floors you will see women sweeping inside and outside their house. These situations can seem dismal to many Americans, but it is amazing to see the joy and pride that these people have in what they do have in life. They seem to have a different focus.  

 

We arrived at the work site at 8:00 sharp, and we waited for the cement bags for just around 3 hours. Time is different in a third world country. But the cement came, it came in bags and that was it. No truck, no mini-mixer, no gravel, and definitely no sand. So, now I would like to tell you just how you mix concrete in a third world country. To mix concrete in a third world country you need the help of a few local men, and a handful of little kids. It starts with the rocks; normally you will not find the right size of rocks just lying around, so you make them. With the tools you have which are a hammer, a screw driver, and a bigger rock you begin to break down the pile of massive rocks. If you are from the United States you will also wear those clear safety glass’s and if you are not from the United States you will make fun of the people who do.  While some of you break down the rocks, others of you will be walking a few blocks up the street with 5 gallon buckets to a sand pile. It’s more or less a sad/dirt/ trash pile. Then a few people will take the 5 gallon buckets 4 houses up to “the store”. It’s not really a store, its just a very nice woman’s house, she has two sons and she sells snacks and corn tortillas to her neighbors. She has running water. To fill up the buckets it will take you about 20 minutes and then you will need to very carefully carry it back. By the time you get back to the work site you can hope that you have a little more than half still in the bucket. So, now you have a pile of rocks thanks to the help of the little kids, a couple buckets of sand mixed with trash and hopefully at least 2 buckets of water. I forgot to mention you also have one wheelbarrow and a couple of shovels. So you take one and a half bags of cement pour it into the wheelbarrow, and then add the rocks, then the half of the water, the sand and then the rest of the water. The next part is mostly a mans job, but you use a shovel and mix the cement mixture into concrete, this part takes a while and you will most likely want one or two trade out partners. After about 20-30 minutes, your first load is done. Around this time you will notice the church has no wheelbarrow access, and very quickly you put some boards down for a ramp. Once the ramp is in place it’s a running start up and into the church to pour your first load. One down and 24 more to go! By the time you have your first wheelbarrow done, it’s around dinner time and almost dark.

 

Once you start a concrete floor you don’t really want to stop and they don’t have electricity out here but some one does have a generator. With the generator hooked up and about 2 shop lamps shining you continue to work into the night, by this time everyone within walking distance has gathered, and most are trying to help. With the wet concrete you will have one person smoothing it out with some string and one four by four. After your 15 hour day, you’re done.

 

You meet your accomplishment with an audience of applause and lots of Spanish words you don’t understand. Everyone wants to shake your hand, it’s weird in a way at least at first I mean you feel disgusting and you’re basically covered in concrete but everyone wants a hand shake or hug. This is when you realize what you really did that day; you made do with what you had and what you could find just like these people, you gave them a hope in a concrete floor. In places like this people are happy to have their dirt floors and don’t bother wanting something more than that, but when given something like a concrete floor something that they could not do by themselves you get to really see what giving is about. Giving goes way beyond the physical gift and into the pride and happiness that is instilled inside a person. The people of La Carpio, don’t sit around wanting the latest fashions, wishing their thighs were thinner and that had pink curtains, they are genuinely happy with what they have, so by giving them the gift of a concrete floor you don’t leave them wanting a tile floor next year but a hope that the world truly is a good place. 

Poem

I’ll sing to you

The secrets of my heart

And soul so heavy by the

Days that left

My eyes beautified.

 

But I’d rather travel a sea

Of glass

Than to move back in time

Again.

 

The one mistake

Of all peoples

Is of those

Who dream of the

Past.

 

It is people

Them and me

That seems fearful

Not of the past

But of the future

The unknown future

Indeed.

 

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Happiness


Happiness is

This consequence

Of personal effort.

 

You fight for it,

Strive for it

Insist

Upon

It.

 

You must

Participate

Relentlessly in

The manifestations

Of your own

Blessings.

 

Once you

Have achieved

This state

Of

Happiness

You must

Never become

Lax

About maintaining it.

 

You must

Make a mighty

Effort

To keep

Swimming

Upward

 

Into that

Happiness

Forever. 

Posole


I’m guessing you wouldn’t know it by looking at me, but I’m a picky eater. Being a picky eater never really gave me any problems until last year. I was on a mission’s trip and we were going to Mexico for a month. It sounds great, and don’t get me wrong, it was but right off the bat I knew that my being picky with food and Mexico were just not going to go well together. Before the trip I told myself that since I was from New Mexico that I would have no problems at all, I was wrong, Mexico Mexican and New Mexico Mexican are two very different things.
 
The first problem came in Rio Verde Mexico, when we were eating lunch at a woman’s house. She was a member of the church we were there to help. She was a very nice woman and I remember she had on a blue dress. We ate outside her house because there were too many of us to fit inside her home, there were about three tables set up out side and all of them had two bottles of coke on them, of course. I remember it was a hot day and that I was hungry because it was a long walk to her house, so I was actually excited to eat. Once we sat down she brought out the bowls. . . of posole. I’ve had posole plenty of times and actually like it, but again… Mexico Mexican is very different from New Mexico Mexican. It seems that the whole chicken minus the feathers was some where in this food and I luckily got both the head and the feet mixed around with skin and fat. So I’ll remind you that I’m a picky eater, but I also new that it is rude to not eat what you are given and it is considered rude to not finish your plate. I looked at my friend Heather who was sitting next to me, and with blank stares we all just started to eat. I noticed things were going pretty bad for me about the time I had eaten all of the liquid part, which left me with everything I did not want to eat by itself and the fact that everyone else was done, and many people were on to their second bowl. The lady came to check on us and in her very broken English said to me “oh you don’t like?”
 
 I felt horrible, I in no way wanted to offend this woman but it was quite obvious if I didn’t finish my meal I would do just that. She went back into the kitchen where I decided that I would finish my bowl of chicken head, feet and a fat for her. To make it bearable I took each bit with a drink of coke, and well just swallowed it without chewing. It still took me a long time to finish and I was the last one done. When the woman came back outside most people were finished with there second bowl and I had some how accomplished my first. She came over to my table which was all girls and put her hand on my shoulder and said “you liked” I replied to her in Spanish very much, she smiled and that made it all worth it. The food she gave us was the only way she could thank us for being there to help out her church, what she gave us was all and even more than she had. But she feed all fifteen of us and the fact that I could make her smile by eating what I thought I could never eat made it all worth it. 

Monday, February 16, 2009

the grapes


I'm sick, I'm sick of this lie that my mind tricks me into believing- of thinking that I must do all these things to be okay. That I must spend my money here, and I must read this book and I must go to this church, and perhaps after the discipline of all of these things- maybe then I'll be okay. Because I live such a hard life here, with everything at my finger tips- it's a ruff day to wake up and drive these streets, oh it's a tough job to put up with the people around me. No really you just don't understand how tough I have it, its such a "struggle" day to day I can barely keep a smile. I "struggle" with my attitude, with my job, with my paycheck, with my less than perfect body; I struggle with the highest fashion. I struggle and you can't tell me any different, because you don't know what its like to be me. When did this became the truth from our lips it sounds more like obscurity to me, when did I become so consumed with me, the definition of the word struggle is to contend with an adversary or opposing force: to advance with violent effort…….against myself? Against my problems? I don't think so. I don't think that's how its supposed to be. I want my eyes to get off of myself just for one second, I want them to get out of this American society rut. If I could I wish I could throw all my money away, if I could I'd run, I'd run away I'd drink coffee all day and play on the cobble stone streets of Verona, I'd squish the grapes with my bare feet- but instead I feel won over. I have been won over by the very one I am supposed to be "violently advancing against", I have believed that before I can even see the grapes I must buy the products, learn about the products, then I must scrub. I must scrub my dirty feet until they are perfect- and after all of that I get the feeling that I may not even be very good at what I'm about to do. Why. Jesus why do I not see, why to I strive for the perfection that will never come, why is it that I think that before I could even see you from a distant I have to become the best. Why do I feel like even after all of my striving, all of my struggle all the money spent, books read, and songs sang I still may not be good enough to do the job.  Jesus why have I believed the lie, if I am called to be like you and if I was made in the fathers image, then why are your feet dirty, why are you doing all the things that my heart longs for while I sit here and scrub. I see your feet and they are dirty- why am I so consumed on my own perfection.  Jesus, show me the streets, take me there …Jesus let me taste the grapes.