in spite of myself

this week has been rainy which means wet and muddy. we have intermittent water. we are blessed to have it come on just enough to fill our buckets and water filter each time we start to get low. i got drenched today on the way to class. i only had 5 students show up and they were all soaked but none of them even mentioned it. the boys took their shirts off and shook them and put them on again and came inside. 

i met briefly with the guy over the hotel and hope to meet for coffee today to make a plan and see how we can help. 

i’ve been in pain with my right shoulder. it has been hurting me for months. i have officially given up tennis for now. it is just too painful and i don’t want to injure it even more. i think it may be a nerve. mostly just frustrated and so anxious for it to simply just get better. i also feel quite helpless as there is little i can do here for it. i am using my prayer shawl, Morning Glories! 

i am learning to live and love in spite of myself. i once heard a pastor say, don’t pray “more of you, less of me”, pray “more of you and more of me”. because the “me” is needed in the equation. the “me” is needed to be the hands and feet. i see the importance of both prayers. there are many parts to all of us and many opposites co-exist. my unloving self and my loving self. my generous self and my selfish self. i got to have a 6 minute conversation with Carla the other day. i wanted to tell her the funny story of one my students that only she would understand. you see, we used to have this neighbor, The Little Dutton Boy. it would take a good hour for me to write out his story but just envision rural Georgia, small town Faulkneresque family. little smelly barefoot boy in his underwear. part Boo Radley. part Ernest T. Bass. age 5 and there you have him. i now have this student who describes himself as “a street boy”. he says other people call him crazy but he isn’t crazy he just “sings songs that are in (my) his head”. i can see how others would think him a little off. his eyes give him away. he is becoming my favorite. he loves to laugh and his smile is so sweet. he is simply just a really troubled kid who doesn’t feel loved and you can feel it just by looking at him. all i feel when i look at him is sheer compassion. he is so goofy and off and out there and yes, i can see all sorts of anger inside, but i just see a boy needing to be loved. i relayed to Carla how my Little Dutton Boy student is now my favorite. she answered me in tears and told me a similar story of having a boy in one of her classes who no one wanted to teach. she gave him “manly” tasks to do and made him feel valued and he too, became her favorite. as she told her story all i could think about was our Granny Davis, a teacher. she always doted on the down-trodden. she always had such compassion for those experiencing tragedy or less fortunate. the more tragedy in your life, the more sympathy you got from her. as a child, that just made me, the “perfect” kid with the “perfect” family, feel invisible. i saw it as Carla was telling me her story. Carla is a lot like Granny Davis. but then it hit me, i have a little bit of it too. maybe it’s genetic or maybe it’s Jesus. maybe this is just a tiny moment of me being who God really wants me to be. and that it is easy to love the really broken kid and he is teaching me how to love and see the cheeky, bratty ones with the same compassion. he wants me to see that everyone deserves that level of understanding. i always admired my grandmother's
sympathy and look at myself a little bit amazed that i have a sliver of it too. 

every day i learn more lessons than i could ever teach. my fear is not living a life of always learning. 

i’m embarrassed to admit how often i escape this place in my mind. the lack of all things wears on you and i dream about all the excess just lies just that 24 hour plane ride away. i dream a lot about what the future holds and what i would eat and wear. i dream about my career and am seeking God’s advice on what that would look like for me. i laughed the other day when my friend asked when i was coming home and i said, “my sentence is over in October”. she laughed too. but it is a glorious “sentence”. i have been “sentenced” by God to come and help others and He in turn is helping me. He is teaching me to love, in spite of myself. in spite of my oh so selfish self. as a result of my life here, i will never be the same. i never want to want to be complacent, unmoved, by not just the plight of the poor, but by every plight, person, cause, need that He places in front of me. i want to be open to being changed, to becoming better, to giving of myself to help others and a better me. He sees my anger and my frustration and my love of food and fashion and He loves me. He sees my potential and possibilities and my future and career. He doesn’t ask us to take on the world either. i don’t have to take on every plight of every person. it’s all Him and all me. and He knows that i am “dust”. so he just gives me little “manly” tasks to do, to show me that i can do it and that He needs me. 

disclaimer: please know that i referred to my time as a “sentence” with a very close friend who has actually been here before and knows fully about what i do, more than most anyone. it was a joke and in no way meaning to describe how much i adore what i do and what an honor it is to be able to do it. XO