This time last year, I had a plane ticket booked and could answer that incredibly annoying question of "So what are you going to do now?" I had a school of students waiting for me, a home I had yet to step into, and a group of people who were doomed to become family whether we liked it or not. And now, after one long year, I find myself on the other side and looking at the two way street that is mission work. How much I gave and was given. How much I taught and was taught. How much I loved and was loved. This works with the not so warm and fuzzy things as well for we do in fact reap what we sow. I guess that way there are no surprises.
I'm not quite sure what I intend to say in this. Maybe it should be some kind of reflection? Some sage words to the world about the fulfillment in expending yourself day after day for the salvation of souls or some other lofty phrase one might find in scripty print on a picture of majestic mountains? No, if I've learned one thing, it's simplicity. There isn't much more to say than what I've already written in these past 10 months though perhaps there is room for explanation, and I'm sure in time it will come. Until it does though, I have to start simply, at the start line. There is no jumping the gun in unpacking everything you've learned serving as a teacher. I'm sure every teacher could agree with me on that as could every missionary. So my starting line is making a list. Now this should be no surprise to anyone reading this because thanks to a strong upbringing of having lists all around the house, the gene started to present itself in college and has run rampant ever since. Just yesterday I went to go make a list to supplement my other list and I almost freaked out because I couldn't find any sticky notes! But I digress.
This is a list of dos and don'ts and I'm sure it is far from complete. But rather than what to do or what not to do, it is what I don't miss and what I do miss about Belize.
Don'ts
1) The nasty dogs that never stop barking
2) The sandflies that seem to bite me because I'm allergic to them
3) Not understanding my students when they talk amongst themselves
4) Cold showers in the rainy season
5) The tarantulas
6) The scarcity of chocolate. And cheese. And wine. Ok seriously, how did I survive?
7) A culture that tells my boys they are only men when they degrade women and themselves for the sake of a selfish and childish pleasure
8) A culture that tells my girls they need to sell themselves in order to be loved
9) Finding rest (both physical and mental) hard to attain because of a constant demand to do something
Dos
1) The volunteers. Even sitting here thinking about only a fraction of the ridiculous things we did and experienced, I'm ready to cry with a joyful pain because I wasn't ready to say goodbye to them. They are my family. But unlike any time we say goodbye to our real (i.e. biological) family, there is an inescapable finality and uncertainty about our goodbyes. The Benque that was home to us will never be just ours again. And as difficult a pill as that is to swallow, I think it's harder accepting that that's how it should be.
2) The students. I've said it once and I'll say it again. Those are my kids. Even some I didn't teach have managed to find their own little spot in my heart. It's probably safe to say that a teacher never forgets their first school/set of students and that's even more true at Mt. Carmel. You invest so much of yourself in them both in school and outside of it. It's why you're there. Anyone can come teach a curriculum (now, before any teachers get up in arms about this, I never said anyone can teach it well), but the job of a missionary, the point of a volunteer is to form relationships, to show them that there is a fullness in life and it can be theirs too even with all the problems they're forced to deal with. It's hard to feel like you've done enough in one year. It doesn't help to have students begging you to stay up until the day you leave. And I know, I know, it's all about trusting and planting seeds and all the rest. I know that. It doesn't make me miss them any less.
3) Living across from the Church. That's convenience you just can't beat.
4) Sitting up on the edge of our balcony. It faces the Church and was one of the few places I was guaranteed to find peace.
5) Spanish songs. Well, some of them. I've had my favorites stuck in my head since Wednesday.
6) Salbutes. Delicious salbutes.
7) Walking everywhere. Even if I do walk absurdly fast most of the time, you still take in a lot more than when driving.
8) Cheese dip.
9) The teachers I became friends with. There are some really great people I worked with this year and it really sucked saying bye to people who just became your friend.
I don't even know what else there is. It's clearly a lie to say I miss everything about Benque and even Belize as a whole. But what I do miss is almost past articulation (ok, maybe my feelings for cheese dip don't run that deep. But salbutes, yes). This has always been the worst part of doing wonderful things with wonderful people: there is a time when we must keep moving forward. However, it's more than just moving forward, it's moving towards. Towards what? I have no idea. But when we remember that, we are able to deal with the missing of people and places and move on to perhaps that most beautiful gift: gratitude.
Please say a prayer for all of my students and for all of us volunteers as we readjust to life in the States and without each other. Also, I will be in Lourdes these next 3 weeks, so please keep me and all the pilgrims and volunteers in your prayers. Thank you so much!
St. Maximilian Kolbe, pray for us.
Totus Tuus, Maria.
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