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On the Road Again

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Bolivia already feels like it happened years ago.  It’s only been a little over a week, but everything is just a distant memory. This is not how I prefer to feel, but, if I’m to be true to myself, this is an accurate description of my feelings.  I feel like I’m trying to hold on to the memories so they don’t escape, but they already seem to be slipping away. I’ve been trying to process my time at Familia Feliz, but I’ve run into a few obstacles. This past week has been driven by an unparalleled amount of busyness. Upon arrival, I was reunited with my family and got my first look at my new home in Ooltewah, TN.  I had lived there with a couple of friends, Josh and Sam Marin, the summer before leaving, but without my family nor any furniture there. It doesn’t feel as much like home as Merced or Familia Feliz, but I think it’ll grow on me with time.  It was pleasant being able to take a hot shower and sleep on a soft, yet ridiculously large bed (I never would’ve considered a queen b
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Goodbye

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Warning: Long, emotional post ahead What an end to the experience of a lifetime.  I knew these last two weeks would have some unforgettable moments, but I never expected just how much it would fill me up, and then overflow in the form of tears as my plane sped down the runway in Rurre.  My time as an SM has taught me so much about myself, love, the world, and God. I will always hold Bolivia, Familia Feliz, and the experiences I had there close to my heart. No one, not even the other SM’s who were there, will ever know my exact experience and how it changed me.  I can say, however, that every sacrifice was worth it, and I wouldn’t trade my time at Familia Feliz for anything. I really began to feel the nostalgia on my day off a couple of weeks ago.  I had the opportunity to go to town before dawn, so I grabbed the rest of my trail mix (so much for a handful a day) and set off on the trail to the cross that overlooks Rurre.  I raced up the steps and crested just as the sun cam
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When it Rains it Pours

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The blessings always rain down at just the right time; last week, it was a literal rain.  A big storm rolled through which gave us almost an entire week of cooler weather--cold enough to wear long sleeves and sweats to bed.  It made for some beautiful days that we took full advantage of. Two Sundays ago when the cooler weather was just beginning, and Seth and I roped the boys into playing volleyball all afternoon (quite the accomplishment given their addiction to soccer).  We had quite the time diving around in the fresh mud brought on by the previous day’s rain. God has been raining down more than just water droplets, though.  A week ago on Wednesday, we had yet another volunteer leave. Kayja, from Walla Walla, after much consideration and discussion with her family, made the choice to go home a few weeks early for medical reasons.  She had been dealing with a mysterious scab on her arm for 3 weeks, and finally decided to go home after receiving word from doctors in the US that
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Endgame

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The countdown is on. We’re in the endgame now (probably more of a millennial reference unless you follow box office records or hold stock in Disney. Also, I haven’t seen it yet and won’t until June so if you could keep the spoilers down that’d be nice, thanks). Seth has it down to the number of days, but I prefer to count with items out of the ordinary.  According to my records, I am four packets of Pop-Tarts BITES away from departing. I only have a chapter test, a final review, and final test left to write for my classes. I saved one bag of trail mix from the States for the month of May, and I estimate I can take about a handful each day if I make it last; therefore, I have about 30 handfuls of trail mix to count down as well.  If I play my cards right (i.e. stay away from salmonella-inducing foods), I have three more rolls of TP until I take off. Finally, I’ve just 550 Bolivianos remaining from my stipend with which to measure my remaining time. (~$80; may not sound like much fo
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Old, Gray Faithful

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Semana Santa is a wrap, and school is back in full swing.  In Latin American cultures, holy week is a pretty big deal, likely due to all the Catholic influence.  This meant that we got a week long vacation from school during which most of the kids went home. For me, it was una semana media santa--a half-holy week.  It got off to a really terrible start, improved as I took my 48 hours off, and ended quite pleasantly. Sounds a bit like the Easter story right? Going through trials, resting a couple of days, then shaking it off to come back to life (figuratively in my case). The beginning of the week was a break from teaching, but the time I gained not having to prepare for classes was filled by work.  The vacation schedule calls for work in the mornings, and only two meals per day. Because it is vacation, we are only asked to work for a few hours, but there is so much to do, that the volunteers usually end up working all day.  The kids who stayed, however, would work the bare mini
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