Being back at El Camino Academy (ECA) is always a little bit weird for me... or at least it has been the last couple of times I've been back. I've learned that what made ECA that amazing place I struggled to leave were the people. The people were the ones who crawled into my heart and dug an ECA-shaped hole. And it's the people that continually change at ECA... it's the people who come and it's the people who go. So in a practical sense, ECA is never really the ECA it was the year before.
However, I love walking into the building and being overwhelmed by a rush of familiarity. I love closing my eyes and remembering the countless hours spent in the halls. I like walking into the classrooms and remembering my different teachers each year. I love smiling and saying hello to familiar office staff and Colombian teachers. And then of course, there are a couple familiar American faces.
But only a couple.
Yesterday when I was at ECA I was struck by the fact that I was more comfortable with teachers than with the majority of the current students. Sure, I still have some friends who are students there, the vast majority of my "friends" there are now teachers. Strange. So, sure enough... I had a lunch date set up with Lauren... a dear, dear friend from Illinois who now teaches at ECA.
I will still always love coming back to ECA. Always. But in a true sense of the meaning... I'm never going back to the ECA I left. I'll probably always have people to say hi to, given my mom's job at the school and I'll probably always feel pretty comfortable roaming the hallways. But I'll always reminisce and always remember and always miss the ever-changing ECA that I spent so many years at.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Hugging Me
"And please bless the kids who don't have anything to eat," he prayed over lunch. Lunch at Casa Buena Semilla-- maybe his only meal of the day.
The words squeezed my heart and I took in a slow, long breath. The rest of the kids repeated the prayer and finally the prayer was followed by an "amen."
Nope. I'll never get used to it. Never.
I spent the day yesterday in Barrio Egipto with my cousin Megan and my Aunt Karin. To get a more detailed background on the neighborhood, you can read this post. My senses were taking in everything about this rundown neighborhood. The broken tiles, the broken bottles, the broken windows... the broken lives.
We were there to play with the kids, read a Bible story and do a small craft. The kids in the morning came before their classes started at 12:30 pm. They received homework help and Bible lessons and lunch. Then the afternoon kids came after their morning classes, had lunch and basically repeated what the morning kids got. This meal--lunch-- was easily the only meal many of these kids got that day. And yet, when they prayed over it, their friends and neighbors who weren't sitting next to them were never far from heart. They did not fail to pray for "the kids who don't have anything to eat." Nevermind that these kids at the Buena Semilla had almost nothing to eat... at least they had something.
I fell in love with a little boy named Kevin. He was five years old and had the sweetest, biggest, roundest eyes. I picked him up once and after that, he always wandered over to me and crawled into my lap, snuggling into my arms... fitting perfectly. Oh, I could have taken him home. As I looked into his big eyes, I wondered what evil he had seen in his short five years. Had he seen his father hit his mother? Had he seen stealing hands? Had he seen blood trickling down the pavement? Had he seen cold, still eyes? Had he seen death?
I shivered and pulled him closer. How was my world so far from his? We lived and existed on the same planet yet the lives we lived were so opposite I couldn't wrap my mind around the differences. His sweet smile reassured me, comforted me. I squeezed him tighter, trying to shrug off the irony of the situation. His endearing heart was loving me.
And as I hugged him, he gently wrapped his small arms around me and hugged me back. I truly wasn't just there to just love others. He was eager and willing to love me.
The words squeezed my heart and I took in a slow, long breath. The rest of the kids repeated the prayer and finally the prayer was followed by an "amen."
Nope. I'll never get used to it. Never.
I spent the day yesterday in Barrio Egipto with my cousin Megan and my Aunt Karin. To get a more detailed background on the neighborhood, you can read this post. My senses were taking in everything about this rundown neighborhood. The broken tiles, the broken bottles, the broken windows... the broken lives.
We were there to play with the kids, read a Bible story and do a small craft. The kids in the morning came before their classes started at 12:30 pm. They received homework help and Bible lessons and lunch. Then the afternoon kids came after their morning classes, had lunch and basically repeated what the morning kids got. This meal--lunch-- was easily the only meal many of these kids got that day. And yet, when they prayed over it, their friends and neighbors who weren't sitting next to them were never far from heart. They did not fail to pray for "the kids who don't have anything to eat." Nevermind that these kids at the Buena Semilla had almost nothing to eat... at least they had something.
I fell in love with a little boy named Kevin. He was five years old and had the sweetest, biggest, roundest eyes. I picked him up once and after that, he always wandered over to me and crawled into my lap, snuggling into my arms... fitting perfectly. Oh, I could have taken him home. As I looked into his big eyes, I wondered what evil he had seen in his short five years. Had he seen his father hit his mother? Had he seen stealing hands? Had he seen blood trickling down the pavement? Had he seen cold, still eyes? Had he seen death?
I shivered and pulled him closer. How was my world so far from his? We lived and existed on the same planet yet the lives we lived were so opposite I couldn't wrap my mind around the differences. His sweet smile reassured me, comforted me. I squeezed him tighter, trying to shrug off the irony of the situation. His endearing heart was loving me.
And as I hugged him, he gently wrapped his small arms around me and hugged me back. I truly wasn't just there to just love others. He was eager and willing to love me.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Inspired
Being in Colombia always inspires me. But I've realized that it's not the place... though I love Colombia and I would like to say that the country itself inspires me. But I don't think that's necessarily true.
It's the people I meet.
They inspire me. They really do.
Now, this isn't to say that my friends in other places of the world don't inspire me... no, not at all. I am definitely inspired by people around the world. Colombia just happens to have a high concentration of people who inspire me.
They often live quiet lives, fully aware of the needs of others and constantly seeking to serve God. And through their silent devotion, I am inspired.
My former class advisor Mr. T inspires me. His humble heart that continually seeks to please Jesus amazes me. The way he has re-arranged his life in a way that will allow him to better serve individuals and families in the Prado and Santafe neighborhoods in Colombia touches my heart. With a determined consistency, he pursues the lost, pouring out his life and love so that one may find Jesus. The way he walks into squatter communities and run down houses and connects with individuals and families is beauitful. The way children squeal with glee when they see him is precious. The way he and his wife live sacrificially so that others may be blessed inspires me.
The Bartel family is another family that truly just inspires me. I don't know how else to explain it. For over 25 years they have lived in Colombia reaching out to street children. They have roamed the streets of Bogota, seeking those who sleep on the streets and live from hand to mouth. They have searched for these lives lived in quiet desperation and have pursued them. They've adopted three children and are called "Mamita Evie" and "Papito Esteban" by dozens and dozens of children. Their home is filled with the sounds of kids. Nope, they're not always squealing for joy. Sometimes you hear the yelling, the screaming, the crying. Evie explains that they all have such strong temperments because these kids... these ones are the survivors. And it is for these survivors that the Bartels pour out their lives... so that these survivors would live to find Jesus.
And today we're off to Barrio Egipto where I'll be with more people who truly inspire me.
These people who live with the poor, the hurting, the broken, the empty, the sick. These people who reach out to the least of these...
They inspire me.
It's the people I meet.
They inspire me. They really do.
Now, this isn't to say that my friends in other places of the world don't inspire me... no, not at all. I am definitely inspired by people around the world. Colombia just happens to have a high concentration of people who inspire me.
They often live quiet lives, fully aware of the needs of others and constantly seeking to serve God. And through their silent devotion, I am inspired.
My former class advisor Mr. T inspires me. His humble heart that continually seeks to please Jesus amazes me. The way he has re-arranged his life in a way that will allow him to better serve individuals and families in the Prado and Santafe neighborhoods in Colombia touches my heart. With a determined consistency, he pursues the lost, pouring out his life and love so that one may find Jesus. The way he walks into squatter communities and run down houses and connects with individuals and families is beauitful. The way children squeal with glee when they see him is precious. The way he and his wife live sacrificially so that others may be blessed inspires me.
The Bartel family is another family that truly just inspires me. I don't know how else to explain it. For over 25 years they have lived in Colombia reaching out to street children. They have roamed the streets of Bogota, seeking those who sleep on the streets and live from hand to mouth. They have searched for these lives lived in quiet desperation and have pursued them. They've adopted three children and are called "Mamita Evie" and "Papito Esteban" by dozens and dozens of children. Their home is filled with the sounds of kids. Nope, they're not always squealing for joy. Sometimes you hear the yelling, the screaming, the crying. Evie explains that they all have such strong temperments because these kids... these ones are the survivors. And it is for these survivors that the Bartels pour out their lives... so that these survivors would live to find Jesus.
And today we're off to Barrio Egipto where I'll be with more people who truly inspire me.
These people who live with the poor, the hurting, the broken, the empty, the sick. These people who reach out to the least of these...
They inspire me.
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