Ixchelt, Futbol y Un Arcoiris

           Today was a great day. Hoy estuvo un dia buenisimo. The fourth day of the school year, and I determinedly began the process of knowing my 70 some students’ names. Put an emphasis on began; I address them confidently when as they sit sedentary in a neat little row, but when they exercise their mobility, eso es un otro cuento (that is another story). Hey you have brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin, a navy blue skirt, white shirt, and white socks that rise above the ankle. Clearly your name is Jose...or is it Josue? Andrea..no Adrianna...Arnaldo Alejandro Mario Maria MariaDelMar Juan O. Juan C. Luis S. Luis A. Luis G? Or are you one of my personal favorites, Ixchelt?

            Though the identities of my students can still be a jumble, I do feel much more included in my classroom now. This has not really been the case thus far as I have only been observing (I start teaching in about a week). My day solely consisted of grading, observing, reading the class literature and memorizing names, yet I considered it a success. Succinctly illustrated, moments after school ended my wonderful Honduran host mama, Diana, asked me with her contagious ubiquitous smile, “Estas orgullosa?” “Are you proud? “si” I replied.  

            From school I traveled mere blocks to the supermarket with Diana and her daughter (also one of my students). Here I managed to ask a worker “where is the ham of the body?” Jamon really is just one letter different from jabon: soap. Mistakes are regular occurrences as you can understand, and they always make for a good laugh for all involved.

            Upon arriving home, I agreed to participate in the soon-becoming-ritual of playing sports with my neighbor/cousin/8-year-old friend. (First his grandmother called me over to make sure he was not manipulating me into playing with him every day. I assured her I had sufficient capacities to say no to Josue’s ador/ing/able face when I wanted to. I do really appreciate how these people are so thoughtful.) Frisbee turned into futbol in the street, and Josue and I were joined by 5,6,7 other neighborhood kids who now scream “GRAIS!” as they collide into my legs every time I am near, consequentially making my day.  Speaking of legs, who would have known that while playing against these Honduran soccer players since birth my long legs could actually compete...yet only if they are 12 and under.

            As the oldest, maintaining our physical safety falls into my jurisdiction. Abruptly made aware of a passing car, I shepherded the players to the sidewalk, wiped the sweat from my face, breathed, and glanced heavenward. Too soon the mountains above stole my barely-recovered breath. Stolen by above above the mountains, rather. It was a gift from God: an Arcoiris.

            Arcoirises are regular occurrences here, and people don’t revere the beauty as enthusiastically as I did (I may or may not have shouted to all my family members and neighbors to come outside quickly). This highlights that universal problem of, in my opinion, Inappropriate Blasé-ness. Why does one’s awe and gratitude always seem to disintegrate when routine and expectations have deeply taken root into our beings? Though I was excited about this sublime manifestation of Glory, I wonder what other awesome thing I am overlooking today? The touch of baby’s finger on my cheek, the sweet harmonies emanating from the radio tapping every foot within earshot, the projector displaying new words to be ingested by the learning. Grandiose or secret, so much really can be awesome, if only… Ok enough. This blog is not my journal after all. That said I am struggling to find the balance of what this is meant to be, and who it is meant for. Philosophy or schedule? You or me? Surely a blog can be all of the above. Wow I’m rambling.  

            Soon after the Arcoiris, I unpopularly called the game a quits and headed in to eat a light and late dinner, helped prepare lunch for tomorrow, and write most of this post in a moonlit garden in the back corner of our plot. Now to bed, and thank God for a lovely day!

Below, I have pasted together a short film for your enjoyment. I eat so much cheese here it has even permiated into this movie; feel free to shed a tear in mockery. Also listen closely to me butcher this new vocab word and hear my friend ask what on earth I am saying. The woman standing in the gate is at my house.

Oh and thanks to mom’s work for this little video camera... moreover thanks for her disinterest in technology. (And of course thank you ma for the constant generosity that is the reason for 75% of my possessions).  Hasta Luego Amigos!

Safe

I have arrived safely and am so grateful for the people here; they put my love of strangers to shame. So far I have spoken spanish more than probably all my times in a spanish class combined, swam in the carribean sea, befriended an 8 year old (he´s my best friend so far), tasted tomales y cafe, and tomorrow I start school. I´m looking forward to having an occupation. And Ill write in more detail later.

my address: Residencial Villa Mary, Bloque U casa #9, La Ceiba, Atlántida, Honduras Centro América.

Adios con besitos!

Introduction

Greetings! Please come in and make yourself at home. For those of you who don't know, I am leaving a summer at camp and venturing out to Honduras in a couple days to student teach math and possibly other subjects in an eighth grade international school classroom in La Ceiba Honduras for three months living with another teacher at that school and her family. Now that all the boring facts are over and done with in one sentence, let's get to some carne.

I entitled this blog EDventures not just to make a cutesy corny pun (I am an elementary education major though for a reason). I titled this mostly to remind myself of my main purpose in Honduras: practice educating. Yes I will experience culture, and speak en Espanol. Yes I will explore mountains and talk of God to new friends. But I seem to find myself dreaming more of these than lesson-planning and grading (can you blame me?). I know though that teaching is a privilege, and a great adventure. Ergo, welcome to EDventures.

I confess this first and foremost: while blogging I am tempted to painstakingly choose each word to impress upon you the beauty of my journey, but moreso the wonder of my own gifts and talents. The truth is, I employ speel chek and a thesaurus often.The truth is, I need to be doing other things with my life(yet will post hopefully twice a month to keep those I love fairly updated). The truth is, anything true or good is God's.  

I was inspired at HoneyRock. I was gifted with much that I desire to always remember. Harmonicas, Cabin Reflection, HPT, buckwheat pancakes, celebration service, BIF, Zacco, woodchip dust with exuberant worship, strong and courageous songs, challenging conversations. If I were to forgot these I would in fact be dis-membering myself. I must think of the past.

Now, I must think of the future. My depths have cried out to the deep of God. I know though that his breakers are all around me, and a "human merely being can not doubt unimaginable you" or so says ee cummings. I want so badly to know the way I should go each morning. I want the rough unknown Honduran places to be made smooth. What I am tempted to forget is this truth: Jesus is the way. I do know the way, and I just must follow His voice, with each step hearing more of unfailing love. What good news. And now that I come to think on it, a stubbed toe and stumble up an organic mountain path is quite stimulating and life-giving every now and then. 

It helps my easily-overwhelmed-through-transitions body to know that I am leaving one natural land where God overtly talks to go to a hotter nother. For me, God works to inspire quite frequently through grass, skies, and most other green and blue things. In fact, reflecting upon one late Sunday summer storm, and my upcoming adventures, I was inspired. And now please say to me,         

     "Grace, I know you've been verbally processing a lot already through this post, but could you in a rather dramatic and verbose way just tell me one more time how you are feeling, before you have even arrived at that country? The kids have stopped screaming for the first time in 20 hours and I'd just really love to read more of your words than anything else at present." 

     "Well, alright":

The thick air around me, mostly above me, leaves its condensing impressions.The jet-engines boom repeatedly and stimulate each and every atom that hears. Leaves dance as whirling dervishes and awaken their stiffened joints. Humans and chipmunks scurry to collect their belongings and find shelter. They pass over the gravel, laying down a crunching beat to the tune of Summer Storm.

I am a rock in the gravel. I wait for the storm; determinedly unsheltered. This vulnerability thickens the electric anticipation that now is tangible.
5 minutes pass. Boom.
Ten minutes later. Boom.
30 minutes then feel like a thousand when
blinding pink thick ribbons crash from the heavens, and the long-fought-against tears are dropped- no, thrown.
My eyelids close.
I pray. I pray for God to finesse those imminent drops in a way that upon contact, yields much good.
I think. I think of the irony:  acquiring so much dirt, so much unnecessary, so much wrong, while my days were spent sedentary and chatting in such a neat, such a pristine, such a uniform path.
I swallow; I know this storm will shake me up.
The wind hastens. It whispers how it will loosen grime, smoothen barnacles, and make jagged the places previously hollowed for coffins.

The first drop touches my head. It is cool, and I smile.