Poco A Poco

If seatbelts were around in Honduras, I’d tell you to buckle up. But they’re not, so I guess, get sloshed around in the back of a van on a dirt road, because this month has been a ride. 

I felt like a newborn baby stepping off the plane in Guatemala two months ago, and it would be appropriate to say that I feel like a little child as I’ve started here at the Finca. I have to relearn how to be a person in a completely new way. It is very humbling to require instructions on cooking, cleaning, praying, washing clothes, communicating, even taking showers. But every aspect of existence takes just a slightly different approach, and every moment of the day, I am learning and embracing the formerly unfamiliar. 

I also feel like a kid in the way that, at most times, I understand about 60% of what’s going on, mostly due to language immersion. It is quite liberating being a little stupid most of the time; I am free to be curious, ask dumb questions, try and fail a bit, and only have the responsibility to maintain an open mind. People always say traveling broadens your perspective. I think that’s especially true when you’re willing to be a bit of a dummy. 

This mission is a marathon, rather than a sprint, and the community recognizes the need for new missionaries to settle in and adjust. I have spent a lot of time in reflection and prayer, shadowing members of the community, discerning how the Lord may be calling me to serve here for this next school year, and participating where I feel called to jump in. 

I have also spent a lot of time sleeping. Remember that thing I mentioned about a Gringo Tax in a previous post? It sort of evolved into more of a Gringo-Mugging-and-Leaving-on-the- Side-of-the-Road-Dead situation. I got a pretty persistent stomach parasite (parasites are pretty common for missionaries, don’t freak out). It started with nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea, and led into dehydration and lack of nutrients. When it comes to physical strength and resilience in general, I’m comparable to a soggy twig, so it did a number on me. For about 9 days, I slept between 18 and 20 hours a day. 

My missionary community was taking good care of me, but the Honduran community was growing concerned for me. I started hearing the term ‘empacho’ tossed around a lot, especially when my blood tests came back negative for anything definitive. I asked our missionary nurse, Rachel, what empacho was. She explained that in rural areas, people referred to a lot of stomach issues as empacho, and when you were experiencing symptoms like these that doctors couldn’t explain and that medication wouldn’t aid, it was due to this mysterious condition. It is commonly accepted that the only cure is a type of stomach massage, and the symptoms dissipate almost instantly. One night, one of our watches Miguel explained fervently to me that when empacho threatened his life a year ago, he had a near miraculous recovery by the massaging hands of a local woman named Doña Petro. Apparently Doña Petro had cured one of our Tias (the house moms for the kids who live at the Finca) just early that week. Miguel insisted I call Doña Petro before my condition got worse, and my curiosity was piqued. 

On Sunday, I started feeling notably better and kept down a nearly full meal, and I thought why not see what this Doña Petro was all about? She doesn’t charge much and is well-respected in the community, so why not?

Seized by curiosity, Rachel and I called her up and she agreed to meet with us at the clinic. As we escorted her through the portón, I introduced myself to this woman in her seventies, no taller than 4’10”. Her coffee colored eyes were framed by deep wrinkles and complemented with a soft smile with a few missing teeth. She had a sweet soft voice that I understood about 30% of without Rachel’s help translating. 

Rachel sat and chatted with Doña Petro as I laid on the bed and my massage began. She coated her hands in Vaseline and began kneading my stomach like dough. Possibly the most blindingly white stomach this woman has ever seen, I thought to myself. This German tum tum hasn’t seen the sun in at least ten years. She pinpointed a spot on my abdomen and rubbed. She looked at me and confirmed, “This area hurts, doesn’t it?” and I nodded. She told me she could feel the empacho there and continued rigorously. As she pushed that area down, rubbing it swiftly in the direction of my feet, the churning and the sound that erupted from my bowels were so heinous, I feared I would soil the sheets right then and there. But she trudged on as though the gurgling and turmoil was part of the process. Rachel laughed at me from her corner, seeing the horror in my eyes of what my stomach was capable of. 

Reapplying Vaseline, Doña Petro explained that she needed to rub out any empacho that may be stuck in my muscles. The science doesn’t really track, but sure, Doña, I’ll take a full body massage. About 20 minutes later, I stood up from my massage like a sleepy greased chicken. Before she walked home, she gave two clear instructions: drink alka-seltzer with cinnamon, and don’t bathe for twenty-four hours. She explained that my bones were all warmed up from my massage, and the cold water would shock and break them, in addition to trapping the empacho in my pores. At dinner, us missionaries had a lively debate about whether I should wash the thick coating of Vaseline off of my body, or commit to the bit and heed the clear instructions. I figured, hey, I’ve come this far, might as well dive into the experience, right? 

So I went to bed greasy, and you know what? Since then, I have felt great. Not sure where the medical and the mythical overlap, but I’m taking the victory and praising God for it. 

And in this post-resurrection excitement, I finally received my jobs for this next year! Previous to arrival, I was under the strong impression that missionary jobs could either be teaching English or nursing. I now understand that this mission is much more flexible and personal; the community is eager to work with whatever skillsets and passions I bring, and the Missionary Coordinator Nate has created a position just for me. For the next school year, I will  be the Art Coordinator and an art teacher. Art classes in this school system are taught three times a week by the homeroom teachers. Most teachers have their plates full enough as it is, so art often falls to the backburner. They aren’t sure what to do for art class, so the kids usually just color or rake leaves. I have the opportunity to work with teachers to create art curriculum available and easily accessible for teachers to use as much or as little as they would like. I will be spending these winter break months creating a library of lesson plans in a variety of themes with wide ranges of adaptations for different needs. Directions, instructional art techniques, materials, and examples will be ready and at their disposal for years to come. I can also work with teachers to create art lessons that coincide with specific topics they are learning in other subjects for more integrated learning. I will get to be the art teacher for a few grades and be in the classroom with those little rascals as well. I’m over the moon. I am absolutely bursting with energy and ideas.

This is a pretty heavy work-load, so my other jobs are pretty light. I will also run the Girl’s Bodega, which means switching out our girls’ wardrobe as it gets worn out or outgrown. I am also now the Finca muralist and get to make our space more beautiful as I see fit! I am already deeply entrenched in a mural in the clinic, which has been an incredible opportunity to pray through my art process. The Holy Spirit has been popping off. If you are interested in how that’s going, let me know and I’ll upload some photos. Another role I have is to lead a youth group type event each Wednesday evening for the girls here. Finally, I will unleash my full hippie potential and work as a gardener. The garden here is pretty neglected, so the expectations for this position are pretty low. Mostly, it will serve as an outlet where I won’t need to generate ideas and expend loads of mental energy. Just me and the planties, as much or as little as I want. 

So basically, I have found myself in my dream job, with the freedom to explore and experiment to adapt to the community’s needs and my own dreams for this place. God is so good.