There's a monkey on the porch and a skunk in the office

There has been a lot of monkey business here at the Finca.

I'm being dead serious; there have been several staff meetings about what to do about the Capuchin monkey loose in the Finca. His name is Willy, and as I am writing this, I see him slipping into the hen house to grab a couple of eggs to eat.

Willy is the most controversial character here at the Finca. He is beloved by many, resented by some, and the complete obsession of others. His origin is a mystery; he was found one day hanging out by the maintenance building. There are wild Capuchin monkeys in the mountains a few miles away, but Willy has clearly been living in captivity his whole life. Not only does he not know how to climb trees, but he also happens to be pretty snuggly. As snuggly as he may be, he is still a monkey and quite unpredictable, which is why we have to consider our kids' safety. Our director was pretty uncertain about Willy, but after he took a dump in front of her door, she said it was time for Willy to go. The kids were devastated, but not as devastated as missionaries Teddy and Nate, who took matters into their own hands. They staged a strike, locking the front gate as to not let the director in until she agreed to a compromise. To my surprise, the staff took the strike really well, although it would be hard not to take it well while Teddy laid in the road in the path of their car, offering to sacrifice his life for a monkey. There's a treasured video of a cluster of Honduran women laughing at the gringo laying in the road chanting, "Justicia para Willy!"

Construction for Willy's home is underway. His cage will be about three times the size of my bedroom, but I'm not jealous, it's fine. The little guy is going to have a great life here.

Speaking of monkeys, school is starting here in a couple of weeks. The missionaries have a retreat next week, the week after is teacher meetings, and after that, I'm being thrown in the deep end. "But Emily, how are you going to do your first teaching job in a language you barely know?" Great question, I'm taking recommendations. You may leave advice or criticism for my questionable life choices the in comments below.

Anyway, what's the difference between being a missionary and just being at the Finca?

This isn't the start of a joke, I'm genuinely asking. It's a question I've been pondering for a couple weeks now.

Yes, the work here is hard, but it doesn't always feel like service; it mostly feels like existing (or sometimes just surviving) here in Honduras.

Oftentimes the efforts I put into being of service to this mission seem to fall short as well. Like when teaching the older girls to sew changes from a lesson in craftsmanship for them into a lesson in patience for me instead. That is the nature of working with kids, but after enough repetitions it leaves one to wonder about the value of their work, especially when there is so much work to be done at the Finca.

Allow me to share a series of my latest endeavors.

One that comes to mind happened about a week before Christmas. Each Wednesday evening, I help lead Girls' Tema, which is a youth group type event meant to help the girls connect with their faith on a more personal level. It's meant to be less formal than religion class, but it is pretty hard to find activities for all levels. This particular Tema, I created and led a brief reflection on what Jesus wanted for Christmas from each of us, whether it be forgiveness of another person, more time spent in prayer, more kindness to others, etc. Each of us got a card and envelope to write a letter to Jesus about what we were giving Him for Christmas, and we left our cards at the Mary statue, entrusting our Mother to take our gifts to her Son. I thought it was pretty cute.

At least I did until one of the teenage girls decided she was too cool, and soon the activity was indeed not cute, but actually stupid and pointless to all the teenagers. Meanwhile, another girl was staring daggers at me because I did not give her the rest of the pretty stationary, as anything cute must be hers. At the same time, another girl who never understands a bit of what's going on, played a game of 20 Questions with me about six times in the forty minute period. And at the end of the day, the activity loses a bit of its magic when you gotta throw all the cards away after the kids leave them at the Mary statue.

Definitely not a failure, but absolutely my bad for thinking I could get a prayerful moment out of it.

Case Study #2. I mentioned in my last entry that I did a printmaking activity with the kids to make Christmas cards. What I don't think I mentioned was how much time I spent preparing it. I went shopping in town for supplies, wrote a lesson plan, created examples, made pre-made stamps for the littles, researched printmaking vocabulary in Spanish, set up the classroom like printmaking lab, and made four variations of the same lesson to meet all needs of all the ages. I'm a little extra.

The girls loved the project and excelled at it. The boys didn't and excelled at making a mess.

I was with the older boys so that the other missionaries could work one-on-one with the littles, and they started off well after I set the expectations for the activity. But they quickly lost interest and took to shenanigans instead. They shredded their projects, took materials from the teachers closet, glued foam to Rachel's shoes, painted the floor, and I even saw one take a pair of zig-zag scissors to an upholstered chair. Putting out fires one at a time wasn't working, even after a second conversation about the expectations. I succumbed to the defeat and took them home early. I didn't want them using those zig-zag scissors on me too.

Now the point of sharing these non-success stories is not to say, "Look donors and supporters! You gave me money and prayers and all I have to show for it is this zig-zag-shredded chair!" Rather, it's a reminder to myself that this mission will never be about what I have to offer.

What I love about this mission is that it's not - Don't worry guys, the gringos are here to save the poor children! The Finca gives great jobs to local Hondurans who provide for all the needs of these kids, and the missionaries are here to live in solidarity with them and to love them. The pressure is off for me. So what if a kid just wrote the number two over and over on her Christmas card to Jesus? The important thing is that I spent that time with her and introduced her to something new. The mission is not that the kids learn what I teach them; it is that they are loved even when they paint the floor and shred the supplies on their bad days.

It is not about the success of the activities I plan. It is about the moments when a little girl does everything to try press my buttons and when I respond with gentleness, she curls up in my lap and says, "Te amo."Or the moment a little boy pulls me aside from a party when ice cream

is being passed out because he wants me to see how beautiful the ocean looks.

As long as these kids know that they are safe and loved, I cannot fail. I can absolutely be frustrated, but I cannot fail.