July
“You do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life?”
I anticipated July finalizing my year in Bolivia. Naomi and I had written a calendar full of special events and dreams to fulfill with the kids. We wanted to paint a mural, plant some tree starts and cook special food. We had hopes of making happy memories for the kids before our goodbye in early August.
But, God’s ways are not our ways, and that first week with my boyfriend turned into my final week in Bolivia after eleven months of South American life.
The week was hard in many ways: what felt like rushed, premature goodbyes and packing up a life that had grown so sweet, even amidst difficulties, was emotionally taxing. But the Lord never gives us more than we are able to bear. I was not alone. And, trying though the week was, moments of joy were scattered throughout.
The kids had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of my boyfriend, and when they finally got to meet him, they were ecstatic. His red hair and 6’3” contrasted their short, South American aspect. Rossi’s favorite comment throughout the week was, “Tia Olivia, he’s tall. And you’re small.”*giggles proceeding*
The transition girls were more impressed that he could roll his “r’s” (a talent I sadly lack). “Tia, he’s only been here a week, and his accent is better than yours!” Not like Spanish was my major in college or anything.
The fourth of July, though not a Bolivian holiday, was still fully recognized and celebrated at the home. We purchased fireworks (an absolute necessity at any Bolivian celebration worth anything), water balloons, hotdogs and watermelon. Our water balloon fight quickly degraded into a water fight as kids ran for buckets and began dumping water on fleeing victims. After changing into dry clothes, we gave a homage to the United States of America, sang the national anthem and watched fireworks crack in the night sky.
I left Bolivia the same way I entered it: suddenly and with feelings of loss. Just like I had tumbled into South America eleven months before, with little knowledge of what lay ahead of me, I felt plucked out of it and was sent spinning back into the US. And just as I had come to Bolivia dragging my feet, sad for all I was leaving behind, I now had to leave kids and tias who had come to feel like family, without knowing if or when I would see them again.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not it’s goal
Dust thou art and to dust returnest
Was not spoken of the soul
(A Psalm of Life, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
I pray my soul is never lulled to sleep, but stays wakeful, alert to the earnestness of life all around me no matter where I live or what season I’m in.
I think I have a fear that life in the US might feel less real: that the work I am in be less needful in the grand scale of undoing the curse.
But, it helps to remember God is the grand storyteller. My life is in His hands just as each life is. And He knows exactly what each needs.
As I start teaching my little second graders this year, I know I have grown more compassionate and understanding. My eyes are open, searching for how I can love and serve them. We have fun learning, and I can rejoice knowing that I am likewise in them planting eternal seeds.
Although my role has shifted and life looks different this year, and will the next, and the year following, my mission remains the same. The mission of dying to self, giving up my life for Christ’s sake, will hold fast whether I live in Bolivia or Canada, whether I work at an orphanage or as a grocery store cashier, whether I am twenty-four or eighty.
The past two months of July and August have not been easy: transitioning back into the United States, starting teaching full time amidst many life challenges. But I am a jar, being molded and shaped. I don’t get to complain to the potter, nor do I want to. I know His vision far surpasses mine.
While my time in Bolivia has come to end, and with it, these updates as well, He continues molding my life and each of those precious children’s lives, and your life, into glory yet to be imagined.
