June

Early June was simply a countdown until my flight back to the States. I had to fight to stay present, loving the kids. But, I often caught myself dwelling on the days ahead.

For this upcoming teaching year, I had a training in classical education to attend in Idaho. I took advantage of this opportunity to visit my boyfriend in Tennessee while stateside before we flew back to Bolivia together. Our relationship had been long-distance since we met at a mutual friend’s wedding last June besides a few meet ups in December and March, so I was jumping up and down to see his city and spend extended time together. The early June days couldn’t fly by fast enough as I anticipated this coming trip.

As I suspected, June was full of hosting and translating. The American groups started coming in late May and continued even after I left.

One of the visiting groups was an organized family trip. Parents came with kids ranging from two to nineteen years old. Seeing the Bolivian teens care for little blonde babies, giving them piggie back rides or playing tag was sweet. The younger kids at the home also bonded well across cultural and language boundaries.

This group organized a career fair. They had different stations teaching skills: jewelry making, carpentry, auto mechanics, among others.

I translated for the first aid group. The kids learned about their heart rate, CPR, and how to care for wounds. We learn how to care for others through having been cared for ourselves, and the kids experienced both. They loved practicing gently wrapping pretend wounds and bracing “broken” wrists on each other as well as role-playing the patient. The empathy they learned through this exercise was just as valuable as the tangible skills.

I know I’ve expressed this sentiment before, but kids need consistency and repetition (as do we all) to learn anything, especially soul-deep lessons. Knowing their value and the value of their neighbor will most likely be a life-long lesson for them.

Gracie, the intern who joined us in May, is a baker, and she brought a love of exploring new recipes with her. One Friday night, instead of going to the boys’ for dinner, we had them over and made pizzas. A few boys at a time kneaded their dough and picked their toppings while the others played card games or did an art project Naomi had organized. Once the pizzas were ready, we watched a movie. It was a cozy evening, and we felt like a family enjoying the simple gifts of life.

Another night, we had the transition girls over for pasta and pie. Yet a different evening, we hosted a dinner party for a few visitors and the directors of the home. Hospitality defined this month. While the groups came, the kids were entertained, but Naomi, Gracie and I worked to be consistent roots they could come back to, feel safe with and be emotionally understood.

Some of the visitors have been supporters of the home for the past fifteen to twenty years. They knew Haven of Hope when the kitchen resembled more a closet more than a place of baking and cooking, and they’ve helped build the beds that provide some of the only place ownership the kids will know for many years.

We have different perspectives: they’ve come for week-long visits over years, and I’ve lived with the kids for one year. Realizing these differences was humbling. I was re-reminded that I am only a speck in an ongoing story: entering and exiting quietly, hopefully without asking for pomp and circumstance but quietly showing the eternal glory in all around me.

And then, FINALLY, on the twentieth of June, I flew into Tennessee. Unlike earlier in the month, those days passed too fast. After a beautiful time together and an informative teacher’s training, my boyfriend and I traveled back to Bolivia, but that was on July first, so the rest of that story will have to wait until the next update. . . .