Just had to share this with you all.
Last night I had 5 girls from my hogar over to make pizza. It’s an activity that each volunteer does once a month with kids from their hogar—a chance for a couple kids to get away and spend some more personal time with their volunteer. These specific 5 girls got to come make dinner with me because they are do not have siblings on the Ranch, and some of them have no siblings at all in addition to no real parents. 4 of the girls wanted to watch a video while the pizza was cooking, to which I obliged, but “Ana” wanted to talk with me instead.
If you read my blog, you know that Ana is that girl in my troublemakers class in Talleres who one day changed her attitude, wanting to read to me from her Spanish reader and asking me to teach her more English. She’s known around here as an extremely tough kid; though only 4’6” or so, looking more like a 12 year old than 15, most would say she could beat the crap out of any kid here, including scrawny volunteers. She steals, she lies, and she has no friends. She’s always doing extra chores in hogar, she’s always in trouble, she’s been kicked out of school once already since I’ve been here, and she is indescribably special to me for what she’s taught me already, though I’ve been here only 6 (?) weeks.
I wish I could accurately describe her to you, but all I can do is tell a story. Already, she has taken me aside multiple times to ask to read to me in Spanish since she is still learning. She asks me to teach her English outside of class, like last night when we pointed around the kitchen as I told her, “oven, sink, plate, stove.” Yesterday she was beside herself to tell me that she passed three classes—meaning she might be able to move up to the next grade level, finally. From someone who was kicked out of school for not working at all in class, I have come to know her as a different person. Tonight, Ana showed me more of her heart than I’ve yet seen. I asked her about her family. Ana pointed to the starry sky and said her mama was watching her from up there. Her mother passed away when she was too young to know her, and her dad couldn’t take care of her and her other 5 siblings, all less than a year apart. After growing up sometimes on the streets with her siblings, NPH family services brought her to the Ranch three years ago. She told me that last year she was able to visit a few of her siblings, whom she misses very much, but she hasn’t seen her dad in years. Knowing how much I miss my family, I asked her whether she would rather be here on the Ranch, or living with them on the north coast. “It’s almost the same to me,” she said, “but here, I get an education. If I lived with my family, I couldn’t go to school. It’s too expensive—notebooks, pencils, backpacks, uniforms. They cannot buy that for me. It is better to be learning, so it is better than I am here.”
Her words struck me profoundly. Here is a girl who teachers, other volunteers, and other students think is stupid. They think she hates school, that she sleeps in class because she doesn’t want to be there, that she hasn’t got a chance to get through Talleres with hopes of going to high school. They give her extra chores because she “behaves so badly” in school. But I know her differently: to me, Ana is the girl who desperately wanted a notebook so she could take notes in my class, and she asked me for weeks to get her one. To me, she is the girl who wants to sit and read with for hours because I am someone who will look at her and tell her that she is doing a great job, that she is smart, that “yes, Ana, you CAN read, stop saying you cannot.” Her smile after I give her any type of positive feedback is worth each cold shower, each dinner of rice and beans, every measly paycheck. To me, she is more driven than many of the kids I graduated with from the University of Portland. She knows that she is lucky to be at the Ranch, to be given the expensive materials to go to school, to be guaranteed a high school education, too, if she works hard. Her desire to achieve is evident by her excitement in telling me her passing grades four, five, six times in two days. Ana stretches the definition of “student” to a different level, defining it in its rawest sense: one who simply studies.
Ours is not simply a student - teacher relationship. Since Ana is also in my hogar, we see each other every evening and every other weekend, too, and we’ve shared many a hug and smile as she’s mopping the floor where the girls all live. Last night, while the other girls were watching a movie while the pizza cooked (and the electricity flashed off and on all night, making us wait for over an hour for the pizza to cook), Ana wanted to wash the dishes and sweep and mop the floor. She reminded me of all the women (myself included) who, though they are dinner guests simply cannot sit still, but feel the need to get up and clear the table, wash the dishes, or help cook. And here was this short 15 year old girl who already does all that work because she’s in trouble, wanting to clear our plates and wash them on her special night in the volunteer house. I managed to persuade her to sit down with me and be a guest in my house, and we started talking. Again her words touched my heart.
“Te quiero mucho, Daniela,” she said. I love you a lot, Daniela. Putting her hands to my cheeks and stroking my face, she continued: You will forever be in my heart, and I will forever be in yours, she said. Wherever I go, you will go with me. And when you leave the Ranch next year, I will go with you, in your heart. And when you go up to the sky like my mama, I will go with you, in your heart.
Though the dark evening was stiflingly muggy and I was still sweaty from the day’s slow heat, a thousand goosebumps charged up my spine. How did I deserve this little girl’s deep love already? Why am I the recipient of her complete trust, when so many others have failed her? Perhaps one of my next thoughts was a little bit crude in the glow of Ana’s honest smile, but at that moment, I couldn’t help but think that Ana would probably kill for me, or at least defend me if I was ever threatened by knife blades in a dark Honduras alley. I looked at her, struggling for the right words, and in my best Spanish I could muster, told her that she had una alma bonita—a beautiful soul. I told her that I could see God’s light shining in her eyes. I told her she is special, that she is a gift, that I love her, too, and that God loves her more, no matter what she does. Her hands reached up again to my cheeks, her tiny mouth cracked into a smile to reveal uneven teeth, and she hugged me tightly around my neck.
Then, as if thinking about my words, she paused. Daniela, she asked me, what happens if you get confirmed and then you lie or steal again? What happens to you? I remembered then that only 3 weeks ago, Ana was confirmed with about 50 other kids in Tegucigalpa. This was the 2nd time she has asked me this question, and still I find it odd to be in Honduras explaining this concept that was ingrained in me after 16+ years of Catholic school education. I tried to explain that no matter how many times you lie or steal, God will forgive you if you truly ask for his forgiveness, if you honestly want to be forgiven and are sorry for what you have done. She seemed mostly satisfied with this response the second time around, but I added to my explanation. “Ana, there are too many people in this world who are bad. They steal and they lie, and they cheat. Every time that happens, their souls get a little bit blacker and their light from God gets a little bit dimmer. We need more people in the world who are honest, who do good things for other people, whose souls are bright and strong. You can be one of these good people, Ana, even if you have lied before. I know you are already a good person, because I can see it in you.” The truth of the concept must have overcome my poor Spanish, because Ana took my hand in hers, kissed it lightly, and then looked up at the stars with a quiet, “Si, Daniela.”
Ana reminds me what I am doing here, what my mission is for the year. I get frustrated with these kids, oh yes I do. When they cough on their hands, yell “SWINE FLU!” and then wipe it on me laughing, I feel like I’ll never make it the whole year. The days are long, but my patience is starting to sprout deeper roots. Moments of pure grace, like those I often experience with Ana, are my soul food here. Inevitably there will be kids here who steal, who lie, and who hate school—indeed, I’ve already had some grapes swiped out of the fridge by two of the teens—but they still deserve someone telling them that they can be good and that they are needed. And I’m hoping I can be one of the good guys who can do that. If you get a moment this week, pray for Ana, and for the kids here on the Ranch who are the “bad kids.” Pray that they realize that they have the chance to be good, and pray that someone takes the time to tell them so.
Peace,
Daniela
Last night I had 5 girls from my hogar over to make pizza. It’s an activity that each volunteer does once a month with kids from their hogar—a chance for a couple kids to get away and spend some more personal time with their volunteer. These specific 5 girls got to come make dinner with me because they are do not have siblings on the Ranch, and some of them have no siblings at all in addition to no real parents. 4 of the girls wanted to watch a video while the pizza was cooking, to which I obliged, but “Ana” wanted to talk with me instead.
If you read my blog, you know that Ana is that girl in my troublemakers class in Talleres who one day changed her attitude, wanting to read to me from her Spanish reader and asking me to teach her more English. She’s known around here as an extremely tough kid; though only 4’6” or so, looking more like a 12 year old than 15, most would say she could beat the crap out of any kid here, including scrawny volunteers. She steals, she lies, and she has no friends. She’s always doing extra chores in hogar, she’s always in trouble, she’s been kicked out of school once already since I’ve been here, and she is indescribably special to me for what she’s taught me already, though I’ve been here only 6 (?) weeks.
I wish I could accurately describe her to you, but all I can do is tell a story. Already, she has taken me aside multiple times to ask to read to me in Spanish since she is still learning. She asks me to teach her English outside of class, like last night when we pointed around the kitchen as I told her, “oven, sink, plate, stove.” Yesterday she was beside herself to tell me that she passed three classes—meaning she might be able to move up to the next grade level, finally. From someone who was kicked out of school for not working at all in class, I have come to know her as a different person. Tonight, Ana showed me more of her heart than I’ve yet seen. I asked her about her family. Ana pointed to the starry sky and said her mama was watching her from up there. Her mother passed away when she was too young to know her, and her dad couldn’t take care of her and her other 5 siblings, all less than a year apart. After growing up sometimes on the streets with her siblings, NPH family services brought her to the Ranch three years ago. She told me that last year she was able to visit a few of her siblings, whom she misses very much, but she hasn’t seen her dad in years. Knowing how much I miss my family, I asked her whether she would rather be here on the Ranch, or living with them on the north coast. “It’s almost the same to me,” she said, “but here, I get an education. If I lived with my family, I couldn’t go to school. It’s too expensive—notebooks, pencils, backpacks, uniforms. They cannot buy that for me. It is better to be learning, so it is better than I am here.”
Her words struck me profoundly. Here is a girl who teachers, other volunteers, and other students think is stupid. They think she hates school, that she sleeps in class because she doesn’t want to be there, that she hasn’t got a chance to get through Talleres with hopes of going to high school. They give her extra chores because she “behaves so badly” in school. But I know her differently: to me, Ana is the girl who desperately wanted a notebook so she could take notes in my class, and she asked me for weeks to get her one. To me, she is the girl who wants to sit and read with for hours because I am someone who will look at her and tell her that she is doing a great job, that she is smart, that “yes, Ana, you CAN read, stop saying you cannot.” Her smile after I give her any type of positive feedback is worth each cold shower, each dinner of rice and beans, every measly paycheck. To me, she is more driven than many of the kids I graduated with from the University of Portland. She knows that she is lucky to be at the Ranch, to be given the expensive materials to go to school, to be guaranteed a high school education, too, if she works hard. Her desire to achieve is evident by her excitement in telling me her passing grades four, five, six times in two days. Ana stretches the definition of “student” to a different level, defining it in its rawest sense: one who simply studies.
Ours is not simply a student - teacher relationship. Since Ana is also in my hogar, we see each other every evening and every other weekend, too, and we’ve shared many a hug and smile as she’s mopping the floor where the girls all live. Last night, while the other girls were watching a movie while the pizza cooked (and the electricity flashed off and on all night, making us wait for over an hour for the pizza to cook), Ana wanted to wash the dishes and sweep and mop the floor. She reminded me of all the women (myself included) who, though they are dinner guests simply cannot sit still, but feel the need to get up and clear the table, wash the dishes, or help cook. And here was this short 15 year old girl who already does all that work because she’s in trouble, wanting to clear our plates and wash them on her special night in the volunteer house. I managed to persuade her to sit down with me and be a guest in my house, and we started talking. Again her words touched my heart.
“Te quiero mucho, Daniela,” she said. I love you a lot, Daniela. Putting her hands to my cheeks and stroking my face, she continued: You will forever be in my heart, and I will forever be in yours, she said. Wherever I go, you will go with me. And when you leave the Ranch next year, I will go with you, in your heart. And when you go up to the sky like my mama, I will go with you, in your heart.
Though the dark evening was stiflingly muggy and I was still sweaty from the day’s slow heat, a thousand goosebumps charged up my spine. How did I deserve this little girl’s deep love already? Why am I the recipient of her complete trust, when so many others have failed her? Perhaps one of my next thoughts was a little bit crude in the glow of Ana’s honest smile, but at that moment, I couldn’t help but think that Ana would probably kill for me, or at least defend me if I was ever threatened by knife blades in a dark Honduras alley. I looked at her, struggling for the right words, and in my best Spanish I could muster, told her that she had una alma bonita—a beautiful soul. I told her that I could see God’s light shining in her eyes. I told her she is special, that she is a gift, that I love her, too, and that God loves her more, no matter what she does. Her hands reached up again to my cheeks, her tiny mouth cracked into a smile to reveal uneven teeth, and she hugged me tightly around my neck.
Then, as if thinking about my words, she paused. Daniela, she asked me, what happens if you get confirmed and then you lie or steal again? What happens to you? I remembered then that only 3 weeks ago, Ana was confirmed with about 50 other kids in Tegucigalpa. This was the 2nd time she has asked me this question, and still I find it odd to be in Honduras explaining this concept that was ingrained in me after 16+ years of Catholic school education. I tried to explain that no matter how many times you lie or steal, God will forgive you if you truly ask for his forgiveness, if you honestly want to be forgiven and are sorry for what you have done. She seemed mostly satisfied with this response the second time around, but I added to my explanation. “Ana, there are too many people in this world who are bad. They steal and they lie, and they cheat. Every time that happens, their souls get a little bit blacker and their light from God gets a little bit dimmer. We need more people in the world who are honest, who do good things for other people, whose souls are bright and strong. You can be one of these good people, Ana, even if you have lied before. I know you are already a good person, because I can see it in you.” The truth of the concept must have overcome my poor Spanish, because Ana took my hand in hers, kissed it lightly, and then looked up at the stars with a quiet, “Si, Daniela.”
Ana reminds me what I am doing here, what my mission is for the year. I get frustrated with these kids, oh yes I do. When they cough on their hands, yell “SWINE FLU!” and then wipe it on me laughing, I feel like I’ll never make it the whole year. The days are long, but my patience is starting to sprout deeper roots. Moments of pure grace, like those I often experience with Ana, are my soul food here. Inevitably there will be kids here who steal, who lie, and who hate school—indeed, I’ve already had some grapes swiped out of the fridge by two of the teens—but they still deserve someone telling them that they can be good and that they are needed. And I’m hoping I can be one of the good guys who can do that. If you get a moment this week, pray for Ana, and for the kids here on the Ranch who are the “bad kids.” Pray that they realize that they have the chance to be good, and pray that someone takes the time to tell them so.
Peace,
Daniela
:)
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