Grounding

November 09, 2021

Grounding

Oh. My. Goodness.

A lot has changed since I last talked to y’all. Before coming, I was told that I would have to get used to change. But man, I didn’t know that it would be THIS much change! When I got here, the houseparents in charge of my girls moved to another house on campus within a week of my arrival, and the big house where I live underwent major surgery. A big red brick wall was raised right down the middle of it to divide it into two halves—one for the younger girls, and one for the older girls. The adult daughter of the houseparents that left, a very capable Bolivian woman named Rosalia, stayed to become the houseparent for the younger girls. I was just her house assistant who lived upstairs, a separate living quarters only for volunteers. After about a month, Rosalia had to leave due to familial circumstances, making me step up to be the other houseparent with Laura, another SM from Southern.

I want to pause and elaborate a little. There is a big difference between just the house assistant, and the house parent. The house assistant helps with the cooking, cleaning, and taking care of the children. It’s like a permanent babysitter/ helper. But the houseparent is the parent. That’s where the buck stops. You must discipline them, set down rules, enforce them, and deal with all the tantrums and messiness. All the duties of running a clean, well-oiled machine of a house falls on you. It’s a lot more responsibility than just being a house assistant.

Now remember how I described my job in the last post, as a very tired mom? That hyperbole is not a hyperbole anymore. I am basically a parent now. It’s been a rough transition, but here’s the cool thing about humans though—we’re super adaptable. I feel so much more used to the “being a whole mom” thing than I did a month ago. Here are a few things that have changed for me:

Earning the kids' respect. I take care of this little 5-year-old girl that is super affectionate and loves to climb all over me. Before I was a houseparent, she would always use the “tu” form when addressing me. In Spanish, whenever you are talking to someone older than you or to a stranger, you use the “usted” form as a display of respect. All my other girls address me by that. But she didn’t. Now, I don’t know if that’s because she’s still forming her speech patterns (she says “copito” instead of “poquito,” how cute), but over time, she is switching over to the “usted” form with me, which actually makes me feel kinda accomplished. Because whether it’s true or not, I feel like I’m earning her respect, which is crucial to being a good parent and caregiver.

I’ve also learned to say no. I remember the night when Rosalia left with her family that used to stay in a house on campus. Roughly ten minutes after they had left, the girls quickly gathered around and begged me to go over to the recently empty house. Their Spanish was so rapid and confusing, I couldn’t really understand. I asked, “who gave you permission?” They responded in more rapid Spanish, and it sounded like they mentioned a name. I slowly said, “okay???” and within a second, they were all out of the door booking it towards the freshly abandoned house. “This doesn’t feel right,” I thought. I walked over and found my eight girls running around the house, gathering the leftover things like robbers in the thick of night. “This one’s mine!” “No, well I found this first!” This was not what I thought they would be doing. (I’m literally getting embarrassed as I type this out). I jogged back to my house and checked with Laura and the director. They were, in fact, NOT supposed to be ransacking the house. Gosh, what a display. The brand-spankin’ new houseparent on the first night and all my kids are basically robbing Familia Feliz. We kicked them out of course, but after that night, I swore that I would be much harder with my “no’s.” I have become a lot stricter since then. Over time, I’ve learned that there are times to say yes, and times to say no. There are beautiful times in between where compromise makes both sides happy while keeping the parental power in my lap. But in general, my “no’s” flow so much more easily than they used to before—a growth which makes my fearful-to-disappoint-people self happy.

Teaching is something I am getting acclimated to as well. I was told I would have to start teaching in February, when my Spanish is better. That plan was unexpectedly accelerated, and I am now the art teacher for grades 1-6. It’s not too difficult, but it does require extra time and thought to prepare, which is sometimes hard to come by when you’re a houseparent. I think mainly the hardest part is finding ways to keep the kids occupied with an activity for an hour and a half, which is the time period for classes here. Classroom management is also a big one, although I’m getting the hang of it. The “three strikes and you’re out” trick works magic.

I’m watching myself become more of a leader in so many ways. Being the middle child, my older sister was always the one to make the first moves. She paved the way for me in so many things—schooling, dating, sleepovers, wearing skinny jeans (* SDA gasp*). She is also a huge planner, so anytime there was an issue making decisions for birthday parties or traveling, she was the one to ask. My natural tendency is just to go with the flow, to sit back, and enjoy the ride. Of course, when I started working odd jobs and went to college, I rose to the respective responsibility. But this is a whole ‘nother ballgame. Many times during the week, I am left alone with 9 children, all of which have endless energy and are constantly scheming to get something they want. I have to teach three classes a week, cook meals, wash and bathe the younger children, get them all to do chores, upkeep their hygiene, homework, and laundry, all while mediating the many conflicts that arise about dolls or clothes or chores or who’s thing is who’s throughout the day. Oh, and all in Spanish, a language I don’t know yet. At the end of the day, I my brain is hurting, and I have a sore throat. However, I have had a great amount of support here. Laura, the other houseparent, pulls much of the work that is needed around here, all with a smile. Alexa and the other volunteers here are also always encouraging me, helping me out, and patient with me while I am learning the ropes around here. I am not alone. :)

After typing all this, I’m realizing that I am missing a crucial part of my time here. Yes, it is crazy and busy and stressful at times. But also, there are these moments in between where I look at my kids and just feel so much love for them. I am so glad they exist. I’m so privileged to take care of them and be their “teacher Krista,” even if only for a year. One night I had all the kids in bed, the house was dark and silent for the first time all day. I’m washing the last of the dishes and listening to my Jesus Jams on my headphones. My little four-year-old (who can be a real piece of work sometimes) peeps her head around the corner with a playful smile. “Hey!” I point out. “You’re supposed to be in bed!” And she just smiles in response. I realize that she’s not going to bed without me. So I squat down and hold out my arms. “Hugs?” and without wasting a beat she throws her whole 35 pounds into my soapy arms. At that moment I just look at her and am overwhelmed by this beautiful child’s innocence and joy to just be with her teacher. “Let’s wash dishes together, ok?” She happily gets two bricks to stand on (the sink is too high for her) and we clean those dishes like one heck of a dishwashing team in the light of our single kitchen light bulb.

It’s these moments that connect. The longer that I stay here, the more that I feel grounded in my purpose here and connected to the kids. It changes how I think about my place here as just a caretaker to “these are my kids now.” I think the thing about this place that makes it totally different from short term mission trips is there is no tangible, immediate goal. It's just everyday living. There is not a well to build or a certain number of people to outreach to. It is just routinely living like my life was in America—meals, school, church, homework, etc. Sometimes the goal-oriented side of me will scream in frustration, “What are we here for?!” But then I remember, these kids need to have a parental figure in their lives, and I must be that for them so long as I am here. It’s not a job that gets accolades or rewards. It’s just living with a lot more responsibilities. But also with a lot more intentional love.

I am realizing something new about myself—I am a more goal-oriented person than I thought. Recently, I have been having great luck with my bread and take pride in making good food. So, I can be pretty picky about how my food is prepared. I was making bread this past Friday in a peaceful kitchen, and all the kids were outside playing with another volunteer. Halfway through the process, the girls had to come back inside the house. My eight-year-old, who loves to take charge of everything cooking related, jumped right in front of me and started messing around with the dough. “No, no, no,” I interrupted as I scooped back my dough. “Here, watch me first and then do it like this,” rolling the dough up into little balls. She quickly followed suit, but after a few minutes quickly got bored with the repetition and started playing around with the dough, tossing it in the air and stretching it in all sorts of ways. I stifled my perfectionist irritation, and let it slide. After all, she is only a kid. “We can just re-shape it later,” I thought. Then she dropped it on the ground, thereby deeming it to the trash bin. That’s when I snapped. “Hey! If you want to play, you can go outside. If you want to help me, you have to listen to me and do it the way I show you.”

Immediately her composure dropped, and smile descended dishearteningly. A few seconds later, she crawled in a tiny space in between the counter and the fridge.

“Oh no, maybe I spoke too harshly?” I thought. “No, she needs to listen and respect me in the kitchen!” I justified. But as I continued to make the bread and let her sit in silence, God spoke to my heart.

“Kristen, which is more important here? This girl’s heart, or the bread you are making? Go make it right with her.”

“But, God, the BREAD! It needs to be finished and done well!”

“Kris, chill with the bread.”

*sigh*

I stood there in the kitchen for a few seconds. “Okay. God, you’re right.”

I walked a few steps to where she was and sat down in this quiet, dusty corner with my back against the wall. She was crying. After apologizing for speaking harshly, I talked a little with her. I realized she wasn't crying just because I snapped at her. She has very low self-worth due to her very traumatic past. She believes that she isn’t enough and never will be if she doesn’t do things right. My perfectionism did nothing but exacerbate the problem.

“I don’t know how to cook. I can’t do anything right!” She squeezed out through the tears.

“Speak life into her,” God whispered to me.

I contended, “Mija, you CAN cook! When I was your age, I didn’t know how to do half the things you know. Sure, you don’t know everything, but you will learn with time. And I’ll be here to teach you!”

Her tears stopped flowing, and she looked me in the eyes for the first time. “You think so, Teacher?” she responded.

“Absolutely! Do you wanna help me make lunch?” She rubbed her face for a second, took a deep breath, and stood up. She proceeded to make a very yummy lunch all by herself! I want to be more careful with my words, but also keep in mind that there is always more underneath the surface to a kid’s behavior. Also, bread isn’t that important.

I am also learning that mindset makes a big difference in how I perceive things here. At the beginning, I viewed my role here as a house assistant like a job. I was working from 7 am to 9 pm, and after that was my off time. Dealing with the girls misbehaving and throwing tantrums—this was just a strenuous duty I had to do because it was part of my job description. But after moving downstairs and living in a room with one other SM and three very loud children under the age of 5, there really is no “off-time.” With prayer, my mindset is changing. This is not just a job I am doing. I don’t have to deal with all the messiness. I get to deal with all the messiness—it’s a privilege to be a part of these kids’ lives and help them grow up to be good people. I am here building and maintaining a family. My family.

A disclaimer: I am still learning! I don’t have it all together. Heck, I’m just a twenty-something collegiate who has never had to be THE adult before. I’m sure I’ve messed up lots of times, but the good thing is: there will be a tomorrow to try again. And God gives more grace.

Speaking of God, recently He's been giving me this visual. I see this shiny tannish seed against a white backdrop. It's cracked open at one end. A light green root is stretching out from the broken shell. It was dormant before the breaking, but now it's actively growing. And for some reason I know this is me. I am breaking in some areas, but in that breaking, it is making more room for growth. Good growth. And I know that if I wasn't here, I wouldn't have the environment that would ultimately lead to the flourishing that God wants in my life. More so than ever before, I feel like clay in the potter's hands. This service here might be changing me more than I am changing things here with my service.

It’s one thing to say you love someone, but it's another to actually mean it by staying. These kids have parents that don’t stay, which translates to: “I don’t love you.” It makes me really sad, because these kids deserve better. I’ll eventually have to leave, but for the time that I’m here, I’ll be that person who means “te quiero.” Not only because it’s supposed to be a part of my service here, but because these girls are precious to my heart. It is something that Jesus did for us. He gave up his omnipresence and put all the glory of his godly body into a humble human body. He chose to stay, as a sign of His great giant love for us. I hope that I can show even a little bit of that to these kids.

Love from Bolivia,

Kris <3