More Lessons from the Classroom

I was just reading Sleeping with Bread which describes the Examen—a daily practice of reflection, which in it’s most simple form answers two questions: What gave life and what drained life today?

I realized that we have incorporated this practice into our summer school program here by ending our day with the “circulo de amistad” (friendship circle) where each student has the opportunity to share what they liked most about the day, and what they liked least. This not only helps the teachers to informally assess the day but also provides a space for each individual to be heard. The girls seem to especially appreciate this time, as they often take a passive role in classroom discussion. What I hadn’t considered before that this was perhaps the sprouting of a lifelong process of reflection, which is critical for self-knowledge and growth. Reflection and self-evaluation are skills that can easily be left unfertilized and that have to be taught and developed just as we teach addition and subtraction…and I like that we have slipped it in so naturally that even I didn’t realize that we were teaching it at first 

In the circle, we’re also practicing respect. Showing respect by listening and taking turns, but also by acknowledging that what was the best part of the day for one person might be the worst part of the day for another. The practice of seeing things from other people’s perspective.

Complete this phrase: If you don’t have something nice to say…. (Don’t say anything at all.)

I can’t tell you how many times that I heard this growing up (thanks, Carol Ann :) or how grateful I feel that I did. Here the equivalent of this is one of my new favorites, for the way that it translates: No se vale decir. Basically, it is not worth saying. It is in the passive form, but it’s message is powerful. There is no value in the words that you are using. And when delivered softly, “Eso no se vale decir, mi amor,” it causes one to reflect.. Why did I say that? How does it make the recipient feel? What does it say about me?

Our words, whether directed to students or co-workers, or shared between friends, families and loved ones have great power. They have the power to build up, or to tear down. They reflect the state of our hearts and minds, how we feel about ourselves, and how we know God. What are your words saying today? And is there value in what they say?

A Kindergartener’s Lesson on Grace

A few years ago I was teaching summer school, and those who have also had the opportunity to teach summers school know that..hmm… how do I put this?... the students need academic support, but can also use a good daily dose of love (which surprisingly can be shared by providing them structure…and at least two meals for the day). So one of the structures that I used were these little craft sticks with each student’s name. From these we would chose who would be the line leader, who would guide us through the calendar activity, who was privileged enough—oh, yes—to flip the oversized pages of the big book as the teacher read. Good stuff. That day, we were reading 5 Little Ducks and while reading, several of my little summer angels were basically break dancing, they were so wiggly. (We’ll call them Shadrach, Meshach, and a billy goat.) “We” decided that sitting in chairs would be a better option until they could sit and listen attentively on the rug. And oh man, being exiled from the rug, however gently, was a sobering experience.
After reading the book, we decided to act it out…and for that we would need ducklings. (And if you think 5 year olds get excited about being the page-flipper for the day, getting to dramatize a duckling is an entirely different category) 20 arms flair into the air---hands flapping, accompanied with strained expressions of pleading. I reach for my name sticks—who would be the lucky ones?? Shuffling…shuffling.. (might as well make this dramatic).. aaaaaannndd???? Shadrach. Oh boy. Me against the masses. After all, Shadrach hadn’t been behaving!! Why should HE get to be a duckling?! That wouldn’t be fair. I pause and exchange a glance with Leti, our aide. Okay, Shadrach. Let’s go. Next name… shuffling.. shuffling… oh, let’s get a drumroll going! Pat pat pat pat pat pat… aaaaaannnddd??!!?! Pause. Meshach. I fight a grin of consternation. C’mon Meshach. Man.. Mister “I have all of the answers” (albeit for summer school) on the front row is not pleased by this. The strained expressions for those waiting to be chosen, sitting as properly and patiently as possible is becoming comical. I begin to shuffle again, shaking my head a bit, already feeling what is about to happen. Still, I muster a cal for the drumroll , and…. Yep, a billy goat.

Leti and I laugh as the 3rd duckling takes his place and I say “Welp, that was a good lesson on God’s grace from Kindergarteners.” I pull the names of two more equally unworthy, but equally loved ducklings, and then we just all had fun together.

Retreat!!!

 Ahh... a good old patio.  This is where we spent most of our time at our most recent retreat at the Coffee Finca (plantation) Santa Elena outside of Quetzaltenango.  Before coming we read a book called Silence on the Mountain on the history of coffee fincas and the attempted (and then violent) Agrarian reform just decades ago.  
We did get to do some physical labor also, and learn about the coffee production process:

From bush to basket.  This day the workers were picking Robusto coffee.   To the untrained eye, there are green and red berries, but to those for whom coffee is life, there are many shades in between...including yellow (??).  We ended up only picking the red.



These were my teachers.  While we were picking, Mari, on the right, began to hum 'I have decided to follow Jesus' (she was humming in Spanish :)  I started to whistle the tune and she asked me if I was 'evangelica' (aka protestant).  I said yes, Presybterian, although it was a little different here than...  Before I could finish she said, "Yeah.. but there's only one God."  Yep.  There's only one God.  Then we sang together:
He decidido seguir a Cristo
He decidido seguir a Cristo
He decidido seguir a Cristo
No voy atras.  No voy atras. 



From basket to bag.  Families work all day to fill these bags and at the height of coffee season, get paid 40 quetzales ($5.00) per 100 pounds.  This is much better than what it used to be, but still under Guatemalan minimum wage. 



The bags are brought back in a truck and workers walk back to begin sorting the beans...or join in on a game of futbol.

After sorted, leaving some out to fullen ripen, the beans are sent through a pulping process where quality control is done by sinking and floating (good beans sink, bad beans float).   I'm obvioulsy not an expert on this, but after many steps, the 'cafe de oro', or just the unroasted seed is left.



The cafe en oro is spread out to dry naturally for a day,  and then heads to a tumbler to release the rest of the humity. 
From here, this particular coffe is sold--mostly exported.  And THEN starts the roasting and the blending, probably more shipping and the brewing!  Hope that this small insight to the process helps you appreciate your next cup of Starbucks and perhaps is an inspiration to become an educated consumer. 
For more information on this particular finca you can visit http://www.fincasantaelena.com/. 



Dia de los Santos

Well, October 31st came and went and I didn’t dress up, or trick or treat, and I’m pretty sure I was asleep by 9:30! But November 1st, Dia de los Santos was a real celebration. Andrew and I took a bus to Antigua, then a bus (headed to Guate) to San Lucas and finally a bus to Santiago, Sacatepequez. (I’m just really diggin’ the public transportation—new life skill!!) There we followed the crowd through winding roads, past vendors of every sort, to the party at the top of the hill-- in the cemetery. Surely cemeteries all over Latin America were filled with families, flowers, and food on this day. And from any rooftop, in any town, on any day you can almost always spot a kite… but only a few communities host kite festivals on this special day. For Santiago, this was the 110th year of kite flying. Many people view the tradition as a means of communication with their ancestors..a connection between the worldly realm and the deceased. The tradition of the giant kite making is passed down through families and is a great source of pride. So… It was the day of the dead but my senses were completely alive. We had to stop wandering around. We just sat and took in the grandness of the day—the colors, sounds, smells… the balance between stillness and movement, life and death.

From the cemetery we watched the 16 foot kites take wing…while only the tops of the gigantic 60 foot kites peered up over the hill below. It was so much to take in. As if the intricate, colorful designs weren’t enough beauty, they were framed by a celestial blue sky and pure white clouds…until they plummeted past the rolling, patch worked hills, mountaintops, and sometimes fell into a cushion of cornfields.

At one point Andrew asked me, “Is it part of this also to make a lot of noise?” Ha! No.. I think that is just a natural product of life here—the constant clinging of the ice cream man’s bell as he rolls his cart over the graves. Bombas---BOOM!! Painfully strong sound, followed by the delicate swishing of tissue paper and the flickering of kite tails (which are believed to scare away evil spirits, giving good spirits the freedom to enjoy the day with their living relatives). Noisemakers for sale—eery noises, oopy loopy noises, cranking, whistling, etc, etc. The only sound that wasn’t in the cemetery was silence.

(enter, Mariachi)

And the smells. Smoke that had absorbed the smells of roasting corn, seasoned meat, onions, blue tortillas. Mmmmm…

Taste. We couldn’t put a name to the taste of the traditional candies…except for tasty. Rich, perhaps. But we did a loooot of tasting throughout the day.

What I also noticed is that we were especially sensitive to the wind. It’s absence was felt when it died down and anticipation grew as it picked up.

So, the challenge for today: Sit somewhere—anywhere—for a few minutes and use all 5 senses. And if, on Halloween weekend, you did more trick-or-treating than remembering of the saints that have molded your life, do so with peace...