goodbye

disclaimer:  this post will probably fit in with my recent "debbie downer" trend.

tonight was my kids' end-of-year program.  of course this led to a trail of thoughts...the end of a school year.  the end of my time in la paz.  realistically, the end of some relationships.  the end of a beautiful season.  i tried to remain professional and calm, but despite all my efforts to be tearless, there was definitely a hyperventilating moment or two.  the love in the community of my school is something truly unique that maybe one can only experience by being a part of it.  i was blown away yet again by the love of my coworkers, my students--past and current, their families, and the immeasurable love of God that allowed me to be a part of their lives for the past few years. what an honor.

also, i realized something tonight:  the pain of leaving here seems so raw and at times unbearable because it's very likely i won't be returning here.  i don't want to discount the pain of leaving my family and home in nc three years ago, but it was different.  i suppose i knew i'd go back at some point.  i cannot depend on that possibility here in la paz.  this place has been my home, but the likelihood of returning long-term in slim.  and at least for now, that's what makes the goodbyes so unbelievably hard.

they say good things don't come easy.  con la fuerza de Dios, may my goodbyes to people, places and experiences continue to be difficult.

change

the reality is hitting. hard. i have a little over a month left at highlands and a little over two months left in bolivia and south america.

the pain is as fresh as it was when i was leaving north carolina three years ago.  not that anyone can replace my sweet family in the states, but la paz has become my home and its people my family.  it is amazing to me how swiftly these three years have passed, and yet how rich they have been.  how challenged i've been.  how much, by God's grace, i've grown.  and how i've felt--more consistently than ever before--so alive here.

i realize the challenges and joys that await me in the states, but at the moment it's hard to look ahead even a couple months to that point.  i want to be fully in the present.  i wish it were possible to take every precious jewel of an experience and bottle it up for later.  every river kid's smile.  every uncontrollable fit of laughter with friends.  every stunning sunset view from my apartment window.  every hug from a first grader.  as i move back to north carolina, i don't want to live in the past.  but i never, ever want to forget the beautiful memories i have had in my south american home.

i so appreciate what my friend keri (who will also leave la paz soon) posted about being uprooted: http://untameflame.tumblr.com/post/5077205490/uprooting.  my home--my mental and emotional stability, my sense of purpose, and my hope when things are changing--is not in a person or place at all, but in fact in the Lord.  i hope i can remember this in the coming months, even the coming moments, when the reality of change seems too difficult to do, much less to embrace.

"if we don't change, we don't grow. if we don't grow, we aren't really living."  ~gail sheehy

the beauty of simplicity

Yesterday I was kind of a bum--no gym, no school work, nothing stressful.  This allowed for some good ol' fashioned thinkin' time, and so in that way I guess I can feel slightly productive.  Reflecting on life is not my favorite thing, to be honest.  It often involves the humble realization of my depravity, and that whenever I try to do life on my own--as I too often do--it doesn't work out so well.  Thankfully, reflecting always comes back to God's grace in my life, and how, as undeserving as I feel, God has called me his child.  By grace he brings me back to his promises of his good plans for me.  By grace he reminds me that nothing else in all creation can separate me from his love. By grace he prompts me to be grateful.

One of the many things for which I am grateful is this place I've called home for almost three years.  There is a plethora of reasons to be grateful for my time in La Paz, but one I appreciate the most is a simple way of life.  Now I by no means am deprived of anything I need here in Bolivia. In fact, I have most everything I want, so in many ways I am still the spoiled American.  But I believe my mindset has changed in small ways as a result of living here.  I don't need a big salary.  I don't need a car.  I don't need to spend money on expensive meals to have quality time with friends.  I can travel on a small budget.  Proper electrical outlets and paved roads are luxuries I don't have to have.  A dryer and a dishwasher aren't necessities  either.  Movies at home can be just as good as or better than going to the theatre.  New clothes (and by that I mean new to me; the clothes I buy here are used) are nice but not essential.  There is no shame in borrowing...a lot.  Walking is better than driving or getting transportation everywhere.  Church is just as meaningful or more so in a school cafeteria with plastic chairs as in a "real" church facility.  Hanging out with kids in a neighborhood slum simply requires my time, a little energy and some love.  Most importantly, I don't feel the constant nag that I feel too often in the States; I don't need the cutest clothes and shoes, the latest iPhone, the sleekest car, the fanciest things.  I am satisfied with my purpose and my community here.  I am content with the simplicity of this place, of my job, of my relationships.  


My circumstances and community will vastly change in a few months.  I will have a new set of friends, a new church, a new apartment, a new job, and a different way of living.  I hope one thing that can remain the same, however, is this mindset of simplicity. Yes, it will be amazing to dry my jeans in a dryer again and eat fresh produce without sanitizing it first.  But when materialism rears its ugly, greedy head, may I counter it with a content smile, remembering that a simpler life--the life I'm trying to embrace every moment of here--is a beautiful thing.

a time for everything

Christmas break has been wonderful. I have relaxed, caught up with friends, and spent precious moments with family. I have filled my tummy with Chick-fil-a, trail mix and Diet Mountain Dew. I have enjoyed the small conveniences of flushing toilet paper, automatic bathroom appliances, and driving myself places. I've cherished the people whom I miss most when I am in La Paz and savored Stateside efficiencies.

There is a time to dance, and there is a time to mourn.

Although I look forward to these things upon returning to the States in June, it has been an ever-present burden to think about leaving Bolivia. I can relax in my apartment with my "family" there. I can fill my tummy with delicacies that--though likely to make me sick--are still tasty. I can find the small inconveniences like not being able to flush the toilet paper, faulty electrical outlets, and relying on other transportation endearing rather than frustrating. It is a time to mourn what will be not the total loss of those things, but the loss of the daily experience of them. I am trying my best to prepare myself for the time of grief that is yet to come in the next six months, though I'm not sure how to best do that. Regardless, I believe it will be an incredible lesson in aspirations I've always hoped to achieve: Live each day like it's your last. Carpe diem. "Arise and seize the day" (to quote one of my favorite films). I'm hoping that this time to mourn also, somehow, will be a time to dance.