וחסד על ידי אמונה: Belated Tidings

Dear All:

Officially, happy season of the holidays, 2008! I regret my slacking – I'm not sure what the fines and penalties are for belated quarterly updates – but I am happy to report that my lack of news has been, according to the old adage, good news.

As I am rounding lap #3 (lap #3!!!) of my time in Belize City, I can finally say that my adjustment to this experience, which had been delayed for approximately a year by homesickness and various forms of personal stubbornness, is coming to a cacophonous and praise-filled close. Of course, the feelings of familiarity, comfort, and routine arrive just before I am forced to enter into yet another period of transition and adjustment, but in the wise words of my favorite 8^th grade pop group, B*Witched, c'est la vie. I'll be ready when June rolls around, I suppose. Do I even have a choice?

As for now, much has contributed to finally feeling settled in my community, in my job, and especially in my faith. In terms of my job, I'll admit that most of my adjustment has been in resignation—not an "I'm helplessly giving up" but in an "I'm humbly giving up fighting against it" kind of way. Much of that accomplishment has to do with feeling settled in the other two areas, so I will highlight those instead of dwelling on the disappointments and frustrations that have come with working in a ministry for which I am ill-equipped.

When I mention "community," I speak to both Belize and to the other three volunteers with whom I currently live and share this experience. Being accustomed to language and communication nuances has been a huge help on both of these fronts this year so far: I am finding my understanding of Kriol and its spicy character immensely helpful in my everyday routine, including answering the phone at work and playing some sort of unqualified disciplinarian role for students in the school library (school zoo is more like it), and I am finding a second year of living in an intentional community very beneficial to my practice of articulating, expressing, and listening to the needs and feelings of our household. While I'm not sure I'll ever utilize my comprehension of Kriol again, I'm pretty sure that the communication tools I am gathering through the intentional relationships that this living experience demands will be helpful in the future. Or at least I know that conversations in life couldn't possibly get any more awkward. Amen, amen.

Much of my last year's maturation has shown me that inevitably, I will become exactly like my mother, which is to say that I recently adopted two kittens who were rescued by the Humane Society (you wouldn't know from the swollen-nippled mange that wander the streets—impoverished dogs, I mean—but yes, Belize does have a Humane Society). These cats were already fixed, and up to date with their shots; basically it was a deal that could not be refused. I let them sleep on me, I feed them scraps while I'm cooking (and eating), I let them sit on the table, bite me, fart in my room, and wake me up at 4:30 am every morning to "play." I clean a full litter box every day, I spend portions of my small monthly stipend on special indoor cat food, and I always revert to baby talk when speaking to them, even though I understand how absurd I sound. Where my other housemates have kept true to our commitment of disciplining these animals and not letting them ruin our lives, I have let them define me in ways I couldn't have possibly imagined. I am obsessed with them, and I let them walk all over me as I believe that such is just a small price to pay for making our cement and sparsely-furnished house feel more like a home. A poopy-smelling, hair-covered, and havocked home, sure; but it is a home nonetheless.

In terms of sharing about my faith and feeling more settled in that realm, I should admit first that I entered into this Christian volunteer program assuming that simply being here would clarify—and remedy, for that matter—all the uncertainties I had about religion. I was a person in desperate need of direction (aren't we all?), and I figured that at the least, two years of service under the auspices of the Catholic Jesuits would buy me a good seat come judgment time. With the added components of community celebrated "Spirituality Nights" and working for a parish, I was sure—very sure—that I would leave Belize nothing short of an active theologian and steadfast Catholic. God, I thought, would come to me in Belize.

That, actually, was not—and is not—entirely the case. In all of that Christian thinking, can you believe what I forgot? Jesus! Geez (not to be redundant), it still astounds me; talk about seeing the trees but missing the woods, or however that saying goes. Anyways, I won't bore you with a testimony here—I will just say that I think God has come to me here in Belize, but only after I have realized that His revelation is not a catering service; I speak now from a place of comfort in beginning to see the ways to get off my sorry butt and seek Him. "God!" I remember saying over the summer, "Where are you!?!?" A housemate (and beloved) of mine rolled his eyes and tossed his Bible at me. And it's been all downhill—scenic, but still a little scary—from there. Yes, I can say, I was saved while doing mission work. Is that ironic?

So … to my last seven months in Belize: Bring on the metaphysical contemplation! Bring on the regret of scrutinizing opportunities foregone! Bring on the frustrations of a lifestyle that holds no measurable or external gauges of success! Bring on boredom! Bring on precious relationships from home maintained only by echo-filled phone conversations and hasty emails and four-week old letters! Bring on the temptation to give up! Bring on mosquitoes and sweat stains! Bring on anxiety about the future and what in the heck someone like me should do with her life! … Seriously, bring it on. I double-dog dare you!

I'll just cuddle up with one of my smelly cats, pick up a Sudoku, and pray in thanksgiving. After all, God's got plans for me—"for good," He promises—and I have to believe that Belize was, and continues to be, a part of them.

Cheers to Barack Obama even though my absentee ballot arrived on November 3^rd (postmarked through Belarus—can you BELIEVE it?!),

Molly