giving care

four weeks ago i boarded a plane in Atlanta, Georgia so excited to come to Jamaica. in my head i dreamt up all of these awesome images of our days we were going to spend in the school as teachers with new playground equipment outside and laughing children making art at their desks. i must say, they were beautiful sights. 

but real life is so much better. 

in these four weeks, my pre-formed notions of what i imagined this trip to be have been completely stripped away. i have been confronted with my own self-righteousness and become aware of how quick i am to judge. my heart has been broken, and i am still learning how to finger the cracks and soak in the lessons meant for me in the jagged edges rather than try to clumsily piece it back together myself. i am learning to appreciate how awesome a blessing it is to be wrong. i am learning to listen. four weeks ago i left expecting to be a teacher for the summer. little did i know that this summer, He wants me to be a student.

this week  has really marked the shift in my understanding of our time here. last Friday Tara and I had an awesome conversation with a very caring summer project director about our perceptions of Marigold. we talked about a lot of things, going over her concerns about our relationship with the workers and steps we can take to try to better understand life at Marigold. one thing that really stood out from the conversation was the (what seemed radical but now seems so obvious) motivation to find out why things are the way they are at Marigold. writing about this now is truly embarrassing because i have to realize that before that idea was offered, i really wasn't seeking that understanding at all. i was writing the reasoning myself for something i had just been introduced to. i was cowardly hiding behind what i wanted to be the cause of problems because i was scared that the truth might just be too much. i blamed the caregivers for the lack of love and many of the problems (putting soiled diapers back on the children, withholding water from them, pervasive anonymity) because it was easy. but i did not realize the blinders it bound to my eyes. i did not realize that in doing that, i not only sealed myself off to the caregivers, i blocked my chance at reaching genuine understanding of the hurt and suffering of Marigold. 

this week has been such a gift in that we have been blessed with more time to spend getting to know the caregivers. on monday i had some time to sit down with one of the teachers and talk about her perspective on the Marigold's school. i asked her what her greatest challenge is in trying to educate the children, and it was like a light turned on in her eyes. she glowed with passion telling me that she really hopes the older children could go to prep (elementary) school outside of Marigold. she said that her true vision with the school would be to have one class for 5 and 6-year olds and one class for 3 and 4-year olds. she wishes that the 2 year olds who now sit in on the classes could have their own space and time to work on their language and fine motor skills. she feels like she needs more space in the classroom and a copy machine so she would no longer have to hand-write worksheets for each of the nine older children she teaches every day. she sighed as she talked about her feelings of exhaustion and worry that the younger children are neglected because she is trying so hard "for the older children to just learn something" each day. it was absolutely heartbreaking to listen to this incredible woman who works so, so hard everyday, trying to teach 18 children ranging in age from 2 to 7 in four hours with only one other teacher to help. she yearns to truly educate the children. she has the passion and the knowledge and the desire to work wonders in the minds of the precious children of Marigold. she just has her own substantial barriers. she does not have access to what she needs to make her dreams come true. but she can do it. she is a strong, motivated, beautifully-spirited woman, and she can do it. but it is our turn to carry her burden. we can help make her hopes a reality. and understanding this has been such a gift this week.

in our initial conversations with the caregivers (when we first arrived), many of the needs they identified were largely physical-diapers, a refrigerator, benches for the dining room table. and i let this be the end of their expressed need. but in spending time in conversation with them this week, the cravings of their hearts have come to light. Ms. Mattis in the kitchen took my hands in hers the other day and asked me if i will have a phone she can call me on when i return home in july. Ms. Henry asked where we got the photo paper to print the children's pictures on. Ms. Davidson carefully kept the welled-up tears in her eyes as she told us about the children leaving next week. she nodded her head heavily telling us that when Raymond leaves, he will be leaving his home of six years behind. we're getting to be real with them. 

one of the coolest things that happened with the caregivers this week was the time that we spent taking their pictures. when we were working on the wall of the children's pictures, many of the caregivers asked if they would have one as well. so, yea! we can do that. after about five caregivers emphasizing that they do not want their pictures hung and that the caregivers who asked for that can have theirs hanging up alone, the pictures we took became just for them. and they absolutely lit up. Ms. Nelson got in front of the camera and shone--she posed, laughed, danced and let herself have fun in the middle of the day. 

Ms. Sutherland had me take her picture on both days that we were taking them because she looked too tired the first day and made sure i knew she meant it when she said that, "darling i am NOT that old!" Ms. Simms, a quiet woman who spends most of her time in the kitchen and doing laundry absolutely stole my heart while i was taking her picture. as we walked outside together i awkwardly lead her and tried to position her in the light so that she wouldn't be in the shadows without blinding her in the sun (i need more photography lessons). she stood under a mango tree and looked stoically into the camera, her gentle eyes intently focused behind her wire-rimmed oval glasses. her lined face shone in the mid-morning sun, glistening with hard work yet beautiful in the story each wrinkle tells. after i had taken a few, i showed her the pictures and she sighed looking at them: "is that all? can i have more?" of course, Ms. Simms, of course. we spent the next thirty minutes walking around the backyard of Marigold taking pictures together. never smiling, she maintained the same expression of such strength and solidarity. her expression told of her resilience. as she held a piece of chalk pretending to write on the board and tilted her head slightly with every click of the camera that she heard, my eyes filled with tears realizing how precious each picture was to her. when we looked through them together she got so embarrassed as i told her how beautiful she looked. i made silly comments trying to make her smile and she kindly played along with me until we found the picture she liked best.

it's of her standing next to the wall of the school. the powder blue of her apron makes the skin it rests against glow in the light and her cheek bones are pronounced. her glasses reflected the light outside as i took the picture and you can see me and the tree behind me (oops) on the lenses. her age shows in it, and it is stunning. the years she has spent laboring for the children are written on her face, telling stories of children coming and going, needing food and clean clothes. the love she has poured into them through these seemingly inconsequential and menial tasks has been her humble and unnoticed work. after looking at her pictures she asked for some with the children. she took one with Eric, Raymond, Jackie, Ronaldino and Ackeel all standing before her, and if you look closely, you can see the tiny muscles around her mouth working hard to maintain that stoic pose. they make her smile. 

and in this connection, these moments of learning that i've been able to spend with the caregivers and teachers, my heart has been challenged. i do this really weird and silly thing where i will actually repeat in my head "i love you Jackie. i love you Aryana. i love you Raymond." and go through the children i can think of when i get really tired while at Marigold to keep me going. and this week, i've realized that that is what the caregivers do everyday. maybe they don't repeat it like it's some weird meditation mantra, but their scrubbing the floor, their changing the sheets, their dealing with doo-doo, is their love. and no, it's not perfect, but who in the world am i to judge love? mine is not even close to being perfect. and maybe it's not in the form that i feel needs to be there. maybe kisses and hugs and piggy-back rides are left for volunteers. but when she thinks no one is watching, Ms. Brown carries Asheba into a bedroom and helps her learn to stand up. and Michael won't eat from anyone besides Ms. Nelson. and Ms. Weis knows that Kelina and Joshua love to dance in the afternoon to music on the veranda, so every day she plays it for them. they love the kids. they see that there are challenges to be met at Marigold. they come to work, serve these children with humble hearts, go home to their own struggles, and return the next day. and i need to appreciate that. and i need to love them. 

and realizing that i need to love them too has been hard (embarrassing confession #534 for this post). this week i've been so humbled by reminders of the importance of universally loving others.  seeking perspective, i listened to a sermon podcast yesterday that spoke of the role of service in our lives. the pastor walked through Matthew 20:20-28 and spoke of the importance of making ourselves not just subservient to others but indentured servants to others, vessels that yearn to spring leaks and pour into the hearts of others. 

 "Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave— just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." Matthew 20: 26-28

the brokenness in my heart that the past few weeks have created has rocked me into awareness of my need to give up. i need to give up my plans, my constructed purposes, my expectations and desires. i need to give these up because i am not enough. i cannot completely mend the hearts of Marigold. i cannot take away the hurt that permeates it. i cannot end the suffering that we have become so aware of. but i can love them. i can love the children and the caregivers and the directors and the gardener and Tara and the taxi drivers who take us there and the men and women who sell us fruit on the street and Brother John who sells newspapers outside the US Embassy. and this love can look like anything, just as the caregivers' does. but it has to be real. and i am slowly learning that my love is going to be my gift. it is not going to be enough, but it will be something. maybe a remembered smile or shared laugh will keep Ms. Mattis going on an especially humid day in September when the kitchen fan doesn't work. who knows. i am not enough. all i can do is try to love. but He is enough. He is love. and i am so, so grateful i was wrong.

promise i'll talk about the kids next time. i know they're more fun:)

i really love you,

eeb