El Ultimo Dia

The last day of work is always a little difficult. I am relieved that we moved the last block from the stack down the hill, that there were enough "funditas" (bags) for the children at VBS despite what appeared to be WAAAY too many children for the number of funditas, and that so many children came to VBS today (about 200 - standing room only). But, it's a bit sad that it's over and that we'll be going home soon. I, for one, feel so distant from my life in Virginia - especially from work. It's hard to think about going back.

Today, while Claudio and Padre Jim were on the roof, I stood watching the ladder and making sure no one took off with it. In the morning when I had this job, I just watched people in the street going about their business, old women buying food for lunch, children playing or running errands, men standing and waiting for something to happen. A number of people talked to me and said hello. This afternoon was a totally different experience. About 10 kids were there waiting for VBS to start. When they saw the ladder coming around the corner, they gathered around me. A few of them stood on the lower steps so we were eye-to-eye for once (bending over and trying to understand a chiquita that's only 2 feet tall is really hard). We chatted about la escuela, las canciones, their lives, the other americanos. It was nice to just have some time to be with the children outside the chaos and noise of VBS. One of the girls kept brushing my hair out of my face and patting my arm. I speak enough Spanish that we could talk for a long time, and I could keep them from clambering too far up the ladder.

Then, VBS. We had enough bags. Total chaos didn't erupt. The children were very sad to see us go. We also almost ran out of crayons. It's always strange to me how such a small thing - crayons - can become a crisis. To tell a little boy who is sitting there quietly holding a picture that we have no more crayons, to have children come up with one crayon and calmly exchange it for another, to feel swarmed by children when you're holding the crayon box - all of this is just difficult in its own way. There is never enough. They have so little and we don't have enough to give them. But, many of them faithfully come. Many of them hug us on the way in and on the way out. They bring letters for their favorite jovenes (our young people). A few little boys were trying to roll up their sleeves on their tshirts just like Mateo. So, it's not really about the crayons or the pictures or the funditas. There is something deeper happening. It's not always apparent what exactly it is we are giving them. But, it is always clear to me that we need to be here.

Margret