April 20, 2009

It is really time for Spencer to write a letter—but I’m afraid I will have to use a little coercion before that will happen!

We are back to work. We have been very busy since Easter. The school classes are busy, busy. We need to come up with a plan for a new unit in the Medical English class and that is always a challenge.

I just finished writing a new unit for the kids’ English class, but I need to incorporate a few more activities into the learning. That class is now up to 17 kids—all from word of mouth. We didn’t include it on any posters or anything—but the class is about as full as I want it to be—I hope everyone stops talking to their friends about it. 

Last week was a tough week for me emotionally. It was so hard to be so far away when Shannon (my niece, for those who don’t know her) finally lost her battle with breast cancer. I’d been in touch with Diane frequently by phone and we knew it was coming—but it still comes as a shock and hit me really hard. I only missed one class (and it was Medical English, so Spencer taught in place of me). But tears were close on so many other occasions. I wish I could be there for the services this Saturday. But even businesses don’t give you bereavement for nieces and nephews. I just didn’t think I should ask permission from the Area Authority—but my heart is definitely in Arizona right now.

I’m so thankful for the many family memories we have established over the years. Memories are one of our greatest blessings in life. I am thankful for my extended family and the love and support everyone shares. I am also thankful for my new extended family and the love that is always forthcoming from the Browns and Vances. I am richly blessed.

This past weekend we began making our home visits in Esquipulas. It was pretty amazing. The elders took us to many different homes. We saw as much or more poverty among the branch members than we saw in the aldeas. One sister makes and sells tortillas. Her home is a shaky wooden frame building with corrugated tin for the outside walls and one wall dividing the “kitchen” from the bedroom. The floor was dirt—and wasn’t even really leveled out much. There was a blanket for the bedroom door. She cooks on a raised adobe area where she can build two fires—one for pans with a grill over it and one for a tortilla pan. There were chickens and a cute puppy wandering freely inside. Her furniture consisted of a homemade wooden bench. She is an absolutely great lady. She has been a member for almost 20 years and was in the previous RS presidency. We also visited her sister in another home. Three generations live there, the main room had a concrete floor. There was a bare light bulb in the ceiling. The wall to the sleeping area was a sheet of plastic. The door was open to the inner part of the house and the floor was dirt and sort of leveled in places as it went up the hill. They had put little shelves up where the rocks were too heavy to dig out (I guess) and just sort of worked it into the décor. Another older sister (same family) actually lived in a house with regular walls and stuff. She has three adult children living there and the sleeping area had blankets hanging around each bed for some semblance of privacy. Even that home was really very poor. Americans have no comprehension of how most of the rest of the world lives.
It was really nice to meet members in their own homes and start to put names with the faces. On Sunday lots of little kids came running to greet us because now we are their friends. We had three different less actives attend church that we had visited the day before, so that was nice. The chapel in Esquipulas is very nice. The grounds always look nice too. There is a big difference in economic circumstances, literacy (reading ability), and testimony in the branch. I hope we can fulfill our stewardship and make a difference. The elders, who serve as counselors in the branch presidency were very appreciative of our visit and made us feel very welcome and needed.

We have mentioned before how crazy the drivers are in Guatemala. So are the pedestrians. We saw the deadly outcome of that combination on our way to Esquipulas. A bus (the ones made for 20 passengers that carry about 35 here) had hit a pedestrian crossing the highway. It must have happened right before we arrived (going the other way). His crumpled body was lying in the highway like a rag doll had been tossed from a distance away. He may have been drinking or been impaired in some way. I will never know for sure, but it certainly makes you realize how very fragile life is. We need to value every moment. And value all of the important people in our lives. So once again I want to say how much I love each and everyone of you.

Our trip home was interesting. We got on the bus and could see that there really weren’t any more seats—but they had already put our suitcase on top, so we were committed. The “ayudante” (helper) said that there was room for one more (me) on a seat already containing two young women. They obligingly scrunched and I could get one “cheek” on the seat—and rode that way for 1½ hours! Then they put down a jumper seat between me and the guy across the aisle. Now, you need to know, the jumper seats are about 14-15 inches wide. The seats slant because they are only attached on one side. My “other cheek” was sort of stuck between my bench seat that this tiny jumper seat and that is where Spencer had to sit. Now, Spencer’s bum is actually pretty small—but that is the only small area on his body, his shoulders and torso need more than 14” to fit. Everyone behind us laughed when they realized he was supposed to squeeze into that little space. But he did it—and we were so packed that we didn’t bounce around too much.  At one town about four people sitting behind us got off. I looked to see if there was someplace better to sit and you literally couldn’t see a single spot where their bodies could have been before. On the back sit—made for four adults—at least in my American way of thinking, there were five adults and five children. Children who sit on laps apparently don’t have to pay a fare. It was unbelievable. At the next town the ayudante tried to convince five adults who were waiting to go to Chiquimula that there was plenty of room for them in our bus—but they didn’t buy it (thank goodness!) They told him they weren’t that desperate and knew there would be another bus in just a little while—smart people. We picked up three women who were just going about ten miles. But one of them was holding a flat of eggs tied with string. I offered to put it on my lap, but she turned me down. Then an older woman with her took the eggs and ended up letting an Indian man put them on his lap—guess I just didn’t look trust worthy. Either that or where I was sitting looked so crowded that she feared for the safety of the eggs.

We are supposed to be teaching a FHE evening tonight. But I think the family stood us up. They aren’t here yet anyway. Such is the life of a missionary. But one really nice thing is that we are teaching the husband of Marta Folgar, who Dave Limburg baptized right before going home. He seems to be really interested. They are wonderful people. It is their daughter that went to the USA to work—she finally made it safely and is working in Florida. The family is completely fragmented. The dad and three kids are in Puerto Barrios and the oldest daughter, Kimberly, who is in a wheel chair, is living with her grandparents. What a sad situation—mostly due to the economics. Life is hard for so many people. But Marta and Kimberly are faithful members and if Kimberly’s grandpa can give up his cigarettes, there is real hope for him.

This is once again long—but that is because I don’t have pictures to take the place of 1000 words like I did for the week Nate and Christena were here. That was such a great highlight. I am so glad they came. I love all of you. Keep in touch.
Love,
Mom/Jeanine

Hi everybody. I endorse most of this letter. That’s because we worked on most of it together. Someday you’ll be getting volume two of my letters, any day now. We’re having the time of my life.
Spencer