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The Lessons I've Learned by Tricia Zackrisson
All is Grace by Sherri Riva
The Lessons I've Learned
by Tricia Zackrisson (Volunteer, Oct 1997 - Dec 99)
As my time at the Finca del Ni�o draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on and cherishing many memories of the past two years, which I have tucked away in the recesses of my mind. I have to laugh as I recall that September evening two years ago when I first traveled the dirt roads from Trujillo to the Farm. I remember the blend of excitement, anxiety, and curiosity as Adela, a former volunteer, fearlessly tackled the muddy, bumpy, pothole ridden roads in our Toyota pickup. I remember my surprise at having to drive through seven rivers and streams to arrive at the Farm. I remember the thrill of first seeing the moon reflected in the Caribbean as we reached the peak of a hill. And I remember wondering, as we pulled through the gates of the Farm, what in the world I was getting myself into.
Over the past tow years, I have learned many lessons about life, love, faith, and the values, which guide me. The Honduran people have taught me what it means to be truly grateful, humble, generous, faith-filled, and selfless. The Farm community and the examples of Zulena, the house parents, and fellow volunteers have revealed the importance of living a life rooted in Chris. Our beautiful children have reminded me of the beauty of unconditional love and affection.
I think of the countless things I will miss: the people, natural beauty so prominent here, and the slower, more languid pace of life; however, it is the small, everyday things which bring tears to my eyes and a smile to my face. I'll miss the way six-year-old Franklin comes bounding out of nowhere at breakneck speed to fling his arms around me every time I pass by his house, the mischievous look that comes over my four-year-old goddaughter, Brenda's, face when she's about to do something naughty, and eleven-year-old Suyapa and her gentle, sweet, unassuming self as she comfortably slides her hand into mine and looks delighted to see me. I'll miss, precious little, five-year-old Arturo with eyes as big as his stomach who forever is conniving to get his hands on someone else's share of food (he receives plenty of food, lest you worry). I'll miss seven-year-old Alex whose shouts of "Kicha, a pintar?" can be heard across the Farm, in Mass, on his way to school, during lunch, or wherever I happen to be when he spots me. "Kicha, a pintar ("Tricia, time to draw?") - Alex's way of asking me if we're going to do our weekly tutoring session together, has become an automatic reflex upon sighting me and his own unique greeting.
The list is endless. There is no way I could sum up what these past two years have meant to me nor all the ways that I have been touched by those around me. People back home often remark on the great sacrifices that the volunteers make in coming here. I don't believe that a single one of us views the experience in terms of what we've given up. Sure, there are many things I miss (like warm showers, cheese, changing seasons, and of course family and friends), but the rewards far outweigh any sacrifices. I am sincerely grateful for both the ups and downs of the past two years and the many ways I have been challenged to grow. I hope and pray that I will be able to integrate the lessons I've learned here in whatever path God leads me.
All is Grace
by Sherri Riva (Summer Volunteer, 1998)
"All is grace." These words of Dorothy Day have continued to inspire and challenge me since I was first introduced to the peace and justice movement she founded, the American Catholic Worker movement. The idea that "all is grace" reflects Day's profound belief in an incarnational theology - that we meet Jesus daily by serving the poor, the sick, and the stranger. "All is grace" also captures Day's conviction that the experience of grace is available to each of us, today and every day, if our eyes and our hearts are open to God's presence in our lives. Finally, Day's life also bore witness to her conviction that we are called to build God's kingdom here on earth by loving and serving one another.
Through my work over the past few years, I have often struggled with Day's conviction that "all is grace." Where is grace when children are homeless, hungry, and abandoned? Where is God's kingdom in the middle of abandoned, drug-infested housing projects? How do we experience God's presence with so much violence in our families and in our communities?
Living and volunteering at the farm for the past month has refreshed and nurtured my understanding of what Day meant when she wrote, "all is grace." When I speak about grace in this context, I am not referring to some lofty theological concept but to the moving and humbling experience of God in our daily lives. Moments of grace abound here at the farm. Hearing the music of children laughing, singing, and praying. Holding a child's hand as we walk to school. Seeing a child's face brighten as she learns to count, or to read. Walking along the beach with the "chiquitos" (preschoolers). Watching the sun rise over the mountains and set over the sea. Giggling when the children laugh yet again when I flounder in Spanish or on the soccer field. Being surprised by a breeze from the sea after a sweltering day. Sharing daily prayer in community. Giving and receiving hugs. Finding time for silence and contemplation. Writing and reading to the sounds of the ocean and crickets. Baking and breaking bread together. And how can one deny the abundance of God's grace when we arrive safely to church every Sunday in our packed pick-up truck?
As a summer volunteer, I have cherished the tremendous privilege of sharing deeply and fully in life at the farm. When you are only here for a short time, you don't have much time to "get adjusted" - so you dive in head first, pray that you remember how to swim, and hope for the best! My days quickly took on a rhythm of their own, as I tried to slip quietly into community life at the volunteer house and to structure my time with the children. I worked with the "chiquitos" in the morning and facilitated "creative arts" groups with the older students in the afternoon. Mornings with the chiquitos were frill of so much laughter and joy - reading and drawing together, learning colors and how to count, talking about farm animals and the noises they make, which are different in Spanish!
The afternoon creative arts groups provided me an opportunity to interact with all of the older children at the farm. The goal of these groups was to encourage students to explore and reflect on their lives through writing and drawing. Each week we explored a different theme or question. Students wrote about their families, shared stories about parents who had died, remembered how they felt the day they arrived at the farm, and described what they liked best about living here. Working with the students in this context has been a real blessing - a humbling glimpse into these children's worlds and a precious opportunity for me to share just a step in their journeys.
As my time here comes to a close, I look back over my experiences with an ineffable measure of wonder, gratitude, and humility at how warmly and openly I have been welcomed - by the children, especially, and by all who live and work at the farm. Wonder, gratitude, and humility. Yes, although words could never capture the richness and fullness of my short stay here, these three words come closest to what 1 feel in my heart. I will leave the farm with countless memories, but one moment in particular captures the essence of my experiences here. About two weeks into my summer, I received the tragic news that a friend of mine had been killed in a biking accident. Needing time to grieve, to reflect, and to pray, I canceled my groups with the children for the day. Later that morning, one of the "chiquitos" from my morning group came to the volunteer house and asked what was wrong with me. I heard her through the window, so I came outside to talk to her. She explained that someone told her I was sick, that she wanted to see how I was doing, and that her papi told her to say a prayer for me. When I asked her if she had in fact prayed for me, she replied, "Yes, papi always tells us to pray for people who are sick." I thanked her, gave her a hug, and hoped she didn't feel my tears on her cheek.
A child's simple expression of compassion. One moment of grace among countless that has filled me with wonder, gratitude, and humility. I came to the farm ready to serve and to give... and as I prepare to leave the farm, I remember how much I have been served and how much I have been given.