June 26, 2021

I read a blog written by Morgan Harper Nichols about what we can learn from monarch butterflies.  I have a butterfly tattoo and an individuality complex so, duh - a must read. 

I expected her words to (per usual) speak into a place in myself that craves emotional articulation.  And, yes.  They absolutely wrecked me in a place I couldn't quite reach by myself.   

Oh how beautifully

your presence matters here

(even without knowing

what your impact will be

through the years).

You are a part

of the long

cyclical journey

flying south

flying north,

you have always

been a part

of how

we move forth.

I think wanting to matter is a good thing.  But matter to who?  Since landing here I’ve been dying to understand why here, why me, why this of all things?  I really want to matter here.  That’s the point of purposely catapulting yourself into discomfort, right?  To matter in that space and learn things?

Then I kind of got hit in the face.  What does it matter if I matter?  That isn’t the point.  Jesus is and will always be the whole and only point.  

I don’t know what I’m learning by being here.  But I also don’t know if it really matters that at the end of this I’m able to pinpoint the lessons learned and measure my growth.  Because really, it doesn’t matter if I matter.  My sole purpose of being alive is to love the Lord and the people He’s created and bring glory to Him in all I do.  Whether that be filming a wedding, making oatmeal for a friend who is rushing to her first class, or moving to Guatemala for the summer to teach English for a non-profit.  

Oatmeal-making and drastic life decisions both hold a lot of weight in the eyes of Jesus (I think). It’s all about the heart behind it.  

These past couple of weeks have been a struggle.  Lol vulnerable!!!!!!!!  My insides ache at the reality of what some of my student’s lives are.  My body is physically drained.  My brain hurts.  My heart hurts.  My spirit feels weak.  I don’t feel like I’m doing a good enough job.  

But worst of all, I haven’t “figured out” why I’m here.  Like, what lessons am I supposed to be learning, exactly?  How to turn on the shower without electrocuting myself (wires in the shower are a BRILLIANTTTTT idea, Mr. Electrician Man), teach a mediocre English lesson on the past continuous tense, or how to make chocolate from the bean?  None of these are bad things to learn (especially the chocolate making) but none of these feel worth it.  

Well guess what, Gabbie?  Things don’t have to be beautiful and dipped in honey to consume.  I want things to make sense, matter, and be already beautiful before I allow them in.  This experience is forcing things down my throat, not caring if I like the taste or not.  Regardless, things are being digested and taking up a part of me now.  Gaining some spiritual (and physical lol) weight, if you will.  

Side note: it’s normal for your weight to fluctuate! So normal!  I have lost and gained pounds in the matter of my three weeks here and guess what it literally doesn't matter. 

Anyways.  

I don’t exist to learn.  I don’t exist to experience all the experiences.  I exist to love Jesus and maybe introduce a few people to that kind of love along the way.  

Things have felt kind of lonely and numbing in the past couple weeks.  I feel distant to everything.  It’s not a super fun place to be.  Like I mentioned in my last blog, inner turmoil and I have become well acquainted friends.  Resting amidst the turmoil, though…… that’s a different story.  I’ve told God I’m ready to feel even if it hurts.  I want to feel because I want to figure it out.  I feel stuck when I pray because I don’t even really know what I feel so how can I even begin to know what to ask for?

My favorite podcaster and one of my favorite writers of all time (shoutout Strahan of Commoners Communion) wrote this snippet of wisdom that once again reached into a part of me that was thirsty for words to quench the unrest.  He wrote:

“Sometimes I feel as though God and my soul are having an important conversation without me.  I’ve noticed I spend entire seasons like this in my prayer life.  It’s grace-work, I guess.  I’m learning to accept that I don’t need to know all the prayers that are happening within me.  Intercession can be as much about acceptance and openness as action.  I now believe that what’s going on in the deep places is important, and that if I accept the mental tumult of the moment, simply trusting that God has all my moments in His hands, I know I’ll be better for it.  So here’s to the strange word of this unnameable spiritual work within, and to learning how to live in the tension of this heaven-meets-earth pilgrimage we call the life of faith.”

I’M LEARNING TO ACCEPT THAT I DON’T NEED TO KNOW ALL THE PRAYERS HAPPENING WITHIN ME.

IF I ACCEPT THE MENTAL TUMULT OF THE MOMENT, SIMPLY TRUSTING THAT GOD HAS ALL MY MOMENTS IN HIS HANDS, I KNOW I’LL BE BETTER FOR IT.

Damn.

Anyways.

There is my emotional vomit.  Like real vomit, I honestly feel better now that it’s out.  

Time to get into the nitty gritty. A day as an English teacher in Huehue looks something like this, I guess.

Waking up in my sweet little room filled with beautiful, viney plants and damp socks that smell like the outdoors and not in the fun way.  We have a dryer but it’s basically useless because you like….can’t plug it in.  Clothesline are cute and quaint and everyone loves a good fresh cotton smell but wait until you move to a foreign country in rainy season and your dreams of fresh wind-dried cotton shirts instead absorb a scent that closely resembles wet dog.  But hanging things up on the clothesline is like… extremely cottagecore so I’m into it.

Marta brews us loose leaf green tea or starts a pour over with freshly ground coffee and lavender.  Breakfast has become my favorite time of the day.  We laugh over banana waffles drenched in fresh honey and topped with mango and sip our warm drinks while wondering how in the hell we ended up here.  It’s still.  Peaceful.  Unhurried (what a concept).  

Stacy and I drag our feet out the door because the walk to school is terrifying and sweaty.  There is this HILL that is about 10 miles long.  Kidding, but actually it makes me want to die.  Cat calls and aggressive car honks and stares also make the walk to school uncomfy to say the least.  It’s the first time in my life where my whiteness has caused me to stand out.  

There has been a lot to think on with that.  I’ll elaborate deeper another time.

We pass dogs and pimped out cars and men carrying 500 limes on their backs.  There is a lady selling fruit out of a basket who stands by the school some days.  She makes eye contact with us and we utter the whitest “no gracias!” and walk into the school.  One day I did get pineapple with crushed pepitas and tajin and lime and it made me almost shit my pants.  

TMI? Sorry. 

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday we teach elementary-highschool age students.  Tuesday and Thursday are the staff and adult classes.  I love each of my students.  I’m picky with that word but I really truly mean it.  They are smart and willing and humble and beautiful.  And they have a lot of patience with me because SURPRISE I’m not super great at teaching.  Two and a half days of ESL training and a four hour course on trauma taught me a lot, but not nearly enough.  It’s hard to be bad at something.  Haha.

I spend the weekdays planning and crying and teaching and wanting to be home but also cringing at the thought of hugging my students goodbye on the last day.  My classes are full of frustrated sighs and some uncomfortable laughter when none of us know what to say and learning the things that make my students who they are.  Like how one of my student’s favorite ice cream flavor is bubblegum and that his goal in life is to be in a family someday.  

Yeah, bawled my eyes out after that one.  

After our full day of classes, we walk home and eat dinner around the same little table where we start our day.  Levi and Marta take such good care of us and the food they prepare is literally incredible.  Homemade tortillas (bomb), asain duck soup, mango pepperoni pizza made COMPLETELY from scratch, traditional Guatemalan dishes, and endless coconut popsicles.  They make us feel so at home and welcomed.  It’s the kindest thing.

I’ve been reading a lot at night (so far have finished The Hate U Give, Gentle and Lowly, The Secret Life of Bees, and am halfway through a Timothy Keller book that is changing my life) and it’s been amazing.  I didn’t know who I would be in a world brimming with unhurried time.  Turns out I’m someone who cries a lot and reads a lot of books when there is no better place to be.  I’ve never made friends with stillness.  We’re kind of being forced into an awkward acquaintanceship right now.  

Weekends are slow and refreshing.  Until a few weeks ago, I couldn’t remember the last time I spent an entire day at home without leaving to go anywhere.  It’s horrible but also great.  Yet another lesson on the importance of simple existence.  Unhurried existence.  Existence without the insatiable desire for more.  Maybe I’m just learning what it means to rest in the enoughness of Jesus.   

Yesterday was teacher appreciation day in Guatemala and Mandis, the principal at our school, planned this lovely dinner for us.  The table was set with succulents for us to take home (I named mine Chuchito) and iced lattes that we sipped under twinkly string lights.  We laughed at the swarming mosquitoes and how everything Stacy was served contained dairy (it’s funny because she’s severely lactose intolerant) and at the way we’re all here together somehow and it’s just kind of beautiful.  We walked home well after the sun had set. The streets of Huehue at night are genuinely terrifying so that part was… less beautiful.  Kinda fun though. 

I have five more weeks of teaching left before heading back to the States.  I miss my friends so much that it makes my chest ache some days.  I miss my family and driving while listening to Olivia Rodrigo and wearing shorts and taking hot showers that don’t electrocute me.  And yet for some really weird reason I don’t want to be anywhere else but here.  

Learning to be where my feet are or whatever.   

Thanks for reading my vomit!!!!!!!!