Now Forget to Be Content

I was watching the Prince of Egypt, one of my favorite movies, and learned something.

It's during the part where Moses finds out that he is a Hebrew and yet has been living among the palace Egyptians all this time.

His mother sings some very deep and touching lyrics:

Now you know the truth, love

Now forget to be content.

When the gods sent you a blessing

you don't ask why it was sent.

Those lyrics really stood out to me. Moses didn't know before. He didn't know he should have been doing back-breaking labor with the Hebrews. But he shoulda. He was Hebrew. By blood.

He didn't realize how lavishly he lived.

Growing up, he didn't know he was so so lucky that his Egyptian mom found him in the river, but now that he knows, he is so much more grateful for what he has. 

Now you know the truth love, now forget to be content.
------

There's a lot of truth in this world that I didn't know before, either.

Now you know the truth, love.

The truth about how many people wash their clothes.

The truth about many people's homes.

Looking off our roof onto our neighbor's home

The truth about what they do for a living (like sheer sheep).

The truth that people eat rice and lentils day after day because that is all they can afford.

The truth of how many children are abused.

How many children do not have parents.

Romanian orphanage

How many children with parents have no where to go after school because their parents are working.

Very common site in Peru. Kids waiting while their parents work.

How many children cannot ask their parents for homework help, because their parents don't know.

How few people can play the piano at church, because no one can afford a piano to practice on.

How few children own a book for pleasure reading.

Most children at El Bichito do have have a book at home. Nor do they at school. Nor are there textbooks for everyone. The teacher just teaches out of her textbook and everyone else copies.

The truth that most kids can't go to college because they cannot afford it.

How few trips and vacations people can go on. They just can't afford it. Some people have never set foot outside their small village their entire life.

View from our roof

How the majority of Europeans drink. A lot. Get wasted. Often.

(And then stumble around on the streets and scare American girls visiting. :) )

How many prostitutes there are. How lavishly it is advertised. In Romania, most stores had bright pink, glowing signs. They even passed out flyers on people's windsheilds in Bucharest.

How many gypsies. Whose parents teach them, explicitly, how to lie, how to steal. Well.

And homeless.

-------

Now forget to be content.

Being content means it's good enough. I deserve it. I was born this blessed for a reason. No. I wasn't. Forget it. Forget to be content.

Content with my house.

My family.

My faith.

My friends. Good, clean friends.

My education.

 

Books from the time I was itty bitty.

(We had so many textbooks in high school we got rid of them and got new editions every 10 years. The library was full of books no one read. But literacy isn't as much of a problem, so we spent our time and money on things like... school spirit.?)

The ability to pursue my dreams. (ballet point shoes are expensive)

The ability to find a job quickly and work.

My apartment at college. Warm. Safe. Food and to spare.

My washing machine and dryer.

My money. 

Grandpa's money- treating us to rafting.

Money to save up, and go to theme parks. 

Most Romanians and Peruvians could never do that.

Money to buy save up and buy prom dresses. 

Healthy relationships where I am not abused.

Community money- to make available clean and cheap swimming pools.

So many Christmas presents the wrapping covers the floor.

Food and to spare- given to us for free by farmers who left it unpicked because it wasn't "good enough" for the American market.

--------

Moses's eyes changed after he found the truth. He didn't see the glory in the riches and the buildings. 

He just saw the suffering of those supporting it.

It was like that for me- but Romanians and Peruvians don't necessarily directly support the wealth of my family. But.... kinda.... I guess- all economies in the world are connected.

It's just hard to see and love and appreciate wealth- lots of cute clothes money to go out to eat all the time, money to go to college, when I knew people who only bought brown sugar and oil from the store. Everything else they grew or made themselves.

Forget to be content. I thought to myself, "Your life is not normal. Who's to say what normal is- but you are extremely blessed. Way more than you ever have or ever will deserve."

I do not believe that God sent me to a well-off, happy family in America because I was more faithful, more righteous in the previous life. I can't believe that. Because if I was born into a poor, broken family without good solid principles and examples of how people can live with high morals, self control, and loyalty in their lives and families, I can't say I would have made choices different from the choices of people I know who come from those backgrounds. But I do know that I will never know what that feels like. And I will always be thankful that I was so so so blessed
 beyond my deserving.

Now forget to be content.

Forgetting to be content means refusing to be okay with just saying, "Oh- yeah, I must have been more righteous in the preexistence. I deserve this.It's okay. It's supposed to be this way. Everyone else just isn't as good as I am." That's called pride. Read about it in Alma 31: 27-28. It also means refusing to say, "Well, this is bad, but I'm just one person. I can't do anything about this.
I guess I'll just do nothing."

Because you can do something! And it can matter! Mother Teresa said, "We outselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean. But the ocean would be less because of that missing drop." Something small to you may be small to the world, but it may be the world to one other person.
So it's worth it.

I don't pretend to know what that one drop is for everyone. I don't even know exactly what it is for me, but I try to figure out a couple drops here and there and add them. I know for sure that everyone's drops are different. A couple drops I have decided to continue adding when I return to America:

1. Reading to my kids at a young age.

2. Getting married, and trying my hardest to maintain a healthy, nuclear family for my kids.

3. Providing shelter, food for my children.

4.. Maintaining my faith as a priority.

5. Giving away more money. I do not need it.

6. Hugging those I love a little tighter.

It's different for everyone. But I hope you can find drops too to show God
how grateful you are for everything we have been given.

Forget to be content.

Tuve miedo

In the whole time I was in Peru, there was only one time when I really tuve mideo. Was scared. We were on the bus from Trujillo to Cajamarca, subiendo up the Andes mountains of Peru, overnight. I slept most of the way.

But once, at 3am in the morning, I woke up and looked out the window.

And I got sooo scared!!!!!!!

Oh no. This is the end of the world. Something is very wrong. Where am I? Is Christ coming back again and changing everything?

All I could see from directly above me to an angle that seemed to go into the ground about 45 degrees, (so, about 135 degrees) was STARS. The ground had dissappeared, and in it's place were thousands and millions and billions of super bright stars. I had never seen so many in my life. And they had never been so bright. I was afraid I would get a sunburn from their brilliance.

It took me about 5 minutes to work the situation through in my mind and figure it all out. Turns out we were on the edge of a mountain, so there wasn't really ground next to us, just more sky with room for more stars. And, maybe I just hadn't seen so many in so little space, so bright before, because I had never been at such a high elevation before (almost 17,000 feet), nor had I been in such a dark place without street lights drowning out the stars' light.

But, even so... how could there be so many? How can we possibly see and know all those stars out there?

I wish I had a picture to share, but I don't. Nor do I think the camera would be able to capture all the light that my eye could.

God is such a better artist and architect than any Incas or Peruvians or humans in general. To think something He made was so beautiful that it made me scared that something was wrong- because I had never beheld anything so beautiful.

"Yeah, like that. But more like me."

Peru!!!! We're here. We're safe. My stomach is stuffed.

Mi mama peruana, as she likes to call herself, keeps telling me I'm not eating. I am!!!! :) Like- did you not see me eat that big pile of rice and cooked tuna they gave me at the school at lunch? And then as soon as we got home an hour later they gave me a pile of mashed potatoes, onions, tomatoes, and more tuna. And 2 glasses of juice. And another scoop of rice. And a banana. And a mandarin. Oh my. So much food. She says, "Come." Eat. And then she watches me put things in my mouth. It's hilarious. But oh so delicious.

Traveling here was soooo long. 28 hours of traveling. We made connections in Seattle, LAX, and Lima. We spent from midnight till 6 in the morning at the airport in Lima, "sleeping", aka trying to get comfortable with propping your arm on a hard chair. So glad to be done with that.

We finally got to Trujillo! And when we got there.... uh... where is that lady that was supposed to have a sign waiting for us? Taxi drivers... taxi drivers... people with signs for expensive hotels.... where is Blanca? It was hard to hide Hanna's blonde hair and our gringo skin, so the taxi drivers were ruthless on trying to get us to take them somewhere. After 40 minutes of trying to contact someone/avoid taxi drivers/trying to get help for how to call someone, Blanca finally showed up! Yay!!!! We were safe.

Blanca showed us her kindergarten where she teaches. Then we went home and slept till 3 in the afternoon. Beautiful. :) We then talked to María, Blanca´s daughter who´s 16 for 3 hours, and talked about how much we all liked Enrique Iglesias. :) And we picked up Gabriel, the 9 year old brother, from his school. Blanca's husband cooks us the most delicious food. It's set up like a hostel- I think it's a business they're trying to get going, but right now the only ones here are us and another friend of Pépe, the dad. They serve us the most delicious foods, and it's like a bed and breakfast. Except there's also lunch and dinner. Then last night we went grocery shopping in a supermercado. We happend to bump into the director of the orphanage there and two workers. Sounds like there was some miscommunications because they told us there's not room for us to stay the night there, like we were planning on. Uh... okay. We might have to end up traveling the 30km commute back and forth to Trujillo every night. Whatever. I don't care. It'll be fine either way.

When we got home, I tried to play chess against Gabriel. He's in a chess club- I thought he'd know how to play. Nope. He only moved all the pieces one place- like checkers, but he never ever killed any of my people, even if I had him cornered. He just kinda inched around on the board. haha. :)

Man- last week was rough, Traveling was rough, and then today we didn't have a whole lot to do. i wasn't so sure I'd like it here. The nervousness of the unknown is always the worst. I was very tired from not really sleeping all night in airports. I couldn't hear out of my left ear and my right ear also hurt from elevation changes on flights. My nose was so plugged and sick I couldn't smell or taste anything and I was coughing up phlem. My stomach felt queasy from new foods, even though they were good, and I was on my period. Great. Then, to top it off, sleep last night was hard. I was so tired, but I forced myself to stay awake all afternoon so I could sleep last night. I asked if I could go to bed at 9, and they said, "Sure. See ya in the morning!" I wonder if they were silently chuckling to themselves or something, because at 10:00 a bunch of adult friends came over downstairs and the fiesta began. It was one of their birthdays. It was like those loud latino parties you hear the bass drum beating all through the night down the street in Prosser, except we were sleeping directly above it, and we had to have our window open to where the music was coming from so our room didn't get too hot, so you could hear all the conversations, laughing, singing, everything. So loud. It lasted till 1:00, not too late. :) It was so hard to go to sleep. "Loud" roommates are nothing in comparison. I thought to myself, "As my roommate Cassie would say, 'Is this some kind of a sick joke?'". Haha. I have never heard a more beautiful silence than when that music shut off at 1 in the morning and the voices finally were gone. I couldn't believe it. It was so so so so peaceful. There's got to be dance parties in heaven, of course, but, there's probably also some silence when you sleep, right? :)

This morning we went with Blanca to her kindergarten and "helped" there. More like observed. Hard to know what to help with sometimes when they're speaking another language and they discipline and run a classroom way different than you do. But Hanna got to push kids on the swings and help clean up. Not sure what she did when she was in her classroom. Hanna stayed in Blanca's classroom with 3 year olds, and I went to help in the 5 year old room. I played blocks with the boys for a while. My favorite part was that this girl kept bringing me a book about Princess Aurora's wedding, published by Disney, but in Spanish, and she asked me to read it twice. Once was at the beginning of the day. All the boys gathered around then and made fun of the kissing pictures. :) The second time was at recess. While the boys were running back and forth shooting pretend guns at each other, all the girls came and listened to me read the book again. They loved it. They all gathered around- like  7 of them- when they could have been playing at recess. I myself felt like a princess, like Belle reading to all her goats, but me reading to all my... perritos. :) After we were done all the girls wanted to be dogs and play fetch, so I threw around a stuffed pig while all 7 of them scrambled around on their hands and knees fetching it. Poor parents that'll haveta get all that dirt outta their pants tonight. :)

Another funny moment was when I was speaking to a girl in the classroom. After a 3 minute conversation or so (in spanish), she said, "Wait- you don't speak Spanish?" "Well, I'm trying. I'm still learning." "Oh, but you don't speak it?" Uh.... "Well, I'm trying. Am I speaking Spanish now?" "Yeah, like that. But more like me." Haha! I'll haveta use that as a teacher when the kids are trying but not quite perfect. "Yeah, like that. But more like me."

We're gonna go buy a cheap phone with her at 6 "en la tarde", in the afternoon. I'm not sure when night or evening is. But most schools run from 6 in the morning till 1. Then- is there a siesta? I don't know. Why is 6:00pm in the afternoon? Lunch is a huge thing. A huge meal. For dinner last night we had a glass of drinkable yogurt. Maybe it's more snacky for dinner?

In the Toolshed

I've thought a lot lately about tools.

And no- not those jerky guys that use people. Even though that's always what one of my friends snickers about when I say the word "tool". Oh goodness.

I mean actual tools. Screwdrivers, hammers, wrenches. Mediums through which the master builder changes his work.

I have always wanted to be a "tool" in the Lord's hands. As in- God loves all His children, but His physical hands don't touch them right now, even though He is trying to change them and build them. I've always wanted to be that tool- that medium through which God could work.

The problem is- when you're not the builder, it's hard to know where you're supposed to go, who you're supposed to help, and what you're supposed to do. Are you supposed to be a hammer? A wrench? Who needs my help? And what do they need? Do they need someone to make them food? Do they need someone to babysit their kids? Do they need a shoulder to cry on? Do they need to be left alone? And how am I supposed to know?

This is the most confusing part for me- knowing where to go, and what to do. I can be all ready- all willing and wanting to love someone in a way that will mean a lot for them in a big way, a way that I can be God's hands in their life for a moment. It's just hard to find the right person at the right time and recognize it. How do I know where I'm supposed to wait to be in that right spot when I'm needed?

And then, today, it hit me.

In the toolshed.

Duh. :)

What is the toolshed? Well, let me start by talking about what it's not, at least to me. The toolshed is not endless hours on Netflix. It's not a week schedule full of doing things soley for your benefit- your career, your school, your appearance, your belongings.

To me, being in the toolshed means being actively working on good things. This is key to being in the right place at the right time. Do your visiting teaching, say yes when people ask for favors or service project labor. Volunteer to help others, and be happy about it. Make food and let people eat it. If you're not trying to help people in small ways that barely matter, you won't be prepared to help them in big ways that make a world of difference.

Being in the toolshed also means being watchful and careful, and thinking long and hard about the people around you. Try to read them. See where what they love, and try to see what hurts them. And then ask God about it. And then make it better for them.

Sometimes we're all ready, all willing to be used by God for great things, but He doesn't need us right now. Sometimes we sit in the toolshed unused for a while. But the key is that we're there- in the toolshed, willing, and waiting, and watchful.

But other times- because we're doing our visiting teaching and service consistently, those we serve need help in huge ways, and we are all ready to help them, because we already love them, already know them, and they already trust us enough to allow us into their most vulnerable parts where we can heal and serve.

Mi Libro Favorito: Palabras Últimas

My Favorite Book: Last words

Today in church we had the most wonderful lesson about my favorite book, the Book of Mormon.

Summary of the book: it's a history of people that lived in Central America from about 600 BC through about 400 AD- their wars, kings, nations, and all with a focus on how the people tried to learn about Jesus Christ, as dictated by the prophets of God throughout the history. The theme is definitely coming unto Jesus Christ and being perfected in Him. (PS- this has changed my life).

At the very end of the book, the last prophet who records anything is named Moroni. He watches his nation self-destruct through wars and he is the last remaining from his family. He wanders around in the wilderness for 36 years. THIRTY SIX YEARS. Alone. Utterly alone. I try not to be a Debbie Downer, but man- how much worse can it get? That's pretty darn bad.

But he continues to record as God inspires him to do so. One of my favorite scriptures is Moroni 7:45-48. That scripture about love has changed my life at critical crossroads.

Read the verses quick here: https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/moro/7.45-48

But anyways. I digress. Today in church we talked about Moroni's last words. The very very last thing he put in this huge record of people over a 1,000 year time span. What could he possibly say to wrap up a huge record like this?

He decides, in his last sentence before he bids farewell, to talk about this:

"And again, if ye by the grace of God are perfect in Christ, and deny not his power, then are ye sanctified in Christ by the grace of God, through the shedding of the blood of Christ, which is in the covenant of the Father unto the remission of your sins, that ye become holy, without spot."

Grace. Amazing grace. How sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found. Blind, but now I see.

Grace has changed my life, because it means I don't have to be perfect. I just have to want to be, and He can make up the rest. This has been so constantly true throughout my life. There have been times when I have been so fatigued I felt like I could not go one more step on my own. I collapsed and felt like I could never get up again.

That's when I know he helped me, because somehow I kept going, kept loving, kept working, even when I couldn't. He carried me. Gave me strength where I had none. Changed me when the only thing I put into it was desperately wanting to change.

These last words are so profound to me. This is what it's all about. There are little things I try to do- reading my scriptures, saying my prayers, trying to help others when they need help, giving of my blessings to those who need it more than I do. But what it's all about- the big idea- is that little by little, we are changed by grace. The blood that Christ shed actually has power in my life, and it actually changes me.

These last words are so appropriate for what the entire book is about.

I try not to be preachy, but the fact of the matter is that the Book of Mormon has changed my life, directed my hardest decisions, and changed me into a person at crossroads in my life. I have heard God talking to me when I read the Book of Mormon. Much of who I am and am trying to become is dictated by this book. It´s my favorite. If you need a good read for slow Sunday afternoons, or you need like major direction in life, or peace when you cannot find peace anywhere else ;), I would highly recommend it. :) But seriously.

The day everything went wrong

Alrighty- another post about Romania. Now that I've had time to reflect, I have to write about our very last day at the hospital. Because it was, well... horrible.

It was the rainiest day yet. No sun. Just big splashy puddles in lumpy, uneven streets and wind that blew so hard your entire coat got soaked even with an umbrella because the rain blew in from the sides and hit you anyway instead of gently dripping off the sides of your umbrella like it's supposed to. But that was okay, because the children were worth seeing.

It was also the last day to buy beautiful painted Romanian eggs at the Easter market outside, and we had wanted to go after lunch, but the market was closed until when we were supposed to be at the hospital because of the rain. But that was okay, and we never bought those eggs, because the children were worth seeing.

This was our last shabang, the last time to spend time with children who didn't have their own parents, to love them, and to serve them. I was tired, but ready for one last time with them.

We got to the hospital and split up, as we usually do. Half of us started on the top floor, half of us started on the bottom floor. We walked down halls, asked the nurses where the orphans were, were told there were no orphans on that floor, and proceeded to the next floor. But there were orphans there, the nurses just... didn't want us to go see them. Because of the mud on our boots. And because the children would cry. Sometimes we fought them. We didn't fight them today. We just said "Multumesc," thank you, and went to look for more.

We looked and looked and looked. No orphans that the nurses would let us see.

We were supposed to be there for 3 hours, but after 25 minutes, we had searched the entire hospital, and were out of options.

So, we had to go home.

Back through the rain. Soaking through our shoes now. Blowing our umbrellas so hard it was easier to just put the umbrellas away and lean into the rain. 30 minutes of walking up to the hospital. 25 minutes of searching for our last kids. 30 minutes back home. All for nothing. 3 months of being in Romania, trying our best, and on our very last visit- we weren't able to see any kids at all. The nurses still were annoyed with us. And the rain was unrelenting. It was like something was mocking us for trying so hard for so long, because we weren't going to get that one last time.

I'd like to say I learned a great lesson from this, and that it's changed the way I look at service and has helped turn me into a better person. But that wouldn't be true. I still look back on this day and am completely confused. That was the thanks we got for all we did? Grumpy nurses and a rainy day with cold wet feet? That wasn't the perfect fairytale ending we deserved for all our hard work. It wasn't even a good ending. It was just fatiguing.

Maybe sometimes even when you try your very best, it still doesn't work. People still don't want your help. And it rains. And the people that need your help never get access to it, because you can't reach them.

Is it really service and love if you never get to reach the people you're trying to reach?

I hope so. I hope that service and love are beyond that.

I'd like to think what matters is that we tried. We went all the way to search and find them. And we're willing. And we did our best. And we really do love them. Even if it's only in our hearts.

Coming home to America.

This time last year, instead of being in the sunshine-y state of Utah in February (WHAT?!?!) I was freezing in Romania, trudging back and forth in thick snow, walking to the orphanage. I think about my kids a lot.

There are still a few stories I wanted to share. Thoughts that were part of it- perhaps the hardest part- that need to be a part of the story.

So- let's start, (or end?) with coming home. I'm gonna post the thoughts I had when I first came home. America is.... so weird.

The food is huge. Way too much. Way too huge or portions. Grocery stores are like malls. Why do we need so many brands of peanut butter?

I have way too many shirts. And clothes in general. And blankets. And books. All I really need fits in a suitcase. So why do I keep all this extra stuff?

My house is a mansion. All I really need is a small apartment with crooked pipes. Didn't my parents know that? So how come I got my own room growing up? Romanians couldn't even comprehend my living situation. It's too out-of-their-experience. It wouldn't even make sense to them- to have so many acres, so many animals, so many rooms and kitchen cabinets full of food and heaters and plumbing and two ovens.

And how come pizza doesn't have ketchup on top?

And at fast food places, how come I have to clean up my own mess? Shouldn't the employees do that?

Why are all the cashiers so nice to me? They don't have to ask me how my day is. All they have to do is frown, grumble about my lack in having exact change and make the transaction. :) And I'm pretty sure that deep down they really don't care about me anyway, so how come they pretend? Customer service is huge.

Roosters say "cockadoodle doo" here instead of "Crookidee croo", and dogs say "bark" instead of "hum hum!"

It's weird to not have to plug a converter into my electronic stuff.

I miss the Romanian advertisements down the sides of my facebook page and in between youtube videos.

My cool Romanian scarves don't seem to match here. They don't belong in America. They belong in Romania.

I don't blend in wearing big black leather boots anymore. I look too classy. Everyone here is in tennis shoes, t-shirts, and jeans.

But I can't comprehend wearing different clothes.

My siblings have no idea how big their vocabularies are, how grown and strong and healthy they are. How much technology they have. How much their parents love them.

 

I can't stop looking at pics of my kids, and I eat Milka caramel cream bars to wallow away my sorrows. It's hard to do nothing here when I know I could be doing something there. It should get better when I start school next spring.