Inundando

It was the umpteenth time, in too few weeks. Yet again, flashes of lightning sliced through the sky followed by growling explosions of thunder. The water poured from the sky as if God too was emptying His laundry water. The rising water below and the rushing torrents from above met. As they bathed my whole yard into a muddy pool, I stepped out from under the roof.

It had been an amazing day. Thursdays are always my day off, but this one had been perhaps the best yet. The day started strong with a jungle picnic, followed by a productive afternoon, and a giant fruit salad which I ate staring up at stunning mountain peaks. It was immaculate. Until suddenly, as the day drew to a dusky close, the lights cut out.
Power outages are customary here in Bolivia. They come like clockwork just when you don't want them. Walking back to my house back at Familia Feliz, I groaned as I noticed that still, not a single light welcomed me. Here, no power means no water. No water also means no anxiously awaited shower. Sweatiness is a way of life around here, but to crawl into my clean, haven of a bed, without a shower is still barbaric to me.
Thus, as I heard the beginnings of a jungle thunderstorm rumbling above me, my decision was immediate. In step with the pound of the rain on my roof, I rushed out my back door, soap in hand. Originally, I lathered up my hands. I could settle for at least getting the dirt out from under my fingernails. However, the feeling of clean hands was so enticing, I couldn't help but splash my face with the pouring water too. Of course, next, my arms and feet entered the rushing torrent. Finally, as the thunder growled above me and my chacos flooded below me, I stepped fully into the deluge.
That is how it felt coming back from vacation at the end of January, like a crushing downpour. Yes, I am still alive, and it's a little embarrassing that I haven't posted a blog since December. However, that's no reason not to post one now. As an excuse, I will simply say the torrent of change and responsibilities have been all but a flood.
The storm began as soon as we got back from vacaciones. Melissa informed us that SMs would no longer be teaching. I was sad to leave my beloved 3rd and 4th graders, but I was excited by the chance to spend more time with the Lilas and invest in the same girls all day long. Equally appealing was the thought of an easier semester with nothing to be in charge of, just floating along, helping where I could.
Thus, I could not have been more unsuspecting when Melissa pulled the ultimate wild card. I was walking back to my house when Melissa called to me from across the cancha. A couple of directorial sentences later, I had been informed that I was the newest house parent in Familia Feliz, along with fellow SM Elizabeth. To calm what I'm sure was a very distressed-looking face, Melissa explained. Our numbers had doubled, we needed a second house to hold all the 9-12-year-old girls. "Probably just 7 or 8 girls, don't worry," she told me. I should have worried. Now, with Elizabeth, I am parenting 15.

The difficulties began before our kids even arrived. I watched stressing as the last of the female volunteers moved out of what would become our home, taking the last of the cooking utensils with her. How was one to feed a barrage of children without a single pot or pan? More, where were we supposed to put all these girls when all we had were 2 1/2 bunk beds? As they started to arrive, many of my girls came with the clothes on their backs, nothing more. Ariana, who just turned 10, showed up weighing 19 kg, or 41 lbs, after only being allowed only one piece of bread a week in her home. Elizabeth and I joked about our "orphanage core" life, but some days I truly expected the girls to burst into "It's a Hard Knock Life."
As much as I was lacking in physical necessities for these kids, I felt like I was more insufficient emotionally. The majority of my girls are new to Familia Feliz. That's a nice way of saying they're straight out of sickening abuse, starvation, or another form of hell. All showed up with gaping holes in their hearts that manifested in unending behavioral struggles. The older girls spent their free time coming up with ever-nastier names to call each other or improvising creative ways to pick fights. Meanwhile, the little ones sobbed from sunup to sundown in heartbreaking cries for families that were no more. To top it all off, a 9-year-old wasted away from disease and complete refusal to eat the food that would save her. I was drowning.
I felt like a failure for not being able to fill these lacks my kids feel so desperately. I tried. I tried so hard to fill every one of them, only to find myself bitterly empty. I woke up every morning and cooked, cleaned, problem-solved, counseled, and comforted until I crashed back into my bed at night. I said once that in all my busyness telling these kids Jesus loves them, my heart had forgotten that He loves me. It was an almost laughable statement, but it was true. I was so busy frantically trying to save the world, that I forgot that I have a Savior.
Then, in the middle of these flood waters, Katie-Jane and I had a pivotal coffee shop conversation. We realized we were feeling similarly. However, we finally saw that the reason helping these kids looked so impossible was that we had left God's miracle power out of the equation. It was then that He asked me to trust Him to do the saving. Honestly, I didn't think anything would change right away. However, as if to prove Himself, the very next day God sent not one, but two more teachers to our house. Both of these heaven-sent helpers are native Spanish speakers. One of them has a full degree in child psychology. And that's only the beginning of what He's been doing.

When Peter stepped out into the raging water to walk with Jesus, he frankly wasn't very good at it. He arrogantly tried to do it all himself. He struggled at the surface. Finally, he sank beneath the rushing waters. He failed. However, Peter didn't fail because he couldn't walk on the water. Not long after, he did walk across the lake. Peter failed because doing the impossible just wasn't his job.

When I enter, like Peter, into the turbulent waters of these kids' lives, I'm frankly not very good at calming them. I stroke and tread and flounder for all my might, but in the end I just find myself sinking below the surface. However, praise God, it's not because these kids lives can't be restored. They can be helped. Doing the impossible just isn't my job. God is working to calm their storms. I'm just holding onto Him with each sloshy step.