Been home for a week and a half, and for some reason this trip has thrown me into “reverse-culture shock” unlike any other I’ve been on.  Maybe it’s the kids – going from CIPI to my own five year olds who can read, write, and explain the Louisiana Purchase in-detail.  That we have so much stuff here, after spending one day with no running water there.  Or that I was working alone most days, so I’m “debriefing” myself as I talk about my experience with everyone else who asks.

Or maybe it’s something else.  Don’t know.   But at any rate, I’ve been struggling with a bout of something like “survivor’s guilt.”  I went, I played with some kids who have nearly nothing, and then I came back to my very-comfortable life here in the U.S.  Meanwhile those same kids are heading into another week of only basic physical needs being met. 

So that’s why I went into bloggy-silence for a bit there.  Still processing.

But I went downtown and bought long-promised circus tickets the other day, so we can take the boys when Barnum and Bailey come to Baltimore in April.  It’s not “the answer,” and I do hope to remain effected by my (albeit brief) experience in El Salvador (and to return again, when I can).  But I also do need to readjust to “normal” here – though with a greater appreciation for all I have, and all I can give my kids.

Pretty sure more will come of it than that in the future, though.  Not sure what, but something.  Fortunately, Fred doesn’t think I’m totally whack.  So I’ll keep you all posted.  But for now, please accept this as my transitional post back into the blogosphere. 

I’m here!  And eat your hearts out, Marylanders: it’s 90-some degrees and sunny.  Stepped out of the airport and it was a far cry from what I left this morning when I stepped into BWI:

So far, Lucy (the other woman I came with, from Kentucky) and I have 1) moved into the house where we’re staying for the week, 2) met the missionary who lives there for this year, 3) met the missionary who owns the house and used to live there, 4) met Rick, our Salvadoran adoption facilitator (who took us to the grocery store and then brought us back “home”), and 5) ordered dinner delivered … from Pizza Hut of all places.  I have everyone’s solemn word that we’ll eat culturally-authentic food from now on, though.

Tomorrow, I’m scheduled to work at one of the government-run orphanages, “Centro Infantil de Protección Immediata” (Center for the Immediate Protection of Children) or CIPI for short.  It’s a place kids are brought when they’re taken from abusive or neglectful  homes while the government child-welfare agency figures out what to do with them.  A lot of them just get stuck there.  It’s also a place for teen mothers to come have and raise their babies when they fear abuse at home.  And it’s a place where handicapped or special-needs kids are brought when their families can’t take care of them.

So yes I’ll be diving right in.  Probably by myself, since Lucy has to be somewhere adoption-related (she’s the director of our agency).  I’ll report back tomorrow night!  (Hopefully with pictures; I just need to make sure that it’s ok to post photos of the kids as long as I don’t identify them personally in them.)

Thanks for your support and prayers!  I’m really glad to be here!  Fairly sure tomorrow’s going to be emotionally tough, though.

Lest I become too comfortable and then unduly complacent in the Hispanic ministry group I mentioned joining back in the fall, I was hit with another stretch-goal last night: sharing mi testimonio (my testimony as a Christian) – en español.

I think our group leader likes me.  But he announced to the group a few weeks ago that “Kim has volunteered to go first and will be sharing her testimony in Spanish next week.”    – Announced it to them before announcing to me that I would be speaking so soon! 

Only he said it IN Spanish, so it sounded like

 >>Kim se ha ofrecido a ir primero y va a compartir su testimonio en español la próxima semana.<<

… good thing I understand more than I can speak or I’d have never known!   

I wasn’t exactly feeling the love at just that time.

But then it snowed, and “next week” got postponed a few more times, until last night.  “T-Day,” in my mind.  Less beach storming, but just as much risk of coming under fire, I felt like.  And so with much “ansiedad” (anxiety), I went prepared with my little pieces of paper from which to read.  (‘Cause Lord knows I really DON’T speak much Spanish!)

To be perfectly honest, I don’t much relish the idea of giving my testimony in English.  It involves revisiting things from my past that I don’t love talking about.  So adding to that a translation into another language and then sitting with a group of people who don’t know me all that well yet (how can they?  I rarely talk!) … I was more than a bit jittery.

But I made it through, and the funny thing to me was what stuck out to the group:  “in this country lots of people keep journals.”  [The co-leader went on to explain how we can use them to look back on where we've been in the past.]

That’s it.

When I talk about my history, my worst fear is not being believed.  Second worst: being rejected because of some part of my story.  What I’m very comfortable with the whole world knowing is that I journal ridiculously and have been doing so since elementary school.

And what was the one thing that was mentioned about my story after I was finished reading?  The part I was not the least bit anxious about.

Funny how we build things up in our minds to be so intimidating.

So to be clear [in case Mario is reading this!], I’m not ready to have to speak at any length again anytime soon.  But the exercise of writing out my story, popping it into Google Translate, and then painstakingly going back through it and making sure that it actually said what I meant – THAT was a new milestone, and probably a good one.  Regardless of what my lack of appetite before tonight’s meeting, case of the trembles, and other biological side-effects I won’t mention here may have indicated.

It’s set me a new goal: I want to be able to speak from my heart in Spanish without having to spend hours ahead of time with a dictionary only to “just read it” in the moment.

It’s going to be a while, I know.  But that’s where I’m aiming.

“Huzzah!” for another stretch.

About a month ago, I finally bit the bullet and began attending a Hispanic Bible study our church supports.  It’s a group that’s been meeting for a couple of years now, and Fred and I were invited to come; but we never had because we knew we wouldn’t fit in very well.  However, as I mentioned in a prior post, we haven’t been all that connected to Hispanic/Latino folks in our area aside from those the boys and I have met while out shopping every week.  And it was time to try something more proactive.

I went to the first meeting with what could best be described as a feeling of dread.  I’m not really a shy person, but I’m not that good at not being good at things.  And I am not good at speaking Spanish!  So I was a little bit terrified that I would be received with something resembling “What are you doing here you silly white girl?”

But we went anyway, the twins and I.  Yes, I hid behind my children as my ticket to legitimacy.  And yes, I did overhear a few comments about how we were all “gringos.”  In Spanish.  No harm meant, I’m sure, but there it was: my fear realized.  I don’t “match.”  I’ll never be a Latina.  And because my sons are being raised by Fred and me, they’ll never exactly match, either.  They’ll look Latino and sound Anglo. 

But somehow, once I actually experienced what I had been fearing, it wasn’t so bad.  There it was; the truth.  But on the other hand, I knew I was trying.  Trying to connect my children with people of their cultural background, trying to connect myself with people of my kids’ cultural background.  Trying to find a way for all of us to learn Spanish.  And yeah, it was dumb and useless that I took French in school, but I didn’t know that at the time, and I’m doing my best to make the switch now.  So instead of a crushing blow, I decided to frame it as a challenge and do the work to fit in.

I can’t say I feel totally comfortable now.  I want to respect the context of the group and limit my use of English, so consequently I don’t say much (anyone who knows me well, knows this is not the normal me).  But the cool thing is this leaves me with one option: asking questions that get the others in the group to give me long answers (thus saving me from having to talk and also allowing me to get to know their stories at the same time).  And wow, what a cool few friendships I’m making already!  I can’t wait till I have use of more words to express myself there.  But in the meantime, maybe it’s more useful to the others there that I’m nothing if not a space where they can express what’s going on in their lives?

I’m hopeful.  And very appreciative.  Because tonight I noticed there were no comments anymore.  No whispered questions between other members of the group as to whether I had “had” my kids or adopted them.  The core members know, and somehow that’s proven to be sufficient.  I’m in.  Yes, I struggle and my pronunciation of the little bit of Spanish that I do know is off at times.  But I’ve been accepted.  And that’s a great testimony to the graciousness of this group of people who have – I know – had many negative experiences with people who look like me, both in their native countries and here in the U.S.

I’m still “la gringa,” but a welcome one.  Good thing because I’ve had a sense for a while now that this is where I belong.  No idea what God is going to do with it, but I’m growing to love this group, my sons’ people becoming my own.