Friday, August 9, 2013

The other side of the Good Samaritan


I would argue that whatever your faith or lack thereof is, everyone has heard some variation of Christianity’s Parable of the Good Samaritan: A man is caught and beaten by robbers and left for dead. He is passed on the road by various religious leaders and upstanding men, only to be ignored. The story ends when he is at last found by the Samaritan, a poor, humble man who cares for him by treating his wounds and taking him to an inn. Often times, this story is seen as a model of compassion and teaches us how we should treat those less fortunate than ourselves. Rarely are the origins of the parable looked at and studied. Why was the Parable of the Good Samaritan told in the first place? According to the book of Luke in the Bible, a lawyer tests Jesus by asking him what he needs to do to inherit eternal life. Jesus responds, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27, NASB).

As Peace Corps Volunteers, we are both labeled by others and, whether consciously or not, by ourselves as “good Samaritans.” In most cases, our decision to join the Peace Corps in the first place was driven by that desire to love our neighbor. We want to change the world and make it a better place. We want to help others. We want to build communities and make a positive impact. We arrive with grand visions of picking up those around us, just as the Samaritan did to the robbed man, healing them in whatever way we are able, and giving them the chance to start over. Often times, those beliefs are also supported by those who love us back home: “I admire your courage and your willingness to sacrifice for others,” “We want to express our appreciation to you for all your efforts in doing great work for many people,” “You are making a wonderful difference in the lives of those around you.”

So why is it, then, that so many times we Peace Corps Volunteers are unable to fully love our neighbors? As a Peer Support Network (PSN) member, so often I hear volunteers that are worn thin and say, “I am so tired and I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” We are plagued with physical lethargy and mental weariness. It gets harder and harder for us to leave the (relative) comforts of our room and venture into the communities we once held dear. We become bitter. We start to point fingers. We seek escapism and long for the familiar. We begin to forget why we came here in the first place. What is it that ails us and gradually prevents us from loving others?

Now, I am fully aware that there is no singular reason behind these feelings. It is always a compilation of many separate problems: culture clash, home sickness, language barriers, lack of connection, lack of participation from local work partners, lack of support from peers or the Peace Corps staff, etc. The list can stretch on and on. However, I find that often times the root cause of our failure to empathize and connect with our neighbors is something else entirely. In fact, the key to loving others, which all of us often forget, is stated quite clearly in Luke 10:27: “You shall love […] your neighbor as yourself.

Love yourself, and only then will you know how to love others.

When we are about to end our Pre-Service Training (PST), we are handed a set of initiatives and program goals that we are to advance through our two years of service:

By the end of 2018, 7500 low-income mothers will adopt practices that safeguard the health of their children. Each year, 50 health volunteers and community partners will work with mothers to prevent common childhood illnesses including diarrhea, acute respiratory infections and other preventable diseases through:
  • Using the Healthy Homes Strategy (Peru Ministry of Health) to train mothers through workshops, one-on-one mentoring, house visits and health promotion events
  • Apply the Healthy Homes Monitoring Sheet to observe improvements in knowledge, practices of the participating mother and infrastructure of the home
  • Assess knowledge and behavior change among the mothers
  •  Mobilize communities to secure access to safe drinking water
  • Work with community members to increase access to improved cook stoves/latrines
  • Train on the health benefits, proper use and maintenance of improved cook stoves/latrines.[1]
  •  Blah, blah, blah things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do things you must do…

We see these lists and their seemingly endless demands of objectives, outputs, inputs, data, and facts and we become over-excited and overwhelmed. We think to ourselves,  “I must do all of these things, and do them well,” and, “They’re all counting on me.” In our bloated sense of selflessness, we forget ourselves.

During her TEDTalk in 2010’s Charter for Compassion, journalist Krista Tippet observed, “You know, we spend so much time in this culture being driven and aggressive […] but again and again lived compassion brings us back to the wisdom of tenderness.” I find that her words are painfully true, but often misinterpreted in the Peace Corps. It’s correct to say that America’s culture is one driven by an aggressive, high-paced sense of competitiveness and progress. Peace Corps Volunteers are all Americans, and we carry that cultural identity with us when we settle into a new, culturally-foreign environment. As in the States, we begin to measure our self-worth by the amount of product we are able to produce. We push and we push ourselves, making the impossible demand that everything we do, we do for others. Our work, our life routine is centered around the constant outflow of ourselves and what we have to offer to our communities.

When that flow falters and is reduced to a trickle, we see it as the result of an inner fault. We blame ourselves and wonder why we fail. “I’m not good enough,” and, “I’m not doing enough,” are common words I hear all the time from my Peace Corps peers. When volunteers take the time to try to sort out inner conflicts, to restore their flow and inner sources of strength and peace, they often times feel guilty. In other words, the Peace Corps Volunteers’ way of implementing Tippet’s “lived compassion” results in tenderness for others, but rarely for themselves. To show tenderness for the self before others is misinterpreted as a betrayal of “the calling,” our mission to make this world good. How dare we take time for ourselves, when our job is to give to others? People need us; people depend on us; people are looking up to us, both here and back home. See how easy it is for our selflessness to turn into a form of self-righteousness, of selfishness?

It is very easy, then, for our biggest enemy and our biggest challenge to be our own self-perception. Our overly harsh-judgments and unnecessary sense of shame handicap our ability to love our neighbor. Why? Because we fail to love ourselves. In another 2010 TEDTalk titled “The power of vulnerability,” social worker and author Brené Brown described those with courage and a sense of worthiness in the following manner: “They had the compassion to be kind to themselves first and then to others because, as it turns out, we can’t practice compassion with other people if we can’t treat ourselves kindly.” In other words, love yourself, and only then will you know how to love others.

So what does it mean to love ourselves? I wish I could give you a complete, comprehensive guide, but tomes of self-help books have already been written on the subject. Unfortunately, I am also no expert in this area and often find myself having to learn and relearn just how to love who I am and how I’m made. I expect everyone does, just as I expect everyone deals with this sense of shame and guilt even if they’re not in the Peace Corps. But, after living here in Peru for around ten months now, here is what I would suggest:
1.     If you need time for yourself, take it. Let yourself rest, reflect, and be at ease. Do not be afraid of being still. Giving yourself time to work out your needs is never a waste of time. You have all the time that you need to do what needs to be done. You should remember, after all, that it’s not all about you. You are valuable, but it’s likely that you’re not nearly as important as you give yourself credit for. The world will turn and people will survive without you. So, if you need to step back, let yourself breathe, and pour into yourself for a bit, it won’t be the end of the world. In fact, the world might just be a little bit better if you do.
2.     Let your inner voice speak with kindness. When mistakes are made, when you look in the mirror and are disappointed with what you see, when you fail to meet the expectations that are set for you, forgive yourself. Calling yourself names, dwelling on your failures and repeating them in your head, and punishing and belittling yourself leads to nowhere but downward. Realize that you are human, just like everyone else, and that in every great difficulty, there is also great opportunity.
3.     Indulge once in a while. Is eating three Snickers bars the thing you really need to feel good? Would letting yourself spend an extra day in the city and treating yourself to a hot shower, a nice meal, and a YouTube binge do the trick? Is letting yourself go on a bit of a spending spree and buying that new, sexy pair of shoes just the thing you need to make yourself feel beautiful again? Then go for it. You only live once and life is meant to be enjoyed.
4.     Take care of your body, mind, and spirit. If you need to eat three Snickers bars one day, that’s fine, but don’t make it a habit. Look after your health and exercise, eat well, and sleep well. Take time for your faith and ponder the Beyond. Exercise your mind and strive to learn something new – pick up a new hobby or revel in an old one, read books, talk to others who are different than you and share opinions, let yourself try something new that you never had time for or were always scared to do.
5.     Immerse yourself in what brings you joy and happiness. If you know there is something that renews your soul and makes you feel happy – playing the flute, baking cupcakes, hiking, whatever – make it a priority in your life. Set aside a time each day or each week to let yourself do it.
6.     Surround yourself with other positive people. Are the people you hang out with negative and belittling? Do they overshadow your small triumphs by bringing up other looming challenges or past failures? Do you come to the table excited and energized, only to find that your work partners are pessimistic, unhelpful, and unwilling to participate? Dump them and find a new crowd. Work with those who want to work with you and socialize with those who aren’t afraid to see the sunny side of life.
7.     Don’t be afraid to ask for help and to let others know you’re hurting. Pain bottled up is pain that grows even stronger. Let your emotions go in a way that is healthy and self-healing. Don’t be afraid to call up a trusted friend and explain that you just need to vent for a bit. When things seem to be slipping away from you and you feel lost, ask for someone to help you. No one is able to do everything on their own, nor would you want to. We are wired for connection, so don’t be afraid to let yourself be a little vulnerable and ask for assistance.
8.     Laugh whenever possible, even if it’s at yourself. Life is full of humor: snarky, dry humor, ironic twists, slap-stick comedy, inside jokes, awkwardness and embarrassment, corny puns, and other funny moments. Never fail to laugh with them. And don’t be afraid to be the butt of a joke. If you make a mistake or if you become the fool, laugh. You’ll often find that if you laugh, you’ll be rewarded with a fond memory and even a new friend.
9.     Always enjoy beauty. If you know that the sunsets in your area are gorgeous and happen around 6:00 each evening, set your alarm and make sure you don’t miss it. Turn off your cell and take off your headphones when it starts to rain. Observe the changing of the seasons. Take the time to watch children play, and don’t hesitate to join them. Marvel at nature and the complexity of people around you. The Earth is a beautiful place, and it would be a shame if you walked through life without noticing its glory.
10.  Celebrate the little things. Every accomplishment, no matter how big or how small, deserves to be recognized. Pat yourself on the back when you resist that insufferable chocolate craving. Strike a Rocky Balboa pose when you finally are able to run up that hill without stopping. Be proud when someone compliments you, misses you, or enjoys your company. And, when it’s someone else’s turn to celebrate, celebrate with them. Never fail to appreciate a birthday, a promotion, a good test score, a high school graduation, the purchase of a new house, the overcoming of sickness, a wedding, the birth of a child, and life’s other milestones and pebbles. Life is full of blessings, and each merits recognition.

We are not superheroes. We cannot give everything we have to others and expect things to be fine as usual. Even if we could, would we really want to? Isn’t the person who is most invincible also the most boring and unapproachable? Each of us is human for a reason. We have a responsibility to others, that is true, but we have an equally important responsibility to ourselves. Compassion is far too complex to be reduced to a one-way street. Only by being compassionate to ourselves, by protecting our own personal happiness, by respecting, nurturing, and reveling in our own identities and abilities are we able to begin doing the same for others. Only then can we truly begin to love our neighbor.

Love yourself, so that you may know how to love others.


[1] Peace Corps Peru Community Health Program Project Framework, 2013

Be strong, be courageous


We all like to be comfortable. As Peace Corps Volunteers, we often dream about the comforts we enjoyed and took for granted back home: sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal or mac ‘n cheese, dogs you could pet without any fear of being chased or bitten, getting cozy by the fire at wintertime, pumpkin spice lattes and hot chocolate, being at home during the holidays surrounded by friends, refrigerators, air conditioning, central heating, shaggy carpet, philharmonic concerts and seeing plays in the theatre, celebrating family traditions in the presence of family, being in our own beds, Thai food, Indian food, Mexican food, Southern food, German food, really any kind of food other than what we’re eating right now. Joy can be found in the familiar – we know exactly what to expect, we’re never disappointed or unpleasantly surprised, we’re safe, satisfied, and filled with a sense of wellbeing. But if everything in life is a comfort, are we really having a comfortable, fulfilling life?

Life as a Peace Corps Volunteer is rarely comfortable. In fact, I would say that it wouldn’t be an understatement to label a volunteer’s life as two solid years of being highly uncomfortable. Since arriving here in Peru, I’ve had more than my fair share of discomforts: My bathroom is a cement latrine with a hole on the ground no bigger than a coffee cup, which, although perhaps easier for men, was clearly not designed for women. I have to live through a three month-long rainy season each year. The rain knocks out the electricity, making it difficult to cook, and also shuts down cell phone service. Even on good days, the cell signal in my town is shoddy and calls to my family are frequently dropped or riddled with delays and static. I have to travel seven hours by bus to check my mail or have reliable internet. I have been peed on by various farm animals as they are loaded on top of the bus and wiz through the windows. I’ve had mice crawl over me as I sleep. When I first moved into my host family, I was presented with a room that was covered in dust and dead insects, had holes in the walls, and had a bed with sheep pelts for a mattress. I have to work in a foreign language. I live at high altitude, making it hard to exercise. I have to wash clothes by hand. I have to constantly prove to authorities in my town that my work is worthwhile and I have to fight tooth and nail to advance my projects. I have to work with women who are so used to being disappointed and hopeless that they don’t believe change is possible. I have to constantly show my community that my promises aren’t empty. I have to gently swat away notions that I’m a human money bag, that I’m an eligible bachelorette ripe for the picking, and that I’m somehow worthwhile just because I’m American. As a college educated woman, I have to learn to be humble and happy in a community where most people have a high school education at best. Life, to be sure, is hard.

The question, then, is not whether life is uncomfortable, but whether that uncomfortableness is worthwhile or not. Is it worth being in pain? Is there something to be gained from feeling alone, in trouble, and misunderstood? In the midst of discomfort, is there some treasure to be found? To all these questions, I would answer unequivocally, “yes.”

Although we long for comfort, we are most defined and marked by our moments of being uncomfortable. That moment when we allow ourselves to jump into something unknown, when we pursue the end anyway even when we’re not certain if it’ll be good, that’s when our lives really begin. As a friend of mine, Pastor Jim Walker of Pittsburgh’s Hot Metal Bridge Faith Community explained in one of his sermons, “If it's always comfortable you never grow. You never take that step into the unfamiliar. The step into the unfamiliar is a gift. The step into the unfamiliar, the step off the cliff is a present from God. The real enemy isn't the cliff. The enemy is fear." If that’s the case, what exactly are we afraid of? Do we fear the discomfort itself, the physicality of pain and the emotional uneasiness? Perhaps. Personally, I think these fears are superficial, mere byproducts of a deeper, more human fear that we all have, regardless of circumstance: the fear of being vulnerable.

As Brené Brown explains in her 2010 TEDTalk on vulnerability, all humans are programmed for connection. Our mission in life and our happiness depends on our ability to make connections with others. However, in order for that to happen, we have to allow ourselves to be seen, really seen. We have to permit our innermost parts to be out in the open for others to see and, perhaps, to judge. We have to take the risk of being hurt, of being betrayed, of being disappointed or let down. We must, in the end, display and offer ourselves wholeheartedly. Being vulnerable, then, is the epitome of courage. “Courage, the original definition of courage when if first came into the English language,” Brown explains, “ is from the Latin word ‘cour,’ meaning ‘heart’ and the original definition was to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart.” Truly courageous people, she continues, view vulnerability as neither comfortable nor excruciating, but rather something necessary. Why? Why is it essential that we make ourselves vulnerable? Why must we place ourselves in fearful situations where we are stretched beyond our limits? Why do we need to sometimes be in deliberate discomfort, to deprive ourselves of the routine? Why, as Jim explained, is the unfamiliar a gift?

Because it is only when we step off the cliff and we are in the midst of a fall do we learn how to fly. Vulnerability is not fun. It is not easy. It is always risky and often unpleasant, too: “Vulnerability is kind of the core of shame and fear and our struggle for worthiness, but it appears that it's also the birthplace for joy, of creativity, of belonging, of love” (Brown, 2010). By taking risks and by revealing ourselves for who we truly are to others, we are able to truly revel in some of life’s greatest joys: the opportunity to identify and overcome our fears, personal growth and discovery, true human connections and relationship-building, reconciliation, community cohesion, real love. When the opportunity to be in the unfamiliar is denied, when vulnerability is numbed and ignored, you are also denying yourself of all these things. You cannot have one without the other.

For this reason, as a Peace Corps Volunteer I feel validated in my discomfort. Regardless of how my projects fair, I see my time in Peru as worthwhile because of the growth I have achieved by gradually overcoming or bearing through my hardships. Regardless of your walk in life, I hope you all feel the same way. Whether we want to or not, we are all going to be thrown into the unknown at some point or another. My hope is that we all remember to face these moments with joy and with courage. For it is only through courage that we remember that we’re worthy of love and belonging and we discover what we’re really made of. And it is only when life is at it’s most alien and unfamiliar that true, genuine life has the potential to begin. 

Animal house


Animal house

There’s a mouse in the bed, a chicken in the soup, and a dog in the church. This sounds like the opening of a children’s book, doesn’t it?  After all, we’ve all heard of famous titles such as Wishbone, If You Give a Moose a Muffin, and The Cat in the Hat.  In each story, the central character is an animal that displays characteristics that are remarkably human. We see that their greed, curiosity, love and friendship have the ability to make life for their human companions either a riveting adventure or an endless source of frustration. In many cases, life with real animals is no different. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I’ve had many interesting and unforgettable (to put it mildly) interactions with animals here in Peru. Sometimes they’re heartwarming, and sometimes they’re downright disgusting. I’m no children’s author, but in this blog post I’m going to write three short stories about my most memorable moments with animals over the past month, which range from the good to the bad to the ugly.  

The Mouse in the Bed

It’s the sound of a Peace Corps Volunteer’s worst nightmare. That soft scuffling, the crinkling of plastic bags as tiny padded feet scurry across them, the light scratch scratch as tiny claws meet a dirt floor once the lights go out. It’s the pitching sensation in your stomach as suspicious and dread sink into you as you try to sleep. Your skin starts to crawl, your eyes squeeze shut, and you bury your face in your pillow as you try not to think. But no matter how much you try to ignore it, no matter how much you deny it, deep down you know.

There’s a mouse in your room.

I’m lying in bed asleep, dreaming away when something strange happens. Something in the dream doesn’t seem to fit; it doesn’t feel right. No, literally. I feel something - four tiny, squishy pads on my left hand that immediately jolts me awake. I wake with a start, flinging my arm and smacking it into the headboard. But there’s nothing there. A dream, I tell myself while nursing my new bruise, This is what happens when you watch too much Game of Thrones before you go to sleep.

My hand still smarts as I settle into bed the next night. I turn of the lights, nestle under my covers, and curl up into a ball when I hear it. It’s faint at first, so faint I almost am able to ignore it and go to sleep.

Scratch scratch scratch

My ears perk up and the noise gets louder.

Scratch scratch scratch…

I bolt up, snatch my flashlight, and douse my room with a beam of light. I shine it over my books, my closet, and my fruit crates that serve as a pantry. Nothing. It’s just an animal on the roof, I tell myself, Or maybe the house is settling, or perhaps it’s just a big bug.

I turn off the flashlight, roll over, and try to sleep.

Scratch scratch scratch…

And so it goes. After about five times of waking up and swinging my flashlight around madly, I leap out of bed and turn on the lights. I freeze and wait.

Nothing…

Nothing…

Nothing…

And then I see it. A small, brown form pokes out tentatively from my pile of scarves. Twitching its nose, it makes a mad dash across my windowsill, scampers down my purse hanging on the wall peg, and leaps nimbly at the floor and stares at me.

“Oh no,” I moan as I stare into the beady eyes of the mouse, “Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no…”

For the next couple of nights, I watch in horror as it crawls across my dishes, my books, my shoes. At night, I ball up in the fetal position under all my blankets, barely able to breath, as I hear it’s tiny claws. It races across the floor, across the mattress, across me as I try to sleep. I practically destroy my room as I tear it apart, trying to catch the little bastard (sorry, not exactly children-book-appropriate vocabulary, but trust me that’s tame compared to the obscenities I was screaming at the time) and chase it out the door. I swear the thing had lightning for feet. Try as I might, I could neither herd nor catch my new rodent roommate.

There was only one solution left.

After a week of hell, I went to the store and bought rat poison. I left for the weekend, came back, and voila! There was no more mouse in the bed, or anywhere for that matter.

Fin.

A Chicken in the Soup

My family has bought two chickens. They have one purpose: when they are old enough they will be plucked and eaten for dinner. I’m convinced they know their fate, and so they’ve decided to live like kings for what little time they have left.

Mr. and Mrs. Chicken rule over the courtyard behind the house. They strut and cluck and poop constantly. They hold court inside the latrine, but only when you’re inside and in most need of privacy. Trust me, there’s nothing more unnerving than having two sets of beady eyes stare at you as you go to the bathroom. They prance into the kitchen, which for them is both dining hall and bathhouse. They feast on scraps left on the floor and relax in the local hot springs. And by hot springs, I mean the soup. No joke, I once entered the kitchen to find them both sitting in pots of soup that had been left uncovered on the floor, as if it were their own personal jacuzzis. Seeking to expand the boundaries of their kingdom, they frequently break into the house when a door is accidentally left open. They often enjoy going to the storage room, which leads to the staircase to the second floor where I live. Marking the uncharted territory as their own, they poop all over the place. But only, of course, after I’ve swept and cleaned it.

These chickens are dictators and I, a mere plebian to them, cannot wait for their demise.

Fin.

A dog in the church

It’s May and the town is getting ready to celebrate Bajo de Cruces, the celebration of Jesus’ crucifixion and the lowering of his body from the cross. The doors of the Catholic church have been unlocked and swing open, the nuns from a nearby town arrive to facilitate the masses and parades, the town gears up for nights of music and partying. I, ever the dutiful volunteer, am working. I’m on my way to the municipality to turn in a monthly report when suddenly I’m bombarded by small children. They’re friends of mine – each is the son or daughter of one of the health staff.

“Lyndsey! Lyndsey! Look what we found!”

Josef, the 9-year old son of a nurse technician, holds his hat out reverently as the children crowd around. I look inside and see a black, wriggling, crying form. It’s a puppy. My heart sinks as I realize that it couldn’t have been more than a couple of weeks old. It didn’t even have its eyes open yet.

“Where did you find him?” I ask, trying not to panic.

“In the church! In the church!” They chant back.

Very calmly, I explain that it’s important to return the puppy back to where they found it. It is far too young to survive without its mother. Sadly, the kids lead me to the spot where the puppy was found – a small, dusty broom closet filled with broken pews and other forms of tattered bric-a-brac. As we lay the puppy down on the ground, a hesitant, shivering black nose pokes out of the shadows. The mother, thankfully, was still at home and very grateful to have her son returned to her.

And so, I met one of my best friends here in Aurahua. Milagros, a name I gave her which means “miracle” in Spanish (appropriate, I thought, for a dog found in a church), is one of the sweetest dogs you’ll ever meet. She comes no higher than my knee, has ears that resemble bat wings, and long, black fur.

When I was unable to find a new home for her, I decided to make daily trips to the church to give her some food and company. The church is normally locked unless it’s a religious holiday, and once the Bajo de Cruces was done the gates were shut. However, underneath one of the side doors was enough space for Milagros to squeeze in and out. Every day, I’d wait by the hole and call her. She’d wiggle out, wag her tail, and I’d leave her breakfast and later dinner. Sometimes she’d find me in the plaza and sit beside me. Other times if she spotted me in the street, she’d race up, jump, and wrap her front legs around me in a hug. When I had to travel to town to attend a meeting, she’d accompany me to the bus to say goodbye.

Unfortunately, the end of Milagros’ story isn’t entirely happy. During another holiday when the church was open, someone entered the broom closet and took her puppy. At this point, he was probably somewhere around 3-months old – old enough to survive without his mom, but too young to leave so soon. I had seen him the night before. He was nothing but a bundle of black fuzz with brown and white socks. I had debated taking him with me, but ultimately decided to leave him in his home until I could find him a new home. I had just arranged for my friend, a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer, to take him when someone got to him before I could. I can only hope that they thought he was an orphan and decided to give him a good home.

Milagros and I, though, still meet regularly. I’ve since learned that she’s partially being taken care of another family, which is a huge relief. She comes and she goes but, as always, whenever we find each other she greets me with a big hug. 

Fin.