WSC Debriefing: Released into the Wild

Here’s a question: if I go living my life and doing things, but don’t blog about it, do those things really happen?

Home, sweet home. My city, Kansas City. 

This is conflict that I am faced with. I mean, for Pete’s sake, my blog is called “Adventuras en Peru” (Adventures in Peru) and I haven’t been in Peru for over a month, yet I continue to blog. But, with my World Service Corps time now being completely over, it’s hard for me to justify still using this blog. Perhaps another day there will be another blog, devoted to education or travelling or something; but for the time being, I’m going to go ahead and say it: this is my last post.

After SPEC, Katrina and I headed back to my home in Blue Springs. We had a free Sunday inbetween SPEC and World Service Corps debriefing, so I spent the day showing Katrina a little bit of Kansas City. We nerded out at the Liberty Memorial, strolled through Union Station, toured Kansas City’s own Boulevard Brewery and stopped by the large fountain on the Plaza. We topped the day off with a barbeque dinner with my Dad, eating so much that we felt slightly miserable afterwards.

The WSC Reps when we started this all, one year ago. 

Monday we dove into World Service Corps training. We had worship services, received some resume tips and learned about ways to stay connected with the church post-World Service Corps. Throughout the week we had the chance to chat with other reps, which was my favorite part of the experience. We got to banter with the short-term reps from Chile about the cultural differences between Peru and its neighbor to the south and, naturally, all of the reps launched into their worst bathroom stories; to me, cranking your poop up in the compost heap in Hawaii took the take.

We also tackled the question we’d all been finding difficult: “How was your trip?” Everyone recognized that the question was often asked as a nice gesture, but many of us expressed our frustrations with it; how are you supposed to define your trip in a quick, sentence long response? How do you explain someone something they can never fully understand? And how do you address their expectation that everything was fantastic—always.

Temple Sanctuary Selfie! Is that wrong?  

Monday to Wednesday we spent the entire week together, sharing meals and chatting about our different assignments; each one seemed to have their own vibe. Eben gave a lot of tours in Kirtland, Ohio; the reps from Hawaii attended a lot of camps; the reps from Detroit worked a lot with children; the girls from Chile attended some protests; the reps from South Korea regularly hiked mountains; the girl from Tahiti attended a baptism inside a hidden cave. Everyone came back loaded with stories. In college, I’d always found it interesting that all the international students hung out together. Very few of them were from the same country but they still had the same, unspeakable bond. I still don’t understand it, but I felt it among the World Service Corps reps. We had all gone different places and seen very different things—and somehow, that made us the same.

Where all the WSC reps were, just a few months ago. 

Wednesday was our big finale to World Service Corps: our Presentations and Sending Forth. I liked to call the Sending Forth our “release into the wild.” To an extent, especially among the long-term reps, it was like we’d forgotten how to live as adults in North America. How to work, how to socialize, how to operate in English. The most basic things, like how to eat, we had to learn again. What do you mean rice and potatoes don’t come with this meal? Why aren’t there any dogs running the streets? Why are we so far away from the ocean?

As Wednesday evening fell, each rep shared a five minute testimony of what they did and what their experience meant to them. Each presentation was powerful in its own ways. The girls from Chile’s voice cracked as they talked about how they’d bonded during their experience. The girl from Tahiti lamented that she couldn’t stop comparing church in the States to church in Tahiti. Katrina and I focused on specific stories, both from Huanuco, where we’d struggled, but learned that things would always be okay.

The WSC gang on our first day of debriefing. 

And I think, going forward, that was what we needed to talk about and we needed to remember; life after World Service Corps does exist, and it’s all going to be okay. As presentations finished, the reps slowly filed out of the Temple, heading their own ways: going to college to clean out dorm rooms, road tripping to Florida, preparing to fly to California. Like that, it was over. Like that, it was done.

The next morning, real life came too quickly; I had technology training for my teaching job at 9 a.m. and Katrina had to leave for the airport just afterwards. We said our hurried goodbyes (I was still operating on Peru time and running late), both understanding but not knowing how to express it—the two of us were the only ones who could really understand what Peru, what Honduras, what SPEC, what all of it really mean to each other. I sped off to work and Katrina headed out to the airport. And at the moment, we could no longer deny it: World Service Corps was officially over.

Goodbye for now: my last picture with Katrina. 

World Service Corps Program Coordinator was sure to tell us that nobody ever really stops being a World Service Corps rep. Your time in the program comes to a close, but you carry that experience with you always. There are parts you wish you could leave behind and there are parts you wish you could cling on to more tightly; but no matter what, we carry it with us. And it’s a load I’m more than happy to bare.

So with that, my World Service Corp term and “Adventuras en Peru” come to a close. Even if you just came here and looked at pictures—I thank all of you for reading. Blogging has been a wonderful way for me to process and share what this year of my life has meant, and seeing my page views go up made me feel like people were right there, sharing these experiences with me. So thank you for reading—I’ll see you when the next big adventure arrives. 

SPECTACULAR: Who Wants To Try Purple Snot?

Fun Fact: When I signed up for World Service Corps, I was living in Lamoni, Iowa working for Graceland University. Up until one week before moving to Lima, I called Lamoni my home.

People kept saying, "I can't believe you're still together." 

So—it felt somewhat fitting that my last World Service Corps duty before debriefing should be to attend a camp, SPECTACULAR, in Lamoni on Graceland’s campus. All good things start and end in Iowa, right?

Anyway, as soon as IYF was over, Katrina and I’s next adventure began: SPECTACULAR. To give you a little background SPEC is the largest gathering of youth in Community of Christ. It happens every year in July at Graceland University and it’s a week where high school aged students come together to participate in themed classes, sports, and worship.

Emily & Avery playing at the WSC booth. 

Once again, Katrina and I found ourselves delegationless, which essentially means we didn’t have any “home” group that we belonged to. Throughout the week we found other people like us who titled that role many a nice-sounding thing: support minister, SPECtator, helper, floater; meanwhile, Katrina and I simply just referred to ourselves as “creepers” the whole week.  

While the role of SPEC Creeper doesn't sound overly delightful, Katrina and I enjoyed ourselves with it, utilizing the free time to hang out with old and new friends. I also felt personally obligated to show Katrina the "real" Lamoni; thus we made a late night Kum & Go run, visited the Pizza Shack and stopped by the park at Slip's Bluff. People continually marveled at the fact that we still wanted to pass our time together after living in the same room for over a year and we simply told them all that we'd forgotten how to live independently.

Our SPEC duties were somewhat similar to our IYF duties: we helped run the World Service Corps information booth, taught classes about World Service Corps and shared our testimonies. Each element of our job had a slightly different vibe this time around.

It's never really SPEC if Lost & Found isn't there. 

The classes we taught were largely based on our specific country and our specific experiences. Katrina and I shared pictures and talked about some of our favorite moments: from our trips to Amazon jungle and Machu Picchu, to special events like Dia de la Playa (Beach Day) at church. We ended the class with giving the kids a taste of Peru: Chicha Morrada. Chicha Morranda is a purple desert with the texture/appearance of pudding. It has cinnamon and apple in it, but after Katrina and I dubbed it “purple snot” nobody seemed to jazzed about trying it.

Our testimonies were shared with a group of about 75 kids during our “SPEC Today” classes. I focused on a theme that anybody could do World Service Corps, all they had to do was try. This was my only role during the weeklong SPEC Today class, which gave me the odd realization that we weren’t the leaders in charge of things anymore—in fact, we were preparing to become your Average Joe again.

Fireworks on the GU quad.

The week was sprinkled with special activities: a campfire, talent shows, musical performances, plays, and, of course, the annual dance. Each day we usually shared lunch with Eben, a World Service Corps rep from India, who continually pointed out that all Americans wanted to eat was bread and cheese.

I began to find that each time I was around a Tahitian, I wanted to speak Spanish to them. For the record, in Tahiti they speak both Tahitian and French; they do not speak Spanish. This is a recent habit I developed while in Peru and constantly have to fight to control. Oh, you speak Russian? Let me speak Spanish to you and do you no help at all. After knowing what it’s like to struggle with language for a year, you just want to help the people around with the same struggle (whether you can effectively do so or not.)

Finally the last day of SPEC fell upon us and it was touching to walk across the quad and see everyone bidding their new friends farewell. Kids from other countries gave tearful farewells to the friends they may never see again. The Tahitians were out with shell necklaces, generously giving them to everyone nearby. It began to sink it to Katrina and I that after a month in the “homestretch” we really were in the homestretch now—all we had to do was debrief. We had less than a week left as World Service Corps volunteers.

Ready or not, here it came.

IYF Missouri: Just A Little Different Than Honduras

Theodore Roosevelt once said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.”

That statement is probably the best thing you can remember when you’re reentering your home country after being gone for a long time. Yes, there are things you like more about your home country. Yes, there are things you liked more about your host country. You can sit around sorting those things out all day—or, you can just try to live your life.

Reunited with my mom! 

Katrina and I arrived in Kansas City around midnight on Friday, July 11. My parents greeted us in the airport, bearing gifts: Chipotle burrito bowls. There was joyful hugging, there was exited jabbering and there was the cramming of over-sized suitcases into my mom’s car. We were home.

We spent our first few days in the country catching up on things: talking with our family, investigating new phone plans and drinking in some American culture. We made a point to attend a Royals baseball game.

Katrina and I with some friends at a KC Royals game! 

And after a few days to recover we were off and running again for the International Youth Forum (IYF) in Missouri. Now, naturally, IYF Missouri and IYF Honduras were vastly different. For starters, there were about ten times more kids at IYF Missouri than at IYF Honduras (which made the sleeping arrangements rather different—there was no giant dorm room where 350 girls could sleep.) IYF Honduras had three different countries in attendance, IYF Missouri had more: South Korea, the United Kingdom, Australia, Germany, Spain, Canada, Tahiti and more. The venues and budget were also vastly different: IYF Honduras was at a humble little campground called La Buena Fe; IYF Missouri was in World Church Headquarters.

The Temple, where IYF Missouri was held. 

For reasons like these, and many more, IYF Missouri and IYF Honduras were vastly different and, at times, that difference was painful for Katrina and I. We had come fresh from touching and beautiful experiences in Honduras and couldn’t help but compare those kids to the ones at IYF Missouri. Without delegation attachments the bonds we formed so easily in Honduras were challenging in Missouri. The kids had different priorities and different ways of expressing their faith. Was one group better? Simply, they were just different.

Katrina and I’s roles in IYF were different was well. We both helped out with a World Service Corps class that was held twice during the week and we also helped out with “small” groups. While our small groups in the United States were at least twice the size of our small groups in Honduras, it still broke things down for us and gave us a better opportunity to connect with the kids.

Katrina and Eben at the WSC booth. 

Our final day of small groups, our kids were given the symbolic task of washing each other’s feet. While many group leaders were skeptical of how this activity would play out, my group rose to the challenge and had absolutely no problem with washing their neighbor’s feet. My entire group participated, without questions, and even lightly chatted during the activity.

Perhaps Katrina and I’s biggest task during the week was giving a brief testimony during one of the worship services. While Katrina and I had grown accustomed to giving testimonies, this was our first testimony in front of such a large crowd (more than 600 people.) This was also my first testimony in English, which, somehow made the task seem even harder.

Yet, when the time came, Katrina and I partnered with Emile, a World Service Corps rep from Tahiti, and Eben, a World Service Corps rep from India and stepped up to the plate. Katrina and Eben read a prayer and Emile and I shared testimonies. The stage lights were slightly blinding, but perhaps the weirdest part of the experience was seeing yourself on the tv screen. After the testimonies and prayer, Emile led a quick song with the audience and we scampered off the stage.

Saying goodbye to Emile--he was headed home to Tahiti. 

As IYF came to a close, I felt the tugs of the real world calling me back. I had to miss our final worship service to fill out paperwork and take a tour of my new school, which were exciting things to do, but with unfortunate timing. I finished my tour, drove back to Independence, said a few goodbye and picked up Katrina.

A final difference of the two IYFs was that IYF Missouri was significantly shorter than IYF Honduras. It had felt as though we were just starting things and they were already over. Our first week in the States was full, a little overwhelming and slightly confusing. People kept asking us what it was like to be back in the States and we’d always admit, “I don’t know yet; I haven’t had time to process it.” And it was an issue that wasn’t going to change anytime soon—we had less than a day off and then we were Lamoni bound: SPECTACULAR camp was up next. 

FIJ Honduras: Foro Internacional de Jovenes

*Quick Disclaimer, then I’ll let you be on your way. I wrote most of this post on July 10, but haven’t had time to post it until just now. Stay tuned for long overdue updates from IYF (Missouri), SPEC and World Service Corps debriefing*

Decorating La Buena Fe for IYF! 

Buenas tardes, hermanos, y aquí son mis últimos saludos de Honduras.

Right, so if you don’t speak Spanish—Welcome to my last post from overseas as a World Service Corps volunteer. It’s weird, right? In less than 18 hours, we’ll be aboard a plane, to begin our last leg of The Great Migration. It’s weird.

Regardless, let’s recap.

Friday afternoon we headed out for La Buena Fe to start getting everything in order. There was much hanging of decorations and petty bickering over insignificant details, which is how I imagine many camps start. Eventually curtains were hung, cardboard letters were forcefully stapled into the cement wall and night fell as Katrina and I carefully selected what we estimated to be the best beds in the women’s dorm, which was two, giant connected rooms, stuffed with roughly 60 beds.

With Saturday came the slow arrival of the campers. We impatiently waited as people from El Salvador, Honduras, and Nicaragua trickled in, registering them and dishing out multicolored bracelets that said the weeks’ theme “Valor Para” (Courage.) In total, we ended up with about 60 kids, ages 14-28, with the grand majority of them being 16-18.

These boys were absolutely hilarious--never a dull moment. 

From there, the week began to fly. Apostle Barbara Carter flew in to deliver classes based on the week’s theme. The kids also attended classes that specifically focused on elements of Community of Christ, like Enduring Principles and Priesthood. I have never seen such dedicated students. The kids showed up to every class early with their bibles and notepads in hand. They took avid notes and there were moments when I looked up to realize that I was the only person in my entire row doodling in their notebook (guilty as charged.) They asked questions, even when they knew it would make class run late. My friends, these kids are a teacher’s dream.

My favorite part of our daily routine was small group time, because it gave me a chance to know eight of the campers really well. During this time, I was continually impressed by how open and willing these kids are to sharing their personal testimonies. It was touching to witness how these

kids started the week and where they ended up—they were living proof that camps and forums like this make a difference in people’s lives.

My kids in my small group--I'm so proud of them!

Every night, the kids hit the showers, put on their Sunday-best (for the women this included menacing stilettos) and we had a dynamic church service—and I don’t think you quite understand what I mean by “dynamic.” I feel like every “cool” church in movies is always some Southern Baptist congregation in the middle of nowhere Alabama where everyone is fanning themselves with a program, but there’s a fantastic preacher screaming, people nodding and rumbling “amen” and a triumphant, energetic choir decked out in shiny graduation-esc robes. Honduran church isn’t quite like that—but it’s by far the closest I’ve ever gotten to it. There’s a lot of passionate hand raising during the songs, spontaneous prayers mumbled aloud to one’s self and series of questions where you get to yell “Gloria a Dios!” or simply applaud and cheer loudly. The preachers were a mix a local leaders and leader’s from the World Church, each with distinctly different styles and tactics for delivering their message. 

Perhaps the most picturesque church moment was during Luis Dias’ sermon, which rivals anything you’ve ever seen depicted in a movie. It was a marathon of passionate yelling and I honestly have no idea how Luis was breathing, because it was an endless, energetic flowing monologue without pause or falter.  When he started, the room was thick was the day’s sweaty air, but as he continued a chilled breeze swept inside, ruffled the curtains, and eventually thunder rolled and lightening flashed behind him—it was seriously like something out of a movie. The part they don’t show in the movie is that at this point, the front two rows have to move because there’s a hole in the roof and everyone’s starting to get wet.

Ladee and Ana "helping" clear some brush.

The week was also loaded with special events—a talent night, a campfire, a service day where we cleared brush on the new grounds and, perhaps my personal favorite, an excursion day where we visited a local park that had a beautiful waterfall. 

By the time we hit talent night I had a grand realization—I have lost all shame that I once possessed (which honestly was never that much.)  One of the camp leaders mentioned to me I should sing a song for the talent show—I politely declined and told her I have no vocal skills. An hour later, she told me it was my last chance to add myself to the list—and that was all the “convincing” I needed. Before Katrina knew what hit her, I had signed her, one of the translators, one of the campers, and myself up to sing “The Funky Chicken” which is “El Pollo Loco” in Spanish. Despite not knowing the exact lyrics, we performed it for everyone and when it came time for “ la cucaracha” (cockroach) we were the only ones in the building rolling around on the floor (myself, shamelessly.)

Luis (wearing a Christmas tie) delivering his sermon. 

Campfire night presented us with another shameless opportunity to sing out of key, as we attempted to lead two songs, one of which (a round of Kum-Ba-Ya) was an absolute disaster (although the boys did get a kick out of the chanting version and yelled it at random moments throughout the rest of the camp.) Immediately following that would-be embarrassment, it was my turn to give a testimony about my journey with World Service Corps. Under a five-minute restriction, it was a bit of a challenge—not to mention the fact that it had to be shouted as I walked around the giant circle we’d formed around the campfire; however, I think it went well and I hope it at least spoke to a few of the campers listening.

Our last day of camp is perhaps the day that stands out the clearest in my mind--the day we spent swimming near a huge waterfall. Because swimming levels varied, the kids stayed in a shallow area playing games, building human pyramids, pushing eat other in the water and singing. I spent half the day talking with the girls from Nicaragua and half the day swimming with the rest of the kids. While the  afternoon’s bonding time was amazing, the best part of the day came later that night during worship.

The fantastic waterfall near where we swam. 

Things started with some fantastic music, including a few more songs from the rich voice of Guillermo then concluded with a sermon from Hermana Digna—but the main even turned out to be the time allotted for testimonies. Things started out slowly with a few reluctant hands, but built momentum as the night went on. There were apologies to family members for conflicts, stories of struggle and depression and talk of spiritual transformation. A number of kids mentioned originally not wanting to go to camp, only to arrive and have their lives changed. One boy shared a story of fasting for two days, just to decide if he should attend camp or not. Carlos Mejia tried to wrap up the testimonies multiple times, but the kids refused to be silent—they wanted their stories heard. With a slew of late testimonies, the service ran well over three hours long, later than 11 p.m. with the most genuine and touching testimonies I’ve ever heard. These kids are courageous and pour their entire hearts into IYF—and the result is huge, transformational experiences.

And just like that, the week that had began so slowly had ended so quickly. We were given a little over an hour to socialize and say some goodbyes after the testimony service, since many of the kids were leaving at different times early the next morning. Katrina and I headed out before 8 a.m. and we drove home from La Buena Fe reflecting. 

With Geri, the fantastic translator, Darywn and WILFREDO! 

When we arrived back in San Pedro Sula, we were greeted by Wilfredo, Darwyn (from Bolivia), Jaenette (from Colombia), Gustavo (from Chile) who were in Honduras for some meetings with Carlos. It was amazing to see Wilfredo one last time before heading home to the US and weird to think that we didn't know when we would see him again. After the headed out for their meeting, Katrina and I spent the remainder of the day with the Mejia family, packing, uploading photos and, of course, eating one last round of baleadas. The next morning came too soon and before we knew it we were bidding yet another family goodbye and heading to the airport.

See ya, David Enrique!

And that my friends, is the jist of Honduran experience. For a while, Katrina and I didn’t know if we were excited to go to Honduras or not—it was a weird state of being in limbo between leaving Peru and returning home. Yet, looking back, I wouldn’t have done it any other way. Honduras was, in some ways, just as rich of an experience as Peru was. It was a different viewpoint of the Community of Christ and a reminder that just because two countries speak Spanish, doesn't mean that they have much in common. 

And now--limbo is over, and it's time to remember what Community of Christ is like in the United States. 

**As mentioned earlier, I’m writing a few more posts before I retire from blogging (for now anyway.) Check back in a few days to hear about IYF in the US!**