Hey everyone! Here are a few short stories of events that have occurred over the last few months that you might find interesting.
New kids! Several new families of kids have arrived to the farm over the last few months. They are all filled with so much spirit, and have each been a unique blessing to the dynamics of the farm.
Double trauma. Last month I was talking to a patient about her sick kids when I heard screaming from outside of the clinic. I went outside to see what was going on, and found two kids walking towards me covered in blood that seemed to be coming from their head. My stomach jumped into my throat, while I brought them inside to clean them up and figure out what happened. While playing a game, they had bumped heads leaving a small laceration on each of their foreheads. Two incredibly brave mothers, several prayers, fifteen stitches, many tears, and a couple of cool stickers later, they were both patched up and sent home to rest. I went to check on them later that day (partly to make sure that they didn’t completely hate me), and found them giggling about their new stitches and reading a book together. When they saw me, they gave me a big hug and I joined in on the giggling.
House Intruder. Last week, my roommate called to come into our room and when I arrived I saw my worst nightmare: a scorpion crawling on the wall over my bed. Being a total wimp, my usual reaction is to call for one of the boys to kill the unwanted guest, but unfortunately they were all out of the house (convenient). I decided it would be better to risk a scorpion sting while awake rather than be woken my intruder piercing my foot in the middle of the night. I grabbed a shoe, climbed on the bed, jumped as high as I could and with a battle cry that would have put Braveheart to shame, swung the shoe with all my force upon the unsuspecting scorpion. As I fell back onto the bed, bits of scorpion showered down over me, and I smiled. As I am still a wimp, I slept in the living room that night for fear that he had friends near by that would seek revenge.
Well that’s about all for now. I hope you all are doing well!
paz,
Jenny
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
El indio bárbaro
The following story is completely true. Names have not been changed to protect the innocent. I am not that creative. At no point during the following story was I ever in any actual danger (except maybe from my own clumsiness). I hope you laugh reading this story at least as half as much as I did experiencing it, re-telling it, and now, writing about it.
One of the many joys of living in a culture different to the one in which I was raised, is learning about new cultural practices. Holidays are jam packed of these learning opportunities. One of the most striking lessons I have had was that of the “indio bárbaro”.
The days approaching any holiday in Trujillo, the indio barbaro can often be seen walking the streets. He is a man from the Garifuna community wearing a tribal mask and covered in oil looking for money. If you don’t offer him money, he may mark your clothes with oil (a physical representation of the curse he has placed upon you). The indio bárbaro (or barbaric Indian) rarely travels alone and is usually accompanied by another who blows a whistle to announce their arrival. Personally, I think this is a flaw in the system as one almost always has a warning.
For those who have grown up being followed by men covered in oil blowing whistles and motioning for their money, it is completely normal and quite comical. I didn’t, and it scares the hell out of me. Nevertheless, I grit my teeth, pay my lempira and scurry on my way.
On one particular day, the thought of paying this man and parting with my lempira (about 5 cents) was too much for me and I went into fight or flight mode. Yes, I ran. I broke out into a full-out sprint down the lazy cobblestone road. I didn’t dare look back to see if he was gaining on me, nor to see if Laura (the volunteer who was with me at the time) had escaped. It was every woman for herself.
Had we been in a busy city in the states, I imagine the on-lookers would have been quite puzzled to see two adult women (one in a skirt and high heels, the other in flip-flops) sprinting down the road, followed by a man wearing a tribal mask and smeared in oil. But in trujillo, the only confusion was as to why we were running.
I punched the air in triumph when I reached the end of the road as our friend had given up and gone after a more complacent target. A nearby woman asked us why we were out of breath. Upon explaining that we were running away from the barbaric indian, she looked at us with confusion and said “but why are you afraid of him? He won’t hurt you, just pay him”.
I have met cultural differences over the past year with enthusiasm and as great learning opportunities. However, on this particular day, when we ran into what appeared to be the barbarian’s 8 year old brother, Laura said with all the attitude and sass of a girl from Jersey, “Nombre!” (the Honduran equivalent of the “Z-snap”) and I shouted “no me toques!” (don’t touch me!) with all the attitude and sass of someone who had just run away from a grown man covered in oil and threatening to curse me and dirty my clothes if I didn´t pay him 5 cents.
Laura and I laughed the entire drive back to the farm.
I love this country!
I look forward to hearing from you soon!
love,
jenny
One of the many joys of living in a culture different to the one in which I was raised, is learning about new cultural practices. Holidays are jam packed of these learning opportunities. One of the most striking lessons I have had was that of the “indio bárbaro”.
The days approaching any holiday in Trujillo, the indio barbaro can often be seen walking the streets. He is a man from the Garifuna community wearing a tribal mask and covered in oil looking for money. If you don’t offer him money, he may mark your clothes with oil (a physical representation of the curse he has placed upon you). The indio bárbaro (or barbaric Indian) rarely travels alone and is usually accompanied by another who blows a whistle to announce their arrival. Personally, I think this is a flaw in the system as one almost always has a warning.
For those who have grown up being followed by men covered in oil blowing whistles and motioning for their money, it is completely normal and quite comical. I didn’t, and it scares the hell out of me. Nevertheless, I grit my teeth, pay my lempira and scurry on my way.
On one particular day, the thought of paying this man and parting with my lempira (about 5 cents) was too much for me and I went into fight or flight mode. Yes, I ran. I broke out into a full-out sprint down the lazy cobblestone road. I didn’t dare look back to see if he was gaining on me, nor to see if Laura (the volunteer who was with me at the time) had escaped. It was every woman for herself.
Had we been in a busy city in the states, I imagine the on-lookers would have been quite puzzled to see two adult women (one in a skirt and high heels, the other in flip-flops) sprinting down the road, followed by a man wearing a tribal mask and smeared in oil. But in trujillo, the only confusion was as to why we were running.
I punched the air in triumph when I reached the end of the road as our friend had given up and gone after a more complacent target. A nearby woman asked us why we were out of breath. Upon explaining that we were running away from the barbaric indian, she looked at us with confusion and said “but why are you afraid of him? He won’t hurt you, just pay him”.
I have met cultural differences over the past year with enthusiasm and as great learning opportunities. However, on this particular day, when we ran into what appeared to be the barbarian’s 8 year old brother, Laura said with all the attitude and sass of a girl from Jersey, “Nombre!” (the Honduran equivalent of the “Z-snap”) and I shouted “no me toques!” (don’t touch me!) with all the attitude and sass of someone who had just run away from a grown man covered in oil and threatening to curse me and dirty my clothes if I didn´t pay him 5 cents.
Laura and I laughed the entire drive back to the farm.
I love this country!
I look forward to hearing from you soon!
love,
jenny
El indio barbaro
The following story is completely true. Names have not been changed to protect the innocent. I am not that creative. At no point during the following story was I ever in any actual danger (except maybe from my own clumsiness). I hope you laugh reading this story at least as half as much as I did experiencing it, re-telling it, and now, writing about it.
One of the many joys of living in a culture different to the one in which I was raised, is learning about new cultural practices. Holidays are jam packed of these learning opportunities. One of the most striking lessons I have had was that of the “indio barbaro”.
Surrounding any holiday, a few men from the Garifuna community put on tribal masks, cover their bodies in oil, and blow a whistle at anyone they meet asking for money. If you don’t offer them money, they mark your clothes with oil (a physical representation of the curse they have placed upon you). The indio barbaro (or barbaric Indian) rarely travels alone and is usually accompanied by another who blows a whistle to announce their arrival. Personally, I think this is a flaw in the system as one almost always has a warning.
For those who have grown up being followed by men covered in oil blowing whistles and motioning for their money, it is completely normal and quite comical. I didn’t, and it scares the hell out of me. Nevertheless, I grit my teeth, pay my lempira and scurry on my way.
On one particular day, the thought of paying this man and parting with my lempira (about 5 cents) was too much for me and I went into fight or flight mode. Yes, I ran. I broke out into a full out sprint down the lazy cobblestone road. I didn’t dare look back to see if he was gaining on me, nor to see if Laura (the volunteer who was with me at the time) had escaped. It was every woman for herself.
Had we been on a busy street, I imagine the on-lookers would have seen quite the sight as two adult women (one in a skirt and high heels, the other in flip-flops) sprinting down the road, followed by a man wearing a tribal mask and smeared in oil.
I punched the air in triumph when I reached the end of the road as our friend had given up and gone after a more complacent target. A nearby woman asked us why we were out of breath. Upon explaining that we were running away from the barbaric indian, she looked at us with confusion and said “but why are you afraid of him? He won’t hurt you, just pay him”.
I have met cultural differences over the past year with enthusiasm and as great learning opportunities. However, on this particular day, when we ran into what appeared to be the barbarian’s 8 year old brother, Laura said with all the attitude and sass of a girl from Jersey, “Nombre!” (the Honduran equivalent of the “Z-snap”) and I shouted “no me toques!” (don’t touch me!) with all the attitude and sass of someone who had just run away from a grown man covered in oil and threatening to curse me and dirty my clothes.
Laura and I laughed the entire drive back to the farm.
I love this country!
I look forward to hearing from you soon!
love,
jenny
One of the many joys of living in a culture different to the one in which I was raised, is learning about new cultural practices. Holidays are jam packed of these learning opportunities. One of the most striking lessons I have had was that of the “indio barbaro”.
Surrounding any holiday, a few men from the Garifuna community put on tribal masks, cover their bodies in oil, and blow a whistle at anyone they meet asking for money. If you don’t offer them money, they mark your clothes with oil (a physical representation of the curse they have placed upon you). The indio barbaro (or barbaric Indian) rarely travels alone and is usually accompanied by another who blows a whistle to announce their arrival. Personally, I think this is a flaw in the system as one almost always has a warning.
For those who have grown up being followed by men covered in oil blowing whistles and motioning for their money, it is completely normal and quite comical. I didn’t, and it scares the hell out of me. Nevertheless, I grit my teeth, pay my lempira and scurry on my way.
On one particular day, the thought of paying this man and parting with my lempira (about 5 cents) was too much for me and I went into fight or flight mode. Yes, I ran. I broke out into a full out sprint down the lazy cobblestone road. I didn’t dare look back to see if he was gaining on me, nor to see if Laura (the volunteer who was with me at the time) had escaped. It was every woman for herself.
Had we been on a busy street, I imagine the on-lookers would have seen quite the sight as two adult women (one in a skirt and high heels, the other in flip-flops) sprinting down the road, followed by a man wearing a tribal mask and smeared in oil.
I punched the air in triumph when I reached the end of the road as our friend had given up and gone after a more complacent target. A nearby woman asked us why we were out of breath. Upon explaining that we were running away from the barbaric indian, she looked at us with confusion and said “but why are you afraid of him? He won’t hurt you, just pay him”.
I have met cultural differences over the past year with enthusiasm and as great learning opportunities. However, on this particular day, when we ran into what appeared to be the barbarian’s 8 year old brother, Laura said with all the attitude and sass of a girl from Jersey, “Nombre!” (the Honduran equivalent of the “Z-snap”) and I shouted “no me toques!” (don’t touch me!) with all the attitude and sass of someone who had just run away from a grown man covered in oil and threatening to curse me and dirty my clothes.
Laura and I laughed the entire drive back to the farm.
I love this country!
I look forward to hearing from you soon!
love,
jenny
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
A singed arm hair christmas
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from the finca del niño!!!
I hope the Christmas season and New Year were full of the peace and hope that only baby Jesus can bring.
It has been a while since my last entry, and as action packed as it has been, I will just give a short account of Christmas and New Years.
Christmas on the finca this year was as beautiful and joyous as I could have hoped for. Christmas eve morning, I woke up at 5 am to help 5 teenage girls make almost 500 tamales (okay so this number might be slightly exaggerated, but not by much!) I stirred a pot of corn paste over an open fire until all the hairs on my arm were thorough singed and I thought that I may have dislocated my shoulder, and then I stirred about 30 minutes longer. Just between you and me, I am not sure that the taste reflects the amount work that is put into tamale making. I think the richness of the tamale comes in the time spent with family and friends watching your arm hairs burn off.
After bandaging my arms, I collapsed on my bed for a quick nap before mass. After mass, the finca and our neighbors gathered to share a traditional Honduran Christmas dinner of tamales, chicken sandwiches and coke. After stuffing our mouths, we watched Christmas plays that the kids prepared that went smoothly until a spider appeared on stage and scared one of the angles. As she ran screaming off the stage the rest of the angles began stomping in a futile attempt to kill the interrupting spider. It took me about 10 minutes to regain composure after my laughing fit, and the rest of the night I had to fight spewing coke out my nose when thoughts of Diana, the poor spider and killer angles popped into my head.
As Christmas eve is the big day of celebration at the finca, Christmas day was pretty low key. The volunteers spent the day passing around the phone so we could talk with our families, eating chocolate, and swimming in the ocean.
New years eve was just as memorable. After an evening communion service, we all filed into our youngest girls’ house for more tamales (yes!) and coke and dancing. Exhausted from the previous week, I was looking forward to the dancing to end around 10pm and me hitting my pillow in a deep sleep by 10:15. No such luck. The dancing only paused long enough to shoot off a few fireworks (aka small explosives) and then continued well past 2am!
Early the next morning, Laura (another volunteer), sister Margarita and I all piled into a pickup and headed off for Buenos Aires to celebrate the baptism of a former volunteer’s son. Buenos Aires is a tiny village about 1½ hike up a small mountain with no electricity. The view is possibly the most breathtaking in Honduras. That night we shared a meal of beans, coajada and tortillas de maiz by candlelight as our host shared stories of living in rural Honduras, the effects of the US economy on Honduras (yes, we feel the US economic problems here as well) and his hopes for the new year. The next morning we woke up at 5am to hike up the hill and watch the sunrise.
Beginning 2009 with star gazing, baptisms, sunrise watching and great conversations, I can feel nothing but hope for the year. I feel so blessed to be apart of this incredible mission for another year and am so thankful for the opportunity to experience the Love that envelops this project.
I hope that you all are well, and look forward to hearing from you soon!!!
love,
Jenny
I hope the Christmas season and New Year were full of the peace and hope that only baby Jesus can bring.
It has been a while since my last entry, and as action packed as it has been, I will just give a short account of Christmas and New Years.
Christmas on the finca this year was as beautiful and joyous as I could have hoped for. Christmas eve morning, I woke up at 5 am to help 5 teenage girls make almost 500 tamales (okay so this number might be slightly exaggerated, but not by much!) I stirred a pot of corn paste over an open fire until all the hairs on my arm were thorough singed and I thought that I may have dislocated my shoulder, and then I stirred about 30 minutes longer. Just between you and me, I am not sure that the taste reflects the amount work that is put into tamale making. I think the richness of the tamale comes in the time spent with family and friends watching your arm hairs burn off.
After bandaging my arms, I collapsed on my bed for a quick nap before mass. After mass, the finca and our neighbors gathered to share a traditional Honduran Christmas dinner of tamales, chicken sandwiches and coke. After stuffing our mouths, we watched Christmas plays that the kids prepared that went smoothly until a spider appeared on stage and scared one of the angles. As she ran screaming off the stage the rest of the angles began stomping in a futile attempt to kill the interrupting spider. It took me about 10 minutes to regain composure after my laughing fit, and the rest of the night I had to fight spewing coke out my nose when thoughts of Diana, the poor spider and killer angles popped into my head.
As Christmas eve is the big day of celebration at the finca, Christmas day was pretty low key. The volunteers spent the day passing around the phone so we could talk with our families, eating chocolate, and swimming in the ocean.
New years eve was just as memorable. After an evening communion service, we all filed into our youngest girls’ house for more tamales (yes!) and coke and dancing. Exhausted from the previous week, I was looking forward to the dancing to end around 10pm and me hitting my pillow in a deep sleep by 10:15. No such luck. The dancing only paused long enough to shoot off a few fireworks (aka small explosives) and then continued well past 2am!
Early the next morning, Laura (another volunteer), sister Margarita and I all piled into a pickup and headed off for Buenos Aires to celebrate the baptism of a former volunteer’s son. Buenos Aires is a tiny village about 1½ hike up a small mountain with no electricity. The view is possibly the most breathtaking in Honduras. That night we shared a meal of beans, coajada and tortillas de maiz by candlelight as our host shared stories of living in rural Honduras, the effects of the US economy on Honduras (yes, we feel the US economic problems here as well) and his hopes for the new year. The next morning we woke up at 5am to hike up the hill and watch the sunrise.
Beginning 2009 with star gazing, baptisms, sunrise watching and great conversations, I can feel nothing but hope for the year. I feel so blessed to be apart of this incredible mission for another year and am so thankful for the opportunity to experience the Love that envelops this project.
I hope that you all are well, and look forward to hearing from you soon!!!
love,
Jenny
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Funny Stories!
Because I love telling stories, I am going to tell you all funny story or two (though it is a lot better in person because I can use gestures, and when you uses gestures when you are typing it ends up that nothing shows up on the screen). So here goes...
El viejito
Once upon a time, (last thursday) I was headed back to the finca (where I live) on a bus. The volunteer I was traveling with had some melted ice in her cup (water) and asked me to throw it out the window as we pulled away from the bus stop. The problem was that the window was not right next to me, but rather behind me a bit. So I turned around and awkwardly stuck my arm out the window and poured it out. As I was turning back around to face forward, out of the corner of my eye, I saw an old man standing on the side of the road, throw up his arms as if to say (if he spoke english) “WHAT THE HECK!” Sure enough I hit him dead on with my melted ice. Slowly, spanish rumblings and giggles spread inside the bus, and within two minutes, the entire bus was rolling with laughter at the gringa (that's me) who threw the water on the viejito (little old man). While I did feel quite badly about the old man, I had a hard time stifling my laughter, especially as the volunteer to my left was also in hysterics. The end.
The ant trail
About a week ago, I was sleeping soundly in my room when I felt something tickle my face. Still half asleep, and thinking it was just a cockroach, I tried swatting it away with my hand several times, but had no luck. Finally,it grasped onto my fingers. I lied there a moment, somewhat confused and then violently swung my hand backward when I realized that it was not a cockroach, but a crab crawling on my face and now was holding onto my fingers. The crab flew back, hit the wall, and fell down below my bed. Not wanting to get out of bed because it was chilly and I just wanted to go back to sleep, I reasoned in my dreamy state that the crab could not climb back onto my bed, so I was safe just to fall back asleep. So I did.
I imagine that the crab was a little angry at me for throwing him (or her) against the wall, so while I was sleeping, it stood on a box under by bed, reached it's little crab claw up through a crack, and pinched my butt. I immediately sat upright in bed and sat in shock for a few moments trying to decide on the best way to proceed. I took out my flashlight and peaked under my bed, but not seeing the crab, and still feeling pretty tired, I decided to go back to sleep.
The next day, I searched the room for my attacker, but when I didn't find him, I figured he found his way out. Three nights later, I was again asleep in my room when I woke with the crab dancing on my hand. I instinctively flung the crab across the room towards my roommate (sorry Floro!) and feeling safe again, I went back to sleep. I searched my room the next day but again the crab was no where to be found.
Many of you are probably now thinking that I may have been dreaming or hallucinating, and I admit, I was wondering the same myself, until we found the trail of ants. The next day, my roommate discovered a trail of ants under her bed that lead her to discover the perpetrator, dead. I don't know if it was his final flight across the room, starvation, or guilt that killed him, but he met his demise and became ant food. I felt vindicated. :)
Well friends, I hope you all are doing really well. I miss you dearly, and can't wait to hear from you soon!
Love,
Jenny
Happy Halloween!!!
p.s. I am feeling quite detached from the news in the states. I don't get much news here unless I take the time to look it up online when I am in town. If you see an interesting article, send it my way!
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
same 'ol...
Hey everyone! I hope this finds everyone well and in good spirits!
I was writing my brother a letter today and decided it might be blog appropriate (nick, hopefully you will get the letter in a week or so).
I haven't been sending as many letters as I have in the past because it seems that life has somewhat normalized. When I do write, I often find myself saying “not too much going on around here. Pretty much same 'ol stuff.” It seems so strange that this life, once so foreign, has now become my norm.
It is normal to only check my email once a week. It is normal to have the lower half of my body covered in mosquito bites, while the upper half is drenched in sweat and heat rash. It is normal for the electricity and/or water to go out at any moment (and sometimes I even enjoy it). I am not phased when a gecko falls off the wall and hits the table. I anticipate having to pick ants out of the sugar, so I allow a few extra minutes when cooking. When I am late, I shrug and give thanks for the extra protein. When I hear “tappty-tap-tap” in my room, I calmly look for the broom and sweep the crab out from under my bed.
But I guess everything hasn't lost its magic. My heart still bursts with joy when Elsi sits in my lap during prayer or Jose Pastor shoots me his mischievous little grin. I still get goosebumps when I hear a baby's heartbeat in its mother's womb. I still cross my fingers that I will receive letters or email (a shameless request for you to write more, I know). I am still stopped in my tracks and stare in awe on moonless nights and I think I can see every star in the sky. I am still stopped in my tracks and stare in awe at when the moon is full and shining out every star. I still scream when I see a tarantula or scorpion or jellyfish or stingray (all non-poisonous). I still laugh out loud at every one of Sarah Floro's jokes. I am still brought to tears when mothers ask me to abort their unborn baby because they cannot feed the ones they already have. I still feel ashamed when I eat three meals a day, and many of our neighbors are lucky to get one. I still believe that God is somehow making sense of this mess that we call the world, and am so blessed to be a tiny part of it.
To you my friends, thank you for being apart of this messy and beautiful world and making it a little better every day with your presence.
paz,
Jenny
I was writing my brother a letter today and decided it might be blog appropriate (nick, hopefully you will get the letter in a week or so).
I haven't been sending as many letters as I have in the past because it seems that life has somewhat normalized. When I do write, I often find myself saying “not too much going on around here. Pretty much same 'ol stuff.” It seems so strange that this life, once so foreign, has now become my norm.
It is normal to only check my email once a week. It is normal to have the lower half of my body covered in mosquito bites, while the upper half is drenched in sweat and heat rash. It is normal for the electricity and/or water to go out at any moment (and sometimes I even enjoy it). I am not phased when a gecko falls off the wall and hits the table. I anticipate having to pick ants out of the sugar, so I allow a few extra minutes when cooking. When I am late, I shrug and give thanks for the extra protein. When I hear “tappty-tap-tap” in my room, I calmly look for the broom and sweep the crab out from under my bed.
But I guess everything hasn't lost its magic. My heart still bursts with joy when Elsi sits in my lap during prayer or Jose Pastor shoots me his mischievous little grin. I still get goosebumps when I hear a baby's heartbeat in its mother's womb. I still cross my fingers that I will receive letters or email (a shameless request for you to write more, I know). I am still stopped in my tracks and stare in awe on moonless nights and I think I can see every star in the sky. I am still stopped in my tracks and stare in awe at when the moon is full and shining out every star. I still scream when I see a tarantula or scorpion or jellyfish or stingray (all non-poisonous). I still laugh out loud at every one of Sarah Floro's jokes. I am still brought to tears when mothers ask me to abort their unborn baby because they cannot feed the ones they already have. I still feel ashamed when I eat three meals a day, and many of our neighbors are lucky to get one. I still believe that God is somehow making sense of this mess that we call the world, and am so blessed to be a tiny part of it.
To you my friends, thank you for being apart of this messy and beautiful world and making it a little better every day with your presence.
paz,
Jenny
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Quotable quotes
Hello to my oh-so-dedicated friends and family who still read my blog a YEAR after its beginning. You are amazing! Next time we meet, I will give you a big hug of thanks, but until then I give you a gold star!
This week I will not recount stories of herding and being bitten by small children in mass, scary allergic bee stings or an incredible homecoming hour of adoration that moved me to smiles, laughter, tears and songs of praise. Rather, I will let another much more articulate man do so. I have recently started reading “Into the Wild” by Jon Krakauer and found a quote by Thoreau so inspiring that I want to read Walden again (the first time through I struggled with the cliff notes). So, find a quiet place and be inspired by the following:
“No man ever followed his genius till it mislead him. Though the result were bodily weakness, yet perhaps no one can say that the consequences were to be regretted, for these were a life in conformity to higher principles. If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry more immortal,--that is your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. We soon forget them. They are the highest reality.... The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched. “
One may live a life full suffering or challenges, but I think life will emit those sweet fragrances, weather living in Honduras, traveling the world, or working a 9-5 at a construction site. We are challenged to pick a path that we believe in and the truly experience and greet each moment with joy.
Go. Greet your days and nights with joy.
Jenny
This week I will not recount stories of herding and being bitten by small children in mass, scary allergic bee stings or an incredible homecoming hour of adoration that moved me to smiles, laughter, tears and songs of praise. Rather, I will let another much more articulate man do so. I have recently started reading “Into the Wild” by Jon Krakauer and found a quote by Thoreau so inspiring that I want to read Walden again (the first time through I struggled with the cliff notes). So, find a quiet place and be inspired by the following:
“No man ever followed his genius till it mislead him. Though the result were bodily weakness, yet perhaps no one can say that the consequences were to be regretted, for these were a life in conformity to higher principles. If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry more immortal,--that is your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. We soon forget them. They are the highest reality.... The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched. “
One may live a life full suffering or challenges, but I think life will emit those sweet fragrances, weather living in Honduras, traveling the world, or working a 9-5 at a construction site. We are challenged to pick a path that we believe in and the truly experience and greet each moment with joy.
Go. Greet your days and nights with joy.
Jenny
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