When It Rains, It Pours - Thanksgiving Day: From Bitter to Thankful

Thanksgiving has to be one of my favorite American holidays. Family, food, football – it’s an American classic. Teaching at an international school has its benefits and disadvantages; for me, not having Thanksgiving off is a disadvantage. Americans have it right, two or three days off for a holiday all about thanks and food – who wouldn’t want that?

Anyway, my Thanksgiving morning was typical for the Philippines except for that fact that I woke up on time (5 a.m.) and left early (5:45) so that I could make it to the Middle School Thanksgiving breakfast on time (6:15). I looked forward to this breakfast all week. I hardly ever ate a real breakfast and a spread of cinnamon rolls, eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, fruit, and coffee would soften the blow of working on an American holiday. Purse, work and coffee in hand, I headed out the door and gate, locking everything as I left. My roommate was gone so I was going solo that morning.

I got to my car and started rifling through my purse for the car keys. About 3 minutes later, I realized that the keys were locked in the house, with my house keys. At this point, I was sitting on the ground in front of my house, in a skirt, with all the contents of my purse displayed in front of me. Ok, well decisions had to be made. I had a cell phone, right – nope, in classic Kelli fashion I left it in Meg’s car the night before. So obviously, for the next 30 minutes I attempted to break into our well-secured house. I tried climbing over the wall, no luck – flip flops don’t have very good traction. I grabbed a crowbar from the car and tried to rig the gate door – nope. I finally put a pair of jeans (I had a change of clothes for that night) over the glass on one of the walls, got one leg up and realized this was going to really hurt when I jumped and landed on the water heater.

Ok, plan B. I decided to walk to a neighbor’s house, hoping they had not left for school (unlikely since it’s 6:15) and had the spare keys. So I grabbed my coffee and headed down the hill to walk the 4 or 5 blocks to their house. As I was walking it started to rain, not hard, but enough to push me off the edge. The inner monologue started to pound my ears – how could I be so stupid? Why isn’t Meg here? I’m going to be late! I’m missing breakfast! It’s raining! I hate this country! And so on. I get to the neighbors house, they have left but the dad was at home. He called his wife and then searched for the spare keys. No luck. Spare keys at this point were already at Faith.

Ok, now what? It was about 6:45 as I started back to my house. At this point anger seemed pointless so I spent the walk changing the inner monologue to something more positive. At least I lived in a safe house that’s hard to break in to. I lived in a neighborhood where a woman could walk around safely by herself. I lived near people I know. I complained yesterday that I didn’t get to exercise in the morning. My helper was coming at 7, so I could get in the house. I worked at a place that was very considerate about these things and I had a principal who was kind and understanding. Be thankful – it was Thanksgiving after all.

I arrived back home, 5 minutes later my helper came. I sent a quick email to my principal and was out the door by 7:10, the beginning of classes. Traffic was graciously light and 40 minutes later I walked into first period to the questions of eager eighth graders trying to guess why I was late.

The rest of the day was fairly typical (I did get leftover breakfast during break) and it all lead up to a glorious Thanksgiving dinner with my extended philafam.

Lessons learned, no one was hurt and nothing was broken. Thanksgiving may not have been what expected or wanted but I did learn to give thanks in a situation that seemed pretty desperate at the time.

P.S. I'm still not quite at the laughing stage of this minor tragedy, so if you feel the need to make jokes, in words of my friends....."it's too soon." :)

House-Hunting: God's Blessing and Provisions

To say that house-hunting, for a month and a half, has been stressful and anxiety-ridden would be a slight understatement. Trying to keep a calm and cool exterior (the MK way :0), never show stress!) pushed all that anxiety, fear and doubt deep into the pit of my stomach (isn’t that how you get an ulcer or something?).

My roommate (Meg) and I have been blessed these last 5 months with a house sitting arrangement in a very nice, safe neighbor near metro Manila. Being an easy driving distance to malls, restaurants and free-parking (it’s a big deal) grocery stores, I was in denial about leaving the comfort I had become accustom to and try something new.

After looking at six different options of living arrangements, nothing felt “right.” One, back in the condos near Faith, would have been workable but they only wanted a year lease. Another seemed like a possibility, a cute two-bedroom house in a sub-division close to Faith Academy, however without any furniture/appliances, to make it livable the cost was reaching dangerously high and I had no idea where that money was going to come from. This was one aspect of the anxiety. The second was looking at houses and contemplating the idea of investing money into that house, the inevitable question about plans for next year kept popping up. Meg and I had several deep conversations and each one left me emotionally tangled and drained. No longer was I searching for a house for the next 6 months or so, I was searching for an answer to the big question, will I stay in the Philippines for a third year or go home? Although I’ve been praying about this since the first day of year two, God has not made it clear what his plan is for me next year. Honestly, I’m not sure I am even ready for that answer yet.

All this build up leads me to this past week. We had one more house to check out. A missionary answered our plea on Philmiss with an option of subletting a house in the valley (where FA is located). We didn’t know the family so visiting was unfamiliar territory. Also, we tried to decode the message because it seemed as if they were renting their house per room and neither of us was quite sure what that meant. I had been praying all week that this would be the house, if it didn’t work out the next step was unclear and I was pretty sure it would involve some of my hair falling out from stress. As Meg and I entered the kitchen, both of us individually felt it, this was “right.” Probably the entire time we were there, a giant smile was on my face, thanking God for his provision in my life, not just for my awesome roommate Meg but for our living arrangements this semester and next.

This was an entirely humbling and awe-inspiring experience. Although I kept the house for next semester in my prayers, I was crippled with doubt, never really letting go of control and fully committing to “God will work it out.” I am blessed and I don’t deserve it. What an amazing God we have and worship. Who are we to deserve his love and plan for our lives? Wow, it’s a good day when you realize he’s got it under control.

Giving Thanks

At MS morning devotions this Tuesday, my friend Ted shared that we should be thankful for the Lord’s work in our lives, especially after prayers are answered. Sitting in the office listening the thanks of my colleagues, I thought of a few “thanks” of my own.

Call it a poem or sentences strung together by a common theme. I hope you enjoy.

THANKS

I am thankful for a family that supports me but misses me when I’m gone.

I am thankful for old friends and the promise of new relationships.

I am thankful for students who want to learn and those that challenge me.

I am thankful for phila-fams and those who step in when yours is gone.

I am thankful for food, especially when it’s not cooked by me.

I am thankful for volleyball and the excitement of a new skill learned.

I am thankful for openness but grateful for silence.

I am thankful for roles filled and being able to help randomly.

I am thankful for tears and the exhausted sleep that follows.

I am thankful air conditioning and turning it off because you’re cold.

I am thankful for mentors and their unquestioned belief in your potential.

I am thankful for cars, especially the horn.

I am thankful for Facebook, Skype and any other modern-day time suck.

I am thankful for music and it’s ability to drown out life.

I am thankful that God has a plan because I sure don’t.

Back in the Saddle Again!

“The 2011-2012 school year has officially begun,” Superintendent Tom Hardeman’s voice range over the PC system in Cadd Auditorium this morning after the traditional flag raising ceremony.

It’s good to be back in the classroom welcoming a new year and fresh group of smiling, energetic students. WOW the summer flew by. A whirlwind tour of the western half of the US visiting family and friends, followed by one of the greatest PEP retreats ever, then back to the Philippines, nursing a severe case of jet lag and a minor cold but loving life.

PEP (a retreat for our returning missionaries to get the much needed R&R and debriefing) was amazing. In the beginning, it was tense. Our MK staff was a little light and the kids were energetic and demanded a lot of time. Once we got into debriefing, God really made his presence known and the kids were able to share openly and candidly in a safe environment. It was a blessed 10 days and no one wanted to leave.

First days of class went smoothly. I am really excited about the students I have. It’s going to a challenging but enriching year. I am particularly excited about Tiwalan and volleyball. I feel like I have a hand on how I want things to go in Tiwalan and I think I have a good group. Volleyball is going to be downright fun. The JV squad (which I coach) looks great and I am stoked to watch how the varsity is going to evolve with some new talent.

Seeing friends again is so much fun. We just slid right back into our brand of humor and shenanigans. Also, there are new friends to be made, something we had hoped. I can’t help miss those in the states and the UK. It’s an adjustment not seeing their faces everyday. This summer at PEP we talked a lot about goodbyes. As we drove away from the camp, my sister and I were crying and I said “being an MK sucks,” which is true and not at the same time. Goodbyes are hard to for everyone, but MKs experience them more often. But we also get a lot more "hellos" and new best friends. I know and love people on every continent – except Antarctica – and only a exclusive group of people can say the same.

Well, I’m here again, missing home, glad to be here again and looking toward the year ahead. Talk about mixed emotions! Thanks for reading, more to come soon (I hope :)).

*Photo by Don MacKay

Morning Sounds Across Worlds

On my first day back in Colorado, I woke up early expecting to have some quality time with my dad on father’s day over a routine cup of coffee. While he was finishing the worship set for that morning, I read an article in Nat Geo Travel issue about sounds of different locations and the experiences they signify. Inspired, I decided to write about the different morning sounds in my multiple worlds.

Philippines: Wake up (too early) to the rush of cars and honking outside my condo with the occasional rooster crow to greet me. I silence the steady whrrrr of the air conditioning. My upstairs neighbors have yet to do so since I hear the metallic ping of its condensation. Muffled voices and footsteps of maintenance workers starts outside my front door. After the regular morning routine, there is the comforting click of the lock to my front door. The morning ride consists of water noise and tire beating come from my car, with the Hilary and Scottie Show to drown it out – a Filipino morning talk show with one host from Scotland, strange but entertaining. A brief and sleepy good morning to everyone I pass on the way to my classroom. The not so silent start up of my classroom air conditioning and the windows log on greeting of my computer welcomes me to the day at school. After quiet, with the consistent tap of the computer keys, I hear the much too loud for 7 a.m. chatter of my eighth graders as they greet each other outside the door. The first full sentence spoken to me signifies the real beginning of my day, “Good morning Miss Boesel; will we get our papers back today?”

California (my sister’s house): Wake up (late) to the sound of whispering outside my door. “Let auntie Kelli sleep,” my sister says to my nephew or niece, which ever one really wants to get me up. Wait in silence until one of them slips away from her watchful eye, I hear the creak of the door and the soft, half-whispered wake-up call. The cool, soft creak of the wooden floor beneath my feet as I walk to the kitchen. Then there is the gentle splash of the creamer in coffee and the silent walk to the couch for the morning cuddle with my niece and the theme song to “The Backyardigans.” My day officially begins with my nephew: “Auntie Kelli, you remember yesterday, that game with the paper airplanes? Lets do it again!”

Colorado: Wake up (early) to the sound of the car starting or the rush of the outside street traffic. As I walk out of my room there is the clinking of my dog’s tags rushing to greet me. Stifled sounds of my dad’s guitar and voice leak through the air cracks from the basement. Patterned drips from the coffee maker seep from the kitchen as a settle into a chair with my dog’s head resting on my lap. Soft rustle of the magazine I’m reading. My dad walks up the stairs, not many words just a “Good Morning” or “You want so coffee?” because he understands the beautiful silence of the morning hours. After an hour or so, hear the start of the shower, soon my mom will be down more awake than I am and ready to talk. Next is the spurt of the yogurt container lid peeling from its body. My day officially begins with either my mom or my dad saying, “What are you going to do today? Blog, write a letter, send thank-you notes, workout to the Jillian Michael's video?”

*Disclaimer: Accounts of morning are screwed to my perspective and may have been embellished for effect.

Missing Home and Processing Goodbyes

This past weekend I had the pleasure of going with the eighth graders to their end of the year retreat. It was fun to hangout with my students outside the context of the classroom. On the bus ride home, I sat reflecting on the weekend and realized that I missed home. Not my American home, but my first home – Guatemala.

I’ve discover that I miss Guate more often in the Philippines than when I’m in the US. I’m sure it’s because of the similarities in culture and overall look of the two countries, but most of all I am taken aback by the differences, romanticizing the past as we all tend to do.

This particular weekend, I was reminded of the past because of two things. First, as a ministry component to the retreat, the class and teachers went to a community, recently affected by flood and fire in order to share songs, stories, treats and games with the children. As we walked around asking kids to join the fun, I was struck by my barrier of language, which made me feel uncomfortable and useless. I reverted in my mind to Spanish, which won’t work but feels like it should, and wished for the days of my youth where I interacted with kids without awkward conversations and gestures. Learning more Tagalog is something I want to do next year but in everyday life it’s not needed to communicate, making the need to learn it small. The ache in my heart was not only for these children but

also I realized I missed Spanish and ministering to kids at home.

The second blast from the past was during the campfire that night. The campfire was a time to say goodbye to the students leaving next year. My family left Guatemala when I was in 8^th grade, like several students in my class. I was probably a little too excited to leave then place of my youth, having a tough time with relationships, particularly with my classmates. I left without proper closure or goodbyes, leaving broken relationships and taking along the baggage of resentment. I’ve since dealt with these issues and said goodbye to classmates and Guate later in life, but I wish for the tears and closure shed at 8^th grade retreat this weekend. It was amazing to see my students pray for each other, cry for each other, comfort each other and process that grief every MK deals with throughout their lives. Without knowing it, they were saying proper goodbyes that will give closure to those who stay and those who leave. I wanted to tell them it’s hard to leave or stay, but facing the tears and farewells is so much better than separating with hurt and sorrow in your heart. I felt for my students yet I was envious of them, they grieved with friends because the community around them gave them the venue to do so and the adults led them through the healthy process of farewells – not everyone has that gift.

After this weekend, I missed home. I wished for what could have been. I ached for my students. And yet, I was also proud to be a part of something that was healing and the step in the right direction for these kids, who will have to go through this process again and again. I hope all of them, whether they are staying or leaving, appreciate the time spent together.

(Photos by Don MacKay)

Tears for "Mr. Holland’s Opus"

Last night as I read the last few reading logs from my students, I switched on the TV for a little distraction and background noise. After some channel surfing, I discovered “Mr. Holland’s Opus” on HBO. Now, this is one of my dad’s favorite movies – I guess with him being a musician and teacher, it strikes a cord. As a child, watching this movie seemed like a chore. It’s well written, acted and directed, but what 10-year-old cares about that? I liked the music, but given the choice, I would have chosen to change the channel. Last night, however, it seemed like the perfect solution to my needs.

For those of you that are unfamiliar with the plot line, Glen Holland is a brilliant composer that is forced into a teaching job due to monetary needs. Each year he teaches, he continues to dream of composing his masterpiece but life always seems to get in the way. Through his teaching, the plot focuses on specific students and his relationships with them. (Spoiler alert) At the end of the movie the music program is cut from the budget and Holland is forced into an early retirement. Seeing his life in terms of failures, as he is leaving the school for the last time he is drawn into the auditorium to a full house, celebrating his life as a teacher. The introduction to his opus (which his students play) ends with a former student telling him that they are his opus, his life’s symphony. (Cue waterworks).

As I sat in my chair, tears welling in my eyes – unusual – I realized the beauty of this movie as it relates to my life. The privilege to be involved in my students’ lives is not one I should take for granted. I feel a lot like Holland, I have dreams and aspirations to become a writer, but for now, due to God’s calling, I’m in the Philippines teaching. Whether I teach for two years or twenty, and no matter if I influence one student or fifty, God has given me this opportunity and unique influence, for which I am thankful. It is hard work, but I know if someday just one of my students realizes their love for writing, it will be worth it.

So, thanks Dad for making watch this movie multiple times as a child, and thanks Sky Cable for playing that movie at a time when I feel like a needed it the most. But most importantly, thank you God for gifting me with this opportunity to share one of my passions with the kids in my classes.

Hello Again & Outdoor Education - Read to find out what it is :)

Well I’m living true to my last post, that’s for sure – I am the worst blogger ever. Since it’s been three months since my last post this might be a long one.

I have a good excuse for being flaky – once January hit I have been in busy, stressed-out

mode. Not only was the yearbook due to the printers before March break (about 200 pages that we crammed into two weeks), but my life has been consumed by this thing called Outdoor Ed, which was finished mid-February, but I have been playing catch-up ever since.

Let me give you some background:

Outdoor Education is a week in second semester where the teachers at Faith and volunteers put on a week-long excursion for 180 middle school students from 3 different schools. Now, each year we rotate to a different site. This year we went to a volcano called Taal. Yes, it’s active and I stood by fumaroles and swam in a sulfur lake. There are 3 different sites the students visit, the Beach, the Reef and Taal. At each site, students experience different things to broaden their life experience and education.

It’s amazing, I wish every school had the opportunity to get out and explore the country in which they are living. It is truly the highlight of MS years at Faith. My job was to be a squad leader for 12 of my 8^th grade girls. This proved to be an exhausting task, but my kids were amazing. I really felt God work in their relationships and issues that they were working out. It was so great to get out of the classroom and get to know some of my girls on a different and deeper level.

I could go into so much detail but seriously, it would take me several pages to detail every moment of the trip but here are a few highlights. My squad killed 3 chickens, plucked and gutted them. It was disgusting and enlightening, I will never look at a chicken the same way again. Also, we were able to participate in a ministry day at a local school near the volcano. In all 3 days, 97 children accepted Christ as their Savior. It’s miraculous how God works beyond the limitations of time and language.

Another highlight was the bonfire after the Taal hike. After a long hike, a swim in a sulfur lake and a severe allergic reaction to horses and dust, I spent a couple hours chatting with several of my students. I loved talking to the about nothing specific but really enjoying the bonding time.

It was an eye-opening week that I wouldn’t trade for anything, but I will admit I was out of it the next couple of days.

It was such a blessing to be a small part of a great purpose, that MS students mark as a highlight of the years spent here.