illustrations:
Christmas- http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2133687&l=0e26e&id=5621123
The Last few months- http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2148890&l=565db&id=5621123 http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2148892&l=e1a7e&id=5621123

Tonight marks four weeks since my return to the United States. Part of the reason I haven’t written is because I find it very difficult to figure out what is necessary to say and how to both accurately and adequately represent my last few weeks in Armenia and the plop back into America.

The best I can do is rattle off some scattered thoughts. Before I do so, I just want to thank you for meeting me here, amidst confused meanderings, for these months. Please do not undervalue the effect your prayers, comments, emails, letters (however lengthy or brief) had, and continue to have, on my life. THANK YOU.

During my last few weeks I got in deeper and deeper with the village children. We hung out daily- whether that meant sitting around in the evenings, playing "football", adventuring through versions of "capture the flag" or making a serious effort to clean up the mess of a village.

An American family sponsored a group of my little buddies from the poor village school to clean for football uniforms. The village is literally LITTERED with CRAP. It is EVERYWHERE. And since it is everywhere, it is no particular person’s mess and no particular person’s responsibility.

Because of a lack of jobs and purpose, men loiter for long hours and shoot the breeze between cigarettes. Anywhere they congregate puts them in full view of the inhuman mess. Nobody does anything about it except to generously bequeath their situation and mentality to those who come after them...but they’re probably just re-gifting.

During our project, some of the kids who cleaned for uniforms picked up one piece of trash every ten minutes and didn’t at all understand the sense of what we were doing. Heck, I even had one kid who decided the best trash-picker-upper would have the heaviest bag, so he proceeded to bypass trash for sizable rocks.

Their logic was convincing. They didn’t make the mess, so it wasn’t their problem. Any area we cleaned would soon be dirty again within a day or two because of an incessant wind with the bad habit of depositing plastic bags right where you had just cleaned. It was impossible to clean up everything and very difficult not to be daunted by the amount of time it took to finish five feet. It would take weeks and a few more than 11 schoolboys to make a tangible difference.

That said, a handful got something out of it. A group of kids who were not on the football team came and cleaned with us anyway (probably more for something to do than for anything else, but still). And a couple of boys kept coming to clean even when they had put in enough hours to earn their uniforms. They cleaned both with me and on their own time. One made a comment that they lived in a place for pigs. He asked me if America was like this. His expression and deepening commitment through all of this cannot be translated.

The day before I left, this same group of friends ditched school (I know, what a good influence) and pulled me out of the Sisters’ house for a "surprise." They were five boys between the ages of eleven and fourteen. I was directed to sit down and watch as they acted out Armenian skits (all rhymed), each said something about who God is, recited poems that they wrote and memorized for me and sang me songs. The boy who I was closest with of the group turned, almost in kind of a self-disbelief, and said, "I have tears in my eyes".

That night a couple of co-volunteers and I roasted s’mores (or the closest thing to it- the same generous American family helped get me some graham crackers and mallows) with this core group of village kids. After burning everything they could get their hands on, and when it looked like the party was nearly over, they changed their approach and brought the fire everywhere else- including to a candle in front of our trailer.

At this point one of the poorest boys in the whole village (in every sense) and who is made fun of daily by everyone because he smells and is always dirty etc- turned to me and said, "can we pray?…can we pray for your- airplane?" The others immediately joined in- "yeah yeah- for your good trip home?" All the kids gathered around the candle, made the sign of the cross and prayed the Our Father, Hail Mary and Glory Be (prayers they learned from the Sisters) for my safe trip home.

It was all I could do to say anything after that- especially goodbye.

The goodbye to the disabled young adults in the Sisters’ home was also difficult- but in a different way. They understand something more of goodbye, because everyone- all the volunteers and Sisters- eventually say it. In fact, I worried that by coming and going I was opening their deepest wound. It is infinitely better that people come and love them than that they are alone, but it’s just hard. For the moment, and perhaps for always, they are in the care of the very loving hands of volunteers and Sisters.

Before I sign off permanently, I want to correct the image of Armenia that I dared to offer in one of my first entries- an entry I wrote before I had even exited Yerevan. I think I described Armenia as a kind of poor, Mexican Europe.

That is absolutely wrong.

I filtered the little I saw of Armenia through the little I had seen of the world- and that’s what came out. That’s the kind of thing I did/do all the time- and one of the many flaws about the way I think and act that this experience helped to surface.

And after almost ten months, I’m still not sure what to say about Armenia. She’s ancient and Eastern. She survived soviet oppression, but remains stuck somewhere and hesitant to leave that place. Faith and Religion are her forgotten bedrock. She embraced me, and I’m not sure why or what I am supposed to take from long days nestled in her mountains, but I hope someday that I can do something to thank her, her sons and daughters and their Creator.

zanzarik

I'm not exactly sure that's what they are called...but I think it is- and I believe it translates to something like "snow flower" (and if it doesn't, then it should, because that's what it is).

At the first sign of spring, the young people in our home were after me to go with them to the mountains to excavate snow flowers. I don't use the term "excavate" lightly. At first I thought it was ridiculous that we seemed to bring a whole kitchen drawer of all kinds of knives and spoons to dig these things out, but once we started, I was glad we had them. These high tech tools were necessary because you really have to get the flowers out at the root- otherwise they wither (and leave a nice little stench) in a few days. But if you preserve the root- they start to grow. A local villager gave me a bundle of these flowers on March 8th for "Women's Day", a holiday remnant of Communism, and they continue to sprout in my home. (And if something grows in my home- besides the mushrooms behind my bed- that is a small miracle).

If you suspect that I'm on the brink of a (cheesy) analogy- you're absolutely right. It's really snow flower time around here. The winter is disappearing, and a lot of my struggle (at least with daily things) wanes with the winter. My toilet is totally unfrozen (YES!) and I think I should have running water (at least for an hour or two a day) within the next few weeks.

In retrospect, I'm happy that I struggled at this level because it allowed me to start to enter the typical Armenian's shoes and because it pushed me to really trust in God at a level I never had before. I begin to discover the snow flowers that have grown from beneath the ice. I just hope that I can continue to see this thing through to the end, and take the flowers out by their roots.

I should also add that I'm leaving earlier than I thought- April 26th- so I have four weeks left here. Please pray I live in the present moment in Italian village, in Spitak, Armenia, as long as I am here.

This is short and abstract- but I have an important date to play "football" (soccer) with the village kids at five, and I need to head back to meet them.

May the peace of Easter fill your heart.

Wow, it has been a while since I've updated this. It's been impossible to find time. Did I really say in my last entry that I am here to just "be"? Well, I had to eat my words soon thereafter. And since I'm on the topic of words, I should mention that the other day I started talking to a woman in my best Armenian and she responded to me (in Armenian), "Sorry, but I don't speak English."

Yep, I'm that good.

A musical, Mendoza kind of Christmas

It was strange to be away from home for Christmas- but it was also good. The Sisters take their Catholic feast days pretty seriously (I've never been so liturgical in all my life), and Christmas was no exception. Christmas eve the Sisters and children celebrate a midnight mass (except that it's at ten pm) followed by a feast of desserts and a dance party. It was GREAT. We were going until 1am. I was back at the Sisters' house by 6am Christmas day, however, to stuff turkeys. The superior figured because I was American, I must be a professional turkey maker. So while I have absolutely no turkey-experience, I was appointed head chef by default.

The two big thrills of the day, however, had nothing to do with my turkeys. Notre Dame's Mendoza College of Business sent personalized gifts for each child from "Santa." Our 82-year old priest dressed up like Santa and handed out the presents to each person. IT WAS FANTASTIC. They usually each receive some variation of the same thing- but this year, they got gifts that really fit each of them. Many thanks to Mendoza College of Business, and all who collaborated to make this happen.

The second excitement of the day was the performance of the annual "Christmas drama." The superior dubbed me the head of this project. After getting to know the young people here for some months, I was pretty aware when we started planning this play that the kids couldn't memorize lines. But I also knew that they love music and that they don't realize how poor my guitar playing is...So, I took full advantage of these things and used some common Christmas songs and wrote a couple of easy ones and put together a Christmas Musical. The Annunciation was simplified to something as basic as: "Hail Hail Hail Mary/Do not be afraid/You will have baby Jesus/He will be the son of God" sung to a string of Ems and As etc.: but they remembered their songs (I was pumped) and it was a blast!

War with the day-to-day

By the time 7pm rolled around on Christmas, however, I was dead and starting to get sick. I had been yelling and singing all day. I was really really thirsty, and wanted a cup of cold water. But in that moment, it was absolutely impossible to get. You have to boil water to drink it, and we didn't have anything besides hot hot water. This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous (but it's a pretty accurate portrayal of where I'm at so I'm going to include it) but when I realized there was no possible way to obtain something as simple as a cup of non-boiling water, I had tears in my eyes (too bad I didn't collect and drink them- it would have been a good idea).

That's really been my life lately: war with the day-to-day. It's freezing and my home is as comfortable as a walk in freezer (ok, ok, fridge is probably more like it). A couple of weeks ago I noticed sheets of ice around my bed. I was keeping dirty clothes in a corner of the room, and when I went to wash them, I realized I couldn't pick some up because they had frozen to the floor (probably means I need to wash clothes more often- but it's not so easy to do). My pipes are totally frozen, so every day I bring a jug of water from the Sisters' house to my house (thank God their water works- it wasn't working last week and that meant it was "to the River"- which is what all the rest of the village is doing) and bring it home to use for boiling to wash clothes, bucket showers, and flushing my toilet...

Well, and speaking of flushing toilets, as of a week and a half ago my toilet stopped working. I tried all the local remedies (like dumping copious amounts of salt down the blessed thing) but all my solutions seem to leak out the base of the toilet and make my room/home smell like you-know-what. It's absolutely disgusting and has been the last straw in terms of my physical/mental/emotional health. For the last month I have a new health problem every day: I'll spare you details, but you name it, I've had it. I actually had a water parasite a couple of months ago, and we think it might be back (or at least some problem is back) so I am currently out of the Sisters' house right now to take a break and figure out what's going on inside me.

The other thing I didn't think about in coming here is how difficult it would be to eat nourishing food. The only vegetables the "shops" (there are two large-closet sized shops here) consistently have is cabbage (which I'm happy to have). There is an endless supply of potatoes, though, and that basically counts as a vegetable. I think part of my physical problem comes from the fact of having no nutrients inside me, except for whatever comes from potatoes and white flour.

The fight at this level of existence has been a taste of poverty. I never know what very essential thing will stop working tomorrow, and I have to depend on God utterly to be at peace with the situation. And God is good.

I can't really articulate the kind of spiritual and emotional struggle this has been- or my level of fatigue because of these tiny daily trails- but suffice it to say it's been real. I've also had a pretty challenging time with the mission here, but I think my inability to handle different situations stems from the struggle on this basic level. I feel stupid that these kinds of things have affected me the way they have- I thought I was a lot stronger than I really am. Nobody has died, I'm safe, and I'm the only person these things effect: but I really am at a breaking point despite my mental recognition that I'm not in any great peril. I think things are on the way back up- though I could still use some prayers.

Going to the dogs

I want to include is about the very real threat of, you guessed it: street dogs. I was warned during the summer to watch out for dogs in the winter because they are hungry and will attack. I hear/see them roam in packs around the village. I walk everywhere with a big stick. The other morning I was heading to the Sisters' house (I usually go before the sun's up) and was surrounded by aggressive, barking dogs. I ran back to my trailer, terrified. The funny thing about this is that everyone's scared, but nobody does anything to solve the problem. Last winter a Belgian volunteer was bitten, and reported the dog because he had bitten two other people. The police said there was nothing they could do about it because the one man who is authorized to shoot dogs had died. (After some time, they solved the problem, but it took a while).

Yup, that's Spitak. So is everyone just dying to come and visit???


Love and prayers- and lots of laughter.

December 7, 1988

It's strange to think that 19 years ago today, a catastrophic 7.2 earthquake hit this place and stole thousands of lives. Nearly everyone I have met lost a friend, a parent, or a sibling in the devastation. The reason Mother Teresa came to Spitak in the first place was to give immediate relief in the aftermath of the disaster. Her Sisters have been here ever since. In fact, if it weren't for the earthquake, I wouldn't be here. All of the factories, businesses, and the general spirit of the people was leveled at the time of the earthquake- and for the most part, it remains that way. Keep the people of Spitak in your prayers as they mourn their loved ones today!

It's been a while since I've written something! And I sit here, still not really sure what to write. I guess my time here has become less and less a trip or an adventure (though there are definitely still moments) and more and more my LIFE.

I began teaching at a school in a nearby village over a month ago. It's been an organizational disaster, but I love it anyway. First of all, the days I was supposed to go and teach kept changing and the kids never knew when to come and there were teachers who were not so thrilled that these kids were leaving their classes to come to learn English (and I don't really blame them). The second obstacle was that I have kids from ages 6-14, which makes planning a nightmare, because they're all at different levels. I have no resources (no books etc) and spend mornings making my own worksheets by hand. There's also that little language problem, which means the Sisters have been sending one of the less severely disabled children along with me to translate. While they like to come, that really makes things more of an adventure. But despite all of these minor challenges, I really like it (and was very surprised by that- I never thought I'd like to teach, or that I'd be teaching here!)

I spend a TON of time with kids- AND IT'S GREAT. The Sisters made me more or less responsible for a rosary prayer group for children that happens once a week. Forty kids come and belt out the rosary in between sporadic kicking and poking. I had to break up a fist fight a couple of weeks ago. I saw it start and was going to let it finish on its own, but suddenly there were 15 boys all punching each other and so I ran in the middle to try to break it up. I'm not really sure why the kids come, because they don't PRAY at all- and it's even boring for me! I feel bad for them, really, and sometimes I find myself goofing off with the boys during the rosary. Ridiculous. I've tried to find ways to get around saying a whole rosary and to make it more interesting, (I experimented a couple of weeks ago with making rosaries- but we didn't have beads, so we tried to make them with paper and flour and water...and it was a failure...surprise), but the Sisters are pretty strict with what they want, and I have to be very sneaky if I want to take initiative and do something different. I feel like I joined the ranks of a religious order and tacitly took a vow of obedience, which sometimes makes me CRAZY- but I'm sure it's good for me. Anyway, the kids are great and I still have a lot of fun despite the setting.

I also spend a lot of time just BEING with the young adults/kids in the home. I was feeling pretty down and useless a couple of weeks ago, and I reflected that my existence here IS often useless, but purposeful. I'm not always DOING something- like washing clothes, cleaning etc- but the needs of the children here transcend those basic needs. They are more or less taken care of better than the kids in the village. But they crave love and attention SO SO badly. I try to take them on walks (snow walks, now), play guitar & sing, draw, be goofy etc. A couple of days ago I was laying across the couch with my legs across Marine, while our 50 year old Vosky (who has Down Syndrome) was giving me a foot massage for like an hour! At the same time, I was holding the hand of Artur, ( 21 years & loves Americans because they say "hey guys") and surrounded by some other kids. My heart was bursting in this moment as I realized how blessed I am.

I can't believe it's already December. Wow. For the first time in my life I think I am experiencing Advent qua Advent. All of the things I thought were so normal about this time of the year have been stripped away. I admit that I really do miss some of the traditions of Christmas like baking with my mom and sisters, watching White Christmas, admiring Christmas lights, listening to Christmas music (the Sisters turn off all the radios during advent) etc. Advent here is really Advent- which is great, but different. I finally feel as though I'm preparing for the coming of Christ.

And, I don't need to watch White Christmas anyway, because I think I will have my own White Christmas, for the first time! It's really snowy in these beautiful mountains. And it's cold too. I washed clothes today and am afraid they will turn into icicles by the time I go home. Oh well.

As the time goes by, I am growing and continuing to be challenged and so very happy to be here. I also miss friends and family: you continue to be in my thoughts and prayers. My plan now is go home in late May, so we'll see what happens.

Love and God Bless,

Gen

"shnorhakalutzjun"

That means thank you. What a ridiculous word.

Anyway, the point of this post is to say that I finally had success uploading pictures. They're on facebook, but you can see them even if you're not a facebook member at:

http://nd.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2116830&l=bcb33&id=5621123


I'm doing well and am really enjoying teaching English- even though it's kind of crazy. The kids gave me a new name because "Genevieve" is too difficult. (And because I gave them new names for the same reason haha). My new name is "Anna."

Anyway, take care! And "shnorhakalutzjun" for everything!

confessions?

an unlikely trio:

So I am never really given more than five minutes notice, ok, I'm exaggerating- but an hour, at most- before anything major happens around here. This really bothered me at first, and usually lends itself to inefficiency and general mayhem, but I'm getting more used to it. So, about two weeks ago, I asked Sr. Anne Marie at 10 till 9 if I could go with this visiting Irish priest and a polish priest to the country of Georgia. She said sure.

SO ten minutes later I was in the car with the Irish priest, and maybe 13 hours later I was outside, next to a broken down car, in the-middle-of-nowhere Georgia, with a polish priest and an Irish priest. I was there for six days. (Sorry, not next to the broken down car, but in Georgia). It was a really good, and simultaneously difficult (a persistent theme) 6 days. I was surrounded by a new language and a new routine and new people, and this reawakened some loneliness that I felt really severely, especially at the beginning.

I did a lot of ministry- I was active in parish life (this polish priest is the pastor at a couple of parishes), which included visiting homes late at night to bring the Eucharist to the sick and going with some of the parishioners to see a 12th century monastery carved into the side of the cliff. At every home we visited, we were fed by the people- no matter how late at night we came. (And though I felt badly about taking their food, it was also an insult to refuse...and thank God because this Polish priest was essentially an ascetic who forgot that other people need to eat- at least sometimes).

It's amazing how even though I couldn't say anything to the people they were friendly and tried to do everything to talk to me- maybe it's because I seemed a kind of ridiculous addition to these two priests ("one of these things is not like the other"). One man tried very seriously to convince me to stay in his home for a week. The Irish priest was sure that this was so I could marry his son. I also had a recent dream that I was locked into an arranged marriage...

My time in Georgia deepened my growing awareness of the importance of lay people in the Church. I've spend a lot of time with religious- who are great- but who have a vocation that sometimes leaves them a little out of touch with non-religious, non-faithful people around them. Oftentimes people ride off religion as something for priests and nuns...and certainly not for young Americans. And this isn't the only reason why lay people are so important: but the bottom line is that they (rather, WE) really are.

Being away also helped me realize how much I love being here. And when I came back I was attacked with hugs and kisses and spanks (this kids really give a lot of physical affection). I was overwhelmed. I realized I am loved here- at least in some capacity- which is difficult and necessary to accept. I also realized that I DO have community here- it is a strange community, perhaps- a Belgian, a Latvian, an Armenian- but it is good community. I still really miss all of you.

the real side:

I haven't really said much about my practical (?) day to day struggles. I'm not sure why- perhaps because I felt like they were boring and I wanted to save this blog for interesting stories through attempts at reflection and humor. But the reality of my situation is a lot less interesting and less holy than any idea you currently have (even if you already thought it sounded boring and sinful). Also, have you ever been told straight up that you're not holy- with the qualification that you're not even a little holy? I was the other day. And I was frustrated at first, but this probably because I know how true it is.

Anyway, if you really want to understand what life looks like here, you should know that I spend hours every day with handicapped children. Ths is not the background of my time here, (as perhaps I've made it seem through the focus of my blogs), but rather, it IS my time here. I have absolutely no experience with this kind of thing, and it's not something that I'm naturally really good at, or honestly, that I ever thought I was interested in. I am learning so much more about myself and how to discipline with love and love when I'm tired, frustrated and feel manipulated. I also am doing some personal care things that I would like to say aren't uncomfortable- but they really are.

It's exhausting work because you're always always needed and wanted. I have so often been the object of intense emotion: sometimes I hear "you're my BEST friend" or "I love for you" (their English is poor, but the fact that they can speak English still amazes me. The other day I was walking around with one of the boys here who can't speak- but he signs for different things, and I'm beginning to be fluent in his language. While we were out, he essentially translated for me from Armenian to English). And at other times, someone hits me, tells me they're not speaking to me, slams doors in my face, screams that I don't love them...etc.

The kids here were abandoned, and not all of them are necessarily "orphaned." What this means is that a wound of rejection and abandonment is DEEP...and they crave love so badly- and some of them (a couple of the teenaged girls, especially) will do anything to get it. And the reality of the situation is that I am not sure how to give it to them- because sometimes showing too much affection actually makes the screaming and door slamming and beating worse. I'm struggling day to day- (with one girl in particular)- and I often make mistakes or become very visibly frustrated and exhausted.

a litany:

There is so much more I NEED to be giving and doing here. I find myself looking for ways out of more difficult and less desirable tasks. I'm really selfish with my time. I think too much about what I need.

I'm serious.

This is not self-deprecating; it's the truth. I am afraid that I'm stumbling, half-here but mostly in the past or the future, through each day. This is such a blessed time. And I have so much more (internal) work to do.

My return ticket was scheduled for Oct 15. That's in three days. I actually think it would be really damaging to come home now. I'm going to be here for a while.

I am getting more involved in the community- and through a random series events that have to do inadvertently with my godmother celebration- I am teaching English 3x a week in a school here. The regional superior came here last week (it was reallly great to meet her and talk with her), and helped move this thing forward. I start Monday.

If you had asked me last year to name to types of service that I was not so interested in, I might list working with disabled and teaching young children. But it doesn't matter so much and I can't explain why. God has greater plans.

I was told by the Sisters that I might be sent to Tbilisi, Georgia to work in their homeless shelter on and off. The Sisters there really need help. They told me this right when I thought I felt at home here. haha. I am learning (through being forced) to give up planning. If/when I do go to Georgia, it won't be until November, because I'm taking the GRE in Yerevan at the end of October.

Also, it's really interesting to be here- outside of the US and in this part of the world- during this current political situation. Especially with the new movement towards recognizing the genocide. I've gotten some comments about this. The reaction has been positive- but in a this-is-really-late-in-coming-since-it-happened-in-1915 sort of way.

Yesterday I bought 3 smallish cucumbers, 2 small onions, 2 tomatoes, 1 big big apple, and a loaf of bread for 210 dram- that's like 70 cents.

I've overdone it this time. Thanks for bearing with me. I send you my love and prayers, and I'd love it if you could send some my way, too.

I think I'm finally really here

Today is an important day for Armenians. (Unlike the US, today is actually the first day of fall here, but that's not why today is important). September 21 is the anniversary of Armenia's Independence and status as a republic (1991). Armenians are a little wary, however, because the celebration of days tied to their independence have been kind of hushed, and the government (?) has recently used these days to for celebrations completely unrelated to the republic/independence.

I wanted to share two important parts of my time here in the last two weeks:
I. The move from the "Recollection Room" to "Bittania" (I'm not really sure of the spelling on that one, but the English translation is "Bethany"
II. Becoming a Godmother


I. So I'm out of the upper room and into the village. This means I finally have separation from the work site (though I did like the recollection room). I live in a trailer in the village that the local government has allowed the MCs to use. Half of this trailer is occupied by a permanent Belgian volunteer, and the other half has become by little home- for now. I really like that I am finally in the village and among the people. I feel really strongly that I need to continue to learn Armenian and make an effort to talk and spend time with the people here as much as possible! The other thing about this trailer is that it is really living in poverty. It lacks a lot of commodities (I'm not sure this is the best word) that most people reading this would believe are absolutely necessary. I have to admit I am a little nervous about the cold in the coming winter- but so is everyone else who lives in the village year in and year out.

II. I've never been a godmother before. And if anyone asked me to imagine being a godmother, I would probably think of being a godmother in the Roman Catholic Church and of a baby, or child- or at least someone younger than me! Last week we had an Armenian Catholic service with 10 baptisms. Most were babies and children, but there was also one older woman who came to be baptised. While mass was beginning, the superior ran over to me and whispered "will you be a godmother?" It wasn't really a question. I didn't understand how I could be a godmother since I was baptised in a different rite and, furthermore, because I am going to leave Armenia at some point. She said, "oh it doesn't matter to them- they usually just find any Christian out on the street and pull them into the Church."

She told me to choose a godchild, which I felt particularly uncomfortable with...but I chose an older woman partly because I figured anyone choosing a godchild would have an easier time approaching a child or baby than an adult. In the Armenian rite they receive baptism, holy communion and confirmation all at the same time. So, she received her sacraments, became Catholic, and I thought I would never see this godchild of mine again.

Well turns out she teaches "sewing" to the children here. And, I hadn't really seen her around before because classes didn't start until the first week of September. She asked the Sisters two days after the baptism whether I could go to her house with two of the less severely handicapped children on the third day after the baptism. They told me this the night before I had to go. Then, the morning of, one of the Sisters mentioned that I might have to "wash" my godchild because the Armenians have a tradition of not bathing for three days because of the holy oil received in the sacrament of confirmation- and the godparent is supposed to bathe her godchild 3 days later.

I went over to my godchild's house with two of teenage girls from the Sisters' house. The first thing she did was show me pictures of her 22 and 24yr old sons who aren't at home right now. (Very strange to have a godchild with her own children- sons, no less- who are my age). A few of women from the village came, and we lit her baptismal candle as I washed her face, hands, head chest, and behind her neck three times. We then ate a kind of Armenian feast. The two girls who came with me acted as translators (which is really an amazing experience in itself). I spent several beautiful hours there. I can't even really describe how blessed this time was!

I realize more and more that I need to live in a disposition of openness and readiness to receive what God gives me. I never know what will come my way around here- each day really brings its own adventures in a more intense way than I've ever felt.

God is good and life is good.

I also climbed a mountain last week!

Thank you for your continued prayers and support and letters.

Love and prayers and peace!