One week Thursday I leave for Bolivia. My church is sending a small group of us to go down there for two weeks and do whatever they ask us to do: Work. Hang out. Visit. Travel. Hear their stories. Share ours. When I was asked if I would consider going I was pretty torn. It would mean that I couldn't be a part of the writing program I wanted to be in this fall, or apply for any teaching positions which I've been considering, or take any of the classes I wanted to take. I asked India what I should do, and she told me to go be with the poor kids, so that's what I'm doing.
I'm really excited.
I'm really excited now, because I was asked to write a piece about our trip to read in church last Sunday and I said, "Sure. No problem," and then spent two sleepless weeks fighting with God and myself and my cynic, and wondering if this was a completely masturbatory, self-serving affair that I was about to undertake on behalf of the poor. It darn near killed me to work through the writing of that thing, but when I was done I felt like I had won something huge and beautiful, and when I read it in church people told me I had given them something huge and beautiful. I don't mean the writing, of course, I mean the sentiment behind it. It felt like a gift. And now I feel so ready to go.
If you're the praying kind please pray for our safety? Things are getting riled up there. And for India to be alright without me?And for my rheumatoid arthritis, which is being a bitch? Damn that bitch.
If you're the money giving kind, you could always give me money. Money is nice.
If you're neither I also accept nice thoughts and warm waves from wherever you are.
Email me if you want to read what I read in church. firstname.lastname@example.org
(still no word on my momma. I wont be going if the news is bad. Pray for that, too?)