My Arroz Zen

The work station... Piles and piles

There is rice everywhere here. Every Bolivian staple dish has rice. We hardly go a day without eating it. Since I’ve been here, too, there have been bags of rice for the girls to sort through to pick out the woody part—every day there is a schedule of what girls need to finish their bags.  Such an every day thing here, I never could have imagined rice being an instrument into a deeper understanding of why I am here.

A couple of days this week, I have sat down to help the girls pick through the rice. Talk about a tedious task…. But after sitting through it, concentrating on the menial task in front of me, I think I finally understand those mini Zen gardens that people have in their offices or homes—it totally opened my mind up to a deeper insight for the first time since being in Bolivia.

My first realization was the most obvious and had to do with the physicality of picking through the rice. Rice is small, as is the woody part that needs to be removed. To pick through and separate the pieces requires fine motor skills and the fine touch of your fingertips. It was this intricate use of my fingertips that I was reminded of the blessing of being alive. All dramatics aside, I am blessed to be here on earth. As many of you know, in my junior year of high school I ran through a glass door severing my right wrist close to the main artery. After two surgeries, to repair and transfer tendons, and unbelievable nerve pain, I regained my motion, but lost normal fine touch feeling in three and a half of my fingers. On a daily basis, I rarely recall my injury. Muscle memory has taken over, and my brain has adjusted in order to make up for my lack of total feeling in my fingers. But when a task is placed in front of you requiring the use of your fingertips—like picking rice—the fact that you don’t have the greatest feeling in your fingers becomes apparent.

My arm the night of my accident
Sorry if anyone gets queasy!

My ring finger has now become my pointer finger. Any task that requires the use of my pointer finger, my ring finger takes over if possible: scrolling on my computer, picking things up, pressing buttons, using scissors, and picking rice. It’s actually pretty weird, and one of my younger girls even asked me why I scrolled on the computer with it rather than my other finger. It had never fazed me before she asked. Now I’m kind of self-conscious…

My accident has changed the way I live, on small levels (using a goofy finger for things) and on grand levels (reminding me that life is a fragile thing). Not having full feeling in three and a half of my fingers is a reminder to me what I am capable of getting through and that life can never be taken for granted.

My time with the rice also really got me thinking about my girls and the life that they each lead. You know, going through the rice really is not fun. It is a strain on your neck and your eyes, and it is just plain boring! But the girls need to do it, and although I don’t always agree with it, it even comes before sleep or homework. As a volunteer rather than one of the girls, I am able to come and go from the rice room as I please. I can choose to go in to pick rice; I can choose the amount of time I spend in there. The girls are not able to do so. I began to see the parallels between the rice room and the hogar, and even Bolivia itself. I chose to come and live in the hogar for a year, and I have the ability to leave at any time if I ever feel the need to. If I feel uncomfortable, if I miss my family, if I feel overwhelmed—I can walk right out the door. I could even hop on a plane if I felt that strongly about leaving to go back to the comforts of the United States…to the family I know, to the weather I am used to, to the comfortable life I am used to living. These girls do not have that option. This is their life. The food they eat is the food they know. Sharing a home with 119 other people is they home they know. The structured cleaning and tasks that come up (like the rice) is the structure they know. I am only here for a year of my life, and then I get to go back to the luxurious things that I know: owning a car, going to a restaurant to eat, having a boyfriend that I don’t have to hide from the madre ;). But really, I have the opportunity to leave all of the difficulty I have experienced here behind and go on with my life. This is their life, and I am only here for a year of it.

This thinking led me to the insight that, yeah, I am here. I am living among these girls. I just finished reading Life of Pi by Yann Martel. Great book. But there was one excerpt that gave me a wow moment while reading because it went right along with the discovery I had while picking rice:

“You are as likely to see sea life from a ship as you are to see wildlife in a forest from a car on a highway…If you want to see wildlife, it is on foot, and quietly that you must explore a forest. It is the same with the sea. You must stroll through the Pacific at a walking pace, so to speak, to see the wealth and abundance it holds.”

If I am going to find the true wealth and abundance of Bolivia and Hogar Sagrado Corazón, I cannot just be an outsider looking in. I’ve gotta be here! And I’ve got to do it quietly—that’ll be a struggle :). I need to be here during their meals eating what they are eating; I need to be here when they are sitting around talking; I need to be here to share mass with them; I need to be here with them picking through rice. I can learn so much more! I want to show them that I want to be here and learn about their lives. Some of these things I may not particularly like or may be different than what I am used to, but this year is not about me. It is easy to avoid eating the food the cook prepares and go out and buy something. It’s easy to avoid the rice room and find something else to do. It’s easy to shut myself up with my computer instead of talking with the girls. This year is going to be a constant challenge for me to push myself beyond what is easy.

All of this thinking of being present made me think of Jesus. Throughout his life, Jesus was among people who lead different lives from him, who were different from him. He was constantly traveling, and He opened himself up to people from all different walks of life. He was present—eating among the tax collectors and talking with the Samaritan woman. These people were different from him. He was just there and loved them. That is all we are all called to do: Open up our lives to people who are different from us and just love them. I have tough days here where I feel out of place, when I am uncomfortable, or when I am lonely. But I know that these are the challenges God is giving me, and they are the times when he is most calling me to be like His son. And God always brings me back up, giving me opportunities to feel a part of the community again—He gives me special moments with my girls. Really, that’s the best gift I could ever receive.

Sooooooo if ever there is a time in your life where you feel you need a little self-discovery, grab yourself some rice. It works wonders. 

Love from Montero,
Lain