Belize: A Love Story

I want to write a little about Belize before the memories begin to fade, and when I think back on last week it's a no-brainer what stands out that I hadn't anticipated-- the hugs.

They started on Wednesday, and they took me completely by surprise.

By then I was well into the co-leading of Chaplain Time for a summer camp mission trip that was a joint venture between my parish and St. Andrew's in San Ignacio. I was well acquainted with the heat and need for sunscreen that came with being so close to the equator; I had developed a taste for Coke Light and was growing ever so slightly tired of eating chicken twice a day; I was an old hand at ignoring spiders, giant lizards, and my own smell. The days had been a blur of early rising, back-to-back sessions with over a hundred children between the ages of five and fourteen, and fevered planning sessions with my co-leader that nearly always began with despair yet ended with an abundance of potential activities. We'd been promised time in the afternoon to socialize and relax by the pool, but generally all I wanted was to shower and then sit in the shade while inhaling my weight in salt. I wrung out my shirt after camp each day, and I ate all the Pringles available in Cayo district. I'm 100% sure of it.


The Community Center, where Chaplain Time was held each day


The other teams had had months to meditate on how best to serve these kids-- from Sports to Music to Arts and Crafts, supplies had been ordered, plans had been drawn up, and procrastination defeated as a stellar itinerary including volleyball, tie-dye, and arrangements from Godspell took shape, all loosely draped around the theme of the Jonah story. On the Monday before our Saturday departure, my partner and I arrived early to weigh our suitcases and touch base with the other members of the Music team and left as co-leaders of the newly formed Chaplain Time. There were too many campers signed up to split them into just three kinds of activities; therefore, we had less than seven days to take the tale of a reluctant prophet and cetacean indigestion and whip up an entire week's worth of programs. They needed to be adaptable enough to work with 5-7, 8-10, 10-12, and 12-14 year olds, they needed to be fun and spiritually educational, and they needed to be basically free. I came home and downed most of a bottle of wine, and then chased it with some Maalox.

Between the two of us, the Internet, and the Holy Spirit, however, I boarded the plane on Saturday reasonably confident that we could pull this off. I'd packed some picture books that I knew would be excellent springboards into discussing Jonah's call, his need to trust in God, and themes of salvation in the story. I'd found a straw tower exercise online that I knew would be a hit with the older kids, and my partner knew lots of icebreakers and had a suitcase jammed with crayons, paper, balloons, squirt guns, and an inflatable monkey life preserver. Obviously we were well equipped.

And we were, in that the Holy Spirit didn't let us down. Again and again we turned the barest hint of a lesson plan into a jam-packed 45 minutes that always included games, songs, and laughter and always included time to talk about God and his good works. Moments that shone at the time have begun to take on new meaning as they're processed 3,000 miles away. One little boy wrote a poem basically telling us that he envisioned going into the priesthood one day. One of the five year olds said that God's love is like a doorbell. Take that one and sit with it a while.


The kids hard at work on a surprise for their counselors

But at some point, even in the hustle and bustle of each day, I'd begun to get to know the kids and they'd begun to get to know me. They knew I had children back in the States and had listened, enthralled, as I'd described what it was like to get my nose pierced. They knew I was 33 and that my co-leader was full of it when she said she was 257. I knew that some of them lived in town, and that one trio of siblings walked several miles to be with us. I knew what they wanted to be when they grew up, because they'd drawn me pictures. By mid-week, our customary pre-session high fives had turned to hugs.

And that's what I'll miss about San Ignacio. As thrilling as it was to basically build summer camp sessions in Christian Formation from the ground up, it was the interactions with those amazing kids that made it so hard for camp to end on Friday. Everything culminated in a big program where we all shared what we'd learned, and if I didn't know better I'd accuse the Music Team of complete and total emotional highjacking when the arms of 100 plus children floated skyward during the sign language for "Shout to the Lord." They were all so eager and innocent and beautiful, and not only did I know them, I'd fallen in love with them, too.


With the amazing kids of the Green Group, ages 5-7 (although at least one was really only 3)

Since being home I've been reveling in the hugs of my own children. It wasn't easy to be away from them for so long, but I had no idea I'd be leaving camp aching for about a hundred more.

When people ask me what I did on this summer's mission trip, I'll be happy to explain the games and activities and lesson plans, but really what we did was love people. In seeking to serve God in the spirit of the first and greatest commandment, we fell head over heels into the second.