Unstuck Belize - The Beginning

Mired down by personal, spiritual and professional issues, Kim Bartling headed for a sandy beach in January and unstuck herself. Now she hopes  16 University of Sioux Falls students will have equally life-changeing experiences. Seven weeks after Barling returned from the Central American country of Belize, the theatre professor and the students will create a playground for the schoolchildren; in addition, she would like to teach them drama and athletics.

The kids at Holy Cross Anglican School on Ambergris Caye won't be the only ones to benefit.
"I fully expect our students will be the people who are changed forever and will want to continue to do this type of traveling," Bartling says. "I'm fully expecting our students will walk away so much richer than any type of monetary things we can bring down and truly wanting to live the mission of the university, serving the world and God."

Belize, once known as British Honduras, is 25 miles long and 1 mile wide. It has three streets. Front Street offers white sand beaches and lavish hotels. Middle Street offers cafes and shops. But Back Street's dwellings are where it is revealed how desperately poor most Belizeans really are.  Despite that, Bartling awoke every morning to the sound of laughter - children, often riding three on a bicycle, elatedly heading off to school.

When Bartling returned to USF, she attended a Tuesday morning chapel service and asked to speak. Normally reserved about her faith, she found herself wanting to share her experience. And she proposed returning during the college's spring break in mid-March.  "I'm so proud of the University of Sioux Falls for saying, yes, we'll support you in doing this," Bartling says. "Our mission is like Gandhi's, to be the change you want to see in the world."

Bartling put out the call for students to go with her and ended up with 18 volunteers, not just from her department but from across the campus.  Anne Wentworth, a 21-year-old junior from Stickney, expected to spend spring break traveling with the USF choir on a concert tour to Chicago, Iowa and Wisconsin. But the communications and theater major woke up about a week ago, knowing her spring break travels would take her even farther.  "I woke up, and I'm like 'I'm going to go to Belize because I feel called,' " Wentworth says.  Wentworth, who has taken on roles as varied as Cinderella and a 60-year-old woman, had to tell her choir director, David DeHoogh-Kliewiter, about her change in plans.

He was disappointed but supportive, she says. "He said, 'OK, we pray blessings on your mission trip' and released me to go," Wentworth says.

Colin Koth, also a 21-year-old junior, had traveled to Guatemala on a mission trip with Linwood Wesleyan Church while in high school.  Earlier this month he was in Geneva, Ohio, participating in the NAIA indoor track and field meet. He won the men's 400 there. But a small corner of his mind was mulling over the possibility of going to Belize, and he spoke with Bartling by phone several times.  When he returned, he knew he was going to Belize.  "The thing is, you go down there expecting to make a difference for those people," Koth says. "I found this out in Guatemala. You learn a lot from them. You learn how they love life, each moment of every day."

The USF students will play sports with the kids, most of whom can't afford things such as soccer balls and softballs. They also will perform this year's USF children's play, "Page to Stage," which adapted kids' books such as "The Stinky Cheese Man" and "Olivia Forms a Band."  "We want to show them you can make a play out of anything," Wentworth says. "You don't need expensive things or a stage or curtains or a script. You just need ideas."

The USF students fly out on March 18 and 19. The days until then will be spent raising necessary funds. It will cost about $3,000 to put together the playground, Bartling says. Students are responsible for raising the $950 each plane ticket will cost.  USF's campus ministries has agreed to pay for the cost of extra luggage, which will be filled with the items donated for the Belizean children.  "It sounds cliched to say we're going to grow," Koth says, "but we will."

-  Jill Callison's columns   Argus Leader, Sioux Falls, SD     3/10/211

Ivo: 1st Mtg to 1st Day of School

Ivo

I first met Ivo in January of 2012.  He is a street kid, and upon our finding each other, it has been a lovefest. He has an infectious smile and a heart looking tos share its love. When my sister met him this past December, she agreed that if this kid was in the states, he would grow to be a rock star!
 He lives with his father, his father’s girlfriend, his sister Valerie, new baby brother Victor, and the girlfriend's mother in a small shed behind the house I was renting. 

Ivo’s mother took Ivo and his sisters to her native Honduras, to escape her domestic situtation. During this time, she had an opportunity to return to the states (she has a complicated life story which includes a reversed adoption as a child).  While here, Ivo's father went to Honduras and took the children out of her mother's home and took them back to Belize. 

I believe Ivo's father is - at the core - a good man.  However, with the delivery of a baby over Christmas, his focus is his new family.  He has never made his children accountable to school, and like many parents, use "lashing" as their only form of discipline. He has 2 other daughters too.  One of them is 14 and just had a baby.  She is currently in a girl's home in Belize City.

After a year of work, I finally found a school on the island that would enroll Ivo. Because he has never gone to school, he was too old - at the ripe old age of 9 - to be accepted into most of the schools. Until January 7th, 2013,  Ivo spent his days and nights  in the street.

He is doing well considering he is in an 8-3 structured environment for the first time.  He is currently learning his alphabet and seems to find math  his most natural subject.  Our biggest concern has been his lack of discipline in the classroom.  In addition to an entire lack of education, he has limited language. Also, physicality is his only language for frustration.  God Bless the teacher who is not only teaching her regular class, but is now also having to start at the beginning with Ivo.

I am proud to say, that my former O'Gorman student Jacob Barclay -  now a teacher himself -  is graciously paying for Ivo's education, as there is no public education in Belize.

Ivo runs away a lot. I am not sure if it is because of a lack of food (as he always claims he is hungry) or emotional negligence..However, in is not uncommon for him to knock on doors of some of my friends and an elderly relative on his mother's side.

Since my return to the states, I have found and am in communications with Ivo's mother.  She is living in the US and wants nothing more than for Ivo and his sister Valerie (age 13) to join her.  However, this is a tricky immigration case. 

Please pray for safety and compassion for Ivo and his entire family.  Please pray for patience and guidance for his teachers and the Isla Bonita school. As I continue to work with lawyers to assist in Ivo's and Valerie's most to the states, I ask for your prayers. 

My Newest Extended Family

Erick, Moises and Family

On my last trip to Belize, I found yet more children of which I fell in love. Locals are now tracking me down to look in on families that they feel deserve "a chance." Please understand that when I describe living conditions and individuals, I do it with the highest of respect.

Esperanza is native of Honduras. I am still confused by how many children she has. There may be two older daughters (17 and 19), as they were described as part of the family when I first arrived. They were there doing wash every day, but because of their age, they did not live in the “house.” The children I came to meet were Erick (12), Nayeli (11), Moises (7), Nardo (4) and new baby Janell.

One would think that the presence of an Amazonian blonde just showing up asking a lot of questions about family and education would intimidate some. Not here. I have yet, had anything but a gracious welcome in any Belizean home. I explained that I was a teacher and interested in the children. I asked about their scholastic history. Only Nayeli was currently in school. Unfortunately, it was St. Peter’s, which is a half day program, questionable reputation. In fact, the education consulate just shut it down at the end of the school year. Erick had attended school in Belize City, but had not been re-enrolled since moving to Ambergris Caye 3 years ago. Therefore, he had – maybe 2 years of education.  I asked their mom…who am I kidding…my Spanish sucks, Erick asked his mom, if he could accompany me to the beach so I could “see what he knew.”  When it comes to this family, it is a package deal, so off to the beach we went – the three boys and I.  

While Nardo and Moises swam, Erick and I went through his letters (check), did some math (quite good), and tried reading (he takes cues from the pics, but no real phonic skills). Mostly, we just talked. This kid and his brothers, snagged my heart immediately that Sunday on the dock - no pole – no net. Erick didn’t want to stop doing schoolwork. This is a very good sign.

The next day, Monday, I started my routine. Since there is no “true” public education, the first issue is tuition. Schools like Holy Cross and the Roman Catholic school are certainly more affordable at under $100 a year, but they are busting at the seams. Even if the principals could take them, putting a 12 year old in a 1^st or 2^nd year classroom is not fair to Erick or the other students, especially if it a classroom of over 30. Therefore, I need to find a smaller classroom; this means higher tuition.

I decided to try New Horizons, the 7^th Day Adventist School, located over a mile south of San Pedro town.  Principal Miguel was impressive. Frankly, all the principals that I have met are extraordinary people. I gave him my Erick pitch.  Principal Miguel wanted to meet him personally. Back on my bike to Erick’s home I go.

I explained to Erick that he needed to be interviewed. That meant clean shorts and shirt. We went to the store (all the clothing stores for locals – me included – are 2^nd hand/thrift). It was like preparing Tyler for his first day at O’Gorman. Collared shirt, khaki shorts, socks, and a clean face. What else could a girl ask for?  As we were leaving his house, Moises who is painfully shy said, “Miss, when can I go to school?”

Back to the store.  Their neighbor, a taxi driver, became intrigued as to what I was doing. Erick enthusiastically explained. Ruben said he would give me a good rate so that we would not all be sweaty when we got there. Done.

The boys did great. Principal Miguel agreed to their enrollment. They were begin the next day.  However, he wanted to meet their mother - another round trip. You can’t just call a babysitter in Belize. So, I packed the whole crew up -Esperanza and all 5 kids. Thank God Principal Miguel speaks Spanish. My speaking of it is terrible, but my understanding of it is quite good.  He made it VERY clear that what I was doing, was a chance of a lifetime for her and her children. He told he that he would make sure that must keep up her end as their mother; get them up, make sure they are clean, oversee homework (I am not holding my breath on the last one).  There were a lot of “Si’s.”

The rest of the day revolved around getting ready for their first day of school.  Each school has specific uniforms; so, first on the agenda, was to find a seamstress, buy fabric, and get both measured. In the meantime, we had to go back to the store to find collared shirts and shorts in the same color palette to get by.  Backpacks, shoes and school supplies were purchased. Finally, I needed to find a wood worker. Each student must supply his own desk. Is it any wonder why so many children are not in school? The financial total on this day alone was close to $500.

They were dressed and ready to go, when I got to their home at 7 am the next morning. I don’t know who was more excited and proud, the kids, their mother or me. We took a cab the first day (which was another hurdle I was going to have to cross). By the time I got done paying the lunch lady, Erick was already thick into a game of soccer. As the boys are rarely out of each other’s periphery, Moises was off to the side, watching their new packs. 

Back to the lunch lady… Lunch ladies are universal. Lunches in Belize are not provided by the school, so a grandmother-mother-daughter combo set up their “kitchen camp” in one of the small buildings. A meal is $2.50 a day. However, like all lunch ladies, they also scoop out equal parts of motherly discipline and hugs. 

Moises’ second day of school began at 4 am with his class trip.  This kid only has one day of classroom under his belt, and he hasn’t been off the island since he arrived 3 years ago. Furthermore, he has never spent a night away from his family. Now, here I was, picking him up and heading to the water taxi with the rest of his class for an overnight trip to the mainland.  Bonus - Moises has extreme motion sickness. This trip includes boats and buses. I dubbed it the “Vomit Vacation.” 

After a day of the Belize Zoo, A National Park and cave exploration, we head to St. Ignacio where we were all responsible for our own hotel rooms and dinner. Moises and I were bushed. We decided on pizza and ice cream – what else do you feed a kid who has been tossing his cookies all day?  I am going to be an awesome grandma someday.

The next day, we went to a butterfly farm and one of the Mayan ruins. One day we are holding on to ropes being lower to the depth of hell in a Cave. The next we are overlooking the country of Belize from the top of ruins – no ropes and no fences.  This would never happen in The States.  The fact that I am the guardian of a 7 year old that I just 3 days ago, is just a taste of the trust of the Belizeans.  I learned oodles on this trip about the country, its history and its culture. I also fell in love with a little boy.  Moises is so quiet, but his heart and smile is loud and clear.

The boys would come to my house every morning at 7 am for tutoring. I would check their homework, and many times, ride with them to school.  Oh yeah, I bought them bikes – easy answer to the taxi issue. Moises still doesn’t know how to ride his, despite our nightly tries on the beach.  It will happen, but in the meantime, he rides on Erick’s handle bars.

Today, July 9^th, I got the boys’ grades. Both of them are going to have to repeat, which we all knew since they didn’t begin until May.  However, their scores were in the 60-80 percentile. I will take that as a victory; thank you.

Post note…

I need to describe their family dynamic and living conditions. This family lives above a barrack like structure (long building with small rooms with outside doors) built on a combo of sand and pounded garbage.  The women living in this housing unit have some obvious addiction issues, and well, based on the structure description, you can guess their source of income. I need to be clear, that they are lovely to me. They offer me food, invite me to sit and visit on their beds, and give me many, many, many smiles and hugs. I accept each invitation. They are doing the best they can.  Esperanza and her five younger children, share a room of approximately that is “maybe” 12’ long and 8’ wide. She and the man of the baby sleep in a bed with Nardo and the baby. Erick and Moises share a hammock hung above.  Nayeli sleeps on a folded futon mattress. This is their home. It includes a burner, a small dorm fridge, and all their belongings.

 

 

 

 

 

Don't Worry Be Happy

For the past two Sundays, I have attended the Sagebrush Church. It is a virtual service held at the local movie theatre.  At first, there were so many warning signs. Did I mention the service is streamed in?  Yeah….. Secondly, the first 20 plus minutes were a continuous sing along with a Lady Antebellum-like band. Finally, hands were in the air all over the place.  God Bless those of you that feel the spirit to move you, but as a good Lutheran, I prefer to sit and sing in the back quietly and badly. However with most things that I try to ignore, God just keep being a nuisance throughout.

The subject was “worry.” I thought, “Pshh – this is so not me. I am the least of the worriers in my family.”  Even the minister confirmed my arrogance. He pointed out the difference between worry and concern. Concern is being in the present, and one can take action. Worry is in the future and one cannot control of it. Hold it, shit. Is it possible that I am too concerned? Now, this is a worry.

I spend over three quarters of my time being “concerned.” In the past week, I have worried about the well being of 5 little children who live among  crack head prostitutes,  Ivo’s behavior and commitment to learning in his new school, and why is his sister Valerie so sad? I worry about 12 year old Jose and the fact that he’s looking for his third school as he struggles to stay safe on the street. Oh, and what happens when my Facebook families and friends decide they are sick of hearing about my babies?  Then there is my family?  Mom hates it when I am gone. Does Dinah miss me? What am I going to do for money when I return?  When I never hear from my sons, that is an “all is well in the word” sign right? Thank goodness that I am not a worrier.

I was asked Sunday afternoon, by a woman I barely knew. what my greatest skill is. Really? Well, I know what I can’t do well. I can’t make Jello. Curling my tongue and rolling my “r”s are not in my physical repertoire. I am impatient and want things to happen on my schedule.  Housework is not forte, and I could never see what I was supposed to in a microscope in high school or college.

My skills? Casting plays, memorizing my father’s medications and making gourmet pizza. Also, I am pretty good at serving as a conduit between need and those that can/may have the passion and resources to supply assistance.  Belize (and its children) is my Mothership. I don’t expend time on a lot of talk and worry; I do. 

I didn’t fall off my mother’s worry tree. If worrying was an Olympic event, Janet would be a repeating medalist.  She worries about people she has not met and episodes that haven’t been dreamt. I tend to have a more of what I call the “Schindler’s Worry.” I am not doing enough. I could always be doing more. However, as a minister once said to me, “Kim, there is only one Savior, and – surprise – it isn’t you.”

In light of this month of tragedy – again – in Boston, Texas and Washington State, the news stations manipulate our ability to worry.  Last Tuesday, when I just couldn’t stand to watch any more devastation, I went out fishing by the coral reef. 

The day was so windy here in Belize that snorkel guides were not taking out tourists. It was a rough ride and could have been worrisome in the hands of a less skilled boatman.  However, as the guide and I pulled in fish after fish, I was taken by a few things. First, there are no worries when you can count over 16 shades of blue; they are swallowed and washed away. Secondly, I couldn’t help but recall the Sermon on the Mount. There were no worries there. A couple of fish and a loaf of bread for all those people? No worries. Jesus was in attendance.  As a side thought, I always thought Jesus would be the perfect college roommate. After week days of Ramen and Mac and Cheese, the weekends would rock.  “Hey Jesus, I got one bottle of wine and a loaf; let’s party!” This day in the boat, we had more fish than we could possibly eat or store, so the guide made a phone call, and we were met at the beach by men he knew that worried daily as to how to feed their families.

Before we came in, the guide filleted the fish on the boat. As he tossed off the skin, guts and bone there was one small bird that hovered over the boat, catching the remnants. It was amazing to watch. This bird spied us out on the water, flew out to his impending dinner, and then continued to flap for fish. I couldn’t help being impressed – what endurance and what trust that there would – in fact – be substance being thrown from the boat.  Then I thought, "This bird has no worries!" Did you know that birds eat 2-3 times their weight every day? True story. Birds don’t worry about tomorrow’s worm or catch of the day. They just fly freely and the world provides.

"Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?28 And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin."   (Matthew 6:26-28)

So, what is the moral of the story? I guess I could be clever and extend the bird metaphor. Don’t be let your wings be clipped by the weight of worry; fly forward toward those things that lift you up and not ground you.  Maybe it is to remind us that “stinkin’ thinkin’” is a waste of time and potential.  I think I will just go the simple thought that we should worry about nothing and pray about everything.

Theory of Dakotability

The working name of my writings is Theory of Dakotability. I have to give credit where is credit is due. My dear friend Mary Garry introduced it to me years ago, and like any good artist, I have borrowed it ever since. It is the truest of theories with which I have experienced. Simply, when the rest of the world is playing Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon Separation, in the Dakotas, it boils down to One Degree of Everyone.  It usually begins like this, “I know someone from South Dakota.” I follow with, “Who?” We are a state of family names.  Especially since I was an athlete, I know all the players and names. Are you a Daily or Allard  - Jefferson/Elk Point.  Webers are from  Bridgewater.  Glanzers are Armor or Freeman natives, Kings are Lyman County and Knights are Beresford all day long. By the way, I am the same girl that can name the mascot if you give me the South Dakota school.

I could probably dedicate a chapter of this work to each time I have experienced this theory, but I want this to be a short book of musings and not an encyclopedia of experiences. Let’s just say that the Theory of Dakotability has been proved true as I have traveled the world.

Ambergris Caye, Belize

·         A college friend and her daughters booked a room next to my house on the beach. As I ran by with a group of my favorite students, I heard, “Kim is that you?”

·         Someone saying, “Aren’t you Kim Bartling?” as I walked out of an ice cream parlor with an entourage of children. This person was wearing a SDSU Jackrabbit t-shirt.

·          “Hey Bartling!” from 2 former students as they climbed on a boat to leave the island as I was walking on the beach to work.  

·         A tap on the shoulder by a young woman behind me in line at the famous Thursday Chicken Drop line followed by, “I think you taught me junior English.”  This former student just happened to be vacationing with my father’s oncology nurse, so it was a double wammy.

New York City - more times than I can recall, but here are a couple of my favorites…

·         After the production of Cabaret with Alan Cumming, I waited by the stage door.  I loved AC, so I waited.  Also at the stage door was a lovely group of young college students on Spring Break from Boston.  They were discussing as to whom was going to take pictures if – in fact – Mr. Cumming would pose. I finally said, “Ladies, give me your cameras, and I will take the pictures with all of your cameras.” They looked at me with a combination of hope and fear. It was a great solution, but they were in NYC and had been warned that everyone was to be feared.  I finally said in their obvious hesitation, “I am from South Dakota. I am not going to steal your cameras.”  To which one girl said, “I am from Sioux City, Iowa.”

 I retorted, “I am from Sioux Falls. What high school did you go to?”

 “Heelan,” she said. I shared that I taught at O’Gorman.

 She confessed, “I went to prom with Jason Grenevitch.”

 “I was his advisor and teacher of sophomore English and speech.” Done, done and done.

 

·         Mike Capps. After the Broadway production of Doubt with Cherry Jones and Bryan O’Brynn, I had questions for Ms. Jones.  It was a extraordinary cold evening and despite the success of the production, the weather kept fans at bay – with the exception of me and a gorgeous blonde that oozed of class and money.  Frankly, she just didn’t look like the type who would stand by a stage door and wait for anyone.  We struck up an immediate conversation. She lived in the Upper West Side, worked in marketing, had three beautiful, successful daughters. She was married to her second husband, whom she met over a crime scene in Texas as each of them was covering it for separate media houses. It was a fun story.   

Once the two of us had our time with the cast and asked out questions, we walked one another down the street – me to the subway and her to called car. I said, “I am excited to get home at a decent hour as I can still catch the last innings of some spring training baseball games.” She simply responded, “Oh, you and my husband would get along great.  He is a baseball announcer during the actual season.” I stopped, processed and said, “Is your husband Mike Capps?”  Seriously?  “How do you know my husband?” I assured her that it was all legit and that my brain just did the math for me.  They were from Texas, husband left the city after 9/11, he worked for CBS sports and announced baseball.  I know a guy named Mike Capps who used to be the announcer for the Sioux Falls Canaries that met all of those criteria.

 We decided to go out for dinner together and dial Mike once he got off the air at 11 pm.  She called and said, “Hey honey, I have someone here who would like to speak to you.”

“Mike, how about you and I road trip to Fargo this weekend to announce a Redhawks – Canaries game and make fun of all the ‘I give up’ outfits the local women wear?” 

“Holy shit, Bartling, how did you get ahold of my wife’s phone?” 

It is the Theory of Dakotability baby!

It has happened to me outside the Vatican,  a train station in Germany, spring training in Mesa, the Sundance Film Festival,  and at a minor league baseball stadium in New Jersey. Even my sister who lives in Baltimore has had an episode happen on my behalf. A man stopped her outside her house because she had South Dakota plates. Turns out, that his wife was my stage manager when I directed Steel Magnolias at the Sioux Empire Community Theatre in 2008. Yep…..Theory of Dakotablity.

 

Love is an Action

"Love is not a feeling; it is an action." I just caught the end of Dan in Real Life as I changed from my morning to my afternoon swimsuit. "Love is not a feeling; it is an action" is the catch phrase from that flick, and I like it. In the past three weeks, it has been difficult for me to find time to process my tales with my sister, let alone, my feelings and/or actions online.  Here is what I know....a partner in crime on the island resulted in more fun, more spending, more love and less time.

When we first got here, it was a lovefest of introductions. “This is my sister Jenn,” should have just been a t-shirt that I wore. As a side note, for the past two days, every other person I run into – from the Rastah guys on the beach to the taxi drivers on the corners to Thomas who owns the hotel  to numerous children ask, “Where is Ms. Jennie?” or “Where is your friend?”

Jennie and I immediately introduce ourselves as sisters, because we have been mistaken as a lesbian couple numerous times. These stories used to crack our dad up.  I blame Jenn’s hair and the fact that she drives a truck. In truth, we are both typically reading sports biographies poolside and, well, our shapes and take no prisoner energy lend to a stereotype.  In short, it did not take long for my sister to need no introduction in this small community.

Not having the students in session for school was odd for me. To assuage my mother’s fears that I would make a habit of Christmas in Belize, I can confidently assure everyone that I missed my pattern of going to school everyday. I do not come to Belize for the sun and Belikans; I come for children and renewal of water. Many of the kids found us immediately, like heat seeking missles looking for the warmth of hugs and attention. Seeing them “out of uniform” of their assigned school dress code actually took away my ability to see each of them specifically – a familiar facial expression or a favorite smile became lost in the homogenied modern fashions taken from their culture of the north. 

Playing BINGO on Friday night’s at the Lion’s Den is one of the high points of my week. The Lion’s Den is a facility in the middle of town ran by mostly expiate Lion’s members; this place hosts everything from BINGO to Sweet Fifteen parties. It is a great night to meet locals. I sit with my regular posse of women who come with their mothers,  children, dogs and sometimes even a husband or two.  The BINGO shark is Busy, who just happens be the most popular and successful “girlfriend for hire” on the island.  She is just one of the town’s colorful personalities. Jen and I had luck only one Friday, winning just enough for pay for the night’s expenses of playing.

I had heard that Santa was going to be at the Lion’s Den the next day.  So, Jenn and I rounded up our usual suspects and headed into town. We sang carols the entire way.  They prefer Rudolph and Santa Claus is Coming to Town. Also, as we walked past the cemetery, I asked the boys, “Do you know how many people are dead in the gravesite?” “No,” they said. “All of them,” was the obvious answer. After that, every time we walked by Gloriel would say, “Do you know how many dead in dere?  All of does!”It never got old.

We discovered that we were really early for Santa Claus. Also, there are different rules about seeing Santa here.  Turns out that families bring actual gifts for their children in advance.  Then, when Santa calls their name, they come up, sit on his lap, get  pics taken and given the gift. It was then that Operation Lion’s Den went into full love action.  We sent the boys off to play for a couple hours and we booked it back to the hotel.  We both had brought Dollar Store and gently used clothes and toys from home.  Also, while back at the hotel, I asked Carolina (the housekeeper) if her daughter Emiline would like to accompany us when we returned.  She came back asking if the babysitter and her kids could come too. Sure - the more the merrier.  Suddenly, finding shirts and toys for 3 boys evolved into a gender mixed group of eight -  ages nine and younger. We wrapped dresses and toys making sure names were spelled correctly on the packages as Santa never misspells your name!

Santa was on Beliezan time. The event was suppose to begin at 3. At 4:30, he was just arriving. During the 90 minute wait, children were coming in off the street asking, “Miss, does Santa know I am here?”  Jenn and I would ask, “Were you nice all year?”  Of course all of them assured us they had been.  So, I would hitch a golf cart ride back to the hotel and pull another used promotional frisbee that someone had donated.  Also, each kid that came in to see Santa had to  pay $2.50, which got them a paper bag full of treats and a juice.  After about the 4^th kid straggled in, I just looked at Jenn, we both just smiled and nodded.  Yep,  whatever the cost, we were in.  On a couple occasions, Jenn had to step away as it just because too emotional.  When these kids heard their names called they sprinted to Santa.  You have never seen happier kids to receive a used Frisbee.  Had it been a new ipod, they couldn’t have been more excited!  Jose told Jenn on the way home, it is the first Christmas present that he had ever received.  We thought that the day before where we stood on the top of Lamini to say "Hello" to our father on anniversary of his death was “the best day EVER.”  We were wrong; this one was.

On Christmas Eve, Jenn and I donned our Santa hats and headed out to deliver gifts. Ivo’s family was our first stop before heading to Gloriel’s family for the actual Eve celebration.   These wacky Belizians begin their celebration at midnight with a large meal. We had turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy but they served it all cold. Also, they served this with sandwiches. The desert was cake.  There are fireworks and by the time it was all done, we rolled into bed around 4 am. To be welcomed into the ____ Family is one of the precious gifts I have received since coming to the island.

Christmas morning we got up in time for Christmas Mass. It was a beautiful mass with less than stellar singing. Jen and I belted all of our favorite carols out  - with love and volume.

On Christmas Day, we waited until late afternoon to put on the Mr. and Mrs. Claus outfits that I had brought.  We borrowed a sleigh aka golf cart to go to the poorer areas of the island – clothes, toys, shoes, books were distributed. The miracle was that we had just enough for every child and family we encountered. Love is an action.  The love we received was palpable.

Christmas night, Jenn and I invited Gloria, Mishelby, and Gloriel to go to Cocoblanco, the 5 star restaurant that Shelby and JR had just began working.  We knew they would not be able to share the evening unless we went to them. Also, we knew that they would never be able to afford to eat in the restaurant unless we took them.  So we got all dressed up and took the water taxi.  I don’t know who was more proud Shelby when his family walked in or Gloria to see her husband and son working is such a beautiful environment.   It was a fantastic way to celebrate Chistmas.