The Mystery of Life and Death According to Me

I try to wear as many hats that fit and live up to any title that may be given to me when I am in Belize - including the less flattering ones. "Persistant mujer gringa" even has a hint of positivity and possibility. However, it is the title of "child whisperer" that tickles me most.

Yesterday, as I walked through town, I was reminded of how much I love this place. I sometimes think that when I am back in South Dakota, I may romanticize my feelings for the island and its people. Nope.  It's real. I am most alive here. The abundance of blue - skies to sea - make me want to physically be better. I eat smartly with an abundance of fruits and fish. I love the sweat that I get exercising in the Caribbean heat. And, as Audrey Hepburn said, "Happy girls are prettiest."  May I dare to say that I feel pretty here.

It is the refection of the people, especially, the children that make me happy. It took me 5 hours to walk 4 miles - it was a little like HyVee before a snowstorm. Administering hugs, admiring growth spurts, and exchanging news takes time. My favorite is when a students says, "Miss Kim!  When did you get home?"

As I walked by the high school, I saw many of my students, who are now freshmen, leaving for the day.  One of my girls was sitting on a dock holding hands with a boy. She saw me and went to wave. Quickly, she decided to turn away knowing that explaining him was not how she wanted to begin her weekend. Braces, inches and a sense of cool had all found their way to my first Holy Cross graduate class.

I do not take for granted the respect and love these kids give me.  It didn't come overnight either. I had to earn the right to be part of their lives.  There is a lot to be said for showing up on a regular basis. I am reminded of an experience that happened to me last May.

Because I always have children with me - holding my hand, asking to carry my bag, on the back or basket of my bike - many adults think I am either a child psychologist or some type of social worker. Belize has its issues like any other country or community. A feeling of abandonment is palpable with some children. A lack of respectable father figures combined with less than superior health care creates some of the void, Also, it is not uncommon for a parent - mother or father - to leave a child behind in order to make a living elsewhere.  Then, there are senseless acts.

Tristen is a the 5 year old son of a friend of mine on the island. He comes from a wonderful and loving family of present men and strong women.  In May, his uncle and Godfather was shot and killed by a random thug in the middle of town. As with any family, it tore them to pieces.  This family reminds me a lot of my own.  We don't miss each other's events. Weekend get togethers are probable.  In short, this entire extended family is tight.

Tristen's mother asked me to talk to him. He had been unconsolable since the shooting, and she thinks it would help if I spend some time with him.

Ummm....what? She knows that I am just a teacher - 26 years of high schoolers and university students doesn't amount to any sort of degree in analysis. This is the second time she has done this.  The first was when she plopped a 9 year old on me whose father had died the night before (she did not know that my own father had died just one month earlier). Ethan, that boy, taught me more about grace than any words I could think of to console his heart. Knowing that I probably had something to learn here again, I reluctantly agreed.

Tristen was angry. Some of it - I am sure - was mirroring the mourning of his relatives. They were vocal in asking for justice and calling out those who witnessed the act and didn't react. It turned out, that a lot off Tristen's anger was pure fear of the unknown.

I had his mother and him meet me at the beach. She said, "Spend time with Miss Kim today.  She is a nice lady with boys too," before jumping in her cart and burning sand.

First of all, I hate the word "nice." Nice is not going to answer this boy's questions or reason him into happiness. Secondly, I may have raised boys, but that, by no means, makes me any sort of expert.  Ask my sons, they will tell you that growing up with me was a daily lesson in foibles and faith.

Tristen and I splashed around a bit until I finally said, "I am sorry about your uncle." He responded stoically, "They killed him."  Yeah. Sigh. Where do you go from there?  I decided to forgo the obvious and just dive right in to one the most difficult of subject for any human.

I asked, "Where is Jeffery now?" He looked at me like I was the dumbest American he had ever met. "He was dead in the street and now he is in the ground." Fair enough.

At that moment, I realized that I had a few Magic Sponge Capsules rolling around in the bottom of my backpack. I bring a lot of these little toys as they are super small and easy to tote, and the kids seem to dig them. This toy looks like a large pill. When you place it in the water, the hard plastic shell dissolves and a small sponge character emerges - they are anything from safari animals to dinosaurs. You never know what you are going to get.

I took one out and explained that Jeffery is like the Magic Capsule.  Our bodies - head, torso, hands, and skin - are just the shell of the person, and yes, in the ground we don't see that anymore. However, there is a surprise - his spirit - that is stronger than the shell, and it will emerge. The spirit is so big and mysterious that it and can stay with us in our hearts and go to heaven. I had no idea where I was going with this. I just trusted that the Holy Spirit had a plan.

I said, "Let's see if it works!" We took the toy and buried it in the sand close enough to the water so that the tide was hitting is softly.  We found a stick and marked it just like a tombstone.  Then we just sat there on the beach watching the stick. I was mentally preparing for having to perform my best Mary Magdalene impersonation when we go to find the little creature later and discover that an under tide had moved it. I certainly was not holding my breath waiting for any angel to show up and give me hand.

As we sat there on the dock, watching, with our feet in the water, I should expected his next question. "What is a spirit?"

Oh, Norman Greenbaum, where art thou? Google it.

I continued blindly, "Tristen, what is your very favorite fish in the ocean?"

"The shark," he stated as confidently as if I had asked him his name. He went on to tell me everything - and I mean everything - he knew about sharks. The kid was a Belizean encyclopedia. I, personally, am a stingray girl, but I respect a 5 year old's right to chose.

What came out of my mouth next, would make any theologian cringe, "Only part of your heart stops working when you die. That part that moves your blood around so you can be alive with your family.  The other part of your heart lives forever in Heaven with God.  So, all the love that Jeffery has for you and his family, all the funny stories he told you, and even all the things you did with him stay alive in his heart."

That sounded pretty good, but could I leave it at that?  Oh, no.  I just kept talking, "and every time you see a shark, they are there to remind you of all those things.  Jeffery is like the biggest shark you have ever seen. He gets to float with the beauty of God, like a shark floats in the beautiful sea. He never has to worry, or feel sad, or get angry or be frightened because he is a shark."

Yep. That is the mystery of life and death according to Kim Bartling. You are welcome, and I am sorry.

I knew I was out of material so suggested we check on the "spirit capsule."  The toy had shifted, just like my shaky spiritual explanation.

As always, the Holy Spirit did have my back.  True to its promise on the back of the Magic Sponge Capsule package the shell had disappeared. What was let loose was a bright yellow sponge shark.