Student Blogs

The following entries were made by senior Rebecca Olek.

God with us
January8, 2012

It’s 6:50 in the morning. We’re on the way to mass with the Missionaries of Charity – and right now, spiritual preparation has never seemed so necessary.  After mass we are heading to the house of the dying.

Fifteen people crammed in the sisters’ jeep… and I thought eleven was bad. Now is when the Haitian humor comes out, because almost all of the workers are laughing at me -- flattened against the back window.

Dignity. This is the first thing I notice when I arrive at St. Philip’s. I first enter the women’s ward. They are all dressed the same: blue shirts with red checkered dresses. Hair done. Nails cut and trimmed. Some lay listlessly on their beds. Some sit up and stare at me as I enter. Their eyes are expectant.

I do what I can for them: rub their shoulders, hold their hands, listen to them even though I don't understand. I call them beautiful. I tell them God loves them – anything to make them smile.

After a while I head downstairs to the men’s ward. At the very entrance I see three of my fellow missionaries kneeling around the bed of a young man. A boy really – only fifteen years old. As I kneel down they whisper to me that he is in his last hours. He is dying of AIDS. He has no family; he brought himself to the gate of St. Philips. Around him are other AIDS patients, friends who used to play with him in the streets when they were younger. They are crying and praying the rosary in Creole. The mood is very different from the women’s word, where we had the women singing and dancing with us. I can’t help but think that all the men are projecting themselves onto this young boy’s bed. For many of them death is not far off either.

I’m not sure how long I kneel, holding his hand, singing to him, praying the rosary for him. He is mostly unresponsive, except for one moment when he turns his head and looks directly in my eyes. I squeeze his hand… I am here.

I learn from the sister who has come to check his vital signs that his name is Emmanuel – God with us. And I realize that God is indeed here, in this ward with all of us. He sees and is not unmoved by the prayers rising up to him on Emmanuel’s behalf. He hears and knows, cares about and loves each person here. He is waiting even now to welcome Emmanuel into his presence.

As I stand to leave I wipe tears from my eyes and smile. Yes, God is here with us, here in Haiti and with all people throughout the world.

By Candlelight
January6, 2012

Five small candles and the sanctuary lamp dimly glow in the Missionaries of Charity’s chapel. Nine sisters, less than half the community, and all fourteen of us from Mission Youth kneel together for a holy hour.

Here I am to worship.

Bare feet. No kneelers or chairs. I simply sit on the floor as I am before the altar that holds my king.

Here I am to bow down.

There is no priest for exposition or benediction – the sisters have no chaplain of their own. They rely on the availability of the parish priests even for daily mass. But the visiting mother provincial exposes and reposes the Blessed Sacrament with profound reverence.

Here I am to say that you’re my God.

We pray the rosary slowly together, various accents blending together to make up this unique family. All together we come from the US, Mexico, and Haiti, India, Rwanda, Wales, and others that I will never know. These sisters offer to God tonight all they are for the poorest of the poor. Behind them we offer our gratitude for our mission experience thus far – it has been more than at least I could hope for.

You’re altogether lovely, altogether worthy.

I’ve heard it said so many times, “At missions you receive so much more than you give.” I hate clichés, but this one is true. All I’ve done is try to love whoever is in front of me, nothing of real consequence, not like the medical missionary group that stays with us back at the Hostel. Ours is more of a mission of the heart.

Altogether wonderful to me.

It’s an interesting experience, discovering I’m not the hero I dreamed myself to be. But knowing this seems to free me up to be the hero that God wants me to be. Real heroes are hidden, like these sisters kneeling before me known only by those they serve. And now, as we sing here before the Eucharist, I find in the chorus the purpose of my coming.

Here I am to worship. Here I am to bow down. Here I am to say that you’re my God. You’re altogether lovely, altogether worthy, altogether wonderful to me.

Up Close and Personal
January4, 2012

I’m in the car with seven others from my mission group and four Missionaries of Charity. We’re driving through Port au Prince to what I’ve labeled as “down town.” If I thought I was already adjusting to the change of cultures, I quickly realize that I’ve still got a long way to go.

The windows are down to make the heat bearable – but that only lets me experience Haiti through my nose. Sometimes I can smell the Haitians cooking fish and bread. Sometimes charcoal or trash burning in the streets. Sometimes waste from the desolated buildings which people have turned into public restrooms.

When I lurch forward I am immediately reminded of the interesting, yet surprisingly effective driving code (as I interpret it): don’t hit anyone or anything. Stick to that and anything goes.

As our small jeep pulls into the gate of St. Joseph’s school and dispensary and I see a long line of people waiting I prepare myself for what I’ve come to do: clean and dress wounds.

In the back of the dispensary, surrounded by pills and medical supplies, we gear up. Wash hands and put on surgical gloves. Aprons. We bring out the supplies, pray with the people and watch as the people unwrap their festering wounds.  I watch as an aspirant of the Missionaries of Charity demonstrates what we are to do, but I can’t remember any of the steps; all I can do is stare. But when it gets to the point that I can’t hear the usual hum of the city outside and black spots blur my vision, I walk back inside. The sister inside takes one look and me, smiles, and gives me a job organizing medicine.

This morning after mass we shared our prayers for the day. I prayed that all of us would find the face of Christ behind those we worked with today. Well I found him, my Crucified Jesus.

My God, what have you done? Why is it that you suffer all this and more simply to love and redeem me?

The sister keeps working as I silently cry, not out of pity for myself and surprisingly not out of pity for those who bear those horrible wounds. I’m grateful, because they showed me the wounds of Christ, up close and personal.

Sharing Joy
January3, 2012

"Ladies and Gentleman we are now beginning our decent." I put down my book and glance out the window - my glance is turned into a full out stare. Houses that are comparable to boxes with aluminum roofs. Visible damage left from the earthquake, dead grass and dust everywhere. Welcome to Port au Prince.

We're nearer to the ground and now I can see that the sidewalks are no more than organized piles of rocks. The airport is nothing like I am used to... but I expected that much, as I am on a mission trip to Haiti.

Driving through the streets to reach the hostel (Walls International Guest House) where my mission group is staying, the fourteen of us crammed into the small van wearing Mission Youth t-shirts that distinguish us from the many other mission groups we arrived with. As we drive, we see women carrying unbelievable loads on their heads. Vendors. Rubble. People gathered to sell bread, crafts, anything. They watch us as we pass by - smile and wave - I am so shocked by what I see around me, but to them this is daily life.

The hostel is not what I expected, but then again, I'm not sure what I did expect. There is a small pool, a terrace, an open dining hall. There is also major damage from the earthquake that forces you to watch your step on all the walkways. But I have a bed and I get a good night sleep.

Wake up call is early the next day and we are out the gate (literally) by 7:00. Now the mission begins. Dirty diapers, toddlers vying for your attention, boxes full medical supplies to sort through... this is the children's hospital of the Missionaries of Charity, my new home for the next week.

One face in this first full day stands out in my mind: Fabiola is a 10 month old baby girl, all skin and bones, stomach bloated from malnutrition, no muscle to support herself. This morning she almost refused to eat, but my fellow missionary Katya spent two hours coaxing the food down. I fed her in the afternoon with less coaxing and then cuddled her for the next hour. She gave me a beautiful smile as I laid her down to sleep in her crib... and then she surprised us all. She sat up for the first time.

The cheers from the staff and MC sisters there were emotional. They've been by her side since she arrived a few months ago. This was their victory, not mine. I was simply blessed to share in their joy. Really, I can only do so much while I'm here, but if I can share and give a little joy similar to this, than it will all be worth it.

Always an Adventure
October 14, 2011

Growing up in a family of three there was always plenty of chores to do around the house when Saturday rolled around. And the motive to get them done? To have the rest of the day free of course! My brother, Brian, tended to have outdoors-y type work to do, so that left my sister and I to negotiate how to divide the house. It’s incredible how some chores can take on a type of horrific quality so that you’ll do anything to get out of it (for my sister and me that chore was vacuuming because is took so much longer than everything else). But Saturday comes only once a week; the daily chores were even more to be avoided, especially doing the dishes. The problem with dishes is that it never ends. Just as you close the dishwasher someone brings you the glass or plate they seem to have hidden for that exact moment.  

Well, I’m glad to say that I’ve gotten past “horror” of chores, which is good because here at MEC I’ve done a lot of different chores while cleaning our very big house. Right now I do the dishes – which in a house of nearly 75 people is no laughing matter (especially if something goes wrong but more of that later.)

Every morning while eating my bowl of coco bombs I watch as the piles of dirty dishes grow and pretty much as soon as I finish eating, I role up my sleeves and get to work! I have a half an hour in the morning to wash all the plates, bowls, saucers, glasses, teacups, forks, spoons, knives, and pitchers from breakfast. Even here just when I think I’m done, not just one, but ten glasses appear! Now throw in a few straggling knives and spoons and there is an entirely new load! Granted, I use an industrial size dishwasher that does a load a minute, but I’m not just washing, I’m also drying, sorting, and putting away everything as well! God bless my dish-room partner, Carmen- I couldn’t do it without her.

On a good day Carmen and I are able to finish nearly everything… but there are always days that throw you a curve ball. There was the morning of hurricane Irene when the moment I tried starting the first load of dishes the power went out… So Carmen and I relocated to the kitchen’s huge sinks and washed everything – by hand – in the dark. Or how about just a few days ago when I got to the dish room only to find that the water had been turned off. (The maintenance men were fixing a leak in a closet down the hall.) So we relocated again to the kitchen to use the industrial machine there. (I don’t know why it still had water and I don’t know how happy the kitchen team was when we invaded with three carts full of dirty dishes. It’s is a big kitchen, but it fills up pretty fast!)

Needless to say, every morning is an adventure in the dish-room… an adventure and a challenge that never quite seems to end. But the excitement isn’t really about washing dishes - it’s about making this college community a real family and a real home. It’s easy to wash the dishes every morning without thinking; what’s challenging is to remember each and every person I live with, see all that they’ve done for me and turn that into an incentive to love and serve them more! I hope that each person who comes in with that last dirty plate receives a smile and a prayer from me, and if that can make their day better – well, then every dish was worth it!


September 23, 2011
Celebrate Diversity!

This September MEC is celebrating Diversity! Yes, you heard me right! Celebrate diversity! That’s a common phrase in today’s society (though I’m sure it’s used in a little different sense than I mean to use it here).  Trust me, as an international college there is always someone ready to tell me that mine is not the only culture that exists. There are language barriers: I can repeat a joke till I’m blue in the face and still someone won’t understand. Accents: just how many ways can you say one word and (this is the one million dollar question) which one is right (usually it’s the native Kiwi – you don’t argue with her!)? Taste buds: what is the right thing to go on apples? Americans say peanut butter, Mexicans say chili, our resident Kiwi says apples should be plain and natural… But on certain days we can put all that patriotism aside and learn to appreciate another’s culture no questions asked!

September 19th and 20th were two such days at MEC!

Freshman Vivian Noh was quick to let us know that the 20th was the feast of St Andrew Kim Taegon, the patron saint of Korea, and she wasted no time in introducing us to her culture! But she did it in show, not tell style! The day was normal until lunch when we entered the dining room to see Vivian, her mom, and (7) other Korean ladies inviting us to a buffet table full of traditional Korean dishes. There were spring roles and seafood cakes, sticky rice and sushi, meat dumplings and spicy kimchi. Just look at these pictures! Needless to say, no one asked any questions or raised any objections! We all just dug in and enjoyed! I’m sure the MEC community is looking forward to three more years of having Vivian around on September 20th.

So what about September 19th? In this case the liturgical calendar sheds no light on what culture is honored on this day. But I know, and most of those who know me expected what was coming. That’s right; September 19th is the one and only international Talk-like-a-pirate-day!

I prepared diligently, as this is my last year at MEC, to teach my fellow students to appreciate the finer (or not so finer) points of pirate speech. I sent out emails and guides (one of which you can access here http://www.wikihow.com/Talk-Like-a-Pirate), I filled my treasure chest full of pirate-y treasure (aka, a whole lot of chocolate, and yes, I do have a treasure chest!), polished my eye patch, squinted my eye and spread the word that pirate day was here! (Sorry! No pictures! The camera was strangely absent from this event!)

The long awaited, swashbuckling day arrived and the majority of the student body greeted me with a mighty fine “Ahoy there!” (Many have had three years of practice, so I was proud of them!) Even President Deb Bauer gave me her best “Arrrr.”

And the motive to talk like a pirate? A share in my chocolaty pirate treasure of course!

Pirate day is a tradition in my family and I am glad to have “educated” so many of my MEC friends in this authentic cultural experience. Though I doubt that this feast will outlive my stay here at MEC, I know that diversity will still be appreciated, especially if there is food involved!