The New Crew

We’ve been back exactly one month. In most ways, it’s been easy to slip back into the routine of life in this tiny town: teaching, eating, sleeping, repeat, with an occasional shower thrown in when available. The transition has been much smoother than last year, knowing what to expect (rocks and mud, rice and beans, roosters, nightly thunderstorms, and such) and knowing what not to expect (hot water, nights free of fireworks, cheeseburgers, healthy-looking dogs, and such).

But there is one thing that I didn’t expect. The loneliness. After all, I am surrounded by sticky, loud, affectionate teenagers all day long. And on the weekends, there are always kids around, ever ready for a pick-up volleyball game or a game of Uno. But that’s not what I mean.

It’s different this year. Last year, we quickly developed our crew, our La Unión family. Six gringas and my husband, facing the culture shock together. And although our constant interaction had its moments of drama and tension, it was more often a source of support, challenge and encouragement. We knew each other inside and out, sometimes uncovering more information than we would have preferred to know. We knew about each other’s crazy families, and terrible teaching days, and idealistic dreams for the future. It’s the kind of intimacy that can best be fostered while crammed together in the back of a pick-up truck, huddled together under a tarp, hoping that the rain and hail will soon let up, so that we can actually enjoy our four-hour mountain trek back “home.” We would never have survived the past year without each other.

This year we have met a whole new bunch of foreign teachers. They seem like perfectly nice, good people. But we don’t know them. And they don’t know us.

The first few days of school, I kept looking at the new teachers and thinking, “What are YOU doing here?! That’s not your classroom!”

Being the quiet-loving introvert that I am, the thought of starting over with new people has seemed kinda overwhelming. The relational journey from strangers to co-workers to friends to family has seemed like a long and tiring one. And so I’ve been holding myself back much more than last year, guarding my heart from those who have yet to prove that they are upright citizens who are worthy of my time and affection.

But slowly, despite my best efforts to keep the newbies at arm’s length, I’m starting to warm to them. They are different, but they’re not all bad. They, too, have crazy families and terrible teaching days and idealistic dreams for the future. And they, too, are imago dei-bearers, unique and lovable and broken and amazing.

So, I’ve decided to keep them. As if I ever had anything to say about the matter. After all, we don’t get to choose our family. And as much as I’d like to say that I can make it through another year of Honduran mountain living on my own, it’s just not true. I need them, and they need me, and that’s the way life’s meant to be.

So, newbies, welcome to the family.