Category Archives: Reflection

Out with the Old and in with the New

We live in a society where old is bad and new is good.  The idea of tossing out old stuff and acquiring new comes to light more than usual when the new year rolls in, but is that always good?

old new car

Sure.  Sometimes we need to update, but are we learning to also give up too quickly?  Back in the day there were more repair shops for appliances and electronics.  These days items are manufactured so that they become more expensive to fix than to just dump the malfunctioning unit and buy a new one.  I wasn’t raised that way.  We generally fixed something until it just couldn’t be fixed anymore, but then, I guess products used to hold their value better.

Here are some examples from my world:

*We’ve had our HD, flatscreen, gazillion inch TV for several years now.  In the last couple months we have noticed a growing constellation of white dots where the pixels are going out.  In the old days a TV could be repaired, but there really isn’t much we can do to fix this, so when we can no longer stand people with glowing white freckles, we will be forced to buy a new one (first world problem, I know, but whatever).

*Our microwave spin table tray stopped spinning.  At first it was random, and then it was fairly consistent, burning our popcorn, which is a staple in the Harper house.  My husband was certain we had to junk it and get a new one.  I don’t like to spend unnecessary money, so I cleaned it, thoroughly, and it spins almost all the time again now.  So apparently maintaining and cleaning your stuff can go a long way.  Who knew?

*To that effect, we have a shower head that we neglected to clean properly from the beginning and though we can clean it up now, some of the parts corroded off, so we can improve it, but not entirely, because we were lazy before.

*This next one is my favorite, and it’s a good thing Robert doesn’t read all my posts or he may be mad at me for this one, but it’s just too funny not to include.  He has uniform shirts to wear for work, button downs.  One shirt sat around for a while so I asked him why and he said he was probably going to have to throw it out.  I assumed he had a bad coffee spill or ripped it or something.  I asked why and he replied, “It’s missing a button.”  First of all, we have almost as many extra buttons in my makeshift sewing kit as there are inches in our TV, and the only things I can actually sew are the wound repairs in our dogs’ toys and buttons.  Then I remembered that I found a button on the dryer and had been trying to locate what it belonged to.  Turns out that button came off the darn shirt and had been sitting there waiting to be reunited.  An easy fix for an otherwise perfectly good shirt.

Sometimes old stuff has more character and class than their newer counterparts.  There is a reason antique stores exist.  Also, with all our technology today, we tend to just be in a hurry to mass produce stuff, and quality is kept at more of a minimum.  Sadly, it feels as though we live in a disposable world.

Gonna Bike Now

I wish I had a montage of all those great comeback scenes from Hollywood to go along with this post, but you’ll just have to imagine them in your head.  However, you may feel free to play “Gonna Fly Now” in the background and picture me dancing around at the top of the Philadelphia Museum of Art (that’s what will be going through my head, even though I’ve never even been there-shhh).

running terri

At the beginning of September I began a 12-week training program for a half marathon.  My first half marathon.  It was a BIG deal to me.  About two-thirds through I realized I had an extra week because I’d miscalculated, but that was no big deal because it would just give me a chance to get better and stronger.  For the first time in my three years of running, I was really feeling like a runner.

“Oh, sorry I cannot make it out for drinks today; I have a 10-miler to do this afternoon,” was something I found myself saying on more than one occasion.  One of those runs was also done in the cool of a fall Florida rain. I felt so hardcore.

At the eleven week mark I went for my forth 10-miler.  The morning was a bit warmer than I prefer for running distances, but whatever.  About a mile and a half from home I came around a curve and saw a stick on the trail.  But it wasn’t a stick because sticks don’t generally move on their own, and in a moment of confusion and needing to take quick action because my feet were not on the ground and I needed to avoid stepping on or near this thing, I took a panicked side-step.  Then I kept going.  My legs were sore, so nothing seemed unusual in that last mile and a half, but one particular sore spot would not stop hurting after a good stretch and it continued for a few days, and then several days, and by then I was not running anymore.  I had exactly two weeks from that fateful day until the half marathon I had been working so hard to dominate.

I told myself and others that I’d take a few days off and then get back out there.  I researched online to figure out what it was.  I got x-rays.  It still remains a mystery.  My thought was a tibial stress fracture, but it didn’t show up on the x-rays (incidentally, they often do not show up on x-rays, and I wasn’t ready to pay for an MRI).  Other possibilities were torn ligaments or tendons.  None sounded fun, and none could really be treated any more than what I was already doing, so I sucked it up, limped around, and tried not to cry.  I had to come to terms that I would not be running the half marathon.

The half marathon took place just over a week ago (and at night), and I went to support my running friends and because there was a holiday parade following the runners.  During the parade, it began to sprinkle, and then to suddenly pour.  Police on bikes rode the route to tell everyone to go home due to incoming bad weather.  All those half marathoners were already out there running though.  I was oddly grateful to not be out there in the mess, though I had secretly had to hold back tears as I saw my fellow runners pass at the start of the race.  In all the craziness, a tornado even touched down in town.  Fortunately all the runners were safe, but I hear it was a scary and disorienting experience.

A few days ago I decided I would attempt to get out on my bike now that I’m not limping anymore.  I know I’m not quite ready for the impact of running, but the bike doesn’t aggravate the injury at all now and I’m building up other important muscles that will help me make my comeback when I am ready to run.  There will be other half marathons, but I have something else coming up that is even more important to me.  This will be my forth year participating in the 200 mile relay race called Ragnar.  I’m runner four, which is quite hardcore.  We run from Miami to Key West, and I cannot miss this.  I’ve got about six and a half weeks to train.  I can’t let down my team and I can’t break tradition.

Sequestering My Sequel

writers block

Writing a sequel for Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl: The Middle-ish Ages.  That’s what I’m supposed to be doing at this exact moment, but instead, I’m writing a blog post about writing a sequel.  Why?  Because I’m looking for excuses to not work on my sequel right now and as long as I’m writing something, that’s all that matters, right?

Wrong.

I know.  I know.  It’s just like I said…an excuse.  Why would I even need an excuse?  So many reasons.

Writer’s block:  Today I am seriously NOT feeling my protagonist, or the plot, or anything at all, for that matter.  It’s just now, in this moment though.  I’ve been doing fine all along… until now.  The problem is I’m about to have a very busy several days in which I know I will be unable to schedule sequel writing time, so I’m feeling that added pressure.

Added pressure:  I’ve been working on this sequel for five months and I really want to get through this first draft and begin editing, but I’m only at about the halfway mark.  There is no time frame or deadline.  I’m an indie writer, so it’s all up to me, but I am the added pressure, because I want to have a sequel to offer to prove I’m serious about this book writing thing.  Also, I know I have more chances of getting noticed by readers if I have more than one book and the promise of an entire series.

Fear of sequel disaster:  It happens all the time in books and movies. We’ve all seen it, or read it, and felt sadly let down.  The first one is great, so a second is written or filmed.  But other than The Empire Strikes Back, which is my favorite Star Wars film, I have a hard time thinking of any movies or books in the second position that have lived up to the first.  Occasionally, a third can come along and help dig it out of a hole, but sometimes, once that car comes off the rails, it just becomes a larger train wreck.  I don’t want Drew to be part of a train wreck.  She means more to me than that and I want to get it right, for her sake.  I owe her (Drew is my protagonist, if you’re wondering)! So I have repeat performance issues.

But I really need to just suck it up and write, right?  I have to have faith that Drew can guide me and help me to be true to her character.  When I have alone time with her, as I do now, sequestered in my office, I need to build her life.  I can always go back and fix it later if I screw up too much.  Being a writer is much safer than parenting.  That’s what editing and revision are all about.  After all, I rewrote and deleted chunks in the first book. It’s acceptable to not be perfect at first.  Nobody has to know if I catch it before I publish it.  I can do this.  I feel better already.  I always do when I write it out. Now, can I do the same with Drew?

My Peculiar Confession

I do not have children, nor have I ever desired to have children (for maybe about 6 months of my life because it felt like a duty I should take care of, like paying taxes, walking the dog, or something); however, I am tired of those who propagate assuming I don’t because I am a selfish person.  And even if I were childless due to being selfish, why would anyone want to argue with me about it and try to talk me into having kids.  If there are people out there who have made a conscious decision not to have babies because they know they are selfish, wouldn’t it be best to let it rest?  Don’t we have enough bad parents in the world?

I have several reasons for not having kids (many I believe I covered sometime ago in my blog), but one is, surprisingly, that I don’t want to be selfish.

That’s right.  One reason I have not procreated is because I want to keep myself from being too selfish.  I have an intense personality and I put my all into whatever I do, to the point of it almost becoming unhealthy at times.  I taught for seven years, and in that time I touched the lives of more kids than I ever could have if I had one or two kids of my own.  Sure, some people do both, but for a personality such as mine, I knew I had to make a choice because I would only be good at one.  By the thank yous I often get from students I was able to encourage and inspire, I believe I made the right choice.

Now I’m not teaching, so people have asked me again about why I don’t have kids.  Well, I’m not as young as I used to be and I know it gets riskier to have a healthy first baby at this point, so again, wouldn’t that be selfish?  (Not to mention that I still have no biological urge to do it)

By remaining childless, my husband and I have less obligation, allowing us more chances to put ourselves into projects and places where we can help others.  We both desire to do this, but I know if I had a child, I would block out the world and make everything about that one little being, while there are so many others in this world with needs.  I’d rather work on a larger scale.  I believe this is why God never gave me the desire to breed.  Seriously.  I know it sounds weird, but it’s true.

I genuinely hope so many people with children will stop assuming they know the reasons people decide not to have kids and that the reason is that we’re all selfish.  Unless you know the person and her story, you cannot assume this about her.  It’s the equivalent to those of us without kids assuming everyone with offspring has them because they are narcissistic and felt nothing but the desire to create facsimiles of themselves.  That is not a fair assumption, and neither is the other.

What’s so Great about the Pumpkin Anyway? (Embracing My Birthday) or I Got a Rock!

I got a rock

I tried to let it go in last year’s rant, “My Spooktacular Birthday.”  Now that I’m turning 29 for the eight time, I really should just learn to embrace my birthday being on Halloween.  Maybe I need therapy…in the form of chocolate.

Ah, yes, chocolate.  Now that is one good thing about having my birthday on Halloween.  When I was a kid, once people realized they had forgotten my birthday in the excitement of Halloween candy and costumes, I often got guilt chocolate.  Sometimes teachers would make sure I got extra cookies if we did class Halloween parties.  This part was acceptable. Here are some other acceptable byproducts of having a Halloween birthday.

Autumn has always been my favorite time of year.  The weather is usually quite comfortable- warmish during the day, with a slight chill in the evening.

I look good in fall colors.

It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown and Garfield’s Halloween Adventure specials.

One year, my mom, my oldest sister, and I had a Lethal Weapon marathon (this was when there were only three).  That has nothing to do with my birthday being on Halloween, but just shows they loved me enough to do what I wanted to do that day.

I can play dress up on my birthday and not look like an idiot.

My birthday isn’t on Christmas. I can’t imagine having to compete with baby Jesus on my birthday.

I know I can now count on Facebook to remind everyone and even suggest they all give me gifts.

This year, I vow to really let it go and embrace the day (though I really wish all calendars had “Terri’s Birthday” printed on them instead of “Halloween.”  Mine does.  My very smart husband had ours custom made.

Get a Haircut and Get a Real Job…or maybe just a bunch of hats

job

Since the time I was sixteen, which is more than half my lifetime ago, I’ve had a job, except for about a month right after I graduated from college and got married.  But I left the teaching profession in June, so now when I meet people and they ask the dreaded, “What do you do for a living?” I freeze.  I don’t have a “real” job, yet I have many jobs.  Confused yet?  Yeah, me too.

Robert and I discussed recently that I should tell people I’m an author, which I am.  That’s not exactly a huge money maker for me…yet, but I wrote a book (Memoirs and an Ordinary Girl: The Middle-ish Ages) and am currently writing a sequel, so I’m an author.

I also still work for the school district as a very picky substitute.  I will only work in my former school, and I turn down the gym class, ESE, and math gigs.  I do feel a bit like since I was a teacher, I’ll always sort of be a teacher (this week I will sub a class with a majority of students I had two years ago).  The kids still think of me as a teacher and I still get contacted for letter of recommendation requests, and even the ones I’ve allowed as friends on Facebook still call me Mrs. Harper.

Then I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time and got myself into a job where I get to travel, deprive myself of sleep, lift and move heavy objects, and have a blast with some of the most interesting and joyous people I’ve ever met by working some race events for The Color Run (the happiest 5k on the planet).  It’s sort of like a contract work job though, because I work when I’m needed, so it’s not exactly a steady income for me.

I’m a horrible salesperson.  This is why I hate plugging my book and tend to be so awkward at it. I once sold Mary Kay, but not much and not for long.  Then I signed up to be a Compassion Entrepreneur with Trades of Hope because the money generated from these hand made products goes to paying the artisans (women in otherwise destitute and desperate living conditions) fair wages and empowerment.  I think my mom is my biggest customer, but I’m working on it (Thanks Mom!)

I don’t have a “real” job, and I’ve never been happier.  I’m not always sure how much money I can bring in for our household budget each month, but I leave it up to God.  He knows what we need and our needs are always met.  I’m stress free and now have time to give more of myself since I cannot just give money.  On Sunday, I signed up to volunteer at a few local outreaches and I cannot wait to get started, to give of my time, and to touch and change lives, directly or indirectly.  I always wanted to be able to do more, and now I finally can.  Serving others is a blessing in itself.  I’m not saying everybody should quit their jobs and start doing volunteer work, but if you can squeeze in time at any local charity even once a month, I’m certain you will feel gratified in what you do.

Terri’s BIG Adventure

My big adventure involved a bike.

pee wees bikeNo, not that bike.  This bike:

old school huffy

My one-speed Huffy.  I’m old school like that.  I believe in keeping it simple.  That’s why I basically stopped playing video games once they got more complicated than this.

Atari game system

Yep.  I didn’t take to the idea of a smart phone right away either.  I’m not afraid of technology, but I don’t really see my need for most of it.  I don’t have time to take classes to learn how to use these things.  Seriously, we rented a car for a recent job I had and the owner’s manual was only a few pages thicker than the manual on how to operate the in-dash navigation, music, blah, blah, blah system.  Ugh!  Not for me.  I figure out how to do the basics and leave it at that, because I’m happy with just that.

And now I have gone far down a rabbit-hole.  Back to that BIG adventure.  Ok, maybe it wasn’t so big after all, but I think there’s a lesson in it.

I am training for a half marathon, my first half marathon actually.  First of many or the one and only?  We will see when December rolls around.  I’m in week five of my twelve week training program and since I began this I have encountered what is a new obstacle in my running experience of the last three years- shin splints.  It’s really just my left shin, so I guess it’s just a shin splint, singular.  Anyway, whatever it is, it’s uncomfortable and I don’t like it.  Every time it seems to vanish, it tries to sneak back up on me.  Creeper!  The last two runs I did this week were really fast for me as of late, which I was proud of, but the phantom shin splint had once again taken hold, so after the previous day’s speedwork training, I realized I probably needed to take a day off before my long run day of eight miles.  But a day off that was not scheduled felt like a wimpy cop-out, so I decided to go for a bike ride instead.

Where I live, we have many walking and riding trails that connect at various parks and such.  It’s really a beautiful area and it happily encourages the many older people of this once primarily retirement community to remain active.  And then there are the younger people like me who also get to enjoy this beautiful fall weather (in Florida that means we no longer feel as though we will melt when we walk outside further than the mailbox).

So I’m riding along, enjoying the peacefulness, smiling at and good morninging the other pedestrians and cyclers, admiring Bambi’s mom as she runs across the trail a mere ten feet ahead of me, and then I’m coasting along with a disconnected bike chain.  I pulled my bike off the trail and attempted to reattach the chain.  How hard could it be?  And it wasn’t so bad getting the chain back up on the large gear, but the little one was not cooperating.  I tend to be clueless in these matters, but I sure wanted to give it a try.  Secretly, however, I was hoping for a more Disney movie scenario, where the deer would come back and somehow be able to either help me fix the bike, or give me a lift home.  Neither occurred.  I had been riding for almost six miles and the distance between this spot and my home was probably only about three more miles or so back, and since I was capable, and I had no other choice, I began to walk my bike home.

I don’t often ask for help from strangers, and I probably wouldn’t have known how to ask the deer either, so even as I saw a few friendly faces along the way, I kept walking.  It wasn’t so bad because it was a gorgeous setting and the weather was clear and as brisk as it can be around 75 degrees.  Then thoughts began to turn to my impatience.  Some time back, while I was still a high-strung teacher, an inconvenience such as this would have been a huge dilemma and I’d be muttering under my breath because it would now take me longer to get home.  After all, it’s not like I could run…with a bike.  I had to walk.  Then I remembered a tee shirt my husband I and should have bought when we had the chance because one can no longer buy this treasure- I’ve looked.

if I stop running

Obviously the same case applied to walking, but it would just take longer.  Patience is important and it’s something I’m learning about.  Instead of growling at squirrels or stomping my feet, I figured the walking was still good cross training for my shin since it wasn’t hurting and I resolved to enjoy the beauty around me.  And so I walked 1.1 miles until an older gentleman asked if my bike was broken.  I told him my chain had come loose and I couldn’t quite get it back on.  He stepped off his bicycle, asked if he could take a look at mine, and he fixed it in about thirty seconds.  He had me test it out and I thanked him as we both went our separate ways.  In another 1.79 miles on my bike, I was home.  It was a good day.

How to Like Everybody, Even if You Don’t Know Them Yet

friendship

It’s possible some readers may be offended by what will seem like my oversimplification of a complicated idea, but I don’t care.  Sometimes we are what screws everything up and creates complication; furthermore, wisdom can come in simple ideas, so give it a chance.

I very recently met an older, retired man, let’s call him George, who revealed to me something that revolutionized my thinking.  He was volunteering at a race I was working at and said he loved doing volunteer work because he got to meet so many interesting people.  Ok, so here comes the fortune cookie wisdom.  George said he liked everybody, even people he hadn’t met yet, until they gave him a reason not to.  Pause for a bit here, reread the simple statement, and let it rest on the tip of your mind for a bit.  Then, let it invade your more intimate thoughts.

What does it mean to like everybody, even the people you don’t know yet?

If you are truly honest with yourself you will admit that you probably do not like everybody, especially not strangers, because, well, they are strangers to you.  We fear the unknown.  It’s human nature, so don’t try to lie about it.   The only times I know of when people are automatically accepting of other human beings is when it’s a baby, a celebrity people think they know because they’ve read the check-stand tabloids, or people with common friends who may have come into the picture with a high recommendation from someone whose opinion is respected.

Strangers, true strangers, generally have to work much harder for acceptance.  Why?  Again, the fear of the unknown, personal experiences, or maybe just seeing, or thinking we see, what we don’t like in ourselves in someone else.  We may live in a country with an “innocent until proven guilty” law in the cases of possible crimes committed, but we tend to assume everyone is guilty when it comes to taking a chance and building a relationship.  If only we could get over our past hurts and consider each person a new opportunity for friendship instead of waiting for the moment they will stab us in the back, what a difference it could make. But we’re human, so we are wary; and we are human, so we hurt people.  Maybe we just need to take more chances.  Everyone you let in will hurt you in some way at some point- we cannot help ourselves, whether on purpose or accident- but think of how many more relationships could be formed and all the good that could come from it.

Remember these two things: we are meant to love one another, and to someone else, you are the stranger.

Word to my Motha!

fruitfulness

When I was growing up my mother would occasionally get “a word from God” for somebody, or a scripture she felt God wanted her to give to one of my sisters.  Stacy, my oldest sister, got Jeremiah 29:11, my favorite scripture in the entire Good Book.

11 For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.

But Mom never had anything for me.

Then, a few months ago she called to let me know she had been reminded of a scripture God showed her when I was born.

John 12:24: I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives.

As she revealed this to me, all I could think at first was that dead kernels of wheat did not seem nearly as exciting as God giving me a future and a hope.  What was this supposed to mean?

Of course it came with a story.  I knew I wasn’t exactly a “planned pregnancy”; I’m the youngest, so my parents had planned to stop after my middle sister Lisa.  I also knew my parents had thought I would be a boy, but that’s as much as I knew.  Apparently my mom figured since I was a surprise God must be planning to give her the boy she’d always wanted and she even told people she was having a boy.  In fact, in my parents’ certainty, the name Jason had been chosen.  Then there I was…not. a. boy.

The above scripture had been brought to Mom’s attention around that time and she realized that perhaps her desire of having a boy was the kernel of wheat that had to die in order to give life to something else-me- and I’m pretty awesome, so I guess that worked out after all (I’m really only half kidding).

Also, remember my parents had not even bothered to pick out a girl’s name so when I was born, my mom said the Lord gave her my name, Terri Lynn, and she realized later that Terri actually means “to reap,” or in other words, be fruitful, just like the last part of the scripture (when I was a kid the word reap actually freaked me out, so I went with the other meaning of my name- caring one).  So, for whatever reason, my mom had to let her dream of having a boy die and produce me, the new fruitful kernels.

As my mom told me this I began to wonder how I am fruitful and what this means for me.  Robert and I have not had, nor do we plan to have children because we never felt to urge to do so, so it has to be a more of a symbolic fruitfulness.  I feel this lends itself as support that God is calling me to somehow reach out to others more, and possibly towards my passion of ending human trafficking.  The name Terri is originally derived from Teresa, and that always makes me think of Mother Teresa, a woman used by God to be fruitful, though she obviously had no children of her own either.  I’d be honored to follow in such footsteps.  I ask to be less of me and more of Him.

fruit

Making an Example of My Marriage

My marriage is far from perfect, so why would God use it as an encouraging example to others?  Maybe exactly for that reason.  I am certain He is the only reason we managed to remain together, for there were a few times I think one or both of us could have walked away from the whole thing and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, the hurt, the commitment to another person with his or her own ideas and agendas. But in that dark time when Robert was unemployed and most couples would have allowed that stress to come between them, we recognized it as a time we most needed God in our lives, and we had faced some financial issues not long before that time that nearly ended our marriage and literally left me with my head between my knees just trying to breathe, so it was scary, but not entirely new.

Instead of fretting, we took that time to spend together and learn to put God in the center of our marriage.  We even took the time together to learn each others’ “love languages.”  In each of our top three lies quality time, so we learned that spending time together strengthened our love.  That seems like a “duh” revelation, I know, but people often miss these obvious points.  Just the other day I was organizing part of our office and Robert was working on the computer.  We weren’t really spending time “together” but we were together, and we found ways to involve each other or have snippets of conversation in the middle of our tasks at hand.  The simplicity of it was beautiful and encouraging.  Our time together doesn’t always have to be exciting; it just has to be together and involve one another.  Sometimes it’s the reassurance that we’re there for each other.

After a hike up a mountain (volcano), we had a lovely view of Antigua.

After a hike up a mountain (volcano), we had a lovely view of Antigua.

My mission team has been back from Guatemala for just about six weeks now and when we met on Sunday for a reunion fiesta, much of what I forgot I wanted to share, or I had just needed time to sort out in my brain, resurfaced.  One such topic is my marriage.  It’s strange that a mission trip would bring enlightenment of that area of  my life, but I guess God reveals what He wants us to know in His way, and we had to go all the way to Guatemala for me to see what a blessing my marriage is to others.  I already knew I was happy to be married to Robert, but I had no idea what an example we are to others.

On the trip, Robert and I were actually broken apart from one another for most of the first two work days, and we were fine with that.  We are both able to function without each other quite well.  The hard part was when we remained so busy during the evening that we had no time to reflect together on our days.  By the third day I think we learned to make the time.  We both recognized the importance of time shared with the group, but also being able to share with each other, especially since we both had so much on our minds during this trip.

A huge leaf, shaped like a heart?  Couldn't resist.

A huge leaf, shaped like a heart? Couldn’t resist.

Our interactions must have become evident to the rest of the group because we received compliments from various members on our marriage. We were given a homework assignment to write a little encouraging message to each member of the team, letting them know some positive way they touched the team or the individual.  One such message came from a young lady who lives with her amazing mother but comes from a broken home: “I also am deeply thankful for the example  you and Robert set as a healthy couple who has God present in their relationship.”  I’ve kept this card as a bookmark for my daily reading because it reminds me of how we can be encouraging examples without even realizing it and how important it is to always let God shine through us.

Broken homes are universal.  Where we were able to be an encouragement to this girl from the U.S., we were also able to do the same for the children in Guatemala.  Apparently there is a real need for responsible men to step up in families in the area where we worked.  The burden weighs almost entirely on the women, so our loving interactions together became examples to the local children as well.  I remember that on our last day we went to an orphanage for mostly young ladies who primarily came from abusive homes.  One little girl attached herself to Robert and then later was coloring and playing with stickers with me.  I told her Robert was mi esposo, and she thought that was great  When we were saying goodbye to the kids, the three of us had a group hug.  I’m sure this encounter left her with at least some sense of hope.