Once again a student . . .

Have you ever been explaining something to someone, trying to teach them how to do something when suddenly they catch on and say, "Oh, you mean like this!" And turns out they knew how to do it all along, and they're actually better at it than you are. And all you can do is stand there and feel about two inches tall. 

That happened to me this week. (Or, I guess it's last week by now.) 

Beatriz' grandpa's funeral was on Thursday. Thankfully it was in the afternoon so we were able to attend. So the majority of us staff and a few of the students piled into the van and headed out to Tacachico. We didn't attend the Catholic Mass, although I would have been very interested in seeing the ceremonies. I was told the length of the service, in which the soul is supposedly blessed and ushered into heaven, depends on how much the family can afford to pay the priest. Can you imagine feeling as if your father/grandfather may not end up in heaven simply because you couldn't afford to pay the priest for a sufficient prayer! Although, I think the Cruz family should have nothing to worry about, based on that. We waited for a small eternity in the parking lot, or so it seemed. But I'm getting sidetracked. 

We met up with another couple, Abel & Myrna, who live close to Beatriz and were also attending the funeral. As we were waiting in a small parking lot close to the church, Myrna came over and with tears in her eyes began to tell us what had happened the night before, at the "vela." (An all-night vigil, something like a viewing) Beatriz had come to her asking if she could talk to her mom, because her parents were refusing to let her wear her veil & dress. Myrna was, of course, ready to defend and went to talk to her mom. However, her mom refused to be persuaded. There was family from the states and they would not have their daughter shaming them by dressing like a "grandma." This was not just said to Myrna. Beatriz was heartbroken, and when we joined the funeral procession to the gravesite, she began to cry in earnest, ashamed that we had to see her in a skirt and blouse. Mary was quick to take her aside and reassure her that God saw her heart and that He knew that she wanted to do what was right and that she hadn't lost her Chrisitanity just because she didn't have her head covered. And then Beatriz explained the things that even Myrna hadn't known. That her father had literally ripped her veil off her head, and pulled her by the hair, telling her to change, and when she said that she was not ashamed, he hit her with his belt. And then took her dress and threw it in the trash. And I wanted to close my eyes and not see what she was saying and at the same time wanted to take her and run far far away. Because that was her father sober. 

And we were able to, for a little bit. We talked with her mom, asking permission for Beatriz to come back with us, seeing as how Friday was the spelling competition that she had studied three months for.  Her mother, rather reluctantly, gave permission. And so Beatriz wanted to say good-bye to some of her aunts and uncles who would be leaving for the states the next day. I walked with her, waiting while saw said her good-byes. And then I saw her father, viciously gesturing to her, and I knew it was not good. He walked out of the crush of people surrounding the gravesite, his ginormous hand nearly bruising Beatriz's arm in his vicious grip. It was clear he was not on board with the idea of her leaving. We were able to explain that it was because of the competition that she had worked hard for and that she would be home the next afternoon, just like every Friday. And he let go of Beatriz' arm and I, holding her other hand, wanted to run out of that cemetery as fast as I possibly could. 

And Beatriz sat in the back seat of the van and said, "Oh, it's good to be with the deaf again, it's much calmer." And then we had our competition the next day. And then Beatriz went home, most likely to a dad who is raging drunk. And a family who at best, tolerates her beliefs, when not mocking them. And she says, "It doesn't matter what they say, I am going to be faithful." And she comes to school every Monday morning with a ginormous smile on her face. 

And yes, now I feel about two inches tall. It's like I've been playing "Christian" my whole life. What do I know about respecting a father who beats me for wearing a modest dress? A father who pitches my Bible? What do I know about encouraging a girl who lives that life? 

Once again, I am the student and not the teacher. 

Please join me in extra prayer for Beatriz this week. A week of vacation for me means a week at home for her. With a father who is most likely trying to drink away his grief. Pray for protection and strength and a heart that continues to be soft.