This second reflection is a true story about something that happened

to me while I was serving in Nicaragua. Ill let the video and the poem Ive
written (below) tell the story for me, but first, I want to explain a little more
how this story relates to these readings. Both of these readings show how
there is a complex web involved in service relationships. As I have spent
more time serving, I have seen more and more clearly that service
relationships are indeed much more complex than straightforward. When I
serve, I am not simply the servant helping someone else. If the relationship
were that simple, I think I would always be in the position of power and
privilege because I would be the only one with something the other person
needs.
In my travels to Nicaragua and in my service here in the United
States, I have realized that sometimes, the person I am serving is actually in
the position of power. I might have the resources and ability to help, but I
do not have the knowledge or community awareness necessary to do so
effectively without disrupting peoples lives. I might mean well, but my
help might not even be wanted. In order for me to do any good, the people
I serve must show me the way. If we are to make a positive change, I
definitely need them as much as they might need me. I hope this video and
the poem show the complexity of this situation, as I encountered it in
Nicaragua. I chose pictures of the children and animals I saw in Nicaragua
to show just how easy it was for me to feel heroic, serving these adorable
children by giving them medical aid. As the video will show, I might have
felt heroic, but my true role was quite different.

Maria
I like to begin with her shoes: Sequins, orange plastic straps,
cork sole,
pointed wedge toes, 2 inch high heels.
In my eyes, impossible for mountain climbing.
And yet, I was the one who fell.
I thought I was saving lives that day.
I meant well, and as I see myself,
climbing down the mountain,
I know I believed I was a hero.
And, honestly, wouldnt you?
If you climbed up a mountain to give medicine to
someone laying sick in a house made of dirt,
if children smiled as you gave them toothbrushes
to protect the teeth missing already from their parents mouths,
if an old woman held your hand and thanked God for you,
Me agradezca a Dios por su ayuda.
She walked with me, my guide.
Meant to walk before me and lead me safe,
but heroes are better than high heels
so I walked beside her, faster.
The path inclined downward sharply and curved.
and at the edge of the curve, a drop, 30 feet or more,
My left boot slipped, rocks and dust giving way
I shot sideways toward the drop, flailing,
Humanity crashed back into me.
I like to end with her hands:
Simple human hands, four fingers, a palm, a thumb
Strong, worn, smooth like a rock worn by the sand.
These hands caught me falling to my death
on the side of a mountain and held me steady.

These hands taught me that its not heroes who save lives
because all she had to do to save me was hold my hand.
Script for Video
(The music scoring this video is one of my original works,
written this summer)
I like to tell a story that shows just how much I didnt get it.
There I was, in Nicaragua, beyond the window, serving by giving
out medication and laying concrete floors. That was a good
thing. But about halfway through my first trip, I forgot the
complexity of the work I was involved in. My privilege blinded
me to the true nature of the relationship between me and the
Nicaraguan people. I lost my balance. In fact, I lost my balance
quite literally.
Looking at these pictures of lovely children and cute animals,
its easy for me to remember why I was feeling like
Superwoman. It was the third day of our brigade in 2013.
My team had climbed up the side of a mountain to deliver
medication to a village out of reach of our trucks. Being a
runner, I was in good shape, so I climbed that mountain barely
out of breath. When we got to the village, we were greeted with
smiles and praise. I absorbed it all and let it fill me with pride. I
was a hero.
In the middle of the afternoon, my team started to go back
down the mountain. Our guide, who spoke very little English,
warned us that the gravel path was more dangerous on the way
down. Her name was Maria and was wearing these bright orange
high-heeled shoes. I confess I did not take her very seriously
because I was wearing hiking boots, I was in good shape, and I
felt puffed up with pride for my good service of the day. I
thought I was invincible. So , when we headed down the
mountain, I walked down the mountain quickly at the head of

our group next to Maria.

About halfway through our journey, the rocky path inclined
downward at a steeper angle, and suddenly my foot slipped. I
went falling sideways toward the edge of a 30-foot drop. Just
before I went spilling over the edge, Maria caught me by the
hand, steady, and pulled me back up. And then, for the rest of
the trip, she refused to let go of my hand, holding me and
keeping me from falling again.
I realized that day the complexity of the relationship between
the Nicaraguan people and my team. Yes, I was serving them by
bringing them medicine and hiking up the mountain in my fancy
hiking boots to save lives, but I also needed them to do this
effectively and correctly. They had knowledge of their
communitys needs and they wanted to help us in serving them.
Without them inviting us in, showing us their world, and leading
us to where the problems are, we were powerless to do any
good. The relationship was much more mutual than one-sided.
I also realized that day how human I am. I am not Superwoman.
I am a woman who sometimes walks too fast down gravel paths,
and Maria, wearing high heels, saved me from falling. I was a
fellow human in need and she was willing to reach for me as I
fell and hold me safe. She didnt need fancy hiking boots or
medication. She just needed something we all have. A hand. I
keep this moment whenever Im tempted to let service get to
my head. I am human. The people I serve are human. And we
need each other.