I'm home!

It's been awhile since I posted. Hopefully while I'm home I'll take some time to post about my brothers visit to Colombia and the last few weeks of the school year at Luz y Vida.

For now, I'm happy to be with my family again, marveling at "normal" things like apple juice and pepper jack cheese in the fridge, and trying to remember not to speak to anyone in Spanish.

I'll be around until January 11, and then I head back to Colombia.

The heart of it all

I've been learning some things this year. Most of all about the importance of the unseen. For several days my students had been leaving out a student who was formerly quite well liked. In devotion one morning, she didn't want to pray, sat there with a sad face, far away from the other students, and barely joined in the singing. When I asked what was wrong, she told me nothing.

I tried to get to the root of the problem and as I asked the other students what was going on, I started to see what was wrong. Apparently her brother had hit 2 other students and then made up a story that other students from the school had come to his house to threaten him and his family. All the students from their neighborhood had divided into 2 groups- us against them. It didn't matter that she hadn't done anything, she was part of his family and therefore an enemy.

I spent the whole devotional time talking about forgiveness and love and made no headway. They were still determined to not forgive her, not include her, and not acknowledge that what they were doing did not please God.

After breakfast I gathered all the 1st and 2nd grade students together. I felt almost hopeless, their hearts seemed so hard. And yet, I couldn't just ignore the problem. It was causing such a spirit of division among all my students and reading seemed so much less important in comparison. So, I started our time together by praying. I invited the Holy Spirit to come and be present in our time, to speak directly to the students' hearts. As we started to talk, I didn't address the problem directly. I just shared about how Jesus suffered and died for us, and as he died asked God to forgive those who were torturing and killing him. Everyone was silent and thoughtful as I spoke, which is unusual for this group of students. At the end, I asked if they thought that God also wanted them to forgive the people who hurt them. They all agreed that he did. Then I asked if they were willing to forgive. That's where I really saw the Spirit of God at work. All of my formally belligerent students said they were willing to forgive. Each one of them looked their classmates in the eyes and if they felt there was something they had to forgive they said to the other student, ''I forgive you''.

Since that day, we've still had problems. They still fight, they still struggle to forgive. But I saw something that gave me the courage to keep going in spite of what sometimes looks like a hopeless situation. God spoke to them. I don't think it was my words that made the difference. I don't think it was me that caused them to listen so intently. I invited the Holy Spirit to speak to their hearts and he did. And He is the one who needs to continue to change them. I might be able to modify their outward actions (although sometimes I even doubt that), but only God can change their hearts. My job is to sow seeds and water them and trust God to bear fruit, even on days when it looks like a losing battle.

And life goes on. . .

Jessica and I were chatting, sitting at Juan Valdez cafe. Suddenly, a hand reached down, grabbed my laptop by the screen, and took off running. My scream of "noooooooooo!" in anger and frustration did nothing to stop him. I took off running after him in my socks, jumping the knee high wall seconds after he did. I was hopeful that I'd catch up to him, or someone coming down the street in the other direction would stop him, but when he jumped on the back of his friend's motorcycle and took off, the anger in my voice as I shouted "no" turned to desperation. I stood there, shaking on the sidewalk in my stocking feet realizing there was absolutely nothing I could do. All the other customers started sharing their version of the events- he was wearing a grey jacket, he had bought a coffee, so he should be on the video camera inside, etc. etc. But, when I asked , "now what should I do?" the girl at the table next to us, looked at me and answered in English, "Nothing. You're in Colombia."

I reported it to the police, but just so I could say I did my part. Now, I'm getting used to borrowing laptops and writing my lesson plans on paper. And mourning the loss of 2 and a half years worth of pictures and work.

I've arrived

I used to not watch movies in Spanish at night. If it was after 10 pm, forget a conversation in Spanish.

On Saturday night at 10:30, I sat down to watch a movie with Doris. It was dubbed in Spanish and there were no subtitle options. After the first few minutes, I forgot to wish for subtitles most of the time.

On Sunday night I was at a church over-night with the youth. At 1 am, I was playing taboo in Spanish, successfully.

I think I can officially say I'm bilingual. :)

(which I've determined is different than completely fluent. Believe me, if you'd understood my attempt at a conversation about clapping on the off beat in Spanish the other day, you would see that I am NOT always fluent. But, I think bilingual is being able to cope successfully in either language. And I can.)

A taste of Colombia

Patacones with tuna salad

This is not an authentic Colombian recipe, but it does incorporate a lot of very traditional Colombian ingredients, and everything in it is readily available in the States. Patacones are popular here (and in a lot of Latin America, though they are known as tostones in Puerto Rico and the Dominican). I got the idea of eating them with tuna when some Venezuelan friends showed up one day when I was making patacones for dinner and they suggested it. Cilantro and lime are 2 very popular seasonings.

Slice a green plantain on the diagonal and fry in oil, turning over once. (Use one plaintain for every 1-2 people) Remove from frying pan when both sides are golden. (A friend told me the trick to this is to cook them over low heat so that the inside starts to get soft too, and it isn't just the edges that touch the pan that turn start to burn)

Place your fried plantains between 2 pieces of plastic. Using a flat oject (a cutting board works well), smash the plantain flat. Stick it back in the frying pan to cook until it is golden brown and crunchy. Set the patacones in a colander or on a papertowel to drain of some of the oil.

In a bowl, mix one can of tuna in water (drained), mayonaise, juice from 1/2 of a lime, cilantro, chopped tomato (I used 3 small tomatoes), canned corn (I used maybe 1/3 of the can), and chopped cucumber (I only used 1/2, but it would have been better with more). Onion would be good to add too, but I'm not a big fan of raw onion, so since I was just cooking for me, I didn't add any.

Top the patacones with the tuna salad. Enjoy!

Sol solecito

sol, solecito, calientame un poquito

por hoy, por mañana, por toda la semana

(the beginning of a popular children's rhyme- sun, sunshine, warm me up a little bit, today, tomorrow and all week long)

Today was sunny! After work I went for a walk. I was pretty sure I had seen a "This is your park- live it!" sign somewhere on the 127, so I went in search of Parque el Country.

It was a delightful surprise in the middle of the city- wide open green space surrounded by hedges that cut out almost all the traffic sounds, a deserted old stable yard, and an amazing blue sky full of backlit clouds.

The day felt like a gift from God. On my walk to take the bus this morning, cutting through a different park, several little birds swooped low, chattering in a birdsong I'd never heard before. I stopped to watch them, delighted, realizing I didn't need to rush quite as much as I was to make it on time. A woman, coming from the opposite direction smiled at me, "they're greeting you", she said. Waiting for the bus, Peter said "if it's sunny like this in the morning, it will stay sunny all day, I promise". I prayed with my students during devotions that it would stay sunny, and then reveled in the sunshine during recess, on my walk to the bank to pay my insurance, and as I walked barefoot through the park, the thick grass squishy beneath my toes. A long anticipated ice cream cone from an ice cream parlor that I've been wanting to try for months ended my afternoon in the sun.

Rain, rain go away. . .

It's raining. Again. Today, hail fell while the kids were inside watching a movie since recess doesn't work out so well in that sort of weather. It was so cold inside, I could see my breath. I've become a master at wearing layers- tank top, long sleeved shirt, cardigan, sweatshirt and a heavier sweatshirt on top. I'm tired of rain.

Rain is so de-motivating. I'm feeling frustrated about a misunderstanding with a friend, and I just want to go outside and walk it off. I'm thinking about maybe making finger paints or no-bake cookies with my kids on Friday, and I could go to the store to pick up the ingredients I need, but I don't feel like it in the rain. I'm housebound and restless with my lessons for tomorrow already set to go. I guess I'll curl up with a good book and pray that one of these afternoons, the sun will be out on my way home and I can stop in the park and enjoy the outdoors again.

10 point public bathroom rating scale

1. It's free
2. Door that closes and locks
3. Toilet has a seat
4. Toilet paper is available (only half point if it's outside the stall)
5. Toilet paper is free
6. Toilet flushes (only half point if you have to manually flush by dumping a bucket of water in)
7. Water to wash hands (half point bonus if there's hot water too)
8. Soap
9. Something to dry hands
10. hook/shelf for purse or coat

I'm thinking public bathrooms here average somewhere around 7.5.

I think the most bizarre bathroom I've ever used was in the jungle in Ecuador. It was surprisingly a flush toilet, in the middle of the jungle (we hiked down a dirt road and forded a creek to get there), but there was no door on it. So, you just sat there, looking towards the path, and hoping no one appeared.

Flushing the toilet with a bucket of water from a 50 gallon barrel of water at the museum in Nicaragua was another "this would never happen in the States" experience. And, the vending machines selling toilet paper inside a public restroom I'd already paid to use here in Bogota were the most outrageous.

cupcakes

Naked in Paradise

I was at a Bible study last night, and we talked about God's original plan for creation, and how God's desire is for that original plan to be restored. Anyway, it got me thinking about what life was like in the garden of Eden. And I realized how far my own conception of reality differs from God's original plan.

God created a garden, a perfect place, where fruits grew easily and weeds didn't exist. The weather was perfect, or at least there was no rain. Then, he placed a couple, their marriage literally designed in heaven, in the garden. And there, they enjoyed God's creation, they enjoyed each other, they enjoyed God's presence. That's it. They were to care for the garden, be stewards of creation. But, there was no back-breaking toil. After all, with no sin in the world, no problems to fix, no weeds to kill, no people to help, what is there do do in a garden?

And then came the fall and something fundamental changed. That precious relationship between God and man was broken. Work became difficult. Trust was broken between Adam and Eve. Distractions from enjoying God and his creation arose- thorns, mosquitos, worries, fear. . .

That's the world I was born into. It's the world I know as true. But, beyond that is another truth. I live in this world, groaning to be restored. I am called, as a child of God, to be an instrument of his restoration in this world. But, God's original plan was his children, enjoying him, enjoying each other, enjoying creation.

And so often, I don't live like that. Especially lately I feel like I've forgotten how to truly rest. If I'm not working, my mind runs through what I could be doing, should be doing- creating more games for my students to practice their reading skills, writing donation request letters, cooking real food for my dinner, responding to e-mails. . . The list goes on and on and on. And so, I feel guilty for reading a book, watching a movie, going for a walk with no set destination, hanging out in the park on my way home. I'm not really resting, I'm procrastinating. The saying, "there's no rest for the wicked" comes to mind on days when I hurry from one task to another and then try to convince myself that my day was productive enough when I no longer have the energy to bite off another task.

But that's not the way God designed this world. He didn't plan to make humans work so we could solve the world's problems. His words were, "Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls" (Matthew 11:29). I sometimes see my "work" as the reason I am here. But that's not true. I am here to "glorify God and enjoy Him forever"

I don't want to neglect the work God has given me. I want to put my best into the things I do. But, I also don't want to hold myself to a standard God hasn't given me. I don't want to create tasks for myself to prove, I'm not even sure what- my worth? that what I do here is worthy of the support I receive? I want to learn to rest. To set aside the tasks that will be done later, knowing I have done what I need to for now, and to enjoy. Enjoy God. Enjoy friendships. Enjoy his creation.

Any tips for me as I try to learn what it truly means to rest?

A picnic on the floor

We sit on grocery bags on the floor that's coated in dust. Doris comments that we're eating a very American lunch, and other than the quatro, a grapefuit flavored soda, she's right- tuna fish sandwiches with tomato and cheese, carrot sticks and potato chips.

My heart is singing, and soon I'm singing out loud as I finish lunch, and move to scrubbing every inch of what will be my room with floral scented disinfectant. Two and a half hours later, the baseboard and walls have been wiped clean, the floor has been swept and mopped, and every bar on the windows has been dusted. I still need to wax the floor, wipe down the closet, and wash the windows. But that can wait for another day, because the sun's going down.

I'm moving! And I'm so excited about it. I don't have a move-in date yet. The electricity still hasn't been turned back on. We have no furniture in the house except for one bed, one table, and one dresser (though I think there's another bed, 4 chairs, and 2 comfy chairs waiting to be brought over). We have nothing for the kitchen. But, I have a set of house keys. :)

For the first time, I'll be living somewhere that's "mine". Well, not really mine, it's the ministry's, but I get to take a house and turn it into a home. I'm looking forward to furniture shopping (Jordi knows a great place to buy cheap 2nd hand furniture). I'm looking forward to arranging and decorating. I'm looking forward to inviting people over for dinner and game nights and Chinese New Year parties.

I can't wait. After-school plans for this week? Cleaning 2 more bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, the kitchen, dining room, living room and all-purpose room.

(And, this week Jessica gets back. Which is exciting in of itself. But, she's also bringing the camera I ordered online with her, so I should have photos to share soon!)

When I don't need to be strong

I was upstairs, doing some prep-work for my classes during my free period when I heard screams from downstairs. I went down to see if the teacher handling the situation needed an extra set of hands or someone to watch his students, but there was someone else already there. And, as I looked on as one of my students screamed in anger, struggling to get away from the teacher restraining him, and mumbling threats against another student, I broke down.

Usually, kids seem to explode in my class, and I'm the one with my arms wrapped around a little body, trying to speak calming words, reasoning words, and to stay far enough away from walls and chairs that they can't kick them. I have to be strong. I have to be calm.

But this day, someone else had it under control, and I didn't have to be strong. And seeing the rage that has a deep root that I don't even understand, my heart broke for my usually sweet little boy. There was nothing I could do, but pray. So I did. As I fought back tears, I sat half way up the stairs, praying for him and the anger that's so deep in his heart.

I don't know what to do. I don't even know how to deal with the surface issue of fighting, but the heart issues are much deeper. There's a deep hurt below the surface. So, I pray. Pray for wisdom and pray for the Holy Spirit to work in the hearts of my students. He's the only one who really knows what s going on in their hearts, and the only one who can change them from the inside out.

Innocence

One of my students sat on the park bench with me during recess, playing with my scarf. "Are you gay?" she asked, but with a note of confidence in her voice, as if she knew the answer. I was a bit confused where that question had come from and she repeated it. She repeated it once more, but the last time as a statement, instead of a question, and then, in all her 8 year old wisdom, she told me how she knew: "you like men."

Hoy es.... VIERNES!

Two things that brightened my day today:

Watching my students play soccer against the high school and older boys in the park. Sebas is an awesome goalie and blocked what looked like were sure to be goals. And then, my little guys scored against the big guys.

Making play-doh with the 1st and 2nd graders. Their enthusiasm to dump flour and salt in a bowl and stir, their faces when they sneaked a taste and realized just how much salt it had in it, their excitement that we used kool-aid to dye it (I haven't found food coloring here yet and kool-aid is cheap, efective, and has the added bonus of smelling good). Moments like those make me love what I do.

home. . .

I've been thinking lately about going home. Home being where my parents live, where I grew up, where I'm going to spend Christmas.

But, I wonder about the whole concept of home and what that means now. Because, of course, part of going back to where you grew up is going "home". But, I live here now. Maybe not permanently, but I have bought shoe polish and floor wax and a triple pack of toothpaste here, not really things you buy if you're somewhere short-term. I have a cell phone with a local number, I have Colombian insurance, when strangers on the street ask me for directions, I can at least point them in the right direction. I teach at a school here.

I say I'm going "home" when I'm out, and then I mean where I live now, but somehow, despite the fact that I live here, it doesn't really feel like home. Maybe due to how impermanent I know it is- it's pretty likely that within the next month I'll be moving again. Maybe due to the fact that home largely has to do with who lives there, and much as I appreciate the people I live with and work with, they still aren't family.

I wonder if Colombia will ever feel like home.

A much better day

Today was much better. No fights, laughter and smiles, a prize won, and my first time teaching the 3rd and 4th grade group. I loved teaching them- we're starting a once a week English class- and they loved playing Bingo with the letters of the alphabet in English.

And, tomorrow is Friday. :)

One of those days

Today was one of those days. It started with a 40 minute walk with a heavy bag of dirt in my backpack. When I walked into my first class of the day and 2 children were hiding behind the door, one had climbed up behind the chalkboard, and another plugged in the piano and started to play, I knew I had my work cut out for me. I managed to get them all back on task, participating, and even having fun. I thought maybe I'd made it safely, when one child exploded because of something another child said. I spent the last 20 minutes of class in the hall, trying to calm that child down and restraining him from going back into class to beat up the kid he was mad at. He finally calmed down enough to follow directions and stayed with another teacher for awhile working until he was able to be in the same classroom as the other student without fighting.

The rest of the day was uneventful, until the last class of the day. It was beautiful and sunny, and we were planting seeds for science class, so I decided to take them outside. Everyone was happy and excited. We went back inside to stick half our plants in the dark and half our plants in the sun for a plant growth experiment, and then I sat them down to read a short book about plants. Two children wouldn't stop insulting each other from across the room while I read. When I spoke to one of them, he agreed to stay in the classroom quietly rather than leave. The other student wouldn't agree to leaving the class or to being quiet in class, so he lost the privilege of taking his plant home with him. He got mad and threw another plant across the room, leaving potting soil streaking the walls and the bulletin board that I just changed yesterday. Another teacher very kindly stayed to supervise as he cleaned the mess he made and I took the other kids to the park for the last 15 minutes of the day until the bus came.

As I walked back home today, I felt so weary and discouraged. The thought of going back tomorrow to work with the same students and quite possibly face the same sort of behavior problems was overwhelming.

And then, I opened my e-mail and saw this

It doesn't matter how bad your day was,

just keep walking with your head up like nothing happened.

Tomorrow's a new day!

And then, talking to a friend, she reminded me that, "you don't have to be ready, just willing and God can use that and prosper that. His grace is enough and he brings new mercies each day!"

Good thing tomorrow is a new day and that God's mercy is new every morning. Hopefully tomorrow will be a different sort of day, but even if it isn't, God will give me the strength I need to get through it, and three months from now, when things are overwhelming and I look back on this day, I'll realize how far I've come, and how far my students have come. Because, the truth is, it's the first time in months that my students have hidden before class, and it used to be an almost daily occurrence. That, despite the fact that I wasn't in the room with my students while I was in the hall working with my angry kiddo , they still did as I asked them too and played a phonics game. That, even when one student's plant was thrown against the wall, he didn't react in anger. That I received apologies today from 3 students whose behavior was not what it should have been. So, even when I'm overwhelmed, I can look and see progress. And I know they will continue to progress.

Well that explains it. . .

I was looking back over some old blog posts. It's encouraging sometimes to do that. I came across this April 2008 post.

Which brings me back to me. I do not see the fruit of the Spirit displayed as fully in my life as it should be. I am not surrendered completely to the will of God. In living my life ruled more by selfishness and fear than by love and obedience, I am losing the greatest gift I ever could gain, apart from my salvation. I am losing the opportunity to see God glorified completely in my life. I am wasting some of the precious moments of life given to me. That’s not what I want. I long to hear the Father say to me, “well done, my good and faithful servant”. So pray for me, as I work to die to self and live for the one who died for me. Pray for the Church, particularly in America, where comfort often speaks louder to Christians than God’s word does. Pray that we would truly obey his commands, no matter what the earthly consequences.

“May the Lamb that was slain receive the reward of His suffering”

And then I found this post from November 2007

My prayer is that Jesus' call to "take up the cross and follow me" will ring louder and clearer than all the Christian self-help books promising "Your Best life Now" and the fulfillment of your desires if you just, pray the prayer of Jabez, or do x, y, z. My prayer is that I will take up my cross daily. That I will die to self. That I will truly follow Jesus call, even if it does mean a life of loneliness and suffering and fruits that aren't seen until I am gone. Will you join me in praying for the Christians of our country? Particularly for young people who are still figuring out what life has in store for them. Pray that they would be captured by Jesus' call and seek to follow Him first rather than making a career their priority. Pray that we- all of us who call ourselves followers of Christ- would be unsatisfied by anything less than fully dying to ourselves and knowing the fulfillment that comes of being Christ's hands and feet and mouth here on earth now.

You know what I realized? Right now, the spiritual and emotional conflict I have going on internally are really the path to these prayers being answered. And that gives me hope. I definitely have not arrived yet at the place of "knowing the fulfillment that comes of being Christ's hands and feet an mouth here on earth now". But, I am learning to take up my cross. I am finding great joy in many things. And, more importantly, it gives me some perspective. Seriously, did I expect that prayer to be answered without some pain? But re-reading this prayer helps me see the Father's hand even plainer in my life right now.

Just a word of warning though, before you pray "That I will truly follow Jesus call, even if it does mean a life of loneliness and suffering and fruits that aren't seen until I am gone," decide if you really mean it, because I'm pretty sure God delights in answering out prayers to follow more closely.

The trouble with vowels

If the language we learned first doesn't discriminate between 2 vowels that exist separately in another language, it can lead to some awkward mispronunciations. The difference between the long e sound and the short i sound is hard for a lot of non-native English speakers. I have more than one latino friend who has told me about their weekend at the bitch. And my proper and well-educated professor from Korea always made me giggle inside each time she told us to take out a shit of paper.

For me, there's very little difference in sound between e and ei in Spanish. So these 2 words, for example, sound almost identical to me: peine=comb pene=penis

The other day, I was reading aloud a story to my first and second graders. In the story, the man brings home a comb to give to his wife as a gift. When I read that, I got some startled looks. "A WHAT?!" asked one little girl. "One of these" I answered, chagrined, pointing to the picture. After that, any time the word comb appeared in the story, I substituted the word brush.

Did I really say what I think I did? Guess what word I'm cutting out of my vocabulary in Spanish.

Today, I'm thankful

I'm thankful for the friends here and around the world who made my birthday a special one.

My birthday cake from my party on Saturday night.

At least no eggs and flour were thrown.

My roommate Doris surprised me with this cake when I got home tonight!

Talking on skype with family and virtually blowing out the candles on "my" birthday cake

Colombia's Bicentennial!

As we got closer to the entrance to Plaza de Simon Bolivar, where the fireworks were supposed to begin in 2 hours, the crowd got thicker and thicker. A line of police blocked the entrance. "Sorry, we're full" they told us, so we headed down a few blocks to the next entrance. The police were turning people away there too. But, a bicentennial celebration only happens once every 200 years, and we weren't the only ones who were hoping there was some way we could make it to the plaza for the fireworks. Cheers kept breaking out, and the crowd would momentarily surge forward, but from our vantage point, we couldn't see what was going on. A loud blast startled us, and everyone moved backwards. People with little kids started to leave the area. We decided to climb a tree to find out what was going on. It looked like people were actually getting into the plaza, and Fabian wanted to give it a try, so we headed back into the thickest part of the crowd, the three of us holding hands so we didn't lose each other.

As we got closer to the entrance, the crowd got thicker and people started to push harder. Several people pushed between Linda and I, despite the fact that we were holding hands. It started to sink in that Fabian didn't just want to check things out, if the police barrier broke, we were going through, like it or not, because the hundreds of people behind me were making any other option impossible. My grip on Linda's hand slipped, and suddenly Linda and Fabian disappeared from view, and I was pushed with the crowd to the barrier.

To my surprise, I realized the police had actually reopened the entrance, it was just narrow enough for one person to go through at a time, and, since instead of a line they had a pushing, shoving mob, it looked awfully close to a riot from a distance. It felt pretty close to one from the center too. People shoved around me, in front of me, but now that I realized it was really open, I was determined to get to my friends on the other side, so I made it through too, surprised by the laughter of the police as they shouted out comments, "come through, keep walking, head down, don't run".

Caught in the river of people who had come through, I looked around for Fabian and Linda, but they were nowhere to be seen. I walked up to the security check point, and hovered outside, sure that they would show up soon. They didn't. I walked back towards the entrance, hoping to spot them looking for me. No such luck.

I was starting to panic. I was an obvious gringa, and obviously lost. But, I knew my friends were inside, so I didn't want to leave, and I didn't want to miss the fireworks. I decided to call Fabian's cell phone and find out where they were. 2 minor complications- I didn't have a cell phone, and I didn't know Fabian's number.

I had written down some other people's numbers and had them with me, so I decided to ask around and see if someone would lend me their cell to make a few calls. First I asked a security guard if there was anyone selling minutes in the plaza (in Colombia, everywhere you go there are people standing on the street with cell phones on chains and you can make a call for about 10 cents a minute). He told me there wasn't anyone. Being shy about talking to strangers, especially if I'm going to ask a favor, I just wandered for a few minutes, looking lost. Of course, I wasn't the only one. Almost everyone seemed to be looking for someone from their group. I finally got up the nerve to ask an old lady who smiled at me, but she didn't have a cell phone. Neither did the next lady I asked, but she helpfully suggested that one of the shops outside security but inside the barrier might sell minutes. I went off to see.

The first store I went into didn't, but the next did. And about 4 people were waiting before me, all with the same question, "where are you!" I called the first person on my list. No answer. Second person. Straight to voicemail. With not many options left, I dialed Bibi. She answered! And she had Fabian's number! Praying that he would answer, especially knowing how loud it was in the crowd, I called Fabian. I was never so relieved to hear a voice on the phone. "We're in front of the statue of Simon Bolivar" he told me, "about 15 feet to the north".

I headed back to the plaza, which was now so crowded I wasn't sure I'd make it to the statue, let alone find them. As I finally found myself facing the statue, I tried to replay exactly what Fabian had said. North, right? I thought I was to the north of the statue, but I figured I should ask. So, I asked another lady who smiled at me. "North? hmmm" her friend chimed in, "yes, north is this way", pointing ahead. "Oh good, then my friends should be around here" I said. When they heard that, everyone in their entire group decided to help me in the search.

Who are you looking for? Two friends, a Colombian guy, and a blonde gringa. When I said I was looking for a Colombian guy, they laughed, because it only described roughly 50% of the people there. So, one of them started shouting out, "Mona buscando Colombiano" (blond girl seeks Colombian guy" Unfortunately, the Colombian guy I was looking for was nowhere to be seen. "What's his name?" someone asked. And then, they all started shouting, "Fabian! Fabian!" No response. "Why don't you call him?" one of them asked, and when I said I didn't have a cell phone, suddenly about 6 cell phones were whipped out. I don't know if all the AV equipment was messing with the cell phone signals, or if Fabian just didn't here his cell ring in the crowd, but he must have had a dozen missed calls by the time he saw his phone later that night. Giving up on the whole idea of calling, one of the girls suggested I sit on one of the guys shoulders. At first it seemed like a crazy idea, but then I realized it would give me a better view, so suddenly, I was sitting on a strangers shoulders, waving an umbrella in the air that someone else handed me, as about 15 people all shouted, "Fabian! Fabian!" (they'd already vetoed shouting for Linda, because linda in Spanish means pretty, so it's a bit odd to be shouting. Especially in conjunction with Fabian.)

But, all that shouting accomplished nothing. Neither Fabian nor Linda were anywhere to be seen. But, the group I was with was friendly and funny, and invited me to stay and watch the show with them. So, seeing as I wasn't real likely to just run into Fabian and Linda in that crowd, and I seemed safe where I was at, I hung out with them.

The show was spectacular. They had live music and dancers and a spectacular digital display that played across the whole front of the congress (I think) building. And a wonderful fireworks display. The very end of the fireworks display, they played "La Tierra" by Juanes, and standing in that crowded plaza, singing along with thousands of Colombians while watching the whole sky light up with fireworks was a great end to the show.

As people headed out and the crowd thinned, I thought maybe there was a chance I could find Fabian and Linda so I didn't have to head back home alone. My new friends helped me look, and even convinced the police to let me onto the platform beneath the statue so I could see better. (When they went over to explain that I was looking for my friends, the one police officer said, "Oh, Fabian?" I guess some people heard us, even if Fabian and Linda didn't) I still couldn't find them, so they offered to walk me to where I catch the bus, and we walked off, arm in arm through the crowds, so no one would get lost again. As we headed down toward Septima, one of the girls came running up- "he got Fabian on the phone!" Apparently, one of the guys had kept trying to reach him, and Fabian had answered and not lost the connection. In a minute they'd figured out a rendevous point, and we headed down to the corner of Septima. Where Fabian and Linda were still nowhere to be seen. "What's he look like?" one of the guys asked me. "Well, he's a little taller than me, but not much. He has dark hair, his skin is pretty dark. . ." The other guy interrupted me. "latino" he said. Yup. Him and 7 million other people in Bogota. "Look for the blond girl" I said, just as Fabian and Linda rounded the corner.

So, safely back with Fabian and Linda, I said good-bye to the group I'd spent the evening with and headed home. And you know what? I think I'm glad I got lost. It was much more of an adventure that way. :)

(This was so much cooler in real life, where you could actually see the whole building this was projected on. But, check out the bit starting at 2:17)

A very Bogota day

The short version

Bikes

Waiting in line

Rain

Buses

Almuerzo Executivo

Museo de Oro

Juan Valdez Cafe

Septimazo

Transmilenio

The long version

Ever since I got to Bogota, I've been saying I never want to drive here. Today, I decided that riding a bike might be worse. Edwin and Alex left their bikes at our house the other day, so we decided to ride over in the morning and leave them at their house. Bikes have no rear view mirrors. They have no side view mirrors. Nothing separates you from the cars that pass too close. I suddenly realized how full Bogota is of potholes. And, we didn't even have helmets. We mostly took residential roads with very little traffic, but it was still a harrowing experience.

On our way back to the 127 house, we stopped at the bank so I could pay my insurance bill. Here, to pay bills, rather than sending checks or paying automatically online, you go to a bank, fill out a form that identifies the institution you are paying your bill to, and then stand in line with all the other people paying their phone, water, insurance, gas, electric and who knows what other bills. We waited for 40 minutes. When I finally got to the front of the line, I realized I'd written my cedula (Colombian issued id) number on the line, instead of my passport number which is the number I'd used to register for my insurance. I had to go back and fill out all my forms again, but fortunately then I could jump to the head of the line.

While we were in the bank, it started to rain. Fortunately, we were on bikes so the trip to the 127 house didn't take 40 minutes. Unfortunately, rain makes riding a bike even scarier and harder. We showed up, soaking wet and cold. We hung out til we were hungry and realized if we were going to do any site seeing it was now or never.

We caught a bus to the center and, guided by our stomachs, walked into a place serving "almuerzo ejecutivo". These set lunches are served all over in Colombia. They usually start with soup, then you have rice, beans, a small salad and your choice from 2 or 3 different kinds of meat. They're tasty, more food than I can finish, and usually cost around $2 or $3. The 3 of us split 2 lunches and then wandered through the drizzle until we found the Gold Museum. They have, I believe, the world's best collection of pre-Colombian gold artifacts. It's a nice museum with incredible exhibits and a lot of great information on gold and metal-work, the culture of the indigenous groups who lived here before the conquistadors arrived, and the significance of the different gold ornaments.

We followed up our visit to the Gold Museum by going to Juan Valdez Cafe. Think the Colombian version of Starbucks, complete with comfy chairs and tempting pastries.

By the time we left Juan Valdez, Septimazo had already started and Anna wanted an arepa, so we walked along Septima in the drizzle. Tuesday is Independence day, so there were stages set up with school kids' performances and someone rapping, as well as a parade complete with people on stilts and a small army of Simon Bolivars with giant heads.

When we were chilled to the bone and had seen all there was to see, we headed back home on the Transmilenio. On our way back, we stopped at the grocery store for 30 eggs (it's a whole lot cheaper to buy them that way than to buy them by the dozen) so we could make pancakes for dinner. Pancakes and home fries rounded off our very Bogota day with an American ending.

Retail therapy, or how I spent 86,100 pesos

I'm really not much of a shopper, but my favorite pair of jeans got a hole in the knee and the only pair of half-way decent shoes I have for walking in I bought here for $7 four months ago and they're falling apart, so it was time to go shopping. Doris suggested Anna and I go with her to a neighborhood maybe 15 minutes north of us where prices are cheaper.

I left the first store I went into smiling, a bag with new shoes swinging in my hand. When we walked in and saw a sign advertising "2 for 5000" I knew I liked the place (5000 pesos is roughly $2.50- chop off 3 zeros and divide by 2) The shoes in the 2 for 5000 bin weren't quite what I was looking for, but when I got to the bin for 25,000, I found pair after pair that I liked. Actually, that's a misstatement. I found shoe after shoe I liked. The only problem was, they didn't seem to have mates. Turns out they keep the other shoe upstairs so they don't grow legs and walk away. Once you try on one, they'll bring you the other to see what you think. I was tempted to buy 2 pairs of shoes at that price, but I don't really need 2, so I stuck with one.

Then, walking down the street, I found something that made my day- the Colombian equivalent of the dollar store! Except, it was even better because everything was 1000 pesos, which is more like 50 cents. I've been really wishing I could find one, because my students can earn prizes based on good behavior and I was mostly finding things in the 3,000 peso range at other stores. Now I'm stocked up on rubik's cubes, squishy balls, hair ties and more. And, when I run out of pens, pencils, and markers, I know where to buy more.

We walked in and out of stores, up and down several streets. I found a pair of jeans I liked, we bought arepas for an early dinner and pastel de pollo for a late lunch (our gas was turned off this morning after the safety inspection person showed up, determined we didn't have enough ventilation, and told us we need to add another ventilation pipe before it will be turned back on. We can't cook or take hot showers until then. Fortunately, the repair man is supposed to show up tomorrow morning.) Finally, with just enough money left in my pocket for my bus fair home and some coins left over, we headed back to the house.

I moved!

Now I have my own room!

I'm farther away from everything, which isn't as convenient, but it is nice to have my own space. The house belongs to a Dutch couple who are home visiting family for 2 months. I'm sharing the house with a Colombian girl named Doris and a Jamaican woman named Donna.

Broken

Years ago, I heard a sermon called "turkey vultures and china plates". I honestly don't remember most of it, but I do remember one illustration. The illustration of a china plate, broken into pieces, and those pieces being re-formed into the image of Christ. The smaller the pieces, the more like him the plate could become.

I feel broken. Emotionally fragile. I think for the first time in my life I'm really "counting the cost" because for the first time in my life there's something I really, really wanted but I lost it because I followed God here. And that hasn't been easy. We sing so many songs: "you're all I want, you're all I need, you're everything" "All of you is more than enough for all of me, for every thirst and every need. You satisfy me with your love, and all I have in you is more than enough" And I find myself questioning that. God is more than enough. He is everything. But he is not ALL I want. Right now I'm finding this quote by St. Teresa of Avila much more true in my life, “I don’t love You. I don’t want to love You. But I want to want to love You.” Except, I think I would say, "I don't trust you with my life. I don't want to trust you with my life. But I want to want to trust you with my life"

You see, there are no guarantees to following Jesus. Actually, there are. Here are the guarantees we have, "Remember the words I spoke to you: ‘No servant is greater than his master.' If they persecuted me, they will persecute you also." (John 15:20) and "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33).

So, in saying yes to following Jesus, I'm saying yes to trouble and persecution. Maybe there will also be marriage, children, a fruitful ministry, close friends, a church I love. But, maybe there will be loneliness, failure, cancer, disappointment. Moses lived in exile for 40 years, then spent another 40 years wandering the wilderness, leading people who were rebellious, stubborn, ungrateful, and whining. He never entered the promised land. And yet, God "would speak to Moses face to face, as a man speaks to a friend" (Ex. 31:11). Moses was a humble man, who followed God faithfully, much more so than I do, and his personal life was definitely far from desirable.

Of course, Moses saw God work powerfully and miraculously. He witnessed things I can only dream of. And of course, once we're in heaven, there will be no sorrow, no tears. We will rejoice with our Savior. And, every sacrifice, every struggle, every tear will be worth it. But right now, in the midst of struggles and tears, it's hard to feel motivated by heaven, a concept that is still that- a concept- to me. Streets of gold, gates of pearls, it all sounds very nice, and if Jesus promised it is, it must be, but it is beyond my understanding. Heaven deals with the infinite, and in my finiteness, it's impossible for me to grasp.

And so, I'm left, standing at a cross-roads. My heart is shattered on the ground at my feet. Ahead, Jesus beckons. And I'm scared to follow, because I don't know what lies ahead. I know he promises to go with me. To never forsake me. To give me joy and abundant life. But maybe the way leads through the valley of the shadow of death. Maybe I will learn joy in the midst of sorrow. Maybe I will learn to feel his hand when circumstances make me feel forsaken.

I once read the biography of a Chinese house church leader. Imprisoned, beaten so badly he couldn't walk for years, and kept in solitary confinement, his reflection when he finally miraculously escaped was that his time in prison had been so sweet because of the intimacy of his relationship with Jesus. When I read that, my soul longed for that sort of intimacy with God. And yet, at the same time, I told Him, I don't want to go through the pain and suffering he went through. But, something tells me that it is the furnace that refines us, trouble that drives us in desperation into God's arms.

I can't even claim to be suffering anything truly unique or devastating. And still, I hesitate, this little bit of pain making me question full surrender my Savior. But also making me question myself. Making me question how much I truly love Him, how committed I am. Because, if something as small as this makes me question Him, how would I respond if I were thrown into solitary confinement, if I lost a child, if I suddenly found out I had a form of aggressive cancer? Would I cling to Jesus? Would I trust in His love, in His ability to use even the most horrible of circumstances for good? Or would I doubt Him, and walk away?

But the other road? Jesus isn't on it. And as scary as the thought of following Jesus wherever he leads might be, going without him is even more terrifying. There's no meaning without him. No light without him. No one to hold my hand in the valley of the shadow of death. There are no guarantees on this road either. Sure, I might make my own choices, but those choices could lead to failure, to heart break, to all the things I fear.

And so, I find myself, stalling at the cross-roads. I know I won't, I can't follow the road without Jesus. I don't want to. There's only emptiness there. And I know that with Jesus, I have the best companion for my journey and an incredible destination at the end. I'm just wishing there were some guarantees that along the way some of the things I'm hoping for would happen. But there aren't. And I need to step down that road, following my savior, regardless of the circumstances, knowing that He will go with me, He will provide for me, His love for me is greater than I can understand, and no matter what the road looks like, He will provide strength and joy.

Luke 14 25-33 Large crowds were traveling with Jesus, and turning to them he said: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple. And anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. “Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Will he not first sit down and estimate the cost to see if he has enough money to complete it? . . . In the same way, any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple."

Tierra Caliente!

By 4:45 am, with all the girls brushing their hair and teeth, I still hadn't heard a noise from the boys' room, and I didn't see a light from under the door. I knocked, "rise and shine!" I was greeted by a grunt from the other side of the door. Twenty minutes later, the 6 of us walked out the door into the cold, drizzly Bogota morning. We waited at the bus stop for half an hour, wondering why every bus that went by went to the center, and not a single one went where we wanted to go. Finally, we caught a bus, and splashing through the puddles, headed in the direction of the main bus terminal. With our hoods and umbrellas up, shivering in the rain as we walked the last few blocks to the terminal, we wondered if we were crazy to think we were going to go swimming.

The bus terminal's motto claims that it will be a "pleasant experience", but when you're anticipating a 3 hour bus ride on a bus without a bathroom, and bathrooms in the terminal charge 700 pesos just to use them, with a 200 peso additional charge for toilet paper, it's a little hard to agree with that. An additional 3000 pesos for sweet bread to share on the bus and 15,000 pesos each for our tickets, and we were on our way to Melgar in Tierra Caliente by 7:30.

Melgar is a popular tourist destination for Bogotanos, who, despite the fact that they live very close to the equator, never have a day hot enough for swimming because of the high altitude. Just hours downhill though, the climate changes, and swimming pools and resorts abound. Since pretty much everyone on the bus was off to do exactly what we were- spending a day at the pool- there was a festive atmosphere on the bus. We stopped to pick up more passengers along the way, and between the salsa, merengue, ballenato and reggaeton playing on the speakers, the laughter in the aisles at Fabian's constant monlouge, gorgeous views of the mountains, and frequent jokes about our need for a bathroom break, the time went by quickly. We did stop once, and one of the girls who went in search of a bathroom also found a mango tree and brought back a bag of green mangos to share with everyone. Green mangos are not my favorite, but eating them gives you something to do on a longish bus ride.

Our final destination was a water park, Piscilago, just a bit outside of Melgar. Most of the people on the bus, and maybe half the population of Bogota seemed to have the same destination that day. After avoiding the vendors outside the gate selling hats, swimsuits, and "mandatory" swim caps, we finally made it inside. As we walked through the park, past the various pools and water slides, we started looking around. Maybe swim caps really WERE mandatory. Everyone seemed to be wearing one. We broke down and bought them, because we though the 4 blonde girls in the pool without swim caps would be VERY noticeable. Fortunately for us, the Colombians haven't quite perfected the art of ripping of a captive audience and even though lunch we twice the price we could have found it for outside the park, the swim caps cost the same inside and outside the gates- roughly 50 cents.

We spent the day swimming, standing in really long lines (that's what happens on the Sunday of a 3 day weekend when kids are on a 2 week vacation from school), going down giant water slides, eating jelly belly jelly beans, and alternately trying to tan or trying not to get burnt depending on our original skin color. (I was trying not to burn. I do not get tan in one day. I get lobster red. I was amazingly successful at not getting at all burnt).

We stopped in Melgar on our way back for dinner. We had rotisserie chicken. Here it comes already cut in pieces with baked potatoes that have been rolled in salt, mini arepas, and if you are lucky, fried plantains (we weren't lucky this time). It's also served without silverware, and "chupando huesos", or eating all the meat off the bones, is an art.

The bus ride back was uneventful. I talked poor Edwin's ear off because I talk too much when I haven't gotten enough sleep. We caught a bus without problem when we left the terminal, but it only took us part way home. We got off at Carrera 57. We live on Carrera 7. We walked. And walked. And walked. And walked. For blocks and blocks and blocks. No buses passed, except for one, and when Fabian asked if it went to 7th the bus driver said it only went to the 15th. After he drove off, I realized the 15 would be a whole lot better than 40 something, but it was too late. 2 taxi drivers stopped for us, but refused to take all 6 of us, and since expenses had run a little higher than estimated, we weren't sure we had enough money left to pay for 2 taxis. Finally, the 3rd taxi that stopped took us. We laughingly said we were going to go to Alex's when we got back to ask for the ice cream he'd promised us the night before, but we decided midnight was a bit late for that.

As we drove up we noticed Alex's light was still on. Inside the house, the door to his side was open and everyone was up watching a movie, so we went in to ask for ice cream. He gave us ice cream, and then leftover soup, and potatoes with guacamole. It was a delicious end to a wonderful day!

1 year

1 year ago today, I arrived in Costa Rica to start my DTS.

Today, I'm graduating from the Children at Risk school.

In the past year, I've been to four countries, three for the first time: Costa Rica, Nicaragua, and Colombia. I lived for 5 months in both Costa Rica and Colombia. I visited friends in Ecuador that I hadn't seen in years. I made friends with people from all over the world. I shared my testimony and spoke from the pulpit in Spanish during church services. I started teaching at Luz y Vida. I fell in love. I had my heart broken. I had 4 places I considered "home", places I looked forward to coming back to when I was away, places where my photos stayed on the wall, my bed stayed made, my extra clothes were stored, and there were loved ones to eat dinner with. I sold my car. I learned dozens of songs in Spanish. I learned to cook gallo pinto and make arepas. I visited more churches than I can remember.

It's been a year full of changes. I wonder what the next year will bring?

Day 1 of "vacation"

At Luz y Vida, we're having 2 weeks of in-school "vacation", fieldtrips, games, crafts, and other fun activities. Today was the first day.

I got off the bus and Andy handed me 40,000 pesos. "Do you know how to make pancakes?", he asked. The store, he said, was just around the corner, and I should plan on breakfast for 60.

I recruited Linda to go with me, but when we walked around the corner, the only store we saw was closed. We kept walking until we found a bakery which looked like they were selling flour, but it turned out to be arepa mix. They gave us directions to what turned out to be the same store that was still closed. As we were walking out, we ran into some more of the staff who were stopping in for breakfast. We left, when I realized they could probably give us directions to another store, plus, I found money of my own in my pocket and really wanted some bread. So, back we went, and bread bought and directions obtained, found a little store that sold milk in bags and individual eggs with everything behind the counter.

While I made pancakes, our normally rambunctious dining room became chaotic. All the children from the Other Way, plus the continuing education students are spending these 2 weeks with us as well, so we have more than double the usual amount of students.

After breakfast, I shepherded all the children 8 and under into the first grade classroom for a devotional. A visiting team of YWAMers on their outreach from New Zealand led while I translated.

Afterwards, we split the kids up into groups for stations. I spent my day helping kids stuff bean bag frogs with cotton and toilet paper (we just didn't have enough cotton to go around. . .)

When we finished with that, we painted animal cutouts with glue and shook them up in a bag full of paper scraps (an idea I got from my friend Leslie).

The day ended with a mad scramble into the bus (which technically seats 22), as we stopped by the Other Way to drop off 10 or more kids there, then went on to Paraiso to drop off 11 more kids, and then headed back to the 127 house with 23 people still in the bus.

I think these "vacation" days are going to leave me more tired than regular days, but it's fun to see the kids enjoying themselves and doing new things.

The little things that make it all worth it

I almost cried this morning, riding on the bus with my kiddos. We stopped at a light and one of my second graders started to read the street sign out loud "entrada" Another pointed out another sign that said "centro de . . ."

They're reading! On their own! And, what's even more beautiful, the fact that they are doing that means they see themselves as readers.

Septimazo

Bus- 1,350 pesos

Shish-kebab- 1,000 pesos

Aromatica (herbal tea made with fresh herbs)- 800 pesos

A night at Septimazo- Priceless

Every Friday in Bogota, they shut down several blocks of Septima, one of the main roads. There are street vendors selling everything from handmade jewelry, to art made out of melted plastic cups, to collapsible laundry hampers. There's also food for sale. Arepas with cheese, corn on the cob, hamburgers, fresh sliced pineapple and mango, grilled meat, potatoes. . . There are street artists too. Groups that dance salsa, others that dance hip-hop. There are people who wear elaborate costumes and paint themselves and pose like statues until someone puts a coin in their collection box, and then they come to life. There are comedy acts and jugglers.

I went this weekend with some of the girls from the school and Doris. We had a great time bargaining with the vendors, people watching, and laughing at Doris as she took over the aromatica stand when the vendor went to get change and almost sold a man a cup of tea for half price.

Dumplings in Colombia

As I walked out of the 2nd store where I'd failed to find ground pork (after stopping by a roadside stand to pick up cabbage, garlic, and green onions), I contemplated my options- take the 20 minute walk to Exito and hope they had it there, or give up and make beef dumplings. I wasn't sure I had time to walk to Exito and back and still get my dumplings made by 7, but I didn't want to give up either, so I walked toward ninth, trying to make up my mind.

Somewhere along the way I remembered the butcher shop which was practically on my way home. Once someone appeared from the back, I told her what I wanted and waited as she took it to the back and ground it for me.

Everyone was busy in the kitchen, so I took over the dining room. I mixed my dough and started chopping cabbage, glancing every once and awhile at our family blog where I posted the recipe the first time I made dumplings. J (she's a 12 year old Colombian-American) came over to see what I was doing and saw the power point I had open which I hadn't had time to start. She offered to help, so while I made Chinese dumplings and we listened to salsa, she worked on a slide show about the United States.

KT (a 5 year old) came over to watch too, and she wanted to help. So, while I rolled out dumpling wrappers, I showed her how to put a spoonful in each one and seal them. She's a careful little worker, and loves to help. She did a great job, though at times she liked to be silly and ask me if she should put in about 3 times the amount of filling I showed her.

After we'd been working awhile, everyone from the farm arrived. E (3) and T (not quite 2) wanted to help too. So, we pulled up chairs to the table and I gave everyone a ball of dough to roll out.

Everyone who walked by wondered what we were making until they saw the ready-to-be cooked dumplings. Then, to a Colombian, the answer was obvious. "Oh, you're making empanadas!" Well, sort of. I told them they were a Chinese version of empanadas.

Culture night was pretty awesome. We had food from Colombia, Venezuela, the US, New Zealand, Holland, and, of course, my dumplings. And, once the food was eaten and the presentations over, we cleared away the chairs, and danced. I love that social dancing is a part of life here.

The rest of the story

Sometimes, my theology gets messed up. Lately, I've been finding myself fearing that my whole life will be one of dreary obedience, one difficult struggle after another that molds me more and more into Christ's likeness (so therefore, ultimately for my own good). But that kind of good (the kind of good that says to eat oatmeal because it's healthy for you or makes you get your MMR booster shot) doesn't make me excited about following Jesus.

Of course, God does use difficult circumstances to mold us. But that's not the whole picture. It's also true that God is a God who wants to bless his children with good gifts.

I knew that in my mind, but I wasn't living by that in my heart. So, I started to pray that God would show himself to me in a way that revealed that not only was He my provider, not only was He in control of my future, but that He wanted to bless me with good things.

Remember my post from a few nights ago? The post where I shared how hungry I was for a novel? Well, today, I walked past a shelf I have walked past hundreds of times before. Suddenly, I noticed something new. The top shelf now has a row of books on it. Novels. In English. There are more than 20 of them. Everyone agrees that they weren't there a few days ago. I'm not sure who put them there, or when exactly they showed up. But I do know this. God loves me. Not just in a distant, "I'm doing this for your own good" sort of way. God cares about my desires, not just my needs. He won't always fulfill all my desires. But he will bless me with good gifts. A life of following Jesus won't be one of dreary obedience. There will be joy in the journey and surprises and good things along the way.

"If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!" Matthew 7:11

Once upon a time. . .

Sometimes, your soul longs for story. A beginning, a middle, and an end. Resolution. Everything tied up nice and neat at the end. Your questions answered. Maybe even a happily ever after.

I'm hungry for a novel right now. Maybe because I've been reading a lot of non-fiction. Maybe because my life is anything but answered questions, resolution, and answers right now, and it would be nice to have some. Maybe just because I have some spare time and miss reading fiction. All I know is I have no fiction to read, and I think I'm just going to have to do something about it.

The question is- will a novel in Spanish do the trick, or will the effort make it lose the magic?

"When I get a little money, I buy books. And if there is any left over, I buy food."

Deciderius Erasmus

(This, however, is not MY strategy. I LOVE libraries, and I heard there's one just a few blocks away)

A city in the mountains

My days mostly consist of lectures on child development, administration, shepherding children and such; cleaning, reading, and doing homework. All very good and necessary, but not particularly inspirational for blogging.

This weekend though, I left the building. And took some pictures. :) They seemed more worth blogging about.

I went walking with some friends. Just a few minutes from our neighborhood is San Gabriel (if I remember correctly) It's very different from our neighborhood. (we're in an upper class neighborhood, San Gabriel is much lower economically) It doesn't feel so urban and modern.

Here's the catholic church. Isn't it pretty?

It's built up into the mountain, so the roads are very steep.

We stopped and had a picnic in front of Don Luis's house (a friend Ericka had made out walking before) There's a great view of the city from his house!

Part of my picnic lunch. This fruit is called a granadilla. I think they look like fish eyes, or maybe frog eggs. They're fun to eat though. The gooey part is sweet, and the seed in the center of each one is sour.

An over-exposed view of the city. It's giant (about the size of NYC) Aren't the clouds nice?
We hiked a bit into the mountains. It's nice to be so close to them, and to be able to get out of the city and into nature in just a few minutes.

Oh and one last picture, this was taken Saturday night when we went out to Crepes and Waffles. If you're ever in Colombia (or Ecuador and some other Latin American countries) I highly recommend it. They have some amazing desserts. I had a crepe with chocolate and hazelnut ice cream, chocolate sauce and whipped cream.