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?