moneky man

Out on the playground the other day, D climbed the jungle gym. “Wow, you’re really fast”, I told him. “You’re like a little monkey”. “That’s cause I’m half monkey” he told me. “This half of me is monkey” (he draws a line vertically down his body) “and the other half is human. I wear a costume on this side. That way people don’t know I’m a monkey and I can go to school”

work before play

I have a rule for myself that I’m usually pretty good about following- Friday after work is not a time to do work. Lesson plans, house cleaning, laundry, researching publishers in Colombia… all of that can wait until Saturday. But, on Friday, the kids left, I had science and social studies lessons to plan for the first grade class since their teacher is out, I had a devotional and a staff meeting to prepare for on Monday, and I figured there’s no time like the present. So, I walked back into my office, turned on my computer, and got to work.

Or at least, that was the plan. Except, my computer wouldn’t start. The screen stayed black, the hard drive didn’t even make a whirring noise. Nothing. I tried several times. Nothing happened. So, I left, kind of glad for an excuse not to work, but mostly worried about my dead computer and the fact that the guy who helps us with tech problems wouldn’t be in until at least Wednesday.

Saturday morning I got up early, wrote my lesson plans, did my house cleaning. Everything that needed to get done got done eventually. The weekend over, I headed back in to work. I walked into my office, plugged in my computer, and turned it on.

It started. It’s been working fine ever since.

Maybe God thinks taking a break on Friday evenings is a good idea too.

Real men paint their fingernails

We’re sitting around the living room, Jessica painting Edwin’s nails with clear nail varnish, as he talks to us about something serious. A few minutes go by before I realize how absurd this would look at home. But here, even my friend Peter who likes hip-hop and rap, and dresses the part, lets his little sisters paint his nails.

I get my hair cut, nothing dramatic, my Mom doesn’t even notice in our skype chat. I walk in the door to our weekly meeting and run into Alex who’s been visiting family for over a month. Greetings out of the way, the first thing he says after not seeing me for 6 weeks is ‘you got your hair cut”. Bored of always wearing my hair the same way, one day I put half of it up in a ponytail. Fabian’s first words on seeing me are “new look?”. Whoever said men aren’t detail oriented hasn’t met these men.

I’m leaving the 127 house, headed across the road to catch a bus home. Someone whistles at me from the sidewalk. I ignore it, and keep walking. There’s usually a group of students at the store and looking just encourages them. And then I pause. It could be Edwin. I risk a glance behind me, and there he is, standing at the door and smiling. Whistles, winks, flirtatious comments that aren’t meant to be taken seriously, I’m still trying to work out how to know when someone is serious.

They open the door and let me walk through first, walk on the street side of the sidewalk, (sometimes) carry heavy things without me even asking, walk me to the bus stop and wait with me when it’s dark, worry about how I’m getting home if it’s late. But they also get up and walk away from the table when they’re done eating, leaving the rest of us to hurry up and catch up. They tell lies when they don’t think it matters. They hunt me down, hold me still and dump water on me in a birthday party gone just a bit wild. Not quite knights in shining armor, or perfect gentleman, but definitely guys I’m glad to have as friends.

Settling in to the neighborhood

The view from my bedroom window

Today, the man who sells almojabanas a few doors down from my house passed me over by the cemetery. "Hola vecina!" (hello neighbor), he called out.

I walked into the internet cafe across the street the other day because I needed to buy more minutes for my pay-as-you-go cell phone. "You need to recharge your phone?" the lady asked before I said anything. "Your provider is Comcel, right?"

I like feeling like I'm part of the neighborhood, I know them and they know me.

Happily ever after

I walk downstairs for the morning break in our full day conference. I find the room transformed: red, white and blue bunting is strung from the ceiling. The table, decorated with flower petals, is spread with scones, tea, strawberry and cream cake, lemon drizzle cake, cucumber sandwiches. A genuine British tea. The sign on the wall makes it clear why- “Happy Wedding day William and Kate!” it declares.

We watch the three minute clip of highlights of the wedding. Of everything- the beauty of the bride in her amazing dress, the pageantry of a royal wedding in Westminster Abbey, their “first kiss” on the balcony of Buckingham palace- what stands out to me the most is the look in Prince William’s eyes as Kate joins him at the altar. They shine with joy.

Across the world we celebrate with them. I don’t know them, haven’t thought about Prince William since I was about 14 and saw his photo on the cover of a book in the library. And yet, we rejoice with them, captured by the universal joy of a wedding and the special fairy tale quality of a royal wedding.

And then, God brings back to my mind a verse I’ve been pondering all week, since it jumped out at me last Saturday, “And as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you”.

That look in Prince William’s eyes as his bride came to join him, that’s the look in God’s eyes as we, as I, come to him. Joy to be mine and that I am his. Wonder that when he chose me, I chose him over anyone and anything else. Marveling at me and the beauty and uniqueness of me.

Just imagine our happiness as we celebrated a wedding of royalty we didn’t know happening across the ocean compared to how much greater it will be at the wedding feast of the Lamb. If some scones and tea and a pretty dress and the exchange of vows of a prince and his princess could make us all feel lighter and happier, imagine when the Prince of Peace takes his bride. We won’t be watching the reruns on youtube. We will be there, and not just there. We will be the bride, given to the Prince of Peace by our father, the King of Kings. That will be a party worth remembering. We will be one, sorrow over, waiting and longing past. And this is a story we know ends, “and they lived happily ever after”.