Learning to fail

I remember sitting in a college chapel and the speaker asked everyone who'd ever failed at anything to stand up.  I stayed seated, first because of a stubborn streak I have, but then, as I thought about it, I couldn't bring to mind a single time I had failed.  It bothered me then, enough that I still remember that moment 8 years later.  Why on earth could I not bring to mind a single failure?

Recently, my fear of failure caught up with me again.  I was debating whether it was worth the time, effort, and money to apply to some of the more selective schools I was interested in.  I tried to justify it as being "practical"- after all, why spend hundreds of dollars on testing, application fees, and transcript requests if you don't get accepted? But, as I looked more closely at my motivation, I realized it wasn't just practicality that was driving me.  It was fear.  Fear of failure.

Just the other day I stumbled on a blog post about bright girls which led to a huff post article, both of which made me think about the way I view myself and why that might be.  The basic premise is that high achieving girls are praised when they are young for being smart and good, leading them to see their achievements as something innate.  If they are challenged by something, it isn't a sign to try harder, but a sign that they aren't smart enough for the challenge.  All of this leads high achieving girls to avoid risk taking- better to avoid a challenge than to tackle it and fail.

It seems counter-intuitive that telling girls they're smart could have a negative effect.  Yet, I can see it in myself.  Ask me why I do well on standardized tests.  I'm smart, I'll tell you.  My sense that my achievements are due to innate ability is strong.  But, at the same time that I was developing my view of myself as naturally smart, I was also developing a view of myself as innately in-athletic. I hated sports with a passion growing up and looking back, I think the big reason is, I wasn't good at them.  Rather than taking a challenge, risking "failure", and learning to improve, I walked away.

The first time I played soccer here, I made a mistake, had someone impatiently tell me what I did wrong, and I walked off the field.  Why keep playing if I was just going to fail?  Over and over again, I catch myself in the same sort of cycle, walking away rather than putting forth an effort and failing.

It's not just in sports either.  I think in most aspects of my life I take calculated risks, risks where I'm sure I can't fail completely, risks where I have a back up plan if things don't work out.

But, I'm trying to change that.  I've begun to see that failing is okay.  Not just theoretically so, not just me telling my students it's okay to make mistakes, they can learn from them.  But really and truly, in practice.  It is okay if I fail.  It's okay if I try something and it doesn't work out.  It's okay to make mistakes.

So, I play a little bit of soccer and a little bit of volley ball and maybe even some ultimate frisbee if I'm among friends, and even when my team is losing and I feel like I'm just dead weight, I try not to give up.  And, I kept my selective schools on my shortlist of programs I'm applying to, even if it means I get a rejection letter.  And who knows what I'll decide next, but I do know this- I don't want my fear of failure to keep me from trying something which just might turn out to be something I love despite the messes along the way.

Weekends

I've been loving weekends lately.  Last weekend we had two perfect days.  The sky was cloudless, which is rare in Bogotá.  On Sunday we headed to Parque Simón Bolívar after church.  I couldn't have asked for a better day.  It was sunny and breezy.  I lazed around and took pictures and enjoyed the sun on my face- exactly what I needed.  

We ate a picnic lunch and bought ice cream from vendors in the park.

 It was so nice we stayed until sunset and didn't even get cold (again, unusual in Bogotá- 4 layers a day is my average)

This weekend the weather hasn't been great, but I've been wanting to make an apron for ages and my friend brought back a sewing machine after her last trip to the States and we went to a fabric outlet on Tuesday, so I had everything I needed, other than matching thread.  So, Saturday after getting housecleaning out of the way, I headed across town to buy thread and then came home and made this apron.  Pretty cute, if I do say so myself.  I found a picture on the internet that I liked and, better yet, a partial photo of the pattern, so with that I figured out how to put it together.

Of course, a new apron means I had to do something with it.  We have an 8 year old staying at our house this weekend, and I had some peanut butter chips that friends from church sent in a package, so chocolate peanut butter chip cookies seemed like the best option.

He was excited to use the mixer, and I was excited to eat amazing cookies and wear my fun new apron.  Win-win situation.  

If you're in the neighborhood and stop by within the next 24 hours, I just may have some cookies to share.  ;)

Baby Steps

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” John 14:27

Sometimes, I fret.  I worry about the things I cannot control.  But there are moments when I see progress, when I realize that I have learned to cast not all, but at least some, of my burdens on Jesus and to leave them there. 

At the end of last year, I desperately, and to be perfectly honest, without much faith, asked God for teachers for this year.  I didn’t see where his answer would come from, so even as I asked, I doubted his response.  Despite my lack of faith, God provided.  My faith grew just a little bit.  Enough that when Rae Ann was left without a classroom aide, and I had no idea where one would come from, instead of fretting, I took the problem to Jesus and stopped worrying.  On Wednesday, Jessica had to go pick someone up from the airport, someone I wasn’t even aware was coming.  By Friday, she’d been to visit Luz y Vida and I found out that she would be staying until the end of the school year, helping as a classroom aide in Rae Ann’s class.

“Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you”. 1 Peter 5:7

Thinking about heading back to the States and my transition time before grad school, I started wondering about where I would live.  Before I even had time to worry about it, my mom mentioned that my family will be moving out of the house we’ve lived in for years and into a new house, and maybe they could rent the old house to me.  One question taken care of, I reminded God (not that he really needed a reminder) how much I hate the thought of living alone.  Turns out my sister has decided to pursue grad school at the same time as me and will be at the same point of transition, so it looks like the two of us may be housemates in our parents’ old house before we start grad school.

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?” Matthew 6:25

As my faith grows in some areas, I still find it desperately lacking in others.  I worry. What if none of the grad schools I apply to accepts me?  What if I finish grad school and don’t know what I’m supposed to do next? And my biggest worry, What if I stay single for the rest of my life, how will I deal with that?

Be anxious for NOTHING

It’s a command.  Not one I’m very good at keeping.  Over and over again, I find myself back where I started, pleading with God for the answer I want.  And over and over I have to remind myself- My God provides for me.  My God loves me.  My God is all-powerful.  I do not need to fear.  Worrying changes nothing.  And I hope, that bit by bit, I will learn to truly be anxious for nothing, to take all my worries and fears to God and leave them there, trusting that the God who has shown himself to be faithful over and over and over again will never stop being faithful.

The bend in the road

It all started with a growing unrest, the realization that where I am and where I want to be aren't the same.  And then, I stumbled upon Finland.  I had no idea that they were one of the top ranked countries worldwide for their education system.  Nor did I know they had tuition free masters programs even for foreign students.  But once I found out, the idea wouldn't go away.  "What if I did my masters in Education in Finland?  Then I'd be more well prepared and well rounded to be in a leadership position. . ." 

From there, I think I just caught the studying bug.  I found more programs, all of which sounded fun, challenging, a way to broaden my outlook and increase my effectiveness.  And what started as a joke (I think I'll go to Finland and do my masters) became serious (which grad schools do I want to apply to and what are the deadlines?)


So, next stop for me?  Grad school.  Maybe in Finland.  Maybe in Chicago.  Maybe in Cambridge.  Maybe somewhere else I haven't discovered yet.  And that's exciting and good.  It's scary too- I've gotten comfortable here.  I absolutely love my friends. I know my way around, I have a job that's satisfying (most of the time) and challenging (all the time).  Leaving all that for the unknown, that's the scary part, but the unknown bit is what makes it exciting too.  Who knows what adventures are waiting for me?

 "Oh, I've dozens of plans, Marilla. I've been thinking them out for a week. I shall give life here my best, and I believe it will give its best to me in return. When I left Queen's my future seemed to stretch out before me like a straight road. I thought I could see along it for many a milestone. Now there is a bend in it. I don't know what lies around the bend, but I'm going to believe that the best does. It has a fascination of its own, that bend, Marilla. I wonder how the road beyond it goes--what there is of green glory and soft, checkered light and shadows--what new landscapes--what new beauties--what curves and hills and valleys further on."

( From Anne of Green Gables ch. 38)

Longing for a better country. . .

I've been thinking about heaven lately. 

My grandparents are headed there before me.  It might be months from now or only weeks from now, but they've reached that point where mortality can't be argued anymore.

Mostly, I want to stop the clock and hold on to them forever.  But inside me, there's a building "longing for a better country" that trusts that I'll see them again on the other side of death, and it will be better.

"If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.” Hebrews 11:15-16

Somewhere along the way nowhere begins to feel exactly like home. 

To be with loved ones here means leaving loved ones there.    There's always part of me that's missing.  

At my church in Colombia, I close my eyes and sing all the songs, I don't need to look at the words.  But then, the pastor starts to preach and I miss the focused sermon of pastors back "home".  "Home" again, I find that all the songs the church sings seem to have changed in the past 3 years.  I stare at the overhead, missing the familiar words of the songs back "home" in Colombia.  It's a scene that's mirrored in a thousand little ways, the way my two homes intersect, each with their mutually exclusive joys and challenges.  

And I find myself at moments, longing for heaven.  Everyone I love, everything that matters, all in one place.  No more confusion.  No more striving.  No more difficult, painful, unanswered questions.  No more goodbyes.

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelation 21:4 

Time for a career change?

My friend Edwin knows my love of all things Chinese, so when he and some classmates had to do a presentation about Chinese cuisine, he recruited me in the testing stage.

We made papaya dumplings (which were an utter failure.  As far as I'm concerned, even deep frying can not redeem cooked papaya)

We also made yin yang soup.  It's deceptively simple.  Boil some prawns and calamari with a smidgen of MSG thrown in for good measure.  Beat an egg and swirl it into the broth.  In another pot boil finely chopped spinach (again, a little bit of MSG never hurts. . .)  I think Edwin may have thrown it into the blender.  I was trying not to throw things across the room at that point as I reached my frustration level trying to roll out unworkable dumpling dough.  Once the two soups are cooked, place a ladle of the egg drop soup in the bottom of the bowl.  

With a spoon, carefully spoon the spinach soup on top in the shape of a yin yang.  

It looks pretty awesome and was really tasty too.

I surprised myself with my artistic talent.  I think it might be owing to wearing a chef jacket.  

Another fun discovery was this fruit- it's called papayuela.  Neither Edwin nor I knew what it was, so we decided to buy one just to experiment. They need to be cooked, but had a wonderful sweet/tart flavor.

 Next on my list of things I want to experiment with in the kitchen- these "rawvioli" made from beets

powerless

He sat hunched against the wall in my office, sweatshirt pulled up to cover his face.  He'd been in more or less the same position for hours now.  I wondered what to do.  He didn't want to talk to me and tell me what was wrong, he wouldn't eat lunch, he wouldn't write how he felt, he wouldn't even shake his head to respond to yes or no questions.  Nothing I could say or do would convince him to let down his guard.

My heart ached.  What do you do when a child won't let you help them?  How do you break through walls of silence?  How do you mediate when you don't even know what the problem is?

And so, powerless to change anything, I prayed to the only one who knows the heart of silence, the one for whom nothing is impossible.

which side up?

Today was my first day back after vacation.  I came in to a desk that looked suspiciously like this:

The two weeks preceding vacation were a hectic whirlwind of activities.  We had fun, the kids had fun, and NOTHING administrative got done except sending out permission slips.   

Our 2 weeks of in-school vacation didn't start off too well.  We had a field trip to the park planned.  It rained.  Fortunately for me, I have an amazing staff, and one of them led some indoor games with the kids, then as the kids insisted that the rain had stopped, we headed off into the drizzle.  The sun came out for a bit, the kids had fun, and it didn't rain enough to get us soaked.  We were a sight to see when we pulled out 20 matching bright orange ponchos and walked back to the school through the drizzle in the afternoon.

 The fun continued on Wednesday with a presentation from a juggler and some mad scientists.

 The kids weren't the only ones fascinated.  I wanted to get in on the fun with the awesome bubbles made from dry ice, hot water, and soap.

 Thursday was my birthday, and since I'm the academic director and can pull some strings with the scheduling, we had the best field trip of all.  ;)  We headed to a town an hour or three outside of Bogotá, depending on the traffic.  In the middle of the country side, surrounded by hills and meadows, it's a peaceful contrast to the constant traffic and pollution of Bogotá.  Even one of my 12 year old students commented on it.  "The teachers can really rest here" he told me.

The main attraction was the blessedly heated swimming pool.  It was almost as good as stepping into bath water. I repeatedly counted heads.  1, 2, 3, . . . . 18, 19.... wait, where's 20?  Was my mantra, over and over again.  

 When I took a break from counting heads, I went to photograph the flowers.  There were some lovely ones.

 Apparently, giving kids a couple of hours of pool time is a good way to tire them out.  Pretty much the whole bus looked like this on the way back.  Which, was a really good thing since the ride back was at least 3 hours, half of which was stuck sitting in traffic right as we entered Bogotá.

Friday we all showed up tired, but the fun wasn't over.  We had a different group of scientific clowns come for a program.  They had us all laughing and afraid to touch their electric globe.

The next week I mostly forgot to bring my camera to work.  It started out well with a puppet show and plans for a group from Venezuela to be in charge of the activities for the rest of the week.  My peace of mind was shattered when I got a phone call mid-morning.  "Annie, you know the Venezuelans who were coming?  The ones who were planning activities for Wednesday, Thursday and Friday?  Yeah, they're not coming after all".  We had just a few hours to come up with 3 days worth of fun activities for 20 high energy kids between the ages of 6 and 15.  And we had a budget of "oh wait there's no food for breakfast, can any teachers pitch in and help today?" As I think I've already mentioned, I have an amazing staff.  And also, awesome friends.  Becka suggested salt dough for the next day.  A quick call to Edwin and we had a field trip to the jungle set up for Thursday.  Another quick call to Alex and he was willing to drive the bus to the park on Friday.  And, another phone call or 2 and our budget was suddenly expanded to $75, which is a quite a bit better than $0.

So, Wednesday we made, baked, and painted salt dough statues, played at the play ground, and watched a movie.  Thursday we played at the jungle and made kites.  Then, Friday, all the fixings for a picnic lunch packed, we headed to the Simon Bolivar Park, a giant park that almost makes you feel like you've left the city.  The kids tried to fly their kites they'd made the day before, buried themselves in sand, climbed all over the jungle gym equipment, and, because it wouldn't be Bogotá if it didn't rain, we had to look for some sort of shelter to make our bologna and cheese sandwiches in and pass out chips and bananas.  After lunch, with the weather cleared up again, we headed off around the lake to the boat rental.  Just as we got all the kids into life jackets and were working on pairing us students unlikely to try throwing each other over board, it started pouring.  We dashed under cover into the boathouse.  It rained.  It poured.  It drizzled.  It started raining again.  Finally we decided to venture out into the drizzle.  We loaded 19 kids and 9 adults into 7 rowboats and set off across the lake.  Or, maybe more accurately put, started slowly turning in circles on the lake.  The kids might not have been very good at steering, or even going in a straight line for that matter, but they had a blast.

So, between those 2 whirlwind weeks and a week enjoying the historic city and beaches of Cartagena, is it any wonder that I'm still trying to figure out which side is up back at work?

Welcome to my neighborhood

Today was Colombian Independence day, and it also happened to be one of the most beautiful days in weeks.  We decided to walk up to Monserrate to enjoy the holiday.  I took this picture on the way up of my part of town.  I didn't label the cemetery, but it's across the street from the park.  Also, Palo Quemao, the big market, is across the street from the mall. (Click on the photo to open it to a larger size in a new window)

And, some bonus photos, just because

Monserrate with a Colombian flag bunting for Independence day

According to my sources, these beautiful flowers are also extremely dangerous. 

Amazing the colors on this one

A gorgeous view of the city nestled in the mountains

Another view of the city.

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The myth of the wicked heart

I'm a logical, rational person.  I make decisions with my mind.  I distrust my emotions.  After all, the heart is wicked, isn't it?  "Follow your heart", "listen to your heart", all new age philosophies that will lead us astray, because our deceitful heart can't be trusted.  

My mind, on the other hand, logic- that can be trusted.  

Recently though, mind and heart came into conflict about something, and I found myself wondering if I could always trust my rational mind.  Maybe it could lead me astray too.  And maybe my heart wasn't so far off base after all.  So, I decided to see what the Bible actually says.

"The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?" Jeremiah 17:9 (KJV)

Sounds clear enough.  The heart is deceitful and wicked.  Case closed.  

Until I opened a concordance with word definitions.  The word translated heart in this verse, הַלֵּ֛ב (lev), is most commonly translated heart.  But, it can also be translated as mind, will, or intellect. Apparently, the modern Western division of the heart as the seat of the emotions and the mind as the seat of the intellect isn't quite the same as ancient Hebrew thought.  It seems like "inner man" (the first definition given of the word) might be more accurate.  Or, in our trichotomous understanding of humanity, the soul.  

So, it's not just my heart or emotions that are deceitful.  It's my entire inner-being.  My feelings AND my thoughts.  

And then there's that little phrase "desperately wicked".  That's some strong language.  And a completely off base translation.  King James is one of the few translations that chose the word wicked there.  Every other time it occurs, it is translated as sick or incurable.  There's a pretty big difference between sick and wicked.

So, it seems to me that my original understanding of this verse is completely inaccurate.  

In reality, I have a desperately sick, deceitful inner-being.  Everything that makes me me, is incurably warped by the fall.

Except, it isn't incurable.  There's redemption.

And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.  (Ezekiel 36:26)

Guess what word is translated heart in this passage?  That's right, lev, the same as in Jeremiah.  God promised his people a new heart.  A heart of flesh.  He will renew our inner-being.

That same promise is reiterated in the New Testament.  

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. (2 Corinthians 5:17)

My heart has been renewed.  I am a new creation.  I still struggle with sin, yes.  But, my heart is not desperately wicked, or even incurably sick.  The great physician has made all things new.  

I'm not suggesting that we all go and do "whatever our heart desires".  Emotions are fickle, affected by externals.  But neither is it fair to say mind=good, emotions=bad.  God has given us a heart and mind, both of which need to be submitted to Christ's lordship, and both of which he can use to guide us.  My heart is not the enemy within.  It's more like a friend whose counsel I would listen to and weigh along with everything else I was taking into consideration.

Delight yourself in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Psalm 37:4  

Three years. . .

Three years ago, I left home to start my DTS.

Three years far from family.
Three years developing friendships that feel like family.

Three years without peaches and blueberries.
Three years of mangos and passion fruit.

Three years without a salary.
Three years of seeing God's faithful provision.

Three years without seasons.
Three years of constant spring.

Three years without library visits.
Three years of deepening bilingualism.

Three years of more tears and loneliness than I have known before.
Three years of  greater community than I ever experienced before.

Three years of never being enough.
Three years of learning God is always enough.


This past year has been a roller coaster- from July of last year, I have experienced some of the months of deepest contentment in my life as I could see how God brought me here, planted me here, and was using me.  I have also lived some of the months of deepest discouragement, as I question my effectiveness, God's role in the universe, and my next steps.  Nothing "new" has happened this year; for an entire year I've lived in the same house, had the same job.  But yet, it's been a year of deep refining.  I'm still in the process, and it's painful. I think there are changes coming up around the corner, but the corner may be farther away than I imagine.

I wonder where next year will find me.

What they don't teach you in Spanish class

Ingrid was locking up Luz y Vida while I sat on the stoop waiting for her.  "Annie, the alarm won't set" she called out.  I wasn't worried, it had happened before, usually shutting the door again took care of it. But no, we both tried, multiple times, and we couldn't activate the alarm.  

I called the customer service number and was told to make sure all the motion sensors on the third floor were working.  Check.  Back to the phone.  "Push the following buttons on the alarm panel".  I couldn't quite reach from the phone, so I told Ingrid what to push.  All was going well until I leaned over to see which lights were lit up on the panel, and disconnected the phone from the wall.  

The other phone in the kitchen started ringing, the technician calling me back.  I ran over to answer and proceeded to shout commands to Ingrid. "Push asterisks twice.  Ok, now the pound sign"  Nothing seemed to be working.  "Maybe you're entering your activation code wrong." the tech suggested.  I've only been entering the same code at least 5 times a week since February first.  "It's not wrong" I told him.  "Ok, then press and hold P" he responded.  The alarm went off.  Loud.  "All right, now put in the activation code" he told me.  "Ingrid!  The activation code!" I shouted.  The alarm kept going off.  "See, you are using the wrong code" he sounded smug.  Becka peeked around the door.  "what did you say?  Ingrid couldn't hear you over the alarm".  A blessed silence descended again.  "It was right." I told him (see, I told you, I thought).  

Finally, he realized the reason he wasn't getting any results to the tests he'd run was that the landline we were using was the same line tests should be run through.  He got my cell number, and I could stand right in front of the panel.  Push these buttons.  Check.  Run up to the 3rd floor and look at the sensors again.  Check. Push some more buttons.  Check.  All right, 3rd floor is deactivated, the rest of the alarms should be working, we'll send out someone to see what the problem is tomorrow.  Name please?  I sighed.  I already knew what was going to happen. I spelled my last name.  Slowly.  Then I spelled it again.  Yes, it has a k in it.  Yes, s then l.  S, yes.  S, like sun.  Yes, two e's in a row.  (I think to myself, Yes, I am a foreigner.  That is why you have no idea what to do with my name.  I KNOW it's not normal, but please, work with me on this one.  Just write the letters as I tell you.  I do know how to spell my last name.   Why have I not married a Colombian and changed my last name already?  It would save me a lot of trouble. . .)  My last name finally confirmed, I walked towards the door to lock it and close it behind me.  One second too late.  The alarm began to sound.  It took me too long confirming my name on the phone and the alarm was already active when I walked past it.  

I sighed, unlocked the door, walked back inside, dialed the number again.  With barely disguised impatience, the technician said, "I told you if the alarm "dispare" again, you could just ignore it, it would go off by itself."  Wearily, I realize that the word disparar, that I'm familiar with meaning to shoot a gun, means to go off, in this context.  Oh yes, he had mentioned that.  I overlooked it.  Oh well.  We walked through the code process again, at which point I somehow managed to unplug the phone from the wall again.  He, fortunately, called my cell.  I finally set the alarm, walked out of the building and locked the door and both gates behind us.

Forty five minutes later, problem solved.

The Bogotá that doesn't make the news

Generally, the stereotype of Colombia isn't very positive.  The things that make the news- drugs, violence,  the US president's secret service hiring prostitutes- don't help.  So, I wanted to share a few stories of the other side of Bogotá.

The other week we were making dinner to celebrate a friend's birthday, and I stopped at Palo Quemao (the market) on my way to pick up the produce.  I bought 8 pounds of potatoes, 7 pounds of tomatoes, and some garlic and then headed to where they sell herbs to buy basil.  I got a little bit lost, wandered around a bit, found my basil, paid, and left.  As I was headed across the parking lot, I heard someone rather urgently calling, "Mona! Mona!" (It's the word for blonde here- I hear it a lot, and usually ignore it.)  The urgency in the voice made me turn around and I saw the vendor from the first stand I was at.  "You forgot your tomatoes!" he told me.  I was so grateful that they actually came looking for me.  Our gnocchi with spaghetti sauce would have been a failure without tomatoes.

One weekend walking downtown with friends, two costumed interpreters stopped us to share the history of 2 historic buildings.  We chatted for awhile afterwards as they shared about the organization they were involved in and asked us what we were doing in Bogotá.  When I told them about Luz y Vida, the costumed Simon Bolivar gave me his business card. He runs an organization that connects magicians, clowns, jugglers and such with organizations working with children and the elderly to donate their talents for events.  I emailed him this week and he says he'll help us organize an event at Luz y Vida for the kids.  

After work last week, I stopped to talk to the man who runs the snack shop just up the street from me.  He's a Jehovah's witness, and we always have some interesting theological discussions.  I told him all about the book I had just finished reading, The Spirit of the Rainforest, and its interesting perspective on spirituality.  He offered me a hot pan de bono con bocadillo (a soft bread with a sweet guava filling) while we were chatting and sent me home with a little bag of bite sized cookies. 

After talking to him, I ran across the street to the hardware store because I needed some twine to hang my really awesome new wall hanging.  The shopkeeper there always asks me about English classes, and I always tell him I'm too tired to think about starting a class, but I'll let him know if anyone I know starts one. I asked for 3 meters of twine, and then asked what I owed him.  "Cómo se dice gratis en inglés?" (How do you say free in English) he asked me.  "Free" he told me with a smile, after I helped him with the pronunciation.   

Not really newsworthy moments, but they are part of the reality of life here.  Well I do see way more of the dark side of life living where I do than when I was in middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania, there are so many beautiful things as well.

The God who waits

When I was a child, I loved The Story about Ping.  It tells about a little duckling on the Yangtze river who lives on a river boat with his whole extended family.  One day, he wanders away and when all the ducks are called back to the boat, he realizes he will be last to get on.  The last duck back always got a spank on the back, so Ping decides not to go back, and he swims away.  He has several misadventures before he finally finds his family and the boat again, and decides to go back, despite again being last and needing to suffer the spank on his back.

I think sometimes, I picture God the same way as the duck keeper on the boat.  He stands there, waiting with his switch to punish me if I've gone astray.  And so, when I know my attitude hasn't been pleasing God, or I've done something I know I shouldn't, I do the same thing as Ping (or Adam and Eve).  I hide.  I hesitate to truly enter into God's presence and listen to his voice.  I know I don't deserve his mercy and grace, and so I isolate myself.  But, in doing so, I miss what God wants to offer.  I'll suffer the natural consequences of my sin.  I'll continue to suffer for distancing myself in my relationship to God.  But God's judgement is only for those whose backs are to him.  As soon as we turn to him, he is gracious to us.  Here's what it says in Isaiah 30:15 and 18

For thus said the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel,
“In returning and rest you shall be saved;
in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”
But you were unwilling, . . .

Therefore the LORD waits to be gracious to you,

and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you.
For the LORD is a God of justice;
blessed are all those who wait for him.

God doesn't wait like the duck keeper, to smack us on the back when he returns. He won't enforce our self-imposed isolation. He won't send us to a heavenly time out. God waits to to be gracious. He waits to show mercy. As soon as we turn our faces to him, he welcomes us back to himself.  Like the father welcoming the prodigal son, he doesn't make sure we get what we deserve before showing mercy.  Instead God the Father waits for our return to shower us with grace and mercy.  

What astounding love.  When we turn our backs to the creator of the universe, he doesn't wait to give us what we deserve.  He waits to be gracious.  His heart's longing is to receive us back as his own dear children.  

Life is not a chick flick

The street artist I’d passed just a few minutes before caught up to me a block later.  “What do I have to do for you to let me draw your portrait?” he asked.  He invited me out for a drink.  I declined.  “Do you like ice cream?” he asked.  I countered with a question of my own, “Why are you asking me out?”  “I’m in love with you!” he declared, “You’re the princess of my life”.

But, unfortunately, life is not a chick flick.  He was not young and devastatingly handsome.   I didn’t find myself  swept away in some romantic fairy tale. Instead, I laughed, and walked away.  

San Gil, a photo journal: Friday April 6

7:00 am
Another beautiful morning, and I wander off in search of breakfast.  I'm disappointed (and astonished) that the first bakery I peak into doesn't have hot chocolate.  By the time I make it to the bakery by the river, I realize I don't really have time to sit down and order breakfast.  I get a buñuelo and a cold oatmeal drink to go and head back to the hotel.

8:30 am
We head over to the office and wait for our ride.  We drive along the river again until we reach a small town where La Cueva del Indio (The Indian's cave) awaits us.  We suit up- hard hats with headlamps and life jackets- and then walk across town to the cave's entrance.  Our guide tells us a little bit about it's history on the way.  Supposedly back in the 1600 when the Spanish Conquistadors were taking over the region, the local Indian tribe hid in the cave to escape slavery.  The Spanish eventually found them there though.

It's a gorgeous sunny morning and I dash down the pathway to the caves entrance.  "slow down!" the guide admonishes me.  I laugh to the girls, in English, "some people like long walks on the beach.  I like haphazardly running downhill in the woods.  Preferably barefoot."

We duck into the cave (which, the guide tells us, is more accurately a cavern- caves have only one entrance, caverns have multiple entrances.)  It's dark and smells bad.  Lots of bats live here he informs us.

After navigating the first passageway easily- it's wide here and the ceilings aren't low- we come to a large open area.  The guide instructs us to sit down and turn out our head lamps.  As soon as we sit, we here the wings around us.  Bats swoop low.  Some people scream.  It's a bit creepy, but I'm not scared; I went to too many state park service campfire talks growing up and read too many magic school bus books not to know that bats are good, mostly.  They eat insects.  They know where we are and aren't likely to fly into us by accident, and have no desire to fly into us on purpose.  Finally, after our eyes have accustomed to the dark, the guide turns on his flashlight and shines it towards the roof of cave- there are hundreds of bats clinging to the walls.  He whistles and some of them take off flying.

We head on to another section of the cave where there's an underground river.  They have to close the cave when the weather is very wet or it's impassable.  We wade through water up to our hips.  We're cold and muddy.  We pass an area where stalactites and stalagmites have joined, forming columns.

Farther on we reach a drop off, the water flows below us.  "Now it's time to jump!" instructs our guide. We jump in, obediently, braced for the cold water.  Then, he walks around to the other side, and we realize there was a way around jumping in.  We should have figured that out when just moments later he has us army crawl through a tunnel, and then takes a different much wider passage to catch up to us.

The end of the cave tour is the scariest.  The part of the path we are following ends at a 5 meter cliff.  The river runs below us.  There's a ladder down to the river, but the 8 or 10 year old boys we're with jump into the water.  Then their parents do.  Then Rae Ann and Ingrid do.  It's just Jen and I left.  I can't be outdone by a 10 year old, so I count to 3, and then freeze.  The water looks so far away.  I try it again.  Finally, I jump.  It takes forever to hit the water, and when I do, despite my life jacket, I sink beneath the surface.  My back almost touches the bottom before my life jacket carries me back to the top.

We swim and wade, following the river back up to the light of day.  We've covered about a kilometer and a half underground, down hill almost the whole way, and we have to climb back uphill through the woods, our wet, muddy clothes somewhat drying in the sun.

12:30 pm
Back in San Gil we're hungry and ready for lunch.  It's Good Friday and all inter-city public transportation is closed for the day, so we decide to just relax and enjoy the city.

After a mediocre lunch, we each go our separate ways.  I walk downtown in search of the perfect photo.   I love the colonial architecture of the city.  

One of the things I love the most are the balconies.  In my mind, I design my dream house.  It will be painted beautiful bold pastels, and have a balcony.

Children are playing in the fountain on this warm, sunny day and chasing pigeons in the park.  There's a painting exhibition with local artists painting outside in the park. I pause to admire their work, wishing I were brave enough to ask to photograph them painting up close, but I don't. 

I run into Rae Ann in the park and we head down to the river together.  She decides to buy the specialty in this department of Colombia- hormigas culonas- a large deep fried ant.  We buy the little packet, do some souvenir window shopping, meet up with the other girls, and then head back to the hotel to try our new "treat"

5:30 pm
We have to work up the nerve to actually eat the ants.  One by one, taking pictures as we go, we pop the ants in our mouths.  They're not as bad as you'd think a giant fried ant might be.  They're crunchy and salty, and not so bad at first, but the oily aftertaste makes me want to wash it down with lots of water.

7:00 pm
We head off downtown to eat some street food.  We buy corn on the cob and shish-kebabs. It starts to drizzle but we decide we need some ice cream.  Once again, our adventures have tired us out and we all go to bed before it's too late.

(not so) Ordinary chaos

As they always seem to whenever I walk in the door, a million things greeted me at once.  When I finally managed to slip upstairs to print out tests for Julian, it seemed like things were going smoothly- the computer was on, the printer connected, pages even started to print.  I breathed a sigh of relief, went to open the last document and tell it to print when there was a sudden pop and hiss sound.  The computer went dead.  The printer stopped working.  And then, I looked down.  The cord connecting the surge protector to the outlet was on fire.  Sparks were spitting everywhere.  I looked at it, frozen in indecision.  The flame looked too large to just stomp out, besides, stomping on a sparking electrical cord didn't seem like the brightest decision.  I looked around- I think you're supposed to smother electrical fires, right? I thought to myself.  There was nothing around that seemed too helpful- newspapers, Fabian's sweatshirt (ok, as a last resort, but the fire wasn't spreading yet).  I looked anxiously at the wood floor.  I better figure out something, and soon.  I ran downstairs and burst into a classroom, "You're not supposed to put out an electrical fire with water, right?" I asked breathlessly.  Ana Yivi and Julian looked up, concerned.  "There's a fire upstairs!  Will you help Julian?" I asked.  "Use the yellow fire extinguisher" suggested Ana Yivi.  I dashed downstairs, grabbed the fire extinguisher, and headed back upstairs.  It must have almost burnt itself out in the meantime, because Julian told me he blew it out.  It was definitely bigger than blowing out size when I ran downstairs.

**********

The internet had been on again off again, so we called the internet provider.  They came and fiddled around, supposedly "fixed" things, but I soon realized that while the wireless network was working better, the internet was now completely non-functioning on my office computer.  It was Wednesday, Juan, who helps with all our tech problems, was already on the way out the door.  He only comes once a week.  The next Wednesday rolled around.  Juan fiddled with my computer between classes.  He got the internet back up and running, and then decided to upgrade my CPU, switching it for a better one in the computer room.  He finished up as I was leaving for the day.  Thursday, my computer wouldn't turn on.  It still won't start a week later, and he isn't able to come tomorrow.  No computer, no internet... it's hard to get my work done when I can't even access my documents.

**********

I've been trying to get one of my student's parents to come in for weeks.  She never came back after she enrolled him to finish filling out paperwork, and we've been having disciplinary issues, so we really needed to meet.  I finally did what I hate to do- set an ultimatum: Come to school on Tuesday or your son will not be able to come to school on Wednesday.  Her appointment at 10 came and went and she never showed up.  I was busy and lost track of time, and then had to sub a class.  I called when the class was over.  No answer.  Finally, sometime after lunch, she called me back.  "You had an appointment at the school", I reminded her.  "I'm just wondering what happened".  "Oh, I'm on my way," she told me.  Two hours passed and she still hadn't shown up.  I rang the bell to dismiss students and tried calling her one last time.  "I'll be right there!" She told me.  "You need to be here in 10 minutes, or I may have already left", I told her.  Finally, 5 hours after her scheduled appointment, she appeared.  At least we got to talk, and I can let her son come to school tomorrow.  

**********

"Katrina's on the phone for you, Annie", Lilia told me.  She was calling to let me know that the Former Colombian Interior Minister was targeted in a car bomb attack and that I should let the staff know that they should take extra precautions and make sure they told someone where they were going and when they expected to be back.  Around the same time Ana Yivi came in to let me know pretty much the same thing.  I called the school where our continuing ed students go and asked them to please tell the children to take a bus on the septima, and not the transmilenio, since the car bomb had gone off on the Caracas, the same route the transmilenio takes.  When everyone was together for lunch, I let all the staff know they should take extra precautions and encouraged the children to go straight home after school and stay away from the Caracas.

**********

These past few weeks have been a bit crazier than usual, though there's always something going on. Maybe it does help to explain why I've been overwhelmed and stressed lately though.  Fires, bombings,   not being able to get my work done when I am at work.  Hmm, I guess that might explain it. 

Field trip!

Mist over the mountains

Last Tuesday was a holiday, so we decided to take advantage of a free day to take some of our older continuing education students on a field trip.  The church of Monserrate is one of the most popular tourist destinations in Bogotá.  It's on the mountain overlooking the city and has amazing views. The walking path up to it was closed shortly before I first arrived in Bogotá, and just reopened the end of last year, and I've been wanting to go since then.

The morning didn't look to promising- grey clouds covered the sky as it gently drizzled outside. We met the kids outside the jungle around 8am and walked through the city towards downtown.  I noticed as we talked our breath coming out in puffs of white.  I wasn't sure that  a cold, grey, drizzly day was the best for this, but we were committed now.  Jessica bought some bread at the local bakery to share with the kids since not all of them had eaten, and we started off.

The girls taking a break at the top

We hadn't walked very far when we passed our first group of riot control police.  The girls were unconcerned, "oh, yeah, there's a march today", they mentioned.  Jessica and I looked at each other, slightly more concerned.  "It's labor day, it's a workers march" I said.  "I don't think it should be violent."  As we approached the Septima (the main street leading through down town) I became a bit more worried.  Riot police lined both sides of the street, with a sprinkling of regular police thrown in for good measure.  "Who's idea was it anyway to take a bunch of kids on a field trip through a protest march?" I muttered, "oh, right, it was my idea. . . " Jessica went over to ask what time the march was coming through and how long it would last.  They weren't sure, but it wasn't expected to get violent.  As we crossed the street we realized we were just in time- we could just see the beginning wave of marchers headed towards us and hear them chanting.

The church of Monserrate

ferns and moss growing along the way

We left the march behind and headed to the foot of the mountains and the entrance to the pathway.  Our beginning altitude was somewhere around 8,832 feet above sea level.  (That's roughly 3, 600 feet higher than Denver, CO).  The path up to Monserrate is steep as you climb over 1,500 feet in altitude over the course of roughly a mile and a half.  The mixture of gorgeous views of the city with beautiful Andean mountain forest makes it well worth the burning lungs.  Half of the group took off running, but I stayed behind with the kids who wanted to take it slow.  We stopped for pictures, just to catch our breath, and to buy freshly sliced pineapple and bananas at a stand at the half way point.  It was still drizzling off and on, but walking had warmed us all up and my sweatshirt was off.  I was actually feeling glad it wasn't sunny.  The sun at this altitude and latitude is strong, making it feel hotter than the air temperature is.

View of the city on a grey day

Jessica and I

Mass was in session when we arrived, so we didn't go inside the church.  We sat outside and bought almojabanas and ripe roasted plantain with cheese and bocadillo (a guava based sweet)  to share with the kids.  It got cold sitting still in the shade of the church, so we got up to explore.  There are a lot of souvenir shops, an outdoor "stations of the cross", and a path to the view of the mountainsides behind the church.

The souvenir shops

We finally decided it was time to head back down, and started off running down the mountain.  Stone steps that are wet from rain are not easy to navigate, so running didn't last long, at least not for most of us.  When we got to the
bottom, hot and tired, with the sun finally peeking out from the clouds a bit, Edwin bought us all ice pops from a street vendor.

That's when I wished we could take a bus back, because we still had almost 2 miles to walk across town to get back to where we started.  We finally made it, saying goodbye to kids along the way as they passed their homes.  Six and a half miles of walking had tired me out, so I decided lunch and a nap were a good way to spend the rest of my holiday.