Poor kitty

Our kitty Misha didn't make it through her last bout of sickness. She died the morning we officially started back to work here, which was not a good start to the work year.

My friend Emily's cat had kittens back around Thanksgiving, and we had already offered to take one, so on Saturday she dropped off a little calico. Despite the fact that we all had our reservations about getting a new cat so soon, she's won us over with her ridiculous cuteness.

We've been spoiling her all weekend long as she gets passed from one person to the next, cuddled and played with. Today, we were gone all day. As soon as we walked in the door, I went to check on her. She was meowing, loudly, indignantly. I checked in her basket. It was empty. Behind the washing machine where Stephen says she likes to sleep. Not there. She sounded closer though. Then I looked down. We have a utility sink in the laundry room, and I couldn't get it to drain the other day when I was cleaning. It has an inch or 2 of nasty water at the bottom. And there was our sweet kitten, standing in the water, bedraggled, wet, smelly, and shivering.

I fished her out, brought her upstairs, dried her off with a blow-drier, and then sandwiched her between my shirt and my stomach so she would warm up. She stayed there for a long time, shivering anytime I peeked to look at her, but now she's back to her happy self, curled up on my lap and cleaning off the nasty water she fell in.

Isn't she cute?

Disposable

Sara and I are standing in the doorway, waving good bye, when he shuffles around the corner, startling me. He clenches a torn sheet around his shoulders, his beard is overgrown, but it's his eyes that catch my attention. They're piercing, hurt, and look at me more directly than I've grown to expect from men on the street. He asks if we have any bread and Sara goes to get him some, while I stay in the open doorway. He greets me, I ask how he is. "Soy desechable" he tells me, "I'm disposable". It's a term used here to describe the homeless. Unwanted. Unworthy. Unvalued. "They might say that about you", I tell him. "But you're not, you're a human, made in God's image and likeness. You are worthy, and you have value." He thanks me, and I stand, not sure what to say or do next. Sara comes to the door with bread and cheese and hands it to him, and he shuffles off again.

And I wonder, did he know I really meant it? Were those few words, and a bite to eat offered from our house enough to give him even a glimmer of hope? Does he believe the lies he hears about himself? Is he, in his own mind, disposable?

I pray for him. I pray for me. I pray all of us, broken, reaching out to other broken lives.

Around the table

One thing that I looked forward to as I moved into Torre Fuerte was the opportunity it would give me to have guests over. This past year, the moments I've spent around our table, laughing with friends over food, have been some of my favorites.

Coming back after spending time with my family, one of the things that made it easiest to come back was the community we've built around the table. My first week back, there were only 2 days that there wasn't someone sharing a meal with us at home. Friends called to see if they could stop by. All of us who'd been out of the country brought back things for those who couldn't travel, and we got together to catch up, give gifts and packages that had been sent to us for them, and just hang out. As the afternoon stretched on towards evening and we all started getting hungry, we naturally gravitated towards the kitchen and started cooking- a trip to the corner store to pick up missing ingredients, more laughter as we cut and stir and taste. "where there's enough for 4 there's enough for 5 (or 6, or 7. . .)" has been heard many times here, as another friend drops by, or a housemate not expected back until late walks in as we're setting the table.

Of course, once we settle back into our work schedules and we're with kids again, we'll be busier; I doubt we'll have another week with friends around our table 5 days out of 7. But, they'll still be here from time to time, and as we enjoy each others cooking, we'll share laughter, work through our struggles, encourage one another, and grow in community.

"Always be eager to practice hospitality." Romans 12:13b

A guava walks into a corner store. . .

I pull our metal shopping cart behind me as Rae Ann and I walk into the meat section of Palo Quemao, the indoor market. I don't like the smell in this section, and I've stopped buying meat here ever since my friend at cooking school told me about a study they did on the hygiene of the meat here. But, it's the closest entrance from my house.

Once we've walked down that corridor though, we come out into the central room, my favorite. It's full of fruits and vegetables, every stand run by a different vendor.

I choose tomatoes, sample strawberries (and buy a pound for 60 cents), and stock up on more fruits and vegetables. The problem with Palo Quemao is we always buy too much. It's cheaper, fresher, and there are way more options than at the local grocery store. Then we have to be creative to use everything before it goes bad.

The market is a labyrinth that I still get lost in. One section sells only citrus fruits. Another sells beautiful hand-made baskets, vases, and other house decorations. Then there are the small stalls selling bulk grains, dry goods, and paper products. If you get there early enough in the morning, outside there are dozens of flower vendors, selling roses, $2.50 a dozen. One day we stumbled across several kinds of chili peppers (which I haven't seen anywhere else), and I know one stand that sells bok choy and Chinese cabbage.

We remember to stop and pick up eggs and cheese on the way out. You can buy them singly, or in flats of 30. We don't refrigerate eggs here and it doesn't seem to be a problem.

Stocked up on groceries for the week, we head home.

We have traditional grocery stores here too, though the aisles are narrower, the options different, and the salad dressing selection and canned tomato products almost non-existent. But, on days when we have time before Palo Quemao closes in the afternoon, I love to do my shopping there.