To even things out a bit. . .

Here's another shopping experience to balance my Paloquemao market post. I don't want to give the impression that I live in a village and shop in markets.

Just a few blocks away (and right across the street from Paloquemao) they've been building a mall called La Calima since I moved into Torre Fuerte. It's been fun watching it go up and open section by section. The anchor stores opened first- Home Center (like a home depot) and La Catorce (something along the lines of a super Wal Mart). Then the movie theater and a couple of food shops. Now the 3 story mall is mostly open, with your average collection of clothes, shoes, and electronics stores, at least 5 restaurants and a food court.

The large and mostly empty food court

We headed over on Thursday night since we had a fumigator come in to spray and had to leave the house. The mall still has a lot of empty stores, and not much traffic (at least on a Thursday evening).

The palm trees and ceiling have changing colored lights in the central plaza

The malls here make my local malls back in the States seem tiny by comparison when I go home.

A more excellent way

I was sitting with a friend, lamenting the way the formula I’d believed in hadn’t worked out, wishing for another formula, even as I acknowledged that the problem is, there is no magic formula.

Somehow, I always thought it would all work out. All those moms who poured their lives into their kids would be rewarded with kids who followed the Lord. All of us who “kissed dating good bye” would end up falling in love and getting married without any unnecessary broken hearts.

And then, the train wreck. Friends who I grew up with pregnant and unmarried, young adults leaving the faith, my own failed relationship and subsequent heartbreak.

I kept thinking, “what went wrong?”. Part of me recognized the problem was that all along, without realizing it, I believed some form of the prosperity gospel. I would have spoken out against the belief that following God would bring me health or money or success. But, I believed that following God would guarantee healthy happy relationships. Even as I began to realize the false beliefs that had crept in, I still kept thinking, “but maybe we did just mess up”. Maybe the problem was we didn’t try hard enough. We weren’t quite set apart enough. Maybe if we had been a family with 8 children all in matching dresses who ground our own wheat and didn’t watch movies it would have been different. Maybe if I had gotten my parents’ permission before starting a relationship, instead of their blessing after starting it, I wouldn’t have ended up with a broken heart. Maybe if those other families hadn’t sent their kids back to public school, they wouldn’t have become single moms.

And maybe that’s true. But maybe it isn’t. Because there are no fail proof formulas. My mom recently sent me a link to a website called “Recovering Grace”. The people sharing their stories there were from those “perfect” families, the ones who did it all right, who followed all the rules. And guess what? They had heartbreaks too. Not everything worked out. And along the way, some of them lost sight of their relationship with our loving father and focused on following all the right steps so things would work out right.

It’s hard though. I want to know “the” right way to do things. I like to know the answers. But, Jesus doesn’t do formulas. Just look at the stories of him healing the blind- he puts mud on one man’s eyes, another he touches, and a third he just speaks to and he’s healed. So, maybe for some, courtship is the way to meet their spouse, but for others, God uses e-harmony to bring them together. Homeschooling is what God calls some to, but others send their kids to public school, or Christian school, and none of those decisions make someone part of some Christian elite, the group that is following God more faithfully or closely.

So now, I’m trying to live a formula-less life. A grace filled life. A life that looks to Jesus and knows that HE is my inheritance, despite the mess that goes on around me. And I fail. I catch myself thinking for the four hundred seventy third time, “now I know the answer”, focusing on getting it right instead of focusing on the one who saved me from needing to work to please God. But that’s all right. Because that’s what grace is for- starting over again, forgiveness, relationship. And so Jesus calls me back to himself, and once again, I stumble along, learning to live in grace, by grace.

Happy Anniversary to me!

One year ago, I moved into Torre Fuerte! That's the longest I've lived anywhere other than my parents' house up to this point. It's been a year full of changes.

One year ago, the night we moved in, our living room looked like this:

Now, it looks like this:

This was my bedroom a year ago:

And this is what it looks like today (other than the desk is much neater in this photo)

Definitely an improvement for the better.

Of the five of us who originally moved in, I'm the only one left. Then, there were the others who spent some time living here- the boys lived with us for 2 months, Abi spent about 6 weeks with us. My new housemates started arriving in July when Rae Ann moved in. Peter moved in in October, and Jessica moved in last week.

I've loved this first year of turning a house into a home and having a place to show hospitality. Countless lunches and dinners with friends, many unplanned, overnight guests, parties, hosting women's Bible study have given me a sense of belonging, right here, despite the endless traffic noise, the drunks outside my window, the homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk.

Today also marks another anniversary- 2 years since I arrived in Bogotá! Somehow it seems like it's been longer than 2 years (probably because our 3rd school year already started), but in other ways it's hard for me to believe it's already been 2 full years.

Here's to another year full of learning, loving, and serving!

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.