Bendiciones

There are some things that just don't translate. Others that do, but just sound silly. Like the fact that we all call each other "sister" so-and-so or "brother" so-and-so in the church. It sounds endearing in Spanish, but in English its like we're all either nuns or African American men. Two other things people say a lot here are "Dios te bendiga" (God bless you) and "bendiciones", (blessings). They can be said when one answers the phone, hangs up the phone, greets in person, or says goodbye. It would sound so funny in the U.S. to give someone a hand shake or hug at church and say "blessings" to them and nothing else. But here, it's sweet. That...or meaningless words, but who's to say.

Well, after my last post, that apparently sounded a bit angsty, I got three different concerned emails and phone calls. I knew I sounded a bit upset, but it actually could have been much worse. As is true for all of us, right? No public forum like a blog would ever receive the true outpouring of emotion that we all feel at times. Thankfully, though, I don't think those people were just concerned. I think they prayed. And I think God listened and graciously gave me, us really, just as many bendiciones as we needed to go on. And to go on knowing that we are not here alone; God really is with us.

I had felt for a while like it had been so long since we'd received any encouragement here. Not that things aren't going well, but so long since someone had commented positively on something we were doing, that we were working hard, that this or that thing was a good idea, or that our Spanish was improving. I don't mean encouragement from the people we're serving, but at least from the church that we're serving in. I don't mean to sound like I need my head patted and told that I am doing well, but honestly, sometimes we do need that! Or at least I do.

So last Saturday afternoon we went to a pollada (where someone makes a bunch of chicken meals and sells them) that one of our neighbors was having. He was a neighbor we didn't know well and we didn't know any of his family. He, Omar, invited Steve on the street one day and told him to bring "the skinny one"; he didn't know my name. Steve responded, "Um...you mean, my wife?". "Yeah, bring her, too". Omar didn't use the word pollada in his invitation though, so we showed up with our bottle of Coke in hand to contribute, thinking we'd been invited to a neighborhood BBQ. We quickly realized after entering the garage, that it wasn't just a BBQ, Omar wasn't even there, and we would have to pay. (Not the point of the story, but a little cultural flavor to explain why life is more complicated here that it should be). It didn't matter to us too much, but we did find ourselves sitting at a table with perfect strangers, who all knew each other. As I've said before, or hope I've said, Peruvians are nice, so at least it wasn't hard to start up a conversation.

After 10 or 15 minutes a man, Peter, came and sat down across from us. We quickly discovered that he was a Christian and went on to talk for over an hour. We mentioned to him that we were going to be speaking at the church next weekend (this past Sunday) and that we were nervous. He quickly smiled and reminded us that "Perfect love drives out all fear" (1 John 4:18) and that if we speak in love, if we remember that we have God's love with us, we don't need to be afraid of anything. His smile might have even meant more than the words. Halfway through the conversation, which was all encouraging, he said, "Wow, your Spanish is really good!" When we sheepishly responded, "Thanks...we don't always feel that way", he shot back, "No, really! It's really good! I mean, you understand everything I'm saying!".

At that point, I just thought, God really wanted to make a point didn't he? You know why God would care about something little and stupid (compared to wars and famine and etc etc etc)? Because he's a personal God. Not one who is off in the distance or one who did something once upon a time for humanity and now expects us to believe in him because of it, no, he's one who is involved and present in the lives of his children. He is there.

The next day someone else commented on how much my Spanish had improved. She had thought about brushing up on her English after she first met us so that she could talk to us. How sweet. But now, she said, you understand everything! Really! I thanked her. Because it really did mean something to me. And again, a bendición that I really needed.

On Wednesday, Anita covered one of the few groups I have direct responsibility over so that we could attend a Catholic memorial service for our neighbors' father who passed away six months ago. We've wanted to develop a stronger relationship with them and this was a great opportunity since they had personally invited us to come. Since then, we've felt that there is more trust between us and them and look forward to being better friends in the future.

All this to say, this last week was full of bendiciones, of blessings. Oh, and because she's cute and also a blessing...Cary. She'll get her own post though. She deserves it.

Being a Foreigner

Friends back home sometimes ask us what cultural differences we've noticed here. Friends, taxi drivers, and really anyone who wants to talk here often ask if we're acostumbrados. I used to answer confidently that I was feeling comfortable here, "people are so nice, it's easy to get around, the food is great...it's not really that hard of a cultural transition". You know, western hemisphere still and all.

That was easy to say when we'd been here two or three or even four months. Or for someone who visits a country for an extended period of time. But as time goes on, even as my Spanish improves, I find more and more things that are just different. Not even things that are better or worse (although those exist too), but just that are different and constantly reminding me that this is not my country and I am an outsider.

Like the fact that meals or snacks or even drinks brought to a meeting are shared after the meeting is over, not before or even during. So don't spend a bunch of money on a chicken and french fry dinner, because it will sit there and get cold and soggy (cold fries...so sad) until the end of the meeting at 10pm when it's time it eat it. Or the way that movie tickets aren't sold to the exact number of seats there are, so you need to line up early or you might not get in, or that coffee at a church retreat is not considered necessary, or that at a restaurant, you generally order drinks after the food, if at all. Or that dogs wear sweaters when it gets down to 60 degrees. Or that plain water is not exceptable to serve to guests. I could go on and on. There are SO many differences. And the more I get to know the culture, the more I find. We can laugh about some of them with friends here now. Especially the ones that we adapted to quickly once we understood. But the thing is, there's always something new and you can only comment on "how things are there (the vague word to describe the US)" so many times before you start to annoy people. So most of the time, people don't even realize that we're constantly adapting, because they don't realize that everything is different either.

I imagine that anyone who has ever been really immersed in a culture would understand this...stress. I don't mean anyone who has lived in another country, because being physically in a country does not mean you are immersed in the culture. Let me explain our situation. We live in a district of over 600,000 people. I have never met, seen, or even heard of another English-speaking foreigner that lives here. I have met a Mexican and a Colombian and have seen a few Chinese (although, maybe part Peruvian). I've heard rumors of Italians and some other european guy. We have been here for nine months.

Today on the bus this old man yelled to me as the person next to him got off, "Sit down, gringa" and chuckled as he said gringa, like it was so funny to him that I was there. Far from the first time people have been amused at my very presence. Then, as I sat next to him he looked at me and smiled like I was this novelty that was really entertaining to him. I faked a smile back. I wasn't in the mood. As he got off he waved and yelled back, "Chau, gringa!". At that point, my annoyance at not being able to ride the bus in peace without being reminded for the 30th time of the day that I was different from everyone else here vanished and I couldn't help but laugh. Two other ladies on the bus started laughing too, and we smiled at each other and commented on "...old people". Ha!

There isn't much of a point to this post besides maybe "be nice to foreigners because life is not always so easy for them". Don't treat them like they're dumb. It's hurtful. And they're not. Or maybe this was purely catartic, although I don't feel any better. At the very least, I'm admitting that at times I am homesick and this happens to be one of those times. The charm of this new culture has long ago worn off and I'm really looking forward to going home for a visit in two months. Until then, if you pray, pray that I find joy in the differences and the peace that surpasses all understanding.