the story of us, chapter 1

I love having this space to write. It does something good to me. However, with all of the changing and moving and craziness--I seem to have hit a dry spell. With this in mind, I have decided to take up the telling of "our story"... how Rey and I met and whatnot. It may or may not be interesting to you, but I want to write it out now. Before I forget more...

Whenever people ask us how we met, we always look at each other and giggle. And, it is really probably one of the questions we get asked most--so I guess we giggle a lot. It does make a person wonder... how a homeschooled girl born and raised in the midwest might cross paths with a farm boy from south of the border.

I like to think about how near I came to not meeting my man. You see, I'd worked for 4 summers at a landscaping company and I was pretty sure I didn't want to do another one. I liked the job and all--but, my major was in Bilingual Education and I felt that possibly I should be working somewhere closer to that area of learning. Also, there had been some "unpleasant" experiences the year before... so I was pretty firm about not coming back.

And then. One of the managers of the company called me and asked if I would re-consider. He told me all kinds of stuff he knew I'd want to hear (think: "Translating! Teaching English! Pay raise")... and, wouldn't ya know, talked me right back into working for them.

So, that spring of 2004 found me out pulling weeds and digging holes. Again. Although I didn't know it, at that very moment-- the man of my dreams was on a bus, on his way into my life.

Rey getting ready to leave on the bus. Some school buddies came to bid him farewell.

Rey took a very long bus ride from McAllen, TX to Champaign, IL. There, he was to be retrieved by the owners of the landscaping company, who were the ones that had gotten him his work visa for the summer. It was the first time Rey had been away from his big family. He was just learning English. He didn't have anything more than a phone number on a piece of paper. Needless to say, he was a nervous, tired guy once the owners got to him.

I started hearing wind of a "new Mexican" working for the company, but had not seen him. I was preparing for the first English class of the season, and the manager gave me the list of the names of the Hispanic workers for that season. Rey's was the only one I didn't recognize.

It seemed that he was a celebrity or something--because I had heard about him from almost all the other Mexican workers and some other coworkers before I met him. From the Mexican guys, they seemed eager to make sure he didn't encroach on their territory.

Then came that fateful evening. May 15, 2004. I sat in my English classroom, awaiting the students for the first class. Through the door walked the manager... followed by a tall, dreadfully handsome man. He sure looked goooood in a baseball hat, I thought.

I knew it had to be Rey, but I played it cool and asked him for his name--as though I hadn't heard about him 100 times. The manager left us after introductions were made, and I began to be all teacherly and ask Rey about his English knowledge. As time went by and it became more obvious that no one else was going to show up--we abandoned scholarly topics and got to know a little more about each other.

I learned that he came from a big family and that he had completed his first year of study to be an Industrial Engineer.

I remember thinking that I thought it was cute that he hung his baseball hat on his knee and that he was really fun to talk with. And, ohstopmybeatingheart, he is so good-looking.

cdd

Nope. Not a disease. It's just what has me amazed these days.

CDD. That is: Closets, dishwasher and dryer.

I feel like a different person with these 3 items in my life. My Mexico house had 1 (one... like a single finger) closet. This house has 4 great closets and around 10 cabinets. Wow! Talk about organization! And the dishwasher? My kitchen looks clean even though there is a pile of dirty dishes hiding behind that shiny black door. And the clothes dryer. Well, let me just say I have never minded hanging out laundry--but I also had forgotten how much time the process adds to the laundry experience.

I like my three little maids.

dare i begin?

Ok. Deep breath. I am breaking the blog silence at last. The idea of trying to put anything of the last several months into words is overwhelming. Like trying to move Mt. Everest. So, perhaps I will just give small snapshots of different angles of what has been happening, and in the end those snapshots will add up to that big picture that I seem to be unable to face head on.

Today's snap shot will be on culture shock. Oh, yes. Even in returning to my own culture. I can't imagine how it must feel to a person arriving for the first time--if it affects me so much. The first time throught an HEB after being in Mexico was almost too much. Our biggest store in Fresnillo would have fit into 1/3 or 1/4 of that store. There were just about 200 versions of everything. What? 700 kinds of beans? I've gotten used to picking from 4. Gracious sakes, there is so much of everything! How will I ever decide? I have actually read that our American way of having so much selection actually creates more stress because you are constantly trying to decide which of the million is best, and then second-guessing yourself later. I was feeling that stress big time. And then--when I realized I had forgotten something and had to treck to the other end of the store, I was almost done for! ;)

Another big adjustment for me is the social aspect. Not because there is more of it, but just because I have finally gotten my head around the "Mexican way" of relating--that now I often feel very socially ackward. I no longer know what the "hot button" topics are, what the "typical response" is to many things. I no longer feel that I instinctively know how much personal space is good, and--ohmygoodness--the greet. Sigh. In Mexico it is a capital and personal offense if you don't physically greet each person in a room. At least a handshake, and for friends a kiss on the cheek. This is repeated when it's time to say goodbye. Here I feel an ackward mental scrambling: Oh! I know him! Shake his hand. Oh, wait. That's too formal here. Mmm, a hug might seem too forward. Fist bump?

Another thing that I'd gotten used to was being stared at. Being one of about 6 white people in the town will do that for you. I'd kind of just marked it off as coming with the territory and thought about when I'd be back with my peeps and blending in with the woodwork. The fact that I still often catch people staring at me makes me doubly self-conscious. Am I so obviously 3 years behind the times? What is everyone else doing so I can copy that?

So, if you see me out and about--wide mouthed and with a seeming inability to make eye contact... chances are I am not avoiding you. It's very likely that I am just failing at blending in. Again.

insights from selling

I have to wonder sometimes. Does selling stuff sound like a fun hobby? Cuz, it's not.

It's actually pretty draining.

The great thing is, this Friday we will take our stuff downtown to sell for the last time (hopefully!). I took stuff out into our front yard to sell today... now I just need to load it all into the van so it is ready for our Friday sale (I know Friday sounds a ways off... but with Rey being gone the next couple of days, I won't be selling again--and he won't have much time between getting back and going to sell, so...).

It will feel good to get that huge pile of stuff out of my house forever!

The thing about selling, is it has a way of really revealing what people are like deep down inside. Often, I'd rather not know.

Like the young hip-looking lady who handed me a pile of clothing she wanted to purchase. Only problem is, she'd switched all the price tags. Shirts that had been marked as being $2-3, she had switched to $0.50--every single one of them. I just sighed and told her how sorry I was that someone had switched all the tags and proceeded to tell her the correct prices.

Or the lady that brought me up 2 pairs of shoes--each were marked around $3. "If I buy both of them, will you give them to me for $4?" she asked. "Sure," I said. I then saw her with one pair of shoes, telling Rey that I'd told her she could have it for $2. I told Rey the deal had been if she bought 2 pairs of shoes, and then the woman went into some rant trying to cover herself.

Or, the lady that was rapping on my gate this afternoon. I'd been out back hanging up laundry. Her daughters had been at the gate just a few moments before, wanting to see the puppies. I had showed them the puppies and chatted for about 15 minutes before saying farewell and trying to get the houeswork done. So, I'd heard noise at the gate, but thought it was still the girls looking at the puppies. When I came around front, the adult neighbor looked angrily at me. "With all this time you've left me here standing, I might as well just leave." Well, then.

There are tons of people who just plant themselves in front of me, huffing and puffing when I tell them we don't have the item/size they are looking for. As if staring angrily at me for a long enough period of time will change the facts.

Selling here in our neighborhood is worse, since here everyone knows each other and is trying to outdo the other.

There is one neighbor who had been rummaging through the things for about 30 minutes. Not buying. Just poking. I remembered that a friend of mine had asked me to look for some things in her size. Not having anything to do, I started looking through what we had. I pulled out a shirt and carried it into the house. "Oh!" shouted the neighbor, "I want that shirt!" I told her I was sorry, it wasn't for sale--but pointed out a very similar one still out. "No," she moaned, shaking her head, "The other one is much prettier." A few minutes later, I found a skirt in my friend's size, and carried it into the house. "Wait! I want that skirt!" she yelled. We repeated the above scenario, with her commenting, "You are taking away everything I want."

Seriously, lady? Seriously? There are still like over 1,000 pieces of clothing out there and your day is ruined because 2 items were subtracted? Sigh.

Same neighbor is still rummaging when her niece's mother-in-law & sister-in-law come walking by (yeah, try to picture the connection.). The MIL mentions that she likes the folding tables we were using for the clothing. Were they for sale? Rey said maybe. She pointed out a few other things she liked and walked on by.

I was trying to telepathy to Rey that we did NOT want to sell these table in this neighborhood, because I could just feel that they'd be the root of a lot of problems. Before Rey received the message, the first neighbor pounced on him. "Don't sell those tables to anyone but me. Here, here," she said, jamming $25 in his hand, "Now they are set aside for me!" Rey innocently said ok and kept smiling. I was not smiling.

Then, this lady's nephew's wife came by. She is very sweet, about my age, with an almost-2-year-old daughter. She almost always buys household stuff from me, which makes me think she is just trying to get her house set up.

She looked through our towels and blankets and then asked if we had any tableware. Rey said that later we would, right before we left. She said ok.

No sooner had she left than you-know-who sidled up and hissed in my ear, "You let me buy all the tableware stuff you have. Plates, cups, silverware. You tell me first."

My smile was more of a grimace, I'm sure, as I wordlessly moved away from her. (And don't worry--her niece is getting all the good stuff. That's just how I roll.)

What a woman.

Ok, to tell the next part of this drama, I have to back up a bit. Remember the MIL and her daughter that first mentioned the tables?? Ok, well the MIL is a bent over elderly woman that always is out and about with her daughter Elvira, who is probably around 30 and unmarried.

They are a pretty "special pair" themselves. When we sold off our furniture, we put a sign out on our fence saying what items were for sale and the prices. Elvira and her mama were about the first ones to come running.

They wanted to see everything that was for sale and would moan and rebuke me for whatever item was not for sale. "Why did you sell your bed to someone else?? You should have saved it for me. At least sell me your quilt!" They literally took themselves into every room and poked through everything--seeming only to want items that were already sold. In the end, they asked me to sell them 2 of our larger bookshelves, our microwave, our garden hose, our full-length mirror, and our quilt. I showed them 2 smaller bookshelves, but they said nothing. They left about $10 as a down payment and left.

The next day, some neighbors come and bought the small bookshelves, saying they would come back for them.

That night, Elvira and her mom came back, rapping on our gate.

When the conversation starts with, "We are about to have a fight with you," you know it's going to be good. They then commenced complaining, whining and accusing that they had wanted those smaller bookshelves and they had found out that someone else had bought them. Although I knew this to be untrue, I could not convince them--and they literally whined about it the next 3 times they came to make payments. "Ohhhh, I am still wishing for those small bookshelves.... Ohhhh, señora, how could you have done that to us???,.... Are they really gone??" My tongue was nearly bitten in half.

So, these special people are the ones who had asked about the tables. The night that the other neighbor had made her deal with Rey, Elvira and her mom come streaking back. "Hoooowwww could your husband do this to us?? We specifically said, 'Sell those to us. Those are ours. We want them' and he sold them to someone else." Since I'd been there, I knew that was a lie, but I just pointed out that they already had a pretty huge debt with us, and business-wise, it wouldn't work out to put more on their account. They calmed down pretty quick.

There you have it. Don't you just want to start selling stuff right now??

Speaking of selling stuff, we are pretty bare in these parts. Don't have a table to eat on, a couch to sit on, dressers to put our clothes in or chairs to sit down on. Our curtains are gone and we are down to about 3 cups and 5 plates. Our clothes are in boxes, and we are sitting on the floor or on buckets. Our computer is propped up on two boxes, books are in boxes. So, I feel like we are in a sort of limbo right now. Rey says he feels a lot more tired at night, because there is no where comfortable to sit! haha.

Yesterday, after church, we ended up having about 20 unexpected guests for lunch from one of the farming communities Rey goes to. So, they come to this uptown house--which I'm sure looked nice... and bare! We ate off of the folding tables and sat on plastic stools we use for ministry. Afterwards, I was chatting with one of the ladies--and tried not to laugh as she explained to me: "I am noticing you don't really have much furniture. And it's funny, because we rancheros are really into furniture, and I guess you all don't really like it that much..." It just cracked me up that she made it a "city"-"country" observation.

The most interesting thing to me though has been the item I have missed the most (and I'll bet the neighbors do too!): Mirrrors! We have one mirror that is about 6" wide in the bathroom. We used to have one of those rectangular mirrors next to our dresser which was a big help for getting dressed. I didn't realize how many times a day I'd unconsciously glance at it (and realize I had applesauce down my shirt or dirt smudged on my face). Now, when I get dressed, I then run out into the front yard to check the windows to see if the outfit matches. Haha. Poor neighbors.

Wow. That was a long ramble.

Now, I need to go load up the van with all this stuff. Yay for selling!! :)

to my dear, beloved & adored husband

Darling... I know that when we leave here, we'll be leaving a part of your heart.

I know that you have poured sweat, blood & tears into this place. I know that you have taken other's problems as your own. I know you have been Jesus to the people you meet.


Cariño, I know that you struggle with the thought of leaving all that you have invested behind. I know that you ask God each day that these people you hold close to your heart will not be forgotten.



Baby, I know that in many communities--you feel like you are just now getting through. You are just starting to see tender fruit. You are just beginning to advance. The idea of leaving must be overwhelming.



Precioso, I know you must wonder if it was wrong of us to come. If we shouldn't have started a work... if we can't stay around to see it blossom.

But, dear husband... Please think of if we had not come.

Think of the hearts that would still be in darkness. The lives still in bitter bondage. The sick still looking for remedy.



Think of the baby believers whose new birth you personally had a part in bringing about.

Think of the godly example you have left in every village you have visited.


My love, I think it was worth the cost. And I know that God can make what will be lacking when you leave and turn it into an abundant harvest.

Yours forever,
me.

finally... a bit

Perhaps 3 months ago, I was singing along to this song as I was washing the dishes (although, it was the Spanish verison--which I happen to prefer). It's a song I really like, so I was happy that it came on.

Mid-song, I stopped myself and asked what it would look like for me to surrender. What were the dreams and hopes I was holding higher than God? I guess--being a missionary--I was feeling pretty surrendered. "I've given You my life. I've given up family and friends. I've given up comfort and ease. I've got this song in the bag!"

But, then I examined the things I was holding dear. This life. This dream of living as a missionary in a foreign country that I've had ever since I was a little girl. This house that we have poured hours of sweat and muscle into to make it comfortable for our babies. These roots that we are just beginning to sink into this community. These few but dear friendships that are just deepening to a place of stability and confidence.

At that, my heart stopped. I remembered feeling like it froze in my chest, and I walked around our yard thinking about these things I was holding dear. I gazed out at the view of the mountains that I cherish. I looked at the yard we have worked long and hard to get to this place. I thought about the long-term plans we have in the communities we are working in. I thought about our supporters and our partners in ministry, the Glicks.

Tears stood in my eyes and my throat was swollen shut. Could I surrender even this? Would I? Is this dream I am living the dream God is dreaming for me?



When Noah was born, he kept his fists clenched tightly shut. It seems the outside world was too much coming in all at once, and keeping his hands curled up gave him a sense of control. You can't imagine the screams that would come whenever I wanted to open his hands to wash them or trim his fingernails.

Blisters formed on the palms of his hands; a combination of his nails cutting into his hands and whatever bits of things he had grabbed causing infection.

I thought about this in relation to our dreams.

How often do I hold on so tightly to my dream for me? My fists are balled up, and I scream at any sign that someone is going to try to open them. Dreams held too tightly tend to fester.

I thought about Abraham and Isaac. How tightly Abraham held his dream Isaac to his chest, until God called for him to open his fists and let God do what He wished with him.

These thoughts sat in my heart until about a month ago-- me thinking perhaps it was just something I needed to settle. God wouldn't want me to leave Mexico! This message is probably for someone else. Then, it just felt like God dropped into our hearts: Now is the time. You've been struggling long enough. At least consider that this struggling could be Me gently pointing you in a different direction.

Every fiber of my being cried out against this idea. I don't know if I can describe how bone-piercing the doubts and questions that arose in my mind were. I don't know if it can be understood how un-doable the idea seemed. There were big questions I had to ask God. There were big questions I had to ask me.

In the end, Rey and I came to a place of peace that this decision is for our good. It is for a reason. It is not us "giving up". It is not us "failing in faith". It is just another bend in the road. Another chapter of the book God is writing.

We are certain that the time is "now" that we are supposed to be "there". We just don't now for how long or for what.

But, our hands are open. And, we know we are being led by the One who gives every good and perfect gift.

yesterday.

Yeah, so here goes another post wherein I don't talk too much about the decision. Maybe because it's all I think about, talk about and breathe these days so I really don't want to write about it. Maybe next time.

Yesterday. Being our day off, we got our spectacular-and-soon-to-be-sorely-missed babysitter over first thing in the morning (before the bebés were awake) and we went downtown to sell again. We set up shop, and.... nothin'.

Last time we sold downtown, it was nonstop action. This time, it was nonstop yawns.

And, it was booooiiiillliiiinnnnggggg hot. We happened to be set up on the sunny side of the street (which sounds a lot nicer in song than in reality, we've found). No shade.


I told you I'd give you the down-low on the sun sometime and here it comes. You see, I know mid-westerners tend to scoff at those who slather on sunscreen and don wide-brimmed hats. "Sissies", we whisper to each other. "Wimps," we snort.

I worked at an outside job for 7 summers and used to snort and whisper with the rest of 'em. Now, I put on a hat, super high blocking sunscreen and long sleeves if I'm going to be in the sun all day.

Think about it. The midwest is humid, low altitude and a bit farther from the sun than Zacatecas. I know it seems weird to say at 7,000 feet you are closer to the sun, but you are. And the air is thin and dry-- meaning there's none of that UV protection that humidity provides. And, with the heat being dry, you don't sweat... so heat fatigue and sickness are a very real deal.

So, Rey and I tried to hunker down in whatever scraps of shade we could find (I tried to duck into the shade his body was making, but it didn't work too good). The sides of our faces and necks felt like they were on fire, so we put shirts over our heads. It's a cute look. Try it!

The good thing was, in between gasping like a fish out of water, Rey and I did get some time to just sit and talk without interruptions. If you have kids, I don't need to elaborate on this! :)

Finally, I said, "It's our day off. Why throw it away if no one is buying? Let's close up earlier."

Rey wasn't too sure.

Then, a truck drove by announcing last night as the last night of the circus.

"Let's go to the circus," I said, rather giddily (can't say if it was "yay, circus" giddiness, or "my brain is literally fried" giddiness).

Rey, as always, played along with my whim and we packed up shop.

Rey took our babysitter home and then went to get tickets for the circus.

Here's the fun "we live in Mexico" twist: We wanted to get the cheap tickets (about $2.50). To get those, you had to buy them from the guy driving the truck. How do you find this truck?

Well, Rey drove around the downtown area for about an hour and couldn't find them.

So, it looked like there would be no circus.

Then, around 5:40, I heard it! The truck! Really close to our house! I had been hanging up laundry out back and came shrieking into the house. Rey was already shoving his feet into some shoes and grabbing his keys.

15 minutes later, he came back and triumphantly slapped 3 tickets into my hand. We were on. The event started in ten minutes--yikes! I slid the supper I'd been making into the fridge, threw some stuff in a diaper bag and we were off.




On the way, we talked about how bad it could be. The kids could totally hate it. It could be boiling inside that tent. The show could be really cheap. We could have to leave within the first 20 minutes because one of the kids is overwhelmed...

We've gotten excited about a lot of things and then come away dissapointed, so we were just trying to let ourselves down easy.

But! We got there... after the door man rolled his eyes at our "cheap" tickets and huffed and puffed at us for not upgrading them, we clambered up the rickety steps to the top section. When the show started, pretty much everyone was in the top/"cheap" section and about 10 people were scattered around in the "good" seats.

We loved our seats. We could see everything really well, but it wasn't so close that it was overwhelming. The temperature was comfortable. The kids were enthralled in the circus from the time it started to the time it stopped.

The show was great. They had different animal shows mixed with people doing some pretty amazing stunts. Like superman strength kind of stunts. Or juggling a huge thing with their feet while juggling flaming batons in their hands. Or flying around the stage hanging on to a hoop hanging from the ceiling. Or making 4 Siberian tigers do different tricks--including jumping through a ring o' fire... I could go on. But, it was basically 2 hours of fun, and we all enjoyed ourselves a lot.

I liked yesterday.

feelin'.

So, this is what things are looking like around here.



I know, I know. Gasps of horror. I hope you aren't eating as you read this. I really do. I'm sorry. What can I say? I grew up with 7 brothers and am interested by grossness.

Wait... you're still reading. Oh, cool! Check out this angle:





Today, Rey and I stood out on a street in front of a downtown church and sold. All day. Here, with the altitude being over 6,000 feet--the sun don't mess. It don't play. It ain't no joke. It's for real. More on that in another post, perhaps.

With that being said, even though standing in the sun all day was sweltering, Rey and I both wore hats, long pants and long sleeved shirts. I've been burned enough times here to know I don't want it to happen again. I told myself I would funnel the heat out through my feet and decided to wear flip flops.

I think the flip flops did help the over-heating issue, but as you can see--they didn't do much for the "clean skin" department. And, by about mid-day, they were roasted into little crispies.

Yeah, so that's how things are looking, but let me tell ya...

We are feeling fine. As in really good. Sooo good, actually.

Why? Because, in the first time in whoknowshowlong we are completely and utterly out of debt. It has felt like we have owed something to someone every day for the longest time. It has been overwhelming, depressing and overshadowing.

Can someone get us on Dave Ramsey to do the shout? Yes? No? Ok.

And-and-and! The one last thing that was a worry to me as far as leaving here was that we will be leaving a few months before our one year contract us up at this house we are renting. We were hoping and praying the landlady would give us some grace--considering all the money and work we have put into making her house oh-so-lovely. Guess what? She just called and said it was fine!

Anyhoo. We are so blessed to be at this place. We feel like we could just float.... off to sleep. :)

But first--- was it you that was going to give me that pedicure?? ;)


PS--I know you all would like to hear more about "the decision"... and you will. Maybe. If I can keep my eyes open and get my brain to focus on one thing long enough. You will.

dream reformation.

what is it like when a dream dies?
when the brightening of hope is crushed by
the darkness of failure?

it sounds like the crumpling of paper
ripped from its book, balled, thrown.
it rustles as it settles in with the other rubbish.

it is like a glass that falls to the ground
pieces scattering, irregular and cutting
unrecognizable.

it is tears streaming down cheeks,
fists balled in despair,
head bowed in acceptance.

it is the the hand of God, His voice
saying: "Though you fall,
you will not be utterly cast down."

different eyes

As I've mentioned before, street vendors are a common sight at major intersections here. While waiting for the green light, you can get your windshields cleaned, buy toys for the kid's birthday, a flower for your girlfriend or some gum to cover the garlic on your breath from the salsa you just ate.

While it is an interesting cultural experience, it can also be annoying to have a line of people coming to your window, hand outstretched for money. It can be frustrating to have 2 boys hurling themselves across the front of the car to wash your windshield when you already told them you don't have any cash on you. It can awaken feelings of doubt when people stand at your window, doctor's note outstretched, talking a mile a minute: "Just a little money so I can buy medicine..."

Recently, I have come to know 2 such people personally. And it has really changed my perspective.

One is Orlando. He is originally from Acapulco. He is young, wears sandals, a baja hoodie and wears his hair in a pony tail. He is a wanderer and an artist. He creates beautiful jewelry with great skill and patience--winding a coil of wire into intricate earrings or weaving strings into a bracelet. He is newly married with a baby girl on the way. To make ends meet and save up some money for a house he wants to build, he also does some difficult baton throws at stoplights and wanders through town playing his guitar. He is friendly, easy to talk with.

I wonder what I would think of him if I didn't know him?

The other is Xitlali (pronounced: "Seet-lah-lee"). She is a thin girl, about 15 years old. She lived about a block from us, and I met her and her grandma when they came to buy clothes from us. In talking with her, I found that every day she goes to sell things at a busy intersection in town. Some days she sells a candy her grandma makes, some days she hauls a board featuring many kinds of air fresheners for cars to sell. "I don't come back 'till I've sold everything." She often comes to my house after she gets done, "to see what's new..." I think she also like checking out the gringa. She has 5 siblings and often one of her younger brothers goes with her to sit out at the stoplight all day. He appears to be around 5 years old.

Yesterday, I pulled up to "her" stoplight on the way back from picking up the groceries. Xitlali was perhaps the 3rd person to arrive to my car, and she smiled when she recognized me. I apologized that I didn't have any cash on me, but offered her some of the Cheetos I had. She gladly took some, as well as her little brother. We chatted about things until the light turned green and I pulled away.

I wondered how many times I had scowled at her before I knew her?

In truth, I need Jesus' eyes.

momlife.

I've been honored to have one of my posts featured on Momlife Today. You can read it here.

ode to babies.

I don't know if it is from lack of sleep due to sniffley babies, but this song choked me up. I also just "discovered" this artist...and am loving her!

why....?

"Why do I ever think it will work?" I moaned to Rey as we pulled out of our friends' driveway.

You see, from our selling stuff--we have met a really nice couple with 2 young boys. Yesterday. They invited us over for supper tonight. At 7. PM. I kind of started trembling inside, because Aleni usually conks out at 7 (or before) and Noah around 8.

But, I didn't want to get the name of "whiny gringa" so I smiled (tremblingly, I'm sure) and mentioned that possibly we could bring Aleni's pack-and-play to lay her down in for a couple of hours. The new friend said she had a crib, so no worries!

We pulled up a little after 7, and the house was dark. Thankfully, the girl's dad was also parked out front, and he had keys to the house. So, he let us in the house and we plopped on the couch to wait for our friends. The good news is, the dad is a talker and he talked non-stop 'till our friends got there.

The bad news is, they didn't get there for about another 1 1/2 hrs.

I am sure the jaw in my muscle was bulging and the crease between my eyebrows was getting deeper with every minute that ticked by. Of course, the living room was small, with glass things set around at the kids' eye-level. Of course Aleni was wailing by the time they got there. Of course Noah's diaper was full and I was dizzy from walking the 2 of them around and around in circles to try to keep them halfway occupied. Of course the food had to start getting made after our friends got there.

Thankfully, once the friends got there, Noah had fun playing with their boys and Aleni was able to stay halfway manageable with all the distraction.

Ah! I forgot the really funny part. We had actually brought Aleni's sound machine, thinking that would help her feel at home when we laid her down to sleep. Guess where the crib was? In the middle of the living room! I had to laugh inside, thinking about how helpful it was that we'd brought that sound machine. Obviously, Aleni didn't spend more than 1 minute in the crib!

So, now we're back. It's after 10 and we are exhausted and ready to fall into bed.

And, yet again "Mexican time" has been drilled into my ever-hopeful head.

look what Canela did today.

Yup. She brought six young'uns into the world. Nope. I haven't checked on the boy/girl ratio.

Canela is an outside dog, and today was a super-busy day. Those are my excuses for having absolutely no idea that she was giving birth today. Her home is in a corner of our storage shed, which is also where our washing machine is. This evening, I was throwing in a load of wash and Canela came over to greet me. Then, I heard little squeaks coming from the corner. No wayyyyy, I said. Oh, yes way.

I had been worrying about this whole birth thing ever since I noticed she was pregnant. Images of having to go in James Harriott style, plastic gloves on my hands, kept plaguing my thoughts. I pictured a huge mess, a suffering Canela and a general hoopla.

Instead, I found a calm Canela, clean pups, clean shed. What happened to all the... stuff?? I wondered. I'll just be happy Canela knew what to do. :)

Of course, Noah thinks this is all pretty cool:




Who doesn't love baby pups?? Awww... so cute. And I love that several of them have the white marking on their foreheads....



The darkest one (on the far right) seems to be the one that's the most out of sync with the rest. His drum must be beating to a different song. We'll see how it all works out.

So far, Canela is managing like a pro.

roots.

Things are bad here. But, I hear they're bad everywhere. It seems like this was foretold somewhere, isn't that true?

The violence here seems to be ever-worsening, ever-growing. It is all most people talk about all day long--albeit in hushed tones, not wanting to be overhead in case one of "them" is nearby. They talk about people being betrayed by life-long friends, about kidnappings and hold-ups. About corruption and senseless killings.

If evil prevails by implanting fear, evil is prevailing here. Many do not want to go out of their houses. We wonder how many of the stories are made up--just to create fear.

One thing that I have always hated here is the news reports. Newspapers here boldly splash huge pictures of dead bodies in the streets, blood and gore. I shudder to think of how young children are here when they first see real violent death at their local gas station newsstand. Yes, they put all those horrific images--but very rarely are there details as to the where, why, how, what is being done to bring justice. No, just sensationalism.

There are actually magazines published completely filled with nothing other than photographs so horrific that even the newspapers wouldn't print them. Rey remembers seeing them as a small boy.

It actually seems that many develop a taste, a hunger, for things dark and gory here. At the local movie theaters, the typical mix of movies is: 1 child movie, 1 famous/American movie, and then the other 5 all depict monsters, or witches, or children looking to be suffering from some kind of possession--blood and gore again.

A friend of mine posted this article, written by a Mexican in a newspaper column here. I loved his perspective, especially coming from a national. It was eye-opening for me. I almost didn't post it because I didn't know if it would be as interesting to others... But, here goes:

By: Carlos Mosivias

"...In a text published by the supplement El Angel... a crime reporter plants a disturbing idea. He writes that the consumption of newspaper images of death, blood and crime scenes are a kind of ritual by which Mexicans continue to show homage to the god Tecaztlipoca. 'It's like in the pages of these magazines we find a corrupt and sick altar to the violent power of a despotic government.'

If we believe historians, ... we would note that the Aztecs ate the flesh of their enemies and made human sacrifices in ceremonial rituals.

When societies that have practiced cannibalism evolve to a certain level of complexity and development they tend to severely condemn these practices in order to make them disappear, since at a certain point the practice puts at risk their own development. However, for some unknown reason we Mexicans never gotten rid of our rituals and they have symbolically remained until now. We see it in our traditional celebrations on November 2 ("The Day of the Dead"), in our fatalistic conception of the world and in other other aspects of our daily lives.

We tend to enjoy enjoy watching fights/boxing, we go to cock fights, we diligently take our turn to go see a dead body in the street, we line up to see horror movies with candy in our hands (to enjoy ourselves more) and, well, our inclination for this sensationalism seems to in a repressed way show our inheritance. It is important to note that the before-mentioned examples are ways of showing the aggression and violence, not the causes. However, our governmental regimes and decadence have turned us into a society familiar with and, in some ways, avid participants of the violence.The difference is while some actually are doing the violence, the rest of us are watching, listening and reading about it.

'The central point of [one of these violent magazines] is that it belongs to the same moral system as the crimes they write about. It forms a part of the same cultural structure."

..The truth is, even in the most stellar news programs, the violence is present. It is, without doubt, a sign of the times.

Another person dead in Juarez, another fallen in the street, students killed, babies killed... and--in the middle of it all--showing that we have one of the most ineffective police forces in the world. And why not? It also belongs to the same info structure that as those who are producing this stuff.

The tabloid/sensational writer is just doing his job. Reporting word by word, retelling the acts--their eight columns contain death: the photograph explodes into sight and the the vocabulary is exaggerated, sensationalistic, melodramatic as is characteristic of this genre... It is not the press's fault that in case after case so called public opinion only wants them to dig up details--not to look to promote justice.

Could I say it more clearly?

It made me think about something: Perhaps all this focus by the culture on gruesome violence is actually grooming violence in the next generation. What I mean is-- would not kids longing for greatness notice all the attention evil-doers get? The complete absorption in violence and ugliness? It would have to seem that becoming a part of the same violence would practically be a ticket to stardom!

It just made it so clear how easy it can be to take a stand against violence--starting from our own homes... our influence on our friends. Refusing to engage in the on-going dialogue of who did what. Refusing to be interested in the gore. Making a point of praising and lifting up those who do good.

It also made me see how deeply rooted darkness is in the country and how much it needs Jesus!