I'm not on vacation

It's been a while, yes? Yes. Things have been busy, life's been crazy.

We've moved. That's the first thing. We left Philly (happy dance for me!) and moved to Costa Rica. We're working with ADE in a really rural area of the Costa Rican mountainside, safely off the beaten tourist paths. Not that we don't have any tourists, just that we don't have many, not for a country whose economy revolves around tourism.

And therein lies my issue today. When people think of Costa Rica, they think of sun drenched beaches, frosty drinks, bright sun, and tourists. And they think I'm here on vacation, which, you know, I'm not. I'm working. I work anywhere from eight to thirteen hour days, six days a week. It's coldish where we live, getting down to 45 degrees Fahrenheit, and up to 75 degrees on bright, sunny days. Oh, and this used to be rain forest, so it rains. A lot. Torrential downpours of Biblical proportions. And that's all well and good, because that's what I signed up for. But sometimes I miss things from home. Cheese, for one. Or dark chocolate. Or the convenience of having a steady income. Or even just the ability to find a variety of things at a grocery store or, luxury of luxuries, restaurants that serve food from all over the world.

It's the little things.

Yes, there's running water, electricity, hot water in the shower, but sometimes I miss a little luxury. And when I say I miss something, people are all like, "But don't you live in a tropical paradise where every day is a sunny vacation with umbrellas in your drink? Be grateful that you live in one of our most popular tourist destinations."

Right. I am grateful because this is an amazing experience and it's doing wonders for my faith. You don't realize how big God is until you start expecting Him to be that BIG.

But let's get one thing straight: I'm not on vacation. I don't live on the beach, no one puts umbrellas in my water glass, and even if I do live in a country that gets a ton of tourism, I can't afford to check most of it out. I am not here to be a tourist. I am here to get up at the crack of dawn, teach all morning, come home, make lunch, and do administrative, organizational work until late in the evening. And then, when y'all are lazing around on Saturdays, I'm working some more. Again, it's what I signed up for, and I'm gaining some great experience, so I'm not writing this to complain about my work. What I want people to know is that I have not been here relaxing. This is my job. My day-in-day-out job that just happens to have dramatic volcanic backdrops.

The reality is this: I'm living in an area that is in recovery. It's been two years since the earthquake and the roads are still a rutted mess, the local clinic will see only thirty people once a month, this is only the second year that the local high school has been in existence. There's a lot of work to do, good work, fun work, important work, but it's still work. Life is different here. And because things are different, I'm allowed to miss some of what I had in the States. A car, for example, or security. Or just plain convenience.

Because I'm not on vacation every day of my life here, and sometimes, I'd like to be.

Schooled

In the interest of honesty, I've really been struggling this past week and a half to be okay with where I live. It felt almost like betrayal to find out that I was the only MY alum living somewhere else - a bit melodramatic, to be sure, but that was my initial reaction.
Wayne isn't the kind of place I would've picked out on my own, you know? But I'm really trying to believe that I'm here for a reason; which is not to say that I can see that reason, just that I believe that it's out there - somewhere.
The point, and the realization that I'm coming to (again), is that God doesn't live in West Philly, or in VA, or in the ATL, or in PR, or even in Wayne. God lives outside of space and time. I can have that community here, too. It might not be the same, but it's something just as real. Sometimes I'm real cabezona, as we say en buen puertorriqueño: I'm hard-headed. A reluctant learner, if you will.
But I am learning. Not just in the academic, classroom, hours-in-my-reading-chair sense, but also in that day-to-day, stumbling, searching sense.
This is one of those situations where all my inadequacies and insecurities come out and Dios me pule. Things happen, I change, I grow, I learn. We're gettin' somewhere.

Fullness

I'm a bit of an insomniac lately. Surprise, surprise.... I do go through these sleepless periods pretty regularly. I think I'm pretty alright right now, though.

I just wanted to blog quickly while I was still feeling this way. I feel FULL today. It's good. Not food full, just, hmmm... God full, perhaps. Blessed might be a way to say the same thing, only it's more than that. It's contentment, blessing, and acknowledgment of blessing all at once. There's more, I just can't put words to it.

We saw Shane Claiborne speak this morning, and it was really good - this challenge to be a different kind of __________. I guess right now, a different kind of unemployed graduate student. Ha, ha. After that, R., E., and I went into Philly to hang out a bit (and miss peak hours). We got some ice cream at Reading Terminal Market - three scoops split three ways - and sat on a bench outside to enjoy it. There was good conversation and good ice cream: two wonderful things.
Then we headed out to Fishtown to have dinner at J. and A.'s house. They have a sweet dog who was super excited to see us. Burritos were great (yay, Hispanic food!) and so was the conversation.
We walked to Circle of Hope, where, for a moment, I felt like I was not cool enough. That feeling faded pretty quickly though - it was unlike any service I've ever attended before. It felt really fresh and really - inclusive. There was a rawness that I appreciate, and we met some cool people, including another Mission Year alum. (Whoot!) After that, the long train ride home to Wayne.

Oh, but I feel good. It's good to see these churches, to connect with people who want something bigger, you know?
I guess I'm realizing how much I needed to be shaken out of my comfort. I remember before I left for Mission Year, I sat down and told God: "I don't want to be comfortable." Last fall, I said the same thing again. I could feel myself getting sucked into the steadiness, the stability, the one-place-for-a-long-time thing, and I knew I didn't want that. But it's a hard thing to fight. I often think that humans can adapt to just about anything - we settle in. It feels good to be shaking out of that and stepping out into something different and big and uncertain.

Both R. and E. mentioned it today, and I have to agree: it's these blind steps that remind us that we don't get to call the shots, and even when we think we are, we really aren't. It's a good place to be, though.

One step forward, two steps back...

It's official, folks.
I live with my parents.
Remember the time I said I was leaving and wouldn't be back? Yeah... eating those words now. So far, it's not as bad as I expected, but it's only been a week. In some ways though, I feel like I suck at life; like this week, and the finality of unpacking my stuff, have somehow cancelled out all the years I've lived on my own. Like all that erases all my years of living like a responsible adult and paying rent. It erases all of my contributions to society. It erases my effectiveness as an adult.
I know. I'm ridiculous. I realize I am still as productive a citizen in my parents' house as I was while paying (too much) rent for a (craptacular) condo. I realize I can still call them my roommates, if I want to sound cooler. ;) I realize that I'm still all the things that I was before (AND frugal). It's a pride thing that I'm wrestling with.
This is what I never wanted to do, and yet, here I am. There should be no shame in this, but I'm struggling with it. The funny thing is that in my own culture, I would've been home until the day I got married.
It's temporary. A sign of my commitment to grad school, to moving to Philly, to pursuing a dream....
A necessary hardship.
Five months.
It won't be that bad.
Right?



PS - Points if you can name the song I was humming after typing the title. Bonus points if you don't judge me for it. ;)

Mission Year/Mission Life. Love God. Love people. Nothing else matters.

So I got an email from the President of Mission Year, my old friend, Leroy. He asked the ATL alums to write him a letter kind of summing up our Mission Year exprience/the effect it had on our lives, and I couldn't resist. One thing: it had be a page. I can't limit myself to a page when it comes to Mission Year. There's too much to say about it, but I tried my hand at this, and this is what I came up with (slightly over a page, btw):
Dear Leroy,

It’s been years since I returned from Atlanta – almost three and a half years, actually. Mission Year was one of the most difficult experiences of my life, but it’s also the one thing that I can point back to and say “That changed the course of my life forever”. Maybe that sounds a little melodramatic, but it’s the holiday season and it’s been a long day at work, so it sounds right to me at this moment. I think back on all the other things that I’ve done in my life, and nothing has had such a profound effect on me as Mission Year.
I’ve always said that Mission Year ruined my life in a good way. Even now, three years out, with cable television and a car and a life in the suburbs, my life is radically different because of my experience in Atlanta . It took me a while to get over my suburban guilt, I won’t lie, but in the end, I decided that Mission Year wasn’t meant to make me feel bad about living in the suburbs. It was about exposing me to reality, forcing me to look at society and my individual role in it; and making me realize that life is ministry. That’s where I am today. Yes, I’m living in Northern Virginia , but I’m carrying on with the ideals of Mission Year: I live and work in the same neighborhood. It’s where I shop, where I hang out, where I spend my time. I have a vested interest in my community. Maybe I’m not buddy-buddy with my next door neighbor, but I know this community. I hurt for it, I care about it, I need it to work. Here’s the thing: it’s the same community that I was completely unattached to pre-Mission Year. In fact, I loathed this community. Not even kidding. But now that I’m back, I can see that God cares for this place, too. God wants to work here, too. And the other thing: it’s far from perfect. The problems I learned about in the city are here in the suburbs, and as my particular community experiences a shift in demographics, it’s becoming harder and harder to hide these issues.
I’m currently in my third year of teaching, a career that I say I stumbled into by accident, though I know full well this was no accident. I teach at a local public high school where I’m one of ten over-worked and under-paid “World Language” teachers and one of two teachers who work with the Spanish for Native Speakers program. That alone should give you an idea of the types of kids I work with. In a community that is quickly becoming more anti-Latino, I have the privilege of instilling pride in these children: pride in their culture, in their language, in all that they are and can become. I remember at the closing retreat saying through tears – thanks Mission Year – that I wanted to do something for “my people”. And that’s what God has me doing here, in the community I thought I hated. I see the problems of the inner city here as well: violence, single parents, poverty, gangs…. I can still be involved in working for social justice; I can still work one-on-one with these struggling kids and point towards something better, something beyond this reality.
That’s Mission Year’s legacy.
And I really mean that it ruined my life in a good way. I can’t sit by and watch all this happen; I have to do something. I can’t store up material things because there’s so much need elsewhere. I mean, Mission Year even messed up my dating: I am now terminally single and entirely too picky. Just kidding! I’m hoping it’s not a terminal condition, but the pickiness is totally true. Alright, I’m on my way to being over the one-page limit, so I’m going to wrap this up, though I’m still going to move on to page two. In addition to the work of the past three years, I’m hoping to continue on in my “Mission Life” by earning a Masters in International Development. Not only did Mission Year ruin my undergraduate career, but it may also ruin my graduate studies. What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment. Of course, that all depends on whether or not I can ever figure out how to write curriculum vitae.

And seriously, Leroy and the rest of the Mission Year family, thanks. Because even though at times it sucked and I hated it, Mission Year is the best experience of my life thus far.


That is what I sent back to him. It's not exactly what I expected to write, but that's the course it took. I'd planned to be more witty, because in person I like to think I'm pretty clever and fairly amusing, though this doesn't always translate well into written communication without the use of - God forbid! - emoticons. Instead it's about community, which was the hardest thing and the best thing about Mission Year. It is what it is.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about all the other things I could have said after writing it. I could have said something about J, and the fact that what I love about him (did I just say that?) is that he's passionate about all the crazy kids I'm passionate about, that he loves to work with them, that he also tries to understand them and connect with them. I think we both do in our own ways.... Anyway, it must've been that terminally single thing that set me off thinking about J. Even if officially we're not anything, I don't feel totally single because of him. He's someone who lives out a lot of the MY ideals that I hold dear, and that's a rare thing. Also rare, the baggage he's bringing with him. Good news/bad news. *sigh* It is what it is.

More things I wish I'd said: that I still drive a 1991 Toyota Corolla (with a leaking radiator) because I don't see the point in trading up; that the friendships I forged in MY are some of the strongest ones that I have; that I still refer to Atlanta as the best year of my life. I love, love, love my job, I spent an amazing summer in Vietnam, I do so many things, but nothing compares to the rightness of place/occupation/company that I experienced in Atlanta.

And about those friendships, my two former roomies are absolutely the first people I turn to when I need help. They know me better than anyone else. Better than my parents. No joke. Atlanta was the first place where I felt like I was fully myself. Not that I was frontin' my whole life, just that in Atlanta I began to experience a vulnerability I'd never let myself feel before. I was more flawed and broken there than anywhere else, but at the same time, I was more perfect and beautiful.

I don't want to relive the experience; I know that's impossible, and it was so hard that I don't want to go back, but I appreciate every moment. The comments as I walked down the streets, the scent of hot asphalt and diesel, the symphony of gunshots and train whistles every night... So much happened. So much beauty and growth and education. I love it. Seriously, it changed my life.

There's no way I could sum up the impact of Mission Year on my life in one page. I'm still sorting through it all. Gathering (that makes me think of J. straightening quizzes on his desk...) my thoughts. Three and a half years out, I'm still wrapping my brain about the profound impact of Mission Year on my life. That's a good thing. Really, it is.

Anyway, this is getting much too long. Check out Mission Year, if you haven't already. If you're tired of the status quo, of coasting through life, of sitting by - it's for you.