Flashmob Block Party Video

Hi friends! It's been awhile since I posted anything, mainly because we were in the States for the month of July, spending time with family and friends. We're back now, getting into the routine again. Tonight, we're throwing another block party in a different part of the Redlight district. If you're a prayer, please pray for the women we meet, that they would recognize the love of God.

Here is a video from the last block party we threw a couple of months ago. I wrote about it here and here. Feel free to share this video with anyone and everyone! Love will always win and shine in the darkest of places.


-M

From Anger to Glitter

We've all heard it: life is a journey. But can we agree that it's sort of a bummer? Journeys are hard work, uncertain at times, and last a reeeeeeally long time. I'd rather life be a vacation, a party, or a never-ending plate of french fries.

Anyone who I've ever talked to for more than seven minutes knows I'm a fan of therapy. One of the reasons for going was because I was angry. I didn't realize how angry I was until I quit my job and stayed home with my kids everyday. I didn't have anything to distract me and I had everything, er, everyone, to push my buttons. I realized I had a problem when one day I kicked Olive's portable potty across the room because I so frustrated with her. I would call this a really low point in parenting. Not only did it freak her out, but it freaked me out. As if all of this wasn't awful enough, it turns out it wasn't an empty potty. After apologizing, cleaning up pee, and then crying in my room, I knew I didn't want my kids to pay for something that wasn't theirs--my anger issue--so off I went to therapy.

In my first session I was ready to get a bullet-point game plan for how to change my life, and hopefully this would only take a few weeks. My therapist laughed a little and told me it's a journey. Change will come--I can't tell you how or when, but it will come. It always does. I wanted to believe her, but without a syllabus, I didn't know what to do. I wasn't great at rolling with the punches.

It's hard to see change in the midst of the journey; it's so much easier to look back and measure progress. Just the other day, as I set the kids up to play with a concoction of shaving cream, glitter, and confetti, I wondered how I got here. Glitter used to turn me into a Mom-ster freaking out the entire time my kids played with it and then for a few hours after as I cleaned it up. But as I went through therapy I realized that I'm not going to get better if I don't do some intentional "homework assignments" to practice what I was learning. One of these self-induced assignments was a scheduled time for my kids to play with glitter. My goal was to not raise my voice and to not micromanage their craft-time. I think there's a quote out there that says if you don't like someone, you should spend more time with them. I can't confirm that it's an actual quote because I'm the one person in the world that can't figure out how to use Google efficiently. Nonetheless, I felt this way about glitter. I needed to spend more time with her (it's a girl) because I really didn't like her.

Two years later, glitter doesn't make me angry anymore. And actually, I'm a lot less angry in general.  It wasn't the glitter itself that made me feel angry, it was the mess it made (which created a messy house, which ruined the idea of an orderly home--Perfectionism.) and it was the way it went everywhere and stayed everywhere for weeks (which made me feel crazy because I couldn't contain the madness--Control Issues).

And it wasn't just the glitter that helped me become a less angry person. Selling 80% of our possessions when we moved to Mexico was one of the best things that happened to me. And I say happened to me because I'm not sure I would've had the motivation to do it if it hadn't been necessary. My kids have one basket and two shelves of toys; we have 5 dinner plates, 4 knives, 2 sets of sheets per bed, 2 pots, 2 pans, no microwave, no vacuum....you see where I'm going with this. Stuff was making me angry, even though I kept accumulating it because I thought it would do the opposite and make me happy. I no longer have piles of clutter, toys in every nook and cranny, endless dishes, or appliances taking up space. I actually feel lighter and less stressed with less stuff.

I'm a work in progress like everyone else. I desperately need grace, love, and forgiveness everyday, and I can only extend grace to others when I can accept it from the One who freely gives it. Even though this journey, my journey, hasn't been pretty or easy, and it's certainly not over, it's been sparkly. Really, really sparkly.

-M

The importance of pulling a wagon

A few Saturdays ago, we held a Flash Mob Block Party in one part of the Red Light District in Mexico City. I have an aversion to "Outreach Events", for several reasons, the most prominent being the memory of the Reverse Trick-or-Treating event in youth group, circa 1998. Here's how it went down: Instead of participating in the act of wearing a costume and receiving candy from kind neighbors, we were going to flip it and reverse it! So out we went, maybe 10 of us, with a wagon of our own candy and some christian pamphlets. We knocked on the door, and just as the person tried to give us some candy, we declined it, and instead gave them our candy and a little pamphlet about Christianity. I remember staying back, feeling super weird about the whole thing, so I made it my job to pull the wagon because I knew I could at least do that well. But at the end of the night, I didn't feel like I had done anything because the only thing that was praised was the people who went to the doors. No one thanked me for doing a thankless job, which based on the term makes perfect sense. The whole thing was awkward. My chest is getting tight just thinking about it.

So as we were driving to the Block Party, my friend looked over to me and must have gathered that I was feeling nervous based on the rodent-like way I was biting my fingernails, and asked "Hey, how are you feeling?" I was honest and said I was nervous and that these things aren't really my thing. He didn't answer and I didn't say anything else, but I did continue to bite my nails. There were about 75 of us that showed up to be a part of the Block Party [of Love] and I was going to be overseeing and coordinating the manicures. I had a whole system I created of hand-washing, hand-exfoliating, hand-massaging, and nail-painting. Secretly, I was a little nervous to be in charge of this because I am really bad at painting nails. Thankfully there were plenty of people that were capable of both painting nails well and loving people. Whew. Crisis averted. No one was going to walk away looking like a blind-folded 3-year-old painted their nails.

Since I was coordinating the manicures, my experience was just a snippet of what went on that night. Some people invited the prostitutes; some served the food; some ate with them; some heard their stories; some prayed for them; some talked with pimps; some took pictures; some hugged each other; and some cried together. At the end of the night, my one friend, who was one of the people just talking and listening to stories, said "That was SO much fun! I could do this every night!" And I knew she wasn't lying because I saw her at different points throughout the night and I could tell she was loving this, like it was something she was made to do. I also got to watch as my friends gave manicures to many many women. I watched them care for them through washing their hands; I watched them accept them, just as they were; I watched them listening to their stories; I heard them showering them with words of love. It was beautiful.

As I started processing the event I had this small twinge of guilt; this feeling of being not enough. "All I did was coordinate--I didn't do anything important" was the monologue in my head. I thought back to  youth group and realized I had felt the same thing then. I don't like this feeling of not enough--I know it's not true and it's definitely not from God. So as I worked through why I was feeling this way, I realized that I was believing the lie that only big things matter. And I was also believing the lie that I needed to be someone that I am not.


I am really good at coordinating events and I actually really enjoy doing it. I am not really great at speaking spanish or painting nails, so why do I feel guilty about doing something I love doing? If I am only willing to do the things that receive recognition or that seem like a big deal in that moment, am I really being authentic? Is it really out of a heart of service, sacrifice, and love or is out of guilt, pride, and vanity?

And so these are my thoughts, as I am learning to daily shift my inner-monologue from guilt to freedom and my actions go from pride to love: The world needs me to be me; when I live as I actually am rather than what I think I am supposed to be, I, along with others, will experience freedom and joy; it isn't about doing big things for God but doing small things for a really big God; we all possess unique talents and abilities and every single one has value, even pulling a wagon.

That one time I jumped off a boat

I’m not a huge risk taker. Partially because I don’t want to die from something like hitting my head when I jump from a waterfall; but also because I just don’t care that much about jumping off of waterfalls. Which is probably why I don’t want to die that way—don’t we all want to go out with a bang, doing something we love? So if I die while talking or reading a memoir, I’m okay with that.

I feel this pressure though, to seize the moment, and participate in these “once in a lifetime” opportunities. I live in Mexico City. I’m surrounded by so much history, art, nature, and culture that I should be soaking in everyday. However, I’ve been to three places so far in these first 9 months, two of which ended with one of our kids yakking in the backseat of the car. Not cool. For this reason, and my low level of excitement for things like “ruins”, otherwise known as a pile of rocks, we’ve stayed pretty close to home.

Also, this one time I complied and did the Once-in-a-lifetime activity, which was jumping off the side of a boat in some crystal clear ocean in Brazil, where I could literally see 2-foot starfish just hanging out at the bottom, most likely waiting to attack me. I agreed to it for three reasons: It was our anniversary and Alan really wanted to make a memory or something; I thought I’d finally have some story to share when everyone else talked about swimming with sharks and climbing volcanoes. It seemed of the same caliber; and it was a Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Little did I know, I would get two stories out of the experience. Yay...

First, I had to put my bathing suit on in the tiniest boat bathroom I’ve been in. In related news, it is the only boat bathroom I’ve been in. Back then, I wore a two piece. I have no idea why—I always felt super uncomfortable in it, but I was 20-something so I guess I thought I was supposed to. Mistake number one. Then, Alan and I announced to some people on our team (we were on a Mission Trip) what we were about to do, so they got the cameras ready and stood by to watch this romantic Anniversary Plunge. Mistake number two. We held hands, counted down, and JUMPED! Mistake number three.

 I realize the water looks dark in this picture.
It's only dark compared to our pasty white bodies.

I should’ve stuck with my first 7 answers of “No thank you. I really don’t want to jump.” But I got sucked in by this once-in-a-lifetime stuff and did it anyway. God gives women, specifically, a sixth sense. We can feel when things are a little off. I ignored this warning. Mistake number four. As we went down under the water, so did my bathing suit bottoms. Like, to my knees. I’m not sure if you’re following me or not--the water was *crystal clear*. Oh, and people were watching. Remember that? I whip around, yank my bottoms up and sheepishly announce what just happened. I figured it’s better for me to acknowledge what had happened rather than pretend the starfish didn't just see my bid'ness—it makes it less embarrassing, right?

As I was facing the boat, announcing this embarrassing, but not-too-embarrassing moment, I looked down to make sure my bottoms were secure. In that moment, I learned that not only did my bottoms fall down, but so. did. my. top. My top was not doing it’s job. It has one job and it was not doing it. The entire time, which was probably 6 seconds but felt like 6 minutes, that I was explaining about the mishap with my bottoms, I was flashing my fellow teammates in *crystal clear water*. Everything is a blur after this. I remember seeing my teammates walk away, not saying anything. I'm pretty sure a laugh would’ve been better than a silent walk off.

This pretty much solidified that I don’t care about once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. The following year, when we went to Costa Rica, I refused to cave in when everyone told me that zip-lining through a rainforest was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I could only imagine which article of clothing would rearrange itself, exposing something I’d rather not, hundreds of feet in the air. No.Thank.You. Instead, I painted my nails in a giant tree-house. That was a once in a lifetime experience--I had never done it before and I’ve never done it since.

I’m not really a risk-taker. Not because I am afraid. Okay, not entirely because I am afraid, but mainly because I value privacy for the things my mama gave me.

-M

Crap! That Sounds A Lot like Jesus

Tomorrow night we are throwing a Flash Mob Block Party in a section of the city where prostitution riddles the streets. The goal is to temporarily disrupt the industry in a peaceful, loving manner. We'll invite the prostitutes to come eat with us, receive a manicure, make jewelry, hang out, talk if they want to, and experience Love. I've been on the planning end of this event, buying supplies, making lists, and of course, asking questions. Lots of questions. It all sounded so awesome, so brave, until I realized that I am going to this event. So I asked, "Won't the pimps be mad that we are distracting their girls and they are losing money?" It seems like a bad idea to be on the wrong side of a pimp. The answer: "Yeah, they might be. But if they come over to us, we will invite them to eat with us."

My first thought was not to invite them in--aren't they the enemy? Aren't they the ones we are fighting against? But as my friend spoke those words, my second thought came crashing in: "Crap, that sounds a lot like Jesus." Everyone was invited to to the table to eat with Jesus. He saw their brokenness, he acknowledged their sin, he loved them, he beckoned them.

I can know every argument about why God exists or every verse about loving people (I don't know either of those things, btw), but if I'm not willing to invite everyone to the table, have I really encountered the never-ending love of Jesus? People are changed by grace, not by arguments and knowledge. I am changed by grace.

People are never the enemy. Never. When I engage with people as if they are the problem, I am ignoring the Gospel. And when I ignore the Gospel, I am void of love. And if love is what changes people, how can restoration be brought to this broken world?

I am nervous about tomorrow night; I am even a little afraid. If you're the praying type, please pray. I am so thankful for the group of people I work with here--they are all SUPES excited, not appearing to be nervous at all. Whew, glad there are some brave ones here! Actually, being brave doesn't mean I am not afraid, it means I do it, I go, even when I feel afraid. Because deep down, I know Whose I am. I know I am deeply loved by the Creator of Love.

I'm Learning

One of these days I will write stories about funny cats or what Alan was wearing the first time we met. But for now it seems like my brain is always filled with things that require processing, and the way for me to process is through writing.

I just finished a book that talked about the healing power of friendships and it made me realize how thankful I am for the friends I have--the new and old ones. We never know what impact we may have on someone else's life for we don't know their whole story nor do we always know what their heart needs in that moment. I have had plenty of negative experiences with people, who most likely had no idea how much their words, lack of words, or actions would effect me. And likely, I've done the same to others, without intending to. And so, I'm reminded of two things: grace and more grace.

But I've also had countless positive interactions with friends that have taught me so much and have helped me on my own journey of healing. When I talk about my journey of healing, I'm talking about dealing with pains and wounds of the past--emotionally and spiritually--by being vulnerable and admitting that I'm a mess, among other things like prayer and forgiveness. This is new for me, this being vulnerable. It's a scary place to admit that I am not perfect, I need you, and I'm a little weird. I've learned two things:
1. I can't be vulnerable with everyone. There are certain people that can handle trips to Crazytown with me and still love me; and then there are those that, for many reasons, cannot. And that's okay.
2. Being anyone other than me is futile.
I'm still learning how to balance being Real Mandy and guarding my heart. I don't do it well all the time. I'm a work in progress.

As I think about all my friends, many of whom I miss so much it actually hurts sometimes, I realize that all the healing that has happened and all the things I've learned from them have not come from lectures, "standing up for issues", or dollops of truth without love. Never have these lessons been explicitly preached at me; instead, they are shared with me just through living authentically.

I'm learning that life isn't black and white and I don't have to be afraid of the grey.
I'm learning that everyone has a story. Always choose grace.
I'm learning that holding someone's baby for them might just be the thing that saves their sanity.
I'm learning that being with someone, sharing in their pain, is more important than giving advice.
I'm learning that people can never receive too many kind words.
I'm learning that doing what I love is better than doing what I feel obligated to do.
I'm learning that it's about perspective--there's always another way to see things.
I'm learning that friendship is about receiving and giving. (This is hard for last borns to grasp :)
I'm learning that I can either be a "burden" for a season or I can be a burden for my whole life.
I'm learning that sometimes, I need to shut-up. Okay, a lot of times I need to shut-up.
I'm learning that I am good-enough, all of me--the good, the bad, the ugly.

I can think of specific people who have lived out each one of these things, so much so, that it has changed who I am. And for that, I'm so grateful. There were many years where I didn't have any deep friendships, just casual ones. I prayed for a long time for someone, just one person, who could be my friend. Sometimes prayers are answered in the way that we prayed them and sometimes we are shown a different way. The answer to my prayer came as a realization: the depth of my relationships depends on me; how willing I am to be real. Friends weren't going to magically appear--it required me to do something.

I wasn't being authentic because I truly thought that people needed me to keep it together, to not be a burden. I didn't want to be a Debbie Downer and talk about my seemingly first-world problems. But after awhile, in a moment of desperation and bravery, I made an appointment to talk to someone who maybe could help me. (By the way, it's super awkward to explain to the receptionist at the therapist's office all of your problems, especially if one of them is "difficulty being open with others.") And at the same time, I began meeting with a group of friends who I could be real with. We shared our stories, asked for help, prayed for each other, cried and laughed with each other. It was exactly what my heart needed.

One of my goals for 2013 was "to be a more thoughtful friend." It's a little sad that it's not something that comes naturally, but I'm so glad I've had friends who hung around long enough to show me what being a friend means. We aren't meant to live alone and we aren't meant to carry our hurts around with us our whole lives. Part of our healing process and dealing with pain needs to be done with others. It's scary and awkward but it's always up to us if we are going to enter this journey or not. I'm glad I did and I'm so thankful for those on the journey with me.

The Bueno Top 10

We have lived in Mexico for almost 8 months and though we  I had a rocky few months at the beginning, we are really content and happy to live here. Actually, sometimes, I feel hesitant to share just how happy we are because isn't living in a developing nation supposed to be hard? But a good friend pointed out that if that were true, how could we actually help anyone if we were living in a state of despair or frustration? Good point. And so, these are my Top 10 things I love about living in Mexico.

1. The sunshine. Everyday. Sunshine just makes me happy, even if it's covered in smog, I'll take it. I used to say crazy things like "Well, I feel like I can appreciate the summer more since I've suffered through the cold winter." Absurdity. I appreciate the sunshine everyday.

2. The colors. This sort of goes along with #1. Trees are green, flowers are bright purple, buildings are orange, candy is all shades of unnatural-ness. Life is colorful, and colors also make me happy.

3. Our apartment. For multiple reasons. First, it's the perfect size for our family, plus it has the space to host overnight guests. Second, sunshine pours into our windows all day long. I think it goes without saying, but this makes me happy. Third, we have a parking spot with our number on it. Our number. And it's right outside of our apartment. (In Lancaster, we had on street parking for 8 years, and when it snowed, life got real-real. But here, there's always a place for us! And no snow!) Fourth, we have no less than 3 fountains in our apartment complex, that when mixed with the sound of chirping birds, it feels more like a retreat center than a city with 26 million people.

4. The food. We go to market every week and fill at least 3-4 bags full of produce and spend maybe $20. Besides the food I can buy at the market, which includes fresh chicken, beef, and of course bacon, this city has THE best tacos, tostadas, and tortas that I've ever had. 

5. The traffic-light vendors. Sometimes, this can be annoying, people selling things everywhere I look. But mostly, it's pretty awesome. If I'm at a traffic light and really want to know which part of Africa Burkina Faso is in, I'm not going to turn to my trusty iPhone. That'd be crazy. Instead, I can buy a giant laminated world map and find out right then! If I need a huge afro wig, I can buy that too without even having to leave the comfort of my car. If I look down and see my sweater has too many lint balls, BAM! I can buy a lint-ball remover at the same traffic light (or a different one). Pretty much anything you can think of is available at some traffic light: back-scratchers, snacks, flowers, puppets, tv trays, phone chargers, tissues, 3D puzzles of the Eiffel Tower, and more.

6. The street-vendors. Lining every street are vendors selling everything from single cigarettes to handmade trashcans, to pirated movies, to delicious food. My favorite thing to buy on the street is mango. It's a cup-full, pre-cut, for 15 pesos. I will gladly pay around $1 for pre-cut mangos. It's a little bit of a problem I have. I know of at least three locations of these Mango Vendors off the top of my head that are within close distance of my house.

7. The culture of politeness. This is also something that will end up on my Top 10 list of things I don't like, but there is a part of this I really appreciate and need to learn from. I am never afraid that someone is going to flip out on me for something; I feel welcomed at every gathering because if someone doesn't like me, they surely will not let me know; and road rage isn't something I worry about at all. People are more relaxed, in that sense, and less easily offended.

8. The culture of celebration. This too will end up on my other list, but mostly, I love this aspect of Mexico. There is seriously a celebration for everything--at Christmas it's 9 days of celebration, for Easter, two weeks. Sunday lunches are akin to our holiday meals, in length and amount of food, so these too, are like celebrations (to me). My kids eat more candy than I ever could've imagined that are the result of life-sized pinatas. But, thanks to this aspect of the culture, I am learning to relax and celebrate more--with sugar! 

9. The culture of service. I'm still adjusting to this, but there is an affordable service available for everything. I can get my car washed inside and out for 50 pesos--like $3.50. At the grocery store, someone directs me where to park, asks if I want my car washed while I'm shopping, someone bags my groceries, someone will load my groceries into my car, and someone else will help me back out of my parking space. Of course I would need to tip each person a couple pesos, so I don't typically take everyone up on their offer. But if I bought a few heavy items and truly needed help, it's available. Almost every restaurant delivers and even the stands at market will deliver my groceries--all I have to do is call. 

10. Our community. Someone commented to me the other day that we seem to be adjusting well and rather quickly. I would agree and think much of it has to do with the fact that we are not here alone. We have an already established community of friends who are a tremendous support to us. Of course we all still have to do the work of getting to know each other, but the fact that there is a group of people that welcomed us so easily in so many ways, is a huge reason why we are able to adjust to living here pretty easily. Last Sunday, Clementine was crying about something at church, and a lady, who is our friend, came over and offered to take her to her house for the entire day to play. She ended up taking Olive too and Alan and I had an impromptu and much needed date. This is just one tiny example of the kindness we have received from so many people here. 

Some bonus items:

*Grown adults in suits/work attire, running to catch a bus--this is a regular/normal occurrence

*The streets always have random pockets of sewage stench, so who can ever really know if you farted or not?

*Mother's Day is second, in terms of importance and reverence, to Christmas, just as it should be.

*Our kids now use names like Cecilia, Natalia, or Emilia when playing instead of Megan or Emily.

*The lack of regulations= the steepest inflatable rides I've ever seen

We have so much to be thankful for, even when things are difficult (like when we had a bit of a bed bug problem). In addition to our community here that has helped us adjust so well, it is also because of all of our friends, family and supporters in PA and elsewhere that have continued to encourage us, pray for us, and love us from afar. Just 10 minutes ago, Alan came home with a care package from some of our lovely friends reminding us that we are loved and missed, and for the record, the feelings are mutual.

-M