Seasons

I've been thinking a lot about how life is one long strand of different seasons. And this can be a refreshing thought, if you're in a rough season, or a scary thought, if you're smooth sailing right now. It always makes me laugh to think how resistant we are to the changing of seasons instead of accepting that this is what life is. Life is change.

Pretend these are the horses I'm wrangling.

As we begin the second year of our 2-year commitment to be in Mexico, of course we are thinking about what's next for our family. After experiencing so much transition for the last 2 1/2 years since we started the process of moving to Mexico, all I want to do is move to Idaho and live on a farm, drink coffee on the front porch with Alan, homeschool my kids, and live off the land. I am 99% sure this might be a knee-jerk reaction to living in a slightly crowded, busy, farm-less city, but there's a chance I'll be wrangling horses and saying farmer things like 'Yee-haw' and 'Woah Nellie' in the near future.

Moving to Mexico was a dream of both Alan and I. We both felt peace about coming, we both felt a passion to fight human-trafficking, and both had a desire to come and serve in whatever way was needed. What I'm not sure we were prepared for was that reality of me being the one working while Alan took care of things at home. We pretty much had an entire role reversal and with that, small identity crises. And in the last few weeks, I've been having a hard time with these roles, because in the deepest part of me, not only do I want to be home with my kids, baking muffins, breaking up squabbles, talking about school, and occasionally giving them a bath, in the near future, we want to adopt children. And that's when Alan reminded me that it's a season. And then I reminded myself of that one post about being content. Whatever.

We are in a season of serving, learning, depending, learning, trusting, and lastly, i don't want to leave this one out--learning. It is strange because it is simultaneously so good and so hard. Similar to parenting or marriage--it's not easy breezy but with hard work, it's so rewarding and fulfilling.

And the real gift is being able to remain present in the current season while planning and dreaming for the next. When I'm single and long to be married, I relish in my independence and seemingly endless opportunities. When I'm married and longing for children, I enjoy the every-night-date-nights, sleeping in, and rational conversations with adults that don't include things like "please don't eat your poop." When I have young children and long for them to grow independent, I cherish the endless cuddles and I-love-yous, the innocent questions, and the uninhibited, carefree fashion sense that includes things like helmets, bee antennae, and only one pig-tail.

And so it is now--I remain present in my current season of seeing the beauty that rises from ashes as rescued girls are experiencing healing and restoration and life; I enjoy this time of Alan running errands and doing the finances because truthfully, it's a nice break; and I cling to all the character growth that comes from living in a foreign country and trying to make sense of life everyday.

We talk almost everyday about what the future might hold. Obviously, we don't know and so much can change in one year. Our desire is to always remain open to possibilities and to continue asking God, through prayer, to guide our next step. And to remember that life is made up of ever-changing seasons that deserve our full attention and participation.

Reflections at the halfway mark

In a week it will be one year ago that we moved our family over 2500 miles from farm country to the second largest city in the world. In some ways it seems like we just arrived to our barely furnished apartment, trying to survive on our infantile spanish vocabulary. And in other ways, those days seem so far away--our apartment feels like home and we now have at least a preschooler's vocabulary. We came wanting to make a big difference in the world of human trafficking; instead, I feel like huge differences were made in us rather than by us.

As I reflect on this last year, the main thing I feel is gratefulness. I'm grateful for God's loving-kindness in one of the hardest transitions we've ever made together as a family. One of the biggest lessons I've learned is the freedom found in having your hands tied. 

I struggled with anxiety for more than half my life. 16 years, to be sort-of exact. One way I coped was white-knuckling everything in my life, thinking that if I controlled it, my anxiety would lessen. This has proven to be untrue. In fact, my anxiety has lessened since having to let go of pretty much any control I ever thought I had. 

Super-easy-to-understand Triangle of Life

Mexico has earthquakes. A lot of them. I've felt three since living here in the last year, but many more have happened--I just haven't felt them. We live on the third floor of our apartment building. All the earthquakes I've felt have woken me up from sleeping. I am usually really confused because my first thought is that Alan is just moving around a lot and then I'm annoyed. When I finally realize it's the earth moving and not my husband, I jump out of bed to run to my kids. Well, that's not true. Usually I elbow Alan to wake him up so he can get one of the kids. The problem is, since I have only lived in Pennsylvania, I have no idea really what to do in this situation. We can't evacuate--it's not safe to be in the stairwell. The "Triangle of Life" has something to do with finding a triangular space that will keep you safe, but considering how long it took me to realize it was an earthquake and not just Alan suffering from RLS, the chances of me digging up my geometry skills and successfully finding a triangular space are pretty slim. Basically, besides finding a triangle, we don't have lots of options. And so I hold one of our kids in my arms and pray. Hard.

Besides geometry problems, my previous life of eating only organic, local, and natural foods has been pretty much flipped upside down. One-stop-shopping isn't very common here. We go to market for fruits, veggies, fresh cut bacon, eggs, tortillas, and bulk grains; we go to the grocery store for things like peanut butter, cereal, and milk; we go the "health store" for quinoa and bread, which is pretty much all we can afford there; and we go to Costco for yellow lemons, coconut oil, and frozen pot-stickers. It's not easy to fill the pantry and fridge, and even when we do, it's many times not with foods I would've fed my family a year ago. And even more maddening is that foods don't have to have an ingredient label. My kids now eat Cheetos, Oreos, and Jello and have candy more days than I would like to admit. I could've white-knuckled it and not allowed my kids to partake in eating the candy at birthday parties (which occur on a bi-weekly basis); I could've sent my kids to school without any treats while every other kid ate their Cheetos and Jello; I could've told the kind people who babysat my kids that they weren't allowed to take my kids to KFC. But at some point, I had to resign.  The stress I was experiencing about food would kill me before any food I ever ate. I have learned to do the best I can with what I have. I am convinced that quality of life (emotional and spiritual) are much better predictors of future health than food alone. Maybe that's denial, but I'm okay with that.

And finally, living on support (donations made to us by hard-working people) has proven to remove any sense of control I thought I had on our security. When money is tight, I can't just work more hours or pick up a part time job. We literally live on the kindness of others and that, my friends, cannot be controlled by me. And so each month we thank God for every penny that comes in, knowing that it is undeserved and at a very basic level, unearned, meaning our man-hours do not directly relate to our income. And the months when the amount we receive doesn't match the amount we need, we trust that God will meet every need. And instead of figuring out how to get more money, we pray for resourcefulness, contentment, and most of all, peace. We are literally learning what it means to "let go and let God", for reals.

I actually feel lighter--not physically because eating corn tortillas everyday doesn't help anyone's figure--but emotionally. And though I still get anxious now and then, I don't live in it. Not having options, having my hands tied, has given me the freedom to let go and enjoy life in a new way, and I'm so grateful.

First world problems in a developing nation

It's been a little hard getting back into the routine here. For the month of July, we were in the States, speaking english, driving on empty roads (222 traffic? Piece.of.cake.), playing in wide open spaces, and spending time with people who know us well. It was pretty magical. Now we are back to our reality--speaking spanish, driving on the-opposite-of-empty-roads, playing on bricks, and continuing to work on not offending everyone we speak to, just by simply being us.

I was feeling sorry for myself, for my kids especially, for a few weeks. I know--that's a really long pity party. I was sad that they didn't have any outdoor toys to play with; I was sad that making friends was so dang hard because of the language; I was sad that Olive was missing the "First day of Kindergarten/Riding the Bus" milestone that all my best-friends' kids were celebrating and that she'll never get to have; I was sad that my spanish regressed--a lot; I was sad that I couldn't talk to the sweet old lady on the bus because it just takes that much effort to formulate educated thoughts; I was sad that our dream is to adopt children and I just can't see how that is possible living on a tourist visa in another country, on other peoples' money. You get it right? I'm not saying all of these emotions aren't valid, because they are. But when I wallow in them, it's time for someone to smack me in the forehead and remind me these are first world problems in a developing nation and I have so much to be grateful for. Do you know another first world problem I encounter everyday? Watermelon with seeds. It's maddening.

And somewhere in the midst of this, I was reminded through a figurative smack on the forehead, of the value of practicing gratitude and being content in all circumstances. No, my kids don't have any toys to play with outside, but they have dirt to dig in to search for snails. How cool is that?! Making friends is hard, but we're doing it, and we have so many friends in our life here, in Mexico, that have shown us so much kindness, grace, and love. Olive has no idea she missed this milestone of Kindergarten--I'm pretty sure she is fine. My spanish is improving at the same rate that my pride is being diminished and soon I will be able to chat with the sweet old ladies that sit beside me on the bus. As for adopting, miracles happen. I've not only seen them, I've experienced them.

Check out these snails!

And as I chatted with at least 3 different friends in the US, at separate times, I was sharing how I was feeling discontent--I wanted to just move back and feel comfortable again--they all expressed how they wished they were here, in my shoes! And the light went on that discontentment creeps in anywhere, so easily, and it is such a killjoy. When I'm here, I want to be there; when I have this, I still want that; when things change, I want stability and when things are stable for too long, I want change. Ahhhhh! This is the perfect way to paralyze a life and make it useless.

I started mentally listing things I was thankful for and then as I was on the bus or walking somewhere, I would go through the list and just thank God for all of it. And as I list all that I am thankful for, I can't believe that I ever felt sorry for myself. In fact, I almost feel shameful. But then I remember that shame is a killjoy too, so that's not allowed. (Another killjoy? Candy Crush Saga. Don't. Just don't.) As I type this my heart is literally pounding when I think of every single thing there is to be thankful for because it so overwhelming.

So with that, life is crazy. Sometimes it's crazy-good and sometimes it's crazy-hard. Sometimes it's crazy-funny and sometimes it's crazy-boring. This is life and I want to be present in all of it, always with a heart of gratitude.

This makes me laugh. Hard.

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