four years later

Mexico spring break trip, April 2011

This morning it is overcast & hazy, which means that at the Casa it was one of those mornings where the fog draped over the mountains like a thick blanket & hung on the fences with the clothes.

Funny to think that where I sit, on the balcony at Las Tres Palmas, is the same as when i wrote of my conviction to explore the idea of missions and overseas ministry, 4 years ago--something that would shape my future greatly & even in part lead me past things that weren't for me and bring me together with the man who will soon be my husband.

Especially once we begin our married life with our beautiful quilt, & dishes, & my kitchenaid mixer, & all such lovely eartly trappings, it will get harder to want to leave it all behind...

Let me not forget the things that are worth a thousand times more joy than the prettiest house.

Las Montañas de Maneadero

This weekend I had the wonderful opportunity to take a short little visit down to Casa Esperanza with a small group from our church to deliver Christmas boxes. There is more to write about the people I saw, but for now these pictures shall be my words.

Dina

Share a sucker?

Katelynn y amiga

Las Montañas, y mi "sobrinita"

Mirna

This is a story of a friend of mine in Mexico, which I’m sure has deserved telling for many months now, but has instead found itself gathering dust in the files of my computer. Here it is.

Mirna is the kind of mother who would do almost anything to ensure a good life and happiness for her child. When I first met her, I almost began to assume her neglectful as she would set her 3-month-old daughter in the baby carrier with a propped-up bottle as she taught her students at the Casa. But then I began to see the difference in Mirna as compared to other “typical” Mexican moms. When others would let their children complain on & on to deaf ears, it seemed Mirna could not stand to hear her daughter cry. Not for sake of the annoyance, either, but because she couldn’t seem to bear allowing her daughter to continue in unnecessary unhappiness.

Most children at the casa get their fair share of bumps and bruises and falls—this seems commonplace for most moms, hardly worth even coddling in most cases. But not for Mirna. Gazing at a smiling Dina ("Deena") crawling on the bed one afternoon, Mirna confessed to me (in typical Mexican expressiveness and humor) that, the first time she sees her daughter fall and scrape her knee, she herself might cry more than Dina!

Late another night, I visited her in her trailer. Dina was already asleep, and Mirna invited me in. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Mira,” she said, pointing to the ceiling to show me smears of a few dead mosquitoes. “Want to help me?” She shut off the lights and sat down next to me on the bed, explaining to me that there were cracks somewhere in the trailer that let the mosquitoes in. she hated seeing the tiny welts on her baby’s face or arms. “They come out when it’s dark,” she explained. “And then—“ she flipped on the lights and jumped up, scanning the air for the tiny blood suckers, smacking them in her hands. I followed suit until we could find no more. Then, off went the lights again. On again, off again, on again. She did this every night before bed, while her precious baby lay sleeping.

For a while, Mirna left the casa. She has this dream, her biggest dream, and she went to follow it. She found a house—a little ranch house, she told me—where they could live, just the two of them. All she ever wants is a place of their own and a life for them. It was a nice enough place—quiet, she said, and peaceful, hardly anyone else around. But it was very hot, and very dry. And not many people around meant not much work. For a while she worked a push cart, some days with good business but some days without. The heat bore down on them and they drank and drank but hardly found relief. Dina became sick, and her desperate mother could only do so much for her. Day after day Mirna would push the cart, and sometimes there would be money, but usually only just barely enough. There was no car that worked to drive to the doctor, even to the store, and they would lack basic necessities, and food, and—

Mirna pressed her lips together and bent her head into her hands. I held my breath, my heart captured. i had never seen this strong, kind, and upbeat woman cry. Finally she looked up again with tears in her eyes, wiped them away and continued her story.

Now that she was back at the Casa, she wondered why she ever left. She is living well now in this broken-down trailer on the dusty property, with plenty of food and water and diapers, with her bright and cheerful daughter who is getting her health and weight back and has learned to walk and be mischievous. We smile at Dina, who is standing up near the edge of the bed, grinning back at her mother. "Dina!" Mirna points at her, her voice firm (but loving). "Get back from there, sit down right now, you're going to fall." Dina pouts, but promptly obeys, and we chuckle at her. "Es intelligente," i say. "Si," Mirna smiles.

Perhaps they will find a way to move to the states one day. Or perhaps they will stay in Mexico. But either way, Mirna still keeps hold of her dream. And unlike many who may dream big but fall back into the cycle, i feel confident that she will get there. My heart swells with the thought of God's grace to my friend and my little "neice." Surely he will continue to bless her faith and wisdom and persistence. "One day," she tells me. "One day."

August, 2009

Mi Hermana en Maneadero

She was married when she was not much older than me (21 0r 22), to a man she'd known for just a few months. It was a mistake, she'd later realize--he did not share her faith in Christ, and it did not take him long to leave his churchgoing wife behind for a life in "El Otro Lado," in a city in the US. She never told him that she was pregnant, and even still he knows nothing about their beautiful two-year-0ld daughter with the huge brown eyes and his curly dark hair.

When she first learned she was pregnant and very alone, she had no idea what to do. Eventually she ended up at the casa-hogar (shelter) where I met her--the animated young teacher of the supplemental classes for the kids at the shelter, with her 3-month-old daughter just a day younger than my own niece.

We became friends, sharing life at the casa for a little while--humorous communication (or sometimes miscommunication), stories about life, and the different changes and challenges of the classroom and Casa life. I would remember her as a particularly devoted mom and an enthusiastic & caring teacher who saw her work as ministry. Unlike many of the women that may pass through the Christian shelter purely by government placement, Mirna seemed to be a strong Christian, and did her best to be content with the time God had her there, despite trials or loneliness (many other women do not stay very long at the casa, so it can be hard to make stable friends) and the strong desire to make a real and independent life for herself and her daughter.

It had been more than a year that i had not been able to visit her, but she wrote to me sometimes and I also to her. But she wasn't sure she should believe that I would come again to see her. "Many people visit, and afterwards they write, and then eventually they forget," she said. "I figured you would probably be the same."

The minutes had passed so very slowly as I waited at the casa for Mirna to arrive home from work. In the mean time I spent some time with my "mexican niece" as we'd come to call her--who, as even the others in my group casually observed, seemed happier than many of the other kids, and obviously very well cared for. She'd grown quite a bit since I'd last seen her, and was even talking pretty well. Her eyes were bright and adventurous and she hardly stopped laughing as I pushed her in the swing and helped her climb and slide down the slide.

At last Mirna and I greeted one another and made our way to her room with Dina to do some much-overdue catching up. She excitedly showed me the little artificial Christmas tree she had set up and decorated in their room, the first one she or Dina ever had. But we had barely sat down when suddenly the group was waiting and I had to leave--it was my mistake for having failed to ask permission to stay earlier on. I think we were both devastated but I told her I would try to return, my heart feeling heavy and sick. This, after a year and a half? I couldn't do that to her... But I couldn't make any promises.

But lo, by God's grace and the goodness of our driver's heart, I returned at dark, after dinner. Most everyone was in their houses getting ready for bed, but someone told me that Mirna was in cleaning the kitchen. I walked quietly in, carrying all my things, and said teasingly, "I don't have a house... can I stay here with you?" She gave me a warm smile. "Oh, I didn't think you would come back! I heard the car, but didn't think it could be you." She helped me carry my things to her room, and arranged to borrow an extra mattress for me. I followed her around like a puppy until she finished her night's chores, just talking.

As the night faded on and Dina bounced merrily on my mattress on the floor, we stayed up like schoolgirls at a slumber party talked about almost everything in our recent lives we could think of to talk about. My now-somewhat-rusty Spanish (made worse by lack of sleep) was a little frustrating, but we had always been good at getting our point across with each other no matter. "Oh, how good that you are here," Mirna would say animatedly over and over again, resting her chin in her hands as she laid backwards on her bed to face me. She'd had less and less friends visiting lately. "I'm so glad to have you visit me." I told her of my Nana visiting for Christmas, and family plans this time of year. "Oh, how nice it must be to have family around," she said. "Here it is just us, Dina and I, and the Lord." Dina eventually gave up her mischief for sleep, and we also finally began to give in to the yawns that interrupted our conversation. We said goodnight and I prayed before I fell asleep to the noise of the creaking space heater.

I rose drowsily and dressed quietly in the dim light of the approaching sunrise. Outside I heard my ride arrive, so I waved a hand out the door and turned back for a few moments to gather my things. Mirna stirred and sat up. "Goodbye," I whispered, coming to her bedside for a final hug. "Goodbye," she said, "write to me, please!" "Yes," I promised.

As we bumped along the dirt road away from the Casa, I took what last pictures I could catch of the mountains at dawn.

Mexico 2007: The Week's End

The last day or two of that week I did not write, because we went to an overnight camp put on at a ranch by another large group of Americans (they had also invited many other groups of Mexican kids that we did not know). Once again, while I enjoyed talking to the Americans, I enjoyed the feeling that my “place” was more among my Casa Esperanza family than among the American church group.

There’s one story I particularly enjoyed and remembered from that day camp… It was a moment I realized that my sense of humor over the past week had begun to lean more towards Mexican humor, which has its slight differences at times.

We were playing a game that was some really chaotic and strange mix of capture the flag and steal the bacon. There were at least four different teams, and perhaps

the Americans expected it to be more controlled and mellow, but… that was a silly expectation if so ;) So the kids were going crazy, and the method of “tagging” each other was by pulling the flag-football-style flags from their waist… and the Mexican kids, being fairly notorious cheaters, would of course tuck in the flags or even tie them to their belt loops to avoid losing). I am not a very competitive or rough person, so I did pretty bad in the game at first. But on my second shot, I was determined. A little boy ran into our square and grabbed a beanbag… I latched my hand onto his firmly-anchored flag, not willing to lose this time. Oh, that little cheater, he had tied it on as well! But I gave a firm yank, hoping the knot would slip. Victory! I was thrilled. But upon examining the flag, I realized that the knot had not slipped at all… and there, still tied to the end of the flag, was a little torn off belt loop! Oops… but perhaps the fair reward for his cheating. Still proud of my accomplishment, I couldn’t keep from laughing. I

told my (what I thought to be) funny story to the nearest American. To

my surprise, her response was “Oh my! How sad!” Oh… should I not have been laughing at his belt-loop-loss? Confused, I found Isba. Grinning, I pointed to the little belt loop tied into the flag I had pulled. “Isba—mira!” With no other explanation needed, she (and a few of the other girls) began to laugh hysterically.

That night, we girls pulled our beds close together and whispered and laughed and goofed off a little before bed.

Finally, the end of the camp came, and we all climbed into the bed of Terry’s pickup and headed back to Casa Esperanza, where my parents would soon be waiting eagerly to pick me up.

Mexico 2007 Day 5: little blessings

(the day's journal entry)

As much as the kids here can wear me out, so much more can the women bless and encourage me mucho. I’m a bit sick today (and pretty tired), but it was a good day nonetheless. I’m even more comfortable here, and I’m speaking better or at least more confidently, and sometimes (okay, more than sometimes) I even think in Spanish or accidentally speak a little Spanish to the Americans that come. Hah. I know the kids better, and (sometimes) they listen to me better. Oh, and the women treat me like a daughter or sister, and call me so (“Mija” or “Hermana”).

Special moments of today: Translating always feels nice, and however I can help the Americans or whoever. Berenice showing me her & Griselda’s room, and pictures and letters from her boyfriend and sister and friends. Talking about her boyfriend and cultural stuff that wy, school, stuff like that, eating good soup, pepino con limon (delicious cucumber with lemon on it), Christian and her cupcakes. The generosity of the women—how much they’re thankful for me and how good they are to me. Tonight, tired, sore, and a little sick, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water; a few women and 14-year-old Olimpia and others were in there. (we laugh when I mess up my Spanish bad or when I can’t figure out what they’re saying, but they’re patient). I noticed that Elizabeth had a fried egg with ketchup; I commented and said that’s how I like it too! I was about to leave, but of course, she asks, “Quieres?” Umm, of course I want some, but my American nature says don’t be a pain, but I always feel a little bad turning down what they offer me…I’m learning to go with their culture. “Si!” and she fried me up and egg (“One? Only?”) in plenty of oil, and I ate it with ketchup…mmm. “More?” she asks. No, but thank you, it was really good. Instead of responding “de nada” to my thanks, she said “Para servirte!”—literally translating “to serve you.” wow. :)

I’m pretty tired… and sore… Buenas noches.

Mexico 2007 Day 4: Un Lugar

(The day's journal entry)

And today… was as delicious and beautiful as this cupcake I’m eating. Ah…. Well? I’m one of them. I don’t know when it happened, but they let me into their world. Of course, it was easy to enter the world of the children (as opposed to the more cautious and reserved women), but I think at first I was just another Americana. We went to the gym with the kids this morning, and later to the beach with the small American group. By the time we went to the beach with the other Americans, I wasn’t “with” the Americans—I was with them. Even the women warmed up so much. I’m not sure they quite sure they understood or trusted me at first, but when we were at the beach, they treated me like one of them. In the back of the truck, sitting and talking, at the beach looking for shells and talking with the Americans, buying bracelets, everything. With the kids and the women, I have a connection now. Wow. It’s a great feeling… amazing. They trust me and enjoy me.

Tonight at dinner, they wanted me to pray in English. I helped serve, and offered to help with the dishes, but of course they wouldn’t have it. Class went well also. I can talk to the kids better, and the women talk to me more too. First friend among the women? Christian, a sweet young mother with three equally sweet children, with her talking and smiling and not-too-shabby attempts at conversing in English. Then there’s the quieter, older Elena, always offering me more food (with a silent, hospitable grin I could never reject), shampoo, whatever. But I get smiles from all the women now.

Some of the older girls

Tonight I walked out to “the tree” with Isba and the kids, her students. I goofed off with the kids and talked with Isba. She began to tell me more about herself (in both of our mixes of English and Spanish). When she was around my age, she said, she was a “gang banger” and a rebel. She’s about 20 or 21 now. She was married, but her husband died when she was 4 months pregnant with her daughter, now about 4 years old. Her mother gained custody of her daughter, though Isba hopes one day to have full custody. Sad about her husband’s death (they must have been quite young, too!) but she said in a way, it’s for the good, because if he had not died she would not have come here and met the Lord. Isba has a boyfriend now—a good guy, she says, but not a Christian. From what I could gather, he has a lot of pain and anger in his heart about God, because his mom has cancer. “It’s difficult,” she says. Isba wants to be a teacher of young children, and hopes to continue teaching at Casa Esperanza even when she no longer lives here and is able to finish her schooling.

It was dark when we got back, and I watched part of Spiderman 3 in Spanish with some of the women and kids before deciding to go to bed. I walked back to the trailer through the kitchen and said buenas noches. Later, I went back to retrieve my own personal toilet paper roll (it’s sorta rationed, so the kids won’t waste) from the kitchen bathroom where I showered. Christian and some of the other women were in the kitchen making cupcakes for tomorrow. Oh man, I have been smelling those cupcakes cooking for two days (and if there’s one thing I miss in a foreign country, it’s American desserts, even the Betty Crocker boxed cakes) and they’re fresh out of the oven! Maybe I’ll take one tomorrow if there’s enough. “ah, muchos postres, que deliciosa!” I commented.

“Yes,” answered Christian, “for the American group tomorrow.”

“Buenas noches,” I said, “hasta mañana!” I begin to walk around the corner, but I hear her call “Hermana!” (sister).

“Yes?”

“Would you like a postre?”

“Me? Sure—it’s ok?”

“Sí, sí, take one, go ahead, Hermana.” I chose one with a funny misshapen top and asked one of the teenage girls, Michel, “Que pasó?” (“What happened?”) She smiled back shyly.

“Muchas gracias,” I told Christian, “buenas noches!”

“Buenas noches, Hermana.”

No frosting… but oh, it was the most heavenly cupcake I’ve ever tasted.

I’m sore and tired… Buenas noches, hasta mañana, Hermanos.

Mexico 2007 Day 3: A Turning Point?

Today was different… I feel more at home now, like I belong in some weird way. We didn’t go to the beach, I think we’ll go tomorrow. I rode bikes with Isba* and the kids up the road to a ranch. A group of Americans came today, from Wisconsin. Mas

Americanas! Kinda cool to see more of those; and I felt more a part of the Casa and a help. I’m less “la americana” now.

A few girl

s and I walked to the little nearby store** during dinner. It was fun, lots of walking and laughing. And as I wrote this, some of the girls

came in to our trailer to hang out, take photos, etc… they’re silly. ;)

I’m happy. Gracias a Dios! Tomorrow is another new and great day.

*Besides being my “roommate,” Isba (picture) is a teacher to the kids—these classes (reading, math, etc) are at the Casa, as a supplement to the learning that may not always be adequate at the local public school.

**Commonly, the stores I mean here are neighborhood stores, or in other words usually someone’s converted living room or garage with lots of packaged snacks and other things. There is generally at least one within walking distance always.

Mexico 2007 Day 2: Un Dia Normal

(The day’s journal entry, with a few more current notes from me.)

Today I hung out with the kids, including lunch, dinner, classes, taking a walk, the playground, bicicletas, ‘carry me,’ you know the stuff. I helped in the garden some too, and saw the chickens, pigs, cows, and horses.

Sundown, I said ‘Hasta mañana’ and walked my very dusty sandal-clad feet to the shower. Turn the knobs, a little stream comes out of the head (pipe, really, the shower head itself is missing, I would find out why later on)—strong and all, but not as thick as my pinky. That’s it? Alright, cool, this works… quick shower and buenas noches, back to my trailer with Isba. The women have devos at 5 AM tomorrow, which I don’t have to go to, but I think I’ll try. We go to the beach tomorrow, then besides class and meals I assume I’m on my own. Basically, only God knows what tomorrow holds. I can’t wait…

It was strange to have very little direction of what I was supposed to do each day. I generally spent time with the kids, familiarized myself with the property, and made whatever small steps I could to get to know the women. The kids are pretty quick to accept a new playmate, especially the young American groups from whom they know they can get endless piggy backs and swing-pushes… I would eventually decide to do my best to have fun with them, while still trying to distance myself from their general expectations of an Americana. My desire, instead, was to fit in as much as I could as one of them. Of course, with my height, blonde hair, blue eyes, and dislike for onions and chili (chili peppers or powder) my chances were kinda shot. But, a "gringa" does what she can do. ;)

Mexico 2007 Day 1: Confusion

So, where we left off. (these next several posts will be detailing my first trip to Mexico by myself, in summer 2007 not too long after i graduated high school).

Dad had just dropped me off at Casa Esperanza, and I can only imagine his thoughts as he prepared leave his 17-year-old daughter for a week in a foreign place that was, quite frankly (and pretty obviously) disorganized and confusing. It’s not as bad as it may first seem, and it’s not all the director’s fault—it is what it is with so many people on a compound and not much of what we Americans take for granted like cell phones, precise schedules, etc.

When we first stepped out of the car and looked around at the compound, a few young kids burst through the unfinished construction and grabbed at my hand, shouting gleefully at me in Spanish, “Come on! We’re running from a monster!” I ducked through the rooms of the unfinished building after them, not quite sure what was going on.

Finally, we saw an adult or two as well. It took us what seemed like an eternity to find the director, who was the only other English speaker on the property. I had in my repertoire what Spanish I had learned in three years of schooling, and got a few different answers in my best attempts at asking where Terry was (come to find out, another woman had a similar name). To our relief (I’m sure my uncertain Dad’s, especially) she finally appeared to greet us and showed us to the old travel trailer (photo) I would be sharing with another young woman, Isba.

Probably feeling as reassured as was possible for the situation, Dad said goodbye and left me to enjoy my first lunchtime with the women and children of Casa Esperanza. With little explanation or clear expectation, I was tossed in the middle of their daily life.

Introduced, and automatically welcomed, I wrote in my journal. ’La Americana’, ‘La Jessica.’ For one, I’d forgotten how Mexican I’m not. For two, I began to realize just how alone I am. Not that I’m lonely, I’m not, but culturally I sure am alone. It’s what I hoped for, but I never grasped the idea of this—I, Americana, no matter how Mexican I think I am, am dumped straight into a world that is not at all my own. It’s a pretty weird feeling… but I can’t say it’s not great too. I knew I’d be on my own here, that was the whole idea, but man, I sure am on my own. Just me and God and my less-than-perfect Spanish. Not quite what I expected… but just what I wanted.

(note: this post is dated according to when it happened, not when it was posted.)