Your world is big

With Argentina and the US playing tomorrow, I'm a bit scatterbrained as I write this post. I originally composed it as a to-do list for how to enlarge your perspective, and perhaps soon you will be treated to a light dose of my sage, 23-year-vintage advice (spoiler: learning another language is on the list). But for now you'll have to settle on the following realization:

My world is big.

I'm not talking about "the" world, this spinning orb of some 7,243,262,762,137 human inhabitants (based on this cool estimate). I'm not talking about the World Cup. No, I'm talking about my world and yours: my place and the things and people that make it home, my job, my stresses, my worries and dreams. The very things that look small and insignificant when I start comparing my life to someone else's. Sound familiar, facebook?

My world is not big because I live in Argentina or because I can speak another language. It's not big because I read good books or have a bachelor's degree or friends from other cultures that daily challenge my definition of what is normal or important. It's not big because I have the opportunity to travel or no ring on my finger.

Don't get me wrong: the things above are awesome. Why else do you think people in my generation get a kick out of doing whatever it is we're doing in wherever parts of the world we send pictures from? It's fantastic. While these things have certainly have made my world larger, they're not what made it big in the first place. My world- and yours- are big for one reason...

In Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth...
(In The Dalles and in all Oregon and Washington, and to the end of the earth...)

My world is big because of Jesus, who somehow managed to influence the world with 12ish proteges while never leaving a region that can be driven in less than a day, and who still manages to impact people over 2000 years after he was supposed to stay dead. My world is big because He said to go. Go to the "smoker tree" and share gum with the dropouts. Go to Durand Hospital and talk with the impatient patients. Go to Fred Meyers. Go to Palermo. Go to work. Go to your neighbor's.

Go. That is how a world gets big.

Taken for Grant-ed

Dear Grant,

Happy (belated) 20th birthday. I'm still trying to make my camera communicate with my computer so I can send you that video I filmed all around Buenos Aires, which makes me wish you were here to fix all of my technology problems. But then again, if you were here, I wouldn't be making you a movie, or writing a blog post in your honor.

Seriously, where to start? I feel like I've already said most things I can say about you in public without 1) embarrassing you and 2) depending on an acrostic...Actually, that gave me an idea...what if I made an acrostic of things that would embarrass you?

I can hear your eyes rolling: "just- no!" So I won't.

What I can say is how very proud I am of you, and how very thankful I am to have you as my brother and default best friend- and no, that's not lame. It has been fun cheering you on from afar during your first year of college and I'm glad that you've never been "too cool" to not shoot me an email or call (even when we spend the last five minutes, without fail, making faces and sending the 'ninja' emoticon over skype).

You're clever, creative, proper, logical, generous, and hard-working. Surprisingly funny and uncommonly insightful, you're also one of the most patient people I know- probably a response to the patience-taxing childhood I put you through. You're lucky I don't have access to the family photos right now...

At any rate, I just wanted to let you know (not in a meme...yeah) how neat you are. Because, you know, how neat is that?

Miss and love you,
Jill

Because it's 11 and dinner is not ready yet (and also, I live in a convent)

What the semi would've looked like back in the day
(plus conventillo immigrants with nifty duds)

...and by convent, I don't mean nun convent. I mean the seminary, which used to be something called a conventillo, or a tenement co-op of sorts for Italian immigrants back in the 1880's day. Apparently there were a bunch of them built in a last-ditch effort to the age-old problem: "we have lots of labor, where do we hide them?" Sure does explain some of the quirks about the building, and make me wonder how many big Catholic families and sketchy singles have lived in my room. And died, for that matter, since convivencia during an influenza outbreak in the 20's killed off a bunch of conventillo-dwellers. Just the sort of thing I think about as I drift off to sleep...

Conventillo/seminary: we have the same tile in the patio!

But, back to the pleasant details: I live in a little piece of Buenos Aires history, complete with tall doorways, narrow stairways, and inconvenient bathrooms. Knowing that it has been around for at least a hundred years gives me confidence that it'll stick around for a while longer, and gives me patience when it creaks and groans and randomly loses a section of wall. Hey, it's viejito. Old.

Random piece of wall under repair...
"Trust" says the last intact word ;) 

These are the things I find out when I have too much time on my hands, waiting for dinner at 11:30. You're welcome.  

Laugh at the days to come (dedicated to the class of 2014)

Dear Mom and Dad,

Do you remember when I burst into your bedroom in tears, at 9:00 (which was late back then), sobbing that I never wanted to grow up? Kind of an odd preoccupation, but I was upset and you wisely told me that the future comes one day at a time, which translates to a lot of days for an 8-year-old. I wasn't particularly consoled by this thought, but went back to bed anyways.

Now, the very thing I feared has happened: I grew up. I left home, got a college degree, came back home, met a guy, and then left him and home and a good 3/4 of my heart behind to come to Argentina. And the future of "growing up" is just as scary at 23 as it was at 8, and maybe more so because now I've seen it close up and it's full of questions and decisions that don't have an obvious answer or a 'reverse' option. Teacher, translator, missionary, writer, other? Masters or doctorate? Married or single? Where in the world?

In addition to the existential angst of being in my 20s (it's not too early for a quarter-life crisis, right?), there's that whole concept of talents and the wise investment of the things God has given; inaction is not an effective course of action. Suffice it to say that the future feels a bit stressful right now.

And she can laugh at the days to come...

The phrase caught my attention immediately, and I tried to brush it off by saying that the woman of Proverbs 31 already had a career and family picked out for her (that's the thing about ancient middle-eastern culture: not much choice in those matters!) and could laugh at a predetermined fate that I clearly can't. Then I remembered my exegesis*, which reminded me that the Proverbs 31 lady is basically incarnate wisdom. Transcendent.

Wisdom- the wise 23-year-old, can laugh at the future. But why? How? And how does she keep from bursting into tears at 9:00?

Because...wisdom is the fear of the LORD, the only One who can be properly said to know the future, the One who has essentially left me the keys to my life and His kingdom and trusted me with them. There is no mistake I can possibly make, no fork I can possibly choose that I will take alone: that's the faithful promise of the Holy Spirit. On either side of the road there is a cross, and knowing that there will be suffering here and there does take out the element of scary surprise to some extent. Fearing God tends to shrink other fears to their proper dimensions.

And the ridiculous optimism of Proverbs 31?

I'm trying to imagine an appropriate laugh for wisdom here. I'm sure the Hebrew connotes a demure chuckle, but I prefer to envision a loud, milk-goes-up-your-nose and your-gut-is-tired-afterwards combination snort and explosion because the future is just so flippin' funny.

Wisdom can laugh raucously at the future because she caught the punch line in the comedy of errors, that the cross will be an awfully big adventure, and that growing up can actually be a bit of a riot.

Sure beats an ulcer- I might as well laugh along with her. =)



*exegesis: (exe-Jesus?) fun seminary word meaning "figure out what this phrase meant, taking into consideration the original language, historical context, literature elements, and dozens of commentaries by guys with cool names like Eusebius". 

Viví el Mundial (Live the World Cup)

I’ve been seeing ads for the World Cup as long as I’ve been in Argentina, and so I was sort of warmed up for the Mundial-mania that has swept the nation off its feet…(or perhaps off its hands, because, well, soccer is played with feet…). At any rate, here’s a taste of what life is like here during “football month”.

1. Blue and white striped things. Because the flag’s stripes are horizontal, but the jerseys’ are vertical? Makes sense. And everyone is wearing them- from the miniature dog breeds that are popular among apartment-dwelling porteños, to their not-so-miniature owners.

2. Super-bowl quality advertisements and hype for a month. Check this out. 

Little Lio (#10) smiling EVERYWHERE. 

3. Messi’s smiling face shining down on you, wherever you are. Lionel Messi is the Argentine team’s famous forward, and living evidence that athletic talent is not equally distributed among human beings. Having ‘La Pulga’s (“the flea”- at 5’5” he’s  small even on a billboard) on everything is odd, but at least he has a nice smile. Even though Messi lives and plays in Spain most of the time, he still pronounces the ‘sh’ in ‘yo’ like a native, so we’ll claim him.

Dufur, or Buenos Aires during game time?

Definitely not Dufur.

4. Ghost town effect. You’d think Buenos Aires was Dufur based on the number of people you see out during game time. Everybody’s inside and at home. Everybody.

5. National euphoria-anxiety-depression-mania, depending on how the Selección does. But always, always ORGUSHO. (Orgullo=pride, with an accent). It’s a bit contagious, even for someone like me who’s never followed international sporting events or soccer before. But, after the Argentine national anthem played, my hands were clenched and I was on the edge of my seat like everyone else.

Plus, since the US plays tomorrow (versus Ghana), I get the excuse to be ridiculously ‘Merican. In the meantime, I’ll wipe this paint off my face…

Dad's Dia

Dear Dad,

You’d like all the ‘¡Feliz Dia, Papá!’ window displays I’ve been seeing lately around. Because the World Cup is in full swing, they’re mostly blue and white, and have phrases like ‘Alentá a tu papá’ (cheer your dad on). Since this is the first Father’s Day I won’t get to spend with you, I guess I’ll have to cheer you on from Argentina!

So here’s a stadium-sized gracias for all you are and do…

For being there. The older I get, the more I realize that having a dad who was physically, relationally, and emotionally around my growing up years is a pretty rare gift.

For working and playing with me. Letting me climb on your back and bucking me off can’t have been the first thing you wanted to do after long patrol days, but you did anyways. You taught me how to fill a full bucket of weeds, lay tile, throw a near-perfect spiral, and other essential life skills. I’m not sure how much “help” I was in my early days of home remodeling and hiking, but thanks for inviting me to tag along.

For relating to me. Not sure if you’ve noticed that you have a female and younger version of yourself roaming the world, but we’re pretty similar. Thanks for being my back/foot massage buddy, the other half of team tall, an equally hard head I can butt my stubborn noggin against, and an excellent companion in adventure. (Why should we climb it? Because it’s there!)

For having confidence in me. Thanks for passing on the “Pearson women (and men) can do anything” mentality, and for trusting me with big things even when I wasn’t sure I was ready for them. Like backing an OSP pickup with a boat trailer…or going to Argentina this year.

For loving me and showing me a picture of God’s love: a love that

            Disciplines

            Affirms

            Delights

…and so much more, but the acronym works best with three letters. Thank you for saying and showing me that you love me in so many words and so many ways.

I love you!

Love, Jill

Hospitality how-to

"...Amarán, pues, al extranjero; porque extranjeros fueron en Egipto "
-Deuteronomy 10:19

I've been a 'guest' for the last 4 years and 4 months- years as a college student in the Southeastern United States (believe me, y'all...it's a different country) and months as a seminarian and English teacher in Argentina. In other words, I've been (and am) on the receiving end of hospitality a lot. Here are some hospitality gems I've picked up along the way that I want to remember and put into practice as I love the foreigner in my community (from my present vantage as an extranjera).

1. Offer to go with me when I do paperwork (especially for the first time).
Hospitals, DMVs, and Social Security offices are daunting places since I don't know how they work compared to what I'm used to. Bureaucracy can be intimidating, so it helps to know that someone has my back (or, right now, my foot).

2. Take me out to lunch.
Unless I'm really embarrassed about my economic situation (especially if I'm a student or don't have a job yet), I'll rarely turn food down. Or better yet...

3. Invite me over to your house.
Even if it's just tap water and stale saltines, being in a home refreshes my soul. I don't care if there are rings on your coffee table, your 3 year old is having a meltdown, or if there's more dust than carpet on your floor. You have no idea how blessed and honored I feel to be welcome in your space.

4. Let me do something for you.
Chances are, I came to your country/region because I'm pretty good at something unusual (anything from fruit harvesting to musical talent to a PhD in, say, Slavic linguistics). I want to share what I have. Also, I have hobbies- I might surprise you with a recital or bring you some questionable looking dish from my home. I promise, it's delicious!

5. Forgive me.
My sense of timing, humor, manners, and appropriateness might be totally different than yours. I really don't want to offend you, but it might happen without me realizing it. Sorry!

6. Learn a phrase in my native language. Or just how to pronounce my name correctly.
You have no idea how good it feels to my ears and heart.

7. Listen and share.
Especially if my second language isn't very polished yet, this might take some patience on both our parts. But I want to get to know you and be known- that's the core of humanity and hospitality. Either way, it's bound to break stereotypes and build understanding on both sides. You've got some pretty awesome stories to tell.



How about you? Have you ever been on the giving/receiving end of hospitality? What did you learn?

Do you ever grow weary of the way things don't work? (Bad poetry in an Argentine public hospital)

Do you ever grow weary of the way things don't work?
(4 hours in the ER, and no sign of being seen
"Welcome to Argentine hospitals"
Roll the eyes of my fellow waiters)

Or don't work how you expect them to?
("But really!" the Peruvian, Brazilian, Chinese and I insist,
"Back home the hospitals are clean and efficient!"
And the brown and gray and blue Argentine eyes stare back at us as if we were aliens
...Wait...we are aliens...
Because we've lived a different reality
And they can't believe us)

Do you ever grow weary of the way things don't work?
Of the foot that keeps swelling?
Of the right words that won't come out of a left brain?
Of the room that stays dark because the light burned out

And no one bothered to replace it?

But if the lights only worked

Not big fluorescent lights

But pinhole rays of tiny brilliance

Evidence of a reality we've caught a glimpse of

("What if we brought a guitar to the ER?" we muse 

And in the meantime we play hangman

And listen, and talk, and joke

But mostly smile)

Shining

Because even when things don't work

There's no sense in growing weary