Sunday, March 23, 2014

Supermercado of the Soul

If you ever want to have your basic assumptions about what is good and normal in life shaken or stirred, go to a grocery store in another country.

I remember scouring a Tennessee Walmart with Marcelo from Paraguay for something he called "pan rallado"; it took us nearly an hour to find something similar (breading) between dill pickles and squeeze grape jelly. Last night at a supermercado in Buenos Aires, where pan rallado is plentiful, I went searching for brown sugar to make chocolate chip cookies. "Oh, you mean black sugar!" I was told, and before I could think that it sounded somewhat racist coming from the blondest country in Latin America, I saw that said "black sugar" was actually, well, black. Or, if not entirely black, at least 90% cacao chocolate- maybe my eyes were playing tricks on my tongue, because it tasted slightly chocolatey, too. Neither the Tennessean pan rallado or the Buenos Aires black sugar were exactly what I was looking for, but it worked.

Then again, sometimes the things you think ought to be part of an inventory simply aren't there. In the corner store with aisles (yes, plural) devoted to dulce de leche, the holy duo of peanut butter and nutella is entirely absent. The most normal and good things are nowhere to be found.

Sometimes I'd like to imagine my soul/heart as a supermercado (yeah, this analogy is going to break down quickly, but enjoy it with me while it lasts). It would be well stocked with the peanut butter of academic persistence, the salad fixings of pedagogy, the herbal tea of introversion. It'd be a small operation, more like a farmer's market, and I'd be the sole employee and proprietor.

The come the customers, each with their assumptions of what my soul's supermercado should offer: the dulce de leche of flexible schedules, the yerba mate of patient listening, the bread of responsibility. Some items they might find, others not. That's okay. Out of the supermercado of the soul, the mouth speaks.*

And what if God were to show up at my supermercado? (Another bad analogy, but bear with me). What would he expect to find in my inventory, on my shelves. Would he find the fruits of love, joy, peace...?

Nope.

I've learned that my supermercado of the soul doesn't have much to offer. The fresh fruits and produce section is particularly pitiful- maybe a vintage grape of wrath lingering somewhere in an dusty box or a maraschino cherry leering from a glass jar. Sometimes the things you think are most normal are nowhere to be found.

God knows this- that's kind of the point. That is why He re-stores.*

He restores the supermercado of the soul, restocks the shelves with a vast array of in-season fruit, sometimes imported from other stores. As a wise professor once phrased it, 'the fruit of the Spirit is not for us to get fat off of. It is for us to feed to a starving world." Fruit. Yeast. Spices. Salt.

Thank God that He restores the confusing supermercado of my soul.



*"A good person brings good things out of the good stored up in their heart, and an evil person brings evil things out of the evil stored up in their heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of"
-Luke 6:45

*Props to William Tyndale (Bible translator, martyr and general genius) for giving us that "restore" pun in Psalm 23- it doesn't work in Hebrew, Greek or Spanish!




Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Convivencia is...

I mentioned a month ago that "Life Together" might have been a better choice to pack with me than, say, "The Hobbit." But it's just as well, because convivencia (life together) here at the seminary is LIVED, not read. So, with that contradiction in mind...read on to the proverbs!

Convivencia is...seeing everyone in their Sunday best and their Saturday pajamas. 

Convivencia is... your student/classmate asking you a question about English while you're in the kitchen, in a sarong and tank top because the rest of your pajama-ish clothes are dirty, and brushing your teeth because the bathroom is tied up. True convivencia is answering her without bothering to spit/rinse. 

Convivencia is...talking to the copy machine, which likes to jam every 15 pages, because odds are, it's first language is English, too. 

Convivencia is...an odd mix of monastic and dorm life. 

Convivencia is...saying sorry and asking forgiveness, even when you thought it might not be your fault.  

Convivencia is...coming downstairs to find the patio already swept and scrubbed (my job, normally), and cleaned, no less, by the person I'd knocked down in fĂștbol the day before. 

Convivencia is...reading, eating, listening, complaining, working, studying, buying, walking, washing, praying, sharing, drinking mate...just about everything...together. 

Convivencia is...frustrating. 

Convivencia is...grace. 


Saturday, March 15, 2014

So...Palermo?

Dear Rachel Cannon (and whoever else would like to read over your shoulder),

Your question about a newsletter made me realize that I haven't kept you very informed about one of the big things I've asked you to pray for: Palermo.

You may have seen a picture like this...

...or this...



Where I look glowingly pale (I sparkle in the sun?) giving people hugs or just looking crazy/confused (it's the expression of my life).

What you can't hear in the picture is the question of the other people in the picture, asking us what you're asking me: what's going on there, Jill?

Big picture:
Palermo, like most of Buenos Aires, can be an incredibly lonely place. People in Palermo need to know that someone (and Someone) cares about them. Enter: community; this is the mission of the Church, y'all. Right now, there is no church presence in Palermo...

Little picture:
...but there is a city park (Bosque de Palermo- literally "Palermo Forest"). And there is a group of us from the seminary who thought "che, why not go there and offer to listen to people and pray for them?"

So, two weeks ago, armed with construction paper and mate (an Argentine communal tea experience), we stood along the main loop through the park with our signs. Waiting. Praying. Smiling. People were curious about our signs, particularly one I was holding- in English- that said "free prayer." Suddenly a guy came up and gave us all hugs. "I don't know what your sign says," he confessed, "but you look nice and I know the word 'free' so I assumed you're giving free hugs, right?"

Um, YES!

So, dozens/hundreds of hugs, conversations, and prayers later, we went back to the seminary to dream, plan, pray, ang make contact info for "Comunidad del Bosque." Last Sunday we went back to give hugs and prayer, and when we moved back to sit down in the grass and debrief, people kept coming up to us and asking questions. Namely: who are you? where are you from? do you know my cousin in California? no? why do you care about me? ...really?!?

Have you ever noticed how Jesus tends to draw a crowd?

So, here's what's coming up, praying peeps: tomorrow we'll be back in Palermo giving hugs, praying, and hopefully having more people join together with us in God's community here in Palermo.

So now that you're more in the loop, how can you pray with us? (I know you like that rhetorical question as much as I do- ha)
First, thank God that we can share His love and acceptance with a community.
Thank God that the seminary car is running again so we can bring music and candy to share (not to mention 10 of us!)
Thank God that people in Palermo are coming to know that God cares about them, and that on the seminary side of things, we are united in mission and ministry.

Ask with us that...
-People would not only come to know of God, but KNOW
-We'd be able to make disciples of Jesus in Palermo
-We would be guided by the Holy Spirit in all righteousness, truth, and love

Long letter, but I like hearing your ministry stories, too. Thanks again for your prayers!

Peace, Jill

Thursday, March 6, 2014

What does a "Reading Day" look like at the Seminary?

...I'm sure glad you asked that non-rhetorical question! Here's what my today (Thursday of reading week) looked like!

5:50 My alarm goes off. I turn it off and go back to bed, because che, I can afford to.
6:22 I try to go for a run. I get as far as the front (wooden) door, but have no key.
6:24 I do jumping jacks on the roof
6:50 I try to do laundry, but again, I have no key. Sigh.
6:55 Shower! I shower in the guys bathroom, because the girls' has no hot water nozzle. In all other regards, it is still a perplexing arrangement, but I manage to get clean.
7:10 Breakfast! This was a first-time occurrence in the three weeks that I've been here, since in Argentina tea and an inch segment of a baguette=breakfast. But today that was only second breakfast- my first was milk and cereal. =) I talk with a visiting pastor about Oregon; he's been there!
8:00 Morning devotion, which then becomes a meeting about more seminary chore distribution stuff (think community covenant, times six pages, that controls about every aspect of your life)
9:45 Chore time. Sweeping out the room, random cleaning stuff...and laundry!
10:00 Reading time down in the library. Psalms, analysis, psalms, postmodern critique, and- get this- more psalms. All this accompanied by Les Miserables soundtrack music in my headphones. An odd juxtaposition, but brilliant.
1:30 Lunch, which I neither have to prepare or clean this week. Buen provecho! (to which you say: gracias!)
2:00 Running copies (literally- running down the street to make some last minute copies of the English diagnostic test)
3:00 English diagnostic test, which went swimmingly! I'm glad I took the research and time to create a good measure of not only of what they know, but also what they'd most like to learn. My brave group of students stayed afterwards to talk with me for nearly an hour- in English! (Fist pump!)
5:00 More reading, distractions (ahem- computer, mate, chores, conversations, and guitar), and reading
9:00 An unusually early dinner (normally it's at ten-buen provecho!)
9:30 Meeting and music practice for tomorrow
10:53 I write this way too long blog post. Che, you asked!
Future plans between now and 12:30 (lights out): Reading!

Monday, March 3, 2014

The Cost of Comfort

When I packed my suitcases over two weeks ago, I made room for The Hobbit. It's my brother's copy, so that means it's in English (mine, in Spanish, has been loaned to a friend for the duration), and as such is a reprieve from my theology and castellano-filled world here. I wouldn't have pegged it as my favorite book, and yet somehow it burrowed itself along with The Silver Chair, The Cost of Discipleship (although now I'm thinking that "Life Together" might be a more appropriate Bonhoefferian selection), and my graduation Bible all the way down to Argentina.

And yet, I'm glad it's here. It's managing to turn itself into quite the allegory for my life right now, as I'm discovering that I have a bit more hobbit in me than I care to normally admit. Hobbits are quiet, unassuming, and above all, devoted to home. "It was a hobbit-hole," I reminisce with the author, "and that means comfort."

Ah, the comforts forgone for a new adventure. Copy machines with a sorting function. Bed springs that don't feel like bed springs and prod my spine as yet another zealous mosquito attaches itself to my ankle (why do they like hands and feet best?). English idioms. Alone time. A full night's sleep. Breakfast. Not crying most evenings. Knowing what I'm supposed to do with my life. There are different kinds of comfort, and it seems I had been hobbitishly devoted to all of them.

Comfort, however, does not make for a good story. I know I'm going through a variation of culture shock, plus the generational angst of being in my twenties, and I know it's not uncommon to lament inconveniences and raw emotions ("not for the last time!") But, ultimately, Jesus hasn't called me to comfort. He has called me on this grand adventure that may or may not involve riddles in the dark. And I will follow, if I can!