En(courage)d

The meaning of this moment just hit me pretty heavy. Goosebumps all over, I had to stop what I was doing to let it sink in and really wallop me with emotion for a moment. I'm packing my weekend bag for Columbus which is a fairly regular thing for me. I'm packing every shirt I own which is also a regular thing for me. (Haven't I gotten better, though?) What's different is that, come Sunday, I won't be back here unpacking my bag.

Our little family is moving up to Columbus tomorrow because my husband starts a new job Monday. I'm thankful for this. But I'm a lot of other things too, and it's been a whirlwind 3 weeks of deciding which thing is going to win my heart. As the sunlight fades and I finish up with our clothes and cups and loose ends-everything else in boxes already-I'm deciding (just in time, perhaps) to be brave. In spite of so many precious faces that have my heart tethered to this city, my only home for 30 years, and in spite of a million question marks about life in a new one, I'm choosing to be courageous. I'm going to wake up with hope and expectation and I should--there are good promises for us up there.

Big girl says she is excited to move to Columbus but sad to leave her cloud room. She  asked me if I could take a couple clouds with us so we won't be sad. That's a simple fix. (And bonus, it's just corn starch and water, won't leave a mark, so it's a contract violation I'm willing to risk here). I'm steeling myself for change in a similar way, I guess. I've been busy the past couple nights writing down
words of encouragement and promise that all the wonderful people in our lives, cincinnatians or not, have been sharing with us.  There's something about the strains of time and space that compel an honesty in relationships, and many of you have been sharing words of love, hope and encouragement that have steadied me in this time of shifting sands. More than that, you have seen and articulated the good promises that lay waiting when I've been too emotional to see them clearly for myself.

I guess it's not "in spite of" these precious people that I leave courageously...it is, after all, because of.

But for now I'm letting this moment linger like a goodnight kiss.  I'm savoring it like a glass of wine  or the last page of a great book. Yeah, there's something about that--when you finish a book and hold it to your chest and let the emotions of a well-told story swirl around you and flood your senses. I always have to do that before I put the book down and carry on.

That's tonight. (Cheers!)

Our Hasta Luegos

I call one of our waiters/students/friends here at the hotel "el sabio" (the wise one), because he's always tossing out little nuggets. Like the other day at lunch when we asked for our bill, Juan Colin just asked for a smile. When we frowned in confusion instead of smiling, he put his hand down on the table and bent down to eye level--the sure sign he's about to get proverbial. He said: "Una sonrisa no cuesta nada, pero lo vale todo." A smile doesn't cost a thing, but it's worth everything. We were definitely smiling then, and with that, our lunch was paid.

John also taught me never to say adios. This is how I'd been saying goodbye to the hotel staff when I left for class everyday, but a few weeks into it, el sabio corrected me: "With adios comes tears, teacher. It's too final. In Mexico, we say 'hasta luego.' It gives us hope we'll meet again." Given the fact that seeing my hotel staff again--every night--is something I'm hoping hard for when my bus driver is playing bumper cars in six-lane traffic and I'm sharing personal space with five muchachos on the metro, I began to get into the hasta luego habit.

So the past two evenings it was hasta luego, not adios, as I graduated my first set of students in Chimalhaucan. There were already so many teary eyes as we celebrated and said goodbyes, I can't imagine if I had thrown out the "A word." Many of my students had become the dearest friends, and hugging them goodbye, I understood what el sabio was saying: until proven otherwise, let's live like we'll be catching up over coffee one day in the future. Much easier, eh.

So let me tell you about our hasta luegos.

At Pastor Jose's Church (Iglesia Adonai), we graduated twenty--four kids, ten teenagers, and six adults. Everyone arrived right on time by Mexican standards (at least half an hour late), cleaned up, dressed up, and with their extended families in tow. We started by singing "Open the eyes of my heart, Lord" in Spanish and in English--we had practiced this with the students beforehand. A lot of them were trying not to look at the words when they were singing in English, trying to sing it by heart. Then Pastor Jose, Mama Rosi, and I all said a few words. I was praying I wouldn't make too many slips, and God REALLY came through because I only made one: instead of saying that Mary, my teaching partner the past two weeks, teaches at a primary school in the states (escuela primaria), I said she teaches at a spring school (escuela primavera)! My students just laughed and laughed and tried their best to save me, screaming out the correct word between laughs--a good picture of what class looks like a lot of the time. After that, we had each graduate stand up and introduce themselves in English (Hello, my name is--). Everyone did a great job, even 6 year old Elizabeth who said, "Hello...(extremely long pause)...Elizabeth." (She forgot the part in the middle).

Then, my favorite part of the night was when four of our adult students, two of whom had never been to Church when classes began a month ago, surprised us by reading a verse (Psalm 107:1) in Spanish and English! Throughout the month we gave them verses in both languages at the beginning of each class, and this was one we'd given them earlier that week. I was so blessed to hear them read the verse in English, to hear them use their new words to praise God. Next, Mary and I presented the students with their certificates, gifts, and Spanish Bibles, and the night ended in prayer, fruta con crema batida, and group photos under rain-filled clouds that waited patiently on us.

When Pastor Jose was speaking, he kept mentioning how the teachers and I "gave up everything" to come down and serve in Mexico. I was so struck by this...if only he knew that it's IN Mexico, in his tiny one-room-sanctuary-schoolhouse, that we gain so much. There was so much joy in that place!

Friday night we had graduation at Pastor Pedro Martinez's Church (Dios con Nosotros). We graduated seven--4 kids, 1 teenager, and 2 women. Let me tell you what: 6 year old Martin Said (pronounced "Sai-eed"), who graduated from kindergarten the very same morning, came strutting into Church in a bona fide three piece suit, three sizes too big. (See pictures!) Said wanted to go above and beyond during the ceremony (just as he had in his wardrobe), and he asked us if he could recite his English numbers for everyone, in addition to his name! He had his tie in his mouth for one through eleven, but we caught the last few numbers.

I should mention that Rosi, Dr. Becky, Mary, and me were all wearing matching earrings and bracelets; one of our students, Alejandrina, brought what seemed to be her whole jewelry collection...and gave it away. She is the student who brought homemade snacks for the teachers every class, and by the last week these snacks had progressed to full course meals on real plates! Over the course of the month, we were blessed by her life story (she was abandoned by her birth parents, spent much of her life in bitterness because of it, but met the Lord not long ago and is THE most joyful person I know). Also, we were able to pray over her the very day her grandbaby died this month; she came out to class instead of wallowing at home, she told us, because class "gives her life."

Though the ceremony was shorter, smaller, more subdued, it was a beautiful night because we were able to graduate sweet friends like Alejandrina and precious little kids like Said.

Thank you all for the role you played in creating these past two nights. I don't know what kind of seeds we've planted, what will come of the connections we've made with non-believers in the community or some of our students in search of promotion or better jobs. But I do know we have blessed and empowered our brothers and sisters here. And that is the kind of thing that really shows Dad off.

(One other thing I know about saying goodbye in Mexico: don't forget the kiss on the cheek!)

"TEEECHER!"

This is what 50 year old Alejandrina screams to me every time she arrives at English class. One hand thrown in the air as she crosses the threshold of her tiny church in Chimalaucan, she bounds over to the sanctuary-turned-classroom and embraces her teachers with kisses and belly laughs. At her side, tucked in the folds of her red-checked apron, she clutches 2 dixie cups of some homemade Mexican delight she's brought us "for our long travel." Coffee-flavored flan, rich fruit-flavored yogurts, lime gelatin pie--Alejandrina is staying good on her promise to make us "gorditas" by graduation day.

After a sweet minute or two of chitchat, our students take their seats, pull out their homework, and begin copying down the English-Spanish Bible verses on the board. The only sounds beneath the sagging church roof are papers shuffling and under-the-breath attempts at English phonics; these diligent students are forever spoiling me in the teaching profession!

Well, the MWF adult "alumnos" are, at least. We teach six different classes down here in Mexico City, and each has its own character. The children's class at Iglesia Dios con Nosotros, for instance, stars Jorge and Lupita, two of the shiest, smilingest little kids, the kind I want to pack up and bring home to show you. Lupita doesn't go to the Church, she just happened ("happened") to be walking by during registration and begged her mom to sign her up. Pray with me her family will see God's love in our service and in the brothers and sisters at the Church. Pray that Lupita will yearn for words of life like she longs to know words in English.

Then there is our other class of ninos at Iglesia Adonai. I teach them English, they teach me patience. I thought the only way we'd get through the rest of the month with them was to play Bingo for the entire hour, the only activity they like enough to keep them from hitting and talking mean to one another. But yesterday we prayed for the Spirit of Peace in the classroom, and wouldn't you know, they were downright angelic. See picture. :)

Then there is the hotel class. For years Hotel San Fransisco has hosted the staff and volunteers of Operation Serve International for entire summers, and this summer, we are able to give back through our English classes. I cannot tell how much these students, most grown adults with families, bless my life while I'm here. Not only are they super studious, always looking over their worksheets from behind the hotel's front desk or practicing on us during meal time, but they are becoming the most precious friends, too. As our maid, Eugenia, cleans my room I get to sit and hear her story...I get to tell her that the Lord is her perfect Husband and Maker, even though her earthly one was not. Sometimes during class our students turn the tables and begin to educate us on their own language and culture. During our lesson on body parts, for instance, I learned that Mexico City literally means "Belly Button of the Moon," as the former Aztec Empire was the self-declared "Center of the Universe." Even as I write this post from the lobby, I'm eating a "mamey" fruit that one of the waiters, Pablo, brought to work today from his pueblo. During class on Friday, Jackie and I couldn't give him the English word for mamey because we had no idea what mamey was. Turns out it's rare and costly, but Pablo bought one for us to try. And let me tell you, it's delicious.
...Please pray with me that these friendships can be seeds. That this would be good soil.

Well, there are so many more stories to tell, and now that I have this blog, I'll try to be better about telling them. :)
Thanks so much for your prayers and support...you are richly blessing the lives of the people here. Many of the people have never had an opportunity like this--I believe these classes help remind them that they're valuable. I wish you, yourself, could feel their hugs and hear the way they cry out, "Teeecher!"