Skipping School with Jon

This morning when I was done with Bible study I headed up to the kids' school and snuck Jon out for the rest of the day. Well, okay, I admit I got him out all fair and above board. I'd told his teachers I'd be coming, and I signed him out in the office, but Jon didn't know I was coming, which was fun.

He's in kindergarten this year, and so it's his first year with school every day. On top of that, it's full days, and on top of that half of his day is in Spanish. The adjustment has been huge. He has two sweet teachers, but both are extremely young and have never had a second-language-learner in class. This has led to a few notes home asking if we could help motivate him to speak Spanish in class by speaking Spanish at home for maybe an hour a day. (!!!!) Thankfully the English coordinator understands the language-learning process better and so has been able to help me talk with the teachers. 

At the same time, though, we do want to encourage Jon with Spanish. He experiments with words at home, but additional helps were needed. I posted a plea for advice from teacher friends and those experienced with language-learning and kids. Among the great outflow of help one theme repeated--songs. Find Spanish songs to listen to. A local friend pointed me to a music store that has a good selection of kids' music, and today Jon and I pointed our noses in that direction. Miss Mariana, the English coordinator asked for pictures of our adventure, and I realized it would be fun to chronicle it.

First, we swung by home so Jon could change out of his uniform and we could get some lunch. It's never smart to start adventures on an empty stomach.

Once substantially filled, we headed down to the car, and hit the road.

We've driven this particular route before, but I realized how much I like having extra eyes in the car. Jon noticed things I never would have. At one point he spotted sprinklers taking care of the lawn of an office complex, and later squealed with excitement at the sight of a circus tent set up in a lot. Within a couple minutes his eagle eyes spotted a little yellow bi-plane soaring overhead. 

When we reached the mall where the music store was, things got even more exciting. For one thing, there was a massive fountain out front. Jon posed in front of it, of course, but since I've given you a couple pictures of him already, I thought I'd give a glimpse of a local mall in Guadalajara.

The two of us scoped out some of the local restaurants. We haven't been to this mall, but we've been to another one nearby and it struck me that they tend to be magnets for restaurant chains we see in the States. Before we got inside we had passed Carl's Jr., P.F. Chang's, The Cheesecake Factory and Outback. Just inside the door was Applebees, McDonald's, Chili's, and Starbucks.

It was like stepping into any mall in the U.S. Kind of freaky, to tell the truth. The other mall we've visited here had more of a Mexican feel despite the plethora of U.S. chains. It's central swath is open to the sky, and there are koi ponds and gardens. This mall on the other hand, had the closed-in center like I'm used to in Michigan, and the shops opened their gleaming faces onto it. Jon slipped his hand into mine and then pointed excitedly at a work in progress. It turned out Christmas prep is in full gear and we were witnessing the beginnings of Santa's Workshop. We rode the escalators to the top of the mall and looked down on the Christmasy view. 

Eventually we found our store, Mix-Up, and were directed to a batch of kids' music cds. Of course, I had no idea who any of the artists were, and could only guess at a lot of the songs. I was hoping to find an album with a Spanish alphabet song, but no such luck. However, I pulled one that looked like some traditional Spanish play songs and another that seemed to be all about different kinds of transportation. Jon agreed that those two were good choices. He was leaning toward some Thomas the Train songs, but I steered him toward some that seemed more grass-roots. 

As soon as we got back to the car, Jon wanted to hear the music, so we tried out our new cds. The traditional songs turned out to be an excellent children's choir and has some great tunes. The one with transportation songs had a good variety of music styles, good singing voices, and best of all, very clear words--we had fun listening for the words for different transports: "coche" (car), "tren" (train), "helicóptero" (um...helicopter), "avion" (plane), and "camión" (truck). Despite Jon and my pleasure in these, the girls nixed this one for car-music as soon as they were picked up from school. Ah well. The first cd, however, was a hit for all of us. Now we just have to figure out more of the words!

It was a lovely afternoon with my Jon-boy. I've been spoiled rotten with this kid, and I hope this outing fed his heart a bit--enough to hold him over until Saturday. It was so fun that I know I'm going to be doing it again. In the meantime I have some planning to do for some young ladies in my life. They are way overdue for some one-on-one outings, too. Besides, everyone needs a little brain-break from the craziness of a whole new school world.

Heritage

My Grandma Givens celebrated her 96th birthday today. Yes, you saw that correctly. Ninety-six. Four years shy of a century.

She has slowed considerably in the past ten years. A number of years ago she moved into an assisted living apartment from the old farmhouse where she and Grandpa had raised six boys and housed their sons' bursting families from time to time. After some severe health issues a couple years ago she transferred from the apartment to a connected facility that provides much more care. She has taken each transfer with the graciousness and patience and peace that have marked her life.

I think I can honestly say that if it were not for who Grandma is, our family would not be in Guadalajara. My other grandparents also marked my life significantly through the years I was able to enjoy them, and my parents and Kraig's family and grandparents have certainly had their impact, too. There's no end to the people who have touched our life and molded us. But Grandma is an integral component.

I always loved Grandma, no question. Who couldn't love the grandmother who opened her home to roiling masses of grandchildren and provided great Pennsylvania Dutch feasts? How could one not love the grandmother who always had the right kinds of ice cream on hand for ice cream cones, and had the tree in the back yard perfect for climbing and dreaming? This is the grandmother who, years ago when we were in the Philippines, sent amazing care packages with huge swaths of nylon-type fabric in blue, green and pink that my sister and I draped around us as fabulous gowns or tied up through our room to make tents that rivaled those in Arabian Nights. And when she visited, she could take any clothes that needed help and mend them in a flash. This was a grandmother easy to love.

But the older I've gotten, the more I have realized her depth. I've always known her love for Christ is part of what makes her who she is. As I've gotten older, though, I've see her shine more. She's the classic Christian, reading her Daily Bread and her Bible, her home full of Bible pictures and verses and sermon notes, watching Day of Discovery and listening to classic radio programs. If you saw only this, she would seem to be a stereotype of Christianity. Get to know her, though, and the reality shines through. She doesn't just take all this stuff in. She internalizes it and lets it transform her. And the older she gets, the more she glows.

It's not like she hasn't had anything hard in her life. She was in her early sixties when my grandfather was diagnosed with ALS, and she nursed him till he passed away in a brief span of years. Barely any time had passed after Grandpa died that Grandma took her mother in and nursed her for a number of years as well. After her mother's death, there were a few years of looking after her brother. Her sons have been there for her through all of this--I've always loved to watch them shower love back on her. They've had their ups and downs, too, and Grandma has always been there, not imposing, but a steady presence.

She is full of prayer. Sometimes we laugh and say that the reason Grandma has lived so long is because God still wants her praying for all of us. The other summer when I last saw her she told us about a friend who had called her a prayer warrior. "I'm not a prayer warrior," she exclaimed in complete innocence. "Why would she call me that?" "Grandma!" one of the family said, "of course you are! When you wake up in the middle of the night what's the first thing you do until you get back to sleep? You start praying through your list of your family!" She didn't buy it, and we love her all the more because of that.

So yes, there is no question in my mind that our family is here in part because of the woman my grandmother is. Her character and faith have had an eternal impact on how we approach life, and her prayer has carried us through more than I can see. I am always encouraged when I think of that. And when I look at her, I hope that I will age with the grace she has, with her patience and with her peace. I am thankful that I know her Source, because I wouldn't have a hope if she got it all on her own strength. And she'll make sure anyone who asks knows that.

The Tenants of 2515-A

The apartment as seen from the campus

Our "house" this year is an apartment in a building leased by the university where Kraig is teaching. The building is made up of three parts. Two can be entered through a gate beside a security office. These two are dorm apartments for international students. The third part is separated from the others by a wall, and is entered through a separate gate. This portion houses eight furnished apartments that are specifically for visiting professors (and whoever comes with them).

The tenants of 2515-A, the visiting professor block, are a motley crew and there is something of a revolving door on the apartments. Some profs are here only for a few weeks as they come in to teach specific courses, so their stay is like a hotel, soaps and shampoo provided. Others are here for a semester or a year, but these timeframes overlap. One prof has been here since January, and he'll leave in December. Another finished out his year in August, a month after we arrived. The rest of us came in July and will be here through next summer. Across the hall from us is a young Pakistani woman teaching in the university's associated high school. Upstairs is a young British couple--she's teaching in the high school while he works through a TEFL training course (teaching English as a foreign language). Below us is a middle-aged gentleman from Bangladesh who was here alone at first, but has his wife and two teenaged sons visiting for a couple months. He's so content right now; I can't imagine leaving my family for most of a year.

2515-A

We're the only family with younger kids--and I think we may be one of the first families who has ever stayed here. It makes for an interesting dynamic. Our kids are a focal point, for good or ill. We had an email one day from the young woman across the hall asking that our kids not knock on her door more than once (if ever). Kraig kindly emailed back that we would definitely make sure of this, but that they hadn't been near her door on the day she complained about. It's made things a little awkward. It seems like some single professionals have no concept of the reality of kids. Most of the profs are friendly, though, and seem to appreciate the kids. The apartment cleaning staff certainly does, and the affection they shower on them and that the kids cast back is one of the highlights of living here.

A view across to the campus

Of course, living on the third floor of an apartment building also means teaching your kids the etiquette of not tromping on floors or shrieking with excitement or anger. Even when the floors and walls are made of concrete some sound transfers! All of the walls and floors are concrete and tile. The courtyard that flanks the building is tile; the underground garage is cement. Everything echoes.... So there are places one can play, sort of, just no grass. But there are no other kids to play with, so most often the kids entertain themselves within the apartment, which thankfully is spacious. We've also added some green by collecting potted herbs and other plants for our balcony. And there are trees and green over the wall. The kids often wander to the campus with Kraig on weekends, too, which is just across the street, and that is all grass and trees.

It's an odd new world, but we're adjusting to it.

Intersection

If you drive east on the road from our apartment you'll soon hit a busy intersection. Four to five rows of traffic cross over another four to five rows with left turns here, and right turns there, and a melee of what is usually orderly chaos. During rush hour, a traffic cop stands at one corner and monitors the lights in an attempt to keep traffic flowing smoothly. Recently a nearby primary road was closed for construction, so that's added to the heavy traffic here. And a fancy new technological plaza on the southwest corner is in the final stages of construction which has added to the congestion all summer.

In the midst of the cars, bikes and motorcycles wend vendors and beggars of all stripes. During the early morning hours a man in a red jumpsuit limps along the center strip of the south side hawking the daily news. He's followed most afternoons by a worn, quiet woman who always wears a solid-colored long-sleeve top and a full-length skirt, her rusty hair caught up in a ponytail that's stuffed through the back of a baseball cap. In one arm she carries a big clear bag full of small sacks of sunflower seeds, candies, and Japones (peanuts in a crunchy salty-sweet carb shell). In her other hand she holds a green hand-marked sign, "Semillas, $5" (seeds, five pesos). Sometimes the vendors sell cotton candy, sometimes model kits of the Eiffel Tower. Before Independence Day on September 16 there were a slew of miniature Mexican flags and other green, white and red paraphernalia. 

Some vendors provide a service. You see a lot of folks with a squirt bottle in hand in which is soapy water. With a quick eye they catch you unaware and squirt it over your windshield, then take a little squeegee and deftly wipe the suds and dirt away--for a few pesos, of course. Others might want to give you a swift car-dusting with a soft pad. Some simply hand you a flyer advertising new businesses or housing developments.

And then there are those who have nothing to offer, but would like something from you. The beggars tend to walk quietly, stepping up to your window with a polite bow, hands pressed together before them. They have little but a rolled rug at their sides, held in place with a strap over one shoulder. The other day a young boy in a white buttoned shirt trotted down the line of cars his forefinger held up and a call coming from him that I couldn't hear. To the side of the road on a bench sat two haggard women and a younger girl. I assume he was with them. As the light turned and our cars moved forward I glanced back, hoping to see the boy had jumped back up on the curb. The adults who navigate the cars are betters skilled at judging the lights. They know not to trust the drivers to watch out for them.

Hanging from a telephone pole on the southwest corner is a white bike, its front wheel missing. Over it is attached a forlorn wooden sign with "Cuidado" written on it and a drawing of a bike. I learned the meaning of "cuidado" very soon after coming: "Have care; be careful." It's a sober sign, and yet more often then not, one of the vendors has slung his bag over the place where the missing wheel was once attached. It has become a convenient holding rack. 

Life and death collide at the intersection.

The Bane and Blessing of Technology

When I was little and we lived in the Philippines, I believe we had a telephone in our home for maybe a year. We shared it, if I remember right, with our next door neighbors. I think we could make international calls from it, but if so they cost a fortune. Kraig tells stories of his family flying from their remote village in Africa to the capital of Central African Republic in order for his parents to make a five-minute call overseas on one of the two trans-Atlantic lines available there. Even as late as our college years when we were dating long distance Kraig and I relied on posted letters and expensive phone calls. Email was just getting off the ground.

Times have changed, that's for sure. I realize there are parts of the world where communication is still difficult and costly, but it is amazing how easy it is in so many places. Of the frustrations we've faced in our move here to Guadalajara, technological communication has not been one of them. Our apartment had a strong internet connection in place when we came and within minutes of arriving we could Skype and FaceTime family and friends. Face-to-face, instantaneous communication. For free. We now have a web-based US phone number so if we do need to make a phone call we just pick up the phone and call. Crazy. Absolutely crazy.

Since arriving, my kids have been able to have "play dates" with friends back home. I can have regular conversations with family and friends. Kraig's folks can contact us easily if there are business details back in Michigan we need to take care of. My mom and sisters and I have held four-way text messaging conversations--one of us in Michigan, one in Mexico, one in Singapore, and one in North Carolina. Yesterday my sister Carrie called me on FaceTime and carried me around Hutchmoot so I could say hi to friends there. Can you imagine? I mean, it's positively sci fi!

And yet today I was griping. Something went wrong in the power cord for my computer and while Kraig fixed it I was limited (limited!) to my iPad. I'm writing on it now, because though the cord is fixed, the glue on the case needs to set. This means I can't upload pictures or check my email or access this, that and the other thing. Horrors. And it will be fine by tomorrow. Oh no, one day lost.

I find myself lamenting things I'm missing, too. Hutchmoot is definitely one of those things right now. It has been absolutely wonderful to see updates and photos and video clips as the conference progresses. In some ways I feel like I have almost been there. And I can honestly say I am thrilled with the joy and beauty my friends there are experiencing. It's just I'm really not there. Then there is Fall in Michigan--oh, the photos! Such beauty. I love it. I can almost smell it. I love seeing my friends and their kids carving pumpkins and eating donuts and drinking apple cider. But I miss it. I am missing it. I will never have experienced this particular October in that part of the world.

This back and forth of joy and sorrow has made me wonder if the easy accessibility to "home" makes it better or worse for adjusting to a new home. I certainly don't have an answer to this because I live in a time and place where I do have this access. I'd love to hear from family and friends who made this kind of move back when there weren't these options. I can imagine that that would have had its own set of pain and pleasure. Is one better? What was it like? I would love to hear your stories.

In the meantime I will continue to figure out how to make these worlds meet and see how God will make it beautiful.

And maybe sometime soon someone will invent teleportation.
.

Spanish Lessons

This morning in our Spanish lesson, our teacher delved into irregular verbs and I geeked out. It's the truth. While I want to learn Spanish so that I can communicate clearly with people here, the reality is that when it comes to languages my true love is their structure. I'll blame it on four years of Latin in high school, then some Koine Greek in college, and four weeks of Russian in Ukraine in '93. Talk about languages with structure....

But Spanish has its verb conjugations, and I'm never satisfied unless I know them. One of my greatest frustrations in trying to speak Spanish is not knowing past and future tenses (let's not even get into past-perfect, etc.). I want to know them and I want to know them now! So yes, I was quite excited to get a long list of verbs today and a lesson in irregular verb groupings. I also learned the word for the root of a word: "raíz". This made me very happy. It gives me hope that some year I won't have to puzzle out the strange sentences that Google Translate gives me when I type in sentences from school notes and the kids' textbooks.

Kraig and I meet with our teacher, Christina, every Tuesday and Friday morning over on the university campus. There were supposed to be four of us in the group, but due to circumstances Kraig and I ended up with personal instruction for which we are very thankful. Christina is fluent in English and Spanish, so she can translate things when we need her to. However she makes a point of primarily using Spanish in class, which is a style Kraig and I both like even though it makes it tougher to follow things. It's been good and stretching. And I grab my structure nuggets when they come, because most of the time we focus on practical conversation skills. 

Some days I can immerse myself in the class and get things easily. Other days I'm at sea and my brain is in a fog. This, I assume, is pretty normal. Sometimes I come away feeling like I learned a ton (like today) while other days I wonder if I'm ever going to get the hang of things. 

In the meantime, I shall press on and look forward to learning past and future tenses. Because, you know, in real life we use them.

Missing Home...One of Them

"...[I]t is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly." ~Mr. Rochester to Jane Eyre

I believe in collecting homes. Not houses or places. Homes. For me, a place becomes home when I have deeply connected with people in that place. Relationships are the key to my homes. Michigan, southeast Michigan in particular, has been home for some 30+ years. Friendships have waxed and waned, but the past ten years have been particularly rich so when we moved here in July it was painful to say good-bye. Another home is one I carry with me whenever I have my core family; Kraig and the kids are home no matter where we are. Here in Guadalajara we have each other, so we have a home, even when there aren't pictures on the walls and I don't have all my comfort-tools to work with in the kitchen. We are starting to put down little tendrils as we meet people here, and I pray that there will come a day when I can say that Guadalajara itself is one of my homes.

Last year at Hutchmoot each person was given block to color
with specific color instructions. Then all the pieces were
compiled to create this beauty, which captures the many
personalities of the Rabbit Room.

Another home I have had since 2012 is physically located at a small church in Nashville, Tennessee, where every Fall a group of about 200 meets for Hutchmoot. I could spend a blog (in fact I have) trying to explain Hutchmoot, but in essence it is a gathering of people from all walks of life who love to look at how God works through His creation, particularly through the arts. Most of us connected through The Rabbit Room, a blog started by author and singer/songwriter Andrew Peterson, but in the past few years the online connection has become a vibrant community that often "meets in real life" whether at the annual Nashville conference or anywhere two or more "Rabbits" are gathered.

I went to the conference with my sister Carrie in 2012, and while we both attended again last year, I chose to go as a volunteer to work in the kitchen (because food is one of the arts of the conference, too--yummmm). Between those years we got more involved in the online group, deepening friendships, and it's been amazing to watch where it has led. Carrie is now in North Carolina because of connections made. I sometimes wonder where I would be if I hadn't stumbled on The Rabbit Room a year after Keren died. The connections I made through this group have helped me grow spiritually, and have helped me put words to thoughts and feelings I couldn't express before.

It is a group of folks who share honestly about wounds, lift each other up in prayer, and encourage with ridiculously hilarious conversations and wit. It's the kind of nerdy place where people start off with a comment thread of introductions that somehow devolves into an intense discussion on Meyer-Briggs personality traits and how we remember who we are based on what Star Wars or Harry Potter character our traits tied us to. It is the kind of community where you long to see each other in person, but find your heart beating and knees knocking every time you are about to meet because a part of you fears that this time the connection won't be there. But it always is. Every Hutchmoot brings refreshment, and while it is always sad to leave it, there is a renewed energy to take the riches found and spread them to other friends and family. I've been able to do this in Michigan (Totato Soup anyone? Slugs & Bugs?), and I'm looking forward to spreading the wealth here in Guadalajara.

Gathering in the sanctuary at Church of the Redeemer

I am missing the personal connection as many of my fellow Rabbits gather this weekend for Hutchmoot 2014. It's a physical pain--I can feel the cord stretching between me and my friends there and I can't help but fear that it might snap. I skipped the final line of the quote from Mr. Rochester, "As for you,--you'd forget me," because I refuse to be forgotten or to think that I will be. It is a home that I don't want to forget, and a home in which I always want to have some part. I see, too, it is home because it is a taste of my future permanent home. And knowing that, I realize I have nothing to fear. The cord will stay strong and I will never be forgotten.

Bedtime Routine

One of the most valuable lessons I learned growing up is that a bedtime routine is vital to the overall contentment of kids, and that when you travel it's important to keep that routine as closely as possible. In addition to the contentment factor, it helps make any new place home. So to say the least, we've kept to our routine as closely as possible here in Guadalajara.

Jon, do you know the verse yet?

For us, the routine evolved about the time our eldest daughter Keren was five. She'd received The Jesus Storybook Bible for her birthday, and I started reading it to her and Clare (who was two, so maybe didn't get much out of it!) just before bedtime. A few nights after we had started, I had to do something else at bedtime, so Kraig took over. From that point on, he was the main bedtime reader, and I think our lives have been richer as a result. It has become a whole-family event.

We've continued the pattern of some sort of devotional book, but as the kids got older we added in chapter books so we could introduce them to old favorites of ours. Our first series was Little House on the Prairie followed by The Chronicles of Narnia. Since then we've explored everything from The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett to Three Go Searching by Patricia St. John. Last spring we enjoyed Jonathan Rogers' The Wilderking Trilogy and before coming to Guadalajara we started into The Chronicles of Narnia again since Ev and Jon were old enough to enjoy those. Devotionals have ranged from our staple Jesus Storybook, to Ruth Bell Graham's Stepping Into the Bible and a couple others.

Ev realizes Peter, Lucy, Edmund & Susan
are in The Horse and His Boy.

After stories are read, the kids hop into bed, Kraig prays with them, and one of them chooses music. We have a calendar with the order of which kid gets prayed with first and who picks music. This is serious business, and great wailing and gnashing of teeth can result in not holding to this pattern. Then there are multiple hugs, at which point I'm called in, too. Final questions are asked. One or more of the kids emerge from their room with a tale of woe or a question: "My mosquito bite itches!" "I need a drink!" "Why did the so-and-so do such-and-such in the story?". But thankfully they're all usually out cold within half-an-hour of lights-out.

Cars! (And books)

I'd love to say my children sit and listen angelically to the devotional reading and story time. They do love the stories, this is true. But they are squirrelly human beings, so some nights go more smoothly than others. Kraig has a hard, fast rule that they need to sit and listen to the devotional reading, but things loosen up a bit for the chapter book and the kids sometimes color or play with cars or LEGO during that. This has been particularly helpful with Jon (can we say "boy"?). Some nights they are threatened with early endings when they get too wound up, and that typically results in cries of "No! We'll listen!" I usually want to add my voice, because I want to hear the stories. Thankfully, it's a rare occurrence for the routine to be disrupted, probably because Kraig wants to hear the stories himself, and none of us want the tears of anguish that result from interruption of the routine.

Each night is a gift. It is one more stroke on the canvas that is our family, and one more paint dob that makes each house we live in a home.

Distracting evening views....

Washing Dishes

I had an idea for a post today, but I'm so wiped that I'm going to save it for another time. Tonight, instead, you will get a glimpse at one of my daily jobs.

Yes. Dishwashing.

Fascinating, isn't it? It's on my mind today because I was also tired yesterday and decided that I could get away with not washing the dishes last night. I'll just go to bed early, I thought, and in the morning I'll wash them up. This was really silly, because I never have time in the morning to wash dishes. And today that meant that I didn't get to the massive pile till this afternoon. I wish I'd taken a picture of it. It was pretty impressive. The small batch in the drainer in the picture above is just the few plates from dinner. I wasn't about to let those sit another night.

Washing dishes is one of those strange chores that can be therapeutic and relaxing--soap, warm water, methodical washing, rinsing, and drying. It gives the mind time to wander and decompress. It can be a beautiful thing.

But not when the dishes pile up. Then it's just a headache. So I hope I learned my lesson for a couple weeks that I can't let the dishes go....

Dishwashers aren't common in this area, so when we moved here the kids were given a new title. They became our extra dishwashers. They thought this was pretty exciting for about a week, and a monetary incentive has helped. But like all novelties, the excitement wears away and you're just left with a task. It doesn't help when plates slip and crash because hands are small and floors are hard. Clare has said a few times, "I wish we were back in Michigan. Then we had a dishwasher and we didn't break any dishes!" I've reminded her that back in Michigan she wasn't washing dishes, so of course dishes didn't break, and what a wonderful learning experience this is. She isn't convinced.

I do hope someday the kids will come to see the pleasure of dishwashing. Until then, we'll require it of them now and then. For the most part, though, I'll selfishly keep the task for myself.

(Don't let them in on my secret!)

Navigating Guadalajara

Our city map gets
a good workout.

This morning I had an appointment in a new part of town, so I spent significant time analyzing Google Maps alongside the city map we purchased soon after arriving here. Maps are essential in Guadalajara. I suppose GPS is helpful, too, but I don't have access to that right now, and to tell the truth, it usually distracts me more than helps. I like seeing the big picture on the map and getting my bearings that way.

One of Kraig's fellow profs told us about a friend who visited Guadalajara and after a few days announced, "I've figured out the signage in the city! The highway signs aren't for people who are visiting the city and need to know what roads they're on. The signs are for people who have always lived in Guadalajara and suddenly decide they want to leave the city! Headed to Chapala? Take this road. Monterrey? Just follow that one. Puerto Vallarta? No problem! You can find signs anywhere."

Today, thankfully, there seemed to be more signs that pointed toward streets, so that was helpful, but one can't expect the street to be clearly labeled when one arrives at it. This is one reason why scrutinizing a map is so vital. Usually I find myself memorizing which streets I'll be taking, and how many streets I need to cross before certain turns. Landmarks are helpful, too. I knew I needed to keep an eye out for a "ninety foot black-and-white cube structure." Sure enough, I found it, though as I passed it I realized it was to my right and should have been to my left. I'd missed my exit.

An open road is promising...until the I realize
the light is stuck on red. To go or not to go,
that is the question....

Time for travel is another key to navigating. I try to avoid rush-hour, and this morning was no
exception, so for the most part there was little traffic hindrance to the drive. But I knew that since it was my first time in this area I would inevitably make a mistake, and I needed to be sure to have enough time to turn around and work my way back to the correct route. It's not wise to second guess. If I think it is the right way to go, it usually is.... But I did plan enough time today, so there was none of the frantic searching and maneuvering. It's amazing how much more relaxing even a new route can be when one has the time to make mistakes. And the thrill of reaching one's destination makes it worth every misstep.

None of these details take into account the need for defensive driving. While people tend to follow road rules better here than other cities I've been to, it is still wise to keep an eye on everything, especially busses and trucks. We've been blessed with a minivan this fall, so we aren't the smallest car on the road, and that helps when we need to shoulder our way onto a street. But busses rule, and it's wise not to test them.

I do like finding my way around; it satisfies my love for spacial relations. But I'll be the first to admit the things I avoid if at all possible: rush hour, driving at night, and a time crunch. Oh, and there are certainly parts of town I wouldn't want to navigate no matter what time of day. So far we've managed to avoid those. If these aren't factors, I'll happily continue to navigate Guadalajara. And eventually, it won't matter what the street signs say.

Helpful signs here, except I realized later I should have been in the
middle lane.

Communion

Our second Sunday here, thanks to new local friends, we were introduced to an English-speaking church. It was something we were hoping to find for our family, but we weren't sure how long it would take. The only service we had heard of until that point was one that met Sunday evenings, which wasn't ideal for kids in school or Kraig's teaching schedule. There were plenty of Bible-based Spanish-speaking churches, we knew, but as our Spanish was close to nil, we knew we needed to start with English.                  

We have been more than thankful for Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) Presbyterian Church in Bugambilias. It has been here for almost two decades and has a few church plants throughout the region, along with other ministries including a school. They also have a Spanish service that meets after our English one, so the building is full all morning. In addition to the service are Sunday schools for the kids--an English one during the service and then a Spanish one afterward.

In all of the ups and downs of our brief time here, the church has been a constant. We could tell from the first Sunday that not only were the people genuine, but the teaching was solid. And since then, whether it is Pastor Trotter preaching or one of the other elders, we have been consistently challenged and encouraged. It never ceases to amaze me how a lesson that I've heard time and again or a passage I've read over and over zings with new import and shakes me to my core. One of the first Sundays touched on Philippians 4 and not being anxious. Another Sunday delved into what it meant to ask God with perseverance for needs, and yet to trust His plan. Again and again God has given us truth we needed to hear.

It's a small and simple service and much more traditional than our home church in Michigan, but that's actually one of the draws for Kraig and me. We love our home church because of the solid biblical teaching and our church family who has seen us through so much over the years. But both of us have a bent toward liturgy and there is a bit of that at Christ the Redeemer. For me, the most meaningful thing is the weekly communion. Each week after the message, the pastor steps down to the table and seamlessly ties the point of the sermon to the table.

I forgot my phone today which I was going to use to snap a picture, so you'll have to put up with my sketch. The communion table is plain, solid wood, deeply grained. On its surface lie three items: a silver tray with a tortilla wrapped in white linen, a silver goblet with a linen & lace-edged cloth, and rows of plastic communion cups each with their swallow of blood-red wine, another linen cloth lying over them. Beside the table is a wood-laminate cupboard, and on top of this is a bottle of hand sanitizer. There's something I love about the contrast between the faux wood cupboard and sanitizer and the simple, beautiful reality of the communion table, silver, and white linen. 

Each week, the process is the same. Pastor squirts some hand sanitizer on his palms and rubs them together as he welcomes us to the table and connects it back to the message. Then he opens the cloth with the tortilla and holds up the circle, breaking it as he speaks of Christ, broken for us. The broken tortilla returns to the cloth, folded again so a portion of bread shows. The cup is then lifted, cloth removed, and he speaks of Christ's blood shed for us. At last, the cloth over the little cups is taken away, and any who are followers of Christ and are members of an evangelical church are called to share in the table. A song is played, and people line up to take the bread and wine. We step up to the table, tear off a bit of bread  that the pastor holds out for us, take a cup, then go back to our seats to wait for those ancient words that invite us to eat and drink. The bread is dry, reminding me of suffering, but the swallow of wine softens it while at the same time shocks and burns, reminding me of cleansing.

Every week I remember a verse of Andrew Peterson's song, "Windows in the World":

"Oh and every Sunday morning

you can see the people 

standing in a line.

They're so hungry for some mercy,

For a taste of the communion bread and wine.

It's a window in the world.

A little glimpse of all the goodness getting through.

And all along the way the days are made,

little moments of truth."

I can't put my finger on it, but almost every Sunday I am moved to tears. 

The Sky Must Be Enjoyed

"In a little while, in a little while

the ghosts return to noise.

But not right now, no, not 

right now

The sky must be enjoyed."

~Eric Peters
"Fighting for Life"

There are hard days--days when the shipment still doesn't come. But then I look at the sky outside of our apartment and I know that God is so much bigger, and His world is so much wilder and more beautiful than my little time-bound mind can fathom. 

It has been rainy season here since June, and rainy season in Guadalajara means days of gorgeous, temperate weather with rain and storms that usually wait politely for evenings and nights to burst. It means great thunderheads that pile up lit by the late sun, and nights where the lightning flickers in continuous strobe while timpani rumble unceasingly. It means a full moon outshining the night lights and an ever-changing canvas. The ghosts of disappointment and frustration will return, but for now "the sky must be enjoyed."

It's In the Shipment

After reading my October 2 post, my friend Africa good-naturedly pointed out, "There's this thing...called an 'apron.' Tends to catch water splashes, etc without staining the clothes underneath." I just stared at her words and burst out laughing. Why had that utterly simple solution never occurred to me? After all, back in Michigan I often used an apron while cooking. Why hadn't I--Oh. I knew why. My apron is in the shipment....

Neat & clean apartment with essentials

"It's in the shipment" has become a family line in our home during the two months we've been in Guadalajara. Every time we think of an item and wonder why we don't have it, we usually end up with a face palm and, "Oh, I know. It's in the shipment." When we flew down in July, there was an airline luggage embargo because it was tourist season, so we couldn't check on everything we needed and pay extra fees. We had to have fourteen trunks shipped separately. This wasn't terrible, because part of the offer from the university where Kraig is teaching is a fully furnished apartment, including basic kitchen items. Also, the university paid for our shipment, which helped ease our initial costs. We knew it wouldn't come immediately, but we were expectant.

Our trunks hanging out back in Michigan

And then we arrived and were informed that a second shipping quote was needed before the school could agree whether to use our shipping agent. This process took a month and a half. At last, at the beginning of September, the word came back that we could use our original shipping agent. Hooray! Kraig's folks who had patiently held our goods carried them to our agent and the trunks were sent. The university assured us that a customs agent would take care of our things when they arrived, and the payment would be sent to our agent. Our trunks arrived in Guadalajara on September 15. Our shipping agent received his payment this past Monday. Our trunks are still at the airport, racking up storage costs.

To say the least, this has been a test in patience that I feel I am failing miserably. I have nothing left. Kraig is frustrated, too, but he isn't the wife and the mom who is trying to make sure that the home is running smoothly, and is constantly reaching for something that isn't there. It's been hard to encourage him as he's tried to navigate cultural and bureaucratic systems, and to have the sense to know when to push and when to step back. My gut desire has been to find the person we need to speak with and give them a piece of my mind...assuming that person can speak English. I have even created little speeches in my minimal Spanish and imagined throwing them out as an oration beyond compare, background music swelling. Applause would follow...and the shipment. But all we have had is an email address, and no advocate to plead our case. We have been stuck here, trudging our way through the cultural morass, no guide at hand. 

Then at last on Tuesday, Kraig approached his department head who was was able to track down a real live person. This person informed Kraig's head that the customs agent would have our shipment processed by today, and would have it delivered to us. Is this going to be the case? I'll believe it when I see it. But it's amazing how every day I find I still have hope. 

I wish I had a deep spiritual lesson to share about how I've learned to trust God so much more through this, and how He has poured out blessing. I don't. We have prayed, we have pleaded, we have tried to understand. But there isn't a neat little answer. I know from many who have moved overseas that these kinds of frustrations are normal, and that almost everyone hits a point of feeling that the whole idea was bad to begin with and how in the world did we think God could use us here. There is encouragement in knowing we aren't alone. 

And I guess that's the biggest thing I can say. I know we aren't alone. God is with us in the midst of this, even if we don't understand. Hope is still here.

Banana bread made in available Pyrex containers

Fashion Statement

I have never been fashionable. I like to think my look is clean, classic, and sometimes elegant, but for the most part it consists of solid-colored tops and jeans or capris. I mix it up now and then with slacks, and when I'm really going for change I switch out my jewelry. Oh, and on Sundays I like to wear dresses or skirts to church (and put on different jewelry). It's not that I don't like fashion, and I love to admire people who do it well, but it is not my gift. My one foray into the fashion scene was nine years ago after Clare was born and I was incredibly thin. My sister and sister-in-law took me in hand an we went on a shopping spree. It was a blast, and I wore those uncomfortable clothes off and on, but a couple years ago I admitted to myself that I was done with the outfits. So I said good-bye and fell back into my comfort mode. It is fairly boring, but it's me and I like it.


Unfortunately my meager wardrobe has taken a beating since we've come to Guadalajara. It is strongly recommended that all fruits and vegetables be thoroughly washed before eating them here. Since the water from the tap isn't safe to drink without treatment, this means that the best way to clean things is to fill a sink with water and add a good glug of bleach.

Bleach, I am sure you know, has a certain effect on cloth.... I realized this one of the first times I washed when I added some white splatters to my simple turquoise top. I was disappointed, but not devastated, because I have two turquoise tops. However, I decided I should prevent this from happening again, and so I sacrificed an old t-shirt to the cause. Simple, right? Each time I need to wash fruits and veggies, I slip out of one shirt and into the bleach-magnet. Except that the reality is that I'm lazy and usually think of washing the produce too late, and I need to rush to get dinner started, and so I think, "Oh, I'll just be extra careful this time." My "extra care" has landed me with a tiny white spot on my other turquoise top (now I'm sad), and last night I noticed a tasteful orange stripe on the pocket of my chocolate slacks.

I suppose this means I must be more vigilant. Either that, or maybe I could start a new fashion trend! Because, as I said, fashion is my thing. Um...right....

31 Day Blog Challenge: Finding Home in Guadalajara

A few days ago, thanks to following the comment of a friend to a blog post, I discovered 31 Days--A Writing Challenge Every October, Every Day. The goal is to post one blog post per day for the month of October. The trick is to keep it within one topic.

I've wanted to write more regularly about our new life here in Guadalajara, Mexico, and have had numerous ideas bouncing around that don't seem to find their way to my blog. That being the case, it seemed like a good idea to take on this challenge. So with that in mind, I hope to write for the next 31 days about Finding Home in Guadalajara--a nice broad topic that gives me plenty of leeway.


As the month progresses, I'll add links for each day to this post.

October 1: Climbing Mountains
October 2: Fashion Statement
October 3: It's In the Shipment
October 4: The Sky Must Be Enjoyed
October 5: Communion
October 6: Navigating Guadalajara
October 7: Washing Dishes
October 8: Bedtime Routine
October 9: Missing Home...One of Them
October 10: Spanish Lessons
October 11: The Bane and Blessing of Technology
October 12: Intersection
October 13: The Tenants of 2515-A
October 14: Heritage
October 15: Skipping School with Jon
October 16: Breakfast Out With the Moms
October 17: Waiting in Hope
October 18: Lazy Saturday
October 19: Cheese Please
October 20: Luminous Ev
October 21: Clare in the Afternoon
October 22: Exercise Routine
October 23: Classroom Observation
October 24: Making Tortillas
October 25: Riding in Ajijic
October 26: Growing Community
October 27: Rosa and Blanca
October 28: Complicated Decisions: When to Accept or Reject Cultural Traditions
October 29: The Street Where We Live
October 30: Our Alternate Education Day
October 31: Still Finding Home

If you would like to brush up on the few posts I've written since we arrived in Guadalajara in July, you can find them with these links:

One Year
Communication Skills
Things That Make You Go "Hmmm"

Enjoy!