In the country where cow paths are actually created by cows, it's time that broke some old habits.
As you may recall from my last post, I was having a bit of trouble with my general attitude towards living in another country. I didn't have a corazón abierto, an open heart to the cultural differences I was experiencing. And as a result, I tended to see these differences as negative. I still don't have it all figured out, but I've made some changes to help me see this opportunity in a whole new light.
Bypass 1: The me and God thing
No, it's not a typo or disappointing grammatical error. I came first, or at least my time did. So I did something I never thought I could do. Prepare yourself for something that may cause your myocardium to cease autonomic activity...
I got up early.
Early.
I'm pretty sure my host family just about fell over when they found me in the kitchen early on Sunday morning two weeks ago, coffee on, Bible open. Prior to this drastic life change, I had been waking up literally fifteen minutes before the taxi came to pick me up for spanish in the morning. And that was just waking up. Removing myself from the bed took longer. My taxi buddies can attest to the fact that the coffee and pan always tagged along with me on the way to class, my hair was like a large storm cloud drifting past my face, and make-up? What's make-up?
And this was not just a recently-formed habit. I've been doing this since high school, when my morning workout was chasing the school bus down. I have always grossly underestimated the amount of time it will take me to decide that school is important enough to wake up for. So when I just recently found myself sitting at the kitchen table at 6:30 am, praying and reading, I knew it was all God.
Bypass 2: The pouting thing
This one's been a bit more difficult for me, mostly because it's a general tilt of my personality. I can get in a rut and I can stay there, and I will stay there, and there's nothing you can do about it because I want to stay there. I have labored my whole life under the delusion that I was not dramatic. I guess I was just too far gone to notice.
I had to start opening up my heart just a little, even in places where I thought it was already open. That means at home church, I will talk to people I don't know in a language I don't fully comprehend. That means I will throw myself into activities instead of just wishing they were over. Like I said, this is the most difficult bypass for me, and I still have a long way to go.
Bypass 3: The viewing-life-through-the-negatives thing
"You're going to miss someone or something all the time, no matter where you are," my wise friend Lindsay offered as she sipped her Chai at the gringo coffee shop. "That's life. You can't live everywhere and be with everyone at the same time."
So wait... it's ok if I miss people, places, things... other nouns?
I don't even know where I live anymore. Indiana? Minnesota? Ecuador? All three? I'm divided, so isn't it natural that I'm going to miss one place or another sometimes?
Yes.
This is what the open heart is all about. You are allowed to miss places you are not. You are required to live fully where you currently are. Viewing life through the negatives means you make a list of reasons why you don't like this place, viewing life in a more positive light means you make a longer list of why you are so incredibly blessed to be where you are. So I did.
"Jesus looked at them intently and said, "Humanly speaking, it is impossible. But with God everything is possible."" -Mat. 19:26
Friday, March 30, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Ecuador: The Anatomy of an Open Heart
Last night, I prayed for answers. This morning, I got them.
To make a long story short, I wasn't feeling at home in Ecuador. It's the middle of March, and I wanted to return home. Which home? No clue. I missed TU. I missed Minnesota. I was beginning to feel the first signs of a marvelous cold. No one was home. I wandered around the house, wrapped in a blanket, tea in hand, bemoaning my situation and talking to the dog.
It was a good time to pray.
I prayed for an attitude change. A heart change. It seems like just about every other TU student here would stay in Cuenca well into the summer if she had a tent and a box of pan. "Not I," said the tall gringa. I miss the burbs, the hipster coffee shop where you can watch them roast the coffee beans, my friends at TU, my family in Minnesota, going to the hipster coffee shop with my dad, Fitzwilliam (my guitar)... So as I was laying it all out for the Big Man Upstairs, I realized that what I really missed was independence. I want to be able to do what ever the heck I want, whenever I want to. Me. My life. Mine.
It was a very good time to pray.
Today in Spanish class, la professora was having us read through papers of past TU students so we could correct grammar and practice conversation about the themes. During one paper, Loli stopped us and began to talk about having a good experience in Cuenca. The gist of what she was saying, translated (since there is almost NO English in class) is this:
"Your experience in Cuenca is what you make it. There have been students who came here who didn't have a good experience. They would talk about the trash in the streets, the weird foods, and other imperfections of Cuenca. They weren't willing to appreciate all the differences and see the good things. They focused on what they didn't like. They didn't have corazones abiertos.
Open hearts.
So after God dropped this chancho on my head, I realized my corazón wasn't quite as abierto as I had previously assumed. Oh yeah, I came here convinced that mine would NOT be the heart of a close-minded American. After all, I'm a Christian, so I understand everything. I would smile at the cultural differences and remember, since I'm educated, that no culture is better than another. And then I would smile contently because I am educated and can comprehend such depths of wisdom. And then I would go have a burger.
My heart needs to be opened, and I think it's only going to happen with God's help. Some people seem to have open hearts from birth, and they are the ones who go on to host shows on the travel channel or become missionaries in the jungle or live with monkeys. As for me, I technically still live in the house I've lived in since day three, I didn't leave the country until I was sixteen, I'm an introvert, and I love being comfortable.
Open hearts are allowed to be comfortable once in a while, but they shouldn't live in comfort forever. Don't get me wrong, I am in no way endorsing the aesthetic lifestyle, which I believe gave God some solid headaches back in the day. An open heart doesn't stay home all the time. An open heart gets into the world and lives in it. And when an open heart visits different countries, it has the will and energy to be a part of the culture, to focus on the positive facades and not the negative.
An open heart doesn't say "I have to." It says "I get to." And open heart welcomes change because change is exciting, not rejects it because it's tiring. An open heart doesn't have to be comfortable, it has to be willing.
I asked God to change my heart. God told me to open it.
Prayer answered.
"Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." -Psalm 90:12
To make a long story short, I wasn't feeling at home in Ecuador. It's the middle of March, and I wanted to return home. Which home? No clue. I missed TU. I missed Minnesota. I was beginning to feel the first signs of a marvelous cold. No one was home. I wandered around the house, wrapped in a blanket, tea in hand, bemoaning my situation and talking to the dog.
It was a good time to pray.
I prayed for an attitude change. A heart change. It seems like just about every other TU student here would stay in Cuenca well into the summer if she had a tent and a box of pan. "Not I," said the tall gringa. I miss the burbs, the hipster coffee shop where you can watch them roast the coffee beans, my friends at TU, my family in Minnesota, going to the hipster coffee shop with my dad, Fitzwilliam (my guitar)... So as I was laying it all out for the Big Man Upstairs, I realized that what I really missed was independence. I want to be able to do what ever the heck I want, whenever I want to. Me. My life. Mine.
It was a very good time to pray.
Today in Spanish class, la professora was having us read through papers of past TU students so we could correct grammar and practice conversation about the themes. During one paper, Loli stopped us and began to talk about having a good experience in Cuenca. The gist of what she was saying, translated (since there is almost NO English in class) is this:
"Your experience in Cuenca is what you make it. There have been students who came here who didn't have a good experience. They would talk about the trash in the streets, the weird foods, and other imperfections of Cuenca. They weren't willing to appreciate all the differences and see the good things. They focused on what they didn't like. They didn't have corazones abiertos.
Open hearts.
So after God dropped this chancho on my head, I realized my corazón wasn't quite as abierto as I had previously assumed. Oh yeah, I came here convinced that mine would NOT be the heart of a close-minded American. After all, I'm a Christian, so I understand everything. I would smile at the cultural differences and remember, since I'm educated, that no culture is better than another. And then I would smile contently because I am educated and can comprehend such depths of wisdom. And then I would go have a burger.
My heart needs to be opened, and I think it's only going to happen with God's help. Some people seem to have open hearts from birth, and they are the ones who go on to host shows on the travel channel or become missionaries in the jungle or live with monkeys. As for me, I technically still live in the house I've lived in since day three, I didn't leave the country until I was sixteen, I'm an introvert, and I love being comfortable.
Open hearts are allowed to be comfortable once in a while, but they shouldn't live in comfort forever. Don't get me wrong, I am in no way endorsing the aesthetic lifestyle, which I believe gave God some solid headaches back in the day. An open heart doesn't stay home all the time. An open heart gets into the world and lives in it. And when an open heart visits different countries, it has the will and energy to be a part of the culture, to focus on the positive facades and not the negative.
An open heart doesn't say "I have to." It says "I get to." And open heart welcomes change because change is exciting, not rejects it because it's tiring. An open heart doesn't have to be comfortable, it has to be willing.
I asked God to change my heart. God told me to open it.
Prayer answered.
"Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." -Psalm 90:12
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Ecuador: La Alta
So here's the deal. To all those chicas who have ever wished they could add a few inches to their height...
That's what heels are for.
There are those of us who always stand in the back of the group photo. Who were stuck on the bottom of the human pyramid with the boys. Who never got picked in Red Rover because there was no stopping five feet of nine-year-old charging through the other team's line. Who have had the unfortunate experience of crushing on guys who are shorter than us, which is more or less like placing a bouquet of your hopes and dreams into an H-Bomb.
Or watching Cuenca Bus 15 drive away with your debit card.
But us tall girls know how to deal. When we attend Verbo Church, turn around during the service, and realize we are taller than all of the two hundred people seated behind us, we simply smile and imagine what it will be like to be the tallest nun in the nunnery. We are women of flat shoes and hard hearts. We put make-up under our chins and quietly cackle at your bald spot. They're not really "short shorts" unless we're wearing them, and what you call a "dress" is actually just a shirt.
The Galápagos was especially interesting. One night a group of us went to an ice cream shop. As I stood in line, a small child must have seen me (or my knee) out of the corner of her eye. She did a double take, after which she spent five terrifying seconds lifting her gaze up to my face. I felt like the first specimen in the Caucasius Altas zoo exhibit. Her expression was one I will never forget. I believe it was the same way I looked at the large Goofy-costumed man during my 1998 trip to Disney World.
But there are definitely pros to being tall. For instance, when your host mom accidentally sets the microwave on fire and can't reach the circuit breaker to flip off the power, she will call for your help. Whether or not you are able to help is irrelevant. You are needed. When the Spanish prof needs to erase the board, you will be there. People will always complement you when you look like a model; they'll keep good and quiet when you don't. And when you walk down the streets of Cuenca, you get honked at by d-bags, but not approached. They're not stupid.
In all honestly, I'm content being nearly six feet tall. It's just that here, I stand out even more than in the states. I'm not just white, I'm white AND tall, and I can feel the stares as I walk down the street. So I moan and complain to whoever is lucky enough to hear, and will probably continue to do so until I a) marry Goliath or b) finally get it through my head that it doesn't matter. I can just see God rolling His celestial eyes and
saying, "Oh Libby, my beloved daughter... shut up."
"O LORD, you have examined my heart
and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up.
You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
You see me when I travel
and when I rest at home.
You know everything I do.
If I ride the wings of the morning,
if I dwell by the farthest oceans,
even there your hand will guide me,
and your strength will support me.
You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it."
~ Psalm 139:1-3, 9-10, 13-14 ~
That's what heels are for.
There are those of us who always stand in the back of the group photo. Who were stuck on the bottom of the human pyramid with the boys. Who never got picked in Red Rover because there was no stopping five feet of nine-year-old charging through the other team's line. Who have had the unfortunate experience of crushing on guys who are shorter than us, which is more or less like placing a bouquet of your hopes and dreams into an H-Bomb.
Or watching Cuenca Bus 15 drive away with your debit card.
But us tall girls know how to deal. When we attend Verbo Church, turn around during the service, and realize we are taller than all of the two hundred people seated behind us, we simply smile and imagine what it will be like to be the tallest nun in the nunnery. We are women of flat shoes and hard hearts. We put make-up under our chins and quietly cackle at your bald spot. They're not really "short shorts" unless we're wearing them, and what you call a "dress" is actually just a shirt.
The Galápagos was especially interesting. One night a group of us went to an ice cream shop. As I stood in line, a small child must have seen me (or my knee) out of the corner of her eye. She did a double take, after which she spent five terrifying seconds lifting her gaze up to my face. I felt like the first specimen in the Caucasius Altas zoo exhibit. Her expression was one I will never forget. I believe it was the same way I looked at the large Goofy-costumed man during my 1998 trip to Disney World.
But there are definitely pros to being tall. For instance, when your host mom accidentally sets the microwave on fire and can't reach the circuit breaker to flip off the power, she will call for your help. Whether or not you are able to help is irrelevant. You are needed. When the Spanish prof needs to erase the board, you will be there. People will always complement you when you look like a model; they'll keep good and quiet when you don't. And when you walk down the streets of Cuenca, you get honked at by d-bags, but not approached. They're not stupid.
In all honestly, I'm content being nearly six feet tall. It's just that here, I stand out even more than in the states. I'm not just white, I'm white AND tall, and I can feel the stares as I walk down the street. So I moan and complain to whoever is lucky enough to hear, and will probably continue to do so until I a) marry Goliath or b) finally get it through my head that it doesn't matter. I can just see God rolling His celestial eyes and
saying, "Oh Libby, my beloved daughter... shut up."
"O LORD, you have examined my heart
and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up.
You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
You see me when I travel
and when I rest at home.
You know everything I do.
If I ride the wings of the morning,
if I dwell by the farthest oceans,
even there your hand will guide me,
and your strength will support me.
You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it."
~ Psalm 139:1-3, 9-10, 13-14 ~
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