Leaving on a Jet Plane
That's right. My time in Guatemala is coming to a close. Tomorrow marks my one-year anniversary of living in the land of eternal springtime, volcanos, cobblestone streets, and tortillas and mangos to boot.
My original goal/plan was to live abroad for a year, and the time has come for me to move back to San Diego. I've learned a lot about myself this year, who I am whenno one's looking, what I really value, and, especially, how grateful I am to have the friends and support I do back in San Diego. I'm sad to leave my new friends and this magical place, but am excited about the next chapter in my life. I don't have a job or a place to live lined up yet, but I trust this is the right step for me.I'm sorry the blogging has been few and far between lately, but I've been trying to soak up the last of my time here. I'll get back to a more consistent schedule once I'm in the States. I'm sure I'll have tons of processing and percolating to do with the new transition.Thanks for reading, and I'd appreciate your prayers for the next few weeks and wisdom for my next steps.
Finding Beautiful: A Whimsy Watch
Today I'm joining the gang over at Five Minute Friday to write on the topic of Beautiful.***I recently read an article about embracing whimsy in Darling Magazine (which is fabulous, btdubs). So I went on a whimsy walk, a whimsy watch. Sometimes I spend so much time missing my friends and family and “home,” that I forget this place, this country, Guatemala, is so beautiful, magical, delightful.On my whimsy walk I see all things beautiful. All things magnificent.-Flowers sprouting out of tiled rooftops--thin stems bursting into star-shaped clusters.-A girl in a Cinderella gown, glittering tiara, white silk gloves up to her elbows, a white feather wand framing her face and up-done hair on a photo shoot around town. She’s posing by the fountain, in front of the arch. And then, peaking below the lace of her dress, ordinary flip-flops on an ordinary 15-year-old girl’s dusty feet.-Faded tiles on out-cropping windows, trapped behind wrought iron bars. Faded beauty behind the barrier.-A pug puppy, black snouted and snuggled into the armpit of a young girl-A toddler with a full, black bowl cut chasing and tumbling after bubbles blown by his giggling mother.-A baby being pushed in a red car stroller.
-A chocolate lab splashing after a yellow ball in the fountain. Shakes off as a water flies from his Hershey fur.-Clouds swirling the top of the volcano like whipped cream on a sundae.-A flash of bow tie as a man drives by in a red Jetta and I dodge a disheveled drunk clambering towards me on the sidewalk.-Two boys, 8 or so, competing to hand me a restaurant flyer. "You cheated, you ran!" complained the one. "You never said I couldn't," says the other, smugly. I fold the flyer into my pocket, smiling as I go.-Paint peeling off old buildings in a splatter paint pattern.-A crowd watching a clown juggle sticks aflame.-A pouting girl tucked into a doorway, exasperated parents try to coax her and her protruding lip to keep walking.This place is magical. The ice cream, the sliced fruits. The two seasons in one—clear skies in morning, rainstorms at night. It's beautiful.Not just because it's foreign. The mix of people. The diversity of families--not just the tourist families with white, chunky ankles above their Teva sandals or the slim European girls in the wildly patterned leggings. But even among the Guatemalans. The indigenous families in their traje. The mom showcasing a variety of colorful scarves on her forearm. Tiny girls with skirts cinched around their miniscule waists. Dads in slacks with slick hair. Then the capitalinos--the families that came from the city to spend the day walking in the park. Trendy skinny jeans, pointy leather shoes for men and perilous high heels for women, faux hawks and chunky necklaces. The barefoot gringos with dreadlocks and braided bracelets.Magic all around. Beauty all around. Whimsy all around.
It’s beautiful to sit in the park and smirk to myself as the middle aged American woman stutters broken Spanish to the middle aged Guatemalan tour guide who's always sitting on the same bench in the park, khaki tour guide vest, always talking to a different middle aged foreign woman about the weather, the city, the people. Indiscriminately commenting that "your Spanish is so good." And she replies with a beam of pride and downcast eyes and slight shake of the head and the Spanish equivalent of "No, I know only little.”I know only little, too, but it’s dazzlingly beautiful.***
This post is part of Lisa Jo Baker’s Five Minute Friday prompt, Beautiful. Every Friday, we turn off our inner critics and perfectionists and just write for five minutes straight. Zero editing. Just a stream of conscious free for all. And then we all link up and encourage each other. To learn more about Five Minute Friday and how you can participate click here.
A still, small lantern of rising hopes
Sunday night. The sun had dipped below the clouds and the volcano, painting the sky darker and darker shades of gray as the minutes passed by until I was left, book light and journal in hand, in the calm, dark air.I can’t say why, but I felt the call. I heard a voice that said to wait, to stop, to put away the cell phone and the computer and the distractions, to ditch trivia night and salsa dancing, and step out on the terrace and just be.
“Go out and stand on the [terrace] in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”Soon the lightening started and the dazzling flashes bounced off the clouds and the silhouette of the volcano.I'd been avoiding it: Reflecting. Writing. Reviewing. Examining.I’d been examining my life much like a flash of lightening—quickly and briefly and unsustained.If I really examined my life, I'd be disappointed, I feared. I thought by now my Spanish would be better and my friendships deeper. I thought I'd feel awake and alive and adventurous. Instead, most times, I feel lonely and small. Disconnected and disconcerted.So I’ve been numbing, tuning out, taking the insight to change like a flash of lightening, here one minute in radiant glory, back in stagnant darkness the next.I sat a few moments more, breathing in the cool air and reviewing my journal from the last four months, scared of what I would find—or of the changes and growth and life I wouldn’t find.
And then the fireworks started. No kidding. Not just little homemade things, but Disneyland caliber explosions boomed and sizzled against the twilight sky. Like the dramatic adventure I thought my life would be. And in the darkness between bursts, weeping willow shapes burned against the canvas of the sky, burned into my brain—the remnants of the dreams I once saw so clearly—the adventure, the learning, the restoration of joy. Quick and bright and burning, and then darkness.And then the show was over. Back to silence. Back to breathing.And then, as if a lightening show and fireworks were not enough for one night, a tiny Japanese lantern--just one--with its silent, soft flame ascended into the sky, past my terrace over the rooftops and away into the distance.A small, sustained light of rising hope.
I’ve got say He pulled out all the stops to point me to the miracle, the magic. To help me realize not in a flash of understanding, but in a slowly burning brighter and brighter awareness that this was a holy moment, a magic night, a sacred space, a sacred life.
That He is here. That His voice is the one that calls with love and grace.And when I open not just my journal, but my heart to the feelings I’ve buried deep within, to the hopes and fears and disappointments, when I finally have the courage to stop and be honest, be real, be present—He will meet me in those moments.I don’t have to listen to the lies and the cries anymore that say:Don't be alone.Don't think. Don't stop. If you stop, the guilt, the sadness, the loneliness, the regrets will engulf you.“BUT THAT IS NOT TRUE”, the still small voice said as the lantern climbed into the sky.
“If you stop--stop your striving, your avoiding and distracting and numbing--if you stop before me,IT IS GRACE THAT WILL ENGULF YOU.”Not guilt. Not shame. Not a voice of condemnation. But my love and grace.And it caught me between my ribs, a pinch, a pulse, and it burned throughout my being, rose up to my heart, my hopes.I am loved. There is nothing but grace for me, nothing but hope. I can’t help but write it say it shout it share it.He spoke Love. He rekindled my heart. Stirred my hopes.Not in the flashing lightening.Not in the roar of fireworks.But with a still, small lantern of rising hopes, glowing softly in the inky sky.***Have you ever experienced an invitation to stop and be engulfed by grace?