Merry Christmas from my "hood" in my hoodie..breaking the rules this Christmas

For a recent update - one minute video of girl time in my hood...

Everyone knows the unspoken rule. Christmas cards are for cute couples and shiny families sitting in a country field with matching christmas attire. They are not for single people, wearing no make-up posing with their neighbor kids in uncoordinated hoodies on a random Sunday.
So this year I am pretty much breaking all social faux pas.
Merry Christmas from my "hood"-ie to yours. 

Falling in Love with a Country

It all began when I was 14. That was how old I was when I asked my dad if we could live in Mexico. Somewhere between the border crossing and fish tacos I fell in love and it only took a week. I was so smitten that I cried five hours up the Mexican interstate back to the US border. The culture shock and grief lasted for months. It was a defining moment in my life.

Last week I went back. Funny how what is foreign can feel so much like home. Actually, for a year and a half I returned to live in  "Clinica La Esperanza", a Medical Clinic and Missions Site in Nueva Odisea (a small fishing village on the Baja) after college.

Truly a part of me I didn't know came alive somewhere on those dusty pothole laden roads. During that year I learned to brave the challenges of third world plumbing, enjoyed the delicacies of fresh tortillas and spent hours with indigenous families living in corrugated metal and dirt floors homes.

Each time I leave Mexico, a part of me always stays behind and remains homesick for the foreign place that feels like coming home.

An impromptu photo after closing in prayer with missionaries in Sofia's home. Sofia, the woman who sang Spanish songs with me at dusk, showed me how to wash clothes by hand and made me realize corn tortillas off the grill will be served in heaven.

Orange Tutus and I love Jessie

Free pony rides.
That's right. The fall festival at my church created a little kids dream.  Carnival games, face painting, a climbing wall...add some candy and the day lives in infamy. Especially for the kids living two blocks away from church who cannot afford the NC State fair.

Word spread like wildfire and they came in handfuls.

One 5th grader from my community, in his exuberance, arrived early and tried out one of the inflatables unsupervised. Somehow the unfortunate experience left its mark. He now has a shiner.

Three girls attended the festival with me, one wore my homemade orange tutu. I think the orange mesh is still tussled in a wad on my backseat.

The event was such a success my 3rd grader neighbor called and invited herself to church with me. She and her sister, the kid I tutor, showed up promptly at my stoop at 8:15am. Maybe they wondered if the church had inflatables?

 Now they are hooked and love church.

After her first Sunday School experience, the 3rd grader presented me with a decorated page with the words I love Jessie. Jessie? She shyly confessed she was suppose to write Jesus. I kept her picture.

So it is true, God can use anything. Even orange tutus and pony rides.

The Alphabet is Hilarious and Yes 7 year old I am Single

Apparently the alphabet is hilarious. Last Wednesday I stared at the silly Kindergartener I tutor as she bust into a mysterious giggle fest while we reviewed letters. To be specific, she thought the letters "N", "S" and "J" are pretty much a riot. Just makes me wonder what will happen when we talk numbers.

As I left tutoring that afternoon, a 7 year old with a bouncy backpack took off full speed across the parking lot toward my car. She was screaming my name. Apparently there was a burning something in her soul that just couldn't wait. This was urgent.

Then it came......."Miss Jenny, do you have a boyfriend?" 

Did I mention she is 7? Awkward.

A few months ago the kids told me during an afternoon visit that they had gotten together, discussed it and came to a unanimous conclusion: They are not sure why I am single.

Truth is, I have a hard time explaining my status to myself half the time. I mean, I didn't sign up for this. However, I realize my own wrestling is rooted in the fact that that I don't fully trust the Sovereignty of God. So often, in my emotional audacity,  I tell God he pretty much doesn't know what he is doing, his plan is simply all wrong and his timing is off.

However, he is big enough to not only make the stars and change our circumstances but is All Knowing enough to leave us in our circumstances when it is for our best. Ultimately it boils down to if we really trust God.

"But who are you, O man, to answer back to God? Will what is molded say to its molder, "Why have you made me like this?"
           Romans 9:20

I will be held accountable for how I use this season. Not only for how I used the time, but for my attitude. Better to embrace it, awkward questions and all, and treasure the opportunity to uniquely extend myself to know God and love on my quirky Kindergarten neighbor who giggles about the letter "N".

                                                       the giggling Kindergartener I tutor

Pizza Boxes and Parties on a Random Tuesday

The kids are starting to take advantage of the hills around here by sliding down them on random items. Last weekend it was pizza boxes. I am sure at least 78% of them get injured as they glide with impressive momentum. It has really become a thing.

Tonight, on a random Tuesday, I went to a birthday party for a 6th grader. He gave me an invitation last week for "Jenny y familia". Because he can't stop talking about mangos from El Salvador, I got him a card and a mango and with the words 'El Salvador' in fresh black sharpie ink across the side. He laughed.

Here they do birthday parties right.  Birthday parties are intergenerational and the whole neighborhood comes out; it is truly a community event.  You could tell tonight was a big party because there was an inflatable. Upon my arrival I was greeted by neighbors - now- turned - friends with screaming, hugs and kisses on the cheek. The pregnant mother of the girl I tutor/mentor grabbed my hand and placed it on her belly so I could feel her baby girl's toe kick her. Of course the festivities were not complete without someone getting bit by a dog, two damaged piñatas, a mash-up birthday song with cha-cha-cha and a kid getting his face shoved in the cake. Not bad for a party on a Tuesday. Check out the 20 second video below for several highlights.

Video of Birthday Party

Late night chats, Porches and Parking lots

Live wisely among those who are not believers, and make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be gracious and attractive so that you will have the right response for everyone. ‭Colossians‬ ‭4‬:‭5-6‬ NLT

Sometimes I run into my apartment from my car and avoid my neighbors.
Especially on the long days after lending my exhausted ear after a day of counseling. Frankly, I don't have the energy. Sometimes my avoidance is wisdom and a part of setting healthy boundaries with others but sometimes I am being selfish, rude and am missing opportunities. This came to light during several late night chats.
Over the last few weekends, I have found myself in the twilight hours talking with women at my apartment complex on porches or in parking lots. A week ago I sat on lawn chairs with a group of  Senoras, as we swapped stories, family photos and struggles under the night sky and in front of a group of kids jumping rope. It was bonding.
Last night I debated having conversation with anyone.  As I started my predictable scurry routine from my car to avoid human contact something stopped me. My neighbor was outside with the hood of her car raised as she tinkered and poured water into something. She greeted me. Pause. In my mind there were the excuses. My purse was heavy. Ridiculously heavy. It was nearing midnight. Not sure what made me choose to hault and not bolt to my door.
After we exchanged some chitchat, and I set my bag of bricks down, we found ourselves in the middle of an honest conversation about God, how neither of us have it together, how to have a relationship with God and making sense of God in the trials. The time was closed in prayer.
As I entered my apartment I felt sobered. I don't like interruptions. I don't want life messier than it is and don't like my schedule changed. It is easier and more convenient to run.  However, as in the life of Jesus, interruptions may be opportunities. Especially, under the stars through random late night chats.

                             Pupusas, a  dish from El Salvador, made with Amor from a Senora

Living in a multi-cultural world. God's family is Color FULL and he likes it that way :-)

After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands,

Revelation 7:9

I think a lot about the fact that I am white as I am daily reminded of  it.
Where I currently live, there are only four other white people I know. It is the norm for people to point me out or identify me in relation to my race. At times I often get confused with one of the other "white girls" (my friend Rachel) who lives here. At times it is a conversation starter as neighbors often ask about my race because I speak Spanish. It feels weird, but a good weird as it makes me think about the subject of race. I am forced to challenge stereotypes my neighbors have towards me and contemplate how race plays a role in someone's identity. All of these interactions makes me feel more comfortable talking about race and culture. In fact, it becomes more necessary to talk about.

Yesterday, my new neighbor from Kenya stopped by my apartment while some kids from Uruguay were visiting me. Three countries, no three continents represented in my living room. Our conversation was a swirl of  foreign foods, stories of their family living far away and the best apps to communicate with others internationally. The differences made our conversation richer, more fascinating. At the close of our time, my neighbor offered to make us Kenyan food. My mouth maybe watered a little.

Moments like these fly in the face of the concept of being "color blind"  as an attempt to embrace diversity. A part of who someone is, is their race and their culture. If you are blind to a person's color (race, culture, etc...) you miss the true beauty of SEEING it. It is apart of seeing them. Of understand who they are.

The Bible and Jesus are not afraid to talk about race and how the gospel calls us to embrace cultures different from our own. Jesus intentionally caused a stir around the issue of cultural difference via talking with a Samaritan woman at the well. He had a frank conversation about it with her. Additionally,  an extension of God's call on Peter's life was to confront his own feelings about culture and race along with challenging the church to embrace the Gentiles.You see, as believers, we become a part of a multi-cultural , multi-racial family whether we like it or not. In heaven, God's family is from every nation, tribe and tongue. All have an equal invitation through Jesus to be at home, in his color FULL home with him.

So I became a top secret laundry room ninja.

One of the laundry rooms is where ninjas practice their sweet moves. So today I joined them. However, the only thing that really gets beat up is the stains out of our clothes.  

I hate you ....I 'm sorry....people are messy.

Tonight felt like recess gone wrong....
As I approached the soccer field one of the kids ignored me and later shouted he hated me. I am not sure what made him so mad. Despite my efforts to seek understanding, he resisted. He simply fumed and yelled. He continued to scream a string of unkind things in front of a growing captivated audience. I held back a few tears as I headed towards my beat up silver Honda to give him space, honestly I needed the space too.

The thing is, this was not a random kid. This was a kid who only several weeks prior we prayed for in my apartment as he confessed to having family problems. He later asked if he could live with me and sleep on my couch as he was curled up in my favorite brown blanket. Now he officially hated me.

Relationships are messy and this was a reminder that love is choosing to love someone in the middle of an unraveled tornado of emotion. We are called to be in each others messy lives. He was in mine and I was in his. So, in a twisted way this incident confirmed that me and this kid had arrived. Yes, we are officially doing life together in all it's glory.

It reminded me of a statement a friend made about Jesus. God didn't shield his son from the messiness of this world, but sent him in the middle of it. Jesus befriended ragamuffins, sinners and fisherman with unrefined edges. He spent time with them, ate with them, did life around them. He wasn't afraid of mess. Of our unraveled mess.

(Few days later.......)
Last night, I talked with his mom as I felt a gnawing feeling with things unresolved. So, in a last ditch effort to help me, she forced him to talk with me. He didn't want to. He still hated me. Finally he relented. So we talked it out. We both apologized to each other. We hugged it out. His friend said he was crying it out as he turned away. Yep, living in my community is messy. A beautiful precious mess.

Dear God, Thanks for the food...for real. Amen.

"Give us this day our daily bread."
  Matthew 6:11

As a kid growing up in America I assumed everyone had health insurance, a bed and went to the dentist every 6 months. Even after exposure to poverty in 3rd world countries and as a social worker it is hard to wrap my mind around the needs in my neighborhood. Especially when the children chat about sharing beds with multiple siblings or sleep on a couch due to a lack of space. In my neighborhood I can't explain away the reason these conditions exists with...."well it is because this is Mexico", or "this is just a client I work with". Simply, I have to face it and frankly it weighs on me.

However, my neighbors have taught me the richness in simple living and sobered me through the way they say grace at meals before they pray. Have you ever said grace with a family who may question where their next meal will come from? I have and it changes you.

It was several weeks ago and a Mexican family invited me to eat tostadas with them for lunch. As we bowed our heads to say grace, my Latina friend paused and offered the most sincere prayer I ever heard someone pray for a meal. It made me evaluate my own prayer life. She truely thanked God for the food from a heart that viewed this meal as a gift from God, not a given. This was not the rote prayer  I often pray about the food and it left me convicted. I don't worry about having my next meal. It is an expectation that I will eat lunch....it is not an 'if I will' but with who and when. In so many ways I take for granted what God richly provides me and I don't view eating my food as a true gift from God. I want to.  I also don't want to pray rote prayers for my food anymore. Oh Lord, teach us how to pray...give us this day our daily bread. It is truely a gift. Amen.

A Third Grade Coffee Addiction, Machetes, and Novelas

My neighbor trims his bushes with a machete. In his defense, the bushes are perfectly manicured  so I can't debate its effectiveness. I spied my neighbor with the weapon ummm trimming tool on a normal Monday morning. After a lively inner debate on "what to say to a man with a machete in the morning", I ended up with some awkward version of, "Buenos Dias." I sorta regret not asking him and his wife more about the bush cutting technique. Next time.
Tonight I came home to a  neighborhood buzz. Within minutes, a few kids swarmed my car to let me know the latest...a Colombian family moved in. Apparently a handful of the boys are already crushing on the new girl  who rides a scooter. This in and of itself has started a frenzy of rumors.
I learned the family is from Bogota, Colombia and are seeking political asylum here. The father of the family, with a master degree who worked as an electrical engineer, was installing sheet rock today in the area. This flies in the face of any assumptions I ever had of construction workers.
In addition, we also learned the toddler of the Colombian family left fame and fortune behind. Apparently, he was a regular actor on a popular telenovela. The teenager of the family gave us the whole scoop as he played salsa tunes on his cellphone and made us hungry discussing Colombian cuisine. He starts 10th grade next week.
Last Sunday, three coffee drinking 3rd graders attended church with me. These Latinas arrived at my apartment sporting glitter high tops and ready for chocolate chip pancakes. One of them asked if I could be her mother- in- law. I am fairly certain she has no clue what that means but it warmed my heart anyways:-) After Sunday School  we hovered over the coffee machines where we often do our foam cup  "clash of the culture moment". Often, well-meaning individuals shoot surprising glances and question the girls on their choice of beverage. Once we enter church, the girls rotate between half-way listening, word searches on Elsa the frozen cartoon, drawing pictures on the bulletin and whispering their numerous questions on spiritual things to me. In the middle of the service I noticed one of the girls wrote something which I treasure. She later told me that her mom forbids her to have a Bible in her home.

                                                                      The picture says:
                                    "I love God he is my life. He is good. I see him he sees me too."

                                           

Reason 467 the World is in my backyard

This morning was no different as I drank coffee and predictably opened up social media to scroll through what I missed while sleeping. Then I saw them, my sweet friends in Kenya armed with pictures of African children with bald heads, dusty feet and joy filled white smiles. I unashamably am a sucker for pictures from missions trips as they often send my head in a foggy dream world of eating street food, foreign faces, hearing roosters and eating fresh mangos under a steady hum of accents. A part of me wished I had climbed in their suitcase. I wanted my own piece of Africa.
In the middle of this, I glanced up at the bouquet of fresh cut flowers staring at me. They were a recent purchase from the farmers market I planned to take to my new neighbor. I hoped I would run into her. The Dominican woman in my building ,who knows everyone, informed me she was African American.
Several hours and a few errands later, I returned home and noticed an unfamiliar woman with ebony skin coming down the stairs. As I introduced myself, she verified that she was my next door neighbor. I couldn't help but notice an accent, so instinctively I asked where she was from. "Kenya", she responds. Through my smile and stifling a noticeable giggle fit of irony I told her of my friends who were in Kenya traveling. This is where I think God laughed at me.
Before the day came to a close, I  took a second to write my friends in Africa. I asked them to hug a Kenyan child for me and told them in return I would greet my new Kenyan neighbor. God brought a piece of Africa to my door step.

Takis, it's what's for breakfast

 This morning, as we invited the kids to a backyard bible club, a 5th grader sang some Beyonce and the kids shared a bag of Takis con fuego for breakfast. Takis, the gas station spicy chip that starts a fire in your mouth. So, in an early morning effort to..ya know "When in Rome, do as the Romans do".. I learned one rapport building activity...eat Takis for breakfast.

Beans and Rice and Jesus Christ

HE TABERNACLED AMONG US ·
And the Word became flesh, and DWELT among us…” John 1:14

In March 2014 I packed up and moved two parking lots away from my church to a tamale eating soccer loving under resourced neighborhood.  The idea of moving was partly my sister's fault for inviting me to eat pancakes with her neighbors in an underprivileged area of Atlanta. It was also Katie's fault for moving to Africa and writing a book about loving children that made me cry. I think all along it was God's fault for arranging the whole move. He knows how I feel about wanting to live in Latin America. Instead he brought Latin America to me.
Because I am single, this allows me to dive into missional living unconventionally. As I contemplated where to live, I met with a handful of people who relocated as a means to dwell in communities to love on their neighbours. Their stories of being the hands and feet of Christ inspired me, so I decided to pray about this and felt drawn to strategically relocate. Ironically, instead of changing others the whole thing is changing me.
Now, most afternoons are a mix of hanging with the Latinas who sit in lawn chairs sewing in the parking lot, cheering in Spanglish for the kids playing soccer, eating freezie pops at my kitchen table with visitors, using google to refresh my math skills to help a kiddo with homework, praying for someone who is worried about their family and craw fishing with neighbors using a disposable cup. My life is becoming weird, hard to explain, though full of adventure.
As a social worker by trade, I am accustom to meeting people at the end of their rope and staring human need in the face. However, there is something different when the need exists in the 9 year old kid petting my rambunctious black kitty Parker in my apartment. It becomes undeniably personal and harder to separate as this kid is my neighbor and friend. However, I am learning to give these burdens to Christ as I continue to discover unexpected blessings in learning to dwell in this world in my backyard.