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.