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.