A traveler and not a tourist

Please be a traveler and not a tourist. Try new things, meet new people, and look beyond what is right in front of you. Those are the keys to understanding this amazing world we live in. 
-Andrew Zimmern

As I sit enjoying my last few hours in Lima, I can't agree more with this quote. Not that I wouldn't consider myself a tourist (which I definitely am), but that the most amazing thing about our world is that we get to live in it. It's not a stagnant mausoleum meant to be passed through without touching. 

It's a messy, glorious slop of human life that is never repeated and can never be captured in a few still frames or blog entries.

We are meant to be travelers in this life, actively taking part in whatever comes and not shying away from the difficult, the awkward or uncomfortable.

A tourist would surely avoid such occurrences in a foreign country. Trying desperately to feel as much "at home" as possible, the tourist would stay only in the well-ranked hotels, visit each place dictated to them by the author of their guidebook, and only see what they planned on while ignoring everything else.

And isn't that just what I have been guilty of in life? Consulting my itinerary instead of God's, always searching for what is next instead of relishing in what I have before me and never taking the time to look up from my map long enough to realize that although I may have gotten lost, I've come to an even better destination?

My trip, which was spent doing mostly the same things I do back home in Denver (going to work, intending to get up and run but oversleeping instead, being somewhat awkward at social events), would probably be considered a failure according to most travel guides. But, nonetheless, I visited a place I never thought I would and met people I would have never known otherwise. And to me, that is the best kind of journey anyone could ask for.

I never made it to Machu Picchu, but I began to recognize some patterns in the otherwise chaotic and random Lima traffic.

I didn't take a million pictures, but I did memorize the routes to the park and coffee shop.

I still speak barely any Spanish, but I know some of the faces of people I passed daily on the streets.

I went to the birthday party of someone I didn't even know (or speak the same language as) and actually danced.

I rode in multiple taxis, one bus and discovered I am braver and more capable than I realized.

I took a risk a met up with someone I barely knew (and had next to nothing in common with) for coffee.

I was called “mi hermana” by the little girl whose room I was borrowing for two weeks.

I consistently embarrassed myself by using the few phrases I thought I knew in the wrong context and learned that a smile can speak more than perfect dialect and vocabulary.

And, above all else, I realized this world is a hell of a lot bigger than I'd ever imagined and I've only just seen a fraction. 

For whatever reason, I have a place in it right now, and that is a gift from God. 

¿Cómo se dice ... ?

Right now I am in beautiful Lima, Peru and feel even more culture shock than when I was in India, if that's possible. Probably because I am not traveling with a group of white people and need to have everything translated for me because I am a stupid American who chose to study useless French in school instead of practical Spanish.

Here's a quick recap so far:

On the plane over, I sat next to some aging Canadian hippies who were headed to Cuzco to get some energy from the Sacred Valley.

I am staying with my coworker Ursula and her family, which is her husband, her 2 kids and their nanny. Also, sometimes Ursula's mother comes over. She no habla anglais, so we get along well just by using hand gestures and smiling.

The second night I was here we had an earthquake drill which means you have to go stand out on a concrete slab across the street next to the car cage. A car cage is an iron cage with spikes all around it that you lock your car in at night. Yes. A car cage.

Today we had chifa (Peruvian Chinese food) for lunch as an office. This basically consisted of me sitting at a big conference table with 14 Peruvians, 4 of whom spoke English, trying to at least act like I knew what was going on. As far as I could tell, they were talking about a popular television show called Yo Sey and a former president who was a functioning alcoholic.

Every time they would all laugh, I would ask my coworker what was said and he would explain it, resulting in me laughing all by myself at some cultural reference I didn't understand, but knew I had to laugh at because he had taken great pains to explain it to me.

After lunch I received an email from one of my coworkers that said, "You are the girl that is in the office now!" I used Google Translate to tell her, "Sí, soy la chica de la oficina!" and then asked her if she is the one who wears glasses. It is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Later that evening, Ursula and I drove to her mother's house to pick up the kids, the nanny and her mom. She drives a tiny Toyota, but luckily Peruvians are very small. So, as we are leaving, Ursula gives Jose Miguel his airplane that my boss, Alejandro, brought him from America. It is at that moment when we realize that I have forgotten the stuffed puppy that he brought for Maria Louisa. I realized this because all we could hear from the back seat is "Mi perrito! Mi perrito! Mi perrrrritoooooo!" for the next 20 minutes while weaving in and out of Lima traffic. Ursuala kept apologizing to me even though I was the one who abandoned the perrito.

Lima traffic might actually be more terrifying than Mumbai traffic because there is more room on the roads resulting in higher speeds and harder breaking.

We stopped at the market to pick up some fruit on the way home. Jose Miguel and I followed Ursula to the fruit stand where I would point to an item and ask him, "Como se llama en anglais?" and he would tell me as best he could. Then he would just point to a piece and say, "Oler!" which Urusula had to tell me meant, "Smell this!" I had my nose to an avocado when an hombre muy guapo walked up and stared at me. Excelente.

Guilty Catholics like me love Divine Mercy

Here's the thing with Catholic guilt: it really is useful when applied properly.

Now, I know any non-Catholics reading this must be thinking, "Right, like it's healthy for people to be guilted into believing in God. That's why there's so many ex-Catholics!"

Well, my brother or sister in Christ; you are absolutely correct.

In my experience, when I first began to take my faith more seriously, it was first out of guilt. I was at a great Catholic school and always had the opportunity to receive the sacraments, go to adoration, pray the rosary, study scripture or whatever else my little pious heart could desire.

Only, I didn't want to do it out of love for God; I usually felt compelled to do these things out of concern for how other students would see me and what God would think if I neglected to take advantage of the plentiful opportunities that campus gave me to spend time with Him.

I would go to mass not because I wanted to necessarily, but more because I wanted to look holy or I was afraid God would somehow not love me as much as I didn't.

"Aha!" You skeptics will say, "See? You are guilted into being a Catholic! You're trying to earn your salvation through liturgy and Marian devotion!"

Again, you are entirely correct. But you know what? That's not the Church's fault. It's entirely my own.

You see, the way I saw my relationship with God is a sign of my own disordered view of  how I related to Him and other people. Often times, due to lack of self esteem (or whatever, I'm still trying to figure it out myself) I'd try to earn people's love because I was sure there was no way they cold possibly just love me for me. I mean, it didn't make sense. How could our Savior die for me with no strings attached? It just seemed too simple.

Well, the more I allowed myself to ask that question, the more I realized that it really is that simple.
Of course God thirsts for our hearts and longs for us to be in union with Him, but He redeemed us regardless of what we do.

Now, I know what this sounds like: I've been saved and that's that! Well, yes and no. Obviously, God died for every soul, but it's up to us to reject or accept His love. On a daily basis.

That, I realized, is why I felt guilty. Not because God would no longer love me but because I chose my snooze button over the Eucharist, being the center of attention over keeping my mouth shut and allowing someone else to tell a funny story, a movie before bed over praying with Our Lady.

Obviously God will always love me no matter what, but can I say the same?

That is why I am so grateful for the blessing that is Divine Mercy Sunday.

This is the feast in which God reminds us that He doesn't care what we've done. Yes, we may have rejected Him in the past, but that is not what matters to Him. What matters is if we choose to love Him above all else.

It's a tall order, but He asks no more than what He's willing to do Himself.

He is Risen!

Alright, so thanks to an oversight in my auto-posting, I look like a heathen because I haven't talked about the most amazing thing to ever happen on God's green earth (and the universe, for that matter): God became man, was beaten and tortured to death by the very people he came to redeem, was sealed in a tomb, descended into hell and then -- wait for it -- He rose from the dead!

(Thankfully, it's still Easter, so I don't look like a total pagan)

Here are a few awesome things that happened to me this Easter (in no particular order):

1. I went to Virginia and visited my sister Lizzie and her lovely family and got to meet my cutie nephew Charlie and hang out with Mikey, the biggest, baddest 2 & 1/2 year old on the block.

2. I got the 12 hour stomach flu and almost passed out during Mass and had to take refuge in the minivan before communion (this is sarcasm, it was not awesome to be sick and not receive the Eucharist on Easter).

3. A very dear friend of mine who has been going through a rough time decided to make some major changes in her life (most of which were/ will be enacted during during Holy Week, Easter, Divine Mercy Sunday annnd the feast of her patron, St. Bernadette. Coincidence? I think not- listen up, kiddos: prayer works).

4. My awesome friends Emily and Emily have been dedicated to celebrating Easter every day this week which has resulted in two nights of me not having to make dinner for myself. And getting to hang out with them!

5. I realized that even though we can be apart for months at a time, I am still a younger sister and act like one (just ask Lizzie why she got pegged in the forehead with a graham cracker).

6. I was introduced to some baby goats by the precocious 7-year-old next door neighbor.

7. I intentionally left my Easter candy in VA because I know I have no shred of self control when it comes to Reese's cups, but immediately regretted the decision as soon as I got back to my apartment and found it chocolate-less.

8. The girl on the plane next to me was reading Catching Fire while I was reading Mockingjay. Even though she didn't say hello back to me when she first sat down, I know we could definitely be friends some day.