(virtual) March for Life

"For God is not unjust so as to overlook the love you have demonstrated by having served and continuing to serve the holy ones. We earnestly desire each if you to demonstrate the same eagerness for the fulfillment of hope until the end ..." Heb. 6:10-11

This week marked not only 40 years of legalized abortion in America, but also 40 years of those who recognize women deserve better than abortion.

This week, I mourn my 55 million countrymen who have lost their lives, but also rejoice in those who have worked tirelessly to let the fathers and mothers know that there are alternatives to the pain, confusion and, often times, despair an unplanned pregnancy can seem to bring.

Let us continue to encourage those who find themselves alone when pregnant by reminding them that even in times when everyone else has become their enemy, a woman's unborn child is always her most faithful ally.

                                                           ...

Snow begins to fall as pro-life marchers walk up Constitution Avenue in Washington D.C. during the 2013 March for Life. Credit: Addie Mena/CNA. Copyright © 2012 Catholic News Agency. All rights reserved.

 As I sat in my Denver office today, I was encouraged the most by the Twitter feed I followed using the hashtag #MarchforLife. Normally, I avoid social media commentary like the plague (seriously - have you ever glimpsed at a comment board on a major news story?), especially when it has to do with anything controversial, such as abortion. Behind their computer screens or cell phones, people tend to be just downright nasty and rude.

Today, however, there was a constant stream of images of young people smiling despite the snow and words of encouragement for babies and moms. What better day to work  for Catholic media than today?

Love is an act of the will

Many of us have probably heard the rather counter-cultural statement that "Love is an act of the will" and not a feeling as our culture seems to hold fast to.

I've understood this point (or at least I thought I did) for quite some time, but I've also recently realized that there's a second part to this idea that I may have overlooked before: Accepting love is an act of the will.

When I look to Christ, especially on the Cross or in the Eucharist, I know that He is totally choosing to give himself, Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity, to me. But, what I often overlook is whether or not I am fully accepting his love.

I came upon this realization recently when I was thinking about a new relationship I'm in. Practically out of nowhere, this amazing man comes into my life and start treating me well and being incredibly kind to me. My initial reaction was, "Seriously, what gives? I don't deserve any of this. Why are you being so nice to me?"

Then I realized that this is very similar to how I relate to God. I've always struggled with seeing myself as worthy of God's love -- so much so that makes it damn near impossible for Him to get into my heart. I just figured, "OK, not worthy of your love? Well, I'll just get along fine by myself then." This, of course, is pride masked as humility, all wrapped up nicely in despair and self-loathing.

So now that I have a truly amazing man waiting patiently for me to let him into my heart, just a little bit at a time, I've realized that all along God has been doing the same thing on an infinitely deeper scale.

Of course I'm not worthy of His love. None of us are. But that's the whole point. God wants every bit of our broken and battered little hearts so that He can reshape them into a beautiful, new creation.

We're not pieces of dung covered in snow.

We are broken souls remade in the fire of His Sacred Heart, but only if we choose to let Him in.

Life is transient

Sometimes we have our eyes locked on what's immediately in front of us for so long that we don't notice all the subtle changes that amount into a major turning point.  I've observed lately in my own life and those around me that small, seemingly inconsequential events have eventually lead to bigger, if not major, life changes.

And maybe that's for our own good that we can't always tell where the constant struggle is taking us.Would I have the faith to keep trudging along if I knew what one of those end points was? Probably not. For even if I knew God were leading me to something glorious, I would still try to take short cuts to get there sooner.

No matter how much we think life is the same day in and day out, God is actually using the routine to train us for the future. Sometimes we face pain and suffering, sometimes we are graced with joy and peace, but above all, He always leads us towards a future full of Hope.

Change, no matter how painful, is not to be avoided for the sake of comfort. Comfort is what keeps us the same. Think about it: Comfort is achieved by shifting and adapting, by trying to assimilate that which is causing us discomfort, but is never a catalyst for change.

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. 

Upon further reflection, as usual

Quite possibly one of the most awkward, but refreshing, dates I have been on in a while (OK, I don't date a lot [read: at all] so let's call it ever, just to be fair).

I met up with an acquaintance I'd met at a friend of a friend's birthday party in Lima last week. Our first encounter was him trying to teach me how to dance and saying that I needed to move my hips more.

Except, he didn't know what the word was and even though I told him, he kept pronouncing it "tips."

So, Miguel spends the evening telling me I needed to move my "tips" more for Latin dancing and I tried my best to comply, but mostly I just stared at his feet and tried to match his steps.

Later on, he pulled me over in front of his friend with a camera, so thankfully the whole disaster was documented for posterity:

Nice shoes, hombre.

Before I left, he called me over by gesturing with his hands in a way that usually means, "Shoo! Go away!" But, he kept saying, "Come, come!" So I walked over to see that his friend has already uploaded the pictures to his laptop and Miguel wanted to show me because he was "so happy that I have pictures of you now!"

Yikes.

Despite my better judgement, I told him my actual name so he could find me on facebook and, lo and behold, I had a friend request from the guy who kept telling me I needed to move my "tips" more and was so happy to have pictures of me.

I met up with him for coffee (in broad daylight and after telling Ursula a million times where I was going and exactly when I would be back) and it turns out most of the phrases from our facebook messages that I took to be awkward were so mainly because of the language barrier.

We got to talking and he asked me whether or not I had a boyfriend. When I told him no, he asked why not, which I took to be a cheesy pick-up line, so I laughed at him.

But, he insisted that he honestly wanted to know why not.

I resisted every urge to roll my eyes and appear as the superior sex and then began my well-worn (but slightly politer, for purposes of international relations) tirade against single men in general, but found that the more I tried to explain their issues, I was faced with a blatant avoidance of my problems.

I tried to explain how men just don't know what they want and never take the initiative in relationships. Fair enough, but do I even know exactly what I want? And when have I ever gone out of my way to actually invest in a relationship (to an appropriate extent, of course) with a man for interests other than romance?

At one moment, he asked me point blank to tell him something about myself and I just came up with nothing and changed the subject. Sure, that could be chalked up to prudence, but, more likely was a result of fear. (Perhaps this point will require a separate post later).

Then, I went on to realize that even now, when someone was asking me to tell him about myself, I was avoiding talking about, duh, myself. I realized that even though I want to be known, I have a very hard time letting anyone in for fear of you name it (rejection, judgement, misunderstanding, pain, all around awkwardness in general) to the point that I will only let anyone in once they have proven they are absolutely-without-a-doubt-totally-100%-trustworthy to me.

So, Miguel, to answer your question honestly, I am not seeing anyone somewhat because of outside circumstances (travel for work, just haven't met the right guy), but mostly because I have operated from a position of mistrust of others for most of my life and am still trying to break out of it (and probably always will be).

Furthermore, I have an extremely difficult time being vulnerable (I should probably note that "vulnerable" for phlegmatic melancholic introverts like me is probably the same thing as daily interactions for extroverts ... or so I imagine) with anyone save a few close friends and family members (and now apparently anyone reading this blog ... double yikes) which makes it, in turn, difficult for others to open up to me in a way that goes beyond surface level.

So, thanks for the cup of coffee and self-revelation.

Otro dirección!

Here's a few highlights of Peru so far:

I narrowly escaped an international crisis this morning when I failed to understand what Ursula's daughter wanted for breakfast.

Her brother (dressed as un policia, of course) got some cereal and yogurt and apparently she wanted some too. Simple enough, right? Well, not in my case. It was this liquid-y, drinkable yogurt, so I thought she wanted a glass of it to drink.

No, no she did not.

I poured a cup of yogurt for her which set off screams heard all throughout the house, after which my co-worker came down and had to repair my failed attempts at international diplomacy by giving her a bowl and cereal. I ran away upstairs to google more Spanish phrases besides, "No comprendo! Lo siento!"

The other night I went to Mass alone and took a cab home, which is a little difficult with my inability to verbally communicate. Ursula had written out directions I should give the cab driver, which I did. Halfway through the ride, I thought I saw the park that was right next to her house, but instead of turning right, we continued straight and went in (what I thought was) the exact opposite direction of Ursula's casa.

"Senor, mi casa es otro direction."

"No, no senorita. Lince, si?"

"Uhh, si ... pero, mi casa es otro dirección."

Then he went on to explain that I was an idiot for thinking I knew the way better than he did. Well, not really, but that's what I imagined.

A few more minutes of driving in what I thought was the wrong direction and I began to enter mini panic mode. What if he drops me off at the wrong place and I have to wander the streets of Lima alone and beg for food? Now I'm going to get taken and sent to a commune in the Andes! OK, quick, think of all the self-defense moves you know ... How will I survive on cuy alone?

At which point, we pulled up to Ursula's house.

"Oh, gracias, senor ... lo siento ..."

"De nada, you're just a stupid tourist with no understanding of any of the local culture, language or customs. I forgive you."

Actually, I think it was something about there being lots of traffic and it was night, but that's what I would have said. Thankfully, Peruvians are much more gracious and understanding than I am.

¿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.