With the Uncles Making Jokes

Sitting here in my office on this Saturday night, I am fighting the urge of jumping in my car and driving the 18 hours to Houston. This lovely thing called a thesis, has been keeping me occupied with research and writing. Yet no matter how consumed I am in identity development theories and the effects of study abroad, my mind still wanders home. I did not realize how much family means to me until this past week. Receiving a phone call from my mom on Tuesday night, turned my world upside down. The family is going through a rough time, she said. What is going on, I thought to myself.

Why is this happening? Why am I here in Indiana when I want to be in Guatemala and Houston? When my mom informed me of the news, my heart broke into a million pieces. I felt hurt, dissapointed and pain, but also powerless. I knew that no matter how emotional I was, I had no control over the situation.

Just pray, my mom said. I want to go home, I responded. I know, she replied.

Driving past the cornfields that Tuesday night, my mind flooded with memories of my childhood and Guatemala. I recalled the times I spent playing marbles with the neighborhood boys. I remembered how I would go to the market every day with my grandma to get tomatoes and beans. I remembered the beauty of Guatemala’s scenery. I remembered snuggling close to my grandfather while he rambled on about politics. I remembered squeezing between my cousins on the overcrowded bus. I remembered picking mangoes off my great grandparent’s trees in their garden. I remembered the smell of coffee overflowing my aunt’s kitchen. I remembered the parties that lasted till 3am. I remembered eating tamales. I remembered falling on my butt while playing soccer in the mud and how all the boys laughed at me. I remembered walking through the streets of my dad’s small hometown and looking up at the stars. I remembered how blissful it was to be a child in the beautiful country of Guatemala.

I am thankful for the community that Taylor University provides. I have gracious and compassionate professors who say that “there are some things in life that are more important than a thesis.”

I love my family. I get frustrated with them. I am frustrated with them. They make mistakes. We do not have similar views and perceptions about life, but I make mistakes too. They are my family. They were there for my surprise quinceañera party. They love me even though I am the “odd ball” of the family. They will do anything for me in heartbeat, just like I would.

My mind wandered for a bit while I was writing my thesis earlier this evening. I started looking over my pictures of Costa Rica. Love that place. It was there that I started to embrace who I was. (Hence, my thesis topic) In Costa Rica, I realized how much I appreciate my family and how much they keep me grounded. I can easily get so consumed with life here in Indiana. My family keeps me true to my roots. They remind me that love is all I need. In Costa Rica, I witnessed different family interactions that were similar to my family. It was there that I missed my family. I missed the yelling at each other in Spanglish. The babies crying. The loud aunts nagging. The rosters. The uncles making jokes. The tile floors. The grandpa talking about who knows what. The cousins picking on each other. The heat of Guatemala. The food. The smell. The laughter. The tears. The comfort. The love. I miss it all.

The pops and I trying to catch our breath while "walking" through a rainforest in Costa Rica.

Only a Week

I have been back in the states for only 5 days and I’m still processing my week in El Salvador. Its funny how even though I was there for a week, I am still taking a good while to process what happened. (Yes, there is a popular conversation among Christian circles about short-term missions and if they are still effective or not, but that is a whole another can of worms) I am talking about how in that short week and the relationships I started can spark a week or even a month of me reflecting and basking in the memories. I found myself zoning out in the beauty of the view of the volcanoes and wondering how I could be looking at God’s beauty and not be awed. I caught myself several times to stop the tears whenever a flashback from my childhood overwhelmed my mind. I questioned myself what was I do now that I have heard different voices.

What am I to do with all this knowledge? What am I to do with all this experience?

We arrived back in Indiana on Tuesday morning at 1:30am. I had class all day from 9am to 4pm. At 10:30am, I found myself lying on my bed. I hit a wall. Physically and emotionally, I was done.

What was I suppose to do? What just happened? What do I do now?

I was back to asking myself the same questions a year ago when I was experiencing re-entry from my semester abroad. Yes, it was only a week. Technically a week is not even a scratch on the service when it comes to culture shock. It will take at least a month for the “touristic” feeling to wear off and reality hits you in the face. But in this specif past week, different emotions and memories were triggered. Lying on my bed, I couldn’t move. Not only was I sick to my stomach but my mind was stuck. I felt frustrated.

Shouldn’t I be use to this? My whole life I have been faced with cross-cultural experiences. Ever since I was 6 months old, my mother would take me back to my roots in Guatemala. Now I am 23 years old and still seeking out my identity. I should be a pro at this. The funny thing is I am not.

Fast forward a couple of days, I am back to my “old self” again. I am even working out again and taking warm showers. But I’m still wondering. I’m still thinking. I’m still processing. I have this incredible desire to throw my thesis into the garbage, fill my backpack with clean underwear and anti-diarrhea pills and jump on the next plane to Guatemala or Costa Rica. Yet a part of me is so relieved to be back in my comfy bed and carpeted floors. I guess what my main point is that I feel as though I am split into two different people. The adventurous Lima that says “Pura Vida” and backpacks through Latin America and then there is the settled Lima that enjoys easy access to materialism and Starbucks. I am not stating that balances these both sides is not a major struggle. Yes, it’s hard but it’s who I am. It is who I am created to be. What I am required to do is embrace them and continue to seek out how to live these two sides in the will of God.

He has placed me in this context for a reason. His glory shines through all of this.

There is a reason why my parents immigrated to the states in the 70’s.

There is a reason why I was born in southern California and raised in New Hampshire.

There is a reason why I am a first-generation graduate student.

There is a reason why I am in Indiana.