what the difference isn't

This past weekend I skyped with my brother, Dustin, and his wife/my sister, Jenny. Ah. That could be enough said, but I will go on to say, from the laughter to the conversation, this really made my heart happy! During our conversation Jenny said something that really struck me, and it has been on my mind since. I shared with them the disconnect I feel with a lot of the people here and the difficulty I have had in my attempts to communicate who I am and why I do what I do. If I could give you a picture it would be this: the nonathletic kid at a camp, facing a flat wall, rope in hands and for the seventh time getting ready to go at it again (wondering why he is trying for literally the seventh time). Yep. I relate.

I thought this difference was the language thing. It makes sense.

Well, I was reminded otherwise. Jenny reminded me that the ultimate difference or disconnect between the world that I live and the world of the people around me is not that I am American and they are Spanish. Yes, that is certainty true, but she reminded me of the shared human experience in that we are all people who have emotions, friends, share stories, laugh, cry, eat, walk and drink. This was a good reminder for me. It was good because, in her even saying that, I felt that disconnect shrink a bit. But, what was even better was when she pointed out that the greatest difference I have experienced here, and one I will have in my time living on this earth, is that the life of Jesus and the life of a soul where He lives will clash against any other. I think this brought me a lot of peace, because the burden I felt from my inability to really connect lifted.

It is easy to forget that I am not an American sojourner in a land belonging to Spanairds, but that I am God's child living in a place that is not home. I am so glad to recall: seeking comfort here will disappoint and expectations don't have a return. And, somehow the best news of all is that Jesus suffered and said we will too (but he also said take heart).

1 Peter 3:13-16 and 1 Corinthians 4:12.

"Above all, keep loving"
1 Peter 4:8

I see you, Africa.

If you read my last post, you may be expecting stories from my Spanish church or conversation class, but I must put that on hold to tell you of this day:

Tarifa, Spain. Morocco, Africa.

My day began with avena, cafe and these words: "Cast your burden on the Lord and he will sustain you, he will never permit the righteous to be moved." I thought about that word, "righteous," for quite some time. My heart rested that labor-free title.

Then to the bus station I went! My madre packed me a sandwich. Actually, three. One with cheese, one with salami and one with tomatoes and lettuce. Again, when in Espana. :-) Oh, I also got two fruits in my sack lunch and some half-milk, half-orange/mango juice drink. Interesting. I dare say tasty.

Now because I live in the mountains, this bus ride was no straight-shot. I wondered if "not being moved" meant the same thing as "not tumbling down a mountain going 90 kilos per hour in a sketchy standard shift bus." Well, it really didn't matter because the beauty of what I saw I won't even attempt to describe. Here is a photo, though:

The ride home was even better. The sun was setting. I didn't even take photos of that, though, because that array of color dressing the mountains would just never translate (more on that later).

Okay, so, we arrived in Tarifa. I will let the photos do the talking. Although most of my time on the beach was spent in solitude, it wasn't spent alone. Then in the actual city, my time was shared with my new Polish friend Dobrochna.

Did I mention earlier that, in that first photo, the peak in the back is Morocco? Just checking. Now, Tarifa is the southern most point in Spain. From some parts of the city I actually saw houses in Morocco. How crazy (my point and shoot couldn't quite capture that). A ferry ride only takes 35 minutes. I honestly think it is very possible for the average joe to swim on over. I wonder if people do that?! Tarifa is very African-y. There is a lot of Morrocan and Islamic influence here along with what seemed to me to be a lot of Hindu or Buddhist influence. Then, as you will see, there was a Catholic cathedral. Here are some of the photos:

The ride home. Oh, the ride home. Man, it was full. I listened to music from Redeemer and the Village Church, which was beyond good. But that didn't even touch the thoughts that flowed from that time. Of all the beautiful things that I saw and the ways they reflected the unbelievable beauty and love of God, I thought, he choose us. The sunset I can't describe, nor can I communicate the beauty in seeing Morocco from Spain, finding little treasures in Tarifa's antiquity, mountains behind mountains behind mountains, trees I have never seen, nature, and on and on. But my heart only cried when I was somehow reminded that over all these things God though it best to reveal his glory by creating man in his own image. Me. And you. And no, I don't see this is me nor do I see it in you. But I see it in that man Jesus. And because of that, more than the mountains and stars and sky and sea and sunsets, God is glorified in all with Jesus in them. And Jesus will live joyfully in all who ask. Now, this is that word I was thinking of earlier: righteousness.

Before I left for Spain, I saw a quote by CS Lewis in a friend's room: "You do not have a soul, you are a soul. You have a body." (Job 10:11).

Week one in Ronda

I guess the thing about blogs is you have to tell people about them. I have yet to do that. It feels like the opening of a new store- you get it all prepared, swept clean, arranged to your own liking...then you tell your close friends... maybe give them a little preview, and then, when you often don't feel ready for it- the grand opening! I need to have that grand opening part (although I wouldn't say I am finished with the prior and necessary steps). Anywho- David Hall- I am sure if no one else you may relate (Baldwins).

Okay, so I have been in Ronda for almost one week now. There are two photos at left. Beautiful, right? The town is considered a "cliff top town" because it sits on and in between gorges. The main part of the city, lined with tapas bars, cafes and little spanish shops, along with the famous "Plaza de Los Torros," is on top of a cliff which in somehow in between mountains. Miles beyond the main happenings, small communities and farms are set along the landscape. They call this area the campos. It is like, for example, in Lawrence, Clinton lake areas are to Lawrence as campos are to Ronda. More or less. Well it is all just beautiful. These mountains surround the city on every side, which is now and has always been the main military defense of this town. Ronda's history of tension between Islam and Christianity, the new town and the old town (which are now connected by a huge Moorish bridge), the water supply, bull fighting, and so on is quite rich. If you are so interested, more info on that is here: http://www.andalucia.com/ronda/history.htm.

Well, I have found that starting my first blog post in Ronda has also been difficult because I just do not know where to begin. So many things are pulling on my mind as I sit here and wonder what to share. Well, I will just have to start. I LOVE that I can walk anywhere and everywhere. Everything is brick. Sidewalks are petite. Spain in general is not lacking much- gelato, fresh fruits, foods with so much taste, history, markets, stories, old people, young people, coffee, tradition- these things are the ornaments on each day here. It is not uncommon for me to see a woman of at least 85 years walking with her daily sack of groceries. I love that. To describe it all I would use this word: flavor. And speaking of flavor, ah, the food. I will be dedicating many posts solely to this subject as time progresses. :-)

Last thing I want to share in this post (I don't want to exhaust my readers already) are things that meet me quite unexpectedly. Now, most unexpected because I wear American glasses: It is not common for married people here to wear wedding rings. If they do, they wear them on the right hand. Everyone (literally almost everyone) smokes. Everything closes down from 2-5 (siesta). Lunch (the big meal of the day... although they all seem quite large) is at 3 and dinner is sometime between 9 and 11:30. Here, gracias is pronounced gra-thi-is, rather than gra-see-is. And, the best surprise of all, I have class from 9-1 and we get a 45 minute break. Haha. That is how a days worth of studying should be. Oh, one last thing-- I have wondered if people here sleep. Now speaking of sleep, my hope is that this did not just cause you to do so.
More
to come soon on my worship experience with about 15 Christians (maybe, honestly, the only ones or rare few in this town of 50,000) to the Spanish version of "God of This City" by Chris Tomlin. I cried. Also, next post will involve an account of my spiritual conversations with my 3 classmates (one man from Ireland, one from Chek Republic and one chica that is Korean) and my Spanish conversations professor. Explaining that I have a new heart from Jesus in Spanish, when I cannot speak Spanish, has been the highlight of it all. Until then, enjoy the photos I posted! Love you all. Linds