#7: Our first Sunday morning breakfast

We decided to not go to church today.  That is a good thing.  

I like going to church because I want to, not because I have to... so it's refreshing to agree on not going.  We had already decided to go to a Spanish language service (at church B) in the early afternoon anyway, so skipping church early morning (at church A) wasn't skipping any spiritual nourishment, just choosing a different denomination, at least for today.

I sometimes miss my language too much.  Just like the Bible verse that states that with the same tongue we worship God with, we curse other humans, that's how sometimes I feel about the language thing.  It's so easy for me to use "cuss" words in English bc no matter what, they don't feel as strong to me.... and praising, well... it feels more like a verbal repetition of phrases I've heard than a cry from the heart.  Maybe that's why it feels easier to say "I love you Lord" in English, than in Spanish, bc saying "Te amo" carries a meaning that feels disconnected from the true places of my heart whereas "I love you" is like a cool phrase that comes to mind fast and easy.... and does not make me feel like lying to Him when I struggle with the reality that maybe I do not love Him... but that's another story.

The things one person misses bring pain, but just as much as the things that are brand new when one is in an environment different from what one's been used to.  "Culture shock" is a term frequently used.  I'd say the term should be changed to "culture SHOCK (emphasis underestimated)".

Since we decided to not go to church (A) early (we are still going to a Spanish speaking service) it was perfect time to have a home cooked breakfast.  Yesterday I had time to eat some waffles my bride made, and like all good things we are tasting in marriage, the next morning we want more of it, so when she asked me what would I like for breakfast the answer jumped out of my mouth: "more waffles".  As she cooked them, we talked that we'd have to stop by church A anyway since I'd agreed to meet a non-English speaking guy to pick him up and take him to the Spanish speaking service (at church B) with us.  Coincidentally, today there's a potluck thanksgiving lunch so I told my bride we'd probably stop for a few minutes at church A anyway.

Just there, the shock begins.  Potluck and thanksgiving are terms completely foreign to me.  And somehow, rather than excitement there's fear about the upcoming thanksgiving for I'm sure I cannot yet grasp what it means.  Just now I asked her about Squanto and she couldn't remember exactly what the story is.  See?  I have the understanding of Thanksgiving in my mind, yet in my 32 yr. old life, no special memories of what that celebration is.

But the plot thickens.  Uneasy to drop by the potluck with nothing to bring, she decided to make casserole (another foreign invention to me).  All the while, my waffles were ready and the music played softly in the background.  How could I be enjoying waffles (something my mom NEVER cooked) and Cindy Lauper/Ryan Adams in the stereo yet feel puzzled about casserole for a Thanksgiving potluck?!?

A weird high point was definitely when her eggs were ready and she asked me to pray while a reworked version of Cindy Lauper's She Bop was playing.  She Bop?  That early 80s paean to "bodily self-exploration" while we prayed to thank God for our food?  My bride didn't notice the song, she just enjoyed the moment with me... and so did I.  Maybe that's why instead of focusing on the people that are starving daily in countries like my beloved Guatemala (where people need not to wait for a specific day to give thanks bc they do not know if fragile health and scarce food will take them through another full year) and feel undeserving about the food in my plate, I simply hugged her and prayed that the God I don't yet love, will transform my heart and take my iniquities away.

As we finished our brief prayer, I could no longer hear the music in the background.  Neither I longed to go to any church at all today.  I simply stared at our kitchen and couldn't believe how merciful and generous He's been to me.  I couldn't believe how overwhelming it is to feel His presence at home, with my bride... and see how through all our differences God is teaching me.... again.

Now, if I could only stop writing about it and get ready to pick up that non-English speaking Mexican man who came to church for the first time last week, after quitting heavy drugs three weeks earlier and didn't understand a word of the service yet somehow felt the need for more, and is right now waiting for me to drive him to a Spanish speaking church.... that'd be a good thing.

#6: Our first wedding picture.

Ok, so this is just the beginning....
as a matter of fact, we were not even married when this picture was taken... or were we? I don't know.... and probably I don't care. What matters to me is that we were there... we are still here, and forever will be. And while it seems like forever for the rest of the 530 pictures and video from that day to arrive, we are posting one of the only five pics from that day I've seen.

Post #5: Our first post from home...

...or maybe, more specifically, from house.

As of this post, the name of the blog changes. Is anyone keeping track? Maybe not, but I am... so I want to leave these words to remind me of this night.

It's 4:03 AM on my computer's clock. On the radio, a CD by Caetano Veloso plays. I got it almost 3 yrs. ago yet this is the first time I'm listening to it all the way through. That's become the norm rather than the exception: to buy a CD only to listen to it sparsely and sometimes, never all the way through. Like earlier today (yes, around 1 AM) Carlee and I watched a couple of videos from a Guatemalan singer (the ONLY reknown Guatemalan singer) from a CD/DVD I bought 10 months ago and had not yet seen even once. For those Spanish speakers who read, it was Arjona's Adentro Special Edition. We saw a couple of videos on the DVD: Pinguinos and then Mojado (yes, the Spanish word for "wetback") which had not only the video but also a behind-the scenes segment. Anyway, somehow, bc of the subject matter, the plight of unfortunate to-be-immigrants stuck at the border, Carlee really liked the video and the documentary. I however, was more interested in showing her some of Latin America's best artists... part of the culture-sharing process that our lives are. Starting with 45 minutes of Ricky Martin videos, and ending with a song by this Guatemalan singer:

"Once every month you become an artist
Leaving an impressionist painting
Underneath the sheets

Once every month with your watercolors
You paint shreds of plums
That go right to the mattress

Once every month a laundry soap
Steals the fleeting art
Of your belly and its creation
And its natural when you´re a lady
That you paint roses on the bed
Once every month…

Chorus:
Once every month
The stork kills itself
And there you are, so depressed
Trying to find an explanation"
Anyway, the whole lyric in Spanish and its translation can be found on this other blog if anyone cares to read it.

But let's pretend for a moment that you do... you do try to read those lyrics, you try to understand the song.... still, do you get the same idea, feeling, images, or emotions that a native Spanish speaker gets? Probably not. Probably, reading the song would feel awkward and listening to it, intriguing at most, boring at worst. Simply because so much gets lost in translation.

And that's just what's happening in my world now. A world where another human shares the minutes, the seconds, the heartbeats. Yet still, we are simply getting to know each other with every passing day... and that is a beautiful thing.

****

Right before we watched Ricky Martin videos and listened to Ricardo Arjona's music, we spent a good half hour watching Garth Brooks's concert clips and videos. Interestingly enough, one of his videos, The Change, features the terrorist bombing in Oklahoma; another, Standing Outside The Fire, features a teen with Down Syndrome trying to race at a school competition. We both had seen those clips years ago, before we had ever met and while we said little when watching them, it was obvious to me we were touched deeper by a different video, as nothing can relate as close to me as a child with special needs considering I've been brother to one for more than a quarter of a century; yet for Carlee, the pain and suffering of other humans moves her to tears, whether her fellow citizens losing their lives in their homeland, or latin immigrants south of the border dying to come here. We both shed tears on both videos, yet the motives not alike as our perspectives differ.

We've disagreed so many times on issues like these: life, loss, politics, health, nationality, immigration and even the visual content on what's on our TV (read post #6). And that is part of our daily life: disagreement, as we agree to share a vision, and follow the same road. We are two people, in love with each other, living on love, living to know each other deeper, giving our best to connect each other's culture and opening our arms to embrace each other's heartaches. And to think we've only met seven months ago.

That's why we started this blog. To have a record of our journey, to share with those who read... known or unknown, to reflect on the road we are traveling, and to understand through misunderstandings.

We share them every day, like me misunderstanding that "us" starting a blog meant something more like "me" writing about us, rather than both of us writing. Or when she misunderstood me when I said I'd rather not have any internet at home because I'm addicted to all sorts of information and someday she'd find me up late in the computer after 300 hundred click-throughs learning about how museums incorrectly display dinosaurs or discovering Voyager's Golden Record. Now, if I could only find the reason why even though I moved into our house almost 4 months ago, and we've both lived here for three weeks now, the internet got connected only yesterday, and like I said, it's well past 4 AM, and here I am... writing toward the big void of cyberspace, trying to describe our joyful and complex new life, that came out of a blue clear sky.