#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.