Her face blended into the setting: a dingy storefront dirtied by ash fallen day after day in the volcano-laden San Jose, Costa Rica. Maria smiled courteously at me as I approached her 5x5 juice and smoothie tienda. I was taking a course most students avoided in language school. It involved finding a native Tico and beginning a relationship with them. It was embarrassing especially in the beginning. I would take out my notebook and open it to the page where I had written out my topic for the week along with questions for her as my guide to the cultural life in San Jose.
Maria was kind and patient as I butchered her beautiful language. I came to understand why this course was avoided as much as possible. Week after week, even with lots of preparation, there were always plenty of awkward silences, hand motions, and doodles on napkins. The topics ranged from our own personal introductions, to government, to local festivals, to food, and my personal favorite: education and learning. I learned a lot over four months with her as my guide. The challenge ended with gratitude for having been stretched in my Spanish and gaining a new friend in Costa Rica.
This area of San Jose is accustomed to seeing gringos on the streets. Our neighborhood has hosted North Americans attending the language school for 80 years. The transient missionaries migrate to and from the language school day after day. I enjoyed reflecting on how we must look to the insiders. One noticed just how many blonde, fair-skinned, light-colored eyes represented our culture. Those who did not share those attributes had the benefit of not sticking out so drastically... unless they wore the foreigner staples: Birkenstocks or Tivas, shorts, t-shirts, and loosely fitted clothing. Loaded with our backpacks and kids (we also seem to have a lot of those) we dropped them off at their classes and headed to our classes where we also became children again in our language and gestures.
We were thirsty and hungry, and when our teachers would give us something we didn't particularly like, we cried, stomped our feet, whined, and threw embarrassing little fits. Sometimes the fits would happen internally, but on occasion of incredible discomfort, we would be pushed past our limits and manifest our frustration. We became increasingly grateful that we were not already in our destination countries. Something incredible happens when you are faced with the simple fact that life as you know it is not as Maria knows it to be. Language is just the starting point.
Direct translation can only take you so far. Grammar and the structure of a language are helpful, but there are so many nuances and ways to convey exactly what you intend to say. Most of our year in language training was spent learning common nouns and the mounds and mounds of verb conjugations. It would be very well if we only had three tenses (past, present, and future), but in Spanish there are arguably 16 with different endings for each person (1st, 2nd, 3rd...6th). This is probably the hardest aspect of the Spanish language.
It should have been no surprise to me that the verb conjugations reflect the volume of words and explanations used to communicate. The culture itself delights in using a paragraph to say one thought. Getting to the point is not the point in Latin culture. In fact, if you can linger longer, and mull over with your neighbor several times a day about whether or not it will rain, congratulations: you have assimilated.
Taking one's time in every aspect of life is a gift I am still learning to receive. Running into someone at the mall becomes having ice cream... Going to the supermarket with them becomes accompanying them to the pharmacy. Getting things accomplished takes a backseat to relationships every single time. After 7 years, I am learning to not fight it.
However, just because I know this about the culture doesn't mean I can do it well. I am still in the observation and imitation phase.
Relationships take time. Just because I learned Maria's name, and heard her introduction doesn't mean that I know her. Just because I have learned about "time" in Latin culture does not mean that I truly understand it. In order to truly know something, I must be willing to accept it for what it is. The moment I begin to analyze, I move away from knowing it. At least, knowing it for what it is. My motives have shifted.
When knowing, motivation is everything. Pure motives begin with curiosity and wonder. I want to know for the sake of knowing. It is possible to begin with pure motives of knowing, and sliding into impure motives. The moment I place myself in a position of critique, essentially I say to the object of my attention that I hold the power of classifying. This can be problematic in learning and teaching.
I am a teacher. I studied to be a Second Language teacher, and ultimately I have been my children's teacher for about 10 years now. As a teacher, I forever hold a responsibility. I hold within my "power" the platform of authority in which pride can obliterate the essence of what I am teaching. In my pride I classify and categorize. A heavy stamp of "I KNOW" comes crashing down on the file. My students are intimidated by my "I KNOW". It is final. "Nothing more to add here" as I lecture them on what it is.
Thomas Aquinas said “knowing a thing is the first condition of loving it”.
Knowing and loving are companions. They should walk together hand-in-hand in every aspect of teaching and learning. Impossible to not love what I am learning because it is true. In all of its entirety, it is true. Truth is beautiful.
Do you see the difference between pridefully teaching a category versus humbly beholding a truth and loving it for what it is?
Why are these elements important while living overseas?
Whether I perceive it or not, I am walking around naming and classifying. Adam's job as "name-r" has stayed with us. My point is simply that culturally, we preemptively name what is not ours to name. It would be like moving to our street six years ago and saying, "Carrera 52 , I don't think you feel like a Carrera, I will call you Palm Street." It would be ridiculous to think that I could change the name of our street.
First, let us honor and glorify God by praising him for what and who He has made. Every person I encounter has a story. We must resist the temptation to name and classify things anew. For me it takes the form of "It reminds me of" or "she reminds me of". By nature, we compare and contrast things/people. As a missionary, this looks a lot like: "Wow, I didn't know what a mango-laden street looked like until I moved here. The branches hang lower and lower as the mangoes ripen. Look at how the guard found a good one and gave it to the lady who walked by with her dog. The streets smell just a tad rotten from mangoes that have been nibbled on by iguanas and fallen. Look at how those birds pick at the leftover pieces."
Occupying one's mind by noticing the details in a curious way rather than a judgmental/critical way. Practicing this everywhere I go cultivates in me a sense of wonder and a desire to know.
"Why do you call your mom and narrate to her where you are and who you are with?"
A critical temptation would be to immediately think "Don't you have something better to do?" or "What does it matter that your mom know that you bought limes for 2 mil pesos a bag?"
Cultivating wonder looks like not answering the question. Letting it linger and admiring my friend's way of including her mom in her life although she lives in another city. Including others in their lives is an art form in Latin America. It is an art that I have been observing for seven years, and am just beginning to see as an art. Telling or recounting because it builds relationship. This is an art that I don't naturally appreciate, however I am growing to admire as I age. The limes matter. Every day occurrences can be meaningful.
We are called to wonder, to admire, and to "take in" the beauty around us. As I mentioned earlier, Adam's first task was to name the animals. Sometimes I wonder how long he lingered with the llama, until he landed on just the right name to capture its llama-ness.
Before Adam named the animals, Creator God gave out names and saw that it was good.
What if God is calling me to name what I see in wonder and in admiration?
4 Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! 5 Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. 6 Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
8 Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. 9 Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you. Philippians 4:4-9
Filling our minds with what is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, praiseworthy is quite a task! It involves training my mind to see. In order to see, I must study those around me. Noticing these things will honor the person, the place, the culture, and most importantly I can ask God to show me his creation with fresh eyes.
Who do you see, Lord? What is this I see? What else is there to see?
I can honor God, person, and place by taking the time to SEE and think about these things. My intention in seeing them is to glorify God, and in naming the loveliness I see what God sees. This is true sight.
O Lord. Give me eyes to see. Sometimes I don't want to see. I shut my eyes, Lord. Jesus, you bring sight to the blind. You are Light. You are the LIGHT we need to see. Help me to see, Jesus. Help me to slow down and notice. May your Kingdom come, on earth as it is in Heaven. Amen.
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