A Moroccan, a Vietnamese, and a Granadina

After 2 weeks of restaurants, cafés, stores, and bars being closed due to high covid cases, they opened this week. I did meet with some intercambios during the enhanced quarantine, but many people were hesitant because of the very palpable presence of covid, the cold, rainy weather, and the lack of things to do together. So I had 7 people scheduled to meet with me this weekend, the first weekend of life opening up. 

Today I met with 3 of the 7. This morning (it was actually at noon, which is considered morning here in Spain) I went to a coffee shop with two other foreigners, one from Morocco, the equivalent distance of Iowa from Minnesota, and one from Vietnam, the complete other side of the world. These two girls are cultural, funny, friendly, and much like myself, so we vibe well. We mostly spoke Spanish, and since Spanish wasn't the first language for any of us, my Spanish rolled off my tongue easily and confidently. We all have a shared love for Korean dramas, bubble tea, Spain, and languages, so we easily passed two hours talking and bonding. Overall it was a great interaction, and I walked away feeling satisfied in my language and relational abilities.

In the early afternoon (4:30 PM), I got churros with an intercambio from Granada. This one started out, from my eyes, a little rough. For whatever reason, the 2.5-hour gap between my intercambios, caused my Spanish to take a drastic tumble. As a Granadina, my intercambio has a strong accent, and this automatically made me intimidated, causing my words and sentences to come out unsure and choppy. She's also a very straightforward Spanish college student, and although I appreciate Spanish culture deeply and feel very Spanish myself, the truth is I have such a mixed culture and don't usually relate as well with one-cultured, non-traveled people. 

We talked about a plethora of things, but even when we switched to English, my confidence was still low. I felt like I was failing, like I wasn't asking her good enough questions, wasn't relating well enough to her, or wasn't growing a friendship. 

I've been learning it takes a lot of humility to learn a language and build relationships cross-culturally, but that doesn't help those moments when I feel unsatisfied and unproductive. The goal of making friends seems so simple, but I still feel like it's too hard.

Then something changed in my thought process. After we went our separate ways, my Granadina intercambio randomly messaged me about the book she mentioned to me and said I could borrow it if I wanted. I then sent her a picture of our Christmas tree that I told her about, and we briefly chatted over text message. 

Tonight I realized something simple but profound. It's hard to "fail" at friendship. 

Comunidad

 The city of Granada is sinking further into covid restrictions. These Spaniards have already experienced the worst of 2020; their restrictions were stricter than most of the world with a 9-week confinement where they could only leave their house for groceries. Micah and I were in Minnesota for that part of the quarantine, and truthfully, we were minorly affected. We went to work, got our bubble tea, shopped, and took walks like normal while our now home of Granada was literally trapped. 

But we're here for these restrictions, in the midst of their community, following the protocol. We are with them.

All restaurants, cafes, malls, and most stores are closed in this city, and basically, only the essentials are open. The day before this rule was put into effect, I went alone to a clothing store to purchase a few things while I could. The store was absolutely packed, and while I was waiting in the long line, I marveled at how united we all were. It was a communal problem we all faced, and we were all adequately preparing together. We were united in our preparation. 

And I, the new foreigner to the city, am with them in that. The guiri that was freely frolicking Minnesota March while they were stuck is now united with them in the new era of covid. 

And that's a beautiful thing.

Because of that, I have no complaints, no sadness, no frustration. I am with the comunidad de Granada, walking through these restrictions with thousands of strangers. It makes me feel part of them, even though by language, culture, and heritage, I'm definitely not. But this pandemic is an opportunity for all of us to feel united despite our class, race, nationality, or language. 

Because we all have something in common now, and in hindsight, we always have. 

Quarantine

This week, I received news that a girl in my small Spanish class tested positive for covid. The repercussions weren't immediately clear, but on Thursday, I was told that I officially had to quarantine for 10 days. Thankfully, this quarantine shrank to only 4 days since it had been so long ago since I had contact with her, and we're in the middle of our quarantine now.

When I told Micah the news, he immediately decided to join me in the quarantine even though it wasn't clear if he was supposed to or not. As we sat calmly discussing our fate for the next week, I asked him in disbelief, "Why aren't you freaking out about this? Why are you so calm?"

The truth was that both of us were calm. As I was walking home after receiving the news, I calmly looked up at the trees and sky, knowing it could be the last time I saw them for 10 days, and I was surprisingly unfazed by that. As I said, the quarantine turned out to be shorter than we expected, but since we went to work, took plenty of walks, and went for grocery runs during the March quarantine in St. Paul, a strict quarantine was still a large, uncharted feat for us. 

It turned out to be just what we needed. For 3 weeks before this moment, both of us were trying to find home in Granada, scoping out bubble tea places, sushi restaurants, candy shops, and thrift stores to stretch out our roots a bit. We were searching for the home that's been with us all along, and all we needed to do to find it was take a step back, take a deep breath, and rest.

This is our home because this is where we're supposed to be. In the last few weeks, we've formed relationships, talked spiritual matters with intercambios, learned/improved Spanish, and stepped into our positions here. The news of quarantine didn't bother us because it was never a threat in the first place. Nothing can be a threat to us when we're in the will of God.

I have personally felt an indescribable feeling being here, as if nothing can stop us and nothing can hinder us. We're on a path that was destined by God, and therefore, any challenge that looms over us holds no more fear for me. Any potential inconvenience or discomfort doesn't bother me. We haven't even secured an available appointment to finish our visa process, this city could very well sink deeper into lockdown, and we could have other exposures to positives that would slow us down. None of these things concern me at all.

And I can't really give an answer to why I'm not concerned, afraid, or worried. Something, or someone, is just telling me that there's no reason to be. We are walking forward unhindered and untouched by the enemy. 

We've never had a rational reason to worry, and we are very much home. 

Intimidated

My reaction to arriving in Spain is different than it was 5 years ago when I arrived in Sevilla. Last time, I was enamored by the beauty of Spain and full of excitement, hope, and passion. 

This time, I'm intimidated and pretty much only intimidated.

Since my semester in Spain, I've grown and matured in so many ways. I graduated from college, I got married, and I had my first big-girl job. I've done ministry. I've shared the gospel. I've made numerous close friends from around the world. I am in every way an older and wiser human being than I was at 21.

But I'm still so intimidated. Micah and I both are intimidated, but he, the one who has never been to Spain and doesn't speak any Spanish, has an understandable reason to be.

My intimidation comes from a few factors. 

    1. Spaniards are much cooler than I am. In many ways, I feel like they are the popular crowd in middle school that I'm not qualified to talk to. I don't think they have any desire to befriend this quiet, weird American, and I'm not convinced I have any alluring quality to draw them into friendship. 

    2. My Spanish-speaking abilities are not up to par. I have been watching a Spanish drama that has increased my comprehension skills, but although I can understand most of what people are saying, I'm too terrified to open my mouth. 

    3. The spiritual climate is complicated. Having an open, authentic relationship with a Spaniard doesn't seem easy. I don't feel confident that I can contribute to our team when I don't know what I'm doing.

    4. I don't know how to live life here. Paying rent, buying groceries, paying for our phone bills, getting wifi, doing laundry, taking out the trash, and maneuvering the city are all overwhelming necessities that are beyond me. It's an overwhelming list of things we need to figure out.

All of these factors are what cause my intimidation. But while I was explaining this exact feeling to Micah in the Madrid airport, before we even arrived in Granada, a woman approached us and asked us a question in Spanish. She wanted to know where her gate was, and I was able to quickly direct her. 

Then on our first night in Granada, Micah and I were having drinks and tapas with the head of our team. Our waitress was friendly and curious about us, which isn't exactly the norm for waiters and waitresses in Spain. 

These two events gave me hope, but definitely not hope in myself. I'm still undoubtedly uncool, inept at speaking Spanish, and clueless. But life gets better when I realize it's not about me.

God will direct the opportunities, social situations, logistics, and hearts of Spaniards. I just have to follow and have hope in what He is going to do, through me and without me.  

Hiccups

Almost a year ago, I had a case of the hiccups. Bad hiccups. The ones that are so strong that they hurt. After 30 minutes straight of violent, painful hiccups every 20 seconds that would not respond to any creative cure, I was pretty annoyed. In an angry yell, I cried to God, "Jesus, take them away!!"

They vanished instantly. 

I was immediately humbled at how aggressive hiccups disappeared without a trace after a prayer. Micah was in the other room, and we got into a discussion about how it's probably not good to yell at God, even if He does answer. So I apologized to God, thanked Him, and moved on.

I don't get hiccups very often, but a few weeks later, they returned. This time, I used a different approach. I closed my eyes, and in my head, I quietly (and politely) asked God to take my hiccups away.

They vanished instantly.

This soon became my habit. Every time I got hiccups, I prayed, and they disappeared immediately. After I had done this a few times, I had quietly decided that I was praying too much over trivial things, and I should save my prayers over more important matters. So one night before going to bed, I was hiccuping for almost an hour straight, and this time, Micah was getting annoyed.

"I'm not going to be able to fall asleep with you like that," Micah quietly said.

"You think I can help it?!" I demanded to him in angry disbelief.

"Pray," he simply reminded me.

I sighed, realizing I hadn't prayed yet. "I just don't want to do that too much... or it's gonna stop working, you now?"

But after Micah mentioned this, I took a pause, prayed silently in my head, and sure enough, the hour-long hiccups just happened to find their conclusion immediately afterward.

Then came our prayer request that went beyond the trivial. We needed our visas to go to Spain, and they were officially late. I prayed fervently, my family prayed fervently, friends prayed fervently. No visa. What was once a miracle, the fact that the consulate made an exception and we were able to mail in our applications, was now the opposite of a miracle. Getting our visas early would have been a continuation of miracles. Getting them on time would be expected. But now they were late. What was God doing? 

Last week in the midst of mentally processing the sad truth of our late visas, I got the hiccups again. Micah and I were going to get ice cream, and he and my family witnessed the loud, obnoxious hiccups as we were leaving. So as we walked out the door, I prayed out loud that the hiccups would go away. 

They were gone instantly.

This is when I started to ponder. God still answers a silly, trivial prayer that I have. And He answers it immediately. But yet a serious, life-altering prayer received nothing but silence. What is God trying to tell me?

Maybe He's reminding me how near He is. Maybe He's affirming that He always hears and always has the ability to respond. 

Maybe the repetition of hiccups disappearing has made me more confident in my hiccup prayers, but I don't carry that same confidence in other prayer requests. Maybe I've started to subconsciously believe that He won't answer all my prayers, and the time has come when I don't get an answer. 

I just got the hiccups again today. In all of these hiccups episodes already mentioned, I always had one unwritten rule. I had to wait until my hiccups got going before I prayed for them to go away. For some reason, I was holding back that full belief, that full trust. Without realizing it, I didn't think God could get rid of my hiccups until they got their rhythm going, until they officially became a case of the hiccups and not just a few lung spasms in a row. My radius of trust didn't extend to developing hiccups. 

So this time, I finally asked God to take them away before they even officially started. I spoke aloud the word "Jesus" just to begin my prayer, and I already knew they were gone before I got another word out. I finished my prayer and then marveled at how the developing hiccups didn't continue; I didn't get another hiccup after I uttered the simple word "Jesus."

 Maybe the pattern of disappearing hiccups is God showing me He wants to be invited into every small caveat of my life. Maybe it's about trusting Him completely. Maybe it's about finding those small areas in my life where I'm not truly trusting Him and surrendering those to Him too.  

So here I am surrendering everything to Him. This time, I'll trust him completely. 

Limbo

7.31.2020

September 1st. That’s the answer we give when people ask when we’re leaving for our one-year mission to Granada, Spain. That’s the date we’ve been anticipating for months. It’s been our clear destination, deadline, end, and beginning.

 

Now it’s all foggy.

 

We’ve been diligent and proactive in getting our documents for our visa, starting around May and working from there. We were aware of Covid-19 and the issues it may pose for us, but we trucked on nonetheless, confident that although we saw lives being changed all around us by the pandemic, our plans weren’t going to change. September 1 was set in stone.

 

Now here we are, on the cusp of August, and we don’t have a visa appointment, we don’t have all our documents, and we don’t have any security anymore. A visa takes 2-4 weeks to process, so even if we have an appointment tomorrow, we still may not make our September 1^st goal. The hard truth of the matter is that August is seemingly full, and we may not be able to get a visa appointment at all this month. On top of that, the documents that we were so proactive in getting will expire soon, complicating this situation even more.

 

All these circumstances are what bring us to limbo: the present situation where we really don’t know what’s next. I recently quit my job, anticipating a month or so preparing for Spain, mentally, emotionally, and physically. Micah and I are currently living in the ruins of our apartment, anticipating moving in with my parents for the last month that we were supposed to have before we move to Spain. So here am I: jobless, homeless, and unsure what the future holds.

 

In the end, Covid-19 did hit us. We’ve been dodging it for so many months, pretty much untouched from its worldwide consequences, and now we’re finally in its clutches, just like everyone else on this planet.

 

But that’s exactly it. We’re not alone. We have a whole community of missionaries that are hanging in this dang limbo just like us. My in laws who work for a missionary school in the Philippines are in limbo, unsure of what the school year holds for them. Multiple missionary acquaintances are in the exact same position we’re in: in the US waiting to go overseas. Other missionaries are in their countries, but completely unsure about how to proceed through covid-related issues.

 

We’re all in this together, and that keeps me and Micah from being too self-focused and self pitying. This pandemic brought a unity that everyone can see if they look hard enough.

 

Because everyone is in limbo, whether they see that or not. We’ve always been in limbo. We never know what’s next. We never have the security of knowing whether we’ll have a job, a home, or even a life the next day. That’s precisely what’s so beautiful about that season because it’s uncovering that truth for everyone. It’s exposing this mirage of control we all thought we had.

 

God tiene el control. We are nothing, and our lives are not in our own hands. This is such an easy truth that I’ve “known” my whole life. Why is it so hard then?

 

Like so many other truths that the Bible clearly paints, we forget it hourly. What better time to remind myself hourly than in a pandemic, in limbo?

 

I know that whenever God wants us to be in Spain, that’s when we’ll be there. We already have the funds, the apartment, and the registration of classes. Our lives are ready for us there. We just need to get there, and that is completely dependent not on visa appointment availability, not on the logistics of documents, not on the mission, donors, or the consulate, but completely, 100% on God.

 

This is just the truth that I need to remind myself every minute.

 

 

Edit: The exact same day I wrote this, the consulate posted on their websites that they are now accepting visa applications via mail. This means we don’t need an appointment, and we may still be on track to go to Spain in September! Praise God for his surprising, creative goodness and provision.

Granada

“I think it’s Granada.”

 

I did everything in my power not to show the joy exploding within me. I did everything in my power not to collapse on the sidewalk right there in shock and elation at what Micah had just said.

 

Instead I casually dug further and tried to hear more of Micah’s thoughts. He looked over, and he caught an evident smile on my face.

 

I had been convinced for weeks that it was Granada. I never mentioned this to Micah because I didn’t want to sway him. Micah was having a hard time making this decision, and I didn’t want to admit how confident I was in one of our options. If there was one thing I had learned in this process, it was patience. It was September 2019, and I had first brought up missions to Micah in February.

 

There were many reasons I wanted to leave the country and state to do missions in February, and those reasons and the stirring in my heart convinced me that we had to go as soon as possible. I didn’t realize how much Micah would halt my frenzied pursuit of missions.

 

He was hesitant. So hesitant. As a missionary kid, he had always had a heart for missions, and his goal was to return to the mission field. But that goal was always far off for him, so when I mentioned I wanted to go in a year or less, Micah was hiding his panic.

 

Along the journey, I admittedly got angry at God. When Micah was showing no signs of progress and no desire to move forward towards missions, I cried angry tears and questioned why on earth God would do this to us. Why on earth would God put this on my heart and not on my husband’s? Why on earth would he allow me to study Spanish for years and not allow me to use it? Why on earth would God have so clearly brought me and Micah together if we had different ambitions, paths, and timelines?

 

But God taught me patience, and I waited for Micah. I was putting too much pressure on him, so when we finally got to the point where we were in between two countries, I needed him to figure out where we were going. I couldn’t push him anymore. I couldn’t guide him towards any more decisions. I had to step back and let him lead this time.

 

At the same time, I knew it was Granada. Every day when I prayed and thought about it, I felt like God kept confirming it was Granada. I kept this a secret and instead just prayed and prayed for Micah. I prayed that God would provide revelation after revelation for Micah to know where we were supposed to go.

 

And here we were! We were walking down Como Avenue in Minnesota, and Micah was explaining why he felt it was Granada.

 

“Every time I pray, Granada just keeps coming to my heart,” he said.

 

“How do you feel about that?” I pushed for his honesty.

 

“Good! Excited,” he assured me.

 

My elation was clear. We continued to walk, hand-in-hand, and talk about the pros and opportunities of Granada.

 

For once, even if it was just this night, just this moment, we were on the same page. We agreed that we wanted to go to Granada. It wasn’t even the final, official decision. But it was agreement. And that, I thought to God, was His hands, His will, His doing.