I don't want to leave, but I want to go home.

 I want to go home. 9 months is the longest I've been away from home, and frankly, I want to be frolicking in a green, humid Minnesotan summer with my friends and family. I want to eat mac & cheese, hot dogs, potato salad, baked beans, hashbrowns, corndogs, cheese curds, peanut butter, ranch, and BBQ.... but not all at once of course. 

I want to be able to get into a car and drive. I want to eat lunch at noon and dinner at 6. I want to be around other Americans. I really do want to go home. 

But I really don't want to leave. I want to continue seeing snowy mountains every day. I want croquetas, jamón, churros, and tostada con tomate to be easily accessible and always available. I want to get free tapas whenever I want. 

I want to see color. I want to see palm trees. I don't want to be thousands of miles away and 3 time zones apart from my friends in this country. I do not want to leave. 

Thus the problem. 

Right now, our departure looms over me, but I'm definitely not home in Minnesota either. This is the conflict I wake up to every day. When I think of ascending over Minnesota and seeing the miles of lakes from the sky, I smile to myself. When I think of emptying our drawers of our clothes in our Spanish apartment, my heart breaks a little. If only I could live on both sides of the world simultaneously. 

Leaving Spain will not be like simply leaving a job; I won't be able to see my friends anymore, and the Granada mountains will disappear permanently from my life. Thankfully, many of my friends are leaving Granada around the same time Micah and I are leaving. Most of my friends are from different cities around Spain or Europe, so they will also be returning home in June when the school year ends. But if I stayed in Granada, they would at least be within reach. Minnesota is nowhere near Europe. 

On the other hand, many of my friends in Minnesota will not be there when I return either. Many things have changed in 9 months, and Micah and I will be walking into a completely different life at home where people have literally moved or moved on from the life they were living when I was there. 

So here we stand with a month and a half left in Granada, Spain. I love this beautiful city, and the closer we get to leaving it, the more precious each day becomes. In reality, we have an opportunity to truly, deeply appreciate the next few months of our life on both sides of the world. This next month and a half, we can appreciate everything Spanish and the next month and a half after that, we can celebrate and savor everything American. We can open our eyes wider to see the beauty around us that we usually take for granted in both worlds and in both cultures. 

And that new feat of genuinely enjoying the present can start today. 

The Only American in the Room

Outside of our small church planting team, I have only seen one other American in my time here. She was a New Yorker that I ran into on the street, and I think I scared her away with how excited I was to meet her. 

Because of the European travel ban for Americans, it sincerely feels like we're the only Americans in this country and even continent. This is usually the ideal situation I dream about when I'm in the states. I love being the only American in the room because it's that richer of an opportunity to learn about other cultures. I love hanging out with international students, trying new foods, and listening to music in other languages. It's literally my hobby. 

But I have to admit that I now crave the presence and companionship of people from my home country. I never understood this before coming here. I was always a proponent of diversity and having all people groups, nationalities, and ethnicities together in the same place. While I most definitely still am for this, I now understand the other side: being surrounding by people that are from your home country. It's a comfort. It's a matter of being understood on a level that others can't. Most of my friends in this country haven't even set foot in the US, so when I meet someone who has even traveled to the states, that's even exciting to me. They understand my context. They know where I'm coming from, and therefore, they know me a little better. 

I've recently started my new Spanish class, and just like my last class, I'm the only American in the room. I have to represent my whole massive nation and carry it on my shoulders whenever America comes up in class. Whenever Donald Trump or anything even related to North and South America is mentioned in class, everyone looks to me. It's a lot of pressure, and I've started to like this privilege less and less as time goes on.

On the first day of class, I was hopeful when I saw a girl that looked and sounded American (when she spoke Spanish at least). I found myself analyzing everything this girl did, so excited at having a possible American companion in my class. When she introduced herself, I was disappointed to find out she was British. This discovery was disappointing but not totally disheartening, and I found myself still wanting to talk to her more than anyone else in the class. Even the simple existence of our countries' connected history and language was enough of a common denominator for me to want to connect. 

This week, I intentionally dwindled after class with the goal of talking to her and another Irish girl. We ended up walking out together, and it wasn't long before this English friend exclaimed "I have been thinking 'I've got to talk to Hannah because she's an English speaker!'" in her heavy English accent.

I was ecstatic. We both felt the same way.

This simple reminder of "home" was a beautiful, beautiful thing to me. We literally have nothing in common except our heart languages, and honestly, that was enough for me. 

I've discovered in this year away from home that I do crave to be around people like me. And that's okay.

However, right now in the Protestant church in Spain, the opposite is happening: there are not enough Spaniards for them even to connect with each other. There are plenty of Americans, Latinos, and other internationals, but there are so few Spanish Protestants in Spanish churches that they literally can't even have that person to relate to within their own country. 

And that's not okay. 

A Friend of a Friend of a Friend

 The work isn't easy here in Spain. It's not a country where you can successfully do street evangelism. The Spanish are surrounded by wealth, convenience, and luxury brands, so it's not natural for them to acknowledge that they need help or that they're not in control of their own lives. The pandemic, earthquakes, and the general unpredictability of this year have caused people to feel more vulnerable, but the process is still very slow. 

I'm meeting regularly with around 12 women, 2 women almost every week, the other 10 at least once a month. Friendships have grown, and they're real. We have spiritual conversations here and there, and I ask good questions, but no one has accepted my invitation to church or given their lives to Christ. These beautiful, strong women act very self sufficient, and their need for Jesus just isn't clear. Of course, I've heard about the problems in their lives, from classes to men to family, but these women already have so much wisdom, and they're just not thinking daily about their need for Jesus.

Some of the difficulties of ministry here are very similar to the context of the US, but there are many striking differences that make the situation here so much more urgent. The US is inundated with Protestant churches; the average suburb in Minnesota has more churches than this whole province of Granada. American Christians often spend their 20s church hopping, and I don't think we realize how much of a privilege and luxury that really is. 

Here, the evangelical church basically doesn't exist. When it does exist, the church community is shockingly small. While around 25% of Americans call themselves evangelical Christians, only 2% of Spanish do, and half of this percentage are Latinos from Central and South America who are living in Spain. Only 1% of Spaniards say they have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. 

Pretty much every single American has a friend of a friend that is a Christian. Here, no one even has a friend of a friend of a friend that's a Protestant Christian. The situation is urgent. 

And that's exactly what keeps me hopeful and inspired in this difficult, often fruitless work. Now there are 12 Spanish women in Granada who directly have a Christian friend, and dozens more from their web of friendships that now have a Christian friend of a friend of a friend. 

And if that's the only thing that comes out of our 10 months here, that's still a cause for celebration. 

Earthquakes

Before coming to Granada 4 months ago, I had never experienced an earthquake. I've felt at least 5 now, and 3 were in the span of 10 minutes two nights ago. 

When earthquake #1 of 3 hit, my heart instinctively began to pound, but then I self soothed myself and relaxed. Then the 2nd one came, just as big. When the 3rd one shook our apartment more violently than the other two, I was under our kitchen table, trembling from head to two. 

It was unsettling and slightly terrifying. I was embarrassed at my own fear, and how I was literally and figuratively shaken so intensely by earthquakes that are identified as "light" or "small" on the earthquake scale.   

These earthquakes woke me up. As much as I believe that I have a faith that is "unshakeable," it clearly is a bit shakeable. As much as I silently imagine the peace I would have in emergency situations, that peace was not manifesting itself well. Where was my faith in the moments where the ground I was standing on was literally trembling? 

The encouraging news is that I wasn't alone in my fear. When I reached out to my intercambios the next day, every one of them admitted to being scared or freaked out by the earthquakes. My teammates in ministry also shared about our fears that the earthquakes exposed. It was an opportunity to come together in our humanity but also an opportunity to challenge each other to keep that belief and trust ever before our eyes. 

My Spanish friends also informed me that they had never experienced anything like the earthquakes before in their lifetimes. It was truly a historical event that Micah and I happened to pop in on.

Honestly, Micah and I popped into this country at a very weird time of historical earthquakes but also the obvious historical pandemic. We are not experiencing a normal season in Spain. On the contrary, it's probably one of the more difficult times this country has faced. While Micah and I have lamented that we haven't witnessed our cultural center thriving like it normally does or the night life of locals out late for tapas and drinks like they normally are, we're thankful we're here. In a sense, we're seeing the worst of Spain, and in reality, what better time to be immersed among the Spanish people? 

People are at their lowest lows, thousands are sick, and almost everyone is afraid. This is the time that God brought us here to enter into their suffering and say "we are here to suffer with you. We are here to experience these terrifying earthquakes, follow curfew, not leave the city limits, and do whatever we need to do with you in this crazy time." 

Fear is better when it's experienced in community. Grief is better when it's experienced in community. Sickness is better when experienced in community. 

We have a beautiful opportunity to be in Spain right now, to comfort the lonely, encourage the hopeless, share the good news with the seekers, and simply be with this community. And the unshakeable God is the one who brought us here. *written as the earth beneath me ONCE AGAIN begins to shake*

What It's like to Have a Spouse as a Co-worker

I've lived in Spain before, and the biggest difference between these two experiences is that this time, my husband is here with me. There are both advantages and disadvantages to his being here with me, but the most prominent phenomenon to adjust to is working together. My spouse is also my co-worker, which is something I have never experienced.

In the US, we worked different jobs and had the joy of reuniting at dinner to discuss our different days. Now, we walk to and from work together most days, and over lunch, all we can do is tell each other our similar days from different perspectives. 

The first instance where spouse and co-worker collided was when Micah was making a video for our center and asked for my opinion. My first thought of his video was that the branding of the center that I had been working on was not well represented in the video. I attempted to explain this to Micah as a co-worker, but Micah as a spouse took it personally and got upset. 

In the US, we'd probably both come to the dinner table that night, and Micah would frustratingly explain how his co-worker undermined his work, and I'd complain about how a co-worker got upset with me when I simply suggested a change. 

In Spain, we instead had to work out our difference and reconcile. 

Before we even arrived, I was already predicting these kinds of conflicts and getting worried about the amount of time we'd inevitably be spending together here. In general, I think couples do need sufficient time apart, and we have been lacking this. But I've been pleasantly surprised at how well it's gone.

Our team has been working on a huge project, and Micah and I were both overwhelmed with all the work we had to do. I was especially feeling stressed and decided to leave the center early one day to work at home alone. Then I got a text from him saying we were in it together and he would help me in any way I needed.

Working with your spouse means getting a text message saying he would do anything to take some of the work stress away. Working with your spouse means getting a simple touch on the leg the moment I get a tiny bit stressed in work meetings. Working with your spouse means randomly receiving a cup of warm tea and a snack in the middle of a workday. Working with your spouse means that there is always a co-worker who is 100% for you, on your side, and protective of your feelings, workload, and mental health. 

In our extra time together, Micah has gone above and beyond to prioritize my comfort and my happiness, and we've been walking through this culture shock and adjustment together. Without asking, he gets me food, games, and candy that will make me feel at home. The other day, I was feeling randomly sad when without me saying a word, Micah put on a song that I love and he hates. It was such a little thing that made the world of a difference, and I literally had watering eyes. 

These are all the advantages of having my best friend and love of my life as a co-worker. The disadvantages are part of the same coin. Having Micah here with me is almost too comfortable, almost too great. I'm not missing home as much as I did when I was here alone because home is with me. There's less of a desperation for Jesus because I'm not alone in a foreign country this time. There is less of a desire for me to get out in the community when I could stay home with Micah and watch Netflix. It's more of a challenge for me to embrace the difficulty of a year serving the Lord when my husband is taking so much of the difficulty off of me. 

Somehow, we both have to discover how to keep being desperate for Jesus above all else and embracing the difficulty of culture shock if it means getting closer to Him. 

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.