The Gutierrez Gang

A few years ago when we lived with our dear friends, Genevieve introduced me to her precious Jamie Oliver cookbook, The Ministry of Food.   What I most took away from it is his amazing curry recipe, but also the title of the book inspired me and got me thinking.  There really is no better way to describe the gift of food than as a ministry.

I can’t tell you how many thank you cards I either have written or should have written to people who so kindly brought meals when we were hospitalized or had just had babies or had lost a loved one.  The gift of not having to cook when you just aren’t up to par is such a ministry, not to mention blessing people with that fine art of your own personal cooking skills.

Or I think back to those support raising trips when kind hosts would send us on our way to the next destination with a sack full of treats and drinks and just a little something to help our journey not be so hard.  I especially remember Nathaniel’s 93 year old grandpa refusing to let us leave his house without a few bananas and other snacks.  Even if people couldn’t financially support us, or didn’t have other gifts to give, they knew they could bless us with food.  Each of those people knew that food is a ministry and giving food ministers the body and the soul.

Now, here we are in a strange land and sometimes food just isn’t the same.  The meals I cook don’t taste quite like they did in the States, our favorite restaurants aren’t here, and sometimes we just can’t find that special treat we are craving.  And that’s okay.  Food is very important to us, but we are adapting and we are learning new foods and new special treats.  But the other day, we were completely ministered to.  One member of our team brought us over a huge batch of her homemade refried beans and salsa and then took us to the one little place in Bogota that sells tortilla chips.  And let me tell you, we have enjoyed that treat to the fullest all weekend long.  We’ve had several sweet little post-kid’s bedtime dates with our special chips and dips and American shows.

I remember when Nathaniel’s mom used to ask for tortilla chips from the States and we’d kind of giggle that someone living in South America couldn’t get those, of all things, but let me tell you, one month in and I’m totally understanding the request.  I’m also understanding how and why she would only bust out the chips for special events such as an afternoon game of Catan.

But one of the things I’m really learning is how little things can now become special.  In the States, a bag of tortilla chips is not so amazing, and homemade beans and salsa are appreciated, but not seen as a grand gesture.  But here they are.  We are developing a mentality of simple-r living and even appreciating a few hours at home, kids asleep, with our special treats.  That’s not to say we don’t miss what we left behind in the U.S., but I am thankful for these moments when we are completely ministered to – by our friends here who have blessed us with what they knew would be a special food – or even by God who gives us those moments of finding that amazing place to eat or that special ingredient for the meal we thought we couldn’t have here.

One of the things  I am quickly learning about living here is that everything is just a little bit more complicated than it is in the U.S.  For instance,  because we don’t have a car, we walk to the grocery stores, and that means that whatever we buy, we must also find a way to get home.

The other day, I happily toted my little canvas and plastic pull cart from a store called Carulla and a few of my oil cloth bags from the states.  I was gonna go shopping, and we were out of a lot of things, so I was really gonna go shopping.  I had an hour before Nathaniel needed me back home so he could go to a meeting, so off I went, with the sun shinning on my back and all.

Well, rookie mistake number one – I grabbed a full sized shopping cart and started loading it up – drinking water, veggies, cans and jars and I think even some baby wipes.  I was also taking way too long accumulating these groceries, and by the time I was through, I had about 5 minutes to take a 10 minute walk home – and far too many groceries to fit in my humble little pull cart.  I should have known I was in for it when I told the bagger that I was walking home and he gave me a big eyed look like I was crazy.  And I was.  Each bag weighed about 20 pounds and then the cart was loaded down with all the heavy stuff.

So off I went.  And things were okay – I would take mini breaks here and there, and then continue on.  But then I hit that spot.

It gets me every time.  No matter if I have the stroller and the kids, or a pull cart with food in it, or sometimes just me walking by myself, I always get stressed out crossing what we here call “The Novena,” or 9th St.  It is a very busy road and in the middle of it, there are railroad tracks (which I have only ever heard the train go on, but never seen it, so I call it “The Ghost Train”), and about a million pot holes and gravel and mud, and the only time one can cross it is when traffic is also crossing it, and sometimes the cars get dangerously close to the “Pedestrian area” because they too are trying to avoid the millions of potholes.

In fact, one time, a sweet old man standing on the other side of the Novena saw me struggle so badly to cross that intersection with Jeremiah walking and Gabriella in the stroller, that he waited for me on the other side, grabbed my pull cart, held an umbrella over my head and escorted me all the way home.  He said he lived in my same building too, but come to think of it, I haven’t seen him since then.  I told him he was my angel, maybe he actually really was….

Anyways, the Novena gives me a mini panic attack every time – poor Jeremiah is constantly being told, “go Go GO!” when we cross any street – but especially that one.

Back to my story…so as I reached that intersection (which, by the way is nearly impossible to avoid), I made it through one section okay, then I waited a second, realized I could go, and dragged my cart through the gravel, only to watch in slow motion as my cart’s wheel slowly crumbled in on itself and rolled predictably into traffic where it could not be saved.  My heart sank.  My cart!  My wheel!  Now what was I supposed to do?

I’ll tell you what I did – I dragged that sucker all the way across the street, and the two blocks home after that, all the while scraping the sidewalk with the metal bar that before housed 2 wheels, but now only had one.  I think I probably looked like the crazy lady of Bogota with 40 pounds of bag on my shoulders and a gimpy but heavy dragging scrapping cart.  I managed to hold it together until I walked into our building, when the security guard and the building maid saw me and pointed out that my cart was broken.  (resisting sarcastic comment now)  They very sweetly picked up my cart for me and carried it into my apartment – which I am sure they really didn’t want The Bogota Crazy to ruin their shiny tile floors with her nasty cart – but they were also being very very kind – and as they shut the door behind them, I burst into tears and fell into a puddle crying over my over consumption, over spending, and a massive hatred for The Novena and cheap Carulla carts.

I wish I could tell you that I dried my tears, took a deep sigh and then baked a lovely cake, but of course instead I attacked.  I attacked Nathaniel for having the nerve to need to be somewhere, which made me rush home which made my cart break.  I attacked Bogota for their horrible roads.  I attacked us for not having a car.  I attacked the cheap manufactures of the cart, and I really really attacked myself.  And honestly, if at that moment someone had given us one way tickets back to the U.S, I can’t promise I would have turned them down.

One of the MTW staff members one time told Nathaniel that being on the mission field is like putting Miracle Grow on your sins.  Boy was he right.  You know how when you tell a happy bright eyed engaged couple that getting married won’t solve their problems and they smile at you like they don’t believe you?  I think we were those people even just a few weeks ago.  And I’m not saying that we are in some kind of critical state or we are super struggling or anything like that, but I am saying that we do struggle.  And sometimes it seems like it is a little more or a little different than how we struggle in the States.

For me, I have found myself fighting some pretty big insecurities since being here.  That’s totally something I thought I had outgrown – but I guess I had only in the U.S.  Put me in a foreign country where I don’t really speak the language or look like the people or know what is going on, and I start to feel very insecure – that I’m not wanted here, that people don’t really like me, that I’m failing at everything I try – things that I am completely making up in my head.  I know they are made up because I know that I am doing okay here – I’m not failing, the Team here has been incredibly welcoming, and the Colombians who we have gotten to know have been nothing but warm and loving.  And we can’t step 2 feet out of the house without total stranger after stranger drooling over our children.  But, that’s unfortunately where I go when things get rough, and I know I have an amazing support group at home who loves me and who loves to pray, so please pray for that for me.

But, on the flip side, even though we have to fight a little harder or differently against our besetting sins, I also feel like we get showered with so many different blessings that we haven’t ever had before.  This apartment and all of those details, for instance, a huge blessing.  That sweet old man/angel who helped me, completely from the Lord.  The other day Nathaniel was able to work out something pretty major with our cell phone contract from the States so we can still use the phones we know and love – something that they supposedly never do and should have cost us $500, but we were given for free.   The very fact that we are here – that we were given the money to come serve here – seriously, a huge blessing!

So, life here does have its moments, and I have my moments, but we keep plugging along, doing what we are called to do here, and crossing that Novena – which I’m optimistic just got a little easier because today I found a much better, more like a -wire -cage -with- wagon wheels pull cart.  It’s like the Mercedes of pull carts, I’m sure, and let’s hope it performs like one.

And by the way, Nathaniel later retrieved my runaway wheel.  It had been flung to the side of the road and had been run over so many times that it was barely recognizable.  Thankfully when he brought it home to show me, the incident was behind me enough to laugh at it, but the anti-hoarder in me is ensuring that that cart is going out with the trash first thing in the morning.

Well, I guess it was my turn to get sick.  I’ve been hearing about the “Bogota flu,” but I had no idea just how strong it really was.   One minute on Saturday night we were having friends over for dinner, and the next minute I started to feel “the aches.”  By the middle of the night it was clear that I was down for the count and I woke up on Sunday morning sicker than I have been in 2 years.  It was awful.  And it was the second Sunday in a row that we missed church – Nathaniel was kind enough to stay home with me – it was that bad.  I think the worst of it is over now, but we have concluded that maybe the altitude leaves us with a massively bad head ache after being sick.  So, that’s where I’m at.  But, on a positive note, I’ve lost 2 kilos, which is like doubling pound loss-age, so that’s good.

As you can tell, since I’m blogging from my bed, we now have internet in our place!  Hooray!  Let me tell you, it has made all the difference in my sanity level.  Just to know that I can be connected to my family and friends and know what is happening in the world is so nice.  But one thing that is a real struggle for me – seeing all of my southern friend’s facebook pictures where they are wearing shorts and t-shirts and cute summery clothes while we are experiencing winter over here.  Granted, “winter” still hovers around the mid 60′s, but still, I feel like I’m being cheated out of Spring a little bit.

We are starting to find our footing here more and more.  I have realized though just how little we know about this big city.  I haven’t even been to the downtown area yet (something I’ve heard is wise to avoid).  We were looking at a map of Bogota and realized that we only know a tiny little centimeter of this ginormous city.  That thought can be very intimidating.

This week we are working on finding childcare.  The more we’ve researched the pre-schools, the more we wonder if that is the best option.  Gabriella is still too little to go to them, so we’d need to hire a nanny anyways.  But then I think about how Jeremiah would learn Spanish better in a pre-school, and he’d be able to get out each day and be with friends, but then I think about how they are typically expensive and maybe a little more than we can handle each day.  But then, I really want him to thrive.  But then, I realize that this is only for a year and we need to do the best we can.  So, that’s where my brain is at.  Anyways, as soon as we can get childcare, then I can start school.  Yikes, it will finally be happening.  My goal is to start school a week from today – which sounds impossible with how I am feeling at this moment.

I’ve also learned in these last few weeks that each day is different – which means that a really really good day can be followed by a really bad day, and a really bad day, making me wish we could go back “home,” can be followed by a really really good day.  And sometimes the bad day and the good day are in the same actual day.  But what is so clear is how much we are being taken care of by God, and how grateful we are to be here.

Nathaniel is preaching this Sunday and leading worship, and he has begun part of the apprenticeship program as well.  Of course he is excited about these opportunities for ministry, which are really putting his gifts to use.   I am realizing more and more the need to improve my Spanish, which is actually getting me excited to start school.

And, thankfully, instead of asking to “go home,” Jeremiah now asks if we can go to the park – which we have about three options within a block of us.  He also today handed me the phone and told me to say, “hola.”  He’s getting it – and probably adjusting faster than we are – which is so typical of little kids.

So, that’s life lately.  Every day – even the sick ones – feel like an adventure, and every day – even the hard ones – we feel so blessed to be here.