I'm Okay, You're a Jerk

Coming back to California from my month-long Christmas vacation was a hard transition. The higher-ups decided to make/enforce rules I think are stupid, and adjusting to life in the inner-city was tough.

It was especially tough, however, to adjust to life in a small apartment with four other women. I love my roommates, they are amazing women of God who are stretching me in ways I never thought possible, but it became clear during my time at home that the five of us would probably never have been friends under normal circumstances.

At my friend Gina’s wedding I was blessed to spend some time with my college roommates, and I had a BLAST, probably the best time I have had since, well, college. We laughed and acted stupid and crazy and just generally had a good time.

It was then I realized that perhaps one of the reasons I am lonely here is because I wasn’t given the chance to choose my own friends. Choosing friends from the small group of 30 people in the program here with me and choosing them from a college campus, high school, church or city is a completely different process. This problem is further magnified by the fact that I am forbidden to spend large amounts of time with people in this program other than my roommates and people who I happen to see at my service sites. (Insert more choice words here.) It is therefore very hard to find people here who can identify with my sense of humor or personality or just about anything else.

I thought after a few months here that I had changed a lot in a short period of time. Now, however, I think I was just set up against a different background. I was no longer living with people who weren’t afraid of confrontation and who had strong personalities and opinions, and so I seemed more confrontational and opinionated when really I am no more so than when I left.

Max Lucado says that perhaps loneliness is God’s way of teaching us to depend completely on him. Perhaps ol’ Max is right. But that doesn’t make it any easier.

I’m also pretty sure that the fact that crap is going on back home right now that I have no control over is God’s way of teaching me to depend on Him to take better care of my family than I can (and to learn to forgive normally smart people for really stupid errors in judgment). But I still, in my control-freak sort of way, want to DO something. And there is nothing to do. But I’m praying, and God is faithful. And maybe I will eventually confront the normally smart people about their stupidity, but maybe doing so is futile and of no use to me. I’m not sure yet.

I will say, however, that I am feeling better about being here now that I have been back for two weeks. I am not concentrating on the program I am here with and its senseless rules, I am just trying to focus on the people I am here to help.

And yesterday during our neighborhood outreach time, my roommate Kristi and I were really blessed. A woman we have talked to once or twice invited us into her house and talked to us for an hour and a half about the things she’s going through, including custody battles, immigration problems for her new husband, worries about her children, etc. It was amazing to just have someone open up to us like that, and it’s something that doesn’t happen very often. I’m very thankful.

So I’m still here, living with people I love but don’t understand, trying to invest in lots of different groups of people all at once and attempting to deal with the stupidity of people in positions of power. Keep me in your prayers.

I'm Okay, You're Okay

Yeah, yeah, yeah, so I haven’t written in a while. Perhaps it is because I have been very busy. . .or maybe not. Whatever, I’m writing now about a very familiar topic: salsa dancing.

Friday night, four of us went to the cafe where Noel volunteers and tried to learn how to salsa. It didn’t go all that well. I blame it on the fact that Lucas, our teacher, was a very good dancer but a horrible instructor. He just danced around and counted in Spanish and didn’t really teach us anything.

Dancing with Maria (the owner of the cafe) and another lady who was there was much more profitable. It was kind of like two-stepping, but I really just moved in rhythm to the music, and Maria thought it was great. She told me afterwards that I should teach my other roommates how to dance and loosen up. She also kept telling me that I “have the ritma” (rhythm). Emily kept calling me the star of the show. I don’t know about that, but Maria was very concerned that I might forget what I had learned, and she wants me to be sure I come back to dance soon. I’d rather dance with a boy, which is apparently impossible this year. According to the rules passed down to me, I can dance with sleazy men at cafes, but I’m not allowed to dance with a guy from my program. I have some choice words to say about that, but I probably shouldn’t post them here. (Oh, and I have since decided that whoever I marry will have to be a good dancer. Maybe I’ll take salsa lessons with him. Of course by then I might be too old for dancing, lol.)

In other news, I met a guy at the bus stop on Friday who kept telling me he “wanted to be my friend” and asking me for my number. He was a cute guy from West Africa, but I told him that I have a lot of friends. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. So I got his number and promised him I’d call. He didn’t seem too creepy except for the fact that he kept staring at my legs (which were completely covered up by jeans, so I don’t know what was going on there). I probably won’t call unless it’s to set up a meeting where I can bring one of the guys from my program who could maybe be his friend (since he said he didn’t have many). We’ll see.