September Newsletter! - Sarah in Mexico

07-08 Mexico - Sarah
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Getting drenched in Cuernavaca, Mexico!

“Most of what we do in worldly life is geared toward our staying dry, looking good, not going under. But in baptism, in lakes and rain and tanks and fonts, you agree to do something that’s a little sloppy, because at the same time it’s also holy, and absurd. It’s about surrender, giving in to all those things we can’t control; it’s a willingness to let go of balance and decorum and get drenched.”
-Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies

Well, family and friends, I think I’ve gotten drenched more times this month than in any other month of my life! My first few weeks in Cuernavaca, Mexico have been incredible, exciting, overwhelming, daunting, exhausting, and inspiring. I hope this newsletter will help you to feel a part of this journey—know that I take your friendship, prayers, support, and love with me every step of the way. For the month of September, I’m playing with Lamott’s metaphors of water, as they help me to articulate best some of what I have experienced and felt thus far. Thanks for reading!

Life in Cuernavaca…
My first month in Mexico has been a constant practice of letting go and getting drenched…learning to understand and express myself in Spanish, adapting to a new home and foreign culture, getting lost in Cuernavaca’s crazy streets and bus system, adjusting to “Mexican time,” being the only blue-eyed blonde for miles, not knowing exactly what I’m eating, etc. I’ve felt saturated—physically and emotionally—by so many unknowns, discomforts, and fears. But I’ve also been drenched by hospitality, generosity, thrill, growth, and relationship. Welcomed into a beautiful home, I live with Sol, her daughter, and two grandsons, in the neighborhood of Chipitlan. Sol is a driven, passionate, and faithful woman, a leader of a base Christian community and a wonderful, caring mother. Our neighborhood is home to a diversity of people—I see child and elder, wealthy and poor, dark-skinned and light-skinned. The Catholic Church we attend is just blocks away, as is the street where we go to buy our week’s supply of tortillas, beans, and fresh produce. I absolutely love my location, as it’s good distance away from the noise of the city, easy access to public transportation, and a nice walk to my work and the city center. Cuernavaca itself is a bustling, hilly, colorful city! It’s quite a change from my familiar homelands of Moorhead and Sioux Falls, but each week I find more beauty and gift here. The weather is impeccable (70s-80s everyday), the surrounding mountains are beautiful, people are friendly and gracious, pollution, traffic, and crowdedness are real, the discrepancy between rich and poor is extreme, and celebration and fiestas abound!

Mexican hospitality…
One of my favorite phrases in Mexico is “Mi casa es su casa,” which translates, “My house is your house.” When you ask Mexicans, “Where is your home?” they will reply, “Your home is in…” This is their way of emphasizing that what is mine is also yours. And Mexicans live it! They practice hospitality with sincerity and delight. They greet one another on the street and take time to visit. They drop in each others’ homes and end up staying for hours. They find every reason in the world to have a fiesta and truly believe the more people, the better. Celebration, fellowship, and food are far more important than following the clock…what a beautiful way to live.

Many have asked, “So, what are you doing?”
Valid question! The most honest response is that my work is constantly changing and I’m rarely sure what tasks and experiences lay before me. Nonetheless, here’s a glimpse of a “typical” work week…
Three days a week, I work at CIDHAL (Communication, Interchange for Human Development in Latin America), an organization that works for equality of women and men from the perspective of gender. It’s a fascinating place. They collaborate with various other non-governmental and governmental organizations and are at the front of many movements to promote health and justice. My role is pretty undefined, but I help out with various office tasks and tag along to workshops on indigenous women, the environment, health, and sexuality. Though I do not necessarily feel drenched by my workload at CIDHAL, it’s been an exercise in humility and patience, as I often need step-by-step instruction and have yet to accomplish tasks more difficult than stapling papers, ordering cookies, and following instructions (in Spanish, of course) for the coffee percolator.

Two days a week, I travel to the indigenous communities of Cuentepec and Cuatetelco (each about an hour away from Cuernavaca) to walk alongside women who live there. At this point, my work in these communities is much less about doing, and much more about being, seeing, loving, and learning. That can be a difficult job description for a strong type-A personality, but I’m learning to embrace the change in pace and expectation. These communities allow me to see, taste, hear, and touch a whole new world. I see small, rustic homes made of brick, adobe, and bamboo-like plants. Women and children fill the streets—some are carrying heavy loads of water and food; others spend all day sitting against a building, trying to sell tortillas, toys, produce, clothing, crafts—whatever can get them a few pesos. Their faces convey exhaustion and commitment. Piles of dirt, junk, and trash accumulate in the roads and ditches. Stray, sickly-looking dogs, cats, and pigs roam everywhere; horses and mules carry farmers and large loads of corn in from the field; roosters and chickens run loose in and out of homes and peck at my feet. I smell fresh tortillas and sopés grilled over an open fire, and eat ripe passion fruit, plums, and pomegranates picked from trees in the yard.

It is into this setting that I am called. It goes without saying that I feel completely uncomfortable and out of my element. There is culture shock, and then there is culture shock! The best way I can describe it is to say that it feels like I got plopped down in the middle of a PBS documentary on indigenous communities and then was asked to build community. What? How? How do I connect with this place and these people? How do they see me and me them? How do I acknowledge and respect our differences yet find ways to form relationship and trust? Though our backgrounds and traditions are worlds apart, it has been one of the most powerful experiences of my life to witness the women’s generosity and invitation to relationship. They entrust me with personal stories of their pre-Hispanic rituals and festivals. They welcome me by cooking the traditional feasts of their pueblo and teaching me how to make tortillas. They tell me of the rigors of daily living, as they spend hours caring for their children, preparing meals, and traveling to the river to bathe, get water, and wash clothes. It’s a difficult and laborious life, yet the women exude great joy and pride in their work and culture.

The first trip to these pueblos felt a bit like drowning in foreign waters, but each trip back changes my perspective, helping me to see the unknown not as a torrential downpour, but as a powerful, life-giving shower. There’s something about going back, about returning to a place, about gradually watching a foreign land and people become community. It’s still uncomfortable and foreign—I hope that never entirely goes away—but each visit brings new signs of growth and connection. It’s an exercise in patience, trust, dependence, and grace. In the midst of great weakness and vulnerability, I am learning to receive instead of give, to be instead of do, to celebrate the gifts, and to live in deep gratitude. Yes, I feel sloppy, imbalanced, and out of control, I know it’s probably the most absurd thing I have ever done, but Lamott’s quote helps me to see this year as a journey grounded in baptismal promise. For it is in those waters of love that I am given the freedom to let go, the courage to dive into the unknown, and the call to get drenched!

Thanks for all the love and support this past month! I look forward to hearing from you throughout the year.

Peace to you,
Sarah