Andador: and a Door it is!

Here they call it an andador. And a door it is, to the hearts of this city.

I stretch it twice everyday, this walking-only street, cobbled and colorful. Hard on the knees, easy on the eyes. And early in the morning, not many of us are around to watch the clouds overhanging and overcasting this colonial town.

But nearer to nightfall, the sun tucks itself in, and the people come out.

And I think to do a little tucking myself. I think to tuck away Truth. To pray into places.

And oh, the first door I stumble into: a restaurant, La Casa del Pan, The House of Bread, like Bethlehem really. And with fingers in crevices, I tuck into its door Luke 2:15, what shepherds said when angels disappeared: Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us. May this Bethlehem here see clearly what the Lord has made known.

And I shove prepared prayer, John 6:35, under the door, when Jesus said, I am the Bread of Life; whoever come to Me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in Me shall never thirst. May no one at this door be left hungry. May the yeast-less Bread of Life rise to feed the starvers at the door.

And right on the street, they chalk-paint pretty pictures, one tarred tile at a time. And Isaiah 27:9 comes bright to mind: Therefore by this the guilt of Jacob will be atoned for, and this will be the full fruit of the removal of his sin: when He makes all the stones of the altars like chalkstones crushed to pieces, no Asherim or incense altars will remain standing. May their pastel chalk drawings pale in comparison to His bright red redemption. And I bend to touch her face and this place with a prayer for crushed guilt, for its full fruit removal.

Dulcerias, our sweet shoppes, work up candied confections. And I tuck nectared words here, from Psalm 109:13: How sweet are Your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth! May sweet-seekers here taste His good stuff. And I mix in prayer for His sweet satisfaction. And for His people to be stirred to be sweet to Him.

Electricity hasn't always been, but the Lamplighter has. And Isaiah 9:2 is tuck-worthy here: The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone. May this Good News electrify these parts here. Really get them seeing. May the Power Source make Himself known. Bright shining and all.

'Tis true that Life Everlasting is the great adventure, and the Tour Guide is talked about & tucked away in Psalm 31:3: For You are my Rock and my Fortress; and for Your Name's sake You lead me and guide me. May these here see Him right in front of them. And His grand expedition really rock their world, even through Death Shadow Valley, Still's Pond, Green's Pasture, & Upright's Path. They surely won't want.

There's snacking, and there's feasting. and really, we're all looking for something that satisfies. And I pray they feed on the words of Psalm 36:8: They feast on the abundance of your house, and you give them drink from the river of your delights. And I tuck prayer right into the centerfold of the menu, that they'll bite into His delights. They'll never go back to a snack.

He who made the nations says something unbelievable in Psalm 2:8: Ask of Me, and I will make the nations your heritage, and the ends of the earth your possession. And I believe it. So in between flags, I tuck my asking of Him. May earth's ends live to know His heritage and all its privileges. 

Everyone calls the sun & rain blockers sombreros here, but I pray they take cover in 1 Thessalonians 5:8: But since we belong to the day, let us be sober, having put on the breastplate of faith and love, and for a helmet, the hope of salvation. And they can tuck that one into their hats. 

And in their armario, their closet, I secretly tuck away Matthew 6:6: But you, when you pray, enter into your closet and lock your door, and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you in public. May their closets be filled as much with prayers as clothes. May they amply clothe themselves with that kind of secret.

It's really not hard to spot what trauma has left behind here, but a two-century-old promise still resonates from Matthew 11:28-30: Come to Me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you, and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light. And I pray their trauma markings are visibly healed, and His peace inked on their hearts.

We love creaciones y disenos, those Spanish creations and designs, and especially the Creator and Designer. And I thread through that door Hebrews 11:10: For he was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God. May they know the Designer of their hearts, and all He's carved into them. And look forward to their well re-built city.

And it's easy to stumble on the cobblestones of the andador, and I part the path with Proverbs 4:27 for safekeeping, for safe walking: Do not turn to the right or the left; keep your foot from evil. I tuck that one down the middle of the road. Right down the center of this andador. 

You'll run right into a tree if you aren't watching for the old Real Estate building, and I dig deep into its roots to plant the promise of Revelation 2:7: To the one who conquers I will grant to eat of the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God. May this place conquer and eat the fruit rewards in paradise. May they find first that Root of David, that hardly barren, fruited-forever Jesse-Stump. 

Entering into the mercadito, the little market, and even on the andador, Proverbs 1:20 rings true: Wisdom cries aloud in the street; in the markets she raises her voice. And I pray that one aloud, above the shrieks of the peddlers, for wisdom in this place. Because they'll sell you what they can get you to believe.

And I weave in the workings of Exodus 32:7: for the material they had was sufficient to do all the work, and more.  And I know they have everything they need here, with all this grace. And I just pray for more threaders.

And outside the workers, they clean the streets of the andador, with bleach and water, sweeping and scrubbing. And inside the Spanish laundromat they spot for bright white clothes. And I fold Jeremiah 33:8 in here: I will cleanse them from all the guilt of their sin against Me, and I will forgive all the guilt of their sin and rebellion against Me. And I pray they'll be cleaner than Tide-washed clothes, even white as snow. With that forgiveness that forgets.

And you can't help but raise your hands at Deuteronomy 20:4: for the Lord your God is He who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies, to give you the victory. And I raise my voice with 1 John 5:4 too: For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world - our faith. And I tuck that away into the white flag. That Way to Victory.

And now we're into the early hours of morning again, and these streets will come back alive soon. And all these tucked prayers, I pray they'll rise to greet these people here. And that they'll hear His knocking at their door.

Learning a New Language is Good Medicine

You make an excellent point, Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson, when you say,

“No man should travel until he has learned the language of the country he visits. Otherwise he voluntarily makes himself a great baby, so helpless and so ridiculous.”

You’re well known for your philosophies. And I’m an admirer of your literature. My goodness, I’m a firm believer that countries needn't have signs posted in every language, in case a foreigner drops in.

And I honestly tried, Mr. Emerson. I had a good run, many years with the Spanish language, with good classroom teachers. I had tutors as well, native speakers nonetheless. And all the grammatical and conversational practice I could exasperate. I did the homework, almost always with good marks.

And now I know this baby you speak of. I have at once felt dependent and ridiculous, speaking my Spanish with all urgency, summoning the best r’s my tongue could waggle. Hoping someone could help me find my way when I was lost. Tis a paradox, Mr. Emerson, that my first week here, I found myself lost walking to Spanish class, and unable to find anyone who could help me find my school.

But I wonder, sir, if you don’t know the joy of being, at times, a bit ridiculous. How fun it is accidentally to be just one letter off a word, and making friends because of it. You can’t have known the happiness – in a truly Donald Trump moment – to mean to say you’re going to waken someone in the morning, and instead to fire them. Oh, I’ve made memories that will last well beyond the experience, having said – with every assurance – that I have just bathed with orange juice. And you can imagine the conversational detour after the incidental mixing up of tired with married. And when I stated after a good meal – so straight-faced – that I was crying instead of full. I was but a letter different when I said I’d carry the party instead of just show up. And please don't get me started on the number of times I've misheard hambre for hombre, being asked if I was hungry, and trying to explain why I don't have a man. All with a perfect Southern accent. And by Southern, I don't mean South American.

It does no good to put on airs in this new place. I can’t help but smile when they call me a gringa. It makes me think, though I might be ridiculous, that I have made some new friends, and without even trying very hard. That some people here in Latin America might be enjoying a good laugh, as I am. And that deep down, they have – for an extraordinary moment – an opinion of Americans that we couldn’t possibly be arrogant.

It’s a fun awkward, and honestly, when I’m finally able to speak fine Spanish, I wonder what in the world will amuse me. 

Research shows that learning a new language can stave off early onset of dementia. Yes, amid all the laughing, you could say that it makes for a very good medicine.

How to Get True Colors Out

A girl can pack whitening toothpaste and natural brown hair dye in a suitcase, but true colors are going to come out sooner or later.

You can head south of the border and discover that a whole new world is waiting, and then wonder if you did well enough in the old one. And what’s it going to be like when you’re the foreigner, and do I even remember the last time I helped somebody in a pinch?

Yeah, there was the lady who ran out of gas, and I was on my way surely somewhere important. Asking if she needed anything seemed nice enough. She nodded kindly, and said she’d just wait for her sister. I’d torn right on out of the parking lot.

But it blazed orange-hot at the stoplight, and I figured I better go back because the wait could get long and those sweat beads can pool. And really, who’s the one sweating stuff here? I just hope somebody waits long with me the first time. And is hopefully a little more than nice enough.

And well, I’m headed to language school, where things will hardly come out right for awhile. And I can’t say I came right out as patient when I got someone from outside the states for a Customer Service representative this week. There may have been some huffing. Who exactly am I representing here?

A girl can board an airplane, and smile nice at the captain, but who’s smiling when the baby is crying in seat 22D at 10,000 feet, trying to clear her little pink ears already. Can somebody please clear out my ears a little better?

So you just have to raise the white flag. Because war’s on the flesh, and isn’t going to let up anytime soon.

I’m hoping the true colors come out for sure. Not my own scarlet, but the blood red. And the snow white. Because it’s not going to be me if I’m going to pass off this next gig with flying colors.

A girl can take off in this airplane, not always being gold glitter good, but maybe tickled pink after all. Because it’s a red-letter day when you have the chance to leave His mark on a new town.