la frontera

Many years ago, I must have been 19 years old, I became acquainted with "La Frontera"- the border.

A group of youth from a U.S. church and I were visiting a Mexican border town. We were walking around inviting children to an event we had planned. We walked beyond the boundaries of the town until we found a group of scattered houses near the railroad tracks. We found a family of four living in their car, parked by the tracks. The children were running around while their parents told us they were hoping to get across the border. Dreams. They had many dreams of a better life, of constant food on their tables, of education for their children, of having a home. We spoke to them about God, about His Love and yet, I wondered if they were able to see Him in the midst of so much desolation. And so it started my unwilling affair with the border and those who tried to escape the country that I love.

I would go back to the border many times in the following years, finally moving into the city of Reynosa, Mexico to work full time with the mission organization. Dusty, unpaved roads and poor city planning revealed a reluctant town, a town that came to be only as a last stop for those trying to cross the border. It always seemed to me that most residents did not care much about the city, because they were not there to stay. Whether they made it into the Promised Land or not, that was a different story.

For two years I traveled across Mexico and Central America. I found the same stories over and over, people wanting to leave their towns, willing to leave their families for a shot at a better life. I saw villages absent of young men, all gone to find work in U.S. I remember a boy, not older than twelve, a very curious, bright kid. I asked him “what would you like to do when you grow up?” He said something about wanting to be a doctor, but then he said “pero mejor me voy pa’l Norte” – I think I’ll just go up north. His older brothers were gone and he was only waiting for his turn to leave.

They all leave, there is nothing left behind.

My heart is heavy for those who suffer, those who have come across the border, those who are at the gates waiting and those who dream about “El Norte” since childhood.

Hasta cuando?

" ....for you were aliens in the land of Egypt" Exodus 23:9

I often wonder about the conversations that happen in the homes of our clients. I wonder if they are able to disconnect themselves from their immigration issues, or if they think about them all the time. I certainly hope they don’t. I wonder if their immigration status is the first thing they think about in the morning and the last thing the think about before they go to sleep. I wonder if they think: is this the day I will receive a decision? is this the day I will be told that I have to leave? What would happen if I leave? What would happen to my life if I had to live it outside of America? Perhaps they talk about the trivial, like we all do. They probably talk about work, school, family, about their lousy bosses and their plans for their time off. Perhaps they talk about their countries of origin, about their beauty, about how hard it was to let go.

I wish the current government could take a glimpse at the lives of the millions of undocumented immigrants. I wish they could see the faces, the struggles, hear their voices and hear their stories. I wish. Another day comes and goes, another day full of stories that will not be told. Another day in the land of promise, another day in the land of the free.

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Feeling pretty

I went to a makeup store last week. I had never been to one before. It was full of little and big bottles, powders, lipsticks, eyeshadows of a thousand different colors. Use this to lenghten your eyelashes. This foundation will even your skin tone and will get rid of blotches. I did not know I had blotches. This will thicken your eyelashes. Thicken but not lenghten. This will conceal any dark spots under the eyes and this, when applied properly, will make your nose look thiner and probably more distinguished. Pictures of women that look nothing like me were hanging on the walls. Maybe there was a latina that looked like the women on soap operas with curves in all the right places and long hair that falls in waves down their backs. I started feeling small, very small and pudgy and blotchy and inadequate. All the makeup in the store wouldn´t have been enough for me to feel beautiful. I wonder if that is the whole point, to make women feel that there is always something that we need to mask, to makeup, to cover. I was very close to buy a "little something" but it was hard to decide which part of my face needed the most help. I only allowed myself to try the most expensive mascara in the store, $35 dollars for a chanel mascara that promised to thicken my eyelashes and wow the world. I was rather disappointed. The woman looking back at me on the mirror was the same as before. I wish i could say that I left the store with some revelation about my inner beauty, my outer beauty or the perpetuation of female stereotypes. I left feeling sad.
The next morning I woke up, washed my face and told myself "good morning Edith, this is your imperfectly beautiful face and body, you better deal with it". Maybe next year I will learn to love myself a little more and to embrace the eyelashes that God gave me at birth.

Jesus wept

I wish I had something profound to say this Christmas season. I am instead overwhelmed by a deep sense of loss. I keep reminding myself that Christmas is not about my grandfather, or family. I keep telling myself that Christmas is about Jesus’ birth. Perhaps it would help if everything around me did not seem so “festive”, so jovial. Everything around me says “let’s celebrate.” What I really want to do is mourn. Yet, I know that my sadness does not offend my savior and it does not speak about the measure of my faith. I am sad. I might cry. I am human indeed and He understands. He understands because he is human too. He was born flesh and bones. Fully God and fully human. That is one of the foundations of our faith. I keep thinking of a short verse, John 11:35 “Jesus wept”. Jesus mourned the loss of his friend, Lazarus.

That is the beauty of my savior, knowing that He gets me.

Edith, being fully human and in sorrow weeps in the arms of her savior and Jesus weeps with her.

By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.- Luke 1:78-79

New year.... new blog??

I have decided to start blogging again- is that a verb? I suppose I don’t have anything better to do.

I would like to think of this as medium to reach out to all of my yet to-be fans. :) Maybe this the first step in my meteoric raise to stardom, although I highly doubt it.

If nothing else, it will be a window into my thoughts, my worries, my prayers and into this crazy journey I call living.