Paciencia

“What are you writing?” my coworker Rudy asked me as we sat on the grass waiting for the Festieduca celebration to begin, high school kids running and jumping all around us. “What does it say?” People are always asking me what I'm writing in my little notebooks that I carry around everywhere. Sometimes I write in Spanish, sometimes in English. I write about a little bit of everything - what I ate for lunch, new Spanish words I learn, prayers that God will get me through tough moments, cultural discoveries … lists of restaurants I miss : … I hesitated as I looked over what I'd just written in English. Everything is 2 hours late! 10:00 = 12:00. Rudy kept pressing me, and finally I read it out to her in Spanish. She laughed as she looked at her watch. We'd been setting up since 8am for the event that was supposed to start at 10. It was 12, and we were still waiting for the electrical company to give us power!

I've stopped wearing my watch. Granted, I still carry around my cell phone so I can always look to see what time it is, but it was still a big step to replace my watch with a lovely bracelet that my host mom gave me. I call it my “Peruvian watch,” because it bears no sign of the time.

I've been thinking a lot about PACIENCIA here.

Growing up in Nigeria taught me a lot about patience. I love telling the story of the time we went to a 10am wedding on time and ended up waiting for 2 hours for the ceremony to start. Turns out the groom was buying his shoes. I laugh about this difference in cultural values … but it makes me ashamed to really think about how much of a slave I am to time.

A lot of my life here is waiting around. I rush to get ready in the morning but then end up waiting for Yordani to get his books together so I can walk him to school. A trip out to a community involves long car rides, 2, 3, 4 hours of staring out the window, waiting to get there. And once we get there I end up sitting in meetings I don't understand, waiting to get back in the car, where I will wait hours again until I get home! People expect events to start late, so when I show up on time I end up waiting for everyone else to come. It is often difficult to find value in these circumstances, and I find myself impatient for something to happen!

I started learning to crochet and knit this week. Talk about needing patience! I make so many mistakes and have to go back and do everything all over again. I watch Mamá and my friend Milagros do it, and they just fly, each move fluid and perfect. I feel so clumsy. I can only do a little bit at a time because I just get too impatient and frustrated. I wish I could go faster, I wish I could just know how to do it, I wish I didn't have to go through this time of learning, making mistakes, correcting, over and over.

I wish I could rush through a lot of things. Every day in the office feels like a drag, and I just wish I could be done with the work I'm doing for Paz and move onto something else. Relationships feel like they are taking 10 times longer than usual to develop because of the language barrier, and I wish I could just arrive at the time where I understand everything perfectly. I miss my family in Nigeria, my friends at Wheaton and around the world, Luke, and so many others, and I often just wish it would be Christmas already so that I could be with everyone again.

I'm realizing that I've lived a lot of my life this way. Last year, all I could think about was going to Peru … Now that I'm here, all I can think about is going back! I often live for “looking forward to” things to come. I find it very hard to be present in the moment.

Henri Nouwen writes about the value of “patient moments” in his excellent book Compassion. He writes, “when patience prevents us from running from the painful moment in the false hope of finding our treasure elsewhere, we can slowly begin to see that the fullness of time is already here and that salvation is already taking place.” What a beautiful realization! I don't want to miss all of life because I'm always waiting for the future to arrive. In another excellent Nouwen work, Gracias!, he writes, “I do not know if I will be alive tomorrow, next week, or next year. Therefore today is always more important than tomorrow. We have to be able to say each day, 'This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad.'”

Please help me pray for eyes that are open to all that is around me each moment, for the wisdom to realize that I have much to be thankful for, and for the PACIENCIA to fully experience each day as a gift from God.