"But unless we know the true character of God and realize the He's only good all the time, we, too, find ourselves grumbling and complaining.  It is absolutely essential to always remember that even when we don't get what we want or our circumstances seem to be difficult, God's intention is still good.  He will work something good in us through the difficulty we're facing if we will continue to view Him correctly and put our trust in Him."

-Joyce Meyer, God is Not Mad at You

When I read this the other morning I stopped still to hear the vibrations of the "true" bell that had just rung in me.  He is ONLY good, ALL the time.  

"Anxiety is a form of fear," said our professor this week. (Dr. Melvin Hanna)
What am I so afraid of, so often, then?

As I hear of a difficult situation -- impossible, actually, with no solution -- for loved ones far away...      well, OF COURSE I'm anxious!

But Joyce suggests that I need not worry, or even grumble just a little bit.

"...perfect love drives out fear... The one who fears is not made perfect in love." (I John 4:18)

So if I'm afraid... it means there's something missing... there is an incompletion or an imperfection of the level of love that I experience.  Only God's love is perfect and complete.  And He is both ALL- POWERFUL and ALL-LOVING.
So, where's the breakdown?

Why the anxiety?

Do I fear the bad decisions and self-destructive attitudes and behavior of my loved one?
Or do I fear that we've ruined our chances to make a difference in her life?  That it was all up to us and we couldn't handle it, and now there's no fixing it.

I fear that God has somehow dropped the ball and we are left alone to put the shattered pieces together, to get a life back on a track it seemingly was never on to begin with.

Hold the phone!

Making all things new -- even stony hearts and burnt bridges -- is strictly in God's realm of business.

I think I've found my problem.  

I've been trying to BE God.

Not so good, I know... but NOT doing that implies I must choose to perfectly trust the only perfect lover in the universe.  He specializes in "lost causes."

"And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you.  And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh" (Ezequiel 11:19 and 36:26)

Forgive me, God, for my unbelief in your character -- good and powerful -- and for my pride, thinking I need to do your job for you.  Amen.

How were you created to live?

Some similar thoughts or encouragements have come from different sources lately:

Live this time to the fullest -- live it intensely.
Everything else (you're waiting for) will come later.

We are called to show God's image wherever we are.
We are called to be Christ's ambassadors in the place and time we live in.

Today is today.
Don't be weighted down by the past, nor burdened by the future; live today.

What is the chief aim of man?  To glorify God and enjoy Him forever.

I was created to live JOYFULLY.

I can choose rest, relaxation, and enjoyment; not just, only, and always responsibilities.

the Good News for your psyche

Something we learned, that impacted me deeply is the essence of THE LIE  (that everyone believes to some degree) is this:

1. I am not good enough/I am defective (or some other "I am" message that is contrary to what God says about me)
2. Therefore, God messed up when he made me.  Thus, he is not really good, not trustworthy, etc.
3. I can be fixed (or, I can fix myself) apart from God.

Can you identify some form of this lie in yourself?  Our beliefs are the basis for our actions, which form habits, which make up part of our character.  So if my beliefs (about myself, about God, about how to be "fixed") aren't true, my life will be built on lies... and these lies ultimately lead to death and total separation from God.  The stakes are high.
We have to start from the foundation -- changing the lies for truths.  Truths like:  I AM good enough.  God didn't mess up, even though I'm not perfect.  I don't have to keep striving to be accepted and loved, because I already am... and anyways, I would never reach that goal of perfection, would never be "fixed."

Therapy and the Gospel -- an excerpt
This is from the IVCF blog... I really like the topic since we're taking a counseling school with YWAM.  You can read the full article here:
http://www.intervarsity.org/blog/therapy-and-gospel-declaring-good-enough-news

"In his book, Tattoos on the Heart, Jesuit priest Gregory Boyle tells the story of a gangbanger named Willy who, when forced to sit in a car in stillness, discovers the breathtaking grace of the Good-Enough News:

I look at Willy and say, “You prayed, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t look at me. He’s still and quiet. “Yeah, I did.”

I start the car.

“Well, what did God say to you?” I ask him.

“Well, first He said, ‘Shut up and listen.’”

“So what d’ya do?”

“Come on, G,” he says, “What am I sposed ta do? I shut up and listened.”

I begin to drive him home to the barrio. I’ve never seen Willy like this. He’s quiet and humble—no need to convince me of anything or talk me out of something else.

“So, son, tell me something,” I ask. “How do you see God?”

“God?” he says, “That’s my dog right there.”

“And God?” I ask, “How does God see you?”

Willy doesn’t answer at first. So I turn and watch as he rests his head on the recliner, staring at the ceiling of my car. A tear falls down his cheek. Heart full, eyes overflowing. “God . . . thinks . . . I’m . . . firme.”

To the homies, firme means, “could not be one bit better.”

Not only does God think we’re firme, it is God’s joy to have us marinate in that.

A therapy room is the place we bring all of our pretending and sadness and fear and frustration. And, ultimately, it’s the place we bring our not-good-enough selves. It’s the place we learn to be still again, so we can hear the voice calling us “Beloved.” So we can touch our guts and the beauty there and know we are blessedly good enough.

So we can marinate in it."  By Kelly Flanagan

Southward Swans

I saw a pair of swans flying southwest, near sunset.

To where do two wild swans fly?
Maybe they're heading south for the oncoming Chilean summer,
South to the lakes district
South to where the land stops, and becomes rivers interspersed with pieces of soil,
with chunks of mountain that humbled themselves to become islands, all
To earn the name of fjords.  South,
To where fewer of humanity have arrived
to settle, Building building building, constantly building
Even here in little Pichilemu, the building starts at 8 AM and is still
going on when I return at six

Two wild swans can become six
in the Lakes District
in the River Region
in Patagonia, where the colors bite like the cold;
on down to Tierra del Fuego, to Ushuaia, Argentina.
Overlooking the Antarctic, flying over
the fearsome Strait of Magellan, where
Two oceans meet
and become One.

Enjoying my mistakes??

My ankles are swollen and we couldn't travel to visit our friends today.

My husband can't be on a joint bank account with me because he's not a U.S. citizen or resident, and therefore doesn't have a social security number.

I got a letter from the U.S. Department of State saying that the authenticated, apostilled copy of my marriage certificate isn't valid to process my new passport with my name change.  We leave for Chile in 2 weeks and I currently don't have a passport.  Changing our tickets would cost $600.  Today is Saturday and no one is working at the passport agency, to answer my call.  The passport agency is 6 hours away.

I do not respond full of grace when my carefully crafted plans fall through.
I do not like it.  I do not like to accept it.  There MUST be a loophole for me.  I MUST be able to travel and do all that we've planned, without exception.


Just over a week ago, we missed our flight out of DFW.  "How, Emily?" you may ask.  "Were you on a tight schedule with a connecting flight?  Did you have some airline or airport-caused problems checking in?"
No.  We were eating when we should have been boarding, and arrived too late to the gate.  So we watched our plane take off without us.

There was nothing I could do.  I couldn't reason with the lady to get the airline to make an exception for us and not finishing closing the aircraft so that we could board.  All I could do was ask what our options were and then cry, frustrated, while my uber-calm husband laughed at my overreaction.


The thing is, just one week before missing the flight, I had a good reminder of my competitive personality and my lie that "everything is going to work out perfectly for me, always." As I prepared for, and then taught, on the "Competitive Personality Profile" for a seminar at a church in Tyler, TX, I remembered so many instances in which I always assumed that I would win.  I couldn't make a B in highschool civics.  I couldn't turn in a math worksheet incomplete in elementary school, so I cheated (going against my personal no-cheating policy).  Even when my first boyfriend relationship in college wasn't working out, I couldn't allow myself to "walk out on this," because if I started it, I'm gonna finish it.  Failure is not an option.  Imperfection = Failure.  [robot voice: Must Acheive. Perfection or Death. Do Not Display Weakness.]

Since I studied, and even taught, now God took advantage of a situation (missing a plane) as a learning moment.  Thanks, Dad.  "What will my daughter, Emily, do and think now?  Can she put into practice what she's been preaching?"

It took a while.  I had to go cry and pray in a bathroom stall, but then it started getting better.
I had to DECIDE to forgive myself for the dozen tiny decisions that led to missing our flight, and I had to recognize that I was not solely responsible for this: both of us had agreed upon what we would do (go find food before we boarded).  I also had to DECLARE my trust in God, even though things got out of my hands... I had to GIVE UP CONTROL, realizing that I'm not infallible, and learning to ENJOY MY MISTAKES (which still blows my mind).

At least I can tell the story now without feeling embarrassed.

(By the way, we got to NC 5 hours later than planned, but somehow didn't have to pay any fee, and they even gave us meal vouchers!  A Father's reward for his trusting children, wanting to grow?)

year of changes

As we keep up with Formando Vidas in Colombia, I ask myself if this year in particular is one of changes for we Kiwi Housers (and now, I'm a former Kiwi), or if it's always like this, and I just notice it because of the distance.

I left the house in January, and got married. Two helpers entered the house in my place.  One child changed schools.  Two children moved in full-time.  The directors have been travelling a lot.  Bibi is about to take a 6-week vacation as well (to visit us -- and others -- in the U.S.)  There have been a lot of emotional challenges for several, children, teens, and adults.  Julio and I were planning to be back in Colombia by June, but we won't be for the rest of this year.  We're learning how to work as a team, and how to do a different kind of missions, together.  He's had unexpected health issues since February.

God permits, and sometimes orchestrates, change.  We decide how to live with it.
Change, typically, is difficult for me.  I think God enjoys throwing me a curve ball every now and then... not out of any evil intentions, but to see if I'll choose to trust him as "pitcher."

Texan animals, etc.

kangaroo rat!

Kermit, TX

Baby Horny Toad!

Tumbleweeds on the carport after a sand storm!

We've been in the Wild West, y'all!  Tomorrow it's off to "the valley" -- the southern tip of Texas.  Goodbye, oil rigs; Hello, humidity!

The Law vs. Grace (learning to be loved)

One thing I’m learning during this time has to do with LOVE.

When I came to Chile to do my DTS, my personal motive was to find out if a person could really be “in love with God.” I often heard people say things like that, and couldn’t really believe it.  It wasn’t my experience, and I was suspicious of that churchy lingo.

In March, after an adventure of experiences travelling as newlyweds, Julio and I were finally two days’ journey from the YWAM base.  I wrote in my journal, speaking to God, “You’re bringing me back to Pichilemu, the place where I fell more in love with You.” To the place where I began to know Him more, and to believe that there will always be more of God for our lives.  Yes, I now believe that a person actually can be in love with God, and that there will be a process of growing together in that love, just as courtship and marital love goes through stages.

This time, in these almost-three months here, again the subject is love.  I didn’t know it would be when I arrived.  I believed the main subject to be “healing whatever is wounded inside me that makes me react poorly” or something along those lines.  And yes, that has been part of it, but just in the last few weeks of this school (dates we hadn’t planned to be here still) I’m beginning to grasp something new, something that my spirit longs for even though it’s hard to receive it.

We are sometimes taught in the Church that we are “just channels of God’s love.”  I realized that I’m living my life hoping to get “just enough” of God’s love to be able to pass it on and make a difference in someone else’s life.  In my case, enough of God’s love to be able to love the needy children he gives me to care for.  Enough of God’s love to cover over my shortcomings.  Enough of God’s love to make a difference in their lives.  Enough of God’s love to make them want it for themselves.  Enough of God’s love… enough… just enough.

In a teaching on the Law and Grace, a base leader here stated that God loves us because we need Him.  He went on to talk about how parents act when their baby is learning to walk: how excited and encouraging they are; how they run out to announce to others “my daughter is walking!” disregarding the fact that after one step, she has again fallen. 

While thinking about that, I started sketching a baby in a diaper, much before the walking phase arrives.  “God created us to be dependent on Him and interdependent with others,” they have taught us here.  God created us to be like babies with Him; totally dependent.  And even as we grow and learn, little by little, to “walk in the Spirit” and to “eat solid spiritual food,” we the dependency continues. 

Around this smiling little baby, I drew two big arms, encircling her, holding her up.  The baby was looking up into the face of the one holding her.  There was nothing that baby could offer, and her holder loved her.

Another day, while praying in class, the Spirit brought the two concepts crashing together: 

Which is it?  Just enough love to give to others?  Or loved extravagantly because I’m needy?

So I’m taking off the idea that my usefulness to God is the reason He loves me. 

And I’m trying on the new skin of being just as important for God as everyone else.  The idea that I matter as much as the neglected and abandoned children He’s called me to; that I’m just as much the object of His love as others are.  That His love is completely directed at ME, regardless of others waiting or needing His love.

The interesting thing is, of course, that His love is also completely directed at Julio, and at each of the children I used to take care of, and at the man on the corner, and at the college professor, and at the waitress at the diner.  His love is also completely directed at YOU.

In the same classes on the Law and Grace, the teacher emphasized that “doing good things” doesn’t save us.  That would be like trying to live under the law, thinking that we have to earn our salvation, love and acceptation by God.  Our Christian doctrine says that we are saved by grace alone; that there is nothing we have done or could ever do to earn the abundant and eternal life that God offers us, and that we cannot be right with God based on our actions (Ephesians 2:8-9 and Philippians 3:9).

Yet, the same Bible teaches that we ought to do good things (James 2:17).

What then, is the motivation?  Why or how are we supposed to do these good things? 

Because of love and grace: God’s freely-given, abundant, directed-at-me love. 

Because I’m loved, I do what God tells me in the Bible (obedience).  Because I’m loved, I do good things (service), I tell others about this love and grace (evangelism).  Because I’m loved, I apologize and accept others’ apologies (forgiveness).  Because I’m loved, I love others (and I love myself, too). 

I’m learning to get comfortable in this new skin.  I’ve had close to three decades living like others are the object of God’s love, and I’m just “useful” in reaching His goal of physically and spiritually saving them.  These changes are not overnight miracles; they are the kind of miracles that grow: they establish roots and strengthen before they start giving an abundant harvest.

We often have the idea that we are like buckets: to receive love and good things until, once filled, we overflow into others’ lives.  An Indian couple who came and taught here at the base shared that we should be more like pipes: everything that enters, flows through, and then escapes from the other end.  We don’t have to be full in order to spill over just a little bit.  Everything – good or bad – that we receive, we will share. 

I’ve asked God to turn the faucet on higher – to pour more love into me.  I want to receive it for myself, and I know that the result of all this love and grace is that it will flow on to others, gushing through me. 

A Sneak Peek of our trip so far...

 

some sights we didn't get pictures of, plus a bird that we keep seeing tons of.
(thanks, google)

the amazing lake I saw from the bus window.  Julio was asleep.


And now, some pictures we actually took ourselves:

Bariloche, Argentina

Lago Nahuel Huapi

  

In case the trees get cold...

  Cerro Campanario, the most beautiful view in the world:

And of course, the FOOD:

facturas

chocolate!

more chocolate!

raspberries!


the Lakes tour:

at Puerto Blest

Lago Frias, which I had waited a long time to see

Lago Cantaros, which we didn't have enough time to enjoy.  I was awestruck.

To the West!

Lago Espejo, on the road between Argentina and Chile

Volcan Puntiagudo ("Sharp and Pointy Volcano," literally)

Volcan Osorno

 

The Chilean sky before sunset... always amazing.

And if we fall in love?

We already did!

To the South: the good, the bad, and the ugly

Our trip so far has been full of adventure!

AIR TRAVEL (the bad)
We left Caracas, Venezuela, at 9:00 pm on Friday night, arriving to Sao Paolo, Brazil at about 5:00 am local time on Saturday (4:00 am Venezuela time).  After each sleeping an hour while the other watched the bags, we paid too much for bottles of water, Julio bought some havaianas flip-flops, and we got in line to board our 8:30 am plane.  Based on our seating assignments we were in the last group to board.  When the flight attendent looked at my passport, she said I had to pay a fee to enter Argentina (all Americans do, along with Australians and a few other nationalities), and sent us running down the terminal to another gate to resolve the problem with "Fabiana."
Fabiana was no where to be found, so we rushed back.  After phone calls, we were told that it was too late for this flight; they would remove our bags from the plane and put us on the 11:30 am flight.  Resigned, we sat down, and Julio got out the computer as I watched a few stragglers arrive running and pass through the doors and along the jetway.
After a while, a different flight attendent came over and said he could help us pay the fee online, so we hurriedly did so.  I was surprised at the cost (1,500 argentine pesos) but we just did what he told us to, wrote down the confirmation number, and got on the plane.  [My apologies to our flight mates for having to wait while they first removed our luggage and then put it back on again.  We left an hour behind schedule.]
When it was my turn to pass through immigration in Buenos Aires, I gave the confirmation number, which didn't appear in the system.  The official passed into the office with the information, came back out, looked at the digital receipt for what we had paid, took our computer into the office, and came back out, still saying that we hadn't paid it and therefore I could not enter the country!
I started imagining being deported, while Julio (who had already been admitted with no trouble) stayed in Buenos Aires waiting for me!  The solution was not deportation, thankfully, but rather they found an airline official to accompany me to the hall outside of their VIP lounge, where I got internet signal and was able to pay the correct fee ($160 on top of the $300 I had already paid erroneously).  I was permitted to enter the Republic of Argentina, and we made our way to the hotel.

BUENOS AIRES (the good and a little bad, too)
Hostel Suites Florida is a great hostel/hotel, very centrally located on a pedestrial street, within walking distance of the subway and most of the tourist sites in the Argentine capital.  Bs.As. reminds me of D.C. in a lot of ways, but bigger.  We had a great time walking around, discovering the city, trying to find affordable restaurants, and even renting bikes on our last morning to ride down to the ecological reserve on the edge of the city (a green space with trails for walking, running, or biking, that leads down to the sea).

The only negative moment of our "tourist time" in the city was having to go to the Migrations office in an attempt to cancel the $300 payment we accidentally made.  We were sent from one office to the next -- I think no one knew what to do with us.  They couldn't understand how we paid for an appointment to apply for residency, when we only meant to pay the reciprocity fee for me to enter as a tourist!  After an hour or so we made photocopies of everything and wrote a letter explaining the situation and requesting cancellation of payment, left it all with a receptionist, and left.  We still haven't heard anything.

A SNEAKY MAN (the really ugly part)
On Tuesday we hailed a cab to the bus terminal, with all our luggage in tow.  After a few blocks, the driver started asking if we had small bills to pay with.  We did, but then he asked if they had the new serial numbers, because his taxi company would only receive those from him.  He pulled over and had us pull out our cash, showing us how to check the codes printed on each one.  While we were there, confused and seeing that none of our bills were acceptable, someone banged on the back window, saying he needed the cab urgently.  As he opened the door, the driver told us to put away the money and get out; to go exchange the bills at a bank or to find a cabbie who worked for himself instead of a taxi company.  Suddenly we were on a busy street corner with our suitcases and we couldn't get a cab there.  After walking up and down the street, we finally got another taxi and made it to the terminal... where we discovered that the first driver had robbed us!  Instead of the $450 pesos we had ($90 USD), we had only $30 pesos ($6 USD).  We were able to pay the taxi and get to our 3:00 pm bus on time.  I, of course, was crying because I was so mad, and Julio was in shock, and we both felt helpless.  We prayed together, and slept a little.

GOD AND BARILOCHE (this is where it gets really good)
When I woke up I felt a bit better.  I pulled out The Message and opened up where I had left off: Habbakuk.  Eugene Peterson's intro to the book knocked me off my feet (except I was already sitting):

"Living by faith is a bewildering venture.  We rarely know what's coming next, and not many things turn out the way we anticipate.  It is natural to assume that since I am God's chosen and beloved, I will get favorable treatment from the God who favors me so extravagantly.  It is not unreasonable to expect that from the time that I become his follower, I will be exempt from dead ends, muddy detours, and cruel treatment from the travelers I meet daily who are walking the other direction.  That God-followers don't get preferential treatment in life always comes as a surprise."

That's exactly how we were feeling.  And, as promised, Habbakuk proved to be a very welcome companion in our moment of confusion, as he bluntly took questions to God and waited for the answer -- which totally changed his heart -- and then boldly declares faith in God's goodness, even in the face of evil.  

After that we were able to enjoy the trip (and after a while I even stopped thinking of all we "should have done"), and the sights were beautiful!  Argentina's topography and ecosystems amazed me: first, a vast costal plain filled with corn and soy fields; then (during the night, sadly) comes the Pampa, which is the grasslands I had read about and longed to see; in the morning I awoke to find ourselves in a sort of Southwestern America arid rangelands.  A few hours later we began a slow ascent into the Patagonian Lakes District, with sights that took my breath away: deep blue skies topped the rolling tan-green hills with rocky, tower-like outcroppings.  Below, small stands of solemn, dark pines surrounded enormous aquamarine lakes that we crossed over on bridges, and upstream we snaked along with a wide, smooth river of glacial origins in the heart of the cordillera -- the snowy mountains we were just beginning to see on the horizon.

At noon on Wednesday (21 hours later), we arrived to San Carlos de Bariloche: Argentina's most famous ski town, nestled down on the edge of a deep blue, wind-swept lake.  It is cold and windy, especially after a month in hot Venezuela and a few days in the Buenos Aires late summer warmth.  The bus terminal is very small.  There is no ATM.  They do not have internet.  Even the phone service wasn't working.  The information desk lady sent us a block up the street to a restaurant with WiFi.  We explained our situation and the owner lent us the internet and then the phone, so that we could call the local YWAM base.
They came to pick us up!  They gave us lunch!  I had a hot shower!  They called friends, who agreed to house us!  God cares for us and thwarts Satan's bad plans into good for us!
So here we are in a small apartment above the carport (but much bigger than our apartment in Merida), safe, warm, fed, and rested.  Even better, this family is planning to drive into Chile on Monday and has agreed to give us a lift, saving us the money and hassel of taking a bus!

learn to live with it!

I grew up in a rural small town.  Then, for the last three years I've lived at a rural farm in the Colombian mountains.  I'm not used to city noise, I'm used to space, and I've never lived in an apartment building before this month.

There is a child in our building who cries and whines and screams about 80% of the time.  Sometimes he/she wakes me up at odd hours with the concert.  I think there are several probable reasons for this behavior:
1. children sometimes cry and scream (but not that much)
2. she's spoiled?
3. her parents don't respect her need to sleep (I've heard her screaming long after I'm in bed and again before I'd like to be awake... would still be sleeping if it weren't for the crying...)
4. her family bothers her, instead of letting her be a child?
We've gotten much more used to it though.  Now, when we walk into the building and, as if on cue, hear the wail start up from the fourth floor, we look at each other and laugh incontrollably.

Another thing we've gotten used to was a shock at first: sharing a single bed.  The woman who lent us the apartment is single, and there's really not room for a larger bed, since it's a studio-type space.  At first it was uncomfortable; we were afraid to move and wake up the other, we have different sleeping positions, it's hard to share a single sheet...
But now it's the norm!  We've learned to put two twin sheets on the bed to have enough.  Plus, I'm a cuddler, and now he has to be!

Something else that's different here is the health system.  "Why are you learning about the health system on your honeymoon?" That's an excellent question.  We went for a checkup with Julio's gastroenterologist, who discovered several small gallstones in my otherwise-healthy husband!  Since then we've been in private clinics and the public hospital more times than I can count this month... mostly waiting.  In Colombia I thought I had learned to be much more patient with things like banks and doctors offices... but this takes the cake.  I know nothing about waiting, compared to Venezuelans.
Basically, there's no way to get rid of gallstones other than operating to take out the gall bladder... so we're planning a surgery for June, and praying that God does a miracle to get rid of the stones, and learning how to eat for gall bladder health (no beans, nothing fried, elimiate as many fats and oils as possible, eat as many fruits and veggies as possible, but not that cause gases...)

I, on the other hand, have kidney stones!  Since my dad is an expert (with plenty of personal experience) I'm following his recommendations, and in the meantime thankful that I don't have any pain.  

So here we are in Venezuela.  This is our last week, and then it's off on another adventure:  Argentina and Chile!

Honeymoon and Culture Shock

Julio and I have been in Venezuela just over two weeks now.  When we first arrived, we went to an amazing bed and breakfast called “Mi refugio” (my refuge), run by a Swedish lady.  Ample and airy, the room was lit by fresh sunshine, and we awoke to birdsong.  The owner cooked for us, and we were the only guests there at the time.  Some days, we walked up to the nearby national park, La Mucuy, to play in the creek and relax on boulders under old trees.  Everything was perfect!

After our week there, it was time to move down to the city, where our plan has been to spend the month visiting with his family, friends, and church.  Since it’s carnaval/ferias time, it was really difficult to find an apartment available (and reasonably priced).  Thankfully, a young woman from Julio’s church offered hers to us, and we moved in.  
The space is very different from “My Refuge.”  The third-floor windows open up to the hallway, so the light that enters is diffused after making its way down from the fifth-floor central opening.  Fully furnished, it’s a bit cramped, and the shift from open spaces and bucolic silence to downtown and neighbor noise, plus bringing our bags into another person’s already-full, notably petite, apartment, was a surprise.  I had to laugh as I barely squeezed past Julio to grab my toothbrush: this space will require us to learn a delicate dance, to keep organized, and possible to resolve some conflicts!
Because the gas has never been hooked up, we can’t use the cute (and new!), four-burner stove and oven.  In its place, the owner has an electric hotplate, and an electric Foreman-style grill.  Julio’s mom invites us to eat lunch at her place, so we bus down there and back.  (Lunch is the big meal here, you may remember.)  One day, we decide to cook for his family, but without an oven my possibilities are limited.  Julio finally suggests pasta with chicken and vegetables, which I love, but I feel insecure about whether or not it’s “acceptable” for his family.  We walked down to the house that day, stopping along the way to buy fruits and veggies, and at the butcher shop for the chicken.  

Everywhere we go, Julio sees someone he knows.  They usually give me a kiss on the cheek as if we’d met each other before, and I often can’t distinguish their names, but say “Mucho gusto,” It’s nice to meet you.  Then they talk for a while about people or things I don’t know about, and we continue on our way, me quietly asking Julio who that was and how they know each other.  
The butcher has chicken breast filets, if I understand correctly, and the price doesn’t seem to make sense to me (too many exchange rates in my head, perhaps?).  Then he asks if we want it cut, but I thought it was filleted, but it looks like whole breasts, so we just buy it like that to cut at the house.  
We start working on the meal, and talking with his sister, when his mom comes in all worked up about something and fussing at the sister.  Their bickering increased my stress about the meal anyways, and during lunch I felt like crying, but didn’t.  
Later, back at our apartment, I told Julio about how I was feeling.  I don’t know where I am, nor how to get from point A to point B alone.  I don’t know anyone outside of Julio and his family and friends that he introduces to me.  I know the language, but the accent is different from Bogotá, and a lot of times I don’t understand what people say.  I feel helpless and dependent in the midst of so many unknowns.  On top of that, I struggle with finding acceptation through what I do, and I want to make a good impression on his family and friends.  This is culture shock and it hits my weak points, unable to hide them.  
“Maybe this is why we needed to come to the city, and not stay at ‘My Refuge’ anymore,” said Julio.  
We enjoy the perfect times, and rest in them, but we don’t grow as much, I’d say.  

Since then, I received an email with a thought-provoking question.  “Emily, do you feel ‘married’ yet?  Has the chip switched from ‘I’ to ‘we’?  Is it worth it to be away from home – neither in Colombia nor North Carolina – in this beginning stage?”
This query made me realize that the wonderful thing about this honeymoon culture shock is that I desperately NEED Julio here.  I can’t leave the apartment and go somewhere else on my own, get away from it all and be the single, independent woman that I’m so used to being… because I don’t know how to alone, and besides, where would I go?  
The psalmist says, “Whom do I have in Heaven but You (God)?”
I say, “Whom do I have in Venezuela but my husband?”

We're getting married in two weeks!!!!