La Vida Buena Está Aquí

I had previously thought that I'd try to blog about my days in Mexico at the end of everyday in Mexico. So much for promises to myself that I never intended to keep.

I find that even though I left three and a half days ago that I'm still having a hard time crystallizing my thoughts about my experience there. I love it in Mexico; it is forever a part of me now and I know that I will go back. Maybe more than the country is the experience. Our group had shirts that read, "Solamenete una vida que se vive para otros es una vida que vale la pena." Only a life lived for others is a life worth living.

I didn't agree with that statement upon first glance, but upon further introspection, I just didn't understand it. I didn't know what it could be like to worry and work for others. To not worry about how I would get my food, but how another family would get theirs became my focal point. To not worry about my toys or my sidewalks or my playtime or my enjoyment, but somebody else's... I never lived that 24 hours a day. I want it back.

Christmas is a little less magical for me right now. I'm a little more observant, pensive, and grateful. And at the same time, I worry about how much money was spent on me when such money could be spent on the people and orphans in Mexico. Every dollar to me is ten pesos that could have gone to them.

There are so many things in my heart that I cannot write, and should not because they've become sacred. But I will share this.

On our last day in Mexico, we went to the market and the beach. I was bitching from the beginning of the day. There were still things to be done and kits to be handed out. I hated the market. I hated buying things for myself and my family, and I hated the souvenirs. I left as soon as I'd dropped sixty bucks. A friend and I wandered the streets for the remaining two hours, trying to desperately capture the last minutes we had in this different culture.

When we went to the beach later that day, I thought about the day before, when we'd gone shopping for a lady that lived in a 10 by 8 foot shack with walls of cardboard and tin and a leaky tin roof. All of her possessions had been stolen and she and her husband and 4 children lived in this "home." The only food they had were about 8 oranges. Everyone in our van donated at least 20 dollars and we spent almost 200 at the store buying food, blankets, diapers, clothes, and cots, because they'd been sleeping on box springs. Shopping that day was just.... better.

As I stood in the surf and watched the sun go down, I knew that I had been so annoyed earlier at the market because I was buying things for people who didn't really need them. I spent money on myself, instead of those who truly needed it.

When I related this experience to my dad, I cried - a lot. I didn't cry at all in Guaymas, but coming home reminded me of what I missed there. He told me about a time when he was in San Carlos, a town not far from Guaymas. He met an old fisherman and my dad asked if he'd ever dreampt about going to the U.S. for something more. The old man smiled and shook his head. He said that he'd been here, and he'd met our people. And then he said, "La vida buena está aquí." The good life is here.

I was blessed in Mexico with a glimpse - a glimpse at what life should really be like. I don't know how I'll go back to everything in Cedar that awaits me. I don't want to.

I found a new fulfillment in Mexico. I may have even found God again in Mexico. Mexico is the best Christmas present I've ever been given, and I hope that I change because of it.