So Much to Tell

23 May 2013 1 Comment

by nataliaria in Bible, Faithful, Family, Food, Friends, God, Happiness, Spanish, Summer, Travel

Friday afternoon, bus up. Saturday evening, bus home. Barely 24 hours in Michigan, yet it’s Thursday night now, late, and I’m still fighting to tell you about it. School hardly over, my room just emptied, I got on a bus with The Jen and her sister, Katie, and we went to Michigan.

I want to tell you all about it. I do. I want to tell you so much and tell you so well that I’ve thought myself, planned myself, into a corner. I wrote a post, just now. Part of one, anyway. About my time in Michigan. But there’s too much to tell and I wasn’t telling well, so I stopped. Began again. And here I am.

I told you, in March, about Jen’s sister visiting school. Remember? I told you about our shared love of Spanish and school and children and the way I stored our conversation away in my heart; a woman who loves the Lord, and His Word. This same sister, Kristen her name, graduated from New Tribes Bible Institute last weekend.

The Jen, sweet girl two dorm doors down, stopped one day last month, outside my door. I was on my computer, typing. Looking up, looking across my bed, across the room, I smiled at her. She dimpled back. This is routine: I like my desk there, the door open, so that I can see the hallway, see those who pass by. Jen passes frequently. She stopped this time, and in our brief conversation, she said graduation, Michigan, Kristen. Half serious, mostly joking, I said I’d go along.

Joke turned serious and later, sitting on Jen’s bright yellow sheets, I clicked to Megabus, bought a ticket to Michigan.

Katie, Jen, me. Four hours, more even, on a bus to Michigan. They sat behind me, the two sisters; one older, Jen the younger. I sat one row up. Backpack next to me, feet against the window, I watched Michigan fly past the window. Trees and grass line the highway; long, tall, strong grass that seems to glow in the sun. The trees are green, too. Wide and thick and many. It’s just trees, bushes, grass, but I breathed tight in, held my breath at the clean, brilliant, freshness of it all. This I love about Michigan.

New Tribes Bible Institute- students call it NTBI, roll it around their tongues, quick- is one building. Used to be an elementary school, maybe a middle school. Now it’s classroom building, dorms, dining hall, offices, all in one and walking the hallways feels like a little bit of everything. The voices down the hall, in the dorms, are adult, mature. They talk about missions training and the Bible and where God is taking them, and this is a place of leading and prayer and faith and I soak up every word while I’m there.

There’s a world map in the downstairs hallway. It’s big, tall: I’m eye-level with Brasil. Kristen gives a tour when we arrive; her dorm room is on the third floor. We climb up and down those stairs, together, in groups, pairs, alone, all the day long, and my heart, mind catches every time I pass that map. Think of the lives who are here, now. Think of the hearts that are growing, the minds that are learning. The Lord they serve, He has plans, big, for them. The Word they love, it will bring hope, much, to people all over that huge wall map.

The school, these students, have so very much.

The ceremony is the next day, then a reception in the dining hall at the school. I line up with Jen, and a brother, tall, and we stack miniature plates with cheese, crackers, thick little cubes of meat. Students, graduates, families, overflow the dining hall. They are in the halls. In the foyer. In the yard. Children, little boys in collared shirts, little girls in sundresses, run in and out of the adults, play on the park. There are more siblings now, and cousins- first? Once removed?- and friends and friends of friends, and introductions are short, conversations long.

It feels like family. Family when we’re upstairs, getting ready. Jen and sisters and friends and we’re all putting on dresses, earrings, makeup. Feels like family afterwards, when we sit around in the sun and drink fruit punch and talk. Feels like family when there are hugs, congratulations, thank you for coming, see you later.

There’s more to tell, no doubt. More about New Tribes and the graduation ceremony, and Jen’s brother driving to the church with the windows down, my hair and Jen’s whipping in the wind. More about the 5k the graduates ran on the morning of graduation, or the night before, driving slow at 10pm, stopping at corners to mark the 5k route with chalk. More about The Jen and Katie and Kristen and sisters I don’t have, who made me feel another sister, at home. More about God’s will and God’s plan and how great He really is.

There’s so much more to tell, but I’ll leave it there for now.

~Natalia

Life Right Now {#42}

17 Apr 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Food, Life Right Now

20130418-005044.jpg
Dear person who left Takis at my door,
I cried when I saw these.
Thank you.

~Natalia

Natalia Could Have Married a Mexican, Part One

16 Apr 2013 1 Comment

by nataliaria in Fear, Food, Humour, Sleep, Spanish, Train, Work

If you’ve been around a little while, you might remember a rather dramatic story that I related to you about a young man stumbling onto campus, telling me I was pretty, and so thoroughly flustering me that I ended up giving him my number on the spot, mostly because I was too unnerved by the entire experience to formulate the word “no”.

It was a great story and a time of my life that I look back on with nostalgia. And also general confusion, because I’m still just not sure why…

Anyway.

I ride the train to work, as I’m sure many of you are aware. An hour there, an hour back; soon my cumulative train time will be measurable in months, or years even. These train rides became, over the past months, a source of rather high stress for me, and as part of my No Fear regimen, I began listening to Chip Ingram sermons in podcast form during my commute. Thus, my time on the train generally looks something like this: Going to work, I listen to Chip in a rather dozy manner for approximately 12 minutes, before completely loosing all consciousness for the next 30 minutes. Then I wake up to a new podcast now playing in my headphones, my neck stiff and my mouth dry from all this sleeping-on-the-train-head-back-mouth-breathing. I am truly at my most attractive while sleeping on the train.

However, least you think I’m wasting my (free) podcast subscription by never actually listening to them while I’m awake, I spend the return trip re-listening to the same sermon. This is because 1) I change trains twice on the way back to school and therefore must remain conscious, and 2) I do truly want to hear these sermons.

So today. I did the whole fall asleep listening to a sermon, wake up with four people staring at me and wonder if I was snoring deal on the way to work. On the way back, I missed the train by roughly 240 seconds, and consoled myself by going into the little convenience store next to the tracks and continuing my semester-long search for a bag of Takis. You know: mexican chips that look a bit like cigarettes and taste like fire and chile. They’re the best. I’ve been craving Takis de Fuego for weeks now, and I was pleased to find a suitable substitute.

So I sat on the first train, ate my mexican fire snack, and listened to Chip tell me all about the book of Revelations.

The second train is where it got good. First, there was a young girl, whose age I estimate to about nine years old, who was entertaining both her family and everyone in our general vicinity by answering the trivia facts that her father proposed. Did you know that the teleprompter stopped working during one of Bill Clinton’s speeches? I had no idea. It was so good, people, that I turned off my podcast. That wonderful preacher, the auditory gold that has gotten me through weeks of train fear: I turned it off.

And then the child got off the train and I sat there and alternately ate my Fake Takis and then decided to have (temporary) self-restraint and put the bag back in my purse, only to open it four minutes later. It was around this time that I truly noticed the individual sitting across from me. I’ll not pain you with the detailed description that I could provide, but suffice to say: He was hispanic.

If you are unaware of my passion-bordering-on-obsession with all things Latin (including men), I encourage you to type the word “Spanish” in the search bar of this blog and peruse the results. Or, if you don’t have time for that, I’ll summarize: I like hispanic guys. The end.

But this guy. So we’re sitting there, and I’m texting a friend or two, but there is no sermon-listening occurring, and him and I wander eyes around the train car, and I look out the window a lot, but I know that he’s there, and I know that he knows that I’m there. So we make eye contact every couple of minutes, which sounds more awkward to write than it was in real life.

And then, oh friends, and then, the door that you’re not supposed to open but someone invariably does; the door that connects the two train cars, opened and a large, highly intoxicated individual stumbled through. My seat being on the opposite side of the car, I could not fully appreciate what was going on, but my hispanic eye contact friend could, and he raised his eye brows and tilted his head towards me, amused smile playing on his lips. I looked over in time to watch the large man spill something on a fellow passenger, who leapt angrily out of his seat, while the drunk one swung unsteadily across the aisle as the train accelerated forward.

{Part Two coming soon!}

~Natalia

Puppy Chow

21 Feb 2013 2 Comments

by nataliaria in Family, Food, Little Sisters, Travel

It started with Puppy Chow. I’m lying on my bed, toes cold tucked into fuzzy socks with penguin faces on them. I’m lying there with my feet on the pillow and my head by the desk, and I’m supposed to be reading a textbook on the Gospel of John, but right before I get to John 6:60, I’m suddenly thinking of Puppy Chow.

You know, Puppy Chow. Chex cereal covered in melted peanut butter and chocolate, with a thick coating of powdered sugar on top? That Puppy Chow.

I told The Roommate that I was craving Puppy Chow and she nodded and mhmmed and invariably it’s times I’m talking that are times she’s reading, and the direct inverse is also true. But that’s okay because remember, I’m supposed to be reading the Gospel of John. So Puppy Chow floats low on the swirl of my mind, and I finish the reading, but when the textbook’s back on the shelf, Puppy Chow’s back on my mind. It’s back and it’s making me happy because, conditioned response, do you know what Puppy Chow leads thoughts to?

To California.

Almost four years ago, the mother and the father have taken the littlest sister to Mexico to scope it all out; we hadn’t lived there yet. So Stevy and I, and the four-year-old Glendy, we stay a week with the grandparents, in sunny March California. The cousins are over, it’s a Saturday maybe, and my grandmother takes us up and down the grocery store aisles. We need cereal first, because the recipe’s printed on the back of the box. Glendy’s in the cart, jacket sleeves too long, she’s holding those chocolate chips tight, and we buy all the ingredients we need, and some extra things, too.

And the next day, while the youngest cousin, the girls’ nearest playmate-friend, chases Glendy around the miniature trampoline in that bright backyard; in the kitchen, we made Puppy Chow. Mia and I work together, and my grandma, she oversees, of course. I’m not sure where everything is, and she pulls powdered sugar from behind the spices and measuring cups from the drawer, and I’m secretly happy that she’s there. The family’s never had Puppy Chow before, and I’m proud to be the one to introduce them.

And this sister-cousin and I, we follow all the directions and we heat and we stir and we pour and we mix. And finally, finally, the chocolate mess is into a great, big, circle Tupperware and Chill in Freezer might as well have been Leave in Freezer Until Eternity Arrives. I’m not sure that patience was really my thing then. Or if it’s really my thing now, for that matter.

The next day we’re off to the aquarium. The Monterey Bay Aquarium, the most happiest museum I’ve set foot in my days, but we take that big Tupperware, frozen all through now. And at night, when we’re passing through yellow streetlights, and the aunt’s home with the dog is waiting at the end, we eat that Puppy Chow.

And that’s not the only time, either. Maybe three time’s a tradition, maybe it’s more, but there are measuring cups in the cabinet, and a giant blue Tupperware down below, and we’ve photocopied the recipe now, too. And I guess this could all be explained because three weeks and a day, the plane’s scheduled to touch down. And it’ll be California spring all over again, and the cousins and the aunts and the uncles and the grandparents will all be there. And maybe, too, we’ll make Puppy Chow.

~Natalia

This I Will Write

18 Feb 2013 1 Comment

by nataliaria in Bible, College, Food, Friends, Moody Bible Institute, Remember

It’s been awhile since I wrote about this dorm floor. I spend my days in and out of this little room. I shuffle down the hall in the early morning, holding the door handle sideways gentle so it doesn’t pound shut because The Roommate’s asleep and nobody wants to wake up to that. The bathroom down this hallway gets busy as the morning progresses, and Ellie Rose wrote Bible verses in dry erase inside the showers. There are signs on the door and decorations in the lounge and we’ve got our pictures on our doors.

I’ve spent a lot of time rushing around, on and off this floor.

But I went to the library this afternoon and late to dinner, there’s only six guys left at the table by the time I arrived with my bowl full of chunky peanut butter. And after dinner, I went upstairs and I worked on that homework some more. But tonight’s not a night for sitting alone at my desk, and these doors hear everything and I yelled down the hall, and Jen was in her room.

So she sat in the little armchair- they have two: one for her and one for Mary- and I laid on the bed, and the homework got done. And the hours passed, I went back to my room and traded books, grabbed different notebooks, found my planner, then back to the room at the end of the hall. And then slowly, study time faded and I was in the corner of that little bed- Jen’s is down low and Mary’s is high, they copied The Roommate and I- and Mary was near sleeping when Di came in, too. Di scrambled up on the tall bed with Mar and Jen had just come back from calling her sister and The Neighbor heard our racket through the wall.

So we’re five of us in this room down the hall, and it sounds trite to say that we live together and have grown to love each other, too, but it’s true; we have. And Mary’s reading Tweets aloud to us, because sometimes serious conversations need some humor, and Jen’s next to me, and The Neighbor and I think the same things are funny because our humors resemble the one and the other.

And I laid on that bed and we laughed together about a list too long to remember, and I looked at the four faces, the four hearts, and I thought, This I will write. Because I want to remember this.

~Natalia

Spicy Ramen

11 Feb 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Casa Hogar, Food, Friends, God, Mexico, Remember, Thanksgiving

I bought Ramen tonight,

which is odd because there’s not much appealing about Ramen,

except maybe the price.

But I wanted it, so 97 cents bought me three packs of Just Add Water Ramen.

I microwaved one bowl and took two bites,

but something was missing;

something quite important was missing from my late dinner.

Because it’s two years ago now, Manuel and Tere slept at the orphanage,

and Karen, Manuelito, Ana, little Beki and I?

We stayed home.

The cousins came over and we locked the door tight, like Hermana Tere said,

and we pulled kitchen chairs around to the TV,

and we watched Inception until 3am,

and we ate Ramen.

It’s the same pack, the same styrofoam bowl and Fill to Here water line,

but this is Mexico and we value our flavor,

savor our spice.

And we sat around the TV slurping soggy noodles, red Salsa Valentina swirling together

with packet-flavored chicken broth.

That Ramen was spicy.

And tonight I sat at my desk and picked at noodles that lacked spice,

really lacked spice.

The Roommate was going downstairs, and I followed her there,

still picking my noodles because

I’m hungry.

And down the hall, through the Tunnel, people are eating here,

people are ordering here in the Commons,

and I smelled every single hot sauce they had,

and I ended up dumping Chipotle Tabasco sauce all over my noodles,

which were quickly getting cold.

And that fixed the problem, and I slurped them right down,

and it felt so familiar because my mouth burned and my nose ran,

and it was just like that late night in Mexico.

And a preached this week said God has a purpose in everything,

but sometimes it’s hard to imagine,

hard to comprehend,

that He puts meaning, that He has deep purpose,

in a night spent eating spicy Ramen and watching Inception,

while the dogs across the street barked

and someone, somewhere, set off a firework.

But every time I get close to wondering,

I realize that it’s not my job to question His decisions,

His grace, His gifts.

So I ate my chipotle Ramen, and I thought about Mexico,

and I thanked Him for time

relationships,

lessons,

gifts,

that He’s given me.

~Natalia

Evening at Home

31 Jan 2013 1 Comment

by nataliaria in Family, Food, Home, Humour

I spent a brief amount of time at my house yesterday, before the mother kindly drove me to the swim meet because it had been decided that my brother was more deserving of the vehicle than I. I was worthy of being abandoned at the pool and left to fend for myself and find a way home. Conveniently, the three other coaches drove together and were kind enough to return me to my home after the event ended.

So I was at my house for a bit last night, in between work and returning to school.

Ever a creature of habit, my quick blitzes passing through the home on my way to and from work always consist of the same things. I walk through the door, and my mother yells out that I take my shoes off. This is an ageless ritual that has occurred since we moved into our home in 1995, and if I sit quietly and still my soul, I can hear in my head the deep sigh of frustration she utters when one of her dearly beloved family members (generally my father, brother, or I) insist upon treading the clean wood hallways in our shoes. The deep irony of this situation is that the most common reason that my father traipses around in his shoes is that he is about to leave and has forgotten to kiss his wife. So she stands in the kitchen and exclaims over wet marks on her kitchen floor until he smooches her.

After having removed my shoes, which I do after a moment or two of entertainment experienced at the expense of my mother’s clean floors and sanity, I forage the kitchen for consumables. I say forage because this process does not always actually entail eating anything. Rather, I spend a couple minutes opening cupboards, drawers, fridge, freezer, and basking in the rich and figurative glow of healthy and plentiful food options. Praise God for the SDR here at school, which serves two purpose: nourish my body, and develop in me a deep appreciation for real food as it appears in the home setting.

I arrived home last night smack in the middle of the weekly Bible study that my parents host. Not one to interact or be pleasant or have friends in general, I burst into the door as quietly as possible and hightailed it to the kitchen. Once there, I greeted the small ones, who were tucked into my father’s desk chair, watching Sid the Science Kid, and then I began my forage.

Having opened and closed the fridge, freezer, and cabinets each six times, I prepared myself a small salad, as previously suggested by the mother, and then continued to open and close cabinets and drawers, just generally enjoying looking at food, while I ate. I pulled three tortilla chips, a yogurt drink, and a handful of popcorn out of their respective locations and had just chugged a glass of lemonade when my mother appeared in the kitchen. We chatted back and forth, as we do, and then she motioned towards a full pan of brownies, dusted beautifully with powdered sugar and sitting, ready to eat, on top of the oven.

You want a brownie? She asked, waving a butter knife for the purpose of serving in my direction.

I raised my eyebrows and shrugged indecisively. I’m not a huge brownie person.

I was hoping you could try one and tell me how they are; they’re pumpkin brownies. She added, before disappearing through the swinging door and rejoining her study. I finished my assorted dinner and then paused in front of the brownie pan. Pumpkin brownies, huh? Curiosity won out over my vague and underdeveloped brownie aversion, and I pried a corner piece out with the butter knife.

Except “pry” is in no way the correct word to use, because these brownies were the squishiest, most sponge-like dessert I have ever consumed. I’ve tried for minutes to come up with an appropriate word to communicate to you the texture of these brownies, but nothing comes to mind. Just believe me when I say squishy. Spongy. Soft. Bouncy. Springy. Moist. Odd.

While Sid the Science Kid squeaked on about force and “oomph” and how much fun it is to study scientific things, I ate that little brownie square. It didn’t taste anything like chocolate, and “slurped” might be a more accurate description that “ate”, but whatever. I ate it, and when my brother arrived home, I served him one, too. This was partially because I honestly wanted his opinion on this strange, although not necessarily bad concoction that my mother had created, and also because of my subconscious bitterness that he had the car instead of myself.

My father appeared in the kitchen shortly afterwards and the three of us stood around discussing the pumpkin brownies, while my brother’s shoes doubtless left gaping puddles all over the clean kitchen. We couldn’t quite make up our minds on what exactly we thought about the brownies; there was something very different, strange even, about the baked dessert, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. So we ate a little more, then I kissed the smalls goodbye, grabbed my bag, and my father kindly drove me back to school.

I went about my evening, and had very nearly forgotten about the squishy brownies, when I received a text from my mother at 12:15am. The words I read as I fell asleep? My goodnight message from the woman who gave me life?

Ha! No chocolate in THOSE brownies. It was pumpkin pudding. :)

Good night, mother.

~Natalia

Christmas Snapshot

25 Dec 2012 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Casa Hogar, Chicago, Christmas, Family, Food, Friends, God, Happiness, Love, Mexico, Sovereign

It’s been four years since we were in this city, this state, this home, for Christmas, but if Christmas is His incarnation, redemption born in a stable, then it’s not just a day we’re commemorating; it’s a way of life. A way of life that breathes grace and mercy, wears redeemed like a cloak, and leaves God’s love deep in everything we touch, do, say.

December 25th is one day, one very special day, but it’s not so much different from any other day, because this day and those days God is truth, God is love, and God is just, and Jesus is the perfect redeemer we’re drowning without. The special of today is not that He’s more Him today than any other; the special of this day is that today we’re thinking about it.

Today just as any other this is a building of six separated, but the lines swirl unreadable between neighbors and friends, between friends and family, and there are four breakfast casseroles here. Our ceiling is their floor, all day, every day, but today, we’re all sitting around one table, please pass the mango juice, and can you even imagine the weaving of life strings in this room?

Because I’ve got a story and upstairs has a story, across the hall, too. My story is me and yours is you, but there’s one God who holds all stories in the palm of His grand Story. And I know He’s wise, I know He’s sovereign, because He’s winding each story together and I’ll never quite understand. I’ll never quite understand how story meeting story means there’s wise words to soothe nervous hearts, little hands ready to play together, and six units of family wound together tight just when we need it.

December 25th is a snapshot of a year; close your eyes, I bet you can tell me where you were last 12/25, and the one before and before, well into years behind. True for you and true for me and turn around, last year today the mexican sun was hot and white bright through the VIPS window. And it’s funny because it really all started in this mexican diner chain; Mexico City in 2008, I’d been in Mexico four hours and really didn’t know what I had ordered.

Last year little family squinting in the sun in a downtown Mexico diner, at least we all know what we ordered. This year there’s snow finally, finally, dusting the Chicago streets outside, and I’m peeling dinner potatoes when Mom says call Mexico.

I always hesitate, and I’m really not sure why, but I call the Casa Hogar and Christmas has traditions, they’re all watching movies. But the voice on the other end rings happy, hits deep in my heart. Wise woman, woman whose love binds tight and holds strong. And we’re trading words over this Skype call; asking questions, murmuring assent and understanding, soaking up details because it’s been a long time and it’ll be longer until we’re face to face.

And then Rubi’s on the line and I suddenly realize that different countries, schools, families, skin tones really don’t matter because three years running friendship, Rubi was in my class at school in Mexico. And there’s a grip, a trust settling in my heart, because I trust Him to do well, and I trust Him to do right, and these are not friendships I have to fight to keep a grasp on, these are gifts He’s given because He is gracious.

And later, later, the day’s winding down but my phone is buzzing and cousins are friends, too, and the cousin-sister sends me back to Skype, once more. And it’s funny because I can hear them maybe a little, but they can’t hear me. But a picture is worth a thousand words and a video chat is worth more; words or no words. The other side of the country is 4×6 inches on my computer screen and I’m waving and blowing kisses to family I adore.

And Christmas is a day just like any other, and God is God every hour always, but pause, celebrate: Christmas is so very special, too.

~Natalia

Cousins Tonight

27 Nov 2012 2 Comments

by nataliaria in Family, Food, Photos, Thanksgiving


photo by Grandma.

Not because I’m tired, although I was face down, eyes closed, on The Roommate’s bed when she returned to the room earlier this evening.

Not because I’m stressed, although it is admittedly a jumbled twist of a line between excited and stressed and generally content about life.

Not because I’ve too much to do, although that might actually be the case.

But tonight, because I had such a very wonderful time with my cousins over the weekend, and because I’m so thankful that they are in my life and for the years of jokes and family history that have tied us together.

So, for you, here’s a picture of cousins whom I love dearly, practicing a little teamwork and assembly line action to clean a post-Thanksgiving-dinner kitchen.

~Natalia

Here and Then

02 Oct 2012 2 Comments

by nataliaria in Clothes, College, Food, Friends, God, Grow, Moody Bible Institute

The world,

the world that happens outside of this little square of Chicago

that we call

Moody Bible Institute,

is a little different.

Here in this school,

in this community,

I put on an outfit I’ve never worn before,

standing long in front of the bathroom mirror,

mentally weighing I think this is cute

against I’m not sure about this outfit.

But, I’m just going to lunch, so I might as well wear it.

In this community,

there are kind eyes and sincere smiles waiting at the SDR table,

I’m not looking for compliments,

nor expecting them,

but Mary’s barely seen me when she grins,

sky blue eyes sparkling.

She likes the outfit.

Weaving my way through the kitchen,

I’m balancing water and utensils and plate.

Eye contact with a girl I’ve just barely met

and she’s nodding her greeting,

nodding her approval.

She’s kind and thoughtful and she likes my outfit.

Moody Bible Institute

and in this community,

compliments, words of affirmation,

are easily spoken, meaningfully spoken,

and treasured, too.

Four years of life in this community

can break down walls of self-trust and pride;

words I’ll keep and thoughts I’ll never share.

I’ve been here barely one year,

and Mary again, this time sitting in Nelle’s room,

pauses to look up at me.

She’s noticed a difference in my heart,

in my vulnerability,

and our friendship is growing, expanding, because of it.

There’s challenge and growth

and

opportunity for vulnerability

in this community,

and stepping out in faith, trusting Him with my heart and feelings,

is beginning to look more rewarding than I ever thought.

In this community, this Bible school,

we sit in chapel together;

1600 students in one place,

under one God.

In this community, we learn together,

passing periods a bustle of students walking from one building to another,

from one class to another.

Here

we eat, play, laugh, cry, grow

together.

The world outside Moody is a little different,

but we’re here now,

and God can,

God will,

use here now to prepare our hearts, prepare our minds,

for out there, then.

~Natalia

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