Heres to Drinking the Mexican Water...

Don't do it. Just DON'T do it: Drink the water that is.

You know, just when you think you've gotten the hang of this Mexico gig, and your stomach is all iron clad and ready for a punch from any parasite/bacteria that comes your way, you suddenly find yourself humbled once again at the porcelain thrown. When they tell you to never drink the tap water in Mexico, you should really just listen and not do it. Alas, my stubborn spirit tried to fight another uphill battle and lost. I thought to myself, "just a handful of this water wont kill me, I'm sure..." This is a very similar story to "Eating these notorious roadside strawberries wont kill me, I'm sure"...When will I ever learn?

Nonetheless, I find an interesting parallel to this situation I'm in with the lives we are living here in Mexico right now. We've been here now for about 4 months, and man have we been humbled-time and again. I've felt homesick (and I mean sick) for the strangest things-from missing the wide range of junkfood available to me at a moments notice in the States, to sitting in a room with my old roommates and chatting about nonsense for hours on end. Its been a difficult journey, one filled to the brim with ups and downs, and I am humbled.


-I thought that because I had moved so much throughout my life, from Texas to Georgia to Tennessee to Arizona, that this meant I would very easily adjust to a new culture abroad. I thought that because I had lived in the very polarized cultures of the Conservative South and the Liberal West that that would allow me the experience to successfully adapt to Mexican culture. I am humbled.

-I thought that because I had a degree focused on development and written a 90 page thesis about development that I would have a clue about what that development looked like amidst an actually impoverished community, amidst my bouts of homesickness, amidst culture clashes, amidst the inevitable adjustments required in a new marriage. Boy, am I humbled.

-I thought that because we came here to serve that we would have a vast range of duties and responsibilities that nobody but us could fill; that we were an invaluable resource to the community. I am humbled.

Sometimes, these lessons in humility are like a grown up version of spankings by your parents when you're five. You feel immediately ashamed, and then sheepish to talk to anyone about what you did (or in this case, learned) after the fact. But I do not want to come back home and lie to everyone's face by only sharing the good. And the good here is REALLY good. There are 50 children living in a town outside our city who are lucky to see their parents or eat a bit of food each day. Now, they are being loved and cared for twice a week by committed adults. And the children ADORE our visits and meet us in the same spot in the same park every week for more love. THIS is something good!

Now, of course, there is the bad. The heartache of longing for the comforts of my own culture grows stronger every time I am humbled by something else here. Its a resilient monster to fight each day. I can't lie to all and say that I've conquered the monster and that I love this place more than my old place and never want to go back to the States. That would be a filthy lie. However, I can say that I am adjusted to life here better than ever. I know more about what to expect from people here because I understand their culture more, therefore I don't live in constant anxiety about whether my actions or comments have offended or will offend anyone. This, I can conclude, is a success. I have not just traveled to a new country for a week and made claims and sweeping generalizations about a new culture. That, I know now, is impossible to do without having really lived somewhere. But I have LIVED here, and I DO understand the culture more. For that reason alone, I can call this a success.

Yet still, I am humbled. Day in and day out.