It's amazing how fast three years goes by. Our lives divided up into chapters that end before you think they should, before you are ready for them to be. Sometimes I think it is helpful to re-read the endings of previous chapters to remind us how to transition well (or to transition at all). To remind ourselves that we have done this before and we can do it again. Remind us that the story is not in fact over yet, so there is always at least one more song to sing, one more dance to dance, one more moment to be lived, one more laugh or tear or hug or kiss to be shared. These endings of old chapters quickly turn into beginnings of new ones, but not before we must live (even if for a brief moment) in the in-between spaces that are oh-so-uncomfortable for us all. Yet I am learning that is in fact in these liminal stages that we learn the most about ourselves and about God and God's grace.
These past few weeks (and well before that as well), I have been faced with my two worlds, the two parts that reside deep in me, sometimes at peace with each other, sometimes at war (like during a USA vs. Brazil "friendly" soccer game) but always in tension. I have realized that to a large part I like to keep them as separate as possible because I don't know how to reside in both places at the same time. Part of me is American to the core, born and raised in Texas. It is where my family is, where my childhood was lived, where most of my story lies, where my language comes easily and where many of the people I love most in this world will always live. But the other side of me, pulling, tugging and forever calling me back is Brasil. It is where I fell in love for the first time in so many ways. It is where I learned about a God who desires life and life abundant for all of God's children. It is where I met people who I want to be like, dedicating their lives to loving and serving those whom others have forgotten or choose not to see. It is where I learned to samba, to speak a language that did not come easily at first but now feels easier in some ways than English. It is where I learned that there is beauty in simplicity, in the rooftops of favelas, clothes swaying in the breeze, streets covered with Brasilian flags made of chalk, and the roar of the entire community when Brasil just scored the winning goal.
I often wonder what God was thinking giving me such a passion for a country that is not my own. Am I crazy? Am I an impostor? Am I trying too hard to be something I am not? I have tried to figure it out. I have tried to get over it. I have tried to chalk it up to just a great experience that I had when I was young and can now scratch off my bucket list. But my efforts have largely been futile. Why must I love people so deeply that live on the other side of the world? Why did I fall so deeply in love with Brasil's people, its music, its language? These are questions that I wrestle with deep within me as I seek to figure out who God has called and created me to be. My mother told me recently, "you are trying desperately to figure out how your two worlds come together". As I struggle to see how my two worlds will collide (hopefully with ease and grace) I am reminded of the words of a song by Maria Gadu, Extranjero. "Tengo la vida en dos mitades pero amor lo tengo entero". (I live life in two halves, but my love is whole). This is indeed where I am at. Caught in the in between of two worlds, never quite fully at home in one without some part of the other close by. I hope as I walk into this next chapter I will see more and more of the beauties tied up in living in "dos mitades". I know the struggle will continue, but I find hope in knowing a God who became incarnate, caught in the in-between, in that liminal space as well, never fully at home in this world, but loving- wholly, completely, extravagantly, nonetheless.
Extranjero- Maria Gadú
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