vivir mi vida

"Yo quiero estar contigo

Vivir contigo

Bailar contigo

Tener contigo una noche loca

Ayyy besar tu boca!

Bailando amor oohhh es que se me va el dolor."

As of now I am in Rocklin, California.

I am writing from a lonely Starbucks feeling incredibly displaced.

This is not home.

I think Mexico is home.

This isn't just some knee jerk reaction to leaving some of the best friends I have ever had, some of the most mouth watering food I have ever tasted and some of the craziest yet down to earth nights I have ever danced away...

I really mean it.

Creo que Mexico es el lugar mas cerca de mi corazon. La gente que me dan una bienvendia como nunca he experimentado antes...es mi casa.

The mix of people that I have grown to love and live in community with span from all sides of the globe. I have been blessed to fall in love with so many incredible individuals. 

It really is beautiful how a group of people with incredibly different cultures, religions, language, histories, traditions, ect can come together in the name of adventure and do just that. 

The last week has been one of the most amazing weeks of my life. It was filled with ridiculous adventures, dancing all night long, meals with friends, CHAPALA, late night movies (that we totally stayed awake for...), ice skating, carousel riding, exploring, we should be sleeping but instead we will embark on loco shenanigans... these memories will last forever. I know that when I think back on the last week my heart will leap for joy and begin to sing Vivir Mi Vida.

Unfortunately, I know that after my heart finishes that stupidly catchy tune, it will sink.

That last week was easily one of the hardest weeks of my life. 

I have never said goodbyes that broke me as much as these ones did. 

I have always had tons of friends. The whole making friends thing isn't too difficult for me.

The feeling of belonging though, that's a different story.

Ever since I was small I have been surrounded by tons of people but felt like a stranger.

I don't know if it's my own insecurities playing a mean joke on me or the fact that I just kind of hover from place to place never really putting my feet down.

Regardless, the feeling of permanency in any aspect of my life has been lacking.

That is, until I met these people.

I belong.

Sadly, we will never be together again.

Some are staying and for that I am incredibly thankful, but the majority need to return to their respective countries.

It hurts.

It really does.

I am not alone in this feeling.

I talked with several of my friends who all said the same thing...

Mexico has become home,

not because of the country in and of itself, but because of the family that we have developed there.

Right before I went to the airport I took a walk with a friend and when it was time to say goodbye he looked me in the eyes and simply said

"I don't like this."

I don't like this. 

I don't like this one bit. 

In fact, I hate this.

My heart is shattered into about 25 pieces... one for every person that I have given my heart to and will probably never see again.

Another one of my friends said,

"Alright, who's getting married? Someone really should do it soon because then we can all be together and once again MAKE PARTY."

(The direct translation to "Let's have a party or let's party from Spanish to English is "Make party"... It kills me. Every time.)

Maybe when we make party we can also make selfies to remember the reunion.

This next period of transition is going to be hell.

I am already feeling it.

I really have no desire to do anything...

that is, I have no desire to do anything except for return to Mexico,

right now.

Leoni, Raphael, Jasiel, Kerry, Jordi, Ardaldo, Judith, Julia, Karin, Kaori, Itzel, Leon, Lucas, Victor, Fabian, Cris, Brenda, Maria and so many more.... 

You have my heart. 

I really wish that words could do this justice.

They really can't.

Pictures might help... (*cough* Rapha *cough*)

I guess this is it for now. 

I'm sure that I will have more eloquent words to say once my brain processes and properly mourns the loss of this beautiful life.  

Les amo a todos.

Have fun. Be safe. Stay out of the kitchen. ;)

thanks for your abnormalities

Thankfulness. 

That's what today is all about.

I love the tradition of setting aside a space to be with friends and family and to remember all that you have in your life to be thankful for. 

Yes, I know that everyday you should acknowledge what you have to be thankful for, but there is something about intentionality that is special.

Intentionality changes lives.

Or at least, it has changed mine. 

I have blogged in the past about those significant adults in my life who have shown me agape love.

The ones who had nothing to gain yet made sacrifices for me.

I'm really thankful.

Consequently, I'm a fan of the collective intentionality that accompanies Thanksgiving.

Today I would like to set aside time and space to say a special thank you to my parents. 

They're pretty frickin fantastic. 

Mom and dad... you guys are incredible individuals.

You have raised me in a counter-cultural way and for that I can never thank you enough.

You have taught me what it means to be a strong, independent and determined woman of God.

You have not only shown me how to take control of my life and declare my own person, you have taught me how to do that for the purpose of pouring all of me into the lives of the people around me.

I kind of thought that this train of though was the norm.

Ya know, the giving to others both tangibly and emotionally thing...

it's not.

Yeah, definitely not normal.

A few days ago I had the assignment to give a presentation regarding my life and the purpose behind my decided course of study,

I threw it together quickly (because let's be honest... a presentation about me doesn't exactly require research or study) and then presented it to my class.

They were dumbfounded.

So many questions... people just couldn't wrap their brains around the concept of doing whatever it takes to love.

Mom and dad, thank you so much.

I am so extremely privileged to have been raised in such a way that challenges the status quo. 

So Momma... you are one fierce woman. 

Your strength and independence inspires me and Madison is so many ways.

You taught me how to throw the metaphorical middle finger towards those who judge.

You're also super feisty and sassy.

It's great.

Scratch that.. it's fergilicious.

You don't take shit from anyone and that's impressive.

Along with your incredibly strong character traits come incredibly compassionate character traits.

You showed me the meaning of selflessness as I watched you give up everything to be Madison and my number one fan and encourager. 

I watched you spend all day working with your students and was amazed.

Your day with them did not end in the classroom.

You built relatinships with them and poured so much intentionality and genuine love into them...

You taught me how to love the difficult.

You have this knack for working with kids that nobody else can handle.

I watched your heart break time and time again for the lives of your students.

I also watched you take that broken heart and use it to repair theirs.

You repetitively let yourself be broken in order to make the necessary sacrifices to build them up.

Mom, you're a hero.

You're definitely my hero, but I can't claim ownership of this admiration.

There are so many kids out there that have had their lives changed by you.

They are also thankful.

Well dad, now it's your turn.

You are the real Mr. Incredible.

You, like mom, have given your life to others.

I can't imagine how incredibly taxing your work is.

I did only a fraction of it for one summer and I can attest that it was completely exhausting.

The good kind of exhausted though... like the glutton for punishment kind.

Like the I've literally spent the last 150 hours with middle schoolers yet all I want to do is spend more time with middle schoolers kind of thing...

But anyways

Dad, Daddy-O, Paps, Mr. Commissioner,

you live by example. Words are not needed, yet when you give them they are laced with wisdom.

You also have this weirdly awesome ability to create absolutely crazy, unsafe, intense yet doable, competitive, wacky, and super fun games that somehow can be translated into this deep, moral and spiritual lesson. 

It's seriously impressive.

You should probably write a book about it or something.

#bestseller

Keegan and I tried that whole game creation thing once... we came up with "a head of lettuce".

#subpar 

When you are preaching, God flows through you.

You are extraordinarily gifted in the communication department.

Your words hit hearts hard and people never really recover.

Point in case: the fat cow sermon. ;)

You not only connect to people from behind the pulpit though, your counseling skills are magnificent. You can connect with people with such ease and people are quick to let you in.

The number of people whom you have impacted in your life is innumerable. 

We can start with this girl though...

your faith has impacted me in so many ways. Because of you I have a raw faith.

I'm not the pastor's kid who has all of the answers,

I'm the pastor's kid who knows that she doesn't know shit.

Well that's not entirely true... I know the breadth and power of God's love. 

For that I am so thankful.

Dad, thank you.

My parents are really special.

If you don't know them, you really should.

That is anyway, if you don't mind your life being changed in radical ways.

My parents are abnormal. 

For that, I am thankful.

breathe in, breathe out, remember.

I have written of death in the past.

I guess I think about it a lot,

not in a creepy way, 

but in a pensive manner.

Out of curiosity, I looked up the definition of "death".

"The action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism. The permanent ending of vital processes in a cell or tissue."

So scientific.

So mathematical.

So... calculated.

Death of the body is inevitable.

We all know that.

We are not built to live forever.

Things that are built, constructed, formed... they have an end.

What about things that are breathed?

"Then the Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground. He breathed the breath of life into the man's nostrils and the man became a living person."

Genesis 2:7 

The body is formed.

The life is breathed.

This breath is special.

This breath lasts forever.

I mean, come on, it is God's breath after all.

I reckon that it's quite powerful.

This breath, 

the breath breathed into your lungs by none other than the Lord of Lords, 

is not uniquely yours. 

Sorry to break it to you, but this breath is for everyone.

This breath is for the homeless man on the corner that you pass by every day.

This breath is for the single mom using food stamps to support her family.

This breath is for the young African American you switch to the other side of the road to avoid.

This breath is for the billionaire businessman living a life of luxury while from his penthouse he can see young women being forced to sell their bodies.

This breath is for your mother.

This breath is for your best friend.

This breath is for the barista who knows just exactly how much cream to put in your late.

This breath is for your favorite musician, author, painter. 

This breath lives.

We die.

Our breath, however, does not.

This weekend I celebrated El Dia de los Muertos.

It was beautiful.

Mexicans know how to celebrate life.

They understand that though the body dies, the breath does not.

They take the time to remember their loved ones who are no longer physically present.

They take time to share memories.

They laugh.

They cry.

They build. 

They build these incredible altars.

Now, before you freak out, they are not worshiping these altars.

They do not worship the dead.

They appreciate them.

These altars are constructed with the things that were most important, or best represent the life that was lived by whomever the altar is construed to honor. 

My host mother showed me a beautiful altar built to honor her sister who died last year from cancer.

She wept tears of joy as she explained the particulars.

She would point to a food and say 

"Hemos tratado de hacerlo al igual que lo hizo... pero nadie puede cocinar como mi hermana."

"We tried to make it just like she did... but nobody can cook like my sister."

Through this beautiful representation of bodily life she was able to explain to me the spirit of her beloved sister.

Her passions, dreams desires... they are all remembered and appreciated. 

It really is incredible.

It is no coincidence that this day falls during the Catholic "All Saints Day."

This celebration of the dead in Mexico can be traced back for close to 4,000 years.

It used to be a much longer festival of sorts, but when the Catholic church came to the Americas, they combined the two in attempt to convert the indigenous people to Catholicism.

Though it is sad that the lengthy celebration has been lost, I appreciate the semi-combination.

It gives me an opportunity to celebrate the breath of these people in a very tangible way.

The sainthood, as viewed in the many branches of the protestant church, includes all believers who are no longer with us.

This means that on this day I am given the space to both celebrate and mourn the life and loss of many in my life.

I can build metaphorical altars as a means of remembrance.

Now, Gram Anne, your altar:

These altars have three levels

3. Heaven

2. Honoring objects from the life

1. The grave

3. This level would include a beautiful photo of Anne, an ornate cross, and possibly some incense. 

2. Here I would include a book of fairy tales,  home made caramel and some birks.

1. I would place here many candles and possibly a painting of a headstone. 

Gram Anne, I mourn your death.

But Gram Anne, I celebrate your life.

I celebrate your breath.

You used your breath to love me deeply.

You used your breath to fly yourself up to the Harb and go trick or treating with me dressed as Mad Madam Mimm.

You used your breath to record your voice reading fairy tales so that it was you that I fell asleep listening to as a child.

You used your breath to share your faith with me.

This holy breath,

this life that is breathed,

you used it well.

I honor you for that.

____________

May we all use our breath well,

for our breath will last forever. 

"One God and Father of all,

who is over all, in all, and living through all."

Ephesians 4:6

la alegría es una elección

I'm tired.

I would guess that over the past few weeks I've averaged about three hours of sleep per night.

I'm sick.

This is probably results from the lack of sleep.

I'm sad.

The death of my grandmother is weighing heavily on my heart. Seattle suffered yet another school shooting a few days ago. Mexico is in turmoil... so many killings, so little resolution. My father must move to Sacramento without my mother while she waits for the house to sell. I miss my kids. 

____

I am joyful.

I choose joy.

The other day in my Spanish class, I looked absolutely terrible. This was caused by an involuntary all-nighter, a screaming head ache and serious caffeine withdrawals. 

My prof asked me "Kayla, estas bien? Necisitas regresar a tu casa para descansar?"

Kayla, are you okay? Do you need to return to your house to rest?

"No, estoy bien. La alegria es una eleccion."

No, I'm good. Joy is a choice. 

____

To be honest, I was surprised by my response. 

"Happy" was definitely not a word appropriate for my description that day.

Actually, "happy" is still not a proper descriptive word for my person.

Joy is though.

Joy is much more than an emotion. 

Joy is an action.

You activate joy in your life. 

You embody a joyful nature when you acknowledge that sure, life can be a bitch, but it doesn't matter.

It simply doesn't matter because what we view as terrible is nothing in comparison to the massive amount of love being poured upon us every moment from the living God. 

You don't need to be all happy-go-lucky to have joy present within your life.

You just need to have faith.

You need to take a deep breath and relinquish control. 

Believe that God is good.

____

This joy does not necessarily need to be attained without question.

Heck, I question, argue, freak out and rant to my home-girl Tracy all of the time...

I take my cues from Habakkuk. 

Habakkuk was a prophet in the Hebrew Bible. He's my favorite.

He's the only prophet who questions the working of God.

Israel is in distress. They have been completely overrun and are in complete despair. 

Habakkuk does not simply say "Oh, everything will be fine. God loves us. Everything happens for a reason. Pain is temporary..." You know, the usual encouragement given.

"How long, Lord, must I call for help,

but you do not listen?

Or cry out to you, 'Violence!'

but you do not save?

Why do you make me look at injustice?

Why do you tolerate wrongdoing?

Destruction and violence are before me;

there is strife, and conflict abounds.

Therefore the law is paralyzed,

and justice never prevails.

The wicked him in the righteous,

so that justice is perverted."

Habakkuk 1:2-4

Damn, Habakkuk.

We are one soul. 

Habakkus lets the Lord have a serious piece of his mind. 

He shares what is troubling his heart and he does not hold back.

But then Habakkuk does something that is much easier said than done...

he listens.

He waits on the Lord to hear His side of the story.

"Look at the nations and watch-

and be utterly amazed.

For I am going to do something in your days

that you would not believe,

even if you were told."

Habakkuk 1:5

The conversation continues on in this fashion.

It is a dialogue, a beautiful dialogue, of honesty and truth.

____

As of late my prayers have sounded quite similar to the prayers of Habakkuk.

I am angry.

I am confused.

I am tired.

I am sick.

I am sad.

I am joyful.

Yes, full of joy.

I know that I can have hope in this darkness because I have a God who overcomes all.

I am with a God who lets me rand and rave, question and doubt, yell and scream...

but then I wait.

Speak Lord, your servant is listening. 

porque no?

I mean, I guess Mexico is pretty rad.

Like, look at that adorable puppy...

My language is coming along well.

Actually, that depends on your definition of "well".

If by "well" you mean that I can communicate accurately and effectively than yeah, I'm doing really well with it.

If by "well" you mean fluent... yeah no.

I would say that my communication is 70% verbal, 10% taboo, and about 20% charades.

It's a fun time.

I'm making great friends, learning lovely things about Mexican culture, finding new and exciting places to explore...

This country, these people and this culture have so much to teach me.

I cannot truly learn in only five months.

So, I'm going to stay.

Surprise! 

I have extended my time here at this university until June.

I am super jacked.

And by super jacked I mean super jacked!

There are some things that are proving to be a bit difficult...

like acquiring a work visa.

In order to remain here I am going to need to get a job to, you know, pay for that thing called life.

I'm not entirely sure how to go about this...

so thankfully a few of my local friends have agreed to give me a hand. 

I'll keep you updated on how that pans out.

(Also, that was kind super punny because I'm looking into getting a job at a panaderia)

It is incredibly exciting to think of all of the crazy experiences I am going to share with Mexico over the next several months.

Vive Mexico!

Am I right, or am I right?

Anyways, just a short life update.

There is obviously tons going on but for now, this is enough.

Have a splendid day.

Here's another puppy picture because, porque no?

esta vida es para mi

so i guess stereotypes are born from some truth.

i'm sitting here, in starbucks, reading.

i'm also listening to macklemore

and wearing birks

with socks. 

ugh.

pnw much?

homesickness is not what this is.

i'm just proud of my culture.

my laid back

tree hugging

adventure seeking

deep conversation craving

good coffee drinking

dog walking

totally tubular 

culture. 

last night i went to a festival of sorts to celebrate mexican culture. 

i watched, along with 2,000 of my closest friends, the lighting of a 

30 foot tall

spinning

red

green

and white

pyrotechnic cactus.

oh yeah, then it shot frickin awesome fireworks into the sky.

it was just the kind of thing that would absolutely never fly state-side.

Viva Mexico!

i love my personal culture

the culture of the pnw,

the 253.

i also love how my culture is forming to be very cosmopolitan.

yesterday, a woman asked me if i wanted some agua de jamaica.

i responded "ee mma."

awks,

not in botswana anymore.

i also do not walk with my head down.

i greet, or at least smile at, every person that i pass.

very setswana of me.

patience has become more than a virtue in my life.

it has become a defining characteristic of my personal culture.

why hurry?

why rush to wait?

so, i sit.

some call it african time.

others latin american time.

i call it my time.

my time that can easily be shared.

though some would argue that this lifestyle is less efficient than the hustle and bustle of the states,

i would argue the opposite.

maybe it depends on your definition of efficiency. 

sure, you might not accomplish as much work.

but you sure as hell will have more meaningful interactions.

those extra two minutes waiting for your coffee can be spent in dialogue with the cashier

or the person behind you in line

or the other individual also waiting for their beverage of choice.

who knows, you might just make a new friend.

or

i guess

you could spend it on your iphone planning out the rest of your day to the 15 minute marker.

life is cool.

why speed through it?

why spend every moment planning the next?

i'd prefer to actually live it.

let's not go forward.

let's not go back.

let's just stay

right 

here.

guadalajara,

what do you have to teach me today?

estoy lista para ti. 

to know and to be known

Wanderlust:

a strong desire to travel.

(Oxford)

Wanderlust:

a strong longing for or impulse toward wandering.

(Merriam Webster)

Wanderlust:

that thing I have that causes me to be in a constant state of transition. 

(Me)

I am loving my time in Guadalajara.

Just like I loved my time in Gig Harbor, Gaborone, Chicago...

Three years,

Four homes.

We could even say five if we count Yelm for the summer of 2013. 

Wanderlust.

It's funny, in a sick kind of way, that this is the life that I have chosen for myself.

But then again, it is not.

Not at all.

Living this way allows me to be completely free.

I move to a new place

with new people

new laws

new history

new language...

new me.

Nobody knows me, not even a little bit.

People know whatever I chose to let them know.

Those of you who have been with me for years know that opening up to people is not something that comes naturally to me. 

In fact, I'm pretty terrible at it.

This fact of my life being true makes my wanderlusty nature extremely convenient.

One might even say that this is the cause of it.

I would argue against that though.

My wanderlust is caused by a strong desire to know others

and by knowing others, know myself.

I watch.

I listen.

I learn.

Wanderlust.

This time, however, is different.

For once, I want to be known.

Transition is great.

I usually love it.

It opens up the doors for innumerable adventures. 

It is during times of uncertainty that I flourish.

I am forced to trust and to be bold.

I leap.

But now, during this season, it would be nice to be know.

When I moved to Guadalajara from Gig Harbor I knew that I would most likely never return.

I knew that my family was moving back to California, but I was not allowed to tell anyone.

It absolutely broke my heart.

I could not inform people because on the off chance that we decided not to move, people knowing that we were planning on moving would cause an immense about of ickyness. 

So I left.

When people asked me when I'd be "home" I would say that I don't know,

not because I still haven't booked a return ticket (which is true),

but because I would not ever be coming "home".

What is home, anyway?

My kids at work would talk about how excited they were to hang out during Christmas break.

Some even began making plans for the following summer.

Parents consistently came up to me during the last few months to tell me of how their kid had "never connected with an adult leader in this way before" or "how being able to maintain a relationship past the summer will be such a great way to show that you're not just another adult that is going to abandon them..."

I would smile and nod.

That's all that I could do, after all.

But hey, why don't you twist that knife a little bit more? 

I'm sure it'll feel great.

When I first found out that there was a chance of us moving, I had a very difficult decision to make:

Do I build meaningful relationships with these kids all along knowing that I am going to have to leave them?

or

Do I solely play the role of facilitator this summer to save myself and the kids from the eventual heartbreak?

I chose to be relational.

Not just because I wanted to know these kids but because I remember how significant the college kids who worked with me were. I would not trade those relationships for anything. 

I guess all I can say is that I'm sorry.

If I hurt anyone I surely did not mean it.

This summer was one of the best and worst summers of my life.

So many incredible ups followed by terrible downs.

Every up, in its own way, was a down.

Joy was quickly turned to sorrow as I realized that this positive memory would only be a memory.

Not a future. 

It was hard.

On top of it all, I was "home" but because of my wanderlusty nature, it was not home.

I was in the harbor, but my heart was still in Africa.

Now, I am in Mexico, but my heart is the harb.

I would like to be known.

Really, I would.

But, at least for now, that does not seem to be in the cards.

Guadalajara, you're one crazy adventure, but shit...

I'm falling for this place

this culture

these people

this language.

But soon I will leave.

That is my life.

That is my love.

That is my burden.

I guess I'm just trying to figure it all out.

But then again, who isn't?