Four Legged, Furry Friend

Every boy wants a dog, and my boy is no different. Moving several times over the past few years just hasn't provided a good opportunity to get a dog. So we made the promise “when we get to our first post as a family you can get a dog.” The researching began. Damon spent hours looking at different dogs online. Reading about their characteristics, thinking of names. Last year on the day after Thanksgiving there was a dog bed that matched Damon's room for a seriously good price. We bought it and put it away for that big day when we would get a dog.

When we arrived in Bogota one of the first things we noticed was how many people had dogs. Dogs out playing in the park, dogs with joggers, dog walkers with 6-9 dogs. We were delighted that Bogota is such a dog friendly city.

But, we live in an apartment. It's not an easy “let the dog out the back door” sort of a place. We have to take an elevator up to our apartment. This was rather a nerve racking thought to me because you know whose responsibility the dog will be when Damon is at school! Our first week here some new friends said they were taking their French Bulldog over to the kennel while they were out of town. I thought about if for one night and said “Do you mind if we watch the dog? Sort of a trial run for us to see if the dog thing works.”.

So Luna the Bulldog came to stay with us. Luna has a character of her own. She can play catch in the park for over an hour, sprinting after the ball with so much energy it makes you giggle. She had a little cockiness to her as well. She learned that if the ball went in the river Damon would have to go down and wade through the water trying to catch up with the ball, so on occasion she would chase the ball, look at Damon, drop the ball down the bank then look at him again with her tail wagging. Luna had a gas issue as well. Sometimes we would be sitting there and this awful smell would appear. We would gag and run out of the room. But oddly enough we really liked Luna. She had wormed her way into our hearts.

So the search for a dog of our own began. We had a dog trainer come over. We told him the qualities we were looking for. We talked to people in the park with dogs. Then we began shopping. The most important quality to us was health. Apparently there is a lot of inbreeding going on here producing dogs with many health problems. A lack of proper vaccinations at an early age is another problem. We put the word out. I called a few vets I had heard of, the trainer was looking, we went down to Usican to look for people selling puppies. We found a cute Dalmatian puppy, a Chocolate Lab and the little Shitzu I tried talking my son into. But none were on our list of what we wanted.

I contacted the Pet Shop down the street. They put the word out and soon called me back with a Husky puppy to see. We were all excited. I was positive this was going to be our baby. A friend took the kids and I down to “pet street”. It's an area where there are a couple blocks with pet shop after pet shop. Unhealthy animals, but cheap prices on all the necessities for having a dog. We bought the crate and three beds, a dog house and bowls. As we were walking back to the car with our new dog stuff, my phone rang. It was the Pet Shop and they said the dog had arrived but was not in good health. They could not sell it to us. And just like that all the anticipation fizzled out of me. No dog but a lot of dog goods. We continued to wait patiently. I kept calling the various contacts I had until finally a Belgian Shepherd was found. The owner came over. There was no decision. It was assumed the first dog to make it into our house would be ours. This dog wasn't on our list, but he has made a place in our home.

All For Two Bananas

At 10 this morning my friend and I headed to the farmer's market in the park. I was looking forward to this outing – getting out of the house, seeing the farmer's market and just having some girl time. The 15 min. walk went quickly as we chatted away. The first stall had several potted herbs that looked superbly healthy. I was delighted as planting an herb garden was on my list for the weekend. We negotiated the price, paid and began to move on.

The first thing I noticed that reminded me that I was not in America was the table with beef slabs on it. I knew they weren't just placed there moments before because I had jogged by 3 hours earlier when the market was already in full swing. I'll pass on the beef.

Next we found our way into the fruit and vegetable area. It was wonderful. Everything was so much fresher than I have found in the grocery store. A worker motioned for us to use a crate in the center of the floor as we were shopping. We loaded up our crate then checked out the cheese and egg table. I was beginning to worry about how we were going to lug all this produce back to the apartment. We stepped up to pay for our items and asked if we could have the things delivered to my place. Sure enough, just like every other business here in Bogota they would deliver our purchases for us! We gave them my address and told them to leave the items with my Portero. Relived that we didn't have to carry everything home we headed over to the coffee shop.

By the time we made our way back to the apartment we were confident our produce would be waiting for us. After a confusing conversation with the Portero we understood that the kids accepted the produce and it was already upstairs. After dumping our other things on the floor I called to my son and asked where the produce was. He began to stutter. The Portero called, something about “Did I want some produce in my apartment?”. Being wise he wasn't going to fall into the trap of someone selling him vegetable that we didn't want so he told them “no, I don't want the vegetables.”.

My friend and I looked at each other. We were both wondering how we were going to track down our produce. Sighing I put my shoes and jacket back on and we headed out the door. Our feet moved a bit slower on this trip back to the park. Upon arriving we found the market was just being packed up. Yes, our stuff had been rejected; yes, they would deliver it for us once again. My friend headed to her apartment and I back to mine.

When I got back I tried to communicate to the Portero that when my stuff came, please call me and have it sent up to the 7^th floor. Upon hearing the word “call” and seeing me with my fingers to my ears and face as if I were talking on a phone, he lit-up. Grinning he took a piece of paper off his desk and handed it to me. Through his jumble of words I realized he was telling me the deliverer had left his number so that when we arrived back home he could deliver the produce. Figures. Sighing I headed upstairs to wait for the produce so I could walk it over to my friends.

Equipping

Tonight I found myself in a very uncomfortable situation. I was invited to a coffee as an opportunity to meet some other women. The woman hosting the coffee is Colombian with very good English. Yet I still missunderstood the exact nature of the evening. I wondered about a coffee in the late afternoon so it made sence when I arrived that horderves and wine were being served. A small group of women were seated around the coffee table chatting - in Spanish. As the conversation progressed through the evening the woman next to me spoke English and gave me glimpses of the conversation. All the women were Colombian and all were professionals. I understood the graciousness of the hostess to have invited me to this social evening but inside I wanted to crawl up in a little ball and close my eyes. I felt so inaddequate among this group of polished women. My fingernails are broken from washing the floor. My hair needs a trim because I've not braved trying to get it cut. My conversation is with teenagers throughout the day. I felt like the frumpy middle aged housewife. These things are my place of comfort and a far world from the life these women live.

As I worked hard to understand a word here and there, the women all expressed kindness to me through their smiles and an English word here and there. One thing that was clear to me is that it was a gift to be where I was, in the company of these women.

I don't typically understand God and the way he works or the people he chooses to do certain tasks. My heart has always yearned for the poor. To serve them with my hands and feet, yet here I was in the most contrasting situation I could imagine and for some reason God had placed me here. Confucius said "To know what is right and not do it is the worst cowardice." I know what is right. It is right to serve the poor, but it is also right to serve and love those God puts in our lives. I am way out of my comfort zone on this one but it seems often that is the way God works. He stretches us and molds us to show himself through us in the most unlikely situations. Someone once said "God does not call the equipped; He equips the called." Somehow God has a way to equip me in each situation he brings my way.

I encourage you today to look for those situatuions in which you feel inadequate. Don't run from them but alow God to stretch you and use you in them.

Church Shopping

Finding a new church is a hard thing. It's not like shopping for a new pair of shoes or a hairdresser. The search for a church is not a philosophical decision, but rather one of the heart. Many emotions are involved in making this decision.

Whether you have moved to a new area or have decided that you need to find a new place to worship, past experiences hugely influence your decision. We crave the good experiences of the past and fear the bad. People are drawn to different churches for different reasons: worship style, programs offered, preaching style, friends or sense of community. It's easy to walk into a new church and become critical, judging each element trying to decide if it's the right fit for you. I get it and I find myself doing the same thing.

Last week we tried an English speaking church. Big plus on my check list. Friendly people. But the music was a downer from the first note. I really had high hopes when I saw the service being set up. But they took the old hymns and praise songs and cut the time in half making them drag on and on. I'm not sure why they did that as people seemed to be mumbling their way through the songs. We left disappointed that this church just seemed to be limping along rather than moving forward with life.

This morning we visited a Colombian church. I had been referred to this church by a friend of a friend who is living in the Netherlands. Crazy connection! We met a very friendly guy on our way there who spoke English. An encouraging conversation about God made the walk pass quickly. We went in and I saw there were 1,000-1,500 people there and this was just one of four services. As we began to sing I felt the joy of those around me praising God, but as the service progressed I realized just how much a hurdle my lack of Spanish was causing me. It was difficult to sit there, trying to follow along with the culture of this new church while not understanding the language being spoken. I thought about how difficult it would be in such a large church to become involved when I didn't speak the language.

So my thoughts are turning to what God wants the church to look like and how I should contribute to that. Do I look for something that is comfortable to me and that brings me pleasure? Do I look for something that is displaying the joy of God? Something that pushes me forward in my faith of God? I don't know the answers to these questions or where the right place is for me over the next few years. It's a journey that I'm on, seeking to grow in the process.