Did I fail?

This is it. I’ve come to the end of an adventure. I’m moving back to Virginia. Yes, it’s quite sudden. If you’d asked me two weeks ago if I’d be moving, I would have said no. Because at that time, I wasn’t moving. I’ve always known that my life in El Paso was very fragile, but I didn’t realize how fragile. Recently, my living situation went down the toilet, calling into question my continued stay in El Paso. Honestly, I’d always assumed it would be my car that would break and leave me with no options; funny how my best guess was wrong.

I have mixed emotions about leaving. On the one hand, living with my family in Virginia will provide much needed rest for my soul. On the other hand, I didn’t think I’d be saying good bye to my friends here so soon. Part of me is relieved that I’m leaving, part of me is apprehensive about what my new life will be like. Think of any emotion imaginable, and there’s a good chance I’m feeling it.

And amid the swirling whirlpool of emotions, a single question keeps bubbling to the surface: did I fail?

You see, I moved to El Paso with the hope of helping my church here get involved in the city more. I had big plans, grand ideas, and only one me. The first six months I spent nearly killing myself in a terrible job and trying to figure out my new life. The second half of this year I spent battling different personal struggles that kept popping up. I tried to work on my big plans, I thought of even grander ideas, and things kept on getting in the way. I planned to spend my summer working on church projects, but within the first few weeks, both my computer and my cell phone died, erasing my entire plan for the summer and any work I had done. And by the time I got new technology, my work hours had increased, and different personal problems had cropped up, seeping away my time and energy. Did I fail?

Sometime right before I moved here or just after I’d moved, I remember sitting and thinking of all my grand plans. They looked so beautiful in my head. And in the same moment that I saw their beauty, I saw through them. It was as if a small voice in my head said, “Here are your plans. Your desires are good, there’s nothing wrong, but in the end, they probably won’t be fulfilled. And that’s okay. God has other plans that he’s going to make happen.” This whole time, I’d hoped that voice hadn’t been right. I hoped that the probability of that “probably” was tipped in my favor. But it looks like it wasn’t. And that’s okay.

You see, God was doing other things. I was learning basic life lessons, like don’t drive without a spare tire and always establish a rent contract. I was also learning gritty truths about God’s plan for his church, like our call to love our brothers even when they sin against us and that this love takes different forms at different times. I was learning about God’s grace to us, like the fact that God does not call us to endure all suffering and sometimes he provides ways of escape. I was learning things about myself, like how to stand up for myself and what I really want to be when I grow up. I was learning how to understand what I’d lived through in Mexico and how to approach many different issues and questions that popped up during my two-year stay. I was learning how to understand myself and work with my strengths and strengthen my weaknesses.

So, did I fail? Yeah, pretty much. Just about nothing I wanted to accomplish got done. But that does not make this year a failure. I’ve provided you all with a short summary of things I’ve learned, but I know the list is longer, and the learning deeper. I’m sure there are many things that didn’t even make it on my list that God is checking off of his. And you know what? All this is not just okay, it’s great. Sometimes failure is just as good as success because the process of failing gives so much growth.

So long, El Paso. I’m gonna miss you.

He fallado?

Y asi es. Ya termine una aventura. Me voy a regresar a Virginia. Si, esta bien inesperado. Si me habias preguntado hace dos semanas si me iba a mudar, te hubiera dicho que no. Porque, en este momento, no me iba a mudar. Yo siempre sabia que mi vida en El Paso era bien fragil, pero no me dí cuenta de tan fragil era. Hace dos semanas, la situación de mi habitación se puso bien feo, y tenia que preguntar si me podria quedar en El Paso por mas tiempo. Honestamente, yo siempre pensaba que seria mi camioneta que se descumpusiera y me dejaria sin opciones; se me hace chistoso como mi mejor adivina fue equivocada.

Hay muchos emociones al dentro de mi sobre el tema de mudarme. De un lado, vivir con mi familia en Virginia me dará un descanso muy necesario para mi alma. Del otro lado, yo no creia que me iba a despedir de mis amigos aquí tan rapido. Una parte de me encuentra mucha paz en irme, otra parte de mi tiene temores de como va a ser mi nueva vida en Virginia. Si piensas de cualquier emoción, es muy probable que lo siento.

Y entre el torbellino de emociones, hay una pregunta que se presenta: que si he fallado.

Pues, es que me mude a El Paso con la esperanza de ayudar mi iglesia aquí en convivir mas con la cuidad. Yo tenia muchos planes, grandes ideas, y yo era solamente una persona. En los primeros seis meses, casi me mataba trabajando en un ambiente horrible y sufria con todos los cambios. La segunda mitad de este año que he estado en El Paso lo pasaba batallando con diferentes luchas personales que aparecían de cualquier lado. Intentaba trabajar con mis muchos planes, pensaba de ideas aun mas grandes, y mas problemas se aparecían. Habia planeado pasar todo mi verano trabajando en los projectos de la iglesia, pero en las primeras semanas, mi computadora y mi cel se descompusieron y boraron todo el trabajo que ya habia hecho. Y cuando por fin tenia nueva technologia, estaba trabajando mas horas y tenia otros problemas personales y ya no tenia tiempo ni energía. He fallado?

Una vez justamente antes o justamente despues de mudar aquí, me acuerdo que estaba pensando de todo lo que queria hacer aquí. Todos mis planes si miraron bien bonitos en mi mente. Y en el mismo momento que veía su belleza, veía mas allá de ellos. Y fue como si una pequeña voz me decía, “Aquí ves todos tus planes. Tus deseos son buenos, no estás equivocada, pero al final, es problable que no los vas a lograr. Y está bien. Dios tiene otros planes que el va a cumplir.” Todo este tiempo, yo queria pensar que esta voz estaba equivocada. Esperaba que la probabilidad de la palabra “probable” me convenia. Pero se me hace que así no fue. Y está bien.

Ves, Dios estaba hacienda otras cosas. Yo estaba aprendiendo las basicas de la vida, como nunca debes de manejar sin una llanta extra y siempre quieres tener un contrato de renta. Estaba aprendiendo verdades arenosas del plan de Dios para su iglesia, como nuestra llamada a amar nuestros hermanos aun que pecan contra nosotros y que este amor se mira diferente en cada situacion. Estaba aprendiendo de la gracia de Dios para nosotros, como el hecho de que Dios no nos llama a soportar todo sufrimiento y aveces el provea una manera de escape. Estaba aprendiendo cosas a cerca de mi, como como puedo hablar por mi misma y que quiero ser exactamente cuando sea grande. Estaba aprendiendo como entender lo que vivía en Mexico y como ver diferentes problemas y preguntas que se presentaron durante mis dos años en Mexico. Estaba aprendiendo como entender a mi misma y como trabajar con my fuerzas y como fortalecer mis debilidades.

Asi la pregunta, he fallado? Basicalmente, si. Cualquier cosa que queria lograr no se logró. Pero eso no significa que yo soy un fracaso. Les he dado un corto resumen de las cosas que he aprendido, pero yo se que la lista es mas grande y el aprendizaje mas profundo. Estoy segura de que hay muchas cosas que ni puse en mi lista que Dios esta quitando de la suya. Y sabes que? A todo esto, digo mas que, “esta bien,” digo “que bien.” A veces un fracaso es tan bueno como un exito por que el proceso de fallar da mucho crecimiento.

Adios, El Paso, te voy extrañar.

those golden tresses

He said it in Spanish, but I don’t quite remember how it went. In English, it was something to the effect of, “You have the most beautiful golden tresses.” At the time, half of me died inside of awkwardness as I watched a man old enough to be my father, maybe even grandfather, hit on me. The other half of me laughed falsely and smiled politely.

There’ve been others too. The man who said if he were young enough he’d marry me himself after speaking with me for only seven minutes. The man who lamented that my lunch break wasn’t right that minute so that I could go to lunch with him. The man who asked if he could give me his number so that he could remind me when he’d come to visit me at work. The men who ask if I’m married when they have no need to know. The men who come to my register “so that no one will think I’m gay.”

When I remember these things, thoughts swirl around in my head. I’m sad, sad for so many things. Sad that these comments make me feel like a thing. Sad that I didn’t know what to say. Sad that it’s happened so many times. Sad that I thought that if I expressed my discomfort, I would be offending them. Sad that I’m not the only one. Sad that I sacrificed my discomfort for theirs. Sad that the “praise” I was given eroded my worth. Sad that these men might not have even known.

And as I sit here, sad, I wonder what can be done. I wonder how I can explain what exactly these comments mean. I wonder how I can respond without devaluing my legitimate feelings. I wonder how I can encourage the world to see me for more than my sex.

Before I ever received any of these remarks, I thought I wanted them. I thought that they would establish my true value. If a stranger could see that I was pretty, that I was desirable, then I was something. My worth would be unquestionable, displayed for all to see.

But when the comments finally came rolling in, they made me feel smaller than ever. It was not a problem of the number of compliments, as if more would boost my self-esteem. It was the realization that in a few short words, one look of the eyes, I was given a price tag. My value, my humanity, was summed up as “golden tresses.” I was worth time because of my golden tresses. Or another one I commonly get: la güera que habla español, which means “the white girl who speaks Spanish.”

When I heard these comments, I realized that in the eyes of these men, there was no room for anything but golden tresses. They would never want to hear about my ideas for dealing with drug addiction; they would never want to know that I think I’ve figured out a forgotten factor to why Donald Trump has been so popular, or why I think it’s important to let kids be angry. All they would want was a hollow laugh, a shallow smile, and those golden tresses.