Day 10-He Knows
August, 2011 § Leave a comment
Sharon Lopez is a powerful American woman of God who married a sweet, and equally powerful man of God who happens to be Honduran. Sharon’s parents worked at the hospital before I came and when I met Marvin it was before I met Sharon and they were in the midst of their long distance relationship that soon resulted in an engagement, and, not long after, their matrimony.
I don’t know Sharon extremely well but when we’ve met we always hit it off and when I was dating Alexander I used to correspond with her for advice over Facebook. Advice on how to date a Honduran and how to date long distance and how to date in Spanish and how to love the Lord and how to date someone who doesn’t seem to love Him as much as I do and then, eventually, how to break up long distance. Needless to say, even though I haven’t spent heaps of time with Sharon physically, I feel like we have a strong enough friendship for me to ask to stay with her my last night in town. It sure beats a young, white girl staying alone in a hotel in La Ceiba.
My time with Sharon and Marvin was amazing. As soon as I got there we started the longest stream of conversation. What did we talk about? What didn’t we talk about? More than anything, we talked about cultural differences since they play such a pivotal role in all of our lives.
The way Sharon speaks Spanish makes me to want to gather a bunch of sticks together, light a fire, climb on top of it, float up to the clouds, jump on all of them, and then swing from lightning bolts like a little crazed monkey.
It’s FLUID. It’s so stinking FLUID. I wonder. I wonder. If there were a guarantee out there that if I locked myself in a cupboard full of tortillas for three months and I would be able to speak exactly like her, I wonder if I wouldn’t just go ahead and do it. I wonder if I would just sit in a cupboard that smells like flour for three whole months just to speak Spanish like Sharon Lopez.
The three of us spoke mostly Spanish except for the times when Marvin was off and away somewhere and I would rush forward, somewhat relieved to let my heart spill its guts a little in its first language. I was so glad I could keep up with them, though! Spanish was kind to me on this trip. I discovered that I am not rusty really at all. If anything, I’ve gotten slightly more advanced and aside from the first couple awkward stumbles, Spanish might be just like riding a bike. Not like how everyone tells you playing the piano is like riding a bike. But, truly. At first your feet feel rickety on the pedals but once they pick up speed, you’re rolling.
We went to Sharon and Marvin’s church that night and as I’ve mentioned earlier, it was one of two of my favorite services that I partook in. The pastor also spoke a flawless, clean Spanish; unlike the muddled version that I had become accustomed to out in the campo (country).
He spoke about outward appearances and that the only real way a Christian can view people in a Christlike manner is by examining their fruits. (Hence, the title of this blog: of the fruits=de los frutos.) I believe this wholeheartedly.
Mr. CleanSpanishMan ended the sermon with the last two verses from Psalm 139.
Examíname, oh Dios, y conoce mi corazón;
Pruébame y conoce mis pensamientos;
Y ve si hay en mí camino de perversidad,
Y guíame en el camino eterno.
Examine me, Oh God, and know my heart;
Try me and know my thoughts;
And see if there is in me any evil way,
And guide me in the eternal way.
It was his use of that passage in the sermon that inspired me to begin one of my latest memorization projects. I have started memorizing Psalm 139. I haven’t gotten incredibly far but I’m in no rush. I take it day by day and let those words flow through my arteries and speak to my soul and it has been eye-opening and nurturing. Every day I begin by declaring that the God of the universe has searched me and that He knows me. He knows when I sit and when I rise… when I go out and when I lie down. Before a word is on my blog, He knows it completely.
Sharon cut my hair that night and I equate it to the story where Jesus washed the disciples’ feet. Here I am, a homeless vagabond wandering aimlessly trying to figure out every step in my life and journaling every day hoping to learn what it is that I really feel. Here she is, a woman who has searched God and who knows Him, living in the prime of her life. Living as a woman ought, loving a man and being Christ to the world. I show up dusty and disheveled and she takes me into her mini-salon. (Sharon has a home salon. She went to beauty school in the States before she married Marvin in 2010.) She gathers up my hair and lays it gently in the sink and begins to wash it and it feels so much better than the bucket tosses I’ve been serving to my locks. She snips away and by the time she’s done I feel like I maybe have somehow gotten closer to home through the process.