My Walk

This past Saturday was an absolutely gorgeous day. The high was 65 degrees, and the sun was out. I just love to be outside. I am one of those people who craves the sun. Which is very odd since I'm a redhead with fare skin and tend to burn. At times, I wish I had been born in the olden days where they were always outside, and they churned their own butter. You better believe that if I had lived back then, I would have made the best butter in the county. That's how everyone would know me..."The Butter Lady". Anyways, it was absolutely beautiful, so I decided to go to the park.

I started down the 2 mile loop. I looked at the time because although I had decided to walk leisurely, I am very competitive with myself and wanted to time my walk. No one was around at the moment, so I started off my walk with my eyes closed. I felt the warmth of the sun hit my face in between each skinny tree, and my feet were stirring up the leaves on the pavement at a steady pace. I smelled the air. It smelled just like softball season. All of a sudden, I had the urge to be out on the field playing catch or hitting some balls. The beauty of the day made me stop, and I whispered, "Thank you, Jesus." I opened my eyes as soon as I heard voices. I didn't want people to think I was crazy walking around with my eyes closed. Although, we all know that I am. I glanced at my time and decided to pick up my pace on this leisurely walk. A little ways down the path, I started to warm up. I decided to take my hoody off, and as soon as I did, I felt a breeze. A combination of my sweat and the breeze sent memories flowing through my head of my time in Mexico. That's when I began walking down memory lane.

Side note... About 5 years ago, I lived in Mexico as a missionary for about 8 months. I taught English and helped out the church down there.

Pictures of my time in Mexico were scrolling in my mind like a slide show. I looked at my feet on the pavement and was reminded of the dirt roads down there. It brought me straight to this memory...

I was walking to the Pastor's house after checking my internet at the "Internet Cafe" in the plaza. I was so excited. I couldn't wait to tell Conchita (the pastor's wife) that I had ran into Chris at the cafe. Chris was a missionary in a town about an hour and a half away. He was from Ohio and earned his living as a deep sea fisherman while sharing the gospel. I think I had a crush on him because he was the only English speaking American for miles and miles...and there is just something about a fisherman. So, I couldn't wait to tell Conchita. As I continued walking to her house, I practiced the Spanish I would need to tell her this exciting news. I got to her house and swung open the door. I was shocked at first because she was breast feeding and was not covered up. I should have been used to this by now, but I think I will always be shocked when I swing open a door and see a boob. Finally, I looked at her and said, "I saw Chris!" While still holding on to her little girl, she jumped out of the rocking chair and responded with a look of shock, "You saw Chris?"
"Yeah, I saw Chris."
"Really?"
"Yes!"
"What did he say?" She was way more excited than I was, and I wasn't sure why.
"Well, we just talked for a little bit, but he said that he was coming to our church on Sunday."
"What does he look like?"
At this point, I was confused. She was the one who introduced me to Chris. She knew what he looked like.
"Well, he was wearing his glasses, and he had his jeans and a t-shirt on." I didn't know what else to tell her.
"Chris?"
"Yeah. You know, the American."
She dropped to the rocking chair in laughter. I was so confused. All I could do was smile and laugh along with her, but I didn't know why we were laughing. At this point, her daughter had given up on her and Conchita had tears flowing out from laughing so hard. I couldn't figure out what was so funny. After she gathered her composure, she said, "Dana, it's Cristobal. Not Cristo." In Spanish they say the name Chris as "Cristobal". Well, I must have gotten a little mixed up with my Spanish, and I kept saying "Cristo" which means Christ. The whole time we had been talking she thought I had seen Christ. She thought Christ would be coming to church on Sunday and that he would be wearing his glasses. We just laughed and laughed and laughed some more.

As I continued on my walk, I noticed that I was giggling out loud about this memory. There were many times while living in Mexico that I would become frustrated not knowing the language, but this time, it was a good moment. I got to the bridge, and I knew at this point I only had 1/2 a mile left of the 2 mile loop. I walked out to the middle of the bridge and decided to take a minute and look out at the lake. I glanced at my phone to check my time. As I watched the ripples in the lake, I thought about how sometimes I feel God speaks a different language.

Sometimes when you've been praying for something for so long, you start wondering if He can hear you or if you're not asking Him correctly. So, just like you would to someone speaking a different language, you begin to talk slower and louder. You pray with detailed emphasis, and you pray harder. Sometimes you may even scream at Him thinking He can't hear you. Usually, the whole time He is speaking back to you. He might be saying, "Just wait for my perfect timing." Or maybe He is giving you an answer to a solution that you have been longing for, but you can't understand Him.

When I first moved to Mexico, I only knew a few phrases in Spanish. The longer I lived there, the more I understood and could speak. I started studying the language. Soon, I felt confident enough to have lots of conversations with the people in Mexico. I never became fluent, and when I returned home I didn't use my Spanish as much. Now, I am noticing that I have lost a lot of the Spanish I had learned.

I started thinking about the times that I have heard and understood what God was saying to me. Each time, I was close to Him in my walk. I was studying Him and His word. My life was surrounded by Him. Then I thought about the times I so desperately wanted to hear from Him. At those moments I was more caught up in the answer I wanted than actually hearing from Him. I had lost my language with Him.

As I got off the bridge and began to walk again, I decided to stop worrying so much about the answers I want or need. I decided to start learning the language of God. I know I'll never become fluent, but I can't imagine the joy I will receive by trying to be. As I came to the end of my walk, I thought to myself, "Am I the only one who has trouble understanding God?"

So I ask you this...Do you speak God?