Reason #394 of why we love Mexico City

La Comida

Stuart and I have enjoyed some fabulous food in every foreign context we've lived and Mexico City has been no exception. Fortunately for us, if we have a craving for a torta, or some tacos al pastor, or a warm mug of atole all we have to do is venture just a minute or two right outside our front door to satisfy it. Yesterday, walking back to the car after service at Reto a la Juventud (Teen Challenge), we finally decided to stop by this place and picked up a rack of costillas (ribs) for lunch. We were not disappointed :)

Hungry yet?

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Rules to live by from the missionary couple who used to live next door, part 3

I grew up in southern Connecticut in an area densely populated with Italians, many of them family members. Therefore, when I met my Hoosier-born husband, Stuart, in Florida and then moved to Indiana I had a few linguistic and cultural barriers to climb: “What's a roastin ear?” “They put noodles on mashed potatoes?” Granted my husband didn't always understand my native dialect either: “You'll find pens and pencils in the draw.” “I need ah-ree-gawt for the lasagna I'm making tonight.” 

(Seriously though, I gave Stuart a whole new world filled with eggplant parm, antipasto, and fried dough pizza and he gave me corn on the cob and noodles over mashed potatoes. I'm just saying.)

Then in 2010, we moved to Mexico City and lived next door to Dave and Cheryl Greco (Straight outta NY) and I thought I died and woke up in my old neighborhood. Finally, 24 years after leaving my homeland I would now live near and minister with people who get me. They understood things like “agida” and “anginetti” without explanation, as well as how to pronounce “Italian” without making me cringe.

Dave and Cheryl became fast friends who offered us a wealth of wisdom. As an avid (but not rabid) Yankees fan, Dave hung Yankees memorabilia in his TV room every fall to honor his team and appease the baseball gods. As his beloved pinstriped team gained momentum during the playoffs, more and more memorabilia appeared. If the Yankees won, Dave celebrated. If the Yankees lost, Dave shrugged and simply noted, There's always next year.

Rocky, the missionary dog who used to live next door.

Rule # 3 There's always next year.

Losing is not the end, Dave would say, it's just another opportunity to begin again. In fact, whether you win or lose, everyone has to begin again the following season. Life is not so different than baseball. Like any good team at the beginning of a new year, we examine our strengths and weaknesses, we set goals, and then we strategize for a positive outcome. In the end, our year will be what we make of it: how much effort we put forth, how well we rely on our teammates, and how we respond to unknown variables.

As new missionaries to Mexico, Stuart and I did not set our sights on winning the World Series; we just wanted to answer the phone without fear and have a coherent conversation with the guy installing our internet. However, as we gained confidence and experience our expectations and goals increased and became more substantial. Although we achieved reasonable success in certain areas, other expectations never quite made it out of the dugout.

That's life as well as baseball. Sometimes we're going to win and sometimes we're going to lose. Sometimes we'll swing hard and connect, and other times we're going to whiff. More important than winning or losing though, is how well we respond to each outcome. Will we celebrate with the team or brag about our importance? Will we learn from our failures or stomp off the field in despair?

Although Stuart and I have enjoyed the thrill of winning a few away games, we've also suffered our fair share of foul balls and unforeseen losses. The trick is to keep showing up – for the next game, for the next season. After all, it's not so much about winning or losing, it's more about learning and persevering. So remember, no matter what happens today, win or lose, there's always next year.

(In case you were wondering: roastin' ear = corn on the cob, draw = drawer, ah-ree-gawt = ricotta, agida = heartburn, aginetti = Italian cookies)

Rule #1 Never ask why

Rule #2 Never get beat by a bus

Rules to live by from the missionary couple who used to live next door, part 2

Rule #2 Never get beat by a bus

We live in a big city. A great-big, beautiful, noisy metropolis with a myriad of pedestrians, taxis, cars, and buses. If taxis and personal vehicles are the demigods of the road, city buses are the sovereign lords who rule by divine right, manifest destiny, and eminent domain.

If you travel here you know, buses assume the godlike quality of omnipresence. They're always behind you, always beside you, and always before you. Like your favorite Italian grandmother, they are all up in your business. And just when you least expect it, Bam! There they are, interrupting and intersecting your life like they own you.

Like they own you.

Our first week in Mexico City, our beloved missionary friend (who used to live next door) cautioned us with rule #2, Never get beat by a bus. It's a lesson in survival as well as life. We have all faced situations, circumstances, even people who appear as imposing or intimidating as any city bus in Mexico City. Often, it seems, we may only have a split second to assess the situation and adjust our speed so as not to get knocked over or run down.

Now depending on the circumstance and the safety of the other people sharing the road, sometimes it's best to speed up and maneuver around the imposing figure. Other times it's more prudent to change lanes to avoid disaster. And still, other times it's wisest to slow down and yield to the unwavering force.

Of course, we can argue all day long that technically we have the right of way so we don't have to move, maneuver, or yield. But life and city driving has taught me that 2-ton city buses (and Italian grandmothers for that matter) have less concern for technicalities than they do about getting their own way. In other words, we can be technically right and mostly dead all at the very same time.

Certainly, there are moments we need to confront and not back down, but other times the more prudent course of action is to maneuver gracefully or yield patiently so we can survive another day. Mind you, surviving is no small matter, it helps us gain wisdom for the next time life (or Italian grandmothers) happen.

Therefore, on the road of life may God give each of us the wisdom to size up our situations prayerfully, consider the welfare of our fellow travelers carefully, and love our lives enough to travel gracefully, so that we may never get beat by a bus.

If you missed it, you can read part 1 here.

And Part 3 here.

Rules to live by from the missionary couple who used to live next door

Once upon a time, a missionary couple moved to Mexico City and lived next door to another missionary couple who helped them survive and thrive in another foreign context by teaching them three simple rules to remember: #1 Never ask why, #2 Never get beat by a bus, and #3 There's always next year.

Obviously, these rules aren't as sacred as the 10 Commandments, nor as heartwarming as Jethro Gibbs' rules for life, nor even as extensive as the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition, but they are practical, easy to remember, and may even save your life.

Rule #1 Never ask why

I have filled more air time and journal space these last 13 years asking why than probably any other question uttered by humankind. Sure, Stuart and I have had our fair share of heart-wrenching, soul-crushing why scenarios, but I'm not referring to those. Instead, I'm talking about the quizzical, sometimes comical, “Why'd they do that?” variety that makes cross-cultural life a never ending adventure.

For example ...

I asked for salsa, “Why'd she gave me ketchup?”*

We're eating pizza, “Why are they putting ketchup on their pizza?”

They grow Blue Mountain coffee here, “Why are they drinking Nescafe?”

I bought a 4-cup coffee pot, “Why do they only sell 12-cup filters?”

I need baking soda, “Why'd the clerk direct me to the pharmacy?”

I have a mailbox, “Why'd they put my electric bill on the front lawn?”

As I stand next to my husband, “Why are we waiting in line?”

As I lean on my husband, “Why are there so many people in line?”

As I drop my head and fight back the tears, “Why won't this line ever move?”

(*In case you were wondering: 1. Costa Rica 2. Mexico 3. Jamaica 4. Mexico 5. Mexico 6. Mexico  7. Every country I ever lived in 8. Every country I ever lived in 9. Every country I ever lived in)

Here's the thing, asking why has never resulted in a gratifying response. Truly, never. I've discovered that my oft whispered why's serve more as an exasperated sigh or a way of letting off steam. It's a one word prayer thrust into the cosmos to join all the other “I know I'll never receive a satisfying answer, but I just had to ask” inquiries.

In all seriousness, since becoming a missionary I have asked why 102,700,563 times. Even in those few and far between moments when finally I understood why, it didn't change anything. Bills still ended up on my lawn and lines never got shorter. But as the years slide by, it's become easier to give a knowing nod to the cosmos while I smile and remind myself of Rule #1, Never ask why.

(We'll explore rules #2 and #3 in upcoming posts.)

For all my cross-cultural friends living abroad, now it's your turn. Delight us with your why's. (I'd especially like to hear from expats living in the US!)