this is an article i found on relevant magazine online. it addresses a lot of things i'm feeling right now. God used it to speak to me, for which i'm very thankful. check it out.
http://www.relevantmagazine.com/god/deeper-walk/blog/21596-remember-to-stop-forgetting
22.5.10
20.5.10
Sobras.
"Sobras" is Spanish for leftovers. Leftovers in Peru is a funny concept to me, and I'm still trying to grasp it. Here's a feeble attempt to explain to you what I've learned/observed so far.
I'll start with how leftovers became a popular topic in my house. When Marta lived with me in January, I was a cooking maniac (I think because I had someone to cook for). I wanted to make spaghetti, and I thought I would just use some meat that had been frozen for...some time. I can't even tell you how long. It was a long time.
"Por que no botes eso?"
Marta repeatedly told me to throw it out, that it had gone bad. But in my stubbornness, I kept it in the freezer, thinking I would use it "soon."
Well, Spaghetti Day finally rolls around and I take out the ancient meat and sure 'nuff, it was disgusting. I even thought for a moment that I could salvage it, but that would have been unkind to my Peruanita's estomago.
Soon after this incident (in which Marta reminded me over and over that she was right about the meat), I continued on my cooking tirade and made a ton of every dish I created. I mean, ridiculous amounts of food. I don't know why I have this tendency to cook more than is needed, but I do. I should work on that, especially as I continue to cook for one (pause with me as I lament this sad fact).
I made beef stew, chicken and potatoes, and all sorts of other things. We even invited other people to come over and eat. Alas, leftovers became my middle name. Marta ate them with me out of kindness, or perhaps pity...
...Until one day I pulled something out of the fridge that had been there about five days. Here's my theory: If it still smells good and looks good, then it probably tastes good and is not going to kill you.
Marta, however, looked at me in shock, asked me how long whatever-it-was had been sitting there, and refused to eat it after I revealed the horrific number.
She proceeded to tell me about Peruvian dislike of leftovers. As her papi says: "Voy a comer para que no se malogre."
Translation: "I'm going to eat everything because I'm a good poor man and don't want any of it to go to waste."
That's legitimate. I will say that in my North American Leftover Hell, I do throw away a lot of food.
Here's something to take into account though: Peruvians won't eat "old" food (a day or two) that has been stored properly in the refrigerator, but they'll leave all of it sitting out for a day on the stove/counter. Hmm.....
My Peruanos probably think I'm crazy. I feed them all the food I've prepared, but some of it is old. Here, if you give someone your leftovers of anything (basically anything you don't want anymore that you've half-used), that can be an insult.
I suppose then the multiple times I've asked some guy friends to come "clean out the fridge," they've been semi-offended as they stuff their faces with my perfectly fine leftovers.
At least this cultural difference brings a lot of laughs: Now when I offer Marta and other friends some food, they usually laugh and look at me like "how long has the gringa kept this food around?"
I tell them a lower number of days than is true, throw the food on a microwave-safe plate, type in a minute or two, and press "ON."
I'll start with how leftovers became a popular topic in my house. When Marta lived with me in January, I was a cooking maniac (I think because I had someone to cook for). I wanted to make spaghetti, and I thought I would just use some meat that had been frozen for...some time. I can't even tell you how long. It was a long time.
"Por que no botes eso?"
Marta repeatedly told me to throw it out, that it had gone bad. But in my stubbornness, I kept it in the freezer, thinking I would use it "soon."
Well, Spaghetti Day finally rolls around and I take out the ancient meat and sure 'nuff, it was disgusting. I even thought for a moment that I could salvage it, but that would have been unkind to my Peruanita's estomago.
Soon after this incident (in which Marta reminded me over and over that she was right about the meat), I continued on my cooking tirade and made a ton of every dish I created. I mean, ridiculous amounts of food. I don't know why I have this tendency to cook more than is needed, but I do. I should work on that, especially as I continue to cook for one (pause with me as I lament this sad fact).
I made beef stew, chicken and potatoes, and all sorts of other things. We even invited other people to come over and eat. Alas, leftovers became my middle name. Marta ate them with me out of kindness, or perhaps pity...
...Until one day I pulled something out of the fridge that had been there about five days. Here's my theory: If it still smells good and looks good, then it probably tastes good and is not going to kill you.
Marta, however, looked at me in shock, asked me how long whatever-it-was had been sitting there, and refused to eat it after I revealed the horrific number.
She proceeded to tell me about Peruvian dislike of leftovers. As her papi says: "Voy a comer para que no se malogre."
Translation: "I'm going to eat everything because I'm a good poor man and don't want any of it to go to waste."
That's legitimate. I will say that in my North American Leftover Hell, I do throw away a lot of food.
Here's something to take into account though: Peruvians won't eat "old" food (a day or two) that has been stored properly in the refrigerator, but they'll leave all of it sitting out for a day on the stove/counter. Hmm.....
My Peruanos probably think I'm crazy. I feed them all the food I've prepared, but some of it is old. Here, if you give someone your leftovers of anything (basically anything you don't want anymore that you've half-used), that can be an insult.
I suppose then the multiple times I've asked some guy friends to come "clean out the fridge," they've been semi-offended as they stuff their faces with my perfectly fine leftovers.
At least this cultural difference brings a lot of laughs: Now when I offer Marta and other friends some food, they usually laugh and look at me like "how long has the gringa kept this food around?"
I tell them a lower number of days than is true, throw the food on a microwave-safe plate, type in a minute or two, and press "ON."
13.5.10
my north and my south.
I'm headed home
Yeah, but I'm not so sure
That home is a place
That will ever be the same...
-Jon Foreman, "Southbound Train"
First, let me say that J.F. is a lyrical and poetical genius. I was listening to this song tonight, and I don't have much to say on it. I'll let it speak for itself.
I'm going back to Arequipa in a few days after a small and refreshing sabbatical in Lima. I then spend a couple months in the South before I head north: America.
Here we go. The countdown begins. There isn't a countdown to "what's next" still. Rather, the countdown begins on having to leave a new home for an old one.
I'm betting on not settling down quite yet. So for now, and during the upcoming transition time, my home is North and South.
6.5.10
Garden.
There's this song I like right now called "Garden" by Matt Maher. The main theme is that God is "making our heart a garden" like the Garden of Eden before the fall, where Adam and Eve walked and talked with God.
I like this idea of believer's hearts being a garden in which we commune with the Lord; however, I started to think a little more and found other imagery in the song. This idea of weeding and pruning and stirring up dirt and removing dead things ought to be profound for Christians. It is profound for me, at least. The gardener (God) fixes me up by taking the bad stuff out and planting things that are better--stuff like new flowers, healthy bulbs. They grow up out of this dirt that was sifted around--fallow ground moved about to make it a place where good things can grow beautiful.
I think that is what I need to stop and ponder in this time: My heart as a garden. There might be some weeds and other junk that need to come out. I'm being pruned right now (see John 15).
But the good news is that I have a good Gardener who has my best interest in mind. He might stir up the soil and jerk up some bad weeds, but He'll replace those things with new, good things. He knows what needs to be in there, and He does it according to His good timing in each season.
I like this idea of believer's hearts being a garden in which we commune with the Lord; however, I started to think a little more and found other imagery in the song. This idea of weeding and pruning and stirring up dirt and removing dead things ought to be profound for Christians. It is profound for me, at least. The gardener (God) fixes me up by taking the bad stuff out and planting things that are better--stuff like new flowers, healthy bulbs. They grow up out of this dirt that was sifted around--fallow ground moved about to make it a place where good things can grow beautiful.
I think that is what I need to stop and ponder in this time: My heart as a garden. There might be some weeds and other junk that need to come out. I'm being pruned right now (see John 15).
But the good news is that I have a good Gardener who has my best interest in mind. He might stir up the soil and jerk up some bad weeds, but He'll replace those things with new, good things. He knows what needs to be in there, and He does it according to His good timing in each season.
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