Sitzpinkler

Sitzpinkler

[masculine noun] a man who sits down to urinate; a wimp; powerless

origin: german in public bathrooms it was being reported that uric acid was causing damage to the floors. Toilet seats were locked. Men were forced to acquiesce to a higher authority. This has now often been seen as a sign of powerlessness. Or more accurately used in a German insult-throwing context, a wimp.

Why am I telling you a German insult as I am living in Colombia, speaking Spanish, while working for the Presbyterian church to spread love and justice to all corners of the world?

     1. It’s an awesome word.

     2. As I was having a conversation with my host dad/boss, Diego, this week about what my work would look like for the next year, he looked me in my tear-glazed eyes and said “Tú tienes miedo de tí mismo.” You are afraid of yourself. A wimp. Powerless, not because of a higher authority, but because of myself.

Much of my last month has consisted of a combination of sitting, reading, thinking, moping, and random adventures.

I read a book in two days. I visited four farms and picked passionfruit, bananas, mandarins, guava, oranges, and ciruela. I visited Medellín, the second largest city in Colombia, climbed a gigantic rock in the middle of nowhere, spent the weekend staying in a cabaña, and crashed a family reunion. I have been surrounded by kids all asking me to say their names in English. I have watched countless chickens being murdered because word spread through town that, although I am not a big fan of red meat, I like chicken. I have walked to the same bridge countless times at 6:00 am and had interesting conversations along the way. I visited a butcher shop and was so shocked by the culture differences that I wrote a rap about it. I have had amazing conversations with friends from home on Skype and wondered why I ever left the United States. I often have juice at the same restaurant twice in one day. I have participated in many political rallies and have even donned a shirt stating “Soy Larist” (I am a Larist—a follower of one of the candidates). I now have a grand total of about six men with whom I could marry if I so choose, all of them well outside of my generation (older and younger). I went to two different rivers and spent the day splashing about, jumping off bridges, and diving behind waterfalls. I spend the majority of the seven “cultos” (yes, we do indeed call church services here cults) during the week clapping my hands and pretending like I understand when is the proper time to sit and stand. I have found a new love of “motos” (motorcyles). I read a second book in two days. I have started to consider a day without crying a success. I was thrown into the middle of a parade. I stayed with Alex, another volunteer in the YAV program, for three days and considered seriously the possibility that Diego forgot about me. I have been cared for by a group of older women in a Health Club and found friends in them that I did not expect. I read a third book. I have sat for hours and wondered, in my year of service, my year of growing closer to God and loving on the people that He so uniquely and carefully made, where He went.

Each of these snapshots carries a great and wonderful story. A story that, for the past month, I have been unwilling to see. I have been so caught up in saying that “I don’t do anything. I wish I had a real job, with real hours, that impacted real people; all I do is sit on the porch and take coffee at 3:00 pm and read all day.” I have been unwilling to open my eyes to the fact that my presence, walking around the streets of Dabeiba, literally living life with people is in fact what I came here to do.

During the church services that I spoke in before I left for Colombia, I shared this quote by Henri Nouwen:

“More and more, the desire grows in me simply to walk around, greet people, enter their homes, sit on their doorsteps, play ball, throw water, and be known as someone who wants to live with them. It is a privilege to have the time to practice this simple ministry of presence. Still, it is not as simple as it seems. My own desire to be useful, to do something significant, or to be part of some impressive project is so strong that soon my time is taken up by meetings, conferences, study groups, and workshops that prevent me from walking the streets. It is difficult not to have plans, not to organize people around an urgent cause, and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress. But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them.”  

Although I do not want to admit it, I have been caught in the trap – the trap of planning and organizing, of wanting to see my impact. It is a dangerous trap to fall into. A trap that causes pain and questioning and hurts others just as much as myself. And I think Deigo hit it right on the head. “Tú tienes miedo de tí mismo.”

You are afraid of yourself.

I’m afraid that if I dive into life in Dabeiba fully, I will enjoy it. I’ll make friends. I’ll have to practice more Spanish everyday and won’t have time to Skype friends from home. I’m afraid that if I find God, he will use me. He’ll use me in the ways that I am uncomfortable with. That I’ll be forced out of my comfort zone even more. Isn’t being in Colombia enough? Do I have to interact with people too? I’m afraid that if I take initiative and declare that “Yes! This is an area that I am interested in helping with/planning/participating in/learning” that I will be held accountable to my skills. And what I am most afraid of is that God did not equip me to come here and serve his people. I’m afraid that I am truly am alone. And in that aloneness, that I am not good enough.

But the hope and the truth is that God has never and will never leave me. He lives in me and is constantly empowering me to do good work. The smiles that I somehow muster even though my heart is crying or the patience to listen to another “Ay! Una gringa!” as I walk down the street is Christ in me. I am not here in Colombia alone, without family and friends (although at times that is the easiest thing to believe). I am here with Christ, to do good and simple work.

Do you not know?
    Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
    the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
    and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength to the weary
    and increases the power of the weak.

Even youths grow tired and weary,
    and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the Lord
    will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
    they will run and not grow weary,
    they will walk and not be faint.

Isaiah 40:28-31

 

My little town of Dabeiba, Antioquia

View from the top of La Piedra

Friends from Medellín

Sunset in Guatapé, where we stayed in la cabaña

One of the helpers as we were picking maracuyá (passionfruit)

View from the bridge I walk or bike to most mornings

Group of ladies from the Health Club, on our outing to celebrate Amor y Amistad

Using the carruche to cross a river on the way to a farm-my host mom and sister at the front

Bridge I jumped off at a river, to the enjoyment of so many Colombians

Waterfall I dove behind at the river

Some of the ladies dressed up for the parade

Heading out to the pool while visiting Alex in Carepa!