One thing I’ve become very accustomed to these past few months is being called a gringa. It’s just what the locals all you when you’re a white girl from the States. This past week though, my teammate Alexis and I decided that we didn’t want to be gringas anymore.
It’s not really a mean term. It just points out how much we all stand out in a crowd these days. I never thought much about it until this month, and I think it’s because I feel like I could fit so well into life here. Nicaragua has been all about relationships for me. We have been welcomed into this family and community more than I could have believed, and have been able to spend the month sharing life with them. I don’t even know where “ministry” time ends and free time begins anymore, because they overlap so seamlessly. I’ve been blessed on several occasions this month to be able to pray with and mentor new believers learning how to walk out their faith, and most of them have been casually during our free time. Some of the best spiritual discussions I’ve had have taken place on the steps in front of our church or on the half hour walk to and from town. I love how unprompted everything is here; the prayers come naturally, the conversations just happen, the relationships are genuine. I love that we can spend two hours joking with our host family even though most of us don’t speak Spanish, that we’re in on the family jokes, that we can walk into any house in the neighborhood and be welcomed.
Just when I start to feel like everyone must see my inner Nicaraguan as clearly as I do, someone makes a comment about gringos and I remember that I’ve only lived here a month.
So when Alexis and I had a day that we spent primarily with the family without the rest of our team, we communicated just fine all day and had a great time. We didn’t feel like visiting foreigners, we felt like family. Then someone called us gringas, and we told them, “Didn’t you know that we’re not gringas anymore? We’re from Calera, too.” Calera is the community we live in here. Our host family laughed at us, which is pretty much a constant pastime for them, but graciously acknowledged that we were Calereño like them.
Since becoming an honorary Calereña, I’ve been thinking a lot about what that means in the big picture. God didn’t call me to the mission field because I’m so different than the people He’s sending me to. He called me here because I’m so much the same. This month has been a gift; God’s shown me through it how natural and necessary it is to form bonds of fellowship with believers around the world. God’s love is the same in every country, every language, every culture. Being part of God’s family means I can have an hour long conversation in Spanish about God’s power to redeem a broken life. It means I can sit down with people I didn’t know a month ago and believe it when they say we’re family. It means I can stand up to share a message in a church where I know very little about the lives of the audience, and trust anyway that what God’s teaching me is valid for them too.
I was able to make these connections because this family and community welcomed me as a sister in Christ and didn’t question that I belonged. The relationships I’ve formed this month are priceless – they’ve helped me grow, made me laugh, and challenged and encouraged me at the same time.
Here are some other reason I think I make a pretty great Calereña: I’ve learned to handle the outhouse and bucket shower like a pro, I walk everywhere I go and love it, and today I ate two peppers that were so hot they made the locals cry. I think I’ve earned my place here!
