Comida -- de Colombia

When we traveled through Europe, one of the most obnoxious habits of taking pictures of food proved to be the most interesting in retrospect. 

Therefore, although I will doubtlessly drive myself insane, I have dedicated myself to documenting meals. 

Food in Colombia. Goodness. Breakfasts are tiny but savory, lunches are giant, and stretched over two hour periods, and suppers are small- typically fruit, tea, and possibly a piece of bread, late at night. It's easy to fall into this pattern, and exploring the food has been so fun. 

Breakfasts with our host, Carolina, have typically been arepas with hot chocolate, and tons and tons of fresh papaya and banana. Bananas from Colombia have ruined imported bananas in America for me - I know this already. The sweetness is incomparable. 

Lunches are giant. You begin with soup (something to warm you up) -- which you pair with half a banana. Following you have some kind of juice -- my favorite was mango. Then you have meat, rice, potato, plantain, and some form of avocado. 

The last day in Colombia, Carolina treated me to a traditional Colombian breakfast. We went to a small panaderia and I ordered "changua especial." It is a soup, constituted with bread, egg, milk, and cheese. It is completely and entirely delicious. 

Lastly, Caro took Janet and me out for dinner-- the most glorious ensalada de frutas. 

Colombia -- you've been sweet.

knowing where you come from // going and doing

For the entire first month of summer, I grounded myself.

I came home and I grew roots that sank deep into the ground.

I spent two weeks with my grandparents and cousin, a time devoted to traveling around to places of significance from their childhoods and early life. Jeni and I leaned into hear whispered stories, held wrinkled and aging hands, and delicately paged through old documents in pursuit of finding a complete story. Throughout, we relished in the discovery of additional complexity -- we were encountering stories that were not our own, but were intrinsically a part of who we are.

Following our travel, we returned to my grandparent's home-front, where we putzed around the garden, giggled through old photographs, lazed in the sunshine, sipped tea, chased ducks, waded in the pond, and enjoyed elongated evenings of card games and stories. Beyond these indulgences, we began to experience the first exciting elements of summertime: dinners constituted by vegetables plucked from the garden, more hours of sunshine, and refreshing, terrifying thunderstorms. 

I felt cradled in relationship, loved to my core. 

I was surrounded by the mountains that hold my heart, the places of my childhood, fed the food that nourished my soul. Simultaneously, I was handed a narrative from my grandparents that spoke of the necessity of meaningful work derived from God's call. They instructed me to work hard and to seek to serve, to not be satisfied with comfort, but to continually give more of myself. It was imperative that I believed in my capacity to give and to serve. 

Nearly all the stories my grandparents shared with me contained an element of risk. I come from a rich history of people willing to trust in the unknown, to give everything to God and to trust in relationship. 

As I prepared to embark on my next adventure, I found myself heavily resonating with a quote by Jack Keroac, when he wondered, “What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” 

It seemed profoundly unnatural to leave home, but I realized that I am grounded not to a place, but to my people, to the legacy of giving and listening and loving. 

I was given the opportunity to intern this summer for an MCC church project in Quito, Ecuador, and I am excited to give by listening. I am excited to serve, I am excited to grow. With deep roots, I am stretching to new skies.