What is Chile?

Over the past month and a half (it's crazy that I've already been in Chile that long already, right?), I have experienced Chile.  Beach Chile, southern Chile, cold Chile, cloudy Chile, island Chile, mainland Chile, historic Chile, rural Chile....the list could go on for a pretty long time.

But today as I was sitting at the metro station waiting for my train, I started to think about what Chile has come to mean to me.  I mean, what is Chile?  And this is what flooded my mind:

Chile is bread and avocado for breakfast (and dinner).  It's hot chocolate and Bible reading at the dining room table on lazy mornings.  It's running through the city to get to the beach and walking along the coast, letting the waves freeze your ankles.  It's commuting to school every morning by hopping on the metro, through whose windows you can take in the view of the sea.  It's talking to toddlers in the park or on the metro (who have probably about the same level of language as me).  Chile is buying 3 sweaters for under 5 bucks each and earrings for 2 dollars a pair.  It's traveling to new places with breathtaking views of mountains and lakes and in the process, learning what it actually means to be prepared for anything.  Chile is my Chilean friends telling me I look exactly like their prima (cousin) and my host mom telling me I look beautiful, just for no reason at all.  It's making jokes in Spanish and spending afternoons in cafes with friends.  It's watching the sun set over the far side of the ocean while you sit on a sand dune, surrounded by a dozen more.  It's spending evenings learning to play new Spanish songs on the keyboard, singing songs in Spanish and English with friends from church, drinking tea, and laughing at the craziness of everyone's Spanglish.  It's having a party on the rooftop where you can take in all the city lights at night.  It's deep conversations about Jesus and thinking outloud with friends about where our lives are headed.

But Chile is also foreign.  It's streams of people around me 24/7.  It's people speaking the fastest Spanish you've ever heard in your life and trying to decipher their words so make sure you're on the right bus.  It's people piling into the metro that you thought was already filled to maximum capacity.  It's the way the men look you up and down and make comments as you walk by, trying not let it bother you this time.  Chile is not being able to understand jokes and feeling like you can't actually express who you are and what you're feeling because you're using your second language.  It's people interrupting you and completing your sentences when you just want them to know that you can get the thought out, it just might take a little patience on their part.  Chile is longing for deeper friendships and missing the ones you have back home.  It's being different no matter how hard you try to fit in.

Chile is ups and downs.  Good days and bad days.

Chile is learning to take people at their word and believing they want the best for you. It's trying to figure out the unspoken cultural rules of family and friends and relationships.  It's the opportunity to rely on God when nothing else is familiar.  Chile is my temporary home.  I'm so thankful for the month and a half I've had here so far, and I'm so excited for the time that remains.  

A Temporary Resident

First day in Chile

It’s 9 pm (Chilean time that is, which is actually 7 pm in EST), and I’m sitting outside on a little balcony area off of my hotel bedroom on the 11^th floor, watching daytime turn to dusk.  There’s a beautiful breeze blowing, and I’m just sitting here soaking in the sounds of the city.  Behind the high rises, strings of dark blue mountains pop up, contrasting with the orange, yellow, green, and blue sky.  Something about those mountains struck me today as I was out walking in the city, taking in my first glimpses of Chile: the contrast between the “sophisticated”, geometric design of the city and the curving slopes of mountains that loomed just beyond the last rectangular box with cut out windows was just so obvious.  When measured against man’s creations, the mountains took on so much more beauty because they weren’t created by any man. 

When I noticed them, I was walking in a park (one of two that I found just a few blocks from my hotel).  The park itself was full of natural beauty; the type that I am not used to seeing in a city.  There were 15 types of trees that were all labeled according to genus and species and mixed in were a bunch of art sculptures. As I walked down the pebble pathways that intertwined the grassy patches of the park, I noticed that I was just about the only person who was there alone.  Everyone else there was with their special someone…A guy and a girl laying on a blanket, cuddling and soaking up the sun; two guys sitting on a bench with their heads together, sharing secrets; more couples walking around hand-in-hand, enjoying the beauty of the afternoon.  But then there was that lonely guitar guy, strumming away, playing and singing to no one in particular and that girl in a dress, sitting against one of the trees, resting and reading in its shade.  Oh, and I can’t forget this old guy dressed in nice clothes taking his afternoon nap on a hard, metal bench, using his briefcase as a pillow.  I think the favorite person that I spotted today, though, was this business man riding his bike down the sidewalk while holding up his smartphone, trying to text.  For the sake of a good laugh and a good story, I kept hoping he would crash into one of the pedestrians or another biker—and he did have some close calls—but luckily for him, he always narrowly missed everyone in his way.

But going back to the scene in the park, as I walked along, it became evident to me that I was already falling in love with this place.  I was already trying to figure out cultural quirks, to observe the people’s way of life, and to place myself here.  Yes, I was alone in a place where most people weren’t.  Yes, I had no idea where I was going when I walked out the doorway of my hotel building. But as I walked through the park, I thought about how much I enjoy being away from home (in Chile, Honduras, wherever I travel, really)…and then about how much I enjoy being at home (in Pennsylvania)…and then about how many homes I could say I actually have (Macha, Zambia, Elizabethtown, Grantham, Teguz, Honduras). 

When I think about spending these upcoming five months as a stranger in Chile, I know that it won’t be easy to call this new place home, at least not right away.  Not without fear and stumbling and learning from it all.  And when I return to the US, I know it won’t be easy to call that place home either.  Not without anger and adjusting and growing through it all.  Sitting down on a bench in the park this afternoon, I came to the conclusion that I’m a sojourner.  The homes that I have are temporary.  The life that God is calling me to might mean that I won’t know exactly where to call home.  I will continue to be a sojourner, a temporary resident in a lot of different places, and truth be told, despite all the ups and downs, I am glad God gave me the longing for adventure, the thirst for new experiences, and the desire to carry his love to dark places.  Because when we think about it, aren’t we all sojourners?  Strangers here on Earth until God calls us to himself and says, “You’re finally HOME!”?