Random Thoughts From The Reception

Greetings from a dreary afternoon in Mexico City.  It's overcast outside, and from my seat in the reception desk, I can hear trumpets in the distance from some sort of parade.  My 5 year old Colombian friend Giselle is playing with cards on the couch, and the usual faces are the ones passing through today.  The Casa is practically empty this week; we have some long-term guests staying in the private rooms, but there is absolutely no one in the dormitories.  There's a hint of lysol in the air as Sara is mopping around the stairs, and here I am, fielding the occasional phone call and updating the old blog.  Next to me is a bulletin board with a lovely, homemade note from a former volunteer that I rather enjoy:

She writes, "One of my favorite writers/artists has a quote that I feel sums up the beauty & essence of the Casa community: 'There are things you do because they feel right and they may make no sense and they may make no money and the may be the real reason we are here: to love each other and to eat each other's cooking and say it was good.' -Real Reason, Brian Andreas"

What a beautiful insight, no?  We certainly do a lot of the eating-each-other's-cooking-and-saying-it-was-good here, as food is central to Casa life and community.  Last night I had my first go at helping to prepare the weekly volunteer dinner, and despite the fact that my cupcakes were a bit abnormally shaped, everyone ate them and at least pretended to enjoy them.  They sort of folded over the edges of the pan and sunk inward, so I carved them out and threw some frosting on... and voila! Where they lacked in the aesthetics department, they made up for by being chocolate.  I am finding that buying from markets and baking from scratch is a difficult, but ultimately fulfilling venture.  One of the things that tends to most overwhelm me about life in the States is walking through Walmart and taking in all of the prepackaged, materialistic insanity.  Walmart still exists in Mexico; in fact it is one of the sights that can be seen from the top of the pre-colombian pyramids.  But as of yet, I have not had to grace its doors, and I'm seeing how long I can last.  Shopping at markets is just one of the ways that my life is slowing down here.  We hang our clothes from the line, wash our dishes by hand... simple things that lend to the mystic appeal of this life at a Quaker hospitality house in the center of this humongous city.

Speaking of, those clunky pictures at the top of this entry are from the weekend.  On Saturday, a bunch of people from the Casa went to take part in a reforestation project called Manos A La Tierra (hands to the earth).  I think in total, all participants in the project planted about 2,000 trees in Ixtapalapa, on the eastern side of the city.  I helped to plant exactly three, and spent most of the time in existential crisis instigated by a conversation about religion with another volunteer.  Don't get me wrong, it was a beautiful day and a really interesting project to be a part of, but there is nothing quite like debating God's existence while planting trees on the side of a mountain overlooking Mexico City.  I think the real issue is that I am feeling keenly the disconnect between the culture at Messiah College and the culture at the Casa.  At Messiah, I was used to conversations about spirituality happening on a regular basis.  I was used to talking about the daily struggles of faith; I was used to the idea that most people around me believed in God, that he had a plan for our lives, and that the Bible was a credible book to try to read and study.  At times, I felt like perhaps one of the more spiritually confused people at Messiah, like a liberal heathen if you will, but here I feel as if I have suddenly transformed into the most religious person in the room.  Before coming to the Casa, I imagined an atmosphere where people were seeking God together, and while that may be what this is in reality, I am faced with the fact that God is not usually part of the daily conversation.  From what I can tell, Quakers tend to take a more individualistic approach to their spirituality and focus more on acts (peace and justice work) than on discussing theology.  This is all well and good, but it happens to leave me very confused... what do I do as a person coming from a Christocentric background when I feel as if I cannot mention Christ without offending someone? 

On Saturday, I came back to the Casa doubting whether Quakerism was a good fit for me and whether this year which I had optimistically fashioned as a sort of spiritual journey towards discerning my vocation would in fact turn out to be a year of hanging out with hippies.  A fun year, nonetheless, but a directionless one.  The next day I went to Quaker meeting, expectant and empty, and in the quiet of that hour some of my fears were stilled.  I truly do believe the Quakers are onto something through the way in which they worship.  An idea repeated itself in my head- "I came to Mexico City to slow down"- an idea which was not my own, but one shared with me by a friend here at the Casa.  Within that slowing down, I can be conscious of what I am learning and experiencing.  If I want to, I can carve out my own time for God and wait for Him to guide me in the silence of my heart.  I have an abundance of time, and it is up to meet whether or not I will use to wisely, whether I will notice the things that I am meant to be learning.  The experience is what you make it; this is both a comfort and a challenge.

On a different note, "Erica" just doesn't seem to be sticking.  Several people have told me that they don't like the name, but I'm torn because nothing beats having people understand me immediately when  introduce myself.  Perhaps it's not too late to change.  Any suggestions?