Is It Really All Good??

“It is what it is.”  (But can’t it change?)  “It’s all good.”  (I’ve mentioned this one before.  No, it’s not necessarily all good even though you tell me it is.)

These are among other weird sayings of this decade.  I can hear you replying, “I know, right?”  But what do we even call this decade?  I only recently learned that the first ten years of the 2000’s were called the “noughties.”  Really?

For that matter, these past twelve years – and longer – have been about learning English all over again.  After 26 years of gradually introducing new Spanish vocabulary to my mental dictionary, random English words have begun deleting themselves at will.

Do you tend to import words into your English vocabulary from your host country’s language?  In the middle of speaking English back home (in Oaxaca), we use words like “tope” (i.e.:  “Slow down!  There’s a tope up ahead.”) and “bodega” (like “Run out to the bodega and bring me a rake por fa.”)  Oh, and “por fa” as a slang version of por favor.

When I come to the U.S. I find myself stumbling over words I seldom need in English, words I have substituted with Spanish for too many years.  FYI, in case you are wracking your brain like I was, tope is a speed bump in English, and bodega is storeroom.

As if it isn’t enough to tax an unquestioningly aging brain, certain words and phrases I do happen to remember in English are no longer acceptable in polite society.  PC is not a personal computer, as I was once taught, but something to dread and respect.

And as if our teenaged TCKs don’t have enough to worry about “doing wrong” in American culture, now they have to watch what they say.  Just because Mom has always said it back home doesn’t mean it is okay to say in public.  We hypocrites used to tell our children, “Do as I say, not as I do.”  Now we have to add, “…but for heaven’s sake, don’t say as I say; it might not be politically correct any more.”

You probably already know this, but we now call tree-huggers “environmental activists,” while waiters and waitresses are “servers,” and airline stewardesses are “flight attendants.”  Only indiscreet old folks youthfully-challenged people would say differently.

Here are some more PC terms I found on a website too noughty and naughty to recommend here:

Women no longer get PMS; they are now “hormonally homicidal.”

Women don’t gain weight; they are “metabolic underachievers.”

Did you know we must no longer refer to people who can’t read as illiterate?  No, no, no, no, no.  They are non-literate.  I was corrected back in the noughties when I accidentally, thoughtlessly, and carelessly wrote in a prayer letter that we are reaching out to illiterate people.  (If you are among the non-literate people who were offended when you read that letter, I submit my deepest regret and apologies.)

It takes time to erase terms from this worn-out memory bank, so forgive me when I lapse into old lingo no longer deemed appropriate. 

Hopefully by the time we reach the twenties, I’ll have these PC monikers mastered, even though by then we’ll have new slangy idioms like “it was what is was.”

IRL*  It’s not a matter of simply restoring the memory, but upgrading the whole system.

Who's that in the Mirror?

Who are you making fun of? I feel obligated to warn you that you are systematically being transformed into the very characters you used to mock. At least I am.

Back in Guatemala when I was the new kid on the block, a young 20-something with few enough children to call each one by the right name most of the time, I used to snicker at Mrs. (you-think-you-have-it-bad) Missionary Mighty Woman with her eight (what was she thinking?) children. She was notorious for publicly correcting her husband, saying, “No, dear. I’m sure you are mistaken. It couldn’t have possibly been 1950-whatever when that happened, because I distinctly remember that I was pregnant with such-and-such a baby that summer….”

Ha! How I used to laugh over that, until I stopped finding it funny. In fact now I find myself (horrors!), not saying it outright (usually), but often mentally correcting my own dh’s faulty time lines. I now calculate dates and events based on how many children we had at any time in question.

Once upon a time I vowed to never evolve into that Mighty Missionary Woman for another reason, but darn if I don’t see glimpses of “You-think-you-have-it-bad” staring at me in the mirror. Maybe it was inevitable, I don’t know, but it does seem that you fresh young 20-somethings have a much easier go of things than we did back in my day, and certainly have things easier than the generation before me. But I will keep my mouth closed and try hard not to say it out loud, though my pen might get careless at times.

When you turn into me someday (just you wait!), or worse, into your mother, which we all seem to do for better or for worse, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Oh, and another confession, while I’m on a roll. I used to secretly and sometimes openly tease a missionary friend who suffers from something akin to narcolepsy. Poor thing. She randomly drops off to sleep whenever she is in a comfortable chair (which of course is not a daily occurrence in this prickly land of rustic and hard furniture). Ha, ha, ha. How I used to laugh, until I had Dengue, and now it’s Jamie Jo sitting in the chair falling asleep without notice.

I’m telling you, beware! Watch whom you tease. She’s lurking in your mirror even now.

IRL* Maybe if I intentionally mock all the skinny ladies….

Hall of Shame

Now that we have partially explored the idea of a "Missionary Hall of Fame," let’s very carefully and humbly consider the opposite. Without naming names or being too specific, let’s simply describe those we would mentally nominate for the "Missionary Hall of Shame."

Sounds terrible, doesn’t it? This one is tricky, because of course we should all look at our own shortcomings first. For me with my weird grasp of time and inability to remain entirely in the present (remember the post on time travel?), I not only face my current sins, (thankfully my past sins are washed away!), but also my potential sins in the future. Hopefully y’all will also find it fun and even beneficial to consider the missionary you don’t want to become.

I’ll start us off by nominating one I must be oh-so-careful not to resemble. Let’s call her Miss You-Think-You-Have-It-Bad. Rather than commiserating with my suffering and offering a word of wise counsel from Scripture or from her own experience, she would respond with a predictable one-upper. “You think you have it bad?! Well let me tell you how it was when we real missionaries were starting out forty years ago….” Blah, blah, blah.

Now that I have returned to Mexico, celebrating the beginning of our 25th year of being overseas, I want to follow Christ and become more like Him so that those following me will have a good example. I seriously don’t want to become a joke like Miss You-Think-You-Have-It-Bad or worse – like Penelope on the hilarious Saturday Night Live skit I saw this week on Facebook.

IRL* Strongly preferring to become like the Hall of Famers I admire, and examining my heart for bad habits that might land me in the Hall of Shame.

Is 2DAY Gr8 4 U?

My big accomplishment for June was learning to send text messages. Ever the frugal missionary, I love sending a quick text for half the cost of a one-minute call. My kids have laughed at my early attempts to use this technology. I’ve finally figured out how to punctuate, but my spelling is often intrstng. It took me a while to discover why the word “can” always came out “2n” and “will” looked like “wik.” For a while I was convinced my phone was faulty. Now I love it.

For less than a nickel, I sent a text to my college daughter to pick up milk on her way home from class one day. It was cheaper than driving a separate car to the closest store. On a side note, I do miss the corner store (tienda) back home. As slowly as I thumb type, I might have walked there and back in the same time, but I digress (and exaggerate).

All this instant communication is in sharp contrast with the total lack of contact with my husband the past few weeks. He’s been in Mexico hosting short-term teams from the States. Last Wednesday I received a couple of emails from the church whose youth team was in Oaxaca, concerned about the 6.2 earthquake not far from the ministry site.

Since they were working in a secluded area lacking cell phone service and Internet access, I didn’t expect to hear back from my husband until later in the week. I’m used to that, but there wasn’t much I could do to reassure the parents back home. I was convinced the group was fine. (They were.) I later learned they had slept through the shaking; but they did not, however, miss out on the opportunity to update their Facebook status with such sensational news reports.

This incident got me thinking about the new generation of missionaries arriving on the field, both young and old. It must be difficult to adjust to the lack of reliable instant communication they are used to 24/7. What the old-timers consider a tremendous blessing, having even sporadic Internet and cell phone coverage, the new folks must perceive as a challenge.

Someone recently asked what the WORST things are about being a missionary--she wanted the nitty-gritty. The inside scoop. Before I share my response, I want to pose the question to you.

Maybe for you it is the communication issue. Maybe not.

I suspect the answers will vary depending on how long you have been on the field, so please include this in your comment.

First, I want to hear from you. Next week, I’ll answer the question more fully from my viewpoint as a (reluctant) old-timer.

IRL*Now I’m tri-lingual.