Noemí

I sat alone in the second floor of McDonald's. I whispered to myself, "How did I get here?"

Obviously I had walked. I woke up extra early to help shave off those extra pounds I've gained lately; to walk the 3.32 miles to the intersection of Colón and Jose Avellenida. I had arrived early, so as to visit the Disco and pull together some of the final ingredients I would need for lunch later.

But I meant the moment. It's only week two of Spanish lessons with Miss Noemí. She's a petite one, with dyed blonde hair and bright pink lips. Her English is very good, so I'm not sure why she wants to tradeoff English lessons for Spanish ones with me. I'm pretty desperate for any sort of advancement in the language though, even if it means I work harder to explain my native tongue in depth.

At this point, she had disappeared to the bathroom. She excused herself before exiting quickly, and only a few tears had escaped by that time.

"I-I-I just don't know what happened," I repeated to myself. I prayed silently for wisdom and clarity.

I had pulled together some important pronunciation guides, only 4 for now, as they are numerous. We had walked through them, practicing the "c" sound and the "w" sound--how they are affected when followed by certain vowels. We spent a few more moments on the "-ed" ending, as it can either add a syllable, sound like a /d/ or a /t/. Sometimes I don't think I fully comprehend the English language, but I remember some of the pronunciation tips for Russian and think that these are much simpler.

Afterward, I asked her what else she wanted to practice. She suggested that I just ask a few questions and she can work on saying verbs correctly. So I asked her a question about her past, to practice the simple past tense as well as the imperfect.

"When you were a young girl, what did you want to grow up to be?" I asked. I try to simplify my questions for complete comprehension. It's how I hope Spanish speakers address me while I'm still learning.

A brief moment of silence, as Noemí recollected not only her reply, but how to phrase it correctly with her limited personal English lexicon. She explained that she had at first wanted to be a missionary, but then pursued teaching so that was the end of that. For some reason, I asked her more specific questions on the former. "Why did the dream to be a missionary end?"

She explained that she wanted to be able to make money, and that after beginning schooling for teaching, it just made sense to let go of the first dream. I pondered that for a moment, then went a little further:

"May I ask," I started timidly. "What does the word 'missionary' mean to you?"

I was confused with her first answer, the one that mentioned money as being part of her decision. Noemí continued, saying that at least for the Argentinian missionaries, they all live in poverty and don't take care of their kids.

I hid my astonishment, and calmly asked, "That's interesting. What do you think the Bible's definition of a missionary is?"

She stopped. "What?" I waited. She gathered herself before continuing. This wasn't the point she started crying though, that would come soon enough. "I-I dunno. What is the definition for you?"

I tried to reiterate that this was about what the Bible said. My mind went straight to Paul (though I had to say Pablo so she understood who I was talking about), and how he was a tentmaker. It is possible for missionaries to work, with the implication of making money, too.

What's more, all of us are called to share the good news with people. At our jobs, in our schools, on the street, with whoever we meet! She agreed to this part. "So in your own job, you too are a missionary!" I smiled.

One dramatic pause. "It's just.. It's just.."

My first tinge of confusion came here. Her eyes were getting a little red.

"When I grew up, my father was a pastor. He was very strict on us. My sisters now do not go to church, and.. and.." she wiped her tears. "I'm so sorry. Excuse me!"

I've been thinking about writing a book. Just two days ago I told my friend that I want to write a book about the variety of work involved under the title "missionary." From cooking and cleaning, to speaking and encouraging, to relationships and 5 minute acquaintances. I'm not so sure it will actually happen, but this occurrence startled me. Maybe I have my chapter one?

No. I wasn't thinking this during the time in McDonald's. When Noemí returned, she apologized again and said we could talk about something else. I stopped her.

"First," I said and looked directly into her eyes. "I want to say that I'm so sorry for what you experienced."

"Thank you," she sniffled.

"Seriously, I'm very sorry that that happened to you, and I'm sorry to hear about your sisters. It's not fair."

Exhale.

"Please know too, that what you've experienced is actually quite common." I went on to explain some of the trends of the church in the south of the U.S. and how many are turned away from the legalistic approach, the condemnation and judgment for things that either aren't talked about in the Bible at all, or are things taken out of context.

I could see her entire being calming down, though still glass-eyed. I thanked God for help during that conversation, and even more for her response. She had said that she had repressed the desire to answer most of these questions about becoming a missionary because of her experience growing up.

"But I'm 43 years old now," she said. "I need to consider these questions again."

Indeed, there is no age at which one can not be a missionary.