"I love the colors of Mexico," wrote my friend after seeing the photo I took on Mexican Independence Day. I smiled.
Except that the picture was taken in Texas, I thought. This strange and extraordinary life I live. We began the day with breakfast in a very Mexican restaurant in Texas,
huevos mexicanos and
tortillas and an
empanada and
cafe, Spanish resonating from the many televisions, a birthday serenade of
Las Mañanitas. We leave and then really do travel over the border, across the bridge, and see the long winding line of those waitingwaitingwaiting to enter the United States today. We curve along the river and past the boy look-outs and horse-drawn carts and into the neighborhood. Morning greetings of
Buenos dias, ¿como estas? returned with the very correct assessment of
Estamos aquí. I work on the English lessons I'll share with Spanish speakers, young and old, in the week to come. Conversation, and then prayer, spoken in the broken yet fluid rhythm of Spanish, English, Spanish, English. How has God made my mind to adapt? How has God made my heart to soften and mold to love this life of crossing borders and culture and language?
¡Viva México!, indeed.
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