Having been here now for three months—after three previous months of waiting and preparing—our loves and hates are still a varied mix, but we've only grown in our confidence that this is our home. Obviously one of the biggest factors in our relationship with the community is the language, of which we speak very little. Interestingly enough, the day before we got the initial call from Randy inviting us to consider joining him and his family in Mexico, Madeleine and I had decided that we were going to start studying Spanish because we felt that it was very important for our Jesse (then 9 months) to grow up bilingual. Once we made the prayerful decision to move to Mexico, I thought it would be great to study really hard for the remaining time in the 'States so I could impress everyone once we arrived. Not only did that not happen, but a few weeks after we did arrive I became so discouraged with the process that I stopped studying altogether. It wasn't until we took a trip to Guanajuato and the surrounding area that both Madeleine and I felt a renewed desire to know the language well. Since then our progress has been slow, but I would stay steady.

The language barrier is still the biggest obstacle on our road to being a part of this community and culture at large, but the Guanajuato trip also brought to light an obvious point that we had missed up till then: life in Jaumave is not necessarily fully representative of life in Mexico. More specifically, living in Jaumave means living in a small town with all that accompanies that. Even for our Spanish-speaking summer interns, "in" status was not something that was granted easily, if at all. In fact, Dustin, who spent most of his two-and-a-half months here interacting with the Mexican people, said that he usually needed a local "partner" to accompany him to gatherings in order for him to be even initially accepted. That's not to say that the locals are cold and dismissive, because they're not, but it does make it clear that we can't simply expect our good intentions to automatically gain us favor. Of course there are several men and women who have been very warm, and especially so in the church. Often, warm smiles and waves are returned in kind, and already simple relationships are developing despite our poor Spanish. At the same time, it is a joy to see the local community come together for celebrations or even just weekend walks around the plazas. I can even usually tolerate the loud speakers on wheels making announcements of local news or sales, knowing that this is a living community.

Besides speaking a "foreign" language and preferring their own, the locals also march to the beat of a different time clock, but like the other cultural differences we've faced, this too is a coin with two sides. In fact, this specific difference has proven to be a large and needed blessing to my family and my own spirit. For starters, we are able to leave our vehicle at home for all but highway trips and grocery shopping, choosing instead to walk or ride bike—rush hour is not in our Jaumave vocabulary in any language. Besides the aforementioned plazas, packed earth streets and open doorways also play host to neighbors as they meet to relax and share the evenings. Vendors often wander by the house during the day selling goods they've cooked or baked or built or picked: cornbread, tamales, headboards, tunas (cactus fruits)... For me this slowed pace and associated lack of ambition provide room for me to let go of a lot of my own ambitions, room to begin to recognize unhealthy patterns and time to adjust; time to read and talk and play and think. As a family, we've been faithful to keep days of rest and family dates, and as a couple, Madeleine and I are enjoying the lack of "important" options that have historically kept our minds full and our schedules busy, and subsequently limited the regularity and depth of our interactions. Of course, this slow approach can be a source of frustration when depending on others to get things done, a quality known around the office simply as "mañana." This approach also allows important things to remain disordered or undone around town: manhole covers missing, unmarked car killers (aka Mexican speed bumps), large scale water leaks, regular electricity outages, weeks waiting for the right people to talk so our shop transformer could be turned on, trash left on the sides of almost every street.

In the end, though, I'm not sure that I would too change much even if I could. The price would be too high; too much might be lost. So, it looks like it is I who will be the one to change. I'll continue to adjust, to struggle and be formed in this regularly occurring process called culture shock, and I'm confident that I and those around me will be much better for it.