This is another in a series of posts called Occupy Life. Each day you and I occupy physical time and space, making bold statements about what is most important in this life (whether we’re holding picket signs or not). Other entries: pancake batter, tying ribbons, Alejandra, Lunch Hour, Delaney and Roland or the original post Occupy Life: Things One Might Do While Unemployed. The scene is an unlikely one - Iowa's attempt at a small Irish pub - but as good a place as any to brush up on my rusty Spanish skills. I've given up thinking my heart is capable of uprooting and replanting an endless amount of times. Instead, I believe my heart has magical roots that span states and countries and oceans. And maybe for that reason, I still kind of introduce myself as 100% catracha. If you don't understand, then you probably aren't Honduran. But, it might explain why the invitation to tell stories of Honduras in Spanish made my skin tingle.
The excitement came like a flood as I talked about all the faces and places and valleys and mountains that led me to discover a fuller picture of my God. And then I realized my words tripping over words may not make any sense to my friend - especially in Spanish. I offered to switch back to English, but my friend said my blabbering was preferable to Rosetta Stone.
And then it hit me. The words flew out of my mouth accompanied by hands waving and another wild (probably unflattering) smile stretched across my face, "a la orden!"
"A la orden" is a Spanish phrase that means, "at your service" and it was thrown around as often as Midwestern "hellos" when I was in Honduras. I noticed whenever one of my high school girls complimented another on an outfit, the response was always, "a la orden," which meant that the outfit or shoes or whatever could be borrowed at any time. It was "at their service." I started to think that we should have the same response whenever anyone compliments our talents.
My friend looked amused. I was trying to gather my jumbled excitement and put it into words... words that could somehow communicate how passionate I am about this idea that NOTHING I can do/say/sing/write/give is mine. Nothing. I don't own my talents. There is no Caroline Copyright on my abilities. It's ALL the Lord's and it is ALL on loan for the purpose of loving God and serving others.
Right there in that cozy, Irish-looking booth I gestured and exclaimed and squealed and probably got more excited than the average, sober Irish pub-goer. But it was like re-discovering this beautiful Truth in a new context called Ames, Iowa.
I live here. I work here. I serve here. How can I love God by making my every talent available to others?
Oh, you like my whimsical bubble letters? Let me know when you need a poster made. Oh, you like the way I chase your kids around? Let me know when you need a night off. Oh, you like my acapella singing at work? Let me know when you need a karaoke buddy. Oh, you're looking for a Spanish speaking buddy? Let me know the time and place.
Seriously, just TALKING about a la orden makes my heart sing.
let LOVE fly like cRaZy by turning compliments into acts of service