The 6 Mile 5K

I had barely taken my suitcase to my room when Mark spied the 5K run advertised in the local newspaper.  We quickly agreed to enter our names (though I had some misgivings, still not feeling fully adjusted to the altitude).  That night we drove the route of the race, and with a GPS device as well as the odometer on the car we measured the distance.  It turns out that "5K" actually meant 5K each way.  So the 5K to which I had readily agreed had just turned into a 10K I was dreading.  Now you may be snickering at my reluctance to run a 6 mile race, but that is because you didn't have "tacos al pastor" from the local marketplace the night before.  At the time even I was still unaware of the full effects that dining decision would have.  The night before the race all I felt was a slight queasiness, a rumor in my gut of impending doom.  I know Cortés befriended Montezuma and then betrayed him; I'm not excusing that behavior.  However, I think anyone who has had what the natives fondly refer to as "Montezuma's revenge" will agree with me that Montezuma is misplacing blame in a very cruel way.

I woke up the morning of the race with a sense of urgency.  While Mark was getting dressed, drinking some water, and pinning on his racing number, I was dutifully worshipping the porcelain goddess.  My bowels were on fire; my stomach, now in a million separate but miserable pieces, was floating up and down at will within my abdominal cavity.  While my organs continued to play anatomical bumper cars, I tried to steady my mind for the race to come.  I knew the whole game had changed.  The six miles would no longer be measured by strides but rather by the number of times my red, swollen butt cheeks rubbed together, stealing a little more skin from each other with each loving stroke.

With these pleasant thoughts and many more, I suited up, and Mark and I set out for the start line a few blocks away.  A pastor friend of Mark's named Mauri met us there.  He and I had some time to get to know each other before the race began, and I actually began to feel slightly recovered from my earlier sickness.  An odd assortment of participants lined up in front of the "Nueva Allianza" building.  One professional runner wore shorts coming down no farther than his high thighs with expensive running shoes and a slim build.  Others looked well over seventy and wore jeans and sandals.  After several speeches (the race was sponsored by a political party), we were off.  Mauri, Mark, and I ran abreast for the first half a mile, but their stride didn't feel quite right to me.  So I increased my pace a little and soon left them behind.

I felt good, cheered on by the many smiling faces and eager exclamations of bystanders.  A mechanic looking up from his work to see the runners go by.  A mother and her daughter eager for diversion on their walk home.  Many kids who gave each and every runner the feeling that their performance meant something.  It seemed the whole city had turned out to watch my elation turn to suffering as I realized that the bridge I thought was the halfway mark was not, my pace was much too fast, and the relief I was feeling at the beginning of the race would soon be ending.  Though we had driven the route the night before, I got confused.  I only remembered one yellow bridge, the one that came just before the turnaround, but apparently there was another much earlier in the race. 

By the time I got to the actual halfway point, my chest felt like someone was beating on it mercilessly with a sledgehammer, my legs wanted to give out, my mind wanted to give up, and my breakfast wanted to come up. 

I walked.

Mauri and Mark caught up with me, looking as fresh as they had at the start of the race.  Their coming spurred me to pick my pace back up at least enough to run with them for a while, but I soon slowed to a walk.

Clasping my water bottle in one hand and stomach in the other, and with head held not all that high, I finished the race walking.  I had started well enough that I still ended up finishing in seventh place within my age group, but my body paid me back for that foolish feat for days after.  My pride still pays me back.

10 More Minutes

This semester I am taking Creative Nonfiction Workshop.  In addition to the longer pieces we work on (which I will post), we write for a short while off of prompts each class period.  I have several short, incomplete pieces I will share from this in-class writing.  Today in class we were supposed to write a childhood memory from our own perspective when we were a kid.  Here is my INCOMPLETE response to that prompt.  It is kind of fun.  Enjoy.

10 more minutes.  If I get up now, john and Sarah will think I'm such a little boy.  The big kids don't get jittery on Christmas morning.  They sleep until we wake them up so they can wake Mom and Dad up.  I wonder if Christmas will stop when I stop being excited.  Who will wake up the big kids so they can start Christmas?

Ok, Mary is awake.  She's still little.  She's only 1 year 10 months and 27 days less little than I am.  I'll get up now and play cards with her just so she doesn't feel too little.  Besides time passes quicker when you're playing slapjack then when you're trying not to be little.

I hop out of bed and look down.  There are my blue pajama pants; they make me feel a little bigger.  Just knowing that I'm wearing karate pants makes me bolder.  I feel like I could turn a flip or punch a bad guy, but I better not right now.  John and Sarah would be annoyed if I woke them up a whole hour and a half before they were allowed to wake Mom and Dad up.  If I'm going to be this little still, it's better not to draw attention to it.  I slept for as long as I possibly could!

Instead of doing karate with imaginary bad guys, I settle for that card game with my sister.  I'm so glad we all get to sleep in the same room on Christmas Eve.  We always bring in games to pass the time until we can go through our stockings.  I think Sarah and John still like it even though they pretend not to.  They still play the games with us...

Summer Reflections Part 2

Sorry it has been so long since the last post.  I've had this bit written for a while but thought I needed to change it or add to it.  Now, so far removed from the summer it seems, I decided to just post what I have because I want to move on the writing about other things.

Current 2 – Radical Living

My journey toward radical living for Jesus Christ is a process that has been happening for a few years now and will continue for the rest of my life.  Christ is constantly changing me, constantly growing me – any time I let Him.  Even at times when I feel no change and see no possibility for growth, Christ is holding His chisel to me preparing to mold me more and more into his likeness.  Sometimes I wonder if I, a big block of misshapen stone, am even recognizable as the masterpiece of God which I will one day fully become, but at those times I take comfort in the teaching of 2 Peter 1:5-8:

         For this very reason, make every effort to add to your faith goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, love.  For if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.

The extent to which these virtues have been realized in my life certainly matters, but a nugget of truth is present in this passage that gives me hope.  The direction I'm moving counts for a lot.  This list of virtues doesn't seem to describe me very well often times, but I must look inwardly and ask myself whether I possess them in increasing measure.  I am in process, but as long as I remain moldable, as long as I keep moving in the right direction with a broken and contrite heart, I won't be "ineffective and unproductive in [my] knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ."

You will notice in the passage that the virtue we add last, the virtue to which nothing can be added, is love.  And my thoughts this summer have often centered on the idea of "loving better."  How can I love better than I'm loving right now?  How can I love my brothers and sisters in Christ better?  How can I love the world better?  How can I love God better?

Now, on one hand the answer to these questions is simple and mystical.  I must embrace God's love for me and let His love overflow to everyone around me.  I'm working on this.  Although I lack discipline, I am trying to get to know God better by spending time in His word and spending time talking to Him.  I am beginning to see myself the way He sees me, and walking in this love is freeing me to love others and to love him back will all that I have.  However, I also know that if I love God I will obey his commandments.  I know that if I don't clothe my brother then the love of God isn't in me.  I know that love without action is no love at all, and so I couple the mystical with the practical.

All summer, and for quite awhile before that, I have been trying to find practical ways to love.  I have been asking myself what it would look like if my whole life centered on love.  Of course, every aspect of my life would be transformed, but the Lord has specifically been teaching me about a discipline that would help me to be a better lover

Simplicity

If we did nothing that we did not see our Father in Heaven doing, certainly our lives would look radically different.  We would not be living at all, and we would be experiencing life for the very first time.  I desire to pursue this ideal in every possible aspect.  I hope to one day see with heavenly eyes ancient, ever-present visions of things above, to peer through the window of heaven and witness my God.  If or when that happens, I may well see my heavenly Father doing something, and I pray I will have the courage, when that day comes, to sincerely mimic Him.  However, until I am blessed with such heavenly vision, I content myself to read the gospels and to start trying to live the way Jesus lived.

It is one thing to respect what Jesus taught.  Some of us really even believe what He taught.  Beliefs can be written down; doctrinal statements can be signed; sermons can be preached.  But until we allow these truths to be translated, through our actions, into a visible, tangible love that can overcome fear and doubt, we have done nothing to further the gospel of Jesus Christ.  We spend so much time talking, much less time thinking (which has a little bit of intrinsic value), and almost no time doing.  How glorious it would be if every Christian in the world picked up a Bible tomorrow as if for the first time, and, putting all our glorified guesses behind us, we committed ourselves to action.

Instead of discussing whether it was the rich young ruler's possessions or his love of possessions that disallowed him entrance into the Kingdom of Heaven, we would be selling our possessions and giving to the poor.  Instead of thanking God a million times a day for our material blessings, we would start building a bridge from both ends to span the gap between ourselves and the poor/poor in spirit, those who will receive the Kingdom of Heaven.  In his book Irresistible Revolution, Shaine Claiborne says and proves that in light of the dire state of our world, "…generosity is determined by what a person has left."  The point is that when we consider the woes in our world today, there is no point (short of solidarity) at which we can say, "I've done enough.  There may be children starving every day, but I've made an adequate contribution."  For those who follow Christ, nothing is adequate except for everything.

Dozens of generations of devoted Christians seeking to follow Christ in radical ways have given rise to the Christian discipline of simplicity.  Simplicity is a comprehensive quieting of our chaos.  When we allow the perfect peace of Jesus Christ to conquer our chaos, we will find that what is left will be little, but it will be pure and will have more value than a thousand diamonds. Instead of cluttered desks and garages, makeup kits and cologne bottles, ipods and laptops, and all the other things that take away our space to breath, we will find outer simplicity. Instead of endless worry, a constant, unhealthy introspection, a deafening drone of inner voices, and all the other evils that plague our minds, we will experience simplicity of the heart.

Some would like to divorce these two, but it cannot be done.  In the majority, there are those who prefer to ignore physical simplicity in their pursuit of simplicity for their hurting hearts.  This dualism must be fought.  The physical and spiritual are spliced together, and we fool ourselves if we think that our actions have no effect on our spirits.  Take this fallacy to its end and you will find a heap of rubble where once stood Christian theology.  In the minority, there are those who think that any mention of simplicity of the heart is some back-handed justification, some cowardly attempt to ignore our tragic separation from the destitute and the greed that has infected the church.  As much as the physical and spiritual are tied, we must have our eyes fixed on things above.  If our acts of self-denial and sacrificial giving have no eternal value, why do we bother?  Furthermore, it is tragic to think that in attempting to mimic one of Christ's virtues, we often devalue another.  Who would deny that Christ walked in both kinds of simplicity?  Therefore, we must follow His example by seeking both with all that we have.

Simple living has no intrinsic value.  It is necessary and even desirable because it is a vital baby step on our journey towards simplicity of the heart.  It is a daunting task to find and keep inner simplicity.  Though it may seem nearly impossible at times, outer simplicity is actually much easier than inner simplicity because it is more tangible.  If you tell me to find inner-simplicity, I have no idea where to begin.  However, if you tell me to make my life (outer) simpler, I can give away my stuff.  It may burn a bit, but in the end they are only things, and giving them away is quite freeing if it is done not out of legalism but out of an inner longing for simplicity of the heart.

In trying to begin living more simply, I have found this to be true.  There are times when my eyes are set on the simplicity of the heart that I am really seeking.  At those times, I could easily part with my most prized possession.  It is when I'm not seeking inner simplicity but rather am trying to follow a trend or trying to be a certain type of person that I feel those old attachments to "stuff."  

Summer: A Season of Faith's Perfection (Part 1)

As I prepare to return to the craziness of school, I want to reflect for a moment on this summer.  I have learned much, taught a little, fallen down more than once, and gotten up a little wiser every time.  I have tried to love with the love of Jesus.  I have tried to listen and speak in proper proportion. Most of all I have thought.  The many drops that are my thoughts make a river that has meandered coolly through all the events of this summer and now looks ahead to the coming semester.  This river is mostly just plain old water; it is nothing worth writing about, and, although it is important to me, it would only get you wet.  There are however some currents.  Here is current number one.  More will follow.

Current 1

I am God's own possession, His cherished child who was bought with a price.  And since I am a Christian, my own life is hidden away with Christ.  All my actions and relationships are intricately involved with my faith, and since it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me, everything in my life draws energy and meaning from my relationship with Christ.  This truth became especially evident towards the beginning of the summer.  If you can, imagine an intense game of tug-of-war between to young boys.  As they both pull with all their might they are held in a sort of balance that, though it is exhausting, is somewhat safe.  When one of the boys lets go, this balance is upset.  The tension is broken, and the boy on the other end of the rope falls to the ground.  He lies there panting for a second, happy to have won the game, happy just to have finished.

I don't know if I won the game last semester, but when the tension was released, I, just like that little boy, lay there panting.  Unfortunately, I didn't get up and claim my trophy.  Instead I lay there lazily until the success of a great semester morphed into something very different.  Instead of plunging ahead into what God had for me, I just lay on the mat.  I lost sight of my purpose and grew spiritually apathetic.  After a few weeks of this I began to notice that everything had lost its color.  I was trapped in a black-and-white world.

Everything I did seemed bland.  I did what I did simply to fill the hours until I was so tired that I couldn't stay awake doing nothing anymore.  My relationships even with the people I love the most were routine, and I began to long for the vibrancy of a life enriched by the savior of the world at work through his spirit inside me.  I asked Christ to forgive me for my apathy and cynicism and to color my world and my heart once more with the intensity of his calling and purpose.  I asked him to inject his love back into my relationships with others.

This was not the first time my life had lost its leaven, but it was the first time that I let the Lord really encourage me through the restoration process.  In the midst of my brokenness He showed me that it many ways I am following the way of Jesus.  I don't have everything figured out, but the very fact that my life without Jesus is no life at all shows that I have bet the whole bank on this Jesus thing.  I have irreversibly cast my lot with the man from Nazareth to the degree that everything that means the most to me finds its meaning in him.

For instance, I have probably the greatest best friend in the world.  He and I truly share life together, and we wouldn't have it any other way.  But even my relationship with my best friend is lifeless and frustrating when he and I aren't walking with our truest friend.  This is because our relationship developed around our passion for Christ.

My prayer is that any time I stray from the life-giver, my colorless world will remind me that He is the source of my every breath.

Volleyball, una Fiesta, and Painted Turtles

Each day I have been walking from shop to shop around our house and in the zocolo (town center), and as a result I have begun to build some friendships with native Tlapans (I have no idea if that is a word). Remember Shelly from the lavanderia (laundry mat)? Well I have gone back each day as promised so that we could practice each other’s languages. When I returned on Tuesday, she told me that her nephew, Abdiel, wanted to meet me and talk with me. He is about to be a junior in high school, and he is at the top of his English class. After talking for a while, we decided that I would return at 5 PM to chat with her sobrino. When I got there, I met her two daughters, Dulce and Dey, and her nephew. We talked, mostly in Spanish, though Abdiel would practice saying some things in English, for over an hour. It was educational and fun, plus they invited me to hang out with them the next day.

Abdiel works to put up the volleyball net while Dulce stands by smiling. It turned out that Abdiel was attending the short course at the Me'phaa mission which we attended the following day. Small world.

While we were talking, I asked Abdiel if he played any sports. I used the word “tocar” for “to play,” which, it turns out, is only used with musical instruments. They proceeded to teach me “jugar,” used as a general term for playing (like “They played in the street.”), and the word for playing organized sports, which I can’t remember right now. Anyways, Abdiel started listing off every sport know to man as the ones he plays (jugar). His cousins started teasing him for thinking too much of himself, and I followed suit. When he asked me which sports I play, I told him that I play (for fun) basketball, baseball, soccer, and tennis. I also told him that I like to play volleyball but that I don’t get to do so very often. He jokingly inferred that this meant I lost a lot, an inference that I quickly refuted.

Dey.

After the playful trash talk from the day before, on Wednesday, instead of walking around the zocolo, they took me to their church to play a two-on-two game of volleyball. Well, near the end of the first game (which my team was winning as predicted), I jumped for a slam and landed in a pothole, spraining my ankle. Luckily the worst effects of that incident have been having to cut the hangout time short and having to nurse a limp for a couple of days.

Two of the youth from Mexico City teaching us all "Cristo me ama" (Jesus loves me).

The sprained ankle didn’t stop me from going to a big party at the Me’phaa mission center on Friday night. I even played volleyball! That might not have been the smartest idea, but I’m only slightly worse for the wear. The party was a blast. A group from Mexico City came in on Wednesday to teach a 4 day short course about putting on an effective VBS type activity for kids. This party was held in celebration of two birthdays and as a general party for the guests. Any reason is a good reason to have a fiesta.

Volleyball at the Me'phaa mission.

Two of the kids silently arguing over who got to ride in the car. Mark pushed them around for a long time, but they never tired of it.

Nana Esther with a really cute baby. FYI, Nana is her title in Me'phaa. Guys are Tata and ladies are Nana.

After the volleyball tournament, which we graciously allowed another team to win, we gathered around tables for eggs and hotdogs, beans, fried cheese, and, of course, fresh tortillas. Afterwards there was cake and music! In Mexico there isn’t just one birthday song. There is still a song that is sung to the person whose birthday it is, but, in addition to this song, there is a whole collection of birthday music. My friend Plácido, one of the translators, played the guitar, and everyone sang in another year of health and happiness for the celebrated two. 

Dinner!

After cleaning up from dinner, we moved under the pavilion for some more singing and a game. Our team had been asked to provide some entertainment for the evening that related to the Me’phaa language. The day before I had written down the sheet music for one of the few original Me’phaa scripture songs, so we thought it would be fun to teach it to everyone. Almost all praise music in Me’phaa churches is in Spanish, so it was a lot of fun to teach everyone a song in their heart language. 

I play the guitar as everyone learns a worship song in their heart language.

After we had gone over the song a few times, Benito and Emy took over with a game of Me’phaa vocabulary bingo. Since the Me’phaa alphabet didn’t exist until thirty years ago when Mark and Esther made it up, most Me’phaa speakers do not read or write in their own language. It was so much fun to participate as we all learned how to read Me’phaa together. 

After that game the called me Master of Me'phaa....not really. Actually Mark helped me a bit, but I did catch on well.

I wonder how you say bingo in Me'phaa...

Me’phaa is a tonal language, and the challenge comes in distinguishing the tones and finding the words with markings that match the tones. Also, a glottal stop is a written character in Me’phaa, so a word without a glottal at the end could mean something completely different than the exact same word with a glottal at the end. Trust me, it isn’t always easy to tell the difference, at least not for this gringo.

The bingo chart. That is what written Me'phaa looks like.

As far as language learning goes, some things are really starting to click for me. I’m becoming more and more comfortable with the imperfect, preterite, and future tenses, and my vocabulary is growing everyday. The guys on the translation team and I are always exchanging vocabulary; they are having fun learning a little bit of English while I’m here. It’s nice because it is game rather than a bunch of one-way annoying questions.

Today we went to a small village about two hours away that is famous worldwide for its intricately painted wood boxes, clocks, bowls, masks, animal statues, and anything else that can be made out of wood. They make their crafts out of a type of wood that only grows in this region, and the detail of the designs is truly remarkable.

Plácido and Mark in a local shop. According to all the locals, the artisan who owned this shop was the best in the whole city.

Lions and tiger and demonic boar-like things, oh my!

Left to right: Benito, Emilia, Me, Plácido.

Well, that’s all for now. We’ll go to church tomorrow, and there is a possibility that I’ll go with Benito and Emy back to Zocitlan on Tuesday. We haven’t decided for sure yet. Have a blessed day.

Day 7 in Mexico (plus a few days prior)

Today was the first workday here in Tlapa. Prior to today, Esther and Mark have been on a pseudo-vacation. It is not that they haven’t been doing work, they have just been out of their normal routine, and for the past few days we have been doing touristy type stuff. Let me catch you up briefly on the last few days.

On Friday we spent the entire day on the road from Mitla to Tlapa. We arrived in Tlapa at around 10:30. The actual drive time was only about 8 hours, but we spent some time in Mitla running last minute errands and picking up the two other translators, Carol and Lynn, who were riding back to Tlapa with us, so we didn’t actually hit the road until about 12:30. Then figure in stops for lunch, gas, and stretching. 

We stopped for lunch but not for dinner. I mention this because the reason for it is an interesting cultural difference between Mexico and the US. The eating schedule here is off by about 3-4 hours from that of the typical American. Since I arrived, I haven’t eaten lunch before 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and we normally have dinner at around 8:00 PM. I think that once I get used to it I will actually like this schedule better; in the interim I am using apples to get me through to meal times. 

Saturday was relatively uneventful. Mark, Esther, and I had all been burning the candle at both ends for the last several days, so after a good 3-mile run in the morning, we spent the rest of the day unpacking and napping. That evening Mark and I decided to run in a “5K” race. I put 5K in parentheses because, though the ad in the paper said “certified 5K,” Mark and I measured it with Google Earth and by driving the route and found it was actually approx. 9K (5.4 miles). 

Mark, Mauri, and I before the race.

I woke up the morning of the race with what some have called “Montezuma’s revenge.” It is a common ailment caused by exposure to bacteria in the water in Mexico. I will say no more, except that it left me very dehydrated for the race and more than a little sick to my stomach. Still, I couldn’t not run, so I put on a brave face and accompanied Mark and his pastor friend Mauri to the starting line. 

During the race.

I got 7th place! Don’t let that fool you; I really didn’t have that great of the time. Mark and Mauri both finished before me. They are both seasoned runners (they have both run marathons).

After the race.

I was pretty sick by the end of the race, and after a brief shower and breakfast the Weathers and I headed quite tardily for the Me’phaa mission’s church service. We didn’t feel all that bad since Mauri is the pastor and he was also a little bit late. I must admit that I didn’t get much out of the service. I hadn’t expected that I would, because I assumed the service would be in Me’phaa. It turned out that it was conducted in Spanish. Nevertheless, Montezuma wouldn’t allow me to focus much at all. Luckily I was feeling enough better by the end of the service to enjoy an extended visiting time with the congregation. We even ended up giving two families a ride back into town. Unfortunately I forgot my camera, so I have not pictures from church. Next week!

That afternoon we took naps. Another part of the culture here is what is know as “ciesta time.” From about 2-4 in the afternoon, many businesses will close. During this time, the main meal of the day is eaten, and it is often accompanied by a nap. This is one aspect of Mexican culture I could definitely get used to!

In the evening, we pulled out Esther’s omnichord, an electronic musical instrument that is really quite hard to describe. It can simulate many different instrument after a fashion, and it can also function as a small midi keyboard. It has a very unique sound and is easy to play because it automatically forms chords and the keys for the chords are arranged in the circle of fifths. 

The omnichord. This is one funky instrument

We also watched a DVD of a music writing workshop put on by another Wycliffe couple working with a language group farther north. Then we discussed the need for original worship music in Me’phaa and how I might be involved in the process. It is actually much more doable than I anticipated.

Now we come back to today – finally. The translation team came in from surrounding villages in las montañas. I met Elías, Plácido, Benito, and Emy (Benito’s wife). They spent the day working on translations, and I spent the day learning Spanish (see previous post), reading articles on missions, and helping Mark with various computer related needs. 

Some of the translators at work.

Elías eating breakfast with us.

Benito. I will probably go and visit his village in a week or so.

Tomorrow I have a few more projects outlined that involve finding appropriate backup software and installing it on the computers. I think I have found an inexpensive top-of-the-line backup program that will really help simplify some things for Mark and the team. We’ll see.

Hasta mañana or someday soon thereafter.

Learning Spanish

For anyone who is interested, here is the transcription of a conversation I had today in a local store (tienda). I had an mp3 recorder in my pocket, so when I got home, I transcribed the conversation. It was a lot of fun, and I learn so much by going out, talking with natives, and then listening to the recording to catch anything I missed.

La conversación con Shelly:

Me - Buenos días! ¿Cómo estás?
Shelly – Bien. 
Me – Soy de estados unidos y estoy aprendiendo español poco a poco y quiero aprender más.
Shelly – OK
Me – ¿Cuanto tiempo has trabajado en esta tienda?
Shelly – Un año.
Me - ¿Un año? Muy bien. ¿Cuál es el horario de esta tienda?
Shelly - Nueve de la mañana. Ocho y media de la noche.
Me – ¿Qué es el nombre para esta tienda?
Shelly – Llavandaria cael. ¿Dónde vives?
Me – Vivo en los estados unidos, en dallas, texas. Y en mitla, vivo con los Weathers uno calle atrás (behind).
Shelly – And what are you doing here?
Me – Por un mes, estoy viviendo con los Weathers y aprendiendo español.
Shelly – ¿Solamente aprender español?
Me – No. No solamente, pero aprender español. También estoy trabajando con la traducción de la Biblia en Me’phaa. 
Shelly - ¿Traducciòn? Sí, pero habla bien español.
Me – Sí – poco. Quiero hablar en español, y estoy aprendiendo poco a poco.
Shelly – ¿Se le hace difícil?
Me – Sí.
Shelly - ¿Sí?
Me – ahh…. No sé.
Shelly – Pocito.
Me – Sí, pocito. Gracias. ¿Cómo se llama?
Shelly – Shelly
Me – Me llamo Wes.
Shelly – West?
Me – Wes. Es corto para Wesley. Mucho gusto.
Shelly – Mucho gusto. Cuando usted quiere practicar, usted me enseñe inglés y yo te enseño español. Podemos practicar.
Wes – Sí. ¿Puedo venir aquí y puedo practicar español y tu puedes practicar inglés?
Shelly – Sí.
Wes – Muy bien. Muchas gracias. ¡Adios!

Most of that isn't super complicated, but at the rate that she was speaking, it felt great to be able to understand most of what she said and carry on a productive conversation with her.