Room with(out) a view

We’ve been in La Paz a month now, researching the yearly meeting archives, interviewing people—especially the old ones, discussing our findings with our team, and writing. There is the occasional exciting discovery, another clue to help us unlock the mystery of God’s working and the church’s responding. Or not responding. There’s the joy of being with these people our lives have intertwined with for so many years. Yes, there’s all this.

But, for the most part, the work is tedious. Stacks of old minutes and letters to go through. Days when we work alone and make no enlightening discoveries. Rainy days. Days without poetry.

Part of the struggle is the place we live in. This place is also part of our joy, and something to thank God for.  But some days I have to remind myself to be thankful.

The INELA (Bolivian Friends Church) has provided us with a small room on the property that also houses yearly meeting headquarters, the large urban Friends Church, and the Friends grade and high schools. Our place includes a small private bathroom, a tiny kitchen unit, a place to sleep and a table to use for meals and study. It meets most of our basic human needs and is close to the history project office. We pay a minimal rent to the yearly meeting and this is, indeed, a help to them, as well as a way to economize for us. There is much to be thankful for.

But one of my “requirements” for anyplace I live in is a room with a view. And a way for sunlight to enter, at least part of the day. At home in Newberg, our little condo is blessed by a large maple tree that fills the bedroom and office windows with green beauty, and fleshes out the changes of the seasons. From the other rooms I look over rooftops to distant trees and hills. It’s not spectacular but it’s enough.

Here in La Paz, our little room is tucked between and under other buildings. The one large window looks out to the brick wall five feet away. Not one ray of sun dares enter. Ever.

We originally called our home, “The Cave,” but we’ve changed the name to “The Hobbit Hole,” in an effort to keep positive. People here refer to it as “The Refrigerator.” The floors and walls of cement seem to radiate the cold of this high Andean climate.

“But,” I tell myself, “I have a clean private bathroom.” Would I trade that for a view? Probably not.

The electric space heater is gradually making it less of a refrigerator. In fact, people stepping in now notice right off how cozy it feels. A few scattered rugs make their contribution. We purchased a good bed, so we sleep well. And some kind person anonymously gave an offering designated for the purchase of a small literal refrigerator (without even knowing the nickname given to this space). All this increases our ability to live in some comfort and that helps us get our work done.

But still—the view? My need for beauty and light?

One thing I’ve done to try and supply a view is cover the walls with photographs of the Pacific Northwest. Actually, these are old calendar pictures. I can’t throw away any beautiful picture, so I dug through my collection before we traveled and brought with me about 20 views of ocean, forest, stream, waterfall, flowers and two pesky raccoons precariously hanging from a branch. These now adorn the wooden partition that separates the sleeping and working areas of our room. My friend Catherine hand-lettered some words from Scripture, and these also encourage us.

The books I’ve loaded on my Kindle include a selection of poetry—a volume each of Mary Oliver, Wendell Berry, Billy Collins and Yevgeny Yevtushenko. These always open windows and let in strange and lovely views.

My key strategy is spiritual. I’m asking God’s help to let this be a season when I behold him in his beauty, regardless of my surroundings. He is Light and beauty and goodness, all the view I need.

To live in this Reality is my ideal and my deep desire. And I have now the perfect opportunity to experience this.

I wish I could say that it’s actually happening, that my spirit is soaring in all the spiritual beauty and light available in Jesus.

However, I’m very human, and yesterday, for example, cabin fever was raging. I felt restless and homesick, wanting to be in my own room, looking through the lovely bones of my maple tree to the houses across the street. I even counted the days until we can fly back to Oregon.

But this morning I woke up, renewed in hope and thanking Jesus for his gracious presence in my life and my present circumstances, including this Hobbit Hole. So day by day, I walk forward.

I think it’s actually getting lighter in here.

The view from our Hobbit Hole

Geography and place play an important role in our spirituality. The theologies of creation and incarnation tell us that God expresses his grace and goodness in the ground we walk on, the oranges and broccoli we eat, and the flesh and blood people we love.

The houses or rooms we live in are also expressions of spirituality. I frequently have dreams of houses when I’m entering a new ministry, relationship or phase of life. An important part of these house dreams has to do with light and windows and the view. In “real life,” I like to go through new (or old) houses and imagine what it would be like living there. And one of the first things I look for is the view. Can I see trees from the windows? How much light comes in? One of my favorite book titles is A Room with a View. That’s what I want. Always. That’s what feeds my spirit—beauty and light and trees.

These last few years on our trips to La Paz, we’ve stayed in budget hotels near the Friends Church on Max Paredes Street. Some of our rooms have overlooked sections of the city, always impressive. But even though these rooms are economical, according to USA standards, they have slowly been draining our resources. Our Bolivian colleagues realize this, so they’ve recently made an effort to prepare a small apartment for us here on the church property. We made our contribution, and on Saturday morning we moved in. We’re still in the fixing up stage and, quite frankly, having a lot of fun. We feel a bit like newly weds, acquiring the basics in bedding, towels, kitchen stuff. We also feel like jugglers in a circus, trying to keep in the air the balls of simplicity, comfort and economy.

The space is small, the décor Spartan. Originally planned to be used for hospitality, carpenters have put in wooden panels to divide the one room into a study area, a bedroom and a kitchen, with a small bathroom (where everything works!). The kitchen has only a counter and a sink. We added a double-burner hot plate; maybe next year we’ll put in a small refrigerator. And maybe we won’t. The bathroom is closet-sized, with the electric shower head in the middle of the ceiling. When we shower, everything gets wet. We have to come out into the kitchen to dry off and get dressed. But, like I said, everything works.

We first named our new home, “The Cave,” which gives an idea of what it’s like. Connected to the second floor of the old mission house, it’s tucked in a walkway between the church and the Friends school, surrounded by concrete and tall buildings. I’m trying to add the word “cozy” to the descriptors “small, dark and cold.” To facilitate our positive attitude, we’ve changed the name from “The Cave” to “The Hobbit Hole.”

But the thing is—the window. It’s large and opens into the study and the bedroom. That’s good. However, the view is of the brick wall four feet away. That’s not so good. And at no point during the day does any sun enter our Hobbit Hole. So.

So, what do I do with that? I accept this as a challenge. If my spirituality runs deeper than the view out my window and the sunshine on my face, this is the time to prove it. I’ve chosen “glory” as my theme this year. “Glory” signifies many things, among these—beauty, splendor, recognition, honor, light. All the things that touch my spirit when I imagine a sunny room with a view can be summed up in the word, “glory.” That’s what I really long for.

So, I read that “Christ in me is my hope of glory.” I read that “You, O Lord, are a shield to me. You’re my glory and the lifter of my head.” And more, so much more. Yes.

So, in the early morning, I come into the study, cup of steaming coffee in hand, wrap myself in a wool blanket, sit in front of the small space heater, close my eyes, and give myself time to enter into the Presence. And soon I begin to sense it. The glory. It’s here. It’s Him.

I can’t begin to describe for you the beauty of the view from this place.

 

Welcome to the Hobbit Hole!

 

Living room/study

A place to sleep

A place to prepare simple meals

The view!