Bienes Raices; Good Roots (Andrea)

Real Estate. I understand the concept, but I had never thought much about the phrase. I know a few realtors. I get annoyed when people misprounounce “realtor” and say, instead, “reel-a-tor.” But I had never thought much about the phrase “Real Estate.”

Until, that is, we needed some. Luke and I arrived in Cuernavaca with 4 suitcases, 2 carry-ons, and the expectation that we would find ourselves a place to live. Dave & Sue, Presbyterian missionary friends, were gracious enough to comb through the classifieds. Heidi, the woman whose job we’re stepping into, was gracious enough to spend an entire day house-hunting with us.

Most of the places we considered were simply being rented by the people who owned them. One house, however, was being rented through a real estate agency. I didn’t realize this at first. Part of the reason may be my lack of real-estate-specific Spanish vocabulary, but part of the reason might also be that the Spanish term for Real Estate has nothing, really, to do with the housing market.

It’s Bienes Raices.

Literally, Good Roots.

I’ve thought a lot about that phrase since then, and not only because we did indeed rent that house. The phrase makes sense to me. Bienes Raices…Good Roots. It’s more about a place to call your own than about the physical property; more about a home than a house.

Bienes Raices…Good Roots. The phrase makes sense to me, because I’ve always understood myself as someone who could make just about anywhere feel like “home,” and in a very short period of time. But somehow this time was different. The problem, it seemed to me, was our distinct lack of “stuff.” Everywhere else I’ve ever been – whether it was a room in a dormitory or a cot in a shelter or a sleeping bag in a tent – there was some stuff: a bed, a dresser, a chair. Even if it wasn’t my stuff, it was a place to start, and I could add bits and pieces of my own. We had a house in Mexico, but we didn’t have any stuff.

The deal with the church went something like this: find a place to rent and then, because you could only bring what you could carry, go out and buy the stuff you need. This sounds fun, right? My mom thought so. My mother-in-law thought so. I thought so, too. We were about to furnish an entire house from scratch. Ready, set, go.

So we began. The first day, our neighbors (who also happen to be our landlords) took us to Ocotepec, where local carpenters craft muebles rusticos (rustic furniture) in a very traditional manner. We bought a table and 6 chairs, a bookshelf, a desk, a coffee table, and 2 nightstands. The carpenters piled every last piece into the smallest pickup they could find, and tied it all down for the ride back to our house.

“This will make all the difference,” I thought. “Now we’ll have some stuff.” But I was wrong. It still didn’t feel like home. The stuff didn’t matter.

The problem was, when you can only bring 4 suitcases and 2 carry-ons for a new life in a foreign country, you bring a profound lack of “useless” stuff. You bring important things, like clothing and shoes and computers and toothbrushes. You don’t bring artwork or candles or comforters. Basically, you don’t bring anything that makes your house feel like your house; anything that makes your house feel like your home.

This occurred to me, that night, more in a visceral way than in an intellectual one. Standing there, at 11pm, staring at the unfamiliar kitchen table and the empty bookshelf, I knew I couldn’t go to bed until something changed.

We had brought one small carry-on of books and framed photos. It was heavy. It was upstairs. The staircase is spiral, and it was 11pm. But it mattered, and so Luke carried those books and photos downstairs so I could arrange them on the bookshelf. I slept well that night (in my sleeping bag, next to Luke in his sleeping bag, on our air mattress, because we had yet to find a bed or a blanket). I slept well that night, because our Real Estate was beginning to feel more like Bienes Raices.

It’s been slow-going. It does sound fun to furnish an entire house from scratch, but it’s really only fun in theory. It meant that we were on a mission almost every day for weeks. You can buy pots and pans, but you can only really use them if you have dishes. You can buy dishes, but you can only really use them if you have a drying rack and dish towels. You can buy plants and flower pots, but you can only really use them after you find potting soil.

This is not to sound ungrateful; don’t get me wrong. The church is abundantly generous in providing for its mission personnel, and the fact is not lost on us that we’ve been spending more in a week in “setting up camp” than most Mexicans make in 6 months. It is to say, however, that “stuff” has its place in putting down good roots. It’s also to say that all the stuff in the world isn’t enough to make a house a home, if the people inside can’t make it their own.

We had a party a few weeks ago. That was the turning point for me. That was the night when we opened our door to the people who will become our family here. That was the night when our house came alive. That was the night when I knew that we had indeed planted Bienes Raices; Good Roots. They may not be deep yet, or strong, but they’ve begun to grow.

We still have a few more things to get, in order to have the “stuff” we need for living. But I’m not worried anymore. We’re done with Real Estate. We’ve planted good roots, and they will undoubtedly spring forth new life. That’s the next part of the journey. We don’t know what will grow next.