I am not mute

I offset the weight of my adidas bag by letting it thud against my leg as I waddled into the tiny elevator. The ride to the fourth floor felt like going to the top of the empire state building. Long. Awkward. Silent. The light in the elevator blinked off for seconds at a time leaving me in the dark with Freddy, my 18 year old chilean tour guide, and Wally, my newly appointed chilean mom for the next 3 months. We bounced to a stop. Departamento 401. Wally pulled back the gate. I´ve always wanted to ride in a gaited elevator but somehow I forgot to notice or remember.
"Vamos." Freddy nudged my back, encouraging me out of the elevator.
The apartment door was gated too. Not nearly as romantic as a gated elevator. The peach colored den was oddly comforting; a small expectation met in randomly placed knick-knacks and overly colorful landscapes on the walls.
"Es tu cuarto. Puedes poner tu ropa aca. Hay una luz por tu cama.."
I filtered through the words I could decipher and of those, the ones I could put a meaning to. My room. Clothes here. Light by the bed.
"Gracias." I wanted to tell WAlly how much I appreciated her hospitality, how my bedroom at home is lavender just like this one, but all that came out was "gracias." I felt insufficient as I wondered how to say lavender in spanish.

Four days later. Second class of the day. Chilean theater 490 with Marcela Saiz. I was Tía 1, David´s aunt in El Velero en La Botella, the play we were reading in class. My first line was "Cucú, cucú, cucú ..." which was a little embarassing. I felt "cucú" sitting there trying to understand what was happening and not miss my turn to read.
"¿Qué hora es? No tengo mi reloj," Marcela pointed at her wrist indicating the lack of watch. There were only five minutes left in class. Marcela wanted to explain what we had been reading.
"La situación de DAvid es como la situación de ustedes en Chile." My internal translator flipped on. I wanted to know how the mute boy with crazy relatives that was narrating El Velero en La Botella had anything to do with my situation in Chile.
"David is mute. But not because he can´t speak, because he obviously can if he is talking to us, to the audience. He´s mute because he isn´t understood by the people around him. He´s stuck in a bottle. He is like you. When you´re in Chile, when you´re trying to speak spanish sometimes you have to be mute. But not because you can´t talk. You can communicate perfectly in english. And it´s not that you don´t have deep thoughts. Its just that the people around you don´t understand you. So instead of saying the deep way a painting moves you, you can only say..." Marcela contorted her mouth and made a sound like something fighting to come out, then heaved a sigh of defeat. "... es... bonita."
I thought back to the lavender walls and how I still don´t know how to say lavender in spanish. Only "gracias." The biggest challenge of being in a foreign country is this velero en una botella, boat in a bottle, effect. The lack of communication; lack of connection; lack of depth. We were made to connect with other people in relationships. WE were made to desire to be known in the depths of our hearts and thoughts. In Chile I find myself mute sometimes with the people around me. But there´s an upside. It has made loud with God. With or without words, I have been able to find my depths known in Him. I AM NOT MUTE.

"The Lord will fight for you while you keep silent." Exodus 14:14