Something I've Always Wanted

When we bought our first house in California, I couldn't wait to start working on the front, back, and side yards.  It was a corner lot with lots of yard space.  I made copies of the house plan and sketched out my dreams.

After a few years of saving and working, we had a pretty green front lawn and neatly landscaped shrubs.  But I still longed for one plant that never seemed to like me. 

Bougainvillea.

They were more common on the coast, but I had seen them thriving in the valley, too.  But after a couple of failures, I gave up.  They never lasted more than one season.

Now, in South America, I have a cemented patio in the back of the house with a grand, gorgeous purple bougainvillea.  It actually is planted in the neighbor's yard on the other side of the wall, but it tumbles over the top onto our patio, giving us shade and color.

I finally have a bougainvillea, a special gift from God. And I don't even have to fertilize or water it!  I can see it blooming from our bedroom window.

I also found out that this plant is native to South America and prefers sandy, coastal regions.  That explains why it looks so beautiful and healthy. 

And, a month after writing the above, I realized that I have one in the front yard, too!  It just hasn't bloomed this year so I didn't pay any attention to it. 

I trimmed it back the other day and woke up to the fact that I was trimming a bougainvillea.  I hope the trim wakes it up a little.  Even if it doesn't bloom, I'm happy it's alive.

Growing

How's the youth group?  the church? the weekly Bible Study? The young adult's study? the children's club?  One word sums it up: growing.  Recently I started shopping to keep the church stocked with snacks for the kids club and for the coffee hour after worship.  But we keep running short on cookies and cups.  It's because more people keep coming.

Last Sunday we had the joy of hearing four dear friends profess their faith in Jesus and the privilege of watching them be baptized.  It was beautiful.  That day five others joined the church, too.  And the sister church in Mercedes will also be partnering with us until they are more independent.  Our missions team just expanded when we added two young adults, members of Reformed Churches in Brazil, who are here to help with the youth group and kids club for a few months.  We just keep growing.

The youth group met last night and had a great time of study and fun.  They exchanged gifts and ate pizza until almost midnight.  Then Mark and Mauricio took them all home.  The group of kids is a nice mix of Brazilians, Americans, and Uruguayans.  Our goal is to establish a Reformed Uruguayan Church, not necessarily a multi cultural church, but we gladly welcome people from other countries who have settled in Montevideo.  This includes friends from Peru, Columbia, Argentina, and Chile. 

What have we been doing the past few months?  The haze of the first year has finally cleared, and we are in the middle of ministry, ready or not.  Mark is preaching more often, teaching Bible Study and continuing to lead the worship team.  Once a week he meets with a tutor to study advanced Spanish grammar which greatly improves his preaching.  He also meets people weekly for discipleship in our home.  We are traveling more frequently, too, as we work with the new group in Mercedes.  When Mark teaches their Bible study, he doesn't get home until 2 in the morning. Tomorrow morning, Sunday, we'll all leave at 6am to get to the service on time.

The kids have been taking their final exams and working on research papers and projects.  I'm so proud of each one of them and how far they've come this year.  I can't believe some of the exams they just completed, and all of them in Spanish.  Can you imagine physics, chemistry and algebra finals in a second language?  Sabrina and Joshua are on summer break now and Julia and Isaiah have one more week left.  They've grown physically, too, and now three of them are taller than I am.

I have two more classes left in my web design computer class.  I love taking a class in Spanish.  I've learned a whole new set of vocabulary.  I've also learned how to build a web site and maintain it.  The next step is working on our church web site www.ipuy.org.uy as well as helping the Mercedes group get one running, too.

We've finally moved from point A to B in our visa process.  We can stay here legally for at least 3 more years on a "temporary residency" before we need to come up with a new plan.  We may need to show some Uruguayan income to get permanent residency.  But, a friend and I are working on offering English classes to local businesses as well as translating Christian books.  So, that may help us out.  It will not be much income, but hopefully it will be enough to prove to migrations that we are settled here.

As I think about this past year, I am thankful for the friends we have in church, the friends we have in our neighborhood, and our connections at the kids' school.  If I compare our major transitions from New Jersey to California to Costa Rica to Uruguay, our transition to Uruguay has been the hardest but also the most rewarding and satisfying. 

I've had to fight hard and push myself harder to get where I am now, one year later.  I've had to battle real fears: saying stupid things in Spanish, failing to get permanent residency on our first try, being very cold all winter, extreme exhaustion from the increased physical demands of maintaining the home, not understanding the simple things people say to me, serious misunderstandings with a teacher at school, getting attacked in broad daylight two blocks from home, feeling like I really don't belong here. 

And here I am, feeling more at home and excited about what is happening at church. I'm also thrilled with our new friendships.  How am I doing?  I'm still fighting.  And I'm growing... Growing spiritually and feeling a little stronger after one of the hardest years of my life.

Party Panic

Have you ever attended a party where you didn't know anyone?

Tonight I took Isaiah to a classmate's birthday party.  I fully intended to drop him off and read a book in the car, but the girl's mom insisted that I come in and attend the party.  I didn't know a single person!  You may know that personally this would be hard for me in the US.  Believe me, it's even harder for me in a new culture and language.  As a missionary, and as a Christian, when someone invites me into their home and into their life, I enter in faith and pray that I'll be a blessing (even if I'd rather hide in a book).

Everyone was seated in a long outdoor patio, wide enough for a row of chairs on each side and a small walkway in the center.  The parrilla was in the corner with a pile of burning wood stacked in the iron basket.  The coals were just starting to fall through the basket, down onto the brick base. Soon the coals would be scraped underneath the grill. 

By now, these are familiar sights and sounds.  It also helped that everyone was inviting and gracious.  They were curious, too, but in a friendly way.  One guest asked me if I was from Germany.  Nope!  Guess again. Great Britain? Nope! My Spanish was a little sluggish because every time I opened my mouth to speak, I could feel everyone's eyes on me.  (That's how Julia feels in her classroom, so she opted to sit in the front row so she can't see everyone turning around in their desks to look at her when she talks).

The girl's grandmom offered me plates of cheese, fainá, and alfajores, the girl's Mom refilled my drink and brought me a piece of cake, and her dad made me a grilled hamburger just the way I like it (with ketchup, lettuce and tomato).  They were serving 40 people with the same attention and keeping the kids entertained with a bounce house and piñata.  It was amazing.  And their family and other guests kept refilling my Coke, talking with me, and making me feel welcome.

For me, the hardest part was leaving.  Remember how I didn't know anyone? Well, if I wanted to leave the party gracefully, I would have to give everyone a cheek kiss.  This is difficult for a quiet, reserved person.  Since no one had left yet, I didn't have any examples to follow (I spend most of my life here playing follow the leader to learn how to do stuff).  But I figured I could remember the rules.  Skipping someone or kissing someone twice by mistake would be rude, so I would have to keep track of everyone. "Vamos," I thought, as I drank the rest of my Coke, shoved my napkin into the plastic cup and set it on the brick flower border behind my chair. 

The girl's dad saw my empty cup right away and offered me another drink.  "Gracias, pero me voy" I replied.  Without another word, he left his post at the parrilla and darted inside to get his wife so she could say goodbye to me.

All the bending over, cheek kissing, saying "mucho gusto, que pase lindo, encantada," and turning around to repeat it again and again in the long narrow patio made me dizzy, but thankfully I wasn't wearing skinny heels or I would have landed in someone's lap.  I left feeling loved and accepted despite my funny Spanish.

What a lovely family!  I hope to offer this kindness to each person who walks into our church.  I know I need to improve in this area as I often get sidetracked by serving in the background (like packing up the AV equipment or cleaning up the Sunday School classroom).  I realize now that this could be considered quite rude.  All the new greetings and farewells, new rules about entertaining, and the new variety of foods make hosting a little more complex.  But I'm committed to doing my best in Jesus' name.  The least I can do is make sure someone's cup is filled.

Getting Desperate

Our adjustment to living in a foreign capital city has been the biggest life transition I've ever consciously faced.

It's true.  The "before/after" contrast has been more radical for me than moving from "single" to "married" or even from "married" to "new parent"!  Getting married was exciting and I remember having pre-wedding jitters, but it was a natural, normal progression.  And I entered motherhood, another normal progression in life, with a healthy amount of confidence to see me through the late night crying jags. 

But a radical life style change from quiet, conservative, small town USA to large, noisy, foreign "ciudad" has been a test of how flexible I really am. The challenges here in Uruguay are unceasing, daily, and drive me to prayer like never before.

"Do you like living here?" my friends ask me.  That's a loaded question.  God uses trials like a refining fire, to test and transform us, to grow us.  I'm very thankful for that. But do we have to "like" the fire?

Two years ago, in the classroom at MTI, the professor told us something about cultural transition that I didn't believe would ever happen to me.  He said, "You will think you're doing just fine, adapting, learning the language, making adjustments. You'll like living there. And then something will happen that seems so contrary to everything you know and believe is "normal" and "right," that you'll just snap."

This charismatic, friendly, sensitive, Godly missionary then related a personal story of how he had been stuck in a ridiculous, completely unnecessary traffic jam at an intersection in an African city.  He actually got out of his car and unabashedly yelled at one of the police officers "directing" traffic.  "Huh!" I thought, "I would never do anything like that,"  I just wouldn't.

In language school in Costa Rica we had a classmate who regularly constructed Spanish sentences about poisoning the sick dogs who, penned up outside the vet's office across the street from our apartment complex, barked, yapped, and whined, sometimes squealing in pain like pigs, all night, and all day long.  We had been dealing with the stress, too, and I understood that he had intentionally put the words "dog" and "blender" in the same sentence, even thought the teacher gently tried to correct him. 

Another classmate reacted to the incessant cultural stress he was experiencing by ripping out a small tree growing in front of the apartments.  I was too good at cultural transition, I thought, to ever do anything that crazy.

It just took a little longer for me.  Because on Tuesday, after living in Uruguay for a year, I got desperate.  We were trying to follow all the rules and procedures, we even hired someone who knows the immigration system to make sure we submitted our paperwork properly, but we were denied permission to renew our Uruguayan Cedulas that expire tomorrow. 

The process I tried to follow correctly:

First, pay at a bank for the appointment to get new cedulas.  People have to pay in advance for the new cedulas - that way they are motivated to show up for the appointment for photos and fingerprints!  We were also warned by everyone not to let the cedulas expire, because getting new ones would be nearly impossible. I made the appointment for Wednesday morning.

Second, get documents from Migrations to show that your paperwork is being processed.  That should be easy, I thought, because they've been processing the paperwork since June.

So we went to Migrations.  After waiting three hours in line for the appointment, the woman behind the desk told us we could not renew our cedulas because our paperwork was not submitted correctly.  I asked her what we were missing.  She told us we needed "Constancias de domicilio" (an item on the list that our lawyer had specifically told us we didn't need).  She said to bring the Constancias that afternoon and take another number. 

So, we asked two of our neighbors to go with us to the police station (when? Right now, please!), and be our two witnesses that we did indeed live next to them.  They were so kind to go with us even though they were in the middle of a home improvement project with workers going in and out of their house.  They reminded us that we should bring a water bill with Mark's name on it to help prove where we live.

After running to the police station with our nice neighbors, we called the high school and elementary school and arranged for Sabrina to pick up the younger kids and bring them home on the bus.

Then we went back to Migrations and picked another number and waited.  I prayed that God would work everything out smoothly, and not choose that moment to teach me humility.  That morning I had read, "Del mismo modo, ustedes hombres más jóvenes tienen que aceptar la autoridad de los ancianos. Y todos sírvanse unos a otros con humilidad, porque Dios se opone a los orgullosos pero muestra su favor a los humildes." I Pedro 5:5 

I had been convicted that here in Uruguay, I probably appear as if my ways are superior instead of humbly serving others and graciously accepting new ways of doing things.  I know that at times I have a "my American way is better, but I'll do it your way if I must" kind of attitude.

Reflecting on humility made me think about Abraham.  He was rich and powerful, and yet he risked his own life and the life of his faithful servants to go and rescue Lot who had been kidnapped and robbed by a thieving group of kings.  "That was a humble and kind thing to do," I thought.  He didn't have to do it, but graciously he did.

After an hour of waiting, our number "75" showed up on the screen, and Mark and I went up to the desk with the Constancias, but she told us it was the wrong "75".  She explained: All the numbers for her department had been used up.  I had mistakenly pulled the number for another line in another department.

In that moment we learned that they only give out 100 numbers a day, and there weren't any left. They had been used up that morning.  I said, "But, you told me to come back with the papers this afternoon....." 

That's when I got upset.  I wasn't gracious or humble at that moment. I talked to a lady at the front desk.  She talked with the people in the department to ask what was going on.  Nothing changed.  Then the nice front desk lady told me I could knock on a door and see if anyone in there would help me. 

So, boldly and desperately, I knocked.  But the lady behind the door said, "No, you have to talk to the same person you talked with this morning." I said, "But we have an appointment to renew our cedulas tomorrow morning.  I need the paperwork."  "No."  "Sorry."  "No more numbers."

"I guess God chose today to teach me more about humility" I quietly fumed.  My desperation was internal, and the stress tightened my back and shoulders and stole my appetite.  I made the easiest thing possible for dinner, pizza bread, and went to bed without eating.

I don't remember where I read it, but a quote I had read in Spanish that week came to my mind, "El éxito es aprender a ir de fracaso en fracaso sin desesperarse." Winston Churchill.  (Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm). 

Early the next morning I waited outside, in the wind, in line for over an hour, to pick another number when the doors opened.  I got there early, but the line had started to form even earlier, and I knew we weren't going to get a low number.  Many of the people waiting are just holding a spot to get a number for someone else, or they're immigration lawyers who get paid to wait for their clients. Mark met me outside after dropping off the kids and finding parking for the car.  We got "23" and "24."

The appointment to make the new cedulas (that we had paid in advance for) was at 10:10, so we hoped that we could turn in the Constancias, get the documents to say that they were processing everything, and then renew our cedulas.  But, the numbers passed slowly and it was 10:20 when we finally spoke to someone.  After taking the Constancias, the woman told us that since we are here for "religious purposes" we are only eligible for temporary residency, and we would have to wait another month while they worked on the paperwork. 

She refused to give us any documents to show that our paperwork was in process so that we could renew our cedulas.  We would be left without any Uruguayan ID or visas or permits.  We can stay here legally while they're working on it, but we will have to resort to using our passport numbers again.  This really shocked me.  And disappointed me.

I never thought it would happen to me, but I snapped internally.  In that moment, I felt my love for Uruguay turn into a momentary but livid disgust.  I disliked everything Spanish.  The crowd of people in the room and all the cubicles went to gray, and tunnel vision forced me to grab Mark's hand. 

Thankfully, God had been preparing me for the moment, and my trust in His providence kept me from trying to regain control of the situation in a disrespectful way.  I just choked back the tears as we walked toward the door.  Our lawyer, who I had emailed a week ago, said she would try to find out what happened, but there's little she can do to change the situation. 

Being a foreign missionary is knowing how to go from one failure to another, trusting that God is in control of every situation, and will bless her faithfulness and humility in His time and in His way.

Today, I will head back downtown to handle more paperwork for Sabrina's education.  I have to finish it before the cedulas expire.  Please, God, no more lessons on humility. I need some time for the last lesson to sink in.

UPDATE: I waited in line for an hour, but once I got to the desk, the woman had Sabrina's paperwork stamped and ready to go! Regarding Visas, we are only eligible for 2 year residency with one possible renewal for another 2 years.  After that we will have to reapply for a longer stay and I may need to show income. We are praying for God's direction, and trust that He will provide solutions.

Heating Habits

Spring Break starts this week.  It’s my favorite time of year because the sun chases away the winter blues, and I can emerge from hibernation and soak in a patch of sunshine.  After surviving the coldest, dampest, moldiest, sickest winter of my life, I am more thankful than ever. 

I don’t think this winter flustered most of my Uruguayan friends.  They bundled themselves and their children like Eskimos.  Scarves, hats, coats, gloves, leg warmers, layers of shirts and sweaters, everything except ski goggles.  Our California kids resisted the bundling until it got really cold, and then they didn’t want to unbundle to get showers in the cold bathroom.  Although it rarely dipped below freezing, the arctic wind was merciless if one had to walk to the store or stand at a bus stop for more than 10 minutes.  

And the houses aren’t built for the cold.  Our kids’ rooms have very high ceilings so it was a challenge to heat them.  We tried rolling a propane heater in their rooms, one at a time, to warm them up a bit before bedtime, but a steady draft sucked out the heat out quickly.  And the humidity stayed behind, feeding the persistent mold on the ceilings and walls, and inside clothes closets.  Standing near a blazing hot parrilla outside with a leather mug of yerba is more than just a custom, it’s survival.

We tried to responsibly and economically heat our home during the day, only heating the bathroom and the kitchen.  But we didn’t want to leave the propane heaters running through the night.  Even with our preoccupation with keeping everyone away from the flames, our puppy’s tail caught on fire twice.  She wasn’t hurt, but burnt fur smells really bad!

The same was true about electric heaters.  We’ve already had two minor electrical fires.  A fan motor started smoking, and the water heater caught on fire when a friend was in the shower.  Thankfully, she had time to get dressed and warn us about the smoldering, melting outlet.  Our bedroom is at the opposite end of the house from the children’s rooms, and I wouldn’t have been able to sleep knowing that there was an open flame and/or an unreliable electric appliance running. 

So, the kids slept under piles of blankets.  The unrelenting chill, combined with sharing stuffy air on public buses and in crowded classrooms, played with our immune systems.  So we all caught several viruses, too.  Our family has never been this sick.  Even Mark was sick.  The kids missed several days of school, and I had a few days in bed with the worst cough of my life.  Josh coughed through the whole winter, feverish on and off, but was never sick enough to miss basketball or soccer practice.

When one of the kid’s teachers chastised me on the phone for not encouraging enough extra penmanship practice at home, my voice got shaky, and I started to cry. 

We had been concentrating on developing new strategies to use limited and strangely different resources to provide food, transportation, warmth, shelter, and legal residence for our family.  And at the same time we were involved in church ministry, community outreach, and language learning. 

I was more than satisfied that our children had learned enough Spanish to make friends, be comfortable in a new school, and correctly complete their homework assignments.  Penmanship and pretty notebooks, in the Uruguayan primary grades, are more highly prized than an ability to reason well, but they were not at the top of our family’s priority list this winter. 

Quite often, there would be a string of days when I did not feel warm once.  I got chilled and stayed cold.  Washing dishes and hanging out laundry with numb fingers started to wear on me, and I was unmotivated to complete housework.  I just wasn’t functioning at 100%. 

And that feeling of wanting to do more in the church and community, but settling for 75% efficiency, pretty much sums up our first year here.  We needed to take time to adapt to a new climate and different standard of living.  We are determined to be better prepared for next winter.

God has never once given me more than He can handle.  His grace is sufficient for me.  And so I emerge from the winter cave into the Spring sunshine with thankfulness.

Pretty scarves

Hot cider, hot chocolate, coffee, mate

Dry, Falling Leaves that dance in the Arctic wind

Hot fires, hot meat

New visitors at church.  The church is being blessed by God and is growing

Warm friendships.  Our church family has been so kind to us.  We have received so much more from them than we have been able to give.

Christian school and kind, helpful classmates

The prayers and constant stream of letters from our church family in the U.S.

Young, bright Uruguayan Christians who are excited to be a part of what God is doing in their country

Birthday parties with no frills gift giving (no card or wrapping required!  No obligatory thank you notes!)

A fun anniversary night out with Mark

A car with enough seat belts for all of us.  This week we won’t have to double buckle or send half the family by bus.

Safety for Sabrina and Joshua as they use public transportation and are more independent in the city streets.

A playful puppy for the kids

Fresh bread, pasta, fruits and veggies

Lots of rain, budding trees and flowers, and a few scattered days of brilliant sunshine

Family Meeting, Plus Singing and Prayer

Recently I read a secular book about improving family life, searching for a few gems in regard to assigning chores and keeping a house running smoothly.  Instead, I came across the advice to hold a family meeting once a week.  It was recommended for toddlers as well as teens.

Since we usually eat breakfast and dinner together, we have time to discuss important family issues like, "Who keeps using my towel in the bathroom?" and "When do I get the cell phone you promised me?"  But having a meeting to make general announcements, bring up sensitive topics, and hear from each member of the family how things are going sounded like something we needed especially since the kids are tucked away at school for a large chunk of time each week.

We're now three months into the trial and it's been great. Each Sunday evening, I make popcorn or dump some cookies in a bowl and serve hot chocolate. We spend the first 30 minutes discussing family issues, and Mark or I jot down the kids' concerns. 

One of the issues was that party invitations kept getting lost in the shuffle of papers.  We agreed that a cork board in the kitchen would help us keep track of everything.  Each week at our meeting, Isaiah reminded us that we needed a cork board until I finally bought it and put it up on the wall.  Isaiah just tacked onto the board his two party invitations for this week.  Problem solved. 

Getting a dog was another frequently raised topic, and one night Julia gave us a presentation on different dog breeds and her recommendations for our family and house size.  We ended up with a mutt, some kind of yellow lab schnauzer mix, but everyone's happy.

Last week Mark and I discussed the concept of a missionary furlough so the kids understand that in a few years, they will need to leave our home in Uruguay and go back to the U.S.  They didn't say much, but that's O.K.

After the business meeting, we added two more vital components not mentioned in the self help book.  We sing hymns together, in English.  Thankfully we have two Trinity hymnals.  Singing familiar hymns keeps us feeling connected to our home church in CA, and also to the OPC denomination since the songs remind Mark and me of the many Orthodox Presbyterian churches we've been a part of since we were children.

And finally, the third part is prayer.  Sometimes we "pray for the person on our right" after sharing praises and petitions.  And sometimes we break up into pairs.  Isaiah and I were paired up tonight, and I smiled as he prayed that God would help me with the grocery shopping and picking up kids from school even though I hadn't mentioned those concerns.

Tonight, we invited a boy from the neighborhood to stay for the meeting.  During the business part, he told us about a volcano he was going to work on with his friends.  Then he sang the hymns with us, prayed with us, and is now making cookies in the kitchen with Mark and Julia. 

I just went into the kitchen to test the dough, and our neighbor chef gave me a strange, "are you kidding?" look as I put some in my mouth. "You can eat that?" he asked.  "Yes!!!! Try it!!!" I said. He hesitantly put a glob of snickerdoodle dough in his mouth.  The expression of pure delight on his face was priceless: "That's amazing!!!"  He had never seen or tasted cookie dough before.

Our prayer is that he and his family will also taste and see that the Lord is good, and that once they have tasted the gospel in Word and deed, they will follow Him faithfully.  This is our prayer for each one of our children as well, and I believe that our weekly family meeting, complete with popcorn, hot chocolate, and hymnals, will continue to be a sweet refuge under His wings.

A Few Books I've Read this Year

As I mentioned in a previous post, I routinely escape into English.  Thanks to the Cloud Library, I have a small selection of recent books to chose from and read without a charge.  The only catch is that when the book is due, it disappears from my ipod and goes to the next person who has reserved it.  So, a few of the following titles disappeared before I got to the end.  Thankfully, I had plenty of time to finish the fiction titles.  These are a few of the good ones that I can recommend.

Beyond Belief by Jenna Miscavige Hill
The author's experience growing up within the Scientology organization.  Although she has good reason to be vindictive after years of forced labor, she focused on sharing her story as factually as possible without sounding bitter or angry.  I enjoyed contrasting my own experiences of growing up in a Christian family and church with her experiences of growing up in a cult.  It's black and white.

The Extortionist by John Grisham
I was frustrated with both the protagonist and the author who created him after reading 7/8ths of the book.  But Grisham was simply leading up to a very satisfying conclusion.

Monday's Child by Linda Chaikin
Sabrina and I read and discussed this spy story for chicks.  The main character is a Christian who stays true to what she believes. I recommend this author for moms and teen girls!

The Expats by Chris Pavone
Not explicitly Christian and could be rated PG13 for some mature scenes. I am keeping it on my list because I shared so many similarities with the main character who moves overseas with her husband and children.  I appreciated the author's respect for marriage, but also his realistic characterization of a couple that start to become strangers to one another in the unrelenting stress of cross cultural living and mounting distrust.

Going Clear by Lawrence Wright
Non fiction on Scientology.  It had more "dirt" in it than the autobiography by Miscavige.  I skipped over some of the tedious descriptions of Hubbard's womanizing and the financial accounting of the cult's cruel business dealings.  The author proves his point that the organization should not enjoy the IRS status of "church." Scientology has sadly made its way to Uruguay, but thankfully I don't think many people here have noticed.

Strange Virtues. Ethics in a Multicultural World by Bernard T. Adeney-Risakotta  I'm in the middle of this one on my Kindle, but it's a great resource.  I know it won't disappear so I'm taking my time!

Cross Cultural Servanthood by Duane Elmer. A good summary of what Mark and I are doing right now.

I'd Like to Apologize to Every Teacher I Ever Had by Tony Danza
Tony Danza agrees to teach High School English for a year in a center city Phili school!  As a former English teacher, I was sure this would be as fun to read as the title.  I was wrong.  It was melodramatic. To be fair, it was humorous at times but no lol.  I may have been reading it during a particularly strenuous week, but it put me to sleep pretty fast every night, and it disappeared from my Cloud before I reached the end.

Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking by Susan Cain
A non fiction that kept me awake for hours!  If you're a teacher, parent, homeschooler, pastor, counselor.... you'll benefit from some of her insights.  She says a lot that you probably already know.  And she attributes too much to "nurture/nature" instead of the Creator. But she has a way of drawing out new questions and connections that are fresh and relate to the personal experiences of the reader.  I found myself thinking about my own childhood, my kids, my friends, my husband.  It was an amazing read.  At one point I drew my own connection to the way that the Church has been influenced by an extroverted culture.  And since I was reading it on my small ipod without headings, I was pleasantly surprised when I scrolled to the next page and found that the next chapter addressed the topic.  I read one of the vignettes to the kids at breakfast, and Julia said, "Mom, I'm like that, too...."  It's an amazing feeling to identify one's God given personality and realize it's a blessing to be unique.

What do You do all Day?

I knew exactly how to answer the question when I was homeschooling our four kids.  But now that I think about it, no one ever asked me!  It was understood that being a "teacher, mom, wife, part time charter school teacher, pastor's wife" was enough to fill up the hours in a week leaving a few remaining ones for sleep. 

But after quitting my dream jobs, (clarification: I'm still a wife & mom - I mean the other dream jobs of homeschool & charter school teacher), and enrolling all four kids in a "drop off" school as my youngest calls it, I got hit with the "What do you do all day?" question.  I was speechless.  "Are you still there?" came the voice on the other end of the line.

I'm a missionary, right?  That explains it all, right?  I guess if I lived in a more remote part of the world you would just assume I spent half the morning chasing a chicken to prepare it for dinner.  And then walking to the nearest well to pump water for the day would have required the other half of the morning.

So what do I do, anyways?  First, any of you who have helped start a church or business know that the amount of work required at the beginning is an endless freight train of work.  The activities that are scheduled each week at church are staffed by just a handful of people as one week chugs into the next: Bible Study, youth group, kid's club, church cleaning, evangelism, shopping for supplies, Sunday morning worship, Sunday School.  Because it's all in Spanish, we need even more concentrated preparation time.

But seriously, we need to eat and sleep, too.  So here's a typical Wednesday, from my perspective.  I included a sample of what Mark is doing, too, but didn't go into much detail.

6am alarm: Mark and I pray together


I make meat empanadas for lunch

6:15:  I turn on propane heaters in kitchen & dining room, electric one in bathroom
Mark wakes up the kids and makes breakfast
Feed puppy
Jeni gives bus money to kids, makes lunches, helps locate a missing uniform piece or school book, signs papers.

7am We all eat breakfast together and coordinate the kids' activities for the day.

7:30 Mark drives the four kids to school
Jeni locks up the garage and house, washes dishes, and starts a load of laundry.
9:00 shower; Mark & I plan trip to Rivera church / bus? 5 in car & Jeni takes bus?







A white load dries on the roof

 

9:45 Mark goes to church to meet w Pastor Mauricio - planning & praying.
Jeni hangs a load of laundry on the roof, walks to weekly fruit market

12:30 lunch

1:30 Jeni walks & takes bus to pick up two youngest from school.
Mark works on correspondence, pays bills by taking out cash and going to different locations, and then pays our US bills, prepares a Bible study & power point for Thursday night.

3:30 Jeni meets two oldest kids & friends at a bus stop to walk them to the house

4:30 Jeni walks to grocery store with a kid volunteer, carries home food for 3 meals.
Takes laundry off line.

5:30-6:30 Jeni meets with a Spanish tutor. 

7pm Make & eat dinner
A favorite meal: Milanesa (breaded chicken filets) with mayonnaise, rice, tomatoes and lettuce, Coke.





Isaiah checks out a new journal that Julia gave him

7:30 Mark leads family devotions.  Tonight he checks on the kids' progress in memorizing the Westminster Shorter Catechism

8pm homework help for kids
Mark listens to Spanish interviews on topics relevant to Uruguay and takes notes while I work on Sunday school planning.

10:30 Turn off heaters, say goodnight to any kids finally crawling into bed, put puppy in crate. I read a chapter of the Bible in Spanish and then lose myself in an English book until I get sleepy

11:00pm ¡Buenas Noches!

Welcome to the Jungle

It's true that South America has amazing expanses of tropical rainforests, mountains, and remote jungles.  But we live in a capital city dense with houses not trees, and delineated by narrow city streets instead of rivers.

The multi level cement houses are packed into each city block with mazes of gates, locked iron doors, and dark passageways connecting each living quarter.  Buses, taxis, cars, motorcycles, bicycles, and horse drawn carts share the road without defined lanes, flowing rapidly through main arteries of the city like lumber jostling its way down a river.  The rivers suddenly converge and dump this disturbing mix into traffic circles as chaotic as thundering waterfalls.  And Mark wonders why I don't like driving anymore.

To walk from the bus stop to the shoe store, I hold on tight to Julia and Isaiah's hands to run across the spokes of the traffic circle, guessing whether or not the taxis and cars will choose to fly in my direction out of the spinning center. Yes, this is a pedestrian crossing.

I take a breath as I stand on a divider in between two lanes, buses flying by in both directions, waiting for my chance to cross yet another lane.  I am Jane, standing on a lone rock in the middle of the waterfall, ready to swing to safety on a vine while holding onto my precious children. 

Later, I board a bus and hear the driver's choice of music playing, "Welcome to the jungle...."  How appropriate.

Rescued Puppies

Half frozen, half starved, the two little puppies huddled together in the bottom of a canvas bag at the bottom of a dumpster.  It's in the middle of winter here, and they wouldn't have lasted long.  Thankfully, they were strong enough to keep whimpering, because the owner of a local gym heard them when she threw out her garbage.  She fished them out, cleaned them up, and took them to the vet. Here in Montevideo, there is almost always a vet within walking distance.  The vet figured they were only 4.5 weeks old, too young to be away from their mother but old enough to survive if cared for.

I had just told my friend we were looking for a guard dog/pet and didn't mind if it wasn't a pure breed.  That night the owner of the gym posted this photo of the dogs she found, and my friend forwarded it to me. 

rescued puppies

Mark and I thought about it, prayed about it, and went to see the dogs.  They were in a cardboard box at the gym, behind the receptionist's desk, huddled in some "lost and found" sweaters and sweat pants. Josh was with us and said he wanted the black and brown one.  But when I called later to commit to adopting the puppy, the black and brown one had already been promised to someone else.  

But, the little golden one was adorable, too.  We didn't give the kids an answer to the obvious question, and while they were in school, Mark and I went to pick her up.  Then we went by the school to pick up the youngest two kids.  Julia and Isaiah climbed in the backseat and were so surprised and happy to find a puppy curled up in a box waiting for them.  These kiddos have had to leave behind so much, and at times look so sad when remembering someone or something "back in the states."  It gave me deep joy to see their excitement at loving this little lost pup.  I think sometimes they feel lost, too.

Flechita's first day in her new home

The last few weeks of deworming the dumpster puppy has been well worth all the laughs at her antics and "awww"s over her cuteness.  Puppies are fun.  And that's coming from a cat lover.

As a family, we came up with a list of names and then voted.  The name "Flecha," pronounced "flay-cha," Spanish for "arrow," garnered more votes than names like Zoe and Canela.  Flechita is mostly house trained now and is almost done with her vaccinations.  It's been a great opportunity to expand my Spanish vocabulary at the vet, too.   Tonight while I have been typing this post, Isaiah fell asleep on the floor in front of the heater with his puppy.

God the Builder

We just finished our second VBS since we've been here. The children in Montevideo are in the middle of a two week winter break so Mark took our kids and Pastor Mauricio's children to walk around the barrio inviting children to come. For the second time, Josh dressed up as a clown to distribute the invitations. 

We had a great group, mostly boys, who loved singing the songs and playing the games. Sabrina helped translate some songs and played the guitar. Mark and Sandra led singing. I worked on decorations and craft planning the week before, and helped the kids memorize a scripture passage.

Sandra and Pastor Mauricio made the invitations, prepared and led the Bible lessons and games, and arranged the snack time. Some of the older boys had trouble listening quietly during the Bible lesson, but Mark helped them settle down on the second day. I enjoyed watching the boys look up at Mark during the songs and mimic his enthusiasm.  Sandra presented the gospel clearly through the wordless book. It was the first time many of them heard the good news.

What a great week! We're tired, but happy.

You Can't Imagine What it Means

I love how technology has enhanced communication.  Email, a virtual classroom, and an internet accessible database allowed me to work from home in California.  It was the best "outside the home" job I've ever had.  I loved it!  The kids used to ask me why I played on the computer so much.  I guess I was just "playing" and getting paid for it, too. 

Now this blog gives me the opportunity to publish magazine quality color print without a huge printer, paper, and postage.  I still remember the cut and paste newspaper days in college.  What an improvement!

But there's something very special about holding an actual letter in my hand from one of you.  Thank you for sending Christmas cards and notes throughout the year.  Your tangible support is always timely and reminds us that we are simply an extension of our church family at home.  Those letters create a physical link between the U.S. and Uruguay that nothing in technology has been able to replicate. 

The packages with birthday gifts and candy are also amazing expressions of love.  Birthdays and holidays usually make us wonder what in the world we were thinking when we moved here.  We start to feel like we relocated to a different planet.  There's a reason why they're called "care packages"!

Please forgive me for my slowness in gratefully responding with pen and paper.  As much as I appreciate and enjoy the hand written word, my efforts to rummage up writing paper, a pen that works, an envelope, correct postage, and a place to mail the letter all feel as clumsy and time consuming as getting out a horse and wagon to go into town. 

 

In Uruguay, some people still use a horse and wagon to take a trip into town.

When I worked in California, my job required a 24 hr response time to emails and phone calls.  I still try to follow that policy in my personal correspondence, but when it comes to snail mail, I'm slower than a snail!  I have no excuses, and I will try to improve. 

While you're waiting for an envelope to arrive with Uruguayan postage in the corner, you're welcome to shoot me an email or call our U.S. number (that gets rerouted to our phone here through the internet - of course).  If you call and we're not home, your message will be sent to my email inbox where I can listen to it.  And you should hear back from me within 24 hours!

Rivera: 8 Year Church Anniversary and Dedication Service






I (Mark) was privileged to preach at a dedication service for the new church building of Iglesia Presbiteriana Ortodoxa de Uruguay.  On the weekend of May 5, our family traveled the six hours by bus and car to Rivera, six hours north of Montevideo on the border of Brazil.  After we arrived, we enjoyed a lasagna dinner at the house of Pastor Gustavo Melo. 

 

Mark preaches at the church in Rivera

On Sunday, we worshipped at the new building.  It's beautiful!  Their youth group of nearly thirty teenagers helped purchase the church by collecting plastic bottles for months and then exchanging them for pesos.  

Once purchased, the volunteers doubled the length of the building until it could accommodate at least 130 people. 

 

The Richline kids are welcomed by the Rivera Youth

The service was packed with church members, people from their various preaching stations and several first-time visitors.  Throughout the night, the gospel was proclaimed in prayer, in song and through the sermon in a spirit of humbled thankfulness to the Lord Jesus Christ.  Please petition our God to continue to grow and mature this congregation in the knowledge of His Word.



Mark greets people before the service

Pastors Mark and Gustavo Melo cut the cake

Celebrating Marriage!!!

In a country where homosexual marriage was recently sanctioned by law, our church hosted a festive dinner to celebrate traditional marriage between a man and woman as designed by God for life. 

 

 

More than twenty couples attended, including several who we invited from the community.  After each couple took turns describing a meaningful memory from their married life, our speaker described God's design for marriage, encouraging us to keep building our relationships in ways centered on our Lord Jesus.  

 

 

 

We finished the evening with a delicious stroganoff dinner served by our young people.  Please seek the Lord to use His Word to save unbelievers who attended as well as to sanctify our marriages.  ~Mark

Foam Flowers for the Moms; Teamwork is essential in church planting

Cleaning the Church on Saturday

"We need to make more flowers," Sandra told me after I greeted her with a cheek kiss.  It's Sunday morning at IPU, and it's Mother's Day. 

The high school youth group will sing a special song and then the younger children will give their mothers the foam flowers they made yesterday during Club Feliz.  There are a couple of extra ones for the mothers who don't have children attending the program, but Sandra did the math and figured we needed more.

So, I finish setting up the AV equipment in the sanctuary and sit down in the kitchen with Andrea to hold the cut out petals over a candle flame to soften them and shape them, freeing Pastor Rolim and Sandra to attend to other tasks.  (I don't mind working on a craft that requires an open flame)

Mark is making sure the music for worship is organized and Sabrina is getting out the piano music to rehearse with the youth group. Pastor Mauricio uploads a video presentation of the lyrics to project on the wall. Carlitos is making coffee and getting out the cups, napkins, sugar, punch and cookies.  While I make the flowers, I'm thinking about the Sunday School lesson I'll be teaching, and talking with Andrea about a misunderstanding with another local missionary team the day before.



Two women from the church, Joshua, and Sabrina
prepare stroganoff for a church event

Many of you know the demands of church planting.  Our core team is composed of six people, with only Pastor Rolim working full time.  (Mark will be soon dedicated to full time ministry when language training ends this fall).

We barely have enough people to rotate responsibilities so a list of tasks like setting up refreshments, teaching a children's ministry, washing church kitchen towels and throw rugs, playing guitar for worship, hosting an activity in one's home, and staffing the nursery could easily fall to just one person on the team over the weekend.  (I'm thinking about Sandra!).

We praise God that this team is growing with the addition of new families and young people who are working along side of us.  We have plenty of willing and able hands to help.  Our prayer is that in His timing, this church's leadership will be completely Uruguayan!

I am glad to contribute by teaching Sunday School, although I need to use all of the teaching tricks I know to supplement my limited Spanish.  This morning one of my very active students illustrated the lesson as I taught.  She is very perceptive and artistic so her sketches help me to know if I'm communicating well. It also keeps her mind, heart, and hands engaged. 

Recently I had a problem with a student who was giggling and talking during our opening prayer.  So this week we discussed the attributes of God before we closed our eyes and folded our hands. It worked!  Context was what the child needed instead of a reprimand.

Before I get out of bed on Sunday mornings, I pray for a servant's heart.  Praise God that I can walk into church and smile, ready to hold foam over a flame if that's what needs to be done!  The beautiful bouquet on the table near the pulpit looked wonderful.  What a great idea, Sandra!  After a long morning of ministry, Pastor Rolim locked the front doors and said, "The morning went really well."

Legos: time to unwind

"It's not exactly a robot," Mark explained, describing what he was making with the legos.  "It's a human transport robot.  It was in.... what was that movie about the planet with the big blue people?  They had big mechanical things that people were transported in." 

Yes, Mark is sitting on the floor with Julia and the boys, playing with legos. And he doesn't know I'm quoting him right now.

He deserves some time to unwind.  I was stressed out over teaching three pre-scripted children's lessons in Spanish.  Even the review questions were in Spanish!  But Mark just preached an hour long Spanish sermon today. 

He wrote two sermons in Spanish, asked the tutor to read through them, and then preached last week and today, filling in for Pastor Rolim who is on vacation.  He also led two youth group meetings in a study on the life of Jonah. 

A challege like this provides him with a reliable measure of how far he has come and how far he has to go.  I am grateful that he can lead a Bible Study and preach.  It's a confirmation that God has given him the abilities to communicate Biblical truths in both of these contexts. 

And yet we both have so far to go. We are looking forward to the day when we can relax in a conversation with a Uruguayan, culturally and linguistically, and communicate well. 

I remind myself that people don't always communicate well in their first language!  In the grocery store this week, an older gentleman asked a store employee a question about the fruit.  She asked him to repeat the question, but she still didn't understand him.  He replied with a smile, "I'm speaking clearly.  Why don't you understand me?"  She smiled, and they both tried a third time to understand one another.

Sometimes I want to say, "I'm speaking clearly.  Why don't you understand me?"  In my case, I'm not using the correct verb, I'm not accenting the right syllable, or I'm using a Costa Rican word. (i.e. beans are not "frijoles."  They're "porotos.")  Thankfully, my listener smiles (or laughs), and we try again.

Deus é Bom

The challenges of working on a cross cultural team, cross culturally, are mind boggling.  I must admit I felt a little disoriented when the group of 36 Brazilians streamed off the bus and wandered into our little church. 

Since only a few of them knew Spanish or English, I felt like I could do little more than smile to welcome them.  I was also a little uncertain how to greet someone from Brazil. 

Regardless of the obvious cultural awkwardness, I am thankful that God gave us a great weekend of ministry together. The group of families and singles, representing 2 churches in Brazil, traveled over 12 hrs by bus to get here. And they all had servant hearts.

They spent Sunday afternoon handing out tracts and invitations to the church. They also cooked enough food for everyone after morning worship. And two of the pastors preached during the church services.

They brought instruments as well as musical gifts and led music to give us a break.  We sang some of the songs together in Portuguese, and I marveled once again that one day people from every tongue and tribe will praise Him together with one voice.
Here's one of the songs we sang:  Tu és Bom

It's thrilling to see how God has grown the church in Brazil. These people are amazing testimonies. And their churches are faithfully supporting the mission work here. 

Thank you, dear brothers and sisters in Brazil for partnering with us.  I'll learn Portuguese next, I promise.

Scrambled Egg Ninja

I did not feel like an easy target.  I was walking home from the grocery store just three blocks from our house with grocery bags in each hand and a black leather purse strapped crosswise in front of me.  I was also taking a slightly different route than usual. 

At 4:30 in the afternoon the street was quiet and bright with sunlight. I saw at least two other people walking by on the cross street ahead.  Living in Costa Rica for a year taught me to be aware.  Always.   

As I was walking down the middle of the street to avoid some construction work, two men riding a motorcycle passed me on the right. Subconsciously I took note of them as I moved out of their way and stepped back onto the sidewalk. 

The sound of a motor has been a red flag ever since our orientation class at the Spanish Language Institute in Costa Rica.  The trainer explained that often men will use motorcycles to rob people. One will ride in the back and jump off to commit the robbery and then jump back on the bike with the stolen goods.  

After a year and a half in Latin America, this was the first time I heard a motorcycle turn around and head back up the street behind me.  At the approaching sound, I felt a heightened sense of danger.  I knew I was in trouble, and, without even thinking, I gripped the bags tighter and walked faster as adrenaline pumped through me. 

Strangely, despite a heightened sense of sight, I couldn’t hear as well.  I didn’t even hear him run up behind me.  The young man was suddenly in my face, both hands on my purse, yanking with all of his might to snap the leather straps.  I resisted and started swinging the bags in his face and over his head.  I screamed “no” as he yanked hard a second and third time.   

I kept hitting him in the face with the bags, screaming, until he finally gave up and ran off in front of me where his partner was waiting on the motorcycle.  I yelled, in Spanish, to an older gentleman across the street to get the number of the plate since he was closer.  But he just stared at me!   

The rider in the back looked over his shoulder at me as I pointed at him accusingly, chastising him without malice.  They turned the corner and were gone. 

At times I regret that I didn’t drop the grocery bags immediately and execute an awesome, painful, self defense move…  Something I could brag about.   

But I only created an inglorious, “old lady” smokescreen of blinding plastic bags and ear piercing screams.  I humbly give God the credit for multiplying the effectiveness of my weak efforts.  

The trainer at the Institute encouraged us to resist thieves if possible.  And since both of the man’s hands were yanking on the purse, and not wielding a gun or knife, I acted in self defense without a second thought.  I wonder if the “fight” instead of “flight” response is something that had been growing in me over the last year of pounding the pavement. 

Intentionally, I travel light.  My purse contained a cheap cell phone, change from my recent transaction, hand sanitizer, and a Uruguay ID card, but I acted like I was defending my life’s savings. I think I was fighting against the injustice of it all. I was really angry.  I was fighting for every person’s right to walk home undisturbed. 

This all happened only two blocks from our house, but some friendly neighbors and bystanders were there to make sure I was OK and help me make a report to the police. The neighbor who used my cell phone to call the police for me thought it was funny that I scrambled all but four of the 15 eggs I had just bought. They dripped through the grocery bag, leaving a trail on her kitchen floor and making her toes stick to her flip flops.  But she chuckled as she lit a cigarette.   

Back at the house, Julia put the groceries away and wondered at the dented can, smashed up dish soap, and mutilated butter.  After hearing the story, she rewrote it in her journal and illustrated a few of the scenes.  The details were exact.  It saddens me that my children are living this gritty lifestyle, too, but I know God is giving them the strength to persevere.  

 

Just this afternoon, Julia and Isaiah witnessed a similar occurence in front of our house, but this time, the men knocked the woman to the ground and stole her purse.  I believe that living in such close proximity to a shopping area is part of the problem.

Today I read from Mark 4 & 5 and found that Jesus often told people, including his own disciples, not to fear and to just believe in Him. I do believe if God wants us to minister here, then he will provide for us.  Therefore, I am not afraid.    

It really is that simple.   

Jesus’ disciples were afraid of the storm that was about to capsize their boat, they panicked, and they woke their Master.  But these seasoned fishermen were even more terrified after Jesus calmed the waves and wind with the words, “Be still.”  His power was stranger and more terrible than the storm itself.  (Mark 4:35-41) 

I fear God, and I have a reverent fear of His power.  And as long as I am walking in His will, I am at peace.  The violent storms around us pale in comparison.  It is well with my soul.

 

Happy Valentine's Day to Montevideo's bus drivers

The Mick Jagger hair, big toothy smile, and choice of music distinguished this bus driver as out of the ordinary.  As Joshua and I boarded the empty bus in Ciudad Vieja, he looked at me through his shades and confirmed that yes, we were going to go down San Martin.  “Bueno. Gracias,” I said.

We had just taken our seats when the seasoned driver, large hairy arm draped over the steering wheel, stopped the bus quickly but without jolting us.  We weren’t at the next bus stop that soon. What was going on?


I looked out the window to my right and saw another bus facing ours at a right angle, just inches away.  The young, clean cut driver of the other bus looked horrified, eyes bugging out and mouth open.  The near accident was clearly his fault. 

Waiting for bus #456

Before I had a chance to wonder what would happen next, our driver yelled,

¿Un choque, mi amor? ¡Una cosa mas barbara! ¡ja, ja, ja!

(Translation: An accident, my love?  Way cool!  Ha, Ha, Ha!)

Joshua asked me, “Mom, did he say ‘mi amor’”? “Yes….”  I replied, the realization sinking in that I hadn’t heard any cursing or angry outbursts.  Last week a friend witnessed a brawl between two passengers, but this exchange was clearly humorous not heated.

I try to have a good attitude when
I have to wait another 20 minutes

As we headed off again, our driver honked to other drivers, waving, and rocked to the beat as he pulled over at the next few stops.  Drivers here get to choose the music they want to blast on the bus, and he turned up the volume when he heard an old song by Twisted Sister.  This driver gets the “barbaro” award. 

I love learning the nuances of a new culture, and the bus is my favorite classroom.  It still cracks me up how the drivers hang out of their windows at stop lights and call each other "Mi Amor."  What a ride.