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Sunday, February 24, 2013

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.











Monday, February 18, 2013

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.