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.

 

 

New Blog!

I'm honored to introduce a new blog by Sabrina and her friends Adrianne and Raegan.  They each share incredible stories about daily missionary life in South America: Uruguay, Ecuador, and Peru.  But they have also invited other young women to blog about their experiences in other parts of the world, including the United States. 

In their own words: Adrianne, Raegan, and Sabrina created this blog to connect teen girls living for Jesus around the world. Whether those girls are in their home country or in a foreign one, they are all shining His light. Girls Gone Global is a place for them to share encouragement, thoughts, and experiences.

Girls Gone Global

Intense, Intentional Evangelism

I remember well the feelings that stirred within me before I left the familiarity of the Chapel to venture out onto the boards and approach strangers with the question, "We're from the Boardwalk Chapel, and we'd like to talk to you about Jesus.  May we sit here?" 

My devotion to Jesus motivated me, my love for those without hope inspired me, and my cowardice lifted my eyes heavenward to check for rainclouds.

I've felt that way many times since then as God has led me to speak boldly of my faith to people I've never met before.

Street evangelism is hard work, maybe the hardest there is.  Usually, the only time we approach strangers is when we're in need, or when a common need or tragedy unifies us.  Our common need is hope, hope for more than this material world offers.

And out of love for the children in Bella Vista, we approached them with an invitation to a week of VBS.  Mark and I, Julia and Joshua, Mauricio and Sandra, and a team from Brazil walked the hot streets of both sides of town on two different days of the week.

One of the young men from Brazil was dressed as a clown and offered balloons and candy to accompany the paper invitations. Two of the young guys enjoyed kicking a ball around and chatting futbol with each group of young boys we encountered.  It's summer time and the boys are just hanging around outside looking for something to do.



Evangelism is exhausting work

The work resulted in a bountiful harvest.  The VBS was well attended with more than 20 children from the community.  It grew each day as word spread.  I praised God to see the young boys who shyly sat and mouthed the words on the first day, singing with enthusiastic smiles on the last day.

The "cama elastica" or "trampoline" was the major attraction this week.  After energetic singing, a Bible story and craft, they lined up for a turn.  One girl was hesitant, so I offered to go with her.  I held her hands as we jumped.  Afterwards, she told me breathlessly, "We were flying!" 

She lives in a shelter constructed with wooden pallets and has a hard life, so I am filled with joy each time I see her smile in the safe haven of Iglesia Presbyteriana.  Even more, I desire to know that she and others in her barrio understand the gospel and are hidden in their Father's hands where no one can ever snatch them away.





Finding the Greatest Treasure
Sabrina and I were given the task of creating the backdrop

Sabrina picked out the chords to a VBS song
we sang in Hughson several years ago and translated it into Spanish. 
It became the theme song!



Levitation!

Mark manages the line for the trampoline

Carolina teaches a Bible lesson

The Power of Man's Red Flower

Food and Flames.  I have only good memories of campfires at French Creek Bible Conference: flames, sparks, singing, marshmallows and hotdogs on sticks over burning coals.  I wondered why this kind of excitement couldn't be part of daily life in Wildwood, New Jersey.  My family never owned a grill and didn't go camping, so I had to be content with a once a year campfire.

I never imagined that one day my pyro dreams would come true.  The way we BBQ in Uruguay is glorified primitive cooking. It's not considered "extra work" or "extra time" to start with seasoned firewood instead of charcoal.  That's just the way it's done.  They patiently wait until there are coals, scrape them under the grill work, and then start cooking the juicy chunks of meat. 

The meat is tender and flavorful, and they don't want to ruin it.  Instead of lighter fluid, vegetable oil and a fan kick up the flames sufficiently.

Many houses and apartments include a parillero, or elevated brick fireplace, located outside or on the roof.  One of the tiny little apartments we looked at included the prized parillero in an outdoor patio of 50 square feet while the washing machine was squeezed into the bathroom shower.

The combination of fire and meat should never be complicated.  I used to cringe when Mark asked if we could have friends over for a BBQ.  I was scared to turn on the grill and blow up the back yard.  In time, I started to prefer the grill and grew accostomed to turning it on whenever I wanted to cook up chicken or burgers. 

In Uruguay the cooking process is intentionally simplified.  I tried to explain to a Uruguayan friend how I would use a gas grill at my house in the United States, and she looked at me with a question in her eyes, "Why did you put your stove outside?" 

Construction workers throw a metal grate, a slab of beef, and their mate in the back of the truck and they're off to work.  A couple hours before their lunch break, they scrounge up some firewood or buy some from a fruit market, stack it on the side of the street, light it up, and throw their meat on the grate.  I'm sure it's much tastier than a cold sandwich.  Truthfully, I'm not sure how common this is, but I've seen it (and smelled it)!

For the record, I witnessed a woman handle a parillero quite efficiently.  I thought someone's house was on fire when the smoke drifted past our window, so I went up to our roof and looked down into a neighbor's yard.  A woman was starting a blazing fire to generate some coals.

On New Year's Eve we hosted our first asado.  Since we wanted to eat the meat on the same day it was cooked, we asked Pastor Mauricio to sweat it out in front of the fire all night.  He lit the fire around 8:30 and the meat was ready at 11:30, just as the fireworks started.

The parillero at the church

ready to grill

asado at our house New Year's Eve

Hanging out near the parillero

Definitions:
Parillero: the elevated fire place
parrilla: the grate
parrillada: restaurant with grilled meat
Asado - the meat (beef, chicken or sausage) cooked over the fire OR the social event
Azotea - the rooftop where some parilleros are located
Chorizo - pork sausage


If you want to see how a parillero is made:
How to make a Uruguayan parillero