July 4, 2005

• July 1, 2005

  
  

  Hey. This is neat. I just remembered why I like this skirt. It has pockets in the front…big ones, for my passport and tickets that I have to show everywhere. Gosh, what a neat day. The rain in leaving streaks down the windows of gate 25. It is 7:17 here, 8:17 in Brasil (my computer clock has been set on Brasilian time all year), and 6:17 at home. My plane boards in another hour.

  
  

   

  
  

  You know what I think? I think fear is an advertising tactic. If they can make you scared of something, they can sell you the solution to that fear. Such as car alarms. I hate them. My car has one and all it is is trouble. It was bought because someone feared their car being stolen. When the fact of the matter really is, that if the person is truly determined to steal the car, they probably will get it anyway. Perhaps I am a silly kid, but as long as I am in the Lord’s will, nothing is going to happen to me that will not work for His glory and my good. I was scared someone would steal my stuff. And yet, isn’t the point, that God is going to take care of it? So if it is stolen, then God has something good for me up that ally? Okay, I know what you are thinking, you are thinking “Now Rachel, that does not give you license to go out and do stupid stuff.” Yep, I know, but listen to my day anyways.J

  
  

   

  
  

  I got up at 4:30 to take a shower, since I will not see a sanitary place for a while. We went through the line which is forever and I got to my gate sometime after 6amI had brought gifts to give to my family in the airport, but I promptly took them with me through the check through and did not realize it until they were already home. Hmm. They will just have to wait until the Americans get home and I send it with them the end of July. Goodness. That made me feel alittle stupid…but not nearly as stupid as when I missed my flight last time. I think some people are holding their breath, because my track record is not the best. Grr. I arrived in Miami and found a place to store my bags. I really, really, do not enjoy taking them everywhere with me. They are very inconvenient in the restrooms and lines. I think they have grown 20 pounds since I packed them.

  
  

   

  
  

  I remember Miami airport from the last time I was here, and running around it at 10:30pm because I had missed my flight. I found the help desk, got the bus schedules, and headed to the beach. Yep, one track mind. And yep, I did pray about it and felt a peace. Considering I have ridden the bus once in NYC and once in Indy, I don’t have a lot of experience under my belt and I made lots of friends with the bus drivers. After asking yet another question, one bus driver was really friendly. He told me to watch out for the man in the pink dress at the beach. Another bus driver was riding the bus, and he was making the same stop/transfer as I was, so he got me the right place. But boy, is it a long ride! Almost an hour and half. I get there and quickly lose the skirt and shoes (yes, I have modest basketball shorts on as always). And splash in the waves. It is a perfect day. Ahh. I walked awhile, enjoyed a whopper and then found a nice umbrella to sit under. Soon someone came over and told me it cost $15 to sit under the umbrella, so I moved on, but for a few moments there, it was perfection. And what do you know? I found the man in the pink dress and kept my distance.

  
  

   

  
  

  I shopped some, and resisted the strong urge to pierce and tattoo myself and then hopped a bus back to the airport. Again at the transfer there was a bus driver walking too and got me on the right bus (they are always bigger black men also, so I just walk behind them and look like I am with him and no one dares to mess with me. giggle. ) As we crossed a street I hear people say, “Hey, that is Big Joe (or maybe it was Fat Joe?), the rapper!” I am sure my kids at the center would have been impressed, but I don’t know my rappers, so missed my big chance to see someone famous. Oh well. I still feel like my life is not wasted *shakes head*. On the bus ride home I managed to shake all the sand off me and put back on my respectable shoes and skirt. I grabbed my bags and curled up next to my departure gate and snoozed. Then I blinked my eyes opened and am now listening to music while I type, looking like another airport professional. Just kidding. Most of them don’t have their shoes off and sour skittles beside themJ. Yep, life’s a trip, and I’m lovin’ it.

  
  

   

  
  

  Everyone here is looking for home. You can see it so much clearer in their eyes at the airport. Exhaustion brings it out. I started choking on my whopper at Burger King and realized that if I did choke and die that no one there would have cared. All those people passing…and nothing. Just emptiness. That is the feeling of not having a home. Yuck.

  
  

   

  
  

  July 2, 2005

  
  

   

  
  

  Yikes. Power out. So all I wrote is gone and I won’t be half so creative now. Oh, and please pray for my computer. My laptop’s mouse is possessed and is moving by itself all over the screen. It is late, but my time clock is screwed anyways, so I might as well write now. I need to get used to the kamikaze mosquitoes anyways.

  
  

   

  
  

  The flights were pretty uneventful and I did everything right…and I still had one of my bags lost. The one with all my shoes and underclothes in it. So I am fudging a bit. But perhaps they pity on me, because they did not ask my anything in customs…just passed me right on through! As I got my bag and walked to the gate, there was no one. I had a few minutes of panic as I paced floor and found I could not use the phone because it did not take cash and had detailed instructions in Portuguese. But as I looked up, David came running, with Heather and Alyssa close behind. It turns out that they found out when my plane came in an hour before it came (and they live over an hour away from Recife).

  
  

   

  
  

  Many people have asked me what it is like in Brasil. And I never really know what to say. Of course there are so many details that attack your senses that it would take me years to write them all…but in some ways it is no different at all. Because the point is, I am the same person, staring out from behind the same two eyes. The difference is my surroundings, not me…and most of all, God is the same and my foundation is the same. So it is all about the choices and decisions that I make based on things that are unchangeable, and that is the same in Brasil as in the US.

  
  

   

  
  

  Coming to Brasil felt more like coming home. It felt more normal than different. I knew the airport, I knew the drive home, I knew the special places where the hills meet and touch the sky, I knew the food, and I knew the Alconce. Okay, here is some review for you who don’t have my life memorizedJ. Tele and Heather Moraes are the missionaries here, and they have four kids: Karine (17), David (14), Alyssa (12), and John (5). Their headquarters, where the seminary is and camp will be, is called the Alconce. It is a beautiful hotel they bought. I am staying here in Edjane’s (pronounced Ed-Johnny) room like last year. Edjane is super sweet to let me invade her space. I really pray that I am not in her way. David is staying at the Alconce also, but the rest of the Moraes family headed for Candeis (Heather’s parent’s beach house), as they are visiting Tele’s mother, who is in ICU for a kidney problem. Please pray for her. She is such a sweet person. She was determined to send me home very fat last year with all the food she kept feeding me when I visited her.

  
  

   

  
  

  So David and I unpacked my one bag while watching the famous Brasilian soap operas. I have decided to learn Portuguese by osmosis. Oh, and I have adopted a kitten. It is a black cat that is way undernourished and showed up at the Alconce recently. It has a very thin head with extra long legs, making it look more exotic and wild. I have made it my goal that this cat speaks English and comes to “Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty” instead of the swishy sound the Brasilians make to call cats. I started training her with tunaJ. She likes to slide under my bed and then pat my toes with one paw, and is now named Betty. Betty is sleeping on Edjane’s bed (Edjane is with friends), so we’ll see how long that lasts.

  
  

   

  
  

  Ricardo and Katia (who were married in December…Ricardo is the pastor at Guadalajara and the main church planter as well as doing just about everything else around here) showed me their wedding pictures and Felipe and Diego (two guys from the English camp last year) called and are coming to see me tomorrow. I feel incredibly involved and at home already. In some ways it is like I never left. Except my hair is longer now. Thank God.

  
  

   

  
  

  July 3, 2005

  
  

   

  
  

  It is Sunday, and Sundays are normally pretty laid back. Betty decided to join me at 3:00am. The problem was that she likes curling up on top of me…mostly my head. After awhile I just put her out of the room. David and I were trying to figure out how to make some goose-goo (no, that is not the real name, but it is what is sounds like and I don’t know what the correct way of spelling it is. Basically it is ground up corn stuck together that you each like crumbly cornbread) for breakfast, but then Diego and Felipe came and instead we all walked down to the gas station for hamburgers. We had a lot of fun taking turns speaking in English and Portuguese and laughing.

  
  

   

  
  

  I taught the boys how to juggle and they took the bus home while David and I walked back to the gas station for dinner. Unfortunately, everything closes early on Sundays, and all that was available was…hamburgers. But this time we got one with everything on it—including an egg, ham, and green peppers. It was good, and since they had just cleaned the floor we sat on the edge of the step and watch everyone getting gas (in Brasil it is normal to eat at the gas station, like a one-stop convenience thing). We walked back the long way and stopped to see Tele’s house. My gosh, it is incredible there. If money and place were no question, my first pick to live would be the beach, but this place is close second. It is just…peaceful. The hills and trees and sky and wind together in perfection. The walls are up and we even walked up the handmade ladder to see the second-story. We sat on a ledge and I could easily imagine myself being there forever. It just seems like a place where you can hear God speak. Construction is so different than in the US. The house is going to so amazing. I want one like it someday. And hey, there is land for sale in the neighborhood…J

  
  

   

  
  

  It started raining on our way back so we got alittle wet. Don’t worry, I am not a heathen, they have church in the evenings here. I got to go with Ricardo to Guadalajara, my favorite church. Oh, it was so neat. I got to see so many familiar faces. In so many ways it is like I never left and I just picked up where I left off. I was able to understand a lot of the message, and we had communion. Last week I was sharing with my American brothers and sister Christ’s body, and this week here in Brasil. Church is a lot a different here. A lot more…informal. They called all the kids forward and say a special prayer for them as they leave, then they have prayer requests and Scripture reading…while you hear the kids singing in the next room. We started alittle after 7 and left around 10—the message was a good hour long. It started raining and the roof leaked so the people just moved to a dry place. After church I stood around and caught up with Jaciara, Carlos, and Lenuison.

  
  

   

  
  

  Lenuison…my word, that boy is just like one of my kids. He has a job. I am so glad because he was so hopeless before. It is a good job. He is the voice announcer at the grocery store. Him and his incredible voice. He buys the food now and takes care of his mother and sister. He even has enough to buy nice clothes and a cell phone. For some reason, he got his eyebrows done. He totally looks like a pretty boy. He told me his boss wants him to look nice. Goober. But as we were talking he just kept saying how he does not have time for anything. He did not get to finish school and works from morning until after dark (it gets dark around 6). He does not get to sing in the band or take music classes. And although I am happy he is providing for his family, it hurts my heart that his talent and love for ministry is going to waste. And unless God does something, I know that is how it will end up. He will work the rest of his life while his incredible singing, playing instruments, and songwriting sits there dusty. It makes me wonder what is the difference between people…why some are called to greatness and so many are not…and how few actually continue on to their full potential in life. But I guess my un-omnipotence is not a good judge of what “full potential” is. Only God knows what is the greatest called on each life—and outward appearances have nothing to do with it.

  • 10:54 am
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