i failed bitterly at hard boiling eggs. i had to do them twice. and open two halfway raw eggs. but my noodles/cheese/tomato/celantro/ginger stuff turned out very nice. Kathy makes things that smell very nice. i should hold out for her offers to dinner.

This morning was the industrial revolution presentation for the school. the kids did great. Even if they did say TH-omas Edison. why is it pronounced like a “T” instead of a “Th?” that is stupid.

this afternoon was free. ahh. breathe the air…

i sat on my bed and read “Anne of the Island.” and ate random snacks. there is no better way to spend a sunny afternoon. all the philosophy was getting a little heavy. i needed to remember the stary-eyed prettyness of growing up. with a green Jolly Rancher to boot. and then went for a walk. while reading. considering i trip when i walk all the time…i am relatively good at walking and reading at the same time. my path took me past cows. i was determined to use the path, but the cow got up and walked right up to the path and stared me down. it pawed the ground. my mind’s eye saw smoke billowing from its nostrils. and i pretended to read my book and walk WAY AROUND the path. is it dogs that smell fear, or cows?

here is two delightful passages for you…just because i can:

“Do you suppose you’ll be able to keep it up?”
“Making up my mind, you mean? i don’t know, but Jo has given me a splended rule. he says, when i’m perplexed, just to do what i would wish i had done when i shall be eighty.”
*
“She used to say her motto was ‘never write a line you would be ashamed to read at your own funeral.’ You’d better take that for yours, Anne, if you are going to embark in literature. Though, to be sure,” added Aunt Jamesina perplexedly, “Elizabeth always used to laugh when she said it. she always laughed so much that i don’t know how she ever came to decide on being a missionary. i’m thankful she did–i prayed that she might–but–i wish she hadn’t.”
*

don’t forget to be happy.
it is rather important.

I went and visited Jaciara the other day. She and I had been close a couple years ago when she attended seminary. She’s married now, and she and Author have a wee little house and just the necessities. She has to work in Recife, meaning she leaves early Monday morning, comes back late Wednesday night, leaves again Thursday morning, and works until Saturday afternoon. Since Author is co-pastor, her remaining free day is spent doing many things at church and counseling. I just can’t imagine life like that.

This month, I spent just over what Brasilian’s receive for minimum wage. Me. One person—who does not pay for room and board (well, lunch). I am only in charge of my own breakfast and dinner, college expenses, and day to day expenses like shampoo and stuff and transportation. And I spent over what many, many families spend in a month. And I am a skinflint, do not have medical expenses, have all the clothes I need and such…I don’t know how it can be possible.

We went to the feira today. To buy food and such. I bought four sweet potaoes for $.30 and a big bag of cherry tomatoes. Sweet potatoes remind me of living with my grandparents—sweet potatoes for lunch every day, and cherry tomatoes remind me of Dad’s garden. And cherry tomato fights. So maybe me and the neighbor boy only did it a couple times, but they were very memorable times. I followed Junior and Cacao and Aninha around, asking them all kinds of questions. And I realized I know nothing of anything. I am 26 years old and do not know how to pick a good sweet potato from a bad one. Junior was like “However did you manage to not learn that?” and I told him that in the USA, we just pick up the bag of sweet potatoes and buy it. You don’t look at them or squeeze them or anything. When I was buying the sweet potatoes, the seller was like “four? You need more than four! How can you only buy four?” I told him I lived alone “Oh honey, you can’t do that! It isn’t good to live alone!” the old man looked so concerned I thought he was going to offer to let me live with his family. I quickly moved on to the next booth. we bought so much stuff that we had to use a cart. Of course, on the streets of the feira, there are no carts—it consists of a boy following behind us with a wheelbarrel. Two hours and two wheelbarrels full later, we paid the boy $.80 for his time. And yet a Big Mac—in Recife (for we don’t have it in our little town) will cost Brasilians $5.00.

We have special pins at the international school. Yep. The best behaved students and/or students who are really putting forth effort get this special clip-on badge for the week. At the end of the semester, those who have been regulars to the priviledge pin will receive a special trip. We haven’t decided where too, but going to the movies (again, in Recife—we don’t have a theater) is one of the possibilities. Raquel, 9th grade, asked me if she won this trip, if she could give it to someone else. I asked her why: “Because my father and I have gotten to go to the movies once, but my other siblings have not ever been.” Raquel and her family were missionaries to the Indians in the Amazon before having to return to Carpina because of health problems of the children. They are going to be going back to a different tribe next year. These kids are amazing. Raquel, 9th grade, Rebeca, 6th grade, Daniel, 4th grade, and Davi, 1st grade. Please pray for them. Hey…just throwing this out there…if you’d like to provide something special for this family…let me know.

I grew up thinking that everyone was equal. That everyone had a chance. That all you need to do is open the windows and life will come in to you. But there are many trees in the garden. Some are in the sun, with good water and good soil, and there is nothing that will stop them. But some are in the shade. Some have no water. Some have poor soil.

I used to think that they just needed to be taught. Give the parents a parenting class. Give the children a hygine class. Go to their house and organize things and give them a book and teach them to read…But education doesn’t seem to be the answer either. The educated people I know are not any happier or better off or with less problems. They are just different problems. Many times they are unhappier.

And then I went off into the world to teach. I went off to help others open their windows and let life in. And sometimes their eyes were so bright when we talked. Sometimes I was just sure that NOW they got the right idea. Different things began to appear. Some of the kids just left. Checked out. They didn’t want to change. They didn’t want to open their windows. And I could see the future written in their eyes…nothing changing…becoming another generation of emptiness, in front of the TV, waiting until life was over.

It made me wonder what I was trying to do. What success would look like anyways. I didn’t seem to know what I wanted to see—only what I didn’t want to see. Did I want to see a good member of society? Did I want to see someone who dressed up on Sundays and went to a good church? Did I want to see someone who stayed out of trouble? Did I want to see someone who went to college? Maybe all of this and more. I wanted to see them happy. In the end, I finally came to the conclusion that I wanted to see them reaching, with all they had, wherever they were—for all that God had for them. I guess that is what I want for all those that I love. So I learned to be happy with the little things. Like when I would ask “How are you and God?” and April would say “we’re cool. Real cool. Been praying on my walk to school lately.”

But after a long time of this…it just seemed that nothing really lasted. It didn’t stick. Kids that I would grow so close to would drop off. Or just drift away. Or wander in and out. And there would be happy spots, but they were not lines. Maybe as humans we are just too weak to carry on lines. The only things that really seemed to last in all this was the personal relationships. And even those were fluid movements, sometimes here and there—but they were always real. And they didn’t disappear. Never all the way. Maybe that is the only thing that imprints. Maybe that is what is so important.

It just seems harder here. It is so much dirtier here. I don’t know where all the dirt is in Indianapolis—I think we’ve covered most of it up with cement and swept the rest into a garbage heap. And there is a gaping hole here—where in the USA you can almost feel the opportunity. Oh, I know it is hard to get a job and all…but…it is just different. It is not just lack of jobs and less money to go around—it is a lack of hope—and even knowledge of the idea of opportunity that is missing here.

And maybe, in 10 years when I go around Washington and Rural and spot some old faces there will not be any difference in them. Maybe the changes will be small. Maybe the changes are just not what I was looking for. Was I only looking for them to be in a nicer house with a nicer job and a nicer attitude?

And maybe the same thing is true here. Maybe these children will be on the same street in 10 years, now with a baby in their lap. Am I going to play with them, am I praying for them to have a better life? To not have lice in their hair? To have enough to eat? To put a band aid on their sores? I don’t know. I pushed my way between two kicking girls and told them “God has two rules for us: love Him and love one another. Only two rules. Let’s work on them.” I don’t have the answers. I don’t even know what I am shooting for. Maybe it is just to make TODAY a little brighter for them. More liveable. Is that all I can do? And even that seems like such a big task.

these are the lovely ladies that have accepted me into their group. Adriana said “anytime the teacher asks which group you are in, just say you are in mine.”

and this makes me very, very happy.

this is my classroom. i sit in a wooden desk. and that is that.

Patricia and her kids. Alexandra, Cesar, and i cannot remember the other two…

Cacao and her darlings. i don’t know how Patricia and Cacao manage it. please pray for them!

they send their “hellos”

Living Stones updates:
In May they had a wonderful program for the mothers. I will try to get some pictures. June was a special Sao Joao Party, and July was ferias—holiday, so they had all the groups (there are 8 in Paudalho) together for special competitions. The blue team won the soccer tournament. I know because Cesar told me so. He chanted for me “blue, the color of the sea, blue, the color of the sky, blue, the team that won!” (in portuguese, it rhymes) August they were not able to do much because the area where they meet (a house-like place next to the church) was being repainted. September they practiced special celebrations for Independence day in Brasil, and their main project is getting rid of LICE. Lice, lice, lice. October is children’s month—culminating with Children’s day (the 12th, I think), so that will bring lots of fun surprises.

Cacau realized some of the children had a problem with lice and so bought some shampoo and treated them. The others asked what she was doing, and when they found out, promptly formed a line to be treated also. There was not enough shampoo. They are still doing what they can, but the problem is the homes—the whole family has it. Shampoo is 5$ a bottle…and considering they get paid $250 a month…it is quite expensive. They can buy a bar of lice killing soap—which isn’t as nice, but it works and lasts a lot longer—for $3.50. Patricia and Cacao are trying to save up to present each family with a bar of anti-lice soap. If you would like to help with this project financially, make sure to e-mail me.

Last Friday was the first time I’d gotten to see the children since April. It has been a long time. It was good to see them. It was hard too. Maybe things have always been this hard, and I have just been wearing many more rose colored glasses than I am now. Maybe I am understanding the culture and the language a lot more, and so can begin to realize the bigness and hugeness of the problems more now. Maybe…I have this issue with lice.

Ever since working with inner city kids when I was 16, lice has been an issue. I still remember looking down on the head of that little blond girl sitting in my lap and seeing black things crawling around. I ignored them and continued reading the book out loud. I still remember going to get my hair cut a couple weeks later and the woman loudly announcing “I can’t cut your hair here, deary, you have lice!” I still remember lice checks at the youth center and one day finding 6 of the 7 white kids being lice infected. I remember driving them home in my station wagon, praying the little beasts wouldn’t jump off them and on to the upholstery. I still remember treating one of the girls, her head patiently leaning over the sink when I drug the comb through the hair on the nape of her neck, 10 to 15 wiggling things coming off and drowning in the sink with every pull. I remember shaking lice off my skirt and having life infected nightmares.

So yes, I was itchy on Friday, when the little hands grab my neck and pull me down close to them. But I loved it. But it is not just the lice that is hard. It is just dirty everywhere. Luana got burned by a motorcycle. The chared skin hangs and the open wound yells at me from her leg. She doesn’t clean it or bandage it. She plays jump rope and gets caught, her legs out from under her and her wound eats dust. She thinks nothing of it. The blood and dirt mix on Rodrigo’s feet as he leads me barefoot down the path to the little play house. The girls have set up a special area with a mat and a makeshift table. They play house and arrange flowers made out of 2 liter pop bottles. And they sweep the dirt floor a lot. The bigger ones push the younger ones, and the younger ones just grin and grin.

There are a lot of new children there. The kids brought their friends. Cacau saw them half hiding behind the open gate and could not say no. Alexandria, who cannot sit still without kicking, but must sit next to me the whole time we have “English class.” We practiced “My name is…” and the colors and numbers up to 5. Bruna was the only one who could read. I was so glad to see Cesar. He’s gotten taller. The bundle of nerves and energy could only be calmed when Patricia sat down on the mat and he could rest his head in her lap. I joined them on the mat and was rewarded with a big hug—that was reaching around me to hit Alexandria back.

They have art class and other special activities.

Friday they had rice and meat—good sized chunks. That was special.

Grammar is like life.
i teach the kids one grammar rule and they follow it.
they follow it so well they apply it to everything.
and then i correct them and they look at me with accusing eyes and say “But i was following the rule you gave me!–”th” is pronounced “th”!”
but in “Thomas,” “th” is pronounced “t”.
Why?
it just is. it is irregular.
“Well, that isn’t fair!”
and i have no answer for them. because no, it isn’t fair.
it is irregular.
and maybe if i knew the latin root and reason somewhere someone had a good explaination for “Thomas.”
but i don’t.
and no more explaination is given.

my arm looks really tan. so we will say it is.
This was my birthday party–candle stuck in bolo de rolo. yessssssss.

Glasses take over the world. yep.
except Johnny (bottom left) got in on it. without glasses.
David (across from me) turned 18 and Emily (second from the end on the left) turned 26 and we all turned fat from all the good food.

Maninho and I visited Marcello.
Please pray for him…he got this virus…some kind of worm that went into his bone marrow–extremely painful, and left him paralized for two months. The virus is dead now, but he is still very weak. Only God knows if he will be able to get his strength back to return to work and life as it was (he’s a fireman). But God is really working in his life and all that good stuff…so the rest is still unwritten.

September 7–Brasilian Independence day–L to R:
Ediclayton, Fernanda, Me, Victoria, Carol, Rebeca, Maria, and Natan

Old Recife…we went to an India Culture thingy and ate yummy vegetarian Indian food–Junior, Andrea, and Solange.

So this is where i live. Here we are raising the flags before school.

and i haven’t figured out why sometimes the text is in blue and sometimes in black.

oh well.

Isn’t it a lovely thing to feel chosen?
i asked a friend why he chose Jesus. he said it was more like Jesus chose him.
sounds about right to me.

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So I just cut up half an onion, threw in leftover beans and
noodles, some hot sauce and some whishtishire sauce (how do you spell that?)
and made myself a durn good supper. Cooking for myself is interesting. Whatever
you can do with beans.

Emily left. I miss her. I am the lone American on the premises.
Emily gave me the rest of her crunchy healthy peanut butter. Does life get
better? Only if I had celery. I really want celery. Celery was made for peanut
butter. And visa versa. And there is no celery here.

So at college (FALUB—pronounced Fall-oo-bee) we have this
education festival or something like that. Again…some things are harder to
translate than others. So we have to come up with something to present as a
class—like a booth. The lady behind me wanted to do a musical on the necessity
of play. Now, the necessity of play is a good theme. A musical?!? Get outta
here. So I suggested the 8 intelligences. You know—do a little activity with
each of the ways you learn. Then list ways teachers can use each intelligence
inside the classroom (this is something greatly lacking in Brasilian
classrooms). Most of them hadn’t heard of the 8 intelligences. Those that did,
didn’t understand me very well—I couldn’t remember most of them, and the ones I
did, I couldn’t translate. So I found it online, in Portuguese, and brought it
to class. They made me stand in front of the class and tell my idea and read
it. I am stumbling over the words, hand the paper to my teacher and ask her to
read it for me. She promptly refuses…and says “But it is so cute when you do
it.” So in the end, they all clapped for me and cheered me on and I was
happy…and they probably won’t use my idea…but, it was a good experience. Oh,
and I got my student ID. BRASILIAN student ID.

Ohhh-ahhhh.

My 4^th grader, Daniel O. and I (he is forever
labeled DANIEL O. because we also have a Daniel L. in the class) get along much
better when I realize that he is much like Calvin from “Calvin and Hobbs.” But
still…it is much more fun to READ about, than to deal with in class every day.
That, and his being bi-polar. So is this a sad day or a happy day?

And then
there is Yolanda the nose picker. She is a regular. And she really gets into
it—no embarrassment at all—just sheer extasy of reaching the last booger…

And today was a sad day because I had to make Fransisco sit
in the corner. I only have one class with kindergarten a week…and normally the
idea of getting a merit and my funny tricks with the rules make him sit
relatively still (meaning staying in one part of the room), but not today.
Today it was the corner.

What is church? When I am gathered with
friends/community/people of like mind with God as the center. The determined
center. Not just “oh, lets talk about God.” But where it is like “God, what do
want to tell us? What do you have for us. Here. Now. Together?”

Sometimes this happens in what we conventionally call
“Church.” Sometimes this happens at Steak n Shake. Sometimes this happens in
the backyard.

I am rethinking things. Some things. I mean, it is hard to
rethink everything all at once.

Ministry…serving God by serving others. God has called me to
minister. In different ways. One way is by using the projector at church. I
type the songs in, put together a power point presentation, and project it on
Sunday. This takes quite a bit of time. At least until I have all the songs
typed in. I worked hard on it—plus…you would be amazed how heavy those 6 pounds
are—added with a 10 pound laptop bag that I lug to church (remember, we WALK
everywhere) every Sunday. Yesterday I spent the time typing. I carried
everything downtown, and then to church. Then went to set it up and found that
one of the cords was not in the bag. So nothing could work. Did I fail to
minister? No. not at all—I did the work for the Lord. Circumstances come and
go…and sometimes…maybe no one will see the work…but I served God. And I know He
is proud of me. The results are just one part of the ministry—the part that I
am not responsible for. The results are in God’s hands.

And man, does that take a load off me.

Why do we live as we live—only part of our lives? The other
part is hidden in the games we say. Being honest and ye holding back. Smiling
when we want to frown, and sitting when we want to stand.

Life is like days on parade. They march past you while you
are still trying to grasp why.

Why does it seem like so many people are TIRED of church right now? Sundays just feel so heavy. problems and issues keep piling up and i ask “Where is the love?” and it feels so far and distant and the abyss seems so very far away and unreachable. and then some moments shine through and i see the bridge and i am happy, but the rays are few and far between. Come, Lord Jesus, come into our lives.