whenever i cut and paste into the weblog, it puts all those weird words and thingys in front of it.
the problem is, whenver i am ready to type, the internet doesn’t work.
so then i type it onto a file and copy and paste it in later.
so whoops. you are stuck with that weird stuff before what i actually post.

except for right now, when the internet is working.

your daily dose of Anne of Green Gables (er…this is from Anne of Avonlea–the second book)

“For two years she(Anne) had worked earnestly and faithfully, making many mistakes and learning from them. she had had her reward. she had taught her scholars something, but she felt that they had taught her much more…lessons of tenderness, self-control, innocent wisdom, lore of childish hearts. perhaps she had not succeeded in “inspiring” any wonderful ambitions in her pupils, but she had taught them, more by her own sweet personality than by all her careful precepts, that it was good and necessary in the years that were before them to live their lives finely and graciously, holding fast to truth and courtesy and kindness, keeping aloof from all that savored of falsehood and meanness and vulgarity. they were, perhaps, all unconscious of having learned such lessons; but they would remember and practice them long after they had forgotten the capital of Afghanistan and the dates of the Wars of the Roses.
“Another chapter in my life is closed,” said Anne aloud, as she locked her desk. she really felt very sad over it; but the romance in the idea of that “closed chapter” did comfort her a little.”

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Anna says she doesn’t know why the girl would pick the boy over the phantom in “The Phantom of the Opera.” I think I know why. It is like our first love. They awaken something in us—teach us how to sing and how to hear the music. Even more, they teach us how to enjoy the music. They make us who we are. Normally, they are the “bad one” for us. Everyone around us sees it. Everyone around knows it—everyone but you. You walk around in a ray of sunshine that burns the doubt from your heart.

It is this “bad one” who is really taking the risk. They come and open something that used to be closed, and give it like a present to their love. In return, they loose. They loose something of a second chance. They give, and it is the very thing they give that makes the loved one able to live—and able to walk away. And the boy comes in on his white horse and of course you go with him. You break a heart and don’t look back until you realize it was your own heart that you broke.

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I was on the bus early this morning. A man with pens in his pocket started talking in the middle of the bus. I immediately pretended to be asleep. He was asking for money. And I had some. Which is worse then when I don’t. With my eyes closed I still hear him, talking about loving our neighbors. He is working with poor children in Carpina. Probably doing things a lot like Living Stones. But I didn’t want to hear him. I wanted him to go away. It was too early to think, too early to give. My stop came soon and I brushed past him, still in the early stages of his speech. I got off the bus and looked down.

 

I want to be the kind of person who can think about others. But instead, I am too wrapped up in my own life. I am dealing with what I need to do, what I want to do, and what I wish those around me would do. I can’t even reach out and say “hey, you seem to be doing the same thing as me, I am glad we are on the same team.”

 

I watched the new 007 movie. It is one of those things that gets you all hype and excited and I was determined I was going to look like THAT by the end of the movie. Begin a new plan of regulation, discipline, and exercise. I am going to be stuck with this body until I die, and I might as well make the best of it. I am always saying I want to look better…and yet my words mean nothing because I never change in the end.

 

A friend asked me what I wanted. Just me. After everyone else was gone. Forget about ministry, family, responsibility…what did I want? Part of me wants to get the body I wanted, get the education I wanted, and look the part. Part of me just wants The One, and then everything else doesn’t matter. But if I can’t have him, then what? So that is where I am. I am scared of what I really want, so i am stuck in the world of second best, trying to make the most of it.

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The kids go around singing “O come all ye faithful, joyful and triangle…”

 

It is Thanksgiving and I am imagining all the lovely thanksgivings I have spent wallowing around in the covers until late, late, late, when we turn on the Macy’s day parade until Mom calls us for dinner.

 

My day started off a little different. Yesterday, Maninho, a good friend, graduated from the Conservatory of Music. He’s been going for the past 7 years. Since he was 14 and started clarinet lessons. So he had an official “formatura” and played seven or eight songs where you just had to sit there and become very sure he was a musical genious. So I slept in Paudalho and got up early to catch the six o’clock bus back to Carpina. I missed the bus miserably and waited for a Kombe. I sleepily stumbled into one and didn’t notice until I put on my seatbelt that I was the only one in it. Besides the driver.  Aparently, it was NOT a public transportation Kombe, but rather a man who transported chickens from Recife. A man who decided to stop for sleepy looking Americans on the side of the road. As we picked up speed, I wondered if I was going to die, and how bad it would hurt to jump out while the Kombe was moving. But he calmly ranted on and on about I am not sure what (I was busy planning my insurance policy) until we got to the Alcance and I said it was my stop and he pulled over. Didn’t even accept the $1Real fare.

 

And I was happy. 

 

Today we are writing thank you letters to our parents and eating Snickerdoodles during class. Ivana vetoed having the thanksgiving turkey, because then the kids wouldn’t eat lunch.

 

But I do miss the cranberries.

And stuffing.

 

The rest of the food I can do without, because I have Bolo de Rolo and Mouse De Maracuja. Quem preciso mais?

 

Dear Mother, thank you for my clothes and make-up, Manuelly (6^th grade)

Dear Father, thank you for not fighting with me when I ran away to Porta De Galinhas, Raquel (9^th grade)

Dear Mother and Father, thank you for giving me food when I was a little boy, Tiago (9^th grade) (so they don’t feed you now? I asked him)

Dear Mommy, thank you for staying home with me and making food I liked, Mariana (5^th grade)

Dear Mother and Father, I want you always with me, I don’t want you to go, Samara (4^th grade)

Dear Mother and Father, thank you for my computer, Daniel (4^th grade)

Dear Mother and Father, thank you for your love, horses, and Barbies, Carol (3^rd grade)

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The current trend at the international school is to sneak into the English classroom and feel the stockings to try to guess what everyone has inside them. We decorated socks for Christmas, so every Friday we get to look inside…and eat whatever is edible. Ms. Rachel goes around making sure everyone has something…because how sad would it be to not have anything to squish and try to guess what it was?

the last time i checked my sock…it sounded like there was money in it. the rumor going around the school is that someone put $5Reis of change in it. Go Santa!

 

I could have never taught the kids grammar without School House Rock. It is absolutely amazing. Sit them in front of the screen and poof—they can tell me what a noun is and give three examples of an adjective. The only problem was when half the kids were convinced that “Lolly” was an adverb, because the song for adverbs goes “Lolly, lolly, lolly get your adverbs here..” And if they forget a part of speech, I just start humming the tune for them…

 

Here were some funny spelling errors on their last tests:

Periet…another try yielded “permid” (period)

Sciamashion point (exclamation)

Chestesion mark (question)

Picok (peacock)

Bitrfly (butterfly)

Girf…another try yielded “giraphe” (giraffe)

Tuns (tongues)

Her (hair)

Taele (tail)

Iavs…another try yielded “is” (eyes)  

And I still have not figured out what this sentence was supposed to be “the fings is on the ram” but I gave it credit as a sentence having a preposition anyways…

oh…i think it is…”the fingers are on the hand…”

as you can see…their education is not quite complete.

 

Yesterday at college they handed us another text to read. In Portuguese. Then the teacher wanted us to do idea maps of the text. I finished reading the first four pages (15 more to go) and decided to just skip it and write out the headings, translate them into English, and then fill it into an idea map. I did it mostly for fun, because the teacher was explaining the idea map as this complex thing where you basically copy every word of the 19 pages. I showed the teacher what I’d done and she began praising me. She stopped the whole class and said “This American did it perfectly! Exactly what I want you to do! Copy hers!” which, of course, they couldn’t, since it was in English. I haven’t figured out if she was just surprised that I could do an idea map, or if it was because I did it in English. But whatever the case…I got a good grade.

I got to hear my Dad’s voice!
the internet is working…more or less. so i could call him, but then the connection was so bad, he couldn’t really hear me. but it was something. He might be able to go home tomorrow.
thank you for your prayers. so many people, in Brasil and in the US have stopped their daily lives to pray and encourage me and my family…and i am grateful.

Saturday i got the news dad was in the hospital. i didn’t know what to do, so did nothing.
Monday i heard he was worse. i immediately made plans and began to try to figure out how to get home by Thanksgiving. but it didn’t happen. it also didn’t help that our internet was out. i felt like i was in a cage, with no communication or way out. But now, thank the Lord, my father is doing better, i have had some lovely chats with my mom, and i was able to change my February 12 ticket to December 19, only having to pay the minimal flight fee (the dollar is actually going up in value here in Brasil…i thought you guys said there was a crisis or something going on there?)

so i will be home for Christmas…one of my homes…after all.

Thank you for your prayers…
and so many who are helping out and blessing my family…thank you.

My mom said my dad is doing better–he might even be out of the hospital tomorrow.

so…

two days ago i made all the plans to rush and buy a ticket to return to the US next week.
Yesterday i made plans to return December 18…
and now…

Mom says everything will be fine and not to make a rushed decision.

so we will see. but i think i want to come back sooner than February 12, even if i don’t have to. we will see how changing my ticket works out.

I have ever so much desire to write everyone and reply to every message in my inbox…but the internet has been out for awhile. so…a reply is coming, if you wrote me. just not yet.

because right now i am in a little room in the middle of town that is very hot and the backspace bar sticks and so everytime i backspace it erases half of my message. yuck, yuck. the things you will do to use the internet.

“Teacher, what does my homework say?”

“How should I know? You’re the one who wrote it!”

I am rather an unsympathetic teacher.

 

I love test time. The kids take it so seriously and are so quiet and studious that I feel so proud and like I have really accomplished something. I might change my mind after I see their test scores, but still—I had my moment of glory. Even if I did spend the whole week practically giving them all the answers.

 

We decorated the classroom for Christmas last Friday. It was a big success. I asked the kids to each bring a sock to hang. There wasn’t enough room to hang the stockings over the “fireplace” we made, but out class now has snowflakes hanging from the ceiling and all over the walls, a “fireplace” and a “Christmas tree” decorated with paper ornaments they made. But the stockings turned out the best. We are doing a “Secret Santa” with the kids, and my sock already looks a little lumpy.

 

On Fridays, we are going to turn the air conditioner up as high as it will go, sit under it with candles (well, we couldn’t really use the fireplace) and blankets while I read “The Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens for them. Oh, and I am bringing hot chocolate. The only thing missing is the marshmallows, but they just don’t have them here in Brasil. They started selling some multicolored ones at the mall in Recife…but I don’t have time or money to get them. So minus the marshmallows. But just about everything else…oh, we even have cotton balls stacked up in the corners of the windows for snow.

 

I went to the feira to buy some fresh fruit and vegetables. This is the consistent conversation:

Me: how much are tomatoes?

Seller: 80 centavos

Me: how much for three tomatoes?

Seller: why would you want just three? Just buy a kilo

Me: but I just cook for me, I live alone, and I only want three.

Seller: minha filha (my daughter), it is not good to live alone. You need to get a man.

Me: how much is three tomatoes?

Seller: But you must be so lonely, you poor thing

Me: really, how much for three tomatoes?

Seller: oh, give me 50 centavos. I will throw in a couple extra tomatoes.

 

And I end up with five tomatoes and a lot of advice. Repeat the same conversation about onions, bananas, mangos, and sweet potatoes.

 

I received my mid-term scores for my classes at FALUB:

Scientific method: 9 (out of 10)

Philosophy: 9

Epistomology of Education: 8.5

 

I am happy.

Please pray for my father, he had surgery on his knee and then experienced complications a week later. my mother explained it all nicely to me…some big words that started with a “p” or something…but all said and done–he had blood clots in his lungs. quite a few, in each lung. meaning he coughed up blood. anything involving that sounds rather serious to me. he was in a lot of pain and was admitted to the emergency room on Thursday. I spoke to my mother today, and she said that Lord willing he will  be released tomorrow or Monday. But he will have to recieve blood thinner shots for awhile, and then stay on some medicine for 6 months.

thank you,

Rachel

David came in the room this morning and said today was “to write love on her arms” prayer day.
and he needed a marker.

I, slightly less enthusiastic, found a marker, and figured i should be a part of this too. we quickly wrote love on our arms and went to a full day of teaching.

i like the idea.
i love the story.
but i really didn’t realize how much having a big red “LOVE” on your arm changes how you do things in a day.

(if you don’t know about TWLOHA, then go to http://www.twloha.com )

I began every class with the normal “Good morning…” and so forth, and in the corner of my eye is this constant red flash. partly because i talk with my hands. my arms. really, i just cannot stand still and normally i like having a marker or something to fiddle with in my hands while i teach. my security blanket or something. Then the hands go up “What is written on your arm?”

and the story.
so i just told them the Rachelified version: A guy was working with a girl, a girl who just didn’t want to live anymore, she didn’t have any hope. She took a knife (i don’t know the word for razor in Portuguese) and cut herself, because she had so much pain. She wrote, cutting into herself, a palavrao (cuss word). The guy saw it and told her that Jesus loved her and wanted to write LOVE on her arms, not that word. So today is a day for everyone to stop and remember those who do not know God’s love, especially those who are depressed and cut themselves because they have no hope. We write it on our arms, not because God wants to go around with a marker and write LOVE there, but because he wants to write it in the deepest places of our hearts. And this helps us remember to pray.

and then we prayed. I prayed first, and then some of the students prayed. Some of them wordlessly got out markers and wrote LOVE on their arms while i was talking.

it wasn’t a big deal.
then we opened our books and wrote a paper on insects.
but it was.

and…there is just something…special when you really do it. when you really do write love on your arm.