“Don’t be surprised by pain. be surprised by joy, be surprised by the little flower that shows its beauty in the midst of a barren desert, be surprised by the immense healing power that keeps bursting forth like little springs of fresh water from the depth of our pain.”
“Seeing all this (pain), we realize that there is no peace in our world. and still…that is what our hearts desire most. you and i may have tried giving money, demonstraighting, overseas projects, and many other things–but as we grow older we are faced with the fact that the peace we waited for has not come. something in us is in danger of growing cold, bitter, and resentful, and we are tempted to withdraw from it all and limit ourselves to the easier task of personal survival. but that is a demonic temptation.”
“A waiting person is someone who is present to the moment, believing that this moment is THE moment.” –Finding My Way Home
“Human suffering is so often an experssion of our extreme need to feel genuinely loved, and when we know nothing about the first love (love for God), we turn to others who cannot offer us the love we need. it is then that the cry moves us toward violence. “I can’t do without you, you must stay with me” suddenly instead of caressing we grab and that frightens the other person away. it is daunting to see how the grabbing, the slapping, the biting, the violence, and sometimes the rape are really the other side of our desperate need to love and be loved.”
“We do not have to be saviors of the world. we are simply human beings, enfolded in weakness and in home, called together to change our world one heart at a time.” –Jean Vanier
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I walked to the church the other morning to see Patricia and Cacau at PETI/Living Stones. I wanted to hear some stories. i wanted to know how things were. it had been six months.
The local government of Paudalho received a new mayor last year, and everything is still being adjusted, especially the head of social services. Things have now been finalized, and a guy named “Beija Flor” is in charge (his name literally means “The flower’s kiss.” I think it is a nickname.i hope it is a nickname.) Pray for him, will you? he isn’t doing the bestest of jobs right now.
The Living Stone’s program in Paudalho, the only Living Stone’s project running at the moment, receives its funding from the connection it has with PETI, the local government social service. Apparently, while many services have offices and organizations (like for drug rehab, physical abuse…) the services that are actually offered are few. The two social programs offered by the town are “siestas basicas–” a general welfare program, and PETI. PETI is the program to eradicate children from working…in other words, helping them be able to go to school and get a meal instead of begging on the streets and looking for odd jobs. The state offers other social programs, such as help with official documents, a milk program (1-3 packets of milk, 3 times a week, given on basis of need), and food cards—starting at $12 a month, one per family, up to $64 a month—depending on need and the amount of children you have. No one goes over $64. For a month.
The idea of the PETI program is that the town is divided into 8 sectors, and at each one of these places a house is rented, three teachers, a cook, and a janitor is paid, and then there are different teachers who go around to each of the 8 sectors and do classes with the kids: art, dance, music, soccer, and so forth. For the past two years, only 2 of these 8 sectors have been functioning. In the other places, the children either walk a mile or two to an open PETI, or wait and just have a class in the street with the teachers that come by to teach. One of the two PETI sectors still open and functioning is the one at the Community Church of Paudalho. And really, that is only because of the tenacity of it’s leaders, Patricia and Cacau.
The past six months have been difficult ones. Imagine working for the government, in charge of 100 children who otherwise are not likely to receive any help or assistance…or daily food. Some days they would show up for work, and the electricity would be cut off. Or the promised food didn’t’t arrive. Or the bathroom wouldn’t flush, because the water was turned off. Imagine being told to not plan a basic day-to-day program, because the other 8 sectors needed to come together and plan too—and they would be starting up soon (Soon has been two years so far). And since they cannot plan an official program, they are given no resources.
While I was there, writing down notes and thoughts and all that Patricia was explaining, my pen died. It was sad, because I liked that pen, it was my clicky pen—you know, that clicks in and out. I asked if they had any and she said “Nao, ate nao tem caneta” no…we don’t even have pens. She passed me her pencil, which I recognized as one that I had brought to them last year. When she says there are no resources, she means it.
There were some highlights so far this year—mainly being during February, where they had a recycling project around Carnival, Easter, where Tele was able to present the children with gifts in bags, sent from the USA, and Sao Joao, another holiday where they learned traditional dances and cooked traditional food.
While there were 6 paid staff last year there are now three. One of the teachers left, and the government decided to stop paying the two cooks. The janitor is now trying to do the cooking, with the help of one of the cooks who comes—voluntarily—often bringing chicken or pieces of meat with her. But that isn’t really an issue when there is no food anyway. The promised food for the month of July arrived while I sat there, three weeks late. Tomorrow they can reopen the program.
While I was there taking notes, Maria came in and sat, hiding behind Patricia, peeking over one shoulder at me with a shy smile. Maria must be 16 or so, a tall girl with bright eyes. Then came Flavia, the director of PETI, and a psychologist. Maria is the victim of abuse, mainly from her brother. After working for some time, today she was able to meet with a psychologist. Inwardly, I still shake my head and wonder what good it will do Maria to talk about something that no one will really do anything about. It is not like they can put her in foster care, or take her out of the situation…
The director shook my hand and talked animatedly about the book I had made about PETI (a photobook I had ordered online). She said it had moved her to tears. Cacau said she hadn’t really seen the program or the pictures before. It makes me wonder what the director has been doing if she is surprised to see what she is directing.
Since the food has just arrived today, Patricia and Cacao used today to prepare some things for the coming weeks. Right now, they are working on a writing project. Mostly, just getting the children excited about writing. Writing anything. In the public schools, writing class consists of being handed a book and copying it. I thought longingly of my sister, doing a creative writing summer camp, and wished she could be here doing one. These kids are brimming with imagination…and it hurts to think they don’t like writing because all they have known is copying. So Patricia and Cacau sat down and decorated paper. They made some small mini-notepads, cutting up lined paper, stapling it together, and then putting on some stickers (no money for folders or personal journals here. Oh, I’d kill for 100 dollar store journals). They want to make writing fun.
(The kids are learning to croshay…spell? The girl in the middle promised to teach me. They are making purses out of the plastic from two litter bottles)
August has a lot of holidays, so they are going to be doing activities around Father’s day (August 10), and Art day (August 13). For Artist’s day (August 23), they are going to have a special exhibition, and invite the children’s parents for a tea to come see it displayed. September 7 is Independence day, and so a lot of work is going into preparing for that as well. Thanks to some generous friends in the USA, September will also hold another lice-killing party. One of the boys, Edimulson, has a tumor the size of an orange behind his ear. They think it might be caused/aggravated by all the lice he has…literally tumbling off his head. Cacao recently made sure that his hair was all buzzed off to help, and attempted to take him to the doctor, but the boy is 12 and too scared to go.
We talked about different dreams…about how those at World Renewal wanted me to be the one to “stand in the gap” and represent Living Stones in the USA. the goal is to have an active Living Stones program in each of the Community churches in Brasil, and to work with the program to plant new churches. While this will take personnel from within each church to run—2 or 3 workers—it will also take the resources. Patricia, who worked with Living Stones before it was connected with PETI, recounted the days by saying “it was frustraighting to run a program with a pad of blank paper and pencils.”
I want to see the program day in and day out. I want to know it. I want to see the frustrations and the victories. I also want to come up with a program outline—a basic curriculum to follow—with all the needs written down. It should be where at the beginning of each month, a big box with all the food and resources for the month are provided. If they are going to learn about the flood, the story and crayons and coloring pictures are there. If a project for Mother’s day, then all that is needed is in the box already. Sure they can do other things and add things…but the basics must be covered. That way, those in America know just what is coming up, and what they can give and supply. Those in Brasil do not feel alone—and never have that horrible sensation of 50 kids standing around them, asking what today brings—with no food in the cupboard and no paper or supplies to do anything.
Dream with me…10 Living Stones…a couple more in the works…each reaching out to their communities…we would need personnel training, and so many supplies…it would take a coordinator in the US as well in Brasil…someone who could visit each site regularly to keep up with them, report on, and make sure the supplies are getting to them. Then in the US someone to go speak at churches, to plan fundraisers, speak other places, get the word out there…explaining the project…where to give…how they can help and be a part of things…There also needs to be word of mouth, and writing—lots of writing.
But first…just here. Just now. Getting to know the kids. Seeing the needs, living the needs, helping—loving. Just being there.
it is 6:16am and an open computer with internet and i feel like writing rather than sleeping. What are the chances of that happening again? Here is the view: (it looks better in real life)
Tele and Heather have left to pick up Emily from the airport, and i have chocolate milk in my hand. the work continues to renew my visa, including more trips to the college, more marriage proposals, more frustrations, another trip to the airport to find out that i have to pay a fine…and now the last document will *hopefully* be signed and ready this morning and i will be off the airport once more with that blasted paper in my hand.
last night we were watching a movie and were surprised by the scorpion coming to join us. Alyssa yelled to get a sandal to kill it, and i brought two. It was about the size of my pinky, but that little guy had his tail curled and that stinger ready and it was impressive enough to me. here’s my boys: Here is my church: Gaby’s 17th birthday party at my house: Junior (holding the candle) and Aninha (to his right), got a really nice wardrobe for me and once i got unpacked…i realized how much it meant to me to have a space, a place, a home…and how happy i was that i was a part of theirs.
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My third trip to the college to get the document…I had gotten wise. I got the phone number, and called to make sure the right person was there. He was. So I went out—and waited. I think it was 20 minutes before the kombi came. I got there half an hour later to the people saying “oh, I am sorry, he just left.” Yeah. I almost cried. Laugh if you want—it seems so little—but wait until it happens to you.
My fourth trip to the college to get the document…i called, and they know me by now, and say “yes, yes, Rachel, come, come.” and so i do. and wait. for over an hour. the receptionist guy offered to marry me so i wouldn’t have to go through all this junk to get the documents. i blushed. why do i still blush at this? but now i have the document. on to the the next document.
I am living with my friends, Junior and Aninha, in Paudalho. They leave for work before 7, but I am still on vacation so I waved goodbye and climbed into the hammock. Yes, we have two. I felt like cooking, and since that doesn’t happen so often, I thought I’d better grab the chance. I walked down the street to the supermarket, and then across the other street to the produce place, and got a couple ingredients. First thing on the list: hummas. No one in Brasil has heard of it. The kind I like calls for peanut butter. But there is no peanut butter in Brasil. So I made the peanut butter. And they don’t have chick peas in a can. I had to cook them. That took awhile. And I burnt half of them. Don’t ask how, I just did. So I decided to make a tomato based hummas with the burnt chick peas. It actually ended up tasting better than the normal recipe. And I don’t think I can ever make it again…I forget what I put in it, and what makes it so good is the burntish taste. I also made gingerbread cookies, which Brasilians don’t have either. With a couple modifications. I really, really wanted pita bread, but got wheat flour, oil, and water and made some flat patties and fried them up. It was yummy.
About half-way through this, the water quit. Probably over the whole city, but all I knew was suddenly I turned on the water to wash my hands and nothing came out. It is a horrible sensation. And you never know when it is going to turn back on. i get all itchy and can feel the germs crawling on me and wonder WHY did i wait to take a shower–and now i will NEVER get a shower…
After lunch Aninha and I “fiz compras” which is doing the shopping for the month. “fazendo compras” is very exhausting, and I was only following Aninha down the isle with the cart. Then, at 4:30, while the sun is yawning and getting ready to think about setting (it sets around 5:30), I went jogging, and found a road that takes me right into a sugar cane field. The sugar cane fields are so huge that they have different roads (dirt roads) zig zagging around through them, and I zagged along with it. There is nothing like fresh wind through a sugar cane field where you can see nothing but the long, graceful stems around you and blue, blue sky with cotton clouds above you. I went further and further, but never reached the end…but managed to find my way back…I heard many sounds I’ve never heard before—insects and birds. I heard rusting that something big made, but I didn’t stop to find out what it was. And on my way back, I saw a cow. I don’t like the cows. They look at me like I am edible. I swear. And I haven’t eaten one in over a year. But this one was looking intently at the little boy, probably three years old, that was standing 5 feet in front of him, having a conversation…”gusto gatinhos?” the boy asked (do you like kittens?) and I wasn’t sure if he meant to pet or to eatJ. And I jogged on before I could hear the answer…happy with life and seeing and feeling new things.
Pictures are better than words… i love these guys…Normal, IL ohhh…i love these guys too. English camp. must always involve the water balloon throwing towel game thingy. Christopher’s 3rd birthday. lovely people. Fransisco broke his arm. This was my team. the blue foxes. this is the other team. the black pirates. they won. i have come to terms with the fact that i am cursed and my team never wins. seriously. it has been what…7 English camps later? Collin and Duda making sure the slip-n-slide worked. i guess it did:) Bruno and Segundo came to visit (Bruno…who i randomly met at U of I) Collin and i are twinsys. see my nice teeth? Aren’t they darling?
a friend asked me what love means to me… that is a loaded question…
Love is patient, kind, not envious, not boastful, always trusts, always hopes…so the Bible says…and i fall very short.
Love is both something that happens to you and something that you choose (that is a quote i heard somewhere)
Love–to me–is a firm knowing, something i can’t get around, something i just know is there, even though i cannot explain it. (but often…like now…I attempt to diagnose.)
Love is fluid, and moving and changing– some days it is a whistle or a song, something light and fluffy that makes me laugh. other days it is a challenge, an adventure, something that calls me out of myself. other days it is steady like a heartbeat–needing nothing and asking nothing, but always there. some days it is pain, when i hurt and am asked to forgive or to sacrifice.
Love doesn’t seem to go away, even when you want it too. You can’t kill love, but you can surrender it. Love wants the best for the other person, even if that means not being with them. Love waits. for the right time, and the right words. Love waits because it desires nothing and no one else. it waits because it can see no other option–for truly, love has blinded them to all others.
Love is easiest to cultivate when it is first loved. But is tested and true when it loves without return. Love gives without being fed, for love itself is filling. Love sees reality, stares it in the face, and says “Not only do i know your problems, and love you in spite of them–i love you because of them.”
Love covers a multitude of sins, love bears all things, and believes all things (more Bible quotes there).
Sometimes love rushes you in the face and fills you completely. other times, it is something you have to conjure from the depths of the pit. Every moment is a chance to love someone somewhere somehow.
i think the greatest lesson–and most important one–and if i could only teach one thing to someone, it would be this: “Jesus love you.” and if you can really get that–really feel that–really live that…then the rest of life falls into place. and i think the greatest application–the most important action–if you could only do one thing in life it should be this: “And i love Jesus” and if you can really do that–have that relationship–live life in loving Him…then the rest of life falls into place.
And this is my goal. and this is my purpose. but i forget so quickly.
“It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. i want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your hearts’ longing…i want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive…i want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. i want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fix it…i want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.”
I am beginning to think that we dream at least five dreams for every one dream that comes true. the other four dreams are just there to get us off our butts long enough to let the one dream happen.
“The artistry of the trapeze troupe emerges from a cooperative effort to create something of fleeting and fragile beauty. it knows danger but not violence, courage but not conquest, striving for excellence but not competition, the joy of achievement but not victory.” –Sam Kean “Learning to Fly”
“God will judge, the Holy Spirit will convict, and i am here to love.” –Billy Graham
When we pray for patience, does God give us patience–or an opportunity to show patience?
i found the saddest verse in the Bible: Zechariah 11:10
We said goodbye to the group of Americans that came for the short term missions trip. Colin said “You aren’t one of those who go and get married and become all serious and frumpy, are you?”
i hope not. what a horrible word that is…”frumpy.” We had good times together. looking for mandolins and feeding monkeys. (we have resident spider monkeys at the Alcance now)
i feel melancholy. airports do that to you. even when you aren’t leaving. because someone is. and i have to get more documents for renewing my visa in the endless process that feels like it is taking over my life.
to get one document, i have gone to my college three times–the first time to pay the pre-fine and to get the name of a different person i needed to talk to. the second time to pay the entrance fine and to talk to the first person who told me to talk to the second person. the third time to talk to the third person and then get the actual document. each trip requires me to stand out in the rain (it has been raining) until a Kombi comes by, i squish in, and then walk through lama (puddles and piles of mud) both ways (uphill, i should add in my complaining…).
but right now i have a full belly and can sit and enjoy it. vegetarian sushi. i can sit and watch the time pass. the Time that still holds me and says in my ear “you have to use me wisely–don’t waste a minute” sometimes Time whispers lies in my ears–that if i am not productive, i am a waste of time. and “productive” is undefined and unattainable–always a bit more than i have done. Sometimes i yell at Time, plug my ears and rock back and forth and say “You can’t control me!” and then i stay in one position as long as possible. but that gets old. I try to make a pact with Time–promising everything as long as i get what i want–but Time never keeps pacts. it runs ahead and spins me around, and then creeps forward when i am ready to go. it never lives up to expectations, but sneaks in pieces of heaven while i am not looking–and i see them, finally, as they set in brilliant colors into the night. sometimes i have the eyes to see them. sometimes i have learned to give up control, because a watch doesn’t control–it only reveals. but there is beauty in revealing when you are not too busy trying to control.
Airports hold a different kind of people. the glass doors only open for those with the money to buy a ticket. most of them look the part–and play with their electronic toys without lifting their eyes. others do not play along, and i can point out the Americans in international airports–their laid back assurance that flip-flops are appropriate attire for any occasion. Everyone walks fast and determinedly to their destination at the airport–and i wonder if their life day-to-day is lived with half so much direction. But anyone can play the part at the airport.
Restless tonight Cause I wasted the light Between both these times I drew a really thin line It�s nothing I planned And not that I can But you should be mine Across that line
[Chorus:] If I traded it all If I gave it all away for one thing Just for one thing If I sorted it out If I knew all about this one thing Wouldn�t that be something
I promise I might Not walk on by Maybe next time But not this time
Even though I know I don�t want to know Yeah I guess I know I just hate how it sounds
[Chorus x2]
Even though I know I don�t want to know Yeah I guess I know I just hate how it sounds
Even though I know I don�t want to know Yeah I guess I know I just hate how it sounds
The week before i left for Brasil was Cornerstone. beautiful crazy cornerstone. the conferencefestival with bunches of people in the middle of nowhere who make beautiful music and have lovely conversations.
And i wanted to document it 1,2,3…but i wanted to live it…fluidly…and those don’t seem to go together.
so many people. all dressed differently. struggling to find…what are they looking for? themselves? Or to make themselves into something more…
Being original is overrated.
There was a guy who wore a wolf shirt. he said it was wolf-shirt Thursday. And he did a spoken-word poem about explanation thoughts and quotation marks. and i immediately thought “what a great idea!” as well as “darn, why didn’t i think of that first.” will i find my own little corner?
i got a blister on my foot. and put tape on it. Carina and i ran around to random places. listened to random bands. promised to be nowhere. yeah. I volunteered–because it paid for half my ticket. so i was in transportation…driving speakers and singers back and forth to the hotel. besides some good conversations…the most dramatic thing that happened was that i ran into a bird. or the bird ran into me. traumatic.
Most everything else is lost to being written because you can’t write when… * You are being pulled into the mosh pit *You are driving and birds happen *You need both hands to raise to God in worship *You are talking to someone you’ve never met before–but have known forever *You are overwhelmed by truth but it is so big it doesn’t fit onto the page
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