you get the benefit of me not knowing how to use ubuntu, and make the pictures stand up right. but this is when internet is available, so this is what you get.

Getting ready. Heather (mother of the bride) looked lovely. Morena (behind her) did everything and more and we are concocting a plan to make her stay forever.

Isana and Livia and Raissa…good friends last forever. I have known them since 1999.

Ze happy couple–after the kissing part.

Their family keeps growing! here it is…official Moraes family:
Tele, Christopher, Johnny, Roberto, Karine, David, Heather, and Alyssa.

Someone was hungry

They cut the cake (but the cupcakes were better…we decorated them the night before while watching bride movies…)

Zis one is leaving for Hungry tomorrow…gonna miss you David!

This is the nicest dress i have ever worn in my life. the most expensive as well. and it was RENTED. but for one night…i was a princess.

And then they left.
and we ate. more than was necessary.

and all lived happily ever after.
uh-huh.

Sunrise in the sugar cane field.
a good place to talk to God.

This is Paudalho in the distance.
with the sign: stop, look, listen.
and mud.
and it is mine.
i feel like the richest one in the world.

on the weekend, you can almost forget the week exists.

i rode my bike from Paudalho to Carpina. the chain slipped off three times. i have now decided…never to buy anything used in Brasil.

I have also decided that doing dishes is my lot in life. and so i’d better get used to doing them, and doing them right. and enjoy doing them.

still working on that.

“Out of six billion people on the planet, i choose you. and no one else. no one else gets this. no one else gets me in this specific, holy, sacred, emotional, spiritual, and physical way. Power is derived from its exclusivity. we have to be very careful what we share. because when you give it away, you no longer have it.” –Rob Bell (yes…i know the guy is controversial. but i still liked the quote)

This week i started a new phase of my life. Helping out at Living Stones at the church in Paudalho. The morning group is calmer than the afternoon–in total, about 80-90 kids come. I can’t believe how much they just need someone to touch. i watched Kung Fu Panda (In Portuguese) and the lil boy next to me started leaning. just leaning…until his head was in my lap and my arm around his shoulder. he didn’t say anything…he just wanted…to be held.

I found my boy. His name is Marconi. sideways. sorry, none of the pictures are working right today.

Marconi reminds me alot of Eugene at the Youth center. man i missed that boy. I thought Marconi was autistic, but actually he is deaf. He has never been to school, never been trained, and doesn’t know any sign language. When i first tried to say hello, he ducked and ran. he doesn’t like people to touch him…straight on. But as the afternoon wore on, he came up next to me and did the “leaning” thing. No matter what i was doing, i would suddenly feel a fuzzy head on my back. Then he would grab my arm and put it around him. and just sit there.

Marconi’s life consists of finding ways to get attention. He has figured out, through trial an error, that the quickest way to do this is by flipping people off and grabbing them when they come within reaching distance. Needless to say, this causes problems quickly. the only time he calms down is when he is sitting, leaning, with me or one of the other workers. and, if he feels lack of attention, he just randomly sticks up his finger, just so i will hold his hand and put his finger down.

My goal this week was to learn everyone’s names. I am putting together a book where each kid gets a page, and i put their picture and name on it, and then when i get to know them, will write down their stories there. Rafael, 11, just learned to write his name. Patricia taught him last week. Many of the other kids struggled, and some refused, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. but it did.

i come and say “good morning” to each of the kids, in English, and they try to repeat and everyone laughs. or they hide behind the door (espeically the older boys). The afternoon class has a harder time– saying “afternoon” is tricky. They come and ask me how to say things in English–but the most popular question of all is “Are you SURE Micheal Jackson is dead?”

i asked myself today what ministry was. and today the answer was  wrapping my arms around a deaf boy and loving him. simply being there.

You know what i love in life? sitting on the cool white tile floor at 10:42pm eating fried cheese and molasses with Junior and Aninha, laughing about things that should be laughed at.

This is Glabison.

I was walking to the church and it was raining. it is the rainy season. i almost lost my sandals in the mud. He saw me and came running up and gave me his umbrella. And we walked together the rest of the way.

This is Cezar.

he is trouble. and what is worse is, i can’t discipline the goober. he turns and smiles at me and…i know he’s won. i let Cacau tell him to quit hitting/kicking/or whatever he is doing…

I feel like the dog in the car window with his head out, tongue dripping drool. oh so thirsty, but oh so happy in the delicious wind of life that blows. can’t get enough.

i feel like i am not complaining about the stuff i think isn’t right–i am doing something about it. and that feels good. i feel like…i am working to make the world i want to live in. When Marconi fell asleep in the middle of 40 screaming kids, with my arm around him…i felt an amazing sense of accomplishment. sitting there, doing nothing, watching the kids play marbles and jump rope. Doing nothing, but doing everything. i was giving peace. giving rest. He came to me, looking for something…and he found it in me. i want to be that person…the peacemaker.

My happy thoughts:

It was my birthday on Wednesday. and 27 is ever so much more old sounding than 26. but i don’t feel it, so…forget the numbers. But don’t forget this number: i got 13 cards from ze USA to open on my birthday. yesssss. and we figured out how to have my family call my cell phone (i have a cell phone now. that i actually use. mostly as an alarm clock, but still. ).
 
More happy thoughts:

A bunch of the kids at Living Stones made me cards as well. the pink paper reminded me of the youth center. hey–you use what you got.

it was a wonderful day. full, busy, satisfying. thank you everyone…i feel loved.

Sundays and beaches were made for each other.

feeding the fish. upside down

Riding on the boat/raft thingy. sideways.

beautifulness.

Somebody is getting married today…

sorry about all that gibberish in the beginning of my posts.

whenever i cut and paste stuff in, it does that. grrr. and i haven´t figured out how to stop it.

because…internet usage and me have gone wayyyyyy down. so i type things up on my computer and carry around my handy dandy pindrive (or is it pendrive? i have never really been sure) and giggle with glee when a good connection can be found. or sigh with perseverance when it is third-world slow.

What is this lump in my throat?

I went to Cajuiro Claro. Tele and Heather asked me to. They talked to me about helping a couple afternoons a week. Because in this little town, there is a little church. And in that little church is a little school. And in that little school they have time for us to come and teach whatever we want. Play games with the kids. Teach them songs. Bible lessons. Cajuiro Claro has 1000 people. This is the only school in the town. And it only goes until 4^th grade. They have to walk two miles to go to any other school. The town is about two miles off the main road. Two miles of wilderness and scraping the bottom of the car to get there. Don’t go just after eating.

And in this town, this church was given to the community churches about five years ago. And they have been having a team go out on Sundays. But…nothing seems to stick. To really do something would require someone moving there. Living there. Day-to-day. That is how it works. They don’t need someone coming on Sunday’s and telling them what God says. They need to see it. When they come and borrow eggs. When you are playing soccer and get cheated on.

And I sat there. I feel broken in so many ways. This is a need staring me in the face. What a calling. Working there. Living there. It is a lot different from living in a town of 30,000, like I am now in Paudalho. Which is different from living in a town of 60,000, which I was, in Carpina. 1,000. Part of me was like—well, I wasn’t called here. I don’t have to take responsibility for it. Why not? I run away when faced with any kind of responsibility. Because if I am going to have it, I am going to do it well. I want to learn what all of it is. I want to be able to control it. I don’t want to have to venture out into the unknown and say yes, I will give myself to this.

The thing is, I heard about this great idea. About an international school that needed teachers. And I knew I could do it. And so I did. And loved it. And now, I am here taking the next step with something else—Paudalho. Living Stones. And I haven’t really had a chance to try it out yet. To taste it. And I am scared to. Because once you do, you never really lose it. Sometimes I wonder that if I pick up so many stones, I won’t be able to stand upright. I’ll be so bent over that eventually I stop walking. And I fall under the weight. And then instead of a help I am a stumbling block.

The thing is, life is hard. There are so many little things to be done. Something is always calling for you to turn and look at it. I am used to being taken care of. I like being taken care of. I like someone doing my laundry and making sure there is food in the fridge. Paying for the lights and the water and buying cups when all of them are broken. I like helping out with a monthly bill and then feeling like “there, one thing I don’t have to worry about anymore.” Like everything else takes care of itself. I am not used to taking initiative to make breakfast for everyone. Myself—sure—leftover beans works for breakfast. But not for everyone else. I am not used to having to be the one to go buy juice or a dishtowel because all ours have holes. I’ve been spoiled by a mother. I been spoiled by living with families with mothers. I’ve even been spoiled by living alone, where I can just live without if I don’t feel like doing it.  

And ministry is so much more. So much more like being a mother. Like being the one who fills in all the cracks that no one notices, without being asked. I like being asked. I like having a job description. I like it when we have those nice meetings where the person in charge delegates. I like being delegated to. I want to know what is expected of me, how to do it, and when it needs to be done by. I like having someone else actually in charge of it. Maybe that is why I like college so much. They give you a nice syllabus. At the beginning of the semester. And then you have summer break. Ministry doesn’t work like that. Loving people doesn’t work like that. No syllabus. No outline. No deadline. And no summer break. It goes on forever. And I have a sinking feeling it requires more than I want to give. More than I feel comfortable giving.

I feel like maybe I have duped some people into giving me money. Supporting me. Thinking I was a missionary. I sure haven’t felt like one yet. I have never lacked anything. I like the differences between here and the US. The mild missing of things like 20 types of Ranch dressing…isn’t a big deal. I come, I teach. Not much difference than any other teacher. I do ministry—not different from any other Christian. I wonder if I will ever feel like I am a “missionary.”

Maybe if I moved to Cajuiro Claro. And then what? Teach in the school in the middle of nowhere in a little town of 1000 people? Spend all day figuring out how to make dinner? How to get water? How to wash clothes (you would NOT believe how much time these basic things take. it is insane. no wonder they say the biggest advancement to womans lib was the invention of the washing machine) There isn’t anyone else. What a place it would be! What an opportunity! But I don’t even know them—why them? Why not? Are people the same everywhere? Do I have to like them before I can minister to them? Is there something magical that makes some people more needy—or more deserving—than others? I want to stand back from a safe distance and try it out. Why? What am I looking for? Nothing more and nothing less than the call of God. That is what it is, really.

Inside me grates. I don’t want it. I want to forget it exists. I want to keep discovering this lovely Paudalho. I like it a lot. I love living here. I like saying I am from Paudalho. I could get used to this. I would have some amazing teachers in Cacau and Patricia. I don’t want to give it up. and maybe that isn´t what this is about. But another part of me is wondering if this opportunity is the call of God. And I cannot be closed to it.

There is nothing magical about this. I sat there in the white lawn chair with four men and we prayed for Cajuiro Claro. For the people. for the children…who don´t know…Jesus–and that He loves them. And I started crying softly. The kind that you can control, but makes a lot of snot. And I didn’t know what to do with it. I kept quietly wiping my nose with my sleeve. That so ruins any moment. I wish it had never come up in conversation. I wish they hadn’t asked me to go. Ignorance is such bliss. But that bliss is shattered now.  

The thing is…there is a need. Yes, there are needs everywhere. But this is where I am at, and this is what I see, and this is what has been put in front of my eyes. And I don’t know what for. And I don’t know what it means. But it scares the crap out of me. And that is what adventure is with God.

And so I whimper a little more—God, please let me try out Paudalho first…and surrender. I am not going to be at Cajuiro Claro just because there is a need. I am not going to be there because it is a beautiful dream that belongs to someone else. I am going to seek the Lord on what He wants me to do there, and in Paudalho…and wherever else. And He asks nothing more of me, and nothing less.

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“The causes of sufferings in the (majority world) are, to a great extent, to be found in the first world. To admit this is a necessary condition for the first world to know itself truthfully. Deciding to remove this suffering is essencial if the first world is to carry out its fundamental ethical responsibility. To actually do away with this suffering is the way of salvation for both the (majority world) and the first world.” Sobrino

“When we don’t know who we are, we are unavailable to be given to the world around us” “I can share my feelings with someone, but it is tough for me to trust people with my feelings. It is not easy for me to put my needs out there and give someone a chance to reject them. And so what I usually do is work toward transparency as a distraction from my lack of vulnerability.” “I said a prayer for my little friends—my friends who work harder than, but eat less than, anyone I know. My friends who give so much but get so little, my friends who seem to have so much joy, despite their poverty, my friends who were sleeping on the ground and were probably still hungry.” –Simple Spirituality…I forgot the guy’s name

“The richest 20% of the world’s population received 82.7% of the total world income while the porrest 20% receives only 1.4%. global economic growth rarely filters down” –U.N. Development program

“Attaching to Jesus leads to detaching from the world and to simplicity of lifestyle. This is not simplicity for the sake of simplicity, but simplicity for the sake of relationship—relationship with God and with each other” –David Chronic

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I sat on the ground. The sky looked the same. And I realized how fast it could all end. All of it. My dreams. My ideas. My thoughts, my freedom, my independence.

I was jogging in the middle of nowhere. A very good place to jog. And I slipped. I fell. And the sharp pain through my ankle scared me. And I sat on the ground. It wasn’t broken. It could have been so much worse. But what if it had been? What if I couldn’t walk?

I walk everywhere. I walk a good 10 minutes to the bus stop (if I take the short cut over hills and through allies). I walk to the store to get fruit. I walk to the bakery to get bread. I walk to the church. I walk to teach English. I walk to get to the internet to post random thoughts like this.

I sat on the ground. The sky looked smaller. My world rushed in. could I even help kids if I couldn’t walk? If it didn’t heal right, would they send me home? Would I have to be taken care of, instead of helping care for others? Would I be good for anything? Would I be worth anything? Amazing how quickly my worth is based on what I do, what I complete, and how I am an asset rather than a deficit.

I sat on the ground. I’ve forgotten what it means to be human. Maybe I have never known. But it has to be more than something that can be taken away by tripping over a rock. By one slip. By one fall.

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Monday I bought my bike, at the entrance of Paudalho, and I rode it home, discovering that cobblestones are not so friendly. Tuesday I was voted the shyest person in our 100 plus college class. Wednesday I fell and twisted my ankle. Thursday I finished all my lesson plans for next week and felt very accomplished. Friday I taught music class and helped some students sing the proper note for the first time in their lives. Saturday I washed the dishes and then washed them over again because it is not about doing great things, but doing little things with great love…as Mother Teresa said much better than I.

Sunday I went for a bike ride through town and then through the middle of nowhere. I passed the man walking his goat, and the girl walking her dog. It was the first time I had seen someone walking their dog, and it was the first time I had seen a happy dog. The rest of the straggly mutts I see don’t look at you. They are more like cats. i followed roads that ended and some that curved and went straight up. Riding a bike in Brasil is not the same as in the US. My old fashioned red bike with the basket on the front bounces over the cobblestones and leaves blisters on my hands. Some of the lombadas (speed bumps) are so disfigured that even at my slow pace my book bounces out of my basket and I reach out to catch it. I stop for a coconut, for the 9:20am sun is as hot as noon and I am glad I remembered sunscreen. The man wipes off his machete and chops the top of the coconut for me, juice splashing over as I put a straw in, and sit on the curb. Full and refreshed, I found a dirt road that offers smoother sailing, and winds me through sugar cane fields and railroad tracks. Uphill is hard work, but downhill is frightening. My old fashioned breaks only diminish the speed slightly, and as the road turns muddy, I hope to God I can keep in the rut made by the previous bike and not fall into the sloshing mud pits on either side of me. The sky is blue blue above me, and the dirt/mud red red below me. The wind pushes me forward, and I am sure this day is wonderful.

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Sometimes you get in a mood where you see things clearer. You think “if I could just follow this thought through, I would understand it all…” I arrived at PETI/Living Stones and the kids cheered “Tia Ha-Kel!” I got there in time for them to leave. But Pollyanna held on to me. I wasn’t sure what to do. So I held her back and stood there. Under the palm trees, in the breeze.

The workers and I talked about the kids, the needs. About Edimilson’s tumor, that is so much better since he cut his hair and washed the lice out (can lice cause tumors?). About the four year old boy with the big smile and huge head-wound that his family treated with dye and other such home remedies. About the girl who broke her toes while bike riding, but still came to PETI with her foot wrapped up in a plastic sack. About how the kids ask “Is today a full day or are we leaving early?” leaving early means there is no food available. Patricia and Cacau let them out early because they are on their own to beg/work for dinner. But the kids still want to stay. They love coming. They love being somewhere where they are wanted, where they are cared for.

We talked about the lost vision of the church (in general) and how you see Jesus in “the least of these.” Cacau said she got a rash—from giving hugs and holding the children close. Something happened while we were talking. I wanted nothing else than to hold these children close. To spend my days loving them.

I have taken many steps to be there I am. In this discussion. In Portuguese. Under palm trees, in the wind of the Northeast. In the lazy afternoon sun, I see I have so much more to learn. In learning how to love others. In learning how to see that many things aren’t right in the world—including in the things I hold dear and sacred and love and…myself. But that doesn’t mean to give up on them. If I don’t see the world I want to live in around me—then it means I need to be the world I want to live in.

I am trying an experiment…to love—in a little way—the people I see. It is exhausting. Mostly this is just smiling at the people I pass as I walk or go anywhere. Remembering that Jesus died for them. And they are worth enough that He would have died JUST for them. And that is reason enough to smile. I am surprised how much I DON’T want to do this. How much I just want to disengage. To look anywhere but the person’s eyes. I guess I am scared. Because I don’t know what I will see there—mocking me, ignoring me…or worse—pain. I don’t want to be responsible for what I find in their eyes. But I am finding that more and more people are smiling back at me. But even if they don’t…maybe I am not doing it for them—I am doing it for me. Because it makes me remember what kind of world I have chosen to live in, to make.

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It was one of those times. Where you sit and know you are in the right place. Everything fades and one thing is clear—your whole life has led up to this. Everything bad and good and terrible and wonderful blends smooth and sure for this moment, this revelation. And while I am listening, I am sure this is it. And I am not sure I am ready, but I am sure it doesn’t matter because here it is and there I am and that is enough. I feel like a sieve, letting diamonds drop through my fingers. My mind is so full it has turned sluggish. My heart couldn’t beat faster, but emotions still slip between the cracks. And life fills me. And God is here. And it will take a lifetime to understand and work through…but I was made for this.