This is the long version. the one i had to cut and chop all morning to fit into the printable copy i will give people. to make up for cutting out all my favorite parts, i am posting the whole thing here. so there.
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This year feels like the paper heart I have from Marconi. At the Christmas party for Living Stones, the children were given a heart to write about something they wanted the most. Two words are written on Marconi´s heart: `Quero Falar` I want to speak. Marconi is deaf. He has never been to school. He does not know how to read or write, or how to talk. He grunts and gestures his way through life, which is mostly made up of asking others for what he does not have. Because he does not have anything. He grabbed one of the children, and like playing charades, explained that he wanted them to write on his heart that what he wanted was to be able to speak. That is what I want. That is what is written on my heart. I want to be able to speak, really speak what I think and feel, and yet I don´t know how. And unlike Marconi, I don´t even know how to ask for help.
I returned to the US around Christmas last year, worried about my dad´s health (he had blood clots in his lungs) and wondering what it would be like to have a sister married. After understanding that I didn´t need to save or change anything, but could just enjoy being with them, things went really well. I sat in the middle of my family one lunch when we were together, and realized it. We were the family I always wanted to be a part of. The one you see laughing and playing together at the other table in the restaurant, and you wish you had that kind of a connection—we were that family.
I took classes at Ivy Tech that I really liked. I worked at Carson´s, selling woman´s clothes and folding and refolding millions of outfits that millions of women don´t really need. And I enjoyed it. Because I have good co-workers and write on the backs of old receipts. Thoughts of Brazil didn´t go away, put I pushed them in a corner. Some things needed to change before I went back to Brazil, and I didn´t know how that was supposed to work. One evening it became clear, and after prayer and talking with many people who know more than me, everyone agreed that this was where God was leading. I could see the big and little steps of my life all leading in one direction…and this was the next step, working with Living Stones in Paudalho. Living the program, understanding how things worked, and then working on the connection between Living Stones and the USA.
After I had my ticket to return I felt free. We celebrated my sister´s wedding. I got to give the maid of honor toast, even if I had missed the whole signing of the document and such. My dad had a minor heart attack, and I got to freak out about it in close distance, rather than far. And he got better. I got more books out of the library than is healthy, and tried to do a little of everything. I remembered how much I liked to mow the lawn, and did it often. The neighbor´s as well. I did a poverty experiment, living on 2$ a day and riding my bike everywhere. My family went on a family road trip that included visiting my favoritest people and seeing millions of stars at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. And then in July, I came back to Brazil.
I lived in Paudalho with friends. I walked everywhere, unless I was on the main road, where I took a Kombe (vw bus). I learned the names of over a hundred children. Children that I saw running the streets. Children that saw me and called out with a `Tia! Tia!` and a big hug whenever I passed by. I struggled with political problems and not knowing when to give, how much to give, and was that enough giving. I sat on the floor at the end of the day, wondering how you unwind. How you leave the whole “save the world“ mentality long enough to rest.
After being in Brazil almost three years, I shared my first Bible story. And then another one. I gave food to the hungry. Other days, I experienced what it was to not have food to give. I heard Rodrigo, who doesn´t talk much, say “thank you“ in English. I saw Eduardo learn vocabulary words like candy, since he would win a piece of candy if he managed. I met Marconi, and he fell asleep in my arms. I watched Rafael turn pink as I told him he had the cutest nose I had ever seen. I put band-aids on boo-boos of children who didn´t know what a band-aid was. I sat down with Iasmine and apologized after losing my temper. I learned to crochet and sat down in a circle of girls as they giggled about boys. I heard stories, I wrote stories, I lived stories.
This time in Brazil has been the most fulfilling, the most satisfying. The greatest highs and deepest lows—spiritual battles are never won easily. Never in my life have I been able to be at square one like this—see a need, meet the need, and share the fruit and joy of the results. Never in my life have I been so frustrated to see how reality often works—where the innocent suffer. Where the children pay for the greed and lust of the corrupt. Mother Teresa saw things clearly when she said “We cannot do great things. We can only do little things with great love.“ and that is enough.
Many times I felt like I was trying to work up the Maslow hierarchy of needs, reaching towards love and belonging and self-actualization, and constantly being dragged down into basic needs. Food. When you don´t have food, everything else gets so much harder. I bought a bike and rode through fields of sugar cane. I went to college and experienced popularity for the first time. I sat with the wind in my face and ate mangos with salt and talked about dreams. Dreams of gardens and libraries and everyone having their own toothbrush. I saw as God provided over and over…and how every single thing I specifically asked for was met by a specific person. There is power in learning how to communicate. In learning what it is that you really need, and then not being scared to ask for it. Because once you ask, people can say no. and that is scary. It is like Marconi´s heart, and learning how to ask.
“The cry that arises from behind all this decadence is clearly: “Is there anybody who loves me? Is there anybody who really cares? Is there anybody who wants to stay home for me? Is there anybody who wants to be with me when I am not in control, when I feel like crying? Is there anybody who can hold me and give me a sense of belonging?”"–Henri Nouwin.
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