…For the naked woman dancing on the Brazilian television commercial for Carnival. At 7:30pm, it was right when most Brazilians are enjoying the popular evening novella (soap opera). Seeing my red cheeks, my friend remarked that yes, the naked woman (ok. She was painted. she was wearing paint) was on commercials every year for Carnival.

Carnival, which is the basis for New Orleans Mardi Gras, is the party that begins next Friday (well, depending on who you ask, because they started celebrating last weekend) and culminates on Fat Tuesday. The basic idea is to get in as much as you can before Ash Wednesday, which begins Lent, the 40 days until Easter.

For most Christians in Brazil, Carnival is something that reminds them of the life they lived before they knew Christ. For most of the first-generation Christians, they look at it as something they have put behind them, and don’t want to be a part of anymore: they remember trying to fill themselves up with something other than God, and remember the futility. From the people I have talked to, there is a wide range of feelings–from disgust to pity to simply observation.

Most of the Community churches use Carnival as a time to have a church “camp,” somewhere away from the city. I have enjoyed these wonderful times of games, singing, eating, more games, and even more eating. Brazilians know how to have fun. Yep. Others use Carnival as a time to get away and rest: two years ago (and this year) I have enjoyed going to the beach and listening to the waves, rather than the blasting music.

Being an outsider looking in, everyone has their version of Carnival to tell me (they enjoy “teaching the American” about their culture). Some tell me they are ashamed of their culture for having Carnival. I have some friends who will be leading the Blocos down the street, dancing as fast as their feet will allow. I have some who will watch the cultural festivities from afar, enjoying the beautiful costumes. One friend reminded me “To the pure, all things are pure, but to those who are corrupted and do not believe, nothing is pure. In fact, both their minds and consciences are corrupted.” (Titus 1:15)

So much is what you bring to Carnival–just like anything else in life. One year I went to Carpina on Wednesday (I figured Carnival was over? Nope) and caught the end of the party…beer being thrown all over everyone and the smell of pee in every corner. Not really my thing. Last weekend I was walking to my friend’s house and as I turned the corner, the street was crammed with people–it was the first Bloco of Carnival.

Blocos are different groups/clubs that get together and give themselves names (like “o cachorro lambo tua cara” –the dog licked your face) and then sell matching shirts and have a band come and sing and normally at least one big Trio Electrico, which is a big truck thing with huge speakers on the roof and a dance floor on top of the speakers with singers/dancers going crazy on top of that. The Bloco will then parade down the street with all the people in front, behind, and around the Trio Electrico, dancing (this often ends up just jumping up and down, due to the lack of space) like no tomorrow.

The Bloco I saw last week completely blocked the way to my friends house. I made my way to the front of the Trio Electrico, where I saw some friends–they explained to me that this was Frevo, one of the traditional Northeastern Brazil rhythms. We “danced” (more like got pushed quickly so as not to be run over), and I avoided the occasional rain shower of beer, to the end of the street where then I continued on my way to my friend’s house, shaking my head at the random things of being in another country.

Recife (the capital of Pernambuco, the state I live in) and Olinda host some of the biggest and brightest Blocos–according to Guinness, Galo de Madrugada is the largest in the world (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carnival), and will be next Saturday. My friend and I saw them setting up the stages and putting up decorations. She enjoys going to Olinda, for a Bloco where everyone dresses up like the 19th century.

In all the feiras (open air markets) are filled with masks and wigs and costumes. I can feel the excitement in the air, and for the past couple of weeks, until the middle of March, not too much else will get done besides Carnival plans, decorations, and then clean up. Carnival is the time to forget, it is the time to dress up and be someone else, to let it all go.

Carnival is one of the biggest tourist attractions of Brazil, especially in Rio de Janeiro. It brings in a lot of revenue for many people. While it is full of bright colors and laughter, there is a darker side as well. For the many in poverty (Recife has posted statistics of more than 35% of the population living in deep poverty), it can be dangerous and victimizing. Prostitution is a huge production–I have heard stories of families that earned their yearly income through their daughters during Carnival. Many foreigners come with their money and take anything they want–and then leave the pieces broken on the floor.

For most of the children in Living Stones, they do not have the luxury of going to a church camp or the beach. They will be working–most often selling beer and running back and forth, doing little errands for whoever has some moedas (coins) for them. It is not uncommon for the children to go missing or get lost during Carnival. Please pray for them. PETI is having a celebration for the kids next week, before Carnival, where the kids can play, enjoy themselves, and be kids rather than workers; and the parents can be informed of various dangers/tips to protect their children during Carnival.

(crocheting little purses for water bottles to keep everyone hydrated) (SO many sequins. On EVERYTHING.)

For me, it is a mixture of emotions: the curiosity of new things, the bright sequins, the horror of some of the stories I hear. I don’t think anything is so much black and white as I thought it was. Carnival to me simply means a week at the beach–but its definition is different to each person. Please keep Brazil in your prayers.

I love you.

And so I post this quote again, because I know I have before…

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it careful round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket–safe, dark, motionless, airless–it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable…the only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers of love is Hell.” –C.S.Lewis

2008 something amazing happened. I brought a deck of Uno cards to Living Stones. They loved it. They loved the cards to death. Seriously–we covered them all with tape because they were so worn down. And they still died. I brought more Uno cards.  

In 2009 it happened. I looked in the store window in Carpina and saw Uno for sale. Uno had officially come to Brazil. I used Uno to teach colors and numbers in English. I used to meet new kids and help them not be so shy around the “American.”

2011 encountered new challenges. The kids at Cajueiro Claro are different than Paudalho. Paudalho, with about 35,000 people, has a “downtown” with two banks. While many of the children have never been to the “big city,” it still has some resemblance of commerce. At Cajueiro Claro, the town of 1000, I haven’t been able to identify anything as a center. It is up one hill and then down another, with a light on each porch to say that someone is home.

The poverty is different, and so are the problems that the children face. In Cajueiro Claro they don’t seem to have the deep rebellious attitude as much, but my word–they can not sit still. It is “good morning, how are yo—” and they are already off and doing something else. Walking around, getting water, climbing a palm tree, something. I thought it might just be me, but even during the church service they couldn’t say in one seat and had people after them, bringing them back to their seat time and time again.

(I keep asking them to teach me how to do this. They keep laughing at me. Lil’ monkeys.)

But Uno has arrived. I brought a new deck this week, and was amazed to see a miracle: all of the children managed to sit at the table playing Uno for (wait for it) TWO games of Uno. They were so excited about it that on Wednesday we had five kids waiting at the top of the hill for us, to walk with us the rest of the way to the church. On the way they told me “You know what? We saw a commercial for Uno on TV! And we get to play it!”

Uno has arrived in Cajueiro Claro.

Or just visited the big top in Brazil, with my kids from PETI. The circus is a lot different here than the three-ring Barnabum and Baily or whoever they were that I remember…

As I was walking there, I passed the makeshift trailers of the troop, and the clown (who is about two feet tall) was leaning out the back window, smoking. The dogs (the only animals in the show) were marking trees. Not much magic. But I have to say, something about a tent (even with a bunch of broken chairs) and costumes (even with rips in them) is magical when you are with a bunch of children.

and then the boys did their own show:

That crazed girl improvising her music

Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,

Her soul in division from itself

Climbing, falling she knew not where,

Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship

Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare

A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing

Heroically lost, heroically found.

No matter what disaster occurred

She stood in desperate music wound

Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph

Where the bales and the baskets lay

No common intelligible sound

But sang, “O sea-starved hungry sea.”

 (That was stolen from my secret sources)

Remember the adventures.

The ones that don’t have to be, they just have to feel like it. Like when the cows chased us—or maybe they just could have. Or running away—or maybe just taking a walk. Or buying everything you wanted in the whole mall—because you realize you don’t want a bit of it.

The shadows you mistake for something else. The stolen moments you can’t explain. Writing by candlelight. Let the pen move fast as time crouches down on you, telling you there’ll be no more adventures. Adventures? Yes. Even in the middle of the work week—especially when I am busy. Adventures where I open my eyes and see the beautiful architecture of the city I have lived in all my life.  

The sound of rain on a hot tin roof and sizzle as it cools. These adventures are free but they capture your soul at the price of mediocrity—you can never go back—your dissatisfaction will slowly kill you. Adventures are hearing God’s voice or seeing God’s beauty or feeling God’s presence wrap around you finger by finger.

A moment, she cries, I would give you anything for a moment!

Louder, louder, it grows, and my skin cannot stay still. It is beauty, in all of its forms, calling me—and I ache. How have I stayed away—how have I turned away from adventures? The price of the world to save my soul.

Why can’t you paint in shadows and fleeting moments? I would have the perfect picture. Raindrops pour through candlelight. I’ve missed you, lonely part of my soul. I am glad you are here to say hello. The loudly quiet echo has done me good. I carry some of you back to the land of the living. It does them good to see a pale horse.

I’ve sat here long enough. Enough to say “I love you” to anyone, and mean it. To see adventures in every corner, for they come with me.

Good morning, valentine’s day. February 14 isn’t a holiday in Brazil. I keep waiting for the flowers/chocolate bombardment of hearts that is associated with this time of year. Nope. The Brazilian equivalent of valentine’s day is in June. But it did rain all last night. It rained enough that I got a call this morning from Flavio, saying the way to Cajueiro Claro was too dangerous for me to (slide) walk down (and up).

I thought he might just be a little “over protective,” but as I walked to the bus stop to get home from Aninha’s house, the back of my legs were covered with mud. And that was on normal streets. So a little extra down time to plan for classes and so on, and to not be aware of non-valentine’s day. Grin.

Shout out with lots of hugs and kisses to my favorite people on this day where we stop and remember those we love. I got dibs on Rowan for a valentine.

(Beautiful view, walking in Paudalho)

This week has kind of been the first “official” week of ministry/working in Brazil. January was vacation and planning and practice to put everything together for the year. And I needed it–because it is a mouthful.

The first week of the International school went well. I am doing opening assembly (where I tell them things like “today is umbrella day” did you know last Thursday was umbrella day? And we sing songs and learn a Bible verse), choir (they REALLY want to sing a Black Eyed Peas song. Are there any…acceptable ones to sing?), and music class. The biggest thing for me was realizing how SMALL little kids are. I forgot about that. Think attention span of one minute per year they are old. And then plan 5 extra activities. yeah.

(Home of some of the Cajueiro Claro kids)

I have loved going to Cajueiro Claro and meeting the kids. I have met new kids each day, and they all greet me with “good morning” in English now:). We arrive and have a short Bible time and then sing some songs. It is like magic when Flavio gets his guitar out–everything stops and the kids forget to be A.D.D. for a minute. They are really drawn to the music. Then we all go outside and play soccer or dodgeball. Next week I am hoping to add a second option to soccer…something less active that doesn’t result in so much sunburn, sweat, and dirt in my toes. I found a rug, so we will sit under the tree and draw, look at books, and stuff like that.

(One of the children from Cajueiro Claro, at his house)

The PETI children are doing well, and meeting in the covered space for the feira (open market). The government is reorganizing once again, but the good news is that the new secretary over PETI is someone with much more experience and competence than the last one. Patricia and Cacau are very optimistic about the changes. Hopefully, they will find an official meeting place that has a kitchen, so the children can receive lunch. Besides this there are two big prayer requests:

Alexandria is six months pregnant, and is either 14 or 15 years old. She (and her brother Alexandro) has been living on the streets or in abandoned houses since she was little and her drunk father left for one town, and her prostitute mother moved to another town. She did not want this baby, and tried various self-abortions without success (abortion is illegal in Brazil), but is now (basically) ok with the idea of having the baby, and then giving the baby away to someone.

The good thing that has come from this situation is that for the first time, Alexandria has a home with the baby’s father’s family. She looks healthier (and cleaner) than I have ever seen her before. Please pray for this family as they have these three younger children (in the picture), while the older children are very active in drugs, gangs, and violence. The guy in the picture is not the baby’s dad, but his brother, who recently escaped from prison in Recife where he was serving time for drugs.

The other prayer request is for Stephanie. She is nine years old, and has one of the most beautiful smiles ever–I posted a picture of her recently, from the party we had. Last Sunday she was playing in the river with a group of her friends (the same age), when a man came and took her. The rest of her friends ran and got Stephanie’s mother, who was able to get Stephanie back, but not before harming her physically and sexually. She was taken to the hospital, but we have not had any further updates. Please keep the whole situation before the throne of God.

On a lighter note: one of the new little girls from PETI was very shy and hiding from me. Patricia went to her, and explained how I spoke two langauges, and that is why I sounded funny and so on. (In Portuguese, the word  for “Language” and “Tongue” is the same) Her eyes grew big and she looked at me in horror and said “What? You mean she has two tongues??” 

(I am hiding my two tongues behind my teeth)

Monday-Wednesday:

5:30 wake up and go to the gym, shower, get dressed, eat

7:00 Go to Alcance and do opening assembly for 1-5^th grades, and then the little kids

8:00 Go to Cajueiro Claro—get dropped off at the entrance of the main road and then walk 4k down one hill and up another to get there. When there, have some teaching time and playing time—normally involving being barefoot and playing soccer.

10:30 Walk back, return to the apartment, shower, and get back to the school to eat lunch and teach music and choir classes from 1-4pm

Thursday and Friday start off the same, but instead of Cajueiro Claro, I am helping with PETI in the morning and afternoon: Character/Bible and (very basic) English classes.

By the time I get back home, around 5pm, I make dinner and flop on my bed. Monday I go grocery shopping, Thursday is “domestic day” (laundry and cleaning), and Friday is church at Cajueiro Claro. The other days I make sure I am organized for the next day and am asleep by 10pm

I have figured out a couple things so far:

1.       I am going to have killer leg muscles someday soon. Flavio, while huffing up the hill with me to Cajueiro, said “Look on the bright side—maybe this is God’s training for us to start another ministry even farther into the middle of nowhere.” And I thought I was an optimist.

2.   Getting to know the kids (or re-know) is best done through play: my dodgeball skills have greatly improved this week, and my soccer skills–except anything to do with hitting the ball with my head. I draw the line. Bonding is sweating and dirty feet, giving a high five after a good play.

3.       I need to take good care of my feet. It is worth the 3 bucks to get a pedicure…that poor lady spent 15 minutes digging all the dirt out of my big toe.

4.       I am finally going to be “Brazilian-a-fied” and take multiple showers per day. I average 3 now.

5.       It is a blessing to be living this life. I love it. Teaching, my kids, getting to know new kids…it is busy and tiring, but oh-so-wonderful.

6.   It is ok to exhausted and just blah around for awhile. Down time is therapy, my friends.

7.       Hmm, let’s see how adding 3 nights of post-grad classes is going to work in March…

I have many adventures on the bus/Kombe. I am doing a lot of back and forth traveling. Stories like sitting 8 people to a Kombe (Volkswagon bus) seat. Like having my sandal stuck in the door, and not being able to get my foot out of it. Like sitting 4 people in the front seat, meaning that the person next to the driver has to straddle the stick shift.

This time I was on the bus. There was standing room only, and an old man with shaggy white hair and beard was making his way along the seats. In one hand was a straggly old stick he used to navigate around people, making his way from the front to the back, and his other hand was extended.

Beggers on the bus are routine. Most of the time they give you these little pieces of paper that say something like “please help me, every little bit counts.” And then you give them back the paper with some change (if you want). It is rather annoying. I always get that “Do I give/not give?” agony in my stomach. Something about this blind man struck me, and I quickly got out my moedas (coins), and tucked them into his open hand.

In the tight space that it was, he stopped as he felt the coins, and began to sing towards me. I was not expecting this. And there was nowhere to hide. Rather embarrassing to be squished with a bunch of people in a bus with a blind man singing his heart out to you—to whoever the random person was who put money into his hand. The song lasted for a what seemed an eternity, and then he moved on.

Maybe it is just me, but when I see needs like that—someone on the side of the road, in the bus, in front of the store—I want to make it go away. Give and forget. Think that somehow, the problem doesn’t exist anymore—forgetting that it never was a problem—it is a person. I think I need times of being stuck with nowhere to run, and to listen to the song, the story, the person.

I went to Cajueiro Claro with Flavio today for the first time. Walking. 4k (less, since we took a short cut). Each way. Both ways proved to be uphill. “30 minutes” Flavio says. He is even more of an optomist than I am. If you can imagine that. It is closer to 45 minutes.

If you have ever had the image of “missionary” and “missionary things” in your head, I probably don’t fit anything you are thinking of. Yeah, some things are more difficult here…I had cold showers for awhile when my showerhead broke…but I love it here. I don’t feel like I am missing out on anything. And no, I don’t swim with pirana, and yes, I do have electricity (and yes, I have been asked these questions before). But today, it felt/looked “missionary-ish.”

Walking (with a breathtaking view) down (and up) little dirt pathways through the mata, which is the tropical foresty/farm land under the hot sun, to arrive in a little town where many of the houses are made from dirt. It feels like the middle of nowhere.

(notice the dip–we go straight down, and then the lil strip of brown that goes up the hill and winds around? yep.)

The church is in dire need of some upkeep/repair. It needs a fence, and to fix the busted widows. The government had been using the church as a school for this poor community (of about 1000 people), but decided that there were not enough children to justify it. Now the children are bused to the next town, but they didn’t leave the church in very good condition.

(notice busted windows)

Flavio introduced me to the kids (two of which were scared to come in and meet me) and by the end, I had most of them saying “Good Morning” in English. He shared a Bible story, and while explaining about the fruit of the Spirit, they didn’t know what “selfish” meant. So he explained further, and just as he finished, a little voice from outside the window said “that’s me! I am selfish!” and then ran away (I found out it was Paulo, who wouldn’t let me take his picture).

(the soccer field. Notice the dirt house in the background)

They practiced a song to sing/mime for church tonight (Flavio also opens the church for a Friday night service for the community), and then we all played soccer. I scored a goal and earned friendships, playing barefoot in ze hot, hot sun. The field was covered with ant hills and other sized holes, and the kids kept putting their hands down then while I was worried that something would bite them down there. After an hour of playing in the sun, we made the trek back, with my nose nice and red, even though I did remember sunscreen this morning.

L to R: Flavio, Gustavo, Marcela, Diego, Van (something or other with Van in it), and Paulo (not to be confused with his brother, also named Paulo, who would not let me take his picture. I told him his mother must have a hard time with that…)

I am excited to see what God is doing in Cajueiro Claro. I could see the kids had built a relationshipn with Flavio, as well as anyone in the community (that we saw). He has dedicated a lot of time and energy (and walking), and really loves these kids. I will be helping out as much as I can at least three mornings a week with this project, teaching at the school three afternoons, and then the other two days I am hoping to help out with my kids from PETI as much as possible–setting them up with the character/Bible program, and doing what always happens–playing games and getting dirty feet.

Loving it!