I also used my mom for a college paper.

***

I interviewed “Bailey,” who worked as a youth assistant at the “Drop-In” (a place children and teenagers can go after school, located right next to Tech High School in Indianapolis). Bailey’s job description is to develop a map of where kids hang out, be at the Drop-In, develop relationships with the children, and then help them and their families. She received her Bachelor’s of Science in Human relations with Sociology minor from the University of Indianapolis.

Bailey choose this job because “I work with children and youth, and I like that. I also like to listen, and I get to do that a lot.” Stress has been her top problem. Bailey She feels that her job description led to a lot of that stress. Working in human services, the job is never done—there is never a time where the people stop coming and you have finally “fixed” them all. It is a continuing process where every day is failure and success.

Because of this, Bailey often felt that “I was not able to direct my time well—I couldn’t tell when I was done, because they still had problems and struggles that came up.” Though the feeling that she was still helping the children pulled her through, she found that changes did not seem to last and so many people were still hurting. Despite the personal stress, Bailey said that  “Organization, having a strong focus that you can pass on, discipline, and creativity” were some of the top personality traits needed for the job.

As far as specific cases, Bailey felt the families that she worked with closely only seemed open to help because of how they could benefit. They wanted their “agenda” to be met, rather than meeting the real needs. She learned that without her personal faith in Christ, it was hopeless to try to help people.

For reported child abuse, Bailey would go to the scene and have to strip-search the child for bruises or signs of abuse. If anything was found, they were written up. If for any reason the child had to be checked again (another call), the same thing would happen. For the third offence, the child could then be taken from the home. Bailey’s opinion was that “It is almost impossible to tell the difference of bruises from a child naturally growing up from a bruise inflicted. Making the call to take or leave the child in the home is very difficult.” She also made sure to point out that there is such a large load on each social worker that to give each situation the time it deserves is almost impossible.

Bailey’s advice for those entering the field would be to have their priorities set in their personal life. This affects everything; especially how well they can deal with the stress level of the job. Her answer to whether or not a person has to have the same experience in order to understand the client was NO: “Because there are different things that translate themselves. I didn’t do drugs, but I struggled with other addictions and failure and so could relate and offer hope in the areas where I had overcome.”

On a positive note, Bailey added, “I am so glad to see that the present focus is increased prevention, because that is of far better value to the children—to assist them and help them before things get into a situation where foster care or other services is needed.”

***

Hmmmm. This stuff runs in the family…

Being homeschooled and not having a lot of money when growing up, I quickly learned to make do with what I had on hand. I carried this on into college, where I would frequently use family members for college papers and interviews. I was surprised how much I learned about my dad while doing this paper…and I got an “A.”

***

I interviewed a 65 year old male from Indianapolis, Indiana. “George” grew up on a farm in rural northern Indiana with his parents, grandparents, and two older sisters. When I asked about his parents style of parenting, he replied “Parents were more strict back in those days. I think my father was strict due to the huge changes coming in the culture—changes that came about with media (TVs and such, movies).”

He continued to share about how it had really started with his grandparents, and the radio: “radio was the first real electronic medium that changed our culture hugely. It forced and got people out of the community, and exposed them to the (so called) national standard.” For George, his father was strict because he was afraid of how things were changing, and so wanted to protect his family. This was something closely passed down through generations.

Looking back over his childhood, George could think of two big events that stood out from the work and high expectations of school. “My grandfather died three days after he fell off the truck I was driving (I was 11). I felt like it was my fault, but my family went out of their way to tell me it wasn’t—saying it was a stroke that made him slide down and fall off the truck. And then my other grandpa died the same year.”

George also grew up with two sisters: one four years older, and another that was seven years older. “You relate to people more relationally when you have sisters.” George’s favorite subject in school was math, but “We were encouraged to read and it was made out to be a big deal. There were very high expectations because I had two smart sisters. I took some intelligence tests when I was seven or eight.” George felt like he achieved what he needed to, but slightly inferior to his older sisters. On how he did in school, George simply said “I was as good as I was expected to do—average.”

George’s friends came from church (his year round friends) and school (only during the school year friends). George stated multiple times that he did not have a lot of time to play, especially during the summer. “Being on the farm, work was a large part of the day, so many things you just could not do because you were working. We had chickens (up to a couple thousand) and had to gather eggs three times a day and clean them one time a day and process them, from when I was 8 to 19 years of age. During the summer, I had to get up early and was working the whole day. City kids got bored, whereas out on the farm you really welcomed a day of rain. Even then there was catch up work—but you couldn’t go out in the fields. So there was really never any down time. The opportunities to go places and do things were rare and we really looked forward to them.”

This was one area where he did get bitter with his dad about: “I resented not be able to do stuff like some of the other kids and I took that out on my dad.” For George, being in a rural community limited opportunities, but really, it was the work that put a damper on things. Besides that, “Being apostolic put a crimp in what you could do socially, outside of family activities.” George grew up in a very close nit church, that his family had been a part of for many, many generations—continuing traditions that were from the Mother land, Germany. “I think my family may have been a little racist, they just didn’t know it. They themselves had received their share of prejudice/racism from being German around World War 2.”

He can remember one incident as a child clearly: “I saw a black person walking a dog and remember I was shocked and thinking “black people have dogs too?”” This was because of his lack of personal contact, not racism. In George’s family, the prejudice feelings were toward those who didn’t have the same convictions as they did, not based on skin color.

George said he was “extraverted, outgoing, adventurous, and very agreeable (had to be, growing up with two older sisters). I was not very generous, or very trusting, not the whole time. I was not organized, but I was a slightly reliable. I would say I was emotionally stable and didn’t worry much, because you did not let emotions get in the way like you do nowadays…it has really changed a lot.” 

***

The paper continued and included many technical aspects that I left out because that was the boring part. Sitting down and interviewing my dad from the perspective of an outsider made me realize how little I knew about this man that was not in the frame of “daddy.” Everyone has a story; most have more than one.

The Winzeler Family Timeline:

1981: James Joseph Winzeler and Cynthia Marie Coombs got married, Jim worked at Kauffman products, their first car was an orange volkswagon, and they went to church at Indianapolis Christian Fellowship. They lived at the same place they do now: 4209 Otterbein, Indianapolis.

1982: A (first) wonderful gift popped into their lives: Rachel Elizabeth Winzeler. They got the white car because Cyndi couldn’t reach the pedals of the volkswagon with an extra person in her belly.

1983: Can’t remember much from this year.

1984: Cyndi had a miscarriage.

1985: Another miscarriage, they began attending Community Church of Southport.

1986: This year didn’t have anything we could remember either.

1987: Cyndi began homeschooling for the first time. Quickly decides that Rachel shouldn’t learn Greek in Kindergarten. An ectopic pregnancy puts Cyndi in the hospital, but miracles and prayers bring her home.

1988: A(second) wonderful gift popped into their lives: Anna Joy Winzeler.  We got the red car, started ATI and were in co-op, and visited California while Anna was still in the belly.

1989: Busy adjusting to life with two children.

1990:  Rachel was baptized and Cyndi had another miscarriage, this one farther along.

1991: Cyndi’s father, John Aaron Coombs, passes away, and Cyndi got fibromyalgia.

1992: For some reason, this year is blank.

1993: Cyndi begins homeschooling two children at the same time. They walk uphill to school. Both ways. Jim begins working at the Indianapolis Star News, and the beloved family dog, Wendy,  died.

1994: Rachel joins girl scouts and Cyndi was the cookie mother. Yeah door to door selling! We got Max, our new dog, visited California since Anna was six, and officially owned our own home.

1995: Our family went to Disney World with the Krienkes.

1996: Had homestay students for the first time, meeting our lovely Jeanie. Anna was baptized, we got Buscuit to keep Max company, and Jim, Anna, and Rachel take a trip to Appalachia Kentucky. We visited California again as a family, and started having family breakfasts together.

1997: Natsuko joined our family as a homestay student, and  Anna and Rachel went to Michigan with the Krienkes.

1998: Wonderful things happened this year. We just can’t remember them right now.

1999: Rachel goes to Brazil on a short term missions trip. We began attending Ravenbrook Widow Missionary Baptist Bible Church, where Cyndi was healed of various health problems. Anna and Rachel went to California with the Krienkes, Anna staying longer to practice piano.

2000: A (third) wonderful gift popped into their lives: John Joseph Winzeler, Rachel graduated high school and lived with Jim’s parents after totaling the Ford Tempo.

2001: Rachel left for college (Equip).  9/11 rocks the city, interrupting Jim and Cyndi’s 20^th Anniversary celebration.

2002: We began attending University Heights Baptist Church, Rachel worked at Good News Ministries youth center. Both of Jim’s parents, Raymond and Pearl Winzeler, pass away.

2003: Cyndi’s mother, Janie Coombs, passed away. Anna and Rachel went to NYC

2004: Rachel went back to Brazil, Anna went to NYC, and the station wagon was retired—Rachel was given the Geo Prisim.

2005: Anna and Rachel went to Brazil, and Cyndi went to California. At Christmas, we all went to California and on a cruise. Cyndi started homeschooling John.

2006: Rachel was in Brazil again and Anna came for the summer. Anna also got her GED and started college.

2007: Cyndi went to California, We started attending Horizon central, and Anna moved out. Rachel goes back and forth from Brazil.

2008: We got the puppies: Lady and Rosie. Cyndi started co-op with John, and Rachel and Anna went on a road trip with the Krienkes in California. Anna married Donovan Embry and Jim had blood clots in his lungs.

2009: Anna and Donovan had a reception, and Jim had some heart problems. We took a family road trip to Arizona and back. Rachel attends college in Brazil.

2010: First grandchild: Rowan Garrett Embry is born to Donovan and Anna Embry and they bought a house. John and Rachel have a road trip to Canada, and Jim had more heart problems. The family had a trip to Virginia, and John started Boy scouts.

2011: Celebrating 30 years of love and faithfulness! John was baptized, Rachel graduated college, and a California trip for Rachel, John, and Cyndi.

To celebrate my parent’s 30^th anniversary, for the next 30 days I will be posting (hopefully every day), something about my family, memories, pictures…these kinda things. Although I am not there in person, Mom and Dad…I want you to know how much I love you!

Does God have on His face when He thinks about you? When He looks at you?

This was a question that was in our Bible study last week, but it keeps coming up in my mind.

Sometimes I think He is laughing–sometimes because I am funny on purpose, but most of the time because it is an accident. But we laugh together. Sometimes I think He is proud of me. Sometimes I think He just looks away because it is not worth seeing.

Depending on the moment. Depending on how I see myself. Depending on my emotions and feelings.

The Bible study went on to say that if we think God has anything but pure and utter joy on His face–then we are trying to PERFORM. we are trying to work at something, trying to be good enough, trying to make it–or giving up when we know we have failed.

Because when God looks at me, He sees the finished work of Christ. He sees perfection. He sees pure beauty. Forgiveness–now, then, and always.

Wow. How quickly I forget.

The sunshine made me blink as I parked my car at the dollar store, stopping to buy cleaning products. I was living in downtown Indianapolis in an old restored hotel, working at a program called EQUIP. Not only was it my first year of college, but it was one of the hardest years of my life, living with juvenile delinquents assigned by the court and discovering more of who I really was under pressure.

The first two months of the year had been intensive training like a boot camp, where we had to go everywhere with our teammates. After that I was assigned to work with another experienced leader, and a juvenile, Emily. Emily was a very troubled child whose emotions would get so out of control that she had to be put into physical restraints to not harm herself or us. The three of us lived in a little hotel-like room on the 8^th floor.

Recently I had been transferred to a new assignment: living with an orphan from Russia had been found hiding out at a train station. She spoke no English, and was very traumatized from the whole experience. She would go to live at the Russian orphanage as soon as they were ready for her. So Valia came to live with me, another leader (who did not want to be there), and a Russian translator (who REALLY did not want to be there). To make the transition easier for her, we gave her plenty of time to rest, and mostly stayed inside the hotel suite.

During EQUIP I had only two weeks off for the whole year. Even though I was living twenty minutes from home, I couldn’t go home and hardly ever saw my family. But celebrating their 20^th anniversary was cause to take a couple of days off. They took a special trip to Bern, Indiana, while my Grandmother stayed with my sister (12 years old), and my baby brother who was one and a half.

I took off two days, driving home to get my grandmother and take her home, and then stopping at the dollar store for cleaning supplies. I was enjoying my bit of freedom after being cooped up in that hotel room for over a month. At Equip we were also taught how to clean—five-star hotel style. And my parents were going to come home to a spotless place—my present to them, since money was non-existent in my life. My sister was watching my brother, and I was already thinking about what I would make for lunch.

The mood in the store was a pensive and quiet, but I was too busy planning to notice. In the checkout line I heard random snippets of conversation: “What is going on?” “Is it really that bad?” Strangers were talking to each other, and they seemed concerned. It wasn’t until the cashier said, “They say it is the end of the world—they say this is war.” I stopped. People had died. Something horrible was going on. I didn’t know what it was but I wanted to get home as soon as possible. I paid and walked out, unable to say anything: was it really the end of the world?

Our family didn’t have a TV. We’d found that life is a little better with less time in front of it. These were the days when Internet connection still made sounds and beeps that made you think of the future, but not see it yet. When I got home, I pulled an old radio out of the closet and tried to find a news station. Something about a tower. Wait. Something about a second tower. My sister and I sat in front of the radio, holding our breath. I watched her eyes get big.

The day seemed full of little puzzle pieces, each one bringing us a bit more information about what was going on. My friend Becky walked by on her way to school—she said all they would do in class was watch the news. Everything was stopping. They said it might be war. It was the end of the world as we know it. I was finally able to get a hold of my parents. Dad said to fill the car up with gas, because who knew what would happen. I told him I’d just gotten gas, and I didn’t want to leave home. My parents decided to wait until they had further news, things seemed safe, and then come home early.

I began to methodically clean the house. Make lunch. Do everything you are supposed to do but don’t even realize you are doing because your mind is somewhere else. People had died. Things would never be the same. I don’t remember what happened the day before September 11, or the day after. But I can still hear the cashier saying, “They say it is the end of the world—they say this is war.”

I’ve had some interesting talks with Frank Penna, who is visiting from Kansas. He asked what I saw as a reasonable long term goal for Cajueiro Claro. When asked questions, my answers often surprise me. And then I stop, turn my head with a puzzled look, and say “Hey, that really does make sense” (it is sad my rationality surprises me).

“To make a new normal for the community,” I answered. “For normal to look like loving Jesus and learning what it means to follow Him.”

We were talking about the “type” of people that are church-planters, and agreed that they have these things in common: they are all driven by a deep sense of calling and need, determined and focused, and consistent.

Flavio got his motorcycle this week! Gone are the long walks down and then up and then all over again. I almost miss them. But not quite. Hop on the back of that baby and go. Flavio named his guitar “Loira” (blondie), and so now the motorcycle has been christened “Morena” (brunette…more or less).

September 7^th is Brazilian independence day, where you hear the drums long before and after you see most every student in the town march through the city. It is a brilliant display of seeing and being seen, done only as Brazilians can.

Cajueiro Claro had been given marbles. The children love them. 400 marbles. One evening this week, some of the boys came, broke open the window, and stole the marbles (nothing else, just the marbles). When we arrived on Friday, two mothers were on the church steps, waiting for us.

All of the boys are blaming one specific boy. One boy who normally is the trouble maker, but even when he isn’t, he gets blamed for it. All of the boys have marbles now. His mother came and explained the situation, saying she would pay for it, but that the other boys needed to quit pointing fingers and take responsibility at least for not saying something or stopping what happened.

God is really good about turning big messes into opportunities. We ended up sharing the gospel with these two mothers, as well as encourage them to discipline in love, and to not give up on their boys. At the end, we all prayed. Who knows what all might come from these 400 marbles.

I met with Patricia, who is the coordinator for PETI, and used to work with Living Stones Paudalho. We are currently working on updating the Living Stones curriculum (yeah version 2.0!) and figuring out how to train the government workers to teach character to all of the needy children in Paudalho.

Friday I went to Recife to register my visa. Uggg paperwork. I was taking pictures of random graffiti and almost tripped over the guy sleeping on the street. So many things to pray for. Thank you for joining me.

“The Perks of being a Wallflower” by Stephen Chobosky

“I just need to know that someone out there listens and understand and doesn’t try to sleep with people even if they could have. I need to know that these people exist.”

“I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.”

“The thing is some girls think they can actually change guys. And what’s funny is that if they actually did change them, they’d get bored. They’d have no challenge left. You just have to give girls some time to think of a new way of doing things, that’s all.”

“We accept the love we think we deserve.”

“I thought about all those little kids are going to grow up someday. And all of those little kids are going to do the things that we do. And they will all kiss someone someday. But for now, sledding is enough. I think it would be great if sledding were always enough, but it isn’t.”

“It’s like when you are excited about a girl and you see a couple holding hands, and you feel so happy for them. And other times you see the same couple, and they make you so mad. And all you want to do is to always feel happy for them because you know that if you do, then it means that you are happy too.”

“It’s great that you can listen and be a shoulder to someone, but what about when someone doesn’t need a shoulder. What if they need the arms or something like that? You can’t just sit there and put everybody’s lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You have to do things like take their hands when the slow song come up for a change. Or tell people what you need. Or what you want.”

“It’s like if I blamed my aunt Helen (for abusing me), I would have to blame her dad for hitting her and the friend of the family that fooled around with her when she was little. And the person that fooled around with him. And God for not stopping all this and things that are much worse. And I did do that for a while, but then I just couldn’t anymore. Because it wasn’t going anywhere…We are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we’ll never know most of them. But even if we don’t have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them.”

The sweat drips down my forehead. I write better when sticky. Because all good ideas come when I do not have access to a pen. Like when jogging. Seven pm Saturday night was made for jogging, and I was made for seven pm Saturday night.

My short hair brings stares, as do my basketball shorts. I jog past, pretending not to notice. Pretending I am just a little more confident than I am. Brazilian woman have long hair, like the pictures of Eve in the garden of Eden. And they wear spandex, not basketball shorts. Pitty. They haven’t discovered that in heaven we will all wear basketball shorts. Because they are the most comfortable, and only good comfortable things will be in heaven, which excludes spandex.

Warming up I feel the pavement under my feet. I feel my muscles contract, waiting for the uneven cracks that make up the streets, and then the smooth slope of the lombada that slows down the cars since our town has only two traffic lights.

I dare you to move
Like today never happened

Maybe redemption has stories to tell
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell
Where can you run to escape from yourself?
Where you gonna go?
Where you gonna go?
Salvation is here

I dare you to move

I watch my shadow come and go under the street lights. It is gone—I must have lost it like Peter Pan. Will Wendy sew it back on? The couple sits on the bench under the tree and I look back down at the pavement. At the end of the street I hold my hands out and yell the lyrics pumping in my ears. They are already looking, might as well give them something to talk about as well.

The lights of the city are in front of me. I contemplate “the Hill” but will save it for tomorrow.

Dreaming about providence
And whether mice or men have second tries
Maybe we’ve been living with our eyes half open
Maybe we’re bent and broken, broken

We were meant to live for so much more
Have we lost ourselves?
Somewhere we live inside

We want more than this world’s got to offer

I turn the corner to head home. Home. Home is the place where you don’t worry about wasting water in the shower, or using up the rest of the toilet paper. I am sure home is much more, but that is what on the top of my head. Home is a refuge, a corner to hide when it rains outside. I have learned how to make home. And be happy. Except for that one little piece of me that will always scream. I think it was made to keep me on my toes. Or to walk on my tiptoes.

Hello, good morning, how ya do?
What makes your rising sun so new?
I could use a fresh beginning too
All of my regrets are nothing new

So this is the way
that I say that I need You
This is the way
This is the way

That I’m learning to breathe
I’m learning to crawl
I’m finding that You and
You alone can break my fall

My mind travels faster than my feet, back to the first time I heard that song. On replay in my car, sitting in the park parking lot, facing the swings. Remembering when the swings swung and I would jump off them right when it reached that top weightless part—where for one second there was nothing. And I was learning to breathe again.

My key turns the lock and I walk up three flights of stairs. Laundry blows on the lines, the roof of our apartment building. This is my place, for I am alone, so I own it.

The first star that I saw last night was a headlight
Of a man-made sky, but man- made never made our dreams collide,
Collide.

Here we are now with the falling sky and the rain,
We’re awakening
Here we are now with our desperate youth and the pain,
We’re awakening
Maybe it’s called ambition, you’ve been talking in your sleep
About a dream, we’re awakening

The little girl in me still cringes in dark spaces, but I walk strong and straight to the edge of the building and hold on to the wall. My city below is alive and moving in the inky sky, the mango tree is blowing darkly. This is where I am, I am here. Something that went to sleep when I wasn’t looking is stirred.

This is your life, is it everything you dreamed that it would be
When the world was younger and you had everything to lose

Don’t close your eyes

But I do. I close my eyes and sing along. Remembering when Maninho was on the piano, Marcello was on the drums, and Boneco was on the guitar behind me. The wind blowing in my hair, I hit every note perfectly. I am becoming. The me that I want to be. The me I was made to be. The me that looks a lot less like Rachel and a lot more like Jesus. At least I hope so. I hope that someone would come and shake me up if I am way out in left field. I know He would. So until the shake-up I keep walking.

Cause everything inside looks like
Everything I hate
You are the hope I have for change
You are the only chance I’ll take

When I’m on fire
When you’re near me
I’m on fire
When you speak
And I’m on fire
Burning at these mysteries
These mysteries…

I’m standing on the edge of me

Mysteries of life. Life is Mystery. It is such a trip. I welcome the burning. As the words empty from my mouth I feel the rest fade. The everything else. The tangles unwind as they release their hold on me and there is only Him. My Lord. I like this place.

He pulled out a machete and whacked the top of the coconut off. The liquid inside gushed over as he put a straw in and handed it to me. Yum—fresh coconut water. It has been a good week. I wake up at 5:30am and work out at “Fat’s Gym.” Yes, that is the literal translation. By 7am I am waiting for the bus to get to the International school where I run opening assembly until 8am—sing some songs with the kids, teach them new songs and Bible verses—sorta like a supercharged VBS. Good thing I am a morning person. I like those kinda things. 8am I am back out at the bus stop, waiting for a bus or Kombe (vw bus) to take me to Cajueiro claro. Once I arrive, it is a 4 kilometer walk from the road to the “town,” down one hill and up another.

If we arrive around 9, all of the kids pronounce us late and get all huffy until we circle around and have devotions and Flavio plays some songs on the guitar. By this time, we have about an hour/hour and a half to play games, have activities, and prepare and serve a snack/lunch. Somewhere after 10:30am we walk four kilometers back to the main road. After another bus ride, I am standing in front of the refrigerator, thinking “What the heck am I gonna make for lunch?”

In the afternoons I am working on Living Stones logistics and growth—talking to more churches and pastors and people interested—as well as re-opening Living Stones in Paudalho. This week I have been visiting all the homes of the children in Paudalho, checking in with them and making sure everything is going ok until we can get things moving. On Tuesday I chopped all my hair off, so now I resemble Peter Pan. It also means where my hair used to be is now sunburnt. Who thought of putting sunscreen back there? Not me.

I am in Brazil on a student visa. This means I am a student. Hopefully. While in the USA, they told me classes would start in July or early August. Now they are telling me September or early October. Hmmm. So as soon as they get enough people signed up for the class, yours truly will be a student at FALUB, studying Educational Psychology. It is ironic because the name for the course in Portuguese is almost impossible for me to pronounce: Psicopedagogia. Yeah. Say that three times fast. But it is pretty said to mispronounce the class you are taking. Doesn’t make you sound like the brightest crayon in the box.

So once I am officially a student, my evenings will be full, and hopefully I will learn to pronounce the name of my course correctly. Friday night is church in Cajueiro Claro, and Sunday mornings I am teaching an English class at the Acacias church. I will be starting a community English class in Paudalho on Sunday afternoons, and I guard my Saturday mornings with an iron fist, claiming any Bible verse that talks about a Sabbath as a good reason to sleep in.

Specifically this week, in Cajueiro Claro we decorated the classroom. The kids did a wonderful job helping!

In Paudalho, I had wonderful chats with many kids and families, as I brought pictures for them from past trips. Next week is Independence day in Brazil, so I will get to see the children involved with the government program, PETI. One of the ladies who used to work with Living Stones has been working with PETI to have all of the different programs in the whole town (1000 children, if everything goes right) to incorporate the character program that I translated with her into Portuguese for Living Stones. Next week we will be planning training times, where I can go to the different centers (which are much like Living Stones, but only the government part, not the spiritual part) and help train the workers to teach character. I am very excited! Please pray for that!