November 20, 2011
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Celebrating People
Paulo’s mother was hanging around Living Stones the other day. Sometimes she stops by to say hello–we have begun something of a friendship. But this time it was one of those ”I want to say something, but I am shy” kinda hanging arounds. So I went on with my day until she was ready to talk. It finally came out: it was her birthday tomorrow. That is what took so long to say. My mind flashed around, thinking “why is she telling me this?” when I finally realized it–we had recently celebrated one of her son’s birthday.
Celebrations are big deals in Brazil. It is what many Brazilians live for. I am sure you have heard about Carnaval, the biggest party in the world. Brazilians were born to celebrate. But in poverty, survival is more important than celebration. cake and candles are put on the sidelines for basic nutrition and care. Most of the children at Living Stones do not know when their birthday is.We’ve been taking the time to celebrate each child, telling them to go home, have someone find their birth certificate, and look it up. This mother was standing before me–this woman that I know only as “Paulo´s mother,” even though I am sure she has a name. She was standing there, shyly asking to be celebrated. To be recognized. She was going to turn 33 years old,and I don’t know if she´s ever had a time of being awknowledged. Her husband is not in the picture. She has at least 3 sons, living in the middle of nowhere, working as a maid in some of the better off homes in the area.
When has there been a time that someone stopped and said “you are worth it?”
Before I could even say anything, she said she was thinking about coming to church on Friday night. That was something new as well. She might have come once in the past, but never stayed for a whole service. “Come! I said enthusiatically, “come and we will celebrate your birthday!” she smiled shyly and left.Friday night, I brought a cake to church, but she wasn’t there. I asked Paulo, and he said she wasn´t coming. I told him to run home and tell her to come anyway. Right before church, there she was. Dressed in ill-fitting clothes–the best she had–there she was. I took her by the hand and told her happy birthday–and her face lit up. I whispered to Pastor Flavio to make a big deal of it–because I really wanted her to know she was loved. After church (over 25 kids showing up for sunday school class), I went to the sanctuary, but she was gone. I had everyone ready to sing, and ran down the road to call her back. As we walked back into the church, everyone started singing. She stood there, as if almost in shock. Just like in the movies her face showed about five different expressions before filling up with tears. We took a picture with the cake, and then went to the kitchen and passed it out. Lots of crumbs later, she quietly stood there as I hugged her and wished her a happy birthday. And then she walked home.
It is moments like that that remind me why I am here. To bless people that would not have been blessed otherwise. To celebrate God and how he loves us in places that have forgotten, or in people who do not know. To sing happy birthday to someone who would not have been remembered otherwise.Thanksgiving is almost here. Let us find those who need celebrating. Those who have forgotten or do not know that they are worth it. Because God says they are.
