This Easter season I printed out Ann Voskamp’s “Trail to the Tree” Devotional. It is free on her site www.aholyexperience.com and I highly recommend it. I am a big fan of extending any holiday as long as possible, and this has 17 days. The first one begins with a tree. I mistakenly thought “Oh, how cool! All the trees in the Bible until that tree (cross).” The devotional, Trail to the Tree, does not do this. Which meant it needed to be done.

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Trees were created on the 4^th day: right after the stars and before the fish. Two trees were so special they got capital names: one was called “Life” and the other “Knowledge of Good and Evil” (rather long, but still). These trees had powers in their fruit. Sounds like the beginning of a good story. Ehh, not so good. You know what happened.

Then trees were used for hiding. Hiding from God, hiding from nakedness. Not used for shade, for sustenance, but for cowardice. Leaves: the first underwear. Wasn’t our finest hour as humans. And so those two trees were guarded by an angel with a big sword, and not for us. But not forever: the tree of life returns…in heaven (Rev. 22:1-2).

Trees are cut and used to make sacrifices. Trees get cut and built into an ark. They were flooded but seeds survived. Then the father of nations, Abraham. He liked trees. Sitting under them, at least. And planting them (Gen. 21:33). I think that is a beautiful part of calling on God. Plant a tree first. Why aren’t there any sermons about that?

Jacob used trees to trick his uncle (Gen. 30:37), and all the trees of Egypt got stripped in the 10 plagues. For the Israelites, there were all kinds of rules regarding the trees when going into the promised land, and, of course, one out of every 10 pieces of fruit went to God. Does sharing with my sister count?

In Judges, a particularly mixed up and ugly part of Israel’s history, a bunch of brothers get killed by a half-brother and there is a parable about trees (Judges 9—I studied all the references for trees. I don’t know this off the top of my head). The first king of Israel also liked sitting under trees, and was then buried under one, after he lost his head (1 Sam. 31:13). King David’s son, Absalom, got his hair stuck in a tree and was dangling until he was stabbed to death (2 Sam. 18:9). Depressing.

Trees were used in decorating the temple Solomon built (1 Kings 6:32—palm trees, specifically), and will also be in the future temple in heaven (Eze. 41:18). Which leads me to the point: God’s favorite tree is the palm tree. So is mine. Palm trees are the specific type of tree mentioned most in the Bible. (Including as a sexual innuendo in Song of Solomon).

Throughout the rest of the Old Testament, trees are used as a symbol and physical reminder of God’s blessing and prosperity (Ps. 37:35), and the lack thereof, or removal of trees as a punishment (2 Kings 3:19). In Proverbs, four things are like a tree of life: wisdom (3:18), results of righteousness (11:30), hope fulfilled (13:12), and a healing tongue (15:4). Nebuchadnezzar had a dream that Daniel explained about a tree. Sad ending: it gets chopped down.

Then the New Testament and Jesus. He compares people to trees and our actions to their fruit (Matt. 7:17). Luke 13 has his story about a man who planted a fig tree: if there are no figs, what will he do? We find out what Jesus did to a non-fig fig tree: withered it (Mt. 21:9). I’d rather have the “move mountains” option rather than “tree withering” if given the choice with my faith.

There is the funny story of the trees that walked (Mt. 8:24), that always makes me wonder why Jesus had to heal him twice. In a traditional American folktale called “The Tale of the Three Trees” there are three trees cut down and made into a manger, a fishing boat, and a cross. As pretty as the tale is, the manger was probably made out of stone. But I will give you the other two.

Jesus was a carpenter during that whole “quiet time” of his life from age 12-30. He probably spent more time with trees than with people. Makes me wonder what he was thinking. “I am God…thou art a piece of wood…become a table!”

Galatians 3:13 makes it clear that you aren’t supposed to get yourself crucified. But there was a plan for this tree/hanging/crucifixion since before time began. And while I can’t call this quick review of the 200+ times the word “tree” is used in the Bible “Trail to the Tree,” this is following through to that culminating tree.

I pause, as scenes from “Passion of Christ” invariably come racing through my mind. I want to shut them out and skip to Sunday. But the trail to the tree hasn’t stopped. I am grafted into that “tree” (Rom. 11:24). And don’t forget, I’m still looking forward to meeting that tree called “Life.” Happy Easter and God bless!

A good language teacher doesn’t correct, they rephrase. “I writted this paper!” receives the reply, “Oh! You wrote the paper?” to which the student responds, “Yes, I wrote the paper.” Brazilians have done this naturally, consciously and unconsciously for the past nine years that I have been learning Portuguese.

One of the first times they did this was when I told them I worked with impoverished children. Underpriviledged. My vocabulary simplified to just criancas pobre, poor children. Their replies were, “Oh! Criancas carentes.” Hum, said my brain, carentes is the word I use here. So filed away in the recesses of my mind became the idea that “Pobre equals poor, carente equals needy. Needy is the proper term.”

Fast forward some years, to when I had a deeper conversation with a Brazilian friend about what I do. When speaking Portuguese, my brain still trips over my mouth, trying to move faster than it is able. I use whatever vocabulary is close to whatever point I am trying to make, and sometimes I grab the wrong word. I used pobre to describe one of the children.

My friend stopped me. “You don’t mean that. To a Brazilian, who has nothing, he is working his whole life to gain something—to make it just a little bit better. Life is already against him and to call him ‘poor’ is throwing in his face that he isn’t going anywhere. We say ‘needy,’ because who doesn’t need something sometime?”

It reminded me of all I was trying to learn between the verbs “Ser” and “Estar,” which always returned me to the age old difference of “I am joyful” (the permanent “To be” that describes things that don’t change) because of Jesus and the “I am happy” (the fluctuating “To be” that floats as far as your whims). Pobre is to Ser what Carente is to Estar. Because who doesn’t need something sometime?

My friend continued, “You may think this is something little, but it isn’t. You’ve been taught your whole life you can do anything you put your mind to. That is the label you were given, and you believed it. Those who are needy in Brazil, they haven’t been taught that, they’ve never been believed in. And to then label them poor is to kill any hope that might have been born in them.”

Words are powerful. Even the ones we say, ignorant of the hundreds of years of culture behind them. Fast forward to today, when I open my Bible to Matthew 5:3 (“Blessed are the poor in spirit”). Inquizitive, I wonder which word will be used. There it is: “Bem-aventurados os pobres em espritito.” Pobre. Not Carente. Because who doesn’t need something sometime? But my job is to learn I need everything at all times. From God.

I hope that becomes my label: Pobre. Because I want the promise in the rest of the Matthew 5:3. Because I want to become more like Jesus. Because I realize I don’t know one iota of anything there is to know, but I know that I can trust God, and He does know. Because I’ve experienced that nothing is worth it without Him.

The small chocolate Easter eggs are $5 each. Take into mind that I have 40 children at Cajueiro Claro, 70 at Mussurepe, 100 at the dump, and almost 50 at Carpina and 50 more at Guadalajara…that is a lot of money. And in Brazil, having a chocolate Easter egg is rather central to Easter. But buying chocolate by the kilo and doing your own mold is much cheaper, thank goodness.

So what do I do? Buy the chocolate and thank God that the cook at Cajueiro Claro doesn’t mind doing that kind of thing. And hope that the children at the International school come through with their promised chocolate eggs. I bought 6 kilos of chocolate so far. Dang that stuff is heavy to carry around everywhere.

Our budget is low. We have almost run through last year’s surplus to make it (just the basics) month to month. There is no money for anything special this Easter. So I am hoping and praying and doing the basics that if I don’t get reimbursed for, I will still feel was money well spent from my own account. The homemade chocolate eggs are only $1.50 eachJ.

We painted rocks again this year. For our Easter egg hunt. Reuse any idea that works, is a good motto. Throw out the ones that don’t: we will not be having a live sheep at this year’s Easter party.

I went to Josefa’s house to celebrate her 6^th birthday. Oh, what wonderful hugs 6 year olds give! She had gone through half my bag of things before I could tell her that her present was in the other bag. Grin. They grow so fast.

 

We color on the ground and up against the car, trying not to get the pictures dirty at the trash dump. One girl hands me some grubby fruit that she picked for me. I wince inwardly, wondering how healthy it could be, growing here in the dump. I put them in my pocket to wash and eat later, and then forget and have someone sit in my lap. Oh well.

And some days I fall apart. physically, mentally, emotionally. I think crazy thoughts. I act out. In my head. I lock the door to my room so I can’t do anything I would regret involving anyone else, but lose the war with myself. Crumpled again, I turn to Him, and he says “Come.” (Mt. 11:28)

When you are in the middle of a fight…dang. The adrenaline is racing and life slows down…and then it is over and you are thinking how dumb that was, but it really was entertaining and exciting, and the one thing you want to tell everyone about.

So we had one. A fight. One boy throws gum at another. The other boy throws it back, and it gets in his (gumboy’s) hair. Gumboy talks about the other boy’s (momma’s boy) mom and walks over to me. I start trying to get the gum out, wishing there was peanut butter in Brazil. Momma’s boy comes over with thunder in his eyes and I start pushing the two of them apart. Gumboy is much smaller and doesn’t want to fight anyways. Momma’s boy is throwing punches and one glazes my nose. Time goes by slowly and I am thinking—“Here I am again.”

I stand like Samson, trying to keep the two boys apart. Gumboy starts hiding behind me. Mamma’s boy has three smaller boys trying to hold him back.  I get gumboy into a locked room where everyone else can deal with momma’s boy and I can try to remove some gum.

My nose hurts.

I talked to each of the boys. The other workers had never delt with this kinda thing before. They calmed down really nicely, gum boy was scared of mamma’s boy, and mamma’s boy was sorry he hit “Titia’s” nose. I told them they were both kicked out and we could never have anything like that happen again. They were both to blame. If they wanted to come back, they would have to wait a bit, and apologize to all the boys for what happened. And to my nose.

We are your sons, your daughters, your nieces, your nephews, your grandchildren. We are in your Sunday School classes, pews, choirs, and pulpits. You choose not to see us out of ignorance or because it might upset your congregation. We ARE your congregation. We enter your doors weekly seeking guidance and some glimmer of hope that we can change. Like you, we have invited Jesus into our hearts. Like you, we want to be all that Christ wants us to be. Like you, we pray daily for guidance. Like you, we often fail.

When the word “homosexual” is mentioned in the church, we hold our breaths and sit in fear. Most often this word is followed with condemnation, laughter, hatred, or jokes. Rarely do we hear any words of hope. To those of you who would change the church to accept the gay community and its lifestyle: you give us no hope at all.  If we accept your willingness to compromise, then we must also compromise. We must therefore accept your lying, your adultery, your lust, your idolatry, your addictions, YOUR sins.

We do not ask for your acceptance of our sins any more than we accept yours. We simply ask for the same support, love, guidance, and most of all hope that is given to the rest of your congregation. We are your brothers and sisters in Christ. We are not what we shall be, but thank God, we are not what we were. Let us work together to see that we all arrive safely home.

Here is the official link: http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/justintaylor/2013/03/21/an-open-letter-to-the-church-from-a-lesbian/?fb_action_ids=10152670168275099&fb_action_types=og.recommends&fb_source=other_multiline&action_object_map=%7b%2210152670168275099%22:584470851571513%7d&action_type_map=%7b%2210152670168275099%22:%22og.recommends%22%7d&action_ref_map=%5b%5d

Great artists know that isn’t just about what you create, but what you leave out. The blank space on the page, the conclusion left unstated. Today I read the Bible and think of all the things it doesn’t say. It caught my eye in Luke 4:1 “He was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where he was tempted by the devil for forty days.” We don’t get to hear those temptations—just the last 3, after Jesus got good and hungry. What were those other temptations? Sex?  Drugs? Gambling? Homosexuality? Curious-er and curious-er.

What about what Jesus wrote in the sand with the adulteress? What was that thorn in Paul’s flesh? Why are there so many things specifically NOT said that I want to know? Why doesn’t the Bible say anything specifically about masturbation? Why do so many things need to be explained by cultural context that are lost in the pages of history? Polygamy and war? Old Testament God, sometimes I curl my lip up at You.

I like to think that someday, I will get these answers. I am working on reconciling myself to this “someday” being in heaven. The Bible is a pretty big book as it is—normally takes me a year and a half to “Read through the Bible in a Year.” I haven’t understood or worked through all I have read, let alone all I wish I could read. Breathe, Rachel, and deal with that first.

And the rest? Trust. If God is as big as you believe, then He knew what you (and all humans) would need revealed for this life on earth. And He put it in that Bible of yours. He made sure it got there—over time and people and places—to your bedroom dresser. It is sufficient because He is sufficient. What a relief. I’ll just write down the rest of my questions to make for an interesting blog conversation.

I don’t know how to write myself out of the story. It still focuses on me. I thought I was older than that by now. But I look at the clock, exhausted by 8:30 and wonder if I can stay up until 9pm. The sun has burnt my arms and I feel the skin tighten across my nose in the pink fashion when I crinkle it. Even my toes, that I had painted a sick cotton candy pink are too far away to reach or complain about. I will paint over them tomorrow.

And what of visiting children and hearing stories and who knew Vera would end up with Marcio and they want to get married next year and of course I am invited. Isac is playing for Nautico, the soccer team in Recife? Well, I am now a devoted fan. And Cesar, who I wished beyond wishes to see, is living at ome again with his mother, who threw him out when he was younger.

Cesar has always been my favorite, when I shouldn’t play favorites. His birthday was January 7, but I am always late–as he knows–but I always come–as he hopes: “I still have the card you gave me last year.” He says. I still have the card he gave me three years ago, when he thanked me for helping him, when we both used to meet at Living Stones every day.

“I am 15 now,” He says proudly, “And in 6th grade.” He says in a lower voice, because he has flunked and is now three years behind. I hope, realistically, that he will make it through middle school.

The motorcycle driver began his crush on me once he heard I was American, but simmered down when I told him my boyfriend was coming to visit. “So there weren’t any Brazilians around?” He asked. “Not for me.” I reply, and he mumbles something grumpily. He dropped me off at Leandra’s house, who turned 16 today. She giggles when I tell her that this is when American teens get their drivers licence. She doesn’t know anyone with a licence. Her curls are perfect and she basks beautifully in “her” day.

I am so tired, but the band at the Catholic church down the street just finished warming up. They aren’t as off key as yesterday’s band, the sign says the festival—for St. Joseph—will be every night through next week, so my sigh of resignation escapes. I pull out a piece of paper to write since I cannot sleep.

I look at the bug bites that come the first two weeks being back in Brazil. After drawing first blood, they normally leave me well enough alone, but one insect outdid itself, tripping across my wrist and leaving a red bump bracelet. Two across my forehead. Every once in awhile I connect the dots and realize that means random creatures are crawling across me while I sleep….but I let that thought go because it leads nowhere beneficial.

It is interesting working in 5 completely different settings from very rural (Mussurepe) to 100,000 population urban (Carpina). From completely destitute (Trash dump), to children who can read and write decently (Carpina). Each has their own set of problems and I am amazed at how it isn’t the income level, but the level of family cohesion that makes the difference in the children.

Mornings are with Pastor Flavio in Cajueiro Claro and Mussurepe—both rural areas with mostly mud hut houses. Afternoons are with Glory Sports programs in Carpina and Guadalajara, both in the city, but in needy neighborhoods. Evenings are working on my post-grad in Educational Psychology. Weekends are at the trash dump, and teaching English in the community.

Being in the USA over the winter meant I lost what little tan I had, and as the children put it, “Tia Rachel, you came back looking like a cloud again!”

Oh rain. Running from bus stop to car/building and getting around in general by public transport in the rain is just a hassle. Mud puddles attack you from all sides. I went to Carpina to help with the girls sports program. Didn’t have a clue what I was doing. The guys running it are laid back. They are fluid like the culture, and I want a bit of ridged discipline until the girls and I have found a nice balance and understanding.

I am now a post-grad student. After a year and a half of waiting for the Educational Psychology program to begin (once they had enough students), it has. Actually, I am late. It started last November, so they have already finished two modules (each class is a month long module).

When working on my undergrad, I was not very impressed with Brazilian private education. In Brazil, you work your butt off to get into a state college, because that is where the good teachers are, and if you pass the entrance exam, college is free. For everyone else, you pay. When I studied, I was in a class of 94 women and 3 men. With a volume level to match. It took half an hour for everyone to sign the attendance sheet. Half the people were late, so starting at 7 meant 7:30, and people did the “rustle your stuff and leave” show from 9-9:30. Have you ever met a Brazilian women? Basic samples show me they are friendly and gossipy. And these were just that. The whole class time. It has to get pretty bad by the time I “shush” them.

Post-grad doesn’t seem to be much better. This module is the “psicopedigogia de desenvolvimento do processo de aprendizagem” which simply means talking about how we learn. Brazilians love the flowery way of saying things. I say cut the crap. The teacher had everyone introduce themselves. About 60 women and 4 men. Why does this ratio haunt me? In two seconds I had identified the class clown, and after I introduced myself to the class, he stood up and loudly sat next to me (still in the middle of class), and began letting me know he had begun taking English classes two weeks ago—this must be fate! I tried politely shushing him in English. It only made him more excited.

The teacher then spent the next hour of class having us write down positive and negative things we felt about the class. This kind of post-grad I can pass. By the time she finally pulled out a syllabus, the class had already argued down the guy who said we needed to be punctual, and cheered me on when I said I looked forward to new ideas people brought. I need to be popular enough that someone will let me into their “group project” when it comes time to present. “group projects” seem to still be code for “One person does all the work and everyone else signs the paper.” I have long given in to this, since everyone knows my Portuguese grammar stinks. All other papers, I do in English and then translate, and turn both copies in. so far, this has gotten me a soild “A” average.

By my 4^th class, it was time for a presentation. Since I didn’t do any writing, I told my group I would help present. Since no one from the group showed up, I did it myself. Luckily, it was about Piaget, so I could pull something out of my butt, and do a reasonably decent job of it. I threw in some information from Supercamp, and the whole class was enthralled. They stopped to listen because they thought my accent was cute, but continued listening because it really was good information. And I managed to center everything around passion fruit. Ha. But in all seriousness, I think it was the first time all 65 students were silent for a whole 8 minutes.

 

1. Wake up and say “Great day” three times fast. Because it is true, it helps, and it is what I want for you.

2. East a yummy breakfast, like those toaster strudel things.

3. Wear some kind of birthday item to school. Since attending BJ, I guess not birthday glasses…perhaps a birthday tie?

4. Flap your birthday tie meaningfully at people all day and enjoy all of the well-wishes

5. Call your mom. She likes that.

6. Have some time with God–dedicating this year to all and anything He might have for you

7. Eat lunch someplace nice like Hibachi grill–tell them it is your birthday and maybe they will give you a free meal!

8. Open the card I left for you. And read the book.

9. Watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RyGC4A48Sdc because it is a good story

10. Watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k_wErQLSnDw because you are awesome!

11. Watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cq8tHscbCaY because I just made it for you.

12. Call your girlfriend. She likes that.

13. Write out some goals you have for this year

14. Think of a really funny birthday status to put on Facebook because you are so popular (do you really have more friends than I do?)

15. Watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sa0RUmGTCYY because it is really interesting

16. Watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5RuGj0g1tk and get it stuck in your head:). These words are my own…

17. Climb a tree. Just do it.

18. Write a song.

19. Do extra birthday flips at work

20. If you don’t get a birthday cake, buy yourself an ice cream cone and make a wish. The outcome is the same: happiness.

21. Write a letter to your future self of how you how life goes

22. Listen to music you love.

23. Save all your birthday money to come see me in Brazil for my birthday.

 

I love you, Caid Ferguson! Happy Birthday:)