Turkey 2

Today I had dinner with one of the girls who sells the valentine cards. I am so ashamed. I know this isn’t a good place to make public confessions, but neither is it a good place to make public fun of people, which I did in my last entry, so I’m out of good options. I just feel sick. Over the last number of months, I’ve trained myself to avoid eye contact with beggars and kids trying to sell things on the streets and buses, because when you look at them they assume you want something. So I just don’t look at them, anymore. Jesus wouldn’t do that. I hate the way they swarm you when they think you’ll give them something. Crowds gathered around Jesus because He healed their sick and filled their stomachs. “And when he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (Matt 9:36). I have in no way been acting like Jesus. I haven’t just been mean, I’ve treated them like they weren’t people, like they didn’t even exist. That’s so unJesus.

So this afternoon I made cupcakes and went down to a corner where the kids get on and off of the busses. I was planning to treat them like human beings and pay a few of them to practice Spanish with me. On the way, a raggedy girl approached me and started begging. My first reaction was to ignore her. Then I remembered Jesus and I looked into her eyes (while still saying no). But then I remembered that I was on my way to hang out with beggar kids and moments before asked the Lord to direct me to the right ones. She said she was so hungry and wanted money for dinner. So I asked her what she felt like eating. We were outside a mall, so I directed her inside up to the food court. She got a hamburger and fries. I got a pizza. I’m not used to seeing people eat that fast. Looking at her skinny arms I couldn’t eat much of my pizza. She took the leftovers home to her pregnant mom and 5 siblings. She told me all about the cards. She buys 30 of them in the morning for 3 mil. She sells them for 1 mil a piece, so she ends up making 27 mil for the day (just under $5). Her mom uses the money to buy milk for the baby.

It didn’t take long for her face to transform into that of a child. She turned into a little girl, again. Her eyes became lighter and wider. She smiled. She was really cute. She told me about her family and her favorite subjects in school. She told me which soccer team she likes. She’s only 12. I told her I was a missionary. She didn’t know what that was. I told her God had sent me to tell her that He loved her. We walked around the mall for a while. She got some pineapple juice.

When we got back outside it was dark. The busses aren’t safe at night. It’s one of the first rules; never take the busses at night. I still had enough money for a taxi. Before we parted ways, she hugged me and said thank you. People never hug in Paraguay. There was a creepy guy hanging around. I was so freaked out that I was just concentrating on getting safely to the taxi stand that I forgot about her, for a minute. Before getting into the taxi, I looked back to make sure the guy wasn’t bothering her, but she had already left. She was going to take the bus. I consoled myself by telling myself that she wasn’t a target, like they say I am. Well, she wasn’t a target for robbery, that is. My stomach turns when I consider how vulnerable a desperate, degraded 12 year old girl really is. I just feel awful.

And he said to him, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment… Whatsoever you do for the least of these, you do for Me… And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.

Father, forgive me. Forgive me for intentionally hardening my heart. Forgive me for ignoring the poor. Forgive me for treating them as if they were subhuman. Forgive me for scorning them in my heart, and then for publicly making fun of them in my last blog. Forgive me for forgetting why I’m on this earth. Forgive me for taking Your family name in vain. Forgive me for refusing a glass of cold water. I have not loved. I have not reflected Jesus. And God, keep her safe, tonight.

Feel like Turkey?

Have you ever thought that your life would make a good movie? Yesterday was one of those days. I woke up before 4 with a pounding headache and itchiness from my fingertips to my toes. I think I’ve recently discovered an allergy to mangoes. Can we just say BFB (Big Fat Bummer)? One day we woke up and every street of Paraguay was covered in fallen mangos. Naturally, we ate mangos for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks. The next morning the size of my face had doubled, with my right eye swollen completely shut. After 24 hrs of steroids and benadryl, the effects of my mango gluttony began to subside. I think I’m still breathing the pollen into my bloodstream, though, so I’m on the 24-7 Actifed/ Advil overdose plan to reduce the itching and sinus pressure. Anyway, my Thanksgiving started out by satisfying my drug habit. Several hours later, I took off for 6 hours of private Spanish instruction. It’s important to note that I was still wearing my glasses, on account of my tired eyes/ sleep deprivation issues. I was not in top form.

So I walked the 10 minutes to Sacramento, and took my stand on the side of the double lane highway. I was having a little trouble flagging down my bus (hacienda senas, I learned yesterdayJ), because I couldn’t make out their numbers until they were barreling past. Finally, though, I saw a “55” and stepped out into the middle of the left lane to wave him over. Now, note that I am the only one who boarded at this time. I was not at a bus stop. Those don’t exist. You just stand on the side of the road, wherever and whenever you please, to catch the next passing collectivo. Therefore, instead of me having to walk an extra 2 minutes to a bus stop, the bus stops every 10 seconds to pick up random people scattered along its route. I really think someone should give this system a second thought. Anyway, I paid my 2.200 when I boarded and settled in for the 10 minute show. er, I mean ride. The next person to board was a man selling pineapples. After him came the guy with sunglasses, chewing gum, socks, earrings, CDs, fingernail clippers, and an assortment of other treasures. Then came the girl with the cards. They look like the valentines that you exchange with your grade school friends, and they have a note attached that says something like “I’m poor and I don’t have a way of earning money, so I’m selling these cards. Would you buy them as a demonstration of mercy and compassion? God bless you.” I had seen all of this, before. But then I had a surprise. The next guy to board starts out, “Good morning, everyone. On your ride to work, this morning, I have a very exciting offer for you! Did you know you are breathing in ugly air that will eventually kill you? Our world is being trashed and you are at risk, together with your aging parents and precious children. But I have a solution for you. This is my miracle powder. Dissolve 2 tablespoons in a glass of milk or water, morning and night, for the rest of your life and your health will be spared. In the stores, you can buy one week’s worth of my miracle powder for 25.000, but this is your lucky day! I am offering YOU a special price of just 5.000! Care for yourself and your loved ones. Buy my miracle powder, today.” Then he went down the isles and people really bought the stuff! I was in absolute shock. Not 2 minutes later, another guy got on and gave another presentation for another product. And people bought his stuff, too! I was witnessing Paraguayan infomercials on a public transport!

When we got close to the school, I made my way to the back and pulled the cord above the door. The driver threw open the doors as he was coming to a quick stop, I jumped out onto the curb, and it sped along its way. On my way inside I passed a guy who declared, in English, “Oh my G--. You are so beautiful!” I’m sure it’s one of the only phrases he knows, because it’s a statement that I’ve heard by countless Paraguayan men. Same phrase. Same obnoxious vocal inflection. Somewhere in Paraguay, I’m convinced that there’s a “how to pick up a Peace Corp Volunteer” class that teaches its pupils to say, “Oh my G--. You are so beautiful!” And just to make sure you don’t think I’m exhibiting false humility, let’s remember condition of my face. Those of you who have seen me in my glasses understand my reason for doubting this man’s sincerity. For those of who you have not had such a privileged viewing, I assure you that there is a reason for my denying you. It was at this point that I just started laughing and wished someone were following me around with a video camera.

OK. So then I had 3 hours of class with a new teacher named Edgar. He has spent some time living in the States, so he knew that it was Thanksgiving. Naturally, all of our examples were related to celebrating the holiday with loved ones. We were working on the subjective grammar structure, so we had to make sentences that followed the pattern “It’s necessary that… It’s important that… It’s horrible that…” He would ask me questions, using one of these phrases, and I would have to respond. Our class went something like this (in Spanish):

Edgar: It’s necessary that you eat turkey on Thanksgiving.
Alyssa: It’s important that you…
Edgar (interrupting her): No, Alyssa, use necessary.
Alyssa: It’s not absolutely necessary that you…
Edgar (again, interrupting her): No, Alyssa, you need to practice the affirmative response.
Alyssa (feeling the potential of prolonged tiredness, loneliness, and glasses induced ugliness combining to create sudden and unexplainable weepiness): It’s necessary that you eat turkey on Thanksgiving.
Edgar: Exactly, Alyssa. It’s necessary that you eat turkey on Thanksgiving.

That’s just one example. We had 3 hours together.

Everything, though, turned around after lunch, gracias a Dios. I typically (por lo general, I’ve learned this week) avoid Paraguayan coffee, because I know that to drink it would just be setting myself up for extreme disappointment. And I emphasize extreme. On this occasion, however, I was beginning to wallow, and didn’t think that a lousy cup of coffee could make things too much worse. So like a country singer who had just lost my house, dog, boyfriend, and taste for quality, I approached the counter of Havanna’s and ordered a shot of Italian Espresso. Little did I know the impact of that decision on the remainder of my life, here in Paraguay. That little Paraguayan barista served me the most nirvana inducing shot of espresso that I have ever experienced. The moment it hit my lips, my body fell into an immediate state of deep tranquility unlike anything I have previously known. As I stood to make my way back to the classroom, my entire body felt as if it had just received an hour long massage. Is that what drugs feel like? If so, it’s good that I never tried them at Taylor, or I would have been a quick addict.

After class, I went grocery shopping and then headed back to the guest house to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for myself and Fiona, another SIM missionary. Fiona’s British, so it was her first time eating a Thanksgiving dinner. I have an amazing mom and grandma who always cook, so it was my first time preparing a Thanksgiving dinner. I felt like such a grown up. I was greatly enjoying myself until I couldn’t turn on the stove for the fried chicken. It had been working earlier, so I assumed it had run out of gas. The woman who manages the property wasn’t home, so her daughter gave me keys for the downstairs kitchen. So as not to create extra clean-up, I prepared everything upstairs, limiting the downstairs one to the use of the stove and oven. This meant countless trips up and down the stairs, in and out the doors, both hands occupied with pots brimming with hot grease and boiling water. The evening was not tranquilla (a favorite word of Paraguayans).

Gracias a Dios, almost no tears were shed on my first real holiday away from home (talking on the phone with Grandma Betty was a little much). On the contrary, it was a very funny day, earning it a noteworthy place in my personal history as the most ironic, thus far. If only I’d had my camera for the Paraguayan infomercial. Oh, and today I discovered that my gas hadn’t run out, last night. I had unplugged the stove to beat my mashed potatoes.

Fellowship of Suffering

Last night I laid in bed for over an hour, crying almost the whole time. I missed home so badly. My mind kept replaying last week’s scene of Renae softly rubbing Cora’s back, immediately jumping to memories of my own mom. It created a physical ache in my chest. Then I’d picture Lindsay taking Eva’s hand during Thursday’s prayer meeting, coming before the Lord as husband and wife, and be filled emotion, once again. I kept asking God to hold me. My whole being was just aching to be held. I wanted my mom, my dad, my brothers, my sister, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, my pastors, my friends, my future husband, my God. I really wasn’t feeling too discriminating. People here don’t hug. I was absolutely craving physical touch. Last night, I didn’t want to mask the pain by distracting myself with a book or a movie or a letter home. I just wanted the Lord. I want to get to the place where I can be ok with just Him. I kept asking for Him, and I completely trusted Him. But I couldn’t feel Him as deeply as I wanted. There had to be more. There had to be. But He wasn’t filling the void. I felt so lonely. All I could do was espero for someday. But could I bear the time between now and then? And then I got so mad at myself. Why was I so upset? God had blessed me with so much! Why couldn’t I focus on all of His gifts? Why couldn’t I have more joy? I felt like such a failure. Mind over matter, Alyssa. Come on, stop being so self-centered. I felt like such a failure for feeling sorry for myself. I wanted to talk to Lori. I knew she’d understand loneliness. I can’t understand hers; it’s so much more profound. But I knew she’d understand mine. I’m sure there are many days, no, many times each day, when she has to turn her head away because she just can’t watch mothers interacting with their little girls. Sometimes, you don’t want people to say anything conciliatory. You want to look into their eyes and know they understand. You just don’t want to be alone. Last night, though, I felt really alone. I just cried and cried and cried. And it was storming, outside.

I woke up, this morning, to crashing thunder and heavy rain. I wanted to skip church more than anything. But I went and it was incredible. God gave me joy during the time of musical worship. Joy. What a gift. My brain checked out toward the end of the Spanish sermon (as it regularly does), but something the pastor said made everyone start hugging one another. It was a church service unlike any I had ever seen. Last night I had laid in bed craving the embrace of my dad, grandpa, uncles, and brothers. This morning, for the first time in Paraguay, I was hugged by Joel, Cecia, Janice, Laura, Lucas, Leti, David Chamoro, Maka-ko, and Ana. It was incredible. Thank You, God. Thank You. You are good. Thank You for loving me. And thank You for demonstrating that love in such a specific way.

Many people were tearful. At one point I was standing with David, Cecia, and Janice. David noticed Ana standing alone, whispered something to the girls, and they went over to hug her. Soon after, I looked over and saw Leti sitting by herself, eyes red and face downcast. I went over to her, moved the books on the seat next to her, sat down, and put my arm around her slumped shoulders. She laid her head on my shoulder and just cried and cried and cried. I knew the feeling. We didn’t exchange any words for the first 5-10 minutes, at which point I asked if she wanted to talk. She said no. A few moments later, I felt led to ask if she missed her dad. She nodded yes. “Me, too,” I said in a broken voice. We both started crying, again. We didn’t have to say anything else.

My pain can’t be compared with Leti’s. Her dad abandoned their family to start a new one in Argentina. She’s only 15. I have felt dropped and abandoned, though not by my dad. But I still miss him, a lot. I’ve felt really alone, here. But I know that my dad loves me. I can always go back to him. He hasn’t chosen to leave me. I wish rejection and loss weren’t a part of my life experience portfolio. I wish I never felt alone. This morning, though, I was so thankful to be able to cry with Leti. I still can’t wait for Christmas, though.

sweet surrender. blessed hope.

God is so good! I’ve often heard that the brightest dawns follow the darkest nights. I haven’t posted anything, lately, because I’ve been really down and lacking in creative energy. Yesterday was especially tough. I’m going to share a portion of my journal from last night and this morning. I think it probably shows my distress, but what I cannot communicate is the way He transformed my heart. I can only describe it as the breaking forth of the dawn. He lifted me to my feet, removed the heavy burden I had been carrying, cut through the fog, and infused me with the most incredible joy and peace that I could imagine, directly into my heart. At one point, I was so overwhelmed with joy, that I grabbed a Bethel College Chapel Band worship CD (“Eversing”). my blue, green, and yellow tie-died Discman, teal winter puffy coat, and ran outside to another missionary’s huge backyard where I could sing to my heart’s content. For over an hour, God gave me the sweetest time of worship and prayer, right in the middle of their volleyball court, surrounded by fruit trees and mandioca plants. It was so so so good. I’m sad to think that my words will never communicate my heart’s lightness. If you are experiencing a time of darkness, I pray that hearing of God’s faithfulness in my life can bring you a tiny bit of hope. Living underneath that cloud is awful. But He is there. He is there. He wants to free You. He is with you. Hold on until He breaks forth into your darkness and brings you into His glorious light. He will do it. I promise. He loves you and wants to lift you up. Hold on. Hold on. Hold on. He’s coming soon.

Before reading, however, I must warn you that this entry contains some bad language. I'm really sorry if you're offended.

Sweet Surrender. Blessed Hope.
September 3-4, 2006

And God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. I have been sowing to both the Spirit and the flesh. I feed both. I want both. I’m scared of living without either. Life without Spirit means an eternity in hell. Mortification of the flesh means hell on earth. Feeding the flesh numbs the discomfort. I cry out to the Spirit, but embrace the flesh. I hope for the Spirit, but rely on the flesh. I ask to be filled with the Spirit. But I just don’t wanna be empty. Who really cares where the filling comes from? If it’s gonna be, it’s up to me, damn it, and the flesh is a hell of a lot more reliable. I know where (I determine that). I know when (I determine that). I know how much (I determine that). I know the results (law of diminishing returns). I know.

Do I want this knowledge? Did God really say you can’t eat from any of the trees in this garden? The cost is really high. But if it’s gonna be, it’s up to me… Right? Are there any alternatives? Yes. But it’s a costly and risky exchange. I can transfer the ultimate responsibility for my life from me to God. I can continue crying out to Him, hoping for Him, and asking for Him. And that’s it. If He doesn’t pull through, He doesn’t pull through. But He says He’ll pull through. Can I trust Him?

OK, God. I am yours. I trust You to care for me. I trust You. But I’m really messed up. Really messed up. I always crawl off the alter. I don’t know how to stay up there. But I trust you. I trust you. God, my flesh… please do something about it. Please crucify it, God.
“Alyssa, I already did.”
God, I want You to crucify my flesh.

“Alyssa, I did. I did. I did. Believe this, my dear child. I am living in You. My Spirit is inside You. It has already defeated the power of sin and death. It is stronger than anything in this entire world, as well as heaven and earth. Stay close to Me, Alyssa. I will never reject You. I will never leave you nor forsake you. I am with you. I already know you. I knit you together in your mother’s womb. I know you and I still chose you as my own. I still called you, justified, and glorified you, even though I know You, Alyssa. It is a done deal. Done. Finished. Stay close to me. As for the cross, you’re right. It does hurt a lot. I know. But, Alyssa, I am here. I love you. I’ve already been there. You’re gonna make it because I am with you. Alyssa, I have already been there and I would never want anyone I love to endure it. But I also know what’s on the other side. It’s so good, Alyssa. My resurrection, glorification, freedom from my flesh, and abiding in the presence of the Father is so incredible. Trust Me. That’s the only reason I allow you to go to the cross. It’s not to prove yourself to me. It’s not because you are a bad person. It’s not because you’re dirty and you need purging. It’s not any of these things; that’s why I had to go. You just have to follow me. But it’s so good on the other side. I want you, here. And until you get here, I will be with You, there, and that will be worth it, too. I am with You, Alyssa. I know You and I love You. And when you get here, it will be so good. I will say, ‘well done, my good and faithful servant. Come and share, compartir, in your Master’s happiness.’ And We will worship the Father, unhindered by Self. You will worship Me. Alyssa, You’ll freely worship! You’re right. The cross is painful. It’s an instrument of torture. But it’s effective. It’s one hundred percent effective. Its victims never hang there, forever. They die. And then they’re brought down. And in our case, they’re raised to new life. You’re gonna make it, Alyssa, as long as you rely on Me. You’ll finally rest. I am with You. I am with You. You will not be alone. Abide in Me. Stay close to me. I will never leave You alone. I love You. Stay close to Me. I will never leave You alone. I love You.

Why is surrender so beautiful? Why does my heart want to jump out of my throat when I hear these songs about surrendering everything to Jesus? That should be scary. Letting go usually implies something negative. But I want to do it. I can’t wait to do it, because I know the object of the surrender. I can’t wait for You to take it! I love You! Thank You for taking it! Thank You for taking me. I love You. You are so beautiful. You are doing it. You are faithful to finish what You started. You are bringing forth fruit. One day, I will stand before Your throne. Hope and expectation. That about sums it up. Thank You for hope, dear Lord. You are so good! So, so good. Thank You for giving me hope. Thank You for the reality that gives weight to the hope. Thank You for both the hope and the reality. You are so good. You are merciful. I love You. Thank You. I just can’t say it enough. Thank You. Thank You. You are good. Thank You. I love You. Thank You.

Initiation Day

Yesterday was a big initiation day. First, I became Paraguayan. On my way to buy groceries for my offical initiation, I accidentally entered into the ranks of Paraguayans who have been burned by motos. Motercycles here are $500-$600 and you can set up monthly payment plans, so they’re a really good transportation option for people who don’t make a ton of money. There are actually more of these family vehicles than cars. Usually the 2 or 3 kids sit in front and the parents will wrap their arms around from behind. Therefore, nearly everyone has had a moto burn. It’s the type of thing that usually only happens once, though, because you tend to learn your lesson. In the states, parents warn their kids about touching hot stoves. In Paraguay, I’d imagine warnings abound about not touching hot motos. Unfortunately, I missed that lesson and now have a 2 inch seeping burn. But hey, I’ve joined the ranks.

Anyway, I got my groceries and went over to Laura’s house for my first attempt at co-hostessing a surprise birthday party for our friend, Joel. Actually, it was my first attempt at cooking in Paraguay. I didn’t think about the foolishness of combining the two events (cooking and doing it for large number of people) until I was in the grocery store and I realized that I wouldn’t have the same ingredients. Hm. We were going to have a penne carbonera, of sorts. Well, I’d just put in things that sounded like they’d go well together. They had the basics- milk, pasta, cheese, and bacon. It was when I got to Laura’s that I learned the Spanish equivalent for the English phrase, I’ve bitten off more than I can chew (Yo abarque mas de lo que aprieto, for those of you who are curious). You see, Paraguayans don’t measure with ounces, cups, tea spoons, or tablespoons. Hm. I had always been taught that exact measurements were pretty important with baking. Well, I certainly didn’t have the “run to Dairy Queen and pick up an ice cream cake” option, so I eyeballed everything and hoped for the best. Boiling chocolate pudding over the stove for the first time and beating my own whipped cream was also somewhat nerve racking, but what could I do? If the brownies didn’t turn out, I’d need the pudding and whipped cream to mask their taste in my Death by Chocolate. I had already dug my hole pretty deep, after all. Many deep breaths and over 2 hours later, we sat down to eat. It was actually pretty good. After the meal, Laura leaned across our large dinner table to congratulate me and tell me I had passed the test. I didn’t know I was being tested at the time, but she told me that this had been an initiation, of sorts; if they liked my food, I was going to be accepted into their friendship circle. I guess I’m in. I’m so excited! I really enjoy this group. They’re a bunch of young teachers from the school where I teach English. Laura’s South African, but she married a Paraguayan while she was over here as an exchange student and now they have 4 kids. All of the others are in their early twenties. I think God knew how much I would appreciate being initiated, so He covered my cooking with extra grace.

OK, so back to unofficial initiation- the burn. My little sister, Noemi, just came in to ask if I’d like a really good natural remedy for my leg. I said yes, assuming that she was much more experienced in treating Paraguayan moto burns than was I. When she left to go get the remedy, though, I began to have doubts. Natural healers around here prescribe some pretty interesting cures. Earlier today, I heard of a woman being instructed to tie two frogs to her open wound. Supposedly, the infection would be transferred to the frogs, and she’d be healed as soon as the frogs died. After the frogs died and she didn’t get better, she went to a medical doctor who ended up extracting several spoonfuls of maggots out of her leg. I was recalling all of this while my little sister was outside fetching my remedy. When she returned from the front yard holding something green, I nearly hit the roof. I was so thankful when I realized it was a leaf, but still wondered what I had gotten myself into. She proceeded to cut it open and pour its sap onto my burn. She said it was a very, very good remedy. It was aloe vera! Yeah. She took me outside their front door to see the live plant. And here I had thought it was just landscaping. Oh no, my host family has an aloe plant growing outside our front door and I’m supposed to go and get fresh aloe as often as I’d like until the burn heals. Are any of you that cool?

Making Myron Proud

My church in Goshen is really big on community. I never really got on board, though. It’s not that I didn’t believe it was important. I just couldn’t ever figure out how to create it. And as I often do when I can’t figure something out, I responded by not trying. Now that I’ve moved to a different hemisphere, I think it’s finally starting to make some sense.

Last Friday night, I moved into the home of a wonderful Paraguayan family. They are teaching me about community. Allow me to recreate our first introduction. Carol (a seasoned missionary) and I drive up to a very typical looking Paraguayan home, get out of the car, and clap to alert them of our presence. A fourteen year old girl comes around the corner to welcome Carol with besitos, one kiss on each cheek. She proceeds to lead us through a tall door that is just wide enough for my body, into a tiny family room. Inside, we are warmly greeted by Noemi’s mom, Edy. After besitos, she leads us through another body-sized doorway into what looks like a study. Here, we all squeeze in amidst a couch, two arm chairs, two bookcases, an electric keyboard, and a small table and desk, both covered with books, papers, and music. While Carol and Edy are talking, I look through the next doorframe to see a small bedroom containing two twin beds and two wardrobes. I assume that I will be sharing this room with Ana, Noemi’s older sister. I tune back into the Spanish conversation between Carol and Edy, at which point I realize that the girls both sleep in the bedroom, and I am going to be spending the next 5 months in the study, which also serves as a walkway between the family room and the girls’ bedroom. Bedrooms clearly aren’t designed to be lived in, here. They’re designed to be slept in. Living rooms are for living. Together. I was to live as they do. Together. All the time. Taking a deep breath, I very quickly came to terms with two realities. First, my living situation was perfectly designed for me by my loving heavenly Father. Second, His plan included chipping away at my very sacred need for personal space, privacy, and time alone.

I want to learn to live as a Paraguayan. Therefore, instead of freaking out about seemingly impossible situations, I try to think, “If this is a part of a Paraguayan’s every day life, there must be a way to make it work.” I need time alone. Just ask my family. I get really irritable without it. I lose perspective. I need it. My time alone enables me to love my time with people. But somehow, Paraguayan young people don’t get much of it and they seem to be coping quite well. They couldn’t have all been born extroverts. Come to think of it, a lot of the world lives in really close community. How in the world can the introverts in these cultures maintain their emotional stability?

Well, I have a hypothesis. I will be putting it to the test throughout the coming months and might graduate it to the theory stage by December. Could it be that what I’ve labeled as a need to be alone is actually a misdiagnosed need to rest? We all have a Self that we like and another that we try to hide. When alone, our unlikeable Self can exist without our likeable Self having to exert the energy required to subdue it. In this place, we can be real. We don’t have to fight with ourselves. We can rest. I’m not talking about ceasing to fight against sin, but against those parts of our personalities that we just don’t like. Maybe maintaining our own idea of a socially acceptable persona takes a lot of energy and we just get really tired. Maybe that’s why people in Latin and African cultures tend to be so happy. Christians in these places are especially free from the need to perform. Since they live together all the time, they can’t hide. It’s impossible. So they don’t. As a result, they have to accept one another as whole people.

According to First John, fellowship is walking in the light and walking in love. How interesting. Isn’t walking in the light refusing to hide the Self of which we are ashamed? And what is love, if not resisting the temptation to despise a brother who has dared to expose his unlikable Self? When I really think about the people in my life, I realize that I only pull back from people when I am fighting my feelings. When I am able to rest in their presence, however, I can be with them indefinitely, without needing time alone. I rest with some people because they bring out my likeable Self; I never have to hide my unlikable Self from them because it doesn’t seem to exist. This fellowship, however, is based on a false reality. Sometimes, though, I don’t hide because I know that I am wholly loved. This must be true fellowship.

So, how do we get there? I don’t know. I don’t like crying in front of people, but nearly everyone here has seen me cry. They’ve seen me laugh a lot, too, often through my tears. Last Sunday, I left the group because I was feeling weepy and didn’t want the others to see me cry. God really got after me, though, about this whole fellowship thing. So I wiped my eyes, waited for the redness to fade, climbed the stairs leading back up to the sanctuary, and rejoined the group. A few minutes later, one of my new friends, Joel, introduced me to his sister, Sarah. “Oh, my best friend’s name is Sarah!” I said, happily. “Do you miss your friends?” Joel asked. I burst into tears. Then I started laughing and apologizing for being such a crybaby. They hugged me, we all laughed, and my love for life quickly returned. I wonder how long I would have taken to come to that place, on my own. How long would have I isolated myself, waiting for the emotion to pass?

On another occasion, I was ecstatic to hear someone describe me as always having a smile on my face. Given that she was included in the “everyone” who has seen me cry, I had been worried that she thought I was an emotionally unstable wimp. But she seemed to understand that the sad moments were just a part of the whole. What a blessing to be seen in this way! Is it possible that this perspective has actually become natural for people who live in close community? How do we have true fellowship? I don’t know. But for me I think it has started by determining that I will allow others to see the Self of which I am not particularly fond. This means that I can neither suppress it nor isolate myself when it appears. In fact, I should probably stop referring to it as a separate Self. Besides giving my readers concern for my mental health, I really should embrace it as being a part of my whole person. For me, having true fellowship includes loving those around me, and embracing them as whole persons, as well. Granted, this all sounds much prettier than it actually is. Not better, but certainly prettier. Walking in the light means being misunderstood, judged, and rejected. Walking in love means being cut on people’s rough edges. Paraguayans refer to a lot of things as being feo. Ugly is our best English translation. The muddy road is feo. A kitchen before it is cleaned up after dinner is feo. Words that hurt others are feo. A person’s behavior can be feo. I bet fellowship can be really feo. But I bet it’s worth it.

Walking in light and walking in love. I wonder if this will help me thrive in such close community. I think it’s what I’m observing from the Paraguayans. It certainly lines up with Scripture. If I stop fighting my Self, maybe I won’t be so tired and need so much time alone. Maybe. Maybe I’ll actually prefer communal living over the independence to which I’ve grown accustomed. How freeing. Right now it’s still a hypothesis.

An Ode to my Sister

At the end of this year’s family vacation in California, I told my sister that the next blog I do would be called, An Ode to my Sister. Spending the entire week with her, her three little boys, and her husband, I was constantly awed by her selflessness. Good moms are nearly always on the clock. They don’t have the luxury of leaving their work at the office. They are always in charge. They are always Mom. Always. And the thing about my sister, is that she never ever complained. Her boys would never know they were wearing her down to the bone. She never made them feel like a burden. Never. She had amazing self-control. I can’t even begin to count the number of times my feelings of frustration and exhaustion would have gotten the best of me. But not Danielle. She always smiled. She always spoke kindly. Even on the plane ride home, after an entire week of running, she sat between her 3 and 4 year old and played with them the entire 4 hour plane ride home. She is my hero. I always talk about how I want to be more like Jesus. Well, for all of my reading, serving, presenting, and teaching, I pale in comparison to my sister, the stay-at-home-mom. And really, when I see the cost of completely giving up my comfort, time, goals, self, for the sake of others, I’m not sure I really want to be like Christ quite that badly. It’s one thing to talk about dying to Self when you know you always have the choice of whether or not you want to die. Danielle surrendered the right to chose the moment she had kids. Dying isn’t optional for her. She never just checks out and goes to her room when she needs some time alone. She’s always on the clock. Always. I left that week realizing a small extent of my selfishness and realizing that I am definitely not ready to be a mom.

Ten Days In

After a day of being continuously awed by God’s involvement in my day of travel, my plane landed in Asuncion, Paraguay, around midnight on Fri PM/ Sat AM. Bob and Carol Givens, the seasoned missionaries who will be responsible for my transition into Paraguayan life, picked me up and drove me 3 hours south to their home in Villarica, a town/ city of 40,000 residents (in addition to about 30,000 residential college students from the surrounding areas). Saturday night, they held youth group at their home and I got to meet several 15-21 year olds. Sunday morning, 150 people gathered in their back yard for a monthly church service. After the service, the whole church ate together and played games, and then the Givens packed up and we left for SIM Paraguay’s annual Spiritual Life Conference, a week where all of the SIM missionaries gather at a campground for worship, fellowship, and teaching.

At the conference, I was blessed to have meaningful conversations, fun playing volleyball and catch-phrase, and spiritual preparation for the coming months. Most of my teammates are between 25 and 35 years old, married, and actively parenting several young children. As I am missing my own sisters and nephews, I’m thankful for the chance to be involved in the lives of other young families. Getting to know the other single person on the team, Fiona Cooper, was also a real blessing. Fiona is from the UK, currently teaching English at a university in Asuncion, and 6 months into a 2 year term. Additionally, we spent a lot of time with Hannah Smith, an MK from Kenya, who will be in Villarica with me for the next 3 weeks. Spiritually, God just showed up over and over again, assuring me that His presence would continue to surround me in this new season of my life. He is so good.

This past Friday, the conference ended and I joined 9 adults and 5 kids on a trip to Iguazu Falls, the most amazing waterfalls in the world. I’ll post pictures. They seriously put Niagra to shame. They are in the area where Paraguay, Argentina, and Brazil meet. Also, its convenient location makes the Paraguayan boarder city, Ciudad del Este, the black market capital of South America! Exiting, huh?:) At the end of the bridge that connects Brazil and Paraguay, all cars are searched because Paraguay taxes all goods coming into the country (for sale in Ciudad del Este). Things being carried in on foot, however, are not subject to this tax (because the assumption is that people are carrying it in for their own use, as opposed to resale). To get around this tax, trucks are unloaded on the Brazilian side, and then carriers are hired to carry the goods across the bridge. Once on the Paraguayan side, moto taxis wait to take the carriers back to the Brazilian side so they can do another round! I have a picture of some girls throwing boxes over the bridge to a boat below that collected the merchandise! Ah, yes, it was an exciting trip, indeed. Unfortunately, it’s usually the only city that tourists ever see in Paraguay, so they leave with a negative and very incorrect perception of this hospitable country. Back to the falls, though. The falls were amazing. What more is there to say. When you all come to visit, I’ll take you. Until then, I’ve posted a few pictures and a 15 second video that I took while there. Had I been alone, I could have stayed for hours…

Tomorrow, I’ll do laundry, regroup, and possibly move in to my host family’s home. The Ortizes have 2 daughters, Anita who is 21 and Naomi who is 14.

As far as how I’m doing, I’m wonderful. I’m so excited to be finally living the days I’ve dreamt about for the last 10 years. I love all of the newness. I am amazed by the need to slam on the breaks for the random cows that in the roads, receive odd satisfaction from the nausea that comes from the bumpiest cobblestone on which I’ve ever ridden, still appreciate the roosters who wake me between 5 and 6 each morning, savor the smell of empanadas and chipa in the streets, am willingly allowing myself to become addicted to terare, the national drink, adore the language and perspectives of my Canadian and British colleagues, and LOVE playing games with Paraguayan youth who make fun of my Spanish. This first week, I’ve easily taken over 500 photos, (and deleted over half of themJ). More than anything, though, I’ve loved resting in the knowledge that I’m where the Lord wants me, and that He will never leave me or forsake me.
As far as prayer goes, please pray that I adapt to the lack of time alone. Basically, I’ve been with people almost the entire time I’ve been here. Despite the wonderfulness of my teammates, it’s been exhausting! I probably haven’t had as much time by myself as what I require to function long-term. I went into this week understanding that I was being given an incredible chance to begin building relationships with my new teammates. Since most of them live at least 3 hours away from my new home of Villarica, the time at camp was a unique time. Ideally, however, I would have had a bit more time by myself to process all of the newness. But I didn’t and God’s grace has been working overtimeJ I would imagine, though, that my life with the Ortiz family will not include as much independence as what I’ve been used to, either, so just pray that I’m flexible and the Lord supplies my lack.

Also, despite being surrounded by people all the time, I’ve had times of feeling alone, as well, and have felt fearful about the loneliness that these next several months will bring. Up until the week before my arrival, I was anticipating fellowship with 3 other single young women who would be arriving, this summer. In a matter of 2 weeks, though, I’ve been disappointed to learn that they will all be working in other cities. The Lord has made it clear that He plans to richly bless my relationship with Him in these next 5 months. And He has certainly proven His love for me, so I completely trust Him. This peace, however, has come only after a few tears. Please pray that I come to know Him as my companion and friend.

So, that’s my life. Sorry this is so long. I think this is longer than any e-mail you will ever receive from me, but I went with it since it has been such a big first week. Thanks for your patience and friendship. You’re great. Come to Paraguay.

Crazy Emotions

For the past 24 hours, I’ve been saying a lot of goodbyes. I’ve been surprisingly unemotional. Then at the dinner (lunch) table with my family, I completely broke down because I wouldn’t be able to throw my sister-to-be a bridal shower because I’ll be in Paraguay the months preceding her wedding. My breakdown came out of nowhere, lasted all of 30 seconds, and left as quickly as it had arrived. Several hours later, I lost it again when I tried to relay a conversation I had had with my nephew. I wasn’t feeling any emotion when I began, but started sobbing just seconds into the story, as if somebody flipped on my heart’s grief switch without my knowledge! A few days ago, Braden and I were playing softball, and I told him that when I come home from Paraguay, he’ll be on a real baseball team and I’ll sit in the bleachers to cheer him on. Sometimes, the thought of returning to find my 1,3,and 5 year old nephews 4,6, and 8 is more than I can bear.

These days my emotions are best illustrated by Indiana weather: entirely unpredictable. “How are you feeling?” everyone keeps asking. Well, this week my feelings have pretty much run the gamut. Gratitude. Self-pity. Joy. Peace. Depression. Anticipation. Anxiety. Gratitude. Confidence. Discouragement. Excitement. Peace. Fear. Awe. Nostalgia. Gratitude. Impatience. Anticipation. Peace. Absolutely nothing. Is that normal? I think I’m going to have to get used to tears and purchase a new bottle of waterproof mascara.

What I hate more than crying, though, is not crying. Already, there have been a few times when someone that I love has started to cry when struck with the reality of our upcoming separation. Since my own emotions are so weird, I often don’t cry back. I feel like that communicates my own lack of grief. It’s not that I don’t treasure these relationships. My emotions are just operating in overload mode, and I’m finding it difficult to manipulate them. I hate that! I dread the Sunday afternoons in Paraguay when I know that my family is sitting around the dinner table in Indiana, dialoguing about the relevance and faithful application of Scripture in today’s culture. Hopefully I’ll still be experiencing enough newness that missing Braden’s 5th birthday won’t be too overwhelming. I’m sure I will have to guard against depression, though, this Thanksgiving when I imagine everyone strolling the streets of Chicago, drinking apple cider and looking at the window displays on the Magnificent Mile. I know there will be times when I will miss Sarah so badly that I will turn on one of Dad’s worship mixes, collapse on my bed, ask Jesus to come and minister to my loneliness, and cry and cry and cry. Some Saturday nights will be hard, too, when I will so badly desire to be among the dear community that commissioned me, last night. And dang it that I’ll miss seeing my baby brother turn 21. Some days, I’ll really need Angela’s contagious joy, the inspiring sparkle in Hope’s peaceful eyes, the reassurance of Gene’s warmth and friendship, Myron and Dana’s encouragement, friendship, and wisdom, and Jodi, Eileen, Carol, and Ruth’s warm affirmation. On those days, I know that the Lord will provide through His own sweet presence, through His creation, and through His people. But I’ll also grieve. And He’ll grieve with me, because He didn’t create relationships to be broken. Even if I’m not crying now, I can assure you that when my tears do come, they will be almost unbearable.

My emotions are weird. Their unpredictability forces me to fall back into the faith that God can control them so they achieve that for which they were created. In that confidence, I can rest.

Sand or Sidewalk?

Real life is hard. But real life is also beautiful. I am sitting at a picnic table just one street away from Newport Beach, about 45 minutes south of Los Angelos, California. I cannot actually see the ocean from where I sit, but I can hear it and feel its salty breeze. I am clean, having just showered and applied SPF 8 suntan lotion smelling of tropical coconut. It has been a wonderful morning. About 3 hours ago, I went out to the beach, alone, and began to run. I didn’t know where I was or where I was going. I had never been here before. I had tried to come with a friend, several months ago, but instead we ended up at a nearby beach called Balboa. I remembered it being fairly close, though couldn’t remember its exact distance. This morning, I had several hours before having to be somewhere, so I set out to find Balboa Pier.

It was amazing. Still being pretty early in the morning, the only other people out were surfers. It reminded me of a time my roommate and I got up early to watch the sunrise in Salema, Portugal (my favorite place in the world). That morning, we were alone except for fishermen coming just coming in for the day. There’s something wonderful about early mornings on the beach. People aren’t there to be seen. They aren’t looking for approval or acceptance. They aren’t wearing masks. They go because they want to be there and have a relationship with the ocean. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever enjoyed on a run.

The water was enticing. I loved being as close as possible to the shore. As a result, big waves often forced me to jump out of the way and sprint to higher ground. I felt lighthearted and free. Only once was I caught at my own game. Ironically, it was the only time that I was squarely facing my foe. So captivated by the ocean’s beauty, I had stopped running in order to savor the moment. Memorized, I was completely oblivious to a big wave preparing its break close to the shore. Without warning, it completely subdued my feet, socks, running shoes, and ankles. I suppose I could have avoided the soaking had I paid closer attention to the warning signs. I don’t savor enough moments, though, so it was worth it.

As I neared the Balboa pier, the slope going down to the water increased, so that I was running on the side of an incline. It was really hard. Running on the sand is already hard. But this became so hard that I finally gave up and moved to the sidewalk above. I immediately noticed was how easy it was to run on smooth, flat, hard concrete. I could cover much greater distance without near the effort. My second observation was that the people I passed up on the sidewalk were perfect. They poise was perfect. Their bodies were perfect. Their clothes were perfect. Their hair was perfect. Their ipods were perfect. They were purposeful. They were exercising. That’s probably how they stayed so perfect. But they were primarily alone or in perfect pairs. Soon, I realized that I could no longer see the ocean or hear the crashing of its waves with nearly the intensity as I had before. How symbolic. We try and try to protect ourselves from hardship and pain. We use technology and innovation to accomplish tasks with greater efficiency and consistency. But in so doing, we must remove ourselves from real life, thus removing ourselves from both the beauty and the mess. Despite my disappointment that I couldn’t simultaneously experience both the majesty of the ocean and the ease of the sidewalk, I continued running on the sidewalk because I was tired.

On the south side of the pier, I returned to the beach’s sandy slope to reflect on the trajectory of my life. Until recently, I have been a sidewalk girl. Afraid of failure and rejection, I have chosen to walk the paths of least resistance. I have exchanged the acute pain of specific rejection for the pervasive ache of love’s absence. I have been missing out. Without love, what is life? I have heard it said that change only takes place when the pain or risk involved with remaining as you are becomes greater than the pain or risk of moving forward. Through a process spanning 5 years, my fear of an insignificant life devoid of love became greater than my fear of rejection, effort, and pain. And so I began creeping toward the shore. It has been wonderful. It has also been very difficult. But more than anything, it has been real. Sometimes the water has gotten too close and I have run away. A few times, I’ve been in the middle of savoring a moment and gotten drenched. But it has been real.

After several minutes of thinking, I left Balboa and headed back to Newport. I started out on the sidewalk because the sand had tired me out. I couldn’t do it, though. I couldn’t stay there. After only 10 minutes, my tired legs carried me back down to the shore. The sound of the roaring ocean once again filled my ears. The mist of its spray cooled my body. It was beautiful. It was majestic. It was real. I saw a sailboat. Being nearly two hours from when I started out, I was now surrounded by families. Children sat building sandcastles, dirtied by the sand, but having a blast. Their laughter filled me with hope, joy, peace, and perfect contentment. Proud parents were taking pictures. Teenagers tried to stay up on their boogie boards. People were loving life. Once I saw a little kid trip over his feet and bite it pretty hard. But he got back up. Soon, he was laughing and playing again. They were so different from the people up on the sidewalk. Their imperfect faces and bodies radiated joy.

I suppose now that I have run near the ocean, it has awakened my senses and found a way into my bloodstream. Sometimes I get so tired that I have to retreat for a short periods to recover my strength. But retreat removes me from reality. Now that I have been intoxicated by real life, self-protection and ease are no longer worth their high price, so I return. I have traded the sidewalk for the sand.