Storytelling and Handholding

Picture yourself in a kitchen. Strip out all of the cupboards, shelves, counters, and food. Good. Now get rid of the table. You can leave a few chairs. Turn out all of the lights except for one. Turn off the hot water. Unplug the fridge and remove the door. Good, now it can be used as a storage unit for your random dishes. Did I mention that your dishes absolutely cannot match? Next, tear out the tile floor and cement foundation, so that you're down to packed earth. Replace your dog with 4 roaming chickens, 2 ducks, a rooster, and freshly hatched chicks. Your dog can keep the cow company, outside. Finally, build a little fire in a stone bowl, and set it on a stool in the middle of the room. Great. Now we're ready to bring in the chairs for our budding children's ministry! It was in this setting that I led the most fun Bible study of my life.


One of my goals was to help train 2 teenagers, so I got to discover my own creativity in finding memorable ways to teach without spending much money on resources. And God has been so good in giving me ideas. I know they were from Him because the best ones were usually last minute additions. For example, one evening I was planning to teach on Gomar and Hosea. I know that sounds crazy as a children's story, but prostitution is an accepted part of this culture. A mother once told me that drugs and prostitution were her greatest fears for her daughter. Girls often sleep with teachers to get good grades or pay their way through school, and fathers commonly pay for their sons' first visit as a right of passage. Anyway, we were going to talk about God's relentless love, that night. On the way out the door, I remembered that bridal shower game where you make a wedding gown out of toilet paper, so I asked my ride to hold on while I ran across the street to buy TP. Another thing I loved about God's inspiration, is that the ideas would often evolve with later lessons. It was that Hosea night, in fact, that I had the random idea of using different colors of water to represent different nations, and mixed them all together to show how Israel became dirty (like a prostitute) when she worshiped other gods. Then this last week, I thought to use Clorox bleach to restore the water to its original clarity. And I discovered that the Clorox took a minute to take effect, so if I worked fast I could dump some red food coloring in bleach (which the kids just assumed was water), say that it represented Jesus' blood, and pour it into Israel's dirty water to make them clean! Then, I had the idea of cutting hearts out of black fabric and having each of the kids baptize their heart in Jesus' blood, and they could see hearts could becoming clean, too! Anyway, that's what I mean by evolving. Back when I first thought to use water to symbolize Israel's impurity, Clorox wasn't even on my mind's horizon. But everything tied together so perfectly. Anyway, every week was a blast!

I decided to teach them the Story of the Bible, by teaching them a scene/ story every week, going in chronological order, beginning with Adam and Eve. For every story, we made up an action step and built a mime that takes us all the way through to Jesus. Paraguayans are story people. We finished up our series, this last week, with Jesus' life, death, and resurrection. I'd met, earlier, with a Guarani speaking member of our church, who talked with the kids about Jesus' desire to have a relationship with them and led them in "the sinners' prayer". Most weeks, I felt like I could get by with shoddy Spanish and a bunch of games/ dramas/ etc, but didn't want to risk confusion on this one. After they prayed, the believer in whose house we met prayed for all of the kids. I've had a lot of questions, recently, about the salvation process, especially with young children whose parents are not believers, themselves. But I do know that God loves these kids and on December 5, 2007, they invited Him to clean their dirty hearts and be their friend. And that's super exciting.

Besides it being a fun and challenging teaching experience, I also grew to love the kids. A few months ago, I noticed that Paraguayan little girls are always holding hands. I have nephews, so I don't know if this is true for little girls, across the board, or specifically in Paraguay. But I've noticed it, here. They're so sweet and honest in their invitations for friendship and connection. They run around the playground holding hands. They go to lunch holding hands. They chase boys holding hands. They do everything holding hands. When do they lose that instinct? A few months, ago, one of the Kapi-I girls took my hand as we ran out to play Hide-and-Seek. It was really uncomfortable for me. I mean, it's sweet to grab someone's hand, squeeze it a little to say "I care" and then let it go. But holding hands as you go from place to place? After a while, I casually pulled away. But then I remembered my hand-holding observations. What an honor! Immediately I reached for hers, again.

My mom always taught me that people don't care what you know until they know that you care. In Kapi-I, I learned that care equals play. Most nights, we'd finish before the adults and go out to play Hide-and-Seek. I hated it. These little kids were the descendants of forest dwelling Guarani warriors. They were quick, agile, and stealthy. I, on the other hand, felt like an overgrown white moron. I could have them cornered at only a meter away, and they'd somehow dodge my grasp. I was "it" every other round. "Why in the world did they want me to play?" I would always ask myself. It certainly wasn't because I offered good competition. But every week they'd eagerly take my hand, and with their shining eyes and radiant smiles they'd ask me, "Vamos a jugar?!" So every week I put my comfort and pride on the shelf and decided that so long as they wanted me, I could do nothing better with my evening than run around a muddy field in the dark with a bunch of little Guarani warriors.

By the way, grapes and watermelon are now in season. YUM!

Augustine Quotes

I just finished reading Augustine’s Confessions and it was incredible. Check out some of my favorite quotes:



What can any man say when he speaks of Thee? But woe to them that keep silence- since even those who say most are dumb (3).

[reflecting on his infancy] And when I was not satisfied… I grew indignant that my elders were not subject to me and that those on whom I actually had no claim did not wait on me as slaves- and I avenged myself on them by crying (5).

What is it to me if someone doesn’t understand this? Let him still rejoice and continue to ask, “What is this?” Let him also rejoice and prefer to seek Thee even if he fails to find an answer, rather than to seek an answer and not find Thee (6)!

For the tedium of learning a foreign language mingled gall into the sweetness of those Grecian myths (14).

Yet, by Thy ordinance, O God, discipline is given to restrain the excess of freedom; this ranges from the ferule of the schoolmaster to the trials of the martyr and has the effect of mingling for us a wholesome bitterness, which calls us back to Thee from the poisonous pleasures that first drew us from Thee (14).

Hear my prayer, O Lord; let not my soul faint under Thy discipline, nor let me faint in confessing unto Thee Thy mercies, whereby Thou hast saved me from all my most wicked ways til Thou shouldst become sweet to me beyond all the allurements that I used to follow. Let me come to love Thee wholly, and grasp Thy hand with my whole heart that Thou mayest deliver me from every temptation, even unto the last (14).

[reflecting on the value placed on rhetoric and being a persuasive speaker] I do not blame the words, for they are, as it were, choice and precious vessels, but I do deplore the wine of error which was poured out to us by teachers already drunk. And unless we also drank, we were beaten, without liberty of appeal to a sober judge (16).

[on the sins of his youth] What shall I render to the Lord for the fact that while my memory recalls these things my soul no longer fears them? I will love Thee, O Lord, and thank Thee, and confess to Thy name, because Thou hast put away from me such wicked and evil deeds. To Thy grace I attribute it and to Thy mercy, that Thou hast melted away my sin as if it were ice (28).

For I had my back toward the light, and my face toward the things on which the light falls, so that my face, which looked toward the illuminated things, was not itself illuminated (63).

And what kind of burden was it for Thy little ones to have a far slower wit, since they did not use it to depart from Thee, and since they remained in the nest of Thy Church to become safely fledged and to nourish the wings of love by the food of a sound faith (63).

For our stability, when it is in Thee, is stability indeed; but when it is in ourselves, then it is all unstable. Our good lives forever with Thee, and when we turn from Thee with aversion, we fall into our own perversion. Let us now, O Lord, return that we be not overturned, because with Thee our good lives without blemish- for our good is Thee Thyself. And we need not fear that we shall find no place to return to because we fell away from it. For, in our absence, our home- which is Thy eternity- does not fall away (64).

I was still eagerly aspiring to honors, money, and matrimony; and Thou dist mock me (90).

[regarding his philosophical/ theological questions] I continued to reflect upon these things, and Thou wast with me. I sighed, and Thou dist hear me. I vacillated, and Thou guidest me. I roamed the broad way of the world, and Thou didst not desert me (90).

Active efforts were made to get me a wife. I wooed; I was engaged; and my mother took the greatest pains in the matter (100).

[in the period following his conversion] The examples of Thy servants whom Thou hadst changed from black to shining white, and from death to life, crowded into the bosom of our thoughts and burned and consumed our sluggish temper, that we might not topple back into the abyss (149).

He is Thy best servant who does not look to hear from Thee what he himself wills, but who wills rather to will what he hears from Thee (194).

It is not the uncleanness of meat that I fear, but the uncleanness of my incontinent appetite. I know that permission was granted Noah to eat every kind of flesh that was good for food; that Elijah was fed with flesh; that Joh, blessed with a wonderful abstinence, was not polluted by the living creatures (that is, locusts) on which he fed. And I know that Esau was deceived by his hungering after lentils and that David blamed himself for desiring water, and that our King was tempted not by flesh but by bread. And thus, the people in the wilderness truly desired their reproof, not because they desired meat, but because in their desire for food they murmured against the Lord.
Set down, then, in the midst of these temptations, I strive daily against my appetite for food and drink. For it is not the kind of appetite that I am able to deal with by cutting it off once for all, and thereafter not touching it, as I was able to do with fornication. The bridle of the throat, therefore, must be held in the mean between slackness and tightness. And who, o Lord, is he who is not in some degree carried away beyond the bounds of necessity? Whoever hs is, he is great; let him magnify Thy name. But I am not such a one, ‘for I am a sinful man.’ Yet I too magnify Thy name, for he who hath ‘overcome the world’ intercedeth with Thee for my sins, numbering me among the weak members of His body; for Thy eyes did see what was imperfect in Him, and in Thy book all shall be written down (199).

How then, shall I respond to him who asks, ‘What was God doing before He made heaven and earth?’ I do not answer, as a certain one is reported to have done facetiously (shrugging off the force of the question), ‘He was preparing hell,’ he said, ‘for those who pry too deep.’ It is one thing to see the answer; it is another to laugh at the questioner- and for myself I do not answer these things thus. More willingly would I have answered, ‘I do not know what I do not know,’ than cause one who asked a deep question to be ridiculed- and by such tactics gain praise for a worthless answer (223).

This way of Thine is too far removed from my sight; it is too great for me. I cannot attain to it. But I shall be enabled by Thee, when Thou wilt grant it, O sweet Light of my secret eyes (228).

Thou, O Light and Truth, wilt show me (232).

[a refrain repeated about many subjects] All this, in Thy sight, is clear to me. Let it become clearer and clearer, I beseech Thee, and in that light let me abide soberly under Thy wings (246).

For they all have the same end, which is temporal and earthly happiness. This is their motive for doing everything, although they may fluctuate within an innumerable diversity of concerns (281).

Electricity Failures and Falling Walls

Usually we leave between 6:30 and 7. At 6:25, I still hadn't run off pictures of Joshua and the Battle of Jericho, so I called Josephina and asked her to pick me up at the Shell station, instead of my apartment, and ran down to make copies for the kids to color. By 6:35, I was waiting outside. Instead of the van pulling up, Mario Luis came bounding across the parking lot, thrilled to report a delay in our departure. The old van had finally had it and was being repaired in a garage a block away. I absentmindedly asked the Lord to heal our van. An hour later, we were off.

Instead of disembarking at Ramon's, like we normally do, we sardined ourselves together to make room for 10 more women and children, a third of whose breasts were nursing tiny babies. After about 7 minutes, we stopped in the middle of what appeared to be a vacant lot. I had thought we were to be going to the home of a new believer. She'd invited us to do the study there, that week, to include her "marido," the man with whom she´d been living but never married. I heard some murmurs about electricity, and then followed the others out of the van. In the 7 minutes between our departure and arrival, a storm had arisen. Thus, as soon as I climbed out, my eyes were violated by hundreds of particles of swirling earth. Upon opening them, again, I looked above to see trees' branches being violently whipped by the angry wind. It was an awesome night. Unfortunately, the wind had knocked out the house's 2 lights (which is why I hadn't noticed it, earlier), so we weren't sure how to proceed. After some time of huddling together to protect the babies from the beating earth, Augustine called us over to the house, where we joined hands to pray. The prayers of these young believers were as simple as the storm was ferocious. They recalled Jesus quieting the storm. They thanked God for forgiving their sins. They humbly committed their lives to proclaiming His glory. Then we began to sing songs of joyous praise and heartfelt adoration. Then the lights came on.

We thanked the Lord, and prepared for the study. The adults sat in a circle in the outdoor quincho, while the kids and I circled around a tiny folding table in the outdoor "kitchen." After setting it up, our hostess ceremoniously covered it with a table cloth. I noted the irony in this kind gesture, given the dirt floor, pots and utensils hanging randomly from the ceiling, and chickens running underfoot. But it was beautiful. Amidst the howling wind, I bent down and began asking my kids questions about our love story. We reviewed the love of God, independence and separation of man, and the story of the exodus, which demonstrated both God's faithful love and uncontested power. Then we acted out the story through the mime that we'd been building, each week. Upon discovering that none of my co-leaders had read the assigned story, I determined to tell it, myself, going heavy on action and light on words.

So we stood up and everyone "wandered" through the kitchen to symbolize Israel's 40 years in the desert. Then we all cut our throats to show the death of Moses and that entire generation. Then we were ready for Joshua. So we left the kitchen area and formed a circle around a large pile of bricks that were lying about 5 meters away. The bricks represented the walled city of mighty Jericho. I gave the instructions- we'd march around it in silence 6 times, and then when I gave the signal on the 7th vuelta, we'd all shout, "God is strong! God is strong!" and blow our pretend trumpets. They LOVED it! The little girl behind me couldn't stop giggling (during our 6 silent laps), so I kept turning around to shush her. That was a nice touch, I think. Finally, the seventh time came, and we shouted and trumpeted our little heads off. And do you know what happened next? The wall fell down! (not really. use your imagination), and we rushed into the city and killed everybody (not really. we just mentioned that that's what the Israelites did). The end. It was a little anticlimactic, but that's okJ So then we went back into our outdoor kitchen and I passed out crayons and pictures for everyone to color. Now, Paraguayan children aren't used to our North American classrooms with resources galore, so they are amazing improvisers. 4 or 5 kids used the little table. A few used their own laps. A few sat on the floor and used their chairs. And one used the back of her little brother, who sat on her lap. It was pretty amazing. I've come to love their lack of expectations and delight with whatever they are given. So they focused on their pictures while I looked over their shoulders and praised their choice of colors. They are always so proud of themselves; I love it! At one point, 2 of my favorite little girls wandered off to the side of the house. I found them squatting in the dark and went over to check out what they were doing. "Making pee!" they giggled. Oops. I probably shouldn't have interrupted. Anyway, when we were finished coloring, we stood and sang our Pharaoh song with motions, packed up the van, and headed home. Back in my apartment, I washed my hair two or three times to get all the sand out.

I love Kapi-I nights. I'm always exhausted, going into them, but return wired and fulfilled. It makes me think of how Jesus said that His "food" (or energy) comes from doing the will of His Father. Going to Kapi-I is the easy part of being a missionary. It's the fun part. It's the part that makes for good photos to be sent home. Therefore, it's that which starry-eyed idealists imagine when they're applying to serve overseas. And it is not disappointing. It's every bit as wonderful as the pictures and stories portray. Unfortunately, it only accounts for an hour of each (168 hour) week. But the other hours are for another time. As far as this one goes, I promise that it's every bit as romantic as the best of dreams.

Pride of the USA

Disclaimer: I am NOT a political scientist, sociologist, or economist, so I really don’t know what I’m talking about. I am a dabbler. And I’m a children’s Bible teacher… without technology. Anyone who knows anything about the above mentioned fields should proceed with huge amounts of grace. And please do tell me where I’m off base. Seriously.

The collective voice of the United States of America’s elite might be more like God’s than that of any powerful nation since Israel’s united kingdom under the great king David. Especially the democrats. Especially the ones on the coasts. Our founding fathers did a brilliant job of balancing power in the government and creating a constitution that provided its citizens the freedom of movement and creativity, thus promoting growth and maturity. Therefore, humanity in the United States is becoming more like the most perfect being we can imagine, which is God. Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Bahais, Pagans, Agnostics, and Atheists alike, are developing toward this ideal. Here’s how I see it…

A trillion years ago, God creates humankind to be a reflection of Him (oh, and I’m not a scientist, either). He created us in His image, and breathed His life into us, as stewards of His good world. We, however, didn’t want to be stewards. We wanted to be owners. We got it into our heads that we were capable of ruling ourselves. So we separated ourselves from the Creator-steward relationship we’d had with God. We’ve tried independence, and we’ve done a really sucky job. Sure, there have been bright lights of human goodness every now and again, but as a whole, we’ve bombed. I can think of very, very, very few exceptions to the rule that I learned in my political science classes: power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts, absolutely. Powerful groups of people exploit weaker groups to their own advantage. Almost always. Still, though, there’s something deep inside of us that knows this can’t be right. Like seedlings growing toward the sun, we reach toward goodness, selflessness, and love, despite our natural tendency to be selfish and tyrannical. We all desperately want to be good. And in the US, I think this acknowledgement of the evil of selfish power, and the desire to be good, to be the kinds of people that we somehow know we were meant to be, has somehow been able to grow.

Dressing down, producing good art, and theorizing about human goodness are all luxuries of the privileged. Dr. Richard Allen Farmer is the best dressed man I’ve ever known. He is also black. I remember him telling us that a white man is automatically taken seriously. But a black man always has to begin relationships by proving his legitimacy. I’ve noticed a similar phenomenon in Paraguay. Women tend to be very conscious of their appearance. They show their social standing through their make-up and dress. I, however, have nothing to prove. I’m a North American. I’m rich. Everyone knows it. So I can dress however I like while maintaining my respectability (I think… maybe not! J ). I think I might have been in a world history class when I learned that the level of cultural advancement can be measured by a people’s art. When they get beyond having to spend all of their energy on the necessities of life, time is freed up for creative pursuits. I wonder if a similar statement could be made about human goodness. When you know you don’t have to beat your neighbor to the store to get the last loaf of bread, you are a little more free to consider sharing as a means to making the world a better place. Typically, it’s not the poor peasants who have created the philosophical theories that have shaped political process. It’s been university students that have called for change. University students are among the privileged.

The balance of power, constitutional freedom, and material wealth have allowed citizens of the United States of America the luxury of thinking about, and growing toward their ideal. And I think they’re really close to achieving it. The universities in the US are calling for social change. They’re basically full of political lefties who think that we should use our power to help the less fortunate. They are championing the poor. I think this sentiment is from God. They reject power that exploits the masses for the benefit of a few, including them. They call for freedom. That’s from God, too. Jesus said that He came to provide freedom for the captives and good news for the oppressed. We want to care for the poor. So does God. We want to care for the environment. So does God. We want peace in the Middle East. So does God. We want freedom. And we realize that it’s not happening. We are trying to make it happen. We instinctively know that it should. We’re trying so hard. And we’re disillusioned because we see how messed up we still are. We oscellate between hope and despair. We all echo the cry of Ray Lamontagne, “How come? How come I can’t tell the free world from a living hell? How come?” We know that our freedom shouldn’t cause suffering on the other side of the world. “How come all I see is a child of God in misery? How come?” We know it shouldn’t be this way. And we’re committed to change. But how? Nothing is working. “It’s just man killing man killing man killing man killing man killing man. I don’t understand! How come?”

Sometimes we like to turn up Josh Ritter because there’s something in his anger that soothes our own. We join him in his accusations, “If God’s up there he’s in a cold dark room. The heavenly host are just the cold dark moons. He bent down and made the world in seven days. And since then He’s been walking away… if what’s loosed on earth will be loosed up on high, it’s a hell of a heaven we must go to when we die… ” We know something is wrong. Most of the suffering also know that something is wrong, but they’re not in the position to question it or consider affecting change. We, however, in the United States, know that something is wrong, and we feel responsibility to grow toward that light of our ideal, that all might live fulfilled and free. In this desire, we are a lot like God, minus the ability to bring it about, of course.

Our big Achiles’ heel, though, besides the roots that stubbornly dig down to secure our own comfort, pleasure, and position, is that age-old issue of independence. We were not created to be owners. We are not smart enough. We were created to be intelligent, but accountable stewards. None of us knows everything. Even the most intelligent of scientists study to discover that which they do not know. Through the middle ages, church leaders abused their power to manipulate and silence the masses. They intentionally kept them in ignorance. In response, we rose and claimed the right to direct our own destinies, rejecting submission to our human lords of knowledge. Like our commitment to securing a better future for collective humanity, this was like God. But we took it farther, submitting to no power, neither human nor divine, setting ourselves up as little individual gods of our own universe. And this has put us at odds with God, the Ideal with whom we have so much else in common. We have become like Him, because we were created to be like Him. But our insistence that we stand on equal footing will be our destruction. Throughout history, He has been faithful to His word, opposing the proud and giving grace to the humble. Let us take heed and submit ourselves to the benevolent but absolute authority of our God, the Creator and Owner of the heavens and the earth. If we refuse to acknowledge Him, we will bring our own destruction, no matter how godly we may become.

wealth, identity, and love

This morning I was reading Psalm 10, and it caused me to reflect on the idea of God as the defender of the poor, followed by questions about my own attitudes concerning the poor. The following were some of my conclusions.

I think the main reason why it is harder for a rich man to get into heaven than it is for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, is because of the way wealth insidiously affects the wealthy person’s identity. He tends to see himself as being capable, which affects both his relationships with and identity before others and the Lord. First, his wealth tends to lower his esteem of the poor. Unconsciously, he sees them as a group, instead of individuals, and assumes that they are content with their lot because it’s all they’ve known. He sees himself, in contrast, as being so different from them, that he looks past their pain. As an example, I draw attention to the way I don’t make as much of an effort to learn the names of people from the colonia, or market people, as I do professionals and students. I see professionals and students as individuals with an interesting story, while I view those from the compania only as members of a larger group, that is too different from me to understand. In this way, my view of the world is distorted and I am less likely to treat my poor neighbor with the unconditional love characteristic of those in God’s kingdom.

Secondly, his wealth tends to lower his dependence on God. Throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, the Israelites go through cycles of being desperate and crying out for deliverance, being rescued by the Lord, experiencing His blessing, growing self-sufficient and satisfied, and then coming to ruin, only to cry out again and begin the cycle, once more. This is one of the themes, in my opinion, of the story of God’s people. I’m also reminded, at this point of a (probably fictitious) story in Christian tradition of Augustine walking through the streets of Rome with another believer, who proudly reflected on the wealth surrounding them, “Well, we Christians can no longer say ‘Silver and gold have I not!” to which Augustine wisely responded, “True. And neither can we follow it with ‘Pick up your mat and walk.’” Similarly, I remember being struck by Amy Charmichael’s observation in A Chance to Die, “We claim to be strangers and aliens in this world, yet we settle down as if we’re right at home and plan on staying for quite some time. It’s no wonder that apostolic miracles have ceased. Apostolic living certainly has.” Wealth naturally blinds us to our dependence on God, because our reality is that we can meet all of our own needs. It is only by taking God’s word at face value, which requires a choice to live by faith rather than sight, that we will see the reality of our poverty before Him and rest in His provision, alone.

Finally, I’ve become aware of how, in our North American culture, at least, our wealth affects our identity by allowing us to be “with it”. If we have the money to do so, we’ll show that we’re all right, by hurriedly replacing our colored outdoor Christmas lights when white ones have come into vogue, stowing away our tapered Jeans and leg warmers until they show up to our complete horror 20 years later, replacing our dishes with each new season, and remodeling our homes every 10 years. If we don’t do these things, we are devalued in our own eyes, and in the eyes of our society. When we see a missionary who comes home on furlow and looks 20 years behind, we say “Oh, bless her heart (that stupid idiot)!” Now, we kinda give her a break, because her ignorance is explainable; we know she’s been gone. But when we see people in the street who aren’t with it, we turn them in to What Not to Wear, not just reflecting on their clothes. Our judgment of them penetrates to their ignorance or naiveté, as a person. Now, I’m not criticizing people for loving the latest styles. My sister-in-law is an interior designer and a VERY good dresser. She loves to express her creativity by putting together fashionable outfits off of 7 different sale racks. God created beauty, so this is wonderful, so long as it doesn’t become a measure of her, or others’, worth (which it doesn’t… because she loves me! J). When style turns into a means of determining “with-it-ness”, it becomes either a blinder or a burden, depending on which side of the fence we fall, thus distorting our reality and robbing us of peace.

So, what do we do about it? I am convinced that God is not opposed to material wealth and beauty. More and more, I see that He is the God of unlimited resources and abundant love who created this crazy amazing world in which we presently live, while He is busy building us heavenly mansions in which to spend eternity. Our God is the fountain of inexhaustible wealth and power. So I cannot see it fitting that He requires us, as His children, to live as powerless paupers in order to please Him and secure our places in heaven. Jesus follows His statement about it being harder for a rich man to get into heaven than for a camel to get through the eye of a needle by saying that what is impossible with men is possible with God. I think, then, that the 2 keys have to do with identity and love. As the natural consequence of wealth is to raise one’s confidence in himself, thus resulting in self-sufficiency, lack of dependence on God, and devaluation of the poor, we must resist this natural trajectory and seek humility before God and neighbor, alike. Secondly, once we see the relationships between ourselves, our God, and our neighbors as they really are according to the true reality of the unseen world, we must cultivate His love in our hearts, using our resources as a means of extending that love by giving generously, as we, ourselves, have so freely and abundantly received.

Body Heat

Did you know that when King David was old, he was always cold, at night, in spite of his blankets, so they hired a young boy to sleep with him and keep him warm? It's in 1 Kings, no joke! And remember the passage in Ecclesiastes where it says that when two people lie down, together, they keep one another warm? I will never read those passages the same, again.
Until coming to Paraguay, I don't know that I really knew what it was like to be cold for extended periods of time. Our winters, here, are actually warmer than in Indiana, but nobody can afford central heat. The only places to escape the cold are under my electric blanket, in the shower, or under my hair drier (an ingenious discovery… my hair's been straight a LOT, this winterJ). At our GBU retreat, this weekend, though, I learned another trick; find a bedmate. I think I broke one of the 10 commandments, Friday night, by envying Liz and Lety, the sisters who shared their twin bed, below mine. The next morning, 16 year old Cecia confessed that she'd frozen through the night, and asked if she could sleep with me, Saturday. I didn't know that was allowed; I'd assumed only sisters with a special bond could get away with such close community (remember we were in twin bunk beds), but I gladly agreed, thankful for anything that would take off the chill. When it was time to get ready for bed, I realized that it wasn't just Cecia who had learned from the night before. All of the girls pushed their bunks side by side, and rearranged the blankets so that we could all bunker down, together! It was one of the funnier, more eye-opening experiences of my life. And we didn't just share the blankets, we shared one another's body heat- I'm talking 4 unit, platonic spooning chains! Judging from their naturalness, I was the only one to whom this was foreign. They'd all grown up sharing the family bed on cold nights. And you know what? It was kinda nice. First of all, it was really warm. Secondly, it was cool to see how they achieved the same results (getting warm) by relying on one another, that we do in North America, by using technology. Thirdly, I didn't feel alone

Brocoli and Pineapple

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. This morning’s trip to the market confirmed it all. I’d been in the States for the past three weeks, so I guess I’d missed the gradual change of seasons, making its reality both thrilling and abruptly stark. On the thrilling side, I found giant heads of green broccoli, one of the foods for which I’ve had the strongest cravings in recent months. I’m not sure how long they will last, but I’m pretty pumped, to say the least. On the stark end, the growing season for pineapple has sadly ended. The only ones sold, now, aren’t as sweet, imported from Brazil, and nearly $1 each! They’re breaking me, these South American fruit sharks. Imagine living in a place where you can’t buy whatever you want, whenever you want it. It’s a tough world.

So, I got to thinking about broccoli, pineapple, and life. I think one of the myths of the enlightenment is that life can be all good, all the time. Maybe it wasn’t the enlightenment and I just made that up to sound smart. But really, I feel like I’ve grown up in a wonderful American dream bubble, protected from the harsh realities of life in a broken world. My life has always been really good. And when it wasn’t good, my dad could either fix it or I felt guilty for my feelings, assuming that I was somehow failing in allowing their persistence. There was always something to be done to escape the things about life that I didn’t like. When I didn’t like my food, I’d send it back. When I was cold, I’d turn on the heat or get another blanket. When I was hungry, I’d go to the fridge. When I had a headache, I’d pop two Advil. But when I hit college, I started seeing that some parts of life were just plain ugly and bad. People were mean and friends died while they were still young. After unimaginable suffering. Some things couldn’t be fixed. So I grew resentful and decided that life was just plain hard. No good, just bad. I was sad a lot. But recently I was reading over my notes from a sermon I heard by Rick Warren, last June. He said that pain and happiness are like railroad tracks; they never really separate. Life contains both, and you’ve gotta be able to experience both, simultaneously. This morning I thought of it, again, with the broccoli and pineapple.

I’m learning that I’m not a huge fan of change. I always know, in my head, that good things are probably waiting on the other side of the change, but I still deeply grieve that which I’m leaving behind. Sunday morning, as I said good-bye to my family, I felt nothing but heartache. Flying into Paraguay, though, I was happy to be back. Not just joyful in the spiritual sense, but genuinely happy. In Time Goes Away, Rosie Thomas asks, “How do we make the moments last? How can we get them to stay when everything passes and time goes away?” On my last trip to Iguazu Falls, I vowed to leave my camera at home on my next visit. Each time their grandeur overwhelmed me, I would busy myself trying to capture what could never be represented by a small, inanimate photograph. In so doing, I missed out. I think I do that with life, too. I exert a lot of mental energy trying to do the impossible: capture and memorialize my very favorite of life’s seasons, so that I can pull them out and relive them in the colder months to come. Besides missing out, I’m falsely assuming that the future will hold no beauty. No longer do I want to ask how to make the moments last. Instead, I’d like to be fully present in each of them, trusting that new pleasures will come to be lived in place of the ones that have past. I recently heard that the only place missionaries are truly happy is on airplanes, because they’re always looking ahead to the next thing. They can’t wait to come home, only to find that home isn’t everything their memories have created. The same is true, then, for their fields of service. I don’t want that to be true of me. I hope it doesn’t have to be true. In His famous sermon on the mount, Jesus encouraged tired crowds to trust God with tomorrow’s problems, because each day had enough trouble of its own. I wonder if we couldn’t apply the same principle to joy: Don’t worry about trying to bottle it all up, today, because tomorrow will have it’s own.

This evening I steamed my broccoli and it was delicious. I’ve probably never enjoyed broccoli so much in my entire life. Gracias a Dios.

Resurrection

Last week was disgustingly hot. Everyone kept saying that it meant we were in for a good rain. Good rains always follow intense heat. Sure enough, our respite came on Sunday. Clockwork. After the rains, we welcomed a few blissful days of cool breezes and overcast skies. These are the ones when I wonder if anyone in the world could be enjoying more beauty. But then I remember that I’m only soaking in today’s perfection because of yesterday’s relative hell.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the pain of people around me. Sometimes I feel like the things that we do in church must seem really far removed from everything that’s happening in their real lives. Lately there’s seemed to have been a bad news bug going around. And this is Semana Santa, the week when all of Paraguay celebrates the resurrection of our Lord. But some people get sick and have to die. Others grow tired of us and choose to leave. Sometimes people that we trust steal our money. Sometimes they lie and rob us of our good name. Yet in the midst of it all, Christians gather and proclaim, “He is risen! He is risen, indeed! Hallelujah!” What does that even mean? How can we celebrate when our entire worlds are caving in around us, crumbling to pieces at our feet?

I believe that we can rejoice because piles of rubble are the excavation sites of miracles. Jesus never gave sight to someone who could already see. For how many years did the young man born blind hopelessly suffer before Jesus walked by? Neither did Jesus strengthen the legs of those already walking. But how long had the lame man been sitting at the side of the pool, unnoticed and neglected? Jesus didn’t calm still waters. His new wine didn’t supplement overstocked shelves. .He didn’t give fish and barley loaves to those who were already full. And He wouldn’t have risen unless he had died.

This is the night when Jesus offered His body and blood to the disciples. On this night, His agony caused Him to sweat blood in Gethsemane, pleading with God to spare Him of the suffering to come. This is the night that He was betrayed and was tried for crimes that He didn’t commit. On this night, His closest friends denied ever knowing Him. But He walked through this night. He died. And then on Sunday morning, He rose. Tonight’s disappointments are excruciatingly real. But so is Jesus, presently sitting at the right hand of God, our heavenly Father who dearly loves us. In this confidence, let us cling to the hand of Him who intimately understands our sufferings, as we esperar (wait / hope) for the morning when we will finally share in the glorious joy of His resurrection.

So I Eat Ormigas

It’s true. I don’t know how many or how often. But I know I eat them because I live in a country where they invade kitchens whenever cooks leave the room. Monday I saw, paid for, and moved into a beautiful one bedroom apartment perfectly located in the center of Villarrica. Its cream ceramic tile and off white/ pale yellowish walls give it a clean, fresh feeling. It has a good sized balcony, just perfect for sitting outside and drinking coffee (or terere, if you’re Paraguayan) while looking out over the tops of trees, tiled roofs, and tall stone walls. I’m hoping to put a small round table out there, someday. I can open the balcony doors and the window above my sink to get a pretty good cross breeze across the apartment. I just love it. Except for the ormigas (that’s Spanish for ants, by the way). They’re still a little gross.

I remember Carol telling me when I first moved to Paraguay that ants don’t discriminate between rich and poor. That conversation kinda went in one ear and out the other until this week, when I began to have ant problems of my own. It’s so true, though. See, they gather whenever you’re not in the room or look the other way. Really. And they’re obnoxiously tiny. My counter is black and marbly, so I can’t really see them (good move on the part of the owner, I think) unless they’re on non-black things like washcloths, food, utensils, etc. Anyway, there’s absolutely, positively no way to avoid them. Really. I’ve asked missionaries and Paraguayans alike. My boss told me about a time when he set a pretzel on the end of the couch and put it in his mouth a few minutes later and felt his mouth moving. Yup. His pretzel had been covered in ants. Bummer. In the last week, the good Lord has performed a wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, for which at least 2 special people in my life have been praying for 26 years; I’ve become more meticulously clean than my mother, Beth. En serio. I won’t even eat a meal anymore before all dishes used in its preparation have been washed, food put away, and counters hosed down. Ants may come, but they’re not going to leave muy satisfecha, if I can help it. I’ve stopped spraying because it feels pointless and the other day I brought a Nemo cup to my mouth and it still smelled like Raid. That can’t be healthy.

Last night I was at a prayer meeting (good missionary move, I know) and my mind wandered a little when Eva was praying in Espanol. I was really trying to stick with her, but accidentally distracted myself with thoughts of certain ant infestation back on the home front. Then I thought of that watch-the-ant proverb. Now, I know Solomon was referring to the cultural heritage of ants’ German Mennonite work ethic, but my thoughts were elsewhere. No matter how many I killed, it was as if none had ever died. The fallen were replaced by ranks of fresh ants ready to annoy me by their very presence on my cutting board. They were an indestructible army because of their willingness to die. If the dead ants had really cared about preserving themselves (and they had the “luxury” of rational thought), they wouldn’t have dared show their blasted bodies in my presence. But they didn’t care about their individual lives. They cared about their mission. They weren’t individuals. They were a group. Together they formed a body. Their mission was to annoy me. Mission accomplished. True, they could have stayed alive by running away when I came in the room, but they would have then failed to fulfill their mission. In managing to save their lives, they’d be choosing an existence of unfulfilling mediocre ease.

So then I thought of the Church, springing out of soil watered by the blood of saints. I thought of ancient Rome and Europe during the reformation. And I thought of China. And of Ethiopia. And of Indonesia. And of the Middle East. And then I thought of myself. And of modern Europe and North America. At a missions conference in December, I heard an African pastor compare the growth of the Church in the 2/3 world (what we used to call “Third World”) with its decline in the West. He suggested they would in fact be drinking from a poisoned chalice to adopt the Christianity of a dying Western Church. That’s a tough pill. Is it true? Is our theology really that far off? Or is it our practice that needs attention? We talk about dying to ourselves and being instruments available unto the Lord. But I care a whole lot about my own life. I really hate being too hot, too cold, too hungry, too sick, or too tired. I can’t tolerate feeling lonely, rejected, belittled, unappreciated, and overlooked. Without even thinking, I jump to my feet when I feel that my rights have been violated or I’ve been treated unfairly. I don’t want to be anybody’s doormat. And I assume that God, too, wants me to be comfortable, esteemed, and loved in and by this world…

Food for thought.

Community pt 2

“’Don’t you go talking about things you don’t understand, Nikabrik,’ said Trufflehunter. ‘You Dwarfs are as forgetful and changeable as the Humans themselves. I’m a beast, I am, and a Badger what’s more. We don’t change. We hold on. I say great good will come of it… we Beasts remember.’” Though it was set in the fictitious land of Narnia, CS Lewis’ forementioned commentary on human nature resonates with me; I have such limited perspective. Part of me wants to blame this shortsightedness on the enlightenment and modernism. I wonder how our faith has been affected by the basic assumption that seeing is believing, anything trustworthy can be reproduced in a scientific lab. Hebrew prophets recorded God as saying, “test me and prove me.” But we think you can’t prove something unless we can see, understand, and calculate it. Spiritually, then, our eyes naturally default to accepting that which is before us, rather than believing what is, that which might be just outside the realm of our immediate experience. But maybe it’s not the Enlightenment or Modernism. Maybe it’s just fallen human nature. Maybe. Regardless of how and why it came to be this way, how quickly we forget what’s True. I think that’s one reason why we were designed to live in community, to remind one another of who we are, what we’re about, who God is, and what He’s about.

I often forget that God has given me unique abilities. Sometimes I think I missed roll call on the day when He “led captives in His train and gave gifts to men.” Nearly 2 years ago, I sat in my first official SIM interview with Ruth Clark and Lilli Palacio. I think they were supposed to be interviewing me, but we got sidetracked and spent the majority of our time talking about the Bible study I had been leading. I had also been wondering if God could use me because I was such a Jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none. They enthusiastically brought light to all of the ways that God had been preparing me for this next step, focusing, though, on their observation that God had perhaps given me special abilities to teach the Bible. I walked out of their office feeling affirmed and empowered to continue the journey.

I remember the Sunday afternoon before I left for Paraguay, when my family went around the dinner table and all shared one of my qualities that would serve me well on the mission field. We wrote them all down on a piece of my mom’s “Beth Riegsecker-Lugbill” paper and I carried it with me to the Ortiz’ home in Villarrica. I got it out several times in the privacy of my bedroom, trying to knock truth into my brain when it felt so far away from my current reality.

When I returned home in December, we sat around that same dinner table, and they shared reasons they were proud of me. I just cried and cried and cried. The things they were saying felt so far from being true. I felt so unaccomplished. I felt like a survivor, but certainly not a thriver. I felt like I had been a little beaten up and came home pretty bruised. But they told me that I had done some things well, that I wasn’t a failure. Their affirmation has kept me going.

“I hate being a missionary. I hate being a missionary. I hate it. I hate it. GOD, I HATE THIS! Why do I have to do this. I absolutely hate it!” I was walking out to Grandma and Grandpa’s slate-blue jeep in Archbold, Ohio. It was parked outside Fairlawn Haven Nursing Home, where my Grandma Lugbill was trying to recover from her most recent bout of strokes. We were most likely taking our last family picture. I couldn’t stay for the picture, though, because I had to catch a stupid plane bound for the largest missions conference in the US. That’s right, I was on my way to encourage young people to become missionaries. So the photographer positioned me and my mom behind the empty couch, and took our picture alone. She’d paste it into the family shot, later. Grandma was wheeled in. Her face was freezing. She was disoriented. She didn’t know who I was. I hugged her, gave her a kiss, and said goodbye, because I was in a hurry to catch my stupid plane. Then I called my brother over and told him goodbye. I would be flying directly from the stupid conference to the east coast, where I’d have a month of training in teaching ESOL, during which he and his new wife would fly back to California. I wouldn’t see them again until… I didn’t know when. Maybe 3 years. It probably wouldn’t be that long, but it might be. I just hugged him and cried. I didn’t want to let go. But I had to catch that stupid plane, so I walked out into the freezing cold to the slate blue jeep with my mom, and left the rest of the family behind. I hated being a missionary. I just hated it. I hated being alone. And I was on my way to tell kids to become missionaries. Boy, would I be convincing.

At Urbana, I was surrounded by people who had been there. I was first welcomed by familiar faces. Willy and Angela were there. Dave and Sheryl. Bob Hay. Oh, how I needed to see them. I just hated being a missionary. I hated saying goodbye. I hated it. I needed to see them. They were familiar. They were safe. And then there were the new people. I sat by Dan? that night. He had been a TESOL teacher in Japan. He had thrived. He had left his mark there. He hadn’t looked back. He inspired me to try and do the same. And he had a sweatshirt that said “Free Hugs.” Then there were Marcus and Jen. I didn’t get to spend a whole lot of time with them, but their gentle presence encouraged me to embrace life’s pain and allow God to shape my character through it. Then I met Laura, Pam, and Chris. They had all worked with university students in South America. They had loved it. They had lived in the moment and invested in the lives of young people. We had lunch, one day, and they shared their experiences and ideas with me. We talked about life, too. God used them to give me some hope that these next few years could be filled with good things. Before coming to Urbana, I didn’t want to go back to Paraguay. I knew I had to, but I didn’t want to. I was feeling everything in my immediate realm of experience. I was remembering the loneliness and frustration of Paraguay and the pain of goodbyes. I was forgetting the joy of being God’s instrument. I wasn’t looking through eyes of faith, waiting and hoping for what would be. My will was changeable. But my fellow SIMers reminded me of God’s goodness and faithfulness. They listened to my story and freely told theirs, both important steps in affirming my calling and lightening my weary heart. I needed them.

I spent last Saturday evening at the home of 2 AMBS professors. For two hours, they advised me on steps to take toward reaching my goal of going to graduate school. We discussed my interest in ethics, other religions, peace studies, and Christianity. By the end of our time, together, they said it sounded as if I should pursue a degree in Biblical studies. Everything always comes back to this. Try as I may to enter into a more “applicable” or prestigious field, it always comes back to teaching Bible. I’m so thankful that I have people in my life to recognize and affirm this natural and exciting direction.

Finally, last night I drove down to my alma mater and had dinner with an old professor. I didn’t know exactly why I was making the trip; the weather was bad, gas expensive, and time short. But whenever I meet with this woman, I leave feeling more at peace with God, and mysteriously awed and inspired to seek His face. Furthermore, she is one of the only female professors that I know, which makes here a good candidate for my questions about grad school. I spent a lot of the drive considering what I wanted from her and how I would direct the conversation. Should I just come out and ask her to be a professional mentor? Should I tell her my story? How much? Should I ask her for a book list? Should I ask about a research paper to do in Paraguay? About 30 minutes from campus, I remembered God’s faithfulness, and the gracious resiliency in Faye’s eyes. “This evening is Yours, Lord. You know what I need. Please direct our conversation as You would have it go. I know You love me.”

We went to Ivanhoes and found a booth in the back. We talked a little about her job and the transition that she was experiencing, and then moved into descriptions of my last 6 months. About an hour into our time, together, I noticed myself smiling a lot and giving professional missionary responses to her questions. I didn’t like it. I wanted to be real with her. I wasn’t doing as well as I was communicating. “Dr. Chechowich,” I began, “the two years after graduating from Taylor were good years, for me. I feel like I really began taking charge of my life and making decisions. During those 2 years, I became the person that I wanted to be. But these last several months have been really hard, and I feel like I’ve taken several steps backward. I don’t feel very resilient, these days.” She didn’t deny it. She didn’t say I was fine. She didn’t say I was being too hard on myself. But neither did she help me come up with an action plan. She told me I was going to make it. She encouraged me to keep going. She told me that there were times to do things we didn’t feel like doing, and times to treat ourselves like we’d treat a good friend. I told her I was the kind of friend who’d bake you a pan of brownies. She asked what was wrong with that? Maybe not the whole pan, she said, but a plate with a few brownies can communicate a lot of love and make a lot of things feel better! What a statement. Thank you, Dr. Chechowich. I had gone in wanting to talk busness. But the Lord knew what I needed, which was to talk life. I’m not sure if Faye had that sense, or not, but she was certainly guided by Him and inspired me. She knew that my life was more important than my career. And she encouraged me to live well. Thank You, Lord.

The community keeps us on track. It reminds us of what we know though we cannot see it. It speaks the truth when we’re forgetful. I’m so thankful.