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.