The AM

Yesterday this:
Hope deferred maketh the heart sick… (Proverbs 13:12)

Today this:
… but joy cometh in the morning. (Psalm 30:5)

This:
My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O LORD; in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up. (Psalm 5:3)

And this:
Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning; for in thee do I trust: cause me to know the way wherein I should walk; for I lift up my soul unto thee. (Psalm 143:8)

The long and short of it is that the prospective house help came to the house on Monday, I showed her around, explained the job, we talked about hours and pay and together we decided that she would start Tuesday at two. Two o’clock rolled around, 2:15, 2:35, 3:00 and still a no show. I call the number she gave me and talk with her sister, who is clueless. Then the work I had been saving (so I could train her how to do it) I had to do. It wasn’t the work that upset me. What upset me is that this is not the first time this has happened and it causes me to over analyze everything.

So what am I going to do if she decided to show up today? Good question. I will know when and if the moment presents itself.

Things look brighter now. Thanks to all who sympathized with me, I really appreciate it.

While we are on the topic of the morning… some of my morning sounds:
Cars in the busy street we live on
Airplanes over head
Husband moving about
My kids playing
Venders opening the market
Children rushing to the school in front of our property
Our pets asking for breakfast
Birds
Staff watching DVD bible school courses
Kids in the orphanage praying as I hang my clothes on the line

What is the best part about your morning?

Drama Queen

WARNING: this blog post will be overly dramatic. Things will be looking better in the morning.

These are my eyes this evening full of weariness, contempt, disillusionment, hurt and disgust. Oh, I do so want to believe in people and take them at their word… but who am I kidding?

This is the hot chocolate with three big marshmallows that I used to drown my sorrows. This, of course, after spending all afternoon washing, scrubbing, cooking, cleaning and tending to the house alone.

(pluckiness will be following after I am done wallowing…)

Tea

As a woman living in Bolivia I have learned the skill of a “tea”. It usually takes the place of a light dinner at about 6 in the evening. Ladies trickle in and the sound gradually increases as all the friends converge around the table in a home or at a local tea-house. Coffee and tea are served along side breads, pastries or other baked goods. If the ladies have brought food to share what is politely left on the plate stays at the house. In the same fashion the confidentialities shared also do not leave the confines of the intimacy of the companions; at least in noble theory if not in practice.

Age old traditions are observed such as serving the cool refreshment beverage that precedes the actual tea drinking on a tray and never with your hands. A tea spoon is to be provided in place of the larger soup spoon or there will be furrowed eyebrows. Children are welcome to pick and choose off the table as they please seeing as they are adored and by no means disdained among these people. Though it is fashionable to arrive half an hour to forty five minutes passed the appointed hour it is expected that the group depart all at the same time.

The intricacies of conversing at a tea are details that one must develop only after repeated exposure with an attentive ear to the timing, volume and topics addressed. The only interruption permitted is that of a proper greeting which consists of a kiss on the cheek for every person present. Kisses aside, great respect is demonstrated in that the thorough stories that could be easily described as speeches by those unfamiliar with a Bolivian tea are listened to completely.

Common topics touched at almost every tea: children, women stuff (complete with at least one labor and delivery story), light gossip and maids. The Spanish word for maid is ‘empleada’. You should see the emotion on the women’s faces when this topic is finally brought to the table. So today I welcome you to my table for tea. This very Latin introduction has been so that I can talk with you about my maid, or former maid to be more precise.

She has been with us for over three years. The kids love her dearly. She actually did very good honest work. Just these last few months she has repeatedly missed days, asked for extra time off and simply disappeared. So she finally called the other day to let me know that she was done. I guess I can’t blame her. Right now she needs to give her own family attention. Both her parents are sick and she is the middle child of 12. Only a few of the siblings have jobs. Their pay checks sustain the rest of them. So she will go and I will probably never see her again in my life. Such is the case with ‘empleadas’.

And now we need to decide where to go from here. It is clear that if I am going to continue to be involved in ministry outside of my home that I will need to have help. Simple house hold tasks take so much longer to accomplish without automated everything. The thought of the hunting, trial period, decisions and training time makes me sigh.

You are to be commended if you have read this far and you are still interested. This talk would have been much more in depth and fraught with emotional descriptions and compassion invoking examples had I been addressing Bolivian women. And it will be next time I sit down with my chicas. Bottom line is please pray for me during this transition time. It is a good thing to have the challenge of choosing the right helper.

Thanks for sharing tea with me today.

A Mountainous Week

As my American week draws to a close there are some mountains that have been conquered by my able bodied crew (AKA: the Washington family) that you might like to know about.

A mountain of dishes have been washed
A mountain of clothes have been cleaned
A mountain of school work accomplished
A mountain of fun had with papa in the evenings
A mountain of fun had driving
A mountain of fun had with a new friend, Denise
A mountain of steps were climbed on the side of an actual mountain
A mountain of fruits and veggies were bought at the market
A mountain of help was given to us by friends
A mountain of love and bonding was forged within our family by working together

Ten mountains climbed. It always amazes me how changed I feel after times like these outside of our regular routine. It is so revealing to get a different perspective when you do the same thing in a different way.

Video Link

During his last trip to the States my husband DaRonn (I love you baby!) was asked to do an interview at our home sending church Word of Life Church in Saint Joseph, Missouri. Our connection to this church is profound and powerful. We share an anniversary. The first day of Word of Life was November first, 26 years ago. Per the previous post you know that the same date marked our 6th year on the field. The founding and head pastors, Brian and Peri Zahnd are dear, dear people. They have a passion for Jesus and are making a huge impact not only in the town of St. Joe, but around the world.

Click here to see the video they did with DaRonn.

You can browse around on the Word of Life site, it’s pretty cool.

Perfect Peace

Have you ever shaken a soda pop just to see what happened? At times our wee ones are driven by this infantile desire to test the limits.

The dreary monotony of yet another bed time battle loomed before the weary mother. She was the carbonated beverage in the bottle; and her children were the hands wrapped tightly around shaking and jostling half for the fun of it and half to see how far they could push the limit.

Regretting her previous impatient reactions in similar situations she clenched her fists and squeezed her eyes shut tight desperately trying to regain control. Distaining the impending tears and pounding headache, she knew there had to be another way!

In a twinge of pity she scooped up the fussy toddler and set him in her lap. He writhed and wriggled. Breathing out a prayer she begged God to give her child peace. Almost immediately he ceded. She lifted her son to his bed. Two words came to her: perfect peace. The others came pleading for a story, “Tell me a story! Tell me a story!” As they repeated the demand a new idea seeped into her mind. It brought with it hope.

Could there be a connection to perfect peace? The whole verse reads, “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.” Slowly the cap of the bottle was turned letting the pressure out as she breathed a hopeful whisper, “Storytelling!” That was it! Stories are a path to peace, an irresistible way that a mind is channeled into trusting the teller.

She began to let her imagination run. The stories would bring the peace the house needed. Could it be that this is the reason that the bible is full of stories instead of pragmatic points and formulas? Yes! God wants us to trust Him. He knows that if we trust him then we will have perfect peace. But how can he create that trust? By hearing his stories we believe if it happened before it can happen again. We have perfect peace when our mind is stayed on God. We stay our mind on him by replaying the ancient stories handed down for generations.

We connect to truth, faith, trust and peace with the all familiar line, “Once upon a time in a land far far away…”

Basement Beginnings - 4

Part 4 – Santa Cruz, Bolivia
(Maids quarters)

Youth is marked by three outstanding characteristics: invincibility, omniscience and hope. Without these one would never risk it all in pursuit of a passion. The Neverlands and Narnias, Wonderlands and Lands of Oz would never be discovered were it not for these three magical spells that have been spoken over all wide-eyed girls and boys.

DaRonn and I were enchanted and our mysterious land yet to be discovered was Bolivia. After a 10 day trip with a group from church to help with a crusade in the spring of 2001 we were ever so much more convinced that we were to spend our internship time in Santa Cruz, Bolivia with a missionary couple that were connected with Tulsa’s Victory Christian Center. They graciously extended the invitation for us to come and we spent the summer months in preparation.

A few significant things took place. In July we decided that if we were really going to live overseas fully supported by donations then we must practice now; so DaRonn stopped working his temp jobs that he might dedicate his full attention to the fund-raising process. August brought us our third child; she was 10 weeks old when we moved to Bolivia. In September the twin towers were hit; thus changing airport procedures forever.

We were red-flagged because of the five one way tickets we had purchased for our family. Our bags and babies were searched at every checkpoint. I landed in humid Santa Cruz exhausted and hoarse after the journey that took close to 24 hours. Trying to make use of all our carry-on and check-on privileges we had checked 13 duct-taped rubber tubs and had 10 hand bags. Three-year-old Raimy and two-year-old Timothy each had a little rolling bag to tote around. I had the baby on a front pack and a back-pack on the back keeping my hands free for my toddlers. DaRonn carried the rest.

We left October 31 and landed November 1, Bolivia’s “Day of the Dead” on which they celebrate their dead ancestors by visiting the grave sites and sharing a meal together, leaving the leftovers for the spirits to enjoy. How odd it was as we drove into the city to look around and see every person dressed in black. Due to the fact that I had completely lost my voice I was unable to carry on a conversation with the missionary that had kindly picked us up from the airport. I was left to my thoughts. The main theme running through my mind was, “These people need Jesus.”

The missionaries had benevolently offered for us to stay with them until we could find our own place. The home they lived in, along with their four children, was in a neighborhood with dirt roads and high walls around all the houses. We were directed to a room behind their small place in the maid’s quarters. There was a bathroom attached to it. A double bed and a small table took up three fourths of the room. There was a closet and some wicker furniture as well. This was to be our home for the next six weeks. We shared it with the mosquitoes, spiders, quite an impressive variety of ants, biting flies, lizards, and scorpions.

Our next two years in that city were filled with adventures and challenges that could cover many pages. We were placed over the bible school operations, a public school outreach program and the children and nursery at the church. This couple had founded all of this work in the seven years they had been there at the time of our arrival. All the while we were learning Spanish and learning the Bolivian culture. Our internship was useful and I am grateful for it.

We knew that eventually we were going to launch out with a separate work. The instances that led to this breaking away will be saved for a later date. Suffice it to say that I am happy that we left the “maid’ quarters” stage of our missionary career. Cochabamba was the next destination as we packed up to move in November of 2003.

Roots and the Jungle

These past 2 weeks I have been working at decorating my boys' room. I still have a couple things to hang on the walls; but the main part is done. I painted a picture of a jungle. It matches the quilt that my aunt made for Tyler when he was born.


The fact that I am decorating my home shows that I have matured. Before, I had a nomadic attitude. I didn't believe in decorating. I didn't want to put down any kind of root because I thought it would hurt too much if I had to pull them up for some reason. But this attitude touched some dangerous areas that went much deeper than simply not decorating the house. I guarded myself from making any friendships. Thus I isolated myself. I mistakenly assumed that I would be fine if "Jesus was my only friend". God graciously helped me to grow up and value the human relationships I have. He is helping me now to learn how to be a good friend. I am so grateful to Him that He has also brought to me good friends.


So, the fact that I have painted the boys' room shows that I am not afraid of putting down roots. I am pleased with the results. Timothy helped me paint the little yellow squares on the sides. The middle section is about 150 cm (almost 4 foot) tall.

Back to School

My American Fortnight (see American Weekends on Xanga site) turned into almost a month. With all the political unrest there were no buses leaving from the pueblo that my house help gal was in. She had been traveling with her family and was headed back when all the problems started, so she decided to stay and not risk the roads (see Bolivia Update).

But now my husband is back and my house help is back so I am adjusting to not having the chores to do and focusing on home school and ministry. It is good.

Monday we start our school year. We follow the Bolivian school year of Feb – Nov. The kids are very excited. I am home schooling three grades this year: K, 2nd and 3rd; should be fun.

I leave you with a fun picture of some antics.

My Hubby’s Home!

Knock, knock, knock! Three sharp raps at the door invoked excited squeals from the diligent dish washers. I rushed to open the door. Quickly undoing the latch I flung open the heavy barrier that marked the final separation between my husband and I after two long weeks. With a knowing smile on his face he began to say, “Somebody’s been waiting for me,” but the words were smothered as I threw my arms around him. The kids found their way to his legs and grabbed him as the delighted shrieks of, “Papa! Papa!” continued. One kiss just wouldn’t do; I asked for more and he gladly obliged. After patting the heads of his dear peanuts (for that is the name he gave them) he scooped up his baby boy. We are happy.