I’m currently sitting in my room updating my blog for the first time ever. Not the first time updating it, but the first time in my room. I was helping a teacher friend with her computer (totally misunderstood her problem and after 40 minutes found out I accomplished a lot of nothing), and she was borrowing another teacher friend’s wifi modem. Well, the teacher with the modem said to give it back to her later, and the one with the problem doesn’t need it tonight, so I decided to babysit it.

So here I am, in my jammies, posting something on my blog. I really don’t have anything special to say, but I figure I should say *something* since it’s the first time in 8 months I’ve had internet in my home. Let’s see…

Ben and Vivi are on youth choir in Germany, so I am basically in charge of music on Sunday mornings. This is a much more daunting task than I had anticipated. I already lead singing on Wednesdays, but Sunday is different. Sunday is “The Show”. Not the show in the sense that it’s a production, but that it’s the big deal. The one that “counts”. It’s way different without a piano and someone else to talk. The first Sunday went well; I heard so from several people. This past Sunday we as a team were excited and ready to go. We dedicated it to God, covered it in prayer, and in my opinion watched it start as a disaster. I felt like no one was singing for the first two songs, and I had no way of even communicating to my team that they animate themselves more. I watched as a friend of mine, who wasn’t singing, just crossed his arms and stood there. I decided I could do nothing about it and said, “Lord, the rest of this is between me and you.” I tried my best to bring the congregation into my little worship session, and succeeded to some degree, but I finished feeling like this wasn’t the best.

Why is it that when we decide to give our best to God, the Enemy is right there to take it away? I don’t think the Enemy was working through the congregation, but he was close enough to whisper in my ear. I’ve found that in other areas too. As soon as I feel like my life is going where God wants it, something trips me up or I begin to doubt. Anything to make me question God. That’s his goal, isn’t it? I guess if he wasn’t bothering me that’s when I should worry, eh?

We’ll practice again on Friday, give our time to God, and pray for the best. Sunday is Father’s Day, so I think most of the music will talk about aspects of God as our Father, especially since many don’t have fathers here. Pray for us, and pray for Ben and Vivi too.

-j

We take the Word of God for granted. There are a few reasons I say this. First, how many Bibles do I have, and how often do I read them? The ratio is terrible (I have six Bibles with four versions). Second, how inexpensive is a Bible, and how many do I buy and give away to someone who doesn’t have one?

These things perhaps are the least of my problems. One thing I’ve noticed here in Paraguay is they rarely call it the Bible. The call it the Word of God. How profound! It’s not just a bible - how many “bibles” exist? Nutrition, peircings, even growing marijuana. The word has almost lost its meaning. But how many Words of God are there? One.

What strikes me the hardest is there are so many people who follow their understanding of God but never read the Word. Their church, family, whatever spiritual leader either discourages or doesn’t encourage them to read His Word. They trust the leaders and just never pick up one. There were centuries when even if they wanted to the wouldn’t have been able to because there weren’t any.

How can you spread a word without being able to point to it when someone asks “where does it say that?” For the Christian, it’s so important to read and know the Word of God. When we get questioned about our lives, we can show them in the Word why we do or don’t do the things we do or don’t do.

I encourage you to read. I’m starting to read more, and I love it. I am following a schedule that Ben found, and it’s probably the best schedule I’ve tried to follow because it mixes things up. You end up reading the Old Testament once and New Testament twice in a year. Give it a shot and see if you don’t start liking it more too.

-j

I am going to a Korean class for fun. It’s free and several of my friends are going as well. It’s in a predominantly Korean area of town in a Korean school (I hadn’t realized how established and intentional the community was). After not understanding anything, the four of us from Lambaré decided to check out this Korean restaurant not far away. We had heard good things about it from the mother of a couple of the students. So we went on an adventure to find this place.

After finally finding it, I looked briefly outside for a menu to check prices, but didn’t see one. We went in, and I glanced around again and seeing nothing decided to just find out later. At the very worst I could use my credit card to pay for lunch. If the kids didn’t have enough, I was happy to treat them to what looked like a really good buffet.

I found out something about Korean food: it’s either spicy as all getout or it’s not. There’s no sort of spicy, no medium, lightly, or American. The weird part of the spicy food was it was also cold. I think it was on purpose. The seem to use a lot of seaweed (I think), but it was good. As far as I know I didn’t eat anything crazy, but how would I know, right? My favorites were probably the little veggie pancakes. In the middle of eating we finally decided to ask about price. A decent buffet for someone who likes adventure for $4. Such a deal (for us North Americans).

When we were ready to pay, I handed the guy my credit card. He handed it back and said they didn’t accept credit cards. Oh. Crap. We gathered all the money between us and were still short 20 thousand guaranies ($4). I think if the father of one of my friends wasn’t close on hand and had the cash, we would be washing dishes for a few days. I would never suspect that this place, which looked really fancy actually, wouldn’t accept credit, but I guess now I know I can’t trust every establishment to handle it. Next time I’ll bring enough for everyone in case I feel like treating.

-j

Disclaimer
For me this story is funny and just another misfit adventure in a foreign culture, but I think it could be embarrassing to the people who were with me. If you know them, please don’t say anything to them. Thanks.

Some days God is so faithful to give me just what I need to keep going. I’m never sick and tired of my job, but sometimes it frustrates me to have to deal with the same negative behaviors day after day with the same people. I know I’m not alone, but I am waiting for that certain day that will come when we turn a corner and my kids finally get it. Occasionally I ask God for something, some kind of encouragement to lift my spirits and keep believing His promise. Here are some things.

Today in one of my 6th grade classes, one of the girls was sitting with her head in her hands. I asked her what was wrong, was she tired. She said no, and I asked if she needed a hug and put out my arms. She said no and put her head back down. At that point I saw she started to sob a bit. I didn’t know what to do, so I just kept talking to the rest of the kids. After 30 seconds or so, she practically tore from her desk, pushed my arms away from my body and wrapped hers around me, sobbing into my chest. Thankfully, we were done with the class by then, so I put my arms around her and hugged her like she was my daughter. After her sobs slowed down, I tried to lighten the mood and told her I liked her shampoo because her hair smelled good. She chuckled, but still kept her face buried in my shirt. She finally let go, smiling through her tears. I could have cried.

Yesterday was parent-teacher conferences at school, and I was sitting outside on the bench. A 1st grader was waiting with his sister and his mom for her interview. He left his mom and ran to me, staying by my side the whole time I was there. He would sit on my lap, next to me, stand in front of me staring into my face, putting his head on my stomach and saying “Aye, ¡que gordito sos! Como mi papá.” In the States, you usually get made fun of for being fat. Here you’re adored for it by the kids because it reminds them of their dad. Who knew?

I also have two problem 1st graders. Both of them are very sweet, but neither of them (one’s improving) can behave for a period of time longer than 5 minutes or so. They are the two kids who I’m focusing my prayers on, so join me if you will (I don’t want to say their names, but God knows them). Last week one of them saw me in recess from a distance and said “Hug!” Then he ran to me, so I lifted him up and we cuddled for a bit. My hope is that the attention he seeks during my class time can be filled during recess and he’ll not feel the need to try as hard to grab my attention when I’m trying to teach. One of the other teachers saw us and said, “You just made someone’s heart very happy.” I don’t know if she was talking about mine or his, but either way it works.

Come on…don’t you want to experience the blessing of following God’s calling in your life?

-j

I want to share a few things that intrigue me about Paraguay, things that are a bit different than the states. Let’s start with the grocery store. For example, yogurt is half different. It tastes exactly the same, but here you’re more likely to drink it than eat it with a spoon. It’s got the consistency of a melted milkshake. Most of the breads are freshly baked and get dumped in large tubs, like the kind you could bathe in if you wanted to. You pick out what you want, and you probably end up eating bread that 25 people touched before you bagged it. But when it’s fresh, it is so tasty, and a grocery bag full of it is about $1. The meat is beautiful here (if meat can be considered beautiful), and not cut in so many ways as in the States. I *think* you can get cut chicken breast, but the most common way to buy it is two halves of chickens, frozen. So you end up getting four good sized breasts for about $3. Three of us can eat three meals each from it (editor’s note - Andy, the first chicken I bought was made into butter chicken).

I take the bus to get basically anywhere I can’t walk. School and church are literally a block and a half away, some friends live just a few blocks, and the closest grocery store is *probably* around a mile or less. Anywhere else I would take the bus, and it’s around $.50 to get anywhere I need to, unless I need to change buses, which isn’t a common incident.

To use the internet, most days I have to go to this place called the cyber (see-bur) and pay about $.75 an hour to use very slow high speed access. It’s fast enough that I can watch a youtube video in a reasonable amount of time, but it’s slow enough that the video has to stop several times to catch up with itself. Hardly anyone has internet in their house. Of the people I know so far, I only know one house with internet, but that is beginning to change. Mobile WiFi is very popular here these days. I don’t think too many people have a land phone line either, but *everyone* has a cell phone. And I can text the states for as cheaply as I can text a Paraguayan. At $10 a month, it’s a really handy thing to have.

There are a couple things I don’t understand yet. It’s super super hot here, but homes are built without central air conditioning. I’m sure it’s got to do with insulation. So everyone always has windows and doors open to the elements, including bugs. You’d think they’d have realized a screen on the window will help considerably with the unwanted critters in their homes, but unfortunately it hasn’t really picked up that much steam. I almost brought some down, and may have some sent yet. Also one thing that still boggles my mind is their shower system. One thing super great about it is you never run out of hot water as long as you have water. What creeps me out though is that it’s an electrical unit - with bare electrical wires - that rains electricity-conducting water down upon your body. I mean I touched the pipe that feeds the water into it and got shocked. I need to see if my cousin can rig something up that’s just as efficient but less dangerous. He’ll be a millionaire here in no time.

My favorite part about this country: everyone always has time for you, and when someone new comes into your group, everyone gets a “hello” and a handshake. Sort of relatedly, everyone always takes time to sit down in the afternoon and drink terere. For those of you who have seen me with my “marijuana tea” (I’m looking at you, Royall employees), I finally am in a place where it’s socially acceptable. It’s sort of a production, so you do actually have to set aside time for it. It’s a great way to take a break from the heat with some good friends to drink some good, refreshing tea together and talk about what’s new. It’s very social, and very Paraguayan.

Update: I wrote this in October or early November and was waiting for more stuff to add. I think I will do a part 2 later.

Fall allegedly came in March or April, and I always wanted to know where it went because for me it was a pleasant ending to summer. Finally I’m experiencing what I consider fall, and they’re telling me it’s almost winter. It’s consistently cool (downright cold sometimes) for several days in a row, and the nights always call for a sheet *and* a blanket. I like that, especially knowing there’s only about 2 months of it before I need to sleep in my sweat again. But in this time of cool weather, I’ve learned something important. Sliced bread might be the standard by which greatness is measured, but soup was king before that. Bread is overrated anyway.

Soup, you are delicious in all your many ways
I can eat from the same pot for six or seven days
When I make grilled chicken, you’re already in mind
I toss in water any extra bones I can find
Cut up an onion, slice up some leeks
It’s worth it though my clothes smell for weeks
Garlic always adds a special taste
Whatever’s in my fridge - nothing goes to waste!
Carrots and peppers, salt to season
Even if I’m not sick, I don’t need a reason
What I like best about this special friend:
Just add water and there’s never an end

This is only the second poem in my life I’ve written to food (the first was in Spanish 2 with Mrs. Witherspoon), but I’m telling you, soup is where it’s at. It’s easy, delicious, you can use whatever you’ve already got (though bouillon cubes give it an extra kick of the flavor), and you really can just keep adding water and a little soup after you eat some, and it’s like you never had any. Tomorrow is day 3, and I will have a fresh full pot. I’m curious to see how far I can go. Add some noodles to the first batch, and by the second day they’ve doubled in size (use very small noodles) and give the soup an extra substance by which to fill your belly. You really can’t screw up a soup. If you ever have leftover chicken pieces, give it a try. Toss it all together (cut up the veggies in big chunks, or not even at all). The chicken comes apart after a few hours simmered.

Try it and thank me later. Although most of you who read this already probably do this. But the rest of you, you’ll thank me.

-j

It’s been pretty dry here lately. So dry the grapefruits in the country are orange sized. No water = terrible grapefruit. So we prayed for rain.

I have some advice. Make sure you want what you’re praying for, because you just might get it. And then you can’t complain.

It rained for more than 24 hours this weekend. And I don’t mean it was cloudy and drizzly for 24 hours. I mean the heavens opened and poured out all it’s watery host upon us. And by 24 hours I mean 26 literal hours of continual downpour. Not the nice kind you can sleep to. The kind where you think your house will cave in. Then it would let up for a bit and just be a nice soaking rain. Ten minutes later my roof was collapsing again. This went on all day and all night and into the next morning.

In Richmond we close church if there’s a bit of snow on the ground. Here you close church because you can’t cross the river street. We didn’t cancel, but we were probably 1/5 our normal size. I walked to chuch in flip flops and my pants rolled up like shorts. I had to ford the street. Not only am I not lying to you, I’m not even exaggerating. If it sounds ridiculous that’s because it was. I’ve never experienced such continual, drenching, amazing, desperately needed rain before.

I didn’t take pictures because my camera isn’t made for snorkeling.

-j

It’s really cold here right now.

And the thing is, it’s not even *that* cold. It gets down to the 50s in the evening and then into the 40s at night. Right now it’s 64 outside. But when you’ve just gone through four months of 110+ and then a couple really amazing months of high-80s, 60 feels downright frigid. When I’m bundled up and can’t get the circulation going in my hands is when I realize that this was only the first night of this, and I know it will be around until probably August. And my water heater doesn’t work.

On Thursday the 12th grade class presented to the rest of a school a project they’re doing in a neighborhood called Bañado (Bathed, ironically). I have never been there, so I can’t say for sure it’s the poorest neighborhood in the area, but I kind of think it is. The kids who live there are probably the ones on the streets juggling for change or selling sticker sheets for $.20 on the bus. The families come to our neighborhoods (and it’s not *that* close) on horse and buggy collecting plastic in giant sacks to take to the recycling plant for about $5 a week. That’s not even enough to feed them to sustain the work. The Seniors talked about the severe lack of education, medicine, clothing, toys, and cleanliness for the kids that live there. I decided I’m going to Bañado the next time Oscar goes to preach. I need to see what it’s really like.

I have known that while I’m in South America, I’m still very sheltered from the reality that is a developing nation. I mean, I can even get internet in my house if I want to spend the $15 a month on it, AND it’s cooler than the internet in the States cuz it’s moblie wifi (imagine your cell phone with internet was actually my computer). My neighborhood is clean, quiet, and probably mostly middle class. I still don’t know what it’s like to live for most Paraguayans.

Now that it’s cold and I am at least intellectually aware of what some living conditions are like, my prayers are for the kids who don’t have two big quilts and a nice, soft mattress to sleep on. Last night I was able to sleep in shorts completely toasty because of my blankets. I’m sure there were thousands of people who were shivering under a tattered rag, barely sleeping. I wonder how many of the kids I see on the street or bus barely have a roof to keep the icy rain out of the house while huddled on their concrete floor trying to keep warm.

Please pray for these kids as the Lord brings it to your mind, that He would keep them warm and send them blankets and shoes and jackets. There are still 3 more months of this to go - this was just the first night.

-j

On Sunday Pedro talked about materialism (and how it affects prayer). I thought, “what do people with hardly anything need to hear about materialism?” This morning, reading Ecclesiastes, I realized something. You don’t need to have things to be materialistic.

“The eye is not satisfied with seeing nor the ear filled with hearing.” 1:8b

I used to be thankful to the Paraguayans for showing me what materialism was and how bad it’s gotten in “developed” countries. Now I thank them for showing me what it really is: a desire, an attitude. It’s not having. People with money aren’t necessarily materialistic. If their lifestyle matches their income - if they live within their means - they’re not automatically materialistic. Poor (I use the term in more ways than one) people who look at things as a means to fulfillment are materialistic. That includes those with and without. Always wanting something else.

I’ve become materialistic in Paraguay. There are a lot of “comforts” I wish I had here, even though I have it “way better”(1) than a lot of people I know. I need to look at the apostle Paul and pray that God teaches me to quote him sincerely.

“…for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content”

-j

(1)I am beginning to find that the way I would describe things doesn’t really hold true anymore. What I write is showing me how narrow my perception of reality really is.

A conversation with a preschooler reminded me of a story. When I was probably 15 or 16, I recall trying on my mom’s jean skirt. I marveled at the freedom one finds when pant legs aren’t present to confine you. I bit my thumb at a society who says men don’t wear skirts (after all, that’s only a relatively recent social norm) and proceeded to prance - yes, prance - around in the skirt.

I began to wonder, with my new liberation from the confines of leggings, if I could kick any higher in a skirt. Not being used to them, I failed to take into account that jean skirts don’t “give” when stretched. I curiously approached my sister from behind and took a big swipe at her with my foot. The reader must at this point be made aware of two key points: our floor was wooden, and I was wearing socks. Before my foot even reached knee-level, the back of the skirt grabbed hold of my leg and plunged me onto my hind-parts for the first and last time.

-j