To all those who let me know they receive our posts via email, thank you.  I was humbled and surprised and just about giddy over the fact that you are keeping up with us.  All out giddy.

Sorry about this, but you'll get this post twice because I'm closing out the old feed and starting the new one.  You're among the privileged few who can compare the old google feedburner way with the new, improved, cutesy mailchimp list.

Meaning, ignore this if you already replied to let me know you're getting it.

If you haven't yet replied but want to continue to get our emails, just reply to this one or go to our webpage (www.hagermans.blogspot.com) and subscribe there.  :)  THANKS!

PS--After this, you shouldn't receive any more doubles.  Excuse the interruption in normal posting topics while we worked the kinks out.

What happens when your man loses his job and is all of a sudden home all day?  Or he comes home from his military time overseas and this far-away dad is now awfully close, all the time?  Retirement, injuries, working from home.  There are tons of reasons the dynamic in marriage might change, such as, in our case, moving to the mission field and our home becoming the base of operations.  How does the family cope with these changes?

I reviewed a book today that speaks specifically to wives who find themselves in such a situation, for whatever reason.  You can find that review and a few more of my thoughts at Missionary Mom's Companion.  Here's a teaser:

"Just me and my man.  It's not been too many years since we were dating and I dreamed of spending all our days together, giggling while we worked and inspiring each other as we bounced ideas back and forth over dreamy looks and picnic lunches.  What could be better than that, right?  Um, yeah.  Twenty years later, we got that chance when we moved out of the country to conquer the world for Jesus.  And reality set in..."

   

If this shows up in your email box, it's because at some point, you have subscribed to my blog (THANK YOU!!!)  Problem is, the folks who handle subscriptions apparently went out of business or closed shop for some-odd reason, and failed to let us users know about it.  I would like to switch over to a more reliable delivery service, but this out-of-business company no longer keeps the record of all the folks who are have subscribes, meaning I have no idea who you are!

If you would be so kind as to reply to this email, I will know that you are one of my subscribers, and I can take the steps to be sure you continue to get up-to-the-minute posts as they roll off my brain.  Well, shortly thereafter anyway.

So, be a pal and hit reply please.  It's not even necessary that you type out a message, although I'd love to hear from you should you feel so inclined.

And if you are reading this because you typed in our web address (www.hagermans.blogspot) rather than because it just showed up in your email, just ignore this post.  Well, unless you'd LIKE to start getting it in your email box.  In that case, leave me a comment below.

THANKS!

Make peace with the past.  That was the focus of one of the workshops at a recent ladies retreat I attended. This was actually called an encounter, and it was 2 1/2 days packed full of intense teaching, designed to help us understand the full life God has planned for us and what may be standing in the way of us experiencing it.

From dawn to midnight (with short breaks for eating), different presenters shared their personal testimonies then instructed on forgiveness, intercessory prayer, health and healing, spiritual warfare--that sort of stuff.  The almost 80 attendees ranged from brand new believers who came to the Lord for the first time in the opening service, to women who had been serving God for decades.  But each teaching was applicable to every woman there in some way, making it a weekend of renewal and intimacy as we drew closer to the Lord.  No social hour, no pool time, no manicures--just intense soul searching.

Many of the things spoken about shed light on the problems Paraguayans face daily, from abuse to witchcraft to infidelity.  As the presenters shared the truth according to God's Word, you could literally see the light come on in the eyes of these women, many understanding for the first time that things they'd taken part in weren't okay.  At the end of each session, women were waiting up front for those who wanted to pray about what they'd just learned, talk or ask further questions, or just get a hug and cry a bit as they were being prayed over.  It was a powerful weekend.

One session in particular was about forgiveness, asking us to look back into our pasts and think of times we'd been wronged, times we have held onto and allowed to grow into an ugly bitter place inside us.  As always happens in these sorts of talks, I was amazed at what people have suffered and infinitely thankful for my upbringing.  I searched my mind for anything I was still holding against anyone, but rather than find something hidden, I found myself overwhelmed with thankfulness for parents who raised me well.

I thought we were poor growing up, I guess because I didn't wear the latest fads until they were going out of style and landed on the clearance rack.  My name brand clothes turned out to be reasonable facsimiles of the real thing, and I think I saw that as an indication that we lived in poverty.

Looking back with the eyes of an adult, I see now that we were frugal.  My parents worked hard and spent carefully.  We saved and bought things with cash rather than going into debt, and if we had a working TV when the latest model came out, we were fine with the one we already had.  Our cars weren't new but they ran and were well maintained.  Our house was improved little by little, mostly by work my parents did themselves.

I'm reaping the fruits of that education now, knowing how to pinch a penny into groceries for a week and trying to teach my girls to do the same.  They grew up in the latest fashions from yard sales and thrift stores, and both prefer to do their shopping the same way now.  Thanks, Momma.

Ken and I literally built our own house to avoid the debt of a big house payment, something that enabled us to go on the foreign mission field when God called, rather than have to wait around until we could pay down the debt or sell the house.  And I wasn't too shabby swinging that hammer.  Thanks, Daddy.

My brother, Dino, and I--way back when...

So while the women at the encounter shared about the horrible forms of abuse they'd suffered, I thought back to camping on the lake, long car rides to Iowa to visit my dad's side of the family, dressing up like clowns with makeup from my mom's Avon sampler kit, and going to church every time the doors were open (and sometimes unlocking those doors because we'd gotten there first).


Being raised in a Christian home didn't automatically exempt me from abuse, I've learned, but not because I've experienced it.  I just assumed everyone grew up like I did, nurtured and protected.  But I hear the horror stories of what happened behind the closed doors of the parsonage or the deacon's house, and again I'm thankful that the worst thing ever said to me using God's name as the reason, was when I got into a fight with my little brother and yelled, "I hate him," after my mom tried to correct me.  I remember very clearly the look on my dad's face when he said, "I'm sure that made Jesus very sad."  It crushed me.  I don't think I ever again used the word hate to describe how I felt against anyone.

Looking back on how mouthy I was as a teenager, I'm surprised I wasn't abused, and having two teen girls in the house now, I understand what a handful I must have been.  I remember as a young teen hearing my mom tell someone (probably someone who'd said, "I'd slap that girl in the mouth if I were you!") that I was strong willed from the get-go, and she asked God for help early on.  He told her to be careful not to break my will because I'd need it when I was older.  How right He was, and how blessed I was to have a mother who consulted with God about raising her children.

My most prevalent memories of her as we grew up are the papers tucked in every corner, where she'd been taking notes while studying the Bible.  She was usually at the kitchen table preparing to teach Sunday School, but these little slips of paper could also be found between the front seats of the car, where a thought would come to her while driving and she'd jot it down.  She has a way of turning everyday situations into a spiritual lesson, something I think I inherited, because I can't even watch a movie without finding Jesus in there somewhere.  Thank God we have smartphones these days that allow me to keep my notes all in one place.  ;)

Caroline, my mom, Camille, and yours truly. (2010)

So I listened with a heavy heart to the women pouring theirs out, having to make the decision to forgive their mothers or fathers for unimaginable abuses.  I hurt for them but I couldn't empathize this time.  I cried just as hard as they did, but in thankfulness for the things I missed, the things my husband missed because he also grew up in a wonderful home.  I cried for the joy of being able to pass on the heritage of a Godly home, although I make mistakes all the time.

Mother's Day in Paraguay falls a few days later than in the U.S., so this is almost like Mother's Week for us.  As we celebrate, I am again reminded of how much I missed growing up, and how very glad I am of it.

No matter where we live in Paraguay, there are always young kids close by.  In Carapegua, we lived on the corner of two dirt roads, and our front stoop served as the meeting place for anyone under 10 years old.

Here, the sidewalk in front of our house is nice and flat, inviting any toys with wheels--little cars, bicycles, skateboards.  Our girls find themselves too mature to play with these little folks, but we big kids like to get out there and horse around whenever we can.

Thiago tipped his hand to his skills once, so now every time he stays with us, the kids want the "juggling clown" to come out to play!  Here they are learning to juggle hollow bowling pins and lemons.

Ken's pig hat is always a hit!

The great thing is that the kids are always up for a story and love to let me practice my Guarani, even if they don't know how to correct me when I say something wrong.  They do, however, know how to laugh and point out that it's wrong.  ;)  Recently, we met the extended family of one of the boys when they invited us to celebrate his birthday.

Several of the smallest boys have a strange relationship with Ken.  They think he's quite cool from afar, with his much taller than average height, larger than normal build, and superhero beard.  But all these things can be quite intimidating up close.  One little guy in particular loves to throw a thumbs-up and scream at the top of his lungs, "Mr. Beard!!  There's my friend, Mr. Beard!" in Spanish whenever he sees Ken, but runs for shelter if Ken makes a move toward greeting him up close.  "Señor la Barba!  Señor la Barba!"

Nope, never a dull moment at Casa Hagerman.

This black sheep didn't seem to mind at all that I snapped his photo.

So you read the story of how I ended up in the middle of a beautiful nowhere, right?  Well, we arrived in time to stretch our legs (i.e., wrap my knee in an elastic bandage for good measure) and make some house visits before lunchtime.

It was so refreshing to be back in the really, really rural areas of Paraguay, where outdoor fires and brick ovens replace electric or gas stoves and the word of the day is always going to be in Guarani.  Add to that the fact that I was trekking this little foot paths over creeks and hills and briar patches without a cane, and it made for an excellent morning.

One of the pastor's daughters accompanied Norma and me on our walk, to show us which paths led to houses and to introduce us to the folks we'd find.  Our main goal was to invite as many women and children as possible to the event we'd be hosting after lunch, but we got several opportunities to pray with shut-ins and invite folks to the regular service that would take place at the church later that night.

This grandpa at the right was proud to tell us he's 94  years old.  He broke his left arm not too long ago when he lost his balance and fell and has since been nervous to walk too far away from his house.  He said he'd really been missing church and was excited we came by to hang out a bit and pray with him.  A dentist came to their community and offered to extract the tooth that had been bothering him recently.  His response?  "No way!  That's the only one I have left!"

A bit after lunch, about 40 children gathered beside the church for a few hours of games, singing, Bible stories, and lessons.  One of the members of our team dressed as a clown and was quite a hit!  By the time we'd finished, about half of us had stepped in the cow, chicken, or dog poo piles in the field, but no one seemed to mind.

While the kids were outside playing, the ladies were inside for a workshop about identity and purpose.  As in most areas of rural Paraguay, spousal abuse and incest are commonplace, so this time with these ladies and children was soaked in prayer.  We really wanted them to understand how special they are in the eyes of God and how much He wants them to be part of His family.


As we were getting ready for the evening service, one of the ladies who'd come to the gathering sent word that her husband's uncle was in poor health and needed a visit.  This lady had only recently come to the Lord herself.  A few of us went to see this man, who was literally on his deathbed.  I'll spare you the details.  His family was gathered around a bonfire outside the little wooden room where he was lying, and they ushered us in to see him.  After an explanation of eternal life and how it could be his, he said he believed in Jesus and wanted to give his heart to Him.  As this precious, frail man breathlessly prayed, his family wept and then said they'd like to do the same.  Juan died a few hours later, and we rejoiced to imagine him breathing the fresh air of Heaven and having all the strength he needed to get up and run around!

Afterward, we shared lots of hugs and encouragement with our new friends of the Tava'i community.

Three and a half bus-hours got us to the intersection of a dirt road with the asphalt, where we met a pastor and his wife in their muddy 4x4.  They're Brazilian missionaries who have lived here enough years to legitimately be called Paraguayans.  With their two girls (13 and 14 years old), they travel each weekend to a little place called Tava'i.  I was part of a team of 5 that joined them this time, excited for the opportunity to know the people of this little community and share God's love with them.

The pastor stopped to pick us a sunflower, which he quickly turned into a smiley face.  :)

The bridges were a bit rickety, but we made it!

 I gained a new respect for this pastoral family who have invested so much in this little community.  They spent the first seven years of their work there sleeping in the building they'd constructed as the church.  Now, they have a small home built recently by a mission team, where they temporarily move in at the end of each week to minister to the people of Tava'i and host folks like us.  I'll show you some of these lovely folks next time, and fill you in on what we did during our visit.

When we first arrived here over four years ago, recently elected ex-priest Lugo was just getting settled in the office of President of the Republic of Paraguay.  He's since been impeached and replaced, and today, a very successful businessman (one of the richest men in the country) took a pretty hefty victory.  He's got an awfully shady past, but many of our church friends felt he was the best choice because he has a well-known and very trusted pastor high up in his cabinet.

For months now, we've been through the typical advertisements that come with an election year--TV commercials, flyers in the front door, signs everywhere, car stickers.  An added plus--guys riding through the neighborhood with flags waving and signs of their candidate, blaring the music and shouting over loudspeakers all the reasons why their guy must be the next president.

By explaining that we don't get into political stuff and just don't understand all the hoopla that makes up the system of this country, we managed to stay on the sidelines and avoid the arguments about who really is the best man for the job.

There was potential for some ugliness when one of the major guys in the running for president was killed in a suspicious helicopter accident three months ago, but things seemed to blow over and settle down pretty quickly.

We heard a trillion stories of ways candidates traditionally buy votes, from paying a certain amount to use your ID card to straight-up offering you cash to prove you'd cast the vote they were purchasing.  I wondered how much of this was rumor or a thing of the past, and heard the political promises that this would be a clean race and that it was time to clean up Paraguay.  So we stood back and watched.

A few candidates hosted cookouts where they sent buses to bring people in from the outlying areas to big fields where they'd roasted pigs and cows.  At one of the places we do a Bible study, several families caught the bus and came back quite unhappy that the first people in the lines were filling bags with meat to take back home.  The meat ran out quickly, meaning most folks spent the day in the heat waiting till the bus left again (after the speeches) and still went home hungry.  Not sure if they decided to vote for those candidates or not, after all that fun.

Fast forward to today, voting day.  It was a little strange to think of holding elections on a Sunday, but it seemed to work.  Turns out that, much like the census in Bethlehem, everyone heads back to his hometown to vote.  It's possible to register in the place where you currently live, but I've heard the process is so complicated that most people decide to just catch a bus back home.  That made for a lot of travel this weekend, but we didn't have any trouble coming back from a weekend mission trip.

We were warned about the possibilities of violence today and tonight, as much from the losers as the winners in the celebratory hours after the results are tallied.  Most of the businesses were closed today (minus the taxis, buses, and gas stations, of course, and a few grocery stores), and partying was discouraged by a few rules.  First of all, no big gatherings.  Not the best day for a birthday BBQ.  Next, it's prohibited to sell alcohol on voting day.  For this reason, many people stocked up the day before.  Oh, well, at least they tried!

When I got back to Encarnacion around noon today, things were already a bit rowdy.  The polls closed at 5 PM, so I thought it'd be a safe time to make a grocery run just after 4.  Surely things would be slowing down but not quite celebratory, right?

Camille and I ventured out but quickly changed our minds.  Tons of traffic, all blowing horns and shouting and waving flags of various partisan colors, and driving less than cautiously.  We stopped at the closest store, where we had to squeeze our way in to the parking lot because of an extremely long line of cars along the side of the road--all with stickers, signs, and flags of the same candidate.

Lined up as far back as I could see...

...and this is where the line starts.

"What's up with that?" I asked one of the two people working at the store.  "Those are all from a certain political party.  If they bring proof of having voted for that party (by way of a voting ticket stub, if I understood correctly), they get a free tank of gas."  Oh, my.  By the way, that guy won.  ;)

So we keep praying that no matter who's in office, justice and peace rule in Paraguay and God accomplishes His plan here.

Sometimes ministry kids have a hard row to hoe.  You've surely heard the bad reputation (sometimes quite undeserved) that pastors' children have, and we've heard some horror stories of what missionary kids go through.

I have to admit that it took a while for me to see the risks we'd opened our girls up to in moving to Paraguay.  I'm an adventurer, always looking for the new, the exciting, the people I haven't met.  I don't know strangers, I love crowds, I am comfortable in front of large groups.  I don't say I'm eloquent, mind you, but I'm okay with the skin I'm in.  I just imagined that my two babies would live off the adrenaline of the mission life the same way I would, and we'd all be on a constant high from the excitement of it all.  Oops.

One day the light came on and I realized what this move had meant to ME--the whole thing of stripping away my support system and my dependence on the local church so that my relationship with God was almost all I had left.  And it hit me that if this was so tough on me, a seasoned, supposedly mature adult with decades of experience in this God stuff, what must it be like for my little ones?  I had been protecting them from physical risks, but the social and emotional aspect of this thing was getting tougher and it didn't help to see stuff like this floating around:
Now I know what that little meme is supposed to mean, and I know that God called our entire family to missionary life, but I didn't take pleasure in seeing my babies suffer.  So we got deliberate about attempting to be sure their needs were being met, as best as we could.  We failed miserably, but not for lack of trying.

Truth is, I can count on one hand the girlfriends they've made in their age range since our move here over 4 years ago.  We met lots of guys in our first few years, but Paraguayan girls have different responsibilities and don't often have time for a social life.  So our gals have had lots of male friends but very few female ones, and many of the mix didn't share our spiritual values.  That last sentence has kept me on my knees, let me tell you.  And it seems each time they'd get to know a girl, it was time to say goodbye again.

Then there's the thing of our work here.  Much of what they've done has been as tag-alongs of our ministry, helping out where they could.  But things have slowly turned around.

As they've gotten older and we've made a few moves, I've been thrilled to watch them step into their own shoes.  Both are now taking music lessons at our local church, participating in a small group that ISN'T led by either of their parents, and finding male and female peers that are encouraging them in their Christian walk.  Camille (16 now) is singing on the praise team, co-leading a Bible study, and translating a book on purity for some young girls she's mentoring.  Caroline (14) is playing the guitar for Saturday night youth services.  If you look really closely at the blurry figure in the middle of the picture below, you can see Caroline in action.



What a privilege it is to watch our girls use the talents God has given them and grow in grace.   Truly, God has sustained them in dry times, and I know He'll use those rough experiences for His glory and for good in their lives.  I know many of you have joined us in praying that they would find good friends here, and we greatly appreciate those prayers!

No, not the Community you see at Greendale Community College.  That's another topic altogether.

Just what is all this talk about community?  If you're running in Christian circles, I'm sure you've heard it a trillion times the last few years.  For some, it brings up images of the root word, commune, and they picture a bunch of hippies living in tents without running water and the stink to prove it.  Others understand what community entails but feel that sort of stuff is best left to full-time Christians like pastors and missionaries.

But really, living in community just means being involved in the lives of those you live with.

In rural Latin America, we've learned a lot about community.  The fact that most daily living takes place outside the walls of the house and the front yard becomes a living room, means that you automatically see those in your neighborhood.  Houses are a bit closer together, too, and folks tend to rely on each other for daily necessities.

It's a bit like I imagine life in my granny's youth--men-folk coming together to build a barn or bring in the crops, ladies sitting around a quilting bee, kids playing chase and catching fireflies.  A sort of interdependence that came from no one really being self-sufficient.  They needed each other.  I'm not sure that wasn't part of the original grand design for life on this big round ball.

These days, we know a whole lot more people, but on a much more superficial level.  So how can we build relationships that open the door to share God's love with our world?

How can we, in busy, modern times, get a sense of community?

1.  Step out of your comfort zone and get to know those around you.

So you know your coworker's name--but do you know how many children she has?  Do you know what the person on the bench beside each Sunday morning has to face come Monday?  Take a few minutes to ask personal questions, the kind that don't have yes or no answers, and then really listen.  Invite them to your home, and show up at their little girl's ballet recital.

Philippians 2:4  Don't look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too.

2.  Reach out when you see a need.  

Your neighbor had surgery?  Take a casserole over or cut his grass.   Your Sunday School teacher's dog died?  Pay her a visit or send her a card.

**NOTE:  While social networks and email have made communications easier, they can't take the place of face-to-face time.  Don't hide behind your computer or cell phone if you are able to visit someone in person or send a handwritten card.  The extra effort goes a long way.

Proverbs 12:25  Worry weighs a person down; an encouraging word cheers a person up.

3.  Plan a get-together on a regular basis.  

Sometimes there's a certain awkwardness with one-on-one hangouts.  Say you invite Joe Schmoe to lunch because your kids are in t-ball together, and, well, you just don't have much in common.  Minimize this weird vibe by adding more people to the mix.  Small groups are super for this--supper club, Bible study, scrapbooking session, card night, book club, you name it!  To really build relationships, try to keep the group the same so you'll get to know one other better each time you meet.

Hebrews 10:24-25 Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works. And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another, especially now that the day of his return is drawing near.

4.  Pray for those around you.

Take an extra minute before you leave on lunch break to silently pray the name of each person working around you, asking God to make Himself known to them and use you if He sees fit.  And mean it.  Pray for your neighbors as you walk past their houses (or jog, if you're so inclined!)  Then take it up a notch by asking if there's anything specific they'd like you to pray about.

1 Timothy 2:1  I urge you, first of all, to pray for all people.  Ask God to help them; intercede on their behalf, and give thanks for them.

5.  Let people know when you have a need. 

I'm not talking about being a mooch on a regular basis, but reach out when you have a genuine need.  When the pastor says, "Take the hand of the person beside you and pray for them as we close," well, tell them you're struggling with an ingrown toenail. Share your addiction to shopping with your quilting group, and ask them to help you be accountable.

**CAUTION:  Use common sense about what you share with whom, but don't be afraid to let people see your flaws and weaknesses.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-10  Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.

Now I know it may not be feasible to do this with those you live around AND those you work with AND those from your church, but the point is to step out of your bubble and interact with others in a real way. Find a group of people that you can be real with.

Community really boils down to knowing and being known.  The feeling that you belong.  That you can be yourself.  That you are there for each other.

And there's no better way to do that then to just live life together with those around you--the good times and the bad times.  Be available when someone needs to lean on you a bit, and humble enough to lean on others when it's your turn.

Do you have a group of friends you can call your community?  How do you maintain that feeling of togetherness, and how do you "motivate one another to acts of love and good works" (Hebrews 10:24)?  Share what works for you in the comments.