A Day in Buenos Aires

We had a free day after camp and before our trip back, which we decided to spend playing tourists in downtown Buenos Aires. The city is absolutely HUGE, boasting around 20 million residents. Because it has a long, rich history, we were able to see VERY old architecture mixed with modern office buildings, world-class restaurants beside sidewalk empanada stands, well-to-do ladies beside gypsy street people. Ken and Dan particularly liked the historic district, with its cannons and ships.
There were some heavy protests going on that day (I love excitement but the reluctant fellas steered me away from the major one complete with the riot team and tanks on standby), and lots of people out and about for a Monday. We passed the Pink House, their equivalent of our White House. I couldn't resist asking if it's pink because the Pres is a woman, but I was told it's ALWAYS been pink. I saw the very window of the famous Eva Perone speech. (SIDENOTE: Madonna has achieved goddess status with the Argentinians, after playing their beloved Evita in the movie.)

We walked along the dikes of the immense Rio de la Plata (Silver River), which could have easily been called an ocean, rather than a river. I never did see the other side of it. Merchant ships were everywhere and it was easy to imagine how this city grew so large, as the major port to lower South America when it was first being explored and settled by the Europeans.

My favorite part of the day was trapsing through the artsy district, with blankets and tables full of hippies and their handicrafts. I was in HEAVEN!! Such creativity and skill! I had flashbacks of when the traveling fair would come to Berkeley County and stop by Moncks Corner, with 3-D models of mermaids on ships, and the fancy script of the booths on the midway. I was actually in the place all that was patterned after! The wild colors, the bright artwork, the larger-than-life statues--I could have stayed a week right there.


This is also the district where you could have a snack, a drink, or a full meal on the sidewalk or in the street (all foot traffic, no cars) while watching performers dance the Tango or other Argentinian folk dances. I was so glad I wasn't one of the people they grab off the street and "teach" to dance. What a laugh they would have had at that attempt!

I can't say enough about how spectacular the city was. Okay, we were starving and gave in to eat at McDonald's, since our guide was craving a salad and the McFlurry sign was calling my name. I had to pay more for my chicken sandwich and fries than I paid in Greenville. I wasn't used to that, since everything in Paraguay is so much cheaper.

We also found a Wal-Mart (there are VERY FEW in the whole continent of South America) and had quite a bit of jubilation over that discovery. Our Argentinian friend couldn't understand what the big deal was, or how much it meant to find a piece of home in a land so far away, but I ran inside and found---are you ready?---MILKY WAY BARS!!!!!! Pure bliss! They were only sold in the 6-pack, and I vowed to make them last at least a week. Ha. I think they might have had 24 hours once I made the purchase.

Aside from McDonalds and Wal-Mart, it was a great cultural experience and lots of fun. I'd definitely like to go back someday and spend more time in the city. Anybody up for an 18-20 hour bus ride from Asuncion?

Urban Youth Tribes

A current craze in Argentina is that of the urban youth tribes. It seems Argentina is a lot more modern than Paraguay in terms of youth culture, at least in the Buenos Aires region. They have formed cliques of different "tribes" that operate like fairly friendly gangs, although they "war" between the tribes. The pictures I've included are mostly of guys, but the girls are also highly involved.

The Floggers all have an internet network, akin to Myspace or Facebook, wherein the group members post self-taken photos of themselves in their flogger fashion. Just what is flogger fashion? It's the same whether the flogger is male or female: giant round sunglasses, longer straight hair with a sling-bang parted far on one side, tight pants, wide V-neck t-shirts, skater shoes (Converses, small Nikes), and everything in the brightest colors available--flourescent at times. And in one hand at all times is the digital camera, ready to take a picture of oneself at any given moment. The Floggers listen to techno or electro disco music, and have these neat little dance moves where they shuffle their feet really fast and do some on-the-floor breakdance sort of stuff.

Closely related but arch-enemy is the Emo, a vague interpretation of the North American Emo (short for Emotional), with mostly black clothes, black eyeliner, powdered face, facial piercings, and hair over the eyes. The difference I found is that they cut themselves for decoration. When a young person in the US cuts himself (and it's very common, unfortunately), it's usually done in private, on the wrists and arms, and hidden by long sleeves even in the summer. It's done as a form of self-injury and is a symptom of a psychological problem, obviously. Some who cut say they have taken on the sadness of the world and must express it this way. Others say they hurt on the inside and get some release from their emotional pain when they feel physical pain. The latter explanation is the one I've heard most, in cases I know where someone is cutting. So their cuts are deep and often bloody and leave lasting scars. The cuts of the Argentinian Emo are for others to see, and usually not very deep. Sometimes a dating couple will make matching cuts.

The next group is the Cumbieros. They take their name from traditional music of Argentina, called cumbia. It's a peppy folksy style with a whole different type of dancing than the Floggers. They wear more sporty type clothes, with long basketball shorts and jerseys or t-shirts. Their music is usually very suggestive. Let me rephrase that. It's vulgar. The traditional version of cumbia music is not, but the modern versions that this group like are very graphic and sexual. (Sidenote: There are Christian bands who have great songs in the cumbia style, minus the vulgarity, of course.)

There are a couple of other minor groups, but these are the biggies. They sometimes fight in malls and public areas, but most are just "followers," only involved in the fights by their choice of friends. You won't see a Cumbiero hanging with a Flogger very often. I am happy to say that although this trend has affected the youth of the camp we attended, we didn't see any fights or drama, and they all seemed friendly to each other. I even got a few to demonstrate their unique dance styles for me. I guess some things never change. Young people want to feel like they belong to something "bigger than themselves" and that they fit in with a group somewhere.

Camp Argentina

We're back!! There are so many things to tell you, but I'll hit camp today, and our travel adventures in a later post. The country of Argentina is quite spectacular, so I can't wait to tell you about what we saw in the city, what the current trends are among the youth there, and what the culture in general is like.

Our first couple days were spent re-learning Spanish. They speak the same language there, but everytime normal Spanish-speakers make the "y" sound (when using the letter Y or LL) the Argentinians say "sh" instead. For example, "I" is "yo" in Spanish, pronounced just like it seems. In Argentina, they say "show." And "ella" (she) which would normally be "ay-yah" here, is "ay-shah" there. It got to be a sort of game for us to remember to use it when speaking, but it was pretty close to impossible to understand anything they said for a couple days, at least. MANY words have that sound in Spanish, so it impacted basically every sentence in every conversation. Yeesh! As fast as they speak, it just sounded like a lot of "sh sh sh sh"!!

Camp started Thursday night, and yes, the schedule was just as promised. One night, we didn't have dinner until almost 1 AM. We North Americans were STARVING!! They take great pride in their beef, so it was worth the wait! We enjoyed some of the best grilled beef ever!!

There were more than 120 campers (much more than expected), so we packed four or five girls each into tiny little dorm rooms. Yours truly had a great little spot on the floor under the window, which brought me a wonderful breeze each night. The girls in my room just chattered away with me all the time, and I didn't have the heart to keep asking them to repeat themselves over and over. So I tried to laugh when they laughed and look concerned when they were serious, and I prayed that if there was an important piece of information being shared, that God would give me enough understanding to be able to translate it. He must have listened, because we had several conversations about spiritual questions they had, and general life concerns.

One night, we had service "a fuera" (outside) because of the heat inside the buildings. Dan preached, there was a terrific breeze, the clouds blocked the sun's glare, and it was a perfect night, with youth responding in the altar, pouring out their hearts and recommitting their lives.


We were divided into small groups--Here's a picture of mine, Las Vencedores (The Conquerors). We had devotions together a few times each day, with time for sharing personal prayer requests and testimonies of what God was doing for them. We also participated in games together and presented a choreography/skit at the end of camp.

Ken and I taught a class entitled "Led by the Holy Spirit". We had been given the theme in advance. The camp director wanted us to share how a married couple could work together in ministry. This was a little of a challenge, since most of the youth were NOT married, nor did they have a "special friend" yet. We took the opportunity to focus on what each could do NOW to prepare for being a spiritual team with their future spouse. Several asked questions during and after the class, so at least we knew they could understand our Spanish! Many said it was the first time they'd heard Biblical teaching about relationships.

Dan continued that theme by passing out a survey on sexual thoughts and experiences, then using the survey to teach a class about the Bible's view on the subject. This was a definite "first," we soon found out. The survey results were so sad, though, and the class was really needed. Many of the youth answered that they experiment with or are involved in things they shouldn't be. The leaders met together and expressed to us that they felt ill-equipped as to how to handle teaching about purity and relationships, and have never opened that can of worms with their youth groups. They asked if we could return and do a leadership training weekend. How exciting! So not only did the youth get the door opened for further discussion about this taboo topic (that's what THEY called it), but the leaders understood the need for spiritual guidance in this area and are willing to accept training on how to teach it. And based on the answers to the survey, it's sorely needed.

We made a million new friends, were refreshed in the Lord, and learned to speak a new version of Spanish. But there's more to come... check back tomorrow!

What a Week!

If I'm doing this right, you're reading this on Wednesday. It's actually Monday night, but I'm scheduling this post because we're travelling to the youth camp I mentioned previously. Here's the plan...

Tuesday, January 20: 2 hour drive in car to capital city of Asuncion, to catch bus at 6 PM; 18 hours on a two-story bus (I'm hoping for a 2nd story seat with a VIEW!) I've filled my MP3-player with a couple movies, a lot of praise songs in Spanish (so I'm not in the dark at this camp!), and some audiobooks, but I usually end up meeting people in nearby seats and talking the whole trip anyway.

Wednesday: We arrive in Buenos Aires, Argentina around noon. Get settled at camp and help prepare for arrival of campers.

Thursday: Camp starts at 7 PM

** Let me take this moment to point out some differences in culture. About the time my family is eating dinner, our neighbors are having a light snack, such as a piece of bread or a cup of coffee. They eat dinner around the time normal folks like us are going to bed. Don't ask me how you fall asleep on a full stomach, but that's how they roll. At camp this past weekend in Paraguay, the evening meal happened AFTER the nightly service. I don't need to tell you that services in South America tend to run a bit later than their northern neighbors' do. I may be packing some snack crackers for this trip!

Friday: The day begins at 7 AM, with classes all morning and lunch at 1 PM. I can handle that. Then the afternoon has a little free time, more classes/workshops, and at 7 PM, a little snack. We then have a devotion, dinner (scheduled for 10 PM), and the service. Yep, that's what I said. Service starts--STARTS!!--at 11 PM. It will include the praise and worship (you know that means more than a couple songs here) and THEN the preaching, followed by talent time from the local church groups. Our pal Dan is bringing the late-night message, and I'm sure he'd appreciate the prayers for strength. He's not as young as he used to be!! ;)
(PS- This is Camille's 12th birthday... another post for another day!)

Saturday: Pretty much the same as Friday, except service is scheduled to start tonight at 11:30 PM. So much for sleeping!!

Sunday: A full morning and departure at 2 PM. We'll stay around and help shut camp down, clean up, whatever.

Monday: Get back on that bus for the 18-hr trip back to Asuncion and 2-hr trip back to Carapegua. I'm guessing this trip will include a LOT of snoozing.

Fish Stories

Ken decided he needed a little break from his ailing whiny wife (she WAS sick, mind you, but recovering at that point). He had served his time in Illness World both as patient and as nurse, so the great outdoors were calling to him. He rigged up a fishing contraption using a reel he'd brought from home, the rod that got broken somewhere on the trip over, some sponges from his daughter's craft kit for a bobber, and some plastic beads for weights.

He added some corn to his hook and set off to catch the big one. After a long time in the baking sun, he called to his wife and children. "If you can make it out here, you have to see my first fish!" The excited girls ran off immediately, the weary wife tagged along behind, with camera in hand. If you click below, you'll see the dramatic end to this unbelievable, yet true, fisherman's tale.
If you look really hard, you'll see the tiny minnow in the palm of the great fisherman's hand. Quite a catch!
PS--He did go on to catch a couple legitimate-sized catfish, or at least something LIKE a catfish. The locals were quite impressed with his first catch, however, and the skill required to reel a big one like that in. They always get a kick out of the crazy American. :)

Paraguayan Youth Camp '09

This past Thursday through Sunday, more than 200 campers and staff gathered here at Camp Tierra Prometida (Promised Land) for Campamento de Jovenes '09. The youth came from all over Paraguay, some travelling over 10 hours on a bus (not Greyhound, but what we'd call a school bus!) each way.

Ken and I weren't well enough to be there as much as we'd like, but outside our window we could hear the games, the praise and worship music, the singing, the shouting--WONDERFUL! Ken was well enough to teach his class each morning, and MY class the first morning, before they found a substitute to finish out for me. The theme of the camp was "Knowing God," so Ken taught about having a relationship with Him.

The first day, he told how a relationship with God can be compared to being in love. The thrill of spending time together, the anticipation of that time, the sharing of EVERYTHING, the joy of just being in each other's presence. He challenged the students to fall in love with the Lord all over again. The second day, he taught practical skills for enjoying God's love letters to us, his beloved. Several commented that this was the first time they'd been taught HOW to study the Bible and were glad for the practical direction in that area. He also taught about communication in the relationship (prayer and meditation). The third day was about having a heart dedicated to the One you love, making time for Him and not crowding Him out with other desires.

We went to the Saturday night service and were blessed by the enthusiastic praise, the sincere worship, the attentiveness during the sermon, and the response in the altar. Truly these young people have a heart for knowing God.

Sunday, when they were packing up and leaving, it rained most of the day. Several "school buses" made the 2 mile trip down the dirt road to the campground, with only one bogging down in the mud. It was great to see the young people refreshed in the Lord, and to know what it must mean to many of them to be around other Christian youth. I thank the Lord we were able to be there for part of this camp, and we're looking forward to youth camp in Argentina this upcoming weekend.

Hospital Fun in Paraguay!

Some things are the same no matter where I go. For me, stomach virus = IV fluids. This is a running joke among friends from home. They like to remark that for most folks, a stomach virus means a bit of bucket-hugging and maybe some phenergan, followed by jello and crackers. For me, it means a costly trip to the emergency room to be rehydrated. It seems that about 6 hours after I first get sick, my body has had enough, my blood pressure drops, my sugar level plummets, and my hands and feet tingle or go numb. No different here.

Shortly after posting my last blog entry, I borrowed the blood pressure cuff from the children's home. Since camp happened to be going on, there was a nurse on the premises. He was fetched, and he promptly sent me to the hospital after finding my BP was 70/30. I tried to tell him it runs low--ok, not usually THAT low, but I didn't want anyone to panic here. However, he was politely adamant that I needed to be checked out, at least.

Ken (bless his heart...still weak himself) drove me, the house-mom Maria, and her young son Kevin, the fifteen minutes or so to the nearest hospital. I was going over the monthly budget all the way there, remembering how my past ER visits for the same type of thing have been SEVERAL hundred dollars per trip. You know how it goes. It's basically $250 to walk into the emergency room in the US. My head was spinning from feeling faint already, and from trying to figure out how much this would affect our budget.

The hospital here resembles the public health department at home--very simple but quite adequate. I was ushered right back after Maria showed them my passport and told them what was going on. Thank you, Lord, that Maria could go with us. The way the room was spinning for me, there was no way I felt up to translating all sorts of medical words I'd never heard before. I did have the presence of mind to regret not bringing the camera, so I could share more of the experience with y'all. (I guess I'm officially a blog-addict with that admission.)

Everything I'm going to describe took place in the same little room. The nurse took my blood pressure, checked my temperature, and sat me down in front of the doctor. He asked for my history, and then sent Maria across the road to the local CVS (well, not exactly, but a pharmacy) to buy a blood-sugar test. As it turns out, the consultation and care are completely FREE, but you have to buy everything you'll need for the treatment. I've learned that if you are admitted, you get a bed. Bring your own sheets and your own food, and you'll be going after your own medicines.

Back to the story. After the finger prick, Maria was sent again to the pharmacy with a long list. I was lost at this point, not sure what she'd be coming back with, and what it all meant to me. She came in a with a big bag full of goodies, and I understood right away. My old friend, the IV pole.

The staff was very competent, the supplies were clean and new, and everything (the fluids, the tubing, several injection needles, four or five IV medicines, the sugar test, and a bag of medicines to take home) came to around $30. I felt dizzy when we first got there, but when I realized that was my total bill, I really did almost FAINT! Mind you, I shared that tiny room with an elderly lady having the same problem as me (except her blood pressure was better), a small screaming boy fighting the stitches being put in his chin, and about 30 trillion tiny red ants, but my care was good and I came home hydrated. What more could I ask for?

We're Alive...

This will be a quick post just so you all know we haven't fallen off the earth. Ken has recovered enough strength to teach the class this morning at camp (his AND mine, thanks Ken!) I didn't get as sick as he was (I refused to vomit) but took my dose of this virus anyway. I am trying to start eating again today, in an effort to get up enough strength to teach my class tomorrow morning.

Yesterday while I lay on the couch all day, we were attacked by bugs. The locals say it has something to do with the amount of rain we got over the past few days. I don't know what the reason, but it was like a bad movie, or some sort of nightmare. I lay there, unable to move much, except occasionally shifting my weight to keep my muscles from aching so much. And I watched big giant ants falling through the cracks in the roof. I watched flying ants come in through the screens and under the doors. I watched some other sort of flying creatures coming in from Lord-only-knows-where, trapsing all over my floor and rug like they owned the place. Torture. Ken was sleeping off his aches in the bedroom, the girls were away, trying to help get the camp beds ready, and I couldn't get up and squish these unwelcome invaders. Once the girls got back, I had them stomp everything they could find, and Ken sprayed stuff in the ceiling. It seems better today. I actually thought I was hallucinating a few times, but the critters were real, and really uncool.

Hail, Cookies, and a Virus

It's been a wild couple of days! I haven't been able to get online for a while because we've had massive storms move through, as evidenced by this hail (just a little smaller than a baseball). We didn't sustain any permanent damage, other than the poor chicken who took a fatal one to the head beside our house, and some dents on our tin roof. During one night without electricity, the winds were so strong that I thought the roof would come off. I remembered the stories I'd been told of this same house losing its roof several times in bad storms. I wondered if I should go bag up our books and papers, or keep the girls in the same room as us. I kept an ear out for the tell-tale sound of a "train" that I learned in Hurricane Hugo, every time a tornado came through. But I thank the Lord for His Word, which is alive and brings comfort--I kept reminding myself of Psalm 4:8 ("...For You alone, O LORD, make me to dwell in safety.") I rested well in the cool breezes that came with the thunder, lightening, wind, and rain. The storms cooled things off yesterday, but the heat is back today with a humid vengeance.

We had some business to do in the city yesterday, so I took the opportunity to follow up on a lead from a friend of a friend (thanks, Brenda!) who thought she'd found chocolate chips!!! Imagine my anticipation! We finally found the store, and lo and behold, they DID have them! I was visibly excited, which puzzled the lady at the checkout. The clerk asked if I'd be using them to bake pan dulce, which is the South American version of fruitcake. When I told her they were for cookies, she was confused, thinking I was confused, and kindly told me those were for pan dulce only. I smiled and made away with my goods.

Okay, so they don't taste exactly like my normal chocolate chip cookies, but who cares? I think the difference is either in the fact that they're mild chocolate rather than semi-sweet, or in the flour. I've never baked with plain flour (the non-self-rising variety), and that's all I can find here. I did add the baking soda and salt, but it's just different somehow. Quite edible, though, and the Hagerman house is happy for that. All except for Ken, who is taking his turn with the stomach virus. As I type, he's fighting a fever and trying to sleep off the effects of a night spent befriending the blap bucket. Your prayers for him are appreciated, and also that I will continue to be immune to this virus. Someone has to be the caretaker, after all! With camp coming up this weekend here (we're both scheduled to teach each day) immediately followed by a long bus ride to Argentina for camp, there's no time for me to waste vomiting!!

Hammock Time

On the advice of some veteran missionary women, I have come to value my "alone time" in the hammock as sacred. No, I'm not seeing visions of angels or having massive revelations from God there, but I greatly value that time each day, sitting out in the shade, where it's cooler than in the house. Sometimes I take my work out there, as in this picture, but I've tried to just use it for reading or resting.

The past few days, I've taken this time to read an ebook I received from Thomas Nelson, called Same Kind of Different as Me (written by Ron Hall and Denver Moore). I purposefully didn't read any summaries of this book ahead of time, wanting to be surprised by the contents. Was I ever!

This true story chronicles a woman's commitment to follow God, as told through the eyes of her affluent husband (Ron) and the homeless man (Denver) she reached out to. It's so well-written, I had a hard time putting it down. From the beginning, the two men alternate chapters, taking plenty of time to lay the groundwork with stories of their pasts. I found that, though completely different, the two men had similar threads running through their lives, as I guess we all do. They forge a friendship at the urging of Ron's wife and end up friends for life, with lots of adventure along the way. (I'll leave out the major twist in the story so as not to ruin it for you, but I can tell you that you're halfway through the book before the main adventure really gets started, so to speak.)

It was hard for me to read some parts. Denver endured a lot of hardships as a black man sharecropping in Louisiana. I know human suffering exists, but I'm ultra-sensitive to descriptions of violence. I was able to get through this whole book, though, without having to skip pages. So while it was definitely impacting, the violence was handled well. I cried through the last fourth of the book, very moved by how God had orchestrated these three lives to affect so much change. The true story is absolutely incredible--very touching and yet exciting from start to finish. A great way to spend my time in the hammock, although I'd recommend the book to you whether or not you have access to a hammock!

Movie Night at the Hagermans'!

This past Saturday, we had about 10 youth from the neighborhood over for MOVIE NIGHT! Ken has been playing soccer with them each evening, gaining a little more trust from these guys. I occasionally take out something cold to drink or some fresh fruit, so they’re generally thinking I’m an okay gal, too. They had been a little standoffish, but I guess they just needed some time to figure out we were American terrorists or something.

We all watched Narnia (The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe) in Spanish, complete with popcorn and kool-aid. Movie night with a living room full of young people is something we’d been missing, so it was as much fun for us as it was for them. Afterward, Ken and Kyle walked a couple of the younger guys home, since it was pretty late and very dark. The next day, they were much more talkative and playful with us, all joining us in the front yard for friendly neighborhood soccer, of course! Please pray that these youth will sense the love of God and hunger for Him. (Don't click below... short post this time!)

Cow Tales

Some of our neighbors come early each morning and tie their cows off near the camp’s ponds. We have gotten used to their mooing and love when a new calf is in the mix, since they’re so playful and cute. They have been rather uneventful, just an everyday part of life, until today.
This is the cow that attacked Caroline this morning. Well, she didn’t really attack, but Caroline sure thought she would! My baby girl was out there hanging clothes when this Betsy came running out of the high grasses, startling Caroline and sending her squealing into the house, “That cow charged me!” It didn’t matter to Caroline that the rope Betsy was attached to wouldn’t allow her to get any closer to the clothes line. She was only able to finish her job with Ken standing guard.
(Short post, don't click below...)

A Little Taste of Home

One of my favorite desserts on earth is the banana split cake, a family tradition at Granny’s house, any time we’re all gathered together. This used to just mean holidays, but since we moved out of town, Granny pretty much makes it for me any time I’m coming for a visit. I’m allergic to bananas and don’t care for whip cream, but after I pick it apart, I could eat this thing till I’m sick (that’s usually what happens.) I promised Granny I’d try to make my own this year, since she was enjoying hers without me on Christmas.
We found the basic ingredients, and I was pretty optimistic that this was going to be a happy day. Mind you, I was slicing and dicing fresh pineapple rather than canned (that should be even better, right?), I had to take the closest thing to vanilla wafers I could find, the cream cheese was Neufchatel, and whip cream was out of the question, but I was still hopeful.
Man, how disappointing. I followed the family recipe exactly, but it was sour and had quite an aftertaste. Maybe the confectioners sugar here is not as sweet. ??? Sorry, Granny--I tried.

Life in the 80's

We had a lot of storms come through this past week, leaving glorious temperatures in the 80’s, dipping into the 70’s at night. I can’t tell you how welcome that was, after sleeping on a hot mattress with hot air being fanned onto you for weeks now. We have all taken advantage of it, me getting all the housework done I can, and the girls playing outside. I’ve also managed some hammock time, thrilled that I can catch a cool breeze out there.
I took these pictures to show you how the locals react when it gets below 90*. I have to admit that I was chilly, too. I kept telling myself that I should be hot at 85*, but I had to give in and put on a hoodie. Because the children’s camp was using the church building, we had our Sunday morning service under the mango tree. I was wrapped in a blanket, as was the grateful lady sitting beside me. Maybe we’re acclimating after all.

Day of the Kings

Today is the Day of the Kings, where all the little Paraguayans wake up early and rush out to see if the camels that carry the Three Kings stopped by their house in the night and left gifts. They left their shoes outside last night (thankfully, it didn't rain!), with little gifts of straw and water for the camels. In return, the camels put a little something out for each child. Such excitement! (To those of you who sent money to the "Kings and camels" who left these gifts, God bless you for bringing a smile to these little folks today. They hardly slept last night, running back and forth to their windows every time they heard a squeak.)

Buddy, the Wonder Dog

The campground is blessed to be guarded by Buddy, the Wonder Dog. Despite Buddy's name, she is a female. She's rather old, with a mild disposition, but don't let that fool you, either. She holds her own in a scrap.

When we first arrived, we were told that she would probably camp out each night at our door, keeping watch. I have to admit while I thought that was quaint, I didn't feel any safer just because Buddy was around. There are lots of dogs running loose around here, and I couldn't imagine Buddy defending us to any of them.

Last week, though, Buddy went into heat, and it was a free-for-all. We didn't sleep much because our windows are always open, and it sounded like steak night at the dog pound, all night long. I worried about dear old Buddy, trying to defend herself against these young studs who were coming after her in packs. I couldn't help but spring out of bed to check on her everytime the fight sounded deadly outside the window. Each time, I'd find Buddy atop some larger dog, with her mouth on his throat and a mean growl going on. Inevitably, when she'd release her death grip on his jugular, he'd whimper and run off, the others following behind. Mind you, this happened every ten minutes or so (some dogs just won't learn), but she never tired. That did worlds for my confidence in our "guard dog."

She trapses around after my girls all day, unless things are happening elsewhere at camp. This is a big plus for Caroline, who is a lover of all things furry. Buddy must be in the middle of whatever is going on. She's a regular attender at church, in and out of people's homes, and in the dining hall. She guards the new kittens and keeps the stray dogs at bay. Buddy is just one of the unexpected little blessings we've found here, making Paraguay seem more homey for us.

Kids Camp Paraguay '09

Paraguay's summer camp for children was a huge success this past weekend. I know this because outside my windows for the past few days was the non-stop sound of laughter, music, and singing. Caroline never did get enough strength to venture over there, unfortunately, but Camille has had the time of her life. I'm so proud of her. She has caught onto the language and communicates so well, without need of a translator. If she doesn't understand something, she just asks for clarification until she figures it out. She amazes me, spending hours at a time with her friends who don't speak a word of English, chattering away in a new tongue.

When she "stopped by" for lunch this afternoon, she told me she'd been voted queen of camp. So I grabbed up my camera and followed her back for the photo opportunity, like any good mom would do. For the closing ceremonies, she was asked to sing a duet with her friend, Patty. They both sang in Spanish, and then Camille sang in English. Aww. Makes a Momma proud, that girl. Click below for the pictures...

And the Loser is... JUICE!

I have found some relief, thank the Lord! I stumbled onto some information (I say stumbled, but I'm sure God had it arranged) that was the missing piece in my sleep puzzle. First of all, we're taking a heads-up approach to the spiritual atmosphere out here. I'm also remaining aware of culture shock symptoms and recommendations for dealing with it. I still felt like there was a physical side I couldn't put my finger on, though, and didn't really think it was anxiety or panic. I was fixing some snacks and juice for some guests yesterday and poured the mburucuya juice. My friend asked if I like it, and I told her I've been drinking it by the gallons. She said she used to drink it too, until she was sent to the ER one night with chest tightness and lightheadedness, and was told that her blood pressure was too low. Turns out, the mburucuya is known to reduce blood pressure. Well, mine is ALWAYS low (90/60 even in labor) and I've had trouble with fainting spells, dizziness, etc. my whole life. The last thing I need is LOWER bp. And the symptoms definitely fit what was happening to me: chest tightness, dizziness, confusion, shortness of breath, headache, severe fatigue, trouble swallowing. Sounds like a page out of my diary!

I hadn't drunk any Thursday b/c I never got around to making it, and I slept well that night. Yesterday, I was just starting to drink my first glass when she said that, so I changed my mind. I slept like a baby last night. It could all be a coincidence, but I sure feel worlds better, except for the knowledge that my new favorite juice is off-limits now. Ugh. I'll trade it anyday for a good night's sleep, though!

I Am Legend

UPDATE: Caroline is recovering from her stomach virus and I am sleeping again. Heavy rains came through in the night and it's about 80*. We're shooting three for three today! BLESS GOD! Relief! I've learned some things about Paraguay through this sleeplessness that I thought you might get a kick out of. I should put a disclaimer out to the mom-friends of mine who read this post aloud to your kids. Once you click the link below, I have included a potentially scary picture and some paragraphs you MIGHT want to skip.... just so you know.

I told you that one of my theories on non-sleep included this incessant heat, and my body's inability to adjust to it. It's kinda funny, as Ken and the girls seem to be just fine with it. They're hot, mind you, but I'm debilitated. Anyway, in an effort to sleep, I have spent some time out in the hammock on the back porch. Several people, upon finding this out, have warned me of Pombero. One young lady brought me a book with Pombero's picture in it, and the story of his mischief. It was all in Guarani, but she translated it into Spanish for me.

Pombero is one of the mythical creatures the Guarani culture takes quite seriously. They have a whole line of legends and myths, much like the Greek and Roman gods. (It's actually fascinating how closely their creation story comes to the real story of Creation.) What's even more fascinating is how many people believe in these stories and adjust their lives accordingly. Back to Pombero...
Lovely little fella, huh? Some pictures show him with a sombrero, carrying a tattered backpack. He's a wanderer, living out in the woods or in abandoned homes. He waits around for unsuspecting folks walking on deserted roads alone, or for people who just venture outside in the dark. He calls to them before they actually see him, either by whistling or making animal noises, most often the sounds of baby chicks or parrots. This didn't seem alarming to me, as practically every house has chickens and every tree is full of parrots, until a local explained to me that these birds are quiet at night. Oh, yeah, forgot about that.

So he calls to this lone person, and then he attacks. When I say attack, I mean that he is blamed for destroying houses, spooking and scattering livestock, impregnating women (hairy unattractive newborns are attributed to Pombero), and various other acts of mischief. To appease the Pombero, one must leave cigars and whiskey (cana) outside as a gift. Sometimes Pombero leaves other gifts in return, such as eggs.

Several adults warned me about going outside after dark, and one lady in particular told me Pombero calls to her every time she goes out onto her patio at night. Many people leave the above mentioned gifts every night, and others NEVER whistle at night. They don't want to summon Pombero. These are the same people who will not speak his name out loud, because to do so is to invite his presence. Since he can become invisible and shape-shift, one never knows when he's nearby.

Needless to say, these people were most worried about me, a foreign, unsuspecting woman venturing into the dark all alone. I did find a Christian youth who also warned of Pombero, but he had a different take on it. He told me about the black magic and the witchcraft prevalent out here in the country, and that spiritual disturbances are pretty common, and mostly blamed on Pombero. For now, I'm just thankful that I can fall asleep in my own bed again, and stay asleep! Thanks for your prayers...

My Theological Ramblings

I am on my soapbox today. This is a discussion I've held with various friends over the last few months, but Christmas got me thinking on the lines of it all over again. We enjoyed eating the pop-tarts and exchanging a couple gifts that morning, and it was spectacular to have dinner with our friends in Asuncion, but it still never felt like Christmas. Even the kids' church program seemed out-of-season, like having a July 4th cookout in the snow or something.

That made me think about traditions, and how much "what we're used to" contributes to the reality of something. Was it still Christmas, just because it didn't seem like Christmas to me? Sure. But did I get the full benefit of the holiday? Not really. I thanked God for sending Jesus, but I do that all year long anyway. I thought about the miracle of Jesus fulfilling all the prophecies concerning His birth, but I come across those scriptures in other months, as well. In my mind, I knew it was December 25, but I didn't get the joy of it in my spirit. (Don't throw tomatoes at me. I love Jesus all year long, so I didn't backslide by not feeling all tingly inside when I woke up that morning.)

Hang with me... the point is coming. In the Christian world the last several years, there has been a huge swing of the pendulum away from anything considered traditional, or "religious." There's a lot of talk about doing things just because it's the way we've always done it. If you've been a Christian in America for any time, surely you've noticed the argument over hymns vs. praise choruses. Or benches vs. chairs. Or Sunday School vs. shorter services. Or my personal favorite, the law vs. free grace. And the list goes on.

People live on both sides of this fence, either labeling all traditions as "religious" and abandoning them, or labeling all progress or change as "wildfire" and avoiding it. The idea seems to be that there exist two extremes--living by religion and living by the Spirit. And never the two shall meet. I disagree. If my entire relationship with the Lord is based on ritual and "the way we've always done it," then it's dry and in danger of missing a move of the Spirit. If I discard the traditions to flow in wherever the wind blows, I'm not stable enough to remain grounded. There has to be a balance. I heard a story once about a tree that spread out its roots far and wide and deep, but didn't reach up. It never branched out (pun intended) or grew toward the sun, so it never really served any purpose as a tree. The tree beside it decided to skip the roots and devote its energy to developing a huge billowing canopy, full of leaves and beautifully swaying in the wind. The first time a good storm came through, however, there weren't enough roots to hold the pretty tree in place, and it was ruined. We have to balance our roots and our branches. Let's flow with the Spirit, grounded in our Biblical truths and Christian heritage.

Obviously, I don't ascribe to the "stuck in tradition" movement. (Can you really call it a movement, if all it does is stay still?) I won't spend much time explaining my stance in that because most of you know us enough to understand that. My husband has tattoos, I have a nosering, we love screamo band concerts, blah, blah, blah. (PS-I can defend all of those scripturally, so don't start in on me... haha!) I also love singing hymns, I think the Lord's Supper AND feet washing are completely fine, and I don't mind going to church 3 times a week, whether I'm in pants or long shorts or a skirt. I'm pretty open to lots of things, traditional or contemporary. But I don't get the free grace thing. It's free to me, but it wasn't to Him. Jesus paid too much for that grace, for me to want to use it any more than I have to. I need a certain amount each day anyway, since I'm a weirdo. No need throwing it around haphazardly.

I believe God moves in fresh ways. I don't think that if I get a new crockpot, however, I necessarily have to throw away my frying pan. This Christmas season has reiterated that for me. Like I said, it was still Christmas all over the world, whether it seemed like Christmas to me or not, but I needed the traditions I was used to for my spirit's sake. I LIKE some traditions just for the sake of tradition. If I don't sing a hymn every service (there aren't any blue OR brown books in Paraguay), I'm not going to hell, but if I skip services to have "church at home" I do start to feel a bit out of sorts. If I decide that culturally, drinking is accepted, so I'll have a few beers with the gals at the club because "all things are legal," I'll feel even more out of sorts. Fine line. I don't want to cross it too far in either direction.

I'm rambling here, so don't think that this is to spark some long theological debate. It's just my warning to try the spirits before you camp out in either end of this debate, which doesn't seem to be going away. Oh, yeah, happy New Year!