Yesterday, I was privileged to spend the day with a friend and her family. They have a folks in their house that are sick, and I thought I'd pitch in to see how I could help. It was a really fun day for me, but not so much for the sickest member of the family, who was sent here and there on doctor visits and tests.

At one point, I was hanging out in the play room of a hospital babysitting the daughter, while the "patient" was having some x-rays done and blood drawn. The little girl I was watching took turns on the plastic slide, playing with the building blocks, and generally dancing around the play room with the five other little girls who were hanging out. Their moms and grandmoms were stationed around the perimeter, as I was, watching the fun.

From nowhere, the girls begin to scream, and I honestly thought one of them had seen a snake or something. I spun around, and each of them ran to her mommy's arms. My little friend dove into my lap. They were all staring at the door and screaming, so I jerk my head that direction to see what? A little older lady walking in with a person in a 7-ft costume resembling the Shoney's Big Boy. Anyone remember that guy? Well, this fella was supposed to look like an overgrown little boy with freckles and a ball cap. No big red nose, no flashy makeup, no freaky wig. But he sent these gals into a terror.

The poor man who put on that costume thought he was doing a good deed, visiting children in a hospital, handing out lollipops. I felt bad for him as each little girl hid her face, screaming, trembling, and the poor guy didn't get to put a single lollipop in a little hand.

It was a quick visit, as the wise Big Boy decided to make a get-away ASAP. However, the damage had been done. Those poor little girls clung to the mommies for the next 15 minutes while all of us kept reassuring, "He's gone. He's not coming back. He's left already."

Now, I know Jesus is not a piece of candy--although He is sweet--but indulge me a minute. I couldn't help but think of how many times folks genuinely want to share Jesus with someone and end up scaring the poor person half to death in some way or another. I've been guilty. I remember using the fear card on my middle school friends, going into detail about hell's fire. Or being part of well-meaning evangelistic trips where we attacked folks on the sidewalk with tracts or statements about their eternal destination. And I thought about the little old lady who came in with the Big Boy. If she'd come alone, surely every child would have run to her to receive the lollipop. Lord, help me know when I'm wearing the Big Boy suit in time to peel it off and come into the room like the little old lady instead.

August is usually a very rainy month, we're told, but there's hardly been any rain. It's also usually very cold, but it's been tolerably mild for the most part. This makes for comfortable living for us, but I'm not sure what it does for the overall crop situation here.

So the past two weeks, folks all over the country and over the borders into Argentina and Bolivia, have been burning fields. This is done not only to kill the undergrowth of weeds and thistles and to promote new grass, but also in an effort to bring rain. How? I don't quite understand, but something about drawing up the water from the ponds and creeks in the smoke, and over-saturating the clouds. That's a new one to me, but who am I to question a weather wives' tale?

This means that the whole world--well, at least our part of it--has been covered in a dreary haze of smoky fog day and night for more than a week now. It doesn't smell like smoke, but it blocks the sun, obscures long-range viewing, and just leaves everything gray and depressing. When the sun can be seen, it looks like a full moon. Just a reddish round ball in a sky of gray. And at night, the moon is totally red, a bit spooky. It was spectacular last week when it was red and FULL.

Any of you scientists and wanna-be scientists can feel free to google this one and see if there's any validity to the burning theory, but as for me, I'm just hoping the fires are almost done and we'll see the bright blue sky again soon.

In a recent post I told you how we started this Monday celebrating the Day of the Child in Arazaty. We left the first school in time to catch the afternoon party at the Loma Clavel school, which I told you about a few weeks ago. We've been trying to get back to visit this school since finding them, but with more than a month of no classes due to teachers' strikes, weather, and winter break, it seemed like it'd been forever. This little one-room school now has about 20 students enrolled, although I'm not sure they all attend regularly.

We received an offering from the children attending VBS at Washington Avenue Church in Greenville, SC, and decided to use that offering to help the school at Loma Clavel. If you remember, the volunteer teacher (meaning, she doesn't get paid to teach) had been buying the supplies from her own pocket. She's the Avon Lady. So we asked her for a list of needed items, which she brought to us very timidly. The list filled a page. She told me several times that anything more than what they had would be a blessing, and not to feel like they expected everything on that list. For us to just pick and choose what we felt we could get.



Well, thanks to this Bible School fund drive, we were able to buy EVERYTHING on the list, plus a small toy for each child and a few bags of butter cookies to leave at the school for future treats. We even got a little globe and showed them where Greenville is located. We got everything from a stapler and hole puncher, to puzzles and alphabet blocks. We bought notebooks, pencils, chalk, textbooks, play-doh--well, you get it. It was just too much fun to shop for this school, knowing what a difference the materials would make.

We took these children a soccer ball, also, since they were having to borrow from neighbors each day for recess. The mother and sister of the teacher, along with a couple parents, were making hot chocolate over a fire, so we got the chance to meet the families of some of the children. I met the woman who donated the land to build the school, and she shared how they'd worked for the past four years to get the land cleared, the one room constructed, and the foundations for additional rooms started. She was very proud that her daughter was able to now get an education, and that the children of this neighborhood would learn to read, something most of their parents never learned. What a joy to meet her!

We donated several story books in Spanish that Ken's mom sent us a while back (gotta love those yard sales!), as well as a children's picture Bible in Guarani. The teacher has invited us to come back and spend time with the class in the future, so we thank God for a door opening in another school. And thank you, Washington Avenue, for letting God use you to meet the needs of this community.

Hello all, this is Ken. Usually my lovely bride Christie is exclusively your guide into the lives of the Hagermans in Paraguay. Today, however, I wanted to share a little. I have said in the past that God is too good to us--all of us. I have said many times since moving here that HE is too good to ME. I have even said that I don’t deserve Him or what He does. Today, He reminded me of how good I have had it.

It is a Tuesday, which by all accounts is nothing particularly special. Monday is lamented by almost all, and Friday equally is adored by all. Wednesday is hailed as “hump day” meaning almost to the weekend. Thursday is “one day closer” and do I really have to cover Saturday and Sunday? This plain old common, brown-paper-wrapped Tuesday, I went to a funeral.

The wife of a friend of mine died. The lady was only 49 years old. She had high blood pressure for years, and the other day she suffered either a stroke or an aneurism. This lady was what they call here evangelical (meaning, not Catholic) and had a more traditional style home-going than the Paraguayan funerals Christie has described in other posts. We arrived early to the family’s home, where the body waited. The home was conveniently located next-door to the church where the memorial service was to be held. Both places looked vacant so we went one house down to a greet a Saúl's friend, who happens to be a pastor.

NOTE: God reminded me of His grace here. This pastor shared a story of when one of his children was a baby, sick to the point of death. They took the child to the hospital and the doctor sent him to a pharmacy for an injection that would hopefully revive the dying baby. The father went and found that the price was 20,000 guaranies. He told us his heart was shattered because he spent his last guarani (of borrowed money) buying bus fare to get to the hospital. Now he was faced with losing his child because he didn’t have $3 to buy the meds. He spoke and I could see tears forming in his eyes from remembering this near-tragedy. Through the grace of God (the man’s words), the doctor called the pharmacist while he was there, and the pharmacist hung up the phone and handed him a bag with the necessary medications. I have never had to depend on God for the life of one of my children like that, nor have I been in an economic state where we have been with out basic needs met. GOD is TOO good to me, I don’t deserve it.

After the story we walked back to the house, where a few people were gathering, but the husband of the deceased was still nowhere to be found. We greeted and waited and drank a little terere. After some time Saúl asked around for the husband, and someone told us he was preparing the grave. Here they don’t embalm like we do and usually they bury the following day. In this case, the lady died late yesterday afternoon and was being buried today. We decided to go be with the husband there at the cemetery.

NOTE: God reminded me of His grace here. I was so not prepared for what I saw next. This fellow is a construction foreman by trade. Here that means a brick mason. He was in his work clothes with tools in hand, and was actually laying the bricks to build the tomb for his wife’s coffin to be placed in. He was cutting brick with a saw when we arrived. My heart broke and continued to break watching this man work. He is a perfectionist usually and today even more so. He worked diligently without stopping while wiping the tears from his eyes. At one point in smoothing the concrete top he had to lean away to finish because his tears were making marks in the wet cement. We were privileged to mix concrete and help him build the rebar to finish this task.

As soon as it was done, we went back to the house. The ceremony was on hold until the husband arrived to say there was a place ready at the cemetery. He showered quickly and then they proceeded. He asked us if we would act as pallbearers.

NOTE: God reminded me of His grace here. After the service, in the rush of people getting in buses and trucks to go to the grave, one of the pallbearers was lost. My friend--always a servant--grabbed a handle on the side of the coffin and helped us carry his wife to the car. When we arrived, he helped carry her to the grave site. After a few words there he sealed the tomb with brick and that was that--for us. This tomb was finished to perfection inside but there was not sufficient time to finish the outside. A lot of people hire this work out and so later in the week workmen come out to put the stucco layer on and paint it. Since my friend built this himself, he will be back to finish it out.

Surviving this woman are her husband and two children, a boy of 11 and a girl of 18 years. I am so blessed today to have experienced this second-hand and not first-hand. So many times we thank God for getting us through the tough times and never stop to think about the times HE has saved us from what never happened. His grace is sufficient for me.

August 16th is a big day here--the Day of the Child (Dia del Niño). I must have been asked a million times how we celebrate it in the US, and I had to reply each time that we just don't. I don't think anyone believed me. It's like a giant birthday celebration that includes every little kid in the country. Churches, schools, even the health posts celebrate.

We started the day at the elementary school in Arazaty. The teachers and several parents had built a couple fires beside one of the classrooms and were cooking noodles and meat sauce in big pots over the fires. In the picture is Profesora Thomasa, who teaches the preschool and kindergarten classes.

We brought cookies and a new soccer ball--a must-have for recess time! While the food cooked and people were served, the children played soccer and blew bubbles. After the fideo meal ("fee DAY oh", which means noodles), everyone stood in line for a piece of the yummy cake one of the moms made. It was a great chance to spend time with the children, their parents, and the teachers.

We attended another celebration after this first school, but I want to save that for another day. For now, here are some pictures of the kids!

Helping the poor is a touchy thing. We're really studying this out because there are ways to feel like you're doing a good thing but actually cause more harm than good. That whole point is a long post for another day, but I want to share with you one story of a family we've known since moving here.

This lady of the campo (the VERY rural area) has a lot of children and not much else. We met her the first time when the weather was pretty unbearable and we passed her and her small son walking home. We knew there were no houses near, and they were heading our way, so we gave them a ride. From then on, we were instant "neighbors." We've had many opportunities to give them rides because they walk about 6 kilometers into town several times a week to try to sell little bags of medicinal grasses she grows, or nuts and coco they have growing in their field. Sometimes the abuela accompanies them, which never ceases to amaze me. The abuela is this lady's mother, and she's really, really old. She walks very slowly, hunched over, and at times without shoes. When we pick her up in the truck, she talks away in Guarani, even though I tell her I don't understand. She just giggles and talks even faster. Little old ladies are just the cutest things!

Back to the story--the mom with all the kids and the elderly parents. She is one of those folks who has no problem walking up to me and saying, "My son needs shoes. He wears size 39. When you have some, give them to me." But she says it with a smile and always brings little gifts. When we lived closer to them, she'd send her kids over with bags of fruit or whatever was growing at the time. And now that we live closer to town, they stop by our house with little gifts.

This morning, I was sleeping in because it was a VERY late night and I had quite a sore throat. These cold mornings, the warm bed is just so cozy. Camille came in to tell me that our friend and a couple of her children were outside and wanted to speak to me. We'd visited them yesterday with a bag of clothes Caroline outgrew, so I guess I should have been expecting their visit today to bring by gifts. That's how it works.

I went outside, and the mom had a grocery bag with some clothes someone had given them, and a basket with a bag of grasses (they actually call them weeds here, but I didn't want to say she brought me a bag of weed), a couple little bags of coconuts (they're the size of marbles here), and a tiny bag of beans. I hate to accept food from folks who have so little, but it's important to them to give something back. I thanked her profusely, and then she said, "My son wants to eat something. What do you have?" So much for small talk, huh? :)

While we waited for the grill cheese sandwiches and hot chocolate my girls set about making, one of the neighborhood abuelas walked by. The two ladies started a Guarani conversation on my front porch, while I tried to pick up a word or two here and there. Every now and then one would turn to me and translate into Spanish a bit. Before I knew what was happening, my visitor reached into the bag with those few used pieces of clothes, took out a long-sleeved shirt, and started putting it on the abuela. As she pulled her arms out of the sleeves, she said, "I have a mother and a father I take care of, so I know that you have to keep warm so it doesn't strain your heart. Put this on and warm up a little."

These two ladies had never met, but their 5-minute conversation was enough for this really, really poor mother with a large family and so many needs, to realize that the abuela didn't have much either. So she took this shirt out of the bag and gave it away. Just like that. It was very natural for them, but man, it got me. Lord, help me to hold on to the things I should, and to loosen my hands on those things that are only mine to give away.

There are all sorts of unspoken rules of what's cool and what's not here, as there are at home. The problem is that I DON'T KNOW THE ONES FOR HERE, and as always, there's no book on this. There is trial and error, there is that look someone gives you that means you did something wrong, there is the laughter that comes when you've slipped up somehow. But usually these things happen AFTER the fact.

Well, today I knew I was stepping on shaky ground ahead of time. The yard is a sacred place in Paraguay, as most living takes place outside. Some folks only use the house for sleeping, and some don't even sleep inside, but use the one-room house for storage or rainy/cold nights. This means that every morning and evening, the Latina ladies sweep their dirt yards cleaner than the inside of my house (Did I mention that grass is pretty rare?) To say the least, we are the nastiest yard in the neighborhood. I try to keep it raked and cleaned up, but they've got this thing down to an art form, and this white girl can't keep up.

So today, in a moment of FUERZA!, I decided to make our yard look like my neighbors' yards. Peer pressure, you could say. We raked and raked and raked, collected the fallen mango branches, piled up the little pieces of trash that fly inside our fence (litter is always thrown in the street rather than a trashcan), and prepared to burn. Burning leaves is pretty common here, but I've heard many a woman fuss about another woman burning at the wrong time and smoking up the whole world. I haven't figured out quite yet what this magical time is to burn, but they tell me it has to do with reading the weather signs. Best I can figure, it's best to burn when rain is coming, when it's not meal time, and when some little fairy comes and says, "NOW!"

Well, it was cloudy today and they were calling for rain (I hear it pouring outside now). So I waited until the time smack in between lunch and dinner, and struck a match. I knew the whole time that there were no less than 4 or 5 women in various houses complaining about how rude I am to burn at such an inconvenient time, as I've heard them do so about other women. And for sure, my leaves made an incredible amount of smoke. We cleaned up trash and kept raking, piling up the fire pile, when over walked a little girl from a few houses down. "My mom said to tell you this isn't the time to burn. You should put it out now or it will be flying everywhere. It's dangerous." Who am I to argue with experience? We started pouring sand and water on my lovely fire, putting it out just as a fierce windstorm blew in, followed by the rains. How do these people know these things? Alas, we'll clean the yard another day. (Can you hear my children cheering?)

This past Saturday afternoon, we decided to take advantage of a few open hours and the rare warm sunshine, and head out for some sightseeing. We pass a rocky hill in a town about an hour from here, every time we pass through on the way to Asuncion. We've said a million times that one day we'd like to hike to the top, and this Saturday seemed just as good a day as any.

Paraguay's interior is mostly open flat land, but there are occasional hills that can be seen for miles and miles around (kilometers and kilometers, here). They are actually very old volcanoes that no longer erupt (thank you, God!), we hear. These are a bit sporadic, with just random hills sprinkled here and there across the landscape. It seems that every other town has a hill big enough to climb.

This one in particular is in Yaguaron, which means big dog in Guarani. The top has a large white cross and a little chapel. Our goal was to climb to the cross and have a little devotional time. The views were spectacular, and I always think it's just easier to pray outside, especially on a breezy hill. I particularly enjoyed the time with the family and the Lord on this sunny Saturday.

(If you're reading this from blogger, click below for lots more pictures.)



The hills are mostly rocks.


"Well, let's get started!"


Ken and Caroline feel like they're on top of the world!



We rounded one corner, and there was a random cow in the bushes. Kinda like when Abraham found the ram in the thicket atop Mt. Moriah, except we decided not to burn this guy.


I wasn't as unhappy as it seemed...the sun was in my eyes. :)


We finally made it to the top and found the cross. A perfect spot to rest....

We just finished watching Pirates of the Caribbean, so I couldn't help but think we were sailing to the end of the world when we visited Franco Isla last week. Its name means Frank Island, but it's really just a place near the lake, about a trillion miles down long dirt roads. The views of the swampy wetlands and grazing cows are just gorgeous. I kept my eyes peeled for the little crocodiles that are so yummy as nuggets, but I didn't see any on this trip.

We went to Franco Isla to visit two of the members of the Friday night band (see previous post) The fellas live with their mom, their aunt, and their grandmother. We had lunch together, took a long walk around their property, and had a group meeting about ministry. It's such a privilege to watch these young folks take this bull by the horns and get so involved in reaching out to the community.

After the meeting, we noticed a few neighbors walking to the house and realized that it was time for Sunday service. We stayed on, did our best to understand the Guarani, and Saúl was asked to preach. It's so strange to hear him speak in Guarani! I was happy to understand most of his message this time, although it could be because he mixed a good bit of Spanish words in. That's normal, but I think he does it more than most. Either way, it was a happy moment for me, to feel like I was seeing some progress after all this time of studying the native language. After the service, the pastor (the boys' mom) set out bowls of butter cookies and popcorn as a fellowship meal. The ladies who'd come brought fruit for the pastor, and they insisted our family take home a big bag. The way the people share what little they have is so inspiring and humbling. I had never met these women before, but they were thrilled to give us food--something that probably goes lacking at times in their own homes. I have a hard time not saying, "Oh, please, keep this for your family. We have plenty and don't want to take from what you have," but this isn't polite. I've learned after much discomfort to accept it graciously. It was a joy to spend time with the ministry group and the church family at Franco Isla.

This past Friday was the official holiday, Day of Friendship, but it was celebrated all weekend long. It's very similar to our Valentine's Day, in that folks exchange little gifts or cards, and tell everyone they meet "Congratulations!"

You know all those forwards that arrive in your email box, that say things like, "Love is not a noun, it is a verb. Love is like rain in the desert. Love is like sun in the winter. Love is like mouthwash after garlic bread. Pass this to a million people you know." You get the picture. Well, the cell phone was buzzing all day with those little text messages about the true meaning of a friend. It's kinda neat.

We also received a bag full of oranges, some souvenirs sorts of things, and a few what-nots. Oh, and candy and chocolates! WOO HOO! Since our Friday night youth club fell just right on this holiday, we shared lollipops with everyone and had a little talk about the Friend who sticks closer than a brother. Thank you for the prayers concerning the new concerts on Friday nights. This outreach method is already showing fruit, and the youth are very excited about taking an active part in reaching out to their friends. Wanna have some fun? Pretend like you're here and send a text to your buddies today, too. Tell them to have a happy Paraguayan Friendship Day.... ;) Let me know if you take the challenge!