Blog Changes

For those of you who subscribe to my blog posts by email or read them on facebook, you may have missed the latest changes to the blog.  I've taken advantage of my "down time" in the famous chair and made a few updates to our family page.  It was high time for a little something fresh, considering the last photo I had up here was practically from the girls' pacifier and diaper days...okay, I'm exaggerating, but you get the idea.

Another change you will find is a separate page for my book reviews.  I have had more time to devote to giving my opinion on the books I'm provided by various publishing companies.  This has been such a huge plus in our lives, not only due to the fact that books are almost impossible to find here in English, but also because I'm able to preview books for FREE that I can later use in the ministry.  YIPPEE!  I figure, though, that my typical blog reader isn't necessarily interested in the book reviews I post, so I pulled them out of the mix and made a link directly to book reviews only.  On that page, if you check out the right side of your screen, you'll find a clickable list of the titles as well as a few of the publishers who send them to me. These reviews don't automatically show up on facebook, nor do they go out in the email subscriptions.  That means you'll wanna swing over here every now and then and check out the titles I've posted on, should you be so inclined.   I have to say that I've been so, so appreciative of these resources at this particular time in my life.  I've found encouragement, ideas, and entertainment in the electronic pages, and they sure help me pass the time.

Have you read anything good lately?

Mirror Woes

Yesterday our friend Milciades' grandfather died.  It was cold, so he decided to travel to the settin' up (wake) with us rather than on his motorcycle.  I jumped in the shower an hour and a half before time to go, took my time thawing out in the warm water, and then when I got out, realized I had actually read the clock an hour off.  I came out of the bathroom with wet hair and everyone else was ready to go, gawking at me.  I threw it together as fast as I could, until it hit me that I can't really wear anything other than tennis shoes right now.

I'm using the cane, but I'm thinking I should probably go back to the walker.  The past couple weeks have been a steady decline.  I'm not very stable right now and the knee gives way without notice, so those inserts in my tennis shoes that balance me a little, are even more important than normal.  Well, even in my flattest, ugliest loafers, they didn't fit.  So I determined to walk as little as possible and have someone at my side all night, and go in the loafers.  After all this back-and-forth in shoe world, I had run out of time to fix my face or hair.

We jumped in the car and I pulled down the visor to see if I could put on a little lipstick and mascara in that tiny mirror in the dusky sunlight.  I could barely see, so I had my face REALLY close to the mirror.  We were still making our way down the long driveway when a humongous spider crawled over the mirror, just centimeters from my face.  I didn't know if it was dangling from the ceiling or on the mirror or what, but I instantly slammed the visor back up to the roof of the car and screamed.  Ken braked, I opened the door and--forgetting all about loafers and inserts and canes and pains, jumped out in a panic, while kids and adults from the homes came running out.  I explained that a monster spider was somewhere in that car, and it'd have to be found before I could get back in.

I'm not one of those spider freaks (arachnaphobics, maybe?), but I'm telling you, the joker was huge.  Riding in the dark with a huge spider just didn't appeal to me at all.  Thankfully, when Ken flipped the visor down, we saw that my quick reflexive slam had squished  him.  Even dead and curled up the fella was mongo big.  Not cool at all.  The kids all had a good laugh, and the guys joked all the way to the funeral home that the poor spider's last sight had to be me up close in the mirror.  Maybe the Lord knew that Milciades needed some humor.  Next time I hope a simple knock-knock joke will do!

Quince, Here We Come!

I know that word looks like the yellow fruit quince, but it's really "KEEN say", the Spanish word for 15.  In basically any Latin culture, it's a very special birthday that signifies a girl's passage into young lady-ness.  I've heard it compared to our Sweet 16, but the Quinces I've been to both here and in the U.S. are really something more than just pretty pink balloons and banners and cake.

This throw-down is the equivalent of a nice wedding reception.  Giant white or pastel dress, a huge cake, gifts, a band, catering, attendants, the whole shabang.  In Paraguay, even if it means the family raises chickens for a year to have food for the meal, it's gonna be a big deal.  This isn't some drop-in, snap-a-photo-and-leave shindig.  For many it's an all-nighter.

Within the Christian community, this is a special birthday that involves a lot of ceremony and tradition.  There are specific dances for the birthday girl (the quinceañera) and her father, and also one with any brothers she may have--pretty much every girl in Paraguay has a few brothers, at least!!  At one point, the attendants (think bridesmaids and ushers) come up in pairs and present a scripture of wisdom or well-wishes to the birthday girl, usually something from the Psalms.  Speeches full of advice are given, words of blessing spoken over her--you get the picture.

We attended our first such party in Greenville, SC, for our friend Ana Cediel.  The Cediel family had recently moved from Colombia and invited us to take part in the special event.  We were so thrilled at all the rich traditions, the "passing of the torch" of womanhood to this young lady, who would now be seen a little differently in her parents' eyes and the eyes of her community.  When we realized we were moving to Paraguay, one of the first things I thought about was how my girls might get to have a Quince party!!!

Fast forward to today, when Camille and I are looking at pictures of dresses and planning for her upcoming 15th birthday in January.  She resisted this party for a long time, on the grounds that she didn't want to dress up like a Disney princess and have everyone staring at her while she had to waltz with her Daddy.  Once I explained that she could change things up a bit ("People will just say that we didn't know any better because we aren't from around here...") and wear a dress that reflected her personality more than the giant bridal gowns, she jumped on board.

Don't worry--we aren't biting the bullet totally.  Ours will be on a MUCH smaller scale than the traditional version.  Think mix tapes and a grocery store cake.  We won't be declaring Camille to be of marrying age, and we won't be filling her dance card with the visiting fellas.  She's a grounded girl who is clear on her views to grow into who God's called her to be for SEVERAL more years before jumping into that guy thing, and we're thrilled about her stand on that.  But we do want to celebrate her life and encourage her to continue maturing and seeking her place in the Lord.  Now to find that dress.....

To Swaddle or Not to Swaddle

Our friends just became parents this week.  They asked me to come sit with New Mom and Baby in the hospital so that Dad could go to work.  I ended up spending the night and learning a ton more about birthing traditions in Paraguay.  I enjoyed myself a whole lot, but I had to stop and think about every word, every action.  Since so much of what I know about baby care comes from the US, I was on some sort of crazy learning curve.

Let's think about my own birth experiences with the girls.  After giving birth, I was wheeled on a stretcher and transferred to a bed in a cozy private room.  My bag with pj's awaited me there, the nurses had my IV pole set up, the bed was made, the pillow was fluffed, the remote control for the a/c and the television were within reach of the bed, the nurse's call button was rockin' on ready.  Ken came in a little later with baby in tow, all washed, dressed, and tucked in tight.  I remember when he followed Camille to the nursery and learned the art of swaddling.  He then taught me and all who entered the hospital room, how to roll her up in that little blankie till she was as tight as a pea in a pod.  The nurse came in every now and then to be sure the baby had her hat on (those stretchy ski caps) and, if it was night, to be sure the baby was in the little plastic box-on-wheels and not in the bed with me.  (I tried to sneak around that one and pretended I was feeding her every time the nurse entered.)  If the baby began to fuss, someone in the room would pick her up, jiggle her, and maybe offer her a pacifier.  If she couldn't be consoled or was "rooting," she'd get passed to me for feeding time--one side, burp, other side, burp.  You know the drill.  Not only have I lived through this twice myself, but I have played the helpful relative or friend who comes to help the new mommy, at least a trillion times.

So when I arrived at the hospital yesterday, I went in with all my assumptions.  I didn't even have to THINK about them, they just came naturally.  I whipped into the room shrieking with joy and congratulations--my typical loud self--and got a funny feeling.  It was only after sitting with the mom for another 30 minutes or so that I realized this place has silence rules like a library or an elevator.  You see, I'd entered the room where my friend and her new princess were bunking with 5 other ladies and their own newborns.  Oops, probably not a good idea to wake 6 babies with my congratulatory shrieks, huh?

It didn't take me long to flash back to my pregnancy with Caroline, when I was entering the hospital for the umpteenth time for dehydration, and I gave some sort of "Why me?" lament to my obstetrician.  His reply?  "You have the misfortune of having been born a white girl.  If you had a bit more pigment of any shade--Oriental, Black, Hispanic, ANYTHING--you'd be much more equipped to handle pregnancy.  It's you skinny little pale gals who give us all the trouble." Now, I have to admit that I thought he was joking.  But in that hospital this week, well... I thought about it again.  When I birthed my girls, I spent the next several days completely in bed.  If I tried to get up even to walk around within the room, BAM, passing out.  It gained me an extra night's stay (bonus!) each time.

These gals here, though--oh, my.  One mom was wheeled in fresh out of the birthing room, and she got up out of the wheelchair to begin to put her sheets on the bed.  Those'd be the sheets she brought from home.  A stay at the hospital here means that there are medical personnel in the vicinity, and they let you use their mattress.  So Super-Mom gets up and makes the bed she and her baby will share, digs through the bag for  the baby's blanket, fusses at hubby for forgetting to bring a pillow, nurses the baby, and crawls all over the bed getting the new little guy settled.  Then she asked me where the bathroom was.  "A few doors down," I replied, "but I can help you get there." (There is no call button here.  You bring along your help if you want it, hence my extended visit with my friend.)  When I offered to help her walk outside and down thewalkway to the bathroom, she looked at me like I'd fallen out of the sky.  "Uh, no.  I can do it myself." And she did.  She got up and walked right down there, changed into street clothes, and came back to fuss around with her stuff some more.  I was practically in shock.  Her baby still had afterbirth all over him and she was up running a marathon.  I remarked about it to my friend, who said they'd all done the same thing upon birthing.  Whoa.  Would this be a good time to mention the girdles? Almost all the moms I saw had a big elastic girdle strapped around the waist "so that my belly will go back to normal."  Maybe that's why mine never did--nobody told me about this girdle thing.

Every now and then I'd walk out to the cantina for my friend's next meal or snack, where I'd pass by the folks who were bedding down outside.  Only female visitors are allowed in the rooms most of the time (2 hrs each afternoon for the daddies), but the men and children come along and sleep in the walkways outside to be near Mom.  She and the baby can't rightly be left alone because if they need medicine, food, or some other supplies, someone has to go get that.  The nurses are good to come by every few hours and remind the ladies to take their pills, but each person is responsible for her own--obtaining it and taking it.  Yesterday, when I got there, it was a nice day.  A storm blew in that evening, though, and it got right cold through the night, with intermittent thundershowers.  I hoped that the families outside found a spot to keep dry and warm, because most arrived dressed for the warmer weather.

So here I am, ready and willing and very excited to do anything I can to help out this new mom (and the other 5 in her room if possible).  I just assumed--there goes that word again--that I'd be doing all those things I described in the second paragraph above, short of feeding the baby.  Nope.  These moms do it ALL!   If the baby begins to squirm around a little, feed him.  Then lay him down on the bed and spread a small blanket over him. (Don't tuck, just spread.)  No burping, no jiggling, no swaddling.

The doctor came in once to remind Mom not to jiggle and cuddle the baby because she'd get used to it and get spoiled, not able to be pacified unless someone was jiggling or cuddling her.  I felt kinda useless.  I tried to entertain Mom with conversation, but I took the hint when she said, "What a pity there aren't tv's in the hospital!"  I hope my attempts at helping out made it worth her while to have me there hovering over them all day and night.

You know I can't let the opportunity pass to explain to you what I saw in this spiritually.  How many times in a typical week here does this kinda thing happen to me?  I go into a situation without even thinking, only to realize later that the Paraguayan and I are starting from two different places.  My culture, traditions, background, experiences--oh, the list could go on and on--shape the decisions I make day-to-day.  In the hospital, I had to step back and think about each thing, and the fact that doing something differently doesn't make it wrong.  Some things can't be compromised.  Refusing to feed the baby or throwing him up against the wall is never going to be okay.  But putting the blanket over the baby instead of around him?  Well, that's an option, albeit one I didn't practice.

Sharing Jesus in a new culture means analyzing a whole lot of things, too.  Sure, there are the uncompromisables (like that word?)--things that are right and wrong.  Then there are things that seem like they are right to me because it's the way I've always done it.  On closer inspection, I've found out at times that things I was just SURE were non-negotiable sins, were actually just my traditions.  I've had to dig in and think of why I do the things I do.  This doesn't make tradition bad, nor does it mean that I can't share some of those traditions with my neighbors here.  It does mean, though, that I can't condemn them for doing things differently if those things aren't actually Biblically wrong.  This had lead to me reading the Bible in a whole new way.  I have to really look at it from a different lens, trying to put aside the common assumptions I grew up with and read it with fresh eyes.  I don't mean that I throw out the baby with the bathwater, but I stop and question WHY I think this is a must-do or a must-not-do.  I question what this scripture is really saying to me and my fellow man, whether he be in Paraguay or in Greenville.  It's a challenge for all missionaries, to contextualize the gospel without compromising it.  And sometimes the greatest challenge is just knowing the difference.

Packing a Day Full

Wow, we really packed this past Tuesday full!  We knew we'd be visiting the little school at Loma Clavel and hated to pass through Carapegua without at least saying hello to our old friends there, and to those who have been so good to keep up with Ken and me during our recuperation.  So we started off by swinging by the elementary school at Arazaty.  We had weekly Bible classes there last year and part of the year before, so we feel like we've practically watched some of these kids grow.  It was great to see the teachers again and get the chance to hug the little folks.

We then passed by Gladys and Francisco's home, stopping to have terere with Francisco, his sister (and her little boy), and his dad.  Francisco and Gladys are putting the finishing touches on a lovely little house they've just built, and are so excited to have a home of their own now after about 5 years of marriage.  Pretty soon they'll be moving in.  

We headed on into town to make various stops and share lunch with some of the youth who were part of the core group in our ministry.  Most of them were still doing well, and it was a God-ordained time to encourage them and try to share some words of wisdom where possible.

We then went back to the neighborhood we most recently moved from to get caught up on how everyone's doing there.  One more stop at the home of a family who's become interested in our ministry at Loma Clavel, and then we were off to the little school.  This family went along and we have great hopes that they will want to be more and more involved in reaching that community.

When we arrived, the teacher was all smiles.  She said she'd told the children that we were coming that day, and every little noise got them excited.  A plane flew over at one point, and she said they all jumped up and down, just sure that we were arriving via that flight.  We've always come in a car, so I don't know where that idea came in, but she said they were totally serious and very antsy.  The first thing the kids did when we actually arrived, was invite us to their National Day of the Child celebration taking place next week.  They remembered that this was the first time we'd visited their neighborhood and school, on that same holiday one year ago.  We told them we'd be honored to come back.  Thankfully, they will celebrate one day after the other school where we are now teaching.  Phwew.

We hung out with them, Ken played a few rounds of soccer, and Saul shared the Bible lesson in Guarani.  I was pretty hyped this time to be able to have some conversations with them.  They are learning more and more Spanish, and I'm learning more Guarani, so we sort of met in the middle.  While the children (and Ken) played, the teacher filled me in on the most recent happenings.  This little school, if you remember, was totally built over the course of several years, by the families in the tiny community.  They have been operating for a full school year now, but the government still does not recognize them.  In that way, the government does not have to pay the teacher.

Well, this year, the amount of students increased and it was difficult to teach them all in one room at the same time.  They range from preschoolers to adolescents.  Another teacher volunteered to come out in the morning and split the classes.  No one knows if it was the long ride down those nasty dirt roads where buses don't run, the fact that you must teach in Guarani, the lack of salary, or just what, by the new lady didn't hack it.  She lasted a week.  So our lovely little young teacher lady (Ms. Ellie) is back to doing it alone.  She was really discouraged, but I reminded her that her work with "these little ones" is never in vain, and that God knows where she is and what she needs.  I was then able to give her a totally unexpected offering that arrived specifically for her, which brought her to tears immediately.  I explained to her that there was also an amount of money for the children's needs, and we decided that shoes were a big priority.  This next week for children's day, we plan to bring a pair of tennis shoes for each child.

Let me pause here to explain a little dilemma we'd been having.  We've been studying a lot about poverty, and how to really make a difference in people's lives.  Something we've tried to do since arriving in Paraguay is to be sure we're not enabling more poverty, but are investing instead in people's lives.  This gets a little sticky when it comes to children, for the obvious reasons.  In this case, there are a few little folks who are very neglected.  The neighborhood women step in and help care for them when they can.  The shoes they were wearing Tuesday had to be at least 2-3 inches too long for them, and so broken down that I could see all their toes through the giant holes on the top.  I'm guessing that some man or teenager who no longer wanted them passed them down.  Somehow, the guys ran and jumped and played soccer anyway, in these shoes that kept flipping back with every step.  I can't tell you how excited I'll be to see real tennis shoes that FIT on those little feet.

Knowing that the kids can't really help their situation, we tried to think of a way to involve their parents in the process.  A little like "give a man a fish" vs. "teach a man to fish."  I asked the teacher about the parents' involvement in the school, and she quickly pointed out that the little matching outfits the children were sporting that day (like jogging suits) were now their official uniforms, after the neighborhood got together and did a whole lot of fundraising.  EXCELLENT!  We also talked about how the school was built by these people, maintained by these people, and bettered by these people.  YIPPEE!  With that in mind, it was hard to feel like anything we would do for their children would be seen as a handout.  We made the decision to give these shoes we're planning to buy privately to the teacher.  Then she can give them to the parents of these children, and they can give them as gifts on Day of the Child.  The gifts received on this day are typically a bigger deal here than Christmas, so it will be important that these moms and dads have something to give.  That's the plan, and I can't wait to go buy the shoes this weekend.

Back to our day with them....  After their recess time ended, everyone gathered back in the schoolroom for a Bible lesson.  Saul did a great job delivering this one in Guarani, teaching about the creation story.  The children all had booklets from their Operation Christmas Child shoeboxes, so they followed along with the pictures.  They each brought their booklets by to show me the cover and have me touch them.  I wasn't really sure why they did this, but they got all excited when I'd touch them and "Ooo! Aaa!" over the drawing on front.  ??

As we were leaving that afternoon, we met two American girls who'd come for a couple of months to help build latrines (potty huts).  Woo hoo!  What a wonderful project!  These college-aged gals had been living with a family in the neighborhood and knew all the kids, who got awfully excited seeing us talk to "the other white people" in English.

Thanks for your prayers and for the special offering sent for the Loma Clavel school.  As I told someone that evening, WE know God has a plan for that little community, and now the teacher does, too.  In a few more days, a lot of little feet are going to be reminded of that fact.  Please pray that we will be able to meet many of the parents as we return to celebrate with them, and that God will continue to open their hearts to His message.

The Race to the Finish

Our neighbor and pal Milciades is really athletic.  He registered for his longest race yet, a half-marathon in Asuncion that took place yesterday. The night before, we looked at the map of the race route, and I tried to zoom in close enough to read all the street names.  This was a really big race, though, with fast jokers from Kenya coming in to run, and some lightning quick runners on the list.  With all the hype, I didn't think memorizing the route was really necessary.  "They mark these things well."   

We got up at the crack of dawn to cheer him on, and it was a beautiful day for a race.   I knew better than to plan to arrive for the start, so we shot for getting there about a half-hour before he'd cross the finish line.  Racers were participating in 3 different length races, one of 10 km, his at 21 km, and then a 42 km full marathon.  They all started from the same line and were making their way down various streets of downtown Asuncion.   The only difference was that, according to which distance you planned to run, you made a turn-around at that designated point and crossed the finish line back where you started.  

For the most part, this was a really professional race.  Coca-cola sponsored it, so there were Powerade stands everywhere.  (Coke is so universal....)  The runners all got matching t-shirts.  They wore GPS ankle bracelets.  Each participant knew he would receive a medal at the end.  BUT the local police were manning the intersections, and traffic was still running for the most part.  When Milciades got to a certain intersection, Mr. Policeman waved him to turn down the road he needed to take.  It was only when he saw the finish line a bit later, that he realized this was, in fact, NOT HIS TURN!  Well, knowing that he was registered for the 21K race, the announcer went wild at how quickly our friend had made it to the finish line.  The guy was shouting about a new world record, the camera crews took off running, the models all gathered at the line to embrace him and have their pictures taken by his side, the crowd was cheering and all on their feet.  It was a wild scene.  But Milciades already knew at this point that he'd gone wrong somewhere.  What could he do?  He couldn't yell out, "No, sit back down, I just made a wrong turn!"  He had the privilege of explaining his mishap to the microphone of the press conference quickly forming around him.  Poor fella.  And then, of course, it showed on the tv news later that evening.  Woosh. Talk about feeling bad.  He had trained for months, investing a lot of time and hard-earned money in being prepared, only to follow someone who should have known the right way to go. 

We left there (after consoling him as much as we could) and drove about an hour away to another race.  This time, a friend from Carapegua who races 4-wheelers was in the national championship.  This could possibly be the biggest race of his career, and he was really stoked.  We showed up to eat the yummy asado they were grilling out show our support.  Several classes had to compete before his race, the finale.  We watched dirtbikes and motorcycles and little tiny kids on four-wheelers, all the while getting more and more anxious to see our friend win the title.  The moment arrived, and his race was cancelled.  No one who was supposed to race against him that day actually showed up.  We really enjoyed hanging out with old friends and eating that asado, but how disappointed he was to prepare and invest and then not get to finish what he'd started.  Twice in one day, what are the chances?  We were starting to think we carried some sort of bad-race-luck or something.  ;)

I couldn't help thinking, though, of how many times we do the same thing as Christians.  We prepare, we read our Bibles, we pray, we train for the big race (life).  Then we get rolling along and somewhere along the way, we realize we don't REALLY which way to go.  We look at someone else, who probably should know the way, and they confidently direct us.  By the time we realize we've gone wrong, it often seems too late to go back.  The good thing is, it's not.  We don't have to cross the finish line and only then admit that we made a wrong turn.  We can pause, pull out the map, consult the person who made it, and keep running.  (What a shame that Milciades didn't have the race commissioner on speed-dail, right?)

 And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us... (Heb 12:1)

 And if you get in the middle of the whole thing and realize you're alone, that there's no one to race beside you, well, shoot.  I say get on the track and kick up some dirt anyway!  With all the preparation in the world, we never know what real life will hold for us.  But in the end, let's come alongside Paul in being able to say,  

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith (2 Tim 4:7)

Truth and Lies

Today we started a weekly class for 7th and 8th graders at the school here on the property, about living a life of integrity.  For this first class, Saul taught an introduction to all the students together, sixteen of them in all.  Beginning next week we will split into guys' and girls' groups and dive in a little deeper.  

I'll be teaching from the book, Lies Young Women Believe and the Truth that Sets Them Free, which tackles some of the tough issues girls deal with, and how the truth in God's Word counteracts these lies.  We did this same book study with an older group in Carapegua, and they responded well.  I'm excited about the ages of the girls involved this time, anxious to see what God has in mind for them.

The boys will be studying Winning in the Land of Giants at the same time, but they won't be enjoying the frilly decorations and yummy chocolate brownies that we'll spoil the girls with.  They seem just fine with that... :)

The school these students attend is operated by Serving Paraguay, so it's right here on the grounds of Hogar Ganar.  These young people are already having God's truth poured into them in various ways, so we're thrilled to be adding one more dose of it.  Please pray for the students involved in this study, that the light of the TRUTH can help them dispel the lies they hear in society, from others, and in their own minds.  

Hmmm, Friends

This past weekend, Paraguay celebrated Friends Day.  They actually call it Worldwide Friends Day, and no one believes you if you say that it's really not celebrated all over the world.  But here in PY, it's big stuff.  Think Valentines Day, with all those kids exchanging cards in their classrooms, then turn that into a grown-up affair where adults are exchanging cards, notes, and chocolates, and they draw names at work and in their extended families.

Here at Hogar Ganar, those adults living or working on the campus drew names to exchange tokens of friendship.  This morning we all met for cake and coffee (yum yum!), and then the fun started.  It went a little somethin' like this:  We're all standing or sitting in a circle around the central food table, when Maintenance Supervisor Milciades steps forward to tell a little something about his "Invisible Friend" (aka secret pal).  I couldn't help but think of Kip in Napoleon Dynamite, when he describes Lafonda to his brother..."sandy blond hair," etc etc.  So Milciades gives this little riddle, everyone looks around, mentally guessing who that might describe, and he declares that it's ME.  He hands me my little gift--perfectly wrapped because EVERY store here, no matter if it's a grocery store, a little fruit stand, a clothes shop, whatever!, every store wraps their purchases free of charge, complete with a little bow.  The proper giving of a gift is very important here.  Back to our story.

Since I just received my gift, I then say a little something about my invisible friend, who then says something about his invisible friend, and the cycle continues until all have been gifted and flattered.  (You really try to say something positive about the person you're describing...)  I was really praying Dana would draw my name, because she made peanut butter balls and drizzled chocolate over them, for her lucky friend.  But Milciades hooked me up right, and he was happy to have my name.  Good old Milciades cut the tip of his right thumb off early a couple of mornings ago.  Ken ran him to the ER for stitches, and I've been changing his dressings.  He really appreciates it because I try to be gentle and not rip the guaze off, like they do at the ER, his other choice for dressing changes.  I guess he felt good to give something back, so to speak, because he shopped around for a long time to pick out "just the right wallet" for me, he said.

All in all, it was a really neat morning, and a cool tradition.  I think it helped the staff all get to know each other a little better, and acted as a sort of morale booster, a la The Office.  :)  Before ending, Sara had prayer for all who were there, and thanked everyone for the work they do for the children of Hogar Ganar.  So maybe next year this time, you can celebrate Friends Day (it is worldwide, you know!) and let me know how it turns out.