I told you about spending the other day at the Bowen home to celebrate Andy's birthday, but I didn't tell you about the cool way we did that.  Andy is a strange breed, as we say in the South, having lived all over the place and knowing how to speak about 17 million languages.  He married a jewel, a lovely woman from Bolivia named Lizet who cooks like nobody's business.  It's always a very exciting thing in the Hagerman House, when we receive an invitation to dine with the Bowens!!  :)

(SIDENOTE:  Here, the American holiday of Thanksgiving is called Dia de Accion de Gracias, which means Day of the Action of Thanks.  I like that.)

We had the privilege of being invited to a missionary lunch with other Americans (and mixed families) in Asuncion.  We met at an outdoor pool nearby the school where several of those missionaries work, and everyone brought potluck dishes.  We ate chicken (turkey's pretty hard to come by here), homemade stuffing, homemade baked beans and coleslaw, a slew of desserts, and well, you get it.  It was WAY yummy!

Even better than the food we've come to look for at Thanksgiving, was the time spent sharing with others.  The day before, we'd had the opportunity to do this at the Bowens' home, as well, and it really meant a lot to us to be able to be encouraged by others in our "line of work," and to hear what God's up to in other ministries and cities.  The girls were thrilled to spend some time with other missionary kids, and excited about spending the day in the cold pool.

Afterward, one of the families spent the night at our home, which meant we had leftovers for dinner.  I explained to Saul that the Thanksgiving lunch isn't as much what makes us feel like we're keeping with tradition, but that it's really those leftovers that make it feel like home.  :)

We noticed on the way home that it's that time of year again--for a couple of weeks every spring, this certain kind of bug (kind of like a dragonfly) comes out in droves, swarming any light source.  Every time we drove under streetlights, they were pelting the windshield.  Those giant toads were in heaven, though, eating their Thanksgiving meal right under the lights.

I tell you the bug story so that this next part makes sense.  When those two weeks come about, we close the house up as tightly as we can. The bugs still get in, but much less than if we left the doors and windows open as we normally do.  Even so, we were squishing them and swatting them and there were bugs and guts their little wispy wings all over the floor and flitting around the lights.  Unavoidable.  We ate in the dark and left one light in the house on, then all (well, not me) ran to that area and squished everything possible.

About the time we settled down, the mission team from next-door dropped by.  It's a team of 10 Brazilian and 2 Paraguayan young adults who are attending a YWAM training school, and they are here for two weeks.  We all sat around with a few guitars, some congas, a metal bottle with bb's inside, and a tambourine, and sang praise songs in Spanish, English, and Portuguese.  It was spectacular, despite the bugs and the fact that 20 of us were crammed in here with musical instruments and the inability to open a door or window to help let the sound out.  Thank the Lord that it was a mild night, and we weren't sweating up a storm in here.

All in all, we had a great day remembering how much we have to be thankful for.  Thankful to be alive, to spend another year celebrating this day, to be living out a dream that many will think of but never be able to experience, to be part of God's plan for His kingdom, to have been born in a great country.  For family, for friends, for prayer supporters, for financial supporters.  For God's provision, for His direction, for His wisdom, for His faithfulness.  All that and so much more.  Hope you had a great day, too!

We were invited to a get-together at the home of our friends, the Bowens.  You'll remember Andy Bowen from my posts about Guarani class, as he's the teacher.  Well, his wife Lizet, an extraordinary chef, invited us and a couple of other families, for a birthday lunch in Andy's honor.  (Check back another day for a post about the incredible meal.)  We were thrilled to join them in their beautiful hill-top home in rural Paraguay.
 
A bit more than halfway there, we were stopped in the middle of the road. This is a regular occurrence, as it's the method the police use for traffic stops and writing tickets seeking bribes license checks.  However, after sitting in the same spot for over half an hour, we were starting to wonder what was up.  Finally a man walked by and told us there was a manifestation (a strike, a demonstration, a picket line, what DO we call this in English?) further down the road.  So the police had totally blocked traffic of any sorts--taxis, buses, horsecarts, motorcycles, EVERYBODY.  Even the dark Mercedes Benz who thought that he'd for sure be exempt from this delay and weaved his way to the front of the line to try to push through.  This blockade was, of course, for our safety, as some manifestations have gotten a little ugly lately.  Okay, a lot ugly.

Various cars during this time were making U-turns, but the only way we knew to make the last half-hour of our trip, meant about a three-hour detour back to where we'd started and then coming in from the opposite direction.  We decided to wait it out, until one of the vehicles that turned around was a bus named for the town we wanted to get to.  A little lightbulb came on over our heads, and we all got the idea at the same time that THIS GUY should know a short-cut, if one exists.  So we whipped a circle and followed that bus!  Boy, did we follow that bus!

About a half-kilometer behind where we'd been stopped, the driver turned off the asphalt and onto a muddy dirt road.  We stopped long enough to ask a guy standing around at the end of that road, if it really led to where we wanted to go.  Yep.  "And how many kilometers?" Blank stare, then a grin.  "A lot," he says.  He wasn't kidding.

Ken drove like a champ behind that bus, with a line of cars behind us, for what seemed like a trillion miles.  We crossed barbed wire fences, went through cow pastures, through folks' front yards, through mud holes, around crazy hairpin turns, and more than once I thanked God that we chose to follow the bus because we'd have never known all the right turns to end up where we wanted to be.

Reckon we can push this thing out of the mudhole, Juan?

At one point, the bus went through a muddy spot in the road and bogged down. Various passengers hung out of the windows, examining the damage, while the driver kept spinning deeper and deeper.  Finally, a few got out and started pushing from behind and pulling from the front.  Pulling the front bumper with their hands.  Seriously.  Had they not gotten that bus out, we'd have had to turn back, because there wasn't room to pass on either side.  We were really praying for them.  They did finally break free, just in time for an older man with a shovel to walk out into the mud and start patting around with that shovel.  We motioned for him to scoot over so that we didn't splash him (or slide into him), but he insisted in standing there, "in case we needed help."  Suit yourself.  We skidded right on through, without hitting Mr. Helpful, and eventually found our way to the paved road far away from the manifestation.

Then we got to Andy's driveway, which is really a winding, muddy, at times rocky, dirt road that makes its way up a small mountain.  We did fine on all that terrain until we got to a normal grassy spot.  I had no sooner said, "Oh, good, the grass will clean off the mud from underneath the car," when we hit a spot where the grass/dirt in the middle was too high for the dug-out ruts where our wheels were.  Clunk.  Stuck.  Thankfully, friends with a 4x4 were nearby (have I mentioned how much we miss our Mission Mobile?) and pulled us out.  We decided to give the VW a well-deserved break, and leave it parked there in the grass.  We piled into their 4x4 for the rest of the journey.

When we were coming home, we were stopped by the police again, and Ken had to show his license.  The policeman was still very suspicious, and he asked me where we'd been.  "Don't even get me started," ran through my mind, but I opted for "to the school that teaches Jopara to missionaries, up on that big hill over there."  That was a good choice, because his suspicions came from the fact that our car was covered in mud.  I gave him a "What an ugly road!" in Guarani, to which he smiled and let us pass.  Phwew.  I love it when they wave us on without incident.  :)  And now, the car and the driver are both tired and resting.

My fella penned a Dr. Seuss knock-off that jabs a little at our tendency to hang on to what we've got, rather than sharing the love.  I'm going to paste it below, but if you'd like to hear him read it aloud, click over to this link and find it on his personal blog.  Hope you enjoy it.  (PS--If you do, skip over there to his blog, scroll to the bottom, and leave him a comment... he gets all hyped up about comments!)  He calls this little ditty "Folks With Sin".

Today, our beloved little car is back in our yard!  YIPPEE!  Just in time for my x-rays and follow-up appointment with the surgeon in Asuncion tomorrow.  The girls have been busy helping the volunteer English teacher Dana, our next-door neighbor for the last 8 months, pack up and move back to the US.  She just boarded her plane a few minutes ago.

Last week my leg began to react to the metal in the staples holding my incision together, so I had to have them removed a little early.  I'd been healing well, though, so no damage there.  This scar looks like it's gonna be much nicer than the first one.  Getting to the doctor to have this done wasn't quite so easy, however.

We still are waiting for our car to come out of the repair shop, so we hitched a ride with our neighbor Dana.  Did I mention that I can't really bend the knee yet, and have a brace on it to keep it straight out?  And did I mention that Dana drives an old VW Beetle?  You should have seen me getting in and out of her backseat!!!

So we headed out towards downtown Asuncion for my appointment, thinking we'd left with plenty of time.  Before we'd gotten out of the neighborhood, the little truck in front of us turned a curve too sharply and spilled out the 5 trillion baskets they'd had roped onto their bed, all over the road.  Dana and Ken jumped out to help, but it still ended up being a half-hour job, and looked like something from a comedy sketch!  A mountain of baskets piled twice as high as the truck, someone climbing up to hold them in place, another person tossing the rope, the baskets shifting and the mountain spilling out all over the street again, someone climbing back up, etc., etc.  I was pretty amused from my backseat Bug position of watching and laughing.

When that was finally resolved enough to send the ladies on their way and clear the road for our passage, we took the direct route to save time.  This is the route to be avoided at all costs, normally, because it's full of stop-light beggars and window washers and fruit sellers and thugs.  And lots and lots of crooked policemen (I didn't really say that, did I?) standing around to pull over white folks and write them costly and often bogus tickets.  But we braved it and drove right through.

Well, almost.  We got to a spot where Dana took a right on red, at my suggestion, because the light was kinda in the middle of turning red.  And I didn't realize that right on red was against the law here.  Mr. Policeman standing on the sidewalk one block up promptly bent down, looked in our windshield, smiled, and walked out into the road to pull us over.  I began a long explanation of how it was my fault, how we were late for an appointment, how much it hurt to be out in the heat without a/c and with my leg in this condition, how Dana only turned because I told her to, how we don't have money for the ticket, the whole shabang.  We went back and forth, him very rude and impatient, me throwing out the smiles and a bit of begging (he was writing Dana a ticket for several hundred dollars), and he finally got sick of hearing my mouth and angrily sent us away.  WOO HOO!!!!

On to the hospital, where my appointment was held.  We arrived about a half-hour late, at this point, so we got to sit and enjoy the air conditioning in the lobby as I got worked back into the list of patients.  A few minutes after we got settled, Dana pulled out some crackers and began to snack a bit, but she was quickly called outside by the security guard.  "No eating allowed in the hospital."  Oh.  Dana apologized and thanked the guard for letting her know, and pointed out that she simply didn't know because the sign only said "No Smoking."  The security guard gave her a lecture on how, as adults, we ALL know that you can't have food around sick people, and there was no way she should think it'd be okay to eat in the waiting room of a hospital.

On the ride back home, a girl walked out in front of our car on the big highway, and Dana had to slam on brakes and swerve quite a bit to keep from hitting this teenager who never even looked at us.  I'm guessing she was very glad to finally deposit her cargo at our home and no longer serve as our taxi driver!  Never a dull moment....

Today marks three years since we landed on the beautiful tropical soil of Paraguay, land of the Guarani in the heart of South America.  Our little family of four and everything we owned stashed into 2 check-ins, a carry-on, and a backpack each.  Oh, yeah, and my parents, who arrived with us to spy out the land where we'd be permanently relocating their beloved granddaughters.

We landed with a plan, with ideas of how this whole life would work, with concepts of what a missionary is and does.  We quickly found out how mixed up our preconceived notions really were.  We arrived with a lifetime of Christianity and church experiences, ministry work, evangelism.  We quickly found out how culturally-centered our spiritual lives were.

Our neighbors became our second family, our community became our mission field, and we learned that God doesn't live within the four walls of the church.  We'd believed and taught that all along, but now we LIVED it.

We've been amazed at the ability of our daughters to learn the language(s), adjust to the cultural changes, and roll with the punches of daily life that doesn't resemble what they've always known.

We've learned to live without the safety nets of nearby family and friends to catch our back, a police system you can trust in to make you feel secure, a justice system that is (for the most part) just, and weather that doesn't threaten to destroy you.  We've found that the only true security comes from God anyway.

We've been humbled by folks from home, Paraguayans, and people around the globe who have come alongside us at different times in this journey.  Folks who have been there and done that, folks who have always dreamed of being there and doing that, or folks who are just glad we're there and doing that.

We arrived physically intact, then decided that should we ever leave Paraguay, parts of us would stay behind--namely Ken's aortic valve and a wedge of my femur.  

And most of all we've been floored that the God of the universe, who knows our flaws and imperfections, still saw fit to bring us here to work for His kingdom.  Unbelievable.  Grateful.  Floored.

I'm home!  We ended up riding home from the hospital in an ambulance, much to the delight of my paparazzi waiting in front of the house.  The ambulance man wanted to discuss my opinion over the political situation and civil unrest taking place in Paraguay.  He had lots of questions about what we're doing here, and then wanted to give me some pointers for working with Paraguayan youth.  I did my best to stay awake and keep up the conversation, but it was a struggle, at least till we got to the cobblestone roads.

The doctor was a little reluctant to send me home because my blood iron levels were really low (8), and I kinda needed a transfusion.  With promises that I'd behave and eat a ton of red meat, he agreed to the ambulance ride and sent me on my way.  Then the mothers took over and began to force feed me whatever food and liquids they could get down my throat.  Bless their hearts, they are keeping the food coming.  It's good stuff, too!  It's kinda like having Thanksgiving every day!!!  If the mom and mom-in-law are gonna come cook up a storm like this, I may have to schedule some more medical procedures!  (Okay, just kidding....)

So our car is still not working (remember it zonked out on the way back to the hospital?)--it appears it'll be a rebuild on the VW motor now.  In light of the fact that we have errands to run and a house full of visitors, Ken and my dad hitched a ride into town today to rent a car.  At their first stop, they came out to find the police towing the rental car.  Again, the police were trumping up bogus reasons to fine/impound a vehicle, padding their pockets.  This is way too common.  Once the car is in the impound yard, the fine is several hundred dollars to get it out--whether or not the reason they put it there is legitimate.

This time they told him it was a no-parking zone, despite the fact that there was nothing to signal that this was a no-parking zone.  There were many other cars parked there, too, but oddly enough, the one with the two American men getting out of it was the only one being towed.  As they drove away with the car to God-only-knows-where-and-the-policeman-wasn't-telling, Ken and my dad jumped into the cab of the wrecker and rode along.  Obviously, Mr. Policeman nor Mr. Wrecker Driver was happy about this, but in light of all that was going down, they couldn't lose the car (with my dad's camera in the trunk).  Ken called us and we started praying.

To make a long story short, the supervisor met with Ken before they "officially" impounded the car, and the "fee" ended up being about $50  After they paid this, the supervisor let Ken know that he wouldn't be able to give him an official receipt (obviously), but at least they drove away with the car.  The supervisor actually asked for twice that much, Ken told him what had happened, and then he reduced the fine to about $75.  Ken paid this and the guy asked again why this is a rental car.  Ken explained the "truck hit my wife" story/surgery/car breaking down/parents in town.  He told him that we're not tourists, nor ranchers, just regular missionaries who live off donations of normal folks who want to help the people of Paraguay.  The guy gave him back $25!!!!  I know the bribe (oops, did I say that out loud?) was really not cool, but it's absolutely unheard of that the policeman would GIVE BACK money that's already made it to his pocket.  Unheard of.

So as we stand, the kitchen is in full swing, I'm hanging out in the chair, and Ken and Daddy are on their way back home.  We're enjoying this time with the family, and my pain is really very manageable.  Gotta get that iron level up and get past this weak, dizzy junk, but that's do-able.  Thanks for the prayers and emails you've been sending our way.  They matter more than I can tell you!