Hagermans on a MISSION!

Happy 15th, Camille!

2012-01-23T08:48:00.001-05:00

As I type this, my baby girl is curled up in her bed, exhausted from a full evening of celebrating her birthday with friends. She'll be 15 tomorrow (January 23), a giant milestone for girls in Latin America. The traditional birthday party here for a girl turning 15 is a giant fiesta that really looks much more like a wedding reception, complete with attendants and a band and a girl in a big, puffy dress, and tons of photos.

Camille, however, decided she didn’t want this sort of throw-down, and opted for pizza and birthday cake with about 40 folks who live nearby. Despite the fact that I was looking forward to being part of the traditional Paraguayan 15 party, her reasoning was solid and I couldn't help but give in to her wishes. She's a very practical girl, and standing around in an uncomfortable formal dress for hours after planning for this party for months just didn't appeal to her one bit. Nor did dancing the waltz and having everyone tell you how you're basically an adult now. So I finally decided to stop trying to talk her into it and just let her choose. It turned out to be kinda fun to show some of our friends how WE celebrate birthdays.

I learned something new tonight about how birthdays are done here, too. I noticed that no one's gift had a card or anote or a name tag on it. Once mostpeople had gone, I asked how we were to go about writing the thank-you cardswithout being sure who'd brought which gift. What a pleasant surprise to find out that this is not expected, and is,in fact, a bit frowned upon. It turnsout that the point is to arrive with something in your hand, something to addto the gift pile. When the party isover, the birthday girl privately opens the gifts. This way, no one has to feel embarrassed ifhe couldn't bring a nice gift. So ittruly is the thought that counts. We'renot supposed to try to guess who brought what or thank the people after theparty, just accept the gifts and enjoy them. Cool, huh? And if someone has something they specifically want you toknow came from them, they can give it to you in person and ask that you open itright then, but this doesn't happen often.

A benefit (for me, maybe not for her!) is that Paraguay does not give drivingpermits to 15-year-olds like South Carolina did when I had this birthday. Phwew. Bullet averted, for a while longer anyway. Camille has always been mature beyond heryears, but I still can't believe my first baby is turning 15 already. She's such a great girl, always looking forways to serve, always using her gifts of friendliness and hospitality, alwayssensitive to the promptings God whispers in her heart. She was practically born talking, putting offwalking for quite a while because she was content to sit around and chat withpeople. It's great watching God use hertalents and tendencies for His glory, and to stand back in awe of the younglady she's becoming. How proud we are ofour quinceañera!

Tour of Paraguay

2012-01-15T13:25:00.002-05:00

We have been looking forward to January for weeks now, planning and anticipating the visit of Ruth "Crimefighter" Arnell. She's a lovely young lady who spent several years of her childhood in Asuncion, as the child of missionaries to Paraguay. She found this very blog a couple of years ago and began to leave comments, which developed into emails, which developed into a facebook friendship, and the next thing you know, it's 2012 and she's on a plane. She's got a remarkable memory of things she did and saw here, and she came back to... well, she says it best, so check out her blog if you're curious about her reasons for visiting.

To take full advantage of showing her the face of missions in Paraguay these days, we took a week-long tour of missionaries. We made a big circle (well, more like a triangle), beginning with a visit to the home of Julie and Norberto Kurrle in Obligado/Hohenau. You may remember them from peanut planting, Bible training, and recently adopting a beautiful little girl to be Timmy's sister. They filled us in on the latest projects and plans, and treated us to a wonderful meal. I think that Julie is quite the cook anyway, as a successful homesteader, but her mom's visit coinciding with ours meant a double blessing, one that included German chocolate cake! We also got to see our old pal Michael, and hear about missions in Bolivia and bees in Obligado.

We spent the next few nights with Justin and Allison Rayburn, a young family with three adorable little people, who work with the indigenous tribe called the Mbya. They were so kind to let us invade their apartment, and to take us on a tour of the neighborhoods where ministry is greatly needed. They are from southern Louisiana, so do I need to explain how tense the first night was, when LSU (their alma mater) lost the national championship for college football? The children were all dressed in their little LSU outfits, there were streamers all over the place, and Allison had cooked pizzas with purple (beets) and gold (corn) edible decorations. They are some serious fans!

We ventured out to the Jesuit Ruins the next day, despite the impressive (and OPPRESSIVE!) heat. Ken, the girls, and Ruth explored while I sought shade and a bench. It's quite a lot of walking, so my crutches gave me the excuse to hide out from the sun underneath the mango trees. We returned to the Rayburn's place to find a giant pot of Louisiana-style jambalaya. Mmmm!

It's pretty amazing how different things seem down there on the eastern edge of Paraguay. Germans and Mennonites (and sometimes German Mennonites) own large farms, so in place of so many oxcarts and skinny working horses, you see giant tractors, huge mega-stores where farming equipment is sold, and restaurants with German names. Many other nationalities call this area of the country home, as well. I felt like we were in the midwest US, with rolling hills and acres and acres of farms--corn, soy, yerba, that sort of stuff. Unfortunately, we're in the midst of a potentially devastating drought, and lots of the green was actually brown. It was still obvious that they have much more grass there than we do, though.

We ended our time there with a cookout at the Rio Parana, a big river that separates Paraguay from Argentina. And a great time was had by all.

That was only the first half of the week, so tune in later for the rest of our trip, where we hung out with the British and the Venezuelans in Ciudad del Este and Brazil. And click on Ruth's name above if you'd like to see pictures and more detail of our travels. :)

"Your" Iniciative

2012-01-07T14:08:00.003-05:00

Earlier this month, we had the privilege of participating in something the local church organized--an event called Your Initiative. In Spanish, they made a clever play on words that actually meant Your Initiative as well as Initiative You and Me. The point was Paraguayans reaching out to other Paraguayans, their neighbors. For the past couple of months, the youth leader Guillermo has been asking for donations from those who attend the church, and from various people in the community. Then lots of people came together this scorching Saturday to hand out clothes, toys, baby supplies, food, and smiles to a needy neighborhood where a new work is beginning.

The children are invited back to participate in weekly Bible studies ("Sunday School" on a different day of the week, basically), and eventually the plan is to have a soup kitchen operating there. Some old friends of ours from Carapegua are heading up this new work, and our prayers are with them as they get it going.

Do Re Mi Fa So...

2012-01-06T16:44:00.000-05:00

We decided to take advantage of Paraguayan summer vacation and invite the teenagers from the Hogar to our home for morning devotions. It's been fun. Every day a different little group shows up, depending on who has chores to do. Today, we got a new one because his 13th birthday was TODAY! What a great way to celebrate. We sang to him in three languages and I thought about how fun it was to be able to bring a smile to someone's face with something as simple as a song, and a song done way off-key at that!

Before we got started on the devotion, the kids wanted to show us what the kings brought them. SIDENOTE: The kings (aka the 3 Wise Men of the Nativity story) come on January 6 much like Santa comes on December 25. Somewhere in the night, these guys covertly sneak in and leave gifts for the children, who have prepared for the visit by putting their shoes outside. I guess that helps the kings know how many children are in each house? Back to the story.... the teens of Hogar Ganar received cute little mp3 players, which are all the rage among the youth of South America. These came pre-programmed (thank you, wise kings!) with a dozen or so Christian songs. The kids were so excited!

We spent about an hour filling up their players with other songs as they requested certain artists, and listened to the songs as we worked at that. I went back to deep thought about the power of music as I watched the shy ones do a little jig and the sometimes awkward ones sing out loud. It was like the pretenses of normal life were dropped for long enough to enjoy the songs.

As we loaded the songs, I prayed that the music would be a powerful influence in their lives, as I know it can be. I remembered all the times that, as a teen, a song would drive me deeper into angst or sadness over the latest drama or anger about someone who "did me wrong." (Yeah, you guessed it, I went through a country music phase.) I didn't listen to much Christian music back then, even though I was a Christian. Knowing what I know now about the power of music to influence my attitude, my spirit, my state of mind, I had to thank God that these young people have access to the positive side of that influence.

As we read scripture a few minutes later, I could hear Caroline on the porch having her guitar lesson, and I flashed back to Christmas day when she played "Silent Night" for a Skype call. Sure made her mommy proud. And then an hour or so later, Camille was mopping the floor and threw some loud music on to "make her mop faster".

How wonderful to think of how far Christian music has come in so few years. I know there are those who complain that the Christian music industry is just a knock-off, a cheap imitation of the real talent, but I remember where it started. I remember who made it originally. And I'm so thankful that an infinitely loving God gave us a gift that's basically unnecessary, just to make us happy. Thank God for artists who use their talents to share that gift with us and draw us closer to Him.

In Honor of Justin Whitmire (1991-2011)

2012-01-04T12:46:00.000-05:00

Justin was a little fella in kids' church with our girls in Greenville, a young man we remember as always smiling, always trying to make others smile, and really close to his family. He was killed in Afghanistan last week, after serving only 19 days there. Thank God he was able to speak with family and friends via Skype just days before his death, and that I know they have many, many happy memories to draw on. Knowing their family, I am grateful that they won't be ones who'll have to live with regret. They brought Justin up in church and demonstrated a life of service, joy, and love for the Lord. Justin's parents, Donnie and Jennifer, have always seemed like those who enjoyed their children, and were thrilled to be very involved with their lives. Lots of smiles and laughs and good times when they're around.

Justin was truly a good guy, and now he's a hero. Our prayers are with Jennifer and Donnie, his brother Craig and sister Jessi, his girlfriend, his church family at FROC, and the many friends he left behind. Below I am adding a post from his pastor,Terry Rogers, whom we've been privileged to work with for years. I know that he and Angel, youth pastor Stephen, and the entire church family are pulling alongside the Whitmire family. They're good that way. :) Please keep them all in your prayers as Justin's body arrives in Greenville tomorrow and his funeral proceedings begin.
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A week ago today, my wife and I received the call that no pastor ever wants to get. We were asked to come to the home of some close friends, and church members, as they begin the most difficult journey of their lives.

The Whitmire’s had to to hear the news, that their 20 year old son, was killed in action while serving our country in Afghanistan. Our first prayer that night came from Philippians 4:7, the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. God’s Word was declared over the family, and with my own eyes, I’ve watched that Word come to life. This family has been a constant example of grace. They have a foundation that is built upon The Rock, Christ Jesus, and they’re still standing even during this storm. I don’t know how anyone could go through something like this, without a relationship with God.

“Operation Enduring Freedom”, is the official name given by the U.S. Government for the war in Afghanistan. I’m thankful for every soldier that serves, so that our great Country can continue to be free.

Justin was more than just a church member to me, he was one of my boys. I was honored to be his youth pastor for several years, and for the last 5 years, serve as his senior pastor. He spent a lot of time in my home, and will forever hold a special place in my heart.

I ask you to lift this family, our church, and community, up in prayer this weekend, as we give honor to Justin’s memory.

Below is the obituary from our local paper, The Greenville News.

Justin Whitmire (1991 – 2011)

Justin WhitmireSimpsonvillePFC Justin M. Whitmire, U.S. Army, 20, lost his life in Afghanistan on Tuesday, December 27, 2011, while serving our country.Justin was born November 19, 1991 in Greenville, to Donald “Donnie” Craig Whitmire and Jennifer Ann Yeargin Whitmire. He loved to fish and was an avid Clemson fan. He was a graduate of Hillcrest High School, and served on the Speech and Debate team. He helped to start the broadcast journalism program at the school and was a member of the National Forensic League. He was known as Mr. Fix-it by his family and friends and was a faithful Big Brother to Adam Rogers. He was a member of Faith Renewed Outreach Center and the Renovate Student Ministries. Justin was stationed at Fort Hood and was assigned as a medic in the 720th Military Police Company. He was awarded the Army Service Ribbon, the National Defense Service Medal, the Army Achievement Medal, and the Purple Heart.Surviving, in addition to his parents, are a brother, Craig Whitmire; a sister, Jessica “Jessi” Whitmire; paternal grandparents, Clarence and Lora Whitmire; maternal grandparents, Steve and Pat Surett; aunts and uncles, Mike and Teresa Whitmire, Tom and Rene’ Yeargin, Kristie and Jeremy Pierce, and Stephen Surett; and several cousins.Visitation will be 4:30-8 p.m. Friday at Faith Renewed Outreach Center in Mauldin.

Funeral services will be 1 p.m. Saturday at Simpsonville First Baptist Church, officiated by Pastor Terry Rogers and Pastor Stephen Morton. Burial, with Full Military Honors, will be in Cannon Memorial Park. A funeral escort will be provided by the Patriot Guard.

Memorials may be made to the Faith Renewed Outreach Center Building Fund, 505 S. Main Street, Mauldin, SC 29662.

Fletcher Funeral Service

Ringing in the New

2012-01-01T11:17:00.000-05:00

We had a great time last night spending New Year's Eve in a very different way from probably almost every other person in Paraguay. There were parties on every street we passed last night, and firecrackers in the hands of every child we saw. The New Year is a big holiday here! We went to church until about 9:30 PM, then played a game of Pictionary back at home. Around 10:30, we moved out to the driveway in front of our house in lawnchairs, where there's a great view of the lights of Asuncion--about an hour and fifteen minutes drive from here. A kid and a house dad from the children's home came down to sit with us, and we all watched the fireworks for the next few hours. Fireworks are a huge deal here, and there were "bombs" going off in all directions. Around midnight, the view of Asuncion and her surrounding towns was just incredible.

I can't say I'm sad to see 2011 go, since it's not been my favorite year of all time. I am very thankful, though, that God has used this year to teach me more about His faithfulness, about the strength that can only come from Him, and about relying totally on Him. I have thought a lot about how many people out there are praying for us, and how grateful we are for the love and support that those prayers communicate... not just love for our family, but for the people of Paraguay. Despite this difficult year, we still feel very, very blessed that God would allow us to live for Him here in this wonderful country. We feel very blessed that you have faith in Him and in us, and that you partner with us in prayer and financially. We know He has great things in store for 2012, and I for one am very excited about that!

How did you spend your New Year's Eve?

It's A Christmas Miracle!

2011-12-26T19:00:00.011-05:00

Big sins, little sins. No such thing, right? I would think that miracles are the same. How can you classify divine intervention as big or little? I think I still do sometimes. Surviving my wreck and getting to keep my leg--big miracle. Having cooler weather for Christmas--little miracle. Surprise $167 a couple of days before Christmas--big miracle. Finding $2 in my pants pocket--little miracle. The story I want to tell you might qualify for you as a little miracle, but this is a GIANT one in our book. Hang on for the shortest version I can give you of a long story.

Grab your coffee, your leftover turkey, or your terere, and take a minute to follow me. It all started back around the birth of Camille, who is almost 15 now. We were living in St. Stephen, SC, at the time. My friend Valerie--an awesome singer, the Avon lady, a very soft-hearted giver, and the wife of one of my best high-school buddies--gave me a pretty blue and white blanket. One of those couch throws that people buy with their favorite sports team logo, or some poem about what it means to be a mother, or Footprints in the Sand. This one had little hearts and ducks and houses and fit perfectly on the back of my hand-me-down couch.

I used it to throw over my shoulder if someone came over and I happened to be nursing Camille, and then did the same two years later when Caroline came along. Caroline became quite attached to this blanket and ended up sleeping with it, something that has continued every night to this day. She's 13 now, so just imagine what this blanket (affectionately known as "keebie" because she got mixed up trying to say "beekie" when she was first learning to talk) now looks like. I've stitched and restitched more times than I can count, but it's woven, meaning the strings just kinda unravel and no amount of stitching will make them hold on. In a desperate attempt to salvage the keebie, I sewed a white sheet to the back of it and a satin border all around it, and stitched lines diagonally across the whole thing in every direction. Still it continued to unravel.

Earlier this year, she came to me almost in tears, pointing out bigger and bigger holes in the keebie. She admitted it was time to put it in a safe place so that it wouldn't be totally destroyed, but didn't think she could sleep without it. Enter ebay. I figured you can find ANYTHING on ebay, right? Did I mention that this was a limited edition blanket from Avon? I started praying, because this was looking like finding a needle in a haystack. I looked everywhere once ebay let me down. I started sending out emails to anyone I could think of. I searched through online Avon catalogs and collection houses. Desperation set in. I let Caroline know I'd keep sewing, but that she may need to make a decision soon and try to get used to either sleeping without a blanket or trying a towel in its place.

On December 23, something told me I should send Ken to the post office. I REALLY wanted to go myself this time, but our car was still in the shop and I couldn't walk the 7 or 8 kilometers needed to get to and from the bus stop, or climb in and out of the bus, for that matter. So on one of the hottest days of the year, he set off to check the mail, just in case we got a Christmas card or something. Our car ended up "done" that day, so he was able to detour and pick that up--already a good day! Then he made it to the post office, where not only was there a card with a Christmas movie inside (YAY!), but Valerie--dear, sweet Valerie--had mailed us a box full of her vacuum-sealed Christmas baking. What did she use to pad the neatly-packed bread and cookies and peanut butter balls? Yep, you guessed it, a keebie exactly like the one she'd given me around 15 years ago. She had an extra in her closet. What a gal. So today, Caroline got the gift of a lifetime, and the whole family snacked on baked goods just like the abuelas would have been feeding us if we were closer to them.

I'm so glad to know that God is still concerned with the little things, which amount to big things in daily life. We're calling it the Christmas miracle. :)

It Rains on the Just and the Unjust

2011-12-25T16:36:00.000-05:00

You know it's really hot here now. We're in summer when North America is in winter, so Christmas looks more like 4th of July--swimming in the creek, eating watermelon, and grilling out. This past week, the thermometer climbed just shy of 130 degrees for a couple of days, before the bottom fell out on Christmas Eve and we had a massive storm.

We like to see rain in the summer, because it comes in from the south and brings with it cool air. We immediately dropped into the 60's, with high winds, thunder, and blowing rain. BEAUTIFUL! What turned out to be awfully weird for the Paraguayans felt more like what we expect at Christmas-time. In fact, South Carolina is in a warm snap right now, and when we talked to folks back home, they were at the same outside temperature as we were.

This is all well and good, but remember what the traditions are here. There isn't any emphasis put on Christmas morning, since the day children receive gifts comes in a couple of weeks, on Day of the Kings (referring to the Wise Men who brought gifts to Baby Jesus). Instead, the celebrations take place on Christmas Eve, with a living nativity scene in every neighborhood chapel, and grilling out with family and friends. Then at midnight, tons of fireworks go off and everyone walks around greeting and congratulating the neighbors.

Last night, the misty rain continued to fall when it was time to begin the celebration here at Hogar Ganar. It came out looking like snow in the pictures. The children who live here dressed up and acted out the Nativity Story, complete with little Sammy in the manger, and then sang a few carols in Spanish and Guarani. We had to move indoors before the meal, since the rain had soaked everyone and was starting to come down harder. I ended up cutting out a bit before everyone else because broken bones and metal hardware don't mix well with cold and rain. At midnight, though, we all went out in front of the house to watch the fireworks, which continued all night.

I think that when Caroline woke up at 6 AM, we were the ONLY people in Paraguay awake. It was such a huge contrast to the loud "bombs" we heard all night, that it reminded me of the eye of the storm when Hurricane Hugo passed through Macedonia. The cooler weather remained, though, and we tried to frown along with the Paraguayans who said, "We've never had weather so cold for Christmas," even though inside we were grinning from ear to ear and thanking God for one more blessing this year.

SIMs in the City

2011-12-17T10:17:00.000-05:00

For the past three days, we've been participating in a training seminar hosted by SIM (Serving in Missions), that dealt with effectively communicating the gospel to this culture. We learned all about the differences in societies that are literate and those that are oral, and about the differences in field-dependent and field-independent learners. What's all that mean?

It means that if I come into Paraguay thinking I can teach or disciple or preach like I would in the U.S., I'm going to get a lot of blank stares and not much retention. Imagine taking a class of kindergartners and explaining the planets to them using a power point presentation full of graphs showing the distances from the sun, their sizes, what composes their atmospheres, etc. And don't forget to provide them with a piece of paper and a pencil so they can take notes and create an outline of your lecture, right?

Okay, now picture someone telling the story of a man who travels to all the planets, telling of his adventures. Along the way, the little kids learn about the same things the power point was showing, but they learn through the story. And they can retell that story to someone else, the next time they hear a conversation where someone is wondering how big Mars is.

That example is a bit of a stretch, but the thing is that oral, story-telling cultures don't learn and process information in the same way that I do. And being oral doesn't mean these folks are less intelligent, or even that they CAN'T read. It simply means that they have a different way of learning, and we will have much more success adjusting our methods to theirs, rather than expecting them to learn our ways before they can understand the gospel we're trying to share. We practiced various ways of memorizing stories from the Bible, telling the stories, training others to tell, and incorporating this into our ministries. A key component to all this is that the listener can turn around and tell the story to his friends and neighbors, which spreads much more quickly than waiting for ME to get to all those same people.

We also learned about field-dependent learners and field-independent learners, and took a test to determine what each of us is. I found out that most women are field-dependent, meaning they see the whole--the big picture--but that I am highly field-independent. I see the little details instead of the whole. I prefer to have the teacher give me homework, turn me loose, and I'll see her again when I'm all done. Field-dependent folks prefer instead to work in groups and have lots of input from the teacher, valuing the community effort and knowledge. Most Paraguayans are field-dependent, which explains why homework doesn't go over well, everyone takes tests with the classmates' input, and they'd much rather do a group project than individual work. I'm simplifying this so much that I'm not doing it justice, but the summary is that we learned a lot about how to be more effective in ministry.

During this time, Camille and Caroline were babysitting the children of other missionaries. They had around 15 children ages 6 months to 3rd grade, and put in a whole lot of time playing, cuddling, protecting, running, and rocking. They had a good (a bit tiring) time and were a blessing to the parents of these cute little people.

Another highlight of the seminar was the fellowship, of course, and being able to sing Christmas carols in English before each session. This was held in an air-conditioned facility, so it actually felt much more like Christmas than it normally does here. :) Good times, good people, good teaching, and we are excited about the impact these few days will make in our work here.

Colonizers and Ambassadors

2011-12-09T19:13:00.000-05:00

Today I received one of the biggest compliments I think I've heard since our move to the foreign mission field. Don't take this as a horn-toot, because the truth is that we fail more times than I can count. A Paraguayan told me today that the reason he liked to be around us is that we came to Paraguay as ambassadors rather than colonizers. I had to work hard not to cry, and I silently thanked God because, although we'd not phrased it quite like that, that's been our goal all along. As I thought more about it, I hoped it had been our goal as Christians in the US, too.

The funny thing is that I know this man hasn't been reading any of the articles and books and discussions we keep up with, which teach the latest missiology theories. He can't know that there is a whole lot of talk about this same thing in mission circles. About understanding the difference in culture and sin. About recognizing in different circumstances if it's the person we're ministering to that needs to change, or the missionary. About determining what's Bible and what's America. About deciding if what I see as "church" and "Christianity" are the same things as what God sees, as what God looks for.

Lots of folks are talking about this as it applies to short-term mission trips, and how we have to be careful not to do more damage than good. But when we're living among those we minister to, are we careful about how we treat them? Are we seeing them as "those poor Paraguayans, lucky them that I came here to right their wrongs and fix these messes they've made?" Do we automatically see ourselves as superior because "we didn't do it that way in MY country"?

Don't get me wrong--we do recognize that those living without God have something that we can, hopefully, share with them. And it's normal to notice that having government offices computerized rather than running off stacks of folders and boxes of papers is going to make a difference in efficiency. But as AMBASSADORS of CHRIST, we're here to show people how they can follow Him in their culture. If we come to COLONIZE, we think they have to become Americans. This is something we've had to be very purposeful about, because the automatic reaction is to just go with our own worldview, with what we "know" from our life experiences.

And how does this apply to you missionaries living in the United States? Yes, I mean YOU! Well, keep in mind that even though you and Mr. Sinner Neighbor speak the same language and were born within miles of each other, there may still be a big difference in your "culture" and his. Are you limiting God to only reach those folks who seem to fit into your box? When Mr. Neighbor begins to follow Christ, can you come beside him to help him determine what areas of his life warrant change and which are part of God's big plan for his life? Are you able to recognize the specific gifts and talents and personality traits God's gifted him with, and how he can use them for the Kingdom, within his "culture"? Or do you tell him he has to leave the skate park and his friends, start listening to Southern gospel, put on a tie, and be an usher every Sunday morning, because that's the way you do it? Okay, okay, maybe that was a little extreme. I didn't mean to go all Southern gospel on you, but you get the idea! ;)

No matter where we serve, we have to remember that we are ambassadors for the Kingdom, not colonizers for the religious system we're a part of. Let God do the colonizing while we work to represent Him in the best way possible, remembering that He is relevant in every culture, and there's not a person alive that doesn't have a yearning to be reconciled to Him.

Praise for YWAM

2011-12-04T19:51:00.000-05:00

Ever heard of YWAM (Youth with a Mission)? Here, they're called JOCUM, and they are pretty much really awesome. Prep yourself for my mini-infomercial before I tell you what this has to do with our lives.

From their website: Youth With A Mission is an international volunteer movement of Christians from many backgrounds, cultures and Christian traditions, dedicated to serving Jesus throughout the world. Also known as YWAM (pronounced "WHY-wham"), our purpose is simply to know God and to make Him known.

They are involved not only in cross-cultural missions, but in training people for service and sending them back to their local communities to impact their world. Those who participate in outreaches or what we'd consider "mission trips" have a prerequisite of attending Discipleship Training School, which is--well, I'll let them tell you again in their own www words:

The Discipleship Training School (DTS) is designed to help you understand God more deeply, live more like Jesus and identify your unique gifts and purpose to use in missions. DTS is a full-time, residential training course which begins with an 11 or 12 week classroom phase, followed by an 8-12 week outreach time. The DTS emphasizes cross-cultural exposure and global awareness, preparing students to answer the call to "Go into all the world and make disciples of all nations" Matthew 28:19.

So a group of 12 young adults (ages 19-35) finished their DTS at a base in neighboring Brazil, then came to Hogar Ganar for a two-week "put it into practice" trip. Two of that group are Paraguayans, and the others hail from various locations all over the giant country of Brazil. The focus of this particular group is ministry through arts, so they used various cool talents for evangelism and discipleship methods. We got to see juggling, unicycling, dancing, acting, even FIRE-BREATHING! And we got to see these young folks impact this community big time.

Here are a few shots of our time with our new Brazilian friends.

They made us a traditional Brazilian dinner of feijoada (black beans and rice), followed by homemade avocado ice cream.

One of the dramas that the group taught the kids, about finding our identity in Christ.

Caroline's 13th Birthday

2011-12-01T14:01:00.000-05:00

December 1 marked thirteen years since our Little Song of Joy came into this world, although not quite kicking and screaming. Her birth was a bit eventful, maybe even "emergency"-like, and she's been taking the world by storm since then. Caroline is always a bit dramatic, always the clown in the room, the life of the party. She tends to be a little shy on unfamiliar ground, but that doesn't last long before she's taking over. It's exciting to watch God work in her life, and to see her let Him mold her into the young lady He's designed.

We held off on letting Caroline get a facebook account until this birthday, and it's been the highlight of all of 2011. There's been a countdown in the works of how many days left till she can open her own page. No, not how many days until she's a teenager, or how many days until she eats American cake and icing (that was MY highlight of the day), but how many days until she can connect via the world's most popular social media outlet. She was really surprised when we handed her the little package with the necklace we'd made her, and told us she'd thought facebook WAS her gift. :) So, yeah, she's on there connecting with old friends, with family back home, and with her buddies from here. Go look her up if you get the notion.

What is Injera? Wat, You Say?

2011-11-27T13:11:00.000-05:00

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!! :)

I won't try to tell you his background, because I'm sure I'll mess something up, but Andy grew up as a missionary kid in Africa. So Lizet (I say her name with a reverence that demands chills and a pause at the end--she's THAT good of a chef) cooked up an Ethiopian dish that consisted of sourdough pancakes and a platter full of, well, just look at the picture below.

This is a variety of spicy stews, called "wat" (What?). Chicken wat is on one side, lamb wat, beef wat, a small salad, pureed squash, beans, potatoes, and couple of hard-boiled eggs. And here you see Andy explaining to us how one eats this dish. Those little pancakes are called Injera, and they are a tad bitter. You wouldn't want to eat them by themselves. Instead, you unroll a couple of inches, pull off a section, and use it to pinch up a bit of the stuff on the platter and pop it in your mouth. Normally, the host makes his way to each guest, scooping the first bite and literally feeding the guest from his own hand. We all politely declined and opted for a non-traditional start--a prayer to thank God for Andy's life.

You are only supposed to use your right hand, but they had mercy on us and let us eat it however we could. Needless to say, your hands are filthy when this meal's done! The men sat on one end of the table because their platters were very spicy, and the women and children sat closer to the "mild" platter. All except for that Allison Rayburn, who's a cajun Louisiana girl that likes her spices.

Afterwards, we had birthday cake that Andy's sons designed and Lizet made. It was a life-size toolbox with several chocolate tools lying in front of it. I needed the strawberries and cream inside that cake to cool off my mouth! Who knew that in Paraguay, we'd have lunch with an American, cooked by a Bolivian, where we learned to eat like Ethiopians? Gotta love this life!

How We Spent Thanksgiving

2011-11-25T12:38:00.000-05:00

(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!

Taking the Long Way Around

2011-11-23T20:41:00.000-05:00

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.

I Am Ken, Mission Ken

2011-11-22T08:33:00.000-05:00

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".

I am Ken, Mission Ken.

Mission Ken. Mission Ken!
He is my friend that Mission Ken.

Do you like the folks with sin?

I do not like them, Mission Ken.
I do not like the folks with sin.

Would you like them here or there?

I would not like them here or there.
I would not like them anywhere.
I do not like the folks with sin.
I do not like them, Mission Ken.

Why don’t you like the folks with sin?

Why don’t I like them? asks my friend.
The folks with sin, they sit in bars.
They drink their drinks, they drown their scars.
They cut their arms and hide their shame.
To be with them would soil my fame.
To talk to those who sit in bars,
My friends will think I’ve gone too far.

Would you bring them to your house?
To eat a meal and meet your spouse?

Not for a meal. Not in my house.
The risks are real for my spouse.
I would not meet them in a bar.
I would not bandage up their scars.
I would not risk the folks with sin.
I do not like them, Mission Ken.

Would you? Could you… meet their need?
Give them hope, help them be freed.

I would not, could not. They’re such a drain.
Always a bore and steeped in pain.

You may like them. Try, you’ll see.
You may like them. Come with me?

I would not, could not go with you.
I have a life and stuff to do.
I do not like to see their pain.
I do not waste my time in vain.
I do not want them in my house.
I do not want them near my spouse.
I do not want friends of this sort.
I do not like to go to court.
I have a life and stuff to do.
I don’t have time to go with you.

A bench! A bench! A bench! A bench!
Would you meet one on a bench?

Not on a bench to make a scene!
To smell their stench of nicotine!
I would not, could not make a show.
Not in a place my friends would go.
I will not go and smell their stink.
What would all my church friends think?
I cannot ease their life of woe.
I am not God, just human so
I do not like the folks with sin.
I do not like them, Mission Ken.

Say! In the dark? Here in the dark!
Would you, could you, in the dark?

I would not, could not, in the dark.
Nor on a bench in a public park.

Would you, could you, in the rain?

I would not, could not in the rain.
Nor the musty hollow of a drain.
Not in a box beneath a bridge.
Not chains that lock at Prison Ridge.
Not in a bar, a park or club.
Not in my house, a car or pub.
I think to waste my precious time
on folks with sin would be a crime.
I do not like this lowly fare.
I do not like them anywhere.

Could you help them stay afloat?
Some of their burdens you could tote.

Those burdens are their own to reap.
They are the goats! I am a sheep.
I can’t do what you talk about,
for in my church I have some clout.
The pastor there has given me
pats on the back and my own key.
If I wish to be on staff,
I can’t be seen with such riff-raff.

What would Jesus think today
if He saw you choose this path, this way?
Ignoring all the cries, would HE
condone your lazy apathy?

Jesus was a righteous lot,
A man whom sin would never spot.
He was without a blemish, Ken.
He was not like the folks with sin.

But Jesus loves the folks with sin.
He came to make them like His kin.
He came to meet their every need,
Die on a cross so they’d be freed.
When Jesus sees the folks with sin,
Nothing differs in you and them.
We all have sin, we all fall short.
Our hearts are black, we’re all the sort.
He came to cleanse us from this state
So that we would not medicate
Or drown or hide or cover or binge
Or be depressed or seek revenge

We’re not the same the two of us.
I do not drink or smoke or cuss.
I do not steal for my addiction.
I do not rage from this affliction.

Your sins are varied, it’s to be sure.
You think your life is wholly pure.
But gluttony, gossip and closet porn
are in your life. Your family’s torn.
Your hidden scheme, your hidden affair
Pull at your seams, fill you with care.
Look up, let go, let Jesus win.
He’ll free your soul. He’ll take your sin.
He’ll cut the chains that tie you down.
He’ll end the pain that makes you frown

Jesus Christ,
Righteous One
You truly are
God, The Son.
Make me whole.
Wash my heart.
Here’s my soul.
Let me restart.

You can! You will! he says with a grin.
I’ll take your heart. I’ll take your sin.I’ll take this chance, tell you my plan.
Carry my tale wherever you can.You’ve given your life and heart to me, Sam.
The people will see you just as I am.Look in the mirror and see where you’ve been.You’ll recognize YOU’RE the folks with the sin.

The Last Whiteys on the Block

2011-11-20T15:28:00.000-05:00

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.

Before Dana left, her elementary and middle school students from Escuela Tape Pyahu (grades preschool through 8th) put on a little show to demonstrate what they'd learned. The little ones sang songs with motions, pointed out their body parts, and counted. The older ones (including Camille and Caroline) acted out conversations and skits. Afterward, Dana had prepared some American-style snacks for the teachers, parents, and students to enjoy--cookie bars, chicken salad, and PB&J sandwiches. It was a hit!

I'm so proud of my girls for how they've jumped in to help out here in Itaugua. I feel so bad about how immobile I am, and how I'm not able to get up and do more when help is needed. The two youngest Hagermans have stepped up, though, and it's cool to watch them come into their own. They sometimes get in this awkward spot between being "one of the kids" and "one of the adults" here, since their roles overlap now and then, but all-in-all this has been a year of maturing and learning more responsibility. Balancing ministry opportunities with homeschooling, chores, and the normal kid-stuff has been a challenge, or maybe just another chance to hone their planning and organizational skills. :)

We are now officially the last Americans living on the grounds of Hogar Ganar, meaning our Spanish should get back to normal. It had suffered a bit since we'd moved here and spoken much more English than we'd been used to, but it was worth it to form relationships with the other Americans who've lived here, too.

From Point A to Point B

2011-11-15T11:23:00.000-05:00

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....

Three Years and Counting...

2011-11-07T09:14:00.000-05:00

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.

Sir, Is This Your Car?

2011-11-01T13:36:00.000-04:00

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!

Surgery Update: SUCCESS!

2011-10-29T10:18:00.000-04:00

So far the news on this surgery is good. I came in the hospital yesterday morning, entered the operating room at 7 AM, and came out 3 1/2 hours later. The surgeon visited a few hours after that, and immediately lifted the blanket to show me that my leg is straight. WOO HOO! I can't tell the difference because it's swollen and bandaged, but it FEELS different at the hip and at my foot. I'm not all torqued out of shape anymore, it would seem. :)

I couldn't take anything for the pain that whole day, because my blood pressure was too low. I sent the word out on facebook for prayer and ate dinner with a ton of salt on everything except the jello (gross!), and by later that night, I got my first shot of pain meds. Another time to rejoice!!!!

Yesterday, my mom and Ken's mom came with us to the hospital, and in the afternoon, Ken drove them back to Itaugua. On his way back to the hospital to spend the night with me, something went wrong with our car. He was only a few miles from the hospital, so he limped it back to the parking lot here and this morning we called a mechanic. These cars here seem to have a mind of their own! Right now Ken is out walking to a place nearby that we think has rental cars, so we'll see how that goes.

Our truck has been in the shop almost a year, awaiting a motor change, and with 4 extra people in the house, we were depending on our little VW. I'm praying it's something minor and we'll be back rolling along soon--haha. Get that? I'll be in the wheelchair, we'll all be in the VW, rolling along? Okay, blame the bad humor on the drugs. ;)

Thanks for the prayers. Keep 'em coming.

Let There Be Grandparents!

2011-10-26T07:00:00.002-04:00

And on the 8th day, God made grandparents (abuelos). And God saw the grandparents, that they were good.

Today we're in the capital waiting for both sets (Ken's folks AND mine) to arrive in Asuncion Airport, somewhere in the middle of the night. We're praying for great traveling mercies. We've spent the last while getting the house ready for visitors. It's odd how much more compliant the girls are with household chores, with the added incentive that all this is for Meemaw, Nana, Papaw and Papa. We'll get one day to spend with them (if they don't need to sleep really late tomorrow morning to make up for arriving in the wee hours), and then early Friday morning I'll go into the hospital for this next surgery. This is the one that I am confidently trusting God to use to repair the whole mess and let me walk again.

So today, Ken is (if all goes as planned) donating blood for me. Since I gave him my blood in his open-heart surgery, maybe he's just returning what he took. :) And one last appointment with the surgeon to get our p's and q's lined up, a visit with a new friend, then hanging out until the plane lands. We can't wait to see the family. It makes the surgery much less negative to know that they'll be here... something good to look forward to instead of dreading the hospital time and starting back over in rehab. Please help us pray for safe and comfortable travels as they make their way from South Carolina to South America.

Retreat? No! Go FORWARD!

2011-10-24T22:51:00.000-04:00

This weekend I had the privilege of hitching a ride to Brazil with some fellow missionary ladies from Asuncion. We enjoyed the five-hour drive, sharing about life in general and getting to know each other. Why? Women of the Harvest, "a ministry of support and encouragement for women serving cross-culturally," invited us to a retreat they were hosting for South and Central American gals just like us. I've been to more youth retreats, couples' retreats, and women's retreats than I can count, but this was my first time to go to a missionary retreat. I expected that it would be a time of refreshing, rest, fellowship, and Bible study. Kinda like a cold glass of water on a hot day. I totally underestimated this weekend. It was more like riding a barrel over Niagara Falls!

From the moment we arrived at the hotel in a city just over the border in Brazil, there were women waiting to greet us with hugs and help us get settled. The hugs never stopped. They showered us with care and love and concern, and nurtured us mentally, physically, and spiritually.

We were ushered as soon as we checked-in, to tables where we could register for pampering options, which included massage, a haircut from a makeover specialist, a color consultation to determine your best choices in clothes and makeup colors, and pedicures. Then we were also offered the opportunity to sign up for an appointment with a counselor for a private consultation, and with prayer partners for a time of intercession.

Devotion in the hammock

There were Bible classes in the morning, devotions within small groups, and worship time as a big group. I have to tell you that this was a time when God did great things in my spirit. I literally felt like He opened me up, cleaned out a whole lot of junk, and then started refilling me with good stuff. I can't say that I left full, because I feel like He began something in me that will continue--that He showed me some areas inside that were filled with the wrong stuff. But I did feel like I weighed about 100 lbs less than when I came! And I know that He who began a good work in me will be faithful to finish it, just like He promised.

I REALLY enjoyed the massage, the time getting to know women who "get it" because they, too, are missionary women, and finding out that I am a "spring" and should wear warm, yellow-toned shirts. And by the time my haircut came along, I'd decided that I wanted it to reflect the change I'd gone through in my spirit, to be light and free and fun, and not so worn down by the lies I'd begun to believe about myself.

Well, you fellow curly-q's know that not just anybody can cut our hair. So I arrived a couple of hours early to watch Shirley, the WonderGirl of makeovers, cutting the other ladies' hair. This gal has a talent like nothing I've ever seen. She was able to look at each lady, analyze her face shape, her body, and her hair, and determine what cuts would look best. During this observation time, we talked about the experiences she's had as a volunteer with WOTH Retreats. She explained that God often tells her what to pack because He wants her to give away her clothes during the retreat. After telling several stories of giving away stuff, she said, "And this morning, God told me to bring this shirt with me while I was cutting hair because I'd need to give it to someone, and I'm sure that's you." I'm sporting that shirt in the picture below, which showed up on the WOTH blog. Later Shirley came up to me to give me a beautiful necklace. What a heart! All the volunteers were like this, just full of love spilling over onto us, and sharing their warmth and care with us every minute we were there.

after my makeover, with my small group leader, Mary Ellen

And every time we got together as a group, there were little gifts waiting for us. Food items that can't be purchased here, books, mugs, CD's, stationery--lots of things to make us feel like we are God's beloved daughters, and that we're not forgotten out here in the field. I've tried to share with you a smidgen of what happened, but the truth is that it was a weekend like no other, and I'm sure I could never put into words how much it meant to me. God bless the volunteers who loved on us, the sponsors who provided us with this FREE retreat, the hotel who served us really yummy buffet meals, and my fellow missionary ladies who opened their hearts this weekend and touched me deeply.

Lysandry's Quince (15th Birthday)

2011-10-17T00:12:00.000-04:00

One of the special children who live here at Hogar Ganar had her 15th birthday last week, and she celebrated in grand style. We were privileged to be there for the event. As we've talked about before, the 15th is a very special birthday here, akin to a bar mitzvah in Jewish communities or even closer to high society's debutante balls. So kudos to Shaun and Sara, directors of Hogar Ganar, for being sure that the girls here who pass this milestone don't miss the opportunity to do something that is so culturally important to them.

This was so touching because a lot of people from the community came together to make this very special for Lysandry (affectionately known as Lisa). Folks pitched in with donations of their time and services, not to mention STUFF, and it made a nice party into a spectacular party. The house parents that care for her escorted her in, just as her biological parents would have done under different circumstances. Several pastors contributed to the gravity of the rite of passage by addressing the spiritual significance of her maturity. There were special songs, a gigantic cake, refreshments, music, photos, videos, cheers, prayers, gifts, and of course, the traditional waltz.

How special it was to see her house dad step up and proudly dance the father-daughter waltz with her, officially presenting her to her friends and family as a young lady. Then Lisa's little brothers took their turns, followed by a long line of young men who had lined up to have their pictures taken with the birthday girl (the quinceanera). We got a kick out of the "dances," which technically only lasted long enough for someone to snap a picture. Poor Lisa was spinning this way and that, with all the partners and flashes! Then the floor was opened and everyone was invited to waltz in celebration of the beautiful night. (It was one time I was thankful to be "handicapped!")

Caroline waltzing with one of our neighbors

Camille with Lysandry (can you see that CAKE?!)

Camille steals a dance with Sammy

Caroline and Dana, who surprised everyone by singing for Lisa in Spanish!

Civil Unrest

2011-10-15T12:37:00.000-04:00

That's a political term I'm probably using wrong, but it seems to fit the tense state of affairs in Paraguay recently.
I never like to get notices from the government in my email inbox, but several have shown up lately to warn us of the happenings. Of course, one or two of those were warnings to American citizens living abroad all over the world, alerting us to the Middle East threats. Thankfully, Paraguay is relatively safe in that arena. The bigger woes have come from within.

Just this past week, several major strikes and manifestations have taken place. First of all, the teachers got together and decided not to go back to work until their salaries were raised to the national minimum wage. They organized demonstrations at various key places around the country, most of them kinda near where we live. This meant that all public schools were on "vacation," much to the delight of the children in Paraguay.

Well, those kids were stuck at home for the most part, because the bus drivers also organized a strike. They want the government to subsidize fuel costs, if I'm understanding it correctly. Often when there is a bus strike, those who choose not to drive block the roads and get ugly with those bus drivers who ARE working. I didn't see nay of that this time, thank the Lord. This past week I had to do a lot of running around for pre-op appointments and studies and such, and the bus strike turned out to be a positive thing... less of them on the road means quicker and safer travel for me! However, I'm guessing that those workers who depend on the bus system to get to their jobs didn't feel so good about it.

In addition to those two strikes, the campesinos were having a rally downtown. Those are rather poor folks who live out in the rural areas, who want the government to give them land and houses. There's a whole lot of political and social drama involved in that, which I won't even attempt to explain lest I butcher it all, but the gist of it is that these guys camp out in makeshift tents in public park, with their tiny children running around almost naked and all their camping supplies/clothing strewn about on the sidewalk or in the bushes. Sometimes their demonstrations get violent, and some groups of squatters have been linked with violent attacks on landowners.

There have also been lots of rumors, news stories, and crimes lately related to the Paraguayan People's Army (known here as the EPP). They are a rebel group from up north (we are much further south, Granny, but keep praying anyway) responsible for the deaths of several policemen lately, and rumored to be responsible for a few kidnappings. Certain parts of the country are in what seems to be equivalent to martial law. The EPP is all the rage in the current media, and we Yankees have been advised to stay away from the North. No problem.

With the dollar falling and prices for food, gas, and whatever else on the steady rise, people are turning to desperate measures at times. Each of these issues is, of course, very complicated, and there are people in need and people hurt on all sides. Please pray for Paraguay, her leadership, and her people.

Agroshopping in Asuncion

2011-10-07T15:00:00.000-04:00

One of the benefits of living in a subtropical country is that the fruits and vegetables are just amazing. Not only are there varieties that seem like something from a cartoon, but lots of times they are foods we recognize that seem to have come from Jurassic Park--supersized!

When all is well in the world, my appointments line up on Tuesdays in the busy capital, Asuncion. Why Tuesdays? That's the day each week that the ground floor in a busy parking garage converts into the greatest farmer's market known to man. Well, at least it's the greatest farmer's market known to Paraguay.

purple onions

German cattle ranchers come in from the north with beef sausage, goat farmers come down from the Chaco with cheese and meat, little old ladies come in from their personal gardens with medicinal herbs and flowers, Oriental folks come over from their colonies with egg rolls and tea, and every empty space between these specialty stands is filled with those fruits and veggies I told you about. There are a few personal favorites among the sellers, namely the homemade doughnut place and the fresh fruit juice stand. Okay, and Ken's fave is that German guy. It's an amazing event, with hard-to-find items and lots of excitement.

In the aisles are teenagers with aprons and large baskets, standing at the ready for all the buyers who can't carry what they're purchasing. These guys will follow you from stand to stand, collecting your goodies and then taking them to your car when you're done. Like your own personal bag boy, following you as you walk around. This kinda creeps me out, but thankfully, I have three personal bag people who can carry what we find.

Swing by on a Tuesday and we'll head to Mariscal Lopez Shopping Center for Agroshopping, then have a massive salad back at my place!

Human Sacrifice

2011-09-28T23:15:00.000-04:00

I got you on that title, huh? Well, tonight I thought I might become one. Today, after delivering my lesson to a class full of 5th and 6th graders at the public school in town, the teacher pulled me outside with an, "I need to talk with you." I got that feeling like I'd been called into the principal's office. The classes we teach in the public school are always very basic Gospel messages, focusing on God and Jesus and how we can have a relationship with them and why we'd want to and well, you know what I mean. I am super-duper careful to keep it non-denominational and only to focus on the Gospel, not on doctrines of any religion. With most children here having a base knowledge of God due to their catechism classes, it sometimes feels like my job is just to teach them to put the puzzle pieces together.

So when the teacher called me outside, I quickly went over what I'd just taught, and whether I could have crossed a line somewhere and offended her faith. She went the long way around finally inviting me to a special meeting tonight, but the details were sketchy. Something about women getting together and talking about stuff. Not one to turn down an invitation, I figured I at least had to see what was going on. Ken said he'd leave his phone on in case they decided to tie me to a table or something. I didn't really think I was walking into a coven, but one never knows... :)

It turned out to be quite an impressive little meeting. About 15 women gathered around pizza at a small sidewalk cafe near the plaza, and one lady shared the story of how her life used to be a disaster but changed radically after coming to know Jesus. She then invited us to repeat a basic sinner's prayer after her, which all the ladies did. After that, each wrote her prayer requests on a piece of paper, passed them to the Prayer Lady, and she said a lovely prayer over the folded-up requests. As they explained about this group, which meets weekly, I realized they were a part of an international, interdenominational organization that gets together to lift each other up in the faith. They are encouraged to bring their non-believing friends (which may explain why everyone was so excited to see me, a first-timer!) so that they can hear the testimony and the invitation to know the Lord. Impressive. Each week a different person shares a testimony, usually someone from a neighboring town. They didn't talk about where they each congregate, but I learned through the pizza conversation that some are Protestants, some Catholics, some kinda in between. What a joy to find ladies who are focusing on encouragement and evangelism, and even better to find out they didn't want to sacrifice me on some altar!! ;)

Surgery on the Horizon

2011-09-24T17:16:00.001-04:00

Let me say that I'll be glad when this blog no longer mentions surgeries, whether mine or Ken's or the neighbor's dog's cousin's. That said, I thought I'd let you in on what I've recently found out. You know, I like knowing that you know, and I like that lots of you pray. ;)

Last week I had an appointment with the surgeon who'll be hacking into my leg in October. Well, it didn't start out as an appointment with my surgeon. It started out as a second opinion (that would make the 5th opinion, but who's counting?) with a specialist who happens to be highly recommended and an English speaker and a Christian and experienced in traumas and really, really nice. He impressed us from the get-go with his understanding of what happened and was still happening, based on looking at the x-rays alone. After a brief examination, you'd have thought that he was a mind-reader or something!

This doctor felt good about combining the next two projected surgeries into just one. So in October, he will take out the plate on the left (outer side) of my leg, remove the seven screws that go through my bone, rebreak the femur by removing a wedge of bone from one side (and possibly putting in a piece of bone on the other side that he'd take from my hip), then reset that break and secure it with a new plate on the inner side of the bone, this time with a whole lot more screws. For those of you who aren't getting my explication and like to google, the part where they take out the wedge of bone is called an osteotomy (distal femoral osteotomy, or DFO).

This is a much bigger surgery than we were originally expecting, with a much bigger price tag and a much more involved recovery. The plate alone will be around $2,000, and insurance doesn't cover it. I'm trying not to let that stress me. My thought is that it's worth the trouble to get it over with all at once and combine the recovery into one slightly ugly, slightly long, time period. I may not feel like that in the middle of it all, but feel free to remind me that I really did say that I prefer to get it over with. I H-A-T-E feeling like life is on hold while the leg takes center stage, I hate feeling like our ministry is on a certain level of pause, I hate sitting in this chair all the time... you get it. And if biting the bullet means I can shorten the time in getting back to normal, I'm all for it.

In the meantime, please help us pray for the pain that's pretty constant, for the surgeon who is working out the details of how this'll go down, for the finances to cover this, for my sanity as I try not to remember how "uncomfortable" this was the first time. I know finding this doctor was an answer to prayer, and I know God hasn't forgotten us. Thanks for the prayers you've already been sending up. :)

My Birthday Weekend

2011-09-19T22:06:00.000-04:00

You know, the older I get, the less excited I feel about birthdays. The ones I expect to be the most difficult, though, end up working out a little differently than expected. Take, for example, #29--yeah, I'm one of those folks who dreads 29 rather than 30, 39 rather than 40. The year I turned 29 happened to come just after the 9/11 attacks, and the country was still reeling. To be honest, I was just thankful I was one of the people who got to celebrate a birthday that year, in light of how many wouldn't get another one. This year was 39, but after the accident that could easily have ended my birthdays, I was again appreciative to have one.

The fun began early because we were invited to a little buddy's 5th birthday on Saturday. This guy is the son of my Guarani teacher, Andy. Friday night, my leg really started hurting, to the point that Ken had to carry me from the kitchen to the bed. Serious pain. So I had this stinking feeling that it was going to rain and get cold. A few hours into the night, the bottom dropped out and the thunder told me the leg was once again a better weather forecaster than the local stations.

The rain continued all night and I woke up thinking, "Oh, well, no party today." Remember that in PY, rain generally = cancelled events/school/church/getting out of bed. I fell back asleep, then awoke suddenly with the realization that Andy is an American, and we DON'T hide from the rain! So we jumped up excitedly and took off for an adventure.

This party was going down at the same locale as my Guarani classes... remember? Long dirt roads up the side of a mountain, crossing several creeks, driving through folks' yards, a real off-road adventure. We managed it okay in the little Golf about half of the way, but we ended up having to get out and walk over one creek, through the mud, and over a half-built bridge thingy. In the rain. With a cane. In sloshy slick mud. Ken and I were REALLY close that day!! On the other side of the creek, Andy met us in his 4x4 truck and taxied us the rest of the way up.

Then we enjoyed a great day inside the home of the Bowens, meeting other missionary families, some Paraguayans from their church family, and a few old pals. It was sunny indoors, so we just ignored the rain and enjoyed ourselves a WHOLE lot. And when Timmy's mommy decided to make us homemade doughnuts a la Krispy Kreme, well, that day just topped my "favorite rainy days" list. The trip back that involved all that hiking through mud and over the creek and all that jazz (in the total darkness this time) almost did me in, but I kept flashing back to the doughnuts for my hidden, super-power, sugar rush strength! ;)

The next day was my birthday, and we enjoyed entertaining friends at our home. Ken and Saul cooked their famous homemade pizza for the guests. I hung out in the chair all day and really, really appreciated that God has filled our lives with friends.

Dana Gets a Taste of Carapegua

2011-09-15T23:11:00.001-04:00

Today I played tour guide and took Dana to Carapegua to see what all the hype is about. She got to experience our old stompin' grounds and meet the people she hears us talk about all the time. Okay, the real reason for the trip was a much-needed visit to the dentist, but I thought I might as well take advantage of a nice day and introduce Dana to one of the coolest towns in Paraguay.

We had lunch in the market, on the sidewalk beside a tiny room that functioned as a kitchen. Our friends' mom runs this little restaurant, so we caught up with her and got the latest on how their family is doing. It was a good day to see a lot of the young people who were regulars at our youth center, and even some of those who played in the Friday Night band. Then we visited with Silvia and Adolfo, who operate Metamorfosis, another youth ministry. They were showing "To Save a Life" in the public high school that day, followed by a chat with the students about the themes of the movie. While there, our artistic pal Ivan doodled some great graphics all over the top of my cane. After hanging with them a bit, we headed over to Susi's place. She's a merchant whose shop is close to our old house. I stopped in there a lot with her for visits, and Dana fell in love with her like I did. She's one of those I feel like the Lord has begun a work in, and I pray someone comes behind to water the seed.

We planned to leave in time for her to get back, rest a few, then teach her twice-per-week community English class. When we'd said our goodbyes and loaded into the car, no go. It wouldn't even make a click noise when she turned the key. I called a few mechanics and started trying to figure out what the problem might be while she called to cancel English class. Once the fix-it man arrived, it turned out to be a minor electrical problem (phwew), but we'd already wasted enough time that she'd never make it back for class.

Plan B. If we don't have to hurry back, let's explore some more. So I took Dana to the first place we lived in Paraguay--Arazaty. This is the rural place that still holds our heart, and some great friends. There was a soccer game taking place when we drove up, meaning most of the community was out and we could do a lot of introductions all at one time. My friend's little boy, who is typically EXTREMELY shy and nervous (4 years old) was just ecstatic because we drove up in Dana's VW Bug. His mom said that's his dream, to ride in one. Dana promptly put him in the driver's seat and let him wiggle the steering wheel. I wish you could have been there. This little shy fella who only understands and speaks Guarani was just SQUEALING with delight. Since he was already wearing his backpack (he wanted to show me that he'd started school recently, for the first time), I asked him if he'd like to show Dana where his school was. I got a prompt no, until I mentioned that we could go in the VW. What a treat!

When it started getting dark, we thought we'd better get out of Dodge. Good thing, because on the hour-and-a-half trip back, something in the car gave out. We were stranded on the side of the road. This time we were closer, so Ken just came to tow us home. Despite the car woes, it was great to show Dana a part of Paraguay she'd not experienced yet, and to visit with our friends there.

A New School Door Opening

2011-09-08T19:30:00.000-04:00

My nephew in Minnesota is just getting started in school about now, and in the South (SC) it's been rolling for a few weeks or so. Well, here in the DEEP SOUTH, it's almost the last quarter. No matter, it's always a great time to start something new!

This week we started Bible classes at a new school in the town of Itauguá. There are 350 students in preschool through 6^th grade, and the principal asked us to do a half-hour or so lesson each week during both the morning and afternoon sessions. The fifth and sixth graders fall into my care, and Saúl will be teaching the second through fourth graders. The principal of the school here on the campus, Francisca, will be teaching preschool and first grade. INTERESTING FACT: Here, kindergarten (simply referred to as garden) comes first, then preschool, and then first grade. Same system as in the states, just named differently.

Francisca is a Christian lady who works really hard at the private school here at Hogar Ganar. She was attending one of the teachers’ workshops recently when she met the vice principal of the school in town. Before the day was up, this vice principal asked if Francisca might know of some folks that would be willing to teach Bible classes, and violà! Instant door-opening! This is a public school, which means it’s traditional—basically we can count on most of the students and the staff being Catholic. They have a basic knowledge and belief in God, which is a start. We’ll build on that and teach them how they fit into God’s plan.

When we met with their principal on Monday, he used the phrase “spiritual activities” to describe our classes. I guess that’s because they have physical activities (P.E.) and artistic activities. Why not spiritual activities, too? For the afternoon session today, I was introducing myself to the class and explaining a little about what they could expect, and I told them that each Wednesday we’d have spiritual activities. The guys got all antsy, grinning at each other and saying, “Oooo!” I don’t know if they thought we’d hold séances or what, but I recognized that look and said, “Not like ghost stories and horror movies, but talking about God and His plan for us.” They looked like I’d burst their balloons, but the girls all breathed a sigh of relief. With so much folk magic here, I guess the same thing popped into their minds as when I heard the term spiritual activities. From now on, we’ll call it something else. J

Reaching Out

2011-09-06T20:51:00.000-04:00

Today I had the privilege to attend the missionary ladies' Bible study in Asuncion. They meet once per month but it hardly ever works out that I'm in town on the right day. What a wonderful time I had with these women of faith! The topic was Crises of Faith, and we talked about how every Christian at one time or another will question God, question what he knows about God, question whether God can be trusted, question whether He will do what He says--you get it.

We read what David and Job had to say, and we identified with how God came through for them. It refreshed me so much to sit in a group of ladies that openly shared their times of struggle and doubt, and I felt renewed by their encouragement and understanding. I'm aware that there are a lot of women in ministry who don't have an outlet, a place where they can feel safe to confess what they're going through. How thankful I am that God made a place like that for me today!

Let me encourage you to reach out to your pastor's wife, your youth pastor's wife, your local televangelist's wife, whatever leader you find that may not have a person they can truly be real with. Okay, if you're a man, find a male leader and don't be reaching out for ANYBODY'S wife... ;) I remember a time that I was in a fix and really needed a friend, and I felt I couldn't talk to anyone or admit what was happening because we were youth pastors. We shouldn't struggle, right? Well, we all do. Thank God I had good girlfriends to turn to and lighten the load. I'm betting you could be that friend to some leader you know. Give it a shot....

Tigers and Hawkeyes in Paraguay

2011-09-03T19:09:00.003-04:00

You just never know what you’ll find here in Paraguay. Most of the time I feel like I’m steppingback into the days of TG&Y,or maybe like shopping at Dollar General. To get a Wal-Mart-level of quality, you’d generallygo to a specialty store and find a high price tag for these imported items. Every now and then, a store here will buy alot of seconds from a major chain, like JCPenney or K-Mart, but you can expectto pay several times the original price. That’s why I got all excited recently.

We went into one of the stores that is like a big FamilyDollar, where you wouldn’t generally find nice imported stuff. Ken was wheeling me down the aisles when werounded the corner and found my old alma mater staring me in the face—a foldingClemson lawn chair!! You know, the kindthat packs into a bag you can sling over your shoulder. There were only two, one from Clemson andanother from Florida State. Easy choice.;) I had seen a tiny version of theseonce in a sporting goods store here, but I wasn’t willing to pay a trilliondollars for a toddler chair. Well, thisone was about HALF the price of the US, and it was ORANGE with that lovely white tiger paw on the back rest. Ifelt like I’d hit the jackpot at a yard sale!! Needless to say, we snatched that up and it’s been a very handy thing tohave—lightweight and with that strap, so I can carry it to places where Inormally couldn’t go because I wouldn’t be able to just stand there for a longtime. And it gets a few stares when people want to know what's in my bag. And then to find that this chair has a guampa holder in the armrest!!

My second favorite college is Iowa, since I have familythere and we used to visit every couple of years as a kid. I always thought that Hawkeye was cool, soimagine my surprise when we saw this trashcan on the next aisle. We left it there, but not beforegetting a few stares from the worker, who surely was wondering why I’d take apicture of a trashcan. I didn't bother to explain. This country isfull of surprises!

**Don't be alarmed at the 18,000 price tag. That's guaranies, so just under $5.

Blog Changes

2011-08-31T01:26:00.000-04:00

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

2011-08-26T02:22:00.001-04:00

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!

2011-08-25T02:07:00.001-04:00

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

2011-08-19T17:34:00.000-04:00

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

2011-08-12T02:35:00.000-04:00

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

2011-08-08T18:37:00.000-04:00

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

2011-08-05T21:37:00.000-04:00

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

2011-08-02T22:58:00.001-04:00

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.

Hello. Goodbye.

2011-07-28T20:57:00.000-04:00

I read something recently about one of the things that makes missionary kids unique--that every hello is attached to a goodbye. It may be a temporary "See you later," but more often it's the permanent version. It's realizing that the world you belong to is not a stationary, fixed place, and you are not permanently set in any one place. This past week we've had to play that game again, sadly.

The three missions interns I told you about before, finished their 10-week term and went back to college life at Lee University. While they were here, I was in the midst of full-time, everyday physical therapy. This opened the door for Camille and Caroline to step up to the plate, which they did. They made their momma proud. They were a bit nervous at first, but they fell in love with the three interns right off the bat and this helped a lot. My girls translated for the Saturday morning Bible classes the interns held for the community kids, for the three-times-a-week English classes, and for various other activities during their stay. Ken and I had the privilege to spend time with them in the evenings and on weekends, helping them process their experiences here and enjoying their perspectives. We shared a lot of meals together and took them along on some of our adventures. All three of these young ladies are majoring in intercultural studies at Lee, and they came here to live out what they'd been studying. They were also excellent examples of Godly young ladies, and it was absolutely thrilling to know that in these impressionable years, my girls had the chance to be influenced by these three. It was a sad thing to tell them goodbye. Of course we hope to see them again, but you know, you just don't ever know.

During the last two weeks of the interns' stay, a team of five young adults from Tennessee came for a week and a half. This coincided with the school system's winter break, so this team was also able to do lots of things with the children. (This group included the brother and sister of our neighbor Dana, who is here for 10 months to teach English in the school.) Again, my girls translated when needed and got to know this team. Their time included daily VBS and sports activities, as well as a major makeover to the playground and school assembly room. It was really funny to see them get all filthy in the paint, not really worrying about it, then realize that it was oil-based and wouldn't wash off. :) They were colorful for a week! They played volleyball and basketball and soccer and field games with the kids, and Camille and Caroline picked up some new moves on the court. The team had a beautiful spirit of worship and shared their musical talents with us one night, in our living room. They grabbed up Ken's guitar and harmonized to lovely praise and worship songs we'd not heard yet, so we headed over to itunes to get a few. Caroline has a renewed interest in the guitar now.

I have some very definite ideas about short-term missions, which I plan to share on this blog soon. There are lots of ways that trips can go bad. But I can testify that these guys made a positive impact on the children of this community. I am sure that when they were preparing for and imagining their time in Paraguay, ministering to our family wasn't part of the plan. It's exactly what happened, though, and we thank God for blessing us through these two teams. (And for the internet, so goodbyes don't have to be permanent!)

Well, There's Good News, And...

2011-07-23T03:37:00.001-04:00

The good news is, I'm still glad to be alive! And we're still glad to be in Paraguay. The bad news is, this leg thing is getting to be a bit complicated as of late. To catch you up, it's now been 5 months since the accident that broke my femur, and the surgery to repair it with the plate and screws just above my knee. I've been continuing with physical therapy about every-other-day, and I'm able to manage the pain most days.

I mostly just use the cane now, and if I'm in a small area, I can take a few awkward steps without it. I have to lean out a lot and kinda swing the leg, but it's possible, at least!! :) I just don't take any long walks anymore. With the cane, my balance isn't as good as it was with the walker, so sometimes I have to have someone on the other side of me, to hold their arm/hand while I'm walking, if it's any distance, or if I'm tired already, or if I'm on uneven terrain.

The last couple of weeks, I've had a new pain in my knee, which the doctor thought was tendonitis. An ultrasound didn't see anything like that, so he ordered an MRI, thinking it may be the meniscus. The image on the MRI didn't show up because of the metal in my plate interfering. At this point, no one knows for sure what it is that's torn or swollen in there. The only thing to do is apply ice and restrict the type of exercises I do, which is already taking its toll. I'm weaker in the leg as a whole, and the knee gives out sometimes while I'm walking.

That's the general overview, but here's where it gets sticky.... When the bone broke, it shattered at the end, and when the surgeon put it back in its place, he just did the best he could. It's in a pretty serious state of what's called valgum. This basically means that when I stand straight up, my right leg is normal, but the left knee veers way over to almost touch the right knee. This is not a good thing at all.

When the surgery first happened, there wasn't much talk about this part of it because, I guess?, the focus was on my physical condition from it being a femur break (blood loss, etc.), and the open wound situation. Then the realization a bit later that my leg had kinda frozen in too much interior rotation and had to be worked back to its proper spot over the next few months. Then the fact that my quadriceps was so emaciated and we had to step up the surgery. Add to that the fact that I stayed in the brace for too long, due to the wound, and the knee had to have a lot of work to start bending again. So in all that, no one mentioned that my leg was warped. I noticed that my kneecap pointed very inward, but the leg was still so swollen and there was the interior rotation problem. Every time I mentioned it, I was told to let all that clear up and we'd see. I had no clue it was anything more than that.

But there came this day when I saw myself in a long mirror and realized that the shape of my leg is all out of whack. I started asking all the right questions and found out that the medical folks already knew this and were just filling me in on a need to know basis. Smart, but I do hate to be the last one to find something out.

I have been speaking with Paraguayan and American doctors about this (I just went for my 4th "second opinion" this week), and the recommended treatment they all seem to agree on is this:

1. Start with a wedge in my left shoe, to try to open up the knee cavity. Right now it's squeezed shut on one side, which may account for the knee pain that we can't diagnose. I just got the wedge a few days ago and have been wearing it constantly. I'm not excited about the damage the wedge can do to the foot, ankle, etc., but the doctors and therapists say it's worth that damage in order to put my knee closer to its proper place. I've already gotten used to how it feels to walk with what feels like rocks in the shoe.

2. Removal of the plate and screws currently in my leg. This is optional, but definitely recommended because the plate is scrubbing against things it shouldn't, and it seems to be a big source of the pain in the outer leg. The doctor told me this week that the surgery itself is worse than the surgery to put it in, because they have to individually get those screws out of where the bone has already healed around them. And afterward, it would be like starting at ground zero again, similar to the recovery I've been doing for the past 5 months. I don't like the sound of that.

3. Osteotomy. This is a surgery to break either my tibia or my femur, on purpose, and take out a wedge of bone. The doctor suggested this as soon as I recover from #2 above. It would mean another expensive plate and screws, and again, a lengthy recovery. This would be a way to further relieve the pressure on the joint, that should give me 5-10 years before having to do #4.

4. Total knee replacement. They both said I'd want to do anything possible to prolong this, because they only last for 10-15 years, possibly 20. But at my age, that's too many possible replacements over my lifetime--I plan to be at least 100--and apparently you can only do so many replacements. They both also agreed that this was a definite thing. Of course, I don't call anything definite until I hear what God has to say about it, but this is what the x-rays and such show for now.

They say that each of these steps is a temporary fix to prolong having to go to the next step. I guess I don't have to tell you that none of this looks like my idea of a good time. I've told all of the medical professionals involved that I'm really holding out for a miracle and that they need not be surprised when it happens, so please join with me in prayer for this. Also, please pray for wisdom and guidance, and for peace. I am trying to remain all smiles and upbeat and positive, but I have to admit that I don't like the idea of more and more surgery, more and more rehabilitation, and starting back at square one a few more times in the "learning to walk" process. I trust God in every minute of this, knowing for sure that He is good, no matter what.

Friday at the Embassy

2011-07-02T17:08:00.000-04:00

I say that so casually, as if, well, we just always hang out at the US Embassy. We're just that cool. Okay, not really. But Friday was a special day, and all US citizens living in Paraguay were invited to attend, not just our little family. We were hosted there for a special flag-raising ceremony in honor of the 235th birthday of these United States. A bit of 4th of July on the 1st of July, since the Embassy is, in fact, a government office, and we know that all government offices will be closed on Monday.

The news said it'd be cloudy and warm, so we planned accordingly. At the early hour that we had to leave the house, there was no way to know what it would really shape up to be. Well, it was C-O-L-D!!! We had to walk quite a ways from our parking spot, then sit under a little awning with the other expats, waiting for the gate to be opened. We shivered. Our teeth chattered. The wind was stiff and the sun was hiding behind some REALLY thick, ominously dark clouds. I felt like such a bad mother for bringing my family out like this in light coats and hoodies.

We were let in after a bit of magic metal-detecting wand waving, and lined up in front of the grassy area to await the ceremony. I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that embassies are officially United States territory, so we were on US soil. To one side was the Paraguayan Presidential band, who came to play a lovely rendition of the national anthem. Behind us was a section of the Paraguayan military who came in a sort of tribute to our big day. Nice, huh?

We heard some nice speeches (short, thankfully), a message from Secretary of State Clinton to US citizens living abroad, and a reading of some patriotic documents. Then some very sharp Marines walked a huge folded flag up to the pole and began the ceremonial unfolding and attaching to the rope. (I'm sure there are real military terms for that, huh?) I have to admit that the sight of our military guys, all uniformed and at attention, does always send a chill of national pride up my spine. I know it's not politically correct to be patriotic, but that's one of the things I kinda hate about our current state of affairs--that patriotism and pride in our country is discouraged. But that's another blog for another day. No ugly comments, please. Back to the Embassy.

It's cold, cloudy, windy, and a bit rainy. The Marines begin to fasten the flag to those little hooks, and the wind stops. The sun comes out. I'm not even kidding. We all stood VERY still and soaked up the sunlight, watching these men carefully handle this symbol of our heritage, our home. It took them a minute or two to get it in position to begin raising it, and as it neared the top, the wind started back up and whipped Old Glory out to show all her stars and stripes. What a moment! Worth every step from the parking area, every shiver of cold, even worth having to get up at an hour that I think is just inhumane. It was beautiful.

After that we were invited to hot chocolate, coffee, cupcakes, and chocolate chip cookies. Yep, chocolate chip cookies. You can't get more American than that, can you? We saw some folks we knew, met some new people, and spent some time talking to the Ambassador. Nice lady.

Caroline insisted on having her picture taken on the red carpet, after which several folks commented on her being a movie star.

It was great to be able to celebrate our Independence Day and remember that we are still one great nation, under God.

Tragic Bus Accident

2011-06-29T23:50:00.000-04:00

Early yesterday morning, 16 people died in a gruesome wreck just a few minutes from our house. They were traveling on a double-level bus and hit a large truck basically head on. The details are still sketchy, but the impact was incredible. The entire bus was sitting on the road off it's base, like you'd just scooted it right off the axles and steel plate. (Click on the picture to go to the news article. NOTE: It's written in Spanish.)

We were on the road that day, and more than once I commented over the speed that these buses travel on these less than ideal roads. They come around curves at ridiculous speeds, that would put the General Lee on two wheels in a heartbeat. They have these shock systems (or something like that) that keep them from tipping over when they turn so sharply, and I can attest that from the inside, the riders never realize that they're making crazy turns. It's a very smooth ride. But to watch them from the outside, it looks like they'll tip right over. I had no idea when we talked about how unsafe they are, that we'd come home to news stories and horrid pictures of bodies that weren't quite "bodies" any more. Just awful.

And just one week before, Saul and a visiting professor from Lee University took one of these huge buses on the same five-hour cross-country trip, passing this same spot. The two-story ones generally make longer trips and don't stop often. The normal, school-bus sized ones, are more common but just as dangerous.

We have a friend Grecia (GRAY see uh), a youth from church, who was run over by a common bus a couple of weeks ago. The "rules of the road" as these buses go, dictate that they slow down just a tad, and folks jump on or off during this time. (Any wonder Ken refuses to let me take the bus to therapy?) I think "officially" they're supposed to stop and wait, but time is money. Well, our friend was getting on, when the bus took off a bit suddenly. She lost her footing, fell down, and the bus wheel ran over her from her toes to her hips. She told me it was like slow motion, and that she waited for it to run over her trunk and then her head, while she was unable to move. She knew she was a few seconds from death and was already imagining "the other side". Someone screamed, and the driver stopped, then backed up. So she was basically run over twice, crushing the bones around her lower leg and ankle, and destroying the soft tissue of her upper leg. She said she was thanking God so much for her life, that the people around her began to get excited and do the same. Get this... the driver had a schedule to keep, so--are you ready?--he kept going. HE RAN OVER A YOUNG GIRL AND KEPT GOING!!!!

One of my fellow patients in PT has a similar story, although she wasn't knocked under the bus. She fell as she was trying to get off and the bus suddenly jerked forward. I asked if the driver stopped to see if she was okay, or if they offered to help her, but her reply was, "Oh, no. We all know how the buses are here, and it's just a chance we take." And there are soooo many people who rely on the buses as their ONLY way of transportation, so many who aren't really in physical shape to be jumping on and hurrying off again.

There have been lots of deadly accidents involving the buses lately. I heard a radio program the other day encouraging the riders to stand up to the drivers and demand that they slow down or drive more carefully, but I can't imagine this EVER happening. I've been on many buses where the driver was racing another bus, or a car, or a motorcycle, and they're always counting the change and issuing the tickets while they drive (no, not looking at the road). I can't tell you how many times I've seen them clip other vehicles (once it was ours) or run people off the road. One guy in particular, which I try to avoid, is always racing against his watch, having his assistant time him on different legs of the trip. And of course, the bus is packed with more than double its allotted maximum passengers, most of whom are standing up while he flies over speed bumps and zooms around the curves. But the consequences are few for the drivers, and they're hardly ever held responsible for the wrongs they get caught at. I wish you could have seen the driver's face when he hit our car and we were copying down his information. He knew it didn't matter one bit....

Well, that's my rant about the bus lines in PY. Please pray for the families of these killed yesterday, and for the others who were injured. And our friend Grecia would appreciate your prayers as she recovers. She's making good use of the wheelchair and walker I've "grown out of" and is happy to be alive!

Things I See

2011-06-18T20:18:00.001-04:00

This past week in our treks to the hospital and back, I thought about all the things that we see regularly along the way, that we’d probably not see in the U.S. Things that I may have looked twice at a few years back, but now are just common sightings.

I couldn’t quite get my cell phone out in time to take a picture of it, but we drove alongside an interesting truck. The cargo bed was filled with raw meat--what appeared to be beef ribs, not wrapped or anything, but just piled up in the back of the truck on their way (eventually) to our tables. We often pass the little old ladies who strap wooden boxes on the sides of their donkeys, kinda like saddle bags you’d see on a big motorcycle. Sometimes the ladies also ride the donkeys, but most often they are walking alongside them selling the contents of the boxes to folks they pass on the way. What’s in there? Glad you asked. The chickens they butchered that morning, including the innards and gooey parts, which always seem to string along outside the boxes.

I couldn’t get to the phone in time to snap a shot of the tigers in cages, either, but they were being pulled behind a truck with a guy who was announcing the arriving circus. Those big cats were stalking back and forth in their cages as they passed all the people waiting at bus stops, walking along the side of the road, or waiting for the light to turn red so they can wash windshields. I wonder if anyone tried to wash THOSE windshields!

And no matter how much traffic there is on the road--even those highly congested four-lane roads that run through the middle of the business district—we’re bound to drive up on a horse cart with a driver and one or two passengers, picking up any discarded items that might be of value. Usually they find plastic, glass, and metal trash, all of which can be sold for a tiny bit of money. This one was full of small limbs and sticks, which will be used to make cooking fires. The sides of the carts are decorated with cd’s, bottle caps, or even a painted-on Nike swoosh.

You probably already know that most life in the Latino culture revolves around the Catholic church. It’s the central location of each town’s plaza, the place where you officially become “part of the human club” by getting baptized as an infant, and then check out of the club on your way to be buried. It’s the site of weddings, graduations, and community celebrations. More than the actual building, its presence is always there, in the back of the mind of practically any native South American, as the driving force behind the traditions and customs that make the culture what it is. I still found it odd to see the Ferris wheel of the latest town fair, so close to the belltower that it looks like you could jump from one to the other. I think this picture perfectly illustrates the point that what happens here happens under the mango tree or at the Catholic church.

You pass anything interesting on your commute lately?

You Just Never Know...

2011-06-11T12:58:00.000-04:00

…how your day’s gonna go. Wednesday, we left the house with four medical appointments planned. For some reason, traffic was much heavier and I arrived late to therapy, the first appointment. I really rushed through my exercises to make it in time to take my latest x-rays of the leg. After getting those, I ran (okay, hobbled quickly) down to the doctor’s office to find that he’d cancelled appointments due to an emergency surgery. Well, that’s understandable, I just wish I’d known that before the couple of hours of rushing around to make it there.

We had lunch and made it just in time to my dentist’s appointment, where she is replacing the crown that broke in a top molar. This is a procedure that would take an afternoon in the US, but is scheduled to take 4 visits here. Well, it WAS scheduled to take that, until, for the second appointment in a row, the little thing they put in my tooth to make the crown stay in place, broke again. We’re up to six appointments now.

It turns out that Sara needed us to run an errand while we were out, and it seemed we’d have the time now that the dentist’s appointment was abruptly ended. We plowed through traffic but only got a few miles in an hour, and arrived too late to complete the errand. What a day! Rushing here, there, and everywhere, mostly to no avail.

The next morning we got up as normal, and headed back out for physical therapy. I have to admit that I was dreading it, because the cold weather means I’m in a lot of pain before I even arrive. About halfway there, we heard a loud clunking noise and pulled over. It seems that the CV joint we’d just had replaced, led to a bolt that wasn’t quite tight enough, and the axle of our front wheel came loose. (No ugly comments if that makes no sense—that’s my female interpretation of what happened.) Thank God, we were in one of the very few places where traffic was not super-congested, and where there is a whole lane on the side of the road that’s safe to pull into.

Ken was just starting to figure out what the problem was when a man pulled over. This is typical of our experience with Paraguayans--always willing to lend a hand. The guy happened to be passing through in his work truck, and lives only a couple of blocks from where we’d broken down. He told Ken that he knew an honest, inexpensive mechanic that lived nearby. They walked to the mechanic’s house, the guy bought Ken a bag of empanadas for us, and they talked about why we’re in Paraguay all the way there and back. God’s good about arranging our days, huh? The car fix cost us about $10, I got out of therapy, and Ken made a new friend.

Culture Shock

2011-06-09T20:41:00.041-04:00

This week I taught a class to the mission interns about culture shock, and I got the chance to reflect a bit on how "exciting" that can be. Okay, maybe exciting isn't the BEST word! It's quite a trying process, but one that has benefits if we let God do His work in us at whatever stage we're in.

The Bible gives us several examples of people who left their home culture to live in another, and we can look to them for wisdom. Folks like Daniel, the 3 Hebrew children, Ruth, Paul, Esther--dare I say it?--even Jesus, left what they'd known and ventured into a new world, and God was able to use that for His benefit.

Most folks agree that culture shock comes in four basic stages, as I'll talk about in a bit. It was kind of nice to think back on going through those stages at different points since our move here, and to realize how faithful God is to hold my hand through it all. It's also a bit unnerving to think about the reality of culture shock, which is that it is a never-ending process for those who choose to live outside their birth country. The stages may not always be as difficult, but we cycle through them over and over in varying degrees, because we can never unlearn the cultural values we grew up in.

The first stage is akin to the honeymoon, when all is new and cool and just the greatest thing on the planet. Then a bit of loneliness sets in and all the strange new things can be overwhelming, causing a retreat of sorts--sometimes manifesting as fear, sometimes as depression, almost always as an urge to avoid the new things and people. The third stage is rejection, when all these new ways of doing things are not just seen as different, but as WRONG. There is much frustration and judgment that the new stuff is all bad. At last comes a time to fit in with the culture and find ways to blend the old with the new, keeping your identity but being flexible enough to "roll with the punches" and enjoy this new world.

I remember different feelings and situations within each of those stages, which vary in duration for each person. Fortunately, the four of us cycled through these at different times and could try to help each other out. There are things that can be done in the middle of whichever stage to help alleviate the stress of it all, but the main thing is to remember that this is normal and can't be avoided. Those who resist tend to take longer to cycle through and sometimes never fully reach the last stage. It's fun to meet other expats and be able to have a general idea where they're "cycling" at the time.

The good thing is that each time you work through those 4 stages, God peels back another layer of self and exposes things you may not have known were inside you. Those weaknesses that have been hiding deep don't have much space left to hide when the safety nets are removed, such as extended family, friends, church services in your own language, traffic laws you're familiar with, police that can be trusted, food you recognize. Take these away and put something else in their places, and all those ugly little character traits like anger and fear and irritation come right up to the surface. So culture shock can be seen as a cleaning out process, making it a positive thing for most. Think of it as boot camp that gets you ready for war.

Appointments....

2011-06-08T20:41:00.000-04:00

It's getting quite chilly here, so we've pulled out the long sleeves just about the time we read about all the 100 degree days in the US. It's still so weird to me that we're in a different hemisphere. When does one get used to things like that?

We're still chugging along to physical therapy daily, and seeing good progress. I've moved from the Canadian crutch to a cane, and even though I'm a bit unstable with it, it feels good to use something less bulky. I feel the quadriceps coming back to life again, finally, and working hard to try to make the leg work. Coming along, coming along.

Camille, Caroline, and Saul, look for whatever excuse they can find to keep from having to tag along. Unfortunately, Ken's stuck, since no one thinks I can drive a car yet--so what if my clutch leg is the injured one? Can't a girl even TRY? So on days when the girls aren't doing schoolwork in the waiting room, they can be found here on the grounds helping out with the 3 visiting missions interns from Lee University. Camille and Caroline are loving being their official translators and helping out with VBS, English classes, and a few other projects.

Saul is a big help with taking care of business closer to home while we're making the Asuncion trip each day. He is continuing with night school, and had a great opportunity to give a Bible to one of his teachers. We had just been talking about praying for God to make the daily "meetings" He arranges obvious to us--those times when He sets up a chance for us to share His love with someone. Too often I think we humans miss those chances.

Today Saul made a trip out to a town a couple hours away, where the pastor lives who was awarded the motorcycle (Remember that story?) Saul went to work more on the process of getting the motorcycle legally registered and licensed. It's quite a taxing process in this country... always an adventure! The good news is that the pastor is doing well, having started visitation in a new area with an additional house church meeting taking place there. 7 new converts were recently baptized! It's great to know he's able to get out and minister in more places now with a dependable form of transportation.

Well, that's the latest "what's up" from our end. What's new with you?

Shoeboxes Full of Love

2011-05-28T13:13:00.005-04:00

This past week we had the great joy of delivering some Operation Christmas Child shoeboxes. We took them to the little Loma Clavel school out in the boonies near Carapegua. You may remember this place from previous posts, as the little one-room school with a volunteer teacher that comes each afternoon to teach all grades together.

We hadn't gotten to see them this year, but every now and then, the profesora would send me a text message to say that the children were praying for me in their daily prayers, and that they kept asking when we'd return. So we just couldn't wait for those boxes to come in so I had a good excuse to skip out on physical therapy for the day.

We invited the three mission interns to come along, which meant they had to take the bus. Saul and Camille accompanied them and the group ALMOST made it all the way there. One town short of Carapegua, Letitia and Camille got off so that Letitia could vomit. Bless her heart.

We had lunch with a family there, where the girls got to eat their first pot full of bori (corn flour rolled into balls the size of large marbles, then boiled in a pot with water, meat, and some veggies). Then we loaded up the car and delivered the boxes of fun.

When we arrived at the school, we explained that the children had to wait until everyone had their boxes before they could open them. We also handed out the Bible study books that come with each box, and went through that before they tore into the boxes. The children were so patiently waiting for our go-ahead, and when we finally gave it, the squealing began.

Most of the boxes had small toys, candy, dolls, hairbows, socks, and an occasional note from the sender. These boxes in particular came from the Alberta, Canada area, so some had baseballs with the Canadian team logos on them. The sweet yet sad thing was to see the kids get excited for the contents, and realize that the loudest squeals and biggest smiles came from items of clothing. These children are often without good shoes or clothes that fit, so a pair of socks was like gold. They were just too precious.

After a while of sorting through the boxes and explaining what some of the "new" things were (for example, tape, mechanical pencils, toothpaste), we had a group prayer to thank God and ask His blessings on those who sent the boxes. The students were so excited to hear that we'd be returning to go through the Bible study books with them, and I thought again of how SHOWING God's love before trying to TELL of it really counts for something.

Thank you to every person reading this who has ever packed a shoebox for some unknown child. From the other side of it, I can tell you that the child is not an empty face. He is a little person who not only has some of his physical needs met from what's in the box, but also feels terribly special that someone who's never met him cares enough to send him a box full of love.

Legal Updates

2011-05-20T08:00:00.001-04:00

In case you were wondering, here's an update on our legal fun:

1. The truck. Remember that wonderful Mission Mobile we got scammed into buying when it wasn't legally sell-able? Remember our fight to get the paperwork? Well, it's been 2 1/2 years now, and we're still fighting. We visited the notary who supposedly is the hold-up, to find out that she still doesn't have the paperwork from the loan company of the man who sold it to the car dealer who sold it to us. You got that, right? The word is that the man who sold it before he should have (i.e. before he paid off the debts on it) has paid the debts, but lost his receipt. So the clean title can't be issued until he pays a fee for a new receipt or finds the old one. He's in no hurry.

2. The truck's motor. We did finally get it out of the shop. We put it in to have the motor worked on (ended up having to be re-rebuilt) the first of December, and were told it'd only take a few days. We got it back four months later, took it on the road the first time, and the motor locked up. Dead. It is now sitting in a friend's mechanic shop until we decide if we want to re-re-rebuild this motor or just replace it, for a considerably higher cost. We'll see. It's not real fun knowing we wasted the recent expense in having it re-rebuilt. Thank God we were able to find a little Volkswagen and are bopping around in that. It's been a lot more cost effective than the mission mobile would have been in fuel expenses back and forth to PT each day, an important point to consider since gas is about $5.50/gal right now.

3. The leg. Our wreck lawyer, who happens to be the praise-and-worship leader at the church, has informed us that the man who hit me, is not responding to his attempts to contact him. He has not actually made good on any of his promises to help with the medical expenses, and we are now looking at what can be done about that. The expenses are mounting, and the driver assured us that he was willing and able to step up. We'll see. (**NOTE that we have found a different lawyer and a different mechanic than those mentioned in #1 and 2 above, both of which we feel were Godsends. They have put our minds at ease about the trust factor, at least!)

4. On the way to PT about two weeks ago, a city bus pulled over into our lane and hit our little car. The driver of the bus insisted we should pull up to the nearby police building to resolve it, but as suspected, he kept driving. So we filled out the report from our point of view with the police and turned it into the bus company, who says that the company insurance covers things such as this. The general consensus from the public is that the bus company NEVER pays for their wrecks, even when they admit fault. We'll see. Thankfully, there wasn't any major damage done.

5. On the way BACK from PT a few days ago, we were motioned over by the police. This is nothing new, and especially during the Bicentennial celebrations. There is, naturally, much more traffic, so there are many, many more traffic stops. The police stand in the middle of the road and motion for every 2nd or 3rd car to pull over. They work really hard to find some reason for a ticket, at which point the typical person offers a small bribe, and drives away. Since we do not offer bribes, we get written tickets. This was a minor infraction, but it didn't do much for morale, to be honest.

I guess I don't have to explain that riding in Asuncion is worse than seeing New York in a taxi, and the drives there and back each day work on my post-wreck peace of mind. They kinda take their toll on my chauffeur-husband, too. I can say that I'm truly glad I'm not having to make the trip by bus every day, but the trip by car is taxing. When you add the fun of wrecks and paperwork and tickets, it's easy to see how the enemy has declared warfare on us in this area. We are aware of it, though, and fighting from this end. God is greater than the legal system, the anxiety, the unsafe driving conditions, and the mechanical foolishness we are encountering, and we know He has a plan in all of this.

It's an adventure here, that's all I can say. Thank God that we know this part is only a chapter of the book, and HE writes the ending. :) God is good.

New Interns from Lee University

2011-05-18T17:55:00.005-04:00

The house next door is now full of girls, much to the delight of Camille and Caroline. Three young ladies from the Intercultural Studies department of Lee University arrived last week, and will be working at Hogar Ganar until mid-July. Audra, Erica, and Letitia will be doing hands-on projects in the houses, English classes for the community, Saturday children's programs, and much more. For now they are getting to know the children living in the three homes of Hogar Ganar, and becoming accustomed to the language, food, and climate.

We have enjoyed hearing about missions from their "university" standpoint, and also hearing about the latest things happening in the US. They are all excited to be here and have big plans to reach out to the folks living here. They've already been a blessing to us, from teaching my girls how to crochet to sharing books with us. Just this week they began the English classes, with 12 students the first night, and with Camille and Caroline are their official translators. As quickly as the Lee gals are catching on, though, I'm guessing they won't need translators for long.

Bicentennial, Paraguay-Style!

2011-05-18T16:36:00.007-04:00

I've neglected my beloved blog lately. I do enjoy recounting the events of the day and putting down on "paper" things I want to remember forever. Lately, my days revolve around recovery and all thoughts seem to lead to the leg, and somehow I just don't think my loyal readers want to open their laptops and hear me whine. So I have avoided the blog like we avoid mosquitoes in dengue season (which, by the way, seems to be wrapping up).

Things are plugging along, though. We are getting more involved here in Itaugua, ministry-wise, as time allows. Most of our days start with a long commute to physical therapy, a few hours of what we lovingly term torture, the commute back, and then resting from the torture. By mid-evening, sometimes I have energy to get involved in other things, but sometimes I'm just done for the day. The family has been so good in not only filling in the gaps for the things I can't do right now, but also to "bring me this, get me that." I feel more than a little guilty for my lack of productivity, and the way I eat up the day for everyone else in this house, too, which is a little of the reason I don't always sit down at the computer and write about it. Saying it out loud (or typing it, I should say) kinda admits that this really is happening. Does that make sense?

I do have to tell you, though, what a privilege it was to be in Paraguay for their bicentennial celebration. For the past week or two, and especially this past weekend, the whole country celebrated Paraguay's 200th Independence Day, complete with town parades, concerts, school programs, military parades, fireworks, you name it. Unfortunately, I watched most of it from the comfort of my living room.

But as we drove to therapy each day, we really, really enjoyed all the preparations going on in each town. We passed the school kids practicing "parade-walking" on the street in straight lines, folks painting the Paraguayan flag colors on their tree trunk, city workers putting banners on light posts, street vendors selling bumper stickers and flags, military dudes lining up tanks at intersections and standing at attention with their guns, and flags hanging from every house or building in sight.

Last week I skipped out on therapy one day to attend the school's presentation. The students dressed up like war heroes, peasants, and "ladies and gentlemen," to show us the traditional Paraguayan dances and songs.

Afterward, we walked around the school grounds to check out the cultural booths each grade had set up. It was a great time to meet other parents and get to know the teachers and staff better, while sampling some of the typical foods and handiwork of the country.

These cool-looking folks with us are the pastors of the local church, in their traditional Paraguayan garb.

Even though we didn't physically attend the other events, most other Paraguayans did, it seems. Asuncion was inundated by folks who, according to the news, don't come often into the city. They were treated to many patriotic speeches, encouraging them to take pride in the country and do what they could to "leave the vices behind and embrace the good." There were many references to bettering ourselves spiritually. Help us pray that this time of wanting to renew the country will lead to a hunger not just for "spiritual things," but a hunger for God himself.

The Written Word

2011-04-26T08:34:00.000-04:00

I really like decorating a house, and I really love paint in nice, rich colors. I have tried to put my signature in each place we live, to make our home a cozy place that feels like it fits our personality. Something that has always made an impression on me when decorating is chapter 11 of Deuteronomy, verses 18-21.

Fix these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates, so that your days and the days of your children may be many in the land that the Lord swore to give your forefathers, as many as the days that the heavens are above the earth.

I really like the idea of having the Word in visible places in my house--not just the actual book, the Bible, but the WORDS. So here's a sampling of my latest work in our new dwelling. Before anyone fusses at me, I only painted the parts I could reach, then I got out of the way and let those who are allowed to stand for long periods of time and climb ladders, to finish the wall painting. Then I came behind and did the words a little at a time as I could. All good.... :)

This is one corner of our living room. Below is the entrance, which says in Spanish, "You will be blessed when you come in, and blessed when you go out. Deut 28:6" Upon reading this, one of our neighbors went in and out several times to "get as many blessings as possible." It was his first time to read that scripture, so we just grinned at his interpretation.

This scripture says "God is the portion of my inheritance, ...and the heritage he's given me is beautiful. Psalms 15:5-6" The photos in the frames are different shots of our family.

This isn't actually spiritual at all (unless you count the times we read the Bible while sitting on "the throne"), but I couldn't resist showing my mother-in-law how we're using the shower curtain she sent us. It is exciting to be living in a house again that has a real bathroom, with enough space for a real shower and a real shower curtain. The little things mean a lot sometimes. Thanks, Meemaw--it matches just fine!

Fuzzy Friends

2011-04-24T19:55:00.003-04:00

This past week has been full of animal fun. We heard some racket one day and found that Niko's crazy barking was not at the neighbor's cat this time, but at some cows who'd decided to wander up to our back porch. Needless to say, Niko was not happy...

Niko had more excitement later, when he was apparently bitten by a spider or... something. He ran fever for a couple of days, refused to eat, and wouldn't use one of his back legs. Caroline spoiled him terribly during this time, of course, and he's been sleeping on her floor every night since. (He woke up all better on the third day--no Easter pun intended.)
Then Camille walked outside to close Caroline's bedroom window shutters for the night (What a sweet sister, huh?), when her foot brushed across something hairy and she let out quite a squeal. This is the young tarantula (still a bit small) that her toes touched in the dark.
The next night, we heard a loud buzzing and saw this giant flying thing on our window screen--the outside, thankfully. Saul ran outside to put the ceramic pot lid on top so we could get the photo. It's some kind of locust, I'm guessing, but it looks like a gigantic cockroach up close. YUCK!

The Comfort Zone

2011-04-12T23:26:00.002-04:00

The first month or so after my accident, I had to wear this stiff leg brace they called an immobilizer. It kept my knee perfectly straight and I rolled around in that wheelchair with the left leg sticking straight out on a footrest. The immobilizer was a wrap-around canvas thingy almost as long as my whole leg, with metal rods going down the length of it. It did a great job of keeping my leg still while I was in the acute phase of recovery, but that bulky thing was not much fun to sleep in!

Every time I needed to care for the wounds, I unstrapped it from around my leg and let the whole area breathe. And every time, I was a bit nervous that the leg, which had a mind of its own, would accidentally flop off the wheelchair's footrest or roll off the side of the couch. I didn't have much, if any, muscle control over that left side. They say if you don't use your quadriceps (the thigh muscle) for one week, it deteriorates and you have muscle "wasting." I went about six weeks without using mine. Once I tried to slide into the bed from the wheelchair without the brace, and the knee bent on its own. Needless to say, I didn't sleep much that night and was in great pain that next day.

I think my doctor sorta, kinda, like, forgot I was using it, because of his concern over other complications, and I used it a bit longer than I should have. When he finally told me to put it away, I was surprised to find that things had changed drastically.

Over the course of time, the floppiness in that left leg became stiffness. The soft tissues weren't soft anymore, and they kinda dried up and got tight. (My PT explained it like toilet paper that gets wet than dries again, and it's all stiff and crackly. But without the stink, haha.) The knee joint got super stuck in the extended (straight out) position, and refused to budge when I wanted it to bend. There was a big difference in the size of the calf and thigh muscles of the right leg, and the hanging skin where my muscles USED to be on the left leg. As much as I liked the security of that brace, it did damage while it did its job.

The past few weeks while I've been retraining the muscles to work and the joint to bend, I've thought about that brace from a spiritual standpoint. How often do we stick in something that's comfortable way past the time we should, because we fear what might happen if we step out of it? How many times do we think that some situation has "a life of its own" and back away from it because we fear not being in control? ("He's not a tame lion....") How many times do we worry that God will drop us off the side of the couch and we'll spend the next while in pain? I reckon I've been guilty of staying put in the comfort zone past my allotted time at least once or twice. :)

I can tell you that the recovery process for my leg is probably a bit more difficult than it has to be because of the damage from that brace. Retraining a weak leg is one thing, but breaking the stiffness--loosening the places that have gotten "stuck in their ways"--is by far more painful than the work I'm doing to strengthen my weaknesses. It hurts, and it hurts a whole lot. I wonder how many times I've made life harder--more painful--because God's had to break things in me (habits, control issues, attitudes, selfishness), as a result of me staying comfortable in something I'm familiar with. How much easier would it be if I could just let Him strengthen my weaknesses and get me ready for the next phase. I say I love change and I live for the next adventure, but on whose terms? Is it MY adventure, or God's adventure? Am I the only one who sticks to the comfort zones?

I pray that the things He prescribes for a certain time in my life don't become things that I cling to for too long out of fear and ignorance. I pray that I remember the lesson of that stinkin' brace. May we go where He wants, when He wants, and do what He wants, without fear....

Itaugua Video

2011-04-08T19:56:00.003-04:00

As promised, I've returned to tell you a bit about where we've moved to. My intent was to post a few pictures at a time and give you a running tour, but I found that hiking the grounds with this walker and a camera didn't prove a good idea. Just in time to save me from being a liar, a project came along for a promotion video.

What you'll see is a sampling of the children, the homes, the school, and the staff here at Hogar Ganar. (For those family members who've asked for photos of where we live, all the houses look the same. So pretend that when you're seeing one of the homes where the children live, you are really looking at our house....) We are thrilled to be living here in the middle of it all, even if we're not able to physically take part as much as we'd like to yet. It really is a spectacular place that is making such a difference in the lives of the children and youth living here, as well as in the community. You will recognize Camille and Caroline's voices in the narration, and if you look closely, you'll see Saul in one shot and Camille in another, both when the weekly discipleship program is mentioned.

Today we went down to the school for their weekly assembly, to sing along with the students and listen to the devotional. It was absolutely precious to see these 50 or so children who come in the morning respectfully listening, and bowing their heads to pray afterward. We were blessed by how many stopped to tell me that they'd been praying for my recovery. There was an assembly for the afternoon students, too, but we'd already left for my doctor's appointment when it began.

On that note, the doctor is pleased with how much progress I've made so far in physical therapy. He ordered some tests for my right hand, since I still can't close it (make a fist) all the way, and there's a lot of pain in the knuckles. I continue PT for the leg, moving up to the next phase and more strenuous exercises. That's sure to be fun!

So check out this video, and see what Hogar Ganar is all about.... (WARNING: It's 6 and a half minutes long, so be patient as it loads. It's worth the wait!) And if you're reading this somewhere that doesn't show the video below, check this link instead: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67Qw9NItG_4

Settling In

2011-04-01T17:50:00.002-04:00

In the time since my last post, we've gotten settled in a bit more in Itaugua. I plan to devote some blogs to the awesome place we're a part of now, but first I just wanted to check in and let you know we're still among the land of the living, and back among the land of those who have internet. It's a peaceful (sometimes boring) change to go offline for a time, but we are glad to be connected again to the electronic world.

I've almost completed my first two weeks of physical therapy. I'm beginning to step a little on my left leg now, and getting that knee to bend some. I still have to hobble around on the walker, but I'm trying to avoid rolling around in the wheelchair when possible. I can feel my strength and endurance building. My wound has been healing so much that the doctor says the skin graft he was considering will not be necessary after all. Within the next week, I think it will be sealed in nicely with scar tissue and no longer a problem.

We're in the capital basically everyday for appointments, so everyone stays a bit tired. We know this is for a time, though, and are thankful that God is faithful no matter what our days look like.

Ken was able to finally pick up our truck from the mechanic's shop yesterday, where it's been for four months. The motor is, hopefully, in better shape, but the truck is definitely worse for the wear. He's adamant that the repairs that are now needed from the damage done while it was being repaired, will be done at a different repair shop. Did that make sense? Oh, Paraguay. Everyday is an adventure, and we wouldn't trade it for the world. :)

Too Blessed

2011-03-16T19:27:00.003-04:00

I was reminded AGAIN today that we are so, so blessed. We came back to Carapegua to pack the house, and basically I sat on the front porch or napped while the rest of the family packed and cleaned. The front porch did afford me the opportunity to visit with the neighbors, which I always enjoy.

I caught up on the latest news of the neighborhood, including the status of a couple of 14-year-old guys who live a few houses down. They had a motorcycle accident last year, which resulted in broken leg and jaw bones. Several times we had the privilege to drive them to appointments in the capital, just after the surgeries on their legs. I found out today that one is not able to walk correctly because he couldn't complete his therapy. The other is waiting to have his surgery redone because he began walking too early and the screws in his bone moved out of place. Neither of them had the means to travel to their appointments, follow-up with their therapists, or purchase a wheelchair or walker, all of which I'm able to do. How blessed I am.

Another neighbor shared of their trip yesterday to the health post, because one of the children here had worms coming out of his nose. When I asked (with as straight a face as I could) what the doctor said, she told me the child was so full of parasites in his belly that they'd "filled him up" and began to come out of his nose. She explained how the doctor and the father pulled out several and there were still many more. Oh, my goodness. I recounted that story to find that it's not extremely uncommon. Thank you, God, that I've never had to deal with that. Little reminders that I'm a girl living a very blessed life. :)

Moving Along

2011-03-10T21:34:00.005-05:00

It’s been an eventful couple of weeks here in the Hagerman family.

Let’s start with transportation. You know that our Mission Mobile has been in the shop for the past three months now, with an end in sight, but who really knows, right? The mechanic told us he’d located the problem, we got him the money for the parts, and now we’re waiting for the “finished product”. In the meantime, we decided to try to find an economical small car that would be a dependable stand-by for those times when we don’t really need a four-wheel drive gas guzzler. It’s not hard to find cars for sale here, but we learned quickly that finding cars LEGALLY for sale is another story. Most Paraguayans don’t go to the trouble (expense) to have a car put into their names when they buy, and choose instead to just ride on the bill of sale and carry the original title. We found so many good cars in our price range, but each time we’d get to the end, we’d find that the person really DIDN’T have the legal papers. For the typical guy off the street here, that’s fine. For those of us who are foreigners, we don’t need to give the police any further reasons to write us a ticket. Over the weekend, we were SO CLOSE to buying a great little auto, right up until a couple of hours before the scheduled transaction. Then the current owner found out that the original owner, who would need to be present to sign the title, was dead. No sale. After a whole lot of other fun searching, Ken and the girls found a little VW Golf with all the right papers, and we made a purchase. YIPPEE!

In other news, I have been moving along in my leg recovery. The surgery stitches came out a few days ago, and the surgeon was nice enough to stand back and let me take them out when he saw how nervous I was about him touching the area with the burns. The doctors are fairly happy with my wound care. The open area was a real pain for me (ha, ha) and I was a bit worried that I wasn’t really cleaning it aggressively enough because of the pain. But the doctors said it looked like I’d gotten rid of all the infected areas and that it would probably heal within the next few weeks, with some extra meds and TLC. The bad news is that the surgeon doesn’t want me to begin physical therapy until the wound closes. He told me to keep doing the exercises at home that I’d demonstrated to him. I guess that’s fine, because we’ve been busy with other things. (Keep reading.)

Obviously, once the PT starts, it would be fairly difficult to make the 4-hr round trip between Asuncion and Carapegua daily. The ride from where we’re currently staying (Shaun and Sara’s house) to the doctor’s appointments was much shorter than that, and it took every bit of energy and strength I had to get through that. So we knew we’d have to do something different for the next several months, at least.
We’d already been praying about the direction of our ministry here and feeling like it was time to move from Carapegua. Many of the things we’d set up were at the point that locals could take them over, and, in fact, some have already done so. This is the goal, to be able to empower and teach Paraguayans how to carry out relevant ministry themselves, rather than depend on foreigners and think we are the only ones qualified to minister. We were looking at wrapping up some of these areas of ministry over the next few months, then seeing where the next place within Paraguay was that God wants us.

Then came the accident. This kinda put a dent in our plans. In recognizing that our plans aren’t always on the same time scale as God’s, we’re trying to be open to His timing. One of the places we’d been praying about moving to is, in fact, here in Itaugua near where we’ve been staying with the Mortons. This time staying with them to be closer to the hospital has given us the opportunity to look into that further and pray more specifically about it. The children’s home they direct (Hogar Ganar) has three houses with ten children in each. Some of these children are now youth age, and several of the workers there are also the age we’d consider part of our ministry range. They have just opened a private Christian school to serve the neighborhood surrounding them. They have cows, horses, bees, pigs, fruit trees, and fish as part of what they hope will be a self-sustaining farm. There are lots of things happening there, but they have plans for even more, and our ministry vision seems to mesh right into that. They invited us a little while ago to come be a part of what’s happening.

After praying and talking and talking and praying, we began this week the process of moving from Carapegua to Itaugua. We will move into one of the homes that is vacant in the property of the children’s home complex. Camille and Caroline are very, very excited about this move, as they have already made friends both at the Hogar Ganar and at the local church that Sara and Shaun have been taking them to while Ken was here for his heart rehab, and now while we’re here for mine. Did I mention we’ll also have a couple of things we’ve been missing? A yard with grass and windows with screens. That’s pretty exciting to me, as is the fact that there are no stairs and I’ll have much more accessibility in the wheelchair/walker.

I won’t be able to help much in this move, either with getting the house packed up, or with the cleaning, painting, and repairs that will need to be done in the house we’re moving into in Itaugua. That’s making me a little stir-crazy, but I can at least sit in the wheelchair and “supervise” the progress.

And still other news, we met with a lawyer last week about the wreck, as one must do that in order to get insurance to pay for the expenses here. It really is a miracle that the man who hit us fell into the very small percentage of Paraguayans who actually HAVE the optional automobile insurance, so we’re thankful for that. But the lawyer said the normal way is that you present all your receipts, including what you expect in expenses until the recovery (no way to wait and turn in all once it’s done—they want it now). Then insurance usually pays somewhere between 50-70% of those expenses. I’d love it if y’all could help us pray that our case will be different and they’ll cover all the expenses. They’re adding up quickly, and we didn’t exactly budget for a major injury and rehab in our yearly expected happenings. This picture is one someone passed along to me, of the truck that hit us and the house he destroyed when he rolled over. You can see that his truck is pretty well destroyed, too. Glad I wasn't! :)

Thanks for the prayers, support, and encouragement you’ve already been sending. I may not respond to every message or email, but each one gets read by or read to me, and they all make a difference. God bless y’all.

Rollin' Along

2011-02-24T12:15:00.006-05:00

**WARNING: My "Here I am in a wheelchair" photo is a bit graphic. Enter at your own risk. :)

I bought a wheelchair. I'm using it. Things added to the list of "Stuff I Never Thought I'd Do." But here I am unable to walk because this left leg is basically useless for the next few months, so the wheelchair was unavoidable. As soon as I can get the roadrash (described by the doctor as a severe burn) healed up, I need to try moving around a little in a walker, avoiding letting my left foot touch the floor. For now, my focus is on getting these huge burnt areas a bit more healed. Unfortunately, the biggest, baddest of the burns are covering my leg in exactly the same places that this tight brace straps on. I have to have the brace to keep the bone immobilized (rather than with a cast). It's a little of a challenge to figure out how to care for the burns and protect them from being further scraped, while still using this brace and getting from the bed to the wheelchair or restroom. Thankfully, I have good help.

We're at the Morton's home for right now, while we get through the next few weeks of appointments and such. It seems this has become our second home, after spending weeks here for Ken's recovery recently. It's like the rehab hospital of Paraguay, i guess! The benefit is that not only is the time with friends good for my spirits, but Abi is quite attentive, wanting to pat my head and bring me things constantly. And last night baby Sammy said my name! Ken and the girls are champs. The only person we have to be cautious with is Shaun, who has a weak stomach for the nastiness of my open wounds. Sara, however, once wanted to be a doctor, and has taken it upon herself to apply the antibiotic cream to the wounds. She'd do more if I'd let her, but causing pain is something I'd rather do myself to my tolerance.

We're kinda winging it because the burns were basically ignored in the hospital. Thankfully, we have a friend who is a spectacular doctor, and who is giving us advice via email, as we send photos and describe what's happening. Not the ideal situation, but it works. The leg is totally dead weight right now, but I am doing a few exercises to try to make these muscles work again.

My biggest fear is the upcoming appointment this Monday, when the surgeon will want to see the wound and watch me move around. I dread this because any other time he's wanted to see it, the bandages that have dried and stuck to the burns are just ripped off quickly. I can't tell you how much that hurts. My goal is to get as much healing as possible before that appointment, and to arrive with moist bandages that come off easily.

In another week and a half, I'm told I'll have to spend a couple of weeks in the city for intensive physical therapy. This is good, because I didn't get any at the hospital. I thanked God a trillion times that in my former life, my career was in physical therapy. It's been since the birth of my children that I've actually WORKED in this field, but I did remember how I should move around to protect the femur, how to use the wheelchair, how to maneuver in and out of the restroom, etc. Thank God, because saying, "You'll need to get out of bed and go to the potty and back before we'll let you go home," and then leaving the room, simply wasn't enough to get me there.

After the two weeks of physical therapy, I'll have another month of not putting any weight on the leg. Hopefully, after those two months total, I'll begin to put small amounts of weight and use the leg to walk a bit, rather than hop on one foot. Then at the 3 to 6 month point, I may be allowed to walk with a cane. After nine months to a year, I may be walking normally, with a slight limp that goes away with time. I did know that the femur is the longest, heaviest, strongest bone in the body, and that it only breaks under severe force, but I have to admit that I was naive in the recovery time and thinking I'd be up and rolling pretty soon. Well, if you count rolling in a wheelchair, I was kinda right.

Details, Details, Details

2011-02-23T14:19:00.002-05:00

I see that Ken has been keeping the blog updated, so this post may be a bit redundant. But now that my fingers are almost all working again, I want to get the details of my latest adventure down while they're still fresh. I don't think this will get gory, but for those of you who read our blogposts aloud to your kids, take into account the content here.

In the three weeks I’d been riding the motorcycle to Guarani class, this past Friday was by far the clearest, sunniest morning. I’m pretty fanatical about wearing long jeans and a jeans jacket even in this ridiculous Paraguayan heat, but I’d had the beginnings of a chest cold this week. So I put on a hooded sweatshirt AND my jacket to keep my throat and chest covered. To compensate for how really hot that made me, I chose khaki crop pants.

Normally, I chat about the ride or the scenery when we slow down for turns or speed bumps, but the view was just SO clear Friday that I turned my mp3 player to some nice praise and worship music and spent the ride praying. I was in awe at the handiwork of God and amazed, once again, that He saw fit to let me be a missionary to this gorgeous country full of beautiful people. I was thanking Him and telling Him how much the opportunity to work for Him full-time meant to me.

As we slowed down to turn off the last asphalt road and begin the dirt-road part of the trip, I paused Jesus Adrian Romero from his song “Mi Universo,” and stuck the mp3 player back in the backpack wedged between Saul and me. I saw him do his usual routine—adjust the mirror, look to see that no one’s close behind, and then begin the slow turn. A slow turn isn’t necessary, but he knows I’m nervous about driving on sand (you remember those three falls I had in sand already, right?), and he always takes them slow to avoid me whining behind him.

For a fraction of a split second, I heard a very loud roar, just like the tornadoes that flew by my house all night during Hurricane Hugo. Except this tornado struck home. The next thing I heard was Saúl’s voice calling my name and saying in English, “Sorry.” Saúl very rarely speaks English, and he doesn’t remember saying this, but I heard it loud and clear and realized right away what had happened. I threw out an immediate “Gracias, Dios,” (“Thank you, God,”) and then to Saúl, “Estoy!” (“I’m here!”) He said that my first words to him were, “Go stand the moto up. The gas is leaking out and that’s dangerous!” He ran back to find that I was right, but I tell you, there was no way I could see it from there, and I certainly don’t remember saying that. Maybe I was thinking about what happens on the movies and “talking in my sleep.”

I was lying on my left side with that same leg crunched up underneath me, and through my helmet lens I saw a woman running to me. The pain in my left leg was so intense that I fully expected to look down and either see that a bone was coming out of my skin, or that I didn’t have the bottom half of my leg. I really, really expected that to be the case. I was relieved to see that although it was bloody and had parts in places that didn’t seem right, all was still attached to my body.

I couldn’t see Saúl because of my helmet, but I heard him and asked him to take my helmet off because I was feeling faint and nauseous from the heat. With the help of several people—and one guy taking pictures with his cell phone—I got down to a t-shirt with the jackets under my head. Somehow we managed to get my leg a little less underneath me, and I told Saul right away, “Something is not in its right place at my knee. If I pass out, don’t let anyone move me until an ambulance comes, and don’t let them straighten out this leg. I can’t move it, so it’ll have to be supported.”

I still didn’t know how this had all gone down, but I heard Saul asking if anyone had checked on the driver of the car. People were making motions and it seemed that some thought he must be dead. I later saw pictures and heard the eyewitness accounts. The man was driving REALLY fast, “enjoying the view of the hills,” in his words, and swerved into the oncoming lane. We happened to be there in the process of turning left. Saul saw him from the side, realized the guy was coming straight for us, and swerved the bike back toward the middle of the road. This completely saved our lives. Instead of hitting us broadside at a really high rate of speed, this Toyota Land Cruiser hit the back of my left knee and I flew off the bike. Saul fought to stay on the bike and ride it to the ground, but he rolled off before it stopped sliding and came up running. He said I was really far from him because of how I’d been thrown from the bike, and I guess he thought I was dead. I was definitely unconscious. The truck went on to roll over several times, crash through a small brick house, and land on its roof. It was a miracle that the man who normally was in the little house had JUST walked next door.

As I lay there, I heard a man come up screaming at Saul. He was shouting things like, “How stupid are you? How could you make a turn without a signal?” Okay, the truck driver survived. One of the people who saw it all go down pointed out that we were in the opposite lane when the truck hit us, meaning he’d had to swerve out of his lane. And then someone pointed out that the left turn signal on our motorcycle was still blinking. End of argument. From then on, the driver of the truck was very subdued and helpful.

About that time a policeman walked up. Saul had been trying to call ambulances, but none of the three phones he was using would make a call. He dug mine out and called several emergency numbers, to no avail. This all felt like 2 minutes to me, but Saul said it was a LONG time. During this time, I said in no uncertain terms to Saul that this didn’t feel like a minor injury, and I needed to go straight to the major hospital in the capital. I didn’t look forward to a two-hour drive in this sort of pain, but I knew that if treatment was required, I wanted to be in a place where at least most of the universal precautions were observed, equipment and doctors were available, and cleanliness was important.

The onlookers and policeman finally decided, against Saul’s protests, to stop waiting on the ambulance and put me in the back of the policeman’s truck, to drive me about 15 minutes to the nearest public hospital.

I didn’t have any control over my leg and couldn’t do anything to keep in where it should be. I tried to explain in Spanish to the 10 people lifting me into the bed of the truck that someone had to support the leg and minimize the movement. Let’s just say they tried. Saul propped my backpack under the leg, sat behind me to give me somewhere to lean, and off we went. I heard him praying. I don’t remember much about the ride, except reminding Saul about 30 times that I didn’t want to be treated at the public hospital. Yes, it’s practically free, but you definitely get what you pay for. The rest of the ride I fought passing out from the pain. I kept thanking God for the lives of all involved and asking His help to keep me conscious.

Pretty soon I was asking Him to help me pass out. I can’t describe this pain to you, except that neither of the births of my daughters compared--even Caroline’s where both of our lives were in danger and there were complications all over the place. This is pain beyond any other pain I’d ever thought I could survive.
So, we arrived at the hospital, and our protests fell on deaf ears. They insisted on giving us “first aid” before they’d send us to the other hospital. This didn’t go over very well. They began to scrub my road rash, which covered my hands, my shoulder, my elbows, and about half of my leg, including the place where the bone was obviously out of place. The red liquid felt like they’d poured gasoline on me and lit a match. I began to scream and Saul told the doctor we were leaving NOW. The doctor said he’d called an ambulance but it’d be a while, so they’d treat us while we waited.

I couldn’t help writhing around and screaming with the continued scrubbing, and even though I insisted they stop, they had me fairly restrained and I couldn’t do anything about it. They put an IV in my arm and told me it would have calming medicine in it. Saul and the doctor began to argue a bit strongly and he told the doctor that he wanted that very ambulance in the parking lot to come get us that instant. They continued a shouting match but Saul held his ground and in a few minutes the ambulance driver was wheeling me out on a table, into the back of a tiny ice-cream truck with a red cross painted on the side. About 30 people crowded around my rolling table, leaning over me and, I’m sure, snapping photos. They just love those cell phones here.

As we got into the ambulance, Saul mentioned that the nurse had offered him a pain injection, so I told the driver to wait and sent Saul back in for a shot. I was told later that the driver who hit us paid for our medicines. That’s how the public health system works here. The treatment is free, but any supplies and medicines have to be supplied by the patient. Thankfully, it’s all super cheap. I’m guessing the IV and the pain shot cost him about five bucks. As I thought about the little hospital we were leaving behind, I thanked God for the availability of a private hospital within the country.

As we waited for Saul to return, the ambulance driver told me he lives in our neighborhood, and that his sister lives in front of our house. Small world. I waited for a nurse or some medical person to come along in the back, but it turned out to just be Saul and me. He propped my jackets up around my leg to try to hold it in place, and then propped his foot against my jackets to give stability. I then saw the giant golfball-sized knot on his shin and the cuts and scrapes all over his legs. He’d insisted he was just fine at the scene of the wreck, but I could tell it was really painful for him to hold his foot there. I took a minute to thank God again for sending Saul to our family. Not only had he volunteered to drive me back and forth on the motorcycle for these three weeks so I wouldn’t have to cancel my Guarani class, but he was a perfectly selfless, Christian gentleman again, for the umpteenth time.

We got in touch with friends and asked if they’d go to Ken in person and explain what had happened. Taking into account his recent open-heart surgery, and the fact that we don’t have a car right now for him to drive to get to me, this seemed the only logical way to break the news to him. Ken called the Mortons, who jumped in their car to meet us at the hospital in Asuncion, while he made arrangements for a ride to the capital.

This ambulance ride was definitely one for the books. We took the long way to the hospital, avoiding the larger roads in favor of those that didn’t have good pavement. I was bouncing all over the place. It was terribly hot, and the window wouldn’t open (no A/C). Again I was fighting to stay conscious. The pain as I jumped all over this tiny table on wheels was just indescribable. My IV fell off its hook on one of the big bounces, and I told Saul to just leave it there because I didn’t want him to move away from propping my leg. He pointed to my arm and said, “I can’t!” My blood was backing up into the tube and getting close to the IV bag, so he shuffled around to get it back on its hook. Saul shouted to the driver several times that we’d rather arrive slowly, but as we got there, the driver beamed and announced that he’d gotten us there super fast. I just smiled and thanked him.
The emergency room staff whisked Saul off in a wheelchair while he insisted he was fine and didn’t need anything. “Go! Go!” I kept saying, and they began looking at his wounds. I explained to those that came for me how I needed my leg stabilized, etc., etc. They made me slide off that table onto a stretcher, which just about did me in.

The next few hours were a blur of painful moving back and forth to various stretchers, getting torqued into crazy positions for x-rays and an MRI (with a machine that didn’t want to work), and having my wounds cleaned again. I honestly thought I’d die a few of those times. Even now I can’t believe I stayed conscious for it all. Finally, someone read one of the x-rays and determined I’d broken my femur exactly where I said something was out of place, and that I should have the leg stabilized until surgery. THANK YOU!

The process of putting a temporary cast on was the absolute worst part of the day, with the nurses lifting my heel straight up in the air to extend my knee, while the doctor wrapped wet gunk around and around my leg. Sara said she knew I was beyond my limit when I stopped begging them to stop in Spanish and began to pray in English. It was awful. Just awful. I remember thanking God that this would be my worst memory of the day, and that I had no memory whatsoever of the impending impact or the actual wreck. No moment of panic. No huge fear. No noise of the crash or feel of flying through the air.

I eventually got admitted into a room, went in for surgery 12 hours after the wreck, and had a titanium pin and 7 screws put into my femur JUST above where it joins to make the knee joint. I had to thank God again, this time for keeping my joint from being involved. What a disaster that would have been!

The anesthesiologist informed me as they wheeled me into the operating room that they would not put me under, but that I’d be awake and aware the entire time. However, I fell asleep and only woke up a few times as they asked me to try to move my legs or to tell them my name. They said they’d just give me an epidural but keep me awake. My theory is that I was so exhausted from the pain, that when it was finally blocked out, I couldn’t help but fall asleep. Thank God, they waited until I was out to clean the road rash and torn flesh more thoroughly, and I didn’t have to endure that pain.

I came out, apparently talked with the nurses in Guarani, and then with my family and friends in Spanish. The ones waiting in the room were all Americans, but they said I refused to speak in English. Funny what a little anesthesia will do, huh? I’m told I made and received phone calls, too, including talking to my Mom and my brother. Really? I scared my girls and little Abi with my abrupt movements and slurred speech, so Sara and Shaun took them all back to their home and reassured them I’d be better the next day.

I still marvel that God spared my life, that I came out of this with no internal damage, and that Saul’s injuries were minor enough that he was alert and able to manage the events of the day. I made sure that I told each and every person I encountered that day, from the lady who ran to me on the side of the road to the medical staff to the surgeon to the onlookers, that I was so blessed that God let me live and keep my leg. There were so many opportunities to remind myself that He’s just an incredible God. I’m thankful for those that came to help us, for those that called or texted, and for all who prayed. There’s so much more to say, but I’m thinking this blog is way too long already… More later!

Bionic Woman

2011-02-19T10:36:00.002-05:00

Here is a little update on the adventure seeker Christie. She came out of surgery and back to the room around 10pm our time. She was given an epidural for anesthesia so she was awake for the surgery. Not cool. However, the effects of the epidural lasted through the night keeping the pain at bay. Very cool. She got some much needed sleep and still hasn't recovered complete feeling in her leg yet. The surgeon said that if she continues to progress she may be discharged tomorrow.

The nurses brought us a cd this morning that contained a series of photos during the surgery. These were all x-rays. I picked the last one to post so you could see the plate and 7 screws installed in the femur. Thanks for all of the encouraging words and prayers. We will continue to post updates as they come.

Down but not out.....

2011-02-18T17:14:00.003-05:00

Hey everybody this is Ken. As many of you know Christie after 2 years badgering, praying, and begging got the opportunity to attend a Guarani language class about 25 miles from our house. We are still without our car(over 2 months now) and I am still in recovery from my heart surgery. As I don't permission from my Dr to drive yet our friend, evangelist and by now our family member Saul has been driving her to the class everyday on the motorcycle. If you have read the blog you know that this is rain or shine effort with flats and electrical trouble and many other various adventures.

This morning they rolled out of the house to find a bright, sunny day and endless beautiful Paraguayan countryside. They were almost to there destination and were hit by a Toyota Landcruiser. They were slowing to make a left turn and the truck was driving VERY fast and tried to pass on the left side before they made their turn. He scrape down their side and hit the handle bars ejecting Christie from the bike and knocking Saul and the bike to the ground. The car went on to roll over and literally through a small, brick house. In all this destruction no one lost their life. Praise God. The Landcruiser guy escaped with no injuries. Saul is scraped and bruised, with a pretty bad ankle sprain. Over all he will be very sore but fared well. Which brings us to Christie.

Christie pealed most of the skin from her left leg, both elbows, knees, and hands. She has various bruises and generally is sore. The WORST IS SHE BROKE HER FEMUR ON THAT SAME LEFT LEG. The bone is a bad break slightly above the knee. At 8 pm,local time, she will have surgery to put a plate and screws in her leg to stabilize it. She is in a lot of pain and we really desire your prayers. I thank God we have some very faithful friends here taking fantastic care of us. Some of them are Paraguayans and some are other American missionaries. We are truly blessed to soberly view the days events from a hospital room and not the Funeral Home. Keep us in your prayers. Thanks Ken

And the Class Goes On

2011-02-13T17:37:00.003-05:00

The girls and I just got back home from their weekend at camp. I didn't actually attend, but I went this evening on the colectivo (public bus) to escort them back home. They had a blast. When we first heard about this camp and enrolled them, Ken and I imagined taking a little weekend getaway to explore places we've not yet been in PY. But with our wonderful Mission Mobile still in the shop, we ended up chilling at home. This was fine, because I got in several much needed naps, and slept late one morning.

I begin my last week of Guarani classes tomorrow. I have a l-o-n-g way to go in being fluent, but I can already tell a difference in speaking and understanding folks around here. This language is so important to our ministry, as it is the heart language of so many Paraguayans. Being able to communicate God's love to them in the language they are most comfortable, is just so special. It's tough for me to explain in a short blog post, but so much of their cultural identity is wrapped up in this language, and I'm feeling so privileged to be able to learn more about it in the class.

I told you about some of the adventures surrounding the class, and these have just continued. In this past week, I've ridden in the rain several more times (I've learned to enjoy it in this heat). The motorcycle has left us stranded twice on the long stretch between our town and the next one, once with a flat tire, once with an electrical malfunction. Another day the chain popped, which meant I took the colectivo to the end of the dirt road and walked my way in. That sounds a little like I'm whining, but in reality it was nice, too. It was a sunny, crisp morning, even though the day before and after that one, it rained. I walked quietly for about a half-hour, in clear skies and peaceful communion with the Lord.

The months since furlough, Ken's surgery, and now the class, have been so far removed from our normal schedule, and I'm learning to look to God each day for His plan. I certainly wouldn't have arranged things quite like He has, but I can see His hand in every step--okay, almost every step. I'd still like to have our car back and haven't quite figured out what God's up to with that one, but He's faithful. :)

None of the craziness outweighs the Guarani learning and the friendships I've made. The best part for my family is that Andy's wife is a ridiculously talented cook, and her daily lunches have given me lots of new ideas for our menu at home. I told her I'm learning as much from her cooking as I am in the class! I also am enjoying being around other missionaries living out their callings, and hearing about what God's up to throughout Paraguay. This has been another period of our life here when I can't believe I'm actually here, and I'm so thankful that God saw fit to let us be part of His plan in this country.

Che, Nde, Ha'e, ...

2011-02-02T18:21:00.002-05:00

Six hours a day. Aw, that's not so much to spend in school, right? But how about in the same class? Could you handle 6 hours of algebra, or 6 hours of chemistry, or 6 hours of English? In this case, it's a benefit much more than a liability, because we're focusing on all different aspects of learning the Guarani language throughout the day. The only down part is that when I make it back to my house in the evening and start on my homework, I need 6 more hours to review the previous 6 hours and figure out what I've learned. I don't exactly have that sort of free time, meaning I'm soaking up whatever I can during the class hours, processing what I can remember without looking during the moto ride home, and then diving into my notes when I get to the house. It's super fun! I'm finally figuring out the why's and how's of this elusive indigenous language.

Andy Bowen is a remarkable teacher. He's tailored this class to the abilities of the three students, a difficult task considering that the other two are a good bit farther along than I am. Not only am I learning things I can use right away, but he's teaching us skills we can continue to use in everyday interactions and conversations. Things that will help us to keep learning and actively pursuing the language even after the classes end. I've not been able to hang with the neighbors and friends as often as normal, since our schedule is a bit mixed up, but I can't wait to start putting this into everyday use.

I am trying to work my nerve up to carry along a camera while I'm on the motorcycle, and snap some shots for you of the beautiful scenes we pass each morning and afternoon. Yesterday afternoon, the rain that had steadily fallen all day stopped just as I prepared to get on the motorcycle. It cooled off the temperatures nicely, and this morning it was still chilly. We rode in the light of the sunrise until we got closer to the hills, and then there were white mists snaking in and out of the little mountains. It was just beautiful. Maybe I can figure out a way to duct-tape the camera to my hand and get a few pictures for you tomorrow. For now, my homework is calling....

Another Adventurous Day

2011-01-31T19:02:00.003-05:00

Today was my first class in Guarani, my first formal class. I've been a student of this language since it grabbed me in it's clutches and made me an addict a couple of years ago, but today I grabbed back and gave it a little shake. I'm so excited about these next three weeks and all that's gonna "click into place" and open the door to easier conversing with my neighbors.

I know very well that this is where I am supposed to be, not only because I've been trying to study there since I found out about the Institute two years ago, but also because it's been a "lucha" (struggle) since putting the date on the calendar. It's almost become funny, now, though, to see it unfold.

Take this morning for example. In the almost 27 months that we've been in Paraguay, I've played with more stomach viruses and yuckies than I care to count. But never once in that time did I actually vomit. There were days I begged to, but vomiting is reserved for pregnancies and labors in my book. I'm pretty sure it's been since Caroline's birth that I've vomited. I simply don't do it. I've eaten bad stuff and drunk bad water and picked up little bugs going around, but no vomiting allowed. This morning, I opened a fresh bottle of vitamins, which had an odd odor. Something told me I might oughta wait on taking one from this batch until further investigation, but a good girl takes her vitamins every day. I took it, and it started screaming from the time it hit my throat.

About 15 minutes later, just before climbing on the back of the motorcycle, I took to a vomiting fit. I was standing over the toilet saying, "I'm going to this class if I have to vomit in my helmet." (I know, I know, you didn't really want to know what I said in between blaps, did you?) I took some anti-nausea, took off on the moto, and prayed all the way to the end of the asphalt that God would help me not get sick again.

Then we came to the end of the asphalt. I must tell you that the drive to Escobar is spectacular, with rolling hills, rocky cliffs, and long panoramic views off into the distance. Even when we went off-road and started on the sandy/muddy dirt, I couldn't help but marvel at how beautiful God's handiwork is--every chance I could peel my eyes off the dirt and look up. (I am still really gun-shy on riding through deep sand like that after the three motorcycle falls I had last year, since all took place in sand.) Saul drove like a champ, though. We crossed a few streams, rode up a really steep area where the path was covered in big rocks, and even made it through some sticky spots. I just kept gripping that cargo rack behind my seat as tight as I could.

The class was just terrific. My fellow students are the Rayburns, a young couple with 2 1/2 little ones, in Paraguay since about the same time as us. They have been working with an indigenous group in the south. I can't wait to learn more about what all that entails, but for today, we did some reviewing and work to see where we all are in the learning process. It's so cool to hear the language I've been wrestling with explained in English, and to be able to ask questions and get feedback. It's intimidating, but I love it and intimidating has never been a deterrent to me. We ate a lovely lunch prepared by Andy's wife, and ended in time for me to walk part of the way back down the hill to meet Saul (no sense in tempting fate on riding that moto DOWN the hill, right?)

I had a dentist appointment today in the town nearby, so we went straight there. I sat in a very full waiting room (no appointments here, just show up and get in line) for a while, until the dentist poked her head out to say that her equipment was broken and it'd be late tonight before the repairman could fix it.

We jumped on the motorcycle just in time to notice a storm in the distance. We thought we could outrun it, but just in case, I tucked my cell phone deep in the backpack, which always travels between me and Saul. We got on the nice long stretch of highway were there are only field and cows on both sides, when the wind picked up and the rain started. Nowhere to hide. We rode and rode and rode through a really strong storm. I tucked that backpack in and tried to wrap my jacket around it, but it was catching the rain off the back of Saul's helmet and the front of mine. It was saturated. I prayed a little for our safety and then a whole lot for my trusty language learning books, two of which I'd just gotten today. Thank God, my phone was dry and only one of the books got wet, very minimally. Miracle. The backpack is not waterproof, and I was just wringing the water out of it.

By the time we got home, completely soaked and worn out, I was ready for a nap. I climbed into dry pj's and crashed. The girls told me all about how fun it is to homeschool with Daddy, who also cooked some gourmet meals today. He's gonna run me out of my spot! Now for a bit of homework, and I'm prepping for the adventure that begins again tomorrow. I'm counting on a less eventful day, and still holding out hope that our auto gets out of the shop soon. :)

Check Out This Trophy!

2011-01-26T16:20:00.004-05:00

This is Ken with our friend, Atilio, who lives here in Carapegua. We met him and his family when I started teaching English to his wife and her sister last year. Since then, we've become great friends. They treat us like family and we've shared some really fun times together.

Atilio is a dentist by day, but in his spare time he races his 4-wheeler. He won this particular trophy while Ken was in for his heart surgery, so he dedicated the win to Ken and posted a lovely photo to that effect on facebook. When we arrived back in Carapegua, they came by to drop off some pizzas for us (the equivalent of taking by a casserole when someone's been sick). They were surprised to see Ken up and moving around, so they stuck around and visited for a while, much to our delight. Well, while we were digging into the pizza, Atilio pulled out the trophy and presented it to Ken. We weren't expecting that. Sweet gesture, huh? It now occupies a spot near our table, and Ken shows it to all who come by.

We also had various folks drop by for Camille's birthday, and to see if Ken really is alive and kicking. Everyone's surprised to see how well he's getting around. Except for having to be careful about lifting/pushing/pulling, and not overdoing it in the heat, he looks very "normal". His color is back and he's able to walk around, get up and down, and even handle the stairs. He has to retire to his chair periodically, but last night, we walked to the plaza and visited with neighbors a bit. We thank the Lord for His hand on our family and for sending us friends here in Paraguay, and really appreciate the relationships we've been blessed with.

Let's Learn Guarani!

2011-01-25T11:12:00.002-05:00

I am very, very excited that next week, if all goes well, I'll be starting intensive Guarani classes for the following three weeks. Actually, they are classes in Jopara, which is the what you call the mixture of Spanish with Guarani (kind of like Spanglish), and is what is actually spoken here in Paraguay. Pure Guarani is taught in the schools but not spoken on the streets.

This class will take place at the Guarani-Jopara Institute for Missionaries in a nearby town. I will be learning from an American born in Kenya who studied in British schools, married a Bolivian, and lives in Paraguay. Thank God he'll be teaching in ENGLISH! And his beautiful wife is due with their third child soon, so I'm praying she makes it till the class finishes! I'm a bit nervous because my two classmates have studied before and have been speaking Guarani for a while now. I'm, of course, quite the beginner. My plan was to step up my studying in my spare time this week, but there hasn't actually been any yet.

This morning, I went to the dentist. I've been needing to go since Ken was in the hospital, but that wasn't convenient in the least. And then we didn't have transportation, and then Camille was really sick, and then this and that. Today is the first free day when it was possible to go, so I hurried over once all were settled this morning and starting their schoolwork, and explained that I had an area of my mouth that's really been painful. It turns out the pain is just radiating from one tooth, which is my back molar. The dentist, who happens to be a great friend of ours, said I'll have to see a specialist pretty soon, for a root canal--called a conducto here. In Paraguay, a root canal is a three day process. Have I mentioned that I am a special case, and where your nerves divide into roots (I'm probably using all the wrong terms here, but follow me), mine actually divide and then divide again. So I have double the number of those aggravating little guys to fix in each tooth. I've never been one to just do things the easy way, it seems.

So as soon as Saul comes back from running errands for us on the motorcycle, I'll be putting on my helmet and hunting down the nearest endodontist (one town away, I think) to make plans for this dental work. I am hoping she can work me in this week so that I don't have to learn Guarani while nursing an achy tooth next week. We are also still praying about and hunting down used cars, and Camille is still pretty ill. It's a busy week. (SIDENOTE: Ken is good today, only resting from the stress of riding alongside me as I drove all over Asuncion yesterday, and Caroline is also good.) As always, your prayers are much appreciated.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

2011-01-23T20:50:00.002-05:00

I guess I could have more aptly named this post Planes, Buses, and Automobiles based on our travels the past few months. This is an update, however, on the automobile situation. We have currently been without ours for almost 2 months. We returned to Carapegua last week and walked to our mechanic's shop first thing that next morning. Ken saved up his energy so he could walk with me, wanting to hear the "man words" first hand.

It turns out that the small item we thought we were having repaired was only the beginning, and when that part was replaced, the mechanic could hear the other problem more clearly. The good news is that this is the motor that this same mechanic recently rebuilt, so it should be still under warranty. The bad news is that things don't happen quickly here, and a total tear-down to find the problem could turn this into an even longer wait to get our car back.

We've also still been dealing with the paperwork. We've been driving this car for 2 years and 2 months, and have fought that whole time to obtain the title that supposedly was clear the day we bought it. The judicial system, namely the judges, take the month of January off for yearly vacation, and it seems our lawyer has decided to do the same. We were told that our paperwork (the actual title of ownership of the car) would be ready before we left on furlough in September, but not so. With all the mechanical problems we've had with this car, we'd really like to sell it and start over, knowing much better how to buy a car in Paraguay this time around. Without owning it, though, we can't sell it.

This is the second time that we've been more than a month without use of the car because of repairs. Buses are okay at times, but in some cases, they just aren't practical. Such as when one is recovering from open-heart surgery. In said condition, one does not want to enter a bus and be stuck standing up for hours, holding to an overhead bar, being jerked around by the movements of the bus and pushed and pulled by other passengers. Obviously, this is a really bad time to be without our own transportation.

We have seriously considered buying a second, very small, very economical, older car to have as back-up, and also to use on trips where gas is an issue. Gas is pretty pricey here (about $4/gal), and many times we could get by in a small car. Okay, I know, stuffing us tall folks into a little car may be tricky, but for the dollar, it could be done. We'd still need the SUV, since lots of our church/school/home visits are down long, nasty dirt roads that flood out really easily. Four-wheel drive has saved us more than once. But for jaunts around town or drives into the city, we'd be fine in a small car.

That brings me, once again, to a plea for prayer. We are people who don't want debt. We've lived most of our adult lives avoiding it at all costs, no pun intended. We had to enter into debt when the insurance company refused to pay for Ken's surgery, and it makes me a bit gun-shy over purchases. And here in a world so "foreign" to us still, where we don't know what will happen financially one month to the next, decisions that should be simple take on a whole new dimension.

Tomorrow, a friend is loaning us her car so that we can refill medicines, run errands, and hopefully look at some used cars in Asuncion. Please remember us in prayer, that God will give us wisdom, guidance, and provision for this need, and that if this is His plan for us, that we will clearly know it and carry it out without nervousness or trouble along the way. We don't want to get into any more legal issues or mechanical problems, or to spend money that we should save instead, and we know none of these is too hard for God to arrange.

Happy 14th, Camille!

2011-01-23T13:36:00.005-05:00

Today we celebrate Camille's life with Paraguayan cake, American icing (woo hoo!), and what has become a family tradition here--homemade pizza. As I type this, the oven is cranked up, the storms have passed, and the electricity is back on. Camille's still not feeling well and all the medicines she's taking have put a damper on her appetite, but even so, she's requesting pizza and cake.

It has only been a few short years since I first gave birth to a roly-poly, cholicky baby girl. Well, it seems that way, but it's really been 14 years. She's thinned out and is much less cholicky now--ha, ha. She was a strong-willed gal from the start, who didn't want to be bothered with learning to crawl, and learned to talk way before she walked. She has been putting her leadership tendencies to use from the get-go. Now that she's a teenager, it's fun to think back to parts of her personality that we could watch developing even as a baby. She's still a talker, which helped her pick up Spanish really quickly and make friends wherever we are. Camille thinks a lot and is very sensitive to people's moods and feelings. She doesn't like to see anyone left out and is quite skilled in the art of hospitality. She is a huge blessing to our family, and we're so glad God saw fit to send her our way.

Home Field Advantage

2011-01-22T17:28:00.003-05:00

A couple of days ago, we arrived back in Carapegua, back under our own roof. We had a great time hanging with the Mortons this past month and sure do appreciate their hospitality, but it was good to get back "home" after living from suitcases for basically the past three months. We found everything in order here and were greeted by neighbors right away.

A 4-year old boy and 5-year-old girl yelled to me from the street, so I went out to greet them not long after we arrived. They told us they'd been saying prayers for Ken and wanted to know some of the gory details of the surgery and scars. We had a nice long conversation about God and how He looks out for us, with them nodding their heads in agreement with me, as if they were taking in some profound truths and coming up with their own observations. I wished I could have videoed them without breaking the moment. It's amazing how God can be so complicated that we'll never fully understand Him or His ways, but also so simple that the youngest child can grasp His love.

We are preparing for visitors later this evening, when we'll be feasting on a batch of chocolate chip cookies I just made. I checked and double-checked all the ingredients to be sure there were no bichos (bugs/worms) this time, and it was green light all the way.

Ken is resting upstairs in his recliner and trying to get in the doctor-ordered walks each day, as the heat permits. Camille is getting over bronchitis/ear infections/sinus infection a little more slowly than we'd prefer, but she's coming along. That leaves Caroline to help out a little more than usual with the housework, but she's a trooper. It seems there is light at the end of this tunnel and we will be normal again. Well, as close to normal as we've ever been. ;)

How To Ride a Bus in Paraguay

2011-01-15T17:13:00.003-05:00

This past week I've reacquainted myself with the world of buses. I've been taking them back and forth from the capital area to our home all along, but the inner city ones are those I typically avoid at all costs. A few errands couldn't wait, though, and the mechanic is still "working on" our car, so I enjoyed some bus hopping several days this week.

Public transportation here is a culture all of it's own. There are buses that run different routes, so one must either know the number of the bus that passes the desired destination, or read all the little signs on the front window as the bus approaches the stop. The catch is that you have to read them in time to realize this is your bus and flag it down.

Flagging the bus is quite simple, as one merely straightens his arm at a 45 degree angle or 2:00 (as if pointing to a passing airplane or cloud), and points the index finger straight out. If you don't do this, the bus speeds past the stop and you are stuck waiting a bit longer for the next one.

Of course, within a big city like Asuncion, there are many different ways to arrive from Point A to Point B. This makes for some confusion if it SEEMS the bus should pass by your destination but the bus actually takes some crazy route. This has happened to me more times than I care to admit. I am getting better at it, though, and hardly ever jump the wrong bus these days. I have learned to ask the driver--even if the sign clearly states what I want to know--if he'll pass where I want to be, and MOST TIMES, they tell the truth. I've been warned that they will all say yes to practically any question, but I've had one or two tell me to wait for another bus and let me get off theirs before I pay.

Once on, you will probably be standing until someone else gets up. You can hold the rails on the backs of the seats, where a headrest would normally be, or the overhead bars, as you stand. The frequent starts, stops, speed bumps, almost-wrecks, and lane changes mean that you'll be slung around and someone will probably crash into you at least once, but really, the locals are born with their "bus feet," it seems, and they don't lose their balance nearly as much as I do.

There are signs posted all over the inside of the bus advertising the rates and telling you that you cannot be charged more than that, but this is often ignored. I've learned to ask a fellow rider at the bus stop and that have that exact change ready when I board. I'd been overcharged way too many times before learning that trick. There are also signs that tell you to allow older folks, pregnant women, disabled people, or women with small children, to have your seat. However, it's sad how seldom this rule is observed. Men do get up for women with babies, in my experience, but nothing burns me up more than a bus full of young men sitting down while an 80-yr-old grandma bounces around the bus because she has no seat. And when I get up to offer my seat, the older people look so shocked and thank me like I've just given them a new ox. It's probably the same shocked look I shoot at the men still in their seats around us.

Other signs state the maximum capacity and that this cannot be exceeded for any reason. However (you knew there'd be a HOWEVER, didn't you?), I'm told that on long rides, anyone over the maximum limit doesn't have to be counted, thus the driver and his helper can pocket their fares. Needless to say, we pack in like cattle (that's the Paraguayan term for it) on the long rides, and no matter how many folks are standing as tight as possible, there's always room for more at the next stop.

You never know what will happen on the bus, but I've had some great conversations with strangers and met some really nice people. Lots of times people have their hands full with grocery bags or whatever they've just bought from the market, so merely offering a little help starts a conversation. And anything is fair game for carrying. The strangest thing we've ever seen was a sheep who took a long ride in the suitcase compartment under the seats, with his legs bound. I know he was glad to finally get to his stop! If you come for a visit, make sure we throw some bus rides in while you're here. :)

Not Quite Home, But Feeling at Home

2011-01-07T15:07:00.002-05:00

I am typing this from the home of our friends, the Mortons, who live a good bit closer to the hospital and graciously offered their home to us. Despite that I was very reluctant to invade someone else’s home, we’ve been so comfortable here. The shady yard, lack of stairs, and comfy bedrooms were just what the doctor ordered, and we have really enjoyed the chance to spend this much time with our friends.

Before they got back, we took part a traditional Paraguayan Christmas Eve asado meal at the Hogar Ganar homes for abandoned children. Eating at midnight was a little tough for Ken, but he was able to be present for the festivities for a little while, at least. The next day was Christmas with the Martinez family as our guests, complete with hard-to-find turkey I located a couple days before, and some American chocolate sent by Jayne’s family!! Their little fellas loved the Christmas tree, and we enjoyed some traditional holiday fellowship with friends.

We stayed here a week alone while the Mortons were finishing up their furlough, and then welcomed them back to Paraguay on December 31. Their little girl Abi has been a great source of entertainment for Camille and Caroline, as well as a little prayer warrior for Ken and my personal sidekick. Sammy is almost 8 months old, so we’ve enjoyed taking turns holding him. It’s hard not to spoil him with that cute little smile.

Ken is recovering well, able to sleep through the night since we found the recliner. He moves slowly and has to be careful to rest a lot. His system is still out of whack (high bp, high blood sugar, low iron), but those numbers are all improving and it’s totally normal for this stage. It is a bit weird to think of this strong meat-eater as anemic, but his skin is the color of Caroline’s and he gets pretty dizzy, so we believe it. He’s disappointed that he’s not able to walk as he’s supposed to, but he had a nerve swell in his foot and had to restrict walking and get on more medicine to fix it. I think he’ll feel much better when he can be “up and about” a bit more, but for now we are babying the foot and trying not to lament the timing of this nerve flare-up.

Ken has been given the go-ahead to travel back to Carapegua, with his next heart check-up in three weeks. We await our vehicle now, which was supposed to be fixed in “a couple days” but is now closing in on a month in the shop. It’s been a humbling experience to depend on others so much at this time, and something that really makes us appreciate how nice it is to be a part of the family of God. Sometimes the inconveniences also serve as a reminder that He can work in anything.

For example, a few days ago, I left where we are now to take the series of buses and arrive in Carapegua. My hope was that the car would be ready on the promised day (what was I thinking?) and I could just drive it back, and transport our family “home.” It was a crazy trip from the start. Since we’re staying at the end of a LONG dirt road, the buses don’t pass by as often as in the main roads. I had determined to stand out by the road an hour early and just wait, since times are approximate. However, the bus passed by an hour and 15 minutes early, and I couldn’t catch it. SIGH. I began asking neighbors if they knew of a taxi that’d come here, lamenting that the 50 cents for that bus had now become $5.50 for a taxi. The guy was prompt, though, and in true “Christie” form, he began to tell me his life’s story about half-way to our destination.

He shared how he and his wife were separated because she had gone to Europe to work and decided she’d just stay. Their pre-teen daughter didn’t understand why Mom wasn’t coming back. He was having a hard time being both mom and dad and maintaining his 24-hr taxi service. When we got to the end of the road, he was still telling the story, so I hung out long enough to get to a stopping point and tell him that I’d be praying for him and his daughter, and that he shouldn’t give up. He gave me a card with his number and told me to call if I needed a taxi again. Even as I thanked him, I was thinking that this was the first and probably last time I’d be on a Paraguayan taxi. I apologized to the Lord for whining about missing the bus and prayed for this family as I hopped on and off the next few buses to Carapegua.

I’ll bet you already guessed that the car wasn’t ready. I waited till the absolute last minute (so I thought) before starting the trip back on the buses. I missed the second one and had to reroute my plan to make it back to Itaugua, which meant an hour more to the trip than I’d anticipated. By the time I reached the spot where I should have gotten on the last bus, it was too late. Taking a taxi at night isn’t the most recommendable thing, as often the drivers have been drinking. Feeling good about the guy who drove me that morning, I pulled out that business card and within a few minutes, the familiar driver was picking me up again.

He arrived with his daughter in the front seat, and wasted no time in introducing us. He insisted that she sit in the back seat with me so we could talk, and he proceeded to tell me in more detail the problems the young girl was having. I prayed for wisdom and counseled the father and daughter until we arrived at the Morton’s home. Before getting out of the car, I asked if I could pray with them, which they agreed to. I have already spoken to the local pastor here about their situation and feel good about the contact they will make with this struggling family. Now to keep myself reminded that all my days are in His hands, and that missing a bus and waiting on a car aren't the worst things in the world. :)

Starring in a Sit-Com

2010-12-19T20:17:00.001-05:00

Ever have a meltdown? Well, I had a fun one yesterday. I tell this not to whine about the adventures of the last week or so, but to share how important it is to keep the big picture in focus.

While I was very glad to be able to spend the three days and nights with Ken in ICU, obviously there come with that a few inconveniences. To say that I was operating on a minimal amount of food and sleep would be an understatement. So when we got settled into a normal room on Friday and our friends brought Camille and Caroline by, my first priority was to gobble down the lunch they brought me, then take a nap. The nap turned into an all day affair that lasted all night as well, so dinner wasn’t so important.

I say all that to explain that I came into Saturday in a food deficit. I realized at lunchtime that I’d really like to have some good old Paraguayan pizza, rather than the fried food offered in the hospital restaurant. The nurse told me I could request pizza from the restaurant if I called a certain number. Ten minutes and four or five phone calls and transfers later, I learned that no one in the hospital would make pizza or alter the menu to help me get something I thought my belly could tolerate.

Like any good American, I got online and found three pizzerias that made deliveries and began calling around. It was about 2:00 by then. Let me mention that I have an allergy to tomatoes, so I never eat pizza in the States. But here, most pizza doesn’t have the red sauce and is basically cheesy bread with oregano, olives, and corn. At least, that’s my favorite version of it. So the only place that would deliver at that hour was Pizza Hut. They told me they would not, could not sell me the pizza without sauce. I suspect that they get their pizzas directly from the US and just pop them in an oven, because they are EXACTLY like pizzas from home.

The next place I tried said they wouldn’t be open until 5:30 PM, and the third one at 7:00 PM. I decided to wait it out. At dead on 5:30, I called back only to be told that they’d not be getting started until 7:30 this time around. Okay, let’s wait till the third one opens at 7. On the dot, I called this place that advertised selling pizza by the meter (about a yard), and found that the minimum for delivery was ½ yard. Cool. I could eat some now, save the rest for tomorrow.

I waited the 30 minutes they told me to, then 45, then I went downstairs to hang out in the lobby. After a very lengthy phone conversation with the pizza operator, I was told that the delivery man was already there at the hospital somewhere, and I should try to find him. I walked all over some really shady places with some really shady people, before finding a motorcycle with the name of the restaurant on a box behind the driver, parked in the unlit back parking lot down a flight of stairs. I called out to the guy, who told me I’d have to come there because he couldn’t leave his motorcycle. And how is this termed delivery? At this point, I decided that my hunger was primal and I could fight off any attacker with sheer force of will to get to the food.

The guy handed over the pizza, and out of habit, I opened the box to see if it was correct. No need in getting back up a few flights of stairs and finding that it’s covered in sauce that I can’t eat, right? Well, the box was taped all the way around it, and when I tried to pull it open, the tape turned out to be stronger than the box. What I mean is, I pulled the tape and the bottom of the box ripped open. As I stared in disbelief at the pizza that dropped onto the filthy sidewalk, I just about lost it. No more strong girl holding it all together.

I felt like one of those movies where the chic runs off crying and everything on the screen is blurry. I held it in as best as possible as I ran up, up, up the stairs, opened the door, flung the box with the few remaining cold, hard pieces of pizza on the bedside table, and promptly shut myself into the bathroom to cry on the toilet. Poor Ken. He couldn’t figure out what was happening, and I couldn’t get enough breath to tell him.

After a few minutes of selfish pity, I remembered something a friend sent me when Ken was coming out of surgery… “Don’t let anything steal your joy in the Lord, because it will be your strength.” I remembered it the message and the scripture as plain as day and thanked the Lord for bringing it to my mind, and asked forgiveness for my silliness. Okay, enough whining Christie. Get out there and enjoy the pizza that DIDN’T fall out, with the man who DIDN’T have a heart attack, in the hospital room that DOES have a couch for you to sleep on and a hot shower for you to enjoy later. Perspective. I spent some time that night reading psalms of thanksgiving and counting my blessings. But I have to admit that I felt like one of those sit-coms where, just when you think the problem is going to resolve, it just keeps getting crazier and crazier. Ever have one of those days?

Update on Day 4 of Surgery

2010-12-17T18:40:00.004-05:00

FINALLY! We're back in a regular room. Just thought I'd give you a quick run-down of how the last few days have gone, and how evident the hand of God has been to us.

DAY 1: TUESDAY--They took Ken into surgery at 2 PM, and I got to walk with him to the doors of the OR. I walked back to the empty ICU waiting room, said a prayer, and sat down to start reading or listening to music or something. Within a couple of minutes, a couple walked in and asked if I was Christie. I then remembered that they were the pastor and his wife from Shaun and Sara Morton's church, whom we'd met once at the Morton home. They settled in seats beside me, and when they found I was alone, stayed there with me through the four hours of surgery. I'm sure that was an answer to the prayers of our families, who didn't like that I was alone for that time. During the surgery, a lady came in to wait, and we struck up a conversation with her. At one point I excused myself to take a call, and I saw the pastor continuing the conversation and then praying with her.

The doctor came to get me around 6:30 PM, and said with a big smile that the surgery was a success. He said the valve company sends four different sizes, so that they can be tried on the actual heart rather than estimated and guessed at. Due to the size of Ken's heart, they weren't able to use the size 23 (mm maybe?) as usual, but had to use the largest of the four, the size 27. Thank God they had that size on hand. But the doctor did say that from all indications, the heart will go back to its normal size within 6 months. He also said that he could tell in looking that this was NOT something congenital--Ken was NOT born with it. He sent the defective valve to the lab to see if they could tell what the cause was, but the guess was maybe something like a bacteria or infection that had entered the heart at some point. Either way, the doctor was very happy with the surgery, and more secure in their decision to leave the aorta in place.

An hour or so later, another doctor called me into the consultation room to ask if I'd be willing to come back and translate for them. Ken was waking up confused and they wanted to be able to tell him not to bite the breathing tube, not to struggle with the sheets they'd tied him to the bed with, etc. I breathed a quick "Thank you" to God for answering that prayer, and donned the gown to go into the normally forbidden area. Once I got there, they let me stay the entire length of Ken's time in ICU. That is another miracle, as those of you with ICU experience know. I settled into a chair and tried to stay out of the way, translating for the nurses and calming Ken as he came out of the anesthesia. They were able to remove the tube in his throat within about an hour, and he was breathing on his own again. We didn't sleep much that night, but he was awake and glad to be alive.

DAY 2: WEDNESDAY--This wasn't such a fun day. The pain set in and there was no way for Ken to get comfortable in the bed. Did I mention that there were these two big tubes running out of his chest into buckets on the floor, to collect the extra blood draining from his chest cavity? I expected that throat tube, but those guys took me by surprise. There were a few IV lines in various places, plus a large one going into his wrist, and one in his jugular that they called a central line, with several tubes leading into it. The nurse explained that when medicines are put into this one, it goes directly to the heart and works almost instantly.

Ken's levels weren't so good this day, with a high blood sugar level and anemia. Those are two problems he's never had, so the doctor said they'd blame it on the surgery and monitor everything. Unfortunately, it meant he was having to be stuck a few more times than normal. He was really groggy and wasn't able to get much breath, and was in and out of naps all day. I think the staff was glad I was there that day because they needed to ask him lots of questions about his condition, his pain, his discomforts, and his brain just wasn't working enough to comprehend or speak Spanish yet. I was glad to be done with this day.

DAY 3: THURSDAY--This was the day we were told he'd get to sit up beside the bed, have the chest tubes out, and move to a regular room. He felt much better from the time he woke up Thursday, so we were very optimistic. And I was anxious to get back to a couch and a shower and the possibility of more food. Well, things didn't go as planned. His sugar leveled out, but the chest tubes were still draining a tiny bit, and his blood pressure climbed higher and higher as the day drug on. He did get to try real food, and did well with it. He was in such better spirits though, and we were able to talk to various nurses and therapists that came in. I love the way God opens doors to sharing about Him. :)

We were a little sad when the surgeon came in that night and took the tubes out of his chest but said he felt Ken needed to be in ICU one night more. I was glad they never asked me to step out of the room during the whole time, so I was able to watch each of the procedures. It was pretty amazing. As soon as the surgeon left, I made a break for food, trying to time it so that no one came in during the time I was gone. The secretary caught me at the door and asked me to come into the office. Uh-oh. I knew what this meant. She presented me with the bill for the first two days. I explained that we'd seen an estimate from the insurance company, and that we were trying to straighten out the misunderstanding that had caused them to refuse to pay for this surgery. She gave a knowing smile, but presented me with a set of pages that totaled to more than three times the amount insurance had told us, and reminded me that this was only for the first two days. She assured me that they would keep tabs and be back in touch as the days progressed. "Thanks." I had to go have a moment in the restroom with the Lord, as He reminded me that He was my provider when I thought the unexpected amount was much lower, and He's still my provider at this amount.

The doctor in charge of the ICU came in to see how Ken was progressing late that night, and I guess he hadn't realized until then that I was "living" there. He asked where I'd been sleeping, and I got a little nervous that he'd kick me out. I said I was very comfortable in the chair, and was grateful that they'd allowed me to be there this whole time. He smiled and thanked me for staying. Phwew.

Within a few minutes, a nurse came in to help Ken sit up for the first time, and he was pushing a chair that leaned back a little. He said his instructions were to leave the chair when he left so I didn't have to sleep in that other hard, straight one. I couldn't help but cry. Thanks, God. We decided there must be a reason to spend one more night there, and God was reassuring us with a little creature comfort.

That night, the nurse had lots of things to do with Ken, and we spent a lot of time talking with him. The same thing happened with the therapist who came by to see how Ken was doing with sitting up. We made new friends and enjoyed talking about the Lord.

DAY 4: FRIDAY--Early this morning, they began more blood work to find that Ken was still anemic, a little worse than before. They had been trying to correct that but decided it was time to give him a blood transfusion. We can now say we are truly ONE, as he has my blood in his veins. (I'm hoping that'll suffice as an anniversary present, since that comes Sunday and I don't see any doors opening for a quick trip to pick something up... and I've already thought of the jokes I can throw out, like "What do you want from me, my blood?!" and so forth....)

Around lunchtime, they decided to set us free to the world of normal rooms. But alas, there were no rooms open. Something did finally free up, and here we are in room 222. Joe and Jayne, who have been keeping the girls for us, came by this afternoon so that Camille and Caroline could see us. Man, how we've missed them, and I know they wanted to see their Daddy in person. J and J are very kind and brought me a bag full of lunch. Oh, man, was that good!

Ken is now walking around the room a bit, with a pillow tight to his chest. He is speaking with no problem and is able to take full breaths now. He is eating regular food, the blood pressure is under control (with medicine for right now), and the blood sugar levels are back to normal. Thank God for his hand on us, for the destiny appointments He lines up, and for the encouragement He sends us through your notes, prayers, and messages. :)

Surgery Day

2010-12-14T08:26:00.004-05:00

We are counting down the hours and doing well. This morning I gave blood, and as I was saying on facebook, I was very glad they didn't ask me about chocolate! The form had all the usual questions plus a few I'd never read before, that must pertain to folks who live an entirely different lifestyle.... Let's leave it at that.

Ken breezed through the cardiac catheterization yesterday morning. In the middle of it, the doctor invited me in to see the aorta and the valve. I have to tell you that I didn't really know what I was seeing on the screen, but I was fascinated that he let me watch while he wiggled that little wire around inside my man's heart. The final result was that yes, the valve is as they suspected, but the aorta is still small enough that they feel it will shrink back down to the normal size in time, as should the rest of the heart that is enlarged.

So all are optimistic, we are feeling all your prayers. We really appreciate the encouragement you've sent us through text messages, facebook comments, emails, calls, and little notes. It means more than I can explain right now, but I want you to know that they work, and that we are very peaceful about the surgery.

I'm still holding out hope that they'll let me be with him in ICU the next two days, as there was a sign in the waiting room to that effect. It basically said that there were a few exceptions to the isolation rule, such as someone on his death bed, an elderly person who may become upset at being alone, someone who was confused (dementia). I've been asking everyone I could if I could be there based on Spanish not being our primary language, and the difficulty for him to think clearly enough when he's under the heavy influence of drugs. I told Ken it would really help if he'd give a confused look every now and then or stumble over his words some, but he is in one of those Spanish highs right now and communicates very well. :)

We've reflected so many times these last couple of days of God's providence, and how miraculous it is that the heavy exercise, the heat of Paraguay, and the weightlifting that Ken was doing didn't cause a heart attack. And how the heart condition had raised his blood pressure abnormally high, to the level that he could easily have had a stroke. We really have no way of knowing how long he walked around like that, and many of the symptoms we now know are heart things, we were probably blaming on the change of climate in moving here. God is so faithful, and His hand has been on us. We sure don't take it lightly. We don't deserve His goodness, but we're glad to receive it. I honestly don't know how folks who don't walk with Him, get through the day without knowing He is in control.

Again, thanks for the prayers. We have two hours to go, so my next news will be from the other side of this.

Oh, What a DAY!

2010-12-10T19:40:00.002-05:00

How do I even start? Well, there's a word here that gets used a whole lot, and means a fight, a struggle, a battle of sorts. It's pronounced LOO-cha (written "lucha"). If you ask a Paraguayan how they're doing--or the equivalent of What's up?--they'll usually say that life is always a "lucha." I used to grimace every time I heard that phrase, thinking how sad it was that they saw life through a negative lens. I have to tell you that the longer we live here, the more I understand why they say it. There are certain things that shouldn't be, but are, a lucha.

Last night, I dreamed we drove through heavy rains that were fierce but only lasted a little time. We were on a road by the ocean, and it cleared up so that we could see the storm out over the water but no longer over us. We stopped in my dream to take pictures of the storm because there was such a contrast between the darkness over the ocean and the clear sky where we were.

This morning in real life, we left Carapegua for the capital, knowing that the day would be full of running errands to prepare for the hospital stay next week. Well, about half-way to Asuncion the bottom dropped out of the sky. We drove through some serious downpours, taking side roads once we got there because the main roads all looked like rivers. This is when streets made of cobblestone in uneven piles come in very handy! All the normally paved ones were too deep to cross, as evidenced by the cars we kept passing stalled out, with water over their tires. I prayed a lot, thanking God for His hand of protection on us. We finally got to a place we could just pull over and wait the rest of it out.

When we arrived at the first appointment, with the insurance company, things got even crazier. Let me prelude this by saying that we'd already turned in our paperwork last weekend to them and were told that we could pick it up Tuesday. We showed up Tuesday morning to find that they'd gotten all our information wrong. This was first apparent when they said that Ken wasn't covered for surgery. We knew that he should be according to his policy, so we dug around to find out that they'd put the wrong category for his level of coverage. The employee made the adjustment and came back to say that they still weren't covering it because there is a six-month waiting period. I explained that we'd passed that already, but he didn't believe me.

Thankfully, this is not my first experience with the system here, and I know that one must be prepared for WHATEVER in Paraguay. So I proceeded to take out my paperwork and show him that not only was Ken covered, but I showed him the exact date we bought the policy, and the receipts for our monthly payments since. He admitted their error again and said it would take a little while to redo the paperwork--"Just come back when we call you in a few hours." I left my phone number with the assurance that someone would call us that day. We never heard back from them, so showed up that afternoon in person anyway, to be told that the papers still weren't ready. No big surprise. He assured me that they would get it all straightened out, but that it would be Thursday evening, since Wednesday was a national holiday for the annual pilgrimage to the Holy City. Okay.

We'd been making so many 4-hr round trips to Asuncion this past week since our arrival, that we decided to combine the insurance trip with the pick-up-Ken's-bloodwork-results-and-appointment-with-the-surgeon visit we'd have to make today, Friday. I had a stinking feeling we should have made that special trip Thursday evening just for the insurance papers, but I kinda doubted they'd be ready anyway and didn't want to be on the road again for nothing.

Fast forward to today, after the rain, and they present me with the exact same paperwork we saw Tuesday, bottom line--no coverage. I went through the same two errors as before, each time the employee walking away for "just a second" to clear it up, coming back with the next reason they didn't want to pay. When the dates and the coverage were verified (again), they stated that this heart thing was probably something Ken was born with, meaning it was a pre-existing congenital defect that he probably knew about all his life. We agreed that it could have been a birth defect, but told them that we had only found out recently. I presented Ken's last "clean bill of health" that came from a required exam by a doctor in Paraguay, when we were applying for citizenship. I also asked to speak to the boss.

The boss explained to me that it really didn't matter if we just found out or whether we'd known for years and been waiting for our arrival in Paraguay to have the surgery, the fact that it had EXISTED before his coverage classified it as pre-existing and they wouldn't cover pre-existing. I promptly showed her the contract that said they WOULD, in fact, cover pre-existing conditions after the six-month wait. "When you are accepted by Asis-Med, your pre-existing conditions are covered after 6 months wait."

We went round and round, and I found out that she was not quite The Boss, since she had to keep leaving to make calls to someone "in a meeting" (are the folks with the power to fix the problem ALWAYS in a meeting, or is that just here in Paraguay?) Once, she came back with a letter addressed to us, in which the insurance company decided they no longer wanted Ken to be their client, and they were officially dissolving the relationship and did not have to have "just cause" to do so.

At this point (in all the waiting for her to talk to the "boss"), I had read the policy manual up and down, in and out. So I pointed out to her that yes, they do have the policy to dissolve the relationship, but they must give us 15 days notice. Since the surgery is in 3 days, and he's only set for a one-week stay, that should work out just fine, right? Well, no. Despite that I showed her in her own manual that they have to give us 15-days notice, she just flat out said that they would NOT cover most of the expenses. Thankfully, they already agreed to the basic stuff like a room, and we ARE in Paraguay. So the amount we are looking at is not nearly as shocking as it could add up to in the United States. If there are no complications, we're looking at $5,000. But the injustice of paying for a policy and then finding you don't have coverage just because they don't want to uphold their end of it just sits bad with me.

I tend to think too hard on these things, like is God spanking us for something? Have we ripped someone off and now we're gonna reap what we sowed? Have I not read enough chapters this week in the Bible? Should I have given $11 instead of $10 in that last offering? Am I the only one that thinks God is standing up there doling out swift punishments if we accidentally do something wrong? I know in my heart it isn't that way, but days like this, my heart has to have constant conversations with my head.

I am reminding myself that in the dream last night, we drove THROUGH a storm and once on the other side, stopped to look at it from afar and snap photos. I'll charge the batteries in my "camera" and wait till God walks us through this one, but we'll take any prayers/advice you would offer up. Hope your day was a lot less stormy than ours.

Manger Scenes

2010-12-10T11:28:00.000-05:00

The typical Christmas looks a little different here in Paraguay than what we grew up with in the United States. For one, nobody is wearing coats or gloves or scarves. It's summertime, and we're in shorts and t-shirts and flip-flops. You won't see a spread of turkey and dressing or baked goods, but there's watermelon on every side and folks ARE passing around what amounts to fruitcake. They'll be sipping sidra (apple cider) and grilling out the week of Christmas.

There are hardly any trees or lights, but every home that can afford one has a pesebre, which is a manger scene. It's pretty close to ours, except that the wise men are almost always black, and the animals hanging out around Jesus are a bit different. For example, there are oxen and chickens and pigs. In the picture of the manger scene in the mall in Asuncion, see if you can pick out the chicken standing to the right of the angel. Something the girls get a kick out of, is that the animals are never to scale. The chickens in this particular scene were bigger than the oxen, but that adds to the character of it all. Most folks place a basket of fruit in there somewhere, as well as chipa (bread) hanging around the family like stars.

I have a bit of a struggle with mine, because I've ALWAYS had a manger scene. Well, here where idol worship is so prevalent, my little statuettes of the holy family and their visitors are looked on as un-Christian... imagine that! When we were in the US, I heard of struggles with Christians wanted to put their manger scenes up and were being opposed. But here the actual little statues are worshipped, rather than just used as a reminder of the "real" Jesus, and often more emphasis is placed on Mary or Joseph than the baby. So my scene last year offended some Christians, and I didn't come to offend. I totally get that, but to be honest, I'm having a hard time giving up the thing that most symbolizes Christmas-time for me. I tell you, there were years we didn't even put up a tree, but I've always had manger scenes scattered throughout the house. I could put it upstairs where our bedrooms are, but having it in the living area opens the door to talk about the original reason for the little reminder of Jesus' birth, and for a little education. Still, it's very ingrained in their culture that the little folks are not just decoration, they are to be worshiped. Here's a bit of trivia for you...

Saint Francis of Assisi, a twelfth-century churchman, is best known as the founder of the Franciscan Order of Friars. He is also credited with creating the very first nativity scene, as a way to convey the ideas of Christmas to an illiterate congregation.

In 1224, Saint Francis had the idea of creating a “living” recreation of the birth of Jesus, as a way to bring the Christmas spirit to the local villagers. It is believed that local shepherds, guarding their flocks outside the small Italian town of Greccio, inspired him. Saint Francis had real people dressed in biblical robes, and real animals positioned outside a cave on the outskirts of Greccio. In the manager was a life sized wax figure of the infant Jesus.

On Christmas Eve, families traveled far and wide to witness the spectacle. Saint Francis urged the people to rejoice in the season of Christ’s birth and put hatred from their hearts. Over time the presepio, as it was called in Italy, grew in popularity. Other towns began featuring them and soon people had individual nativity scenes in their own homes.

Read more at Suite101: Saint Francis of Assisi: Maker of the Christmas Nativity Scene http://www.suite101.com/content/saint-francis-of-assisi-a35417#ixzz17XTaaOVt

Any advice on this one? Feel free to comment (be nice, please)....

Test2

2010-12-10T09:32:00.000-05:00

still testing...

My Baby Girl Turns 12

2010-12-08T12:14:00.003-05:00

This is a little late, but the truth is that we were flying into Paraguay on Caroline's actual birthday and it got downplayed a bit. This past weekend Saul and her daddy cooked up their special homemade pizza in her honor, and she was perfectly satisfied after that. Pizza vs cake, and the pizza won out. We did have some cake before we left the States, so it's all good. :) She's a clown with a sensitive heart, who can't get enough of reading and loves all animals. I snapped this picture that sums her up well, at the state campgrounds, and I think this is Roddy's dog. She'd just met him, but with animals, she's never met a stranger. I can't believe she's already an adolescent, but it's great to see her develop into a young lady.

Rainy Days

2010-12-07T20:01:00.004-05:00

Today we made the trek into Asuncion. It seemed every person in Paraguay was also there, in preparation for the national holiday tomorrow. It's the day most Paraguayans make their yearly pilgrimage to the town of Caacupe to honor Mary, mother of Jesus. So not only were folks running around doing all their business, but some had begun walking the pilgrimage (over 50 kilometers, usually a full day's walk).

We went to have the preliminary bloodwork done before Ken's upcoming trip to the hospital, and to get the logistics in order surrounding all that. You know, fun stuff like visiting the insurance company, making doctor's appointments, all that jazz.

I had the privilege, however, of taking part in the monthly ladies Bible study. I haven't been to one of these in over a year, so it was great to see old faces and meet new folks. Since we're this close to Christmas, everyone brought baked goods to share--see the goodies in the picture above? I really enjoyed spending a couple hours this morning with fellow missionary gals, praying for our ministries and families and digging into God's Word. The verse that stood out to me was Luke 1:30, where the angel tells Mary for the second time that she's found favor with God. He says this just before explaining to her what freaky things are fixing to happen in her world, and I think it may be to point out to her that these seemingly negative things are really positive, and that God has chosen her to walk through them because he FAVORS her. I think I'll remember that the next time I'm complaining about what I have to walk through.

I also got to drive today, something that I normally am prohibited from, due to the craziness of the cars, buses, and motorcycles in Asuncion. Ken was really wiped out, though, so he handed me the wheel just in time for a huge thunderstorm. I navigated the rain and winds just fine, whipping around traffic just like he does (okay, not quite that bad), and elevating me to "capable" status in his eyes... something that is very important since he'll have to trust me to drive him home from the hospital!

Long Overdue Update... Back in PY

2010-12-03T21:35:00.003-05:00

Oh, my, it's been a L-O-N-G time since I've blogged! This one is long overdue. We are now back in Paraguay, leaving South Carolina this past cold, rainy Tuesday, and landing in Paraguay in the blazing heat on Wednesday. We're getting unpacked a little at a time and settling back into routine.

Our trip was incredible, traveling all over SC to visit churches, friends, and family. We were also able to participate in a youth retreat, a couples' retreat, a middle school career day, a Kenneth Copeland conference, the girls' old homeschool co-op and their buddies from playgroup, and an Operation Christmas Child shoebox rally. We were glad to be there for our god-daughter Julia's 5th birthday party (even if we stood out sorely in the room full of other 5-year-olds), my mom's birthday, Thanksgiving, and a whole lot of other great get-togethers. It was a fully packed two months, but we were reminded of how blessed we are to have such a supportive group of friends and family praying for us and encouraging us from across the world.

We were glad to be received warmly back to Paraguay and find our friends here doing well. We've already been treated to a traditional asado with mandioca (grilling out with yucca root on the side), and caught the kindergarten and 6th grade graduation at the school where we have Friday Bible study.

Today was Ken's appointment with the heart surgeon. He has scheduled some tests for next week, and the plan is to enter the hospital on Monday, the 13th for the heart cath, then surgery that next day, Tuesday the 14th. Again, your prayers are appreciated at this time for the whole family, but especially for Ken.

Thanks to all of you who welcomed us in the US and treated us so well, and we look forward to keeping you posted on what God's up to in Paraguay. God bless!

A Good Kind of Tired

2010-10-24T18:49:00.003-04:00

We have been enjoying travel across the state of SC, catching up with old friends and making new ones. We've had the opportunity to visit lots of churches and share what the Lord is up to in Paraguay. We've also gotten a few unexpected opportunities, such as putting in a plug for the Samaritan's Purse Operation Christmas Child shoeboxes.

Operation Christmas Child is a program where folks across the US and Canada pack shoeboxes with small toys, school supplies, socks, gloves, etc., and these boxes are shipped to needy children all over the world. We were privileged to see these boxes in action in Paraguay and mentioned that to the pastor's wife at the Smoaks Church after she announced that their members should begin preparing for stuffing the boxes. Well, we were in Shoney's a few minutes later when we ran into the coordinator of the shoebox project for that region, to whom we were introduced by this same pastor's wife. To make a long story short, we were invited to share our story and pictures with those attending the drop-in the next day, as unofficial representatives of the impact of the shoeboxes. :) What fun!

This weekend, we were invited to speak to a group of kids at a harvest festival in the upstate. These same children had sent Camille and Caroline some handmade cards a few months after we moved to Paraguay, and we were thrilled to thank them for their special kindness. We also got to join in on their hayride, which brought back tons of memories.

Catching up with family and old pals has been incredible. There are lots of folks who have really encouraged and supported us, participated in projects, prayed for us, and just basically been good friends. We've been trying to spend time with any we can, and have been thrilled to visit so many over a meal or in their homes. It's just so exciting to share what's been happening the past two years, and the vision for the next phase of our mission in Paraguay. We are all very tired from the running around (so many people and places, so little time), but it's a good tired. I'm feeling the crunch of how many things are still on the to-do list, and how many people on the wanna-see list. And we are, of course, missing some things and friends in Paraguay. All in all, I guess we're adjusting well and managing just fine, due in no small part to sweet friends and attentive family. Thank God for each of them!

Coming out of the Fog

2010-10-04T10:51:00.002-04:00

I'm happy to report that all fevers have broken, the girls are recuperating, and I'm getting closer and closer to eating a whole plate of food at one sitting. I think we're coming along! I have to admit everything feels really NORMAL, like we never left, but at the same time it is a little overwhelming. I'm not really comfortable in crowds where everyone is speaking English. Wal-Mart is a bit much right now. I may need to visit the Mexican grocery store nearby and get a "fix" of Spanish. ;)

Yesterday, we visited our home church, Carolina Heights Christian Fellowship in Greenville, SC. It was great to see special friends and touch base. Unfortunately, we had to leave the girls in bed while we presented our "report" of the last two years, and they were quite disappointed to miss seeing everyone. We are heading down to the low-state in a couple of days, where we'll visit with my side of the family and a few churches in that area.

If you get a free moment, zip on over to this contest and post a link to your favorite Hagerman blog post. You could help me win a KINDLE, and pick up a prize for yourself at the same time! Thanks...

We Made It!

2010-10-02T12:00:00.003-04:00

Well, we are officially in the land of the free and the home of the brave. We had a fairly uneventful trip, except for the part about the girls and I having some crazy cold, complete with fevers and coughing and runny noses. Oh, yeah, and the fact that I got pulled out of the line at each flight, for a full pat-down and luggage inspection, EVERY TIME. I guess the camp t-shirt was a dead giveaway. Not sure if I looked like a security threat or if they thought the fevered look of a woman with a cold was some sort of ploy.

Either way, we landed in Atlanta and Ken's mom and sister and her three kids (who have grown like weeds) drove us back to Greenville. My fever has broken, but the girls are having a terrible time of it. It's pretty impossible to enjoy the yummy foods we've been dreaming of, but I'm sure there will be plenty of time for that. We just regret that no one feels strong enough yet to catch up with friends. We are only a few miles away from folks we've missed terribly, but sick kids oughta be in bed. So we'll wait on that, too. All in due time.

We will be speaking at our home church, Carolina Heights, tomorrow morning. If you're in the Greenville area, swing on by. If not, we'd sure appreciate the prayers as we fight these fevers and get reacquainted with the world above the equator.