Preface trestle
“This train is bound for glory, get onboard and I’ll tell you the story…”
Just imagine one of those high wooden bridges with two iron rails, and here you are, at that point where the span departs from terra firma, wondering if you should risk the crossing. I know, it takes time to pick your way across these oily ties, taking care not to slip between the cracks, and there’s always the chance the train will appear while you’re out there in the middle. Well, it’s a decision you will have to make, but by way of encouragement, the best of what I have to say lies on the other side of here, and this train of thought is not likely to come back your way anytime soon!
For those of you who may have wondered what ever happened to me, at least now you know that I’m still here, chugging along, sometimes whistling, sometimes steaming, sometimes ha-chooing, but always chugging—water if nothing else! (It’s the only way to survive when the humidity makes the air drinkable!)
Quite a train of events has passed since I wrote last. Little by little I’m learning that I have to quit trying to be the engineer if I want to avoid derailments, and that every time I give up the controls to God, He does some radical conducting! I just pray for vigilance to recognize and preempt any Sundance stunts and hijacking bandits’ attempts to uncouple me from the engine and my amazing Engineer!
Hey, how about that, you’re almost across already! Before you know it you’ll be on the caboose, and from there it’s just clickity-clack and a little car hopping and you’ll be all caught up to speed.
7/14/2010 Anteater or Ant Eaten?
“For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.” Matthew 7:2
I’m walking down the driveway on my way to Yata for my Wednesday afternoon Bible study when Oso and the other dog that the kids call Pollo Frito, or “Fried Chicken” crash off into the brush, barking hard enough to strip every tree in the jungle. These dogs are no hounds, but their ruckus is clearly the baying of the chase, and although Fried Chicken is braver than his name, his yelps and howls sound like something dying.
On the way home we find the body. Not Pollo, but a little oso hormiguero, or anteater, lying in the ditch. The dogs just left him there after a good drag, the way little kids leave their bedraggled stuffed animals lying in the dirt when they tire of the fun and games. I take a closer look and notice that the carcass is already swarming with ants! Now there’s a parable for how your diet can come back to bite you! (Ironic how what we spend our lives consuming often becomes the very thing that consumes us.) I’d like to think that the ants only want to bust out their buddies who got slurped up alive—or slurped up a live straw—but more likely they’re present for a more practical purpose than to revenge their cousin’s obliterated colony, though they do seem to dance as they carry away the morsels of the giant enemy’s flesh, and I imagine each little armored warrior bragging to his comrades about the dismantled foe, and planning in which halls and tunnels to hang their gory trophies.
Know the Word… 7/23/2010
“Discretion shall preserve thee, understanding shall keep thee: To deliver thee from the way of the evil one, from the man that speaketh froward things.” Proverbs 2:11-12
When Daniela found a new pink shirt while shopping with her girlfriends during summer vacation, she didn’t think to ask anyone about the meaning of the single English word emblazoned across the front. After all, the shirt fit good, and her friends all agreed that it was cute, with the letters prettily choreographed in glitter. Besides, Daniela was learning a little bit of English, and the word clearly read beach, which as she had learned in class, means playa in Spanish.
Unfortunately, however, Daniela’s beach was spelled with an “itch,” and nobody was around to tell her the difference until after her purchase. She was already sporting her new shirt when I happened to pass by with a couple of other teachers and we quietly broke the news to her. No one can tell me that Hispanics don’t blush! I felt sorry for the poor girl. What a diabolical deal, to pay for self-deprecation, to buy what is effectively an advertisement of self-exploitation! Hopefully she learned that it’s not a good idea to take ownership of something you don’t understand, or even what you think you understand, unless you know that you can completely trust the source!
But Daniela is not the only one to mortify herself with words. Even after a few years of practicing Spanish, it’s still easy to make a fool of yourself, from the common slip of the tongue, to the flat-out malapropism of a word because you honestly thought it meant something else. For Jeff, the former type of mistake turned a fellow’s broken huesos (bones) into his broken huevos (eggs), a phrase vulgarly understood the way “broken balls” would be in English. You can imagine the outburst that ensued! I made a similarly awkward mistake in class the other day when I read originador (originator) as orinador (one who pees). (Why do all the changes tend to be to the crude and the foul? Or are those just the ones we notice and remember?) Fortunately I caught my mistake almost before the students did, so at least I knew what we were laughing about.
Unwitting malapropisms, on the other hand, are harder to detect—especially when what you said still made sense but didn’t communicate the idea you thought it did. I had this problem in Yata not too long ago when I used the phrase estar pendiente to try to communicate how we should wait on the Lord. In my experience I was sure I remembered hearing the word used in contexts that communicated that idea, yet when I looked it up in the dictionary later I realized that of the phrase’s many definitions, “to pay very close attention to,” is probably the nearest to my intended meaning. Well, I thought, that’s not too far off; we do need to play closer attention when we wait on the Lord. But then I realized that the definition “to pay close attention” is usually used in the sense of “watching out for” or “taking care of” and then I understood the confused looks that had followed my spiel about “taking care” of God!
Yet all this talk of not knowing words makes me ask myself: How often do I play the fool in my spiritual experience because of my failure to truly know the Word? How often do I wear God on my shirt while people read an opposite message? Can more study and more practice alone exorcise the pride of my spiritual malapropism? Have I learned the given definitions of God well enough to incorporate them properly into today’s sentence, this year’s paragraph, and my life’s story? (For “…we spend our years as a tale that is told” Psalm 90:9).
I want the divine character to be woven into every plot and subplot of my life! May it be the rising action and the conflict resolution, the climax and conclusion, but most of all, may it be readable for what it is!
Education Reform 9/12/10
“In the education and training of youth, the great object should be the development of character. Every individual should be fitted rightly to discharge the duties of the present life, and to enter at last upon the future, immortal life. Moral, intellectual, and physical culture must be combined in order to have well-developed, well-balanced men and women.” {YI, March 31, 1898 par. 1}
How does one incorporate the formation of character into the education curriculum? One thing is certain; merely talking about it in class doesn’t suffice! Intellectual development without an accompanying instruction in moral and physical lines is a surefire way to raise a majority of little devils, cunning and intelligent to do evil, diabolically wise in self-seeking and self-exaltation, and with a superabundance of time to develop and perfect their mischief, due largely to their lack of useful and practical employment.
In our staff meetings this final trimester, we have been going through Studies in Christian Education by E.A. Southerland, a part history and part handbook on Christian educational reform. There is no way I can share in one email everything I’ve been learning, but here is a brief summary. Some of the important reforms we’ve learned about include a solid training and practical application of health reform, physical labor and training instead of athletic programs, a rural school location with land for the purpose of agriculture, the place of the Bible in the curriculum, and student self-government and democracy. In all my training in education at the university, I heard little to nothing about any of these topics as being important, or even a small part of education, with the exception of the last, which was given some minimal attention and inadequate depth in application.
I have been amazed by how much of modern education is still steeped in the forms and practices that were instituted in the days of the counter-reformation. The early protestant reformers realized that the key to their success lay in reaching the minds of the youth through education. As a result, they instituted a widespread educational reform that in a single generation converted many countries into protestant nations, creating the catalyst for the rise of democracy, free market enterprise, and free thinking. Realizing that the authority of the Catholic Church could never be enforced upon such societies, the champions of the counter-reformation focused largely on infiltrating and slowly changing education back to the old forms. Southerland quotes from Rosencranz and Painter, noting that to accomplish this, Catholic educators (especially those of the Jesuit order), concentrated on exclusively cultivating the memory of students in order to minimize freethinking and clear judgment. In addition, external motivators such as emulation and competition were heavily promoted. Southerland, again quoting Painter, notes that in the Jesuit system of education “’nothing will be held more honorable than to outstrip a fellow student and nothing more dishonorable than to be outstripped. Prizes will be distributed to the best pupils with the greatest possible solemnity.’” I don’t know about you, but I see too much of that attitude alive and well in most of today’s schools!
Through reading Southerland, I was also surprised to learn that Thomas Jefferson was a founding father, not only of the United Sates, but also of education reform in the United States. Unfortunately, the changes he instituted at Virginia University are nowhere to be seen today. As many critics have pointed out over the years, many of our problems today can be traced back to the overall failure of our educational system. Yet although there are occasional voices of reform that are guiding in the right direction, things like standardized testing or better funding are more often offered as a panacea to our educational ills.
Planting Prep 9/15/10
“No nation will long survive the decay of its agriculture” Thomas Jefferson, as quoted in Pagan vs. Christian Education, p. 43.
The dry season will soon give way to the rains, and with the rain will come spring planting. But planting involves a bit more than merely poking some seeds into the ground. First, one has to uncover the earth from its patchwork quilt of scrub-brush, grasses, vines, shrubs, and other variously assorted foliage and thorned greenery that has thickly blanketed the fields despite the drier weather. Shaving the face of Mother Nature with a machete leaves a lot of stubble and the barbecho grows back pretty fast if you don’t follow up your cutting with a good burn. The fourteen acres (approximately) of last year’s rice and corn chaco all has to be cut and burned again, or anything new we plant will live a short life before asphyxiation. Ideally, the ground should be plowed as well, but we have neither tractor nor oxen, and although there are plans to buy the latter, lack of funds make that unlikely to happen before this year’s planting.
Although the rice from last April’s harvest should last us until next school year, we are expanding the fields for next year as well as the number of crops. Soybeans, corn, and yucca (a root similar to potatoes) are among the likely candidates. With that in mind, we cleaned a new sizable tract of jungle on the western edge of campus.
Recently we received a visit from a Brazilian agriculture professional who gave us a lot of tips for how to improve our farming. Some of the volunteers met him while visiting in Brazil and invited him to come see the school. He was really excited about what we’re doing, and mentioned that our program reminds him of the Adventist high school that he attended as a young man in Brazil that also put an emphasis on technical skills and practical learning. He really believes in that kind of education. He now owns a plant nursery and agricultural supplier, and he donated a number of plants. We’re hoping to continue the friendship and that he will help us continue to improve our still inadequate farm.
A Small Army 9/15/2010
“With such an army of workers as our youth, rightly trained, might furnish, how soon the message of a crucified, risen, and soon-coming Saviour might be carried to the whole world!” (White. The Faith I live By 332.4)
Today we helped rozar (think razor in reverse) Doña Rufina’s chaco. All the trees had been removed in previous years, and there was only grass and shrubs to cut, so I knew the work would go fast, but still I figured it would be at least a couple day’s work. I, however, had underestimated our workforce! There were about 20 of us, a small army, all well trained in wielding the machete! The work began with pizazz. No one stopped to worry about how everyone else was working. Everyone just picked a section and cut like mad, and when one worker started getting too close to another, he would go find a new section to level. Within a couple of hours I was amazed at how much we had done. By the time we had to leave, almost the entire field was cleared!
Class Projects 9/24/10
“The times demand an education which will produce men and women capable of doing things” (Southerland 11).
How does one make language and literature class itself a practical experience where the students are applying what they learn to real life needs? That is a question I’ve been asking myself this year, but I didn’t come up with very many great ideas until I started to pray about it. Since then, God has blessed me with some fun ideas and I’m really excited about the projects that we’ve been doing in my junior and senior language classes recently. Since we only meet for class once a week, the class is geared more toward independent study and project-based learning. Although it can be challenging at times, I like this approach for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that most people learn best by doing. Here are a few of our current and future projects:
1. “Always prepared” project, based on 1 Peter 3:15: (“But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and [be] ready always to [give] an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear:”) In this project I asked students to pick a topic from a list of biblical doctrines and teachings and do an extensive investigation, making sure to consider and address common questions, doubts, and oppositions that correspond to their topic. They were required to memorize seven key biblical passages on their topic, and prepare a written defense in preparation for an oral presentation for the morning and evening worships during the week of Sept. 19. In the presentations, each student answered questions from one or two teachers who posed as interested or confused co-workers, friends, neighbors, or random acquaintances. I had no idea what this project would look like in the final presentations, and looking at it now, I’ve realized both students and teachers needed a little more coaching on how to go about the presentation to make it more beneficial for the audience. That said, I’ve been pretty happy to see the preparation that many of the students put into this project, and a couple of them have even thanked me already for making them do it. Over the course of the week I’ve realized that I need to do some additional studying of my own! I believe that all Christians should be able to give a clear and calm explanation not only of what they believe, but also why, and how each belief impacts daily living.
2. Poetry recitations: Most of my students were not to happy when we first started to study poetry and I told them they would need to choose (or write) and memorize a piece to share with the rest of the school. Many of them had never done such a thing before, and I was surprise how nervous it made them. I was even more surprised, however, by the energy and enthusiasm that most of them put into the project. The following poem was written by one of my seniors, and he gave a very heartfelt recitation. I’ve provided a translated version that doesn’t quite do it justice.
Señor, he aquí un pecador
Alcides Piérola Landivar, 4º, UEITRG 2010
Señor, he aquí un pecador,
Que necesita de un salvador
Estoy cansado y agobiado
De solo pensar en mi…
Pues lo único que consigo
Es ser un infeliz
Oh Señor, he aquí un pecador,
Que necesita de un salvador
Lo que he vivido no ha tenido sentido
Enseñame a hacer tu voluntad
Pues ya no quiero vivir de vanidad
Padre, he aquí un pecador,
Que necesita ser como su salvador
Amando y obrando,
Ayudando y sirviendo a los hermanos
Pues para eso fueron hechas las manos
Oh Jesús, he aquí un pecador,
Que te da gracias por ser su salvador
Nunca entiendo ni comprendo
La vida santa que diste por mi,
Solo te pido que yo la de a otros,
Así como tú la diste por mí.
Lord, behold me here a sinner
Alcides Landivar translated by Kody Kostenko
Lord, behold me here a sinner
who is in need of a savior.
I am tired and frazzled
from thinking only of me.
the only thing that it gets me
is a whole lot of unhappy.
Oh Lord, behold me here a sinner
who is in need of a savior.
My life has been meaningless!
Teach me to do your will,
for I no longer want to live in vain.
Father, behold me here a sinner
who needs to be like his savior.
Loving and working,
helping and serving others,
that’s why you made these hands.
Lord Jesus, behold here a sinner
thanking you for being his savior.
I can never completely understand
the holy life you lived for me.
I only ask that I can give it to others,
just as you gave it for me.
3. Youth devotional book: Another project we’ve been working on started at the beginning of the year with the journals I asked the kids to keep. Many of them wrote about personal experiences and life reflections that were both touching and inspiring, despite the often-improper mechanics and incoherent organization.
4. Digital Devotional Reading: I’m really excited about this idea, although I’m not sure we’ll have time to finish it this year. I want the kids to record themselves reading chapters from Steps to Christ, the Great Controversy, and the Desire of Ages. Each student can read a certain number of chapters, and then they can be put together on disc. I’d like to get a hold of some cheap ipods or the equivalent and have the kids fill them with audio books and sermons and then give them to the people in Yata who have difficulty reading.
Bugged. 9/21/2010
“…Vengeance [is] mine; I will repay, saith the Lord. Romans 12:19
I get stung often enough that whenever I see a wasp or hornet on a flat service I am always overcome by an urge to take preemptive revenge (a paradoxical, yet I think, accurate phrase). Yesterday, however, the plan backfired. Or perhaps I should say, the wasp backfired, and nailed me with his best and last shot on the side of my pointer finger. Within minutes my entire hand inflated up to the wrist like a latex-glove balloon, and I could feel my pulse throbbing to the tip of my finger. Nor was it a brief discomfort of an hour or two! Despite a charcoal poultice, my hand stayed painfully swollen all day long. Playing the piano for choir was difficult, as was bushwhacking with the machete all afternoon. This morning my hand was still swollen, and I couldn’t help but think of how I often defend myself in little ways by lashing out at those who hurt me and realized it’s a good way to live life with a swollen hand and a whole lot of pain. Let God stick up for you when you are wronged. His hand is better made for swatting wasps and hornets.
Go Foward
“Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise” Proverbs 6:6
After work I realize I’m out of drinking water in the house, so I hike out to the spring to refill my 20-liter jug. As I wait for it to fill, I notice a line of large red ants moving rapidly over the spongy forest floor. The ants themselves define a highway I would have never seen, running along crisscrossed sticks and strips of bark and crossing the spring itself on a span of two overlapping dry leaves that curl into an almost-perfect tunnel. How do they know where to go? How do they find the road without a guide? They travel at highway speeds, despite packing what appear to be larvae.
I think God’s people should be more like the ants. Though we live in a world where the roads to true happiness, peace, joy, and fulfillment seem virtually unmarked, how often might the path become clear to the onlookers if we could all move forward together in harmony, moving effortlessly along even under load, guided by our Unseen Guide.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Direct from Bolivia (after a few months of reveiw)
April Fools. 2010
“The Life is in the blood” (Leviticus 17:11). “In whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace (Eph 1:7).
I awake while it is still dark with the sensation that a small animal is brushing against my leg. A rat? A tarantula? I strike at it blindly, but the offending creature merely flops against me like a landed trout. I strike at it again, this time with both hands. Suddenly, I realize that the animal I am trying to kill is really just my other hand! My artery was pinched off completely at the elbow. I quickly clench and extend my fingers like a hydraulic pump to get the stagnant fluid moving. A million tiny needles prick my dead arm back to life.
How vital is the circulation of the blood! Moving blood unites and coordinates the body in action. It powers grip and grasp, sensation and control. It gives the members life. Without it, I am a fool, while the limbs are foreign intruders and dead weight, rats or flopping fish.
Dual Planting. April 11, 2010
An agriculture professor from the public technical college in Riberalta asked if he could bring his class to the school this weekend to do their practicum. He had brought his class last year and said it was a really good experience for them. They arrived Sabbath morning and attended the church service and a few of them even accompanied us on our house visits in Yata in the afternoon. Alexander and Gabriel, two of the Riberalta visitors, accompanied my group and seemed to enjoy the songs and scripture reflections. At one house we read from Ecclesiastes how Solomon found that all the riches and pleasures of this world do not bring happiness or satisfaction.
The next day we started work at 6:00 a.m. Students and visitors divided into two groups: one began to plant our banana chaco while the rest of us tried to finish harvesting the last hectare and a half in the rice chaco. The morning went quickly, and in the afternoon the groups changed jobs to give the students a broader experience. In the banana field, I soon discovered that I was the only non-visitor in the group as everyone turned to me to ask for tools, where to plant, and how to organize the work. I took them all down to the tool shed to check out shovels, hoes, and machetes. Back at the site I shared my limited knowledge on banana planting. We dug the holes deep and wide so that the roots can establish quickly in the loose soil. The field had not been completely cleared of tree trunks and debris, and frequently I had to be the voice of conscience against tool abuse: “please don’t use the shovel handles as pry-bars to move fallen logs!” and “don’t twist the ax like tha…” snap! Too late! I went to look for another ax.
After a while, I finally had things more or less organized and we started to advance when I realized that in my preoccupation with directing the work, I had neither prayed silently, nor aloud with the group, for God’s guidance and blessing. That was a wasted opportunity. I thought. Sorry Lord.
Fortunately, God had plans in spite of my negligence. They were a talkative group, and it wasn’t long before several of them started to quiz me on extra-agricultural topics.
“So which Bible character do you want to meet first when you go to heaven?” one of the girls surprised me with her question. Before I could respond, one of the boys piped up. “I want to meet Job!” I thought he said.
“Job? Yeah, I’d like to meet him too” I replied.
“No! Not Job! Job’s daughters, man! You know, the most beautiful girls in all the land!” he laughed.
“I want to meet Solomon because he had hundreds of women, and he was the wisest man who ever lived” the compañero smiles at his one-upmanship, and I saw that the conversation could deteriorate quite rapidly.
“But Solomon was unhappy because he realized that seeking pleasure was vain and that true wisdom is in seeking God. Like the reflection on Sabbath, right?” It was Alexander, from the Yata visits who redirected the conversation!
The questions continued: “Does your church forbid marriages with unbelievers?”
“Well, actually, the Bible itself counsels against marriage with unbelievers (Amos 3:3, Mark 3:25), and as a church we believe in following Bible principles.”
“Your church promotes vegetarianism doesn’t it?” We continue to talk about different topics from healthful living to the philosophy of Christian education. They seem impressed by the school atmosphere and the work-study program.
As the afternoon sun maxed out on its ferocity, the majority of the visitors gravitated to the shade. I continued to dig, and although their work period was over, three or four of the visitors clustered around, and the questions kept on coming. They wanted to know how old I am, how I survive as a volunteer, and how long I plan to stay here. Soon I was merely standing on my shovel, but somehow I felt like I was still planting...
God’s alarms. May 11, 2010.
“…He wakeneth morning by morning, he wakeneth mine ear to hear as the learned.” Isaiah 50:4
Last night I asked God to decide when I should wake up to spend some time with Him, so I couldn’t complain when I awoke to the cry of the neighbor’s baby at 3:45 a.m. That was the first alarm: God started early because He knew it would take awhile to rouse me. I knelt up in my bed to pray. Bad idea. I soon awoke the second time, face down in bed. I doubt I’d prayed one coherent sentence. I tried again and the next thing I knew I awoke with the rising sliver of a moon shining on my face. Wow. I thought. I make Christ’s disciples look good! They couldn’t pray for one hour: I can’t even handle two minutes! I knew if I didn’t get out of bed I would never wake my sleepy head in time to study and pray before the day began, so I got up and splashed cold water on my face, drank half a quart of water, and went to my desk.
As the horizon lit up with the forerunning rays of the sun I prepared to take a short walk to the corner of the driveway. The thermometer registered 14º C, (about 57º F) but with the high humidity the cold seeps into your core and chills your bones, like biting a Popsicle. Strange how it can feel good to don a jacket in this jungle!
I walked down the driveway and smelled God’s goodness in the crispness of dawn and heard it in the song of the birds and saw his glory in the trees and on the grass that shone with silver dew, and in each little cloud of my condensated breath that was His ever before it passed through my nostrils.
Dust on Dust
“For dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return” (Genesis 3:19) “For all our days are passed away in thy wrath: we spend our years as a tale that is told… So teach us to number or days, that we may apply our heats unto wisdom.” (Psalms 90:9,12).
“There’s an accident” someone exclaims, and all the people lean forward and crane their necks, and those on the right side of the bus raise in their seats to get a view.
“Who could it be?” the woman across from me asks. Is it mere morbid curiosity, or is it the dread of personal disaster? She looks worried. Perhaps she has a familiar or other conocido who frequents this stretch of highway.
I’m on my way back from Guayara, and we’re just approaching the small community at kilometer 21 when I hear the announcement. At first all I see is a motorcycle seat, and I know this is going to be bad. Bits of bike are strewn from the stakes in the narrow part of Route Eight to the village just beyond, where I see the remains of the twisted frame embedded in the crunched hood of a Volvo. The windshield is collapsed inward and cracked in the design of a spider’s web.
Trucks of police and a crowd of people throng the scene. As we slowly navigate the accident, I suddenly glimpse the prone corpse of the cyclist. He is lying on his back, facing the vast blue sky, looking too peaceful and perfect for such carnage. The paramedics pull a white sheet over his head and neatly folded arms. The blood seems lost in the red dirt of the road.
“At least he no longer has to suffer in this world,” Lyli says.
He’s just left all his suffering with the living.
Back at the college we have news that Dorca’s uncle died today. I think it might be the man on the road, but its not.
Later, in the shower, as I shed the grime of the day, I wonder how they bury the dead in Bolivia. If the corpses aren’t cremated in the morgue, I’m sure they’ll clean them up. There is altogether too much dust in this land: Too much dust, and too little of God’s breath and spit and sculpting hand.
In Spite of Myself. 6/19/10
It’s 1:30 p.m. I’m droggy and my whole body feels heavy like a typical Sabbath afternoon after a big meal and a hot morning full of services. The last thing I want to do is go visiting in Yata, especially considering that the truck is out of commission and we’ll be walking the six kilometers in full sunlight. At least I have about 45 minutes until we leave. I grab a book and sink into my hammock: The Heavenly Man. I’m immediately ashamed of my lousy attitude as I read about the joy and zeal of brother Yun, a leader of the persecuted house churches in China.
By the time we arrive at the beautifully shaded vacant church property in Yata, my shirt is soaked in sweat and smudged with the dust of the road. All I want to do is jump in the creek. But the hardships the Chinese believers endured in order to share the Word come to mind, and I am re-ashamed at my selfish weakness. I really have so little experience in suffering for Christ. It is nothing to sweat for the Lord!
At the first house I’m impressed to ask Doña Rufina if she has any Bible questions or specific topics she would like to discuss.
“I’m Catholic” she responds. I'm not sure if she understood my question, so I try to clarify, but she remains uninterested. “But I like it that you visit and sing and read the Bible. How can I deny you that?"
When we ask Don Angel and his niece Zulema if they have any Bible questions or topics of interest, she just smiles, but he takes advantage of the opportunity immediately.
“Why is it that there are people who go against the Lord and say the world is going to end in 2012 when the Bible says that no man knows the day nor the hour, not even the angels in heaven?” (Matthew 24:36).
“Well, the very existence of such deceptive and erroneous theories is an evidence of the last days.” I explain. We read Matthew 24:11 and look for other texts like 1 John 4:1, and 2 Corinthians 11:13, 14.
Half an hour later we move on to the next house, where Frieda has some questions about the H1N1 vaccination. Apparently some recent propaganda labeled the shot as the mark of the beast! I tell Frieda I don’t know much about vaccinations, but I can assure her that it isn’t the mark of the beast. The mark of the beast is Satan’s counterfeit for God’s mark, or seal. (Revelation 7:2,3; 14:6-7; Exodus 20:8-11, and Ezekiel 20:12). It’s an intense topic and requires a solid biblical background. She says she’s up for it, so we set an appointment for Wednesday morning. Frieda is blind and her daughter will join the study to look up the Bible verses for her. She seems even more excited than her mom. Funny how we’re so often afraid to bring up the apocalyptic topics when the end of the world is of such popular public interest!
It’s already 5:30 when we leave Frieda’s. We were supposed to head back to the school by 5:15 to arrive before dark, but I really feel that I should go visit our last family. I feel bad I’ve missed Don Ignacio the last couple weeks because we always run out of time. There are just too many houses to visit in a couple of hours.
Another group is passing on their way back to the school, and I tell my kids they can either return with that group, or come with me. I have no takers. Ni modo. Alone, I jog the couple hundred meters off the main road and down the path between shoulder-high grass to Don Ignacio’s hut.
“Buenas tardes” I call out. The place seems empty. I’m about to dismiss my impression to come visit Ignacio as a whim of my own invention when I suddenly see a little boy sitting on the patio.
“Hola, ¿cómo te llamas?”
“Ignacio” he says. This must be junior.
“Donde está tu papa?”
Dad is bathing in the creek, and the boy motions down the hill behind the house. He’ll be back any minute. I strike up a conversation while I wait. Junior is in fourth grade and attends the public school in Yata. Right now they’re on vacation.
“Do they teach you about the Bible there?”
“Yes.” He says.
“What are your favorite Bible stories?”
“I don’t remember any.”
“Not even one? Who’s your favorite Bible character?” he looks at me blankly
“Do you know what a ‘character’ is? No?” I explain. He can’t think of any.
“How about I tell you about the boy David? There are some great stories in the Bible!” He grins and nods his head. I tell about David the shepherd boy when he defended the flocks from the bear. Junior says he’s seen a bear before. I ask him if he was afraid. He says no, his dogs were with them and they were hunting the bear.
Don Ignacio come up from his bath in the creek behind his hut dressed in nothing more than a towel, but he seems genuinely happy for my visit. His eyes squint to slits as he smiles, showing a solitary tooth, and he laughs as I dramatize the climax of David’s confrontation with Goliath.
It’s after 6:00 by now, but we have a prayer before I go. I ask Don Ignacio if he has any prayer requests. He says yes, and then starts praying. It takes me a second to realize what’s going on because he mixes some direct address to me into his prayer, thanking me for my visit. I leave running. Just as I reach the main road, a pickup truck is passing, and they stop and give me a free lift! I pass my students right before my ride drops me off at the entrance to the school driveway. I wait for them there.
“Teacher! You beat us! We should have stayed with you to visit the last house!” I just smile.
Prayer List:
The church project in Yata. We’ve dug the postholes for a temporary thatched roof church while we await God’s timing to build a permanent structure.
The radio. We have the option of requesting a transmitter for our tower (which we are in the slow process of erecting) to repeat the signal from the Adventist radio station that recently opened in Guayaramerin.(They are still waiting on equipment to do their own programming.)
Bible studies in Yata.
Corenelio and Susie and the project in Las Amalias
For the doors to open to obtain Spirit of Prophecy books in large quantities at an economical price.
For the Holy Spirit to come in power upon God’s people and finish the work!
Today I'm looking into printing some Spanish Glow and Signs literature for the churches here in Guayara. The price I was quoted was $120 for 20,000 pamphlets.
“The Life is in the blood” (Leviticus 17:11). “In whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace (Eph 1:7).
I awake while it is still dark with the sensation that a small animal is brushing against my leg. A rat? A tarantula? I strike at it blindly, but the offending creature merely flops against me like a landed trout. I strike at it again, this time with both hands. Suddenly, I realize that the animal I am trying to kill is really just my other hand! My artery was pinched off completely at the elbow. I quickly clench and extend my fingers like a hydraulic pump to get the stagnant fluid moving. A million tiny needles prick my dead arm back to life.
How vital is the circulation of the blood! Moving blood unites and coordinates the body in action. It powers grip and grasp, sensation and control. It gives the members life. Without it, I am a fool, while the limbs are foreign intruders and dead weight, rats or flopping fish.
Dual Planting. April 11, 2010
An agriculture professor from the public technical college in Riberalta asked if he could bring his class to the school this weekend to do their practicum. He had brought his class last year and said it was a really good experience for them. They arrived Sabbath morning and attended the church service and a few of them even accompanied us on our house visits in Yata in the afternoon. Alexander and Gabriel, two of the Riberalta visitors, accompanied my group and seemed to enjoy the songs and scripture reflections. At one house we read from Ecclesiastes how Solomon found that all the riches and pleasures of this world do not bring happiness or satisfaction.
The next day we started work at 6:00 a.m. Students and visitors divided into two groups: one began to plant our banana chaco while the rest of us tried to finish harvesting the last hectare and a half in the rice chaco. The morning went quickly, and in the afternoon the groups changed jobs to give the students a broader experience. In the banana field, I soon discovered that I was the only non-visitor in the group as everyone turned to me to ask for tools, where to plant, and how to organize the work. I took them all down to the tool shed to check out shovels, hoes, and machetes. Back at the site I shared my limited knowledge on banana planting. We dug the holes deep and wide so that the roots can establish quickly in the loose soil. The field had not been completely cleared of tree trunks and debris, and frequently I had to be the voice of conscience against tool abuse: “please don’t use the shovel handles as pry-bars to move fallen logs!” and “don’t twist the ax like tha…” snap! Too late! I went to look for another ax.
After a while, I finally had things more or less organized and we started to advance when I realized that in my preoccupation with directing the work, I had neither prayed silently, nor aloud with the group, for God’s guidance and blessing. That was a wasted opportunity. I thought. Sorry Lord.
Fortunately, God had plans in spite of my negligence. They were a talkative group, and it wasn’t long before several of them started to quiz me on extra-agricultural topics.
“So which Bible character do you want to meet first when you go to heaven?” one of the girls surprised me with her question. Before I could respond, one of the boys piped up. “I want to meet Job!” I thought he said.
“Job? Yeah, I’d like to meet him too” I replied.
“No! Not Job! Job’s daughters, man! You know, the most beautiful girls in all the land!” he laughed.
“I want to meet Solomon because he had hundreds of women, and he was the wisest man who ever lived” the compañero smiles at his one-upmanship, and I saw that the conversation could deteriorate quite rapidly.
“But Solomon was unhappy because he realized that seeking pleasure was vain and that true wisdom is in seeking God. Like the reflection on Sabbath, right?” It was Alexander, from the Yata visits who redirected the conversation!
The questions continued: “Does your church forbid marriages with unbelievers?”
“Well, actually, the Bible itself counsels against marriage with unbelievers (Amos 3:3, Mark 3:25), and as a church we believe in following Bible principles.”
“Your church promotes vegetarianism doesn’t it?” We continue to talk about different topics from healthful living to the philosophy of Christian education. They seem impressed by the school atmosphere and the work-study program.
As the afternoon sun maxed out on its ferocity, the majority of the visitors gravitated to the shade. I continued to dig, and although their work period was over, three or four of the visitors clustered around, and the questions kept on coming. They wanted to know how old I am, how I survive as a volunteer, and how long I plan to stay here. Soon I was merely standing on my shovel, but somehow I felt like I was still planting...
God’s alarms. May 11, 2010.
“…He wakeneth morning by morning, he wakeneth mine ear to hear as the learned.” Isaiah 50:4
Last night I asked God to decide when I should wake up to spend some time with Him, so I couldn’t complain when I awoke to the cry of the neighbor’s baby at 3:45 a.m. That was the first alarm: God started early because He knew it would take awhile to rouse me. I knelt up in my bed to pray. Bad idea. I soon awoke the second time, face down in bed. I doubt I’d prayed one coherent sentence. I tried again and the next thing I knew I awoke with the rising sliver of a moon shining on my face. Wow. I thought. I make Christ’s disciples look good! They couldn’t pray for one hour: I can’t even handle two minutes! I knew if I didn’t get out of bed I would never wake my sleepy head in time to study and pray before the day began, so I got up and splashed cold water on my face, drank half a quart of water, and went to my desk.
As the horizon lit up with the forerunning rays of the sun I prepared to take a short walk to the corner of the driveway. The thermometer registered 14º C, (about 57º F) but with the high humidity the cold seeps into your core and chills your bones, like biting a Popsicle. Strange how it can feel good to don a jacket in this jungle!
I walked down the driveway and smelled God’s goodness in the crispness of dawn and heard it in the song of the birds and saw his glory in the trees and on the grass that shone with silver dew, and in each little cloud of my condensated breath that was His ever before it passed through my nostrils.
Dust on Dust
“For dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return” (Genesis 3:19) “For all our days are passed away in thy wrath: we spend our years as a tale that is told… So teach us to number or days, that we may apply our heats unto wisdom.” (Psalms 90:9,12).
“There’s an accident” someone exclaims, and all the people lean forward and crane their necks, and those on the right side of the bus raise in their seats to get a view.
“Who could it be?” the woman across from me asks. Is it mere morbid curiosity, or is it the dread of personal disaster? She looks worried. Perhaps she has a familiar or other conocido who frequents this stretch of highway.
I’m on my way back from Guayara, and we’re just approaching the small community at kilometer 21 when I hear the announcement. At first all I see is a motorcycle seat, and I know this is going to be bad. Bits of bike are strewn from the stakes in the narrow part of Route Eight to the village just beyond, where I see the remains of the twisted frame embedded in the crunched hood of a Volvo. The windshield is collapsed inward and cracked in the design of a spider’s web.
Trucks of police and a crowd of people throng the scene. As we slowly navigate the accident, I suddenly glimpse the prone corpse of the cyclist. He is lying on his back, facing the vast blue sky, looking too peaceful and perfect for such carnage. The paramedics pull a white sheet over his head and neatly folded arms. The blood seems lost in the red dirt of the road.
“At least he no longer has to suffer in this world,” Lyli says.
He’s just left all his suffering with the living.
Back at the college we have news that Dorca’s uncle died today. I think it might be the man on the road, but its not.
Later, in the shower, as I shed the grime of the day, I wonder how they bury the dead in Bolivia. If the corpses aren’t cremated in the morgue, I’m sure they’ll clean them up. There is altogether too much dust in this land: Too much dust, and too little of God’s breath and spit and sculpting hand.
In Spite of Myself. 6/19/10
It’s 1:30 p.m. I’m droggy and my whole body feels heavy like a typical Sabbath afternoon after a big meal and a hot morning full of services. The last thing I want to do is go visiting in Yata, especially considering that the truck is out of commission and we’ll be walking the six kilometers in full sunlight. At least I have about 45 minutes until we leave. I grab a book and sink into my hammock: The Heavenly Man. I’m immediately ashamed of my lousy attitude as I read about the joy and zeal of brother Yun, a leader of the persecuted house churches in China.
By the time we arrive at the beautifully shaded vacant church property in Yata, my shirt is soaked in sweat and smudged with the dust of the road. All I want to do is jump in the creek. But the hardships the Chinese believers endured in order to share the Word come to mind, and I am re-ashamed at my selfish weakness. I really have so little experience in suffering for Christ. It is nothing to sweat for the Lord!
At the first house I’m impressed to ask Doña Rufina if she has any Bible questions or specific topics she would like to discuss.
“I’m Catholic” she responds. I'm not sure if she understood my question, so I try to clarify, but she remains uninterested. “But I like it that you visit and sing and read the Bible. How can I deny you that?"
When we ask Don Angel and his niece Zulema if they have any Bible questions or topics of interest, she just smiles, but he takes advantage of the opportunity immediately.
“Why is it that there are people who go against the Lord and say the world is going to end in 2012 when the Bible says that no man knows the day nor the hour, not even the angels in heaven?” (Matthew 24:36).
“Well, the very existence of such deceptive and erroneous theories is an evidence of the last days.” I explain. We read Matthew 24:11 and look for other texts like 1 John 4:1, and 2 Corinthians 11:13, 14.
Half an hour later we move on to the next house, where Frieda has some questions about the H1N1 vaccination. Apparently some recent propaganda labeled the shot as the mark of the beast! I tell Frieda I don’t know much about vaccinations, but I can assure her that it isn’t the mark of the beast. The mark of the beast is Satan’s counterfeit for God’s mark, or seal. (Revelation 7:2,3; 14:6-7; Exodus 20:8-11, and Ezekiel 20:12). It’s an intense topic and requires a solid biblical background. She says she’s up for it, so we set an appointment for Wednesday morning. Frieda is blind and her daughter will join the study to look up the Bible verses for her. She seems even more excited than her mom. Funny how we’re so often afraid to bring up the apocalyptic topics when the end of the world is of such popular public interest!
It’s already 5:30 when we leave Frieda’s. We were supposed to head back to the school by 5:15 to arrive before dark, but I really feel that I should go visit our last family. I feel bad I’ve missed Don Ignacio the last couple weeks because we always run out of time. There are just too many houses to visit in a couple of hours.
Another group is passing on their way back to the school, and I tell my kids they can either return with that group, or come with me. I have no takers. Ni modo. Alone, I jog the couple hundred meters off the main road and down the path between shoulder-high grass to Don Ignacio’s hut.
“Buenas tardes” I call out. The place seems empty. I’m about to dismiss my impression to come visit Ignacio as a whim of my own invention when I suddenly see a little boy sitting on the patio.
“Hola, ¿cómo te llamas?”
“Ignacio” he says. This must be junior.
“Donde está tu papa?”
Dad is bathing in the creek, and the boy motions down the hill behind the house. He’ll be back any minute. I strike up a conversation while I wait. Junior is in fourth grade and attends the public school in Yata. Right now they’re on vacation.
“Do they teach you about the Bible there?”
“Yes.” He says.
“What are your favorite Bible stories?”
“I don’t remember any.”
“Not even one? Who’s your favorite Bible character?” he looks at me blankly
“Do you know what a ‘character’ is? No?” I explain. He can’t think of any.
“How about I tell you about the boy David? There are some great stories in the Bible!” He grins and nods his head. I tell about David the shepherd boy when he defended the flocks from the bear. Junior says he’s seen a bear before. I ask him if he was afraid. He says no, his dogs were with them and they were hunting the bear.
Don Ignacio come up from his bath in the creek behind his hut dressed in nothing more than a towel, but he seems genuinely happy for my visit. His eyes squint to slits as he smiles, showing a solitary tooth, and he laughs as I dramatize the climax of David’s confrontation with Goliath.
It’s after 6:00 by now, but we have a prayer before I go. I ask Don Ignacio if he has any prayer requests. He says yes, and then starts praying. It takes me a second to realize what’s going on because he mixes some direct address to me into his prayer, thanking me for my visit. I leave running. Just as I reach the main road, a pickup truck is passing, and they stop and give me a free lift! I pass my students right before my ride drops me off at the entrance to the school driveway. I wait for them there.
“Teacher! You beat us! We should have stayed with you to visit the last house!” I just smile.
Prayer List:
The church project in Yata. We’ve dug the postholes for a temporary thatched roof church while we await God’s timing to build a permanent structure.
The radio. We have the option of requesting a transmitter for our tower (which we are in the slow process of erecting) to repeat the signal from the Adventist radio station that recently opened in Guayaramerin.(They are still waiting on equipment to do their own programming.)
Bible studies in Yata.
Corenelio and Susie and the project in Las Amalias
For the doors to open to obtain Spirit of Prophecy books in large quantities at an economical price.
For the Holy Spirit to come in power upon God’s people and finish the work!
Today I'm looking into printing some Spanish Glow and Signs literature for the churches here in Guayara. The price I was quoted was $120 for 20,000 pamphlets.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
When we ought to be shameless. Colombia Missions Conference. Sabbath, February 20, 2010.
“For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God unto salvation to everyone that believes” (Rom 1:16).
After church we go door-to-door giving surveys to probe the neighbors’ interests in health and exercise classes and stop-smoking seminars. A trendy looking young man answers one of the first doors we knock on.
“Don’t worry, its nothing religious…” I hear an echo of my tendency to palter in my friend’s hasty clarification. “We’re just doing a quick survey on health and fitness.”
Why do we so often tend to proselytize with an apology? We operate with a defeatist attitude, under the assumption that people don’t want to hear the gospel, sometimes before we even ask them! But why wouldn’t they want it? Could it be because we ourselves seem hardly sure if we really want it, because we are so often lackluster and equivocating, lax and halfhearted? If we have really experienced the power of the gospel it would seem we would be willing and excited to share it, and able to present it in practical, tangible power. Indeed, such is our duty and our mission: “From door to door [God’s] servants are to proclaim the message of salvation. To every nation, kindred, tongue, and people the tidings of pardon through Christ are to be carried. Not with tame, lifeless utterance is the message to be given, but with clear, decided, stirring utterances” (8 Testimonies for the Church, 15.5). This is no call for half-hearted repetition of regurgitated truths that have been masticated for us by others and that we pass on out of a sense of guilty obligation! This is the heartthrob of a personal, daily experience of the creative power of God transforming our lives and out flowing to the benefit of all those around us!
As Ellen White points out in the book Education page 233, too often we underestimate the power of authentic enthusiasm to command interest and attention. The arch bishop of Canterbury once asked a famous actor how he managed to so powerfully impact his audience while speaking of things imaginary while gospel ministers seem to affect their audiences so little by speaking of things real. “’With due submission to your grace,’ replied the actor, ‘permit me to say that the reason is plain: It lies in the power of enthusiasm. We on the stage speak of things imaginary as if they were real, and you in the pulpit speak of things real as if they were imaginary.’”
Do we really believe the word of God? Do we really care about the world around us? Or are we simply posers, and thereby quiet opposers of righteousness? “But we are Christ’s!” we say, and we are! We are His backstabbers and assassins. May God forgive us and grant us repentance and His power to live a deeper, authentic experience.
Faith: Alive, Growing, and Green. February 20, 2010.
The university campus grounds are immaculate. I’ve never seen so many creative tree sculptures in real life (only in advertisements). One is cut in the shape of an open hand; another has the word faith engraved into its foliage. Perhaps my faith, too, emerges from a cooperation of personal growth with God’s careful pruning.
Trials and Errors. April 14, 2010
“Kowing this, that the trial of your faith works patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that you may be perfect and entire, lacking nothing” (James 1:4).
I’m assuming its normal for a boarding high school teacher to receive a sheaf of schedules at the onset of a school year, but not everyone gets a personalized schedule with their name on it in Monotype Corsiva font! If that isn’t anomalous enough, Sunday is a school day, while every Wednesday is dedicated to community service. The students are divided into various work groups named after the fruit of the Holy Spirit (Love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance… (Gal 5:22) The fruit of the spirit is not monocot nor dicot, but nona-cot). I lead el grupo amor. ;) Each group participates in community service projects every other Wednesday. (On their “off” week, students stay at the school where they have the option to work or attend a study hall in the morning, with a mandatory study hall in the afternoon. If they need to go to town, they also have the option to submit a solicitud, which the administrative committee grants or denies at their discretion.) Service day provides the students with real-life, sermon-in-shoes opportunities to share the love of Christ with others. This does more to break down prejudices and open hearts to the truth than could all the best-prepared presentations and exhortations of the millennium.
When we visit Don Ángel, he is laying in his hammock, his shoulder-length white hair falls unkempt around sunken cheeks and a nasty cough wracks his body. He has a rice chaco to harvest, but he doesn’t have the strength to do it. The stocks are dry and the weight of the ripe grain bends them to the ground where they will rot with the next rain. (I wonder if harvests like the one in John 4:35-38 work the same way?)
I love the harvest! Breathing the morning air is invigorating. Maybe its because the oxygen molecules are closer together. The day soon heats up, however, and I begin to drip sweat and soon become a nectar feeder for all insects with a stinger with the next half-mile. I’m a walking bee’s nest with a constant buzzing in my ear, and the occasional deeper drone of the larger wasps with the big stingers. They’re the more aggressive ones because they don’t die when they sting, unlike the honeybee kamikazes that at least compensate by paying the ultimate price for the pain they inflicted. I’ve learned to notice the difference in the tickle of the wasps and the different walk of the little sweat bees with their irritating miniature straws. To distract myself, I wonder how many hours of work are in one bowl of rice. I try to work the problem out loud, including the clearing of the land, the planting, the harvesting, and the threshing, but I get stuck when I have to estimate the number of bowls in a hectare (2.47 acres).
While I try to learn patience under the hot sun, the only clouds in the sky are made of buzzing insects, Joel, our senior senior (he’s 21 years old and the only student this year who was here during my first stay here in 2005-2006) is learning his own lessons on patience and self control. Here is a translation of his story more or less as he told it in church during testimony time April 17, 2010.
“Teacher Ruan and I were coming back from Guayara. He was feeling kind sick with a headache, and I was in a bad mood in general when we arrived at the tranca (checkpoint) I think the police officer needed some money. Maybe he had a debt to pay off at the billiards club, or maybe he was short on the month’s rent, or maybe he was just in a foul mood. Anyway, Teacher Ruan was a natural target because he’s a gringo and so everyone thinks he must be made of money. The officer asked for Ruan’s Bolivian driver’s license.
‘I have an international license’ he said. I was in the truck waiting and I saw them out there giving Teacher Ruan a hard time and I suddenly had one of those moments where my blood gets hot, and for those of you that know me, when I get angry it can happen really fast, I just snap… so I got out and went and stood behind teacher Ruan, like a bodyguard (and he struck the pose, legs apart, arms crossed, chest out, with a stern scowl on his face.) ‘And who’s this guy?’ the police asked ‘Oh, just a compañero’ The police kept on about how teacher Ruan needed a Bolivian license and Ruan kept telling him patiently that the international license has always sufficed in the past, but the police wouldn’t listen to him. Finally I just snapped. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about! You need to go read your own constitution.’ After that I went and got in the truck again. A minute later they called me in.
‘What do you mean, disrespecting a police officer like that? Who do you think you are?’ I think it made him even angrier that I’m Brazilian and I told him he didn’t know his own laws. He hit me hard in the shoulder to try to provoke me to fight him, but I wasn’t going to open my mouth again. They called in another police and he took me to put me in the town jail until 9:00 that night. I think they were hoping Teacher Ruan would pay to release me, but he just let me go. When I got to the jail they took my pants and searched me. They always just keep whatever money you have on you for them.
‘I’m going to give you five’ threatened the first officer, tapping his baton
‘I’ll give you ten’ said the next one, and they threw me into a cell with eight or ten other prisoners. The first thing I noticed in the entrance of the cell was a sign that said if you don’t pay us 20 pesos, each of us will give you 20 patadas (kicks). But before anyone asked me for money, one of the prisoners called me over and told me to fan him with a towel. Soon another one came over and told me to fan him too. Finally, the cell leader, a tall, light-skinned guy with tattoos all over his body called me over.
‘Where are you from? ‘You’re a Christian aren’t you?
‘Well, yes. Why?’ ‘It’s obvious. You’re not belligerent or full of attitude like most guys that get thrown in here. What are you in for?’
‘Disrespecting a police officer’ When he heard that, one of the other prisoners said, ‘So you’re a Christian huh? Haven’t you ever read James 1:26? If any man among you seems to be religious, and doesn’t control his tongue… this man’s religion is vain?’ Here I was in jail and God used another prisoner to rebuke me for my lack of self-control. It was a lesson I will never forget.”
(Ruan picked Joel up from the jail later that evening).
Turning. April 16, 2010
“Break up your fallow ground, for it is time to seek the Lord, until He come rain righteousness upon you” Hosea 10:12.
Today I occupied myself like an original aborigine and turned soil in the banana chaco. Tilling the soil: It’s a simple but strenuous activity that gets you back to the roots of human labor, among other, more literal roots like the stumps of downed shrubs and clumps of sub-sod mesh. Yet what a difference a timely turning makes! Turn the soil and the plants grow faster, higher and more fruitful. Turn the tortillas and they turn out perfect, neither burned nor raw. Turn to God and leave behind bad habits and he will make you grow and turn you out perfect, neither burned nor half-baked, neither barren nor stunted.
The Heavens Declare. May 14, 2010.
“He tells the number of the stars, he calls them all by their names…Praise him, sun and moon: praise him all you stars of light.” (Psalms 147:4, 148:3). The stars are so bright out here they seem to melt themselves and blend together in blotches that run into the Milky Way. When you look up through the tree branches, it looks like God has decorated the jungle for Christmas. So many lights, the centers of a myriad solar systems, and yet most of us wouldn’t notice if a third of them disappeared in the darkness. We’re barricaded under panoplies of tile, shingle, and tin, and we’ve replaced God’s lights with street lamps, strobes, and business signs.
I saw four shooting stars. Estrellas fugaces as they’re called in Spanish. Sounds like stars full of gas. Celestial flatulence? It makes me laugh. But wow, was the Psalmist ever right about the heavens and their declarations. God’s glory is blazing in every constellation. My neck is sore from looking up. Shoulder blades make poor pillows. But the vastness of space amazes me… and that God’s voice placed each star! I’ve heard they occur in patterns along the planes of what look like sound waves.
There’s so much I don’t know. I want to learn it all. Thoughts come to me like stars shouting, like reflections shooting past so fast I’m left without a recollection. One thing I’m sure of, if I could write one stroke for God’s goodness for every star in the universe, it would be but a residue of His benevolence and His sentiments for us.
Playing (Possum) With Fire. May 6, 2010.
“Flee youthful lusts” (2 Timothy 2:22)
“We had a casualty in the fire” Josh announced when he arrived at the teacher’s meeting today. During the afternoon work period the boys had burned in the banana chaco and a possum decided that his alternate defense mechanism would work better than running. By the time he realized his mistake it was too late. Josh found its charred carcass among the ashes. Instinct is not always a bad thing, but when it comes to salvation from the fire, to trust to instinct is to burn.
(Bizarre fact: the Spanish name for possum is chupacara, or to transliterate, “sucker face.”)
“Come over and help us!” May 16, 2010.
Susie and Cornelio Moro and their eleven-year-old daughter Abigail are leaving us within the next few weeks to go live in Las Amalias, a small indigenous village of about fifty people, a boat ride of several days upriver into the interior.
This last December, Cornelio visited the village with Max, Noel, and a couple other students, the former of which wrote about the experience in his journal for my class. We have two students, Rodolfo and Paulina, who hail from the village. There is no airstrip in Las Amalias, and at the beginning of last school year Rodolfo and Paulina received their acceptance letters via airmail, chucked out the window of the mission plane.
“These people really need help,” Cornelio told me. “Steve (the mission pilot working with us here) and I were meeting with the chief, and I was watching the chief’s son chew on this bone with raw meet on it, one of those bones that’s bent like your elbow like you see in the caveman cartoons… and he dropped it, I guess he was tired of it or something, and this dog came and started to eat it and the kid decides he wants it again and takes it up from the dog and starts to chew on it again. Then the mom comes out and she realizes that baby has dirtied himself and so she scraps the excrement with sticks that she proceeds to throw on the ground right where everyone walks.”
But the people want to learn and they want to change.
“What’s the biggest plane you guys have?” they asked Cornelio. “We want to make an airstrip long enough for your biggest plane!” (Aerostar 600 A).
“Okay!” Cornelio says.
“That’s a lot of work!” he tells me later. “These people have no trucks, no tractors. They’ll be clearing everything by hand. Maybe with a chainsaw at best.”
But it seems the villages are willing to do whatever it takes to get the healthcare and instruction they so desperately need, be it physical or spiritual. They say they receive a pastoral visit only about once a year, and occasionally a gringo Baptist minister also visits, but he always spends the night in his boat.
“You are the first one to ever stay with us in our houses” The villagers told Cornelio. “Please come back! We want to know more about the Bible and about God. We’ll build you a house and we’ll build a church.”
So how did it all get started? School directors Ruan and Tara Swanapoel recently wrote the following background story.
“God has led us to start our first daughter ministry deep in the jungle - opening the work to Seja Indians. It is a beautiful story that has developed over the last two years and is still unfolding.”
“About two years ago a group of us flew to a jungle village called Ingavi. The purpose of our trip was to scout out a good location for a future mission project while at the same time offer medical and dental care to the villagers. The plan was to spend one day in Ingavi and the next day in another village. By early afternoon I realized that half of us would have to stay the night in Ingavi since the line of people awaiting attention was not shrinking. So Susie, our girls’ dean, Joel, one of our students, and I decided that we would stay the night in order to provide more care while the others went home for the night.
The line for medical attention finally ended by early evening and we were invited to dinner, another story in and of itself. We were just finishing our meal when our host came running over to us saying that someone just arrived from a nearby village called Las Amalias, and they needed urgent care. We hurried over to the village hall that served as the makeshift medical clinic and were met at the door by a whole extended family of Sejas. They looked remarkably different from other Bolivians and the fact that they were dressed didn’t change the fact that they looked barely civilized. But there was no time for cultural studies now. One of the men held an unconscious toddler hanging from his arms. The toddler had a high fever and was very weak from vomiting and diarrhea. With no way to know what the cause of the illness could be we started to treat the fever and to pray. We only had liquid children’s Tylenol as a fever reducer, the toddler was unable to keep it down. We wiped him with alcohol wipes, with cool rags, we tried more Tylenol, we prayed more, but nothing would work. Even though he was still breathing he was not responsive. Finally Susie thought of a cold water enema. It worked! The fever dropped and he started responding. Our goal was to keep him alive for the night and fly him and his dad to the hospital the next morning. We had to do three more enemas during the night to control the fever. He made it! Praise the Lord! The next morning we took him to the hospital where they diagnosed him with a severe digestive tract infection and started him on antibiotics. In about a week he was ready to go home. I know that it was God who kept us in that village that night, because He had a plan.
Before leaving Ingavi, I left some applications to our school with plans to return later to interview prospective students. When I arrived a few months later there were 2 young people from Las Amalias whom had come to Ingavi in order to be interviewed. Come to find out later that one of them is the chief’s son and the other the teacher’s daughter. They both were accepted and are still studying with us.
Since then we have maintained contact with the people of Las Amalias. Some of our staff and students went on a mission trip to the village during our summer vacation. Seeing the needs of the people made us long to do more to help them and introduce them to Jesus.
Well the time has come. After talking to representatives of the village and Susie and Cornelio, we decided that they would move to Las Amalias to spearhead the work there. Cornelio, Joel, and Clint left last Wednesday (May 19th) with plans to build a house and start organizing the work. Susie and their daughter, Abigail, plan to join Cornelio and Joel in a couple of weeks.
The current plan is for Susie to provide medical attention while Cornelio helps to improve agricultural practices and the sanitary conditions, all the while building relationships and doing personal evangelism. We will miss Susie, Cornelio, and Abby. They are an integral part of our team, but we are really excited about the opportunity to start reaching into the vast jungles of northern Bolivia. We want to ask you to join us in prayer that God will continue to guide us as we labor for Him. We also want to make an appeal for everyone to consider if maybe the Lord is calling you to serve Him in Bolivia. The need is so great, and the workers so few. Maybe the Lord has a place for you here.”
“Hundreds are waiting for the warning to escape for their lives. The world needs to see in Christians an evidence of the power of Christianity. Not merely in a few places, but throughout the world, messengers of mercy are needed. From every country is heard the cry: ‘Come over, . . . and help us.’ Rich and poor, high and low, are calling for light. Men and women are hungering for the truth as it is in Jesus. When they hear the gospel preached with power from on high, they will know that the banquet is spread for them, and they will respond to the call: ‘Come; for all things are now ready.’ Luke 14:17.” {8T 15.5, 16}
Prayer List
1. The churches in Guayaramerin and the launching of the radio program.
2. The Las Amalias project.
3. For movement on the church building project in Yata. We just finished a five-night series on Steps to Christ last week and there are several studying for baptism. We're going to need a building soon!
4. A lot of people have been sick here at the school lately and there have been several confirmed cases of malaria.
5. That God will open the doors for literature evangelism here. I've been looking into getting the books. There will be more on this later.
As always, thanks for all your prayers and support. May we all continue to grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Kody Kostenko
“For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God unto salvation to everyone that believes” (Rom 1:16).
After church we go door-to-door giving surveys to probe the neighbors’ interests in health and exercise classes and stop-smoking seminars. A trendy looking young man answers one of the first doors we knock on.
“Don’t worry, its nothing religious…” I hear an echo of my tendency to palter in my friend’s hasty clarification. “We’re just doing a quick survey on health and fitness.”
Why do we so often tend to proselytize with an apology? We operate with a defeatist attitude, under the assumption that people don’t want to hear the gospel, sometimes before we even ask them! But why wouldn’t they want it? Could it be because we ourselves seem hardly sure if we really want it, because we are so often lackluster and equivocating, lax and halfhearted? If we have really experienced the power of the gospel it would seem we would be willing and excited to share it, and able to present it in practical, tangible power. Indeed, such is our duty and our mission: “From door to door [God’s] servants are to proclaim the message of salvation. To every nation, kindred, tongue, and people the tidings of pardon through Christ are to be carried. Not with tame, lifeless utterance is the message to be given, but with clear, decided, stirring utterances” (8 Testimonies for the Church, 15.5). This is no call for half-hearted repetition of regurgitated truths that have been masticated for us by others and that we pass on out of a sense of guilty obligation! This is the heartthrob of a personal, daily experience of the creative power of God transforming our lives and out flowing to the benefit of all those around us!
As Ellen White points out in the book Education page 233, too often we underestimate the power of authentic enthusiasm to command interest and attention. The arch bishop of Canterbury once asked a famous actor how he managed to so powerfully impact his audience while speaking of things imaginary while gospel ministers seem to affect their audiences so little by speaking of things real. “’With due submission to your grace,’ replied the actor, ‘permit me to say that the reason is plain: It lies in the power of enthusiasm. We on the stage speak of things imaginary as if they were real, and you in the pulpit speak of things real as if they were imaginary.’”
Do we really believe the word of God? Do we really care about the world around us? Or are we simply posers, and thereby quiet opposers of righteousness? “But we are Christ’s!” we say, and we are! We are His backstabbers and assassins. May God forgive us and grant us repentance and His power to live a deeper, authentic experience.
Faith: Alive, Growing, and Green. February 20, 2010.
The university campus grounds are immaculate. I’ve never seen so many creative tree sculptures in real life (only in advertisements). One is cut in the shape of an open hand; another has the word faith engraved into its foliage. Perhaps my faith, too, emerges from a cooperation of personal growth with God’s careful pruning.
Trials and Errors. April 14, 2010
“Kowing this, that the trial of your faith works patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that you may be perfect and entire, lacking nothing” (James 1:4).
I’m assuming its normal for a boarding high school teacher to receive a sheaf of schedules at the onset of a school year, but not everyone gets a personalized schedule with their name on it in Monotype Corsiva font! If that isn’t anomalous enough, Sunday is a school day, while every Wednesday is dedicated to community service. The students are divided into various work groups named after the fruit of the Holy Spirit (Love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance… (Gal 5:22) The fruit of the spirit is not monocot nor dicot, but nona-cot). I lead el grupo amor. ;) Each group participates in community service projects every other Wednesday. (On their “off” week, students stay at the school where they have the option to work or attend a study hall in the morning, with a mandatory study hall in the afternoon. If they need to go to town, they also have the option to submit a solicitud, which the administrative committee grants or denies at their discretion.) Service day provides the students with real-life, sermon-in-shoes opportunities to share the love of Christ with others. This does more to break down prejudices and open hearts to the truth than could all the best-prepared presentations and exhortations of the millennium.
When we visit Don Ángel, he is laying in his hammock, his shoulder-length white hair falls unkempt around sunken cheeks and a nasty cough wracks his body. He has a rice chaco to harvest, but he doesn’t have the strength to do it. The stocks are dry and the weight of the ripe grain bends them to the ground where they will rot with the next rain. (I wonder if harvests like the one in John 4:35-38 work the same way?)
I love the harvest! Breathing the morning air is invigorating. Maybe its because the oxygen molecules are closer together. The day soon heats up, however, and I begin to drip sweat and soon become a nectar feeder for all insects with a stinger with the next half-mile. I’m a walking bee’s nest with a constant buzzing in my ear, and the occasional deeper drone of the larger wasps with the big stingers. They’re the more aggressive ones because they don’t die when they sting, unlike the honeybee kamikazes that at least compensate by paying the ultimate price for the pain they inflicted. I’ve learned to notice the difference in the tickle of the wasps and the different walk of the little sweat bees with their irritating miniature straws. To distract myself, I wonder how many hours of work are in one bowl of rice. I try to work the problem out loud, including the clearing of the land, the planting, the harvesting, and the threshing, but I get stuck when I have to estimate the number of bowls in a hectare (2.47 acres).
While I try to learn patience under the hot sun, the only clouds in the sky are made of buzzing insects, Joel, our senior senior (he’s 21 years old and the only student this year who was here during my first stay here in 2005-2006) is learning his own lessons on patience and self control. Here is a translation of his story more or less as he told it in church during testimony time April 17, 2010.
“Teacher Ruan and I were coming back from Guayara. He was feeling kind sick with a headache, and I was in a bad mood in general when we arrived at the tranca (checkpoint) I think the police officer needed some money. Maybe he had a debt to pay off at the billiards club, or maybe he was short on the month’s rent, or maybe he was just in a foul mood. Anyway, Teacher Ruan was a natural target because he’s a gringo and so everyone thinks he must be made of money. The officer asked for Ruan’s Bolivian driver’s license.
‘I have an international license’ he said. I was in the truck waiting and I saw them out there giving Teacher Ruan a hard time and I suddenly had one of those moments where my blood gets hot, and for those of you that know me, when I get angry it can happen really fast, I just snap… so I got out and went and stood behind teacher Ruan, like a bodyguard (and he struck the pose, legs apart, arms crossed, chest out, with a stern scowl on his face.) ‘And who’s this guy?’ the police asked ‘Oh, just a compañero’ The police kept on about how teacher Ruan needed a Bolivian license and Ruan kept telling him patiently that the international license has always sufficed in the past, but the police wouldn’t listen to him. Finally I just snapped. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about! You need to go read your own constitution.’ After that I went and got in the truck again. A minute later they called me in.
‘What do you mean, disrespecting a police officer like that? Who do you think you are?’ I think it made him even angrier that I’m Brazilian and I told him he didn’t know his own laws. He hit me hard in the shoulder to try to provoke me to fight him, but I wasn’t going to open my mouth again. They called in another police and he took me to put me in the town jail until 9:00 that night. I think they were hoping Teacher Ruan would pay to release me, but he just let me go. When I got to the jail they took my pants and searched me. They always just keep whatever money you have on you for them.
‘I’m going to give you five’ threatened the first officer, tapping his baton
‘I’ll give you ten’ said the next one, and they threw me into a cell with eight or ten other prisoners. The first thing I noticed in the entrance of the cell was a sign that said if you don’t pay us 20 pesos, each of us will give you 20 patadas (kicks). But before anyone asked me for money, one of the prisoners called me over and told me to fan him with a towel. Soon another one came over and told me to fan him too. Finally, the cell leader, a tall, light-skinned guy with tattoos all over his body called me over.
‘Where are you from? ‘You’re a Christian aren’t you?
‘Well, yes. Why?’ ‘It’s obvious. You’re not belligerent or full of attitude like most guys that get thrown in here. What are you in for?’
‘Disrespecting a police officer’ When he heard that, one of the other prisoners said, ‘So you’re a Christian huh? Haven’t you ever read James 1:26? If any man among you seems to be religious, and doesn’t control his tongue… this man’s religion is vain?’ Here I was in jail and God used another prisoner to rebuke me for my lack of self-control. It was a lesson I will never forget.”
(Ruan picked Joel up from the jail later that evening).
Turning. April 16, 2010
“Break up your fallow ground, for it is time to seek the Lord, until He come rain righteousness upon you” Hosea 10:12.
Today I occupied myself like an original aborigine and turned soil in the banana chaco. Tilling the soil: It’s a simple but strenuous activity that gets you back to the roots of human labor, among other, more literal roots like the stumps of downed shrubs and clumps of sub-sod mesh. Yet what a difference a timely turning makes! Turn the soil and the plants grow faster, higher and more fruitful. Turn the tortillas and they turn out perfect, neither burned nor raw. Turn to God and leave behind bad habits and he will make you grow and turn you out perfect, neither burned nor half-baked, neither barren nor stunted.
The Heavens Declare. May 14, 2010.
“He tells the number of the stars, he calls them all by their names…Praise him, sun and moon: praise him all you stars of light.” (Psalms 147:4, 148:3). The stars are so bright out here they seem to melt themselves and blend together in blotches that run into the Milky Way. When you look up through the tree branches, it looks like God has decorated the jungle for Christmas. So many lights, the centers of a myriad solar systems, and yet most of us wouldn’t notice if a third of them disappeared in the darkness. We’re barricaded under panoplies of tile, shingle, and tin, and we’ve replaced God’s lights with street lamps, strobes, and business signs.
I saw four shooting stars. Estrellas fugaces as they’re called in Spanish. Sounds like stars full of gas. Celestial flatulence? It makes me laugh. But wow, was the Psalmist ever right about the heavens and their declarations. God’s glory is blazing in every constellation. My neck is sore from looking up. Shoulder blades make poor pillows. But the vastness of space amazes me… and that God’s voice placed each star! I’ve heard they occur in patterns along the planes of what look like sound waves.
There’s so much I don’t know. I want to learn it all. Thoughts come to me like stars shouting, like reflections shooting past so fast I’m left without a recollection. One thing I’m sure of, if I could write one stroke for God’s goodness for every star in the universe, it would be but a residue of His benevolence and His sentiments for us.
Playing (Possum) With Fire. May 6, 2010.
“Flee youthful lusts” (2 Timothy 2:22)
“We had a casualty in the fire” Josh announced when he arrived at the teacher’s meeting today. During the afternoon work period the boys had burned in the banana chaco and a possum decided that his alternate defense mechanism would work better than running. By the time he realized his mistake it was too late. Josh found its charred carcass among the ashes. Instinct is not always a bad thing, but when it comes to salvation from the fire, to trust to instinct is to burn.
(Bizarre fact: the Spanish name for possum is chupacara, or to transliterate, “sucker face.”)
“Come over and help us!” May 16, 2010.
Susie and Cornelio Moro and their eleven-year-old daughter Abigail are leaving us within the next few weeks to go live in Las Amalias, a small indigenous village of about fifty people, a boat ride of several days upriver into the interior.
This last December, Cornelio visited the village with Max, Noel, and a couple other students, the former of which wrote about the experience in his journal for my class. We have two students, Rodolfo and Paulina, who hail from the village. There is no airstrip in Las Amalias, and at the beginning of last school year Rodolfo and Paulina received their acceptance letters via airmail, chucked out the window of the mission plane.
“These people really need help,” Cornelio told me. “Steve (the mission pilot working with us here) and I were meeting with the chief, and I was watching the chief’s son chew on this bone with raw meet on it, one of those bones that’s bent like your elbow like you see in the caveman cartoons… and he dropped it, I guess he was tired of it or something, and this dog came and started to eat it and the kid decides he wants it again and takes it up from the dog and starts to chew on it again. Then the mom comes out and she realizes that baby has dirtied himself and so she scraps the excrement with sticks that she proceeds to throw on the ground right where everyone walks.”
But the people want to learn and they want to change.
“What’s the biggest plane you guys have?” they asked Cornelio. “We want to make an airstrip long enough for your biggest plane!” (Aerostar 600 A).
“Okay!” Cornelio says.
“That’s a lot of work!” he tells me later. “These people have no trucks, no tractors. They’ll be clearing everything by hand. Maybe with a chainsaw at best.”
But it seems the villages are willing to do whatever it takes to get the healthcare and instruction they so desperately need, be it physical or spiritual. They say they receive a pastoral visit only about once a year, and occasionally a gringo Baptist minister also visits, but he always spends the night in his boat.
“You are the first one to ever stay with us in our houses” The villagers told Cornelio. “Please come back! We want to know more about the Bible and about God. We’ll build you a house and we’ll build a church.”
So how did it all get started? School directors Ruan and Tara Swanapoel recently wrote the following background story.
“God has led us to start our first daughter ministry deep in the jungle - opening the work to Seja Indians. It is a beautiful story that has developed over the last two years and is still unfolding.”
“About two years ago a group of us flew to a jungle village called Ingavi. The purpose of our trip was to scout out a good location for a future mission project while at the same time offer medical and dental care to the villagers. The plan was to spend one day in Ingavi and the next day in another village. By early afternoon I realized that half of us would have to stay the night in Ingavi since the line of people awaiting attention was not shrinking. So Susie, our girls’ dean, Joel, one of our students, and I decided that we would stay the night in order to provide more care while the others went home for the night.
The line for medical attention finally ended by early evening and we were invited to dinner, another story in and of itself. We were just finishing our meal when our host came running over to us saying that someone just arrived from a nearby village called Las Amalias, and they needed urgent care. We hurried over to the village hall that served as the makeshift medical clinic and were met at the door by a whole extended family of Sejas. They looked remarkably different from other Bolivians and the fact that they were dressed didn’t change the fact that they looked barely civilized. But there was no time for cultural studies now. One of the men held an unconscious toddler hanging from his arms. The toddler had a high fever and was very weak from vomiting and diarrhea. With no way to know what the cause of the illness could be we started to treat the fever and to pray. We only had liquid children’s Tylenol as a fever reducer, the toddler was unable to keep it down. We wiped him with alcohol wipes, with cool rags, we tried more Tylenol, we prayed more, but nothing would work. Even though he was still breathing he was not responsive. Finally Susie thought of a cold water enema. It worked! The fever dropped and he started responding. Our goal was to keep him alive for the night and fly him and his dad to the hospital the next morning. We had to do three more enemas during the night to control the fever. He made it! Praise the Lord! The next morning we took him to the hospital where they diagnosed him with a severe digestive tract infection and started him on antibiotics. In about a week he was ready to go home. I know that it was God who kept us in that village that night, because He had a plan.
Before leaving Ingavi, I left some applications to our school with plans to return later to interview prospective students. When I arrived a few months later there were 2 young people from Las Amalias whom had come to Ingavi in order to be interviewed. Come to find out later that one of them is the chief’s son and the other the teacher’s daughter. They both were accepted and are still studying with us.
Since then we have maintained contact with the people of Las Amalias. Some of our staff and students went on a mission trip to the village during our summer vacation. Seeing the needs of the people made us long to do more to help them and introduce them to Jesus.
Well the time has come. After talking to representatives of the village and Susie and Cornelio, we decided that they would move to Las Amalias to spearhead the work there. Cornelio, Joel, and Clint left last Wednesday (May 19th) with plans to build a house and start organizing the work. Susie and their daughter, Abigail, plan to join Cornelio and Joel in a couple of weeks.
The current plan is for Susie to provide medical attention while Cornelio helps to improve agricultural practices and the sanitary conditions, all the while building relationships and doing personal evangelism. We will miss Susie, Cornelio, and Abby. They are an integral part of our team, but we are really excited about the opportunity to start reaching into the vast jungles of northern Bolivia. We want to ask you to join us in prayer that God will continue to guide us as we labor for Him. We also want to make an appeal for everyone to consider if maybe the Lord is calling you to serve Him in Bolivia. The need is so great, and the workers so few. Maybe the Lord has a place for you here.”
“Hundreds are waiting for the warning to escape for their lives. The world needs to see in Christians an evidence of the power of Christianity. Not merely in a few places, but throughout the world, messengers of mercy are needed. From every country is heard the cry: ‘Come over, . . . and help us.’ Rich and poor, high and low, are calling for light. Men and women are hungering for the truth as it is in Jesus. When they hear the gospel preached with power from on high, they will know that the banquet is spread for them, and they will respond to the call: ‘Come; for all things are now ready.’ Luke 14:17.” {8T 15.5, 16}
Prayer List
1. The churches in Guayaramerin and the launching of the radio program.
2. The Las Amalias project.
3. For movement on the church building project in Yata. We just finished a five-night series on Steps to Christ last week and there are several studying for baptism. We're going to need a building soon!
4. A lot of people have been sick here at the school lately and there have been several confirmed cases of malaria.
5. That God will open the doors for literature evangelism here. I've been looking into getting the books. There will be more on this later.
As always, thanks for all your prayers and support. May we all continue to grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Kody Kostenko
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Colombia Missions Congress
Prologue Jog:
By now you should know how these things go: this is the warm-up to another verbal marathon. The good news is, it’s divided in stages, and I saved the last half for next time. Besides, no one says you have to run. You can walk, jog, crawl, summersault, or my personal favorite, skip: just read the parts that look interesting. The sections this time are all short stories and reflections from my trip to Colombia in February. (The dates of each section correspond to the time of the story, not of the writing. In other words, they’re dated by the occurrence of the event, not by the occurrence of my over-heated cerebrum.)
It’s hard to believe that two and a half months have already gone by since February 16-21, when I was privilege to help staff an international missions conference in Medellín, Colombia. I even had the opportunity to speak in one of the afternoon workshops. Normally I would have said “no thanks” and made some excuse about not being able to speak Spanish, but its miraculous how the Spirit of God can put the words in your mouth and a smile on your face as He impresses your mind with the infinite love, mercy, justice, and power of God.
The theme of this year’s congress was Entrega Total, or Total Surrender, and the conference banners and bulletins pictured the silhouette of a young man kneeling before a cross formed by the words of Matthew 16:24. Speakers David Gates, Steven Bohr, Rimberto Parada, and others, challenged attendees to a fuller commitment to Jesus Christ and service to others.
In the cultural Christianity of today, too many of us have forgotten the true meaning of the cross of Christ. When Christ said, “Take up your cross and follow Me,” He did not mean for us to hang crucifixes on our necks, key chains, and rearview mirrors while continuing to live self-centered and self-seeking lives. To take up the cross means to go against the grain of human nature, to die to self, and to sacrifice your life to work for the salvation of others.
Recently we took the kids bridge jumping at kilometer 31. It’s not a really high bridge, six meters, maybe seven when you jump from the top of the railing, but its enough to intimidate a few of the more acrophobic. Julio in particular just couldn’t bring himself to make the drop. He clung to the railing for close to half an hour, peering down at the water, sometimes leaning out, but never letting go.
“Just take the railing with you!” we teased.
When it comes to the Christian life, it’s all or nothing. We have to take the plunge; we have to be all in. We should be unashamed of radical commitment. Who cares if people say, “oohh, he’s really gone off the deep end!” Who’s afraid of the deep end? God specializes in the deep end! Is not the deep end where God Himself dwells? “He discovers deep things out of darkness, and brings out to light the shadow of death.” His “judgments are a great deep” and His “thoughts are exceedingly deep.” (Job 12:22 Psalms 36:6, 92:5). And yet He longs for us to experience more of that depth. He came to give us life and that more abundantly (John 10:10). He longs to grant us according to the riches of His glory to be strengthened with might by the Spirit in the inner man; to dwell in our hearts by faith, that being rooted and grounded in love we might be able to comprehend the breadth, and length and depth, and height, and to know His love that passes knowledge that we might be filled with all His fullness (Eph 3:16-19). I don’t know about you, but I long for a deeper experience. But all too often, I’m like Julio on the bridge. I know I have no control in a free-fall and I am afraid to let go of my guardrails and just jump.
God’s Wings. February 16, 2010
There are six of us in the twin-engine Aerostar 600 A, piloted by Capitan Jeff Sutton, director of GMI’s aviation program here in Bolivia. As we climb through the early-morning fog, I notice that the reflection of the cockpit cabin is mirrored in the chrome just behind the prop on the right wing, and it seems a good reminder of what holds us up.
I think of James 1:23-25, Exodus 20, and Psalm 91:4, and I wonder if the Divine Law, as a transcript of God’s character and a monument to His creative and sustaining power, is the chrome on the wings of the Almighty.
“By Their Food You Shall Know Them”
About six hours later we descend into Medellín, Colombia’s version of Interlaken, Switzerland: green and pristine, a slice of paradise in the mouth of the mountains.
When we arrive on the university campus, my host, Señora Isabela, the girl’s dean for off-campus housing, is waiting to greet me and take me to her apartment where her whole family gives me a warm welcome, and she shows me my room and the shower. After I clean up, she asks me what I would like to eat. I’m not picky I tell her: I’ll eat anything as long as its vegetarian, though I also try to avoid dairy products. So she serves me a full-course meal with a huge bowl of fresh-cut mangoes and several whole-wheat peanut-butter sandwiches on the side. Afterward she won’t even let me clear my plate from the table, and I don’t know what to do with this first-class treatment. Later, when I ask if I can borrow an iron to press my clothes, she tells me to just leave them out and she will iron them. If I were Pastor Steven Bohr himself I wouldn’t have been treated better.
One morning I leave the house early to attend the 7:30 meeting, and since the family doesn’t seem to be up yet, I figure I’ll skip breakfast. Not so. I’m helping to set up chairs for the morning workshops when Jerry tells me there’s someone looking for me. I go outside to find a distressed Isabela packing a complete breakfast-to-go.
“No no no, mi Kodito, we can’t let you go hungry! That’s terrible! You need to have your breakfast!” As if that isn’t enough, she takes me to the nearby University breakfast bar and buys me grape juice and empanadas. If I had a better tan and spoke better Spanish everyone would think she was my mom!
My friend Lyli doesn’t fare as well. Her host (who happens to be a pastor) forgot to tell his wife that they were going to have company. When Lyli arrives, the Señora is so upset about the surprise that all she can manage is to show Lyli her room before disappearing into the inner recesses of the house without even a word of greeting. No supper, eight hours, and no breakfast later, poor Lyli is starving and, I would think, sorry she ever came to Colombia. Instead, she tries to make the best of it.
“God knows,” she tells me. “Maybe I need this experience.”
“Maybe your host needs a smack on the head!” (Apparently I have as much to learn about Christianity as the pastor’s wife).
Thankfully I remember that I have a couple granola bars in my backpack, so she at least has something to take the edge off her hunger while we work all morning setting up the school’s booth and manning the registration booth. I want her to come to “my” house for lunch, but she feels bad coming without an invitation.
Later, over a plate of rice, lentils, plantain, and salad, I tell Isabela about Lyli’s situation. She is horrified, and scolds me for not making Lyli come for lunch while she packs up a plate to go.
If Every Home Were a Hospital…
There would be a lot more homeless people. On the other hand, maybe home hospitals would drop the cost of health care. One thing I’ve noticed in South America is there seems to be a lot more in-home medical care. For example, the abuelita, Isabela’s mother, is suffering from high blood pressure, and the doctor stopped by this evening for a consultation. I ask if that’s normal, and they say it depends on the doctor, but most are quite willing to make home calls. I’m not surprised, considering Isabela invites him to stay for supper. I wonder if the greater number of home calls is more about convenience, or more about the fact that the hospitals here aren’t always the clean, healing machines one might expect. In any event, I was thinking about what defines a hospital and I somehow got stuck on the word hospitality—not surprising perhaps, in light of my current context. But what does hospitality have to do with hospitals? It seems like a typical English Learner question: difficult, but logical. Upon a little reflection, however, I would respond “more than you might think!” Hospitality is treating even visitors and strangers as if their lives depend on it, being solicitous and attentive of their needs, and letting them go feeling better than when they arrived. If every home practiced true hospitality, maybe there would be more real Christians and fewer sick and homeless among us.
Unwitting Walk. February 19, 2010
On my way to the University campus for the morning meeting, my head must have been in the clouds (or so it seemed to me as I inhaled traffic fumes) because I turned right at the corner instead of taking the direct route straight to the east entrance. I considered turning back, but I was already over halfway up the block to the next street, I decided to keep going.I had just turned left for the University when a security guard in a maroon suit called to me from the corner. Oh no, I thought. Did I just walk on someone’s lawn, or break some neighborhood code? (It hadn’t taken me long to discover that Medellín’s orderly appearance is largely the result of legislative rather than personal initiative.)
“Brother!” he greeted me. “Can you pray for me?” Whew what a relief. That’s easy! Wait, is this guy serious, or is he making fun of me? With my shirt and tie and my Bible in my hand, I suppose I looked prayer-worthy.
But as I approached I could tell by the look in his eye that he was serious.
“Of course!” I replied. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Javier”
“Any requests in particular?”
“Yes, for my family.” And he proceeded to explain an all-too-typical tale of family tragedy. I put my hand on his shoulder and said a prayer for him and his family. As I turned to leave I remembered I had some Centinela tracts with the title “Does God care when I’m hurting.”
It wasn’t until I’d almost reached the University entrance that I remembered that a mere two hours earlier I had asked the Lord to guide every facet of my day and give me opportunities to share His love with those around me! It amazes me how God can use us in spite of ourselves!
February 20, 2010. Walls. You see them everywhere here. People say that the Hispanic culture is a lot more open, but you sure wouldn’t guess it by the architecture. Granted, we’re in a big city, and one has to take precautions against thieves. But you would think that in broad daylight one could at least open the gate between the church and the street, and if not every day of the week, at least early on Sabbath morning. But then there wouldn’t be this colorful pilgrimage or worshippers wending their way along half a kilometer of walls and fences, a living metaphor of the straight gate and narrow way and the few there be who find it.
By now you should know how these things go: this is the warm-up to another verbal marathon. The good news is, it’s divided in stages, and I saved the last half for next time. Besides, no one says you have to run. You can walk, jog, crawl, summersault, or my personal favorite, skip: just read the parts that look interesting. The sections this time are all short stories and reflections from my trip to Colombia in February. (The dates of each section correspond to the time of the story, not of the writing. In other words, they’re dated by the occurrence of the event, not by the occurrence of my over-heated cerebrum.)
It’s hard to believe that two and a half months have already gone by since February 16-21, when I was privilege to help staff an international missions conference in Medellín, Colombia. I even had the opportunity to speak in one of the afternoon workshops. Normally I would have said “no thanks” and made some excuse about not being able to speak Spanish, but its miraculous how the Spirit of God can put the words in your mouth and a smile on your face as He impresses your mind with the infinite love, mercy, justice, and power of God.
The theme of this year’s congress was Entrega Total, or Total Surrender, and the conference banners and bulletins pictured the silhouette of a young man kneeling before a cross formed by the words of Matthew 16:24. Speakers David Gates, Steven Bohr, Rimberto Parada, and others, challenged attendees to a fuller commitment to Jesus Christ and service to others.
In the cultural Christianity of today, too many of us have forgotten the true meaning of the cross of Christ. When Christ said, “Take up your cross and follow Me,” He did not mean for us to hang crucifixes on our necks, key chains, and rearview mirrors while continuing to live self-centered and self-seeking lives. To take up the cross means to go against the grain of human nature, to die to self, and to sacrifice your life to work for the salvation of others.
Recently we took the kids bridge jumping at kilometer 31. It’s not a really high bridge, six meters, maybe seven when you jump from the top of the railing, but its enough to intimidate a few of the more acrophobic. Julio in particular just couldn’t bring himself to make the drop. He clung to the railing for close to half an hour, peering down at the water, sometimes leaning out, but never letting go.
“Just take the railing with you!” we teased.
When it comes to the Christian life, it’s all or nothing. We have to take the plunge; we have to be all in. We should be unashamed of radical commitment. Who cares if people say, “oohh, he’s really gone off the deep end!” Who’s afraid of the deep end? God specializes in the deep end! Is not the deep end where God Himself dwells? “He discovers deep things out of darkness, and brings out to light the shadow of death.” His “judgments are a great deep” and His “thoughts are exceedingly deep.” (Job 12:22 Psalms 36:6, 92:5). And yet He longs for us to experience more of that depth. He came to give us life and that more abundantly (John 10:10). He longs to grant us according to the riches of His glory to be strengthened with might by the Spirit in the inner man; to dwell in our hearts by faith, that being rooted and grounded in love we might be able to comprehend the breadth, and length and depth, and height, and to know His love that passes knowledge that we might be filled with all His fullness (Eph 3:16-19). I don’t know about you, but I long for a deeper experience. But all too often, I’m like Julio on the bridge. I know I have no control in a free-fall and I am afraid to let go of my guardrails and just jump.
God’s Wings. February 16, 2010
There are six of us in the twin-engine Aerostar 600 A, piloted by Capitan Jeff Sutton, director of GMI’s aviation program here in Bolivia. As we climb through the early-morning fog, I notice that the reflection of the cockpit cabin is mirrored in the chrome just behind the prop on the right wing, and it seems a good reminder of what holds us up.
I think of James 1:23-25, Exodus 20, and Psalm 91:4, and I wonder if the Divine Law, as a transcript of God’s character and a monument to His creative and sustaining power, is the chrome on the wings of the Almighty.
“By Their Food You Shall Know Them”
About six hours later we descend into Medellín, Colombia’s version of Interlaken, Switzerland: green and pristine, a slice of paradise in the mouth of the mountains.
When we arrive on the university campus, my host, Señora Isabela, the girl’s dean for off-campus housing, is waiting to greet me and take me to her apartment where her whole family gives me a warm welcome, and she shows me my room and the shower. After I clean up, she asks me what I would like to eat. I’m not picky I tell her: I’ll eat anything as long as its vegetarian, though I also try to avoid dairy products. So she serves me a full-course meal with a huge bowl of fresh-cut mangoes and several whole-wheat peanut-butter sandwiches on the side. Afterward she won’t even let me clear my plate from the table, and I don’t know what to do with this first-class treatment. Later, when I ask if I can borrow an iron to press my clothes, she tells me to just leave them out and she will iron them. If I were Pastor Steven Bohr himself I wouldn’t have been treated better.
One morning I leave the house early to attend the 7:30 meeting, and since the family doesn’t seem to be up yet, I figure I’ll skip breakfast. Not so. I’m helping to set up chairs for the morning workshops when Jerry tells me there’s someone looking for me. I go outside to find a distressed Isabela packing a complete breakfast-to-go.
“No no no, mi Kodito, we can’t let you go hungry! That’s terrible! You need to have your breakfast!” As if that isn’t enough, she takes me to the nearby University breakfast bar and buys me grape juice and empanadas. If I had a better tan and spoke better Spanish everyone would think she was my mom!
My friend Lyli doesn’t fare as well. Her host (who happens to be a pastor) forgot to tell his wife that they were going to have company. When Lyli arrives, the Señora is so upset about the surprise that all she can manage is to show Lyli her room before disappearing into the inner recesses of the house without even a word of greeting. No supper, eight hours, and no breakfast later, poor Lyli is starving and, I would think, sorry she ever came to Colombia. Instead, she tries to make the best of it.
“God knows,” she tells me. “Maybe I need this experience.”
“Maybe your host needs a smack on the head!” (Apparently I have as much to learn about Christianity as the pastor’s wife).
Thankfully I remember that I have a couple granola bars in my backpack, so she at least has something to take the edge off her hunger while we work all morning setting up the school’s booth and manning the registration booth. I want her to come to “my” house for lunch, but she feels bad coming without an invitation.
Later, over a plate of rice, lentils, plantain, and salad, I tell Isabela about Lyli’s situation. She is horrified, and scolds me for not making Lyli come for lunch while she packs up a plate to go.
If Every Home Were a Hospital…
There would be a lot more homeless people. On the other hand, maybe home hospitals would drop the cost of health care. One thing I’ve noticed in South America is there seems to be a lot more in-home medical care. For example, the abuelita, Isabela’s mother, is suffering from high blood pressure, and the doctor stopped by this evening for a consultation. I ask if that’s normal, and they say it depends on the doctor, but most are quite willing to make home calls. I’m not surprised, considering Isabela invites him to stay for supper. I wonder if the greater number of home calls is more about convenience, or more about the fact that the hospitals here aren’t always the clean, healing machines one might expect. In any event, I was thinking about what defines a hospital and I somehow got stuck on the word hospitality—not surprising perhaps, in light of my current context. But what does hospitality have to do with hospitals? It seems like a typical English Learner question: difficult, but logical. Upon a little reflection, however, I would respond “more than you might think!” Hospitality is treating even visitors and strangers as if their lives depend on it, being solicitous and attentive of their needs, and letting them go feeling better than when they arrived. If every home practiced true hospitality, maybe there would be more real Christians and fewer sick and homeless among us.
Unwitting Walk. February 19, 2010
On my way to the University campus for the morning meeting, my head must have been in the clouds (or so it seemed to me as I inhaled traffic fumes) because I turned right at the corner instead of taking the direct route straight to the east entrance. I considered turning back, but I was already over halfway up the block to the next street, I decided to keep going.I had just turned left for the University when a security guard in a maroon suit called to me from the corner. Oh no, I thought. Did I just walk on someone’s lawn, or break some neighborhood code? (It hadn’t taken me long to discover that Medellín’s orderly appearance is largely the result of legislative rather than personal initiative.)
“Brother!” he greeted me. “Can you pray for me?” Whew what a relief. That’s easy! Wait, is this guy serious, or is he making fun of me? With my shirt and tie and my Bible in my hand, I suppose I looked prayer-worthy.
But as I approached I could tell by the look in his eye that he was serious.
“Of course!” I replied. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Javier”
“Any requests in particular?”
“Yes, for my family.” And he proceeded to explain an all-too-typical tale of family tragedy. I put my hand on his shoulder and said a prayer for him and his family. As I turned to leave I remembered I had some Centinela tracts with the title “Does God care when I’m hurting.”
It wasn’t until I’d almost reached the University entrance that I remembered that a mere two hours earlier I had asked the Lord to guide every facet of my day and give me opportunities to share His love with those around me! It amazes me how God can use us in spite of ourselves!
February 20, 2010. Walls. You see them everywhere here. People say that the Hispanic culture is a lot more open, but you sure wouldn’t guess it by the architecture. Granted, we’re in a big city, and one has to take precautions against thieves. But you would think that in broad daylight one could at least open the gate between the church and the street, and if not every day of the week, at least early on Sabbath morning. But then there wouldn’t be this colorful pilgrimage or worshippers wending their way along half a kilometer of walls and fences, a living metaphor of the straight gate and narrow way and the few there be who find it.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Mass Email gone Massive…
Preamble Ramble. March 22, 2010:
What do the following have in common: Weeds in the garden, stacks of ungraded papers, trees to prune, and tales to be told? Well, other than all sharing space on my interminable to-do list, they all get taller as time goes by! (except for the stories, which I always pass on with pin-point accuracy rooted in reality down to the last nitty-gritty detail!) Actually, as I think about it, perhaps that is my main problem in life right now, summed up in one word: detail! As a teacher, you can’t ignore the details, but you have to learn to pick and choose your battles. For those of you who know me, I’ve never been good at picking much of anything (other than my nose, and certain kinds of fruit) so I invariably end up letting the battles pick me, which as some of you may know, is a good way to get yourself killed.
For example, I was recently elected to be the director of campus maintenance, something I could easily allow to turn into a full-time job. I have two student workers right now, and I’ve kept them busy organizing and cleaning the tool shed, repairing broken tools, and taking inventory, as well as helping me with the mowing. I’m also suddenly receiving requests to fix people’s light switches and unplug everyone’s sink. Every work period (morning and afternoon) I have a bevy of students that gets sent to me for work assignments, and it is real easy to get bogged down walking them through the details of each job I want done. But you can’t over-explain the work assignments I’ve been finding out. I assigned some girls to level a recently cleared area so that it can be cut with the push mower later on, and I failed to mention that they should not fill the hole with the valves that control the water system for the staff duplex. (Which, by the way, was quite some distance from the area I asked them to level! They probably heard the word “holes” and went looking for holes to fill!)
A slip of the tongue in class two weeks ago cost me hours of time this week. The literature class that I teach is for both juniors and seniors, and I attempt to tailor assignments to each level. We meet for class only once a week (officially), but I have to plan and explain enough homework to keep them busy until the next Thursday. On Mondays I supervise a two-hour guided-study session where I can answer questions and give individual help. The theory behind this setup is to encourage self-motivated, independent learning and responsible time-management in the students.
Anyway, in my brilliance, I decided to design my class with some built in weekly homework including journaling, reading, and vocabulary building. Unfortunately, as I was assigning the number of pages the students were to journal, I used the word hoja instead of página.. A página is your normal, regular page. An hoja on the other hand is the entire paper, both front and back. So when I gave the seniors five hojas and the juniors four, you can imagine their response. But students always complain, I know that. And I’ve learned I shouldn’t change my mind on account of a few complaints, especially on the first day of class! You make a decision and you stick to it, otherwise those rascals will run you and your classroom! So they wrote. Eleven seniors and eleven juniors. Twenty-two notebooks. Ninety-nine hojas. One-hundred-ninety-eight pages.
“I don’t have to read all of these completely” I told myself. “I’ll just read a page or two of each, make a few corrections and comments, and move on.”
An hour later I had wallowed through one and a half notebooks. But boy, did those kids write! A few of them really surprised me and went all-out. At the beginning of class we had sung the hymn “Santa Biblia,” followed by a mini-lecture on the importance of thinking about the lyrics and a phrase-by-phrase analysis of the first verse. One of my senior boys responded with ten pages of journal analyzing and explaining the lyrics of one of his favorite hymns one line at a time, interspersed with personal experiences, stories, and commentary. It was one of the finest pieces of work I’ve seen in a high school literature class, not only because of the creativity and relatively error-free syntax, but also because of the spiritual maturity and depth. Another student had several short, creative essays on everything from current politics and how Bolivia fits into the One World Order, to chive, a typical Bolivian seasoning made from yucca.
Of course, not every journal was such a joy to read, but they were good diagnostic material, and I’ve compiled a list of things we need to work on, one of which is the everlasting sentence. Most students are quite adept at splicing a dozen circles’-worth of tangents into one very fierce string of unorganized thoughts with enough barbs to hang you up with your reading comprehension until the cows come home.
So between grading journals, teaching class, giving piano lessons, and directing campus maintenance, I’ve been keeping occupied. I’ve been meaning to update you all with one of these mass emails for the last four weeks now. If you thought my emails were long before, I apologize. (I did take out the section about the mission congress in Colombia, because I haven’t had time to finish writing it yet) Hey, at least you don’t have to read 22 of these! I still have three of last week’s journals waiting for me.
The following takes place between March 2, 2010 and March 22, 2010. (Sorry Mr. Bauer :).
March 2, 2010
School starts in eight days, and we are feverishly trying to complete the girl’s dormitory and the classroom buildings, buy more desks, tables, and chairs, clean up campus, and do the initial paperwork, including the annual curriculum plans that must be submitted to the government. More students have arrived in the past two weeks, and its good to have the extra help with the construction and with reclaiming campus from the jungle. A couple weeks ago Mr. Cornelio and the kids harvested the first stage of the rice we planted last fall, and in between thunderstorms, the girls dry out the kernels on tarps while the boys help pour the floor of the girls dorm underneath more tarps, thunderstorms or no. (We pour with wheel-barrows, just to clarify, and advance at about 2 rooms a day.)
Today I am in town buying diesel for the generator (about $2.44/gallon), checking prices on sinks, and looking for two-inch schedule 40 PVC pipe for the girl’s dorm bathroom. Unfortunately it is nowhere to be found, so it looks like a trip to Brasil may be in the works, otherwise we’ll have to order the pipe from Santa Cruz, unless we decide to just go with the cheap thin stuff. The school truck is out of commission for a while with some kind of electrical ailment, so getting supplies to the school is a bit more complicated. Thankfully one of the brothers from the church has hauled a couple of loads for us with his truck. Other than that, we’re stuck hitch-hiking or taking the busses.
March 3, 2010
On my way back from town yesterday, I was waiting at the parada de los pobres for the bus, when a big square of a man offered me a ride on an equally square truck, loaded with cargo well above the cabin. Offering rides is normal here, and everyone charges five Bolivianos (same as the bus) for the thirty kilometers out to the school. I wasn’t sure how he planned to secure my 55 liter tank of diesel, but as the bus was another 15-20 minute wait and might not even be willing to take my fuel, I decided to go for it.
“Your tank will ride here, and you sit here” he said, indicating a solitary tire, the only article visible above the tarp-covered mountain of cargo. I sat on the tire with the diesel cradled between my knees. We took off, and it didn’t take me very long to realize that I was in for a wild ride. Mr. Square was a Jehu, but even worse, his method of avoiding the potholes was a jerky swerve at the last possible second. He reminded me of a kid fresh of the merry-go-round. Is he trying to throw me off of here? I wondered. I felt rather like a mounted officer on the front lines, or a solitary camper trying to hold down the tent in a bad storm. I could envision having to ditch the diesel to avoid toppling to my doom. Fortunately, there were some cargo straps to cling to, and the inertia of 55 liters also worked to my favor, and we soon passed the worst section of road and arrived at la tranca. While we waited for the officer on duty to lift the gate for us, another truck pulled up beside us, and the driver offered me a ride.
“That would be great!” I said.
“Hold on just a minute, and I’ll help you move your tank to my truck” he said.
“NO way!” it was Mr. Square. For some reason, he was adamant that I ride with
him.
“Nothing against you,” I said. “I’m just nervous about riding up here with no way to secure all this diesel. It almost fell off back there!”
“Don’t worry!” he said. “The road is good from here on, and I’ll drive slow.”
The other driver had backed off at this point, and since I had no one to help me move the tank to the other truck, I stayed put. As we started down the road, I realized that “slow” for Mr. Square was more like the fast end of normal, and I couldn’t help but wonder if his driving reflected an insecurity about his likely pedestrian pace. Thanks to God, we arrived at the entrance of the school driveway without incident.
So, in other news, I’ve been upgraded to a different house this school year, complete with a shower and flush toilet, the latter of which leaked at the base until I reset it this morning. That and a few dozen million other projects are crying out for attention and I wonder if I will ever have time to prepare for my classes: literature 3 and 4, voice choir, and piano lessons. And yet here I sit writing you this update…
I also want to start a book-selling program (also known as colporteuring) for students who are interested, I just don’t know where I’ll find the books I want. I did find out I can get some nine-volume sets that include Steps to Christ, Ministry of Healing, Counsels on Stewardship, and the Conflict of the Ages series, all for 100 bolivianos, or about $14.00, but they all have the same cover design, not exactly ideal for selling door-to-door. The container in the States that we’ve been planning to bring down here has boxes of donated Spirit of Prophecy books, but it will cost thousands of dollars to ship, and who knows when that will happen. I guess God does, and He has his timing. I’d like to coordinate with the churches in Guayara, but the pastor there is resistant to anything outside of the official church program, and so Keila tells me that if I start a colporteur program I’ll probably have better support from the local pastor if I invent another name for it. Funny how a difference in a name can change a person’s mind without changing much of anything else at all.
March 4, 2010
Turns out to be a good thing I went to town Tuesday and even better that I came back the same day. Yesterday all the bus companies started striking. They’ve blocked the road into town and won’t let any vehicles go in or out. It seems the government just passed a law that any driver of public transportation who is pulled over and found to be under the influence will be jailed, have his vehicle impounded and his license suspended for life. In retaliation, all the bus syndicates have declared a national huelga. Ruan got into town yesterday by taking some back roads on his dirt bike, and he says the men at the tranca are guarding the road with rifles and drinking their cervezas as they please.
March 7, 2010
The roof sheeting from Santa Cruz still hasn’t arrived for the Girl’s dorm, but it should be here any day. Raul, one of our 3rd-year boys from La Paz said the girls should be happy about their incomplete habitations — they’re going to have a million-star hotel! The girls aren’t laughing.
I’m not either, as we hike the two kilometers out to the portable asadero, pushing a wheelbarrow full of tanks of gasoline and water, a sharpening kit, block and tackle, and machetes. My socks are slipping with every step, farther into the toes of my rubber boots where they chafe against the blisters I won on this same hike last Friday. I’m on my way to move another downed log and set up the saw to cut more 2x2’s for the pearling on the roof of the girl’s dorm. The world’s a sauna, and I think the portable sawmill should rather be called an asandero, because I’m asando(roasting) after a mere 15-minute walk, and it’s still early. The sun flashes through the foliage like gold eyeteeth, and I trudge through a corridor of steaming green that sweats just from the simple exertion of feeding itself. Like the sun, the grasses show their teeth and punish my skin as I brush against the orilla. This is my third day in the last four of working with the sawmill, and my forearms are red and cut like the future stakes that I know are grazing out here somewhere in this madness of snarled pasture, returning to its natural state only months after its baptism by fire.
When we arrive at the downed log via the path I had the kids blaze with their machetes, it takes nearly the whole morning just to move it into position using the block and tackle and a tripod of hardwood four by fours. The next step is to set up the saw. The frame is light, and assembles quickly, but it takes the rest of the morning to get everything square. We return to the school for a hot lunch of steaming rice and beans, refill our water bottles, and hike back out to the work site. The kids are really slowing down by this point. One boy in particular has a very rotten attitude about today’s work requirements...(to be continued)
March 9, 2010
As soon as I grabbed it I knew there was something drastically wrong. My tortilla was crusty! You know, the kind that crack when you fold them, or shatter when you try to wrap your burrito. I don’t want this tortilla, I want a nice soft one that I can fill with my beans and salad! I told myself. But it was too late. I had the tortilla in hand, and I would eat it, si o si, as I well knew from childhood programming.
And then came a brilliant epiphany: this tortilla was a lot like the leftover piecrust mom used to bake with sugar and cinnamon! No sooner thought than said, my idea gave rise to an invitation from Tara to retrieve the missing ingredients. (We were eating our takeouts from the cafeteria at Ruan and Tara’s house, as we often do.) So, I went to the cupboard, fully expecting to soon indulge myself with a creative, impromptu pastry. The cinnamon was an easy find, but alas, the sugar was another whole rummage- around.
“Where would I find the sugar?” I had quickly tired of scanning the shelves of various containers and bolsas of seasoning, flour, and other varying culinary supplies.
“In the plastic box there on the left” Tara informed me.
The plastic box on the left however, was full of medio-opaque bolsas, forcing me to read the labels in order to ascertain the contents. Flour, baking soda, milk powder, unknown substance: I quickly ran out of shelf space to place the baggies as I removed them from the box, so I replaced them all in the box, and took the whole mess to one end of the table, right next to a stack of books and papers. Bad mistake. As I lifted one of the bags, another bag fell against the side of the box, poofing milk powder all over the papers and books. I lifted the offending bag to refold the open end and clip it more securely when Lyli interrupted “Kody, look out! It’s still spilling!”
Sure enough, some more milk powder caught in the wrinkles at the folded end of the bag were cascading into the plastic box. After finally subduing the rogue milk-bag, I went to dump the loose powder out of the box.
“Just put it in the cat’s dish” Tara suggested. “She likes it.”
I approached Marmite’s bowl on the floor next to the stove and bent down to empty the milk powder. Thwack! I had failed to consider the overhead cabinets that extend out past the stove and over the animal’s dishes, and my head rebounded from the bottom cupboard door, like a ping-pong ball according to Tara, although I contest that my rapid reflexes enabled me to withdraw from the point of impact with such rapidity.
Finally I uncovered the bag of sugar at the bottom of the box: simply large, brown crystals, but it was sugar nonetheless, and I would have my pastry. The bag was unopened however, so to avoid further mishaps, I handed it to Lyli to open, which she did without incident.
At last! With a sprinkle of sugar crystals and a dash of cinnamon over my crusty tortilla, I opened my mouth for the first delicious bite, when Lyli, who at this point was in the middle of an animated story, said something that made me laugh one of those short, spontaneous snorts that exits through the nose, right over my uplifted tortilla. Sugar and cinnamon scattered all over the table.
By this time, all of us were laughing, and I felt like a complete fool.
I would have been better off to just be content and eat my tortilla plain and crusty!
“Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I (or my tortilla are in), therewith to be content. I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound… (Philippians 4:11-12).
March 22, 2010.
I had big plans to finish this email today. I was going to write some stories from working with the sawmill as well as tell you about the mission congress in Colombia last February. But, things just happened, and looks like it will have to wait. I hope that something you read in all this madness was a blessing and an encouragement. Thanks again for all of your prayers and support. Please pray for our students and for this school year that we may do the will of God and experience His transforming and creative power working in our lives in a visible, tangible way, every moment of every day. Blessings!
What do the following have in common: Weeds in the garden, stacks of ungraded papers, trees to prune, and tales to be told? Well, other than all sharing space on my interminable to-do list, they all get taller as time goes by! (except for the stories, which I always pass on with pin-point accuracy rooted in reality down to the last nitty-gritty detail!) Actually, as I think about it, perhaps that is my main problem in life right now, summed up in one word: detail! As a teacher, you can’t ignore the details, but you have to learn to pick and choose your battles. For those of you who know me, I’ve never been good at picking much of anything (other than my nose, and certain kinds of fruit) so I invariably end up letting the battles pick me, which as some of you may know, is a good way to get yourself killed.
For example, I was recently elected to be the director of campus maintenance, something I could easily allow to turn into a full-time job. I have two student workers right now, and I’ve kept them busy organizing and cleaning the tool shed, repairing broken tools, and taking inventory, as well as helping me with the mowing. I’m also suddenly receiving requests to fix people’s light switches and unplug everyone’s sink. Every work period (morning and afternoon) I have a bevy of students that gets sent to me for work assignments, and it is real easy to get bogged down walking them through the details of each job I want done. But you can’t over-explain the work assignments I’ve been finding out. I assigned some girls to level a recently cleared area so that it can be cut with the push mower later on, and I failed to mention that they should not fill the hole with the valves that control the water system for the staff duplex. (Which, by the way, was quite some distance from the area I asked them to level! They probably heard the word “holes” and went looking for holes to fill!)
A slip of the tongue in class two weeks ago cost me hours of time this week. The literature class that I teach is for both juniors and seniors, and I attempt to tailor assignments to each level. We meet for class only once a week (officially), but I have to plan and explain enough homework to keep them busy until the next Thursday. On Mondays I supervise a two-hour guided-study session where I can answer questions and give individual help. The theory behind this setup is to encourage self-motivated, independent learning and responsible time-management in the students.
Anyway, in my brilliance, I decided to design my class with some built in weekly homework including journaling, reading, and vocabulary building. Unfortunately, as I was assigning the number of pages the students were to journal, I used the word hoja instead of página.. A página is your normal, regular page. An hoja on the other hand is the entire paper, both front and back. So when I gave the seniors five hojas and the juniors four, you can imagine their response. But students always complain, I know that. And I’ve learned I shouldn’t change my mind on account of a few complaints, especially on the first day of class! You make a decision and you stick to it, otherwise those rascals will run you and your classroom! So they wrote. Eleven seniors and eleven juniors. Twenty-two notebooks. Ninety-nine hojas. One-hundred-ninety-eight pages.
“I don’t have to read all of these completely” I told myself. “I’ll just read a page or two of each, make a few corrections and comments, and move on.”
An hour later I had wallowed through one and a half notebooks. But boy, did those kids write! A few of them really surprised me and went all-out. At the beginning of class we had sung the hymn “Santa Biblia,” followed by a mini-lecture on the importance of thinking about the lyrics and a phrase-by-phrase analysis of the first verse. One of my senior boys responded with ten pages of journal analyzing and explaining the lyrics of one of his favorite hymns one line at a time, interspersed with personal experiences, stories, and commentary. It was one of the finest pieces of work I’ve seen in a high school literature class, not only because of the creativity and relatively error-free syntax, but also because of the spiritual maturity and depth. Another student had several short, creative essays on everything from current politics and how Bolivia fits into the One World Order, to chive, a typical Bolivian seasoning made from yucca.
Of course, not every journal was such a joy to read, but they were good diagnostic material, and I’ve compiled a list of things we need to work on, one of which is the everlasting sentence. Most students are quite adept at splicing a dozen circles’-worth of tangents into one very fierce string of unorganized thoughts with enough barbs to hang you up with your reading comprehension until the cows come home.
So between grading journals, teaching class, giving piano lessons, and directing campus maintenance, I’ve been keeping occupied. I’ve been meaning to update you all with one of these mass emails for the last four weeks now. If you thought my emails were long before, I apologize. (I did take out the section about the mission congress in Colombia, because I haven’t had time to finish writing it yet) Hey, at least you don’t have to read 22 of these! I still have three of last week’s journals waiting for me.
The following takes place between March 2, 2010 and March 22, 2010. (Sorry Mr. Bauer :).
March 2, 2010
School starts in eight days, and we are feverishly trying to complete the girl’s dormitory and the classroom buildings, buy more desks, tables, and chairs, clean up campus, and do the initial paperwork, including the annual curriculum plans that must be submitted to the government. More students have arrived in the past two weeks, and its good to have the extra help with the construction and with reclaiming campus from the jungle. A couple weeks ago Mr. Cornelio and the kids harvested the first stage of the rice we planted last fall, and in between thunderstorms, the girls dry out the kernels on tarps while the boys help pour the floor of the girls dorm underneath more tarps, thunderstorms or no. (We pour with wheel-barrows, just to clarify, and advance at about 2 rooms a day.)
Today I am in town buying diesel for the generator (about $2.44/gallon), checking prices on sinks, and looking for two-inch schedule 40 PVC pipe for the girl’s dorm bathroom. Unfortunately it is nowhere to be found, so it looks like a trip to Brasil may be in the works, otherwise we’ll have to order the pipe from Santa Cruz, unless we decide to just go with the cheap thin stuff. The school truck is out of commission for a while with some kind of electrical ailment, so getting supplies to the school is a bit more complicated. Thankfully one of the brothers from the church has hauled a couple of loads for us with his truck. Other than that, we’re stuck hitch-hiking or taking the busses.
March 3, 2010
On my way back from town yesterday, I was waiting at the parada de los pobres for the bus, when a big square of a man offered me a ride on an equally square truck, loaded with cargo well above the cabin. Offering rides is normal here, and everyone charges five Bolivianos (same as the bus) for the thirty kilometers out to the school. I wasn’t sure how he planned to secure my 55 liter tank of diesel, but as the bus was another 15-20 minute wait and might not even be willing to take my fuel, I decided to go for it.
“Your tank will ride here, and you sit here” he said, indicating a solitary tire, the only article visible above the tarp-covered mountain of cargo. I sat on the tire with the diesel cradled between my knees. We took off, and it didn’t take me very long to realize that I was in for a wild ride. Mr. Square was a Jehu, but even worse, his method of avoiding the potholes was a jerky swerve at the last possible second. He reminded me of a kid fresh of the merry-go-round. Is he trying to throw me off of here? I wondered. I felt rather like a mounted officer on the front lines, or a solitary camper trying to hold down the tent in a bad storm. I could envision having to ditch the diesel to avoid toppling to my doom. Fortunately, there were some cargo straps to cling to, and the inertia of 55 liters also worked to my favor, and we soon passed the worst section of road and arrived at la tranca. While we waited for the officer on duty to lift the gate for us, another truck pulled up beside us, and the driver offered me a ride.
“That would be great!” I said.
“Hold on just a minute, and I’ll help you move your tank to my truck” he said.
“NO way!” it was Mr. Square. For some reason, he was adamant that I ride with
him.
“Nothing against you,” I said. “I’m just nervous about riding up here with no way to secure all this diesel. It almost fell off back there!”
“Don’t worry!” he said. “The road is good from here on, and I’ll drive slow.”
The other driver had backed off at this point, and since I had no one to help me move the tank to the other truck, I stayed put. As we started down the road, I realized that “slow” for Mr. Square was more like the fast end of normal, and I couldn’t help but wonder if his driving reflected an insecurity about his likely pedestrian pace. Thanks to God, we arrived at the entrance of the school driveway without incident.
So, in other news, I’ve been upgraded to a different house this school year, complete with a shower and flush toilet, the latter of which leaked at the base until I reset it this morning. That and a few dozen million other projects are crying out for attention and I wonder if I will ever have time to prepare for my classes: literature 3 and 4, voice choir, and piano lessons. And yet here I sit writing you this update…
I also want to start a book-selling program (also known as colporteuring) for students who are interested, I just don’t know where I’ll find the books I want. I did find out I can get some nine-volume sets that include Steps to Christ, Ministry of Healing, Counsels on Stewardship, and the Conflict of the Ages series, all for 100 bolivianos, or about $14.00, but they all have the same cover design, not exactly ideal for selling door-to-door. The container in the States that we’ve been planning to bring down here has boxes of donated Spirit of Prophecy books, but it will cost thousands of dollars to ship, and who knows when that will happen. I guess God does, and He has his timing. I’d like to coordinate with the churches in Guayara, but the pastor there is resistant to anything outside of the official church program, and so Keila tells me that if I start a colporteur program I’ll probably have better support from the local pastor if I invent another name for it. Funny how a difference in a name can change a person’s mind without changing much of anything else at all.
March 4, 2010
Turns out to be a good thing I went to town Tuesday and even better that I came back the same day. Yesterday all the bus companies started striking. They’ve blocked the road into town and won’t let any vehicles go in or out. It seems the government just passed a law that any driver of public transportation who is pulled over and found to be under the influence will be jailed, have his vehicle impounded and his license suspended for life. In retaliation, all the bus syndicates have declared a national huelga. Ruan got into town yesterday by taking some back roads on his dirt bike, and he says the men at the tranca are guarding the road with rifles and drinking their cervezas as they please.
March 7, 2010
The roof sheeting from Santa Cruz still hasn’t arrived for the Girl’s dorm, but it should be here any day. Raul, one of our 3rd-year boys from La Paz said the girls should be happy about their incomplete habitations — they’re going to have a million-star hotel! The girls aren’t laughing.
I’m not either, as we hike the two kilometers out to the portable asadero, pushing a wheelbarrow full of tanks of gasoline and water, a sharpening kit, block and tackle, and machetes. My socks are slipping with every step, farther into the toes of my rubber boots where they chafe against the blisters I won on this same hike last Friday. I’m on my way to move another downed log and set up the saw to cut more 2x2’s for the pearling on the roof of the girl’s dorm. The world’s a sauna, and I think the portable sawmill should rather be called an asandero, because I’m asando(roasting) after a mere 15-minute walk, and it’s still early. The sun flashes through the foliage like gold eyeteeth, and I trudge through a corridor of steaming green that sweats just from the simple exertion of feeding itself. Like the sun, the grasses show their teeth and punish my skin as I brush against the orilla. This is my third day in the last four of working with the sawmill, and my forearms are red and cut like the future stakes that I know are grazing out here somewhere in this madness of snarled pasture, returning to its natural state only months after its baptism by fire.
When we arrive at the downed log via the path I had the kids blaze with their machetes, it takes nearly the whole morning just to move it into position using the block and tackle and a tripod of hardwood four by fours. The next step is to set up the saw. The frame is light, and assembles quickly, but it takes the rest of the morning to get everything square. We return to the school for a hot lunch of steaming rice and beans, refill our water bottles, and hike back out to the work site. The kids are really slowing down by this point. One boy in particular has a very rotten attitude about today’s work requirements...(to be continued)
March 9, 2010
As soon as I grabbed it I knew there was something drastically wrong. My tortilla was crusty! You know, the kind that crack when you fold them, or shatter when you try to wrap your burrito. I don’t want this tortilla, I want a nice soft one that I can fill with my beans and salad! I told myself. But it was too late. I had the tortilla in hand, and I would eat it, si o si, as I well knew from childhood programming.
And then came a brilliant epiphany: this tortilla was a lot like the leftover piecrust mom used to bake with sugar and cinnamon! No sooner thought than said, my idea gave rise to an invitation from Tara to retrieve the missing ingredients. (We were eating our takeouts from the cafeteria at Ruan and Tara’s house, as we often do.) So, I went to the cupboard, fully expecting to soon indulge myself with a creative, impromptu pastry. The cinnamon was an easy find, but alas, the sugar was another whole rummage- around.
“Where would I find the sugar?” I had quickly tired of scanning the shelves of various containers and bolsas of seasoning, flour, and other varying culinary supplies.
“In the plastic box there on the left” Tara informed me.
The plastic box on the left however, was full of medio-opaque bolsas, forcing me to read the labels in order to ascertain the contents. Flour, baking soda, milk powder, unknown substance: I quickly ran out of shelf space to place the baggies as I removed them from the box, so I replaced them all in the box, and took the whole mess to one end of the table, right next to a stack of books and papers. Bad mistake. As I lifted one of the bags, another bag fell against the side of the box, poofing milk powder all over the papers and books. I lifted the offending bag to refold the open end and clip it more securely when Lyli interrupted “Kody, look out! It’s still spilling!”
Sure enough, some more milk powder caught in the wrinkles at the folded end of the bag were cascading into the plastic box. After finally subduing the rogue milk-bag, I went to dump the loose powder out of the box.
“Just put it in the cat’s dish” Tara suggested. “She likes it.”
I approached Marmite’s bowl on the floor next to the stove and bent down to empty the milk powder. Thwack! I had failed to consider the overhead cabinets that extend out past the stove and over the animal’s dishes, and my head rebounded from the bottom cupboard door, like a ping-pong ball according to Tara, although I contest that my rapid reflexes enabled me to withdraw from the point of impact with such rapidity.
Finally I uncovered the bag of sugar at the bottom of the box: simply large, brown crystals, but it was sugar nonetheless, and I would have my pastry. The bag was unopened however, so to avoid further mishaps, I handed it to Lyli to open, which she did without incident.
At last! With a sprinkle of sugar crystals and a dash of cinnamon over my crusty tortilla, I opened my mouth for the first delicious bite, when Lyli, who at this point was in the middle of an animated story, said something that made me laugh one of those short, spontaneous snorts that exits through the nose, right over my uplifted tortilla. Sugar and cinnamon scattered all over the table.
By this time, all of us were laughing, and I felt like a complete fool.
I would have been better off to just be content and eat my tortilla plain and crusty!
“Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I (or my tortilla are in), therewith to be content. I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound… (Philippians 4:11-12).
March 22, 2010.
I had big plans to finish this email today. I was going to write some stories from working with the sawmill as well as tell you about the mission congress in Colombia last February. But, things just happened, and looks like it will have to wait. I hope that something you read in all this madness was a blessing and an encouragement. Thanks again for all of your prayers and support. Please pray for our students and for this school year that we may do the will of God and experience His transforming and creative power working in our lives in a visible, tangible way, every moment of every day. Blessings!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Jet Streams.
2/2/2010
We leave the house at 3:40 a.m. for Sacramento International. Four hours of sleep is not a good way to start a 23-hour trip! I’m reminded that the immune system is most active when you’re sleeping and that airplanes are like bacteria test tubes,
and I resolve to nap today as much as possible. But I’m going to try not to sleep the whole time because I’m taking some GLOW tracts with me, and I’ve been praying I’ll meet some people who want to hear the good news!
United flight 410, departing from Sacramento to Denver.6:00 a.m.
The kids are up early in Sacramento this morning. I can see their flashlights glowing under the wrinkled sheet of morning fog, and I wonder what books they are reading. Joe, (I think that’s what he said his name is) in the seat next to me, is reading The China Study,the same book I have tucked inside my computer bag. The book makes for a great conversation starter about health and the original diet. Turns out Joe’s brother has heart problems, and the plant-based diet prescribed by Dr. Colin Campbell pretty much saved his life, so he let Joe in on the good news. I
mention how it’s interesting that God’s plan for our diet in the beginning still makes the most sense today.
Joe and his wife are on their way to North Dakota, the state where I was born, the Siberia of the U.S. It seems like we’re flying over Siberia as the first rays of sun light up a frozen wilderness. Joe’s wife is a kindergarten teacher and so when they ask where I’m headed I tell them a bit about UETIRG and our program there and contrast it with the memory-based Bolivian system and our own teaching-to-the-test tendencies in the U.S. I want to talk more, but its early, and I can tell they’d like to sleep. So I watch the landscape. The Rockies are beautiful! Here and there I see lakes so clear they could be windows into other worlds.
As we approach Denver we fly over textured farms with plowed fields, striped like layered cake, or stratified stone. A jet crosses close below us, sketching a white line across the sky.Strange how we can cross paths with so many people and leave only a wire of a cloud that still somehow calls attention to heaven.
When we land, Joe and his wife wake up, and while waiting to dock at the gate we talk some more and wish each other safe travels. Joe still has The China Study in his hand and I notice he’s using a pen for a marker. As we debark, I give him the Glow tract called “A Day to Remember” and tell him he can use it for a bookmark. Original diet, meet original Sabbath!
Denver to Miami, United flight 266, 10:17 a.m. mountain time.
We’re flying over a landscape dressed in polka dots. It seems a lot of people out here farm in circles, and I wonder if that’s ever a problem. Maybe it facilitates crop rotation! I laugh at my own ridiculous imagination. But sadly, that’s about as ignorant of farming as we’re becoming these days.
Miami to Santa Cruz, Bolivia with a stop in La Paz. American Airlines 922. 10:25 p.m. eastern time.
I’m surprised to discover that my seat assignment is 9C, the aisle side of the row right behind first-class. Because it’s by the emergency door, there are only two seats in our row. I’ve never had this much legroom on a plane before. There are no seats in front of us, so I have to stow my computer bag in the overhead storage, but first I take out my Bible and my water bottle.
My seatmate is standing while he waits for everyone else to board the plane. He is tall with a hard face, and hardly seems to acknowledge me when I say hello. I figure it will be a quiet ride. That’s okay, because I really want to sleep! I settle into my chair and am about to close my eyes when he asks in very good English if I’m going to La Paz.
“No, I’m going on to Santa Cruz” I respond.
“Really? That’s where I live.” He says. He starts to ask what I’ll be doing there, and then he stops, and pointing to my Bible asks:
“Are you a missionary?”
And just like that we’re into a conversation about the high school where I volunteer, and what a blessing it has been. At some point we switch from English to Spanish, and he seems more comfortable. He is surprised that the church organization doesn’t support the school financially, but I tell him that God has always provided and we’ve never lacked our necessities. We’ve had food or money arrive the very day that we finished our last meal. The flight attendants have strapped into their jumper seats right in front of us, and they can’t help but overhear our conversation and when I glance at them I can tell they are listening.
Later, when the flight attendants pass by with the supper I ask for the vegetarian meal I ordered on my reservation. The attendant apologizes and says that vegetarian meals are only provided on longer flights. My seat mate Señor Salomon asks me if I’ve always been vegetarian.
“What do you eat to replace the meat?” he asks.
“Nuts, beans, and other legumes.They have all the protein in them your body needs” I tell him.I’m surprised when Guermo, the flight attendant, brings me a whole-wheat roll and a huge salad with spinach and shredded carrots on a tray with a real napkin and real silverware. On the side is a bowl of mixed nuts! They’ve been listening to everything! I talk some more with Mr. Salomon about diet and health. He says he avoids meat during the week, (he means red meats: fish and chicken don’t count) but on weekends they still eat carne. Mr. Salomon owns a paint distribution company that’s an affiliate with Sherwin Williams. He’s on his way home from a trip to Milan, Italy. He says he’s a Christian, and that he wants to witness to other business owners.
“But for them to listen to anything you say, you have to be successful” he tells me. “When I first started, it was all about the money. God had to humble me a couple of times. Once my factory burned down and I lost everything. I had insurance, but they only covered half of my loss. Now I realize the most important things are God’s approval and the approval of my wife and family.”
When I exit the plane in Santa Cruz, I hand the flight attendant a GLOW tract. Mr. Salomon waits for me to clear customs and then offers me a ride. He and his wife ask me more questions.
“What do Adventists believe about the carnival?” they ask. It’s about a week before a big carnival notorious for its debauchery, where many people party themselves into a stupor. I tell them we believe that followers of Christ will respect their health and their bodies and will avoid putting themselves in places where they will be tempted to let sensuality and fleshly passions reign unchecked."
“Oh, that’s good.” He says. “The people here in Bolivia need to be taught that, because they grow up accustomed to the carnival, and it really is a licentious disaster.”
When we arrive at his house, Mr.Salomon has his driver José take me by the paint business, Casa Color,so I’ll know where it is. He wants me to come by later
to pick up some paint for the school.
“Make sure you send me pictures” he said, and handed me his email address and cell number. After showing me the business, José drives me right to the door of my destination.
P.S. I spent the weekend in Santa Cruz and then God blessed me unexpectedly with a flight with Pastor Gates to Guayaramerin! It was such a blessing to not have to be stuck waiting around in the big city! I’ve been at the school for a week now, helping with the construction and also helping interview new students for the coming school year. Tomorrow it looks like I will have the opportunity to fly to Colombia for a mission youth conference, so please keep that in your prayers as well. God bless you all.
We leave the house at 3:40 a.m. for Sacramento International. Four hours of sleep is not a good way to start a 23-hour trip! I’m reminded that the immune system is most active when you’re sleeping and that airplanes are like bacteria test tubes,
and I resolve to nap today as much as possible. But I’m going to try not to sleep the whole time because I’m taking some GLOW tracts with me, and I’ve been praying I’ll meet some people who want to hear the good news!
United flight 410, departing from Sacramento to Denver.6:00 a.m.
The kids are up early in Sacramento this morning. I can see their flashlights glowing under the wrinkled sheet of morning fog, and I wonder what books they are reading. Joe, (I think that’s what he said his name is) in the seat next to me, is reading The China Study,the same book I have tucked inside my computer bag. The book makes for a great conversation starter about health and the original diet. Turns out Joe’s brother has heart problems, and the plant-based diet prescribed by Dr. Colin Campbell pretty much saved his life, so he let Joe in on the good news. I
mention how it’s interesting that God’s plan for our diet in the beginning still makes the most sense today.
Joe and his wife are on their way to North Dakota, the state where I was born, the Siberia of the U.S. It seems like we’re flying over Siberia as the first rays of sun light up a frozen wilderness. Joe’s wife is a kindergarten teacher and so when they ask where I’m headed I tell them a bit about UETIRG and our program there and contrast it with the memory-based Bolivian system and our own teaching-to-the-test tendencies in the U.S. I want to talk more, but its early, and I can tell they’d like to sleep. So I watch the landscape. The Rockies are beautiful! Here and there I see lakes so clear they could be windows into other worlds.
As we approach Denver we fly over textured farms with plowed fields, striped like layered cake, or stratified stone. A jet crosses close below us, sketching a white line across the sky.Strange how we can cross paths with so many people and leave only a wire of a cloud that still somehow calls attention to heaven.
When we land, Joe and his wife wake up, and while waiting to dock at the gate we talk some more and wish each other safe travels. Joe still has The China Study in his hand and I notice he’s using a pen for a marker. As we debark, I give him the Glow tract called “A Day to Remember” and tell him he can use it for a bookmark. Original diet, meet original Sabbath!
Denver to Miami, United flight 266, 10:17 a.m. mountain time.
We’re flying over a landscape dressed in polka dots. It seems a lot of people out here farm in circles, and I wonder if that’s ever a problem. Maybe it facilitates crop rotation! I laugh at my own ridiculous imagination. But sadly, that’s about as ignorant of farming as we’re becoming these days.
Miami to Santa Cruz, Bolivia with a stop in La Paz. American Airlines 922. 10:25 p.m. eastern time.
I’m surprised to discover that my seat assignment is 9C, the aisle side of the row right behind first-class. Because it’s by the emergency door, there are only two seats in our row. I’ve never had this much legroom on a plane before. There are no seats in front of us, so I have to stow my computer bag in the overhead storage, but first I take out my Bible and my water bottle.
My seatmate is standing while he waits for everyone else to board the plane. He is tall with a hard face, and hardly seems to acknowledge me when I say hello. I figure it will be a quiet ride. That’s okay, because I really want to sleep! I settle into my chair and am about to close my eyes when he asks in very good English if I’m going to La Paz.
“No, I’m going on to Santa Cruz” I respond.
“Really? That’s where I live.” He says. He starts to ask what I’ll be doing there, and then he stops, and pointing to my Bible asks:
“Are you a missionary?”
And just like that we’re into a conversation about the high school where I volunteer, and what a blessing it has been. At some point we switch from English to Spanish, and he seems more comfortable. He is surprised that the church organization doesn’t support the school financially, but I tell him that God has always provided and we’ve never lacked our necessities. We’ve had food or money arrive the very day that we finished our last meal. The flight attendants have strapped into their jumper seats right in front of us, and they can’t help but overhear our conversation and when I glance at them I can tell they are listening.
Later, when the flight attendants pass by with the supper I ask for the vegetarian meal I ordered on my reservation. The attendant apologizes and says that vegetarian meals are only provided on longer flights. My seat mate Señor Salomon asks me if I’ve always been vegetarian.
“What do you eat to replace the meat?” he asks.
“Nuts, beans, and other legumes.They have all the protein in them your body needs” I tell him.I’m surprised when Guermo, the flight attendant, brings me a whole-wheat roll and a huge salad with spinach and shredded carrots on a tray with a real napkin and real silverware. On the side is a bowl of mixed nuts! They’ve been listening to everything! I talk some more with Mr. Salomon about diet and health. He says he avoids meat during the week, (he means red meats: fish and chicken don’t count) but on weekends they still eat carne. Mr. Salomon owns a paint distribution company that’s an affiliate with Sherwin Williams. He’s on his way home from a trip to Milan, Italy. He says he’s a Christian, and that he wants to witness to other business owners.
“But for them to listen to anything you say, you have to be successful” he tells me. “When I first started, it was all about the money. God had to humble me a couple of times. Once my factory burned down and I lost everything. I had insurance, but they only covered half of my loss. Now I realize the most important things are God’s approval and the approval of my wife and family.”
When I exit the plane in Santa Cruz, I hand the flight attendant a GLOW tract. Mr. Salomon waits for me to clear customs and then offers me a ride. He and his wife ask me more questions.
“What do Adventists believe about the carnival?” they ask. It’s about a week before a big carnival notorious for its debauchery, where many people party themselves into a stupor. I tell them we believe that followers of Christ will respect their health and their bodies and will avoid putting themselves in places where they will be tempted to let sensuality and fleshly passions reign unchecked."
“Oh, that’s good.” He says. “The people here in Bolivia need to be taught that, because they grow up accustomed to the carnival, and it really is a licentious disaster.”
When we arrive at his house, Mr.Salomon has his driver José take me by the paint business, Casa Color,so I’ll know where it is. He wants me to come by later
to pick up some paint for the school.
“Make sure you send me pictures” he said, and handed me his email address and cell number. After showing me the business, José drives me right to the door of my destination.
P.S. I spent the weekend in Santa Cruz and then God blessed me unexpectedly with a flight with Pastor Gates to Guayaramerin! It was such a blessing to not have to be stuck waiting around in the big city! I’ve been at the school for a week now, helping with the construction and also helping interview new students for the coming school year. Tomorrow it looks like I will have the opportunity to fly to Colombia for a mission youth conference, so please keep that in your prayers as well. God bless you all.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Just Sharing the Blessings :)
Two more days and I'll be back in for Bolivia, Lord willing! I’m excited! Being home the last few months has really been a blessing and inspiration though, as I’ve had so many opportunities to study and share and learn, I just have to share some of them with you! I’ve never seen a church so active in ministry before as the one here in Oroville! There are daily Bible studies in people’s homes and in the church, there is colportuering outreach, personal ministries, community services, and a church choir, all in addition to midweek prayer meeting and Sabbath vespers. Even more importantly is the Spirit behind it all. Things aren't perfect, but God's Spirit is moving! I definitely haven’t run out of things to do! God also provided me with a few days of work at a wholesale business that cuts up old wine barrels and resells them as planters, a redemptive aspect I find very satisfying!
When I was at Weimar a few weeks ago for a Hispanic Youth Conference, about 50 of us got on the Weimar Academy bus Sabbath afternoon and drove to Lincoln where we gave door-to-door surveys to probe people’s spiritual interests. In over half of the homes my friend Sean and I visited, the people spoke only Spanish. It was such a blessing to still be able to communicate. At one house, the young man who answered the door was interested in virtually everything on our survey.
“Health seminars?”
“Si!”
“Cooking and nutritional classes?”
“o si!”
“Seminars on how to manage your stress?”
“Si, seria muy bien!”
Finally we came to a break in the affirmations when I asked about stop-smoking seminars and he said he doesn’t smoke. “Stop drinking classes?”
“Eso si, necesito eso!” he looked sheepishly at his wife.
We took a brief break in the survey as he invited us inside.
“It’s cold out there” he said. His name was Jose Luis, and he introduced us to his wife Patricia and their two little girls, Yaquelin and Sabata. We continued the survey and he said yes to everything else including Bible studies and prophecy seminars. He said his family is facing some really hard times right now and they are looking for all the help they can get. I asked if we could have prayer with them. He looked confused.
“Sure.” He said, “But how?” I was shocked to realize he and his family had no idea how to pray!
“It’s simple,” I said. “We just talk to God like we would to a friend, but also with respect as our Lord and Savior.” We made a circle, and after asking if they had any specific requests, we prayed what must have been their first family prayer.
“Thank you so much!” was all they could say as we were leaving, and their smiles made the 40º weather feel like 75. What a powerful blessing to be able to tell someone the good news that they can talk directly to God, that He listens, and He cares!
In just over an hour we had talked to three more families interested in Bible studies and several more interested in the health seminars. You cannot tell me that the Holy Spirit is not at work today! People are hungry! Sean and I kept thinking about a quote that Pastor Johnny Suárez, director of the Spanish radio programming Pan de Vida, had shared in his sermon a few hours before and we realized there is a big work to be done among the Hispanic communities here in the States!
Pastor Johnny told the story of two colporteurs from PUC (Pacific Union College) who started the Adventist work among the Hispanic population in the U.S. Not able to speak Spanish, they were frustrated until they met a bilingual Baptist pastor. He didn’t want any of their books, however, and instead of offering to help them, he challenged them to a public debate on the topic of the Sabbath.
On the day of the debate, the pastor received a letter from a Hispanic couple in a neighboring town asking him to come explain to them why Christians observe Sunday when their recent study of the scriptures showed Saturday to be the true Sabbath. “Perfect!” thought the pastor. “After this debate I’ll go up there and straighten these guys out too!”
At the debate, the minister thought he would be smart and make the colporteurs go first so he could refute everything they had to say. He hadn’t even bothered to seriously prepare, because he was sure that by merely listening to their arguments he would be able to point out their fallacies. The colporteurs, on the other hand, had fasted and prayed and prepared a presentation including over 40 biblical references. At the last minute however, they felt impressed to keep the presentation simple and stick to a few basic verses. As they began, they noticed the pastor furiously taking notes, but he soon put down his pen in amazement. When it was his turn to speak, instead of refuting the message he publicly confessed Saturday as the true Sabbath and gave his full support to the Adventist cause!
Pastor Suárez went on to share the following statement from Ellen White: "I was shown that the Hispanic work will be placed as the forerunner, and will march as the head of the cause of God in the United States." (Declaration of Ellen G. White to Abel Sánchez in California, 1913.) – The Untold Story, 100 years of Hispanic Adventism by Dr. Manuel Vásquez. Interamerican Publications, 2000, pg. 21.
This statement was probably surprising in 1913 when the Hispanic population was comparatively low. Now however, the Hispanic population is skyrocketing, (the US Census Bureau in 2002 reported* the U.S. population to be 13.3% Hispanic, and a 2004 press report predicts that percentage to nearly double by 2050.) But while the numbers are interesting, what impresses me even more is the open and receptive spirit one generally finds in the Hispanic community.
Incidentally, I talked to the pastor of the Hispanic church in Lincoln, and he promised immediate follow-up on all the contacts we made and asked for our contact information.
“If there are any decisions for Christ, we’ll be sure and let you know” he said. I’m looking forward to an email!
As we drove home that evening we sang scripture songs. Sean is gifted with a mind for numbers. He used to keep track of license plates, always watching for the new series when they would come out. Now, whenever he sees a license plate number it reminds him of a Bible reference.
“Did you know,” he tells us “that the Bible is organized in chiastic structure? At first I didn’t realize it, because you have 66 books, 39 in the old, and 27 in the new. But if you look at it again, you realize you have a group of 12 books at the end of the Old Testament: Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah and the rest of the Minor Prophets! We would do well to study the chiastic center of the Bible!”
When he said that, I got really excited. Recently I had been studying some of the Minor Prophets and I had been blown away with the exactness with which their message speaks to God’s church of today. For example, the book of Amos talks about a people who claim to look for the coming of Christ (5:18-22) but are living like the heathen around them (1:1-15, 2:2-12), have rejected the spirit of prophecy (2:12) and have introduced mixed styles of worship and music that produce tumult and confusion (3:9, 5:23, 6:1-6). Again and again you the see the repeating motif of Samaria (a mixture of God’s people and the world, 2 Kings 17), its “tumult” (3:12) and its mountain, where the temple of Gerizim mixed pagan practices with the worship of God, (4:1, 6:1-6, 8:14). And then check out this reference! “Hear this, O ye that swallow up the needy, even to make the poor of the land to fail, Saying, when will the new moon be gone, that we may sell corn, and the sabbath, that we may sell wheat…” It reminds me of the days when I used to count down the hours until it would be sundown so I could “have fun!” For all of God’s people who have lived like this, the prophet says “Woe unto you that desire the day of the Lord! To what end is it for you? The day of the Lord is darkness, and not light.” (5:18). What a tragedy! Have you ever looked forward to something with great anticipation only to discover in the end that it was the exact opposite of what you had hoped? It’s devastating! Oh how I pray that doesn’t happen to us with the Second Coming! The remedy? Repentance and real heart work.If you haven’t studied the Minor Prophets lately, go take a look! It’s some powerful stuff if you apply it to your own life and don’t just think it was only meant for the ancestors! It is a blunt straightforward message that calls for soul searching, humility, and repentance. It also promises the outpouring of the Holy Spirit in the last days (Joel 2:28-29)
Speaking of the Holy Spirit, last week I had the opportunity to preach at the Oroville Seventh Day Adventist church, and I knew the only way I could do it would be through Holy Spirit power. My presentation didn’t turn out quite as I had hoped, but God really blessed in spite of myself. The title of the message was Acts-pansion: The rapid growth of the church in the book of Acts and how it can happen again. Have you ever been tempted to doubt the word of God that the gospel will be preached to all the world (Matt 24:14) when the world population will grow by 75 million this year alone? We get so excited about a million member increase in church membership, but we are falling seriously behind! What really stood out to me from my study more than anything was just how vital the Holy Spirit is to accomplish the work and what we need to do to receive it. (We have to pray for it, for one thing, as Christ does in the book of John. According to Peter we must also “repent and be baptized …in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and you shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost” (Acts 2:38). The word remission here means a lot more than simply forgiveness as anyone who has experienced the remission of cancer can attest! There’s a lot more I could share here, but I know some of you already heard my sermon, so I won’t repeat it!
Thanks to all of you for your continued prayers, support, and encouragement. God is providing for our needs for new teachers this year! I just got off the phone this morning with an old friend who is a math teacher, and she and her husband are planning to come in July! She already speaks Spanish fluently, so that is a huge blessing. The only vacancies that haven’t been filled yet are for another primary school teacher and for a high school science teacher (chemistry and physics). Please join me in praying for the students and staff of UETIRG this year and also for the gift of repentance and humility and the further outpouring of the Holy Spirit in all of our lives.
One more thing: we’re still trying to get a crate (think semi-trailer size) container of supplies shipped to Bolivia. The contents include much needed equipment, a truck, and literature to use in outreach, and other miscellaneous items. If you feel impressed to help ship the crate you can make donations to the BEM (Bolivia Education Ministry) account at GMI (Gospel Ministries International.) Go to the How to Help tab on the top right of the page. Or just call GMI directly at 423-473-1841.
May the God of peace keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus!
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