6.21.12

"I sought the Lord, and He heard me, And delivered me from all my fears...."

I sat in the hall with all the other patients and their drips. We line the wall in the ER. IV analgesics I could not understand the names of tapped into my right arm at the elbow; the worst rebound migraine in the history of migraines. One man in a neck brace on a stretcher, a boy in a wheelchair peeking out of the next room, a woman in labor sitting next to me; she had been there for hours, still waiting... Waiting, waiting, waiting. That's what we do here.

It is well past midnight, this first day of winter. I sit, the drugs beginning to work their magic and ease the pain, and put me to sleep in a sitting position. My eyes fling open, slower than usual, as I hear the commotion - a man being brought in on a stretcher. He collapsed outside, the men who drove him to the hospital unable to hold him up. Blood is streaming from his chest: a gunshot wound.

I think that because I am in hospital he will be saved.

He dies several minutes later. I watch as the doctor comes out, his body language says everything. He points to his chest, He received a shot HERE. He shakes his head, takes off his glasses. We did everything we could...

It was like a horrible movie, the next scene predictable. The son buries his head in his hands and starts to sob, "My father, my father..."

The eyes of the LORD are upon the righteous,

and his ears are open unto their cry.

The face of the Lord is against those who do evil,

To cut off the remembrance of them from the earth.

Was he a bad man?, I think to myself. Are these the consequences of a life lived wrongly??

I wonder.

Sometimes I feel as desolate as things appear.

{...none of them that trust in him shall be desolate...}

Perhaps it is good that we are here, I try to console myself. Yes, very good that we are here, I tell myself again. I squint at the scene, breathe out, shake my head slow.

No, a voice says, Go home.

Why are you here? - the voice whispers. You could be next, you know... It's dangerous here. Don't you know that?

Fear, a constant companion, comes to visit again. Why can't fear just leave me alone?

 The angel of the Lord encamps all around those who fear Him, And delivers them.

Death. Need. Loss. It is too much to bear some days, many days, most days. Nine months and I feel like I already need a big, long, stress-free furlough.

 

Many are the afflictions of the righteous.
The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears.

Today there is no gas in town. No gas at the gas stations. There's just no gas. Lines of cars are three blocks long. Tony says, I'll go after midnight tonight, maybe there won't be any lines then. He tells me of the strike that is supposed to last into next week, which probably means no trucks making deliveries. I say we should go to the store today and stock up just in case.

We are on our knees, praying for peace. The anxiety overwhelms, driving us down. Tony gets ready to go to the older boy's home, the opposition begins.

I need to pray, he says standing at the kitchen sink. I don't want to go. I can feel it.

Sometimes I get tired of these desparate prayers.

It's the first day of winter, June 21. My mom's 65th birthday. Sixty-five. Where has the time gone?

She buries her father. He died on Father's Day.

Death, like a Gypsy, comes to steal what I love.  Again.

Sometimes I feel grey. As grey as these winter skies. I cry. Cry until three in the morning and I just can't stop.

Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good;

Blessed is the man who trusts in Him!

Oh, fear the Lord, you His saints!

There is no want to those who fear Him.

I think of regret. Pain so deep, sorrow so great, I will never be the same again. I have an epiphany. And I'm mad it takes me forty years to come to it. I will never allow anyone to influence me again when I know what God is telling me to do. When I know what is right. But I don't do it. It's too late, it's too late. I can't go back.

Only ahead.

I think of this forgiveness that I have been given. This wonderful, unbelievable, undeserved forgiveness. I know I don't deserve it. I know it now more than ever. Do any of us deserve it? 

I think of him, lying in the ICU, the ventilator pushing air into his lungs, the phone up to his ear. Is he under the wrath of God or under His wings? He can hear me, but he can't speak. I grope to speak words of Truth, of Love. Something. Lord, give me something - the right words to say.

You need to get ready. Are you ready? I love you.

At my words he begins to flail his arms wildly. Fiesty, strong, German stock. Whether in agreement or in anger I do not know - I will never know, not in this life. We have to hang up. They call the nurse. He dies five days later.

The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart;

and saves such as be of a contrite spirit.

This poor man cried out, and the Lord heard him,

And saved him out of all his troubles....

The Lord redeems the soul of his servants.

I groan within myself, waiting for this redemption.

~Scripture quoted from Psalm 34

Tony and I have talked a lot lately about how long we will be here. We have been going through a rough time. He always says don't worry, God will provide. I pray he is right, I pray for faith like his. We have talked about the possibility of having to return to the States because we can't afford to be here. We have accepted that as a possibility, but we hope it doesn't happen anytime soon. We are too busy. We are just getting started.

This week he went for the first time to a home for juvenile boys and showed the William Tyndale Torchlighters movie. {Sorry, they don't let you take pictures}. It was amazing and he was very well received. He'll be going back every other Tuesday night. With the gospel and Bible studies and love and hugs and more movies. To visit these kids that nobody wants in a place where no one is going right now. In talking to the director we have discovered that the kids are pretty bitter about the church. They say churches come once or twice to visit them and never come back. One boy's grandfather is a pastor. But, for whatever reason, they have left their grandson in a home for boys. Sometimes it doesn't matter what you say you are. It is what you do.


If you haven't seen the William Tyndale flick (it's only 30 minutes long) WATCH THE FULL MOVIE HERE! You won't regret it.


Some quotes from the movie I like...

"The Word of God is a light unto our path. It is for all the people to understand, and not for the church only.

I can not see how we can take it upon ourselves to withhold something that God has so freely

and intentionally given to us all?

By God's grace, I am as much a servant of the church, as the church serves God."

~ William Tyndale

Christmas, kids, and Karina

Sunday was the Christmas service at church. Christmas in Latin America is celebrated on December 24th at midnight, so since the 24th falls on a Saturday this year, the church did their Christmas service, live Nativity, and various Gospel Presentations (plays, video productions, and songs), plus a traditional service at church this past Sunday. It lasted 4 hours and it was about 90 degrees inside. No fans, no a/c.

The kids from the children's home came, so it was great to get to meet them - so sad, and yet so adorable.



Tony's and his buddies



Dani, 5, the youngest at the children's home, with Keren the Mime, who did an
excellent mime presentation of the gospel



First Dani smiled, then she got shy and wouldn't look at the camera
(with Keren and her mime partner in crime - they were so good I thought they were professional thespians)



one of the youth from church; Tony as one of the Three Wise Men; a girl who was abandoned at the
children's home (I didn't catch her name), and Keren



Keren (pre-mime make-up) with her guitar, and the kids presenting the Christmas songs they had been practicing 



the little kids didn't get up on stage, just the bigger ones



Karina in the white, and her brother, holding the sign with Rafa, the Youth Leader, in the background



An entirely different group of kids from a difficult neighborhood where a couple from church has been evangelizing every Saturday; their outreach is called "Hora Feliz" (Happy Hour). Here they are preforming the songs about Jesus and Christmas they learned. I could have taken them all home with me.



After the three-hour service was over, they served dinner. At 10 o'clock (which is typical dinner time here in Argentina). Just sandwiches and sodas and sweets. By 11:00, kids were still running around, ours included, so we ended up talking to the people that head up both outreaches, the Hora Feliz and the children's home.

Here, the church takes a break in summer, which starts tomorrow. Sunday School classes end, outreach programs take a break, active evangelism programs slow down. Everyone takes vacation pretty seriously here. Plus, the 100 degree temps and blazing desert sun with no air conditioning (I know, I've mentioned the no air conditioning thing more than a few times...) make going outside just plain difficult between the hours of 12 and 6 or 7.

It makes us sad to think the kids will get no visitors this summer. Tony and I are seeing if we can do something with the kids at the children's home while everyone is on vacation. We would love to be able to visit them once a week, have them come over to play in our above ground pool we brought from the U.S., and Tony is working on getting permission to take them on a tour of the local TV station he freelances for. I don't know if we will be allowed to do any of this, though, so please pray God would open the doors and guide us into just the right thing.

:)

week two

“When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” - Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Week two here in Argentina can basically be summed up as hellish, inferno-like, from the pit of hell. The worst weeks of my life quite possibly. Oh, where to begin?

It is now Sunday, the end of our second week here.

Tony got sick last Saturday. We thought it was only a cold.

The next day, Sunday, we were visiting Tony's sister and my ever-active 2 year-old was bothering one of the dogs. Everyone has dogs here. One minimum, sometimes up to three. The dog got mad at being bothered and snapped at my baby. She didn't puncture the skin, but grazed her forearm with her teeth, breaking the skin.

By Tuesday, my baby started getting a fever. When I checked on her at 11pm she had a high fever and I heard the all too familiar seal-like cough. Croup!

After that it's a blur of nerves and thinking either she would die or I would. As I grabbed a few things to take to the hospital (not that I even knew where a hospital was, let alone how we were going to get there), Tony and his sister tried calling the ambulance. Since 911 is for police emergencies only, his sister tried calling the number for medical emergencies and it was busy. BUSY?!

I was waiting outside when the baby started to gasp and heave. I thought she was arresting or unable to breath. Then she vomited all over and began crying even more. I was so scared I could have thrown up.

I called back into the house for Tony, he finally came outside and said to get in the car. We had to leave the kids sleeping at their aunt's house.

My BIL was passed out and couldn't drive (too much vino), so Tony said he'd drive. My SIL doesn't know how, so couldn't. Most cars here are stick shift, only Tony doesn't know how to drive stick shift. Earlier that day his BIL, providentially, gave him a 15 minute TOPS quickie driving lesson, and that was it. I wanted to drive, but Tony insisted he would. So I jumped in the back with the baby on my lap praying like a crazy woman while Tony attempted to get the car out of the garage. I was sure he would stall out 10 times. He did surprisingly well.

As we were pulling out, still not sure where a hospital was, as his SIL is yelling which one to go to and quick directions, the neighbor who had heard the commotion, came out and told us no, go to La UPA. It is closer and they wouldn't make us wait there. She gave quick directions, and off we sped.

I can't describe the pain in my gut and the nerves I experienced as we drove down the highway towards this hospital, gasping baby in my lap, praying for her to be able to just breath until we get there, whispering "JesusJesusJesus" over and over and over again, and telling Tony, "You're doing great honey" so he would be able to calm down enough to not stall out.

We made it, walked quickly in, and thankfully were attended pretty quickly. Laryngitis, they said [in the States, our doctor called it croup]. Classic case. A shot of steroids in her bum, a megadose of Ibuprofen, two nebulizer treatments, and some steroids to pick up at the pharmacy. We drove down the deserted streets at 2am towards the 24hr pharmacy and were able to get to sleep finally by 4 or so.

The next day, after she started responding a bit to the meds, I remembered the dog bit/graze. We were too late to go to the Anti-Rabies Center here (there are tons of stray dogs in Argentina, and rabies exists). So we had to wait til the next day to take her there. The guy (I don't even know who he was, a doctor, a nurse, a completely unqualified person off the street, who knows?) said she would need 3 preventative Rabies shots. He scolded us for not covering her scratch, squirted something that looked like Iodine on a gauze, taped it to her arm.

Ugh, sinking stomach feeling again. Because she was being treated for croup, she couldn't get the shot. So we scrambled to get a copy of the rabies vaccine my SIL said she had.

When we got home she was crying that "ow, my arm burn, hurting me, hurting me, owy, owy". I took the gauze off and her arm was burned where the Iodine was. I almost lost it!

I gave her Ibuprofen for all her discomforts and told Tony that's it, I need some meds myself. Do they sell Valium over the counter here? I need some. Now. Or I'm going to lose my mind.

All I wanted to do was leave Buenos Aires. Convinced in Patagonia could get some relief. [Update: Ha ha, that was wishful thinking]

We got a copy of the rabies vaccination for the dog (I literally kissed it when I saw it!), Tony's paperwork arrived in the mail, paperwork we had been waiting for before we could leave BA, and baby seemed to be improving, so we decided to blow the crazy town.

The bus ride that night was about 14 hours long. Everyone was coughing the whole trip. I felt bad, like we were getting others sick, but we needed to leave.

We got to Neuquen, and fortunately our friends, Lee and Edgardo, were waiting for us. We had lunch, but Tony's head was killing him. His cold had gotten much worse. The baby's eyes also started getting red, swollen, and goopy. Oh, God, I thought, WHAT NOW???

Edgardo was so kind - they fed us, let us shower there, then took us all to the hospital. We are thankful for the free hospitals here, at least we didn't have to worry about a huge bill. As we were driving there and walking in, it was very dusty and very windy. Edgardo said it was ash. From the volcano. It was blowing everywhere, making our throats feel scratchy, skin gritty, and eyes irritated, on top of the . Plus just regular dust from the desert landscape.

The doctor attending saw both the baby and Tony. Conjunctivitis and sinusitis, respectively. Tony was really sick by this point with a splitting headache, and baby was noticibly deteriorating.

Tony was sent home with antibiotics, and the baby with a prescription for antibiotic eye drops. Which she screams bloody murder over because they sting. It's a nightmare and I can't help but think at those moments, Oh God, why did we come here??? To see our kids suffer like this? One night she looked at me and said, "Mommy you hate me." Ugh, knife to my heart. I said, "No, Mommy loves you! That's why I'm giving you your medication." She just looked at me with sad little eyes and said "No, you hate me, you hate me."

I wanted to get on a plane right then and there and go home.

Our other two got sick as well. Hopefully it's just a bad cold. But I am so sensitive and traumatized that I am just sure they will be next to the hospital.

Our first night in Patagonia, we were invited to a dinner at church for all the moms. Today, Sunday, is Mother's Day here in Argentina. Tony was sick in bed, the baby had fallen asleep, but he encouraged me to go with the kids. It was just around the corner.

My throat started hurting as soon as we got there. I found it hurt and I had trouble speaking. I felt rude, but as soon as we ate, I had to excuse us to go home to our little, tiny, one bedroom temporary apartment three blocks away. I came back to Tony hacking up a lung, spitting out green stuff, and with a migraine type headache. All I could do was pray for him. I put my hand on his forehead and just prayed desperate prayers. And cried. After we prayed he said he felt better, his headache was almost gone. At least for a bit. It came back in the middle of the night.

So here we are, our second day in Patagonia and it's impossibly hard. So hard that we have even thought of returning. Going back. We had such a good life, what on earth were we thinking?

Even Tony said back in Buenos Aires when everything started hitting the fan that if God gave him a plane to get on, he'd get on it in a second and go back to the United States.

Feeling like complete failures at the moment. But, honestly, all I care about are my kids. I'm okay with admitting maybe we made a mistake, maybe we didn't hear God? Maybe we were wrong to come here. It's certainly not worth losing one of our children over. Does that make us lesser Christians? Weaker? I don't know, maybe. But my first ministry is my kids. If they are not okay, neither are we.

Tony really surprised me when he mentioned going back. We never thought our trials would come in this way, regarding the health of our family.

I have had stomach issues since we got here. I've been to the bathroom at least half a dozen times today. I never have diarhhea. Never. It's hard to be sick and see your kids sick and see your husband lying flat on the bed sick as a dog and being in a foreign country. It makes you just want to cry, really.

So, that's what it's been like here. Please pray for us. I have no problem asking, begging at this point. We are desparate for prayers and direction.

UPDATE: It's Tuesday now, things are getting worse, if that were possible. Will write about it as soon as we come out of this hole. Our little one-room apartment has turned into a hospital. I'll get to writing about it when I get a spare moment between nursing my family and trying to care for myself in the process. Thanks for all the prayers - we miss you all. Lots of love.

Romans 8:18 "For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us."


2 Corinthians 1:5 "For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also aboundeth by Christ." 


2 Corinthians 1:6 "And whether we be afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation, which is effectual in the enduring of the same sufferings which we also suffer: or whether we be comforted, it is for your consolation and salvation."

The History of Pine Ridge Reservation, SD

This video, in my opinion, is a must see. Didn't learn this in no public school History class. (hmm... maybe I won't send the kids to public school after all.) [click on over to the blog if you can't view it Google reader, it's looking a little wonky for some reason].




People have been oppressing people since the beginning of time. The story of the violence, hatred, oppression, abuse, outright massacre, and continued neglect of American Indians is deeply tragic on many, many levels. But it's not a new, or even an isolated tragedy. If you have studied anything about history, it has always been. People have been hating and killing people since Cain and Abel.

I wanted to post this incredible video because I have a friend (well, more like a very distant, met-her-one-time-but-love-her-tons-anyway kind of friend) that lives and works on Pine Ridge Reservation.

She LIVES in this place.

She is an amazing young woman of God, she loves Jesus, and she loves people. Especially kids. She can't be more than 25 or 26 years old. She is beginning her fourth year as a public school teacher through Teach for America. She's an incredible example to me, and I find her testimony incredibly personally encouraging - as well as an example for the youth (and adults) of the Church of Christ to emulate. She is a missionary first and foremost, and just happens to work as a teacher to support herself. She shares the love and hope of Christ with lost people. I would be so proud of my daughter if she did something like this. I hope my daughter never follows the American dream as her god. It would be a tragedy. So many hands and feet for Christ, and so few using them. I am tired of hearing the excuse to not go because, "But you can do so much HERE!". Really? Are we doing it? Are we? I don't know, maybe others are. I know my friend is. I know we're not. And we're tired of it. Tired of not doing anything. That is why we feel we have to physically leave here to reach those who are actually in need. My neighbor with the quarter of a million dollar house and access to Bibles and Christians and a church on every corner, with food on the table and a vacation to the Outer Banks every year does not need anything. He's lost because he wants to be. It is a joke to call white, suburban REACHED middle-class America the mission field. I wonder if Jesus would agree with some churches' definition of "missions". I wonder what Jesus would say if he were here right now. Are we acting like the Church of Christ, or the church of the American Dream? The proof is in the pudding - or, I should say, the fruit.

Our church held a camp last week for the youth. I heard about it, and saw some pictures. I heard it was really fun. They bought a lot of milk and syrup and flour. To play games with it. Playing games with food. When children are starving to death? Is that what we are teaching our youth? Is that what "growing in godliness" looks like? Is this how we are to live?

Would I move to Pine Ridge as a missionary, in obedience to Christ? Sure. Would you? Even though they may even hate white people? Would you go anyway? How much does He mean to you? As much as you meant to Him when He died for you? You're not called, you say? No, you're not. You've already been commanded.

What are we doing in the church? What are we DOING for Christ? For the Redeemer of our souls, who bought us at a great price? Are we sacrificing anything for Him? Are we...?

(you can unfollow me now, I'll get over it. my cranky pants are on a little tight today)

if I wrote a letter to my mother

Thinking of leaving, and thinking of all we are leaving behind, I think of my mother. My parents, my whole family, my friends - we are leaving them all. It's hard, it really is. My parents are older - in their sixties and late seventies. I can see they are aging. Their health is relatively good, but that doesn't mean it will be tomorrow. That worries me a little. The hardest thing about leaving is knowing how sad this makes them. I don't want to hurt my parents. It makes me sad that this makes them sad. I don't blame them, though. I can imagine how I would feel if my daughter told me she was leaving the country, maybe forever, with my three grandchildren, and moving half way across the world to live a life of danger and sacrifice in order to do missions in a third world country.

I love my mom. She gave me life. I am forever indebted to her. So, after my husband brought me coffee in bed on Mother's Day (I don't need much more than that), we went over to my mom's to wash her clothes, clean out her garage, fill up her bird feeders, cook her lunch, and wash her dishes. I can't think of a better way to spend my Mother's Day than showing my mom how much I love her and appreciate all she's done for me in my life. I will miss her so much! I am so sad for my own kids who ADORE their Mom-Mom. In their eyes, she is just perfect. Mom-mom can do no wrong, and that's just the way I like it. I do hope we can come back and visit. But, even with that, we have to trust the Lord. I can't imagine having the money to come back at all, but we do pray we can at some point.

If I were to write a letter to my mother, this is what I would write. Hudson Taylor, famous missionary to China, wrote this letter to his mother. He sailed for China and never saw her again. We have it easy compared to Hudson Taylor's day. He put my feelings into words perfectly in this following letter to his mother:

"Do not let anything unsettle you, dear Mother. Missionary work is indeed the noblest mortals can engage in. We certainly cannot be insensible to the ties of nature, but should we not rejoice when we have anything we can give up for the Saviour? . . .

Continue to pray for me, dear Mother. Though comfortable as regards temporal matters, and happy and thankful, I feel I need your prayers. . . . Oh Mother, I cannot tell you, I cannot describe how I long to be a missionary; to carry the Glad Tidings to poor, perishing sinners; to spend and be spent for Him who died for me! . . . Think, Mother, of twelve millions - a number so great that it is impossible to realize it - yes, twelve million souls in China, every year, passing without God and without hope into eternity . . Oh, let us look with compassion on this multitude! God has been merciful to us; let us be like Him. . . .

I must conclude. Would you not give up all for Jesus who died for you? Yes, Mother, I know you would. God be with you and comfort you. Must I leave as soon as I can save money enough to go? I feel as if I could not live, if something is not done for China."

~ from Hudson Taylor's Spiritual Secret

Pookie, may you Rest In Peace

Pookie
 Dec. 2009 - Dec. 2010

Your twinkling eyes,

your soft, fuzzy little body,

your damp nose,

your low-maintenance self.

You truly will be missed. We hope you are romping around in Hamster Heaven with all your other hamster friends (we know there are lions and lambs in heaven, but we couldn't find any verses about hamsters). You were the best (and easiest) pet EVER. *sniff*

(And if the chilluns hadn't've forgotten to feed your sweet, innocent self - you surely would have lived a longer, happier life. But don't tell them, they think you died mysteriously, possibly of old age. Because, as you know, hamsters only live from 1-3 years. And Mommy killed her hamster, too, of starvation, when she was your age. It happens.)

We miss you. Even Mommy, who said she didn't want a rat in the house.
sniff 
 :'(