prairie rose

CHICKEN GUMBO SOUP

2012-02-05T15:45:00.003-02:00

It was a cool evening and I suddenly had a hankering for a comforting bowl of chicken soup. As I cut up the chicken and chopped the onions my saliva glands began working as I imagined the final product. I tossed in a little of this and a little of that and my soup was lookin'mighty fine. It was then I noticed a cereal-looking substance in a glass jar that I'd bought some time ago. Why not add the cereal and use it up? I'm a penny pincher at heart and in went the cereal. I covered the pan and left the kitchen to do other things.

Imagine my surprise when I came back to the kitchen. My soup had turned into a live volcano, erupting right in front of my eyes! A goopy, viscous substance flowed out of the pan onto the stove and it seemed to be growing at every second!

Fortunately, the goo (or glue) was easy to clean up...it just followed the spoon.

I did eat it, keeping myself in a positive state of mind. The taste wasn't bad, but the texture?????

Would it be spring without flowers?

2011-09-22T21:40:00.000-03:00

A yellow carpet of ipê blossoms

Officially, spring starts September 23rd in our southern hemisphere, but the seasons slide in and out of rhythm all year long. Today, for instance, was a beautiful summer day, but next week there are predictions for a dip down to an overnight low of 48. Some claim that we can have all four seasons in one day! But that's not my point. What if there were no spring flowers? None at all? Only green everywhere one looked. God didn't need to give us color. In fact, our world could have been created in grim shades of gray. But, I'm sooo very thankful that God made colors, and invented thousands of ways of displaying them in flowers. And, to top that, He added fragrances. That's my heavenly Father!!

I can't get enough of these

A bouquet of singular beauty

Wisteria spreads wistfully along the fence

Such gentle flowers

Paradisical Musings

2011-07-05T13:17:00.002-03:00

I’m rocking to the rhythm of crashing waves in a lime green hammock on Four Islands’ Beach, Brazil. The incessant thunder of those restless waves creates a strange sense of timelessness. There has never been a day that water and sand haven’t kissed. I am awed to think that before I was born these waves were already pounding this beach.

I could easily think I was alone with nature except for the smell of meat cooking on the neighbor’s grill right below my deck. The clanking of silverware, the pop of a soda can opening and muffled conversation occasionally drift my way reminding me I am not alone. And moments ago I heard a parrot squawking, “Where’s my father? Where’s my father?” Ah, but I want to think I am all alone in Paradise.

The sky is overcast, a gray canopy covering ocean and land; an occasional sea gull glides by looking for dinner. Sadly, the sand crabs have gone into hiding and I miss their sideways running for cover. In the distance, a huge rock looms out of the ocean looking strangely like a loaf of freshly baked bread. And the waves keep rolling onto shore. The beach curves gracefully like a crescent moon, but is stopped abruptly by a green hill flanked by huge boulders. My husband and I climbed that hill yesterday and it took us inside an idyllic island—maybe it was Narnia—of lush green trees and vines that created tunnels and winding trails before suddenly breaking into a clearing on the top of the hill. We looked down on dangerous rocks whipped by angry waves spewing foam and spray upon them. I felt free high above those rocks and water and could look across the ocean to other islands and rolling hills far away.

Today we headed down the beach in the opposite direction and at the end of the beach came upon a group of fishermen playing cards. They were waiting for the tainha or mullet fish to show up. During the winter months these fish migrate from the southernmost waters in Brazil swimming north all along the coast. In good years fishermen can hope to catch thousands of them, but this year has been disappointing—hence the card game. We watched as a couple of optimistic young fishermen pushed their boat into the water and sped away, then stopped to chat with an old fisherman who was mending nets. His name is Vital and for all his 78 years, he looked spry and vigorous. He started fishing when he was only seven and it was his son and grandson who’d left in the boat. When we asked about the lack of mullet fish he said that in spite of all his years of experience, there were still things he didn’t understand.

We left Vital, after asking his permission to photograph him, and hopped from rock to rock along the shore until we found a path hacked out of the hill beckoning us upward. With the help of Tarzanian vines, we grabbed branches and slipped and slid along the wet trail, following the terrain up and down. It opened onto boulders and beautiful glimpses of ocean and after twenty minutes of walking came to an abrupt end. We sat on some boulders gazing out at the gray day, yet drinking in the beauty of rock, waves and water. Our hike back was quicker, but often interrupted to photograph an exotic flower or colorful tree moss. Back on the beach we found Vital still mending his nets and a few fishermen still playing cards.

Tomorrow we have to leave our idyllic world behind.

Where Was God When I Needed Him?

2011-04-28T13:48:00.002-03:00

That Thursday night my husband, Pat and I felt lucky. We’d been given the use of a beach apartment to work on our writing projects. The first evening in our comfortable abode, we were happily concentrated on watching a Tom Cruise movie in the living room when out of the blue a man’s quiet, controlled voice made our hearts stop: "I’m not going to hurt you if you cooperate with me. I just want your money."

I looked up to see a young man in baggy sweat pants and jacket standing a couple of yards away, a dark blue cap planted backwards on his head. He appeared to be about 25 years of age, his coffee-colored face pitted by acne. He had materialized out of nowhere, just like Jesus in the upper room after the resurrection, even though our door and windows were locked, and now I knew that the disciples’ collective heart must have pounded like a million African drums, draining the blood from their faces when they looked up and saw Jesus standing quietly in the room. But this man wasn’t Jesus and he didn’t say, “Peace be with you.” He flashed a knife. For a split second the scene seemed surreal, but in the next second harsh reality crashed through my consciousness, and a torrent of fear and adrenalin raced through me like a runaway freight train… and then an inexplicable calm settled over me.

"Here’s my wallet," Pat said to our intruder, grimly handing it over. Discovering we were unarmed, he eagerly grabbed Pat’s wallet, holding his hands close to his face as his fingers rapidly flipped through the bills. He then scattered Pat’s credit cards on the table saying he didn’t want them, but took our cell phones. Quickly he moved toward the refrigerator, found a bottle of coke and gulped it down, then abruptly turned to me and asked if I had any money. I reluctantly admitted I did and he ordered me to get it.

He moved nervously about the room like a tiger stalking his prey, eyes darting in all directions. Suddenly he said, "Do you have a car?" Pat replied in the affirmative. "I want you to take me away from here in your car." Pat balked. Suddenly he seized our laptop case, throwing out the papers that were inside, picked up both our laptops, pulling the cords from the outlets and began stuffing them in the case. "Listen, man,” Pat argued, “We’re missionaries and our work is in those computers. Please, don’t take them." The robber paused to reconsider. Now he could negotiate. "If you take me away in your car, I won’t take your computers." It was a hard bargain. Slowly Pat got up from the couch looking like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. I looked at my husband, admiring his strength and courage to consent to this indecent proposal. Pat would have to ride down the elevator with this armed person, walk together with him into the dark garage and drive off into the black night. And the apartment building was all but empty. But it was settled. They headed toward the door, but abruptly the robber turned around, taking large steps toward the kitchen, opened the silverware drawer and pulled out two serrated table knives. "Hey, man!" Pat chided him, "Why do you need those?" He didn’t reply.

Armed now with three knives, he and Pat walked calmly together out the front door of the apartment as if he’d been our evening guest, and then abruptly he stuck his head back in the room, as if he’d forgotten something, looked at me and said, "Don’t worry about your husband. He’ll be back in five minutes." He sounded so sincere, but why should I trust him? I didn’t know how to respond and surprised myself as the words tumbled unbidden out of my mouth, "God bless you," I said quietly as I closed the door. The key turned in the lock and I was suddenly all alone.

I had no phone and I was locked in. What should I do? Afraid a quick response from the police might provoke a violent reaction from the robber, I crouched down to peek out the window that opened to the street. In a few minutes, the garage door opened slowly and my eyes remained riveted on our dark blue Fiat Palio as it slowly exited, turned down the street and out of sight into the night. The garage door closed silently behind them. Where was he taking my husband? "Oh, God! Oh, God!" I cried, unable to formulate a prayer. My heart pounded in my ears as my mind played out several imaginary scenes: he might make Pat drive him to another town, or to a deserted road, dump him off and take the car, or worse still, he might sink a knife into his heart if things turned ugly. "Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!”

The angry cry of an unjustly-treated child rose within me, “Where were you, God? Where were you? The Bible says your angels were supposed to be camping round about us, so WHERE WERE THEY?” My words hit the ceiling, bouncing back to me in silent confusion and hurt. As the ugly night wrapped its cold arms around me, it felt like God had left the scene of an accident.

Just as I leaned out the window and hollered down to the caretaker that we’d been robbed, I heard voices. It was Pat talking to the caretakers—joy filled my heart. He was back, unharmed, and he was my hero! Strangely, the robber had been true to his word.

At the police’s suggestion, we spent that night in a hotel, and the next morning we had to make a tough decision: should we stay and face our fears or return home defeated? We tossed the options back and forth like tennis players and decided to stay.

It turned out to be a bad choice.

You can be sure that during the following days I obsessively checked window locks and peered out the windows dozens of times a day! When Thursday rolled around—our one week anniversary of the break-in—I felt increasingly uneasy as night approached. Pat went to sleep, but it was one in the morning when my body finally gave in, but before I drifted off, I prayed a very decisive prayer. “Dear God,” I pleaded, “pleeease don't let anyone break into our house tonight,” but before I could say 'amen' a disturbing thought popped into my mind. It was as if the Holy Spirit whispered in my ear, “You should pray, 'Not my will, but thine be done', just as Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane.” I knew the implications of saying that: it would mean a relinquishing of my request to God for safekeeping that night. It might mean a repeat of last Thursday's break-in. Yet, my heart's immediate response was “Yes, Lord, not my will, but thine be done,” and I shuddered inwardly at the implications of what I'd just said as I drifted off to sleep.

An hour later, I was jarred awake by Pat's anguished cry coming from the living room, “Neeeeedra!!” His constricted vocal chords left his voice strained and unnatural— like a wounded animal—and I jumped out of bed as a wave of terror washed through my entire being. I knew instinctively what had happened. Within seconds Pat appeared in the bedroom, the invader’s knife pressed to his back, ordering him to lie on the bed. We were face-to-face with the same guy who had robbed us a week before.
Empowered by his first successful robbery (we had reported the break-in that same night), he came back to clean out the house, taking one of our suitcases to hold all the loot, besides what he carried in his arms. And this time he took both of our laptops—and armed himself with more kitchen knives! It was déjà vu with Pat riding down the elevator with him—again, entering the dark garage—again and driving him away in the car—again! If the first robbery had left my theology on God’s protection hanging by a thin thread, this second one shattered it into a million tiny pieces.

As a child I remember feeling safe and protected by God while whizzing down the highway with my dad. My childish theology dictated that Christians couldn’t, not just wouldn't, have car accidents. God, our big daddy, wouldn’t allow his kids to get hurt. By the time I was an adolescent, however, I knew that childish idea was a fallacy, and racing over the gravel roads on our way to town in order to meet my dad’s teaching appointments, I no longer felt safe and silently prayed for protection. Maybe that was my problem with this assault: I still felt a little bit like that child in the back seat of my dad’s car, expecting God to give me an easy ride through life.

Recovering from the emotional aftermath of two armed robberies in one week is a lot like recovering from surgery: the gaping wounds have to heal from the inside out. On the outside, our life went on as usual, but on the inside, the wounds in my soul were still raw—exposed. I felt as unprotected as an orphan left to fend for himself. It seemed that God’s protection worked like the lottery—totally chance—you win some and lose some. Unlike my husband who accepted this experience as an unfortunate part of life, my mind demanded to know “the reason” this had happened to us. Did we do something that triggered it? Was it sin? Was it an attack of the devil? Could we have prevented it? I started checking off my list. No sin problem; in fact, my husband said his spiritual life had never been so good. Was it an attack of the enemy? Considering the fact that we were there primarily so Pat could finish his book, it seemed possible that the devil would try to stop the project. What bothered me the most, however, was the feeling that God had abandoned us when we needed him the most—except for the ring.

I brought my special diamond and sapphire ring with us knowing we were going to celebrate our wedding anniversary while there. The night of the second break-in, the robber picked up my perfume from the bathroom counter without seeing the ring box quietly sitting right next to it. Clearly, to me this was significant. Maybe God had been there after all? And there was the robber himself. He’d said the strangest things. During the first robbery he asked Pat, “Didn’t you hear me when I came in?” and “I only want your money.” And he told me “not to worry!” How funny was that? At the second robbery he said to Pat, “You left the window open for me.” (We thought all the windows were locked.) “Why didn’t you go home?” And, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Like a coroner poking a dead corpse to find the cause of death, Pat and I have played through all the possible scenarios of what we should have or shouldn’t have done, but the “What if?” game has no winners. The unthinkable had happened and now we had to pick up the pieces. Here are the pieces I picked up that brought the ‘healing’ I so desperately needed.

1. We don’t live in Paradise. Adam and Eve’s sin was catastrophic. Just one disobedient act gave the devil what he wanted: a foothold on earth. Sin gave him that space, so when Adam and Eve opened the door, a flood of evil came rushing in. Remember Jesus’ encounter with the devil during his 40 days of temptation in the wilderness? The devil offered to give back the world to Jesus in exchange for his worship. .He couldn’t offer what wasn’t already his, and Jesus never contested the fact.

2. We live in a war zone. Satan hates everyone and lives to steal, kill and destroy—all the time! Like a satisfied animal licking his chops after devouring his prey, the devil is happy every time a disaster occurs, a marriage fails, a child is sick, or two countries go to war. God, however, has given free will to man as well as to angels, demons (those who opted to rebel against God), and the devil. This tension between the Creator’s will and the will of created beings is where we run up against a wall. How does it play out? These many free agents make decisions that have a ripple effect starting from the beginning of time until today, both on earth and in the heavens. One theologian says that in this war, God, the commander-in-chief, is the only one who knows how this interplay between God’s government and created beings unfolds. It is too complex for finite humans to understand.

3. Does God interfere? Yes. Certainly the Bible gives us ample illustrations of God stepping in to restrain evil—this far and no farther—as in the case of Job, yet not interfering in the case of the stoning of Stephen. When and why He does in some instances and apparently doesn’t in others is not for us to know (or perhaps, we are incapable of understanding its complexity like a child not comprehending calculus). This is where faith in God’s character comes in. We trust him even though we don’t understand everything that happens to us. Hebrews 11 gives us an impressive list of believers: some shut the mouths of lions and escaped death by the edge of the sword, others were chained in dungeons and some sawed in half. The writer to the Hebrews closes this chapter by saying that “All of these people… received God’s approval because of their faith, yet none of them received all that God had promised.”

4. We are to pray against evil. Although I’ve been praying the Lord’s Prayer since a child, the phrase, “Deliver us from evil,” has new meaning for me. God is calling us to be actively engaged in war against the designs of the enemy. His calling us to prayer isn’t a childish game to humor us. God is giving us the privilege of helping to shape the outcome of events! He needs our help. He’s asking for it. This is exciting news! The devil also knows the power of prayer and tries to stop it. No wonder Christians find it hard to pray. No wonder we get easily distracted or feel that our feeble prayers won’t make a difference. I constantly fight against these things.

5. We are to be prudent. Trusting in God’s protection doesn’t rule out common sense. No one walks in front of a moving truck—or shouldn’t. We should do everything we can to protect ourselves and our families. Proverbs says “The prudent man sees danger and hides himself; but the simple go on, and suffer for it.” Looking back, we feel we should have gone home after the first robbery.

Where was God when I needed him? I confess my theology hasn’t given me all the answers neatly wrapped up in a box and tied with a bow. Actually, not even the most brilliant theologians can. However, there is one thing I know now more than ever before: if God permits something bad to happen to us, he will walk through it with us, even if we don’t sense his presence at the time. Moses was called to go up the smoking mountain, lit up by occasional lightning, causing the Israelites to fear and tremble for their lives. And as the people watched from afar, “Moses entered into the deep darkness where God was.” Yes, God is light, but he is also in the dark moments of our lives. It’s his promise and he cannot lie. To this truth I cling:

I will never leave you nor forsake you.
--God

JUST SO YOU WON'T FORGET!

2011-04-04T19:35:00.004-03:00

For weeks now I've been singing a little tune my granddaughter, Julia, loves to sing: " Oh, Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, please shine down on me," to coax that recluse to come out of hiding! It hasn't worked...until today. In late afternoon, Mr. Sun poured shafts of sunbeams right into my office with such strength that I actually closed the curtains! Then, just to tease me, he put on a splendid show, and I grabbed my camera as he was slipping away to bed. He tipped his hat and I was sure I heard him say, " Just so you won't forget!"

FLOWERS AND GREEN THINGS

2011-03-31T23:34:00.001-03:00

I just had to get out of our apartment this afternoon. My brain needed fresh air and I needed to escape from the TV's constant reporting on the levels of radiation in Japan and the war in Libya. I grabbed my camera and started walking. My eyes feasted on the intricate design of the flowers, their delicateness and colors, at God's ingenuity in coming up with sooooo many varieties. And as I walked I felt my soul being restored, like David in the Bible expressed it. And I wept. I was overcome by the beauty of it all and weeping seemed like an appropriate expression of my awe of God. I sat on a log in a neighboring park and looked up at the very tops of the trees that covered me like a gigantic roof. Here are some of the beauties I photographed this afternoon:

Pumpkin Muffins become Squash Loaf

2011-02-10T20:40:00.006-02:00

Pumpkin Muffins

From Cheryl Townsley's Lifestyle for Health cookbook

1/2 cup applesauce, unsweetened

3/4 cup syrup, maple

1 lrg. egg

1 cup pumpkin, canned

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2 cups flour, spelt

1 tbs. arrowroot powder

1/2 tsp. baking powder

1 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp. salt, sea

1 tbs. pumpkin pie spice

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1/2 cup raisins, seedless, unpacked--or dates

1/2 cup pecans, chopped

Directions:

1. Mix applesauce and syrup together. Beat in egg and pumpkin until smooth.

2. Stir together all dry ingredients, add to pumpkin mixture.

3. Stir in dried fruit and nuts. Makes one 9" x 5" loaf or one dozen muffins.

4. Bake at 350 degrees for about 15 to 20 minutes for muffins, or until done. Bake loaf about 45 to 60 minutes, or until done.

Yields: 12 muffins

HOWEVER...I made many substitutions. For instance,

I can't buy applesauce, so I boiled two apples and beat in blender. It made a little more than 1/2 c. I didn't have maple syrup, so I substituted the 3/4 C. syrup for 1 cup white sugar. Ahem, I can't buy canned pumpkin here, so I boiled a butternut squash, blended it and substituted the squash for the same amount of pumpkin. Spelt flour? I've never seen it in my life. So, I substituted the 2 cups of spelt for 1 cup white flour + 1 cup wheat flour (healthier!!). The next item is arrowroot powder, an ingredient I also don't have. I substituted cornstarch in the same measurement. I used regular table salt for sea salt, but when I got to the pumpkin pie spice I hit a snag. The internet came to my rescue and gave me the recipe, which is:

for 1 tsp. of pumpkin pie spice use: 1/2 tsp. cinnamon, 1/4 tsp. ginger, 1/8 tsp. ground cloves, and 1/8 tsp. ground nutmeg. I couldn't have been happier that I had all those ingredients. The last substitution I made was to substitute the pecans for Brazil nuts--hey, that sounds better anyway because I live in Brazil. See how easy it is to cook in a foreign country???

I opted to made one loaf instead of the muffins. And presto (NOT!) it was done and I'm going to get my second slice right now and eat it with "real" butter. Bon appétit!!!

WHEN WEAK IS STRONG

2010-11-17T13:18:00.003-02:00

After 35 years away from the college scene, I found myself back in a classroom in a creative writing class. Based on my brother-in-law’s experience as a college professor, I assumed I was as good a writer as the rest of them—or hopefully even better. I looked around at my classmates that first day wondering who they were, and as days turned into weeks I soon found out. Although Alisha’s piercing stood out in her round face and I smelled the smoke of a smoldering fire in her breast whenever she talked about her parents, her writing talents had won her a place as a contributor to the school’s prestigious newspaper. Quiet, red-headed Betsy was an art major who wrote great poetry about her photography. Even David the dental student was an excellent writer. Observing these talented students, my hopes of being their equal melted as quickly as butter in a hot iron skillet, and I decided it was wiser to follow that old adage to keep my mouth shut and be thought smart than to open it and remove all doubt. Happily, during that first month of class my scheme worked and I was able to maintain my facade.

But that soon came to an end. One day the teacher called the entire class out to the lawn to contemplate a water fountain gracing the campus landscape. Delicate arcs of water sprayed from nozzles into a shallow pool and our assignment was to write inspired lines of poetry while looking at the fountain. I stared blankly at the water, trying to think up a clever simile that would impress my colleagues. I imagined the arc of water as prancing horses, maybe a lady’s full, white petticoat, or even a contortionist. Our time was up all too quickly and the teacher called us to sit in a large circle on the grass so each student could read his or her poem to the class. I felt a twinge of panic.

The first person read his four lines using beautiful prose. Strange, I thought, his lines didn’t rhyme. The second student’s didn’t either, nor the third. Like the first rays of light stealing over the mountains, it slowly dawned on me that these students were on a different level than I was. I’d always thought poetry needed to rhyme, but now my rhyming lines appeared somehow amateur and childish. I felt embarrassed just thinking about how they would sound to their “professional” ears. Betsy compared the fountain to a baker scattering flour, and I gasped inwardly when Becky said the fountain was like an orgasm. As my turn got closer and closer, I saw the destruction of my facade approaching like an army tank advancing in slow motion toward its victim. Blood rushed to my face; my heart beat accelerated. Somehow, a fifty-six-year-old missionary seemed terribly out of place in the midst of these incredibly creative young people. Then it was my turn. Slowly, I opened my mouth, and each syllable uttered into that warm, autumn air sounded more like a death rattle than beautiful poetry. Like Adam and Eve after the fall, I had been found out. I felt naked and ashamed.

Throughout that semester, I struggled to write to the best of my ability, but the teacher handed out complements like a miser giving money to a beggar, and I concluded I was just “average”—not the stunning writer I tried to be.
Feelings of inadequacy…who wants them? How many times have I stood before a crowd of people to sing or speak feeling inept and unqualified and praying desperately for God’s help? How many times have you felt inadequate in roles you were asked to fill? Is it just human nature or are these feelings of inadequacy another manifestation of prideful competition? Is there something to learn in these situations? In the past I may not have recognized it, but I am beginning to understand that God is somehow, in these agonizing moments, using these feelings of inadequacy to drive me to lean on his strength.

I’m thankful for the Apostle Paul. After giving a recital of his accomplishments to the Corinthian church, he tells them he was given a thorn in the flesh to keep him from getting proud. (Does that make a light go on?) After pleading with God to take it away and being refused, he proclaims, “Now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may work through me…I am quite content with my weaknesses…for when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Cor. 12:9b-10).
God used a thorn in his flesh to give Paul a crystal clear picture of himself: a weak, inadequate Paul, who by insisting on doing things in his own strength, could actually block the divine power from flowing through him. Paul needed a “reality check”—just like we do.

Is God the one sending us these feelings of inadequacy then? Not necessarily. Not all feelings of inadequacy are part of a divine scheme. A general feeling of inferiority is not God-sent and is often a result of wrong thinking patterns. False humility, refusal to recognize personal abilities or putting oneself down to look humble, is also of human origin.

We also need to differentiate between unpreparedness and inadequacy. If we are asked to teach a class, but don’t prepare, we may feel inadequate and rightly so, but that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s about responding to what we feel God is asking us to do—be it in our secular job or in a ministry at church: teach a class, preach, sing, counsel, lead a group of people or pray— and in spite of preparing for the task, we still feel inadequate.

Moses is a great example. In his early phase, he oozed self-confidence as he strutted around the country in his royal garb, a well-prepared man who had probably graduated from the best schools, who certainly lived in the best house in Egypt and had the richest, adopted father in the country. Moses was “The Man of the Year!” He was so self-confident that one day as he was visiting the Hebrew slaves, he felt justified in killing an Egyptian man!

Fast-forward forty years. God and Moses are having a conversation and God has just finished asking Moses to return to Egypt to deliver his people. And Moses says, “Who am I to appear before Pharaoh? How can you expect me to lead the Israelites out of Egypt? Look, they won’t believe me!” Moses incites God’s anger when he says, “I’m just not a good speaker. I never have been, and I’m not now…Please, send someone else.”

Does that sound like the same Moses?

I don’t think anyone likes to feel weak or inadequate. Self-confidence and capability suit us so much better. Yet, God couldn’t use Moses until his unhealthy, self-confidence was broken and he saw himself as he truly was: weak and inadequate for the divinely-appointed task.

So, in living the quotidian life, how should I change my perspective from excessive self-confidence to a healthy dependence on God, without falling into an unhealthy inferiority complex or passivity trap? Strange as it may seem, the word ‘clay’ may be the clue to our finding the answer.

1. Clay is commonplace. It is probably one of the oldest and cheapest materials accessible to man since creation. The Bible compares us to clay through the prophet Isaiah: “We are the clay; you [Lord] are the potter…” (Isa. 64:8) We’re pretty common stuff which may be why we might feel at times like the cartoon character, “Where’s Waldo?” Do I matter in the midst of more than six billion people? The answer is an emphatic YES. If we didn’t matter to God, He would never have died to redeem us.

2. Clay is useful. From Bible times until the present, clay continues to be used even though modern technology has presented us with plastics, stainless steel and other superior materials. Around the world clay pots continue to hold gallons of water and clay bricks shelter a large chunk of humanity. God desires to use us and will use us if we own up to our ‘clayness’—our weakness. I’ve been pleasantly surprised to find this place of weakness more comfortable than I thought it would be. It’s so much better to be my real self than posing as Miss Self-Sufficiency.
3. Clay is fragil. Even a child can smash a clay jar or break a single brick, yet when supported by cement and steel its fragility can be transformed into strong, high-rise apartment buildings. We, too, can be useful though fragil. We don’t have to put on the bold face—the big talk. God wants us to be ourselves. Many times I've prayed that prayer, “Lord, help me. I don’t think I can do this.” And then he comes and fills my clay vessel with his own presence and power. I have a hunch this is the true meaning of humility, not, as it is sometimes portrayed, as a poor or illiterate person. Humility is taking off the mask and the costume and allowing others to see the “real” me.

4. The value of a clay vessel is in what it contains. Would you rather have a clay pot filled with a thousand gold coins or a silver pot filled with dirt? Paul exults in our weakness, “But this precious treasure—this light and power that now shine within us—is held in perishable containers, that is, in our weak bodies.” (2 Cor. 4: 7) When we are willing to be seen as clay—inadequate, incapable or even less intelligent than we feel we are—yielded to the potter’s will—the light and power of Christ can shine forth… “So everyone can see that our glorious power is from God and is not our own.” (There’s no room for pride to grow here.)

Jesus is always the perfect example. “Though he was God, he did not demand and cling to his rights as God. He made himself nothing” (Phil.2.6-7a). The word ‘nothing’ rings of inadequacy and weakness, doesn’t it? Jesus chose to minister from a place of weakness, not strength. He, the omniscient, all-knowing God, chose to depend solely on the revelation of the Holy Spirit when he walked this earth. He, the omnipotent, all-powerful God, chose to become the helpless prisoner of Roman soldiers. He, the omnipresent, ever-present God, chose to constrain himself to the limitations of the human body.

God calls us to be ‘nothing’ as well. He calls us to minister from our weakness, not our strength, from a place of dependence, not independence. He is calling us to be nothing—so he can be everything.

This, then, is how we should respond when God asks us to minister: Instead of fleeing situations that make us feel weak and inadequate, we embrace them as opportunities to trust God to use us in spite of ourselves. Then, as if on cue, the miracle begins.

God Delights to Answer Prayer

2010-10-07T15:44:00.003-03:00

As I stood facing the congregation, a middle-aged blond lady caught my attention. She sat to my right, and while I played the keyboard for the worship time, I thought I heard a quiet, operatic voice rise above the chorus of worshipers singing together. I scanned the crowd and yes, that voice did seem to come from the blond lady. She looked happy, I thought, but why did she sing out like that? Then it was our turn to sing. Pat grabbed the guitar and we started singing songs our band had recorded years ago. Pat noticed the blond lady singing along. Humm. At the close of the meeting, I stood off to the side to sell our cds. The blond lady approached me bubbling with enthusiasm, "When I was a teenager, our youth group used to sing all your songs..." She hugged me excitedly. "We had your cassette tapes and I still have your records! But, I've never been able to trace you down. Three months ago, I opened my window, looked out and prayed, 'God, I don't know where this band is or how to find them, but I would like to locate them.' Tonight, not only did I get to meet the band, but also the composer of the songs!"

Isn't God just somethin'else??

P.S. BOO-HOO

2010-04-12T10:16:00.005-03:00

I hung the third panel of sheers late Saturday night, pleased as punch with the results--the flowing, filmy voil that graced the windows had the effect I'd dreamed of. (I love to bury my face in the middle of all that fluff because it reminds me of a bridal dress.) The next morning I walked into the living room to admire my work in the light of day, but to my horror, the third panel of sheers was shorter than the others...and not just a teensy, weensy bit shorter, but a full inch and a half shorter!!! All this after I'd carefully measured, pinned and ironed the hem and taken the trouble to hang the drapes before sewing to compare lengths.

I don't know what the moral of this story is, but if you do, please let me in on the secret.

HELPFUL HINTS ON MAKING CURTAINS

2010-04-08T20:58:00.002-03:00

I'm in the process of making curtains for the livingroom and altering old curtains for new windows. I've acquired a lot of savvy from my experience and would love to share it with you.

1) Take a refresher course in math before buying material. That way you won't have to look "dumb" when the clerk asks you how many yards you want.
2 It is smart to listen to the clerk who has way more experience in figuring out yardage than you do.
3) Listen to your husband (if he happens to be with you).
4) If you didn't listen to your husband OR the clerk and have to return to the store for MORE material, try to find a different clerk to wait on you. (Hint: less embarrassing)
5) Avoid sticking yourself with straight pins. It creates pain, and at times, blood.
6) If you notice blood stains on the material, follow this advice I heard somewhere: spit on the blood. Well, they didn't exactly say spit, but the idea is the same...use your saliva which has enzymes that begin to act on the blood stain before you make yourself get up and wash it out.
7) If you can actually make these curtains look nice, Congratulations, you have achieved your goal.

JUST LIKE A MAGICIAN'S HAT

2010-03-31T18:42:00.003-03:00

We sang in church Sunday night, and it had been many months since Pat had played his Ovation. He took it to church and pulled it out of its very dilapidated case. When he reached inside the guitar to check out the battery, just like a magician's hat, out came this: Bella's pajama top and a decoration from the Christmas tree!!! Hmmmm, who was the magician who put those items inside the guitar?????

prairie rose: SLEEPLESS IN CURITIBA

2010-03-21T18:35:00.000-03:00

prairie rose: SLEEPLESS IN CURITIBA

SLEEPLESS IN CURITIBA

2010-03-21T18:23:00.002-03:00

It happens every now and then--nights when sleep won't come. This time, instead of tossing and turning in bed, I penned these lines while looking out my window at the lights of Curitiba.

COLORING THE NIGHT

Stop lights blink in reds and greens
Cars rush on in flight
Taxis orange cruise empty streets
No passengers in sight.

Billboards flash in purple hues
Neon paints the sky
Planes take wing in black of night
Wave red and white goodbyes.

Lamp posts don bright yellow caps
Silently they stare
Towers dot the sky with red
While stores show off their wares.

And here I sit in sleepless grays
Coloring the night
From fourteen floors above the street
Anxious for dawn's soft white.

prairie rose: Anything will do

2010-03-10T16:03:00.000-03:00

prairie rose: Anything will do

Anything will do

2010-03-09T23:26:00.003-03:00

We are getting packed up. Yup! A company is putting all our stuff into boxes and today before I knew it, all the plates had been packed away. I had grabbed two knives and two forks and two mugs. Alas! my hubby came up with the genial idea to use the cutting boards as plates.

SEVEN IN A ROW

2010-01-16T17:25:00.006-02:00

Seven little socks

hanging in a row

Whose can they be?

Maybe I know.

The long ones are sister's
The striped must be her brother's
The little bitsy baby ones
Are surely not her mother's!

Looking lost without their mates
hanging in a row
Seven little socks
with no place to go.

I'll hold them to my heart
Pretend I hear a giggle
as I tickle tiny toes
until they're in a pickle!

Then quietly I'll hang them up
seven in a row
and pray God bless the little feet
wherever they may go.

MICHAEL'S PROPHETIC WORDS

2010-01-15T17:45:00.004-02:00

I'm going through boxes and boxes of stuff because we are moving. Today I came across a writing assignment Michael had in the 2nd grade. His teacher asked him to write about "If I Were a Missionary"and answer the following questions:

1) What kind of work would you do?

2) Where would you live?

3) What kind of food would you eat?

4) What would be some dangers you would face?

5) How would you or what would you tell people about Jesus?

Here is what Michael wrote:

"If I were a missionary I would be a singer. I would like to live in the United States of America.

I would eat taco salad every day. I love taco salad.

One of the dangers I would face would be hitting my car in an accident. I would tell people that Jesus died to save them, and that they could be saved."

Marley Molly

2010-01-14T23:14:00.003-02:00

The spirit of Marley is in our boxer Molly. The list of things she has wrecked keeps growing. Yesterday she started to chew off the paint by the garage that had bubbled up from the humidity. She escaped twice from her collar--(it is now hanging on a nail on the door)--and we don't know how she did it. She whacked off both of our decorative bamboo clumps that grow--er, used to grow by the side of the house and she helped herself to a huge, blue, beautiful hydrangea flower.

During the Christmas season I had cookies cooling on the kitchen counter. I left for an instant and the front door was open. When I came back, a whole row of cookies was missing. Another day she went for a third of a fruit cake. To spite her, I gave her the old, stale gingerbread men that no one wanted to eat!

I scold, wag my finger in her face, threaten her with spankings, and she hangs her head and looks up at me with those liquid brown eyes--then goes right back to being naughty! What can I do?

Twice she turned on the hose and after hours of water washing into the neighbor's yard, they came to tell us something we didn't know!!!!!!! Molly! Molly! Molly! What are we going to do with you?

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

2010-01-10T17:14:00.006-02:00

William Shakespeare said it but I'm loathe to find the "sweet" in it. After spending nine months with Michael, Cari, Bella and Caleb--and almost 5 months with Lilani-- parting is far from sweet. I think words like soul-wrenching, tearing apart, yank, rip and wrest are more appropriate. It just plain hurts. Someone tried to console me by saying that wouldn't I prefer they were far away, but happy with life than living close to me and unhappy? Yes, of course, but that doesn't stop the bleeding.

Walking past their now silent, empty rooms brings tears to my eyes, a wish that I could lift the curtain of time and bring them back. When I open my kitchen cupboards and see Caleb's batman glass and Bella's princess glass still sitting quietly in their spots, it feels like they are still close--maybe gone for the day, but surely returning and I can pretend they haven't gone at all.

Any vestige of their presence brings comfort: a lost hair bow, a Dora the Explorer card from a memory game, a baby crib, a mismatched sock, a size 3 camouflage T-shirt, a lonely baby wipe left in the little blue elephant container, toothbrushes and Crest whitening toothpaste from the States, a Canadian coin, an abandoned pair of torn bermuda jeans size 34. And those are just the tangibles. There are also the intangibles: memories of two blonde heads bobbing up the stairs in the morning for breakfast, of Cari on the computer, Michael coming home from work with a cold bottle of coke (!), willing helpers whenever Grandma made tocolate cookies, Caleb's "Tama, tama", Bella's art work, Lilani's smiles, Cari's encouraging words, hearing Michael say, "Want to watch a movie with us?" giggles and hugs, snuggling in Grandma and Grandpa's bed, enjoying Cari's "eye for a good picture", proud of Michael's musical ability....and so much more.

God has blessed each of us with a memory bank--a place to come back to where we can pick up each memory one by one, hold it close for a moment, then return it to its place. The best part is that He has also given us a special person, the Holy Spirit, who understands us perfectly, who consoles and comforts us until the wounds are healed.

ERIC TURNS 6

2009-09-03T00:09:00.004-03:00

Happy Birthday to Eric on his 6th!!! I love you! His was a waterworld theme that his Mommy knows how to create very well. I ate too much!!

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, REESHA!

2009-08-25T14:31:00.004-03:00

Our firstborn, our sunshine! For her birthday celebration we ate pancit, a Philippino dish. Reesha brought the recipe back from the Philippians years ago where she spent her internship. Happy, happy birthday, dear daughter! Love you mucho!

A POCKETFUL OF GOLD

2009-08-24T20:01:00.005-03:00

In February 1974 Pat and I and our smiley, two-year-old daughter, Reesha, boarded a plane in Minneapolis, USA in the dead of winter and landed in Brazil in the middle of summer. It was magical. We left our bulky winter coats behind at the airport with family and just a few hours later walked off the plane in Brazil as light as sheered sheep.

We gradually settled down into a very different lifestyle in the polluted industrial region of Coronel Fabriciano, MG. One fine day in May, working in the Bethany seminary kitchen helping with the noon meal, director Larry Darby stopped by for a few minutes to chit chat. All of a sudden he looked at me and said, “Your eyes look yellow.” Taken aback, I looked in the mirror for myself and sure enough, the whites of my eyes were as yellow as cat eyes in the dark. I was sure the doctor's diagnosis would be hepatitis. It was.

Language study stopped, a gate was put in the doorway to our bedroom so our little Reesha couldn't come in, poor thing, and my sister, Cathie, also a missionary in Brazil, came to see me and set up a sterilization system to wash my dishes so others wouldn't get what I had. I spent my days lying on my back looking at the blue walls of our bedroom, memorizing every defect in the plaster, wishing someone would remember to turn off the compressor that shook the ground (and my brain) below my window as it pumped well water into the cistern several times a day. And I thought.

I had lots to think about, mainly about our financial security which appeared quite fragile. We were a faith mission that believed we should work with our hands and trust God for the rest. That was the sticky part, the trusting. We lived rent-free and ate together in a common dining room with students and staff, and in those days adult staff received a small monthly stipend of US$25 each with a stunning addition of US$5 per child. I guess I wasn't a very good Christian because I worried about the money, or more precisely, the lack of it. The day I discovered my yellow eyes, Pat went to the director for money to pay for a doctor’s appointment and was told there was none. The till was empty. That´s definitely unsettling when you're new to the company. It's not that I was afraid of living simply. I came from a simple family and well remember the day we had only potatoes to eat for lunch. But now I was in a foreign country, I'd only known the director for three months, I didn't understand how this place was run, I couldn't speak Portuguese very well and understood even less. I was scared.

For two months I was bedridden and that's a long time to think. One day a small parcel arrived from the USA. It was an audio cassette tape from the junior class at Bethany Bible School in Minneapolis. They felt God directed them to record songs from the Scriptures and I immediately fell in love with the simple words and melodies. My favorite was Psalm 19 because the chorus of the song was about money, even though the principal theme of the psalm was the Word of God. I sang along with the tape over and over:

More to be desired are they [God’s words] than gold
Yeah, than much fine gold;
Sweeter also than honey
And the honeycomb.

And as I sang the Holy Spirit whispered to my soul, “My Word is trustworthy; you can trust me…but will you? When there's no money in the till at the seminary, you can trust me; now will you?”

At the end of two months the doctor gave his okay for me to get out of bed. My body was whole, but more importantly, my soul had been healed. I wasn't worried about the money question anymore. Singing the Word over and over again had worked its wonder in my soul, slowly eroding my doubts like water wearing down the hardest rock. Like the psalmist, I had tasted the Word and found it was indeed sweeter than honey, but more importantly, I now knew, deep down in my heart, that trusting in His Word brought more security than a pocketful of 24-karat gold.

New Secretary

2009-08-21T18:33:00.004-03:00

Please check out this video of my new secretary. She's very efficient, Ms. Gabriella Dugan!

Coffee Girl Confessions

2009-06-30T23:52:00.001-03:00

Check out this great blog for a fresh look at cross-cultural experiences...through the eyes of missionary women. Click on
www.coffeegirlconfessions.blogspot.com

Grandkids! Grandkids!

2009-06-26T23:14:00.007-03:00

There was a 'young' grandmother

Lived in a brown house

She had many grandkids

And even a mouse (or two...

Downstairs in Cari's house!)

One day they decided

A fine place to play

Would be under the piano

And there they did stay

(For a few minutes.)

Grandma fed them some hot dogs

Then sent them to bed

Before she konked out
From hitting her head!

(She didn't fit under the piano.)

P.S. She really didn't hit her head.

Happy Birthday, Delicious Dessert!

2009-06-26T23:10:00.003-03:00

Patricia is my baby and we had the privilege of being in her home for her 24th birthday! This is the last of the banana/walnut muffins we had for her birthday breakfast.

The Grace is Gone

2009-06-10T23:20:00.004-03:00

While Cari was in the States, the 'caring' of her two precious children fell to her marvelous husband...and me. Tuesdays and Thursdays were Michael's full days--leaving home at 6:30 a.m. and returning at 11 p.m. On those days my hands were quite busy (as you can imagine!), but the kids were angels, they got along together most of the time, didn't balk at naptime or bedtime and played happily during the day. My only explanation for this was "God's Grace"--it had fallen on them in full measure, making our days easier. (Can you imagine what we'd have done if they'd cried for their Mommy day and night?) Well, they did cry for Mommy when they got hurt or during time-outs, but that is certainly to be expected. I bragged about their good behavior to all who would listen.

Saturday dawned and Mommy came home. The kids were beside themselves with joy.

Sunday dawned and Daddy and Mommy went out for dinner for their 6th wedding anniversary while Grandma took the children to church and afterwards put them to bed. But Gabriella balked, "Mommy said she was putting me to bed." Tears flowed in abundance and there seemed to be no way to stop the fountain. I gave my explanations. She countered with hers. I insisted. She insisted. We had reached an impasse so I decided to repeat the familiar blessing from Numbers 6: 24-26 that we had prayed over our children when they were young, hoping it would work its magic: "The Lord bless you and keep you...." Somewhere, in the middle of "the Lord make his face shine upon you", an angry head popped up and an angry voice said, "Jesus told me you're going to jail."

The blessing froze mid-sentence and I arose quietly and left the room.

Caleb, the compassionate, tucked in his bed across the hall, heard the angry outburst and the word, "jail". "Tama, tama," he called out to me, "Bella said jail." His words were hard to understand, but it was obvious he was worried. I reassured him everything was okay and proceeded to the living room. I had no sooner sat down when I heard an angry little voice and started toward Bella's room. There she was, standing in the doorway to her bedroom, arms crossed in front of her looking like Custer's Last Stand. "I'm telling the truth, " she bristled self-righteously. After a few more 'words' I ordered her to her bed.

When Michael and Cari returned and were listening to the evening's adventures, Michael looked at me and said, "Looks like the grace is gone, Mom. Cari's home."

The next morning I was standing by the kitchen corner shelves when Gabriella came up the stairs for her breakfast. She immediately came to me and very sweetly said, "I'm sorry, Grandma," and it felt good to say back, "I forgive you," while squeezing her tight. She was all sugar and spice and all that's nice--just what little girls are made of.

TEA FOR TOTS

2009-06-10T22:54:00.002-03:00

It was a promise waiting to be kept: "Grandma, can we have a tea party with your special dishes some day?" And now that their Mommy was in the USA, it seemed like this was the right time--a moment that would brighten up their day. So, even though it wasn't an afternoon tea (I suggested we wait until the next afternoon when it would be sunny, etc. but they quickly put the kibosh on that!) we had our tea party at night. We had made "totlate tookies" and one cookie filled up the entire little china plate. I served snackies (made from yucca root) which filled up the tureen. There were many "be carefuls" "pour slowlies" isn't this nicies? And after all my recommendations for safety, it was my foot that Gabriella tripped over while carrying one of the precious china plates, making her fall to the floor--without breaking the dish! Whew! After all, this Grandma had gotten those china dishes when she was a little girl and none had broken to date. Needless to say, a marvelous time was had by all and instead of each of us eating two cookies and a few snackies, I'm afraid I must admit we each gobbled up 4? or 5? or? cookies and piles of little snackies!! But the look on their faces was worth it all!

MAKING 'TOTLATE TOOKIES'

2009-06-10T22:46:00.005-03:00

Let's just say the best part is licking the beater.. and the spatula...

Mommy, I Love You

2009-06-10T22:12:00.004-03:00

Even though Mommy Cari returned from the USA before I got this posted, I still wanted to share it with you all.

MY CUPIDS

2009-06-04T00:10:00.003-03:00

My cute little cupids! Oops! Looks like some little guy found my heels! Sorry about that, Mommy & Daddy!

WOMEN'S RETREAT WAS GREEAAT!

2009-06-04T00:02:00.004-03:00

We sang, we prayed, we listened, we laughed (a lot), we cried, we ate and it was wonderful!

HAVING FUN WITH VISITORS

2009-05-29T00:06:00.004-03:00

This is how Bella and Caleb greeted their guests who'd come to play with them. They had just awakened from their naps, but after getting some treats from the guests (chocolate milk) and the special cookies their Daddy had bought, they warmed up to them and played nicely for several hours. Thank you, Michele and Rúbia for helping me out as well to prepare for the Women's Seminar that starts tomorrow.

GETTING LOCKED IN...OR OUT?

2009-05-29T00:03:00.004-03:00

Grandpa came to the rescue this morning to rescue two cute kids who locked themselves in Bellla's bedroom. Grandpa had to climb the ladder and take off the wooden shutters to climb through the window. No one got scared or even cried! Brave kids!

CALEB'S MY HELPER, TOO

2009-05-29T00:01:00.001-03:00

Caleb is a good taster--letting me know if the juice is good or not. I believe he liked it!

GOING TO CELL GROUP

2009-05-28T23:58:00.003-03:00

Going to cell group was exciting. Bella packed hers and Caleb's backpacks full of toys and fun things to do. She even put in Caleb's emergency medicine, explaining very seriously what needed to be done. We were back at home having a snack at 11 p.m. when their Daddy drove in from work. What a party!

PLAYING HOUSE

2009-05-28T23:56:00.003-03:00

Bella has the most fertile imagination of any four-year-old that I know. You can see a little part of the bed her Daddy made for her doll.

HELPING GRANDMA SORT BEANS

2009-05-28T23:42:00.002-03:00

The kids had a blast helping sort beans. It was quite a trick getting the clean beans in the right bowl, but every effort was worth it!

The time has come to fly!

2009-05-24T16:16:00.004-03:00

I don't want Mommy to go.

A tearful goodbye

Just the three of us...

C: It's not a little plane!

G: I want Mommy.

Mama is somewhere inside that airplane.

There she goes!!

I just talked to Mama on the phone!

Happy Birthday, Trio!

2009-05-23T10:20:00.003-03:00

May is birthday month in our family. Julia is first on May 10th, followed by Caleb on May 22nd, Pat on May 24th, Cari on May 26th (her Golden Birthday is this year) and Neval on May 27th. We had a weekend of partying...

Cari is getting her birthday wish--to spend the day with her friends in the States! Go, Cari!

Happy Birthday, 3 yr.old Caleb!

2009-05-23T10:17:00.002-03:00

Belated Happy Bday, Julia!

2009-05-22T23:33:00.001-03:00

Jill Briscoe & friends

2009-05-15T22:16:00.006-03:00

The gal who coordinated the retreat handing me my copy of the book.

This gal was my 'soul mate' at the retreat.

Just Jill and me

Part of the group of authors.

I was recently at a women's retreat where I heard Jill Briscoe speak. I wasn't disappointed. Her life is an inspiration and an aspiration! (Can one say that--it's quite catchy!) Jill is 74 and traveling around the world training leaders in sometimes dangerous places! She and her husband are giving 10 years of their lives to this ministry. Just as we were parting ways, she gave me her book, "The Deep Place Where Nobody Goes" (Conversations with God on the steps of my soul), which I am eating up! I also had the joy of writing a chapter in a book about women in ministry. It's scary reading your writing in another language, especially when you can understand the translation and might like to improve on it!

BROTHERS & VIOLINS

2009-05-13T23:31:00.003-03:00

Dick & Pat had fun playing together in many different kinds of meetings. Here they are playing at Bethany Church in Camaquã.

2009-05-02T22:08:00.003-03:00

We are enjoying having Dick & Shane with us. It's been fun showing Shane Brazil for the first time and Dick's ministry has been enriching.

New Rock Star Gabriella

2009-04-29T18:48:00.004-03:00

This girl is gonna be a performer. Mark my words! Here she tries out the many new sounds she is hearing in Portuguese without actually saying anything coherent! Go Girl!!

MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE WALL WHO'S THE FAIREST?????

2009-04-16T20:41:00.004-03:00

In about 9 hours I will be getting up to catch a plane to São Paulo. Flying to a women's conference by myself is both scary and exciting! SEPAL is the organization putting it on and they work in Brazil to help grow the church. This will be their 1st Women's Conference for women in ministry. The kick off is tomorrow afternoon with a women's tea and the release of a new book for women. I had the privilege of writing one of the chapters on the subject of women and beauty. How ironic, then, that I am going to this book release feeling very ugly. I mean, I haven't felt this ugly in a long time. Here's what happened: I went to the beauty salon to cut and dye my hair (to look beautiful for this conference) and unfortunately, chose a color that is too blonde and doesn't flatter me at all. (It's been painful to look at myself in the mirror.) The beautician also cut my hair too short on the sides, making my cheeks puff out in a piggy kind of way. I've wondered about having my hair re-dyed, but would that be a "vain" expense? I decided it was, so I'm going to look ugly with the hope that upon arrival at the conference, God will wave his magic wand and turn me into Cinderella.

The Easter Egg Hunt

2009-04-13T22:06:00.002-03:00

My Easter Bunnies seem to be disorientated as to "where to look" for the Easter eggs. Take a peek...

My Easter Bunnies

2009-04-13T21:58:00.005-03:00

Easter this year was in Camaquã, a city in the interior of our state of Rio Grande do Sul. We celebrated with an "Easter Egg Hunt" on the grass outside of Reesha & Leno's house and later enjoyed a delicious salmon dinner. The kids didn't seem hungry. I wonder why???

FASHION SHOW ON EMILY'S 8TH

2009-04-13T21:45:00.004-03:00

My oldest granddaughter, Emily, is already 8 years old! I don't ever want her to grow up (lie), but I do love the phase she is in. The theme for her birthday (always done up in great style by mama Reesha) was Fashion Girl. Here is the fashion show that we all enjoyed. Unfortunately, the film maker (yours truly) held the camera sideways! Oh well.

Obama Comes to Visit Me

2009-04-10T23:14:00.004-03:00

I'm not real clear on "how" Obama got to my place; I just know he was there and that I was busy working away. My memory is a bit vague, but it seems that I was busy wiping up some kind of liquid that had spilled on the floor. He was perched on a high stool, his legs splayed, when he found an old hymnal (in Portuguese) and said, "I remember the "Harpa Cristã", and got up, went to the piano and started playing and singing a hymn. It's strange that I never interacted with him. My dream faded away at that point. Too bad. I missed out entirely on an opportunity to engage the president of the United States!

Coloring Easter Eggs again!

2009-04-10T23:08:00.006-03:00

It's been a few years since having kids in my house to color Easter eggs. This year was different. Gabriella, Caleb and their friend, João Vitor tried their hand at being creative.

Who's the piggy in this post?

2009-04-10T23:05:00.003-03:00

Hint: Nedra's clean laundry pile is on the left; Pat's is on the right.

LET YOUR YES BE YES! AND YOUR NO, NO!

2009-04-03T19:55:00.004-03:00

My darling Julia at 10 months!

IT'S NOT SHUTES & LADDERS, BUT...

2009-04-01T21:25:00.003-03:00

BUGS, TOILETS & PORTUGUESE

2009-03-27T22:39:00.004-03:00

It's fun to see Brazil through the eyes of my four-year-old granddaughter, Gabriella, because she's loquacious and uninhibited. Her first days in Brazil were most remarkable because everything was a "first-time experience". Here's some samples:

THE BUGS

me: there goes a mosquito.

she (looking scared): I think I'll get down from my bed. (bunkbed)

she (looking at the floor): There's a bug, Grandma!

me: That's just a mark on the tile.

she (looking up at the table where a fly has just landed): Grandma, what's that?

me: a fly. Just wave your hand at it and it will go away and I procede to teach her the song, "Shoo, fly! Don't bother me!"

THE TOILET

Another "scary" incident was when Gabriella accidently threw the toilet paper in the toilet. You might be asking, isn't that where toilet paper is supposed to go? Well, not in this country. Here we throw toilet paper in the wastebasket, and Gabriella had been carefully instructed on this matter before even arriving in Brazil. Her first day here she told me several times that she didn't know how to use the bathroom here and asked me to go with her. So, I showed her how. A couple of days later when our house was full of family members who'd arrived to see them, and we adults were sitting around the kitchen table talking and probably eating, we heard a loud wail and soon Gabriella appeared, panties down, crying her heart out. We all wondered what terrible thing had happened to her and then she sobbed, "I forgot and put the paper in the toilet! Waaaaaa!" Aunties came scurrying around to comfort little Gabriella, one even rescuing some of the paper from its demise, as we all tried to reassure her everything would be all right!!

And it was!

PORTUGUESE

Little by little Gabriella is getting courageous enough to try out a new Portuguese word. She babbles once in a while thinking she is speaking Portuguese (but it isn't!!). Her new neighbor friend, João Vitor, is giving her informal lessons as they play together. (And I think he is learning more English than the other way around!)

Even children go through culture shock.

A VISIT FROM THE ANGEL GABRIEL-LA

2009-03-23T17:57:00.006-03:00

The image is frozen in my memory like a cherished photo in a family album: Gabriella's big blue eyes--set off by her three-tiered, blue/yellow plaid ruffly top and matching skirt with a pert blue bow in her hair--focused on her grandpa. He is standing behind the guard rails and can't give her a decent hug, yet she waits quietly, the picture of cherubic innocence. Her baby talcum-powder white skin has suddenly made her cousin, Julia, look swarthy in comparison. A middle-aged Brazilian couple, also leaning on the guard rails, observe the scene with interest, their smiling faces lit up by the "Angel Gabriella". I see they have also fallen under her spell. "Is she four years old?" they eagerly ask me and I nod my smiling head in response. Together with her brother, Caleb, Gabriella clutches her newest present--an airlines magazine for kids--and thrusts it repeatedly in my face--the only subject she can comment on. And then quickly the moment is brushed away as more family members gather around to get their hugs, but like Mary, I continue to treasure this moment in my heart.

GETTING READY FOR THE M.DUGANS

2009-03-18T23:14:00.002-03:00

We have dusted, scraped paint off windows, washed windows, washed walls with a hylex solution, planted flowers, swept floors, vacuuming (tomorrow), washed curtains, rugs, bedspreads, sheets, moved heavy furniture upstairs, moved heavy furniture downstairs, made signs, bought presents, cleaned the silver plate, baby cups, and spoon collection, washed floors, bathrooms, living rooms, stairways and in between made meals, washed clothes and dishes, watched baby Julia, fed baby Julia, changed baby Julia's diapers, bathed Julia and now we're very, very tired, but soooo excited for tomorrow's "D-Day for Dugans" !! Hooray!!

THE FLOWER FADETH

2009-03-12T22:40:00.004-03:00

My flowering bush that we call "Christ's Tears"here in Brazil is now changing colors as we get close to the fall season. It's still beautiful, I think

CORRECTION

2009-03-11T10:50:00.002-03:00

Humm...I miscalculated my age in the previous post. I was also a mature 20 year-old.

WILL YOU BE MINE?

2009-03-10T17:19:00.012-03:00

My original wedding ring set minus the diamond. I lost it and replaced it with an emerald.

My beautiful green velvet box isn't so beautiful anymore, but the memories are.

It happened in the "GOLD CARPET ROOM" on the second floor of the Long House Residence on this date in l968! It was a private restaurant, actually, with only one table and chairs--quite exclusive, you know. I was a blushing 19-year-old and Pat a mature 20 and this is where we got engaged. I will "let you in" on some tidbits from my dairy:

Dearest Diary!!

What a memorable day...After church Pat wanted to go outside to get some fresh air. Terry was out there with a white Plymouth. He opened the back door and we got in. I thought it was a joke...He drove around to the girls' dorm, got out, ran around to my side, opened the door, and then ran to his house. We followed. Upstairs, a sign was on their living room door--"GOLD CARPET ROOM." Terry opened the door and...astonishment!!!there was a table with a linen cloth, two swivel chairs from the lobby of the school building, three candles on the table, and a setting for two. They had brought a potted plant from the auditorium, and had nailed Susie's curtains into the wall. It was all so romantic and dreamy. Something I'll never forget.

Terry brought us menus...we had assorted crackers, cookies, banana splits, and ginger ale in Terry's new bar glasses...the bill came to $19. 10...there was soft, tender music playing on the stereo..Terry came in with his guitar and played a song...Pat told me to close my eyes..there was the most gorgeous diamond in a beautiful green velvet box...I let out a little scream. Pat kissed me before he even put it on. He was on his knees and put the ring on my finger!...

At weddings, I don't know why they call the groom's friend the "best man" because my groom was and is the best man, and if I could choose all over again, I'd choose Mr. Pat again and again and again. He's the only one for me. He has exemplified Christ's love for his church in our marriage and I feel privileged to call him mine.

Happy 41st Engagement Party, Honey!!! I love you!!

THREE STRIKES AND YOU'RE OUT!

2009-03-10T16:59:00.003-03:00

It had been 9 months since I'd seen my cardiologist and I sat facing him as he perused my records behind his desk. He glanced up, smiled and asked, "So how have you been? What's new?" and then helped answer his own question by saying, "Older (strike one!) and wider (strike two!)" referring to me obviously. I looked down at my blouse and thought, "Well, I guess the boat neck and puffed sleeves might make me look a bit wider although I've gotten complements on this." I laughed and agreed (!) with him. Not about to let that get the best of me, I talked on and all of a sudden I heard him repeat to himself a word I had just spoken and realized he was smiling and imitating my accent (strike three!). That started me off on an explanation of how, if one wants to speak a foreign language without an accent, one must learn that language by the age of 16 or at the most 18. All of a sudden he was serioius, "No, you speak Portuguese very well." Well, Okay, Doctor, I thought I'd struck out.

HOPE OF THE HARVEST

2009-03-04T22:29:00.002-03:00

Here's a great song you must listen to. Sorry I don't know how to put someone else's video on my blog, but this song is so appropriate to what I just wrote about ministering to the needy. Here is the link:
https://www.womenoftheharvest.com/hope/video.htm

It's worth the watch. Believe me.

ON AN IRISH KICK

2009-03-04T16:05:00.003-03:00

For no particular reason, I've been delving into all things IRISH. It started by rereading "Only The River Runs Free"by the Thoenes followed by the other two books in that series that I bought on Half EBay while in the States just now, "Of Men and Angels" and "All Rivers to the Sea". Then I took up "Angela's Ashes" by Frank McCourt which left me absolutely devastated at Ireland's poverty and plight some years back. It's a heart-wrenching book. Last night I watched "In God's Name", a film based on facts of cruelty and injustice in a convent in Ireland. Again, I was filled with a sense of injustice at what some have suffered. Then I started looking around me here in my own town and I realized that the poor aren't far away in Ireland, but right here in my own town while I do...absolutely nothing about it. Yes, I have given food and clothes to the poor who have knocked on my door and even money to beggars on the street, but it seems I should be involved in something ongoing and permanent. So, I have begun to pray and ask God what I am supposed to do and will He direct me to whom I should help. I cannot continue to live in my own little comfortable bubble while others around me suffer. Jesus said some very, very scary things in Matthew 25: 34-46:
" Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance...for I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'
Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?"
The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'
Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'
They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?
He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'
Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life."

Did I read that right? Can we miss heaven for neglecting the poor?

Painted Red

2009-03-03T11:06:00.002-03:00

Here is a link to the title song of Painted Red, a new album by JJHeller, an artist I hadn't heard of (which isn't unusual for me), but who's been around for awhile.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BsEPUyR_UsA (And I don't know how to do the "click here" thing.

Show Time

2009-02-26T16:45:00.000-03:00

He's up to his tricks again...

2009-02-25T23:42:00.000-03:00

Pulando Carnaval!!

2009-02-24T22:55:00.000-03:00

Today is Carnaval--the most celebrated holiday in all of Brazil. In this country it is more important than Christmas or Easter and runs a close second to New Year's Eve. "Pulando Carnval" is literally, "Jumping Carnival" and refers to the samba beat, Brazil's famous dance music. Today is the day you indulge all your carnal (hence "carna-val") passions before the beginning of lent. So, Pat and I did just that. We slept in until 9 a.m., drank extra-strong coffee for breakfast, gave ourselves the luxury of reading for hours, delighted ourselves with a "double dose" of Hershey's chocolate for our after-lunch dessert, fried up a 100% all beef burger WITH CHEESE for dinner, then headed for McDonald's to top it off with ice cream. Pat chose a modest ice cream cone (as always), but I indulged in a chocolate sundae!

It was a lovely Carnaval.

Is This Julia?

2009-02-24T22:46:00.000-03:00

Julia gets very excited when she sees her picture on the frig and heartily agrees with her mommy that she is, indeed, Julia.

You Can Do It, Julia!

2009-02-24T22:37:00.000-03:00

Julia is trying to figure out how to make her legs and arms work together. Keep trying, Julia!

Toolin' through God's country...

2009-02-24T22:01:00.000-03:00

Traveling home from Curitiba we drove through parts of three states: Paraná, Santa Catarina and Rio Grande do Sul. Two routes led to the same destination--one by the coast and the other through the mountains. We chose the mountains. They are not the Rocky Mountains by any stretch of the imagination, but they are mountains, nonetheless. We drove through apple country and grape vineyards, on steep roads cut through the rock and on the plains. We passed umpteen trucks hauling timber, passed neat rows of soybeans and hills of corn, miles of stone fences, a row of cactus along the road and dozens--nay hundreds-- of fluffy fronds like those in the pictures. We saw hydrangea bushes past their prime and houses nestled against the hills, majestic pine trees--their branches lifted to God in praise. There were tree-covered mountains, breath-taking valleys and curvy descents by the River of the Antas. And the grottos appeared recessed in the rock with Mary looking after baby Jesus, and truck after truck after truck carrying burdens too heavy to bear. Yes, it was a long 12-hour drive with many stops but an opportunity to drink in a small part of the beauty of God's great creation.

Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow!

2009-02-19T11:57:00.000-03:00

This is a family tradition passed on from my parents. When we're all together, we like to sing this grace.

Happy Birthday, Little Flower!

2009-02-10T23:38:00.000-02:00

Michelle, you were my first "Brazilian" baby and while you were still in the hospital, friends came to visit us and brought two pairs of pierced earrings! I didn't know what to do because it wasn't the custom in the USA to pierce little babies' ears and the idea seemed strange to me. Before coming to Brazil I had seen little Mexican girls with pierced ears and thought it very ugly, but now I wondered if I would offend my Brazilian friends by not doing the piercing. In the end, I didn't have the courage, and we went home from the hospital without doing it. Then I changed my mind when you were two months old. I took you back to the same clinic where you were born to get your shots and had the nurses pierce your ears. They assured me you wouldn't feel a thing, but if my memory serves me well, I heard you crying....I ended up being glad I had your ears pierced. I got used to seeing Brazilian babies with pierced ears and what had once looked strange now looked normal and beautiful, and you looked so dainty and feminine and beautiful, too.

And you still do. You're a beautiful woman now. Happiest of Birthdays to you!! I love you very much and am proud to be your mama.

Happy Birthday to my Westinghouse!

2009-02-09T21:59:00.000-02:00

My Westinghouse washing machine turned 19 years old in January and a week ago I thought it had breathed its last. Thankfully, it only needed a "basket" change. As you can see in the picture, the inner part of the basket just rusted away. This may not appear significant to you, but there is a sweet story behind it.

At the end of 1989 we were preparing for a big move...after 16 years of community-style living, we were going to move to a single-family dwelling and that meant buying a houseful of furniture. At the time of our move I was a school teacher for the missionary kids and would occasionally get a phone call from a fellow teacher who lived in the city we were moving to--Belo Horizonte. One day she called and asked if we were going to buy a washing machine. I said, no, that we were planning on having someone come in to do the washing (by hand I guess!!!) Today that sounds crazy, but those were the plans. I think my friend thought we were crazy, too. She called me two or three times and each time asked about the washing machine. We didn't buy one.

Moving day came and a new reality set in. The first day in our new house we were unpacking boxes and trying to get settled when a pickup pulled up to the house and my teacher friend and her husband got out. In the back of the pickup was a brand-new, 6 kilo Westinghouse washing machine! I couldn't believe my eyes. "I decided that if I was so worried about you having a washing machine, that maybe that was the Lord telling me I should do something about it," my friend explained. I was overwhelmed...and overjoyed. God knew better than we did that washing clothes by hand was not a good idea--not even for another person (which didn't happen).

Throughout these long 19 years, the washing machine has needed no major repair work. Our neighbor, who is also a washing machine repairman, says our machine is worth fixing up. "They don't make machines to last any more, " he's told us more than once.

So, Karen & Tom, once again I thank you from the bottom of my wee heart for your generous and useful gift that keeps on giving and blessing our lives. (And I hope you have a good washing machine, too!)

35 Years Ago...

2009-02-07T18:43:00.000-02:00

...I remember it like yesterday. A new adventure is hard to forget. We arrived looking quite white from the ravages of Minnesota's winter, but it wasn't hard at all to ease into the balmy weather in Brazil. The first week is most memorable because we stayed at the Editora Betânia with my sister and family. I had my first taste of sugar cane juice. I thought it was terrible; it looked dirty and had pieces of the cane fibers mixed in with the juice, but I drank it obediently like new missionaries should. I don't know if that was my Waterloo, but shortly thereafter I developed Montezuma's Revenge. My sister, who is a nurse, treated me with packets of white powder dissolved in milk, and I would obediently take my medicine to get me through the days. We were wined and dined at several other missionaries' homes, and every day I was taking my white powder which was a lot like putting the plug in the sink. My sister and husband treated us to a fancy dinner in a fancy restaurant called "The Hungarian" that looked like a castle. We sat in medieval, stone-walled booths, and in the low lights the swords and shields created a Camelot atmosphere. I am sure it was God that led us to the particular booth we choose that night because about half way through the dinner, I only had time to make an Olympian dash to the bathroom that was situated only a few feet away when Montezuma hit with a revenge. If you want to know the truth, that's what I remember most about my first week in Brazil.

Orzo Pasta Salad

2009-02-07T17:53:00.000-02:00

My daughter Michelle sent me this delicious (according to her) recipe so I decided to try it today for lunch. I went to the kitchen and didn't find orzo pasta, balsamic vinegar, radicchio, Parmesan cheese, fresh basil or pine nuts. That left only the olive oil, the black olives and the garlic, but I was up for the challenge.

Original version of Orzo Pasta Salad
1 1/2 C. orzo pasta
1/3 c. packed sundried tomatoes
5 Tbps. olive oil
1/4 c. balsamic vinegar
1/4 c. black olives, chopped
1 c. radicchio, finely chopped
1/2 c. grated Parmesan
1/2 c. fresh basil, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 c. toasted pine nuts

Cook pasta, mix with oil , vinegar and olives. Let cool and mix in rest of ingredients.

Instead of the orzo pasta, I chose bow-tie, whole wheat pasta because I think bow-ties are pretty. For the sundried tomatoes I used healthier, freshly chopped ones. I squeezed most of one lime and 6 squirts of Molho Inglês (because it is the same color as the balsamic). Instead of radicchio, I blanched two tufts of broccoli in the pasta water as the pasta was cooking (to save on energy). I decided on one quarter round of light, fresh Riccotta Cheese and happily threw in a half tablespoon of dried basil. For the pine nuts, I used 8 (I am known for my ecomonic policies) pecan halves, broken by hand by yours truly. By this time my brain was spinning out of control and I added half of a large carrot, finely grated and a can of sardines, or if you prefer, sardines from one can, washed under hot water to take off the oil. It needed salt so I guessed on the amount. Presto! It was a huge success and there was enough left over so I won't have to make Sunday lunch, and if I'm lucky, Monday lunch.

Well, okay, so maybe I should change the name to something else.

Raining Cats & Dogs & ...

2009-02-06T13:53:00.000-02:00

The rain is raining all around,

It falls on field and tree, (in our backyard)

It rains on the umbrellas here,

And on the ships at sea.

Robert Louis Stevenson

A Belated Happy Birthday, Leno!

2009-02-04T23:07:00.000-02:00

Feeling groovy

The lovely Pappis family

I surprised Leno with these birthday cupcakes made in my new slick silicon baking cups.

We drove south and the kids drove north and we all met halfway at a restaurant for Leno's "family"birthday.

Let Me Entertain You

2009-02-04T22:55:00.001-02:00

With his daddy's help, Eric entertains Julia at the restaurant where we celebrated Leno's birthday.

Star Gazing

2009-01-30T00:30:00.000-02:00

I'm in western Paraná right now in a small interior town. I've found three wonderful things here: 1) our Bible Institute run by a staff of exceptional people, 2) homemade ice cream called Wailiki--a treat we always look forward to, and 3) stars!

The heavens come close to earth here in Altônia and I was star gazing just minutes ago. Away from city lights, the sky reveals its true self. There are myriads of stars up there and they twinkle so brightly with hardly a space between them. And God thought up a name for each one! How stunning is that?

Who is this God who made the heavens? Who is this God who chose to come to earth cramped inside a clay body? Who is this God who is humble enough to to sit down and chat with me, listen to me and love me? I don't understand the mystery, but I love Him.

The soft night air is perfumed by a flowering bush nearby and a bird sings its two-note song in a rhythmic pattern without missing a beat. How long it will keep this up I don't know because it is nearly one in the morning and I thought birds slept after dark. I am not tired because I drank lots of coke at our picnic tonight. Ah, what a beautiful night. I think I will star gaze a little longer before heading for bed.

GOOD ADVICE

2009-01-21T23:35:00.000-02:00

This was written by a guy named Brett who writes columns for The Plain Dealer, a newspaper in Cleveland, Ohio.

To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most-requested column I've ever written. My odometer rolls over to 70 in August, so here goes:

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
4. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month.
6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.
8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.
11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.
12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.
13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.
15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don 't worry; God never blinks.
16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.
17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.
18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.
19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.
21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.
23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.
24. The most important sex organ is the brain.
25. No one is in charge of your happiness except you.
26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words: 'In five years, will this matter?'
27. Always choose life.
28. Forgive everyone everything.
29. What other people think of you is none of your business.
30. Time heals almost everything. Give time, time.
31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
32. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends will. Stay in touch.
33. Believe in miracles.
34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.
35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.
36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.
37. Your children get only one childhood. Make it memorable.
38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.
41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
42. The best is yet to come.
43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
44. Yield.
45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift.

HEARTS OR TEARS?

2009-01-19T19:25:00.000-02:00

This gorgeous flowering bush is definitely on my "Favorite Flowering Bushes" list, but it's funny that in the USA its name is "Bleeding Hearts" and here in Brazil it's called "Christ's Tears" . Does this flower look more like a heart or a tear? What's your vote?

WANING CHRISTMAS CARD ANGST

2009-01-17T15:39:00.001-02:00

I had a "red-letter"day this past week. I found four, mind you, 04 Christmas cards in my mailbox, and to keep things fair, two were from my side of the family and two from Pat's. How fortunate was that? It saved us from arguing about which family was better, more caring and more religious. I'm glad it was a tie. Now if my sister-in-law would get hers in the mail, I could put this chapter of my life to rest until next December.

"BRUEGGEMAN'S BAGELS" WATCH OUT!!

2009-01-16T19:36:00.000-02:00

It was not the best of times. On my first attempt at making bagels, guests arrived just as the bagel water started to boil. It was supposed to be 2 minutes on one side and 1 1/2 minutes on the second. I carefully plopped the first two in the water and looked at the second hand on my watch. "Oh, blah, blah, blah," went my guest as I tried to accompany her conversation while watching my watch. "Oh, blah, blah, blah," went the children, asking a question here, me trying to respond. It soon became apparent that this was not going to work, so I gave up clock watching and went by my eyeometer. I flipped bagels in and out of that water like a pro! Next they went through the poppy seed bath and then right into the oven! Even though they looked a bit mishappen they did look like bagels. Then the real test: did they taste like bagels? Silence hung over us as mouths worked their way into the steaming dough. Mr. Pat was strangely silent. Then it was my turn to take the test: ummmmm! They tasted an awful lot like normal bread beaten into the shape of a bagel. Ummm! Ummm! Ummm! Something went wrong. But I haven't given up. Watch out, Brueggeman's!!!

The Sky's the Limit???

2009-01-15T22:05:00.000-02:00

This was the view from my bedroom window last evening. I had to photograph it!

"Acknowledge and take to heart this day that the Lord is God in heaven above and on the earth below. There is no other." Dt. 4: 39

"The highest heavens belong to the Lord, but the earth he has given to man." Psalm 114:16

"The Lord reigns, let the nations tremble; he sits enthroned between the cherubim, let the earth shake." Psalm 99:1

"For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him." Psalm 103: 11

GYPSY EARRINGS

2009-01-15T08:57:00.000-02:00

"I will praise you, O Lord, with all my heart; I will tell of all your wonders." Ps. 9:1

One of Brazil's most graceful flowering trees, this one easily ranks on my "Top Five" of the most beautiful flowering trees in Brazil. Don't you agree they resemble a dangling earring? This display of originality and beauty is one more reason why I believe in a Creator God!

NEW YEAR'S DIET

2009-01-08T20:02:00.000-02:00

The "Before" Picture

I flung the words carelessly into the air as I said goodby to Patricia: "No meat, no chicken, no fish, no dairy, no sugar." I felt like a holy monkess (the feminine form of monk) about to embark on a monkish mission. Yes, 2009 would be healthier than any other! I settled my newly-accumulated holiday fat neatly in the car as we drove away toward home on Jan. 2nd.

Radical is me; moderate is my husband, Pat. "Radical doesn't work," he said, and his words bounced off the walls like bats in a cavern.

Jan. 3rd & Test # 1: What about the M & M's I'd brought back from the States? Give them away? Not on your life. I made concession # 1 and ate some M & M's.

Jan. 4th & Test # 2: Someone brought a special cake to church and served it to all of us. I made concession # 2 and ate a piece to make "them" feel good.

Jan. 5th & Test # 3: A neighbor said he'd never tasted salmon so Pat invited him and his family over to eat : it. Concession # 3: I devoured two pieces.

My husband is right. Radical is wrong; moderate is right. I need the endorphines from chocolate to be a nice wife, so I will continue to eat chocolate for my dessert after lunch--with black coffee--to keep my husband happy.

Fish is good for us so I will continue to eat fish.

Chicken has many hormones in it so I will eat it only occasionally.

Dairy will be indulged in only when I want an ice cream cone and at any other time I deem necessary.

Sugar will be shunned unless I get a craving for it. (Confession #1: I tasted a small brownie while cutting the batch into squares--to share with my new neighbor, of course!!!)

Anybody want to go on this diet with me?

CHRISTMAS CARD ANGST

2009-01-07T18:28:00.000-02:00

I suffer from a rare syndrome called Christmas Card Angst, or if you prefer the scientific term--cardlessxmasphobia. It starts in December and as Christmas approaches, daily trips to the mailbox become anxiety journeys. The person with this syndrome is afraid to open the mailbox for fear of not finding any Christmas cards. Dare I open the mailbox today? is a common question. Has no one remembered we exist? is another heartbreaker. The anxiety can become so overwhelming that days may go by without even a peek in the mailbox, thinking that by waiting more days there is a greater chance of finding a card. This syndrome mainly affects people living overseas where mail takes longer to arrive and people are more likely to forget we exist.

I celebated my first Christmas card of the season this year with a snappy "OH!" and as each subsequent card arrived it was greeted with similar squeals of delight ("Uhh" "Nn" Mmm")

Christmas is over now, but the angst syndrome continues into January until all the late mail arrives. I got a card today, for instance, from my niece and her husband who live in Pennsylvania and I talked to my Mother on skype just a few minutes ago, and she assured me her card was "in the mail". Now that's a picker-upper! "YOUR CARD'S IN THE MAIL."

If this is a good year, my angst may be over by the end of the month. Wish me luck.

MY FAVORITE CHRISTMAS PICTURES

2009-01-04T16:52:00.000-02:00

I don't recall what was sooooo funny!

Patricia made these beautiful gold plates just for our Christmas dinner.

The tea lights are in decorated baby food jars.

Emily was a good little mommy and so much fun to watch. She named her new doll Mary Elizabeth.

Pat's project for the girls was more modest this year due to a time crunch.

A joke gift for the sons-in-law...

Baby Julia's first Christmas!

See my pretty dress!!!

Pat continued his tradition of piling on all the clothes he got for Christmas.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!

2009-01-04T15:48:00.001-02:00

Eric tried to stay awake, but finally succumbed...

Starting out the new year in good spirits!!!

Baby Julia slept in the new year close to Mommy Patricia.

The Pappis family hosted our New Year's Eve party!

A Happy 2009 to all of you!!!!!

THE NO-WIN GAME

2009-01-04T14:32:00.000-02:00

I've played this hundreds of times. It's called the "Comparison Game" and I usually lose. It happened again a couple of days ago after reading an e-mail about ministry results. I started playing the game and burst into tears. I wallowed in the guilt and remorse gutter...and felt like I'd been given a swift kick in the pants--a hopeless kick.

Later that day the phone rang. It was a Brazilian I'd never met before calling from California to say how he'd been blessed by our first record, "The Carpenter". "I was twelve years old at the time," he said, "when a friend appeared at my house with the record." He was living in Sao Paulo then where his dad is a pastor. Although he wasn't familiar with any of our other records, he wanted to buy the whole lot. He was talkative and said he'd been born the same month and year that we'd stepped on Brazilian soil for the first time--34 years ago. "Do you come regularly to the United States," he asked next. When I told him we had just returned he sighed and said it would have been nice to have us visit his church and several other Brazilian churches in his area. I agreed. We ended our conversation with the hope that on our next visit to the USA we would be able to sing in California.

Hours later I put two and two together. Just maybe God had prompted that man to call to let me know that comparison is not a fair game and he, God--not me--is keeping score.

FLAMING FLAMBOYANTS ALL OVER TOWN

2008-12-22T23:43:00.000-02:00

This beautiful tree is my second most favorite and it is adding Christmas colors all over town. Nature is in accord with red being the color of Christmas...

"You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace;

the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands." Isaiah 55:12

"The Lord watches over you--the Lord is your shade at your right hand;"Psalm 121: 5

"The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God stands forever." Isa. 40:7

WANTED: SHERLOCK HOLMES

2008-12-19T17:59:00.001-02:00

This is what's left of my two most beautiful plants. When I left my home in June, both these plants were verdant and thriving....now look!!! Who destroyed my beautiful greenery?????

The culprit has not presented him or her self making it hard to lay blame! The lady who stayed in my home has not mentioned a thing about this. My husband claims the one plant wasn't hanging in its usual place by the front door when he returned on October 31st. He is just a little vague about the fern that hung by the barbecue shelter. He seems to have a memory lapse about whether or not he watered green things while I was back in the USA.

Sherlock???? I need your help.

BEEP, BEEP, BOPPIN' ALONG!

2008-12-17T18:55:00.000-02:00

We were on a date, leisurely ambling through the crowded corridors of the shopping mall in our town, and as we walked by the front of a store, the security arcs (or whatever they're called)started beeping. I looked at Pat and he at me and we kept walking. We decided to turn in at Renner's and as soon as we did, the beeping erupted again. "It's your clothes, " I said anxiously, remembering this happening to me in the States. Pat tugged and stretched his shirt, but found nothing. Ironically, we spotted a shirt hanging on the rack that was almost exactly like the shirt he was wearing. Hastily, we checked the designer label on both shirts and breathed a sign of relief. They were different. After browsing in the store for a few minutes, we decided to leave only to have the beeper go off at the exit. Pat turned to the clerk who was rummaging through some racks, and hastily explained, "I bought this shirt in the States, but for some reason the beepers go off." "No problem," he answered and right there I was thankful we didn't have pink hair, dark glasses or heavy chains dangling from our belts. He let us out no questions asked.

"Hurry!" I admonished as soon as we'd left the store. "Go to the bathroom and check your clothes." My words tumbled out with such urgency and authority that Pat almost ran. After a loooong time, he reappeared, but by this time I had tired of waiting for him and had gone into the women's restroom, so when I came out, he was waiting for me!
"And???" I was all ears.
"There was a beeper tag inside my pants alright," Pat said, "but I don't have a scissors with me (why didn't we think to bring one???) so we'll just have to wait until we get home."

And that's just what we did.

MY OWN AMBER BOX

2008-12-17T18:22:00.001-02:00

The brown house is ours, which shows how close the neighbors are...

Front view of the yellow box where the sun always shines.

In a previous blog I mentioned the new Guthrie Theatre having a unique amber box that juts out of the building into open space. The architect designed that box for depressed Minnesotans who go for days without seeing the sun during the winter months; hence, the box offers a reprieve from SAD Syndrome. Upon arrival in Brazil I was dazed (as in sun struck) with the deep yellow my neighbors chose for their house. It was a bit too egg yolky for me until I caught an amber glow reflected on our windows facing their house. All of a sudden, I knew I had an antidote for my own winter depression (that hits us in June and July). I like the warm glow, the buttery yellow glaze on my windows and I tell myself it's still daytime even though the sun is going down.

I feel a tad giddy just writing about it.

Mothball Hugs All Around

2008-12-16T17:33:00.000-02:00

It was to be my first time back in church since leaving Brazil in June and I wanted to "look good" if you know what I mean. I also absolutely had to wear something new I'd brought from the States. But, that was exactly my quandry: I couldn't find anything to wear! My beige skirt made me look too fat, my white skirt had no top that matched and on it went. Finally, I chose a pin-striped pair of slacks and a dusty rose lightweight sweater to go with the "pins" and my daughter whisked it away to be ironed. My hubby had already left for church and all of a sudden I found myself short of time to shower, wash and dry my hair and get to church on time. (And being tardy was unforgiveable!) With my ironed clothes in hand I dressed only to realize that I had chosen something way too hot for our weather. Off went those clothes as the search resumed-- I frantically flung clothes right and left until I found the perfect outfit. Of course, I would wear my white capris and the striped top that matched. I quickly sent them to be ironed even though I caught a slight whiff of mothballs. We were going to be late for church, that was for sure, and my hair wasn't cooperating and, oh, so many things were going wrong. And it was raining. And we were late. The worship time was ending as I walked in and I was surprised to see my husband playing the guitar (he is not part of the worship band). My keyboard was all set up and waiting (for me?). The guitar player simply hadn't "shown up" so the band leader was hoping I would play the keyboard even though nothing had been said to me and when I didn't "show" she grabbed Pat to play the guitar at the last minute.

In spite of all that, it was great to be back and at the end of the service as I hugged people I could smell moth balls--on myself--until I finally had to say something to a friend I'd just hugged. She laughed and confirmed what I knew. Mothballs indeed! Here's the explanation. My husband arrived home one month before I did and the outfit I wore to church was in the suitcase he'd brought back. Instead of putting those clothes in the dresser, he'd added them to other clothes we'd left behind packed in moth balls in another suitcase.

I'm afraid I gave people a welcome they won't forget!

OUR GET-A-WAY

2008-12-14T14:09:00.000-02:00

to our favorite spot--Gramado--a city in the mountains founded by German immigrants, and according to our friend, Matt who has been to Germany, looks just like Germany. After missing my husband for a whole month (and he, me) Mr. D took off on a trip on Monday morning, while I was still suffering from jet lag having arrived late Saturday afternoon. So, he promised we would "get away" when he returned the following Wednesday. My daughter, Patricia,and her daughter, Julia offered to stay with me those days to help me settle in and that was so special since they would have to return home by bus with all the paraphernalia, ie. a walker, car seat, huge suitcase, huge bag of merchandise for store, baby bag, two panetonnes (Italian fruit cake) ...and the baby! It was quite the process for these two women to get all those things from the parking lot to the bus station in Porto Alegre!!!!) Well, on Wednesday morning Mr. D. arrived well rested after riding the bus all night, and we proceeded to our get-a-way at noon. This time of year the city of Gramado hosts a big Christmas production that brings in tourists from all over Brazil. In fact, on the last leg of my journey back to Brazil, I sat next to two families who were flying from northeastern Brazil just to see the spectacle called "Natal Luz" or Christmas Light. Our first night we attended a show of sound and light on a lake featuring lyric tenors and a soprano singing from little stages built on the lake. That was accompanied by laser lights, fireworks and beautiful, beautiful Christmas music. The show started out with the reading of Gen. 1:1 and the explanation of how man sinned and needed a Savior followed by a rendition of "Amazing Grace" in English. It was 40 minutes of beauty. The second night we attended the traditional Christmas parade at 9:30 p.m. that rivaled Broadway! (Well, okay, maybe I exaggerated a little, but it was close!)

A lot of rich people live in this town or come here to shop (as one quickly discovers by the price tags on merchandise) so we mainly looked. The chandeliers in this photo are made from plastic two-liter pop bottles as are a lot of the fancy decorations.

Left behind--Santa forgot this reindeer and he ended up crying behind a shed until I found him.

This street was a curtain of light with the strangest-looking collection of reindeer.

This is the entrance to "Reindeer Row" ( my catchy name for this street.)

Our get-away took us to far away places like Europe. It is astounding how fast and far one can travel these days.

On the banks of a famous river, whose name I've forgotten, but I think it is in Venice.

And to think we got caught in a snowstorm. Fortunately I had my leather jacket with me.

Pat shows the bull who's boss!

Lost in wonder...

Even the public telephones got dressed up for Christmas!!!!

Our get-away was wonderfully relaxing and we were reluctant to come down the "mountain" to the Valley of Sinos where we live.

My 2nd Thanksgiving

2008-12-14T13:39:00.001-02:00

My 2nd Thanksgiving was on a warm summer day in Brazil, quite a contrast to the cold November Thanksgiving in Minneapolis. We made stuffed roast chicken instead of turkey and it didn't taste all that different to me. Of course, we ate mashed potatoes (but didn't make 10 pounds), had our special can of cranberries I'd brought in my suitcases as well as some lefse that I'd helped make in the USA. We didn't bake any pies, but the icecream and toppings were delicious. And we all shared what we were most thankful for that year. This is always a highlight for me. I was most thankful for my new granddaughter, born in May, and for our furlough in the States.

Julia tried on her new patent leather shoes I brought in my suitcase....maybe next year??

That million-dollar smile always gets a warm response.

Emily was thrilled to get the heart-shaped jewelry box cousin Gabriella made and sent her.

Eric--or 'Buddy' as his Mom often calls him--is all smiles today. Maybe he just ate some chocolate which is his favorite main dish.

Our annual picture at the table where everyone strains to get in the picture and several remain out of focus.

Three of my Favorite Things

2008-12-13T18:50:00.001-02:00

This was God's unexpected present to me when I haphazardly poked my head out our bedroom window my first morning back in Brazil. It was still early--about 6:30 a.m. and unbeknowns to me, a light rain had fallen during the night. The arc of the rainbow was much darker than this picture portrays, and its colors so vivid against the cloudless, blue sky that I was stunned and ran for my camera afraid I would fail to capture such a rare treat. The rainbow disappeared quickly, as rainbows do, but I felt in my heart God's smile on us as we begin our 8th term on the field. Only God knows how much I needed that.

My roses were blooming and so welcoming and vibrant--unlike this picture--that I had to share them with you. They looked much better a la viva!

And my favorite of favorite flowering trees, the jacaranda tree, was fuller and more beautiful than last year. I often chuckle at God's grace. I don't have this tree on my property, but two of my neighbors do and from my back porch--which is the height of a three-story building--I lay in our hammock and enjoy the beauty of these trees at a privileged angle that even the owners cannot enjoy. This is one more example of a truth God has shown me before: one doesn't have to own things to enjoy them.