Walk

I walk into my heart.

There is the nest of chicks
with mouths peeled wide-
they feed on praise and they are
never satisfied.

There is the stumbling priest
who walks in small steps
hindered by thick ropes of fear
round about his ankles.

There is the young girl
spinning in her pink polka dot dress
twirling and asking
"Am I pretty?"

There is the box of masks
They used to be for
playing pretend,
now they are for hiding.

There is the weary woman,
Scrubbing at the dirty floor
weeping
and whispering
"I'll never make a difference"

There are the boxes of stories,
now and then some characters
escape and run
across paper
to make themselves real.

Shouldn't I see Jesus?
He
was
invited.
Others say they see Him here.

A tap on my leg and I see
identical twins
so very small
not even up to my knee.
I know them.

One trembles all over,
and on her dress
the Words of Life are written.
Upon her head
sits a crown precariously tipping
and written upon it: Obedience.

Her sister
so difficult to look at-
she was alight from
within.

I said,
"You are fear of the Lord,
and you are love for the Lord.
You are
smaller
than I thought you'd be."

"We grow and shrink as
we are fed and
starved", said they.

"Have you seen Jesus?
Does He come here?"

"This would all be dark
if He hadn't come.
Sometimes, the persons here
grow so large that He
doesn't fit.
Too He makes Himself
scarce
from
time to time".

"Why?"

"Of course that's to
your benefit"

"How so?
I don't like the
state of things
around here."

"Who would?"
they laughed
"He desires that you
know yourself-
that you feel the terrible
terrible
lack".

"Will He come then...
or appear then?
Will He fix things
around here?"

It seemed to me they'd grown a bit taller.
And smiling and watching
Someone else.

Walking to the nest of birds
He fed them
humility, which was bitter
then security, which was
sweet.

He went to the priest and
cut the rope that was
keeping him
down.
The priest jumped and
leaped
and exclaimed "God is!"

He went to the girl
spinning spinning
and stopped her
spinning with an embrace
He shouted with joy
"Daughter! You are mine and dearly loved!"

His eyes took in
the box of masks and
one
by
one
he tore them in half
telling each
"You are not Sarah".

He bent over the weary woman-
scrubbing scrubbing
working working
He whispered
and as her face
lit up
she exclaimed
"The joy of the Lord is my strength!"

He opened a box of stories
a wide smile in place
and plucked out some characters
set them upon paper
and blowing upon them, said
"Run!"
Off they shot over reams
of paper-
words
flying from their feet.

He did not seem to see me-
then of course
all this was me.

I asked Fear and Love
who now towered over me
"Can it stay this way?"

But they heard me not
because they were
dancing with Him
all
pulsing
with light.

My heart pounded
as their giant feet
hammered over the floor.
My heart pounded
I awoke
heart pounding.

Relief Effort Phase Two

We are planning another trip to the earthquake and tsunami-affected areas the first week in April. The initial $5000 that EMM made available for relief has been used up providing tents, food, sleeping bags, and other items. We are in urgent need for more funds so we can prepare for phase 2 in our relief plan: equipping shelters with stove tops, silverware, folding tables, plates, pots. Please give today!!

Donations can be given online at emm.org, tagged Chile Relief.

More information on our team's efforts can be found at this link: http://emm.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=597:emm-team-contributes-to-physical-and-spiritual-rebuilding-in-chile&catid=106&Itemid=122

Journey to the Epicenter, Day Two

Saltos del Mar and Constitucion
Saltos del Mar
The last trip, the guys had talked to a woman named Mercedez, so Bekii and I went up to her partially damaged home to visit her. Her husband was busy working at repairing their porch and she was handing him tools and boards as needed. When we asked if she's like to share her story, she got a weary look on her face and told us that she'd said it so many times. “Don't ask me about the wave”. We asked if she'd like us to pray for her, and that too was waved away. What she did need, she said, is a mattress; they'd been sleeping on the floor since the tsunami drenched their bed.
Along the road to Constitucion
Stopping for some snacks at a small store, we got to talking with the clerk/owner Aydee Ermilia Espinosa Salazar. We asked her about that night and she said, “We didn't hear the ocean, so we knew something was wrong; it was pulling out and building up”. She apologized for the scarcity of goods in her store saying, “No trucks have arrived since the catastrophe”. She recounted an amazing story of how God provided transportation for her to travel to her son in Concepcion after the quake, to make sure that he was okay. “God is always with me”, she said through tears, and we prayed together she gripped our hands tight. She blessed us on our journey and thanked us, and with big hugs we left, thankful to have met such a wonderful lady.

Constitucion
House after house, business after business, if not flattened into a pile of rubble, was spliced with ominous cracks through the adobe and stucco. Piles on either side of the street spoke of the plowing which opened up the way for traffic, the only improvement since the earthquake and tsunami two weeks earlier. As we picked our way through the streets, a woman greeted us. She looked to be in her sixties and bore the cap of a chemotherapy patient. Her name was Yasmine Najle and she gestured to the collapsed building in front of us and said, “And that's my home”.
“I was visiting down the street when it happened. My mom, eighty-two years of age, had stayed with my three year-old grandaughter. Everyone knows my mother on this street, but no one recognized her that night as she fled her home, hunched over my grandaughter. But they were saved, because God is mighty”.
She wept freely as she spoke to us; showing us her mother's home to the back of the property and where they escaped. She told us of a baby girl down the block who died. “I've had four cancers. Why didn't God take me instead? I'm strong. And this has made me stronger yet”. We prayed together, affirming God's purpose for her life, his love and caring for her. It struck us as indicative of her character when she walked to a trash can to dispose of her tissue (there was garbage and wreckage all around us!). We asked if we could take her photo in front of her ruined home. Smiling bravely she whipped off her cap and stood proudly bald for her photo, as if to say I survived cancer, I can survive this!
-We walked further down the road to where a young woman was working at organizing the remains of her family's store. María Jesús told us that her family had lost their home by the river when the waves came through. She was working to organize the notebooks and paper items that survived the quake's violence. Eyeing the broken walls (adobe construction) and the half-drooping roof, I asked if she was afraid to be working in the store; “No! I'm very relaxed. I think the worst has passed”. Quite a brave girl! We prayed for her, asking the Lord's blessing and protection over her and her family's business. “Yeah,” she said, “what next to nothing remained was stolen”.
-Juan Emilio Arraya called to us from his ruined home. Swallowing our fear at entering the structure which was partially collapsed and entirely unstable, we followed him in to hear his story.
With a flat voice he waved towards various rubble-filled rooms, "That was our kitchen, our bathroom, my daughter's room.." The adobe walls were cracked with entire sections missing. Framed walls bulged at impossible angles and we both mentally planned an escape route if an aftershock hit while talking to Juan.
Living in this home for thirty-three years, Juan raised three children here, taking pride in improvements he had made over time. When the quake hit he said, "I believed I was going to die". Just next door to him three people had perished; the father embracing his wife, who was embracing their baby girl as they died. Juan had tried to get to them, but could not. We asked if he was afraid to work in there, and he said “Yes...this whole thing could fall any minute”.
Crying openly he spoke of his frustration with neighbors who are taking advantage of relief efforts; re-selling tents intended for homeless families. As for him, he said, "I will build my house, with my own hands, I will build my house, thanks to God. Unless my wife is too afraid, if she's afraid to live here we'll leave".
Climbing the wall in his patio is a lovely plant called Copihue, which he had brought from the Cordillera (Andes Mountains) and nurtured for years. To him it is "a sign of life here, of hope".
We prayed for him and with eyes full of tears he thanked us; "This is what people need right now." We left his precarious home with flowers in our hands; he shared his hope with us.
There really are no words to describe the horror of all we saw that day, so I leave it to the pictures to speak of these things. One bright spot was coming across a long-lost classmate from Bible college who was volunteering in a medical triage unit with actor Paul Walker. We thanked God for the encouragement of seeing our friend after so many years, even in such circumstances.

Journey to the Epicenter, Day One

Pelluhue

Distribution Center, outside of Pelluhue

I did not anticipate that my first time in a nightclub that it would be full not of dancers and lights, but mountains of diapers, water, sugar, and other relief items. Workers and military worked busily sorting and piling donations, while we caught up with Gerarda Contreras Guzman, the Secretary of the Municipality in Pelluhue. Evidently we had just missed the U.S. Ambassador's visit in which he brought many much-needed portable generators for hospitals. Guzman was delighted with the tents we brought, an item frequently requested by the now homeless families registered there. She informed us that in the surrounding countryside one hundred families are without homes and that only one out of the fifteen schools is operable. Amazingly she said all this with a smile and a potent sense of optimism; a trait we would come to recognize in many of the hardest-hit.

Camp #1, Pelluhue

We drove up a dusty road to a barren field dotted by roughly made rectanglular homes. Our estimates are that they are 3x6 meters, and could more accurately be described as shelters, or in the States, as glorified sheds. But to these families, whose homes were either destroyed by the earthquake or the resultant tsunami, they are home. They are basically boxes with a door and two window flaps.

Arming ourselves with cameras, notebooks, stuffed animals and other goodies, we set off to hear their stories, capture their images, and bring a spark of hope and caring to them.

-Katherine Andrea Contreras and Paula Contreras Becena

Katherine and Paula were hacking away at a foam cushion with a meat knife when we walked up, stacking the rough squares into a cloth bag to form a chair. Bekii and I asked if we could hear their story.

Here's their back and forth exclamations:

“We were thankful for the full moon that might, otherwise we would not have been able to see anything”.

“There was a tremendous sound.”

“People aren't going to be permitted to build down below anymore”

“They're still finding bodies in the sand, every day.”

“A whole bus of elderly people traveling over a bridge was washed away; all died”.

We asked if we could pray for them, and they permitted that. I asked if they were still afraid and they said, “No, there is much encouragement”. -said, “Hay mucho animo” (not sure if my translation is the best word). After giving the little boy in their home a stuffed animal and a treat bag, we moved along to the next home, where the family stood around in the hot sun.

-Eduendo Villegas Caceres, Lucila Sanhueza Cornou

Eduendo was ready to share. I caught myself wondering how many times he's repeated his story since that night. They lived 50 meters from the beach. “I lost my home, my daughter's home, seventy birds, and all my tools. I make wood handcrafts; model boats, planes...all gone”. There was a keen sense of frustration at this; you need money to buy tools to do your trade so you can earn money. He doesn't know what to do with himself without the means to procure tools. But he says that he is a man of faith, that God is with him. I was struck by, on the one hand his heart-breaking loss, and the other his warmth and smile. I could do nothing at present to aid him, but he was content to share his story. Playing nearby was his two year-old granddaughter Sofia, and in the arms of his son-in-law his four month-old granddaughter Yanina. Then I realized it; he lost much, but he did not lose his children, nor his precious grandchildren. He was living in a tiny shelter with all of them plus his other children and his wife, but they were safe; he was surrounded by loved ones.

-Ana Maria González Casanova

The first thing we were struck by as we approached Ana's home was that she already had a fence up around it and bushes planted! She too was willing to share with us and as her family stood around her and offered me a seat, she told me about the night of the earthquake.

“I would have died, but God got me up. My house was fifty meters from the shore. As the house moved I ran outside. Then I realized I was barefoot, so I ran in for shoes. I realized I needed clothes and a blanket, so I ran back in for that. Then I remembered my purse was in my bedstand, so I ran back in for that! (laughs) By that point my neighbor made me run with her to the hills. There were people shouting “Se salio el mar!” (the sea is going out!). We ran up the hill, I did not see the wave. I found my husband at the top and asked him if our house was okay. He said 'it's fine, it's fine”; he didn't want me to worry. When we went back down our house was gone. (Points at the dirt) Quedo asi. (It was like that). It resisted the earthquake, but not the tsunami.”

They sat on the ground where their home had been and just stared. “What can we do?”, they asked each other. Eventually she went back up the hill, but he stayed, not wanting to leave, just wanted to sit there. “Twenty years ago we started from nothing, we are starting from nothing again”she said, “I had everything before the tsunami...years of sacrifice”.

“I never rejected God. I would have died. These are the moments that the families come together. Time always tells.” She then showed us her dog, which was curled up near some cartons. “He used to be so playful. Somehow he survived the waves and found us, but he doesn't eat or play”. So even the animals were traumatized!

We were glad to see that her family was taking care of her; while we were there they were busy building an addition to the shelter.

Pelluhue

The first thing you notice driving into Pelluhue is that water is stranded in places that it shouldn't be. Even one mile from the shore water is stagnating since the tsunami brought it inland. The next thing you notice is the smell, then the chaotic destruction. As we got out to walk around, stepping over rotting fish, broken glass, and large and small details of people's lives and homes, we were completely overwhelmed. I realized I had no reference on how to frame a shot of chaos. So I focused my lens on the small details, hoping that those would connect me to the people, to the lives that have been fractured. Twisted pots, a baby sweater embedded with sand. Playing cards and tv's. Then I stepped into the houses. I saw the grimy water line nearly up to the roof. Furniture and fish lying in heaps together. Curtains still hanging in blown-out windows. Walls twisted and snapped apart. There was unnerving silence.

There are still bodies being dug out of the sand each day. Mostly those who were camping on the beach to celebrate the last days of summer. Each sleeping bag or camping item I saw amidst the rubble caused particular pain. Residents said that there was so much confusion after the quake, that many of the tourists accidently ran toward the beach instead of away from it as the waves came. Unbelievable destruction and loss of life.

Camp #2, outside of Pelluhue

From the outset this camp had an entirely different feel. Through discerning together as a team afterwards we agreed that there was something spiritually off about the place. As soon as we were out of the vehicles it seemed as though we were surrounded. As I tried to distribute toys to the children, teenage girls came up asking for stuffed animals as well. I explained that they were for little kids, and they started a sort of sing-song begging. Even an adult woman joined in, though asked for a candy bag. I had no conversations worth recording; there was always an indefinable hindrance. There was an atmosphere of greed and false need, manipulation. We even overheard them as another vehicle pulled up “Here comes another one”. No wonder they were acting the way they were; they were standing around for whatever hand-outs drove up! There was a strong victim mentality, that was not present at the other camp and some spiritual yuckiness that I cannot define, but reacted to. Our children were also acting strangely and I was relieved when we headed out.

Quake Update

Cars wait to receive $10 worth of gas here in Puerto Montt
Though gas trucks have tried to come, many have been robbed.
Somedays there is no gas at all.

To My Most Amiable Readers...

The last few days have been unreal. We have had no further aftershocks in Puerto Montt, but are definitely continually in shock at the reports coming in around the country of the magnitude of the devastation caused by the earthquake and resultant tsunami.

We have also experienced profound joy as our neighbors, who were traveling through the worst hit areas on vacation, arrived home exhausted but safe. They had to off-road it around debris and went on $10 gas rations and long waiting lines at each station, but finally got home. How can I describe the relief and joy that flooded us as we embraced them?

We have, though, many reasons for sorrow as well. Among our rowing Bible study group, we have many who cannot contact loved ones who live in hard-hit Curico and Talcahuano. Angelo's mother's home was destroyed and his extended family unaccounted for. The tsunami waves reached so far inland that it carried fishing boats into the middle of town. He wept as we prayed together as a group last night, Lord have mercy.

Until now and yet continuing, relief efforts have been impeded by the sheer devastation which cut off electric, water, and roadways. Local efforts are now organizing; we're now able to donate diapers, blood, water, and powdered milk which will be flown to Concepcion. As an EMM team we are making our first relief convoy plans. This Friday the men will be heading up to Talcahuano (where Angelo's family is, just north of Concepcion) in our neighbor's diesel truck and possibly another vehicle, equipped with flour, rice, tents, and other relief items. This will also be an exploratory trip to see what further convoys should contain. I will likely head up in the second convoy next week to capture stories and pictures.

Specific prayer requests would be:

-safety for the convoy (gangs have been raiding them before they can get to where help is needed)
-discernment as to how best we can respond to the multitude of needs when we arrive
-help in locating and aiding Angelo's mother and family (she needs specific medicines for her lungs and there is a newborn as well that may need clothing and such)
-that in and through everything we do, that God's name would be glorified; that people would see and feel that He cares for them and has not forgotten them in their pain and trial
-funds to stream in to aid not only in immediate relief, but in long-term reconstruction

Beyond the logistics, I implore you to pray against violence and hopelessness, which can and have contributed to greater suffering here. Please fast if you are physically able.

May God have mercy and come and heal our land...
Your Most Devoted,
Sarah

Gathering to pray for Chile.

Chileans helping Chileans is the motto during this disaster.
Here is a local collection point for items headed to Concepcion.

Earthquake

Dear Friends and Family,

Thanks for your concern; we are all fine. I won't bother going over the details the news is giving you, but will fill in our experiences and concerns at present.

At around three in the morning we awoke to our house swaying. It felt as though we were on a boat in rough seas. When we lived in Costa Rica we felt quakes that were rough and jarring and quick. This was a rapid side to side sway that lasted three minutes at 4.4!

As we sat on our bed in horror I remember hearing the water in our pool smacking back and forth violently. Outside all was black. Dustin had already ran to the children's rooms, where they were sleeping peacefully. When it ended we didn't know what to do. No lights, no phone, nothing to do except try to calm down and pray. We did not know whether it was a local quake or widespread. Somehow we slept.

Dustin kissed me awake a few hours later; he had a planned fishing trip and was off. He had heard on our battery powered radio that the quake was 8.8 in Concepcion. WHAT? Oh no! We were there 2 years ago for a rowing competition; beautiful place, spectacular rowing clubs. And that meant Santiago, Talca, and our beloved Chillan were in jeopardy too.

The radio batteries were dead, electric still out, so, longing to piece things together I got the children dressed with the intention of going up to the supermarket to see the tv news in the restaurant there (from previous outtages we know they have generators). I received a call just before leaving advising me to stock up on foodstuffs as supply lines from Santiago were not going to be operational for a while.

Grocery bags, check. Three children, check. Keys, check. Oh crap. Looking at our van my eyes drifted to our iron gate locked behind it. Which opens with...electricity only. BAH! How was I supposed to hike home our rations with three kids? Gritting my teeth I actually lifted our heavy gate off it's gears and track and muscled it out of the way. RAWR!

The grocery store was nuts; everyone talking to everyone trying to hear news. When I got home the electric was back on but communication was still down. I had to let everyone know we were okay but couldn't!

Water is coming out at a trickle, so I filled a large bucket with it in case it cuts off again. The kids and I watched the news with tears streaming down our faces. The cities in the photos may look all the same to you; but we have walked those streets and crossed those collapsed bridges; so sad. Kept trying to call out and finally got through. Communications still cut off suddenly.

Specific prayers: my friend Angelo's mother's home was completely destroyed and she's now living in a tent in a stadium; he's a wreck but cannot go to her due to the destroyed roads

-two sisters have not been heard from; they were surfing at a competition in the seventh region, please pray for their safety

-for our neighbors who are vacationing near the epicenter

-for our friends who cannot find their family members.

Thanks!

Some News...

To My Most Amiable Readers,

May the grace and peace of Christ be with you!

The last few months have been very challenging, but we have been keenly aware of the Holy Spirit's presence in the midst of some of the most difficult experiences of our lives. Reuben had a serious fall from a tree house and was operated on to put a plastic plate in his head where the bones were crushed (see blog post below). That was a very frightening time for us. On top of that were painful relationships that brought much confusion and heartache. But we can truly say that God brought us through and brought healing for all involved. Praise the Lord!!!

The rowing kid's Bible study has been such a joy. We've gone through John, Acts, Philippians, and are now working through Romans. Yenny, a former rower who comes with her husband and children, asked us the other day a question about Romans chapter six. Dustin reminded her that we're only at chapter two, and she laughed saying that she gets caught up in the story and can't stop reading! We recognize in her and her husband the hunger for growth and the gifts of leadership and integrity. She has, on her own accord, started reading John with another friend who cannot come to the meetings. Please pray that Yenny and her husband Angelo would be lights in Chile among the people of Puerto Montt!

Our work with the church plant with Voni and Gigi has undergone major transformation. Previously we met in homes, but outgrew those facilities so we rented a house. No sooner had we done that that one of the families moved away and numerous others stopped coming. This was a time of both discouragment and hope (people were coming to Christ through the Bible studies we held and through visitation). But they didn't come to the house. This was a bit perplexing for us, and after discerning together we decided to stop renting the house, and just continue working in and through our giftings and natural relationships to bring people closer to Christ. Voni and Gigi are both in a very busy season of life and we are glad to see them released to focus on their friendships without the burden of leading a church. This also frees us up to invest in our relationships with neighbors and friends here in Puerto Montt.

I (Dustin) along with Eduardo (Chilean brother) have been visiting the mountains faithfully every month for 3-4 days. The group has grown to about 14 with 8 of them becoming believers and getting baptized. We have been very encouraged by this group of believers as they never cease to amaze us. Almost every time we get up there they have more people for us to share with spiritually or practically. I always come back from the mountains filled with the love and encouragement of Christ. Eduardo is a pastor of a Mennonite Church in Alerce(government housing project) and some of the people who live in the mountains also live in this neighborhood during the school year. That has been a great way to encourage the believers in the mountains and Alerce through more continuous fellowship.

One of my newest ministry oportunities has been riding mountain bike with some guys in our neighborhood. So far in the three weeks of riding bike I have met three new men and have been able to share about God as we are riding bike. We are praying that they will want to come to our men's Bible study that we have been doing with some other men in the community.

Now to some news. Through discerning as a family and with our EMM boss Steve Shenk, we have decided that this term will be our last here in Chile. Unless the Lord speaks otherwise we will be returning stateside around March of 2011. This is not a popular decision amongst our Chilean friends, and though I'm not glad that they're hurt by our leaving, I am overjoyed by their love and caring of us as a family. It wouldn't be so nice leaving and everyone thinking “Good riddance!” ; ).

We love our life here in Chile. Our children have many Chilean “grandparents”, “aunties”, and “uncles”. Chile is the only home they remember, Sophia being two when we arrived. It has been such an adventure, and I admit, I'm not quite ready to leave it. I (Sarah) know that my heart will break the day we leave Chile. But I am resting in Dustin's conviction that it's time to move on to what God has next for us. Please pray for us, that we might finish well, using our remaining time wisely and effectively.

We feel strongly that though our time in Chile is drawing to an end, our vocation will continue. We will have a one-year furlough when we return, during which we will likely take classes to prepare us further for future work. We are praying about two opportunities of service, both with EMM, within Central America and Spain. We appreciate prayer for our family as we discern and adjust to upcoming changes!

We would also appreciate prayer for this final year in Chile, that:

-the rowing youth would grow in faith and devotion to God

-the church in the mountains would grow and bear fruit

-God would give us words to speak to our neighbors and show us ways to reach them

-that our financial support would come in in full

-God would raise up leaders to spread His love and Word like wildfire here in Chile!

Thanks so much,

Love, Dustin and Sarah

Falling Grace

To My Most Amiable Readers....

I couldn't write of it for a long time. I was right there beside him. Reuben was playing on a tree house slide at our friend's home, charging up the slide, reaching the top and coming back down, when all of a sudden he ran off the far side. Before I could reach him his tumbling form hit the ground, his head striking a car battery.

I thought he was dead. His eyes locked to the right and his mouth contorted in pain but he didn't cry. For a long fifteen seconds the only sounds were my own "no no no, Reuben!" His arms and legs were limp as I scooped him up. He wailed. In a flurry of activity we took him to the emergency room where they took an x-ray of his head and discovered nothing. They were about to send us home with him, saying it was a concussion, when he threw up blood.

A neurosurgeon was called in and they took a scan of his skull and brain, which showed that part of his skull was crushed (behind the right ear) and was pushing inward into the brain. They needed to operate to remove the crushed pieces and insert a plastic plate. I will not attempt to convey the hell I was living through at that moment. He's only two years old.

I shakily dressed in scrubs and kissed his drug-induced sleepy face. My tears fell on him. They told me I had to go. I left the operating room a crushed little woman.

People came and supported us, but I could not be with them. I sat as near as I could to where he was. I knelt on the floor and cried and prayed. "Lord, give me back my son...Lord, heal...."

I sang. I pleaded. I stormed the doors of Heaven with Nancy praying and singing with me.

A long time passed. The neurosurgeon came. Good news, the bone fragments had not pierced the protective sack around the brain and the implant went in successfully. Also important was that he did not convulse during the surgery (which would indicate the brain reacting to injury). The next 24 hours would be delicate; waiting to see if convulsions would present or any other abnormalities.

I got to go to him. He was waking and crying and looking so small on that big hospital bed. But he looked so...ALIVE! I cradled him in my arms; his head half-shaved and an ominous bandage covering a half moon-shaped incision. We left in ambulance for the public hospital which has a NICU facility. There I had to leave him again (limited visiting hours). I protested, I begged, I told them I would not leave him. With compassion-filled eyes they firmly told me 'no'. I could hear him crying for me as Dustin supported me out of the hospital. He was scared. I was torn apart to not be able to hold him and make him feel safe. Most horrid night.

Didn't sleep. Went to the hospital bright and early and waited. Could hear him crying but was not allowed to go to him. Plotted barging in anyways. Decided arrest would be a bad idea. Finally at his side again, and praise the Lord, I didn't have to leave him again. The neurosurgeon scanned him again to check for swelling, and as no convulsions presented, we were able to transfer to the clinic where I could stay with him in a private room.

He was very angry, very confused, and struggled with his IV ports. Sleep was a blessing. My prayers turned to "Lord, let me see him smile again..." I overflowed with praise to God for sparing his life.

The next morning we got our first beautiful smile as he realized that he could make his bed move by pushing the buttons. My little boy was back! Mischievous and ornery, but he's back!!!

We got to bring him home. I needed to sleep beside him for about two weeks. I just couldn't be away from him; it brought such peace and security to my heart to feel his warm, alive little body tucked in next to mine. A week after his surgery he received a clean bill of health at his check-up. Joy. Pure joy.

I couldn't write of this before. I did so now only by blinking away tears and swallowing my sobs. This accident has sobered me, though I am a diligent and responsible parent, something terrifying still happened to our son. I am deeply grateful to the Lord; He has been so merciful to us.
Your Most Devoted,
Sarah

Broken

Middle school is an unfortunate place to have one's character shaped. I did not know who I was, so I lived lies. I stole things with my friends, because my friends liked to steal. I cussed like a construction worker, because my friends cussed like construction workers. I wore clothing that I didn't like because it was the thing to wear. I didn't like the Florida Panthers, but I wore their Starter jacket. My shirts said "No Fear" while I was drowning in it. I was completely lost. I wasn't Sarah, I was a collage of masks.

The Devil has a hay day with borrowed identity. It's a veritable free-for-all.

I was sitting in the computer lab and we were being brought through a long process; I can't recall what we were creating or learning, but we had to follow exact instructions being voiced by the teacher. I made an error. I lifted my hand for help. The teacher exploded. "What are you? Stupid??? (yelling) This is not hard!!! Listen to what I say! Can you just do that? Can you follow basic instructions?? Or is that too hard for you?!?"

It was a barrage, and I sat frozen in my chair, willing myself not to cry. I wondered why I was so stupid. Why can't I follow simple directions? What's wrong with me? The computer screen blurred with unshed tears. No way can I cry, I thought. No way. Everyone will make fun of me. Boohoo, Sarah, so you got yelled at. What a baby. The teacher's assistant came over to me with a look of deep concern. She touched my shoulder, whispering, "I'm so sorry you had to hear that..." I couldn't let her words in; they'd release the tears and who knows what would come of that. I clipped off, "I'm fine".

"I'm fine".

I'm not fine.

During those years I was off and on suicidal. Wearing masks and borrowing identity is incredibly violent to one's soul. I am more thankful than I can express that Christ wooed me before I'd made a complete wreck of myself. It happened in the woods; I went in a lost and deeply confused teen, and came out transformed from within. I'd invited Christ in my heart, and since that day He's been doing serious work in there.

I'm turning thirty this month. It's been 17 years or so since I sat in that chair, trembling and dying inside. As I was re-reading "Waking the Dead" by John Eldredge in the chapter about deep restoration, I felt the Lord nudging me to remember that day. To shut my eyes and remember that moment, remember the words spoken over me. Tears flowed as I again felt small, stupid. In my mind I could see Christ at my side, telling me in a soft voice, "You are my daughter, I created you and love you. You are not stupid".

I've walked with the Lord for many years, I've taught about Him, wrote about Him, prayed to Him, worshiped Him...but I hadn't opened my heart for Him to heal me in this area. I'd forgiven the teacher, but I had not asked for God to come into my brokenness...did I think it didn't matter so much?

It mattered. A few years ago as I was studying the Word a phrase came to mind so powerfully that I could no longer study, but wrote it out: Everything I do is for the good opinion of others. I imagine quite a few could relate. I knew it was deeply wrong. God calls us to do all "to the glory of God", not the "glory of ourselves". Why was I living like this? What was I trying to prove or gain?

Was I crippled by one teacher's tirade? No. I was crippled by having no identity except that which I borrowed or received. When Christ saved me, I got a foothold into becoming fully alive, fully Me, but shedding the masks and lies would turn out to be a life-long process. To this day my greatest spiritual struggle is accepting that God loves me and living my life in joyful, secure response to that. Is that a startling thing for a missionary to say?

I thought it was. Until I read an article containing Mother Teresa's letters to her spiritual director. She struggled with the same thing; not being able to accept that God loved her. It was easy to believe that God loves you, but when it comes to me...well...

I believe that God is healing me, year by year he is filling me up with my true identity. He is a constant teacher, inasmuch as I take time to come to class (or else He has to teach me the hard way by letting me go my own way and fail). I write this as a confession of brokenness. I don't have it all together. I feel like Christ is inviting me to go backward so that I can go forward. I want to become fully alive, not enslaved by needing to gain approval, worth. For this, I ask your prayer for me, that God's love would permeate my heart, kicking out whatever has been standing in for it, because;

He heals the brokenhearted and
binds up their wounds
Psalm 147:3

I will give you a new heart.
-God
Ezekiel 36:26

-Sarah

Meditations

To My Most Amiable Readers,

Hope, vision, hard work, and the right tools could make this old Austin Mini come alive again. But without those ingredients it can't go anywhere. Likewise, without your support we could not have worked here in Chile these past four years!! We would not have seen our neighbors come to Christ, nor the rowing youth studying the Bible, nor the people in the mountains find their Savior. But, because we had all those things, plus your prayers, the Kingdom advanced in new and amazing ways in our midst. God has done a great work, and we all got to play a role in it.

We just finished studying the book of Philippians with the rowing youth, and in the last chapter Paul thanks the church of Philipi for supplying for his needs, over and over. He wants to "credit them" for their generosity; you can almost feel his joy through his passionate words. I also want to credit you; how can I thank you enough for enabling us to work among the people of Chile? We have lacked nothing, we have been, as Paul put it, "amply supplied" by your giving.

This week I received a number of emails from our MST (Missionary Support Team) and our church's board indicating that the funds for our support are low. Everyone has been encouraging; they are committed to help us carry out our term, to find ways to raise funds. In the current economic situation, this is a more difficult task than it was before. We are, frankly speaking, a burden on our church's finances. It has been mentioned as well that though the completion of our term is not in question, future terms would be. Hmm.

What that means for us at the end of our term in the spring of 2011, I do not know. I trust that our Father will direct, comfort, and sustain us. Above all, I am filled with thanksgiving...like the word Ebenezer.."up to this point God has been faithful". I can look back over the last four years with a wide smile...so, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Please pray for us, for our church Landisville Mennonite, and for our mission board Eastern Mennonite Missions; that each would be amply supplied for the work of the Kingdom!

Your Most Devoted,
Sarah

Pillar of Fire

Lake in Bariloche, Argentina

"The Lord went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to lead them on their way during the day and in a pillar of fire to give them light at night, so that they could travel day or night. The pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night never left its place in front of the people". Exodus 13:21,22

To My Most Amiable Readers...

I find that God is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. In particular, He still likes to lead. And not just by making a decision and telling us what to do and when. But He likes to take our hands and bring us along. He likes to point out things along the way, and when we are unsure which way to go, what to do, He delights to be asked...He delights in providing. For the Israelites, he sent manna, quail, and water from a rock. He shaded them by day and warmed them by night.

That God of then is my God of now, and He led me and some friends into a unique experiment of faith. Imagine traveling to one of the largest cities in the world, not knowing where you'd stay, if you'd find the right transportation, expecting at any moment to have your belongings stolen or lost, with no one expecting you, and all sorts of mishaps ready at your arrival. Would you go?

This past week I set off with my friends Felipe and Mike to travel to the Sudamericano (South American Rowing Championship) in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Felipe is my club's rowing trainer and Mike is a co-missionary with EMM whose son, Jordan, was competing. We were going to cheer on Carmen Gloria (my rowing double and good friend) and Jordan as they competed at an unprecedented level for our club. We wrestled for weeks with whether we should go and how, but God kept arranging every detail (money came in, Felipe's profs let him off, etc). Up to the day before we were still in prayer, putting it before the Lord. He gave us the go-ahead.

After 30 hours of traveling in bus, we arrived safely in Buenos Aires...

Arriving at the bus station we wove our way through three blocks of chaos; people everywhere, hawkers calling out their wares, cars beeping. One just had to join the human tide and keep walking. We caught a train and with wide eyes watched as the city zoomed past us for 45 minutes, arriving at the end of the line, Tigre. We knew only that the races would be held in Tigre, not where the teams were staying, where the race canal was...zip. Arriving in Tigre we circled up and prayed, seeking God's direction; where should we go? would You help us find the team?

Leaving the station with hearts full of peace, we crossed over a bridge and heard our names being yelled! There was Yoya jumping up and down and then weaving through the traffic, and embracing us with shouts of joy! In a city of 13 million people, God led us right to the one we were looking for! She showed us where they were staying (only a few blocks away) and I got to pray with her and the girls in their quadruple about their race in the morning. Yoya told me later that God really comforted them and they felt much peace and slept well.

At the hostel we got to see Jordan and pray with him too; and the hostel owners looked on us with favor (thanks Lord!) and arranged for a taxi (free!) to take us to another hostel that had room. Arriving there was like arriving at a relative's home; Pilar, the proprietress, treated us with such hospitality and kindness that we were nearly shocked. The hostel was an old German home with lots of personality and we settled gratefully into our beds after 30 hours of traveling. Pilar even gave us her personal laptop to use in our rooms!

The next morning, after soon good cafe con leche and pastries we set off walking to the Pista Nacional (National Raceway). It was a long, hot walk, but so interesting; we discovered new fruits growing over walls, admired the architecture and flowers, and had good discussions about the Apostle Paul and how much hot, dusty walking he did!

The sign says "Way of the Rowers" : )! As each Chilean single, double, quad, or 8-man boat was competing we ran alongside them, cheering them by name and taking pictures for them. This was nice for the team, as we were the ONLY people there cheering for Chile! The rowers would visibly pick up their stroke rate when they heard their names called, very cool. Then it was time for Yoya to race...wow, a gal from our humble club racing in the South American Championship...amazing and unprecedented!

And....THEY WON GOLD!!! It was a fight with Argentina (the strongest South American country in rowing) to the end, but they pulled through!!! Felipe and I were smiling so wide that our faces would be in pain in the days to come : D. We shouted, we cheered, I attempted to take pictures as we raced about in a frenzy; what a moment! As Yoya and her team walked to the awards podium, Yoya hugged me so hard and wept on my shoulder; such joy.

Chile pulling ahead of Argentina in the last 200 meters!

Aren't they great??!! Wanting to talk with them further we decided to try to bum a ride with someone to the end of the Rower's Way so that we could meet where the boats go in and out. We saw a guy about my age and waved him down. He cheerfully let us in and as we sped along I nearly asked him, "And do you row?" but decided it might be nosy. As we were leaving the car, Mike asked him, and what's your name? He answered that it was Santiago Fernandez. Felipe's eyes got wide and he stood in shock as our chauffeur drove off. He said, "That was El Pollo (lit. "the chicken"). Seeing blank looks on our faces, he exclaimed, "HE'S THE WORLD CHAMPION ROWER!!! OLYMPIAN!!!". My voice choked with laughter I told them what I'd almost asked him...much roaring laughter ensued. So God gave us the world champion rower as chauffeur; you've got to admire his sense of humor ; ).

After the races we had lunch, relaxed, and then Felipe, Yoya, and I walked around the city as the day drew to an end. Tigre is so beautiful, with cooling rivers snaking through it to keep the heat down. Then our hosts again surprised us by offering their Mercedes for us to use to go out to eat! After some excellent Argentine steak we fell exhausted into our beds, thankful, so thankful for an amazing day!

Awakening the next day we had good talks and times of prayer with Pilar and her son Manuel who have been going through enormously difficult times. God certainly sent us to the right house at the right time. They then offered that we take their car to use all day at the races! What? God you are so good! You love to surprise us! So we zipped off in the peppy Mercedez and were ready to see Jordan compete!!

It was a really tough category, but the guys pulled through to win BRONZE!! Yay! Argentina took first, Peru second, and Chile third. We were so happy for the guys; Jordan especially had rowed really strong. How special!


Right after the races, we zipped back to the hostel and reserved bus tickets over the phone while we talked with Pilar and Manuel and prayed. It was such a neat time, and they even made us lunch while refusing payment! We then packed up, gave hugs good-bye to Pilar, and Manuel drove us to the train. What a time we'd had!

We took a bus overnight to the small town of Eduardo Castex, where Mike's jeep was being repaired from a previous trip where it had broken down. Turned out that it wasn't quite ready yet so we spent the day swimming in a hotel pool and walking the hot dusty streets back and forth, waiting for news. We did not miss that God was blessing us in the interim...what a great pool!

The next day we were all getting a bit despondant; the jeep still wasn't ready, so we went to prayer again; again leaving it all in God's capable hands. We'd need to leave that day in order to make the 19 hours back to Puerto Montt in time for Sophia's ballet presentation, something I did not want to miss! I kept entregandolo (such a good spanish verb, means like entrusting, laying it down) before the Lord, acknowledging that He has a good plan and a good reason for it. As Felipe and I sat in swings in the hot sun, we prayed again, and when we opened our eyes there was Mike, driving up in the fixed jeep!! Yay!

We started off right away across the desolate, flat beautiful Argentine Pampa. God was still into leading us by the hand and made sure we had a show in the meantime. In Puerto Montt it never thunders nor is there lightning, but on the Pampa that night the heavens broke loose with quite a show!! I drove through it, laughing at how the Jeep seemed to have a mind and will of its own; like a strong horse tossing its head it would suddenly jerk to the left or the right, especially while navigating sharp curves and while passing 18-wheelers on the skinny roads! That we did smash into anything was miracle #675.

The jeep was running great, but like all good vehicles, needed some diesel to keep the party going. The service station we were counting on was oddly deserted! We NEEDED diesel; we couldn't attempt the next 2-hour jaunt across vacant pampa without it. Again we prayed. Again He provided. A guy nearby agreed to sell us some diesel from his personal stash. We were overjoyed. Through the night we drove, at times passing armadillos, skunks, hostile carloads of drunk Argentinians, all under a bright starry sky. We arrived without incident at the border the next day and prayed for a swift passage through the normally slow crossings.

It must have been some sort of record for speed! We crossed both borders in less than 45 minutes, amazing!! That can take HOURS, which indeed we did not have; our expected arrival time in Puerto Montt put us at only an hour before the ballet gala. Cutting it close! And then....the truck died. What???


Well, we prayed again, and a mechanic (of course!) came over and told us he'd just happened to be working nearby, and he towed us to a safe place to leave the vehicle and offered to take us to a nearby resort where we could catch a bus to Osorno. Thanking the Lord for this man's kindness, we waited only 5 minutes at the resort, when low and behold the bus for Osorno came (which can delay an hour between routes!) And this bus FLEW! We zipped along at high velocity, arrived in Osorno and right away were able to board a bus for Puerto Montt and were zipping out of there in less than 7 minutes! We made it to Puerto Montt, Dustin picked me up, rushed me home where I showered and dressed in 10 minutes tops, we raced downtown, parked, and slid into our seats with only minutes to spare to watch our little girl dance. WOOHOO!!! Thanks Lord! You are so faithful!!! So that's my amazing adventure; an adventure of faith, prayer, and fun...thanks Lord.

My Dear Dross

It came up in Sophia's vocabulary work this year: dross. Something that has been filtered out, is worthless; ie "junk". Boiled away. Skimmed off. Why? To leave something better behind, something pure and lovely.

Perhaps to the horror of my militaristic, patriotic family, I am not much of a nationalist. I respect those who are, but "my people" are all over the globe. Borders and flags and loyalties seem an odd accessory to friendship and love. So, thought I, perhaps I am well suited to serving and living abroad...I don't bring as much ethnocentric baggage.

Perhaps to the horror of my "time is money", plan ahead, day timer-toting friends and acquaintances, I have never been much of a structured person. I like flex time. I inwardly cringe when people ask me to nail down dates (don't they see that a really cool sunset could happen that night that we should go have a picnic in front of instead???). So, thought I, perhaps I am very well suited to the slow-paced, more spontaneous life which characterizes Latino culture.

Now, for certain, these aspects of my character helped, perhaps immensely. But how little of that path I had really gone. I had and have so much to learn. The longer I serve in Latin American communities, the more I realize how much grace others have extended to me over the years as I've blundered and stumbled along, stepping on cultural toes here and there, all the while thinking that I was finally getting it.

So, I am being simmered again and more dross is rising to the top. Funny, it never seemed worthless while it was part of me, but now that I take a good look at it...gross. Take, for example, our near and dear dross: our rights.

Think about how many of our irritations daily are related to our perceptions of our rights. "I have the right to not have to sit for a half hour in this waiting room". "I have the right to not be bothered at home by a business client". "I have the right to be informed ahead to time if a family will be dining with us". "I have the right to my time". "I have the right to privacy". Seemingly reasonable expectations, right? Wrong.

Why wrong? Isn't it good to establish these things for the sake of one's happiness? Now, having a nice uninterrupted evening at home is a good thing, indeed, it's a blessing. But it's not a right. Privacy is a nice thing too, especially if one has a headache and wants peace and quiet...but it's a blessing, not a right. Most of this world's inhabitants don't have the luxury of being alone in their own space. It's a blessing when one can carve out time to be alone, or to do what one pleases...but it's not a right. Rights are based on "my happiness", whereas God calls us to "love others, to look not only to our own interests, but to the interests of others". We want a Bill of Rights...God gives us a mandate of love.

Let me illustrate an every-day working out of this principle. You are busy vacuuming your house, looking forward to soon curling up with a good book or watching a favorite tv show, and then turning in early. You know you need extra sleep for your busy day tomorrow. Your doorbell rings and it's your old roommate from college, along with her husband and four kids. They're in town and thought to drop in! Plus, do you have room for them to stay the night?

What is your gut reaction?

-Why in the world would they come unannounced? Don't they realize that I could have other plans? How can they expect me to receive them? How presumptuous! (my time, space, privacy)

Are they welcome? Even if you paste on a smile, swing wide the door, rustle up some food and lay out sleeping bags...are they truly welcome? Are they more important, or is the fact that your "rights" were trampled on matter more?

Do we even have the slightest idea of what hospitality is?

Dross. Our "rights" have the capacity to smother something so precious and vital to human community without our even having realized it. I can't imagine many people would consider themselves inhospitable, but then, dross has a way of hiding, or parading around as silver. Hospitality can, in our culture, waltz hand-in-hand with our precious rights; events are planned, agreed upon, hours set, rights observed, and people go home at the right time to mutual satisfaction. There are no upsets, no interruptions, no unfavorable surprise guests. What a mutation.

True hospitality has, at its heart, the deeply centered belief that "I" am not the important one; the one who comes to my door is. The needs and happiness of my guest are what matters, not whatever I had planned.

And so I find that though I thought God had made me missions-friendly. Though I thought that He had refined me in key areas...I find that in so many ways my understandings of the most basic teachings of Christ need to be melted down and skimmed of dross.

Always, always learning.

The Making of a Champion

Yoya digs in during the last 300 meters. This was her last time competing as a juvenile. She's competing against the top clubs of Chile who are equipped with paid staff, excellent boats and oars, and wonderful facilities. We were running alongside the river, yelling our heads off, "Ya Yoya, levanta Yoya!!! Vamos Yoya!" She said all she heard was her name, over and over, no one elses! She was with the pack when all of a sudden she put her head down and started to pick up her pace (an extraordinarily difficult feat in the end of a grueling 2000 meter race). She started to pull away...she....she... WON!!!!! Yoya is the champeon in all of Chile for her age group!!!! WOW! This qualified her to be a National Select rower; invited to international competitions!!! Next month she's going to Buenos Aires!!!

Her fist raised in triumph, she finishes way ahead of the pack!!! Woohoo Yoya!
Our excitement was palpable! Here's Liz and Belen right after Yoya's win. We yelled, we hugged, we cried, we laughed! We tried to catch our breath from running alongside her!


Yoya and her mom. Are there words for this kind of joy? Irene has raised seven children, most of whom rowed in our humble club. What a victory, not only for Yoya, but for our whole team.
Jordan Hostetter had a fine race as well, taking 2nd by only inches!!! Here's Jordan with our trainer Felipe, and Yoya : ). What a day of JOY! Yoya told me after the race that she was praying right before she picked up her pace, "Lord, I'm in your hands". Yes, indeed!

Just wanted to share our joy with you. Yoya hasn't stopped smiling for two weeks now : D.

Dumbfounded by Glory

Monday night rowing youth Bible study.

It's God's glory. That's what it comes down to. We work, we study, we interact, we host, we reach out, we suffer, we pray, we try try try, but only God makes things grow. I talked in an earlier post about the feeling of acceleration we feel in the ministries here; well, it hasn't stopped. And it isn't us.

People are opening up, discussions are going deeper than ever before, God is reaching out in dramatic ways to rescue, to save, to give witness that He cares, about even the smallest of details. The rowing youth saw that we have 8 chapters (8 weeks of study) left in Acts and asked in an eager voice, "What are we going to do next? We ONLY have 8 weeks left!?"

I feel like I'm a farmer who has planted seeds, pulled weeds, watered, and puttered about for three years waiting for a crop. You start to get a complex like you're just no good at farming. But then all of a sudden it's like Jack and the Beanstalk and you're sitting in the shade of some massive stalks. It was important to weed, to water, to plant....but God makes things grow; in His way, in His timing.

Now the farmer says, Well, thundering hippos, what am I supposed to do with that? I thought I'd nurture little plants, staking them as they grew taller and such. Discipling, right?

What do you do when the Kingdom grows legs?

You let the Kingdom do its thing. What does that mean for us?

We are discerning whether this is our last term in Chile. We would like you also to be in prayer with us! We'd like to know what God shares with you as you pray.

Your Most Devoted,
Sarah

Blood and Coffee

To My Most Amiable Readers...

Roughly a year has past, but I remember it every time I pass the bus station on my way home from rowing. It was an odd and frantic and holy moment, and caught me completely by surprise.

I was worn out. I forget what we did that day, weights, running, or rowing, but I was really tired. As the bus lurched through traffic I gazed out the window and saw a homeless or drunk (or both) guy face-down on the ground. He actually looked like his face was plowed into the dirt, as if he'd been shot from a cannon and landed head first. I felt the familiar nudge of the Holy Spirit to act on what I'd seen.

I got off the bus at the terminal (100 feet past the man) and worked my way to the entrance where I intended to buy some coffee for the man and try to get him out of the dirt and coherent. Right before I reached the doors a commotion from the left caught my eye. A man was lying on his side weeping, blood pooling from a cut in his head. A frantic teenager stood over him with wild eyes.

I can only describe what happened next as supernatural. I am not a confrontational person. Even if I know I've been wronged, I generally let it slide. But some sort of authority came over me at that moment. I locked gazes with the young man and bit off my words, "What has happened? What have you done?"

He broke eye contact, he started to yell, "Look! He's fine! My uncle is fine! Look, he's moving!" Again, myself almost yelling, "What happened to this man?" Cops arrived and threw the guy up against the wall and patted him down.

Meanwhile I crouched beside the victim and asked where he's hurt. In broken sentences he wept out, "He cut me! All over my back! I hurt! Call my wife! Here's money, call her!". I gently turned him so that I could see if he was bleeding from the back, and although his coat was cut to ribbons, there was no major bleeding. His head wound needed to be stopped however and I racked my brain as to what I could use to put pressure on it.

While I grabbed my clean rowing pants out of my backpack and applied them with pressure to his head wound I yelled at the crowd now enveloping us, "Get him some water! Call an ambulance!" No one moved. Oh the frustration of mob mentality. So I made eye contact with every person I could see and forcefully yelled, "Get water NOW. Call an ambulance!" A few people scurried off and a moment later I was handed two cups of water and was told an ambulance was on the way.

Apparently ambulances are a bit slower in South America. During the next fifteen minutes I tried to comfort and keep still the man who had been attacked. Helping him drink, calming him down, getting him as comfortable as possible on the pavement by propping his bags behind him. When the ambulance arrived I showed them where he was bleeding, removed my bloody pants from his head and stepped back into the crowd.

They took over and there was nothing left for me to do. I was so shaky. Confronting a guy who just attacked his uncle with a knife is not something I do everyday. I normally don't do first responder stuff. I don't normally yell at and boss around complete strangers.

I walked into the terminal and paid 100 pesos to use the bathroom. There I washed the blood off my hands with the cold water at the sink and tried to make sense of what had just happened. I thought I was supposed to be giving coffee to a drunk guy, and now I'm washing blood off my hands!

The drunk guy! I'd totally forgotten about him! I quickly walked out and over to the kiosk that sells coffee. Walking out of the terminal, all that remained of the scene was a pool of blood. Willing my hand not to shake and spill the hot coffee, I strode over to where the man had been.

He was not there. There was no sign of him anywhere. But...he was out cold! Was he real? Or had God put an angel there to get me off the bus at the right moment? That I'll never know.

What I do know is that God was at work in it. He gave me authority in that moment; whether to halt further violence or just to comfort the man I don't know. It was in a strange way a holy moment; God was showing up and changing the plot.

I hadn't written about this before, mainly I didn't want to scare my mom : ). She has enough to worry about with my rowing stories!

Your Most Devoted,
Sarah

Acceleration

To My Most Amiable Readers...

We are a bit stunned and wish to act wisely. The Lord is moving in a way that I can only associate with velocity...it feels like He is increasing the acceleration of His kingdom here in Chile.

We make plans, and He changes them. He is making conversations spring out of nowhere about Him in unexpected places with unexpected people.

This morning Gigi and I met up to go visit a woman she met through the animal protection group. The meeting was very opposed; Edison threw up right before I left, I could not find the store she asked to meet at, but we pressed on and ended up sitting down to talk with Sandra. We shared our stories, how God has changed us and filled us with love and joy. We asked if we could pray for her, as she was "not ready yet" to talk to God herself. As we said "amen" she suddenly interrupted us with a startled look on her face. "When you were praying I saw the most beautiful light appear, and I almost fainted. My arms became heavy and I am trembling!".

We explained that the Enemy is not pleased and is opposing her interest in God, but that the Father is near and is more powerful. She then, with Gigi's help, prayed to accept the Lord in her heart!!!

Please lift up Sandra in your prayers this week. Specifically that her husband could find work, that her faith would grow, and that God would protect their family.

Dustin went in to rent a movie and ended up in a 15-minute conversation about God, religion, and our mission here, that ended with an open invitation for them to study the Word with us.

Please pray for the movie store owners, that they would grow in spiritual hunger and that God would speak to them.

I was on my way to rowing when I passed my friend's small convenience store. I glanced through the windows and not seeing her, I kept on. I was halfway down the block when I heard her yelling my name, arms in the air. She told me that rowing was postponed to the afternoon that day and we ended up spending an hour talking about the Lord; how to live His love, how to forgive others, what to do with psychic abilities after accepting Christ, how to really live for what is important to God. Joana is wrestling with cultural Catholicism and who she might be apart from that. You can tell she wants to run to Jesus, but she feels bound by "the real world".

Please pray for Joana, that God would free her and woo her to Himself. Pray also for her husband Roni, for salvation!

Last but not least, please pray for the health of the Christian workers in Puerto Montt. So many of us have been waylaid by viruses, infections, and nasty colds. Thank you!!!

Your Most Devoted,
Sarah

Adapter

To My Most Amiable Readers....

I looked at the espresso machine in dismay. It just sat there. No gurgling. No hot java dripping down. No steam. Nada. Just a red light which is the only thing keeping me from looking (again) to make sure it was plugged in. The men were in the living room awaiting their caffeine fix. I had a pitcher of milk ready to froth. Dainty espresso and cappuccino cups all lined up, ready to fill. Blast it, I was even wearing my new ruffly apron. Nothing.

I'm in a hotel in Atlanta right now. I'm supposed to be flying over the gulf of Mexico on our way to Chile. Delayed flights and crowded runways made us miss our big flight at 10. So we had to flag down a shuttle, get a hotel room, scout out some take-out, and are now enjoying the air-conditioning and cable tv at the Day's Inn (missionaries are pretty easy to please). Not what I had in mind (especially the 10 hour wait at the airport tomorrow).

Dustin came in to the kitchen and stared at the espresso machine with me. It was then that we realized that we had accidentally plugged it into 220 current instead of into our adapter and fried it. Woops. We looked at each other, sort of smirked and put the hotpot on and served our guests instant coffee. Though I did wad my apron up in a ball and left it forlorn on the counter. It was too cheerful for my mood.

Realizing that I definitely wouldn't be waking up in Chile, but instead would be repeating another full day of travel, my eyes teared up and I fought off a strong urge to stamp my foot and yell "NO FAIR!". I started to pray and the Lord met me in my frustration and fatigue. He reminded me to look about and enjoy the blessings of an evening of rest in a hotel room with air conditioning, cable tv (in english, woohoo!), and take-out pizza.

I'm better at adapting now. Four years in Chile worked a lot of that out in me. But sometimes life's curveballs still knock me to the ground. Now I'm just better at seeing the flowers while I'm down there ; ).

Your Most Devoted,
Sarah

Unfound Forum

Unfound Forum

Bless my soul, you love to talk
That is
Until you're rudely interrupted
By a discordant voice

Bristling you put on armor
You've an easy shot
I've no need for any and
I don't fear you

Come at me with it then
Let me see your passion
Played out in words
That may pierce my heart

I don't learn by smiling
And running away.

Why are you ducking?
I have not hit you
I am trying to see you
But you like to hide behind
A shield

I lift your face guard
But you have shrunk down inside
And I see only your hair
So I speak but you hear mumbles

And you don't want to hear me
You are safe in there
I'm sorry my friend
What have I done.

I back away
It's happened again
I think to say apologetic words
But you can't hear me in your metal suit

I weep.

History of One Lady's Kitchens

To My Most Amiable Readers...

As I drizzled raspberries, blackberries, and strawberries over thick slices of angel food cake in my itsy bitsy Chilean kitchen, I couldn't help but see some insanity in my cooking space/hospitality knack ratio. I love having guests. I love cooking. But serving 20 guests out of my little kitchen quickly becomes stressful as I try to make four square feet of counter space an adequate work station for the demands of a full menu. As I seriously considered putting the dressed desserts on the floor until they were all ready, I thought back over my various kitchens over my nine years as a wife.

It was my first kitchen, and boy was it dazzling. I mean, with the gold-flecked countertops and all. The sea foam green vinyl breakfast nook set the tone perfectly for the 60's dream kitchen I claimed as my own as a young 20 year-old bride. It had a sort of space-age feel to it...there was a built-in blender in the countertop, and holders for tin foil and paper towels folded down out of the wall from stainless steel panels. Best of all, it had oodles of cabinets and countertops, though admittedly this was rather wasted as I was not yet much of a cook. Okay, so I knew nothing. But we had marvelous milkshake parties, with the built-in blender and our spanking new oster blender whirring away. Six months later found us pondering a new direction.

We both were aware of this undertow of purpose which some call a "call" or a destiny or finding one's vocation, but it never let us "settle". This purpose was most plainly stated as missions; living in an international setting, making God known and remembered. If I ever happened to lament our thrift store furnishings and dream an IKEA dream, something deep inside would say "not now". As I longed to paint walls a color I'd chosen, that something would say, "that's not the way I have for you".

To better prepare ourselves for, what we could feel to be certain, our future missions work, we decided that Dustin at least should finish his degree in Biblical Studies. I longed to finish mine as well, but we didn't have the cash. Finding Canada a cheap place to study, we headed up to Saskatchewan...the coldest, flattest place to eat good donuts and have riotous times. We moved into a basement apartment and I surveyed my second kitchen. Less countertop space to be sure and a tiny space to put a four-person table. But that small space became a welcoming hub for hungry college students and neighbors. Rising each day, I knew I needed to get something in the oven, whether bread, pies, cookies, or a cake, because unexpected visitors were expected. Friday night pizza was a favorite and many "happened" to drop by just when the pizzas were coming out of the tiny oven. It was in this small kitchen that I learned to cook and stretch my culinary horizons. I had a habit of making sourdough bread every two days and when the loaves were still hot from the oven, I'd wrap one in a towel and head out into the bitter cold, praying that God would direct me to whomever needed bread that day. One day I arrived with said bundle at Darrel and Kristin's home (fellow married students). She later confided to me that they ate the whole loaf immediately as their money had run out and they had no food.

Kitchen number three was a charmer and tinier yet than my Canada kitchen. Dustin's dad let us stay rent-free during summer break from college in an old row home in downtown Lancaster, PA. Entering our living room (which could fit a couch and that's about it), you turn left passing a bathroom and arrive at the kitchen (which is about the size of an average walk-in closet), then you come to the bedroom where a cardtable is set up in the corner to eat at. This kitchen was used the least of all my kitchens as summer in the city is hot and humid and that little home was a furnace. When Dustin would come home from work I'd have food packed in a picnic basket and we'd head to a park to catch the breeze and wade in the river to cool down.

After finishing college, we moved back to Pennsylvania unclear about the next step to take concerning our purpose, our call, our vocation. We resumed work at a local youth center and found a rancher to rent in a typical 1970's development. This is my egg yolk kitchen. The woman who owned the home was slightly mad (and not in the angry sense). The cabinets were yellow, the wallpaper was yellow and orange, and the ceiling was yellow...and the curtains...can you guess? Yellow. It had a slightly bigger kitchen than the furnace kitchen and we had fun entertaining friends and having game nights in that yellow cube. Again thoughts of painting walls...colors that I would choose...and buying furniture that I actually liked the looks of constantly harranged me, especially after visits to homes owned by friends and acquaintances that looked like IKEA or Pier 1 poster children. I was fighting a full-blown battle of materialism and self-expressionism dependent on that. My comfort was in my purpose, my destiny, that floating orb of adventure just out of sight, that, when found would make all present sacrifices pale. And a new dream was being formed within me as Sophia's little kicks and jabs captured my wonder as I laid on an out-of-style couch in an out-of-style room and beamed a smile of awe.

Finding theological unity, we joined Landisville Mennonite Church and found that they were letting the small 1740's log cabin which was the original church building back in said year. We moved in and I encountered kitchen number five in my third year of marriage. It was large, but not usefully large, as one entire wall held neither cabinet nor countertop, but merely white paint. My father-in-law replaced the warped countertop and corroded faucet, for which I was quite grateful. This home had much personality. Low doorways, heavy ancient doors with immense cast iron medieval hinges. A privy in the garden shed. A walk-in fireplace in the...er..bathroom. In this kitchen my love of canning found full strength as the bounty from my large garden was transformed into salsa, spaghetti sauce, etc. I grew larger and larger but continued my canning and nesting activity until I went into labor and welcomed our daughter Sophia to our lives. My world rocked and spun with joy. My contentment was deep and I lacked nothing and that bare wall now had a playpen in front of it where a laughing baby girl cooed at me while I cooked.

We packed our suitcases and with much excitement I put in the maternity clothes which I'd be needing while we lived and studied in Costa Rica. We were off to learn Spanish as we'd been assigned a three-year term serving with EMM in Chile. I was excited/nervous/terrified and Sophia was now an 18 month-old ball of energy. Arriving in Costa Rica, I met kitchen number six. By far the most hilariously small. Even a bachelor living on spaghetti-o's would find it lacking. There was the sink which stood under the window that faced the concrete wall. Then there was the stove...the electric stove that zapped us occassionally and took twenty minutes to boil water. Then the tiny refrigerator with a shoebox-sized freezer inside which grew horrendous frost every four days, reducing usable space to a pencil box-size. Then the two feet of counter. I kid you not. But in that small kitchen we had some great parties, including a full-fledge Costa Rican meal with three chefs in that small space! Our tiny living room easily became a dance floor and we made the most of every square foot, forming friendships that have lasted to this day. That kitchen also had the unique distinction of hosting lizards and roaming battalions of ants. I learned to keep my floors very very clean.

Arriving in Chile after the birth of our son Edison, we found kitchen number seven in a two-bedroom apartment which we shared with another family (Chileans) with two children. The kitchen was a shared affair as were all meals, bathroom schedules, and so on. Quite the stretching experience. Especially coming home and seeing scary fishheads gaping at me, picked clean of meat and wondering what sort of dinner was on the way that evening. The view was beautiful. The canal in the foreground and Tenglo island behind it, I watched ships come in as I prepared (with anxiety) meals for our mixed families (their children never ate what I made, because it was strange to them). They moved out a month later and I immediately settled in to making the kitchen clean and organized (I have OCD, didn't you know?). That kitchen was the sight of quite a bit of hosting over the following year.

Kitchen number eight is the one I have now in a suburb here in Puerto Montt. It's quite functional, but quite small. All white. So I had the yolk and now I have the white. Everything must have an exact place or chaos ensues and things falling out of cabinets is one of the things that makes me want to run screaming around the cul-de-sac. We had a brief reprieve from kitchen number eight as we spent five months in the states in a basement suite of Dustin's cousins home. Okay, basement palace. Two of our entire home here in Chile would fit in our living space there. And there were soaring cabinets up to the high ceilings. The drawers shut themselves softly and glided like they were dipped in butter. There was a massive refrigerator and an oven that had a temperature gauge. There was a dishwasher and a garbage disposal, and an ice maker....I was blown away. I've never known any of these luxuries in my wifely kitchen history. There were lights under the cabinets so I didn't have to squint at recipes under dim overhead lighting. I felt almost lost. I ignored the dishwasher and handwashed dishes because I'd forget to use it. The garbage disposal scared me, and I mangled two forks in it thinking I was flipping the light switch. But how fun to cook in such a space, to not have to play tetris tactics when putting groceries away.

Returning to Chile, I opened a drawer in my kitchen and it seemed broken. It came out so rough that I asked Dustin if it needed fixed. He laughed and told me he had thought the same, but realized it had always been that way; that we had simply gotten used to the smooth drawers of the other place. It made me wonder how many things I've gotten used to as a missionary. But I thank the Lord for that; for numbing the annoyances so that we can focus on the work He has for us here. Our vocation, our destiny, our purpose has proved to be a great adventure; more fulfilling than any beautifully decorated home or fantastic professional kitchen could ever be. So I will serve Him here and He will understand if I put desserts on the floor.

Your Most Devoted, Sarah