clean up in aisle one...

Yesterday was a bit traumatic in preschool.  Some kind of coughing bug seems to be going around and one of my little ones, in particular, has terrible coughing fits (why is she at school, you ask...I ask the same thing).  She coughed so hard yesterday during recess that she threw up her lunch and then continued coughing and throwing up all over herself (and the table, chairs, floor, me).  The others, of course, felt the need to announce this to me (and to one another) even though we had all witnessed it with our very own eyes.  I took my little friend to the bathroom to clean her up and find her new clothes.  She had extra clothes at school (because this is just a good idea with four year olds), but they consisted of three pairs of socks and a shirt...no pants.  So we borrowed someone else's shorts and called it a day.  She seemed to be okay after she coughed everything up, but while I was cleaning her up, I heard screaming from the others because apparently a very ugly bug had made its way into their play area (the nerve, an insect in a room with doors and windows open to the outside).  Anyway, it was apparently not a large bug, but it was very ugly and only one little boy was willing to man up and kill it.  Crisis averted.  The rest of the day was without any other incident, save more coughing from others (aren't contagious diseases fun?), minimal covering of mouths, spit flying, and several snot bubbles.  Have I adequately painted this picture?  I felt like I was literally covered in every conceivable type of germ by the end of the day, disgusting.  So I jumped in the pool to disinfect myself.  Chlorine kills germs, okay?  I felt better.  

I can't believe it is only 15 days until Christmas.  The kids have had program practice all this week in the morning.  I love, love, love hearing them belt out (i.e. scream and yell, make a joyful noise) their Christmas tunes.  They are such happy songs and the kids are too excited about singing them!  Not only are the songs really fun to listen to, but all of them have a good message, a reminder that Christmas isn't about decorations or presents, tinsel or twinkle lights.  CHRISTmas is about Jesus, Immanuel..."God with us."  God in human form, born as a baby, here among men, that He could grow and offer us salvation from our sins through His sacrifice on the cross and resurrection from the grave.  A free gift of eternal life, if only we will admit our need for a Savior, our need to be forgiven of our sins, the wrongs we've all done, and accept that He took the punishment for our sins upon Himself.  "Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; He is Christ the Lord (Luke 2:11)."  Christmas may not be about presents, but it is about a gift...

Wise Men Still Follow Him Today (from Meet Me at the Manger)

Baby Jesus, born in Bethlehem

Baby Jesus, born to save all men

I have come to crown you King

I give my all, my everything

How foolish I would be to turn away

For wise men still follow you today

roach motel...

I was sitting on my couch playing with stamps and crayons (teaching pre-school is a fun time) when my roommate Christine started screaming and sitting up on the top of the couch pointing to the floor, where a huge cockroach was scittering across the floor.  Ewwww, I joined in her screaming and our other roommate Claryssa chased it with a flip flop while our other roommate Jean came to find out what all the fuss was about.  Jean then ran to get the bug spray while the cockroach ran under the couch (and I promptly jumped off, leapt off, bounded off, got as far away from the couch as was physically possible as fast as was physically possible)...the spray killed him off and he was carried to his final resting place in the garbage can, but I still felt like things were crawling on me and I pulled my bed away from all the walls and slept with my desk lamp on (because cockroaches don't like light, right...right?).  Anyhow, it made me feel better.  I have since also learned that termites are feasting on my wooden bathroom door, leaving little piles of sawdust on the tile.  Neat.

Today, I decided to drive for the first time in Brazil.  It was raining after school when we set out for the mall (the one place I've been to enough that I felt comfortable finding it on my own, though one of my roommates was an excellent navigator).  I thought about copping out because it was raining, but it rains on a regular basis (every day) here, so I decided not to be a baby.  I was a little nervous because all the school cars are stick shifts and there are a LOT of hills around here, steep hills that I was not looking forward to rolling backwards on (since sometimes other cars are behind you on roads and other cars and their drivers don't necessarily like to be rolled into).  I stopped at the first stop sign outside of the school and was promptly honked at and passed on the left.  My Brazilian roommate informed me that stop signs are more of a suggestion.  Good to know.  I'll stop when I feel like it.  They also like to control speed around here with huge, poorly marked speed bumps.  These speed bumps all have street signs accompanying them and yellow stripes on the road to warn of their existence, but many of the stripes are faded and I'm not accustomed to noticing this sign, so some of the speed bumps did not accomplish their purpose in slowing my speed because I didn't know they were there until I'd sped (careened, launched the car) over them.  I also was a bit nervous about changing lanes because people and motorcycles zip in and out without signals or warning, so I decided when there was an opening to move to the right lane where I would eventually need to turn that I should move over, never mind that it was behind a bus.  Except...I was a good half mile from my turn and at least three bus stops as well, I made three bus stops too, because suddenly there were cars everywhere and nowhere to move, so I stayed and stopped behind the bus.  Good times.  When I finally made my turn, it was up a giant hill where there is a stop light at the top that happened to turn red while I was stilI on the hill.  I was ready to gun it when the light turned green, but my sandal got stuck on the brake, so roll, roll, roll, backwards went the car.  Fortunately, the car behind me wasn't too close, so I got unstuck and made it up the hill, but I will not be wearing those shoes again when I drive. I don't know that I'll volunteer to drive on a regular basis, but it's good to know I can do it without too much incident and that I can get places without requiring someone to chauffeur me (though my family knows I do enjoy being chauffeured).

O Cristo Redentor...

  From Six Hours One Friday by Max Lucado…

Ninety feet tall.  One thousand three hundred twenty tons of reinforced Brazilian tile.  Positioned on a mountain a mile and one-half above sea level.  It’s the famous Christ the Redeemer statue that overlooks the city of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.   No tourist comes to Rio without snaking up Corcovado Mountain to see this looming monument.  The head alone is nine feet tall.  The wingspan from fingertip to fingertip — sixty-three feet.  While living in Rio, I saw the statue dozens of times.  But no one time was as impressive as the first.  I was a college student spending a summer in Brazil.  Except for scampers across the Mexican border, this was my first trip outside the continental U.S.  I had known this monument only through National Geographic magazine.  I was to learn that no magazine can truly capture the splendor of Cristo Redentor.  Below me was Rio.  Seven million people swarming on the lush green mountains that crash into the bright blue Atlantic.  Behind me was the Christ the Redeemer statue.  As I looked at the towering edifice through my telephoto lens, two ironies caught my attention.  I couldn’t help but notice the blind eyes.  Now, I know what you are thinking — all statues have blind eyes.  You are right, they do.  But it’s as if the sculptor of this statue intended that the eyes be blind.  There are no circles to suggest sight. There are only Little Orphan Annie opening.  I lowered my camera to my waist.  What kind of redeemer is this?  Blind?  Eyes fixated on the horizon, refusing to see the mass of people at its feet?  I saw the second irony as I again raised my camera.  I followed features downward, past the strong nose, past the prominent chin, past the neck.  My focus came to rest on the cloak of the statue.  On the outside of the cloak there is a heart.  A Valentine’s heart.  A simple heart.  A stone heart.  The unintended symbolism staggered me. What kind of redeemer is this?  Heart made of stone?  Held together, not with passion and love, but by concrete and mortar. What kind of redeemer is this? Blind eyes and a stony heart?  I’ve since learned the answer to my own question: What kind of a redeemer is this?  Exactly the kind of redeemer most people have.  Oh, most people would not admit to having a blind redeemer with a stone heart.  But take a closer look.  For some, Jesus is a good luck charm.  The “Rabbit’s Foot Redeemer.”  Pocket-sized.  Handy.  Easily packaged.  Easily understood.  Easily diagramed.  You can put his picture on your wall or you can stick it in your wallet as insurance.  You can frame him.  Dangle him from your rear view mirror or glue him to your dashboard.  His specialty?  Getting you out of a jam.  Need a parking place?  Rub the redeemer.  Need help on a quiz?  Pull out the rabbit’s foot.  No need to have a relationship with him.  No need to love him.  Just keep him in your pocket next to your four-leaf clover.  For many he’s an “Aladdin’s Lamp Redeemer.”  New jobs, pink Cadillacs, new and improved spouses.  Your wish is his command.  And what’s more, he conveniently reenters the lamp when you don’t want him around.  For others, Jesus is a “Monty Hall Redeemer.”  “All right, Jesus, let’s make a deal. For fifty-two Sundays a year, I’ll put on a costume — coat and tie, hat and hose — and I’ll endure any sermon you throw at me. In exchange, you give me the grace behind pearly gate number three.”  The Rabbit’s Foot Redeemer.  The Aladdin’s Lamp Redeemer.  The Monty Hall Redeemer.  Few demands, no challenges.  No need for sacrifice.  No need for commitment.  Sightless and heartless redeemers.  Redeemers without power.  That’s not the Redeemer of the New Testament.  Compare the blind Christ I saw in Rio to the compassionate one seen by a frightened woman early one morning in Jerusalem.  It’s dawn.  The early morning sun stretches a golden blanket across the streets of the city.  A cat stretches as it awakens.  The noises are scattered.   A rooster crows his early morning recital.  A dog barks to welcome the day.  A peddler shuffles down the street, his wares on his back.  And a young carpenter speaks in the courtyard.  Jesus sits surrounded by a horseshoe of listeners. Some nod their heads in agreement and open their hearts in obedience.  They have accepted the Teacher as their teacher and are learning to accept him as their Lord.  Others are curious, wanting to believe, yet wary of this one whose claims so stretch the boundaries of belief.  Whether cautious or convinced, they listened keenly.  They arose early.  There was something about his words that was more comforting than sleep.  We don’t know his topic that morning.  Prayer, perhaps.  Or maybe kindness or anxiety.  But whatever it was, it was soon interrupted when people burst into the courtyard.  Determined, they erupt out of a narrow street and stomp toward Jesus.  The listeners scramble to get out of the way.  The mob is made up of religious leaders, the elders and deacons of their day.  Respected and important men.  And struggling to keep her balance on the crest of this angry wave is a scantily clad woman.  Only moments before she had been in bed with a man who was not her husband.  Was this how she made her living?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  Maybe her husband was gone, her heart was lonely, the stranger’s touch was warm, and before she knew it, she had done it.  We don’t know.  But we do know that a door was jerked open and she was yanked from her bed.  She barely had time to cover her body before she was dragged into the street by two men the age of her father.  What thoughts raced through her mind as she scrambled to keep her feet?  Curious neighbors stuck heads through open windows.  Sleepy dogs yelped at the ruckus.  And now, with holy strides, the mob storms toward the teacher.  They throw the woman in his direction.  She nearly falls.  “We found this woman in bed with a man!” cries the leader.  “The law says to stone her.  What do you say?”  Cocky with borrowed courage, they smirk as they watch the mouse go for the cheese.  The woman searches the faces, hungry for a compassionate glance.  She finds none.  Instead, she sees accusation.  Squinty eyes.  Tight lips.  Gritted teeth.  Stares that sentence without seeing.  Cold, stony hearts that condemn without feeling.  She looks down and sees the rocks in their hands — the rocks of righteousness intended to stone the lust out of her.  The men squeeze them so tightly that their fingertips are white.  They squeeze them as if the rocks were the throat of the preacher they hate.  In her despair she looks at the Teacher.  His eyes don’t glare.  “Don’t worry,” the eyes whisper, “it’s okay.”  And for the first time that morning she sees kindness.  When Jesus saw her, what did he see?  Did he see her as a father sees his grown daughter as she walks down the wedding aisle?  The father’s mind races back through time watching his girl grow up again — from diapers to dolls.  From classrooms to boyfriends.  From the prom date to the wedding day.  The father sees it all as he looks at his daughter.  As Jesus looked at this daughter, did his mind race back?  Did he relive the act of forming his child in heaven?  Did he see her as he had originally made her?  “Knitted together” is how the psalmist described the process of God making man.  Not manufactured or mass-produced, but knitted.  Each thread of personality tenderly intertwined.  Each string of temperament deliberately selected.  God as creator.  Pensive.  Excited.  Inventive.   An artist, brush on pallet, seeking the perfect shade.   A composer fingers on keyboard, listening for the exact chord.   A poet, pen poised on paper, awaiting the precise word.   The Creator, the master weaver, threading together the soul.   Each one different.  No two alike.  None identical.   On earth, Jesus was an artist in a gallery of his own paintings.  He was a composer listening as the orchestra interpreted his music.  He was a poet hearing his own poetry.  Yet his works of art had been defaced.  Creation after battered creation.  He had created people for splendor.  They had settled for mediocrity.  He had formed them with love.  They had scarred each other with hate.  When he saw businessmen using God-given intelligence to feed Satan-given greed...When he saw tongues that had been designed to encourage used as daggers to cut...When he saw hands that had been given for holding used as weapons for hurting...When he saw eyes into which he’d sprinkled joy now burning with hatred...I wonder, did it weary him to see hearts that were stained, even discarded?  Jesus saw such a heart as he looked at this woman.  Her feet were bare and muddy.  Her arms hid her chest and her hands clutched at each other under her chin.  And her heart was ragged; torn as much by her own guilt as by the mob’s anger.  So, with the tenderness only a father can have, he set out to untie the knots and repair the holes.  He begins by diverting the crowd’s attention.  He draws on the ground.  Everybody looks down.  The woman feels relief as the eyes of the men look away from her.  The accusers are persistent.  “Tell us, Teacher! What do you want us to do with her?”  He could have asked why they didn’t bring the man.  The Law indicted him as well.  He could have been asked why they were suddenly blowing the dust off an old command that had sat on the shelves for centuries.  But he didn’t.  He just raised his head and offered an invitation, “ I guess if you’ve never made a mistake, then you have the right to stone this woman.”  He looked back down and began to draw on the earth again.  Someone cleared his throat as if to speak, but no one spoke.  Feet shuffled.  Eyes dropped.  Then thud...thud...thud...rocks fell to the ground.  And they walked away.  Beginning with the grayest beard and ending with the blackest, they turned and left. They came as one, but they left one by one.  Jesus told the woman to lookup.  “Is there no one to condemn you?”  He smiled as she raised her head.  She saw no one, only rocks — each one a miniature tombstone to mark the burial place of a man’s arrogance.  “Is there no one to condemn you?” he’d asked.  There is still one who can, she thinks.  And she turns to look at him.  What does he want?  What will he do?  Maybe she expected him to scold her.  Perhaps she expected him to walk away from her.  I’m not sure, but I do know this: What she got, she never expected.  She got a promise and a commission.  The promise: “Then neither do I condemn you.”  The commission: “Go and sin no more.”  The woman turns and walks into anonymity.  She’s never seen or heard from again.  But we can be confident of one thing: On that morning in Jerusalem, she saw Jesus and Jesus saw her.  And could we somehow transport her to Rio de Janeiro and let her stand at the base of the Cristo Redentor, I know what her response would be.  “That’s not the Jesus I saw,” she would say.  And she would be right.  For the Jesus she saw didn’t have a hard heart.  And the Jesus that saw her didn’t have blind eyes.  However, if we could somehow transport her to Calvary and led her stand at the base of the cross...you know what she would say. “That’s him,” she would whisper.  “That’s him.”  She would recognize his hands.  The only hands that held no stones that day were his.  And on this day they still hold no stones.  She would recognize his voice.  It’s raspier and weaker, but the words are the same, “Father, forgive them...”  And she would recognize his eyes.  How could she ever forget those eyes?  Clear and tear-filled.  Eyes that saw her not as she was, but as she was intended to be.  (paraphrase, John 8:1-11)

O LORD, you have searched me and you know me.  You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.  You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD.  You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.  Where can I go from your Spirit?  Where can I flee from your presence?  If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths,you are there.  If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.  If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me," even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.  For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.  My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.  All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.  (Psalm 139:1-16)

I'm thankful for chicken...

our Thanksgiving feast...

I was very disappointed when I went grocery shopping for our Saturday Thanksgiving celebration to find that there were no turkeys.  My poultry selection consisted of chickens only (frangos).  So we bought a chicken, already marinated, the whole bird.  I then ended up finding a turkey at a different grocery store a few days later when I went with my roommate to find Halls (which they eat as candy here) and orange juice to nurse herself back from a sore throat.  I was so excited to have a turkey for our Thanksgiving, until...Saturday morning when we took it out of the package and my roommate Claryssa asked, "why did we buy two chickens?"  Ummm, what?  She pointed to the word "frango" written right there on the front of my turkey, indicating that my turkey was indeed a chicken.  I was very disappointed.  Before you feel sorry for me, I did have turkey on Thanksgiving Day at another gathering, but that was at someone else's house, where they got to keep all the leftovers.  I realllllly wanted another turkey at my gathering, where I got to keep the leftovers.  After a little (long) while and many comments lamenting my own neglect in reading the poultry's packaging carefully, I thought about getting over it.  We proceeded to open the other bird, which we already knew to be chicken, and my roommate started pulling out bags, one with the whole chicken, one with the heart and liver and gizzard and such, and one with the face and claws...yes, face and claws.  I screamed when I realized what it was, like an 8 year old girl.  I now believe I understand why some people don't like to eat things with a face.  I might have been scarred to the point of not partaking in the rest of the chicken carcass that went with that face and claws, but it was already dead and I wouldn't want it to have died in vain (plus, I was still moping about my turkey that changed into a chicken, and I WAS going to be eating some bird).

may he rest in peace

We also enjoyed pumpkin cheesecake at our Thanksgiving celebration.  It was supposed to be a simple 3 step process.  That is if you have ready-made pie crust and canned pumpkin, which I did not, nor could I find either at the grocery store.  So I bought vanilla wafer-like cookies and made my crust and bought a pumpkin and cut it and scraped it out and boiled it and scooped it out and puréed it and voilà, my three steps turned into thirty and my 10 minute prep time took 3 hours, but it tasted really good (and we have leftovers)!

My roommates also got two little Christmas trees with lights to decorate our house during this Thanksgiving weekend (judging from the box they came in, circa 1955).  They found these boxes of Christmas cheer downtown for a grand total of $5 for the trees and $0.80 for the lights.  The only downside is that the light bulbs are schizophrenic and half blink and half don't or half blink slowly and half blink at warp speed.  It isn't good to stare directly at them, but they are Christmas-y and they, along with my poinsettias on the mantel, make me one holly, jolly girl.

my cousin Alex and I

Today, I had the opportunity to take a trip to Embu, a little place outside of São Paulo where there are lots of cute little souvenir shops (or junk shops as I have also heard them referred to).  On the weekends they close some of the streets and have stands selling more local wares and lots of good food...like chocolate covered strawberries on a stick!   This place reminded me a lot of Yellow Springs, Ohio (near Cedarville), very artsy, people in the street playing instruments or singing, beads, hemp, pottery galore.  I found a few gifts for others and a few gifts for myself...Merry Christmas!  One of my gifts was a hammock, and I even discovered that we have hooks on the back of our house and our back wall for this very purpose.  I took a nap in my new hammock as soon as I got back from the market in Embu....love it, love it, love it!  Maybe I will sleep outside from now on.

my new favorite thing

Happy Thanksgiving

Psalm 100:4-5

Enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise; give thanks to Him and praise His name.  For the Lord is good and His love endures forever; His faithfulness continues through all generations.

the River of January...

We had a Brazilian holiday last weekend, Consciência Negra, in recognition of those who resisted black slavery in Brazil several centuries ago.  We did not have school on Thursday or Friday, so my roommates and I and several others from school decided to take a 6 hour bus trip to the beautiful city of Rio de Janeiro.  We were warned before we left that Rio is a violent city and that often people are robbed there, so we said lots of prayers and it was an uneventful weekend in that regard.  We were very thankful that God was watching out for a bunch of girls with only one guy to serve as bodyguard.  We got on the bus early Thursday morning, arriving in Rio around 2:30 p.m. Our first day's trip was to the soccer stadium, Maracanã, former stomping (kicking?) grounds for Pelé and Kaká.  We got a tour of the stadium, field, locker rooms, and press room for the low price of $10.  The stadium itself was really the only thing I was impressed by...showers are showers are showers.  The stadium is huge, once the largest of its kind, able to hold almost 200,000 crazy soccer fans.  And you can see from the inside of the stadium, in the distance, the Christ the Redeemer statue high above the city on its mountaintop.  We walked to the soccer stadium from our accommodations at a Bible school where my roommate's aunt works.  It didn't seem like such a big deal, until my feet began to hurt and then began to feel like blisters were forming with everysinglestep and then began to feel like my shoes were slowly peeling the skin off the bottom of my feet...not a good time.  I have worn these shoes before, but apparently not on an extended walking tour, and I had brought only these shoes and their gold-colored counterparts for the entire weekend (I was no longer pleased with myself for my awesome skill in packing conservatively, I wanted different shoes NOW).  We stopped at the mall on the way back to the school for a bite to eat and I scrounged all the stores for anything else for my feet (by this time I was beginning to entertain the idea of walking barefoot as opposed to enduring one more step in the torture chambers that were my shoes...barefoot on streets where we had already seen a dead cat, a dead rat, and and some other not-so-nice evidences of animal life).  Luckily, I found a pair of Havaianas (famous flip-flops in these parts), parted with $15, and was a happy camper for the rest of the weekend.  

Maracanã stadium, once the world's highest capacity football (soccer) stadium, able to hold nearly 199,000 fans.  

Home of the 2014 World Cup.

Friday morning (with happy feet), our intention was to go to the beach, but we were told that the weather would be bad on Saturday, so we decided to do as much sightseeing as possible on our sunny Friday.  We headed to O Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer), located at the peak of the Corcovado mountain in the Tijuca Forest National Park overlooking Rio, one of the new seven wonders of the world.  There were a LOT of people, but it was a beautiful view of Rio, with city on some sides, mountains and beaches and ocean on other sides.  The statue itself was also remarkable, though I was most impressed on the ride up by how far it was above us.  I'm not certain what I expected, but I was quite taken aback the first time I saw O Cristo Redentor situated on a mountaintop that seemed miles above the city.  After we left Christ the Redeemer, we then took a trip down to Pão de Açúcar (Sugarloaf Mountain) and Cara de Cão (Dogface Mountain), which are located on a peninsula in Guanabara Bay.  These are two of the mountains that we could see from O Cristo Redentor.  The mountaintops also offered breathtaking views of the city.  We rode cable cars to the first mountain (Dogface) and then again from there to the bigger mountain (Sugarloaf).  We even saw a little monkey hanging out at the top of one of the mountains, jumping in the trees, on deck chairs, under tables.  I know people who live here may not be as impressed by monkeys as I am (I heard someone here say they are more impressed by squirrels), but we don't have monkeys frolicking around Indiana, and I was excited to see this new furry friend.  I suppose it is a matter of perspective, I think I've seen my share of squirrels so I'll just be keeping my eyes peeled for monkeys.  Our bus driver then took us on a drive along the coast to admire the beaches, past Barra da Tijuca and Ipanema.  We stopped once to swim (by this I mean three of us jumped in the enormous waves and the rest sat on the beach wrapped in all the clothes and blankets they had)...it was a little bit chilly, but it was chilly in the water or out of the water and in the water was much more fun.  Then we made our way to Copacabana, where we stopped at a feira, or street fair.  You could buy anything from semi-precious jewels (or colored cut glass, there wasn't really any way to tell) to flip flops to post cards.  It was a fun, full day and I had the sand in my clothes at the end of the day to prove it.

 

O Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer), located at the peak of the Corcovado mountain in the Tijuca Forest National Park overlooking Rio...here overlooking Pão de Açúcar (Sugarloaf Mountain) and Cara de Cão (Dogface Mountain).

 

 

  

atop Pão de Açúcar (Sugarloaf Mountain) and Cara de Cão (Dogface Mountain) in Guanabara Bay...a cable car took us first to Cara de Cão, then to the larger and more well-known Pão de Açúcar (Sugarloaf Mountain).  There was a furry friend waiting to greet us at the top!

 

 

Beautiful beaches...including Copacabana (center).

 

 

 Centro, downtown Rio.

On Saturday, it was indeed rainy, but a few of us decided to take the metro to Centro, or downtown Rio.  We saw some older buildings, including the Teatro Municipal (which was covered in scaffolding) and a World War II Memorial (Monumento dos Mortos da II Guerra) in Flamengo Park, where you could stand and see the Pão de Açúcar and O Cristo Redentor in the distance or facing the other direction you could look toward the city's center.  The memorial honors those Brazilian soldiers who died in Italy during WWII and inside is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.  It was fun just to walk around and step into a few of these different places to admire the displays or learn new things.  There was a calligraphy display in one building that I thought was especially interesting, writing all over walls, huge, tiny, all in different scripts and fonts.  I wish I had that gift.  We then headed back to the metro to head home, stopping by a place called the Candelaria church on the way.  At this church in the early 1990's, several street kids were murdered by city police officers.  There are outlines of bodies on the sidewalks for each child that was killed.  I believe at least some of the police officers were put on trial for these murders, but it seems that street kids are thought to be a menace to society because of the increased possibility that they will grow into a life of crime if they haven't already, it was apparently not uncommon for street kids to be "gotten rid of" in this way.  It seems horrifying to think of someone believing that they are doing the world a favor by murdering a group of children, yet it stems from a belief that we are not all equals, that we are not all created in the image and likeness of God.  How often are any of us guilty of thinking that we are better or that others are worse, that we are more lovable or others unlovable, that we are more deserving and others undeserving?  God loves each of us, He does not love me more or less because of anything I have done or will do and He does not love anyone else differently than He loves me.  He desires for each of us, created in His image and likeness, to be in a relationship with Him, to choose to love Him and show our love through obedience to His Word.  And His Word tells us that God is love (I John 4:8)...not just for the rich, or the beautiful, or the intelligent, or the lovable.  God is love. 

For God SO loved THE WORLD that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.  (John 3:16)

Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God.  Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.  Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.  This is how God showed His love among us: He sent His one and only Son into the world that we might live through Him.  This is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.  Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.  No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and His love is made complete in us.  (I John 4:7-12)

two steps forward, then flat on my face...

This is spirit week at school in preparation for our varsity team's big soccer and basketball tournament next week.  I dressed up for twin day (though I was actually a fraternal part of a set of triplets, including me and two of my roommates).  I basically looked like my pre-schoolers wearing a polo stitched with the school's insignia and pigtails (one of my Kindergarten ESL students and two of my fourth grade ESL students had the same polos on that day).  

So today I decided to look like a grown-up, complete with skirt and heels.  I left my house in a grown-up hurry, missed a step and fell forward on my knees, scraping both of them up, one to the point of requiring two band-aids.  I looked very adult with my boo-boos and double band-aids (though at least I salvaged some dignity by finding flesh colored bandages as opposed to cartoon ones).  I cleaned myself up and went about my day, including a trip to the library where I was excited to find a video on thankfulness to show my precious pre-schoolers during this Thanksgiving month.  I stepped out of the library, forgetting I had stepped UP into the library and again fell on my knees (luckily, I fell forward each time and in a somewhat ladylike manner, so my knees and pride were the only things worse for wear).  I, unfortunately, had an audience this second time, though just a few colleagues who were kind enough not to laugh (at least not to my face).  But an audience nonetheless, with the capability to judge me and my apparent inability to stay upright while walking.  I walked more carefully for the rest of the day and explained my injuries to my curious pre-schoolers who sit at knee level to listen to me read stories and couldn’t see past my boo-boo to my lesson.  I even told my war story in detail to a little one who got tripped during recess and believed that he was terminal without a band-aid (despite the fact that there was no blood or scrapes or scratches or any evidence whatsoever that he had any reason for the flood of tears streaming down his face).  After showing off my battle wounds and telling about how I fell TWICE today, we washed his face and got him a drink of water and he felt much better telling everyone that Mrs. Julia had fallen down today too, just like him, but we were both going to survive (because I was wearing enough band-aids for the both of us). 

Speaking of making a public spectacle of myself, I’ve graduated to a Portuguese class with my peers, as in other teachers, that will meet two nights after school each week, including homework and roll call.  I think I'm going to miss my first grade friends who are learning about animals this week and automatically believe that I'm wise because I'm old.

in my own little corner...

Democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for 

lunch. Liberty is a well-armed lamb contesting the vote! 

(Benjamin Franklin)

Patriotism is your conviction that this country is superior to all other countries because you were born in it.  

(George Bernard Shaw)

It seems funny to remember Veteran's Day today in a place where it is not recognized, where there are no parades or programs.  And yet, I know there are so many veterans in places like this all over the world, where there are no parades or programs, and they woke up this morning like so many before to serve their country and fulfill their duties far from home.  For their service, and the fact that I can recognize it as an American citizen on U.S. soil or foreign soil, I am very grateful.  

It seemed funnier still not to be in America one week ago on a very historic election day.  I missed a lot of the last debates, ads, and arguments, and I had sent in my absentee ballot weeks before.  I wouldn't say I was necessarily disappointed to miss the political bickering and outright lies masked as partial truths, but it's part of the process.  It seems strange to check the internet just days later and find the news about our President-elect at the bottom of the page, under "10 ways to a healthier you" and "5 tips to sell your house."  The news changes so fast, our priorities shift so quickly and yet there are certainly some very real changes on the horizon in our country.  It is very different to watch those changes from afar, as a spectator more than a participant, though knowing the changes will affect me, my family, my friends, people and places I care very much about.  I am so glad that God is in control of each of those changes and He will not be surprised by what makes the front page news tomorrow.  

Daniel 2:20-21...Praise be to the name of God for ever and ever; wisdom and power are His.  He changes times and seasons; He sets up kings and deposes them. He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to the discerning.