giving biblically

One of the defacto roles that we have experienced here in Brazil has been that of philanthropist (ok, maybe that's a stretch, but it sounds good). Shortly after our arrival here I blogged about how we are able to pass on some of the funds that are donated to us to people that are in need. Since those early observations, we've grown and learned a lot about how we can best help the people in need around us. The numerous Biblical commands and admonitions to help the poor sometime seem to stand in stark contrast to the reality that giving to people in need often robs their dignity and breeds dependency. What was meant to help them often ends up hurting them in the long run.

Like so many things in this life, there is a balance to living out the Biblical mandate to help those in need. We are to give freely, but not indiscriminately. When our hearts break at the condition of some poor soul, we should not just write a blank check, but neither should we walk callously by, saying to ourselves "they'll just buy booze with my money anyway...". So the question becomes not should I help, but how. And this is a question for which there is no easy answer.

The reality of our situation is that we are here to help the local church. The other day I was asked by a friend of mine if I would help with the cost of transportation to a village where a group was going to have an outreach. He was in charge of planing this mission trip for a leadership class at our church. As is the case so many times, many of the students didn't have the money to go. A couple years ago I probably would have just said "sure, how much will it cost?". Instead, I asked for more details and told him to try and make it work first. A few days later he had worked it out, I did end up giving a little bit to help with food, but those that couldn't afford the fee also contributed some food to help offset the price.

I remember a scene from the movie "Dances with Wolves" in which Kevin Costner's character sees how the indian tribe, which he has befriended, is in a position of weakness. A neighboring tribe is about to attack and they are concerned that they will suffer many loses. Costner's character suddenly remembers that he has something that will help them, guns and ammo back at his fort. He excitedly tells them about his stash, before thinking through all of the ramifications. I've often found myself in this position, whether it is planning a youth group event, a mission trip to a remote village, or helping someone afford a much needed medical procedure, I often have resources that will help. But sometimes the best thing to do is let them find a solution to the problem on their own.

So instead of just reacting by extending a fist-full of dollars, we are trying to be more creative with the ways we help. This process of helping, truly helping, becomes one in which the leading of the Holy Spirit is integral.

Thanks to all of you that support us financially and make it possible to bless others. Please pray that we would have wisdom as we seek to not only alleviate some of the suffering we see, but ultimately lead them to the One that can provide true hope and relief.

-posted by Josh

water fun

We packed a lot in the last week of my parents stay here. They leave this morning, after 3 weeks of sharing our lives and hanging out with the grandkids. We're sorry to see them go, but ready to get back into more of a routine.

Here are a few pictures from a boat trip we took and a day-trip to a waterfall...

Waterfall:

Boat Trip:

Dad sharing at a church service at Agua Preta, Cleide interprets.

wood, water and wisdom

This is the third guest post in as many weeks. We 're not intentionally shirking our responsibilities to you, our loyal readers, however, the break has been nice. We hope the outside perspective can give you a fresh angle on our lives here. So here, again, is Josh's dad writing about some of our activities this past week...

Josh and Brin host an international Independence Day barbeque. People with roots in America, Canada and Brazil will come. The girls pull out red, white and blue dresses, Ella makes decorations, we borrow plastic yard furniture from the mission. Josh harvests green coconuts from his backyard for cocoverde and borrows a home-made BBQ pit, made from the wheel rim of a big truck, so heavy it takes both of us to lift it. Josh also points me toward a pile of wood scraps to split for a bonfire that we will build in his back yard, to roast marshmallows and make s’mores.




I am stuck by the beauty of the wood I am being asked to prepare for burning. Some of it is furniture-quality, uniformly sawn and planed smooth pieces of the exquisite lumber from the rainforest, with deep rich grain, so rock-hard that you cannot drive a nail through it, so full of natural oils it will literally last a century without rotting. This wood we will be burn to make s’mores.

A gentle cool breeze blows through the house today under cloudy skies, Josh and Brin know without even thinking to bring the outside things under cover, and within a few minutes the Amazon skies break open to bless us with only the second rainforest rain we have seen we’ve been here, clear, intense, refreshing, beautiful. The river is down to normal now, but we occasionally still see watermarks on houses and buildings by the river, memories of the record flooding from this spring.

Bud shows us at his house where the water came, rising higher than anyone here remembers, covering his porch, only a few inches from entering his house. River village people usually continued during the flooding to live in their simple shack homes, building make-shift platforms inside, living above two or three or five or more feet of water. Tales are told of families losing toddlers who wandered or fell especially in the darkness of the night into the swirling waters, never to be seen again.




Most houses in Altamira manage their water needs by pumping water daily to a holding tank above the level of the house, from which they draw for cooking, bathing, and washing. It would seem logical that there would be a float in the tank to turn on the pump when the water level gets too low, but at least at Josh’s and Bud’s houses, filling the tank is a daily task to be remembered. One can only imagine the implications of this on marital harmony, the prospect all across Brazil of soapy wives left standing in showers under a trickle of water, screaming at forgetful husbands

I make it my business to try to contribute around the house by washing the dishes whenever I can. Nothing here is the same. I do not fill a basin to wash them in. Each piece is handled individually, scrubbed all around by a scratchy sponge which I have rubbed on a bar of soap, then rinsed under unheated tap water. Connie is not completely happy with this situation, one day recovering the contents from a hose left under the sun all day, bringing me a container of warm water. It is quickly gone, however, and I return to the Brazilian way.

More than twenty guests come for the July 4 barbeque, and Josh and I share the cooking of the meat duties. Once again, everything is strange: roasting hamburgers that do not look or cook like American hamburgers over hardwood charcoal in a truck rim in the dark. My hopes of maintaining an even, 3-second fire are impossible. I am in completely uncharted territory. I should never have got involved.

Long story short, we serve hamburgers to all our guests that are very pink in the middle. I have no idea how big a cultural blunder that might be. I try to read the faces of our Brazilian friends, picking gingerly at their hamburgers, wondering how far back I have set the mission work here.




I am invited to give a little lesson at a men’s cell group that meets at Agostino’s house. My heart is burdened, as it has been in many places I have worked and visited, for young men who have not had strong fathers and husbands and male role models to watch. Here are eight or nine young Christian men, meeting with Agostino, an older man who seems to have many of the qualities of a mentor. It is a perfect opportunity for me to encourage them to be strong as young Christian men. We read Psalm 1, I give them all LED flashlights I’ve brought from the US, and we use the flashlights for illustrations. Josh translates, and all the young men seem to be appreciative.

A few days later Agostino invites us to go with him and some others to a beach. A friend takes us on his boat up-river half an hour or so, where we spend a lazy day, watching children swim, eating açai with tapioca and sugar, building sandcastles and talking. The best part of the day is hearing Agostino’s testimony.







When he was young, he says, his life was all about drinking and prostitution. His first wife left him and over the years he has fathered 14 children. It was only four years ago that he became a Christian. One of his sons was a Christian and was holding a cell group in his home. One night he sat in on it, and eventually it lead to his giving his own life to the Lord. He pats his heart. Now, he says, he knows real happiness.

His testimony is beautiful, but not what I expect. When I spoke to his cell group last week, one older man meeting with a bunch of high school and college age guys, I had made an assumption—that he was sort of mentoring them. In fact, the opposite seems to be true, that the son is the older, more mature Christian, who leads the group.

I am reminded of an axiom I learned first at Normandy from a lady who had spent years in the discipline office trying to unravel the endless conflicts surfacing daily among the students: things are never what they seem. Even before that, I remember finding out during the last week of our year living in Montana, that the president of the school board was the wife of the man who owned the local gas station. It was a critically important piece of information in understanding the politics and the troubled relationships between the Indians and the non-Indians who lived in this tiny reservation town, known by everyone but me, and I was learning about it literally as I was packing up to leave.

A high school girl who speaks some English tells me about her father, who has been an alcoholic and absent as a responsible parent all her life. I try to convey what I think I have seen in every culture, the deep hurt that happens in the heart of a child who does not have a relationship with his or her father.

Her response surprises me. She says, I don’t like it when people look at my life and try to say how hard it has been or how disadvantaged I am. There is wisdom beyond her years in her answer.

It leaves me thinking how little I know, how little I really understand about this culture, or really about any other person, how dangerous it is to make quick assumptions, how important it is to ask good questions and to listen patiently, how careful I must be before I try to give advice, that the first rule for helping is to do no harm.

A family outing

Twice a year a carnival comes to Altamira. July is the vacation month, so it's here the whole month of July. Which usually only serves as a source of constant annoyance every time we pass by and have to hear the begging to go ride the rides. However, we decided to celebrate the last day of school for the girls (and a somewhat difficult semester) by going to the death-trap that is the Altamira Carnival...

Ava had to be convinced to try the mini roller coaster,
but by the end she wanted to ride again