mindflights of the sacred and whimsical

post by~Brin, the mold warrior


Josh has been in the States this past week to attend the funeral of his Grandpa Pflederer. Being away from family during bonding times, like weddings, births and funerals is part of the sacrifice in our calling. It hurts and it is when we feel the distance most sharply. So, we were very thankful that it worked out for Josh to travel back. The girls and I stayed home, trying to mourn and reflect on Grandpa's passing in our own way. Josh will post on Grandpa after he gets up from the fireplace and finishes digesting all his delicious meals.


I shared a moment with myself yesterday. I have been, while Josh has been Stateside, continually grateful to be out of the city. I mean, I liked it when I was there, except on the days which I complained which is probably more than I admit. Extra caution, keen awareness and stress just driving to the grocery store are fresh memories, all of which I do not have out here. This little community is so wholesome, peaceful, safe and quiet, except for a pair (flock?) of birds fighting early this morning. So I laughed at the irony that today Ava has been the victim of a school stabbing. By an adorable five-year old playing with a pocketknife who was probably quite shocked himself that his knife actually drew blood. It was of course, just a nick and Ava cried more out of surprise than pain. But it made me chuckle, to myself of course. And that is what I mean when I shared a moment to myself. A week ago a gang of boys (you could also call them the 4-5th graders) yielding machetes determinedly marched into the jungle at the back of my house. I bet they had pocketknives too. I laughed as it looked like a scene from the book I am reading, which I assume I am the last to read and you all know what I am talking about. Of course, they were just building a secret fort and looking for monkey grapes to bring home for the family. Isn't that sweet? Not really, because monkey grapes are bland, and I wonder if that's really what they are called...maybe some of these boys make stuff up about the jungle knowing I am new at this life. These are some intelligent kids here.


I say it again. I am grateful to be here. And I really like teaching, but honestly it seems I like pretty much everything I have done in the last five years. Which is a lot of different things. And that amuses me. Do I really actually like what I am doing as much as I think I do? I have fleeting, but profound wisps of enlightenment where I recognize God's pleasure in where I am, spiritually, physically, whatever.  I wonder if it is those moments that give me motivation to keep serving Him and have authentic joy in whatever situation He has placed me in. I think jungle trails, humidity, and washing my rugs in the river is just plain fun. And can't imagine living in a desert, where there are no waterfalls, or downpours of rain that suddenly inspire my girls to bolt out onto the field and play a sloppy game of soccer. But even if I can't imagine it, I am certain it would become my new favorite thing if God assigned me to Africa.


Our life is different, and I still haven't gotten into a rhythm whereby I have had time to reflect on my new digs, lifestyle, daily tasks. But, sometimes a few things strike me and I let the moment suspend in my mind. An enthralling moment, like when one of my co-laborers asked for prayers because R$6000 of paper were coming to campus (by boat, of course) to produce workbooks, Bible texts and literacy aids for an indigenous group. He prayed that it would arrive safely and dry, no small feat during the rainy season. I leaned into Josh, "that is a cool thing to pray for." And sometimes I let the moment be delightful, as when one of my students came to my house and thanked me for teaching her. I let that kid stay for lunch. And then sometimes tense, feeling like I parent 20 kids and not my own enough. And in peculiar moments, when I have a comforting sense that I am home but 5 years and many homes later I still have homesickness and wish I could walk over to Sonya's house.


I have never lived at the edge of a jungle so I never really knew how moist it was. It is. And here is how it plays out....

• a new mold that I have never had before. It is powdery and you can actually blow it off, but it grows right back.
• A greenish brown mold grows on my screens, which I didn't even perceive and perhaps it would have been better not to be told. Because upon hearing how often others clean their screens, I checked my own, astounded at their filth, I promptly cleaned 4 of them and then tired. Now the rest just mock me.
• And of course the microbes growing in my fridge as we have no electricity at night. But hey, I am a science teacher now, maybe I am growing it as part of an experiment.
• A source of great animosity: my laundry line. And not even when a pink dragon fly lands on it does it redeem itself from the torture it has produced. I went to look at the clothes a few days ago, not to bring them in, mind you, because I knew they weren't dry. And they weren't, but what they were was moldy and some were now a mud dauber home. I can always find something to complain about, even if the ants are the only ones listening. Don't get me started on the ants. 

Observations as I go about my day....

• a siren calls students to the dining hall at mealtimes. Which makes me wonder if former students that later go to the States for university salivate when pulled over by the police.

• It is a little like Appalachia here. Ava was sad one day when her class was divided into groups by calling out a family name and 4 students went to the "cousins" side while her and one other girl were left cousin-less. 

• The high-schoolers will sometimes ask for a "Student/Staff night". As if they haven't had enough of their teachers at school (and breakfast, church, swimming, volleyball, the dorm-it's always the same people), they also want to hang out at night. I hosted one last week and was delighted to have students from Chinese and German heritage and of course a Brazilian and an American.

• You can make your nutrition students help you with laundry if in the meantime you teach them about eggs. Also, on a side note, I have often said I always want to live in a place that requires rice in the salt shaker. Add to that list, eggs left out of the fridge.

• My kids will accomplish astonishing amount of chores in hopes of Kraft Mac n' Cheese or a handful of dried cherries in their oatmeal. Also, the worst possible punishment is to be grounded from afternoon swim time.

• It was a bummer when Mia dropped my precious (glass) jar of TeaTree oil on the bathroom floor. The plus side is that it's potency quickly permeated the room and is killing microbes as we speak. Or at least they smell better.

• At 9:30 we lose electricity, usually Gabriella has already done all her homework. But the night she didn't, she did her work by candlight looking like she was conducting a mystical ceremony rather than just diagramming sentences.

• We have a soccer field right in front of our house. And it is useful to my family- the girls run around on it and I hung my tent off the goal so it could dry after I dunked it in the river.

• A downpour on the metal roof of our school means that you quit out-loud reading and just do the worksheet.

Any time not in class is considered recess. It is a challenge to keep the girls home.

Mia's pink shorts that were invaded by mold, note her pink neighbor that is sporting a lovely accessory of bird poop. But it was on the inside so I just brushed it off. Judge away, you try to live here.

Of course when it rains you leave the house and run wild with abandon. Some creative boys were pulling a rope on a big puddle and helping the younger kids saucer (ski on a round disk). Outside of the Petrov family I had never seen a saucer. Maybe it is more common than I knew.

Shoes not worn for months still have to be washed. Why these butterflies were so interested I have no idea.

Thanks to all back home who have prayed for the girls and I during Josh's absence. And to those close by who checked on me. I send you all a hug drenched in Amazon rain.