To Surubim with the Family

This past weekend I returned to the village of Surubim with some friends, this time Brin and the girls went. Taking the girls reminded me of how primitive some of these conditions are. For the most part they enjoyed our trip, except for the Amazonian “no-see-ums”, little irritating bugs that have a real bite.

A highlight of the trip was talk about a local man being willing to donate land for a church to be built. I’m not sure what the timeframe would be, but it’s exciting to think about being involved in that.

Brin enjoyed this kitchen about as long as it took to take this picture. The stove was fired by wood, the water for washing dishes was a quarter mile away in a dirty creek and the lights were dirty oil burning lamps. Oh yeah, and refrigerated meat is hanging above the stove. At least the bugs didn't like it in there either.

The dishwasher was no Maytag.

The girls, used to plentiful water on river trips, had to settle for this less than desirable stream.

We are told this trip can take anywhere between 3 and 8 hours, depending on the rain. Being at the beginning of the rainy season, these puddles will only get worse.

Part of the frame broke on one of the motorcycles and we had to remove the rear fender. It made for a fun return trip with mud being thrown all over the driver.

On the barge crossing the Xingu River.

Fruit

I don’t know why we keep making the same mistake over and over, but we again arrived at someone’s house on time. This time it was a birthday dinner that one of my friend’s dad wanted to host for me. We were told it started at 7:00, so we stupidly arrived at 7:00. Only my friend’s parents were there. Not even my friend was there. We wondered if we got the message right.

But what began awkwardly, soon became very comfortable and natural, a night I won’t forget. Before we ate the fish his dad had prepared, my friend read a verse and told everyone how much my friendship meant to him. It felt very surreal, like I was being accepted into a club. But more than that, I realized that my friend, Alison, truly felt a connection with me. He wanted to show me that, and I truly felt honored. He went on to thank me for the sacrifice I have made to come and live here.

I often have doubts of my effectiveness. Even as a youth pastor I experienced these doubts. The fruit I so often expected did not always result in the time and way I thought it should. And so often God would reveal in little ways that He was working, that He was in control and more importantly that He is the Producer of fruit. What I saw last night was a fruit basket. And it made me excited to see how God was going to produce more in the future.

Irony

Ronesha (or maybe it was Camila) used to have a cat named Irony. The cat was funny because it got hit by a car and afterwards only walked in circles. The following story is not about her.

In the past month I had conversations/emails with 2 friends, Connie Gregory and a college friend Bethany. Connie is a missionary here in Brazil in a nearby city (nearby being relative) with PAZ and Bethany is working with New Tribes in Indonesia. Both of these women had high, emotion filled hopes of hosting guest houses and then, for various reasons, had to let go of their plans. At the time, I listened but thought it a bit ironic to hear these stories of their departure from guesthouse ministry as I was entering mine. I must admit I really did not empathize completely as I have now experienced a small fraction of the pain they endured. Now just to decide who will be president of the club.

no. maybe. no. well, ok maybe. yes. yeah, i think so. Yes! no.

If you notice things like this, we have had a paragraph at the right of this blog that has asked for prayer about our next housing situation. Wanna know where we are with that? Me too. As it turns out, we are 3 weeks away from when we will need to move and we still have no firm answer. But here is where we find ourselves at the moment and the story that goes with it.

While we were thinking of our options, an obvious solution came to the forefront. The mission’s Guest House, which houses the Kubacki family now, will be empty in February. It is big, comfortable, a hub of activity (can you see why I am interested?) and within the mission compound which kind of gives me a sense of safety. Plus, if we moved in there it would fill a need for the mission, as we understood it. So we thought about it. Talked about it. Discussed it with other people. And I started dreaming and planning for it. As I got more enthusiastic about it we began to put other options aside and starting thinking through the details that would be required of us to live there. Things like what, exactly, are the responsibilities of the guesthouse hosts, what role do we play with foreign teams that come through, and how this will work with our family. So again we talked with more people and got positive responses to the point that we thought it was all a go. We were wrong. Are my tender feelings revealing themselves here yet?

A conversation took place 3 days ago that revealed that the guesthouse is not a right fit for our family. I am heart broken. At first, I was upset that God was steering us in one direction only to frustrate us and send us in another direction. I see now how this whole process shaped us and prepared us for the future here in Brazil, whatever that may be. We gained awareness of our own family’s needs and goals and decided to evaluate our decisions against that. I still know I would have loved the guesthouse and enjoyed taking care of guests, but it is not as simple as that. I am trying to put it behind me because even if money issues worked itself out and other details fell in to place, we now are aware of how living there might induce stress and tensions that we simply do not need in our first term here. So that’s that. But, stink! I am just not sure how to pack up all my enthusiasms and just be ok with moving elsewhere. Yikes, my heart is bruised.

These sentiments are rather reminiscent of when I foster-cared for two little boys about 3 years ago. I knew I would not keep them. But I did dream about what it would be like to love them, take care of their illnesses, raise them up with a secure family and have them prank me with Parent Trap moments (they were twins). But it was all just thoughts and dreams and a short time later I turned them over to another foster family. I had packed away all the schemes I dreamed and nuturings I imagined, only to dust them off feel them all over again, just differently. I guess these sort of disappointments are normal consequences of just plain living and feeling.

Ok, so this is a long post just to say, “we’re not moving into the guest house.” But I wanted to share at a heart level where we have come from and where we are going. As I have trudged through this whole thing I am amazed at how God has been preparing me for this situation. My time and conversations with God in the last 6 months have been about living dependent on the Spirit regardless of what is happening around me. This small, somewhat insignificant (compared over a lifetime) event had the potential for bitterness. My heart could be soaking in sour brine right now. But it is not. I am praying constantly and literally, out loud, telling myself not to let my heart get crusty. And it might be working, with credit not going to me. C’mon people, cheer with me! I do not know for sure where I am going in 3 weeks and I am ok with that! I told you I’ve changed.

So for those of you who have stuck with this long post, here is what is happening. Barring working out details (again with the details?!) we will stay in the home of the Hanson family who is home on furlough. They are a lovely family with a lovely home so I can only heave a thankful sigh in how God takes care of us. We have yet to communicate with them because we have been without Internet for a while (so this blog was actually written earlier and posted later).

More happenings involve the arrival of Emily Fancher! Many of you know the name because you’ve prayed for her and for that I am thankful and also desperate for your prayers to continue because she has yet to get her visa. But then again, maybe she has and I don’t know it. Drat that internet. Emily is 23! Appreciates the arts! Has a calm, gentle spirit! And a tugging in her heart for missions! Her coming brings out the explanation points in me! She is hopefully arriving in Altamira on January 20 and will live with our family. She will help at the English School, help home school Gabriella and Ava (if she can catch her, ha!) and get a hearty helping of Xingu Mission. In the past, Josh has had an influence on young people and their involvement and knowledge of foreign missions. This time it is my turn!

Other happenings involve the return of the Simon family. They will be leaving the states the beginning of Feb. We look forward to having them back and will probably talk their ears off filling them in on the 5 months they were gone. Mia and Anna will go back to playing dress-up together and Ava and Caleb will go back to arguing.

Genuine thanks to those of you who are praying for us. I cannot imagine how messy it would be here without those prayers.

~BZP

A White (sand) Christmas

As we drove into Altamira last night around 8:30 pm, after being on the road since 6:30 am, it truly felt like we had been away for months (it had actually been 15 days). We are excited to be home, but this morning we faced the unsurmountable task of unpacking and getting organized, fortunately today is New Years Eve and we don't have much going on.

I learned from my language instructor a while back that it is common for Brasilians to spend an evening with a friend that has just returned from vacation and look at slideshow of their vacation while they talk about them. I told him where I come from that is a sure way to lose your friends, or at least bore them to death. So, in an effort to acclimate to Brasilian culture, here is my slideshow (cue cheesy music):

Our time on the road was not as bad as our last post may have suggested. I did have to stop a couple times and ask directions, or as the photo records, refer to my map while the girls relaxed at the local convenience store.

About a month before our trip, Brin set goals for each of the girls with a reward that they would get on our trip. After many failed attempts, Ella reached her goal of doing some acrobatic flippy thing, her reward was her very own body board.

Mia surprised us by learning to swim (or more accurately, deciding not to cling to anything and everything that would prevent her from becoming submersed). I'm not sure what was more fun, watching her swim, or watching how proud she was of herself.

The idea of Christmas in a hotel room was a little hard to get used to, but we did our best to set the mood (lights and stockings hung on the TV stand) and stick to our tradition of opening presents on Christmas Eve and stockings on Christmas Day.

The Berquists and Wilsons (two families from our mission) met us at the hotel, they traveled by boat. We enjoyed our time with them and our kids loved the playmates. We did a gift exchange on Christmas Day.

The Berquists had a "snow kit" that made a fake snow look-a-like that our kids enjoyed for about 2 minutes.

Ava's reward for learning to read (or at least making a valiant effort at it) was to visit the butterfly house in Belem. Unfortunatly it was closed for maintenance when we got there. We were able to talk one of the employees into letting Brin sneak Ava in covertly look at the butterflies while hiding from other guests who were walking around outside.

Our room had a bathtub. Let me give a little context to that statement. One of the hardest things Brin knew she was going to give up moving to Brazil was her baths. She loves to take baths, they are her happy little place... or something like that. Anyway, she has gone a year without a bath and was able to enjoy one every night in our room. I was going to snap a picture of her in the bath but she made threats on my life.

A Christmas Adventure

Tomorrow, Sat. Dec. 15^th, we’ll be leaving for a two weeks on vacation. We’ll be traveling to the coast, where we’ll meet two other missionary families and spend Christmas at the beach. Our girls are especially looking forward to it.

Between here and there lies 18 hours of travel, about half of which is on the treacherous and pothole-filled TransAmazon Highway. It’s sure to be an adventure. If you think of us over the next couple of weeks, pray for safety and that our family would enjoy the time we have with each other and our friends. It will definitely be a different kind of Christmas for us, but we are hoping playing at the beach will distract us from the fact that we are so far away from our friends and family from back home. We wish you all blessed Christmas and New Year!

During the rainy season, the TransAmazon Highway can be impassable at times.

The other day I went on what I thought was a day trip to another location in the Assurini. I showed up at Pastor Clenildo’s house, only to find out that we were going to be staying overnight. I rushed home and threw my hammock, clothes, and a few other things in a bag. We were already late for the ferry that, unlike anything else here, leaves promptly at the scheduled time.

Ella went with me, so that always adds to the adventure. It seems like every time I take one of the girls with me on a trip there is at least one time when they have to go to the bathroom “really bad” at the most inconvenient time possible. Ella did not disappoint. I also realized in the rush of packing I forgot a flashlight. Flashlights are essential when going to a place like the Assurini where there is no electricity. It made bedtime an adventure; we had hung our hammocks in a grove of trees so finding our way there after the church service while avoiding the occasional cow pie and roosting chicken proved to be difficult. I made a mental note to never forget a flashlight again.

I don’t eat a whole lot when I go on these trips. Dinner is especially unappetizing because it’s usually just the rice and beans reheated from lunch. I was lying in my hammock after I had tucked Ella in her hammock and one of the guys came up and excitedly told me that dinner was ready (keep in mind this is around 9:30). I politely declined, knowing Ella would not want to be left alone with the eerie sound of howler monkeys and surrounded by darkness. Plus, I was really in no mood for rice and beans.

Waiting for people to arrive for the service.

The family we visited was a follow-up to our last visit to the Assurini. A young man who had been at the TLC retreat invited us to stay with his family and invite his neighbors to a service. About 25 people showed up to watch a film and listen to Clenildo preach. In the morning we were gone, leaving them to their simple, hard lives. I’m not sure if we were just an interesting diversion or if the message we brought will lead to new life. I’m learning that God doesn’t always give us clear victories. And sometimes what he asks us to do will show no results at all, but obedience is required just the same.

Ella cooling off by the family's only source of water

Office Parties and Rustling Leaves

Its beginning to look a lot like the rainy season.

In a sudden gust of wind, the sun-dried leaves that have laid on top of our tile roof rained down on my kids playing in the yard. “It must be fall.” I yelled enthusiastically. When we are in the right mood we get rather playful when the rain clouds and accompanying winds arrive overhead. The girls strip down to their skivvies and run around the yard waiting to be soaked with the rain. That’s Brin speaking here, and for those of you who pay attention, I apologize for my disappearance on this blog. I haven’t been in a blog writing mood.

Everyone in my house is acutely homesick. And anything, seriously anything, that remotely reminds us of home can become either a cause for celebration, as the leaves did. Or ignite a river of tears that feels like the Amazon. I became upset the other night after seeing an office party while watching a movie called The Santa Clause. I was terribly missing all those office Christmas parties from back home that were occurring without me. The new Christmas dress, yummy deserts and the twinkling lights, ya know, all that stuff that goes with Christmas parties. And then on second thought, I realized I never actually worked in an office or attended an office party. I just plain missed home.

You know that you really start missing people when you recognize random friends from back home in your neighbors or people around town. Josh and I find ourselves saying, “Hey, doesn’t that look like Matt except skinnier, darker and less teeth?” So we’re homesick. I’m just sayin’ is all.

The Assurini

I just got back from another trip, this time to an area called the Assurini. It’s an area named after an Indian tribe that used to live there and is now mostly ranches and homesteads. Our church has been working in 3 locations for about 7 years. This was the first time we were putting on a weekend-long retreat. Read on if you’re interested in the details, otherwise you can just look at the pictures and I’ll never know…

The Location

The Assurini is a large area across the river from Altamira, accessible only by barge. There are several roads that provide mostly seasonal access to the many ranches that scatter the hilly region. A rancher named Orlando became a Christian some years ago and has been catalyst for our church work in that area. We stayed at his place and had meetings there on Sat. and Sun.

The TLC

The retreat we had, or TLC, is a leadership retreat that the churches in Altamira have at least a couple times a year. This was the first time it was done in the Assurini. It consists of large group meetings as well as small groups that discuss things like worship, cell groups and new beginner classes.

In one of the small groups my friend was teaching guitar lessons. He said it was hard because they couldn’t read, I said “You mean they couldn’t read music?”, he said, “No, they couldn’t read words”.

The Baptisms

Of all the bodies of waters that I’ve seen baptism take place, I think a jungle creek is my favorite. As I expected from Brazilians, it was a joyous and celebrated event. I really liked the way they sang praise songs during the baptisms. I hope their simple faith and joy comes through in these photos:

The Team

I traveled with a group of guys that I’ve been doing a lot with recently. A couple of them are old friends of mine (Beto, my language instructor and Alison, a buddy I had given a guitar to), but there are a few that I am just getting to know. One of the guys told me (using my loose translation skills) that he wanted me to “come into their group” (referring to his friends) and that when I’m not there they say to each other “so falta Josh” (which sort of means, we are just lacking Josh).

We did have many laughs together, including when I took them to the river to swim and some of the guys were riding on top of my truck, while driving on a jungle logging road I couldn’t resist to drive under some low hanging limbs, smacking them around a bit. They got a real kick out of it and declared that I was “brasilerio” now (brasilian). For those of you sitting their stunned that I was trying to knock some nice young men off my truck, don’t worry, it was just good ol’ fashion male bonding.

-JTP

Planting in Surubim

Our church here in Altamira is busy planting several churches in the region. Most are not on the river but within a few hours drive of the city (see map). Usually pairs go out once every couple of weeks to have a service. Sometimes young people go to aid in this work, and occasionally I, or one of the other missionaries goes to help.

The trunk of this enormous tree laid rotting on the ground behind the stump.

Surubin is a village where one such work has begun. I went on a day trip there yesterday with a group of about 9 young people. The village itself is not our target, there are already a couple other churches there. We traveled 30-40 minutes past the village and deeper into the jungle on a road accessible only by 4 wheel drive, to an area where there are several homesteads. Homesteads are land the government gives to individuals if they are able to maintain crop production. These plots are usually very remote and therefore difficult to get to. No one visits these people. Wanted criminals know this and sometimes choose to relocate to these areas, living in virtual obscurity (in fact, a month ago in this very area, a man wanted for a killing spree down south was found after his picture was shown on TV).

So it is to these remote, lonely and sometime desperate places that we are called to plant churches. Our first stop is at a house where the owner is described to me as a community leader of sorts. After watching him, I realize it is his personality that has put him in this position. Gregarious and friendly, I watched him warm up to people quickly. The plan was to travel throughout the area visiting as many homesteads as we could in the afternoon, inviting people to the evening service. Two guys in our group brought motorcycles, so they each took someone and headed out in different directions. I was paired with our friend the community leader, I’ll call him Mr. Z, not for anonymities sake (you’ll never find this guy) but because I can’t pronounce or spell his name, and one other young man from our team. It made for an odd scene, my younger, inexperienced partner and I, along with Mr. Z, who by the way is not yet a believer, traipsing off through the jungle in my Landcruiser, inviting people to the service and handing out tracts.

Mr. Z and Emerson (left) talking with a neighbor.

Mr. Z was warmly welcomed to every house we went, and as guests of his, we were as well. We visited 6-8 houses over the period of about 2 hours. All were genuinely happy to have visitors and were glad that our group had come to put on a service. As an American, who spoke funny, I was often the butt of Mr. Z’s humor and joking. As we headed back to Mr. Z’s house to prepare for the service, we picked people up on the way who had already begun the long journey on foot. I had about 14 people packed inside, standing on the bumper, and hanging on top of my truck.

Another mile down the road we picked up several more people.

We counted about 70 people who showed up for the service. This was not a planned service. People simply dropped what they were doing and came. I don’t know if people came because they were hungry to hear the gospel, or if they just jumped at the opportunity to get out and see their neighbors.

The evening service.

We planted the pits of 5 mangos the other day, in hopes of getting one healthy tree out of the bunch. Planting churches is kind of like that. I don’t know how long it will be before they have a church building or regular weekly meetings in this area. Or if they will ever have a healthy, vibrant church. But it seems like what I saw was the beginning of a sprout just coming up through the soil. A church at its most raw beginnings. It was a beautiful thing. If you think of it say a prayer for Mr. Z, he would make a great pastor.

Worlds Apart

I’m astounded by both the similarities and polar opposites between American culture and Brasilian. The equivalent of a state fair is going on in Altamira right now. I went with a group of friends the other day and in some ways I felt I was in some parallel universe. On the one hand they had the requisite carnival rides, cotton candy and candied apples, livestock barns, carnival games and food stands. Almost like someone came to an American state fair and took notes.

But everything, it seemed, had a Brasilian flair to it, with which a careful look would revel how decidedly different our cultures are. Take for example, the rodeo. Beforehand, the announcer brought out all the cowboys (the of which is borrowed from English), they stood in a line and a prayer was said. I was shocked to see the cowboys, not only take off their hats and bow their heads, but many of them dropped to their knees, raising their hands to heaven as if they were in a worship service. At first I thought this must be a Christian rodeo, but then I realized this was just another example of the tendency towards drama, to make everything into a big production.

Later that evening someone from our group bought everyone a meal ticket at a hotdog stand. Before I realized what had happened, someone handed me a ticket for a hotdog. Not really sure that I even wanted to eat a hotdog, I found myself feeling rather sheepish that I was forced to accept a gift from someone that probably couldn’t afford it. What to me was an uncomfortable moment, was to everyone else quite normal: someone wanted to eat, they had money when no one else did, they couldn’t eat in front of everyone else, so they bought everyone some food – it was as simple as that. The hotdog was fairly normal, but the curve was thrown as I looked at all the toppings. Everyone else in my group was heaping everything from corn to peas to cabbage on top, I settled for ketchup, but noticed everyone laughing at my naked hotdog. I tried to explain that I’m not entirely Brasilian yet.

We found this clean, American looking vendor very out of place in Brazil,
but weird toppings and raw meat (hanging just out of the picture)
brought us back to reality.

My next awkward moment came when I realized I was going to need something to drink with my hotdog. I noticed one other person had bought a soda and was sharing it, so I thought I could do that. After taking a drink I handed it to a girl next to me. She took a drink and handed it down the line. I watched as my soda traveled further from me, wondering if I would ever see it again. I stealthily walked to the end of the line so I could intercept it for drink.

I laughed with Brin about this later. If I were hanging out with friends back home, I wouldn’t think twice about buying a drink for myself. I assume if they want one they will buy one themselves and I’m sure not going to turn my soda can into a communal chalice to be passed from person to person. It’s amazing how affluence can breed a selfishness that prevents us from seeing the needs of others. Having less forces us to look at things less as ‘mine’ and more as ‘ours.’ …I like that (except for the sharing of the drink part, that’s just gross).

-JTP

homeroom rocked and we so ruled the 7th grade! Have a great summer dude!!!!

Last week we hit a milestone. One year in Brasil. I'm not going to say all the clichés like "I can't believe it's been that long" or "Man, time really flew by" or even "What a wild ride it's been". Those sound too much like the rambling notes in a junior high yearbook. To be honest, the past year has been something beyond my ability to put into words. In some ways I probably haven't processed internally all of the changes our lives have seen. It's easier for me to just trudge on then to stop and reflect.

We hear from missionaries that go home about how much everyone and everything has changed. While that may be true to some degree, I think probably unsuspecting to them, they are the ones who have changed. Can a person be put into a completely different culture, with different values and customs, and expect to come away unchanged? Change is good, but change, I think almost without exception, is painful.

And so here we find ourselves, a year into this adventure, knowing that God is changing us, but also acutely aware that our flesh can also dictate that change. In difficult times I always have the choice to harden my heart, becoming bitter and self-reliant, or the more difficult choice: to let go of self, soften my heart and throw myself at Jesus' feet.


So to celebrate our one year anniversary, we spent the night in a hotel. I made up some award certificates and with some cheesy names like "Most Friendly to Brasilians Award" (Mia), "Giving Us the Most Laughs Award" (Ava) and "Most Brasilian Friends Award" (Ella). My award, "Fastest Learner of Portuguese Award" was either a cruel joke, or shows the ineptitude of the judges, I'm not sure which.

I suppose milestones are important. On the one hand they help us to recognize that we've accomplished something. On the other they help us recognize (at least in our case) that we are truly here only by the grace of God.

Thanks so much for all of you have been such an integral part of helping us make it through our first year!

-JTP

Açai

In our yard we have Açai trees (ah-SAH-ee). Açai is a fruit that the locals love to drink and love to tell you how good it is (we still aren’t convinced). So we would probably not bother picking it except for Açai’s other quality, you can make beads from the seeds.

Brin wanted Açai beads, and not just any beads, but from our tree, so I called a Brasilian friend over to show us how to pick them. The fruit looks deceivingly like blueberries, but taste nothing like them. It is mostly seed, only the thin outer layer has any usable pulp, so it takes a few bushels to make any significant amount of juice.

You may have heard of Açai, we hear it is a bit of a trendy fruit right now because it is high in antioxidants. In this earlier blog you can see pictures of what it looks like when you drink it.

I’m still trying to figure out how to get the seeds extracted from the fruit. Another friend is supposed to come over and show us how. I’m not sure what Brin plans to make with her beads, but this better be good.

(If you're a fruity person and want to read about another interesting Brasilian fruit, click here)

Dances, Ugly Boys and Pepsi

Our social calendar was busy this weekend. Friday night saw us with dinner guests and then later at our church's "Conferencia da Dançar", which translates literally to "dance conference," but it's more like a dance show. I had helped with some of the tech. aspects of the event so I knew it was going to be an impressive affair. It's a huge outreach and they go all-out for this semi-annual event. Even the news cameras were there (which begs the question, "Is there really nothing else in Altamira to report?")


We were busy all day Saturday with people coming and going, including an "Adventure Club" that brought 15 youth to our house so they could chat with Americans. They wanted to see authentic dollar bill. Later that night we took some Brazilian friends out to a local restaurant. Something they probably very rarely do. They know us well enough to speak slowly and help us understand the words we don't know. The conversation was relaxed enough to even be enjoyable. Except for when I asked their two boys which one was older (mais velho) and they understood it as which was uglier (mais feio). I must be improving because now I'm just being misunderstood, instead of actually saying the wrong word (although I still do that plenty, as well).

Sunday night we were invited to a birthday party for one of Brin's English students. We were out-numbered by 4 Brazilian families. Much of the conversation moved too fast for us to follow. One of them told of a Pepsi advertisement they had seen on the internet. The story was about a boy using Coke cans to stand on so he would be tall enough to reach the Pepsi button on a soda machine. They all got a laugh at it. Brin and I were more amused at the fact that probably none of them have ever actually seen a soda machine in real life.

The Least of These

I was reading the other day in Galatians and something struck me for the first time. In chapter 2 Paul is defending his calling as an apostle. He talks about how he went to Jerusalem and met with the disciples Peter, James and John. At that time the disciples were still focusing on spreading the Gospel to the Jews, and here comes Paul who is preaching to the Gentiles. After talking to him, they decide Paul is legitimate, and they essentially give him their blessing.

Here is where something hit me. Verse 9 and 10:

“They agreed that we should go to the Gentiles, and they to the Jews. All they asked was that we should continue to remember the poor, the very thing I was eager to do.”

Here were the disciples, who had lived with Jesus for 3 years, watching him and listening to his teaching. After talking to Paul they were convinced he was preaching the same Gospel. The thing that concerned them was not some doctrinal point or some issue that they wanted Paul to adhere to. Rather they said only this: remember the poor. The poor?!? What about eternal security? What about works? What about church discipline? To the guys that hung out with Jesus, the defining characteristic of a Christian was how they treated the poor.

To see this spelled out so clearly by the early church leaders has served to confirm some things that have impressed me over the past year. For the first time in my life I live in plain view of poverty. I can’t avoid the brokenness and helplessness and I’m forced to find a place for it in my theology. I don’t have all the answers. I do know, for some reason, this is very important to God. His heart is broken when he sees someone exploited and oppressed by society.

What responsibility do I have in reaching out to these? Can I go on ignoring a problem I know exists, but often seems so distant? Why are Christians more known for their stance against welfare than being actually concerned for the welfare of others? What must I do to distance myself from this label?

The questions remain, but I've been put into a position that I can no longer ignore those questions.

-JTP

so long, farewell

The Simon family left yesterday, the beginning of 3 months of furlough. If their family is going to be in your neighborhood consider inviting them over for a meal. Or you could give Suzanne a Target gift card (so she can experience what I am always pining for), or volunteer to take the kids out for an evening at ChuckECheese (so Caleb can experience what Ava is always raving about). Or grab them for a chat because they have plenty of stories. If you want to keep up with them check out their blog here.

Open Hands

We took the above picture because Brin wanted to document a couple things. The rashes, 3 different kinds, on her arms and hands is just the latest of many skin ailments she has had since our arrival here. But this picture is more about remembering where Brin is in her spirit. Isaiah 42:3 reads, “A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out. In faithfulness he will bring forth justice.” In many ways Brin has felt lately like a bruised reed (a picture comes to mind of a broken reed, doubled over but still alive) or a smoldering wick. John of the Cross wrote about “a dark night of the soul”, a time when a person loses “all the pleasure that they once experienced in their devotional life. This happens because God wants to purify them and move them on to greater heights”.

Identifying what you’re experiencing and then being able to move past it are two different things. Maybe you have had such times in your life; you are tired, lacking passion and motivation for life, struggling with anxiety that won’t loosen its grip. So we do what we are supposed to do: read the Bible and claiming the peace and joy promised us, share our struggles with others asking them to lift us up before our Father. But nothing seems to work. The feelings and emotions, or “pleasures of our devotional life” as John of the Cross puts it, don’t follow. We are left with the same ugly thoughts and problems.

Yesterday I had an especially vivid prayer time for Brin, asking that God would be glorified in what she was going through. And I’m beginning to see that happen and have hopes that in sharing our struggles with you God will be glorified all the more.

In the days since we took the picture Brin has continued to struggle. The rash is gone, but her “dark night” is not. We have, however, experienced some victories. The Word has begun to speak to her once again. Yesterday, a package arrived from a friend back home, it included a bible study for Brin, including DVDs with teaching. Brin was so excited to get it and the topic, living in the Spirit, was just what she needed. This morning she read me a verse that spoke to her from the study:

“We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about the hardships we suffered in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead.”

2 Cor. 1:8,9

“But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God”. In that phrase there is hope for Brin. A purpose for suffering makes the suffering more bearable. Giving glory to God is essentially saying, “look what God is doing”. Sometimes that glory puts us in a place we want to be, sometimes it doesn’t. Regardless of where we are, God wants us to know He has us there for a reason. And that is good enough for us to open our hands to him and say, I trust you.