Cheek this out

It seems Ava's tooth problem never really went away. You may remember her trip to the dentist. We finally took her back to the dentist, expecting to have to pull the tooth. The dentist seemed unconcerned, which didn't alleviate our own concern. The next day Ava developed swelling. The picture really doesn't do it justice. Her cheek was huge. Brin started her on antibiotics and she responded to it right away. Evidently it was an infection, probably beginning when she received the filling. We were glad the tooth did not have to get pulled. Again Ava has shown an incredible resilience. Between her ear infections and now her teeth, we're not sure what to make of her. But again, God has taken care of us. Thanks for your prayers.

Are you going to use your nursing?

Agua Preta.

A small village where we set up "clinic." In the picture you see the Igreja da Vinha our mission works with. This village has no running water (unless you count the river) and no electricity. To have lights for our evening service they pulled electricity from our boat.

PROBABLY.

Before we left for Brazil people back home liked to ask me if I was going to use my knowledge in health care. I assumed I would because, quite simply, it was the only skill I had. Nine months later, I haven’t done a whole lot. Except for dealing with my family’s random infections (currently Ava’s is pitiful, more on that later) and neighbors that stop in for a quick assessment and free medication, my nursing skills have been minimal. I haven’t sutured anyone. That’s good because I don’t know how. I haven’t delivered a baby or set a broken bone. I haven’t done a lick of health education, which is what I really would be up for.

So this past weekend I was enthused to wet my feet. What Josh didn’t talk about in that last post was the “clinics” we set up in each of the river villages we visited. This trip we traveled with Tim, another missionary and also a MD. At each place we went we sent word that there was a doctor available and of course, the people came. We were up to our necks with scabies, worms and back pain; thankfully not literally. I still didn’t do much. I spent most of my time attempting to understand the Portuguese with people who were missing a lot of teeth. I also had to relearn basic medicine. We weren’t dealing with complex cases or people requiring high level of technology, which is what I know. It was the basics, how to treat the most people with what basic medication you have on hand. So between the Portuguese and primitive healthcare, I had a lot to learn. But what I was able to grasp was the need. Many people were just grateful to have someone listen to their health concerns, especially mothers who brought in sick kids. Many people had headaches and back pain but cannot stop working, however intense the pain. They were the ones who were happy just to get a small fistful of ibuprofen. Seriously, that’s how simple it was. And there were stories of people living remotely with somewhat serious problems. At times my mind was stretched attempting to understand their language and my heart pricked as they shared their difficult life. After they were done talking with us, what was super cool is that each of them was brought before God in prayer by a group of visitors from Ohio.

I am often amazed at the basic level to which we interact with Brazilians. We see a need; we attempt to meet it. Praying that they will recognize God’s love for them as we daily live as Disciples of Christ.The Xingu Mission does not have an organized medical ministry yet. All medication and supplies that we use are donated by individuals. If there are those of you working in the healthcare field that have access to samples, outdated equipment, or mass quantities at discounted prices or really anything, it will be put to use. This past weekend we went through a ton of Tylenol, ibuprofen, Chewable Tylenol and ibuprofen, and anti-fungal cream. But really anything is appreciated. You can email me if you have some suggestions or questions.

God of Wonders

Here is a Brazilian pioneer and her daughter.

The hike to remote homes.

For the first time, we rode on the boat along with 4 motorcycles.

Naldo, one of the pastors doing river work, recently went to new area to share the gospel. After only two visits several people had accepted Christ. Last week a work team was here from Ohio and we had planned to take them to this new community to do a service. Our family was able to go along on the 3-day trip…
The community we visited was made up of homesteads. The Brazilian government gives out tracts of land for homesteading, if the family can begin to produce crops or livestock the land becomes theirs. It is a difficult life. The land is usually very remote, often with no electricity or access to roads. This area was no different. It was situated about 3 kilometers off the river and the only roads were for motorbikes. To help with the task of moving our gear, as well as freeing us up to meet with some families farther away, we took 4 motorbikes on the boat.
After we shuttled the people and gear, 8 of us set off to find a family who’s daughter had accepted Christ the last time Naldo visited, and asked him to return to tell her family about Christ. After a stunning ride through rolling Amazon ranchland and old-growth virgin jungle, the road came to an end at a pasture. We spent about 20 minutes hiking around, retracing our steps a few times, searching for the family’s house. I have to admit, it seemed a little surreal, trudging around in the jungle, looking for a house of a family who wanted us to tell them about Jesus.
We finally found it, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. We met the family, and after some small talk, Naldo asked if it was true that they wanted to hear about Jesus (they answered with a nervous yes). Understanding much of what he said, I listened as he explained the importance of a relationship with Christ and not adherence to a certain religion. They agreed to pray to accept Christ (the father, mother and a young girl), we all prayed with them and for them. And then we left, eager to get back before dark and in time for the evening service.Naldo plans to visit as often as he can to continue to teach them and encourage them. I wonder what will ever come of that family. It seems the cards have been stacked against them. Then I remember Naldo’s story. He was a drunk and a troublemaker. After a knife fight where he sustained a wound to the chest, he ran away from his assailant and stumbled into a church. His life has never been the same.

"Wide-open Spacious Living" (2 Cor.6:11 MSG)

Several people have told us that our old house in Tremont is back on the market. It feels like a lifetime ago that we were there and so it really didn’t arouse any cares. Until last night at 2:00 in the morning, I cried over, of all things, my old house. I can’t say if it is the house itself, or my old life of ease and comfort and predictability that caused such agony but it hurt nonetheless.

So this morning I am reading from 2 Cor 6 in The Message. “Staying At Our Post” is the heading. The apostle Paul begs his readers to not waste the life God has called us to and grace He gives. People are watching us as we are “immersed in tears, yet always filled with deep joy; living on handouts, yet enriching many; having nothing, having it all.” And people are watching, I sob as I write this even knowing Marilda is right outside my door and Beto will be arriving any moment. At the moment, I just cannot grasp how I can get past this to go through today, and everyday, freely and expansively. I just cannot wrap my brain around eternity. I am pathetic and I know those feelings are not from God. I think I just need a little time to work through it. We leave tomorrow for 3 days of river work so I hope that’s enough time.

House Guests

After living at the Simon’s house for nearly 9 months without seeing an anaconda, we were understandably disappointed. Because of the proximity to a swampy creek behind their house, Bud says they usually see at least a couple every year, so we had our hopes up.

The Bergen house has a different creature, tarantulas, which Brin has been less excited about encountering. For some reason, they like the higher, dryer ground that the Bergen house is situated on. Not only a month into our stay at the Bergen’s and we’ve met our first Tarantula. It was harmlessly sitting on the side of a tree. But since it was only feet away from the house, we chose to end it’s life.

I suppose if we had to find one, outside on a tree is about the best location you could hope for. It beats some of the other encounters we’ve heard from other missionaries: finding one in a pant leg after pulling up your pants or having one fall off the ceiling onto you while laying in bed.

Brin reacting to the tarantula.

The Jambos are Falling

So we've been in our new digs for a little over a week. The Bergen's house is large and comfortable, but not without it's adjustments. The first night we heard what sounded like the thud of footsteps outside our window. After some investigation we learned it was fruit falling from the trees. It seems our move here has coincided perfectly with jambo season.

Jambos, smaller than an apple and sweet like a strawberry, have been falling ever since from the four large jambo trees. Occasionally neighbors come by asking to pick them, two boys left the other day struggling under the weight of a large shopping bag full the brim with Jambos.


Yesterday, I climbed one of the trees and shook some branches while Ella and Ava held a blanket trying to catch them. We must have looked ridiculous, and the girls were complaining the whole time about the fruit hitting their heads instead of the blanket, but fortunately I don't think anyone saw us. We had heard that Jambos make an excellent crisp. We were not disappointed. I think I'll make another journey up the Jambo tree today, but this time we'll reach perfection because I'm going to buy to a gallon of ice cream to go along with it.

altered self

I've been tagged by my friend Jane to pen some thoughts on myself, so keeping on the subject on change, here is how I find myself altered...

• Something must have changed in my pitters because my imported anti-perspirant doesn’t work as well as it used to. I think Bristol-Myers should do their research in my steamy jungle.

• Once repelled by the thought of being a home schooling mom, I now enjoy it

• I don’t find my worth in my job or my relationships or how great my hair is on any particular day. I am of value because I am a creation of God.

• Being face-to-face with poverty. How it cannot change someone is not of question, the unanswered question is what my role is to combat it.

• Doing much less than what I have been trained in, and in the same breathe, more than what I have been trained in. I once was an RN in a Pediatric ICU now I am a teacher for ESL students.

• My arms are getting nicely toned. Partly because I drive an old Landcruiser with no power anything and often just driving it around town, avoiding the horse drawn trailers, wears me out. It’s an old, tough machine, when we got a single bulb installed to use as an interior light I clapped in delight. Back on the subject of my arms, one day I woke up and noticed how sore my biceps were, after a few moments I recalled carrying 8 kg sugar and flour home from the store the day before.

• Not getting to choose my own friends. There are now 8 North Americans living in my town. Slim-pickens. They are my friends and teammates. And I can see how God orchestrates these relationships for His purpose. And how much better is that than choosing relationships on my own bias.

• I, like my friend Jane, have formed an affinity for mayonnaise. In Brazil we mix it with ketchup (or what they call ketchup) and put it on our pizza and french fries. I also love to eat eggs on pizza as well.

• Treating my family and myself for worms every 3 months. Whether we know we have parasites or not. We assume one of us does.

• Back in my comfortable, controlled environment back in America I would jump or quickly brush off anything I felt crawling on my skin. Now, I just assume it is an ant and ignore it until it starts to tickle me, or discover it is not actually an ant but some other bug.

• Always having people around. It seems that there are always people in my house. Alone time is rare. I have the tiresome feeling that I am always being watched, studied. Whether it is true or not that is how I feel.

Thats it for now, change is inevitable so there will be more to come. Perhaps you've noticed change in me that I cannot verbalize myself or haven't even noticed yet. At any rate...Jill Inman, Kelsie Bergquist, you've been tagged. ~bzp

We'll get this right yet

Call me a glutton for punishment, but we went camping again this weekend. I’m glad we didn’t give up on it after our last experience. This time was much more pleasant. Our group was the only one there this time, and they didn’t have an obnoxious sound system. We were also able to pitch our tent away from the group, adding to our peace and quiet. Here were some highlights to our trip:

• I’m not sure of the science behind it, but I’m sure a full moon 3 degrees from the equator is brighter than back home.

• Ava saying to Brin, “Mom, look at this behind!” while pointing at a beehive. Brin, alone with a group of Brazilians was the only one that could enjoy the moment. She didn’t think it would translate very well.

• Listening to fish splash around in a container, only yards away from our tent, as we fell asleep. They were awaiting their destiny of becoming lunch the next day.

• Watching some guys prepare those same fish the next day by cutting off their fins and gutting them (and then cooking them whole in a sort of soup).

• • 

This is Camping?

Loading the essentials

Lesson #153: camping in Brazil is not like camping back home.

I took Ella and Ava on what I thought would be a relaxing camping trip to the beach. We went with a group from a church here in Altamira. I should have known when a large (I stress “large”) speaker box showed up to be loaded onto the boat (it was brought on a horse drawn cart along with a car battery to power it).

Once at the beach (after an hour long boat ride with music blaring at one end and the monotonous sound of an unmuffled, single cylinder diesel motor banging at the other), I began putting up my tent. As I did so, I noticed the arrival of two other large boats with enough people crammed on board to make the coast guard flip out. By evening the crowd had grown enough that I soon realized this was going to be no quiet getaway.

That evening, I lay in my tent reading a book titled “On Being a Missionary”. The chapter I was ironically reading was talking about how all new missionaries inevitably struggle with some aspect of the culture that just annoys them. As I read, the group next to ours was having a fullblown party. The sound system was cranking and they even had a microphone that someone randomly yelled into. Our group’s sound system was cranked all the more in defiance of our neighbor’s (not unlike some giant, twisted version of dueling banjos). Just outside my tent a crowd had gathered, I’m not sure what they were doing but whatever it was it must have been hilarious. Over all this, I was able to hear some wailing – there was a group of young people singing worship songs and someone was really getting into it. This, or some amalgam thereof, went on pretty much all night.

In spite of this foreign and uncomfortable world, I was able to have a conversation with the pastor. He shared with me about how his father drowned on the river, not that far from where we were. He was a fisherman and he was out by himself. They looked for him for 3 days before they found his body. Through my partial understanding of Portuguese I was able to understand the pain he was sharing with me, and as a result, made a real connection with him.

I’ll never understand the Brazilians’ affection for loud and obnoxious music. But I know that deep down they are the same as me. And I guess that’s why cross-cultural missions works, not because of the differences, but because of the similarities.

Our group's arrival at the beach

I See London, I See France...

Ella has a book that highlights children from around the world and their lifestyles. As Brin and she were reading through it they laughed when they saw the girl from Brazil. For some reason she wore only underwear in the picture. While this was mildly offensive to me since no other child from any country was clothed like that, I have to admit that it is a fairly accurate portrayal of kids in our neighborhood. Brin was amused by how it reminded her of Mia and how easily she has embraced this practice. She prefers her skivvies to just about any other outfit. We usually don’t mind, it just means fewer clothes that need to be washed. If it persists though, it may become a problem as she gets older, but if we’re lucky she’ll end up being highlighted in a book about needy children.

Life moves on...

The last few days we have been able to rest and get caught up on few things. While we enjoyed playing host to several people for the last month or so, it’s been nice to be able to get back into a more normal routine. Here are some of the events we have experienced recently, or will be soon:

• We said goodbye to my parents and sister who have been living with us for the last month.
• We saw Bud and Suzanne add a fourth child to their family (we didn’t literally “see” the event)
• Ava, Ella and I (Josh) will be leaving for an overnight camping at a beach with a youth group from a church here in town. We are praying about getting involved with leading this group as the missionaries (the Hansens) that work with this church are on their way home for furlough.
• Next week we’ll be moving into another family’s home (the Bergens) while they are home on furlough for 3 months.

The Muturao

The Muturao church is the youngest of our churches here in Altamira. Only a few years old, they still don’t have a building, meeting instead in the pastors garage. We visited the church a few weeks ago with my parents. The pastor, after learning that my dad used to be a minister, asked if he wanted to preach. Last night he did just that. And Cleide, who continues to improve her English, translated for the first time. His message was well received and Cleide did a great job translating.

Tomorrow we take my Mom and Dad and Ro to the airport. We’ve had a great time with them for the past month and it will be sad to see them go.

River Stories

Guest blog by Tom Pflederer

Porto De Moz
Porto De Moz is a small city about ten hours by boat north of Altamira, and Josh and I joined a group last week who were going down to visit there. It’s another weird thing to talk about going down to a place that is north, but around here the direction of the river trumps the directions of the rest of the world.

I take a travel book about Brazil with me to read, and I learn about who the bandierantes were before Toyota named Josh’s truck after them. They were Brazil’s first real adventurers, responsible for exploring Brazil’s interior, raping, pillaging, murdering and enslaving most of this country's Indian population and for extending Brazil’s border deep into the territories of the Spanish-speaking countries that now ring the continent to the north and west.

The jungle and forest that line the river are dense and intriguing, full of life, unfamiliar to us, but every landmark along the way long since memorized by the missionaries who travel with us. Indeed, my friend Luke Huber, who first dreamed 30 years ago of taking the Gospel to the 40,000 villages in the Amazon Basin and was known to some of the missionaries on this trip, has also been on this river.

The Amazon Basin covers some 3.6 million square miles, and every missionary down here is full of stories about exploring and surveying and assessing the needs and resources of this immense area. Bud tells me one day of trying to drive six years ago from Altamira to Porto De Moz on a road that runs parallel to the river. He and three friends take off on motorcycles on a trip that should take about six hours if the road really exists.

Six hours brings them to the middle of nowhere. The road has narrowed to a path and finally disappeared to nothing. They are no longer driving their bikes, but lifting them over and through fallen trees and hacking their way through dense jungle. They estimate they are about halfway between the two cities, they have no food or water, and night is falling. They clear a place to sleep and hang hammocks. In the middle of the night, it rains for three hours, and they huddle under a small plastic tarp. They see the eyes of animals peering at them from the woods around them.

They continue the next day, hacking and heaving and hoping, until they finally find a path again. Eventually they come to a house and beg for water, and then a village, where they are invited in and fed. The village has a generator and someone has a TV. They are asked to explain the news that has broken into the regular soap operas that everyone watches. Airplanes are flying into buildings. Why? Bud thinks at first he’s watching some kind of science fiction movie. But the date is September 11, 2001, and Bud has to explain through his own shock that it’s not a movie.

We visit a swamp village, eight or ten houses built on posts above the water, with a boardwalk in front. Families here live their entire lives surrounded by water, fishing, swimming, raising water buffalo, traveling everywhere by canoe. One of the oldest churches our friends have planted is here, built solidly into the row of houses.

I visit the patriarch of this village with three other men. I am introduced as the guy who knew Luke when he was a teenager. The patriarch, Joao Paulo, brightens immediately. It was Luke who first talked to him about Jesus and who brought him a VHF radio from the US that enabled him for the first time in his life to communicate with people in town in an emergency. Does he still have the radio, I ask. No, he says, it died. But he still has the antenna that Luke helped him put up. We embrace for a picture in front of it.

That night we worship together in the little swamp church above the water with Joao Paulo, his children, and grandchildren and neighbors. Afterwards, he pulls from his Bible a prayer card from 1992, showing Luke and Christine and all their children, two years before Luke fell out of the sky in his ultra-light aircraft and went to be with his Lord.

After church, we are invited into the home next door for cafezinho and water buffalo cheese, but I am still thinking about meeting Luke and Joao Paulo someday in a place that is even more beautiful and other-worldly than this village, worshipping the Lord together in one tongue, exploring the wonders of eternity with Jesus.

Filters and Followers

My dad and I just got back from a river trip. We were able to see more of the work that is going on out on the rivers (you’ll hear more from him later). One of the things we did was get a tour of the water filter project. The Xingu Mission has 3 missionary families in the river town of Porto de Moz, about 12 hours downriver from Altamira. One of their ministries is building and delivering bio-filters, which are given to people living on the rivers who have no source of clean water.

The water filters not only solve a practical problem in the lives of these river people, but it also builds a bridge to that community, often leading them to invite us to plant a church there. Our work in many communities that now have churches were first begun with the gift of a water filter.

The filters are built out of concrete. They work in much the same way that God designed groundwater to be purified. Layers of sand and gravel along with bacteria, filter out 95% of the impurities. For about $50, the filters can be built and delivered to a remote family. You can read more about the water filter project on the Xingu Mission website.

airy words

Josh and Tom should be arriving home tomorrow after spending 5 days out on the river. They went with a big group, short on women. I am anxious to hear how the trip went and also anxious to just chat with Josh. Before he left we had one of those rare moments in our marriage where I was discouraged and piled high with rubble and when I needed Josh to rescue me, he couldn't because he was under his own pile of rubble. The rare part is not that I was discouraged, it was that Josh was too. So in my usual way of coping I spent an entire day in bed avoiding anything that might annoy or discourage or frustrate me. I missed a breakfast with a visitor from Canada, lunch with a local pastor and then later that evening our 4th of July party. I was not in the mood for fireworks. Nor God for that matter. I told Him he surely had forgotten me. And also mused to myself that maybe God really did not care, and maybe He is not even listening. I taunted Him to speak. The conversation was not all that different from the one Ava has with my bedroom wall when I send her to my room for some discipline. In hopes of staving off punishment, Ava turns her back to me and tells the wall, "I am sorry. I didn't know. My mom is being mean to punish me because I am sorry now." Ava knows she's not talking to the wall, the words are for my benefit. So even if I had ugly thoughts, I knew all along, yes God is listening and yes, He cares. And I am forced to allow Him to heal my broken heart because Josh certainly cannot. This is the way it should be, wouldn't you say? But, wow is it painful.

A Long Distance Birthday

Our girls were very excited to wish their cousin Maci, whom they've never met, a happy 2nd birthday. Maci and her sister Ana were adopted from Ethiopia by my sister Sonya about a month after we left for Brazil. Below is a picture of Maci. You can check out their story at their blog.

-JTP

White-water Rafting

Guest blog by Tom Pflederer
Suzanne, the missionary wife who lives next door, walks by one day as I sit reading under the veranda. We engage in brief conversation about her life in this town for the last 12 years. Like lots of people who live here, she also wants to know what we think of Brazil.

We are still noticing lots of little things that are different. Buying milk in a bag. Hiring a man to mow the entire yard with a weed whacker (It took him two days.) Paying a $1.50 for a haircut.

Doing church is a little different here. Most obvious, of course, is the steep learning curve to really be able to communicate in Portuguese about spiritual things. On a of couple occasions someone interprets for us at church, so we get a clue what’s going on. But last Sunday I had only Josh—who is still struggling with basic conversation—to rely on. At the end of the sermon, he leaned over to me and said, The pastor made four points, of which I understood none.

My working hypothesis about animals in church is that when dogs run through, they are chased out, but cats seem to be allowed to stay, although it may also be related to whether you have an actual building for your church or you meet in your garage. At a village service on our river boat trip, a gecko dropped out of the rafters onto my shoulder and, before I could even react, hopped off and away. Children wander in and out. People sometimes appear to be having side conservations during the sermon.

But there is a level of freedom and expression and passion that is deep and moving during the worship and prayer time. Interpretive dancers are usually a part of the worship team up front. Everyone of every age seems to be completely involved, often openly weeping, singing with great enthusiasm, eyes closed, swaying to the music. People often respond to the preaching with Amen’s and tears and coming forward at the end of the service.

On our boat trip, as we arrived at the little village of Vila Nova, we saw a passenger boat already parked on the banks. We learned that 20 – 25 people had come from Vitoria, a town about an hour down-river where there is already an established church. In fact, they had not only come, but had brought with them a worship team and, at considerable inconvenience, a sound system, complete with several microphones, a sound board, and a couple of huge speakers. By the time we arrived, they were already set up and practicing.

It was not until the service was over and they were packing up in the dark to leave for home that I began to catch some perspective on what we had experienced. I thought this little group of believers had done something really special, coming all this way to present an evangelistic program at this village, and I thought we ought to go and thank them. Brin said it’s not necessary, that they would not understand why they were being thanked. They were only doing what every evangelical church in this area does all the time. It's part of their genetic code.

Over and over, once or twice or three times a month, at their own initiative, by boat, by car, by motorbike, in the back of a truck, the believers in these little churches pack up and go. If someone knows someone who is the only believer in some village an hour away, they help them start a cell group. In cell groups, people hear the Gospel for the first time and believe. The cell group invites a church to hold evangelistic services in their village. Others believe, other cell groups are started, the cell groups come together to become a church, and the pattern repeats itself.

I ask Suzanne if she has any desire to move back to the US. She pauses, and then comes and sits down. Her eyes sparkle in the Amazon sunlight. Ministry in the US, she says, is like swimming in the community pool. Every day here is like going white-water rafting. She smiles. I’ll stay, she says.

A Frontier Wedding

Guest blog by Tom Pflederer

Altamira is a frontier town—isolated, undeveloped, surrounded by tens of thousands of square miles of mostly unexplored and sparsely inhabited land. Estimates of the population of this city run from 40,000 to 70,000. Bud estimates about 15% of the people are wealthy (by Brazilian standards), another 15% middle class, and the rest poor.

Alcoholism and sexual license are common. Marriage is not valued, babies are born out of wedlock, and there is a high degree of unfaithfulness. It is common for a 14 or 15 year old girl to move in with a man who is ten or more years older. The unemployment rate is high, those who do work usually just find day jobs, and most people are just trying to survive from day to day.

Somehow the community seems to work at least at some level. People from the outlying areas on the river and by road bring their produce to market on Saturdays and Sundays, by canoe, by horse and cart, hoping to barter for what they need or to come home with a few reias for medicine or school supplies. The family structure is strong. A typical household includes multiple generations, with the home divided into several small “apartments.” Children born to single parents are absorbed into the family community and raised by grandparents. The two or three people in a household who do have jobs try to support the rest of the family.

Rick, the mission director, tells me the reason people don’t get legally married is complex. First, it is culturally acceptable not to marry. Second, it’s expensive (a marriage license costs 250 reias—about $150.) Third, many people are functionally illiterate, uninformed about the law, and lack the relationships to find out basic information.

For example, how do you find out what office to go to to get a marriage license if you can’t read and have never known anyone who was legally married? Rick goes off on a little tangent, explaining that poverty goes far deeper than not having the basic needs for life. It is also about not having information and not knowing enough people who can give it to you. Rick says the most basic definition of poverty involves not a lack of things but a lack of relationships (or connections).

But following Jesus introduces new ideas into this frontier town. Men stop spending the little money they have on cigarettes and alcohol and begin to try to provide for their families. People are introduced to new teaching that honors marriage and to a community that supports it. They meet people who share information that they never knew before. The mission keeps a collection of old wedding dresses donated by people in the US and sometimes provides financial help to pay for the marriage license.

By far the most common kind of wedding in this town is the mass wedding of people who have been living together, become Christians, and want to become legally married. Women rummage through the dresses, men find suits to wear, and the couples pool their money to buy one simple wedding cake. Last night Connie and I had the privilege of attending such a wedding of four couples. One of the couples are the parents of Angelica, the girl who works for Bud and Suzanne. I took a little teasing from my son for attending the wedding of people I did not know and in a language I did not understand. But for me it was deeply meaningful to see this evidence of changed lives first hand.

Rick says he knows of only about four couples in their twelve years in this town who have actually “done it right”—actually getting married before living together. Still, the church is slowly developing an alternative culture which may eventually set the standard.

On the way home, Brin, who celebrated her own twelfth anniversary just two weeks ago, says the mass wedding was particularly sentimental for her. A bunch of years ago she sent her own wedding dress to Bud and Suzanne to be part of the collection. Last night, Angelica’s mother was wearing it.

Anti-Dentite No More

Ava did end up visiting a dentist after some strange spots were discovered on her back teeth. Unlike the Brazilians, who still do not have a handle on preventive dentistry, we brought Ava to the dentist armed with her Usborne book "Going to the Dentist" that she recently received from family back home. Good timing. She also had both a mom and Grandma cheering her on. Such a contrast to locals who in all likelihood would not have even taken their child to the dentist until the tooth require pulling and they certainly would not prep their child by reading about dentists for two nights prior. I guess we still lacked a little teaching because when she climbed into the seat she laid on her belly, pointed her chin to the ceiling and opened her mouth expectantly to the dentist. She ended up needing two filling, she has my teeth, poor child. One was filled on this visit and we'll go back on Monday for the second filling. And I am sure we will be bringing her book again. ~Brin

So you think you know the Amazon...

We have been on a river trip with about 20 people for the last three days, participating in services in two river villages. Here’s a true-false test covering some of the things, in no particular order, that we’ve learned in the last few days.

1. The Amazon River has ten tributaries that are larger than the Mississippi.

2. You shouldn’t pee in the Amazon, because a microscopic organism that senses warmth will swim into your urinary tract, take up residence, and reproduce. It can only be a removed by surgery.

3. Bud and Suzanne have been struggling against ants in their kitchen for 12 years.

4. The Trans-Amazon highway is mostly gravel.

5. The Trans-Amazon highway is best in the areas where it is paved.

6. You should shuffle your feet when you’re walking through shallow water, because you might step on a sting ray. That’s the most common way people get stung.

7. Josh and Brin’s kids always wear seat belts and use children’s car seats, just like in the US.

8. Piranhas are the most dangerous predators in the Amazon River.

9. The Brazilian government has built schools in many river villages.

10. Cleide, the 14 year old girl who helps Brin with the kids, earns the equivalent of about a dollar an hour.

Answers:

1. True, according to Bud. It’s hard to fathom the size and scope of this river system and the logistics of living and moving from one place to another. I brought Josh a map of the entire Amazon River system, thinking it might be helpful. I might as well have brought him a map of the solar system. Bud has a large map on his wall of the state of Para, where he lives, just one of many Brazilian states and South American countries where the Amazon stretches. He drew a circle with his finger a couple inches around the town where they live, to indicate the most distant villages where they work. These villages, he says, are about a three day boat ride away on the Xingu River, one of the large tributaries, where they live. I doubt that Josh will need my map very often.

2. False. Bud laughs. That’s an urban legend, he says, even if the doctor on Oprah thinks he true. He has lived here for 12 years and has never heard of this malady. No-one—except maybe Connie and me, who are still not sure what to think about Bud—thinks twice about peeing in the river.

3. False. Josh and Brin are still fighting the battle mightily against all sorts of insects in their house, but with ants, at least, Bud and Suzanne have mostly given up. It’s probably the difference between being here seven months as opposed to being here 12 years.

4. False. Yes, I lied to you in an earlier update, before I had actually been on it. At least around Altamira, the Trans-Amazon highway is mostly red dirt, graded and packed. We have traveled an hour or two on the highway in each direction and saw very little gravel.

5. False. On one stretch near Altamira, the highway is paved. A large part of the paved area is so full of pot holes, however, that it is actually more treacherous than the packed dirt.

6. True, according the people here. We did not see any sting rays on our river trip, but apparently they are commonly seen in the shallow water in the evening, where they lie flat against the bottom and sometimes are partly covered by sand.

7. Not a chance. There is not a belt in sight in the Bandierante. Children’s car seats? Are you kidding? Another perspective is Xingu Mission’s vehicle, used most commonly for moving lots of people. It’s is a one-ton truck with sides, seats and a covering over the bed, capable of hauling an enormous number of passengers, depending on their ability to tolerate discomfort. But seat belts and child safety seats seem to be a long way off.

8. Trick question, but the best answer is false. How can you say a fish that is capable of ganging up with its friends and stripping the flesh off a cow in 90 seconds is not dangerous? But apparently they are not interested in humans as long as long as they have other options for food. They are more inclined to eat things that are smaller than themselves. But when the river begins to recede after the rainy season and leaves pools of water behind, they probably aren’t great places to go swimming. The anacondas and stingrays are much more feared by the locals.

9. True. We walked through such a school in one of the villages we visited on our river trip. The building was very basic, with three classrooms—pre to first, second to fourth, and fifth to eighth—desks in a circle around the wall, a teacher’s desk in a corner. Almost nothing on the walls, no shelves, no electricity, cement walls and floors. But the real problem is teachers, who are paid so little that many schools really do not function with any consistency or quality. Lots of kids do not go past fourth grade, others not past eighth grade. The best students have to move into Altamira and live with relatives in order to go to high school.

10. True. She just got a raise from about fifty cents an hour. This wage makes her by far one of the highwst paid 14 year olds in the city, placing her among a very small percentage of people of any age who actually has a regular job with a regular paycheck. She uses the money to help provide for her mother, who is partly disabled.

-glogged by Tom