It was totally rad!
We had no bangs to do the big bang thing with so we went with the big side pony tail!
And the blue eye shadow!
Valley Girl!
Jungle Mom, vintage photo @ 1981
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
Wicked Awesome!
My youngest daughter recently attended a Retro 80's Youth Group Party. We had fun getting her ready. It brought back so many memories of my own teen years.
Saturday, April 02, 2011
The Devil's Brew
(My husband's coffee maker. We call it THE HOLY OF HOLIES!)What do church history and coffee have in common, you ask?
In her aptly titled book, "Coffee," Claudia Rosen explains that 16th-century priests wanted Pope Clement VIII to ban "the devil's drink." They insisted that Satan had forbidden his followers--Muslims--from drinking wine because it was used in Holy Communion. Instead, the devil provided this "hellish black brew".
The elixir made from coffee beans does in fact have a long history in Islamic regions.
--African tribes mixed the crushed beans with animal fat and molded them into balls to eat as a stimulant before battle.
--Arabs made the first hot coffee beverage, in 1000 A.D.
--Dervishes--mystic devotees of Islam's Sufi sect--consumed coffee at all-night ceremonies as fuel for achieving religious ecstasy.
--Arabs also invented the ibrik, or coffee broiler.
--As coffee lost it's strictly religious significance, the first coffee houses appeared in Mecca.
Clemente VIII,wisely, decided to give it a taste test!
"Why, this Satan's drink is so delicious," he declared, "that it would be a pity to let the infidels have exclusive use of it. We shall cheat Satan by baptizing it."
And so, I am now able to enjoy my coffee, which my husband makes and serves me each morning. Now that's romantic!
My favorite coffee is a Venezuelan blend. Cafe Madrid! We are out of it now, but are substituting with a Brazilian coffee we purchased here. My son in law recently left us some great Costa Rican coffee too.
Do you drink coffee? How much and how often? Any favorite blend?
Sunday, March 27, 2011
The Three Grands
Grandchildren are God's way of
compensating us for growing old.
.Mary H. Waldrip
"Becoming a grandmother is wonderful. One moment
you're just a mother. The next you are all-wise and
prehistoric."
you're just a mother. The next you are all-wise and
prehistoric."
Friday, March 25, 2011
The Preacher's Wife
I was blessed to be born into a family full of pastors, most of whom were Baptist preachers. This has been normal for me my entire life. I have been related to Baptist preachers in just about every familial relationship possible.
When I was born, I was born to the titles of;
The Preacher's great grand daughter
The Preacher's grand daughter
The Preacher's niece.
The Preacher's cousin.
Upon my father's ordination, I also became,
The Preacher's daughter.
Later when I married, I gained the titles,
The Preacher's wife
The Preacher's sister-in-law.
When my daughter married , I became,
The Preacher's mother-in-law.
My son is not ordained yet, but he is already preaching, so I am also now,
The Preacher's mother.
I have several nephews also in school who are preparing for the ministry and so I have become,
The Preacher's aunt.
However, since we are independent Baptist, the one title I will never have is,
THE PREACHER!
Which probably explains why I have this blog...
When I was born, I was born to the titles of;
The Preacher's great grand daughter
The Preacher's grand daughter
The Preacher's niece.
The Preacher's cousin.
Upon my father's ordination, I also became,
The Preacher's daughter.
Later when I married, I gained the titles,
The Preacher's wife
The Preacher's sister-in-law.
When my daughter married , I became,
The Preacher's mother-in-law.
My son is not ordained yet, but he is already preaching, so I am also now,
The Preacher's mother.
I have several nephews also in school who are preparing for the ministry and so I have become,
The Preacher's aunt.
However, since we are independent Baptist, the one title I will never have is,
THE PREACHER!
Which probably explains why I have this blog...
Monday, March 21, 2011
Here we go again...
My laptop died a few months back in a freak drowning accident involving a chimney, and, no, I don't make this stuff up! The edited manuscript of my book was irretrievable from the hard drive. This is discouraging, to say the very least but I have decided it must mean that God saw need for a lot more editing to be done on this book. Three years ago, this was fun, now it is getting difficult to remain excited about writing my story. Again.
But I am doing it, again. I have committed to write 1000 words per day, 6 days a week. I may adjust that down to 5 days a week as my schedule with church ministry becomes more demanding. I do feel more liberty to make some changes in format this time around and I suppose it is best to not think of the lost manuscript as wasted or lost time. It was a valuable experience and gave me a chance to grow in my writing style, find my voice, and work on my craft. So it is not truly a disaster but a learning process.
I decided to share a few paragraphs of the opening of a new chapter I am working on at the moment.
Your feedback is welcome!
But I am doing it, again. I have committed to write 1000 words per day, 6 days a week. I may adjust that down to 5 days a week as my schedule with church ministry becomes more demanding. I do feel more liberty to make some changes in format this time around and I suppose it is best to not think of the lost manuscript as wasted or lost time. It was a valuable experience and gave me a chance to grow in my writing style, find my voice, and work on my craft. So it is not truly a disaster but a learning process.
I decided to share a few paragraphs of the opening of a new chapter I am working on at the moment.
Your feedback is welcome!
How I Became the Village Idiot
The weight of the baby sitting on my hip grew more uncomfortable. I turned and looked towards the path leading from the grass air strip into the jungle. I could still see the two bright heads of my son and daughter bobbing along amidst a crowd of dark haired Indians as they excitedly followed the villagers to the river bank.
My eyes returned to the child in my arms and to my oldest daughter, Jackie, as she stood loyally by my side, holding the diaper bag and other baby supplies. She was slapping at the gnats buzzing around her neck and arms, standing upon one small foot at a time so that the other was free to rub away the annoying gnats biting on her ankles. I blew light puffs of air on to my sleeping baby’s face, trying to keep the gnats from waking her.
My husband was half in, half out, of the small Cessna MAF aircraft which had brought us here. I could hear his conversation with the American missionary pilot, Steve Robinson, arranging the date for our next flight, our next contact with the outside world. He grabbed a few bulky bags from the ground and herded us to the side of the air strip as the plane taxied off to return to its base in Puerto Ayacucho. My husband never looked back at the plane, but began trotting eagerly off down the path to join the others. With one last look, I saw the pilot dip his wings in a salutary wave.
The dirt path led us towards the rim of jungle on the bank of the Chajura River where a dugout canoe awaited us. It was surprisingly cooler, though still humid, under the jungle trees. I could hear the sound of the river, the sound of rapids above the quiet voices of the Ye’kwana Indians. I could hear my own children speaking in English to one another. The closer we came to the bank, I saw that it was muddy from a recent rain, how was I going to climb down this bank with a baby in my arms?
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
CSI:Jungle
The Ye'kwana people are very superstitious, as are many tribal people. The stories are their way to explain the unknown. Some of the beliefs are expected and one can understand why the have the belief. Others are not so easily comprehended and one has to wait until it makes sense to you, or someone in the tribe can reveal it to you in a way that a western mind can grasp. Whichever comes first.
One thing that seems universal among the tribes, is that death is never from a natural cause. Whether the death is of a new born or elder, the death was inevitably caused by witchcraft. You can explain that the baby died from dehydration caused by vomiting and diarrhea and they will believe you. They also will set out to discover WHO caused the curse of sickness to be placed upon the child, or the elder, or the healthy young man who dies from malaria complications. Someone sent a curse.
And that is when things get interesting! There are so many ways to go about discovering the murderer. Many tests to run, much evidence to study. Many, many hours of discussions around the evening fires. Eventually, it will be discovered.
We once lost a man to yellow fever. He had been very healthy until his bout with the fever. He died one night, quite suddenly. The family was devastated and it was all complicated by the fact that he was from another village. A village where there was a very powerful witch doctor related to the man. This could not be good.
The witch doctor decided there was only one way to determine the killer. The dead man's finger was cut off of the corpse and placed in a kettle of water hung over the cooking fire. A representative of each clan was called to sit in a circle around the fire. As the water began to boil, the severed finger of the dead man began to spin and tumble. This was watched very closely and with baited breath!
Finally, the water boiled off and the finger came to rest on the bottom of the pot. NOW one could clearly see who was guilty for cursing the dead man by sending the yellow fever, for the finger was pointing to the guilty party! Not the actual person, but a member of the clan. NOW the witch doctor would know which village to seek for revenge, which family was the perpetrator. He would be very busy!
The representative of the clan was not guilty as she had married into our clan many years before and could not have been involved, but she was shamed!
The next day the shortwave radio crackled with the news of the results of the finger test. Many denials, many threats, but everyone felt so much better knowing that the yellow fever was sent as a curse and unless they had an enemy, they could relax about becoming sick.
The clan that had been blamed was angered greatly by this accusation, so they requested another test. This required a family member to travel to their village to be present. Interestingly enough, I heard that this test revealed the same guilty party! So another test was to be done. This process could go on for years much as our court system allows for appeals.
Eventually, the family of the dead one will lose interest in the pursuit, send a few hexes out to pay back the murderers, and move on. The anger of the accused will slowly die down, and they will move on. It is all part of the way they deal with their grief. They need to be able to transfer their emotions to another subject in order to get through their days. If it were a Sanema, it would be a very different story as this could be traced back for generations! The family might decide to wait another generation or two before seeking revenge. But rest assured, revenge would be sought!
I witnessed many interesting procedures used in the jungle to determine the guilty parties. I should probably offer my services to the police as an expert to advise the investigators! I have observed how to examine the placenta to determine the biological father of a new born, what is used in a 'love potion', how to curse someone just by using their foot print, and other handy information.
I was even trusted with the evidence and was once asked to freeze the finger of a dead man so that his family could walk over from their village for the boiling finger test...
So, did I, or didn't I ?????
One thing that seems universal among the tribes, is that death is never from a natural cause. Whether the death is of a new born or elder, the death was inevitably caused by witchcraft. You can explain that the baby died from dehydration caused by vomiting and diarrhea and they will believe you. They also will set out to discover WHO caused the curse of sickness to be placed upon the child, or the elder, or the healthy young man who dies from malaria complications. Someone sent a curse.
And that is when things get interesting! There are so many ways to go about discovering the murderer. Many tests to run, much evidence to study. Many, many hours of discussions around the evening fires. Eventually, it will be discovered.
We once lost a man to yellow fever. He had been very healthy until his bout with the fever. He died one night, quite suddenly. The family was devastated and it was all complicated by the fact that he was from another village. A village where there was a very powerful witch doctor related to the man. This could not be good.
The witch doctor decided there was only one way to determine the killer. The dead man's finger was cut off of the corpse and placed in a kettle of water hung over the cooking fire. A representative of each clan was called to sit in a circle around the fire. As the water began to boil, the severed finger of the dead man began to spin and tumble. This was watched very closely and with baited breath!
Finally, the water boiled off and the finger came to rest on the bottom of the pot. NOW one could clearly see who was guilty for cursing the dead man by sending the yellow fever, for the finger was pointing to the guilty party! Not the actual person, but a member of the clan. NOW the witch doctor would know which village to seek for revenge, which family was the perpetrator. He would be very busy!
The representative of the clan was not guilty as she had married into our clan many years before and could not have been involved, but she was shamed!
The next day the shortwave radio crackled with the news of the results of the finger test. Many denials, many threats, but everyone felt so much better knowing that the yellow fever was sent as a curse and unless they had an enemy, they could relax about becoming sick.
The clan that had been blamed was angered greatly by this accusation, so they requested another test. This required a family member to travel to their village to be present. Interestingly enough, I heard that this test revealed the same guilty party! So another test was to be done. This process could go on for years much as our court system allows for appeals.
Eventually, the family of the dead one will lose interest in the pursuit, send a few hexes out to pay back the murderers, and move on. The anger of the accused will slowly die down, and they will move on. It is all part of the way they deal with their grief. They need to be able to transfer their emotions to another subject in order to get through their days. If it were a Sanema, it would be a very different story as this could be traced back for generations! The family might decide to wait another generation or two before seeking revenge. But rest assured, revenge would be sought!
I witnessed many interesting procedures used in the jungle to determine the guilty parties. I should probably offer my services to the police as an expert to advise the investigators! I have observed how to examine the placenta to determine the biological father of a new born, what is used in a 'love potion', how to curse someone just by using their foot print, and other handy information.
I was even trusted with the evidence and was once asked to freeze the finger of a dead man so that his family could walk over from their village for the boiling finger test...
So, did I, or didn't I ?????
Monday, March 14, 2011
One Degree of Seperation
Kind of cool ! (even if I am not a fan of the man)
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Blood, Sweat, and Tears!
By Rita VernoyIf anyone asked me for my opinion (like I'd wait to be asked!) on what it takes to be a career missionary, I would answer, "Blood, sweat and tears!" It takes years to learn a language and a culture well. A language is picked up long before the culture is truly understood. In most cases, the missionary can attend a language school to learn a rudimentary knowledge of the language, but there is no classroom to learn the culture. When learning a tribal language, one must become childlike and follow people around and try to imitate sounds without a clue as to their meaning. Eventually, one will begin to hear the different individual sounds and can transcribe,well, that's another whole story! It is much more time-consuming and the culture, of course, is totally alien to the western mind.
READ MORE HERE!
Friday, March 11, 2011
Being a Missionary is not my Real Job!
Thoughts for Missionary Wives
I am often asked what is a typical day like living on the mission field . It is a very hard question to answer. You must understand that every circumstance is different. The missionary's schedule will be dictated by the culture in which he works, the level of his language skills, the ministry role in which he has been placed, and even the missionary's personality.
Our days in the jungle were completely different than our days here in Paraguay. Both were full of ministry but ministering to our flock was different there than it will be here. We do not do any medical work here, we do not need to do translation work, but we still have a ministry.
A common misconception some people hold is in regards to what the role of the missionary wife should be. Wives on the mission field do indeed serve in various capacities, but their ministries will be different depending on several factors. How many children are in the home? Does she have small children? Does she need to home school the children? What are her living conditions? (Carrying water, cooking with fire wood, hand washing laundry do take time!)What help does her husband require of her? Her ministry will be ever changing as the dynamics of her home change.
My job is to be the wife my husband needs, finish raising our children yet at home, which includes home schooling them, and if my husband needs me to serve in a capacity of ministry, I will do that as well. But, in my case, I am only a woman married to a missionary. Being a missionary is not my real job! I do not get paid to be a missionary nor do I punch a time clock. I am a stay at home wife and mother and I happen to live on the mission field.
As a child of God I do feel required to take part in christian service as is every other Christian where ever they may live. I have the privilege of enjoying my life as the wife of a missionary and I also feel fulfilled in my role as wife and mother. Serving my Lord on the mission field is just the icing on the cake!
I would like to be able to instruct younger missionary wives as to the role which they play on the field. Every woman is different and married to a different man. Every ministry will ask different things of different people, but the missionary wife must never feel guilty for putting her time and energy first into her family.
Some families are able to find adequate education for their children on the field and I am not assuming to know what may be best for another family, but even if your children are enrolled in a school your job as a wife and mother will still require much time. Some woman even need to have outside interests and ministry will fulfill this for her, but in balance. This time away from the home duties may allow you to came back refreshed.
The work of a home maker seems to always be more time consuming in third world countries. We do not have the option of packaged foods, fast foods, we do not have central air and heat to keep dust out of the home. We sometimes lack time saving appliances commonly found in the american home. Our electricity and water go out often which requires more work. Buying groceries and other supplies takes much more time as we do not have the convenience of a Super Wal-Mart with one stop shopping. Even paying bills takes a lot of time. We can not do it online or even mail in a check, we have to go stand in several lines to pay each one. Of course, that is after standing in line at the bank to change our money in order to pay the bills, all the while watching our backs to make sure we will not be robbed as we leave the bank, which happened to a lady here just a few weeks ago, shot dead in the parking lot for $2000 US Dollars. Sometimes our homes and cars are robbed and we have gun shots in the night.
How many times have I seen women on the mission field break under the pressure she feels to perform more than she is capable of! This often leads to depression and even leaving the mission field. Perhaps, if the missionary wife would relax a bit and give herself the opportunity to be 'just another woman' this would not happen so often. Remember you are under extra stress just dealing with life in a new culture and and language.
To the younger wives I would remind you that your children will grow up and you will have more time available for ministry then. Never forget your people are observing you and the best testimony is for you to show them a Christian woman who is at peace and content.
I have known phenomenal women who were able to do it all! Sadly, I have known many who gave up, not feeling adequate to the job they assumed others expected of them. Often times this pressure comes from well meaning folks stateside who somehow think the wife of a missionary should be capable of more than any other woman. A Christian Super Woman with special powers! Personally, I think being able to sleep through gun shots flying over your roof is a Super Power! Some even think that the wife is an employee of the mission, which may be the case for some, but not all.
So dear younger missionary wife, don't forget to enjoy your life. Don't forget to be available to your husband as a wife, not an employee, put your best time and effort into your children, and serve God first at home. Remember you also need time to study and promote your own intellectual and spiritual growth as this will only serve you in your capacity as a counselor to others. And you will be a counselor!
God will always provide the right ministry for you that will not be more than you can handle. If you are stressing out, feeling pressured to perform, loosing joy in your marriage, or do not have control of your home and yet still try to be involved in ministry outside of the home, you are doing too much.
God does not want His children to serve out of duty alone but with a heart of joy. Service to Him will never require you to abandon your first calling to the home. If this is the case for you, perhaps you need to step back and re-evaluate what you are doing and where you are expending most of your energy. Plan a little time for relaxation and fun each and every day, it will only make you a better person.
Maybe you need a hobby... might I suggest blogging?
I am often asked what is a typical day like living on the mission field . It is a very hard question to answer. You must understand that every circumstance is different. The missionary's schedule will be dictated by the culture in which he works, the level of his language skills, the ministry role in which he has been placed, and even the missionary's personality.
Our days in the jungle were completely different than our days here in Paraguay. Both were full of ministry but ministering to our flock was different there than it will be here. We do not do any medical work here, we do not need to do translation work, but we still have a ministry.
A common misconception some people hold is in regards to what the role of the missionary wife should be. Wives on the mission field do indeed serve in various capacities, but their ministries will be different depending on several factors. How many children are in the home? Does she have small children? Does she need to home school the children? What are her living conditions? (Carrying water, cooking with fire wood, hand washing laundry do take time!)What help does her husband require of her? Her ministry will be ever changing as the dynamics of her home change.
My job is to be the wife my husband needs, finish raising our children yet at home, which includes home schooling them, and if my husband needs me to serve in a capacity of ministry, I will do that as well. But, in my case, I am only a woman married to a missionary. Being a missionary is not my real job! I do not get paid to be a missionary nor do I punch a time clock. I am a stay at home wife and mother and I happen to live on the mission field.
As a child of God I do feel required to take part in christian service as is every other Christian where ever they may live. I have the privilege of enjoying my life as the wife of a missionary and I also feel fulfilled in my role as wife and mother. Serving my Lord on the mission field is just the icing on the cake!
I would like to be able to instruct younger missionary wives as to the role which they play on the field. Every woman is different and married to a different man. Every ministry will ask different things of different people, but the missionary wife must never feel guilty for putting her time and energy first into her family.
Some families are able to find adequate education for their children on the field and I am not assuming to know what may be best for another family, but even if your children are enrolled in a school your job as a wife and mother will still require much time. Some woman even need to have outside interests and ministry will fulfill this for her, but in balance. This time away from the home duties may allow you to came back refreshed.
The work of a home maker seems to always be more time consuming in third world countries. We do not have the option of packaged foods, fast foods, we do not have central air and heat to keep dust out of the home. We sometimes lack time saving appliances commonly found in the american home. Our electricity and water go out often which requires more work. Buying groceries and other supplies takes much more time as we do not have the convenience of a Super Wal-Mart with one stop shopping. Even paying bills takes a lot of time. We can not do it online or even mail in a check, we have to go stand in several lines to pay each one. Of course, that is after standing in line at the bank to change our money in order to pay the bills, all the while watching our backs to make sure we will not be robbed as we leave the bank, which happened to a lady here just a few weeks ago, shot dead in the parking lot for $2000 US Dollars. Sometimes our homes and cars are robbed and we have gun shots in the night.
How many times have I seen women on the mission field break under the pressure she feels to perform more than she is capable of! This often leads to depression and even leaving the mission field. Perhaps, if the missionary wife would relax a bit and give herself the opportunity to be 'just another woman' this would not happen so often. Remember you are under extra stress just dealing with life in a new culture and and language.
To the younger wives I would remind you that your children will grow up and you will have more time available for ministry then. Never forget your people are observing you and the best testimony is for you to show them a Christian woman who is at peace and content.
I have known phenomenal women who were able to do it all! Sadly, I have known many who gave up, not feeling adequate to the job they assumed others expected of them. Often times this pressure comes from well meaning folks stateside who somehow think the wife of a missionary should be capable of more than any other woman. A Christian Super Woman with special powers! Personally, I think being able to sleep through gun shots flying over your roof is a Super Power! Some even think that the wife is an employee of the mission, which may be the case for some, but not all.
So dear younger missionary wife, don't forget to enjoy your life. Don't forget to be available to your husband as a wife, not an employee, put your best time and effort into your children, and serve God first at home. Remember you also need time to study and promote your own intellectual and spiritual growth as this will only serve you in your capacity as a counselor to others. And you will be a counselor!
God will always provide the right ministry for you that will not be more than you can handle. If you are stressing out, feeling pressured to perform, loosing joy in your marriage, or do not have control of your home and yet still try to be involved in ministry outside of the home, you are doing too much.
God does not want His children to serve out of duty alone but with a heart of joy. Service to Him will never require you to abandon your first calling to the home. If this is the case for you, perhaps you need to step back and re-evaluate what you are doing and where you are expending most of your energy. Plan a little time for relaxation and fun each and every day, it will only make you a better person.
Maybe you need a hobby... might I suggest blogging?
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
Beware!
Jungle Mom had just returned to her home from an evening of church services, when she was startled by an intruder. She caught the manin the act of robbing her home of its valuables and yelled: 'Stop! Acts 2:38( Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins,)
The burglar stopped in his tracks. Jungle Mom calmly called the police and explained what she had done.
As the officer cuffed the man to take him in, he asked the burglar: 'Why did you just stand there? All the old lady did was yell a scripture to you.'
As the officer cuffed the man to take him in, he asked the burglar: 'Why did you just stand there? All the old lady did was yell a scripture to you.'
'Scripture?' replied the burglar. 'She said she had an Ax and Two 38s!'
Monday, March 07, 2011
Feeling a little cranky!
"...if I die suddenly, my gravestone might appropriately offer this insight into my departure: "God got tired." I require lots of work."
— Beth Moore (Believing God)
It has been a rough patch we have been growing through lately. No one thing in particular, just a lot of little things that seem to add up and become a bit overwhelming.
For instnace, this weekend we were robbed for the second time in a month. The first breakin was thwarted after a window was broken and the alarm sounded which alerted all the neighbors. We continue to have random gun shots fired around our neighborhood and often within feet of our house. Usually these are guards fireing warning shots at intruders but it is unnerving to have guns shooting off across the street in the middle of the night and then be responded by another gun behind the house. Or house alarms going off for hours at a time. Not condusive to sleep.
Saturday night our son in law left his car with us as my husband took him to catch a midnight bus to another city where he was preaching Sunday morning. When we awoke Sunday morning we discovered his van had been broken into, destroying the consul and a window. The van was parked a few feet away from my daughter's window. All of his electonics, along with our garage remotes, and theirs, were taken as well as a GPS and other items with his address. This meant Jackie and the grand babies were home alone and the theives had their remote and address. So... the day was spent changing locks and securing the two homes which was made more difficult being a Sunday and most stores are closed.
It also means the thief was walking around our bedroom windows as we found evidence of their having been in the back yard as well as the front. I don't like that.
So Jackie and the girls are here with us for now. Brian is in Luque and has a bad virus (fever, vomiting) and is not up for the bus trip home yet. In the mean time, we are dealing with the car insurance issues.
When it rains, it pours! But God is always faithful!
"In God have I put my trust: I will not be afraid what man can do unto me." - Psalm 56:11
— Beth Moore (Believing God)
It has been a rough patch we have been growing through lately. No one thing in particular, just a lot of little things that seem to add up and become a bit overwhelming.
For instnace, this weekend we were robbed for the second time in a month. The first breakin was thwarted after a window was broken and the alarm sounded which alerted all the neighbors. We continue to have random gun shots fired around our neighborhood and often within feet of our house. Usually these are guards fireing warning shots at intruders but it is unnerving to have guns shooting off across the street in the middle of the night and then be responded by another gun behind the house. Or house alarms going off for hours at a time. Not condusive to sleep.
Saturday night our son in law left his car with us as my husband took him to catch a midnight bus to another city where he was preaching Sunday morning. When we awoke Sunday morning we discovered his van had been broken into, destroying the consul and a window. The van was parked a few feet away from my daughter's window. All of his electonics, along with our garage remotes, and theirs, were taken as well as a GPS and other items with his address. This meant Jackie and the grand babies were home alone and the theives had their remote and address. So... the day was spent changing locks and securing the two homes which was made more difficult being a Sunday and most stores are closed.
It also means the thief was walking around our bedroom windows as we found evidence of their having been in the back yard as well as the front. I don't like that.
So Jackie and the girls are here with us for now. Brian is in Luque and has a bad virus (fever, vomiting) and is not up for the bus trip home yet. In the mean time, we are dealing with the car insurance issues.
When it rains, it pours! But God is always faithful!
"In God have I put my trust: I will not be afraid what man can do unto me." - Psalm 56:11
I think I will have this blown up and put around our property!
Go ahead, make my day, PUNK!
Go ahead, make my day, PUNK!
Saturday, March 05, 2011
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
Driving Rules in Ciudad del Este
My husband assures me that there are rules for driving in this city. After months of careful observation I have gathered together the following rules of the road as I see them...
Never pull into a continuous stream of traffic with your eyes open.
Horse drawn vehicles should keep to the middle of the road and weave.
Fast vehicles should stay in Asuncion.
If you are coming from a side road onto the main road, you have the right of way. Do not slow down unless you roll over or hit something. Only stop if the object hit appears to have life.
Hand signals should primarily indicate the driver’s mood.
Only stop at a red light if the car in front has stopped.
At a crossroad when turning left, get into the right hand lane. Beware of the motorcycle!
At a crossroad when turning right, get into the left-hand lane. Beware of the motorcycle!
If a horse cart hits you, you are going too slow.
If a police car hits you, you are driving recklessly.
If you hit a Paraguayan it's your fault.
If you hit a Brazilian its his fault.
If you hit an Argentine go to the nearest police station and claim your prize.
Do not enter spaces narrower than the width of the car, or a taxi narrower than the width of the passenger.
It is necessary to turn on the windshield wiper a few seconds before any stop. This will keep some of the wind shield washers from spraying your glass with soapy water.
The horn operation must be checked at least every 10 meters, usually in order to move a cow from the road.
You may also be required to have brakes.
Two lanes are for driving in both directions, whichever side you are on.
The internal mirror is for the use of the driver only - to comb his hair, or hang his icons from.
If you are a foreigner, speed limit signs are in km/h
If you are a native speed limit signs are in m.p.h.
If you are driving on a cobble stone street, the speed limit is as fast as your dental work will allow.
All drivers must comply with the speed limit... or some multiple thereof.
Never pull into a continuous stream of traffic with your eyes open.
Horse drawn vehicles should keep to the middle of the road and weave.
Fast vehicles should stay in Asuncion.
If you are coming from a side road onto the main road, you have the right of way. Do not slow down unless you roll over or hit something. Only stop if the object hit appears to have life.
Hand signals should primarily indicate the driver’s mood.
Only stop at a red light if the car in front has stopped.
At a crossroad when turning left, get into the right hand lane. Beware of the motorcycle!
At a crossroad when turning right, get into the left-hand lane. Beware of the motorcycle!
If a horse cart hits you, you are going too slow.
If a police car hits you, you are driving recklessly.
If you hit a Paraguayan it's your fault.
If you hit a Brazilian its his fault.
If you hit an Argentine go to the nearest police station and claim your prize.
Do not enter spaces narrower than the width of the car, or a taxi narrower than the width of the passenger.
It is necessary to turn on the windshield wiper a few seconds before any stop. This will keep some of the wind shield washers from spraying your glass with soapy water.
The horn operation must be checked at least every 10 meters, usually in order to move a cow from the road.
You may also be required to have brakes.
Two lanes are for driving in both directions, whichever side you are on.
The internal mirror is for the use of the driver only - to comb his hair, or hang his icons from.
If you are a foreigner, speed limit signs are in km/h
If you are a native speed limit signs are in m.p.h.
If you are driving on a cobble stone street, the speed limit is as fast as your dental work will allow.
All drivers must comply with the speed limit... or some multiple thereof.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Worms!
The following was written by my youngest daughter, Jayde.
Amazonian worms.
The earliest memory I can recall clearly is eating worms instead of my mom's chocolate chip cookies. I may have been crazy, or simply craving worms. I don't know. But they were smoked, and they were very tasty. They taste a lot like beef jerky only a little bit more...um...wiggly. Plus, they are long. About a foot long. Let's just say that they are like Slim Jims. Only living.
They are much tastier when they are cooked, as are most foods. But, eating them live and raw can gross out any tourists or city-folk and it is fun. I used to snack on them like potato chips. I prefer them over potato chips.
Anyways, I'm guessing myself to be about five to six years old, and obviously, I was hungry. I was growing anyway, and I needed something to hold me over until Mom finished making lunch.
"Mama." I said, and looked up at her as she stirred the pot...Or cut the vegetables...Or baked or whatever she was doing. And she looked down at me.
"What?"
"I'm hungry." As I said this, I rubbed my tummy.
Mom told me to go look in the fridge, as there was something to snack on. "Go look."
I walked over, and opened the fridge. Inside was a wild array of meat, fish that the Indians had brought, baby veggies, leftovers and...Worms. I dug in for the worms. I took them out, and carried them up to the loft while I played.
As soon as the Ziploc was empty, I quietly slipped back down the ladder, and threw the bag in the sink as Mom had always instructed me to do, because 'those magical bags didn't grow on trees'. I found this odd, because, to me, everything grew on trees. Fruits, vegetables, and I thought birds grew on trees. And the fact that they were magical meant they had to be cleaned every day, to be used again. And then stuck against the window when wet, to dry.
Anyway, once I threw it in the sink, I looked over and saw Mom leaning into the fridge. (I remember this clearly).
I went over and asked what she was doing. Mom stood back up, and said, " Where are they!?!?! They're--They're---They're GONE! What happened? Do you know??" She asked me.
I shook my head. Then Mom saw me. And looked in the sink.
"Did you eat the worms??"
I nodded. "You said there was a snack in the fridge."
"But--Those were for your cousins for when we see them next week. Oh...I was gonna surprise them!..." Mom looked so sad. So I looked at her, smiled and said,
"They wouldn't like them anyway. They would think that they were gross. So I eated them."
"I'm sure you did."
Turns out, she had meant the chocolate chip cookies when she said a snack. Who knew?
Jayde 'helps' her dad while a friend gets stitches.
Amazonian worms.
They are much tastier when they are cooked, as are most foods. But, eating them live and raw can gross out any tourists or city-folk and it is fun. I used to snack on them like potato chips. I prefer them over potato chips.
Anyways, I'm guessing myself to be about five to six years old, and obviously, I was hungry. I was growing anyway, and I needed something to hold me over until Mom finished making lunch.
"Mama." I said, and looked up at her as she stirred the pot...Or cut the vegetables...Or baked or whatever she was doing. And she looked down at me.
"What?"
"I'm hungry." As I said this, I rubbed my tummy.
Mom told me to go look in the fridge, as there was something to snack on. "Go look."
I walked over, and opened the fridge. Inside was a wild array of meat, fish that the Indians had brought, baby veggies, leftovers and...Worms. I dug in for the worms. I took them out, and carried them up to the loft while I played.
As soon as the Ziploc was empty, I quietly slipped back down the ladder, and threw the bag in the sink as Mom had always instructed me to do, because 'those magical bags didn't grow on trees'. I found this odd, because, to me, everything grew on trees. Fruits, vegetables, and I thought birds grew on trees. And the fact that they were magical meant they had to be cleaned every day, to be used again. And then stuck against the window when wet, to dry.
Anyway, once I threw it in the sink, I looked over and saw Mom leaning into the fridge. (I remember this clearly).
I went over and asked what she was doing. Mom stood back up, and said, " Where are they!?!?! They're--They're---They're GONE! What happened? Do you know??" She asked me.
I shook my head. Then Mom saw me. And looked in the sink.
"Did you eat the worms??"
I nodded. "You said there was a snack in the fridge."
"But--Those were for your cousins for when we see them next week. Oh...I was gonna surprise them!..." Mom looked so sad. So I looked at her, smiled and said,
"They wouldn't like them anyway. They would think that they were gross. So I eated them."
"I'm sure you did."
Turns out, she had meant the chocolate chip cookies when she said a snack. Who knew?
Jayde 'helps' her dad while a friend gets stitches.Monday, February 14, 2011
How to give directions...
...in Ciudad del Este, Paraguay.
Giving directions or an address is not done with street names or numbers. You start with a familiar landmark, the mosque, stadium, hospital or perhaps the lawyer’s office that looks like a Persian palace. Then you tell them to go towards Area 4, past the petrol station, and turn right at the pharmacy. Now look for the little guard shack, two blocks after that is the house. That’s right, the one with the pet peacock, not the ostrich! That’s easy enough, right?
Driving is chaotically organized. The traffic circles have rules that only drivers from CdE (Ciudad del Este) know. To make it more fun, the rules at each traffic circle are different, just because you had the right of way in the previous circle, doesn’t mean you have it in the next one.
I use the Matador System... close my eyes, and prepare for the charge, face the beast!
Si me muero, me muro!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Missionary Conundrum
A re-post~
I have often found myself in a difficult dilemma. Sometimes, as a missionary, one can not help but become deeply involved in the lives of the people where one is serving. After so many years of trying to adapt, even adopting the culture, it is not easy to avoid opinions of the political nature. Especially when you see a government that is abusing the citizen. Even more so when you realize that many measures could endanger the Christian cause.
When it comes to communism, there has never been a place where Christianity was allowed to flourish under this system without much difficulty and persecution. I see no reason to believe it will be different in Venezuela if the current system is left unchanged. Add to that all the new alliances with radical Islam, how can the christian missionary not be concerned? How can you not warn, or at least try to prepare, the congregation for the persecution to come?All this has to be tempered by the reality that our primary mission is to evangelize the unsaved and serve the people as our Lord would.
The dilemma is knowing when and where to draw the line. I have not always been able to do this. I have grown to identify so much with the people of Venezuela, I can not turn a blind eye.
I was encouraged as I began to research and found that others before me have experienced the same problem.
One missionary I remembered reading about many years ago, Howard Baskerville , seemed to feel as I. He was a missionary who served in Iran.
Howard Baskerville said that he joined his students and took up arms for the nationalist movement, "as a matter of conscience." He ended up dying, while actually defending the Iranians. He is buried in Tabriz.
I am not condoning violence. I do applaud bravery and the defense of the weak.
Until recently, he was considered a hero by the Iranians. Much the same as we American revere Lafayette, who fought with us in the revolutionary war, Baskerville was honored as the American missionary who fought with his students.
He died in the siege of Tabriz leading a student contingent, in April of 1909. He was buried there in Iranian soil.
The following are excerpts from a letter, written by an American missionary wife, to inform his parents of their son's deeds.
And then of their son's death.
We carried him to our room and laid him on our own bed, and Mrs. Vannemen and I washed the dear body with the blood staining through his shirts and covering his breast and back. We found the bullet hole in front and back, having passed clear through, so small, so fatal. It had entered from the back and come out just above his heart, cutting a large artery. and Dr. V. says causing instant death. His face was bruised a little on one side,where he had fallen.
We dressed him in his black suit, and when all the sad service was done, he looked beautiful and noble, his firm mouth set in a look of resolution and his whole face calm in repose. I printed a kiss on his forehead for his mother's sake. A white carnation is in his buttonhole, and wreaths of flowers are being made. Our children made a cross and crown of the beautiful almond blossoms now in bloom.
The Governor came at once, expressing great sorrow, saying, "He has written his name in our hearts and in our history." The Anjuman (national assembly) sent a letter, saying they wished a share in doing him honor, and asked that the funeral be put off till tomorrow...
I have often found myself in a difficult dilemma. Sometimes, as a missionary, one can not help but become deeply involved in the lives of the people where one is serving. After so many years of trying to adapt, even adopting the culture, it is not easy to avoid opinions of the political nature. Especially when you see a government that is abusing the citizen. Even more so when you realize that many measures could endanger the Christian cause.
When it comes to communism, there has never been a place where Christianity was allowed to flourish under this system without much difficulty and persecution. I see no reason to believe it will be different in Venezuela if the current system is left unchanged. Add to that all the new alliances with radical Islam, how can the christian missionary not be concerned? How can you not warn, or at least try to prepare, the congregation for the persecution to come?All this has to be tempered by the reality that our primary mission is to evangelize the unsaved and serve the people as our Lord would.
The dilemma is knowing when and where to draw the line. I have not always been able to do this. I have grown to identify so much with the people of Venezuela, I can not turn a blind eye.
I was encouraged as I began to research and found that others before me have experienced the same problem.
One missionary I remembered reading about many years ago, Howard Baskerville , seemed to feel as I. He was a missionary who served in Iran.
Howard Baskerville said that he joined his students and took up arms for the nationalist movement, "as a matter of conscience." He ended up dying, while actually defending the Iranians. He is buried in Tabriz.
I am not condoning violence. I do applaud bravery and the defense of the weak.
Until recently, he was considered a hero by the Iranians. Much the same as we American revere Lafayette, who fought with us in the revolutionary war, Baskerville was honored as the American missionary who fought with his students.
He died in the siege of Tabriz leading a student contingent, in April of 1909. He was buried there in Iranian soil.
The following are excerpts from a letter, written by an American missionary wife, to inform his parents of their son's deeds.
My Dear Dr. & Mrs. Baskerville,
You have heard long before this letter reaches you that your dear boy has laid down his life. It is almost three weeks since he resigned his position at the mission school, though he has come to see us six times since. The last time was last night. Just before starting to battle. He told us it was a desperate attempt to open the road and get food into this starving city. We had prayer together. Mr. Wilson praying only for his protection and commending him to God's care. Mr. Baskerville himself prayed only for others, "this city to be relieved," "the dear ones of the Mission to be kept in safety, and for peace to be obtained." - not a word of himself.
In the night a soldier brought a note from him, "Dangerous rumor that the Europeans will be attacked to secure immediate intervention. don't be on the streets today." The first Sunday after he joined the army he came to church and sat in his usual seat, - the second in front - and had quite an ovation afterward, the men pressing round him to shake hands. That afternoon he came to see us. I begged him not to be reckless, saying "You know you are not your own." "No," he answered, "I am Persia's."
And then of their son's death.
We carried him to our room and laid him on our own bed, and Mrs. Vannemen and I washed the dear body with the blood staining through his shirts and covering his breast and back. We found the bullet hole in front and back, having passed clear through, so small, so fatal. It had entered from the back and come out just above his heart, cutting a large artery. and Dr. V. says causing instant death. His face was bruised a little on one side,where he had fallen.
We dressed him in his black suit, and when all the sad service was done, he looked beautiful and noble, his firm mouth set in a look of resolution and his whole face calm in repose. I printed a kiss on his forehead for his mother's sake. A white carnation is in his buttonhole, and wreaths of flowers are being made. Our children made a cross and crown of the beautiful almond blossoms now in bloom.
The Governor came at once, expressing great sorrow, saying, "He has written his name in our hearts and in our history." The Anjuman (national assembly) sent a letter, saying they wished a share in doing him honor, and asked that the funeral be put off till tomorrow...
Saturday, February 12, 2011
How to make rain
I am not as qualified on this as my children are. My children were making rain long before I was even aware that it was possible to make rain. Silly me, I thought rain was only caused by the climate and certain events out of the control of mere humans. Later, I would find out that even young children can cause a storm!! Yes,and can also stop a storm!
My four children grew up on the banks of the Chajura River in the southern most part of the state of Bolivar in Venezuela. Right in the middle of the Amazon jungle. We say they grew up 'on the banks' of the river, but really, they 'grew up IN the river'.
We used the river for our water supply, it was our bath tub, our laundry, our kitchen sink! Each child would carry buckets of water up to the house several times a day. Even the youngest was given her own small bucket as soon as she was walking. It was a small plastic bucket which originally had chocolate milk powder in it. A Taco bucket. She was very proud of her own bucket!
All of my children swam like fish. Under water, against the current, climbing up slippery muddy banks. Slithering over wet mossy rocks. Climbing trees in search of vines to use to swing out over the river and jump from. This was all fine by me, but, in truth, I never learned to do much more than a glorified doggy paddle. My children felt so sorry for me! Luckily, their father was just as adept in the water as they were. This worked out well for me as I spent many an afternoon in peace as the children entertained themselves in the river.
After a few years living in the jungle, an old lady came up to the house very irate! We had a severe storm the night before and had seen the river rise overnight to the highest level anyone alive had ever witnessed. So high, in fact, that a few of the houses closest to the river had actually flooded. This 'nosamo', old grandmother, had awoken in the night to find the water up to the level of her hammock!!! And it was my children's fault!
She came to warn me of the dire events which my children were causing! My sweet innocent, fun loving children were changing the weather patterns. They were causing it to rain! I had mistakenly assumed the Rain Forest was so named due to the inevitable fact that it rained several months out of the year. But it seems, my children were causing it to rain more often and much harder than normal.
I needed to make them stop! I was taken aback, how could I stop my children from making rain????
The old grand mother, having given me the warning, turned and left me standing in awe of the power and talent of my children! My children could make rain! I did not know how they managed to do this, but, did they?
A few hours later, four wet, tired children made their way up from the river path, each with a bucket of water, which they emptied into the water barrel beside the house. I asked them,
"Do you know that you made it rain and flood last night?"
They looked sheepishly from one another, and I knew that they DID know how to make rain! And they had done it on purpose!
"So... you know that you are making rain?"
Four small heads nodded in agreement. How could I admit to them that they were so much more advanced than I. They not only knew they had made rain, they knew I did not know beans about it!
I warned them!
"Nosamo came by and said I have to make you all stop causing the rain! She was flooded out of her house last night!"
Four faces looked at me in complete belief.
"Well, what do you have to say for yourselves? You have to stop this rain making business, it bothers the people!"
Four innocent pairs of eyes, looking up at me... aw, shucks! Forget my pride!
"UM...how exactly do you make rain?"
Four mouths opened excitedly to share the details! It seems all you have to do to cause rain is to horseplay on the river too much at the wrong places! If you play around too much, the river goddess gets angry! She will talk to the other spirits and will cause a lot of rain!
My children knew this from talking with the other children. But, the favorite rock to climb upon, the best place to play King of the Mountain, was in the wrong place in the river. My children had decided to play anyway. They wanted the indians to know that they were not afraid of any old river goddess!
They had been warned, but had chosen to continue...thus causing rain. Then they had decided that making rain was fun! It was exhilarating to make rain and have everyone know YOU had caused it!
"Besides," they said, "We can always make the rain stop!"
Once again feeling the fool, I had to ask,
"How do you stop the rain?"
Four smug smirks!
"By cutting the rain with a machete, of course!"
My son grabbed up the ever handy machete and began to slice through the air in a sideways motion. It seems that is how one makes the rain to stop. I had observed the Ye'kwanas doing this so often and had never realized what they were doing! I just thought it was a habit or something to do when bored. Swing a machete to pass the time while riding in a canoe, or working in the garden. I never knew it was to stop the rain.
But my children knew!
To this day, if it is raining hard, I find myself tempted to 'cut the rain'.
This is what happens when you spend too much time in another culture.
My four children grew up on the banks of the Chajura River in the southern most part of the state of Bolivar in Venezuela. Right in the middle of the Amazon jungle. We say they grew up 'on the banks' of the river, but really, they 'grew up IN the river'.
We used the river for our water supply, it was our bath tub, our laundry, our kitchen sink! Each child would carry buckets of water up to the house several times a day. Even the youngest was given her own small bucket as soon as she was walking. It was a small plastic bucket which originally had chocolate milk powder in it. A Taco bucket. She was very proud of her own bucket!
All of my children swam like fish. Under water, against the current, climbing up slippery muddy banks. Slithering over wet mossy rocks. Climbing trees in search of vines to use to swing out over the river and jump from. This was all fine by me, but, in truth, I never learned to do much more than a glorified doggy paddle. My children felt so sorry for me! Luckily, their father was just as adept in the water as they were. This worked out well for me as I spent many an afternoon in peace as the children entertained themselves in the river.
After a few years living in the jungle, an old lady came up to the house very irate! We had a severe storm the night before and had seen the river rise overnight to the highest level anyone alive had ever witnessed. So high, in fact, that a few of the houses closest to the river had actually flooded. This 'nosamo', old grandmother, had awoken in the night to find the water up to the level of her hammock!!! And it was my children's fault!
She came to warn me of the dire events which my children were causing! My sweet innocent, fun loving children were changing the weather patterns. They were causing it to rain! I had mistakenly assumed the Rain Forest was so named due to the inevitable fact that it rained several months out of the year. But it seems, my children were causing it to rain more often and much harder than normal.
I needed to make them stop! I was taken aback, how could I stop my children from making rain????
The old grand mother, having given me the warning, turned and left me standing in awe of the power and talent of my children! My children could make rain! I did not know how they managed to do this, but, did they?
A few hours later, four wet, tired children made their way up from the river path, each with a bucket of water, which they emptied into the water barrel beside the house. I asked them,
"Do you know that you made it rain and flood last night?"
They looked sheepishly from one another, and I knew that they DID know how to make rain! And they had done it on purpose!
"So... you know that you are making rain?"
Four small heads nodded in agreement. How could I admit to them that they were so much more advanced than I. They not only knew they had made rain, they knew I did not know beans about it!
I warned them!
"Nosamo came by and said I have to make you all stop causing the rain! She was flooded out of her house last night!"
Four faces looked at me in complete belief.
"Well, what do you have to say for yourselves? You have to stop this rain making business, it bothers the people!"
Four innocent pairs of eyes, looking up at me... aw, shucks! Forget my pride!
"UM...how exactly do you make rain?"
Four mouths opened excitedly to share the details! It seems all you have to do to cause rain is to horseplay on the river too much at the wrong places! If you play around too much, the river goddess gets angry! She will talk to the other spirits and will cause a lot of rain!
My children knew this from talking with the other children. But, the favorite rock to climb upon, the best place to play King of the Mountain, was in the wrong place in the river. My children had decided to play anyway. They wanted the indians to know that they were not afraid of any old river goddess!
They had been warned, but had chosen to continue...thus causing rain. Then they had decided that making rain was fun! It was exhilarating to make rain and have everyone know YOU had caused it!
"Besides," they said, "We can always make the rain stop!"
Once again feeling the fool, I had to ask,
"How do you stop the rain?"
Four smug smirks!
"By cutting the rain with a machete, of course!"
My son grabbed up the ever handy machete and began to slice through the air in a sideways motion. It seems that is how one makes the rain to stop. I had observed the Ye'kwanas doing this so often and had never realized what they were doing! I just thought it was a habit or something to do when bored. Swing a machete to pass the time while riding in a canoe, or working in the garden. I never knew it was to stop the rain.
But my children knew!
To this day, if it is raining hard, I find myself tempted to 'cut the rain'.
This is what happens when you spend too much time in another culture.
A Ye'kwana man cutting the rain to make it stop
in order to continue the soccer match!
in order to continue the soccer match!
Friday, February 11, 2011
Happy Birthday Ye'kwanaman !
A meme about my hubby.
( I gave my heart to a Marine!)
1. He’s sitting in front of the TV; what is on the screen?
Action movie
2. You’re out to eat; what kind of dressing does he get on his salad?
Ceasar
3. What’s one food he doesn’t like?
Strawberry ice cream
4. You go out to the bar. What does he order?
We don’t go to bars…
(At my son's wedding.)
5. Where did he go to high school?
Zanesville, Ohio
6. What size shoe does he wear?
10
7. If he was to collect anything, what would it be?
He collects knives and first edition old books.
8. What is his favorite type of sandwich?Venezuelan pepito
9. What would this person eat every day if he could?
Steak
10. What is his favorite cereal?
Honey Nut Cherrios
11. What would he never wear?
Anything with a NY Yankee emblem (or an image of Che)
12. What is his favorite sports team?
Boston Red Sox!
(Just chillin')
13. Who will he vote for?
Not Obama!
14. Who is his best friend?
ME! And his children.
15. What is something you do that he wishes you wouldn’t do?
He does not like it when I do more than I should!
16. How many states has he lived in?
9 US states and 4 countries.
17. What is his heritage?
French/English...and third generation marine from Beaufort, S.C.!
(At the beach in Beaufort.)
18. You bake him a cake for his birthday; what kind of cake?
Cheese Cake
19. Did he play sports in high school?
Football in Jr. High and Marching band (trumpet) in High School.
20. What could he spend hours doing?
Reading Greek and Biblical translation.
( I gave my heart to a Marine!)
Action movie
2. You’re out to eat; what kind of dressing does he get on his salad?
Ceasar
(Treating indian patients.)
3. What’s one food he doesn’t like?
Strawberry ice cream
4. You go out to the bar. What does he order?
We don’t go to bars…
(At my son's wedding.)5. Where did he go to high school?
Zanesville, Ohio
6. What size shoe does he wear?
10
(Baby Jessica7. If he was to collect anything, what would it be?
He collects knives and first edition old books.
(Delivering the New Testament, translated into Ye'kwana, to a village)
8. What is his favorite type of sandwich?Venezuelan pepito
(With the Chief)9. What would this person eat every day if he could?
Steak
10. What is his favorite cereal?
Honey Nut Cherrios
11. What would he never wear?
Anything with a NY Yankee emblem (or an image of Che)
(Providing dental care for the tribe)
12. What is his favorite sports team?
Boston Red Sox!
(Just chillin')13. Who will he vote for?
Not Obama!
14. Who is his best friend?
ME! And his children.
15. What is something you do that he wishes you wouldn’t do?
He does not like it when I do more than I should!
16. How many states has he lived in?
9 US states and 4 countries.
17. What is his heritage?
French/English...and third generation marine from Beaufort, S.C.!
(At the beach in Beaufort.)18. You bake him a cake for his birthday; what kind of cake?
Cheese Cake
19. Did he play sports in high school?
Football in Jr. High and Marching band (trumpet) in High School.
(Baby dedication)
20. What could he spend hours doing?
Reading Greek and Biblical translation.
( Reading the Greek New Testament with youngest grand daughter)
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
The Things I See...
Security walls around our house.
Very Lo ~Tech
The neighbor's pet peacock is our guard dog!
Nothing gets past KEVIN!
Glenn B said...
A peacock is not as much a 'guard dog' but more the 'watch dog'. If someone has never heard the alarm cry of a peacock before it is understandable how they would not realize just how good of a watch dog they could be.
First time ever that I heard a peacock was on a very dark night when I was in the Border patrol. It was our quiet season and I was reading a book by flashlight - The Shining. Shame on me for reading on duty but got mine for doing it.
There was a sensor hit and I had to go check it. I got out of my vehicle, and was following the tracks of some illegal aliens across a farm lot. Suddenly I heard an ear piercing low then high pitched scream followed by about 4 other spurts of terrible and very scary noise. Then, just as suddenly, I heard a strange noise like wings flapping rapidly and the next thing I knew a peacock was in my face wings beating me furiously. Hmm, maybe they do qualify as guard dog after all!
I just about had a heart attack. Stopped me from reading scary books at night while working.
All the best,
Glenn B
Sunday, February 06, 2011
Today is my Mom's Birthday!
My mother , expecting me, with my sister and the family television.
(Not sure why the TV was part of the photo...)
Taken while my father studied at Bob Jones University
With Mom at my wedding.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!
(Not sure why the TV was part of the photo...)
My mother and sister adore me!
Good times!
And along came baby brother!
Easter Morning at Kampus Kourt in Greenville, SC
Church planting ministry in Arcadia, Florida.
This was the last family photo taken before my marriage.
With Mom at my wedding.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!
Friday, February 04, 2011
The Things I See..
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Happy 54th Birthday to Ciudad del Este, Paragauy!
Capital del Departamento de Alto Paraná, situada a 327 km de la capital, Asunción. Por su población y desarrollo económico es segunda ciudad del Paraguay, con 340.000 habitantes.
Photos of Ciudad del Este
Fue fundada por decreto el 3 de febrero de 1957 con el nombre de "Puerto Flor de Liz". Más tarde honrando al dictador Alfredo Stroessner quien impulsó su construccion, se llamó "Puerto Presidente Stroessner", luego “Ciudad Presidente Stroessner”, hasta el golpe de estado que depuso al Presidente, el 3 de febrero de 1989. En esta fecha el comando revolucionario, utilizó el nombre de Ciudad del Este; en días posteriores, fue plebiscitado el nuevo nombre que se le daría a la ciudad y los ciudadanos eligieron el de Ciudad del Este.
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Fotos Actual de Ciudad Del Este
Este álbum fue posible gracias a la gentileza de nuestros queridos amigos de la comunidad de Orkut : CIUDAD DEL ESTE EN FOTOGRAFIAS , de nuestros miembros en la comunidad PARAGUAY EN FOTOGRAFIAS de Orkut y de Facebook
Base principal de datos en el foro : Ciudad del Este
http://www.orkut.com/Main#CommMsgs?cmm=56366378&tid=5479117559416638314&kw=Ciudad+del+Este
Photos of Ciudad del Este
Fue fundada por decreto el 3 de febrero de 1957 con el nombre de "Puerto Flor de Liz". Más tarde honrando al dictador Alfredo Stroessner quien impulsó su construccion, se llamó "Puerto Presidente Stroessner", luego “Ciudad Presidente Stroessner”, hasta el golpe de estado que depuso al Presidente, el 3 de febrero de 1989. En esta fecha el comando revolucionario, utilizó el nombre de Ciudad del Este; en días posteriores, fue plebiscitado el nuevo nombre que se le daría a la ciudad y los ciudadanos eligieron el de Ciudad del Este.
***
Fotos Actual de Ciudad Del Este
Este álbum fue posible gracias a la gentileza de nuestros queridos amigos de la comunidad de Orkut : CIUDAD DEL ESTE EN FOTOGRAFIAS , de nuestros miembros en la comunidad PARAGUAY EN FOTOGRAFIAS de Orkut y de Facebook
Base principal de datos en el foro : Ciudad del Este
http://www.orkut.com/Main#CommMsgs?cmm=56366378&tid=5479117559416638314&kw=Ciudad+del+Este
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