Brazil: Be Still

Be Still.

I was lying on the sand of a Brazilian beach--no towel or blanket to guard my skin of the grounds of sand. 

Brilliantly still, absorbing in the truth of the moment beyond my senses.

Lying there with my eyes closed :: Listening to the sweeping of the waves and the hushing whisper of the breeze over my ears as I felt my hair begin to dance over my face much like that of Pocahontas when John Smith encounters her in the waterfall.

There is no feeling like it. 

I lied there thinking. Thinking about how no technology or advanced simulation could ever emulate the truth of what I had in that moment. No wind-machine or sound box, no sand box or hot stones in a massage therapist's room. Not if the temperature was matched and everything down to the smell was emulated in another setting outside that of the ocean shore, the most essential element would be missing.

Knowledge.

I would know that I was not at the beach. As thriving of an imagination that I believe I have, I would not be able to convince myself to that deepest core that I was indeed on the beach.

Then it hit me. All of a sudden, it made sense. I had heard it time and time again and recognized the poetic thrill and mystic appeal that is most common with Scripture, but never had I related with it in such an elating manner.

Be still and know that I am God.

(see Psalm 46:10)

Some call it an epiphany, some a revelation. I'm not quite sure what to call it. All I know is that God was present in that moment and made known to me the Truth of his word in a marvelous way, as He has so many times before.

In the same way that God cannot be emulated--as He so often times is attempted to be recreated in experience and idolatry--one cannot fully conceive the Truth of His existence without the experience of His presence :: more than that of being with God, but being engulfed in God, swallowed up and participating in the God that is outside space and time.

It's not that we allow God to be in our presence by being still, or let the dust of the Holy Spirit settle on our hearts, it's that we are settled into His masterpiece of a presence. 

It's an experience that can only be appreciated to the full when we are submitted to being

 --still--

And when you do make that act of submission into His active presence is when you will know. You know because you experience it, and no one can convince you differently of something you have experienced. 

Brazil: Juice

This blog is a continuation of the post titled "Brazil: Histories, Observations, and Toilets."
I do not know the whole story for each child, nor do I know details on any case. Here, I will simply state what I have gathered either from the children themselves or from those who have been working with these kids for quite some time. If I do not know certain details, said details will simply be left unstated.

The girl I discuss in the first paragraph actually has a bit more to her past than I was first led on. She indeed was a fully active prostitute at the age of ten when she arrived at the Lar. Her mom was a drug addict and most likely a prostitute as well, especially given the fact that the girl and her sister look very different. Her mom is now dead and from the pictures I have seen of her, she was not in a good physical condition during her final years. She had very dark and wrinkled skin, seemingly missing teeth, and a hunched back as she sat on a low step. She looked like a drug-addict at the end of her life.

This 10-year-old girl was also addicted to crack and would dress in such a way that let her potential clients know what she was standing on the street for--not very nice clothes, in fact, not many clothes at all. 

It's surprising to me, actually, how many young girls I see walking around the streets in just their underwear--whether I be traveling through the city or on the dirt roads surrounding the Lar. Passing through the city I would see many children almost piled on the sidewalk together just sitting or standing around. Two girls were walking across the street in nothing but panties, and some would be selling things from the street divider.

Anyway, back to the girl mentioned above. This young lady confessed that she would be sold to men for their sexual pleasures and even to have "sexual relations" with another young prostitute while a group of men watched.


Upon interviewing this now 15-year-old at the Lar, she stated that her best memory was the day she came to the Lar and stopped doing drugs. Her sister was picked up off the street as well, pictured sweeping the gutter in the aforementioned blog post.


____________________________________________


Another sibling group are here at the Lar after spending some time of their lives with a schizophrenic parent. I do not know much about these three children, however I do know that one of the boy's shows serious signs of schizophrenia and anger issues. He has threatened to kill one of the other girls at the Lar after she denied his request to be her boyfriend and would give her the "death stare" on multiple occasions while sternly telling her of her lack of worth and beauty. He was saying such things while smacking her knee and almost snarling at her during church as she was sobbing with tears.
He also has gotten in many fights with other boys at the younger boys' location where he lives. In this past month he threatened to kill his own brother, shouting degrading comments and bringing physical abuse into the situation.
This young boy has almost been thrown out of the orphanage on multiple occasions, but because the mental hospital refuses to take him, the orphanage directors don't want to just abandon him on the streets.


______________________________________________

Another one of the teenage girls came from a home where witchcraft and voodoo is actively practiced. This has caused some issues when considering watching certain movies or adding certain books to the orphanage library collection. 
I must also admit that around Halloween time I questioned what some of the girls' motives were with their costumes. Many of the girls dressed in all black, some even painting every inch of visible skin to be solid black. They wore capes and spoke in weird voices while crawling around with moves that one would see in a paranormal activity movie or a demon-chimpanzee movie of sort.
One of the girls also found it entertaining to flip her eye-lids inside out as she performed such behaviors and screeched and screamed throughout the house.
I understand that much of this behavior was in good fun in the spirit of Halloween--which is not celebrated in the least down here in Brazil--but I am also mindful of their histories with such activity.


___________________________________________________


Another sibling couple had a mom that was mentally ill as well as physically ill and hospitalized for quite some time. Apparently she had escaped a few weeks ago but was returned to the hospital she was staying at. Last night the Lar was informed that she had died and today is the day that the brother and sister will be informed.


I cannot imagine. I will not even try.




___________________________________________________


Another one of the teen girls came over to my apartment one night and shared her and her sister's past with me. It was in Portuguese and so she asked to type it into the Google translator on my computer.
This caught me off-guard because this young lady in particular has always carried a tough-girl, I-don't-care, I-don't-need-this sort of attitude since I met her. Don't get me wrong, she is very kind and sweet, she just lets you know with her attitude that she is not someone you want to cross. She is your friend as long as she thinks you're her friend, but as soon as she begins to question the latter she makes sure that she'll be the first one to "draw her gun," so to speak.


So here she is, typing her heart and hurts into my Google browser. She types and clicks away at my keyboard while I sit patiently waiting and acting like I'm reading my e-mail off my iPod or something. Tears began rolling down her sharp cheeks as she kept clicking away with her two fingers tapping the keyboard.
She finishes.
Not every word translates because not every word is spelt correctly. Keep in mind that many of the kids are far behind in school and this one in particular has recently chosen to cease her attendance of school.
From what I gathered, and after checking what I collected with her (she understands a lot of English, she just can't speak it), I gained a great insight into her heart.
She was six and her sister was only seven.
Their uncle was a drug addict or dealer of sort and she and her sister would always want to go over to her uncles house to get drugs.
Their dad did not like this fact and would lock the girls in the house, maybe their room, and beat the seven-year-old sister. He would beat her very badly and she now has scars on her chest and back because of it.
Eventually they got taken away by social services and brought here to the Lar.


The teen girl now is very rebellious and has almost been kicked out of the Lar multiple times. She has been here ten years--the longest than any other girl besides her own sister.


She has some self-respect issues, I believe, and continually makes-out with random boys any chance she gets when she is taken outside the Lar. She looks at boys, and men, as if they are pieces of meat; looking them up and down on the street, turning her head all the way around as they pass. I witnessed this in my presence and have mentioned classy behavior with her, but she is involved with boys more than I anticipated.

We have only gone to the beach twice since I've been here and the first time she made out with some random boy, boasting of the respect he has for her because he pulled the sleeve of her swimsuit up as it drooped over her shoulder during their make-out session.


I also had to pull her away from talking to a twenty or thirty-something year old man while the other intern and I were treating the girls to some food on the beach at sunset. She is a bad example for the thirteen year old girl that only arrived here at the Lar about two months ago and is following her to talk to such men.
When I pulled them away from the man by gently leading them by the arm, she was quick to snatch her arm from my hand and gave me a look of disgust and betrayal. She yelled a bunch in Portuguese causing some of the other girls to snicker and the intern to apologize to me for what she was saying. I however, was not sorry, nor did I regret pulling the girls away from that man whom had popped up multiple times during our venture at the beach that day.


This young lady has also threatened multiple times to leave the Lar and become a prostitute.
There are some issues of the heart.
There are lies that have been fed into her.


___________________________________________________


I have more to say about the young boy who just arrived off the streets last week and some others but I will give your eyes and my fingers a rest for now.


Thank you for reading.


If you are a believer, I ask that you please pray for these children.


Pray as the Spirit leads you.

To Each Their Own Path is Drawn

To each their own path is drawn.


I look around and I see my friends and their friends. In fact, they are not truly my friends, they are my acquaintances. They have friends, however.
friends that are like family to them, like sisters it seems.
I have never had such friends.
Not only have I not had many friends in my life that have been of the female sex, but I have not had many friends at all.


Without fully going into the subjective definition of friendship that I am describing here, I consider the term "friendship" as a stable, relational description term that should be used in reference to someone whom shares such a connection.


I am not talking about the friends-in-passing, or the friends on Facebook, but the solid friends that are engaged in and share a genuine friendship--some may refer to such people as "best friends."
I have not had many of such relationships.
In fact, I have longed for female friendships for most of my adult life.


Most of my friendships last only for a season, typically ranging from one to three years, maybe.
Most of my friendships with guys only last a matter of months to two years, ending in most part due to developed feelings that were left unreciprocated, or a simple drifting of habit.
The latter is the primary reason why most of my female-friendships end. Or at least so it seems.


I am internally urged to beg the question: why? Why is it that I am not very good at making close friends, and why is it that I am seemingly incapable of maintaining said friendships?
But this urge, I will resist.


I see my less-close friends from high school--we were close then, but now we are of the Facebook-friends sort. They are still within the same circle of friends, still enjoying each others' company on a regular basis, still growing more and more knowledgeable of one another's deep struggles and passions and seemingly facing such trials and victories side-by-side.
Sharing meals.
Planning trips.
Living together and investing in one another, personally.


I have two best friends; two people that I would currently describe as my true "friends" of the deep-rooted meaning.
One is male.
One is female.
However, even we do not share such community as I have seen with others. They do not share such a friendship as I have with each of them, which I'm sure contributes greatly to this sense of "community."
Moreover, we are each in a season of our lives where familial and local community investment has become a strong focus. Rightfully so.


I am actually currently on the opposite side of the equator as both relational partners I am considering, and they each have their own lives and schedules, as do I.


To clarify, I am not complaining nor seeking for understanding. I know my Truth. I know it is not solely my Truth, but others' as well.
I am simply noting my thoughts and observations as a way of self-processing.


To continue, I do sense a longing--at times--for such community in friendship in a quality (the value I place on quantity in this matter is inferior to that of quality).


Here at the orphanage some of the girls ask me about my friends back home, only to follow with an expression of questioning when I tell them I only have two.
Here, they lives in homes with generally twelve other girls their age, surprisingly with a strong sense of community and love among them all. I would anticipate more drama from three houses full of girls.


In fact, my Junior year of high school my peer-friend count was zero. This hit me the first week of school when I found myself hesitant on where to find myself sitting during our lunch period.
The previous summer I had spend the lunch breaks of my summer school classes in the campus library for pleasure reading.


Although I knew many people in my high school, was very involved in my classes, ASB, Track and Field, Cross Country, Choir (for a year), and school events, I had no peer to call "friend" during the difficult seasons.


My best friends during that year were my Dad and my eight year younger sister, Julieanna. Although to some this may paint me as being very much of the loser-type in high school, I wouldn't trade this time of my life for anything. My dad and I are still best friends and I consider my little sister one of my best friends despite if she reciprocates that notion.


I'm not sure why girls my age do not want to be my friend. Upon contemplation, I believe that all of my female friends in my adult life have either been younger or older than me by at least a couple years, with few exceptions, of course.
Interesting.
Without sounding overly arrogant, I believe this complex may have developed due to some womens' perception of me as being of the "snob" sort, or even a more degrading word choice that some women choose when describing their initial impressions of me after having gotten to know me better.


Because of such feedback I have learned to smile much more and not walk with my arms crossed--which in fact has given me plenty more opportunity for male friendships.


I play naive at times, but I like to think of myself as cleaver enough to detect when a guy wants to be my friend with the intentions of developing our relationship into something more romantic. When this point develops further into the friendship, it typically signals the severance of said friendship, and deeply hurt feelings on both sides.
I have mourned over lost friendships maybe more times than I should have.
Callouses built. Walls crafted. Yet I can't seem to deny that first year or two of adventure, fellowship, and sharing in pure friendship with a guy.


Although my experience in female friendships is limited, I have come to find that, in general, female friendships are orientated around much more drama, intentions-based reasoning, and beating around the bush.


On the other hand, the male friendships that I have had experience with typically have quite a high regard for being straight-forward, with some being more dramatic than others.

In contemplation of my life experiences, not limited to those represented here, I realize that my life is not about my life. My life is about the Lord. And if I can glorify Him, according to His will, as a free-spirit apart from a community of friends, then hallelujah; praise God.

To each their own path is drawn.

A while back, about five years, I prayed that the Lord would use me as a tool--around the time of my junior year of high school in fact--that I would not be on this earth with self-oriented motives or self-gratifying actions, but that I would be fully His and fully used by Him.
Human relational needs aside.

He was, and is, my desire.

Do I feel used in both quality and quantity for the Lord according to His will? Yes, yes I do. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
I believe that the seed that has been sown and the crops that have been harvested over the past five years--over the past seasons of friendships--have not been in vain or of useless matters.
I believe that the seasons I had of investment and dwelling in friendship with each person I have been involved with--over the past five years specifically --was a part of being a living sacrifice unto the Lord.

This I believe because this is what I committed; my whole life.

Brazil: Awake, Oh you sleeper.

I have been waking up lately singing worship songs before my eyes begin to open or before my mind begins to process. This confirms to me that this is a matter of the heart.
Early my heart awakens and early my heart stirs worship within me.


Jon Foreman: House of God Forever; Date: Forgotten
Jon Foreman: White as Snow (Would you create in me a clean heart, oh God); Date: 11/05/11
Hillsong United: Came to my Rescue (Be Lifted High); Date: 11/06/11


Psalm 103 (NIV)

¹ Praise the LORD, my soul;
   all my inmost being, praise his holy name. 
² Praise the LORD, my soul,
   and forget not all his benefits—
³ who forgives all your sins
   and heals all your diseases,
⁴ who redeems your life from the pit
   and crowns you with love and compassion,
⁵ who satisfies your desires with good things
   so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

 ⁶ The LORD works righteousness
   and justice for all the oppressed.

 ⁷ He made known his ways to Moses,
   his deeds to the people of Israel:
⁸ The LORD is compassionate and gracious,
   slow to anger, abounding in love.
⁹ He will not always accuse,
   nor will he harbor his anger forever;
¹⁰ he does not treat us as our sins deserve
   or repay us according to our iniquities.
¹¹ For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
   so great is his love for those who fear him;
¹² as far as the east is from the west,
   so far has he removed our transgressions from us.

 ¹³ As a father has compassion on his children,
   so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him;
¹⁴ for he knows how we are formed,
   he remembers that we are dust.
¹⁵ The life of mortals is like grass,
   they flourish like a flower of the field;
¹⁶ the wind blows over it and it is gone,
   and its place remembers it no more.
¹⁷ But from everlasting to everlasting
   the LORD’s love is with those who fear him, 
   and his righteousness with their children’s children—
¹⁸ with those who keep his covenant
   and remember to obey his precepts.

 ¹⁹ The LORD has established his throne in heaven,
   and his kingdom rules over all.

 ²⁰ Praise the LORD, you his angels,
   you mighty ones who do his bidding,
   who obey his word.
²¹ Praise the LORD, all his heavenly hosts,
   you his servants who do his will.
²² Praise the LORD, all his works
   everywhere in his dominion.

   Praise the LORD, my soul.

Brazil: Histories, Observations, and Toilets

One of the girls who is currently in the teenage house used to do favors for others or use the little bit of money she had to buy crack, used to be a crack addict. Proudest moment was when she came to the Lar and quit doing drugs. She came to the Lar when she was about ten years old, meaning she had already been a practicing crack addict before this point. Her mom died from drug use and her and her sister have different dads. She is very loving and family-oriented. She has pictures and albums organized in her corner of the room. her sister, Ila, is also at the orphanage. The picture of Ila before she arrived at the Lar is similar to one right out of a compassion commercial. She is a tiny little, dark-skinned girl sweeping the gutter of a street with a small-sized Brazilian broom.



Girls sleep about six to a room, with generally three bunk bed per room. Split up into three houses, the girls are organized by age group.


The newer kids, came in about two weeks before I arrived. Their mom was a prostitute and would always be bringing men home. They are all from different dads. Somehow they ended up being passed off to the father of John-Vitor, the youngest one, about two years old, and he sexually abused the oldest and the youngest girl (adriana and maria). Social services brought them to the Lar. They are all very well adjusted. In fact, Adriana said her favorite memory in her life is the day she came to the Lar. They are all smiles while they are here, so full of joy and love. The father of John-Vitor wants custody of his two-year old son, but has no rights to the other girls, which he doesn't want anyway. John-pedro is showered with love and affection while he is here at the Lar with about thirty little-mamas that want to care for him, hold him, and love him.


Apparently, one of the girls was raped when she was three. These girls and boys have been abused sexually, physically, mentally, sold, traded, robbed, and neglected abandoned. When asked how they would change the world, many of them say they would abolish theft, violence, poverty, and hunger. It is also a common response for these kids to state their favorite memory being the day of arrival at the orphanage.


I had thought that these kids would have a sense of resentment or rebellion because they are stripped of the image of a typical family and placed in a children's home. In fact, these kids love it! It seems to be like a summer camp that never gets old to them. I have seen more bickering, rumors, arguments, and drama at a one-week church camp than I have in my entire stay here at the Lar. These kids are like family to one another. They have community, accountability, and fellowship as they live together. They help each other with chores, they give each other advice or a listening ear when needed. They tease each other and get in disagreements, but not in a relationship severing manner like friends may do. They live as family.

Some of the girls asked if I was a believer when I first arrived because I had a tattoo. A lot of girls and boys now want a tattoo from the moment of seeing mine. Paige said they have to wait until they're 18 to make that decision and one of the girls rejoiced because she would turn 18 this year. My roommate and friend, Mellissa, said that her beliefs were questioned by the girls when she first arrived because she didn't close her eyes during prayer. Bless their legalistic hearts, ahah.


Many of these kids were street kids before coming here and it shows in their mannerisms and certain behaviors. 


Some of the girls are masculine in their mannerisms and posture. Some of the girls will scratch their groins or swing their legs open while sitting, placing their elbow on one knee. One girl has short hair, and regrettably, I thought she was a boy for the first week. She also has a masculine laugh, I don't really know how to explain that claim, but I suppose it's your choice whether or not to just trust me on that one.


Some even make me a tad uncomfortable with how affectionate they are simply because I do not know their backgrounds and excessive touching, handing, kissing, leaning, etc. tends to wear on me, especially when in uncomfortable places. For example, one of the little boys (adorable little man) loves to give me a hug and a kiss every time he sees me. The first few times I was walking down the hallway outside my apartment and unexpectedly he came up to give me a kiss, not knowing his motive, I didn't lean down, and he ended up kissing my breast, also leaving a snot remnant on my shirt about an upper-lip distance above where he had kissed.


I learned to lean over or to do a side-hug from then on.


Another girl always wants to be in physical contact with me. She is always hanging on me or stroking me or playing with my hair, and I love it. To an extent. I consider myself a very touch-oriented person. I love the language of touch, I communicate very well and often with touch. However, I, too, have my limits. She would sometimes lean her butt on my knee, which I found a bit odd. I would move, and she would move over to place her butt leaning up against my knee again. This made me feel awkward and uncomfortable given that she has also done a similar action facing the other direction. I'm not going to read into anything, maybe she just has a touch complex, but I am simply describing what made me uncomfortable, due to my own predispositions. 


Some of the girls, and possibly boys, still wet the bed, even those in the teenage houses. I have also heard that some kids have tendencies to pee behind buildings, which is still a step up from the accepted behavior of those living on the streets, who would pee right at the curb of a busy street.

Also, in all of Brazil people do not put toilet paper in the toilet. Next to every toilet, whether it be in the airport, restaurant, or home, has a little trash can next to it for you to place your used toilet paper. This is quite a difficult habit for me to form. Not only am I not used to such expectations, but I don't like performing them. I also must admit that this pattern causes some public restrooms less than desirable to enter simply due to the lingering odor.


Many of the kids here are also very behind in school, or choose not to attend school after a certain age. Some of the 15-17 year olds are still in grades ranging from 3rd-7th, and school only lasts for four hours here, giving the children the option for school in the early morning or afternoon. Apparently the schools also have an option where the kids can opt to take a course that combines 6th-8th grade in order to get them out of the way. Fortunately, the Lar holds a higher standards of education than the school district and  there is a tutor that is available for the girls and boys to work with throughout the week. Most of the kids here, from what I know, are doing very well in school and seem to enjoy math and Portuguese classes.

Brazil: Screaming

I was sitting on the couch in my living room here at the Lar watching a movie with my roommate, Melissa. A moving shadow caught my eye and I realized it was actually a huge tarantula coming straight for me! Okay, so it was about four square inches, but it was huge to me.


It was seconds before it hid under the couch I was sitting on and I jumped up to turn on the light.


Informing Melissa, I quickly looked for something to smash it.


To get to the point, I did a lot of screaming, while Melissa did the killing. She sprayed it with bug-killer so it would curl up in defense and then smashed it with her sandal. It's hairy legs were still moving, even the one that was completely detached from it's body.



I'm not sure how well I'm going to sleep tonight, especially because I just smashed a mosquito that I caught sucking blood from my hand while typing this. Upon lifting my murderous hand I saw more blood than I ever imaged a little bug ever stomaching.


Yuck.