Raining Buckets

I am now in the costal city of Constitucion, Chile. I have been here for about 11 days now. My group and I are sleeping on the floor in a school. I am thankful the school has running water and that we have little cushions to sleep on.   We eat our meals like a big family around the science labortary table. It has been raining buckets for the past few days, this complicates things a little bit. There is tons of wind and one would think this would help dry things, but it only pushes the rain around more. It is difficult to construct houses and help the people when it is soaking wet outside.  My ocassional bucket showers are not proving to be very efficient, so I am thinking of taking my shampoo out into the street to enjoy the free showers God is providing. I washed my clothes the other day, the one day we had sun. They are still soaking wet. I don't know if they are ever going to dry! I had to buy more socks in the market today because I literally do not have any more dry socks to use!  The world cup is on and the Chilean people are huge supporters of soccer. The other day Chile played their first game. The government set up a huge circus tent for the people that have lost their homes and we joined the group to watch the game at 7:30am! After the game we held a program for the kids of the community inside the tent. The event ended with the kids jumping all over me and rubbing sawdust (which was brought in to cover the mud) all over me. I thought it was fun until one of the little girls spit in my direction at the exact same time I was trying to breath and her spit landed in my mouth!  Oh, what fun! I wish I could write more and explain all that is happening, but I do not have much time to get to the internet. I love all of you and thank you for your thoughts and prayers! 

Random Points of Interest

-There are small earthquakes daily here in Chile. The past few days the quakes have been more frequent and strong. The most recent quake (30 minutes ago was a 5.4 on the richter scale). Most of the people living here are becoming accustomed to the daily quakes, but for others each small quake continues to serve as a reminder of the pain and tragedy that the original earthquake on February 27,2010 brought. The earthquakes come out of no where. Yesterday when I was eating dinner, I heard a lot of noise, as if a train was going to come through my front yard, then everything started to shake. Everything shakes for about 15-20 seconds and then the shaking stops. God has blessed me with no fear in these situations, but I would continue to ask for your safety and protection. Also, pray for the people here in Chile who are experiencing painful flashbacks every time these earthquakes come. Pray for peace in their hearts and strength to carry on and rebuild amidst their current struggles.
-The current value of the Chilean Peso is about 539 Chilean Pesos to 1 USD. To put things into context, it costs 350 Chilean Pesos to ride the local bus. I am no math wizard, but I think that equals about .65 cents.
-The currency in Bolivia is Bolivianos the current exchange rate there is 7 Bolivianos to 1 USD. It costs 1.50 Bolivianos to ride the local bus in Bolivia. That is less than .21 cents. Bolivia is the poorest country in South America and the poorest country in in all of Latin America next to Haiti.
-I am currently involved in some serious active nursing care, unfortunately, I am the patient. I have come down with strep-throat. A number of others in my group are feeling ill as well. Please pray. 

Gringa Missionary Snowwoman

The temperatures are dropping. It is getting colder here in Chile as the Southern Hemisphere heads toward winter. The morning air is cold, damp, and anything but fresh. I can see my breath as I walk down the street to Señora Claudia's house for breakfast. I clomp through mud and puddles of stagnant water, thanking God that I have steel toed, rubber work boots. Breakfast is a humble serving of bread and butter along with a cup of boiled water. I am thankful that the water is boiled and I pray that the boiled water has thoroughly cleansed the mug I am about to drink from because I have observed the precious grandpa of the house washing the dishes in cold water without soap. I decline the coffee and tea that is served and I spoon a few scoops of chocolate mix, from my secret stash, into my cup. I realize I am missing an essential ingredient to perfect my cup of hot chocolate, but that is beside the point. Milk is not being served, so with a grateful heart, I sip my warm beverage and thank God that I have something warm to drink and that he provided me with the gift of chocolate mix from a little store down the road.

After breakfast is finished I head down the road looking like a freaky gringa snowwoman with my scarf, hat, gloves, and many layers of clothing. My outfit is completed with my red work smock-apron-vest that says "Youth With a Mission" in Spanish on the front and "Humanitarian Aid Volunteer" on the back. Although I am cold, I thank God for the fact that the cold weather has seemed to freeze my body odor. The cold is a true gift in this regard because my current shower routine has me showering around every 4-5 days.

With my growing Spanish vocabulary, I greet every person I pass on the street. The little barrio (neighborhood) of Santa Clara where I am living and working is a buzz of activity. Huge trucks are coming and going moving piles of rubble and dirt. I hear the clip-clop-clip-clop of horse hoofs from a horse drawn cart that is transporting supplies. Across the street an old man and young girl are digging through the remains of their once beautiful home, hoping to find remnants of treasured belongings. An elderly man struggles to push a wheelbarrow full of wood and construction tools down the pothole filled road. I look at all my surroundings and I am puzzled. It is hard to imagine what this neighborhood once looked like. I am told it was beautiful and lovely, but that is hard to imagine when I am surrounded by destroyed homes. I find it difficult to differentiate between the lines of poverty and destruction from the earthquake and tsunami.
I pass a few more houses with people eagerly waiting outside for my assistance and I assure them that their name is on the list for help and my group will be pleased to help them shortly. But for the moment, my attention and focus turns to the Señora in front of me. I enter her recently constructed home that follows the Chilean government's guidelines for construction of emergency houses and I set to work. I measure, I mark, and I cut the chunks of styrofoam that we are using for insulation. As I continue to measure, mark, and cut again and again, the small home where I am working transforms into a winterwonderland as bits and pieces of styrofoam start floating through the air. I giggle because this missionary snowwoman now has a snowy environment to match her snowwoman attire.
As my team and I finish insulating one tiny home after another, I thank God for the opportunity to be here. I pray that God's love will be with the people of this community and I pray that when the cold, cutting, winter that is just around the corner arrives that these precious people of God will not only be warmed by the home they now have to live in, but that the will be warmed from the inside out because in the name of God, one gringa missionary snowwoman gave what she could to share God's love.

-Every night I sleep in a room 7x9 feet with 5 other girls (1 German, 2 Bolivians, 1 Brazilian, and 1 rocking chick from the Bahamas)
-I am living in a government office building without heat or running water
-I get a 3 minute shower an average of every 3 days (when one of my new neighbors down the street invites me into their home to use their personal shower)
-Wet wipes are my new best friends
-The daily temperatures here average between 40-60 degrees (slightly different than in Bolivia)

-The air is cool and damp and frequently holds the horrid odor or rotting fish that were swept ashore and into the streets by the Tsunami

-The streets are strewn with litter, rubble, mud, old shoes, clothing, everything imaginable

-I eat three meals a day in a Salvation Army Shelter (which actually doubles as the living room of a local family, the family has been gracious to loan their space to feed humanitarian aid volunteers)

-My daily food intake normally consists of 5 rolls, some rice, and a potato dish

-The past few days I have been working with 100 Chilean Marines- they are incredible. They are working 7 days a week, 12 hours a day, to construct houses for the estimated 6,000 people left homeless in this area because of the earthquake and tsunami destruction

-There are shipping containers in the middle of my neighborhood even though it is 1.5 miles from the ocean. The containers were thrust onto land by the tsunami
-I am armed with an incredible pile of medicines and have been distrubting medicine to many in my group
-I am healthy, happy, well, and strong serving under the precious wonderful name of Jesus in the Earthquake- Tsunami zone in Talcahuano, Chile!

Bless the Señora

I was busy cleaning the dining room when I heard a shrill buzz…buzz… signaling someone was at the front gate. I looked up from my mopping and glanced out a window that provided me with the perfect vantage point to see the front gate. A dark-skinned woman, that I didn’t recognize, was waiting at the front gate. I looked around to see if anyone else was going to answer the door; it didn’t appear so. I was totally willing to run and open the gate, but I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to say if the woman started speaking Spanish rapidly. I understand a fare amount of Spanish, but if the woman started speaking quickly, I would have no idea what she needed. I waited a few more minutes to see if someone else was going to open the gate, but no one else was moving so I put down my mop and headed toward the front gate. I bound down the front steps and greeted the woman in my best Spanish accent. I said, “good afternoon Señora, how are you?” Pointing and looking up at the huge sign in front of our house, with eyes full of desperation, the Señora asked, “what is YWAM (Youth with a Mission) and do you help young people?” Amazingly, Spanish words flowed freely from my mouth and I explained that YWAM consists of a group of young people and leaders that want to make a difference in the world, we help wherever we can, and we want all people to know there is hope in this dark world and that hope is found in Jesus Christ alone.

With tears streaming down her face, the Señora started speaking rapidly. I didn’t catch all she said, but I did hear, “I have children…no money…I have no husband… my kids are hungry… we have no food… please help.” My heart broke as I listened to this woman’s story. I invited the woman into our compound and told her to wait by the front gate until I returned with someone who spoke Spanish better. A few seconds later, I returned with the YWAM base leader to where the Señora was waiting. I introduced the base leader to the Señora and excused myself from the conversation to return to my mopping. As I walked away from the conversation I prayed that there could be some way I could help this woman and her family.

Fast forward 2 months. It is Saturday morning and I am thankful for a break from the rigorous class lecture schedule that we hold Monday- Friday. It is washing day and I am really looking forward to having some clean clothing and bed linen. From my bedroom on the second floor, I hear the shrill buzz…buzz… signaling someone is at the front gate. A few minutes later I hear little kids chattering and giggling… my friends have arrived! I grab my bag of dirty laundry and make my way downstairs to greet the Señora, like I have been doing every Saturday for the past 2 months. Before I finish saying hello to the Señora, I am tackled by two of my favorite people in Bolivia, the Señora’s children. I hand my bag of soiled laundry over to the Señora, who is more than eager to wash my clothing, she has looked for other work, but is struggling to find a job, and she depends on the income she earns from washing my clothes weekly to buy food for her family. We count this week’s worth of my stinky laundry and the Señora announces I need to pay 15 Bolivanos (about $2 USD). I thank the Señora and talk to her while she begins washing my clothing by hand. I learn that she didn’t eat breakfast because she didn’t have even enough food for her kids to eat. I see in the Señora’s face that she is exhausted and not well. I tell her to take a weekend off. I joke that although I am white, I do know how to wash my own clothing. The Señora smiles for a second, but then tears start running down her face. The Señora explains that she won’t be able to feed her children or buy propane if she doesn’t work. Although I rarely encourage free handouts, I love the Señora. She has become my friend and she works so hard, so I offer to give her the money she would have earned for cleaning my clothes and I give her permission to go home and rest. Mustering more strength than I have ever had when I am sick, the Señora declines my offer and insists that she WILL work for her pay. I try to convince the Señora, to rest, lest she becomes even more ill, but there is no changing her mind. I give up the fight and excuse myself as she continues to scrub my clothing. I run into my house where I grab a glass of water and piece of my fruit from my secret supply and I return to the Señora’s side by the washing sink. I put my humble offerings in front of the Señora and I walk away. A few seconds later, I glance over my shoulder and I am content to see the Señora is sipping the water I left for her.

As I walk back toward my house, I review my to-do-list in my head, “I need to finish reading a book, complete a book-report, and create a presentation. I would like to go to the store to buy fruit and milk for the coming week. And I sure would love to have some time to email my friends and family or write a blog or two… so much to do and so little time!” I am almost to the door of my house when I hear my little friends running up behind me. Without hesitation, I decide my homework can wait a few minutes and I dash across the yard chasing my little cappuccino friends. We kick the soccer ball around, I pick my friends up and throw them in the air, we give piggy-back rides, and I tickle them to death, loving the sound of their giggles.

After about 30 minutes of running around, I reluctantly go back inside to do my homework. As I study, I hear laughter echoing in the yard outside my window. My heart is filled with joy. I pray, “God may that laughter continue… may you strengthen the Señora’s family, may the laughter of her children encourage her heart, bless her Lord… bless the Señora that washes my clothes.

  

Please pray: I just received this email from one of my nurse friends on the Africa Mercy...There is no easy way to write this or to soften the words, but Anicette went Home to Jesus today. She came to the ship last weekend severely malnourished and got worse over the next week. She was so sick...probably from the same feeding intolerance she had when she was with us in Benin. You wouldn't have recognized her. I'm sorry... I'm sorry you have to find out like this and that the words are even necessary. Anicette's mom was so upset so please keep her in your prayers. This precious baby was so special to many…

Hearts are broken...Please pray...

Designs by Laura

In my brief moments of spare time here in Bolivia, I have been working on developing new skills and talents.  My most recent educational pursuit is fashion and clothing design. Or, maybe it is more correct to say clothing re-design. Take for example the shirt I am wearing in the photo to the right. Before my creativity and scissors hit it, it was merely an old Gecko T-shirt that I received as a hand-me-down over 14 years ago (thank you Zumwalt family). But, just the other day, when I was studying and working on my homework, I had an amazing moment of perspiration, oops, I mean, inspiration, well actually I had both, but you didn’t need to know that. Either way, as I was sweating, I looked up from my notebook and I saw the shiny metal of my scissors from across the room and I was suddenly filled with creativity and the need to revamp the T-shirt I was wearing. I ran into my bedroom and with the snip-snip of my scissors, I chopped off the sleeves of my T-shirt. My friend that was standing nearby took one of the scraps from my shirtsleeves and cut it in half, demonstrating that the scrap could make a lovely headband. I then cut another strip from the sleeve leftovers and proceeded to tie it around the neck hole and arm holes on my shirt, first the right side, then the left. It was perfect. The scraps tied around my shirt made a lovely little embellishment for my newly designed creation. I put on my new shirt and headband and looked in the mirror, “not too bad, if I do say so myself, an old T-shirt, transformed with the snip of my scissors into a new, fashionable, weather appropriate, masterpiece, with matching headband.” My old wardrobe is being transformed weekly and for free! If I get sick of nursing, I may start my own business, “Designs by Laura, fashion at the snip of your scissors!”

Los Niños de Tus Ojos

     I carefully climbed down the steep embankment of the canal, cautiously maneuvering my feet on the slippery surface, knowing that with one wrong step I would slide down the steep ridge and land in the murky, litter strewn, brown water below. I gripped the bottom side of the bridge to steady myself as I descended toward the canal. I stepped over the cement ledge and onto the dirt ridge under the bridge. Ever away of the sheer drop to my left, I slowly inched my way along under the trusses of the bridge on my hands and stomach. The space between my face and the dirt was too close for comfort. Old watermelon rinds and bits and pieces of rubbish were only inches from my face and I forced myself not to think about the human waste I could be crawling through. A voice from somewhere in the dark yelled “tengo hambre (I’m hungry)” and a few seconds later I heard other voices echoing the same sentiment.
     I continued creeping along the dirt ridge under the bridge and I soon reached a small opening where I could almost stand-up. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness around me, I saw a small platform about 3 feet wide by 4.5 feet long tucked back further under the bridge. On the platform I saw an extremely worn blanket and a disheveled figure. The figure stretched their hand toward me and I gladly took it into mine. I held the thin hand for a minute, released it, and breathed a sigh of relief; I had been wondering how this street person would accept our intrusion in her home and her handshake confirmed our presence was approved.
     After conversing with YWAM Bolivia’s Mercy Ministry Staff who founded “Operation Restoration,” a charity that works to help rescue young people from the streets that are imprisoned by drugs, addiction, human trafficking, and poverty, we learned that the woman we were visiting was pregnant, but she had been bleeding for the past few days. Our purpose for visiting her that day and the others living under the bridge was to offer them a chance at life, in Jesus’ name, no strings attached. We were prepared to offer the people we came into contact with free medical assistance if needed, food, lodging, education, safety, counseling, and most importantly, Jesus’ unconditional love. I was so excited about the opportunity to offer life, in every aspect; to the woman we were visiting.
     As a small breeze stirred up the smell of the rotting garbage around me I refocused my eyes on the young woman in front of me. I continued to listen to the homeless woman mumble in Spanish as my friend held her in an embrace. I thought I was understanding what the tattered woman was saying, but then my brain went numb for a minute, “did I understand the Spanish correctly, no, I must have lost something in translation,” the emaciated woman before my eyes, had just turned down a chance for life. She didn’t want to leave the streets. How could that be? Why would this obviously hungry, broken woman, want to remain on the streets? Why would she want to continue living without food, water, a toilet, electricity, and medical care? I could not believe it; I had heard correctly, the woman did not want to leave her life on the streets.
     We stayed with the woman a little longer, offering the only thing she would take from us, our presence, loving touch, and friendship. Next the woman asked for something that surprised me, she wanted us to sing a song called “La Niña de tus Ojos (the daughter of your eyes)” by Daniel Calveti. Thankfully, our group knew the song she requested and we started singing to her. We sang in Spanish- “You see me when no one else notices me, You have loved me when nobody has loved me, You have given me a name, I am the daughter of Your eyes because You have always loved me, You have given me a name, and I am the daughter of Your eyes because You have always loved me, I love You more than my life, I love You more than my life, I love You more than my life, and You have given me a name.” While we were singing, I caught a glimpse of my new friend’s face in the shadows of darkness and I noted tears were streaming down her dirt stained face. She reached for my hand and I held it tightly for a minute before, she reached to touch another one of my friends. We sat surrounding this broken woman with love and care and she wept. She eagerly accepted our offer to pray with her and we lifted up her needs and concerns to our Father in Heaven, the Father who sees everyone when no one else does, and the Father that gives us a name, and calls us the apple of his eye. What a powerful moment.
     A few more minutes passed with us crouched in the dark and then, with tears still streaming down her face, our new friend stood and hugged us good-bye. We took this as our signal to leave and we left with the promise to visit again. I carefully crawled my way out from under the bridge and I stepped into the bright sun light. For a second, I was totally blinded by the light and I remembered a few scriptures that I have heard a million times, but all of a sudden they took a new meaning for me- the light has shinned into the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it, the god of this age has blinded many… As my eyes adjusted to the light and I returned to the YWAM base, I thanked God for loving me and I prayed, “Lord, may your light shine into the canals and streets of Santa Cruz, so that los niños de tus ojos will be able to see the Light of the Son!’

I Fall Asleep the Second my Head Hits the Pillow!

Any of you wondering what I am up to? Well, welcome to my world:
Monday- Friday
 6:30 am Rise and shine (I understand the rise part, but shine?)
 7:00 am Breakfast (Get there on time or the boys eat all the food! Breakfast normally consists of rolls that have been bought from the store around the corner. The store is normally, a little shop in front of someone’s house. We also have butter and jam with little ants crawling all over the jar, yummy!)
 7:30-8:30 am- Quiet Time with God
 8:35- 9:35 am- Class
 15 minute break! One of my personal highlights of the day, but I normally have to spend my break time running to the bathroom (trying to remember my toilet paper) and filling up my water bottle. It is so hot, I need to drink a lot of water, I don’t want a repeat of kidney stones, and I have been out of school for awhile, so I struggle staying awake in class if I don’t drink water to stay awake! Speaking of water, that is another interesting topic. After a few days here, I learned that my room and board fees don’t include the cost of clean drinking water. Also, if I want clean drinking water, I need to find it and buy it myself. This has been a very interesting concept and cultural learning experience. The majority of the time, there is hot, boiled water for me to drink, with meals, but I am not big on hot beverages even when it is cold so, the last thing I want to drink when it is 95 plus degrees outside with about 95% humidity is hot coffee or tea! Holy cow! Praise God, I recently managed to connect with a water company and I am now having water delivered to my home here. I pay $2 USD for 20 liters of water. I was also able to rent a little stand from the company that helps me dispense the water so I don’t have to tip the huge jug over every time I want water. I then transfer the water into my water bottle and cool it in the fridge with my name on it. If I don’t put my name on it, it is as good as gone! Exhausting!  Many of you may be wondering why I don’t boil my water and then put that in the fridge.  Well, with the schedule I am currently keeping, I have little time to boil water. Oh, I know, I don’t need to watch it boil, and as my brother reminded me, it won’t boil if I watch it anyway, but if you store the boiled water here for too long, like 1 day, a funky layer of scum and white floaty things forms on the water, and yes, I am picky… I don’t want to drink water like that!
 9:50-10:45 am- Class
 15 minute break!
 11:00 am -12:45pm- Class
 12:45 pm- Lunch (I have been extremely relieved to learn that Bolivians don’t eat a lot of fish or goat! Praise the Lord! The main food here is chicken and some sort of pasta or rice! Not bad at all! The first week here, I was totally enjoying the food and the fact that I didn’t have to eat fish, so I didn’t notice we weren’t eating any fruits, vegetables, or milk products. I let a few more days pass, waiting to see if the missing food groups would appear, but they didn’t and that is when I learned fruits, veggies, and dairy products are not really included in the diet that I will be eating here in Bolivia, yet another interesting learning experience. So, to ward off osteoporosis and another pile of health problems, I have the privilege of figuring out how to get a supply of fruit, vegetables, and dairy products and I have to pay for them myself (also not included in my room and board). There is an amazing grocery store down the road, but having time to get there is difficult. I often use a large part of my weekend to obtain fruit.  Once I get it, I soak it in a bleach solution to make sure I don’t eat any nasty invisible bugs, if you know what I mean. Oh, I love the challenge of living in a foreign country!
 1:30- 2:45 pm- Daily work duties (We rotate jobs every two weeks; praise God, because my current work duty is cleaning the bathrooms! Yikes!)
 15 minute break!
 3:00- 5:00 pm- Preparation for outreach, learning dramas, writing puppet shows, sports, personal study time, or class (activities alternate daily throughout the week)
 5:00- 6:00 pm Prayer group or small group time
 30 minute break (During this break I am frequently found outside near the faucet, sticking my entire head under the water, just to cool off! My hair dries in like 2 minutes and then I am hot all over again, so I repeatedly stick my head in the water again and again for my entire 15 minute break).
 6:30 pm- Dinner
 7:30- 10:00 pm One-on-one mentoring, chapel, street work, or homework time (activities alternate every few days throughout the week)
 10:30 pm Lights out (As soon as my mosquito net is securely tucked into my bed, I turn my fan on, and I fall asleep the second my head hits my pillow!)