Rain, Rain Go The #$@% Away

A grey, uneasy damp mist hangs over the house and people here in Brazil. An uninspiring brown has smothered all other color.The rain has not stopped for three days now. Everything green is sadly drooping with the weight of bloated leaves. The once white VW Vans are splattered brown like a monochromatic Jackson Pollock painting. Even the dogs are burdened with the weight of water and mud. Their shiny fur coats drip,drip,drip thick drops of water into puddles under their muddy paws. They meekly beg outside the glass doors to the house struggling to lift their longing, heavy eyes to meet mine.

The mud seems to be creeping into and onto everything. Every step I take feels heavier than the last... My shoes and my jeans are plastered with layers, layers, and layers of mud....It is as if this damp supernatural ooze plans to continue to creep up my legs until I can no longer move. Another day of this and we will be forced to strain our necks up towards the sky because the mud will have climbed over our shoulders on its relentless mission to encase us in earth. As, I sink deeper and deeper and deeper, I will desperately shout to the heavens "Please, save me!" What will I see as I lift my longing, heavy eyes towards God... Will the clouds part, allowing glowing photons of sunlight to fall on my face or will the tap...tap...tap of the rain and the roar of the gray/black clouds muffle my cries for help?

The day before yesterday, Altair and Billy played volleyball in the dinning room using a stuffed elephant as the ball and the table as the net. It was a hilarious and intense game. The boys laughed mischievously every time the elephant/ball crashed into the table...sending cups, forks, and plates flying and smiles spreading across everyone's faces.  

The day before yesterday, it rained and Altair played. 

Yesterday, it rained, and Altair ran away. 

Today, it rained, and Altair is missed. 

Altair ran away...even as i write that sentence, I am numb with disbelief. The idea of him walking the streets of the city alone under these gray, wet skies is making me physically tense. The rain imagery above is nothing but a cheap distraction...a way for me to slowly wade into the reality of Altair's absence. 

When I heard the news yesterday morning.... I closed my eyes to pray and a picture of Altair sitting in a dark corner with his knees pulled tightly to his chest hung behind my eye lids. So I prayed in images of angles standing over him using their massive, white wings as umbrellas. I prayed that he would think about us thinking about him. I prayed for the clouds to part in this soul and his mind so the glow of God's love would be able to fall on him.  Perhaps all this imagery is over dramatic and sentimental...but my mind was (and is) heavy with it. My every thought is saturated with helplessness and dread. The worst part is... I realize how inadequate my words are in this moment...During the SHIT moments of life, only actions matter. And prayer is the only action i can have to delivery my love and protection to Altair.  

He was scheduled to have surgery in the city and ran away from Edit when he used the bathroom. Apparently, his brother pulled the exact disappearing act on Edit last year. Edit is feeling this loss most of all...You can literally see her dragging her guilt with her. I pray... that Edit can lay her burdens down...emotionally, intellectually, spiritually. I pray that when she throws her false-guilt down into the bloody mud at the foot of the cross, she will see something green courageously reaching out of the dirt so it can feel the life-giving photons of light on it blooming face. I pray that Edit will feel the sun on her face, on her soul...that she will free herself of her guilt, her doubt, her questioning...that she will realize her only fault was caring too damn much and for that (and for everything else) she has already been forgiven.

Where are you, my friend. Where ever you've been...please, come home.

We know Altair's brother ended up back at home with their mother....unofficially of coarse. So perhaps he is home or perhaps he is on the street...? Altair is only 11 years old (i think). He is a moody, lethargic, goofy kid. He can be difficult, but he can also be bust-a-gut funny. He is an entertainer at heart. Before yesterday, Altair is the last of our kids I would have envisioned making a jail break. But that was yesterday...Now, I can't shake these questions out of my mind:

Did Altair premeditate running away - back to his mother? Or did he run in moment of nervousness because of the surgery? Where did he sleep last night? Did he make it home - was he welcomed by this mother if he did? 

Runaways are not uncommon at CLM. Yesterday, Victoria recounted tales of kids running away in the past...some returned, some were found, some were not found. Even some of the happiest kids sitting with me right now (playing computer racing games) tried to run away less than a year ago. Short-terms like myself had to be one-on-one prison guards to them everyday so they would not runaway again. Why -  despite, the powerful, tangible love here do our kids run (to what?, i wonder). This must be an example of how deep seeded and overwhelming their pasts, pains, and emotions run.  They do not have the coping abilities to deal with their inner-demons in a healthy way... so these demons fester under the surface...manifesting as depression, anger, rage, fighting...,running away. 

I have thought about Altair's behavior over the past few days, and I cannot remember one warning sign that he was planning to run.  Moreover, he even refused Edit's offer to get him a jacket before they left... which means he ran in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans. These facts make me believe he ran in a moment of panic or false-hope to find his family. I am torn between the hope that he found his mother and shelter last night and the hope that he stayed on the street. If he made it home... at least he is safe (or is he?), but if he stayed on the street maybe he realized that Family isn't defined by biology...it's defined by the Act of Love. I feel like the father in the parable of the lost son (Luke 15:11) and I have only been here a month and half. 

"But while  he was a still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him: he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him." 

I long and dream to see Altair walking down the drive way... I want with every cell of my body to be able to pull up my figurative jewish rob...and run to him. 

 

At lunch, I sit between Billy and Altair. They were my first buddies on my first day during that first lunch. During prayers and devotions, Altair often leaned back into the gap between my left shoulder and my chest. I was his human Lazy Boy. For the past two days, Altair's place at the table has been set and his plate filled with food but his seat has been empty. The first day the emptiness at the table could be felt from end to end. Some of the kid's eyes would occasionally glance at the hole in the wall of people...and then their eyes would fall away and they would just stare at their plates for a moment - frozen.

The second day, I noticed a change in the glances towards Altair's place at the table. The glances were filled with less confusion and longing - and more with hunger. His plate (and pieces of corn bread) are now up for grabs. Our kids have developed massive, trash compactor like emotional defense mechanisms that allow them to shut down emotionally, to crush feelings, and to hide pain. Their lack of noticeably empathy and emotion is bewildering to witness. But I know it is necessary. They cannot seriously deal with another person exiting their lives... they have been left too many times before and to think about Altair's absence I think would break the emotional dam - flooding their minds with the absence of their parents, of their siblings, of missionaries come and gone, of past run-aways, and of the kids who have been adapted.  

Even the missionaries are not allowing themselves to lament Altair's absence...I can hear the veiled helplessness, hurt, and pain in both Mary and Victoria's voices when we have talked about Altair, but the words they spoke were words of strength...they are matter-of-fact about the chances of Altair returning, the reality of where he might be, and the lack of priority Altair has in the eyes of the police. They are also seeking the silver lining (in a cold logical sorta way)...if Altair is not returned, the twin girls (his sisters) will have a far better chance of being adapted (the shopping-mentality and psychology of parents looking to adapt is whole other blog). If the missionaries are hurting because of Altair's decision to runaway they aren't showing it. Instead, the carry on in acts of love... smiles, chores, food, games, and hugs. 

It is now the third day, it's still raining and Altair is gone. The rain is not only a fitting setting (and metaphor) for this painful time here at CLM, but the mud, the rain, the gray, the pain, the confusion, and the absence have actually combined into a tangible, swirling vortex of hopelessness. There is a bleak nothingness in the eyes of everyone I pass around the house. There is still laughter and grins, but there is also a uneasy damp feeling hanging over CLM.  

Still despite the clouds inside and outside,  Edit, Mary, and Victoria (all the others and myself) have no other option but to carry on living and loving because there are 32 other kids still here, who need life and love. I pray that this rain will go the #$@% away. I don't care if its a literal or figurative break in the clouds, we just need to see the light again. 

grace.peace.gerbs

One Man’s Garbage is Another Dog’s Dinner.

family, friends, and stalkers. 

I love you. I care for you. And I don't say it enough....

Manditory Viewing Prior to Reading (1:35min). There is a War going on For Your Mind. 

Since I arrived here in Brazil. I have been fighting a battle of frustration with our dogs over control of the trash cans. It is a battle of sheer Will against sheer Hunger. The castle that I defend consists of 3 large steal trashcans inside of a 5foot by 5foot wooden fence…that sits just behind the play ground. Every morning, I awake to find shreads of food packages, toilet paper, stuffed animals, and dirty diapers (and one morning parts of a dead beaver) spread across the lawn, under the swings, and around the sand box. 

The scene can be gruesome ....and gag reflex inducing. My sense of cleanilessness gets  pushed over the edge when the lil kids come running from the house, skipping through the trash, and the work weary adults walk by with complete indifference (its’s like a shocking scene from a Banksy mural). So I - being the overly-helpful, americano that I am - started fighting the war by methodically clearing the battle field of trash each morning as our pack of guilty dogs lay on their sides in the morning sun. (sleeping off their midnight garabage binge) Despite the well-constructed wood and cement fotress that surrounds our trash cans, my K-9 enemies mysteriously always find a way to storm the gates and eat their fill.

Now don’t misunderstand me… I love the dogs and they love me. They give the house and the farm a great sense of security -  especially the German Shepards. And the dogs are a great source of natural therapy for our kids. We have one lil boy, who is aggressive and distant with all the adults, but around our dogs he is sweet, caring, and smiling. This is just another example of CLM’s miraculous ability to heal broken lives (human and dog alike). CLM has a passion of taking in strays…Well, stray dogs have a passion for CLM, anyway (Viktoria loaths them). Muts of all colors and sizes just wander to the farm and never leave. At the moment, our pack of roaming “pets” totals 1 kitten, 9 dogs, and 2 puppies.

The concept of spading and nuttering animals is completelynone existent here in Brazil. Cats, however, are rare sight in the colony…thanks to dogs. As you drive through the Brazillian section of the colony, you cannot go half a block with out swerving to miss a skiny, tan dog, with a black snoat..  (Mike is convinced that this is the dominate combination of  genes for dogs everywhere in the world. Mike has traveled and worked in the Middle East, the US, and Brazil and swears that the exact same stray dogs that walk the streets in warzone middle east and poor Brazillian neighborhoodswalk the streets in Canton, Ohio)

The place where the tide of trash finally broke (the last straw)....

The dogs may have won our first few battles…but last week I pulled out the big guns. I spent the morning reenforcing the trash can shed – I added boards around the bottom of the fence, replaced the missing slates, and strenghtened the latch. While, I was doing this Everton (4)  was helping the war effort by pushing nails through pieces of rotten fruit – creating extremely sticky and dangerious midevil-esc weaponary. (see the picture below).

Thus far operation “Trash in, Dogs Out” has been succesful. However, my victory has created unexpected colatoral damange….Now the stray dogs are hungry, and they follow me around wimpering and dancing…begging me to feed them…everytime I feed Mike and Mary’s two dogs. There is one dog, Creepy Gripe, who is wearing down my sentimental fortidude. Her name is Creepy Gripe because gripe means “sick or cold” in portueguese, and this poor dog has some sort of skin disease that indeed makes her look creepy. Creepy is too small to compete with the German Shepards and other dogs for after-dinner scraps. So she lays infront of the house like a furry door mat quitely whimpering everytime I step over her. I am unsure how long my tough guy act can hold agianst those sad, watery eyes longingly gazing up at me…I am softie afterall, and I think Creepy Gripe knows it.

The lesson I am learning from my aftermath of  my battle with the dogs is…beware of the unforseen consequences of your actions...whether good and bad… realize the effects of our lives spread out like ripples in pond. My battle with the dogsis  is choas theory on a micro level…and I’m sure the ripples extend so much further. I don’t really have any great wisdom of advice of the unforseen consequences of our lives, but I think just acknowledging that our touches, our actions, and our words have the earthshaking power to alter the world around us is a humbling and awe-inspiring feeling. It might make you watch were you step next time you walk outside so you don’t crush a bug and accidently usher in the second age of the dinoscors…or  more lilkely – hopefully this realization pops in our head during your next fight, frustrations, or apethetic moment… I hope that at moment I am able to understand how delicate each relationship I enter into really is…

Here’s a few random examples of the dangers of unforseen consequences….

1.   The harsh economic restirctions forced on Germany after WW1, which were suppose to keep Germany from gaining military power in the future,  actually created the political, emotional, and economic circumstances that allowed Hitler to take power. Ooooops….(excuse the dark humor)

2.   In the 1960s, the US got into a trade disagreement with Europe over chicken imports and exports. In retiliation to the disagreement, law makers slapped a very high tax on all imported small trucks from Europe (specifically to screw over VW). This tax created a huge competitve advantage for US automakers to make and sell trucks to Americans. So US auto makers designed their business plans to exploit this advantage – then, as we all know, the truck market tanked and it left US auto makers with a huge hole in their projected budgets and (because of their reliance on the truck market) at a serious disadvantage in the compact car market. I mean serriously….thousands of people are losing their pentions and jobs in Detriot because of 1960’s Eurpean Chickens –What The Cluck? 

3.   Personally, I am realizing that I tend to look for the easiest paths to comfort – to food, to sleep, to rest, to entertainment. And in my race to comfort, I usually produce the colatoral damange of neglected and damanged relationships. I see some thing that makes me uncomfortable (like trash) and I rush to hide it – to make it go away. However, CLM is making me believe that comfort might be enemy, and it is the Uncomforts we enter into the produces the best of the unexpected consequences life has to give….

The moral of this very strange blog post then… is to look beyond the immediate and see the eternal…bypass the comfortable moments and dive into the uncomfortable whenever possible….realize that one man’s trash is another dog’s dinner.

Manditory Viewing Again...After Reading (1:35min). There is a War going on For Your Mind. 

grace.peace.gerbs 

 references and inspirations you might digg...

Podcast. Slate Political Gabfest

Podcast. Dan Carlin's Hardcore History.

Blog Post. Robert Lawarence on U.S. Auto Industry Crash

Music. The Band you heared at the start of the post - The Flobots

Art. Banksy - The greatest artist of our generation...in my opinion. 

The Third Way. Losing Leafs & Running Backwards while Reflecting

Hello again, dearest friends and family.

By now, if you are still actively reading this blog you're must be someone who loves me. However, if you happen to be a random blog-stalker welcome...you too will soon fall in love with me.

Oh. Recommended music of this post is Seeing Angles by John Butler. Open in a seperate window and read the blog of optimal performance.

I am now officially over the one month hump of living here at CLM (hold your applause). So I am going to attempt an objective reflection on the past 30 days - much like CNN is probably doing for our President's first 100 days about now... (btw, Obama's first 100 days mean nothing... because none of the issues infront of him were ever achievable in a 100 days. Stop trying to make news out of nothing, Wolf Blitzer)

Let's keep this brief... due to my weariness, I cannot produce full, coherent, correctly spelled sentences at the moment. (as evidenced by my last blog post - sorry again Flavio and Gee).

Week 1 at CLM
The defining question of my first week at CLM was "what exactly have I gotten myself into?"

The answer... I found heaven on earth. It's a dirty, sloppy, snotty, poopy, teary, screaming, cluttered, and chaotic heaven, but I swear to you there is a special kind of down-in-the-dirt love here that lifts you up. It's tangible (and tastes like rice and beans).

Weeks 2-3 at CLM
The central question of my middle few weeks became "Can I do this?" Can I actually do all that needs done her... Can I do all the work that needs done? (there's a lot and always more) Can I fix what needs fixed? (there's a lot and always more). Can I hug everyone who needs hugged (there's a lot and always more) Can I help who needs helped - both child and adult? (We all need alot and always more). Can I actually love and give and do it fully everyday to the point of literal exhaustion? (Speaking of exhaustion - every pop star who has ever been hospitalized for exhaustion need to be kicked in their boney arse, given a cracker, and forced to come here to work for a few months - forward this to Lindsey Lohan if you have her email address).

The answer, by the way, is YES I can do this...and its only by the grace, energy, and creativity of the Mothership (Nate Johnson's nickname of God) that am I able to do any of it. I honestly don't feel like I am living for myself here...my internal understanding of the word "myself" has taken on plural meaning. Community and unity don't even fit this feeling...it's not just that I feel close to the people here.... I feel like a cell or an organ of a larger living thing. It's a bizarre feeling...so completely the inverse of my life just 6 months ago that I don't think Rebirth is too strong a word.

A Small Example of a Large Transformation?
Many of you know my problems with mornings and my absolute love-affair with sleep. Well, it may shock you to know that I have seen the sun rise every morning this week and most mornings since I have been here. I am up at 5:45am everyday to pick up our nurse, I drink coffee and study portuegeuese till 7:30, I work outside or in the kitchen till 10 or 11. Then, I shower and prepare to work/play with the kids until bed time. I finally get to sleep about midnight - after I pick up our older girls from night class and send a few emails (It's 10:18 as I write this). Oh, and I have started sleeping in my jeans and hoodie - as a time saver and warmth saver for the mornings (I also did this as a child. You should try it. I think I was ahead of time in elementary school). Where does this energy and zeal to get out of bed come from...? Certianly, no me - that's for sure. 

I am not sure I can adequately reflect on my time here yet - think it might take me months and years to full understand this place, these people, and myself*. My ability to reflect on what is happening here feels childlike and silly - like I am trying to run backwards in a marathon so I can see all the people behind me. With each awkward backward-step-forward another runner passes me until I am in last place and the race has passed me by. Anyway, I feel changed here... I feel like a monk or soldier or an humanoid robot...and at the same time I feel exactly like myself*- a stripped-down, foundational version of myself - raw and honest and strong and humbly confused. My wants and desires (other than coffee) are falling from my mind like dead leafs from the branches of a tree (TV, Music, Sex, Booze, Movies, Books, School, Work, Cloths, Looks are gone)...perhaps making space for good fruta? (a lil wink to Jesus - if ya didn't know)

Today and beyond
The question now has become "What is the best way to do life here?" What is the best way to organize my time? What is the best way for me to interact with each individual kid? What are the needs, the shortfalls, the achievements, the likes, the dislikes of each girl and boy? What can I say or do for the missionaries that will best lighten their load and fill their souls? Basically, what is the best way to love?

The ANSWER alludes my intellectual grasp, however, the ANSWER does find me - periodically .The ANSWER likes to sneak into simple moments during my day... fleeting perhaps, but powerful. Today, it was a 3 minute twirling hug with Caroline. Letting Arivaldo listen my Ipod while we worked as a reward for straight A's this grading period. Picking up trash around the swings. Meeting the older girls' teenage attitudes with a Portuguese quip - which left them surprised and grinning. These moments hit me like shining, inspiration fairies dive-bombing my brain from the heavens.

I am sincerely not in control when the moment is RIGHT. But when the moment is WRONG I feel myself actively thinking...actively trying... acting like I think I should act....rather than just acting out of love. Showers today was a WRONG moment.... One of the boys (12) was bullying a smaller boy (5) and instead of seeking wisdom or creativity to address the situation... I grabbed The Older Boy by the back of neck and pulled him back with force. I didn't hurt him and I know my touch wasn't painful - but it was forceful. At the moment, my heart jumped out for the Lil Boy and my rage jumped out toward The Older Boy. However, This Older Boy may be 12 years old in reality but he is probably on 8 years old emotionally. He came from a street gang as a child where was abused and bullied and beat up....and he survived because he learned to adapt to that world. He acted the way he did because someone bullyed him, hit him, abused him - maybe his dad or an older gang member. And so when I met this behavior with force...instead of love...instead of humor....instead of guidance  - I just added to his life history of violence. Living here is a battle of to find the creative, loving, thoughtful ways to defuse violence, loathing, depression, and chaos. I am learning how a little more everyday. Or is it that everyday the ANSWER is finding me more?

Mike, Mary, and I had lunch today....
I just want to say how much I love Mike and Mary. I am in awe of their teaching skills, their marriage, their friendship, their love for the kids, their insight into CLM, and their constant and perfectly-timed support of me. I look forward to my greetings from Mary everyday (I miss them terribly while they are away this month). At least twice a day, Mary stops me and with a sincere and glowing smile, she says "How ya doing?". Now her "How ya doing" isn't like your normal pass someone in the hallway "How ya doing?". Her smile, and eyes, and voice say more than "How ya doing?" it says "Patrick, I care about you and I worry about you. I appreciate you and I want you to know that I am thinking about you. Please tell me what's on your heart and what's bouncing around in your head... I truly want to know and I care." - that's tangible love, folks.

During lunch, Mary and Mike were bouncing back and forth with insights and stories about CLM and the kids (sometimes when they get going on a story they tell it to together - trading sentences with out missing a beat - that's tangible marital love). During our conversation they said this (paraphrased)....

Mike: Working here has redefined grace for me... It's easy to look at our kids and where they come from and see the connection between their pasts and their behavior. But working you here, you realize that our kids with problems become adults with problems. When an adult acts out abusively or sexually, we usually think it's a cop out to blame their childhood experiences. But here you get to see the lasting effects of abuse on children, and it forces you to extend grace further...to more and more adults who do terrible things.

Mary: You'll notice the I am always hugging the kids or putting my arm around the kids...it's because I thought one day, "How many bad touches have our kids had?" Whether the bad touches were physical, sexual, or physcological? How many bad touches have they experienced in their lives? And how many of my loving touches will it take to erase the bad ones from their minds? Home many times do I have to hug a child before they feel loved and they know that God loves them? So everyday I try to give all our kids good touches so some day, however long it takes, they can understand real love. 

Me...reflecting. 

I am like a silent sponge around Mike and Mary. I just want to soak up their wisdom and their light so maybe i can squeeze a little of it out for someone else. I think what I am trying to say (so much for brief - once again) and I think what Mike and Mary do and say everyday is what early Christians called the 3rd way. Some primal instinct inside of us demands that we respond in life with either - fight or flight. Neither are good options... Today, I grabbed a kid by the back of the neck to protect a smaller kid = FIGHT. I could have done nothing and just let the tussle subside = FLIGHT. Or I could have gotten creative and loving and found the 3rd way. Tomorrow, I will hunt for the ANSWER again. As I have said before, I am prepared for the long defeat working here at CLM. It's a constant battle between giving up and exploding with frustration...but really its a big game of find the 3rd way. Don't get mad...get creative. Don't yell....laugh. Don't nap alone...lay in the yard with the kids and dogs. The ANSWER is the 3rd way. The 3rd way is creative love. And God is love. I am learning that if you look for the 3rd way, it has a way of finding you.

If you have 3 minutes...listen to Shane Claiborne descirbe the 3rd way. 
grace and peace. pat.

comer, comer, comer, dormir OR my weekend with the Alexandre famly

Topic: meu fin de semena de Churrasco x tres, novo amigos, e futbol. Via Corinthians! 

Muito Bom Fin de Semena. 

Tranlsation: My weekend of Brazillian BBQ x 3, new friends, and soccer. Go Corinthians. 

A very good weekend !

Location: Presidente Bernardes, Sao Paolo, Brazil.

Gracias Hosts: The Alexandre Family...Flavio Alexandre, Idilene Alexandre, Ana 

Clara Alexandre, and Osny Alexendre and the extended Alexandre and Viaria family.

Last weekend, I was invited to spend the long, holiday weekend with the Alexandre family in Sao Paulo state. I met the Flazio and Gee and thier daughters my second week at CLM. They came for lunch on Sunday, and we hit it off as I stuttered through some Portugeuse and they extended the audible olive branch of English conversation. They adopted their youngest daughter, Osny, from CLM three years ago, and have made surpisingly not lost connection with CLM, which is very untypical. Osny is a beautiful 12 year old girl, who melted my heart with her sweet shyness and coy smiles. Their oldest daughter, Ana Clara, is sixteen...however, She carriers her 16 years more maturely than I carry my 25. She speaks perfect English, and was a great translator and friend to me the whole weekend. The weekend was like an exercise in trust and faith. I was never entirely sure where we were going, what we were doing, or what surprise would be awaiting us around the next corner. (Think of that trust fall thing-where you fall backwards into a criss-cross of hands and arms. Except instead of hands, I fell into a criss-cross of food and laughter and futbol.

It was a holiday weekend so their entire Itilian family gathered at their cottage outside of town to celebrate. I am not entirely sure what the holiday was being celebrated, but oh my, did we celebrate it. In 3 days, I went to 3 Churrascos - imagine a BBQ but, instead of hotdog and hamburgers, they have steak, chicken wings, suasage, more steak, and chicken hearts (yes, chicken hearts are delicious). The weekend was a blur of new experiences and bi-lingual conversation...My portuguese improved leaps and bounds because I was able to converse with adults, who took the time to speak slowly for me and tolorated my clunky construction of sentences. Also, every morning Flavio and I read the paper over coffee. He doesn't speak any English, but he is Italian. So he speaks more with his hands and his expressions than his words. Through the universal code for gestures and facial expression we read all about Brazilian polticals, futbol, and pig flu (creepe suane). I never got tired of hearing Flavio smile (yes, you can hear smiles) and shout "Exactamenche!" when the meaning of sentence or word would dawn on me. Because of Flavio's gesturing, Gee's and Anna's translation, and all my conversations with the Aunts and Uncles - I can safely say I have entered into the conversational range of portueguese expertise. I can also now see that being at CLM is not the best place to learn the language. Too many people here speak english and even when I talk to the kids I usually only use 1 or 2 words. This weekend, I got a chance to talk to very educated and friendly adults and the pressure of the situation combined with my ability to laugh at myself taught me more than any book or study session could ever be.

There were too many amazing moment this weekend for me describe them all...so once again I give a nod to David Letterman and present my top 3 list of memories from the weekend.

1. Churrasco highlights - Horses, Fruta, and mais food - On Friday, after we finished eat our first Churrasco, Gee's Dad and Brothers showed me around the cottage area. Imagine a cabine and swimming pool in the middle of a farm and orchard. They gave me 7 different kinds of fruta directly from the branch to eat - none of which I could identify (save Passion Fruit), but all of them were unbelivable sweet and yummy for the already full tummy. Then we cut down some Sugar Cane to chew and suck on. Then, I was given a tour of their personal coffee fields...rows and rows and rows of coffee plants... all full of beautiful chocolate brown coffee beans.... Even know as I write this... i am getting tear eyed and perclemped just thinking about the caffinated glory of it all...On Saturday, after we finished gorging ourselves on Churrasco #2, the kids took me ona  hike through the streams around the cottage. It reminded me of being a kid and playing the woods and streams around our houses... catching frogs, swinging from percarious vines, and not thinking twice about leaving the sandles behind and slashing in the water. Later, one of the Uncle's sadled up some of the horses and we took turns riding around the fields as the sun turned orange and sank lower and lower being the green rolling hills. Let me add that there were two horses - a black stallion of an animal that had grown up wild and ran like it and a calm, little, tan-colored domesticed mop of a horse - While most the other adults rode the black horse, I was only invited to ride the kiddy-horse, which I was sorta insulted by... but more thankful for. 
2. The futbal game... becoming a Corinthians fan.  We ended up staying an extra day for the Sunday night semi-final soccer game between Santos and Corinthians. Once again my love for soccer and my knowledge of the game made me sorta of an American novelity, and the entire weekend different factions of the family tried to woo me towards their club. Flavio is-die hard Palmerios fan, Gee's oldest brother is a Sao Paulo fan (as was the pastor of the church), but the rest of the family was Corinthian's fans - and because of thier overwhelming energy (and majority rule) I am now a Corinthians fan. The game itself was so-so but having the entire family - outfitted with flags and jerseys - sitting around the TV together living and dieing with every close shot was an amazing moment for me (not one I've every experienced in the states for a soccer game). After the Corinthians victory, one of the uncles, who was particularly in fever pitch spirits began shooting off fireworks from the poarch. Then, we piled into two cars and drove in circles around main street where hundreds of supports and dozens of cars celebrated by singing, dancing, and honking... I don't know if I every stopped smiling for the hour we drove in circles..especually, when we broke the horn in the car from pushing on it too hard and we were force to sing our celebration as we waved our flags from the windows. 
3. Junxtapostion of  Brazillian culture and completion of a family. My final unforgetable moment is really a conglameration of moments, observations, and impressions. This weekened was truly a learning experience.  I was taken and welcomed inside of Brazillian upper-middle class life, which is considerably more like American life than life on the farm. We visited a mall (a mall looks the same in any country ), the boys ate Mcdonalds, and we tried to go bowling Saturday night, which is maybe what you did on Saturday night...haha. It was interesting to get the perspective of the adults - all of whom were highly educated professions. They were passionate about governement (including Obama), up-to-date on the state of the world, and cultured in way that the Brazillians here in Viktoria are not. I got to peek over the wall of another class structure, and there I saw, Osny. An girl adopted into a great family, who came from the streets, was raised at CLM and is now becoming a women with nothing but opportunity infront of her. I doubt most short-terms here at CLM get the chance to see the completion of the adaption process, which begins with the love and family here on the farm. It's both uplifting and painful to realize that only some of these kids get as lucky as Osny. But only some get the chance to jump over the obsticales class and curcumstancs...for most of our kids -  after the age of 6 - they are destined to live at CLM their whole lives, which is a good thing because those kids have a family and a support network. If we pull back the lens a little further you realize that the huge majority of kids that need a family and need love and deserve a future are still on the streets or in the slums. Seeing Osny with her cousins, uncles, sister, and parents I realized that ...while we are fighting a losing battle here at CLM, Osny's shy smile and every smile like it makes this long defeat worth fighting. 

A good weekend.... time to get back to work. 

Pat

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