The Highlight 'Real' of My Week

Brazil v USA

Fight to the Futbol Death 
Mars and Jupiter and Pluto (you're still a planet in my book, pluto) have all aligned and thus caused the most unlikely of series of events to unfold- The U.S. Men's National Soccer Team has made it to the final of the Confederations Cup... and to boot (pun intended) we play none other than the soccer super-power and my home country away from home - Brazil. Da Daaa Daaaaaa! 

It was a fantastic week of soccer and it was made even better living in a soccer loving country. In a house where people swarm in non-stop circles like worker bees and the shouts of tiny voices echo off the walls 14 hours a day, the only thing that can bring complete silence to the Sala (Living Room) is a Brazilian soccer game. The lil kids, the older girls, and the teenage boys all sit silently enthrawed by the neon glow of the TV. They clench pillows with fierce, white-knuckled intensity. They seem incapable of articulating their thoughts/emotions because the only word waiting behind their lips is...Goal...Goal...Goal. 

For all you non-soccer people, let me brake down the facts of the tournament and how these facts directly effect me. Early in the tournament, The US lost to Brazil in a 3-0 beat down. That was a bad day to be an American living in Brazil. I was teased and harassed by all 31 kids - even our most closed-mouth, depressed teenagers beamed smiles of pride my direction. But then on Thursday REDEMPTION...The (14th ranked) U.S.A beat #1 ranked Spain in a beautiful 2-0 upset -  Our goals came from our 19 year-old, man-child Jose Altidore and our  legit world class midfielder Clint Dempsey.  After every goal,  I wiggled and bounced with exuberant joy, kicking pillows and blankets into the air and hugging whoever (non-exuberant kid) was closet to me. Again, the kids watched the whole game in silence - but this silence was not the silence of intense devotion - this was the silence of the annoyed. Thursday was a good day to be an American living in Brazil. 

So the stage has been set...Sunday Brazil and the U.S. meet again and this time its for an international cup, as well as bragging rights (quite literally for me). So far I  have 2 bets on the game... The first is with Geovone - we agreed last night in a flurry of Portuguese trash talk that the loser will wear a Jersey or T-shirt of the other country and the loser must also say three times "I love 'other country' futbol". My other bet has some high stakes...Given our actual odds of winning, I should have just walked away and not made the bet, but my patriotic side got the best of me. If I lose we (we = The USofA) I have to buy Lobo a Brazil jersey and if we win Lobo has to be me a USA jersey. 

Aside from all the actual bets, there is the WMD level ammunition for trash talking that goes to the victor. I am not sure I can survive another month if the US loses 3-0 again. However, I am not sure I can survive another month (maybe literally) if the US bets Brazil. This is more than a game...in a very tangible way Brazilians have attached their national identity to their soccer team. In many ways, Brazil has a fascination with the US - our music, our movies, our cities, our Obama. In many ways, Brazil wants to have what the United States has...but Futbol is the one thing they have that the United States and everyone else wants to have...if the US beats Brazil on Sunday...I shudder to think about the death grips around the couch pillows because those white knuckled death grips might find their way around my American neck.  

How Jazz Discovered Me. 
I have discovered the most unlikely sound track for my time in Brazil -  Jazz. I already possessed the obligatory Best of Miles Davis album in my itunes library before coming to Brazil. I (sadly) admit that I may have downloaded the album merely as a jewel to put atop my music snob, crown...However, a few weeks ago Itunes shuffled its way into "It never entered my mind" while I  worked in the wood shop on a damp fall morning. Ironically, this song never did enter my mind as a befitting theme song for CLM - but then I switched off the grinding metallic whirl of the plainer machine, and I slipped away into the floating melancholy. I just watched the freshly cut saw dust float on the hazy, yellow sunlight that streamed in through the window. Outside the window, I melted into the yellow and orange leaves blanketed below the empty, swaying branches of the our tire-swing tree.  The delicate piano melody and the thoughtful trumpet filled my mind with a sense of tranquil bliss that can rarely be found among the screaming, giggling, crying, chatter of Portuguese...This is how Jazz discovered me. 

Flickr - I hardly know her. 
I finally downloaded the up-loader for Flickr (I love saying that - internet is a universal language) and now -  you can all visit My Photostream to get a better feel for the setting of my Brazilian adventures. I sipped coffee and watch the slide show of my pictures yesterday, and I began noticing changes in the tiny faces in the photos compared to the same tiny faces I see everyday. Is it possible that our kids have grown since my arriving here? Have I really only been here three months - or is this a Narnia thing where time here isn't time at home? I think these photos speak volumes about the personalities and atmosphere I am experiencing at CLM - I hope the multi-media experience of Jazz music, pictures, and rambling blog posts gives you sense of the dirty, beautiful, gritty, divine, grueling, joyful LIFE that has discovered me here.  

Wii -  Take that Wobbly First Step. 
Last night, Mike and Mary introduced the Nintendo Wii for the boys. I thought William was going to fall over when Mike pulled the box out of the cabinet. Unlike myself, these are not kids from a computer, video game generation. In fact, I don't think that most of them had ever played any video game system before...Watching them bowl was literally like watching a toddler take their first steps - awkward and heartwarming and wobbly. 

For the first two frames, William gawked the TV as he walked towards the screen (holding the controller perfectly still) expecting that his Wii Bowler to start walking too. He would then jump and dance - kicking his legs wildly to the sides (still holding the controller perfectly upright as the picture on the screen instructed). Finally, he turned to Mike with a look of utter confusion on his face and exclaim, "Mikey, Por que?". 

Some of the boys picked up on the games quickly and some threw the bowling ball backwards 90% of the time, but all of them bounced and glowed with the excitement of Christmas morning every time it was theier turn. "Geewiz adorable" is the only way to describe the boys as they bit their bottom lips in concentration before bowling, and then as they swung their wide smiles around the room, beaming with pride and delight because they knocked over 3 pins. 

New Kid on the Block. 
As I scanned the dinner table two days ago making sure all the kids had a plate, I did a literal double take (like a rubbery necked, carton character) because their was a new little face sitting at the table, staring at me. I blinked. He smiled. I waved and said "Oi". He giggled. And then I went looking for an adult, who spoke English... 

Below is the explanation I heard, which our director, Mary Gibson, later wrote in the weekly newsletter. A Note about Mary: Mary's catch phrase is 'no empty beds'. She is a special person...She welcomes every new, tiny face with bottomless love and open arms.  She has mothered countless children for 30 years - and shows no sign of stopping. 

We had a big surprise today.  An official from the Judge and a Social Worker pulled up with a 6 year old boy in the car.  It was Alex, Aline and Alison's younger brother.  He had been at the government orphanage and was attending a daycare.  Some family members went to the daycare and took him.  Because of the violence in the family, the officials were having difficulties retrieving him again.  The Social Worker had talked about him to me today, but never said that they were going to try to get him today.  Both Aline and Allison were in the shower when Alex arrived.  Aline cried when she saw him and realized they were together again.

These are the kind of happy - but overwhelming -  surprises that lurk around every half hour at CLM. Kids come and go with the tides of the child care system in brazil - and we all scramble to keep our heads above the water line. 

One thing I love about the modern day childcare system is the goal of keeping sibling groups together. Allison and Aline have been incredibly helpful and happy as they stand by Alex in his adjustment to CLM... It is real love and family and devotion on display. After all the short termers go home and the missionaries move on - these brothers and sister will have each other. Alex reminds of a hyper, new-born puppy that prances and bounces behind his mother - but in Alex's case he bounces behind his older siblings.

Yesterday, I played with Alex on swingset for the first time. I pulled him highup, next to my shoulder, and teased "Alex you're stuck! What's the magic word?" He glanced at this older sister on the swing next him, who mouthed the magic work for him.  He slowly turned towards me, shyly smiled, and sweaked "Por favor?". I released the swing and off he flew. As he swung back and forth, I walked around the front of the swing set and inquired "Voce gosta, Alex?". He glanced up at me and then turned to his sister with a big smile and big, puppy dog eyes, as if to say "Yeah, I like it here. This could be home."   

grace.peace.pat

Close Your Eyes and Exist

Close your eyes (after reading this paragraph) and ponder if the world around you... the computer screen, your coffee cup, and even your body...still exists. Unless the world around you consists of illegal substances, open permanent markers, or hallucinogenic toads, I think the answer you will find is YES... the world continues to exist even with eyes lids shut. 

The reason this tidbit from my first semester of philosophy comes back to me is because this week has inspired me to make a technological tweak to the idea. If Facebook, blogs, email, ichat, AOL, and Skype are our online selves - our means of seeing others and our means of being seen - and we stop facebooking, blogging, emailing, ichatting, IMing, or skyping, do we then cease to exist to the world? Has our Ethernet connected, collective consciousness somehow become more real to us than the world we find behind our eye lids? I think the answer might be YES - if you don't believe me just turn off you cell phone and stop email for the next 24 hours. I think you'll find you might actually feel invisible. No longer is the question "Does the world exist if i close my eyes?"...The question is now "Will I exist if i close my online eye?" My absence from the blog for the past 2 weeks has caused some of you to wonder if I have indeed vanished from existence. Thankfully, I have not...living in a place where the internet is a 10 minute a day luxury I have discovered that you will continue living even if you unplug. However, you will experience symptoms of withdraw. For example, I have absolutely no memory of how to write in cursive, and I am bewildered by the encyclopedias here in Brazil...I look at them and see a shelf-full of stone tablets covered with pictures of cavemen. 

So the problem with actively blogging life here in Brazil...turns out to be life here in Brazil. The thought of posting a blog post has fleetingly flashed through my mind the last few weeks, but every time the thought arises Everton jumps on my back or Gisi starts crying - or both (x15)

Here are some antidotes and updates from the past few weeks...

The Machines Are Taking Over. 

In one 4 day period, it seemed that all of the machines around me were staging a cue. 

Two weekends ago, I was dropping the workers off in the poorer section of the colony, and I ran out of gas right in the middle of a one lane dirt road. It was a sunny Saturday and the whole neighborhood was out to watch the Americano's stupidity. I pushed the van to the side of the dirty road (into a dirt yard), and began considering my options. Walk a mile home or walk a mile to the gas station...then a passing car stopped. A tall German man with a belly almost larger than his belt buckle moseyed my direction. Luckily, love actually is all around. Before I could even sputter, "Des-cupe, Eu somente falo un poc portuguese", the man started syphoning gas from is tank into a two liter. Afterwards, I shook his hand like a fool and shoved 5 reals at him. The next day, I drove Romalo to a party and got a flat tire in Mary's car. (important life lessons - car jack's are different here, but kicking a tire out of frustration has the same effect)

After the cars attacked, then the computers took up the fight. I have become the Go-To computer guy for CLM  (when Jack isn't around) because I mentioned I used to work with computers. Most of the time, I just restart the routers or wiggle the ethernet wires, but to the kids I am like the computer whisperer. This reputation feels great until a real problem arises...we were mysteriously without internet for about a week and nothing in my bag of tricks could bring the internet back. In about an hour, I knew the problem was beyond me (and i admitted as much to everyone) but ever passing day, 35 anxious faces would stare at me and ask, "Internech Bom hoje, Pat-reek-e?". I would shrug and watch their hopeful faces contort into disgust. Even the adults seemed convinced that the router just wanted more attention from me...like it was my pissed off girlfriend. In the end, professional help arrived. They whispered some voodoo into the router and poof - internet. 

I have more machine horror stories...but I leave you with this last one as the climax of a bad week. I am currently in the process of cutting and plaining boards of a new swing set at Turvo. Our plainer is beast of a machine that can slice a quarter-of-an-inch right off the top of a board. However, the plainer is all muscle - not user-friendly. Every board requires, teeth clenched grunts of manual strength to force it through. One day, after several frustrating stuck boards, I went to move this 400 pound box of metal. Instead of wiggling the machine slowly, I shoved quickly -tipping the machine over - where it landed, motor first, on top of my left foot. I did two laps around the shop before I stopped to assess the damage - my foot was bruised, along with my work ethic - and the stupid machine wasn't even scratched.   

Movies like Terminator, the Matrix, and War Games make us believe that machines will eventually destroy humanity in an explosive revolt. However if the super computers of the future are really smart, they won't create killer robots to destroy mankind. They will simply stop working and watch us wither way like pants without water. Can you imagine if all machines went on strike? Hmmm - the whole world would get to sleep in - but after that it would suck. 

Goodbye, Fair Well, I hate to say Tchau.

A lot of good byes have been said (and not said) the past few weeks. Mike and Mary have been on vacation in the States - thankfully they return tomorrow. Altair ran away and he has not been heard from since. A week later Elaine, our oldest girl at 19, was asked to leave CLM. She has had problems with violent outbursts, lying, and disrespect. I am not clear on the details of the straw the finally broke the CLM back - but it had something to do with lying and seeking out to a party. She was gone before I even made to the house for breakfast...Sneaking out to a party made me think about myself at 19 and all the parties I lied about not going to...it made me appreciate and marvel at the exhausting amount of grace my parents endured for me. Some of use learn the hard way...I think Elaine - like me - is one of those people.

Today, I learned that Marcello is being adapted and will be leaving on Friday. His new Mom (or Moms) are here today in a very strange and fast transition period. They sorta lottery around the house like people looking at animals in a zoo. Marcello is shutdown around them...shy is not the word of it...its more like the emotional fetal position. Mary does most the talking for him and he just nods when prompted. This is how the system the works...the courts make the ruling and 72 hours later the package is delivered to the new owners. The most interesting thing about Marcello's adaption is the reaction of all the other kids. They stare at these women just like the women stare at them - bewildered. I can't tell if they are secretly wishing it was them being adapted...or if they are afraid it might be them next...or if it a whole tornado of emotions are manifesting in blank stares, giggling stares, defensive stares, and longing stares. 

Next week, my Hungarian counterpart, David, returns home. This will be a sad day because David has a great "big furry bear" personality and set of grand facial expressions that render language unnecessary. The day after David leaves will be an even sadder day because all of the work that we now share will be unshared back to me. Driving in the morning, driving the workers, driving the kids, dishes, repairs, picking corn, boys' showers, preparing dinner, and helping with bed time...I am tired just thinking about it. 

A few weeks after David returns home, Edit(our nurse) and her husband Fabio will be leaving for Hungary also.  At the end of this month, Juan and Bethany and baby Caleb are taking their vacation in the States. Of all the things I anticipated being challenged by at CLM, people (other than me) leaving is not one of them. I find myself feeling more and more entrenched here as I see people come and go. Ever time, some one leaves (child or adult) the whole houses flexes and adjusts with the work and the emotion - eventually, we settle into a happy routine but I am beginning to feel like our kids must feel...that the normal routine is people leaving...people staying in their lives (and now mine) is abnormal. This feeling eventually leads me to picture my own departure and the flexing and adjusting that I will cause in the house and in the lives of each of these kids. I am looking forward to watching how David handles his last week here and how the kids handle the week after he leaves...perhaps I can learn some lesson in his departure to soften the blow of my own. 

David Beckham going to pick corn with a kiss on the cheek. 

Life here the past few weeks has not been as heavy and depressing as my blogs may read. I have had so many happy moments, silly moments, perfect memories, and wonderful gifts that I forget most of them now that I want to document their wonder. The thing is... imagine that the cutest kid you know - child, grandchild, niece, whoever - imagine that child does or says something heart-meltingly cute...now imagine that happening 20 times a day. I am like a cute addict....I started shooting up with a normal dose when i arrived, but now I need 12 needles full of cute just to get my daily fix. 

I have come to love the custom of kissing on the cheek when meeting or leaving a friend. Really only a few of the girls do this...the boys express their affection through karate kicks and punches to the shoulder in stead. The older girls would be mortified to greet with kiss - me too actually. However, Rita(10), Luana(7), and Marione(4) have started giving me a daily little pecks on the cheek when ever i have to leave them. Rita is our 10 year old know-it-all...She is a tough girl, and I like her strong willed nature - even if it can be annoying. One morning, I had to shout Rita into her seat as I drove the kids to school. I never yell and it scared me as much as it scared them. Rita sat solemnly in the back seat of the van for the rest of the drive. I watched her from the rear view mirror as she fought tears back.  She waited in the van till all the other kids exited and then Rita climbed over the backs of the seats just so she could kiss me on the cheek and I could give her my normal morning pep talk - "Apprendar Muito" (learn alot). So much was communicated in this simple gesture...her tears were gone - on the way home, I reflected on my yelling and her kiss and now as i reflect again i realize I am the one learning a lot. 

A few weekends ago, we celebrated the anniversary of the church with a BBQ and a huge soccer game - the biggest we have had yet. There were a lot of good players at the house and the game very quickly became a spectacle for everyone to watch. I have been a novelty around the colony since arriving - like a sideshow freak "Come one. come all. and see the amazing futebol playing american!" However, on this day - I happened to play extremely well. The key to soccer here in Brazil is not trying to score goals, but trying to be spectacular. I did my best Cristino Ronaldo imitation in the corner right in-front of the crowd, which earned me roar of "Ole". After the game, everyone including the pastor of the church started referring to me as David Beckham. This is probably because I am the only player with blonde hair and blue eyes - but either way being compared to Beckham isn't a bad thing - better than Americano Punto, which is my other nickname here on the pitch. 

My last joyful adventure involves the adolescent joy of picking corn and throwing it at other people. The past two week the boys and I have been taking the tractor into the fields and picking corn by hand to use as feed on the farm. The view out the endless fields is breath taking...The yellows of the fields compliment the blue sky and although it is cold - i feel warm. The best part of this boring job is watch 8 adolescent boys launch cornels and ears of corn at each other in full on trench warfare. It takes me back to fall weekends in high school and the corning warefar of Dover/Phila week. I don't know why - but throwing corn at people is an international joy. Unfortunently, I am normally the main the target...but I know the boys throwing corn at my head is their kiss on the cheek. 

grace and peace to you all. good night. gerbs. 

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.