Surrounding the elevated statue of Simon Bolivar, the Great Liberator of South America, in the plaza at the center of Bolivia’s capitol city Sucre you will find a ring of golden words. Words. Powerful words which read: Sucre, Bolivia, the cradle of liberty.

The city holds the wonder of words which gave me the power of liberty. Our first months in Bolivia beginning in 2001 we forced our tongues to converse with the people in the language of the heart of this land. When the uncomfortable unfamiliarity traded places with familiar ownership we pushed past the easy into the mechanics of the language. By taking a trip almost exactly ten years ago I spent a few weeks in Sucre learning the rules of the Spanish language.

In the city where liberty meets law my tongue and brain submitted to language laws which gave me social liberty. I found a freedom to befriend Bolivians. I saw the reason behind the ramblings. In this cradle of liberty I felt like a child learning to speak, full of uninhibited vim.

El Poder y la Gloria // The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene

A decade later I return with my husband. I carry in my bag a book I started reading a few weeks ago. I picked it up at a flee market in Cochabamba. During my time on this vacation I determined to finish reading this book.

How poetic that I would finish reading my first Spanish novel in the city where love for the language was born. I’ve read other non-fiction books out of duty or obligation. I am not too proud to mention I have also read a small mountain of children’s books in Spanish. I’ve also started, and re-started, reading the classic monstrosity ‘El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha‘. This one, ‘El Poder y la Gloria’ (The Power and the Glory) by Graham Greene, I choose for the sheer pleasure of the reading.

The story tells about a Mexican priest being pursued by a lieutenant during the polemic 1930s. The British author wrote the book in English. Knowing I read a translation from the original I felt like I lost some of the artistry of the work. Yet, being able to read the book in the primary tongue of most of the characters enriched the experience.  I recommend the book (in whatever language you prefer).

Who doesn’t love the opening of Dumbo when the stork struggles all plucky over the clouds until he finds the train where Mrs. Jumbo awaits the arrival of her precious child? Such sweetness when he plays a note and then sings Happy Birthday to the little tyke.

Where did all this stork business start anyway? Wouldn’t the pouch of a kangaroo make more sense? Or if this delivery creature had to fly why not a big strong pterodactyl?

So we somehow have this idea that offspring find their way to us by a mystical force. Logically a stork has little or nothing to do with the acquisition of children, so maybe fate plays a hand, or possibly God. As parents we know the process involves more than the multiplication of cells and the influence of genes. Heredity gets us closer to idea of a child placed in our family by design. Be it through conception, adoption, marriage, or other family-making ways it would seem that a force is at work placing children in the arms of their parents.

Some intimate conversations followed my writing an article on our orphanage blog called “Sometimes I don’t know how to pray“. Then a few other blog posts trickled in giving me cause to pause. One friend speaks of the waiting pangs as they painstakingly walk the steps to adopt their first (or first, second and third kids all at once). Another dear friend rejoices over the eleven children God has blessed them with; arms wide open to more should they come into their lives.

So I wonder which ones are mine.

Hannah cared for Samuel for just a few years after month after month of agonizing infertility.

Moses’ mother let the child suckle at her breasts in preparation for a destiny of liberation away from her.

Jesus started to pull away from his mothers’ grasp as a youth as he discussed business with grown-ups.

Rebekah had a boy with failure to launch issues.

Moses ended up running away from his adoptive mother after a life of privilege.

Our children never really walk out of our lives. No matter how long, or short, they stay physically close to us a mother is changed forever. Each child leaves a mark.

I currently mother five children. They are mine. I know this.

We have an orphanage. We provide for the kids. We interact with them and they know us. We have placed caregivers in the home.  But, someday I will be more closely involved in the lives of the children who live in The House of Dreams. I have yet to mother these children.

Because, I wonder which ones are mine.

To date 53 children have lived at the House of Dreams. Seventeen of those are still with us: 10 boys and 7 girls; ages 10 and under. Two of those 17 are assigned to be adopted soon. Two others are on a course to be reunited with their birth parents. The math and statistics tell us the 13 that are left will grow into adults under our care.

So, I wonder which ones are mine.

Should you choose to believe in dreams one of those 13, a little girl, is destined to a family. I saw another of the 13, a boy, running to his adoptive parents in a vivid dream one night some time ago. That would bring the number to 11.

11+5=16.

Which ones are mine?

When we started our adoption process (before we knew how things worked) there were three little girls in our orphanage we would have loved to adopt. Pati, Carolina, and Ximena are now lovely European young ladies. Our girl is Kaitlynn. She came to us as a surprise, hand-picked for our family from an orphanage on the other side of town.

People ask us if we will adopt again. It was never in the plans. So to give the surface answer I say no. Yet I know that about a dozen or so kids will be dropped in my mothering arms. Maybe sooner than I think.

I ask myself why I do not yet mother them, the 17 over there. The reasons too deep and hidden still, I settle back into mothering my five. I don’t feel guilty about it. It just doesn’t feel like the time for more yet. I know it’s coming. I know there will be a time when some of the children living now in the House of Dreams will be mine.

So I wonder why I don’t run over there now and squeeze them all tight. I wonder why I don’t say to each of them, “You are mine until you belong to another.” What am I waiting for?

I am waiting to know which ones are mine.

Dare I ask the Great, Stork-like, Pterodactyl, God person?

Which ones are mine?

A few months ago a member of our church told me she had an idea of a way to honor us for ten years of service in Bolivia. She had rallied some other people from church to help her with this idea. They wanted to bring DaRonn’s mom down for a visit. She had never been to Bolivia before. This member of the church said that she wanted DaRonn’s mom to see all we had accomplished and be proud of her son. I told them this was a great idea.

For the following weeks we communicated across the continents to prepare: the tickets, the time off work, the passport, the visa, and the vaccination. Finally she came! We had a wonderful week with Grandma Charlie in town.

On her final day in the city of Cochabamba we observed Pedestrian Day, during which use of motor vehicles is prohibited. After the church service we had a nice little walk together. Back at home we made fun photos for posterity.

We are so very grateful for this amazing gift given to us by the church body here at Iglesia Cristo Nación. ¡Los cristonacioneros son lo máximo!

Enjoy some pictures from our final day together.

"Aragatza" best ice-cream in town and it's sold from the side of a truck

Gabrielle wanted to bring our poodle Shep along for the walk (photo by Raimy O.)

Another photo by Raimy O. of Timothy

DVD sales in front of our gate. That's our ministry's sign. DaRonn and his mom share a love of movies.

The blue graffiti says "Rechaza el Engaño" which means: Resist Deception

Our neighbor in the market. She sits here every day.

The Washington family with Grandma Charlie

Mother and Son

It’s called ‘Huminta al Horno’. Here it is pictured fresh out of the oven. It’s a dense, moist, corn bread wrapped in corn husks. Two types of humintas exist in Bolivia, baked and boiled. I prefer baked.

Gives new meaning to the mascot of my beloved state of birth: Cornhusker. You peel back the husks trying not to burn your fingers in your haste to get the delectable goodness to your mouth. The huminta is the size of my hand.

I couldn’t tell you how to make them but I can tell you how to eat them and how they taste. The main ingredients are white corn meal, a salty-melty-white-hard cheese made locally, and aniseed. Hardy, sweet, filling, and just plain good.

10. Trying to walk through the most crowded market in Santa Cruz, Bolivia pushing a deluxe, much-too-large stroller while corralling a three-year-old and a two-year-old and negotiating prices in the first first week of learning Spanish. It had rained the night before. In the three hour trek I managed to buy two pillows and three sets of sheets.

9. Hiring a maid to help with cooking, cleaning, kid care and language practice only to come home after a meeting to find she had rearranged all the furniture in our home because she liked it better that way.

8. Running down stairs upon hearing screams of, “Die! Die! Die!” only to find the Bolivian gal who was staying in our home in the kitchen with a dish rag trying to smash the invasion of an army of ants each the size of my head while dancing around in an attempt to not touch the nastiness.

7. Purchasing eight pounds of cheese from the guy at the deli counter when I only wanted a quarter kilo and then crying in the supermarket because I didn’t have enough money to buy much else than that cheese and I didn’t know how to make it right. This also took place during the beginning stages of language learning. You tell me, ‘cuarto’ and cuatro’… not very different, right? VERY different.

6. Being asked to speak at a church in a rural city and wanting to connect with the pastor’s wife during some down time by going shopping. I heard the market in this city had great prices on clothes. I stopped in one of the stalls and saw some jeans I liked. I stepped behind the sheet rigged up in the corner with some clothes pins as a changing room. I came out with the new jeans on and asked the pastor’s wife if they looked alright. She said, “I wouldn’t know, I am not allowed to wear pants.” All the while smiling at me and trying to be polite.

5. Seeing a BMW rolling shiny down the road alongside two junior high aged boys clicking a horse pulling a platform as they collect trash.

4. Delivering my child in a hospital that looked like a relic from the 50′s. Caesarean.

3. Paperwork ad infinitum.

2. During our adoption being told that compassion is bad and love it good. “Compassion is pity and leads you to mistreat people. Love is good and leads you to choose to be an adoptive parent because you want to be a parent.”

1. Husband coming back from the snack stand during the middle of the movie empty handed. They told him they couldn’t sell him the popcorn because the people from the movie that would be starting soon would need to buy it. “So you aren’t going to sell me the popcorn?” he says. “No,” they say.

*** Next list: 10 Answered Prayers ***

Now on with the crunchy, munchy, mixed-up life I lead…

A few points of economic perspective.

1. Someone tried to sell me their full grown, trained macaw for about $70.
2. My kids regularly snack on fresh tropical fruit. Five mangos picked ripe from the tree cost less than $3 all together.
3. I get my legs professionally waxed once a month at $12 a visit.
4. A complete mani+pedi pampering puts me back no more than $7.
5. When my hubby and I take a trip to the movies and get two tickets, with popcorn and sodas for both of us we spend no more than $20.
6. Dare I mention that we employ full time house-help for about $130 a month?
7. For a taxi ride that takes about 15 minutes (which gets you almost anywhere in town) we pay between $1 to $2.
8. A huge chunk of steak grilled to delicious perfection at a restaurant? $7.
9. We’ve made a few trips to the emergency room for sickness and injury. The cheapest visit cost $1 and the most expensive $20.
10. With our Magic Jack we can make an infinite number of calls to the U.S. for $35 a year. When people call us they get charged what they would when calling Missouri. Skype chats cost only what we pay for high speed internet service.

I wanted to share with you a couple of the perks of missionary life in Bolivia. I needed the reminder.

To be fair I need to add we pay the same as in the States or higher for lots of stuff including but not limited to: vehicles, land, electronics, quality construction materials, and imported foods.

Most of the items on the preceding list register as luxury expenses for most Bolivians. After all, they call this the poorest country in South America. I am so grateful that we can maintain a healthy lifestyle with a number of comforts at relatively low costs.

Why not share with me some of the perks in your life?

Finally, a scene that caught my eye and made me smile on a drive the other day. With no relevance to the rest of the post I call it:

‘Three Men and a Baby in Bolivia’

To broaden your cultural understanding of Spanish and Bolivia I present to you a look at our money.

• English speakers say: Heads and Tails.
• Spanish speakers say, respectively: Cara y Cruz.
• Literal translation of these words: Face and Cross.

• English speakers say: Let’s look at both sides of the issue.
• Spanish speakers say, respectively: Veamos la cara y la cruz de la misma moneda.
• Literal translation of these words: Let’s look at the face and the cross of the same coin.

In 2009 the nation where I live got a new name. We went from calling it: Republica de Bolivia (Republic of Bolivia) to Estado Plurinacional de Bolivia (Plurinational State of Bolivia). The name Bolivia comes from our great liberator Simón Bolivar.

From the trusty old source of Wikipedia you come to find out:

“…the original name given to the newly formed country was Republic of Bolívar. The name would not change to Bolivia until some days later when congressman Manuel Martín Cruz proposed: “If from Romulus comes Rome, then from Bolívar comes Bolivia” (Spanish: Si de Rómulo Roma, de Bolívar Bolivia). The name stuck and was approved by the Republic on 3 October 1825.

In 2009, a new constitution changed the country’s name from the “Republic of Bolivia” to the “Plurinational State of Bolivia” in recognition of the multi-ethnic nature of the country and the enhanced position of Bolivia’s indigenous peoples under the new constitution.^“

An image of the ‘cruz’ side of a coin with the former name and the current name:

Has anything changed with the new name? Racist terms have been legally banned. Holidays from cultures represented in Bolivia’s borders have been nationalized. Public documentation now includes the new name and multilingual wording.

May the inclusive nature of the name change affect the attitudes of the people. May we strive to truly take the time to “ver la cara y la cruz de la misma moneda”.

Friends are God's way of taking care of us.

This very awesome cup was given to me by a dear friend right here in Cochabamba. It was wrapped in a cute green bag along with some other very fun goodies. I feel loved!

Even though more than a year passed during which we relied on phone calls and facebook to keep in touch when we saw each other again it was as if we had never parted. She lives 5 minutes up the street from me.

Scattered around the city are a handful of ladies who live close enough to hug. We do coffee together. We get our nails done together. We get our kids together to hang out. We go to the movies together. Most importantly we talk and laugh and cry and pray and share our hearts.

An occupational hazard of mission work is getting caught in the revolving door of hellos and goodbyes. Maybe that makes us treasure more the times we have when we live a quick drive from each other.

A while ago I started to take pictures with my friends. I call the folder where they are stored ‘&’. These images are so precious to me.

Talk Topic Q: What do you do to show your friends you appreciate them?

A few posts back I told my dear readers to ask me anything. Seeing as we are coming up to our 10th year on the mission field as well as fifteen years of marriage I opened the floor to find out what you are curious about. The following 12 minute video answers the 14 questions that came in. If you want to skip ahead to a question follow this general guide:

1. [0:10] How do I start working on the mission field?
2. How did you start working on the mission field?
3. [1:50] How do I pack up my family and move somewhere and not have any income?
4. How do you support yourselves?
5. [4:20] When you started 10 years ago did you have an idea where you wanted to be at this point?
6. Did you accomplish that?
7. [4:50] How would you describe your role in Christ Nation Ministries?
8. [5:10] If the ‘now’ you could talk to the ‘then’ you what would you say?
9. [5:45] How do you fight against burnout?
10. [7:00] How does one make it to 10 years on the mission field?
11. [9:25] The thing you love most about living in Bolivia.
12. [9:45] If you could be anywhere else in the world doing anything else where would you be and what would you be doing?
13. [10:55] Do you feel you may ever do missionary work in another place in another time in your lives?
14. [11:30] Favourite way to have your coffee.

Thanks for watching!

Click here to view the embedded video.

When I walk into a bathroom my eyes automatically glance to the sides of the, eh hem, toilet. No trash can no entry. Where will I throw away my used, eh hem, toilet paper without a trash can readily available? What?! You flush your paper? Surely your plumbing gets clogged every. single. day.

In the kitchen my taste buds salivate as I look at the pile of fruit bulging from the basket. I smile remembering how cheap they sell it in the market. Kids, eat more fruit — it’s super inexpensive. Favorite snacks: mandarins, mangos, pacai, custard apple, and bananas.

The invitation says 3:00? If I walk in around 4ish we should be good.Yep, bought the gift on the way and had it wrapped by the salesperson. No tags? Ne need. Did I bring a bag to transport the full to overflowing goodie bags each of my kids will get? Yep. No, thanks, my 3 year old does not need a 3rd mini coke bottle. Oh, look! they just pushed the birthday kids’ face into the cake. Good times.

Honk, beep, swerve, hey! Two lanes turn to four with the help of motorcycles mounted high looking like they will topple over. Red plus two — one of the gazillion unwritten rules of the road. Right turn on red after stopping — don’t even think about it! The bigger and the faster wins so take your right of way; just don’t forget to nose your way in with an aggressive sounding of your horn. Pothole! Oops, forgot about that one.

Nine-year-old new normals. I recall the multitudinous cringes as I forced myself to place the used paper in the trash can instead of dropping it into the bowl. I remember laboring to do the rate of exchange math in my head while Spanish words clogged my thought process, then the thrill of realizing that I just bought 12 apples for 2 bucks. Oh the frustration of punctualitys. Putting my life and the lives of our children in the hands of taxi drivers for years and years put my nerves on edge. How odd to look at those times past and watch myself learning how to live in this foreign place.

Odd, I say, because now these things come naturally. I hear newbies struggle and complain and indignant thoughts arise to defend my home. I hope that the things I now let perturb me (paperwork, endless lines, good intentions — poor follow through, poverty, scents, inconvenience and the fact that the customer is not always right, etc.) will one day become quaint cultural endearments, or at the very least accepted standards of living.