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

• Suffering from seven straight weeks of strikes from separate sectors saturated the streets with unrest.
• Some settlements seemed to soothe certain folks.
• A semblance of normality, previously interrupted by the political demonstrations, has returned.
• I guess we interrupted the normality with a vacation, as well. We took the kids to Santa Cruz for a week.
• Just finished reading “On Writing” by Stephen King. I enjoyed it from cover to cover, or from click to click in my case since I read it on my Kindle. So good in so many ways.
• That was my first ever Stephen King book. I may read one of his fiction pieces. Any recommendations?
• My family gave me a perfect new desk chair for Mother’s Day.
• Southern Hemisphere summer comes at the end and beginning of the year. We are preparing for the cool months right now.
• Begrudged and betwixt might be the words to describe my state of being right now.
• Begrudged about the ordeal of renewing documents looming before us.
• Betwixt about the balance of duty and desire duking it out in my soul.
• I started a new blog site a week ago. If you want the link I’ll give it to you.
• Right at this moment I am finishing up watching the season finale of Survivor.
• I still smile at an idea my friend had a while back. She said, “They should do a reality show about us missionaries.” Ha! Could be called ‘The Real Missionaries of Cochabamba’. Trust me, it would be quite amusing.

A peek at my blooming backyard in this morning’s light.

(Click the pics for close up views.)

You hear it all the time. The old axiom for finding contentment in life: enjoy the journey. Here’s a little tip for learning how to do just that.

At one of our fancy buffet breakfasts at the hotel I asked my kids some questions. I did this on a middle day of the vacation. We had done some fun stuff and we still had fun stuff to do.

#1: What has been your favorite part of the vacation so far? (I tried to use the term “kodak moment” to describe this. Fail.) So they talked. Their voices raised as they remembered fun moments. We rehearsed lines from the Avengers movie in unison. Arms flailed describing the comical encounter with the sloth. We laughed together recalling chattering teeth as we swam in the rain.

#2: What do you miss about home? Our pets came at the top of the list; unanimous. Raimy missed her keyboard. Timothy had some video games awaiting him. Gabrielle wanted to hug her huge stuffed animals. Tyler craved gaming with his brother. Kaitlynn kept with the pets talking of our dog and birds. I missed my gourmet coffees and the specialized coffee brewers in my kitchen.

#3: Is there anything you have done everyday, including today? This rounded the conservation out and brought them back to the present. Their answers came from the buffet table. Everyone shared a food they ate everyday: cereal, salami, pastries, juice, etc. Thus my segway to talk about that day’s activities.

I learned a similar technique during the debriefing sessions of my short-term mission years. These talks took place at the end of the trip. I just felt like I wanted to do it with my kids at the middle of the trip.

An interesting thing took place. After the ten hour bus trip from Santa Cruz we awoke to a bright orange sunrise behind the statue of Christ in Cochabamba. From the bus terminal we took a cramped taxi ride to our home. Timothy led the discussion. His happy voice recounted almost word for word the deliberate discussion we had that middle-morning at breakfast. Instead of grumbling about returning to exams and the mundane, their minds sprouted seeds of good thoughts.

This can work at any stage in life. Take a moment to look back and be happy about good moments. Then remember the good in the daily routines of your life. After that, focus on the goodness awaiting you in the day given to you right now.

Look back…

          Look forward…

                      Look now…

We love orphans. DaRonn also loves bowling!

This week, April 27^th – 30^th, he will be representing the city of Cochabamba in the first of three national bowling championships. They are competing in the city of Santa Cruz, Bolivia.  In all he will be playing 24 games.

Would you like to help The House of Dreams Orphanage by donating an amount for each strike he makes during the championship?

___ $1 a strike.  He averages 3 strikes a game. This means a commitment of around $72 to The House of Dreams Orphanage.

___ $20 for every game over 200.  He averages 200+ in every 1 out of 6. This means a commitment of roughly $80 to The House of Dreams Orphanage.

This will be fun!

If you would like to participate simply leave a comment below and we can sign you up.

Also, we will be posting updates on facebook so you can get in on the fun. 

The kids and I will be joining DaRonn to cheer him on… and enjoy a vacation!

Stitches, millions of them, surround us every day. I treasure the stitches on the quilt made for us when we married. Knitted stitches of my kids’ tiny sweaters from Oma repose in the dark on a top shelf at the back of my closet. Industrial nylon stitches keep our britches covered. Stitches can even sow skin back in place; as the nine purplish ‘puntos’ did, leaving a proud scar on my daughter’s foot.

Imagine people are like billions of stitches holding the world together, holding time together by the seams. We poke and pull, loop and turn, all patching our lives overlapping and mismatched. Like a woman holding a hoop away from her face to look with squinting eyes at the work of her hands, every so often we see a glimpse of the whole.

A tiny dot of color, a life so important and full, pulled up through the cloth and laid back down again in the earth which spun it. The stitches line together making shapes of utilitarian nature and forms of beauty.

(Some of the kids who have come and gone from The House of Dreams)

So when the tug turns into fray, and the day turns into sighs, I think of stitches. Dozens of little stitches have poked their way into our lives and we criss-crossed like cross stitch. Some stayed. Others have been taken to new places by the great needle of circumstance.

I look at the picture of some of the faces of kids who lived in The House of Dreams at one time. A few of them are shown wearing the clothes my own children handed down to them. Shared stitches. Shared lives. Like the delicacy of crocheted lace, human fragility invites a gentle touch and a reverence for the One who’s handiwork is seen in the miracle of life.

Great Weaver of the tapestry of grace

Weave us and make something beautiful

My strand of faith

   twists around

       your divine lifeline

Amen

The Day of the Child in Bolivia comes every April 12th. Children receive special treatment and gifts. Schools throw parties. Parents take their kids out for some fun around town. My kiddos love this part of the Bolivian culture.

My thoughts turn to the children we care for at The House of Dreams. Even though the nation has a day dedicated to celebrating youth, hundreds of thousands of little ones live and work on the streets. It was the daily encounter with the reality of their existence that stirred my husband’s heart to do something. We couldn’t sit by and do nothing knowing the hardships of the innocent.

Children start very young helping their parents sell goods at a stand. Others work in the fields on farms. These working children are the lucky ones. You see the tragedy of barefoot kids sent out into the street to juggle, clean windshields, or just beg as the cars whiz by. The coins they earn are taken back to their families. A deeper look at the reality reveals that children are made to perform unspeakable acts to support the ones who bore them. Oftentimes the kids get hooked on huffing glue to escape their difficult  lives.

One of the girls who used to live at The House of Dreams was removed from a dangerous home situation. Her mother allowed an abusive boyfriend to stay in their tiny house. When her daughter was taken from her she realized how bad she had let things become. The law in Bolivia prefers that children remain with blood relatives whenever possible. The mother began the legal process to recover her daughter. It took years of meeting specific requirements outlined by the government officials before they would consider returning her daughter to her arms. She had to kick the guy out. She had to prove she could financially support herself and her daughter. She had to file all the proper documents. She had to pass various home inspections. All the while it represented good intentions that she visited her daughter as often as she could at The House of Dreams. Finally the day came that mother and daughter were reunited.

Not long after this happy reunion I was walking through the park near the orphanage and I came upon this mother and daughter. We greeted each other with the traditional kiss on the cheek. The mama explained that they were headed to her work place. That her bosses were gracious enough to let her bring her daughter to her job and teach her how to be a maid too. Her daughter was six at the time.

Both of them looked so happy. The mother had worked so hard to get her daughter back. She values family. She also values work and wants to instill this ethic in her daughter’s life. Any job is a privilege. So they work together. She was quick to add that her daughter only comes to her job with her after school. I hope that it works out for both of them.

The Dreamers, as we call them, find varied destinies around the world. Most who are adopted to families abroad will live prosperous lives. Those who are adopted by Bolivian families will live well in their birth culture. What about those who never get adopted? Those who will grow up as Lifetime Dreamers?

I hope we diverted their destinies. I hope none of them will turn to a life on the streets begging to support an addiction. I hope none of the girls sell their bodies. I hope none of the boys think they have to settle for poverty. I hope that they will pursue as much education as possible. I hope they learn to work and earn a good wage. I hope they dream of having a family of their own.

On this Día del Niño my thoughts turn to their futures when they will no longer be children. What a humbling honor that we can have a part in helping these kids find a new hope and a new life.

One of our girls was rescued from being sold at the border in a child trafficking scam.

One of our boys was found on the floor of a public restroom.

One sibling group was removed from a physically abusive situation.

One of our girls and one of our boys were scooped up during a raid of people living on the streets downtown where a murder took place.

One sibling group hopes to be reunited with their older sisters when they grow up since their parents abandoned all of them when they were much younger.

What would have been their destinies? This question pushes me to work for their well being. This question gives me hope for the well being of Bolivia.

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Has your life been marked by change in the course of your destiny? I would love to hear about it. Have you been involved in changing the life of another person? Why not leave a comment and tell us the story.

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To follow more stories from The House of Dreams visit our blog: http://houseofdreamsorphanage.wordpress.com/ We update it every couple of days.

To help us change the destinies of the Dreamers why not visit the sponsorship page: http://houseofdreamsorphanage.wordpress.com/sponsor-a-dreamer/  Thanks!

March 28, 1985 … my rebirthday … 27 years ago.

March 28, 1996 … our engagement day … 16 years ago.

DaRonn traveled this year so I chose to spend this special morning on the top of a tall hill in our city. Since Cochabamba technically forms part of the Andes mountain range I could stretch it and say I spent the morning on a mountain top.

The morning mist lingered after a rainy night. Birds, my only companions, hunted moths and chirped an echoing chorus. Breath made visible by the low temps puffed out of my lungs in bursts as I trekked the stairs up to the statue of Christ.

The day’s breaking came slow. Traffic noise from the streets crept along like a trickle of water along a creek bed that would soon become a stream. From the southeast ridge a voice carried a song. I follow the source and laid eyes on the squatters tarp. The folk rhythm, unhindered and pure, conjured visions of a time before concrete and wires tangled the basin in it’s modernity.

The stunning creation rejuvenated me as I communed with Our Creator.

Faces came to mind as I prayed while surveying the cityscape.

As the sun rose the people did too. A group from a boys preparatory school raced to the top. A father pointed out his small children landmarks below. A business man meandered with a coffee in hand. A photographer crouched down for a good angle of a stray dog yawning awake. Friends walked linked at the elbow. Boys kicked a soccer ball around and laughed loud.

I felt my nose start to burn as the clouds dispersed. I smile at the populous and then wandered down the steps to my truck. My thoughts turned back to daily tasks. Lunch to be made. Homework to oversee. Chores to be done. I left with a heart grateful for a morning at “Cristo de la Concordia”.

In 2008 a photographer took this shot. It’s the earliest photo we have of our daughter, Kaitlynn. The photographer, a friend of the director of the orphanage that Kaitlynn ended up in, passed her this photo, along with others taken in the same location. The photo was taken months before Kaitlynn was taken to the orphanage.

Kaitlynn’s birthday is assumed to be in December of 2007. The only info I have about this picture is that it was taken in 2008. Any guesses as to how old you think she is in this picture? I am guessing younger than one, maybe 10 months.

I am grateful to have it.

Here are three pics from her first week at the orphanage in February of 2009. Based on investigations she was assumed to be 14 months old.

Tonight she was listening as my 5 year old asked a dozen questions about babies, and my belly, and if I had babies in my belly now, and if I ever did have babies in my belly. My daughter said, “I was in your belly, too, mama.” 

(February 2012, on her first day of school, three years after being brought to the orphanage.)

I didn’t say anything. Maybe I should have. I think I might have nodded slightly. Then I scooted them downstairs for pizza.

This is just the second time that she has spoken of her infancy with me. Middle of last year she told me Tyler took care of her when she was a baby. Considering her age and her linguistic level I am okay with her forming concepts on her own. Soon we might have some directed conversations. For now, it’s okay that she identifies with the children who were carried in my womb. She sees herself as a baby from my belly. 

The summer heat of Tulsa, Oklahoma turned our dingy, grey duplex into an oven. Crouched over my bulging belly on the crusty, rust colored shag carpet I shuffled papers around. Expectancy within, the birth of our third child. Expectancy all around, our impending move to Bolivia. The two events would occur in the fall, just weeks from each other, respectively. The papers contained lists of names and addresses.

Having finished our mission school classes and the initial scouting trip to Santa Cruz we counted down to our return. Consumed with the tasks of unhooking from our natal culture we took a step of faith. Our most recent correspondence announced to the world we had quit our jobs. We told them our sustenance would be derived from the generous financial gifts people sent to us. Per our instruction in missions school we took strategic steps to divide our contacts and acquaintances in lists for more effective communication.

‘List A’ contained the names and info of all people who had given money in the past or who were sure to give in the near future. ‘List B’ held the folks who needed to stay informed whether they gave or not, also those committed to praying for the mission. ‘List C’ held all the rest. That afternoon, my two chubby toddlers took sweaty naps while I sorted the print-outs into the three lists. Them over there. These here. They go on this one.

With my brain fully engaged in the act of classifications, a simple voice whispered at the corner of my soul. He said, “I am your only list.” My fingers stayed their task on the floor as I knelt before the homage to our own proficiency. I breathed out a distracted, “Yes, Lord, you are on the top of ‘List A’”. My penitence to effective sorting sped up.

Then the grace, oh the amazing grace of my God, came in thicker than the heavy humidity sticking to my skin. This time the voice flooded every corner of my heart, “I AM your only list.”

When parenting, my tone changes if I have to repeat myself. I recognized the tone. I let the papers slip from my hands. Palms turned upwards I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. A repentant conversation followed. Words affirming God’s words formed on my lips.

The seed planted in my heart that hot summer day in 2001 has taken firm root. Through seasons of abundance and through times of drought I rely on my only source. My God. Through tears of emotion, in joy, in fear, in sorrow, I can say with Paul, “I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.”1

I have learned to trade independence and live in dependency.

This frees my husband from the pressure of being the sole provider for our family. I am free from being a nagging wife. If a need arises I go to my knees. Oh sure, there are times when I slip and let those weedy worries creep up. When I see those sprouts I remember that day on the floor when He spoke to me.

Coffee, t.v. shows, the internet… their addictive powers pale in the face of my co-dependent complex with my Lord.2 I love that He overrides my lists. I love that He requires I draw close to Him all the time. I love that He points out His unique provision. Oftentimes through other people, sometimes by a creative idea, and still other times through undeniable miracles, He proves to me He is my only list.

1 – Philippians 4:12-13 NIV

2 – 1 Corinthians 16:15 KJV

Laura Parker lives in Thailand. She has a beautiful blog about her life there that I highly recommend. I am very honored that she picked my brain a bit and decided to post the answers at her place. These are the questions:

• In a few sentences, describe what living in your country is like… culture, foods, transportation, people’s attitudes towards Westerners, etc.
• What advice would you give a younger missionary?
• What are the biggest challenges of being a missionary?
• What are the biggest benefits of being a missionary?
• Tell us one story of someone that has been impacted by your ministry.

Good stuff, right?

Find the answers here: Meet the Missionary {Angie in Bolivia}