A little Amazonian Anecdote

The last weekend in Brazil, I was able to get online and decided to send a story back to Canada for folks to read. Here is that same story:

The last night on the boat, we were back staying in this indigenous community (Kambeba). The leader wanted the people to perform their traditional animal dances for us, because his people were so happy to receive the soccer uniforms the Canadian team brought. After the dancing, the team went back on the boat for a late dinner. Dinaldo (my Brazilian friend) was asking if any man wanted to go fishing with some of the tribesmen. Two men on the Canadian team really love fishing, but they didn't want to go. We had already tried fishing in the evening and didn't catch anything. (I was the only one who caught a piranha at a tourist place a couple weeks ago!) No one wanted to go that night, so I went. It was myself, Dinaldo, one other YWAM guy named Robson and two young tribe guys. We were going out in a small boat, so I took a life jacket with me. It ended up being useful three hours later for my sore bum!!

The boat set off across the dark, wide river. No motor, just paddling. Full, starry sky. Trying to keep calm (thinking about possible snakes and the dark, deep water). Then we went toward the trees. Yikes. We ended up going INTO the bushes--into the jungle. The men had a spear for fishing instead of rods like we had used earlier. We went to the shallow water in the jungle where one man had a flash light and a spear and he would find sleeping fish and spear them! Again, trying to keep my mind from worrying about crocodiles, for this was the place where they would be!! Having to constantly brush bush off my face and head and hoping that no snakes would fall down from above. It was probably the most thrilling thing I have ever done. After awhile, it just became normal. And then it became boring. It was so long and I could do nothing but sit there and move branches. I missed dinner and when we returned, the lights and generator were off and everyone was asleep! (It was after 11.) The other YWAM guy continued on with the two men for another 20 minutes and apparently, they saw a crocodile! The guy speared about 10 fish.

The photos are of the leader of the Kambeba tribe

and Robson cleaning some of the fish the next day.
The big fish is from the spearing adventure
and the little ones are ones caught off the back of our boat.

Just when you think things can't get any worse...

The last week in Brazil, I was attacked in the night by a stealth army of mosquitoes. They left evidence of their attack on the lower half of my back. I didn't even view the evidence for a couple days and when I saw it, I was disgusted. As was every other person who saw it, or even just saw a photograph of it. (A photograph I will not post here, since the image is just too graphic!) I looked diseased. Measles or chicken pox or something. And of course, there was the itch. It was hard for me to be sympathetic to any other person's bites at that point. I was feeling quite excited about getting back to Canada so my back could heal.

After reflecting and blogging last week, I was looking forward with some more peace and good expectation than I had had in awhile. I finally was getting back into the swing of life and one element of my life before I went away, was bicycling a lot. (I bought a new used bike this summer. It was a sweet deal. It's a kind of retro Miele. Here's a pic.) So finally on Wednesday, I got back on my bike, riding it to the office. I really only just got out of my driveway, when I found myself face-first on the road! I had a bag with my lunch in it that I had wrapped around the handlebars and it got stuck in the front wheel spokes! I saw it happening, but it was too late to do anything and I'm pretty sure I flew right over the handlebars. I recall that I adjusted my helmet, so it must have been hit. My teeth hurt and I touched under my nose when a lady in her car stopped and asked if I was ok. "I think I'm bleeding," I said. My house was right there, so I just picked up my bike and carried it and myself home. Yogurt was everywhere! And my peach and tomato where squashed. (I had to later cut the cloth bag out from the spokes, it was so wedged in.) When I saw myself in the mirror, I freaked out! It wasn't my nose that was bleeding as I had thought. My chin was all scraped away and my lip was puffy and split. Throughout the morning, I would continue to find scrapes here and there on my body. And yogurt randomly crusted on me too!

I was REALLY upset about this for the whole day. Even after I found out from the nurses at the doctor's office that I didn't need any stitches. It was so upsetting to me to have to have big pieces of gauze on my face and to be worried about forever carrying scars on my already acne-scarred face. And would my teeth ever stop hurting? "What if they're messed up and fall out later?"

Later that night, I called my dad to let him know that I would indeed be coming for the meeting with the nursing home the next day. Before I could pour out my sad details of my day, he had "bad news" for me. My mom's psychiatrist is starting to think that my mom is showing signs of dementia, which, unlike mental illness, is something that just happens with old age and is irreversible.

A few days later, I learned that my friend had a hellish weekend on top of an already difficult situation and I wonder at how she is even keeping herself above water.

Talking with another friend about all of our struggles and the struggles of those close to us, it really is too heavy. Is this what being an adult is?

On Sunday, a friend threw a big birthday party for her husband. It was his 44th birthday, so not particularly special. But emotion was in the room as she began the toasts by explaining that she wanted us to join in her celebration that he is still with us for this birthday! In February, our friend Fred was hit on the head by a tree when he was working to collect sap to make Maple Syrup. It was a scary and upsetting time as we waiting for the outcome of this horrible accident. And many people prayed.

On Sunday, this same group of friends were reflecting that another friend of theirs died ten years ago when he attempted to rescue some children from a river. So here we are, back at those questions. Why does it seem that prayer works sometimes and sometimes not? Or why do bad things happen to some people?

This week, I received an email from one of the Brazil team who had compiled a few stories of the children in the shelter we helped at. Stories of children being abandoned by their families; young girls being raped and baring the physical affects of this; and, boys being prostituted on the street and resorting to glue-sniffing and other drugs. I had heard some of these before, but reading them again seemed timely.

As I look at this last week, I have to admit that bad things happen to most people. When I was all upset about my messed-up face, my friend Sharon said to me, "Beth! Think of Fred!" (From his accident, Fred had to have his whole face basically rebuilt and for awhile, he looked quite different. Nowadays, he has a big scar on his forehead and difficulties with smell, taste, weather and temperatures.) I finally got to the place where I realized it REALLY could have been A LOT worse.

Fred's brother-in-law ended the toasts on Sunday with a prayer. He said that it wouldn't be long before we would feel pain again about something in our lives, but today would be our day to celebrate. We would celebrate for the miracle that we do have.

And I guess we just keep praying. And we give thanks that when we don't feel like we can pray, there are others out there praying for us.


By the way, I am completely in awe of the ability of our body to heal. There's the fading mosquito bites. My teeth don't hurt anymore. The inside of my mouth is nearly all healed and my lip is looking normal. You can barely notice anything on my face either! Even where it split!

Love...

Since returning, I have had a couple conversations that have helped me see deeper into what God is speaking to me. If I've been this affected by what I perceive as God's disinterest in my desires, I must really have an inaccurate view of God. Like, you know how people tend to pray more when we're in trouble or when we have needs? Well, I think I've been viewing that as a serious fault, that I have to be at a level where I just converse with God all the time. It has been brought to my attention that God loves to help and doesn't look down on me when I ask for help. (James 1:5)

Then, I have realized that a discussion we had at our church small group awhile back affected me and how I perceived God's bothering about my life--or lack thereof. Well, someone in Brazil pointed out Psalm 37:23 in her version that says, "The Lord directs the steps of the godly. He delights in every detail of their lives."

Being on a YWAM base, around DTS students and around a church team really served to point out to me just how cynical I have become. I don't just "follow hard" after God anymore, uninhibited. I am guarded. I look at others and their expressions of worship and service with criticism. When I reflect on my own DTS nearly ten years ago, I tend to think of myself as so much more advanced and mature now. Less naive. But now I am thinking, what's wrong with a little innocence? What's wrong with a little recklessness? Sure I am still a quiet Canadian who really has no desire to run around shouting, "Gloria a Deus!" all the time and I'm pretty sure I'm not cut out for praying in my room for hours a day, but does that mean I should look at others who do this as folks somehow missing something that I have?! What?! What do I have? Well, I have the gift to be able to lead others in worship while not actually being able to worship God myself. How special is that?! Sounds kinda fake. Seriously, if people are acting out of love, then their actions must be good. I need to take a lesson about following hard after God. Again.

There was a song that I honestly and deeply sang nine years ago that wholly expressed how I felt about God. "You are my passion. Love of my life. Friend and companion, my lover. All of my being longs for your touch. With all my heart, I love you. Now will you draw me close to you? Gather me in your arms. Let me feel the beating of your heart. Oh my Jesus. Oh my Jesus." At some point, I decided the song was too sappy and I don't feel that it has been my song in a long time.

There was a man on the team who sincerely has had a real revelation of the Love of God. Every time he talks about God's love, he is overcome with emotion. And with this revelation he has, God has blessed him to be able to give love out in plenty. I was always hearing him tell the Brazilians, adults and children, that he loved them. With deep-felt sincerity. And his presence affected people too. They were blessed. This man began telling me repeatedly how much I was an inspiration and blessing to him and he would passionately pray for me. I received this, but it wasn't until I was home and talked with my friend about all this, that I realized how humbling that is. I have decided to let him inspire me. I know that I need this kind of powerful revelation that he has had about the love of God.

If I really understood the love of God, I would be filled with it and I would have more love to give. I would have no trouble telling the children from the shelter who so desperately deserve to hear it back that, "I love them too." I couldn't do it. I think that I have done so many trips and met so many people, that I have guarded my heart from allowing myself to give love. It is too hard to leave otherwise. But, if I really understood God's love, I would be filled with it, and I would trust that he would fill me back up after I passed on love to others who need love.

If I really understood God's love, I would rest in it. I would look at my present situation differently and would trust that God actually does have the best in mind for me. So yeah, this is where I am trying to get to. Now that I have realized I am not there at all.

O melhor de Deus ainda está por vir. Eu sei que chegará minha vez. Minha sorte Ele mudará. Eu creio.

Faith...

So I've realized that my faith is a lot smaller than I thought. As I anticipated, my 17 days in Brazil this July were perfect in that they put me back in a place where I could hear lots from God. And speak and nudge he did.

I remember that at the new year, I didn't feel like looking back on 2007 with much happiness and sadly, I've felt the same way about 2008. It has been hard. And sad. And depressing. And I am so tired. So when my mom ended up in the hospital just before I was scheduled to go to Manaus (for my fourth time), I must admit that I felt a blow at the possibility of not being able to leave--I was so looking forward to a time of refreshing away and in a beautiful, familiar place. Thankfully, I was still able to go and have indeed returned somewhat refreshed. Not necessarily any happier and still tired, but with some things to mull over and with the knowledge that God is out there and is speaking to me.

So yeah, I have realized that I have no trouble believing in God for provision--I have seen it so many remarkable times. But I have discovered that my faith is small in believing that God wants to heal and wants to see people happy with their heart's desires fulfilled. I am NOT seeing these. In my own life and in the lives of those closest to me. And I'm not particularly happy with God about it.

After a week at the YWAM base outside of Manaus, our group took off on the YWAM boat for a 6-hour trip up river to visit 3 river communities. Sleeping on the boat in a hammock is something I really enjoy and getting away from the mosquitoes at the base was a nice change. In the days, as the boat was docked, the group would walk into the communities and visit families. The dentist on the team ended up pulling out many teeth and every day, I ended up going off in a motor boat with just a few others, doing my best as the translator. We would visit families who lived on their own tucked away up various tributaries. I must admit, taking a group who wanted to pray and read the Bible to people is something I have become unaccustomed to, since working mostly with young Canadians who are not necessarily Christians. But this team had an average age of 50 and they were all from an evangelical church. The suggestion to pray and share God's word with the families came from our Brazilian YWAM friends anyway, and the village people all knew them personally. We were not unwelcome whatsoever. I needed to swallow my young Canadian tendencies and get into it.

So there was one family of 6 or 7 who all lived in this one room and in the house, there lay an old man on his hammock. They told us, he hadn't been up or eaten for 14 days. He looked horrible. Skin and bones. Our YWAM friends offered our prayers and asked the man if he believed God could heal him. (Actually, I don't know if she said, "could" or "would".) And Francisco spoke out, clear as day, "Eu creio." (I believe.) In that moment, I was overcome with emotion. I felt compelled to lay my hand on him. I felt compelled to pray for his healing, although I had no words to say. I just stood there, crying and touching him while listening to Portuguese prayer. Then we left.

Later that evening, Newton, our boat captain came to me to tell me that Francisco was up out of his hammock, feeling better and eating. This was the third person that our group prayed healing for and then later heard (or even saw) an improvement. The next day, we went to take him some soup, but he and his family were already en route to Manaus to seek treatment now that he was well enough to make the long journey. I found out that Francisco's sickness was cirrhosis of the liver from drinking too much. This struck me even more: that this man could believe so strongly in God's ability and desire to heal him, even though it was his own shortcomings that caused his sickness. Oh yes, how small my faith is.

Through conversations with DTS students, through morning team times and Bible reading, through Brazilian church songs, through a sermon given by a team member and through stories like this, God has been nudging me (or maybe hitting me over the head) to press in and actually pray. To not give up. To consider the hard things joyous and a chance to grow my faith.

I spoke with my dad last night for over two hours. It was really nice. I told him some stories and some of this as well as talked to him about light-hearted things like native issues in Canada. :P I was impressed as he talked about his own struggles with everything, yet I could hear his strong faith in it all. And even a strong belief in a physical miracle. It is so good for me to be at this end. Far too many times do I feel like I am supposed to be the strong one, but here now is my dad demonstrating to me a strong, strong faith. And a strong endurance (he told me a difficult story from his life that I'd never heard before).

(I gave up being strong a couple months ago, by the way.)