Twenty-six zebras in all, if I did the math correctly.
They make up the border of a beach towel, hanging on a towel rack across from a seat I had been occupying for some time. At first I was guessing, but then I realized that there was an accurate way to come up with the correct number. By making sure the towel was hanging exactly at the halfway mark, I could count one side and double the number. Once I had that figured out I moved on to the zebras’ stripes. I was on zebra number two when I realized that they were all the same, and simple math could help me arrive at that number as well. Funny the things you occupy yourself with when you have to sit in one spot for a long time. Like the old man sitting by his barn on an Byfield country road, counting how many s’s are in: “The blood of Jesus Christ, God’s Son cleanses us from all sin” – (only some of you will get the example). In this case it was a towel with zebras. Lori was sick on Thursday day and I bragged to myself that I was immune and it would have to move on. I felt its effect coming on Saturday morning and by nightfall it had the best of both Caroline and myself. I never understood why people bring magazines in with them, I for one preferred the leather couch in our basement when I had a new magazine to peruse. By Sunday night I was hoping that my stay in the tiled room was finally over and I could move on to another chair in the house.
I picked up the computer last night, thinking I would get started with the update, but that’s as far as I got. I woke at five-thirty this morning and came downstairs to take advantage of this quiet time and get started. Many busy weeks have come and gone with no update, and for that I’m sorry. Honestly, there wasn’t much to report. I’ve been busy with construction on the Galpão every day (boring info), and Lori has been running around doing everything else (also boring info).
Dad and Mom left last week after a five week stay, and their time here passed like a flash. If I were asked to document the events of those five weeks I think I would be at a loss. I have never experienced time go by so fast as it does living here in Natal. We thoroughly enjoyed their being here, and for the most part Dad was game to hang with me, doing what ever I had planned for the day. Thursdays were the highlight of his week, and he loved coming to feed the street kids. I think he would come having challenged himself to see how many gospel papers he could pass out in a day, and each week was better than the last. On one occasion one of our street girls asked him for the package of tracks he was holding, and I could see he was reluctant to give it up. I told him that she was asking because she would be willing to help pass them out. Even with that information he still was slow to give them up, wanting, I think, to be the one putting them in the people’s hands.
I’m sure Inacia enjoyed Mom being around, because she insisted on helping with the daily chores around the house. She would often go out with Lori and return telling us how impossible it is to get anything done around here. How antiquated, backward, and inefficient, the systems are, and how desperately they all need improving. We were finally able to finalize the purchase of a car. That process took more than FIVE weeks, from the time we saw the car till the money was transfered into the seller’s account. You can either get very frustrated, or you can laugh and do your best to roll with it. Laughing and rolling means a longer life.
We lost a whole week because of Carnival-the mother of all Mardi Gras, whose main festival is in Rio de Janeiro, but is echoed in some way throughout the entire country. Christians advised us to lock ourselves in our house for the week, telling us that it’s the safest thing to do. The country shuts down, everyone empties onto the beach, the cops look the other way, the booze flows freely, the music is loud, inhabitations are discarded, and people do as they please. I planned projects around the house and was able to stay put for a few days, but soon found myself venturing out to see what was really going on. I drove into the city and was shocked at the emptiness and absolute feeling of lifelessness all around me. Like a deadly virus had wiped out humanity and I alone was left to record the events. There was hardly a car moving or a soul walking the streets. All the businesses were closed, all the traffic lights were blinking; the message came across clearly-do what you want, nobody’s here. I stood on a sidewalk where normally you would be over run by the crowd and called “hello” to see if it would echo off the buildings. Just imagine Boston without a soul walking the streets. The beaches, however, were standing-room-only, and the beat from the music could be felt through the seat of my truck. The people were many, the music loud, but it all died about midnight when everyone crashed for the night, so we were able to always get a night’s rest.
The doctors are on strike here in the public hospitals, and Nildete’s dad just had a stroke. Lori called her the other day to see if she wanted to take him for a test he needed, to a private hospital.
“I don’t think its necessary, he’s been improving daily since you and Mark visited him,” she said. He had lost all motor skills in his right side, as well as the ability to talk. His children were caring for him the best they could, but the care he needed would come from a profession that had chosen to no longer work. We found him laying in a hammock, the family all standing around doing their best to translate his garble, we all held hands and I prayed while Lori translated. I asked that God would make himself real to all present, by healing this man and returning him to his family. It was the end of a bad day, and I was frustrated beyond the beyond with everything I had planned for the day, and week, falling apart. The day’s events had brought the tears up and they were right behind my eyes, it didn’t take much for them to flow freely. All week, no one did what they said they would do, nothing happened the way it was supposed to. Everyone I hired wanted the money but didn’t want to perform the services they were hired for. After eight months of this, once again I felt spent and ready to quit. When Lori suggested we make the trip to visit Nildete’s dad, I went along having nothing else to do.
Lori and I climbed in the truck along with Nildete, her sister, and some folks from Aningas, and we drove an hour north up the coast arriving at a small fishing village called Zumbi, where Nildete was born. Her Dad seemed happy to see us. We couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but the family told us he had been asking to see us. I was not in the right frame of mind or spirit, and was reluctant when Lori suggested my praying for dad and the family. It was a prayer full of questioning and doubt. It lacked faith to say the least, and I felt my request selfish and hypocritical, convinced I had gone through the motions, and expecting no response. Regardless, I commended this man and his family to God, asking for a miracle.
“Is this the victory you often speak about, Lori?” Nildete asked.
“Victory how”? Lori asked.
“Well, since you were there, and Mark prayed for Dad, he’s up walking around and can speak again.”
God is real and able to do what is impossible. He’ll go to great lengths to make himself visible, tolerating the faithlessness of his sent servants, and longing for a heart that openly welcomes him in.
“Yes,” Lori said. “This is victory, Nildete. Make sure your family knows that this was all God, responding because He loves them all. He has chosen to show His power so that they might believe and believing have life eternal. He longs to claim them as his own.”
There are so many kids living on the street and we cross paths with them every Thursday. Every one of them will tell you stories that will break your heart, but amidst all the pain of so many faces, there are times when individuals stand out and grab your heart in a special and compelling way. That was the case a few weeks ago when we arrived at our last stop.
I had never seen them before, Savanna was about twelve years old, her brother about eight, their cousin about ten-all desperately needing a bath and some serious attention-as well as starving for food and any form of affection. I didn’t notice them at first with so many people crowded around the back of the truck. But soon the majority were satisfied and moved on to their post back on the street, leaving these three still hanging around the truck. The little guy asked for money, so I gave him the pocket change I was carrying. I asked where they lived, and they pointed to some torn plastic bags filled with personal belongings piled under a tree. I looked towards Jefferson, who has become a reliable friend on the street, and he nodded his head, confirming that in fact that was their house. I found it so hard to leave them that day, and wanted so much to put them in the truck and take them home. I gave the boys a hug, put ten dollars in Savanna’s hand, took her face in my hands, telling her to use the money to take care of herself and the boys. I promised to be back next week, God Willing, with some clothes for them. I prayed as I left, asking that God would watch over them for another week. I followed through on my promise making sure to bring each something new to wear, gathered from the donations brought from home. I saw them several times after that and then they disappeared. This happens so often. Where the children go I have no idea, but they move on to another spot and often we never see them again.
Pray for that little family that God allows us to cross paths with them again. What a privilege to be able to show them the love of God. Pray, too, that the Father of the fatherless will soon make provision for His servants to gather these little lambs to a home where they will daily hear His precious Word, experience His life-changing power in salvation, and become set-apart lives for Him.
Finding reliable tradespeople to work for you here is just about impossible. They want your money and will do whatever is necessary to get it. Give them money up front and you’re likely never to see them again. I had an electrician tell me the other day that he couldn’t come look at my project unless I was willing to pay for his gas. When I agreed to that he was willing to come. Once there he informed me that fifty dollars a day for food and gas would be expected in addition to the cost of his services. I looked at Vaughn, my Brazilian confidant, who confirmed this request by nodding in agreement, as if this is the way things are done in this country. He got one gas payment out of me and then was told we would be consulting others. I ordered a custom roll up garage door for the Galpão so we could receive and deliver materials. He asked for a deposit so he could purchase the materials needed to fabricate the door. I made an exception and gave him half. He lied, flat out lied. He didn’t make up any stories, but told us, every time that we called, that he was on his way and the call was unnecessary. Weeks of this have gone by and I don’t know if I’ll ever see my door. (fool me once)
Lori made a trip to orphanage last week with Dad and Mom. She called ahead, got a shopping list, shopped, and delivered the food that was needed. Cleide was nowhere to be found. We’re not sure what’s going on, but we’re continuing to wait on God for direction regarding that situation. There are many things that at the moment we’re clueless about. We are learning that while we may spend time wondering whether something indicates a “yes” from God, the “noes” are always loud and clear. We are kind of like bumper cars, bumping into a “no” we try another way-every time we look back, it becomes very clear that the bumps and trials are helping us to let go of our plans and our will. Pray with us, for us, that God makes the next step extremely clear so we can move forward with confidence and according to His will.
Bruno has once again decided that he’s well enough, and has left the rehab. We heard he’s at his Dad’s, but he has not reached out to us yet, so we’re not clear on his present condition. Clesseo is the one boy who has stuck it out showing real promise. The director says he’s a real joy to have around, and a great influence on the other men. I’ve a load of food sitting at the house waiting to be delivered, so will soon need to make a trip back to see how all are doing there.
I arrived in Aningas Friday morning with hopes of a productive day working on the Galpão. We just about have the building ready to put the woman to work sewing, though some have come every day and tried working in our mess. The men are also eager to be a part of the woodworking shop, that God willing will be in operation soon. Working there every day has allowed me to grow close with many of the folks and I’ve begun building relationships that I pray God will work through. My plan for this particular Friday was to cut a large pass-through in cement block wall, combining two of the rooms into one. My 10″ grinder spits an unbelievable amount of dirt and dust at me and it wasn’t long before I was unrecognizable, covered from head to foot in powdered cement. I was just settling into the day’s project when I was told that my services were needed elsewhere.
One of the few cars of Aningas had ventured out that morning and died about six miles down a dirt road leading to nowhere. I put the grinder down, grabbed my oversized ratchet straps to use as a tow rope, and asked where I might find these folks. I jumped in my truck, filthy dirty, and became a tow truck driver, heading down a country path, looking for a poor excuse for a car. They had abandoned the car and were taking shade under a large tree when William and I arrived. Some time later we finally arrived back in Aningas with them in tow. I picked up my grinder and went back to work hoping to finish what I had started. I wasn’t long at it, when again I was told my services were of more value elsewhere. I went to the door to see a couple standing there. The mom was holding an unresponsive three-year-old in her arms, and they were asking to be rushed to the city hospital.
“Urgencia?” I asked.
“Sim!” (yes) they said.
“Rapido?” I asked.
“Muito rapido!” (very fast) they said.
Covered in cement and hardly able to see through my goggles, I put the grinder down again and this time I became an ambulance driver.
My heel was grinding the throttle into the floor boards as my little truck gave me all it had. I laid on the horn, my four-ways and headlights were flashing, and I played ambulance, making the hour and twenty minute trip in about forty minutes. If it wasn’t for the sick child I would have been having fun weaving through city traffic.
Once in the city I asked which hospital they wanted and they informed me, with a petrified look on their faces, that I had passed it a half hour ago. I wheeled them into a private children’s hospital that we had used in the past, rushed them in, and announced to all in the waiting room that I needed help. I must have been quite a sight, matted with the filth spit at me from the grinder, but they took me serious. One nurse took the child and another ran off looking for help with the language. They ushered me into an office and interrupted a doctor in the middle of a consultation. He was very kind, excusing himself and turning his attention to my need. He didn’t speak much english, but it was enough for me to make my case. One hundred and ten dollars later and the little boy was treated and released, awake, happy, and being a normal little boy. I asked if they wanted a fast ride home and they both begged that I drive home slowly. I found out later that they had seldom ridden in a car and my ride scared the life out of them! I still haven’t found out what the child’s problem was, but he’s doing just great!
What a very simple and practical way to show who God is, and how quickly a connection and relationship began as a result of the day’s events. How easy to reach them with the Gospel when God through circumstances has won their heart. Please pray that God continues to create situations that allow us to show these poor folks who God is, and the wonder of His love. I never finished my pass through that day, God had other plans. The work will get done in His time; the connections made that day were priceless. I do believe that this is God’s method and am thrilled that He has allowed my family to instrumentally be used in reaching the lost this way. I often think of the extreme example the Saviour gave-to those self-righteous hypocrites who interrogated Him, about who the neighbor was that they were instructed to love as themselves. That’s how far God expects us to go in showing his love to the lost. That Samaritan spared no expense and made every sacrifice he could possibly make to help the injured man. He wasn’t a Jew and he wasn’t his enemy. In the eyes of this Samaritan, he was just a lost, helpless soul who, without help would soon perish. The compassionate heart of this Samaritan made, crossing on the other side of the road and avoiding the injured man, not an option.
I have come to realize that the Gospel is more than a message. It’s a work, it’s an investment, it’s a sacrifice of things and time. When the work has been done and the heart has been won, then the ears will be opened and the message will accomplish its purposes. The Saviour chose the people where this work could be done: the poor, the sick, the needy folks-those were company the Savoiur chose to keep. The work done and The Word preached, both working in harmony, will produce results. It’s God’s chosen method, and when separated the Gospel becomes handicapped.
William and I left early this morning. We were enlisted to help Eliel and Eliane move. I smiled to myself driving into the Planalto, remembering a bumper sticker that often amused me at home-“Yes, this is my truck. No, I won’t help you move.” Once the trucks were loaded, we made our way towards Zona Norte, and the location of their new home. To get there you have to cross over a river which leaves little choice as to the route. For one hour I sat in dead-stopped bumper-to-bumper traffic, wondering what could possibly be causing the hold up. Imagine this scenario, if you can: The Commonwealth of Massachusetts determining that Route 93 needs resurfacing and choosing a Tuesday afternoon at four o’clock to pave the Northbound side in Cambridge, cutting the four lanes to barely one. I’m saying barely one because when I finally reached the cause of the tie up, I almost took off my driver’s side mirror on the paving machine.
This is the country of Brazil and the tolerant mentality of a people who just roll with, what seems so often to me, plain foolishness. I think for the moment you’re all up to date with the events of the past few weeks.
We may be making the trip home soon, Lord Willing, to collect our Permanent Visa, which must be picked up at the Brazilian consulate in Boston. Till then, we continue to ask for your prayer and to tell you how encouraged we always are, to hear of your continued interest in the work God has done, and is continuing to accomplish, here in the northeast of Brazil.
Again we’ll say goodbye with love in Christ,
Mark, Lori, Caroline and William
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