Fierce Like Lions

I, Lena, did not learn how to drive at the traditional American age-- 16. No driver's ed for me. Why? I am not sure. But the responsibility of driving truly frightened me. I was afraid of wrecking the car, of hurting someone else. I was 24 years old when I finally learned to drive, at the "strong encouragement"of Bill when we were engaged. That is one of the reasons I really love him. He never lets me sit in my little room of fears, but throws open the door and helps me get on with it.

Fast forward quite a bit of time and mommy carpooling, long distance driving, and now to crazy Peruvian traffic. We took a team from the States on the road this past weekend, and I had a harrowing passing experience. It left me a bit shaken. I have found everything since then to be a bit of a trial.

But yesterday, as I was talking to one of the team members about my nervous state, I remembered a dream I had while we were in Costa Rica in language school. My father-in-law had recently passed, and I had heard some things about traffic in Lima and that it was a very dangerous city for pedestrians. I had found myself very worried about our children. I dreamed that I was walking down the street, and Abi was at my side. I had her hand, but even so, she was a little extended out into the traffic, and a car nearly hit her. In the dream, I continued on, very shaken, but trying to pull myself together. Arriving at our apartment, I walked in to find the rest of our family and---Bill's parents home (you know how the dream thing goes). I was surprised, but not nearly as much as when my father-in-law walked out of the bathroom. We were all in shock, not knowing what to say, and Bill made a joke-- something about, "So, is that where you have been all this time?!!" He looked at us, very intent and sincere, and urgently said, "You have to be fierce; like lions!!"

That was the end of the dream. I am so thankful to the Lord for his reminder that I need to be fierce. The definition of fierce implies an intensity that has a wild side to it. Fierceness is something that comes from the gut-- a strength that is all about busting out, not about tucking yourself away to make sure you are out of harms way. Fierce is a mom protecting her kids; a split-second decision to ford the waterfall careening over the highway on your way to share the gospel. There is no giving up of ground, but a taking of new ground. Retreat is nowhere in sight.

We all have moments--even split-second ones--when what is inside us is tested, and we can cower or pounce. Cowering involves inviting fear in to tea, and pouncing requires us to steel ourselves, push the mute button on all the voices of doom, and go for it. I am really working on accepting that this life-- in the States or abroad--requires me to step up and be fierce---like a lion.

Newsletter - March 2009

Here's the text of our latest Newsletter. You may recognize the praise report from a previous blog entry ... It's a priase report worth repeating:

Lena and I want everyone to know that it’s really hot down here and we’re very happy with that! Also, thanks for partnering with us to spread the Gospel in Peru. Thank you!

We have a prayer request and a praise report:

Prayer Request: We ask for prayer because we’ll be hosting a missions team from Wilmington College. They arrive late tonight (March 5th). Tomorrow morning we’re leaving early, driving over the tops of the Andes Mountains and ministering in the town of Ayacucho. Please pray for an evangelistic anointing, good attitudes and safety (especially since there is snow and rain in the mountains).

Praise Report: In July, we hosted a missions team from my home church (First Christian Assembly, in Cincinnati, Ohio). At the end of one of our services, we prayed for a young girl who had constant headaches which were caused by a brain tumor. When the team prayed for her she was healed! Apparently, the girl's family has known for some time, but nobody told the pastor until recently. When he asked her when it happened, she said, "I was healed the day that team from the states prayed for me."

Praise the Lord -- He answers prayers!

Much love in Christ,
Bill

The Big "Can You Cross Cultures Successfully" Quiz

Lena here. I have a little quiz for all our friends out there that find the thought of living cross-culturally to be intriguing. This will separate the seriously cultural experience-craving from those who just like to try a little curry on their chicken once in a while (if you only eat macaroni and cheese, and it HAS to come out of a little blue box, DON'T EVEN TRY).

OK, now you are curious.

If you are hanging out with some friends, and someone turns to another mutual friend, and calls them (and this is an exact translation) “Little fat one,” you:"

a) launch into a hysterical tirade on how damaging that is to your friend's psyche.

b) decide to do the cultural thing and call her, “little dark one.”

c) make a mental note to ask a close friend who is a cultural native about this practice next time you are together.

This has been one of those things that us Americans walk around scratching our heads about. In our country, you will almost go to jail over this sort of stuff. Here, they are affectionate names. “Gordito,” “Negrita,” “ Flaquito,” (fatty, dark one, skinny). They even do the racial thing and if someone has a more Asian look.

So, if you answered "a," you probably need to stick to your curry or consider not taking a big jump until you are a little more cross-culture experienced. If you answered "b," you probably need to not be too hasty lest you jump to familiarity too quickly (or make a really big mistake!), and if you answered "c,"you will probably do just fine.

I am not sure if we will ever understand it, or if there is even anything to understand, except for to recognize that it just isn't interpreted the same in this culture. I am just really glad that no one has called me, “Little Fatty” yet. Gotta keep an eye on that one.

What makes your Strawberry Yogurt red?

The answer: Carmine

From http://www.msn.com/: "According to the FDA, this red food coloring (also known as cochineal extract) is made from dried, ground bugs . The Dactylopius coccus costa insect is native to Peru and the Canary Islands, where it feeds on red berries. The berries accumulate in the females' stomachs and in their unhatched larvae—which is what gives the extract its red coloring. Carmine is one of the most widely used coloring agents, and food manufacturers routinely use it to turn foods shades of pink, red or purple. Chances are it's what makes the color of your strawberry yogurt or that cranberry drink look so appealing."

I've seen this bug many times. The picture of the cactus and spider, here, was taken by Sarah Olejarz on one of our trips to the Wari Ruins, outside of Ayacucho, Peru. In the lower right side of the picture, you can see white stuff on a cactus leaf. That's the cacoon of the Dactylopius coccus costa spider. The people take it out of the cacoon and smash it's guts the way we used to smash lightening bugs to make a glow in the dark paste (a sad fact that makes me feel very bad for all those bugs from my past). The people then use this gunk to die things. They've been doing this for centuries and it's a part of the vibrant red fabric we all think of when we think of native south american garments. I just never thought about eating it.

Tomorrow, we'll discuss what makes your coffee brown...

(You may read more on this topic and other gross food facts at: http://health.msn.com/womens-health/slideshow.aspx?cp-documentid=100232497&gt1=31036)

Thanking God for Growth

I preached tonight at a church in a desert community outside of Lima. Hannah, Colton and I sang. It was a lot of fun, since the music sounded great. Hannah has a great voice and Colton is really getting good on the cajon--a wooden box you play like a bongo. (It's a joy getting to make music with your kids.)

Lena and I ministered at this church exactly one year ago. It was the second church we preached at in Peru. I remember it as a nervous time--we had been here one month and had no idea how to get to the church. When we'd stop for directions, people would say, "You're going there! OK, but make sure that you lock your doors and windows and don't stop to talk to anybody. It's dangerous there!" When we got there, we thought it looked dangerous and that everyone spoke Quechua (the indiginous language of the Inca indians). It was a dramatic experience of culture shock. Now, a year later, we didn't have to ask for directions and we weren't afraid. It was just a small town outside of Lima with really nice people. There were, by the way, many Quechua indians there. The difference is that I'm now accustomed to them.

The whole night was a victory for us, given the amount of growth that has taken place over the last two years. When we left the states, Hannah and Colton were too young to sing and play with me in a service and none of us could speak Spanish. Now, Hannah leads worship, Colton knows how to creciendo (a musical term that takes it's root from the Spanish word for "to grow), and I can give an altar call in Spanish. At the end of the service, many came down to the altar for prayer. Hannah, Colton and I kept playing music, while Lena and our friend, Phyllis Rose, prayed for people. It was the realization of many of our dreams.

I thank God for the "blessed adventure" of being missionaries.

Healing in Chorrillos

In July, we hosted a missions team from my home church (First Christian Assembly, in Cincinnati, Ohio). At the end of one of our services, we prayed for a young girl who had constant headaches which were caused by a brain tumor. When the team prayed for her, she was healed! Apparently, the girl's family has known for some time, but nobody told the pastor until recently. When he asked her when it happened, she said, "I was healed the day that team from the states prayed for me."

Praise the Lord -- He answeres prayers!

The picture at top is of the missions team dancing at the church were the healing took place. The picture below is of the whole team.

Prayer request

Lately, a couple of friends have written saying that they felt the Holy Spirit knudging them to pray for us. They wrote me asking for an update. Here is part of what we're up against: On Sunday, walking home from church and one block from our apartment, we were harrassed by a thug on the street. He told me that I had offended him and that he would get revenge. He also said that we were in his area and that if we didn't leave, he'd run us through. When we got home, very shaken by the experience, we found a letter under our door from an angry Peruvian, making false accusations against us. I said to Lena, "This feels like a spiritual attack!"

We are also making plans to host some missions teams, in March. We've got two teams coming back-to-back. When I shared about the thug with some friends here, they asked, "Are you about to engage in an evangelism focus?" I said, "Yes we are!"

Please pray that many would get saved, that God would smite the enemy, anoint our heads with oil and make our cups to overflow!

I Need a Hero

While we were in the States, we were blessed to get the chance to see the movie, Bolt, about a dog actor who doesn't realize he isn't truly a superhero, and what happens when he faces the real world. We all really enjoyed it, and I expected the happiest camper to be my 6 year-old son, Will, who loves everything superhero. That is why I was completely taken by surprise when my superboy began to weep on his way out of the theater. We, of course, came to the rescue and asked him what could possibly be disturbing him—maybe an action scene or the big fire-- but instead, he poured out his little soul, and between sobs told us how horrible it was that Bolt wasn't a real hero. Even when he barks to save his beloved owner in the end, that “It was just a normal bark!”

Such bitter disappointment from such a little soul. He wanted to see real superhero action. He wishes with all his heart that he had a superhero, and I wish with all my heart that I was more like one in real life. I think a true-to-life hero is really someone with a lot of courage. I have been thinking a lot about courage lately—and even my lack of it. I want to have superhero faith to believe that no matter what the circumstances, God will get me through it, and I don't want my resolve to be moved by circumstances or the opinions of others. I want to be steady in resolve, risk for the kingdom, not weaken in the face of bad news.

The book of Revelation has something to say about courage (or the lack thereof): He who overcomes will inherit all this, and I will be his God and he will be my son. But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers,....----their place will be in the fiery lake of burning sulfer.” (Rev. 21:7-8, NIV). The very first in the list is the “cowardly.” Our american culture doesn't talk much about bravery unless we are talking about our veterans, but it is time that we were all thinking about this. Times are becoming more trying on the face of the earth, and especially in the US, and we need to ask ourselves if we have the courage to serve the Lord, even to the point of suffering. Now are little tests. We tighten our belts, cut out cable, work on having a meatless meal once a week-- these things are just little tests that make us strong so that when a true test comes, we can do what is necessary. We really don't know what might be ahead, but courage might very well be a necessity to those who choose to continue to follow Jesus. We may not be superheroes, but courage is at least a start.

Cleaning the rug

Lima is in the coastal-desert. That means that it is very dirty. Desert sand is everywhere. But there's also fog from the ocean. That makes the sand stick to everything. For this reason, very few people have carpet. In our apartment, we have hard-wood floors and a few big area rugs. This pic is of the rug in the dinning room. It takes a beating, since we eat every meal there. It's also in a major traffic area. (You can see the original color on the left bottom side of the picture. That's where the leg of the dinning room table was.) The rug was so dirty that we thought it was unsalvagable. Nonetheless, we tried. Lena cleaned the whole thing twice with water, vinegar and the shop vac. Then, Colton and I went at it with laundry soap, a broom and the shop vac. This picture is half way through it's 3rd cleaning. You can see the line dividing what we've cleaned and were yet to clean, under the brush. Colton, Lena and I vacuumed out gallons of yuck. It took us all day. It was hard work, but we're happy to say that it looks like new. Now we have to do the one in the living room.

The honeymoon is over

I left my hotel, after getting only 4 hours of sleep. I was groggy and a little cranky. My usual taxi driver couldn’t make it, so he sent a replacement. He asked if I was a priest. I told him that I’m a minister—a type of priest who gets to get married and have kids. He asked if I was Catholic. I said no, that I’m evangelical. (In Peru, non-Catholics are evangelicals or Christians. It’s painful for me that Catholics do not consider themselves to be Christian.) He proceeded to tell me about how he attended a seminary for three years, preparing to be a priest. In the end, he chose to get married, have kids and become a taxi driver. He’s been driving the same route for more than 50 years!

As we chatted, I decided to ask him “The Big Question.” The Big Question is “who is Jesus.” My friend H.L. Hussman says that you can believe a lot of things, but if you get this question wrong, you won’t make it into heaven. It’s the ultimate witnessing tool. The taxi driver answered the question, saying, “Jesus is always on my thoughts.” There was no mention of Jesus as savior or Lord. For the majority of Peruvians, Jesus is a 2nd tier player in the Pantheon of the gods. It seems, at times, in latin culture that Christ’s main purpose is to remind us how important it is to suffer. (The Pantheon was that place in Greek and Roman mythology where the gods would hang out—sort of like Starbucks, but with better prices.) The big player in the Peruvian pantheon is Mary. Peruvians have a saying that the wife is the real boss of the house. As such, Mary has the final say in what goes down in heaven. Hanging from the taxi driver’s mirror was a picture frame with a picture on each side. One side had a photo of a European statue of Mary in the style of the middle ages. She was, of course, white and about 11 years old. (It galls me that people here believe it’s better to be white. Dark skinned people are, to them, of lesser value. Mary, as a Jew, was not white!) The statue was wearing a huge crown and robes that would have made Luis XIV sweat gallons. On the other side was a photo of a plaster statue of Jesus. He was also white, with long blonde hair. He was NOT wearing a crown. Instead, he got to wear clothes made for a girl. He was, and ever shall be, about 3 years old.

This is the point where my honeymoon with Peru was over. Usually, I’m very cordial and gentle when confronting paganism. But, after a year here, I’m also frustrated. It appears to me that nobody is speaking the truth here. Paganism is so ingrained in the Peruvian identity that to speak against worshipping a statue is to speak against who they are. Jesus came to save us from these lies! I showed him the picture of Mary and asked, “What’s this?”

He said, “It’s the mother of God!”

I said, “The mother of God never wore a gold crown or fine robes.”

He laughed and said, “Yea. She’s really important. She intervenes for us with Jesus. She gets us what we want. When my daughter was born, there were complications. I went to Mary and she intervened, making Jesus give us what we wanted. My daughter was born healthy and now she’s a doctor. All of this good fortune was due to Mary. You have to pray to Mary to get what you want.”

I said, “Don’t you fear God? God has made it clear in the Bible that we are not to worship pagan idols. Of the 10 commandments, the first is that there is only one God and you should worship him alone. God is very offended that you would worship Mary. She is a saint, worthy of honor, but she is human. She is saved by Jesus, just like you and I. She is not omnipresent. She doesn’t hear our prayers and she doesn’t have the authority to tell God what to do. This is nothing more than paganism and it is very offensive to God.”

He said, “Yea, but she sure worked for me. She gives me good luck all the time. That’s why I keep that photo there. She keeps my car running and all my kids have grown up to be professionals.”

I said, “I think God had grace one you and you’ve chosen to give the credit to Mary.”

He said, “Yea, I hear what you’re saying, but I think it doesn’t matter what a person believes—it’s just important to believe something.”

I replied, “My friend, that’s loco. If I believed the street was made out of water, it wouldn’t be true.”

He said, “You’re right there.”

I continued, “God has already told us what we’re supposed to believe about him. He has made it clear that there is only one God and that we should not worship anyone else. He has told us clearly that no matter how good with think someone else is, we are not to worship or pray to that person. God is offended by that. I don’t want to believe things that are false, just because they suit my personal tastes. I want to know God for who he really is and have a real relationship with a real person. That’s what God wants too. That is why he gave us the Bible. But in Peru, the majority of Catholics don’t want to read the Bible and they don’t want to know what God has said about himself.”

He agreed, saying, “You got that right! Catholics never want to read the Bible.” He continued, pointing to a pocket area in his dash, “I’ve got a New Testament right here.”

I replied, “I’m glad to see that.”

He said, “Yea, I had a chemical engineer from Nasa in my taxi once. He tried to tell me that we’re nothing more than dirt and chemicals, but I don’t agree. That guy was an example of how people make up crazy things to believe.”

I said, “You’re right, which is why it is so important to read the Bible and know what God has said about himself.” I then flipped the picture frame over and pointed to the picture of Jesus. I asked, “What’s that?”

He shouted in great triumph, “It the little boy, Jesus!”

I replied, “That is not the little boy Jesus. That is a plaster statue from Europe. Besides, Jesus isn’t a little boy, he’s an adult.”

“No!” He replied, in surprise, “He’s a little boy. It’s important to pray to the little boy, because he gives me what I want.”

I said, “He’s not a little boy anymore. He’s an adult. In fact, he’s a lot older than you are. I would hate it if my father adored a photo of me from when I was three years old, rather than having a real relationship me. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m an adult and I have adult relationships. We can’t just worship whatever we want. Jesus wants a real relationship.”

He said, “Yea,…whatever.”

That is where the conversation ended. We were at the airport and it was time to get out. With one simple word, he disregarded everything I said.

That is how many, though not all, conversations end here. Whatever. It’s painful, but it is not the end of the story. I remember a time when a friend in High School invited me to a Charismatic prayer meeting. She said, “People pray in tongues there.”

I told her, “No thanks, I’m satisfied with my current spirituality.” I was completely involved in drugs and the partying lifestyle. I had no spirituality. But I remember that invitation. God was wooing me. In Rev. 3:20, Jesus says, “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.” My friend’s invitation was one knock on the door. A few knocks later, I opened the door. People ask us, “What do you do in Peru?” My answer: Knock.

Ayacucho

Ayacucho is one of my favorite towns in Peru. It's nestled high in the Andes mountains and is more of what you think of (when you think of Peru) than most other towns. The people are Quechua indians and live simple lives. Here are some photos that tell part of their story.

This goes in the "guess what I'm eating" category. It's "mondongo," otherwise known as cow stomach. It's used to make soup and, of course, for stuffing full of other things. Here, as you would expect, it is being celebrated with balloons. Always remember to blow up the balloons and not the belly.

Ayacucho contains great examples of Spanish architecture.

The majority of the people are poor. This is a little market on the side of a busy road. The roof is just a tarp and some of the food is displayed on a tarp. The good news is that it's well stocked.

Hannah singing at Rockside church

When we were in the states for the World Mission Summit, we had the chance to minister at Rockside church in Cleveland, Ohio. One highlight was getting to sing with Hannah, while Colton backed us up on the drum. I've attached a video, on the video bar, below. I love my kids and it's very fulfilling ministering with them.

Priceless

Christmas gifts for 1700 kids: $4,500

Wrapping paper: $150

A wife that likes to wrap: Priceless

I have to say that Lena did not wrap them all alone--though she did lead the wrapping and packing part of the project. The youth group from the Union Church helped to wrap a bunch, as did Hannah and her friends. Another notable assistant was my friend, Oscar--the night guard at our apartment building, who wrapped in the wee hours of the morning. To those who provided the means to buy the gifts and those who wrapped them, I want to say, "Thank you and may God bless you!" Remember: The one who gives a cup of cold water to the least of these in Christ's name, has done it unto the Lord.

Four Peruvian Angels

Hannah and I were in one of the Peruvian markets, and were looking at some sweet little ornaments, when Hannah said to me, "Mom, we need to get something Peruvian for our tree! I agreed, and we bought four adorable little Peruvian angels (two girls, two boys), complete with chullos (the Peruvian hats that are popular even in the States now). I started thinking about how the children have taken Peru into their hearts and have started to grow a place in their hearts that will always belong to Peru. The rest of their lives will not be the same for having lived here, having seen both the beauty and extreme poverty of this place. They will always love Lomo Saltado (awesome Peruvian-style beef stir fry) and remember the many churches we visit that meet in tents with gravel floors, and they will never see their own culture through the same eyes again. I don't have to explain to them that there are people who don't have enough to eat or kids who live in just one little room with the rest of their family. They have met them, and some of them go to our church!

I recently had a conversation with a wonderful German missionary who grew up in Africa. She shared with me about how the African people sang in every event, happy or sad, and how they danced and expressed whatever they were feeling. She also spoke with pride and affection of the old hymns from Germany, and how wonderful they were, but remembered being surprised on return to Germany how differently the Germans responded to music and emotion. I saw in her eyes that she was not completely one or the other-- how she loved both cultures from her heart, longing for a place where both were loved, understood, and appreciated.

Hebrews 11 tells us of the fathers of faith and how they knew they were strangers and aliens on this earth. Their hope in eternity made their lives different. They made different choices, took huge steps of faith, and obeyed God against all logic because they had their eyes fixed on another country that they have yet to inherit. Living between two cultures makes one feel like something of a stranger in both. You love both, see the strengths and weaknesses of both, and know that you don't fully fit in either! Our prayer is that this helps us to live like our ancestors of the Hall of Faith-- that we keep our eyes on the heavenly citizenship that awaits us in heaven. For those of you who support us in prayer and offerings, we can't tell you how grateful we are to have your confidence and your heart as we sojourn here in Peru!

Surfing Adventure

Surfing is a big sport here in Lima. Therefore, in honor of Sarah's 24th birthday, we went on a surfing adventure. Here we are, doing what everyone does when you put on a wet suit, pretending to be super heroes.

The water was about 50 degrees and the waves were not so big that we were scared. Nonetheless, as beginners, it was still a challenge. Getting out beyond the waves is the hard part. If there was something like a ski lift, I'd vote it one of my favorite sports. As it is, it's still a great sport. The only problem is the amount of effort involved. That's what makes skiing such a great sport ... there's so little actual work involved.

Abi playing on the beach. Note the rocks. They're tough on your toes when you get out of the 50 degree water.

Cockroaches and Coffee

This bad boy is living in my coffee pot. We've been hit with a roach infestation. When we open the overhead kitchen cabinets, they fall out onto the counter, us and the food. The other day, I turned on the microwave that's above the stove. The microwaves began to cook two roaches that were hiding inside. They ran out and fell right onto a nice hot casserole of Spanish Rice. They're favorite spot to live is in our coffee pot. Apparently, they like coffee. They also love dark, damp places. Frequently I've poured water into the pot and chased out roaches from the water reservoir. All I can say is that I'm really glad for coffee filters.

What's in a name?

People here have difficulties with my name. Ironically, they prefer William over Bill. There are even Peruvian guys named Willy. But when it comes to Bill, they stumble. I mentioned this to a Peruvian friend and he said, "They don't want to say your name because it means despicable."

"What?"

"In Spanish, when you say Bill, it sounds like Vil, which means despicable or really bad. That's why people stumble. They can't figure out why a missionary would say, 'Hi, my name is despicable,' or 'Hi, I'm really bad.'"

I went home and looked it up. Here's what the dictionary says: From the dictionary:
Vil (adj) vile, despicable; el vil metal filthy lucre. It's obvious now that we can add to the list:
villan
evil
Devil -- which means from or of the vile, despicable.

People have asked me what my name means. Now I'm starting to understand why they're so interested. Ironically, one of the meanings of William is noble. As such, I'm thinking of changing my name to No-Vil.

Dr. McGee and a salvation story

Gary McGee is one of my favorite professors at the Assembly of God Theological Seminary. He's an expert on Pentecostal History and theology and is a truly inspiring person. Currently, Dr. McGee is fighting for his life, combating cancer. AGTS has set up a web site with information about Dr. McGee’s progress (http://www.agts.edu/mcgee.html). Here is an update that touched my heart:

Last Thursday evening Dr. McGee's condition was quite fragile. Family, AGTS leaders and pastors from the McGee's church, Evangel Temple, gathered in the ICU waiting room to pray. Pastor Charles Arsenault led in a prayer which was overheard by a man visiting his wife in the ICU. The next day this man approached Alice (Dr. McGee's wife) and her sister in that waiting room and said that when he heard Pastor Arsenault's prayer he was overcome with emotion. He relayed that he was one of 15 children and was the only one not serving the Lord. He had just retired from a job with the railroad and his wife was in the hospital fighting cancer. Alice's sister, noticing his brokenness, pressed him about his spiritual condition and after conversing for awhile led him to faith in Christ. He told her that his 93 year old mother had been praying that he would give his life over to Jesus for many years. She said he should call his mother immediately, which he did. The last few days have seen a marked change in this man. Although his wife is facing very serious health issues, the man is visibly changed; there is a glow on his face and a confidence in his countenance.

Lester's Giblets

Abi and I (Lena) were on our way back from our friend's apartment, having retrieved our turkey (which was too big for our freezer) which I had been calling, "Lester." I thought I was quite funny.

Abi started to ask me about Lester, asking if he belonged to someone. Having been down this pet vs. yummy food to eat road before, I easily handled this one. I told her that some animals are pets, and some don't belong to anyone, and we don't eat the pet kind. She seemed satisfied with that answer, and I congratulated myself on having been matter of fact about the whole thing.

When we got home, I went about getting Lester ready for the oven. I got him out of his nice plastic jacket, just like they have at home in the States. I always get a little bit of pre-turkey jitters, as cooking it involves things called "giblets," and the stakes are so high. I reached in to get the packet of "giblets." Success. There seemed to be quite a few things inside there. Maybe some "niblets," too? Now for the neck-- I saw a little bit of neck sticking out, pulled, and--OH MY. THE HEAD WAS ATTACHED!! Lester was a real turkey! With a head! And there it was! I let out a tortured yelp and dropped the Lester head. And his feet were in there, too! I had to leave for a while to gather my bearings. I left them all in the utility sink, and the little ones kept slinking in to take a look at the CSI: Turkey Edition. Sarah got disgusted with all the morbidity of them skulking around, and told them to stop, but too late. Will could barely down Lest-- I mean the turkey. Lesson of the day: never underestimate the power of a styrofoam tray (or plastic jacket in a turkey's case) in making you think that it never had a head. I know. It's a gem.

A side note: Bill was my hero and cut Lester's head off the neck so I could use the neck meat and the "giblets" to make my first real gravy. It rocked.

Speak to the mountain...

One of the things we do here is evaluate new projects. Pastors who have Christian schools ask for our assistance. In this case, the school has to build new classrooms on the first floor, because the government no longer allows primary grades to be on a second story. The problem with this school is that there's a huge rock in the way. In this picture, Phyllis Rose and Sarah Olejarz are pondering the rock. We're talking with the school about how to blast that thing and get the rubble out. After that, the real building project would begin. We prayed over it and claimed the passage that says that we will speak to the mountain and it will be moved!

Even though this school is in the middle of the desert, God has not left them without reminders of beauty.

The picture above is of the students. The picture below is of the building. It's a classic example of what school buildings look like here.