Lapiani

For the skeptics out there who presume that I've been having too much fun the past four months (you're right by the way), and failing to fulfill the missionary obligations of eating weird things and lacking a proper bathroom for extended periods, I want to reassure you I finally started moving in this direction.

This week over thirty people from my Bolivian church ventured out of the city for a three day mission trip to a Quechua "village" called Lapiani. As you can see our backdrop was fabulous. So, I still haven't been deprived of gorgeous views, but we did give up electricity, running water, cell phone coverage, and let's just say the outdoor option was often preferable to the one outhouse-style baño.

Small teams broke off for medical and dental care, hair cuts, foot washings, cooking, games and a puppet show with clowns and balloon animals, clothing, food and toy distribution, and my personal favorite the veterinarians.

Myself and two other vets hiked around the countryside led by farmers to the pastures where animals were tethered to stakes in the ground. With the help of the locals, trees, some fancy rope work, and often some fancy footwork we "restrained" many large animals well enough to prevent any injuries. We injected over 300 local cows, sheep, pigs, goats, and horses with vitamins and dewormer. I rounded up as many dogs and cats as I could find for Rabies vaccines. And to top it all off we did a little wound management on a cow with a deep laceration from its halter, and a castration on a donkey.

All in all, I think the trip was a huge success. Last year a team from our church visited the same city, and this year their confidence in us had grown so there were many more people to share God's love with. On the last day, the people brought us a couple of their sheep for a going away lunch.

It was a great experience for me to get to know some of the people from my church better, work on large animals in such different conditions, and practice my Spanish. Is it a bad sign that I often didn't notice when they'd switched from speaking Spanish to Quechua?

La Noche Buena

Here, Christmas Eve is much more celebrated than actual Christmas, just another thing to add to the list with heat, humidity, fireworks, Spanish, and a surrogate family to turn the holiday upside down. Last night, in Santa Cruz, at a candlelight service in the International Church, over one hundred ex-patriots from all over the city gathered for a bit of nostalgia. Whether they've lived here for 30 years, or merely four months like me, it seemed comforting to sing Christmas songs in English, to have a bit of home so far away from "normal."

This church, similar to my Bolivian national church in Cochabamba, had a bit of an American Idol episode for a Christmas service. As everyone took their turn "performing" and every possible technical and transitional difficulty interrupted the program I was struck by the irony that I've spent the last four years working in churches where excellence is the minimum standard, and now it's odd and a little refreshing to leave the snow machines and perfection behind for a simplicity, and almost innocence that reminds me somewhat of a Christmas in Whoville.

As we greeted other gringos over Christmasy treats after the service in English, I started to miss Spanish a bit. But that longing was soon satisfied as we made our way over to Taliti Cumi, the orphanage to share a fiesta with the kids. Apart from home, I can't think of a better place to spend my favorite moments of the year than with kids who have so little, but an overabundance of love to share.

This Christmas morning, as the war of fireworks continues to subside, but before the rush of festivities begins, I can't help but feel peaceful and content. In the absence of a mountain of presents and a swarm of giddy family, it might even be easier to recognize the true meaning of this birthday celebration.

"Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!" -2 Corinthians 9:15

Blessed Beyond Measure

"For some people a reward is like a red or a gold ferrari. They often think in static terms, like the best the Creator can come up with is a car that needs an oil change. Reward, in Jesus language, is always a dynamic presence in reality." -Rob Bell, Mars Hill Bible Church

I've struggled since I started the blog, and for that matter joined Facebook, to keep my left hand from knowing what my right hand is doing. The idea of publicly declaring what you're doing with your life seemed, and still does sometimes, narcissistic. Starting a blog with such a theme as 'spending yourself' has lead me to question my motives for doing things more than once. Fasting from blogging has come up, but I've promised to update you regularly with my happenings, so whether you're really reading this or not, I'm going to. Maybe I'm rationalizing, but I hope that writing about the opportunities I'm blessed with has become a bit of a ministry in itself.

I say all this because it weighs on me sometimes, and especially upon hearing Rob Bell's recent sermon on Matthew 6, "Be careful not to do your 'acts of righteousness' before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven." But as I started to feel convicted Rob said the line at the top about God's reward being His dynamic presence. I may not have a ferrari, or any personal transportation at all, but God's presence and love are so apparent in my life.

Of all the people that God uses as conduits of His love, two scenarios stand out this Christmas season:

Last Sunday, I had the really fun privilege to Skype-in to Mosaic Christian Church's service and tell them about my work here and their mission trip next summer. Among people's reactions to the surprise, the warmth of their reception, and sharing a prayer with my hero--Jim Elliott, one of my favorite parts was being called "Mosaic's missionary." And just last week they proved those words weren't idle by sending extremely generous Christmas gifts. Mosaic, thank you for allowing me to be your missionary; it's an honor, a pleasure, and a blessing.

The angel in my life this Christmas, and always, is my lovely momma. Not only is she my confidant, counselor, recipe book, friend, mother and POA but she's also been a bit of an elf for the past couple months rerouting dozens of gifts and cards to and from me via Kentucky. In her devotion to serving altruistically she made the ultimate sacrifice of stepping on the scale to weigh some text books I wanted sent, before she remembered she had postage scales she could have used. Thanks Mom, I know you don't want announcements with trumpets, but your offering has been part of my reward!

Would You Rather?

During the long Landcruiser rides between adventures in the Salt Flats a few weeks ago, car games became normal conversation. One of the most amusing being the infamous, ¨Would You Rather...?¨ Most of the time people´s answers seem fairly reasonable, but when faced with the decision to give up the ocean or the mountains for the rest of your life, and everyone else chooses to relinquish the mountains I can come to no other conclusion than these people are CRAZY! (Putting their sanity further in jeopardy they´ve moved to one of the few countries that has no beach...)

Today, I returned from a little more traveling with my first visitor from the States. Exploring a bit more of the Andes made me even more sure of my choice to sacrifice la playa for las montanas if need be, but when you can have both, that's even better.

I also learned that I would rather have God´s creation over man´s most spectaculor, as was confirmed even in the awe of Machu Picchu.

To assuage my mild guilt upon leaving language school behind for a bit, my traveling companion commented that I'd probably get more practice with Spanish outside of Cochabamba at this point. As you will probably agree from my last post I have, for better or worse, made many many English speaking friends in Coch, so he was probably right.

I enjoyed putting my knew abilities to use, and I was blown away once again by the underrated beauty of Bolivia.

"Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens? Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket, or weighed the mountains on the scales and the hills in a balance?" -Isaiah 40:12

Turkey Trot

I've received quite a few condolences regarding my Thanksgiving away from home, and believe me, as Turkey Day is notorious for my favorite foods by far, I would have welcomed the pity if it had at all been justified. But I cannot let you believe a mistruth, it was amazing! My friend Savannah and I even reenacted a Turkey Trot by meeting at 5:45 am to run for an hour, (because you just can't break a tradition of masochism on such a special day.)

Over 20 people (mostly ex-pats) spent a long relaxing day at my friends' the Wolheter's with a (very expensive imported) turkey and all the fixin's.

How could I not feel cared for at a dinner replete with pumpkin name cards, feather napkin holders and a turkey bread basket all lovingly created by the Wolheter clan.

The dessert table overflowed with beauties such as pecan pie, just like mom makes, pumpkin imported probably just for the likes of us, and caramel apple pie somewhat similar to my Homemade Ice Cream and Pie Kitchen favorite.

And to spoil us completely rotten, we tried a new Thanksgiving experiment, homemade pumpkin pie ice cream. Success!!

So, thank you to everyone who ate double portions for me at home, and made my favorite treats in my honor, but I can't let you feel sorry for me. I have SO much to be thankful for here and a mouthwatering Thanksgiving feast, with friends like new family, is one of those blessings.

"From them will come songs of thanksgiving and the sound of rejoicing."

-Jeremiah 30:19

Salt of the Earth

Bolivia is one of the world's most biodiverse countries, and this week fifteen of us from my language school took a five-day field trip to investigate that fact. Via bus train and Landcruiser we visited the cities of Oruro and Uyuni and the vast expanse of uninhabited nature thereabouts.

I tried to pet such rare animals as flamingos, emus, and vacuñas. We swam

in natural hot springs and tiptoed up to lakes of borax, sulfur, and algae, variously colored green, red, and blue. We cruised across desserts for hours without any sign of life, we (on second thought probably just I) hugged cactuses on an deserted island, we climbed huge piles of salt in the world's largest salt flats, and we gazed at stars nearly too numerous to believe that God has really named them all like He claims in Isaiah.

Unfortunately, English became the default language of the trip, but I tried to use as much Spanish as I could, with such essential phrases as "Donde esta el baño?" Which was answered with a point toward a rock, or directions to a port-a-pot costing almost 5 Bolivianos. And similarly, in a tiny, extremely remote city, that hasn't had water in over a month and only has electricity by generators, yet we still found a way to get fairly lost on our run, I got to practice the everyday question, "Donde esta el hotel de sal?"

Even surpassing my favorite natural wonder, the volcano/geyser field full of bubbling lava, the best part of the trip for me was spending time with my compañeros. Whether smushed in the back of a vehicle for hours on end, scaling ginormous rocks in flip-flops, staging hilarious photo-ops, or sharing a beautiful Communion service on a table and chairs made completely of salt, the people were God's greatest creation on this adventure into some of His best. God has so blessed me with relationships here, I could never have asked for such good company.

Gracias

This week, I started praying in Spanish, both unwittingly and intentionally.

Yesterday, a few of us climbed to nearly 17,000 feet and peaked the tallest mountain in Cochabamba. At the top we were met with a beautiful snowfall and the sounds and shocks of an unbelievably surreal electrical storm. As we shot current out the tips of our fingers like wands from Ollivander's, the prayer that came automatically was, "Tu eres increíble!"

But during the ride to and from the base of the mountain when we rounded these corners, and our driver veered nearer and nearer the edges of cliffs, my prayers went straight back to my mother tongue, there was no time to risk using the wrong words.

As Thanksgiving approaches here, less formally than in the States of course, but the sentiment is here nonetheless, I wanted to share my appreciation for you and for all He does for me.

"Gracias Señor por tu Hijo, Jesús. Gracias por tu presencia siempre, por tus bendeciones abundantes, y por mi familia que me cuida. Gracias Padre porque me rodeas de gente que me ama y de gente a quien amar. Te pido que me muestres como puedo amarlos mejor. Gracias por la majestad de tus montañas y la maravilla de tu creacion. Tu eres demasiado bueno conmigo. Gracias por tu gracia. En el nombre de Jesús, amen."

In English, to save some of you a step with Google Translator, "Thank you Lord, for your Son, Jesus. Thank you for your presence always, for your abundant blessings, and for my family that takes care of me. Thank you Father for surrounding me with people that love me and people to love. I ask that you show me how I can love them better. Thank you for the majesty of the mountains and the wonder of your creation. You are too good to me. Thank you for your grace. In the name of Jesus, amen."

Less and Less Likely to be Deported

Continuing on the theme; confused, I took my first overnight bus to Santa Cruz this weekend to tie up some loose ends. I don't think that bus terminal was the least bit concerned about me finding my bus. But with a little help from God I'm sure, I made the ten hour bus trip each way safely.

Last week, I became less of an illegal resident here when I finally received my one-year Visa. In the ongoing process of becoming more and more legal, I needed to head back to Santa Cruz to have my picture and thumbprints

taken for my carnet, or national identification card. Because flying is so much more expensive and I am so cheap, I chose the "flota", or bus, option. Fortunately, the ridiculously hot weather they've been having that I was

expecting, did not greet me but was replaced by the cooler mugginess the rains brought. However, the mosquitoes did not fail to welcome me very warmly.

While there, I stayed with my great friends, the Janeckes, ran with my kindred spirit, Heather, and made some cool new backpacking friends as well. I shopped for a vehicle hardy enough for the roadless countryside I'll work in, large enough for teams and equipment, and reasonable enough to squeeze into my budget. I also, looked at some options for places to live once I master* Spanish and move back to Santa Cruz for work. Both of these decisions (driving and housing) were largely centered around

you and being able to comfortably accommodate you on your visits. Therefore, I will be sure to have a hammock no matter where I live, and my car will definitely be able to take you to views like this one that greeted me shortly after sunrise from my bus this morning...

*My use of the word "master" here is, of course, tongue in cheek.

Day of the Dead

Halloween has started gaining a little steam in South America, but not nearly enough steam for candy corn to be readily available here. The much more traditional celebration here is of the Day of the Dead. Last night our language school had an interactive cultural event, where some of the students researched and presented about the customs associated with the holiday that runs from tomorrow at noon till Monday at noon. We had a model table replete with Andean traditional foods, flowers, and decorations. And learned all about the reasoning behind the practices, such as the children who go from house to house to pray for the lost loved ones in exchange for payment in candy or bread, similar to trick-or-treating. To bring a little bit of home to the occasion, I made pumpkin bars.

On a much more serious, and very sadly ironic note, one of the street kids that some of my friends from the language school works with, killed himself yesterday. He was the second suicide from this group in 10 days, and the 4th untimely death in as many months. To support my friends, I attended the teenager's funeral. Near the entrance of the cemetery there was a platform to lay the coffin on in front of this huge Jesus statue, and a Catholic Bolivian woman who will pray for the deceased for a small price. The caskets are not buried underground but housed in large walls. When we reached his site, ~20 of his friends from the streets, a few other missionaries, and his alcoholic mother who has apparently not cared about him, or for him, in years, gathered to honor him with words, prayers and pan flute music. It was touching and heartbreaking to see these teenagers so hardened by glue-sniffing and living under the bridge, so tender in their loss.

I pray that his mother and his girlfriend can find peace and not guilt through this pain. And I pray that God will continue to use this as an opportunity for the missionaries to love on these kids.

Soy Confusa

Before you Spanish hotshots start sending me emails about the incorrect use of the verb "ser" in the title, let me explain the sarcasm; that being confused has basically become a permanent state of being for me. After last week's post about converting units (by the way I just installed a conversion widget on my computer's dashboard right above my weather ticker in Celsius,) I was asked at church on Sunday if I like basketball, which lead to a whole new realm of confusion.

Have you ever prayed for something and upon receiving the answer, questioned your sanity in asking for it in the first place? I was starting to notice that my Bolivian friends were more superficial than I wanted. Since I've been in Cochabamba, I've been attending a Bolivian church where I am the only gringa. But other than that I usually have someone else around who speaks English. So, I'd asked God for more opportunities to be immersed to the degree that usually terrifies me, and when I agreed to play basketball with an all Bolivian "professional"* women's team, I started to regret my request.

People tried to reassure me that there really aren't very many words used in sports, so I'd be fine. I was not very convinced, and for once I was right. For the past ~15 years (since this picture was taken) I've only played the kind of pick-up basketball where chaos is the norm. So, last night, at my first practice with this team, I was surprised by how many craters there were in the cement court, how well these short girls played, how much my jump-shot has suffered in the last decade, and mostly by the fact that they ran plays!!

As far as I can tell there are no play books or marker boards for X's and O's, but our team seems to have at least 11 offensive plays that I'm going to need to learn in SPANISH! Does anybody know how to translate "a pick," the dictionary doesn't seem to have basketball concepts. For an hour and half I had that deer-in-headlights adrenaline rush that comes with being completely out of one's comfort zone, but in a somewhat enjoyable way.

In the midst of this chronic mild panic attack, I thank God for the chance to build new relationships and to be stretched a little further...

I am a bow on Your hands, Lord.

Draw me lest I rot.

Do not overdraw me, Lord, I shall break.

Overdraw me Lord, and who cares if I break?

-a prayer by Kikos Kazantzakis

*"professional" basketball here does not imply getting paid, for all I know it may mean that I have to pay them.

Lost in Conversion

One would have expected that translating would take up a large part of my brain power after moving to another continent and beginning language school. But one adjustment I did not anticipate was the extent of the other conversions that would be required of me.

Fahrenheit to Celsius -Accepting that I’m going to have to get used to the new systems, I switched my computer’s weather ticker to Centigrade. So, now, instead of being able to prepare for a temperature, I basically have no idea how hot or cold it will be except in relation to how hot or cold it was the day before. Fortunately, It’s pretty much always ~75F here.

Miles to Kilometers - From running in road races I can remember that a 10k is 6.2 miles, 5k is 3.1 etc., but this week when I started car shopping, trying to keep mileage and kilometerage straight in my head was quite a task.

Pounds to Kilograms - Cooking has been a challenge as well. Fortunately, my rent includes meals, so someone is generally cooking for me, but on the few occasions when I've tried to bake I've had to adapt every recipe. So far I haven't had huge success. Plus, the altitude somehow causes baked goods to have little holes in them.

Dollars to Bolivianos - The exchange rate has been about 1:7 since I’ve been here, I wish now I’d learned my multiples of 7 a little better in 3rd grade. The really nice thing about these mental olympics is that I’ve been Christmas shopping, and where usually I would have been acutely aware of every penny I was spending, it’s been much easier to ignore the prices, since converting them isn't second nature.

Feet to Meters - This week alone I’ve struggled to try to explain how tall someone was, what elevation a town was at, and the distance of the swim in a race. I think the other party thinks the man I was describing is a giant, and my swim was a breeze.

Gallons to Liters - Recently, I was trying to figure out if gas was cheap here, but between gallons to liters and bolivianos to dollars, I gave up.

Time, of course, is measured in the same units, but you’d never guess it by the lack of concern for it that people here often show.

After a frustrating week with all of this math, this veterinarian’s sign reminded me of why I’m so grateful for my profession amongst all these unknowns. In English it reads, “We speak the same language as your pet.” This is why you can often find me conversing with perros whether in the office or in the street.

Huellas (Tracks)

This week I started volunteering at one of the highest quality veterinary hospitals here in Cochabamba. They see mostly dogs and some cats, and do many surgeries and procedures very similarly to what I'm used to in The States. The lack of legal liability here seems like it would be a blessing, but the owner of the practice blames this as the cause of why Bolivian vets aren't "rich" like vets from the U.S. Because there are no laws ensuring good practices, anyone can hang up their shingle and bring down the whole profession. I'm not sure what the intricacies behind the economic discrepancies entail, most likely a combination of quality of care, income of the owners, accountability by the law, and a different level of human-animal bond, but the differences are stark. For a common procedure that this hospital performs because others in the area will not, they charge ~$80. At my last U.S. practice we charged ~$1500, nearly 20x as much!

The idea my professors had in mind when suggesting I spend some time at a local vet was for me to have some practical experience in Spanish in an area that's especially practical for me. Unfortunately, the practice owner knows English and embraces the opportunity to brush up on his skills. Yesterday, he vented his opinion on NGO's here and how corrupt they are. He ranted about people coming from other countries with money from their organization, living in mansions, driving $50,000 vehicles, and claiming to "help" the poor. After, quite a long monologue he abruptly stopped and asked, "Oh, are you from an NGO?" "Um, yeah, but keep going, this is interesting."

I look forward to more opportunities to hear his uncensored views on gringos, missionaries, politics, etc. And, it looks like he might also give me the opportunity to start chipping away at the overwhelming pet overpopulation problem here, with God all things are possible...

Much Needed Niño-Time

It's easy to forget the big picture when your days are consumed with language acquisition. Without an occasional reminder of who you've come to serve it's hard to stay motivated to work so hard to be able to communicate. Since my last post, as I passed the 1-month in Bolivia milestone, God saw that I was nearing the end of my ability to stay focused, and has blessed me with three opportunities this week to hug on (or get climbed on by) orphans.

There are many many orphanages here and almost as many styles. Some have very nice facilities, but a very poor ratio of caretakers to kids. Others, such as the one I visited on Saturday, are family style with two parents and 12 children. The niños in some are clean and healthy, more often sniffling and coughing. Sometimes they call me Tia (aunt), sometimes Mama. But no matter what their history of abuse or neglect, or their current disadvantaged circumstances they're always eager for attention, and always ticklish! An hour or two of lovin' on these little balls of energy is enough to add new phrases to my need-to-learn-how-to-say-in-Spanish list, like "be nice" and "let go," and just enough to leave me eager to master Spanish so I can spend all my time serving Bolivians like these.

Wonder

Brennan Manning tells a story of a dying rabbi who said, "Never once in my life did I ask for success or wisdom or power or fame. I asked for wonder and He gave it to me." I had just read this line in The Ragamuffin Gospel when I needed it.

Yesterday, was my first frustrating day in language school. I seemed to have lost my Spanish. I told this to my teacher in my 4th class and she playfully asked, "did it go on vacation?" I felt kind of like the prophets of Baal, when Elijah asked, is your god on vacation? "Perhaps he is daydreaming, or is relieving himself. Or maybe he is away on a trip, or is asleep and needs to be wakened!”* No matter how loud I shouted I could not seem to wake up my brain's linguistic system.

On my 40-minute walk home from school I was talking to God about what to pray for. In the morning, I had prayed specifically to be a light, to reflect His glory, even at school. And shortly after, I sat in my first class of the day recognizing, almost as if I was looking from outside myself, that I was cranky. So, after a disheartening day I was contemplating how I should approach my attitude, when I remembered the line about asking for wonder. I'm not sure if I had even finished the thought, when I saw the

cutest little boy, no more than 4-years old, flying a kite all by himself in the park that I was walking through. As I walked by admiring Him and admiring God for sending such a small wonder into my day, his kite sank to the ground. Without missing a stride I picked it up and tossed it smoothly back into flight. A man walking toward him thanked me and I answered, "de nada," but what I really meant was "gracias." Gracias a Dios for taking such good care of me.

(The kiddo in the picture is not the kite-flier, but a niño from the church I've been attending. He is raised by his ~12 year-old sister, because his mom is the sole bread-winner for 5 kids. He repeatedly dropped these treats on the ground, but of course picked them up within 5 seconds before putting them back in his mouth.)

*1 Kings 18:27 NLT

Don't worry today my español was back on track.

A Few Things are Different Here

(Some of my fellow language school students at a Cochabamba Day party.)

One of my teachers asked me to keep a journal of cultural observations so I can process through why things are the way they are here. Since language school isn't providing a lot of exciting stories I thought I'd share with you some of the things that have surprised me.

• In Bolivia there are no interstates, expressways, or freeways, so a half hour plane ride is an overnight bus ride.
• Everyone from outside of the U.S. seems to associate KY with KFC.
• I was introduced to carbon pills as a toxin absorber, for digestive issues that are common among newbies like me.
• Bolivians really do greet everyone in the room with a kiss when they enter.
• There are very few street signs, which makes map reading hard, but the lack of stop signs is a whole 'nother story. You just honk and proceed hopefully through the intersection.
• The buildings all have walls around the outside for protection. I already knew this, but I've recently learned that the plants decorating the walls are thorny as well.
• Toyota seems to have reserved some cars from the U.S. market. Have you ever heard of the Sprinter or the Starlet?
• It is acceptable to call others fat, in fact I'm told that it is culturally preferable to be plump. I'm still running though, haven't quite embraced this idea.
• You will need a knife to eat soup. In the States we would usually cut the meat off the bone or the corn off the husk before putting it in the soup, but that is not so here.
• Everyone has to get out of the car to have it filled up with natural gas, but not gasolina.
• I have seen four people riding on a motorcycle, parents carrying a car-seat on a motorcycle, parents wearing helmets while their kids ride helmet-less, three people with a tuba, and three people with a goat.
• When a woman commits a crime here, there is usually no one to take care of her kids, so she takes her children to jail with her. However, there are organizations that help take care of those niños, and organizations to help those women. I'm looking forward to serving in such places soon!

Many are the Plans in Man's Heart

Sometimes I struggle to think of things worth writing about on a weekly basis, and other times, like now, I feel overwhelmed by the idea of summarizing such an eventful week. As most of you know, my plans to start language school as soon as I arrived in Bolivia were thwarted by the necessity to start my one year Visa process. So I spent eleven days in Santa Cruz with the Janeckes, (right) the world's most hospitable family.

The Message version of Proverb 19:21 says, "We humans keep brainstorming options and plans, but God's purpose prevails." Brainstorming ways to get to language school is exactly what I was doing, but the Lord had many plans for me in the mean time.

Talita Cumi has a quarterly birthday party for the orphans. Saturday, I got to participate in that wonderful celebration of nine children with cake, balloon animals, clowns, a piñata, presents, and swimming. Later that night, I was awed by a Spanish comedy version of Hamlet, with an underlying Michael Jackson theme (don't ask I don't think I

could do it justice if I tried.)

Tuesday, I was able to help my co-worker David host a pizza lunch for about 100 hungry students at the vet school to launch the semester for the VetRed Bible studies. Then, I had the pleasure of joining 57 women in the potluck kickoff of their new Beth Moore study on Esther. The voices of all those ladies praising the Lord accompanied only by a quiet acoustic guitar was a beautiful sound. Last night, after finally arriving in Cochabamba I caught the end of an International Dance Festival at the former house of one of the richest men in the world in the early 20th century, Simon Patino. The house and grounds are gorgeous, and when you visit I'll take you on a tour. Two men from Argentina danced yesterday, and tonight I hope to head back to see the Bolivian element of the show, but not until after my first language classes this afternoon!

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." Proverbs 13:12

The Least, the Last, and the Lost

Today, the campo (Spanish for the countryside) became one large petting zoo. At 6:00 this morning David and Bill--

the two vets who work for World Concern--and I headed out to San Julian for a training workshop on parasite prevention and treatment, injection techniques, and hog cholera. I was just along for the ride, as I'm still in a bit of a holding pattern until my documents are cleared and I can travel to Cochabamba for language school. As I had, virtually no expectations for this event, I took the decision that the training would be cancelled due to rain, all in stride.

Since we had already driven 2+ hours to get to the village, we decided to give the Land Rover more of a challenge and take it off the paved road to visit some farms in the Berlin Zone. This gentle giant to the left was part of the Gather project's model farm where missionaries try to show ways farmers can improve their production through pasture rotation, fish breeding, elevated housing to avoid flood waters, gardening, etc. One part of the project demonstrates how much can be done with one hectare of land, so the locals will recognize there are opportunities even with few resources.

The poverty in the campo is clearly evident, and it would be easy to get overwhelmed with the needs that greet one so quickly upon arrival. I'm so thankful to have such an established organization, with strong leadership, a heart for Jesus, and a vision for making a lasting difference in the lives of the poor. It has been such a relief that everything I've heard since I arrived about World Concern and the people I'll be

working with has been confirmation that this is where God wants me to be. They are so intent on serving the poorest of the poor that they're restructuring their entire micro-finance program to shift over the next three years from micro-loans to savings communities, because those have been proven more effective in areas of extreme poverty. I love the idea I just learned this week, that World Concern seeks to create sustainable futures for the least, the last, and the lost. You really can't go wrong following Jesus' pattern of ministry.