Felix Felicis

One of my Spanish professoras used to give me a hard time because I rarely agreed with her literary tastes, due to her affinity for tragedies. Is it really so bad to prefer happy endings? Growing up I watched The Walton's on TV because nothing ever really went wrong, and it always had a happy ending, "Night John Boy..." Probably because of the same fondness for smooth sailing, the chapter in Harry Potter about Felix Felicis Potion was one of my favorites in the series.

I, for one, am convinced that J.K. Rowling's writing was profoundly influenced by her Christianity. I find it hard to understand how anyone who has finished the seventh book could deny such an influence, with the Gospel so plainly allegorized. And I sometimes wonder if Rowling's meant Felix Felicis Potion to represent the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is definitely not luck and it does not guarantee smooth sailing by any means, but the Bible says it will give us power beyond ourselves, Acts 1:8.

More recently, I've been reading Forgotten God, by Francis Chan, where he asks, "When is the last time you experienced the Holy Spirit?"

All this to say, my English for Veterinarians classes have been going far better than is humanly possible. Since Monday I've had four classes, with the number of students in one class growing between the first and second days to nearly fifty. More remarkable than overcoming my fear/hatred for public speaking, than learning on the job how to teach, than working confidently with professors nearly twice my age, has been my ability to not only lecture in Spanish, but even harder to switch back and forth between Spanish and English rapidly and coherently. Outside of class sometimes I feel like my Spanish is so inadequate that I can barely convey simple thoughts in an understandable manner. This discrepancy leaves me with four options for how I can speak intelligibly in Spanish and English in class, either: 1) someone's sneaking me Felix Felicis Potion before class, 2) I'm really speaking terribly I just don't have anyone correcting me so I don't know it, 3) my adrenaline causes my subconscious to take over with its far superior linguistic skills, or the option I choose to believe, 4) the Holy Spirit is helping me. "...for it is not you speaking, but the Holy Spirit." ~Luke 12:12

Thank you everyone for your prayers, they're nearly palpable!

What a Difference a Week Makes

Once the professors concluded their strike at the vet school we were able to set a date for our kick-off lunch/introduction to Vetred. With seven "Interminable" (translation - had to open two doors to get them into the room) pizzas in hand, we headed to the vet school last Wednesday afternoon. And, as is quickly found with interminables, they never really meet up to their name. But they gave a good enough effort to satisfy almost 100 students. Between their first and second slices David, my faithful co-worker with Vetred, and I presented our opportunities for them throughout the semester including our weekly Bible study, trips to the countryside to teach animal healthcare workshops to farmers, monthly spay and neuter clinics in poor areas of town, and bi-weekly English for Veterinarians classes.

This was the first time I'd ever spoken in front of a crowd in Spanish, and I was pleasantly surprised that they didn't hurl rotten tomatoes at me. Either I explained everything clearly enough that they were intrigued by the English course, or I accidentally offered them free pizza every week, because 75 of them signed up for my class! We begin class Monday the 15th, so you can start praying any time, I know I am.

On the same adrenaline soaked day, I also finalized my driver's license, picked up my new business cards, and found a car! Owned by a nun from Spain for the past thirteen years, my new-to-me Toyota Land Cruiser took a bit of getting used to at first. I can honestly say it is the most utilitarian thing I've ever owned, but we're warming up to each other. Over the past twenty-four hours the sterility of the cup-holder-less, radio-less, console-less interior has been overshadowed, not so much by her personality but by her functionality. With seats for ten passengers, a diesel engine and a roof rack, I've already toted a few people around town, and plan to make full use of her people-hauling capabilities tomorrow for our Christian Veterinarians retreat.

I want to say a huge thank you to each of you that support me regularly or irregularly. It has been amazing to be able to complete language school, set-up a house, buy a car, get new tires, etc. all through your generosity. If you've been thinking/praying about giving, I would encourage you that I could use some more regular donors, and some irregular donors to become more regular. But God has provided for me so graciously through so many of you. When I was taking questions after my talk on Wednesday, one of the students asked how much the English course will cost? As I answered that it is free, I smiled a little as I was immediately filled with gratitude for all your selflessness that allows me to be here, to volunteer my time, and to offer these people a gift that is undeserved and unpaid for, just like the grace of God that we have ultimately come to share.

"I thank my God in all my remembrance of you." Philippians 1:3

Mi Casa es Su Casa

So much has happened in the past week. It's been a roller-coaster of emotion between decorating my new office, moving into the new house, trying to get a driver's license, trying to plan English classes while the professors are on strike, shopping for a car, acclimatizing to constantly sweating, and generally just settling in to Santa Cruz. I could share at length about any of these topics, but I decided to veer away from the more negative aspects of the week, except to note that most of them would have been almost identical in the States.

For instance, I've nearly pulled out all of my very thin hair, while attempting to acquire a driver's license as it has so far required five trips to two offices on opposite ends of town, and I am no closer than when I started. I was tempted to direct my frustrations at the Bolivian bureaucratic process, when I remembered crying in the parking lot during my last experience at the DMV in Maryland, and from then on continued to remind myself that every DMV experience in the history of mankind has probably been similarly root-canal-like.

But my house is great! The housing set-up allotment in my budget that all you supporters have been so gracious to fill, has allowed me to buy such wonderful luxuries as a bed, towels, garbage cans, dishes, pots, pans, and all those little essentials, you only think about when you move without any of your stuff. So now, it's feeling homey here;

with the thirty new plants I added to the garden today, a fairly stocked kitchen, first dinner guests coming on Monday, hammock hung and tested, and the guest room all prepared for your visit. You'll fit right in, I can even take you to the DMV for a little familiarity if you get homesick.

(Captions: Here's the new hammock on the mosquito-proof screened in porch and the beautiful view of my banana trees through the bedroom window)

Recalling this verse a lot recently:

"...whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things." - Phil 4:8

In the Thick of it Now

The weather has cooled off a bit, back down into the 80's, and I found my rain jacket in my tightly packed bags, Hallelujah! So Santa Cruz is looking better all the time. Especially from this view through my new living room windows into the flower-filled garden of the house I moved into today!

This week I attended a conference at the veterinary school I'm starting to work with put on by the US Humane Society's RAVS program. A team of five ladies and one lonely guy ventured from all across the States to train and encourage the Bolivian vets and students to spay and neuter dogs and cats. Right up my alley!

It was great to get to meet and work along side some of the Bolivian professors and students. One of the senior students told me how difficult it was not to be able to understand or talk to the three US vets who didn't speak much Spanish. I told her she could take my English for Veterinarians class this year and then she could to talk to them next year if they come back as they hope. Slightly unrealistic goal for my class I'm afraid, but she was excited nonetheless and wanted to know all the details.

Because there were many linguistically-frustrated vets, and I found that there wasn't much for me to learn or contribute otherwise, I was recruited as a translator.

My English was definitely better than the Bolivians, and maybe my Spanish was better than the gringas I was interpreting for, but that did not make me a qualified translator by any means. There was the expected problem of communicating effectively and rapidly between both languages, the specific surgical and anatomical vocabulary I was lacking, my brain not being used to switching back and forth and sometimes forgetting to translate when there was something interesting going on, but worst of all was the problem of never having been so close to spays and neuters without sterile gloves on! I was constantly tempted to point to or touch the things I was trying to describe, and often eager to dab some blood or rush to the rescue of a neglected vessel. However, that we're aware of, there have not been any fatalities or even close calls due to my major blunders. So, it looks like it was a good learning experience all around.

Compañeras

Today, I moved to hot and sticky Santa Cruz, leaving behind refreshingly dry and comfortable Cochabamba. But as easy as it is, I did not intend to write about Cochabamba's nearly perfect climate, but instead to rave about its nearly perfect people. I've told you lots about my language school friends and fellow troublemakers, but I have yet to give due praise to my Bolivian family, the gracious Chicas that took me in and cared for me far better than I would have cared for myself, Maite and Teresa.

If you've had the pleasure of living with me, you know I may not be the world's easiest roommate or houseguest, but these two never ceased to shower me with love, clean laundry, lessons (in Spanish, sewing, and cooking), company, and yummy, healthy, Bolivian fooooood! I'm gonna miss that sonso, and I'm going to miss my amigitas.

Yesterday, was a beautiful conclusion to six months of friendships, ideas, and culture. I woke up with in the same room as my favorite little man; one-year old Angelito, ran around my favorite Cochabamba running site; the laguna, played some wallyball, was pummeled with water balloons and foam at the finale of Carnaval, had a fabulous visit to the home of my friends the Vargas, shared a lovely dinner/photo-op with these delightful ladies, and finally was sent off with prayer at the bus terminal.

Tomorrow, I'll start a new phase of ministry, post-language school, but today, I'm allowing myself to dwell on the sublime last six months, and how God provided far beyond I expected, but why am I still surprised by that.

Fat Tuesday

Toto, I have the feeling we're not in New Orleans anymore.

In a city with barely any air conditioning, I have yet to see an adult brave enough to open their car windows the past few days. Carnaval seems to be Mardi Gras on diuretics. Shortly after New Year’s a water balloon shattered a cafe window at the table of three of my friends, thus kicking off the six weeks of mahem known as Carnaval in Latin America.

As a tall female gringa who walks nearly everywhere, I seem to meet all the criteria for good target material. Initially, I tried keeping track of the water balloons that hit me, but I had already started to lose my tally, and then gave up completely when my “friends” waged war, guerrilla-style last Thursday with foam, water balloons, buckets, a hose, and super soakers. The original intent of the water “gifts” during Carnaval were meant as blessings to others in honor of the abundance the rainy season brings. Dripping wet, I had a hard time feeling blessed.

For some, arming the water warriors becomes a seasonal occupation. People take up temporary residence on heavily trafficked street corners and sell bags of loaded wet weapons. The madness is such an important part of the culture here that they've made a verb out of the act of throwing water balloons, "globear." This morning, the culminating day of the entire season, running around the lake, we adopted the chant small children use to egg on their adversaries, "Mojanos" (get us wet), but ironically, for once, no one obliged.

Angelito

Among the many fabulous and encouraging responses I've had to last week's admission of feeling on the less useful side recently, was one sentiment that I did not expect, but found some relief in:

"It's not just your selfish desire that wants to be useful. God created us to do good works...His works. It's what we were born to do..." Ephesians 2:10, "For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago."

This relieved me of the guilt I might have felt upon finding a new way to serve this week when I'd just started learning that maybe God wanted me to be still and a little broken. But I'll try not to forget that lesson even as life starts to get busier.

Freddy (also known as Angelito) is a 1-year-old, adorable Bolivian in foster care with a family I'd never met, till Tuesday when I became a regular in their house, as a sporadic nanny. His foster mom just headed to the US for a couple months leaving dad behind with two teenage kids, a job, a house, and a baby that's missing his mommy enough to stop sleeping through the night.
Even when he wakes up in the middle of the night he's cute though. Considering what a confusing year of transitions between families and homes, even languages, it's a miracle that he is possibly the most freely affectionate, and one of the most well socialized little guys I've ever met.
On the downside, he'll just be one more amigo (or in his case-amigito) to say goodbye to in two weeks when I pick up and move again. He is adoptable though, hmm...