Resurrected outlook

Everyone knows the story of the prodigal son. I've heard it countless times, and even those unacquainted with the Bible know a little something about a lost son who comes back home to a father with open arms. Recently, I've heard the story about 4 different times through a variety of avenues.

It wasn't until last night that something new clicked (although each retelling had something special that touched my heart).

So you know that part where the son asks for his inheritance? In those time to make such a request was to say that the father was dead to you. After all, it wasn't until after he passed that one would receive his/her reward. This part wasn't new to me. But then I read the final sentence of the story..

..the part after the son comes back with a repentant heart
..after the other son complains about his father's behavior
..the father says..

"We had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again..."

You catch it?

The father wasn't the dead one. The son was.

While the son tried to tell the father off, he couldn't. The father remains alive and well. By leaving the love of our Father, the only one who dies is us. Apart from Him, we can do nothing.

The story of victory is when we too come to realize that our only life comes through the father, and remaining in Him.

And that's pretty sweet. Chau.

What did we do any way?

At least 300.

Well, there were a LOT of these...

And on Tuesday we had over 110 kids...

Every day featured your typical, alfajor and mate cocido...

And there were workshops like baking bread, making periscopes, making clown puppets, sports, learning about instruments, and oh yeah...

the workshop Eva and I was in charge of...

Dance.

You betchya we looked like a bunch of fools out there. This was one of the ways we warmed up--walking around on all fours. Not exactly my favorite, but definitely got the blood pumping. What was neat about the week was using the gifts (thanks pops for those hips that don't lie) and talents (white girl's got rhythm, say what?*) to get kids excited about coming to church. We would do silly things, like be mirror images to Irish jig music (great mental picture, no? hehe) or stretches that brought our feet behind our head(!), etc. etc.

It was a week long event during winter vacation. Something the church, that the OM team is involved with, puts together every year. I would describe it as an Argentine version of Vacation Bible School. From 2-5pm, the children gather for games, the aforementioned workshops, a Bible story (told by an amazing teacher!), and snack.

I got close with a couple of girlies, and this one in particular was, how shall I say it? Pegahosa. That is to say, she was stuck to me like white on rice.

The sad news is I didn't get to see her or her cousin Martina the last day of the week. I had planned to sit down with them and pray with them. I guess God has other plans. But if you could pray for Florencia, Martina and Martina's two brothers Franco and Rodrigo, it would be much appreciated.

It was a lot of work, and I was glad to be a support, but once again, I'm glad to be back to get to work with my teens again! Until next time, chau!

*Went to a gym this morning for some Latin dancing. The instructor commented that I got the moves down better than some of her clients who have been coming for years! haha

Bs. As. tour guide. That's me!

Sol and I had all day Saturday after our work with the kiddies (more on that upcoming) to visit the capital of her country, Buenos Aires. I've now been here thrice, which is amazing in itself, but something I most enjoyed on this trip was being the foreign tour guide.

I thought of it as if Sol were to show off Washington, D.C. to me, except for having a Pink House,

..we have a white one. Never had crossed my mind before. I asked her how she felt about seeing the capital of Argentina, but she just kind of shrugged. She wasn't outwardly enthusiastic, but we had much to talk about afterward, and said she loved seeing all the sights.

We started in Puerto Madero where to spice things up for me, we entered the frigate known as Presidente Sarmiento. For the equivalent of 50 cents, you can see the ins and outs of this world-traveling ship. Then came the tour of the political house we've seen many a time by now (though I still lack a night shot, which is quite cool). I was surprised here in that they've opened up more rooms to the public--so.. more new stuff for me. Woohoo! And then of course.. the obelisk. hehe.

Obviously.

We hit up everything I knew, minus La Boca and Recoleta. We tried to take a tour of the famous Teatro Colon, which would have been a first for me, but it closed fifteen minutes before we showed up. There were the typical demonstrators in the streets, the typical street vendors (from which this time they enticed us both to buy hats:

Mine is this dark green with hints of black, hers is a lighter green. The flower, that you can't see that well in mine, is gray for hers. Any way, 25 pesos seemed worth it when you get to watch the woman selling them work on the next one in front of you.), and the typical McDonald's on every corner. Wait..

We ended in San Telmo, where I found a few more odds and ends for the family and supporters. Found a really cool postcard this time too, which helps one grasp truly how large this city is. I have so much more to see, but I will just have to try to hit up new hot spots next time. Chau!

Welcome to the greatest show on earth.. sort of.. but really cool, truly..

Great payaso (clown). Lovin the pants!

I find it appropriate to tell of the tale of my first ever trip to the circus! I laugh because it's an international thing, but Barnum and Bailey from the States usually is the must see. They were in Chicago when I was a senior in college, and Ariel and I had decided to go.. and then we didn't. I guess my first time to the big top would be with Maria Sol instead.

Circo Rodas is the name, and it's not your typical spiel. I guess I always figured to find a ring in the center and lots of animals walking about. This one had no animals, but it did have its fair share of acrobatics and scantily clad ladies. Sol overheard one kiddo ask, "Aren't those women cold, daddy?"

A famous contortionist. Truly, blown away.

"Yes son.." as we all took a moment to look out our exhaled breath.

She asked me afterward about circuses for US, and I replied that I had never been, but I think they might be a little bit more covered. With the exception of those that appear in Las Vegas.

Moving on.. the phrase that seems to continue to come to mind is "Que impresionante!" Or, "How impressive!" We started with a juggler, then the clowns, then the people who do crazy stunts with fabric hanging from the ceiling (is there a shorter name for that?), then families who do acrobatic craziness together (seriously, there should be a unique name for this one too), etc. etc.

The whole cast.

There was a guy who sang in English. Sol turned to me, "Is he singing that correctly?" I chuckled back, "Not quite." Then there was a knife thrower. Then these two guys from Chile who went round and round in some sort of.. well I don't know what to call it:

Yeah, that thing.

But the most incredible was near the end: the contortionist already pictured in this post (the one with the bow and arrow being aimed with her feet!). I was in so much awe of how controlled she was, and how she could stay in position for more than just a few seconds, supported only by one hand most times! Buenisimo!

The show's final moment included 7 motorcyclist in a tiny ball. You can just click here to see it.

In conclusion, we were blown away by every part. I hope to include more circuses in my lifetime, and I am even more enthusiastic to teach juggling starting in August! Sol and I in the meantime are going to work on becoming clowns. It just looks like too much fun to skip. Chau!

On my way...

Back to Córdoba. I am very excited and have many more photos of beautiful Buenos Aires to share. I also found some gifts for people back in the US of A. Woo!! Thanks for all of you who were praying for a safe journey and for a quality time with the kiddos in Quilmes/Wilde (names of the barrios). Love and chau.

Awww

By the end of this short message, be prepared to say the title again.

When I was a little girl and would go on trips with dad to South Texas to visit his side of the family, I didn't have much to say. I'm not talking about how I couldn't talk because I was a baby, but the times when I'd learned past the prattle and constructed legitimate sentences. Even at an early age, I recognized the disconnect between my great-grandparents and me.

They only spoke one language, and it wasn't English.

Entering middle school, I was quick to take up the 2-year Spanish program, even if it meant that I only learned how to conjugate verbs in the present tense and vocabulary centering on grocery lists and introducing yourself. But I was proud to prepare those flashcards, eager to study for every quiz and yes, be the Spanish aide my second year for first year students.

It all boiled down to that question the teachers would make you answer the first day of class: why do you want to learn Spanish in the first place?

Here was my advantage over other kids. I had family members, my very own flesh and blood, with whom I could not converse. And that was motivation for a long while, until the great-grandparents passed away.

No, that wasn't the only reason I stopped taking Spanish after freshmen year of high school, but it was a factor. Then, it never really hit me until planning for Argentina that learning Spanish wasn't all for naught. My grandmother is bilingual; how cool would it be if we could speak in her first language? What if I could actually respond with a gasp while watching telenovelas together only to find Miguel cheating on Francesca?

When I went to Iguazu Falls, I decided to send some postcards, and was intentional upon writing in Spanish to Grandma Zulema. Just today, I received a response. A lovely, handwritten message in Español from the Abuelita. A little piece of my childhood came back to me--memories of visiting great-grandma and great-grandpa in South Texas. Eating migas and watching the two hobble over to the kitchen table. Then there was that bingo-esque game where for some reason all I can remember is the picture of the mermaid.

I couldn't talk to them, but this letter encourages me to keep going. I teared up to read how she is proud of me. Te quiero mucho tambien, abuela!

Title.

The Pretzel

It's just rare enough to be an object of curiosity, and it's just bland enough to not throw off the Argentine taste buds.

How do I know?

Out of one part boredom, and two parts stomach growling, I decided to tackle the pretzel again, this time adding some parmesan cheese on top for extra sabor. Ate lunch, and then packed the rest to carry to the neighbors. Specifically, Romina and Flor.

First stop, Romina. Daniel opened the door and welcomed me in as I waited for Romina to get up from her nap. All three (including their son, Fabri) hesitantly looked at the, how do you say it again?, and took the leap. I was flattered when they immediately responded with wanting more. Then we shared maté and I ended up staying for 3 hours in which we caught up with life, and she invited me to dinner this coming Saturday. We're gonna make pizza!

Afterward, I carried the other set of pretzels to the Quinteros' place. In a way, I felt like Red Riding Hood visiting her grandmother. In place of a basket was my North Park backpack(ito). Any way, I arrived and they welcomed me in for a tea or coffee. They devoured the pretzels, and Silvana wrote down the recipe. Daniel (number two) kept raving, and everyone commented on the unique shape.

The funny part was that everyone who tried them, including Inti from yesterday, talked about how they looked like the food that Homer Simpson always eats. I had to explain the difference, especially how pretzels are normally, though not always, salado, or salty.

What I've learned is it's best to share N. American food that doesn't stray to extreme on flavor, because Argentina doesn't either. They don't eat spicy foods, and I've only seen one Asian restaurant in the city. They talk of the schwarma you can get at Mega Doner, but I'm skeptical. Plus, when I offered some Jif Peanut Butter, it killed me how much they literally despised it.

The other comment is how fun this part of ministry can be; I like just going over to someone's house and talking, well, mostly listening, about said person's life. It makes me think of the importance and the opportunities that exist for all of us. We all have neighbors, and if I remember correctly, Jesus talked about loving them. What would it look like to not overthink the neighbor concept and just knock on the door next to ours?

Just a thought. Chau!