Tuesday 22 December 2015

Panama...Saying Goodbye


Saturday, November 28, 2015

What Then Shall We Say?

God had us all thinking, some together but not entirely, we were months of searching out this thing to do for God, something intentional; all, interestingly enough, to do something for the Fosters in Panama…we were being prepared for what would soon happen…for something big, for something amazing.

We have worked well together, steadfast and unified; we have so accomplished what was set before us at the beginning of this journey...we came to deliver  cases and boxes filled with tangibles, but more than that; we came with words of encouragement, eyes open to learn, ears to listen and hearts to love.

We have all been amazed and touched by seeing God in a million little ways but also in great big ways, we will never be the same and certainly Panama will be changed as well.  We know this because our eyes were wide open...we saw children willing to be loved, their families all around them caring, working, hoping and more than that; we saw where we could do something more.  We saw the camp, where it was, who worked and loved there and more than that; we saw what we could do to help them accomplish more.  We saw how Alan and Colleen lived with their little family, we saw their passion and dedication...more than that; we could see there was something we could do to help them invest even more. 

We have said our goodbyes and in just a little while heading home...what then shall we say?

In the beginning and in the ending... there is always more to think of, more to say, more to add to the story, to our coming and going, it is never just how we are or what has happened, or what was lost, or what was gained, there is always more to it…yes more than that; the wonder of listening, learning and loving.

So, what was about to happen has happened and we find ourselves here…last steps, last words, last looks.  Bitter sweet; our days here are coming to an end but really it is just the beginning...

God is doing amazing things, with amazing people; Alan, Colleen, Einer, Girlaca, Robinson, Delacio, Oberlin and more, ordinary people that are passionate for what happens in their part of the world...Panama; a country of rivers and jungles, thatched roofs and glass towers, school uniforms and parumas...contrasts and God's love abound.

“We give thanks to God always, for all of you constantly mentioning you in our prayers remembering before our God and Father your work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.  For we know brothers loved by God, that He has chosen you…not to please  man but to please God who tests our hearts.” 

God, what more shall we say?

…my heart knows what Yours knows.




Thursday 17 December 2015

Panama Day Ten

             
Friday, November 27, 2015

Amongst the Ruins

We had breakfast in Torti one week ago on our way into the Darien, today we are waking up here, a beautiful oasis on the edge of a highway that is now taking us out.  When we arrived here last night we took our luggage down a flight of tiled stairs, through a garden of exotic plants, flowers and coconut filled palm trees, we walked past a beautiful pool that was already beckoning our names.  Our rooms were surrounded by a covered   walkway, and edged with a wrought iron railing, white walls, large windows all sparkling with the reflection from the pool below…I could hardly wait.  After going up for a long awaited meal we made our way back down for a swim, the moon was shining down through the palm branches; all magic.  Dive in, head first, breathe, just breathe.

Kalea settled into bed, all snuggled up with Samson, the baby nestled nearby and the rest of us gathered for a debrief, chatting and taking in our last days…amazing days.  Those were the thoughts that danced in our heads as we slept that night.

Today we will be heading in to Panama City, we are looking forward to seeing the other side of this beautiful country, coming away from the indigenous jungle villages on the one side and entering the economically rich on the other.  Alan and Colleen were to take some of their load, including Samson, home and would meet up with us along the highway at Catrigandi. 

Travelling the Pan American Highway back into Panama City we find the scenery to be what we have come to know; rolling hills, jungle edges dotted with huts and sunny skies.   Coming in to Chepo, we stop at the Rio Bayano Bridge to take a few pictures and enjoy the view.   The bridge is a tangle of geometric meccano like construction reaching up in stages of crosses and steel.  The waterway under us is setting up magnificent views, stretching out to the North and to the south.  Close to the water’s edge just under the bridge nestles a piragua where the occupants have stopped for lunch and further on stretch out arms of jungle that hug the shores and beyond that the hazy shadows of rolling mountain ranges.

Soon we are entering in to the city, fabulous, all glass and steel, high rises, towers and a maze of roadways; on and off ramps twists and turns.  In the midst are scattered the ruins of ancient buildings, the Santo Domingo church for one plus many others that are now being restored.  Repairing destruction that happened during the Spanish American wars in the 1800’s to the Columbia drug catastrophes to the urban warfare during the US invasion in 1989…beauty in the ashes.  Alan leads us in and out of sections of the city, along the harbor into the old city and back into the new, definitely a city of contrasts.  We pass by makeshift shelves loaded with fresh produce, cartloads of baked buns, umbrella covered lunch carts, conglomerations of electrical wires all jumbled and hanging from poles tucked up close to buildings and standing guard on many of the corners are stiffly uniformed police officers.  Then as simple as rounding a turn we enter once again in to the high walls of glass towers along the harbor.

The city is beginning to celebrate Navidad; amongst the palm trees in medians and parkways  are large Christmas trees decorated in red balls and tinsel and there a stadium set up for a Christmas concert.  We stop for lunch at a coffee shop where we enjoy conversation with the people sitting around us, they are interested in our jagua tattoos, but we are only a few in the midst of gringos here.  We step out into the narrow streets to walk past beautiful and colorful architecture some of it in restoration but much of it already accomplished.  Walking around the corner we find Obdulio’s tienda de Artesania and enter through a tall wooden door into the indigenous crafts he sells; local artisans, basket weavers, wood carvers, and jewellery makers, colorful woven scarves and hats…all beautiful.  The money he makes here is rerouted to support the communities he sponsors.

Checking in at the Riande Aeropuerto Hotel, a resort in the middle of the city, we settle in…after a swim in the grand pool and a drink of Panama cerveza we gather for a wonderful meal and share words of confirmation, affirmation and encouragement for all of us; Jason, Deanne, Robin, Marlis, Loralee, myself, Alan and Colleen...a sweet ending to this last day of an amazing time in Panama.

“God created you to do amazing things”
Ephesians 2:10

What then shall we say in response to these things...

Sunday 13 December 2015

Panama Day Nine


Thursday, November 26

Uh Uh, No Sir!

The excavator came yesterday and it will be finishing up today, the men have already been up there this morning watching more brush disappearing, more fruit falling and heavy muddy dirt moving.  Machetes and shovels held are mostly still as they watch the big machine do its work.  I slip into Einer’s villa to find Jason sitting at the long kitchen table listening to a young man; he is translating to Deanne and now to me as well.  Oberlin has an amazing story to share, we have heard it, we know it, but now we hear it from his own words, his friend Efriam is listening too.

As Oberlin tells his story, we are mesmerized by his voice as he speaks, his face, his eyes, his words… his hands.  I cannot stop looking at his hands as they move into a fist and then open and roll and point…they also are telling the story.  It is a story of a seemingly lost soul, sold out to the devil; tormented himself but also tormenting others, including his friends, affecting his school, losing his parents.  The whole of the town fought to find salvation for this trouble, the youth went wild and the school was shut down. A Catholic priest tried to help, men from the town, family, still, all seemed lost.  But God was pursuing Oberlin, over time he fled to the church, head down, shoulders hunched, trying to make himself invisible, he made his way to the front seat weeping, crying out the Hineni words of God… “Here I am, Here I am, Here I am…” over and over and over again.  My tears overflowed and rolled down…this is how God pursues. 

Oberlin, once a broken young man but now made whole, restored, and beautiful…his slate wiped clean.  He works here now, at this camp for kids, he is dedicated to discipling children for God and the people here cannot stop loving him.  He offers to share another gift with us, Jagua painting.  He explains that Jagua is an important fruit in the life of Embera and Waounan people. This hard inedible fruit is grated, mixed with a small amount of water and squeezed in a cloth to extract a black liquid that is used to paint directly on dry skin.  Geometrical designs wrapped around upper arms, wrists and in some cases whole lower bodies…like a two-week tattoo.  A personal and impressive gift...oh yes, we all got one!

Our time here is nearly at an end, we have just a few things more to finish, cleaning the showers, bathrooms and beds; sweeping and washing floors; packing up everything into our suitcases; saying our farewells to these people we have gotten to know…Americo, Obdulio, Ricardo, Delacio, Alsiviades, Oberlin, Efriam, Robinson, his wife Ruth, other women who called this place home, and the children. 

Alan gives us a few instructions about driving through the checkpoints as we leave the Darien and head down to Torti where we will spend this night….as we listen, we load up Alan’s vehicle and the Prado; baby stuff, Kalea’s stuff, Alan and Colleen’s stuff, all of our stuff which is much less than what we came with and the dog Samson…who tried one more time to interrupt Alan's instructions, who in turn reiterated with a command we became very familiar with…

”Uh, uh, no Sir!

And now, one last four wheel drive up the new road and back down again…here we go!

Saturday 12 December 2015

Panama Day Eight


Wednesday, November 25, 2015

There Lies My Heart

This day, a party, celebrating the birthdays of the children who attend this camp…especially Louis.  We decorated with balloons, made goody bags, played musical hula hoops and enjoyed Robin and Alan strumming their guitars, singing “memememe...me?…you…Happy birthday to You”  Such fun; laughter and love and tears.

The road construction is well on its way, the men have cleared away a lot of brush and a few large beautiful trees...as one of them toppled to the ground, Obdulio sighs, “There lies my heart.” Girlaca agrees and Colleen hasn’t yet dared to look.  We notice the red tinges of the bark peeling, bleeding.  A few steps down from this new clearing, the old stairway winds down the slope to the camp yard where the new road will take us back up.  As I take each step down I bend low to pick up the grapefruits that have fallen from this broken heart  and shaken from the others around it; yellow, round fruit lining the crevices along the old broken stairs, some split and ruined but some whole and ripe, lying amongst the small tufts of flowers and fallen leaves.  Around all this that lay on the ground, big blue butterflies flitted in and out through the rays of sunshine that filtered through this bit of jungle...beauty among the remnants.

At the top of the hill, Einer and Girlaca had shown us through their old Spanish villa; into the rooms she had painted with shades of yellow and green, through her open kitchen and up the stairs to the room with the hammock, where the clean laundry hung from the window guards and where Einer stored the lathe machine that he has been using to sand small pieces of wood into pens.  The wood is called Kobo, it initially sells for $75 per foot, he uses the scrap pieces…small squares of a hard wood that once oiled expose the grains and color; shades of browns, golden tans and a rich purple. The Wounaan people are Artisans and it is Einer’s plan to introduce them to this new craft of pen making, adding it to the basket weaving that they have been doing forever.

Wanting to see the Port, we walk up the road to Yaviza, the town at the end of the road.  Past the cemetary of white crosses and tombs, past the high school where the students were celebrating their last day, and up to the Port entry; a grand covered walkway, stretched long with a wide front stairway up, guarded on each side by large iron rails, painted red and on the inside by a short white crossed iron fence; floor tiled and flags waving in the breeze, red, white and blue.  Beyond the rails, below, the muddy river, lined with piraguas, men loading and unloading, people waiting and us watching.  From here we take the road to the walking bridge past the bars, that were so filled with music and people that first night we were here...now silent; the colorful homes, rich old and faded; shops filled with colorful goods, clothing, shoes, food of all sorts;  pickup trucks full of papayas, coconuts and other produce;  meat cooking on open BBQ’s; people watching after us, children playing and following along.  All of this making colorful layers of a multi cultured, Latino, Black, Wounaan and Gringo shaped  life.

This night, we meet with Obdulio, Ricardo and Americo, these men who have been so generous to share their country, this small part of their world, their dreams and prayers with us.  It has been an honor to hear the words they say back to us; the answers, reflecting the questions that were asked at the beginning of this journey.  Americo, sharing the hidden concern he had about us travelling through the Red Zone…he stood amazed each time our papers were handed over at the check points and we were allowed through.  He said in awe, this is no longer the Roho Zona, it is the Verde Zona.

Amazing grace…

Wednesday 9 December 2015

Panama Day Seven


Tuesday, November 24, 2015

A Very White Night

Daybreak, early morning rising, and we are waking in the misty air to the sounds of a village stirring to their own start.  As we are wrapping up our bedding and organizing our packs we see children running about getting ready for school, no doubt.  We had just seen the village teacher leave his hut walking down the path…clean cut, laptop, briefcase, black pants, white shirt, tie; all pressed.  To all of us it seemed he may have been just as much at home walking on a street downtown Vancouver heading for work in one of the towers there.  Some of the children ran naked through the village square to use the shared shower, soon returning and then to be seen once again in their school uniform…black pants, white shirt, tie; all pressed. Sights of contradiction!

We laid out our gifts to the family on the table and made our way down the ladder to put on our shoes; shoes were always left at the bottom of the ladder before entering any hut.  All of our things were wrapped again in large plastic bags and we carried them down to the shelter of the church building, the feel of rain was heavy in the air.  We were served hot lemon grass tea as we waited for news of our piragua being ready to board.  In our line of vision, as we sipped tea was the roof line of the church building that the ladies had spoken of the night before; partly built, open steel rafters waiting for the sheet roofing.  Some of us walked over to see for ourselves how far the builders have come, what was left to be done, supplies that were on hand and what was still needed for this dream to be accomplished.  It was a big endeavour, where we appreciated the freedom and comfort of the thatched roof these people had a dream of sheet metal and cement…more contradiction.  But where contradiction was evident so was God’s hand, His call on these beautiful people… hopes and dreams.

The rain had already started and we pulled out our plastic ponchos, hats and umbrellas, this time to keep dry; the rain came down, hard, but still warm as we boarded and headed out on the river highway back to Yaviza. The rain didn’t last the whole river long and soon we found ourselves putting down the umbrellas as we chatted the time away and watched the river pass by.

Home again, Yaviza…sun shining, we showered, hung laundry, had coffee, shared our adventures with Deanne, who had stayed back with Colleen and the children; we heard hers, all peppered with worship in rest and love.

It was not long when the men traded their ponchos for machetes, saws and shovels; preparing the land for the big excavator that would come tomorrow, building the road in for Alan and Colleens new home.

Walking about the camp yard, watching the machetes disappear over the hill I noticed lunch…well, I didn’t know it was lunch.  I went down to take a photo thinking how great is this…a pet pig!  As I approached Einer, he explained to me that the pig would be killed; now, right there, on the spot, and would I be able to prepare some?  

Lunch; sweet plantain lightly fried, a salad of pineapple and cabbage and…Puerco.

When we arrived in Panama the Fosters told us that rain was never far away…yes true.  One more downpour today, Kalea running and dancing in the midst of it and me joining her; so fun, big drops, a shower from God and cooling us off after cooking the afternoon away in a hot kitchen...later her and I, swinging in the hammock, storm watching; God’s lovely dance, thunder cracking and lightening, bright white lighting up this small part of the world.

"What color is that Kalea?”  “Very white” she answered “God is making a very white night!”

Light in the darkness…


I love that.

Tuesday 8 December 2015

Panama Day Six

                               
Monday, November 24, 2015

The Wounaan Villages

Waking up in the home of Delacio, he is the local pastor and has joined with us in part of our journey.  We step out of netted bedrolls that were laid side by side against the long wall of the big room; taking in the sounds of the morning we step across the small walkway leading into the kitchen and here we find Delacio’s wife kneeling beside the fire, cutting up plantains, the men sitting at the wooden table already talking about water lines and measurements.  The kitchen is the smaller of the two rooms of this home, there is a makeshift counter with room to hold dishes; if there was running water they would be able to be washed here but as it is, this is the holding place until they are brought down to the river to be washed. The food is cooked on a large low open fire pit, with room to kneel and prepare food and to hold large pots of soup or rice.  Today we will be cooking black bean soup for the noon meal.
 
We work hard at communicating to some degree, any degree, with Delacios’ wife, her children and the children who gathered in her home, curious about us…communication, our biggest frustration, but still, there were things to be learned and things to be shared.  We spent time coloring pages, making paper airplanes and folding paper games, singing songs, sharing our names… the young girls writing their names on their arms; gracious Jabiela, sweet Rudi, Lynethe, Yneth, and Loriwyn, who caught my attention, the oldest of the group... all beautiful.
 
Jason wanders off with the men, measuring and Robin is off to the river with the boys, swimming.  Marlis, Loralee and I walk over the bridge and stroll along a wide sidewalk carving a promenade through the jungle, trees lined up on either side swaying in the breeze.  The skies open and we find ourselves in the rain, pouring, the tap turned on and we are just as wet as if we had already swam in the river.  Still the river beckons us in, an amazing rush of water, if we had let ourselves go we would have been taken away by its current, but we could stand, the guys joined us, along with a few boys; throwing mud balls, throwing each other, laughter, memories; life.

Back at the hut we gather our things, and say our good byes, sharing hugs, exchanging gifts…loving; new friends, God’s family.  We board our piragua, setting course for the next village, a much larger population, one that long ago broke away from Aruza over some distant disagreement.  Vista Alegre, this Wounaan village was one of the checkpoint stops and we would be setting up for night here.  We arrived to a meal of chicken soup served with rice along with bowls of oranges.  On our way in we noticed that this village though bigger was not as organized, fewer sidewalks, not as square, not as trimmed but there was a store or two, maybe more. Many of the homes had toilets outside on the decks for all to see, plumbing exposed running down the outside of the walls. There was a town hall lined with freshly painted blue chairs filled with people watching us waiting for Alan and his water message.  It was an honor for these people to be part of this meeting, that was clear, and it was also clear that Alan was respected; in turn we were honored to witness these exchanges.

After our meal, Americo, Ricardo and Obdulio led us to the shops, where we purchased colorful skirt fabrics called paruma, drinks of Fresca and snacks of vanilla wafers.
 
Even though it was Monday, the village church held a special evening service, we were encouraged by their singing and sharing, we sang too, songs they knew and some they didn’t… Little Drummer Boy, along with a message from Alan; the giving of gifts...pa rum pum pum pum.  We asked if any had prayer requests and people stepped forward wanting prayer for their youth, for their families to endure the struggles of this life, to press on…the same prayers we ask for our own families.  Women relayed their struggle in building the church and asked for help to accomplish it…maybe we can.

Powerful prayer, holding hands, the laying of hands, tears, listening, learning and loving…one more day of too much…amazing grace.


I love that.

Sunday 6 December 2015

Panama Day Five


Sunday, November 22, 2015

Travelling the River to Aruza

I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that roosters crow at dawn to announce the morning, but this is not true in Panama…no, the roosters here crow.  All.  Night.  Long.  I’m pretty sure if you listen, the rooster can be heard stalking up the hill through the grass in the night waiting for the exact moment someone falls asleep and then begins his concert chaos of crowing.  Without mentioning any name one of our team would be aggravated into action, slipping out in the night, taking a risk, attempting to stop the madness!

Good morning in Yaviza…pancakes, maple syrup, eggs scrambled served up with boot coffee.  We are pensive, thinking, praying, preparing ourselves for our next move, up river to Aruza, our first indigenous community, the Wounaans.  Under our breath praying for God’s lead, His care, we move about the camp packing our small bags; clothing, bedding, food and small gifts for these people, God’s family.  Everything is wrapped in large plastic bags; we will be travelling in an open boat and the baggage needs to be protected from water spray as well as rain.  Right now though, the sun is shining, bright, hot, Hot.  Our boat ride will be long; we are sun screened, our heads covered with hats and umbrellas on hand, all a protection from the sun. 

The boat has arrived and we trek down to the water’s edge to load and board.  The boat, a piragua; a wooden flat bottomed dugout canoe is about forty feet in length; we sit two by two, thirteen of us with the baggage piled up in the middle.  Operating the small Evinrude motor at the back is Lupo and the front manned by Dalecio with a pole used for steering and docking, these men guiding us… an unbelievable adventure that will take us five hours upriver.

This river highway, that carries travelers back and forth to different villages is in constant guard, monitored by the Senafront, we make two stops to show passports and papers.  All travelers must make these stops, not just foreigners…each time we are allowed to carry on…yes go.

The river reminds me of the Jordan River in Israel, its width, the color, the trees along its edges, the way the branches hang down and drape over the water in places.  There are many kinds of palm trees, bamboo grasses and trees with large canopies.  We pass by other boats, loaded with people holding colorful umbrellas, boats of one or two men carrying cargoes of plantains or papayas and others with small families making their way somewhere; waving. Birds grace the river banks, resting on logs, black cormorants, white pelicans, others silver and grey, standing in groups or perched alone.  Butterflies flutter on the shores, hundreds; yellow, white, lime green scavenging over some sweet something left on the river edges.  Now and then the river banks become muddy dirt walls topped with grasses or sometimes a hut or two, and then down again laying low;  muddy marshes where small alligators nestle or some such animal perhaps snakes… having burrowed holes into the banks.  All the while the surf from our small motor rolled out to the land in a ‘V’ behind us reminding us of the vision Deanne had before we left…ask her.

Taking a fork in the river we veer left steering our way to the shores of Aruza, our first community visit.

We are amazed at this village, the wide cement stairs leading skyward, welcome us up… as we take each step, the village unfolds before us…an organized grid of sidewalks, lined by huts on stilts, thatched roofs, wires running electricity, street lights, satellite dishes, trimmed grass, clean, dotted with outhouses, a community building, 3 church buildings, behind us a walking bridge that mimics the Port Man, white wire cables and cement towers holding it all up.  Unbelievable.  And watching us; the people who live here, children, parents, grandparents taking us in, wondering about us. 

The memories here will last a life time…starting with the water meeting, the people waiting to hear Alan’s message about the new water system, his name the only mark on the calendar, sitting next to Donald the young man who spoke English, us standing in the rain getting relief from the heat, laughing and playing football in the mud, slipping, sliding, blowing up balloons and playing balloon volleyball, the meal, bathing in the river to cool down and the church service, singing, listening, eyes wide open…beautiful people, beautiful children, us; loving and learning. 

We will find out that we have been the first foreign group to travel up the river, into  the red zone, in twenty years. 



Unbelievable.

Friday 4 December 2015

Panama Day Four


Saturday, November 21, 2015

The Camino to Yaviza

Packing up and getting ready to leave this Catrigandi home, packing up all of our things. Once we leave here we will not come back, the house needs to be cleaned up, whatever stays needs to be wrapped or stored away, the floors need to be swept, the beds taken up and whatever needs to be taken packed once again into the Prado as well as Alan’s vehicle.  One last look around, taking in this bit of peace…we are on the move.

We take the lower river road out, the road that is sometimes a river and the river that is sometimes a road.  We are on our way to Yaviza…but first we stop for breakfast in Torti, an oasis of sorts, nestled on the edge of the highway, a restaurant, hotel, retreat, beauty…café with leche and Wi-Fi connection.

On the road again; the Camino, our journey to the end of the road…Yaviza.

Along the way, we are passing Palm trees, Banyan trees, sometimes we are driving close under their canopies other times alongside the bamboo grasses. Here and there in the midst of the jungle are Teak farms…Alan explains that there is total silence in the teak groves, nothing grows under them and nothing lives in them; only silence.  The highway is dotted with huts and homes, all yellow and green and pink built on stilts, roofs of tin, thatched, almost always topped with an orange satellite dish, bookended with rolling hills and covered by a blue sky edged with billowy white clouds.

We are entering the Darien, passing through the first checkpoint, the Senafront, police checking passports and clearing us through.  This highway is expected to take us five to six hours to drive, not because of its length but because of its condition; potholes, damaged asphalt, in some places carved out patches, although Alan and Colleen are surprised at the improvements.

After a stop in Metiti for fruit and vegetables and several more Senafront checkpoints we arrive at the camp in Yaviza…our next home.  It is hot, Hot, humid and sticky…we are dripping, wet, happy.

The camp is a grouping of three long cement buildings; one housing the people who work here; one the kitchen and multipurpose room for kids club and discipleship programs; one the dorm we would be calling home, five sets of bunkbeds, side by side all along the length of the one wall, electicity, fans, bathrooms and showers.  There is also a separate common building; wooden floor, open fire pit for cooking, a sink for washing, a table with benches and chairs, a hammock and a feeling of community, a meeting place…all covered by a thatched roof.  Up on the hill, the home of Einer and Girlesa, the managers of this camp; in the 1960s this building began as a tuberculosis clinic, looking like a Spanish villa, now stands guard over this camp of God’s workers.

Dinner is going to be taken in a restaurant,  in the heart of Yaviza; surprising as we drive in... a port town, with a feeling of New Orleans, colorful, bars, music blaring, cafes; people walking the streets, cat calling, laughing, talking, holding hands, wearing colorful clothing, Latinos but mostly Blacks; it is Saturday night and people are out.  Alan shared a bit of the history with us, how the Blacks found a hiding place in Yaviza, freed from slavery  making settlements here and along the river and edges of the Darien.

Beauty in the jumble of it all.

Amongst all the people were the dogs, thin and sad but owned, hovering around the edges waiting for a handout perhaps…Kalea was deeply touched and she performed a dance for them, to give them something lovely,  something beautiful in their seemingly sad lives…sweet, funny, compassion beyond age.

The day nearly to an end, we met with the leaders of the National Church of Panama; Americo, Ricardo and Obdulio, Einer and Alan, orienting us to the Indigenous people we would be traveling upriver to visit…sharing words of expectation, prayers, blessings and confirmations of our coming to this place…Gods place…Gods call.

I love that.





Wednesday 2 December 2015

Panama Day Three


Friday, November 20, 2015

Stop and Rest

Colleen and Alan have been living in the city for the last few months, taking care of baby so this is the first time home since Joshua was born, a reflective time, moments of looking around checking spaces and corners and cupboards, mostly for bugs and scorpions but also to get reacquainted with home.

Loralee and I had fallen asleep in our makeshift beds on the upstairs deck, under mosquito netting, to the sound of the jungle rain, an adventure in itself.  We were awakened in the night by Howler Monkeys, no doubt swinging in the trees just beyond our heads; in concert with the trills of the tree frogs and crickets, it was a cacophony of sound but also strangely comforting…home in the jungle.

The morning brought breakfast cooked by the men, fried plantain; fresh cut grapefruit and boot coffee; grounds boiled hard in an open pot, strong, steaming, hot.  We sat scattered around the front deck reading the cards of encouragement brought from home, letters, quotes, verses, words…we took this time to share a few of those messages resting in the Lord.

“Tell me where to stop and rest.
Every moment You know where I am.” 

Psalm 139:3

This is what this day would be, resting, listening, learning and loving.  Alan took Jason and Robin out through the back gate into the jungle venturing out to the neighbouring hut in the back, to say hello but more than that, to install plumbing for a sink and running water; working together , establishing relationship, encouraging, serving, loving.  Jason and Robin were thankful for their footwear when boards were moved aside and out slithered a poisonous snake.  At home where the adventure was not so alive, we women visited amongst each other chatting with Colleen and supporting her in conversation and encouragement, bathing the baby, reading with Kalea…again and again and again, on the porch, nestled on the floor or snuggled in the hammock. 

Leaving Colleen to chat in Spanish with a visitor, we slipped into our boots and walking shoes to investigate the road outside of the gate, uphill to the river, spilling waterfalls, tin fences, wide streams, slipping out of our shoes forging through, rocky bottoms, clear water bubbling over…peace at the end of the road.  Turning around we ventured past the gate down the road to peer into the yards of Alans neighbours, simple lives, huts with open doors, dogs, hens and chicks, people sitting watching us watch them…with a wave calling out “Ola”

We lugged in our 12 large suitcases, unwrapping and unpacking everything we brought along, boating supplies for Alan, water pumps, tools, equipment, books and gifts for Kalea and the baby, supplies for the camp in Yaviza and gifts to take out to the communities we would be visiting.


Evening came soon and we enjoyed a dinner of fried plantain, stirred with apple and onion and garlic served on rice, while tuning in to Alans plan for travelling to the camp in Yaviza.  We shared Highs and Lows of the day…Colleen blessed in rest and Alan thankful for the flexibility of our team…guitar playing, drums, singing…resting in the Lord.

We all loved that.

Tuesday 1 December 2015

Panama Day Two

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Catrigandi

The morning came soon enough, we had slept well this first night and we were eager to go, the vehicles were piled high once again and we all found our places amongst the baggage.  Alan took us to a small local restaurant for breakfast; a hut of sorts, open walled but under cover, a string of flags hung along the length of it lending a feeling of celebration.  Ah, perfect…an outside experience of food, tastes that would soon become expected; deep fried bread, rounds of fried corn taco, scrambled eggs, beef in sauce, smoked puerco, coffee with leche and always our own water.

Soon we were on our way heading for the Fosters home in Catrigandi.  Once we turned off the main road, we soon realized why we needed four wheel drive; the road was steep, rough and muddy from the last rain, we drove through streams of water overflowing from the river that ran alongside the road and sometimes was the road.  Of course Alan knows all the tricks for driving this high road but Jason had his work cut out for him, it wasn’t long and the Prado was sideways.  But of course, what man doesn’t love winching something stuck in the mud!

As we continued on we passed by the homes and properties carved into the jungle, some were in the clearing, fenced, near the road, others were settled further in and we could catch glimpses of their lifestyles; children playing, elders sitting by, dogs roaming, chickens pecking, horses and cows grazing, saddles hanging, dirt floors swept hard, water lines hanging through trees and surrounding everything was the jungle…amazing.

Soon, we were opening the gate and entering into the property of Alan and Colleen, before us was the home they had built, high on stilts, painted yellow, open decks, open windows, stairs leading us up to the entry deck, walls painted brightly with jungle scenes, through the front door into the kitchen…home.

This Catrigandi home is built and overflowing with intention, simplicity and love…love of the land, love of family.  We spent the remainder of the day wandering about the house and property, taking in this lifestyle the Fosters have embraced.  Everything has to do with heat, humidity, critters, being clean, waste and water. The house has electricity that is powered with solar panels, in a system of wires and switches fashioned together on a shelf in a corner of the kitchen.  Alan showed us his outside shower, like a spa, built with rock, cement and tile, the water heated with propane.  All was surrounded by walls fashioned together from sheets of white plastic, leaving enough space to walk around and yes, feel pampered.  The outside toilet equally beautiful, double doored, windows all around, frosted glass, louvered, open rafters and floors grouted with pieces of broken tiles all in shades of yellow and white…with two seats.  Alan used a system of go, scoop, decompose and switch…an odorless combination of microbiology and invention…perfect.

We are enveloped in the jungle, every kind of palm tree rising up around us, burgeoning with papayas, coconuts and plantains; plantains brought down by Robin with a machete,  trees overflowing with grapefruit, oranges and limes, some falling to the ground, begging to be peeled and squeezed and consumed, Maranga trees laden with leaves to be stripped and stirred into salads; the garden of Eden. 

In the day, the canopies of the trees are home for spider monkeys, lime green parrots, colorful toucans and at night they came alive with howler monkeys,  crickets and tree frogs; all making their own noise…piercing noises, into the darkness.  Fireflies flitted around lighting up and hovering over the ground, over brush or fallen tree branches where the possibility of snakes, scorpions and chiggers could be awakened…always watch where you step.

After dinner, we talked many things; what we would see, where we would go, who we would visit and how we would get there.  We talked about baptism here in this country and at home, we laughed and sang and prayed and talked some more, all the while Kalea, danced between us adorning us with jewelry she made of string and paper... beautiful now.

“Beautiful on the mountain are the feet of those who bring good news”
Isaiah 52:7

Not so much that we are the ones bringing the good news, but we are hearing amazing and beautiful things.


I love that.

Monday 30 November 2015

Panama, Day One


Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Compelled

“I too will have my say; I too will tell what I know for I am full of words
and the spirit within me compels me.”   Job 32:17, 18

Compelled, what a great word, it is exactly the word that describes the feeling we all had as we boarded the plane to head to Panama.  It is a word that has kept coming up over and over these last days and even again this day, as I drove in the vehicle with Alan Foster and his family, he was describing to me how he came to stay in Panama. He said “I was compelled to walk down this remote road…”  He was eventually picked up by a missionary couple who invited him to stay and serve with them in Panama.  Needless to say he did.  It is for him that our team has made this long trip, we want to see where it is that we can be a help to this mission field, in this far away country...compelled to go to Panama, to love, to learn, to listen.

The first thing we noticed in Panama was the heat, hot and humid, the sky though dark with night was heavy with the smell of rain.  Our layers of clothing were soon peeled off as we loaded the 12 large suitcases and boxes filled with gifts and books and supplies, piled mostly on top of Alan’s vehicle and the vehicle we rented, secured with rope and all wrapped in large garbage bags…a cloud burst was never far away.  Then we stuffed in our 12 carry-ons, into corners, placed at our feet and onto our laps…all of this plus our 6 team members, Alan, Colleen, Kalea, the baby in his car seat and Samson, the dog…all sweaty.  Two vehicles all of this and oh yes, one more thing…air conditioning!

Our first stop was the grocery store for some dinner to eat along the way, it was already late and the only choice for food at this point.  So, having some food to eat, Gatorade to drink and conversation to share we made our way to our first stop; Chepo. 

El Chepo, an unassuming quaint motel, the front entrance was an open hallway with rooms on either side, simple clean, each room had one bed, its own bathroom, just a few bugs, not many and… air-conditioning.   A light rain had already started; we unpacked what we needed and settled in for the night; Loralee and I will be roommates for the next ten days… a little reading, writing, talking and sleeping.  

This is just the beginning.


I love that.

Sunday 15 November 2015

I am going to Panama

    I am reading a book by Emily P Freeman, she has written a most beautiful book filled with words that encourage us to take a deep look into our purpose, to find the art we were made to live…we are God’s handiwork after all, His masterpiece.  I love that…I am an artist, well, I have an artist’s mind, and I understand the idea of our purpose being an art work to be displayed, whether it is raising children, photography, creating with paint and brush or fitting words on a page.  More than that, in displaying His hand in all we do, all of us, God comes out in a million little ways.

   Months ago, I began looking into a mission’s trip I could be part of, to have a bigger purpose, something to be intentional about.  I had just read an article from Allan Foster, a missionary in Panama, the article was mentioning how they needed encouragement and wondered how a team could come to help them.  My first thought of service was for them, but what could I do alone.  Other ideas came and went, words from friends; doing this, going there or helping here, me thinking, months of searching out something intentional. 

    Then I heard that our church was sending a team to Panama, to the Fosters, the missionary family who months before had needed encouragement.  My first thought was, wow, I love that, they can search out what is needed and then I will join in on the next trip out.  But God had something else in mind, at the next church meeting, the question was asked if anyone else would like to join in…yes, me.

    Now it looked like I may be able to go along…but the team was set, their tickets already bought…and now it seemed like I may not be able to go.  Prayer and waiting and I thought perhaps the question should not have been asked and I wondered.  But God works in mysterious ways and I soon realized that of course the question was meant to be asked because I was meant to be part of the team…perfect.

    So, in just a few more sleeps, six of us will be heading out to Panama, loaded with eleven suitcases and boxes filled with tools, boat fittings, pump motors, computers, sound equipment, books, clothes, food, toys…more than that…words of encouragement, eyes open to learn, ears to listen and hearts to love.

    Our art, displaying God in a million little ways…


    I love that.

Monday 26 October 2015

Brace Yourself

This past summer I read something that was old, I’ve read it a hundred times, more, but this time something new came out of it and I can’t get it out of my head.  Then I read something else, something new and it confirmed the old and I can’t get it out of my head.  These two ideas, rolling around bumping into each other inside of my head, answering a question, turning old hurts into new hope… bits of each of them, slipping down into my heart, like tears slipping down my cheeks; tears falling into my soul. 

I am often learning new lessons, but I just as often lose sight of them in a short time, I don’t want to lose this one and it has become my new mantra, my new lesson of staying alive, living this life as I am, with what I have been given, but also with what will be taken; living my life.

Maybe three years ago, around that time, God gave me a promise and I have been hanging on to it, hoping for it, counting on it, loving it, wanting it, knowing it and trusting God for it…I have it framed and hanging on my wall; lavishly more… true.  But I didn’t expect these years of waiting.  One of my lessons in the waiting, one that I am always forgetting is I need to not be so easily affected by what happens in the waiting, He has to remind me of this over and over again…God, can’t I remember that, hold onto that, live that?

Then three words happened, read in the old and again in the new; Anything, Abraham and Cling.

Anything; a book by Jenny Allen, asks the question what are you willing to give up to live a better, more fulfilling life concerning your faith? After reading and thinking and praying I responded, God, I will give up anything you ask.  What are you asking me to give up?  He answered; Brace yourself … and I realized with tears that He was asking me to give up the promise, not that it couldn’t still happen but I needed to let go of it, to stop living by it.

Abraham; promised by God that he would have a son, years and years passed by  and in Abraham’s old age God came true on that promise; Isaac.  But then, God said, take your one and only son, this promise I gave you and take him, bind him and sacrifice him on the mountain.  Take this promise I gave you and let go of it.

The amazing part of this story is; Brace yourself…Abraham was willing to sacrifice the promise, for God… anything! 

Cling; about God, Sarah Young writes “Though I have brought many pleasures into your life, not one of them is essential, enjoy my good gifts but do not cling to them.”  Abraham chose to be willing to give up his gift, his promise…I wanted to keep mine.

Three books, three words, one building on the other, confirming this new big idea; Brace yourself…be willing to sacrifice the promise, do not cling to it, yes, even the promise, like Abraham.  So over and over again, sinking it into my heart and soul and mind, I realized, my promise, given by God, that good gift, is my Anything.

I asked again, what will I give up?  What gift will I stop clinging to? 

I heard myself say; Brace yourself
Anything.

Saturday 10 October 2015

A Clean Slate


I’ve been working on a project for Pastor Rob; it has been a cleansing to do it…in more ways than one. 

At the beginning of summer Rob did a sermon on brokenness, as the congregation entered into the sanctuary one by one and two by two, some in family groups, they were asked to take a piece of broken tile and hold it in their hands.  As Rob preached, the jagged pieces of tile were rolled around in hands, turned and held lightly, tightly, questioned and for some already understood.  

Rob asked the questions, “what have you been broken for, what struggles do you have, what hurt comes into your situations, what is there in your life that hurts others?” Pens were handed out and each person was asked to write the words of their brokenness on the tile.  

Broken tiles with broken words, sad and sorry and lost and hurtful…some with no words at all, perhaps no words were known for that sin or doubt or failure…some tiles left with the finger prints of their blood sweat and tears.  We are all broken in some way, but the good news is this, we can be restored, we do not need to stay in our brokenness… we can be made new …amazing grace, how sweet the sound.

The tiles were collected into a ceramic vase; it also jagged and cracked magnifying the message of brokenness.

My project was to take the tiles and make them into something beautiful, an image that could reflect the truth of being restored into something new, that we don’t have to stay broken, we are worth restoration.

So a friend and I took the broken tiles and fashioned them around the frame of a mirror, laid them in a pattern, working them together side by side, jagged, sharp, broken edges placed purposely and with intention, knowing that some of these hurts were people we knew, sat beside in the sanctuary, walked alongside through the aisles, sang with, talked with…prayed with.  A church is not filled with perfect people; it is filled with broken people.  God loves that, He is in the business of restoration… isn’t that perfect.

We chose a mirror as our project for two reasons, one, because it’s useful and two, because it is a reminder that we are being molded by God to reflect His glory, created in His image.

When we had all the pieces in place it was my job to grout them in, here is where the cleansing happened.  Anyone who has grouted knows that at the right time a damp cloth is needed to wipe away the grout form the tiles for the beauty to show through, fingers are needed to fill the spaces and to smooth the places that are hard to get at.  Sometimes the more you wipe, the more the tiles are covered, it takes time; drying…and wiping , drying and wiping gently, all gently, over and over wiping the tiles clean, removing every trace of the grout from the face of the tiles.  As I leaned over these tiles, with my fingers sore and hurting, hands working, smoothing, wiping, I understood the hands of God; even though hurting over our jagged edges, He is lovingly, carefully wiping over us, wiping us clean, not all at once but slowly taking His time, the right time, removing all trace of our brokenness, making us new, beautiful...I love that.

“I will forever wipe the slate clean of their sins”
Hebrews 10:17


Sunday 23 August 2015

Forgetting to Remember What is True

The number 7 is mentioned in the bible 490 times…maybe more, of course the number seven can mean nothing more than seven but mostly in the words of God it is speaking to wholeness, it is a number representing completeness, divine perfection or something that is finished by Him.

Jesus is that divine perfection and all that is represented by the number 7.

The devil is 666.

The devil will never measure up.  Yes we are in a spiritual battle, yes he roars around like a lion searching to devour us up, but the devil can only do what God has given him permission to do…and he knows it.

God is stronger.  God is greater.  We should live like we know that, that our hope is in God’s power, not that we know the devil is roaring around to devour us.

I hear people saying things like “the devil is attacking me” …maybe it’s so, and yes it can be true, but mostly we can do enough trouble ourselves, without him doing anything, yes, causing our own trouble, and I’m pretty sure he loves that!  We make our plans around God and because we love Him or because we believe He is calling us to it, we think that the only wrench in will be the devil, but what if it is our pride, our own self; me do it, look at me or perhaps it is an error in response, we become affected by a situation and we react instead of respond.  Responding, this is our responsibility to our faith, it is the basis for our free will; the responses we make.  When we make the wrong responses, not taking enough time to think things through or basing it on wrong information or letting our imaginations over-power the truth, we overreact.   Not being affected and making correct responses… that is hard; admitting that it’s not the circumstances, or the other people, or things or the devil; it is me…me forgetting what is true.

There is a word I learned from someone who crossed my path recently, Avidya…in general it means we respond in ways where we are “forgetting to remember what is true.” I think most of our troubles could be avoided if we would only stop long enough to remember what is true; true with the situation, true with the people involved and true with what God says is true. If you can, as much as it depends on you, ask yourself the question, ‘in this situation what is true?’

There is a fine line between realizing spiritual warfare and giving the devil the credit for our struggle, when we do the latter we are giving him that glory; don’t you think he loves every time he is mentioned?  Aside from everything else, this fact remains, it wasn’t the devil that said we would have struggles, God said it…in this world you will have trouble.

We love a powerful God, let’s live knowing that. Fight the good fight, don’t over-react, respond well and give God the glory… of course it’s not easy and our struggles won’t end but they will tell a better story.


Remembering what is true…I love that.

Monday 20 April 2015

Hineni

Here I am.

The speaker in church this morning made a comment that reminded me of something I read during the week...that is the last phrase of Isaiah's talk with God..."Here I am. Send me"  This phrase "here I am" is the word Hineni. Literally it means - I am here, I am aware, I am fully present.
  
Hineni is said only a handful of times in the Bible...by Isaiah in Isaiah 6:8, several times by Abraham concerning the binding of Isaac, by Jacob, Moses, Samuel and by God Himself when He foretells the coming of Christ to earth ...Isaiah 52:6…therefore my people will know my name, Behold here I Am!
 
In truth this word is in direct relation to a call from God, a request “Who will I send?” It is a response to God, to begin living for something larger than yourself, “Are you in?”

I am here, I am aware, I am fully present…living intentionally…of course in relation to my faith, hopefully to anything I feel God is asking me to do, but even more simply, this is something I have been trying to do in my everyday walking about life, which of course God is asking me to do.

Don’t we sometimes get so wrapped up in our sorry problems, our regretful situations and our sad circumstances that we forget to live in the moment, the moment where life is happening right now, the moment where if we live intentionally, we would bypass another regretful situation.

Following is a gathering of ideas and thoughts of what I need to keep in mind of this walking about life of mine…not necessarily all my words but I love them just the same.

Have a vision of who I want to be, what I want to contribute, where I want to be…to be my best self, to be present and to be intentional.

Believe in my ability to figure things out; with time dedication and effort it will happen.  It will not be easy, there will be suffering, other people will be j-rks…but I will figure it out, proving my confidence and competence and worth.

Have fun, even when it’s hard…be pro-active, bring joy…I will bring light to the darkness.  This is not luck, it is discipline.

Be patient…be cool…allow time for things to happen, be persistent.  Be the peaceful warrior.

Love and respect others in this game of life…this is critical to my everyday walking about life.

Trust God; to let go and let God. Stop planning and thinking and being affected, practice accepting what I cannot change.

Show gratitude; my blessings and His amazing grace.

I love that…here I am.

Monday 6 April 2015

Carrying My Questions Like Stones

I read an article this weekend, it spoke to the fact of how we mourn the events of Friday, Good Friday, the suffering and death of Christ, how He was buried in a tomb.  This article also spoke to how we rejoice to the outcome of Sunday, Easter Sunday, the joy of Christ alive, He lives!  But, what the article was really speaking to was Saturday, the day in between, the day where Christ lay in the tomb, waiting;  the day where His friends suffered His loss, were filled with confusion, uncertainty, doubts, loss of purpose and questions…so many questions.

Friends of Jesus, hearts and souls filled with hard questions; the questions that happened before the hope of Sunday, not knowing that they were waiting…just knowing loss of their hope.

This article went so far as to say that as Christians we live our lives as if we are always in the Saturday…forever waiting, overcome with questions, as if our hope is gone.

Do you think so?

I think as Christians we know where our hope lies, and it is in the Sunday; alive in Him.  Even so, I think we often find it difficult to apply this hope to our everyday walking about lives and we suffer in our circumstances, we are overloaded with the questions…questions that trip us up on our path as we go.  We want answers that will clear up our suffering and loss of purpose, answers to our Saturday questions.

What do we do with those Saturdays, those days filled with the uncertainty, those days weighed down with confusion, overcome with loss…those days where our questions seem to go unanswered?   What do we do with the Saturdays that leave us with feelings of loss, loss of purpose, loss of life…loss of hope?

This is what we do, we pick up the questions, the ones we don’t understand and we carry them in our hands, feeling them, turning them over again and again, throwing some away, tossing them to the edges of our path.  And others…we carry them like stones, waiting for Sunday, like a comfort…blessings in disguise.

I know my Saturday and I am carrying those questions like stones, rolling them over in my hands…some I have thrown away, some, their answers too personal even though I hold on to them,, others I hold gently but surely, my hope and my certainty; my questions are blessings in disguise.

The article I was reading, adapted from the book 'A Glorious Dark: Finding Hope in the Tension Between Belief and Experience' ended with this:

"We didn’t anticipate those dark moments of questions and waiting, they are nonetheless holy moments. Faith isn’t just Good Friday and Easter Sunday; faith is awkward Saturday too. "
 AJ Swoboda

I love that.

I am carrying my questions like stones.

Sunday 11 January 2015

Learning a Lesson

Just before John passed away he reconciled with God, I had waited 36 years for that amazing gift.

These last 5 years I have been waiting again, waiting for the years to pass, waiting for the hurt to pass, waiting for time to fit again and I have been wondering , “God, haven’t I already learned the lesson of waiting?” 

I have realized that even though I am waiting, this is not the lesson He has been giving me…it possibly never was.

Just now, these last days, in my intermittent suffering, I came upon a new realization, an epiphany of sorts…an amazing relief in some ways.  It came to me, words from God really, because I was asking Him again about waiting and He whispered to me “But what do you need to learn in the waiting?”

What do I need to learn inside of the waiting…do not be so easily affected.  I am too easily affected by what my people say to me, how they respond in situations close to me, how they act while on my path and what they do in the circumstances on my edges…sometimes it affects me too much.  I am affected too easily.  Sometimes my imagination adds to the issues… affecting my soul.

I went to write these words, this epiphany, in my journal when I saw that I had just a few days earlier noted in the corner “I am too easily affected”.  Somehow I had written the words but hadn’t taken them in. Now I am.

I am spending a few days in the City; I arrived last night and noticed that the church just next door was having an evening of music by candle light, after walking the streets of the city admiring the lights from the outside I determined to go into the Church to see the candle lights on the inside.

Inside, the presenter passed us pieces of paper, “write down your prayers” she said. “At the proper time, bring your prayers and lay them at the cross.”  I immediately knew my words and as I wrote them the music sweetly filled the room encouraging the mood to be vulnerable, true, humble…He knows me.  At the appointed time we were asked to bring the prayers up; perhaps twenty of us walked the aisle to the front and one by one we set our prayers alight…surely a pleasing aroma, a sweet fragrance of praise and prayer.

The music was beautiful, soul lifting, intermingled with encouraging words, ending with the tiniest, sweetest notes; wisps of music floating up from the fingers that played them to the hands of God and into the souls of those that took it in…beauty…peace.

Taking in the city lights…and learning a lesson.

I love that.