Brazil- From Poverty to Riches

Well, when I originally set out to blog about my experience in Brazil I had no idea it would take so long. It has now been many many weeks and time seems to continue to slip away from me. I think I shall finish the Brazil posts, even though I feel like it was forever ago.. this last little bit is what took the longest to process.. probably the most difficult kaleidoscope of emotions out of the whole trip. 


Thursday was an interesting day. The day can basically be broken into 3 different parts and each part is quite a bit different from the other. 
So this day started at a small church in a poor part of the city where they really rolled out the red carpet for us. They served us coffee and cake before we headed out into the flavellas or slums. 


It was quite a stark contrast.. being served and then going into to areas so poverty stricken one could only wonder at how the families managed to survive. 

A lady with a few of her kids
They lived in this one room made out of propped up wood,
tarps and old blankets. 

This kid was all about the hugs

It was so humbling to me to see how stark little these families were. I mean.. I've heard of the poor. I've seen people in America who were "poor".. but these people literally had nothing. They lived in dirt and their whole family would sleep on one single dirty, worn out mattress. When the storms and floods would come, their houses fell down. One lady we met was an old frail grandmother who was all skin and bones. She lived in a small house that had two rooms, one bed, and a sink maybe.. (I'm not sure if I remember seeing this) But anyways.. she lived there with her 6 grandchildren. At one time there had been 20 people living in that small space. The neat thing about her, though, was that she was a believer and she smiled and had joy. She even made the comment "It's not so bad to be poor as long as you have Jesus." When she said that I felt sick. Because I wasn't thinking about how blessed she was to have Jesus, I was thinking how sad it was that she didn't have stuff. But I *knew* that what she said was absolutely true and I hated that it affected me so much. I hated that I hadn't been thinking about the positive side of her situation the first time. 

Taking all of those experiences and pondering them in my heart, I found myself in culture shock again. We were taken back to the church where we were served a i-dont-know-how-many-coursed meal. (Perhaps 7) Poverty.. to riches. I felt almost sea sick like I was being yanked back and forth. And I thought *THAT* was a good yank. No.. after the slums and the poor little church we were taken to the market to spend all of our lovely American moneys on trinkets and presents that would later sit on our desks and shelves, collect dust, get old.. blah blah blah. I hated that too. I hated that it was *so* easy for us to step out of the poorest situation we've ever encountered and then spend our money on worthless things that made NO impact on eternity.

The Market was 5 glorious stories of.. stuff.

 It was so difficult for me that I often found myself picking things up and putting them back. While I did get some things.. It wasn't a "go crazy in the marketplace" day like I thought it would be. What I really wanted to do was process the slums and the poverty and the filth. I wanted to cry over the children who live in those places and are made to be prostitutes and drug dealers at young ages for money. I wanted to think about the mothers who had to raise their children and provide for them at the same time. But I could not because I was in the market and I was supposed to be thinking about things to buy for my amigos back in the US.  

From there.. we went to the beach. What every tourist wants to do, right? I was actually kind of sad that the sun had gone down by the time we got to the beach. I've always imagined that if I stood on a beach and gazed out at the ocean and saw how big it was, that I would do nothing else but fall to my knees and worship God. I've always LOVED those pictures you see of a tiny person lifting their hands in worship to God while waves crash on a really big beach. I would have loved to see the sunset on the beach. All these things were little disappointments that I did not feel as all too disappointing since I was so detached from it all anyways. Nothing seemed real to me. 

After a few minutes in the ocean where there was more seaweed than water, we headed to the restaurant where we were to have dinner on the beach. 

We ate under a grass-roofed tent

Brazilian soda

Shrimp

Fresh lobster

 They served us the finest, freshest lobster and fish I had ever tasted. It just seemed so odd to me that we could eat like royalty and such while we *knew* there were kids that didn't know were their supper was coming from. I think this made me feel even more detached from the exotic beach experience. To be perfectly honest.. It was hard for me to be all excited about it. I know that since I was there and experiencing it in all its glory.. I should have been more thankful for it and enjoyed it more. But I had SO many conflicting emotions and feelings about everything. 
It was at this point that I fully realized that I was not anyway attached to my team. I loved them. But I did  not feel like I belonged to them and I did not wish to be so. 


That night after we returned to our house we had a bit of a debriefing session while sitting on the floor of our house. One of my teammates made the comment, "How much faith do you have to have to trust God and be poor." Another gutting feeling. Right when he said that I had this thought run through my mind, "If you were to go to India and live there for 2 years.. you would be poor. You would live like that everyday, with out water, with out electricity and every comfort you wish for now." I really fought crying. I was not about to be so vulnerable or transparent with my team though and so I kept all my thoughts inside. I think that moment was the most difficult part to swallow out of the whole trip. 


Realizing that while God may be calling me to live a life of poverty and discomfort.. I, for the first time in my life, felt like I could not do it because I loved my comfortable life too much. I hated that. I hated that I would be so selfish that I would say 'no' to something God may be calling me to. I have never feared missions before.. but I honestly was afraid that God would call me to that. To live an uncomfortable, dirty, poor life filled with snakes, spiders, bugs, sickness, isolation from my family and friends and abandonment of everything that I hold dear. 


It was an odd mixture of guilt and fear. I felt even worse that I could not be transparent and honest with my teammates. I felt like I was being dishonest in not sharing with them how I felt about the trip. I felt bad for not falling in love with Brazil like they had. I felt bad for looking forward to going home. I chose not to be the debbie downer of the trip and so I kept it all to myself. If you know me.. this is actually very difficult thing to do. I have never been one to keep to myself or not talk. I was so thankful when Jeff dismissed the meeting because all I wanted to do was be away from people. I knew that I would feel so much better if I let myself cry but I remember only letting one single tear escape as I fell asleep in my hammock listening to my teammates laugh and make jokes in the next room. 


Every morning we were to wake up at 6:30 to start our day in time. On Friday, I think I woke up around 4:30 or 5. I was too emotionally exhausted to sleep. I grabbed my Bible and prayer journal and found myself outside on the steps of our house searching for some sort of encouragement. I tried to journal some.. but I was so dry and feeling detached I could not. I found myself just sitting and staring at the trees and wondering "why am I here?" Then I felt bad. I had heard Paige say that the last thing they want people who visit the Lar to do is ask why they came. I *knew* God had a purpose for everything, but i did not feel like I belonged in Brazil. After some time I heard the wake up alarm go off in the house and so I went back in to ready for the day. To my surprise, I was greeted at the front door by my roommate who had woken other people up when she had seen that I was not in my hammock. It was so odd to me that she would worry, but it was incredibly refreshing to know that while I did not feel any attachment to my team, people still cared about me.  
Later that day I found time to talk to my pastor Jeff a little bit about how I felt with being distant from the team and such. He made the comment that while I'm so reserved, i actually have really deep things to say if I actually talk. That was weird to me.. I'm never reserved. I'm crazy wild and spontaneous and bubbly and talkative and outgoing... and I wasn't me on the Brazil trip. I missed that. I missed being bubbly and happy and crazy. 


That wasn't cool. Mission trips and service projects are supposed to make me *more* bubbly and happy and excited about life. I'm happy and bubbly because I have Jesus and he makes me happy and bubbly and excited about life. Serving Jesus is like putting fuel on the fire. It intensifies all of my personality. So what was wrong? What was I doing wrong? Why why why did I feel like God was not with me in Brazil? I'm *still* processing that. BUT! It has definitely stirred in me a fear of going some where with out God.


  The rest of the trip/ flights back were, for the most part, uneventful. I was happy to be back in the US. I was happy to turn on my phone and communicate with my family and friends again. 


Sunday night after i got back I went to my Perspectives class. The speaker talked about how he was called into the jungle to share the Gospel with people who had never ever heard of Jesus. He lived with snakes and bugs and no electricity and basically described all my feelings. He talked about how much he disliked living an uncomfortable life but how worth it it was to him to see that tribe come to Jesus. He said lots of things that seemed like he was pounding nails in my heart. Once again I was faced with the idea that perhaps God is calling me to live a life of discomforts. While I am scared to death that thats what I would be called to.. I am even more scared that I would say 'no' and go the other way. I don't want to be a Jonah. I *KNOW* that following God means reckless abandon of all things we hold dear. 
I *KNOW* that when God calls we should respond in obedience. It frightens me that I would consider saying 'no' to God. I never imagined that *I* of all people would consider copping out on God. 


I still feel sick about it everyday. What if I say 'yes'? I could be called away from family and friends and have to live with bugs and snakes and smells.. 
What if I say 'no'? What if I said 'no' to my God? To my savior.. my *Father*... How could I even *think* about it? Yet I do. I am afraid to say 'yes' and I am afraid to say 'no'. I know that I *shouldn't* say 'no'. But I want to.. sometimes. Sometimes I feel all about saying 'yes' and jumping into overseas missions with out a second thought.. but sometimes I have second thoughts. 


I feel guilty for having second thoughts.