Aug, '05 #21
|
|
Aug, '05 #21 |
|
|
|
||
|
|
Seasons Greetings (summer season, that is): Also at camp, the generator saga finally appears to have ended. You may remember that the old one was stolen not long after we got it. We struggled with border-line setups that burned more oil than fuel and couldn’t run the whole camp at the same time. We now have a "new" diesel generator that exceeds our power needs for the foreseeable future and has the same fuel consumption as the last. A less successful venture, the small boat, hasn’t proven itself dependable, cost efficient or practical in spite of rather heavy investment. The new caretaker for the camp has arrived and is getting settled in. Since before we came I have felt the need for a dedicated Christian to live there and take it as a ministry and not just a job. I hoped for someone with enough skills to be useful, but willing to live on a "remote" island. The problem we faced with this candidate is the education of his 3 daughters who are about the ages of our boys. Home schooling is not accepted here and daily transport is not financially practical. We have a tentative arrangement set up with the local school but there are many challenges which need your sincere prayers. Remember Naldo and Neta (Nau’ - doo, Net’ - a). We did a series of VBS’s in 3 neighborhoods that were fairly well attended, but what looked to be a promising start in using English teaching for evangelism has fizzled. In typical Brazilian style, many are enthusiastic and may even show up for the first lesson. In typical human style we all want to know, but not learn. It’s kind of like those piano lessons you started . . . The boys are all in school now. One advantage of a more informal environment is that they seem to enjoy learning. The 2 older took standardized tests and did well. Reading skills were exceptional (the 3rd grader tested at post High School) because they love to read . . . the Bible, adventure, mystery, chess (one beat Michele in about 4 moves - twice) almost any book. They have also taken some music instruction though the older seems to enjoy it more. He toots his recorder everywhere playing hymns or making up songs. I had to prohibit him from playing in the tree in the front yard, not because I’m afraid he’ll fall, but because I don’t want the neighbors to think we’re high-flutin’. In addition to our own children, we are helping teach 2 from another missionary family during first semester, as well as overseeing the 3 Brazilian children on the Island. A friend from Fortaleza teased us about starting a competing school. I had another close encounter of the donkey kind. Some of our roads are so bad that people started driving on the shoulder or even completely off the road and through the brush. I tend to avoid these parallel paths but it has gotten so bad that I decided to try one on the way to a monthly meeting at our "mother" church. It was kind of fun and on the way home alone late that night I decided to by-pass a section that I remembered as particularly bad. I only went a few yards when the road seem to disappear straight down. Suddenly there were donkeys crossing in front of me (deja vous all over again). I slammed on the brakes but nothing happened. Somehow I missed the donkeys, only to see a humungus mud puddle. I swerved for the shallows and hammered the gas hoping to plow through - but alas I only plowed - not through. I sat there for awhile listening to the donkeys bray and observing how much it sounds like laughter. Where I was no one would see me and at that place at that hour if they did see me they wouldn’t stop. The only person I knew dumb enough to stop was stuck in the mud somewhere in the sticks and couldn’t help me. I climbed over the top of the truck to assess the situation and realized I’d have to walk the couple of miles to the next "town" and try to get help. Then I heard the dog pack. I wasn’t too afraid of thieves but the dogs sent me scurrying. I turned on a spotlight and a lot of glowing eyes shined back at me. They moved on and so did I but I carried a stick. The secret of the protection from carrying a stick isn’t in the size of the stick but in how fast you carry it. I was pretty safe. In town it quickly became clear that I was on my own. Even the police said basically "we’d help you but it’s too dangerous there". There was not much to do but call Michele and walk back to the truck and go to sleep. The next morning a pickup finally begrudgingly pulled me out and I went home. The brakes were fine for the rest of the trip. The church also seems to be stuck in a bog. It is one of several frustrations that haunt me. I’d like to share some of the details so you can pray more effectively, but I see the end of the page coming. There are new photos on the sites, especially the camp portion which is updated after each camp (if I have Internet
access). |
|
|
|
||
