It's only suiting that on our last day we have a fiesta of sorts, despite the fact that we weren't in Mexico and there was no pinata.
It was a small fractured building that was painted with the glory of God. It housed a few rows of pews that were certainly not created to house 20 girls with lengthy limbs. We clapped like fools 'til our fingers were red and danced as aggressively as we could in skirts. It was your typical Spanish church scene, with a single guitar and a single unmicrophoned singer. It was honestly the happiest (and arguably the sweatiest) church service I've ever attended. We all boasted armpit sweat stains and tried desperately to keep up with the tempo and the foreign lyrics. We even had the liberty of completely butchering a song with "na na's" and cha-cha dancing under God's own roof. It was beautiful as the light and the Light shone in.
After church and doing touristy things like screaming at traffic and going to the market we went to a Paraguayan soccer game. It was a clash between men in sponsored striped jerseys, even though the realistic game was between the fan bases. As we sat in the apolitical centre-of-the-stadium seats we had the perfect view of the (battle)field. To our right there were the Guirana —the rival—fans with their yellow uniforms and spitting men. To the left there was Olimpia —the number-one's in Paraguay— with their obnoxious drumming and their sea of black and white. It was like paying $10 to see gladiators fight in a modern-day Coliseum. Besides the presence of the SWAT team and the creepy old men who felt the need to whistle at us, the game was an awesome experience. We downed cheepa and fanta and tried our best to be die-hard fans. We soaked in the "real" Paraguayan experience and boasted our touristic mindsets for just one day. Oh how we love this country
Showing posts with label Lindsay Dykman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lindsay Dykman. Show all posts
Monday, 9 May 2011
Friday, 6 May 2011
Snaps
This blog is more or less written for the girls as a reminder and memory of this day. I hope you parents and friends enjoy it anyway!
Today was another service project day. Team White painted an incessant number of bricks with welfare paint that resembled milk and water. Team Blue visited an orphanage that housed hope where none was expected to be found. Team Red dished meals to the poor that had both nutritional and spiritual value.
Besides tears of sweat and occasional blood to complete the metaphor, today had exceptional emotion. There was a bunch of awkwardly situationed couches that stuck knives in our back and clung to the bug-spray on our legs. We faced our last evening of personal testimonies as we partook in the traditional pre- and post-snaps (Legally Blonde reference). Even the unfamiliar characters wanted to join in listening, and talking, as a cricket made a guest appearance. Let's just say we like listening to our own kind better as he was later killed by Chelsea Fitchette's flip flop. Tonight, there was a stage and people presented their hearts and emotions as if on puppet strings. As a group we experienced so much rawness, honesty, and courageous emotion. We struggled with emotions that were so different yet so similar to the ones we experience by day; only this time we break for each other and we expose the poverties we work so hard to hide.
With our nervous couches and salt-drenched face, we heard about the last two journeys and burdens that mark the end of the peer-exploration road. We say a happy and sad goodbye to the dreaded vulnerability and the quivering chins. We know one another and love one another. We're growing in God and ourselves and in our never-ending testimonies. I will simply never forget the moment of 18 snotting girls, with hands intertwined, breathing heavy burdens in a misshapen group hug. I will always remember the relief and hurt and headaches imposed by tears.
I also just can't not love that God unified us the most with people who are furthest from Him. He works in mysterious ways.
Today was another service project day. Team White painted an incessant number of bricks with welfare paint that resembled milk and water. Team Blue visited an orphanage that housed hope where none was expected to be found. Team Red dished meals to the poor that had both nutritional and spiritual value.
Besides tears of sweat and occasional blood to complete the metaphor, today had exceptional emotion. There was a bunch of awkwardly situationed couches that stuck knives in our back and clung to the bug-spray on our legs. We faced our last evening of personal testimonies as we partook in the traditional pre- and post-snaps (Legally Blonde reference). Even the unfamiliar characters wanted to join in listening, and talking, as a cricket made a guest appearance. Let's just say we like listening to our own kind better as he was later killed by Chelsea Fitchette's flip flop. Tonight, there was a stage and people presented their hearts and emotions as if on puppet strings. As a group we experienced so much rawness, honesty, and courageous emotion. We struggled with emotions that were so different yet so similar to the ones we experience by day; only this time we break for each other and we expose the poverties we work so hard to hide.
With our nervous couches and salt-drenched face, we heard about the last two journeys and burdens that mark the end of the peer-exploration road. We say a happy and sad goodbye to the dreaded vulnerability and the quivering chins. We know one another and love one another. We're growing in God and ourselves and in our never-ending testimonies. I will simply never forget the moment of 18 snotting girls, with hands intertwined, breathing heavy burdens in a misshapen group hug. I will always remember the relief and hurt and headaches imposed by tears.
I also just can't not love that God unified us the most with people who are furthest from Him. He works in mysterious ways.
Poverty
When there are streams of sadness on their faces and still an incessant faith in Jesus, who are the impoverished? When social lives are sacrificed in order to serve, who are the rich? Why do our houses, packed with square footage and clothes that we will never use, consistute us as rich? Why do our broken spirits and selfishness not get put into the equation? What of these Paraguayan lives, who daily demonstrate the fruits of the spirit -- are they not rich?
Lately we've been wrestling with the notion of poverty and all of its implications: whether spiritual, emotional, mental, or monetary. We've been struggling with ideas of Western "superiority", personal poverties, and God's will. It's an interesting notion to reconsider what our patented definitions have been of the word. Paraguay has been an amazing challenge, that have pushed our perceptions of the word daily on how we view others and how we view our own impoverished states.
Lately we've been wrestling with the notion of poverty and all of its implications: whether spiritual, emotional, mental, or monetary. We've been struggling with ideas of Western "superiority", personal poverties, and God's will. It's an interesting notion to reconsider what our patented definitions have been of the word. Paraguay has been an amazing challenge, that have pushed our perceptions of the word daily on how we view others and how we view our own impoverished states.
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
(Material) Poverty
I have never seen barbed wire used as fence before besides in concentration camps and prisons. I have especially never seen barbed wire used voluntarily to protect one's property. The wires and the homemade landfills were our greeting cards to their neighbourhood.
They were junkyard houses. They were not behind a TV screen on TLC or on a World Vision commercial, but in a tangible physical state. Walls of tin thinner than soup cans. Roofs of plastic composed of chip bags and ex-umbrellas. Absolutely nothing that can stand the test of time, Paraguayan rain, or disease. They were literal sheets of paper in comparison to the land; paper with no composure and a tendency to wash away in the rain. The houses were complemented by the earth of unforgiving red and the waste of past generations. A tiny suffocating stream choked through the line of houses and acted as a carrier of disease. What should resemble life, freshness, and cleanliness instead brought dengue and dirt. It housed an entire community's past as every piece of once-used plastic was disposed of here. The layers of soil alternated between garbage and clay. There were gardens of plastic and streams of junk.
Despite the hoards of of junk and evidence of human life, it is practically impossible to imagine daily life in this place. We are simply tourists for one day in their reality. I cannot imagine calling a shack of plastic and dirt my homestead. I cannot believe that these establishments of absolute filth are someone's shelter, someone's security, someone's "home sweet home". My narrow-minded Western perspective fails to understand how lives are sustained and days are repeated in such forsaken conditions.
They were junkyard houses. They were not behind a TV screen on TLC or on a World Vision commercial, but in a tangible physical state. Walls of tin thinner than soup cans. Roofs of plastic composed of chip bags and ex-umbrellas. Absolutely nothing that can stand the test of time, Paraguayan rain, or disease. They were literal sheets of paper in comparison to the land; paper with no composure and a tendency to wash away in the rain. The houses were complemented by the earth of unforgiving red and the waste of past generations. A tiny suffocating stream choked through the line of houses and acted as a carrier of disease. What should resemble life, freshness, and cleanliness instead brought dengue and dirt. It housed an entire community's past as every piece of once-used plastic was disposed of here. The layers of soil alternated between garbage and clay. There were gardens of plastic and streams of junk.
Despite the hoards of of junk and evidence of human life, it is practically impossible to imagine daily life in this place. We are simply tourists for one day in their reality. I cannot imagine calling a shack of plastic and dirt my homestead. I cannot believe that these establishments of absolute filth are someone's shelter, someone's security, someone's "home sweet home". My narrow-minded Western perspective fails to understand how lives are sustained and days are repeated in such forsaken conditions.
Saturday, 30 April 2011
Day 3
Welcome to the theme park of emotions. Forget what you've heard about a rollercoaster: this is a full-out park equipped with popcorn and barf bags. We have mornings of smiles, with pure laughter and rows of teeth, and spend our evenings in tears, heartbroken over the things we've witnessed.
Our bodies are just shells of flesh at this point, that we are continually feeding carbs and enforcing stress upon. These past 2 days we've cycled our Paraguayan-coloured groups (White, Red, and Blue) between the school, the church, and the nutrition centre. It has exhausted us mentally, as we struggle to comprehend the reality of the impoverished; emotionally, as sobs and smiles happen simultaneously in this environment; and certainly physically, as we spend our days as piggybacking machines and our evenings as CIS volleyballers. It's like nothing we've been forced to experience before.
Today, Team Blue visited Genesis church (which Sarah blogged about a few posts ago). Our visit began with the initial semi-awkwardness and fear-of-trmapling-the-children that all our days have been marked with. We got a tour of the brick moulded building, and some of us became well acquainted with the bathroom as the stress of culture began to set in. We sat our long limbs in the kindergartener chairs as we devastatingly heard about the unkept promises of education for most children of the community. We heard about the lack of paper with printed faces on it that meant life or death, education or food, for every member in that part of town. We were then pulled from our seats by small, filth-covered hands for a celebration of a miracle; a celebration of life.
Our dance floor was a volleyball court, and our music was an awful high-pitched hamster singing that was clearly geared towards a children's audience. Our dance partners outnumbered us 18:1 and fashioned the brightest colours their wardrobes contained. There were moments of international hilarity and being embarrassingly white. There were especially moments of prayer and joy, as God has been working a miracle in the lives of one of the little Genesis girls. Melisa (aged 6) had contracted dengue, which is similar to yellow fever but has no immunization or medication. This disease is unfortunately a product of her environment; a co-creation between humid temperatures and mosquito-attracting garbage. When Team White had visited just 2 days ago, Christy said her immediate family was already mourning her death and had practically no signs of hope. Today, instead of death, there was dancing. There was the union of small hands and big hands in both prayer and dance partnership.
Among many, many other things that happened that I cannot find the words to write about at 3 am, it was a day of simply so many emotions. I will finish this post tomorrow, with muchos informationos about our firsthand tour of the slums of Paraguay. Please pray for this small Genesis church as it is positively impacting so many children's lives, and is struggling to make financial ends meet. Please also keep us in your thoughts as tomorrow we travel to Chaco to play some volleyball games and get in touch with indigenous communities there. Adios!
PS - we are having some technological difficulties with a) posting pictures and b) actually finding internet, so apologizes for the lack of communication that happened yesterday and may possibly happen in the future!
Our bodies are just shells of flesh at this point, that we are continually feeding carbs and enforcing stress upon. These past 2 days we've cycled our Paraguayan-coloured groups (White, Red, and Blue) between the school, the church, and the nutrition centre. It has exhausted us mentally, as we struggle to comprehend the reality of the impoverished; emotionally, as sobs and smiles happen simultaneously in this environment; and certainly physically, as we spend our days as piggybacking machines and our evenings as CIS volleyballers. It's like nothing we've been forced to experience before.
Today, Team Blue visited Genesis church (which Sarah blogged about a few posts ago). Our visit began with the initial semi-awkwardness and fear-of-trmapling-the-children that all our days have been marked with. We got a tour of the brick moulded building, and some of us became well acquainted with the bathroom as the stress of culture began to set in. We sat our long limbs in the kindergartener chairs as we devastatingly heard about the unkept promises of education for most children of the community. We heard about the lack of paper with printed faces on it that meant life or death, education or food, for every member in that part of town. We were then pulled from our seats by small, filth-covered hands for a celebration of a miracle; a celebration of life.
Our dance floor was a volleyball court, and our music was an awful high-pitched hamster singing that was clearly geared towards a children's audience. Our dance partners outnumbered us 18:1 and fashioned the brightest colours their wardrobes contained. There were moments of international hilarity and being embarrassingly white. There were especially moments of prayer and joy, as God has been working a miracle in the lives of one of the little Genesis girls. Melisa (aged 6) had contracted dengue, which is similar to yellow fever but has no immunization or medication. This disease is unfortunately a product of her environment; a co-creation between humid temperatures and mosquito-attracting garbage. When Team White had visited just 2 days ago, Christy said her immediate family was already mourning her death and had practically no signs of hope. Today, instead of death, there was dancing. There was the union of small hands and big hands in both prayer and dance partnership.
Among many, many other things that happened that I cannot find the words to write about at 3 am, it was a day of simply so many emotions. I will finish this post tomorrow, with muchos informationos about our firsthand tour of the slums of Paraguay. Please pray for this small Genesis church as it is positively impacting so many children's lives, and is struggling to make financial ends meet. Please also keep us in your thoughts as tomorrow we travel to Chaco to play some volleyball games and get in touch with indigenous communities there. Adios!
PS - we are having some technological difficulties with a) posting pictures and b) actually finding internet, so apologizes for the lack of communication that happened yesterday and may possibly happen in the future!
Friday, 29 April 2011
Day 1, Team Blue
Team Blue: Lindsay, Carly, Chelsea H, Andrea, Ryan H, Lauren, Royal
So many second-hand faces. Clothed by others' outdated wardrobes and outfitted with the caked soil of mother nature. Fed by others with plastic plates that hosted a pale version of mac and cheese. And today, loved by others who came riding on a bus that resembled a futuristic Volkswagen vanagon. There is so much reliance and dependence on others for satisfying simple needs we often take for granted.
So many second-hand faces. Clothed by others' outdated wardrobes and outfitted with the caked soil of mother nature. Fed by others with plastic plates that hosted a pale version of mac and cheese. And today, loved by others who came riding on a bus that resembled a futuristic Volkswagen vanagon. There is so much reliance and dependence on others for satisfying simple needs we often take for granted.
Team Blue (or Azule, for those Spanish speakers) was assigned to a nutrition station today, which was basically characterized by a patch of mixed grass/dirt, an open building, and a military-sized pot that seemed more suitable for bathing children than feeding them. Our vehicle was greeted with squawks and squeals and small brown hands that were frantically waving. Our presence was welcomed with Spanish singing and Christmas-morning-like smiles. Despite the small bubbles of awkwardness and language barriers that happened right at our arrival (post-singing), the kids quickly became kids and all things God-inspired fell into place. The chicas twirled and the chicos volleyballed. Everyone laughed and every Canadian perspired. We spent hours just playing and speaking haphazard renditions of one another's languages.
It was a small fragment of a day filled with little communication and a lot of love. I pray God blesses those families with sustainability and self-dependence.
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
Asuncion
All the international borders have been crossed and all the foreign air has been flown through. We, in our zombied state, with our sweat Fed-Ex'd directly from Canada, have made it! The planes, the stowaway trays, the animated stewardesses; it's all done with for 2 weeks and we now enter into the world of the relatively unknown.
The only way I can describe Paraguay is diversity. The neighbourhoods are decorated with cobblestone and forest, as they are both seemingly one. The roads are poor excuses for roads, as the white dotted lines only represent invitation to honk and the sidewalks only represent invitation for psychotic drivers. The orange underbelly of Paraguay also always manages to show itself; the soil which looks so painfully thirsty compared to the rest of this lush land. It is everything our North American minds are not used to. This country lacks the political correctness and the organization that we have all grown up with. One man's driveway is another man's front yard is another man's Ford dealership. Every class of society and hint of hierarchy can be found within a minute drive down the same road. Their front yards and main streets boast the litter from their last meals, and for some reason it seems to bother absolutely no one. There are graffiti collages, skinny rib-caged dogs, and street beggars that just camouflage right into the niche of the city. It is a crazy new world that offers humidity, socially acceptable staring, and excitement.
Tomorrow we start impacting the youngest and weakest members of society as we're visiting orphanages and food stations in the capital. Please pray for safety in every aspect, whether it be driving or caring for the Paraguayan children. We will also be uploading pictures soon, so stay around!
The only way I can describe Paraguay is diversity. The neighbourhoods are decorated with cobblestone and forest, as they are both seemingly one. The roads are poor excuses for roads, as the white dotted lines only represent invitation to honk and the sidewalks only represent invitation for psychotic drivers. The orange underbelly of Paraguay also always manages to show itself; the soil which looks so painfully thirsty compared to the rest of this lush land. It is everything our North American minds are not used to. This country lacks the political correctness and the organization that we have all grown up with. One man's driveway is another man's front yard is another man's Ford dealership. Every class of society and hint of hierarchy can be found within a minute drive down the same road. Their front yards and main streets boast the litter from their last meals, and for some reason it seems to bother absolutely no one. There are graffiti collages, skinny rib-caged dogs, and street beggars that just camouflage right into the niche of the city. It is a crazy new world that offers humidity, socially acceptable staring, and excitement.
Tomorrow we start impacting the youngest and weakest members of society as we're visiting orphanages and food stations in the capital. Please pray for safety in every aspect, whether it be driving or caring for the Paraguayan children. We will also be uploading pictures soon, so stay around!
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