Our plane touched down in Paraguay
after 22 hours of traveling. And the adventure of two weeks in
Paraguay begins. As we stood up to stretch the first thing I noticed
was that the only black bag in the overhead compartment didn't look
like Brant's. But I motioned for him to grab it anyway as we were
nearly the last ones off. It didn't have a tag, and definitely
wasn't ours. Immediately I thought of his contact lenses (probably
the only thing we wouldn't be able to replace, and his glasses were
giving him headaches...) and so I prayed that we would be able to
find it. Thinking that someone unknowingly had grabbed it, we stood
for a minute trying to figure out what to do, but I knew that we
should keep the wrong bag in order to trade if we did find our bag.
A pilot de-boarding confirmed my feelings and said to go look through
the line and keep the bag to barter with if needed.
People in line probably thought I was
some crazy white girl who didn't have a clue what I was doing,
weaving in and out of the line searching intently. But then I
spotted what looked like Brant's bag and asked the lady holding onto
it to look at the tag (my first attempt at spanish of the trip- it
was pretty rough!) and she definitely looked at me like I was crazy.
But I was persistent and she finally realized what I was saying and
was apologetic- she hadn't noticed she had grabbed the wrong bag even
after opening it to stash her sweatshirt. We switched bags and got
back in line. Praise God for answered prayer... even in the little
things, He proves His goodness to us again and again.
While spending 2 hours in line for a
Visa witnessing a super-slow and inefficient process, I was reminded
of my time in Ecuador with the feeling of “we aren't in the U.S.A.
anymore...” as things are just done so differently here in South
America. For starters, you can't flush toilet paper. It goes in a
little trash can next to the toilet. Now that may not seem to be a
big deal, but it takes some getting used to! And then there is the
language- even the Spanish here is quite unique as they mix in
Guarani, the native language. But in line at the airport, the lack
of efficiency that we are so used to in the US is what we noticed the
most. We paid our almost $400 visa fee and watched the guy slip the
cash in his pocket, something you would just never see at a
government office in the states, one would think they could invest in
a cash box? But we were safely on the ground after many hours of
traveling, and for that we were very thankful. And while we were in
the long line, a man brought us all 3 of our checked bags intact,
which was another answered prayer!
Judah was waiting for us with open arms
and it was just a short car-ride to their house. They live in a
relatively safe neighborhood with a rugby club just across the
street. Workers were out hoeing the field by hand. Judah parked the
car behind a tall iron gate in front of the house, and we went inside
to unload our bags and have a snack. Even though we were tired,
after eating and chatting for a while we decided to stay awake for
the day and head to bed early that night. So we drove to Judah's
office, met some of his excellent staff, and then headed out to one
of the community groups.
As were were driving through the city,
the mayhem that is normal traffic is difficult to describe... no
lanes, with roadways and walkways often intermingling with piles of
rubbish and construction materials, busses, motorcycles, cars,
horse-drawn carts, motorcycles, bicycles, pedestrians, did I mention
motorcycles? The hand-laid cobblestone streets are everywhere, almost
all of which are in dire need of repair. A short distance up the
road from Judah's office we see 2 cows running loose down the street
with a few dogs chasing them. Tree-lined streets wave palm branches,
the people are friendly, they sit and drink Terere (local cold tea)
out of thermoses, nobody too concerned about two cows on the city
street. Palm trees always make me feel like I'm in an exotic
place... here in Paraguay with cows on the street, it's just another
day in paradise.
As we drove the roads got progressively
worse. From pavement, to cobblestone, to dirt with huge mudholes.
The living conditions matched the roads. From relatively clean and
maintained homes and yards to a neglected, littered, smelly area full
of shacks and standing water. I especially noticed the standing
water as we had been warned about mosquitos carrying Dengue fever.
And I notice the shacks where families live, the walls not tight
enough to keep out mosquitos. We had entered what is considered a
“squatter zone,” land owned by the government with limited
services. There is electricity and running water recently installed,
but no sewage system as of yet. A few of the houses stood on
stilts... Judah mentioned that during the rainy season the entire
area floods. Often people move their belongings to a soccer field on
higher ground and wait for their houses to dry out. And the sewage?
Yes, it floods too. You can only imagine the smell. This is the
face of poverty.
As we step out of the car we carefully
avoid mud and step over trash. My white flip-flops are too white and
out of place against the mud, just like my white skin under this hot
sun. I feel so out of place... but only for a moment. We walk a
short distance around a tin roof shack with pallet board type walls,
one of the more sturdy homes of the area, and the first thing I
notice is her smile. Dona Lina is the president of the community
group, and this is her home. She greets us warmly and then hurries
to get chairs for us out of the sun. She makes us feel welcome
immediately. We squeeze into her tiny covered area, and the first
words out of her mouth are Gracias a Dios, thanks be to God. She
describes the great help that Diaconia has been to her personally and
also to her group of women.
She runs a small store out of her home
and sells empanadas. Her loan from Diaconia made it possible for her
to grow her business and purchase a rotisserie machine for selling
chickens. But her business was considerably set back when her mother
unexpectedly passed away. The funeral expenses were staggering. She
brushes away tears as she tells us about losing her mom. I tear up
too, her pain is so fresh, it reminds me of my Grammie who is now
with the Lord. Dona Lina's story is one of difficulty, but also one
of perseverance and hope. She speaks of her God who has provided for
her and will continue to do so, and how thankful she is for the help
of Diaconia. She also talks about how the nutrition center and
community group has brought the women together, how people are going
to church and interested in hearing about God who previously would
never have walked into a church. And it is an opportunity for her to
serve alongside other Christian women in her community.
What a beacon of light in this place.
I immediately thought of Matthew 5:14-16 “You are the light of the
world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a
lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand and
it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your
light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise
your father in heaven.”
Dona Lina personifies this verse in her
life. Her first words... Gracias a Dios. Thanks be to God. I don't
feel out of place anymore because I am in the home of a fellow sister
in Christ. She is the leader and backbone of this community group,
and her church. Her living conditions are not easy. The
neighborhood she lives in is a tough one to reach with the gospel.
But her light shines so brightly in the way she lives, runs her
business, and reaches out to her community. Her light shines
brightly in the way she serves meals to children, runs her business
with integrity, and encourages the women in her group. Diaconia has
been a bridge between her neighbors and the church, and when we visit
to ask her how things are going, her first words are “gracias a
Dios.” What a testimony.
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| Judah, Dona Lina, her Daughter, Brant |
Judah prays over her and her home, we
say goodby and we get back in our car. A little muddier, quite
smelly, but touched by a woman who is full of grace in serving her
Lord. I take her picture. And I take a picture of a man outside
with a horse-drawn cart. But I don't take any more pictures... even
though I probably should have to give you an idea of what it was like
there... but I want to remember it not as a filthy place, but as a
place where God's grace and providence brings hope. And I am so
thankful that I am in this place, at this time, to hear this story
that God has written and is allowing me to watch as it unfolds.
We head back to the Mooney's, Mary made
us a delicious chicken dinner with spaghetti and home-made sauce.
What wonderful hospitality. We head to bed at 8:30 and sleep for 12
hours straight. What an amazing first day.
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| One of the horses bought with a Diaconia loan. They use this horse and cart to collect recycling. |
