How Many Pizza's Have I Ordered?

Tonight as I sat in a Mass celebrating 25years of religious life for one of the sisters here at language school I realized something.  It was my 25 year anniversary of ministry as well.  I was such a young woman (20) when I prayed that I would find a way to serve either in the church or with the poor.  All I can say is that God acted fast because the next Sunday was Pentecost and before I knew it I was given a card to fill out to volunteer.  I chose Youth Ministry honestly because I did not understand most of the other ministries and I thought I could serve cookies and chaperone a dance.  25 years later I find myself in Brazil.  All I can say is be careful what you wish for because it may just come true and then some.

As I reflect back on the years my heart is full.  So many people have touched my life in profound ways over the years.  I think of all the young people and their families, the staffs I have worked with, the parish communities of St. John the Apostle, Our Lady of the Lake, St. Pius X and St. Cecilia's,  and all of my fellow ministers and I am overwhelmed.

How many floors have I slept on?

I started to laugh when I thought about counting the number of meetings I have been too, the amount of chairs and tables that I have stacked and unstacked, the number of people who have thrown up on me (or worse), the number of hospital visits, the number of vans I have loaded, the number of times I have rolled up a sleeping bag, the number of bowls of punch I have made or most importantly how many pizza's and Costco cakes I have ordered.

These are the daily details of a minister but they are not the ones that stay with me.  I have been so graced to be welcomed into so many people's lives.  I have been blessed to witness the faith of young people come alive, I have seen first love blossom and heartache take it's place, together we have served in soup kitchens, homeless shelters, migrant camps, and in Mexico.  We have sang and danced, we have laughed and cried.  I walked with so many people suffering from life's challenges of depression, eating disorders, drug abuse, divorce, pregnancy, abuse, and sexuality.  I have welcomed new life with you and I have helped bury you and grieve with you.  Together we have walked the road of life and the road of faith with all of its joys and with all of its sorrow.

Tonight I am grateful for my years of ministry.  For all who have been a part of it.  For my friends and family who have supported me in the good and bad times.  At Mass this evening I thought about just reflecting on this moment and letting it quietly pass because I don't want any attention, I prefer to honor it in quiet ways.  But here I am writing about it.  The reason I chose to do that was to honor and thank all of you who have shared these years with me.  You have all brought me to this moment.  I never dreamed I would be in Brazil as a Maryknoll Missioner and yet here I am.  The past has given me strength to embrace my present and my future.

St. Pius X on Mexico Mission Trip

The Cry of the Poor

"The Lord Hears the Cry of the Poor, Blessed Be the Lord." (spiritandsong.com)
Today's Psalm is 34, it is the one I used for my sending Mass when I left Oregon.  Today I again find comfort and challenge in this scared scripture.
This week I have reached the half way point of language school.  Honestly, I really wish I had more command of the language at this point.  However, I know that I am in a better place with it than I was 1.5 months ago.  Today I was in a 3 hour lecture on church history in Brazil.  (I know right about now you are thinking how lucky I am).  Of course it was in Portuguese.  I understood 3/4 of the talk which I was happy with.  I am able to understand a lot more, however, I am still struggling with speaking.  I like to say I speak shopping.  Because I can go to the grocery store and get whatever I need.  Granted it is messy but I get it done.  

Today some one said to me that we should enjoy our time in language school because this might be the best time of our mission.  I totally disagree with this statement.  At this point I think this may be the hardest part for me.  Learning the language is challenging and humbling.  Many of the students reflect about how stupid they feel when trying to speak with Brazilians.  It is true I do feel stupid a good part of every day.  This person said we are lucky because we have a great room.  Which is true.  And I love, love, love, that Maria washes my sheets and towels every Friday.  But for me this time is not what it means for me to be a missioner. It is a necessary time for me to learn the language and the culture.  It is important for me because it gives me some of the tools to build my foundation as a missioner.  However, if I could I would run out the front door of the school and into the streets where the people I came to accompany live.

As I reflect on the words "The Lord hears the cry of the poor," I feel like I too have heard those cries.  In my work and ministry for the last 25 years I have listen to the stories of the poor.  I have seen their tears and felt their pain as well as their joy.   And it is those cries that have brought me to Brazil.  To do what, I still do not know but I long to be able to get started.  My heart's desire is to live out my vocation to journey in this life with the poor.

But for now I have to think about my own poverty.  My lack of control and power at this point in my life.  My dependence on others and a humbling of my heart.  I think about a child learning to ride a bike.  I remember my dad putting my training wheels on my bike.  Then having my parents holding on to the bike and running alongside me, until I was ready to go it on my own.  At this point in my journey as a missioner my training wheels are still being installed.  I have so many people that are working on running alongside me.  As much as I desire to take off and ride I am not ready yet.  I long to feel the wind in my hair as I peddle on my own, but for now I know I must embrace my journey.  I need to trust that I will get there, and appreciate all those around me who are cheering me on.  

I think the cry of the poor comes from each of us.   My poverty is no where near that of others.  And yet in my poverty and in my weakness I know that God listens to my heart.  He hears me and answers me. 

O Senhor ouve o grito dos pobres, bendito seja o Senhor.   

What matters is not how fast we go, only that we go.

Below is a link to the Psalm on spiritandsong.com.  It is a nice prayerful song.  I like the one by Jesse on Pray Your Heart.   If you have a chance listen to it, I find a lot of peace in the prayer.
The Cry of the Poor

Like A Child

Being a missioner in a new land and new culture transforms one into a child in so many ways.  In our orientation in New York my fellow missioners and I discussed the reality of this statement.  However, now that I am living this truth I find it both challenging and amusing.

To be like a child means to learn again how to eat, how to speak, how to read, how to walk, how to sleep, and how to go to the bathroom.  Yes, I have been working on all of these. If only I had a Dick & Jane book in Portuguese.  

Perhaps the hardest thing for me is the inability to communicate with others.  Imagine every time you need something you have to think about how to say the words to express yourself.  It is one thing to be in a restaurant and for the waiter not understand when I order a Coke Zero.  Really how wrong can my pronunciation be that I cannot be understood to order a Coke?   (No worries I have learned how to order it now, could not let too much time slip by on that one).   But imagine riding a bus and trying to ask for directions, and needing to go to the dentist (thank God my Maryknoll Family went with me), and now think about all the little things we need daily, like toilet paper.  It is humbling to have to think about how to ask for a roll, then most likely to have to explain it a couple of times (this is one that it is best not to explain with too many hand gestures).  I think about children who speak but cannot be understood.  I understand how frustrating that must be for them; at least I have Google translate. 

Communication seems to be a challenge in more ways than just a language.  In language school I live with religious men and woman from all over the world.  During the last week I have been in a couple of situations where it was clearly stated that woman in some countries are not equal to men.  Women are to do what the man says and not to have an opinion.  You can imagine how well that has gone over with me.  Most of you know I usually have an opinion and believe that people have the right to share their opinion as long as it is done so with respect.   I have been working to navigate these relationships where I feel like I am suppose to be lesser than the man, it is a bumpy road but I am working on it. In the US I have felt like I was treated as a lesser because I am not a man, but this is a whole different level.  I am trying to understand it as a learning experience because so many women in this world experience a world where their voices are not heard.   

The challenges at times can be overwhelming, however, the amusing part comes in discovering things again or for the first time.  New tastes, new smells, new ideas, and new places.  It is an amazing experience to achieve something for the first time, even if it is just riding the bus or figuring out how to use the phone.  Some day I am going to figure out how to mail a letter  Today I got a towel that had been in a dryer.  It was amazing.  Towels that dry on a clothes line just never seems to get completely dry.

To be a child is to be full of possibilities, it is to be open to discovering the world around you.  It is to fall and then get back up again.  It is to be humble, pure hearted, and to trust and rely on others.   It is not to be afraid to fail.  And so I try to put my pride on the self and to embrace my world as a child would.  I just hope I can set aside my pride, my fears, my embarrassment, in order to relearn how to live in the world.  This can be exhausting, I understand now why children take naps.  I need to start giving myself permission to do the same.  

Paradise

Day after day on my to and from the metro I pass her by.  She is there on the street every time I walk by.  Under the blazing sun she sits with no water.  During the worst of rain storms she lays down under a blanket or a broken umbrella and tries to protect herself from mother nature.  She says nothing, asks for nothing.  She has never looked up when I pass, when she is awake I only see a void look upon her face.  She appears to be abandoned on the streets of Sao Paulo alone, forgotten, exposed. 

I cannot speak to her because I do not know her language.  Also, I am still learning about the culture and what is safe to do so I am not sure what I can do for her.  But I wonder and ask myself.....

• What is her name?
• What is her story?  How did she end up here on the corner?
• Where does she go to the bathroom?
• Do her legs and back hurt from sitting/sleeping on the pavement?  Or does she just not feel them anymore?
• What does she eat?
• Is she cold/hot?   How can she constantly brave the elements? 
• Is she ever hurt or attacked?  Is she scared?

I think of her every day and look forward to the day when I can stop and speak with her.  I hope she is gone when I come back from language school.  I hope she finds a safer more humane place to live.  But I am not sure she will.  In fact some days I wonder if when I walk by she will still be alive.  I pray for her and I hope the right person comes along to help her.  Right now it is not me, but I see her.  I often wish she would look up so I could at least smile at her...but for now all I can do is see her and pray for her.

She reminds me of an old school song by Phil Collins.  This song plays in my head as I walk the street where she lives.  We are not always able to help everyone but I just hope we can all do our part.  And at the very minimum to see those folks who live on our street.  Then if we are able, to find a way to reach out to them.  I have inserted "Paradise" because it reminds me of her and I don't want to forget her and all the homeless people who have touched my life.

Mother

Today I went to the woman's prison for the second time.  The prison is one that has about 842 woman, around 400 are foreign woman (meaning not from Brazil).  I am told the capacity of the prison is 251 so these woman are faced with a number of challenges.The organization that we go to the jail with works to help explain their legal cases to them, advocate with medical issues, and helps them communicate with their family & friends.

We met with the foreign woman today so many speak English.  As I sat in the classroom in my desk I listened to the stories the woman told.  Today every story I heard was about a Mother.  Below I have tried to capture some of the stories.  I have taken the liberty to sum up the stories in my own words and understanding.  I have tried my best to get the information correct including the country the woman come from.  However, I have to admit some of the information may be an estimate based on my memory.

"My mother is dying and I need to send money....I am so far away from her now and she needs me.  Please help me find a way to save my mothers life."  (Indonesia)

"I am so worried about my mother, she is being mistreated by my father and I am not there to help her."  (South Africa) 

News delivered to a mother today...."I am so sorry to tell you while you have been in jail your daughter has died." (Nigeria)

"My daughter Carmen lives with my mother, I miss them very much.  I love my family but they are so far away." (Mexico)

With a great deal of pride a mother showed us an email and said, "This is my son, his name is Jason." (South Africa)

"I have seven children and I am a single mother, I had to risk smuggling drugs to feed my children." (Bolivia) 

No words were spoken but a mother's tears fell on her email.  Last week we learned she had needed money for a surgery for her pregnant daughter and so she had risked smuggling drugs, she would only have to do it once to pay for the surgery.  (Texas)

 A woman who had to be 8-9 months pregnant worked to squeeze her belly into the tiny desks.  I am not sure what she was asking for, however, I assume whatever it is has to do with her baby.  What will happen to her baby when it is born in the upcoming weeks? I am told the babies do not always have family to take them in or a good place to go. I wondered how uncomfortable she was trying to sleep in the prison beds.  (Bolivia)

"I always told my children not to get involved in drugs. I am not sure why I trusted the men who told me everything would be OK if a carried their package.  When I found out it was drugs I tried to back out but I was afraid they would hurt me and my family.  I have been in prison for 3 years and during that time I have developed endurance and a self love.  I only hope that my children will learn from my mistake and have a better life.  God gets me through each day because in here God is all I can rely on." (South Africa)

Most all of the woman we talk with have been used as drug mules.  They have been arrested at the airport for smuggling drugs.   So many of the woman have chosen to carry the drugs in order to help their families.  They have been convinced that they will be fine and have felt like it was the only choice they had left.  It does not make their crime OK, but it sheds light on why someone would risk getting caught smuggling drugs.  As Heidi says, we are not the judge we are only there to reach out to the person.  We are there in order to treat them with the inherent dignity every person deserves.

Today as I reflected on the theme of Mother, I was humbled by the love of a mother.  And reminded that no matter where we are in this life our mother remains an essential  part of our lives.

So tonight I pray for all the mothers of the prisoners and the prisoners who are mothers.  I ask you to pray with me and to also thank God for the mothers in your own life.

   

How to Catch a Bus in Brazil

The Maryknoll Brazil Mission Community finished their assembly today which was located an hour outside of Sao Paulo.  The following was my first lesson in how to catch a bus outside of the city (which in some ways felt like the middle of no where).  

First apply plenty of sun screen.

Carry your luggage out to main road.  

Locate missioner family waiting along side busy road.

Very carefully cross the busy highway.

Make your own bus stop.

Begin look out for bus.

See Bus coming.

Flag down bus.

Babies ride for free.

Enjoy bus ride.

Everyone safe & sound.

From bus catch the metro (subway).

Back in the city

First Days in Brazil

Samba Concert

My first days in Brazil have been a mixture of trying to recover from jet lag and to physically get use to a new environment as well as touring the city little by little.  My hosts Joanne and Heidi have been great showing me around, feeding me, and helping me to begin to understand my new home.

My first day I took a short walk with Joanne, Maryknoll Lay Missioners country coordinator in Brazil.  As we navigated the broken sidewalks we passed many small shops, a grocery store, a few restaurants, and the metro (subway) station.  I felt very comfortable on the streets, tons of people and a lot of similarities of places I have been before like Bolivia, Peru, and Mexico.  The first evening Joanne & Heidi took me to a museum for a free Samba Concert.  It was a fun way to spend my first day in Brazil.

On my second day Joanne and I went to the Cathedral and to walk around the city center a little.  However, our first stop was at a program that works with the homeless population in Sao Paulo.   The program has people go out to the streets and collect trash which they recycle and make some really awesome things which they sell.  The center helps the homeless get a job and also does some work with self esteem and has a process of moving people off the streets.  I wish I had pictures to show you however, the center is in a part of town which it is not good for us to take pictures.  The area of town has a lot of drug cartels and they are always watching to see who is in their area.  At one point Joanne said we would stop speaking English because we did not want to draw attention to ourselves.  Joanne had worked in the neighborhood for several years so I felt really comfortable.  As we walked down the streets we passed a house where one of the woman recognized Joanne.  We stopped and visited.  As I looked in the small home there were several woman and children.  The room was size of one of my very small apartment living rooms.  Apparently up to 20 people live there together and that is a common occurrence.

We see scenes like this everywhere.

What seems to have had the most impact on me thus far is the homeless on the streets. There are so many everywhere we go.  They seem to really suffer.  A few that I have seen up close have no shoes or just one shoe.  Their feet are so cracked, bruised, dirty and full of sores.  They sleep on little or nothing.  Many sleep under the by-pass to avoid getting rained on.  On either side of them a busy roadway passes by.

One of my major reflections for the past couple of days is how many things in my life have prepared me for my time in Brazil.  From trips to Mexico I learned how to throw my toilet paper in the trash so as not to clog the pipes, I also learned how to brush my teeth out of a cup instead of water from the tap.  My trip to South America  last summer introduced me to some of the issues in S. America.  My time in New York helps me travel on the subway.  All those little things I am putting to good use here.

Cathedral 

City Center Square

St. Paul (Sao Paulo)

Overall,  I feel really good here.  Sure there are moments of uncertainly but that goes away with the wonderful support of my fellow missioners.  And so I look forward to the days, weeks, months, and years ahead.

Joanne & Heidi's Apartment                

My Bedroom

Kitchen