This week has been so good for me. God is very gracious in giving me exactly what I need. While I was petrified walking into the role of leadership when I really had no idea what was going to take place, or how to communicate clearly with half the staff, God has giving me strength, grace, and patience.
I am amazed at how much I am understanding this week. As I do what my team did here two summers ago, it's interesting to realize just how much and how far I have come. I remember sitting in on the services and not getting anything but a few words...and yesterday, I was able to listen and understand nearly everything.
I am having a blast getting to know my Portuguese co-workers. It's been so fun to joke around with the cooks and helpers.
And I'm learning a TON in Portuguese. And being corrected a TON. And laughed at a TON. But...I like it. It's good for me.
And I accidently asked the cook, "So, where do I find all the cute guys?" Problem is...I can't remember what word I switched around. No worries, though. Apparently it only means that in Angola. :)
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Here We Go....
Today will be an interesting (to say the least) day. My volunteering to help wherever needed for camp has turned into heading up the cleaning/cooking crews. It's going to be stretching, exhausting, and altogether challenging. But, by God's grace, I'm kind of excited to be thrown in and just have to sink or swim. I'm grateful for past experiences at IRBC....although...I never thought I'd really use all that I learned there here in Portugal.
God is graciously helping me with my attitude in Portuguese. Last night as I lay in bed thinking about how crazy this is going to be....Portuguese started running through my head. I'm sure today will be a massive game of Guesstures as I try to communicate standards and expectations...but I'm also praying it's the beginning of the end to the walls.
God is graciously helping me with my attitude in Portuguese. Last night as I lay in bed thinking about how crazy this is going to be....Portuguese started running through my head. I'm sure today will be a massive game of Guesstures as I try to communicate standards and expectations...but I'm also praying it's the beginning of the end to the walls.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
My Jericho
Walls. Big. Insurmountable. Tall. Overwhelming. Unexpected.
My journey throughout this year has been full of them. And every time I've come to one, I've been able to push through and past what has felt like a massive wall of frustration. But I'm beginning to wonder if this one has an end.
Up to this point, I feel like I have genuinely loved learning Portuguese. I've loved trying. I've loved being surrounded by it. But for the past four weeks...I just don't want anything to do with it. I don't know if it's because I so desperately want to be able to be unhindered in my communication, and I know how far I am from that...or if this is just a normal part of language acquisition....or if this is just another phase of transition stress.
I don't know...but I know that I hate being here...surrounded by what feels like suffocating walls. I hate that I don't want to even try. I hate that I feel repulsed by what I used to love. I hate feeling that expectations, my own and others, are crushing me. I hate that people want to talk with me...and I'm stuck behind this wall of confusion. I hate that it's June, and I am dealing with this. I feel like I should be so, so far beyond feeling like this...the emotions and the struggle with Portuguese.
I recognize that this is a "downer" of a post. But this isn't really for you. This is for me...because I am desperately praying that God pulls a Jericho. And one day, when I'm on the other side of this wall...I want to remember where I was and what He brought me through.
My journey throughout this year has been full of them. And every time I've come to one, I've been able to push through and past what has felt like a massive wall of frustration. But I'm beginning to wonder if this one has an end.
Up to this point, I feel like I have genuinely loved learning Portuguese. I've loved trying. I've loved being surrounded by it. But for the past four weeks...I just don't want anything to do with it. I don't know if it's because I so desperately want to be able to be unhindered in my communication, and I know how far I am from that...or if this is just a normal part of language acquisition....or if this is just another phase of transition stress.
I don't know...but I know that I hate being here...surrounded by what feels like suffocating walls. I hate that I don't want to even try. I hate that I feel repulsed by what I used to love. I hate feeling that expectations, my own and others, are crushing me. I hate that people want to talk with me...and I'm stuck behind this wall of confusion. I hate that it's June, and I am dealing with this. I feel like I should be so, so far beyond feeling like this...the emotions and the struggle with Portuguese.
I recognize that this is a "downer" of a post. But this isn't really for you. This is for me...because I am desperately praying that God pulls a Jericho. And one day, when I'm on the other side of this wall...I want to remember where I was and what He brought me through.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
One Thing Remains...
Can I let you in on a secret? Sshhh... don't tell anyone else...
but my life isn't really what I imagined it would be...
And some days...many days...maybe even most days...I love that.
But other days...I wrestle. I struggle. I long. I ache.
But those days God always does it. And for some reason...it always surprises me when He does. Sometimes it is an answer to some little thing I've prayed...other times it is a person He uses to say just the thing I need to hear and I know it's from Him.
But this time...this time it was a song. And as I was sitting on the plane crying at what I always feel like I'm missing out on...my Ipod "randomly" shuffled to it:
Higher than the mountains that I face,
Stronger than the power of the grave,
Constant through the trial and the change
One thing remains,
One thing remains:
Your love never fails. It never gives up. It never runs out on me.
On and on and on it goes,
It overwhelms and satisfies my soul.
And I never, ever have to be afraid.
One thing remains.
Your love never fails. It never gives up. It never runs out on me.
In death and in life, I'm confident and covered by the power of your great love.
My debt is paid; there's nothing that can separate my heart from your great love.
Brian Johnson, Jeremy Riddle, Christa Black
Bethel Music Publishing
Jesus Culture
Some days I just forget. I forget that I met the love of my life at five. I forget that He truly is enough. And I entertain the thought that I'm missing out. But I love it that even though I forget...He doesn't. He never forgets. His love to me is constant. And when I remember that...it truly does overwhelm and satisfy my soul.
but my life isn't really what I imagined it would be...
And some days...many days...maybe even most days...I love that.
But other days...I wrestle. I struggle. I long. I ache.
But those days God always does it. And for some reason...it always surprises me when He does. Sometimes it is an answer to some little thing I've prayed...other times it is a person He uses to say just the thing I need to hear and I know it's from Him.
But this time...this time it was a song. And as I was sitting on the plane crying at what I always feel like I'm missing out on...my Ipod "randomly" shuffled to it:
Higher than the mountains that I face,
Stronger than the power of the grave,
Constant through the trial and the change
One thing remains,
One thing remains:
Your love never fails. It never gives up. It never runs out on me.
On and on and on it goes,
It overwhelms and satisfies my soul.
And I never, ever have to be afraid.
One thing remains.
Your love never fails. It never gives up. It never runs out on me.
In death and in life, I'm confident and covered by the power of your great love.
My debt is paid; there's nothing that can separate my heart from your great love.
Brian Johnson, Jeremy Riddle, Christa Black
Bethel Music Publishing
Jesus Culture
Some days I just forget. I forget that I met the love of my life at five. I forget that He truly is enough. And I entertain the thought that I'm missing out. But I love it that even though I forget...He doesn't. He never forgets. His love to me is constant. And when I remember that...it truly does overwhelm and satisfy my soul.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
What's up, Doc?
I hate going to the doctor. First of all, it feels like a waste of money. No matter what they tell me, I'm going to hand over to them money. In fact, most of the time, I give them my money before they even see me. For the past four years, I paid $20 every time I saw my doctor. On average, I spent approximately four minutes each visit (one time out of frustration....I timed it...my doctor actually SAW me for under a minute). Eighty percent of the time, my illness "was a virus" which I believe is lingo for "Sorry you're sick...there's nothing I'm going to do...but thanks for the $20." There are a multitude of other reasons why I strongly dislike the doctor...but I'll refrain.
This past week and a half, I have just felt horrible. Complete exhaustion, feverish, and a multitude of other symptoms. I really tried to hold out. I drank more water than I thought humanly possibly....ate as many vegetables and fruits as I could...and rested. Finally, sickness prevailed and I caved.
But, as with anything in a foreign country, simple tasks that I am completely capable of in the States become stressful, frustrating things. How is it that at 27 I need someone to take me to the doctor because I can't figure it out? I spent Wednesday debating...do I wait another day and have someone go with me to guarantee I understand and actually find the place? Or do I listen to the stubborn, independent voice screaming, "Seriously? What's wrong with you? Figure it out yourself."
So I did the common, rational thing....and decided to figure it out by myself. Granted, I had the help of some references. So at five o'clock, when my fever kept spiking...I decided to make my way down to find the clinic.
Let me just tell you...it was, yet again, another cultural experience. I managed to communicate with the receptionist in Portuguese that I was sick and wanted to see the doctor who spoke some English. She asked me to wait...and told me I would probably be waiting a long time. I looked around at the "waiting room." There were only two other people there. Now, in the States, I've been in waiting rooms nearly filled and usually waited no more than 30 minutes. So I thought, "Well, how bad could this be?"
Bad.
30 minutes passed.
The doctor appeared. She was wearing a cocktail dress. Seriously. No professional coat...just a really nice dress, hose, and white pumps.
I heard the receptionist start talking about me, and the doctor came over, greeted me, and told me, "I can see you. But you will wait. It may be a while."
It was. I realized why all the tables were overflowing with magazines. When I realized they were all in Portuguese and Spanish, I started looking around at the walls around me. It was at this point that I, in my feverish state, started to get a little worried. The walls were covered with before and after shots of people getting face-lifts and botox. Now, I am sure I looked like I desperately needed one...but I was hoping I communicated correctly who I wanted to see and why I needed to see her.
Forty-five minutes later, the doctor emerged with the patient and called back the next. I was now next in line.
I would like to state that it was during this time period that I realized, offices are all the same. As soon as the doctor would go back to the room, the receptionist got on the phone and talked about her kids, her husband, and a multitude of other personal things. For some reason, that kind of made me feel better. At least some things are the same...
After another 40 minutes of waiting, the doctor and patient emerged, and I felt extreme joy knowing I was next in line. Just as I was sensing my period of waiting coming to an end, the door opened. A woman with very large, dark sunglasses walked in. She began talking to the doctor. My doctor. The one I had been waiting nearly two hours to see. I realized the woman was coming back to show off the results of what I am guessing was an eye-lift. Everyone raved about "how cute" she was. It was at this point that I was relieved that I couldn't speak Portuguese fluently...because they looked in my direction for my approval...but I just acted like I didn't get it. Because...I really didn't want to lie.
Finally, I saw the doctor. Now, there's a whole other blogpost I could write about that experience...but quite frankly, that's a little more personal than I care to be. Needless to say, it was at times hilarious, confusing, and an experience I shall never forget.
And today...after being on meds for more than 24 hours...I feel like me again.
This past week and a half, I have just felt horrible. Complete exhaustion, feverish, and a multitude of other symptoms. I really tried to hold out. I drank more water than I thought humanly possibly....ate as many vegetables and fruits as I could...and rested. Finally, sickness prevailed and I caved.
But, as with anything in a foreign country, simple tasks that I am completely capable of in the States become stressful, frustrating things. How is it that at 27 I need someone to take me to the doctor because I can't figure it out? I spent Wednesday debating...do I wait another day and have someone go with me to guarantee I understand and actually find the place? Or do I listen to the stubborn, independent voice screaming, "Seriously? What's wrong with you? Figure it out yourself."
So I did the common, rational thing....and decided to figure it out by myself. Granted, I had the help of some references. So at five o'clock, when my fever kept spiking...I decided to make my way down to find the clinic.
Let me just tell you...it was, yet again, another cultural experience. I managed to communicate with the receptionist in Portuguese that I was sick and wanted to see the doctor who spoke some English. She asked me to wait...and told me I would probably be waiting a long time. I looked around at the "waiting room." There were only two other people there. Now, in the States, I've been in waiting rooms nearly filled and usually waited no more than 30 minutes. So I thought, "Well, how bad could this be?"
Bad.
30 minutes passed.
The doctor appeared. She was wearing a cocktail dress. Seriously. No professional coat...just a really nice dress, hose, and white pumps.
I heard the receptionist start talking about me, and the doctor came over, greeted me, and told me, "I can see you. But you will wait. It may be a while."
It was. I realized why all the tables were overflowing with magazines. When I realized they were all in Portuguese and Spanish, I started looking around at the walls around me. It was at this point that I, in my feverish state, started to get a little worried. The walls were covered with before and after shots of people getting face-lifts and botox. Now, I am sure I looked like I desperately needed one...but I was hoping I communicated correctly who I wanted to see and why I needed to see her.
Forty-five minutes later, the doctor emerged with the patient and called back the next. I was now next in line.
I would like to state that it was during this time period that I realized, offices are all the same. As soon as the doctor would go back to the room, the receptionist got on the phone and talked about her kids, her husband, and a multitude of other personal things. For some reason, that kind of made me feel better. At least some things are the same...
After another 40 minutes of waiting, the doctor and patient emerged, and I felt extreme joy knowing I was next in line. Just as I was sensing my period of waiting coming to an end, the door opened. A woman with very large, dark sunglasses walked in. She began talking to the doctor. My doctor. The one I had been waiting nearly two hours to see. I realized the woman was coming back to show off the results of what I am guessing was an eye-lift. Everyone raved about "how cute" she was. It was at this point that I was relieved that I couldn't speak Portuguese fluently...because they looked in my direction for my approval...but I just acted like I didn't get it. Because...I really didn't want to lie.
Finally, I saw the doctor. Now, there's a whole other blogpost I could write about that experience...but quite frankly, that's a little more personal than I care to be. Needless to say, it was at times hilarious, confusing, and an experience I shall never forget.
And today...after being on meds for more than 24 hours...I feel like me again.
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