Improved Work Conditions

He left the house to get light bulbs . . . toner and batteries.
He came back with everything plus a chair!

It's nicely padded. . . has adjustable heights and back support and I was happy to see that the back was low enough that you can still see who's sitting in it from behind. I don't want any surprises when it swivels around.

So, the old one goes out. I liked the "see through" look, but it didn't do anything but swivel and tilt. Which reminds me, the other day I watched as he tilted too far and . . . well he caught himself just in time! I usually just gingerly sat on the front ledge, so as to avoid getting a back ache. Still . . . kind of sad to let go of and I have to tell myself that even chairs have their season.

Mission to the Indians

In Paraguay the Mennonites organized a mission for the Indians, (translated) called, “Light to the Indians." The objectives were to:
- acquaint them with the Word of God
- provide education
- promote better health
- enable them to become self-sufficient, faithful, useful and skilled citizens

One story that I must tell is of a time when my mom-in-law was serving at this mission where, at the time, they were ministering to a tribe called the Lengua. This happened while she was in her late teens, before she was married. One day she was alone in the mission house when some Chulupi Indians came to the door. These were enemies of the Lengua and they had never shown themselves to the white people before. They wore loin cloths and held spears in their hands.

To say the least, Mom was terrified but, when she saw that they were rubbing their stomachs, she took them across the yard to the kitchen and gave them some bread and beans. Then they left. Later on she found out that the Lengua had been hiding in the bushes and not shown themselves because of their fear of the Chulupi.

To make a long story short, in later years the Chulupi also came to know the Lord and this brings me to the climax to the story! This Fall (2009) while Mom (age 92) was lying in her hospital bed, three Chulupi Indians came to her bedside and serenaded her with hymns and spiritual songs. They had been sponsored to come to Canada to serve at a local fundraiser for another Mission in Paraguay and since they had a big connection to my brother-in-law, they wanted to meet the first lady who had given their tribe bread, back in about 1935. I love this story.

...

The Indians in Paraguay

In case you were asking, I'm almost finished with my history posts! An interesting part in the whole puzzle I've put together, is that my grandmother (as a 16 year old) was on the same ship going to South America as another 13 year old girl who is now my mother-in-law! They knew each other and - if you know anything about Mennonites - you know how they like to connect everyone. (You'd think they invented facebook! ) Imagine when these ladies found out (some 45 years later) 'who was dating who' . . . here in Canada. Of course, we had no idea of the history involved. It's my sentimental side that thinks about these things now.
This next entry tells about an aspect of the Chaco life gleaned mostly from my mother-in-law. I've enjoyed her stories and found some interesting humor in them.

The Indians living in the Chaco came to the colonists with hospitality and curiosity. Despite the fact that the Mennonites were “overdressed” and did strange things such as dividing up the land, they were willing to help them in any way they could. They showed them how to make grass roofs, which trees to use for lumber, how to brew an anti-malarial medication, how to treat snake bites and warned them when danger was lurking. Of course, they were rewarded with food and clothing.

The Mennonites tried to learn their language, but the Indians learned Low German faster and even began taking the names of the Mennonites for themselves, names such as Jash (Jacob), Hein (Henry) and Marie (emphasis on the latter syllable).

I have had to come to the conclusion that my mother-in-law really had a way of relating to the Indians. She told me about some of her experiences with some of their “farm help” Indians. One evening the family had left the house to go to prayer meeting when, upon their return, she found that one of the loaves of bread that she had baked that day was missing. The following day the Indian returned and sheepishly said, “Mina Stehle” (spoken as a toddler learning to speak – “my stealing”). He said that he would not do this again.

Another day one came to her and sold her a rope. He also told her that he was getting baptized that weekend. Later on she couldn’t find the rope, and she found out from another member of the Indian’s family that he had sold it to another family. On Monday morning this Indian came to her and sat down very dejectedly. Mom asked him if he got baptized, and he told her that he had stolen from her and they had not baptized him because he had to make this right first.

When they would come to her and ask for food, she gladly gave them food, but they had to do some work, like chopping wood, first. Sometimes she gave them clothing. One time she gave one of the women a bra, and wouldn’t you know it, the next thing, Mom’s kids came home howling with laughter because they had seen their Indian woman shopping at the Co-cop, wearing the bra and no blouse. The Indians loved the ties that the Mennonite men wore, and when they received one, they would proudly wear them on their bare chests.

I think about these interesting relationships - where people of such different cultures needed each other and I just have to marvel. Cross Cultural training by immersion - while we take university classes in order to attempt this today.
...

At the Threshold

The home looks dismal -
Walkers and wheelchairs line the hall
And the aroma wafting from the dining room
Can hardly draw me there too soon.

I look about her little space -
A cot, a dresser, a chair an old T.V.
The only welcome sight is her smiling face
Saying she’s so very glad to see me.

We talk about the past -
These days, it’s what she remembers best
Standing on a stool washing dishes,
A trek across the ocean with hopeful wishes.

Motherhood came quick and hard -
With labor pains that stretched into the everyday,
From clearing the land, sweeping the yard
Kneading bread, while learning to pray.

I’m amazed at the strength and wisdom -
Of one for whom life became her classroom.
And yet, as she shares of the hardships and pain
At the end of it all, she’d do it again!

Finding it discomforting to see this end -
I have to ask myself - what will it be?
Will I focus on the fading beauty all around,
Or on that which I cannot see?

Aged ones, waiting at the threshold of heaven -
Stories of courage, loyalty and faith near forgotten,
But not by the One who’s been there all these years
And who will be there to wipe away all tears.

Anneliese © 2009

Sweet Sound

Did you hear the name he said???? Big smile here!

Bapa

Got this picture in our Inbox . . .

She only got to know us in February on our visit there - when she turned one year old - and she came to visit when she was eighteen months old. Now, at 20 months old . . .

. . . she pulls pictures off the shelf and points out Bapa!

. . . the phone rings and it's Bapa!

. . . Julene asks her to say Papa and she says Bapa!

. . . Julene asks her to say Grammy and she says Bapa!

. . . The day after we talk to her she looks at the phone and says BAPA?

I'm not hurt . . . it's all good! Somehow I knew this would happen - even before we had grandbabies. That's because I think he's pretty special too!

. . .

Fruit and Vegetable Carving

I haven't finished telling you about the cruise! One morning a table was set up right in front of the ice cream stand, on the deck where we were sitting. A kitchen crew came out and put on a fruit and vegetable carving show. I went up close, not wanting to miss a thing, while my H went to get the camera for me.

This was one of my favorites!

The one on the end as well!

Of course, when we got home, I had to try my hand at it. My bird lacks the stately elegance of the crane, but if you have nothing to compare it with, it will work. (I could always direct the wings a bit and call it a swan.) The hardest part was the neck. I thought he used an eggplant for it, but since the eggplant I had didn't look too good inside, I opted for a potato - actually two potatoes. My zucchini also wouldn't flower too well, so I used a little cookie cutter. Otherwise, it was quite straight forward. A nice centerpiece for a fruit or veggie platter.

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Pioneering Days in Paraguay

The pioneering began with making certain everyone had water to drink and providing shelter. The first huts were built by digging a hole one meter into the earth and then covering it with a tent. Food had to be brought in by wagons, a few days journey away. Beans and rice were the main staple in those earlier days.


Sicknesses due to poor nutrition, mosquitoes and flies, ran rampart and many families lost loved ones. Ants, wild caterpillars and locusts plagued the land and made for difficult beginnings in trying to grow any crops. Although many knew about farming techniques, there was a lot to learn under these harsh circumstances.

Pictured are my grandmother (Liese) and her siblings making adobe bricks to build their home. The red Quebracho tree was used for rafters and beams. Polo Blanco boards became window and door frames. The roof was made with reeds, mixed with clay.

I can’t even imagine life going on like this. But it did. Young people fell in love and got married, as did my grandmother - at age nineteen. In the first six and a half years they were blessed with five children. (I wish I could ask her now how she managed, since I remember her as one who easily laughed and loved to tease.)
Nine years into their marriage, a well digging venture turned into a tragedy, when a rope snapped and my grandfather fell 13 meters to the rocks below. He broke his back and legs and became a paraplegic. By a miracle, they did have one more child a few years later, but grandfather lived in pain for five years, before he died of complications due to his injuries.

In 1949 my grandmother married the only grandfather I ever knew, a wonderful man who had lost his family during the war.

(photo credits - Jakob Neufeld, my great uncle)

...

From Russia to Paraguay

Today, as we remember those who gave their lives for our freedom, I also think of my great-grandparents and their families, who fled communist rule in order to allow future generations to have a better life.

In the years between 1922 and 1927 about 21,000 Mennonites left Russia for North America, quite easily acquiring the documents to do so, but after that, under the rule of Stalin, it was nearly an impossibility. Even so, people of varied faiths moved to Moscow in hopes of getting closer to that possibility. Of the 15,000 people who gathered there about 10,000 were sent away in cattle wagons and trains, many never to be heard from again. Finally, in November 1929, after a lot of negotiations, Germany gave permission for all those who were left waiting in Moscow to come.

The Mennonite refugees spent months in military camps, waiting for a country to take them in. Humanitarian Aid Agencies such as the Red Cross, Brothers in Need and M.C.C. cared for them and supplied them with tools and very basic equipment necessary to begin a new life. My great-uncle tells of how they continued to have church services, Sunday School, and young people getting together to sing, even as they waited. They tried to continue with life, children being schooled, each being in charge of certain chores. Canada was an option for those who were healthy, but since many refugees had developed an eye disease (trachoma), they and their families had to opt for another place. Paraguay was chosen by many because they were promised freedom of religion, self-government and military exemption.

In March 1930 the first ocean transport left Germany, followed by six more that spring and summer. It was at least a three week long trip across the Atlantic to Buenos Aires and then a large river boat took them along several rivers to Paraguay. At the end they took a twelve hour (slow) train ride, followed by several days on ox-drawn wagons to the place that M.C.C. had assigned to them in the Chaco, described as “a bare steppe with tall bitter grass which no animal ate.” In this isolated area, with tropical heat, bugs and snakes, our great-grandparents and grandparents were dropped off to begin a life out of nothing.


The photo is of my grandmother's family on the last leg of the journey into the Chaco. The boat captain had given them the mattresses from the boat.
My grandmother was sixteen years old. Her brother, whose written documentation I am using, was twelve when they came to the Chaco. An older brother had already made his own camera in Russia, thus being able to document some of their experiences in this way. I've been told that his camera is on display at the Mennonite Museum in Filadelfia, Paraguay.

What's on My Sidebar?

Today I want to draw your attention to the two photos (below my profile) on my sidebar.

The first one is there in honor of one year of blogging! One year of discovering more about my surroundings and taking in the moments . . . seeing more, taking pictures, savoring more and learning how to share those tid bits of my life. In learning how to share, I've taken some risks in expression by trusting my audience and my writing. And I have to say, it's been surprisingly rewarding! If you are new to this blog, you can read my first entry by clicking on the top photo on my sidebar.

The next photo is one I recently added - if you click on that, you will get to the website of Food for the Hungry. Since Christmas is coming, I've added it to simply give some gift giving ideas. In this past year we have gotten to know the president (of FHCanada) and his wife a little better and we admire their sacrifice, passion and dedication to help the poor. On the website you will find many ideas on how to help on a regular basis or with a single time gift. If you click on "For someone with everything" and then All gifts, you will be amazed as to the practical ways that we can help those in need. With this way of giving, one can give towards a project in honor of someone . . . someone who has everything . . . so that someone who has nothing can be blessed.

There are many options out there. Sometimes we can be overwhelmed with requests. Ask God to show you when and where you can help. Ask your kids what they would like to do. You will be glad you did. So often there is bigger joy in giving than in receiving.

Replacing the Old

One by one, my dried flower arrangements have been discarded or taken to MCC. They've had their time . . . their season. This one still had dried roses in it from my fortieth birthday. A few years ago, when we re-did our bedroom, I gave it a good blow with the hairdryer to try and get some of the dust cleared, and then decided to be on the look -out for something new. Well, I haven't seen anything I really liked and this thing stayed put.

One day, last week, I decided it was time for a trip to Michaels, where I picked up some silk sprays. I had nothing to lose.

I pulled out the dry twigs . . . dust flying in all directions. I noticed the foam was covered with some imitation moss. Guess it would have been a good idea to get some fresh stuff. Then I cut the ivy sprays into smaller stems and stuck them all around the base. Next I lined up three large flowers in the middle and then filled the holes with green stems and more ivy.

I took this picture with a flash because, judging by the color, I must have done that with the dried flowers. Funny how wall colors change with different photo options.

This is a picture taken without the flash. I think the arrangement turned out alright. Better than it was, and easier than one would think.

Faith For Fear Filled Days

I’ve been reading another devotional by Max Lucado, called Every Day Deserves a Chance.

He tells the story of the little girl who is lying on her death bed as her father runs to get Jesus. Lucado has the reader imagining how the sea of humanity parts for this well known and respected leader in the community. When he gets to Jesus, he begs him to come to his house and Jesus follows him. So far so good. But then, on the way and, while the people are pressing in on him, Jesus stops because someone touched Him. Can’t you just imagine what the father is feeling at this point? Precious time is slipping away, time he can’t afford to lose. Others are also expressing some of what he feels, “You see the people crowding against you, and yet you ask, who touched me?”

While the father is anxiously waiting, Jesus takes time to talk to a woman who dared believe that He could heal her, if only she could touch the hem of His garment– one of my favorite Bible stories embedded in this “let’s not waste time” moment!

And then the dreaded news comes. While Jesus is talking to the woman, a servant tells the father of the passing of his little girl. Lucado reminds us of the sudden silence of shock that follows such news. And then the question that follows. Why did Jesus have to stop? I thought He would pull through for me! I believed!

But we need to take notice that, while Jesus was still speaking, He also heard. I love that. Although Jesus was occupied with another case and had many people pressing in on Him, He heard … He cared … and to the father, whose world had caved, He said “Don’t be afraid. Just believe.” (Mark 5:36)

The father did not have to wait long to experience the rest of the beautiful story, but in our lifetime we do not always see the end or what we think is the end. Jesus’ words to us are still the same. When we want to give up and say it’s too late, Jesus asks us to believe and not be afraid. He is still in control. Maybe this story happened so that the generations to come might see and believe.

He is able to save completely those who come to God through Him, because He always lives to intercede for them.
(Hebrews 7:25)

Nine Ways - Again

On Saturday, while my H was cleaning up the yard, I played dress up! Literally, I popped in and out of the house so he could work on his photography skills on the side. And in case you wonder, the grin was back!

Last year I bought a dress that seemed like just the right kind of dress to pack into a suitcase and take to warm weather places. I did that for the cruise.

At home I started thinking . . . maybe it could be more than just a warm weather dress . . . and so . . . for fun . . . I gave myself the challenge of finding nine ways to wear this dress, using different sweaters I have. Not sure if I would actually wear them all, but that's where personal preferences come in.

Which makes me want to ask. Which way do you like best? I'd sure like to see someone else's nine ways. Any takers?

Oh . . . and since I was dressed for the occasion, I decided to give him a hand. Nothing like putting some spice into your hubby's mundane yard chores.