My marshmallow day.

Walking After Midnight...

I’ve been saying for years that I need to schedule a nervous breakdown.  I’ve decided that today’s the day.  I woke up this morning, and right in the middle of my devotions, it hit me that my girls are leaving home three weeks from tomorrow.  And they are not coming back.  This led to me sobbing hysterically in the bathroom for half an hour, while my poor bewildered husband patted my back.  It’s not that he’s not used to me crying, but crying at 6 am is a bit much, even for me.  On Mondays he has to leave early because we’re not allowed to drive our car that day.  Today I think he might have been a tiny bit relieved to have a ridiculous government regulation in place to rescue him from the waterworks.

I got to work and since my first class of the day behaved like a…

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Why???

I have been a missionary for over 9 years.  I would consider myself “seasoned.’  I have seen abject poverty that words cannot even begin to describe.  I know what desperation looks like, feels like, smells like, sounds like and tastes like.  I have seen people surrender every last shred of their humanity and fight like the hounds of hell were on their tail to get to a one pound bag of rice.  And I’ve cried, knowing that it was the only thing holding off starvation for their babies, and that when it was gone, they would have no idea where the next pound of rice would come from.  And after all of this time.  All of these experiences.  All of this…life…I still have one question that eats at my very soul.

Why?

Why do they keep having babies?  Why do they keep having babies that they cannot feed and care for?  And please know that I am not speaking from a “two cars in the nice suburban garage and an iPod under the Christmas tree” mindset.  I came into this life with that mindset–if they can’t take care of their babies to my standards, then they aren’t doing a good job.  I have learned that I was totally, completely wrong.  I am talking about basic necessities like food and clothing.  Every day I pass mothers selling candy in the streets, just trying to earn enough to buy their little ones a piece of bread.  Typically, there are two or three playing in the median strip, one baby on her back, and most likely more children that have gotten old enough to fend for themselves, whatever that looks like.  There is no man in the picture–he left long ago.  She looks old.  Defeated.  Beaten down.  Do they love their babies?  My mama’s heart wants desperately to believe that they do, but I don’t know.  I just don’t know.  I can’t help but wonder if the desperation and the fear and the helplessness has pushed aside the love, and if all they see is another mouth to feed.

Yesterday the authorities removed five children from one of these mamas.  We know this mama personally–she is part of the ministry at the dump.  They took five of her nine children.  Two others died at birth, and one precious baby died before his first birthday of malnutrition.  I do not know where the sixth child is–presumably he is old enough to take care of himself.  I know some of you are asking why we didn’t do enough to prevent this.  Please believe me when I tell you we’ve done all we can, but sometimes all you can do is still not enough. 

Most of these precious babies have different fathers, and not one of them is around to help.  They took what they wanted, and she let them, either because she was hoping desperately that one of them would finally see her as beautiful and care enough to stay…or because she no longer believes that it’s possible for someone to see her as beautiful, and she just doesn’t care any more.  Birth control is not an option.  Even if she could afford it, she wouldn’t take it, because at this level of poverty, women believe that they only thing that will keep their man around is if they can give him babies.  And it almost never keeps him around. 

I know that I am not here to judge, but to help.  I know that there is probably something terribly wrong with me for even thinking this way.  And I realize that I have probably caused some of you to wonder why I’m here.    It’s about breaking the cycle of poverty and hopelessness.  It’s about change.

I love those babies.  I love holding them and playing with them.  I love their grubby little faces.  I love making them smile and giggle–especially the tiny ones who have already lost the sparkle in their eyes–they already know that life is hard and hungry and that it isn’t going to get any better. 

I love what I have been called to do.  But I still wonder…Why?

Overflowing hearts

The other day someone asked me what my “peak” experience has been so far, in the almost eight years we’ve lived here.  That’s a tough question.  I live in a foreign country, working for an organization that LITERALLY changes peoples lives (that phrase gets thrown around a lot, it seems) seeing God work in ways that I could never in a million years even begin to imagine…and I’m supposed to choose one experience?  And then…three days later…I had that PEAK experience.

I told you all a while back that one of our house projects this year was for Jose and Teresa Jimenez.  Jose and Teresa are Ecuadorian.  Four years ago, they stepped out on faith and became missionaries.  Faith based missionaries.  That means that, just like the rest of us, they are trusting the Lord to provide.  Jose is the pastor out at Zambiza (the dump) and Teresa runs the daycare out there.  They are the most dedicated, humble, giving people I have ever had the privilege of knowing.  For the last two years, they had been living with Teresa’s mom in a tiny little house.  All five of them (Jose, Teresa and their three children) slept in one room.  Not ONCE did I ever hear them complain about their situation.  Not once.  Last summer, when our house team was here, they said that they were going to build Jose and Teresa a house.  The first thing Jose said was “No, you can’t.  That means that someone else won’t get a house”.  The team insisted…Jose resisted.  Dan, Mike, Jerry and anyone else who talked to Jose tried to encourage him to let the team bless his family…and he finally said yes.

Several weeks ago, 20 or so people hit the ground in Ecuador.  They brought 40 duffel bags filled with all of the things that you need for a house.  They spent DAYS building the house.  And then we all went out on a Tuesday, and started unpacking duffel bags.  We hung shower curtains.  Window curtains.  Unpacked dishes and set the table.  Which was purchased by the team while they were here, along with beds, dressers, living room furniture, groceries…I have never seen anything like it.  The attention to detail was amazing.  Jose and Teresa have three children.  Fernando just graduated from high school.  He got his own room, a whole new wardrobe, a desk and dresser…all for a wonderful young man.  Timoteo is 9.  Matchbox cars, clothes, school supplies, new desk.  The other day Jose told Dan that Timmy spends his entire day in his room…just hanging out.  He gets up, comes out for breakfast, goes back, comes out for lunch…we all just giggled at the picture.  Jamileht is the only girl in the family.  She’s a petite little three year old who absolutely melts your heart when you meet her.  She got a room fit for a princess.  Canopy for the bed, dollhouse, babies, tutus, ballet shoes…all in PINK.  I don’t think she’s stopped smiling yet.

Being a part of this, even as small as my part was, was the most amazing thing I’ve ever witnessed here.  And I’ve seen some pretty amazing stuff.  It was three weeks ago, and as I write this, I’ve still got goose bumps.  To be able to be a blessing to a family that has blessed us beyond measure with their dedication and their hearts for the Lord…As we all stood in the living room that night and listened to their testimony, listened to them dedicate their lives and their new house to the One that they love with their very being…That was a peak experience.  I’m just glad peak experiences aren’t limited to one.

Below are some pictures…Enjoy.

A room for a princesa

The kitchen

Living room and dining room

Presenting each member of the family with a new Bible

Dedicating the house to the service of the Lord

 

The generosity of others…

We love what we do.  We love making a difference.  Our daycare that we run at the Zambiza dump has become a testimony to the grace of God and the love of many.  Six years ago, the future for the children of the dump was bleak.  Most had no hope of ever going to school, and they didn’t dare dream of another life.  My friend Dawn wrote a while back that “the poor don’t dream”.  They don’t.  Dreaming creates the expectation and the hope that someday things might be different, while reality paints a very dark, very harsh reality.

Today, that reality is changing.  100% of the children who have gone through our daycare are now enrolled in school.  Their teachers marvel at how well they are doing.  They can dare to dream that perhaps tomorrow might be different.  The future looks brighter…sunnier…hopeful.  This has happened because of the generosity of others.  People who pray for them, who make sure that they have food to eat and clothes to wear…people who send money so that they can receive vaccines that protect them from disease.  People like you.

Several weeks ago, Nestle contacted Extreme Response to let us know that they wanted to donate “some food”.  “Some food” translated to two tons.  4000 pounds.  It was overwhelming, for a couple of reasons.  The first reason was that this was a local company, reaching out to help their own.  This is exciting for us to watch.  The second reason is that it was 4000 pounds.  Have you ever seen 4000 pounds of food in one spot?  It’s a LOT of food!  Several people from Nestle came and put on a program for the children, which they loved.  After that, Dan and the rest of the ER team (Nick, Dan Smoker, Paul and Susan and Mayra) were faced with the delightfully challenging task of making sense of all of that food, and figuring out how to get it into the hands of the workers at the dump.  Last Thursday, after much sorting and calculating, they were able to do a “food distribution” day.  Each person went home with a box of food that would last for a couple of weeks.  For people who work to earn their “daily bread” (That phrase has become so much more real during the time that we’ve been here…) this is a huge blessing to have a little extra.

Thank you, friends, for standing with us and being a part of what is happening here in Ecuador and around the world.  Know that you are making a difference.  A huge difference.  You are bringing hope.

“That is why we labor and strive, because we have put our hope in the living God, who is the Savior of all people…”  1 Timothy 4:10

 

Community…

Water, water everywhere.  Flooded streets, flooded school, flooded house…Today the police were using boats to rescue people stranded in the middle of a flash flood…five blocks or so from our house.  While we didn’t need a boat, we did spend several hours bailing out the school, the principal’s apartment and our own house.  I know I was joking a little about all of the rain in my last post, but seriously friends…please pray that we dry up.  This is crazy.

On a somewhat related note, I was struck again this afternoon as I was helping to clean out our HS principals’ apartment by what an amazing community of missionaries I live in.   I don’t know if we are the norm around the world, but it’s pretty cool here.  We kind of live in a “fishbowl”.  Everyone usually knows what everyone else is doing, and, I’ll be honest, sometimes it’s kind of frustrating.  Here’s the cool part.  We kind of live in a “fishbowl” and everyone usually knows what everyone else is doing.  So when your basement floods, your neighbor knows it, and shows up to help clean it out.  When your school floods, word gets out QUICKLY, and a whole bunch of people show up to help rescue your classroom.  So even if it’s frustrating…I’ll take it.  I’ll take the community that cares enough about my kids to hug them when they need it…and call them down when they need it.  I’ll take the friend that takes time every week to meet with my teenage daughter and give her another adult besides her mom to talk to.  I’ll take the guy who took my son out to dinner every Tuesday for five years and helped shape him into the man that he is today.  I’ll take the teachers and coaches who pour into my children every day…not just their heads, but their hearts.  I learned six years ago, when Dan had his accident (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, he had a firecracker go off in his face.  Lost part of a finger and almost lost his eyesight) that this is the place to be in when you’re in crisis.  I had people sitting at the hospital with me, people taking my kids home not knowing when I could come and get them, a 19 year old guy who came to the hospital at midnight and got my baby and took him home so that I could concentrate on Dan…This is a good community to be in.

I have to close with a prayer request.  Our HS principal and his wife are really having a rough time right now.  They have three little ones-3 1/2, 2  and 2 weeks.  Their apartment has now flooded TWICE in the last three weeks.  The two little boys have had croup, and Grace, the baby, has already had one hospitalization for bronchitis, and she’s two weeks old today.  Please pray that their family can get healthy, and that Stephen and Cristina will find an extra measure of patience and grace.  They are really struggling, and while we are doing all we can for them, they really need the Lord’s peace right now.

Thanks for your prayers…they are keeping us afloat right now!

Puzzle pieces.

I just submitted a petition to graduate.  As of June 13, 2011 I will hold a Master’s Degree in Special Education.  Lest you think I’m bragging, please allow me to elaborate.

Twenty four years ago (ouch) I graduated from high school and went off to college, not knowing anything about who I was.  Or who I wanted to be.  I landed myself into a MOTHER of a depression during that semester.  I ended up spending inordinate amounts of time at the local cemetery (It was OLD, and I love history, so it’s not that big of a stretch).  By November I had lost 25 pounds and could barely drag myself out of bed in the morning.  At Christmas I made the decision not to return, which, in retrospect, probably saved my life.  I honestly don’t believe I would have come out of the second semester alive.

Over the next 20 years, I got married, had three amazing kiddos and kept sliding.  You’ve heard it said that when you hit bottom, there is only one way to go.  I can attest to the fact that you can crawl around down there for a LONG time before you look up.  About 5 years into my marriage, I finally got a tentative grasp on my depression, began to put my marriage back together and emerged from what had been a very long, very dark fog.  When you’ve been in the dark for a while and suddenly the lights come on, it takes time for your eyes to adjust, and you are naturally hesitant to open them.  That was me for a while.  I was afraid if I opened my eyes, I would see something I didn’t like.  Or worse yet…someone would look into them and see something that THEY didn’t like.  We went back to church, and I discovered that the God that I had been running from was right there, waiting for me to finally settle down and listen.

Jump ahead to 2006.  We are now on the mission field in Quito, Ecuador.  We have a fourth child.  Our marriage is strong, and I’m not talking to the flowers in the wallpaper anymore.  In my heart, I’ve always regretted not finishing college.  I think somehow I thought I was less of a person because I didn’t have that diploma to affirm who I was.  In February, I began earnestly seeking a way to go back to school.  I filled out several preliminary forms, and one day the phone rang.  The next thing I knew, I was enrolled in college, ordering books, and feeling completely overwhelmed.  How does one manage four (actually, at that time five, but that’s another story) children, a husband, a full time ministry, a full time job, and be a full time student?  By the grace of God, and a very patient family, I managed.  It took me 3 years and 11 months, and I finished it.  A Bachelor’s degree in Education.  At this point, I was 39 years old, working at the school, and had come to the realization that what I wanted to do when I grew up was to work with Special Education kids.  My Patrick has more learning issues than I can count, and he’s not the only one.  I made the decision, just three weeks after graduating with a Bachelors (which was, honestly, more than I ever thought I could do) to try and get my Masters.  Another 19 months of constant homework, juggling family, work, ministry and just life in general.  As of today, I am three classes away.

There have been a lot of changes in me over the last 24 years.  Here is what my overly-caffeinated mind has come to realize.  When I graduate in June with that degree, it’s going to be pretty cool.  I’ll feel pretty good about it, and I’ll look forward to putting it into practice in the classroom.  BUT.  It’s not who I am.  It’s one little piece of the puzzle that makes up me.  I’m still scattered all over the card table, but I’ve got the edges together.  The outline is there.  And I’ve started filling in the middle.  One piece at a time.

^“For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.”  Psalm 139: 13-14.

“I know that full well.”  That’s a tough sentence to handle.  Do I know it full well?  Maybe “I know…I think”  No.  It has to be full well.  Half knowledge and partial truths don’t get to the big picture.  So I will choose to know it “full well”.  And I’m going to celebrate that knowledge.  I’m going to celebrate that degree too.  It’s part of the big picture.

Motherhood

Last week, the kids were off school for a combination government holiday/teacher conference thing.  Heather and Kristina are pretty good at entertaining themselves, although it does get a little expensive.  PATRICK, on the other hand.  I tried, like a good mother, to limit the amount of TV that he watched.  We played games, read stories, and I did make him clean up his room.  That took care of Friday, and left us with 9 more days.  By Saturday morning, Oliver was checking the classifieds to see if he could afford to move out.  Patrick had wrestled him, pulled his ears, poked, prodded and just generally aggravated the living daylights out of him.  Oliver is a rather sedentary dog, and all of this activity was about to push him over the edge.  Since Dan was out of town, I was responsible for entertaining Patrick, and presumably I wasn’t allowed to put him on eBay.  (Believe me, next time Dan goes out of town, I will clarify this.)   I heard the word “Mom” approximately 9,567 times.  In one day.  Followed closely by “why”?  And when he got bored, he tattled.  On his sisters.  TO his sisters. On the dogs.  TO the dogs.  By Wednesday I was hiding in the laundry room talking to the birds on the wall calendar.  We don’t have a yard to play in, and even if we did, it’s been raining pretty much non-stop since Christmas, so sending him outside wasn’t an option, and all three dogs had to come inside, since Charlie is a mud magnet and Chloe is a princesa, and neither of them could be outside in the rain.  Oliver is always inside anyway because he’s so neurotic.

I tried to be a good mom.  I tried not to allow the electronic babysitter to take over.  I lost.  Patrick watched pretty much every Disney movie we own.  He watched three of the Star Wars movies.  And he’s developed a fondness for “I Carly” and “Hannah Montana” that would be alarming…if I were a better mother.  Add to this the fact that I didn’t cook…ONCE…the whole time Dan was gone.  Yup.  Patrick got McDonalds twice, the Chinese place twice, and a lot of cereal.  My mother-of-the-year award is in the mail.  I’m sure of it.

This morning, I had him out of bed 15 minutes early.  Back to school.  And I need to remember to buy his teacher flowers.  She’s a saint.

New beginnings

Yes, I’m back.  In May of last year, my email account was hacked, and I literally lost my online identity.  My emails, my Facebook and my blog were suddenly just gone.  It’s an eerie feeling, almost like being erased.  I wasn’t going to restart my Facebook, mainly because I have the ability to lose hours of time on there, but I found myself desperately needing to, for the oddest reason.  On Dan’s profile, it used to say “Married to Cyndi Maloy”.  That went away when my Facebook went away, and it bothered me.  Greatly.  Suddenly, he was just “married”.  To some unknown person.  I had to put myself back in that place.  When I restarted Facebook, I had to add friends all over again.  I quickly realized that this was a bit of a new beginning.

As I was contemplating re-starting my blog, I went to the old blog site, and low and behold, not only was MY blog gone, but the whole blog thingy itself had disappeared.  I don’t think that it had anything to do with my issues-I’m sure it would have happened anyway.  Discovering that made me realize that I really could start completely over, and it would be OK.

I’m still me.  There are a lot of things that haven’t changed.  I still live in Ecuador-some days happily and some days because there are no flights out of here that fit my budget.  Fortunately those days are rare.  I still work at the Alliance Academy, in the library.  For someone with a word addiction, it really is the perfect job.  My Spanish is still mediocre and I am still debating whether or not I really care what my house looks like.  We still have three dogs, but the cat has moved on to better accommodations, outside the city where she can climb trees and catch mice.  The neurotic hamster died, but we still have the neurotic dog, so there is a balance.  Dan has made dire threats if I bring anything else into the house that requires nourishment, so I’ve decided not to push the issue.

Parts of me have changed.  Or wanted to.  In July of last year, I turned 41.  Turning 40 didn’t bother me, but 41 kind of undid me.  I took a good look at who I am, and began to wonder if it was who I wanted to be.  (Before you panic, I’m not deserting Dan and the children to run off and find myself on the top of some mountain somewhere.  I’ll do my soul-searching on the couch.)  There are parts of me that I’m OK with.  I’ve come to grips with my weight (I’m leaning on the fact that this body is a temple to the Lord.  If He wants me to lose weight, it will become a lot easier, and will involve chocolate.)  I finally got my college degree, twenty some years after leaving for all of the wrong…and right…reasons.  I’m about to finish a Master’s degree in Special Education.  I have a great marriage to a great man.  Those of you who knew me 15 years ago know that this is a miracle of Biblical proportions.  I have great kids, though I tend to attribute this to the work of the Lord rather than anything I’ve specifically done.  Those are things that, for right now, are OK.

Some things aren’t OK.  I’m a grouch.  There are lots of things I could attribute this to, but the bottom line is…I’m a grouch.  I get frustrated when things don’t go my way.  Sometimes I get frustrated when they do.  You see the problem here.  I need to be more flexible.  One would think that, as a missionary, flexibility would be my middle name.  One would be wrong.  I spend a lot of time worrying about what other people think of me.  My identity should be in the Lord.  My heart knows this…my head hasn’t caught up yet.  I have spent the last 41+ years trying to be what everyone else wanted me to be, and I’ve never figured out who I wanted to be.  I decided that this year I would focus on finding out who I am in Christ, rather than who I am in the world.  Not that I don’t care what people think anymore (Some miracles are really too much to ask for 🙂 but I’m trying desperately not to dwell on it.  I have also come to grips with the fact that I am pretty much a card-carrying introvert.  I realize that I was born this way, and that I will probably never be anything close to an extrovert, but I am trying to be a little more social and dispel the unnecessary rumors about my mental state.  I’ll probably always prefer the solitude of my own thoughts, and I’m learning to believe that since the Lord created me that way, it must be OK, but I can stick my head out of my shell occasionally and greet the world.

I will use this blog to keep you updated on our ministry, and our lives, and the funny things that happen in our world.  The only way I maintain even a tentative grip on my sanity is to laugh, so if I put something on here and you’re horrified because it doesn’t seem at all funny, please remember that I look at the world through a different filter.  I can either laugh, or end up sitting in the corner decorating pillowcases at the Home for the Bewildered.  At least for now, I’ll choose laughter.

“On your feet now—applaud God! Bring a gift of laughter, sing yourselves into his presence.” Psalm 100:1 (The Message)

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