Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Drop the Wood.

Sophie and Nikki saw me coming around the corner of the driveway and ran toward me. Nikki was in the lead but kept checking behind her to make sure Sophie wouldn't pass her unexpectantly. Along the way, Sophie paused long enough to pick up a piece of wood. Both girls had joined me when Nikki decided that she wanted the timber. A vicious tug-of-war began and I opted to walk on instead of getting caught in the middle of a fight. As I reached the door, the pulling was at a stand still but neither girl would admit defeat by letting go of the wood. I turned into the house and thought, "Stupid dogs."

"Stupid is right!" That's what my dad would say. Ten minutes later the two ladies maintained their stiff postures, staring each other down, and fiercely gripping the log by their teeth. That piece of wood represented a game of toss and Nikki wasn't willing to lose ground nor my attention to Sophie. Her jealous behaviour lost my consideration anyway. They chose bleeding gums and splinters in the tongue over belly rubs and ear scratching. All they had to do was drop the wood and I would have blessed them with the affection they were both so desperate to receive.

Quarrels, discord, jealousy, in-fighting, petty grudges and misguided thinking leave us raw and wounded, trapped in a showdown of wits and pride. Stupid is right. Drop the wood. Receive the blessing.

Monday, September 07, 2009

Right Residence.

Life in a mud-hut village sounds incredibly attractive to me right now. Poza Verde is a relatively remote cluster of adobe dwellings with a simple, but adequate, cement house set in the furthest corner of the village. The house, occupied by Chiquitano missionaries, Mierta and Cesar, has an empty bedroom with an unfinished, private bathroom. I can envision myself living in that space. In some ways, it is an appealing and exotic image.

Imagine what people would say if I chose to exist along side squatter conditions and took on the task of learning a tribal language. Some would shake their heads with incomprehension and confusion. Others would speak with admiration while emphatically stating that they could never do such a thing. The tranquility and isolation of such a setting is both alluring and terrifying. A commitment to such a place would be long-term and daunting.

Searching the vast and complex regions of my heart calls into question the motive and intent behind the appeal. Honestly, the idea of learning another language is more than a little overwhelming and I'm not so sure that I am ready to devote the next large portion of my life to the Ayore ministry. At the same time, I will take on the task if it be the best place for service in the kingdom. Serving with the Ayoreo means that I could still visit the Cristo Viene girls. Or could it be a mere escape of a life in Canada and the tough decisions that choice would entail?

Staying in Canada means personal reinvention and discovering a new niche in the familiar but poorly fitting attire of my home and native land. It's wardrobe is excessive and there aren't enough hangars in the world to hold the extent of it's extravagance. It is bothersome to know that we camp more comfortably than the majority of the world lives. It makes me want to inflict myself with inconveniences and deprive myself of comforts.

Frustration over conveniences and abundance is not a just reason for returning to Bolivia. To use the Ayore people as a way to spite wealth is wrong. The Ayore people can not be my excuse to stay in connection with the Cristo Viene girl's home. Last of all, they should not be my escape from considering the options before me here or the possibility that perhaps, life in the city of steel is where I need to reside for now.