Crônicas do Cotidiano

Last week, we received a long letter from a niece, daughter of my sister, who lives in the USA (for those who are reading me for the first time, I live in São Paulo, Brazil). C… and her two older sisters lived with us for five months each, when they were fifteen or sixteen. Bonds of affection increased during those days, and continue until today, despite the distance. She and our youngest son are approximately the same age (she is a few months older), and she is a sweet, cheery and kind young woman, who just turned 23. This is how I answered:

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I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful; my soul knows that right well. —Psalm 139.14

Some days ago, my husband showed me a post on a blog of one of the oft-time contributors to the Revista VEJA (one of Brazil’s major weekly news magazines). The post had been cited in the section called “Blogosfera” (Blogosphere) in the January 07, 2009 edition. Entitling his thoughts as “Trevas” (Shadows or Darkness)—the author bemoans that

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We have reached the end of the first day of our grandson’s life. By way of telephone, Skype and Facebook, we have already heard a description of his birth in Bangladesh, have seen photos with and without his mother, we have heard his cry and we have watched a 45-second video of a baby with wide-open eyes, with his hand under his chin looking like a philosopher (similar to his father that graduated in this field and like his Brazilian Grampa), sneezing, following the movements of his Daddy’s hand, reacting to the tickling of his feet… I am already most certain that my grandson is the cutest and most intelligent baby in the world! I would love to be able to hold him! And to be able to kiss my eldest child on the top of his head as he so tenderly looks at his own firstborn.

I remember his birth in Recife (Brazil), thirty-some years ago. It was an experience so different from that of the women in my country (Canada)

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Tonight, at 10:45 PM, São Paulo time, our first grandson, Lucas Donovan Portela, was born. As a matter of fact, although I am writing this on the 2nd, his birthday will always be celebrated on January 03. This because his parents live on the other side of the world, in Dhaka in Bangladesh, where they are eight hours ahead of us.

The last days have been full of prayers and attempts not to allow myself to worry too much, finding distraction in the Christmas and year’s end events. And God kept granting us moments of encouragement, in the midst of uncertainties linked to the fact that the baby was to be born at the time of a possibly problematic election, when curfews might be imposed, to a couple that normally goes around in rickshaws, in the capital of one of the poorest countries of the world.

We received the greatly expected phone call near noon here.

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For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking, but of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit

A few weeks ago, I participated in a conference in Manaus, in the Amazon, in Northern Brazil (I live in the Southeast). The main speaker was Pastor Conrad Mbewe from Zambia (for his perspective of the trip to Brazil click here and here.) He gave five talks that were directed mainly to pastors, entitled Called to the Work of the Lord. They were all very worthwhile but two especially made a mark on me. One was an interesting outlook on becoming “fishers of men” which tied in with an event in my life pretty soon afterwards that I blogged about here. The other was based on Romans 14, especially vss 17 and 18.

I’m sure you’ve all had experiences where a verse you’ve seen or heard dozens of times before, suddenly comes to life.  I took notes as I listened that day and reread them a number of times since, in an attempt to catch that vision again and make it a concrete part of my life.

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From that time on Jesus began to preach, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near.” As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will make you fishers of men.” At once they left their nets and followed him.—Mateus 4.17-20

Some days ago, I headed down the street to a supermarket near my home. I needed a few ingredients to make a fruit cake for the final meeting of the group of seminary students’ wives that I help coordinate.

When I reached the store entrance, there was a young woman seated beside the covered area on the outside where the shopping carts and the flower booth were located. It’s quite common to have beggars in that place and so, when she spoke to me, I shook my head to indicate that I would not give her any money. I did not, however, make eye contact. I went in, made my purchases and went out, again avoiding looking at her directly and indicating that I had nothing to give when she insisted. But I kept thinking about her—about where she lives and what she would do with the money if I had given it.

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He makes springs pour water into the ravine; it flows between the mountains….The birds of the air nest by the waters; they sing among the branches.. —Psalm 104:12

Introduction to the translation: I’ve recently decided to try to keep up my blog in English as well, translating/adapting things that come to expression first in Portuguese. This time I almost quit in the middle because of technical difficulties. First of all, I am frustrated because Portuguese has two words for “birds” for which I cannot find the exact equivalent. Aves are big birds—the ones that squawk, screech, shriek, cluck or hoot. Pássaros are little birds—the ones that usually sing. And passarinhos are birdies but it is a less “condescending” word (not used only to talk to children).

Secondly, my meditation is based on the text I was reading in Portuguese in a version called Almeida Revista e Atualizada. Having decided to use the NIV in English, it was rather disconcerting to find somewhat of a different wording here and there—not necessarily leading to a different significance but not clear enough to allow for an understanding of my train of thought at the moment. So I had to make a literal rendering at one point. The translation of the original post follows (the photos were taken at the retreat center):

It’s a weekend, close to the end of October. I am participating in a spiritual retreat for seminary student wives near Campos do Jordão—a town in the state of São Paulo, Brazil (three hours’ drive from where I live in the city of São Paulo). We are five coordinators (wives of seminary professors/pastors/church leaders), together with eight young women. In the program that has been distributed, the two mornings begin with an individual “quiet time”. All are encouraged to find a spot outside the house in order to spend half an hour in God’s presence, reading the Bible and praying.

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Legacy of a Grandfather

Continuing along the line of thought of the previous posts, about “spiritual legacy,” I am going to share another item that I met up with while examining the papers and objects stored as special memories of our past—something my father passed on to his offspring, in this case one of his grandsons.

It is an envelope with a letter that was mailed to me almost six years ago—sent by my middle son when my dad died at the end of December 2002.  E-mail already existed then, but it seems that he felt that something written by hand would be more significant than virtual correspondence (and also ended up lasting longer). I think I need to explain some of the context by adding a few (somewhat disconnected) bits of information, so that you can understand the details in this letter.

Two sets of Cousins—Tacoma, Washington, Christmas of 2002

The writer of the letter is the tall fellow on the right.

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