In May I was blessed to be able to have my sister, Tabitha, for a visit! It would take forever for me to tell you all that we did, but I thought I would just let you read a review in Tab's own words:
"Incredible. Amazing. Beautiful. Life changing. These are just a few of the words I can use to describe my trip to Spain. From the moment I stepped off the plane in Granada, I knew my life would never be the same. And I certainly felt so blessed to have the opportunity to visit my sister in the land she now calls 'home'. I had been anticipating this moment for many months, and now it had become my reality!! What an absolute blessing!! :) Bek and Gaby were waiting for me at the airport when I arrived.....how wonderful to hug my sister!!!!.....and to finally embrace Gaby, my sister in Christ with whom I had only ever spoken to through skype! :) Praise the Lord!!! I was immediately struck by the beauty of the land. This southwestern area of Spain is filled with mountains and they are absolutely majestic and breath-taking! The fruit trees and olive groves cover the mountainsides and the valleys like a patchwork quilt. I didn't realize that it was such an arid region.....the soil is rocky and dry. It seemed so bizarre to see a cactus and a palm tree side by side! One afternoon we drove up to a ski station atop the Sierra Nevada and enjoyed throwing snowballs at each other!! :) We then proceeded down the mountains and 45 minutes later we were standing barefoot on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea as the waves rolled over our toes!! What a day....an amazing, beautiful, incredible day!!! I was also struck by the history and culture that surrounded me. I often found myself looking at buildings that are older than our country!! Wow!! It was so fun to eat traditional 'Spanish' foods...which, by the way, are wonderful!!! I tried things I have NEVER eaten in my life....what a blast! Who knew I would like cow intestine soup!?!??! Yummy!! :) I got to experience a flamenco show!....so intense....and full of tradition. I watched as a shepherd led his goats through the street outside Bek's apartment window. On that same street, I watched families come and go from a party they were attending.....many of them talking and texting on their cell phones....then they drove away in their cars. It's an interesting culture....full of deep tradition and lifestyle...yet mixed with modern conveniences and technology. More than anything, I enjoyed the time I got to spend with Bek!! It was so wonderful to see what she sees, to go where she goes, to do what she does!!! :) I loved going to class with her.....even though I didn't understand a word! :) It was so great to see where she lives....to meet the people she knows...to spend a few days living life with her! It gives me a whole new perspective when I hear her stories and I read her newsletters.....I now know who she's talking about and the places she describes!! And Gaby!!! What a joy it was to meet her face to face!! What an amazing young lady from Venezuela....now spreading the gospel in Spain. She got to practice her English and I stumbled through my Spanish. :) Great memories! During this trip, I was reminded that we live in a world that desperately needs Jesus! We met a believer who runs a little cafe in a neighboring town....when Bek asked her how she became a follower of Jesus.....she said she read the Word of God....and believed!! Hallelujah!! I was reminded of Paul's words in Romans 10....'faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the word of Christ.' I am proud of my sister, who lives on the other side of the world in the little town of Monachil, nestled in the mountains.....as she prays for God to move in the hearts of the people around her....and she tries to live in obedience to the one who told us to go and make disciples of all nations. May we do the same because every nation needs Jesus, every people group needs Jesus, every person needs Jesus.....may you and I speak of Him more boldly, love others more deeply, and live for Him more passionately." Because this is my blog, I get to pick the picture for this post. :) And I love this picture of Tab -- it captures her spirit and our time together perfectly!
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Last Thursday was a beautiful day in Spain.
The first delightful thing of the day happened when I was on the bus into the city. I was sitting by the window, listening to some music, as my eyes followed along the sidewalk, trying to keep up with the velocity of the bus. As we slowed to pick up more passengers I noticed a man in his 50's walking briskly the same direction as the bus . He was dressed sporty and had his sweatshirt tied around his waist and his back was soaked with sweat. It was obvious that he was in exercise mode and cruised along at a nice pace. Just as the bus took off again I saw the man come upon a pink rose bush with the roses in full bloom, coloring the entire fence of the house he was passing. The man stopped, bent his face slightly over a rose, and inhaled deeply. It was beautiful. He took off again, quickly getting back on pace and leaving me with a smile on my face & one thought in my mind: "That guy just literally stopped and smelled the roses." Holy Week is a huge deal in Spain. Go here for a quick overview before proceeding. :) http://granadamap.com/santa/
We've been told in our culture class that thousands of tourists come to Granada for this event. The streets are always packed and the processions are the main attraction. Our culture teacher did a good job of preparing us for what Granada was going to be like this past week. I wanted to go to one of these processions to experience it for myself. I took the three interns (Gaby, Sarah, and Grace) and we decided to attend the Silence Procession the night before last. Because things don't start until late at night, I didn't pick up the other gals until 11:00pm. We grabbed a quick supper (yummy shawarmas) and headed downtown. We parked on a side street about 10 minutes from the center and walked to find a place to wait for the float to pass by. We were fortunate enough to find a great spot on a main street and didn't move so that we could get good pictures and stuff. We waited there about and hour and a half. Then all of the sudden the lights of the street turned off and we knew that shortly the procession would go by. I was amazed at the number of people involved. Men, women, children - it was a hard to guess how many were actually involved. Easily 100 or more in total. I had mixed emotions about it all. It was sad, intriguing, idolatrous, inspiring, reminiscent, fascinating, exciting, chilling, moving, empty, overwhelming, train wreck-ish, final. For the most part the crowd was silent. The streets got dark to represent the death of Jesus and when the float arrived carrying "Jesus" I was impacted by the reverence and solemnity of the crowd. Some of those in the procession were dragging chains and crosses and were barefoot, meaning that they, in their personal lives, felt that they needed to suffer to go along with Jesus' suffering. This was the saddest part for me -- to know there is a "life option" yet so many continue to choose shame and death. And that's what impacted me the most. As I took in the whole event happened as I compared it to my own life, I was surprised at the similarities. I was watching a real-life portrayal of my own heart/mind/soul. I compare myself to others. Pride creeps into my heart and my words. Jesus' suffering becomes all about me instead of all about His Glory. I shackle myself again to flashbacks of things I've said or done. I worry. I doubt. I second-guess. I fear. I trudge along burdened and heavy. How many times have I, Rebekah, chosen chains of shame and guilt when Christ offers life. Pure life. Abundant life. Eternal life. Matthew 27: 51-52 "At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split and the tombs broke open. The bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life." Jesus' death brought instant life. And from that moment forward Jesus' business has been all about bringing life to the dead or dying. Pray for me, for those of us working here, that we might be life-reflectors of Christ to those who are dying without him. I love my mom's potato soup. I love it. It's creamy, simple, has yummy rivlets, and is perfecto if you put a dab of butter in the center of the bowl just before consuming it. Delish. I was craving it and decided to make a pot, inviting the two interns, Sarah and Grace, to come and eat lunch with me and Gaby in my apartment last Monday afternoon.
It was a delightful lunch and afternoon, finishing the special day event off with a little apple crisp and a generous scoop of a la mode. Oh yeah, and Venezuelan coffee. Could this day get any better?!?! Nope, it couldn't. Gaby and took Sarah and Grace home and when we came back we were faced with a horrible reality. Gaby's keys were in the door to our apartment......on the inside. My keys wouldn't work because hers were already in the lock on the other side. I knocked on our neighbor's door to see if we could climb over the wall that separates our patios, but the knocking echoed throughout the empty apartment. Now we know we don't have neighbors across the hall. Gaby: We could call the firemen. At the Police Headquarters they said that we can always call 112 in case of an emergency. Me: I don't think this is a real emergency. Gaby: How else are we going to get into the apartment? I prayed out loud that the Lord would make the keys fall out of the lock on the other side. To give Him a hand I gave the door a quick shoulder pounding. I don't think He appreciated the help. The keys didn't budge. I mentioned that maybe we could climb up to our balcony from the street. We live on the second floor and we could maybe climb up the windows that are below and enter that way. Then I remembered the blinds. The "persians" as the Spanish would call them. They are blinds that are on the outside of the the windows that you can raise and put down from inside the window. They protect from heat and from cold, and I had lowered them 30 seconds before taking Sarah and Grace home. This wasn't looking good. I could almost hear the sirens of the bomberos.... I had sent a text to my friend Jorge, who responded with a greeting but was working and so he couldn't chat more. Gaby: Maybe we should ask a neighbor if they have an idea of what we could do. Me (still bummed the keys hadn't fallen out of the other side): Well, go ahead. She walked to the other end of the hall as I listened with my ear to the door for the sound of keys falling to the floor. Nada. I watch Gaby explain to the neighbor what had happened and he put his shoes on and came down to see what had happened. Danny, our new hero, came down with a piece of plastic and worked tirelessly to release the switch. But our door was closed really tight. Danny was sweating. I was apologizing. Gaby kept turning on the light. (the hall lights are on timers). We continued in this cycle for 30 minutes. It was evident that Danny wasn't going to win the match with the door. He knew it. Gaby knew it. We all knew it. We began to discuss other options, and he said something about it being too bad that he couldn't get in through the balcony. I told him he could get up there and that the glass door was open, but that we had the problem of those wonderful persians. Super Danny said that the persians weren't a problem. We went outside, he scampered up the windows and began pulling up on those blessed persians with all his might. They gave way little by little and Gaby went back inside. I cheered on from down below and as soon as Super Danny had enough space, he crawled into the apartment. Moments later he opened the front door and we thanked him over and over and over and over and over and over again. I told Super Danny that at least I was right -- leaving keys the door keep the intruders out. He said his wife always likes to leave the keys in the door as well. But he doesn't like it because of.......well, because of what just happened to us. We all chuckled and we felt a new bond was created. The next day I quickly made up some cookies and Gaby and I took them down to Super Danny and his wife, Ascension. His wife greeted us and had little two-month-old Super Danny Junior in her arms. She couldn't believe that we had given them cookies and said that Danny was happy to help. After the whole ordeal was over, we were glad that it had happened because it gave us an opportunity to meet our neighbors, make a memory with them, and bless them through it as well. And now I know why God just didn't simply make the keys fall out. Cue the music, Garth, and let's everybody sing together nice and loud: "sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers" :) On Wednesday Sarah didn't go to Culture Class because she wasn't feeling well. So it was just Gaby and me. We were going over the Top Ten National Holidays here in Spain and our teacher began to tell us about a holiday that happens around Easter. It's called Romería del Rocío. Here is a short explanation of the holiday found on the internet: More than a million people and close to one hundred different brotherhoods enjoy the wonderful festive atmosphere of this pilgrimage to the village of El Rocío. The celebration combines religion and fiesta. Hundreds of thousands of people come from all over Spain, and even abroad, to make this annual pilgrimage to the Blanca Paloma Shrine in the village of El Rocío, 17 kilometres from the town of Almonte (Huelva province). Over the week before, the different Rocío brotherhoods set out from their bases in Huelva, Seville, andCadiz, amongst other provinces, in order to get to the village of El Rocío by the Saturday, and to enjoy the events which run through to the Monday. The most traditional way to do the pilgrimage is on horseback, by carriage or on foot, dressed in flamenco clothing. By day, the brotherhoods advance in festive spirits, singing flamenco, while by night they camp out and organise parties around the bonfire with singing, dancing, food and drink into the early hours. As they arrive in the village of El Rocío, pilgrims pitch their camps and await the arrival of the remaining brotherhoods. On the Saturday there is a parade where they present themselves with the simpecado (the association's standard) before the statue of the Virgin Mary, while the church bells ring. On the Sunday there are various religious acts and that night nobody sleeps, in anticipation of the weekend's most exciting moment: the “jumping the fence”, when the people of Almonte jump over the fence to bring the statue of the Virgin out of the shrine and parade it around the village on Monday morning. Once the procession is over, the brotherhoods start the return journey with their minds already on next year's pilgrimage. After a quick explanation of the holiday we were then shown a video of the event -- the jumping of the fence -- where men grab hold of the statue in hopes of being healed or of healing a family member by clinging to this statue. The men fight for position to be near and to touch this statue. This happens every year. I wanted to cry. I swallowed a lump in my throat as I watched these people desperately trying touch this statue; I wondered what was going through Gaby's mind as she watched this. I wanted to leave class and find a corner to hide in and cry. After watching this video I decided that I would try to lead the conversation a different direction and so I said to our teacher "I have a question. I'm learning more and more about Catholicism since being here in Spain. Can you explain to me how this holiday fits in with the Catholic belief/devotion to Mary?" It wasn't her answer about all of the various virgins and saints that impacted me. As a matter of fact, I already had a pretty good idea about how it worked. But I wanted to hear what she had to say about Catholicism because I assumed she was a Catholic. It was the certainty with which she spoke that impacted me. She said "Well, Catholics believe -- WE Catholics believe in Mary -- that she was the mother of God. That she was pure and without sin. And because she is the mother of God she is the most direct way to God, right?" And then she went on to talk briefly about the virgins and saints. "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through me." Jesus' words went flying through my mind and soul. My heart went out to my teacher. I swallowed hard again. After class the first thing out of Gaby's mouth as we exited the building was "I just wanted to cry in class today." She said she wanted to show her in the Bible where Jesus said that He was the Way, the Truth, and the Life and that we only get to God through Him. I said I felt the same way and we talked about heaviness of class that day. That for those of us who know the Truth -- how hard it is to watch those who are blind to it. Neither of us felt that it was the appropriate time to contradict our teacher, but we took time to pray for her and ask for wisdom on when to speak and when to be silent. Here is a link to the video we watched. The video is only 4 minutes long, but the first minute or two you get the idea of what happens. So, yeah, this week we had somethin' to cry about. But I guess as long as tears produce prayers and eventually other Christ followers, hand over the tissues. Well, I'm back in Spain. I must admit I feel a little sheepish writing after such a long break. I have my reasons - or excuses - neither of which I feel like explaining. :)
My time in the States was wonderful. I enjoyed great times with family and friends. My nephews and nieces are getting so big and it is a BLAST hanging out with them! It's amazing to me to watch how our conversations evolve as they get older. I am very thankful for my family. But now I am back in Spain, ready to tackle the year. I start studying on February 18th. Culture and spanish. The closer that we get to the 18th the more antsy I get. I haven't been in a long-term class situation for a really long time. And never planned to go back. Don't get me wrong - I excelled in high school and college - but my brain doesn't function like it used to. At any rate, I AM really excited to be able to study Spanish culture from Spanish teachers as well as take my spanish speaking to another level. I have some serious huecos to fill. :) But this will be one of the major focuses of this year. I will be commuting to Granada throughout the week and focusing on Spanish and Culture. I want to be a good student and a good reflection of Christ to those who will be teaching me. I have enjoyed getting back to my apartment and only have a few more things to get before I feel like I am completely settled in. I am enjoying my cozy little apartment and the town where I am serving. I am praying every day that it is Christ who stirs these hearts and draw them closer to Himself. In other news, Gaby arrives on Saturday. I have a harnessed excitement about the whole deal. Sometimes Venezuelans have a hard time getting into Spain. Although she has a visa and a plane ticket, I can't seem to let myself really celebrate until I pick her up from the bus station. I will be grateful for the opportunity to help build this ministry with Gaby in Monachil. I respect her and admire her love for the Lord and the way she has let Him take over her life in the last few years. She will be interning for a whole year. For me this represents a great responsibility and I want to do a good job in supervising her and exposing her to the reality of mission in a foreign land. I pray that we could lay a good foundation for other Venezuelans to come and serve. Ok, I'm out of blogging mode. This will have to do for now. I just wanted to get back into the swing of things. :) Oh, and by the way, my friend Josh taught me how to add the thingy where you can subscribe to this blog instead of having to come back and check on it every so often. Go over there to the right and sign up! Let me know if it works ok! Sing it with me now --- "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire....."
This song always reminds me of Christmas movies, snowy nights, cozy rooms, and candles. Don't ask me why. I also never knew anything about chestnuts or why you would roast them. Do they smell good? Do you eat them? Who REALLY roasts them, anyway? Well, Tomas and Maria do! This couple invited my friends Pablo and Judi for an evening of roasting chestnuts. This evolved to an evening of fun for a group of 13 of us: roasting chestnuts, eating popcorn and apple cake and other cookie-ish delights, washing it all down with a warm cup of coffee. We sang Christmas carols and gave thanks for Tomas and Maria and their hospitality. This was a blessing, because Tomas and Maria are not believers in God. As a matter of fact, the majority of our group were Christians -- young people from the USA who are here on a mission for 6 months. So it was kind of a big deal that we were able to sing songs about Christ's birth and then pray for them before we left. For those of you who aren't familiar with the chestnut -- it is soft and more delicious when it is hot. I, personally, found the first few to be scrumptious but then they kind of became bland. But it was fun to sit and peel a hot chestnut and think about Christmas anyway. It was a delightful evening and now I will always have a real-life scenario in mind when I hear that song. I went to a funeral on Sunday. A lady I met through a mutual friend lost her grandmother and so I went to the viewing, the funeral, and the burial. Or the slottal -- that's what I am going to call it.
I have now attended funerals in 3 different countries. The United States, Venezuela, and Spain. I found that these experiences are unique to each culture, leaving me with many questions - not only about foreign customs, but our own customs in the USA. Here is a short description of what I have experienced in each country. These are general experiences - possible unique to that particular family, etc. I am not implying that all deaths are handled the same way. (the Spain description will be what I experienced on Sunday). United States: Someone dies on a Wednesday. We can probably expect the calling hours to be Friday night and Saturday morning, with the funeral immediately following. We know that the body has been embalmed or cremated. At the calling hours people form a line and make their way to the coffin, expressing sympathy. The funeral usually consists of the reading of the obituary, a poem, a prayer, memories of the loved one, a special song, a word of consolation from the minister. After that the people get in their cars and follow the hearse, with the family members in the first cars and the guests after that. Everyone turns on their headlights and they move slowly through town to the cemetery, upon which there is another short time of reflection and remembrance. Usually there is a dinner for family and close friends afterwards, whether it be at a local church or at a home. This whole process is generally quiet, orderly, and reflective. Venezuela: Someone dies on a Wednesday. Wednesday night there are calling hours. Thursday morning or afternoon is the funeral and burial. The body isn't embalmed and sometimes it is cremated. The funeral consists of people standing around the coffin while the minister says a few words and prays. At the cemetery everyone is crowded around the hole and once the workers lower the coffin down, people throw their flowers in or some dirt on top. This whole process is generally quick and unorganized. Spain: Miss Irene died on Saturday morning. On Sunday the very catholic cemetery had given the family the 3pm-4pm time slot for the visiting hours and the funeral service. When I arrived at the cemetery with my friends Pablo & Judi, we found the family mingling around, passing by the window with the coffin in it. I kind of felt like I was at an aquarium. Miss Irene was lying there, all zipped up to her chin under a white material. (I really wanted to snap a photo but my phone makes a really loud sound when it takes a picture.) Her feet were closest to the window and there where electric candles on either side of her head. At some point we headed over to the chapel, where the priest was waiting. We all sat down and then the service began. The priest rambled out a bunch of prayers and scripture. We stood up and sat down and stood up and sat down and stood up and sat down, etc. He took communion and sprinkled water on Miss Irene and did all sorts of other catholic things. When it was over they loaded her into this fancy cart thing and we all followed on foot until we arrived at Miss Irene's slot. Hence, the slottal. Below is photo of the slottal:The cemetery workers used a lift to reach the row and shoved the coffin into the slot. We stood and watched as he closed and sealed the opening and then carved her initials and date of death over the freshly covered plaque. He came back down and everyone hugged each other and left. Pablo and Judi and I walked around the cemetery and took in the sight of thousands of people who where slottalled there. We wondered how many of them, if any, were followers of Jesus. It was overwhelming. Overall this whole process was a somber, hopeless, and cold. I have a Venezuelan friend who thinks we in the USA worship our dead -- referring to the way we keep a body for several days and all the attention we put into that body and drag out all of the crying and "torture". I could go on and on about perspectives and culture and reasons and religion. But let me just ask a few questions for you to ponder on and invite anyone to feel free to respond with insight, opinion, memories, etc. How do you want your post-death process to go? Why? What are your first impressions of what you read about my Venezuelan and Spanish funeral experiences? What do you think is a good way to handle the post-death process as a Christian? Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day.
Maybe some of you wonder what I will do here in Spain on this holiday unique to the United States of America. Maybe some of you have NEVER wondered this and find yourself slightly embarrassed that it has never crossed your mind what I or other workers do overseas on holidays. Don't feel bad. I haven't thought about it either until I sat down to write something in my blog for this week and realized that tomorrow is the big day. Tomorrow I will do my normal routine: drink coffee, read, study, walk, run errands, eat whatever is already in the refrigerator, and maybe skype with my family. I will probably clean my apartment and put away my clothes if they are dry from washing them today. That's what my thanksgiving activities will include. Of course, all of that besides giving thanks. :) Every Thanksgiving seems to get further and further away from why we celebrated it in the first place. We are pretty concerned with food preparations, Black Friday deals, and football. Below I have included a link to George Washington's thanksgiving address in 1789. It is beautiful and somewhat shocking in comparison to what we've done to Thanksgiving today. George Washington's Thanksgiving Proclamation I could go on and on about freedom and religion and all of that. But I'll spare you my thoughts and just say this: I am super thankful for freedom to worship. And I am thankful that I serve a God who looks at the heart which allows me that freedom no matter where I am in the world. I want to be faithful in blogging every week - whether it's something Christ has done here, something I've been pondering, or just a a plain story about my week. This week's post falls under the latter. :)
I moved this week. I moved to a new apartment. I have new keys. When I leave my apartment I try to grab the doorknob to close it but my hand comes up empty because it's not where I am used to it being. The doorknob here is in the middle of the door. And the door to the front of my apartment building slams if you don't close it yourself. I wonder how many more times I will let it slam before I get it? I have a new phone number. I have a new router with a new password. I opened up a new bank account here. I have a new debit card with a new pin number. I have a new view out my window. New places to walk. New people to meet. Absolutely everything here is new. New for me, at least. I met Angela, who owns the fruit store in town. I met Julian, who owns the Hardware store. I met Laura, a lady who has a little stand of candy and snacks. She and her husband have been married for 52 years...she was born and raised in this town. Emilio is the guy who opened my bank account and has been super helpful in getting everything set up online. These are the names of the new people in my life. Sometimes I like new. Sometimes I don't. When I was making all of those trips back and forth to the car I didn't like new. When I skyped with my parents for the first time over my new internet connection I liked new. When I couldn't have my morning coffee because I didn't yet have groceries in my new apartment I didn't like new. But when I woke up yesterday and was sitting on my newly covered couch sipping coffee, thanking God for providing everything - I liked new. When I got blocked out of my bank account online because I kept messing up the password I didn't like new. But when I take my daily walk around the town and pray for God to reveal Himself to these people -- I like new. I would imagine most people can't decide if they like new or not. 2 Corinthians 3:18: And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit. I guess it's better to like new than not like new...since newness is the business of Christ. Maybe I should keep pondering these things over supper in a new restaurant. Maybe I can try something new, meet someone new, experience something new. I'm hungry.....that's nothing new. |
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