here


Welcome to the WWW home of...

 

Home Leona's Journal Missions Teaching Seminars Bible Studies Devotions Writings Books Published Memories Recipes Contact Me

.Memorable Moments

For lots more pictures and brief updates, visit my FACEBOOK page

God isn't confined to the inside of church walls.  He loves us so much that He really never takes His eyes off of us.
As I go through my days with the Lord, He constantly manages the events of my day in various ways.  Sometimes
He injects wonder, humor, and sometimes challenges into what otherwise might be what we would think
of as "ordinary" days.  I've recorded some of those extra-ordinary moments or days (or longer) for encouragement,
for wonder, for learning, or just for your enjoyment.  I know that God is working in your life, too, and you have
your own collection of moments from the Lord.  I hope you are blessed by these memories.

You can email me at leona (at)  leonakarni.com

[click on a title to read that memory]

Morning Coffee in Las Vegas:  Desert mornings are full of life

     Las Vegas lies in an arid basin surrounded by dry mountains.  The Spring Mountain range runs Northwest and Southeast along the side of the city to the California border.  Within the recesses of the rocks are numerous springs, thus the name.  The area around the patio where I have my morning coffee with the Lord is rocky and dusty with typical desert vegetation and wildlife.  On these early pre-dawn mornings in July, it has been in the low 80’s with a gentle breeze, making it very pleasant to drink hot coffee, share my heart with my true love, and watch the sunrise.

     This morning a brown bird, larger than a sparrow with a longer beak and a dark mustard colored breast, sat near me perched on the fence.  “Good morning,” I said quietly, expecting him to take off at the sound of my voice.  Instead he bobbed his head and stared at me.  “Good morning,” I repeated.  At this he jumped down closer to me; I actually thought he was going to come over to my chair!  Instead he snatched up a worm with his beak and flew away.  That was obviously his interest!  A family (I assumed they were) of quail made their appearance as the gray dawn began its transition to a rose hue.  The quails were short and fat but they moved gracefully about in search of insects for breakfast.

     The Roadrunners are my favorite to watch; they not only greet the morning, but they continue to appear off and on throughout the day.  They are long legged and are in the cuckoo family of birds.  Roadrunners are about 22 inches long and weigh less than a pound. They have a busy crest, long thick dark bills, dark tails, heads, and backs, with pale necks and bellies.  Each of their feet has four toes, two face forward and two face backward.  Roadrunners walk rapidly, and can run up to 20 miles per hour.  My love for this strange creature began many years ago.  My daughter Sara, who was then 16 years old, bought me a necklace that had a silver charm of a Roadrunner.  I loved the necklace and wore it almost constantly, until it was lost (very sad).  I have since tried to find another like it to no avail.  Instead, when opportunity allows, I watch the real thing (and think of her).

     The Jack Rabbit is another character I get to observe on these early mornings.  On this morning I have only spotted two. They were originally called Jackass Rabbits (because of their long ears), but their name was shortened to Jack Rabbit.  They are about two feet tall and weigh about 3 pounds.  I watched them as they enjoyed a breakfast of grass, plants, sagebrush and cacti.  They are so funny when their ears stand at attention because they have heard something.  Then, they either dart away, or decide that whatever the sound was, it was not threatening and continue to munch on the morning’s selection of desert cacti.

     On some mornings coyotes make their way down from the mountains, and wander within my view in search of prey!  A few years ago, when there had been a severe drought, I would see several on any given morning.  A few of them were astonishingly big—more the size of wolves!  On this morning in July, there are no coyotes.

     Desert mornings are full of life, and the color is spectacular as the sun appears in various shades of red, and or purple before turning gold.  The dark mountains act as a dramatic backdrop for this glorious show.  The performance each morning is different: always incredibly beautiful, but never exactly the same. With the full appearance of the sun, the show ends, and my daily agenda (whatever it may be) begins—the splendor of this morning will give way to the business of the day…until tomorrow when the Lord and I will again meet for coffee.

[top]

___________________________________________________________________________

Traveling with Dee:  Life has never been simple

     “I have some bad news,” Dee announced as she seated herself at the table.  We sitting were in the Yellow Rose restaurant in Iquitos (Peru) owned and operated by a Texan who had married a Peruvian woman and settled there.  “Can it wait until we have eaten, and return to the hotel?” I asked.  Reluctantly, Dee agreed that it could, and my attention turned to ordering lunch.

     There were eight in our group; we had come to Iquitos to do a conference at Calvary Chapel.  Each afternoon we would dine together in one of two restaurants, chosen by Albert, our host.  The food at the Yellow Rose was pretty good, and reasonably priced (an important factor).  The most popular selection among our group was the alligator nuggets: bits of alligator were dipped in batter then deep fried, and served with French fries—umm good!

     Half way through lunch, Dee could no longer contain her “bad news” and informed me that, although in fact, her flight to the states was on Thursday (as she had told me), it departed at 12:30am, which meant check-in was around 9pm on Wednesday evening.  We were not scheduled to leave Iquitos until 6pm Wednesday evening!  The flight to Lima was one and a half hours; so in a perfect world, we would arrive at the airport at 8pm. There would not be enough time to travel by taxi to my apartment to pick up Dee’s other suitcase, and then taxi back to the airport.  Needless to say, at this point, the alligator nuggets were not setting well on my stomach!

     Life has never been simple for me: plans always seem to change when I least expect it, so my active little mind attacked the problem at hand.  We need to get the suitcase from my apartment to the airport, so Dee can check-in when we arrive in Lima, I reasoned.  Then I remembered, I had a stack of things piled in my bedroom that Dee was going to carry back to the states for me.  Oh well, I need to forget about that happening. Dee’s other suitcase (she had two check-in and one carry-on) was with Jasmine.  I could ask her to take it to my neighbor Denise (second floor), and ask my other neighbor Melinda (across the hall) to take the suitcase from my apartment to Denise, also.  Then I will ask someone from the Bible College to bring the suitcases to the airport.  With all that worked out in my head, I emailed Denise and Melinda.

     In the meantime, Dee was trying to get the airline to change our departure to an earlier flight.  We had the least expensive tickets, which meant NO CHANGES POSSIBLE so, we were at the mercy of the airlines (and airlines are not known for their mercy).

     With all of that more or less settled we finished the conference, visited the church, and went up the Amazon to a village where Albert had a children’s program.  Upon our return Dee learned that the airlines was, in fact, merciful and had booked us on and earlier flight. We would now arrive in Lima at 4:30pm (in a perfect world).  When I returned to the hotel, I was able to quickly check emails; there were others waiting to use the internet, so I had to be quick.  There was an email from Denise, “There were two suitcases in the lobby the other morning, when we went to work. At the time I had not read your email.  When we came home they were gone,” she wrote.  I, of course, was not concerned because our plans had changed and Dee’s suitcase had not been delivered to my apartment.  Since there were others waiting for the internet, I did not respond to Denise’s email.

     The next time I checked emails, Denise wrote that the two suitcases had mysteriously reappeared and that she had taken them up to her apartment! Unknown to me, the story in Lima unfolded in this manner.  The two suitcases that Denise now had in her apartment belonged to the mother-in-law of the apartment owner, she was going to travel to Mexico.  At around the same time Denise was taking the suitcases to her apartment, Melinda returned home from the grocery store with a boy who was carrying some of the bags for her.  Since they would only be going up to the third floor to deliver the bags, and then she would be coming back down, Melinda did not lock the front door or the outside gate (a very big no, no). While she and the boy were unpacking the groceries, the owner came out into the lobby to discover that his mother-in-law’s suitcases were gone!!!!! He noticed immediately that the doors were not locked.

     Meantime, on the third floor, Melinda hears this “wailing”.  Of course, she had no idea that it was the mother-in-law who thought her suitcases have been stolen. The wailing became accompanied by someone pounding on Melinda’s door.  It was the owner, and he was irate that she left the doors unlocked, and he shouted at her in Spanish (which Melinda did not understand)! Finally, after an eternity of verbal abuse, but understood emotionally, Melinda realizes he is yelling about suitcases.  Throughout all this, the wailing from the first floor continues and she calls Denise. Of course, we in Iquitos, had no idea of the drama being played out in Lima over Dee’s suitcases!!!

     The next bombshell Dee dropped was after we were in flight to Lima.  Bear in mind, this is mid-air and there is not a thing I can do about this latest piece of information!  “Maybe when we are at the airport, I can get my seat assignment to Texas,” Dee stated.  I just stared at her.  This can not be what I am thinking it is!  “Didn’t you reconfirm your flight?” I asked, fearing her answer.  “I didn’t know I had to,” she replied.  My thoughts were gripped with panic!!! Most international flights need to be reconfirmed within seventy two hours or they cancel your reservation!!!! As calmly as I was able to manage, I explained this to Dee.

     “Well, I didn’t know that, how would I know that?” she asked defensively.  “You said you have traveled internationally before,” I responded through clenched teeth, while my very active imagination was factoring in this new information.  Worst case scenario she doesn’t fly out tonight.  I hope this is not a busy time for flights to the states.  If all flights are full, I have no idea when they will put her on another plane. Well, maybe she can still get a seat tonight.  For the rest of the flight, I tried to take my mind off this turn of events, to no avail!

     Jasmine met us at the airport; we arrived at 5pm instead of 4:30 (not a perfect world).  I explained the situation to her, and she tried to get Dee checked in for the flight, but the airline Dee was flying with didn’t have a representative available for several hours.  Jasmine drove us to my apartment.  She still had Dee’s other suitcase, so she went home to pick it up and bring it to us.  In the mean time, I spotted a mutual friend (a strong young male) who was visiting Melinda.  I asked him to carry our suitcases up, and carry down Dee’s large suitcase that was in my apartment.  Jasmine and I both tried to contact the airlines, but they did not answer.

     At this point, the pressure is building, time is running out, and I fear Dee will not be able to get on the flight leaving that night. Calm down, I told myself, but myself would not listen!!!!!  When Jasmine arrived back with Dee’s other suitcase, I grabbed the keys (lying on a table where I always keep my door keys), and ran down stairs.  The key would not work in the lobby door!  Wrong keys!  I ran back upstairs, grabbed the other set of keys (without looking) and ran back down to open the door.

     This key did not work either!!!!!!!  Now I am in a panic and unable to think straight. Jasmine is on the street with the suitcase waiting at the locked gate, and my keys aren’t working!!!!! At this exact panicked moment, the owner appears and I accuse him of changing the lock while I was gone.  “No, the lock has not been changed,” he assures me as he holds up his key,  “My key works,” he concluded. “Well my key doesn’t work; the lock has been changed!”  I cry out in exasperation!  Finally, he opens the door, and someone (I cannot remember who) carries Dee’s suitcase upstairs, so she can empty out the Arts and Craft supplies, and pack the things she is carrying for me.

     While Dee was busy with that, Jasmine and I got online to try to confirm Dee’s flight.  Our worst fear was realized, Dee’s reservation to Texas had been cancelled, the reservation from Houston to Las Vegas was still on, but she had no reservation from Lima to Houston!!!!

     Dee and I, along with her suitcases, piled into a taxi and headed for the airport, a trip that usually took a half an hour.  But on this night, it took us an hour.  You can imagine the tension as the minutes ticked away.

     Once at the airport, I left Dee in line for check-in and went to find an airline representative—to no avail.  When I returned to Dee at the check-in counter, there were agents setting up the counter for the flight.  I tried to talk to one representative; she was not very helpful and just instructed me to wait in line.  While still standing in line, I spotted the wheel chairs (Dee has a handicap sticker), so I arranged for Dee to be wheel-chair assisted; this put her in the front of the line, and the first to be checked in.  There was a seat available, and since she was in a wheel chair she was given an aisle seat (which is what she wanted).  I accompanied her through the check-in to the elevator, then entrusted her (and her carry-on suitcase) to the airport wheel-chair representative!!!!

     Thank God, the comedy of errors had ended!  I returned home by taxi, and collapsed into bed!

[top]

___________________________________________________________________________

Mornings in Jamundi:  The serenade of the bird chorale

     Usually it is still dark when I have my coffee with the Lord.  I set up my coffee-maker the night before so that by the time I brush my teeth and wash my face my coffee is done.  The rich aroma of the Columbian brew wafts through the house beckoning me.  Methodically, I pour a cup and carry it upstairs to my room where I share coffee with the Lord.  By the time I finish my reading, mediation, and intimate discussion, the darkness of night is reluctantly being subdued by the rising sun, and I am greeted by the birds’ choir.

     A yellow-breasted winged wonder flies past my window and perches within view.  His wing span is brown, and he has a black head with a white stripe running along the side.  Suddenly, his attention is diverted, and he departs as quickly as he arrived.  However, there are so many more in flight to enjoy—gracefully playing with each other, and perched picking at unseen nutrients.  Many pause from their activities, as if they intend to be admired by me.  To my utter delight, there is a variety of colors and sizes among their ranks.  This morning I notice a beautiful fire-engine red-bodied, black-headed visitor, and again today, I saw the yellow birds.  Among them there were some with an orange head; I assumed they were the males: as the males are usually the most beautiful in the animal kingdom.

     While enjoying the serenade of the bird choral, I hear an occasional mooing of unseen cows, and I can see the horses exercising on the other side of the river.  Nearby I notice a yellow bird perched next to a red bird, and I wonder if the birds’ songs are universally understood by all avian acrobats.  By 6:30 the activity begins to slow down.  The early bird has caught the worm, and returned to nest.  A horse drawn cart arrives, and the driver, a strong young man, begins to cut the tall grasses on the rivers edge.  It is time for me to turn my attention to the day stretching before me.  Reluctantly I rise, bidding goodbye to this magnificent morning comforted by the reality that there will be many more throughout this coming year.

[top]

___________________________________________________________________________

 Visa Venture: The over-zealous clerk and the cattle car

     The seemingly endless visa venture began on January 30, 2008.  I drove up from Vegas to Long Beach.  Rita, one of my dearest and oldest friends, lives in Long Beach, and she agreed to take me into the Peruvian Consul in Los Angles.  This was to be a simple procedure, taking one month.  In theory, the paperwork would be completed before I left for Peru (March 30), and I would get the necessary residence stamp in my passport in Los Angles prior to that departure.

     Most countries require a residence visa for anyone who will be working in their country. Since I am teaching at the Bible College, and at churches, I need to have a resident visa.  Kind of like the Green Card the USA issues to foreign residents.

     My efforts to obtain this visa were thwarted from the onset!  On the morning of January 30th, on the way to the Consul, I had to stop at a Kinkos to make an “exact copy” of my passport (to be presented to the Consul in LA).  The clerk at Kinkos denied my request stating that it was illegal to make exact copies of passports, and therefore, he could not do it.  After much discussion, he agreed that I could break the law myself and make the copies.

     With much difficulty, I figured out how to work the very modern copy machine and was retrieving my copies when a shrieking voice broke my concentration, “Are you making copies of your passport?” she demanded, then continued to shout, “You are breaking a Federal Law (words emphasized).  You can’t do that.  You are breaking the law!”

     Well, far be it for me to break a law, but the Consul wanted an exact copy, and it was my passport.  On impulse and in fear that she would snatch my precious copies, I grabbed them and ran from the store.  Rita was waiting in the car, and I encouraged her to get moving fast before the over-zealous clerk came after me, or worse yet called the Federal Police!

     By the time we pulled into the parking lot in LA, I had calmed down enough to begin to put the papers in order. It was then that I realized I had left my passport in the copy machine at Kinkos!  I had been so afraid of losing the copies, I had left the original!!!! (There must be a spiritual lesson in there).

     I called Kinkos, yes they had found the passport and yes, they would hold it for me, and no, they had not called the police!).  The process that morning did not require the original passport, so after a two hour wait, I was able to complete the forms, and pay a $15 fee.  Of course, the next stop was Kinkos to pick up my passport; then on to FedEx to overnight the forms to Peru.

     As I was organizing the forms, and checking the list of what was needed to be sent, I realized that I had missed one of the instructions on the list. It required another trip into LA to the consul!!!  Rita was gracious and took me in again the following morning.  Then we went to FedEx and I sent off the forms ($70). In theory, the paperwork would be completed in Peru, and I would make one more trip into LA for a stamp in my passport, which would enable me to get the necessary resident visa. In reality, the paperwork was not completed, so when I arrived in Peru I would need to make a trip to Chili for the stamp, but everything would be okay, it was just a little change in plans.

     Calvary Chapel Bible College, Lima, Peru, has staff that take care of all the paperwork and office visits in regard to visas for the new missionaries. I would check with Mesod (the Calvary staff) on a regular basis, and on a regular basis he would assure me that my paperwork would be completed soon.  At first I was not concerned.  I knew I would need to make a trip to Chili, and since I had just arrived in Peru, I was in no hurry to take an 18 hour bus trip to another country. Upon arrival in Peru I had received a 90 day visa, and I was certain that all the paperwork would be completed within three months (one would think).

     90 days came--I had to pay $30 to extend my visa because the paperwork was not complete--in theory it would be soon.

     In the mean time, I decided it would be a good time to renew my passport, since it expired in December.  The resident visa for Peru is renewed annually, that would mean I would need to complete more paperwork when I got my new passport if I waited until December.  The USA Embassy is about s 30 to 45 minute drive from where I live. This trip had to be made by taxi, because by bus, I would pass through some very dangerous neighborhoods, and I was instructed that it was not wise for me to do that.  So, I took a $10 round trip taxi to the Embassy, stopping first to get a passport picture ($8), then returning in three weeks to pick up a new passport ($10 taxi).  This part of the venture went smoothly. But now there was a need to change my passport number on the paperwork the Peruvian government offices were processing.

     On the morning of June 27 (Friday) after staff devotions, Mesod informed me that I needed to give him 90 solis (Peruvian money) and $10 US dollars for the “paperwork” and that on Wednesday I would be traveling to Chili with three other staff members (two young women and one man).  I will not go into detail about how inconvenient this particular date was for me, suffice it to say, I had no choice!

     The ministry here has had a lot of experience with the various bus companies in Peru, and so we were to be traveling on the best available.  I insisted on going first class because of my health issues resulting from 7 car accidents (I was only the driver twice and both times I was stopped at a red light and rear ended. The other 5 times I was a passenger; once I was hit by two buses!).  In any case, the bus we were traveling was a double-decker.  The bottom part of the bus is divided into thirds, the front third is for the two drivers. It has their seats and a sleeping compartment. The center of the bottom is the port of entry, there is a bathroom directly in front as you enter, steps leading to the second deck are to the right, and to the left there is a closed door which leads to the “first class seats” (there are only 12).  In the rear of the first level is the luggage department.

     Since so many of you were praying for me and this trip, and I was traveling in relative comfort, the trip to Chili was good.  I arrived a little tired but not in any pain. I picked up my bag at luggage, met with the other three and started the procedure of entering Chili.

     This involved a visit to the Peruvian Customs office located in the bus station, they checked our passports, collected a minimal fee (can’t remember the amount) and entrusted us into the care of our taxi (term used loosely) driver.  We then rode together in an ancient gas-guzzling contraption that I think was an old Ford to the next Peruvian Customs and Immigration. Here we stood in a long line waiting to give our passports to a clerk to be stamped, went through the X-ray machine and returned to the taxi.

     After an hour drive, we arrived at the first Chili Immigration line, stamp, X-ray, in the taxi again for about 20 minutes, another line, stamp, in taxi for about 20 minutes then we were dropped at a bus station in Arica, Chili. From there we took a taxi, (fees shared by each) to the Peruvian Consul, where we completed more forms! And low and behold, they did not have my new passport number! This threw a scare in me, but after some effort and the help of the computer, all was well.  But, alas, one of our group did not have pictures! So, taxied all together for him to take pictures!

     Our paperwork was completed but we needed to return at 4PM to actually get our stamps. It was early afternoon, we needed to rent rooms, and get something to eat. I still had my suitcase with me, so the 20 minute walk and half hour wait in the sun was not a welcome distraction. Finally we met up with the pastor of Calvary Chapel Arica and were taken to a cheap hotel ($15). After a quick shower we all went to eat, returned to the Consul and picked up our passports. This one month process had ended up taking me 7 months and still was not over.

     On Friday we taxied the same route and process in reverse back to Peru. At the ticket counter I was told there were no more first class seats available. I had to return via the “cattle car” upstairs. It would take another page to describe this roller coaster ride through the desert-mountains of Peru.  Suffice it to say that it was traumatic!  When I arrived in Lima, I could barely walk and I have been dealing with neck and back pain since!  But, the ordeal was not yet over.

     On Monday, the four of us had to have special pictures taken, front and side views. Then visit the Evangelical Fellowship of Peru (umbrella organization for missionaries) pay fees, ($290 solis and $35) be finger printed and fill out more forms. Tuesday we went to Interpol, more forms, fingerprints (all and palms) dental record taken from our open mouths by a clerk, and more fees (I don’t remember how much, not to mention the taxi fares to these offices).  Finally on Friday, we taxied to the Peruvian office that, in fact, issues the long-awaited resident card called a “carnet”.  More finger prints, forms, photos, and at last, I received my resident card!!!!

     This was accomplished in 7 months, endless taxi trips, a trip to Chili and at about the cost of $400.

[top]

___________________________________________________________________________

August Bike Ride:  The gift of riding on country roads!

     Magnificently majestic, the Farallones Mountains stand as a silent sentry guarding the valley in which Jamundi lies. In Columbia, the Andes is split into three ranges.  The Farallones are part of the Andes Cordillera Occidental range, and I am awestruck by their beauty.  The country roads running through this valley pass by the entrance to the community where I live, and continue to the town of Jamundi (in one direction), and the LA14 (in the opposite direction). As I travel on my bike towards LA14 to shop, I face the Farallones Mountains with cow pastures and horse stables on either side of the road.  The perfect environment for bike riding!

     As a child I loved riding my bike. It presented me with the option of leaving my neighborhood to explore other parts of the city.  It represented freedom!  I can still feel the wind blowing through my hair as I sped through the small side streets, racing toward parts unknown.  I was able to fix and change tires, and chains with little effort, that skill has been lost with time! I don’t remember being the least shaky as I tested the limits of my bike’s speed.  I rode with the confidence that I was in total control!

     Not so these days!  I would not know how to fix a flat tire or change a chain without assistance (and instruction!).  And, although I love the country roads, I am shaky and tend to jerk the handlebars when riding!  I have fallen off the bike twice, and got my pant leg caught in the chain once.  I have only been riding for 12 days, not a good record! When I got my pant leg caught in the chain, I could not move. I had to stand waiting for someone to appear, and hope that they would help me.  To my delight a man on horseback was the first to arrive (no joke).  I called up to him “Tu puedas ayudarme¿” (are you able to help me?). Gallantly, he dismounted and worked for quite some time to release me from the bondage of the chain!  Finally, I have been rescued by a man on horseback!

     Today was the second time I fell.  The first time was a minor topple when I rode over a tree root (big one) and was knocked off balance.  Today, I arrived at the front of my house, carrying groceries in the basket and tied on the back.  I intended to get off the bike and walk it up the curb.  I have no idea what happened, but I found myself, legs entangled in the bike, sitting on the curb!  I am a little sore from that, but praise the Lord, nothing was broken (groceries or bones!).

     One day I got carried away, and bought a ton of stuff (well not quite), which I loaded on the front and back of the bike.  I was unable to balance the burden, so I walked back (45 minutes in the hot sun) pushing the bike.  I had to guide it with one arm stretched over the handle bars. That turned out to be more challenging than riding the bike!

     However, I continue to be grateful for the opportunity to ride on country roads, to soak up the beauty of rural Columbia.  What a beautiful gift the lover of my soul has given me.  I pray I never lose the joy and appreciation of this gift.  It would be so sad, if riding my bike to the store became reduced to a mundane task.

[top]

___________________________________________________________________________

The Not So Handy Handymen (I):  Anyone know a good plumber?

     I never tire of basking in the beauty of the Andes.  Their furrowed brows silhouetted against the Colombian sky beg one’s imagination to soar to their heights—a joy I frequently indulge in. I can easily imagine the mountain peaks to be the humps of a herd of camels moving across the horizon for distant lands, or that hidden in the folds of those majestic summits, there are wild horses running free, drinking from clear cool mountain creeks.  The natural beauty of the Andean valley, where I now live, arouses my senses and lifts me outside of the mundane matters I must tend to. ,Matters such as: flawed plumbing and chasms in the roof.  These two matters have occupied a great deal of my time!

     Since I moved into this lovely house the kitchen sink has either leaked, or refused to drain, or both!  The owner sent two “handymen” over to take care of the plumbing and roof problems.  They arrived an hour late, on bikes, without any tools.  When I asked how they intended to fix the roof without a ladder, they had to consider and discuss that.  Finally, after about fifteen minutes of scratching their heads and muttering various possibilities, it was decided that they needed to go borrow one. So, Carlos left in search of a ladder, while Diego checked out the sink.

     When Carlos returned, he and Diego (who seemed quite happy to leave the sink) mixed cement and patched (term used very loosely) a few spots on the roof, leaving many more untouched!  The sink, they decided, would need to wait until tomorrow because, you guessed it, they did not have the tools!  The following day they arrived two hours late (for real) with a long piece of wire (their tool) and went to work on the sink. To my utter amazement they unclogged it.  Happy with their success they left.

     The following day, the sink upstairs started leaking!  Diego promised he would be here by 9am.  I knew that wasn’t going to happen, but I didn’t expect him to be a day and an hour late! This time he and Carlos borrowed my very nice garden hose to push down the sewer in an attempt to unplug the sink!  That didn’t work, so some chemical was poured down the pipes, which yielded a slight improvement.  In the meantime, the shower stopped draining! It was contagious!!!!

     With no resolution in sight, but big happy smiles on their faces, Diego and Carlos left, promising to return the next day.  Five days have passed, and there has been no sign of them!  Of course, the owner keeps promising tomorrow—tomorrow, as you know, never comes!

     During their five days of absence, my doorbell rang, and a man whom I had never seen before, holding a pot in his hands, explained to me that he was working on the house up the street and could he please put his lunch in my refrigerator!  This was on Friday, and I always have a special meal with guests on Friday evenings (Eriv Shabbat).  What the heck.  I had room for it in the fridge, so I said yes. At lunch time, he reappeared to pick it up, and asked if I had a microwave.  He explained that he did not like to eat his lunch cold (understandable) so, I allowed him to heat it up on my stove.

     Over dinner that evening, I explained to Pastor Luis that I was having a problem with my husband (the Lord) because I had asked him for a month to fix the plumbing, and it still was not done! I was, however, able to cook and wash the dishes, so all was not lost!

     The next day I walked up the street to see the house Fabio (the man with the pot) and his partner were working on. They were putting in a drop ceiling (something I had considered might solve my roof problem) so; I asked them to come give me an estimate. Later that day they came to take measurements, and while they were there, I asked them if they knew a good plumber (by now the sewer gases were quite offensive!).  Low and behold, Fabio said that he was also a plumber!!!  He took a look at my plumbing problems and began muttering about the poor workmanship that had been done. He then proceeded to unplug the shower drain (for which I am extremely grateful) and with that accomplishment turned his attention to my bathroom sink.  To make a long story short, he took it all apart, and basically it is still apart on the bathroom floor! But my shower works!

     Fabio and I talked as he worked.  He said that he read his Bible everyday and that in the past he had gone to church.  I had a neat time of sharing with him.  It turned out that his partner, Marcos, is a Christian!  Anyway, I told Fabio that I considered the Lord to be my husband, but that last evening I had shared with the pastor that I was having problems with my husband over this plumbing! Fabio laughed and said, well that was why he had come to my house!

     After Fabio and Marcus left Diego arrived (five days late is a bit much) and I did share that thought with him!!!!  I told him that I was going to be using someone else; he left with a downcast face.

     As of this writing, my kitchen sink still leaks but it is draining, howbeit very slowly.  The shower is working, but the bathroom sink is still apart on the floor, waiting in the hope that Fabio will return and put it back together again! I will save the story about the roof for another time, that is also ongoing, and I fear that both of these issues may continue for the duration of my time here!

     Walking the back road home today, I passed an open gate and peeked in to steal a look at the grand hacienda.  I imagined, as I continued my walk that the owners of such a splendid home would surely have a handy “handyman” on the premises, and I easily imagined that they would lend him to me.

     (to be continued) 

[top]

___________________________________________________________________________

The Not So Handy Handymen (II):  Black snow - the uninvited guest

     Fields of tall tropical grass with thick solid stems resembling bamboo stalks dot the landscape on the road from Jamundi to Cali. These are the sugarcane fields of the Cauca River Valley. Colombia’s sugarcane fields cover 190,000 hectares (one hectare=100 meters squared), and they produce 2,300,000 tons of sugar (the largest annual yield in the world), a million of which is exported. Sugarcane is a major industry in Colombia, employing 30,000 workers. The majority of these fields are found in the Cauca River Valley.  This is the valley where Jamundi (and Cali) are located—the valley in which I live.

     Although I use sugar daily, I never thought much about it as a crop or how it is processed, like so many things in daily life sugar was used without thought and accepted at face value.  That has changed considerably since I have been living in the midst of the industry and have been directly affected by these surrounding fields.  When I am looking out the bus window on the ride into Cali, I am now aware that the sugar making process begins with the photosynthesizing of the leaves and that a sweet juice is stored in the bamboo like stalks of the plants that dominate my view.

     Had it been only my view on this bus ride that the sugarcane fields dominated, I may never have had more than a passing interest.  As incredible as this may seem, these fields, and the harvesting of the sugarcane, worked their way into my daily life and began to dominate my every moment—even during the night when I was asleep!!!

     The climate in this valley area allows for the continuous harvesting of sugarcane and thus the continuous pre-harvest and post-harvest burning of the fields.  The fields are rotated in such a way that there are always new plants being set and mature crops being harvested.  The post-harvest burning of the fields is for the purpose of “cleaning the field” to facilitate plowing.  The mulch left by harvested crops is thick and deep in the soil.  Small and medium-sized tractors are not effective in plowing, and large tractors are too expensive.  So they burn the fields to clean them of the mulch.  Pre-harvest burning is done because of the excess “trash” on the stalks.  The stalks grow as high as four meters and have 25-40 leaves per plant.  Only 5-8 of these leaves are photosynthesizing leaves (about 20%).  Thus, the remaining 80% are considered trash.  It would be too labor intensive to separate these leaves and clean the plants by hand, thus the pre-harvest burning of the fields.  In day-to-day life in the Cauca River Valley, this translates into daily burning of the sugarcane fields.

     The wind carries the ash from the fields across the valley and deposits it indiscriminately throughout.  My neighborhood, and indeed my house, is no exception.  On most days, it is a fine ash and a grit that presents itself as an uninvited guest in my home.  But, there have been times when the “ash fall” was very heavy and settled on the streets and lawns in the same way that snow would. In fact, my neighbors refer to the ash as “black snow”.  As annoying as sweeping the sidewalks multiple times in a day is when the “black snow” is dense and the flakes are large, it is not as burdensome as clearing my house of the ash. This is another one of the challenges life in Jamundi has presented me with.

     The houses in this community are built to accommodate the warm climate.  For example, there is no external wall separating the patio from the main part of the house. The patio is encased by external walls, but is uncovered. The effect is a continuation of my kitchen and dining area into the “outside” patio.

     The roofs of the houses are a corrugated composite that would seem to have been created to cover a patio or garden shed, certainly not a roof!  There are two panels that extend from the edge of the roof upward to the spine, overlapping slightly in the middle. At the spine, and at various points on the roof there are “openings”, evidenced by the fact that light shines through!  This can be observed by standing in my bedroom and looking up at the ceiling.  The ceiling (and I use this term loosely) is simply the other side of the corrugated panels.  So, standing in my bedroom, looking up and observing light entering, it does not require imagination to understand that if light can enter, so can other stuff!  You have probably guessed that the other stuff is “ash”!

     When renting a house one ordinarily does not think to ask, “Will ash come in through the roof and cover me and my bed while I am sleeping?”—does one?  I certainly did not think to ask this, or many other questions I now wish I had thought of before I signed the lease.

     Being covered in ash while I slept was only a small part of the problem.  Of a greater nuisance was the reality that every nook and granny of my house was continually in need of cleaning.  I was literally cleaning almost non-stop because I could not stand the grit and ash!  I would tell myself, “Leona, you are only going to sweep, mop, and dust once today.  The Lord did not call you to Colombia to maintain a clean house!”  However well-intentioned my day began, I always ended up giving in to the temptation to maintain an ash free environment!  Alas, circumstances demanded action, but action required finances, and finances dictated that the solution be as inexpensive as possible, thus, entered into my calamity the not so handy handyman.

     You may remember in part one of the Not So Handy Handyman, the owner sent over Carlos and Diego to fix the plumbing problems that I was having: this was during the same time that I was dealing with the ash.  It was on this first visit, after borrowing a ladder and doing a very temporary job of “fixing” the kitchen sink that these two entrepreneurs set about fixing my ash problem.  At least that was the plan, but things seldom go as planned.

     I had purchased shade cloth to cover the patio thinking that it would prevent the ash from entering—that was my plan.  The shade cloth came in a roll and would, therefore, necessitate cutting it into the correct lengths before attaching it to the iron grid.  At least one would think of this as the first step.  But Diego had his own method of approach, just cut at will and piece mill it together!  The end result was a very unattractive meshing together of the shade cloth, and an ineffective attempt to prevent the ash from entering.  I think it was at this point that I decided I could easily live the rest of my life without ever laying eyes on these two again!

     But, they were not yet finished, remember the holes in the roof that was next on the agenda.  To gain access to the roof, the borrowed ladder was placed on top of the plastic corrugated panels that are attached to the house and cover about 3 feet of the patio (the shade cloth area is an additional 3 feet).  The borrowed ladder amounted to two long pieces of wood, different sizes in width, but the same length, with six “rungs” of different widths (same lengths) nailed to the long pieces, then wrapped in wire.  Carlos held this questionable ladder, and Diego climbed onto the roof carrying small baggies of cement. The cement was set into the larger holes; the rest of the holes were left as they were.

     Needless to say, the ash problem was not resolved, nor was the plumbing as you may recall.  The ash continued to cover me while I slept at night, as well as all parts of the known world of my house!  It was about this time that the shower stopped draining.  Okay, so life presents us with challenges, we encounter rain clouds from time to time, but this was developing into a full fledged storm, and my emotional barometer was issuing tornado warnings!

     It was at this point that Fabio appeared at my door asking if he could store his lunch in my refrigerator.  He and Marco took a look at the plumbing, and eventually fixed it.  This bolstered my confidence in them enough to ask them to give me an estimate on my next plan for creating an ash free environment: that being to extend the plastic corrugated panels and redo the shade cloth in addition to putting in a drop ceiling upstairs.  They estimated the time for the patio to be an hour, and the ceiling two days.  We agreed on a price, and scheduled the patio for that week, and the ceiling to be done while I was in Peru (a one week trip for my visa).

     I made arrangements with Jamie to take me into to Cali.  Jamie is a new believer who has been attending the church in Jamundi.  He also has a pick up truck and rents his services for transportation and hauling.  Jamie and I went to the Home Center (kind of like a Home Depot) in Cali and purchased the plastic panels and supplies needed for the continued work on the patio.  So, when Fabio and Marcos arrived all that they needed for this small one-hour job was in ready for them.

     During the week that Fabio and Marcos worked on the house up the street, I prepared lunch for them daily.  It was a blessing to be able to share with them and try to answer the questions they had about the Bible and TV preachers.  Both claimed to be Christians, yet neither attended church.  Fabio said he read his Bible and prayed everyday.  I shared of the importance of fellowship and the need to sit under good solid teaching.  I invited them to church, and also gave them CDs from Sunday morning service to listen to.  So, by the time they started the work on the patio, we were old friends.

     The one hour job ended up taking five hours; they did a very good job and the bonus is that it also looks nice.  However, it did not “solve” the ash problem; it decreased it by about 70% for which I am grateful.  In practical terms, that means that ash still comes in everyday, but it does not cover everything.  The grit and fine ash will probably continue to be a part of my life here in Jamundi, and I’ve accepted that.  Seventy percent success seems to be considered a good job, so…upon my return from Peru, I found a beautiful new ceiling in my upstairs—which has solved the ash problem in my bedroom 100%.  That is phenomenal success!

     The Sunday of my return to Colombia as I was sitting in church in Cali during worship, someone tapped me on the shoulder.  I turned and found Fabio standing there!  He later told me that he knew I was returning from Peru and would be in church so he decided to surprise me.  What a blessing!  He has been attending regularly since then.  In addition, his wife Beatrice accepted the Lord at my house on the following Friday at one of my Eriv Shabbath meals.  Karol, Pastor Luis’s wife, had the privilege of sharing and praying with her.  I guess that puts my ash and plumbing problem into perspective!

     To date, the patio issue is unresolved, but Jamie is going to try my third plan of action this week.  We are going to approach it from a different angle.  The ash enters through the very small space between the shade cloth and the plastic panels. I am thinking if we put a drain pipe under the panels and on top of the shade cloth that would block the ash.  I need to put a drain gutter in anyway because of the torrential rainfall here.  I will let you know if this is successful.

     As I am writing, I am sitting on my front porch.  It is a beautiful fresh morning, the neighborhood birds are in concert, and the sun is shining.  My emotional barometer has rescinded the tornado warning, and it is well with my soul.

[top]

___________________________________________________________________________

Gifts to the Lord:  They always seem to benefit me more than God.  God is so Good!

         Every year when the Christmas season begins, I plan my Gifts to the Lord Celebration. I was first introduced to the tradition in Holland when I was serving under Floyd McClung in Urban Missions Amsterdam. Floyd instructed the staff to pray and ask the Lord what He would like each of us to give to Him this year for Christmas. I loved celebrating Christmas in this way and have continued the tradition since that time.

     Over the years the Lord has asked for a variety of “gifts” from me.  The very first year He asked me to give to Him my daughter Sara.  She was married with two children, but I had never “let go” of her.  In more recent years, He’s asked me to write the book Chosen In Love.  In all the 27 years since I have been celebrating Gifts to the Lord, the gifts He has asked for always seemed to be of greater benefit to me than they were to Him.  This year is no exception (2009).

     This year I decided to celebrate Gifts to the Lord with Claudia, Hernando and their children.  Claudia expressed to me that she was trying to find a Christmas tradition that would be special for her family.  I suggested lighting an Advent Candle on the four Sunday’s prior to Christmas and then one on Christmas Day (Church tradition) and explained the significance to her.  Claudia liked this idea, so I invited all of them to light the first advent candle in my home on November 29.  Mateo (their son) would light the candle, Hernando would read the Matthew account, and then we would all pray and ask the Lord what He wanted each of us to give Him for Christmas this year.  This was followed by a meal and a time of fellowship.  Over the years I have celebrated Christmas in many different countries.  In Thailand, the girls in the Baan Sai Tan Rak (the house ministry I pioneered there) and I celebrated Gifts to the Lord together.  When I have been in the states I have celebrated with special friends.  The celebration always included a festive meal, but this was the first year it included the lighting of an Advent Candle.

     My week following our first night, Gifts to the Lord unfolded as normal. In this week I would need to go to DAS (Colombian Immigration Office) and request a visa extension: my tourist visa expired on Friday (December 4th). Colombia issues 30, 60, or 90 day tourist visas that one is able to extend, but the law states that as a tourist you can only enter the country three times and stay for a maximum of 6 months in a given year.  To date I had already used up my entry quota, and I only had 29 days left on my six months.  I was very concerned about the situation because I did not have all the papers I needed to apply for the two year visa for which I qualified. If, on Wednesday (when Hernando and I planned to go to DAS) they denied me an extension, I would need to travel to Bogota immediately and begin the process for the two year visa.  I could not do this without all the paper work!!!! So, on Tuesday morning during my devotional time I was praying about this issue and asking the Lord to PLEASE give me grace with DAS and have them extend my tourist visa.

     When I was praying, the feeling I had is that what I was actually doing was asking the Lord to have the Colombian authorities bend the law for me, and I was very uncomfortable with this feeling!  My alternative was to travel to another country until January  As I came to this decision (still in my devotional time), in my mind, I could hear the voice of my daughter Renee’ pleading, “Please Mom come and spend Christmas with me; I need you”.  Renee’ had made this plea numerous times over the past six months.  I always gave the same response: “It is financially impossible.”  So, on Tuesday morning, as I was facing leaving Colombia for a month and I could hear Renee’s plea, I still dismissed it as impossible.

     I finished my devotional time and went to the computer to check airfares to surrounding countries.  In Lima Peru, I had an apartment of a friend where I could stay; Ecuador and Panama were other possibilities.  As I was checking the fares, I continued to hear Renee’s voice and I continued to lament the impossibility of going to her home in Florida.  But, as I was checking the fares and calculating the expense of a month long trip (over Christmas holiday season) to another country, it seemed to be cost effective to go to Florida!

     So, I started checking fares to Florida, and I was immediately impressed with the thought make the reservation now. It was not a demanding annoying thought, just a clear reasonable thought that I should make the reservation now.  But this did not make sense to me, because I had not discussed the trip with my accountability team (they always pray with me concerning decisions I am making, especially a major one like this!), and I had not talked with the pastors here.  But the suggestion to make the reservation persisted, and so I reasoned—well, I can get a full refund within 24 hours if I cancel the trip.  I would be able to hear back from my accountability team and talk with the pastors by then.  So, I emailed Renee’ to make certain which airport in Orlando I should fly into.

     Renee’s response was immediate, her email started with “Thank God”, assuming that I was in fact coming although in my email I had only used the word may.  Renee’ went on to explain to me how much she needed me there with her this Christmas (Renee’ has been going through a very difficult year).  When I received this email, it was confirmation to me that I was, in fact, leaving in three days for Florida!

     Returning to the computer (they really are wonderful things when they don’t have a virus!), I booked a flight and then went to request a seat assignment. To my utter amazement there were almost no seats left on all of the flights I had chosen. In fact, on the flight from Miami to Orlando, there were only exit row seats, and they would not assign them until just before the flight.  So, I did not have a seat assigned for that portion of my trip.  I understood then why the insistence was on making the reservation now!  Later in the day I received confirmation from several of my accountability team, and from one of the pastors here in Colombia that I should indeed spend Christmas with my daughter, because she needed me.

     On Wednesday afternoon after I had finally processed that on Friday I would be in Florida, my mind returned to Gifts to the Lord, and I again asked the Lord, “What do you want me to give you this year for Christmas?”  The response was immediate; you have given it to me.  I understood He was referring to the trip to Florida. As incredible as it seems to me, my gift to the Lord this year is spending Christmas with my daughter Renee’ and her family in Florida.  Once again, it seems more like a gift to me than a gift to the Lord.

     This morning as I continued to pack, I was reflecting on this, and I thought of how this experience truly reflected the character of our Lord.  He never asks anything of His children that is for His benefit.  He only asks for what will ultimately benefit them.  I, as one of His children, am so very blessed by my loving Father God, and am so grateful that He sent His Son to be born in a manger and to die on a cross for me. Thank you Jesus!!!!

     What might He be asking you to give Him for Christmas this year?  

[top]

Rainy Season in Cauca Valley:  Storms and Strays 

    A blinding bolt of lightening illuminated the room in which I was standing followed seconds later by a deafening roar of thunder that seemed to shake the house.  It is the rainy season in the Colombian Andes and the storms are ferocious.  Where I live in the Cauca Valley is not exempt of their fury.  The banks of the small river that flows at the end of my street are swollen and the street is flooded.  On more than one occasion my house has been flooded!  Yet, the passion of the storm intrigues me and captures my imagination.  It becomes for me, a cosmic concert with drum rolls and a light show.  I have always loved the rain; even as a child I embraced the fervor of a storm.

     One of the earliest poems I wrote as a child was about a hurricane:

 

Hurricane Hazel

Hurricane Hazel came to town
All dressed up in her frizzy nightgown.
She blew down shutters and tops of towers.
She tore up trees and mommy’s flowers.
She took along a rose for her hair,
And just left us standing there!

     Okay, it is not great, but I was only about ten years old!

     As much as storms have fascinated me, the quiet and beauty that follows enraptures me.  The still air that carries the bird’s song has a peace unrivaled.  In the Cauca Valley, the billowing cloud formations against the mountain peaks are almost reverential: as though the earth and skies were paying homage to the Creator of the storm.

     Following a storm, the grassy areas in the neighborhood turn almost emerald green, and their lushness attracts the stray horses that wander through Siglo 21 (my neighborhood).  Yes, stray horses!  Many neighborhoods have stray dogs or cats, but this is the only neighborhood that I have lived in that has stray horses!  They wander the streets and yards grazing at will, and only “nay” slightly when they are chased from a lawn they have taken a fancy to!  The storms provide the horses with a banquet they are determined to enjoy in spite of the human distraction.

     In a few months, the rainy season will have passed, the storms will be forgotten, and the stray horses will find other feeding areas.  The summer will unfold into bright sunny days; the skies will be blue with only wisps of white clouds.  The monotony of the weather will stir a desire within me to once again embrace the passion of a storm.  This causes me to examine how I respond to the spiritual and emotional “storms” that the Lord allows in my life.  I dare say most often I do not embrace them.  Yet, following the storm, there is beauty in the lessons learned, and an abundant supply of meditation fodder to mull over.

     Oh, that I would embrace the storms in my life with the settled awareness that there exists a purpose, and a lesson to be learned.

 

[top]

___________________________________________________________________________

Christmas in Cali, Colombia:  Children's Program, Christmas Dinner, and Remembering
                                             the Reason for the Season

     Christmas in Cali Colombia comes right on the shirttail of Thanksgiving, much as it does in the states.  Throughout December, the night-sky is filled with fireworks and music; the celebration will not end until after the New Year when it gradually begins to lessen until mid January when finally it is over.

Pesebre and Prayers

     The building of a pesebre is one of the most important activities for communities, malls, apartment complexes and Catholic families (Colombia is a Catholic nation).  The pesebre is a large, often life sized, nativity. The manager is left empty until the last night of the Novena (Nine prayers said for nine nights). These nativities are well constructed and are beautiful. The novena is a time of singing, and reciting prayers that lasts for nine days, on the ninth day the baby is placed in the manager.

Drums and Demons

     One of the earliest signs of Christmas coming in Cali, dates back to a tradition called; The Burning of the Effigy.  The effigy wears the face of someone you dislike, such as a political figure, criminal etc. and is stuffed with firecrackers.  The effigy is lit on New Year’s Eve. Years ago, when people were still burning the effigy (no one does this anymore), children would collect money to build the effigy for their community (this was a community event). Although the community burning stopped, the children collecting money for this non-happening event has evolved into quite a scam!

     Children and teens dress up in costume, mostly skeletons and devils, but a few gorillas have also been seen, and they parade through neighborhoods accompanied by loud beating drums “collecting”.  I was with Karol the first time I heard the drums; she let out a heavy sigh and told me “Prepare yourself for the devils”.  At the time she tried to explain this ritual, but I really could not grasp the meaning.  But, after daily being assaulted by their processions, and Luis’s explanation of the history, I think I got it!  And believe me, I do not like it!

Chivas (Party Buses)

     These are very decorative, open-sided old buses used in Cali for parties.  The streets are full of them from December to January—playing loud music and crowded with the partiers, they ride the streets.

The Intruder

     The Intruder, as the Christians here call him, is also known as Father Noel, Santa Claus and various other names.  As in the states, he appears at Malls, in decorations and advertisements, but to a lesser degree.  I am not sure what role the Intruder plays; for sure it is a lesser one than the pesebre.

Finger Foods

     Everywhere one goes during Christmas one is served preserved sweet figs, a fried sweet bread, white cheese, and Natilla (which is a mold made with condensed milk) and other goodies. My favorite of the finger foods is the figs!

Children’s Programs

     Of course, every church and school presents a Children’s Program, and I was blessed to attend two with Luis and Karol to see Matias and Martin at their Nursery/Pre-School.  I was really quite impressed with Matias (2 years) playing the bells!  And Martin (4 years) had memorized all his lines and did a fantastic job as a caterpillar! The programs were followed with plates of finger foods and fellowship.

Church Christmas Dinner

     There is a striking difference in the concept of a “Christmas Dinner” between the states and Colombia.  When we attend an event with the word “dinner” in it, it is about the meal—which comes first, and is followed by a program.  In Colombia it is about the program, and the meal is secondary.  The program, at the church Christmas Dinner, began with traditional Christmas music, followed by a Muppet Show for the children, then a full hour message and altar call.  The meal was then served.  

     Daniel (the only other person from the states) and I did not quite understand the order of the evening, and kept wondering when (if ever) they were going to serve the meal!  Now, having been re-educated, I appreciate the Colombian Christians’ priorities.  It is not about the dinner—it is about the reason for the Christmas Dinner!

Christmas Eve

     For Colombians, Christmas Eve is the big celebration.  The meal is served (in most homes) at midnight on the 24th because Jesus was born on the 25th.  I understand the feasting can go on until the wee hours of the morning.  I spent Christmas Eve with Luis and his family; we ate at 7PM after Luis read from the Bible the account of the Jesus’ birth. It was a lovely evening.  Luis traditionally cooks Christmas Dinner and this year he outdid himself.

Feria and Fighting

     On December 25th, the Christmas Feria (Carnival) begins in Cali.  Streets fill up with venders, roller coaster and Ferris wheel rides are set up, and the city fills with tourists.  The feria opens with a parade of salsa dances presented by the various dancing studios in the city.  Cali is the salsa capital of the world, and is very proud of that.  Luis tells me that if a girl does not know how to dance all the salsa dances she is considered a disgrace to her city.  Each afternoon there is a major event such as the horse parade, something especially for children etc.  The nights are filled with concerts and dancing at various locations.

     During the week there are also daily bullfights.  Cali has one of the most famous Bullfighting Arenas in the world, evidenced by a statue of a bull in front of the stadium.  Only the best arenas are permitted to have the statues of the bull.  Billboards advertise the young matadors who will be fighting, all handsome and smiling, and so young!  The home I was staying in is off of Plaza de Torres; named so because of the stadium located there.  When there was a bullfight, I could hear the crowd and their “olay’s”—that was very difficult for me.

Grapes

     In the markets there is an abundance of grapes at this time of the year.  That is because they are believed to bring good luck if eaten on New Year’ Eve.  One grape is eaten each time the midnight bell chimes, so 12 grapes are eaten for luck in the New Year.  It would be interesting to know where that tradition came from.

     The Christians in Cali do not participate in these secular activities.  The noise of the drums from the “collectors”, the fireworks and loud music is tiring, the bullfighting is cruel, and for Christian women their identity is in the Lord not in the salsa dancing.  In the states Christians are assaulted with the commercialism and the “Happy Holidays” rather than “Merry Christmas” campaign.  It seems to have been a strategic decision that was made with the intent of distracting the celebrating populations from the reality of the birth of our Lord.  But I rejoice in knowing that the “Christ” will always remain in “Christmas”, and will always live in the hearts of believers.  And that is the REAL REASON FOR THE SEASON.

 

[top]

___________________________________________________________________________

Traveling from Cali to Cuenca, Ecuador:  The unexpected delightful stay-over in Quito

     The Northern Andes offers breath-taking scenery of volcanoes, lakes, and patchwork-covered hills which I could see from the open window of the “vintage” bus I took from the Colombian Ecuadoran border, traveling the Pan-American highway north to Quito.  The view more than made up for the groaning sound of the airbrakes and painful gear changes as we climbed 9,184 feet above sea level to Quito—my final destination for the day.

     I had begun my journey the night before (Tuesday) from Cali, Colombia on a comfortable spacious tourist bus with two drivers, each driving half the way, and each competing with the other for speed (or so it seemed).  The highway from Cali to Ipiales is a continuous series of hairpin and S curves.  That gives you an idea of what the ride was like!  Needless to say, I did not sleep!  Upon arriving at the “frontier” (border), it was necessary to stand in line at immigration to receive an exit stamp in my visa (1 ½ hours).  This time passed rather quickly, although I had to edge along in line with a heavy computer bag, a carry-on and an airline maximum-size suitcase!  With stamped passport in hand, I walked down the flight of stairs, that I had earlier climbed up, to stand in the immigration line.  Then on through no-man’s land to the bridge, which once crossed, landed me in Ecuador.

     On the Ecuadorian-side, I had a short walk to the end of the immigration line to wait for two and a half hours (in the sun) for an entry visa into Ecuador.  Having completed this, I left with all the stamps I needed (or ever could want!) and headed for the bus terminal via taxi.  This was a lovely ride to the town of Tulcan where I boarded the “vintage” bus just taking off for Quito—via every horse-stop and waterhole on the way.  Between Tulcan and Quito, we climbed as high as 15,000 feet (according to tourist information), and the bus complained, begging for retirement for most of the trip.  It sounded something like when there is air in the water pipes (in a house).  Yet, I enjoyed the incredible view.

     When I arrived at the bus station in Quito (Wednesday evening), I was fortunate enough to find a taxi, and since I had the address of the hostel where I would spend the night, I breathed a sigh of relief that the journey of 24 hours would soon come to an end.  My optimism was pre-mature.  The taxi ride took about an hour and the driver had a most difficult time finding the Mia Leticia (the hostel), which is located in the historic section of the city.  When at last I was in my room, I took a long hot shower and collapsed into bed for a good night’s sleep.

     My plan was to spend one night and the following morning in Quito, and then continue on to Cuenca.  I had asked Luis, one of the staff, (who is of the Saraguro ethnic group) when I checked in, if he would buy me a ticket to Cuenca since he was going to the bus station later in the evening.  However, in the morning, Luis explained that Carlos had told him that he would purchase my ticket for me and thus Luis had given Carlos the ticket money.  Later in the morning, I met Carlos, and he regretted that he had forgotten all about my ticket, but promised he would buy it for me within a few hours.  With all that settled (so I thought), I headed out for the “La Plaza de la Independencia”.

     Chile Street is just around the corner from the Mia Leticia, and this street leads up to the plaza.  When I say up I mean straight up. The first half of the hike up is so steep that, when one is coming back down, it is necessary to constantly be bracing your footing.  Yet, I made it and totally enjoyed the leisurely stroll around the plaza.  This plaza is surrounded by four buildings that represent the ruling powers of the colonial period: the Government Palace on the West, the Municipal Palace on the East, the Arch Bishop’s Palace on the North, and the Cathedral on the South.  After a few hours of exploration, I returned to the hostel.  It was then I learned that Carlos was unable to buy my ticket, but promised he would do so the following day (that was the plan).  The sounds and smells of the streets called to me, and I went out to explore and to get some lunch—which is the main meal of the day for me. Thus, Thursday was spent enjoying the Andean city of Quito.

     Friday morning early, I went out once again to the same plaza, but with the purpose of taking pictures and video before the streets filled. This time I hiked up far enough to pass two smaller plazas.  It was an exhausting adventure, but I was able to get some good shots and footage.  Happy with the success of the morning, I returned to the hostel, and met up with Carlos.  It was now close to noon, and I was beginning to get hungry.  All thoughts of food were put aside when Carlos explained he had not yet purchased my ticket, nor would he be able to do so.  He suggested I take a taxi at once and get in line at the station to ensure I would get my ticket today.  Following his suggestion, I left almost immediately in a taxi.

     The line was actually short and within minutes it was my turn.  But to my utter amazement, I was told that I could not purchase my ticket until Sunday. The agent was obviously tired from all the holiday travelers and was in no mood for a discussion (especially with someone who’s Spanish was not quite up to par when upset).  Once again, I was in a taxi heading back to the hostel, without a ticket and with a driver who could not find Mia Leticia!  By the time I finally was back home (so to speak), I was extremely frustrated, tired, and very hungry.

     Carlos recommended a restaurant and off I went, of course, it was back up the steep hill!  And, after all the effort to find the place, it was not really what I had in mind, so…I decided to treat myself to a nice meal (after all I deserved it!).  I found a very nice restaurant and studied the menu before entering.  It was expensive for my budget, but not out of reach.  I chose what I wanted and was ready to be seated, but the only seating available was in the bar! Back on the street, I found a fast-food-type place; I am not really a fan of fast food, but I was hungry.

     It always amazes me how, when things take a downhill-turn, they almost always keep rolling! When I left the nice restaurant, I had prayed and given all the very intense emotions I was feeling to the Lord.  I had hoped that there would be a turn of events—not so.  The meal I had ordered was chicken, fries and a coke.  The chicken was almost okay, the fries were cold, and the coke was flat!  I had the almost uncontrollable urge to scream.  Instead, I began eating—I was very hungry. In the midst of the pity party I was having, the most peculiar thing happened.

     A group of three colorfully, ethnically-dressed musicians entered the restaurant and, standing in the center, shouted “Viva Ecuador” to which all the customers shouted echoing the chant.  Then the lead musician, who was playing a pan flute and a guitar, started in song accompanied by the other guitar player and a woman playing drums. The music was ethnic and wonderful; I was enthralled.  At the end of each song, before starting the next, they shouted “Viva Ecuador” and everyone in the restaurant would echo their shout.  This went on for about 15 minutes, and I was totally into it!

     By the time they left, I had finished my meal (which served the purpose of filling the void in my stomach), and was perfectly relaxed, happy and ready to explore more of Quito.  The Lord has the most unusual ways of answering prayers.  When I had given all my intense feelings over for Him to carry, I expected that He would then direct me to some delicious food!  Instead He dealt with the root of my problem—my attitude—and  He did so in such a gentle and fun way. With my spirits lifted, I was once again roaming the colorful, noisy, and crowded streets.

     Quito extends along the Eastern edge of the Pinchincha volcano.  The city is long and thin with an approximate length of 22 miles and a width of 2-3 miles.  I, however, had no intention of walking the entire city.  I would be quite content wandering through the historic section, and that is just what I did for the rest of the Friday afternoon.  After a good night’s sleep, I set out again on Saturday, which happened to be New Years Eve day.

     A parade greeted me on this sunny day.  A banner announced “The Pensioners of Pichincha”.  Immediately following the banner was the band section, which was quite large and played very well.  The next section, behind the band, was the ethnic dancers dressed in their colorful heritage garb—male and female dancing gracefully as they paraded forward.  There were several more sections, fancy dressed women’s group carrying parasols and what seemed to be just the rest of the village brought up the rear.  All in all, it lasted for about fifteen minutes to the delight of the crowd which had gathered to watch and applaud.

     On Sunday, I attended church with Luis and after lunch was able to purchase my ticket to Cuenca.  The only available seating departed at the least desirable time, but I was thrilled to finally have the ticket!  In the late afternoon, I walked again to the big plaza; it was crowded with families and tourists.  There was a political demonstration of some sort going on (that seems to be a daily event).  I took a seat on a bench in the shade and enjoyed people-watching.  After a short time, from the far end of the plaza, coming up the street, was a procession of priests and parishioners carrying a statue of Mary with a the baby Jesus wearing a golden crown, and an extremely long and wide flowing veil that was carried by the parishioners.  They were singing a song that sounded like a prayer and walking very slowly.  When they passed me and arrived at the corner they stopped for some minutes before continuing on out of sight.  Having been thoroughly entertained, I returned to the hostel, wrote on “Facebook” and called it a day!

     Finally at 4PM (15 minutes late), I departed Quito—the center of the world on the equator.  There is a big monument on the spot proclaiming this fact en route to Cuenca.  I was told that the Flota Imburara was the best bus service from Quito to Cuenca, so I was anticipating an enjoyable trip; I should have known better!  For some reason, unknown and not understood by me, my life and adventures seem to continually prove Murphy’s Law—if anything can go wrong—I will!

     The “Direct” bus (which must mean it uses the direct road) stopped at least 15 times to pick up passengers before we got out of Quito!  Actually, I should have foreseen what lay ahead—I had so many clues!  The difficulty in purchasing a ticket, the filthy bus station, the fact that the luggage doors on the boarding side would not open—yes, there were signs, but I was optimistic!  Once we were out of the city and on the road, the mountain-side scenery occupied my thoughts and captured my imagination…for about fifteen minutes.  The bus then came to a complete stop for what seemed like an eternity, and then edged along foot by foot for the next hour! We had hit construction—the universal thorn in every travel’s side!

     As we were coming to an end of the construction, a torrential downpour greeted us.  With all the other traffic impatient because of the time lost from the construction, and our driver’s determination to lead the pack, the ride became somewhat of a roller coaster affair!  Having survived that fiasco, the traffic thinned out, the rain stopped, and we entered very dense fog! The driver obviously believed he knew the windy mountain road well enough to continue at break neck speed.  I was not convinced and kept repeating to myself, “most buses do not crash, most buses make it to their destination”.  This mantra did not appease my fear, so I switched to “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus” and when my fear subsided enough I prayed! There were times when I was tempted to look out the window, but then I would think, I don’t even want to know!  It was dark out now anyway, so I wasn’t missing much in the way of a view.

     After some hours, I began to have a little more confidence in the driver; he did seem to know the roads, and we had, after all, not crashed! The conductor, I guess that is what you would call him, collects tickets and rides shotgun, was very nice and patient with my poor Spanish.  He directed me to the restrooms (using that term loosely) when we stopped and generally looked out for me. For example, when the seat beside me became empty, they picked up another passenger from the roadside. This new passenger was obviously drunk, he smelled like a brewery, and he was totally delighted to be sitting next to me so he could use every English word he had ever learned!  The conductor noticed this and moved him to another seat, for which I was grateful!

     Eleven hours later, I arrived in Cuenca (at around 3AM which was 2 ½ hours late!).  Freddy (the pastor of Calvary Chapel Cuenca) was waiting for me!  He had been waiting for over two hours!  I was so blessed!  He drove me to the Missions House, where a lovely guest room had been prepared for me.  A soft candle was burning, a vase of flowers adorned the dresser, and there were chocolate candies in a candy dish on the bedside table.  What a beautiful welcome, and yes, it made the trip worth it!!!!

 

[top]

___________________________________________________________________________

Bus Trip from Lima, Peru to Santiago, Chili (2012): Terror on the road, delays, and a friend
                                                                           waiting at my destination

     The Northern Andes offers breath-taking scenery of volcanoes, lakes, and patchwork-covered hills which I could see from the open window of the “vintage” bus I took from the Colombian Ecuadoran border, traveling the Pan-American highway north to Quito.  The view more than made up for the groaning sound of the airbrakes and painful gear changes as we climbed 9,184 feet above sea level to Quito—my final destination for the day.

     I had begun my journey the night before (Tuesday) from Cali, Colombia on a comfortable spacious tourist bus with two drivers, each driving half the way, and each competing with the other for speed (or so it seemed).  The highway from Cali to Ipiales is a continuous series of hairpin and S curves.  That gives you an idea of what the ride was like!  Needless to say, I did not sleep!  Upon arriving at the “frontier” (border), it was necessary to stand in line at immigration to receive an exit stamp in my visa (1 ½ hours).  This time passed rather quickly, although I had to edge along in line with a heavy computer bag, a carry-on and an airline maximum-size suitcase!  With stamped passport in hand, I walked down the flight of stairs, that I had earlier climbed up, to stand in the immigration line.  Then on through no-man’s land to the bridge, which once crossed, landed me in Ecuador.

     On the Ecuadorian-side, I had a short walk to the end of the immigration line to wait for two and a half hours (in the sun) for an entry visa into Ecuador.  Having completed this, I left with all the stamps I needed (or ever could want!) and headed for the bus terminal via taxi.  This was a lovely ride to the town of Tulcan where I boarded the “vintage” bus just taking off for Quito—via every horse-stop and waterhole on the way.  Between Tulcan and Quito, we climbed as high as 15,000 feet (according to tourist information), and the bus complained, begging for retirement for most of the trip.  It sounded something like when there is air in the water pipes (in a house).  Yet, I enjoyed the incredible view.

     When I arrived at the bus station in Quito (Wednesday evening), I was fortunate enough to find a taxi, and since I had the address of the hostel where I would spend the night, I breathed a sigh of relief that the journey of 24 hours would soon come to an end.  My optimism was pre-mature.  The taxi ride took about an hour and the driver had a most difficult time finding the Mia Leticia (the hostel), which is located in the historic section of the city.  When at last I was in my room, I took a long hot shower and collapsed into bed for a good night’s sleep.

     My plan was to spend one night and the following morning in Quito, and then continue on to Cuenca.  I had asked Luis, one of the staff, (who is of the Saraguro ethnic group) when I checked in, if he would buy me a ticket to Cuenca since he was going to the bus station later in the evening.  However, in the morning, Luis explained that Carlos had told him that he would purchase my ticket for me and thus Luis had given Carlos the ticket money.  Later in the morning, I met Carlos, and he regretted that he had forgotten all about my ticket, but promised he would buy it for me within a few hours.  With all that settled (so I thought), I headed out for the “La Plaza de la Independencia”.

     Chile Street is just around the corner from the Mia Leticia, and this street leads up to the plaza.  When I say up I mean straight up. The first half of the hike up is so steep that, when one is coming back down, it is necessary to constantly be bracing your footing.  Yet, I made it and totally enjoyed the leisurely stroll around the plaza.  This plaza is surrounded by four buildings that represent the ruling powers of the colonial period: the Government Palace on the West, the Municipal Palace on the East, the Arch Bishop’s Palace on the North, and the Cathedral on the South.  After a few hours of exploration, I returned to the hostel.  It was then I learned that Carlos was unable to buy my ticket, but promised he would do so the following day (that was the plan).  The sounds and smells of the streets called to me, and I went out to explore and to get some lunch—which is the main meal of the day for me. Thus, Thursday was spent enjoying the Andean city of Quito.

     Friday morning early, I went out once again to the same plaza, but with the purpose of taking pictures and video before the streets filled. This time I hiked up far enough to pass two smaller plazas.  It was an exhausting adventure, but I was able to get some good shots and footage.  Happy with the success of the morning, I returned to the hostel, and met up with Carlos.  It was now close to noon, and I was beginning to get hungry.  All thoughts of food were put aside when Carlos explained he had not yet purchased my ticket, nor would he be able to do so.  He suggested I take a taxi at once and get in line at the station to ensure I would get my ticket today.  Following his suggestion, I left almost immediately in a taxi.

     The line was actually short and within minutes it was my turn.  But to my utter amazement, I was told that I could not purchase my ticket until Sunday. The agent was obviously tired from all the holiday travelers and was in no mood for a discussion (especially with someone who’s Spanish was not quite up to par when upset).  Once again, I was in a taxi heading back to the hostel, without a ticket and with a driver who could not find Mia Leticia!  By the time I finally was back home (so to speak), I was extremely frustrated, tired, and very hungry.

     Carlos recommended a restaurant and off I went, of course, it was back up the steep hill!  And, after all the effort to find the place, it was not really what I had in mind, so…I decided to treat myself to a nice meal (after all I deserved it!).  I found a very nice restaurant and studied the menu before entering.  It was expensive for my budget, but not out of reach.  I chose what I wanted and was ready to be seated, but the only seating available was in the bar! Back on the street, I found a fast-food-type place; I am not really a fan of fast food, but I was hungry.

     It always amazes me how, when things take a downhill-turn, they almost always keep rolling! When I left the nice restaurant, I had prayed and given all the very intense emotions I was feeling to the Lord.  I had hoped that there would be a turn of events—not so.  The meal I had ordered was chicken, fries and a coke.  The chicken was almost okay, the fries were cold, and the coke was flat!  I had the almost uncontrollable urge to scream.  Instead, I began eating—I was very hungry. In the midst of the pity party I was having, the most peculiar thing happened.

     A group of three colorfully, ethnically-dressed musicians entered the restaurant and, standing in the center, shouted “Viva Ecuador” to which all the customers shouted echoing the chant.  Then the lead musician, who was playing a pan flute and a guitar, started in song accompanied by the other guitar player and a woman playing drums. The music was ethnic and wonderful; I was enthralled.  At the end of each song, before starting the next, they shouted “Viva Ecuador” and everyone in the restaurant would echo their shout.  This went on for about 15 minutes, and I was totally into it!

     By the time they left, I had finished my meal (which served the purpose of filling the void in my stomach), and was perfectly relaxed, happy and ready to explore more of Quito.  The Lord has the most unusual ways of answering prayers.  When I had given all my intense feelings over for Him to carry, I expected that He would then direct me to some delicious food!  Instead He dealt with the root of my problem—my attitude—and  He did so in such a gentle and fun way. With my spirits lifted, I was once again roaming the colorful, noisy, and crowded streets.

     Quito extends along the Eastern edge of the Pinchincha volcano.  The city is long and thin with an approximate length of 22 miles and a width of 2-3 miles.  I, however, had no intention of walking the entire city.  I would be quite content wandering through the historic section, and that is just what I did for the rest of the Friday afternoon.  After a good night’s sleep, I set out again on Saturday, which happened to be New Years Eve day.

     A parade greeted me on this sunny day.  A banner announced “The Pensioners of Pichincha”.  Immediately following the banner was the band section, which was quite large and played very well.  The next section, behind the band, was the ethnic dancers dressed in their colorful heritage garb—male and female dancing gracefully as they paraded forward.  There were several more sections, fancy dressed women’s group carrying parasols and what seemed to be just the rest of the village brought up the rear.  All in all, it lasted for about fifteen minutes to the delight of the crowd which had gathered to watch and applaud.

     On Sunday, I attended church with Luis and after lunch was able to purchase my ticket to Cuenca.  The only available seating departed at the least desirable time, but I was thrilled to finally have the ticket!  In the late afternoon, I walked again to the big plaza; it was crowded with families and tourists.  There was a political demonstration of some sort going on (that seems to be a daily event).  I took a seat on a bench in the shade and enjoyed people-watching.  After a short time, from the far end of the plaza, coming up the street, was a procession of priests and parishioners carrying a statue of Mary with a the baby Jesus wearing a golden crown, and an extremely long and wide flowing veil that was carried by the parishioners.  They were singing a song that sounded like a prayer and walking very slowly.  When they passed me and arrived at the corner they stopped for some minutes before continuing on out of sight.  Having been thoroughly entertained, I returned to the hostel, wrote on “Facebook” and called it a day!

     Finally at 4PM (15 minutes late), I departed Quito—the center of the world on the equator.  There is a big monument on the spot proclaiming this fact enroute to Cuenca.  I was told that the Flota Imburara was the best bus service from Quito to Cuenca, so I was anticipating an enjoyable trip; I should have known better!  For some reason, unknown and not understood by me, my life and adventures seem to continually prove Murphy’s Law—if anything can go wrong—I will!

     The “Direct” bus (which must mean it uses the direct road) stopped at least 15 times to pick up passengers before we got out of Quito!  Actually, I should have foreseen what lay ahead—I had so many clues!  The difficulty in purchasing a ticket, the filthy bus station, the fact that the luggage doors on the boarding side would not open—yes, there were signs, but I was optimistic!  Once we were out of the city and on the road, the mountain-side scenery occupied my thoughts and captured my imagination…for about fifteen minutes.  The bus then came to a complete stop for what seemed like an eternity, and then edged along foot by foot for the next hour! We had hit construction—the universal thorn in every travel’s side!

     As we were coming to an end of the construction, a torrential downpour greeted us.  With all the other traffic impatient because of the time lost from the construction, and our driver’s determination to lead the pack, the ride became somewhat of a roller coaster affair!  Having survived that fiasco, the traffic thinned out, the rain stopped, and we entered very dense fog! The driver obviously believed he knew the windy mountain road well enough to continue at break neck speed.  I was not convinced and kept repeating to myself, “most buses do not crash, most buses make it to their destination”.  This mantra did not appease my fear, so I switched to “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus” and when my fear subsided enough I prayed! There were times when I was tempted to look out the window, but then I would think, I don’t even want to know!  It was dark out now anyway, so I wasn’t missing much in the way of a view.

     After some hours, I began to have a little more confidence in the driver; he did seem to know the roads, and we had, after all, not crashed! The conductor, I guess that is what you would call him, collects tickets and rides shotgun, was very nice and patient with my poor Spanish.  He directed me to the restrooms (using that term loosely) when we stopped and generally looked out for me. For example, when the seat beside me became empty, they picked up another passenger from the roadside. This new passenger was obviously drunk, he smelled like a brewery, and he was totally delighted to be sitting next to me so he could use every English word he had ever learned!  The conductor noticed this and moved him to another seat, for which I was grateful!

     Eleven hours later, I arrived in Cuenca (at around 3AM which was 2 ½ hours late!).  Freddy (the pastor of Calvary Chapel Cuenca) was waiting for me!  He had been waiting for over two hours!  I was so blessed!  He drove me to the Missions House, where a lovely guest room had been prepared for me.  A soft candle was burning, a vase of flowers adorned the dresser, and there were chocolate candies in a candy dish on the bedside table.  What a beautiful welcome, and yes, it made the trip worth it!!!!

[top]

 

___________________________________________________________________________

More memories to come:   to be added soon

 

[top]

 

• Home • Leona's Journal • Missions • Teaching Seminars • Bible Studies • Devotions • Writings • Books Published • Memories • Recipes • Contact Me •

 
 

Copyright © 2006-2014 by Leona Karni.  All rights reserved.