Fighting Grace

I have been thinking a lot about grace lately. Grace is the foundation of Christianity, what diferentiates it from other religions. It says that we can't do what God asks of us, they we are dependant on him. It's a second chance when you didn't deseve it, an opportunity you shouldn't have been given. I watched a movie with the girls not long ago (Mega Mind) in which the super villian is serving 88 life sentances in prison. By the end of the movie, he tires of being bad and becomes the reluctant hero. At which point he saves the city from the new bad guy, and his 88 life sentances magically disappear. True, it was an animated film, not meant to be in any sense true to life. Yet the end bothered me. At first I didn't know what it was. Then I realized: it was grace. He deserved the 88 life sentances. He had earned them. But what he got was a chance to start his life again, to do things better. He recieved grace. And instead of cheering, it rubbed me the wrong way. As I thought back a little, I realized that many times a movie will follow the same idea: the bad guy-turned hero who saves the day and then miraclelously doesn't have to pay for the bad that he had done. It has never sat right with me. It could be that natural desire for justice, that even small children have. How many times did we cry to Mom and Dad, "that's not fair!". But I think there is more to it than that. It's that bent towards legalism, that incredible idea that we can some how deserve God's love. It's that part of us that rejects grace. No thank you, I can do it on my own. In reality, how differnt is Mega Mind than us? We have all messed up. No one is really getting what they deserve. We are showered in God's grace each day as he sends rain, provision, life, the air we breath. One thing I love about Latin America is how people pray. Every pray begins with thanks. And not the selfish thanks for things that we have asked God for, "Thanks for my new cell phone, new house, new car." It's usually, "Thank you for the life you give us, the air we breath, life, our sight, our health." Thanks for all those things you still have even if you are desperately poor. Living closer to poverty can make you a more thankful person (can, but it doesn't always happen). Prayers before meals are equally telling. Here in Panama I learned to pray, "thank you for the food we are about to eat, and please provide food for those who are hungry today." At every meal the poor are remembered. Not a single meal is to taken for granted. We recognize that we are undeserving recipients of God's grace. After thinking all this over, I had to admit my wrong thinking. Mega Mind didn't get what he deserved. But neither have I. I am totally dependant on God's grace.

Have we all gone crazy?

Princess is 3 years old. She doesn't know her alphabet. She can't count to 20. And I'm not freaking out about it. According to many people these days, I should be. Oh, and did I mention that she's not enrolled in preschool? I must be a deficient parent.

We have been investigating a lot about homeschooling as we were deciding which route to take for her education. And I was shocked to learn the "new norm" these days. I remember reading a discussion on a popular parenting website about teaching toddlers their alphabet. Many parents of tots as young 15 months bragged about them knowing the alphabet. The unspoken message was: if your child can't do this, something is wrong.

Then I recently read an article about skills children should learn in preschool. The article mentioned that the point of preschool for 4-year-olds was to prepare them for the "rigors of kindergarten". What!? "The rigors of kindergarten"? What happened to kindergarten being a fun introduction to school?

Somewhere along in this journey I began to think that the whole world has gone mad. Desperate to offer our children the best opportunities (and pride ourselves in their "giftedness") we keep sliding back the timetable. Starting to read in first grade is no longer acceptable. Now kids must learn to read in kindergarten. Or before. Before is best.

This must be why I had so much trouble in school! (I wrote that with a sarcastic voice). I did kindergarten at home with my mom. I remember singing together, learning the days of the week, and I assume the alphabet. I remember a song about a birdie, but not much else. I started first grade at 6, and then our family moved. The new school required me to walk over 1/2 mile to school, and as a small 6 year old, I couldn't handle it physically. So my mom pulled me out and homeschooled me.

Sadly, halfway through the school year she became very ill and couldn't continue. I remember enjoying homeschool. I have one very clear memory of doing my math homework out on the sidewalk, in the sun.

Since Oregon law didn't require children to begin school until 7 years old, my parents decided to just let me stay home, and try first grade again the following year. I have no recollection of how I felt about that, so I must not have been too heart-broken about it.

So I began learning to read at the ripe old age of 7. By the end of the school year I was reading at a third grade level, and was near the top of my class for the rest of my school career. Do I think my parents made the right decision? Absolutely. Less stress for me, less stress for my family already dealing with my mom's illness. And with the extra time to grow, I was also ready to walk to school each day.

Raising my little girls and am faced with educational decisions and our culture's focus on pushing kids to learn sooner and sooner, I find myself pulling back. My daughter is three. I want to give her time to be a child. Time to learn in her own way. Time to be free of schedules and demands. That will come soon enough. And right now, she knows how to learn, as she explores the world around her.


Still, in this world gone crazy, it's not easy.

My Battle with the Health Center

Someone more knowedgable on the nuances of politics could tell you if Panama's health system would be considered "socialist". What I do know is that the government provides health care for free or nearly free to anyone who needs it. Of course, you do pay for it in inconvienience, long waits, and less than respectful treatment, at times.

Still for me, it's worth it. Care for all children under 5 is free, so that means all check-ups and immunizations are free for the girls. Not a bad deal. It requires getting there at 6:00 AM, and sometimes not getting out of there until noon, but we made it work.

My problems began when Princess went in for her 1 1/2 check-up. She been weaned and started walking since her last appointment, and had dipped below the acceptable weight on their charts. She was declared "in danger of malnutrition" and I was sent to see their nutritionist. The nutritionist asked about her eating habits. She filled out her little chart and suggested that I not give Princess water with meals, "every drink of water is one less bite of food she is going to eat." I was not overly impressed with her advice. She handed me a bag full of fortified hot cereal, known here as "crema". It's great for kids that really ARE malnourished, somehow I can't see any peditritian in the USA recommending it.

After Princess totally rejected the "crema", we stopped taking her to the nutritionist, and I didn't worry much about her weight. She was reaching all her milestones on time, healthy, alert, and growing.

Then came the fateful day when both girls had appointments the same day: 3 years and 15 months. This time they were BOTH under weight, and the doctor was not happy. She told me in a voice that I can only decribe as offended, that Rose had "the weight of an 8-month-old baby". Didn't matter than in every other way she was totally normal. Off again we went to the nutritionist. Another armload of "crema", and advice on how to get them to eat more. Princess still hates it, but Rose likes it and when I offer, yells for her "c'ema!".

I should also mention that all this was happening while we were heading out on a two month outreach into remote villages. Not the best envirnment for keeping kids healthy and gaining weight.

However, after we returned from the outreach things did eventually calm down a little. Maybe it was the stress of outreach. Maybe they were hitting a growth spurt. But they began to noticably plump up, especially obvious on Rose.

I didn't think about it much the day we headed off to Princess' 3 1/2 year appointment, except to hope that they wouldn't scold me for not bringing her to see the nutritionist. We had a happy surprise. She has edged up into the "normal" weight range. Yeah! No more lectures for me, defective Mommy who obviously doesn't feed her children.

This whole experience is even more interesting to me, seeing as how all the advice coming out of the USA in relation to kids and nutrition, is focused on helping kids NOT gain too much weight. And here I am being encouraged to make sure the girls are gaining plenty of weight. The mindset here totally makes sense. Lots of kids in Panama truly are underweight. I have seen it with my own eyes, and it's terribly sad.

It makes me feel like I am living in two worlds at the same time. One a world of plenty, where food is always available, and one a world where every child who is a little too small is seen as in danger.

Raising kids across cultures

Raising kids is a tricky business. However, our cultures let us know what is expected and what is normal. Things like: where should the baby sleep? Till what age should they nurse? When should they potty train? How should they be disciiplined?

While each culture has variations, you realize the things that we DO agree on when you find yourself in the midst of a culture that thinks you are an oddity.

Sometimes the things people assume you are doing are more amusing than the things the surprised you aren't. Like the relative that asked if I had got an operation after my first child was born. I guess her thinking was: American= rich and educated= only one child? Not quite sure about that one. I also got MANY surprised comments that I wasn't using formula. Rich people can buy formula, and you are American, right?

I can read every parenting book, and do everything the way you are "supposed to" in the States, and still be thought of as wierd here.

One example: hats. Babies are supposed to wear hats ALL the time. No matter how hot the weather. I didn't even make it out of the hospital with my new baby before a kindly woman stopped me and told me to put a hat on her so that she wouldn't get an infection through her head. My baby dressed for the weather and got many disaproving looks.

Another interesting one is potty training. I read recently that the average age for children to be fully potty trained in the States right now is 36 months. When my daughter was three MONTHS old, a friend told me she was ready to go without diapers. The indigenous ladies are masters at reading their babies and can tell when they have to go. To me, it makes total sense. Every wet cloth diaper has to be hauled down to the river and washed by hand, then hung out to dry in a country that has a 9 month rainy season. It's a whole lot easier to wash a small pair of underwear and splash some water on the floor slats. If you happen to be outside (which children tend to be most of the time) even better. A totally logical system.

That is, totally logical until you are taken out of your world into another. In the States, many kids go to daycare or preschool. I imagine a daycare worker would not be so nonchalant about a kid peeing on the floor as they would here. Even at home, people have carpets, and colder weather means more clothes to change if accidents happen. Keeping kids in diapers makes sense.

This past Sunday a relative asked if Rose was potty trained yet. I said no, a little sheepishly, knowing they would think it was odd. After all, she is 21 months old. So we stick out here.

Alex's family thought we were terribly mean to make our poor, defenseless babies sleep in a crib all by themselves. American friends disaproved of that fact that occasionally, the baby does end up in the bed for the remainder of the night.

Understanding the logic of each system helps me to accept them both, and find a peace in accepting some of this, and some of that. After all, our family is a mix of two cultures. I understand why a Wounaan mom would sleep with baby close by her side (the only safe place for a baby to be in a raised, wall-less hut). And I continue doing things that don't make sense to those around me, accepting that our family WILL be different. I only hope that those differences will not be too great to find common ground with my Panamanian sisters, and that occasionally, we can learn from each other.

Learning with Papi

I wrote earlier about our idea to have Alex do Woun Mue classes with the girls. Well, this week he began them and so far they are a big hit. We are using a couple of story books in Woun Meu, and I am adding in activity ideas and simple crafts. They learned 5 words in the first lesson, the words in Woun Meu for: sit, stand, dark, light, and agouti, a small jungle animal. If you know what a capabara is, an agouti is a smaller version.

Princess was excited to show me what she had learned, turning the lights off and on to show me dark and light: "k'isu, hararaa!" Rose even managed the word "hararaa". Alex seemed to enjoy himself and was encouraged by how quickly they picked the words up.

I already have three more lessons planned for them. Alex prefers that I do the planning and I enjoy it. It's fun to think up simple crafts that they can do together to remember the words. I found a fun idea for an alligator puppet with a brown baggie to learn the word for alligator. Can't wait to see them try it.

I should say that I don't expect these little lessons to suddenly make the girls fluet in Woun Meu. I understand that a few lessons can't do that. But I do hope they will do a couple of things:

First of all to help Alex be intentional about teaching the girls. I hope that he will think to speak to them in Woun Meu, and point things out to them through out the day, once he realizes how much they are able to learn. Most of us don't really think about children's process in language learning. It seems to happen automatically, and kids are great learners. But they can't learn a language that they don't hear, and which isn't spoken to them.

I have observed that people tend to think that Wounaan children automatically learn Woun Meu, as if it's in their blood (and Embera children learn Embera, and so on). Children who aren't fluent are seen as "rejecting their heritage" by the same parents who are addressing them in Spanish.

All this to say hopefully doing these activities will make Alex aware of the need to teach language to our daughters.

My second objective is to get the girl's foot in the door, language-wise. Since they understand and speak almost none at all, they are overwelmed when they get faced with a barrage of Woun Meu from an exuberant distant relative. Little sister doesn't seem to react too much to that, but Princess is very intimidated. She will usually react by ignoring the person and talking to me in English. It's as if her personality changes. Later she will tell me, "Talking in Wounaan is too hard." I don't want to push her, so I tell her that she doesn't have to talk if she doesn't want to, but then follow that up with, "It seems hard because Daddy hasn't taught you yet.

It seems like a complicated dance at times: exposing her to the language so that she will see the need to learn, while at the same time not pushing her so much that she rejects the language; giving her permission to learn at her own pace, yet encouraging her that she CAN learn. But we are trying.

And I hope that with a few basic words and phrases, commands, and familiar objects, they will have some "aha!" moments when listening to others speak in Woun Meu and realize, "I CAN speak that language!". I am optimistic.

As an added bonus they are getting some great interaction time with Papi. Not a bad deal all around.

Homeschooling: the privilege of the educated

I would like to start out by stating that my perspective on this is unique, since I although I am an American, I do not live in the States, nor is my husband American. Almost everything I have read about homeschooling is written by Americans.

I have heard it said many times that anyone is qualified to home school their children. But I have to challenge that statement. Everyone is charged by God to teach their children, but many people in the world are not able to school them.

Case in point: my mother in law. Rosaura was born in a remote jungle village, into an almost unknown indigenous tribe. One of many children, her life changed forever when her father died while she was still a young child. She never saw the inside of a classroom, I doubt there was even a school in the vicinity. Orphaned, life was about survival. She knew hunger firsthand, and the desperation of poverty.

Married as a young teen, she began her family without the support of relatives, her children born in the same small hut where they lived. Life was not kind to her.

My husband Alex is her youngest, and only with her second husband. He grew up speaking only Woun meu, their native language, at home. He doesn't remember how old he was when he started school. The Wounaan aren't a culture focused on numbers like we are. He estimates that he was 9 or 10 when he first stepped into a classroom. There he learned Spanish, something he parents couldn't teach him, since they didn't speak it either.

Alex's cousin told me how upon starting school she couldn't tell the teacher she needed to go to the bathroom; she didn't know how. So every day she would have an accident in school. What an introduction to education.

Not only was he faced with a new language, but upon arriving home with his first homework assignment, his parents were helpless to come to his aid. They understood neither the language, nor the letters on the page. So he did the best he could.

Alex still mourns the education he didn't get. In 7th grade, he began to struggle in school. As is usual in his culture, he parents encouraged him to drop out and begin working. It was only later, as an adult, that he finished his high school and even went on to university.

And he wants so much more for his daughters. He wants them to excel, to receive what he wishes he had received. Something his parents couldn't give him. What he received in the public school here in Panama was deficient at best. Yes, he can read and write. But I am humbled every day to realize what a treasure I was given in my schooling. I went to GOOD public schools, with a few years of homeschooling thrown in. I had GOOD teachers. I liked to learn. I was given the tools I needed.

That's a gift that many parents can't give their children. Some because they cannot read and write themselves. Some because they don't speak the language their children need to survive in the ever expanding world.

Those who home school are given a sacred privilege. No, all parents are not able to teach their children. And it is something that I never want to take for granted, next year as we start our homeschooling adventure with Princess' preschool. We are blessed.

Becoming like a child...

I have recently been reading an excellent book called " Ministering Cross-Culturally." The author, Sherwood Lingenfelter, tells about his experiences living in another culture and says that as we adapt to the new culture, we become 150% people: 75 % our own culture, and 75% our new host culture.

It's an interesting thought. Obviously, if we are to be effective missionaries, we must adapt to our host country and culture, taking on a new language, cultural norms, foods, even climate. But we always remain American (or whatever our country of origin is).

In a way, when we enter a new culture, we become as little children. We must learn to eat, learn to speak, learn manners, even how to go to the bathroom or bathe. Everything is new. This is perhaps one of the most difficult things to accept. At home, we were someone. We had a place in society, we felt at home, we knew what was expected of us. But now, we are ignorant foreigners. When we speak, people laugh. When we make a cultural mistake, people think us rude. When we make rice wrong, they tell us so (I know that from personal experience).

I have crystal clear memories of a certain jungle outreach where we spent three weeks mostly hiking from village to village in an area inaccessible by car. As the days wore on I felt my self esteem taking a fatal blow. The locals who accompanied us soon left us behind. Every river we had to cross reminded me of my foreignness as I struggles across the rocky river bottom, slipping and tripping. Then at the other side of the river, I struggled to empty my rubber boots of the water (which inevitably spilled over the edge of the boots). I watched the rest of the group move on, knowing that even though I was pushing myself to the limit physically, I wouldn't be able to keep it.

It's an incredibly humbling experience, to realize that in this world, you know nothing. It changes you. There is no going back once you have been stretched by an experience like that.

After 13 years in the country, in many ways, I have adapted. I can speak Spanish fluently, make many of the local dishes, get around the country, and I usually know what is expected in social situations. In many ways, I have become a Panamanian. I even have my residency papers to prove it (and having an Panamanian husband also helps).

Yet in many ways, I will never be Panamanian. The color of my skin, my hair and my eyes shouts to the world that I am different. Even as I have tried to adjust, I find a part of myself resisting. As I try to be a good missionary, part of me shouts, "I don’t WANT to be a Panamanian." I think that's why I loved his statement of being 75% of one culture, and 75% of another. I have given up my homeland, my culture, submitting myself to the laws and customs of another land. I have given the last 13 of my years, hoping to make this nation a better place. Yet a part of me remains forever American. The foods, holidays, and values of my culture remain, pulling me back continually.


It's been a painful experience at times, and has changed the way I see the world. And still I continue to learn. And many times I still feel like a little child, just starting to learn about the world