Panama...Saying Goodbye

Saturday, November 28, 2015

What Then Shall We Say?

God had us all thinking, some together but not entirely, we were months of searching out this thing to do for God, something intentional; all, interestingly enough, to do something for the Fosters in Panama…we were being prepared for what would soon happen…for something big, for something amazing.

We have worked well together, steadfast and unified; we have so accomplished what was set before us at the beginning of this journey...we came to deliver  cases and boxes filled with tangibles, but more than that; we came with words of encouragement, eyes open to learn, ears to listen and hearts to love.

We have all been amazed and touched by seeing God in a million little ways but also in great big ways, we will never be the same and certainly Panama will be changed as well.  We know this because our eyes were wide open...we saw children willing to be loved, their families all around them caring, working, hoping and more than that; we saw where we could do something more.  We saw the camp, where it was, who worked and loved there and more than that; we saw what we could do to help them accomplish more.  We saw how Alan and Colleen lived with their little family, we saw their passion and dedication...more than that; we could see there was something we could do to help them invest even more. 

We have said our goodbyes and in just a little while heading home...what then shall we say?

In the beginning and in the ending... there is always more to think of, more to say, more to add to the story, to our coming and going, it is never just how we are or what has happened, or what was lost, or what was gained, there is always more to it…yes more than that; the wonder of listening, learning and loving.

So, what was about to happen has happened and we find ourselves here…last steps, last words, last looks.  Bitter sweet; our days here are coming to an end but really it is just the beginning...

God is doing amazing things, with amazing people; Alan, Colleen, Einer, Girlaca, Robinson, Delacio, Oberlin and more, ordinary people that are passionate for what happens in their part of the world...Panama; a country of rivers and jungles, thatched roofs and glass towers, school uniforms and parumas...contrasts and God's love abound.

“We give thanks to God always, for all of you constantly mentioning you in our prayers remembering before our God and Father your work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.  For we know brothers loved by God, that He has chosen you…not to please  man but to please God who tests our hearts.” 

God, what more shall we say?

…my heart knows what Yours knows.

Panama Day Ten

             

Friday, November 27, 2015

Amongst the Ruins

We had breakfast in Torti one week ago on our way into the Darien, today we are waking up here, a beautiful oasis on the edge of a highway that is now taking us out.  When we arrived here last night we took our luggage down a flight of tiled stairs, through a garden of exotic plants, flowers and coconut filled palm trees, we walked past a beautiful pool that was already beckoning our names.  Our rooms were surrounded by a covered   walkway, and edged with a wrought iron railing, white walls, large windows all sparkling with the reflection from the pool below…I could hardly wait.  After going up for a long awaited meal we made our way back down for a swim, the moon was shining down through the palm branches; all magic.  Dive in, head first, breathe, just breathe.

Kalea settled into bed, all snuggled up with Samson, the baby nestled nearby and the rest of us gathered for a debrief, chatting and taking in our last days…amazing days.  Those were the thoughts that danced in our heads as we slept that night.

Today we will be heading in to Panama City, we are looking forward to seeing the other side of this beautiful country, coming away from the indigenous jungle villages on the one side and entering the economically rich on the other.  Alan and Colleen were to take some of their load, including Samson, home and would meet up with us along the highway at Catrigandi. 

Travelling the Pan American Highway back into Panama City we find the scenery to be what we have come to know; rolling hills, jungle edges dotted with huts and sunny skies.   Coming in to Chepo, we stop at the Rio Bayano Bridge to take a few pictures and enjoy the view.   The bridge is a tangle of geometric meccano like construction reaching up in stages of crosses and steel.  The waterway under us is setting up magnificent views, stretching out to the North and to the south.  Close to the water’s edge just under the bridge nestles a piragua where the occupants have stopped for lunch and further on stretch out arms of jungle that hug the shores and beyond that the hazy shadows of rolling mountain ranges.

Soon we are entering in to the city, fabulous, all glass and steel, high rises, towers and a maze of roadways; on and off ramps twists and turns.  In the midst are scattered the ruins of ancient buildings, the Santo Domingo church for one plus many others that are now being restored.  Repairing destruction that happened during the Spanish American wars in the 1800’s to the Columbia drug catastrophes to the urban warfare during the US invasion in 1989…beauty in the ashes.  Alan leads us in and out of sections of the city, along the harbor into the old city and back into the new, definitely a city of contrasts.  We pass by makeshift shelves loaded with fresh produce, cartloads of baked buns, umbrella covered lunch carts, conglomerations of electrical wires all jumbled and hanging from poles tucked up close to buildings and standing guard on many of the corners are stiffly uniformed police officers.  Then as simple as rounding a turn we enter once again in to the high walls of glass towers along the harbor.

The city is beginning to celebrate Navidad; amongst the palm trees in medians and parkways  are large Christmas trees decorated in red balls and tinsel and there a stadium set up for a Christmas concert.  We stop for lunch at a coffee shop where we enjoy conversation with the people sitting around us, they are interested in our jagua tattoos, but we are only a few in the midst of gringos here.  We step out into the narrow streets to walk past beautiful and colorful architecture some of it in restoration but much of it already accomplished.  Walking around the corner we find Obdulio’s tienda de Artesania and enter through a tall wooden door into the indigenous crafts he sells; local artisans, basket weavers, wood carvers, and jewellery makers, colorful woven scarves and hats…all beautiful.  The money he makes here is rerouted to support the communities he sponsors.

Checking in at the Riande Aeropuerto Hotel, a resort in the middle of the city, we settle in…after a swim in the grand pool and a drink of Panama cerveza we gather for a wonderful meal and share words of confirmation, affirmation and encouragement for all of us; Jason, Deanne, Robin, Marlis, Loralee, myself, Alan and Colleen...a sweet ending to this last day of an amazing time in Panama.

“God created you to do amazing things”

Ephesians 2:10

What then shall we say in response to these things...

Panama Day Nine

Thursday, November 26

Uh Uh, No Sir!

The excavator came yesterday and it will be finishing up today, the men have already been up there this morning watching more brush disappearing, more fruit falling and heavy muddy dirt moving.  Machetes and shovels held are mostly still as they watch the big machine do its work.  I slip into Einer’s villa to find Jason sitting at the long kitchen table listening to a young man; he is translating to Deanne and now to me as well.  Oberlin has an amazing story to share, we have heard it, we know it, but now we hear it from his own words, his friend Efriam is listening too.

As Oberlin tells his story, we are mesmerized by his voice as he speaks, his face, his eyes, his words… his hands.  I cannot stop looking at his hands as they move into a fist and then open and roll and point…they also are telling the story.  It is a story of a seemingly lost soul, sold out to the devil; tormented himself but also tormenting others, including his friends, affecting his school, losing his parents.  The whole of the town fought to find salvation for this trouble, the youth went wild and the school was shut down. A Catholic priest tried to help, men from the town, family, still, all seemed lost.  But God was pursuing Oberlin, over time he fled to the church, head down, shoulders hunched, trying to make himself invisible, he made his way to the front seat weeping, crying out the Hineni words of God… “Here I am, Here I am, Here I am…” over and over and over again.  My tears overflowed and rolled down…this is how God pursues. 

Oberlin, once a broken young man but now made whole, restored, and beautiful…his slate wiped clean.  He works here now, at this camp for kids, he is dedicated to discipling children for God and the people here cannot stop loving him.  He offers to share another gift with us, Jagua painting.  He explains that Jagua is an important fruit in the life of Embera and Waounan people. This hard inedible fruit is grated, mixed with a small amount of water and squeezed in a cloth to extract a black liquid that is used to paint directly on dry skin.  Geometrical designs wrapped around upper arms, wrists and in some cases whole lower bodies…like a two-week tattoo.  A personal and impressive gift...oh yes, we all got one!

Our time here is nearly at an end, we have just a few things more to finish, cleaning the showers, bathrooms and beds; sweeping and washing floors; packing up everything into our suitcases; saying our farewells to these people we have gotten to know…Americo, Obdulio, Ricardo, Delacio, Alsiviades, Oberlin, Efriam, Robinson, his wife Ruth, other women who called this place home, and the children. 

Alan gives us a few instructions about driving through the checkpoints as we leave the Darien and head down to Torti where we will spend this night….as we listen, we load up Alan’s vehicle and the Prado; baby stuff, Kalea’s stuff, Alan and Colleen’s stuff, all of our stuff which is much less than what we came with and the dog Samson…who tried one more time to interrupt Alan's instructions, who in turn reiterated with a command we became very familiar with…

”Uh, uh, no Sir!

And now, one last four wheel drive up the new road and back down again…here we go!

Panama Day Eight

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

There Lies My Heart

This day, a party, celebrating the birthdays of the children who attend this camp…especially Louis.  We decorated with balloons, made goody bags, played musical hula hoops and enjoyed Robin and Alan strumming their guitars, singing “memememe...me?…you…Happy birthday to You”  Such fun; laughter and love and tears.

The road construction is well on its way, the men have cleared away a lot of brush and a few large beautiful trees...as one of them toppled to the ground, Obdulio sighs, “There lies my heart.” Girlaca agrees and Colleen hasn’t yet dared to look.  We notice the red tinges of the bark peeling, bleeding.  A few steps down from this new clearing, the old stairway winds down the slope to the camp yard where the new road will take us back up.  As I take each step down I bend low to pick up the grapefruits that have fallen from this broken heart  and shaken from the others around it; yellow, round fruit lining the crevices along the old broken stairs, some split and ruined but some whole and ripe, lying amongst the small tufts of flowers and fallen leaves.  Around all this that lay on the ground, big blue butterflies flitted in and out through the rays of sunshine that filtered through this bit of jungle...beauty among the remnants.

At the top of the hill, Einer and Girlaca had shown us through their old Spanish villa; into the rooms she had painted with shades of yellow and green, through her open kitchen and up the stairs to the room with the hammock, where the clean laundry hung from the window guards and where Einer stored the lathe machine that he has been using to sand small pieces of wood into pens.  The wood is called Kobo, it initially sells for $75 per foot, he uses the scrap pieces…small squares of a hard wood that once oiled expose the grains and color; shades of browns, golden tans and a rich purple. The Wounaan people are Artisans and it is Einer’s plan to introduce them to this new craft of pen making, adding it to the basket weaving that they have been doing forever.

Wanting to see the Port, we walk up the road to Yaviza, the town at the end of the road.  Past the cemetary of white crosses and tombs, past the high school where the students were celebrating their last day, and up to the Port entry; a grand covered walkway, stretched long with a wide front stairway up, guarded on each side by large iron rails, painted red and on the inside by a short white crossed iron fence; floor tiled and flags waving in the breeze, red, white and blue.  Beyond the rails, below, the muddy river, lined with piraguas, men loading and unloading, people waiting and us watching.  From here we take the road to the walking bridge past the bars, that were so filled with music and people that first night we were here...now silent; the colorful homes, rich old and faded; shops filled with colorful goods, clothing, shoes, food of all sorts;  pickup trucks full of papayas, coconuts and other produce;  meat cooking on open BBQ’s; people watching after us, children playing and following along.  All of this making colorful layers of a multi cultured, Latino, Black, Wounaan and Gringo shaped  life.

This night, we meet with Obdulio, Ricardo and Americo, these men who have been so generous to share their country, this small part of their world, their dreams and prayers with us.  It has been an honor to hear the words they say back to us; the answers, reflecting the questions that were asked at the beginning of this journey.  Americo, sharing the hidden concern he had about us travelling through the Red Zone…he stood amazed each time our papers were handed over at the check points and we were allowed through.  He said in awe, this is no longer the Roho Zona, it is the Verde Zona.

Amazing grace…

Panama Day Seven

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

A Very White Night

Daybreak, early morning rising, and we are waking in the misty air to the sounds of a village stirring to their own start.  As we are wrapping up our bedding and organizing our packs we see children running about getting ready for school, no doubt.  We had just seen the village teacher leave his hut walking down the path…clean cut, laptop, briefcase, black pants, white shirt, tie; all pressed.  To all of us it seemed he may have been just as much at home walking on a street downtown Vancouver heading for work in one of the towers there.  Some of the children ran naked through the village square to use the shared shower, soon returning and then to be seen once again in their school uniform…black pants, white shirt, tie; all pressed. Sights of contradiction!

We laid out our gifts to the family on the table and made our way down the ladder to put on our shoes; shoes were always left at the bottom of the ladder before entering any hut.  All of our things were wrapped again in large plastic bags and we carried them down to the shelter of the church building, the feel of rain was heavy in the air.  We were served hot lemon grass tea as we waited for news of our piragua being ready to board.  In our line of vision, as we sipped tea was the roof line of the church building that the ladies had spoken of the night before; partly built, open steel rafters waiting for the sheet roofing.  Some of us walked over to see for ourselves how far the builders have come, what was left to be done, supplies that were on hand and what was still needed for this dream to be accomplished.  It was a big endeavour, where we appreciated the freedom and comfort of the thatched roof these people had a dream of sheet metal and cement…more contradiction.  But where contradiction was evident so was God’s hand, His call on these beautiful people… hopes and dreams.

The rain had already started and we pulled out our plastic ponchos, hats and umbrellas, this time to keep dry; the rain came down, hard, but still warm as we boarded and headed out on the river highway back to Yaviza. The rain didn’t last the whole river long and soon we found ourselves putting down the umbrellas as we chatted the time away and watched the river pass by.

Home again, Yaviza…sun shining, we showered, hung laundry, had coffee, shared our adventures with Deanne, who had stayed back with Colleen and the children; we heard hers, all peppered with worship in rest and love.

It was not long when the men traded their ponchos for machetes, saws and shovels; preparing the land for the big excavator that would come tomorrow, building the road in for Alan and Colleens new home.

Walking about the camp yard, watching the machetes disappear over the hill I noticed lunch…well, I didn’t know it was lunch.  I went down to take a photo thinking how great is this…a pet pig!  As I approached Einer, he explained to me that the pig would be killed; now, right there, on the spot, and would I be able to prepare some?  

Lunch; sweet plantain lightly fried, a salad of pineapple and cabbage and…Puerco.

When we arrived in Panama the Fosters told us that rain was never far away…yes true.  One more downpour today, Kalea running and dancing in the midst of it and me joining her; so fun, big drops, a shower from God and cooling us off after cooking the afternoon away in a hot kitchen...later her and I, swinging in the hammock, storm watching; God’s lovely dance, thunder cracking and lightening, bright white lighting up this small part of the world.

"What color is that Kalea?”  “Very white” she answered “God is making a very white night!”

Light in the darkness…

I love that.

Panama Day Six

                               

Monday, November 24, 2015

The Wounaan Villages

Waking up in the home of Delacio, he is the local pastor and has joined with us in part of our journey.  We step out of netted bedrolls that were laid side by side against the long wall of the big room; taking in the sounds of the morning we step across the small walkway leading into the kitchen and here we find Delacio’s wife kneeling beside the fire, cutting up plantains, the men sitting at the wooden table already talking about water lines and measurements.  The kitchen is the smaller of the two rooms of this home, there is a makeshift counter with room to hold dishes; if there was running water they would be able to be washed here but as it is, this is the holding place until they are brought down to the river to be washed. The food is cooked on a large low open fire pit, with room to kneel and prepare food and to hold large pots of soup or rice.  Today we will be cooking black bean soup for the noon meal.

 

We work hard at communicating to some degree, any degree, with Delacios’ wife, her children and the children who gathered in her home, curious about us…communication, our biggest frustration, but still, there were things to be learned and things to be shared.  We spent time coloring pages, making paper airplanes and folding paper games, singing songs, sharing our names… the young girls writing their names on their arms; gracious Jabiela, sweet Rudi, Lynethe, Yneth, and Loriwyn, who caught my attention, the oldest of the group... all beautiful.

 

Jason wanders off with the men, measuring and Robin is off to the river with the boys, swimming.  Marlis, Loralee and I walk over the bridge and stroll along a wide sidewalk carving a promenade through the jungle, trees lined up on either side swaying in the breeze.  The skies open and we find ourselves in the rain, pouring, the tap turned on and we are just as wet as if we had already swam in the river.  Still the river beckons us in, an amazing rush of water, if we had let ourselves go we would have been taken away by its current, but we could stand, the guys joined us, along with a few boys; throwing mud balls, throwing each other, laughter, memories; life.

Back at the hut we gather our things, and say our good byes, sharing hugs, exchanging gifts…loving; new friends, God’s family.  We board our piragua, setting course for the next village, a much larger population, one that long ago broke away from Aruza over some distant disagreement.  Vista Alegre, this Wounaan village was one of the checkpoint stops and we would be setting up for night here.  We arrived to a meal of chicken soup served with rice along with bowls of oranges.  On our way in we noticed that this village though bigger was not as organized, fewer sidewalks, not as square, not as trimmed but there was a store or two, maybe more. Many of the homes had toilets outside on the decks for all to see, plumbing exposed running down the outside of the walls. There was a town hall lined with freshly painted blue chairs filled with people watching us waiting for Alan and his water message.  It was an honor for these people to be part of this meeting, that was clear, and it was also clear that Alan was respected; in turn we were honored to witness these exchanges.

After our meal, Americo, Ricardo and Obdulio led us to the shops, where we purchased colorful skirt fabrics called paruma, drinks of Fresca and snacks of vanilla wafers.

 

Even though it was Monday, the village church held a special evening service, we were encouraged by their singing and sharing, we sang too, songs they knew and some they didn’t… Little Drummer Boy, along with a message from Alan; the giving of gifts...pa rum pum pum pum.  We asked if any had prayer requests and people stepped forward wanting prayer for their youth, for their families to endure the struggles of this life, to press on…the same prayers we ask for our own families.  Women relayed their struggle in building the church and asked for help to accomplish it…maybe we can.

Powerful prayer, holding hands, the laying of hands, tears, listening, learning and loving…one more day of too much…amazing grace.

I love that.

Panama Day Five

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Travelling the River to Aruza

I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that roosters crow at dawn to announce the morning, but this is not true in Panama…no, the roosters here crow.  All.  Night.  Long.  I’m pretty sure if you listen, the rooster can be heard stalking up the hill through the grass in the night waiting for the exact moment someone falls asleep and then begins his concert chaos of crowing.  Without mentioning any name one of our team would be aggravated into action, slipping out in the night, taking a risk, attempting to stop the madness!

Good morning in Yaviza…pancakes, maple syrup, eggs scrambled served up with boot coffee.  We are pensive, thinking, praying, preparing ourselves for our next move, up river to Aruza, our first indigenous community, the Wounaans.  Under our breath praying for God’s lead, His care, we move about the camp packing our small bags; clothing, bedding, food and small gifts for these people, God’s family.  Everything is wrapped in large plastic bags; we will be travelling in an open boat and the baggage needs to be protected from water spray as well as rain.  Right now though, the sun is shining, bright, hot, Hot.  Our boat ride will be long; we are sun screened, our heads covered with hats and umbrellas on hand, all a protection from the sun. 

The boat has arrived and we trek down to the water’s edge to load and board.  The boat, a piragua; a wooden flat bottomed dugout canoe is about forty feet in length; we sit two by two, thirteen of us with the baggage piled up in the middle.  Operating the small Evinrude motor at the back is Lupo and the front manned by Dalecio with a pole used for steering and docking, these men guiding us… an unbelievable adventure that will take us five hours upriver.

This river highway, that carries travelers back and forth to different villages is in constant guard, monitored by the Senafront, we make two stops to show passports and papers.  All travelers must make these stops, not just foreigners…each time we are allowed to carry on…yes go.

The river reminds me of the Jordan River in Israel, its width, the color, the trees along its edges, the way the branches hang down and drape over the water in places.  There are many kinds of palm trees, bamboo grasses and trees with large canopies.  We pass by other boats, loaded with people holding colorful umbrellas, boats of one or two men carrying cargoes of plantains or papayas and others with small families making their way somewhere; waving. Birds grace the river banks, resting on logs, black cormorants, white pelicans, others silver and grey, standing in groups or perched alone.  Butterflies flutter on the shores, hundreds; yellow, white, lime green scavenging over some sweet something left on the river edges.  Now and then the river banks become muddy dirt walls topped with grasses or sometimes a hut or two, and then down again laying low;  muddy marshes where small alligators nestle or some such animal perhaps snakes… having burrowed holes into the banks.  All the while the surf from our small motor rolled out to the land in a ‘V’ behind us reminding us of the vision Deanne had before we left…ask her.

Taking a fork in the river we veer left steering our way to the shores of Aruza, our first community visit.

We are amazed at this village, the wide cement stairs leading skyward, welcome us up… as we take each step, the village unfolds before us…an organized grid of sidewalks, lined by huts on stilts, thatched roofs, wires running electricity, street lights, satellite dishes, trimmed grass, clean, dotted with outhouses, a community building, 3 church buildings, behind us a walking bridge that mimics the Port Man, white wire cables and cement towers holding it all up.  Unbelievable.  And watching us; the people who live here, children, parents, grandparents taking us in, wondering about us. 

The memories here will last a life time…starting with the water meeting, the people waiting to hear Alan’s message about the new water system, his name the only mark on the calendar, sitting next to Donald the young man who spoke English, us standing in the rain getting relief from the heat, laughing and playing football in the mud, slipping, sliding, blowing up balloons and playing balloon volleyball, the meal, bathing in the river to cool down and the church service, singing, listening, eyes wide open…beautiful people, beautiful children, us; loving and learning. 

We will find out that we have been the first foreign group to travel up the river, into  the red zone, in twenty years. 

Unbelievable.

Panama Day Four

Saturday, November 21, 2015

The Camino to Yaviza

Packing up and getting ready to leave this Catrigandi home, packing up all of our things. Once we leave here we will not come back, the house needs to be cleaned up, whatever stays needs to be wrapped or stored away, the floors need to be swept, the beds taken up and whatever needs to be taken packed once again into the Prado as well as Alan’s vehicle.  One last look around, taking in this bit of peace…we are on the move.

We take the lower river road out, the road that is sometimes a river and the river that is sometimes a road.  We are on our way to Yaviza…but first we stop for breakfast in Torti, an oasis of sorts, nestled on the edge of the highway, a restaurant, hotel, retreat, beauty…café with leche and Wi-Fi connection.

On the road again; the Camino, our journey to the end of the road…Yaviza.

Along the way, we are passing Palm trees, Banyan trees, sometimes we are driving close under their canopies other times alongside the bamboo grasses. Here and there in the midst of the jungle are Teak farms…Alan explains that there is total silence in the teak groves, nothing grows under them and nothing lives in them; only silence.  The highway is dotted with huts and homes, all yellow and green and pink built on stilts, roofs of tin, thatched, almost always topped with an orange satellite dish, bookended with rolling hills and covered by a blue sky edged with billowy white clouds.

We are entering the Darien, passing through the first checkpoint, the Senafront, police checking passports and clearing us through.  This highway is expected to take us five to six hours to drive, not because of its length but because of its condition; potholes, damaged asphalt, in some places carved out patches, although Alan and Colleen are surprised at the improvements.

After a stop in Metiti for fruit and vegetables and several more Senafront checkpoints we arrive at the camp in Yaviza…our next home.  It is hot, Hot, humid and sticky…we are dripping, wet, happy.

The camp is a grouping of three long cement buildings; one housing the people who work here; one the kitchen and multipurpose room for kids club and discipleship programs; one the dorm we would be calling home, five sets of bunkbeds, side by side all along the length of the one wall, electicity, fans, bathrooms and showers.  There is also a separate common building; wooden floor, open fire pit for cooking, a sink for washing, a table with benches and chairs, a hammock and a feeling of community, a meeting place…all covered by a thatched roof.  Up on the hill, the home of Einer and Girlesa, the managers of this camp; in the 1960s this building began as a tuberculosis clinic, looking like a Spanish villa, now stands guard over this camp of God’s workers.

Dinner is going to be taken in a restaurant,  in the heart of Yaviza; surprising as we drive in... a port town, with a feeling of New Orleans, colorful, bars, music blaring, cafes; people walking the streets, cat calling, laughing, talking, holding hands, wearing colorful clothing, Latinos but mostly Blacks; it is Saturday night and people are out.  Alan shared a bit of the history with us, how the Blacks found a hiding place in Yaviza, freed from slavery  making settlements here and along the river and edges of the Darien.

Beauty in the jumble of it all.

Amongst all the people were the dogs, thin and sad but owned, hovering around the edges waiting for a handout perhaps…Kalea was deeply touched and she performed a dance for them, to give them something lovely,  something beautiful in their seemingly sad lives…sweet, funny, compassion beyond age.

The day nearly to an end, we met with the leaders of the National Church of Panama; Americo, Ricardo and Obdulio, Einer and Alan, orienting us to the Indigenous people we would be traveling upriver to visit…sharing words of expectation, prayers, blessings and confirmations of our coming to this place…Gods place…Gods call.

I love that.

Panama Day Three

Friday, November 20, 2015

Stop and Rest

Colleen and Alan have been living in the city for the last few months, taking care of baby so this is the first time home since Joshua was born, a reflective time, moments of looking around checking spaces and corners and cupboards, mostly for bugs and scorpions but also to get reacquainted with home.

Loralee and I had fallen asleep in our makeshift beds on the upstairs deck, under mosquito netting, to the sound of the jungle rain, an adventure in itself.  We were awakened in the night by Howler Monkeys, no doubt swinging in the trees just beyond our heads; in concert with the trills of the tree frogs and crickets, it was a cacophony of sound but also strangely comforting…home in the jungle.

The morning brought breakfast cooked by the men, fried plantain; fresh cut grapefruit and boot coffee; grounds boiled hard in an open pot, strong, steaming, hot.  We sat scattered around the front deck reading the cards of encouragement brought from home, letters, quotes, verses, words…we took this time to share a few of those messages resting in the Lord.

“Tell me where to stop and rest.

Every moment You know where I am.” 

Psalm 139:3

This is what this day would be, resting, listening, learning and loving.  Alan took Jason and Robin out through the back gate into the jungle venturing out to the neighbouring hut in the back, to say hello but more than that, to install plumbing for a sink and running water; working together , establishing relationship, encouraging, serving, loving.  Jason and Robin were thankful for their footwear when boards were moved aside and out slithered a poisonous snake.  At home where the adventure was not so alive, we women visited amongst each other chatting with Colleen and supporting her in conversation and encouragement, bathing the baby, reading with Kalea…again and again and again, on the porch, nestled on the floor or snuggled in the hammock. 

Leaving Colleen to chat in Spanish with a visitor, we slipped into our boots and walking shoes to investigate the road outside of the gate, uphill to the river, spilling waterfalls, tin fences, wide streams, slipping out of our shoes forging through, rocky bottoms, clear water bubbling over…peace at the end of the road.  Turning around we ventured past the gate down the road to peer into the yards of Alans neighbours, simple lives, huts with open doors, dogs, hens and chicks, people sitting watching us watch them…with a wave calling out “Ola”

We lugged in our 12 large suitcases, unwrapping and unpacking everything we brought along, boating supplies for Alan, water pumps, tools, equipment, books and gifts for Kalea and the baby, supplies for the camp in Yaviza and gifts to take out to the communities we would be visiting.

Evening came soon and we enjoyed a dinner of fried plantain, stirred with apple and onion and garlic served on rice, while tuning in to Alans plan for travelling to the camp in Yaviza.  We shared Highs and Lows of the day…Colleen blessed in rest and Alan thankful for the flexibility of our team…guitar playing, drums, singing…resting in the Lord.

We all loved that.

Panama Day Two

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Catrigandi

The morning came soon enough, we had slept well this first night and we were eager to go, the vehicles were piled high once again and we all found our places amongst the baggage.  Alan took us to a small local restaurant for breakfast; a hut of sorts, open walled but under cover, a string of flags hung along the length of it lending a feeling of celebration.  Ah, perfect…an outside experience of food, tastes that would soon become expected; deep fried bread, rounds of fried corn taco, scrambled eggs, beef in sauce, smoked puerco, coffee with leche and always our own water.

Soon we were on our way heading for the Fosters home in Catrigandi.  Once we turned off the main road, we soon realized why we needed four wheel drive; the road was steep, rough and muddy from the last rain, we drove through streams of water overflowing from the river that ran alongside the road and sometimes was the road.  Of course Alan knows all the tricks for driving this high road but Jason had his work cut out for him, it wasn’t long and the Prado was sideways.  But of course, what man doesn’t love winching something stuck in the mud!

As we continued on we passed by the homes and properties carved into the jungle, some were in the clearing, fenced, near the road, others were settled further in and we could catch glimpses of their lifestyles; children playing, elders sitting by, dogs roaming, chickens pecking, horses and cows grazing, saddles hanging, dirt floors swept hard, water lines hanging through trees and surrounding everything was the jungle…amazing.

Soon, we were opening the gate and entering into the property of Alan and Colleen, before us was the home they had built, high on stilts, painted yellow, open decks, open windows, stairs leading us up to the entry deck, walls painted brightly with jungle scenes, through the front door into the kitchen…home.

This Catrigandi home is built and overflowing with intention, simplicity and love…love of the land, love of family.  We spent the remainder of the day wandering about the house and property, taking in this lifestyle the Fosters have embraced.  Everything has to do with heat, humidity, critters, being clean, waste and water. The house has electricity that is powered with solar panels, in a system of wires and switches fashioned together on a shelf in a corner of the kitchen.  Alan showed us his outside shower, like a spa, built with rock, cement and tile, the water heated with propane.  All was surrounded by walls fashioned together from sheets of white plastic, leaving enough space to walk around and yes, feel pampered.  The outside toilet equally beautiful, double doored, windows all around, frosted glass, louvered, open rafters and floors grouted with pieces of broken tiles all in shades of yellow and white…with two seats.  Alan used a system of go, scoop, decompose and switch…an odorless combination of microbiology and invention…perfect.

We are enveloped in the jungle, every kind of palm tree rising up around us, burgeoning with papayas, coconuts and plantains; plantains brought down by Robin with a machete,  trees overflowing with grapefruit, oranges and limes, some falling to the ground, begging to be peeled and squeezed and consumed, Maranga trees laden with leaves to be stripped and stirred into salads; the garden of Eden. 

In the day, the canopies of the trees are home for spider monkeys, lime green parrots, colorful toucans and at night they came alive with howler monkeys,  crickets and tree frogs; all making their own noise…piercing noises, into the darkness.  Fireflies flitted around lighting up and hovering over the ground, over brush or fallen tree branches where the possibility of snakes, scorpions and chiggers could be awakened…always watch where you step.

After dinner, we talked many things; what we would see, where we would go, who we would visit and how we would get there.  We talked about baptism here in this country and at home, we laughed and sang and prayed and talked some more, all the while Kalea, danced between us adorning us with jewelry she made of string and paper... beautiful now.

“Beautiful on the mountain are the feet of those who bring good news”

Isaiah 52:7

Not so much that we are the ones bringing the good news, but we are hearing amazing and beautiful things.

I love that.