I should not Starbucks

 It’s been about 2 weeks – I’m starting to understand this place better and feel more comfortable getting around. With less fear each time I leave the apartment gate, it’s easier to recognize the beauty of this place.

We have a 4-day break from our intensive language program this weekend since the Pope arrived for the World Youth Day (Jornada Mundial da Juventud – JMJ), and I’ve been trying to make use of it to rest. I am currently without much of a voice (friagem is a beast, man), and have learned that I’m pretty b.a. for using the strongest variety of cough drops sold here. In Brazil, Halls are considered candy, so I’ve been trying to take mine out discreetly during class lest the gum effect apply.

Rest is a bit of a relative term. Since our class starts at 8:10am and goes until 1:30, 6 days a week, waking up past 9 feels magical. Thursday there was a university-organized trip to the imperial city, Petrópolis, for which we met at 7am.

WOAH in the street they’re singing a version of “Children of the Lord” in Portuguese! “sooomething, some someeething, *stomp* give God the glory glory! (Oh --) Riiiise and shiiine and *stomp* give God the glory glory RISE AND SHINE AND *stomp* give God the glooory gloooory chiiilldreeeen oooof theeee Loooooooord.”

It’s cool to have groups of Catholic students from around the world here to see the Pope. Right now it seems like the Brazilians are owning it, though. There has been a tambourine going for at least 10 minutes outside of the Starbucks I’m chilling in. The songs keep coming. Check out the people in yellow on the other side of the road - guitar, tambourine, dancing... sounds almost biblical.

I haven't quite learned the art of public selfie-taking.

Back to the trip. So we travelled about an hour and a half in two huge tourist buses, during which half of that time seemed to be winding around a mountain. The fog was absurd, the roads narrow, the bus huge, and I crossed myself a few times (in the spirit of the season) since words were failing me. Below is just an image of that area that I found, but imagine knowing that this is the landscape immediately on your side without being able to see further than the edge of the road. 

I'm comfortable with death as a concept, just not the stress waiting for it to happen. 

Because of the altitude and humidity (btw it has been raining the past couple days in Rio), it was very wet and very cold most of the time. We stopped by a few tourist spots, including a tour of the imperial palace, but really the most memorable thing was spending time with other international students. On the ride home I stumbled upon PUC-Rio Latino Karaoke Night. It turned out that I had chosen the right bus, because rows 15 through 23 had become little Mexico (I mean, Mexico + friends) – in the absolute least offensive way (which will be evident if you know me). However I was disappointed that I wasn’t familiar with the Latin pop ballads they were all belting (read: mono-screaming). So I guess my lack of voice at this point is not only a result of the wind and water, but my attempts to join in on the party when I happened to know part of a song being “performed”.

I am now going to defend something I said earlier that may not have even been noticed: I am in a Starbucks. Please do not hate on. This thing is so dang convenient. I didn’t even go past the glass door – sitting on the patio (in an awesomely comfy couch) looking over the street can’t be as much of a crime as drinking a café light frapp inside (which I have already done twice).

In contrast to the US, these things do not dominate every street corner. Un/Fortunately, the only one in the area happens to be five doors down from my apartment. Agh they just started playing bossa nova in English – this has to be against some brazilian moral code (although less so than Beyoncé on repeat that I hear in most other stores). Truthfully, the last thing I need right now is coffee (more on that later). What is nice is that if I can forget about the four people sitting within spitting distance to me, I can pretend like this place is my living room.

Woah. Brazilians ask each other to watch over their stuff – that is not airport procedure. Neighbor #5 just claimed a spot and left her backpack… interesting. (I later asked her a question in Portuguese about the wifi, and she responded in English. Then she asked neighbor #3 a question in English, after I had distinctly heard him talk to a barista in Portuguese. Then #2's friend sat down and they began conversing... in English. Alright, Starbucks is not the place to go for immersion.)

In addition to having a Starbucks as my own personal lounge space, I am incredibly blessed in my home stay. Two blocks from the swankiest part of Rio beach, 5 blocks from the most beautiful lake I’ve ever seen. Yesterday I went on a short run and used all of the restraint I could muster to not gawk at the landscape and single myself out as blonde-tourist-girl. Or girl-tourist-blonde, depending on which language we're thinking in. Also, the commerce around me is ridiculous. Thankfully it's too overwhelming for me to want to buy much – I’m too much of a comparison shopper to handle this variety. On the walk back from the lake I found the especially wealthy real estate (Louis Vuitton, anybody?), and felt a little silly in my sneakers and t-shirt.

Get at this, Lake Harriet.

In the apartment I have a beautiful room to myself, decorated with a bunch of different maps and landscapes of Rio/Ipanema. A comfortable double bed with tons of pillows, my own bathroom and shower inside my room, a window with a clothes drying apparatus, a little nook with a desk, chair and shelves and built in closet space. Perfect wifi connection, filtered water, fridge/cupboard space, one laundry load a week, and breakfast provided every morning – which I’ve learned from other people’s experiences that this is one of the greatest blessings/differences from other home stays. Technically I am paying for café da manhã (coffee of the morning = breakfast) in my rent, but it has become increasingly pleasant to wake up knowing that there will be toast & cheese, fruit, and a carafe of coffee waiting for me. The reason I mentioned earlier that I absolutely do not need more caffeine is because I do not easily leave a pot of coffee alone if it is waiting there, and the stuff is pretty strong over here. Also, drinking it Brazilian style with milk and sugar is delicious… even though I may become a coffee wuss once I get home.

My hosts are wonderful; very sweet people who have grace for me when I do something the American way instead of the Brazilian way. My first day here I was brought to a cousin’s house for lunch, and last night almost met up with them to see the Pope (showed up at this same cousin’s store a little too early) ;) I started this journey nervous about what it would be like to enter into someone else’s home for an extended period of time, and now I feel very at rest in my little corner of their beautiful apartment.

All right, this post is getting long. I will get to the meaty/meta part that I have been planning for at a later time. 

Ready for collection

While I may never have spoken to a live body at the Chicago consulate (Alright, once – after which I erased the extension that I had used, forgetting the reason I had made note of the 4 random numbers), I did receive my visa the day before my departure. I will now do my best to explain how I experienced this miracle unfold.

As indicated previously, I was uncertain as to whether this trip was the right choice for me, or right at this point in my life. While pursuing some spiritualized understanding of those emotions and uncertainties, I had no idea how to behave. Typically, in the hours before beginning any sort of trip I begin to obsess about all of my pre-travel necessities (after ignoring them entirely during the preceding days). For example, the night before leaving, I won’t be able to sleep until my things are cleaned, organized and packed neatly (which is not a reflection of any personal habit of cleanliness), resulting in many sleepless nights (for real – all nighters full of suitcase arranging) prior to boarding an airplane. In the case of this trip, without a definitive date of departure there was no way for me to go through my obsessive preparations… obsessively. (Parenthetical #5.)

Rather, any preparation would have been proactivity, to which I am almost allergic.

I really ought to build up some immunity. 

Alas, Wednesday night the parents received a message that someone wanted to see the house the next day; a showing was scheduled and I was issued an ultimatum to move the piles of clothing off of my floor and into my suitcases, or else carry the guilt burden for the house not selling (a fabricated lie. #6.). So I did. All of a sudden I had packed suitcases, but no legal permission to arrive at my destination. My desire to continue fussing, preparing, and dialing 4-digit numbers at the consulate answering machine were stumped by the realization that there was nothing left for me to do.

In true divine fashion, the commentary in devotional for that day (1 Sam 28-31) said:

“Panic and fear can cause us to do foolish things. Pray for God’ wisdom in your decision making, especially in areas that involve great stress” (Reader’s Guide to the Bible).

While unlike Saul I was not consulting a deceased spirit or killing myself in battle, any decision that I could have made out of my own understanding in this circumstance would have been futile. I knew nothing, and knew to do nothing more.

Father, on the other hand, had an idea. Contacting a colleague in Chicago, he was connected with a woman (Anna) who would be willing to inquire for me at the consulate in exchange for five pounds of Brazil nuts.

If she had asked for a 10 page paper about Brazil nuts, I would have been her girl.

So that night (still Wednesday), Dad and I rushed over to his office to create a notarize-able document that would bequeath the right to represent myself on the aforementioned affable Anna. Our prayers on the drive to the office are summarized thusly:

Lord, if Gwen is not supposed to go to Brazil, continue to prevent her from going. Otherwise, lead us in our next step, and give us the patience and will to trust you.

So we determined to be faithful to “the process,” despite not knowing what that process fully entailed. Skip forward to the next day, 9:43am. While I had been frequently checking my visa’s USPS return tracking number, I had long given up on the Brazilian consulate’s “visa status check” application. However, at this moment I set aside my preference for U.S. governmental organizations and logged in. BAM.

Yes, I took a screen shot.

“Holy wow! This was so much better than I thought! Now instead of asking whether or not my application and passport were buried under a pile of feijoada, awesome Anna might actually be able to pick this thing up! Maybe she’ll only have to yell a little!”

Fast forward to 12:03pm that day. Annathemana (or manna, depending on your perspective) has left her Chicago office, walked the half-mile to the consulate, and is waiting to speak with a clerk. Now, as I was very familiar with the consulate’s business hours (“Our visa department is open from 9am to 11am for applications, and from 12pm to 1pm for pick up”), the thought that my representative might show up at just the right time to pick up this supposedly authorized legal document made me quite pleased. One last check on the status checker, and boom bam. Ready for collection. So Ms. Annamazing picked up the packet and had it shipped to me overnight. And I will likely never deal with the Brazilian consulate in Chicago ever, ever again. Amen.

But for all of y’all out there, to whom this small but awesome miracle may not be evident, I have been reveling in the idea that although my dad could have thought up sending a rep to the consulate at any point during this process, the day that he was moved to do so, my visa (OUT OF NOWHERE) showed up. Ready to be picked up, no yelling necessary. This was truly a mir-Anna-cle.

Devotional commentary for that day:

As you pray these psalms, reflect on God as the great center of all life an the provider of all you need. Commit yourself in a fresh way to seeking, trusting, hoping in, and loving Him.

Psalm 121

¹ I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
² My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot slip—
    he who watches over you will not slumber;
⁴ indeed, he who watches over Israel
    will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The Lord watches over you—
    the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
⁶ the sun will not harm you by day,
    nor the moon by night.

⁷ The Lord will keep you from all harm—
    he will watch over your life;
⁸ the Lord will watch over your coming and going
    both now and forevermore.

I love the way this shows a two-way interaction -- David lifting his eyes up to the Lord, and the Lord constantly watching over him. The concept and poignancy of having face-to-face interaction with God has been on my mind recently. Evidently, this day it was easy to thank God for his help and provision.

So with the arrival of my approved visa, I got the word that I also was "ready for collection," and about to head out. As I finish this blog, I have spent a total of 12 hours in Rio de Janeiro and am listening to rain fall and families holler at each other in Portuguese from my bedroom window. I have yet to be meet with the Brazilian police (another necessary legal step), but I am looking forward to seeing more of why I've been collected for this trip (or colocado... = placed. parenthetical #15).

Roasted squash

I just roasted a delicious butternut squash, and now believe that I might be able to feed myself when I start living alone. This thing is the nerdy cousin of my favorite food, the sweet potato... nothing but kindness for you, butternut squash.

Kindness and brown sugar.

So here I am, filled with squash and little direction. Had my plans gone the way I was expecting, I would currently be in another hemisphere, enjoying the high 60s winter weather of Rio de Janeiro.

Which is not quite the winter that I am accustomed to.

 Interruption - the animal wants to eat. Supper time for Bingley the dog.

Baby trying to drag me off the couch.

Prescription food mashed together and soaked in water. Lil buddy won't drink any other way - what he lacks in life skills he makes up in beauty.

I'm already a little lonesome for the boy. Lately he's been growling at me when I try to snuggle, so I've resorted to personalizing the song "Cups" and hoping that he feels guilty.

So, Rio. I am currently waiting on my visa from the Brazilian Consulate in Chicago. (I have a game for you - call this number [1-312-464-0244] {woops, I've memorized it} and see how many times it takes you to guess a 4 digit extension that brings you to a live person. Don't even bother looking for one online, they're not listed. Have fun!!!)

After paying $30 too many (although I followed protocol on their website to a TEEEshirt), my application was returned unprocessed, leaving me with minimal time to resubmit it and get it back by my scheduled departure date. While this was an honest gesture, the additional fees for re-posting two express mail envelopes and changing my flight generally obscure any perceived kindness.

And now I cannot get hold of anyone in the visa department. Email, phone, fax, claim filed, got my congressman's office involved... nada.

I am aware that I probably sound bitter regarding this situation, but I'm at peace. Before I realized that I most definitely would not be leaving on schedule, I dealt with some internal confusion about going at all - Did I make this decision for the right reasons? Did I not pray enough about this? Is this trip what God wants for me? So far I've come up with, 1) I don't know 2) God has grace for me 3) I don't know.

One recent evening marked by significant doubt, I was introduced to a lovely lady who had just returned from a semester in Venezuela and was pumpèd for me to find my way to South America. For a couple hours we sat by a bonfire (mosquitos and lightning bugs in full force) and she described her experience - explaining how God's grace and provision were evidenced throughout her journey and how she became exposed to the realness of her sin and need to depend on God. Going out of her "comfort zone," she found comfort in communion with her Savior, and strength to put sin to death and to love other people in the name of Jesus. I'm not sure that this is exactly how she would describe the summation of her experience, but I think this was what I was supposed to hear.

I've been convicted recently of choosing comfort over what is good for me. The trip ahead of me (assuming that it will happen) is not necessarily a comfortable one. Physically speaking, it sounds ridiculous to call my study abroad "uncomfortable" considering that my home stay is in one of the most posh neighborhoods in one of the beach capitals of the world, however, I don't expect this to be an easy venture. I will refrain from naming the challenges that I fear, but overall I know that this will be a full-person discomfort. Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. Not to mention that when I return to the states, it will be to a new home, in a new state.

So thank you Lord for these extra days that I get to spend in glorious Minnesota summer, a Carioca winter can wait. Teach me peace and trust!