Smouldering, but in a good way

Coming off an incredible service at Lifepoint yesterday where the small town of Ubaúna received attention like it has never had, I received an email that was full of antecipation last night about the same.

The contractor for the church building in Ubaúna will be in Ubaúna on Wednesday or Thursday to size up the property for construction of the building. This makes it quite real. Within a few months there is going to be brick and mortar on the ground, ready to be used to rock the socks off this village!

The man who is considering accepting the position of church planter/evangelistic/pastor in Ubaúna is talking with “my boys” in Fortaleza today. “My boys” are the evangelists who’ve been working with me in Ubaúna for the last two years and I’d trust them with my life, and Ubaúna. We may be quite close to having a full-time man on the ground, soon!

The church in Fortaleza which was planted a year and a half ago by some of these these fellows has grown quickly to 120+. Over this past week, during Carnaval, they had 13 more become Christians or join forces with them. They’re rocking big time and are wanting, and expecting big things, from the Lord. They are an integral part of the Ubaúna project.

So, I’m sitting here with an intense air of expectation — but can’t do a thing about it, except wait. Maybe “simmer” is a better word than “smoulder.”

Dang!

[If you're coming from "Ruminations," this is the identical post -- you're not crazy; I am!]

I think my new favorite word is “dang.”

Yeah, yeah, I know it is the polite substitute for something else. But it carries a force that is greater than “wow.” (Good thing I’m covered by grace, huh?! )

I’m basking in the afterglow of having been obedient and the word that keeps bouncing off the hollow walls on my inner head is “dang!”

I’ve been praying, thinking, meditating and doing all sorts of other “ing” type of things ever since returning from Brasil. I’ve seen the proverbial light and thought I understood what I was supposed to do and who I was supposed to call concerning the state of the work in Ubaúna. God opened the floodgates there last month and the call to eternal life has created a gush of folks accepting his invite. We are on the verge of a building being started; we have kids eating a good meal every day for the first time ever; people who never considered the life of a follower are asking questions. Even the Evil One is smarting over the butt kicking he received at the hands of the Almighty.

But we don’t have someone on the ground to lead the charge.

That has been my nemesis.

I know who is supposed to be there. This morning I called him. We were both blown away, just in two different ways. He never saw it coming and had to pick himself up off the ground; I had to contend with my heart racing at about 200 beats per minute and try to talk as though I was as cool as a cucumber (I felt as nervous as a teenager asking the girl he has a crush on out on a date!).

I love it when I see others as shocked as I often am when God does what he says he is going to do.

Thinking

I’ve been thinking . . .

There are now over 100 folks in Ubaúna who’ve become followers of the Jesus Lord. How much faith does it take to believe that the Lord will provide a means to consolidate their new found faith and turn them into a church planting, life giving group of Christians?

What is the most important thing that is needed to capitalize on what has happened there? A full-time worker seems to be at the top of the list. I’m praying for clarification about Osmildo.

I would love to have you join me in that praying.

Dreamland

It’s sometimes hard to distinguish between a dream and reality…

Ever since this last trip to Ubaúna I’ve had a new respect for the unseen powers that are at war around us. It’s made me glad that I concentrate on the real instead of on how to spot the counterfit.

I’ve noticed an increase in my dreams and struggles between good and evil.

Last night was like that. I woke and couldn’t determine if it had really happened or was only a dream. My “intuition” told me that it didn’t matter. It was real, regardless of where it took place.

I find this exciting! The fact that the Evil One is so concerned with what is happening in that little villa in Brasil that he comes against me in my dreams illustrates the way I must be frustrating him. The fact that the Holy One was with me and allowed me to kick the Evil One’s butt in my dream is just as remarkable.

Big things are about to break loose in Ubaúna!

Osmildo

I need your assistance. We have a possible candidate for the role of fulltime evangelist in Ubaúna. His name is Osmildo and he lives in another state in Brasil. He has been instrumental to the work from the beginning, is on track with what needs to be done, has a heart for the people there and is a dedicated follower of the Jesus Lord.

I ask for you to be praying for wisdom, direction and financial support.

Thanks!

Discovery

One of the joys of taking trips to Brasil with Americans in tow is to watch them discover some of the cultural joys of the country. This trip was no exception.

What did this group discover?

Guaraná
You can’t go to Brasil without experiencing the champagne of sodas. Guaraná Antarctica is the most popular guaraná-flavored soft drink in Brasil, created in 1921 by the Companhia Antarctica Paulista. It is the national soft drink and the official sponsor of the Brazilian national football team. One of its 2006 commercials featured Argentine football player Diego Maradona finding himself wearing the yellow jersey of the Brasilian team and singing the Brasilian national anthem before waking up and proclaiming it was a nightmare. This caused considerable controversy in Argentina.

Antarctica Guarana has a caffeine content equivalent to, or more than, most energy drinks. The guarana berry has two to three times as much caffeine stored in it than the coffee bean (percentage wise).

The drink has made inroads in the U.S. as a result of the energy drink craze. You can find 6-packs being sold in most major cities, though it can be difficult to find. The taste is mild, slightly apple-like, with a distinct berry after-flavor. Several websites sell Antarctica products to the U.S. Antarctica brand guarana is by far the most popular form of the drink.

Of course you can find it at Wellness Therapies and Euphoria Smoothies.

Here is the Maradona commercial (subtitled):

Maracuja juice
This gave Guarana a real run for it’s money as to which was better. Maracuja or, as it is known here in the U.S., passion fruit is round to oval, yellow or dark purple at maturity, with a mushy interior filled with numerous seeds. The fruit can be grown to eat or for its juice, which is often added to other fruit juices to enhance aroma. When made into a juice, it is heavenly. Our team made a serious dent in the national maracuja harvest, consuming gallons of the delicious liquid.

Hammocks
You’ve not lived until you have to sleep in a hammock for several days in a row! The secret is all in how you lay in it — the angle is the key. If you don’t lie sideways you’ll never be able to get comfortable, much less sleep all night long. Once you “master” the process, they are amazingly comfortable.

Our crew did a fabulous job and turned their hammocks into true beds that hugged them like a bug in a rug. I heard no one complaining!

Churrasco
Churrasco is Portuguese for a barbeque. A “churrascaria” is a restaurant where the served meat is prepared in open grills. Most of these restaurants are all-you-can-eat serving of meat; the waiters will go around the restaurant with the skewers, slicing the meat on the client’s plate. This serving style is called “rodizio” and, to an American, is an unbelievable slice of heaven, especially after a week in Ubaúna!

I heard no complaints of being forced to endure a rodizio in Fortaleza on our last night in the country.

Sucking out fish eyes

Brasilian cuisine can be interesting . . .

Guarana, pudim, churrasco, maracuja, all exotic sounding names that describe some every day components of the Brasilian table. Americans traveling in Brasil find that some of the strange sounding names are amazingly tasty.

Fish is one of the highlights of Brasilian eating. Pan cooked, fresh, wide variety, appetizing. However, there is one part of the fish eating that most of us Americans have a problem reconciling as desired — the eating of the eyes and brain.

When our son was small, he used to invite his friends over when we would have fish. We would cook the whole fish, head, fins, and all. As he sat at the table with his little buddies, he’d proudly exclaim, “Watch! My mom is getting ready to suck the eyes out and eat them!”

Yep! She’d suck them out, or, if in mixed company and wanting to be more proper, pluck them out with a fork, then eat them. In fact, most Brasilians in the northeast consider the eyes the best part of the fish. “Chewy,” “tasty,” “nice texture,” are the kind of comments you’ll receive when you ask them what they taste like.

I can’t handle that. I always have to turn my head when eyeball time comes. My stomach gets kinda weasy when I watch. So I don’t.

I’ve had numerous fish heads offered to me, as a friendly gesture. I’ve invented numerous “reasons” for declining the offer. You walk a fine line between insulting your host and vomiting. So far, I’m batting 1000.

I couldn’t convince Jeff or Brad to try the chewy morsel.

Little Garbage Boy

Sometimes it just breaks your heart . . .

We’d handed out garbage bags and told the kids to clean the street. Trash, lots of it, is everywhere. We wanted to begin the process of instilling pride in the teenagers. What better way than to bribe them.

Fill a bag with trash, return it, receive a prize. Simple, right?

In a flash more than 50 kids hit the street like the white tornado seen in the old television ads about Mr. Clean. Running, screaming, pushing, jostling — a real madhouse. Pigs running to get out of the way, donkeys making, well, donkey noises, bicycle riders almost knocked off their seats. Pandemonium.

In all the commotion a small statured boy quietly asked for a garbage bag. He wanted to “get his mother’s trash.” Not thinking a thing about it, I gave him a bag. He didn’t run off like the others, but walked. In the opposite direction.

Fast forward three hours.

The trash collection project had been finished for more than two hours. But here he came, bag stuffed and heavy, walking under the burden of the overfilled bag. The bag was almost as big as he was.

“Here’s my mama’s trash,” he said matter of factly. Having nothing to give him, I told him to come with me and I’d get his prize, thinking there might be some left over candy or rubber bracelets we’d handed out. He shook his head, said “no thanks,” and turned to walk away.

I called him back and asked him what was going on.

His answer caught me short and it was all I could do to not let tears fill my eyes.

“You said we needed to have pride in our town and our homes. My mama doesn’t have anything but there’s lots of trash around the house. I figured if the God you talked about loved me as much as you said, he probably loved my mama, too. I want him to be proud of her so I picked up all her trash and brought it here.”

The verse we’d been drilling into them the whole week, John 3:16, suddenly had a whole new slant to it.

God loved the people of this world so much that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who has faith in him will have eternal life and never really die.

Shoot out at the OK Corral, part II

Around 11:00 p.m. on Wednesday night, out little band approached the front gate of the Ubaúna cemetary. Now mind you, most folks don’t go into a cemetary at 11:00 p.m. We weren’t really planning on going in. It was to be more of a “what do you make of this” type of exploratory expedition. But once there, things transpired quickly in a way I wan’t antecipating.

The gate was closed. June and Brad walked up to it, opened it and went in. I remember thinking, “They just went into the cemetary in pitch dark!” Instantly they were repelled out. It was almost comical. They no more entered til they were backpeddling as hard as they could. And they were making all kinds of exclamations: “What was that?” “Did you feel it?” “It was all over me!”

Immediately two of the Brasilians “charged in,” only to be similarly repelled. This was getting interesting.

As the group huddled around the gate I was filled with a sense of indignation and desire to respond. Here we were, children of the Almighty, and the Evil One was kicking us out of his front yard as easily as you’d blown a piece of lint off your clothing. The word I heard was “Go!”

I detoured around the huddle and ran into the middle of the cemetary’s entrance with a force and power that was not mine. I challenged Him as the illegitimate being that He is and commenced to call upon the power of the Jesus Lord to expel the Evil One from Ubaúna. It became intense. Ask some of those who were there, it was as exciting and scary as it could possibly be.

The end result was a peace that transends all understanding. There, under the wonderously full sky of stars, a band of brothers, Americans and Brasilians, prayed, sang and worshipped the Lord of Hosts. On the Evil One’s territory.

Sweet.

Shoot out at the OK Corral, part I

Okay, it wasn’t the OK Corral, but it had all the drama and excitement.

I’ve known for 3 years that the Evil One really wasn’t happy with what was beginning to transpire in Ubaúna. I’ve also know that the day was coming when there would be a confrontation. Each trip I’ve taken I’ve wondered if this would be the trip where battle lines would be drawn and challenges issued. Each trip has terminated with some minor infractions occuring, but no major event.

My trip in November of last year set the stage for some major activity. I discovered that the center of power of the Evil One resided in the local cemetary. I’d assumed that it was in one or all of the 5 terreiros or temples of the macumba practitioners. Much to my surprise, it wasn’t.

Allow me to digress for a moment.

I really am not a wacky demons-behind-every-tree type of a person. I’d seen their power during the time I lived in Brasil in the 80’s and had a healthy respect for it. But I’m not a “ghost hunter” or “spiritual warfare” type of fellow. However, the more attuned I’ve become to the Spirit, the more I’ve become aware of the power of the Condemned One and his angels. It’s real and it is strong. In Ubaúna, it has controlled this little village for it’s entire history. There is a stark contrast between Ubaúna and all the surrounding towns. Something is “wrong” with Ubaúna. My “intuition” has placed the blame on Lucifer.

For more than two years I could not fathom why I was being called to do “something” in Ubaúna. It made no sense whatsoever. Slowly the realization has come that Ubaúna is really the linchpin of Satan’s contol of the whole region. Should it fall to the forces of Light, the whole region would be wide open for the advancement of the Kingdom.

Back to our story.

The November discovery of the location or center of the Illegitimate One’s power meant that I now knew where attention needed to be focused. I just didn’t know how.

Last Wednesday night, the “how” became obvious.

To be continued . . .