Mary’s Honor

It was a bitter honor that God gave Mary…in those early years at least. She was chosen above all other women to bear His Son: true. But she was the only person told that. It would have been nice if God had told everyone else, but He didn’t. Didn’t tell Joseph until Joseph was sleeplessly trying to figure out how to break the engagement. Didn’t tell Mary’s parents, as far as we know, or the people of Nazareth where she lived.
So here Mary had this huge honor—and everyone thought she was an unprincipled slut, with delusions to boot.
To God’s credit, he gave her Elizabeth; the angel practically sent her to Elizabeth, and Mary picked up on the cue and went right away. Elizabeth, her cousin, six months heavy with John the Baptist, was tuned into the Spirit enough to sense who Mary was and what she was carrying when Mary walked in the door. These two women, carrying special burdens, could understand one another. No doubt Elizabeth’s mature wisdom and understanding helped prepare and fortify Mary for the months ahead.
And God did set Joseph straight, finally, in the nick of time—which seems to be His style.
But apart from that, from Joseph and Elizabeth knowing the Honor Mary carried—Mary was alone with that knowledge. It was an honor and a humiliation at the same time. To survive, Mary needed to rest in the truth of God’s love and favor, and live it out in a hostile environment where she was perceived as a fraud and treated like an outcast.
Well…that sounds familiar. The truth sets you free—inside your soul and mind—but causes enormous difficulties lived out in daily life.
But it is an honor all the same to be chosen to absorb and carry the Truth that must also, arduously, become our Way and our Life as well.

A Ride in the Country

David invites me to go with him on Tuesday morning to check on some of the loan prospects: I say “Yes,” delighted to get to see in person some of what he has been doing.
We start out before 7 a.m. on a beautiful morning, and are soon out of town and able to see the morning fog still misting the hills, and the sun making long shadows of trees and fence posts. The light looks golden this time of day, not white and harsh like it will at noon. For a long ways we are on good, two-lane asphalt road. There are the usual loaded semi-trailers and slat-sided cattle trucks, and of course, moto-taxis complicating traffic. Then there are occasional horse carts, dogs and chickens crossing the road, donkeys tethered at the side. We pass through small towns clogged with traffic and people, and then are out in the country again.
By 9:00 a.m. we are in Tuchín where David has his first appointment with a group of artisan business people. They are from the Zenú tribe, an indigenous people famous for their basket weaving, and all 13 of them have small loans related to woven products. As we arrive a man is hanging bundles of sugar cane thatch in the sun to dry. We go inside a small shop made of adobe walls, corrugated tin roofing and a dirt floor. There are two old-fashioned Singer sewing machine tables sitting sedately on the dirt floor. As we wait for the group to gather, one of the women shows me how to take the dried sugar cane leaves, slit them, and weave them in one of the complicated patterns they use. On the walls there are samples of belts, purses, visors, bracelets, and rugs all made from the beautiful black, white and red woven matting. David and I buy a couple of items to take with us to the U.S. to see if we can find “markets” for these items.
When most of the group has gathered, David asks them how things are going… Have they spent the money? Any problems? Everybody busy? How much do they plan to put into savings as they make their payments each month? There is a lively discussion over this last point, with some kind of consensus reached. David asks the pastor, who is one of the loan recipients, to pray in closing, and he does, asking a blessing on our upcoming trip as well. The lady who owns the shop pushes some bracelets and earrings into our hands as we leave, insisting that they are gifts.
The next “appointment” is at a church where the community bank group is not really organized yet. We go off the asphalt road and onto dirt roads that remind me of my childhood in Africa. It is the kind of loose dirt and gravel road on which you slide for several yards if you have to slam on the brakes; the kind of dust that swirls up behind you, and settles over your car like silt when you stop.
The directions David was given are not entirely clear, so we have to stop several times and ask which way to go. The people are always helpful, usually gesturing vaguely down the road and saying “para adelante” (up ahead,) making it one run-together word. They stare at us as we leave, perhaps never having seen a car as new as ours, or gringos. Once we miss a turn, and have to come back, waving at our helpers on the way. The road gets worse and worse, full of deep ruts from the rain, and we are glad when we finally find the little town of Pueblocito and can park the car in the shade and walk the rest of the way up the impassable road to the church.
Some twenty people are patiently waiting there. David is introduced and it is fascinating to watch these poor people grasp, quite quickly, the idea of how a community bank works. They must form a group; the group itself approves each individual who wishes to have a loan; and approves the amount requested. Each individual loan must then be analyzed and approved by David, as well as the total amount the group gets. The group members essentially stand as security for each other, since each member signs their own pagaré (I.O.U.) and also a group contract, guaranteeing payment in full to Desarollo Integral (the agency David works with). David does not know these people, and cannot tell who would be a good “loan risk,” but they know, and must approve only people they trust, for in the final analysis, they will all pay for whomever does not pay. The people nod; they understand this. They also understand what a very good interest rate 3% is. They understand why the loans have to be small at first, while trust and confidence are built. These people may be poor, but they are astute business owners, and the discussion is soon quite lively as they ask their questions and David answers. Then, after a prayer, we leave them to deal with the tasks of electing their officers, deciding who will be approved for loans, and filling out papers.
We visit, briefly, an AIEC pastor, now quite old and blind. He remembers LAM missionaries from 30 and 40 years ago—names that are missionary legends to us—and is quite thrilled to hold the hands of gringo missionaries for the first time in decades. We are also shown a cheese “factory,” which turns out to be little more than a wooden trough where milk curds are gradually skimmed and then pressed into cheese—all in the open air, with snorting pigs nearby. We are given a huge chunk of cheese—which we later “share” with the head of the denomination—he loves cheese.
Next stop is the small city of Sahagún, where David has funded several butchers and the restaurant of a man crippled by rheumatoid arthritis. One butcher is there in his shop, and we see no meat, but he reports that the money is being spent and all is going well. The next butcher is not there, but we can clearly see the small open air stand, and meat, and his son keeping an eye on it all. We spend the most time at the restaurant, welcomed by the owner, who gets up from his special chair and uses his crutch to move into the shop and show us the increased inventory he has bought with the loan money. Using one finger that is not deformed, he shows David the detailed records he is now keeping. These records helped him learn that he makes a significant amount of his profits on a home-made juice that he sells. He gives us each a bottle to taste, and we look at each other knowing exactly what the other is thinking: Is this made with purified water? But of course, we drink it! And it is delicious: cold and sweet and very fruity. Turns out, we find out later in the conversation, he does use purified water. “One cannot drink the water from the tap in this country,” he tells us seriously, “It’s not safe, so I get my water from a company that gets it from a well.” We nod, Yes.
Then we are on our way, feeling privileged to know these people, to see them in their real, daily lives, to be part of helping them in a small way. The sun is now high and hot. We turn the AC up a notch, and head home.

Project Reports - 46 Enterprises Funded Before Christmas

Connie's creative writing is found below, but first we report on the projects for creating jobs and income.

We are happy to report that small business loans have been disbursed through the "Desarrollo Integral" unit that David started to 46 projects in Sucre and Cordoba provinces, mainly in small cities such as Chinú, Sahagún, Tuchín, and Colomboy. The first of these sound like names of indigenous people, because they are, as is perhaps evident in the photo. This particular group makes handicrafts from a woven straw, most popularly known from the typical Colombian hat. However, as you can see in the picture, they also make a lot of other things, and we hope to find export markets for some of these products in the U.S. Let us know if you would like to see some samples!

Funding was provided for chickens, pigs, stores, butchers, furniture production, handicrafts, and a refreshment stand. Over $15,000 (average loan of $325) will create jobs for more than 100 people, and impact over 500, when the families are considered. And all of the funds will be paid back within the next 6 months, to be recycled for new projects.

Moto-Taxis of Sincelejo Beware!
David often takes a moto-taxi to his office at the Finca Betél or for other errands in town. He could take the car…but that involves getting it out of the garage, weaving through a thick river of cars, people, and above all, moto-taxis, then finding a parking place for the car… No, the car is great for when we are going someplace with easy parking, or for longer trips. But in the city, if you don’t want to fight the moto-taxis—well, if you can’t beat ‘em—join ‘em!
To use a moto-taxi--motorcycles who serve as taxis—you get on the back seat, put on a helmet if you wish, and the driver takes you anywhere you want to go in the city for 50 cents. Not bad, eh?
Recently David went out in the morning, found a small moto-taxi, and driver and David started up the hill from our house….very slowly.
“Can’t you get this thing to go any faster?” David asked, joking around.
“Well,” said the driver, “…how much do you weigh?”
David told him, and they proceeded to chat pleasantly until they arrived at David’s destination, upon which David gave him an extra tip.
“What’s this for?” asked the driver.
“The extra weight!” David replied. “You should probably charge by the kilo!”
The man drove away, laughing.

Going with the flow…
One has to be here, in Colombia. It is true of other Latin American countries, too, and in Africa…but it seems to be a special feature of the Caribbean coast of Colombia that things cannot be rushed.
For the North American sojourner transplanting himself or herself to this northern coast of Colombia there are two aspects (at least) of learning to go with the flow:
One is interpreting what might be meant by different statements regarding time and behavior; the other is that everything takes longer than you think.
A friend of ours, named Lacho, occasionally breaks into enlightening comments designed to help orient us newcomers, like, “Never drink any water that is not sold in a sealed bottle and sold by a reputable company like….” Apparently he knows whereof he speaks, having gotten ill by not following his own advice. Or, “the best ice cream is…such and such brand.”
He delivered a classic, brief homily one day, however, that we have not forgotten, and between ourselves refer to as “life according to Lacho.” It went something like this:
“If someone says ‘un minutico’ (in just one minute) it really means in about half an hour. If someone says ‘en cinco minutos’ (in five minutes) it means in about three or four hours. If you’re talking with someone about doing something and he says, ‘I’ll think about it…’ that means ‘No.’ And if he says, ‘I’ll call you,’ that means ‘Never.’” He said more, and I wanted to write it down at the time, but it didn’t seem appropriate.
We lived in Latin America, before, for 15 years, and worked with Latin Americans and traveled in many Latin American countries since we lived here…we know that time is elastic, and that one must interpret “indirect communication,” but we sometimes chuckle over, or puzzle over, the mystery of it all.
Examples: We decided to invite several Colombian friends over for a Thanksgiving meal—or the closest approximation we could come up with anyway. Thanksgiving Thursday is not a holiday for them, so we needed to make the meal ready for them after 6:00 p.m., when most businesses shut down. We also needed time to make it ourselves. So we guessed that if we invited them for “6:30 p.m.” we could have the food ready in case they showed up, but that they probably wouldn’t show up until 7:30 or 8:00 p.m. We guessed right: one couple came at 7:30, another at 8:00 and another excused themselves. So far, so good.
We were invited to a birthday party on a week day at “1:00 p.m.” We knew we couldn’t arrive at 1:00 p.m…. nothing would be ready and we would be a problem for the hosts, who wouldn’t know what to do with us. But technically, they all needed to be back at work at 2:00 p.m. So we guessed 1:30, and that worked out fine!
Another day a friend told David that he could join a basketball game on Saturday, and that he would call him about details. Wednesday went by…Thursday went by….Friday…no call. Was this one of those “I’ll call you” statements that means “Never”? Mysterious! David gave up on Saturday afternoon and went and did something else. Then the guy called at 4:00 p.m.: the game was at 5:00. Fortunately, David made it!
Let us say that we are informed that there will be an important meeting about ministry, or projects or--it doesn’t really matter what--at 10:00 a.m. on Tuesday. We need to be there at 10:00 a.m. just in case everyone else is there and the meeting starts. That is highly unlikely, however. It might start at 11:00 a.m., maybe. But it probably won’t start after that, because everything shuts down here between 12 noon and 2 p.m., when most people go home for the main meal of the day and a bit of a rest. Then they come back, maybe at 2 p.m., but probably by 2:30. So if the meeting doesn’t happen in the morning, it may well happen in the afternoon. If a lot is going on, it might get postponed to the next day, but if it is an important meeting, it will probably happen on the day it was set for: you just don’t know exactly when. Things sort of coalesce…they happen when all of the important people have arrived and aren’t still getting ready, or haven’t been interrupted again. One needs to learn the art of waiting gracefully. Usually, there’s plenty to do while you wait.

Everything takes longer than you think…
Here is how that works:
We wanted a map of Sincelejo; it would help so much to know the names of the neighborhoods, the principal landmarks, the roads… A reasonable request, one would think. We asked a number of times and were met with puzzled looks: not a common request, apparently. Then we began to hear, repeatedly, that we could get one at Augustin &Codozzi, and we were told what building. Finally, one day we were downtown and David was getting information at a travel agency around the corner from that building, so I (Connie) went up to the 7th floor of said building and found Augustin &Codozzi: it is an institute of geographical studies. They did have a map of Sincelejo! I got out my money, but it was not to be that simple. First I needed to take a “consignment slip” to a certain bank and pay my money there. It took me three tries to find the right bank (and bank lines are not short here), then the slip had to be filled out several times, since I did not have all the information quite correct! Then I had to go back to the 7th floor of Augustin &Codozzi, have the receipt stamped by one person, turn it in to another person…and wait. I was told “15 mintues” and after awhile wondered if that actually meant “nine hours” according to Lacho’s figuring, but it turned out to actually be about 25 minutes. They had to print the map. So that’s what I mean: it took about 2 and ½ hours just to buy a map!
We also needed to renew our “tourist visa” stamp in our passport. David was told in the airport, “Oh, you just go to the DAS (Department of Security Administration) and they put a stamp in your passport.” It is not quite that simple. We showed up at the DAS on a Thursday morning and waited ½ an hour for the lady to show up. When she did she explained that we needed to pay $30 each, and that we needed to go do so in a certain bank. Then we also needed three passport size photos. So…we duly got more cash out of an ATM, paid the money at the stipulated bank, found a place to have passport photos done… By then it was the week-end. We showed up again at the DAS on Monday morning at 7:30 when it opened, as the lady had said, but…she was in a meeting until 8:30. At 8:30 when she could finally see us, she apologized profusely, but she had something very pressing she needed to do that morning…could we come back at 2:00 p.m.? We came back at 2:30 and waited ½ an hour for the lady to show up. When she did, she had a different clerk, under her direction, fill out various forms, take our finger prints, and inform us that we needed 5 more photocopies of various things…Fortunately that could be done across the street. By 4:00 p.m. we finally had the stamp in our passport that allows us to legally be in the country for…15 more days.
Everything takes longer than you think.
(If you got this far.... reading this took longer than you thought, right!!!????)
Just plan on it. Don’t plan on too much else. Just….go with the flow.