Não último não

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This post is brief, belated, and mostly meant for Bonfácios.

In brief, back in January I had thought that the blog was done. My parent’s successful trip to Brazil seemed to bring the story to an end. But since then I have heard from so many of you cousins, aunts, and uncles, and I heard from the folks and seen from the emails and comments here that you enjoy reading these posts, so I am going to continue, or create a new blog altogether on whatever theme the next chapter seems right to be.

Without the help of my professional translator, I will try to say that again here in Portuguese–espero que vocês entenderão!

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Querida família! Vocês estão bem longe do meu apartamento mas bem perto do meu coração. Fique tanto feliz em ouvir as detalhes da viagem do meus pais e as aventuras boas do que eles compartilharam com vocês. Tenho muitos reacções e pensamentos e sentimentos, mas sobre tudo estou de saudades se tudo mundo. Foi um ano atraz que foi lá neste dia e nunca esquecerei tão preciosa foi a experiência. Desejo muito de voltar.

E também meus pais e seus emails neste inverno me indica que devo continuar no blog. Achei que foi completo, mas agora acho que vale a pena muito continuar. Então, vou continuar ou vou criar um blog novo, para fazer o capitulo segundo dessa aventura. Espero que tudo mundo fica confortável com pensar neste blog como uma lugar virtual da nossa família, onde poderíamos ligar, comentar, e conectar uns aos outros.

Te amo muito. Deus te abençoe muito muito.

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Beijos,

Andrea

Os Homens Brasileiros

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Traduzido por Rosalia Cunha. Para inglês (escrito 30 Sep 2010, clique aqui.)

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Não sei muito sobre os homens brasileiros além do que vejo pelas ruas de Nova York ou enchendo os bares durante a Copa do Mundo. O que sei sobre o assunto é o que aprendi até agora com minha família aqui no Brasil e no exterior. Tudo que sei é que ainda tenho muito que aprender.

É uma linha tênue: Dentro do contexto particular da minha fé, sou ensinada a seguir o caminho do Espírito, e não o da sensualidade. No entanto, em quase todas as minhas interações sociais, eu ainda dependo a linguagem corporal, de expressões faciais, e outros sinais não verbais para me comunicar e interagir com os outros. Acrescente a isso o jeitinho brasileiro: A celebração do belo e audacioso, uma cultura de toques e abraços, da comunicação despreocupada, de confortar através do contato físico. Por sua própria flexibilidade de vocabulário e gramática, a língua que falam facilmente mescla (ou confunde) intimidade e imediatismo, o que apresenta inúmeras oportunidades de tropeçar ou escorregar.

Ouço expressões, escuto conversas, e então me pego perguntando: O que ele quis dizer com isso? Quando ela disse algo a respeito dele, aquilo significava que eu pensei que significava? O que significa essa palavra? Quer dizer, o que isso significa agora? E como faço para responder sem parecer estúpida, maldosa ou insensível? Volto-me para minhas sábias conselheiras e boas intérpretes (leia-se as inteligentes mulheres brasileiras) em busca de ajuda para entender o que está acontecendo. Oro muito, ouço, respondo e vejo o que acontece.

Não posso imaginar como era para meu pai. Considerando sua criação impassível: infância em uma fazenda em Washington, os pais de origem anglo-suíça, seus estudos universitários nas salas de lógica da engenharia elétrica, sua experiência militar e as suas expectativas de uma disciplina rigorosa. E além de tudo, ele não sabia a língua nada bem! Como ele fez para conseguir ao menos começar a se relacionar com esta gente, ainda mais quando o relacionamento evoluiu? Eu gostaria de poder voltar no tempo e ser uma mosquinha na parede pra poder ver como tudo aconteceu… que interessante aquele tempo deve ter sido! Sei o que os pais de meu pai eram afetuosos e delicados, mas de tipo contido, pragmático e reservado. Ele deixou sua casa numa pacata cidadezinha  no campo, e viajou para o  intenso calor do equador, um calor que derrete… E no “maior abraço da terra”,  minha mãe, sua família e toda sua cultura abriram-lhe os braços.

Ele me descreveu uma dessas primeiras interações, um dos momentos mais engraçados. Foi numa das primeiras vezes em que ele foi até a casa de mamãe para conhecer sua família. Ele estava sentado com ela na sala, e para qualquer outro homem que entrava na sala, minha mãe dizia, “Esse é meu irmão… Ah, e esse é meu irmão… e esse é meu irmão…”

Eu amei reunião irmãos de minha mãe. Eles comentaram sobre como me pareço com sua irmã, todos eles choraram quando me viram pela primeira vez e, novamente, quando eu saí. É como uma brincadeira de família o quanto meus tios são emotivos e como choram mais que suas esposas.

O tio com quem passei mais tempo com foi Tio Nivaldo, o irmão mais velho. Nivaldo é calvo, os cabelos já brancos e um sorriso maravilhoso e aberto semelhante ao de um Papai Noel. Na sua foto no álbum de casamento de minha mãe, ele parece um cruzamento entre Sean Connery e Kevin Spacey. Agora está mais parecido com Burl Ives. Sua voz é áspera e ele pronuncia as frases bruscamente, como se fossem uma série de latidos ásperos e de certa forma medidos. Assim como com tia Leda, demorou um tempo para eu compreender o seu Português, embora, eventualmente, eu tenha pego o jeito dela.

Tio Nivaldo tem um ótimo senso de humor e gosta de provocar. Aleatoriamente e de forma divertida, quando eu esperava que ele dissesse, “Boa noite” ou “Muito Obrigado”, ele declarava: “Good night!” ou “Thank you very much!”. Ele fazia isso de uma forma que demonstrava sabia como dizer aquilo em Inglês, bem como sabia o quanto ele era engraçado ao fazê-lo.

Certa manhã, eu pedi à cozinheira para fazer ovos mexidos com tomate e cebola para o café da manhã. Tio Nivaldo quase cuspiu a torrada, de tão chocado. Ele falou pra tia Leda sobre isso, falou pro meu primo, falou pro empregado… Mas poucos minutos depois, vendo como eu adicionava molho de pimenta àquele prato estranho, ele brincou: “Por que você não coloca milkshake, também?” Quando lhe ofereci que esperimentasse, ele riu e balançou a cabeça dizendo: “Nao SEM o milkshake não!”

É interessante comparar as lembranças de quando estive lá recentemente àquelas de quando era criança, no início dos anos 80. Lembro-me de Nivaldo da época anterior: Seus cabelos eram cor de prata, era mais magro, tinha menos rugas e eles viviam em uma casa mais barulhenta. De seu irmão mais novo, Tio Aluisio, também me lembro claramente naquela época: os olhos escuros, a pele curtida do sol, o sorriso sonolento, a fala arrastata e nasal; seu jeito relaxado na mesa de jantar depois de muita comida e vinho; ele dançando comigo na minha festa de aniversário. Os bons momentos que teve na juventude estão lentamente lhe alcançando. Ele agora precisa estar mais atento à sua dieta, mas não é muito bom nisso.

Logo no início, quando tia Linda me ajudava a planejar a viajem, tio Aluísio se juntou a nós numa chamada de Skype. Seu rosnado baixo se arrastava pesadamente pelos alto-falantes de meu computador no tom monótono de um ex-fumante, um astro de rock envelhecido. Eu não entendi uma única palavra do que ele disse, mas fiquei muito feliz por tentar.

Estes dois tios me perguntaram a respeito de minha fé. Eu realmente não e esperava por isso. No começo eu pensei que era apenas por curiosidade, mas logo percebi a família estava preocupada com esta religião estranha em que fui me meter. Em um churrasco na casa de praia da Bete, Tio Aluisio discretamente perguntou se eu rezava para os santos católicos. Eu disse que não, explicando o que eu sei sobre como “santo” é definido nas Escrituras. Ele aquiesceu, mas não discutiu minha resposta. Como seu rosto estava coberto com grandes óculos escuros e um boné de jornaleiro cáqui, era difícil dizer se ele entendeu e muito menos se concordou com o que eu disse. Mas ele pareceu levar minha resposta bastante a sério.

O irmão mais novo de mamãe é Tio Raul. Ele tem um sorriso doce e a natureza gentil. Na viajem anterior, lembro-me de ir sua casa numa zona rural fora da cidade. Lembro-me das galinhas salpicadas de preto e branco, dos pintinhos amarelos e fofinhos, e dos lagartos marron-claros dançando entre os arbustos secos. Desta vez, eu o vi muito rapidamente, quando ele parou na casa de tia Leda por alguns minutos na ida para o trabalho. Só houve tempo para um abraço, olhar nos olhos um do outro, abraçar de novo e dizer adeus. Não foi suficiente.

Acho que se vivesse mais perto da família da minha mãe, meu pai e seus cunhados se tornariam bons amigos. Imagino que foi assim para meu pai no começo: Eles o tornaram parte da família. O que eu sei é que quero uma amizade mais íntima com meus primos. Neste momento, penso particularmente nos sobrinhos de minha mãe.

Penso em meu primo Kleber, cheio de energia, os olhos arregalados de interesse, fazendo muitas perguntas sobre a cultura e o estilo de vida americanos, e sobre o que eu penso do Obama. Quando enchi meu prato de saladas verdes no self service em Mangai, ele ficou admirado. Pelo que viu em suas viagens aos EUA, ele pensou que todos os americanos só comiam sanduíches, pizza e batatas fritas. E tem o Carlinhos – em minha visita anterior, ele estava morando na casa de meus avós e então, me levava a toda parte, pelas ruelas de pedra esburacadas de Natal a bordo de seu fusca “azul calcinha.” Desta vez, ele me levou para ver a parte velha, a zona histórica da cidade, me mostrando a arquitetura dos prédios do governo e as igrejas antigas.

Meu primo Joscelino é um amor. Lembro como eu ria com ele e minha prima Chirstima na viajem anterior e como colocava minhas presilhas de plástico cor-de-rosa em seu cabelo. Ele está bem mais rechonchudo e seus cabelos estão curtos e grisalhos, como os do George Clooney, ele insiste. Ele ainda tem o mesmo sorriso largo e o coração generoso. Ele e Christina me levaram em uma viagem de um dia inteiro no estilo nordestino, para uma tapiocaria, uma reserva natural, à Cajueiro Maior e à Barreira do Inferno.

Depois, tem o Marcelo, que eu também vi por apenas alguns minutos. Admito que as minhas memórias anteriores dele não são tão lisonjeiras – quando foi menino, ele não parecia apreciar sua little American cousin usurpando sua atenção, e eu não apreciava o seu atrevimento. Felizmente, ambos crescemos desde então, e agora temos algo notável em comum: nossa fé. Nós dois somos rebeldes religiosos, duas ovelhinhas negras fugidas do rebanho católico.

Há tantos outros… Artur, que acordou no meio da noite quando paramos para pedir sua ajuda para conseguir os vistos dos meus pais. Henrique, que me ajudou com meus planos de viagem para Ouro Preto e para o Sul. Felipe, filho de Bete, que me ajudou a conseguir as pinturas pra Dinha antes mesmo que eu estivesse pensando nesta viagem… são muitos pra mencionar aqui.

Portanto, se o título desta entrada os seduzisse com visões de cartas ao revista Cosmo, bem, nem tanto. Basta dizer que estou encontrando mais homens, mas mantendo o foco nas amizades enquanto aprendo a navegar as corredeiras verbais. Os brasileiros da minha igreja são meus amigos, mas também meus irmãos e filhos do Pai. Quando eles falam, quando socializamos, fico observando e ouvindo algo mais profundo, buscando algo mais genuino, a verdade, a força, e uma prova de fé. Sinto que isso é tudo o que preciso buscar agora.

Muitos meses atrás, eu tentei explicar a minha amiga Rita porque eu estava aprendendo Português. Ela veio com um: “Talvez você vá encontrar um brasileiro!” Nossa! Não é má idéia! Enquanto isso, tenho muitos bons exemplos do que procurar – por causa deles, saberei reconhecer um bom brasileiro quando encontrar um.

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Beijos,
Andrea

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"Os Brasileiros" by Andrea Bonifacio

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© Andrea Bonifacio and Sondo Saudade 2009-2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrea Bonifacio and Sondo Saudade with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Brazilian Men

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I don’t know a lot about Brazilian men. Aside from what I see strolling the streets of New York City and packing the bars during World Cup, what I know of the subject is what I’ve learned so far from my Brazilian family here and abroad. And all I really know is that I still have a lot to learn.

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It’s a fine line: Within the context of my particular faith, I’m taught to follow the way of the Spirit, and not the sensual path. Yet in almost all of my current social interactions, I still rely on body language, facial expressions, and other nonverbal cues to communicate and interact with others. Add to that the Brazilian way: A celebration of the beautiful and bodacious, a culture of touch and embrace, the carefree communication of comfort via physical contact. And by its own vocabulary and grammatical flexibility, the language they speak easily blends (or confuses) intimacy and immediacy, presenting innumerable opportunities to stumble or slip.

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I hear expressions, listen to conversations, and then catch myself wondering, What did he mean by that? When she said that about him—did that mean what I thought it meant? What does that word mean? I mean, what does it mean right now? And how do I respond without looking stupid—or slutty—or insensitive? I look for wise counselors and good interpreters (read: smart Brazilian women) to help me know what’s going on. I pray a lot, listen, respond, and see what happens.

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I can’t imagine what it was like for Dad. Consider his stolid background: Childhood on a farm in rural Washington; parents of Swiss and Anglo stock; college studies in the logic halls of electrical engineering; military experience and its expectation of strict discipline. And with this, not knowing the language that well at all! How did he get by in just starting off with these people, let alone as their relationship grew? I wish I could be a back-in-time fly-on-the-wall and watch it all unfold… what an interesting time that must have been. I know what my father’s parents were like: Dear and kind, but pragmatic, reserved, and restrained. From their quiet country home he traveled to the intense melting warmth of the equator, Earth’s widest embrace, where my mother, her family, and all their culture opened their arms to him..

He described one of those early interactions to me, one of the funniest times. It was one of the first days he went to her house to meet the family. He was sitting with her in the living room, and for every other man who came into the room, Mom said, “That’s my brother…. Oh, and that’s my brother… and that’s my brother…”

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I loved meeting my mother’s brothers. They all commented on how I look like their sister; they all wept when they first saw me and again when I left. It’s a family joke, how emotional they are, and that they cry more than their wives do.

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The uncle I spent the most time with was Tio Nivaldo, the oldest brother. Nivaldo is white-haired and balding, with a wonderful broad smile like Papai Noel. In his photo in my mother’s wedding album, he looks like a cross between Sean Connery and Kevin Spacey. Now he looks a bit more like Burl Ives. Nivaldo’s voice is rough and he utters his sentences brusquely, like a series of measured, coarse barks. As with Leda, it took a while for me to comprehend his Portuguese, though eventually I got the hang of it.

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Nivaldo has a great sense of humor and he loves to tease. Randomly—and hilariously—when I expected him to say, “Boa noite” or “Muito obrigado,” he would declare, “Good night!” or “Thank you verymuch!” in a way that announced that he knew how to say this in English and knew how funny it was to do so.

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One morning I asked the cook to make scrambled eggs with tomato and onion for breakfast. Tio nearly spat up his toast in shock. He told Leda about it, he told my cousin, he told the houseboy. But a few minutes later, watching as I added hot sauce to this alien dish, he joked, “Por que não milkshake?” (“Why don’t you add some milkshake, too?”) When I offered him a taste, he laughed and shook his head. “Não sem o milkshake não!”

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It’s interesting to me to compare memories from when I was there recently to when I visited as a child in the early 80s. I remember Nivaldo from that earlier time: His hair was silver then, he was trimmer and had fewer wrinkles, and they lived in a noisier house. And his younger brother, Tio Aluisio, I recall distinctly from that time as well: Dark eyes, ruddy tan, sleepy smile and nasal drawl, slouching at the dinner table from too much food and wine, and dancing with me at my birthday party. The good times he had in his youth are slowly catching up with him—these days, he’s supposed to watch his diet carefully, but he’s not that good at it.

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Aluisio joined a Skype call with Tia Linda and me early on, when she was helping me plan my trip. His low growl lumbered from the speakers of my computer in aging-rock-star ex-smoker’s drones. I did not understand a word he said, but I was delighted to try.

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Both of these uncles asked me about my faith. I was not really expecting this. At first I thought it was just out of curiosity, but I quickly realized the family was concerned about this foreign religion I’d gotten myself into. At a churrasco at Bete’s beach house, Tio Aluisio asked, quite directly, if I pray to Catholic saints. I said no, explaining what I know about how “saint” is defined in Scripture. He nodded at my answer, but did not discuss it further. As his face was covered with large dark sunglasses and a pale newsboy cap, it was hard to tell if he understood, let alone agreed with what I said. But he seemed to take my answer seriously enough.

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Mom’s youngest brother is Tio Raul. He has a sweet smile and gentle nature. I remember from the earlier trip, going to his house in a rural area outside of the city; I remember black-and-white speckled hens, fluffy yellow chicks, and light brown lizards darting among the dry bushes. This time around, I only saw him briefly, when he stopped by Leda’s house for a few minutes on his way to work. There was only time to hug, look at each other’s faces, hug again, and say goodbye. Not enough.

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I think if we lived nearer my mother’s family, my father and his brothers-in-law would become good friends. I imagine that it was like that for Dad in those early days: They made him one of them. I know I want closer friendships with my cousins; I think particularly at this moment of my mother’s nephews.

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I think of my cousin Kleber, full of energy and wide-eyed interest, asking lots of questions about American culture and lifestyle, and what I think of Obama. When I filled my plate with salad greens at the self-serve at Mangai, he marveled—from his travels to the US, he thought that all Americans eat only sandwiches, pizza, and fries. There’s Carlinhos—he was living at my grandparents’ house during my previous visit, and back then he drove me all around Natal’s bumpy, cobblestone streets in his robin’s-egg-blue Beetle. This time around, he took me to see the oldest, most historical parts of the city, showing me the architecture of government halls and old churches. My cousin Joscelino is a sweetheart; I remember from the previous trip how I giggled with him and my cousin Chrstina and put my pink plastic barrettes in his hair. Now he’s much larger around the middle and his hair is short and iron grey—just like George Clooney, he insists. He has the same big laugh and generous heart: He and Christina took me on a day-long nordeste-style road trip, to a tapiocaria, a nature preserve, A Cajueiro Maior and Barreira do Inferno.

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Then there is Marcelo, whom I also saw for only a few minutes. I admit my earlier memories of him are not that flattering—as a boy, he didn’t seem to appreciate his priminha Americana usurping his attention, and I didn’t appreciate his impudence. Thankfully, we’ve both grown up since then, and we now have something remarkable in common: our faith. We’re both religious rebels, little black sheep fled from the Catholic fold..

 

There are so many others… Artur, who woke up in the middle of the night when we stopped by to request his help getting my parents’ visas sorted out; Henrique, who helped me with my travel plans for Ouro Preto and parts South; Felipe, Bete’s son, who helped me get the paintings to Dinha before I was even thinking of this trip… too many to mention here.

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So if the title of this entry enticed you with visions of letters-to-Cosmo steaminess, well, not so much. Suffice it to say, I’m meeting more men, but keeping things friend-focused as I learn to navigate the verbal rapids. The brasileiros of my church are my friends, but also my brothers, and sons of the Father. When they speak, when we socialize, I’m observing and listening for something deeper, for what is genuine, for truth, strength, and proof of faith. I feel that’s all I need to be looking for, for now.

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Many months ago, I tried to explain to my friend Rita I why was learning Portuguese. She burst in, “Maybe you’re going to meet a Brazilian guy!” Nossa! Not a bad idea. In the meantime, I’ve many good examples of what I have to look forward to—because of them, I’ll know um bom brasileiro when I see one.

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Beijos,

Andrea

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"Os Brasileiros" by Andrea Bonifacio

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© Andrea Bonifacio and Sondo Saudade 2009-2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Andrea Bonifacio and Sondo Saudade with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

A Full Heart

Towards the end of last month, my pastor asked me to preach a message at our church. I was already working on ideas for my next blog post and the subject matter I was developing seemed right for a teaching, too. So I edited and refashioned it for a live audience, practiced it and prayed, and finally delivered it at my church on April 18. The full English text is below. I plan to post the full Portuguese text here soon as well once the translation is complete.

Abundance of the Heart

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I’ve been here at this church for almost exactly a year—next week it will be one year. When I first came, I could hardly speak Portuguese at all. I felt excited to be here, but also challenged. I knew it was going to be a lot of work, just to understand what people were saying, let alone to really contribute and become one of the family.

Some people say I’ve learned this language faster than normal. I know that I practice as much as I can and of course I have this wonderful church where I can practice as much as you’ll let me. But God has ways of empowering us to do more than we can do on our own. He elevates our talents to create more beautiful things; He empowers our hearts to be more patient in the middle of tricky situations; He increases our wisdom to figure out the answers to problems. He does this so we can carry out His perfect will in the earth—and so that people can see that He exists and that He is good and that He wants to bless us, all the time.

I actually began to teach myself Portuguese many years ago. On my own, I started to learn a few simple words and listen to language tapes. I didn’t have a plan, I just really wanted to learn the language.

Then, I came back to God—I got saved. I also began to attend a church that was very anointed and of great faith. In that church, I saw just how much God was moving and helping and changing people’s lives, and I wanted that for myself as well. The one thing I saw that was consistent about that change was this: The more that the people of the church gave themselves to getting close to God and to studying His Word, the better their lives became.

At the same time as I was seeing this in that church, I was not making much progress with learning Portuguese. I got frustrated with the articles, the contractions, object pronouns… a, o ,os, as… then do, da, dos, das – and dois, duas – and um, uma, umas, and… te, lhe, se, me… EH!! I felt frustrated with myself and didn’t know how to get past those barriers. I also was reading the Bible and praying more, which started to take up more of my time. As much as I wanted it, I didn’t feel like I could learn Portuguese on my own—and I didn’t see how I could put time into learning that and learning about God. Finally, I decided that I should give up learning Portuguese and just focus on God: reading the Bible, prayer, and learning Scripture.

Mark 10:29-31  There is no man that hath left house, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my sake, and the gospel’s, But he shall receive an hundredfold now in this time, houses, and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, with persecutions; and in the world to come eternal life.

I believe that when we give something up for God, He honors that sacrifice. You came here tonight instead of watching t.v. or doing something else, God honors that. When you sow your seed into this church rather than go buy something for yourself, God honors that. And He will multiply it back to you.

I believe that because I gave up my personal dream to learn Portuguese in order to give Him first place in my life, He was able to not only bless me more at the time, but to multiply the dream back to me since. And ultimately, He even helped me realize that my Portuguese dream was aligned with His will all the time.

Ps 37:4 Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart. You see, after I focused on God and the Word for several years, God brought my dream back to me. About three or so years ago, He told me that I needed to learn Portuguese. This was not me asking Him if it was o.k. if I started learning it again—this was Him giving me a commandment, to do something I hadn’t thought of doing in a long time. I will be honest: Out of laziness and a lack of understanding, I didn’t obey for a long time. I had put it off for so long that it had become a very insignificant thing to me—I seemed so busy all the time anyway, how was I going to make time for this? And how would I be any more successful at it than I was the last time?

But I finally made the choice to do it. I decided to stop procrastinating. I decided that if it was God’s willl, then He would provide the means and the time to do it. And once I made that choice, He made it so easy! His anointing and favor were all over my path. He gave me study ideas, like trips to Brazilian stores to translate food labels and the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens to translate those little “Hello My Name Is Tree” badges, and how I could learn numbers by translating the genealogies in the Old Testament. He put Brazilians on the train for me to practice conversations with. And most importantly, He brought me to this church. And then, He could give me even more: He sent me all the way to Brazil! This is truly “exceeding abundantly above all that I could ask or think.”

So between my giving something up that I thought was important, and trusting God to bring it back to me, and then obeying Him when He did, God was able to multiply back to me the gift of learning Portuguese quickly and easily. And He was able to use me in making that second dream come true—that I could go to Brazil—and to use that time to bless, get close to, and bring joy to my Brazilian family, and allow them to get to know more of their American family, too. When I arrived there, they told me how much it blessed them that I could be there. I was surprised and humbled; I thought the dream was just for me, and I never thought it could be a blessing to them, too. 

It was the first time I’d been to Brazil in over 25 years. God helped me to plan it, to reach out to my family, to get my paperwork done and to have favor with my bosses so that I could go. Most importantly, Yahweh made it possible for me to have a much easier trip by helping me to learn Portuguese.

The way this has all come to pass gives Him glory. I couldn’t have set this up if I tried. This was His plan coming to pass in a really lovely way. E tambem, posso falar Portuguese muito bem.

So if I am able to speak this language so easily, you might wonder why I am delivering a message in English. First of all, Pastor asked me to. This is part of his vision for the church: that we are multicultural and minister in many languages, not just Portuguese. Second of all, my message is about languages, and I think it is better delivered by Rosalia and I in this way. You will see what I mean.

In the weeks right before my trip, I realized that I had to practice Portuguese as much as possible. I had the feeling that this trip was going to be like one long college exam, and I wanted to at least pass! So I did everything I could think of to practice before I went: Flash cards; forcing my mother to speak Portuguese on the phone with me (this is not natural for us!); spending as much time as possible with the church family in fellowship… everything I could think of. By the time I was getting on the plane, I felt fairly competent. I might not be perfectly fluent, but I would survive.

But when I arrived, I realized that there are things that books and CDs don’t teach you, that time on the phone with your mother or even talking with your church friends doesn’t reveal. I am sure most of you here already appreciate this: The “real world” of being in a foreign land, using their language for the first time, cannot be captured in a book. The only way to really learn it is to go there and be in the middle of it; to throw yourself into the water and see if you can swim.

First of all, everyone has their own personal dialect. NOBODY’s voice sounds like the nice, clean, plain, easy-to-understand voice of the woman on the Learning Language CDs: “Eu sou americano.” “Eu falo portugues.” That woman doesn’t exist! Instead, there are voices that are deeper and more guttural; there’s children’s chirps—I had cousins that talked too quickly for me to understand, on purpose (heh)—and senior’s slurs; there are people who speak reallyreallyreallyquickly; there are accents and sotaques.

My cousin’s husband is from the north, from the interior. He talks like this: “Grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble…” We laughed a lot together, but I never understood a word he said (though my cousin told me later that nobody else in the family understands him, either. Then I didn’t feel so bad).

Then, there are idiosyncrasies, slang, and colloquial expressions. Some of the expressions that I heard really threw me: Sabe? Ne? Nossa! Isso. Viu? I had one aunt who used the word Viu so much I thought I’d go crazy! She would say a sentence and at the end say “Viu? Viu? Viu? Viu? Viu? Viu? Viu?” And when I stood there, totally perplexed, and asked her to repeat herself, she would say the exact same thing, including the “Viu? Viu? Viu? Viu? Viu?….” Of course, I didn’t viu at all…

And why did she always use the word meio instead of seis? It was SO confusing! Sometimes it made me feel like I hadn’t learned Portuguese at all! I’d ask myself, what language did I learn, anyway?

But there was something in particular about those expressions that I wanted to share with you today. It has less to do with what I heard with my ears, and more to do with the heart.

When you suddenly see something really beautiful, what do you Brazilians say? “Que lindo!” How beautiful. I heard that a lot when I was there: at Vila Velha, at the shoe shops in Curitiba, at the beaches of Natal. I know what those two words mean, que and lindo, and I know what it means when you put those two words together. I can even say the phrase myself,  “Que lindo!”

But when I suddenly see something beautiful or amazing, that is not the first expression that comes to my mouth. My first reaction is to say something American. “Wow!” “Oh, that’s so beautiful!” or  “That’s COOL.”

Matthew 12:34 …. for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.

When Jesus says this, He’s not just talking about words, about what words you choose when you speak. The kind of expression He’s talking about—the kind I am talking about–is not about what is in your head.

When your heart is really full, you don’t think of a word to say, you just utter something. Something, some word or phrase, or even just a noise, comes out of your mouth instinctively.

When I was in Natal, I visited my Tia Dinha. She makes this dish called torta do abacaxi, which I never heard of before. I sat down at her table, she put some torta in a bowl, and I reached out with my spoon to taste it.

Now, when I tasted the torta, do you think I said, “I find the flavors in this food to be truly delightful, don’t you?” No! I said, “MMMMMMM!!!! WOW!!! This is SO GOOD.” Right? (Now, until then my family had been teasing me about liking it so much there that I would never leave Brazil. At that point, I wasn’t sure if I would ever leave that apartment again….)

See, there are some situations wherein we will speak out a response that is so immediate and heartfelt, we don’t even think about it. We don’t choose the words—they are already chosen for us. They are expressions that have been planted deep within us over many, many years, by our families, by our culture.

When I was in Rio, or Natal, with my cousins or friends, and we saw something really wonderful or beautiful, they said, “Que bonito! Que lindo!” And I, I wanted to be like them, to sound like them. I wanted to sound Brazilian, not American (if there’s anything New Yorkers hate, it’s looking like a tourist). So I repeated, “Que lindo!” just like they did.

But what sounded so natural for them sounded strange coming out of my mouth. I was saying the right words, but when I spoke I felt like a parrot, or a child repeating something a grownup just said. Maybe if a cat could bark, the cat would feel the way I did.

What was missing? My heart was as full as theirs; I felt the same way they did: In awe, marveling, in wonder, joyful, happy. And I had the correct words in my head—I just heard them say the same thing! But what I didn’t have in me was the connection between the feelings and the words. I did not say the words because I felt them and believed them to be true, I said them because I knew them in my head and because it seemed like the right thing to do. After all, they said it, and they didn’t look foolish doing so.

For me to truly express myself the way they do—the way you all do—I have to build a bridge where one does not exist. I have to make myself react in the right way. Of course, that feels false—at least, for now it does. I think over time, that reaction would come more naturally if I lived in Brazil for a season and spoke no other language. After all, I already have a little of this: I was in a meeting with my new manager last week. She is from New Jersey, and she is definitely not Brazilian. But as we were meeting, she was asking me if things with a particular client had improved. And I almost answered, “Mais ou menos”—but thank God, I stopped myself just in time.

But beyond this, I must choose to build a Portuguese Reflex into myself, on purpose. It’s not going to happen on its own.

Why is this important? Why do I bring it up here today?

First of all, because the thing I am talking about, this connection between our hearts and our words, has a direct correlation in our spiritual life.

Remember what Jesus said: Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks.

Thinking back, years ago, in that season when I was learning the Word, and not Portuguese, I spent a lot of time memorizing Scripture (actually, a group of us at my church did this together, as a spiritual exercise). I created lists of verses about specific topics and read them aloud to myself every day. I also learned to pray this way, to “pray the Word”: To repeat those Scriptures out loud during my prayer time, or to read them aloud as if they were prayers.

The more I spoke them, the more I heard them. The more I heard them, the more I believed them. And the more real they became to me.

Romans 10:17 Faith comes by hearing and hearing by the word of God. I was building the bridge between the words in my head and the faith in my heart. And soon I came to the point where if I was praying a prayer or even just talking to another believer, if there was a scripture that was needed at that moment, it would be right there in my heart and mouth, ready to be spoken.

What had I done? I had built the heart-mouth bridge. I built my own Word Reflex.

Proverbs 4:23 Keep your heart with all diligence, For out of it spring the issues of life. So now when the need arises, when something amazingly praiseworthy happens, or something hard happens and only the Word can address it or fix it, I have that Word in me. The Word of God—the Life of God—springs out of my mouth at just the right time. I have the sword of the Spirit (Eph 6:17) ready to fight the victory for me.

John 7:38 He who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.

What you have planted in your heart is going to bear fruit in the words of your mouth. From that, those words bear fruit in your circumstances and shape your future. If you plant the Word in your heart and speak it out of your mouth, believing, then the power of God—rivers of living water—will move on what you say, and your circumstances will change.

Matt 12:35 35 A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good things, and an evil man out of the evil treasure brings forth evil things. You have a choice in what you put in your heart. You have a choice in what comes out of your mouth, and what happens in your life. Jesus said, John 15:7 If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. By your own words, you have a choice in what you have, in how the world around you is shaped and what your future holds. You have it in your heat and in your mouth.

And it’s not just for you, right? You may be talking to someone else and they have a need, and you’ll have the Word for them. “Oh, I’m starting to feel sick…” “No! By His stripes, you were healed!” “I’m so confused, I don’t know what to do next!” “God’s Word is a lamp unto your feet and a light on your path!” “I lost my job, I don’t know how I’m going to survive…” “God shall supply all your needs according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus!” “I feel so trapped, so stuck…” “Yahweh cuts through the bars of iron and opens the gates of bronze—no prison can hold you!” And these are not things you are saying because you made them up—you are saying what God has already promised. You may have faults, but He is perfect, and He cannot lie, and He will do what He said He will do!

God takes words very seriously, viu? He does not say a single thing, but that He expects it to come to pass. Everything he says is for a purpose. His Word “does not return to Him void But it shall accomplish what I please, And it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it.” (Is 55:11) People are not like that, in general. We say a lot of things without thinking—in fact, in general most people are VERY sloppy in how they talk and the words they use. But this is not how God does it, nor is it what He expects of us. He says “Life and death are in the power of the tongue.” (Proverbs 18:21) Do you believe Him when he says this, or no? If you do, you will be more mindful of the things you say—the words you hear, the expressions you learn; you will consider what has been planted in your heart, and you will do what it takes to change it if it is not aligned with God’s love and His way. You will develop a Word Reflex of your own. And that Word—through the Holy Spirit—will change your life.

This leads to the second reason I bring this up today. There is another scripture that is about “speaking without thinking”:

Romans 8:26 Likewise the Spirit also helps our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.

This scripture goes with another one: 1 Cor 14:15 For if I pray in an unknown tongue, my spirit prayeth, but my understanding is unfruitful.

There’s going to come a time in your life when you won’t know how to pray. There’s going to come a time when you have something really urgent to express and request of the Father, but you’ve prayed all the Word you know in Portuguese, or English, or Spanish, or Hindi. You pray it all out, and then what? If you believe God heard you and is answering your prayers, then why keep asking him again and again?

Watch this: I ask my friend Sondra for some chocolate. And she says, “Yes, you can have some tomorrow.” But then I ask her again, “Can I have some chocolate, please? I really need it!” And she answers, “I don’t have any now, you can have some tomorrow.” But then I ask her again: “Please, can I have some chocolate?” “I already told you—tomorrow!” … so, when am I going to finally believe her?

It’s like this with God, too. He knows your needs—He knows how badly I need that chocolate—and He hears your request, and He’s said He will answer it. If you have faith in Him, you must believe He is answering. And so, asking time is over.

And yet you may have an abundance of yearning, or grief, or compassion, or some other burden in your heart that you know you must express to the Father in prayer, but you just don’t know how. You have a heart that is as full as can be, but you don’t have any words to connect it to. In this situation, it is the Holy Spirit Who is there to help you to pray. He does this through the gift of speaking in tongues.

Speaking or praying in tongues is a gift from the Spirit. It allows you to pray “in an unknown tongue,” but you pray out of your spirit. This is a kind of praying where you have the words in your spirit, not your head. And the connection between your words and your heart becomes instead a connection between you and Yahweh.

You have a heart that is full, but you don’t have the words? The Holy Spirit will give you the words. He gives you a heavenly language, and with it you can pray to the Father about whatever is in your heart. You may not understand the words—you probably won’t—but you don’t need to understand what you are saying in order to speak. You just do it, by faith, in faith, believing that He understands what you are saying—and that He is answering.

It took me a long time to receive this gift. That’s a story for another teaching. What is important is that right now, I can pray in tongues. I can actually pray in tongues better than I can in Portuguese! But remember: The Word came first. I learned and loved and believed the Word; then I could pray in the Spirit; then I learned Portuguese.

The Word comes first—you cannot receive this gift of the spirit outside of receiving Jesus as into your heart and life, and He is the Word. But when you do receive Him, you can ask Him for this gift, and He will give it to you. He will empower your spirit and He will strengthen you (“building yourselves up on your most holy faith, praying in the Holy Spirit,” Jude 20)—He will empower your prayers. And the things you need will be added unto you.

I think we should pray tonight for this gift. Anyone who doesn’t have this gift and desires it should come forward in faith to receive. This gift is for everyone! It will equip you and empower you in prayer; it will build you up in your spirit; it will draw you closer to the Father than ever before.

You may not know much about this gift—you may find it strange or just confusing, and you may not feel ready to receive it. But if you have a heart that is full and you need prayer and you have no words to pray with, come forward. Anyone here who can pray in the spirit should come forward to the front and help us pray for those who need it.

We’re going to pray this prayer over you and make this request of the Father, and He will give it, and you will be blessed. We are also going to pray for those who have the gift, that they will use it more and that it will equip them. And we are going to pray in the spirit for a few minutes as a congregation, and allow the anointing of the Holy Spirit to build and do His work.

Viu?

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