Mission Month at MCS

So, here in Lima, Peru at Monterrico Christian School, September is Missions Month. My class is going on our missions trip on Monday. I am doing my Bible curriculum missions unit. We are reading a novel about a boy and his missionary family escaping from rebels in Ethiopia. Special guest speakers for chapel include (what else?) missionaries!

And Miss Leinbach is wondering what her future as a missionary may, or may not, be.  Come January, I find myself without direction. I am not opposed to doing some sort of mission work somewhere. Anywhere (almost). But I certainly can't do it on "my own". (I put that in quotes since I'm never really doing anything alone, since really it's God that's doing it all and I'm along for the rather interesting ride.) If missions is in my future, then I strongly feel that I must be a part of an established missions organization.

I'm not completely sure if missions is in my future. I've always seen myself (from little up) doing missions work. Granted, most of my childhood I wanted to me a missionary brain surgeon in Cambodia... don't ask. I honestly don't know.

But I do know that I've never had a problem seeing myself "out there", far away somewhere. Then again, I've also never had a problem seeing myself as a martyr, and I'm not necessarily looking for a way to make that vision come to pass.

So, what of my childhood envisionings should I bank on? I dunno. I figured out pretty quick in college that being a doctor was NOT what God made me to be. So much for the missionary brain surgeon to Cambodia. (Not to mention that I'm not gifted in Asian tonal languages... wowsers...)

I sent an email this evening to the Latin American coordinator of a missions org with the word Mennonite in their name. It would be nice to "go home" to Mennonite service ideals. Then again, it would be nice to go home to my Mennonite grandmother, too. (and mother, father, sister, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc.)

It would be nice to get an education degree so that I could tell people that I'm a credentialed teacher. But that would take a lot more money per year than it has cost me to live in Peru for a year. And let's face it: with the US economy the way it is right now, I'm just thinking, "It would be nice to go home and have a job."

I really do love teaching my third graders. They're such an interesting age. They are happy to be at school most of the time. They are happy to try to please their teachers (most of the time). They are curious and come up with amazing things out of the blue. (They are also rather frustrating at times, but what children aren't?)

I love seeing them develop relationships with God, too. A few of them in particular are SO delightful to watch as they listen to stories, respond to chapel speakers, or make applications to their own lives and spirits. Out of the mouths of babes, you know.

Well, before I sign out, a funny:

I am taking Spanish lessons, trying to actually start speaking without doing my best William Shatner impression. You see, I have a hard time remembering what verb endings go on what and with what tense, etc etc. and so I'll be speaking and it will SOUND like I'm done with a word, but then a heartbeat later I'll suddenly add on the one or two syllable ending. Now, if you're not a Shatner connoisseur, then you won't understand that at all; but if you are a fan of the Shat, then you'll be able to accurately imagine what my Spanish sentences tend to sound like. But that's not the funny. (although it really is very entertaining...)

The funny is this: I am telling the story of David and Goliath to my spanish tutor, Cherish. I have explained that David wasn't afraid, that he tried on the armor of the king, and that it didn't fit, so he ditched it. And then, David goes to the river and picks up five smooth rocks for his slingshot.

Well, it's almost the end of the lesson, at the end of a very tiring day at school, and my brain is a little fried. But I'm doing pretty good. Not too many Shatner pauses, I'm doing alright. Until I tell Cherish that "David fue al rio y recogio cinco piernas lisas por su honda."

I wanted to say that "David went to the river and picked up five smooth stones." Unfortunately, "piedras" is "stones". You'll notice that I said "piernas". Piernas means "legs".

Apparently, this river was frequented by a mass murderer- one who preferred clean-shaven legs. Cherish and I cracked up. I realized immediately what I had said, and corrected it, but still, the images are there: imagine your kindergarten Sunday School teacher with her little felt/flannel people and her big story board with the felt background image of a river... here comes little felt David and his sling, and here's the five legs he picked up out of the river...

I know, I know- there's something seriously wrong with me. (I just made myself laugh and aspirated a single grain of rice from the lomo saltado I am eating for dinner. It's amazing the sudden and violent effects one single grain of rice can have on a person!)

Well, I'll finish my random ramblings for this week. (I'm trying to write more regularly, even if I don't feel like I've got anything to say.) (My apologies in advance.)  (I can't quite believe that it's almost the middle of SEPTEMBER already! ACH! Where does the time go?)

Blessings to you all, and thank you for your prayers and support. ~emily