Left-Handed Absorption

Walking down the street with Matt, one of the missionaries. Hand at my side lightly over my bag just to make sure it's still there. The amount of people and children about puts me at ease, though I'm still not sure about where I'm about to find myself.

Tiny flags hang overhead. Shops and bakeries decorate our left and right. Potholes, trash, stray dogs, dirt. Stares. There is no blending here. Matt offers up an "oi" every once in a while. I've learned how disarming a smile can be. I buy the best sandwich I've probably ever had in a shop on the corner for 2 rais (which is a little over a dollar). We continue on our way until we come to a tiny gate that's wedged in along the wall. I almost pass it up, but Matt greets the young woman who'd been standing in the doorway to wait for us. We walk up three flights of stairs and come to the living room of the third floor. I only know Marcelo, a man from our church who I think is about in his thirties or so. I am unfamiliar with everyone else in the room. I have no idea what to expect, or if I have the energy today for it, but I take a deep breath and go on in.

Awkward. The first moments always are. I'm always suddenly aware or where my hands fall, how I'm standing. I try to relax my stiffened shoulders, look the first person I see in the eyes, and smile. It's a woman. She shakes my hand. "Tudo bem?" I know the answer to this very common greeting, but my mind blanks. I smile. She smiles. I relax a little more. Marcelo tells me to make myself at home as he points to the couch. He says it in Portuguese though so it takes me a while to figure it out. I don't mind at this point. He and Matt talk for a second and I take out my sandwich. After my hands are good and greasy, the girl about my age who led us in enters and comes to shake my hand. I show her the grease and we laugh. She is Marcelo's sister I figure out by now. She sits on the armrest next to me and strokes my hair. From then on, I feel no worries.

Marcelo, eager to practice his English, sits and talks with me. We struggle to communicate at times but it is helpful and cheerful. Marcelo's brother tells him to stop talking to me so I can eat. His brother and I exchange smiles from across the room.

Alone for a moment on the couch I sit and listen to Marcelo's brother and sister and another older woman speak to each other in Portuguese. By now they know I don't speak the language well but the sister signals "crazy" to me as the brother sings and dances to soft background music. That I understand and we laugh together.

More people file in and I do what I can to smile and observe. Marcelo is back speaking English and his brother brings me a small piece of "bolo," or cake. When I realize they're trying to start their video, I go onto the porch with three "meninas," or little girls, and Marcelo follows to translate. The "meninas" are immediately open to being my friend. We make crafts and the girls bask in my praises of "linda, linda," or pretty, as they show off their creations to me. I also meet another woman who is excited to tell me she has English in her blood. She studies my face and seems happy for my visit.

We enter the living room again when the group is ready to close. We circle up and hold hands to pray and share desires we wish to lift up to God. During the prayer I feel two little hands squeezing in on either side of me. Two shining smiles are gleaming up at me as I squeeze the little girls' hands.

After the prayer there is "bolo" and bread - all very good - and more conversation. I sit on the couch again. I am soon surrounded by "as meninas," as well as three girls that are close to my age, two of them are Marcelo's sisters (twins). We ask each other questions and Marcelo translates. We all laugh because the confusion builds as Marcelo's brain and my brain grow tired. I am more than grateful for the closeness and interest. They ask if I am Christian. Marcelo tells me his sisters are not, though he hopes they will be soon. Most people who are a part of this study have not committed their lives to Christ. I feel the frustration of language barriers as I want to tell them myself that I don't judge them. I long to understand what they feel about Christ and what holds them back. I am aware enough to know that they do not doubt God's existence. I smile again and we keep eagerly asking each other questions about our lives as Marcelo translates. I am sad to leave the crowded couch as Matt tells me it's time to go.

It takes some time to get back down to the street. I hug and kiss everyone "chao." (It's funny, the two kisses on the cheek are not as awkward as I imagined.) They tell me again and again to come back. All of them help me to fumble out the words: "I want to come back here" in Portuguese. Marcelo and "as meninas" walk us the whole way out. One menina holds my hand the entire way. I blow kisses and wave to the girls from the car and Marcelo is excited about his English lesson on Thursday. (Marcy and I have taught two English lessons to two women so far; they are all excited to practice.)

My heart is full from the warmth of the home as we drive away. I remember my prayer from the afternoon and thank God for answering with His presence and for speaking to me through the experience. I am also mindful of my desire I lifted up in the closing prayer of the study: to find ways to connect with any and all people..