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This is Cara [de] Viejo… “Old Man Face.” After spending 9 days in Platanares and spending time with Cara Viejo every day, I´m ashamed to say that I don´t know his real name. Nicknames are the norm here in Panama, and I´m still struggling with the cultural etiquette surrounding this phenomenon. Often, I´ve asked someone in a small community such as Platanares the name of another person in that community. And often, they have a hard time responding… what name should they give? Names seem to carry a different value here. But I believe names are important. I believe this based on what I read in scripture, where names carry tremendous weight from Genesis to Revelation. “Isaac reopened the wells… and he gave them the same names his father had given them” Gn 26:18  and  “… but only those whose names are written…”  Rev 21:27. Also because I much prefer to be called “Alan” or “The Beard” or “White Indian” as opposed to “gringo,” which is not a name but rather a label.

So one evening in Platanares we had a lively discussion about names and nicknames. We learned that Hermes, our host, learned what his name was when he went to graduate from 6^th grade, until which time he believed his name was Hermito. His brother, Lochi, knew his given name and went to great lengths to avoid its use. His given name was Rosi, a name as feminine here as there. The story sounded like a rewrite of Johnny Cash´s “A Boy Named Sue.” And, of course, we were all in stitches as Cara Viejo´s mother shared the detailed history behind his other nickname: “Mama teta de Rosa”… “Suckles the teet of [the dog named] Rose.”

It bothers me when a familiar face greets me and I can´t call the individual´s name. Unfortunately, it seems almost impossible for me to remember all the names of the people we encounter in the many communities we visit. So we try to use tools and methods to learn names and remember them as we go… And we hope to recognize when and where the Lord would have us invest more time to deepen our relationships with individuals (and of course learn their names) as we go about the work ahead.

May God Bless [you] in all you do,

los Fosters

ps We just got back from another trip to Platanares. Old Man Face´s name is Lemo… pronounced Lame-O. Some folks just don´t get a break I guess.

We thank God for gentle reminders when we mess up… because harsh reminders stink. I´m very proud of Colleen for the progress she is making in language and culture, and I´m realizing that I have a long way to go. I thought that I´d pretty much got the handle on Spanish and could focus on Emberá bedea and Woun meu, the languages in the two indigenous groups we work with primarily. And there´s much truth to that, however, culture hoppers must always be wary and careful… and remember that we will never fully understand the other culture, much less express ourselves flawlessly in it. A recent reminder follows:

In English we can speak of “with the spiritual gifts…” or we might say “with spiritual gifts…” At least in my English anyways.

In Spanish, however, if you leave out the “the”, it changes from “with the spiritual gifts…” to “spiritual condoms…”

Fortunately for me, it was just Pastor Einer and I… and he is very forgiving. But what if I had been in front of a congregation of indigenous for whom Spanish is a second language. I would have breezed right through without knowing. None of them would have ever said anything. And the few that heard me clearly might be struggling to assimilate this new teaching… or at best trying to decipher my strange metaphors. Maybe I´ve already been saying weird stuff.

Cake tare of tour younge,

alan

For too long I have daydreamed about the future of what it will and can be here in Panama; visions that will be put into action once I have the language skills. An event happened a few nights ago that has brought me to my knees crying. Reflecting on things I haven´t done, but yet the good in it has made me realize I need to take more action in my life. I have had “pena”, I´ve been shy and have not been outgoing with my Spanish.

We woke up the other night at midnight to our dogs barking somewhere down the road. Our dogs are like the neighborhood watch. They know who and what is walking in the night. Once the dogs quieted down we could hear someone in the near distance singing something. The voice sounded calm, and repetitive, somewhat like a song. [Alan thought someone had been drinking, so he went downstairs and got the spotlight, but was soon in bed asleep.] We usually don´t have any such disturbances in the night. Shortly after we heard the voice, I could hear a woman talking in the background as if she were consoling. I didn´t sense any urgency, although I could not sleep, something felt wrong, I eventually drifted back to sleep.

The next afternoon, as we got ready to travel to town to run some errands, Abuela stopped  us in the road. She explained that last night our neighbor, Anastacio, was bad off and was calling to her husband for help. He was having a stroke. By the time her husband went to check, he had collapsed in the road, but was still conscious and talking. The neighbors carried him to her house, and he asked for prayer. She and the neighbors prayed for him for an hour until his nephew came to pick him up to take him to the hospital. When we asked why they didn´t they come get us, as we have the closest car in the neighborhood for such an emergency, they told us that they had “pena”. Today, Anastacio passed away in the hospital. His brain had hemorrhaged as they left the community.

We have asked ourselves so many questions, and we are still trying to make sense of all of this. We love our neighbors and have shared great times with them. They can come to us if they need something. So why now do they have “pena” to wake us in the middle of the night? As I keep reflecting on this, I know God has a plan for all of us, and now knowing Anastacio has passed makes me realize that his hour of prayer was more precious than having been closer in car to the hospital.

The very same day our neighbor had the stroke I saw him in passing. Although we have shared much time with his niece and her family, I only knew him mostly in passing. After passing him on the road and waving, I remember thinking that I have never invited him over to share a meal. The same evening he was gone. Life is too short. Don´t delay!

What areas in your life are you avoiding, or delaying to take action?

For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.  – 2 Timothy 1:7

The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. – Deuteronomy 31:8

We joyfully left our home in Catrigandí for church last Sunday around 9:30am. While true joy comes from within, sitting comfortably in your recently acquired used car with good air-conditioning helps the joy come out for some people, particularly in the sweltering tropics. After 3 river crossings, about halfway out our dirt road (not gravel), a saddled horse came towards us dragging a rope with a small broken stick tied to the end. It seemed to think it had the right-of-way, so I stopped, and we watched as it headed into our neighbors yard and began happily munching down their beans. A little ways ahead we came upon another horse, saddled, and tied to a tree. A little further ahead, and Colleen hollered for me to stop. I had seen a sack in the road and was passing beside it so as not to destroy its contents. Upon reversing, I discovered it was not a sack, but our elderly neighbor from up the mountain, Simón, in the fetal position with a dirt brown shirt and dirt brown hat providing some protection from the already baking sun.

He appeared to be breathing. I got out to check on him, wondering if he´d been thrown from his horse. “Simón.”…   “Simón!” His bloodshot eyes eased open. “There´s a saddled horse loose. Is that yours?”

His eyes widened. “Yes. My horse…” and his eyes faded back closed, the rank smell of last night´s booze wafting around him.

Alcoholism seems to affect every race and nation in some way, while its expressions vary according to many factors: social, economic, and cultural. I heard some neighbors (who also saw Simón on their way out) comment that he had gone back up the mountain without buying any food. The next day, he came down the mountain trying to sell a couple of chickens. I had just bought chicken, and we were preparing for a visit… with a huge pot of soup on the stove. I spoke with Simón for a bit, but in my blindness and to my regret, it did not occur to me to invite Simón in for a bowl of soup. I pray that we´d all have the scales removed from our eyes such that we recognize and act on opportunities to bless others in the appropriate timing.

Con amor,

Los Fosters