Crônicas do Cotidiano

He makes springs pour water into the ravine; it flows between the mountains….The birds of the air nest by the waters; they sing among the branches.. —Psalm 104:12

Introduction to the translation: I’ve recently decided to try to keep up my blog in English as well, translating/adapting things that come to expression first in Portuguese. This time I almost quit in the middle because of technical difficulties. First of all, I am frustrated because Portuguese has two words for “birds” for which I cannot find the exact equivalent. Aves are big birds—the ones that squawk, screech, shriek, cluck or hoot. Pássaros are little birds—the ones that usually sing. And passarinhos are birdies but it is a less “condescending” word (not used only to talk to children).

Secondly, my meditation is based on the text I was reading in Portuguese in a version called Almeida Revista e Atualizada. Having decided to use the NIV in English, it was rather disconcerting to find somewhat of a different wording here and there—not necessarily leading to a different significance but not clear enough to allow for an understanding of my train of thought at the moment. So I had to make a literal rendering at one point. The translation of the original post follows (the photos were taken at the retreat center):

It’s a weekend, close to the end of October. I am participating in a spiritual retreat for seminary student wives near Campos do Jordão—a town in the state of São Paulo, Brazil (three hours’ drive from where I live in the city of São Paulo). We are five coordinators (wives of seminary professors/pastors/church leaders), together with eight young women. In the program that has been distributed, the two mornings begin with an individual “quiet time”. All are encouraged to find a spot outside the house in order to spend half an hour in God’s presence, reading the Bible and praying.

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Legacy of a Grandfather

Continuing along the line of thought of the previous posts, about “spiritual legacy,” I am going to share another item that I met up with while examining the papers and objects stored as special memories of our past—something my father passed on to his offspring, in this case one of his grandsons.

It is an envelope with a letter that was mailed to me almost six years ago—sent by my middle son when my dad died at the end of December 2002.  E-mail already existed then, but it seems that he felt that something written by hand would be more significant than virtual correspondence (and also ended up lasting longer). I think I need to explain some of the context by adding a few (somewhat disconnected) bits of information, so that you can understand the details in this letter.

Two sets of Cousins—Tacoma, Washington, Christmas of 2002

The writer of the letter is the tall fellow on the right.

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Growing up in the Faith. A Farmer’s Daughter but also Child of the King

I spent several hours recently interacting with our oldest son, very grateful because he decided to update the version that my blog is made in. I’m quite proud of the fact that I have learned to post by myself (and even insert images!), but I always end up confronting obstacles—be they small or big. My italics disappear, the spaces between the paragraphs vanish, I add an image and the entire text gets centred, the information on the right decides to take off to the bottom of the page… I fix everything and, then, when I push “save,” it all goes back to the wrong way it was before…. Since David lives on the other side of the planet, I often have to wait for him to wake up or come back to the computer to help me. In less than two minutes, he works with the “html” (something that I understand very little of) and everything is wonderful again.

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