The Rainy Season in Gamboa, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

August 4, 2010 I remember the night, standing under a shelter on the roof of our mission at the top of a large hill, at the base of a large Gamboa, the poorest, most dangerous favela in Rio. It was apparent that this was very dangerous, filled with drug lords, it was a constant hot spot between police and ‘trafficas’ the drug dealers.

That night rain was pouring down on the streets Gamboa, and on nights like these she seems so mournfully sad.  Typically the sound of samba music filled the air, and boisterous drunks talked loudly amongst themselves.  I loved Gamboa, I knew God had brought me to her I was not sure if I were to have a great impact on this city, or if it were she that would be the impacting force upon my life.   I stared down at her from my rooftop porch meditating on the life of Christ and how he was led around the countryside from place to place.  I wonder if he always knew why or if He took sometimes just took a step of faith not completely sure of what work the Father would have him to do.  The Bible is clear that we cannot control the harvest.  All we can do is pray to the Lord of the harvest to send workers.  We can only scatter the seeds that we are given.

Yesterday, the most encouraging thing happened. A man who speaks no English had been watching my brother and I meticulously work, painting and cleaning. He came up to us and using only ‘sign language’ explained that he had never seen any missionaries who cared as much as we did.  He said that he knew Christ lived in our hearts because we not only took time to do a job that desperately needed doing, we did it well.  (Brasilians take shortcuts whenever possible). I can only suppose the American volunteers do also. He would continue to be of the biggest blessing during my time in Rio. With his animated expressions and over the top motions he could explain nearly any concept, idea, or event relying solely on nonverbal communication! It was actually an amazing sight to behold.

My city may be glumy tonight, but I can see beauty in the eyes of the children, the cooks who love to mother their ‘American boys’ and the ladies who have come from such broken and abusive homes and yet giggle like little girls when our blue eyes look their way and we smile caringly at them.   True this city has its share of darkness, but God is protecting me from what lies in the allies and up in the favelas. I pray that He can use me as a light as He reveals the struggles that some of these locals face daily.  He is the Light, I am only His messenger, but I pray that I will allow myself to be used to fullest to accomplish and experience all He has waiting for me here in Gamboa.