The Legend of Nanduti

Like most beautiful things, Nanduti is said to have been born out of love...

Two young men loved the Cacique's (Chief's) daughter. While he alone determined her destiny, he loved his daughter and desired her happiness. He devised a contest that would be sure to show which young man would be best suited to marry his daughter. Each one must bring a gift. But not just any gift. A unique gift. One that would cause the Cacique to release his daughter to marriage.

One young man was very rich, and there was nothing he could not buy. He gathered every kind of animal and prepared them to be taken to the Cacique.

But the other young man was beyond poor (you knew it would be so, surely). He had nothing, and no way to buy anything for his beloved. As he wandered through the woods, he looked up and saw an elaborate spider web hanging from a branch. He thought to himself, "How perfect! I will take this as my gift!" But as he reached up to grab it, it disolved in his hands. He left the forest weeping, completely defeated.

His mother heard his cries and found him. As he poured out his dilemma, she assured him that all would be well. She found another spider web and sat down to mimic it's pattern and create her own beautiful web. Using the hair from her own head, a stunning salt and pepper, she weaved the first nanduti.

When the poor young man presented his gift, the Cacique gave his daughter to him. Since that day women all over Paraguay have been creating nanduti out of lovely colored thread.

Nanduti means web in Guarani, one of Paraguay's two official languages.

Understanding Doesn't Equal Exemption

It's begun. Culture stress. The inevitable process of adapting to and becoming part of another culture. And yes, it is inevitable. Even if you've lived in another culture previously. Even if you are walking with Jesus daily. As long as you are human, you will partake of this process as you integrate into another culture.

But that doesn't mean it's always a welcome process. I have found in the missionary community, there is a lot of acceptance of culture shock and culture stress, as long as we are not the ones experiencing it. But we tend to be very demanding of ourselves and believe that we shouldn't experience this natural and necessary process.

For me, this stems from the misbelief that if we UNDERSTAND a process, we somehow believe ourselves to be EXEMPT from the effects of said process. Do we really educate ourselves on culture stress to prepare ourselves to walk through it...or deep down is it in hopes we can avoid it all together (wouldn't that be nice!)?

To all my missionary friends out there, my deepest desire for you today is that you would accept the grace that is there for you as you go through this process (and it can take years), that you would stop begrudging yourselves for experiencing it! You are a beautiful creation of His and as painful as it sometimes is...He designed you to adapt, with His grace and by His power at work in you!

I encourage anyone who is a missionary or who loves missionaries to click here for a brief description of culture stress. I found it a helpful reminder.

Who is This Person?

Vintage clip art courtesy of the Graphic Fairy

I'm sitting there, my heart's racing and I feel so anxious. Tears are pouring down my cheeks. I'm wondering, "Who is this person? Because she's not me. She's not the confident, decisive person I have always been."

It was supposed to be a fun day of shopping with my husband. But I wasn't having much fun. I felt under pressure to find the perfect gift at the best price. I picked things up and then put them back. I doubted my judgement. And I felt angry that I was having such a hard time! This was supposed to be fun. And really, it always had been in the past.

As I sat there crying and praying, I realized I was having a little bit of reverse culture shock (that means I was having a hard time processing or accepting the way things are done in my own culture). I'd evolved into someone different during my four years in South America.

I guess it's because, in some ways, my options were so limited there and choices weren't a luxury that I enjoyed (if you've never travelled overseas, you're gonna have to take my word on this). I remember shopping and shopping until I found something that would work for me. I got used to "making do" and "pinch hitting". I gladly paid whatever outrageous price was asked for an item I had been searching for because I knew I would likely never find it again. I got used to living that way. Sure there were times it was hard to deal with but on the other hand, it made me more creative and resourceful and ultimately reduced my attachment to things. And that was something to be thankful for.

But back in my own culture, I felt overwhelmed at all the options . The thrill of hunting for the best deal became cumbersome. And I suddenly began to question my ability to make good decisions. Had I really become so mush brained that I couldn't tell until I walked out of the store that $30 of merchandise for $20 was better than $20 of merchandise for $20?

I can be pretty hard on myself, and maybe that's what you're thinking I'm doing. And you're right. At first, I was. But what it's turned into for me is a chance to remember what my REAL identity is. I'm not an indecisive, anxious, insecure person (even if I feel like it).

I'm a child of God. I'm not defined by my actions or thoughts (no matter what provokes them). I'M DEFINED BY WHAT HE SAYS ABOUT ME. And He says I'm accepted in the Beloved. I'm seated in the heavenly places at His right hand. I'm loved with an everlasting love. I'm bought with a price. I'm secure for all eternity. I'm His.

And that makes all the difference. It allows me to forgive myself for thinking I should be perfect. It causes me to relax and deal graciously with myself when I see that I am having difficulty processing my own culture and appreciate that OF COURSE I am changed by four years in another culture (I would have robbed myself greatly if I had never learned from that opportunity!).

So why am I sharing this with you? I don't really know, except that I feel compelled to do so. Maybe someone will be encouraged by my testimony. Maybe someone else will understand missionary women better as a result of reading it. Ultimately, I just hope that God gets the glory somehow. Because He deserves it.

That's OK, I Have Gumballs

If you've read my previous post, you learned that in our former South American host country it was the customers responsibility, not the store clerk, to have the correct change for any given purchase.

You saw the responses that a lack of correct change elicited. But how could I have forgotten so soon the very best option for the child of every mother?

Let's call it the gumball change option. The cashier owes you 50 cents, but doesn't have it in her till, so she offers you two packs of small gumballs.

Yes...my darlings...gumballs...now, if it had only been chocolate there may have been an epidemic of women who "forgot" to bring small change. :)

I'm So Sorry, I Don't Have 23 Cents...

"That'll be $3.23," he says. The simple statement sends me digging through my coin purse for two dimes and three pennies. Only one dime? Make that one dime, two nickles and three pennies. Only one nickle?

I dip my head apologetically and say, "I'm so sorry, I don't have 23 cents." He looks at me funny, takes my $4 and makes quick change. His response isn't what I was expecting and it reveals, in a small way, how much my thinking has been impacted by the four years we recently spent in South America.

You see, the same situation there would have been met at the very least with a scolding for not having the correct change. And at the most, I would lose whatever change was coming to me. Somewhere in the middle would be a lot of sighing while the cashier went up and down the line seeing if anyone could break a bill for change.

Several times I was actually told I wouldn't be able to buy an item because they couldn't make change for me. I guess they didn't really need the sale?

So I got in the habit of carrying as much small change as I could. And I forgot that in this blessed country, you can hand the cashier a $50 for a purchase of $3.23 and they'll smile and count you back your change. In fact, it seems it's actually more of a nuisance to some of them to have to wait for you to dig through your coin purse for the correct change.

Culture is so interesting...I'm thankful to have experienced another one and learned from it...but you better believe I'll enjoy whipping out that fifty dollar bill next time I buy a latte! :)