Same Soil

Twelve & a half years ago, my older brother Kyle received a mission call.  I remember it like yesterday.

Our little family was gathered in the living room with anticipation.  I could hardly stand the excitement.  When he read the words, “You have hereby been called to serve in the Resistencia, Argentina Mission,” my mom did the famous, “Are you serious?!”  number with the super-fast hand slap on the arm of the couch.  I was in awe  & extra proud to have a brother embarking on a mission for the Lord. 

I knew he would be a great missionary, but he ended up being much more than just great.  He weathered some unbelievable storms that to this day, stand as a testimony to me of the power of faith & the priesthood.  Kyle was severely burned on his mission and was treated by a Peruvian specialist here in Argentina.  His recovery included 2 months of complete isolation (with the exception of his specialist entering twice daily to care for his wounds). 

Elder Jackson, my brother, is on the right.

Little did I know that I would not only see some of the same soil he trekked through, but I would LIVE in his mission country.  Resistencia is further north than Venado Tuerto.  When we drove to Iguazu Falls last month, we passed through a town next to one of his old areas. 

It was amazing to see the differences between Northern & Central Argentina.  The people are much darker up North.  The soil is red & clay-like, and it’s hot, hot, HOT!  In general, poverty seems to be the standard; we had to be cautious of thieves. 

In this next picture you can see how truly uncomfortable my girls were.  We had been in the truck for a LONG time and the sun was strong.  Notice the man on the left.  He approached Jared twice for money.    

Lots of trucks everywhere…

More Northern country and proof Jared still has his wedding ring… 

As for me, mine’s a goner.  More on that later, but before you have a heart attack, my real wedding ring is secretly hidden away in the United States. :)

Every single day, I’m grateful for my brother’s example.  It’s been nice to get-to-know Argentina, his old stomping grounds.  I wonder if Argentina must have something to teach our family, because hmmm…we keep finding ourselves here.  

The Giraffe Park

There’s a little park on the other side of town; it’s a happy spot for me.  When I was pregnant with Gabe, I cried a lot.  :)  I was pretty sick on top of being an emotional pregnant lady.  Last year was a tough time for our family for many different reasons, but like one of my favorite songs says:

…like stones in the river, we are tossed & turned, shaped until the edges are gone… 

I’d go to that park to contemplate the perplexities of life while my two innocent daughters explored the litter, graffiti, & train tracks.  j/k – but still not too far from the truth.   

We call it the Giraffe Park because it’s got this crazy graffiti-covered giraffe slide. 

It’s one of the few parks that actually has grass, and despite a few hazards here & there, it’s relatively safe. 

There’s a train that travels through it sometimes.

Something about it reminds me of my childhood.  I’m not sure why, but whenever I’m at this park, I always think about a fish fry with homemade root beer at my Grandma McNair’s house in Moreland, Idaho.  I always feel like I’m headed to a family gathering when I go to this park, and it brings a sweet smile to my face.  

I hope Carlie will feel similar sweet feelings when she thinks about this little park we’ve visited almost every week for the past two years  - the cool breeze that’d brush her rosy cheeks as I’d push her in her favorite swing for at least 20 minutes each time, the songs I’d sing to her, the laughs we’d share. 

Though times weren’t always easy, I know she’ll remember being happy at this park.   

…each day of our lives is a gift from the Giver, to smooth all the edges, like stones in the river…

The Hardest Part About Leaving

Well, my old template didn’t last too long.  ;) I liked it, don’t get me wrong, but I missed my white background; I missed the clean look.  It’s funny how a person can get use to certain fonts.  I needed my blog inspiration back.  

Some of you are having a few quirks with the private settings…how about you?  Certain accounts are not ‘Google’ worthy resulting in semi-annoyed readers.  :)  Maybe it’s meant to be until the next service project gets underway. 

(All accepted invites are still valid when this blog is in private mode.  I truly love you all, my faithful readers.)    

Okay, switching gears now to the hardest part about leaving. 

AnnMarie is an amazing friend.  She will be sorely missed when we leave Argentina.  Her teacher cried last week when we informed her of AnnMarie’s last day.  When we first moved here, play-dates were a difficult thing.  The friend we invited over would usually end up crying at some point in the play-date.  My Spanish was rough, and our home environment was a stark contrast from what they were accustomed to. 

It was one of the hardest things as a mother to see my ever-courageous daughter, she herself in a completely foreign environment as a whole, unable to understand why her friends from school didn’t like to come over for a play-date because…the environment was different, and it was too hard.  I think it was then that she realized how truly courageous she was.

Fast forward 20 months later to a different time.  Life is much different now.  We have grown tremendously.  It’s amazing what time & the refiner’s fire can do. 

AnnMarie is a special influence here.  I know the Lord has big plans for her. 

One of her closest friends is little Emilia.  Her mother is pure Italian and one of my best friends here.  I will miss their family so so much..words cannot describe.  Emilia is on the far right.  AnnMarie was helping me take the picture.  I’m tearing up just starring at this photo.  

Magdalena is another sweet friend of AnnMarie’s.  ‘Magda’ is somewhat of a protector to Mariana (a little down-syndrome girl in their class).  The sight of AnnMarie, Magdalena, & Mariana walking out of the school together, holding hands, the day I picked the three of them up for a play-date will forever be burned in my mind.   

And then there’s Catalina who tries her very hardest to speak English.  It’s absolutely precious, and I love her for it. 

Oh my goodness, we have gotten so close to these little classmates of hers.  AnnMarie has been emotional at nights - worried about leaving her friends.  I know she’s only 5, but the fact that she’s had to work so hard to make friends – learning a new language and integrating herself into a completely unique life - has made these friendships incredibly significant. 

Carlie reminds us all that the best part about moving is making new friends, and I know AnnMarie will do just that, but something tells me that these friendships of hers will be eternal.  She has been a pillar of strength to me as I’ve watched her struggle and now thrive.  I am so blessed to have her example in my life.

And of course, Carlie’s example, too – our spunky little one who can’t wait for the change!