I woke up several times that morning to “happy birthday” whispered in my ear. If you know me, you know I fell back asleep. But around 8:30 or 9:00, I got up out of bed. I had M&Ms for breakfast (both chocolate and peanut—a gift from Abigail).

We got ready and then put on my sash that said “Birthday Girl” on it. Then we put in our bubba teeth. While I am an embarrassing person, I will have you know we did not wear them in public. But they are fun. I look surprisingly good in them. 

We went to El Toreo where we ate enough rice, beans, chips, and salsa to explode. My reason for choosing Mexican was the restaurant’s custom of smashing the birthday victim’s face into whipped cream. I had never done it, but that’s what I wanted for my birthday.  I looked around as the music started and employees started coming towards me, but I didn’t see the whipped cream.  I frowned. And then got creamed from behind.  I had a thick white bread and moustache. Cameras clicked and I got creamed again. I thought I was suffocating. I poked holes for my eyes, nostrils, and mouth.

 A few months ago in Ecuador, my friend Eulalia and I tried this with our friend Albin. With a chocolate cake with chocolate icing. He didn’t get it, which complicated things a little.

Anyway, my family surprised me by taking me to the mall where they sat me down in a white chair and let a strange lady cake 3 inches of make-up on my face. I heard “hold still”, “tilt your chin up”, “you’re sure it’s a dark enough color”, and “You won’t actually make these faces when you apply the make-up yourself, will you?” about 300 times each. But I think it turned out worth it. It’s not that much, but it’s plenty for me.

Then we went to the theater to see Monsters University in 3D. It was pretty cool.

We came home and made my birthday cake, with 13 candles. I would tell you what I wished for, but then it wouldn’t come true.

I’m leaving in three days.

Going back to the States, where I will most likely have reverse culture shock.

If you were looking for the truth about how I feel about going back, I’d lay it out without the slightest hesitation.

I’m dreading it.

Go ahead, suck air, re-read the sentence, faint if it suits you.

I’m dreading it.

Not as much going to the States, but leaving here.

Every second I’ll be there, I’ll be thinking about what I could have done. What I didn’t.

I’ll regret how I never tried overly hard to make a friend; how I always held back, how I didn’t really try to share my precious Jesus.

I sat back and watched, like my home, Ecuador, was a television program. Like the kids here, some of who are beaten and starving, were too far away to reach.

And this line should say something that reassures you that this kid writing did something with this year. It doesn’t.

I look at the town here, and see everything’s the same. And it feels like I’m leaving it the way I found it.

Broken. Lost. Hungry.

And I look at the kids I should know but don’t. And think about how I could have helped them.

How even though they couldn’t have left their lives, they could have had something better. But they don’t.

It’s the most frustrating thing, feeling like you’ll never make a difference.

And it’s the strongest emotion I feel right now.

It’s crushing me.

I don’t want to leave.

“I- I think I’m gonna throw up, so I can’t go on- you’ll have to go in my place-” I say dramatically, preparing to crumple into a heap on the sidewalk.

“Don’t worry, there’s nobody here,” Eulalia comforts me.

We missionaries are the only ones on the boardwalk.

That’s okay with me- I don’t think I could handle all of Misahualli watching me do these three 5-minute skits. Sad, I know.

There’s a team at Ms. Eunice’s, and they come down to help us with the flash mob. Still nobody.

So we start packing up.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“The park,” Saida answers.

I choke. There are actually people down there. I can’t do this.

While Tyler gives the introduction, we grab our props and costumes.

“Where’s the Bible?”

“You packed my sweater, right?”

“I have no idea where your money is!”

It takes us a minute, but we are finally lined up- in the correct order- and ready to start the show. I’m the Christian in this one, so I’m excited.

We get through “Drama Hambre” with no major problems. It’s a relatively easy skit anyway. 

The throw-up feeling goes away.

We line up and get ready for “Drama Ciego.” This one’s the hardest. I’m a demon in Ciego- joy- so I’m wearing what feels like a 40-pound black jacket.

The music starts-

and then stops.

“Pauses are good,” I tell myself. “They build suspense.”

The music comes back on-

and stops again.

So Mr. Roberto gets another speaker.

It worked for 10 seconds.

He turned down the volume, and the song started playing.

It works this time, and we do great. Maybe I ran out of fake money and gave blind-folded Keri her cue too early, but other than that, totally awesome.

Marisol gives her testimony, and we get ready for the last skit, Everything. This is actually a great skit to Hillsong music.

I was worried that I would mess it up. We were improvising, so I was one of the two drunk girls. I don’t have much experience with these things, but I think we pulled it off.

After Ms. Charmai’s testimony, Tyler did the conclusion and we passed out fliers.

We told each other how good we did and talked about whether or not the people who saw the dramas cared about Jesus or not.

Even if just one person thought about Jesus and if He cared about them, it was definitely worth it.

So All May Know,

Madeline Studebaker

“Are you sure about this?” I ask. “I mean, look at this thing! Probably a hundred years old, and the cement’s not even stuck in the holes anymore!”

I get the old chicken-out-if-you-wanna-it’s-fine-by-me look.

Let’s do this thing! I tell myself. The worst that could happen is these  5^th and 7^th graders carrying you to an ambulance with a broken neck. I frown. Not very encouraging or uplifting.

I climb up a chin-up bar (or whatever you call it) one hand after the other with my ankles crossed to keep from slipping.

“Okay! You can do your thing now!” Jadyra tells me.

“Ready?” I ask weakly. 

“Yes!” Junior yells.

I hang by my arms and pull my legs through. I push the metal bar with my bare feet and the world turns up-side-down.

I let go and my feet hit the ground.

“See that? Did you see that?” I ask. I am so proud of me, I think. I didn’t even break an arm!

I get two nods and two little smiles. “Uh-huh,”

They do chin-ups and flip over the bar a few more times.

“Okay,” I announce from the top. “I’m doing it again!”

“Go ahead! I’m getting old here!” Junior says.

“One. Two—” I start to let go.

“Oh, wait!” Junior steps in to my path.

I think, We are on a direct collision course.

Then, My face is in the dirt. I am never going to hear the end of this one. I’ve drank hot sauce and eaten glue here, but add a mouthful of dirt to truly enjoy the landscape of Ecuador. 

“Madeline! Are you… okay?”

“Is my nose broken?” I ask.

Jadyra examines my nose. “I don’t think so,” she says.

“Is it at least bleeding?” I ask.

“No,” she answers.

“Good. Junior: WHY DID YOU DO THAT?” I yell.

“I, uh, I’m sorry?”

“Uuuuhhh! What am I going to say happened? I can’t just say “Oh, yeah, my face looks like it does because Junior here stuck his head in my way and I busted my nose.””

“Why?” he asks.

“Why what?”

“Why can’t you say that?”

“Too complicated. Can I just say Jady held me down and you punched me in the nose? It’s already bruising.”

“No way.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” I ask them.

“You have a really dirty face,” Junior comments.

“Thank you,” I say.

I walk home with my hands covering my cheeks and nose, even though Jadyra said I got most of the dirt off.

“What happened to you?” Abigiail asks.

“Complicated,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“I fell off the chin-up bars,” I add.

“Your face is really dirty,” she says.

“Thank you,” I say.

So All May Know,

Madeline Studebaker

I don’t drink coffee.

I mean, I’m not supposed to.

What kind of mother lets their kids drink coffee, you ask?

Ahem. Mine.

But only sometimes. I am not a coffee-maniac. Yet.

Note: Blame McDonald’s for the $1 coffee they had right before we came to Ecuador.

I don’t care if it’s hot or cold- anything from a steaming mocha to an iced latte is great.

Instant is fine, but if you want to smash those little coffee beans up, I’m cool with that too.

I am not picky when it comes to my parents’ coffee breaks.

There’s just one thing: It can’t be decaf or half-caf. Especially not half-caf.

Who wants to be able to sleep at night when you have books to read? Go caffeine! Unless, of course, you actually like caffeine-free coffee and soda. Hey, I won’t judge you. But that’s a whole other blog.

Doesn’t half-caf coffee scream: “Halfway! Lukewarm!” (I mean besides screaming: “Not the real deal! Go caffeine!”)

Lukewarm? It means moderately warm; tepid. Having or showing little ardor, zeal, or enthusiasm; indifferent.

There’s a Bible verse about that halfway stuff:

“So then, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spew you out of My mouth. -Revelation 3:16

My Dad’s Bible is pretty cool- in the margins it says spew is the same as spit or vomit.

Doesn’t it sound like God’s hammering them for not being totally for Him?

“No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon. -Matthew 6:24

How about this? Doesn’t it sound like God’s hammering US for not being totally for Him?

Next time you get a coffee somewhere- whether it’s at McDonald’s or Starbucks- think about if you’re really completely and totally 100% for God.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

10:00 am

Abigail and Daddy are with the team in Puca-Chicta today.

I thought I was going to get to lay in bed all day, but then I remembered that I had to watch Elijah because Mom would be teaching Dad’s classes.

“Ha, ha Muggy! You are sleeping I am awake! Hahaha,” Elijah screamed directly into my ear canal.

“Uuuugghhh.” was all I could manage. See, it takes me a while to wake up.

So after Abigail and Daddy left, Mom went to the school.

And she came right back.

“Madeline,” she said, “You know how Ms. Cecelia has a little boy Elijah’s age?”

I rolled over to face her. “Mmmm…”

“Well, she thought I would be able to watch him today,”

“Yohastagoaschoo,” I mumbled. Takes my mouth a while to wake up, too.

“Yeah, okay, so I want you to keep an eye on him, for a little while, until her husband can pick him up,” she said.

I was now fully awake. “What?”

But she was already at school.

Ms. Cecelia was really nice, she said Andy had juice and cookies, and thank you for watching him.

So, here I am.

We played with toy cars, little Buzz Lightyears, our cow doll Moo-chella, puppets, blocks, magnets… in short, all of the toys.

We tried to communicate.

Then we ate Doritos.

We drank juice.

We read Brown Bear, Brown Bear. Twice.

We cried because we got in trouble for spitting juice out.

We are currently watching Chicken Little on a disc with 5 animated films in Spanish.

Still tying to communicate….

Blessings,

Madeline

I mean, if I wasn’t already over the whole “moving trauma”, I would be homesick anywhere, and all the time, not just after a week in Quito.

Right?

I stand totally corrected.

Yes, I still think about Ga, and Fl too, even though most of my time in the States was spent in the Georgia mountains.

But I mean where I belong.

And it’s scary, I know, I’m a little freaked out just thinking about it:

Misahualli is starting to be home for me.

‘Cause I was thinking about it, and I guess home is made up of familiar places, people, and culture… language is a big one that is kinda overlooked.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a long way to go until I am completely comfortable with the ways of Ecuador’s peoples, but I am much more at ease with the people in the jungle than the people in the USA.

Walking down the street and seeing your friends from school waving at you.

Going to the local store and being able to buy something while you talk to the owner’s daughter.

Having a ball kicked at your head because the kids in the street want you to join the soccer game.

Running through my yard/the jungle, and knowing which plants’ sharp thorns would rip my jeans in half.

So All May Know HIM,

Madeline Studebaker

We are in Quito for Christmas Break! Yay! House/pet sitting for the Coyle’s while they are in the States.

Had to get some food and groceries, so we went to the San Luis Shopping mall.

After dinner at the KFC in the food court, Abigail and I asked if we could go up the escalator.

The descending one.

And Mom said yes.

Didn’t expect her to let us, but I figured she thought it was safe enough for a 12 and 10 year old. It didn’t click that she doesn’t really let us do anything that we won’t learn from.

Let’s just say my shins are pretty banged up, and my face made contact with the ‘moving stairs’ more than once. Way more than once.

And afterward, we ran in to a security guard upstairs.

I started to freak out. I couldn’t breathe, my throat was swelling up, and my converses seemed to get smaller. I looked for a girl with brownish/reddish/blondish hair like mine so I could say “Look! The culprit who climbed up the down escalators!” if things got bad.

I smiled and tried to look smaller, tried to disappear. But all the officer said was something about the Play Zone at the other end of the mall.

That was probably the longest time I’ve ever held my breath. EVER.

Then we went to Crepes and Waffles, the ice cream parlor that we went to on my birthday.

After our banana splits (with little paper umbrellas stuck in them), tiramisu, toffee brownie, and clown-shaped ice cream, we headed outside.

It was pouring rain, and there was lightning and thunder.

“Put the umbrellas in your pocket,” Dad told Abigail. But the thunder was louder, and it almost deafened us.

“Huh?” Abigail asked.

“PUT THE UMBRELLAS IN YOUR POCKET!” he repeated.

A man with a (real) black umbrella was standing near us while my dad said this both times.

“I would if I could,” he said, shaking the umbrella off with aggravation.

And Dad didn’t realize until we told him, an hour later.

-Madeline Studebaker