You can say what you want about Brazil being a third-world country and that is why their National Health System is so deficient. You can tell me about Sweden’s cradle-to-the-grave wonderful Nationalized Health System as a model (not to mention withholding tax of 55% of ones gross salary - Revista Epoca, 2006). However, anyone wanting “change” from private to Nationalized Health Care, would you send them to me here in Brazil please? And if they could have a very high fever from a kidney infection that was caused by the flu a week before, the lessons learned would be more profitable. Who will be the first, please step right up!

This last Monday Bro. Hirialte called me at noon on his first day on the job to tell me his condition was as described above. Seeing we were his family until his real family could move in to their house, we immediately stopped what we do on our day off top care for him. He and I went to our neighborhood health center where every citizen is promised health care. However, while Bro. Hirialte shivered from his high fever he had to listen to the head nurse on duty, “Sorry, but there is no doctor on duty this morning” You should go to the 24-Hour Hospital in such-and-such neighborhood.” Nothing could be done but that very thing, so off we went. Its just as well. The night before he was examined by a dermatologist when he had kidney pain. He could have been examined by a gynecologist. Pr Figueiredo was when he recently went to his neighborhood care center.

At the referenced 24-Hour Hospital we signed in and took our seat. The indicated seats lined the corridors that served as waiting rooms. Did the long corridors presaged a long wait? I asked the fellow next to me in line how long he had been waiting. He answered dryly, “one hour”. Guess the wait would be at least as long as the corridors. But we had company! A husband’s lap served as a pillow for his wife to lay her feverish head; a father’s shoulder supported his daughter’s tired body; many young ladies and men shifted on the chairs, tired from sitting so long, discomfort augmented from their sick condition; a stretcher used as a make-shift bed for one lady who could not sit any longer. No TV, no refreshments available, no air-conditioning. There were posters on the walls however. I refrain from describing them since this is written to a mixed crowd.

We were finally waited on and sent on to the city University Hospital for further care. Further care meant exams. To make a long story short, we did not get Hirialte back to our guest room until ten o’clock that night. Yes, his care was without charge. So were his exams. He footed the bill for the medication he would need to take for the next seven days. The visit and care verily was low-cost monetarily speaking. But figuring in the disrespect of being herded around like cattle, the time spent waiting to be attended, to have exams performed and read, somehow the cost really paid seemed great. Bro. Hirialte is much better now and completed his work-week in much better health than he began. We thank the Lord for the Health Care in spite of the costs. But, had he been financially able to choose private care, which IS available, he would be happier. Now that he is doing better, he needs a check-up upon completion of his meds. Thank you, we know where to go. We will go right to our neighborhood health care center of course. We hope a doctor with adequate experience in what he needs will be there this time.

You may object that the deficient health care here is because of gross corruption by the politicians here. You may claim that this would not happen in America. If America adopts nationalized health care, she’ll catch up with us in this area I am sure.

Babylon, probably because of what the book of Revelation has to say about this city, has always been synomomis with corruption and graft to me. The mention of Babylon always brings to mind a city where it makes no difference what virtue you may or may not have, who you really are, nor what your objectives are but how much money you have to grease the palms of any who are or seem to be the representatives of “justice”. The discovery of this modern-day Babylon happened while taking care of the Bro. and Mrs Justice and Bro. and Mrs Zuhars this week. You may ask, “Babylon is in Brazil?” I answer that it is not in Brazil but a very close neighbor. I and my beloved visiting brethren discovered that there is a Babylon in the Southern hemisphere and it is a country mistakenly called Paraguay. Whatever it is that describes Babylon to you, I am sure that Paraguay will fit the description.

Paraguay has the reputation of having bargains galore, providing contraband of any type and giving asylum for international criminal, dictators, and people with otherwise questionable characters. I usually figured that these surely were in the minority. As oftentimes is the case I believed that the media had painted sensationalistic word pictures of this neighboring country by leaving out any mention of the caring and moral population that must make up this neighboring country. Well, such wholesome people may exist in Paraguay, but they do not live in the city where we visited. We visited a city that is situated right on the other side of the Western border of Brazil in the country of Paraguay called City of the West.

Our adventures began as a whim some two years ago. I suggested naively that it would be fun and enlightening to take the visiting Justices and Zuhars to Paraguay on our way to visit the brethren in far Southern Brazil. And furthermore, perhaps it would be educational and fun to take a trip to Argentina as well. In the end we DID visit these countries and we did get an education but I’m not sure it was all that fun.

Now that that long-ago-planned trip is a reality, we stopped at the border Brazilian immigration office. As any foreign traveler would expect, we found out that to visit Paraguay we would need to officially leave Brazil and enter Paraguay with our passports duly stamped. We got the Brazilian exit stamp without much problem, and at no cost. So far, so good.

The real education began as we crossed the Bridge of Friendship out of Brazil and into Paraguay. What is it with all the teenage boys dressed in vests that looked “somewhat official” trying to help us find parking. Please notice the phrase “somewhat official”. In a city of corruption and contraband, to appear “somewhat official” is vastly important. But I ramble. For the life of me I could not understand why everyone was preoccupied with my finding a place to park. I came to visit and see the city, not stop and park. Time after time my half-opened window was filled with a hodge-podge collection of eager faces chatting away in Spanish & Portuguese hoping to sell me on the idea of using a referenced place to park. Consistently I firmly refused to fall into what I perceived as a tourist trap. I thought everyone else in the car was just about as confused as I was.

By the time we were across the Bridge of Friendship an official policeman told me to pull over. I did. As I got out I was swarmed again by more of the “somewhat official” collection of chattering teenagers of Paraguay-Indian-Spanish extract. They informed me that I needed to get my passport stamped by the Paraguay custom officials to prove that I was entering the country of Paraguay. This I knew but why were they so interested in telling me? Later I learned that the reason that they were so eager to do me a favor was to get a tip for the favor. It began to look like money was king and getting it was the name of the game. For some reason I began to feel we were in another city where graft ruled, namely: Babylon. The only difference is that this one is south of the equator.

Trying to do things legally, I led my entourage to the badly-lit, ancient office of the immigration department in Paraguay. We found the proper line and duly waited. When Sister Lee Ellen and another one of our group of sitting ducks had given their passports to the lower-level officials at the window an excited air of interest began to buzz among the higher-level officials sitting at desks in the back of the room. Soon the highest ranking official motioned for all of us to come into his trap, excuse me, I mean office.

We all dutifully filed in. He asked us our business, looked at our documents, made a quick Babylon-styled calculation and dropped the bomb: if we desired to have our innocent passports graced with a visa to permit us to visit Paraguay we would have to cough up a humble $200. Having checked on this procedure previously to our trip we all knew better. There should be no official cost. We refused to pay. Our decidedly negative attitude to fork over $40 a piece encouraged this high official to have an equally negative response: No pay? No entry stamp in your passport! We left without any negotiation. Cooperating with graft was not acceptable to our mindset, at least not yet.

As we left the immigration department feeling quite upset, once again we were among the teenage tip-seekers. They informed us that the high official was a liar and would you please tip us for the information? Wondering about the problem of our not getting an entry stamp in our passports I asked another border custom official what I should do. He said, “Come on into the country and do what you want.” He informed us openly that officially we were not in the country, but to not worry, “when you leave you need no exit visa since you really did not enter. You are not here”. Thus was our welcome to Paraguay! With the absence of legal absolutes was it any wonder that I thought we were in a Babylon?

Back in our car and a little more confused, but more decided to be independent, we set off to explore the city before us. With the city before us and we tourists ready to enjoy the sights, all would be well if it were not for the traffic. In the hour that we had entered the immigration department to have our passports stamped, until the time we stoically left the Paraguay Border office, it seemed that everyone who owned a car in South America had arrived in Paraguay and were stuck in the traffic right in front of us. Being stopped we were an easy target for those dear teenagers chattering away wanting to help us find a place to park while we shopped. It began to dawn upon me that in this city we probably needed the help they could offer. Very clearly this part of the world danced to the tune of a different drummer. Thus fifteen-year-old Juan Carlos became our guide for the rest of that morning.

I figured the rest of our group could get out of the kombi to shop while I waited in traffic with 15 year old Juan. I would catch up with them later. Juan, I learned, was one of 12 children whose father had “taken a trip” 4 years ago. Several of his siblings worked as guides with him also. The Lord blessed the time stuck in traffic with grace to preach unhurriedly of Christ to Juan. He admitted he had never heard of Christ before. I planted, we pray another will water even as we all seek the Lord to give the fruit of salvation in this soul. We pushed and shoved our way through the traffic until we finally made it to the beloved parking lot. There I paid the daily rate to leave my car in a protected place. Out of the Kombi we were soon rubbing shoulders with people of all ages and ethnic backgrounds who were either eagerly selling or fanatically finagling the price. Vendors had their wares attractively displayed in booths set up halfway on the sidewalk and halfway in the street. The intersections provided an added opportunity of gouging the unsuspecting and naive tourists from all over Brazil. With the street virtually blocked with traffic, making a way slowly through the opportunists salesmen, I was reminded of doctor reports describing the dangers of cholesterol buildup in the arteries of a pre-heart attack victim. Juan carefully negotiated me through this mass of humanity and goods and soon I was rejoined to the rest of our group.

The group had done pretty much most of their shopping while Jaun and I waited in traffic so back we went to the parking garage. No one had messed with the Kombi, so either this garage was really an honest place to park, or no one had time to do anything. What could anyone do to our Kombi anyway you ask? There is no radio to steal and no luggage to pilfer. However, there are four tires to steal besides the Kombi itself. The Lord kept us and our Kombi safe.

Back out in the traffic, Jaun told me that he could bribe the two traffic guards at the traffic circle to get our lane moving. We thought that was in order so we burped up about five dollars worth of Brazilian currency. After Juan returned our lane began to move while the two guards huffed on their whistles and aggressively directed traffic. With a wave of their hand here, whistle, and a hand flapping there, whistle, they moved the traffic through chocked arteries ever so slowly. Because we misinterpreted a signal from the second policeman, we had to go through this ordeal twice.

Soon we found ourselves at the Federal Police parking lot beyond which our guide could not go. We bid him farewell with a twenty-dollar bill and found our way out of the country being directed by official uniformed policemen through a back entrance onto the Bridge of Friendship and into Brazil again. We did not need to get an exit stamp in our passports since we had not received an entrance stamp. Remember? We were not there.

Later I wondered if the choked traffic was actually provoked by the same policemen who benefited from the greasing of the palms by those who needed to get somewhere. If this were true perhaps the burglary of the vehicles parked on the street was orchestrated by the owners of “safe” parking garages. There is no reason for this not to be as it seemed.

Back on Brazilian soil, and I being still shook up with all the shenanigans in our Babylon, I drove right through the Brazilian customs department without stopping. Only later did I perceive that we all would someday have a problem with not having our passports duly stamped with a proper entrance stamp. A day later and several miles down the road we stopped at the border of Argentina and explained our problem to the Brazilian Federal Police there. They understood our explanations and kindly got our passports up to snuff thus closing this chapter on our trip to Babylon and back.

Written and edited by Missionary Calvin Gardner with helpful commentaries from his traveling companions

On this last Lord’s Day, 22 June 2008, after morning services, we all went out to a hillside with the city of PP in the background to make a very special picture. The day was overcast which, I am told, makes for very good photo opportunities. As we gathered under a tree, I had a spontaneous idea to take the picture with the tree helping to form the margin on one side and its overhanging branches to form the top margin. As usual, the family obliged respectably, and this nice picture resulted. As this was impromptu, and as I am incurably spontaneous, we did not notice until later that the closer to the tree we stood, the more the little rise on which the tree was, affected our picture. I therefore seem very much like a tall Texan and the rest of the family, proportionately the further they stood from the trunk of the tree the less tall they seem to be. But, none of this takes away from the beauty of the tree does it? Perhaps the beauty of the family in addition to the stalwart tree keeps anyone’s height from even being noticed. But in any case, here we are. Benjamin, who is studying in Kansas City, MO, is present too, in our hearts.

After at least one year, Peggy, Charity and Joy can now live normal lives. The buckets and mops have been put away in their proper places, the beds positioned in their rightful places, and the dining room table does not need to be pushed up against the buffet and they can watch the storm clouds gather without adding extra work. to their already full agenda.

What can make so many changes? Why, its the answer to many prayers, both here and there!

What is that answer? A new roof. All new rafters and a few new major beams plus 2,300 brand new tiles was part of the answer to so many prayers. The other part of the answer was the heart of the landlord being open and made willing to spend almost $2000, for all the material and labor. Now what are we waiting for? For the rains to come tumbling down! Enjoy the pictures.

The weather report said we had a seven-day window of no rain. The builder said he could do it in that time. So we were all programmed for them to start on Wednesday and finish the next Wednesday at the latest.

First they order the materials. No one can do anything till the materials are delivered. Not even preparatory work. The real estate office was supposed to order things a few days ahead. To their credit, the rafters and beams were ordered and delivered before the start date. But what about the roof tiles? Cement? Sand? I almost ordered that myself, but one more call to the Real Estate office got these ordered and finally delivered. One no-rain day wasted.

By the end of Friday, the back half of the house was uncovered, old rafters pulled off, two new crossbeams added and new rafters nailed into place. Nice going. The whole back-half was finished by Saturday afternoon. Could the front-half be done in three days were up and the rains began?

The old tiles were removed, old rafters pulled up, two new beams added. Monday came and went when the work ended with only the front half uncovered.

Tuesday came and went with the work undone, so did Wednesday. The sky was gathering clouds but there was no rain. By Thursday noon, the work was done! Now you can pray that the rains come again.

It takes about three cups of flour, a cup of sugar, some baking powder and at least one egg, some milk and flavoring to make a birthday cake. Then, for the frosting and filling, …. well, you may know that already.

Thousands of miles away, and not long ago in the town of Euless, Texas lives a brother of mine. The thing that sets him out from my other siblings, besides he being the one behind whom I could hide when the bully neighbor came to gobble me up (or so I thought), besides being the one whose ear was open to my ideas, and besides being the one who accepted me, a little brother, to accompany him while he did his Christmas shopping, in his own car no less, besides these things setting him apart from the others, today is his 59^th birthday.

His name is David Kenneth Gardner and his e-mail is … well, he did not authorize that info, but if you will write me office@calvingardner.com I will give it to you.

Happy Birthday Dave!

David and Elia

Did I tell you that in our moment (singular case?) of insanity, we thought we would liven up our week off with a good-healthy-fun-family-binding-memory-making activity. We thought a two-thousand piece puzzle would do the trick. So we stepped out bravely and bought the easiest one to put together.

Looking at the natural-cut, fine-form-fitting pieces splayed across the dining-room table all in a jumble was NOT conducive to thinking our goals would be met. It was funny how “uneasy” the “easy” puzzle suddenly became. Hearing the groans of the men, the unmarried ones (I would tell you their names but Daniel and David might feel exposed), did not improve the sentiments of despair. But we marched on.

A week of laboring (yes, that’s what it was), with myriad midnight meetings of mumbling “um, no. Not that spot. Not that spot either. Etc. etc.” we finally found the border pieces. Not really. I mean, yes we really did find the border pieces, it just didn’t take a week to do it. In a week of eight days (told you we were insane) we got it together.

By wise counsel we will get it framed. THAT will keep us from repeatedly putting it together whenever we have bright ideas again.

Here is the finished product still on the dining-room table. It’s proof the insane CAN finish what they started. By the way, we did achieve our goals, but the men, the unmarried ones, still groan and moan when they hear any talk of putting puzzles together.

It surprises me how fast time flies, or as David, my son says it, How fast we pass through time! This month I will be 55 years old. Seems just awhile ago I figured out when mid-life began. I was well into that period of life before I figured it out. Now I am in my mid-fifties and wondering if I made it to old age yet. Apparently not. I cannot join a club of those who are retired, my IRA can not be used yet, Social Security will not start for awhile and I am have too much to do in the Lord’s work at hand to even think about taking off. I am comforted that God is still on the throne, His Word still trustworthy, no promise of His has been empty, and His grace is ever abounding to this redeemed sinner in Christ. Not to mention the blessings of family!

Let time come as it will. One can only know God’s Word is trustworthy, that His promises are faithful and His grace is sufficient as one barges on seeking to do His will.

And may this be the reality of my life as long as it lasts!

Yes the time has come to officially declare my desire to have a personal website. I bought this domain some time ago, but never got around to working on it. Of course never is a long time, but it is limited as well, like with “now”. Now I have something on my site to look at.
And the thanks goes to Daniel Aaron (look up ThinkGardner.com). Once again he has rescued my never with a now.

I hope to get photos up, genealogy, stories from my parents, etc.

So ….. stay tuned. And write me if you have some ideas for the site.