Pan de Cada Día (Daily Bread)

Sometimes moments in your life come crashing together to make something beautiful (Most likely the handy work of God). And Saturday sure was something beautiful.

As some of you may know, I can become [just a bit] anxious, especially when things may not be going quite as smoothly as hoped. Let’s rewind to late August at good ole Camp Bishopswood during BION Teen Camp, actually to Thursday August 21, around 2 or 3 PM. HOW DID I NOT KNOW THERE WAS A SPECIFIC RECIPE FOR THE COMMUNION BREAD ?! As some witnesses may remember, I was a bit panicked when I thought we may not have communion bread for the Eucharist later that evening with the Bishop. Oops. (I would also like to add in a formal apology to Johanna for putting you through such stress, and I would also like to express my gratitude to all those who calmed me down during this bread situation).


Here I are a few months later sitting in another country finding myself beyond thankful for that experience and this is why:

I mentioned to the lady I am staying with at the moment that the camp in Maine one of the activities is baking bread for communion (AND THIS PARTICULAR ACTIVITY STUCK OUT TO ME BECAUSE OF THE SPECIFIC SITUATION ON AUGUST 21, 2014). Little did I know, three children were taking their First Communion the following Saturday (which happened to be this past Saturday), and what a wonderful thing it would be for them to be able to actually make the bread for their First Communion.

So we arrive to Colon (where the Anglican Diocese has one of it’s parishes), and unbeknownst to me, I would be explaining to the children how to make the bread…in Spanish. Thankfully, this time, I was fully prepared with a recipe and ALL THE NEEDED INGREDIENTS. The children enjoyed making the bread and I even felt accomplished in my successful Spanish explanation.

Both these of these events will now have a place in my heart, one being the “Communion Bread Event Where I Cried Tears of Frustration” & this lastet as being the “Communion Bread Event Where I Cried Tears of Joy” (because obviously I would let a tear or two of joy slip out while the children took their First Communion.).They make a beautiful crash. God really does work in mysterious & magical ways !!


A few other updates:

-Two weekends ago I had the opportunity to attend a Bi-National Women’s Encounter Weekend hosted here in Montevideo. Three dioceses from Brazil & the Diocese of Uruguay had a wonderful weekend with discussions of what each diocese is doing, as well as some talks about the future, and some spectacular worship time together. My favorite part of the weekend was part of the devotion on Sunday morning before the service. We sang a beautiful song about strong women as we walked around the campus in the shining sun.


During the inspiring devotion time !!

-Also during that weekend, I was able to visit with a fellow YASCer (Nina!) serving her second year in Brazil. She convinced me to try Mate…I’m not complaining, but I’m not raving about it either. David & a few others from New York also made it down for the conference and I thoroughly enjoyed the time we were all able to spend together.


My first ever attempt at the art of making Mate


-I held a cat.





Celsius & Besos

WOW ! I can’t believe I have been here for over a month !! <—Cliche yet surprisingly very true.

These past two weeks I have had to opportunity to travel to Colon (a part of Montevideo) on Tuesdays and see a bit of the ministry that is taking place there with the church. The area of the Colon is much different than the other parts of Montevideo I have seen, and I have been enjoying it immensely.

There is a children’s program in Colon, and yesterday I was standing outside and a few of the children ran up to me and starting poking my pants and pulling on my jacket and asking if I spoke English, it was absolutely adorable. I was able to converse with them in Spanish a bit, since they were no older than 4 and our vocabulary is on a similar level.

As I was leaving it really struck me as to why the children asking me if I spoke English stuck out to me. In the month’s time I have been here in Uruguay, every person I have met on the street or in the stores or elsewhere have instantly started speaking Spanish to me, and continue after I just stand there not saying anything, and I must tell them I do not speak a lot of Spanish before I am pegged as a foreigner. These children did not know anything about me, but could tell I was different. It always amazes me how children can pick up on things that adults sometimes cannot but it amazes me even more how open and loving children are to these differences.

One little girl even stood on her tippy toes and pulled down to give me besos on my cheek, and it simply melted my heart.

Last week a family from the church took me to Prado, another area of Montevideo. We adventured through the Botanical Gardens and the Japanese Gardens (because we all know I love trees and flowers), as well as going to the Museo de la Memoria. Museo de la Memoria is a memorial museum about the dictatorship that took place here in Uruguay during the 70’s & 80’s. I learned an abundance about the recent history of Uruguay, and definitely shed some light on the culture as well.

At the Japanese Garden

At the Japanese Garden

There  are a few things I am still working on here, one of them is my Spanish. One things I am having quite a difficult time with with “sentarse” and “sentirse” which translate into “to sit” and “to feel”. When someone is speaking rapidly to me and I miss the context of the word, I can not for the life of me figure out if they are telling me to sit down, or to talk about my feelings, which are two VERY different things.


Another things I have to work on is the whole Celsius & Fahrenheit things. One day last week I went for my normal run in my tee-shirt and running capris. I was only running 3 miles but I was struggling hardcore, and I don’t usually struggle THAT much to just run 3 miles. After a mile and a half I had to walk, I just couldn’t do it, and I finished the three miles by run/walking the second half and feeling miserable. I was angry with myself for not being able to finish strong. On my way back to the flat I looked at the weather and it said 36 degrees Celsius, which meant absolutely nothing to me. When I returned to the flat I looked it up in Fahrenheit…90 degrees. Oops. I wasn’t do upset with my struggle anymore. IT WAS SO HOT AND HUMID AND I WAS WEARING PANTS. I was sweating so much that when I went to stand up from stretching, I literally skidded across my floor because I slipped in my own sweat. THAT IS MY LIFE.





Yesterday I moved into the house I will be staying at for a while, it was an easy move seeing as I only have two bags and my backpack. When I walked up to the house my huge smile spread across my face because the house number is 143.  (For those of you who may not understand, I grew up with 143 meaning “I love you”, and it is something that has stuck with me throughout the years, hence 143 Kirst at the end of my posts and 1:43 being my favorite time of day/night).