Roosters for Seagulls

I’m writing from the living room corner of Casa Santana, one of the two new apartments now available at VisitingPortugal.com. Spread beneath the window before me is the Rossio, which is literally the “Boardwalk” of the Portuguese version of Monopoly you may play when you stay here. In the night distance the black Tagus flows between a string of lights on its far shore and the illuminated triumphal arch, the gateway to Lisbon, in the Praça do Comércio, on its near shore. If I want to know the time I turn and look out the window to my right at the clock atop the late 19th century Moorish inspired Rossio train station.


Moon set over the Rossio station.
Find the clock.

Debbie has done another spectacular job doing everything to get these places on the map. Her decorating is charming, her negotiating culturally-sensitive yet ever-so-slightly hard-nosed. Of all the days she’s spent shopping one stood out. As she recounted the way she felt born along and directed by the Holy Spirit that day she caught herself and issued the old disclaimer one hears applied to little choices everywhere: “As if God cares about my shopping.” “As if God cares about what tie/dress I wear,” is its simplest form, but the idea grows like a B movie monster, until you hear Christians saying things like “As if God cares about what house I buy,” or “which job I choose.” Let’s settle this thing once and for all right now. Bring to mind a friend who loves you and loves to be with you. Imagine their delight when you find something really cute for your house, or the pleasure they take when you look really great. And not just really great, but really great for the occasion at hand. Not just any tie will do. This friend knows who else will be at the meeting and doesn’t want you reminding him of the tie he threw up on at his senior prom or the way his old boss used to dress. This friend delights in you. “You are IT!” this friend says when you’ve made up your mind. God cares more. You are the apple of His eye.

They took some getting used to, but one thing I’ll miss when we leave Braga is the roosters. We probably have at least half a dozen roosters within shouting distance of our house, including three or four living next door in different directions. Depending on the time of year they pretty reliably begin announcing the day between 3 and 4 a.m. I wear earplugs to take the edge off but I have become genuinely fond of their cacophonous accompaniment to my dreams. It has come to represent northern Portugal for me, which is fitting, since one of their number from a nearby town called Barcelos, rose from the dead many years ago to prove the innocence of a falsely accused man and thereby became the symbol of the region for everyone else. I’ll be trading in the Barcelos roosters for Lisbon’s seagulls, which are symbolic of plenty themselves. Their ancestors tricked about the rigging of Vasco de Gama and Ferdinand Magellan. Friends of theirs frequent Seattle. The roosters are rural and agrarian and quaint. The gulls are of the wind and the open ocean and all the places around its perimeter. I will miss the roosters, but it’s a trade I’m happy to make.

Casa Santana and Casa Travessa are within 10 meters of one another. Casa Joaquina is 500 meters uphill to the north. Walking between them half a dozen times yesterday, your VisitingPortugal.com handyman began to feel a camaraderie with the other working people of the neighbourhood; hoteliers, restaurateurs, grocers. In the years to come I hope to get to know these people and share the love of God with them. We all need it. Pleas pray it would be so.

Living with Behçet’s disease is like living in Kansas. When clouds begin to gather on the horizon you can’t help wondering whether they’ll blow over and be nothing or boil up into a twister. Both Austin and Drex have little health clouds right now. Please ask God to make them completely well.

Thank you for praying for us. The Lord bless you this week.