Sunday was a beautiful, grey cloudy day-- the overcast sky was no match for smiling, laughing children in sunday school or warm embraces from friends long missed, a few ricas saltenas with friends or discipleship with a spiritual mother figure who resembles anne lammott and betty crocker at the same time, or the time to sit on the couch with friends at the end of the day and laugh out of tired delirium and genuine enjoyment of each others' company. Love these people.
They're teaching me to take the lowest seat at the banquet table, the one next to Jesus- servant of all. They remind me to laugh at myself when I fall and scrape my knees, to stop staring at myself in the mirror and turn my eyes to Jesus, to trust in Him to answer my questions in due time and not lean on my own understanding.
We're studying The Purpose Driven Life in Bible study at Kike and Marta's house and this last week I was so encouraged by the way they are really taking lessons to heart; then and there we all shared one way in which we wanted to apply what we talked about to our daily lives within the next few days. So good.
Today was Gloria's birthday- so fun! We're off to go get a movie to watch while we digest the enormous amounts of exquisite food we consumed today! Thank you Marta for your RICISSIMO arroz con pollo y papas a la huancaina!!!
Monday, June 15, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Operation "Day Off"
Yesterday was the first day Susan, Gloria (as we like to call her, Glo), and I had a day off together. 
Operation Day-Off began like this: I was at the girls' home, Susan went to our apartment, and we were going to meet at some kind of show (brigadeer?) at Romina's school. Well, I arrived at her school a bit late and it was empty... so I walked back to our apartment to find Susan. O wait, also I don't have keys to the apartment yet. So Susan wasn't there... walked to the office. Not there... Back to the apartment to wait until she came home, because surely she would be coming home soon. After a little while, Kike, Romina's dad, came at me pedaling on his bicycle, waving his cell phone in the air. He had Susan on the phone for me and my sweet Peruvian dad rode from the office to our apartment so I could talk to her! Anyway, Susan and Glo had been waiting for me at the Pizza Hut out in La Molina this whole time. So after about an hour of what I'm gonna call exercise, I found them!
Totally worth the pre-game adventure, because we got to eat at the Saltenaria! Saltenas are little empanadas I fell in love with in Bolivia last year. Really fell in love. 2 were sufficient for Glo, but unashamed I downed 3 of them.. Bien contenta :)
Adventure number 2: San Borja, Susan's new favorite park. Verdant and clean, beautiful stone walls and steps built up on hills with tiny streams trickling down them. Then we stumbled onto a little colony of huge ducks that had invaded the park.
Adventure #3: Go to an AWESOME tea shop in San Borja and sit upstairs in the little bookstore loft on the oriental rug for hours. The Indian music in the background, little glass coffee table held up by statues of Hindu gods blended well with the C.S. Lewis quote about tea painted on the wall... in English.
We mulled over questions like What makes a Peruvian tick? and Why do they work so hard at some things and despairingly give up on others? over tea and coffee. More new questions than answers. Wonderful day.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Twas the Night Before Friday
Twas the night before friday and all through the house
Not a worry was stirring, the two girls on the couch
One fell asleep to familiar songs
While the other plucked strings, at last nothing was wrong.
Soon they would dream of the following morn,
When a lost girl they'd finally get to adorn
With her very own bed and a basket of things,
With new clothes and the warmth that a loving home brings.
They tossed and they turned, but not out of fright;
No, they couldn't sleep still for excitement all night.
For the King, He would surely arrive to escort
His once forgotten daughter with an angelic cohort.
And when she stepped foot in their humble abode
They'd catch sight of the edge of the King's royal robe.
Would the brilliance of His cloak send them away blind?
Though it steal away sight, they could not help not mind
For the King comes tomorrow, and His beloved guest,
May we bow at His feet and give her our best.
Not a worry was stirring, the two girls on the couch
One fell asleep to familiar songs
While the other plucked strings, at last nothing was wrong.
Soon they would dream of the following morn,
When a lost girl they'd finally get to adorn
With her very own bed and a basket of things,
With new clothes and the warmth that a loving home brings.
They tossed and they turned, but not out of fright;
No, they couldn't sleep still for excitement all night.
For the King, He would surely arrive to escort
His once forgotten daughter with an angelic cohort.
And when she stepped foot in their humble abode
They'd catch sight of the edge of the King's royal robe.
Would the brilliance of His cloak send them away blind?
Though it steal away sight, they could not help not mind
For the King comes tomorrow, and His beloved guest,
May we bow at His feet and give her our best.
Monday, June 1, 2009
There and Back Again
I assumed that the newness of traveling overseas had been drained after spending first semester in Peru and backpacking in Bolivia. But I was dead wrong. Imagine my surprise when the first sight of Costa Rica's verdant mountains snatched some breath out of me. I looked to my right and left, then behind me- everyone was smiling! A little gem of a moment with humanity.
I get one hour here in San Jose- and I am trying to "aprovechar" every minute! (I can't even waste a glance on my computer screen for too long so excuse any spelling errors). The sky reads, from left to right, "chance of thunderstorm, billowy cloudy, remnant of light white streaks on azure, blue." All this above a bottom layer of lime green grass and rainforest trees, dotted with terra cotta roofs, and stamped with giant lush mountains hugging the little city around all its edges.
Meanwhile, buses of people from everywhere (and I mean everywhere- Dallas, TX included) shuttle in and out in front of my little pane of window. Currently there are approximately 50 men, women, and curious children packed at the door and trying not to stare at the American girl awkwardly sitting on the floor. It's okay, chances are we won't see each other again and the discomfort will subside for both parties with a small dose of time.
I forgot the beauty of Latin America; I didn't forget the little details like the olive trees or bougainvillas or the bulky yet rigid look of the mountains- I forgot the experience of its beauty. It feels new all over again. Do you think we can fall in love again with God's same creation every morning? Because I think He does.
Time to board; yes! That means that the fresh-looking air is minutes from my lungs' touch. Hasta luego.
I get one hour here in San Jose- and I am trying to "aprovechar" every minute! (I can't even waste a glance on my computer screen for too long so excuse any spelling errors). The sky reads, from left to right, "chance of thunderstorm, billowy cloudy, remnant of light white streaks on azure, blue." All this above a bottom layer of lime green grass and rainforest trees, dotted with terra cotta roofs, and stamped with giant lush mountains hugging the little city around all its edges.
Meanwhile, buses of people from everywhere (and I mean everywhere- Dallas, TX included) shuttle in and out in front of my little pane of window. Currently there are approximately 50 men, women, and curious children packed at the door and trying not to stare at the American girl awkwardly sitting on the floor. It's okay, chances are we won't see each other again and the discomfort will subside for both parties with a small dose of time.
I forgot the beauty of Latin America; I didn't forget the little details like the olive trees or bougainvillas or the bulky yet rigid look of the mountains- I forgot the experience of its beauty. It feels new all over again. Do you think we can fall in love again with God's same creation every morning? Because I think He does.
Time to board; yes! That means that the fresh-looking air is minutes from my lungs' touch. Hasta luego.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Spinning around in Shanty town.
You never know what you’re gonna find
when you take a trip to the other side
but you can be sure that you’ll be surprised
by what you see and how you change your mind.
And if you open your heart to the people you meet,
you won’t expect what or how much they’ll teach
you, so get ready to treasure all your moments
as they come to you.
I got to spend Wednesday playing with the kids of women in Nacario who have formed a group with Lupe, Robin and Wilber. We sat on the dirt floors in Erica’s house, playing with clothespins and jacks. We ran around for hours. They taught me their games, like gallinita (marco polo on land, with a blindfold). And we played chase. And we laughed. The two oldest girls, Estrella and Joci, captured my heart. I spun them around in circles and they taught me their dances and we danced them and laughed together— so much so that between laughing and running I was constantly out of breath. Estrella was a little girl but she watched out for all the littler ones. When something went wrong, the maturity of a girl much older shone in her eyes. At the end of the day, as we were leaving, I said, “Do you know that you are a special chica?” She asked me why. I told her that God loves her, and that since God is the King, and she is His daughter, she is a princess. Her shy and hopeful smile when I said that melted my heart and made me so thankful for the opportunity to be there and share that small but profound truth with her.
Friday night, we had a “fogota,” a bonfire, in Nacario with the women and all the kids from the churches and from Wednesday afternoon. We sat under stars in the dirt around a fire made with the same kind of straw as their homes. After we sang and played, and prayed, we ate as a community. And it was one of the sweetest nights of my life. Though those moments will never again enter my life but through the path of memory, I hope I will again cross paths with those hearts.
when you take a trip to the other side
but you can be sure that you’ll be surprised
by what you see and how you change your mind.
And if you open your heart to the people you meet,
you won’t expect what or how much they’ll teach
you, so get ready to treasure all your moments
as they come to you.
I got to spend Wednesday playing with the kids of women in Nacario who have formed a group with Lupe, Robin and Wilber. We sat on the dirt floors in Erica’s house, playing with clothespins and jacks. We ran around for hours. They taught me their games, like gallinita (marco polo on land, with a blindfold). And we played chase. And we laughed. The two oldest girls, Estrella and Joci, captured my heart. I spun them around in circles and they taught me their dances and we danced them and laughed together— so much so that between laughing and running I was constantly out of breath. Estrella was a little girl but she watched out for all the littler ones. When something went wrong, the maturity of a girl much older shone in her eyes. At the end of the day, as we were leaving, I said, “Do you know that you are a special chica?” She asked me why. I told her that God loves her, and that since God is the King, and she is His daughter, she is a princess. Her shy and hopeful smile when I said that melted my heart and made me so thankful for the opportunity to be there and share that small but profound truth with her.
Friday night, we had a “fogota,” a bonfire, in Nacario with the women and all the kids from the churches and from Wednesday afternoon. We sat under stars in the dirt around a fire made with the same kind of straw as their homes. After we sang and played, and prayed, we ate as a community. And it was one of the sweetest nights of my life. Though those moments will never again enter my life but through the path of memory, I hope I will again cross paths with those hearts.
San Clemente: First Impressions
We took a three hour bus ride along the ocean shore and then half an hour inland to the outskirts of Pisco. Along the way, we saw town after town made up of nothing but a few brick buildings and shacks. San clemente is no different. Now I realize why they call them “shanty towns”—it’s not like a normal city with a central area, some normal residence areas, and then the “bad” side of town. Every side of town here is poor. Every side of town consist of shack, after shack, after shack, dusty thatched roofs, dirt “roads” separating blocks, smoke billowing up from crockpots over open fires. On top of that, because of the earthquake that broke up the town over a year ago, piles of rubble line the roads, the adobe bricks constant reminders of the walls and roofs they once had. On the two paved streets, cement buildings still standing are painted bright colors, and from our roof they pocadot the place, adding pinks, greens, blues and yellows to the brown town. From here I can also see grass about half a mile away on a cotton farm. There are a few trees and of course the colorful clothes hanging outside, relieving your eyes from all the dirt and straw.
The first afternoon we were here, Armando walked me around. He came here for 3 weeks with his team from his church in A-town. So we strolled down the hill from the mission house into the central area where street vendors and make shift stores are. Some things that stick out in my memory—the smell of animal feces and stray dogs, flies swarming around a whole broiled chicken at a “restaurant” (a tent made of tarps and stakes), honking three wheeled “motos,” a dog ravaging through garbage and gulping down something’s intestines, little old, wrinkled, leathery women with sombrero hats and skirts that puffed out from their waistlines to their
knees over pants, schoolgirls giggling at the Americans on the street, old men shouting in gruff voices, and colorful fruit stands all around. The grown ups—this is their life, all they have ever known and probably will know of the world. The kids have never even been to Lima.
While we were visiting a church that first night, I shook the thickest, strongest, roughest hand I may ever shake. The friendly giant must work in the mines. His grip left such an overwhelming impression on me of the reality of how hard people work here, their whole lives, to provide less than what is necessary for their families.
I guess this all sounds like I am pitying them, as though I think I am better off because I go home to clean streets, maintained buildings, recycling bins and trashcans, and sturdy roofs. But bare with me, these are only my first impressions.
The first afternoon we were here, Armando walked me around. He came here for 3 weeks with his team from his church in A-town. So we strolled down the hill from the mission house into the central area where street vendors and make shift stores are. Some things that stick out in my memory—the smell of animal feces and stray dogs, flies swarming around a whole broiled chicken at a “restaurant” (a tent made of tarps and stakes), honking three wheeled “motos,” a dog ravaging through garbage and gulping down something’s intestines, little old, wrinkled, leathery women with sombrero hats and skirts that puffed out from their waistlines to their
knees over pants, schoolgirls giggling at the Americans on the street, old men shouting in gruff voices, and colorful fruit stands all around. The grown ups—this is their life, all they have ever known and probably will know of the world. The kids have never even been to Lima.While we were visiting a church that first night, I shook the thickest, strongest, roughest hand I may ever shake. The friendly giant must work in the mines. His grip left such an overwhelming impression on me of the reality of how hard people work here, their whole lives, to provide less than what is necessary for their families.
I guess this all sounds like I am pitying them, as though I think I am better off because I go home to clean streets, maintained buildings, recycling bins and trashcans, and sturdy roofs. But bare with me, these are only my first impressions.
Light on a Hill.
For me, to live here with all the external filth and lack of aesthetic appeal, without clean, hot running water or a grocery store, would be hard—more than hard—a huge adjustment. But a chunk of my heart says it wishes I could do it, because I have seen more truly happy faces and felt more genuine warmth in their embraces than I have with the wealthiest 10% of the world. To all of us who have pitied those in countries like Peru and then said in a grateful sigh, “How rich we are!” someone needs to say, “Yes. But that’s all.”
We’ve visited a couple different churches at night here, but allow me to tell you about one church in Nacario—because that is where this desire to stay here sprouted. At 7 pm, after the sun went down and the stars came up, we hopped in a moto and trekked out to this thatched building where the church met, on a hill in the middle of nowhere. The bike rattled and shook on the bumpy road, the driver tried to avoid piles of debris. It struggled up the hill where a fluorescent light shone from a long thatch building. We got out. It was so quiet.
I laughed to Lupe, really, the light of the world! We were greeted with hugs and besitos from three children and a very old woman, Asuncion. Her sweater and large skirt and apron exaggerated her round figure and she enveloped me in a warm hug in the cool night. A man came out from around the corner and the children ran to hug him saying, “bendicciones Pastor!” I think his name is Manuel. Three long wooden benches faced the front with a desk and a Bible, and one sat along the side where the kids were busy making nametags out of poster paper and tape. They eagerly elected me to write the names, which was an awesome idea considering how normal Spanish names sound to me and how easy they are to spell… They had to dictate almost every letter of every name to me, so I’m not sure it was an efficient decision!
We began with singing, and they sang out about how only Jesus gives peace and love and joy, with conviction that made me believe them. Then they let us share with them and I stumbled through my testimony in Castellano. They smiled and watched attentively. When I said that Jesus is my mejor amigo and Padre, I saw understanding and faith in the squinting eyes of the the old women, like rocks weathered and eroded by avalanches crashing down on them. And the kids, when Robin taught the Bible study, where the ones shouting out the answers and eagerly racing through pages in their Bibles to find the right verses. To see their enthusiasm and joy and their comradeship with each other gave me such hope for their generation! Afterwards, we talked and played and they showed me their homes and asked us when we were coming back. These 3 girls, Luz, Carolina, and Leceita, were so sweet, so mature and kind to each other; they were the kind of kids that energize you—not wear you out. They have joy. They have not a care in the world and I almost envy them, because they don’t know about all the material things they could have. So they don’t focus on what they don’t have. They can smile on an empty stomach or laugh lacking jackets. No ads for iPods make them unhappy with their paper and pencil, or clothespins they use for toys. It’s not that way with all the ninos here—a lot of the kids in the schools worry about getting a turn to bat or kick and when one runs off to buy a popsicle, the others fight for a piece, and like most kids, they fight for your attention. But for real, these kids at the church are different. They are a light.
Wilber, a man who lives and works here at the mission house, asked me if I wanted to live here. I was tentative to answer. “I want to come back.” But unlike these kids, I know life with running water, cars, and airplanes and starbucks, houses with backyards and, well, the things that money can buy. If God tells me to come back, I wonder if I will be able to tear myself away from my material desires. Scary thoughts. But for now, I’m enjoying life here, and “soleando”—soaking up the sun.
We’ve visited a couple different churches at night here, but allow me to tell you about one church in Nacario—because that is where this desire to stay here sprouted. At 7 pm, after the sun went down and the stars came up, we hopped in a moto and trekked out to this thatched building where the church met, on a hill in the middle of nowhere. The bike rattled and shook on the bumpy road, the driver tried to avoid piles of debris. It struggled up the hill where a fluorescent light shone from a long thatch building. We got out. It was so quiet.
I laughed to Lupe, really, the light of the world! We were greeted with hugs and besitos from three children and a very old woman, Asuncion. Her sweater and large skirt and apron exaggerated her round figure and she enveloped me in a warm hug in the cool night. A man came out from around the corner and the children ran to hug him saying, “bendicciones Pastor!” I think his name is Manuel. Three long wooden benches faced the front with a desk and a Bible, and one sat along the side where the kids were busy making nametags out of poster paper and tape. They eagerly elected me to write the names, which was an awesome idea considering how normal Spanish names sound to me and how easy they are to spell… They had to dictate almost every letter of every name to me, so I’m not sure it was an efficient decision!
We began with singing, and they sang out about how only Jesus gives peace and love and joy, with conviction that made me believe them. Then they let us share with them and I stumbled through my testimony in Castellano. They smiled and watched attentively. When I said that Jesus is my mejor amigo and Padre, I saw understanding and faith in the squinting eyes of the the old women, like rocks weathered and eroded by avalanches crashing down on them. And the kids, when Robin taught the Bible study, where the ones shouting out the answers and eagerly racing through pages in their Bibles to find the right verses. To see their enthusiasm and joy and their comradeship with each other gave me such hope for their generation! Afterwards, we talked and played and they showed me their homes and asked us when we were coming back. These 3 girls, Luz, Carolina, and Leceita, were so sweet, so mature and kind to each other; they were the kind of kids that energize you—not wear you out. They have joy. They have not a care in the world and I almost envy them, because they don’t know about all the material things they could have. So they don’t focus on what they don’t have. They can smile on an empty stomach or laugh lacking jackets. No ads for iPods make them unhappy with their paper and pencil, or clothespins they use for toys. It’s not that way with all the ninos here—a lot of the kids in the schools worry about getting a turn to bat or kick and when one runs off to buy a popsicle, the others fight for a piece, and like most kids, they fight for your attention. But for real, these kids at the church are different. They are a light.
Wilber, a man who lives and works here at the mission house, asked me if I wanted to live here. I was tentative to answer. “I want to come back.” But unlike these kids, I know life with running water, cars, and airplanes and starbucks, houses with backyards and, well, the things that money can buy. If God tells me to come back, I wonder if I will be able to tear myself away from my material desires. Scary thoughts. But for now, I’m enjoying life here, and “soleando”—soaking up the sun.
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