We had an amazing ministry contact this week. His name is Joca. He’s 25 years old and runs a sand boarding ministry in Trujillo, Peru for at-risk youth.
Joca was born and raised in Trujillo. This place is his home, but it’s hard here. Really hard. At least it is from my American perspective—a perspective that I don’t know I’ll ever shed entirely. Perhaps a part of me doesn’t even want to. I find myself clinging to it often.
Trujillo is sandy and dirty. There’s dust everywhere… and lots and lots of trash. Inca Link’s mission base is located in a community that was built on top of a dump—literally. As for luxuries, we have none. No dishwashers, washing machines or air conditioning, despite the unbearably hot temperatures. Many of the homes don’t even have roofs.
I’ve seen a handful of new cars on the packed roads, where traffic laws are seemingly optional. The grocery store is a 45-minute bus ride from our home. We take the M-line to Plaza Vea once or twice a week, meaning we pile into a 14-passenger van—each of us hoping to land a window seat. On an average day, there are 20-25 passengers, Americans and Peruvians, crammed into one vehicle. And because so many extra bodies always manage to find an open space in the van’s cabin, window seats are prime.
The bugs here are ferocious. The mosquitoes and sand flies could care less if you’re wearing three coats of insect repellent. If you’re their blood type, they’re coming after you. They’ll attempt to eat holes through your tent. They’ll bite at your legs… through yoga pants and sleeping bags. And be certain they’ll leave behind nasty traces of their attack—multiple welted red dots that make you want to take sandpaper to your skin.
Smelling like a girl or blowdrying your hair—forget it. Sun, sweat and sand have their way of dictating every facet of your physical appearance. Even clean clothes don’t really look clean. The showers are cold, and the water supply is limited. If you turn a faucet's hot water handle, nothing happens. Conserving resources is something that’s practiced out of necessity rather than out of love for Mother Earth. There are no bubble baths. Even afternoon naps are practically impossible. It’s just too hot, and the flies are too pesky. SPF 15? Try SPF 85.
It’s hard… not to dwell on the random difficulties that come along with life here. Somedays, it’s even harder to maintain a positive attitude. To choose joy. Honestly, my words don’t even do “life in Trujillo as an American girl” justice. So much so, I wish I could loan you my eyeballs… so you could see for yourself.
This was my mind going into the week. This was me being real about my current situation.
My feelings about the lifestyle didn’t necessarily change when I met Joca… or when I experienced his ministry firsthand. I didn’t hate the weather or the sand or the bugs any less. But my perspective took a turn. It’d didn’t do a full 180, but there was definitely a shift.
Joca is dedicated to being something positive, perhaps the only thing positive, in the lives of several young boys in Trujillo. To being salt and light here. To showing these kids the hope of the Father’s love. To laying down his life for theirs. To being a bondservant—a doulos.
After meeting people like Joca, and seeing the smiles of children… after hearing them laugh and play and seeing them run down dusty roads toward us, their heads back and arms flailing as their legs move as fast as they can… after noticing how eager they are to help us work and bring us water… only one word comes to mind.
Wow.
On Monday, we hiked with Joca to the sand dunes. He showed us how to sand board and talked to us about his ministry. He talked about the Prodigal Son that day. About how he wants the kids in his ministry to experience that kind of love. The kind of love the father shows as he watches and waits for his son to come home. The kind of love he shows when he runs out to his son who finally decided to come home. When he embraces his son and kisses him. When he places a ring on his son's finger and sandals on his feet—both signs of sonship, not slavery. The kind of love the father shows when he throws a party in honor of his long lost boy.
Joca gives that kind of love to these kids. And he asked that we do the same.
Organized gangs basically control the city of Trujillo. They have their hands in business and transportation, even in the government and the justice system. Everyone must pay for safety. If you want to drive a taxi, you pay the gangs for the right to operate in a certain area. If you want to open a local shop, you pay them for being there. If you’re making money, they expect to be making money too.
Because criminal sentences are less harsh for minors than they are for adults, the gangs recruit young boys to carry out their dirty work. So now there are kids and teens who are fearlessly stealing and killing in exchange for weapons, cars, drugs, alcohol and girls. If a minor is arrested for murder, he may receive six months in home similar to an American halfway house. If he’s charged with 15 murders, he may get four years.
Joca’s ministry is proactive. It’s smart. But more than that, it’s love—a love that can only be derived from one source, Jesus Christ. Joca's heart beats for Trujillo’s youth. Listen to him for five minutes, and you’ll at least walk away with this: He wants something different for these boys. He wants them to come to Christ. He wants them to know they are loved. That they may not always have the best things or live in the safest situations. That they may not have the best parents or know where they’ll be in five years. But that there is a Father in heaven who created them and loves them. A good Father who is waiting in anticipation for them to come home.
It was good for the kids to see people doing something for them. So every morning we worked outside the walls of Inca Link’s base—putting the final touches on a skim boarding ramp, clearing an area for the local missionaries to do children’s ministry, and building a wall to keep the sheep out of our newly cleaned area. By the end of the week, some of the boys were working alongside us, carrying bricks and pushing wheelbarrows full of brush.
In the afternoon, we played with the children—soccer, skim boarding and sand boarding. As most of you know, I’m not really a kid person. I much prefer discussing theology with adult women over coffee than letting multiple children spray me with a water hose then use my body as a jungle gym. But this was such a fun week. Watching Joca and my squad mates interact with these children filled my heart with so much joy.
Kids were made to play. Their resilient little bodies were designed to slide down mountains and kick soccer balls with bare feet and sword fight with sticks. They weren’t created to use drugs and weapons or to hurt other people.
In this world, there is a whole lot of bad. And this week, my eyes were opened to the amount of good that can come from a single person. From a single person who was given a dream… and followed it.
As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received.
—Ephesians 4:1
If you've been given a dream, go for it. Chase it with everything you have. You're dreaming for a reason.
Peace,
Julie
Many thanks to Joca for introducing us to his ministry. For teaching us and pushing us and always being honest. If you’d like to donate to Joca’s ministry, please email me at [email protected]. There's a huge need here, and any help you offer will make a difference.
