When the wheels touched down and I looked out the window at unfamiliar lights and shapes for the first time, I felt a wave of fear wash over me. The reality quickly set in that we were thousands of miles from home, in a country that didn’t speak my language, that was of a different culture, and I felt instantaneously unprepared.
We slept overnight in the airport after a stop-and-go process of getting our bags and going through customs. Once again I was facing my lifelong nemesis: the learning curve. I knew that in three months all this fumbling and inefficiency would be old hat, replaced by experience, but for the moment we looked like a bunch of tourists. After awakening in the airport covered by a blanket put over me by a teammate in the night, we went to the bus station by taxi.
Peruvian driving is singularly terrifying: speed limits are suggestions; as are lanes, turn signals, brakes, and seat belts. Thank heavens for sleep deprivation and some experience with this method of driving in Guatemala. Under normal circumstances I would have been petrified; as it was I was mostly angry with myself for struggling to stay awake long enough to take in the cubic architecture that has been a staple thus far in Peru.
The 10 hour drive from Lima to Trujillo by bus was an incredible experience. For ten hours we wove through sand dunes and around cliffs on the literal edges of the map, punctuated with splashes of green amid the brown sand and crashing shoreline. Mountains seemingly half created rose to great heights before abruptly dropping off into the surf below; driving along those cliff roads, I was literally watching mountains crumble and fall into the sea, one grain of sand at a time.
It was dark when we arrived in Trujillo, and we waited patiently for our host Auden to arrive and retrieve his road-weary workers from the bus depot. He soon did, and after loading the car in the street, we were off to El Milagro, the district of our ministry site at La Iglesia del Antorcha. Driving into the neighborhood that night, I was struck by the image of children of all ages playing in one group in the street. Arriving at the church, we retired soon after meeting with our extremely gracious hosts.
Auden and Wendy have been marvelous. Their warmth and kindness has been a tremendous blessing as we transition as a group into this crazy new way of life called the World Race. Their love for each other is the background melody of everything they do together in this ministry. I see it captured in the quiet moments of their sitting together and, after years of marriage, talking and learning about each other; the way he introduces her as his beautiful wife, and the way she will very casually slip into her conversation her husband’s hunger for and reliance on God. God is definitely at work in this community.
In the few days we’ve been here, I’ve witnessed the conversion of “the screaming lady” from next door, who suddenly appeared, having had a realization of her need for Jesus and His peace.
I bandaged the wrist of a man who received stitches, but no effective dressing.
I spoke with Marisol and Yelena, sisters who work up the street. When they heard we were doing a vacation bible school, Marisol went door to door with us and introduced us to her friends and neighbors, and offered to pass out flyers in her shop where she sells bottles of water.
I was awoken early yesterday morning to speak with Paulina, who came to the church early to pray; after her soft-spoken conversation about. Her sore joints and her children, I watched this small woman pray with ferocity and fire. I was mesmerized. She was pleading at the altar and radiated an energy I have rarely experienced. There was no doubt in my mind that the small woman in front of me was intimately familiar with the King of Kings.
Odalis and Veronica are the wonderful women who have taken on the responsibility of cooking some of our meals for us. Every afternoon and evening, they come, children in tow, and bless us with their cooking and culture. Their children Damarice, Banderly, Valentin, and Emerson are gregarious and sweet, with gentle spirits and hearts and minds eager to learn about the world and the english language.
The main focus of our trip thus far has been the children.
I can manage a group of 3-12 children with relative ease; the dauntless crowds of 50 to 90 that have filed in for Vacation Bible School are decidedly outside my comfort zone. After the first day of blank, stone-faced stares, the children seemed to decide that the bald guy with a beard was okay. After that, my life resumed its norm of small children clinging to every free limb. Many seem as if the notion of adults willing to play, run, scream, and giggle is foreign, much less talking, singing, or having fun. I am frequently beset by children looking for hugs.
Our favorites are the ones people seem to overlook. Damarice is a tiny little girl, only four. She climbed up on my shoulders yesterday while we were sitting in the ground and was astonished to find that I was bald. She soon recovered from her amazement and turned my head into a drum. (It’s hard to get that slapping sound and subsequent screaming from those with hair.)
Juan has the inexplicable fury and rage I came to know well during my year at KidTLC. A boy of winning smiles and bright laughter, he is the one who clings to my neck the most. Though his reputation is one of aggression and anger, we have seen only shadows of those behaviors. In echoes of my life in America, I hear that he also has trouble finding a placement for long term adoption. Amidst the disbelief of my team, I understand instantly- if he will swing at and threaten us while on his best behavior, what will he do when the relationship loses the novelty? I hope that I can show this boy love that will give him hope and point him to the source of mine: Jesus.
In the afternoons I teach English. Already the children have taken to calling me “profesor.” I confess I find it bothi touching and uncomfortable. These children are so eager to learn and so hungry for knowledge; they deserve so much more than I can offer. I am fortunate that I get to teach.
Oddly enough, the culture in Peru is far less daunting than the culture unfolding in our little group of six; we are each extremely unique individuals and our ways of communicating are equally distinct. I tend to be rather tightly wound, exacting, and analytical. The laid-back attitude of my companions challenges me, but then I recognize that being on a team with me, someone who tends towards inflexibility and overanalysis, is equally challenging for them. Still, within the frustration, hesitation, and yes, losing your temper, there is always the desire to reconcile. Our walls break down, and we start to glimpse the other with fresh eyes. After the argument, hugs and tears. After the frustration, clarity. After the unmet expectations, grace. My understanding of these people that I love grows daily.
I don’t know what all Peru has in store, but I am joyfully aware that my time here is a gift, and I want to make the best of that time.
I look forward to what the rest of this month’s journey holds.
