Brief apology: the title of this blog is misleading, as this will not lead into a story of a moth that did, indeed, burrow into my skin and lay eggs there. However, these moths exist in the village we were in, and I thought I should make this incredibly frightening public service announcement before continuing.
How to describe this place, these people, and this month. It will be a challenge. First of all, to begin, I must acknowledge my previous blog, which was an ode to Chejje and to God as an artist with a multicolored paintbrush so clearly displayed in this place. To say Bolivia is beautiful would be a vast understatement. This place makes it nearly impossible to deny the fact that there is a God and that He is a God of detail and a God who makes things beautiful. In the paraphrased words of John W. Scott, the author of Basic Christianity, the current book I am reading, God truly has made Himself seen — His presence known — to every man through His creation. As he states, it is the general revelation given to every man. While there is beauty around us all, we miss it, distracted by other things. Here in Bolivia, it is hard to ignore. God’s mastery slaps me in the face when I walk out of our house to see the rolling green hills — their faces vacant apart from isolated towns scattered among their sides — which serve as the foreground to the towering snowcapped mountain, Illampu — only visible when clouds do not conceal its grandeur.
I see God in Chejje.
I see God in the wrinkled faces of older Christians in the town who knew the missionaries here prior and still cling to the truths they taught and who they know God to be. I see God in the community found in the people’s tireless work, whether their work be growing potatoes or herding sheep and cows, they rarely cease their efforts due to the need to physically work to survive. I see God in the pleas for rain corn-growers send to Heaven, as their lives and living are threatened in the face of minimal rain. I see God in the hospitality so freely exemplified in this community, whether it be during sharing a community meal in which plates and plates of food are prepared and passed to all as if it is a giant family-style dinner or in those who do not believe as we do, yet who nevertheless receptively open their homes to chat as we walk through the town offering prayer and desiring to share our stories. I see God in the laughs of children, the first to welcome us to Chejje almost thoughtlessly, eager to come to our “fuego grande” (the only way we knew how to communicate bonfire) that we hosted one of our first nights here, and excited to come to our daily VBS to sing songs (most likely poorly translated into Spanish), watch skits about the Father’s love, or simply play “Simon Dice” for hours. I saw God’s working in the enthusiasm they showed as they ran toward us with their Bibles in hand because we had told them to bring them. I see God’s working in Erica, one of the mothers, as she shared her daughter Daisy’s excitement about what she was learning as she reports back to her exactly what her “teachers” as she calls us, taught her. I see God in Lucia and her sister Josephine. I see God in Lucia’s joy and constant prayer of thankfulness to the Lord despite her inability to move more than about four yards from her house, her excitement to see us for our daily Bible reading because she cannot read or see, and her joyful expression despite our most probable incorrect pronunciation of Spanish words as we struggle to read familiar passages in an unfamiliar way. I see God in my relationship with Him as well! Particularly the first time we went to visit Lucia. As we prayed over what we should read to her from the Bible, I thought God said she needed to hear the Sermon on the Mount. When we arrived at her house, she had her own ideas of what she wanted to hear. To my extreme surprise, she requested Matthew 5, the Sermon on the Mount. I see God’s humor in our relationship with Josephine, Lucia’s sister, who informed us of one of her chickens going missing, and I see His humor in the next thirty minutes that followed as we ran around her field in search of her missing chicken as she watched laughing at a distance. I see God in Virginia, a woman who is determined to learn how to speak English and consistently makes time to talk with us. I see God in the one morning of VBS when only three kids showed up, and particularly in the minutes after as we walked through the dirt streets shouting kids’ names and knocking on doors until we had a group of fifteen. I see God in Oswaldo, the owner of the tienda where we buy everything from lollipops to eggs, and his kindness to drive us into Sorata, the neighboring town, when we ask despite the hilly, uncomfortable drive. I see God in our house visits, as people are always willing to pause their days to talk. I see God in the fact that Jen, Tori, and I did not die when we tried to complete a three day trek to a lagoon at 17,000 feet in elevation despite camping in rain and cold temperatures, a guide who not only hikes at my running pace but brought zero food for himself, climbing up and down slick rock, being wrecked by the altitude, and finally in the decision to turn back because of low visibility (I’m confident He was right there the whole time). Even in the torment of our trek, I saw God in the breathtaking green and rocky terrain, the hills below the clouds, and the sheep that grazed at 14,000 feet. I see God in the dirty feet, in the heavy traditional Bolivian blankets tied on the backs of women carrying food or babies or both, in the “Buenos Dias” and “Buenos Tardes” sure to greet us whenever we pass anyone on the dirt road, in Pastor Lorenzo on whose property we live, in his laugh as we stumble through Spanish, in the freedom he has given us in our ministry, in the translator who came from La Paz to give of his time simply because the Lord told him to, in the sound of sheep and cows and donkeys that create the ambiance reminding me of Christ’s humble earthly beginnings, in my teammates’ energy for each new day we face despite moth-covered walls, squatty potties, baby tarantulas, cold showers and unclean water, in Christmas Eve when we caroled through the village and attracted quite a crowd, in our Christmas Day made special with cinnamon toast covered in Dulce de Leche, fried balls of dough, and a sweet visit from our neighbor, Graciela, who sang Christmas songs in Spanish as we sang in English. I see God in the quiet, tranquil moments in this village, when all you can hear is the crow of a rooster or the baa of a sheep. I see God even in the broken places of this village — in the poverty, or the weariness, or the emptiness. God has a plan for this town and He has not left them even in their feelings of abandonment. I have seen God in the sincerity and the realness of this small town. This month I am thankful for these people and this place.
