The place I called home.
For the past 8 months I have slept in countless beds, on floors, in tents, and in vehicles in 11 different countries. I have said goodbye to new friends and new families too many times to count. I have formed relationships knowing by the end of the month I will no longer be there in person to continue the relationships. I have left a little piece of myself and my heart behind in numerous places. These past 8 months have been nothing short of incredible, but my past month in Colombia was so remarkable it has branded a piece of my heart for good.
Our team lived with a host family. This family consisted of a mom, dad, their three daughters (ages 17, 14, and 11), and the family dog Honey. Not only were we a part of this family, but we were a part of the church family; I truly felt like a sister in Christ with everyone I met. This was a place I called home. This is a place I know I can go back to and still be a part of the family, even when I am old and gray.
The night my team arrived to this home, 9,000 ft above sea level, located in a neighborhood high above the streets of the capital city of Bogota, I was so extremely exhausted. We had been traveling for about a week leaving Africa with a layover in the States and then to South America. After countless buses, long flights, an 8-hour time change, and restless nights of sleep, we had finally arrived at this family’s home.
We unloaded the van with all of our packs around 9pm after an hour drive through the city from the bus station. I could barely keep my eyes open. I felt so foggy and was not used to the altitude. I mustered up the energy to grab my 50lb pack, along with my backpack, and walked in the direction I was told our home was. It was dark and I could see the whole city lit up below us. I was trying to put myself together and wake up as I took each step toward the church. Then I lost my footing and fell down the steps into the grass with my pack. My pack was on top of me and all I could do was just laugh. I laughed hard. This was not the first time it had happened. I was just laughing and laying in the grass beside the steps helpless. It for sure woke me up. My teammate Zack watched the fall happen and started laughing too. He picked me up by the pack on top of me and brought me to my feet again. We were laughing as we walked the rest of the way into a dimly lit alley with the rest of the team and made it to the house.
I walked into a small kitchen with bright smiley Colombian faces staring at us. We dropped our packs in our new bedroom which consisted of three bunk beds and not much room for anything else. We proceeded to sit at the kitchen table almost the size of the kitchen and we were given soup and bread. The family was taking pictures of us and speaking to us in Spanish. I felt like I was in a different world or what seemed like dreaming. I was just in Africa and now I was in the huge cold city with this family speaking Spanish, giving me soup, and staring at me. I remember crawling into the top bunk that night so excited to be sleeping in a bed and remember thinking, “I’m going to like it here.”
This was my first month on the race to stay with an actual host family. Most months our team stays in empty churches, mission houses, or we sleep in our tents. Our home in Colombia was located right next to the church we partnered with. The women stayed in the house in the younger girls’ room. The men stayed right next to the house in the church’s office.
Our ministry for the month consisted of going to local schools and teaching English, helping with construction on the church, leading youth meetings and children’s church, and visiting a few children’s foundations. During our stay in Colombia, our day to day life consisted of all these things but by the first week, the real ministry was living and sharing the love of God with our host family.
Out host family spoke Spanish with very broken English, but luckily one of my teammates speaks Spanish so she was able to translate for everybody. Most people would see this language barrier as a hardship, but for me and a few of my teammates it made the month stay in their home so much sweeter. It enabled us to learn their language and actually be a part of their culture. Some of my favorite moments last month were cooking with our host mom, Evie. I absolutely loved cooking the traditional Colombian foods as we laughed and tried to communicate to each other. She would laugh and make fun of my inability to cut veggies while teaching me new things. She would tell me the names of spices and foods in Spanish and I would teach her the name in English.
It truly was such a joy to be a part of this family’s lives. We ate nearly every meal together. We would laugh, make fun of each other, and goof around, but also have conversations about the world and the Lord. My teammate, Cat, and I got really close to the two younger girls, Carol and Valentina. We would play in the church when we were not doing ministry. Many nights after dinner consisted of games of Spanish monopoly and dominos. Evie would always make us hot chocolate or tinto (sugary coffee) at all hours of the day. Evie would heat us up water for our bucket showers. It was so refreshing to be in home and to be a part of a family.
I could go on about the church members and how many friends I made last month within the youth group. There were so many people our own age that took the time to spend time with us. Friends from the youth group would come over and go on runs with me almost every morning. The whole time we ran we all would be trying to communicate in broken Spanish and English, but they were some of the best runs I have had on the race.
Every Sunday afternoon after church the youth planned activities that were some of the best times I have had on the Race. We would go to the park with the whole youth group and play basketball, soccer, ultimate frisbee, or a kickball type of game. Our team had the chance to teach them American football too. We would all play in the park until it became dark and we would all walk home through the streets of Bogota together.
Colombia was a place I called home. I was not just another missionary volunteering for the month. I was Louisa and I was a part of the family. It is hard to describe just how my short time there has left a huge affect on my heart. To put it simply, being a part of the family and the friendships I formed impacted me in big ways.
I do not think I have ever experienced the love of God so much from so many people at once. The beauty of my month in Colombia was the place I called home. The family I was a part of and the friendships I made was true joy that I will always cherish.
“Where we love is home-home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”- Oliver Wendell Holmes
