I would like to start out by saying we’ve been in Peru for three weeks and have seen no llamas, talking or otherwise.
Aside from failing to meet my favorite childhood cartoon character, this month has been a whirlwind of immersion into Peruvian culture. We’ve had the opportunity to work with our church’s youth group, teach English, minister to women living in prison, engage in street ministry, and speak truth to youth who have been sexually abused.
Here are some of my favorite stories from this month:
#1: Halfway through playing games and worshiping with the youth group on our first day the leader approached me and asked, “did you bring the word tonight?” The answer to this question as I’ve learned on the race is always “yes.” Whether or not I actually prepared a mini sermon is irrelevant. The word of God is alive and well, and having the Spirit of the living God means inadvertently I have the word at any given moment. Five minutes after the leader asked, I was in front of 30 middle schoolers preaching about building our lives on Jesus, and not the things of the world (thank you Cam).
#2: Without fail, every English class I’ve taught this month I’ve received the question: “how do you feel about Trump?” I’ve gotten pretty good at answering this question without actually providing an answer. I’ve also gotten pretty good at redirecting every question and bringing it back to how much Jesus loves the children we’re teaching. Somehow every time the kids ask about our President, it turns into a discussion about the power of the Lord. Trump is bringing Jesus to the children of Peru, friends.
#3: I’ve never been to prison before. Before this month I expected something out of The Green Mile; rows of bars and cells holding individual prisoners awaiting their fate with nothing but a bed for company. A few weeks ago we approached the women’s section of a local prison. My expectations were met as we first passed cells filled with men cat-calling the passing gringas.
A few checkpoints later, however, we emerged into an open compound full of women attending to daily tasks, many with children in tow. These women were not uniformed or behind bars. They approached us eagerly and greeted Sarah, our host, with fondness and expectation. We were led to a cinderblock room filled to the brim with women eager to hear the word of the Lord.
As the room quieted, I was handed a guitar and asked to sing a worship song. It was terrible. But the women listened to the words, and even though they didn’t understand, Sarah reminded them the Lord speaks all languages and he understands our hearts when we worship with brothers and sisters in all tongues. It was a beautiful reminder that I don’t have to sound perfect when worshiping the Lord. I don’t even need to understand what is being said, I simply have to sit in his presence and allow him to move my heart towards himself.
As we exited the courtyard after worship a woman grabbed my arm and asked me to pray for her son who was sick. She looked at me with pleading eyes, repeating prayer requests I could not understand. I prayed over her, knowing the Lord speaks all languages and knows the desires of her heart. Several more women approached me and my team asking for prayer, and I was reminded of the many times Jesus spoke of people’s faith making them well. I have full confidence these women are made well by their faith.
My prayer continues to be that these sisters in Christ understand they carry the same authority, as we do, in the Holy Spirit. My hope is we conveyed that Jesus delights in us when we present our requests to him. These women don’t need missionaries to stand in the gap. These beautiful women are forgiven and are presented as pure before the Lord.
#4: My favorite memories have been made while spending time at a safe house for young girls who have been victims of sexual abuse. The home provides holistic treatment, and we have had the opportunity to come and share normal life with these girls. Primarily this has looked like playing volleyball (or for some of us, attempting to hit a volleyball somewhere near the net, but most of the time ending up in the chicken coop).
One girl who appeared to be struggling with appropriate physical boundaries latched herself onto whichever one of us was available. When she hugged me, she would look up and smile, then proceed to tickle me. I despise being tickled. I would look down at her brown eyes and tell her, “I don’t like being tickled. Please stop.” She continued, laughing. I took this as a teachable moment, and gently took her hands while looking her in the eyes again as I told her “when someone says they don’t like the way they are being touched, that means no.” She nodded in understanding, and continued on playing volleyball. As the afternoon progressed, she would repeatedly come up to me and hug, then tickle me. Each time I told her “when someone says no, it means no.” By the end of the afternoon, when I began my mantra, “when someone says no” she finished by saying “it means no.” Healing from this depth of trauma takes years, but I if I leave nothing else, I want this sweet girl to begin understanding it’s okay to say no.
This month has been a sweet end to our time in South America. I can’t believe we only have four days left, but am so thankful for the time we have spent eating doughnuts, worshiping under the shade of the mountains, discovering popsicle stands, and losing the fight against kitchen cockroaches.
Thank you for joining me on my South American adventure. African adventures coming soon!
