I don’t want to post crap on here. A couple of days ago I had some great stories and lessons that I stitched together, and wove scripture throughout. I really thought they were a couple good pieces of writing… I read them today and they’re crap. I have something else for now.
I am leaving my first country. I am on a nine-hour bus ride, to Trujillo, Peru, and then we will bus for 24 hours to Baños, Ecuador. I can’t help but wonder, with my head resting against the window and each pothole acting as a surrogate alarm clock, what is all of this for?
I don’t have that answer.
Multiple times this month I wondered, “Are we wasting time?”
The tears from those that we said goodbye to suggest otherwise. I did not expect to make so strong of relationships in such a short amount of time.
These are my two good buddies, Joseph and Jose Louis:
“What does, ‘straight up, homie,’ mean?”
“I like spending time with you all, because it feels like we are family.”
I have felt useless at times, doubtful, even testy. I encountered theology that I disagreed with, but that happened every day in the States (gotta love the Methodists). I need to remember that I don’t know exactly how God works, and if I ever say otherwise my eyes should turn brown, because I’m full of it. There’s no certainty to when we’ll have the answers to our ethereal inquisitions, but for now I fall back on what I know.
I am called to go.
I am not called to attend service once a week.
I am not called to attend a small group on Wednesdays,
or therapy on Thursday afternoons.
I am called to go — to take a breath and dive into the trenches in search for a God beyond anything that I can imagine.
Note: Small groups, meetings, services are all great, but they are only the surface. Also, this does not mean go around the world for everyone. This includes going into our own backyards. The family next door. The addict down the street. The marginalized are not only in third world countries.
I also want to be clear that for me this is not a numbers game. Medieval Christianity worried about numbers and it ended with the Pope selling “Get out of purgatory cards”(Google “medieval Christian indulgences” if you are interested. Shout out to Martin Luther).
This is not a competition. I don’t have a score card for how many people I got to say “Jesus”. It’s okay if you disagree, but I think the whole business of saving souls goes better in God’s hands. I am here to love, and if that converts someone to a happier life, with a stronger connection to God, then I’ll take that as a save.
This last month we sought out opportunities to adventurously and boldly love strangers and those around us.
One day we ran into a family the worked an intersection for money. A mother, Luciana, and her three children panhandled, sold candy and performed stunts. We bought a bunch of candy so that we could go to the park across the street and play with the kids while Luciana took a break.
She kept trying to sneak in sticking her tongue out for the picture, so I joined her.
Her eyes lit up every time she got to play with the camera.
Mackenzie, my team mate, is also a child at heart when it comes to play and joy. She had such an affinity for this family.
Another day, after having a deep conversation as a team, we spontaneously ran into the ocean, fully clothed. We threw rocks into the ocean as a symbolic gesture, and Maggie made a friend in the process with a little girl who joined us.
A couple of weeks ago we decided to take a two day trip into the mountains, to a little town called San Pedro de Casta. It’s isolated at 10,500 ft. and the entrance to a hike up to the mystical Marcahuasi rock formations. Once there, we were planning on sleeping on the ground for free, when we happened across a Christian service at 9 pm, where the pastor and his wife insisted we sleep in the church for shelter. We spent the next day with them and built a relationship of encouragement and love. Frida, the wife, was absolutely insistent upon us coming back to stay with them again.
These little Peruvian mountain women would tell me their names, and I would repeat them back in however we would pronounce the name in English. They could not stop laughing and would beg me to repeat their names in English.
We’re called to go. That means cut the crap and get off the couch. Where’s the nearest homeless shelter you can help? What city have you always wanted to live in? Do you need to quit your job? Maybe you just need to have that hard conversation with your friend that you’ve been avoiding.
“Go,” does not mean run away, but step into whatever moves you need to take to be in tune with God. A God who calls us to love each other so bad that it hurts – that tears come from leaving after just one month.
It’s been amazing, Peru. Until next time,
Ciao.
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