Igarrones and Beyond

   I went to Igarrones not knowing I’d come back changed. The night before heading out, I had in my mind that the hike there would be similar to others I’ve done in the past. Looking back on those four days, I can say now that it was neither a walk, nor a hike, but a spiritually refining trek. Sooner or later each one of us had to look Jesus in the face and say, “Help me. I can’t do this.” By the time we finally reached Igarrones at 1:00am, I think we were each still in a little shock from our expectations being annihilated.

   We had just finished a 5 hour walk at night on a trail hidden beneath mud. It was difficult to tell whether my next step would land on a solid foothold, or sink into mud. When someone accidentally stepped in mud, it rose about halfway up the boot, and a very strong suction was formed beneath the foot. Getting someone “unstuck” was usually at least a two person effort. I think by hour 4, some of us didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All I can say is Jesus was doing the hiking for all of us. Even though we got frustrated at times, we made it to our destination because of his strength being made perfect in our weakness. We stayed with a family in a large, open, wooden house built into the side of the hill. The family consisted of children, young people, and parents. They served us an excellent dinner of rice and chicken. A few people took bucket showers, but I went on right to bed. I was pretty anxious falling asleep on the floor that night because dead spiders were in between the wood boards of the wall. I tried not to think about whether some of them were living or not. That night’s sleep was rough, but the next day I was walking around with this sense of calm and peace, like I couldn’t really feel the tiredness. That right there is Christ’s strength!

   That morning I woke up around 7:30am. We ate a breakfast of rice and chicken and then met altogether to talk about the day. Percy and Elmer split us up into two groups and explained the labor

we’d be helping with. I was in group one. We tore down an old shack church built into the side of a mountain further up the trail from the house. It only took us about an hour. The same materials were used the next day to build a much stronger church. It was amazing to watch the family assemble it because they had simple and effective techniques for holding wood together at corners and underground. Not one powertool was used.

   The second matter of business shared that morning after breakfast concerned the Pastor, the father of the family we stayed with. Percy explained that the Pastor found out that morning that his cousin had passed away the night before, and that the funeral was going to be later that night. It was in San Pablo, about a 3 hour walk away through stuff similar to the night before. Percy explained that five of us had been chosen to join them and share some testimonies with people at the funeral. I was the third person he pointed to, and honestly my first feeling was just this overwhelming thankfulness. I wasn’t exactly celebrating the surprise hike, but I still thank God for considering me worthy to make the additional journey. So we had lunch and the five of us got our daypacks ready. Before we left, the rest of the team prayed for us. I started crying because…I don’t know. Several reasons. I felt like I was stepping into something pretty special and set apart from the rest of the race. I felt like God wanted to introduce more of himself to me, and that intimacy stirred me pretty deep inside. God didn’t want me to analayze it, or try to understand it, and I didn’t want to. I just wanted to go, because I knew it was out of love that I’d been chosen. Our 12 hours in San Pablo was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.