November 22 is a Special Day

Mama,

The more I experience life, the more you amaze me. Every November and Mother's Day that comes around I feel like I've learned even more about how lucky I am to have you in my life. You are one absolutely incredible woman, and today, I feel like no combinations of words could express what you have taught me about life. You are the person I can tell literally anything and everything to, leaving no details out and fearing no judgement, loss of love, or misunderstanding. You remind me again and again that it is OKAY to weep at the sorrows of life AND STILL laugh wholeheartedly at the joys.

Mama Sample, you love all of my friends unconditionally and have shown me what it looks like to be a safe place. You have taught me that it is OKAY to acknowledge I'm not perfect and OKAY to pursue growth anyway.  You have helped me understand (and I'm still learning) that it is OKAY to FEEL emotions, and it is possible to embrace them without affecting how I treat people. You have shown me what it means to live in a world of discord, despair, loneliness, grudges, and lies and still believe in the God of relationships, hope, community, forgiveness, and truth.

I can say, with absolute honesty, I would not be the person I am right now without your gentle guidance and your constant support.

If I become a woman like you, I shall count it a success.

TODAY IS YOUR BIRTHDAY SO LET'S CELEBRATE!

This is just a tiny compellation of what you mean to soo many people. You are a world changer, a warrioress, a mother, wife, and friend. You are Nanette, and you are amazing! (Psst. Don't ever forget that.)

~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~

From Auntie Kris:

My dear Nanette, 

Ever since the first moments of our friendship - back when you didn't realize I really truly have no filters and you asked me questions you quickly regretted - I have felt a special connection with you. You stole my heart forever when you loved my baby boy, and then my next baby boy, and you keep on loving me through my crazy! I was thrilled when you joined our family! You are so fierce and brave and I admire how you face your giants - the ones that block the sun and stand squarely in your path and the sneaky ones that lurk in the shadows - either way, you go at them headlong and they fall likey they can't even tell you're scared. You and David have created and nurtured children who are going to change the world, and it makes my eyes fill with how much I love them, too! Watching you open your hands and launch them into their dreams inspires me and makes me proud! In fact, I go back and forth between feeling like a proud big sister, smiling and patting you on the head to wanting to sit at your feet with my head in your lap and listen as you tell me how to do it! I love how you use words and how you envision something and make it real. I love how you believe in your students until they believe, too. You are so talented and creative and everything you touch is left better! The times we have shared are some of my treasured memories, and I look forward to many more - you are a rare and beautiful gift, and I wish I could be with you more often! Happy, happy birthday, Nan! I love you so much!

From Yvanna: 

Dear Mama Sample, 

My wish for your birthday is mostly a selfish one, I'm afraid. I wish I could be with you, Brooke, and the rest of the family sitting in your living room laughing, talking, playing games. Your living room is much like your heart: open, cozy, and safe. I've rarely met souls like yours and I feel blessed to be one of the people who can say "I've met a soul, a true soul, that is beautiful, deeply moving, and could move you to tears." Thank you for existing. <3 ~ Yvanna

From Auntie Heidi: 

Nanette, you are such a warm, beautiful soul & I have been blessed by your friendship. I've savored your sharing & encouragement as a boy mama. I LOVED singing with you & Brooke. It has been a blast dancing with you! I have been comforted by your hugs & loved our cozy moments shared at Colters. Yuu have been a dear friend &/ I celebrate you today!!!!!

From Nicole: 

Mrs. Sample, you have truly been a kind, welcoming, and hilarious figure in my life for many years. From our very first meeting as Austrian delegates for Model UN to making Christmas cookies (and a HUGE mess in the process) in your kitchen, you have always put up with Brooke and my shenanigans and made me feel like a part of your family. Know that you hold a special spot in my heart. You're doing amazing and admirable work with the Reading Cottage for so many children, and I know you will continue to have a special impact on each of their lives, as you have on mine. Have the most happiest of birthdays!!!

From Esther: 

Happy birthday to you Mrs. Sample! I am very blessed to know you and to have gotten to know you during Thanksgiving break last year.  Your kindness and love is a beautiful and amazing thing. May you continue to shine for God. Much love <3 :)

From Grandma and Grandpa Sample: 

Dear Special Daughter-in-law Nanette, 

You are a dear and special, precious daughter-in-law, Nanette. Dad and I love you very much. Wish we could be there for your birthday to give you hugs, but are sending them your way just the same. Wish we were closer so we could do things for you to help lift you load of responsibilities, many which we couldn't begin to do anyway, but I am sure there could be some. We do pray for you and your family every day that you may have strength and energy every day to carry your load and feel Jesus close to you each step of the way. You are a blessing to your family and all that know you. 

Many hugs and much love from Dad and Mom Sample. 

From Emily:

You have been like a second mother to me. You have been such a light and a role model. Your marriage is inspiring how in ove you two are! I have so many memories of feeling at home in your house. You are such a strong woman in your faith and as a mother. I just love you so much, and I'm so blessed to have such an amazing woman be such a big part of my growing up. Happy birthday. Here's to many more! <3 - Emily Bois

From Mrs. Bois: 

Nanette, 

I am so blessed to have you as my friend. You are a woman of grace and beauty. Your tender kindness and generosity has blessed so many people. Knowing you has brought me such joy. Our family has so many great memories of you and all you have done for us. I pray your birthday is blessed beyond measure with countless joys and tons of fun!! 
Blessings and prayers for you, 

Happy Birthday! Sandra

From Auntie Nancy: 

Dearest Nan, 

Today is the day that we celebrate you and the gift that you are to all who know. 

You've smiled (and cried) through life's ups and downs, ever trusting that God was good through all of it. You've inspired me with your grit and determination these past 16 years, and I'm a better person for knowing you. There is no hurdle you can't get over This I know.

As you embark n another trip around the sun may you grow in wisdom and grace have opportunity to self care and maybe even play in the dirt some. 

Thank you for being my friend! 

Love you! 

From the Hohnberger Family: 

Dear Nanette, 

Wishing you a very happy birthday! If I were to pick on thing that stands out to me the most about you, it would be your heart to help others. You genuinely care for people and your desire to help them shines through. You have blessed us as well as many others through your music, teaching, and friendship. You are a very talented and skillful teacher with such a heart for your students. My kids have been blessed by your teaching at Heritage and Vanessa in your reading lessons. 
Wishing you God's blessings today and in the coming year! Happy, happy Birthday!

Love Angela & Family

From Mrs. Fisher:

The Sample family was on of the first we met when we returned to Montana 12 years ago. We were immediately struck by their gentleness and quiet ways. But it wasn't until several years later that my friendship with Nanette truly began as we shared our hearts for schooling our children at home. 

If Nanette were from the South, she would be called a "steal magnolia." Outwardly, her appearance and manner is beautiful, soft, and delicate, but inside there is unbelievable strength, determination, and courage. My admiration for Nanette as a wife, mother, and educator continually grows. I am beyond blessed to call her my friend. 

Beloved Nanette, may your birthday be filled with all the joy and delight your amazing heart can hold. Happy birthday!

With much love, 

From Granny:

Happy, happy birthday to my beautiful first born!

How you have blessed our lives! It is amazing to me that, in spite of your unbelievable work load, you find time to show much you care.... by quick phone calls to tell me about your day as you travel home from work late in the evening.... by the delightful way you bless your children and keep their lives as enjoyable as possible. God has blessed you with a rich talent in your singing and reading therapy/teaching, as well as hospitality, cooking and love for beauty.

Always remember how much of a miracle you truly were and are! Remember that two doctors told us you would not be born alive, due to complications in my pregnancy. We praise God for you!!!!

With love, 
Mom

~ ~ ~

From all of us and many more HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Thank you for being alive! 

~TBS~

The Peruvian Post (Week 11)

I'm thankful for laughter.

The Peruvians know how to laugh. Their days are filled with joy. They find reasons to smile in nearly everything.

When their houses flood they all race to help. They tirelessly work to move the water out and prevent more from entering. But, as soon as they have done what they can, they relax. They go with the flow. They start water fights and gather around to laugh and squeal until their bellies ache and their cheeks hurt. Abuelito Felix grabs a pitcher and dowses Joel with rain water. Giggles ripple through the tiny crowd. Abuela Julieta cups her hands and pours the water over Abuelito's head. Soon the kids have joined and the laughter rises as quickly as the rain falls.

The water fight dies down. But only for a moment. Now it's back. Llingli and Mama Laura watch with brooms and shovels, pitchers and buckets still in hand. They chuckle as us "Gringos" join the fun. (Locally, Gringo is a term of affection. It's not considered offensive.) If anyone had managed to stay dry before, they're now soaked clear through... with water and joy.

I'm thankful for the table.

Life revolves around meal times. In Peru, fast food is as non-existent as tortillas. Sometimes meals are kind of like an open house, but whoever is at the table is fully present, engaged, and in no hurry to leave. Conversations last for ages after the food is finished. And, there is never a shortage. With rice, beans, potatoes, avacado, beats, cabbage, yucca, and so much fruit. It's impossible to leave unsatisfied. You've never seen such a variety of drinks. There is fresh pineapple juice, chica morada (purple corn juice), papaya and orange juice, chamomile tea (often eaten with soggy bread...something I'm not sure I'll ever get used to), chocolate de leche, apple juice, and many more that I can't pronounce yet.

I'm thankful for mi familia de Peruano.

I didn't expect to be welcomed into a new family so freely. Some nights Mama Laura texts me, "Buenos Noches, mi princessa." Papa Henrry said, "You are welcome to come visit our home whenever you want. My family is your family. If you want to read in the living room, play the piano, practice guitar, or just sit and talk, you may. You are my daughter." Sometimes I help Joel with his English homework. He says, "Brooke you are the best friend in the whole world." Funny, because all I really do is smile and talk to him when he visits my room.

I'm thankful for music.

The local families love to sing. They carry their hymnals around almost as much as their Bibles. This has been a huge comfort because I recognize most of the tunes, even though I'm still learning the Spanish lyrics. Mama Laura gave me a hymnal to keep. I found it in one of the motorcars during the first few weeks here. After using it that night, I handed it back. She smiled, "No, it's for you. Keep it. Use it." That little hymnal with the foreign lyrics and familiar tunes has become one of my most precious possessions.

I'm thankful!

~TBS~

The Peruvian Post: Thankful (Week 10)

It's officially Christmas season in Peru.

We don't have Thanksgiving here, so November is just another month of the semi-rainy season. It's been muggy lately. I miss the crisp weather that is perfect for soups, chili and cornbread, hot chocolate, and my mom's AMAZING home-simmered apple cider.

A few days ago, I was helping Laura cook and mentioned that in the United States we often have chili and cornbread this time of year. It took me a while to explain what chili was. I'm not sure if it was because of my lack of Spanish speaking skills or because it isn't a traditional dish here. I think it was a mix of both. But, the next day she made cornbread with the most amazing beans ever! I felt so loved, seen, and heard.

Chelsea, Mama Laura, and me on the farm in Campo Verde approximately 30 minutes from Pucallpa.

The truth is that the last few weeks have been hard. I have found myself living for every FaceTime call, hanging on to every text, and soaking up every prayer. But, this is also the truth: my life has been filled with many blessings.

My heart needs to give thanks. So, for the remaining weeks in November, I want to talk about what has given me hope, strength, and life.

Eucharisteo: Greek - To give thanks. Broken down: Charis - Grace. Chara - Joy. In full: Eucharisteo - To remember. To sit in joy. To seek thanksgiving. 

Concept taken from Ann Voskamp and her book "1,000 Gifts"

1) I've been spending a lot of time with the locals lately, and that has helped me tons. I've made it a point to cook with Mama Laura, help Joel with his English homework, run errands around town with Papa Henrry, and practice conversations with Juan and Rosita. My Spanish is picking up quickly. It still has a LONG way to go, but I noticed this week that I was able to have more conversations without using Google Translate. I'm often able to understand questions with zero prior context. And, I'm even starting to find my own sense of humor and personality in Spanish.

2) We received our packages from Walla Walla this week! Oh! That was a good day. There was a t-shirt, a sticker, tons of candy (soy and diary free! THANK YOU!), notes from friends, a bunch of card stock, a polaroid picture, and necessities like toothbrushes and vitamin c gummies (which I accidently didn't store properly so now those have ants.) There is just something so, so special about hand-written notes and gifts that traveled across the world.

3) With so many things around me suddenly being vastly different, I'm finding myself clinging to that which is steady and most familiar. Sometimes that means hanging around the wifi just a little more than I ought to hopefully connect with friends and family at home. But, more and more, I'm finding myself gravitating towards my Bible, hymns with familiar tunes, and my relationship with God. This has been the greatest comfort of all.

The last few years, particularly since college started, I've battled to keep up my devotional life. And, if I'm being honest, I failed a lot more than I succeeded. And when I did succeed, it was more because I knew it was important and less because I felt the pull, need, and desire. A small part of me was starting to wonder if the quiet yet strong desire to faithfully spend time with God would fully come back. Would it ever again be more than just something "I knew was important?"

Part of me hoped that an SM year would force me to run to Jesus. Don't hear me wrong, no part of me thinks that being an oversees missionary makes me more "Jesus-y," and I didn't come with the idea that taking away my dearest comforts would make me more spiritual. In fact, I happen to believe that we could all be a lot more effective with the gospel if we didn't have the hidden ideology that all true missionaries live in exotic lands or dire circumstances. The gospel is most effective when it it's put to work directly in our own homes.

While the last couple of months HAVE driven me to the feet of Jesus, I realized it was the steady faithfulness over years of "not quite feeling it" that came to the rescue. I've never been more thankful for the time I did spend quietly, steadily, faithfully making my faith a priority. In a time when I long for the familiar, my faith is the most familiar thing I have. It shows me, that in the last few years, when I have struggled to hold on to Jesus, He has not struggled to hold onto me.

4) You should probably duct tape your mouth closed before you read this next part. That way your jaw doesn't unhinge when it drops. I'm mostly talking to you, mom. ;)

I've decided that part of embracing this culture is embracing Christmas music at the beginning of November. We don't have Thanksgiving soooo, I'm not really jumping the gun... am I? Besides we don't get snow, so I have to make up for some missing Christmas vibes. I have discovered that Christmas music makes me feel at home. When I close my eyes I can almost imagine the cozy atmosphere...except it's like 80+ degrees. But, ya know!

5) I tried to avoid teaching with nearly every bone in my body. It was one of the main reasons I chose to come to Peru. They didn't need a teacher. They needed a journalist. I could do that! It was a perfect fit. And, honestly, it has been... but I still ended up saying yes to teaching English for one hour two times a week. That experience has been a lot less stressful than I imagined. I definitely still have a -20% desire to become a long term teacher... but dang it! my kidlets melt my heart. After class the other day I asked if anyone wanted to pray. Felix raised his hand and started praying, "Hola Senor. Gracias por hermana Brooke y esto lenguaje nosotros podemos aprender." Translated: "Hello, God. Thank you for sister Brooke, and this new language we can learn." Be still my heart. If you could see the smiles he and his younger brother give me, you would melt too.

What's happening to me? I adopted some cats, have been listening to Christmas music before thanksgiving, and started teaching. But, I still don't like beets, papayas, or boiled bananas, so I think I'm still the same person.

6) I now have plenty of material to write about which has been totally exciting. Not gonna lie, I was afraid my creativity wasn't going to survive the period of writer's block that I have been in for several years.

7) When I arrived in Peru, I was drained. I don't mean I was a little tired. I mean, I had nothing left to give. The go-go-go, run-run-run of American culture had been eating away at me for several years, but particularly in those last four-ish months. Normally a motivated person, I didn't want to do ANYTHING. Nothing. Nada. I didn't even want to do fun things that I normally thrive on. And, I couldn't figure out why on Earth God chose THAT time to send me across the world to live for nine months without a single familiar soul. Talk about bad timing.

You know what's funny though. While I've been here to serve, I have finally been given the opportunity to rest. It's opened my eyes to the reality that one can give their life to serving others, and STILL take care of themselves. Peruvian culture is suuuper chill. I'm told that's Latino culture in general, but right now, all I know first hand is Peru. Here, adults know how to play. They know how to rest. They know how to sit and let life pass on. And, while our culture tells us that is a waste of time, I think the Peruvians realize something we forgot.

The other day I was standing next to Papa Henrry watching some families play volleyball.

Henrry: Families often play volleyball in the afternoon. It's a big custom here.
Me: Really? Like every afternoon?
Henrry: Yeah, most afternoons.
Me: Wow! We don't know how to play in the United States.
Henrry: You don't know how to play volleyball?
Me: Oh no! I mean, we don't understand the concept of play. We just work, work, work, run, run, run. We jump from task to task. We don't spend our afternoons enjoying life.
Henrry: Oh.

I need to learn that life doesn't have to be stressful to be going somewhere. Life doesn't have to be packed to be lived at it's fullest. Life doesn't have to be "productive" to be purposeful.

And maybe... maybe that's why I'm here. Maybe I'm here to learn that hustle isn't the gospel. Maybe I'm here to learn that giving doesn't have to mean depleting. Maybe I'm here to learn that when my steady faithfulness doesn't seem to be "doing anything," the results are waiting. They're waiting for the future when I need God to be familiar.

Maybe that's why I'm here. And for that, I give thanks.

~TBS~

Peruvian Post (Week 8)

I've spent a comically large amount of time the last few days simply walking around my room with kittens hanging onto my legs. I'm sure this isn't remotely close to what having children is like, but it's not easy doing simple tasks with three bouncy kittens always under foot.

Trying to get changed is the most challenging.

"Hey there, pumpkin. That's where my foot goes. Yo, kiddo! stop crawling up the inside of my pant leg. Oww! that's my bare leg, girlie!

Sleeping is another adventure. I finally fall asleep and one of them decides to turn my body into an obstacle course. First step - Race across Brooke's stomach. Second step - Do a summersault over her face. Third step - Sit on her nose. Fourth step - Oooo toes!!

Funny fact - Traditionally, I STRONGLY DISLIKE cats. Other people's cats are...okay. I'll pet them if they come to me. Kittens... yeah pretty cute, but they turn into cats, and I'm not one of THOSE people. I haven't always disliked cat's, but Mr. Blueberry Eye's (aka Jalen) cat changed that. There is a reason her nickname, Diablo, is used more than her real name, Duma.

So you can imagine my surprise when two weeks ago I was walking calmly back to my room and one of the twins bounced up to me and said, "This is yours. For one sole." He said it like, "This is yours, and you will pay me one sole." I mean, how do you argue with a ten year old who just handed you a two to three week old kitten who's eyes are barely open? I'm not THAT cruel. (I should add that when we gave up the money, he returned it.)

Julietta had found three kittens on the side of the road and brought them back to the compound in a small cardboard box. The locals didn't want them, so they asked if we wanted them. Three kittens. Three SMs. Seemed legit.

Two boys and a girl. One was black with marbled orange coloring on her nose. The other two were orange. Now, deep in the recesses of my brain I've always said, "I don't want a cat. They're nothing but arrogant trouble. BUT, if I DID adopt one, it will be orange, and I'll have it from kittenhood." That's a word, fyi. If you look it up it will say, "Etymology: Brookism." (I decided to actually look it up and apparently it's a documentary... so not as original as I had hoped. Oh well! I'll have to be remembered for something else.) 


That first day they mostly slept... and refused to eat the milk we had. We named them Pamina, after "The Princess and the Flute;" Yama, Japanese for mountain; and Mr. Bingley, a fitting name for an orange cat if you ask me.

I don't want to say I'm a converted cat person because there is a lot of trauma from Diablo that I'm still healing from. ;) But, I HAVE looked up how I can bring a cat from Peru to the United States.

Lucky Tiger, our Hong Kong kitty that Mama and Papa brought home from China before I was born, died this week. Almost 22 years with her, and her life overlapped with Mr. Bingley's for one week. Lucky and I were hardly friends. She resented me because Mom and Dad paid more attention to me than her. I wonder why? I was literally five before I even remember touching her much less petting her. Still, her death marked the end of an era. It will be weird not to have our Hong Kong kitty. But, now there's the Peruvian kitty.

The second day with the kittens things took an unexpected turn. Mama cat showed up. I'm not sure how she found us. Relief accompanied her because now the babies had the milk they really needed...and accepted. Angst followed, too, because she kept trying to take them out of the compound, and one nearly got eaten by a dog in front of us.

However, after a few days she realized we liked her, we just didn't want her to take the kittens. We have since settled into a compromise. She comes and goes as she pleases, feeding and cleaning the kittens. We house and protect the kittens.

We have a new puppy on the compound, too. His name is Bobby! He is FAT! I'm wondering if there is a mini watermelon stuck sideways in his poor stomach. But, man he's cute. His breath on the other hand...What is it about puppy breath? Dog breath is bad, but puppy breath makes me wonder if he ate a thousand dead ancestors… because YIKES!

Mama cat doesn't like Bobby. She sent him off with pitiful squeals tonight after he got just a little too close to her babies. By the wagging of his tail, it's clear he hasn't the faintest idea what he ever did to her. He's hardly bigger than the kittens so he can't really do much harm.

Our new pets, yes, even the cats, have been a huge comfort lately. New surroundings do odd things to people. :p I fell asleep on my bed this afternoon and woke up with Bingley's head under my chin and his paw on my chest. I guess you could say I'm pretty smitten. But Duma, I'm still holding a grudge. You don't get off the hook that easily.

Funny, this isn't remotely what I had planned to write tonight. Sometimes stories write themselves.

With love from Peru. <3

~TBS~

The Peruvian Post (Week 7)

I closed my eyes. The jostling of the comvi felt... almost therapeutic. When I opened my eyes, I was starteled to see that the clouds looked normal. Sometimes I get used to life being so profoundly different in nearly every way, that when something is the same, it surprises me.

Life here in Peru has begun to settle down, to feel... somewhat normal, whatever that means. Some days I wake up and think, "Woh! I have a mango tree outside my door. I'm living an incredible adventure. I'm learning how to be Brooke in a world that has never had me before. I'm learning how to communicate in a whole new way. I'm learning how to see the world through eyes that have never thought of water in terms of... water... but agua. I'm learning that I am not me... I'm Jo!... spelled Yo... but, not me." And sometimes, I wake up and think about this new reality, and I feel strong, I feel excited, and I feel so blessed.

And sometimes, I wake up and think about how I would just really like to run barefoot through a mountain stream, or drive myself to town for chai, or wear a cute burnt orange sweater. Or...hug my mama and my best friend. Did you know that you can't send hugs with WiFi or letters? Yeah, I know, it sucks. Somebody talk to Apple about that.

My thoughts have been all over the place. Sometimes I feel discouraged, but then I think;

"Girlfriend, you are learning what it means to see life through an entirely different culture, and it will take time to fully comprehend what that even means. You're learning to function in a life where there are only two people who can fluently communicate with you. You're learning to survive in a life where you just saw the kitchen rat, in person, while you were eating...ahem...and cooking. You're learning that sometimes the dogs will play with dead tarantulas in the living room.

And you know that child that just walked into your room? You're also learning to that they will give a funny look when you ask, "How are you?" because they have no context for what that means. You're learning how to undo all that excellent phonetics training your parents drilled into you from reading tutoring, and learning that your letters say entirely different things now. And, you know, it's okay that it took you so long to correctly say the name of your home country. It isn't the United States, or the USA, or America (usually)... it's estados unidos… no capitals.

You just made a PowerPoint presentation on the importance of keeping your sewer and food separate because some families don't understand that consequences come from contamination.

You are learning so much!"

Sometimes all this discourages me.

I miss my comfort zone.

I miss running barefoot wherever I please. No joke! It's not super safe to walk barefoot here because of parasites. So in the last 7ish weeks, my feet have not touched anything except my socks or my shoes. That is a whole lot weirder to think about than you might realize.

I miss my comfort zone.

I miss feeling put together and cute on more than just Sabbaths. I miss driving down the road and being able to read signs without thinking much about them. I miss remembering it's October based upon the chill in the air. I miss being able to fully express my personality without worrying whether or not I'll offend the new culture.

I miss my comfort zone.

I miss being able to drink from my water bottle without worrying when a little girl at church says, "Oh! I'll get you more water," and then proceeds to fill it up with cool water from her house. I miss having the ability to simply open a can of food when I'm hungry and don't want to cook, instead of fixing food from scratch nearly every meal. (Something I've strived for back home, but don't always follow through with.) I miss having more than just the words and silences of my loved ones to remind me they're still there.

I miss my comfort zone. So, yes, sometimes I get discouraged.

I have to remind myself to take a deep breath and "...allow the space between where I am and where I want to be, to inspire me and not to terrify me." (Tracee Ellis Ross) Sometimes I'm better at this than others.

I'm learning SO MUCH. My Spanish has a long way to go, but it is improving rapidly. I can already carry on conversations with strangers. Those conversations are rough and slow, and peppered with terrible grammar on my part, but they are conversations. And I'm learning about the lives of each person I meet. And, ever so slowly, I'm gaining the ability to show my personality through this new code of communication.

I'm learning how to ignore the spider webs that are inevitably in every building everywhere. I'm learning how to think, "Ehh! That rain water I just accidently drank may or may not kill me, but there's nothing I can do about it now so might as well enjoy my last few hours own earth." Teasing. I knew I wouldn't die, but I am thankful it never made me sick! :p I'm learning how to cook with spices by smell instead of label because I can't always remember what English name corresponds with each Spanish word, and my hands are in the food so looking it up isn't always convenient.

I'm learning that sometimes it will rain and the house will flood in a mere 15 minutes. I'm learning how to praise God in moments when I'm surrounded by 19+ people in a tiny room with a dirt floor and one tiny flame for light. I'm learning to embrace the fact that I now live in a culture where most girls my age have one to three kids already.

I'm learning how to continue looking for the beauty in this world, even though that just got a whole lot harder. It's difficult to look past the trash, sickness, and poverty to the flowers blooming in random places. It's hard to look past poorly constructed buildings to the love we can bring inside them. But I'm learning... I'm continuing to grow. It's not harder to search for beauty than it is back home, it's just different.

But, not everything is different. The clouds still look the same, and love still feels the same.

~TBS~

The Peruvian Post (Week 6)

It's been a week. It's been a rather long week, actually. I spent nearly every day resting in bed or in my room catching up on journalism work.

It started with a cold. It wasn't bad. I got over it quickly. Julietta brought me a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. I thought, "Maybe I should get sick more often." A couple days down, and I was at it again.

Then the "stomach weirdness" settled in. Honestly, that wasn't awful. I guess I had it in my mind, that if I was going to get sick from the food down here, it would be a repeat of Montezuma's Revenge (an experience I'd prefer not to repeat), but it was far less intense. At no point did I think I was dying.

Yesterday, the third day of being out for the count, Papa Henrry decided I needed IV's. I was surprised because nausea isn't fun, but I didn't think I was THAT sick. (And FYI, I'm not known for thinking I'm less sick than I am. ;) I tend to think I'm on death's doorstep.)

But, the nausea medicine, IV, and antibiotics helped.

For lunch, Mama Laura brought me a bowl of fresh fruit, a smile, and a comforting word. And between Laura and Rosita, I'm now fully caught up on laundry. I'm not sure whether or not I should be embarrassed about the fact that I was so behind, but I feel fully loved and very blessed.

Julieta brought me a concoction of natural medicine. I thought, "I think I'd rather be sick." I may be living at a clinic, but I guess I haven't escaped the concoctions of well-meaning mothers. Yuck!

This week was ROUGH depression wise. It was probably the worst drop since starting medication two years ago. Funny because it was mental health awareness week, but I didn't feel up to talking about it. I'm doing better...for now. Thankfully, I had prepared myself for a possible drop in depression down here. Change does that to me, but foresight helps.

Blessings:

Today was restful and calm. I sat outside my room and enjoyed the breeze for a while.

Joel, 10, came up to me and said, "Brooke, you look beautiful. I like your shirt and skirt." Bless his sweet soul. I'm not sure he knew how much that meant to a girl who just spent half her week with diarrhea, has a full set of "Ring of Fire" volcanoes on her face, and was still slightly weak in all limbs.

My laundry is now all finished!

The NAD (North American Division of Seventh-day Adventists) contacted me this last week and asked if I would be willing to help them with footage for a missions project they are working on. They're sending camera equipment and all! I'm super stoked. It has been my dream to do something like this, but I've never had my own equipment. Plus, it high key stresses me out. BUT, they are going to walk me through the whole process. *insert my happy dance* They will be working with me and one other SM somewhere else.

Internet. Bless the world of 2019! Yes, I struggle with the downsides a lot, but wow! the upsides are wonderful. It does my heart SO MUCH GOOD to see my mama's face and hear my papa's voice while I'm far away. Plus, I love "meeting" Jalen at his favorite coffee shop. Also, yo! my 10-year-old cousin plays the oboe and violin. He sent me a bunch of clips to cheer me up while I had an IV stuck to my arm. I LOVE INTERNET.

~TBS~

Maybe That's How Love Changes Things

Chelsea and I were washing laundry. We had our blue and green bins filled with laundry and water and soap. Water was clinging to our skin up to the elbows. The air that day seemed to weigh especially heavy on our foreheads and chests. Washing laundry by hand was refreshing because the cold water seemed to hold the weight of the air for a short time.

We heard the gate click, and Papa Henrry entered. With a tone of urgency, and yet with his typical calm demeaner, he explained, with mixed English and Spanish, that there was a patient with burns and we should come quick. Chelsea and I patted our arms dry on our jeans. I ran to my room to get my audio recorder, my notebook, and my pen. I placed them hurriedly in my little purse, grabbed my water bottle, and raced across the street. I thought we were making a home visit so I raced into the clinic ready to go.

There she was sitting on the operating table in our clinic room. Eight years of perfect little girl. Her forehead was wrinkled tight and tears seeped through her lashes. Her Mama sat next to her with arms wrapped around her sweaty body. After catching a glimpse of her foot, I stood stunned. I was surprised there weren't more tears or more whimpers.

How was I supposed to help? I was just the journalist. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't handle bodily fluids, wounds, or pain with any form of grace. I'd felt decently capable of helping in the pharmacy where all I needed to do was fill prescriptions and hand them off saying, "Esto es para ti." But, I felt quite unhelpful now.

Suddenly I felt thirsty. Thirsty for water, for cool and dry air, and for a world with no pain.

"Should I get her some water?" I muttered. It was all I could think of.
"Yes." Papa Henrry replied. I walked to the kitchen and lifted my favorite mug off its hook. I filled it with our filtered water. It wasn't cold, but it was clean.

When I reentered the small clinic room I felt a little more prepared to help where I could. I handed the mug to the girl. Her mama helped me hold it to her weak lips. She took a small sip, and then she looked right into my eyes and managed the smallest smile. Her eyes seemed to say both "Thank you" and "Make this better." I sat mug on the table. I smiled back trying to say "Of course sweetie!" and "I would if I could."

Her perfectly brown feet were charred black. Her toes were swollen together like they had been baked with too much yeast.

Isaac gave her a syringe filled with pain medication.

As Papa Henrry started to work on her foot her tears turned to steady whimpers of, "Mommy. Mooommy. Mommyyyyyyy." She pressed her forehead into her mom's firm hold.

A thick layer of skin sluffed as Papa Henrry rubbed it with a saline dipped cloth. The black gave way to fresh, live pink. Her screams grew more forceful. The humidity seemed to play with each cry, tossing it across the yard and echoing it. I held my phone close to her foot for extra light. But, my ability to watch gave out.

I handed my phone to Chelsea and stepped out to find "fresh" air. Another child in the neighborhood sympathized. I could hear screams coming from another yard. The waiting room was filled with the girl's family. Each sitting with still, solemn faces. I walked back.

Papa Henrry was cutting away at the damaged skin. She screamed louder. Each scream etching it's presence into time, into memory, into history. Taking a deep breath I quietly reached out to stroke her hair. She looked up slightly. I was surprised when she tried to manage another smile. It pulled weakly at the corners of her mouth as the tears kept multiplying. And then Papa Henrry yanked at the skin again and her screams resumed.

The skin had to be removed. If it was allowed to stay it would heal, but it would heal wrong. It could knit her toes together. It could prevent full mobility and leave her crippled. It could get infected and result in amputation. It would leave even worse scarring. The skin had to be removed.

Ideally, she would have been rushed to an emergency room and given stronger pain medication. Ideally, the doctor would have given her anesthesia and allowed her to wake up when the procedure was over. Ideally, she wouldn't have been burned in the first place. But, ideal isn't always possible.

I stroked her hair. The sweat and grease making my hand feel oily. Her mama had sweat running down her own compressed forehead and pooling on her nose. It looked as if the pain were stinging her nearly as bad. Ever few moments she would wipe the tears off her daughter's face with girl's dirty, yellow shirt.

I prayed, "Lord, if anything, allow this little girl to remember the love the Christians showed her. Help her to look back and think of the water I gave her. Remind her of Isaac's sympathetic smile, and my words of "You're going to be okay." (Even though she probably can't understand them.) Somehow, allow her to feel some ounce of hope through our presence."

Her screams echoed. It sounded like she was saying, "I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. Oh! Mamaaaa, I'm gonna die." At least, I thought I heard the word for die, and that's something I would have said had our roles been reversed.

I remember being fully amazed at her stillness. Her screams could curdle blood, and indeed might have if my adrenaline hadn't risen so high. And yet, she sat perfectly still. She didn't fight Henrry's help at all. She didn't try to pull back. She didn't try to squirm.

Henrry and Chelsea were now wrapping her foot with sterile gauze while Isaac held her foot. "How did she get burned?" I thought. I tried to ask Henrry later, but either he didn't know or my question got lost in translation.

After she was all bandaged up, her Mama lifted her off the table and carried her out to the family. Her screams had stopped, but her tears were still fresh.

And just like that, it was over. She was sent home, and we were sent back to scrub our laundry. We walked soberly back, trying to calm our flip-flopped stomachs.

We weren't the emergency room. We didn't have strong enough pain medication. We weren't ideal. But, we were present, and that was what she needed. And maybe, just maybe, I could hold that in my heart. Amid her tears, we were present. In her screams, we were willing. And maybe that is how love changes things.