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.

Culture Shock (Week 3)

An honest statement: This week has been hard. 

I was hoping the second stage of culture shock would hold off for a while longer, but it hit with decent force this week. (First stage: Honymoon stage. Second stage: Irritablity stage.) As much as I had hoped, I did anticipate it would hit around this time. Most of my previous international travels have lasted about 2-3 weeks, and while I've loved each adventure, I've always felt profoundly ready to arrive back in a familiar culture. I am feeling that same longing. It's a desire for comfort and familiarity, and it's nearly breaking my bones. Yet this time, that feeling will have to settle in for a while. This is more than a quick jaunt around the globe.

I was ready for culture shock. It hasn't taken me by surprise. I know how to handle it. I know what to expect. But, yikes, that isn't making anything easier. 

The heat and humidity are driving me insane. Although, I've discovered that if one can at least keep their forehead cool that's much of the battle. 

The dust and grime and bugs weren't ever "easy" but now they're working their way into every part of me. Nothing is "clean," not even the clinic operating tables. Last night I saw a little cricket crawl into my room. I gently nudged it out with my foot. It came back. I left it. I've made as many  precautions towards spiders as I can, but the truth is bugs are a part of Peru. And now, so am I. Today, as I opened my door, I was startled by an ant posy carrying the cricket out...dead. 

A few nights ago we watched as Papa Henrry operated on an 8 year-old girl with severe burns. The thick humidity seemed to magnify her piercing screams. I think only adrenilen kept my blood from running cold. Ideally, she should have been sent to an emergency room and sedated with more than just ibuprofen. But, not everything CAN be ideal here. (That story deserves its own post as well. Maybe for next week.) 

Naps are frequent, but lately the heat has kept me from truly resting. Either sleep can't find me, or it tosses me around with it's sweaty fingers. 

We have markets close by and a store similar to Walmart, but learning to anticipate how much food we'll need for a week is more difficult that I expected. We keep coming home with too few apples and bread, too many onions and garlic.

I'm an independent soul (as long as not too many phone calls are required). At college, my saving grace was having my own car. If I needed a change of scenery and some time to myself, I'd just grab my backpack and gallivant into town. Here, it's too dangerous to venture off by myself. I have all the freedom I need between my room and the kitchen, but if I want to explore...independence can't follow. 

So far, I'm still enjoying doing laundry by hand, but having no dryer is taking some adjusting. We must plan ahead. It's not like we can throw dirty scrubs in the laundry and have them ready by morning. They have to dry on the line and that takes time. Yesterday I walked to the laundry room to grab some dry clothes. I turned on the light and found myself face to face with a great spider. It sat between me and the clothes line. Now let me ask you this. How is one expected to put on their big girl panties and kill the dang spider, when that dang spider is standing between you and your big girl panties? 

I love learning Spanish, but it is rough not being able easily to communicate with 95% of the people in my life. 

Yesterday we drove almost 2 hours out into the jungle to help an American medical group from Kansas City with clinic. The road was bumpy and rutty. A couple times Pastor David and Papa Henrry had to get out to figure out how to get the car across particularly bad patches of road. Honestly, it was grand fun! But, it was still not home.

I discovered the other day that it takes eleven soles to send a letter home. Not bad if you convert it to American currency, but shocking seeing that I can buy 8 (small) tomatoes for 1 sol. No matter! I consider it a necessary expense. Words are my love language, and if that's what it takes to send letters home, it's worth it. 

My friends are settling back into Walla Walla for another year of college. It's weird seeing everyone's reunion pictures and knowing they will be preparing to say goodbye again before I even make it back. Life back home isn't waiting, nor should it. Life in the United States is moving forward, just like it ought. I know I'm not forgotten, but wow, I feel stuck. I feel stuck in a life with no dryers and plumbing that won't accept toilet paper. I feel stuck in a life that can't give decent anesthetic to little girls with feet charred black. I feel stuck in a life with no air conditioning. 

And then I feel guilty. I feel guilty for feeling stuck in a world where I have more food money than many of the locals. I feel guilty for feeling stuck in a world that I'll only be living in for 9 months. I feel guilty for still wanting home even when I'm surrounded by some of the world's most loving, dearest people. I feel guilty for wanting to communicate with words, instead of embracing the beauty of communicating with love. 

And then I remember that it's just culture shock. I won't feel like this forever. There is no need to feel guilty. It's important to strive towards growth, but it's OK to feel a little buried. It's okay to feel a lot homesick. It's okay to embrace that life back home is moving forward. It's okay to feel. It's okay to be a little annoyed with the stye and dust in my eyes. It's okay to be human. It's okay to be real. 

What isn't okay is to allow those feelings to stop me. What isn't okay is to allow those feelings to embitter me. What isn't okay is to allow those feelings to keep me where I'm at. 

So, like Mama told me, "Remember that the first step in the miracle of service is just showing up." 

~TBS~

Mi Familia Peruano (Week 2)

"En Ingles esto es bounce," I said. "En espanol esto es...?" "Poleta!" she replied. Clearly the slow action of me bouncing the ball didn't make sense, because 'poleta' means ball, not bounce. No matter! 

I was tired and wanted to rest, but Sesia had brought me a pink ball with a painted giraffe. She wanted to play.

Sesia is the daughter of one of the local missionary families here at the compound where we stay. It took me a while to understand that her name has no 'r' and is spelled 'Sesia' not 'Cercia.' She is four, and she is full of life. 

I try not to turn down playing ball with the kids because it's an easy way to bond through the language barrier. Sesia gets frustrated when I can't understand what she's saying. She seems to speak clearly, but her words tumble out at a great speed. I can't keep up. She loves giving hugs, but is also quite vocal about her frustration when I can't keep up with her sentences, energy, and personality. 

Her face lit up as I threw her the ball. When I dropped it and had to chase after it, she giggled with glee. This continued for a while before her brother Joel came to join. They both belly laughed when the ball landed in my arms but bounced several times from hand to hand before I fully caught it. 

Soon, the sibling rivalry began to show, and Sesia was clearly miffed with Joel. "We should play Monkey in the Middle," I said in English, hoping a change of games might help. They both gave me a quizzical look and Sesia said, "Mono?" Suddenly understanding, Joel piped up, "Ohhh! Mono en el medio. Si!" Joel is taking English in primary school and often surprises me with very clear English.

When we had exhausted the game of Monkey in the Middle, I went back to my room. Moments later Sesia was back. I asked if she wanted to look at some pictures. "Fotos de tus amigos? Si!" she exclaimed excitedly. I lifted the pictures out of their paper cover. I haven't managed to get them on the wall yet. As I pointed to the people in the pictures I said their names. "Mi menor hermano. Jalen. Mi tio. Isaac." She was clearly unimpressed with my dog. You win some, and you lose some.

"Libby. Tobi. Shania."

She was oddly annoyed at the fact that I was in most all of the pictures. Every time she would point my way she would throw herself saucily back on my bed and groan.

"Emily. Nicole. Aggie."

As I said each name she would repeat them back to me.

"Yvanna."
"Ybanna?"
"Yvanna."
"Yyyybanna."
"Si. Muy bien." I would reach up to give her a high five.
"Nicholas."
"Nee-co-las?"
"Si! Muy bien." Another high five.

Tobi, Yvanna, and Aggie were unmistakably her favorites.

When we got to the picture of Logan Pass in Glacier National Park she gasped, "Wohhh! Muy grande. Montañas?" She was impressed, but quickly ready to move on.

"Christopher."
"Creestofur?"
"Si. Bien." 

After she had fully mastered each person's name, she decided it was important to make sure I knew who I was talking about.

*Sesia pointed*
Me: Tobi.
Sesia: Si! Muy bien. *Pried my hand open for a high five.*
*Sesia pointed*
Me: Libby.
Sesia: Si! Bien. *high five*

Sesia, 4 years

I'm settling into life down here well. I'm pretty sure I'll never get used to the humidity or the heat rash that is currently smothering my torso, but cold showers are growing on me. NOTHING teaches you to look forward to a cold shower more than a day in the dust and humidity of Pucallpa.

Currently, my two favorite things about life in Peru are rides in the motofurgon and dinners in the local families' homes.

A motofurgon is like a truck version of a motocarro. A motocarro is a carriage built on the back of a motorcycle. We ride most often in the motofurgon because it has the capacity to transport more supplies and more people. Time spent riding down the road is the only time every day that I don't feel nearly suffocated by the humidity...heat too, I guess, although that wouldn't be so hard if it were more dry. This Montana girl simply isn't used to the heaviness of moisture in the air.

I'm starting to get a pretty good sense of my location in the midst of my surroundings. Pucallpa is alive with different aromas, most of them good, but each tinged with a bit of dust. Every few yards the smells change... pineapples, dust, rice, dust, potatoes, trash, dust, pancakes, fish, motocarro fumes, dust, bad water, dust. I haven't smelled much death, though. That surprised me because the smell of death was everywhere in Novo Airo, Brazil. I wonder why? The quality of life is worse here.

The food here is seriously SO good. Laura and Llingli make sure that we are well fed and well loved. During lunch one day last week, Laura was playing music we could understand. I caught a glimpse of her phone and saw that she had specifically looked up, "Hymns in English." In those little moments, the love helps the homesickness settle a little.

Dinner time has unofficially turned into language lesson time, and it is so much fun. The other day, Laura and Henry asked about English slang as we ate rice and "pizza" (egg bake with veggies). They wanted to know what terms Americans use to describe attractive people. The whole table erupted with laughter when they discovered that "hot" was similar to "calor" or "caliente."

Here, they understand the word "stupid" as a great insult, but "dumb" can be used as good natured teasing. We've had to be mindful of that since it is often the opposite back home.

Much fun was had at my expense when I got the words "hambre" and "hombre" mixed up. I meant to say "I have hunger" but instead declared "I have a man." I won't be living that one down for a long time to come.

The rest of the thoughts in my pocket will have to wait. We are off to wash our laundry by hand. We have a washer here, but quickly discovered it might be more effective to try our skill at hand washing. We'll see how this goes. 

The First Week

It’s only been a week and I already have to sift through what is extra noteworthy and what is noteworthy. I don’t have time to pick it all. 

Three of us traveled down to Pucallpa together. Dr. Gow-Lee, a medical doctor from Washington who started AMOR Projects in Peru; Chelsea, a fellow Walla Walla University SM (student missionary); and myself. With the exception of getting stuck in Orlando for over 24 hours with the threat of Hurricane Dorian barreling down on us, our flights were relatively uneventful. We arrived in Peru, the City of Pucallpa, in the region of Ucayali in the wee hours of Tuesday morning. Exhausted from 1 night of airport sleeping and 1 night of airport non-sleeping.

Pastor David drove us and our luggage from the airport to the compound where we will be located for the next several months. I’ve been in South American city traffic before, and while this gave me flashbacks to driving through Sao Palo, Brazil, I’ve never seen anything like it. The roads are pure chaos. Traffic lights exist, but I think they’re essentially stop signs. If you want to cross oncoming traffic, you do, by honking your horn and praying the cars on all 8+ sides slow down. No aggression, no fear, just a whole lot of honking and closing your eyes as the car races up to pedestrians. To clarify, the closing of eyes was done by me, not the driver. ;) I was relieved when one old gentleman with crutches barely escaped our tires. 

I know already that the children are going to be a lifeline. Cercia, maybe 6, bounced up to my room as I was unpacking. “Buenos dias!” she said before rattling off several sentences in Spanish. After a couple blank stares on my part and a feeble “No comprende” I could tell she said something to the effect of, “You don’t speak Spanish, do you?” I shook my head, “No. Yo hablo ingles.” Unfazed she simply said, “Ohhhh!” and then continued rattling off several more sentences. Suddenly she stopped, mid-sentence I think, now convinced I couldn’t understand a thing, and instead ran across my room and jumped into my arms.

At 10 am (or diez de la manana) we went bed. When I awoke in the afternoon Chelsea and Doctor Gow-Lee had left for the mobile clinic.

I ventured around the compound to find clean water, practicing over in my head how to ask for it. I found it, as well as ten-year-old twin boys, Caleb and Andres. I’m told they both have a significant speech impediment, but I can’t really tell. It’s all Spanish to me. After practicing the phrases I could remember we stood there staring at each other unsure how to continue. One of them threw a ball at me and motioned for me to join them. When you can’t communicate with words, throw a ball around. It works wonders. 

I like my room here. It isn’t anything fancy, nor should it be, but it is clean and comfortable and that is a huge blessing. Although, I have already had a large spider incident as I was sweeping my floor for Sabbath. Eyeyiyi! That was a trip! 

Even though my official job here will be communications and journalism, I get to help out in the clinic a lot. I’ve spent much of my week working alongside the doctors and other SMs as we administer shots, fill prescriptions, take blood pressure, and even replace catheters. There is a reason I would not make a good nurse. I try not to show that it’s hard for me to watch and help because it scares the patients, but it’s hard to see bodily fluids, intense filth and poverty, and the patients wince with pain. Tonight, Papa Henry, the main medical leader here, let us accompany him on an emergency outing to replace the catheter of a woman with terminal colon cancer. That experience deserves a post all its own. Watching her cry out in pain was hard.

Yesterday I helped out in the pharmacy. Papa Henry was helping Isaac administer a shot so he quickly explained the alphabetical system and left me to myself. It did not take me long to realize I had no clue what I was doing and was severely under qualified. But I was available. Locals lined up outside the little pharmacy room, and handed their prescription papers to me through a tiny window. “Gracias. Un memento,” I would say as I tried to gulp down my panic. I couldn’t read the words due to the handwriting of our main doctor here and the unfamiliar Spanish words. I was confused about the system they used for knowing quantity. And, some of the medicines weren’t in alphabetical order because they were pulled out for more frequent use. I stared at the shelves of medicine for a few minutes, trying to figure out how to let the patients understand that everything was okay but I needed to find Papa Henry before I made a terrible mistake. 

Papa Henry speaks enough English for us to understand him. He certainly knows more English than we know Spanish, but not by much. This will be a huge blessing because after Dr. Gow-Lee leaves no one here will be fully bilingual. Funny enough, I think Papa Henry's level of English speaking will be helpful. We can usually get a good idea of what he's saying, but he uses enough Spanish to keep us from relying on his English. Plus, since we are all at a similar level, it prevents any of us from feeling ashamed of our language skills. No one is anything but encouraging. I've genuinely enjoyed learning Spanish, and I'm catching on quickly. I can say, "Relax your arm," "May I take a picture," "I need a new syringe," "How do you say...," and "Drain the excess water (referring to food, not patients)."  

The garbage truck here sounds like an ice cream truck. I was helping Papa Henry in the Pharmacy when I heard it. "May go I see what's making the music?" I asked. He started to chuckle and said something to the effect of, "So apparently in other countries that music means ice cream, but here it's the garbage truck. I'm sorry. No ice cream." I wasn't exactly disappointed because I knew the ice cream wouldn't have been safe to eat anyway, but I did think it was funny. 

The crescent moon here is more horizontal than in North America. I'll try to get a good picture next time it's waning or waxing thin enough. 

The food here is phenomenal. It's seriously soooo good. Everything is made from scratch, including the soy milk. 

Sabbath is special here. It's tradition to bring in the Sabbath on Friday night with singing. I took a long nap yesterday afternoon and woke up to one of the local families singing together outside my room. When I stepped out, each person, clean and dressed up, came to give me a hug (abrazo) and say, "Feliz Sabado! How do you like your first Sabbath here?"

I have more thoughts in my pocket, but for now I must sleep. Tomorrow comes early, and we have both clinic and Pathfinders.

Goodbye, my dear people. Thank you for reading and encouraging me in this journey.

~TBS~

Not Goodbye - Just See You Later

She sat at the table with her daughter, each with a cup of Walla Walla Patisserie Gelato.

We had finished our drinks and cookies and had stretched the moments as long as was responsible for what the day held. A single tear tried to roll free, but I blinked a couple of times, reminding it to stay put.

She and her daughter sat quietly. Neither spoke much, but they seemed to be at rest with the commotion of the coffee shop - sifting the little moments out of the air.

Nick stood - the cue that this moment, with the others, had its place and we must move on. There were hard moments ahead. Hard and gritty but also mixed with joy. They must all be embraced before moments of reunion could be reached.

The mom watched us all stand.

Our laughter grew solemn.

Brett reached out for a hug and Nick, Christopher, and I reached in.  "Friendship," said Nick. "The one ship that never sinks." One of us wobbled a little and the group hug teetered slightly. "Or, if it does," said Brett. "We'll go down together," Christopher interjected.

I caught a glimpse of her as she watched us. A gentle smile crept across her face. It was as if she was aware she was witnessing something precious. Her eyes spoke. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of what our friendships were like. She smiled like she understood the rarity of true friends. I smiled back. I think good friends are like a cozy fire on Christmas after coming in from sledding, or like hot chocolate one sips on a camping trip before everyone else has crawled out of their tents. I wonder how she would describe it. True friends, like Christopher said, "Faithful in joy. Patient with pain. Present, even if in spirit." That's what community is like, and I saw that mother's eyes speak like she knew. I envied her. For a split second, I envied her. Because she saw. She saw the joy, but she didn't have to say the goodbye.

Yvanna joined us, and we headed for the door.

I'd already said so many goodbyes that week. My heart ached for Tobi, Shania, Libby, Travis, Danielle - I'd never felt so unready for more. Or perhaps I had, but goodbyes sting anew each time.

We walked out. We left the mother and daughter in the Patisserie. We left them to continue sifting quiet moments out of the chaos. We left them holding our spot until our return.

We took a picture - a memory, something to hold close.

So. Here I am, coming to the last days before I leave everything I've ever known, even down to the primary language. I'm going where I am been called. Peru. I'm trusting the most vulnerable parts of my courage to a God whose full plan I do not know. I'm trading the Rocky Mountains for the Peruvian Jungle. I'm trading warm showers for cold showers. I'm to expect getting lice. I COULD avoid it, but if I'm to love on the people and children without reserve, it will be easiest to just accept it and treat my hair before returning home. Feminine products will be available, but their price will be outrageous. It's best to bring supplies from home. I've had Montezuma's Revenge once, but I won't be immune. Ever careful precaution must be taken. I'll be living out of a suitcase for 10 months. (Although I MAY have a closet? Sources have mixed reviews.) I will greatly miss many loved ones, and I'll miss the wedding of one of my dearest friends. 

I'm scared. 

People acknowledge that it will be one of the hardest things I'll ever do, but they tell me it will be one of the most special experiences of my life. I pray so. I think I believe them. But, wow, this isn't proving easy. 

My worst fears are subsiding. I've been petrified of losing my people. I've had loss before. I've healed, but there are scars. Mama says sometimes scar tissue must rip before it can heal properly. I'll be gone a year...or nearly. It hasn't even taken a summer, in the past, for people to move on. My scar tissue is ripping. It almost hurts more than the initial wound. Funny how that works. I know it won't be the same, but recently I've allowed myself to dare that it could be as good or better when I come home. Torn scar tissue HURTS, but when it heals, it's almost like new. Maybe stronger. I have hope for that. More than hope.

I have a great community, and they are making this process easier. "We are soo proud of her for being brave and setting out for this adventure," Chris said to Auntie Buff when I introduced them. "Yes, we're sending her with all of our collective courage," Brett chimed in. And... "I'm going to have to buy ALL the ink to keep up with the letters I'm going to write." I'll hold you to that, Nick. ;) 

I'm blessed. I have a village filled with people who are rooting for me. These people have shown me what it means to come together for strength - "collective confidence." I have people who will hold my heart while they're too far away to hold my hand. "Present. Even if in spirit." 

I'm blessed. That is why I want to go. Yes, I'm scared. I don't know what to expect. There've been many days that I've struggled to look past "But, what if I fall?" to the "Oh! But darling. What if you fly?" (Erin Hanson) I have been given much. That reality does not escape me. If I can bring that same blessing to those who will enter my life in Peru, I will consider myself successful.  

And, I tell myself this. It's not goodbye. It's simply, "See you later!" And I believe it. 

T - 3 days. Here goes! 

~TBS~