Journal #1
Buenos dias!
It is 1:45 a.m. in Lima, Peru - 2:45 a.m. your time. During my extended
stay in Peru last summer, I began using email as a way to journal and to
keep you all informed. If you wish to be removed from the mailing list,
just let me know.
On May 25th I finished the most difficult year of my teaching career.
Even before school ended, all I could think about was getting on a plane
and spending 6 glorious weeks in the Amazon Basin, unwinding,
reconnecting with my Peruvian friends, working for Medical Missions
and the Amazon Mission Fellowship and spending some much needed
time with God. Things have not gone at all as planned.
Tuesday, June 5 was my original departure date when word came that
the region of Loreto would be holding a strike, resulting in the grounding
of flights from Lima to Iquitos. I was told to be prepared to stay in Lima
until the strike was over and take the first available flight out. This was
the first wrong turn in this year´s trip; Friday, June 1 would bring
another.
Many of you know that I am a dog lover. My yellow lab, Brittany,
had endured numerous health problems for more than a year.
Ravaged by kidney failure, cancer, and a tumor whose bleeding could not
be stopped, I made the most difficult decision of my entire life when I said
good-bye to her. Pete, my black lab, and I were devastated by her loss and
we laid in my den floor and literally cried together all weekend. The decision
was made to delay my departure by 4 days due to the strike and to
allow grieving time.
Those of you who know me well know that I am the first to run to the airport
when a plane is headed to Peru, so you understand why I was confused and
overwhelmed when a spirit of paralyzing fear gripped me and I began to have
thoughts of not wanting to make this trip - of wanting to stay at home in my
comfort zone. I´m not sure what I was afraid of - perhaps in my grief I
feared something would happen to my "only child" (of the 4 legged variety)
while I was gone, maybe I was scared to travel alone into a strike
situation, not to mention how much I would miss getting to see Molly (my
beyond adorable 6 month old niece) as much as I wanted to during my summer
vacation. Most likely it was a combination of all of the above.
I ran to my friend Gia, who not only prayed with and for me, but read Psalm
34:4 - "I sought the Lord, and He answered me; He delivered me from all my
fears." In Gia´s words, she´s not one to look for satan under every bush,
but there are times when an attack of the evil one is obvious and we are
involved in spiritual warfare - it seemed to me that was exactly what was
happening. Another dear friend, Becky, would share the same verse with me.
Neither of them knew of my conversation with the other - yet they both
encouraged me saying that God must be on the verge of a mighty work in some
form as a result of my time here or the enemy wouldn´t be working so hard to
thwart my passion and enthusiasm. It was clear God was telling me to act
out what I say I believe and put my trust in Him. A peace that can only
come from heaven comforted me as I began again to prepare for my trip.
Friday night I had a pretty impressive meltdown at around 1 a.m. when I
became anxious with fear again. I prayed Psalm 34:4 and my life verse,
Jeremiah 29:12-13 - "Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to Me and
I will listen to you. You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with
all your heart." I also received a profound message in a photograph I
packed to bring with me. It is a picture of my best friend´s 4 year old on
his knees with his hands folded in prayer. I stared at that picture and
prayed for God to give me that kind of faith - the faith of a child - the
kind that isn´t bothered by doubts because he knows to whom he belongs.
So here I sit, in Peru, having no doubt God knows the best way to calm me is
through humor. In Atlanta I experienced a 2 hour delay in the flight to
Lima along with a last minute gate change (picture me and 200 others
sprinting to the new gate assignment - not a pretty sight I assure you).
For the first 5 hours of the 6 1/2 hour trip I struggled with nausea - I´m
not sure if the cause was nerves or the thoroughly disgusting airline
dinner, but I made sure my barf bag was easily accessible at all times since
I was in a window seat, blocked by a snoring Peruvian man and a zillion high
school kids going on a mission trip filling the aisle, waiting their turn in
the bathroom that I knew I couldn´t get to in the event of an emergency. A
flight attendant came by, saw that I looked pasty and billious (a word I
learned from John Craig), and mercifully brought me some ginger ale and
crackers. Upon landing in Lima I proceeded to the long lines in immigration
- naturally I shifted lines several times when others were moving faster
than my current one only to have my new line come to a complete stand-still.
Keeping with the pattern of the trip, I was starting to believe my luggage
didn´t make it as that red bag with the neon lime green tags was nearly the
last one to appear on the carousel. I loaded my bags onto a cart to move
through customs and what happens, but I got the red light! (Those who have
been to Peru know that a customs agent collects your declaration form and
then you press a button - a green light means you are free to go, a red
light means you get to have your luggage opened and inspected right there in
front of everyone!) Having publicly pilfered through my belongings, I went
to the LanPeru desk to see if they would allow me to do an early check in
for my 5:45 a.m. flight to Iquitos only to have a panic attack when the
ticket agent told me I was not in the system and he did not have a ticket
for me. Being the overly prepared person I am, I quickly whipped out my
flight confirmation complete with my e-ticket number and said, "Dude, I´m
telling you, I´m on that flight."
With ticket in hand I have laughed out loud several times since my journey
began yesterday at all the detours I have taken, while seeing God´s amazing
provision in it all. Arriving 2 hours late, standing in long lines, waiting
forever for my luggage, getting the red light, and adamantly assuring
LanPeru that I had a ticket has whittled away my long night of no sleep in
the airport. It is now 2:50 a.m. and I now have less than 2 hours left
(rather than 5-6) that I must keep myself awake before I can head to the
gate for my next flight - what a gift!
I have no doubt that God will do amazing things during these 6 weeks. I ask
for your prayers, not only for me, but for my team of 18 missionaries from
Westminster Presbyterian who will be joining me here for a week in our
sister village, and also for our Peruvian friends.
Even at this late hour, I lift my eyes up to the hills and know that my help
comes from God alone (Psalm 121).
All my love to all of you...
Pamelita
Journal #2
After I left you in the Lima airport internet
cafe, I needed to kill another hour before
I could pay my airport tax and go to the
gate, so I perched at a restaurant and
had a Coke (or as my little 4 year old
praying buddy says "Toke").
Back in April I bought a 6 week Beth
Moore Bible study book to bring with
me for my quiet times here - how perfect
that it was 6 weeks - the exact span of
my trip! Coincidence? I think not...
Deciding to pass my hour by beginning the study, I opened the book to find
Psalm 27:1 - "The Lord is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear? The Lord
is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid?" - and Beth began the lesson
talking about fear. Another coincidence? I think not...
She talked about fear being a stronghold and a stronghold being anything that,
in my mind, becomes bigger than God. She reminded me once again, reminiscent
of her study on Daniel that I did this past year, that God always protects and delivers,
even if His path leads to trials and suffering. His protection and deliverance may not
come in the way I want it to, but that doesn´t mean God isn´t faithful. I finished Day 1,
prayerfully closed the book, paid for my "Toke," and flew to Iquitos.
Stephen, my college aged housemate from last summer, and I had breakfast with this
week´s groups, provided them with activities for the day, fed them lunch and dinner,
planned for Monday, then scurried around town for a couple of hours gathering the
necessities for the next day. Around midnight I finally settled into bed to read myself
to sleep. I opened a book entitled The Sunflower - by Richard Evans - that I saved for
this trip because it is a fictional story about Peru. The first page of the book was empty except for these words: "Perfect love casteth out fear" - I John 4:18. Yet another coincidence? Absolutely not...
I understand, at this point, that He means to deal with my fear. What fears you ask?
Well, more than just the ones I told you about previously; my heart is riddled with many. Intellectually I understand that fear questions God - it causes doubt and keeps me from trusting His faithfulness - but it is often difficult to remember this truth when I come face to face with my fears.
One of my great fears of this trip came to pass just this morning. The
ringing of my cell phone (how about that - there are cell phones in the
jungle!) woke me up at 7 a.m. It was Maria, the director of the school for
handicapped children here telling me she was coming to see me at 9:00. By 7:30
this morning, all of the English speakers who are FLUENT in Spanish and very
handy for translation and interpretation were gone for the day. Maria does not speak
any English. Panic set in. How in the world was I going to meet with her alone?
You need to know something else about me. I experience an interesting,
regularly occurring phenomenon in my pursuit of the Spanish language. It goes
like this - if someone is speaking, but not directly to me, I can listen and understand
most of what is being said and even hop in and offer a reply. If, however, that person
speaks directly to me, expecting me to answer, my brain automatically freezes. It fails
to comprehend even the simplest words and subsequently fails to produce a verbal response.
When the pressure is on me as the only person to listen and respond, I start
to shake, sweat profusely (moreso than usual in the jungle heat), and fumble over words.
When I hung up the phone, I threw myself back onto the bed and contemplated
crying- my first and best solution to all stressful situations! Instead, I managed to pray. I first told God I didn´t find this very humorous and that there was no possible way I could do this on my own. I informed Him that He would have to be in charge. He said to me, "Finally! You understand!"
I told Maria I was learning Spanish slowly and asked her to be patient with me and
allow me to use my dictionary when necessary. She was most gracious. To be sure I
understood her, I rephrased everything she said and got her to confirm that I indeed
did hear her correctly. After half an hour, I knew what she needed, had a plan to handle it, and decided that a shower wasn´t necessary this morning because I was already soaking wet!
He is faithful. He is good. He does protect. He does deliver. He will
provide. I have no doubt this is what He wants me to not only understand, but to
know down to the marrow of my bones even when my feelings tell me otherwise. I also
know that this one experience will not be enough to teach me, because I don´t learn
lessons the easy way. There will be many more "sweat showers" before He is done...
All my love,
Pam
Journal #3
It´s a cooler than usual, rainy Thursday morning here in Iquitos. I thought it best to
take advantage of a few quiet moments to write again since my internet cafe time will
be limitedover the next week. The first segment of my Westminster mission team gets in tomorrow afternoon after having spent a few days in Cuzco and Machu Picchu.
The bulk of the group arrives Saturday morning, while the remaining father/son duo
comes in on Sunday morning. It will be a busy time.
This morning has been one of new experiences. I accompanied Pastor German
to the hardware stores to price and purchase supplies for the construction of a new
church building in the jungle - a concrete structure that will be immune to termites.
This has been interesting for two reasons - Pastor German isn´t one to walk right into a store and buy the first thing he sees that appears to be what he is looking for (unlike
most men I know). No, he´s a bargain shopper, aiming to get every cent he can squeeze out of a dollar. The other reason is that Freddy did not show up to go with me and help me with interpretation. After waiting on him more than 20 minutes, Pastor German informed me we would be going without him. The horror I was feeling must have been evident on my face because Pastor German quickly told me that he would talk slow and be patient. And so off we went.
On a side note - It is difficult to concentrate right now because the
little Peruvian guy sitting behind me evidently doesn´t know it is not
necessary to beat the keyboard in order to type. He is hitting every
letter, not to mention the space bar, with all the force he can muster. I´m
having to resist the urge to turn around and grab his hands.
One of the bonuses of living at El Jardin is Tammy - the German Shepard.
Obviously I love having a dog around. In some ways she reminds me of Brittany,
my recently departed 4 legged child. Like Brittany, if I hold her face in my hands and
lower my own face to hers, she will lick me on the forehead. I got home Tuesday night
around 11:30 and said goodnight to Tammy before going to bed, complete with a forehead lick. I laid down only to have the feelings of overwhelming grief and loss return and managed to work myself into a sobbing mess for the better part of an hour. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Brittany´s face, so sleep wasn´t happening. Frustrated and still crying I remembered that I had brought my mp3 player. Quickly I jabbed the earphones in and scanned the menagerie of music until I found my absolute favorite praise and worship song, "How Great Is Our God." Listening to it and absorbing the words began to soothe me, but I wasn´t out of the woods yet, so I figured I better listen to it again, and again, and again. On the fourth repeat I felt the urge to sing. On the fifth repeat I needed to lift my hands in worship. On the sixth repeat, at around 2 a.m., with the volume as loud as my eardrums could tolerate, in total darkness I lay flat on my back with my knees bent, tapping my feet on the mattress, both arms in the air, my eyes closed, singing my heart out. When the song was over that time, not only were the tears gone, but I began to laugh.
First, I was thankful that my room is on the opposite side of the house from the family
I am living with and that the concrete walls are thick.
Second, I was thankful it was the middle of the night and no one could see how utterly
ridiculous I must have looked. And third, I realized again that God is a God of humor to take me from the depths of grief and leave me laughing out loud at myself. I discovered a truth that night - one that has left an indelible mark - when I lose myself in worshiping God and come fully into His presence, there can be no grief and no tears - only joy and happiness.
How great is our God!
It is very obvious that many of you are being faithful prayer warriors for
me. As I am faced with one fear inspiring circumstance after another, from
some unknown place comes the courage to forge ahead. Thank you. God hears
you and He is answering you.
The remainder of my day will be filled with translating a Bible school
lesson from English into Spanish. For those fluent in the language it would only
take a short while, but for me it will consume many hours. While I don´t look foward
to sitting at a table crouched over a notebook, clutching an English-Spanish dictionary
in one hand and a book of 501 Spanish verbs in the other, doing so has proven to be a
tremendous tool in language acquisition for me, so I´m choosing to have a good attitude
about it.
Know that I am praying for you all.
Mucho amor en Cristo,
Pam
Journal #4
A Dios sera la gloria!
To God be the glory!
We sang this familiar tune with similar words
during worship this morning at the
Presbyterian Church of Iquitos. It touched my
heart in a way it never has before. Perhaps it was because we sang it acapella, in
Spanish, and it echoed throughout the cavernous church.
Whatever the reason, it resounded in my soul.
It has been a while since last I wrote. The WPC Mission Team arrivedlast
weekend and our daily schedule literally kept us on the go from about 6 a.m.
until near midnight. Before I go on I want to express my gratitude to my team -
David and Drew Smith, Chris and Daniel McGarr, Paul Petersen, Alice Armstrong,
Brent Bristow, David Perkinson, Stan and Hampton Williams, Maggie McCraw,
Brian, Carolye, and Brett Czechowski, Ty Page, Stephen Garland, Liz Patterson, and
Elsie Wright. They were a tremendous blessing to me and even moreso to the people
of Santa Clara. Throughout the week we worked hard, played hard, laughed hard,
and cried hard. It was a precious time that I won´t soon forget.
There are many humorous stories to tell from the week - like how Brian
Czechowski labeled my bout with laryngitis as an answer to prayer - or how Chris
McGarr started a mud fight that completely disrupted Bible school one day - or how
Ty Page and I had our shoes stolen by a street kid - or how Stephen Garland is the
new "Larry the Cable Guy" of the jungle - or how Brent Bristow received intense
instruction in the use of a pick-axe - or how David Perkinson constantly accused me
of unprovoked attacks on Brian Czechowski - or how Daniel McGarr caused the eyes
of some senoras and senoritas to pop out of their heads when he took his shirt off while working - and the list goes on.
There are also inspirational moments that I don´t think words can accurately depict -
like the emotion that welled up in every father traveling with a son or daughter on the trip- or the experience of worshiping with the Peruvians in Santa Clara - or the deeply
moving evening devotions - or the collective memorization of the Beatitudes through
Paul´s daily devotions - or the bonds of Christian brotherhood established through a
week of working alongside people of another culture and language - or the friendships
that took root and grew among the team members - or the ways we saw God moving
and working among us each day - and this list goes on as well.
By the end of the week we had discussed humility, mercy, peace, mourning,
meekness, building and maintaining relationships, and particularly the literal laying
of the foundation of the new church building in Santa Clara. I was reminded of
another familiar old hymn whose words are most appropriate at this time:
The church's one Foundation is Jesus Christ her Lord;
She is his new creation by water and the Word:
From heav'n he came and sought her to be his holy bride;
With his own blood he bought her, and for her life he died.
Though with a scornful wonder men see her sore oppressed,
By schisms rent asunder, by heresies distressed,
Yet saints their watch are keeping; their cry goes up, "How long?"
And soon the night of weeping shall be the morn of song.
'Mid toil and tribulation and tumult of her war,
She waits the consummation of peace for evermore;
Till with the vision glorious her longing eyes are blest,
And the great church victorious shall be the church at rest.
Yet she on earth hath union with the God the Three in One,
And mystic sweet communion with those whose rest is won:
O happy ones and holy! Lord, give us grace that we,
Like them, the meek and lowly, on high may dwell with thee.
A Dios sera la gloria!
To God be the glory!
All my love to you all...
Pamelita
Journal #5
It is early Friday evening - the weekend is here.
The most recent crisis at the Jardinhas been successfully averted - from about 8:00 this morning until after 5:00 this afternoon we had no water. I have now learned the finer points of locating the fuse box (which is on the church property adjacent to, but separated by a fence from the Jardin), resetting the breaker, returning to the Jardin to locate the water pump, sitting for a seemingly endless amount of time "priming the pump" by pouring cups of bottled water into it, turning the pump back on, putting my ear to the pipes attached to the cement columns which hold up the platform upon which the cistern rests and listening for water to run down the pipes indicating that it is once again flowing into the house, then repeating the process when it doesn´t work, while simultaneously trying not to panic over the fact that it is getting dark (meaning no one will come fix the problem) and the fact that it is a holiday weekend here and no one is working today anyway, so we can´t bring in a "professional" (and I use that term loosely) even if we want to. I was mentally preparing myself to go without a shower indefinitely and to fight Tammy (the German Shepard) for her potty space behind the house!
And so the entire week has gone. It has been hectic to say the least, yet the week´s
events have afforded me more learning experiences than I thought possible.
Never again will I complain about lines or wait times in American banks after witnessing people waiting for hours in one line at Banco Continental only to find out they must move to yet another line to wait again for an hour or more after which they may still have to endure a third or fourth line, each with its own Six Flags/Carowinds-like wait time. I kept looking for the signs that say "Three Hours From This Point." You can easily spend an entire day trying to complete one seemingly simple transaction in a Peruvian bank.
I have learned that Peruvian men who are trying to rent property from you get testy
when you make them go to the bank with you to ensure that the check for their
security deposit and first month´s rent will indeed clear when deposited, especially
when you refuse to sign the rental contract until this information has been provided.
I have also discovered that their testiness elevates if you, a gringa woman, take too
long signing your name and placing your ink darkened index finger over your
signature using your unique fingerprint as a seal of authenticity.
It is no secret to anyone who lives here or has spent a considerable amount of
time here that as soon as they can talk and walk, Peruvian children are taught the
art of scamming gringos - a skill they take into their adulthood and professional lives.
If you want to become a respected gringo/gringa, you must stand up to them and
refuse to be run over, otherwise your name is known about town and every
"entrepreneur" will seek you out because you have the reputation of being an
easy mark. So...to say that it has been helpful that I am as stubborn as a mule,
more argumentative than a teenager, and as tenacious as a politician in the throes of
filibuster would be an understatement. At this point several boat drivers, hotel clerks,
restaurant managers, tenants, and a host of other unnamed victims have spread the
word that this gringa doesn´t take any junk - this is a good thing as I am beginning to
reap the fruits of my labors by not having to expend as much time wading through all
the crap an unsuspecting white person would normally be subjected to.
I mentioned in the beginning that I was battling a pervasive spirit of fear prior to leaving to come here as well as upon arriving here. There is not enough email space to relate to you the details of each occasion when my greatest fears have been realized here, but thereis no doubt that God meant for this to be a theme of my time here. Many of you have responded to me by sharing your wisdom, scriptures, and encouraging words. Additionally, God has spoken loudly and clearly during my quiet times as well as through some extrabiblical readings.
God has given me supernatural Spanish at times when no one more fluent was around
to help me. He has given those I´ve needed to converse with extra doses of patience
and the willingness to speak slowly so I could understand. He has given me a calmness
in the midst of situations that I knew nothing about handling and the ability to make
the best possible decisions until I could be in contact with the one person who does know the answers - and he is better than 6000 miles away in Charleston, SC. Whatever circumstances have arisen - and they have been many and very close together in occurrence He has provided exactly what I needed in that moment. Oh that I would learn to live in that kind of dependence on Him at home!
Last weekend a local Christian organization sponsored a city wide evangelistic event called the Festival de Los Rios. They brought in contemporary Christian Latino singers/groups, including Jaqi Velasquez (many of you know her in the U.S. for songs such as "I Get On My Knees") and an international evangelist who was from Brazil and spoke a mix of Spanish and Portuguese without a translator, making it entirely useless for me to try to understand. Nevertheless, part of this day-long event was a soccer match between the Iquitos men´s team and a summer men´s league from Salem, Oregon. After the Peruvian National Anthem, the six person band launched into "The Star-Spangled Banner." There I stood with Stephen and Margeaux; three gringos sticking out like bright orange buoys in a sea of Peruvians. I was still suffering from laryngitis, but I sang as best I could while my eyes floated in their own respective oceans of tears and cold chills ran through me. It felt so strange
yet so awesome to hear my National Anthem being played in a stadium in another country. As I lifted my eyes to the cloud filled sky, I understood the privilege of being a citizen of a country where, despite its many problems, is truly the land of the free.
In contrast, just yesterday I spent the better part of the day scrubbing the floor, washing glass encased cabinets, stocking those cabinets with suitcases full of donated medicines and supplies, attempting to restore our pharmacy room to its former glory, after which I sat and emptied another 6-7large suitcases full of donated clothes, sorting them into piles according to size and gender. With my mp3 player attached to my shorts and earphones in my ears, much to Villa´s amusement I danced and sang my way through the day, listening toa mix of my beloved country music, combined with an occasional disco tune from the 70´s (only in the jungle can one truly appreciate the talents of the Bee Gees, Earth, Wind & Fire, and Abba), and a heaping dose of my favorite praise & worship songs. The presence of the Holy Spirit was real and evident as my heart swelled with joy and contentment. At one point I sank to my knees on the pharmacy floor and offered God my tearful thanks for the privilege of being in this country where the needs are great and for enabling me to serve.
I have commented to several people in various emails that God is doing a mighty work in me this summer - but the more exciting part is that He is doing things right this minute that I am not even aware of and that He may not choose to reveal to me for many weeks and/or months to come. How precious and humbling the moments will be when I return to my "normal" life and suddenly realize that the solution to my current dilemma had already been worked out while I was half a world away in the Amazon Basin!
As I finish this journal a popular song from a few years back called "The Reason" is playing. Though the words below were not written to be spiritual in nature, they belie a deeper urge - a search to fill a void that is the unmistakable call of our Maker wooing us back to Himself:
"I´m not a perfect person...
But I just want you to know
I found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new...
A reason for all that I do
And the reason is you."
I pray for myself that I will daily realize my imperfection and that I will intimately know my Reason to start over; the Reason whose mercies are new every morning; the Reason who changes who I am from the inside out because I am human and unable to change myself.
For now I am off to my favorite restaurant - Chez Maggy - to eat Peruvian pizza and revel in my Beth Moore Bible study.
All my love to you all...
Pamelita
Journal #6
I hadn´t really planned to write tonight, but after reading the countless emails I´ve received from many of you regarding my journals I feel that I must.
God is good - that we know; but He is obviously better than my wildest imagination. I say that because the way I view myself and my experiences here is so different from the way itcomes across to you in my writing. I am overwhelmed by the kindess in your responses. Ipraise God that He is ministering to you through my journals, especially when to me they seem like endless ramblings of jumbled thoughts from a confused, scared, underequipped me. Thank you for graciously allowing me to work through my time here with you and for going along on the journey with me. You will never know how much your emails mean to me.
I finally made it to Santa Clara on Saturday morning. Medical Missions
business kept me from being able to go earlier in the week, but once I did
have time I must have had "Stupid Gringa" written across my forehead because
the boat drivers wanted to charge me nearly twice what I should be paying to
get a ride to the jungle. I argued and bargained with them for a couple of
days, each time walking away because they would not bend. As I mentioned in
my last email, the worst thing I could do for myself here is to become known
as being as easy target and succumb to their exaggerated prices. After
haggling with several drivers yesterday morning, one guy finally broke and
decided he needed the work, giving me the same reasonable price a Peruvian
would be asked to pay.
It is an understatement to say that I was excited to see the work that had
been done on the church since the Westminster Mission Team left. More than
half of three walls of bricks have been laid. There are already obvious
openings for windows and doors. Mind you, there´s still a lot of work to be
done, but they are determined to get the church finished. They have set an
ambitious date of completing the building by the end of August, but I
believe they will meet their self-imposed deadline. For those of you on the
WPC Team - I can´t wait for you to see my pictures!
I returned to Santa Clara this morning for the worship service. First I
have to tell you that both God and Peruvian boat drivers have a sense of
humor. What was supposed to be a boat that was "muy rapido" turned out to
be one that could be passed by a dugout canoe full of paddlers! The trip to
Santa Clara took about 50-55 minutes, while the return journey upstream
lasted an hour and a half. Trying to see my cup as half full instead of
feeling like a victim of boat driver retribution, however, I sat back and
took in my surroundings more fully than I have ever been able to on a fast
boat. My mind drifted to the first time I traversed the river and
momentarily I recaptured the awe I felt of being on the Amazon, drinking in
the beauty of a piece of God´s creation most of the world will never see.
What a blessing!
Pastor German´s sermon this morning was on the Parable of the Rich Young
Ruler. There is no conviction in the world like hearing a pastor and a
people who have virtually no material possessions and who need so much
preach and say Amen to the concept that money has no value when compared to
the gift of salvation through Christ´s death on the cross. It was a
poignant reminder of my own selfishness and materialistic mindset. As I sat
in the makeshift sanctuary - the pastor´s house - I looked to my left to see
one room of the house stacked nearly to the ceiling with bags of concrete
mix, shovels, buckets, saws, and a menagerie of other tools necessary for
construction. I looked ahead of me to the wooden partition that separates
the kitchen - not one brimming with a refrigerator, microwave, stove, oven,
drawers jammed with utensils, and cabinets ajar with pots, pans, and
Tupperware storage containers, but one accessorized with one cabinet, a
sink, two small stools, and a handmade table all in the space of about five
square feet - and thought about the many meals prepared and shared in those
tiny quarters not only by the pastor and his family, but also members of the
congregation and village at large. I looked to the closed door across from
the kitchen - the bedroom - the one bedroom - the only private space in the
house; and by private I mean the pastor and his wife share it with their
three daughters, one son-in-law, one grandson, and two parents of their
son-in-law - it is where all nine of them change clothes and sleep when the
whole family is in the jungle at the same time. I looked around the space I
sat in - the "living room," if you will. The room that just a week earlier
19 gringos had taken over, piling up their backpacks and oversized coolers
as though it were their own personal storage room, traipsing in mud and
sweat and who knows what else over the course of five days. Everything
Pastor German and his family have in this world was and is open and
available to gringos and Peruvians alike. I couldn´t help but think about
how much I needed to hear a sermon on how all the money in the world won´t
get me into heaven - that I am saved by grace through faith according to the
promises of a great and glorious God. Would I open my home in the same
manner? The conviction grows in me knowing what my honest answer to that
question is.
I am so blessed. Blessed to have a family that I love (especially my niece,
my "Boookie," whose face I cannot wait to kiss all over), a church family
that is so faithful and encouraging, friends who love me above and beyond
anything I should ever expect, and a Peruvian family - people whose faces
light up when they see me coming and whose eyes tear up when it is time for me to go.
I am so blessed.
I seem to be on a song kick lately, so I will leave you with a few lyrics of
a Casting Crowns song entitled "The Voice of Truth." Let us never forget
the Truth - as Christians we are blessed to be a blessing...
"Oh what I would do to have
The kind of faith it takes to climb out of this boat
And onto the crashing waves
To step out of my comfort zone
Into the realm of the unknown where Jesus is
And He´s holding out His hand
But the waves are calling out my name and they laugh at me
Reminding me of all the times I´ve tried before and failed
The voices in my head keep telling me time and time again,
´Boy, you´ll never win, you´ll never win!´
But the Voice of Truth tells me a different story
The Voice of Truth says, ´Do not be afraid´
The Voice of Truth says, ´This is for my glory´
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the Voice of Truth."
I love you all and am delighted to take this journey with you...
Pamelita
Journal #7
Happy 4th of July!
Yesterday was both the most trying day and
the most glorious day I´ve had since I have been
here. The morning began with the lock to
the pharmacy room breaking, leaving us without
access to many things we needed.
Utimately we sent Villa´s carpenter friend into
the "attic" (for lack of a better term) to crawl into
the space above the pharmacy and bust through
the ceiling. Once he was in there we still could not get the door open, so it was
necessary to destroy the knob in order to remove it. The whole ordeal
took the better part of 3 hours. In the middle of this chaos, Stephen
accidentally got his fingers caught up in the blades of a fan, losing a nice
chunk of flesh in the process. I sent him to the emergency room to get
stitched up, arriving at the conclusion that none of us would make good
thieves given our skills, or lack thereof, for breaking and entering!
About the time we were recovering from the near loss of an appendage, the
tenant of one of the Medical Missions properties began to complain about
nearly everything in his "casa," while the tenant of another property lodged
yet another complaint about his roof. So we ran here, there, and yonder
attempting to take care of everyone´s needs. It´s tough being a landlord by proxy.
The most heartwrenching part of the day was having to say good-bye to Pastor
German and his wife, Enith. Enith and I are birds of a feather. We are
close in age, share the same ideas about our walks with the Lord, and we
love each other very much. She is my best Peruvian friend and she has told
me that I am her only best friend. When I am here we often visit for hours
at a time. We share stories and photos - the records of our lives. We
promise each other every time I come here that we will not cry when we part
"this time," but it is a promise doomed to be broken. Yesterday we stood on
the street corner clinging to each other, close to sobs, hating the idea of separation.
It was necessary for us to say goodbye because I will not see her again
before I leave. She was headed back to Santa Clara and I will be returning
to the States this weekend. Some unfortunate circumstances here have me
returning about a week earlier than I originally planned. Medical Missions
has had a difficult time finding a reliable person to manage its business
and properties here. The most recent missionary family works for another
ministry and naturally their loyalties are to their own mission rather than
ours. They will be vacating our property soon, but for now there is a
conflict of interest with all of us living under the same roof. They are
great people and they love the Lord and desire to see the lost of Peru, and
I ask that you pray for them and their work here. At the same time I ask
that you pray for Medical Missions and the Amazon Mission Fellowship as we
begin to restore order after they move out of El Jardin in August.
As I said earlier, the day was glorious as well. There is glory in the
sadness of saying good-bye to my best Peruvian friend, because only God in
His infinitely perfect plan could take two women from two different cultures
on two separate continents and forge the kind of friendship we have. Only
God could ensure that two gringos (me and Stephen) and two Peruvians (Villa
and his carpenter friend) were able to scramble around for several hours
barking suggestions and orders at each other in both English and Spanish to
get a simple piece of wood barring us from entering a room in operational mode again.
Nowhere, though, was God and all His splendor seen more than last night as
Stephen, Freddy, and I dined at the floating restaurant - "Al Frio y Al
Fuego." Yes, you read the words correctly. From the port of Huequito you
board a special taxi boat just for the restaurant and glide through the
waters of the Itaya River until you reach a two story wonder. From the
outside during daylight hours the restaurant looks like an upper class
version of a floating house in Belen, but upon entering it is a beautiful,
exquisite dining experience. The first floor is the bar and lounge area
while the second floor houses the restaurant. The "building" is open so the
river breezes waft around you as top-notch chefs prepare your food in the
center of the room when you order it.
Last night was a perfect night. As we ate we watched the moon rise through
low-hanging, scanty clouds and emerge to join the stars in a clear evening
sky. Freddy did the honors of pointing out the Southern Cross to me and
Stephen - a constellation to be beheld only in the southern hemisphere. The
foreign sky sparkled with the evidence of its Creator.
As I sit here, ineptly describing what no words can express, I once again
hear the echoes of the Peruvian voices lifted in praise several Sundays ago
- "a Dios sera la gloria!" And so I close with the English lyrics of this
song that convey what I am unable to:
My Tribute
by Andrae Crouch
How can I say thanks for the things You have done for me?
Things so undeserved, yet You give to prove Your love for me.
The voices of a million angels could not express my gratitude.
All that I am and ever hope to be, I owe it all to Thee.
To God be the glory,
To God be the glory,
To God be the glory, for the things He has done.
With His blood He has saved me; with His power He has raised me,
To God be the glory, for the things He has done.
Just let me live my life. Let it be pleasing, Lord, to Thee,
And if I gain any praise let it go to Calvary.
With His blood He has saved me; with His power He has raised me,
To God be the glory, for the things He has done.
To Him who is able to do great and mighty things and to you my beloved
family and friends...
hasta pronto!
Pamelita
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