![]() In Genesis 1:26-27, we read that God created man in his own image and likeness. As a parent, I can somewhat liken this idea to the fact that our children carry our genes and in doing so, carry our image and our likeness. Sometimes they appear more like us than other times, in both physical appearance as well as personality and character traits. For me, I know that I have been made in God’s image, but sadly I also know that I am a poor image bearer at times. I think of myself as a fruit basket… the basket represents God’s image in me, or you might see it from the perspective that the basket is the Holy Spirit within me. Over time, my basket has grown in its ability to function and to bear fruit. Sometimes, I am a really capable basket and I bear fruit well: as in Galatians 5:22, sometimes I am doing well, I’m in balance spiritually, and I am doing a decent job of showing love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. In other words, the image of God is shining through and I am bearing His image well. Yet, there are other times when I manage to ‘upset the apple cart’, so to speak (forgive the pun). This week was one of those times: I’ve been having a particularly difficult time with our mission work and a transition that is in process. It is taking its toll in many ways. I’m WAY out of balance spiritually, emotionally, and physically. And when I’m out of balance, sin finds an easy foothold. I have been stressed, tired, very emotional, physically in pain… and the downward spiral is hard to control. So, a couple of days ago, my emotions (and sin) got the best of me and I became venomous. Suffice to say, I was NOT a good example of the image of God. I was less-than loving, less-than joyful or peaceful, much less-than patient or kind. I’m positive that goodness was not in me that day, nor was gentleness or self-control. But what was still there was the image… or the fruit basket. Today, days after upsetting the balance of everything and spoiling all of the good fruits I had, I’m working to restore balance and ask for forgiveness of all who were left in the wake. No matter what we do or how much trouble we cause or how much the balance is upset, we cannot erase the image of God. Just as our children cannot erase the genes of their parents and won’t ever lose that inheritance, we cannot lose the image in which we were created. ‘All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus’ (Rms. 3:23-24). The image is still there. All have sinned. All have fallen. But the image remains. As a coach, counselor, and caregiver, I think the message that many need to hear is that ‘it’s not over yet!’ The image is still there! Through Christ, there is grace - grace enough to allow us to re-balance the basket and begin to replace the lost fruit. Interesting how fruit was the image in the beginning of sin, but fruit is also the image to show us how to move forward and be better image bearers. So grateful for grace today, as I work to upright my apple cart… A few weeks ago, after giving a short talk in Atlanta on the ministry and what we do in Peru, a gentleman asked me, "What do they call you?" I was taken aback by the question for a minute.
"What do you mean, exactly?", I questioned. "I mean, how do you fit into the community? How do they see you? What place do you hold?" I had to laugh in thinking about that question again this morning as I watched Billy open the front gate in his bathrobe, giant pipe wrench in hand. A neighbor was outside the gate with a broken pipe fitting and she brought it to Billy to try to pry open. In this case, on this day, we 'fit' into the community as plumbers. Actually, this has happened on many an occasion and the community has come to know Billy as the guy who has all the tools that might be needed, as well as the know-how to fix almost everything. So, I guess a lot of times, Billy is a Fix-it-Man. Two days ago, a young mother was knocking on our door for advice about her daughter's fever. This, too, happens a lot. When someone needs a bandaid or cotton balls or guaze, first aid help, or minor medical advice, they often come to see us. There is a medical post down the hill (about a 30 minute walk) or up the hill (about a 20 minute walk), but both posts are not manned full-time - only a couple of days a week for a couple of hours. For real medical help, people must go to the next "big town" (a 20 minute drive in a taxi), or go to Huancayo (a 45 minute - 1 hour ride in a taxi or combi van). In the case of mild injuries, first aid, or motherly advice, we are the go-to people. So, sometimes, we hold the position of local community health folks. We hold other 'roles' as well... sometimes, we are the people who always have eggs. Sometimes, we are the English homework helpers. Sometimes, we are the people who know how to give parasite medicine to animals. We are the people who have an extra pick and shovel to loan out. We have been called on to be the emergency fix-the-broken-water-line people. Occasionally, we are the people who will give the little old ladies a ride down the mountain so they can go to town to shop. Of course, we have always held the roles of teachers and missionaries, but somehow those began to fade away as we built deeper relationships and gained new names and roles. In our time here, we have been called "Hermano and Hermana" (Christian brother and sister) most often. But we have also had many days that we have been called Professor, Teacher, Pastor, and Doctor. I was especially excited on the day that I was finally called Tia (aunt) by some neighbor children... to be called Tia was a sign that I had finally arrived at the most informal, familial place I could possibly hold. We also became Neighbor and Family during the past year - true milestones. I'm still not exactly sure how to answer the question posed to me a few weeks ago, "What do they call you?" Seems like a really long list and a long answer! I think that I can sum up all of the above into three names: Family, Neighbor, Friend. And really, that's all I ever wanted to be! ![]() I just returned from spending several days with family. We gathered for the exciting occasion of seeing our oldest son graduate from university. Being missionary parents from 3000 miles away is not easy or fun – we were NOT going to miss out on graduation! Not all of the extended family could come so far away, but several aunts and uncles and cousins, grandmothers, a great grandmother, sisters and brothers were present. I have to be honest –generally, the days leading up to these gatherings are brutal for me. I really want to see everyone, but the anticipation of the family dynamics and relationships set me on edge. I am really an introvert who puts on an extrovert face when out in public. The truth is that one-on-one conversations or small gatherings are much more my style. So the idea of a big family gathering is usually a little unnerving. In the words of my mother, “just the thought makes my neck itch”. I just want everything to go well and for everyone to get along. As usual, things went great. That’s how it usually happens… I get all stressed and worked up about it, in anticipation of the ‘what ifs’ and the possible scenarios that generally don’t come to pass. Actually, I really enjoyed the time together. I had a great time catching up on family things that I have missed while out of the country. Spending time sitting and chatting with siblings, watching the cousins hang out together, hearing news about others in the family who couldn’t make it, and reconnecting. It was great! We were even privileged to meet several of our son’s friends and get to know them a little better – they have become his family, of sorts, and so they are important to us, too. On the last morning of our visit, the whole gang headed to the IHOP for a farewell breakfast. As we sat there and enjoyed our last moments together for a while, I was ever so tuned in to the variety in the family conversation. Families have a way of talking all over the place and somehow it all connects. During this morning’s conversation, we shared old stories – about the time when Billy broke his ankle jumping out of a friend’s jeep, how that event and the broken ankle later caused our boys to need to crawl under the house and extract the very dead opossum, somehow that story warped into a discussion on a specialized type of amphibian worm-thing that lives underground which was then shown around the table via smart phone internet photos, a discussion on snakes and organ growth, remembering the time that Granny put a live boa in her purse to go into a restaurant because it was too hot to stay in the car, remembering the meteor shower that always occurred during our annual family trip to the farm, recalling the times when they boys blew up various and assorting things in the backyard, etc. Throw into this conversation a couple of sidebars on syrup flavors, remembering when we used to pick strawberries and blueberries and make homemade jellies, a retelling of the story of the squirrel that was kept as a pet and the subsequent other random pets that we all remember, a small side conversation that was an obvious attempt at stirring up family controversy (failed attempt, thank goodness), and a discussion about the beach trip from the day before and the ‘shark sighting’that turned out to be a plastic whale toy. I was participating in the conversation, but at the same time, was keenly aware of the diversity and randomness of it all. And the fact that we had a newcomer at the table made me even more aware – Was she thinking that we are all crazy? How is she viewing this conversation? I had a deep respect for the family ‘culture shock’ that she must be experiencing during this loco breakfast conversation! I finally decided that if she could live through a weekend family gathering like this, she can do anything! The weekend finally came to a close and we had to say our goodbyes until our next trip to the USA. I left feeling so blessed to have this family, to have spent these special days together, and to have experienced yet another foray into the art of family conversations. So much history and relationship was expressed during these days. Once again, we left our family and friends behind as we headed back to our mission field of service. Months, sometimes years, go by between these fun times together. Our hearts hurt deeply as we realized how much we miss them and long for those crazy, random conversations that say so much about who we all are. Can’t wait till Christmas! What will we talk about then?! ![]() Lately, life on our little mission farm has been a little crazy. Okay, it has been A LOT crazy. Along with the everyday ministry responsibilities of running two education centers, feeding the abandoned elderly in our village, discipling and empowering our Peruvian team, and other daily life duties, we have had a few added issues in the past weeks. Short-term mission teams have been visiting and serving alongside us and The Mission Society has been in Peru hosting their annual 3-week missionary training event. But the thing that has really caused my life to go completely out of whack has been these crazy goats that we are raising! This month has brought the birth of 3 new kids. I can't tell you how cute and sweet baby goats are! They have been such a joy. And with babies comes increased milk production, which means increased work load on us each day to milk goats and make cheese. However, life with this small herd of twelve has now become more than stressful. For example: We came home one day to find one of our adolescent goats with her head stuck in a hole in the fence. We sprang into crisis mode to free her head as several of her goat friends eagerly and curiously watched the commotion. The very next morning, we were awakened to a very pained cry from one of the babies. He had gotten his leg caught in a feeding stand and in his panic, he snapped his own leg. So we became emergency vets and fashioned a splint from a wooden fruit crate and duct tape. The next day, one of the mama goats decided to give birth to her baby directly on top on a rock hill, which resulted in the tiny newborn immediately rolling down the hill and into a ditch full of water (our mornings have been 28 degrees). Her first breaths were under freezing water. Luckily, we were coming into the barnyard as this occurred and we were able to rescue her and dry and warm her and restore her breathing. We have another goat that is so paralyzed by fear and is so timid that she crawls on her knees and lives under the feeding manger, only eating what she can catch as it spills out and falls to the ground. Our male "billy" goat can't decide if he is going to be a full grown male or if he is still a kid... If he is near his mother, he wants to nurse; if he isaround the other females, he is more than interested in making baby goats; if he is near the babies, he wants to play, but he plays too rough. So poor "Elmer" spends most of his time separated from the general population and playing with the chickens in the hen yard. "Sunny" thinks that she is a human and is constantly glued to your leg when you are working in the goat yard. If she isn't given the proper amount of attention, she butts you, pushes you, paws you... She has even been known to chew a six inch chunk of hair off of the back of my daughter's head when she wanted attention! Two days ago, we woke up to find our full grown pig in the goat pen. She is in heat and she decided to tear down her pig house and her fence, break open the gate to the goats, and spend her evening wreaking havoc on the goat herd. Most recently, yesterday brought the early death of one of our new babies. Only four days old, she never would nurse from her mother. We milked out the mom and tried to bottle feed the baby, but she never accepted the bottle either. We watched for days as her mother worked and worked to care for her, to clean her, to coax her to nurse, and cooed to her continually, but she finally became too weak and stopped breathing. The above is just a sample of what our last two weeks has looked like with the goats. As I was feeding and tending to the animals today, I was thinking about how we feel about them - how we love them, how we care about their well being, how we lament when they do crazy things and hurt themselves in the process, and how we worry for them and mourn them when things don't work out like we wish they would have. It made me laugh a little to think about how God probably looks at us in the same manner... We don't generally get our heads stuck in the fence or chew off our friend's hair when they don't pay attention to us, but we have our own issues. Some of us seek attention from others in less than appropriate or annoying ways. Some of us panic and do further harm to ourselves, when staying calm and trusting others would have been a better plan. Some of us haven't decided to fully grow up yet. Some of us navigate our lives with such timidity and fear that we are not really living life at all. Some of us have been less-than-perfect parents. And some of us have been the best parent we possibly can be and things still haven't worked out like we had wished. I know that sometimes He has laughed at our antics and situations, sometimes He shakes his head at our decisions, and sometimes He cries with us. Above all, He is the Good Shepherd and He wants what is best for us. Oh, the lessons I have learned from being a first-time shepherd... Now if I could just figure out what to do with the 20 chickens and the crazy pig... Who stretches your mind?
Who shares your tears? Who rebukes you? Who coaches you? Who protects you? Who plays with you? Who seeks God with you? Who listens to you and encourages your dreams? These questions are from the book A Resilient Life by Gordon MacDonald. The names that make up the answers to these questions constitute your inner circle group of friends and mentors – your Happy Few. This has been quite possibly the number one most difficult issue for us since leaving the USA for the mission field… the change/ loss of our Happy Few. Back in Texas, I didn’t even have to think about the answers to these questions. Their names were a part of my everyday life. These people were so interconnected to my soul that they were as important as breathing for me. When I had a bad day, I knew exactly who to call. When I felt like I couldn’t find the answers, when I needed to go have fun, when I needed to bounce a difficult situation off of someone else’s brain… I knew exactly who the right people were for these tasks. They were the Happy Few. They were the people who showed up when I was sick and took care of my kids and husband. They were the people who surrounded me when a perceived injustice was afoot. They were the friends who knew, just by looking at my face, exactly what I was thinking and exactly what I needed at the moment. They were also the people who were there when we struggled with saying goodbye to life in the USA and setting out into the unknown of Peru. Since our move into full-time missions and a life outside the USA, our Happy Few has slowly changed. Not that they aren’t still dear friends, but they are now 3000+ miles away and the physical distance makes life “different”. When we are back in the USA, we can count on having our Happy Few around us. When we’re home, they are right there to listen, to play, to laugh, to share. They are the people who could always be found sitting on my porch. When we are home, we sit on someone else’s porch now, but the love and the friendship is still rich. It has been difficult to live life without our Happy Few. We have tried to find people in our new culture who could be our “Peruvian happy few”, but relationships of any sort come slowly here and really true, deep relationships (the kind we knew in the States) are almost non-existent in a culture with such deep-rooted distrust and self-preservation survival issues. Sometimes we think that we are close to finding that special someone who can fill the shoes and be the answer to one of the roles of the Happy Few, but then we feel the distance again and we realize that we are possibly as close as we will ever be able to get to most people here. We will forever be the gringos or the missionaries or the foreigners, even though we live here and have assimilated into the community and work side-by-side. Many have even told us that they trust us more than they trust their other neighbors or friends. But there is still an invisible wall… We will forever be more ‘north american’ than‘peruvian’ no matter how much we try, and perhaps this plays a major part in our “Happy Few”. Today, our ‘new, long distance Happy Few’ looks a little different than it did a few years ago. We have a dear friend that has been an important accountability partner and listening ear to us. He calls regularly to check up on us, to encourage us, to spur us on, and to pray with us. He is responsible for our entire ministry today, as it was him who held our feet to the fire and pushed us to take an important step to open the first part of the ministry here. There is another friend from back home who regularly sends us mail (REAL mail with stamps and handwritten notes!) and encourages us. Within the past year, I have been blessed with three female relationships that have been such a breath of fresh air for me. One is physically here and we meet weekly for coffee and much-needed ‘girl-talk’ time. The two others are long-distance friends who have begun to share life with me via Skype, email, and Facebook. The beauty of these relationships is made in the transparency and the depth at which we can share, laugh, and cry together. I thank God for my new Happy Few, for my old Happy Few, and for the future personalities that I know he will place in my path. I encourage you to recognize how blessed you are if you have a Happy Few and to tell them so today. They are truly a gift from God! Life without a Happy Few is rough… find a few with whom you can walk the path together. My husband built a large campfire tonight. The temperature is dropping toward freezing and the frost will be heavy
tonight in the Peruvian Andes. A big campfire is a fun diversion, and also a necessary heat source in our rural home. As the evening grew later, my daughter filled the dog bowls. The sound of the dog chow hitting the metal bowls was just too much for Luna, our yellow lab. For the past hour, Luna has been cowering on the porch in fear of the campfire that we have in the courtyard tonight. But, at the sound of food hitting her bowl, the previously fearful, trembling Luna bounded through the yard and through the fire to get to the food. If we were social or animal behavioral scientists, we could conclude one of three things here… A) Luna is starving, or B) Purina Dog Chow is incredible, or C) Luna is crazy. Well, I can promise you that Luna is NOT starving, as is evidenced by the fact that she has quite the tubby figure and is often nicknamed “Gorda” (Fatty) by our neighbors. So that leaves us with option B or C. And the truth is probably somewhere in the middle of both. To Luna, Purina Dog Chow is absolutely fabulous. And, Luna is a little crazy. Truth be told, food is Luna’s passion, and she stops at just about nothing (not even fire!) to get to it. I was thinking about this as I watched the campfire tonight. What will we do for our passions? Luna was fearful of the fire. It was threatening to her. But for food? Even fire couldn’t stop her. This reminded me of our initial calling to the mission field. There was fear… fear of the unknown, fear of possible failure, fear of giving up everything back home, fear of leaving the familiar for the unfamiliar, fear of going to a country that had only recently ended 20 years of terrorism and civil war. Our families and friends back home had fears for us and our safety. But our calling was so strong! Our passion fueled us. The fears could not hold us back. We surged forward toward the passion that called us. Some called us crazy, too, like Luna. Many thought we were being unreasonable and irresponsible. But that passion… that was too strong. We couldn’t ignore it. Nothing could stop us from that drive to push forward. We continue to be drawn and fueled by a passion and a calling. It is something so strong that our fears of the unknown, the “what ifs”, the possibility of failure, the perceived threats – those just aren’t strong enough to hold us back. When passion and calling take over, there is an unstoppable force that wells up inside and drives you forward. It’s an indescribable, inexplicable power and desire that comes from deep within and calls us… Through the fire, toward the prize. ![]() My quiet reading time was continually being interrupted by the whirlwind of action going on around me. As I sat in the sunshine and read my book, my daughter was scooping up water in her cupped hands and trying to walk as fast as possible toward her best friend, Charlotte, without spilling the water. Charlotte was not as keen on the likely outcome of this idea, and continually ducked and scurried out of reach just as the water leaked out of Sarah’s cupped hands. Frustrated, she would run back to the water bucket, cup her hands, and again scoop up as much water as possible, turning and speed walking again in the direction of Charlotte. “What exactly are you trying to do with the water?”, I asked. “I’m trying to baptize Charlotte”, was the innocent answer. Now, at this point in the story, I should probably tell you that Sarah’s best friend Charlotte is actually a dog. Sarah continued with her quest to carry the water to Charlotte and ‘baptize’ her. I smiled and considered the scene that I was watching. Sarah was chasing down her target, and Charlotte was doing everything she could to stay just out of reach of the water. “Sarah, it doesn’t appear to me that Charlotte actually wants to be baptized”, I said. “Well why not? It’s just water”, she argued. Eventually, Sarah was able to coordinate the carrying of the water, the fast walking, and the cornering of Charlotte. Charlotte was ‘baptized’ in the corner of the yard when she finally had nowhere else to turn. Poor thing… cowering in the corner, she relented to the inevitable and played along, allowing Sarah to dump water on her head (just a couple of tablespoons, by the time she finally captured her). Sarah was quite proud of herself and decided to go for a second baptism, this time setting her sights on our big yellow lab. “Sarah, why are you baptizing the dogs?” “Because that’s what we need to do.” “But why? What is baptism?”, I probed. “It’s when you put water on someone’s head”, she said, looking at me like I had suddenly lost my memory and had gone temporarily insane. “But why? Why do you put water on their head?” “I don’t know. You just do”, was the innocent reply. Oops… somewhere we missed a very important explanation and teaching point! So I began to explain about baptism and what it means and the symbolism surrounding it. And finally, I explained that you can’t force baptism on anyone – it is a personal decision. You can’t just attack someone with water when they are cornered and have no way out. It is a personal discussion with Jesus and a personal choice to accept Him in your life. Sarah sat and listened and pondered all that was said. Her response to the lesson was, “Well, I’m sure that if Charlotte could talk, she would say that she wants Jesus to be her Father. So, I’m baptizing her.” Well… okay. Who am I to stand in the way of an eight-year old missionary determined to bring her best friend into the Kingdom? J During my quiet time each day, I read from various different sources in addition to my Bible and current bible study
materials. It is always interesting to me when these sources seem to “align themselves” and speak to me on the same theme. I generally take this as a ‘sign’ to dig a little deeper into this theme and see if there is something that God is trying to say to me or show me. Last week, two of my devotional readings for the day hovered over the theme of trust and trusting Him. Some quotes from those readings include: ‘Just trust Me in everything. Help is here all the time.’ ‘…simple trust and persistent prayer…’ ‘Trust is not a natural response.’ ‘Tomorrow is busy worrying about itself. Don’t get tangled up in its worry. Trust Me one day at a time.’ True, I guess, that worry is a symptom of incomplete trust. Because if I truly trusted Him to take care of everything and work things out in His way and His plan, then there would be no reason to worry. But it’s that “free will” business that causes me to fear – I know that He gave humans free will to make their own decisions and go their own way. And I know that I cannot trust humans (myself included!) to make decisions that are completely correct, completely within His will and His plan, and that won’t harm me or others. The vulnerability and frailty in that idea is sometimes overwhelming! The more I thought on this, the more I realized its truth in my life. I thought of all of the things that I am currently concerned with and worried about – the things that drain the joy out of each day. For me, right now, those items include worry about a couple of relationships and how those issues are going to play out, worry and concern for an upcoming trip that my husband is going to take deep into the jungle (safety), concern for another missionary couple, stress for some issues in the ministry that are particularly difficult right now… I began to analyze each of these to decide exactly what was making me stressed and worried, and the bottom line was basically that (#1) I can’t control the decisions and actions of others, (#2) I have a deep desire to make good decisions regarding all of these issues and want to be within God’s will, but I do not trust myself to always discern those decisions correctly, and (#3) I worry about the impact of my decisions and the decisions of others on the ministry and on other people. I worry that with free will also comes the freedom to make bad choices, accidently (or on purpose) hurt others, make grave mistakes, etc. And this sometimes makes me ‘decision impaired’. Can I change any of this and force people to make good decisions or use their free will wisely? No. But it is true – if I trusted Him more, I would worry less. If I truly believed that He is in control and has a plan, then I could relax a little more. And who couldn’t use a little less worry and stress in life?! And so I am left with trust and prayer. I’m working on it. It’s hard to let go of some of those things and give them to God with complete trust that He is fully capable of dealing with them. It’s even more difficult to forgive myself when I make bad choices or inadvertently hurt others because I wasn’t 100% in-tune with His plan. As I fall deeper and deeper into step with Him and follow Him more and more closely, I realize just how much more I need to know and just how much further I am from truly understanding Him. So there is definitely more work to be done in my personal trust-and-prayer department! I just pray that the decisions of today will be treated with grace and mercy… I am currently reading A Resilient Lifeby Gordon MacDonald. In my reading yesterday, I came across a quote and story about Father Jeremiah, a priest living in the Coptic Monastery of St. Macarius in Egypt. The quote that struck me was when Father Jeremiah said, “I am not yet a Christian, but I have seen them.”
Here is this man, dedicated to serving the Lord, living in the Egyptian desert in a monastery, and he claims that he is not a Christian yet. The reading goes on to talk about the “process” – “the becoming” of our lives. We do not attain something by the mere fact that we have stated it in words, but by the process in which we begin to live from that moment forward and the constant mindset that we are a work-in-progress, working to attain that for which we are striving. This reminded me of our time in missionary training. During that time, we took an intensive course on language acquisition techniques. The teacher was a phenomenal man with a wealth of wisdom and “been there, done that” in his belt. One of the things that he really stressed to us as newly hatched missionaries is that there would be times when things aren’t going to go as planned. There would be times when it was going to be very difficult. There would be days when we would eventually, in exasperation and frustration, say things like, “I can’t speak this language!”, or “I just don’t understand this culture!” But, according to this incredible mentor, our lives would benefit greatly if we would just learn to use a very special, very small, yet highly impacting word – “yet”. You see, if you are frustrated and you blurt out, “I can’t speak this language!”, you are admitting defeat. You have let the language and your frustration win the battle. But, if you remember to add “yet” to the end of the sentence, then the meaning changes to become one of hope. Try it… “I can’t speak this language, yet.” You see? It implies that you are still working on it, that you are in the process, that there will come a time in the future when you CAN do it. Here, try it again… “I just don’t understand this culture, yet.” (So I’m going to keep digging and questioning, and looking for understanding. Cultural adjustment is a process.) “I can’t seem to manage all these things on my list, yet.” (But I’ll keep trying. My life is a process and I will eventually become someone who can manage life better.) “I don’t get why Jack is so difficult during our meetings, yet.” (I’m going to keep working on understanding him and what is behind his emotions each week. Maybe we don’t have enough of a relationship,yet, for him to be comfortable in meetings. Relationship is a process.) I really needed to be reminded of my language mentor teacher this week. I have been leaving the “yet” off of a lot of my thoughts and feelings over the past few days and weeks. Maybe that is why things have seemed so difficult and frustrating, and at times, hopeless. Maybe I forgot that my life is a process and that I am always on a path of becoming something better. So I’m letting “Yet” back into my life and my vocabulary and my thoughts… I happily send him to your door as well, with my high recommendations. He’s a pretty good friend to have. Call on him often! I pray that he brings a lot of hope and encouragement to your life. The phone rang at 5:30 a.m. – never a good sign. Billy went into the office to take the call, but I could hear him saying, “Please repeat! I’m not understanding. Please repeat!” I hurriedly put on my robe and went to the office. Billy handed the phone to me and said, “It’s Flor (my best friend’s daughter). Something is wrong with Mama Victoria, but I can’t understand her.” I quickly understood why… Flor was crying and panicked and going back and forth between Spanish and Quechua. “You have to come now. Mi mamacha (‘my grandmother’ in Quechua) is bad. Mama Victoria is bad. She’s really bad. Come now!” I assured her that we would rush to them, fully knowing that “rush”meant that it would take us a full 40+ minutes to get to the other side of the valley and up the mountain. We quickly dressed and woke my mother to fill her in so that she could stay behind and watch Sarah, our daughter. As we headed for the truck, the phone rang again. “Don’t come. She is worse. They are taking her to Huancayo to the hospital. They are coming to the hospital by your house. Wait for them! They are coming!” And so we waited. And we paced the floor. And we wondered, what could have happened? We were just with Mama Victoria yesterday afternoon. She was running down the path with her 4 year old granddaughter and the sheep, laughing and fussing at the same time – she did that so well! What on earth could have happened between now and last evening?
Mama Victoria is the matriarch of the community of Patarcocha. In her late 80s (conflicting information has her at either 86 years old or 89 years old), she is as bubbly and alive as anyone I know. She spends her days sitting in the fields being a shepherd to her sheep and cow. Most days, her grandchildren play at her side as she watches animals and spins wool or knits or harvests crops in the fields. She is always happy to have company, including “gringos” who don’t always speak the best Spanish or Quechua but absolutely love to be by her side. She is a storyteller, and she welcomes the opportunity to tell about the community, her life as a girl, or about her family. She is also comfortable with silence – we have sat together in silence many times, just working quietly and watching the sheep. On numerous occasions, she called me “hijita”, the endearing term for daughter in Spanish. Her real daughter, Elva, is my best friend. Mama Victoria worries over me, always being sure that I have a hat on to keep the sun from burning my head, or making sure I have a “manta” or wool blanket around my shoulders so I don’t get too cold and get sick. She plays with my daughter and fusses at my husband and I if we are too parental. Just a year ago, Mama Victoria accepted Christ. I won’t take credit for that. I know that Christ was always in her heart. Someone had planted that seed long, long ago. But, through a series of life events, that seed had grown and withered, grown again and withered again, over and over until it just lay dormant within her. I just happened to have the honor of being a part of the new growth that began in her as a result of God leading us to this community two years ago. Through the relationships that developed during our time in Peru, Mama Victoria became a full believer and a witness for her community. Also, just a year ago, we had the honor and privilege of celebrating her birthday with her and a team of short-term medical missionaries who were here working in the area. In her always-welcoming fashion, she opened her home to this team of North Americans that she hadn’t ever met and offered that we have a traditional feast. We had a birthday cake and sang to her, and it dawned on me that on this birthday in her 80s, she was actually celebrating a New Life in Christ. All of these thoughts were going through my mind as we waited for their arrival. I continued to worry and think through the possibilities of what could have happened? Did she fall? That wouldn’t surprise me…she’s spunky and always trying to do everything herself. What is taking so long? There probably weren’t any taxis. We should have gone out there to get her. Then I started to second-guess my Spanish and my understanding of Flor’s phone call. Did she say that we needed to come and take her to the hospital? Did she say that we should meet them at the hospital? What if we misunderstood?! We’ve been sitting here waiting for almost an hour! What if we made a mistake!!!??? Billy grabbed the phone and tried to call back. Flor answered, and I could tell from Billy’s face that he definitely understood this conversation. He sank into the chair and his lip began to quiver as he tried to hold his voice steady to calm Flor. Mama Victoria had died before they got to Huancayo. Flor said that Elva and Elvis (Elva’s oldest son) were on their way to our house, please wait. And so we waited, numb from the news and confused by this new realization that our Mama Victoria was gone. And, we were suddenly panicked and confused, too… we know nothing about what happens in this culture when there is a death! What is our role in this? What should we do or not do? What will happen in the next couple of days? How can we help and be supportive, yet culturally sensitive? We had no idea! Elva and Elvis appeared at our home and fell into our arms. We cried and cried in our living room as we held our friends and tried to comfort them and support them in their grief. Elva composed herself enough to say, “You are family. I need you. Please come home with us. We have lots to do. How am I ever going to do this? How can I live without Mama Victoria? I’ve never lived alone. She has always been by my side. Now what? You are family. You have to come home with me. Come be with us, please.” We agreed to go with them immediately and be with the family. Thus began the funeral process. Immediately upon leaving our home, we drove Elva and Elvis to the town where Mama Victoria had died. The body was still at the health post (there isn’t a hospital here) and the post was waiting for the funeral workers to come get her. We went with Elva to find the mortician. He wasn’t home, so his daughter ran down the street to try to find him. We waited in the street next to a snack vendor and a group of men who were mixing cement. This seemed so surreal to me and I felt so bad for Elva. Her mother just died and she is standing in the middle of the street waiting for someone to find the mortician? When he finally arrived, the arrangements were made while we stood in the street. He asked Elva questions and she made quick decisions. He barked out orders to some young boys who began filling a truck with a casket, candles, kneeling bench, and flower vases. Elva left her son, Elvis, with the mortician to help guide him to the house and we left with Elva in our truck. We went up the mountain to the rustic adobe house that had been Mama Victoria’s birthplace and has ever since been the family home. We found Flor crying on the porch with one of her brothers. Cielo, the 4 year old, came up to me and said, “My mamacha was sick. Now she’s dead.” I bent down and picked her up and held her. And we talked about God and heaven. I was so glad at that moment that Cielo had been a part of our education ministry for the past two years and she knew God and Jesus and heaven! Elva franticly began barking orders at the older kids, “We have to clean up the downstairs porch. Sweep this area. Get all of this cleaned up. We’ll set the casket here,”as she motioned to the children. Did she just say ‘we’ll set the casket here?’ The mortician’s truck slowly made it’s way up the mountain and we went out to meet it. The mortician and his helpers and Elvis got out and began unloading. Billy went up to help carry things. There were stands for the casket that needed to be set in place first. Then the candelabras were set. Then the casket was unloaded and carried to the porch, but it was set on a table, not on the stands. What is that about? Why didn’t they place the casket? I would find out the answer as soon as I turned around. The last thing to come out of the truck was Mama Victoria’s body, wrapped in wool blankets that Elva had taken to the clinic in the wee hours of the morning when Victoria was so sick. Her body was carried to her bedroom and laid in the bed. Several women from the community had gathered by now and they went straight to Mama Victoria’s body. Crying and reminiscing, they slowly began the task of undressing the body. They bathed her. They washed and combed her hair. They selected her best clothing and dressed her for the casket. Then someone called for a needle and thread to close her eyes and mouth. The whole time, they cried and talked and remembered the wonderful woman that she was. I participated, but my mind was screaming a thousand thoughts. “I’m not sure how I feel about this. It seems like too much to ask the family and friends to be responsible for this. To wash her and dress her. Would I want my friends doing this for me upon my death? Do I want Billy or my children to be responsible for this? In a way, this is very beautiful. The idea that the community is here for Elva in this time. The idea that these women are so closely knit that they are even together in death. The idea that the family is involved and not secluded. I don’t know. What do I feel right now?” When Victoria was ready, she was placed in the casket and the casket was placed on the stands at the end of the dirt-floor porch under the exposed eucalyptus beams that only an hour before had been the drying place for several hundred ears of corn. The community women began their tasks and went their separate ways with, what seemed to me like, very little planning or communicating. But they knew their tasks well. Some went to begin cooking for the next stages of the funeral process. Some went to gather the rest of the community and give out information. Some made plans for the vigil and visitation. I was so confused as to what my role was at this moment. I had been told that I was family, but what does family do right now? So I just asked. “Elva, I don’t know what to do. Tell me what I need to do, what happens next, what you need from me. I want to understand and do the right thing, but I don’t know. I’ve never been to a Peruvian funeral before.” Elva just hugged me and said not to worry. “It will all just happen. We’ll do it together. Right now, we have to go back to town to buy some things that we will need tonight for the vigil, and my culture says that I have to wear black for the next year. I don’t have any black. So we need to go shopping.” So off we went. An hour or so later, we had 100 pounds of potatoes in the truck, some other food items, a black hat, a black sweater, a black apron, and some black shoes. Back up the mountain we went, to deliver Elva and the food items to the house. That night, and every night until the burial, Mama Victoria would lie in the casket on the porch while family and friends would come to pay their respects and sit with the family. It is culturally inappropriate for the family to sleep until the burial, so as not to leave the deceased alone. A most beautiful thing began to take place for us… since we were obviously the “adopted family” and we did not know the customs surrounding the funeral process, the community began to gently teach us during every part. They would tell us what was going on, why it was done that way, and what we should do. For example, the deceased can’t be left alone because bad spirits could come and enter the body. For this reason, the family and friends take vigil around the body all day and all night until the burial. Cigarettes are passed around the circle, but not actually for smoking purposes. When the cigarette passes to you, you are to draw in a mouthful of smoke and blow it out into the air of the circle of family, friends, and the deceased so as to confuse the spirits so they can’t enter the area, and more importantly, so they don’t enter you as you stand vigil. There is a liqueur passed around in tiny doses (maybe a teaspoon or two) that you are to drink to kill off any bad health issues that may be hanging in the area and entering your mouth as you stand vigil. Also, the liqueur is to help warm you during your vigil, as the temperatures in the night drop to freezing. We were so honored by the care that the community took to share their customs and ideas with us. But, even more honoring, was the fact that they told us on numerous occasions that we could pass on any of these customs without judgment. As we watched, we noticed that several people in the community passed on the cigarettes as they traveled around the circle, or politely held up their hand in a gesture of “no thank you” when the liqueur came by. The community was not giving us the okay to pass just because we were outsiders. No, it was okay for anyone to observe the custom or not – no judgment from either party. And so went the days until the burial of Mama Victoria on the third day. The burial was preceded by a funeral service performed by a priest that another family member brought to the house. The service was small, attended by only family that gathered on the small, dirt floor porch. During the funeral service and the family lunch, community members gathered at the cemetery to dig the hole for the burial. Again, I was struck by the sense of community and how everyone gathered and helped with the process. The burial ceremony was much like the last two days, with a circle of family and friends that stayed with the body as the greater community gathered in outer circles. They continued to blow smoke around the body and pass small amounts of alcohol, only this time, the alcohol had a different ceremony and meaning attached. As the alcohol came to you, you turned to the next person in the circle and blessed their health so they wouldn’t be the next one to follow in death. This drink was more of a “toast” to the health of the person on your immediate right. And again, it was perfectly acceptable to bless the person’s health but pass on the drink – no judgment. The day after the burial was a day of celebration, of sorts. On this day, the family took all of Mama Victoria’s clothes to a special place on the mountain. In this place, the clothes and personal items (blankets, pillows, etc.) were sorted. Some were placed in a burn pile and a huge fire was lit. Some were placed in the stream and the best friends of the family washed her remaining clothes and placed them in the sun to dry. There was a time of fun and games during the day, more memories and reminiscing and laughter. There was more explanation to us regarding traditions and culture and beliefs surrounding death and spirits. Everyone took it upon themselves to tell us about their ideas and beliefs. We were the learners and the community members were teachers. I prefer that! We have so much to learn. Throughout the days that followed Mama Victoria’s death, we were overwhelmed. Overwhelmed that we were included in such a special, emotional time as death. Overwhelmed that people opened up to us in a way unlike ever before and openly shared with us about their traditions and culture and beliefs. Overwhelmed at the incredible insight we had to this Quechua Wanca culture because of the relationship we had with Mama Victoria. It seems surreal to look back and say that Mama Victoria’s death opened the door for us in the community, but it seems as though it was her last gift to us. Through her death and our inclusion in her family, we were finally given the recognition as members of the community. We suddenly moved from “missionaries” and “gringos” to a new, more intimate role. After two years of working in the community every day (but living 45 minutes away in the city), we were granted permission to actually move here and LIVE in the community and become one with them. We had been asking for that opportunity and expressing that desire for a long time, but the doors were always closed. Then, mysteriously, after spending those most intimate days with the family and community during Mama Victoria’s funeral process, we were seen as ‘worthy’ and a house was found for us. The community rallied around us and helped us make plans and begin to move in. We became neighbors and friends. We began to work on community issues together. We began to have community struggles together. And we bonded in a new way. We went from being a part of Mama Victoria’s family to being a part of the family of Patarcocha, Peru. Mama Victoria’s death was perhaps the most difficult and sad time we have spent with the people here on the mountain and in the ministry, but it was a most remarkable gift and some of the most touching moments we have had. Life changing. Thank you, Mama Victoria! You were a beautiful woman in life, your beautiful life continues to touch us even after your death, and we look forward to seeing you again one day. I’m sure that you are sitting with the Great Shepherd enjoying the time together, telling stories, or perhaps just enjoying the silence. Thank you for the blessing that your life, and your death, have been for us. |
Laurie DrumIn my USA life, I was a teacher in Texas for 15 years. I was also a professional photographer, a soccer mom, a horsewoman, and the neighborhood hospitality queen. I did "Joanna Gaines farmhouse style" before Chip and JoJo were even a thing - we restored an 1884 Victorian farmhouse in small town Texas and did shiplap walls until I thought I'd go crazy. I taught at NASA, scuba dived with astronauts in training, and studied animals at Sea World for educational purposes. I've tried just about everything, because I have an insatiable need to know if I can do it! Never underestimate a Texas girl in cowboy boots! In 2006, my husband Billy and I became cross-cultural workers (CCWs) with TMS Global. For five years, we served in three rural Quechua Wanca villages in the Andes of Peru. And when I say rural, I mean RURAL - like no potty! I spent my days in Peru learning to live a Quechua lifestyle in a rustic adobe house - cooking Peruvian foods, sewing with Quechua women, raising my chickens and goats and pigs, and planting my gardens. Now I live my life in small town Spain, serving other cross-cultural workers via teaching and training and care, and helping displaced people to navigate their new reality in Europe.
I'm passionate about fostering personal growth, growth in community, and growth in The Kingdom. Walking alongside others and helping them to use their unique design, their gifts and strengths and maximize their abilities to fulfill their God-given purpose - that's what makes my heart sing! Archives
March 2024
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