It’s hard to believe that I’ll be standing in Peru in less than a month. One thing that excites me the most is this statement received by e-mail from one of the local missionaries:

…the best thing is that we can use the Quechua New Testament in the last scene – it will be exciting to finally have the Bible for the people in their own language this year!

We will be partnering with Wycliffe Bible Translators while visiting the Quechua people. Wycliffe began approx. 20 yrs. ago with the process of translating the Bible into the Quechua language. They had to first learn the language, which is only spoken. They then had to develop an alphabet so that the language could be written. Then the Quechua had to be taught how to read the newly written language so that they would be able to read the Bible once it was translated.

The Quechua version of The New Testament has recently been completed and we will be handing out copies to the people. What a great opportunity for our team to be a part of. For the first time they will have Jesus’ words in their own language and we get to be a part of that.

That’s just cool!!!

Sorry for such a long dry spell between post, but sometimes life gets all in the way. Anyway, sorry.

We found out on fairly short notice – at breakfast – that the trek in the Andes Mnts. to visit the Quechua people would be starting a day early – just after lunch that same day – for the the guys in the group. By this point of the trip we were all experienced at ” being flexible”, so it wasn’t too big of a deal. Plus, we were all excited about the trek and didn’t mind getting it started early.

Ethan, Conley, Matt, and I loaded into the compact van/taxi with three of our guides (Audey, Yépo, and Poosh-pee), the driver, and all of the gear. There was gear strapped to the top of the compact van/taxi, and every square inch inside the van was occupied by either a person or some type of gear. My butt, which was sitting in a seat about half it’s size, was not amused when it learned that this was going to be a 2 hr. trip. But even this packed van/taxi wasn’t a surprise thanks to a previous taxi ride in Lima. I just wasn’t sure how we were going to fit the guitar player (and his guitar) who was “up the road” waiting to be picked up.

Somehow we were able to squeeze the guitar player, Andres, into the compact van/taxi and tie his guitar to the top with some twine that was picked up from the road’s shoulder while we were stopped to pick up Andres. Once we had turned off the main road onto the smaller, bumpier dirt road heading “up” into the mountains, Poosh-pee would lean out the window with a mega-phone and announce to the valleys below about the “show” that was going to be performed. Of course I expected this type of resourcefulness from them. I had already visited plywood homes without running water where they had to make due with very simple means. There’s a genius in simplicity sometimes.

We finally arrived at our destination and Audey sent the 4 gringos (us white people) out to announce the night’s entertainment. You see, gringos are really the major attraction. There’s not too many that make their way up into the Quechua’s high farm country. The villagers were just beginning to return from their day working the fields and we passed many along the path as they herded livestock to be put up for the night. Matt was the only one who spoke Spanish, so he’d invite everyone to the show while the rest of us stood there nodding with big cheesy grins stretched across our faces. Some where a little stand-offish and nervous, but, like I said, it was very rare, if ever, for a gringo to be in the village. We were “strangers” and understood the nervousness.

We found several homes empty, still waiting for the occupants to return from their day’s labor, but we came across one with several small children and a couple of older girls without any adults present. We were making silly faces at the kids through the “door” while Matt was telling them about the puppet show and movie scheduled for later that night when, suddenly, we see sheep scatter and “mom” appear sprinting up the path to the home. She passes us with a nervous but suspicious glance as she goes towards the children. Matt explains to her what’s going on, and I can see her tension begin to ease. As we moved along, I was thinking that I would have had the exact same reaction if I returned home to find some stranger standing at my door chatting it up with my kids.

A day or two into our trek, Audey mentions to us some of the Quechua’s beliefs and superstitions. I only remember one. Turns out that the Quechua used to believe that gringos are cannibals. They’ve moved passed that a little, but there’s still a deep seated nervousness about gringos. When Quechua kids misbehave, they’re still told that if they’re not good the gringos will get them in the night.

Slowly, the nervous, stand-offish demeanor that we experience from so many became a little clearer. It was much more than a simple stranger passing through. And then I remembered that mom sprinting up the path with sheep scattering in every direction. I felt so sorry for her. She had come home to find not one but FOUR living breathing “boogie men” standing at her door trying to coax her kids out to play! She must have been horrified!! That poor woman. Her reaction seems quite reserved in hindsight with this new perspective.

I never crossed my mind that they would fear me as anything more than a stranger. I’m just a goofy guy who can’t even remember to wear sunscreen. I learned many lessons from this little incident, but I’ll save those for another day.

I saw it!

I’m not talking about the hope that you and I know. Not, I HOPE I get a camera for my birthday, or I HOPE we can afford a new car next year, or I HOPE I get over this cold soon.

I’m talking about real hope. Hope is not a wish, it’s knowledge. KNOWING that, even in the depths of poverty and despair, it WILL be better. I’ve never experienced this in my life, but now I know what it looks like.

I saw it on smiling faces,

I saw it in full bellies,

I saw it with thankful moms,

and then there’s my friend Lisa and her “adopted” daughter. Lisa sponsors THIS girl (sorry, I can’t remember her name) through AMG International. School uniforms, a daily meal, a loving environment to study and grow in, and HOPE, all because Lisa and her family choose to help out.

I think they stood there, hand in hand, for an hour or more. Neither spoke the other’s language, but it didn’t matter. They just stood there, casting frequent glances at each other, savoring the time together. It was BEAUTIFUL!!!

HOPE ALWAYS IS.

Go here for part 1

and here for part 2

This is their norm…

Many of these homes, I wouldn’t consider as a decent tool shed.

Still, 9 months later, I often sit in my living room and wrestle with the fact that it is larger than many of the homes that I visited that day. I struggle with the injustice of me having such an easy, plush life simply because of where I happened to be born, while they are forced to pry, scrape and fight just to survive.

A window to my thoughts…

Because I’ve been blessed? What did I do to deserve to be blessed? What did they do to not deserve the same blessing? Does God really sort us beforehand based upon who He wants to live a blessed easy life vs who He thinks deserves a life of turmoil and suffering?

Does being blessed = easy life with stuff, or are they actually the one’s who are blessed? They get to experience God’s power and love in real, tangible ways – where’s the next meal coming from, how are we going to pay the doctor, we need school uniforms if our children are going to get an education. When these things happen, they know it’s God because there was absolutely no other alternative. It HAD to be Him!

Why do I even care? Am I truly concerned for them or am I just trying to satisfy my own guilty consciences.

I don’t have answers to the “blessed” questions, but I’ve figured out why I care.

“¿Para mi, hermano…para mi?” was a statement that I heard too many times to count. If you had a handful of candy, you heard it. If you were carrying a bottle of bubbles, you heard it. Distributing craft supplies, you heard it. Always spoken in the sweet voice of a pleading child. “For me, brother…for me?”

They are MY little brothers and sisters! Yes, many are my christian brothers and sisters as well, but all of them are people, just like me. And that makes us related. They deserve as much as me, and I deserve as little as them. If my biological brother needed help, I’d do whatever I could. It’s the same with them.

You may ask, “Why do you feel the need to return, when you could stay home and be a huge help just by sacrificing a few dollars a month, why do you want to go back to a place that caused such an internal struggle that you still haven’t figured out, or why, after seeing such despair, do you want to go back and witness it all over again?”

Good questions. And if I’ m honest, my answer is a little selfish.

I need a challenge…an adventure. It’s just how I’m wired. I like being outside of the safe norm that many people find so attractive and these trips are definitely challenging…on many different levels. It’s an adventure for sure!

But that’s not the real reason I feel so compelled to continue on these trips.

I saw something. Through the dusty gritty despair, I caught a glimpse. I’ve heard of it and thought that I understood it, but now I know. It’s gone from text book theory to field application and I want to see it again, first hand!

(to be continued)

Go here for part 1

But when we pulled up to the AMG center, this is what we saw…

I was completely taken aback! I wasn’t expecting a Children’s Friend Daycare, but I wasn’t expecting this either. Busted windows, steel re bar protruding through the peeling tin roof with rocks holding the worst areas down, no plumbing, no electricity and an asphalt play ground/soccer field.

This shell of a building that I see is their retreat, the place to escape suffocating poverty! This is where they come for spiritual, physical and emotional nourishment. It was almost more than I could process at the time, but slowly my mind pushed through the shock and realized, “If this is the place of escape, what is the malnourished norm?”

Soon, we would get that answer.

(to be continued)

The following is based upon a journal that I kept while in Peru and several months reflecting over what I experienced. It has taken this long to just begin processing everything. I gotta admit, though, I’m still not sure what to do with it all.

05/29/07

I don’t consider myself naive. I’ve seen poor. Because of my job, I’m often in the parts of town that most people avoid or , at the very least, lock their doors when they travel through. Not only am I in the area, but I’m often in the homes.

I’ve seen many mattresses on the floor with only thin blankets and no sheets as beds. I’ve seen the pile of clothes in the corner because there is no chest of drawers to keep them in. I know there are people who’s living room furniture is a couple of plastic lawn chairs.

Countless homes I’ve been in with candles burning for light because there was no money to pay the power bill this month. How many fridges have I seen with a bottle of ketchup, tub of butter and nothing else? Don’t even get me started on roach infestations. **shiver**

Like I said…I’ve seen poor, I’m not naive. I know how many people, just in my little town, live in conditions that most like to pretend don’t even exist. I thought I was prepared for what I was about to experience,

but I was SO WRONG!!!

We head to the outskirts of Lima to the “shanty town” Saul Cantaral where the AMG center was located. Out the bus windows I watched the polished, green, plush version of Lima turn brown, dusty and gritty, revealing the true desert landscape of the region. Then I began to notice the “shacks” built all over the mountains surrounding us.

“Ok” I thought to myself, “this may be a little rougher than I thought.” But when we pulled up to the AMG center…

to be continued

Check out the t-shirt page to see the shirt and get your very own.

First rule on a trip to a developing country – BE FLEXIBLE!

Because your plans WILL change. But this is the basic plan for our trip this summer.

06/01 – Ride 8 hrs on a bus from Albany, Ga. to Miami, Fl. to catch a 5 1/2 hrs flight to Lima, Peru that leaves at 1:30 am. Whew, I’m already tired just thinking about it!

06/02 – Another bus ride. 7 hrs. worth from Lima to Huaraz. Plus a total altitude gain around 10,000 ft. There’s less air up there. Makes breathing VERY difficult and any physical activity (walking across the street) extremely tiring. If you see us walking around with our mouths stuffed full of cotton, we’re acclimating ourselves already!

06/03 – 06/04 – VBS type activities at the AMG childcare center in Huaraz.

06/05 – 06/07 – Trek (tents & sleeping-bags) in the Andes Mountains ministering to the Quetchua Indians. Did I mention that it’ll be 30° – 40° at night?

06/08 – 06/09 – Back in Huaraz. Church on Sunday and a day to rest on Monday.

06/10 – 06/12 – In the Andes with the Quetchua people again.

06/13 - Bus ride back to Lima

06/14 – Go to Peru vs Columbia futbol game with all those crazy fans. Should be very interesting!!

06/15 – Head back home. We’ll be ready!

The summary of our Peru trip is up on the previous missions page. Go check it out!

Wanted to let everyone know that the “What is the Good News?” page is complete. Go check it out. “Peru – summer ‘07″ on the “Previous Trips” page is next on the agenda. Keep checking in or add nobleMISSIONs to your reader. The plan is to keep everyone up to date on our progress toward our Peru trip this coming summer and other “family projects” along the way. See ya.