Well, we made it home safely! I've had a cold for several days, and it was worse for the trip home (yes, I imported a Peruvian virus into the US without being caught!) The trip itself, though, couldn't have been any more fantastic!! Thanks to Ryan's hopeful and persistent nature, I spent my birthday in business class with LAN (we got lucky again!) My parents picked me up at the airport and treated me to Gunther Toodies for lunch. I wanted to inhale the burger, but it seared my mouth, it was so hot. It was all such a flavor explosion, although the chocolate shake tasted just like Peruvian chocolate ice cream... hardly chocolaty at all.
It is so good to be with my family and friends again. My niece, Aydin, is walking, head banging, drumming, singing, and doing sign language. She even talks a little, and has some hair on her head.
Being home still feels like a dream. It's almost overwhelming. I look around me and see so much stuff, I can hardly stand it. The one thing that has become blatantly apparent is how very different our priorities are in the United states. Everything seems so important here, even if it's not about survival. It's a bit more tense, and a little stressful. I think I was away just long enough to really appreciate the cultural differences. The USA is very time and money driven, while Peru seems much more relational. I miss it already.
I guess my re-entry view of the USA is very much shaped by the Department of Motor Vehicles, which is the most horrible, taxing institution on US soil. In May, I was broadsided by a garbage truck. Though I am not at fault, I am required to take a diver competency test. I failed to take the test within the allotted time, because I was out of the country. Thus, my license was suspended. The DMV is booked until September 1st for a driving test, at which time I must also apply for a permit, which will allow me to operate a vehicle during the examination. Blah.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
August 19, 2009 - Heading Home
Arequipa feels like home. I've only been here for 5 weeks, and I feel like I'm leaving so much behind. Yesterday, I visited the pediatric ward one more time. Anyella, the 14-year-old girl I mentioned previously, has begun cancer treatment. They're not positive that it is in fact cancer, but they're treating it. Anyella, who last week was sitting up in her bed smiling, looking so obscure in that hospital, is now exhausted and pinned to her bed.
"Are you coming back next week?" she asked, hopeful.
"No." I said.
"When will you return?" She asked.
She broke my heart. I asked her for her address, so I could write her in the future. Anyella is just one person who I so desperately want to visit next week, and the week after, and the week after.
I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will return to Peru. I’m not sure what steps I need to take before I return, and I don’t know how long it will be, but I know that this could very easily be home one day, even when I’m old and gray.
Reentry to the States is going to be difficult, I think. Here, I rarely know what day it is, and the time of day is based entirely on my stomach and sunlight. People all smile at one another in passing. When we greet one another, we hug and kiss. Prices are negotiable, and people aren't offended by bartering. There's always room for one more person. Peruvians may just be the kindest people on the planet. In the States, random strangers don't hand you their babies. You can't collect children on the streets, give them piggy back rides, and play games with them without parental consent. You can't catch a cab at any place and time and pay just $2 to get to the other side of town. You can't get a high-end meal for $2.50.
Coming home isn't all bad. I'm excited to see my family and friends. I'm eager to gain some weight. I'm weirded out by drinking tap water, but I think it might be nice. I'm excited to eat without wondering if it'll make my stomach cramp up. That's all.
"Are you coming back next week?" she asked, hopeful.
"No." I said.
"When will you return?" She asked.
She broke my heart. I asked her for her address, so I could write her in the future. Anyella is just one person who I so desperately want to visit next week, and the week after, and the week after.
I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will return to Peru. I’m not sure what steps I need to take before I return, and I don’t know how long it will be, but I know that this could very easily be home one day, even when I’m old and gray.
Reentry to the States is going to be difficult, I think. Here, I rarely know what day it is, and the time of day is based entirely on my stomach and sunlight. People all smile at one another in passing. When we greet one another, we hug and kiss. Prices are negotiable, and people aren't offended by bartering. There's always room for one more person. Peruvians may just be the kindest people on the planet. In the States, random strangers don't hand you their babies. You can't collect children on the streets, give them piggy back rides, and play games with them without parental consent. You can't catch a cab at any place and time and pay just $2 to get to the other side of town. You can't get a high-end meal for $2.50.
Coming home isn't all bad. I'm excited to see my family and friends. I'm eager to gain some weight. I'm weirded out by drinking tap water, but I think it might be nice. I'm excited to eat without wondering if it'll make my stomach cramp up. That's all.
August 18, 2009
Alright, it can’t be avoided. You know I’m gonna blog about poverty and about how lucky we are in the United States. How could I step outside the comfort of my own home and not be affected by the world around me? You can stop reading if you’d prefer to be numb to problems throughout the rest of the world. Do what I do, and turn the TV off, throw out the newspaper, do whatever it is that you need to do to avoid all the depressing hubbub that you can do nothing about. Hide under the covers if it makes you feel safe. It’s all the same stuff you’ve heard over and over, anyhow.
The truth is, it just as easily could have been you and me living in a 10x10 cement structure without running water or heat. The fact that we weren’t born in a third world country fighting starvation and disease is absolutely AMAZING. The United States contains only 2% of the world’s population!! The media, family vacations, and assumptions mold our worldview. We think our country is so large and so prevalent, yet in reality we make up only a teeny tiny percentage of the world.
I only make $13 per hour, but I am LOADED. I have nothing in savings, and when I return home my accounts will be empty. Actually, my parents sent some money down here for me, so I owe at least 100 USD. But I am wealthy. I make payments towards a phone, a car, and health insurance. I moved in with my parents to save for this trip. Normally, I would consider my living space to be small, but my room is the same size as some houses here.
What makes us so special? Why do we have awesome transportation, clean hospitals, super cozy beds, air conditioning, and affordable peanut butter? “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.” – Luke 12:48.
We can ignore the news and sit on our couches, watching our bank accounts grow like a game of Monopoly. We can make painless automatic payments to some kid in a country we’ve never seen. That’s what I was doing. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with sponsoring a kid… it is so needed. But why not go and do? Seek a need and fulfill it. Maybe you’re a painter, a nurse, a student, or a computer geek like me. Whatever it is, you can use it for the benefit of others. You don’t have to be great with language, you don’t even have to enjoy travel. Walk next door and help a neighbor. Each and every one of us has a specific purpose in serving others, no matter where we are.
This trip was life altering. To take one step in the right direction, to make even a small contribution to the world around you, to make a child smile who’s life is full of despair… that’s what this thing called life is about. Don’t become bogged down by the world’s problems. Don’t think you have to be a superhero. If you think you need to change the world, you’re just going to chase your tail in a whirlwind of frustration. Just love the people around you selflessly. You’ll have a bigger impact than you’ll ever know, and you’ll be happier than you could ever have imagined! After all, the tables could turn at any moment, and you’ll be wishing someone would take some time out of their busy life just for you.
The truth is, it just as easily could have been you and me living in a 10x10 cement structure without running water or heat. The fact that we weren’t born in a third world country fighting starvation and disease is absolutely AMAZING. The United States contains only 2% of the world’s population!! The media, family vacations, and assumptions mold our worldview. We think our country is so large and so prevalent, yet in reality we make up only a teeny tiny percentage of the world.
I only make $13 per hour, but I am LOADED. I have nothing in savings, and when I return home my accounts will be empty. Actually, my parents sent some money down here for me, so I owe at least 100 USD. But I am wealthy. I make payments towards a phone, a car, and health insurance. I moved in with my parents to save for this trip. Normally, I would consider my living space to be small, but my room is the same size as some houses here.
What makes us so special? Why do we have awesome transportation, clean hospitals, super cozy beds, air conditioning, and affordable peanut butter? “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.” – Luke 12:48.
We can ignore the news and sit on our couches, watching our bank accounts grow like a game of Monopoly. We can make painless automatic payments to some kid in a country we’ve never seen. That’s what I was doing. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with sponsoring a kid… it is so needed. But why not go and do? Seek a need and fulfill it. Maybe you’re a painter, a nurse, a student, or a computer geek like me. Whatever it is, you can use it for the benefit of others. You don’t have to be great with language, you don’t even have to enjoy travel. Walk next door and help a neighbor. Each and every one of us has a specific purpose in serving others, no matter where we are.
This trip was life altering. To take one step in the right direction, to make even a small contribution to the world around you, to make a child smile who’s life is full of despair… that’s what this thing called life is about. Don’t become bogged down by the world’s problems. Don’t think you have to be a superhero. If you think you need to change the world, you’re just going to chase your tail in a whirlwind of frustration. Just love the people around you selflessly. You’ll have a bigger impact than you’ll ever know, and you’ll be happier than you could ever have imagined! After all, the tables could turn at any moment, and you’ll be wishing someone would take some time out of their busy life just for you.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
August 15, 2009
Yesterday I worked at the construction site. I volunteered to grout the floor tiles that had been laid. As we prepped the floor by sweeping, we realized that many of the tiles were not properly laid. They didn't have a solid foundation beneath them, so if anything were to drop on them in the future, they'd easily crack. Rather than grouting, the construction team busted up about 65 tiles, chiseled the underlying cement and grout, and relaid them. Some guys were so determined to have the floor finished for the dedication of the building on Sunday, that they worked until 5:30 in the morning!
While many people were hard at work in the evening, others of us went out for impact activities. Ryan and I decided to return to the kids' home, where we played volleyball, basketball, and inevitably football (soccer). After the sun went down, we sat around a fire, roasted marshmallows, and sang songs.
Today the entire group is at the construction site, cleaning and prepping for the dedication ceremony tomorrow. Some are handing out invitations in the surrounding community. People here love parties, and tomorrow is going to be one big festival!
I'm sitting here blogging, rather than cleaning, because I stopped taking CIPRO and my tummy doesn't like the food here. I have 4 pills left, and I'm saving them for the trip home... I'd rather have stomach issues here than on the plane.
P.S. There are more new pictures on the website. www.gowithme.org
Friday, August 14, 2009
August 13, 2009 - The Hospital
It's kind of amazing to see the difference between the hospital for the insured and the hospital for those who can't afford insurance. Today we visited the a hospital in the middle of town. It was relatively clean, and there were only about 4-6 beds per room. The atmosphere was very different... much quieter. We began the day by sanding and painting cribs. As we worked away, curious little boys and girls would peek their heads around the corner to watch. We're used to kids running up and jumping all over us, so it was saddening to see their dampened spirits. When we busted out Rico the mascot, however, their faces lit up and they couldn't hide the smiles on their faces. We painted faces, prayed with them, and gave them balloons. The proceeded to ambush Rico in a mad frenzy of balloon beating. Their laughter was such a blessing!!
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
August 11, 2009 - Today I went to prison
The women’s prison in Arequipa is on the outskirts of town. I rode the bus to the prison with about nineteen other female volunteers. The prison staff, all female, processed five of us at a time. Processing included a pat down, peeking under our skirts, and hand washing. Standing in line, a lot of what-ifs run through your head. What if the prisoners don’t want to see us? What if a fight breaks out? What if the guards are strict and hostile towards us? What if someone tries to kiss me? What if, what if, what if?? Little did I know, as I awaited processing, that I was also awaiting the most amazing and profound experience of my life.
After processing, the guards immediately made sure that it was clearly understood how welcome we were, and that any rigidity from the guards was just them doing their jobs. They then escorted us into the common eating area, where all of the inmates were sitting around tables, awaiting our arrival. Immediately I noticed how normal they all looked… just like you and me. They wore civilian clothing and held knitting needles, working tediously but contentedly on their creations. Some were timid yet curious. Others were very forthcoming and welcoming. All of them had smiles on their faces. Some had children on their laps. There are seven children total living in the prison with their mothers. One is handicapped.
We began our visit by talking with the women, giving them hand and foot massages, and painting their nails. Never in my life have I held a real, effective conversation in Spanish, but today I had many! The women were so eager to speak with us, and so understanding and encouraging. In fact, they did everything they could to accommodate us and make us feel welcome.
I accumulated a weight upon my shoulders as I got to know the women… a longing for their redemption and restoration. Many of the women were forced into drug trafficking as a means to purchase food and diapers. Others were caught in a downward spiral of alcohol and drug use.
As I massaged the hands of these women, I could feel rough, damaged patches of flesh beneath my fingers, permanent reminders of the pain and abuse they’d endured in their lives. There’s something intimate and vulnerable about sharing your scars with someone you’ve only just met. These women are courageous, and desperate for someone to understand their hearts.
Lana Vopat openly shared her testimony with the group of eighty inmates, plus the guards. Lana is such an amazing woman. I can’t even fathom the trials and pain she has experienced in her life, but God is using her in such an amazing way now. These women can relate to her, they can see that they’re not alone. They saw evidence in Lana that through Christ, they can be purified and made whole again. They can be restored! The scars on their hearts can be healed. There is hope for a future, and they do have a specific purpose. Cement walls and iron bars cannot separate them from the love of Christ.
Every woman in that room was teary-eyed, regardless of how hard they tried to suppress the tears. We prayed with the women and gave them care packages, which included Spanish bibles, soap, shampoo, lotion, and other toiletries. One woman, who I’d become quite acquainted with, asked if I would give her my phone number. First, I don’t speak Spanish, so a telephone conversation would be nearly impossible. Additionally, I wasn’t sure if we were allowed to share our contact information, and I was admittedly cautious with the women. Many of these ladies have giant holes in their hearts, and some understandably they try to fill those holes with partners, relationships, and love. I want so desperately to stay in contact with the girls I met, so I did give her my email address. She knew I was worried, and kept reassuring me, “I did no wrong to be here, I did no wrong.” I would return to the prison every day, if I could. Instead, I’ll maintain a spiritually encouraging relationship with them until I’m able to go back.
Before we left, the women and the guards expressed their thanks and even sang to us. It was so difficult to leave them. We hugged each and every one of them… not even the guards could escape our embraces. One woman I’d befriended waved goodbye and placed her hand over her heart. I did the same, then reluctantly exited the secure area with a heavy heart and watery eyes.
We weren’t able to take bobby pins, pens, sunglasses, pantyhose, or cameras into the prison. I wish I could have taken pictures of my Peruvian friends. I wish you could see the faces of these women who are imprisoned, utterly hopeless, separated from their families, and filled with despair. They’re just like you and me. We all make mistakes in our lives; you and I just haven’t been caught.
After processing, the guards immediately made sure that it was clearly understood how welcome we were, and that any rigidity from the guards was just them doing their jobs. They then escorted us into the common eating area, where all of the inmates were sitting around tables, awaiting our arrival. Immediately I noticed how normal they all looked… just like you and me. They wore civilian clothing and held knitting needles, working tediously but contentedly on their creations. Some were timid yet curious. Others were very forthcoming and welcoming. All of them had smiles on their faces. Some had children on their laps. There are seven children total living in the prison with their mothers. One is handicapped.
We began our visit by talking with the women, giving them hand and foot massages, and painting their nails. Never in my life have I held a real, effective conversation in Spanish, but today I had many! The women were so eager to speak with us, and so understanding and encouraging. In fact, they did everything they could to accommodate us and make us feel welcome.
I accumulated a weight upon my shoulders as I got to know the women… a longing for their redemption and restoration. Many of the women were forced into drug trafficking as a means to purchase food and diapers. Others were caught in a downward spiral of alcohol and drug use.
As I massaged the hands of these women, I could feel rough, damaged patches of flesh beneath my fingers, permanent reminders of the pain and abuse they’d endured in their lives. There’s something intimate and vulnerable about sharing your scars with someone you’ve only just met. These women are courageous, and desperate for someone to understand their hearts.
Lana Vopat openly shared her testimony with the group of eighty inmates, plus the guards. Lana is such an amazing woman. I can’t even fathom the trials and pain she has experienced in her life, but God is using her in such an amazing way now. These women can relate to her, they can see that they’re not alone. They saw evidence in Lana that through Christ, they can be purified and made whole again. They can be restored! The scars on their hearts can be healed. There is hope for a future, and they do have a specific purpose. Cement walls and iron bars cannot separate them from the love of Christ.
Every woman in that room was teary-eyed, regardless of how hard they tried to suppress the tears. We prayed with the women and gave them care packages, which included Spanish bibles, soap, shampoo, lotion, and other toiletries. One woman, who I’d become quite acquainted with, asked if I would give her my phone number. First, I don’t speak Spanish, so a telephone conversation would be nearly impossible. Additionally, I wasn’t sure if we were allowed to share our contact information, and I was admittedly cautious with the women. Many of these ladies have giant holes in their hearts, and some understandably they try to fill those holes with partners, relationships, and love. I want so desperately to stay in contact with the girls I met, so I did give her my email address. She knew I was worried, and kept reassuring me, “I did no wrong to be here, I did no wrong.” I would return to the prison every day, if I could. Instead, I’ll maintain a spiritually encouraging relationship with them until I’m able to go back.
Before we left, the women and the guards expressed their thanks and even sang to us. It was so difficult to leave them. We hugged each and every one of them… not even the guards could escape our embraces. One woman I’d befriended waved goodbye and placed her hand over her heart. I did the same, then reluctantly exited the secure area with a heavy heart and watery eyes.
We weren’t able to take bobby pins, pens, sunglasses, pantyhose, or cameras into the prison. I wish I could have taken pictures of my Peruvian friends. I wish you could see the faces of these women who are imprisoned, utterly hopeless, separated from their families, and filled with despair. They’re just like you and me. We all make mistakes in our lives; you and I just haven’t been caught.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
August 10, 2009 - The Pediatric Ward
Imagine that your six-month-old, eight-pound infant is dying of kidney failure. You live alone in the dirty, run-down hospital, because your husband works hours away, trying desperately to afford the medical bills. You’ve been at the hospital for over a month, and you spend every night on the cold, hard floor of the hospital. The hospital staff has informed you that there is no hope, and that you should just give up, leave the baby to die, and return to home. You lovingly insist that you stay at your child’s side. The hospital has cut out the bottom of a cola bottle and placed it over your baby’s face, with a plastic tube feeding into it from an oxygen tank. The oxygen tank is empty. Last week, this was reality for a young mother at a hospital in Arequipa. Today, her child is dead. Two women in our group were blessed to be able to pray for this woman and her child before he passed, but this is just one of the many, many families who live at the hospital, awaiting death’s knock. Some of the children don’t have families.
Today we visited the hospital to talk with the kids, pray with the families, and paint some old cribs. When we arrived at the hospital, the head nurse informed us that she never received the letter of approval for us to be at the hospital, so we didn’t think we would be able to minister to the kids and their families. There was, in fact, a letter of approval, and everything had been prearranged and preapproved. While two people in our group went to talk with administration, we decided to pray that God would work his will in the situation, open the doors of communication, and move in the head nurse’s heart. As we prayed, we began to feel reassurance that everything would work out and that God had a plan for this place and this day. As we neared the end of our prayer, our two negotiators returned to inform us that the hospital administrator was excited to have us there, and couldn’t believe we were doing this for free. The other nurses were also very kind and accommodating.
We began by sanding the old paint down on the steel cribs. Some of us freshened up the cribs with a coat of periwinkle paint, while others of us went upstairs to the pediatric ward, equipped with balloons, Rico the mascot, prayer cards, and heavy hearts. We visited about 35 families, and left with 22 prayer requests. As we went from bed to bed, we attempted to communicate with our limited Spanish. We met the kids, gave them balloons, and asked them if we could pray for them. As I met with one young family, who were eager for prayer for their tightly bundled baby, another mother rushed to my side and insisted that I promptly come to visit her 6-year-old boy. He was so tiny for his age, and was in so much pain. He barely managed to utter his age, and his name was completely inaudible to me. I sat with the parents, and his mother gave him water by the capful; he couldn’t manage much more. As he drank, most of the fluid left his body via a tube draining from his nose. He began coughing, and I turned to another little boy who was tugging on my shirt, begging for a yellow balloon. When I turned back, the little boy’s bed was empty. I hope I will get to see him again.
Ryan met with another little boy, who has been in the hospital for weeks, ill with leukemia. When Lucas first came to the hospital, he was being treated with one pill per day. When we visited him today, they had started him on chemotherapy. The chemo has caused a very distended stomach, and Lucas has much difficulty breathing. The doctors want to transfer him to Lima for better medical care, but his parents can’t afford it. His parents seek comfort and hope in the Lord, and they are eager for your prayers. Please pray for Lucas seen below. Pray that he will receive better medical care, that his family will find comfort and rejuvenation, and that God will heal and alleviate pain, both physical and emotional.
The trip to the pediatric ward pried my eyes wide open and loudly impressed upon me how blessed we are, in so many ways. Sometimes I wonder, though, what the USA would look like if we weren’t billions of dollars in debt. Either way, I can’t help but appreciate that we can walk into a hospital and expect even slight privacy, sterile needles, efficient equipment, and flowing oxygen tanks.
That’s all for now.
Michelle
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