Celebrating Christmas in Peru

Christmas in Cusco is being ever more commercialized and influenced by Hollywood and the prominence of tourism. You can now find Christmas lights, decorations, artificial trees, etc with ease. Santa Claus is well-known and decorations even sometimes include snow, despite the fact that it does not snow here in Cusco on Christmas...or any other time of the year, for that matter. Fortunately, however, the customs of Cusco still remain, despite the changing times. One custom that goes on throughout the entire month of December is the giving, receiving and consumption of fruitcake, called panetón. Panetón becomes its own food group during the month of December. The sweet bread with the little red and green candied dried fruit bits and raisins can be found everywhere. It is commonly given by employers to their employees to say thank you for your work during the year. It is also commonly given to friends to say Merry Christmas. Go to a church meeting or service over Christmas time and you'll more than likely come away eating panetón with its customary hot chocolate (I have had this experience at least 3 times in the past month, in addition to having 2 panetones in my house). It also makes a great breakfast or snack. Christmas in Cusco just isn't quite the same without panetón. So now your house is decorated and you've been enjoying your panetón and hot chocolate. What's next? Glad you asked.
If you live in my house, the next thing is celebrating Advent. All throughout the month of December, my roommate and I celebrate Advent with our dear friend Marga, who helps us in our house, and anyone else who happens to be at our house on any given day. The lighting of the Advent candles give us a good way to remind us of the blessings that God has given us in the sending of His Son for us. Also, during this time, we hang our stockings and begin filling them with little gifts for each other. On December 23, the last day that Marga is with us before Christmas, we exchange the gifts in our stockings and finish the last day of Advent. It is a special time for all of us to be together and celebrate Jesus' birth and our friendship. This year, Carrie managed to find a place that sold cappuccinos to go (that is extremely rare in Cusco). Since we all love cappuccino, she brought some home as a special Christmas treat.
Christmas Eve morning dawns cool and cloudy, or rainy, possibly sunny if you're lucky. Despite the fact that we are technically in summer over this time, it's not hot. It's actually usually only in the 50s or 60s and generally cloudy or rainy. This, however, refuses to daunt the citizens of Cusco. Christmas Eve morning means the annual Santurantikuy (Quechua for "buy yourself a saint") market in the main plaza of the city. Here you can buy manger scenes, stables, plants to decorate your manger scene, baby Jesuses, handcrafts, little good luck charms for the new year, etc. This year I spent the morning at Santurantikuy with my good friend Lisi. We had a lot of fun looking at the jewelry, finding a fun chullo for my roommate, deciding that we could make some notebooks like ones we saw for less than what they were selling for and have a lot more fun doing it, speaking Quechua to the vendors (that was me), and just seeing what there was to see. I saw a sign there that was both funny and sad. It said "We restore babies and saints". It sounds funny, but at the same time, it's sad. It represents the idolatry that is here in Cusco, of worshipping the Baby Jesus and the saints. It was a sad reminder that not all is as God would want it to be. Another interesting aspect of the Santurantikuy market is the good luck charms for the new year. You hope to buy a house next year? You can buy a little model of a house that's supposed to bring you good luck so you can buy a house. You want lots of money? Buy a packet of play money - soles, dollars or euros. You want to graduate from the university? You can even get a tiny little replica of a diploma to bring you good luck. You want work? You can buy a little replica of a hand holding a frog. (I have no idea why a frog. That's just the way it is). That will give you good luck so you can get a job. It's sad to see how people are so deceived into thinking that a little packet of play money or a model of a house can bring them good luck and provide what they want. I'd rather trust in the one who created the entire world and all that is within it, the one they call Jehovah Jireh. Nevertheless, Santurantikuy is an interesting experience.
Christmas Eve is when things really get interesting. In the evangelical church, churches often have Christmas Eve services, which include special numbers, food, fellowship and remembering the birth of Jesus. This year, after the church service, I went to be with my friend Mari, her brother Alfredo and her parents Roberto and Valeria. Christmas Eve is a traditionally family affair and I was blessed to be a part of their family that night. The Peruvian tradition is that everyone stays up till midnight (or later) on Christmas Eve. During the course of the evening sometime there is food (we had chicken, pork and potatoes) and people often play games, talk, watch movies, etc with their families. Around about 11:30 PM, you start to hear fireworks going off in the streets. At midnight, everyone goes out to the streets and the fireworks REALLY start to go off. All over the place, you can see little flashes of light sparkling in the night sky. In the midst of all this, everyone in your family gives each other a hug and wishes each other Feliz Navidad. Then you go back inside, exchange gifts and maybe play some more games and then go to bed.
Christmas day is actually kind of anticlimactic, as much of the celebration happens on Christmas Eve. Usually, it's spent with family eating and enjoying being together. Our EMM missionary team spent the day together eating, exchanging gifts and playing games (we have this thing for games on our team...strategy games, Dutch Blitz and Rook are some of our favorites). Then we all dispersed to go to our respective houses and call our respective families on skype to wish them a merry Christmas too.
Christmas in another country is always different. There's no "I'll be home for Christmas", no "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas". But God provides other blessings to make up for that. Being here in Cusco, away from my biological family, I've developed a deeper appreciation for the body of Christ. I may not have my parents, brothers, uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents with me here, but God has given me family and made me a part of something larger than myself. So Feliz Navidad from me to you and may God bless you all in this new year, just as He continues to bless "all the dear children in [His] tender care".

Demons Dancing in the Streets

The last week in September marked the annual festival of San Jeronimo. San Jeronimo is the local patron saint of the area of Cusco where I live (also called, amazingly enough, San Jeronimo). In English, you may know him as Saint Jerome, who translated the Latin version of the Bible known as the Vulgate. San Jeronimo here is a large statue that dwells inside the church, comes out over Holy Week in March or April, returns a week later (accompanied by much dancing, food, and drinking), and is taken out of the church and paraded around again during the last week in September. Most schools in San Jeronimo have holidays over this time. Since PROMESA is not exactly into saint worship, we don't. But as we are in classes, we are hear strains of horn and drum music (typical fare for a saintly procession) floating across the air. For months before the actual event, leaving from the school in the afternoon, we see people practicing typical dances in the roofed concrete sport court close to the school. These people have to sign themselves up for these dances and pay for the teacher to come teach them. There is one family in charge of each dance. Someone estimated that these families probably spend 3000-4000 soles each on this event. This is equal to roughly $1000-$1300 American money, which is quite a considerably larger percentage of one's resources here than in the States. Unfortunately, the use of this money on the festival of San Jeronimo usually means that the money is not used on things that it really should be, things such as improving one's house or taking care of one's children. The actual festival seems to be mostly an excuse for a lot of drunkenness. Alcoholism is a real stronghold here. The picture of the horn player with the beer bottle in his hand shows this well. Our friend Marga's husband Cesar has a barber shop right along the main street in San Jeronimo. During the week of celebration, one afternoon contains a parade which passes right by the front door of the barber shop. Marga invited my roommate Carrie and I to go with her and her family to watch the parades in front of the barber shop. For me, it was a very interesting afternoon full of questions and thoughts. I was surprised by the number of dances that involved demons (hence the title of this blog post). My thought was "If San Jeronimo is a saint (to the Catholics here) and people worship him as such, then why in the world would there be so many demon dances during a festival to honor him? What fellowship does light have with darkness?" In my way of thinking, it didn't make sense. I think it really hit me when the parade got stopped a little ways down from us. Two girls ran down the middle of the street to look at it. They came back yelling "Saqra! (Devil in Quechua)" with the chill of thrilling terror that ghost stories around a camp fire often give children. Even some of the dances contained "Saqra" in the name. My friend Lisi gave me an explanation for this phenomenon that I really liked and which really made sense to me. She said, "If San Jeronimo is a demon (from an evangelical point of view, since he is worshipped as an idol), then it makes sense that other demons would be around him and be a part of the celebration." Simple. True. Another interesting fact that Marga shared with us later, while reflecting on the dances, is that they are changing as the world changes. Skirt hems move from knees to thighs to upper thighs. More dances involve demons and ugly masks. Fewer are innocent and beautiful. There are more dances. It was interesting to note this bit of information. All in all, it was an interesting, afternoon of dances, music, food and lots of color. It made me realize again just how lost those of the world are, those who carry around their unmoving gods on their shoulders, dancing as demons for demons.

Unsung Heroes

There are many unsung heroes here in Cusco, people who often work unrecognized or under-appreciated. Yet, without them, our lives would be much different and much more unpleasant. Today, though they'll never read this, I'm sure, I'd like to dedicate this post to some of them:
To the bus, combi and taxi drivers - If you've never been here, Cusco driving is....well, let's say different....than United States driving. (If you don't believe me, ask my parents). Drivers here have to be a lot more alert and agressive. Horns are just as necessary (if not more so) than brakes. Swerving in and out of traffic is so normal that I don't even think about it. My parents were on the edge of their seats many times during their times here, while I am so used to this driving style that I read books through it while going to town (and love doing so). Not having my own car, I rely almost exclusively on public transportation. Though car accidents are not unknown, I have been safe throughout the year and 9 months I've been here. I realized the other week that I owe my road safety up to this point to God and to the good driving of all the many bus, combi and taxi drivers in whose cars I have ridden. Thank you!
Public sanitation department - Litter. It's a big problem here. Big. There is litter on the streets all the time. The custom here is eat it and toss it, no matter where you are. Though people are becoming more aware of litter and lack thereof, it's going to be a LOOONG process to change a society's ways. But in the midst of the litter problem, there is the public sanitation department. These courageous men and women walk the streets with their face masks, brooms and trash bags, cleaning up after the rest of society. Or they ride on the back of the trash truck, listening the warbling music flowing from the speakers mounted on top, grabbing people's trash bags. Or they ring a triangle in front of the trash truck so that people will remember it's time to put out their trash (it really is a nice reminder). The other week was the parade for the local saint, San Jeronimo. The main street of San Jeronimo was, well, to put it nicely, not the cleanest afterwards. The next morning I observed on the way to school that the remnants of the parade had all been swept away and the street looked presentable again. Another morning I was walking to school from the bus stop and saw piles of trash in the middle of the street. Walking further, I saw someone sweeping them up. Of course, with four schools on our one street, it didn't last long, but it looked nice while it did last.
Maids - They are generally looked down upon and not respected (I'm trying to change that, at least in our case). They go to someone else's house, cook and clean for them , run errands and generally do whatever else that person doesn't have time to do. (Some very important things are only open while we are at school....like customs at the post office and the telephone company). Then they go back to their own homes and do the same thing. Usually, they work for peanuts, even by Peruvian standards. But their work is such a blessing. In our case, since we don't have a mom or a husband to cook for us, don't eat lunch at school and Crock-Pots are an unknown invention here, having someone to cook lunch, the main meal of the day, is a necessity and a blessing. And spending a great deal of time working on school stuff in the afternoons and evenings makes not having to clean a blessing. Marga, our maid, is one of my best friends here and a true sister in Christ. I saw a sign on vacation in Arequipa that summed it up perfectly: Not even the king would eat if the worker did not work".
There are many more, but these are the ones that stuck out to me while thinking about it lately. So here's to the unsung heroes in our lives and thank you for all you do!

What Would Jesus Do....one step further

The other week I was disturbed out of my devotional time at 7:15 on a Saturday morning by the doorbell being rung insistently. Till it w as all said and done, the man next door is working on his house and was convinced that a small room beside our front door, not connected directly to the house, was going to fall down should he begin digging around its foundations. We later learned he may have had a point, but the insistency with which he was saying that the room should come down and the urgency of it happening in order for their apartment building to be raised next door did not sit well with me at that point. I must confess that I did not exactly treat them like Jesus probably would have. It made me think, though. I began to wonder what it would be like to know exactly what Jesus would have done in every situation. I began to think how nice it would have been if the Bible contained the complete record of everything Jesus said and did in every situation.
And then I began to think of the ramifications that would bring. And God began to speak to my heart of the ramifications that it would bring. Imagine with me, if you will, that the entire life of Jesus was chronicled in the Bible....everything He said and did, every situation in which He found Himself. Imagine yourself as a God follower in this situation. You have your Bible. And then you have a massive book that chronicles where to find any incident in Jesus' life. Someone stole your wallet while walking downtown? Look up stolen belongings in your reference book. Gospel of Peter 4:17. You flip open to the Gospel of Peter and look up what Jesus did in that situation. And then you "go ye and do ye likewise". It would make "What Would Jesus Do?" a whole lot simpler, wouldn't it?
And then God showed me the horrid reality that that would really bring. If all I had to do was know where to look in the Bible and then follow what it said in that passage, that cuts off relationship right there! Why do I need to know God's heart and search to know Him more, if all I have to do is know where to find the correct answers about Him? Knowing where to find answers of how to live correctly in any situation in the Bible means God becomes a formula. If A, then B. If B, then C. And then who would really care about God as God anymore? Christianity would become just another religion, people trying to get to heaven by doing everything right.
And then God showed me something freeing and beautiful. He cares so much more about having a relationship with us than about us getting everything right. He created us with free will so that we can choose what we're going to do, whether it's what is right or what is not right. Yeah, we're going to make some wrong choices, but the relationship is still there. And then He provided us grace so that when we do choose what is not right, we can still have that relationship with Him. It's so simple, so complex, and so beautiful.
So I can ask myself "What would Jesus do?", but the answer might not be found in red ink in my Bible. The answer just might be found in seeking His heart and in wanting to know Him better. The answer just might be found in being in relation with Him. And I think that's a pretty good place for it to be hiding.

People of faith: Rene

Sometimes it's a rare opportunity to meet brothers and sisters from around the world. As I've been here in Peru, I feel privileged to have met many new family members who have encouraged me and become a precious and important part of my life. I wanted to share some of their stories with you, to give you the privilege of "meeting" them too. This, I'm hoping, can become a series of blog posts over the next few weeks or months.
The woman with me in this picture is Rene. She has become a dear friend over the months that I've been here. Rene is in her early forties and is a single mom to Nando, who just turned 14 in June. Rene is on the worship team with me at my church in Huacarpay. Our friendship really started to grow last year when I joined the worship team. I was told that practice started on Saturday evening at 6. Thinking like an American, I arrived around 6, to find the church locked and no one there. So I decided to go down the street a little way to Rene's house, since I knew where it was and it was close. This ended up becoming a normal routine, one that has been a blessing to me (and she says it is for her too). Rene lives in one large room, which she has divided into three with curtains. The front room is a hair salon/tailor shop/small clothing and accessory store, which provides her with income. The other two rooms are a bedroom and a dining room. Her kitchen is semi-outside in a patio with corrugated tin acting as a roof. Yet, despite humble circumstances, Rene has a heart bigger than many people I know. Whether it's bread and tea or leftovers from lunch, or even lemonade, she always gives me something to eat. Even more importantly, she has shared with me her friendship and love. We have become part of each other's support system and family. Since Rene became a Christian, her family has been very distant and has not wanted to hear what she has wanted to share with them. She told me one time that she feels more close to the people from the church than to her own family. I also look forward to the times I get to spend with her every week. We have a relationship of mutual trust and sharing from the heart.
One day recently, when I was in Huacarpay, Rene shared with me that her aunt, who owns the house where she is living, asked her to move out by the end of September. Her aunt apparently wants to do some renovations or something. So Rene's looking for a place to live. She can live in one of the rooms of the church, but she has no place there to put her shop. She also bought a small lot in a neighboring town, but has no money thus far to start building a house. She is hoping that one of the men in the church who have a truck can help her get some rocks to start the foundations. She says sometimes she feels alone. I keep reminding her that she is not. And in so doing, I am reminding myself of this truth as well. We are a part of the body of Christ, which means that we are never alone.
Her faith in the midst of everything is beautiful. Last week when I went out to Huacarpay, there was no light at her house, for some reason only known to the electric company. Silhouetted in the light of a candle, as we cooked together on her small stove, she shared with me what God had spoken to her as she read the story of one of the kings in the Bible. An enemy king was attacking Israel. The enemy king had said that the Israelites shoudldn't trust God, that no one could deliver them from his hand, not even God. But the Israelite king decided to trust God anyway, since he knew that God's power was greater. And God ended up killing the enemies of Israel without the Israelites even having to do a thing. Rene shared the story with me and spoke of her faith that God will do the same for her, that He will deliver her and help her. It is beautiful to see how God has taken Rene from someone who used to worship the local saints and journey annually to Ccoyllorrity to worship the god-image there, to someone who now worships the God who lives in her heart, the God who has never abandoned her, the God who always provides. She has become a precious sister to me and I'm thankful for the opportunity of having her in my family and in my heart.

Starfish and footwashing

Being a teacher, there are some days when I just get plain down frustrated. My kids aren't cooperating or things aren't turning out the way I was hoping or I feel like I'm not doing a very good job. Any number of things can cause this frustration. This morning was one of those mornings. My parents are here visiting and yesterday was a rather difficult day in all my classes, which they, unfortunately, got to see. I was sharing my frustrations with them this morning. I realized the need to let those frustrations go before I needlessly took them out on my kids. So the combi on the way to school turned into my prayer closet as I asked God to minister to me and "wash my feet" this morning. I got to school and as I was there, I began to feel better, though I was still not where I wanted to be. And then it happened. God reached down and washed my feet. We were in chapel and between doing motions for the songs and throwing out things that my kids had in their mouths, I was standing in the back behind my kids. Johana motioned with her hand for me to come over. She pulled something out of her backpack and handed it to me. Turning it over, I saw a starfish pin that said "I make a difference" and a card with a story on it. I knew the story, so I explained it to her, since it was in English. The story goes something like this, "There once was a young man who was walking down a beach. He came across a man throwing starfish from the sand back into the water to save their lives. There were hundreds of the creatures strewn across the beach. The young man asked the older man, 'Why are you doing this? Don't you know there are hundreds and you can't possibly save them all? Why bother?' The old man picked up another starfish and threw it back into the ocean. Turning to the young man he said, 'It made a difference for that one'." After I explained it to her, she indicated that it was for me. In that moment, I knew it was God speaking through her. I have no idea where she would have gotten such a thing or why she gave it to me. It was completely out of the blue, but it was unmistakably God at work in my life this morning. The pin stayed on my jacket all day and now got transferred to my backpack. It's a reminder for me of the love and grace of God and His ministry to me, no matter how or when or where or through who.

June in Cusco - Corpus Cristi and Inti Raymi

June in Cusco is quite the month. Seems like just as one celebration ends, another begins. I wanted to share with you a bit of the culture of Peru and what June looks like here. The month begins with the celebration of Corpus Cristi around the 10th. Corpus is supposedly a celebration of the body of Christ. Supposedly, because it really has nothing to do with the body of Christ. It is a Catholic adaptation of an ancient Incan Native American tradition in which the mummies of former Incas (rulers) were paraded around the plaza of the city to celebrate and honor them. When the Spanish came and conquered and wanted to convert the Incas to Catholicism (mostly by force), they decided to replace the mummies with saints and parade the saints around. (I've even heard that in some cases they put the mummies inside the saint statues in some way in order to heighten the acceptance of Catholicism). The tradition has persisted for the last roughly 500 years in that manner. Various churches around Cusco have their own resident saints. The part of Cusco where I live is called San Jeronimo. Surprisingly enough, the patron saint of this part of town is San Jeronimo! Since I'm not in the Catholic church, I don't know exactly how all this works, but this is what I understand. Every year, people who worship these saints are chosen or asked to be in charge of making clothes for the saints or carrying them into Cusco. It's a great honor. But it also comes with its downside. Many times people spend excessive amounts of money to fulfill their responsibility to the saint, so much so that their families suffer. I was talking to my friend Rene the other week. She gave me some interesting insight into this tradition. She told me she used to carry a saint before she became a Christian. She said she really believed the saint was God. I asked her if she ever wondered why, if this was the case, there were so many different saints. She said she'd asked and was told that they are all different expressions of God (or something like that). Coming from my Christian worldview of growing up hearing "Don't worship idols", I still have a ways to go to understand all this. Anyway, all the 15 saints receive richly ornamented, expensive, lavish new clothes and are carried into Cusco on litters from their various churches of residence. They meet in the plaza and form a parade around the perimeter. One by one, they are carried into the cathedral where they supposedly have some sort of party for a week. The entering of the cathedral is solemn. Each of the saints is preceeded by a band consisting of horns and drums. There are also highly decorated banners that preceed each saint to proclaim the name of the saint, where it comes from and some of its worshippers. Afterwards there are traditional dances. It is a procession full of color and noise. Most of the schools in Cusco have off that day, since it's a religious holiday. The plaza is packed with people. However, the holiday is not completely religious. It is also somewhat of a tourist attraction and many people come to watch and eat chiriuchu (a plate of cold food including guinea pig, chicken, fish eggs, seaweed, toasted corn, cheese and a thick, cakey omelet....I'm not sure how to describe that part). This dish is usually only eaten during this time of year. Close to the main plaza there is another plaza called the Plaza de San Francisco. The plaza is full of vendors all selling chiriuchu and beer. Can't forget the beer. No Peruvian religious celebration is complete without it. Many people go home drunk. Another one of the sad realities of Peruvian religious celebrations is that they are often followed by abuse due to drunkenness.
A week later, the saints are taken from the cathedral and carried back to their places of residence throughout the year. Though this is not as big a deal as is their advent to the cathedral, it is still important. People set up stands all along the route back home, selling mainly food and beer. We saw San Jeronimo's procession resting and eating in front of the prison on the way home from school.
Just as the saints are being taken back home, the parades for Cusco Day begin. Cusco Day is celebrated on June 24th. As its name suggests, it is a holiday celebrating Cusco and coincides with one of the most important religious festivals of the Incas: Inti Raymi. More on that in a bit. The 2 weeks leading up to Cusco Day are full of colorful dances celebrating the typical culture here. Schools work hard to prepare dances (during this time we are working hard on schoolwork, not dances, at PROMESA.) and participate in a contest in the main plaza. One night I went to the post office only to discover that one entire side of a main road had been blocked off in order for this competition to happen (this is a quite normal phenomenon and is accepted without complaint by the motorists of Cusco). I decided to head up to the plaza to see what was going on. I stood there for about 2 hours watching the dances (unfortunately, I didn't have my camera with me). The dances also continued on for a while after I left around 9 PM. The funniest part was the man with the big drum protruding from his stomach Energizer bunny-style and the Energizer knapsack on his back. That one made me laugh.
The dances and parades continue day after day, with virtually all the schools and colleges participating. Bellas Artes, a local art college, does its own parade every year with all sorts of floats. The culminating parade is on June 23, the night before Cusco Day. Businesses, organizations, neighborhoods, people from the communities around Cusco - all are invited to participate. The parade lasts for hours, with music, some floats, dances, and a ton of people in ponchos walking.
Cusco Day dawns bright and early. Again streets are blocked off and the celebration of Inti Raymi begins. Inti Raymi literally means Festival to the Sun. The Incans believed themselves to be children of the sun and worshipped the sun as their supreme deity. Inti Raymi was celebrated in Incan times and repressed by the Catholic church with the advent of the Spanish. For hundreds of years it was not celebrated until someone decided in the mid 20th century that the practice should be resurrected. It is a time of asking the "father sun" to be kind and to bring a good harvest and not forget the people. It's also a major tourist attraction, probably even more so than an actual sun-worship ceremony. The festivities begin in Korikancha (the ancient Incan temple of the sun - the name literally means "the golden place"), early in the morning. During the times of the Incas, Korikancha was built in such a way that the sunrise on the morning of June 24th hit the temple of the sun just right and the whole room, covered with gold, shone brilliantly. Today there is a colonial church built on top of it and there is no gold (thanks to the Spanish) and that part is lost. It is, however, still the beginning point for the celebration of Inti Raymi. The Inca, after much fanfare on the part of the court (honestly, sometimes it felt more like they were worshipping the Inca rather than the sun), emerges from Korikancha and sings a song to the "father sun". The ceremony is entirely in Quechua, since that is historically accurate. The Inca is played by a professional actor. Royal Incan lineage plays (or has historically played) somewhat of a part in the choosing of this person. The ceremony here is rather short and all the courtiers and lastly the Inca then move to the main plaza of the city for stage 2. The courtiers enter the plaza in groups - the musicians, the dancers, the soldiers, the princesses (literally chosen young women called ñustas who served the Inca), the Inca's wife and lastly the Inca himself. There is much fanfare, dancing, ceremony, color, music and celebration. Again, the Inca sings to the "father sun" and meets with the mayor of Cusco to admonish him to be a good ruler of Cusco and remind him of the values of his people. After this ceremony, the entire group moves up to Sacsayhuaman, the ancient Incan fortress overlooking the city, where the main sun worship ceremony takes place. Again the fanfare. Again the worship. Again the ceremony, the music, the color. Since Inti Raymi is such a tourist attraction, the only really really good views are from the main stage area (which costs about $70 a ticket). But the hills are covered with people for hours before the beginning of this ceremony, trying to see what they can from where they are. The entire procession enters the stage area, again with much ritual. The Inca receives reports from the four regions of the empire and then there is the reading of the coca leaves and the most important part, the sacrifice of the llama (due to animal rights, this is not truly carried out, but is simulated). It's a long day, ending about 3-4 PM. My friends and I left early to go home, so there are no pictures of either of these parts.
However, if you'd like to see more pictures of all these events, please click here to view the album I made on facebook.
Being here in Cusco, sometimes it is hard to know where worship ends and tourism begins. During these holidays, some people really are worshipping the saints and the sun. Others are just there for the chiriuchu or the tourist aspect. Vendors selling ice cream in the streets make a killing. But, whatever the motives of the people may be, I pray that God opens blind eyes and softens hard hearts so that people can see who He truly is and be open to Him. I pray that the glory of the Lord shines upon Cusco and that all may truly know Him. Jesus, You are the only one really worthy of worship.

Majorities and Minorities

The past month in Cusco has been full of many things. June begins the dry season and winter. The mornings are cold and the days are warm and sunny. Just before mid-June, Corpus Cristi happens. This festival celebrates the saint statues that are housed in various cathedrals around Cusco. They all are brought to the main cathedral for a week. More to follow on this, but suffice it to say that, wow, there are a ton of people. The main plaza is completely blocked off to traffic. None could get through anyway. There are that many people packing out the plaza.
Just when Corpus Cristi is over and all the saints are being returned to their various places of residence, Cusco Day happens. Every June 24, Cusco Day is celebrated. Before this day, there are dance competitions with all the schools in Cusco (we don't participate, we actually do work throughout this time). There is also a huge parade of many of the employees of various businesses and residents of various neighborhoods. Again, lots of people and blocked roads.
The actual day of the 24th, there is an annual festival of the sun, a ritual dating from the Incan times. It's mostly touristic at this point, however, it seems. Again, lots of people and more blocked roads.
And then today, we had a March for Jesus. It was easy to tell that we were the minority. Life as normal swirled around us. Cars waited for us to pass. People watched us curiously as we walked by. It wasn't a big deal for anyone but us. It was sad to realize this fact. As I entered the plaza, I remembered how packed it had been the last few times I was there. Now, it was much emptier. The police were standing in a row, if by any chance, just in case there would be some kid of behavioral chaos.
And yet, small as we were, we worshipped. And it was beautiful. We came with hte PROMESA kids, singing and cheering Jesus all the way in English and Spanish) and none of them complained about the long walk, even thouh they were quie tired by the tine we got the plaza. And God was there. We may be the minority, but someday, in faith, maybe we'll be the majority. Maybe someday we'll fill up the plaza, just like everyone else. Till then...keep marching!

My kids

I wish you could meet my kids. Guess that sounds strange in a way for a single person to be saying. One of my third graders asked me the other month if I had kids. I told her I had 55. She looked at me rather agog, mouth and eyes both wide open, and said "55 kids?!". I calmly responded "Yeah, third grade, fourth grade and fifth grade". She thought this over for a few seconds and then said "So, we're your kids?" "Yes, you are", I replied.
I really do feel like my students are my kids. And rather than contradicting this feeling, my kids only feed it. They regularly call me Mami (mommy in Spanish) in class, always correcting themselves and laughing about it afterwards. I even got called Grandma the other week. I won't incriminate anyone on that one... :) They don't wake me up in the middle of the night complaining of hurting tummies or bad dreams, but they do enter my dreams in the middle of the night and they keep me burning the midnight oil sometimes to get everything done on time. They don't clamor at my shoulder for me to come play with them after school and lunch are done, but I do end up working for them during that time. They don't ask me for money, but I do spend it without them knowing. They give me hugs and tell me they don't want me to leave. I give them hugs back and tell them I'm not leaving for a while yet. They tell me they love me. I tell them the same.
My kids make me laugh. Like the other week when Dany was conducting an orchestra in the middle of singing a song in class. His whole little heart was into it and it made me laugh so hard that I couldn't keep singing and the entire class was wondering what was wrong with their teacher! Or the times that they say or do something funny that just makes my day.
My kids make me frustrated. Like when they don't know a word that I'm sure they should know because they've heard it a ton of times. Or when they don't pay attention in class. Or when they are talking during class and I have to keep talking to them.
My kids bless me. Like when they write on their homework "I love you Miss Bethany" or when they come up and give me hugs as I come into the room. Or when they get excited to see me. Or like the other day when I was having a private counseling conversation with Magna during recess and Mabelin made sure we were done before she left the other 5th graders enter the room.
My kids also make me want to cry sometimes. I am not one who cries easily whatsoever. But they make me want to. My heart breaks for Magna and her family situation, for the horribly mean things her dad says to her, for the stress she's under at home because of her dad's affair, for the fact that her little life only has peace when her dad's away. I feel like I know her situation best because she actually talks to me about it. But there's also Alejandra, whose family is also in turmoil right now. And Leo. And Medli. And Ibet, who lives with her dad and misses her mom. And all the others whose problems I don't know about or only have inklings of.
The other day, because of an unexpected emergency, I taught third grade's Bible class on the story of Ruth. We'd just gotten done talking in the teachers' meeting about some of the situations in the school, so that was on my mind. It occurred to me as I thought about the story that it could apply. So as I dramatized the story for them, I emphasized the fact that God never left Naomi alone. The family had problems. Naomi had problems. But God was always with her in that and never left her without someone to comfort her and someone to be with her and provide for her. In Naomi's case, that was Ruth. In the cases of my kids, who knows who that is. But I've been very thankful the last few days that God is an omnipresent God who can help my kids in all their problems and be with them always. Their parents might be fighting. They might be seeing abuse before their very eyes. Their family might be separated. They might have other problems. But God is with them. He is there to hold them and to never ever ever let them go.
So, in answer to my third grader's question, yes I have kids. 55 to be exact. Having 55 kids is a challenge. It's tough, but I love it. It's frustrating, but it's so rewarding. Sometimes I feel a bit like Old Mother Hubbard. Sometimes I feel like the queen of the world. Sometimes I want to ream out parents. Sometimes I want to ream out myself for not being more like Jesus for my kids. I want to be able to love them all unconditionally, no matter how they respond to me in class or what nasty habits they have. I'm finding I need to work on that part some more. They drive me nuts. They drive me to laughter. And they drive me to Jesus and to realize more about my own self.
I have 55 kids. And I wouldn't trade where I am for the world.

Thou shalt have no other gods...

Recently, there have been two instances when I have been made keenly aware again of the idolatry that runs rampant here in Cusco. Thanks to the influences of both Incan Native American beliefs and Catholicism, religion in Cusco is a nice syncretistic thing involving, among other things, witch doctors, reading coca leaves, adoration of saints, and making burnt offerings to the Mother Earth. At this time of the year, there are two festivals: Holy Week and the Velada de la Cruz. Holy Week begins in Cusco with the procession of the patron saint of Cusco, Señor de los Temblores (Lord of the Earthquakes). I'm a little unclear on the exact beginnings of this particular image, but it was somehow involved in supposedly stopping an earthquake or it wasn't damaged in said earthquake or something. So now it is revered as the patron saint of Cusco. Its home is in the cathedral of Cusco, where it resides for about 363 days of the year. The Monday of Holy Week (the week before Easter), it comes out and gets paraded around the city. It ends up back at the Plaza de Armas (the main plaza of the city where the cathedral is located. The last 500 yards of its journey are surely the most difficult. The plaza is packed with thousands of people wanting to touch the statue and receive blessings from it. Many eager hands clamor to touch it and the path of those carrying it is strewn with flower petals. After crawling its way through the crowd, it is then returned to its home in the cathedral, behind golden doors, on top of an altar adorned by flowers, flanked by Mary and Joseph on either side. Recently, I had the opportunity to go into the cathedral for a concert. I took a picture of the Señor de los Temblores, to share on here at an opportune moment. Looking at the Señor de los Temblores, the verse in the Bible that talks about being able to freely approach the throne of grace came to mind. Here is the patron saint of Cusco, locked up in a church building behind a grated, golden door, at the top of a massive altar, so far away no one can possibly touch it. Even taking a picture of it is not necessarily permitted (shhh....don't tell anyone!). In front of the golden doors that form one wall of the home for this saint are candles ready to be lit as part of petitions. There are also wooden boxes to collect alms for the Señor de los Temblores. In the middle of the aisle along which he rests is a kneeling bench for people to come and pray to the Señor de los Temblores about whatever they want. The night I was at the cathedral, there were a surprisingly large number of people who utilized this bench. It all is very sad to me. During Easter week at school, I was talking with my kids about Easter. In third grade, we got to talking about the Señor de los Temblores. I asked my kids "Does he have ears?" No. "Does he have eyes?" No. "Does he have a brain?" No. "Does he have a heart and lungs?" No. "Do you think he can really hear you?" No. I found it interesting, standing there observing during the concert, watching people kneel before the image to pray, that children get what adults do not. Good Friday in Cusco is actually, in some ways, more celebrated than Sunday itself. People go to mass and the faces of the saints are covered. Supposedly, since Jesus is now dead, the saints are as well and people can basically do what they want. In Lucre, a village close to my church in Huacarpay, where the Mennonite church also has a building and where about 15 of our students at PROMESA come from, there is a procession of priests carrying saints to various places and then returning them to the church again. The whole week is full of idolatry and many excuses for drunkenness (as if any were needed).
Last week, I went out for my weekly pilgrimage to Huacarpay. When I arrived, I was informed that I had come in the middle of Velada de la Cruz, a festival that worships the cross - not Jesus, not what He did on the cross, not what the cross means, just the cross. We heard fireworks as we were preparing the songs for worship the next morning. At one point, Rene said "Run to the door and you'll see a procession of people carrying a cross down the street." Sure enough, she was right. Unfortunately, I didn't take my camera (bad timing!) to capture any pictures, but I saw at least two such processions throughout the weekend. Right next to the pastor's family's house, where I sleep on Saturday nights, is a shrine where there was much cross-worshipping happening all night. Fortunately for me, the room where I stay with Lisi and Abigail, the pastor's two daughters is the farthest away from the shrine. Add that to perpetual tiredness and I slept like a log all night, not hearing anything. Ines, the pastor's wife, however, assured me the next morning that, yes, the music and partying went on all night. Walking to my friend Juana's house with her and her sisters after church the next day, I saw another makeshift shrine to the cross set up along the side of the street. Under a dark green tent, a cross sat. In front of the cross were racks of candles, some lit, some not. I did notice, however, that more were lit when I was leaving than when I was coming. Or so it seemed. This festival apparently lasts for 3 days every year.
These two instances lately have reminded me of the idolatry that surrounds me here and the lostness of the people of Cusco. There are many more things I could add, but I'll leave it at that. Please join me in prayer for God's light to dawn on Cusco and drive away the ever-present darkness of sin, to bring God's freedom and saving grace to this needy land.

Never a Dull Moment...

I had a funny experience today in third grade. Walking into the room for English class right after recess and snack, the first thing I saw was Winny with a container containing lettuce and cucumbers sitting beside her. Presumably her snack. THEN I saw the two big snails on top of the lettuce. I connected the snails with the salad and thought "What in the world? Did she really find those snails while she was eating her salad? How did her mom miss that one?" So I asked her. "Winny, were those snails in your salad?" She explained that the science teacher asked them to bring in animals for their science class today. I told her what I had thought and we both laughed. I must admit to feeling relieved.
The class eagerly informed me (and showed me) that besides Winny's snails, there was Hefzi-Ba's fish and Sebastian's cat (yes, a real live cat that stayed in his desk until it distracted him, at which point he put it in his backpack and fed it crackers because it was hungry...I am not making this up!). Earlier Franco's dog visited the class too.
Then, as we were beginning class, I happened to see Hefzi-Ba with her mouth on a straw. The other end was in the bottle serving as the temporary home of her very frightened fish. Again, in the instant thoughts of a teacher, my brain connected the two and I blurted out, "Hefzi-Ba, are you drinking your fish water?!" She looked at me like "Are you crazy?" and said, "No, I'm giving him oxygen". At which point I said okay, again very relieved.
And then as we were reading our monthly Bible verse, my brain wandered to these two incidents and I had to control myself to keep from laughing in the middle of the verse. Instead, I waited till the end to burst out laughing and recount the two incidents to the entire class, who laughed right along with me.
Oh what a day...call me Noah.

Easter, parasites and being incarnational

This morning I've been thinking about the Incarnation. It's a word that's thrown around a lot in Christian circles, especially around Christmas time. This year, I'm thinking about it at Easter instead. In - well, you know what that means. Carn - flesh. So the Incarnation is literally the act of coming into the flesh. That's what happened when Jesus came to earth as a baby.
Similarly, incarnational is a word that is commonly used in missions circles. It describes a ministry or a person who is living "in the flesh", not in the way that it is often used of being sinful. But in the way that the person is able to relate to those around them in a way that is recognizable by those people and is approachable. This morning I've been thinking a lot about that word. Why? Because of parasites.
The last week and a half I've been having this stomachache/diarrhea thing. It's off and on, but it's there. It's not bad enough that it requires complete bedrest, but it's bad enough to be annoying. It's restricted my diet to mostly soup, bread, apples, bananas, apple juice, Sprite, water and tea. Beyond that, I run the risk of making my stomach unhappy. I got a test done looking for parasites and it came back negative. Thankfully, we have two doctors on our team, so I showed them the results. They said it's possible I could still have something they wouldn't have seen under a microscope, so they gave me medicine for giardia (a certain type of parasite). Who knows if it will do the trick or not, but I have to teach again on Monday and I'd rather be feeling better by then if possible. I have no idea where I picked up whatever I have. It could have been in any number of places.
As a single person here, without parents or other family members, I think people don't want to let you ever feel lonely. Thus, I am constantly eating at other people's houses. Today, for example, I have been invited to go to the houses of some of the families from my church to eat the traditional 12 plates (or at least some of them) that are served here on Easter week (I don't even know what all they are, but they are very famous and very traditional. Maybe that can be my next blog posting). The up side of eating at other people's houses is that I can be incarnational and get to know people in their homes and build relationships and learn Quechua and they get to feel comfortable with me (and I learn how to cook Peruvian food...at least a little bit). The down side is that being in more places obviously exposes me to more parasites, germs, etc. Getting sick from eating something is actually really common here, even among Peruvians. If you say your stomach doesn't feel well, one of the first questions people will ask you is "Where (or what) did you eat?" I've never had a problem with eating at other people's houses. But this morning, the "once burned, twice shy" concept entered my head. Now that I've gotten sick from something I ingested, wherever that may have been, the question entered my head "What do I do now?"
And then I thought about Jesus. Living in heaven for all eternity, Jesus never experienced hunger, sickness, cold, pain, discomfort, animal dung in the streets, etc. When he chose to take on flesh and become a man (Incarnation), he also chose to take onto himself the reality of being hungry, sick, cold, in pain, of walking in animal dung, of experiencing what we as humans experience, of eventually dying a horrible death. All because of His love for us, which is greater than His love of His own life. Thinking about Jesus, I realized I have two choices. I can sacrifice relationship for the sake of more sure health. Or I can love and live like Jesus did and trust God to keep me well (while using common sense), in the midst of fellowship, relationship and food. And yeah, sometimes I might get sick. But I also have a powerful God who can take care of that. I know what Jesus chose and I know what He'd say in this situation too.
So happy Easter and I'll see you when I get back from Huacarpay.

Exciting announcement and a very quick update

I am pleased to announce that we now have water in our house again, as of the other day, after 23 days of being waterless! Thank you Jesus! This morning I took a shower in my own house for the first time in almost 4 weeks. Aaaaaaah.
Things are going well at school. The kids are relaxing after the initial two weeks of novelty wore off. I continue to learn a lot about classroom management and about how to love my kids all the time and yet be strict and put into place the boundaries they need as well. Teaching is one of those things that I don't know if you ever really get "down". The fruit of the Spirit song continues to be very popular and I'm still wanting to take the fruits out of the song and put them more in my life. That's gotta be the work of the Holy Spirit. That's all I can say. School keeps me very busy. I always seem to have plenty to do.
We are getting ready for Easter here. I'm also excited to see my youngest brother and his junior class in a few weeks when they come down for a missions trip. So that's a little bit of what's up here. Blessings to you all!

Life without Water

It's easy to take water for granted. Those tiny little crystalline droplets shooting out of the faucet are always there and abundant. But what if you had to live without water for two weeks? That's the situation at my house right now. They decided to start paving our street so they ripped everything up and then I don't know exactly what happened, but they haven't exactly been working on the street the last few days. So we've been without water. The picture is from one day that we were collecting rainwater in various buckets and dishpans. It was great, until I realized it was only enough for about one toilet flush.
God's spoken to me about a lot of things the last two weeks (okay, thirteen days to be exact). I've learned that without water there is no independence to be had. A lack of water creates community. For instance, without water, I can't take a shower at my house, which necessitates me going to someone else's house to use their shower. We can't drink the water out of the faucet without boiling it, so if we want drinking water, we go to Ron and Regina Shultz's (another missionary family) and fill up our water jugs, since they have filtered water. Were I to be independent at this point and refuse the help of anyone else, I'd be expending way too much energy to make it worth it. I realized this relationship between water and community when, after 3 days of being without water, I decided to take a bucket bath, then realized it was a decision between using that water to bathe or to wash dishes. I poured it back and called Ron and Regina to ask if I could use their shower before school.
One of the biggest blessings in the last week has been the advent of a public spigot about a block from our house. With a bit of ingenious rigging of multiple hoses from multiple missionary families, a system has been developed by which we can bring water directly from the spigot to our house. It's not quite the same as pushing the handle on the toilet and having it magically flush or turning a little knob and having water spew out, but at least we don't have to decide between bathing or washing dishes.
And then on Thursday, something happened to the piping that brought water to the public spigot. It ruptured or something. And there was...again....no water. Yet, in that moment, God spoke to me so strongly. I was starting to feel a bit uneasy. They said this could go for up to about a month or so. What if we have no more public spigot for the rest of that time? How would we do that? And in the same breath, God spoke to me: "Do not worry about what you will eat or drink, or about what you will wear." Okay God, I can trust You. Just then God reminded me as well of the story of Jonah and challenged me with Jonah's example. At the very end of the story, Jonah is sitting outside the city sulking because it's not being destroyed. God causes a vine to grow up and shade him. And then He sends a worm to eat the vine and Jonah gets mad. God basically says, "Okay, let's think about this. You did nothing to have that vine, yet you are mad because I took it away. You're concerned about the vine, but you have no care for the 120,000+ people in that city down there." I'd never understood that part of the story before. But God spoke to my heart. "You did nothing to have the spigot. It was put there and you benefit from it. But now it's taken away and you're concerned about where you're going to get water. How much more am I concerned about the people of Cusco - my creation and those who I care for and love - who are trapped in idolatry and don't know me. And how much more should you be concerned for them?" I don't think I'll forget the meaning of that story for a long time. For the record, the piping was repaired and we had water the next day. Maybe God just wanted to teach me a thing or two?!
And in the last two weeks, I've experienced so many blessings. There was the time that I was going to Ron and Regina's to shower and I got a free ride from my stop to their stop (which was very close, but I didn't have time to walk it). There are all the people who have been letting us use their showers. Like my friend Mari who, when I told her it could be up to a month, said, "Don't worry about where you'll take a shower. You can always take one at my house". Or Ron and Regina, whose house has been turned into a public bath of sorts for the missionaries (there is another family besides us who has no water). Or my pastor and his family, who let me use their shower last weekend when I was at their house. Or John and Cindy, another missionary family who have been letting us use their shower. And there was the woman at the little snack stop for the combi drivers. We live at the end of a public transportation line and there is a little snack stop there. Last weekend I heard there was a truck right near there that was giving out free water to people. I had some stuff to do but then went to get mine, but by the time I got there, the truck had left. I asked the women who were at the snack stop and they told me the truck comes every day but it had left for the day. But one of the women was kind enough to give me the better part of her 5-gallon bucket of water. And then there's our dear friend Marga who helps us out in our house, who has been wonderful in helping us keep our buckets and cans and things filled with water.
So, yeah, we have no water. But in the midst of that having no water, I've received so many more blessings and words from God. Yeah, it would be nice to not have to brush my teeth with a cup or pour water into my toilet to flush it. And it would be nice not to have to plan when I'm going to take a shower and rely on the mercy of others for said shower. But I think, for me anyway, the inconveniences have been more than made up for by the blessings and hearing God's voice in the midst of them.

The First Week of School

Since tomorrow is the end of the first week of school, I'll give you a little update on what's been going on here.
I was approaching the beginning of the school year with many mixed emotions. Last year I had some very difficult students. One of them, I found out over break, is not returning. This brought me great amounts of relief, although it sounds horrible to say it. Jesus, teach me how to truly love like You do. But still, I faced the prospect of another year with a certain amount of trepidation. Mixed in with that feeling was one of excitement and enthusiasm for a new year, a clean slate, a chance to improve over last year. On top of that was wondering how it was going to go teaching three grades instead of two.
Monday dawned cold and rainy. On top of that, there was some sort of agricultural strike which affected public transportation. Between these two factors, many of our kids didn't show up. Most families here don't have their own car and depend solely on public transportation to get around. So when there's no public transportation, things come pretty much to a standstill. But, undaunted, we started anyway.
As the week has progressed, nearly all of our enrolled students have showed up, thankfully. Our enrollment is about 130, up from 90 last year. It's been a good week overall. Yes, there have been challenges, but it's been positive so far. I am teaching third, fourth and fifth grade English this year, since we have a shortage of English teachers right now. Despite the busyness and the crazy running here and there, I'm enjoying it.
My third grade class is proving to be my most challenging so far. Managing them is difficult. There are several who I feel like I am constantly talking to. And there's Nohelia. Nohelia is being raised by her brother and sister, since her parents died about 2 years ago. The family is struggling to make it financially and Nohelia is struggling to make it emotionally. The complaint of teachers last year is that she doesn't want to do anything in class. She just sits there. Same story when you talk to her. She just sits there and doesn't respond. The third grade teacher this year echoed that thought when I talked to her yesterday. I noted her reluctance to cooperate yesterday as well in my class. My theory is that she needs a lot of love and a lot of discipline. So I'm trying something. I ask her every time I see her if she needs a hug. And she usually does. I don't know if it will work or not, but it's worth a try. Jesus, thank You for arms and a heart that love to give hugs!
My fourth grade class is a blessing! Last year they frustrated me quite a bit with their bad attitudes and a difficulty with listening and paying attention and obeying. Not all of them, but enough of them that just entering the room made my stress level rise many days, especially towards the end of the year. This year, they are so different! The absence of several students makes a difference, as well as the fresh motivation and some maturing after two months of break. They have been great for me this week and I'm really enjoying them! Thank you Jesus!
Fifth grade continues to be a blessing as well. They enjoy English, are motivated, and generally have a good ability to learn the language. They understand well and are also willing to speak. We have a good rapport. The class has a love affair with pizza which was revisited the second day of class when they asked me when we can make pizza in class again. Oh boy...
I decided to do something new this year and choose a student every day to choose an English song to sing. It's great English practice for them and they really seem to enjoy it. I've also taught all my classes this week a song about the fruit of the Spirit, since that's both a theme in the school this year and the verse we're learning this month. The song talks about how the fruit of the Spirit is not a coconut, banana, raisin, kiwi, cherry, watermelon, grape, etc. Each of the fruits has a motion to it. All three classes love the song and ask to sing it every day. I was very impressed to note today that a good number of my fifth graders are actually getting the words, despite the fact that they are fast and in English! Whooohoooo! Singing together has probably been my favorite part of the week thus far.
I realized, in processing all this tonight, that God has been so faithful and good and truly has answered many prayers for this year, especially as far as fourth grade is concerned and as far as I personally am concerned. I can tell that my attitude is much better since the break than it was before. As I teach my kids the fruit of the Spirit, that's been a focus in my own heart as well. I've realized since being here that my tree needs to be bearing much more fruit. I need to be more like Jesus.
So I'm looking forward to the rest of the year. Oh, I won't say that it won't have its difficult times. I won't say it already hasn't. But I know that I'm not alone in this and that God will continue to be my help and enable me to bear more fruit.

My cold hands and Isabo

I have almost perpetually cold hands. Always have. Probably always will. Enter Isabo. Isabo is in Carrie's summer English class. She's going in to first grade. She's a quick little girl who loves to talk and sing and participate. Yesterday we were standing in a circle with all the kids singing "Hallelalalalelalelujah". And then we grabbed hands to pray. Isabo happened to be standing in between me and Jessica, another girl who is here for several months helping out in the school. Grabbing both of our hands, which were both cold, she said, half to herself, half to whoever else happened to be listening "Alalau!", which is the Quechua word for "Brrrr!". (They don't get brrrrr here.) That in itself made me laugh.
So after we prayed, I said, "Isabo, I'm sorry. My hands are freezing!" She looked at me in all sincerity and simply said "Guantes" (gloves). And again I had to laugh.
Then today we went to the zoo with all the English class kids. Isabo was sitting on my lap on the bus on the way there. All of a sudden, her hands grasped mine. Before I knew it, my hands were crammed into the tiny pocket on the front of her sweatshirt, half of my palms sticking out either side. My fingers, amazingly, began feeling warmer. And then she put her little hands on top of the backs of my hands that were sticking out of her pocket, covering them protectively. And my whole hands started to feel the warmth. Pretty soon, they weren't cold anymore. My heart, at the same time, was melting too, for the record. Here was this tiny little girl, half my size, was taking care of my cold hands and warming them up as best as she knew how.
And so God showed me love today through the warm hands of a 6-year-old Peruvian child in a blue sweatsuit on the bus on the way to zoo.

Women and Technology - a different perspective

Here's a little story, just to make you smile.
Washing machines here are a luxury. The majority of Peruvian women wash their clothes by hand and teach their kids how to do it too. Realistically, it would be extremely rare to find a Peruvian who had never had the experience of washing clothes by hand.
My friend Marga's washing machine broke down the other month. Apparently, several weeks ago she was lamenting this fact to someone at church and David, the pastor overheard her.
"Only lazy women use washing machines", he told her.
"No David," she replied. "I'm not the lazy one. While I'm washing clothes, I'm also cooking, cleaning, washing dishes, and taking care of my kids. I get a lot done in a short time! The lazy one is the woman who doesn't have a washing machine and spends all day washing clothes, not getting anything else done!"

Adventures in Bolivia

I'm in Arequipa right now and don't have my computer with me. So I won't have pictures for this one, but thought I'd give you all a good laugh anyway. :) Hopefully I can add pictures once I get back home.
So I went to Santa Cruz, Bolivia with my friend Marisol to visit her brother Alfredo, who is working in a children's home and studying there. We left on Sunday night, January 4, at 10 PM on a bus, en route to La Paz, Bolivia, the first leg of our journey. We crossed the border with no problems whatsoever (thank you Jesus!) and about 2 hours later, pulled into La Paz. Arriving in the bus terminal there, we decided to look for tickets for Santa Cruz. After hearing from about two bus lines that there were no tickets, I decided to ask why and was informed that there were landslides on the road to Santa Cruz and no buses were going there. We asked what our other options were and were told that we could go to Cochabamba in a bus and then get a smaller van from there to take us to Santa Cruz. That was the only way, short of flying. We opted for the bus, since it seemed like a reliable option. There was a bus leaving in about half an hour, so we bought tickets and headed out of La Paz less than an hour after arriving. Wow!
7 hours later, around 8:30, we arrived in Cochabamba. Inquiring about vans headed to Santa Cruz, we were told that there was one leaving immediately. It was expensive, but "guaranteed" to get us there. So we loaded all our stuff in. The only place for it was right where our feet needed to go. So we put our feet on top and I tried to find a comfortable angle to stretch out my feet without putting them in anyone else's personal space....hmmm....hard to do when there are 8 people in a minivan with luggage and all. We traveled out of Cochabamba, to the tune of an older woman of obvious Quechua descent who was making sure the driver knew he could not drive too fast or too dangerously. For about 2 hours, we traveled in this fashion, until we stopped, thanks to a traffic jam. The driver got out, leaving his 7 passengers trying to find sleep in a stuffed van with a man who snored very determinedly. We sat there for about 3 hours till we could finally go. Traveling about a half an hour more, we got stuck again. This time, we decided to wait out the rest of the night (only a few hours at this point) and see what would happen in the morning. Later I found out that we were stopped due to the fact that there had been a landslide and part of the road had fallen out of place and was now completely impassable. In the early morning, no one was exactly sure when there would be a way through or if there would be. So we decided the best bet was to walk. We joined the human stream of people flowing towards the site of the landslide. It turned into a human river the closer we got. We ended up walking for 2 hours, carrying all our stuff, shifting it between us in order to avoid our muscles from getting too sore from carrying too much weight for too long. We tried at one point to wrap up all my stuff in my blanket so I could carry it more easily on my back. We had to try about 3 times to get it all comfortable, much to the amusement of the people from the country who were sitting there watching this gringa try to get a large load on her back, with much assistance from my friend Marisol. We finally got it on and I started walking, only to realize that the material in my blanket was highly stretchy and my load was shifting lower and lower and lower. We abandoned the idea quickly, laughing all the while. Finally, we reached the site of the landslide and waited for the road equipment to finish working so we could go across to the other side. Arriving on the other side, we decided we didn't want to walk the 7 kilometers that apparently were still between us and a bus that would take us to Santa Cruz. So we took motorcycles conveniently parked there and doing quite a brisk business shuttling people back and forth. Minutes later, the motorcycle drivers deposited us at the makeshift bus stop where buses were heading back to Santa Cruz, after having lost their passengers in the mass of people moving to where we had just come from. We found a bus leaving right away, a regular city bus. The next 9 hours or so were spent traveling on this bus (which became very uncomfortable after about 7 hours), which finally took us to Santa Cruz.
The first thing we did after arriving was call Alfredo, who was waiting for us at another bus terminal. While waiting for him to come, I discovered that Bolivia is the land of unexpected ups and downs when the sidewalk and I had a close encounter. End result: a skinned knee and a nice little hole in my sweatpants. :( Welcome to Santa Cruz.
The rest of the day went much better. We took a much-needed shower and went to the mall to watch a movie. It ws good to see Alfredo again. I knew him when I was here with YES, but hadn't gotten to reconnect till now, beyond email and facebook.
We asked Alfredo what he wanted to eat from Peru. He immediately answered aji de gallina, which is like chicken in a yellow sauce, served with rice and potatoes. You gotta understand that Marisol hates cooking and I don't know how to do it very well. So we got our heads together. After getting all the ingredients, we began to cook. Between the two of us, we made it, though we had a moment of panic when the aji sauce turned out super salty. A little more bread and milk and some more boiling took care of that one. Two heads are definitely better than one.
The week was spent getting to know some of the people and places that are a part of Santa Cruz. One day we visited the random sand dunes that are plunked down in the middle of the countryside outside the city. Before we got to see the dunes, however we spent an hour pushing Alfredo's friend Noel's taxi out of the sand where it got severely stuck. Thanks to some ingenious engineering involving flip flops, sticks, water, car jacks and stones (some successful and some not so much), we got the car unstuck and went to see the dunes, which were beautiful and rather mystifying, seeing as how I have no idea how God dropped all that sand there.
Another day, we went to see Las Cabañas, a collection of restaurants housed in thatched-roofed huts with no walls, serving typical Bolivian food. Yummy!
We spent lots of time walking around downtown Santa Cruz, enjoying the scenery and shopping. We saw several movies and spent time getting to know Alfredo's friens. Mari wanted to stay longer, but I needed to leave earlier to get back to Arequipa for the missionary retreat. So I decided to fly part of the way back. Sunday morning at 6:30, I flew out of the Santa Cruz airport, landing in La Paz 1 hour later. From there, I got a van to the border, about 2 hours away. The van dropped me off about half a mile from the border, but I had no idea where to go, so I took a tricycle - basically like a big, 3-wheeled bike with a large wooden box in front, pedaled by a driver, in which I and all my stuff could fit. Thankfully, I had another uneventful border crossing (it's always kind of nerve-wracking to cross the border with nothing but a Peruvian green card. I'm never quite sure if they're going to accept it as valid. So far I haven't had any problems, but I have friends who have.) From the border, I found a bus headed to Arequipa. 9 hours later, around 8 PM, I arrived in Arequipa. The Arequipan taxi driver who "just happened to" be sitting next to me on the bus, and to whom I had a chance to talk about God, helped me find a taxi to take me to my hotel and made sure he didn't charge me too much.
And so it all worked out. Yes, I had adventure. But, despite all the craziness, traveling actually went pretty smoothly. I never had to wait more than half an hour to find any kind of transportation. I always had people there who knew what they were doing. And I had a big God by my side. And I need to go because the computer battery is dying quickly. Blessings to you all and hopefully pictures will come soon!