Thank you, Peru

I am learning more and more everyday that the things that Peru has taught me are slowly but surely shaping me. They are molding me into the person I am now. The Hanna that arrived here on August 29, I am now realizing, was different. Not bad, just different. I am also realizing that the things I am learning here probably don't mean anything to the people I left behind. Because life back home is literally another world. So right now, I want to give a toast. An ode. Ballad. Whatever. 

Thank you, Peru:

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I can make a mean pot of rice.

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I can plan Sabbath School, church, write a children's story, a sermon, and plan J.A. in 5 minutes. 

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I can pee boldly anywhere. Outside. In the rain. On a train. With green eggs and ham. In a box. With a fox. Anywhere.

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I know how to use a machete to do anything from hack my way through the jungle to peel an orange. 

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I can give someone a shot in the butt. Or pull out an aching tooth without fear.  

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I can put out a fire with a lemonade bucket. 

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I can ride in a taxi with 8 people and somehow position myself comfortably. 

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I can take a 2 minute shower.

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I have learned how to live without a mirror. Or the desire to use one. (Although sometimes when I pass a store that happens to have glass in the window, I'm startled at what I see.)

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I can make soup at the end of the week with what little or no food we have left. Usually a carrot. An onion. Maybe one or two potatoes. Noodles. Rice. Soy sauce. Oatmeal. Whatever.

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I can openly talk about bodily functions.

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I have learned how to eat oatmeal for breakfast everyday for 6 months and still like it because I'm so hungry.

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I have learned how to fight in a language that is not my own with taxi drivers, motokar drivers, and mean men at the post office who don't want to give me my packages. 

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I have learned how to play volleyball in a lot of mud. And laugh when I fall down. 

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I could probably make a pretty awesome housewife one day. I have also gained a lot of respect for housewives. Boy, do they work hard. 

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I have learned how to burn trash.

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I have learned how to love like I never thought possible. 

Thank you, Peru. Because of you I now have a desire to do more with my life. 

Much much more. 

Un sol

1. A ride from Km 38 to Campo Verde in a motokar (it's 50 centimos if you're willing to cram into a packed convi - but totally worth it)
2. A fresh squeezed glass of orange juice from the fruit lady across the street (ironically named Lady)
3. 40 minutes of internet at the air-conditioned internet cafe
4. 1 hour of internet at the internet cafe without air-conditioning
5. 1 bottle of water
6. 1 scan
7. 10 copies
8. 1 bracelet in Cuzco
9. 2 bags of chicha morada (purple corn drink) off of the street - it's delectable
10. 1 print of a photo
11. 1 Albendazol treatment (worm medicine)
12. 10 green mangoes
13. 2 red mangoes
14. 1 cucumber
15. 1/2 kilo of rice (1 kilo of the rice with lots of rocks in it - not worth it)
16. 5 boxes of matches
17. 1 cucumber
18. 8 really soft rolls of bread from the bakery
19. 1 personal size hunk of cheese
20. 1 brick

All of these things can be purchased here in Peru for one Sol. Which is the US equivalent of about 36 cents. Life is good here. Good and cheap. I'm going to freak out when I go home and a meal costs more than $1.50. But for now, I'm just going to soak up living in the cheap bliss of Peru.

Hot dawwwwwg

I've recently picked up the new job of dog feeder. The job would seem simple enough. Give 3 cups of food to 3 dogs every morning. Yeah, it's easy. But add in the fact that all 3 of the dogs are completely dysfunctional and disobedient and you get to have yourself a little adventure every morning. So let me just tell you a little bit about these dogs.
There are three of them. Shaq, Pudi, and Centurion (more commonly known as Weasel-head.) They are all mentally challenged. Shaq, who I think looks more like a lion than a German Shepherd, never stops barking. And he doesn't have anything to bark at usually. But it's the same pitched bark over and over again. He throws his voice out like a broken record. Pudi is a sweetheart, but always jumps on me. And now that I give her food, she thinks that it's her job to follow me where ever I go. Including this morning when I was taking a shower. She was trying to push the door open and stared at me the whole time through the giant crack in the wood. She's also slightly cross eyed.
Finally, Weasel-head. I've never hated anything before that I can really remember. But I hate this dog. He doesn't listen to anything. Or anyone. And always whines. And always jumps on me and gets me all muddy. And he likes to bite hands. Stupid.
So every morning I take a deep breath and walk out to the dog house. I get trampled. But it's in love, I guess. I am giving them food. Aka I am giving them life. And so should obey me. But they don't. I guess it's a lot worse with us and God.
And I secretly like having a posse of huge dogs surrounding me wherever I go. It makes me feel pretty cool.

Those be the goase (goals)

Last night I dreamt that I was in New York City with my dad. I've never been to NYC before so the scenery was purely from movies and a wacky imagination. I dreamt that I was singing out of the Bible with Stanley from The Office. Get the whaaaaaa?! We were singing from the book of Romans about cows and pigs. I'm pretty sure Romans doesn't talk about farm animals at all. I dreamt that were a natural disaster to strike the Big Apple, all I would need to do would be to find a manhole and sink down into it and put a Glad plastic tupperware top on my head. You know, the blue circle ones?

I've been having lots of crazy dreams lately.

I've also been having lots of thoughts. About my faults. A lot of doubts. I hate being compared to other people. I hate having high expectations on me because then I feel like in order to prove myself worthy, I have to exceed them. I feel like I'm burning myself out trying to please everyone. I want to be remembered here in Peru. Is that a bad thing? I want to make a difference. But it's hard. I hate having that feeling in the pit of my stomach. That feeling that, What if nothing is any better because I was here? I know it's too early know. And maybe I never will. The feelings though. They are so real.

But there I go again. What am I comparing myself to? Human standards. People that matter, but aren't eternal. I guess what I should be concerned about is this: Do I love my neighbor as I love myself? Do I do all things without grumbling and complaining? Do I respect the Earth? I know I'm not there yet, but those be the goals (Hey, that kind of rhymes!) that I'm working towards.

Bang

The rainy season has definitely hit. Going outside is like trying to walk through a bowl of soup. Ok, not everywhere, but a lot of places. And I always fall. Always. That has made picking up kids every night for Vacation Bible School a little difficult. Not impossible, just a little slippery.
It was just a normal day. Jonathan and I were driving down the Yerbas Buenas road to pick up the kids. We were running late, of course. Nothing was unusual. As the truck was making its way down the road, a motorkar was just about to pass us going the opposite direction. There were two women in the motokar. I don't know why this hit such a strong note with me. I don't even know why I'm blogging about this. It was a gesture. A small one. That one of the women did. It only lasted 3 seconds and then it was gone. As we were passing, she put up her hands to make a gun, looked me straight in the eye, and moved her mouth as if to say "Bang". You're dead.

She killed me.

We continued down the road. But something felt different. I had to gather my thoughts. I felt numb. I don't even know why it affected me so much. But it did. I had just been shot.

In my heart.

Let us pray - for 3 minutes

I have to admit something. I have never been a huge prayer warrior. I don't wake up at 5 o'clock every morning to pray for 2 hours before each day starts. I know I should pray more often than I do though. But I have this problem with becoming okay with where I'm at. When nothing is going wrong, when I feel like I'm living how I want to be. Oh, boy that's the most dangerous state to get stuck in. And that's where I felt I was at. When I get into the routine of not spending the time with God and still think I'm fine, that's exactly where Satan wants me. That's where he wants all of us. Stuck. Stuck within ourselves and not even caring to reach out to the One who gives us everything - including the life we're wasting.
I think my prayer life, or lack thereof hit me last week when I was invited to attend an all night prayer vigil at my little church in Yerbas Buenas. I had never done, or thought of doing, anything like that before in my life. Ok, I can probably fill up at least 15 minutes of talking to God about stuff, but then what. What do I do for the next 6 hours?
I have been searching for the real truth for the past couple months. Not the stuff they teach in church. I want it raw and real. I've been reading what Jesus says. I want it from Him and no one else. And I've surprised myself about how passionately bitter I've become about some things that our present in the church that I belong to (but that's for a later blog). So, in the intent to spend the night doing some serious searching, I decided to go. Not knowing what I was getting myself into.
Let me just tell you something about the little Yerbas Buenas church. They are old. All of them. They are old and cute and wrinkly and they know all of their hymns by heart because they can't see well enough to read the hymnal anymore. When we got there (Stephanie and Jenessa were kind enough to come with me) after the VBS program at Km 6, Daniel was leading out in hymns. After about an hour of singing and listening to a little message presented by one of the hermanos, Daniel informed me that he was leaving because he was tired and had work in the morning. That little gesture left me in charge of the rest of the night.
Well, we were there to pray, right? So I got up to the front of the church and announced that we were going to divide up for some individual prayer time to really search for God. I said we were going to pray for 30 minutes and then come back together and sing some more songs. I looked at my watch. 11:17. I started my prayer. It felt a little foreign to me. Just because I knew I was going to have to continue for 30 minutes. I could hear the soft whisperings and mumbles of the hermanos. Then I started hearing feet shuffling back to their seats and talking. I looked at my watch again. 11:20. Oh, Lord, I said in my head, This is going to be a long night.
I went ahead and finished my prayer. Towards the end of it, the now-bored church members started singing hymns. It didn't take me very long to figure out that all they wanted to do was sing. They just want to praise their God. They lift their off tune voices to their Savior that they love. So we sang. A lot. Many hymns we sang. Many hymns we sang multiple times.
There was one little old lady in particular. She was a little tramposita (cheater) all night. She just straight up laid down on the cement floor and went to sleep. For the whole night. At the end of the night, rather, at 4:30 in the morning we all gathered together for one last prayer. A family prayer. We held hands and swayed in sleep. When it was her turn to pray, I was almost brought to tears. She called out to her Papacito Dios. She thanked Him for all of his blessings and asked for His presence in our lives. Papacito Dios. She was talking to her Daddy. And it was the most beautiful prayer I had ever heard.
Did I have any grand epiphanies after my praying and searching that night?
Not really.
Did I have an awesome God moment where heaven opened and I saw the singing angels?
Nope.
Instead I shared a simple night with a simple church family.
I did learn something though.
Life doesn't have to be as complicated as we make it.
Religion doesn't have to be as complicated as we make it.
God is our Daddy.
We are His children. His sheepies.
And this is what Christ's words have been teaching me: The passionate, I-would-do-anything-for-you, devoted love for Jesus needs to come first. And if we don't have that, everything else is in vain. All the religion. All of the hymn singing. All of the offerings. The church services. None of that matters.
God has been teaching me a lot this year. More than I ever thought possible. And it's funny how the lessons always come from the weirdest places. From the 3 minute prayers and simple songs of the old church members of Yerbas Buenas who stayed up all night to worship their Papacito.

The cows

Have you ever been face to face with something and had no idea whether or not it was going to eat you up in one snarf? Maybe it was a big test, or a struggle/temptation, or a frienemy. Maybe it was a cheetah or a rhinoceros. For me, it was a cow. 

I have never been around cows in my life. But now I live on a farm, and with that comes the cows. 

It was fun going to the barn with everyone late one night to watch the birth of a calf. It's fine that the boys bring in a pitcher of milk every morning and I have to boil it to get the germies out. I like hearing the them moo during the day. But when the Doctor asked me to go out to the barn to take pictures of the cows, I didn't know what was going to happen to me. It was just going to be me and them. I told Rachel and Lauren that if I didn't come back in 20 minutes to come searching for me. I really don't know what cows are capable of doing. Probably nothing less than man slaughter. 

As I approached the pen, 20 ears perked up. It was very unnerving to be stared at by 10 cows. And then 40 hooves started walking towards me. Just snap the pictures real quick and leave, I kept telling myself. But something else told me to stay. I think it was Temple Grandin.

The bravest cow approached me. I was fully prepared to get stampeded, but it just stuck out its huge purple tongue and started licking my hand. Later I saw it sticking that same long purple tongue up its nose to lick its cow boogers. How nice.