Bendiciones

There are some things that just don't translate. Others that do, but just sound silly. Like the fact that we all call each other "sister" so-and-so or "brother" so-and-so in the church. It sounds endearing in Spanish, but in English its like we're all either nuns or African American men. Two other things people say a lot here are "Dios te bendiga" (God bless you) and "bendiciones", (blessings). They can be said when one answers the phone, hangs up the phone, greets in person, or says goodbye. It would sound so funny in the U.S. to give someone a hand shake or hug at church and say "blessings" to them and nothing else. But here, it's sweet. That...or meaningless words, but who's to say.

Well, after my last post, that apparently sounded a bit angsty, I got three different concerned emails and phone calls. I knew I sounded a bit upset, but it actually could have been much worse. As is true for all of us, right? No public forum like a blog would ever receive the true outpouring of emotion that we all feel at times. Thankfully, though, I don't think those people were just concerned. I think they prayed. And I think God listened and graciously gave me, us really, just as many bendiciones as we needed to go on. And to go on knowing that we are not here alone; God really is with us.

I had felt for a while like it had been so long since we'd received any encouragement here. Not that things aren't going well, but so long since someone had commented positively on something we were doing, that we were working hard, that this or that thing was a good idea, or that our Spanish was improving. I don't mean encouragement from the people we're serving, but at least from the church that we're serving in. I don't mean to sound like I need my head patted and told that I am doing well, but honestly, sometimes we do need that! Or at least I do.

So last Saturday afternoon we went to a pollada (where someone makes a bunch of chicken meals and sells them) that one of our neighbors was having. He was a neighbor we didn't know well and we didn't know any of his family. He, Omar, invited Steve on the street one day and told him to bring "the skinny one"; he didn't know my name. Steve responded, "Um...you mean, my wife?". "Yeah, bring her, too". Omar didn't use the word pollada in his invitation though, so we showed up with our bottle of Coke in hand to contribute, thinking we'd been invited to a neighborhood BBQ. We quickly realized after entering the garage, that it wasn't just a BBQ, Omar wasn't even there, and we would have to pay. (Not the point of the story, but a little cultural flavor to explain why life is more complicated here that it should be). It didn't matter to us too much, but we did find ourselves sitting at a table with perfect strangers, who all knew each other. As I've said before, or hope I've said, Peruvians are nice, so at least it wasn't hard to start up a conversation.

After 10 or 15 minutes a man, Peter, came and sat down across from us. We quickly discovered that he was a Christian and went on to talk for over an hour. We mentioned to him that we were going to be speaking at the church next weekend (this past Sunday) and that we were nervous. He quickly smiled and reminded us that "Perfect love drives out all fear" (1 John 4:18) and that if we speak in love, if we remember that we have God's love with us, we don't need to be afraid of anything. His smile might have even meant more than the words. Halfway through the conversation, which was all encouraging, he said, "Wow, your Spanish is really good!" When we sheepishly responded, "Thanks...we don't always feel that way", he shot back, "No, really! It's really good! I mean, you understand everything I'm saying!".

At that point, I just thought, God really wanted to make a point didn't he? You know why God would care about something little and stupid (compared to wars and famine and etc etc etc)? Because he's a personal God. Not one who is off in the distance or one who did something once upon a time for humanity and now expects us to believe in him because of it, no, he's one who is involved and present in the lives of his children. He is there.

The next day someone else commented on how much my Spanish had improved. She had thought about brushing up on her English after she first met us so that she could talk to us. How sweet. But now, she said, you understand everything! Really! I thanked her. Because it really did mean something to me. And again, a bendición that I really needed.

On Wednesday, Anita covered one of the few groups I have direct responsibility over so that we could attend a Catholic memorial service for our neighbors' father who passed away six months ago. We've wanted to develop a stronger relationship with them and this was a great opportunity since they had personally invited us to come. Since then, we've felt that there is more trust between us and them and look forward to being better friends in the future.

All this to say, this last week was full of bendiciones, of blessings. Oh, and because she's cute and also a blessing...Cary. She'll get her own post though. She deserves it.

Being a Foreigner

Friends back home sometimes ask us what cultural differences we've noticed here. Friends, taxi drivers, and really anyone who wants to talk here often ask if we're acostumbrados. I used to answer confidently that I was feeling comfortable here, "people are so nice, it's easy to get around, the food is great...it's not really that hard of a cultural transition". You know, western hemisphere still and all.

That was easy to say when we'd been here two or three or even four months. Or for someone who visits a country for an extended period of time. But as time goes on, even as my Spanish improves, I find more and more things that are just different. Not even things that are better or worse (although those exist too), but just that are different and constantly reminding me that this is not my country and I am an outsider.

Like the fact that meals or snacks or even drinks brought to a meeting are shared after the meeting is over, not before or even during. So don't spend a bunch of money on a chicken and french fry dinner, because it will sit there and get cold and soggy (cold fries...so sad) until the end of the meeting at 10pm when it's time it eat it. Or the way that movie tickets aren't sold to the exact number of seats there are, so you need to line up early or you might not get in, or that coffee at a church retreat is not considered necessary, or that at a restaurant, you generally order drinks after the food, if at all. Or that dogs wear sweaters when it gets down to 60 degrees. Or that plain water is not exceptable to serve to guests. I could go on and on. There are SO many differences. And the more I get to know the culture, the more I find. We can laugh about some of them with friends here now. Especially the ones that we adapted to quickly once we understood. But the thing is, there's always something new and you can only comment on "how things are there (the vague word to describe the US)" so many times before you start to annoy people. So most of the time, people don't even realize that we're constantly adapting, because they don't realize that everything is different either.

I imagine that anyone who has ever been really immersed in a culture would understand this...stress. I don't mean anyone who has lived in another country, because being physically in a country does not mean you are immersed in the culture. Let me explain our situation. We live in a district of over 600,000 people. I have never met, seen, or even heard of another English-speaking foreigner that lives here. I have met a Mexican and a Colombian and have seen a few Chinese (although, maybe part Peruvian). I've heard rumors of Italians and some other european guy. We have been here for nine months.

Today on the bus this old man yelled to me as the person next to him got off, "Sit down, gringa" and chuckled as he said gringa, like it was so funny to him that I was there. Far from the first time people have been amused at my very presence. Then, as I sat next to him he looked at me and smiled like I was this novelty that was really entertaining to him. I faked a smile back. I wasn't in the mood. As he got off he waved and yelled back, "Chau, gringa!". At that point, my annoyance at not being able to ride the bus in peace without being reminded for the 30th time of the day that I was different from everyone else here vanished and I couldn't help but laugh. Two other ladies on the bus started laughing too, and we smiled at each other and commented on "...old people". Ha!

There isn't much of a point to this post besides maybe "be nice to foreigners because life is not always so easy for them". Don't treat them like they're dumb. It's hurtful. And they're not. Or maybe this was purely catartic, although I don't feel any better. At the very least, I'm admitting that at times I am homesick and this happens to be one of those times. The charm of this new culture has long ago worn off and I'm really looking forward to going home for a visit in two months. Until then, if you pray, pray that I find joy in the differences and the peace that surpasses all understanding.

Mis Paisanos

Peruvians (and maybe all Spanish-speaking people, but I wouldn't know) use this word paisano that means people from the same country. The best translation is countrymen, but that shouldn't count since we don't actually use that word. I learned the word when a group of Americans were coming to visit the church and a friend told me, "Your paisanos are coming!". Well, my paisanos have come. A few months ago we were struggling with the fact that we were the only foreigners around and never felt like we could just relax and stop thinking so hard (Spanish) just to be friends with someone. Thankfully that's changed as we've become more proficient in Spanish, but it's also helpd that in the last few months we've spent a good amount of time with some lovely paisanos.

The first one was a guy, Aaron, who used to be a fellow for HOPE and is now working with a similar organization. He was in Peru for about six weeks and we were able to hang out a few times. It was the first contact we'd had with any native English speakers since we got here. And since he knew all about HOPE we were even able to bounce ideas off him about the program. That was in the end of April and beginning of May. We spent several hours one night at an electronic music concert, so you know, Steve was in heaven.

Then in the middle of May a group of seven wonderful women came from the church in TN to help lead a women's conference at the church. I spent almost every waking moment with them from the time they arrived to when we said goodbye in the airport. Steve was in the US, so it was good timing to be occupied and a blessing to laugh, play, and pray with them.

The ladies from TN with the pastors' wives of the Comas church

In the beginning of June a friend from college, Stephanie, moved to Peru! She's living in Puno, which is about a 24 hour drive from here, so we're not exactly next door neighbors, but at least living in the same country. She stopped over in Lima on her way there and we met after she taught a Zumba workshop in a square in Lima. After living in a world of dark brown hair and dark skin, it was pretty funny to walk into a square in Lima and see bright blonde Stephanie dancing up on stage in her pink pants to Zumba music. And again, refreshing to the soul to spend an afternoon with someone that I've known for a long time, even if we've seen each other very little since college. And with someone this cool!

Finally, Tim, Steve's brother came to visit this month! We went on a whirlwind tour of Cusco, Colca Canyon, and Arequipa. We had a great time with him and a friend he brought and got to know so many beautiful parts of this beautiful country. We also got to experience altitude sickness together. :) We were sad to see him go, but thankful to have had the chance to travel around Peru with him and also for him to see Comas and meet some of our friends.

We're condor watching in Colca Canyon. It is serious business. 

Thanks, Paisanos, for coming to visit! In the meantime, a man at church has started calling Steve his paisano. Last night as he called to Steve, "Hola, paisano!", he turned to me and explained that he calls him paisano so that he'll feel loved and like he's part of a family here. How sweet.

Teaching English

Our church here has a program called Panes Kids at two of the daughter churches, Año Nuevo and Km.22. Panes Kids is an afterschool program that includes a big lunch and a lesson. Children in Peru usually eat their big meal when they get home from school around 1:00 or 2:00 pm. In families where the Mom has to be working all day and they can't afford to pay someone to watch the kids (or cook), getting this big meal in gets complicated, thus why Panes Kids is a huge help to the families whose children attend. I started volunteering two days a week at the Año Nuevo Panes Kids about three weeks ago. We have about 40 kids ages 5-13. Recently I started teaching them English. Even though we didn't come here with any plan to teach English to anyone, it's exciting to be able to teach something that is SO in demand in Peru to kids who otherwise lack the resources to get this kind of education. Speaking English in this country is an enormous asset that automatically increases opportunties for well-paying work. I love that these precious kids are getting it for free.

Today, I was teaching a group of 5-7 years old that I hadn't taught before. I started the class by asking them if they knew any words in English. One said "Hello!", another, "Thank You", and another shouted, "GRINGO!". Good guess, but no. Ha!

I then proceded to ask them what countries are English-speaking. One immediately said the U.S. When I asked for more countries, I got Chile, El Salvador, Spain, and finally, when I had said no to all of those, a kid answered confidently, "Mexico!" They all got quiet as they waited to hear my answer, as if they agreed that was a good guess. At that point I decided it was time to move on.

Today we learned how to say "Hi", "Hello", "What is your name?", "My name is ____", and how to count to 10. They learned even faster that the 8-11 year olds. Some barely even know how to write and read in Spanish, so they weren't asking why things were the way they were or how Spanish and English are different, they were just listening and repeating. I was so proud of them. But there's a difference between listening and repeating (even if perfectly) and understanding. When we were saying goodbye, a few of them (not just one!) excitedly waved to me and said "Hello!" as they ran out the door. I didn't have the heart to correct them. We'll have to save that for another day.

A Savings Group with some of the moms of Panes Kids. This is also our classroom.

From Tennessee with Love

I started this post back in December while we were in the D.R. I guess it's finally time to finish it. :) Sorry that this is super old news to some of you, but it's not to everyone!

Almost five months ago now we "met" (over Skype) four people from the ministry The Locker Room and the church Fellowship Bible Church in Nashville, TN that are donating a substantial portion of our financial support (most, or all, of them go to Fellowship Bible Church, but the financial support is coming from The Locker Room, not the church).

The story is better from the beginning, so I'm gonna start there. When Steve was interviewing with HOPE last September, during his interview with his current boss, Andy, we found out that there was a ministry/church in TN that would be supplying almost half of the financial support for the fellowship. Andy and Steve discussed this as Andy tried to give Steve a picture of what kind of fundraising would be necessary as part of this position. After the call, as we talked about the position and the church in Comas that we would be closely partnered with, we decided that we really should know more about this church in Comas before deciding this is something we want to do. There are some crazy churches out there, right? Just because it is a church, it does not mean I want to align my life with them, unfortunately.

Thankfully, my husband has intense internet researching skills and can find things in two minutes that I wouldn't find in an hour. We set out to find the church Andy had mentioned (without the name or denomination) and within a few minutes Steve had a church in TN pulled up on his computer that has a relationship with a Christian Missionary Alliance Church in Comas, Peru. There was a picture of the head pastor on the website. His name is Michael Easley.

That name probably means nothing to most of you, but Michael Easley was the head pastor of the church I grew up going to in Virginia. He moved away and left our church when I was in college ended up at a church in TN a few years later. Steve didn't tell his interviewers this in follow-up calls since our connection with this church should have nothing to do with him getting the position with HOPE (and it wouldn't have anyway). It was a confirmation to us, though. We thought, "Here we are trying to connect with this organization, at which we know no one, and this church in Peru, at which we know no one, and we find out that a man that I have always highly respected is the lead pastor of the church in TN that we will be partnering with."

We've had only four or so conversations over Skype and a few emails exchanged, but have felt tremendous care and support from them. I say, "From Tennessee with Love" because that is what we've felt from each conversation -love, encouragement, support, and prayer. I know they're praying for us. People that we've never even met. What a blessing! While we've yet to meet in person, I am confident it will be a sweet time when we finally do.

Our church in Comas - the church welcoming the women back from a retreat I went on a few weeks ago. We all ran through a tunnel like a sports team, went up on stage, and sang and danced. These people know how to celebrate! 

Enterprise and Poverty

PovertyCure - A Six-Part DVD Series [EXTENDED TRAILER]

This is a great video trailer from PovertyCure about poverty and enterprise. I really appreciated what Andreas Widmer says in it, "I'm frustrated with this idea that poverty means living on one or two dollars a day. That is a very bad way to state the problem." I appreciate it because I've asked myself many times recently, "Who are the poor?". It really can't just be reduced down to who makes a certain amount of money (defined by the U.S. dollar, of course). That would automaticaly exclude many of the poor in U.S. cities. And it would include some people who can provide for their families and live contently with what they have. It's just not that simple.

This video doesn't address that exact question, but it does talk a bit about how enterprise is so very different from aid when it comes to caring for the "poor", whoever exactly they may be, because it draws on the richness and creativity of the human spirit. And that is not determined by how much you have in your bank account.

Community Organizers

Sorry President Obama, but you got nothing on them! Anyone who wants to study community organizing needs to visit Peru. At the health center where I've been volunteering, I've been spending most of my time working on a family health initiative that was recently started. Certain neighborhoods around the center were targeted as a result of being in the most material need. Lesser material wealth is often equated with lesser access to health care and lesser education about health, so it makes sense to start in those areas.

Last Tuesday a young woman in the neighborhood where we've spent the most time was badly burned while cooking. We were told she had severe burns on 90% of her body. Within a few days, neighbors had organized themselves to hold a "pollada", an event where they would make fried chicken lunches and sell them to raise money for her hospital bills. When you go to the hospital here you have to pay by the day. If you don't pay, you don't get treated. Literally, you will not get the antibiotics you need, burn treatments, etc etc etc. Pretty shocking, but it's what hospitals have to do to stay open. So these neighbors made over 340 portions of fried chicken, potatoes, and cabbage salad and by selling them for 10 soles a piece ($4), they raised enough money to pay her hospital bills for many days.

The woman who is my "boss" at the clinic was excited to explain to me what Peruvian solidarity meant and encouraged me to take photos. She even handed me her plate full of chicken bones and empty soda glass to hold to prove that I ate there. Yeah, a little strange, but hey.

Me with Rosa (who works at the clinic) and Hilda, Miriam, and Elizabeth (the three nursing students working on the project as well). 

Marinating the chicken and cutting the cabbage

A vat of marinated chicken!

The big pot is for boiling potatoes and the pan is for frying the chicken. They are bigger than it seems from this picture!