Reviving the Blog

I closed down this blog for a while as it had been a long time since I had written. This week I decided to reopen it.

Since I last wrote, some of our circumstances are the same. Some have changed. Let me list some of those.

Many things stay the same. We are still living in Georgia. We are still working with IPM. We are still wanting to grow more in knowing and serving our Lord Jesus Christ.

However, there have been some changes. The biggest change in my life has been my father's passing on August 8 of this year. In the next few days, you may see some posts that I wrote surrounding those circumstances. During the year leading up to his death, Charlie continued to make trips as usual, but I cut back my travel in order to help my mother care for him. Now that he is gone, we are looking at the coming years and trying to determine our course for the future.

Charlie preaching at the closing of the VBS in Peru.

One other change. I have begun a new blog. Since writing is part of my ministry now, I thought it would be good to have a blog where I could write something short each day, (or at least most days). Since prayer is something that I want to encourage in both my own life and in other peoples' lives as well, it is a blog on prayer. In order to link the feeling of the two blogs, I have called it "Sojourning in Prayer."You will find it at https://sojourninginprayer.blogspot.com.


This blog will continue to be used to update people on our trips, but I want to keep it about our ministry. Occasionally, it may still include other insights, but for the most part, it will now focus on our travels.

Almost Missing Christmas

After we booked our trip to Peru, I realized that we would be gone most of December. I knew I did not want to walk into the house a few days before Christmas to find Thanksgiving decorations still up, so I put those away. Now what do I do? I decided I would get out the few things that mattered the most - the Nativity set, the advent wreath, a picture frame with the words, "Jesus, the reason for the season." I put those up, added a few candles and a red tablecloth to the dining room table and stood back. That was enough.

We left on December 1, heading to Pennsylvania for our mission's annual meeting. Then on December 7, we left the cold of Pennsylvania and flew to the Peruvian Amazon, where we spent the next ten days teaching.

The temperature change was so drastic that on the second day in the village, my feet started to swell. Every day they got a little worse. I started sitting down during our teaching breaks so that I could put my feet up. Then one of the pastors brought chairs and I was able to sit down part of the time while I translated for Charlie. That helped. On our last morning, as I struggled to fit my swollen feet into my loose sandals, I wondered if I would pick up hookworm if I went barefoot. I tugged at the straps until I could get my feet inside.  While the skin was tight and uncomfortable, at least I knew it was not permanent. My feet would return to normal when we got out of the heat. Once we got back to the city where I was not standing all day and we were sleeping in an air-conditioned room, my sandals were comfortable again.

From Iquitos, we flew to Arequipa in the southern highlands. Since we were just stopping in to see IPM's missionaries, the Araujos, and not to minister, we stayed in a hotel in the center of the city and spent most of the two days enjoying their company.

Life-sized nativity in Peru

Arequipa was decorated for Christmas. In front of the Catholic Church, people gathered to see the life-size nativity set. A two-story Christmas tree, surrounded by gifts the size of appliance boxes, dominated the central square. One night a children's choir sang there. Decorated artificial pine trees seemed like anatopisms, and I wondered what their traditions might have included before the Christmas tree became so universal.

We were privileged to be able to participate in one Peruvian Christmas tradition - a chocolatada. We attended church on Tuesday night at a new church plant. Since it was the last time they would meet before Christmas, they held a chocolatada after the service. Thick hot chocolate was served with slices of Panetone, a sweet bread with raisins and candied fruit.

We returned to the U.S. on the 22nd. When we got off the plane, I heard someone call out "Merry Christmas!" My first thought was, "What are they talking about?" Then I realized what day it was. Of course, people were greeting each other with "Happy Holidays" and "Merry Christmas!" Secular Christmas music even played over the intercom in the airport terminal.

We returned to the office to get our car and then began driving back home to Georgia. I was very glad that I had changed the Thanksgiving decorations for Christmas ones before I left.

On Christmas Eve we went to a worshipful Christmas Eve service together, and on Sunday we gathered with family and friends to enjoy a turkey and ham feast. Those two very important parts were central to our Christmas celebration this year.

There was lots of joy and celebration, yet it still felt strange. It almost felt like I had missed Christmas. Why, I wondered, when the things I valued were present? I had even spent the month of December reading Christmas passages in my Bible. So why did it feel so different?  And does it matter? As I thought of these things, I realized two very important things.

First, the cues that tell me Christmas is around the corner were missing. There were no Salvation Army bell ringers at the fronts of stores. No Christmas music played over the intercoms in malls, stores, and restaurants. No Christmas cards arrived in the mail and I did not send any. No Christmas decorations were present in the Peruvian churches. I did not bake Christmas cookies for parties or friends. I did not light an advent wreath during my morning devotions. No Christmas carols were sung. We did not attend any Christmas parties or programs. December was much like any other month of the year.

We North Americans celebrate Christmas on December 25 and extend it into an avalanche of activities for a whole month. Even though Charlie and I were busy throughout December, our activity was not based on things surrounding a traditional North American holiday. Instead it was normal ministry. When I realized that it was the cues that were missing, I realized a second, more important truth. It was good to have a different Christmas where much of the tradition was missing. Sometimes the things we use to point our hearts toward Christmas Day become so important that the  real message of Christmas gets lost in the trimmings. My heart needs to celebrate the central message of Christmas - that Christ came into the world to save sinners. It is not the gifts, the parties, and the decorations that make something feel like Christmas. In fact, all those things can lead us away from its truths.

Maybe our ministry focus during the month was exactly what God wanted. Maybe it was the best gift we could have given Him this year. In that case, I did not miss Christmas at all. In fact, it was better than usual.

- - - - - - - - - -

The days since Christmas whizzed by like a tractor trailer on the Interstate. I fully intended to write this as soon as the first days of January began. Instead, I find myself playing catch-up on this last day of the month.

A Real Christian Man

My dad was my first hero. As a child, I thought he could do anything. Oh, I knew he could not fly like Superman, but he was certainly more capable than Batman. After all, he could preach, teach, ride a motorcycle, fly an airplane, play a ukulele, sing with gusto, build houses, fix almost anything, and teach us cool stuff like how to fish, swim, and ride a bicycle.  He could even read us books and change his voice to sound like the characters in the book.

Dad planing a board for our house.

We learned a lot from his teaching. He taught us how to mow a lawn, plant a garden, wield a hammer, build things, and use power tools. He spent hours with my brothers rebuilding a car engine. He was at home in the kitchen.  On our birthdays, he made a tall stack Norwegian pancakes so that we could eat until we waddled away from the table, holding our bellies and declaring to the others how many pancakes we wolfed down. Now when we make Norwegian pancakes for the next generation, we use Dad's recipe, perfected through years of birthday celebrations.

However, the lessons I learned by observation were even more special. While I may not have admitted it while I was growing up, he set a standard for me of what it meant to be a real Christian man. When I got married, these were the things I wanted in a husband. I wanted someone who was authentic in his faith and who was a real Christian guy.

1. A real Christian man spends time alone with God.

In the morning when I arose, I usually found him in the living room. His Bible lay open on his lap and when he was done reading, he took out a list, scrawled in his own handwriting. As his prayer list covered the page of his Bible, he closed his eyes and talked to God about his concerns.  Occasionally I watched him, wondering how he could pray for so long.

One morning he was missing at breakfast. Later I asked him where he was. "I so wanted to stay up all night and pray like Jesus did when He was on earth," he told me, "but at about three in the morning I had to go back to sleep. One day I will try again." There were times when he was missing from the dinner table because he was praying and fasting.

2. A real Christian man loves his family.

Many pastors take Mondays off because they find Sundays exhausting. For him, Sundays were filled to the brim with teaching, preaching, counseling, prayer, and hospitality. He must have been tired on Mondays too. Yet because his children were in school on Monday, he chose to take his day off on Saturday so that he could spend more time with us.

His favorite stories to tell and retell were often about his children. Whether it was Steven's exposition of Scriptures, Dan's miraculous recovery, Tim's natural leadership, Joel's cute antics, Andrea's inexhaustible energy, Reza's adoption, or my fear of monsters in the night, his stories remain with us as part of our heritage. They give us a sense of identity and belonging. They tell us we belong to him.

While there was not a lot of money in the house, we knew that he considered us a priority. Birthday and Christmas gifts were simple and practical, but they were part of our celebration and a reminder that our parents cared. Vacations were spent as a family - either camping or visiting relatives. When special events like graduation arose, there was always a celebration and Dad was there, laughing and smiling with us.

3. A real Christian man tells others of Christ. 

My dad was shy, but he was also determined to let his light shine for Christ. At a gas station, he'd ask the attendant, "If you were to die tonight, do you know where you would go?" Depending upon the response, we might be there a while as he continued to share his faith with him. At restaurants, he'd say to the waitress, "We're going to pray in a minute. Is there anything I can pray about for you?" He kept gospel tracts in his pockets when he was traveling so that he would be able to leave information with people he encountered along the way. He was always ready to tell others of the hope he had in God.

I remember the day that he called me to tell me that Marcus, an Indonesian pastor, had died. "Now I know for sure that there will be someone to greet me in heaven when I get there because I introduced him to Jesus," he said with a mixture of sorrow and joy.

4. A real Christian man stands up for what he believes.

It would have been so much easier to keep quiet than to let people know his convictions were different from theirs. He could have kept his mouth shut when he saw people straying instead of encouraging them to go hard after God. He could have preached safe sermons rather than stepping on their toes. How he longed for people to take sanctification seriously and to do what they could to walk as closely to God as possible. So he chose to call sin evil and warn people of choosing the wrong path.

I thought it was normal for Christians to take a stand and to pursue heavenly goals with dogged determination. I thought every Christian tried to put God first in their lives. After all, all of the men I admired were like that, but especially my dad. Now I realize that his commitment is more rare than I realized. While it may be "normal," it is certainly not common.

5. A real Christian man is authentic all the time.

There was no difference between the man we saw at home and the man others saw at church. What he preached from the pulpit, he preached to us at home. If he said he hated sin, we heard him say it first at home. We never had to wonder what mood he was going to be in or how he would react to us. His moods did not affect his behavior. If he was wrong, he admitted it.

Sometimes I meet people who tell of a very different home life from what we see in public, and I grieve with them. It is hard for me to imagine the weight of having to put on a face in public to cover up what is really going on. I am glad that my dad taught me to be genuine at home so that we did not have to be hypocritical.

6. A real Christian man leaves a lasting legacy.

My dad is 91 years old now. He is weak and can no longer climb mountains to find jungle tribes that need the gospel. He tires easily just from daily activity, let alone the stress of juggling the myriad responsibilities of those many years of being a missions director. So I am glad that he spent his strong years doing things that would matter long after he is gone.

Fifty years from now, when he is celebrating in heaven, his legacy on earth will live on. An orphanage in the Philippines and a Bible school in Indonesia may still remember his part in their inception. Grandchildren may recount stories of his life. But even if they don't, there will be people in heaven who will thank him for his steadfast faithfulness to the God that he worships. I know because I will be one of them.

If Life is Like a River, then Ministry is Like Rafting

Some say that life is like a river. It makes sense. A river bends and winds its way down to a vast ocean, just like life winds its way through the years and ends in a vast eternity, either with God or without him. You never know what lies around the bend. It could be beauty or devastation, waterfalls or still water.

If life is like a river, then ministry is like rafting.  There are times of still waters where you get to enjoy the beautiful scenery as you float by. Routine and quiet days fill the weeks of ministry. Ordinary milestones like anniversaries, weddings., baby dedications, and birthdays are like the beauty on the banks of river where you see carefully planted gardens, towering trees, and flowers blooming. You float peacefully through those days, reveling in their joyful serenity, appreciating the warm sunshine and relatively cloudless days. Sometimes the quiet can lull you into thinking that life is peaceful and all the hard times are behind you.

Then, suddenly, the current speeds up and you know that difficulty lies ahead. At times in our ministry lives, we have had some warning that ministry was going to get difficult again. Perhaps, it was an undercurrent of unhappiness or a conflict that did not quickly resolve. At other times, it took us completely by surprise. As we rounded the bend, we were able to see the white water ahead and know that it would take all of our energy and all of our skill and strength to avoid the rocks and stay upright through the roiling waves. We knew that we might even be injured in the process, but that at least it would be tough and exhausting. We knew, too, that we needed to lead the raft of people in our ministry in such a way that we would not cause permanent damage to anyone on board.

However, in ministry "rafting," we have a Guide who has been down "our" river ahead of us and knows every unseen danger. If we were to try to navigate on our own, we would put ourselves and those with whom we minister at serious risk, but with our Guide we can rest assured that He will help us navigate around the sharp rocks and through the white water. He will even help us over that massive waterfall that looks impassable.

These days our journey in ministry with IPM often feels like river rafting. We have quiet, peaceful days when we are preparing for our next trip. We spend our days studying, writing, corresponding, making phone calls, connecting with churches, and reaching out to those around us. Then the speed picks up as we buy tickets and start making lists of the things we need to take with us. We stop the mail and the garbage pickup. We alert our neighbors to our upcoming absence and send out emails to relatives and friends asking for prayer. And then we take off - into the white water, speeding through the next days and weeks when we touch down in a new place to teach.  Then almost as suddenly as it began, we end our time there and find ourselves back in relative calm.

We would appreciate prayer that God would use us in each phase of our ministry - on those quiet, calm days and on the exciting, rushed ones. More than anything, when we eventually find our way to the end of our river and enter into the ocean of eternity, we want to hear a shout of "Well Done" from the Captain of our souls.

Questions About Moving Abroad

Montevideo, Uruguay

For years we have considered the possibility of moving abroad.  Right now there are things that are keeping us in the US, but it continues to be in our thoughts and our prayers.  Every time we make a trip abroad, we ask the question, "Is this the place where God wants to send us to live next?"

One of the main factors in where we can live is cost of living.  While we enjoyed our visit to Luxembourg last year, for example, we know that we cannot survive there on the income God has given us.  On the other hand, most of Latin America, some of Asia and some of Europe and Africa could potentially be a place for us.  The world is a big place, and there are many places where we could go.

A second factor, and probably the most important, is ministry.  Is there something for us to do there that fits the skill sets that God has given us?  We do not want to move abroad to simply retire.  We want to be fully invested until we can no longer work.  So every time we visit a country we also ask this question, "If we lived here, what ministry would we have?  Are there teaching and training opportunities here?"

Another major factor is language.  While there are many countries where we could use English to start up a ministry to expatriates living there, we want to be able to minister among the nationals. This trip to Bolivia was a major part of seeing whether or not a Spanish speaking country could work. After a month of living there and getting some language instruction, we think it can.  So now we have two language options - English and Spanish.

There are some other more minor factors that we will consider, like health care and transportation. How hard and how expensive is it to get back to the US if we need to do that? Is it easy for us to get a visa? Is it easy to live without a car? If not, what would that cost? Is it better to rent or own a residence? Would we need to maintain a residence in the US? These and other questions would need to be answered.

The last factor and the one that will be the deciding one for us is God's call.  We want to hear God clearly speak to us about the next step we need to take. It is possible that He will call us to stay in the U.S. or He may lead us abroad. Whatever we do, we want to be sure that we are following His direction for our lives. Wherever it is, we believe that He is already putting together the pieces that will give us the ministry He has for us when we get there.  When the time comes, we will know. In the meantime, we keep doing the work He has for us right now.

January Newsletter

Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath done for my soul. Psalm 66:16

Dear friends and family,

God has done great things in the past year, and we want to declare His greatness to all who will listen.

Church in Guatemala

1. He funded our travel. When we started the year, we saw that the money in our travel account was inadequate for the trips we planned to take. Here we are beginning a new year, and we now have more money in that account than we did last year at this time after taking five trips and visiting six countries. How great is His provision!
2. He brought people to a saving faith in His Son, Jesus Christ. Throughout our travels we were witnesses to Christ's great work of redemption. In Guatemala alone, we saw more than twenty people make professions of faith.
3. He gave us new opportunities to serve Him. IPM held their first pastors' conference in the Amazon town of Mazan, Peru, and Charlie was one of the teachers. We both taught in Mindanao, Philippines, and they have asked us to come back and teach again. Joan partnered with Levi Schooley to lead a VBS seminar in Arequipa, Peru. It was the first time they had worked together and they both enjoyed it.

   

   Teaching a game in Peru

4. He gave us the opportunity to take a missions trip "vacation" to Europe where we were able to help out in ministries in Belarus and Luxembourg.

As we look back and see His faithfulness to us in the past year, we have no doubt that He will again be faithful in 2017.

1. We expect that we will take at least five trips again this year and maybe more, and we have no doubt that, so long as we only go where He sends us, He will fund those as well.
2. We expect that He will continue to save people in the various ministries we visit around the world, and we are looking forward to be able to witness His power at work in changing people's lives.
3. We expect that He will help us as we seek to improve our skills to do a better job. In just a few weeks we are headed to Bolivia where we will visit IPM's missionaries there and take an intensive Spanish course. In addition, Charlie has been working on his doctorate so that he will be better qualified to teach at a seminary level.
4. We expect that this will be a full year. In addition to trips to Bolivia, the Philippines, Uruguay and one or two African countries, Charlie also plans to go to Cuba. We also love to teach and preach whenever we are in the U.S.
5. We expect that none of this will be done well unless God works in us and through us, so we value your prayers and support.

Your partners with national missionaries around the world,

Charlie and Joan Farley

Joy in Maine, More Joy in Georgia, and Sorrow in Florida

“Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.”  Romans 12:15

Unlike many American families, my siblings are spread across the country and my extended family as well.  We can go months and even years before a family gathering happens.  So the past month has been unusual.  For the past three weekends, I have been with extended family.  

 

Joy. 

Three weekends ago, my brother got married in her church in Maine.  Many people came from nearby and a few from far away.  I had the privilege of traveling with my parents back to Maine, where my heart still is.  My dad officiated. 

 

It was a day of great joy as Steven, who has been looking for his match for many years, found it in a beautiful woman in Maine.  She is tall, athletic, intelligent, and a woman of great character who loves the Lord deeply.  

Many of her friends and relatives were there to celebrate with her and her family.  Several of my siblings were there as well as one cousin who drove in from New Hampshire. Some of my friends are also Tara’s friends, so I was able to reconnect with them as well.

More joy.  

The following weekend our family gathered in Georgia to celebrate my parents’ 90^th birthdays.  Dad is six days older than Mom, so both of their birthdays happen later this month.  In order to make it easier for people to attend, we decided to hold the celebration on the Saturday before Labor Day.  Invitations were sent out a while ago.  Their church offered to provide the meeting space, the food, and the flowers.  

All of us took part in making it a success.  My older sister decorated.  My younger sister provided the desserts.  The brothers sang.  (My youngest brother, who is a missionary in Japan, was unable to make it, so Charlie provided the fourth voice in the quartet.)  

We also read through a timeline of each of their lives.  For each of them, it was a demonstration of God's grace and their faith in that great God.

More than one hundred people attended.  Two of Dad’s siblings came up from Florida.  Some of their nieces and nephews came from as far as California.  A granddaughter came from Kuwait and a grandson from England.  Many of their church came as well as former colleagues from AMG.  It was a great day for us to celebrate lives that have been lived by faith in a great God.

 

The following day, Steven and Tara held a reception for those who were not able to attend the wedding.  They played a video of the ceremony and we ate lunch together.  Steven shared some precious words about his bride.  Again, it was a day of great joy.

Sorrow.   

This weekend my parents and I traveled to Florida to spend some time with my dad’s family.  My youngest uncle, Uncle David, was dying of cancer, and we wanted to see him before he died while he could still talk with us.  We drove down on Saturday and spent the night with another uncle.  On Sunday we went to church where my cousin’s husband pastors and they invited us to their house for lunch along with a bunch of others.

It was after 2:00 when we left my cousin’s home.   I called Aunt Edna to ask if it was a good time to come.  She warned us that he was now sleeping a lot.  When we walked in, we hugged her and began talking with her in quiet voices, while Uncle David lay in a hospital bed there in the living room.  I hoped that he would awaken so that we could at least talk with him a little, but he continued to lie there.  After a while I got up to stand by his bed.  He was quiet, almost too quiet.  We asked her about that.  

“He’s been like that for a couple days now,” she said.  "He wakes up long enough to drink a little and then goes back to sleep."

After a while Dad said it was time to leave.  Mom and I got up and went to the hospital bed once more and stood on either side.  He had not moved at all since we had arrived.  I reached out and touched him.  He was cold to the touch.  Mom and I both looked for a pulse.  There was none.  Aunt Edna came over and touched him too and agreed.  He was gone.  He had evidently slipped quietly away while we were there.

Joy in glory for him.  Sorrow for us who remain.  Dad came over and prayed.  Tears fell.  We will miss this great man who touched all of our lives in great ways.  

Thank you, Lord, for the privilege of knowing and loving him.

So Little Time - August newsletter

Dear Faithful Friends,


We returned to our home in Georgia after a 10-week trip. During that time, we travelled by car through the upper Midwest, Canada, Maine, and back home. We also flew from Boston to Peru and back again. We give thanks for God’s grace for His protection and enablement. Even though we felt constrained by our limited time in each place, we are thankful that God, who is not bound by time, can multiply our short time and our meager ministry to do great things to glorify His name.

Four years ago, we met Daniel and Sonia Araujo who are investing their lives in making disciples in Arequipa, Peru. It was good to walk into their church on that first Sunday morning and see some familiar faces and new ones as well. Many improvements have been made to the church building. In addition, their son Junior was only beginning to be fully involved in the work of the ministry four years ago. He is now an integral part of their team. In fact, he is largely responsible for a new church
plant in Majes, a desert town about two hours away.

We arrived in Arequipa on June 20. For the next two weeks, we taught every night. Charlie taught a course on Hermeneutics where more than thirty people attended, and nine completed the course The following week, Joan taught on Christian Education. Forty people attended her course, and ten also completed the course work.  On Sundays, Charlie preached in various locations.

On our second Monday, we traveled seven hours over the mountains to a remote village in the Ubinas district. More than a decade ago, God placed this area on Daniel’s heart and he began to make the long journey over the mountains to win people there to the Lord. The growth has been slow, but now several of these villages have a small church. On the day we were there, six small local assemblies gathered for a big celebration together that included a baptism, a feast of alpaca stew, and a combined evening service. Charlie also had the privilege of preaching that day, and our nephew, Jeremy, who joined us on the trip, was his interpreter through most of those days in Arequipa.

The Araujos feel the pressure of time. What pastor do we know here in the US who is pastoring one church, filling in as pastor for another, planting a third church and working as a missionary in a district of multiple towns where there is no church?  So many people to win and disciple. So little time.

From Lima, we flew to Iquitos, the largest city in the world that is unreachable by road. Pastor Giovanni Avendaño, IPM’s Latin America director, met us there. From there, we took a boat down the Amazon River to the town of Mazan. For the next three days, we met with four men who are interested in becoming missionaries with IPM. Charlie taught classes that would help the men in their respective ministries – Communication; Dealing with Anger; Church Discipline; Marriage and Divorce; etc. Joan gave an introduction to IPM’s Children’s Ministry. Brother Giovanni went over IPM’s Policy and Procedure manual. When we were done, the four men were very appreciative. One of them told us as we were getting ready to leave, “Thank you for coming. I was so discouraged that I was ready to give up on ministry and go back to secular work. Now I feel ready to go back. I know I have made many mistakes simply because I did not understand God’s way of doing things. Pray for me and my family as I make the changes we need.” With limited resources, these men are struggling to make a difference in their areas for Christ. Pray for them.  On the Amazon River as well, there are so many souls, and so little time.

Peru has many children and often we were enchanted by their smiles and friendliness (some of the Mazan children are pictured on left).  It was obvious that Peru is an area where children’s ministry is needed. One night when we were sitting in a restaurant in Mazan, we saw four teenagers carrying a
stretcher to the hospital. The form on the stretcher was small and covered by a sheet. The restaurant owner told us, “He died this morning. He is the second ten year-old boy to die this week. The other one drowned on Sunday afternoon.” So many children. So little time.

We came back with hearts burdened for Peru, and especially Mazan and all the needs there. Please pray for IPM as they determine the best way forward to help these men.

In October, we are planning to go to Uruguay for IPM’s regional conference. We want to connect personally with IPM’s missionaries from all over Latin America and inquire how we can best help them. Joan is hoping to have a sample copy of a VBS curriculum for them to look over. Pray that God would help her complete that in time and that we would be able to get it translated as well. Pray, too, that God would supply the $3,000 we need to make this trip.

Thank you for your prayers for us. We felt God’s enabling grace on this trip and we saw His hand redirecting our steps.  Without Him, it would have been a disaster. It would have been so much time, with so little accomplished. Instead, because of God’s work, we believe that much was accomplished that will last into eternity.

Co-laboring together with you,
Charlie and Joan Farley

Just a Spoiled North American

Coming back from a month abroad can have several effects on me.  Sometimes I return aware that I miss being abroad and I am disappointed by how fast the time went by.  Sometimes I feel so blessed by the amenities we have here.  This time, though, I came back so very conscious of how spoiled I really am.  There are so many things that I have come to expect after living a life of relative comfort here in the United States.  Being abroad this time was a reminder to me that the rest of the world often has relatively few of the things that I think are normal.


As a North American, I often do not even think about what great blessings these things are.    

• Safe drinking water flowing out of the tap.  We purchased bottled water the whole time we were gone.  Even though many of the places had safe water, we knew there were places where the safest thing for us was to buy bottled water.
• Water that flows into our home 24-hours a day instead of having just a half hour to fill your buckets so that you have water for the rest of the day. Although this was the case in only one location in Peru, it was a reminder to me that this is a reality for many people in the world.
• Hot water in the shower.  On a hot day, I do not mind a cold shower or even a cold bucket bath; but on colder days, I really appreciate the reliability of hot water flowing from the shower head.
• A washing machine that does a good job of getting my clothes clean rather than having to wash them by hand on the rocks.
• A dryer that quickly dries our clothes, even the towels and jeans, on rainy days and adds softness to them.  We do not have to wait days for things to dry on rainy days.
• A car rather than having to rely on public transportation.  I appreciate the lower prices of public transportation, however.
• Public transportation that runs on a schedule instead of "when the seats are full."  A trip that could happen in two hours might take all day since you never know when departure will happen.
• Refrigerators that allow you to purchase more than a one or two-day supply of fresh food at a time.  Daily trips to market allow for fresh food, but they certainly take time.
• Ice in our drinks.  We would have avoided asking for ice anyway, but it is nice to be able to put ice in my beverage if I want some.
• All-day electricity.  In the jungle town, we had electricity from 6:00 p.m. until 11:00 p.m.  We charged our cell phones and computers during this time.  During the hottest part of the day, however, there was no availability for anything that might cool you, not even an electric fan.



Charlie enjoying a frozen Passion Fruit drink on our last day.

• Fresh vegetables that can be eaten raw without pre-soaking in anti-bacterial vegetable wash.  I came back craving salads.  Fresh fruit, on the other hand, was something we had in abundance.  Now I find I miss the variety of fresh fruit juices that were available there.
• Screens on our windows and doors.  I walked into our hotel room, and one of the first things I noticed was the screens.  How grateful I was for them as we saw that most of the homes did not have them.
• A variety in our breakfasts.  This may have been the first time in my life when I said that I had enough white rice for a while. Every morning we had the same thing - white rice, white beans, plantain, and eggs.  It was tasty and I was grateful for it, but it is nice to have some variety.
  
• Covers on my bed.  It was warm enough in the jungle that we did not need covers, but I missed having a top sheet.  Yet I was grateful for what we had.  I am not sure how well I would have fared in a hammock instead.
• Septic systems that allow you to flush your toilet paper and the availability of toilet paper in public rest rooms.

There are other things I could likely mention, but that is enough for now.  I am willing and ready to give up any of those things for a short time.  I could also learn to live without them, but I find it is not as easy as it used to be.  I really have become a spoiled North American.  Maybe it's time to shed some of these comforts and learn to appreciatethe advantages of living without them.

The 26-Hour Day

The sleep of a labouring man is sweet.  Ecclesiastes 5:12

At 2:45 a.m. I heard it - an alarm going off in another room.  We lay in bed, waiting for it to stop, but its owner did not respond.  After about ten minutes, it finally stopped.  Now we were fully awake, on about three hours of sleep.  Five minutes later our alarm sounded.    

At 3:45 a.m., we climbed into the back row of the 12-passenger van. The pastor’s family climbed in after us.   Four-year-old Abigail slept through the transfer from her bed to the van.  Junior, the pastor’s only son, drove to the first stop where we picked up a mother and her seven-year-old son.  They joined us in the back row.  After several more stops, the van was stuffed with twelve adults, two children, and miscellaneous bags at people’s feet.  Another car, also filled with passengers, started to follow us.  At the gas station, Junior filled the van’s tank as well as a five-gallon jerry can.  One of the men climbed to the roof to tie the jerry can up there with some other luggage.  Now it was 4:45 a.m., and we were finally on our way out of the city.

The van sped up when it arrived at the highway.  I settled into my seat, leaning against Charlie, hoping for some more sleep.  After about five minutes on the open highway, we turned off and started the ascent up the mountain on a gravel road.   Twists, turns, and bumps in the road kept sleep away, but eventually I dozed a little.  

A couple hours later, at the entrance to a tunnel through part of the mountain, we stopped to wait for the other vehicle that had fallen behind.

“Can we get out?” I asked.  Charlie’s knees were bumping up against the seat in front of us, and my legs were longing for a stretch.  They let us all out, and the men made a beeline for the bushes.  “If you need it,” I was told, “the tunnel up ahead will provide privacy.”  

Around us, the sun continued to rise, casting shadows on the mountains, slowly reaching into the valleys.  Misti, the volcano that guards Arequipa, was showing off his beauty, and the passengers’ cell phone cameras were capturing the scene.  

Before too long, the other car caught up with us, and we reloaded into the vehicle.  

“Is it possible for Charlie to sit somewhere else?” I asked.  His legs were really too long for the back row.  This time they let Charlie and me sit up in the row behind the driver.  The change in seating turned out to be a greater blessing than I realized at the time.

A couple hours later, Charlie asked them to stop.  The twists and turns of the mountain roads had finally caught up with him, and he was sick to his stomach.  Junior quickly stopped and yanked open Charlie’s door.  He got out just in time.  Sonia, the pastor’s wife, prepared some tea with hot water from a thermos and gave it to him.  It helped settle his stomach, and we were once again on our way.  On and on we traveled, bumping and turning.  Eventually I dozed again. 

By 8:30 my stomach was growling, and I wondered if there would be a stop for breakfast.  But we kept going.  On and on we rode, winding our way up to the 16,000-foot mountain pass, high above the tree line.  

“Look!” someone shouted pointing to one of the volcanoes in the distance.  Volcano Ubinas had just burped.  A cloud formed above and grew larger and larger as steam and ash rose into the sky.

Bumping over the gravel and feeling my stomach lurch, we continued in a descent over the other side of this mountain pass.  Trees, birds, and insects reappeared.  Mile after mile of terraced farming hugged the sides of the mountains.  Our van hugged the mountain, avoiding getting to close to the side where it dropped off into deep canyons.

I kept thinking we must soon be arriving at our final destination.  After almost six hours of travel, we rounded a bend.  A crowd of people stood on the side of the road with large bags of goods.  They were members of the church in that town.  Junior stopped to greet them and began to talk to them about how to get them to our ultimate destination.

“Junior,” Sonia called out to her son.  “Why don’t some of us get out and they can ride?  They have been waiting a long time for you.  Some of us can wait here for you to get back.”

I welcomed the idea of putting my feet on the ground to allow my stomach to settle.  We got out.  They got in.  After they left, the eight of us started walking down the road at a leisurely pace along the river gorge.  I stopped frequently to take pictures of the blue skies, desert hills, and the green valley below us where the grey river sparkled in the sunlight.  After about an hour of walking, we saw the van approach.  Junior turned around and picked us up, and we drove on for another half hour to the village of Cadagua.    

“Breakfast is waiting,” we were told when we arrived.  It was now 1:00 p.m.  

We followed our hosts to the back of the house.  A corrugated metal roof and a small tarp provided shade.  There people sat on benches, boxes, and a few chairs.  Steaming plates of noodles and a red sauce with mystery meat came out of the kitchen.  Since we were surrounded by guinea pig cages, it was no surprise when we later discovered that most of the meat in the sauce was guinea pig.  I should have known when I discovered the small head in the sauce.  I did not eat much.  My stomach was still turning after all the hairpin turns, so one of the young men in our group finished my plate for me.

Evidently, both Charlie and I looked a little green.  One of the women from the Arequipa church came over.  

“Would you like a cup of tea and some soda crackers?” she asked kindly.  

That sounded like just the right thing for our upset stomachs.  We leaned back into the wooden bench and waited while she found cups and prepared us some tea.  As we sat quietly drinking our tea, the women   One man stood next to a table and sawed his way through the bones of an animal, adding the chunks of meat to the pots as well. Children played, swinging from the rafters of the corrugated awning and teasing the guinea pigs.

swirled around us, cutting up vegetables, and adding them to the large pots on the fire.

“It’s time to start the program,” Junior called to everyone.

We joined him in front of the house.  There to one side of this town’s Main Street sat a truck-tire  tub overflowing with water.  Junior began the service, leading the group in singing with his guitar.  “He decidido seguir a Cristo.”  (I have decided to follow Jesus.)  Our voices filled the mountain air.  A few people emerged from neighboring houses to join us to see what was going on.

After singing several songs, Pastor Daniel Araujo stepped forward.  Carefully, he explained what baptism was and why this teenage girl had decided to be baptized.  

 

 “Please share with this group why you have decided to obey the Lord in baptism today,” he instructed her.  Joy flowed from her while she reverently shared her faith in Jesus Christ.  Then she stepped into the frigid water, sat down in the tub, and was baptized in its confined space.  When she arose shivering, we sang again.

When the baptism service ended, Junior once again shouted out instructions. “If everyone would head to the community center, we will be showing a Christian movie,” he announced.   

He drove the van over to the community center and began to set up the computer projection system for the movie.  Men hung a white sheet on one wall of the community building.  People rearranged chairs to face the “screen”.  Soon we were all watching “Facing the Giants” in Spanish.  I went to see if I could find a place to sleep in the van, but someone else had already thought of that idea, and I was afraid to wake them by opening a door.  So Charlie and I sat against the back wall, and I dozed for a while, my head on his lap.

By the time the movie was over, the huge pots of stew we had seen over at the house had been carried to the community center kitchen.  We dragged our chairs from one side of the center to where tables had been set up on the other side.  

Apparently we were the honored guests because our table was served first.  Charlie and I insisted on sharing a bowl since we knew we were both still too queasy to each much.  Several varieties of potatoes, huge pieces of squash, sweet carrots, and alpaca meat were served us.  Delicious.

The conversation in the room lulled as people began to enjoy their food.  An alpaca feast is a rare and welcome event, and the whole community had been invited.  When the last plate of food had been served, those of us who had received food first were done.  Women went into the kitchen to wash up metal plates.  Men washed down wooden table tops, folded their metal bases and stored them in the corner.  They quickly stacked the blue and white plastic chairs in another corner.  When the work was done, the last event of the day was announced – a church service.  Everyone moved back to the other side of the room to enjoy that event together.  

Singing and testimonies were shared as the various churches represented took turns to give testimony to God’s blessings in their lives. This gathering of believers represented people from five of the surrounding villages as well as those of us who had come from Arequipa.  In addition, many of the people from town had come for the feast and to see what else was happening.  Charlie was invited to preach, and our nephew, Jeremy, translated for him.

When it was all over, it was 9:00 at night, and I was anxious to go home, but there were still people who needed to go home before we could leave.  Junior loaded the people from the nearby villages in the van and left.  Charlie stretched out on the floor to get some sleep before the long arduous journey home.

“I can’t drive,” Junior said, when he returned almost two hours later.  “I’m dead on my feet.”  Roberts, one of the men from the church, took over and we left.  

Away from the city and few lights, the full moon shone almost as day.  Stars seemed close enough to reach out and touch.  This time the bumps, twists, and turns did not keep me awake, but they did for Charlie.  He was sick to his stomach the whole way home, and trying to sleep only made it worse.  

When we finally got home, it was 5:00 a.m.  I crawled into bed, grateful  to be able to stretch out and glad that the ground under me was solid.  I cannot remember the last time that I have been so glad to get to bed.  If I felt that way, I am sure that Charlie felt the relief even more than I.  How grateful I am that God gives us the gift of sleep.