Peru: Take 2

I’m back! Back in the country where I first learned that there’s more to life than school, friends, and youth group. Back in place where my heart seems to beat a little bit stronger. And back in the place where, two years ago, 60 brown-eyed children stole a piece of my heart.

This time I can’t stay as long. Two weeks will pass in the blink of an eye. But I plan to work just as hard and love just as much and taste every bit of whatever God has in store for me this time around. Not only that, but this time, this crazy adventure is not for me alone. I get to share it with my sister, Cody. So for the next two weeks, you will get to hear not just my story, but our story. You’ll get to see Peru through two pairs of eyes. Hold on tight, though. Because time is going to fly!

July 29th:  I’m entirely ready to be done with anything that has wheels, wings, or other parts used to transport people from one place to another. We’ve spent three of the last four days in planes, buses, trains, taxis, and vans, and I can’t wait to finally arrive in Huancayo. However, all of this travel was totally worth it. We decided that, before heading to the mountain school in Huancayo, we’d take a trip to Machu Picchu, a must-see for a history buff like my sister and for pretty much anyone else too. But apparently the Incas did a pretty good job hiding their sacred city because, even today, getting there is quite an ordeal.

Our adventure didn’t start off particularly exciting. Mom drove us to D.C on Thursday, we went through the typical airport procedure in Dulles, ate at Chipolte in the terminal (I guess that part was a little exciting, especially when you compare it to the typical airport food), flew a few hours to Miami, and tried to keep ourselves from dying of boredom during a 6 hour layover.

However, as soon as we boarded the plane heading to Lima, things started to get interesting. Cody was able to experience firsthand the most important lesson of traveling in South America: Expect the unexpected. There are other ways to phrase it, but the important thing to know is that nothing goes as planned. “Normal” doesn’t really exist. Weird things happen ALL THE TIME, and you just have to learn to roll with it.

On the plane, we experienced not one, but two unexpected events. First were the flight attendants coming down the aisle at 1:15am with dinner. Now, I am a firm believer in providing snacks or meals for hungry travelers, and I realize that lots of people eat dinner later than I do, but ONE IN THE MORNING?! The look on Cody’s face when I woke her up to ask her if she wanted food was enough to tell me that she was not remotely interested.

After that, I managed to sleep for a bit before waking up to a call for any doctors on the plane to please come forward. A woman just two rows in front of us was having a medical emergency. That was something I’d never considered before. What happens if you have a heart attack while thousands of feet in the air with no option for an emergency landing? Well, we got to see that first hand. A flock of flight attendants and a few passengers crowded around the woman with an oxygen mask and a first aid kit. I’ll be honest, it didn’t look like they were doing anything particularly helpful. Thankfully, though, the woman was able to hold out long enough to be rushed away by purple-clad paramedics as soon as we landed in Lima.

Soon after arriving in Lima, we took a one hour flight to Cuzco via Star Peru. As soon as we stepped out of the airport, I couldn’t contain my grin…okay, it might have been more of a grimace since I was pulling 35 pounds of stuff for the school, plus a bag and a backpack of my own. But I was happy either way. Already I could see mountains and street vendors and old ladies in traditional dress with babies on their backs. And I loved it. So did Cody.

We took a taxi to the main square to explore for a bit before beginning the next phase of our journey. In the square, we saw typical Peruvian (which means RANDOM) festivities. It was a holiday of some kind, and there was a huge military parade. We surely looked ridiculous walking through town with all of our luggage, but we were too excited to care. Not only did we look ridiculous, though. We might as well have tattooed “tourist” to our foreheads; we were to the street vendors as light is to moths. EVERYONE was drawn to us and wanted to sell us their paintings and flags and pins and bracelets. Cody quickly mastered several different ways to decline in Spanish (very polite ones too, I might add). We made it several hours without giving in to any vendors, but finally, Cody decided she was tired of saying no and thought she’d help out a friendly looking shoe shiner (friendly “looking” being key). He was certainly very friendly until it was time to inform me that he had used “special liquid” that raised the price from half a sole to 16!! That $7 shoe shine better last!!

Fairly annoyed, I hailed a taxi and we resumed our journey to Aguas Calientes. We rode to the bus station and then found a minivan heading to Ollaytaytambo. I couldn’t help being nervous as they tied our luggage to the roof. Two hours later, we arrived in Ollaytaytambo and crashed at the train “station,” which was actually just a covered sidewalk, until our train arrived almost two hours later. I kept expecting Indiana Jones to pop out of the trees during our amazing ride through the mountains and jungle. Around 6pm, we finally arrived in Aguas Calientes. We grabbed dinner, complete with Inca Kola and coca tea, and hit the hay early since we’d be up before the sun the next day.

On Saturday, we got up at 4:30am in order to catch an early bus to Machu Picchu. We got there around 6 and spent the entire day at the ruins. I really don’t know how much I can tell you about that experience. It’s something you really just have to see. I can tell you it was awesome and amazing and incredible, but that really doesn’t help you understand what it was like to be there. You’ll just have to look at the photos. But I will tell you that there were llamas running around (including a baby), and the altitude was high enough that my breath was short and I could literally hear my heartbeat. There were clouds above us AND below us, and the views were breathtaking. After taking about a hundred pictures, we headed to Montana Machu Picchu, a mountain we’d paid a few extra soles to climb. We had NO IDEA what we were getting into. I remember Cody asking about 15 minutes into the climb if the ledge up ahead was the top. We could see a peak way in the distance but were sure THAT couldn’t be the mountain we were climbing.

It was. We climbed for almost 2 hours. And by climbed, I don’t mean that we walked uphill. We walked up STEPS. Steep steps. It was the hardest hike I’ve ever done. By the end, we had to stop every 3 minutes or so. My legs were (and still are, actually) screaming. When we got to the top, though, it was worth it. For the view and for the satisfaction. 1600 feet above the ground and 9 or 10 thousand feet above sea level, we really were on top of the world. We’d climbed 1700 steps (according to someone’s graffiti), and Machu Picchu, where we’d just been, looked so far away. It was pretty crazy.

After climbing back down and grabbing a snack, we hired a guide to show us around the ruins. Sherman’s price seemed steep, but for a 2 hour private tour, we decided to splurge a little. It was so worth it! Sherman told us all about the genius people that built Machu Picchu in the 1400s, carefully constructing it in a way that would prevent erosion from destroying it. He answered all of Cody’s questions (and there were many) and helped her with her Spanish, too. The tour was definitely worth every penny.

We left the ruins around 4 with shaky legs and sunburnt shoulders (despite the fact that my sunscreen had exploded on me earlier in the day when I opened it on top of the mountain). We ate dinner (Cody tasted alpaca steak!) and crashed around 8 while attempting to watch the Olympics on line.

And today? We did it all (minus the ruins) backwards…train, van, taxi, plane, taxi and now BUS. I’m tired of all the traveling, but it’s worth it. And tomorrow, I get to see my kids :)

 

July 29th:  I consider myself a pretty perceptive person. Aware of the world around me, not caught up in my own small-minded, little world. I chuckle at those who treat every miniscule trial they encounter as the end of the world, because I know that for most, life in America is about as rough as a rose petal. I guess I thought that since I had read about other cultures and the struggles they face that nothing could faze me. I was wrong.

It’s funny, because it didn’t even hit me that I had left the country until we landed in Cusco (pronounced Coo-z-co, like the llama from The Emperor’s New Groove). Immediately I was surrounded by a language that despite my years of study seemed completely foreign to me. I felt that everyone was different from me, but I slowly realized, no, I was different from them. This is their home planet. I am the alien here. We were in Cusco for the afternoon and I simply couldn’t, still can’t really, wrap my head around how different it was from the home I know. We arrived in the middle of a military parade in honor of La Dia de Independencia de Peru. Hundreds of soldiers with the colors of Peru (red for sangre-blood and white for paz-peace) painted across their faces. The faces which were so different from my own.

The people of Peru have a look… the woman remind me of Pocahontas, beautiful rusty completion, high cheek bones and almond eyes, the men look have hard jaw lines, intense brows and the same eyes, and everyone has shiny (and for the woman long) black hair. It seemed everywhere my sister and I went hundreds of eyes followed, we were so clearly foreign with our lighter skin, Josy with her light curly hair, me with my lack of hair, oh and the luggage definitely didn’t help. Then the street vendors began. So many people shoving their wares in our faces shouting out prices….was it just me or were they paying us special attention? It was bedlam. ‘No gracias’, ‘no necesitamos’, ‘es bonito, pero no gracias’… I can’t tell you how many times those words crossed my lips….until the shoe shiner came. He seemed nice enough, and my boots were pretty dirty, and he was persistent. So I sat down and had my first shoe shine. It was actually pretty cool, until he extended his hand, 16 sols he asked for, in dollars, about $7, which for a shoe shine is an awful lot. And so I experienced my first ‘rip-off’. I hope he spent our money well. Then we bumped into a woman with a mystery fruit, a small bag for 1 sol (less than 50 cents) now that was a deal. They looked like large cherries crossed with plums, and they were DELICIOUS. Juicy and sweet, akin to a peach.

Fast forward an hour or so and what an attempted bag-snatching, we can’t be sure, but she was hunched over and running straight at us so we can only assume that was what she was trying to do, we sat down for our, well my, first real Peruvian meal. I had a shish-kabob and I don’t know how they season their meat, but I like it. A lot. Then we hailed a taxi and before we knew it we were in a cramped van off to the train station. Something you should know about driving in Peru, there’s only one traffic law: the bigger car wins. After recovering from my initial shock of the speed and sheer amount of honking I turned to the view. The mountains were so beautiful, but when I looked straight out the window, at the places the people called home I was shocked. I counted 68 stray dogs in about half an hour. I had thought that mud houses were a thing of the past for everyone except the poorer regions of Africa, but here they were, crumbling houses with little girls outside washing their clothes in a dirty stream. I was staring poverty in the face, and I slowly realized I wasn’t as “aware” as I thought.

We arrived and checked in and then had a while to wait and during that time I found my bladder full… I went to the bathroom and a man was sitting there with his hand extended ‘un sol por favor.’ What? I had to pay to pee? I forked over the coin and he handed me some toilet paper. I went in and sat down. Big mistake. There was no toilet seat and I caught myself just before my butt became unlikely friends with someone else’s pee. The toilet didn’t flush, there was no soap, and even if there was, the water didn’t run. I paid one sol for this? Finally after sleeping on the ground with the strays our train came and we were off to our hostel. When we arrived at the station there was a smiley man with a sign bearing ‘Josephine Tarantini’, that was pretty cool. He led us to our room and after a dinner of stuffed peppers and my first encounter with two native drinks (coca tea and Inka Cola) we finally got to sleep in a bed. Only to be roused at 4:30 so we could eat breakfast before our bus to Machu Picchu left.

A few words on Machu Picchu: it was the single most extraordinary thing I have ever seen. I’m pretty sure the Incas are the most ingenious group of people the world has ever known. Their systems to prevent erosion and irrigate their land were so effective that after their flight to protect it from the Spanish Conquistadors it survived almost completely untouched for 500 years. It was so beautiful and our guide Sherman’s knowledge astounded me. Being such a history nerd I could have married him right them and there. He told us about the three worlds the Incas believed in: our world represented by the puma, the spirit world represented by the condor, and the mysterious underworld represented by the snake It was fascinating, to me anyway…I also met my first Peruvian llama there; he was cute he even let me pet his head. Josy and I also climbed up La Montana de Machu Picchu a 1,600 foot tall mountain that overlooks the ancient civilization. And although my legs are still sore from the trek, the view was worth it.

That evening after a long hot shower to relieve my aching body we scavenged for dinner and I tried Alpaca steak, it was pretty wonderful. Imagine the leanest beef steak you’ve ever had, now make it juicy, and give it a mysterious seasoning that tastes like chipotle crossed with paprika and that’s similar to what it tasted like. Drooling yet?

Now we’re in back in Lima, which honestly, is one of the ugliest places I have ever seen, but, however ugly the capital is the beauty of the people make up for it. Alfredo (not the pasta, but our taxi driver) was so sweet. After chatting with us the whole ride to the bus station he gave me a book “para pracitcar tu español” . It’s a book about Jesus, what a sweetheart. For dinner we had Pizza hut. Laugh if you will, but here it is a 4 star restaurant and it was actually really yummy. Although in the bathroom I had another shock when I learned you’re not allowed to flush your toilet paper, you have to throw it away. Then embarrassed myself answering, in perfect Spanish mind you, to a woman who wasn’t talking to me, but actually to her peeing son….

Before I left my father told me “don’t be a victim”. Josy is a victim. If someone looks in our direction too long she gets nervous, if a taxi cab is old it is too creepy, and if there’s not enough people on a street she turns us off it. I guess she’s keeping us safe, but it gets irritating, so call me crazy, but I can’t wait to trade in the Peruvian equivalent of New York for smaller, prettier, and safer Huancayo. That’s where we are headed next. It’s what we came for and I’m pretty excited, but not as excited as Josy I’m sure. She misses her kids. But I can’t wait to meet them.

Since it's my blog, I can't resist adding that I am NOT a victim.  Someone's got to be the responsible one.  Maybe someday she will thank me.  And if not, that's okay. I'll take safety first.



on top of the mountain!



Just Give Up

Some people spend their whole lives trying to figure out what they want to be. But I already know what I wanna be. Do you have a guess? If you know me a little, you might say a teacher. If you know me a lot, you might say a missionary. And yes, I want to do both of those things to some extent. But there’s a better answer.

I wanna be a slave.

Bet you weren’t expecting that.

Here’s the thing: Our futures are not just about a choice. They’re about a calling. And the call to be a slave is not just mine. It’s also yours.

Wait a second; that can’t be right.

It’s not what they tell you in school. Studying and working hard means success which means we can live life our own way.

It’s not what they tell you in the media. We have to do what’s best for ourselves and what makes us happy.

It’s not what they tell you in church. Jesus came to give us abundant life.

But whose definition of abundance are we going by?

Do we honestly think that we can have the abundance Christ offers without following the means by which He says we attain it? Because in the very same passage where Jesus offers abundant life for His sheep, He says that they “follow Him because they know His voice”(John 10:4). Do we know His voice? Or are we following a cut and pasted version of Jesus that lets us live our own way as long as we mark our religion on facebook as “Follower of Christ” and ask God to show us what that looks like.

Now don’t get me wrong. Both of those are great things! But what good is calling ourselves followers of Christ if we don’t actually do it? And what good is asking God how to follow Christ if we don’t listen to His answer? I’d say it’s neither fit for the soil nor the manure pile.

This begs an important question. What does Jesus actually say about following Him? It’s basically a prayer we have to say, right? As long as we actually believe it when we pray it, we’re good to go. And if we read our Bible and pray a little, it’s even better.

Wait…did Jesus say that to you? Because I’m pretty sure that’s not what He said to me. I thought it was. For a long time, actually. Maybe 19 years or so. Even more like twenty.

But I was confused. Because I recently heard what Jesus really said, and it was a little bit different. Okay, a lot different. Here’s what He said:

“Anyone who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple.” Luke 14:33


“If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” Luke 9:23


“No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.” Luke 9:62


“Go sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” Mark 10:21

Of course, Jesus doesn’t actually mean for us to give up everything, to come and die…does He?

I could tell you that He doesn’t. That it’s a metaphor. That it was a message meant for people of the past. That it’s only for really radical Christians who God has “called” to live that way. But that, my friend, would be LYING.

During one of Jesus’ most famous acts of service, He made His will for us clear. “I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you” (John 13:15), and I have a feeling He wasn’t just talking about feet washing here.

We can try making excuses. After all, no one actually carries their crosses. It’s basically impossible. Why don’t we just read the passages with lots of conviction and move on.

The funny thing about that, though, is that God shows us plenty of people who actually listened when Jesus called them to come and die. And it’s interesting that they are the ones whose stories ended up in the everlasting Word of God.

Paul, author of much of the New Testament, yet admittedly the worst of sinners (1 Tim 1:16), says, “I die daily…” (1 Cor 15:31). And Peter, James, John, Timothy, and Jude all introduce themselves, not as “Followers of Christ”, but as slaves, doulos in the original language. So if these guys took Jesus seriously, why don’t we?

Probably because we don’t want to be slaves. We think of slavery, and we think chains and whips and miserable, terrible lives. Doesn’t sound very abundant…

A slave of Jesus, though, a bondslave, a doulos, is different. It’s the slave of Exodus 21:6. It’s the slave that declares, “I love my master…and do not want to go free.” It’s the slave that chooses to drive an awl through his ear and become a slave FOR LIFE. It’s a big deal! In this decision, he surrenders his work, his possessions, and even his very identity to his master. And he does it for love.

In Matthew 11:28-30, Jesus calls us to take up His yoke. We submit to His authority and the work He has for us. It’s slavery! But He promises that the yoke is easy and the burden is light. It’s different than any kind of slavery the world has ever known.

The dying part is in here too. We can’t carry Jesus’ yoke AND our own. We have to take off our burden to carry His. We can’t say, “Jesus, I want to do Your will” until we give up ours. He offers the yoke that will bring rest for our souls, but we have to take it. And before that, we have to surrender.

It’s hard! That’s why Jesus says we should count the cost before we choose to follow (Luke 14:28-33). If we wanna follow Jesus, we have to give up everything. And we can’t look back.

In a nutshell, that’s what I’m learning these days. Surrendering my will and dying to myself is a battle that I have to fight every single day. But I know it’s possible. Because Jesus “has given me strength to do His work,” (1 Tim 1:12 NLT) and “I can do all things through Him who gives me strength” (Phil 4:13). God equips us to lay down our lives and take up His yoke.  And that's where we discover what it means to have abundant life.

It’s all so backwards from what the world thinks. It’s death that’s actually life. It’s slavery that’s actually freedom. And while the world says, “Never give up,” Jesus says, “Give up EVERYTHING.”

This song fits perfectly with this post and my blog in general :)

Eternity Colored Glasses

8 weeks? It’s already been 8 weeks? How did that happen?


Though the days flew by, I certainly cannot deny that I’ve experienced far more than 2 months’ worth of adventures. In this land of tango, soccer, mate, and steak, I’ve seen everything from magnificent waterfalls to a gypsy church service. I even got lost across the river in Uruguay. But in the end, those aren’t the things that really matter. While such adventures might give me a story to tell in this life, they will be forgotten in the next. It’s crazy how much everything changes when viewed through the lens of eternity. Which moments, good or bad, will I be faced with when I stand before the throne of the Almighty God? What does He see when he looks at my 8 weeks in Argentina?

I have a feeling that if I asked God to describe my time here, I would not hear about anything you’d find in my scrapbooks or photo albums. I wouldn’t hear about where I went or who I met or what I did. Because in God’s eyes, these 8 weeks, just like the other 44 this year, were all about love.

To Him, there was no frustrating hour commute which often took longer due to unreliable transportation. Instead, there were precious hours spent in train, bus, or station where I was finally away from so many things that distract me from seeking Him.

To Him, excursions like tango lessons and rose gardens were no big deal. But how did I respond to the blind beggar I passed on the way? Or the little girl selling Valentines? Or the man on Cabildo with no arms or legs but with a money bag around his neck?

To Him, my time at Funda Cor was never useless. Though I might look back and say, “What difference did I actually make? I was only there for two months,” He says, “’And whoever gives one of these little ones even a cup of cold water because he is a disciple, truly, I say to you, he will by no means lose his reward.’ (Mat 10:42), and my daughter, you offered those children much more.”

To Him, it doesn’t matter that I went twice a week to a contemporary church of 20,000 people. What matters was my search for Him in a house full of individuals seeking life-changing encounters.

To Him, Thursday wasn’t about my goodbye party. The trampoline and bounce house and cake were all just parts of the backdrop. It wasn’t about me abandoning some already abandoned children or leaving the cuidadores that I now know do have feelings, after all. It was about following His path for my life, which once led me here but is now leading me away.

And even more than all of that, God looks at my time in Argentina and sees the work done deep within my heart, a work that’s not nearly finished but will be carried out “on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Phil 1:6). A lot of that’s still pretty hard to see right now. But if you wanna see a glimpse, stay tuned…

With Camila and Dani



Iguazu Falls



Lice Lessons

*Note: side effects of this post might include itchy scalp, creepy crawly sensations, and paranoia. *

Wednesday was not a good day at Funda Cor. I’ll spare you the details, but, long story short, I arrived at the orphanage fairly confident that I had contracted head lice from the kids. Internally FREAKING OUT, I calmly asked the cuidadores if piojos (lice) were a major issue at Funda Cor.

They laughed at me.

I’m pretty sure I almost cried. Although it seems obvious, somehow it had never occurred to me that lice would be an issue. But clearly it was. The women proceeded to tell me how tons of the kids have it. Apparently, “ Es inevidable.” Awesome. A warning would’ve been nice.

You scratching your head yet?

Anyway…I spent the rest of the afternoon at a distance from the kids, scrutinizing their scalps at every opportunity, and wishing the clock would move a little faster so I could leave and go inspect my head.

Back at my homestay, I used a lice treatment shampoo (if it makes you feel any better, Mare, it was a more natural version than the normal stuff) and a super fine toothed comb that basically gave me an afro, but I found no sign of the little monsters. My host mom didn’t find anything either, but I’m still not confident. I’m just hoping to survive the next 3 days and have a real head check from my real madre. And I’m praying the leper’s prayer: “Lord if you are willing, you can make me clean!!” (Luke 5:12).

Now, you’re probably wondering why I told you all that. Lice is typically something you keep on the DL. It’s kind of embarrassing…pretty gross… But as I sat in church last night, I realized some stuff about head lice. And I figured I might as well share. I might as well make something good come of this miserable itching. So here it goes…

Lice are like sin. In a lot of ways actually. Think about it; these little bugs can crawl around on your head for weeks before you notice. They’re basically invisible until they get bad enough that you feel the itching. But all along, they’re sucking your blood.

Okay, I’m sorry. I know this is really gross, but isn’t our sin just as awful?! We get caught in these sins that can seem like no big deal, yet as time goes on, they slowly steal away the life we were meant to have in Christ. The consequences can be invisible for weeks or even years, but eventually, they will surface.

It’s more than that, though. People with head lice try to hide it just like we hide our sin. It’s shameful. We don’t want anyone to know that we’re contaminated. We feel dirty.

And getting rid of it is easier said than done.

To eliminate head lice, first you have to admit that you have it. If you try to deny it or ignore it, it will just keep getting worse. Eventually, you’ll either be so itchy you can’t stand it, or someone else will bring your problem into the light. Then, once you admit that you have it, you’ve got to accept that you can’t deal with it yourself. Someone else has to do the nit picking (if you’re unfamiliar with lice, that’s the part where you go through every section of hair with a fine toothed comb to pick out all the tiny, little eggs). In the same way, we cannot rid ourselves of our sin. We can try, and it might seem like it's working, but only God can truly make us clean.

And there’s more. You can’t just get rid of the lice on your head. You’ve gotta wash your sheets and pillow and clothes and everything that has been touched by the little beasts. You can’t keep leaning your head against the people that gave you the lice, or you’re just going to catch it again. A lice free environment is as important as a lice free head.

Similarly, if we want to be free of sin, we can’t keep returning to the same places or people that cause us to stumble. If I repent of gossip and go back to the same gossipy friends, I will probably return to my gossiping. If I repent of drinking but still have a cabinet of booze, I probably won’t last long without returning to the bottle. Eliminating the problem won’t happen with a halfhearted effort.

I’m sorry if I’ve grossed you out or made your head super itchy, but this is a big deal! The most frustrating thing about (possibly) having lice in Buenos Aires has been that the people here are so nonchalant about it. They say it’s nothing to worry about. Everyone has it here. It’s inevitable. But sin tells us those same lies!

I don’t care if everyone else in the world has head lice! If there are bugs living on my head and sucking out my blood, that is NOT okay! And neither is my sin! I want it GONE!

So maybe you don’t have lice on your head. I actually really hope you don't because it's quite unpleasant.  But either way, you have sin in your heart. So don't take it lightly. This is war!!

“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” (Eph 6:12)

And Ever

In eight weeks, I’ve gotten to know Dani pretty well. He’s two years old. He loves balls and horses and coloring. He’s got a killer sweet tooth and an even worse temper. And while he likes to do activities and crafts, he’s also content to just sit and be held.


Yesterday, Dani was in a particularly cuddly mood. He crawled onto my lap, curled into a ball, and shut his eyes, clearly intending to spend at least a few minutes resting in my arms. I looked down at him and realized I’d reached the part of my adventure where things would start to get really hard. Though I would be glad to leave the traffic and smog in just five days, saying bye to these kids that call me “Si Si,” “Joshi,” and even “Ma” was not going to be fun.

I don’t know how God can handle it. I don’t know how He can create people, knitting them together in their mother’s womb, all the while knowing that they will have the option to reject Him and be separated from Him for eternity.

I look at Dani, whom I’ve only known for TWO MONTHS, and I get a glimpse of God’s heart. I’ve poured a lot of love into Dani in eight weeks, even though he might never remember it or know it. Yet I look at him and know that, after Thursday, I will NEVER see him again. Ever. And with that thought, which I can’t even think of a way to describe to you, I am amazed that God was willing to experience that feeling to the billionth power for the sake of the few that would love Him back. The few that would choose to be with Him forever. And ever.

Redefining Gross

I used to think dirt was gross. And bugs. And spit. But I don’t think so anymore. There are much grosser things. Toddlers. Babies. Pretty much all children. Let me tell you why.



When they eat it’s gross….

I don’t mind sharing a sip of soda with a friend or eating a cookie off the floor, but these kids take it to the extreme. Lunch for the little ones means four kids sitting in high chairs eating off the same plate and the same spoon. As we go down the line, Alexi drools on the plate, Mia sticks her finger in the sticky mush (don’t ask where her finger’s been), Dani coughs all over the food, and Jhoanna tops it off by spitting the half chewed up chicken that she doesn’t like back into the bowl for someone else to eat. And don’t forget the fun after lunch where Mia uses her finger to scoop bits of polenta and jello off the floor until she goes outside where she prefers to eat fresh dirt. Other lunch highlights include spitting chewed up food on the floor, eating crackers that have been stepped on, and, of course, a few cases of puking.


When we eat it’s gross…

The food at Funda Cor is not always bad. In fact, sometimes it’s actually pretty good. But when it’s bad, it’s really bad. There have been two such occasions. Once, the culprit was a very, very tough piece of meat. This wasn’t too bad until the women started commenting on it. It’s hard for me to understand them because they talk really fast and use a lot of slang, but there was one word that jumped out at me: caballo…horse. I sat and prayed that it was an expression or a joke.

The other time was only a week or two ago. It was a holiday, so the backup cuidadores (caretakers) were working. It’s not that these women do a bad job, but they’re older and just not as authoritative when dealing with the kids. And they also don’t cook as well. Several times during the morning, I glanced at the milanesa (very slin slice of meat rolled in a breadcrumb-like substance) sitting on the counter and hoped it wasn’t our lunch. It was. I would have eaten 10 pieces of milanesa, though, if it would have saved me from the rice. I don’t know how you can mess up rice that badly, but these women found a way. Besides being overcooked, they had mixed in a cheese that was just awful. I realize that cheese it actually mold, but normally it doesn’t taste or smell like rotting milk. This cheese did. And choking it down was a miserable experience that I hope I never have to repeat. Thankfully, I won’t be going back to Funda Cor on any more holidays.



When they play it’s gross…

Alexi is a drool MACHINE. I’m pretty sure that during my time at Funda Cor, I’ve had his drool on my clothes, my boots, my face, my hair, and even in my mouth. But I’d take his drool any day over Mia’s snot, Dani’s smelly diaper, and DEFINITELY over Camila’s hands, which pretty much always smell like pee. It’s GROSS!



And then there’s the bathroom…

Besides the incident where I was locked inside (See my post “Snapshots of Chaos”), there have been many other bathroom incidents. Carina has been caught with cotton in her ears…the cotton that is used at Funda Cor like baby wipes (let’s not stop to consider whether the cotton was clean or dirty). Dani has been caught chewing on a plastic glove, which happens to be what Noe wears while doing diaper duty.

Most of all though, we can’t forget Devil Child. Silvita’s favorite hobby is sneaking upstairs and turning all the water on in the shower or bathtub. When the gate is locked, though, she has to find a backup plan. So she is frequently discovered playing in the bathroom with 1-3 other children. Common activities include hand washing in the toilet, wetting their hair with toilet water, and best of all, combining giant, yellow sponges, plastic cups, and a toilet of pee for the ultimate bathroom play experience.



On the plus side, I guess I’ll probably leave here with a pretty tough immune system!

LOST!

*Warning:  If you are a parent (or especially my parent), please do not use this as an excuse to forbid your child from leaving the country.  This is type of incident is not common in travelling!  I am merely sharing the story for entertainment purposes.*

I’ve been in Buenos Aires, this massive city with subways and trains and over a hundred different buses, for almost 8 weeks, and I’ve never gotten lost. Sure, I’ve made a wrong turn here or there, but there have never been any issues that couldn’t be solved with a glance at a map (okay, maybe a few minutes of studying) or a quick request for directions.  

I find it interesting that I can find my way around BA, and yet I somehow managed to get myself lost in Uruguay within less than 24 hours. However, considering that I have also gotten lost in Lexington, Virginia, perhaps this is not so hard to believe.

Anyway, it all started at a really cute little hostel about an hour from Colonia, Uruguay. I arrived with my friend, Anissa, around 3:30, and upon our arrival, we were presented with the following information. Make sure you don’t miss anything. It’s all important:

1. You can rent bikes for $1 and hour. Just make sure to write down what time you leave.

2. Here is a map of the area.*

3. Nueva Helvetia is a great representation of a typical Uruguayan town. It’s 6 km away which would take you 20-25 minutes on the bikes. Make sure to take the longer route on the map because the shorter one takes you on a road with a lot of traffic.

4. The dairy farm down the street is milking their cows right now. You should go check it out.

5. The bikes aren’t that great, so call us if something happens and you need to be picked up.

*Please note that this map was hand drawn and included several lines and a few landmarks such as a goat farm and a hotel.

So…having been presented with all of this information and planning to leave fairly early the next day, we decided to take the bikes into town that afternoon. At this point it was 4:30, the sun was shining, and we were excited to see a little bit of the Uruguayan countryside.

First, we stopped by the dairy farm. It wasn’t too exciting. We parked our bikes, popped in to take a peek and say hello, and headed back out. I was absolutely loving the fresh air, especially in contrast to the past six weeks of city smog, and I couldn’t get over the fact that it was such a beautiful day.

But as our bike ride started to go uphill, everything else started to go downhill.

Not long into the ride, we decided that we must have made a wrong turn. We’d taken dirt road number one instead of dirt road number two, and that must be why we hadn’t reached the goat farm after about 30 minutes of riding. We turned around and soon found ourselves biking along dirt road number two and passing a sign for the goat farm. Although we were happy to be going the right way, we were a little concerned that 45 minutes into a “20-25 minute ride,” we had not reached the first landmark.

Around 5:30, we started to get frustrated.  Actually, Anissa might have been frustrated before then, but I was too excited about being in Uruguay to notice.  We were tired from the hilly terrain, and Nueva Helvetia was nowhere in sight.  We finally passed a street sign, but unfortunately, it was not on our map.

Not too long later, we came to a busier street (that was actually paved) and a sign for the city. But we were quite confused upon reading the sign which proudly welcomed us to Colonia Suiza. This would have been great news if we hadn’t been expecting and hoping to arrive in Nueva Helvetia.

At the point, we decided we had seen enough of the town and should probably get home ASAP. The orangey pink sky inspired us to take the shortcut despite risks of traffic since darkness seemed to weigh in higher on the danger scale. So we turned right for a 6km straight shot back to the hostel.

Yet somewhere in between the hotel and the first turn on our map, we must have missed something. Because our map did not include any forks in the road. And it definitely did not include any dead ends. And it also did not tell us what to do when the sun began to dip below the horizon.

 Finally admitting that we were officially lost, we decided to stop and ask for directions. The first few houses we passed seemed empty, so we parked outside the first place where we saw movement inside. Intimidated by the plethora of barking dogs outside, we stood at the gate and yelled “Perdon!” until a man came out to see what we wanted.

This very friendly guy studied our map for several minutes before offering an apologetic smile as he said, “Ayyy…muy lejos…” (you are very far away). He gave us slightly confusing directions to get back to the main road, which would then put us just 6-8 km from the hostel (by now I was severely frustrated with the United States’ resistance to using the metric system like everyone else in the world). We hopped back on our bikes and quickly realized that neither of us were going to make it 6-8 more km, however far that was.

We stopped at the first landmark we came to, an old people’s home and decided to call for help. We had resisted this option until this point because my Argentine phone did not work in Uruguay, and Anissa’s international plan was something ridiculous like $20 a minute. But being lost in what was now complete darkness, we decided it was time to call.

As Anissa dialed the hostel owners, I talked to a woman that had just pulled into her driveway at the house across the street. She was the second Uruguayan we encountered who was SUPER friendly and helpful. While I talked to her, I noticed Anissa getting very anxious on the phone. This was confirmed when she hung up and immediately started talking to the woman in frantic English. I calmly reminded her that the woman didn’t speak English, and she proceeded to relate what had happened over the phone. Here’s the gist of the conversation:

“Hi Miguel. We decided to take the bikes into town, and we’re very lost and it’s getting dark. Do you think you could come pick us up?”

“Hmm. I’m not sure. You have two bikes and we don’t have a very big car.”

“Well the woman we are talking to says it is very dangerous to bike at night here.”

“You are right. It is very dangerous.” (Prepare for the story’s highlight) “You should go to the supermarket and buy a light.” (Is he for real right now?!)

“Well, we’re actually not sure where the supermarket is. We’re lost.”

“Hmm. Call us back in 10 minutes.”

I would like to give Anissa props for staying calm throughout this conversation. Only afterwards did we begin to freak out as we proceeded to eat all of the snacks in Anissa’s backpack (stress eating is no joke).

Realizing that buying a light was a ridiculous idea, we decided to take the woman’s advice to take a taxi. She told us we could leave the bikes with her, and the hostel owners could pick them up at their convenience.

Another frustrating phone call later, we had everything squared away, so we hopped in the taxi to head back to the hostel. At the end of the day, it all worked out fine. We had to pay five extra dollars for the trip to pick up the bikes. We learned that either Uruguayan people are super nice or God was being super gracious in answering our panicked prayers (or possibly both). And we came home with a story of how we survived being lost in Uruguay.

Anissa and I in Colonia

horse at the hostel

Colonia, Uruguay

kitties at the dairy farm

A Whole Lot

If you’ve talked to me at all about my time in Argentina, you’ve probably heard about Rodrigo. In his mere three weeks at Funda Cor, he’s managed to steal the spotlight nearly every day with temper tantrums that make even Devil Child look angelic. Allow me to give you a brief overview of his short time at the hogar (Spanish term for children’s home).

Rodrigo is six years old. He arrived on June 13th. Two women brought him with his little duffel bag and asked him if he wanted to meet the other kids. As he shook his head, I felt like I was watching some sad movie or perhaps looking at Eeyore in human form. But that was the last time his behavior inspired such thoughts.

The next day, Rodrigo had already warmed up to the place. They weren’t going to stick him in school upon arrival, so he stayed home in the morning with the little ones. He played with playdough and colored while chatting away as if he’d been there all along. Suddenly, though, I turned around, and he had his hands around Alexi’s neck. I let out a cry of alarm and rushed over to save the day. That was just the beginning of a very long morning.

Although I have no idea what set him off, during the next hour or so, Rodrigo screamed, cursed, kicked, punched, and did whatever harm he could to anyone who came within several feet of him, not excluding curious 2 year olds. He flipped tables, threw chairs, and kicked the walls. I’d never seen anything quite like it. And that was just day one.

Over the next two weeks, he’s had many similar episodes. During his second week, he stole a box of matches from the kitchen and attempted to build a fire. Confiscating those was quite a fiasco, and it ended with one of the women having to pin him to the floor for about twenty minutes before he finally calmed down. He also threw up about 6 inches from my face when he didn’t like what was for lunch and forced the older kids to relocate their homework time to a locked office where they would not be disrupted. He took off running in the backyard while pushing the 4 month old in her stroller, and he nearly threw a rock at my head from about a foot away. But wait, there’s more!

Last week, he broke the supply cabinet by repeatedly kicking it, ripped a wooden door off a cupboard to use as a weapon, and attempted to climb over the ten foot iron gate on the porch. He also smashed the telephone and then ripped it off the cord attaching it to the wall.

This week has been more of the same. On Monday, he threw his shoes at my head when there were no weapons nearby and then tried to break the legs off a plastic table when I was too tired to give him another piggy back ride.

Basically, the kid is a wreck. But when I stop and think about it, so am I. I may not push down little kids, but I certainly take my anger out on others when I’m in a bad mood. I may not knock over tables, but I’ve certainly yelled at inanimate objects (apologies to my little computer, Pepito). And although I don’t lie on the floor screaming for 30 minutes at a time, I certainly sulk for a while when things don’t go my way.

Really, I bet all of us are a lot like Rodrigo. We just try to hide it. There’s a problem, though. We can’t hide it from God. He sees our hearts. And he STILL loves us. A whole lot.

So next time Rodrigo throws a fit, I’ll remember that. I’ll remember how God loves me and how God loves him. And I’ll love him too. A whole lot.

*Coming soon: LOST!  The story of my brief adventure in Uruguay*