A Warm Welcome

I never forgot what it was like to be in this place, immersed in the community of kids, volunteers, and Tino’s family that is Tinkuy Peru , but the instant I saw Tino’s smiling face in the 4th floor window of his home on La Florida, I remembered exactly why it is that I have been dying to return ever since I left on August 23, 2010. You’re probably expecting me to tell you what that reason is, but, the thing is, I can’t explain it. There’s just something magical about this place that’s beyond words. If you want to understand it, look at my pictures, look at the kids, and you might get the tiniest glimpse of the joy that I have here. Better yet, book a plane ticket to Peru and come see for yourself. At the very least, read my story (and my sister’s), and hopefully you will see what it’s like to be covered in the magical pixie dust that is Tinkuy Peru, whether it be for the second time or the first.

July 31st: So back to Tino’s face in the window. Instants after glimpsing that smile through the glass, it was right in front of me, looking just like a little boy on Christmas. As Tino hugged me and welcomed my sister, I really felt like a long lost part of his family. Sipping coca tea with him and Mari, I couldn’t stop grinning as they filled me in on everything I’d missed at the mountain school. Many of my kids had stopped coming, but there were many new children as well. I could hardly wait to get there!

Cody and I unpacked, showered, and dressed as quickly as we could in order to get to the school before the morning session ended. I was afraid I would forget the way there, but I didn’t. Everything was almost exactly as I’d left it. Same dusty roads, same evil steps, same dalmation pigs…It was almost as if I’d never left.

When we arrived at the school, I took a deep breath. I knew that a lot would be different, and I didn’t want to create impossible expectations that would never be met. So I took a picture of the new paint on the door and turned the handle.

As soon as I peeked my head in, shouts of “Miss!” filled the air. Before I knew it, Geraldine’s arms were wrapped around my neck and Ana’s grin was about an inch from mine. I almost cried. For joy, right? Nope. For sorrow. Because in that moment, I realized that two weeks was way too short.

But I couldn’t cry. Because at that moment, I heard a familiar voice, a familiar goofy Peruvian accent on a simple English greeting. “Hello, Miss.”

“Jaime!” I shouted, with a wide grin and tears instantly forgotten. “How are you?”

And when he responded with the same silly answer from two years ago, I realized that maybe, just maybe, not that much had changed after all. “Very bad, Miss, very bad,” he said, struggling to suppress the smile that was never far from his lips.

I spent the next hour introducing Cody to the kids, failing at playing soccer, talking to old kids and new ones, and loving every minute of it.

After that was a delicious lunch (one thing I had forgotten was how good Mari’s cooking is) and a second walk up to the school. This time, I was greeted by a couple more familiar faces. Many of the kids were so tall! And so old! Cody and I sat in on English classes taught by two other volunteers to see where to start with the kids when I taught the following day. I was amazed at how much English the kids had learned in two years. They could actually understand, write, and even hold a real conversation in English, something that only the brightest students would have managed my first time around. It was so great to see that this program that I love so much is actually working!

At recess, I went around talking to and playing with as many kids as I could. Justi still towers above the rest and heads the ball in soccer every time the ball is kicked straight up in the air. Deysi is still wearing the sweater I sent her in the mail for Christmas the month after I left the first time. Luis remembers me, even though he was only five years old when I came before. Diana is graduating from high school this year and wants to go to Lima to become a flight attendant. Geraldine has graduated and is studying English at an institute in town. And Ana still treasures the photo I sent her of the two of us on my last day.

They’re precious. Every single one. Even the new ones: Kevin who is at least 6 feet tall but can’t make a basket to save his life, Heidi who thinks I’m psychic because I guessed her age on the first try, Pedro who looked at me in disgust when I missed an easy shot in a 2 on 2 soccer game, and so many more.

As we packed up for the day, Ana approached me for about the hundredth time that day. “Stay til Christmas?” she asked me. At my frown, she softly presented a question that broke my heart, “How can you leave in just two weeks?” And the truth is, I have no idea.

 July 31st: Upon my arrival to the house my sister and I are staying in, I got hugged and kissed by two total strangers: Tino and Mari, the master and lady of the house. You know you’re out of the States when people invade your personal space that way. The funny thing is I loved it. I had never felt so welcome anywhere but my own home, and since the homesickness had already begun to seep through my veins that was just what I needed.

After tea with Tino, which almost gave me an aneurism I was concentrating so hard trying to understand his rapid Spanish with my sister, I met the rest of my temporary family: Adele who hails from Newcastle, Samara from New York City, Cindy from Los Angeles and the two briefest members Anne and Nicole (Lu). Anne left about an hour after we arrived, which was sad because I feel we could have been great friends. She had short, spikey hair and a spunky personality and she loved WW1 about as much as I love WW2; she also wanted to be a history professor, but alas, too soon, she was gone. Lu left the day after our arrival. It’s her class Josy and I will be taking over, but she taught them so much I don’t know how Josy and I will be able to compete.

After we settled in we climbed the hill up to the school where I met the infamous “kids”. To my delight, I was again met with many hugs and kisses. I was so impressed with their English, especially Jocelyn; she wants to be an English teacher so she can help kids like we’re helping them. I think I love her. In the morning we just played and talked, but in the afternoon I was up in front of a classroom teaching with Cindy. We were working with the students on reading comprehension. I had to do it as well to make the key and let me tell you, this assignment was hard! It was like reading questions I remember doing for the ACT. It’s tough for a native speaker to read that closely and yet many of our students got a good percentage right. I was blown away.

After school Josy, Lu and I went to the Artesian Market where I bought myself a pair of nice, fuzzy, alpaca socks. I’m pretty excited about them. The things these people make with their hands astound me… I wish I was that skilled. On the way home we got some churros and they were so yummy! It was a great first day.

Fast forward to dinner time… I’m not feeling too well… I picked at my squash and potatoes and chicken as to not offend Mari, but boy was my stomach churning. I went to bed and then at 1:30 in the morning I had my first encounter with international food poisoning. I can’t remember being so sick. The following morning I could hardly move and Mari forbade me to try to go to school… I ate soup and drank Gatorade all day; I just hope it fixes me up fast because I am NOT missing another day of school. All the volunteers are staging a mock Olympics and I refuse to let the nation of Germany (my team) down!

                                                          

nail party with Mari



She somehow knew this churro couldn't
 be as good as it seemed



I'm back in Huancayo!

Cody with Jasmine

Jaime!

Dayana- she was just four last time!



Shaped by God: Gap Year at a Glance

Eight months. Four projects. Three countries. One adventure.

There is no feeling like knowing you have made an impact on a person’s life, however small. To leave your footprint, your mark, or even the tiniest piece of your heart in another place is to truly make the most of life. To walk along a dusty road and find the local kids sharing a game you taught them with their friends at school. To see little boys, teenage girls, and grown women weeping as you wave goodbye. To hear a four year old say, “I’ll never forget your name.” It makes every miserable plane ride, every grossly large spider, and every heartbroken tear one hundred and ten percent worth it.

I can’t claim to have changed these people’s lives. They live just as they did before I came. Their clothes are just as dirty, their houses just as ramshackle, and their lives just as difficult. But if I brought them one smile, one laugh, or one necessity they didn’t have before, I made a difference. And when you add up a hundred little differences, maybe three hundred or a thousand, you see an impact. And is not an impact the first step on the road to a greater change?

Who am I kidding, though? I can’t even pretend to think that I influenced these people half as much as they influenced me. I gave them shoes or some new English vocabulary or a glow stick, but they gave me passion. Purpose. Life. How do I even begin to reflect on what I’ve learned?

It started in Peru. My first adventure. A world of new experiences from flying alone to leaving the country to riding in a taxi. My first real look at poverty and my first broken heart.

There is some small part of me that got off that bus in Huancayo and never made it back home. Whether it was a sliver of my heart or a piece of my innocence, my naivety, I feel its absence. I feel it when I wake up from a dream about the kids there, and I feel it at the mall when guilt wraps its arms around my ankles as I walk to the register.

In Peru, I saw that my life MATTERS. Those kids -- those precious, amazing, hilarious kids that love Hannah Montana and Justin Beiber and soccer and the Titanic-- loved ME. I had something to offer them. And not just my language but my culture, my hobbies, and my childhood favorite everythings.

To them, I was rich in a million ways. I, a graduated high school student with no job, had more money than any of them probably ever would. My life was full; I had two parents, a house, an education, a future. But I believe the kids saw that I was willing and eager to share my possessions, material and otherwise, with each and every one of them. And today, as they wear my shirt or play with the teddy bear I bought them, I hope they remember me.

For three months, I lived with a Peruvian family. I ate their food, experienced their culture, and painted their fingernails. I despised their lack of punctuality and planning, but I saw that it led to a comparatively stress free life. I befriended volunteers from Australia, England, Utah, and Florida and made a lifelong friend in my polar opposite. I rode a horse through the actual Middle of Nowhere and climbed waterfalls in the Amazon. I roasted marshmallows over tea candles and had a blast playing Capture the Flag with a bunch of little kids. I spun kindergartners around until I was beyond dizzy, taught kids the Chicken Dance, and directed my class’ theatrical rendition of Shrek2. I made memories that will last FOR.EVER.

And them? They begged me not to leave. They gave me bracelets and necklaces and random little ornaments. They wrote me letters, drew me pictures, and cried on my shoulder. They made me promise to return. And I did. I will.

Although I may have been depressed after leaving Peru, working with the Hoss Foundation Gift Project kept me too busy to dwell on it. It was my first “real” job (or as real as you can get without being paid). I worked in an office and took a lunch break just like a grown up (though I can’t deny that my heart is still trapped in Never Never Land). I reviewed applications for Christmas aid that were heart wrenching and found that poverty was not merely a distant issue but also a problem in my own community.

After New Year’s, I headed off on my second trip. I expected Honduras to be like Peru, but it was a totally different world. The Spanish was different. The culture was different. And the “city” I stayed in was beyond different. Ojojona redefined my definition of “rural.” We got homemade tortillas from the neighbor across the street. We bought eggs from Karla whose chickens laid their eggs all over her house. Oscar cut the knee-high grass with a machete, and deadly poisonous snakes lived in the backyard. I even found myself out in the field with big rubber galoshes feeding the goats like a good ‘ole farm girl.

Although I taught Sunday school, recorder, Bible study, art, and English in Honduras, I learned much more than I taught. Lesson number 1: The world does not revolve around Josy Tarantini. Of course, I’ve always known this to be true, but it didn’t carry real meaning until I spent three months living with two and four year old girls and a baby. I saw that having a family is a lot harder than it looks and that it involves a great deal of self-sacrifice. I learned so much about being a servant and putting others’ needs above my own. And this led to lesson number 2: Life is better if the world DOESN’T revolve around Josy Tarantini. In being a servant, I found that selflessness actually brought more satisfaction and happiness than doing things my own way. For the first time, I began to understood Jesus’ whole “first will be last and last will be first” paradox.

Throughout my three months in Honduras, I met a lot of people who live HARD lives. I befriended a single mom who lived with her whole extended family and only got paid every 3 months. I taught little boys that would work on a chicken farm (cutting their beaks off or something awful like that) to make extra money for their families. I talked to a guy who believed he was possessed by demons. I went to church with a family that spent their “free time” picking coffee (a job considered to be the lowest of lows) to support themselves. Not to mention that I lived with a family who works harder every day than I work in a week at home. This led to gratefulness for a million and one things I’d always taken for granted.

Honduras being my first real mission trip, it was definitely an eye opening experience. Spiritual warfare always seemed to be throwing a wrench in our plans and hopes. Isolation led to a constant hunger for fellowship. Finances were always high on our prayer list, and we had to explain the most important things in the world–salvation, faith, repentance – in another language! I saw that starting a ministry is a long process that can be slow to yield fruit. It’s tough. But serving God with all you are and all you do is certainly worth that and more!


Coming back home was difficult in a lot of ways. Even now I feel restless, eager to get back out there and do what I was made to do. Keeping busy has helped me ease my adjustment to normalcy. When I first got back, I worked with WVU Upward Bound. Once again, I found myself in an office doing administrative work but this time to help low income high school students who want to be first generation college students. I spent a lot of time requesting food donations for their summer program. This might sound like a tedious task, but it was good for me. At a time in my life where it was easy to judge the world, to stereotype Americans as rich, greedy, and selfish, it was helpful to see tons of businesses around Morgantown donate food and gift cards to help these kids. Seeing their generosity was a reminder that I am not alone in wanting to make a difference.

Now, though, even my internship with Upward Bound is over. It’s hard sometimes, knowing that this gap year has come to an end and that four years of books and exams lie ahead. It’s hard to be a world away from the children who first captured my heart and to move from the house of missionaries to a college dorm. But I suppose it’s just time for a new adventure. Although I may not find 21 people living in a mud house in Lexington, Virginia, who’s to say that a homeless man with no family is in any less need of Christ’s love? After all, it’s not location that makes me who I am but the hands of the Potter. And He has made me many things.

I am a dreamer. I believe that I have the power to change people, to change lives, and to change the world.

I am a realist. I don’t seek to do the impossible. I simply follow God and leave those things to Him.

I am a rebel. I am not satisfied with conforming to what everyone else does. I choose the narrow way.

I am a follower. I pursue Jesus Christ and His plan for my life.

I am a warrior. I seek to fight poverty: to loose the chains of injustice, feed the hungry, shelter the wanderer, and clothe the naked (Is 58).

I am a peacemaker. I aim to heal broken relationships and bring unity among friends.

I am a missionary. I take the message of salvation wherever I go.

I am a daughter, a sister, a friend, a student, a teenager, a Christian.

I am a piece of clay that is slowly becoming a holy vessel.

I am shaped by everything. Shaped by God.

Isaiah 64:8 “Yet, O Lord, you are our Father. We are the clay; you are the potter. We are all the work of your hand.”