I’m Not Low Enough

It’s late and quiet. Katy went to a disco club with some of our translators, so I have the room to myself for the time being. I’m soaking in the silence after a long day.

I feel like I gained a dozen little sisters today. The teen girls’ home we visited is my favorite so far. They were embracing, enthusiastic, affectionate. They yearned for our attention. They blessed us with their smiles.

For dinner, Julie, Klista, Katy, and I ate at a restaurant where we sat at a table outside. At the intersection near us, a young boy and his little sister worked through the cars when the stoplight was red, begging for money. Katy and I took them some of our leftover desserts. The whole situation seemed like a paradox of my life. I was sitting comfortably, eating until I was satisfied, clean and healthy, while they were dodging traffic, eating our leftovers, dirty and cold. These weren’t the first children I’ve seen begging in Lima. And they won’t be the last. The cumulative effect of seeing children begging day after day is something that will take me a long time to process.

Hands reaching through barred windows
Falling asleep on the sidewalk
You say You draw near to the low
Now I’m here, I know I’m not low enough
[Bethany Dillon, "Beggar's Heart"]

One last moment from my day: during dinner, I said to the others, “I have this urge to see someone I recognize from home.” We told stories of seeing people we knew in unexpected places – like the time my family saw two people from church in the middle of Chicago. I kid you not, it happened to me not an hour later. We were all in the hotel lobby, and suddenly I saw a girl wearing a sweatshirt with my school name – and I recognized her, too. I said, “Oh my goodness, I go to that school!” and we talked for a few minutes with some other people on her trip. She is here to play softball. I can’t believe I ran into someone who goes to my school and who I recognize, in this random hotel in a foreign country!

Tomorrow we go back to the same home we went to yesterday. In the evening, we have a farewell dinner with the missions team – and Katy. She’s leaving tomorrow night. Saturday we have the day off to prepare for Cuzco, and Sunday we fly out.

Thanks for reading, friends.
Anna

 

Time Is Flying

How can I even begin to summarize the past few days? I think I haven’t written because there is simply too much to share. A short-term team arrived on Sunday, and we have been working with them since then. We visited a community center on Sunday, an orphanage on Monday, and a baby home and boy’s home today. It’s been different working with a big team, and it’s been different meeting so many children and leaving them that same day, never to see them again.

How can I describe the feeling of holding these precious children in my arms, asking, “Como te llama?” and “Cuantos anos tienes?” over and over, kissing them, playing with them, looking into their beautiful eyes, and a few hours later, kissing them on the cheek to say ciao, and hearing the translators explain that the kids are asking over and over, “When are you coming back?” It breaks my heart.

Today, as I said, we visited a home for boys ages 7 through 14. I didn’t think I would connect with them much, since I don’t relate well to boys that age. But I fell in love with them. I wanted to take them home. I leaned out of the bus window talking to them before we left, and they were talking and talking. I asked the Peruvian translator, “What are they saying?” and he said, “They are asking when you will come back.” They always ask that. I always say, “No se. Mi casa es en Estados Unidos.” And I hate to say it. I wish there were a dozen of me to stay at all of these places. That was just one home.

On Sunday I saw the worst poverty I’ve ever seen. We drove an hour and a half away from Lima proper to a small Christian community center in a very poor mountain community. It was tiny and crammed and filthy, but there were at least real houses. It wasn’t the worst poverty in the world. But it was still overwhelmingly sad to arrive, hand out shoes and gifts and Bible stories, kiss their little cheeks, and wave goodbye forever.

Last week, when I was dealing with an overwhelming homesickness, I prayed and prayed for two things – joy and a sense of belonging. It took a few days, but that prayer has been answered this week. I am so joyful to be able to bless these children with a little love, and I feel a deep sense of belonging and rightness about being here.

My Spanish has improved by leaps and bounds – it has gone from almost nonexistent to now being able to carry on a mini-conversation. The worst thing, though, is when you’ve talked for a couple of minutes in Spanish, asking the usual things, and then the kids assume you’re pretty fluent and start talking very fast, and then you have to say, “No, lo siento! Yo hablo un poco espanol!” and they look so disappointed.

I could go on forever. The ocean is beautiful. I love the Peruvian friends I’ve made here. I want to bring tons of orphans home with me. But I’m sure you can guess the rest. Thank you, thank you, thank you for sending me here and for supporting me in prayer while I am here. I may stay here forever, just to warn you.

Anna

And I am speechless
I’m astonished and amazed
I am silenced by Your wondrous grace
You have saved me
You have raised me from the grave
And I am speechless
In Your presence now
I’m astounded as I consider how
You have shown us
A love that leaves us speechless

So what kind of love could this be
That would trade heaven’s throne for a cross?
And to think You still celebrate
Over finding just one who was lost
And to know You rejoice over us
The God of this whole universe
It’s a story that’s too great for words

[SCC, "Speechless"]

 

Faces of Peru