It´s rainy yet again. This time I´m prepared for it. I´m wearing my rain jacket/trench coat, quick dry pants, and rain boots. I look pretty ridiculous trudging around Pucallpa, especially with my bag under my jacket. I´m something similar to the Hunchback of Notre Dame. But, you know, I could care less what I look like, I´m dry. I mentioned something to Rebecca about how I wondered if I would be as carefree when I return home. I really hope so. I like not wearing any makeup, mismatched clothes, and (ok, some of you may barf, and it´s taking me some courage to say this publically) not shaving my legs everyday. Ok, go ahead, barf, do whatever you need to do to get that picture out of your mind. But seriously, I like this new part of me, being carefree. Yeah, so I´ll probably return to shaving my legs regularly when I get home, it´s a cultural thing, and I really don´t like it when people vomit.
Since being here I have started a Pathfinder program. Think I´ve mentioned that once or twice before. I´m looking up activities to do with the kids. Looking through the Pathfinder honors manual online is very interesting, and slightly entertaining. Who knew you could receive a little badge for so many things. Here are some of my favorites:
Aboriginal Lore
Life saving
Tree Climbing
Unicycling
Laundering
Cattle Husbandry (like Temple Grandin!)
Pigeon Raising
Small Fruit Growing
Antelopes
Think we´ll just go with kite making this time.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
What´s Next?
February 22, 2011 (oops, out of order)
I stupidly drank a cup of black tea at ten o’clock this evening. Which means two things: multiple trips to the bathroom and no near signs of exhaustion. Ugh. Like I said, dumb decision. It’s a nice evening though, chilly (which prompted my poor decision). My toes are hidden beneath socks and wedged between flip flops—a style I’ve never been very fond of back home, but don’t seem to care too much about down here.
In the 6 months of being in Peru, I’ve noticed that things that used to bother me at home, don’t bother me here.
This realization hit me today as I was preparing lunch in the kitchen and several cockroaches came out to see what was cooking. I have been involved with a few mission trips, two of which involved cleaning houses infested with roaches. Whilst cleaning I thought to myself, “how can these people live like this? I could never live with roaches.” But I’m currently living in nearly the same situation. I’m choosing to live in a house infested with roaches. Spiders sleep, eat, and poop in my house and sometimes on me, and I am constantly sweeping out dirt from my floors. And yet, I don’t seem to be too bothered by it. Maybe I’m just desensitized. I think I see it as a lost cause. Unless this house burns down, we will never be rid of roaches.
I will refrain from sharing a few examples of things I previously had no qualms over for fear of disgusting others and losing friends of the male and female gender.
Now, rather the opposite. I’ve also noticed things that didn’t bother me at home bother me here. For example, evangelism. I’ve attended evangelistic series in the past. I’ve also preached in one. But I never really cared what happened after the meetings. I never put much thought into those who were baptized or what happened to them afterwards. But I care about those things here. I’m not in accordance with the way evangelism has been done here in the past. I don’t agree with the way we have held meetings, baptized a few people and said goodbye. Who will mentor them? Who will lead them? Who will teach them how to be a church family? What happens next? I’m still trying to discover what I can do to help the situation. I don’t want to be content with just seeing a problem but doing nothing to solve it. I don’t want to live life with the same mindset I have about my roach infested house—there’s no point in fixing it, in fact there’s no way to fix it, there will forever be roaches and there’s nothing I can do to solve it so I might as well give up. I’m not content, and I guess that’s a good thing.
Peru is changing me. I think I’ll go kill a roach.
I stupidly drank a cup of black tea at ten o’clock this evening. Which means two things: multiple trips to the bathroom and no near signs of exhaustion. Ugh. Like I said, dumb decision. It’s a nice evening though, chilly (which prompted my poor decision). My toes are hidden beneath socks and wedged between flip flops—a style I’ve never been very fond of back home, but don’t seem to care too much about down here.
In the 6 months of being in Peru, I’ve noticed that things that used to bother me at home, don’t bother me here.
This realization hit me today as I was preparing lunch in the kitchen and several cockroaches came out to see what was cooking. I have been involved with a few mission trips, two of which involved cleaning houses infested with roaches. Whilst cleaning I thought to myself, “how can these people live like this? I could never live with roaches.” But I’m currently living in nearly the same situation. I’m choosing to live in a house infested with roaches. Spiders sleep, eat, and poop in my house and sometimes on me, and I am constantly sweeping out dirt from my floors. And yet, I don’t seem to be too bothered by it. Maybe I’m just desensitized. I think I see it as a lost cause. Unless this house burns down, we will never be rid of roaches.
I will refrain from sharing a few examples of things I previously had no qualms over for fear of disgusting others and losing friends of the male and female gender.
Now, rather the opposite. I’ve also noticed things that didn’t bother me at home bother me here. For example, evangelism. I’ve attended evangelistic series in the past. I’ve also preached in one. But I never really cared what happened after the meetings. I never put much thought into those who were baptized or what happened to them afterwards. But I care about those things here. I’m not in accordance with the way evangelism has been done here in the past. I don’t agree with the way we have held meetings, baptized a few people and said goodbye. Who will mentor them? Who will lead them? Who will teach them how to be a church family? What happens next? I’m still trying to discover what I can do to help the situation. I don’t want to be content with just seeing a problem but doing nothing to solve it. I don’t want to live life with the same mindset I have about my roach infested house—there’s no point in fixing it, in fact there’s no way to fix it, there will forever be roaches and there’s nothing I can do to solve it so I might as well give up. I’m not content, and I guess that’s a good thing.
Peru is changing me. I think I’ll go kill a roach.
Cumpleaños feliz, cupleaños a ti.......
February 23, 2011
It’s exactly a week after my birthday. I’ve been 22 for 10 days now. The popular question when one becomes another year older is, “Do you feel older or wiser?” I lay in bed the morning of my birthday, which conveniently happened to be a Sunday, and waited to see if I felt....different. As few minutes passed and as with every birthday I’ve had, nothing seemed odd or special or...different. In fact this day felt more ordinary than any of my previous birthdays.
I had promised to take the kids to Campo Verde for a collective Church field day the Campo Verde church had organized. Several other Churches from the area were getting together to play volleyball and fútbol. As we sat in the sun baking and watching the games, I contemplated being a year older. Verbalizing my age to several curious kids made me feel old.
Now, I know that sounds ridiculous. Those of you who have surpassed the age of 22 are probably rolling your eyes at this moment. I still think that 22 is young, but I think the reason I’m starting to feel¨old¨is because all my friends have graduated, or will soon be graduating. Most of my closest friends are currently engaged and will soon be returning home to their spouses after work. Many of my friends have or will be starting real jobs. Real life, whatever that is, is just around the corner. My childhood is fading into the distance (yeah, yeah, a bit melodramatic).
Well, on to happier things. The evening of my birthday all of Km 38 gathered at our house for a delicious meal prepared by the girls; they wouldn’t let me into the kitchen. I think I’m becoming more and more like my mother; I couldn’t just sit and wait as they were cooking. I wanted to be in there stirring or chopping something. I was shooed out several times.
The party kicked off with Hanna and Sharon(not sure if that’s spelled correctly), Elias’s niece, came in with not one but two large, homemade, caramel glazed, sprinkle topped, delicious cake. My favorite part about one of the cakes was my name neatly spelled with gumdrops. It read: Llanesa (the double “l” makes the “ja” sound). Incorrectly spelled in more ways than one, but it was so cute, I absolutely loved it.
All of us piled our plates full of delicious birthday goodness. It has become a tradition amongst the SM’s to have tostadas on our birthday. We make homemade tortillas, pico de gallo, “bomb sauce” (made by Lauren), yummy beans, rice, and some sort of fajita style stuff. Muy rico! However, before I could take a bite of my food it happened. I felt it cold, wet, and slimy running down my head and onto my shoulders. I had been egged. It’s a tradition here in Peru, as well as many other Latin countries, to smash an egg atop the head of the birthday boy/girl. Usually it’s accompanied with flour; thankfully I only got the egg. Everyone let out their laughs and approving shouts. I quickly ran to the sink where I thoroughly washed my hair.
The egg washed out and a pair of clean clothes on I consumed the delicious plate of birthday goodness. With that first bite all was right in the world. We ate, talked, and then it was time for the cutting of the cake. I love the cake here, at least the type that was made for my birthday. It’s buttery and moist and not too sweet, perfect. I sat down to enjoy the moist scrumptiousness when I felt it again—this time in two consecutive rounds. I had been egged…again. The viscous innards glooped off my head and onto my clean black skirt. I scooped up my skirt and ran outside before any of the nasty stuff got on the floor. This time Hanna, the perpetrator, came with her peppermint shampoo to help me wash out the stuff. Oh the joys. They tell me egg is good for your hair. I can’t tell you, I didn’t leave it in long enough to make a difference.
It was an enjoyable birthday. I felt very loved, eggs and all. I can always retell the story of spending my 22nd birthday in Peru amongst good friends, good food, and raw eggs.
It’s exactly a week after my birthday. I’ve been 22 for 10 days now. The popular question when one becomes another year older is, “Do you feel older or wiser?” I lay in bed the morning of my birthday, which conveniently happened to be a Sunday, and waited to see if I felt....different. As few minutes passed and as with every birthday I’ve had, nothing seemed odd or special or...different. In fact this day felt more ordinary than any of my previous birthdays.
I had promised to take the kids to Campo Verde for a collective Church field day the Campo Verde church had organized. Several other Churches from the area were getting together to play volleyball and fútbol. As we sat in the sun baking and watching the games, I contemplated being a year older. Verbalizing my age to several curious kids made me feel old.
Now, I know that sounds ridiculous. Those of you who have surpassed the age of 22 are probably rolling your eyes at this moment. I still think that 22 is young, but I think the reason I’m starting to feel¨old¨is because all my friends have graduated, or will soon be graduating. Most of my closest friends are currently engaged and will soon be returning home to their spouses after work. Many of my friends have or will be starting real jobs. Real life, whatever that is, is just around the corner. My childhood is fading into the distance (yeah, yeah, a bit melodramatic).
Well, on to happier things. The evening of my birthday all of Km 38 gathered at our house for a delicious meal prepared by the girls; they wouldn’t let me into the kitchen. I think I’m becoming more and more like my mother; I couldn’t just sit and wait as they were cooking. I wanted to be in there stirring or chopping something. I was shooed out several times.
The party kicked off with Hanna and Sharon(not sure if that’s spelled correctly), Elias’s niece, came in with not one but two large, homemade, caramel glazed, sprinkle topped, delicious cake. My favorite part about one of the cakes was my name neatly spelled with gumdrops. It read: Llanesa (the double “l” makes the “ja” sound). Incorrectly spelled in more ways than one, but it was so cute, I absolutely loved it.
All of us piled our plates full of delicious birthday goodness. It has become a tradition amongst the SM’s to have tostadas on our birthday. We make homemade tortillas, pico de gallo, “bomb sauce” (made by Lauren), yummy beans, rice, and some sort of fajita style stuff. Muy rico! However, before I could take a bite of my food it happened. I felt it cold, wet, and slimy running down my head and onto my shoulders. I had been egged. It’s a tradition here in Peru, as well as many other Latin countries, to smash an egg atop the head of the birthday boy/girl. Usually it’s accompanied with flour; thankfully I only got the egg. Everyone let out their laughs and approving shouts. I quickly ran to the sink where I thoroughly washed my hair.
The egg washed out and a pair of clean clothes on I consumed the delicious plate of birthday goodness. With that first bite all was right in the world. We ate, talked, and then it was time for the cutting of the cake. I love the cake here, at least the type that was made for my birthday. It’s buttery and moist and not too sweet, perfect. I sat down to enjoy the moist scrumptiousness when I felt it again—this time in two consecutive rounds. I had been egged…again. The viscous innards glooped off my head and onto my clean black skirt. I scooped up my skirt and ran outside before any of the nasty stuff got on the floor. This time Hanna, the perpetrator, came with her peppermint shampoo to help me wash out the stuff. Oh the joys. They tell me egg is good for your hair. I can’t tell you, I didn’t leave it in long enough to make a difference.
It was an enjoyable birthday. I felt very loved, eggs and all. I can always retell the story of spending my 22nd birthday in Peru amongst good friends, good food, and raw eggs.
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