The Big 7

One week ago today, I was saying goodbye to that one country down south and preparing to return to that bigger country I call home.

Around this time last week I was waiting in the Lima airport with my teammates for our flight. We had just returned to Peru’s largest city after a week of galavanting around the country. We said ciao to Nauta, spent the night in Iquitos, flew out the next morning to Lima, and hopped on a 24-hour bus ride to Cusco. When we arrived in Cusco, we spent the rest of the day exploring the city, including the beautiful Incan architecture and the hectic street markets. The next morning we took an hour long train ride to the village of Machu Picchu, and the day after that was spent hiking up over 2,000 steps to experience the wonder of the world that is Machu Picchu. After that, our journey to Lima for the last time began. We solemnly got on our bus and understood that this was the beginning of the end. And in a snap, I was in the airport boarding my plane home.

I had spent two months imagining what getting on my July 30th Delta flight would feel like. I fantasized about the rush of air conditioning, the leather seats, and the free blanket that I would cling so earnestly on to. I wondered what movies I would be able to watch and how many free snacks I could squeeze out of a seven hour flight.

Interestingly enough, none of these thoughts were actually swarming my brain when the time came for me to board my flight home. Instead, at the early hour of 2 a.m., I took a seat where my ticket dictated and did my best to remember what the past two months had done for me.

What struck me is that when I thought about my two months, none of the memories were accompanied by the nuisances. When I remembered doing ministry in the villages, I forgot about how I was more often than not covered in mud from falling. When I reminisced on our boat rides, I didn’t think about how my ears were usually ringing for hours after because of the motor. When I thought of our team dinners, I didn’t remember how we sometimes ate in the dark because we didn’t have electricity, but instead I thought about how I laughed some of my hardest laughs around our buggy kitchen table.  It’s incredible how the “during” process can sometimes seem so dreary, yet the “after” moments are full of learning, growth, and understanding.

I wanted to write one last post as I sat in the Lima airport. But I decided I’d wait until I was on the plane. Once I was on the plane, I realized I was too tired and if I tried to write my post would look something like:

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And so I postponed my writing endeavors until I got to the Atlanta airport. And I postponed once again until I got home. And then again until after I was finished making this video. Truthfully, at all of these moments, I didn’t have the words. I couldn’t think of what to say, or how to say it, or which words would best represent everything bubbling inside me. I decided it was okay to not be okay, it was okay to wait to process, because again, life looks clearer in the rear view mirror than it does through the windshield. So now, as I sit here with the A/C blowing in my mosquito-free bedroom, I write.

It’s been seven days since I’ve been in Peru, so I want to share the seven lessons that I’ve learned from my unforgettable adventure.

1. Nat-cho Nachos 

I think living a life with a “this is not mine” mentality is perhaps one of the best ways to live. Ownership is great, and being self-sufficient financially is important, but that isn’t what I’m talking about. In America, there is such a selfish stigma that surrounds us, and that stigma is unfortunately fairly accurate. We have our things, and we forget that they are things. We have a mentality that things are ours because we have a right and we deserve them. I know now that truthfully, I don’t have a right to my things. I don’t deserve the bed I get to sleep in, or the phone I am able to text on, or the laptop I’m typing on right now. I would say that the people I met in Peru, who live in mud and filth, deserve a shower like mine and clean clothes. They deserve the cool accessories we have in America just as much as you or me. Unfairly enough, they don’t have these things and they never will. Yet despite this, despite their main possession being nothingness, they share everything they have. I can’t calculate how many times I’ve been invited in a villager’s home, or how many pieces of fruit have been graciously handed to me, or how many parents have given me the pleasure of playing with their kids for the day. They have their families, they have their limited food, and they have a couple tattered outfits, and that’s it. Their willingness to share everything with strangers reminds me of Jesus in every possible way; His love, His selflessness, His mercy. If we could take a few moments everyday to remember that what we have is not our own, to decide that we and all we have are living sacrifices to Christ, we would be able to feel the love of the Father in a powerful way.

2. Let ’em live

Bugs are SO GROSS and I don’t get why there are so many of them and why they sometimes make noises and why they are so ugly. But if it all possible, let ’em live. After killing about 800 and saving about 8, I can confirm it is much more rewarding to watch a tarantula roam free into the jungle then to chop it up with a machete. Maybe. Unless you’re into that.

3. Get to 

I get it: 8 a.m.’s are hard. I’m so with you. But after two months meeting hundreds of people who would give anything to receive even a fraction of the education practically handed to Americans, it’s easy to see the opportunity of education in a much better light. We get to wake up at 7:30 a.m. and we get to wash our faces under clean running water and we get to brush our teeth with that clean water and we get to put on clothes without holes and we get to listen to a very educated person educate us. And once that education is over, we get to work and we get to make money and we get to provide for ourselves and others. Life is a series of “get to’s,” because since nothing is guaranteed but the present, everything extra is a bonus (if you’re feeling like you’re entitled to anything else other than the now, refer to #1). Since Peru, I am in the habit of trying to turn every “have to” into a “get to.” I don’t have to clean my room, I get to clean it. I don’t have to write a paper, I get to. Living live with your “get to” lenses on truly keeps everything in perspective.

4. Your Food List isn’t God

In Peru, a fun past-time that wasn’t actually fun and instead very torturous was talking about American food. As I’ve mentioned before, food is a big deal to a group of young-adult third world missionaries. In these deep, deliberate discussions, many of us developed our own Food Lists. These lists ranged from items like ginger beef to Golden Grahams to molten lava cake. When I took my first bite of the cereal I had spent two months craving, I was alarmed to discover that it tasted exactly the same as it has for the last nineteen years of my life. Where was it’s enhanced flavor only available after two months in the jungle? Why weren’t my taste-buds exploding with fireworks and why wasn’t I emotionally and spiritually moved by this experience of golden crunchiness? In that moment I realized that unless General Mills gets wild, Golden Grahams will always taste the same. America is full of wonders that you’d never think you’d miss, and if I’m being honest, I spent my last few days idolizing the idea of these treats by romanticizing them. Don’t get me wrong: splurging on some food list items has been delightful, but it’s not ultimately satisfying. My Cookout milkshake doesn’t love me unconditionally like God. My salad from Panera didn’t die on the cross for me (but, to be fair, I never asked). Things are good, but the Maker of all things isn’t comparable.

5. It’s all a choice

How did I never grasp the concept of free will before Peru? I think in the back of my mind, I imagined us all to be little dolls engineered to do what we will do, and God knows what we will do and He controls what we do. That’s wrong. God knows what we will do, but we are free. We can choose to follow Him, we can choose not to. We can choose to follow His will for our lives, we can choose to seek what He has for us, or we can choose to ignore his plans and follow our selfish ambitions not aligned with His. I can choose to be angry with a friend that treated me poorly, or I can choose to love them anyways. I can choose to hold a grudge, or I can choose to love like Christ loves us. Everything is a choice. I chose to go to Peru because I knew I was supposed to, not because it was written in my will for myself or because I even really wanted to, but I went because I knew that’s where God wanted me. I’m not saying that when we choose God our choices are always painless and enjoyable. A lot of the time, God’s plans are challenging and hard and require a lot of strength, so it’s a good thing that our God is brilliant and loving and incredibly strong. Choose the adventure and the challenge that God calls you on, not because it’s easy but because it’ll bring growth.

6. The smoothies are safe!

Perhaps one of the biggest battles between me and myself was whether or not I should drink the smoothie. In Nauta, some women on the streets sold smoothies. They looked good, but then again it’s a smoothie so as long as it’s pink liquid it looks pretty trustworthy. I one day decided to be adventurous and pay the one sol for a bag of smoothie. Not only was it delicious, but it was safe. Despite what all the #haters said (I didn’t actually have any), I didn’t get sick! If you’re wanting to try the smoothie in life, whatever your own personal version may be, go for it. Don’t be reckless, but do be adventurous.

7. Comfort

Being uncomfortable is the hardest emotion in the whole world I’ve decided. It’s annoying because you are awkward; you don’t know what to do or say or where to go or how to feel. You are inexperienced; you rely on solely your instincts, because you are too anxious to feel any sort of peace. But in this discomfort is where God waits patiently. Never before in my life have I felt so driven toward God than when I was miserably uncomfortable in the jungles of Peru. He was my absolute rock and foundation; He was the only One I could turn to when I felt hopeless and confused. And though I’ve been in America for only a week, I am already starting to see the benefits of having Him as a foundation in my everyday life. It’s okay to be uncomfortable, because when we are comfortable we don’t need anything. In our comfort we become our own idol, we see ourselves as all-knowing because we are content in our normal environment. I don’t think God calls us to be complacent or stagnant, I think He is a God that wants to see us growing and moving and wading in the deep end even when it’s hard. Peru has showed me that comfortability is calming but not constructive. Comfortability is a gift, but it should not be taken for granted. If being uncomfortable in the humid jungle is what it takes for me to feel God intimately, I’ll take it. For now, I hope to challenge myself and maintain a constant dependency on God, because I know that no false fortress that I build for myself can ever compare to His solid foundation.

Trying to convey what I have learned in Peru is daunting, because my only tools of expressing myself take shape in letters and words, which are sometimes so inaccurate and discrepant. My journey to Peru would not have been possible without the support of my friends and family, and I cannot begin to accurately express my gratitude for all of the emotional and financial support I have been given. Closing this chapter in my life doesn’t feel so bitter when I think about all of the sweetness that has come from it. I look forward to the many more adventures the Lord is going to take me on, and I am so thankful that I was allowed to be a part of His plans this summer as He pursued, and will always continue to pursue Peru.