Living on a farm in the middle of the Peruvian rainforest has its perks. I have never seen stars so incredibly vibrant; looking at them every night leaves me breathless and thankful that God gives us light even when it’s dark. The sunsets are blended shades of soft orange, pink, and violet, and Michelangelo’s got nothin’ on the artistry of the clouds we behold every evening. It’s beautiful to learn about and observe the wonders of this temporary home.
I spend many moments in awe of this jungle, but don’t get me wrong; though I’m on a solid Dora the Explorer level in my understanding of jungle culture, I’m no Steve Irwin yet. In fact, my blog writing just took a brief intermission when I looked up and noticed some exotic cockroach-grasshopper hybrid on the inside of my mosquito-netted bed area. I audibly shouted “OH NO!!!!!,” defeated it with my dictionary sitting by my sleeping bag, and then politely asked (squeamishly demanded) one of the boys on my team to come get the corpse out of my net. You’re probably thinking, “Kiana, have you always been this brave?” and the answer is no, but two weeks in the depths of the Amazon rainforest can empower you to take down even the scariest of jungle bugs.
Besides my (the boy’s) constant critter conquers, another adjustment in Peruvian culture is getting acclimated to boating everywhere. I haven’t seen one road since being here; we hope for at least a slab of concrete in the villages we go to, and I showed up to church last Sunday sporting a skirt drenched in muddy evidence of how I don’t do too well when there’s no cement. To get to these villages, we ride on boats of all shapes and sizes –not exactly yachts, but still powerful enough to hold the fourteen people on my team.
Yesterday a few girls on my team and I needed to visit the doctor in the closest town to us, Nauta (we’re all good!). We headed down to the dock, noticed a precious little boat that probably carried Lewis and Clark and MAYBE Sacajawea if they squeezed, and then we sat down near the sturdier boat we planned on taking. When our driver came, he told us to go ahead and get in the boat. We quickly realized he wasn’t talking about the boat that we were sitting next to, but rather the Lewis and Clark boat that, to us, looked like it would do great for one person in a kiddie pool but not for a group of nauseous gringas on the Amazon river.
We skeptically looked at each other and strategically planned how we’d Tetris eight people into this boat (“boat” is a generous word… Log? Hollow tree?). As we began climbing in, one of our leaders, Sara, stopped us by asking “Can ya swim?”
I smiled, because what a great sense of humor she has! Except she wasn’t kidding, she was genuinely making sure that if we tipped in the middle of the Amazon river, we’d be able to get to shore. I nervously assured her I could, and we were off to Nauta.
I can swim. I have no idea what a breast stroke is or how to not look like a flailing dog, but I can wade around safely and have never had an issue in the water.
Despite my literal aquatic success, I don’t metaphorically feel like I’m swimming a lot of the time I am here. In fact, a good portion of the day I feel like I’m sinking. I don’t completely understand my purpose here, and though I acknowledge I’m making forward strokes through growth, service, and quiet time with the Lord, I feel like the weight of homesickness and discomfort is making me sink faster than I’m swimming.
So truthfully, I can’t swim. By myself, I really truly cannot possibly swim. If I were in this journey alone, and if the only assets I had to fight the currents were my own strengths, I’d be chillin’ at the bottom of the Amazon by now. Thankfully, I’m not the one who is swimming, and it has taken a jungle for me to realize that the only way I can stay afloat in my life is when I let God swim through me. Though I feel like I’m sinking more moments than not, God is showing me that His power is made perfect in my weakness. He is revealing that if I had never dared to come to Peru, I wouldn’t have realized how heavily I relied on my own strength to fight the waves and challenges of my life, the waves that many people face on their own and that eventually cause them to sink.
He isn’t putting these waves in my life. He doesn’t want me to suffer or worry or fear, but He does want me to be the best daughter and friend and woman I can be. This version of swimming is incredible because with God, I can’t possibly sink. So though the trying times of this trip have made me feel vulnerable and uncomfortable, I am learning that if I were comfortable, I would continue swimming on my own strength and eventually paddle through all my energy. God’s love and strength and stamina is endless, and it is through this journey that I’ve noticed how much sweeter the swim is when I allow God to be my guide through the waters.
I couldn’t wait to embark on this trip and give back and teach others about God. God has a great sense of humor, because I didn’t know that I need as much improvement as the shacks and slums of Peru that we visit. The thing about waves and currents is that though they eventually pass, new ones tend to form. I might get over the waves of homesickness and discomfort I’m facing now just to address new waves that I’ve never experienced. However, since I’ve been in Peru, I’ve learned that my Heavenly Father desires nothing more than to swim with me through the moments of stillness and of storms.
So no, I can’t swim through this race on my own, in Peru or America or wherever I am. However, I have a Lord and swim coach who is unsinkable, and I’m eager to grow closer to the One who seeks to strengthen my (and your) ability to swim courageously through our lives.
