When there is no one to hold you

One of my love languages is touch. I desire hugs and embrace. When I am vulnerable I want to be held, and allow the vulnerability to take its course and not stifle it or create and image of an invincible woman who always has her bearings. However, Tuesday night my bearings were far from me. I laid on my bed drew my legs to my chest and kept them clutched in my arms. I wanted to be held. I needed someone to swoop in and hold me like a child.

In my head I began to reminisce of times of comfort, my heart yearned for home. I wanted to be watching a movie or playing cards with my parents. I wanted to kidnap my little brother from school and wonder about Austin. I wanted to run free at the park with Sean and the dogs. I wanted to sing with Laura, but found myslef singing The Ballad of Pacasmayo sola. I wanted to go out with some friends in San Marcos to the river and then maybe to the coffee pot. I wanted to eat ice cream with Victoria and cry while watching a movie or sit on her couch talking while conquering the entire pint of ice cream.

Then I remembered the time in November- it has almost been a year- after church I drove to Victoria’s and her roommate let me in and I crawled into her bed to wake her up to tell her what God had revealed to me about or near futures. I remembered the joy and the excitement and the peace. I also remembered when I talked with people they would always ask ‘do you know anyone there?’ ‘have you been there before?’ ‘No and Nope.’ But something else would always continue my response, “but I am excited. I have moved around my whole life, meeting new people, adapting to new schools, I love change, I am ready for this adventure. And I am excited that all I will have to depend on is God. I have always had someone to fall back on. He has blessed me in abundance with family and amazing friends who are constantly supporting me. But now all I will have is God. And I cannot wait to grow my dependence in Him.”

However, the reality of that excitement is hard. Right now there are three other missionaries here. Steve who is in his forties will be here till January, and has a beautiful heart for these kids. Mike is a year older than me but more often than not is in his house reading. And there is Sam, he is 18 and a lot like Mike. Sam and Mike are roommates and they share many likes and dislikes and hang out often. Steve has found the other half of his heart and is going to marry Maribel (the orphanage director). There is also 2 other missionaries (who used to be the pastor and director and are married- but have now moved on to other ministry), and I really enjoy talking with them. Especially hanging out with Wendy. But they are married, just had their second child, are still finishing their house, running a restaurant, and Wendy’s parents just built a house next door. So, needless to say they can’t always hang out with me either. 

So, many times I find myself alone with the kids, in a language that isn’t my first choice- it is coming more naturally with time but not as English does. The kids are great, and getting hugs from thirty kids daily will certainly lift my spirits, but I can’t talk to them like I do an adult friend, I can’t talk through my troubles and struggles with them. That is not what our relationship is supposed to be I am supposed to be here to ease their troubles and show them love, and they are definitely not here to be my therapist, I am their friend, their big sister, some of them frequently ask me to be their mom and live in the house with them.

But even with all these people here in my life, new found friends and smiling faces, I still at the end of the day find myself curled up in bed with tears on my cheek. But in my funk and my selfishness I saw my left ring finger where lies my tattoo, which the kids try to rub off, ¿No salir? ‘No never.’ The ring isn’t from a man who knelt down and asked me to be his wife, it isn’t made from gold or silver, it didn’t cost a lot of money and monetarily doesn’t amount to anything, and it has no luster. It is ink in my finger permanently set to remind me of my vows, my commitment to my God.

The word is ‘dowd’, the Hebrew word for beloved one, and one of the words for love. I put it one my ring finger because I am God’s. Right now I am single and I am to be fully committed to my God. “...An unmarried woman or virgin is concerned about the Lord in both body and spirit. But a married woman is concerned about affairs of this world- how she can please her husband. I am saying this for your own good, not to restrict you but that you may live in a right way in undivided devotion to the Lord.” (I Corinthians 7:34-35) It is my desire to have an undivided devotion to the Lord, but it isn’t always achieved because I am selfish, and I get caught up in the world. Yet he still gives me His love, and upholds His promises to me even when I dabble in the temptations of the world. So, my tattoo is a reminder to myself to glorify the Lord and devote myself to Him as a wife would to a husband, as He treats me as His bride. My commitment to Him is to take His love and power I am equipped with and pursue His goals. The goal of the gospel, to bring glory to God and take his truth to all the ends of the earth.

My fingers now hold my ring as I twist them around and around remembering His love, the sacrifice of His Son, and His promise which is what excited me to do this and initiated my response to pick up my cross leave my family and friends, to travel abroad to a land I do not know, people I have never met, and use a language that isn’t native to my tongue. 

I had laid there helpless for a long while, it had gotten late, I had an early class the following morning, so I pulled out my music to go to sleep. I decided to listen to JJ Heller (whom I haven’t listened to in a while) and started the shuffle with All I Need, a song that speaks of the only thing we truly need is God and His love and that it satisfies. then it shuffled to Invisible Love, “which is how it has to be between you[God] an me.” I don’t always see God and He doesn’t physically hug me, but His love is there and He will help me get to sleep by bringing me comfort. He will ease my loneliness with His presence, He will equip me to do His work whether it is alone or with others, with friends or with strangers, in the comfort of my home country or on foreign soil.

It isn’t easy to follow in obedience to what God has commanded you to do. I am constantly being reminded it isn’t about me or you. The message of the gospel isn’t “ ‘God loves me,..Because if it was ‘God loves me’..then who is the object?” When in fact the message is God loves me so I can make His way, His salvation, and His glory know among the nations. I am not at the end of the gospel, God is. He is at the center of the universe and everything revolves around Him not me.

So if I discontinue my self pity in loneliness and seek God in those moments and put Him in the center of my universe his universe will become easier and I won’t struggle with this because I will be dependent on Him because without doing so I cannot live out the gospel. My sacrifice doesn’t begin to compare to Christ’s in fact it is minuet, but if I never made it I wouldn’t be any closer to really knowing Christ and really letting the Lord work through me. 

A SHOUT of Thanks!

             I got two surprises in the mail today. I had a few people tell me they were sending me something so when I got my two notices saying I had things to collect at the Serpost I got really excited and started playing the guessing game of who sent me what.
            Much to my surprise when I got my two packages neither sender was what I expected but it made me even more happy to see who they were from and what they were. The first was from my parent's church, it is a prayer quilt, it is little and beautiful and ever string was tied by a different person who is now committed to pray for me for the duration of my time here and they all said a prayer while tying their knot, one of which on the list was my little brother, that one made me cry I really love him a bunch. And I love my little quilt. So thank you to everyone who tied a knot for me and a special thanks to Pearl Wheeler who cute all the tiny blocks and put them together into a piece of art and love. 
           The next smaller package was filled with just as much love as the first from my little sister (who isn't really my sister) who I love a whole lot too. She wrote back in our journal that made me really happy to see it brought an immense joy over me as I read the short letter while walking to get some groceries. Also inclosed was a book that I plan to read soon and will probably read several times even. 
          It is a good reminder to know that the people you left behind are praying for you and thinking of you, it dismisses all thoughts of being homesick because it provides reassurance from the Lord that He wants me here, so thank you for everyone who has sent me anything, it is definitely fun getting mail, playing the guessing game, and receiving love and prayers reminding me of my purpose and who is behind it.
          I hope you all have a wonderful week and find rest, peace, and energy in the Lord.

Always bring your own TP

      I have been in Peru for 2 months now, and I am still learning things. Every week always yields for some adventures often unexpected.
     One thing I have learned is to adapt to packing toilet paper in my purse. Some places you go to have bathrooms you would expect to find anywhere in the United States, however most in Pacasmayo don't.  Many times the bathroom stalls lack doors and 90% of the of bathrooms are without toilet paper, and 50% of the ones that have TP charge you 50 centimos to use it. At school students have to ask for papel hygenico on there way to the bathroom. So, now I keep a stash of TP (which I need to replenish) in my purse.
    Sundays, I have started cooking for the kids. Which the mom's really enjoy because they prepare 3 meals a day so 21 meals a week, so I decided I could take one off their hands. The first week I just made them a dessert- peach cobbler, then I took on the whole meal. I have made Lasagna, Cider Stew, Tuna Casserole, Chicken Pot Pie, this week I am made BBQ Chicken Sandwiches and Funnel Cakes! Next weeks menu is Shepherd's Pie and Cinnamon Rolls. I have also made Dirt, my mom's Mandarin Orange cake, Homemade Recess, and Banana Bread with my Cinnamon and Sugar topping. And it all sounds fun and dandy (and it is especially with the help of my cocineritas- little cooks), but most of all these things start 100% from scratch. All of my cakes 100% scratch. All the veggies are fresh- which is sweet and they are super cheap but it is nice to be able to swing by HEB and grab the giant frozen pre-chopped veggies. My BBQ sauce is even from scratch. It is fun and cool to learn and some things taste better, but I do like the convenience of my friends Betty and McCormick, among others. I also miss my local HEB butcher, because I do not like chicken heads or feet. But it is again way cheaper to get the whole chicken and so that is what gets purchased. (I am just glad they don't have feathers) The same with the beef you get a whole chunk of cow to deal with. So I have learned how to successfully debone chicken (mostly self taught) and I am getting faster at it, one day I may be pro. So, my cooking is adapting as well- lots of learning and altering recipes goes on in my kitchens. But it is really fun because the girls (and boys) want to learn to cook, so I get a kitchen staff to chop, stir, peel, and more every week. And we all wear cute aprons- I am in the process on making me one but we didn't have power Sunday so I never finished, need to before next Sunday. Cooking with kids can get messy! But so far the food has turned out good, and they like it- especially the desserts! They ask me every day, "¿postre hoy día?"
     Another fun adventure occurred Thursday. One of our older girls had a doctors appointment, and was nervous so she asked if I would accompany her so I did. First, Gladys, the Orphanage's nutritionist, was supposed to come with us. But we were informed of an inspection coming within the next few days so they were scrambling and asked if I could take the two girls sola. The adventure begins.....
     First Gladys handed me the money and told me the appointment times, and that we were to go to Clínica de Santa Catalina which is next to Banco de Nacional. However, when we got there it is called El Central Salud- which I knew that cause I had been by lots of times. So we asked to moto driver if he knew where Santa Catalina was, he said he knew of Santa Monica y Santa Clara but maybe knows where it could be, so he drove. We got to what he though it might be, no clinic. So I went in and asked a store owner, and she informed us that Santa Catalina in is San Pedro. It clicked in my head that Gladys probably just got the names confused because she lives in San Pedro, but to double check we called from a pay-phone. The answer was El Central de Salud, back to the moto. In the clinic we went into the hallway where there were many many other people waiting, mostly women with young kids.  It was funny because I don't really get stared at too often anymore because people see me frequently enough, but as soon as I sat down in the clinic all eyes seemed to be on me. I was the only non peruana in the room and probably the first white person they have seen waiting in the clinic before. It was all good.
     The clinic more or less worked like a clinic you would find in the US but without all of the pleasant amenities such as: comfortable chairs, magazines, posters on the wall, a nice cushioned table for the patient, and cups for urinary samples. We waited about 15 minutes and her name was called she was weighed by the nurse and such and then we waited on the uneven wooden bench again for the doctor to get to her number, 10. We waited and it got boring, so I pulled out my journal and we played dots, well I tried to teach her and she didn't really understand the strategy of the game so I tried not to totally stomp her. Then they got to her number and the doctor left. Apparently there were 3 babies being born in the emergency room next door and they needed the only doctor at the clinic. So we sat back down and played hangman and tic tac toe, went to a store to get a drink, tried to get comfortable enough to take a nap and then the doctor returned.
      We went in with Gladys (she had us call her for when it was time to be seen by the doctor) to the doctor's room. Which contained a stand alone curtain, a steel table with some steps, and a desk cluttered with files and paper with a doctor crazily sorting through them all to find her file. He then began asking a bunch of questions which I didn't catch most of what was said because my professional medical vocabulary isn't very high in Spanish and he spoke at about 254 miles an hour without even looking up (so I missed half to words and I couldn't even look at his mouth to try and catch any good thing Gladys was there- one day). Anyways after about 3 minutes he gave us a paper, stamped about 16 papers and walked out right behind us. So, the paper he handed us called for some lab work or a urinary and stool sample. Which in a normal hospital in America you would head down the to nice clean white lab, and they would hand you your little cups and show you the closest bathroom that has the nice little steel window to put your cups in after you have finished the task at hand, but we were in Peru.
      So, instead we walked to the lab and it was closed, and it doesn't open again until 8 the next morning. Which I guess was ok because we had to go all over town to get two plastic cups complete with lids. We were told we could get them at a pharmacy which makes sense since you have to buy all your own medical supplies including IVs and blankets. But the main pharmacy did not have them, so we went to another smaller one that her madrina owns to ask her. She informed us that we would have to go to Don Leon's Plasticos, which is a store where you can buy anything from giant wash tubs, to tupperware, to plastic trash cans. We asked him for vasitos and he pulled out your average small plastic throw away cup. That would just not do, we need them with a lid! So, he pulled out the smallest ones he had and they were like 6 inches tall and 2 inches in diameter. When we got home Mama Maria asked why they were so big you are supposed to get small ones, that was all we could find, but they had different colored lids so that was cool don't want the lab to get mixed up, haha.

Tiaras and Aprons

    So while cooking tonight, my helpers got a hold of my camera and made a video. Boys are kind of funny when they have free time, a tiara, and a camera.

Home Improvement

Well I love painting and doing it yourself, and I am getting to do my first home improvements on my first house out of college! So that is cool, I don't actually own the home of course but it is still cool. And I am not paying for my home improvements either, they needed to repaint it anyways and they are just letting me pick my own colors.  Anyways these are the first steps of painting my house, next is my bedroom and bath.

it is a very blue wall and yes I love it!