long post on Peru

The image from my trip to Peru which will stay with me the longest is of an evening we spent in the squatter community of Clementina. The people of Clementina live in straw huts in absolute abject poverty. They are squatting on their land under the promise of the government gifting it to them after a year or two. They have very few possessions and very few prospects. The kids run around the streets, most of them not in school, most of them with dirty faces and ripped and ill-fitting clothes. Not all have shoes. I don't know what the adults do for a living, but they don't get much of a living out of it. We spent some mornings at Peru Mission's little chapel in Clementina, leveling their dirt floor in preparation for them to pour a cement slab. There are four pews and a podium in the tiny room.

We also played with the kids. When we would pull up in the bus, they would start to congregate around us and the chapel. They are so loving and sweet and happy. Some of them helped us haul dirt - they are willing to help work just so they can be with us. Some just hung in the back and watched. They loved our cameras and wanted to pose for pictures and take pictures as well. And always see the photos on the screen after we had taken them. We brought bubbles and rubber band bracelets and coloring books and they loved it all. There was a severely disabled boy named Kevin who couldn't participate but loved sitting on a bench and watching us. He smiled at me and waved goodbye when we left. The kids were a lot of fun.

On Thursday evening we went back to Clementina for a block party/worship service. The four pews were out in the road, there was singing, prayer, and a short sermon. That evening was so moving. We were standing outside as the sun was going down. Though dusty and spare, the landscape is beautiful. A huge mountain rises up just behind the church and village, overlooking everything. Some flowers are planted along the bare road near the church. The church band was wearing colorful Peruvian vests. Beautiful Peruvian women and children (and a few men) were sitting on the pews and standing with us in the street. The village is simple and primitive and crude, but real and open and beautiful in that way. The people were so welcoming, and there were children and stray dogs running in and out all the time.

The service at Clementina was a moving picture of the gospel and a tiny glimpse of heaven. As I joined with people singing praise to the Lord in a different language, and saw poverty and disability and need and brokenness and pain and hurt all around me, I longed so deeply for heaven. I look forward to the day when all the wrong will be made right. When the disabled will run and talk and play. When children won't be dirty or hungry or unwanted. When parents will be happy and have plenty. When we will all be able to understand each other. When even the landscape will be restored to its original beauty. When we will sing songs of praise to our Redeemer forever.

Though I don't think I fell in love with Peru or the Peruvian people, that night I came the closest. I want to love them and for them to be loved. I want them to hear and believe the gospel. I want to see those people in heaven. I want their spiritual and physical needs to be met and hurts to be healed. I want them to rise above the poverty and need of their conditions and live lives of meaning and depth.

I don't know how that happens. A few days after returning from Peru I learned that Kevin, the disabled boy, died from complications after visiting the Peru Mission clinic with breathing problems and a low heart rate. His father carried him all the way to Wichanzao because he had no other way to get him help. I hate death and mourn for his family.

Jesus says, "Behold, I make all things new." I await eagerly that day. Come then, Lord Jesus.