Ephesians 6:22-32 Pictures of the Church

Abraham’s son needed a bride.

Isaac couldn’t marry a foreign woman. He and his family didn’t just sit and wait. Abraham sent a man to find the bride. Genesis 24

And so our story began on Christian Mingle. Seth sent on the site to find his bride. Rebecca decided the site might be the servant.

The Son of God chose a bride - a people He would choose out of a sinful world. And He did not wait for them to seek Him. He came to earth to find His bride, and still sends the gospel out for the world to hear. Ephesians 1:4, Romans 5:8

Rebecca saw Seth’s profile, but she wasn’t sure. She marked it, but she wouldn’t contact him.

And so the world hears of Jesus. He sounds good. He is good. But are they really interested? John 12:40

Seth sent her a smile. Rebecca responded with an email. 

So Christ touches the hearts of His people. It may be a sermon. It may be a verse. It may be a kind follower of Jesus, but He reaches out so people will respond to Him. 

I John 4:19

They emailed for a month. He impressed her - long, well-written emails. Could this guy be for real? And then came the phone calls. She learned to appreciate the warmth of his voice and to anticipate the care he extended in conversation.

What happens when we begin to “seek” the Lord because He seeks us first? We hear His Word and we learn. The Spirit touches our hearts and we begin to sense His person, that there is something of Jesus that we want. Luke 24:45, Isaiah 55:1, 3, 5-6

And finally, after months, Seth came. Rebecca was terrified. What if he didn’t like her in person? But he did. From that first meeting, both knew that the relationship had a purpose. 

The fear of the Lord is a good thing. He is holy. And we are sinful. And when we really understand Him, perhaps we fear we are not good enough. Yet He knows us before He loves us, and when we encounter Him, it is for His purposes. Zechariah 3:7, Romans 3:23-26, Ephesians 1:4

After what seemed like long weeks of waiting, on a beautiful morning in God’s beautiful creation, Seth proposed. The next day he left, but he would come again. He left the ring, a seal... and he was going to prepare, for the wedding day was coming.

So our precious Lord, once He has sealed as His own, has gone, but He will come again. He has gone to prepare a place for us, our home in heaven, and what a joyous day when we get to live in His presence forever! I Peter 1:8-9, Ephesians 1:13, John 14:3, Revelation 19:1-10

Songs, Prayers, and God at Work

I posted those words in a blog post last summer, about forgiveness (they're posted on my wall, too). And I posted the lyrics to “Love’s Not Safe,” my prayer song for relationships.

Little did I know how God would test my statement of faith in His goodness.

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In January, my prayer song changed. With all of my heart I joined the music:

Make me empty/ So I can be healed...

Make me empty/So I can be filled...

Make me lonely/so I can be Yours...

Til you are my one desire/ Til you are my one true love/

Til you are my breath, my everything/ Lord please keep makin’ me.

(Sidewalk Prophets, Keep Makin’ Me)

Mark 9:43-47, Matthew 15:1

When Jesus heard it, he saith unto them, They that are whole have no need of the physician, but they that are sick: I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. Mark 2:17

God answers prayers, even when you pray in song. That should scare you.

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One day, early last spring, my heart broke. I don’t say that sarcastically, nor do I mean it in a Texas style show of compassion. In a situation so complicated only God could unravel it, a crisis so spiritual the world would never even call it a fight, I wound up facing a broken friendship.

It’s not that I didn’t bring it on myself. Sin, even the sin of overvaluing people, has consequences. And God had whispered to me that it was coming, that I needed to turn my own eyes toward the cross, and that truth might have to be spoken.

Relationships are never simple; there’s so much more than what is on the surface. And in the weeks and months to follow, I was to learn that I am not the Healer. I could not fix what was broken.

I grieved: tears and prayers and questions. Never before had I understood what it was to question - not to question God’s existence, but His goodness, His Sovereignty, His love. Why, if He loved me, would He allow me to hurt someone in this way? Why did I hurt? How could He work good?

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My song changed. It changed more than once in those dark days, and sometimes the songs were the clearest prayer I could express. But God, in His grace, heard the words I couldn’t express (Romans 8:26-27), even giving me the heart to allow Him to change my emotions.

These voices speak instead and what's right is wrong

And I'm giving into them, please Lord, how long

Will I be held captive by the lies that I believe

My heart's in constant chaos and it keeps me so deceived

But if I let these dreams die/If I lay down all my wounded pride

If I let these dreams die/ Will I find that letting go lets me come alive

So empty my hands

Fill up my heart

Capture my mind with You

(Empty My Hands, Sidewalk Prophets)

Casting down imaginations and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ. 2 Corinthians 10:5

I could not change those thoughts but God, in His grace, does not hold me as His child because I am good. Even in those gloomy days He knew I would not be made perfect by my flesh, but by His Spirit (Gal. 3:3).

Confession. Patience. Faith - that He works all things together for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purpose: to conform us to the image of His Son (Romans 8:28-29). Resting with God in the secret place (Psalm 51:6, 91:1). He healed.

Time. Lots of time. And lots of love from family and friends who tolerated me even when I was less than my best. Because the sting was still there. The wound was especially sensitive as I dealt with people. To express my opinions at church was a battle, to collaborate with my coworkers exhausting, to be slighted by anyone - well, I was sure I had poor communication skills, a bad attitude, and no ability to be a friend.

Mid-June was a turning point. And in September, the dawn cracked ever so slightly. My anthems, my way of preaching the gospel to myself, were again songs...

No matter the bumps/No matter the bruises

No matter the scars/Still the truth is

The cross has made you flawless

No matter the hurt/Or how deep the wound is

No matter the pain/Still the truth is

The cross has made you flawless

(Flawless, Mercy Me)

But of him are ye in Christ Jesus, who of God is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption: I Cor. 1:30

Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. I Cor. 5:17

Still, one day in December, the curse of that heartbreak again loomed over my head. A disagreement at church, a conflict over what I thought was a kind deed at school. Tears filled my eyes as I told my friend, “I just can’t do anything right when it comes to dealing with people.”

She looked me in the eye.

“What does the Lord require of you?”

I whispered my response. “To seek justice. To love mercy. To walk humbly with your God.”

Micah 6:8 had been a memory verse for me years ago, and again recently in Sunday School. Suddenly I realized how wrong I’d been to flaunt myself against the gospel.

To seek justice.

Jesus has fulfilled justice. And He had turned my heart to do what was right.

To love mercy.

I had sought reconciliation. Nothing in me was angry. And Jesus offered mercy for my wrongdoing.

To walk humbly with your God.

To walk humbly. Believing God. Trusting that I cannot fix a broken world, a broken relationship, or a broken person, and because I cannot, I need my God.  He is a “Good, Good Father” Who is perfect in all of His ways. We are searching for answers only He provides.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CqybaIesbuA

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I had a few more rough days because life just seemed so far from what it “should be.” (I am sure I will have more.) And then came last week. A situation arose for which many of us had high hopes. It could’ve been a dream come true.

It wasn’t. But I am smiling as I write this, smiling as I have been almost all day almost every day since all the drama closed. Smiling because at last, God has given me my joy back. Not because I “did something.” I didn’t change my habits, or memorize a certain amount of Scripture, or learn to meditate, acquire something to fill the void left by my lost friend, or have a vision or conviction.

No, I am smiling because God’s grace, that mysterious gift I do not deserve, reminds me that I do not need any situation or any person for my joy. My joy is in Jesus. He is enough (Gal. 2:20, James 1:2-4, Rom. 15:13, Heb. 11:1, I Peter 1:8-9).

(Songs continue to minister, but the current words of the gospel speaking to my heart are Isaac Wimberly’s poem, “The Word,” linked below).

http://isaacwimberley.com/all/the-word-lyrics/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqGQEsFlQOk

On Bless Me, Ultima

I had to read it. It’s about my home, now, about Santa Rosa. And it IS Santa Rosa. Las brujas. The owl. The bridge at Puerto de Luna, the lakes, and the wild men of the llano. It is all so real and there is a reason it is becoming a modern day classic.

I realize that Rudolfo Anaya is a spiritualist. I am not one to make every book into a moralism, and I certainly wouldn’t recommend Ultima if one can’t handle the gruesomeness of sinful humanity. Yet isn’t it the battle of good and evil that makes literature great? And isn’t that the very battle that makes me lift my eyes to heaven?

Antonio is a boy from two worlds, the mother’s farming heritage and the father’s wild cowboy blood, yearning for the freedom of the llanos. He is searching for his identity and he believes his knowledge of God will give him that identity. Yet the knowledge of God as it is taught doesn’t answer his questions, and the atrocities of life loom ever larger. 

Already we see the classic dilemma of life. We all are looking for identities, torn between family and cultural ideals, and we all are surprised when life doesn’t turn out as we wish. It is Antonio’s perception of God that struck me the most, however. He is torn. On the one hand he knows the God of the church, who has the power to condemn to heaven and hell, the power to judge and to create. In his experience this God is uncaring or powerless over evil, uninvolved in the trauma he experiences. On the other he sees the golden carp, a god of peace drawing all to the happiness of the water.

And to intervene, to receive Antonio when he is in need of safety and comfort, to gain the victory over evil, there is Ultima. Yet Ultima consistently acknowledges that to battle evil, someone must be willing to receive consequences. The good she does comes at a price, always a price.

I wonder sometimes if that which God revealed of Himself in the Old Testament is a bit like Antonio’s perception of God. So unfathomable to the human mind, so impersonal as a judge of sinners that He is hard to accept as real. How often am I tempted to question God just as Antonio did? And the carp. Ah, the golden dreams of peace and prosperity offered by the world around me. It all seems so easy.

But Ultima. In every story of good and evil there is a champion.  Here, the champion is Ultima. In the Bible the champion is Jesus. Not only did Jesus work the cures, not only is He the go to when the spirits have defeated humankind, He suffered the consequences on his own head. Like Ultima, He could say, “I accept my death because I accepted to work for life.” (I Peter 1:21-25).

I rarely cry over sad books or movies and I wasn’t emotionally “into” Ultima, but I cried at the end of the book. I don’t like it when suffering has to precede salvation. I don’t like to think of Jesus paying the price, and I don’t like watching people suffer here, now, as they try, like Antonio, to save their identities, their lives, or their very souls. I cried because the truth of great literature is the truth of the Bible. Evil brings suffering. And it is through suffering that we see our Savior.

If/Then Statements

I can’t remember if the title was in my high school logic course or a workshop on teaching reading strategies, but “If/Then Statements” rings in my head, a concept I’ve not forgotten. Supposedly these statements were a way of thinking, that in a story or a situation, one needed to determine the logical end. 

So this summer I was visiting with one of my introverted friends, a friend who, like me, walks well on the outside and battles on the inside. This particular day, the discussion was forgiveness, and I tried to share the lessons God had taught me, tried to present the benefits of pursuing relationship despite offenses. I stumbled through my words, until suddenly something came out of my mouth that caused both of us to tear up and sit in silence.

If God is real... and He is.

And if He cares about you... and He does.

Then...

If/then. Those two principles are the basis of Christianity, aren’t they? That God is real? That He cares enough about you to be involved with your life? Cares enough to die?

If that is true, then what? We talk a lot about living the Christian life, but the truth is, that’s kind of a logical thing to do in itself; I mean, good morals create good lives and no one would argue that. 

But if it is true. If God is real. If He cares.

Then we trust when it hurts. We forgive when relationships seem impossible.  We serve for no reward. We press on when we’re weary. We love despite the risk of losing.

If God is real. And He is.

If He cares about you. And He does.

Then.

What?

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Postscript

As I’ve pondered this principle, a song has played over and over in my mind. This year has been full of opportunities to love, to lose, to smile, to weep, and as I get older, I suspect those opportunities will become only more prevalent, yet I must consider: 

Everything good in life is given by His sacrifice/

I will give it all for Christ...

He’s not safe at all/He might let you fall

He’s not easy/but He’s good, He’s good, He’s good

He will take your time/He might feel unkind

He’s not easy/but He’s good.

-Sidewalk Prophets, Love’s Not Safe

Insecurities and the Safety Net of Grace

My friend and I were talking about children we knew. Why, she wondered, was one little girl so set on gaining attention and earning favor, while her playmates seemed completely secure? The girls’ personalities are as diverse as their family backgrounds are equivalent. What made the difference in one who begged for approval and three others independent enough to risk walking away from a friend?

Something dawned on me during the conversation. Neither of us had noted up to that point that every one of those playmates was the baby of the family. Of course! my friend agreed. Babies of the family naturally believe that everyone adores and dotes on them. They rarely have a need to grasp for outside approval.

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The conversation stirred something deep within me. I had another dear friend tell me a few years ago, “You don’t need to do things so people will love you. You are a lovable person just by being you.”

I doubt I’d be considered an insecure person by most. I’ve always known that my dad adored me even if the rest of the world didn’t appreciate me, and I’m certainly capable of standing on principle. Yet I am a pleaser by nature. I worry what people think, or what will happen if I don’t please them. As a child I was so shy I wanted to hide from strangers - and I have always felt that every relationship I had was completely my responsibility to maintain. I don’t share friends well because I always fear I will lose them.

Age and maturity have brought me to a point of acknowledging my own insecurity, of acknowledging its roots (pride), of acknowledging that it is a lack of trust that God is doing a good work. As I finished the book Boundaries I realized just how often that same insecurity, albeit on a much grander scale, drives broken lives. How, then, is insecurity overcome?

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Philippians 2 states, “Who (Jesus) being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God: But made Himself of no reputation, and took upon Him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men: And being found in fashion as a man, He humbled Himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.” (v. 6-8)

Jesus had no insecurity. In fact, He was so secure that He could leave the ultimate in relationship, the ultimate in comfort, KNOWING that He would be completely rejected and that He would lose even His relationship with the Father for a time (Matt. 27:46).

Yet - Jesus did not grasp at that equality. He did not work to keep or earn position or pride. He was able to take a “risk,” losing His reputation. He knew that God HAD highly exalted Him, that at His name, one day, every knee would bow (Phil 2:9-11). Jesus’ security was in God’s plan of grace, knowing that in the end, He would be where He belonged. Like a youngest child, Jesus knew He was the center of His Father's world.

Perhaps youngest children have a human advantage, a mindset into which they are “born.”  Obviously,  even knowing that I, just like Jesus! had a loving Father wasn’t quite enough to settle the part of me that grasped for approval.

God has quieted me, however, as He has spent the last six or so years teaching me of His grace. He has called me Child, thanks to Jesus the Firstborn, has adored and blessed me, has forgiven me, and has used me even when I know I’ve failed. He’s taught me that it’s OK to say no, that His favor does not require that I earn the rest of the world’s, that I cannot control circumstances to perfection. And He is teaching me now to share my friends, to know that if a relationship is based on grace, it is secure; if I must fear loss, perhaps it is best to lose. Why? Because one day every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord -  only that matters. 

It is resting in grace - the grace that God did not love me for my righteousness, or for my uprightness of heart or because I was more than any people (Deut. 7:8, 9:5), but because He chose me, He created, He redeemed (Psalm 139, I Peter 1). And if I really believe that, if I really believe He is God and I really believe Jesus was the firstborn and I am the beloved “baby of the family,” and I really believe His ultimate plan is the same as it was when Jesus died on the cross - if I really believe Him, then I don’t need to make my decisions based on what someone else might do or think or say. I don’t need to live in fear or worry or insecurity. I can trust. GRACE. 

Almost home

The gates to YWAM

The blessing of staying with YWAM included our supper and breakfast. We arrived only slightly late, walking from one building to the other with a Colombian government official who preached revivals on the side. After the meal, we decided to join the four or five young YWAMers on the patio attempting to use the internet. I say attempting because the internet was not working well for any of us that night, and it certainly wasn’t working well for ALL of us. Awaiting a page to load, one of the young guys, probably just out of high school, started a conversation. Where were we from, were we family, why were we here, how did we know YWAM?

I answered and the Spirit of the Lord shined in the conversation. The young man had come to work full time for YWAM for awhile after completing his Discipleship Training School. Like other staff, he had to raise his support himself, but, like many Colombians, the churches in his home had little to offer. He was from Manizales, however, and that was coffee country. His brother-in-law processed coffee for the Cooperativa (the farmer’s coop that sells products without going through big coorporations). Would we be interested in buying some?

And so it was that we bought Colombian coffee of the finest quality, grown by family farms and processed only 2 weeks prior. And we had the blessing of supporting a missionary while spending less than the cost of coffee in the U.S.

Our last morning in the Amazon was uneventful. Tyrel bought machetes and we visited our taxi friends again for a ride to the airport. Initially surprised by the long line in the airport for the only outgoing flight of the morning, I was pleasantly surprised by the friendly conversation with the ticket agent, who prepared us for security and arranged for us to be seated together on the plane, apologizing that he had no window seats left. 

The flight to Bogota was restful and we enjoyed another bag of potato chips that  even looked like a sliced potato and wrapped arequipe. I did, however, have a moment of distress at the airport.

When we emerged, I realized that the “airport certified” taxi line as about 100 people long. I KNEW I was not interested in standing in that, but it had been so long since I’d spent time in Bogota, that I was clueless as to what bus to catch and not entirely sure how to get from the airport to the main streets. A businessman nearby noticed my look and offered, “There’s a camioneta (like a van/SUV) service with a much shorter line. Let me arrange a ride there for you.” I agreed to ask, knowing it would be slightly more expensive, and he consulted with a driver to confirm the address. The driver was only too thrilled to take us, but as he started to take our bags I asked, “How much?” “48,000.” 

You might say I overreacted. “No señor! Este no queda tan lejos, no vamos a pagar eso!” I motioned to my friends and we set out walking toward town. I tried to call my friend Jessica, as we were headed to her house and I knew she could tell me what bus to ride. No answer.  

But God is good. We were right at the corner of the turn-about for the 26th Street, the thoroughfare for reaching the airport, when I realized other taxis were passing. I waved one down. It was small and we were smooshed, but the driver was fair and even very patiently turned around so that we didn’t get soaked in the downpour when finally arrived and paid our 14,000 pesos.

The man with the llama thought we'd pay him if he pushed his llama into our picture.

As the downpour finally slowed and we set out on our tour of Bogota, I couldn’t believe how much we’d done. We saw the main city square, learned some history, visited the guards at the capital, made a few policemen smile... The Botero museum was a first for me, though I’d often played on the fat Botero horse in the park near my house in Bogota. You’ve never seen so much fat art...

The guards are required to be stoic, but.... they almost laughed.

It was a good trip. It was good to see how blessed I am. Good to know the things of which I read. Good to have friends to share the Colombia I’d come to love and the Colombia which I was meeting. Good to arrive safe and sound.

Because I serve a good God and He delights in our enjoyment of His goodness.

Back upriver

As we sailed upriver, we saw this village,

these children on the way to school,

and these rapids!!!

The boat ride back to Leticia might have been the most traumatic of the trip for me. Our young pilot could not see out his windshield. He wiped it down, asked questions of his “copilot” (the grumpy secretary from the day prior), stuck his head out the window... all the while dodging logs, leaves, and trash that were washing down the river due to the heavy rainfall. Fortunately, I had two lifeguards with me. And they needed a translator. The crowning moment of this trip was near the end. After several bumps and swerves, we noticed the pilot reach for his life jacket and put it on. Of course, everyone on the boat who hadn’t had a life jacket on before reached for his as well (I already had mine!).

We wondered what was coming.

The port was coming, and the police who checked to make sure the boat was in compliance with transportation laws, apparently including life jacket. We arrived safe and sound.

Sights we saw while making a decision.

Our next dilemma was what to do with our “stuff.” I think we all had a vague memory of our hot day of hiking when we arrived in Leticia, a memory we did not want to renew by hauling backpacks with us all day. We remembered the YWAM pastor who’d invited us to his base. Would we be able to leave our stuff at the base? Maybe, but we couldn’t just ask. That’s not the Colombian way. That’s not the YWAM way. We called to set up a visit to the base (fyi, the Fuchs’ T-Mobile phones worked better in the Amazon than in Santa Rosa, NM. Texting was free and calls weren’t outrageous). The next trick: arriving.

We’d learned the first day how to find the taxis in Leticia. There was a parqueadero of just taxis near a city park in the center, and the drivers had some sort of turn-taking system worked out. Our lot fell to a young man who looked confused when I showed him the address and Ethan tried to get him to understand that it was YWAM. Finally, the taxi driver’s friend turned the card over and saw the pastor’s name.  “El pastor!” The friend asked his friend, and suddenly all the drivers were in a circle, asking me questions and giving the young driver directions. It was one of the greatest “sound” moments of the trip. See the video at https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10203328428709347&set=vb.1169497617&type=2&theater.

Inside the Youth With a Mission International base

We arrived just as the rain began agin, toured the base, visited with the pastor, and were duly impressed with all God was doing in Leticia. After about an hour, just as we were given coffee (I drank Dianne’s as well as mine), we asked the pastor if he knew of a good hostel. “Do you want to stay here?” he asked. “Giselle speaks English. She can tell you the cost and arrange it.” And so we visited with Giselle and as the rain faded into sprinkles, we left our backpacks and set off with umbrellas to visit Brazil.

Yes, Brazil. Tabatinga, Brazil shares a “frontera” with Leticia, Colombia and the border is open. Tabatinga, like Leticia, and perhaps even more like Bogota, is modernized. The signs changed to Portuguese, and while the shopkeepers spoke Spanish, my attempt to question the guard at a nature park of sorts to find out what exactly the park was left me saying, “Well, either it’s an open market part of the day, or it’s a nature regrowth and no one is allowed during that part of the day.” Apparently, I don’t understand much Portuguese. We were impressed with three things on our walk through Tabatinga: 

1. The flowers. The Brazilians seemed to spend a lot more time than Colombians cultivating and pruning their native plants in order to make gardens and yards more attractive.

 2. The number of churches. Perhaps we were on “church street,” but it seemed every block had at least one evangelical church, and many of the store fronts were painted with Bible verses.

Even the Purina feed store had verses.

3. The chocolate. The Brazilian chocolate shop had chocolate of every shape and sort, including American brands for those only wanting the familiar.... but there is a post about this in the “Eating” blog. My favorite part of the chocolate shop was again encountering our friends from Cali. They greeted us with hugs and Colombian “kisses.” The daughter seemed to draw back a bit (perhaps she’s not used to the American LACK of emphasis on appearance, in contrast with the Colombian idea that looks are everything), but I think the old gentleman would’ve gladly just traveled along with us.

We’d seen about all we could think to see in Brazil, so we turned back to Colombia and headed for the boat docks. It was time to go to Peru.

On YWAM's wall, we found a map of our location.

The Amazon River is the “frontera” with Peru, and as we walked toward the docks, we were approached by a boatman and offered a ride. This was easier than we thought! He asked if we planned to eat there, and we said no, so he told us he would wait for us, that it would take us about 30 minutes to walk through the tiny pueblo of Santa Rosa. We couldn’t believe him and told him we might be 2 or 3 hours, but he continued to promise to wait.

Even the government buildings in Peru had little to offer.

Santa Rosa, Peru, is the poorest place I have ever been. I have been to the slums in Bogota. I have been in the part of Juarez built on a landfill. I have visited the gypsy homes in Antalya, Turkey, and we had all just traveled down the river past indigenous communities. And none were so poor as this. The homes were board shacks with thatch rooves, built on stilts of course, with open windows. But they were far more run down than those of Leticia. Even the government buildings looked as if they needed torn down and rebuilt. The ground was mud, mostly flooded apart from the main road. The people’s clothing was worn, not the name brands we’d seen elsewhere, and their electronics sparse. They stood on their porches to try to sell their few wares, hoping for tourists like us, wanting to visit “3 nations,” though Santa Rosa, Peru had nothing to offer tourists. Nothing that is, except -

A "sidewalk" in Santa Rosa

I was reading signs and translating them for Dianne and Tyrel when I read a hostel/restaurant sign that proclaimed “24 hour attention.” Huh? It took a minute of looking at the advertisement and establishment, then it clicked. This was a brothel. We saw at least 3 more within just a few steps. They didn’t look full of tourists, but perhaps these establishments were supported by people from across the river.

We concluded that we wanted to give our business to the families in this pueblito. After walking the town (and being asked not to take pictures of the “military base,” which had children playing soccer in the mud in front of it), we walked back to make our purchases. Tea towels for our hostess in Bogota from a lady who looked like a nun but turned out to be Jewish. Hammocks (we’re planning to sleep in them this summer) from a young girl who might’ve been making her first sale; she was ecstatic when her mother returned just as we paid her. Platano and juice. And 200 pesos to the lady selling banda paisa so Tyrel could have an excuse to pet her cat. When we’d done all we could do we headed out to find our boat driver. He was giving someone else a ride, so Ethan and Dianne decided to take a “romantic walk” onto the slow boat, which sailed like a cruise ship for 3 days, winding up in a place called Iquitos where one could have exciting adventures like parasailing. I didn’t want to even walk onto the slow boat. The thought of being on a boat for 3 days is terrifying.

As we began our departure from Santa Rosa, we talked for a moment about what to do with the few hours left before we were due back at the YWAM base. Our boat driver had mentioned some other tour to see jungle animals. We asked him more. Yes, he said, he could take us to see jungle animals, monkeys and caiman and loros, in an indigenous community down the river. How much? 100,000 for all. The problem? We were almost out of pesos - but it was OK, he’d take American cash. He had to stop and buy fuel, so we asked to use the restroom at the floating “gas station,” proving our suspicions that there was a reason we didn’t want to swim in the Amazon. Our “toilet” emptied directly into the river, along with the other trash we’d seen floating down. No surprise when I saw a special in the airport on the way home about how sick the indigenous people were getting from drinking out of the Amazon.

Inside the floating outhouse.

This little side trip turned out to be our favorite of all, though we wished we had spent less time in Santa Rosa and had more time left. For a while we thought we were going to Monkey Island after all - and we still suspect we may have passed it - but the boat finally stopped well down one side of an island at a tiny village known as Puerto Alegria - for us it was, as the name stated, the port of happiness. This tiny indigenous Peruvian community was definitely a step back in town. We’d grown used to stilt houses, open air windows and thatch rooves, but there were no direct TV lines and I’m not sure I even noticed any electricity here. There were chickens running about, but no cats. Our guide introduced to a solemn matriarchal woman. She was the mayor, he said, and she would take a donation after we looked at the animals the villagers would bring us.

The villagers brought us their pets. Ranch kids have been known to have pet lizards, frogs, spiders... and these pets were different only in the source. First a caiman, a baby one that we held, then another. A monkey tied to the gazebo in which we stood. Another tiny monkey frisking around us, and a parrot sitting, though silent. “He only talks when he chooses,” we were told. There were a couple of sea turtles, glossy and of varying sizes.

A caiman

Next they brought my favorite: the sloth. They called it a lazy monkey. I thought it was like having a cross between a teddy bear and a baby, to have and to hold and to love. I think I want a pet sloth.

An adorable sloth.

There was another small, strange creature we couldn’t identify. It looked like a porcupine, though the hair on its back did not feel dangerously spiny, and after we got home and saw a hedgehog on a National Geographic, we thought we had the answer! Until we realized that hedgehogs don’t live in the Amazon.

Finally, the king of all - the anaconda. Green, black, maybe 6 feet long and oh, so muscular, this creature liked Dianne. He did not like me and I suddenly understood how the larger anacondas could easily kill whatever prey they chose. I enjoyed him, but was relieved when he was unwrapped and lifted off of my shoulders.

We were not ready to leave when our guide said we must. We left what to us was pittance, but a donation which thrilled our guests. As we returned, we saw cows (cows!) and water lilies... Our last day of jungle exploration - was over.