Who Turned Out the Lights??

Once in a while we have the luxury of knowing in advance that the power will go out when we happen to see a small notice somewhere on a back page of one of the local newspapers, nestled snugly in between a motorcycle ad and some legal bulletin. That’s when Electro-Ucayali puts it in there AND we happen to see it. Most of the time we’re just doing whatever we do—depending on electricity—comfortable in the assurance that the last time it went off and made us mad was the last time it would ever be shut off—doing whatever we do when off snaps the electricity—and we proceed to be disappointed as if we never considered that it might happen!

Last Sunday—it most often happens on a Sunday—the lights went out at 8 AM and stayed that way until nearly 6 PM. We fretted and sweated (no fans) and remarked with all kinds of impatience as if we’d never spent a day in the bush with no electricity. We actually spend about half of most months out in remote places where there has never been electric current. We dip in the river to cool off, cook over an open fire, and read at night by candle light. It’s a lifestyle we have come to love. Yet in our home in Pucallpa if we don’t have our lights, our fans, and our computers we’re suffering! How quickly we become discontent because of our expectations.

Last Tuesday evening the power was off just before dinner time. I jumped into the truck and drove five miles to buy gasoline for our small generator so we could “light up” dinner. When I got back home with the gas the lights were back on. I wanted someone to turn them back off just to make my trip and gasoline purchase count for something.

I’m studying First Peter in preparation for a leadership training event for Ashéninkas. Peter has much to say about suffering and I’m not really sure that doing without electricity qualifies. But if my perception in the moment is that I’m suffering, I still need to remember the words of Peter that put every trial into perspective.

⁶In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. ⁷These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. (1 Peter 1:6-7, NIV)

The trials of our lives get much bigger still, but our expectations run high in things like electricity, water, the price of tomatoes, etc. It makes me realize I’m pretty spoiled even though I move between a primitive world and the modern world. How much our Ashéninka brothers have to suffer just to eat or get from one village to another makes my small inconveniences pale in comparison.

I need to suffer more the loss of the things I cling to. A good long day at home without my email, or my fan to keep me cool, is good for me. It keeps my spiritual dependence muscles in tone. A few more candle-lit dinners and I’ll be ready for a real trial when it comes.

Lord help me to be more concerned about the light in my heart and shining it to my neighbor than about whether my electric lights will come on.  May my light so shine before men that they see my good works and glorify my Father who is in heaven (Matthew 5:16).

Extremes

I'm always amazed at the extremes one can observe in the jungle. I can go from extremely dry to extremely wet in moments; from extremely hot to extremely cold. The jungle can seem extremely peaceful, but on closer examination one can see the extreme violence carried out between species, and often feel the aggressive attacks of insect life on the skin.
I was sitting in my hut by the Río Negro enjoying the beautiful night air and the brilliant stars. Yet at the same time I could see the faint flashes of light over the treeline on a distance horizon; it appeared a storm was brewing. I had just bathed in the river, but was a bit annoyed that the river was so shallow that it was hard to get my head under the water to rinse off my shampoo. When I stretched out on the sandy bottom I came up again each time with just that, a sandy bottom!!
I went to my bed, hurrying to gather all the stuff I would want in my tent so as not to have to step out of it again--there are too many cockroaches in that hut at night! After some reading and praying I was off to sleep, exhausted from the day's long teaching sessions. At 4:00 AM that distant brewing became a localized torrent of rain, amazing slams and rumbles of thunder, and dazzlingly bright flashes of lightning. I arose rapidly to cover my tent as the thatched roof was leaking onto it and splashing in my face. Then I dragged the tent appropriately to keep the puddles forming alongside it from wetting the floor of the tent. Thus secure that I would remain high and dry I stretched out again to listen to the crashing and grinding of the thunder, and the hard but muffled sound of the torrent as it beat upon the thatch.
When daylight came there were shouts of excitement and urgency as it was discovered that the river was on the rise. My first thought, "It was so shallow last night."  Several individuals came running to attend to their canoes lest the current take them away. The Río Negro rises fast and allows little time to rescue a canoe. By the time I made my way to the riverbank, slipping down the muddy path in my flip-flop sandals and stepping on the hem of my rain poncho, the river was an angry mess with rapidly flowing current and tangled masses of limbs, fragments of organic matter, and whole trees uprooted and swept away by the force of millions of gallons of chocolate-brown water.

I was amazed. "This is extreme," I said to myself and lifted my Nikon to take some photos. There was Santiago hunkered down inside of his bouncing and swaying canoe, bailing water and watching the level of the river. As Santiago moved the rope of his canoe to a higher tree, he related to me of how in the previous week's record river crest his elderly uncle had been swept away by the current while trying to untie his submerged canoe rope. A pile of fast-moving debris took him as his wife looked on. Santiago told it in a very manner-of-fact way and then never mentioned it again.
I stood looking into the swirling muck and watched as several massive trees came cruising by and painfully visualized this tragic incident as it might have unfolded. It's easy to feel that life is cheap in the third world, and indeed so it is often treated. We read the Pucallpa papers and see accidents and crimes that seem so senseless. Why didn't they do this or do that in order to be safer? Didn't anyone ever tell them it would turn out that way? Where was his mother? Why was he out that late?  and the list of questions goes on.
I can't raise the value of life in the jungle, in Pucallpa, or anywhere else on this planet. However I can pray that people lift their eyes to the One who gives life and takes it away, and cling to them as their hope. I can't stop the swirling rivers of life from snatching away the elderly uncles, the small children, or the nursing mothers. I can cry to the Lord to hold them safely in His hand and to help them to see that life is precious enough to "be careful" and that we are of value to our Creator.
Oh Lord help the hurting souls of men like my dear brother Santiago as they take it on the chin again and again. Increase their faith and help them to be convinced of Your sovereignty. In the strong name of Jesus, who IS the life (John 14:6).
Photos: my peaceful hut; the rising waters of the Río Negro

Afloat

Juan knows that to get to the training meeting will take some work. But he’s not afraid of hard work; everyday is another episode of living “by the sweat of the brow.” The location of the meeting is far from home, but fortunately it’s downstream, the water can take him there. Yet the water can ONLY take him TO the meeting, it can’t bring him home again. He will have to travel the old-fashioned way, the way everyone does it when there is no boat, no motor, or when funds for gasoline are tight or don’t exist.
So Juan gathers his axe and follows a trail that takes him parallel to the river, snaking now away from the sheer drop of the riverbank, now toward, until he comes to the spot he had scouted out yesterday. Here there are several balsa trees of just the right girth. The unique wood of the balsa is light, airy, and floats like nothing else in the jungle; the ideal material for a raft. One of these trees will become Juan’s vehicle to carry him down the Chinchihuani (chin-chee-WAH-nee) River and later down the Apurucayali (Ah-pooh-rooh-cah-YAH-lee) River to the settlement of Yarina Isla.
In short order Juan has laid the tree over onto the moist forest floor and has gotten to work trimming away the branches and the bark. He then cuts the trunk into several eight-foot long pieces that will later be lashed together to form his raft. The wood is lighter than most so he is able to single-handedly slide the logs over the edge of the steep riverbank until they come to a grinding halt in the mud alongside the flowing water. He then cuts a number of pegs that will be used as he ties the logs together, and he peels a thin flexible bark from another tree to serve as rope to lash all the parts together. With all the right materials now in hand, Juan himself slips down the soggy embankment to the level of the river and starts to work with axe and machete to prepare his mobility.
Now Juan has lashed logs together and he has fashioned a bench on which to sit and place his backpack in order to keep everything dry. The waters of the Chinchihuani run pretty fast and dangerous in some spots so Juan has ensured that his work is strong and ready. He will leave at first light.
It’s a cool morning, but it promises to be a crystal-clear day. Juan rose before daylight and finished rebuilding the door of the chicken coup. It was broken as he struggled to kill a manco, a weasel-like animal that loves to steal chickens. He then sat with his flashlight in the dark dawn and read a passage of scripture, one that he often returned to when he was about to leave his family behind. He prays for the Lord’s protection for them and that he would learn from the meetings; learn so that he could be a better servant of his Master as he leads the small San Luis church; and leader of his family as they often feel like they are all alone in the faith.

Now at the riverside Juan’s oldest son Israel unties the raft from a small tree. Juan gives a few final instructions to his children and embraces his wife. He stacks his pack in its place along with a stalk of freshly cut green bananas, his food contribution for the meeting. Adela hands him a small bag with a large piece of smoked sajino (a wild pig); this will be lunch and dinner. With no further words, Juan grabs his steering pole and shoves off from the bank. Adela and the children quietly look on as they silently pray. In a few minutes Juan and his raft, in the same silence, drift slowly around the turn of the river and he is seen no more.
_______________________________
When we only see Juan walk up from the river at the location of the training meeting, it’s easy to take for granted his efforts to arrive. For most coming from remote regions to a central gathering place, it’s no small undertaking. No cars, no public transportation. Just hard work, crops and animals left unattended, dangers in the currents, and the ever-present family separation which we ourselves know too well. Love drives a man or a woman to go to lengths. For Juan and others like him it’s his love for his Lord.
To what lengths am I willing to go to feast at my Master’s table?
Photo:  sajino on balsa raft;  Juan and his son Israel

Breezes

Have you ever been in a hot place where the air seemed to just sit suspended in place with no visible movement?  Such conditions make me feel like I’m living in a photograph; nothing moves, it’s just a snapshot of life. Here in the tropics such moments are much too frequent. Out in the jungle villages you are surrounded by forests of very tall trees and tangles of vegetation that are sentries that will not allow breezes to pass by. On many days I have sat perspiring in the humidity longing for movement of the air. I have timed the breezes and found that on average, on a “photograph” day, the air will stir about once in each fifteen minutes.  That means fifteen minutes of sweating with the weight of the humid air seeming to press drenched clothing against the skin. Uncomfortable indeed.

When that quarter-hour breeze comes it brings relief, pleasure, comfort…It brings a feeling of renewal if only for a few seconds. As the breeze passes and heads off to touch some other weary sufferer I’m compelled to reach out a hand in some futile attempt to grasp it, to cling to it, to make it mine. Yet I know the precious wind is not mine to own or control; it’s for everyone, for others who like me long for it to refresh their weary soul.

I’m sitting beneath a thatched roof on a springy deck made of pona palm wood, perspiring, longing for that small movement of air, regretting that I forgot to bring my hand-fan to fan myself, and the Spirit of the Lord whispers to me, “I am the breeze.” I listen again but hear no audible voice. Not even the wind. The fifteen minutes are not up. “I am the breeze, let me refresh you.” I pause. I think. Then I know in my own spirit that I am to think about the longing that I feel for the refreshing of a cool breeze. I must compare this longing with my longing for the Lord.

As I think, I’m ashamed that my craving for air too often supercedes my craving for the refreshing of the Lord in my life.  And I’m made to realize that in reality the suffering in the heat is meant to keep me on my toes and calling out to the Lord for strength, for endurance, for renewal, not just to endure the heatwave, but to be all I can be for His glory, even when I’m not just out of my comfort zone, but when the comfort zone has ceased to exist!

Wait. What’s that rustling of the leaves in the trees? Look, the clouds are moving across the sun…small droplets of rain are beginning to fall. A cool wind caresses my face and chills my body as it dries the perspiration from my skin. I rise from my chair and step down from my “photograph”. Refreshing has come outwardly, peace has come inwardly. It’s not just about the wind now.

Bridging the Gap

During my recent trip to the Río Pichis and Río Negro I (Marty) had to make the transition from one river to the other. Having met Pastor Justiniano in Yuyapichis, with him having come up from the Apurucayali River, we found the Río Negro was too low for us to travel by boat. We sent my cargo with Grimaldo in his small canoe while Justo and I walked. It was a journey I did not want to make and had supposed I never would need to.

Photo: shallows of the Río Negro

In all, the hike took four hours with my heavy backpack on my back and loose-fitting rubber boots on my feet. The result left large blisters that took all week to heal. Yet I never imagined that the walk along the river’s edge, through pastures of tall grass, and through deep rainforest would bring useful object lessons.

We had to cross the river two times while walking. In both cases the water was very shallow, but the first time I had to take off my boots to keep them dry inside. The river bottom was gravel and stones up to eight inches in diameter and being rather “soft-footed” (“Tender-foot” sounds too inexperienced and hence makes me feel less manly!) they were very painful on my feet. At the second crossing I managed to find a route across that I felt would allow me to leave the boots on. The rushing current, however, made walking more difficult than before. The situation was made worse by the fact that I was wearing a heavy backpack which made me top-heavy. As I tried to step carefully and to keep the water from sloshing into my boots, I nearly lost my balance repeatedly.

I have had very few “I can’t” moments while on the mission field. The first was when I kept failing my driver’s license written exam because of inadequate language. This time it came in the middle of the river. On the first effort I finally crossed and got my boots back on. On the second crossing I didn’t fare so well. I started across and found it tedious trying to keep from getting water in my boots. I soon failed at this and I still kept losing my balance as the swiftly moving water made it difficult to judge where to step. When I stalled out in midstream Justiniano spotted me and immediately returned for me with his cargo on his shoulders. He spread his feet in the current and braced himself. He extended a hand to me and eased me around behind him until I got my footing and was able to gain the higher river bottom with smaller rocks.

After I emerged from the river it came in a rush to my mind what had just happened—what had been illustrated for me. Justiniano had just interceded for me—he had stood in the gap for me. Without thought of his own inconvenience or discomfort (he was barefooted on the rocks) he came to my aid to help me when I could do nothing for myself. Thinking on this as we walked on, I wept to myself. Never has such a graphic illustration of intercession been shown to me. I see what it means to intercede without thought for self and to come to someone’s aid when they cannot make their way through life’s swift currents. It’s what Christ did. It’s what He expects of me in prayer and in service.

Photo: Justiniano in Bible study

Home Perfectly Safe!

We had been traveling on the river for about three hours until we arrived at our destination. After we arrived we had to make sure that the boat and motor was secure from robbers, who are always on the lookout for someone to take advantage of. Then we had to take a motor taxi to get us to the small town of Palcazu. This little town is filled with people walking around, selling food, clothes, and even baby chicks to take home to raise. It is busy with life and regardless of what is going on, I always get stared at. I don’t know why, and I look just like them. I have the same skin color and dress like them also. They have a sense of who “isn’t from around here.”

Berta and I checked into a small hostel, thinking it would be necessary to spend the night as the transport agency told me the next truck would be leaving at 3 AM. We stretched out and rested in the room, using the common bathroom down the hall since we didn’t have the luxury of our own. The room was hot having little ventilation, and there were numerous spider webs in the corners. Palcazu’s noise barges into the room with a fury and there’s no resting. In a short time a lady from the agency came by to tell me that a truck would be leaving for Pucallpa in about an hour, carrying a couple of cows in the back. We scrambled to gather our things thinking the truck would be leaving in short order. We hurried up to wait. After an hour I figured we would just go back to the hotel and leave in the morning.

We returned to the hotel, showered, got ready to rest “again”, when the driver of the truck came by and said, “Oh Chinita,” (all Asians are Chinos) “It’s you!” He recognized me from previous trips between Marty and I. In fact he was the driver who lost Marty’s bag of gear out of the tailgate on a recent trip. I told him I didn’t want to travel at night but he reasoned that it was actually safer than going in the early morning. There would be less danger of robbers along the way. Berta lobbied to leave then as she wanted to get on home.

So we boarded the truck and headed for Pucallpa, with two cows bound up and stowed in the back of that pickup truck. They were secured to the bars welded to the truck bed. Every time they moved the whole truck moved. Berta was afraid they might kick the glass in the back window. But nothing bad happened. The trip went a little slower than usual since the driver had to stop periodically to tend to the needs of those poor suffering cows. They couldn’t move. There they were suffering so they could arrive at the slaughterhouse. I was reminded of how Jesus had to suffer for me in order to purchase my freedom. Jesus was led to the slaughter for me, having come into the world for that purpose. Tears come to my eyes when I am made to think about His suffering on my behalf. Those silly cows didn’t have any idea what was about to happen to them, but Jesus went willingly, knowing the pain He would face, and He did it in love.

We ourselves were suffering a little, though not like the cows. The truck slipped and slid along the muddy road. We couldn’t even roll down our windows because of the slosh of muddy water. There were holes I was sure we would never pass, and this was at night on a dark jungle road! It called for real faith to trust the Lord to get us home, and to take care of us if we didn’t. There have been many assaults and robberies on this road in the hours of darkness. Berta and I both called on the Lord to deliver us safely home. When the driver and the owner of the cows began to pull of their shirts because of the heat my mind was made to think that maybe they had illicit things in mind. At one creek, in the night, the driver got out and took a bath! I said to myself, “When will this stop?” Yet I realized that God was protecting us. We even had an extremely bright moon to help us see. I received that blessing as a reminder that God was taking good care of us. I realized that the Lord was providing many signs of His protecting hand on us and I took comfort in His promises.

We arrived at home at about midnight to find Marty pacing the floor and standing on the front porch looking for us. I had alerted him that we were coming; even Jacob was still up and anxious for our safe arrival. The cows were not so glad as they were headed directly to the slaughterhouse! We headed to our beds and delighted in the comfort of our home and rejoiced in the safe passage the Lord gave us. The trip was far less than ideal in terms of comfort, but how sweet to be, under the Lord’s protective hand, home perfectly safe!

These are the scripture verses that came to my mind as we traveled on that night:

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. Isaiah 43:2-3 (TNIV)

For God did not give us a spirit of timidity (of cowardice, of craven and cringing and fawning fear), but [He has given us a spirit] of power and of love and of a calm and well-balanced mind and discipline and self-control. 2 Tim. 1:7 (Amplified)

A Big Thirst

Have you ever been in a place where you are dying for water? I (Dena) have and I want to tell you about it. I had to climb the bank of the river where it doesn’t even have a place for you to step. It is just some roots and just a little bit of a step. After you get to the top of the bank of the river then you begin to climb the steep hill until it comes to a flat plane for a while and that is where the house and field of one of the local believer is located. We rested for a while before we headed farther up the hill. I made a mistake in that I didn’t take my water bottle thinking that it wouldn’t be that bad, and, anyway, we were going to get sugar cane. So whenever the natives tell you that it isn’t very far, be prepared for some distance between you and your destination. To them it is not far because they have been walking and climbing those trails most of their lives. For someone coming from the city you can bet your pants on it that it will be very far. In a lot of cases I have taken my water bottle just in case. But this time I thought that I could just suck on the sugar cane to relieve me of my thirst. But the house was just half-way. We had to climb at least two more steep hills to get to where the sugar cane is planted. It’s good that you get to climb without anything to carry, but on the return you had better be prepared for the heavy load on your back.
The believers there have planted some pineapple and we were able to find a kind of ripe one for us to eat before going up the hill. Some of the pineapple was stolen from their field and there’s little they can do. They just have to put everything that they have planted in God’s hands, knowing that whoever took it will have to answer to God for stealing from those who have worked so hard, especially the children of God. Even the pineapple was a bit green but it was still sweet and didn’t have the bitter taste on your tongue like in the United States. It was refreshing to my thirsty mouth.
After eating the pineapple we were ready to continue to our destination to get those sugar canes. We walked down the hill to a creek in which I almost fell off the log bridge. Up the hill we then trudged. By the time we reached the field where the sugar cane was growing, my thirst was raging. If only I had brought that water bottle! In a short time my companions were cutting cane and peeling its tough outer covering away. When I was given a piece I shoved it into my mouth and sucked the sweet juice like my life depended on it. I don’t think I’ve ever been so thirsty. The natural goodness of the plant’s sugar-water was just what my system needed and in a few minutes I began to feel much better. The sugary juice is pure and contains no chemicals; nothing artificial—it’s just the way God made it.
This reminded me of how I should be—nothing impure or artificial added. God’s word is a guide for me along life’s paths. Sometimes my soul gets so thirsty I don’t think I can go another minute in this world. I can grasp for something that artificially satisfies me; something that distracts me from the stresses and tests of life, but in the end they all return. However if my Lord is my drink and my sustaining force I can find renewed strength. Moreover, He keeps me from slipping and getting hurt or from hurting others as I follow the instruction of His word and let Him carry me over life’s log bridges. Thank you Lord for the pure drink of your word and the everlasting refreshment it provides.

A Walker's Perspective

The statement “I’m going for a walk” used to be so simple. Doing it was simple. You just grabbed your sneakers (that’s what we called them growing up, but now kids don’t know what that means) and you headed out the door. Your walk took you through quiet neighborhoods with the sound of robins in the shrubs and the occasional bunny stopped to watch, not sensing danger, but rather sharing the brotherhood of God’s wonderful creation. The falling leaves danced in spry spirals through the air and the pathway was so smoothe you could watch the clouds and find amazing shapes and designs without the danger of stumbling over obstacles.

I enjoyed some of this in Springfield, MO, during our last stateside assignment last year. I would leave the house at about 6 AM and head through the neighborhood beneath aged maple branches. There was literally a cottontail rabbit that frequently appeared even in this suburban setting. I crossed onto the main boulevard and followed its sidewalks until I turned back through another community, made a large loop around the Golden Pond Apartments, and then worked my way back toward home. Along the way I hardly met anyone and there was very little traffic.

Why am I taking this walk down memory lane? Because for the last two days Dena and Berta and I have taken some afternoon walks through Pucallpa, along the main highway into town, and it ain’t Springfield! To characterize the route with accuracy and detail would take several pages. We follow the uneven sidewalk dodging people, dogs with serveral kinds of skin diseases, dumped smelly garbage, low awnings extending over the walkway at eye-level, mud holes, uncovered utility holes, water puddles, and much more. The traffic is merciless toward pedestrians and many drivers of three-wheeled motor-taxis would just as soon run over you as look at you. This very evening one hurried across my path to leave a driveway in front of a bus station and it’s steel passenger framework actually hit my arm and hand leaving a pretty good bruise. I shouted after the driver who just looked back and mumbled something unintelligible and went on.

The whole scenario is backdropped by a steady roar of traffic which pervades in all of Pucallpa. The motor-taxis are motorcycle taxis with three wheels and all of them make lots of noise. The last figure I heard several years ago was 11,000 of them in this small geographic area. Pucallpa has some 400,000 people and most of them utilize this form of public transportation. It was from one of these last year that four young men lept to rob me at 5 AM on a Sunday morning along this very road. I have spent the last year walking only within our gated community, but during the day there’s little chance of being robbed. Chances are much greater for being run over!

I can liken the whole experience to walking in a sort of obstacle course. You can’t take your eyes off the sidewalk for long for there is the everpresent danger of stepping into a hole and breaking bones. Many utility holes are left uncovered. The many stray dogs leave their blessings on the sidewalk and that’s an even worse danger! Passersby think nothing of bumping into you and never say “Excuse me.” Am I sounding negative. I don’t mean to be. This is just the realtiy we deal with when we go out on the town. It’s compounded by being one of the gfw “Gringos” in the area and I am constantly stared at and evaluated by many people who sit along the streets and in front of businesses and homes with nothing better to do. This is one of the by-products of high unemployment and the people are not camped out hoping to catch a glimpse of the white guy. They are there all the time. The white guy is just a curiosity.

One of the great challenges of leaving America and tranquil places like the sidewalks of Springfield, MO, to serve the Lord in the third world is that there is the temptation to become cynical toward a culture and environment that is so different. There are many unpleasantries in a this area where “nice things” seems like a missing concept and the push to serve self without the basic respect shown to one’s fellow man seems like a lost concept. It’s typical to see someone ignore the long line of patiently waiting people and push to the front of the line as if the line didn’t exist. This “me-ism” is what drives the tendency of drivers to ignore the pedestrian on the street; an ironic contrast to the reality that if you hit a pedestrian with your vehicle you go to jail.

Well it’s time to simmer down and bring this gripe to a close! What I want to say is that I don’t want to become cynical toward the culture in which I live and serve the Lord. God has called us here to be salt and light, not to complain. Why is the culture the way it is? It is because for many centuries the people have lived without truly knowing the God of righteusness, justice, and love. Simply put: They need Jesus. With this understanding I can look beyond the flaws of society and its drastic differences from what I am used to. I can love the people who offend me. When I do an amazing thing happens. They really no longer offend me. I’m looking at them through the eyes of Christ who has nothing left to lose and can no longer be put off and offended. He’s already given everything. My complaining comes when I have taken a part of my heart back and find myself insisting that everything meet up with my standards; my expectations.

Salt and light aren’t choosy about where they work. They just do their job. O God take all my expectations and crucify them with Jesus on the cross of love. Let me see the needful hearts and understand where the bad comes from. They need you, Lord. How will they ever love you back if your servants do not love them as you do?

So, Lord, lets’s take a walk. For I want to walk with you through the corridors of this city…and from here to the Ashéninka people to whom you’ve sent us. Make me to see all the hurt, corruption, and sadness as you do, and to hurt for the souls behind it all. To love them selflessly.

Holes in the sidewalk? I know that’s when you’ll carry me.

The Black River

We've written about the Río Negro in our newsletters. It's a mysterious place that's really what the idea of a jungle river conjures up in your imagination. To make the setting even more exotic is the presence of much gold in the river and the frequency of ancient pottery and stone implements that can be seen in many places. There are some mining operations up the river from our ministry area, and many of the local Ashéninka people pan gold from the river at the rate of up to 2 grams per day. That will fetch about $40 from local buyers.

Dena just returned from a trip into the Apurucayali River area where we have a rustic jungle house on the riverbank. She was able to make plans with pastor Justiniano from Belén to accompany me (Marty) to the Río Negro later this month. We have recently turned our sights toward this river and its communities where there are a number of believers who have no spiritual guidance. There is no church and no prepared leader. We are planning to return there with more frequency, having the conviction that this is an area that needs our attention and sensing the Lord's leading.

The Río Negro is not the easiest place to go. One has to catch a crowded truck over the bumpy Marginal Highway of the Jungle (Carretera Marginal de la Selva) to the tiny riverside town of Yuyapichis. This town is very small and the people a bit distrusting of "gringos" who "must" have some ulterior motive for showing up in such an unlikely place. I usually secure lodging in a rustic hotel that has unfinished wooden walls, lots of cobwebs, and some lonely cockroaches. There isn't anything better in Yuyapichis! When the rattle of the road has settled down in my head and my nerves are up to it I wander across the pueblo to a small FM radio station that is set up in the living room of a private family (very friendly people). Here I pay about $1.50 for them to put an announcement on their radio broadcast which informs the named Christian friends of my arrival and requests that they come down from their community to pick me up in Yuyapichis. This works most of the time, but once last fall my partner and I sat for two days waiting only to conclude that no one was listening or no one could come. We left and invested our time elsewhere.

The river itself is very low, runs fast, and has lots of dangerous rocks. Nevertheless like all the jungle rivers it's a very beautiful place. On a jungle river whatever stress you brought from the city trickles out like water from a faucet and you are left with the purity of nature and the tranquility it brings. So there's something to be said for traveling in this manner: it takes the city and the world out of you and leaves you "cleaner" for the spiritually focused work you've come here to do.

Please pray for this return to the Río Negro and the Ashéninka communities of Pueblo Libre and Tahuantinsuyo. Pray for sensitivity to needs, spiritual conditions, and that our small team will be able to connect hearts with the Christians in those places. Pray also the the Lord will do a great work in drawing people to salvation and in building His local church among them.

The key person with which we have been working in the community of Pueblo Libre is Santiago. He is the brother of Ema Rojas whose husband Alejandro has had an important role in the success of the work in the Apurucayali River. Santiago is a sincere and dedicated man of middle age. Like many committed Christians in such places he often finds himself all alone, even among those who have once proclaimed their personal faith in Christ Jesus. They tried to walk with God for a time but the pull of their friends and the pressure to conform to the ways of the local people won them over again. Santiago has resisted the pressures and along with his wife are many times criticized and laughed at for their faith. When our team has been in Pueblo Libre Santiago has dedicated lots of time and energy to fishing or hunting, trying to provide some meat for his guests: this done with love and true Christian character.

There was once a "church" in Pueblo Libre--years ago. A "pastor" was appointed to lead the congregation, but he eventually fell by the wayside like so many "Christians". He's still there, but can't seem to decide whether he will stand with Jesus or the world. Many of those who were baptized in the past are not to be found among the faithful, but at the fiestas in drunkenness. They make their home brew of boiled and fermented yuca root. We often weep for the eyes of the people to be opened to see how hollow this lifestyle of drunkenness is. But even if that lifestyle is not enjoyed it still has an amazing pull upon everyone. It begins in youth and continues until death. If a person doesn't conform he is ostracized and severely criticized. It's hard for believers to be believers. We long for them to see that if they can tough it out, the Lord will vindicate them; will bring them their reward in due time. This is not just Pueblo Libre, but everywhere among the indigenous peoples of Peru. Pray along these lines with us that God will liberate many from Satan's ancient grip through alcohol.

Photos: the Pachitea River from Yuyapichis; believers gather at Tahuantinsuyo; main street in Yuyapichis and my lodging there; Santiago; overlooking the Río Negro at Tahuantinsuyo

Welcoming the Gayhearts

When the Ashéninka Team was started back in 1998 it consisted of one IMB missionary family. This soon grew to two families, then our family, the McAnallys, came on the scene in August of 1999. At that time we consisted of the three career families plus a 2-year journeyman and a short-term ISC single missionary. Soon thereafter, the team began to shrink again.

By September of 2002 we found ourselves alone with a huge work to do. The Ashéninka people live in communities scattered over many hundreds of square miles in three geographic areas separated from each other by many miles and much mountainous jungle. While we were committed to the task at hand, that of sharing the gospel and planting churches among the Ashéninka people, we began to pray diligently that God would send us help through the International Mission Board.

During the ensuing seven years we were blessed to have two single young women join us for two-year terms, but not until now has a family committed to come serve with us as career missionaries. We're grateful to our Lord for sending Michael and Crystal Gayheart and their four young children (Julia, Abigail, Nathanael, and Chloe). They have completed their IMB personnel training and are now in language school in Costa Rica. They will be in their study of Spanish in Costa Rica until August of next year when they will join us in Peru.

Michael and Crystal recently paid us a visit here in the jungle to get to know a little bit of what life here is like and to see the town where they will eventually be posted. Michael is a former software programmer and they make their USA home in California.

Please pray for the all-important process of language apprehension. Without good language skills the work of reaching people for Christ and building His church is very difficult. Once they have arrived in Peru they will also begin the process of learning the Ashéninka language. Pray that the Lord prepares them and their children for the journey ahead, indeed which has already begun as they adjust to life in Central America, and then later in the jungle of Peru. Praise the Lord for calling the Gayhearts out to live and love among this people group who are so far from their Creator.

Welcome to the Ashéninka Peru Blog

With the desire to communicate more freely with our friends, family, and prayer supporters what is happening in our ministry among the Ashéninka people of Peru, we are initiating this new blog. We have had a website for years with lots of information about our work and the Ashéninka people group, however, we've not utilized that site to share our life and work in much detail. We want this place to serve to inform, inspire, bless, and motivate you as you read and view.

We will be writing about our frequent travels and the work we do in the Ashéninka communities. We'll also write about the details of daily life in Pucallpa where we make our home, and in the indigenous villages where we carry out our calling. We will post photos, for they say much more than mere words can, and we will endeavor to make more frequent updates than we have done previously on our website at www.asheninka.net.

Please bookmark this page and return often to read of what's happening and to gain insight into how to pray for us and the Ashéninka people. That you are here now means you have an interest in these things and we hope you will come back soon. As always we are grateful to you and all who pray for this work.

God bless you,
Marty and Dena McAnally