We weaved in and out of Lima, Peru this week dusting ourselves off. Throwing off little pieces of dust with each flick of the wrist. I was throwing off my flesh too. It sticks too close. Enslaving my mind to selfish thoughts, and back home errands, and dull desires.
We also reached out. Grabbing eagerly for each story, every memory, all the smiles and tucking it in our hearts.
“Sit in here”
I said to the memories.
“Don’t move. Please don’t let me forget.”
We have been stuffing ourselves full like Thanksgiving came early.
We went back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.
We promised each child, student, and mother that we would prepare a feast back home too.
This week Thanksgiving did come early. And, in case you missed it, we’ve captured it all for you here.
And it case you wanted to see it, I’d like to show you what Peru looks like.
Peru looks like shantytowns spanning as far as the eye can see. Homes confusing the gravel as they steadily stake their claim.
Peru looks like pathways carpeted with dirt and rocks and little footprints.
Peru looks like ducks and dogs and cats filling the streets. Coming and going, Citizens through and through.
Peru looks like little faces peering out windows, making you check your step, your hurried pace, with their steady gaze.
Peru looks like her.
Prepared for the rain in her little pink boots. In a dry Peru were it never rains. Faithful. Waiting.
Peru looks like women gathering their time, picking up their feet and forming hopeful strides. Arriving at the local church, wearing smiles that will ease the weariness of little souls. Volunteering their time so a child in poverty can eat, and study, and know Jesus, and thrive.
Peru looks like little boys, just like him.
So few years on this earth and already he’s blazing this world with just a look. Ready to be poured into. Prayed over. Loved on. Brought to the feet of his Savior.
Peru looks like my Thanksgiving.