Ashéninka Peru

New Horizons--Leaving the Ashéninka Work

2011-07-07T11:55:00.000-05:00

In the jungle it is San Juan time. That means that it is the month of Fiesta San Juan, a time of parties, special events, and tourism. John the Baptist is the patron saint of the jungle, thus the name. Traditionally people make and give the "juane" a big ball of flavored rice with a piece of chicken in the middle, wrapped and cooked in a banana leaf. It's really good stuff! In the McAnally home, here in the bustling jungle city of Pucallpa, there is also a lot of activity, but not of the kind found throughout the city. For us change is on the horizon and a great preparation is under way.

The Lord led us to Peru in 1999 to serve among the Ashéninka people. He called us to a work we initially didn't think we were cut out for. But He enabled us and even used us to bring many to Christ and to plant churches. Now the fruit of that labor is growing and we are very pleased at what God is doing among this people group. Also during those years we kept filed away a deep desire for the salvation of the people of Southeast Asia (Dena is from Laos, SE Asia). Yet we knew without doubt that God called us to the Ashéninka people, so we have worked hard and waited on God for the other.

Back in the fall we began to sense that maybe the Lord was about to give us the green light to leave the Ashéninka work. We began to pray diligently and to look at the work, our team, and our calling. In December, one night while sitting in our mosquito net in an Ashéninka community, we came to a unanimous sense of release and conviction that God was saying "yes" to us and giving us permission to move on. We began to pray all the more and by February we were ready to initiate the process of transferring to Thailand to work among the Isaan people, descendants of Laos, speaking Isaan language, a blend of Lao and Thai. After several months of waiting the transfer was approved.

Now here's the announcement part: We are leaving the Ashéninka work as of the end of August and plan to relocate to Thailand in early March to begin work with the Isaan Team of Thailand.

So already in the McAnally house we have been selling, packing, and painting. With trips coming up before we leave Peru time to do all these things is limited. At the same time we are looking around us and beginning to realize that the country, city, and people where we have invested so much of ourselves during 12 years are about to become a part of our past. How do you just walk away from a life you have lived with intensity? How do you say good-bye to the people for whom we've poured out our lives for so many years. We have traveled, worked, sweat, cried, prayed, sacrificed in order to be among these precious Ashéninka people. Sometimes it has cost us dearly. We raised our son Jacob here and often spent weeks separated form each other to keep him in school. We have desired to take the gospel to the people of SE Asia, but that doesn't mean we have looked for God's blessing to escape from the rigors of the jungle. It already has us in a sober state of mind and heart anticipating the pain of leaving. So while we look forward with great anticipation and excitement for the changes ahead, we also are beginning to anticipate the moments of good-byes and the finality of departure. We will appreciate your prayers during this time. We want to encourage our Ashéninka brethren and motivate them, spurring them to greater things. Yet we want to convey to them our love and that we don't leave them lightly. We want them to know they are loved and that they are not being abandoned. We want them to cling to Christ, sensing the responsibility to carry the ministry, understanding why we are leaving, and to take the reins and go. So please pray for us to handle this departure with wisdom and character, and with strength. It won't be easy.

we were gentle among you, like a mother caring for her little children. We loved you so much that we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our lives as well, because you had become so dear to us. 1 Thess. 2:7-8

It's akin to letting a child leave home. We've in many respects raised these people as dear children. Now we have to entrust them to God to keep them faithful and help them grow. Yet the agony of the separation is already being felt and is sometimes very painful. We write these words together with heavy hearts and teary eyes. May the Lord help us bear the good-byes.

We will spend six months on stateside assignment in the USA before moving to Thailand. We look forward to seeing many of you during this time.

Our work in Thailand will have similar objectives: evangelism and church planting. However, Thailand is a land of Buddhism where Christian faith is often regarded as a westerners' religion. It is not like Peru where most people at a minimum have a Catholic background or have heard of God and Jesus. We are already praying for the people we will meet and share Christ with. We ask you to join us in doing the same. We will need your continued help as prayer supporters as we go through this transition-- moving, learning language and customs, and becoming a part of another team. Please also pray for Mark Caldwell who leads the Isaan Team and those who serve with him among the Isaan people.

Also, Michael and Crystal Gayheart of the Ashéninka Team need much faithful prayer as they develop strategy to reach the Ashéninka people of the Upper Ucayali River. They have a huge task, but God is bigger and is faithful to help them as He helped us. They will have great success and loads of fruit as they labor for Christ and as you pray for them.

Photos: Dena speaks with elderly Ashéninka Christian; rice fields in Isaan , Thailand; Isaan children, Thailand.

Paths Through Life

2011-03-16T09:13:00.001-05:00

Mountain pathways cut out through human
tenacity. Would it be there if it were up to me?

Throughout life we talk a lot about roads—the paths of our lives—either physical roads or the direction we follow in life. In the scriptures people are always moving from one place to another either to conquer a nation or to visit a friend. Jesus Himself said “I am the Way" (John 14:6).

In Peru’s jungle the transportation infrastructure, or in many areas the lack thereof, makes getting from one place to another rather difficult. Where there are highways carved into the amazingly diverse landscape we often are in awe that engineers had the vision and the courage to lay their course and cut them through. Last week Dena and I drove from Lima across the Andes Mountains, crossing the divide at nearly 16,000 feet. At every turn of the highway I wanted to comment:

Indigenous settlement on the Tambo where
everyone lives off the land.

1. How did they even plot the course; who decided where the road would go?
2. How did they cut this shelf on the mountain?
3. How did people even get through here to settle the country in the first place?
4. How did they plant the electrical towers and hang the endless cables that crisscross the mountains?
And so goes the marveling at the feats of human endeavor.

Boats are often overloaded by operators who
put money ahead of safety.

When we had finished crossing the mountains, we eventually found ourselves on a boat overloaded with passengers on the Tambo River, journeying for eight hours to the city of Atalaya. Boat operators on the Tambo like to dangerously squeeze in as many passengers as they can. The result is a boat built for 30 that is carrying 75. Every movement of the tiller resulted in a swaying to the right or to the left and shrieks of terror from passengers. Five minutes after leaving the port, Dena and I looked at each other and asked whether we’d made a mistake to get on board. In places the river bottom is strewn with large boulders which kick up rapids of nearly two feet in height. Water pitched over the side of the boat to more shrieks from passengers. The press of the onboard crowd prevented us from moving either feet or rump and the long hours seemed endless. At times the rain fell and blew across the boat while a large plastic sheet was unrolled form the bow toward the stern and everyone hunkered down beneath it.

Impressive waterfall
over the Tambo River.

The agony of the ride was tempered by scenery that took one’s breath away. Again, we marveled at God’s creation and thanked Him for the opportunity to see it. A nice lawn chair on a strong deck with some burgers grilling would have been more pleasant, but the sight of waterfalls gushing from rock cliffs 500 feet above the jungle defies description.

Makeshift ferry across the Perene
carried our taxi and us.

These courses through the wild countryside of Peru were found and established over time by men and women who desired to get from point A to point B. In their need and tenacity they purposed in their hearts and they set their minds on the goal and they found a way. Some lost their lives in the process and the rest of us, centuries later in some cases, reap the benefits.

Such musing causes me to do a check on my own tenacity and perseverance. Do I have what it takes to plot a difficult course and get there, even though the way is difficult and fraught with danger or obstacles?

“I am the Way…” I think Jesus’ intention here was both to assure us that He IS the ONLY way to the Father and to teach us that through Him I CAN! Philippians 4:13 affirms that “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” The road through and over the mountains of my life is often difficult. What I try to do in my own strength results in failure. His strength leads me to success. It’s a simple truth so why is it so difficult to live out? Those Spanish explorers and later engineers who found their way across mountain peaks and valleys did so empowered by human will. God has implanted in me something infinitely more powerful if I tap into it. It’s the force of my human will that usually keeps me from it. How powerful yet how shallow this will of mine!
Heavenly Father, please give me the will to conquer my will and the strength of your Spirit to do so. You are the Way that leads to life and to daily victory as I travel the rough and watery paths through life.

Ears to Hear

2011-03-03T13:38:00.000-06:00

Joab asked, “What’s the meaning of all the noise in the city?” 1 Kings 1:41

When I was in college I hung around a lot with my dear Christian friends Ron and John. We played tennis, camped, and sometimes just goofed off. Like many young people then and today we liked to listen to music and felt it was necessary to turn on contemporary Christian music both in the car and in the dorm. We didn’t have MP3 players then (I won’t mention that 8-track tapes were the format of the day), but we had radios and we had vinyl records.

We began to notice our own tendency to turn on the music and began to joke that it was necessary to have music in order to breathe. If no music was playing, one of us would grasp his throat and make like he was suffocating. It was good for a laugh.

In Latin America, especially in places having a warm climate, the storefronts are open, the walls are cement, and the streets are filled with noisy motorcycle taxis, buses, or cars with leaky mufflers. As the result, the ambient noise level is excruciating. To carry on a conversation is difficult at best with the constant roar from outside. There is the belief among merchants that to attract business and/or make clients happy one must have a television set on the wall with the volume set to maximum. To carry on a conversation over roasted chicken in this environment is challenging. Add to this the need to hear clearly enunciated Spanish words in order to respond correctly and the frustration mounts.

Again, the sound has become the air we breathe. Here in Peru the sound is the air and the air is the sound. There is no escape from it, not in the city center, not in your bed at night. In our jungle town our windows have only screen wire and no glass so the sounds of the city and the sounds of nature float on the breezes and come crawling into our ears. Sleep becomes evasive as we lie on our beds listening to the blasting thump and grind of a birthday party or a nearby discotheque.

The sounds of the jungle town are physical audio waves that pass through the air and bounce about our world carrying words of vital communication or unwanted distraction. Another kind of sound has the same effect but in the inner parts of our lives where we accept or reject the sometimes subtle and sometimes not so subtle messages of the world. What motivates me, what stirs me, what captures my attention, or what bores me are all influenced by the messages that assail me day in and day out, almost wherever I go.

Whether in the midst of all of this I am able to hear God’s voice is determined by my installed filtration device. Jesus said, “Those who have ears to hear, let them hear…” Hearing is not only skin deep (or ear deep) and involves understanding. Truly hearing. Truly comprehending. Am I able to filter out the “noise” of the world: the distracting and tempting false messages that beg to affect my motives, my desires, my perceived needs? Do I filter the bombarding messages through the truth of God’s word and accept or reject the noisy messages in the light its teaching? Am I adding to the confusion by seeking out more noise and filling my surroundings with what does not honor God? Do I never take time to just be still and let Him speak to me?

I can’t escape the physical audio impulses that come flooding into my head almost continually. I can, however, close my spirit to the messages that block out the more desirable message of God’s truth. To do so I have to install the filters and maintain them. I have to turn up the sound of God’s voice in my head and heart: the oxygen that truly lets my spirit breathe.

Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says… Revelation 3:6

Into the Light

2011-03-02T18:04:00.000-06:00

This year’s rainy season has been extremely rainy. It came late and for a time we wondered if there would really be a rainy season at all. Normally the rains come with increasing frequency starting in November and then peak in January, tapering off in April. Technically we are at the peak of the season, but this peak seems to be a bit taller, steeper, and pointier than those seasonal peaks in recent memory.

The skies hang heavy over Pucallpa most days with little to no sunshine. One may not see the blue of the sky for days at a time. Rains fall intensely in the wee morning hours and then taper off at daybreak. Some days the rain sets in at dawn and keeps up a steady drenching intensity that lasts throughout the day. The runoff finds its way to the creeks which groan under the load of water they must channel to the larger rivers. The volume of water that reaches the main waterways is staggering and occasionally is much more than they can bear. The rivers become monsters of unrelenting power that swell outside their boundaries and become a nightmare to anyone living near the level of their banks. Recently whole communities have lost their homes as the crest of water swept away everything they had and held dear.

Rainy season cloaks the jungle in a mantle of gray, everything dripping with water, the ground saturated and giving less resilience than a dish sponge. Mud is the order of the day and it coats shoes, sidewalks, floors, rugs, car seats; forms the floor of trails and yards, and is the ever-present nuisance that makes everything a little harder to do.

Today Dena and I flew to Lima to take care of some necessary ministry business. We had boarded the plane at 6 AM in the midst of that rainy season muck and downpour. Our flight took us high over the top of the Andes Mountains, far away from the jungle mists. We stepped off the plane into bright sunshine. Lima is on the desert coast of Peru and it never rains there. February is summer and there was not a cloud in the sky. The colorful radiance of everything we beheld seemed to be almost surreal. It was like stepping into a beautiful photograph where everything is bright and perfect.

The experience of this migration from darkness to light was truly interesting. It was as if someone really had turned on the lights. For me it immediately illustrated what happens in a life that comes into a relationship with the Lord Jesus. Where there was only darkness and “rain” the light now shines. Everything that was dismal and depressing now comes into brilliant clarity. Traveling to Lima we had come out of the darkness and gloom and into the glorious light. Jesus, through His shed blood purchased our forgiveness and has brought us into the light of His loving presence.

For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. 2 Corinthians 4:6

Come into the Light. Let Him illuminate the misty gray and dark areas of life!

Ashéninka Team Vision

2011-01-17T06:56:00.000-06:00

A New Year / Anticipated Blessings

2011-01-17T06:43:00.000-06:00

We are now well into 2011 and for us, like for most people, the end of one year and the beginning of another has brought occasion to reflect on the past and to look toward the future. When we came to Peru in 1999 we could never have even begun to guess how life would be and over what path the Lord would lead us. Others on our team came and left and we stayed, praying God would send help, but knowing He had called us to the task of reaching the Ashéninka people. It has been summarily hard, but the richness of the blessing of being where God has called us kept us afloat during many times of stress and doubt. Most was pleasantly adventurous and we saw God do many amazing things, transforming lives, and planting His church.

Now as we look ahead into 2011 we have a better idea of what's in store, but we never really know what's around the next turn in the river. I guess it wouldn't be as fun if we did! We are very thankful that after seven years of laboring in the jungle without another career family alongside, God saw fit to send the Gayheart family to be our coworkers and friends. They are a precious family who are deeply committed to finding and fulfilling God's plan for their lives. They have already cultivated a deep love for the Ashéninka people. This is precious to us as we know that they will love, serve, and labor in this hot, humid, bug-infested vinyard with the same or greater passion. 2011 is going to be sweet; we can't wait to see what our Master will unfold.

We have been amazed in the last year to see how many of the things we have prayed for and worked for are coming to fruit. Ashéninka leaders are "getting it" now and applying themselves to the task of reaching their people. I can't express how gratifying this is and we thank God that He gave the strength to keep our hands to the plow in working this field. Yet we can take no credit. He promised in Galations 6:9 that in due time we would reap if we do not grow weary. We have tried to take Him up on that and now we are seeing the harvest.

So we have launched into another year anticipating more fruit, looking to parts of the vinyard as yet uncultivated, a huge work before our team with lots of work to be done. May God keep us healthy and strong to keep going, proclaiming, loving, and leading until the Savior comes.

The Egg

2010-11-13T17:53:00.001-06:00

I have preached or taught in many churches in many places from Texas to Nigeria, from Oklahoma to Brazil. I have preached to goats and pigs, swatted mosquitoes and sand flies while I taught, and have spoken while toddlers clung to my legs, dogs licked the blisters on my toes and while everyone ran off to see who was arriving in the port below. I've been amazed in each of those situations that God still works and manages to communicate with the hearts of people amid all the distraction.

Sunday morning in Tres Islas Ashéninka community on the Apurucayali River. I thought I was doing OK going through my prepared lesson: a detailed explanation of God's plan of salvation. In the open church building there are no doors to close in order to keep out the dogs or the chickens. No one knew that a certain hen had already "laid" claim to the place. She came in the side door about six feet from where I was standing on the small platform. She came in "full cluck" making herself known to all that she had arrived. It was not readily apparent why she was so determined to get into the corner beneath a stack of unassembled bench parts left there. I gave her a start to get her back out the door and continued my teaching. Mrs. Chicken was not finished. She returned more determined than ever, but with less noise. While someone else was reading a bible verse I decided to take a peek into the corner and there was confirmed my suspicion, she had a clutch of eggs in there on the bare wooden floor.

She eventually won and gained access to her dark corner. Later in the day I wanted to see if she was actually sitting on those eggs since we can always use fresh eggs. I was surprised to see four eggs instead of the three I saw when I originally checked. The lady clucker had deposited another egg while I was speaking. Now in English we have a term that reflects having badly spoken or failed in an effort, so my mind quickly applied it to my situation. In my preaching I had "laid an egg." The chicken was not returning to sit on the eggs so I wondered if the Lord had sent her as a sign, a messenger, to tell me I needed to improve my efforts.

Now I don't know if God speaks to His people through chickens, probably not, though He certainly could, but if it wasn't a pointed reminder to put forth my best for the Lord, it was at least fun to think about Him trying to get my attention through a noisy hen and her eggs. I'm sure I didn't "lay an egg" in my preaching as there was one man who responded to the gospel invitation. I'm not sure where the chicken is this morning, but her eggs are on the breakfast table. Was that fourth egg a letter of warning to me to do better? Maybe not. But breakfast delivery in remote quarters of the jungle isn't a bad thing!

Turning 50

2010-11-13T17:32:00.002-06:00

On October 19, 1960, in West Plains, MO, Darlene Mathis McAnally and Leo Dean McAnally, both Missouri natives, brought into this world a round, bald-headed (but very handsome) baby and named him Marty. On October 19, 2010, Marty (me) celebrated 50 years of life and many years of adventure in the Lord. As often happens the date fell during a time of ministry travels in the jungle. How did I spend my birthday this time?

We had been in the Ashéninka community of Carachama (Kah-rah-CHAH-mah) for several days teaching God's Word and helping the Christians there to clear the ground around their newly constructed church building. October 19 was the set date to move from Carachama to the community of El Milagro (The Miracle). Before we left Carachama, we joined the believers in a worship service followed by a fellowship meal. Afterward we loaded the boat and pushed off for the short trip to El Milagro.

Turning 50 I have pondered the question of how much longer I can keep boating, hiking, and carrying to get to jungle communities. I wake up in the night many times and moan with my back pained from sleeping on a thin mat under a mosquito net and I wonder how many more nights I can do that. I have even called out to the Lord to just yank us out and send us to a place where I can forevermore sleep on a thick mattress under a ceiling fan and step from the bed onto a nice soft rug.

I am becoming more and more dependent on younger people to carry my loads. Many things I no longer attempt because I figure that if I hurt myself I'll be no good to anyone and besides that it's a very long way to medical care. After El Milagro we journeyed to Tres Islas (Three Islands) community where I did attempt to carry the outboard motor up from the river on my shoulders. It's only a 15 HP motor so it weighs only about 80 lbs. and should be no problem. I found my legs to have plenty of strength, but poising it on my shoulder as I marched up the sandy trail toward the hut caused my lower back to strain and I had to pass it off to Quilmer to finish the chore.

The casual onlooker would never know, perhaps, about these compromises in the amount of physical exertion that I do, but I'm aware. A part of the humiliation is having younger missionaries and Ashéninka friends "look out" for me. But there are some benefits to all this as well, not the least of which is fewer back aches. I'm reminded of my own limitations and my utter dependence on the Lord to do this work. It also reminds me that what is most important in this jungle ministry is not who carries the motor or the firewood, but whether God is glorified in everything we do, be it physical work or spiritual ministry. And for every fruit He gives, to God be all the glory!

Roadblocks

2010-09-17T15:45:00.006-05:00

For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways;

They will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. Psalm 91:11-12

We’ve said it over and again that every day in this calling presents a new adventure. Sometimes it’s an adventure as light as watching a toddler throw a tantrum while waiting three hours with his mother in the bank line. Other days it’s the extraordinary and unexpected.

I (Marty) returned from the USA a couple of weeks ago and team mate Michael Gayheart flew from Pucallpa to meet me in Lima. We were to drive the Gayhearts’ truck, our old Land Cruiser, back to Pucallpa across the mountains. As we were loading the truck Dena called from Pucallpa to urgently tell us that the papers indicated the coca growers’ strike was back on and that they were blocking the highway at Aguaytía on the jungle side of the Andes Mountains. We would not be able to make the trip. Michael had flown to Lima for nothing. We hurried to the airline office and bought tickets to fly to Pucallpa that evening. The truck stayed in Lima.

By mid-week the following week, it was clear that the coca growers’ protest was not going to materialize after all. So with much deliberation we bought tickets to return to Lima on Thursday. Back in Lima we loaded the truck and after a few hours of shopping for some needed items, we headed out toward the mountains. The first day’s travel was uneventful and we arrived midway at the city of Huánuco to stay at the home of some missionary friends of the Gayhearts. Next morning we headed out right on schedule. This day’s travel went pretty normally until we came upon some road construction that left us sitting for two hours, losing precious time to be able to get home before nightfall. Passing this we felt we were on the home-stretch.

Eventually we came to the city of Aguaytía where the coca growers had been protesting. Entering the city we saw many signs of the protest: tree trunks on the roadway, round black stains on the asphalt where tires had been burned, and many rocks strewn here and there. However, there were no protesters so we breathed easier. On the other side of the city as we headed out toward Pucallpa, however, we came to burning tires in the road. We had just passed a policeman sitting in his car by the road so I said to Michael, “We have to go back and ask the policeman if there is danger up ahead, it’s his job to know.” So returning to the policeman I asked him if it was safe to go ahead. He said, “Sure, there’s no problem, you can pass right on through.”

We went around the burning tires and began to see many rocks on the road. People were standing around nearby businesses watching us go by as if wondering why we were attempting it. Soon we came to many trucks jumbled up in a standstill waiting on the road to open: there was an obvious road blockage somewhere so we knew the striking was back on. To the sides there were a number of police or military soldiers in camouflage with semi-automatic rifles that were clearing the bluff above the road-cut. We waited to see what would happen, figuring we would have to go back to Aguaytía to wait it out and have to suffer the shame of having acted too quickly after a major protest.

Then something happened. All the soldiers emerged from the woods and nearby businesses and ran to their trucks. The truck drivers all mounted their vehicles and started their engines. The traffic was about to move. As the line of trucks moved out toward Pucallpa, I pulled our vehicle over to one of the commanders of the soldiers and asked if it was safe to go. He assured us that it was but gave no explanation as to what was really happening. So Michael and I fell into the convoy and proceeded with caution, but glad to be going somewhere.

Shortly we passed a point where there were soldiers in the road pointing their rifles at the bluffs and looking very serious behind their sweaty faces and fatigues. Later the soldiers overtook the trucks again and hurried to the next small town where they stationed themselves to protect the convoy as it moved through. And so it went for some 100 kilometers, from town to town, military protection, the soldiers advancing, and the convoy easing cautiously through. In one town called Huipoca (wee-POK-ah), we came to a stop beneath a bluff from which protesters were throwing rocks. They were pelting some trucks ahead of us so we didn’t know whether to advance, wait or go back. Suddenly the rocks started landing closer to us, hitting the truck right in front of us. I yelled at Michael to move away from the window. As the rocks came close I figured that if they were moving our direction, I’d better advance and get past them, so I floored the accelerator and got the old truck moving as quickly as possible. As we passed this zone, two rocks smashed into our vehicle with loud thuds and we quickly put distance between us and protesters.

Thankful to be past that place, we used our frequent stops to wait on delays in the convoy line to check the top of the truck. No dents. Wow! It was as if the Lord had shielded us. I commented to Michael that surely what we heard was the sound of the rocks hitting the hedge of protection set up by the Lord. Later closer inspection would show that there was not a scratch on the truck anywhere!

We eventually left the protest zones behind and were free to cruise on home. It was some time before we came into a cell phone zone where we could call home and tell our wives why we were several hours late. Dena and Crystal had been praying fervently for our protection during the entire ordeal.

Reflecting afterward it was readily apparent to us that the Lord had intervened in our situation to get us home safely. Had we not been delayed by construction we would have arrived long before the military escort arrived. Had the policeman not said to go on through, we might have returned to Aguaytía and waited, not knowing what to do next. Had we arrived a little later, we might have proceeded with no police protection, or we might have turned around. We had arrived just at the right time and been given just the right instructions to get into a convoy of commercial trucks with military protection. God is so good and faithful to us at every turn. He is trustworthy in every situation and we know that the prayers of faithful friends back home are a significant part of the equation.

God’s hand ordering our steps: making major obstacles to be simply daily adventures.
Psalm 37:23 says If the Lord delights in a man’s way, he makes his steps firm. Psalm 85:13 says Righteousness goes before him and prepares the way for his steps.

Through Simple Eyes

2010-05-17T09:26:00.000-05:00

Berta's little half-sister is visiting with us. She's only four. Bernicia has been to our house I think two times before, but only now is she nearly old enough to remember any of it. There are many things she's never seen before because she lives in a hut on a riverbank many miles from any town. All she sees from day to day is the green of the forest and the muddy flow of the river.

The other night we were watching the movie The Blind Side (I highly recommend it) and at three points during the movie Bernicia almost made us forget about the movie as we were more entertained by her!

In the movie the daughter, Collins, appears with her face covered by a mask of bright green cream. Bernicia asked, "What's that?" Dena answered, "It's her food." Bernicia replied in Spanish, "Don't she know how to eat?" Remember this is a four year old who frequently covers her own face with food.

Later at the Thanksgiving table while the family is joining hands to pray, the character Michael opens his eyes and looks around. Bernicia noticed and asked, "Don't he know how to pray?" Ah, Bernicia. Reflecting good training, even at four.

Near the end of the film the football players are tackling and rolling on the grass. Bernicia asked, "Don't it make 'em itch all night?"

Practical questions from simple observations. Cute. Just cute! We should all step back at times and view life with such practical simplicity. Maybe we'd be less stressed.

Small Victories

2010-05-17T08:47:00.000-05:00

Raising a teenager one has to learn to celebrate small victories. Living in the third world you can sometimes become a little frustrated with inconveniences from bad conditions or limited goods and services, not to mention attitudes and practices of the general population. It may be even more so living among a population segment that is not your assigned target group.

Among the possible sources of frustration is the challenge of raising a teen and coaching that teen to be self-sufficient in finding means of keeping himself occupied and entertained when there are truly limited things for him to do. Obviously we don’t want our children to fall into sin and to run with the wrong crowd. We’ve been blessed in that the options for becoming involved in undesirable activities have always been very few for Jacob. While he has a strong personality that can at times be challenging, the only rough spots with him have been right within the four walls of our home.

So I think it appropriate to celebrate and be reminded of how good things really are when small victories come my way. American teens can be difficult to please and demand expensive clothing and toys (computers, iPods, TVs, etc.). They can ask for cars, trips, and cash to hit the town. Jacob asks for (almost) none of these, knowing that to ask would really be futile. When I hand him something that pleases him it’s a relief because often his peace is my peace.

Recently I stopped by a small convenience store (our town has about two and only one has anything I would want) and found some canned Dr. Pepper. Now in Peru that is rare and they charge over a $1 per can as it is imported. I bought several as it is Dena’s favorite soda. At the house I handed one to Jacob and his response with a smile was, “Oh, sweet!”

I had scored. I successfully pleased a 17 year old teenager with a can of Dr. Pepper. What was the victory? That in an age where teenagers are not happy unless they are surrounded by technology and fashion I had a teenager pleased with a simple down-home can of Dr. Pepper. “Yeah, it’s sweet!” God is good!

Called and Trusting

2010-04-02T15:57:00.001-05:00

This week I was sitting in a meeting of “team strategy leaders”(TSLs); IMB missionaries who are in charge of ministry teams among people groups in Ecuador, Peru, and Chile. There were about ten men meeting with our “cluster strategy leader”(CSL), sharing our lives, our woes, of course our ministry strategies, and at times some venting over changes in the IMB. Every one of these men faces the challenge of finding God’s plan for reaching the respective people group to which he’s been assigned. Some of them labor far from the big city, up in the dizzying heights of the Andes Mountains, or, like us, along the twisting waterways of the central rainforests. All of them have families. All of them have feelings and personal needs. I observed that all of them are passionate about their calling.

I heard men share their efforts and their frustrations and their frequent confusion with some changes in procedures and policies in the organization. Some shared how they are being uprooted and having to move to another part of the field to take on a new group with a new strategy; changes they did not anticipate when they dug in where they are now. My heart went out to those who have had to deal with some hardships I haven’t had to deal with or who were left alone in a high distant country to sort out their call and their pathways with no one nearby to help or give encouragement.

Like I said, these are men passionate about their people groups and passionate about the Lord. They are men whose call is real and clear; they are men who will serve wherever God plants them. They are men who, though they don’t understand all the changes being implemented in the IMB, do understand what it means to submit to authority and accept it as God’s blessing in their lives. Not one of them doubts the sincerity of leadership at higher levels and their trust level is high. While they may not always see around the next turn of the river, they are sure that their leaders have a firm grip on the helm, guided by scripture and prayer. While a few tears were shed, the joy within remains, and the smiles of confidence in our Lord and the fruit HE is bearing shone upon their faces.

I’m glad I serve with such men. I’m glad they are supported and helped and blessed by their loving families. I rejoice that while I may not see those guys but once in a blue moon, I know they are there, living the same calling that I am living. May God pour His gracious strength and wisdom into their lives and fill their nets to overflowing.

Map: the countries of South America--part of the America's Affinity--the IMB ministry region that includes all the countries of the Americas.

Parrots

2010-02-17T07:19:00.000-06:00

I truly love parrots. They are one of the Lord’s most amazing and truly delightful creatures. The jungle is absolutely full of them in many sizes and colors. There are the little ones that are more like parakeets which fly in large groups, almost never seem to rest, and whose mouths operate 24/7 with chirps and chatters that at times (only at times) borders on nuisance.

There are the green amazons which are the great talkers in the South American parrot world and whose voices sometimes sound like people in conversation as they fly overhead. There are the little chirpers mentioned above and the larger macaws that always fly in pairs and squaw incessantly as they pass over.

At Pueblo Libre there is a small flock of medium-sized green parrots that likes to stop by the stand of coconut trees next to the house we usually stay in. They chatter in constant conversation and play on the palm fronds, often hanging upside down. As I sit inside the house I listen to them, fascinated by the variety of sounds they emit, wondering how they can use that noisy voice to imitate human speech.

Then I step outside to get a look at them in all of their bright green splendor. They continue to chatter for a moment, then one or two of them notices me. There’s an escalation in the noise level and suddenly the whole bunch of them rises in flaps and yaks and swirls away from the palms, only to return when their human threat has gone.

How like people they are. People who carry on oblivious to the Lord’s listening ear, who enjoy the free play of worldly life. When the Master steps into view, either through the voice of His servants or the convicting truth of His word, those who desire to hide themselves raise the noise level to shut out the truth, or make haste to run for cover.

The parrots flee in ignorance. People flee from God in foolishness. They flee from the One who wants to bless them and give them more satisfaction than their present life can give. May the Lord help us to do neither, but rather wait on Him to see how He will touch and bless and change our lives for the better.

Ant Food

2010-02-16T16:37:00.000-06:00

While in the Ashéninka village of Pueblo Libre I slept for a few nights in our well used Coleman tent that Quilmer and Jonathan had very thoughtfully put up for me while I was en route. They had arrived a week or so before. The tent is built for four people and I was only one person so there was more than ample space for me to fling my belongings about with reckless abandon.
On one of those nights I opened and ate a bag of “Torti Frits” corn ships (one of the local answers to taco flavored Fritos, but which pales in comparison). While studying I laid the bag of remaining crumbs aside and later went to sleep. About 12:40 AM I awakened and kept feeling little sensations of movement on the skin of my arms and my face. I slapped at them and found that I had a few ants on my person.
Turning on my light I found that I had more than a few visitors. In fact my whole pillow was covered with black ants which meant I was lying on my face in the middle of them. My sleeping bag under me was also quite populated and on the floor, streaming to and from my little corn chip bag were many dozens of the critters.
I jumped up and grabbed my repellent and started discouraging them as I also killed as many as I could with toilet paper in my hand. I thought I was managing until I decided to look under my pile of clothing. To my horror I found no less than a thousand of the six-legged beasts congregated for no apparent reason under my pants and underwear (on the tent floor, not on me) and that the whole convention had streamed in from a small hole in the floor. I quickly dispelled the mass of the Hymenopterans (Hymenopterids???) with repellent and they began to organize for a hasty retreat the way they had come in. In minutes the rascals had made their way back to wherever they came from ( at the time I was sure they had come from and returned to the underworld—at least they came from under the house.
I went back to sleep that morning keenly aware of the stragglers who couldn’t find the hole in the floor and who might just like to sink their little jaws into my skin. So much for peaceful sleep in the jungle!
It makes me think about how our enemy, the devil, can set loose his strategies upon us while we “sleep”. We think all is well while the armies of darkness are marching against us. We allow holes to form in our spiritual protection and in they come and are soon scurrying all over us with temptation and sin, and our spiritual condition sinks lower and lower. When finally we awaken we are shocked that so much has gone wrong.
Lord keep us spiritually awake so that we may truly rest in You!

Who Turned Out the Lights??

2009-12-13T20:15:00.004-06:00

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

2009-11-27T15:00:00.002-06:00

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

2009-10-09T16:07:00.000-05:00

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

2009-09-23T08:58:00.001-05:00

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

2009-09-10T16:20:00.000-05:00

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!

2009-08-20T15:58:00.000-05:00

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

2009-08-13T20:38:00.000-05:00

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

2009-08-11T19:07:00.000-05:00

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

2009-08-08T15:51:00.000-05:00

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

2009-07-31T16:53:00.000-05:00

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

2009-07-27T15:47:00.000-05:00

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