Same time zone. Six hours and 3,134 miles south, and I may be behind the bricks in the street by OSA house. Operación San Andres. My first trip to Peru was fifteen years ago, a spiritual trip for a secular reasons. Our church was part of a group taking shoes to orphans in Lima. The middle of the week included a trip to Machu Pichu – my drawing card. I taught World History and this was on my I want to have been there list. Other than an altitude headache, walking in ancient trails along with llamas was all I wished for, not so much with digging out shoes to fit a child and then playing games.
Meanwhile, a medical group also from my church had gone the same time the first year as I to an area up in the hills from Lima. I don’t do bandaids without twisting them and have no dental or eye training. However, they needed a peanut butter sandwich maker to keep the professional people healthy. Did I ever have experience in that! Every October since then I’ve come, and lately I’ve added the April trip. This is my spiritual center I am called to. I’ve shared morning prayers with the mothers who cook for the children who come to the center. I’ve organized time and counted sandwiches, so various groups can eat in sequence with enough to go around. Each afternoon I check supplies and plan a replenish order. Sometimes I even go help with the children, counting on a smile to make up for words I don’t know. The southern questions are “Where are you from?” “Who are your people?” To the first, even after fifty plus years in Texas, I reply, “South Louisiana.” If a native of Collique asked me the second question, I would have to say, “You are.”
We will all sit at the table as family, and there is a place for everyone.
Let Me Tell Ya 