Our Last Service: Fuzzy Llamas & General Sappiness

It’s amazing to me how, while so many people have a distaste for public speaking, when you get down to actually doing it, your time feels so limited.

Flying like eagles with my kid's class in Monte Sion. 

For example, when someone tells you, “Melissa, can you share a 10 minute testimony about your year in Peru?” it feels like an impossible feat. Oh yes—let me just cram 525,600 minutes into 600 seconds, no big deal. All the same, this was what that lay ahead of me not just once, but twice last weekend—and here’s how it went down.  

Our last night in Monte Sion was bitter-sweet. We started the night with our kid’s classes, Katrina teaching the kids under eight years old, and myself teaching the kids ages 8-13. My last few classes in Monte Sion have been nothing short of free-for-all—angry teacher voice included; however, Saturday’s class went more smoothly than any other class this month. We talked about the scripture that says, “They will soar on wings like eagles” and we spent the class making eagles out of the hand prints

of our classmates.

With Gaby and Shirley. 

When time ran out, we took some pictures to commemorate our time together and it was time to say goodbye to some of the wonderful children that give the Monte Sion congregation such life. Perhaps the most challenging goodbye was with Gaby, an 11 year old who is ridiculously helpful, sweet, patient and understanding. I was sad to see that Aner, one of my favorite boy students, couldn’t make it; class is generally easier without Aner’s mischievousness, but there’s never quite as much life without him. Luckily, I did see him for Friday’s English class—so our last memory together can be him proudly saying, “Hola LOSER!” after we learned soccer-related words.

After our goodybes with the little ones, we started the church service. Gladys, who was presiding, allowed some time for farewell testimonies from congregation members, and of course, Katrina and myself. It was touching to see how many people came out for the farewell—nearly everyone we’d met in the congregation came out to say goodbye. And it was humbling to hear some of their words—commending us for spending a year away from home and calling us “patient” (something I have perhaps never in my life been called.)

Thanks for the memories, Monte Sion! 

When it came time for Katrina and I to talk, we took different approaches. Katrina talked about some specific memories we’d shared with the congregation—namely, Día Del Niño, painting and singing in the soccer field located just outside the church. I chose to go with a metaphor (shocking, right?) talking about how one year can be such a short moment in our lives—like the 15 minute break in the middle of a World Cup soccer game—but it can change how you approach the other half of the game. Both of us ended our testimonies with a mountain of thanks—for their patience, for the attendance, for their encouragement and spirit, and then came the hugs, tears and pictures.

And—just like that—a year of Friday and Saturday nights in Monte Sion ended and what we’ve known as our weekly rituals and routines, changed. Thus, Sunday was upon us and with it our last church service in Fildadelfia. We made the event an all-day affair, heading to Prudencio’s house at 11 a.m. to make a pisco cake and watch a bit of the World Cup with the family. Around 2 p.m. we had our traditional “special event at Prudencio’s house” lunch, which includes barbecued chicken and beef, Peru’s special corn “choclo”, and potatoes drenched in Livia’s famous delicious creams and sauces. On principle, we all ate until we were miserably full.

Sharing our testimonies in Filadelfia. 

Eventually 5 p.m. was upon us and we shared in one last church service with the family. I spent most of the service really trying to enjoy some of my favorite things about church in Peru—specifically my favorite Spanish hymns. The service wrapped up quickly, then afterwards we held a separate event for our goodbyes. A few select congregation members shared testimonies, including some especially touching words from our host sister, Karen. Then Jhonny, the pastor in Filadelfia, gave us some going away presents that fantastically represented Peru—big fuzzy llamas and snow hats.

Before we knew it, it was time for Katrina and I to once more attempt to address an amazing year of our life in just ten minutes. This time around, Katrina and I both mentioned specific moments we’d loved with our Peruvian family—from watching Prudencio (who can’t swim) wade out into the deep waters of the Pacific Ocean, to our host family having nightly conversations with Tommy the cat.

With our fantastic presents. 

Then, once again, it was time for the singing, the hugging, and the pictures and like that—our last service in Filadelfia was over. We hugged and said some goodbyes, thankful that we have a going away party planned for Thursday night so that these wouldn’t have to be our very last ones.

And—with that what can I say?

I guess the best way I have to describe things is that metaphor that I used in Monte Sion. If life is a big soccer game, and my trip to Peru is my one year break in things, I can say that I don’t think I was going into the half with the lead. I went into the half tired, cramping and a little disheartened with the score board. So was Peru some big motivational speech from the coach in the locker room? Not necessarily. It was more like it was just sitting in silence with my teammates, knowing they were there with me, and taking a moment to breathe and remember what we came here for.

We simply have too many memories with Wilfredo to count.

I think if the World Cup has taught me anything, it’s that you can’t go into the World Cup honestly expecting your team to win it all—for Pete’s sake, there are more than 7 billion people in this world, and you think those nine players on the field are the absolute best of all of them? And, even if they were, is life really that predictable? No. But—what you can expect is the electricity of playing the game of being involved in something bigger than yourself. And I think we got a reminder of that during our time in Peru.

At times, I’m scared of coming home to the United States. Because in Peru, everything you do is important, because you only have one year to do it, and you’re doing it in another country. World Service Corps has been like having the chance to live like you’re dying—with the benefit of not actually having to die at the end of it (thank goodness.)

Thanks for the memories, Filadelfia! 

But more than all of that, I have to make clear that while our time in Peru was a bit of a novelty, it never felt like it was just a novelty. From day one, the people here have made us feel at home and that we’re not just these weirdos that turned up on their doorstep (which, in fact, we are.) I was talking to a friend from home the other day and he told me that the life of someone who loves to travel is hard, because you’re always somehow wishing that you’re somewhere that you’re not. I don’t know that I completely agree with that statement—but I can say that after this year I do have two sets of families. I have my American father, mother, sister, brother-in-law, etc. and I have my Peruvian version. 

And that’s the dangerous thing about going out and doing something like World Service Corps—it’s that you’ve now developed ANOTHER split in your personality and both of your multiple personalities can never be fully satisfied at once. This is particularly interesting for me, because I already have about 17 personalities.  I am now a journalist AND a teacher. I’m a Christian AND a sloppy disaster. I’m a health nut that likes to eat peanut butter in massive quantities.  I enjoy close, intimate connections with others and I’m completely horrified of romantic relationships. And now—I’m an American and a Peruvian. I don’t really understand how there is space for all of that inside of me, but maybe that’s why I’ve been gaining weight lately…or that could go back to the peanut butter thing.

Our fantastic host family: Karen, Jhonny, Graciela & Rocio. 

Regardless my friends—that is where I stand. One more personality to tally up, a year of memories and all rested up, ready to take the field for the second half. I have no better way of explaining it—at least not at the moment.

I'll try to post  again before we leave Peru, because, frankly, I don’t know if we will have time or the internet access to make blog posts from Honduras; but also because we ARE doing some cool things this week—running along the Pacific Ocean, eating ceviche, and, of course, watching the USA v. Germany game with Wilfredo. Entonces—hasta luego.