Volunteering Day #1

Scanning the street, I located a parking spot and pulled next to the curb. Swallowing my fear, I double-checked the address I was given, and stepped onto the sidewalk. It smelled weird: a odd mix of curry and spices foreign to me. My arrival was obviously a object of curiosity, as numerous doors opened and several people stepped out to watch me walk by. I smiled, trying to look like I knew just what I was doing there - even though that was far from the truth!

I found the Nepali family's apartment without any trouble, and before I even knocked on the door, it flew open and a smiling, cheerful Nepali girl motioned for me to come in.  She shut the door behind me, and we proceed to greet one another - though she speaks very little English, and I speak absolutely no Nepali. Her sister, a older, much more traditional Nepali lady, stands and greets me in the traditional manner - hands together, slightly bowing,"namaste". She speaks no English, and is illiterate even in her own language.

So far, so good. I kept glancing at my cell phone, hoping that any minute now, my American contact (who knew this family) would arrive. She promised to be here! This is terrifying! These people speak no English, we cannot communicate, and worst yet, there is a continual stream of brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts, all coming to see the new English tutor - me. Terror fills my heart. Another round of greetings!

I finally gave up on the hope of having another American around, and just threw myself into the situation. "So ... do you like living in America?" My attempt at conversation was met with that all-too-familiar look. Okay, better try again.

Thankfully, after the initial feeling of fear of not being able to communicate, the three girls whom I was assigned to teach arrived home from school. The two youngest immediately climbed up on the couch next to me, and begin to whisper to each other, giggling.

The girls have obviously been very diligent at school. They can read fairly well. "e-l-e-p-h-a-n-t...says ephelant? Yes?" At my uncertain look, she scoots closer. "How you say?" She puts her dark hand on my arm, questioning. I notice for the first time the henna drawings on her hands and arms. Her trust and love for me, a perfect stranger, warms my heart. We sound out the word together, and she so painstakingly tries to imitate just how I pronounce it.

All too quickly, we're through all of their homework. These girls are incredible - they've adapted to their new culture so well, and so bravely! I find myself not wanting to leave. I love these girls; I love this family. I think ... well ... this cross-cultural thing isn't as scary as I thought!

Walking out their door and onto the sidewalk again, I suddenly feel like these people aren't just refugees anymore. They're friends.  And I can't wait to go back again!

Maybe you caught it already, but the above is my experience as a volunteer English/homework tutor. It's scary, and uncomfortable, and stretching - but the rewards are so worth the effort! And in case you wondered, I'm not working in a foreign country; the family I work with lives within 15 minutes of my home town. 

Encounter with Uncontacted Peruvian Tribe

First thing this morning, I heard about a tribe by the name of Mascho-Piro, living within the Manu National park in Peru. They are totally untouched - every time outsiders attempted to make contact with the tribe, they were either unsuccessful, or were killed. Of course there's the fascination of realizing that there's people out there who are totally removed from the life that I know; that there's people living without technology, and the basic things that I take for granted.
But worst than all of that ... they're living without Jesus.  And they don't know it.
One man, Nicolás "Shaco" Flores, was able to make meaningful contact with the tribe. He befriended them and learned to speak their language. Many others have attempted to communicate, but no one was able as this man was.
Nicolás "Shaco" Flores was shot by a arrow on the outskirts of the Manu National Park, in November, by the tribe he wanted to befriend.


So, I guess the purpose of my writing this is clear: I hope above hope that many of you who read this will pray for the Mascho-Piro tribe. They have very little hope of being reached by the Gospel. Due to their evident desire to be left alone by outsiders, the Peruvian government is trying very hard to keep others from invading into their territory. Their tribe fears outsiders, and outsiders fear them. And there is no one who speaks their language, who has made any meaningful contact with them.

It reminds me of the Auca tribe so many years ago, before Jim Elliot and his four fellow missionaries were willing to risk everything for their salvation.  I'm praying for this tribe ... that God would send someone who is fearless. And that someday, JESUS would shine from the Mascho-Piro!