We call them pets; they call them dinner. Who knew a guinea pig had so many uses?! Flattened fried cuy is a Peruvian delicacy and always a possibility for microenterprise.

On a different subject, tonight was the first time since before Mom came that I got to see "the family." I've been leaving at 8 am for class and not coming home until after dinner (9-10 pm). Tim says Abuelita has been asking for me, and to be honest, I've been missing her, too. Not sure what we're going to do when we move. Maybe we ought to try to hide her in a suitcase.

Here's a fisherman we saw on the beach in Puerto Supe over the weekend. I can't help but think of the apostle Peter (who also happens to be the patron saint of fishermen and thus an important character around town). We are eager to follow Jesus in Puerto Supe and be fishermen in our own way. Pray that God would be preparing work for us there and hearts willing to seek Him with us, perhaps some for the first time.

My (Tim's) grandmother, Emilie Mitchell, died this morning. She would have turned 90 this May. She's had Alzheimer’s for a long time and spent this last year or so in a rest home. A week ago she stopped eating and they couldn't get her to wake up/stay awake so she was admitted to the ICU. The doctors spent the week trying to stabilize her but she was so weak that as soon as they stabilized one thing, something else seemed to be off balance. Finally this morning she passed away from respiratory failure.

Although I expected this to happen while we were here in Peru, I didn’t expect it so soon. I haven’t spent much time around her since I was a kid but I always remember her as a pleasant, peaceful and happy person. I think the combination of not seeing much since we moved to North Carolina (when I was 10) and being so far away makes this all a little confusing. It’s also a reminder that when we return to the States it really won’t be the same as when we left.

Please pray for my mom and her siblings as they deal with all the preparations and travel to St. Louis for the funeral. Also pray that God may show me how I can best encourage them from here. Also I haven't had to deal with many funerals and I'm still not sure how to handle that, I guess somethings you don't learn or figure out, they only come with experience.


p.s. If I got any of the details wrong, please let me know.

Mom and I are back in Arequipa after traveling around Lima and Puerto. More about that later, including photos. We had a good time but are glad to be "home."

Tonight after we checked into Mom's hotel room, we walked down to the Plaza de Armas (a couple of blocks) to see the sights. On the steps of the cathedral were some men and women holding candles and making speeches into a microphone. They had banners referring to a hunger strike. I talked to some of the women for a while to get the story. Apparently a group of 170 young people from all over the country (20 from Arequipa) were imprisoned 3 years ago because of the demands they were making for human rights in Peru. They have never been sentenced or had a trial. These were the mothers, wives, neighbors, and friends, who for a week have been on a hunger strike demanding justice.

The truth is that I don't understand politics in Latin America very well, so I am hesitant to form convictions or take sides. Instead, as I talked to these women and heard their stories, I realized how much I wanted to offer them respect and dignity. They told me that they had been on the steps for several nights and no government authorities or (Catholic) church representatives had come to talk to them. I wonder if anyone really has come to talk to them or if people just continue passing by ignoring their cries.

Tonight I found such joy in being with them, sitting on the steps with them, looking right into their eyes and seeing their appreciation that someone cared, asking them questions, hearing the names of their loved ones. At the end I told them that I did want to give them some money (they had a box out) but that I would also love to pray with them if they were willing. They smiled, agreed with me that God's help would mean more than mine, and bowed their heads as I offered in my limited "prayer Spanish" what I could. Their appreciation afterward was liberal, but I wonder if those moments of solidarity perhaps touched me even more than them.

We are here to do something, but we are also here to be. My mom calls this "the ministry of presence." I hope it continues to touch and transform the lives of those around me as it is touching and transforming mine.

Thanks for your prayers! Mom and I (and all our luggage) are safe and sound in Lima. We are having a great time and buying you lots of presents (probably just kidding on that one). I picked her up at 5:30 am and after a long nap, we made our way to the Monasterio de San Francisco. I never have been all that impressed by Lima and wasn't expecting much. Boy was I surprised.

Most of what we saw was a beautiful monastery, much like some of the religious architecture in the south of Spain really. While I enjoyed that tremendously, the surprise was in the catacombs. I have never seen something so creepy in all my life. The larger bones of the 70,000 some people burried there are all that are left- no more coffins or much body really- and are arranged in patterns throughout the catacombs. Apparently this was the decision of the curator. Weird.

Tim is continuing on (lonely) with his classes in Arequipa while I am practicing my Spanish in cabs, restaurants and tourist destinations around here. Mom and I will visit Puerto Supe on Saturday and then return to Arequipa on Sunday so that I can hit the books again.

Tim just called with a fascinating eyewitness report. A few minutes after his language school class started today, another teacher came running into the running yelling something in Spanish. The only part Tim understood was "three thieves and a taxi." His teacher (Julio, our host dad) went running downstairs and out the door only to see his VW bug missing a tire and a taxi driving off very quickly.

We have heard similar stories before. In fact, I heard just this morning that there were an unusual amount of robberies/attacks last night in town. I never know whether people here are paranoid or smart. Their advice usually seems a little overdone to me.

At this point I guess we have to admit that there is some danger. If you get a chance, pray for my trip to Lima this afternoon. First, I need prayer that I will actually make it (weather issues). Another family at the language school just returned from Lima after having to try 10 times. Two of the flights came all the way to Arequipa and had to turn back because they couldn't land. Second, pray for my safety when I am alone in Lima (just tonight) and when Mom and I are together. I am remembering our almost-mugging when Tim and I were on our way to Argentina. I'd really rather avoid that this go round.

Tim says he will post a better photo of the exciting tire robbery when he gets home tonight. Until then, you'll have to manage with this one.

Last night Hannah and I went out on a date before she leaves me for a few days to pick meet her mom in Lima. As we were walking to the center of town to get a taxi, we passed a boy holding a bag of candy, sitting in front of a door crying.

A quick background (well it was supposed to be). I am hounded by children trying to sell me candy between 5-10 times a day. They will approach you hundreds of different ways, follow you and anything else they can think of to get you to buy candy. I still haven't bought any because, besides chocolate, I don't really like candy. Lately I have been asking several Peruvians (taxi drivers, people in the combis, at restaurants and the Peruvians we know) and they tend to say if you want to buy some, buy some. If not, don't. I could happily live with this except in the process I found out more about the process.

Apparently it's usually the parents who send the kids out to sell the candy for them (which I had guessed) but where everything gets messy is that I've heard a couple times that some parents will beat the kid if they don't return with 10-15 soles ($3-$5). But is the beating so out of line when kids get beaten in this culture as standard form of punishment for any little thing?

In general I really don't like begging but even more so I hate the idea that this kid's parents are sending him out to make money for them, with physical abuse as the motivation, and I don't want to support that kind of system. I also hate the fact that when a taxi, candy seller, restaurant hostess or whoever else might be selling something sees me they come running because I'm white and don't want to encourage this stereotype. I've reached a place with taxis that when they quote me too high of a price I won't bargain because an additional 30-50 cents from me could mean a 10% increase in income that day for the cab driver. But I still don't know what to do with the candy kids.

So as I walked by this particular boy I realized that there were hundreds of thoughts and feelings related to begging and money here that I just don't have a nice little category to put them in. Was this boy crying as a manipulation to get people to stop and buy candy? Was he crying because he hadn't sold enough and was about to get beaten? Was he crying because he had already been beaten and was sent back out until he made enough? Or did the crying have nothing to do with selling candy?

The rest of the night and this morning I haven't been able to shake this. I didn't stop, I didn't give him money. Two dollars couldn't have changed the system, but could it have allowed this boy to wake up today without any bruises? And is that enough? If so, just how many kids do I buy candy from? And does it matter if I am just getting scammed?

Cold showers, bad food, rain, clouds, no privacy, bad lighting, those are the easy parts of living here. This boy is where everything falls apart.

Thanks for all the encouragement regarding the hair disaster (although I noticed that no email or comment said it looked fine). I am still debating what to do, really. This morning I started studying humility, the 8th fruit of the Spirit. The timing seems too perfect to discount the possibility that the haircut is somehow related.

On another note, I have so enjoyed my classes with Miriam these last two days. In general, she has been a tremendous blessing to us since we arrived in November. She is full of compassion and wisdom, gentleness and respect. She has the kind of heart that is eager to invite everyone she meets over to tea. In the last week I have realized what a mentor she has been to me- the kind I have prayed for since I left college and never really found. It makes me a little sad that we won't be here longer, but at the same time, I am grateful for such a gift during this difficult time of transition and adjustment.

PS Lula (the housekeeper) just asked Tim how far Puerto Supe is from here. She says she might like to come visit us on her vacation. How fun! Just thinking about giving her the royal treatment at our house makes me giddy. How I long to exercise hospitality....

As Anne of Green Gables would say...

Saturday night, in the middle of a coliseum full of people, I was overcome with a loneliness I had not experienced before. I began thinking of home and wondered what in the world I’m doing here anyway. All of the sudden I felt a strange and previously unknown wave of doubt regarding our calling and purpose. I started to think to myself, “Nothing will come of our time in Puerto Supe anyway. God won’t do anything with or through us.” By the next morning, my fears went global. Is God real anyway? When the Bible and the world around me don’t seem to align, which will I believe?

In the midst of my doubt, I looked to the Bible anyway. To whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, Lord. I read in 2 Kings 6 of a time when the prophet Elisha was surrounded by enemies (sent to impede his powerful work) and his servant was scared. Elisha prayed that the Lord would open the servant’s eyes, and all of the sudden the servant saw the armies of God filling the hills around them. Which will I believe: the weakness I see or the strength I don’t?

But what if the story is just a myth? My faith was fading fast and I didn’t know where to go. I ended up in Romans 10:17: Faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the word of Christ. As I started to think about Christ, I turned a significant corner. Doubt only goes so far. I am absolutely convinced, on the other hand, of the historical truths about the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. And if everything I know about Him is true, the rest of the pieces start to fall into place.

Our pastor Pedro preached on Sunday morning that what matters about faith is not how much we have but in whom we have it, not how much I trust the chair to hold my weight, but how sturdy the chair anyway. The Lord is faithful, certain, true. He is not shaken by my doubts. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. As far as my doubts take me, He is with me. If I go up to the heavens, He is there; if I make my bed in the depths, He is there.

I spent Sunday afternoon searching the Scriptures, praying fervently, begging God to bring me home from this nightmare of sudden doubt. I saw clearly what some will never believe, that I was being attacked by Satan. The beautiful part is that as the Father of Lies was whispering fears into my heart, God was watching me come through the fire purified. It does not seem ironic to me now that all of this happened in the middle of my week studying the faithfulness of God or the night before Pedro’s sermon on faith. The Lord allowed this to happen when He knew I would have the resources to fight back.

I think I am on the other side of the danger, but I expect to come out not surviving but victorious. Hebrews 11 tells the stories of men and women “who through faith, conquered kingdoms… shut the mouths of lions… whose weakness was turned to strength, and who became powerful in battle and routed foreign armies.” I am still fighting, waiting to be added to the list of overcomers. I will conquer the kingdom of darkness as it attempts to conquer me. I will shut the mouth of Satan, the roaring lion seeking to devour me with his lies. I will let the Lord turn my weakness into strength. I will walk the road that makes of me a fighter, powerful in battle. As I fight back, I know it isn’t my faith but his reliability that sustains me. His faithfulness will be my shield.

I made my Abuelita a scarf of Debbie Bliss Alpaca Silk. She is always cold (usually wearing 2 or 3 sweaters at once) and after last week's frigid weather, I thought she might like it. I wrapped it up and gave it to her when I ran into her (not literally) in the kitchen. She smiled, laughed, and thanked me, but she didn't open it. I was a little disappointed because I worked on it all week and thought it was just about beautiful. She disappeared to her room for a while and when she came down she was wearing the scarf and grinning. She thanked me, gave me a big hug, and gave me a present in return (a leather coin purse that her friend made).

I asked Lula if this not opening presents in public was normal or just Abuelita, who has her own fair share of idiosyncracies. Lula said it was normal. I might ask a few more people just to make sure, because you can't very well base your understanding of a culture on what 1 or 2 people say. I bet it's true, though.

I saw the sun this morning for the first time since Argentina! After my class I came home and read a book on the roof. It quickly turned into a lovely nap.

I found out last night that next week I will have a new teacher for language school: Miriam, my host mom. I'm looking forward to the change and hope that it will help me grow in my conversational skills. For homework I will be reading a book on being a positive wife (she picked this out), and during class time we will discuss the book and new vocabulary I learned.

She says also that we will pray together each day. The idea of "practicing" praying sounds a little silly, but you just wouldn't believe how hard it is for me to pray out loud in Spanish. So far, I'm just not used to the phrases and so it ends up being more language work than prayer. Hopefully I will grow more comfortable through this new class. The fact that I feel completely comfortable with Miriam helps.

Happy weekend!

God is closed for lunch. I went to four separate churches just now in an attempt to find a quiet space to read and pray. No luck. I think they open back up at three, so I might try again. I just finished reading about the Christian contemplative tradition in my Foster book. He offers three sugestions for incorporating the wisdom of the mystics into modern devotional life. The first is to experiment with varied venues for solitude. That's what I was attempting to do this morning.

The second suggestion is to pray through Scriptures. I'm 6.5 hours into this practice and finding a treasure I never imagined. As I have been studying the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22), I have been memorizing 5 verses related to each: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, and goodness (still to come: faithfulness, humility, and self-control). This morning I got out my knitting and stitch by stitch prayed those verses. For example, from Colossians 3:12-13, Lord, thank you for chosing me for a life I could never make for myself. By your Spirit, clothe me in your character. Grow in me the patience, goodness, and humility to forgive those who offend me as you forgave and continue forgiving me: completely. Oh, how good He is! Those prayers that so encouraged me this morning carried me through my time this morning with a person I am struggling to tolerate, love, respect (don't worry, not Tim). Every time I bristled at his words, I came back to those prayers.

The third suggestion is to take some time out of our hectic days for "holy leisure": a nap, time with a friend discussing nothing important, a walk not for exercise or to get somewhere but for the pleasure of it, a bath instead of a shower.... "Waste time for God," says Foster. I'm looking forward to trying that one.

On a totally different topic, I think you should know that there are alpacas grazing in the yard of the university. They have been there for a while, and the rumor is that they are part of some biology or agriculture study. Regardless, I enjoy watching them on my morning bus ride. They remind me of how fun Peru is.

Here's a quick glimpse of what it looks like outside right now.

On a more upbeat note, this week I've begun to feel that I will be able to speak Spanish. I've had or been a part of several conversations where I understood almost everything and those ideas/words that I didn't understand, someone was able to explain their meaning to me in Spanish! It seems that when I'm talking to someone one-on-one I'm able to comunicate about most anything around or about us. I think Buenos Aires gave me a chance to step back and absorb what I've learned and I've been suprised at just how far I've come.

Today I did run into a bit of trouble when one of my teachers asked my the question, "What do I think God wants me to do with my life?" I realized as I started to respond to this question, that I still can't speak or comprehend opinions and intangible ideas very well. Fortunately I've just started my last section of grammar, subjunctive, which is specifically used for such things. So hopefully after my 3 last weeks of grammar class I'll be able to comunicate about anything (although I still will need some more time to practice here in Arequipa).

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?

Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter- when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard. Then you will call, and the LORD will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.

If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.

The LORD will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.

Isaiah 58:6-11

This was my first blog post. I wrote it (well, posted it at least) last March when we were praying about coming to Peru but didn't know yet if it was going to happen. I spent some time thinking about this passage again today and was overcome by both its directives and its promises. Isn't the heart of God beautiful?

Despite all the mess in the world, I think this is the desire of most of us-- to be agents of compassion and restoration, to work justice, to spend ourselves on the behalf of others. And on top of that, we want the return- healing, light, glory, guidance, satisfaction. We want so deeply to be a well-watered garden and a spring whose waters never fail. Instead of shrinking in intimidation before the task, I think I'll choose something, just one little thing, to do today.

What to do on (another) rainy cold afternoon in Arequipa:

1. Bake pies. We did this yesterday. Next on the agenda are Secret Kiss Cookies since Mom sent Hershey's kisses.

2. Clean up your room. How many times a day do I do this? Tim says it's because we live in one room so it's always getting messy. Also because I have nothing else to exert my control over.

3. Play Bananagrams. You can do this with lots of people and since there is actually minimal interaction, everyone can play it in their own language. The languages of choice in this house are Spanish, English, and German.

4. Sit at the table at lunch for an extra long time to try to get in the most cultural learning and social time as possible. Apart from meals, people don't seem to spend time together in this house.

5. Watch movies. Tim is still not too keen on Anne. Last night after our "party" we watched his favorite movie with the family: Wag the Dog.

6. Work on creating a Flash website for Puerto Supe. As you can imagine, I have not been participating in this activity.

7. Read. Currently on my bedside table are Streams of Living Water (Richard Foster) and La suma de los dias (Isabel Allende). Tim is working on Surprised by Joy (C.S. Lewis autobiography).

8. Take a nap. Did this today, first in the cell phone office waiting 1 hr to talk to someone about replacing my lost cell phone, then in my bed when I got home.

9. Once awake, stay under the covers anyway. It's cold!

10. Type on your new old typewriter, another Christmas gift. Again, this one does not so much pertain to me.

PS If you need to use the bathroom, there's plenty of good toilet paper.

We had a party to encourage Lula tonight- a "We love you, Lulita" poster signed by all 13 of us plus two dogs, a mango pie, an apple pie, mulled wine, hot chocolate, a shawl I made for her, and 14 people around the table! It was good to see her smiles and tears and to know that she saw in us the love that God has for her. I gave her a notecard with Zephaniah 3:17 written on it. In case you need some encouragement, too...

Do not fear, O Zion; do not let your hands hang limp. The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.

It's cold here! 57 with a high of 62 (we don't believe them). And of course rain every afternoon. The problem is not so much the 57 as the fact that it's 57 inside as well. Right now I'm wearing a cashmere turtleneck, a sherpa lined sweatshirt and a blanket. There is no insulation, no heat, no fireplace. In fact, I'd almost say it's a little colder inside than out. This is going to take some getting used to, although the idea of getting used to this makes me a little sad. So it's cold and perpetually gloomy. Pray for us.

This morning we joined the worship team at church for the first time. Tim says he didn't have a clue what was going on. He spent the practice time trying to figure out the songs (no music) and hearing them for the first time. I felt more or less comfortable on the violin. I really enjoy the rhythms and styles of music here. On Friday, I was also invited to play in a wedding Feb. 9. To be honest, I just don't like playing in weddings, but it's always hard to say no to your friends. This isn't my friend per se, but I thought I shouldn't pass up the opportunity for the cultural experience.

We saw Fred Claus (El Hermano de Santa) last night with the family. It was a little strange watching a Christmas movie (at the theater) in the middle of January, and the dubbed version of Vince Vaughan didn't quite cut it for me. Still, it's always fun to go to the movies, and we love doing anything with the O'Briens when we get a chance. Particularly because we generally fit at least 7 people into Julio's VW bug to get there.

It is good to be home. Our vacation was much needed, especially for Tim, but I am glad to be back in a place where I have something more to think about than where we will eat dinner. My time reading the Bible and praying has been rich, and I sense God drawing me in closer and closer to a life that is really life.

It’s Saturday morning and Tim is off playing soccer, so I decided to lie around in bed knitting and watching Anne of Green Gables. As you probably know, it is the story of an orphan girl, alone and unloved, who is invited into a new reality- a family first and foremost, but also a beautiful life of friendship and learning and precious surprises on Canada’s breathtaking Prince Edward Island.

As I watched, I was caught up in the joy of the place and saw also how it is my story. I was once separated from real living by my rejection of God’s rule and love in my life. Yet to all who received him to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God. John 1:12 Somehow, through the miraculous sacrifice of Jesus, I am brought now into a new reality, a new family, a new and breathtaking place. How great is the love the Father has lavished upon us, that we should be called children of God! 1 John 3:1

As I later sat in the kitchen drinking fresh strawberry juice and eating fresh bread with dulce de leche, I just enjoyed the sunshine (a rarity these days) and the sense of being in the right place. This is my Green Gables. Miriam soon joined me and informed me that this week Lula will be living here with us. What a beautiful moment to hear that news. I am excited to have her here, to have the opportunity to spend time with her when she’s not working and to be able to love and comfort her during this season of suffering. I’m excited too to share hot chocolate and Anne of Green Gables with her. I think she is a kindred spirit.

Today I finished a week studying patience as a fruit of the Spirit. I joked (sort of) with Tim beforehand that I was looking forward to the "answer." It's really fascinating how much impatience Latin America has revealed in me. Everywhere I go, there is waiting.

In the video I watched today, Beth Moore mentioned that our culture is teaching us impatience at a time when we desperately need patience. In that moment it occurred to me that Peru is an exception to that generalization. Beth said, "We don't even know what waiting means." Oh, believe me, I know. 9 hours in the cell phone store, for example. I began to see today that the Lord is using this culture to teach me the very thing I am lacking. No, the process isn't easy, but I have plenty of chances to practice. As she mentioned, "Convenience never produces character."

I started to see this afternoon that it is the very frustrations of this culture that afford me opportunities to put on the character of God in place of my natural self. Here He is healing me. As I wait, I learn patience; as I am forced to surrender control, I lose also my anxieties; as the superficial comforts I depend on are stripped away, so fade my melancholy dips. As I hang on in the midst of conflict, He is effecting change in my very personality.

Galatians 5 describes life in the Spirit- love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, humility, and self-control. Take away the anesthetizing familiarity of the verse and there remains a fullness and freedom that God has and I want. Lord, reveal yourself in me. Be it through trials or not, I am eager to know what it means to live in the fullness of the Holy Spirit.

A strange theme seems to be emerging around me, and since it persists, I thought I´d mention it. Parents who lose a child. First there was the demonstration in Buenos Aires of the mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, whose sons and daughters ¨disappeared¨ 30 years ago in Argentina´s ¨Dirty War.¨ I barely held back tears watching these women, now white-haired. What persistence, devotion, love.

Yesterday in my package of Christmas presents from Mom, I received one of Ellen Drake´s clay angels. They are simple faceless figures (mostly 1 inch tall) that she has been making since her 13 year old son died after a skiing accident in 1996 (?). The proceeds go to a foundation in his name. I was a year older than him and got to know Ellen during the years immediately following his death. I haven´t heard anything about her since I moved away from Greensboro in 1999, so this was a sweet surprise.

Lastly, today I started reading Isabel Allende´s new book El sumo de los dias (available in translation in April). It is her second autobiographical book. Her first was Paula and recounted the story of how her 20something daughter died. This one begins addressed to Paula and telling how the family scattered her ashes in a forest. It is heavy on my heart.

Three people (well, the mothers represent about 30,000, but anyway...) who lost children. They all responded with deep grief and equal grace. None of them chose this path, but they have chosen where to take it since. I don´t know why I am crossing paths with them this week nor where to go with this except to the Father, who willingly chose to give His precious Son for me. Is there any pain greater than that? I suppose that´s why Jesus´death carries so much weight and so much power. I can´t comprehend that kind of love, but I´ll continue to receive it and plumb its depths the rest of my life.

Jyll's right (see her comment two posts ago). It's culture shock. I am doing my best to battle it with prayer and humor. Let me just mention some of the most shocking parts of the day (believe me, they were preceeded by a host of other amusing events).

After some confusion in finding the package pick-up slips, I went to the post office today to pick up my Christmas packages from Mom and the Metzls. One of them was addressed to “Tim & Hannah Murray.” I guess they don’t have the & sign here, because they were insistent that only Tim Hannah Murray could pick up this package. I assured them that no such person exists and by showing them both my passport and Tim's, convinced them I was legitimate. Then they were confused (and frustrated) about why my passport said "Hannah Pickett Murray" but I called myself "Hannah Murray." Here your last name is more like your middle name and vice versa. Good thing I’m not Chinese or something.

It was a little sad opening my Christmas presents alone under the scrutinizing eye of the customs official, who at this point, had little patience left for me. Needless to say, there was much commotion when I opened the first package to find…. TOILET PAPER (in response to Tim's Christmas list post)!!!! If you ask me, the customs official needed to lighten up a little. He proceeded to search the package for drugs or diamonds and demanded that I explain to him why my dear friends the Metzls would spend $32 to send me toilet paper. That, I wanted to say, is just not something a person like you could ever understand. Instead, I said I didn’t know.

Package #2 was from my mom. First I had to convince the official that I was willing to pay the tax. Then I had to open up 15-20 wrapped presents for him to see what was inside. He questioned the value of each them, and I gave him a blank stare. The rest of the office was again amused when one of the presents was yet another package of toilet paper! As it turned out, there was a loophold around the customs tax, which to my delight, didn't involve bribery. In the end, I left with my two packages without paying any taxes. I did at one point have to leave to go make 2 copies of my passport (why would they have a copier in the post office?).

The perfect end to the afternoon was my taxi ride home. The taxi driver was very talkative and started telling me about his other careers as a writer and singer. He recited one of his poems for me with a very animated voice. He assured me his newest novel has a chance at the Nobel Prize. He sang some songs for me (latin style). I just grinned. It was one of those moments where I thought, “Such is Peru.” So much is different here, some frustrating, some enchanting, where else in the world would I be serenaded in a taxi by a soon-to-be famous novelist/poet/singer/taxi driver?

After another long afternoon of waiting in the airport, we made it back to Arequipa last night. It was, as the Spanish phrase goes, ¨raining pitchers.¨ I think before yesterday we had only seen a few drops of water two times in Arequipa. Apparently we have returned in the fullness of the rainy season, and they tell us to expect rain every afternoon.

The extended process of getting back to Arequipa (1 am Monday morning through 6 pm Tuesday night) turned out to be a gift to me. I think space between Buenos Aires and Arequipa gave me time to process what was going on and adjust a little more to Peru. By the time we arrived at our house last night, we were happy to be ¨home¨and truly thrilled to see all the ¨family.¨ Our abuelita apparently had been asking for days when her ¨nietos¨(grandkids) were coming home and greeted us with her usual laughs and hugs.

Lula (the housekeeper that doesn´t live with us) and her daughter Andrea were also there and had lots of stories to tell us. Please pray for them as they are going through a very very difficult time right now- broken family, scary financial situation, fear. Pray that they would find comfort in the Lord and support from all the people that love them, including us. Last night I just didn´t have anything to offer but a long hug. What can I say to those who are truly suffering?

Thanks for your support and prayers. We need you.

Good morning from Lima! We were supposed to be back in classes in Arequipa today, but a cloud cover is keeping all the flights out. We'll see if we can make it today. Apparently this has been an off-and-on-again situation for the last few days. In the meantime, I'm glad we have the South America Mission Guest House 10 minutes from the airport.

Last night magnified all the feelings I am having about returning. Returning to what? Are we going home? What is home anyway? I'm "going home" to an impermanent situation, people I like but don't know, not my house but one room that isn't quite how I would make it myself, language school where I don't really feel a sense of progress or purpose. Purpose in general feels like a missing commodity sometimes. I'm tired of transition. I want to settle down, make my home, put into practice the ministries I love- hospitality, development and "projects," compassion, extending friendship to those in need. For reasons I won't go into now, it feels next to impossible to do those now in Arequipa.

So last night as we lay in bed in a room that was a long shot from feeling comfortable and right, I mustered up the courage to explore my thoughts and the response the Lord would have to them. I am remembering what Peter said when Jesus asked him if he also (along with other followers) wanted to turn back. "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life." We are not here because we thought it would be fun or because someone made us come. We are here because we wanted to follow the Lord. For us, going somewhere else would mean leaving Him. He is our only home.

We are not the first to feel lonely or a little uncomfortable in a place that doesn't feel like home. When Jesus left Heaven and took up residence in the Middle East, I bet there were some things that didn't feel "right"- the heat, the dust, the fact that no one "got" Him. I bet He didn't love the food, either. I think about all the time He spent praying (early in the morning, the whole night, drawing away to a quiet place), and I bet He was feeling lonely and wanted to spend time with His Father. Pretty good plan if you ask me. It reminds me that when I am feeling lonely, lost and not quite right, there's no better answer than to go to prayer, not to ask for anything really but to be with Him. We are His creation, and all of reality flows out of Him.

We spent our second to last night at the Estancia Santa Rita 2 hrs outside of Buenos Aires. It is an old and elegant hacienda. Elegant or tacky? It's hard to say which. I thought it was beautiful... and then also a little ridiculous. We took a lovely ride through the woods and fields on horseback and then had every intention of spending the afternoon at the pool until we realized it was closed for cleaning. It was REALLY hot Monday (high 102F, "feels like 108F" according to report) and the place didn't have air conditioning. Between cold showers and sitting very still reading I managed to enjoy my afternoon. Tim was a little nutty by the end of it. Nonetheless, I think we had a fabulous time overall.

We are sitting in the South America Mission Guest House right now, waiting for the last leg of our return trip from Lima to Arequipa. Lots of emotions and thoughts running through me today, but for now I'll just share some more photos. More later when I have time to gather myself. These photos are from the Sunday antiques fair in San Telmo (a neighborhood of Buenos Aires). There were so many cool things to buy and see! I wished I had a home so that I would have a reason to pick up some fun Argentine antiques. No such luck yet.

Sorry for the absence- we have been busy busy busy! Buenos Aires is a beautiful city. New Years Eve and Day were absolutely dead and we mostly ended up sitting around the rooftop pool of our apartment, plenty of time to blog but absolutely nothing to say. At first we were disappointed, but after a bit decided to take the quiet as a gift from the Lord to two people who really did need to rest. Since Jan 2 we've been running around like crazy people again and having a lot of fun doing it. It's mostly been HOT (95+), except yesterday (more like 75). The city is somewhere between New York and Madrid, I think- action, tree-filled plazas, monuments, shopping, and amazing restaurants.

The restaurants have been my favorite part I think! Last night I had king prawns in some mysteriously scrumptious dressing, "Peking" duck (actually better than anything I ate in Beijing), and chocolate lava cake for desert. Tim's favorite was when we sat down at one restaurant and told the waiter to bring us all the best stuff they offered. His rack of lamb was a work of art, and our Achaval Ferrer red blend Quimera wine was probably the best I've ever had-- at $40 for the bottle. The prices here are similar to Peru (maybe a little cheaper). It seems like everything is 1/2 to 1/3 the price of Charlotte. Beef is king in Argentina, so we've eaten a lot of steaks. The queen strangely seems to be the molten lava cakes. I think we've had 4 so far.

One thing that has stood out to me about Buenos Aires is how remarkably familiar the people seem. I am continuously surprised to hear people speaking perfect Argentine Spanish, because between their light skin, light hair, clothing, and mannerisms, I always think they're tourists. This is nothing like Lima, despite the size and location. The people here do not look "latino" in the least. I think in a way I miss Peru- the unique flavor of the land, the humility of the people, the way its poverty erases the last traces of materialism. I am having a fabulous time here but am glad we live in Peru instead.

Some of the visual highlights of our trip are below:



The Caminito in La Boca, a very colorful port area mostly turned tourist trap.



The Recoleta cemetary, a city of mini-mausoleums and stray cats.



The weekly march of the Madres de Plaza de Mayo, the mothers of the "disappeared" of Argentina's Dirty War. I first heard about these women 10 years ago in Spanish class and have been fascinated by them since. They marched every Thursday afternoon for 30 years, demanding information about their missing children (kidnapped by the government). Last year they had their final march against the government, saying that the current government is not their enemy. They continue to march to support their leftist causes (note the banner- "Distribution of wealth already!"). By now the mothers are obviously fairly old. The whole experience of watching these courageous women was very moving.