Peru: That "Deep Dark Secret" Look

      Barbara has been working on me a long time. My spiritual life was not what it should be. I had this problem, for many years. I looked at many fellow church attenders who seemed hypocritical to me. Some seemed to pray long, very elegant prayers. I didn't feel God required that kind of elegance in order to talk to him. If not God, then who were they trying to impress? Others were in their church position to further business interests, obviously. And some “strong Christians” appeared to be that only on Sunday. See them later in the week, and it was a different story.

      Collectively, Barbara, Michael Holloway, and that trip to Peru affected me in such a way that I begin to realize that everyone around me, and I, was a sinner. My relationship with God had nothing to do with other people around me. They had their own spiritual life to work out.

      I returned to Peru, several years later. My motives were now much more pure. This time I was in a small village on the outskirts of Cusco.

      When we got to the village, I discovered that my bag was not in the car. We finally figured out it went to another group, to another village, a long way off. The pastor who was with us at the time said he would take me to that village, so we started out in his car. Right after we left the church, we passed a house with a pretty girl, about 18, in the front yard. She looked at us, and she flushed. I saw a certain look pass between them, that look that passes between two people who share a dark secret. I saw that look many years ago, when we lived in another city, pass between the songleader at our church and a lady in the front row, a teacher. Barbara had seen it too, and later, we discussed it. We thought surely, we had misread it. Both of these church members had spouses and a family. A couple of weeks later, they ran off together, and never came back. I hope I misread this new look, too, but I doubt it. This pastor had a large family.

      When we got to the village where my bag now resided, One of the mission trip members, also with grey hair, was leading a funeral procession up the mountain, about to preach a funeral. Like I said before, If you are old, and you go on a mission trip, you best be prepared for anything. At least, he WAS a preacher.

      The people were much the same, except now we cooked a very large meal each day, the college kids went out in the poor neighborhoods and brought the kids in like pied pipers, each child with a bowl and a spoon, ready to eat. I was somewhat officially in charge of my group this time, and I was determined to prevent my kids and I from getting that horrible stomach bug. I treated all the water personally with chemicals, I watched over what we all ate, and they did, like a hawk, and when we were flying home, I had the satisfaction of realizing, It was successful. No one in my group had gotten the bug. Pride goeth before the fall. When I stepped off the plane, it hit me, and hit me hard.

      My gray hair, thinner and grayer now, still caused me some guilt attacks. A ceremony was set up, one night at a small village, for me to officially present a soccer ball, one I had no roll in bringing along in the first place, to the city fathers for the benefit of the children of the village. The main pastor's wife made a very long and elegant speech one night, thanking me for all the great work I had done for the children of Peru, over the years. I had been in Peru, in my life, maybe a total of a dozen days. But, I accepted her misplaced praise with great dignity, as one with hair such as mine should do.

      The last day, with everyone else headed for Machu Picchu, I begged off. I hired a car and driver, an interpreter, and headed out to my old village, to see my friends. That did not cost as much as it sounds, probably about what a car alone would have cost me at home. The little Indian preacher, now my dear friend, Pastor Cirro, went along. He and I have never exchanged an understandable word between us, but we communicated easily with smiles, handshakes, gestures, laughter, and love. He told me, through the interpreter, that he had a picture of me hanging on his wall. Funny. I have a picture of him on my wall.

      I had been trying to trace my God children all week. Seems the oldest girl, now nearly grown, was in Cusco for awhile, then the trail went cold. The rest of the family was harder to trace, but I hoped to find them at or near our old village. Turned out, when reaching the village, they had moved on. But I did find Lenore, the church mother, busily cooking corn over an open fire in her hut near the church. I gave her several more pair of reading glasses I had brought for her. Her father was there, now totally blind with cataracts. Where is my friend the eye surgeon, Frank Teed, when I need him? She sat us down to a meal of mostly corn on the cob. The corn grains in Peru are huge, four could make up a golf ball. We just pull them off, and eat them one at a time. I now realize, that was the one place I messed up, in guarding against the bug. But what could I do? Just tell sweet Lenore I wouldn't eat her corn? Afterwords, I found several of my children, now nearly grown. I was wearing my trademark hat and the same white coat, and they recognized me. My family, Lenore told me, had moved to a village farther away, but she would see them at a festival later. I gave her an envelope containing all the money I could spare, and asked her to give it to them. .Indians have nothing. That small amount would make them rich.

      Lenore told me her son was working, some distance away, but he could be sent for. I really didn't know who her son was, and time was getting short, so I said, “No, we've got to go.” We were nearly back to Cusco when it hit me. Her son was Aqua Amigo! My “water friend!” I had missed my last chance to see Aqua Amigo! My eyes filled with tears, and overflowed..