The Georges in Peru

Yesterday, we invited our missionary team to our home for Thanksgiving Dinner.  It was our first time as a couple to host a big dinner and our marriage survived.  It must have looked tenuous for a moment as one missionary even asked us how we dealt with conflict as she watched us work together getting broth out of the turkey bag to make gravy.  (Good Gravy, Batman!)  Actually, we were a good team getting dinner on the table.   We bought an 8.0 kg turkey (they're about $25, if you were wondering) which was enough for the 21 people that were present.  We would have had more leftovers if more of the 8.0 kg had been meat and less had been feet (or head)!  This one came with 4 of them!  We still have so much to be thankful to God for!

Many of you have been praying for the women's retreat that Mary Beth organized and directed yesterday and the day before.  She chose the date because it is a holiday and several women assured her that it wouldn't hurt the turn out.  But a few days before the event, the woman in charge of promoting the event told Mary Beth that there was only one woman signed up!   Yesterday was November 1st, which is the Day of the Dead, a holiday seriously observed by people in latin cultures, so many decided that they wouldn't be able to come to the retreat.   Mary Beth requested prayer and by the end, 29 women attended, if one includes the couselors and speakers.  I could tell watching from the sidelines that they had had a great time!

They had a knitting workshop.

And dress-up time!

In the past, I've wanted to enter an obstacle course race, but there has never been one that fit my schedule.  Since they are growing in popularity in Peru I might get my chance, but for now I'll just have medical campaigns. 

Today we had a medical campaign in a poor part of Arequipa.  When I arrived, the community building where we were going to see patients was locked and no one could find the keys.  We considered seeing patients outside and started setting up the equipment.  I noticed that the window to the bathroom was open.  "Can't we just go in through there?" I asked.  "No, the inside door will be locked too," was the reply from David the one directing the event.  When he wasn't looking, I pulled myself up to look into the window and could see a large stack of chairs greeting me on the inside.  Since it was the bathroom, I could easily hold onto the top edge of the stall and crawl down.  Thankfully, the door wasn't locked and I could let everyone in to have our clinic.

Tonight, during church, the pastor had just started his sermon when we heard a loud, incessant banging against a steel door.  I looked backward half expecting to see that someone had somehow locked himself in the bathroom.  Nope.  Was someone banging on the church door?  Nope.  Did I mention it was loud and incessant?  That's not quite true, the banging would stop for about 5 seconds at a time and then resume.  It was really really annoyinging and I could tell it was distracting the pastor.  Missionary roles:  preaching, praying, counseling, being a bouncer.  I went out onto the street and could tell the noise was coming from inside the house that our truck was parked in front of.  "Hey!"  I yelled.  "Are you okay?"  Nothing.  The banging resumed.  When it paused again, I repeated, "Hey!  Everything okay?"  "C-(insert Spanish expletive here) I'm locked in my house!  Help me open my door!"   I think in the past I would have normally been scared in this sort of situation, but I felt it was pretty unlikely that it was someone trying to do me harm.  I assessed the situation.  There was no outside knob on the door, just a keyhole.  It looked like there might be some sort of window on a hinge that we could maybe open and we could try to work together to open the door through it.  I pushed gently on it and instead of opening the window, the whole door opened revealing a man standing in a wide stance with his arms at his side.  "I couldn't get out and you just opened it with your finger?!"  It appears he was drunk and forgot that his door opened inward!  "Yes."  "You just opened it with your finger?"  "Yes.  What's your name?"  "Juan Carlos.  I just wanted to get some fresh air."  "Nice to meet you.  I'm Allen."  "Are you Venezuelan?"  My suspicions he was drunk were confirmed.  "Nope.  American.  Well, nice to meet you.  I'm going to go back to church down there.  Let me know if you need anything else.  Come visit us some time."

In Peru, most people with gas stoves buy propane in small tanks that they connect to them.  One has to buy a full tank every so often (every 3 weeks, since we bake a lot) necessitating unhooking the old tank and connecting the new.  When I've mentioned to people that most homes in the USA have gas lines and people don't have to haul around propane tanks, they are a bit horrified to think of gas lines running through one's house.  'What if the gas line bursts?  Your house will blow up!'  I've felt like responding, 'What if your hose clamp comes off?  Your kitchen would burn up!'  And that is what happened last week to Mary Beth's friend Miriam.  As she was cooking, the hose clamp came off and the escaping gas caught on fire.  It started waving around like a flamethrower.  Thankfully, she was able to escape, but everything combustible in her kitchen was reduced to ashes.  Since we recently combined two households when we got married, we had a lot of duplicate items, so we took a box of kitchen things to give her yesterday.

A metal cupboard sort of survived.

Miriam and Mary Beth