Spymara

So you know how people say "Spanglish" when referring to a person speaking a mix of both Spanish and English at the same time? Well, we visited a rural church out in the middle of nowhere today whose pastor was speaking "Spymara"- a mix of Spanish and Aymara. Aymara is the native language of the people of the region we live in, an interesting sounding language that has nothing at all to do with Spanish. Our team leaders were invited to celebrate the 4th anniversary of this tiny church, 3 hours from La Paz, that they helped get started. They thought it would be a perfect opportunity for the church plant team to travel together, support this body of believers, and work together to bless them. So, we set out early this morning, heading toward Chile, and arrived just in time to hear the preacher in this new, fascinating language I have titled Spymara. The people of Santiago de Callapa (the town's name) welcomed us with open arms and big smiles as we packed into the back of their tiny, one-room church. They gave us the opportunity to share a word, a puppet show for the kids, and teach them how to make salvation bracelets- the ones with the 5 colored beads that help kids to remember different parts of the gospel. I had several older women give me huge, wet kisses on the cheeks and bear hugs as if they were greeting an old friend they hadn't seen for years. We were prayed for by several as the "missionaries from far off countries", which humbled me greatly seeing as though I don't feel that it's as difficult to live where I do in Bolivia as these people who hardly have the bare necessities. After our time in the service, we were hardily encouraged to come join the congregation for lunch, which can always be a scary prospect as many foreigners who spend time in the country come back to the city with plumbing issues (or nasty stomach problems, if you aren't catching my lingo). I'll leave you with a nice photo revisit of our trip:

The building with the flag attached is the mudbrick church that hosts about 20 members. In front are some of the kids from our church plant team interacting with the kids in the community.

Men. Most of the hombres we met today were middle aged to old(er). The two lighter skinned guys kneeling in the front are Greg (left) and Gigi, one of our church plant teammates.Laughing ladies. These women from the church are chowing down and enjoying each others company after an all-night prayer vigil and long church service this morning. You might think this was someones storage room, but it's actually the kitchen! Here, many, many bowls of food were created for about 50-60 adults and children. I'm not sure how many animals had to be butchered to feed us, but I know that Bolivians tend to be quite generous and go a bit overboard for any type of celebration. We were definitely appreciative of thier kindness and sacrifice.Here is lunch- a massive chunk of dark, greasy sheep, a salad, potatoes, baked plantain, and chuno (a potato relative that has been freeze dried repeatedly and rehydrated- not so yummy). I barely ate half of my portion because the custom is to load the bowl (so as to fit more than a plate) with as much food as it will hold. Well, my stomach would not hold this much and I was a wee bit scared of the salad which had most definitely been washed in tap water (dirty!) or not washed at all (even dirtier). Thankfully, I have not had an instance of getting sick off country food yet, praise be to God, and I am still feeling fine now, some hours later. You are expected to eat all the food, and the locals never have a problem with this, but us gringos tend to be less skilled in this arena. I usually will finish even if I'm bursting at the end, but I just couldn't do it today.

We were thankful to have the reminder of the simplicity that most Bolivians live in and the perspective of rural church life and the struggles they face. Sometimes we can too easily get caught up in the lives of upper class, which is what we would be considered here and the majority of the people we work with. After coming out of a very sobering movie last night, I was confronted with a small band of young shoe-shiners- a very common profession for young boys (and some girls) in the city. They were working late and they were all very obviously high from sniffing glue. One of the boys happened to be Miguel, a kid of probably 10-12 years of age, whom we had seen the day before and promised to bring him a pair of shoes on Monday, meeting up at that very theatre that we had just left. Miguel was a boy Scotty had met years ago when he would go out onto the streets late at night to play soccer and try to befriend the kids, and was high enough to mistake Scotty for another guy who probably comes out to visit as well. Most street kids have no desire to work, but we were encouraged that Miguel was shining shoes. It was a hard reality for me to see, a few of the many who live on the streets, and one that we know personally, abandoned and high. There are many needs in Bolivia, and the greatest is the hope of the gospel. I am being confronted often these days with this truth.