Second Boat Trip - RIo Negro

It's amazing how different each trip is from the one before it. This week we were on the Rio Negro and never more than a few hours from Manaus. We were on the JJ Mesquita which has recently been refurbished and is nearly twice its original length. It has four extra cabins, a surgery room, more medical areas and a giant meeting/dining room. It's kinda awesome.

photo by Chris Landry

We were in villages all five days so the schedule was a bit more hectic. I want to tell you about one specific night.  Monday night. We had really only stopped in the village for a visit and a walk. After dinner while everyone was chilling on the boat, Claudia (our Brazilian team leader) asked me if I wanted to go back into the village with her to visit friends. The area we were in is kinda her turf so she has deep roots there. We took some left over beans and rice to someone's house and were invited in. Right behind us, Francisco, a man of 78, skinny and limber, came in to visit with us. There were four of us from the boat: myself, Claudia, our dentist Marcio, and Elio who was taking photos of JJ's first voyage after renovations. We sat on the couch and Francisco pulled up a chair, someone handed him a guitar and the most intricate and lovely songs came out of this wee man. His voice was ragged and rough, but he didn't know that. It was amazing. I sat there in the clean sparse house with the breeze blowing through the large open window and thought, "see, this doesn't happen in LA."  I can't tell you what a privilege it is to get to experience moments like that. It's like I've been taken into a secret vault filled with gold coins and told that I can help myself.

About five songs in two more men came in. Now remember all of this is in Portuguese, so I pick up things about 5 minutes after everyone else in the room. But no one needed to translate for me. The first man had brought his friend to us hoping to meet the doctor. His friend, also named Francisco, (I think there are a thousand Franciscos in the Amazon), had fallen and broken his collar bone several months ago. Francisco, the younger non-guitar playing one, took his shirt off carefully to show us. His left collarbone was normal and in stark contrast was his right which stuck out demonstrably. I watched as Marcio and Elio explained to him that because it had started healing incorrectly he would have to go to Manaus to a hospital to get it taken care of. I read (or I think i did) in his face how much of an option that was. I was heart-broken in such a way that I can't explain. I'm not a stranger to how difficult life can be for those without access, usually money. I can't explain my reaction except that it felt like God's heart was breaking for him and he was letting me feel it. It felt like it came from somewhere else. Elio talked to him a long time about many things and then he sat the man down between us on the couch. Elio prayed in Portuguese and when he said Amen, I felt like I had been punched in the back. "PRAY", the push said. So I started praying. Claudia translated my English into Portuguese. I prayed for instant healing, which is ridiculously bold of me. I prayed for God to make a way and I thanked God for knowing exactly where Francisco was and how much pain he was in and for loving him and not wanting him to be in pain. Yes, it was about this articulate. We said good-bye to both Franciscos and as we walked I continued to cry for a few minutes. None of the Brazilians I was with commented on my jumping in or praying for such a bold thing as instant healing. I continued to beg Jesus for help for Francisco over the rest of the trip. Yesterday, I found out, Elio had arranged to bring Francisco to Manaus this week and that a doctor friend of his was going to fix and set Francisco's shoulder.  I don't know about Francisco, but I could cry again right now with relief. 

The Americans last week were amazing. They actually held their own in soccer for a little bit at least. 

photo by Chris Landry

My favorite would be after a soccer game when half the village or so would gather at the soccer field and Pastor Rai (pronounced like the greeting Hi!) would share why we were there and the Americans would sing a song and all the gringos would sweat and all the Brazilians would listen stoically and all the kids would peer at us with big dark eyes. I love the quiet of the world right then while someone's talking about how you don't have to work to get to God. God came to us. And does anyone want to meet Jesus?  

I know sometimes missionaries get a bad rap. I mean there are large chunks of the world where all that's known about Christianity is that you can't drink beer and you can't sleep around. That doesn't sound like "Good News". But I've watched the IPM church sit with people and talk and smile and care for and cry with people. Simply because they are people. Not people in need, not less than. People just like us who need confort and encouragement and an occasional football game. Just like us. Thank you everyone who makes it possible for me to be here. Thank you every American who comes down to be a part of this and every Brazilian who gives up money and time to make these trips happen. We get to stumble into the vault of a very rich life here. 

photo by Chris Landry