Sanctuary (Week 13)
One of my favorite themes from the Lord of the Rings is the recurring moments of sanctuary. No matter how harrowing, tedious, or exhausting the hobbits' journey became, there were often places of sanctuary and moments of refuge interspersed throughout their wandering. Not every haven looked the same. Sometimes they would feast and rest and fellowship for days on end in the Elven lands. Sometimes they would give up all hope of surviving the deadly torments of the forest, just to wake up in a safe place like Tom Bombadil's house, with a warm fire and pleasant music. And some days they would simply meet to tell stories of past victories, encouraging each other to keep fighting the good fight.
Sometimes these moments of hope came when The Fellowship still had a few reserves left in their courage tank, sometimes they were running on fumes, and sometimes they were being carried on the backs of their friends because they couldn't go on anymore.
When moments of rest did come, no one said to themselves or others, "Yikes. That was stressful, but some people are still in the thick of it, so let's only enjoy this a little bit. Let's enjoy this moment only so far as our guilt will allow us to." No! They embraced the rest. They embraced the feasting. They embraced the stories. They searched for moments to remind them of the light, and when those moments came they drank deeply from hope. And then, when those moments ended, as all moment do, the got up, dusted themselves off, and pressed forward.
They journeyed hard. They rested thoroughly. They continued strengthened.
When I started to realize the power of this theme, I started to look for it in my own life. Where did I find myself being refreshed? Where did I feel safe to be vulnerable? Where did I find myself longing to return, not wanting to leave, and yet could leave feeling prepared to do hard and holy things?
Each sanctuary looked different. Talking with Auntie Heidi after babysitting her littles. Eating apples and popcorn in Dr. Tilstra's house on Wednesday's during Bible study. Bringing Sabbath in with feasting at the house of Shania's aunts' every Friday night. Sometimes it isn't scheduled. Impromptu conversations in the Atlas with Christopher as we held leather journals and hot liquids. Playing games with Tobi in one of the hall lounges. Making lunch with Mama Laura in her kitchen. Often it's simply having relationships with people I can count on. Knowing that I could walk into my room after a long day and tell my roommate I was grumpy knowing she would respond with, "Oh? Go ahead. Rant all you need. I'm here to listen."
All this to say, this Thanksgiving was a safe haven in time.
Since Thanksgiving is an American Holiday, it can feel lonely overseas. About a week prior some other missionaries in the area invited us to a large Thanksgiving gathering with other Americans in the area. (Also, I had NO IDEA how many American missionaries lived in the Pucallpa area. Like wow!) We assumed there would be lots of food and were told to bring swimming material, but otherwise we didn't know what to expect.
I actually packed a roll of toilet paper because around here you can never be too sure there will be tp.
Some American friends came to pick us seven SMs up. We piled into their truck. As we pulled up to the house close to 30 minutes later we discovered a beautiful Southern farm house in the middle of the jungle. We walked into a home with air conditioning, white walls, and fully furnished bathrooms.
If you were wondering whether reverse culture shock is real or not, I'm here to tell you it is. There was nothing I hadn't seen before, but I didn't know what to do. "Do I sit on the couches? Or are they just to look at? There is a thin layer of dust all throughout my hair even though I just took a shower. Do I take my shoes off? Others aren't. But! I haven't felt the ground for three months. I think I'm going to take my shoes off! Is it okay to breathe in here? Wow! How are people so clean? Wait, it's soo fresh in here. I'm not sweaty, either. Is that normal?"
Chelsea interrupts my thoughts to say, "Everyone looks so healthy."
"They do look healthy. She's right. How are the walls so clean? They're WHITE! Should I walk on that rug? It looks nice. The walls are completely solid. You can't see the sun through them at all. How did they do that?"
I'm here to tell you, reverse culture shock is REAL!
After I got over wondering whether it was okay to breathe or not, I started to realize how good it was to be "home." While, most everyone in the room could speak Spanish, everyone was talking in English, most with slight Southern accents. We were immediately welcomed in like part of the family. In a room full of 90ish people, the hostess seemed to look straight at us and see US.
We later discovered that the Brock Family own this home as a retreat center for the Missionaries. They run it as a home away from home. It's a place to rest, to feast, to fellowship. It's a place to return when you need to hear victories of previous battle stories. It's a place you return when you need to remember how to fight the good fight. It's a safe haven. It's a place to be vulnerable. It's a place to refresh, so you can return fed and fully satisfied.
We feasted. We feasted on probably the best Thanksgiving food I've ever had. Bless those good Southern cooks! We feasted on community. We were reminded we aren't alone. We feasted on stories. We feasted on hope.
We swam in their pool, and sunbathed on their patio. We snuggled their baby sloth, and tried to talk to the parrot. We played games, and we laughed. We sat on the porch and talked as hot Peruvian day turned into warm Peruvian night. We made new friends. We were loved and filled full. And we left feeling ready to continue. We left ready to lift others up, too. We left knowing we were a part of a community we hadn't even known existed.
We left, excited to celebrate Thanksgiving with Mama Laura, Papa Henrry, and their kidlets over cake and coke.
Their home was like a home in Elven lands and we left full to bursting.
~TBS~