Ecuador

When I was fourteen years old, my parents let me live in Ecuador for a summer.

Since then, they have told me how they regret letting me leave when I was so young, to go so far away for so long, but I loved every minute of it. I remember trying to convince my mother to let me go to Mongolia instead, but South America was as far as she would allow.

Fair enough.

I went with a team of other highschoolers from a Christian missionary organization, and the purpose of our trip was to build a large boarding house for a remote Huarani tribe that had made the decision to start a school. Children would come from the surrounding villages (many 50 miles away) and would often camp in the jungle during the school week. This was unsafe, unhelpful to their families and the host village, and stopped some from going to school. Our organization had contacted the tribe and offered to come alongside them and build a boarding house for school children from neighboring villages.

Our location was remote, and we left for the highland Ecuadorian jungle two at a time, each pair flying in a twin engine plane that rattled as it took off the packed dirt runway in a nearby village.

I remember the excitement of the Ecuadorian children in the village as the strange Americans grouped together in the shade waiting to fly away to the Indian tribe.

I remember green mountains and waterfalls seen from the air.

I remember landing in a warm valley and stepping out of the plane, opening my eyes and taking it all in. The mountains were so different from what I'd expected. My experience with mountains had been the Rockies of Colorado-- widespread, thick mounds of rock. These were so different. Steeper. Greener. Conical somehow. I fell in love with them immediately.

I remember the river. It was cold and deep and fresh. It was surrounded by vines and red flowers. Us girls went every morning to bathe and wash our clothes. There's something about bathing in a fresh, outdoor stream in the middle of a highland jungle that just makes you feel so alive. I remember feeling so right and pure and beautiful.

I remember lacing up my boots every single morning. Always the same boots, every single day. I still have them. Ten years later and they still fit-- worn perfectly to each contour of my feet. But I remember when they meant new blisters every day.

I remember the beginning of construction, and hiking up the mountains that were slick with red clay to haul the iron wood lumber that had just been cut for us to build the boarding house. I remember the trip down the mountain, sliding down the steep, slick hills with a heavy board on my shoulders. Over and over, until it was all in the village. I remember my bruised shoulder, and my weariness, and I remember a new feeling-- pride in hard work done to build something good. I was fourteen, and I helped build something real.

I remember the rain and the mud. And I remember the sidewalk. The cement sidewalk that we laid on the doorstep of our newly built house to combat the thick, black mud that would suck your feet down deep.

And oh, I remember the butterflies. Thousands of them of all colors and sizes.... attracted to the minerals in the cement as our sidewalk dried, the jungle butterflies flocked and landed on it. It looked like something from a fairytale world. Our own magical sidewalk of all colors, about to fly away at any moment. I remember looking at that beautiful piece of my fourteenth year and smiling, and closing my eyes tight and telling myself firmly, "don't forget this."

When I look back now, there are so many snippets of memory: a night sky with new constellations, natives hunting capybara, the coral snake chasing a boy out of the river until it met its death on a villager's spear, dancing at night, stealing fresh bananas from the kitchens to eat with a friend later in fits of hidden giggles, sisters, brothers, letters dropped twice a month by a plane, praying every night and actually understanding what God's presence meant....

That summer in Ecuador, with the high mountains and the fresh streams and the sweat and tears and learning and butterflies. It was part of my transition out of childhood, but it was beautiful and gentle, and it was bathed in prayer and river water.

We were a group of privileged children, but we went with love in our hearts and the desire to serve.

That is the thing that brings these memories up as I think of who I am and the things that I am proud of that brought me where I am today.

That heart of serving others as a child would. A service born from love and obedience to God. I remember my response to commands that as we grow older we tend to see more as suggestions.

Didn't He say that the harvest was great but the workers few? I heard and believed Him, and my response was simple. I went.

Didn't He say that the second greatest commandment was to love others as I love myself? And don't I want myself taken care of-- to be educated and healthy and happy with a full belly, able to learn about the Lord whenever I want? So if that is how I love myself, then isn't that how I should love others?

With no cynicism or superiority or ugly pride. Willing to serve others so that they have the basic, simple things that I rarely think about.

I went to Ecuador with a thirst for adventure, yes. But a thirst to serve also. I went with servant's heart born from of obedience and love.

It's a piece of me that is good, and I will carry it forward with me and keep it strong.