Remembering Huanta

As I stepped outside the walls of the Cristo Rey Church in Huanta on Friday night, I realized something. Yet before that moment, I thought that I had experienced the feeling before. I thought that I knew everything there was to know about that emotion. I had no idea.

What the Peruvians of Cristo Rey Church taught me that night was the feeling of love. Yes, I saw examples of it throughout the week, but on Friday, August 6th, 2010, it hit me.

That afternoon, some of the kids went with us to Cristo Blanco. They went, but without their parents. Their parents let their children go with people from another country to Cristo Blanco. To know that the Peruvians trust us like that was breath taking. There is no word to describe how I felt that afternoon.

That evening we had a potluck dinner at the church. It was our last night in Huanta. The thought of having to say goodbye to all of my Peruvian brothers and sisters was very upsetting. We played games, sang songs, and then we had a ceremony. The Peruvians gave us handmade crafts. They even remembered to include Rose, who was unable to make the trip. Then, they passed the microphone around for all of the Gringos to say a few words. I was tearing up the whole time, and when the microphone got to me, I couldn't put my thoughts into words. After that, we ate dinner that the ladies of the church prepared for us. It was amazing. I could not believe that they spent all that time cooking for us. But as I was looking around the room, I knew that we were one family. One family in Christ.

Then, the hard part came. Goodbyes. I was already crying from our mini-speeches, but I couldn't hold any tears back. It was impossible. As I made my way away around the room, I was grateful for every hug and kiss I was receiving. It was truly a blessing. This year, it took me a little longer to say my goodbyes. Most of the Gringos had left by the time I even made it outside. But as I was standing there in a circle that consisted of Brenda, my dad, Millie, Luz, me and a few others, I could feel an overpowering sense of love.

Anthony, a young boy from the church, was standing near my dad. My dad had told Anthony to take care of himself and that he would see him next year. But, Anthony wouldn't look at him. That's when my dad put his hands on Anthony's shoulders and he turned around with tears streaming down his cheeks. I was heartbroken. To know that he was as emotional about us leaving as we were was reassuring. We were in the right place. We were home.

As I walked down the empty streets of Huanta that night, I thanked God for everything-our safe travels, our outstanding Gringo group, and most of all-the chance to meet, worship, and spend time with my brothers and sisters in Huanta, Peru.

Sarita Ross