Juan.

It was our team’s last day in the Peruvian village as they were packing up I had snuck off to say goodbye to a specific villager that had touched my heart during our time there.

His name was Juan. We met by God’s divine plan as I was walking the narrow path through his property. Shortly after surviving a nearly deadly encounter with a Cebu, completely consumed with thoughts of where my kids were in relation to I was and if it was really that smart to be wandering the jungle alone, I heard him call to me. It wasn’t that his calling to me was odd…a lot of locals call us as we pass by (probably something about being American. In the jungle. Doesn’t happen too often around those parts) but it was that he was calling to me in English. It caught my attention and quickly found my way safely around the Cebu and to his doorstep.

We shared the afternoon together, a twenty something American girl and the 60 year old Peruvian man. We talked and chatted over fresh sugar cane, through broken English he shared the mystic legends of the jungle, and I spoke in my broken Spanish of America. A small group of kids from my team passed by and we called to them. Juan chopped some more sugar cane and we chatted more of his life as the children’s director at the local church and the recent miracle involving one of the children there. I shortly got up to leave the students to connect and went on to connect with some of the other parts of the team.

In the days to come I would often stop in at Juan’s. He was one of the first houses along the narrow path that lead through the small jungle village, and as I would pass by he would call to me. He would twist my arm into eating some more sugar cane and he would pick my brain with questions about his English vocabulary, and God, and faith. One afternoon as I stopped in with a new group of kids from the team (I was determined to be sure that everyone had their chance to engage in conversation with this incredible man of God) he spoke of a dream he had the night prior. The dream involved a swarm of butterflies coming to visit him, but their faces were are faces, and he knew we were coming. He had the pieces of sugar cane chopped and waiting for us when we got there that day. Exactly enough, one for each of us, he really did know we were coming; coming with the spirit. He loved to sing, and sometimes we (myself and whatever group of students were with me) would sit and sing old hymns or worship songs, and he would share with us ones he knew in Spanish.

As our friendship unfolded it became more and more beautiful to me. He encouraged me as a leader, and I him. And by the end of our short stay, I was sad to need to say goodbye.
So as I snuck away to have a few last moments with Juan before our departure, he surprised me by wanting to come and address the team. So I left him with the promise to wait until his arrival at our base camp before we left. And so with tents all packed and storage bins stacked we waited. Juan soon arrived along with a gathering of other villagers and through teary eyes he addressed the team, thanked us for everything we had done in the hearts of his neighbors, and hugged us all tight. We all turned to leave and after ushering off the last kid with the last bundle of empty water jugs in tow I turned and said my goodbyes. He passed me a small note; we embraced and spoke of our seeing each other again, some day.

I recently found this note haphazardly in a drawer with a few other random things that are dear to me, but I'm not sure what to do with. It saddend me because I could hardly understand what it said, but I knew it was dear to me. I often think of Juan, and pray for him, and his ministry. Worlds apart yet connected in ways only imagineable in God's mind.