A group of young boys enjoy a candy treat from their friend Elizabeth, and then pose for a farewell picture.

On September 21, 2004, the Church sponsored a “Sending Forth” celebration Mass, followed by a reception that made it clear I was not going alone... we were, together, making ourselves available to be used by God in bringing His presence to some of the poorest of His children in Sicuani, Peru.

I arrived in Lima two days later, and was welcomed very warmly, at the Carmelite Formation House in Miraflores. There, I awaited a trip to The Instituto de Idiomas, Maryknoll, Cochabamba, Bolivia for two months of intense study of Spanish...A big challenge, I must admit. With determined resolve and God’s goodness, I gained a basic ability in the language, as well as a daily exposure to the culture. I lived about a mile or so from school, with the Vargas family, who could not have been more wonderful to a guest with whom they initially were unable to verbally communicate. They were truly beautiful people.

Liocllata, Acco Acco Central, overlooking the vast prelature of Sicuani, Peru. Elevation, 17,000 feet above sea level.

Once my time there was completed, I felt excited to head back to Peru, and the mission in Sicuani. Father Enrique, originally from Sicuani, and, at the time, director of the Carmelite Formation House, offered to have me join him in his pickup truck, as he traveled through the Andes, to celebrate Christmas in Yauri. I was excited to save a bit of my funding money, and have a chance to see the Andes from the ground, rather than from the air.

We left Lima at 5 AM, stopping for gas whenever possible, and having a chicken and rice meal at about 3 PM in a tiny adobe that was used as a restaurant. The drive was beautiful and I was not just a little awe struck at the magnificence of the Creator’s gift to Peru...the Andes.

At 6 PM the darkness had set in, along with heavy rain. The next six hours were truly an experience beyond anything I could have anticipated... washed out roads, rock slides, times of fog, making visibility impossibly difficult. At times the car was only able to move at five miles or less an hour. We arrived in Cusco at midnight, totally exhausted and ready for a good sleep.

Early the next morning, after a quick breakfast of fruit we headed for Sicuani. The ride was beautiful and before ten we were being greeted by Sr. Tomasa, and the next phase of my year had begun.

I sometimes feel that the call I received was under false pretenses. As a self-employed educational consultant, passionately concerned about the importance of excellent teaching, and having heard that education, when available, was totally inadequate, I believed that I would be able to help reverse that trend. Reality hit me while I was still in Bolivia. My language facility was basic, and it would take years to get to a level where I could be of use with my innovative ideas. Then, in Peru, I learned further that there was really no interest in changing things, and even further, resources for change are non existent. While I spent time with Father Geaney in Jose Galvez and questioned him about the futility of overcoming the overwhelming poverty, he said that he was not called to make drastic social changes, which are no doubt needed, but that he was called to be present with Christ’s love, available to the people as they had needs to which he could minister. This became my desire as well, and it was the character of all that I did, and all that I was in the year I spent in the Andes. Certainly this can be done wherever God places us.

The mission was not spectacular, but it was blessed. I saw God’s Hand working in the lives of His beloved people on a daily basis, myself included. Sr. Eileen Egan, IHM and I became close friends and were able to work together in a beautifully harmonious way; Sr. Tomasa and I, while culturally miles apart, shared a very touching ministry to the Quetchua folk in the campo, on weekends, and visits to the sick and elderly whenever possible.

While there, I did not really focus on the differences in life style. I anticipated that it would not be as comfortable as my pampered life in the States, and that was indeed the truth. Thirty degrees in the South Andes is colder than any 30 degrees I have experienced before, and this includes Sweden and Canada. We lived a lot better than our neighbors, because we had electricity and running water, though no heat to warm up the adobe structures...we relied on at least four alpaca blankets, which never quite seemed to warm the toes, and the water was neither potable nor hot. Most of the wash was hand done and dried on a line, not impervious to the neighbor’s pigeons. I, at times, lived on bananas as a wonderful treat that satiated the hunger, and provided healthful nutrition. My good fortune was going to South America a bit overweight so that the bouts of diarrhea which were especially severe in Bolivia where I had to depend on the host family to provide all my food and drink only left me a bit trim (I did lose close to 50 pounds, the first few months).

	The town of Chapichumo is about a two and a half hour drive up the mountains from the town of Sicuani, in a southern direction. Here a group of Quetchua adults gather after having a Eucharistic celebration. Mass was quite an occasion there, since a priest is not available to celebrate Mass but once a year if possible.

In Sicuani, I was able to prepare breakfast each morning and then, at times, even the lunch, being very careful to clean and cook the food well, since the water used to irrigate is heavily polluted. The streams are the only source of water for the locals for bathing, doing laundry, and caring for the animals. Bananas at least could be peeled.

I quickly realized that the true miracle, as the people live a survival existence, was the smile that so readily crossed the face of someone who felt loved and accepted by the tall, white gringa, who sometimes used Spanish words incorrectly. I was known to lay down my bundles and assist someone to hoist a llama carcass onto a wagon, or help with a heavy sack of potatoes. Many hats were tipped as I passed, and if someone grabbed my hand to kiss it, I quickly kissed theirs in return. We were equals, blessing each other.

I dearly loved the street ministry I had as I walked the two miles from the town center each morning and connected with as many receptive people who I met along the way. I always carried my bright green bag filled with hard candy...not chocolate... and the children called me Hermana de dulce...the sister of sweets. I often shared them with adults as well, who were just as grateful as the children, and sometimes more so.

During his visit to Yauri, Reverend Daniel O’Neill, O.Carm., presided at Eucharist for the community.

Since I have a MA in fine arts, I did some art therapy with a young 18 year old who had been in bed for a year and a half, since his mother died. He had eight siblings and the father is an alcoholic. I sensed, when I visited him in his hovel, that the culprit was depression, but I just began working with him, and after a few visits, he was doing some lovely paintings with the materials I shared with him from my own stash. I paid him about $1 for each, which is a great deal of money in a place where people earn less than two or three dollars a week When Dr. Raul Caceres visited me with Father Dan, he verified my suspicion. Together we encouraged the fellow to leave his bed and walk. Within a month, he was walking up the 55 steps to the church. He soon requested that I be his godmother as he wanted to be baptized. Sr. Tomasa prepared him and there was a beautiful evening baptism at our Saturday Mass and he called me his Madre. I have set money aside to send my new-found friend Raul to a college for art, where he will learn to restore statues and Church paintings, thus giving him a way to earn a living and also to use his new found talents. I plan to keep in close touch with him.

Needless to say, I could go on for many more hours but must limit my sharing. Every day was blessed. The cost to me was minimal... the abundant payment was, and still is beyond comprehension.