Journey Through the Amazon

The Amazon River near Iquitos, Peru; that is all I know about my current location.  I know that I am on a dark green, almost 25-foot long canoe with sixteen others from Mexico (ten teenagers and six adults), three Peruvians (a cook and two drivers), and a white, clucking chicken in a grocery bag that will serve as our dinner once we get to our village destination, Jesus de Praga. 

All of our luggage, tents, and food (including the chicken) are piled in the back half of the canoe, the navigators sit on the roof, and the other eighteen of us crowd together in the front and attempt to make the most of a cramped space.  The roof gives us some shade as well as posts upon which we hung five hammocks diagonally across the boats for naps.  We split our free time between sleeping, sitting on the bow of the canoe, talking, and snacking on granola bars, bananas, and mangos.  Eventually, eating brings about our least favorite part of the journey: 

Using the bathroom.  When this happens, we have to trek through our pile of supplies and climb across the running motor at the back of the canoe where a thin, lime green curtain hides the small, dirty, concrete toilet.  The canoe drivers, attempting to offer us at least one comfort from civilization, built this toilet on top of the “Squatty-Potty” hole already in place, so we counted our blessings and thanked them and God for the thoughtful gift. 

As our canoe proceeded down the river, I can’t help but think of all the work that went into this ten day trip.  These ten days took almost a year of preparation: fundraising money, planning our children’s activities, and learning the culture of the Amazonian people.  All of us teenagers have grown up as children of missionaries; we were always the ones who received groups from other countries, always the ones who mobilized others to speak the Gospel, always the helpers, never the goers.

But now it’s our turn.

When we set out at 9:00 this morning, our drivers told us that our trip would take about six hours, but because of issues with our motor, we have been traveling for almost nine hours with no immediate end in sight.  I know it’s easy to think that missionaries’ children are always prepared, flexible, and easygoing in every situation, but I can assure you that is definitely not the case.  No amount of training could have prepared me for this.  The group’s optimistic spirits make this trip a little easier, but in the back of our minds we know that darkness is coming soon, and in a place with little to no electricity, our driver depends on sunlight to see where he is going.  We don’t know what we are going to do when darkness arrives, but for now the driver tells us “¡no se preocupen!”

Anyone that knows me knows that I value independence and flee from situations which bring about vulnerability.  I don’t cry in front o\f people, I rarely let people see me struggling, and I put out a tough appearance so that people don’t see my weaknesses.  But right now, on this canoe in the middle of the Amazon Jungle, my worst nightmare has come to life.  I am unfamiliar with my surroundings, I don’t know how much longer I will be on this boat, and I am completely dependent on others for my well-being, and that terrifies me so much that before I can stop them, quiet tears begin making their way down my face.

In an attempt to calm myself down and to hide my face from the others, I look out and study my surroundings.  The Amazon Jungle is both enticing and terrifying; I want to explore it but also run back to civilization.  Pure, wild, uncontrolled nature encompasses me; I have no idea what creatures swim in the murky water beneath me or who might be staring at me from behind the gigantic trees.  Every now and again, a pink dolphin splashes near the boat, its dorsal fin poking out from underneath the brown water.  The eyes of crocodiles stare at me from the river banks, and mosquitos attack my legs.  I imagine the piranhas, anacondas, tarantulas, monkeys, insects, and people all around me right now, and I wonder if they are as curious about me as I am about them.

Before I know it, another two hours passes and the sun begins to set.  The breathtaking artistry of an Amazonian sunset leaves me speechless.  Streaks of magenta, bright orange and yellow, blue, and every other color of the rainbow light up the sky all at once.  The trees are silhouettes against the sunset, and the colors reflect upon the water.  Time seems to stop and all feelings of fear and worry transform into feelings of awe and wonder as I stare at the sky with my jaw dropped in amazement.

All I can think about is the fact that natives to the Amazon get to see this every day, and I wonder what they think.  My home in Oaxaca rests in a valley surrounded by large, green mountains, and when I first arrived there I couldn’t believe I had the privilege to live there.  As I became accustomed to them, though, I found myself becoming numb to the mountains’ splendor, and I speculate that the people of the Amazon probably have a similar reaction to the sunsets.  Perhaps if they went to Oaxaca they would stare in bewilderment at my mountains just as I stare at their sky.

I look around and see everyone else in the boat staring out at the sky too.  Peace overtakes me and I remember why we are here in the Amazon Jungle in the first place.  I am in this boat to tell the people of our destination, Jesus de Praga, about the Great Creator of the sky and the jungle. I want them to view their surroundings through the eyes of the God who created it, and to know that the same God created them too.

While I was lost in thought, the darkness that I dreaded so much arrived.  I have never experienced darkness like this before, a darkness so prominent that I can’t see my hand inches from my face.  The only light we have comes from three handheld flashlights, and one of those is being used by the drivers.  How can the drivers see what is in front of them?  Their answer: “We can’t.”  They are completely depending on their memories and one flashlight to lead us through this darkness.  At this point we have been riding for almost thirteen hours, and we still don’t know how much longer we have left to go.  The fear of vulnerability rushes back into my mind, and I begin to slip back into anxiety.

And then I look up.

“Whoa” is the only word my lips can muster.  Above me are stars so numerous and brilliant that I forget my worries.  My mind goes to the story of Abraham in Genesis 15; I think of how God told Abraham to look up and count the stars, and I feel a sense of comradery with Abraham. God used the stars to speak to both of us, showing us His ability to provide for us.  The only way for me to see stars like these is to get out of Oaxaca, out of my comfort zone.  The darkness that I was so apprehensive about was necessary for God to show me his power.  The darkness has become a source of peace rather than fear.

Almost at the same time, the eighteen of us look at each other and smile.  I know that God spoke, not just to me, but to each of us.  We, overcome with joy, begin to worship under the stars, singing out to our God,

“I see your power in the moonlit night

Where planets are in motion and the galaxaies are bright

We are amazed in the light of the stars

It’s all proclaiming who you are

You’re beautiful.”

At about 2:00am, after an hour of worshiping and praying, our boat stopped.  Our drivers tell us to get off the boat, but it’s still pitch black, so we can’t see where we’re going.  They tell us that we are spending the night on the porch of a man in another village because there is simply not enough light for safe travel.  We get off the boat and make our way through the thick grass to a long wooden porch, and once we arrive we begin to set up our mats and mosquito net tents, inside which we will spend the rest of the night until sunrise.  “No toquen las serpientes!” the drivers yell out to us as we hiked up the riverbank to the house.  We thought they were joking; they weren’t.    

Despite this detour, we were calm.  All of us felt a peace and sovereign protection around us, even in the midst of uncertainty.  Something in the group had changed.  I had changed.  I no longer feared the unknown; I embraced it.  “God is going to get us through this,” I repeated to myself.  And I was right. 

At about 6:00, we woke up to the sun beaming down through the mosquito nets.  My tent-mate and I frantically the door to our tent to escape the suffocating humidity and biting flies that had flooded our little red tent.  We sat in silence on the porch, waiting for the rest of the group to wake up.  My ears fill with the croaking of frogs, the chirping of crickets, the buzzing of mosquitos, and the occasional snore of a teammate.  I opened my Bible to the book of Psalms, searching for a verse with which I could adequately worship the One who brought me safely to this place.  I turn to Psalms 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God”, and for the first time I read this verse from a new perspective.  The sun rose this morning and overcame the darkness which scared me before, and only God could do that.  He proved His capabilities to me last night, and now I can fully know that He is God. 

Eventually everyone woke up and we continue our slow boat tour of the Amazon.  After a total of sixteen hours of travel, our drivers announce that they can finally see Jesus de Praga in the distance.  I look out and see a town composed of wooden huts on stilts, and as we get closer two people come into view.  Our hosts wave at us from the shore, and we excitedly call out to them. 

Children rush to see what the commotion is all about, and we finally get a glimpse of who we will be spending this week with.  Before our feet even touch the ground at Jesus de Praga, I know that this will continue to be a life-changing week, not just for the locals, but for our team as well.  

As we inch closer, I realize that I’m going to miss this cramped, green canoe with the disgusting toilet and clucking chicken.  I now see that, though it was inconvenient from our earthly perspective, God knew we needed this sixteen-hour journey.  We needed to rest and understand who He is before we could begin to tell others.  I needed to experience fear before I could understand His protection; God used my greatest nightmare to show me his power and the darkness to show me His light.

I can’t wait to tell the people of Jesus de Praga all about His greatness.