Rest, Risk, and a Right-Side-Upside-Down Year: Part Two

You can read part one of the story here.

I stood on the side of the highway in Pucacaca with my suitcase and bags in tow. The the late morning sun beat down on me as I waited for a vehicle willing to stop. I’m not sure how long I waited for a ride. Thirty minutes? An hour?

Finally a willing driver stopped, and I explained my situation. He was headed to Tarapoto to pick up a patient who had gone for dialysis.

Once in the car, I asked if he minded if I prayed the rosary for our travels. He didn’t seem to care, so I began saying the prayers aloud, asking God particularly that we might get past the checkpoints without a problem.

We needed those prayers. The cop at the first checkpoint was skeptical of me, though I told him exactly what the police in Picota had suggested. He studied my passport and looked back at me. After what seemed an eternity he handed back my document, then began looking at the papers of the driver. The driver seemed to be missing something as well, and for a moment I began to play out in my mind what it would look like if we were prevented from going any further. After some hesitation, we were finally given a sign to go ahead. Thank you, Jesus!

The next few checkpoints were easy compared to that one, and when we got into the city, I gave the driver a generous tip in gratitude for the risk he took. It was a relief to see Russ and Yuri. Yuri’s family welcomed me with kindness and Peruvian hospitality, though we had never before met. They showed me to my room upstairs, where I would stay until we got word about our flight—which we expected to be later that day or the next.

Alone in my room I sat with my sadness. Everything was uncertain. I was heartbroken. I wasn’t at home or even a home away from home. Every time I felt some shortness or breath or got overheated (because it was 90 degrees with no A/C), I got anxious. I wasn’t as afraid of the coronavirus as I was not being allowed back into the States.

Being with the Sanchez-Garcia family was the best thing that could have happened to me in that moment. While we waited and waited, discussed options, and tried to make some loose plans, Yuri’s mom kept us well fed with three meals a day on the table. Mealtimes were a great source of distraction as we shared storied, made jokes, and laughed with one another.

One morning Yuri’s dad asked me if I liked cuy—a Peruvian delicacy also know as guinea pig! I had tried it once before, so I knew it wasn’t bad. I found out just how fresh this cuy was going to be when I saw the still-alive guineas in the back of the house. It’s ok, I know where meat comes from. It was indeed a delicious meal—think rabbit-pork fusion—though I can’t bring myself to crunch the bones like the Peruvians do. 

It's a bit alarming on the plate, but tasty in the mouth.

Each day I asked Russ for an update, and each time I got some news, but not always what I was hoping to hear. I passed the time as best as I could and took consolation in small things—like trips to the grocery store on the back of a scooter with Yuri to buy necessary items, including ice cream and hair dye. I can now laugh about being scolded by the police as we tried to take a photo in the empty town square because, in his words, it was a state of emergency, and we were acting like it was any other day.

The photo Yuri snapped of me right before the police scolded us

During these days I spent time trying to process what was going on, mourning the relationship that had ended, and seeking guidance from the Lord. I continued praying my 54-rosary novena. I was now in the second half of the novena—the 27 days of thanksgiving. I still wasn’t sure what I was being thankful for, but I kept praying. 

In my head, I had a cycle of "if onlys" going on. If only I had flown back to the States before the borders closed If only I had waited to have that hard conversation. If only I had never even come to Peru this year.

One day during my reflection time, the I found consolation in the verse, “He will open your graves and have you rise from them” (Ezekiel 37:12). The Lord led me to recognize that something had to die so that something else could come to life. As I continued to question and mourn what was lost, I held onto this glimmer of hope.

One day I was in my room chatting with a good friend over WhatApp. She asked me if I had thought about online dating. My answer was a firm “no.” I claimed that heartbreak was too difficult, and that I would never go down that path again. I wasn’t discontent being single, so I’d rather stay that way than go through this pain yet again.

After 10 days with Yuri’s family, we got an email from the US Embassy with information about our flights to Lima and then to the US. Hurray! It had felt like it would never happen. We quickly began packing our bags and making hotel and onward-flight reservations. Having been told that food options would be limited at the airport and in-flight, we packed food that could last the entire trip. In 12 hours, these three adults and two babies would be on their way back home! 

It was a blessing to travel with Russ and Yuri and help out with Cielo and Sianna.

The adventure was far from over. The trip was long, and most notable are the hours we spent after our flight to Lima on a non-moving bus full of kids having meltdowns. It was all worth it when they handed out the 1x2-inch pieces of paper with a seat number—our boarding passes! We were pleasantly surprised that first-class passes were given to the elderly and those traveling with children. That made the next seven hours a lot more bearable—for those traveling with kids and for those not. 

 

We had to stay not one, but two nights in a hotel when our flight to Dallas was delayed, causing us to miss our connection to Lafayette. After more than 48 hours of travel, we finally landed in Louisiana. Surprisingly, it felt like home. 

I quarantined at a campground owned by FMC. It was a lonely time, but one that gave me time to pray, reflect, and transition. It was Holy Week, and on Holy Thursday, I had a conversation with the man I had been dating that put some final closure on our relationship. That door was slammed shut. In the loneliness of those days, the pain was augmented. 

I went to the campground’s chapel, threw myself on the floor, and made no effort to stop any tears. I let myself be united with Christ’s passion in a particular way this Triduum. And while I couldn’t participate in my favorite liturgies of the year, I lived these days very keenly in my heart.

I reminded the Lord that if Good Friday was this awful, there must be one heck of a resurrection to come.

Stayed tuned for the third and final part...