Travel and Verse

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Tag: Medical Mission

Peru Medical Trip: Fact Sheet

February 22, 2024 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 138

Summary:

Once a year I travel to Peru to work with local missionaries on a Medical Campaign in the jungle. We spend several days prepping, then six days providing medical care and speaking the truth of the Gospel to the people along the Las Piedras River in southeastern Peru.

Where are we going?

To put it frankly? Off the map. Our team will be traveling along the Las Piedras River for 6 days. We will take a long canoe-like boat roughly 250 miles up the river to the village of Monte Salvado, which boarders the Madre de Dios Territorial Reserve. This reserve is kind of a mix of national park/natur preserve/tribal reservation. It is home to a couple of uncontacted people groups, one of which is the Maschco Piro. The people along the river are part of the Yine tribe. Their primary language is Yine, but most do speak Spanish.

What are we doing?

The team will set up a mobile clinic and treat patients. And we will do that in seven villages on the way back to Puerto Maldonado. During this time, our evangelism team as well as the local missionaries preach, disciple, and distribute Gospel materials.

Prep days:

An important prerequisite for setting up mobile clinics in the jungle is the preparation. And that starts months in advance with finding the right teammates. God has blessed us with a solid team of physicians, nurses, physical therapists, dentists and techs, paramedics, and support members. This year, it’s looking like we’ll have around 20 people from all over the States and Peru. Gear and medication prep begins when we land in Puerto Maldonado. We will spend a couple of days organizing medication, camping gear, food, and other equipment. It all gets loaded up into a long boat and our trip begins.

The Goal:

Obviously we’re here to provide much needed medical care. It is very difficult and often cost prohibitive for these people to get healthcare. But as we are treating bodies, we are also treating souls. Our goal is to spread the Good News of Christ to a people in great need. While caring for them we are pointing them to the Great Physician.

Duration:

I will be leaving on Thursday, the 22nd of February and arrive in Puerto Maldonado on Friday morning. The first couple of days being prep, we will leave for the jungle on Monday the 26th. I will be back in the States on the 4th of March.

How can I get involved?

Pray. Please consider praying for and during the medical campaign. You might think, “oh I should send money or maybe even get some training and go.” And those are certainly things that can be done. But prayer is the most important work. And prayer not just something to help with the work.

Prayer IS the work. It is the means by which we worship God. Prayer brings us before Him. It unifies all of Christianity. It is a mystery of supernatural goodness that cannot be ignored. If you want to be involved in the 2024 Peru Medical Campaign, please pray.

anthony forrest

How to Save the World and the Best Things First

December 1, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Back to Peru, part 6

I recently spent some time in the Peruvian jungle. Every year, I work with a medical team, bringing healthcare and the Gospel to a people who need both. Here’s a few tales.

I suppose this is a kind of book review. But first, let me explain…no, there is too much, let me sum up (unabashed Princess Bride Quote):

No matter which part of the United States you live in, getting to and from Peru is a hassle. Getting there takes me about 16-18 hours. But getting home runs roughly 24 hours of straight travel. And that’s if everything goes smoothly (and it rarely does). Perhaps that is why I reclined on the floor of the Miami airport, staring blankly at the screen mounted my gate. The time of departure delayed even later. What was supposed to be a seven-hour layover, was now building up to 11 hours. Nearly two weeks in Peru wore on me. And even though this trip to Peru is the highlight of my year, I longed to be home.

Our team had treated just under 200 patients in a weeklong medical campaign push up the Las Piedras River. This year, the prep work and post-clinic cleanup and briefing was almost as tough as the clinic we hosted in the deep jungle.

The people in this part the jungle receive very little medical care and even less spiritual care. Needless to say, they have many needs. This begs a question: which needs do we strive to meet? What’s the best thing for a people on the brink? And if we are fortunate to discover what those needs are, how do we as Christians meet them on a sustainable level?

I pondered questions like these while I sat on the floor in my semi-filthy jungle clothes, waiting for a flight home.

I began to doze when I was interrupted by a tall, nicely dressed man who sat down right next to me on the floor. We said hi and mutually bemoaned the unreliable nature of travel in a post-Covid world. We appeared to be two very different people. This guy seemed to be a business man. And me, not so much. He asked about my work and why I was traveling. If there is one thing I love to talk about, it’s Peru. Each year I travel to the jungle to help a people who desperately need it. And I told him so. People tend to gloss over if I ramble about anything. But this guy was on the edge of his seat.

Photograph by R Mathiasson

Suddenly it was my turn. I asked and he introduced himself as Bjorn Lomborg. He said that he worked for a “think-tank” and hailed from Denmark.

“That’s the kind of answer I’d expect from a CIA agent,” I joked. He only laughed and assured me that he was indeed not a CIA agent.

Throughout our conversation, he asked pertinent questions about Peru:

“Do you see any leishmaniasis?”

“How many patients have you seen with tuberculosis?”

 “Is there any follow-up with patients?”

“How do you know you’re meeting their needs?”

Most people I talk to don’t ever go this deep. And these were all good questions.

And after a while, it clicked where I’d seen Bjorn. He had been a guest on the Joe Rogan podcast. And most recently, I thought I’d seen him speak in an interview with Jordan Peterson.

Bjorn works with the think-tank Copenhagen Consensus Center and has written various books on topics such as climate change and environmentalism. His questions came from a place of knowledge and actual concern. And as I (finally) boarded my plane to come home, I clicked the Buy it Now button on my Kindle to read his latest book during my flight.

And here’s that book review I promised you.

I won’t try to completely explain Best Things First by Bjorn Lomborg. His background and knowledge on global environment economics are way out of my league. But like Indigo Montoya in The Princess Bride, Bjorn sums it all up nicely in the very first paragraph of the book.

“We all want a better world. Unfortunately, our efforts are often hampered by wanting to achieve not just some but all good things at once, many of which are near-impossible, prohibitively expensive, or terribly inefficient, or all at once.” (Lomborg, 21)

He speaks to the UNs Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) and gives his own responses. The UN has attempted to tackle something in the neighborhood of 1,400 goals to bring the world out of poverty, hunger, destitution, and simply make the world a better place.

Long story short, it’s not happening. I know it’s shocking, but the UN and all the hoards of this world’s politicians are simply not delivering on promises to improve the world.

Bjorn’s response? Let’s tackle the goals that will have the biggest impact on the world in the best way possible, as fast as possible. If we are going to spend heaps of money to make the world a better place, let’s spend it on the things that will make the greatest difference. He outlines 12 areas of change, such as tuberculosis, education, and trade.

He goes into great detail in each of these areas. I won’t go deep right now. If you want to know something about how we as the human race can make the world a better place, I highly recommend Bjorn’s book. It’s detailed, specific, and scientific. Be warned, tis quite heady.

My chat with Bjorn and reading his book challenged me as a Christian too. How do we save the world? Christians innately value more than just this present world. We are concerned for the soul. And yet, Jesus came feeding people and healing the sick.

As a follower of Christ, what am I called to do? There seems to be a rift between two trains of thought in Christianity. Some would say that Christian’s should focus only on preaching the Gospel. Others would say that humanitarianism is our greatest calling.

Our Great Commission is to, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” (Matt 28:19)

Indeed our concern is for souls. People need to realize that there is more to this world than the present. And Christ is not willing that any should perish in Eternity to come.

And yet, I think Bjorn makes an excellent point in a later chapter of his book.

“For many people in the poorer world, concerns for the future are strongly overshadowed by immediate and urgent concerns about illness, education, housing, or putting food on the table.” (Lomborg, 273)

But I have good news. Earlier in Mattew, it teaches that when we clothe and feed others, “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.” (Matt 25:40)

Treating the bodies of a Peruvian family with tuberculosis, and speaking the truth of Christ’s eternal salvation are not mutually exclusive. As Christians we are not simply called to do one or the other. We do each through the other. We feed and clothe and treat the ill because it’s as if we are doing so for Christ Himself. And we make disciples by speaking the Gospel, all in our own kind of “Sustainable Development Goal.”

How do we save the world?

We save the world like Christ saved (saves) the world. We come healing, and feeding, and preaching, and teaching. Bjorn wrote about 12 goals that make the greatest impact for people and world economics. For us Christians, the “Best Things First” certainly may include each of these goals. But the overall Best thing, is meeting needs in concert with the message that Christ, “came to seek and to save the lost.” (Luke 19:10)

anthony forrest

 

Check out the rest of this series:

Part 1, Prepping and Packing

Part 2, Delayed

Part 3, Leaving soon

Part 4, A Tale of Two Boats

Part 5, Coconuts, Rats, and What We Give

Coconuts and Rats and what we Give

September 1, 2023 / / 2 Comments

Travel Journal, 133

Back to Peru, part 5

I recently spent some time in the Peruvian jungle. Every year, I work with a medical team, bringing healthcare and the Gospel to a people who need both. Here’s a few tales:

 

I literally had a person tell me to have a “good vacation” right before I left for Peru. A smile came to my face and I nodded, saying I would do just that. But vacation is certainly a grave misjudgment of what we do in Peru. Do I have fun? Of course, heaps of fun. But don’t get me wrong, this is work—the Lord’s work.

Let me paint a picture:

After nearly 18 hours of travel, the plane poked through the clouds, revealing the snaking Madre de Dios River. My last leg included sitting in the very last seat on the plane, right next to a poopy little baby. We pick up our checked baggage of medical supplies and other stuffs for the week, meet the local missionary, hop in the taxi, and bustle off in a flurry of dust and travel-weariness. What comes next, you ask. A nap perhaps? Or maybe a shower? But the only thing on my mind is the mission. For the next week and a half our team will need to prep and execute a mobile clinic in villages along 250 miles of river. And the prep weighs very heavy in my mind right now. Tents need to be organized. Medications need to be readied. Pills need to be separated into patient-packs, ready to distribute. It’s hours of work and organization that has gotten easier as the years have passed.

The team slowly trickles into the country. Each new team member experiences the same thing as me. We land. We work. Clinic is coming. Will we be ready? Will everything fall into place? Will God do his work? We know the answer. But we’re nervous, nonetheless. Each of us possesses gifts; we have some way to contribute. But we have doubts whether those gifts are sharp enough, ready to use. But all want to give what we can to get this thing done. And as we finish up prepping and stand at the edge of clinic week, we’ve already given much of ourselves. This is no vacation. This is work—good work—the Lord’s work. But work, definitely.

The night before we packed up our boats and started hosting clinics along the Las Piedras River, I stood talking on the phone outside the house where I was staying. I was catching up with the little woman when a dog walked around the corner.

Peru has a ton of dogs. And one of them came up to me and dropped a dead rat at my feet. I stood looking at this offering of Peruvian benevolence while the dog gazed at me questioningly.

I had questions of my own.

“Is this it? Is this how I live? I give all that I have: time, money, and strength. And how does Peru repay me?”

Rats

It was a momentary thought. I don’t really feel like that. But for a moment, I wondered if what we do is worth the trouble. Any questions lingering in the back of my mind were answered later in the week.

When our boats pull up to a village, we unload our gear and begin the process of setting up for clinic. I readied my station: triage and registration. (Every patient being seen comes to me first. We take their vital signs, talk about any medical complaints, and direct them to see the doctor, dentist, vision, ect.) It was a brutally hot day. We carried everything up to the village and clinic was ready to go. I looked over a half wall, out into the village. A lady stood there staring at me. She just looked intently at me.

“I know you. You have been here several times! Thank you for coming!”

She was right. I had been here. And since I’m being honest, I should tell you that I didn’t recognize her. But being there and doing the work mattered to her.

It was sweet and refreshing.

And later in the week, another lady walked up to me and said almost the same thing.

“I know you. Thank you for coming!”

She then shoved a coconut into my arms. My sleep deprived and overworked mind nearly let burst a levy of tears.

Is all the work worth it? Not only are these people getting physical help. They are also hearing the Good News of Christ. So obviously it is worth the work.

But do I only get rats in return?

There’s a passage in Hosea that had read after clinic had ended and we were making our way further along the river.

God says in Hosea chapter 6, “I desire loyalty and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.”

We may think our sacrifice is the most valuable thing about us during this clinic week, or even in our Christian lives. But God requires our devotion more than anything. He wants our entire being.

We may find rats along the way. But God promises far more. Hosea goes on,

“Let us strive to know the Lord. His appearance is as sure as the dawn. He will come to us like the rain, like the spring showers that water the land.”

He refreshes us like rain and springs showers. He gives us the sweetness of coconuts and Peruvian smiles. And all he requires is a loyal heart and a life steadily seeking Him.

So even though it’s a ton of work, and there may be rats along the way, what we give is far less than what Christ gives us. During our clinics he gave the Peruvian people healthcare. He gave them the Word of God. He gave them Eternal life.

What did he give me?

Coconuts

And I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

 

anthony forrest

 

Check out the rest of this series:

Part 1, Prepping and Packing

Part 2, Delayed

Part 3, Leaving soon

Part 4, A Tale of Two Boats

Back to Peru, part 3: leaving soon

August 2, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 131

To say that I was disappointed at rescheduling our medical campaign to Peru would be a wild understatement. Back in February, civil unrest prompted local officials to decide not to grant our request to operate clinics in the jungle near Puerto Maldonado. But God is good. As you read this sentence, I’m actively packing for Peru once again. I’m leaving Thursday, August 3rd.

We’ve had to be flexible and ready. This business is a business of waiting.

We waited for political dust to settle.

Waited for gear to show up in the mail.

Waited on licenses to be renewed.

Waited on schedules to mesh.

Waited on the line at airport security.

We waited on the Lord.

I’m drawn to the verses in the Bible that say, “they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”

That’s the old King James version. Newer renditions translate wait into trust. Those who wait on God end up renewing strength, flying with eagle’s wings, running hard, not getting tired, and all out thriving. It’s not an impatient wait. We wait in trust, knowing that God will do God things. And God will, indeed, do them. You can bank on that.

I have been involved in this medical campaign for the past few years. Many medical ministries exist throughout the world. Some are capable and able to set up huge clinic sites to reach people in difficult situations. Take an organization such as Samaritan’s Purse for an example. They mobilized thousands of medical professionals as well as garnered millions of dollars of humanitarian aid for the extreme need along the borders of Ukraine. The Salvation Army does the same for hurting people all over the world. Larger organizations have their place.

But what about the village of 80 on some unknown river in a (seemingly) godless jungle? Who reaches them? There’s no Boing 737 loaded to the gills with supplies and Bibles headed their way. Something like that is just not feasible. Even a team of 100 couldn’t make the trek. That’s where we come in. For seven days we go from village to village with a kind of tactical medical team. We keep the team tight. A doctor, a handful of nurses, a team of missionaries and locals, and myself, a paramedic—maybe 15ish people. We load up heaps of gear onto a long boat and travel a couple of hundred miles into the reaches of the Amazon, typically during the rainy season. I say typically because we usually do this campaign in February. But it’s winter there. (Don’t picture snowmen and ice fishing) Rain falls infrequently and the river is low. We face harder challenges this year, but that will just make it taste all the sweeter.

We will treat and minister to hundreds of patients and lost souls next week. These people know nothing of proper medical care. And they know even less, if anything, about our Great Physician, Jesus Christ. We will bring them the Good News of Christ—dead, buried, and risen—treating their souls as well as their bodies.

We’ve waited on the Lord to make this trip happen. And we wait to see what he’ll do in the jungle during the medical campaign next week.

Would you please pray for the medical campaign in Peru, August 7th through the 12th?

Pray for:

Local agency authorization to come through

The health of the team

Safety during the trip

Easy availability of needed supplies

The fragile political climate in Peru

And that many would hear the Gospel and that Christ would save them

 

anthony forrest

 

Check out the rest of this series: 

Part 1, Prepping and Packing

Part 2, Delayed

Back to Peru, part 2: delayed

February 20, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 129

I was hoping that this wouldn’t happen. The news coming out of Peru had been dodgy at best. But the medical campaign to the jungle of Peru has been rescheduled.

For the past three months, the Peruvian government has been in a bit of an upheaval. It’s convoluted and wild. But to make a long story short, the now ex-president Pedro Castillo faced an impeachment vote that would undoubtably remove him from office. He has not been a very popular guy.  It always seems to boil down to corruption. He has been repeatedly accused of corruption and lies since even before he came into office. The result was that, as the looming impeachment came to a head, he decided that he would dissolve the Peruvian congress.

Bold move.

The wrong move, but it was still pretty bold.

He was arrested and his vice president became Peru’s first female president. But this is a South American story about politics. So needless to say, there is no “good guy.”

Protests and roadblocks have made travel difficult. Supply chains are struggling, if not completely broken. One of the most important assets to our endeavor is gasoline for the boat. No gas, no travel, no clinics. This was one of contributing factors to rescheduling the trip.

But the last straw, as it were, was that the local department of health did not approve our medical papers to operate our mobile clinics. This is all due to the civil unrest that is making life very difficult in Peru.

Having to reschedule is disappointing. But we are praying that the political situation there improves soon so we can do the work we’re called to do. People need to hear of the Great Physician. His ways and thoughts are far higher and greater than ours. And He will get us into the jungle in His time.

Please continue to pray for the medical campaign in Peru. I will keep you posted with further info as the time draws near.

anthony forrest

 

Check out the rest of this series: 

Part 1, Prepping and Packing

Back to Peru, part 1: prepping and praying

January 28, 2023 / / 1 Comment

Travel Journal, 128

Warning: this article contains a brief discussion on suicide.

“I cannot believe this sporting goods store in central Minnesota doesn’t have any jungle gear during the month of January.”

Thinking it felt pretty silly. Saying it out loud was shear madness. I stumbled around Scheels looking for things like dry sacks, inflatable camping seats, rain ponchos, and anything else waterproof that I could get my hands on.

For the past few years, I have been involved in a medical mission in the jungle of Peru. There are many medical ministries in this world. Some are capable and able to set up huge clinic sites to reach people in difficult situations. Take an organization such as Samaritan’s Purse for an example. They mobilized thousands of medical professionals as well as garnered millions of dollars of humanitarian aid for the extreme need along the borders of Ukraine. The Salvation Army does the same for hurting people all over the world. Larger organizations have their place.

But what about the village of 80 on some unknown river in a (seemingly) godless jungle? Who reaches them? There’s no Boing 737 loaded to the gills with supplies and Bibles headed their way. Something like that is just not feasible. Even a team of 100 couldn’t make the trek. That’s where we come in. For seven days we go from village to village with a kind of tactical medical team. We keep the team tight. A doctor, a handful of nurses, a team of missionaries and locals, and myself, a paramedic—maybe 15-18 people. During the rainy season we load up heaps of gear onto a long boat and travel a couple of hundred miles into the reaches of the Amazon. We will treat and minister to hundreds of patients and lost souls. These people know nothing of proper medical care. And they know even less, if anything, about our Great Physician, Jesus Christ. We will bring them the Good News of Christ—dead, buried, and risen—treating their souls as well as their bodies.

The medical campaign has become a very important part of my life. Be not deceived. It sounds adventurous, and I suppose it is. But this is no vacation. We are here to work. At every stop along the river, we carry hundreds of pounds of gear up the river banks to set up clinic. Sleep evades. And muscles cry out. It’s a grueling week with all the romance of sleeping on the dirt and chancing Dengue Fever.

But I cannot miss it.

In truth, I need to be there as much as the patients we’ll see.

As a paramedic, I see patients every night. Some sick, some not so much.

I get calls for junkies OD-ing on Fentanyl.

Elderly women with respiratory failure.

Heart attacks.

Strokes.

Suicides especially hurt my heart. My mind’s eye cannot rid itself of the images of men and women hanging from the floor joists in their basement.

But not all “emergencies” are emergencies. We see it all—drunk wackos, running from the cops. The 25-year-old who thinks he’s dying when it turns out he shouldn’t drink 10 Monster Energy Drinks in a night. Or how about getting called in the middle of the night for a kid with a fever? For some reason, a ton of parents don’t even have Tylenol in their home. I get called for (literally) stubbed toes.

Needless to say, I get burned out.

Where is my empathy? Why don’t I always care deeply for each person equally, no matter why they call 911? God Himself cares for me even at my worst—especially (!) at my worst. Christianity is the opposite of this world. The more horrible I am, the more grace God has given me. It seems backward. And I wish I was like that—showing love and grace to people whom I’ve written off.

I need a reset. And my annual trek to Peru does just that. I need to sleep on the dirt and suffer a little. I need to go to the jungle; I need to see patients who need medical care; I need to see lives transformed by Christ. Yes, I know, it all kind of sounds selfish now. But God works in every heart. While we bring the News of Christ to these sick souls, it turns out, the Great Physicians is actually healing me.

So, I am prepping once again for the campaign in Peru. We have an excellent team this year, including a couple of nurses who’ve never been there. I will be checking my tent for holes and filling totes with medical supplies for the next two weeks. The search for jungle gear in this Minnesota January continues.

Would you consider praying for the upcoming medical campaign in Peru from 11 February to 19 February?

 

Pray for:

The health of the team

Safety during the trip

Easy availability of needed supplies (gasoline for the boat, ect)

The deteriorating political climate in Peru

And that many would hear the Gospel and that Christ would save them

 

anthony forrest

15 Hours, part 2

May 5, 2022 / / 0 Comments

Peru '22, chapter four

Travel Journal, 119

I recently spent some time in the Peruvian jungle. I worked with a medical team, bringing healthcare and the Gospel to a people who need both. Here’s a few tales.

The weeklong medical campaign along the Las Piedras River near Puerto Maldonado did not begin with clinic setups or patient registrations. Before any other that could happen, the team had to get where it was going. The medical team, along with support staff, loaded onto a long, long boat and traveled many hours up the river. The first day consisted of about six hours on the boat. We landed at a small village, hosted our first clinic (40 patients), and stayed the night.

But further up the river lay the settlement of Monte Salvado. Getting to this place is not easy or quick. The second day of our journey would require us to log some major boat time. The boat crew thought it might take 12 hours. My handwritten journal for that day simply says, “Long boat trip, 14.75 hours.” It might sound boring—and it was sometimes. But I’d like to fill in those gaps. So, to give you an idea of what it’s like to sit on a wooden bench on a long boat on a river in the jungle for a really long time, I give you:

Fifteen Hours…the finally.

Hour 9: Dark clouds threaten. Rain can build and pour at the drop of a sombrero. A couple of us struggle and wrestle the enormous tarp to cover the gear not protected by the canopy. But with the wind blowing and the movement of the boat, it feels like we’re on an episode of Candid Camera. At one point I had to jump onto the tarp. We just can’t get it to cover the gear without trying to fly away. It’s just so unwieldly. Like the raft on the Dick Van Dyke Show.2 We finally get it right before a rain.

Hour 10: We can’t make it. It is decided that we have to stop along a sandbank to use the, uh, facilities. The Hoop of Hope isn’t going to cut it. The driver brings the boat to the shore. While some are in the trees, I strip to the waist and kick off the sandals for a dip. This water has fish of all sorts (including piranha), snakes, and caiman (a small gator). But those things rarely bother anybody. The water may be muddy, but it’s cool and refreshing. Our stop lasts for less then 15 minutes. We roll down the river once more.

Hour 11: There’s some discussion by the boat crew. It seems that the river is running too fast for us to make it to Monte Salvado in 12 hours. Should we stop early? Go on? It will be getting dark soon. No fear, it’s decided that we shall carry on and drive through the darkness should we need. I’m puzzled. I don’t see a rack of floodlights anywhere. How is the boat driver to see?

Hour 12: I try to nap. The sun makes the day hot. I throw myself onto some backpacks and doze for twenty minutes or so. This day is getting long.

Hour 13: When we first started the day the sighting of a Macaw turned every head and drew every camera. Now, not so much. “Oh, look, a parrot. Oh, look another one. Oh, there’s two. There’s a dozen or more.” You can hear them before you see them—bright, beautiful, red, and loud.

Hour 14: The sun has set. And above all the animals and noises of the jungle, the darkness is the loudest thing our here. And since Peru sits so close to the equator, when the sun goes down it gets dark quickly. Two Peruvian lads wander to the front of the boat with flashlights. They light the way for the boat. Everybody is quiet. This seems dangerous, and it is, but “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear though the earth gives way…though its waters roar and foam.”3

Hour 15: Operating this kind of boat, under these conditions, with this many people, in the deep jungle-dark, is, we are told, not very safe but not unheard of. But as the hour passes, we see lights along the shore ahead of us. Every person rumbles with excitement. The last outpost of Monte Salvado lay before us. No person is permitted to go beyond this settlement. For this is the boundary of a National Reserve, protecting isolated and yet uncontacted people. The boat lands and we begin the unloading process. It feels like coming home. I haven’t been in this place for two years. We throw up the tents quickly. One of the residents of Monte has asked that we hold a service. It’s hot, wet, late, and we’ve been up forever. But Buddy (missionary unhindered by such things) grabs his Bible. A few of us agree to go to the service. The others crash onto their sleeping mat. The service begins in song of three languages: Yine, Spanish, and English. Buddy brings the Word. Three quarters of the way through, I nod off. Which wouldn’t be a big deal, except I’m sitting on a treacherously narrow bench. One of the guys I’m with throws their hand behind my back, catching me. “Antonio! Esta bien?!” or “Bro, you okay?!”

What more to tell? Other than sleep came quickly that night. And we rose the next day, for yet another clinic along the Las Peidras River.

 

anthony forrest

  1. Proud Mary by Creedence Clearwater Revival, John Fogerty 1969
  2. The Dick Van Dyke Show, Season 1 episode 16, 1962
  3. Psalm 46, ESV

 

Check out the other stories in this series:

15 Hours, part 1

Shaving in the Jungle

Boring Adventure Stories

Boring Adventure Stories

March 31, 2022 / / 0 Comments

'22 Peru, part two

Travel Journal, 117

I recently spent some time in the Peruvian jungle. I worked with a medical team, bringing healthcare and the Gospel to a people who need both. Here’s a few tales.

A detriment to foreign missions is the romance of it all.

I grew up with tales of the intrepid missionary selling all, gathering his or her things into a small leather case, kissing loved ones goodbye, and stepping out into the void, never to be heard from again. Their ship sails to a foreign land, where they disappear into the jungle, or the depths of the Chinese interior. Thousands hear the Good News of Jesus. And wiz! bang! the rest is church history. And some of it is fairly recent history. The story of Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, Ed McCully, and Roger Youderian gripped me as a child. They left the States (with their wives who would later finish their work) and ventured into the darkness of Ecuador with the goal of reaching an uncontacted people group. The same group of men landed a plane on a beach and were later speared to death by the same tribe they sought to reach. That was 1956.

More recently, missionary John Chau attempted to reach the Sentinelese people on an island in the middle of the Bay of Bengal. Though his attempt to make contact and spread the Good News to this people is disputed and highly controversial, the fact remains that people like the Sentinelese do exist.

One of these groups is found in Peru, the Mashco Piro. These people live very close to where we held our second clinic during my recent trip to Peru. According to some of the local folks, this tribe of yet-uncontacted people occasionally attack their homes, raiding food stores and even killing residents. In the past couple of years, I have had the chance to stand on the shore of the Las Piedras River and gaze into the jungle, imagining what it would be like to see one of these people.

It’s all so romantic, isn’t it?

The far-off places, jungles, boats, planes, tribal people, high-risk situations, it all scratches the itch of romantic adventure and Indiana Jones-esque longing that we all have.

Have you ever heard of a boring adventure story? They don’t exist. It’s hard to write a boring account of someone risking it all and going to a land far away.

But maybe that’s what we need.

Maybe we need to read about the boring missionary stuff.

A missionary couple go to language class for 6 hours a day, four days a week. But the train ride there is an hour-and-a-half. So they have to get up at 4:00 a.m. to make it to class. Finding a baby sitter that can come that early is murder.

Another missionary spends 10 hours a week prepping for an upcoming class he’s teaching on a book of the Bible.

Yet another goes to the city to finish some visa paperwork for his wife and kids. He stands in line for three hours only to find out that he doesn’t have the right form. There’s a new one that he didn’t know about. That’s another trip to this dingy office he wasn’t counting on.

A knock on the door comes during dinner. It’s a man from church. He’s crying. His wife is about to leave him. He’s invited in and stays until 10.

Nightly Bible studies, weekly counseling sessions, trips to nearby towns to meet with people interested in the Bible, and stopping for diapers along the way makes up their time.

It’s not all spears and canoes. Nor should it be.

Because the adventure and romance of it all pales in the light of the real reason a missionary goes to a foreign field. People need to hear about a loving Savior who came to this earth to die for you and me. Missionaries are real people who have real needs. They go to the places we can’t go to reach the people who don’t live where we live.

The romance wears off fast in the immigration office. But the Good News of Jesus lasts forever, and it’s  certainly a far better adventure story than anything I can write.

 

anthony forrest

 

Check out the other stories in this series:

Shaving in the Jungle

Shaving in the Jungle

March 24, 2022 / / 0 Comments

'22 Peru, part one

Travel Journal, 116

I recently spent some time in the Peruvian jungle. I worked with a medical team, bringing healthcare and the Gospel to a people who need both. Here are a few tales.

Shave Number One

Our travels up the Las Piedras River in the jungles of Peru had taken us hours upon hours. Each day brought us farther and farther from the luxury of a clean bathroom and sink. We’d made it to the furthest point of our week—a settlement deep in the heart of the Amazon basin. The medical team I traveled with spent 6 hours on a motorized 70-foot, flat-back-canoe on the first day alone. But that was nothing compared to the next day: 15 hours of boat travel. In one long day, the boat had become our refuge, our bed, our dining room, our bathroom. And now there we were on day two, trekking back toward our original start point of Puerto Maldonado.

Every day reached 90 degrees Fahrenheit. The humidity stifled us non-Peruvians. I broke out in a heat rash immediately. But that’s okay, the sunburn made it hardly noticeable. Ratty hair abounded. Clothes became rags. Try drying off after bathing. You’re still wet and now your only towel is too. Most us had become…unkempt.

But nothing can spruce up the weary jungle traveler like a nice shave.

Ah, the glories of a good shave. I hadn’t shaved for days and it was noticeable. At one point, our doctor literally offered to share his razor (he giggled, but he might have been serious).

I turned him down, laughed, and walked away. But then I saw Eric with his shave kit.

“You shaving, Eric?”

“I think so,” he said.

Eric is a different generation than me. He’s the dad of one of our nurses.

A thin, but study hand at the outdoors, capable of all and smiles throughout, this was Eric’s first trip to Peru. He managed nicely.

“I’ll go with you,” I said, caving to the peer pressure. If every other guy on this trip was going to clean up, I’d better fall in line. But we both knew what a shave meant. We would both need to go to the river and shave over the side of the boat. I went to grab my stuff.

“Bring your cell phone,” I cried over my shoulder. He had a blank stare in his eyes. But I got my kit and met him at the river.

I set up my cell phone with the camera facing me and started the process:

Wet face with brown river water.

Lather up with tiny hotel soap.

Rinse razor.

Shave face.

Don’t cut face.

Continue until camera shuts off automatically.

Turn it back on.

Repeat.

I was shaving, leaning over the side of the boat and balancing all of my accoutrements when my shaving companion looked up.

“Oh, I see what you meant!” Eric said laughing. “Well, here’s where the old meets the young. I’ve got a few tricks myself.”

He unfolding his shave kit and got set up.

“First,” he instructed, “Chapstick. Rub it on your face before the soap.” He did so and I watched.

“It’ll make the razor glide nicely.”

I held my razor midair, stupefied.

“Then I use this,” continued my Sensei. He held up a tiny mirror that looked like a shining silver dollar. He was operating in another dimension.

“It’s one of my wife’s broken compacts.”

Here I thought I had skills. Sure, my camera worked great. But this guy came loaded for bear, wielding lip balm like a samurai sword. I was playing checkers and he was playing 3D chess. Sure, we both learned something about shaving in the jungle.

But I think I got the better lesson.

Shave Number Two

“Do you want to get a haircut?”

The question came up at the end of our trip. We’d made it back to Puerto Maldonado after a long week in the jungle. With only one day left, somebody another team member mentioned a haircut before heading back to the States. It sounded like a good idea. And there’s something fairly romantic about doing the mundane, every day things, in a foreign country. Going for groceries is a trip to an outdoor market—a bazaar of goodies and flourishes. Getting a refreshing drink is a stop by a juice stand where the lady fresh squeezes oranges (one free refill). Knowing when to tip is a puzzle worthy of Will Shortz.

And a haircut, something so personal, feels riskier than taking a giant canoe up a jungle river. What happens if it’s not good? What will my family say? Do Peruvians know what cool sideburns look like? All great questions.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I will get a haircut,” I hesitantly decided. Others had and returned already. And they looked sharp, and dare I say, Peruvian.

But I wasn’t going alone.

“Eric,” I turned a sideways glance to my new friend, “how ‘bout you? Are you going?”

He put his hands on his hips and gave a nervous laugh.

“Well, Forrest, I’m doin’ whatever you’re doin’!” It was settled. In no more than 15 minutes, we both sat, side by side, in little roller chairs at a little salon along a side street. It was a corner shop, two of its sides opened up to the street with roll-top doors. We were on display, two gringos in the hands of Peruvian stylists.

I don’t care where you go in this world. Whether Minnesota, North Carolina, or a jungle-town in Peru, hair dressers are the same the world over. They chatted rapidly over the music blaring in the background; our two gals wore fingernails and a few strands of brightly colored gaudy hair done up over-the-top. They went to work on us with rapid fervor.

My hair dresser paused only long enough to ask questions about my sideburns. After a little translation and explanation, she whipped out a plastic handle and began fidgeting with it.

She turned around and produced a straight razor.

“Have you ever seen a straight razor?” asked our translator. I had, but it had been a long, long time. She was using it to trim my neck and sideburns.

“Can I also get a shave?” I asked.

Of course I could.

“Eric,” I hollered without turning my head. “Are you getting a shave?”

“Forrest…I’m doin’ whatever you’re doin’!” came the reply.

We hooked Eric up with the works.

But my laughter dimmed to through-the-teeth-breathing when the razor came to my face. All of the sudden, the river shave seemed safe and easy.

Every time the razor came down, a little more sweat pooled under my plastic cape. Eric’s nervous laugh came back. At one point I heard his dresser talk about his “sensitive skin.” I was nicked one time. I didn’t bleed to death. At the very point I thought doom was written for me, she set down the razor, and started moisturizing my face. I glanced over and saw Eric getting the same treatment.

We made it. The most nerve-wracking shave of my life.

And it was now time to pay the piper.

“How much?!” we balked.

We counted out the 10 Soles each. And gleefully we went on our merry, well-shaven in the heart of Peru.

The best $3 haircut and straight-razor shave we’d ever had.

anthony forrest

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