Bringing His Kingdom in

From singing in my first ever official international concert in Lima, Peru to speaking to people in the backpackers here in Costa Rica this month has been another adventure in our lives and in the lives of those we’ve met. Sandwiched between my debut performance (hahaha) and the days we’ve spent sharing with other happy wonderers have been events which have taught me many things. Starting with the how to balance vertically in mid air on a skinny clowns hands without injuring either of us. A random and admittedly unnecessary lesson however I had no choice in the matter. Nor did Lorna as the Argentinean acrobat proceeded to volunteer the Soul Touchers to participate in his little performance, much to the amusement of the audience and the embarrassment of us, who in turn ended up looking more ridiculous than the clown himself as I’m sure you can imagine.

We arrived in Costa Rica only four days ago and are departing on Tica’s 1am bus to Guatemala first thing tomorrow morning (or later tonight which ever you want to look at it). Although short, our time here has certainly been…..no not sweet: challenging, yes; frustrating, yes; incredible, yes and worthwhile….most definitely. Almost as challenging as our time being here was our time getting here.

We spent our final two weeks in Peru in wonderful company. Separated for the first time, in Soul Touch history, since leaving Scotland in 28th June 2007 Lorna and I were sent to opposite ends of Lima. As you can imagine we reacted as if we were being sent to opposite ends of the earth but that’s another story and a challenge we not only got over but one we learned to enjoy and were ultimately completely blessed by.

Feeling slightly apprehensive we entered our hosts houses. Houses that within the weeks we spent there became our homes, with strangers who became close friends. Juana and Carmen are staff with Union Biblica Peru. They are part of an amazing team of people, some staff and some volunteers, who teach “valores” (values) to the children of Lima.

I have no idea what amount of mileage we covered in one day but from the time we woke at 6am heading for our first bus (along with the rest of the cities population) until we collapsed of the couch at 6pm it appeared we were traveling: to schools, between schools in pursuit of other schools. Surviving the chaos of Lima´s traffic, not to mention near suffocation from the amount of people wedged into every bus, we went from school to school.

In each we were given an opportunity to share our own testimonies with the children, an experience I particularly enjoyed. When the initial excitement, of having a ´gringa visitor´, died down and the squealing became quiet enough to compete with (there was no way it was going to stop completely) I pulled out a giant map of the world. Excitedly all hands shot up despite no question having been asked and class by class the children guessed where this freckly visitor was from. The majority assumed Spain or even Peru and so that explains why they persisted to chatter incessantly as fast as their little lips would allow them to, in Spanish. Meanwhile somewhere across the dusty city a blonde, blue eyed (very beautiful) gringa was giving a variation of the same presentation, sharing her version of the events of the past 12 months and in return being asked for her autograph. “Americano, Americano, Americano” was the general consensus given regarding this gorgeous girl’s (Miss Main’s) origin and so I’m sure they were all a little bemused when she and I told them we were infact from “Escosia”.

The chidlren’s reaction generally differed depending on the age group. Obliviously content with not knowing (and not really caring) the younger children applauded their gringa visitors. Others nodded demonstrating some level of understanding and then there were the few (there always are) who told us where Scotland was: in England. Others seemed completely content continuing to believe we, or at least Lorna was indeed American. I feel a bit responsible however for the fact that there are lots of little Peruvian children who now think American men wear “skirts” (kilts) and who truly believe we are related to William Wallace.

There was a message shared however that was much more articulately communicated and most definitely understood. That was the message being taught by Juana and Carmen. The message of Jesus’ love for each individual child. It was a message that didn’t really even require the props or visual aids we’d prepared. As I shared and listened to these women share I saw, I heard that these children understood it. Squeals turned into deep breaths as little children gasped at Juana’s exciting stories about a God that loves them. Jaws dropped and huge breaths were taken as if each one was breathing in the gospel for the first time, which they weren’t these women travel each week to share with the children. The courtesy shown earlier by children raising theire hands to ask a question was long forgotten as innocent curiousity blurted out all sorts across classrooms filled with children wanting answers.

Now, some hundred miles away, (17 hours on a bus to be exact) Lorna and I are witnessing the same reactions and having to answer some very similar questions, although this time not from little children. Arriving in Costa Rica we booked into Costa Rica backpackers. As far as backpackers go it’s actually very comfortable, if you don’t mind being wakened by the constant coming and going of travelers at literally all times of day and night and if you don’t take the antics of the excitable Argentinean clown too personally.

It’s been a comfortable and equally uncomfortable stay for some of the following reasons. Firstly we arrived with the familiar feeling of “ Lord what are we doing here?’ Asking familiar questions like, “ did we really hear a call from God to come?” “ Did we imagine all of this?” ¨Should we or could we have organized this better?’ And so they go on…or at least they can if we allow these sorts doubts to infest our spirits, seeking to steal our joy.

Immediately we set about trying to find a church, thinking that was most certainly our purpose for being here; consoling ourselves and each other with the illusion that once we found one we would instantly feel better and then the real mission would be able to commence. Yeah I know you are laughing at us right now. It’s ok we are laughing at ourselves right now too.

On our first morning here we were woken at 4am by some girls leaving to catch a sunset and so we made use of our disposition. We set about driving ourselves and each other crazy by furiously sending out emails and stalking friends on facebook in hope that they could assist us in our search for a church. Within 24hours we still had no contact and so approached plan B: using our time to be productive. Facebook stalking reached a ´whole nuther level¨ and Taco Jim’s (a new friend by divine appointment) laptop threatened to burn out as we typed letters, proposals and all things business like.
We did all of these things in an attempt not to panic that we had become missionaries without a mission (or at least an obvious one; one that we could justify to the church). In the middle of the chaos we were subconsciously creating: over loading ourselves with word documents and trying to upload photos on one hundred year old computers, an activity that could potentially send even the sanest of sane people insane, we found our mission. Or rather our mission found us. We found the church we were looking for. God brought the church to us and met us right where we were, in Costa Rica backpackers. And so for the past four days we have talked and talked and talked. We’ve answered questions and questioned answers. In truth it has been one of the most exhausting “ missions” I’ve ever been on and it continues. It’s called life.

Let me share with you a spot of bother we got ourselves into the last time we went in search of the church. Last Sunday we were in Panama, we are making our way from Peru to Guatemala where our next “project’ begins. When we woke we noticed the sun was shinning, a rarity that we wanted to take advantage of. So we packed a few things ready for a day at the beach. Piling ourselves into a taxi we asked Elizabeth (female driver) to take us to the beach, a journey which according to lonely planet should have taken ten minutes. Forty minutes later, by which time the sun had gone back behind panama’s permanent cloud, we arrived at a beach. No not “Playa Bonita” as requested but a beach chosen by Elizabeth, our taxi driver, a women not to be messed with. Elizabeth told us not to worry it looked dangerous but she would accompany us into the water and would not leave our sides…which she didn’t!

Making the most of a really weird situation we chatted with Elizabeth about her family, our families, Panama, Scotland and about God. She was so excited to hear about our mission and informed us that she knew about a church that actually welcomed missionaries from abroad. She even offered to take us to the church with no additional charge as her “favor” to us.
“¿Podemos cambiamos nuestros ropas, por favor Elizabeth? Antes nosotros vamos a la Iglesia.”
As politely as possible we tried to explain that we would feel much more comfortable if we could change our clothes before going to the church. She insisted there was no time and that this was Panama. It would be fine.

With little (no) choice in the matter we arrived at the church. “I’ll be back in half an hour go and talk,” Elizabeth said inviting us to leave the taxi. As we approached the church we watched some men enter. All appearing to be wearing the same uniform black trouser and white shirt I joked “either there is a meeting or this is a mormon church.” It wasn’t a joke. Elizabeth had emptied us out into a mormon church, beach gear and all.

Lets just say we weren’t invited in but we did have a fun time trying to explain to the gentlemen at the door what an earth we were doing in Panama and that we were traveling around the world on a “missions” trip. His reaction was similar to some of the children’s in Peru, his mouth dropped and he too looked a bit dazed and confused.

Turns out we needn’t have put ourselves through the stress or embarrassment of trying to find a church.

“ You also, like living stones are being built into a spiritual house…” 1 Peter 2: 5

We are the church. I’m learning that the body that Paul describes as coming together is not only about all the congregations of the world having a massive worship fest . It is much more than that. It is about individual living stones. Individual people living as the church in their everyday lives. Whether it is in a youth hostel you never really expected to be in, in Costa Rica, in a taxi in Panama, which you’re being held in against your will, in your work place or in those times you’re involved in a “missions project”. During all of those times we represent the body of Christ. This is the church God is calling.

Come let us rebuild the wall of Jerusalem and we will no longer be in disgrace. Neh 2:17

Lorna and I are leaving the hostel at 1am. Our time here has been intensely wonderful. So many people traveling have stopped their journey, their search for themselves, some just for a second, some for hours to spend time with us. Even when we’ve avoided conversation (yes we are that rude and tired sometimes) they have started them, they like the children in Peru want to hear of the Living God and their purpose in his kingdom.

We have loved sharing with them although it has meant a little less sleep than usual. We have two days on a bus to Guatamala to catch up on sleep. But we’ll miss the church here. The church God brought to us: his people.

Peanut Butter Jelly Time!

¨God is not unjust; he will not forget your works and the love you have shown him as you have helped his people and continue to help them. Hebrews 5: 9

Scattered sporadically across the auditorium floor,snuggled under blankets, heads resting on makeshift pillows: made out of jumpers; shorts t-shirts and clothes ready to be donated, the newest arrivals catch a few z´s before their next plane departs. As the last of the head torches closes its eyes I use the light of mobile phone to maneuver my way through the mattresses, equipped with my hot water bottle, johnston´s baby wipes and ear plugs (I´ve been here before!). Outside the chaos of Lima plays on, a lullaby that’s neither gentle nor maternal. Harsh discords of car horns, squeals of emergency sirens and the voices of Lima’s 8 million inhabitants clash with the chatter and giggling spilling its way out of the bedroom window opposite.


The bedroom opposite is occupied by some of Peru’s most vulnerable children. Known to many as ¨street boys¨ these children have been abandoned by their parents and now take residency in the filthy sewers or desolate doorways of Lima. Thankfully my sleep on this occasion is slightly more peaceful knowing that some of these little ones are safe here in the centre, Girasoles (The Sunflower Centre): as a sunflower blooms when the sun shines on it so these boys shine in the precious glow of God´s love shown to them by the workers here. The staff work patiently and sensitively to rehabilitate the boys, many of whom have stepped in from a street full of drugs and prostitution. This centre is a little haven for many children, tired and mistreated by the city it hides in.


Union Biblica (Scripture Union) is an international Christian organization. As a child I remember horse riding along the banks of the River Earn in Perthshire. Being sent off to camp for the summer was a highlight of my school holidays. I remember sharing bunk beds with other girls my age, exchanging stories about boys in our various schools and how annoying they were. In the morning we´d wake to leaders encouraging us to read our bibles, dusting them first having never opened them since the previous years camp. I always took a new packet of highlighters and made summer resolutions that I would actually learn the rainbow of verses I coloured that year. Camp ended round the camp fire, with songs, exchanging of addresses, tears and too many marshmallows. For me this was Scripture Union.

I never imagined that ten years later I would be at the other side of the world (Peru), sharing bunk beds with girls my age (still exchanging stories about boys) and highlighting my bible. Some things however have definitely changed. I no longer take my My Little Pony to camp and I´ve exchanged horse riding in Perthshire for swimming in the Itaya River (a tributary of the Amazon, the largest River in the world). Furthermore my experience of Scripture Union consists of more than camp fires and marshmallows.

Scripture Union Peru ministers in several different areas: working with abandoned children; teaching values to children in schools; working with Lima’s deaf community; hosting and organizing camps and organizing a hugely successful medical ministry, thanks to the generosity, friendship and prayers of their partners The Vine Trust, a ministry birthed out of Bo´ness Scotland. (www.vinetrust.org)

For many of you who have traveled to Peru to help with either a medical party or with a work team sleeping in the Girasoles Centre will have been a memorable experience, admittedly not necessarily a comfortable one but assuredly unforgettable. Arriving in Girasoles for the first of the hundredth time has an impact on your life.

It seems like only hours after I bundled myself into my sleeping bag that I reluctantly peeped my head out. Wakened by the sound of a football being kicked around the pitch below, the sound of Pablo Lavado´s (director of the Casa Girasoles) voice ushering the boys to get ready for school and Ashley. Ashley, a member of the New Braska/ North Carolina/ Scottish work team, is the most stunningly cooky girl I´ve ever had the pleasure to be woken up by.

Still wrapped in the blanket she ¨borrowed¨ from the flight Ashley crashes onto the mattress next to me. It´s only after she lands that I realize Lorna has vacated it to take position in the queue for the shower (singular!). Sleepily I scan the room. Interestingly I find the boys have made a cluster in farthest corner allowing the girls to occupy the area in front of the door, heroic or what. This morning is the first of many that I bare the wrath of ¨Daddy Cool´s ¨ wake up call, or rather roar! Daddy Cool, Pastor Adam, is our team leader. Although this morning it is slightly difficult to take anything he says seriously given that the jumper he picked out of the donations pile actually belonged to a petite female (Ashley’s mum) before he decided to model it. The combination of Adam´s roar and Ashley´s hysteria frightens some of the boys from our team out of their cocoons and they make their way down stairs to join in the game.

Christian and Marsha (whom by the way are both looking far too wide awake and glamorous given where they’ve just slept and the fact that we’re on our way to the jungle) spectate from one of the windows overlooking the boys dinning hall. Excitedly they chatter pointing out boys they know, calling them by name. I learn very quickly that the majority of this team have been to Peru before and almost everyone speaks Spanish: an absolute blessing.

Breakfast for me this morning is an exciting time, both because we get to share it with the boys of Girasoles but because I am reunited with one boy in particular, Luis. Summer of 2004 was the first time I ever came to Peru. I didn´t speak any Spanish and my head was so occupied with planning my 21st birthday party before I left that I really wasn’t prepared for what I would experience here. I seem to remember I packed my bag full of toilet rolls, I had two first aid kits (just incase) and I´d forgotten one of the most important items, my malaria tablets.

We arrived late at night, or at least I thought it was late. I´ve since learned that Lima lives under a permanently grey sky and it gets dark very early. Anyway, after passing all of our backpacks through the back window of a bus we somehow arrived in the middle of the boys football pitch/playground. Immediately the adults with whom I´d traveled lost all composer and entered into hand slapping games and thumb wars reminiscent of the school playground, others wrestled their cameras out of the clammy hands of children desperate to see themselves and I, amongst all of this, met Luis. Unable to communicate with words Luis and I danced to my slightly stuttery version of La Bamba (thanks Kareekee). I remember our dance being momentarily interrupted by something much more exciting…dulces (sweets). Luis, at that time, was only 7 years old. As one of the smaller boys he managed to salvage only one strawberry lace from the huge bags of sweets Jackie was distributing from. Very quickly he escaped the rabble and came over stretching out his hand to me, I assumed to resume dancing. Luis held out a tiny clenched fist gesturing me to look inside. Unraveling it he revealed his strawberry lace. Stretching it out he broke it in half. ¨Para ti¨ (for you) he smiled handing me one half of the sweaty lace. Receiving this lace from a little boy in Lima was one of the most painful blessings I´ve ever been given. Painful to think that Luis, a child abandoned by his parents, shunned by society and all alone in this world would share his sweet with a ¨Gringa¨ girl he’d just met, simply because she’d taken the time to go, meet him and sing with him.

The next morning we woke and like many teams since we rushed to catch our domestic flight to Iquitos where we worked on one of Union Biblica´s seven Girasoles homes.

Boys Homes
These homes are situated in some of the most idyllic locations in world, like the home in Cusco Lorna described in her last letter to you all. Iquitos is no exception. Like everything in Iquitos Casa Girasoles is built on stilts (the rain fall conducts the rise and fall of the river and the PO box of it’s residents) set far back on one of the rivers lush green banks. Hidden amidst banana plants, fruit trees and it´s natural inhabitants (crocodiles, electric eels, anacondas, monkeys, pumas, tarantulas and banana boats loads of cucarachas) Puerto Alegria is discreet.


Hammocks hang all year round from roof tops made of deep stained (expertly sanded) wood beams and skillfully pleated bamboo leaves provide permanent shelter and protection from the sun by day and wildlife by night. However, despite the apparent tranquility of it’s surroundings Puerto Alegria is impossible to miss. This place is home to forty absolutely adorable, scrumdidilyumtious little boys, all of whom have come from the streets. Each boy, like Luis back in Lima, has his own story to tell as to how he came to be living on the streets and more excitedly how he became a Girasole boy. (Paul Clark, Driector of Union Biblica Peru has recently published a book in which he shares some of these precious testimonies. Southern Cross www.amazon books.org)

For me these boys are no longer ¨street boys¨. They are children who literally have been taken from the miry clay and have been called by name, children whom despite abandonment were predestined to be adopted into God´s family (Ephesians 1:4 and 5, Isaiah 49: 15-23). These are the children who will rebuild the walls (Isaiah 58:12 ). Here I see children with huge potentials, beautiful spirits and frighteningly special smiles. Smiles so big that they almost completely detract from the scars written on their heads, their little arms, their legs and the ones that penetrate deep in into their big brown eyes. Scars caused by abandonment and abuse. Although there is obvious healing here these scars that sometimes bare themselves in tears, tantrums and nightmares.

This year it was a real education for me to be able to share, for the first time, with some of the boys. To hear their hopes; their fears for the future. What was more of a joy though was to hear the commitment of the team I was with and the burden God has placed on each of their hearts to pray for these children individually. For me this contribution is worth more than we will ever know.

Each team that comes contributes to one, or more, of the homes helping practically by painting, making mud bricks or as we have been doing most recently sanding and varnishing.


I remember feeling a certain amount of despondency the first time I came. Having been in Lima and heard some of the atrocities the boys face on the streets (prostitution, physical, verbal and emotional abuse) I couldn´t help but feel that me making mud bricks just wasn´t enough and that I definitely wasn´t making them fast enough.

I thank God that by his grace I don´t have to really on my efforts but on his plans. Since that first dark night arriving in Peru I have returned every year and this year I think more than ever I have realized that I´m part of a part of a plan so much bigger than we could ever anticipate or pen on a piece of paper.

Aswell as seeing the homes being built and hundreds of boys being rescued from the streets I have seen the boys grow. Boys like Luis who is now in school persuing an education and a future. As I ate breakfast with him this time he laughed and sang ¨Para bailar la Bamba¨. I asked him if he remembered sharing his sweetie with me and he smiled, squinting as if it was no big deal, I´m sure wondering what on earth it is I was talking about. His smile reminded me of the smile I´ve seen on the faces of so many volunteers. A smile that almost looks embarrassed. I smile that says: ´I didn´t do it to be blessed or to get thanks but I did it to bless you, please don´t make a fuss´.

Luis´s smile has echoed on the faces of the team we’ve been a part of this week. A team who each year come to Puerto Alegria, Iquitos and who, despite the humidity and an insane amount of hungry mosquitoes, work hard. This year we were contributing to the completion of five new bungalows. A team whose confidence is quite clearly in the works of God and not in their own strength. (¨It does not, therefore, depend on man´s effort, but on God´s mercy. For the scripture says to Pharaoh: ´I raised you up for this very purpose, that I might display my power in you and that my name might be proclaimed in all the earth.¨ Romans 9:16 and 17. )

It was quite simply ironic that as we floated up the Itaya river I sat out front on the boat listening to one of my favourite songs. Listening to Joel Houston´s sexy voice (am I allowed to say that?) belting out a chorus I know so well: ¨Jesus I believe in you and I would go to the ends of the earth, to the ends of the earth for you. For you alone are the son of God and all will see that you are God.¨

This year as we approached the familiar raft that floats out front of Puerto Alegria and as I clambered my way back into the boat, the chorus still playing in my head I suddenly realized that the people around me were doing exactly that. Trust me Puerto Alegria really does feel like the end of the earth when you´re there. What´s more as I got to know the wacky bunch from New Braska God confirmed what I´d thought all along: that he´d hand picked each of them ¨for this very purpose¨. ¨You did not chose me but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit- fruit that will last. Then the father will give you whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other.¨ John 15:16

Throughout the course of this journey Lorna and I have talked lots about making your call and election clear…in other words how we know what God wants us to do with our lives? We´ve talked about neon signs, about God´s desire to have an intimate personal relationship with you. I love this scripture because it´s almost idiot proof. It´s for those of us (myself included) that have those days when we don’t know where to go or what to do. We stress that what we´re doing just isn´t enough to show our love for God. The team´s interaction with the boys this year taught me that instead of constantly checking if we´re loving God enough we should be checking if we´re loving each other enough. It is doing this that we really worship (Math 25: 35-41).

Fortunately for us the boys in Puerto Alergria and completely loveable and so that makes this part of the commandment slightly easier for us to obey. However there are people who are slightly more ¨challenging¨ shall we say. People who do not willingly receive they love we want to give them. Usually because they do not understand or necessarily agree with the way we are delivering it and so this presents a problem. Or does it?

It´s time to share a wee harsh reality that I learned in Puerto Alegria during one of our singsongy sessions with the boys before bed. In order for you to understand fully I need to introduce you to Gabino. Gabino has lived in Puerto Alegria since he was 7 years old. At 18 Gabino is now a handsome, extremely intelligent young man. As well as a smile that lights up the whole world, Gabino brings a peaceful almost parental aura to the home. Gabino is the hand the little ones reach for when their in trouble. More so he is completely humble about the fact that all of the other boys, young and old respect him wholeheartedly. You can imagine their despair then when suddenly after 10 year Gabino left the home and returned to Iquitos, sacrificing his prospects of finishing school and pursuing the degree he wants in Medicine.

Now I´m not about to bore you with the details of why he left, firstly because I don´t know them all and secondly it´s not appropriate. I would not like it if someone came into my home and then proceeded to air all of our problems in public. My intention is merely to demonstrate what I´ve learned.

Another extremely neccessay and wonderful part of the ministry here is that each home has a set of house parents. We mentioned earlier (in previous entries) that each couple dedicates their lives (or at least a substantial part of them) to raising these boys (all forty of them). The house parents at PA are no exception. Everyday Jean and Patty get up at 5am and dedicate their day to these boys. You can imagine then that know them pretty well. Imagine now their reaction when we arrived and asked where Gabino was and then proceeded to bombard them with a whole list of suggestions as to how we could bring him back. Of course we wanted Gabino to come back because we saw that, that was what was best for him; because we love him. However in displaying that love it was necessary for us to be sensitive to the house parents, Gabino and to the culture. This required patience, humility and understanding, none of which I´m expert in but I´m working on them.

I want you to imagine now the day Gabino returned home. Think back to the story of the prodigal son and there you have the joy we experienced when Gabino´s giant smile entered the dinning room. The ceiling was laden with streamers and balloons, as we were also celebrating several of the boys and team member’s birthdays that evening. In typically Casa Girasoles style a lifelike Spiderman hung precariously from the roof, his belly stuffed full of sweets and toys that would latter spill into the arms of the expectant and extremely excitable niños (children) below.

The night ended with some Scottish dancing and one last rendition of the ¨Peanut Butter Jelly¨ song Mama Marsha style. Finally as I prepared my sleeping bag for bed, crushing the last of the cocarachas beneath Lorna´s workboots (I´m not sure if the impact killed them or they were suffocated by the smell but needless to say they didn´t live to see day light) I thanked God for his mercy. Basically for saving me from myself. You see if I´d had my own way we would have all been on the first banana boat to Iquitos running about in my usual ¨bull in a china shop fashion¨ looking for Gabino. Then having found him I would have explained in my worst Spanglish that he was to come home. Ok I don’t need to elaborate you can imagine it would have been a nightmare. A nightmare conducted in love but never the less a nightmare.

What´s more I thanked God that I don´t need to rely on my own understanding but completely on his strength (Proverbs 3:5). I love it that he takes the pressure of, of us and takes it upon himself. The difficulty in a situation such as this is that sometimes we don´t agree with the ways things are being done. Thankfully Jean and Patty had more experience than me and the outcome was a happy ending. However there are times within the church when we don’t agree with the way things are being done or the outcomes. In these times do we take the huff and retract our help or do we endure it? On the other hand do we willingly except help? This requires equal humility!

I loved watching the guys (and Marsha) hammering away at the cement last week in Puerto Alergria. It was a classic example or humility and endurance showing love. I´m no engineer but I’m sure there was an easier way to create spaces in the cement other than letting it set then hammering bits out. Yet instead of saying this to the Peruvian workers our team worked away in perfect harmony to Marcos and Lorna´s torturous perpetual singing of Shine Jesus shine.

The fact that they were contributing was making the difference. In the wise words of Mama Marsha sometimes we don’t agree but in order to complete the prophesy (the body of Christ 1 Cor 12) ¨we need to be able to co-exsist¨. The team were neither concerned with who was getting the credit or who completed the building but they simply recognized that their contribution was necessary. ¨To prepare God´s people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up until we reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature attaining the whole measure of the fullness of Chirst…. Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will in all things grow up into him who is the Head, that is, Christ. From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work. Eph 4: 12

I love the fact that here in Peru I can physically see the process of the church maturing infort of my eyes. I see a generation of people both volunteers from abroad and here in Peru completely selflessly contributing to¨ works of service¨. What´s more the boys see it too. They see love in the fact that these teams come every year, some for the first time, they especially love seeing familiar faces.







They hear love in the voices of the enthusiastic volunteers who have taken the time to read a Spanish dictionary on the flight over and for sure they see the love in the way everyone carefully and expertly sanded the wood…for the hundredth time! But more than that I’m sure they see love in the forty peanut butter jars someone packed into their case and brought all the way from the USA to share with them. In the fact Anna allowed Luis to wash her hair with soap for the 5th time in dirty river water, despite the fact it was paining her head. In the energy Mama Marsha and MacKenzie put into reciting the Peanut butter jelly song for the 100th time. The fact Adam never complained when asked to give a kid a piggy back despite the fact he’d been hammering cement all day and was totally exhausted… and so the list of little acts of kindness unravels.

In short what I´m trying to say is that we really should never ever tire of doing good works ´cause God really is blessing what you´re doing. (I know there is a verse somewhere but it must have been one I forgot to highlight at camp because I can´t find it!). You may be like Luis thinking that what you have done for someone else is nothing but to them it can mean everything. I know that for the boys living in Girasoles homes here in Peru and for me that sometimes it´s the smallest acts of kindest that make the biggest difference.


Love you all Erica xxx
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Fancy A Climb?

"For you know that when your faith succeeds in facing such trials, the result is the ability to endure. Make sure that your endurance carries you all the way without failing, so you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." James Ch1 v 3,4

Black trainers, now brown and falling apart; black trousers...also now brown with 'spikies' in them; cut hands and a heart with an irregular beat. Are you wondering why yet?! These are the consequences of climbing a mountain in Huycho that even the Inkas themselves would have raised a smile at us climbing.

Over the weekend we were staying at Casa Girasoles in Huycho, a little province about one hour outside of Cusco. We're were there spending time with 11 boys that Union Biblica are rehabilitating, educating and teaching them about the gospel. Casa Girasoles is a bit off the beaten track, planted in a gorgeous valley hugged by mountains and decorated with lush greenery and a sparkling river. As soon as you arrive here you are smacked by the beauty of the mountains and instantly you feel the creative side of you starting to tingle. The poetic side of me yearned to write about the mountains; the big ones, small ones, the ones that you couldn't see the top becuase they were in the breath of the clouds and the ones that we're frosted on top with snow.

And so i started to write....

'Over the mountains and the sea...'
'Over the white cliffs....'
'I went up to the mountain...'
'The mountains are His, the rivers are His, the stars are His handyworks too...'

Ah...ok yeah, I was nicking lyrics from other songs! So I tried to write my own lyrics...
"The mountains are big..big..really big"
"We have a big God..that makes big mountains..."

They were feeb! I asked God "Why can't I write anything? You've blesed Erica and I with such a beautiful vision and yet...nothing comes out!"

I was staring to worry...thinking that I had a cold heart to the things that we're being shown to me. And so, I left my paper and pen under my bed with the stolen one lines dedicated to beautiful mountains.

That was until yesterday, I took out my book of thoughts and I will tell you why. After church the children invited Erica and I for a walk up Montana Zero. Sporting our climbing gear, my fetching red anorak ( in appreciation of my mum - she always wears a red anorak when we are walking!), our cameras in hand we were definatley ready to go for a walk up the hill and take some photos; hopefully getting that 'one' photo that would capture the beauty so we would be able to show you guys.

Before Erica and I had even started our walk, I looked on the mountain and saw some of the children stuck like little alpacas - designed to trot up mountains with ease on the side of a mountain not designed for humans to trot up...with ease.

Things started quite nicely. A few kids were holding our hands on our easy walk; Erica was joking with the kids as she took photo's of them 'jokingly' trying to scramble up the mountains 'death' face.

"Eh, they have to be careful - there's no way that they can get up the mountain that way," Erica said rightly in innocent unaware of the adventure ahead of us. So we called the boys back down the face of the mountain and they continued to lead us on the correct path.The gradient started to get a bit steeper, but it was ok, I was feeling quite fit and was happy that I had put on my comfy shoes that I knew would stay on my feet until I had reached the top (to see what happens when I don't have my comfy shoes on when climbing, refer to the blog in New Zealand.)

The first 'challenging' thing that happened was passing a very angry (unchained) dog that was on our path. I don't know why the dog was angry but I was very sorry for anything I had done to upset it. With my eyes closed tightly the children helped me pass the dog and shouted 'Ugly dog! Ugly dog!' that actually calmed the dog down! Leaving this first challenge behind, we continued merrily on our adventure.
Thankfully Gideon, a child of nine years, lead me up the hill. He turned and faced the already weak Lorna and said, "This is where the steps end!". I smiled back and gave a wink, assuming we'd probably just about reached the top. Hmmmm...no! I was about to have my first encounter with 'the spikies' and experience humility at a new level!

Further up the mountain we climbed without steps...or actually anything that would help my sliding feet grip at all. This was when I had my first hand shake with one of the spikiest plants that I've come across - it wasn't a cactus, but i'm pretty sure that it was one of it's family members - to me I saw it as it's naughty little brother - looks pretty innocent but plays tricks on you if you come too close.

All glamour (if there was any) was taken out of the jaunt in the Peruvian mountains as I found my technique for getting up the mountain. I was on all fours as I found myself mimicing the 'montbaca', a technique I found to be a pretty successful way of getting up the mountain!

My feet lost their balance on the sliding stones and my free hand (the other one had the camera in it) reached out in desperation to grasp anthing that would stop me from seeing the bottom of the mountain again and so in my head there was two options; grabbing a smaill child and risking both our lives was one option, but the other option that would only hurt me was reaching out for the plant - 'spikey'.

Squeezing my lips in pain and pretending the tears in my eyes were tears of laughter, joining the boys that we're breathlessly hee-howing at me I pulled out the spikes that pierced my wee hand and whimpered as i realised that we were now walking up the 'death' side of the mountain.

The mounmtain was getting steeper and the 'spikies' were overtaking the ground. I felt the pressure in my throat, my ready to stomp a tantrum believing that I couldn't do anymore, when suddenly I saw a hand reach out for mine.

My knight in a dusty blue t-shirt, a pair of nike shorts and flip flops was called Jose. Jose is a helper at the boys home and has many a time, strolled up this mountain - I think for fun - and so knew the best way to lead me up.
And he did, although the way up the mountain was full of 'challenges' Jose took me around them and made sure that I reached the top of the...alive.

I met back up with Erica at the top of the summit. We furiously started taking pictures like the view was going to disappear at any moment. In this moment of flashing lights and smiles, Erica stood on 'spikies' cousin 'sharpy' now this cousin was out to kill. I heard Erica squeal and all eleven boys ran over to her rescue. 'Sharpy' had made his way through Erica's trainers into her foot; in her pain Erica must have forgotten her spanish and cried out 'What in the name?! It's in ma foot!!' The children trying to respond to her call picked up her foot and Erica was now balancing on the peak of the mountain on one leg. " I cannae go back any further, or I'm gonna fall of the mountain!"

I wasn't too sure what to do. I would have run over to her rescue as well if it weren't for two things.
1: Me dying of laughter because Erica was talking to the children in broad Scots language.
2: Me actually dying if I tried to run over the hair pin top to get to where she was!

But hurrah for the boys as they carried on whipping the spikes our of Ericas foot. After the chaos of the accident I finally had time to take in the blessing that God had put in front of me.

Describing what it was like at the top of is difficult. I don't think I would do the view any justice with words so I will let the photos speak for themselves. I may not know how to describe the beauty but I do know that I would have shaken hands with a thousand 'spikies' to reach the top just to see it. In this moment I finally heard the word that God was waiting to tell me about the mountain.

If you want to write about the mountain - you have to experience the mountain.

To reach the top of the mountain was to experience everything that the mountain had to offer; to see the land below in all it's glory and the other mountains that joined in union. I was seeing the full picture; recieving the full gift that the mountain wanted to give...the reason it was there. We had endured the climb and reached the top, and this was our reward.

I believe that God gives each one of us our own mountain. God wasn't wanting to give me inspiration of the mountain by what it looked like but he wanted to give me the gift of the mountain by what if felt like to experience it.

With the mountain that God gives each and everyone of us we choose to either stay at the bottom and imagine the top, never fufilling our full desire to know what the mountain could offer; some of us start climbing the mountain but either stand still or even give up climbing because of the 'spikies. But let me tell you what happened to the pins in my hand that the 'spikies' had left. I took the pin out, wiped away the blood and was only left with a little mark - probably couldn't even see it! I still had both my hands and they were there ready to grasp the hands that were there to help me. Some of us are making it up our mountain. We are holding onto Jose's hands. Holding onto people that have been through the tracks before and making new tracks together.

Jesus will never leave you to climb your mountain alone. Infact he wants us to join hands and help each other up the mountain. Because at the top is our reward. He doesn't want one person to miss out on it. And no one has to miss out if we just take the hand of the person that is holding out theirs to help.

And if you do miss the hand and put it in a 'spikey' - keep going, it might hurt, but pull out the pin, wipe away the blood and realise its actually nothing - don't let 'nothing' stop you from getting that full gift.

Going down the hill is another story. I was going to put my full Gold insurance in use and call for the air search rescue to come and find us but Erica didn't have any signal on her phone. So instead I grabbed the hand of Jose and also Edgar (The 'pappi' for the home) and together we made it down the mountain. My technique for getting down the mountain was more of a slide and if I was lucky my foot would hit a rock to support me; and if i wasn't , it was my toosh that was feeling the consequences.

So for me now - thinking about super gluing my pair of trainers, giving my trousers a scrub and my heart a check over. I loved my mountain walk, but if the kids offer us to go on another one I might have to pass - hey I've experienced it! If I need reminding - I've got the pictures!

Big God love

Lorna xxxx

Wonderful Chaos

I´m finding it difficult to compartmentalised everything that is in my head right now so please bare with me as i try to relay the wonderful chaos that has been our lives for the past few weeks, since our last entry.

Starting with the most recent and unbelievably, unexpectedly wonderful birthday. I never imagined turning twenty five would be such a joyous event but the boys in Casa Girasoles, Kawai (y mi mejor amiga, Lorna) managed to make it exactly that, ensuring I had a birthday I will never, ever forget. The festivities kicked off at 3am...yes as in the middle of the night. I´m assured that serenading random Scottish girls is not something the children do often but rather their singing is part of a custom they have here and a special treat for loved ones on their birthdays; that and throwing eggs at them. Thankfully I managed to avoid the latter despite the efforts of the little ones. I felt completely blessed (if not a little tired) that they would do that for me and so I actually loved every second of their singing. I will never forget all thirty boys, washed and smartly dressed in their school uniforms, no doubt having completed their morning chores and breakfast early in order to perform the torture...I mean treat, is a sight for which I will be eternally grateful.


The festivities did not stop there infact that was only the beginning. The day went from wild to wilder. Cancelling afternoon classes - a bit too eagerly I might add ( Lorna and I were teaching the boys English in the afternoons after school) the boys set about organising a surprise party! It started with pass the parcel, musical chairs (carnage), pin the glasses on Raul (the house Padre) and I even had a go at wrecking my very own, first and I´m sure last, piñata. Sharing a house with thirty boys meant that we did¨t get any of the sweets from the hanging Spiderman but that didn¨t detract from what really was an amazing birthday. Thank you all so much for sending sweet messages and pressies (thanks Drummie!) I feel far too old...I mean loved.
And so as you can see we´ve delved into the second part of the Soul Touch mission in our typical style - chaos... wonderful chaos!

For those of you who we did manage to see on our wee week in Bonnie Scotland will be able to testify it never really stopped. Arriving in Edinburgh to long awaited smiles, cuddles, tears and champagne on ice Lorna and I soon forgot the troublesome 48 hours + that it had taken to get from Bolivia, including cancelled flights, 13 hours in a taxi through Bolivia on what they assured us were roads, a long nights wait in Lima airport and a hospital visit. Don´t worry we´re both well. We were there awaiting the arrival of Marisole and Emilio¨s fourth baby but sadly baby Gabriel didn´t arrive until after our departure! (Welcome to the world gorgeous! We can´t wait to meet you!).

The weekend that followed was full of the excitement of seeing our families and participating in the conference...we know you´ve all been waiting to hear about the World Without Walls conference and so we won´t keep you in suspense any longer.It¨s an event that we and I know many of you have been praying for, for a long time. Over 300 churches from around Scotland participated, each purchasing a tent. The proceeds from which along with the actual tent were sent to partnership churches in the developing world. Each congregation presented information about their church lives inside their tents, sharing faith stories!

As Lorna and I walked round the tented village so many of our anxieties were stilled; prayers were answered and realities were confirmed - Firstly the anxiety, or rather excitement that we had for the event itself. We´d been reading about the preparations from afar and so it was a real blessing to see so many come together. We´ve actually been praying since the beginning of this trip (and many of you have prayed with us around the world), for the churches in Scotland, that we´d see a revival, an awakening in that place. Well our prayers are always are heard!

And then finally our wee reality check. The reality that the church in Scotland is wonderful but that the best is still yet to come. We recognise our part in the body of Christ but we also recognise where we´ve been wounded and where we need help being healed. The most awesome thing about the conference was that it was confirmation that the healing has started.

One of the best moments for me was being given the opportunity to sing with my stunningly talented sister something I´ve longed to do the whole time we´ve been away, singing songs she has composed:
"Lord of the broken hearted. Lord over all. We are here waiting to hear your call.
Though we are broken hearted, though we may fall - we must be willing ready and listening, trusting you Lord over all.
For only you can restore in us hope
Only you can revive us again
Only you that can answer the prayers of our hearts so Lord we cry out to you (Lyrics Eliza Bonnar)
As I stood hand in hand with my sister and Lorna looking over our nation, Ian gently echoing this chorus behind on his guitar, I was touched by God¨s grace, so thankful for the humility he gives his people.

The Church of Scotland gathered together in that place crying out for revival, recognising that it is only God that can send it but they were most definitely making sure that they were ready and waiting for it to come!

Lorna and I spoke a lot over the week we were there, at every given opportunity. Not in the limelight (although given the chance...) but to the people. We shared with them stories, stories you´ve shared with us. We shared testimonies, testimonies you´ve shaped by sharing your faith, homes and lives with us on this indescribable journey.

Lastly we shared with them our vision for the future, a vision we share with you. Of seeing justice being brought to the nations. We¨ve simply been given, the responsibility, the girt and the massive privilege of being the intermediators.

And so we celebrated with our friends at home about what God is doing in the nations, reuniting with friends we made in Uganda and Argentina. The celebrations for me were almost overwhelming.

Finishing the week witnessing my brother marry his beautiful wife and best friend Fiona. Lorna and I we´re with them in the Jungle in Peru when they met and even the monkeys were talking about their flirting. It was a complete joy to be part of the ceremony - a privileged to share their special day and a complete riot on the dance floor! Needless to say little sleep was had but lots of love was shared in that week.

We truly thank God for the time we had at home - maybe not sleeping but we both definitely left completely energised and elated by what God is doing in Scotland!

We are now, as you know, in Peru working with Union Biblica. Some of you will probably know of their work, although possibly not directly. They work in partnership with The Vine Trust. An organisation also birthed out of Bo¨ness Scotland. In previous years Lorna and I have only really participated in the work they do with street children and the medical teams. These ministries in themselves reach hundreds of thousands of lives. The work that is going on out here really warrants its own TV series.....oh and it has one. I know many of you have been enjoying the Amazon Hope series on ITV. Lorna and I enjoyed it from Australia thanks to technology! In the next few weeks we hope to get a little more insight into the other work they do within schools aswell as visiting the numerous homes they now have in 6 different areas of Peru. Homes for children who once lived on the streets. Children like those who sang to me and partied with me on the 19th of May. Children, whom given the opportunity to shine, brighten up lives. Being here with them has certainly brightened up mine!


Love from Cusco
Erica xxx

Finding time to breathe

Apologies for keeping quiet! Oruro, our new home, is extremely high and for the first time ever the Soul Touchers have had difficulty talking. What´s more we have actually been so busy since arriving here that we´ve not had time to do some mandatory and necessary things such as wash, manicure our nails, brush our hair or regrettably write to you all.

More so than the altitude though our time here in Oruro and Sucre has been breathtaking for lots of reasons. Primarily because of the vast amount of activities, projects and work that we´ve been witnessing taking place amongst the church here.

Our leaving Sucre was bittersweet. Although looking forward to meeting new people and new challenges in Oruro we were gutted to be leaving those we grew to call family in Sucre. Our last day there was a real blessing and we spent it with the community of CCE Church at Horna Casa. A day that could have quite easily been completely chaotic (given that there were more than 100 excited little children there and that is not to mention the adults!)was in fact a celebration, a party of hope and a reward for all those who´d put so much effort into refurbishing the home for the children who now squashed in to enjoy games, songs, bible teachings and cake...lots and lots of cake. What a joy to see hundreds of dirty little fingers clenching fists full of sweet cake and cupping hot chocolate rather than the dirt we´d witnessed them clutching only weeks earlier as they played with the pigs. And so we left sadly but full of hope that God is doing wonderful things there.
Oruro is cold – but only in terms of the weather. Within the space of one week we´ve received a warm welcome. Firstly by our host family. Having reluctantly left Sucre Lorna and I boarded the 9pm night bus from Sucre to Oruro. Departing the terminal equipped with layers of clothing and fully charged ipods (recently improved/updated with Spanish worship thanks to Becky Train!) we waved “Hasta Luego” to our friends and family.

Reminiscing on how unbearable the bus journey to Sucre had been Lorna and I took necessary precautions for the return trip – layering up clothes, filling up hot water bottles and tucking our vests into long Johns! We had not however prepared for the orchestra of “roncing” (snoring) that was going to take place on the bus that night – snoring I might add that no manipulation of volume control on the ipods could quieten.

And so we arrived in Oruro, where since we´ve bared the cold, warming our spirits and hearts with the enthusiasm of the church and work of Latin Link:

¨Bamos, bamos¨ Our 5.30am alarm, our rather the screech of Ximena our sister here, wakes us from our sleep and reluctantly (very reluctantly) we scramble our way out from the layers of blankets. Although the initial cold of the morning is painful or ¨torturous¨(as Miss Main described it) it´s not long before we are wrapped up in the warmth of natural hot spring waters found in the mountains of Oruro. It´s early but the youth group with whom we´ve come to the springs are excitable to say the least. After trying to teach each of them to swim we braved the baths. Yes communal bathing is an experience which I´m assured is all part of the ¨rich tapestry of life¨. Although enjoyable and definitely memorable we´ve safely sown that stitch in our life's tapestry, at least for the time being.

And so the afternoons have been spent visiting children´s homes, the prison, youth groups and the homes of families. It is going to take us some time to document all that is being orchestrated by Julie Noble (Latin Link) in partnership with the local churches and overseas missionaries. But for those of you who haven´t seen let us explain a little.

Firstly the prison. Although neither of us have a great deal of experience in working with prisons in Britain I think we can safely say that the prison at home is nothing (NOTHING) like the prison here in Oruro, other than they both are institutions that incarcerate criminals. Entering the prison would ordinarily have been quite a daunting experience (had we not had God right there with us!), given that the entrance opened onto a large communal area (big playground like area) where most of the prisoners were congregated, talking, buying things form the various tiendas (stalls) set up around the edges or spectating the game of football that was going on in the centre of the grounds.

Safely directed round the prison by Gabriela Gomez (staff, lawyer and angel who works for Arbol Angel) we were able to interview a few of the parents. I say parents because here in Bolivia many children are raised in the prison, for several reasons. Whilst speaking to the women prisoners, most of whom were washing cleaning or cooking while we spoke, we learned that many of them actually became pregnant whilst incarcerated. Meaning that when the children are born they stay in there with their mothers (fathers, most likely one of the other prisoners). In some instances when the fathers enter the prison the mothers, unable to support the children financially, abandon them. In these cases the children live alone, in houses or on the streets. Although it sounds almost unimaginably horrific, the thought of innocent young children being raised in that environment, there is hope, hope much brighter than the darkness that tries to extinguish ours.


Arbol Angel (Angel Tree Project) is a project that works with the children whose parents are in the prison as well as the parents themselves. They offer counselling, scriptural teaching and where they can financial support. One relationship we were particularly moved by was that of Jenny Zurita (psychologist who works for Arbol Angel) and Alexa, the father of seven children, six of whom live on their own having been abandoned by their mother. Lorna and I visited their home, some thirty minutes away from the prison where their father is. I´m afraid I´ll have to allow photos to express what I am simply unable to articulate.


Having distracted the five large dogs guarding the gate of the home with bread Lorna and I made our way into the small bedroom which they all share. Four of the children are under the age of 12 and so you can imagine the smell: no parents there to clean up, care or protect. What made us joyful amidst the smell, mess and apparent lack of hope was the support Arbol Angel was giving this family, individually. The staff know, care for and love each child individually.


Partly because they get to know them in the Arbol Angel centre. There the children are fed, taught and given much needed attention. To our disbelief the project is currently reliant on ¨offerings¨and donations from Latin Link supporters, or fund raising the staff there are able to do.

As is the compassion project. Compassion, an international missions organisation, works here in Oruro to support, teach and care for some 400 children. You may have noticed that much of the work here concentrates on the children, they, in the world over, are the ones who suffer because of our actions...or lack of them. One person´s actions that we´ve been encouraged by are Chris Saunders, a volunteer. Chris is here as a Latin Link volunteer and his role consists of working in the compassion project, working with the youth in the CCU and this week updating the Soul Touchers on all that is going on in Oruro.
As you might have reaslised there´s a lot! And so after a busy, busy day we, Soul Touch huddled back under our suffocating amount of “traditionally Bolivian blankets” and reflect on the presentations we have had the oppertunity to give here. Both in Universities, the CCU and the church. Wearing equally culturally appropriate and very necessary (llama) woolen hat, scarves, gloves and thermals we, “hoddit and doddit”, shed our usual glamorous (yeah right) exteriors opting for clothing that provides heat .

Finally we´ve loved living in the home of our host family here in Oruro. Having spent the past week recovering form the severe drop in temperature and drastic rise in altitude Soul Touch are almost ready to move on again. Before we close our eyes we find time to cosy up for a bed time-story, literally: “The Shack”. A novel gifted to the world by William P Young and to us by our friends in Sucre, is tonights most read.

Night night Sweet dreams. Love you all Erica and Lorna xxx

Healing Hurts

¨At the age of 23 the Doctors found a tumor, the size of a football, in my stomach. They confirmed that it was operable but I had only 15% chance of survival from the surgery. I felt completely alone; helpless. I remember clearly in that time God´s presence was with me and for the first time in my life I prayed.” Just a few words from a precious, powerful and completely necessary testimony given by Ruth Such at CCE Church in Sucre, Bolivia, on Sunday.

God thought Ruth´s testimony necessary for me to hear, for the congregation at CCE to hear, for you to hear and I believe the church world wide to hear. Thank you, Ruth, for sharing it. I pray God´s blessing upon the ears who hear it and the souls that are blessed by it. As I share with you, as Ruth shares with you, I ask that you would allow yourselves to do more than hear: listen; let the words penetrate into your soul allowing them to heal your hurt as the experience of them has Ruth´s.
Ruth´s testimony is necessary because it contradicts what we think we know. Logically we separate those two feelings; hurt; healing. For most of us there is a definite distinction between the two and most often a considerable amount of time. The necessary (or one of them) component of Ruth´s testimony is that she shows the two can be felt in unison; if we allow ourselves to feel them that is.

“ I don´t think I said a complicated prayer. I think I said ´God I need you´”. (Ruth Such)

The process of Ruth´s healing started with the recognition that she was hurt (For Ruth, her hurt was pointed out to her, it was made obvious. It displayed itself physically as well as spiritually). Although few of us can imagine the physical and emotional pain Ruth felt at that time, in the moments she was told of her 15% chance of survival or of the impossibility of having children post operation, I´m sure that there have been times in you life that you´ve experienced hurt, excruciating pain, possibly even a hurt that you can not diagnose. One that you´d be mortified if a Doctor, friend or pastor probed and detected it. As long as it lies there undetected, untreated (by God) it is not being healed. For us personally it is important to recognize the pain and the root of it in order to allow the healing to begin. As a church we often allow pain to fester instead of allowing our faith to free us from it.

“As soon as I open the door to God he answered. It was like he´d been waiting for me to ask; to invite him.” (Ruth Such) (see Matthew 7:7)

For some of us asking for help is an inconceivable concept; sometimes more so for the church than individuals. I want momentarily to divert the attention away from Ruth (I think we´ve invaded her privacy enough for just now) and onto me.
Simply because Ruth´s testimony stirred my heart and made me think about the times in my life I´ve been hurting. More often than not (regrettably) I´ve allowed myself to get so hett up in the root of hurt (or with the person – let´s be honest in families/churches people are usually the primary cause) that I´ve prevented myself being healed. Unlike Ruth I´ve kept the door shut with locks ´n´bolts on ´n´all!

I´d like to illustrate something using my big toe. As ridiculous and almost inappropriate as it sounds it will hopefully clarify a few things.
My big toe has been one of my most recent hurts. Well toe nail to be more vulgar, I mean precise. Manicured nails are something I love. Not obsessively but admittedly a French manicure set and nail file snuck it´s way into my back pack amongst my years worth of malarial tablets, a pair embarrassingly practical hiking boots and my mosquito net. Since then it has successfully seen its way around the world and unlike the mozy net , which I lost within the first three months, the manicure set is a precious possession for several justifiable reason. One: it makes my hands look pretty even when building, painting, cleaning or making mud bricks. Secondly in the rare moments (very rare) I do paint my nails I am momentarily distracted from thinking about Soul Touch, the church worldwide, you at home or God – or at least not as intensely.

Anyway during our Kiwi experience (whilst we were leaders on a SU camp in New Zealand) my big toe nail (vanity) was damaged or rather mutilated by a canoe whilst carrying it through a field – the part of the Kiwi experience not advertised in the brochure! And so for some three months I didn´t have a toe nail. This was a distressing experience. Primarily because of the humiliation – everyone in NZ wears thongs (flip-flops/sandals) and so it was ugly obvious everywhere I went. Then there was the sheer discomfort of it growing back. As my new and improved toe nail grew in – pushing the damaged one out- it hurt. My healing was hurting me. That is not to say that I am not considerably grateful for the process at the end of which I have a brand spanking new (not yet manicured) toe nail! I no longer wear my practical hiking boots to hide my stumpy toe but rather out of necessity in fear of loosing all ten toes in the freezing altitude of Oruro.

One detail I failed to mention then I promise no more toes – the day I helped the healing process. I distinctly remember sitting on my bed in Tim and Carmen´s apartment in Buenos Aires (Argentina, March) Lorna, Carmen and I all inspecting the toe nail – we even have it on film! I remember explaining to Carmen that my new nail seemed to have stopped growing. At which Carmen came towards me with scissors as if by invitation, “The old nail is rotten and stuck at the top,” Carmen explained in English with a beautifully expert sounding Brazilian accent whilst cutting the nail ruthlessly and tearing the skin beneath. “Ouch!”

I don´t think for one second Carmen meant to hurt me but she did. She removed what was bad in order to allow growth and healing. Carmen´s ruthlessness was necessary for growth. I agree ruthlessness within the church is not something we should practice or encourage – that would be dangerous, “ unchristian” and possibly even damaging for our (the churches) reputation.

On the contrary ruthlessness is often masked or even compensated with sensitivity, which, although very rarely talked about can be even more dangerous. Think about areas of your life and your church where growth is being prevented because of dead skin. Situations where sinfulness is not being dealt with but rather being allowed to fester. I wonder had I left my nail (promise last reference) would the new one have eventually given up trying to grow? Perhaps, perhaps not – I´m sure some of you more scientifically minded could enlighten me – anyway the point is not me – or my foot – it´s the church.

How many new things, new ideas, new Christians are prevented from being nurtured, allowed to grow, because rotten, sinful things sit in their way? Because we Christians are so frightened of the little ruthless pain it may cause that we allow sinfulness to infect us, stumping our growth. Just a thought; I´m not pointing any…toes! Actually I´m reminded of myself, of times when I have been a dangerous Christian – not the good ´dangerously in love with Jesus` type of Christian but a foosty rotten one.

One that preferred to be sensitive rather than ruthless – it´s sometimes easier to offend God than those around us – his wrath isn´t so immediate, it doesn´t come in the form of dirty looks and unfortunately his word doesn´t spread quite as rapidly as the words on the lips of gossips. I believe that now is the time for the church to do a lot of its healing. Like Ruth it´s time to cry out to God – he´s waiting to be invited.
In his book Church Distributed, Dr Joel Hunter (whom I´ve recently been informed is very handsome just for the record, thank you Becky Hunter) details the difference between expelling sin from the church ( identifying rotten toe nails) (see 1 Cor 5:13) and simply having difference of opinion. He does so more expectedly than I ever could so I suggest you read that book if you haven´t already.

Furthermore I´d like to draw upon one more testimony of amazing healing we heard this week. Whilst in Sucre Lorna and I enjoyed the hospitality, stories, teaching, beauty and pizza of Pastor Philip Train, his stunning wife Jan and far too intelligent daughter, Becky. On invitation to lunch one Saturday we enjoyed the company a couple we were introduced to us by the Trains. Wendy and Jurgen live in La Paz, are Canadian citizens and are currently documenting a major reconciliation process taking place in Potosi, Bolivia. The reconciliation is between the Bolivians and Spaniards. A process that no doubt is hurting a lot of people whilst providing necessary healing.

One of the most interesting things for me listening to Wendy and Jurgen tell a little of the huge amount of work going on there was that they highlighted the communities involvement with the church. The healing process (the reconciliation) was instigated by people within the church and was largely planned and supported by them but it is being demonstrated within the communities by the people in the communities. As we have witnessed in the church (read Sam Andres Argentina)and as expertly illustrated by Dr Joel Hunter reaching out to the communities is the churches responsibility and in short reason for existence:

“The scripture tells us about Christ going out to be among the people. He did not stay in one place expecting the people to come to him (Mark 1:38). As the church becomes more involved in the world, it will also become more like Christ. (Dr Joel hunter, Church Distributed, 2007)

Yet still ¨the benefits for going outside for inside maturity¨ are questioned by members of congregations (Dr Joel hunter, Church Distributed, 2007). But why? Perhaps these communities expose hurt within the church that we´re trying to ignore. Perhaps they will question us and notice rotten bits about us that we don´t want anyone to see. Perhaps it’s much easier for us to stay insular and continue hurting.
I have learned (have been taught by many wiser than myself) that by doing so we´re not only hurting ourselves, denying others the opportunity to join God´s Kingdom but more dangerously we´re preventing growth (I´m not talking about numbers I´m taking about spiritual maturity).

Lastly one wee story from Ruth, she and Dean encouraged us greatly mostly through their sharing of recourses and stories. A few years ago their Church in England , also St Andrews, was being renovated in order to accommodate the growing congregation. Instead of hiring another larger venue whilst the renovation was being done the pastoral team decided to divide the church into mid sized communities (St Andrew´s Chorleywood) and each had it´s own name. The groups then hosted themselves out in the community. Some met in schools, some in homes and some in coffee shops. Amazingly the church didn´t self destruct, it didn´t suffer from lack of ´mega church sizeness¨. The church grew. People were given new responsibilities and through this confidence. What´s more people who had never been to church before joined the small groups. It grew so much that after refurbishment the building couldn´t contain it´s new ¨community¨ based congregation.

“I was slightly nervous about coming on mission because for the last seven years I have been in remission and have had to go to a specialist doctor regularly for check ups. God knew my worry and two days before we were set to leave for Bolivia I went to see the specialist. ¨Ruth you no longer have to come for check ups. Your body is completely healed.¨” (Ruth Such)


Ruth and Dean are now loving life in Sucre, Bolivia. I don´t doubt for one second that her (their) journey hasn´t hurt but their healing is remarkable and it shines for the entire world to see. I am imagining the day that we will say that about the church. A church that is so well because is has allowed itself time to heal it´s hurts. A church that has recognized and dealt with the damaged , foosty parts in order to allow the best bits to grow. A church so bright that all the world will see.

For the record the new and improved toe nail is now manicured and is displaying itself proudly around the streets of Oruro as you read this. Unfortunately for the locals it hidden beneath layers of thermal socks!

Love you all in abundance Erica xxx

Our eyes are the windows to our souls...

For the purpose of this entry I’m going to pinch a lot of what other people have said because remarkably –although some of them strangers – their words seem to encapsulate what is going on in my little life in Bolivia. Neither of the gentlemen I refer to know me but their words have impacted my life deeply whilst reading their books.

You might think I have nothing better to do with my time than read books. The appearance of this sleepy city Sucre gives the distinct impression of tranquility, calmness and -on days when the students are not protesting here – peacefulness. However, it’s quite the contrary. The white paint on the walls of this city create an annual blankness hiding the hustle of activity that takes place behind them and muting the colourfull conversations we´ve been having all week with our friends. These conversations and a very busy schedule are the reason I don´t actually have time to read as much as I’d like. However, in the moments I do steal with William and Joel (no unfortunately not handsome – or they may be, like I said I haven´t met them- companions William and Joel are authors) I feel blessed. Unlike books I have read in the past theirs don’t transport me to other realms nor do they allow my mind to escape the reality I am living in. They do the complete opposite. They emerge me deeper into my own reality allowing me to fully experience it. “Enjoying where I am on the way to where I am going!” (Joyce Meyer). Isn´t that something we all desire to be able to do; to enjoy today whilst looking forward to tomorrow. What´s more that´s what God intends you to be able to do (Jeremiah 29:11). However for many of us this is a romantic notion, getting through the day is a chore and who wants to think about tomorrow?....

I do and in the past two weeks we´ve met others, behind the blank canvases, who are also really experiencing today! Upon these canvases the congregation of CCE church are painting with their words and actions everyday. Couples, children, teams and individuals in CCE Church are creating something in Sucre that the world most definitely wants to see.
Starting in the literal sense with Horna Casa. A house, building, well place situated high on one of the “breasts of Sucre” (Ruth´s words not mine). Sucre is a city that rests in the depths of many stunning mountains and Horna Casa overlooks it. Horna Casa looks positively prehistoric in comparison to the clean whitewashed streets in the city centre making even the little tiendas and market stalls in the plaza look distinctly cosmopolitan. That was until they started to paint.

I think now is an appropriate time to introduce Ruth and Dino (Dean). You´ll become familiar with them as you read this – they are really active in orchestrating a lot of what is going on here in CCE at the moment. I previously described this match – literally made in heaven – as “beautiful”; a very immediate and accurate observation I stick by. However since our initial introduction, over chicken kebabs, these friends; mentors; teachers; angels, have shown us how beautiful they really are. Their words have breathed life and encouragement into Soul Touch and their superior drama skills have had us laughing until exhaustion.

Not only because they invited us to their early (Saturday) morning drama group but because the sketches they taught the young people, although weighted with meaning, were hilarious when demonstrated by the talented twosome. Furthermore their tactics at involving us in extreme sports (they had us rock climb vertically up one of the “breasts” in extreme heat and altitude – yes they are hyper active and have energy that knows no bounds- have been much appreciated, as was the invitation for pizza after the excursion. In the two weeks we’ve known this pair they’ve introduced us to many people all almost as inspirational as themselves. Starting with a group of Brazilians, here as part of their missionary training. The team from Brazil are the ones painting (transforming) Horna Casa. And so Ruth, Dino the Brazilians and the Soul Touchers, equipped with paint pots, tools and wheelbarrows of enthusiasm set off for a days work.


The team (all twelve of us) packed ourselves into one vehicle. Whilst the boys hung fearlessly onto the roof rack, relishing the adventure of ascending the mountain with only a metal frame ( and a prayer) between themselves and the 2000ft vertical drop back down, the girls, Dino and Pastor Phil squeezed onto more comfortable seats in the 4x4. As we drove up the hill Ruth debriefed us about Horna Casa and the project there: renovating the old house into a community centre providing teaching and much needed attention for the community. As her passion for the project overflowed into the tiny (already claustrophobic space) her eyes welled, “The people are poor Erica. The people are poor!" She yelled over the screaming exhaust (the car didn´t take to kindly to the extra weight….the paint not Soul Touch!) whilst I dodged her- beautifully extrovert – hand talk. Trying to imagine what she was describing I pictured favelas, slums, camps – just some of the poverty we´ve witnessed in the ten months of Soul Touching. “The children play with the pigs, ¨ she explained as the car came to a sudden halt, naturally offloading the Brazilians boys in the back.

As we picked up our paint and tools we trudged past the children she´d described and like she´d said they were- and probably still are- “playing with the pigs”. The only thing more revolting than the stench at Horna Casa was the sight of children living and playing in the pigs pit. Immediately the team got to work, effortlessly fitting back into the roles they put down with their brushes as they left the day before. A couple of the boys set about finishing the path they were constructing outside, whilst others cleaned, painted; painted and cleaned.

As they started work Lorna and I listened and filmed trying to capture some of the transformation that is taking place there. We pray we have captured a little of what is hugely amazing! Don´t stress we did eventually put down our cameras and pick up some brushes, helping to colour the beautiful murals Dino and Ruth were outlining on the walls of the classrooms (to be). Delicately, nervously - I was terrified incase I spoiled what is seriously a masterpiece- I coloured in the bright green grass beneath Jesus` feet. As my brush swept beneath the feet of the coffee coloured Jesus I felt eyes upon me; eyes everywhere. Huge eyes feeding huge souls in little dirty bodies. The eyes of children who´d left their card board boxes, in which they usually spend their days. Children who´d dismounted the pigs with which they played, now scanned the room we were painting.
They watched Pepe and Gonzolo as they flattened the ground before carefully laying each brick. They watched Pastor Micky and Pancho (his brother) as they constructed the partitions that will separate classrooms, giving more opportunities for group work. They watched Karen, Becky, Adriana and Hugo washing the windows and floors in preparation for paint. They watched Gideon encouraging his friends whilst he himself painted the high parts – the tallest of the group- and Ruth expertly colouring the loaves and fishes. Lastly their eyes fixed on Dino as he swept a huge rainbow across one of the empty walls. A rainbow. A symbol of hope.

Lorna once wisely quoted: “The eyes are the windows to our souls”. A statement that has directed our mission. As my eyes looked upon those children my soul crunched. Until I traced the direction the children´s eyes. They stared not at the rainbow, the giant colourful symbol of hope but upon the hands drawing it. Their eyes transfixed on the faces of the team who were transforming their little village and as my paint ran out beneath Jesus` feet I thanked him for reminding me.

For reminding me that the paint was transforming more than the walls. It in truth is simply a mask for the real reason we were there: to be his hands and his feet. Yes, the paint brightened the place making it functional, essential if any real ministry and teaching is going to continue there, which I know it will. But the real reason the team were painting was because they have a desire to make relationships with the people there and to demonstrate practically the love of Jesus. Relationships are the second reason my life has been too busy to read – no not romantic relationships settle down this isn´t Daniel Steels your reading! My name`s Erica Bonnar big, huge, verging on annoying fan of Jesus.

Last Sunday Lorna and I had the massive privilege of speaking to the congregation of CCE. It was an amazing evening sharing with them a little of what we are doing, showing then photos of where we have been and hopes of where we are going. I loved that evening. Lorna shared her testimony which blessed everyone and it was a real time of fellowship. But for me the greatest gift was that our host family came. Marisol and four of her six siblings, her children, nieces and nephews took up a large part of the congregation. For me them being there was just as important as anything we said or sang that night. They are a family, like many here in Bolivia and at home, who in the past has been divided by denomination, possibly even hurt by the church. What I saw on Sunday was a family united by the church. A family brought closer than ever being healed by the church: “ I suppose that since most of our hurts came through relationships so will our healing.” (William P Young, The Shack, 2007)

As I read this statement recently in Ýoung´s awesome fictional novel ‘The Shack` I was reminded of the church, of Marisol´s family and of my own (you reading this). It´s so true. For a long time we´ve offended each other, upset those sitting in the pews and on occasion even rejected those who refuse and conform to our ways. Thank goodness I can talk about this in the past tense (well mostly). On Sunday we stood before a congregation full of differences: different colours, different opinions (on music, dress code and more I´m sure) and from different denominations. A congregation who, that morning, had been fed by a pastor desperate to communicate the kingdom of heaven and their role in preparing for it.

During the week at Horna Casa I witnessed a congregation in preparation for exactly that: `Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying “Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Revelation 21: 1-5 (Further ref 1 Thess 4:16 2 Peter 3:10)

If this doesn’t excite you check your pulse. This is what we´re living for! As I painted the feet of Jesus on a wall I saw people walking where he would have walked; walking for him. What´s more I saw children watching – probably not fully understand the team’s reasons or motivations for being there as my new pal Willie says: “Grace rarely makes sense for those looking in from the outside.” (William P Young, The Shack, 2007)

I´m sure to the world a lot of what your doing right now doesn´t make sense, perhaps even to your own families! That doesn´t mean they don´t see it. They do and like the eyes of the children their eyes witness your works and their souls are fed.

Finally I want to share with you one more wee thing I´ve learned about relationships – I say that like I´m an expert when realistically I´m anything but, but I love to learn. It´s probably easiest for me to draw upon the most obvious relationship in my life right now, no not Jesus but she´s trying hard, Lorna Main. A friend and loyal servant with whom I´ve spent every minute of every day (literally) for ten months straight. I know it´s hard to imagine but I can count on one hand the hours we´ve spent apart. Together we´ve shared ideas, bible verses, meal times, mattresses, clothes and on occasion even bath (bucket) water – well would you want to go pump the well twice?!

Honestly we´ve loved it but that doesn´t mean it´s not been difficult. For those of you who have met us you´ll know we´re different. For example Lorna finds it easy to get up at 5:30 am to finish our Spanish homework as I reluctantly (big moan) follow. Lorna has natural comic timing and always has those around her in fits of laughter, myself included. She has an awesome gift of listening; I’m known to wake her in the wee small hours of the morning (1am or 2am, sometimes both) just to have her listen to me. Lorna brings peace. And me…well I talk incessantly as you know. These are but a few differences and we´re only two. I come from a family of six so I know difference trust me. I also, because of my family, know how to recognize what a blessing difference can be. As Dr Joel Hunter describes, “The other must be enough like us to be intimate but different enough to be necessary!” (Church Distributed)

I know I go on a lot abo