A couple of nights ago I went to visit Flor. At 75 years of age, more or less, she is suffering. Pain is her constant companion. She has cancer. Advanced cancer. Her children have not told her that is what she is suffering from. Honestly, I am not sure what she thinks is wrong with her. Or maybe she knows.

When I first arrived she was in good spirits. We laughed and joked about dancing in the streets when I return from Pucallpa. Ok for me it was not a joke but more like something for her to “hold onto” during the times of pain. Once before when she was in a really bad state we made the same promise and it did happen. She did get better….for a few weeks….and we did dance.

This night I witnessed something that words cannot express. The care and love of  2 women at her side. Tending to her. One was a life long friend that Flor told me she considered more like a sister than a friend. Flor’s eyes were lit up with deep love and affection for this woman. The kind you just have to experience to know its depth. A bond shared only between the two of them.

I hate to say it but I don’t even know this woman’s name.  And really are there names for angels in human form that help you, encourage you, love you, cry with you and walk alongside in the good and not so good times of life?

This woman rubbed Flor’s cold, bone thin and aching legs and feet with intensity as though she was pushing the pain right put of her body. It was as if this woman was on a mission to rid her of the poison that had overtaken her best friend. Flor would point to another part of her aching body and this woman was right there rubbing with strong, sun browned, wrinkled hands. Several times I caught this woman’s gaze. Her round precious, deeply wrinkled face spoke of sadness for her friend. No tears could I see in her eyes. Yet I know they were there.

A short while later the other woman helped Flor sit up and rubbed her head and back with alcohol. She combed and braided Flor’s  long, thin black and gray straight hair into a tightly woven braid. In that moment Flor looked both peaceful and beautiful. Short lived as the intense pain racked her tiny body and her muscles seized up and she shook uncontrollably. With tears filling her black, tired, sunken eyes,  she cried out over and over , “Oh Señor, God help me.” I did all I could to fight back my own tears.

It was a sad and yet precious time if that sounds right. One I wish I could have captured with film. Not in a sick way. It was just extremely selfless on the part of these 2 women. But not the appropriate time for pictures. Just not. And again I found myself looking in on a life event just as I had several weeks ago. Read about it … A Private Moment.

Life is one moment, and sometimes one private moment, strung together. Priceless.

Experiencing private moments within His Mighty Grip,

Stephanie

http://www.TrinitysAngels.org

The “tough” act is hard to maintain for long periods of time. Staying strong, unwavering, remaining unfeeling is difficult. We feel, we love, we hurt, we rebound. We are fragile. And no matter how tough we try to be, no matter the show we put on for the outside world, the “front,” we are still fragile and break – from time to time.

Sometimes its tough to crack through the “front, ” the shell, the walls. Other times its like sand that crumbles at the slightest touch, the smallest hurt, or the softest voice.

Every day it seems I find the “fragile” parts of life. Just how fragile we all are…..

Recently, a young woman, 26 years old, passed away after a church service in her home. A service that was held to pray for her recovery. Just 2 hours after the service she passed away. God had other plans.

My friend Maria, her son and daughter in law lost their baby before she was born. She was already 7 months  along and planning for a “normal” birth. God had other plans.

Esteban, one of the ¨young at heart¨ men at the food kitchen, passed away while I was gone for the holidays. I didn’t get to say goodbye.

All I had were the last hugs before I left and  his words echoing in my head, Hurry back. Hurry back. I didn’t hurry fast enough. God had other plans.

But I can see God  in every fragile moment. I see Him in the sad times holding, cradling His children, loving them. We doubt His presence and yet we shouldn’t. He is always there. His hand covering us.

Some moments are simply just more fragile than others in His Mighty Grip,

Stephanie

http://www.TrinitysAngels.org

http://www.TheAngelHousePeru.com

What is it like to have a bus full of people watch you as you stop to kiss your little child, and give money to the woman with her? Is the woman his wife? Is he divorced and giving her money to support his daughter?

And for a moment I feel like I am not suppose to be watching. Well really I am not. Really it should be a private moment but when the whole bus stops for him to spend 2 minutes with these two people who in some manner or another are a part of his life it becomes public!

It touches me…the man hands the little girl a bag of tangerines. She smiles brightly. He bends down to kiss her forehead and giver her a hug. He counts out money for the woman and hands it to her. Not many words are said. None can be heard if they are spoken.

Once again, he bends to hand the little girl some candy, kisses her cheek this time and then kisses the woman’s cheek. He walks up the steps to the bus. We move forward and off we go.

It is a piece of their life that I watch. Someone else’s life. I want to capture the moment with a picture but that too seems even more intrusive. So instead I watch.

Drawn into the scene…there are many moments like this here that I see. Each one touches me. Each one leaves an impression. Moments shared in someone’s life.

Spending special moments within His Mighty Grip,

Stephanie

http://www.TrinitysAngels.org

http://www.TheAngelHousePeru.com

What do I feel about the town? As I headed to visit my sons this past holiday season for a few weeks I couldn’t help but feel as though I had left some best friends back in Llama. The people there are in my heart, deeply. They have accepted me as one of their own. They greet me on the street with a hearty “Buenos Dias” or “Hermana Stephanie,” “Gringa – con cariño (with affection”) or a child may just run up and hug me.

What’s not to love about that? The streets are narrow, homes made of handmade and foot stomped adobe bricks.
The views and colors of the sunsets- vivid and striking. It’s a dot on the map. A small town of not much significance to the outside world.  But that’s not how I feel.

The mountains are carved out of sections of light and dark green, tan, brown and dark cafe. Colors that are intense and radiant.  White, silver and grey clouds roll slowly over the tops of the mountain peaks. It’s a landscape worth painting. It is a scene I cannot accurately describe. And that’s how I feel.

I couldn’t imagine being away from Llama for so long. But it was time needed to get out of the forest to see the trees. And that is exactly what happened.

IReturning just over a week ago I came back renewed, rested and filled up once again. Ready to work out this year from start to finish with wild abandon and intentionally for all the projects laid on my heart.  And that is how I feel!

My wish for each of you is that you find yourself in a place you don’t want to live without.

Finding myself in exactly that place in His Mighty Grip,

Stephanie

http://www.TrinitysAngels.org

How could something so special come from something so dirty? My view of dust has changed dramatically while living in Pucallpa.  Okay sure in my lifetime I have inhaled or “eaten” dust penty of times before in a windstorm or from the back draft of a passing 18 wheeler.  But never to the extent I have walked in it, been covered by it, slept in it or inhaled it here, in Pucallpa.

From motokar rides, walking the numerous dirt roads to sitting on the ground and seeing it “settle down” through an Amazon downpour, from inhaling it through the screens of my apartment windows and trying to dust off my sheets before I go to sleep, my lungs are soaked in it and I am continually covered by it.

And to think God created man from dust. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust comes to mind. Just a thought.

Covered in dust…in His Mighty Grip,

Stephanie

Trinity’ Angels website