7/4/05: In a few days, we will leave Boca Inimbari for the last time. Although I hope that I may one day return if but for a short trip in which to edify and strengthen the church, it could very well be that I will never step foot into this village or lay my eyes upon these people ever again.

  Now, while it is indeed true that I will miss Boca Inimbari, to simply say, "I will miss it," in reality, doesn't say much at all. So, let me be clear about what it is exactly that I will miss.

  I will miss hanging-out with Victor and Manuel Jr.; guys with whom I'm sure I'd be close friends in Lewisville if we would have met there. I will miss Tarzan's laugh and I will miss the nights here when I lay in my net listening to him singing praises by himself outside the next hut over. I will miss the joy of Juaneco, the faithfulness of Cornelio, and the lively storytelling of all the old men here. I'll miss the kids: Rafael, little Gabriella, Shella, Stalin, ect.I will miss the abundant supply of fruit?oranges, mandarin, papaya, bananas.And, I will miss the church.

  Oh what fond memories I will always have of storying, praying, working, laughing, and worshipping with the Brothers here as we have watched this church grow in number and faith for about a year now.

  That is what I will miss about Boca Inimbari.

 

 

7/7/05: Used to the routine, it didn't take me long to break down camp this morning. Just a little after 5 a.m., my backpack was ready to go. I walked over to Manuel's house and found that he was up early too, sitting in the cold, stoking his fire.

  I pulled up a chair next to my old friend and began to warm my hands over the fire. It was indeed a chilly morning. It wasn't long before Manuel's wife and his sons, Victor and Manuel Jr., crowded in, trying to soak up some of the fire's warmth. Chris and Marcello made their way over as well, and Manuel, as a farewell token, took his final opportunity to tell us a few more Harakmbut stories from generations past.

  Always good to act out his stories with dramatic gestures, facial expressions and voice impersonations, Manuel, with tales such as, "The Old Man who Relaxed by the Fire Scratching his Back," entertained us quite comically for about half an hour. Finally, we all bid one last goodbye as Chris, Marcello and I departed from Boca Inimbari for our last time; thus completing the first leg of this trip.

  It was a year ago that Chris and I first introduced ourselves to the families of Boca Inimbari. At the time, we had already seen the first fruits of the Lord's harvests in Shintuya, Barraca and Masenawa. Following up on a letter from Robert Trip, in which he spoke of Cornelio, we came to Boca with a prayerful spirit, seeking discernment and guidance in regards to our involvement with this Amarakaeri village.

  Immediately, we met Cornelio and Victor and Tarzan and Manuel, and as the Father provided us a place to stay and a group with whom to story, it was quickly revealed to us that the Lord meant to use us in this community. One year, countless new friends, and a faithful church of growing disciples later, it is all the more clear that God most definitely sent us here. I have learned volumes throughout this season of my life in regards to God's sovereignty.

  About the glorious, splendid thread woven between His desires, His promises, and His will; and how His perfect plan brilliantly and mysteriously unites and fulfills it all. About the faithfulness and creativity forever employed as He always acts as the Great Author of life. How privileged we are to live as the characters of His story! And oh how adventurous it is to anxiously watch the plot unfold!

 

 ***Weeks after I wrote this in my journal, I learned a very interesting, true anecdote that yielded even more weight to the relation between our time?specifically our arrival to?in Boca Inimbari and the sovereignty of God. Apparently, when Chris and I first pulled our boat up to the village, the community thought that we were criminals (I suppose we look more like criminals than missionaries?) and prepared accordingly. I remember that the village appeared to be all but empty as there were but a few men waiting in the open when we showed up. You see, the rest of the men were hiding behind trees and bushes with bows and arrows, waiting to kill us. Then, because we had already spent considerable time in three other Amarakaeri villages, Chris and I began to greet the men we saw in their native dialect as we talked about our mutual friends among the other communities. Realizing we were not criminals, slowly, one by one, the rest of the men appeared out of no where and eventually bestowed us with a joyful greeting. On that day, and for a year after, Chris and I had no idea how close the community came to shooting us with arrows. I praise the Lord for His perfect plan that gave us the experience, language skills and relationships that we needed to enter beforehand.***