The Key to Getting Rich: Taught from the Poor in Cusco (4)

11,200 feet up. Piercing the sky, into the heavens, Cusco sits deep in the Andes. A center hub for a world of activity. People fly in from Europe, China, Australia, and of course, America…

Seeking their own personal trek to Machu Picchu, the Mountain of Seven Colors, or a host of other journeys that promise to deepen shallow souls, wided closing lungs, stretch the stiffening core of who a person might become.

Backpacks line me. Tall, thin, people of different colors, seeking a common denominator, unite under one theme…to make their lives rich…

Rich; not in wealth, like the Spaniards hoped to get when dominating this quiet, peaceful land…

But rich from the weight of intense ancestorial hearts that lingered in oneness and peace with the earth.

Yes, that is what the worldly rich come to seek; internal riches, depth, and character…qualities that last far beyond any kind of paper money.

As I look around, I taste the stillness flooding my racing soul. I place my feet on the soil and know, taste, and witness a love of one world, one people, all cultures moving like silent bees around golden flowers…

Inquiring how they might be rich, still, more deeply blessed by this land thousands of years old.

And we have all been robbing this land from the Indians, central, north, and south America, for far too long.

Teaching Indian cultures, we have some vain Messianic complex, controlling, forcing and demanding our own ways into these lands. But could it be, our behavior is because we know of our own well-hidden deficits…

So, we thrust ourselves on a culture who’ve learned to rest in their sense of self, live off the land, become content just being present.

Still, quiet, peaceful. In tune with so much more than our “melting pot” culture tries to teach or educate them.

And sometimes I wonder, have we only come tainting, with our prosperty preaching, larger houses, more assets, more power and control…exposing our shallow emptiness…instead of stepping into their land like students…

Asking them, “How can we learn from you?”

They, the Indains, have what we want….what we need…simplicity.

Family, land, open skies, reaching down like an eagle, calling this gifted earth their home.

And though Jesus might not be known….His being rests fully…in their heart, their character. Meek, humble, still, content.

Yet, we often profess Jesus with our lips, but deny Him with our lives?

I race around as if trying to earn my own salvation, claw at the sky as if striving can bury sinfulness or pulling the Great Jehovah from the sky is my doing, not His.

“I am with you, always, nigh, even to the ends of the earth.” These are the words of scripture, the essense of the Indians I see at the airport in Cusco.

I want what they posses. We all do.

Yet, it is our Savior that must decipher, filter through each of us; separating good and bad. God alone must carefully sift each individual heart, regardless of culture…

He alone, separates wheat and chaff.

Oh that, we simply possess, willing hearts…honoring every culture, keeping the richness of heritages that have tasted the land, long before we put our feet ignorantly upon their soil.

And these indians? They know their people, every hill and valley, where water is, their history…It is us who often scanange, begging dehydrated.

God, help me to see the Incan people as you see them. Help me to greet all cultures with eyes strained pure from my own judgements or American thinking.

I want to love like you do, God. Embracing all peoples instead of trying to make anyone else, look just like me.

Let me first see my own sin. Acknowledge my own weaknesses. Let me step into other people’s soil, whether Peru, Guatemala or Asia with pure vision….

Eyes that see the beauty of a people dressed bright, bundles in home-made wrappings. Squinty eyes, short stature, a people moving slow, but intentionally…

Look deep inside others eyes, without needing to say a word.

Let me love like you do, Jesus. Let me die to my thinking, ways and perception…that fast paced, greedy Americanism is some mold I must stamp on other nations.

Oh God, forgive me of my ignorance.

It is here, I know, I will die. I will bow low to my life and beg God for breathe. I will rise at the feet of my Jesus, and ask…“God, how do you want to use me?”

It is here my journey starts.

I see a brown, woven, basket held out to me from a colorful cloth. “Eat it”, they say.“It will help you breathe,” They had told me…

I carefully selece a few thick, hard, leathery leaves with my index finger and thumb. Tuck them in my mouth and start to chew…

The taste? Bitter, juices barren, hard leaves fold deep, poke, as I try to gulp down the disgusting taste that lingers in my mouth.

I did not listen. I was told to chew on these for hours. But, I refused. I was proud, arrogant.

The result? I would soon be swallowing and gasping for air…

(Thank you for reading. This post is a part of a series. Check back Tuesday and Fridays for more or read previous posts of this story) 

And remember, Tuesday is UNITE! (An all-inclusive link-party open for you)

If you haven’t seen the results of our successful campaign – “Raising shoes for the Carahuasi children of Peru”, check the story at the bottom of this page, HERE or our conclusion of our GoFundMe Campaign HERE.

And oh friends, it was so remarkeable last Thursday…

Our girls and I were able to FaceTime my husband all the way in Carahuasi, Peru.

We were able to watch LIVE from our very own living room, as brand-new, locally-made, leather shoes were distributed to the Carahuasi children in Peru.

Thanks for joining us! Check back Tuesday for more photos of our actual, shoe distribution event.