Ian, one of our visitors from Bristol wrote this poem about his trip to Yucay.
There’s a twisted concrete doorway in the village of Yucay
beneath majestic mountains and a clear blue blazing sky.
It stands a forlorn monument that testifies the day
when the river flooded over and washed the house away.
Nature hides the story of the horror that was there
now flowers and the fruit trees shade the terror and despair.
Imagine everything you have, your house, its memories
collapsed into a pile of mud, nothing but debris.
But the house is only part of it, it’s your livelihood as well
the crops and your whole future have been swallowed up in hell.
Left impoverished and desolate, the numbness and defeat
as the hopes and dreams are lost its seems in the mud beneath your feet.
So why now the smiling faces and the hospitality?
The welcome of bright flowers where the kitchen used to be.
Could it be that hope has come to this corner of the earth
and the message of the gospel has been a catalyst of birth?
That an understanding of true love, faith and community
that the pearl of greatest price is here, that the Kingdom now they see?
We, partakers in this kingdom work, give God thanks today
and as bearers of the gospel we give our Saviour praise
Greed and hate and selfishness, we want all this to die
and the cross brings restoration to the doorways of Yucay.
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