July 8, 2017 - Monte Blanco

Monte Blanco 

Imagine sitting on a hill, under the blue skies with green farmlands stretched before you, surrounded by the hills of the eastern Andes, on a clear, cold morning.  The sounds are not typical of the city, song birds, parrots, and macaws, as well as a dog barking and a cow lowing.  The sound of a car or motorcycle happens about once every 5 or 10 minutes.  Mostly it is quiet.

A few weeks ago, I went to Monte Blanco.  Today it is a Christian camp, that sees tens of thousands of teenagers passing through its gates each year.  It is the largest camp of its kind in Latin America, and one of the largest in the world.  Thousands of lives are changed through its ministry each year.

I had breakfast with Tim and his crew this morning.  The men and women responsible for running this camp took a week off to gather together and evaluate their program.  What works.  What is a failure.  What needs to be improved.  I was invited to visit, but I am not part of their group, so I went exploring.

Monte Blanco originally was a missionary boarding school called Tambo.  At one time, the only option for missionaries was either home school or a boarding school.  My friends Tim Ramsey, Anna Foster, and Lance Gregory called it home for many years.  Anna taught here as many years as she went to school here as a child.  

I wandered up the hill, being told there is a cemetery near the airfield (that was how many children arrived at the school).  Anna encouraged me to look for it.  I don’t think she now knows there is a trail marked by arrows to guide me to it.  I easily found it.  My first emotion was excitement that I found it, but moments later I felt flooded with grief, respect, and reverence.  Even as I type this a few weeks later, I am overwhelmed.  There was a girl who was just 17 buried here.  She was a student of the school.  Tim’s dad, a veteran missionary for 60 years is also there.  There are about 10 graves, maybe more.

What struck me is that these are true giants, men and women who gave their lives for the gospel.  These are the people who loved Bolivia so much that they stayed here through adversity, like losing a teenaged daughter.  They didn’t give up when difficulties, hardship, or persecution hit.  They deserve respect.  I felt a reverence here, as if I had stumbled onto holy ground.  And I did.  How many prayers went up for the children here over the decades?  I bet tens of thousands. 

Maybe this is why the songbirds call this home.  They too want to be in a place sanctified by the saints who served here.  They want to be in a place covered by prayer.

Is this what Heaven will be like?  I don't know, but I found myself in the heart of Bolivia.