Blackberries, Zip Lines, and God’s Promises

Jul 19

A favorite part of any mission trip is time spent with the children of the Santiago Children’s Home. For the kids, these outings are more than just a change of scenery. They’re a chance to experience something different, something normal, something that feels like childhood in its purest form. They love piling into vans, holding hands along the path, discovering new sights, and sharing simple joys like snacks, songs, and stories. These outings remind them that the world is bigger than the challenges they’ve faced, and that they are deeply loved by people who choose to show up for them. For teams, these moments become the heartbeat of the trip-reminders of why we came, why partnership matters, and why walking along these children is one of the most meaningful parts of the ministry.

We traveled to Otavalo, to the Peguche Waterfall — Cascada de Peguche — a place held tenderly in Indigenous stories. The surrounding mountains are known as a family: the mother, the father, and the son watching over the valley. The waterfall itself flows from San Pablo Lake, pouring through a region known for its vibrant textiles and generations of artisans who have shaped its identity.

The path toward the falls winds quietly through trees and stone, lined with bursts of wildflowers that seemed to color the air itself. Birds called from the branches overhead, their songs echoing through the canopy as if welcoming us forward. Then, almost all at once, the grand scene opened — the waterfall in all its glory, thundering into the pool below. We stepped close enough to feel the spray on our faces, surprised that the water wasn’t as cold as we expected. From there, we climbed the stairs to an upper trail, getting a closer look at the top of the falls before following a small creek toward the playground.

Along the way, a group of kids stopped to pick blackberries, leaning over the water to reach the branches. They giggled as they stretched their arms out, calling for tío Juanca to help them reach the highest ones. Their laughter carried down the path long before we reached the playground.

The playground itself felt like a small celebration tucked into the trees — a zipline, horse swings, a teeter‑totter, and other equipment scattered around. The zipline became the center of joy, producing squeals of laughter and wide‑open arms as the kids flew across. The little ones ran back and forth underneath, returning the swing to the platform so the next rider could take off again.

We shared snacks with the kids afterward, and once again they sang songs and prayers. One little girl asked what we must think since everything was in Spanish, her eyes curious and earnest. We ended our time together with a Bible story — Abraham and God’s promises — and then sang Father Abraham in Spanish, all of us moving our arms and legs in rhythm, laughing at the familiar motions.

It was one of those days where nature, culture, and community wove together seamlessly — a reminder of how beautiful it is to walk alongside families and children in places that hold their stories so deeply.