A Columban Sister recognizes the frustrations and joys of missionary life in Peru.
By Sr. Sophia Kim

I will always remember my parents’ shock and surprise when I told them my plans to become a Columban Sister.

My mother said, “There are lots of people who work for others as lay persons. Why do you want to be a Sister?” My father asked another question: “It’s OK if you want to be a Sister, but why a missionary?”

I don’t remember how I answered my parents, but the questions have stayed in my heart since that eventful day.

I now am a missionary living in a village called Vinchos, high up in Peru’s Andes Mountains. I share life with two other Sisters, both from different cultures and with different personalities. We often laugh about our very different customs and mannerisms.

Sr. Sophia Kim visited the home of two boys from her art class who are pictured here with their mother and newborn sister.

But when we share together, we become able to see things through the eyes of others.

Each of us is involved in a different kind of work, so we meet a wide variety of people. When we get together, we share our reflections, joys and struggles. I appreciate these moments, as I always feel energized and enriched by our sharing.

The gift that connects us as Sisters—giving our entire lives to Jesus in the service of others—is far more unifying than any cultural or personality differences. Giving time to prayer and the opportunity we have to serve others is a source of deep peace and joy.

When I first left Korea, I spent time in Ireland learning English. I was then assigned to Peru, where I studied Spanish. Learning another language is difficult, so I fondly remember the day I found myself at a table talking with Spanish, Korean and English speakers. Now whenever I learn a new word, I feel closer to the people with whom I work and with their culture.

Learning languages is both a cross and a blessing, and it surely makes us humble. I remember my early days in Peru when I would write phrases in Spanish on scraps of paper; things such as “I need to go to …” “I need to stop at …” “I need directions to …” I had to rely totally on strangers, and I felt almost like a baby!

I met many good people along the way who helped, but sadly, I also met a few who robbed me.

A Time For Remorse
In my ministry I work with children in the village and, each weekend, with older youth in the city. When I first arrived in Peru, I was frustrated by the people’s lack of punctuality, so I decided to teach the children in my afternoon art group a lesson.

I told them that we began at 2 p.m. and that after 10 minutes, I would close the door, and no one would be allowed in. For a few weeks I was strict in enforcing this rule. The children began to arrive on time, and those who were late often went home crying. What a success I had achieved!

But upon refection, I realized my efforts to satisfy my need for punctuality had been very cruel. I had paid little attention to the reality of these little children.

They don’t have watches — their families might not even own a clock. And even though they are young, they have many responsibilities: caring for younger brothers and sisters, working in the fields, minding animals, cooking meals, etc. My heart was filled with remorse for how I had acted.

Now, when they come, I welcome them and when I see the joy they experience in creating arts and crafts, my heart is filled with joy and happiness.

Life here in the mountains is very different from my previous life in Korea, and I have learned a great deal from the experience.

Soon I will be returning home to visit my family. I have to admit, though, that while I now have a few more answers to those questions my parents asked me, I still do not have all the answers.

All life choices have some mystery about them, and the answers to such profound questions can only be revealed as one’s life journey unfolds.