The last week I was at MITC a team from my church including my pastor was there on a mission trip. Usually when there is an American team serving for the week, we will have a special dinner the last night. It usually consists of a time of worship and testimony and then we all eat some delicious Mexican style barbeque chicken. During the time of testmonies, I got up from my seat because I wanted to take this opportunity to share what was on my heart. Everyone seemed to be there that night- the students, the faculty and their families, the choir, and my hometown church and everyone fell silent as I stood next to Dan (he always translates for the speakers). Looking out into the crowd, I got choked up and it took me a minute to gather my emotions and words. I knew what I was going to say because I already had planned out in mind from the previous week. And I wanted to share what I said that night on my blog. I am not sure why, maybe just to have it down in writing for me to come back to one day. The following are my words from that night to my audience....
To my church- Two turning points in my life are connected with the faith family at Broadmoor Baptist Church in Shreveport, Louisiana. The first was when I was a very self-conscious freckled face preteen who never felt quite good enough. I don’t remember much about that night at church but what I do remember is that conversation after the service. You see that night God unveiled my eyes to my own depravity and He called me to Himself. I don’t remember who the lady was or even everything she said, I just remember crying because I knew she was speaking truth and for the first time it made sense to me. I was in need of God and I wanted nothing more than to be reconciled to Him. That night I gave my life to Jesus Christ and an internal transformation within me took place. Thus began my journey of abundant life with the Only One who deserves the totality of who I am. Five years later the second turning point in my life happened as my mom signed my family up to go on a mission trip to MITC with our church. There are no words to describe how God grasped my heart with passion and desire to serve Him among the nations. I came back home that summer and as my friends dreamt of going to medical school and becoming doctors or going to law school and becoming lawyers, my dreams revolved around becoming a foreign missionary and living in Mexico. During high school and even college God fanned the flame that He had set in my heart that trip in Mexico. I pursued Spanish as my major and I joined a sorority with a mission mindset, claiming that it would be my Mexico until I could actually get to Mexico. Then God by His grace brought me to Mexico this past year. I am so grateful for my church that financially took care of me all last year. Broadmoor, thank you for sending me out, and thank you for not only providing for me financially but also covering me with your unconditional love and prayers. Thank you. I am grateful for the ways God has used you in my life. It was an unspeakable honor to be your missionary. Thank you.
To the professors and their wives at MITC- Paul remarked in his letter to the Philippians, “Join with others in following my example, brothers, and take note of those who live according to the pattern we gave you.” I have had the blessing to live with you for a year, and I have soaked in your words of wisdom and I have learned by watching your example. I have watched how you fearlessly preach the Word of God, how you love your spouse, how you raise your kids. I have learned so much from you and I thank you for investing in my life this past year. I can only pray that eternity will show you fruit of your investment in my life this past year. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
To my English Students- I was not kidding about the potential I see in each one of you. I see you preaching in English, I see you translating conferences, I see God using your English ability and this is all for His Glory. So échale muchas ganas. Be encouraged and keep up the good work. Do not quit. I had so much fun with you in classes. Thank you for everything. It was a privilege to teach you.
To the MITC Students, my brothers and sisters, my friends- I love you. I would do anything for you. You know many groups of Americans come to MITC and leave after a week. How did I get so blessed to stay? How did I get so blessed to go to your hometowns and stay in your homes? How did I get so blessed to meet your family and friends? How did I get so blessed to be with you on your birthday? How did I get so blessed to cry with you over hard times? How did I get so blessed to laugh and be with you during great times? How did I get so blessed to seek the face of God and seek His will for our lives together for a year? How did I get so blessed? Tuesday I will leave Mexico and as I leave you I have but one comfort. And that comfort is something God really taught me this past year and that is how to live with an eternal perspective. The author of Hebrews says we do not have an enduring city, but we are looking for the city that is to come. This is my comfort- that one day very soon we will be together forever and ever and ever praising Our God. What an incredible and ever comforting thought! But in the meantime you and I have work to do. I see myself now and I will always see myself as a foreign missionary right now that is taking on the form of a high school Spanish teacher in Shreveport, Louisiana. I ask for your prayers and know that you will always be on my mind, in my heart, and in my prayers. Thank you for everything. God bless you.
There is one more person I want to thank and that is my Savior, Jesus Christ. Without Him I would not be here. During my senior year at LSU I came across a quote from Henry Varley that really touched my life. Henry Varley once said, "The world has yet to see what God can do with and for and through and in a man who is fully consecrated to Him." I am a living testament of those words. The key to that quote is in the end- a man has to be fully consecrated to Him. Once you give God your life, your hopes, your dreams, your everything there is no limit to how He can use you for His purposes. I want to leave you with these words, that they may be an encouragment to you as you continue to follow Jesus. "The world has yet to see what God can do with and for and through and in a man who is fully consecrated to Him" Que Dios les bendiga.
jueves, 22 de julio de 2010
jueves, 20 de mayo de 2010
A Letter to the Real World
Dear Real World,
Before the sun arose this morning you were already in the car with your husband and three children headed to the clinic in Cintalapa. After your seven hour descend down the mountains you patiently waited almost a whole day for an eye operation that you would not have had if it wasn’t for the North American doctors coming to Chiapas this week. I did my best to translate for you and the doctor although you were very hesitant to speak to me in Spanish because your Indian dialect was your native tongue. Twenty-three. That’s how old you told me you were. I couldn’t believe it. Real World, you have three children and your face resembles that of a tired forty-year old. You are my age, my height, and my size but with no question you have one life very different from my own. You work in the fields all day every day with your husband. Your simple smile with a few crooked teeth hid your suffering. I knew you were scared about your surgery and that’s why I was there when you were on the operating table, stroking your dark hair as the anesthesiologist put you to sleep. When you awoke from your surgery I was also there, sitting on the edge of your cot, and I watched helplessly as you shifted uncomfortably in pain from one side to another. As you were moving around your hurting eyes caught mine and you immediately reached out and put your hand in mine and although my white skin paled in comparison to your sun-burnt brown hand, my fingers were intertwined with yours and in this moment I was a part of you. The need for food, water, medical attention, and of a Savior was as much a part of you as it was of me. And in these predestined minutes I saw your fear, felt your desire, knew your need, and for the first time really understood your reality.
Real World, you are survival. You are strong and stoic but truth be told you are lacking and I pray that as my presence continues to crash into yours that my light would illuminate your darkness. Real World after my time with you today I realized that you are not something to fear, or something to conquer, and certainly not something to ignore. The lines on your face taught me something my higher education never could. They outlined your true identity and looking back on my life I realize that I have met you before, I just wasn’t conscious of your presence in my life.
I first met you in Baton Rouge, Louisiana two years ago in a coffee shop after your ESL class. You made me laugh and feel good about my broken Spanish. I know of your situation. I know you don’t love him but married him for a greencard and it sends chills down my spine to know what he is asking of you in return for your citizenship. However, I have seen pictures of your two precious teenage girls in your homeland and with tears in my eyes I can tell you that I don’t blame you for what you are doing. I know your girls are depending on that check coming in from the States each month. Yes, Real World, this was my first brush against you and man did you ever hit me hard. Then I met you again in Madrid, Spain on a subway. It was late at night and my traveling buddy and I were making our way back to the hostel. You tried to rob me. You didn’t succeed but left me shaking and scared all the same. Real World, you know it’s ok. I don’t hold this offense against you. I don’t know where you came from or your motivations behind what you tried to do but I can’t help but think that you might not know any other way of life and I hate that. I can only hope and pray that one day you will have a reason and the freedom not to do the things you are currently doing. In Havana, Cuba I ran into you again. You were so sweet and loving as you took me into your home and gave me something to eat. My heart burned and tears sprung to my eyes as you whispered in my ear about the desperate situation that you and our brothers and sisters in Christ are facing in this Communist ruled country. The scarcity of food and lack of liberty is widespread and felt by everyone. After Hurricane Katrina you had nothing to cook for your family for three days except one old box of macaroni filled with worms. Your husband will soon retire as the pastor, leaving you, him, your daughter, and granddaughter with no place to live. You made me tremble with your stories. I have never had a God-fearing woman like yourself open up to me on the verge of tears and beg for my prayers. Real World, you see I have had all these experiences with you all over the world but it wasn’t until our encounter today in Mexico that I realized exactly who you are and who you aren’t and it wasn’t until staring you in the face that I realized that my mere existence can have an impact on you if I so let it.
My Sweet Real World, may I never become numb to your existence and need again but let’s be honest. What is awareness without action? It’s a picture of a starving boy in Africa on a wall in an air-conditioned museum. Strolling across the cold marble floors, spectators curiously approach the picture and gasp as they realize the skeleton wrapped in smooth black skin is a little boy staring back at them. Undoubtedly, the spectators are touched, their hearts burn, and maybe even a few will cry but most all if not all will walk away, pushing through the glass doors out of the museum. They will be back to their own lives and on to lunch. And the little boy will stay there on the museum wall… desolate and hungry...
Oh praise God my eyes have been open not only to your reality but my own reality. You and I are very different but you have always been the same and it was me who needed a divine wakeup call. I apologize that you were the first one to reach out for my hand but all the same I thank God that you did because I find great inexpressible joy in helping you. Now that I know who you really are in the context of who I really am I understand how I can relate to you. God willing, I will continue to feed that hungry little boy on the museum wall. I will feed that hungry little boy on the museum wall because that’s the heart of my Master. He loves you Real World. Oh how He dearly loves you!
Well, Real World, I need to go for now but let me close with this God forbid I ever forget your face. However, memories of your worn face will never suffice and besides I am sure you will not be easily erased from my mind. No, I will always see you off in the distance in my wandering thoughts, in an occasional dream, in my sporadic prayers, and in my daily life. So after today my heart’s cry is not God forbid I ever forget your face however more exact God forbid I ever stop reaching out my hand to help you.
May my God bless you and keep you and make His face shine upon you. I love you but not as much as He does.
Sincerely His,
bc
lunes, 26 de abril de 2010
Update on Sergio
The following is an email I recieved from a friend who went to meet and visit Sergio, the boy that I wrote about in my blogs Behind the Mask.
Hola,...
Que puedo decir,... "what can I say",... I arrived on time today to pick up the donation for the home, I have to say that I was very emocionado por visitar a Sergio and meet him even when he didn't know I was coming,... I arrived with a big smile and wondering how was the moment going to be due he didn't know me;... I started looking to find where he lived because in the address it didn't say which number the house was, so I asked only one time and an old lady told me; Oh Sergio lives in that little house with blue windows; I thanked her and started walking to the house, when I got there my heart was beating fast and with a smile I saw a lady on a couch sitting and I asked her, Is Sergio Home? she looked at me and asked me who's looking for him and I said,... long time ago he went to a Clinic in Cintalapa called "Peña de Horeb" in that instant the lady walked to the door, opened it and told me Come on in!!!!! I saw how the moment changed and she allowed me to get into her home only by knowing that I was coming from the Clinic or something similar; and we started talking a bit and I told her that Brooke a girl who translated for the clinic during that campaign met Sergio, she had talked to him and sent him a Bible and a Book, in that moment she saw my eyes and told me OH I Remember Her!!!! She is a white pretty girl, and i said, YOU'RE Right! lol; She told me, Sergio isn't home because he's at his Therapy so I asked her at what time he was arriving, she told me around 4 or 5,... I explained to her that i needed to go to Tuxtla to do some other things but that I was going to come back to see if he was there around 2:30, she told me Yes, maybe he'll be here!, so I said bye to sergio’s mom and his brothers and I left,.....
Around 2:00; I drove to her house again, I got there right on time 2:33 i guess and I walked over to her house, and guess what!!!! Sergio was there!!! I was so happy about that!, cuz then I could give the Bible to him en persona!, so I said, Hey Sergio, como estas? he said Fine!!!, I introduced myself and asked him, do you remember brooke? the girl who talked to you when you were in the clinic? he said Yes! I remember her,.... ""Well Sergio, she sent this to you"" you should see how happy he was, he told me, she told me that was sending them but i thought that she forgot and I said, Nope, here they are just for you!!! he said, Thank You! I shared a couple of words with him and at the end we took a picture, actually only two, the ones i'm attaching! It Was a BLESSING to my life,! and Again, Brooke you have a wonderful heart! I Admire you, and please let me express this cuz I can't keep it on my heart, at your young age you are a blessing to my life, I'm learning so much about you and it's so amazing! keep looking to God and He'll do the even the littlest dream that you keep on your heart, I'm 100% Sure!
Gracias por enseñarme mucho a travez de esta experiencia con Sergio brooke!
Thank You!
I Miss U
Blessings
David
Que puedo decir,... "what can I say",... I arrived on time today to pick up the donation for the home, I have to say that I was very emocionado por visitar a Sergio and meet him even when he didn't know I was coming,... I arrived with a big smile and wondering how was the moment going to be due he didn't know me;... I started looking to find where he lived because in the address it didn't say which number the house was, so I asked only one time and an old lady told me; Oh Sergio lives in that little house with blue windows; I thanked her and started walking to the house, when I got there my heart was beating fast and with a smile I saw a lady on a couch sitting and I asked her, Is Sergio Home? she looked at me and asked me who's looking for him and I said,... long time ago he went to a Clinic in Cintalapa called "Peña de Horeb" in that instant the lady walked to the door, opened it and told me Come on in!!!!! I saw how the moment changed and she allowed me to get into her home only by knowing that I was coming from the Clinic or something similar; and we started talking a bit and I told her that Brooke a girl who translated for the clinic during that campaign met Sergio, she had talked to him and sent him a Bible and a Book, in that moment she saw my eyes and told me OH I Remember Her!!!! She is a white pretty girl, and i said, YOU'RE Right! lol; She told me, Sergio isn't home because he's at his Therapy so I asked her at what time he was arriving, she told me around 4 or 5,... I explained to her that i needed to go to Tuxtla to do some other things but that I was going to come back to see if he was there around 2:30, she told me Yes, maybe he'll be here!, so I said bye to sergio’s mom and his brothers and I left,.....
Around 2:00; I drove to her house again, I got there right on time 2:33 i guess and I walked over to her house, and guess what!!!! Sergio was there!!! I was so happy about that!, cuz then I could give the Bible to him en persona!, so I said, Hey Sergio, como estas? he said Fine!!!, I introduced myself and asked him, do you remember brooke? the girl who talked to you when you were in the clinic? he said Yes! I remember her,.... ""Well Sergio, she sent this to you"" you should see how happy he was, he told me, she told me that was sending them but i thought that she forgot and I said, Nope, here they are just for you!!! he said, Thank You! I shared a couple of words with him and at the end we took a picture, actually only two, the ones i'm attaching! It Was a BLESSING to my life,! and Again, Brooke you have a wonderful heart! I Admire you, and please let me express this cuz I can't keep it on my heart, at your young age you are a blessing to my life, I'm learning so much about you and it's so amazing! keep looking to God and He'll do the even the littlest dream that you keep on your heart, I'm 100% Sure!
Gracias por enseñarme mucho a travez de esta experiencia con Sergio brooke!
Thank You!
I Miss U
Blessings
David
viernes, 16 de abril de 2010
domingo, 4 de abril de 2010
My trip to la Fuente
Oaxaca. A word that once provoked mental images of poverty and accompanying sensations of sneezing, headache, and watery eyes has become a word that means something completely different and something even beautiful to me. I have to be honest and admit that I was not looking forward to my week long trip to the poorest state in Mexico but I was willing and packed after I read the desperate message from my sweet friend, Debi, who is serving her year of practice in a town called Fuente Misteriosa (Mysterious Fountain). She was discouraged, heartbroken, and needing me and that’s all it took for me to make arrangements and pack some food to give away and my allergy medicine. I left the day the second and third year students went on their week of missions so it worked out that a second year student, Jesús, was going to the Fuente so I was able to travel with him gracias a Dios. Hermano Jorge drove a truck full of students including me as far as Tuxtepec, Oaxaca. Once we made it to Tuxtepec, we unloaded and went our separate ways as quickly and efficiently as possible. Jesús, Leslie, who was going to a nearby town, and I bought tickets to ride in a truck to la Fuente from Tuxtepec. After an hour of driving through the hills we arrived to the village where my best friend was living. I honestly don’t know how to creatively continue this blog all I know is that I want to document my past week. It’s hard to find the words to describe the amazing experiences I had. I know I was given a very unique opportunity to live and work alongside two Mexican missionaries. Some unforgettable memories from the week include the following: walking through the muddy streets with Debi and Jesús, visiting the elderly, praying for the sick, hiking to another town to have a church service on a front porch of a believer’s house, conducting different Bible Studies, living in a church member's house, depending on members of the church for every meal, swimming in the river, laughing until my insides hurt, singing praises on the roof under the stars, and learning how to make tortillas.
A couple of specific memories
1. Lately God has been convicting me and really working on my heart concerning His heart and desire to help the poor. Before I left I wanted to use some of the resources God had given me to buy some food to take to the village because last time Debi was at MITC she told me about a destitute family living there. Of course, I went to Walmart and I shopped with my American mentality. What I mean is I walked through the aisles remembering the numerous times my church ran can food drives and the times at Disciple Now where we would go and buy food for different families in the community. So naturally I grabbed some bags of spaghetti, Prego sauce for the spaghetti, bag of dried vegetables, milk, juice, cereal, and of course two family size boxes of Macroni and Cheese, peanut butter, and strawberry jam. These are the essentials, right? It really helped that Cordoba had a Walmart because it was easy to find the food I was looking for. By the time I packed all the food I had bought, I hardly had any room left for my own clothes. It's safe to say that my suitcase weighed a TON. I knew it would take a miracle to get this suitcase where I was going. My miracle turned out to be stubborn but physically strong Jesús because he insisted on carrying my suitcase without any help up the hill from where the truck dropped us off. I really didn’t think he was going to make it but gracias a Dios he did. The funniest part happened when I unloaded by suitcase to show Debi the goods I brought. I could tell something was wrong as she tried her best not to laugh. She said, “Now Brooke this is really really really good. It’s all good. It’s ok. This is good.” I interrupted her ongoing praises as I said, “Debi, just tell me what is it. What’s wrong?” She continued, “Well Brooke, you bought all American food. People especially here in the village don’t eat things like this. They wont know what Macroni and Cheese even is. I don't know what this is. What is this?” We both just busted out laughing for the next couple of minutes. Then Debi said, "Brooke, you have been living at the school for seven months now cooking black beans every week and you didn't think to buy any beans?" We laughed even harder as I told her that I wasn't going to make anyone eat something that I didn't like and the curious thing is that it never occured to me to buy beans. Well all this to say that I tried but everything did work out perfectly in the end. The family we were staying with lived in the States for three years so we let them have the Macroni and Cheese and the Prego sauce. The mother of the family was ecstatic because she told me her little boy loved Macroni and Cheese and he hadn’t had it in a really long time and the last day we stayed at her house she cooked us some spaghetti with the Prego sauce that we gave her. It was excellent and my first American meal in a long time. Debi kept the peanut butter herself and we served cereal one morning with the children and some of them wanted the strawberry jam in their cereal so that’s what we did with that. The rest of the food we were able to give away to families in need.
2. I’ll never forget the day we went to visit Hermana María. She was an older lady with a face full of wrinkles and she lived in a palmed roof house with strips of wood as walls. The house was only one small room with a dirt floow. She had no family and almost no possessions. She hardly spoke any Spanish but it was amazing how Debi was able to communicate with her. Hermana Maria kept thanking us for coming because she kept telling us that she has no one. My heart broke as we were in her house. I gave her most of the food that I brought (except the American food that she wouldn’t know what it was) and after I gave her the food she went to the back of her house with a plastic bag. I wasn’t sure what she was doing until she came back and the plastic bag was filled with eggs, at least eight of them. She then stretched out her arm, giving me the plastic bag. I just stared at the bag and then looked back at her. There was no way I could take this gift. She had NOTHING and she wanted to give me from her the little food supply that she had. My heart broke as I received her gift. There was nothing I could do. I had to receive it and I did.
3. Something I have learned at MITC is that when you go out into these villages you have to eat everything they give you because a lot of times the people are giving you the only food that they have and it would be very offensive not to accept it and eat all of it. Without a doubt my biggest struggle while I was in Oaxaca was eating all the food at each meal. Each day Debi goes to a different house to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Breakfast Sunday morning was a very different and unpleasant experience for me because it was the first time I ate a whole bowl of something while trying to figure out what exactly I was eating. It was eggs and hot sauce but it had some kind of meat in it that smelled and tasted fishy. As soon as we left the house my first question for Debi and Jesús was “What in the world did we just eat?” to which Debi responded "sardines". My stomach did not take it well that day. Then monday morning came with no compassion for my stomach nor my taste buds. This morning we headed to the main church leader’s house to eat breakfast. I remember sitting around the table as his daughter put a bowl in front of me with enough food for three people to eat. I studied meticulously the contents of my bowl and I then decided that it was cubed potatoes, hot sauce, and some unknown substance that had a fishy smell. I immediately thought sardines and looked around the kitchen for evidence until my eyes rested on the six opened canes of tuna and my heart sank. I hate tuna. Oh man, how I hate tuna! … and then for the tuna to be mixed with potatoes and then for that to be mixed with hot sauce and then enough of it to feed three people… I wanted to cry. I really honestly wanted to cry. I felt as if my whole body shook in repulsion as I loaded my mouth with the first spoonful. I was stuck. I didn’t know what to do. I knew I couldn’t refuse the food but I knew that my body would sure enough refuse it if I didn't. I prayed for a way out. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes passed. Debi and Jesús were almost done eating all the food on their plates and I still had a bowl full. I cried inwardly for God to give me a way out then suddenly an idea popped in my mind. I knew for my idea to play out I had to go into stealth mode. I took my blue vera bradly bag that was hanging on the left side of my chair and moved it to the right side of my chair in one inconspicuous motion. You know where I am going with this Sweet Reader? Well I knew I couldn’t just dump the bowl into my bag because that would be too obvious but I also knew that I couldn’t sneak the food in my bag one spoonful at a time because that would take too long because there was too much food left on my plate so I came up with my own gameplan. I reached for one of the big tortillas that were in the middle of the table as I joined in on the conversation with a simple remark. Then as the conversation turned from me and flowed between my two missionary friends and our hospitable lady of the house, I wrapped as much potato/tuna/hot sauce concoction as I could into the corn tortilla and waited for the perfect moment to slide the overstuffed tortilla into my bag. The moment came and my bowl suddenly became half empty. I took another tortilla and with the same stealth mode I finished empyting my plate. I sighed with a breath of relief and my stomach rejoiced as I looked down at my now empty bowl staring back at me. Maybe I was cut out for this missionary work I thought. After we left, we weren’t ten yards away from the house when Debi looked up at me and asked me what I did with the food. I panicked wondering if she took notice of what I what I did. I voiced my concerns and she replied that she didn’t see me do anything but she knew me well enough to know that I didn’t down my plate of food in 2 minutes especially something I didn’t like. I told her that she did in fact know me well and Debi and Jesús both cracked up laughing as I opened up my bag and asked if anyone wanted seconds.
A couple of specific memories
1. Lately God has been convicting me and really working on my heart concerning His heart and desire to help the poor. Before I left I wanted to use some of the resources God had given me to buy some food to take to the village because last time Debi was at MITC she told me about a destitute family living there. Of course, I went to Walmart and I shopped with my American mentality. What I mean is I walked through the aisles remembering the numerous times my church ran can food drives and the times at Disciple Now where we would go and buy food for different families in the community. So naturally I grabbed some bags of spaghetti, Prego sauce for the spaghetti, bag of dried vegetables, milk, juice, cereal, and of course two family size boxes of Macroni and Cheese, peanut butter, and strawberry jam. These are the essentials, right? It really helped that Cordoba had a Walmart because it was easy to find the food I was looking for. By the time I packed all the food I had bought, I hardly had any room left for my own clothes. It's safe to say that my suitcase weighed a TON. I knew it would take a miracle to get this suitcase where I was going. My miracle turned out to be stubborn but physically strong Jesús because he insisted on carrying my suitcase without any help up the hill from where the truck dropped us off. I really didn’t think he was going to make it but gracias a Dios he did. The funniest part happened when I unloaded by suitcase to show Debi the goods I brought. I could tell something was wrong as she tried her best not to laugh. She said, “Now Brooke this is really really really good. It’s all good. It’s ok. This is good.” I interrupted her ongoing praises as I said, “Debi, just tell me what is it. What’s wrong?” She continued, “Well Brooke, you bought all American food. People especially here in the village don’t eat things like this. They wont know what Macroni and Cheese even is. I don't know what this is. What is this?” We both just busted out laughing for the next couple of minutes. Then Debi said, "Brooke, you have been living at the school for seven months now cooking black beans every week and you didn't think to buy any beans?" We laughed even harder as I told her that I wasn't going to make anyone eat something that I didn't like and the curious thing is that it never occured to me to buy beans. Well all this to say that I tried but everything did work out perfectly in the end. The family we were staying with lived in the States for three years so we let them have the Macroni and Cheese and the Prego sauce. The mother of the family was ecstatic because she told me her little boy loved Macroni and Cheese and he hadn’t had it in a really long time and the last day we stayed at her house she cooked us some spaghetti with the Prego sauce that we gave her. It was excellent and my first American meal in a long time. Debi kept the peanut butter herself and we served cereal one morning with the children and some of them wanted the strawberry jam in their cereal so that’s what we did with that. The rest of the food we were able to give away to families in need.
2. I’ll never forget the day we went to visit Hermana María. She was an older lady with a face full of wrinkles and she lived in a palmed roof house with strips of wood as walls. The house was only one small room with a dirt floow. She had no family and almost no possessions. She hardly spoke any Spanish but it was amazing how Debi was able to communicate with her. Hermana Maria kept thanking us for coming because she kept telling us that she has no one. My heart broke as we were in her house. I gave her most of the food that I brought (except the American food that she wouldn’t know what it was) and after I gave her the food she went to the back of her house with a plastic bag. I wasn’t sure what she was doing until she came back and the plastic bag was filled with eggs, at least eight of them. She then stretched out her arm, giving me the plastic bag. I just stared at the bag and then looked back at her. There was no way I could take this gift. She had NOTHING and she wanted to give me from her the little food supply that she had. My heart broke as I received her gift. There was nothing I could do. I had to receive it and I did.
3. Something I have learned at MITC is that when you go out into these villages you have to eat everything they give you because a lot of times the people are giving you the only food that they have and it would be very offensive not to accept it and eat all of it. Without a doubt my biggest struggle while I was in Oaxaca was eating all the food at each meal. Each day Debi goes to a different house to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Breakfast Sunday morning was a very different and unpleasant experience for me because it was the first time I ate a whole bowl of something while trying to figure out what exactly I was eating. It was eggs and hot sauce but it had some kind of meat in it that smelled and tasted fishy. As soon as we left the house my first question for Debi and Jesús was “What in the world did we just eat?” to which Debi responded "sardines". My stomach did not take it well that day. Then monday morning came with no compassion for my stomach nor my taste buds. This morning we headed to the main church leader’s house to eat breakfast. I remember sitting around the table as his daughter put a bowl in front of me with enough food for three people to eat. I studied meticulously the contents of my bowl and I then decided that it was cubed potatoes, hot sauce, and some unknown substance that had a fishy smell. I immediately thought sardines and looked around the kitchen for evidence until my eyes rested on the six opened canes of tuna and my heart sank. I hate tuna. Oh man, how I hate tuna! … and then for the tuna to be mixed with potatoes and then for that to be mixed with hot sauce and then enough of it to feed three people… I wanted to cry. I really honestly wanted to cry. I felt as if my whole body shook in repulsion as I loaded my mouth with the first spoonful. I was stuck. I didn’t know what to do. I knew I couldn’t refuse the food but I knew that my body would sure enough refuse it if I didn't. I prayed for a way out. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes passed. Debi and Jesús were almost done eating all the food on their plates and I still had a bowl full. I cried inwardly for God to give me a way out then suddenly an idea popped in my mind. I knew for my idea to play out I had to go into stealth mode. I took my blue vera bradly bag that was hanging on the left side of my chair and moved it to the right side of my chair in one inconspicuous motion. You know where I am going with this Sweet Reader? Well I knew I couldn’t just dump the bowl into my bag because that would be too obvious but I also knew that I couldn’t sneak the food in my bag one spoonful at a time because that would take too long because there was too much food left on my plate so I came up with my own gameplan. I reached for one of the big tortillas that were in the middle of the table as I joined in on the conversation with a simple remark. Then as the conversation turned from me and flowed between my two missionary friends and our hospitable lady of the house, I wrapped as much potato/tuna/hot sauce concoction as I could into the corn tortilla and waited for the perfect moment to slide the overstuffed tortilla into my bag. The moment came and my bowl suddenly became half empty. I took another tortilla and with the same stealth mode I finished empyting my plate. I sighed with a breath of relief and my stomach rejoiced as I looked down at my now empty bowl staring back at me. Maybe I was cut out for this missionary work I thought. After we left, we weren’t ten yards away from the house when Debi looked up at me and asked me what I did with the food. I panicked wondering if she took notice of what I what I did. I voiced my concerns and she replied that she didn’t see me do anything but she knew me well enough to know that I didn’t down my plate of food in 2 minutes especially something I didn’t like. I told her that she did in fact know me well and Debi and Jesús both cracked up laughing as I opened up my bag and asked if anyone wanted seconds.
sábado, 20 de marzo de 2010
Justo a tiempo 2
So this is my second blog titled Justo a Tiempo. I didn’t plan on this and you may wonder why and you may even wonder what it means in English for my non-Spanish speaking friends. Justo a tiempo means right on time. I got to Cordoba with the letter for Mary justo en tiempo. And this past week God sent me some much needed love and encouragement justo a tiempo.
Last week I woke up with bug bites on my stomach. And then the next day they seemed to spread from my stomach to my back and then to my neck. This seemed to top off the difficult week I was having. It had gotten to point in my ministry where I felt very lonely. And I was realizing that I wasn’t made to do ministry alone. Even Jesus Himself did ministry with others for He had His 12 disciples. At this point I felt that it didn’t matter that I had been thoroughly immersed in the Mexican culture for 9 months, I still couldn’t completely relate to my brothers and sisters here. The students are my age and have the Holy Spirit living inside them but we still see the world a little differently because of our past upbringing. Whether I like or not, I am a product of my culture. I was raised in the beautiful U.S. I grew up speaking English. I grew up eating pop tarts. I grew up in an air-conditioned house. I grew up with a washing machine. I grew up in a town with nearly a church on every other street corner. I grew up driving a car by age sixteen. I grew up watching TV and playing on the computer. I grew up in an affluent society where you were taught that your dreams were within your reach with hard work and education. Now when I accepted Christ as my Savior, He changed everything. I saw the world with a completely new perspective but I still have my American customs and this American default mindset. Anyway, all this to say that there are differences between the American culture and the very distinct cultures of Mexico. And sometimes I feel misunderstood in daily conversations. I guess what I am trying to say is I have to work a lot harder at my relationships with the people down here because we have to cross over cultural lines. I wouldn’t give anything for my time here, I have seen God work in my life and through my life in ways unimaginable but there comes times when all I want is to curl up beneath my electric blanket at home or eat some Cheez-its and talk about LSU football or about Garth Brooks returning to the music industry. So here I was in Mexico, feeling lonely and with bug bites that itched like crazy. And God in His great mercy sent me help justo a tiempo.
“When is the next American group coming?” I asked one morning in Dan’s office.
“Actually, there is a small group of college aged students coming Friday.” he coolly replied.
I perked up instantly. “Where are they from?” I inquired.
“Christ fellowship” he answered as if the name of the church gave away the origin and I was ok with that. I didn’t press further; it didn’t matter to me if they were from Florida, Texas, Louisiana, Kentucky, or Ohio. I was just so excited that some people my age were coming down.
I stayed up late that Friday night, reading a John Piper book on my couch, until I heard the van pull up and people unload. I had to calm myself down before I left my room because I didn’t want to scare the weary travelers with my enthusiasm and excitement of seeing and meeting people that looked like me and talked like me. So I opened the door and my eyes peered out into the night looking for the six young people. I found them unloading their suitcases next to the apartment building. I immediately walked over, introduced myself, grabbed a handle on the remaining suitcase, and followed them to their rooms.
“So where ya’ll from?”I asked eagerly.
“We’re from Shreveport, Louisiana.” one of the girls answered.
I can’t tell you how unexpectantly and how sweet the name of my hometown rang in the dark night. And that’s when I thought, “oh, that’s why Dan just said the name of the church when I asked him where they were coming from. He thought I would know that church.” It all made sense now and I was ecstatic about people my age and from my own hometown spending the week with me. Thus began one of my favorite weeks here Mexico.
Mallory, Ashley, Tommy, Allyson, David, and Patrick came into my life justo a tiempo. This week God used this team to touch many lives here including my own because their mere presence was a sweet medicine to my soul. Two of the girls were my age and in fact one was a teacher at a school that I was looking to work at. The coincidences and the friends we had in common was ridiculous to the point of being very humorous. They worked mostly at the school this week, doing construction projects but we did go to a village in a mountain for a church service and to watch some baptisms. Only two from the group had been to MITC before so it was great to have some newcomers. I really enjoy watching Americans experience Mexico for the first time, it’s just something special and unique about your first time at MITC and anyone who has been here knows what I am talking about. It’s just something about your first glance at the incredible snow-capped volcano on Jorge’s roof, or it’s just something about the voices of the students as the praise God before each meal, or it’s the joy you find in washing dishes with the students after the meal, or it’s the sweet smell of exotic flowers, or the sound of birds in the morning, or the taste of your first Manzana Lift or a chocolate Emperador cookie, or the love you feel in church on Sunday morning. It’s just something about experiencing these things for the first time that captures your heart and burns a desire deep within that will not be satisfied until you return to God’s Mexico. And I pray that these dear friends of mine would return to God’s Mexico soon. Thank you for coming and ministering to God’s people and ministering to me as well. Your presence here this past week has had ripple effects which are still being felt and enjoyed today. Que Dios les bendiga.
Last week I woke up with bug bites on my stomach. And then the next day they seemed to spread from my stomach to my back and then to my neck. This seemed to top off the difficult week I was having. It had gotten to point in my ministry where I felt very lonely. And I was realizing that I wasn’t made to do ministry alone. Even Jesus Himself did ministry with others for He had His 12 disciples. At this point I felt that it didn’t matter that I had been thoroughly immersed in the Mexican culture for 9 months, I still couldn’t completely relate to my brothers and sisters here. The students are my age and have the Holy Spirit living inside them but we still see the world a little differently because of our past upbringing. Whether I like or not, I am a product of my culture. I was raised in the beautiful U.S. I grew up speaking English. I grew up eating pop tarts. I grew up in an air-conditioned house. I grew up with a washing machine. I grew up in a town with nearly a church on every other street corner. I grew up driving a car by age sixteen. I grew up watching TV and playing on the computer. I grew up in an affluent society where you were taught that your dreams were within your reach with hard work and education. Now when I accepted Christ as my Savior, He changed everything. I saw the world with a completely new perspective but I still have my American customs and this American default mindset. Anyway, all this to say that there are differences between the American culture and the very distinct cultures of Mexico. And sometimes I feel misunderstood in daily conversations. I guess what I am trying to say is I have to work a lot harder at my relationships with the people down here because we have to cross over cultural lines. I wouldn’t give anything for my time here, I have seen God work in my life and through my life in ways unimaginable but there comes times when all I want is to curl up beneath my electric blanket at home or eat some Cheez-its and talk about LSU football or about Garth Brooks returning to the music industry. So here I was in Mexico, feeling lonely and with bug bites that itched like crazy. And God in His great mercy sent me help justo a tiempo.
“When is the next American group coming?” I asked one morning in Dan’s office.
“Actually, there is a small group of college aged students coming Friday.” he coolly replied.
I perked up instantly. “Where are they from?” I inquired.
“Christ fellowship” he answered as if the name of the church gave away the origin and I was ok with that. I didn’t press further; it didn’t matter to me if they were from Florida, Texas, Louisiana, Kentucky, or Ohio. I was just so excited that some people my age were coming down.
I stayed up late that Friday night, reading a John Piper book on my couch, until I heard the van pull up and people unload. I had to calm myself down before I left my room because I didn’t want to scare the weary travelers with my enthusiasm and excitement of seeing and meeting people that looked like me and talked like me. So I opened the door and my eyes peered out into the night looking for the six young people. I found them unloading their suitcases next to the apartment building. I immediately walked over, introduced myself, grabbed a handle on the remaining suitcase, and followed them to their rooms.
“So where ya’ll from?”I asked eagerly.
“We’re from Shreveport, Louisiana.” one of the girls answered.
I can’t tell you how unexpectantly and how sweet the name of my hometown rang in the dark night. And that’s when I thought, “oh, that’s why Dan just said the name of the church when I asked him where they were coming from. He thought I would know that church.” It all made sense now and I was ecstatic about people my age and from my own hometown spending the week with me. Thus began one of my favorite weeks here Mexico.
Mallory, Ashley, Tommy, Allyson, David, and Patrick came into my life justo a tiempo. This week God used this team to touch many lives here including my own because their mere presence was a sweet medicine to my soul. Two of the girls were my age and in fact one was a teacher at a school that I was looking to work at. The coincidences and the friends we had in common was ridiculous to the point of being very humorous. They worked mostly at the school this week, doing construction projects but we did go to a village in a mountain for a church service and to watch some baptisms. Only two from the group had been to MITC before so it was great to have some newcomers. I really enjoy watching Americans experience Mexico for the first time, it’s just something special and unique about your first time at MITC and anyone who has been here knows what I am talking about. It’s just something about your first glance at the incredible snow-capped volcano on Jorge’s roof, or it’s just something about the voices of the students as the praise God before each meal, or it’s the joy you find in washing dishes with the students after the meal, or it’s the sweet smell of exotic flowers, or the sound of birds in the morning, or the taste of your first Manzana Lift or a chocolate Emperador cookie, or the love you feel in church on Sunday morning. It’s just something about experiencing these things for the first time that captures your heart and burns a desire deep within that will not be satisfied until you return to God’s Mexico. And I pray that these dear friends of mine would return to God’s Mexico soon. Thank you for coming and ministering to God’s people and ministering to me as well. Your presence here this past week has had ripple effects which are still being felt and enjoyed today. Que Dios les bendiga.
sábado, 13 de marzo de 2010
Casa Hogar
This is a video of the girls I work with at the Casa Hogar orphanage in Cordoba, Veracruz. I usually go every Thursday to help them with their homework and just to spend some time with them. These girls are precious to me and I wanted to give you a glimpse of what my life looks like on Thursday mornings. This video was taped last Thursday (March 11th).
jueves, 11 de marzo de 2010
Justo a tiempo
“I just held him. No words. We stayed like that for a long time.”
The words, raw with pain and often overtaken by weeping, struggled but by God’s grace made their way out of Mary’s mouth and penetrated deep into our own hearts. She was not the only one crying in the meeting. I looked around the table at some of my modern day heroes, the wives of the faculty, and I couldn’t find one eye that could boast of dryness. MITC was rocked by the news of Beto, Mary’s young son. I say rocked but the faith of my Mexican brothers and sisters has never burned so brightly in such a seemingly dark and hopeless night. The mere thought that God might take another member of their precious family was almost unbearable and left all of us on our knees. Many saints in many countries interceded on behalf of this family. And give me the honor and inexpressible joy to tell you that the absolute beauty of God’s faithfulness and of His love and of His grace and of His mercy has come through for us!
The doctors here told them that the brain tumor was inoperable. This devastating news felt like a literal punch in the gut to all. Then God showed up and showed off in ways that I can’t clearly communicate to you. All I know is that I found myself coming back to Mexico after renewing my visa with a letter. A letter that said that everything was ready. A plane ticket was ready. In less than two weeks a hospital (not known for its charity) was ready. One of the best brain surgeons in the country was ready. One anesthesiologist was ready. One cardiologist was ready. Radiation therapy was ready. Everything was ready for Beto to come except he had to go through the hard process of getting his visa. I don’t know if you know anything about how hard it is for Mexican citizens to get visas to travel to the United States. Just believe me; it’s very difficult. The Embassy arranged a meeting for Mary and Beto had the end of March but as my plane arrived in Veracruz at 10:00 P.M. I was informed that by no explication other than a miracle the Embassy moved their appointment up to the following day. However, this meant that we must make it to the bus station in Cordoba (2 hours from Veracruz) before the 1:00 A.M. bus leaves for Mexico City. All I remember was waking up to Jorge’s voice, “Bruc, despiertate, dame la carta.” Jorge woke me from my trancelike dreamless sleep at 12:45 P.M. We were parked in front of the bus station and I could see Mary leaning in the window. I handed over the letter to a very relieved and grateful Mary. And I’ll never forget the peace I felt by her presence. She was not worried. She was trusting in her God and she knew that He would do what He sees fit to do. The bus left at 1:00 A.M. and we got the call around 10:30 that the visa had been approved. Beto was going to the US for a life saving surgery!
Mary and Beto left Tuesday for the US and they are in Shreveport right now. The surgery will be today. I know most of you reading this personally know Mary, Beto, and Marlene. Please continue to cover them in prayers. I am speechless when it comes to explaining the hearts, places, and procedures that God has moved to make this a reality. There are so many other details to tell but I just can’t. God is good. My heart like so many is filled with awe and deep gratitude for what God is doing. Please pray. Please pray. Please pray.
Update: The doctors ran all the same tests and it appears that the brain tumor is not a dangerous tumor but a lipoma (a harmless lump of fatty tissue) that he has probably had since he was born. No surgery or radiation is needed. He will have to take seizure medicine for 6 months and then they will run another CT to make sure that the lipoma hasn’t grown any. Praise God!
The words, raw with pain and often overtaken by weeping, struggled but by God’s grace made their way out of Mary’s mouth and penetrated deep into our own hearts. She was not the only one crying in the meeting. I looked around the table at some of my modern day heroes, the wives of the faculty, and I couldn’t find one eye that could boast of dryness. MITC was rocked by the news of Beto, Mary’s young son. I say rocked but the faith of my Mexican brothers and sisters has never burned so brightly in such a seemingly dark and hopeless night. The mere thought that God might take another member of their precious family was almost unbearable and left all of us on our knees. Many saints in many countries interceded on behalf of this family. And give me the honor and inexpressible joy to tell you that the absolute beauty of God’s faithfulness and of His love and of His grace and of His mercy has come through for us!
The doctors here told them that the brain tumor was inoperable. This devastating news felt like a literal punch in the gut to all. Then God showed up and showed off in ways that I can’t clearly communicate to you. All I know is that I found myself coming back to Mexico after renewing my visa with a letter. A letter that said that everything was ready. A plane ticket was ready. In less than two weeks a hospital (not known for its charity) was ready. One of the best brain surgeons in the country was ready. One anesthesiologist was ready. One cardiologist was ready. Radiation therapy was ready. Everything was ready for Beto to come except he had to go through the hard process of getting his visa. I don’t know if you know anything about how hard it is for Mexican citizens to get visas to travel to the United States. Just believe me; it’s very difficult. The Embassy arranged a meeting for Mary and Beto had the end of March but as my plane arrived in Veracruz at 10:00 P.M. I was informed that by no explication other than a miracle the Embassy moved their appointment up to the following day. However, this meant that we must make it to the bus station in Cordoba (2 hours from Veracruz) before the 1:00 A.M. bus leaves for Mexico City. All I remember was waking up to Jorge’s voice, “Bruc, despiertate, dame la carta.” Jorge woke me from my trancelike dreamless sleep at 12:45 P.M. We were parked in front of the bus station and I could see Mary leaning in the window. I handed over the letter to a very relieved and grateful Mary. And I’ll never forget the peace I felt by her presence. She was not worried. She was trusting in her God and she knew that He would do what He sees fit to do. The bus left at 1:00 A.M. and we got the call around 10:30 that the visa had been approved. Beto was going to the US for a life saving surgery!
Mary and Beto left Tuesday for the US and they are in Shreveport right now. The surgery will be today. I know most of you reading this personally know Mary, Beto, and Marlene. Please continue to cover them in prayers. I am speechless when it comes to explaining the hearts, places, and procedures that God has moved to make this a reality. There are so many other details to tell but I just can’t. God is good. My heart like so many is filled with awe and deep gratitude for what God is doing. Please pray. Please pray. Please pray.
Update: The doctors ran all the same tests and it appears that the brain tumor is not a dangerous tumor but a lipoma (a harmless lump of fatty tissue) that he has probably had since he was born. No surgery or radiation is needed. He will have to take seizure medicine for 6 months and then they will run another CT to make sure that the lipoma hasn’t grown any. Praise God!
viernes, 26 de febrero de 2010
viernes, 12 de febrero de 2010
Ah Montezuma, save your revenge for the Spaniards next time!
“¿Es necesario?” I asked not even looking over my shoulder where Doctora Rocia stood, preparing my IV. Even I wasn’t impressed with my feeble attempt to dissuade her from hooking me up to that dreadful suero. She left the room for fifteen minutes and all I could conjure up was “Is it necessary?” Perhaps that’s why I didn’t even bother to look up because I already knew the answer and sure enough the answer came in true Rocio fashion. “Is it necessary? I came because it was necessary. Is it necessary? Look at you. You haven’t eaten in three days and to have the symptoms that you have… Argh… Esta paciente… Yes, it is necessary….. Oh, these patients….Is it necessary? huff….”
Instead of groaning and turning the other way which I was ready to do, I just smiled. There is just something about that feisty tone she uses when speaking that always makes me laugh. Then Doctora Rocio proceeded to tell the nurse, “You know this Bruc was the first patient I saw with the flu.” It was humorous to me how quick her tone turned from sarcastic and half scolding to one filled with pride as if telling her latest bragging right. She went on, “But no she didn’t get the flu from no Mexican niño. She got the flu from one of her own countrymen.” Once again I smiled but this time on the inside, remembering the whole flu episode. The week before I contracted the flu I was translating for eye surgeons. Doctora Rocio was in charge of making sure that none of the children had flu like symptoms because they were all candidates for operation. Dr. Rocio took her work very seriously to the extent of rushing out a little niño if he as much as sneezed to have him thoroughly examined. Anyways she continued, “You know Bruc is the one patient that gives me the most service. I think she should get a prize. I will have to get her a gift…” The nurse just nodded as she looked back and forth from me the #1 patient to Dr. Rocio, my personal Mexican doctor. When Rocio finished her discourse the nurse looked at me with sympathetic eyes and the foreseen words flowed, “Ok so you will feel a little sting.” Ah, the numerous times I have said that exact phrase when translating but it’s a lot different when you are the patient. I relaxed the muscles in my forearm but the fire that bombarded my veins caused me to cry out in pain. A little sting? That is the worst word choice ever. If she would just have told me that it was going to hurt I could have braced myself but I think the surprise of how bad it hurt made it much worse. At least now I know I will not use that word again when I am translating for the nurse hooking up the IV.
And so there I was…. unwillingly hooked up to an IV in Mexico…. and I stayed liked that for the next 18 hours….. this was after two and half days of upset stomach, headache, a little fever, and immense stomach cramping. I went from Saturday night to Wednesday afternoon with only a sliver of pound cake (right at the beginning of the pain), a banana, piece of toast, and five crackers. However, I was not the only one affected by this weird stomach virus. Bill, Wendy, and John all courageously fought Montezuma’s revenge with me. And I am pleased to say that there were no causalities. No we might have scars and bad memories but we have all survived the battle (which felt like an epic war by the time it was over) and we are better for it.
So what was God teaching me this past week? a lot of things …. just how much I would have to suffer for Him… that He loves me…. that He is still good even when I am hurting… and I hate to admit but it also took me being hooked up to IV to realize that I was not only physically dehydrated but also spiritually dehydrated. I hadn’t been fighting for my time in the Word and in prayer the past week and as a result my defenses were down spiritually just as they were physically. I needed the Word of Life flowing through my veins, fighting enemy bodies and replenishing my soul. And tonight I feel better. I feel rejuvenated spiritually, emotionally, and physically. Brother Bill preached the last revival of the week tonight (the only one I was able to attend) and the Coro Unido sang. God’s presence was as thick as fog in that auditorium downtown. You might say that all the singing and preaching was for the rather large group of people who came down front and made a profession of faith. And you would be right, well partly right because man, that was for me too. God is faithful and good as ever. Keep trusting Him…. Until next time Montezuma….
lunes, 25 de enero de 2010
Behind the Mask... Part Two
“Ok… now please ask her to apply pressure to spot so I can see the pus come out.” instructed the Optometrist.
“Toca la cara acá para enseñarnos como sale el pus por favor” the words without emotion somehow escaped my mouth with ease.
It seemed to me that I could have translated anything gross or hard after the morning I had with the little five year old boy. Telling a crying mother and her crying son that there was nothing we could do for his left eye which after an accident at school contained a piece of glass was almost unbearable but with God given grace I was able to relay the horrific message. His retina was entirely destroyed and the only surgery he would be having would be to completely remove his eye. So now, utterly drained from all known emotion, I was translating for a young girl with a blocked passage in her tear duct.
As her hand reached toward her face I turned my head away telling God…. I can’t do this. I can’t watch this. This is so disgusting…. Then after the doctor was satisfied he thanked her in his broken Spanish, causing me to turn my head around and repair the damage he had just done to the Spanish language. However, as I turned my head I felt an undeniable sense of shame and guilt. Immediately, I pushed these emotions back and tried to block out the voices in my head as I finished translating for this consultation. This same scene then repeated itself two or three more times that day. And each time I turned my head as the patient showed the doctor the mucus I felt terrible and convicted. It wasn’t until later when I had a heart to heart with God that I realized what exactly I was doing and the implication of my actions. Moreover, it wasn’t until I put myself in the patients’ shoes that I realized that the only disgusting thing was not the pus coming out of the blocked tear duct however it was my turning my head away each time when they were showing us something that was probably really embarrassing and vulnerable for them to do. Sorrow and Regret fought on the battlefield of my heart as I grasped the emotions that I would have felt if I was them. Honestly, I would have felt rejection. This thought and feeling hit me hard like a bat and I found myself asking for forgiveness and pleading for help to conquer this problem. God proved faithful and merciful as ever as grace showered down on me that dark cold night in Chiapas. But along with God’s grace that night came an important lesson. God pointed me to a passage regarding Jesus’ response to person with a physical health problem…. Allow me to paint a picture for you….
Jesus Christ was traveling throughout Galilee, preaching in synagogues and performing miracles when a man with leprosy approached him. In Biblical times, people who contracted leprosy were banished from society, forced to live on the outskirts. People were afraid to have any kind of contact with these suffering victims. To demonstrate the extremeness of isolation between society and the lepers, the lepers had to follow strict rules such as calling out “Unclean” if they happened to approach someone on the road. Ok so now that you have an idea of how people considered lepers I’ll return to the story. So this man, this outcast of society, approached Jesus and falls at his feet pleading for a miracle, pleading that Jesus would make Him clean. You and I have absolutely no doubt that the Son of Man has the power to heal this man. We see in the scriptures that He healed many from their physical afflictions. No medical case was too hard for Jesus to do for He healed many simply by breathing the words and the following are some examples….
He said to the paralytic, “I tell you, get up, take your mat and go home. He got up, took his mat and walked out in full view of them all”...... He looked up to heaven and with a deep sigh said to him, “Ephphatha!” (which means, Be opened!). At this, the man’s ears were opened, his tongue was loosened and he began to speak plainly…... “Go,” said Jesus, “your faith has healed you.”Immediately he received his sight…... He said, “Young man, I say to you, get up!” The dead man sat up and began to talk…
Undeniably, there is divine power in Jesus’ words and a Centurion who came to Jesus one day understood this as he said, “Lord, don’t trouble yourself, for I do not deserve to have you come under my roof… But say the word, and my servant will be healed.” Words that heal people are something to notice and be awed by. So you can imagine the simplicity that it would take for our man with leprosy to be healed, right? All Jesus had to do was to speak a word or two for this outcast to be miraculously cured of this terrible disease. And yes Jesus did speak a few words and this man was healed but what Jesus did before breathing a single word of healing is what astounded me that night in Chiapas. The word of God says “Filled with compassion, Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man (Mark 1:41).” Need I say more? He touched him. My Jesus didn’t have to touch him but He did. He could have easily spoken the words like so many other times but Jesus Christ, the son of God, the author and perfecter of my faith, my example and my King, touched the man with leprosy. I prayed that night that God would work on my heart and teach me to love like Christ… and little did I know as I ever do what was to come….. and in this case, it would come the next day….
The following morning God with the voice of Dr. Sherman laid the following task before me.
Dr. Sherman said, “Brooke, you are my angel from Cordoba. You did such a great job with the mother and her five year son. Now I will be operating for the next hour but I need you to do some translating for me. Go down stairs and there is a young man there in the waiting room who is burned. Now we wont be able to do anything for him but maybe relieve a little of his pain. I need you to go down there and ask him some questions. Ask him what happened. Ask what hurts the most. I need background information and I will come look at him when I get done with the surgery.”
I know, sweet reader, you can already tell where this is going. I will go ahead and say that words cannot describe the shape I found this young man in but I will try. I took my time walking down the perilous flight of narrow stairs wondering what I was about to experience and going through some basic Spanish vocabulary in mind, figuring out how I was going to word certain questions. I opened the door at the bottom stairs, allowing the wind full access to my face and welcoming the sunshine with great delight. It was a beautiful day and I was pleased as I peered out to see that half the seats where family members were waiting under a tent were vacant. This was good considering this was the last day for operating. I turned to my right and made my way to the designated room for patients waiting to be seen. The chairs that snaked the small room were almost all full. Before I entered I staked out the room from the small window on the door, trying to figure out which one was my burnt victim. My instinct went with the young looking guy, seated in the corner, with a black knit hat, red jacket, blue jeans, and with a medical mask covering his face. A modern day man with leprosy one could have thought… And curious enough there was a vacant seat next to him. Slowly but assuredly, I made my way to the corner with each set of eyes that I passed following me, wondering why I was skipping them because they knew how closely I was with working with their doctor.
I took a seat and asked for his record as I searched his eyes to see if they would give away the answer. His eyes seemed to be unhurt but melancholy and this was confirmed as I glanced down at his record and noted that he was not here for an eye check up but for another medical condition. I took a mental breath, suddenly realizing that this was going to be tougher than my experiences yesterday and then with a new found strength and compassion I proceeded with simple introductions and started with the questions that I had already formulated in my mind during my trip down the stairs.
His name: Sergio
His age: Just nineteen
He was very closed off to me at first. His arms were folded, his head inclined, his mouth hidden, and his body seemed to be scrunched as he sat uncomfortably in pain in the metal chair. I gently asked what happened and his eyes meet mine for only a moment of silence and then he began to explain the horrific accident. He couldn’t remember many details but he told me that it happened five months ago while he was doing his job. He was working on electric cables and then the next thing he remembers is waking up in a hospital bed with his life forever changed. I then asked where he hurts the most and this is where the work that God had done on my heart the previous night paid off because I had never seen anything in my life as horrific and heart-wrenching including things I’ve seen in horror movies and in my worst nightmares. To answer my question he wanted to show me so he first took off the mask uncovering his mouth which was so badly burned and his lips were so badly swollen. I felt pain just by observing the condition of his face and this also led me to understand the reason for wearing the mask. He quickly put the mask back on not wasting a second of unnecessary exposure and then he told me his ear hurts badly too. He lifted up the black knit hat just enough for me to make out the place where his ear use to be. His ear looked as if it was almost completely melted in the now discolored skin on the side of his face. Then he so carefully pulled back the sleeves of his jacket to show me his arms and unbuttoned his shirt to show me his stomach. The burns covered his body like a quilt blanket, discoloring the skin like patchwork and leaving enormous blisters. I could not believe what I was seeing but I made sure my eyes never left him especially when he looked up at me because in those moments I wanted to be sending him inaudible messages of acceptance and love.
It’s hard to explain but I loved this stranger from Chiapas and I wanted to reach out to him and to touch him. I could only imagine the looks of people and maybe even friends and family that he has received. I could only imagine not only the physical pain but also the emotional pain of having your appearance completely altered for the worst. I could only imagine what it felt like to in a sense have leprosy and to be an outcast to society. Because without the grace and compassion of my God, I am fearful that my looks would have mirrored the condition his body was in. And despite every fleshly instinct to turn my head and run, I was overwhelmed with the compassion that followed these thoughts so much that I reached out and touched his leg, the only part of his body unaffected by the electrocution. And no, complete healing to his body did not come after that. I don’t pretend to be Jesus. But I know one thing that did come and that was love and acceptance. I wanted him to feel loved. I wanted him to feel accepted. And with a touch and a look of compassion you never know the ways God can reach a heart. We are to be the hands and feet of God while we are on this earth. And in that moment I knew that if not for anyone else or anything else God sent me to Mexico to touch Sergio and to tell him that there is a reason that he is still breathing and that reason is that God has a plan for his life.
“Toca la cara acá para enseñarnos como sale el pus por favor” the words without emotion somehow escaped my mouth with ease.
It seemed to me that I could have translated anything gross or hard after the morning I had with the little five year old boy. Telling a crying mother and her crying son that there was nothing we could do for his left eye which after an accident at school contained a piece of glass was almost unbearable but with God given grace I was able to relay the horrific message. His retina was entirely destroyed and the only surgery he would be having would be to completely remove his eye. So now, utterly drained from all known emotion, I was translating for a young girl with a blocked passage in her tear duct.
As her hand reached toward her face I turned my head away telling God…. I can’t do this. I can’t watch this. This is so disgusting…. Then after the doctor was satisfied he thanked her in his broken Spanish, causing me to turn my head around and repair the damage he had just done to the Spanish language. However, as I turned my head I felt an undeniable sense of shame and guilt. Immediately, I pushed these emotions back and tried to block out the voices in my head as I finished translating for this consultation. This same scene then repeated itself two or three more times that day. And each time I turned my head as the patient showed the doctor the mucus I felt terrible and convicted. It wasn’t until later when I had a heart to heart with God that I realized what exactly I was doing and the implication of my actions. Moreover, it wasn’t until I put myself in the patients’ shoes that I realized that the only disgusting thing was not the pus coming out of the blocked tear duct however it was my turning my head away each time when they were showing us something that was probably really embarrassing and vulnerable for them to do. Sorrow and Regret fought on the battlefield of my heart as I grasped the emotions that I would have felt if I was them. Honestly, I would have felt rejection. This thought and feeling hit me hard like a bat and I found myself asking for forgiveness and pleading for help to conquer this problem. God proved faithful and merciful as ever as grace showered down on me that dark cold night in Chiapas. But along with God’s grace that night came an important lesson. God pointed me to a passage regarding Jesus’ response to person with a physical health problem…. Allow me to paint a picture for you….
Jesus Christ was traveling throughout Galilee, preaching in synagogues and performing miracles when a man with leprosy approached him. In Biblical times, people who contracted leprosy were banished from society, forced to live on the outskirts. People were afraid to have any kind of contact with these suffering victims. To demonstrate the extremeness of isolation between society and the lepers, the lepers had to follow strict rules such as calling out “Unclean” if they happened to approach someone on the road. Ok so now that you have an idea of how people considered lepers I’ll return to the story. So this man, this outcast of society, approached Jesus and falls at his feet pleading for a miracle, pleading that Jesus would make Him clean. You and I have absolutely no doubt that the Son of Man has the power to heal this man. We see in the scriptures that He healed many from their physical afflictions. No medical case was too hard for Jesus to do for He healed many simply by breathing the words and the following are some examples….
He said to the paralytic, “I tell you, get up, take your mat and go home. He got up, took his mat and walked out in full view of them all”...... He looked up to heaven and with a deep sigh said to him, “Ephphatha!” (which means, Be opened!). At this, the man’s ears were opened, his tongue was loosened and he began to speak plainly…... “Go,” said Jesus, “your faith has healed you.”Immediately he received his sight…... He said, “Young man, I say to you, get up!” The dead man sat up and began to talk…
Undeniably, there is divine power in Jesus’ words and a Centurion who came to Jesus one day understood this as he said, “Lord, don’t trouble yourself, for I do not deserve to have you come under my roof… But say the word, and my servant will be healed.” Words that heal people are something to notice and be awed by. So you can imagine the simplicity that it would take for our man with leprosy to be healed, right? All Jesus had to do was to speak a word or two for this outcast to be miraculously cured of this terrible disease. And yes Jesus did speak a few words and this man was healed but what Jesus did before breathing a single word of healing is what astounded me that night in Chiapas. The word of God says “Filled with compassion, Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man (Mark 1:41).” Need I say more? He touched him. My Jesus didn’t have to touch him but He did. He could have easily spoken the words like so many other times but Jesus Christ, the son of God, the author and perfecter of my faith, my example and my King, touched the man with leprosy. I prayed that night that God would work on my heart and teach me to love like Christ… and little did I know as I ever do what was to come….. and in this case, it would come the next day….
The following morning God with the voice of Dr. Sherman laid the following task before me.
Dr. Sherman said, “Brooke, you are my angel from Cordoba. You did such a great job with the mother and her five year son. Now I will be operating for the next hour but I need you to do some translating for me. Go down stairs and there is a young man there in the waiting room who is burned. Now we wont be able to do anything for him but maybe relieve a little of his pain. I need you to go down there and ask him some questions. Ask him what happened. Ask what hurts the most. I need background information and I will come look at him when I get done with the surgery.”
I know, sweet reader, you can already tell where this is going. I will go ahead and say that words cannot describe the shape I found this young man in but I will try. I took my time walking down the perilous flight of narrow stairs wondering what I was about to experience and going through some basic Spanish vocabulary in mind, figuring out how I was going to word certain questions. I opened the door at the bottom stairs, allowing the wind full access to my face and welcoming the sunshine with great delight. It was a beautiful day and I was pleased as I peered out to see that half the seats where family members were waiting under a tent were vacant. This was good considering this was the last day for operating. I turned to my right and made my way to the designated room for patients waiting to be seen. The chairs that snaked the small room were almost all full. Before I entered I staked out the room from the small window on the door, trying to figure out which one was my burnt victim. My instinct went with the young looking guy, seated in the corner, with a black knit hat, red jacket, blue jeans, and with a medical mask covering his face. A modern day man with leprosy one could have thought… And curious enough there was a vacant seat next to him. Slowly but assuredly, I made my way to the corner with each set of eyes that I passed following me, wondering why I was skipping them because they knew how closely I was with working with their doctor.
I took a seat and asked for his record as I searched his eyes to see if they would give away the answer. His eyes seemed to be unhurt but melancholy and this was confirmed as I glanced down at his record and noted that he was not here for an eye check up but for another medical condition. I took a mental breath, suddenly realizing that this was going to be tougher than my experiences yesterday and then with a new found strength and compassion I proceeded with simple introductions and started with the questions that I had already formulated in my mind during my trip down the stairs.
His name: Sergio
His age: Just nineteen
He was very closed off to me at first. His arms were folded, his head inclined, his mouth hidden, and his body seemed to be scrunched as he sat uncomfortably in pain in the metal chair. I gently asked what happened and his eyes meet mine for only a moment of silence and then he began to explain the horrific accident. He couldn’t remember many details but he told me that it happened five months ago while he was doing his job. He was working on electric cables and then the next thing he remembers is waking up in a hospital bed with his life forever changed. I then asked where he hurts the most and this is where the work that God had done on my heart the previous night paid off because I had never seen anything in my life as horrific and heart-wrenching including things I’ve seen in horror movies and in my worst nightmares. To answer my question he wanted to show me so he first took off the mask uncovering his mouth which was so badly burned and his lips were so badly swollen. I felt pain just by observing the condition of his face and this also led me to understand the reason for wearing the mask. He quickly put the mask back on not wasting a second of unnecessary exposure and then he told me his ear hurts badly too. He lifted up the black knit hat just enough for me to make out the place where his ear use to be. His ear looked as if it was almost completely melted in the now discolored skin on the side of his face. Then he so carefully pulled back the sleeves of his jacket to show me his arms and unbuttoned his shirt to show me his stomach. The burns covered his body like a quilt blanket, discoloring the skin like patchwork and leaving enormous blisters. I could not believe what I was seeing but I made sure my eyes never left him especially when he looked up at me because in those moments I wanted to be sending him inaudible messages of acceptance and love.
It’s hard to explain but I loved this stranger from Chiapas and I wanted to reach out to him and to touch him. I could only imagine the looks of people and maybe even friends and family that he has received. I could only imagine not only the physical pain but also the emotional pain of having your appearance completely altered for the worst. I could only imagine what it felt like to in a sense have leprosy and to be an outcast to society. Because without the grace and compassion of my God, I am fearful that my looks would have mirrored the condition his body was in. And despite every fleshly instinct to turn my head and run, I was overwhelmed with the compassion that followed these thoughts so much that I reached out and touched his leg, the only part of his body unaffected by the electrocution. And no, complete healing to his body did not come after that. I don’t pretend to be Jesus. But I know one thing that did come and that was love and acceptance. I wanted him to feel loved. I wanted him to feel accepted. And with a touch and a look of compassion you never know the ways God can reach a heart. We are to be the hands and feet of God while we are on this earth. And in that moment I knew that if not for anyone else or anything else God sent me to Mexico to touch Sergio and to tell him that there is a reason that he is still breathing and that reason is that God has a plan for his life.
miércoles, 20 de enero de 2010
Behind the Mask ... Part One
“Your eyes… They are made of so many different colors… Why?” the boy behind the mask asked.
“I don’t know. It’s the way God made me” I responded.
Within fifteen minutes our conversation which started out tense with hard questions and even tougher answers took a slight curve right becoming a charla between two new friends instead of a questionnaire between a doctor’s assistant and patient. Then as on cue and without explanation, the roomful of waiting patients suddenly got up from their seats and left the room. This was done for no apparent reason other than God wanting Sergio and I to talk freely and without listening ears. So naturally I took my own cue and propped up my tired feet on the now vacant seat in front of me and began to shoot the breeze with my new friend. Spanish filled the air with questions and answers about family, jobs, hometowns, and sports including futbol americano and WWF. Sergio already had a soft place in my heart by the mere fact of sharing the same name of a beloved friend in Honduras but with each passing minute I felt closer and I felt more love for this stranger, this boy behind the mask, than I have ever felt for someone else. In those precious moments I found myself overwhelmed with wanting him to know the truth.
So much that I abruptly blurted out, “You know there is a reason you are still alive. I am so happy that you are alive. God has plans for you. There is a reason.”
His eyes turned brilliant with intrigue and hope, and that same hunger which I had seen so many times in so many faces over the years was irrefutable.
Encouraged by his eager eyes I went on, “I have to leave now to go back home but can I please share something with you before I go?”
My heart hung on what that answer would be but I didn’t have to wait long because he immediately answered sí so I proceeded with great joy sharing the good news with him. When I finished presenting the gospel he looked at me and softly spoke the following words: “You know many people from different religions came to visit me in the hospital after the accident but nobody talked about God the way you have today with me.”
Unwillingly, I had to leave my friend but I left him with a copy of the word of God and by the time everything was packed and in the truck I went back one more time to the waiting room. I found him there alone and half way through the book of John. Praise God.. Amen...
I am grateful to my God for bringing me unexpectantly to Chiapas this past weekend. Without a doubt in my mind there was a purpose behind the crazy series of events that unfolded, allowing me a place in the truck to make the eight hour trip. And I firmly believe that one of those purposes was to meet this boy behind the mask. And the truth is I am not sure if he was the one needing me more than I was the one needing him. Sweet reader, you will understand the reasons for this in the next blog.
Please pray for my friend Sergio.
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