My trip to la Fuente

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.

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.

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).

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!

las Adventuras en Chiapas y Catemaco

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….