Perspective

I'm taking a class called Perspectives for the next 4 months. It's goal is to provide a bird's eye view of missions over the last several thousand years. The reading load is intense and I've already come to realize how lazy my mind has become since finishing school in December. Fortunately, I have fellow students in the class to criticize and encourage me as I struggle to write answers to questions that could puzzle me for months. I have a notebook of questions that I keep with me constantly. Whenever a questions arises, I jot it in the notebook and then when I am with a friend or happen to be stuck next to an enthusiastic buddhist on a 7 hour plane ride, I can whip out my notebook and collect a slew of answers. It was my intention to start typing up questions and answers on this blog and I might still do it, but in the meantime, here is my first assignment from Perspectives. I'd be interested to hear your opinions...emailed or public. :)

God’s covenant with Abraham was like a precedent for the way he wants to do his work in and through every people/person. He gave Abraham a promise as he does with each of us (“there’s a land for you out there”) and a command (“leave and go”). We can see in Abraham an example of trust, failure, doubt, success, and obedience – all of which are phases through which we will walk as we fulfill that same purpose that God has for us.

The “leave and go” part of the story has always escaped my scrutiny until a few weeks ago when my grandpa and I were talking about it in Brazil. He mentioned that Abram’s father, Terah was the first to leave and go into new territory (v.31). It says that Terah took Abram and went out of Ur to the land of Caanan. But, he stopped half way. Why? The writer records that Terah’s son, Haran, died before Terah while they were still living in Ur (v.28). Children are not supposed to die before their parents. What pain that must have cause Terah. After Haran’s death, as the family journeyed towards Caanan, they arrived at a city called Haran. There they stayed and there Terah eventually died. Could it have been that God had planned for Terah to make it all the way to Caanan, but that when God asked him to pass through the memory of his greatest pain (Haran), he couldn’t do it? 

I realize that I’m completely speculating, but it did give me pause to consider that it is so frequent in life that I come across pain or difficulty and simply stop in the path, not wanting to walk through it to get to what God has on the other side. Revisiting this story prompted me to remember that God sees the bird’s eye view of my journey. His promise to Abraham was “a land that I will show you”. Abraham’s responsibility, like ours, was just to place the next step, trusting that the Lord knows the end and the reason.

This is his promise to all people, modeled first by his covenant with Abraham: leave and go (whether that means your country or your comfort zone) and I will give and show (my goodness, my saving grace to all people, myself strong on your behalf).

Another beautiful and life giving element of this story is how God reassures Abraham of the covenant in chapter 15. By walking both sides of the covenant, God reminds Abraham and us that while he has plans for us and we should walk in them, he holds both sides of the deal in his everlasting, steady hands. The game is set up so that we cannot lose. We can make mistakes, causing the road to be bumpier and our feet to be more sore, but we cannot fail him because the final mile has already been written. He won because of us and in spite of us. What freedom. 

                                   

New Blog for Africa!

Hey folks,

Just an FYI, there's a new blog in the works for Africa. I'll continue to use this blog for personal writing, but all Africa related stuff will be at http://somethingbeautifulafrica.blogspot.com/.

love to all,

Mandie

my future in 4 paragraphs

Hello folks,

I’m off on another round of travels. These trips seem to come in groups, which I love, but which is also a bit stressful. As many of you know, in 2005 I spent 6 months living in Honduras as a house parent for 10 children whose parents either abused them or simply didn’t want them. That ministry (the LAMB institute) has now grown to provide a permanent home for more than 60 children as well as food and education to over 200 children in a slum of the city of Tegucigalpa. The various ministries of LAMB have grown quickly and there is much to tell. So, it was with a lot of excitement (and very little experience) that I told the stateside board that I would gladly accept the challenge of filming, photographing, and creating a simple video to convey the past, present, and future of LAMB. 

So, from January 23 - 31, I will be participating in a medical missions trip to some of the poorer areas of Tegucigalpa as both a nurse and interpreter, Then, from February 1 - 6, with the help of a good friend, Courtney, I’ll be gathering as many pictures and interviews as possible and flying back to the States to put the video together (with the help of my trusty Mac helpers at One-toOne!). I will be going back to Honduras on February 19th to see the dedication of a new chapel and to the show the video, but that will be a short trip of just 6 days.

Almost immediately after the second trip to Honduras, I will be joining a group from Palmetto Medical Initiative and Seacoast Church to go to Uganda and provide medical care. This is a kind of scouting trip for me...to see if there might be a future for me there. The dates are March 5-15 and you can expect an update about the "plan" when I return.

Then, in April, I’ll be heading to Brazil with my grandparents while they speak at a conference and travel around visiting and speaking at different churches. 

A very exciting prospect is on the horizon, one that will be life changing to say the least and which I am very excited to share. A few more details need to be finalized before I tell the story, though. (and no, I am not getting married, but it’s still pretty exciting. ;) 

Please check back over the next few weeks. I hope to post updates from Honduras and the video will be added soon as well. 

love to you all,

Mandie

Africa on my mind..

I remember a friend telling me years ago, "Don't ever go to Africa unless you're prepared to go back again and again. Once you've been there, Africa stays in your blood."  And at that time I was grateful that so far I had only been asked to go to Honduras, an easy $600 ticket and 3 hour plane ride away....

Anyone who has known me for more than a few weeks knows that I love all things Hispanic. Today I watched a movie that was filmed in Mexico and the birthday party scene made me nostalgic for a far away country that I consider “home”. When I hear Spanish, my heart skips a beat and when I speak Spanish, I feel like there's a part of me talking that doesn't exist in English. I wonder if others who speak two languages can relate. It's like now that I know both languages, I couldn't survive with just one or the other. My life has been made so much richer by the addition of acorazados, the music of Jesus Adrian Romero and Juan Luis Guerra and the friends I know only through Spanish. So, naturally, I have assumed that my "call" was to a Spanish-speaking, taco-eating, guitar-playing country down south. 

Over the last year, in spite of the busyness of nursing school, I have had the opportunity to travel to two new countries, one of them a whopping 9,000 miles away. I’ll admit that while I felt that God was calling me with a distinct purpose to both of these countries, I never imagined I would feel at home in either one of them the way I do in Mexico. But, I did. It occurred to me that maybe God created me to feel at home in whatever place he sent me to. What a gift. 

So, it is with something less like surprise and more like expectation that I find myself wondering if Africa could be my future “home”. From where  sit now, there are a lot of twists and turns between me...and then. But, I have had this happen before. My Friend puts a desire in me to go somewhere, do something...and then I begin to watch as the details fall into place the way the road seems to magically appears before you when you’re driving in the desert. I’ve been watching videos about Uganda. Swahili words are coming back to me from when I was 8 and first heard the beautiful language. I’m less and less surprised when friends mention an interest in the same place, an aunt who lives there, a new clinic being built nearby, an upcoming trip that they were hoping I'd want to go on. More and more on facebook, I see pictures, am directed to blogs and stories of people who inspire me, and find common threads tying me to this continent I have never seen. 

And so I continue to dream. It’s what I do best. A responsible side of me wonders about the details, what should I do RIGHT NOW? What if? What about? Where? How? And each time I ask one of those questions I am reminded about a time in the past when I asked a similar question. I retell the story to myself of how the exact amount of money was provided at the last minute in July of 2008, about how my life was protected in June of 2005, about how the perfect house was waiting for me next door to protective neighbors in a slum on August of 2005, about how a friend was provided to travel with me in August of 2009, about how I was in the wrong place at the right time in August of 2008 and was therefore protected, about how obedience placed me in dozens of situations that have provided me with friends and possessions more than any girl could ask for, about how food and shelter have been provided to me by strangers, about how I have never lacked anything, never been alone, and never needed to look back except to learn. 

And when I remember those things, I can’t help but dream about the future, tomorrow, and be prepared to just walk through the details as they come...in his time. 

on having nothing to do

[one of the little faces I miss]

A little over a month ago, I graduated from nursing school. After using “but, I’m in nursing school” as an excuse for the past 16 months, it’s taking some adjusting for me to realize that I am now free to spend the vast majority of my time doing whatever I want to do. So, I have learned pieces of Swahili, Portuguese, and Japanese, and vamped up my Spanish vocabulary. I've spent wonderful moments with friends, laughing, wondering about our futures, and learning to wait. I’ve spent countless hours on the road and the phone, rekindling friendships that have taken a back burner during nursing school. I’ve run, walked, and Wii-ed myself into a smaller pair of pants and then made several tons of Christmas Peppermint Bark for which I gladly pulled out the old pants again. I’ve experimented with lots of recipes and organized under my bed. I cleaned my bathroom, returned emails, and actually now have time to write. I've watched movies, played games with my family, and talked to my aunts on the phone. I've finally written letters by hand again and started reading history books for fun.

I’m not here to say that I haven’t enjoyed every minute of this so called freedom. I have. It’ been wonderful.

But, now that the dust of my freedom dance has settled, I am remembering why I was in nursing school to begin with. It was because there are people in the world who don’t have medical care. They don’t have food or water. I desperately want to go find the children who don’t have mothers. I want to give them the things that their hearts and stomachs need. And then, when their tummies are full, when they have been held and loved, when they have a bed and a blanket, if they ask why I am there, I will have the opportunity to tell them about a God who can fill up emptinesses that I can’t fill, who can heal hurts that I can’t heal, and who knows them better than I ever could. That is why I went to nursing school.

And now, I am sitting on a comfy couch in the US, wondering what to do next. There are so many options. I feel like an idiot for not wanting to get a job here in the states, for wanting to sell my car for a one-way plane ticket to Haiti or Africa and never come back (except for Thanksgiving!). My friends are getting jobs, husbands, and houses and I can almost believe that's what I want to do, too. But, then I remember why I went to nursing school. And that's when I decide that I should keep going to nursing school, get my masters, and then buy that one way ticket. Or maybe I could go to school from far, far away...there are so many options. I know exactly what to do, but the waiting, the unknown, and the dependance on God and others for guidance makes me feel somehow less than my friends who have managed to get their lives together, find a job, and create a plan, and carry it out already.

[the next day...]

this blog post sat in my drafts box yesterday as I tried to come up with an eloquent way to wrap up my frustrations and a plan for what to do with my life. While I can tell you that a plan is somewhat underway, the important thing is that my heart knows who holds it and that he is trustworthy, plan or no plan. Last night Rachel listened to an overview of what I have written above. When I told her how I couldn’t post it without “resolution” (lesson learned, new path started, plan created, ticket bought, etc), she said I didn’t need it. I just needed to do what David did in Psalm 103 and command my soul to get it’s act together and just praise the Lord for the fact that he’s got me, he’s going to take me somewhere, and I’ll be just fine. :)

the Starbucks Church Update

It has been a year since I first decided to step out of traditional church and spend my Sunday mornings with Jesus at Starbucks. Over that year, “church” has had to move out of Starbucks for financial reasons and has often happened on the beach or my back porch. Another surprising turn of events was a Sunday in October when I woke up really   missing traditional church and wanting to sit in a pew and sing old hymns with people around me who were also trying to love Jesus and be like him. I wanted to sit and listen to a preacher who had spent time the week before asking God what he should say. I wanted to walk out of church and see familiar faces and hear a sweet southern voice say, “Hello darlin’”. :) So, I went to church. And I have been going almost every week since then. And I love it. 

The interesting thing is, my church is hundreds of years old. It has not really changed in the past few hundred years. So, since I decided church wasn’t for me, not much has changed either. They still sing the same songs, the same men preach on Sundays, and the same people sit in the same pews. The same old ladies wear their hats and the same old man in the third row falls asleep at 10:35 every week. The same people give me funny looks when I walk in wearing jeans. The same old lady grabs my hand and looks into my eyes in a way that makes me think she can see my soul and tells me it’s good to see me. Nothing about church has changed. 

Imagine my dismay when I found that the thing that needed to change about church was...me. I shouldn’t have been surprised. There is no doubt in my mind that I am a colossal failure when it comes to living life the way it should be lived. I make a mistake on average about every 20 minutes...on a good day. I am not condemned by this inadequacy. On the contrary, it is this very inadequacy that makes me need Jesus and as long as he can handle it, so can I. But it was incredibly humbling to realize that the months that I spent complaining about and missing out on the gift of church were due to my own immaturity and not to any significant inadequacy or failure on the part of the group of people that call themselves “the church”. At 23, my regret over not having learned my lessons sooner grows stronger each year. As I look back over the last 5 years of my life, however, I can’t help but notice that it looks to me like a very well-written story. There are certainly chapters of peril, of near-death experiences, of heart break, frustration, and wanting to quit. But, like any good story, it is those very chapters that make the arrival, the very existence, of Prince Charming so necessary. I am grateful for the way my story is being written, even if I sometimes wonder at the author’s reasoning, because it is being written by someone I can trust. And so it is not with regret, but with gratefulness that I look back and realize that the lesson was worth the loss.

I still skip church on occasion and enjoy a quiet Sunday at the beach or in a coffee shop. The last year of seeking Jesus wherever I happened to be on a Sunday morning has taught me to be prepared to find him everywhere and I want to stay in shape. This is probably a good discipline, as I imagine his story may lead me to places where a traditional church has never existed and where community may be scarce. But, the absence of corporate worship in my life has also taught me its value and the privilege that is ours in being able to enjoy each other’s company on a Sunday morning, regardless of our various shortcomings. So, this Sunday will find me sitting on a red velvet pew, singing old hymns, and basking in the presence of Jesus and other people who love him. The story is still being written, the lessons are still being learned, but for now, this is where I am content. 

My life is but a weaving between my God and me,

I do not choose the colors. He’s working steadily.

Often he weaves in sorrow and I in foolish pride

forget he sees the upper, and I the underside.

Not ‘til the loom is silent and shuttles cease to fly

will God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why

the dark threads are as needful in the skillful Master’s hand

as the threads of gold and silver in the pattern he has planned.

Hospital Escuela, Honduras

The hospital was a maze. Maybe this feeling of fighting to survive had caused my sense of direction to shrivel up, the same way your body knows how to send blood to the only the vital organs when it thinks its dying. Maybe my mind thought it was dying. I had passed that baby sleeping on the stairs at least twice, yet I was no closer to understanding where I was. Perhaps it should have concerned me that there was no one nearby who appeared to be taking responsibility for the little dreamer, but my mind was on other things. One thing, actually. Acetaminophen. My eight year old, Jorge, was in pain and as I had come to find out from the more seasoned inhabitants of this cold, dark maze, the only way to get medicine was to venture out into the city and find it yourself. Of course, upon returning to the small room that Jorge was sharing with six other little boys, I was sure to bring enough to go around. Some of these boys had not seen their parents in days or weeks. Many of them were waiting for their parents to earn enough money to pay for that next test, round of treatment, or surgery. In the meantime, they were at the hospital’s mercy, which was in short supply.  I looked across the room at the youngest member of our little hospital family. He spent most of his time propped up in one corner of his crib, arms hanging off each side and wide eyes staring blankly around the still room. He almost never cried, but some instinct in me felt that he needed to be touched. He looked so fragile and I was afraid to pick him up, so I just walked over to rub his back and talk to him. He was hot. Too hot. I wondered to myself how much he weighed. Maybe ten kilograms? I could probably give him about a teaspoon of Tylenol. No nurse had been in to see him for at least eight hours. His mother was hours away in a village working to pay for his treatments and no one wanted to waste time on a baby who offered no assurance of reimbursement.

“Did you bring my food?”

As usual, Joshua had given me a few Lempiras before I left so that I could bring him back some dinner. The hospital provided one meal a day and it was anything but edible. He had been born with tiny legs that never grew. They stuck out from his eight year old body like chicken feet. What he lacked in leg power, he made up in upper body strength.  I set his box of cold Chinese on his bed and watched his little wheels spin in that direction. He swung himself up like a monkey and inhaled his meal.

Hospital Escuela is the teaching hospital of Honduras. That fact in itself made me nervous, as anyone who learned to practice medicine in such an environment could not reasonably be faulted for any future lack of competence, conscience, or integrity. The first time I entered the ten story building in the middle of bustling downtown Tegucigalpa, I was shocked by the filth, the emptiness, and the amount of people sitting on the floors. It occurred to me that we were in a very poor city and perhaps waiting room chairs had been deemed a luxury in the presence of such basic needs as water and electricity and armed guards. As the days before and after Jorge’s surgery passed, however, I began to develop an odd familiarity with the faces sitting on the floor. Some of them never changed. Then one day, I sat down on the floor with them and found out why they were waiting. Some of them had already been diagnosed, but they were too sick to go home and too poor to pay for their tests. So they waited. Others had formed a line, maybe days ago, and were still waiting for a consult, a prescription, a medical file. Still more were sleeping on the floor outside of a loved one’s room. On any given night, the floor of the waiting room outside of the unit where Jorge was would be covered with piles of clothes, people underneath them, too tired to even swat at the cockroaches that scuttled from room to room.

I never understood why I was allowed to stay with Jorge. Perhaps the nurses had some sense of protection for the young, blue-eyed, American girl who would probably not be safe sleeping among the crowds outside.

After I got Joshua settled with his food and dispersed pain medicine to the motherless boys, I began the evening search for linens. The hospital laundry service provided gainful employment to several kind Honduran ladies, but somehow there never seemed to be any sheets or towels. Ever since my roommate and I had become the mothers to Jorge and nine other children months before, we were now expert hospital survivors and had discovered that if we waited until the small shipment of laundry arrived on the unit each night, we could sneak enough sheets to at least take care of “our boys”.

Sheets, medicines, and food dispersed, I slumped into the plastic chair next to Jorge’s bed. As usual, the running water to the unit had been turned off for the day and the one toilet was almost overflowing.

“Are you OK?”, I asked him, knowing full well he was not.

A tube from his side had been draining bright red blood ever since his surgery and his Foley bag was getting uncomfortably full. No doctor or nurse had been to see him yet and I was sure the acetaminophen had only put a dent in his pain. He turned his back to me and I tried to let him be a man by pretending not to hear his sniffles. The other boys were beginning to calm down, too. One other mother had appeared to stake a claim under her toddler’s crib. She crawled under there after nursing him, no blanket, no pillow. Two other boys, who had been best friends that day, lay in their beds and kicked their little feet up in the air, laughing at each other. I followed their IV lines with my eyes and realized why they had been together all day. They were connected to the same pole.

During the day, the room was lit by one functional bulb of fluorescent light that hung precariously from a wire twelve feet above. It flickered sometimes just to remind us to be grateful for its presence. When the sun was out, a warm spot of light would travel across the floor, spilling in from a bedpan shaped hole in the window. and providing one wheelchair bound child, who amused himself by following its path, with his daily dose of Vitamin D. Now that it was night, the only light seeped in from the nurses station down the hall. I didn’t mind the darkness. We all took refuge in the opportunity to close our eyes to the unpleasant realities around us. Tomorrow the fight would begin again.

When we say church

this picture is from a "church" moment in the Mexican desert last year

when we say church
church is not something you
drive by
look at
walk into
go to
sleep in
live near
get married in
attend

church is not something that
starts at eleven
is boring
never ends on time
asks for money
has stained glass windows
needs new carpet

church is something you are

church is a gathering of people
believing God
following Jesus
being filled by the Spirit
loving each other
serving the city
changing the world

church is something that belongs to Jesus
church is something whose birth cost His death
church is something he promised to build,
and against which that gates of hell have no chance.

taken from http://www.dealministry.com/blog/index.htm

Slow Growin'

I was listening to Tim Keller speak the other day on how growth is a process. When we see a child after some time has elapsed we say, “My, I think you’ve grown.” When we plant a garden, for weeks it looks as if no growth is happening. That’s because growth is gradual; a process that happens in increments so small, they’re not even measurable in the moment the growth is taking place. This can make it easy to become discouraged and feel like nothing is changing in our spiritual development. The kind of frustration that comes from this realization is the very proof we need, though; to be sure we are actually growing.

I tend to be very impatient with myself in this process we call growth, but recently I’ve been comparing the unseen with the things that I can see and realizing how silly I’ve been. When I can create an analogy in my mind, taking myself and my need for personal perfection out of the picture, it is much easier to see the truth. I don’t think I am the only person who gets frustrated with the seeming lack of evidence of real change in my life. Many friends tell me that they feel the same way.

[I can think of several people who would probably shudder at my insinuation that any kind of "growth or change" is necessary. They would say that grace and the gospel tell us that Jesus has done it all and we must only receive. They've got a point, but so do I, so just keep reading. I'm not downplaying Jesus's imputation of righteousness on us, I'm just pointing out an encouraging picture about grace. We can argue about whether or not it's theologically sound another day.]

The thing is we Christians have a catchphrase that would solve this dilemma for us if only we would understand what we are saying. We say Jesus is our “Savior and Lord” and we understand the “savior” part.

He saved us.

Not to minimize in any way the agony of the cross; it’s just not the point I’m trying to make.

Jesus died; we’re saved. Punto.

The “Lord” part is where we get stuck. Accepting Jesus as Savior is as easy as repeating the sinner’s prayer. Keeping him in our lives as our Lord, however, is a daily discipline that is challenging to say the least.

 Todd Simonis preached on this at St. Andrew’s a while back and gave the following illustration:

If we were walking down the street and you stepped out in front of a bus,

hopefully I would be heroic enough to reach out and stop you.

In some respects, I could be considered your “savior”. I would certainly not

expect to come anything close to becoming your “lord”.

Jesus becoming our Savior took one decision (on our part) to accept one action (on His part), but that is only the beginning of Chapter 1. The whole rest of the book is about us making daily decisions to accept His ongoing action of setting us free, making us like Himself, and filling us up with His Spirit. It’s all about the process of learning day by day.

What I just wrote is common knowledge. I’ve known what Jesus did for me since I was three. Only recently, however, has that knowledge slid from my head to my heart and become understanding. I am now content to rest in the perfection and security that is mine since I accepted Jesus as my Savior. Recognizing that letting him be Lord is a long process of daily decisions and actions gives me not only more grace for myself, but for others as well.

In Defense of Starbucks Church [Part 3]

So, I have come to church at Starbucks. The rationale behind this decision is really quite straightforward. I like coffee. I like strangers. I like drinking coffee and talking to strangers. I realized that I have often felt closer in my relationship with Jesus when I am sitting in a coffee shop sharing life with another person, than when I was sitting in a church pew hearing the same song and the same sermon. Now this need of mine to withdraw from traditional church for a time is not at all indicative of a lack of knowledge or honesty or genuineness in the church in general, for I know those qualities exist in abundance. Rather it is indicative of my inability to get over my own prejudices and petty complaints and find Jesus in spite of the small inconsistencies and rough spots I found in church. I realized that if I could not meet Jesus just about anywhere I looked for him, then my relationship with him was seriously lacking in intimacy and integrity.
Let’s say, for example, that I’m stuck on a plane next to Bob. I don’t know Bob and he doesn’t know me. We are both annoyed to be stuck on a plane. We have nothing to talk about and having each other as seatmates does not make the experience any more pleasant for either of us. Now imagine I am stuck on a plane with my friend Alma. We have shared many good and bad circumstances together. We know each other’s dirty messes and we have loved each other in spite of them. Even though I may not enjoy being stuck on a plane, I can still enjoy Alma’s presence there with me precisely because I know and love her, appreciate her friendship, and cherish every moment I get to spend with her. That is how I think it should be with Jesus. Only I wasn’t enjoying his presence when I was in church, the very place where I should feel closest to him. I decided to pull myself (and Jesus) out of church for a while to work on our relationship alone. It’s been 2 months, and I can say that this was the best decision I have ever made.
It has been here at “Starbucks Church” that I have walked deeper into my relationship with Jesus, simply by spending time alone with him, and often inviting a friend to join me. It makes perfect sense that we would get to know God better by getting to know his creation better. And if what he says is true, people are his favorite creation. This made me think that an excellent way to expand my understanding of God would be through sharing conversations with his people. That includes the ones who believe in him and the ones who don’t. I like to call these conversations “heart talks” because they’re all about two people taking their insides and putting them on the table for the other to look at. There is something so vulnerable about letting someone else see what only I know about myself, but the feeling of connection and of validation that comes when they see me for who a really am and accept me in spite of it is marvelously worth the risk. When someone shares their heart with me, I feel like I’ve been given one of the ultimate gifts, one of the highest honors.
My friend Cari says that these are the conversations that make you realize who you are, and who you are not, and what you are capable of, what you stand for and believe in and how much you love and care for the person you are talking with. I think she’s right, especially about finding out who you are and who you are not. In my “heart talks” with other people, I’ve found out three life changing things:
1. I am not alone
2. other people long for connection as much as I do and
3. God likes it when we find him in and through eachother.

I cannot even begin to express the feeling of relief that comes from finding out you are not the only one with problems.

In Defense of Starbucks Church [Part 2]

Now transparency is not something I learned by myself. In fact, it was only through friendships with people who were willing to be honest with me, despite my messiness. It was Heather who first modeled transparency for me and who, in doing so, gave me permission to be real around her. I found myself wanting to spend more and more time with her, because I had not yet learned to translate that freedom into other relationships. All I knew was that no matter who I was, no matter how I acted around her, no matter how LONG it took for me to get my act together, she was always patient, always there for me, always encouraging. At a time in my life when I was having trouble believing that Jesus could love and accept me when his own Christians didn’t, Heather showed me what a Christian is supposed to be like. She helped me to see that it was unfair for me to judge Jesus’ character by the imperfect people all around me who were following him, but who were just as messed up as I was. It took two years of Heather’s patience, love, and gentle pushing to get me to the place where I truly felt like I had learned to see myself and others like Jesus sees us. Since then I have found so many people just like her: Laura, Reames, Alma, Marlene, John, Patty, Rachel, Rod, Lauren, Marcela, Irma, Sheyla, and so many more...and my life as taken on this rich quality that only community, unconditional love, and deep friendships that spring from Jesus's grace can bring.
Now, before I make it sound like I have “arrived”, let me say that there are still days when I wake up with a frown, feel unloved, have a bad attitude, judge, hate, curse, lie, etc. How I can call myself a Christian and still be such an imperfect person is a subject for another post. For now, all I need to know is that I am a work in progress, which, when you think about it is the best we can say of anyone, regardless of their beliefs. It has been a lesson for me in grace-giving, both to myself, to people I don’t like, and to people who don’t like the people I think they should like. If I got grace, everybody should get grace.
And so it has been that in the presence of other Christians, other Jesus people, that I have found both the most hurt and the most healing, the most pressure and the most freedom, the most sorrow and the most joy. And now that I look back, I think that this is how it should be. I came to church with high expectations, expecting no one to fail me, expecting no one to judge me. Now, however, I realize that what I wanted to find was a bunch of perfect people, all waiting for me and willing to love and accept me in my imperfection. That is what I mean when I say that I came to church with unrealistic expectations. What I was wanting from other people (unconditional love, forgiveness, joy, acceptance) were things I was not willing to give to them or myself yet. In fact, though I didn’t know it at the time, I wasn’t even willing to receive those things from others yet, let alone from God (yet another story for another post). And while I did come to church with the expectation of finding certain characteristics, my expectation of what I would not find was the one that really got bashed to the ground. I did not expect to be failed by Christians even though I myself have failed others. I did not expect to be hurt by Christians even though I have hurt many people. When you think about it, though, the entire premise of Christianity is based on the idea that everyone in the who world, from Mother Teresa to Jeffery Dahmer, is a failure when compared to God’s perfection. Why I expected to find perfect people in church is beyond me.

In Defense of Starbucks Church [Part 1]

I have given myself permission to not go to church for 3 months. One Sunday morning in Mexico, I woke up and realized that I was dreading going to church. As I lay there analyzing that feeling (which is what, as an introvert, I feel obligated to do with all my feelings) it dawned on me that I had not wanted to go to church for a long time. I would wake up on Sunday morning and go to church out of habit, but once I got there, I just wanted to leave. This had happened to me at every church I went to over a year, so I do not blame any particular church for not catering to what I wanted to find. Most of the problem lay in the fact that many of my expectations of what church should be were unrealistic. There were parts of me that wanted to find community in church; that wanted to be vulnerable and find love among fellow Christians in spite of my inadequacies and failures. I think that is a reasonable craving, but I have to admit that the environment I found in several churches was not one of acceptance. Unconditional love was preached, the idea of it was held up as ideal, but in practice most of what I found was a watered-down version of grace that only reached to superficial failures like telling white lies and letting dinner burn and leaving your shopping cart in the middle of the parking lot. At first I felt like there was no one in the church who would accept me for who I really was. It was hard to believe that Jesus would accept me when some of his Christians got squirmy when I asked about sin and failure.

Then I realized two things. They didn’t come to me out of the blue one day sitting in the sunshine and listening to the birds. They probably came to me one night when I was running my heart out on the beach and crying about what a sad, sad case I was. I realized that first of all, I am one of the Christians I was complaining about. The very act of not being transparent myself was only exacerbating the problem. By not being real, I was encouraging others to do the same. The second thing I realized was that I didn’t know how to be the person I wanted to be. When I thought of what a Christian should look like, and then held that blueprint over my own sad heart, none of the shapes lined up. I needed to figure out if there was something wrong with me, something wrong with my blueprint, or both. It ended up being a little of both, but that took me a long time to figure out. I’m slow.

Wednesday

This morning I woke up before Irma and got out the door early for some Jesus time. I’ve had short quiet times the last few days, but today I wanted a few hours to just sit alone and think, process, and drink juice. One of my favorite things about Mexico is their juice. On almost every block, you can find someone selling fresh squeezed fruit and vegetable juices. Some stands will even add cereal, granola, yogurt, etc. You walk up and see what fruits they have, tell them what combination you want, or choose from their suggestions. Yesterday, I wanted oranges and strawberries, so I got a liter for $1.70. This morning, I felt like oranges and strawberries again, but with bananas. Another liter for $1.70. Amazing! Then this afternoon, I got just plain orange juice. I watched the juice man squeeze 8 oranges into the little baggie that they serve the juice in. It cost 80 cents. I’m not sure why it was so much cheaper, but it may have had something to do with the fact that in the bucket of “pre-squeezed” juice, several bees had met their fate and had to be avoided when dipping in for refills.

After my quiet time at Bon’s, I went exploring. I was supposed to meet some of the girls at the bus stop in the market at 1:00 to go to Tepoztlan, so I figured I’d head in that direction. I asked a sweet old man how to get to the market and out of his toothless mouth came unintelligible directions along with a lot of spit. His gestures where enough to get me on my way, though. Arriving at the market, I felt very stupid. Three stories of tightly packed booths, bags and t shirts hanging in the air, music blaring, and children darting in and out of mobs of adults lay before me. I wasn’t quite sure how to get in let alone how I might find my way out. I plunged in. It is at times such as these that I thank God for making me head and shoulders taller that 80% of all Mexicans. Both my height and a few more stops for directions got me deep into the heart of the market, the food section to be exact, where big woks bubbled up mysterious pieces of meat. And of course, there is the juice man, too. The market is almost more than the senses can take for more than 10 minutes. I began to long for fresh air and to leave the smell of raw meat behind. The ice cream man pointed me down another long corridor made of carts and human vending machines. Coming up to breathe, I saw the buses and began to search for the one to Tepoztlan.

In typical Mexican style, out 1:00 outing to Tepoztlan started by catching the 2:00 bus. Half an hour later, we found ourselves walking down perfect cobblestone streets in a perfect Spanish town. Tepoztlan is made up of seven barrios surrounded by seven mountains. In the middle sits the town square with a rustic monastery nestled in the north corner.

On our way to the center, we stopped by the famous neveria, or snow shop, where they sell literally hundreds of flavors of ice cream. Mexican ice cream cannot be compared to any ice cream in the US, though. I have never tasted anything so light, but creamy and refreshing at the same time. It's completely natural as well, so you don't feel so guilty. : ) For $1.50, we got 3 flavors in a big waffle cone. Now, you'd think that with 100+ flavors to choose from, it would have taken me forever to decide, but such was not the case. When you look closely at the menu and see that you choices include beet, celery, corn, lettuce, and avocado flavored ice cream, it becomes easy to eliminate many of the chioces. : ) Also, for you flavoring pleasure, there is powdered and liquid red hot chili which many people add to even the fruity flavored ice creams.

Now, in Mexico, everything is different, including the concept of public restrooms. My experience with public restrooms this trip has not been very good, seeing as I started the trip out by walking into the men’s room at the Mexico City airport. In Tepoztlan, like most other places, two women sit outside the door to the bathroom selling toilet paper. You pay 1 peso (10 cents) to get in if you bring your own toilet paper and 3 pesos if you didn’t. Then again, if you know ahead of time that you’re going to need more than they give you, you negotiate your price so as to get the quantity of TP that you need and proceed to walk sheepishly past all the other people in line who now know in more detail what you came to do. At this particular restroom, I paid my 3 pesos and got about 40 squares of toilet paper and a receipt!!! I wonder if they take returns if you don’t use it all?? Up the stairs I was happy to find real porcelain waiting for me. After you do your thing, you make eye contact with whoever is in line to get your stall to let them know not to go in yet. Then you move quickly to a 50 gallon drum of water at one end of the room and haul back a bucket of water to flush your toilet. If you’re lucky, there’s soap for you to wash your hands with. I considered myself half lucky, as there was a bag of laundry detergent that everyone was using at the sink. : )

Bathroom adventures behind me, I joined the others in the market for lunch (at 5:00). We had amazingly delicious quesadillas, tacos, and the like, followed by coffee in a nearby coffee bar. Then we wandered around the city looking at the tourist stuff. I didn’t buy anything, although there was beautiful stuff everywhere we looked. Tepoztlan is famous in Mexico for its witches and history of superstition, sacrifices, etc. There is definitely a spiritual heaviness there that is almost distracting.

For that reason, Irma and her friend Isra have begun a Bible study on Wednesday nights. They drive the 1 hour round trip to bring truth and light to people who want if, but are hesitant to let go of their traditions and superstitions. I was expecting that for the amount of sacrifice on the part of Irma and Isra, there would be a significant amount of people in the group. Imagine my surprise when we arrived and Don Francisco and Dona Margarita’s house, only to be met by a young Christian med student Javi. The six of us were the extent of the Bible study. We discussed ways in which our faith is tested, how John 10 talks about unbelief. The whole time, I was very aware of an elaborate altar to Mary looking down on us from the wall. We talked about idols and superstitions they have here, such as putting a wine glass on your kitchen table, filled with pebbles and with a coin underneath to bring protection. A deer’s eye on a red string around a baby’s wrist will protect him from common colds and mal de ojo, a curse that is left on a baby if a stranger looks at him without touching him. Somehow, though, these people don’t consider altars to their saints as unbiblical. Irma and Isra’s patience and love amazes me. Their dedication to this one couple’s spiritual growth is inspiring to say the least and evident in the way I saw Don Francisco and Dona Margarita entering into conversation. After our study of John 10, Dona Margarita got out the atol she had made for us earlier in the day along with different types of fresh breads. I don’t know what atol is made of, but it’s always been one of my favorite drinks. We sat around their kitchen table, talking, laughing, and watching their Wednesday night telenovela, “Fuego en la Sangre”. It seemed to be to be such a good picture of Jesus. His acceptance.

Monday

One of my main purposes in spending these two weeks in Mexico was to have some serious Jesus time. The girls here were such an encouragement to me in May, and the environment/lifestyle are so conducive to quiet time with Jesus, that I thought this would be the best place to be. The conversations I have enjoyed, the teaching I have recieved, and my personal times with Jesus have been wonderful.

So, I am including these notes from our Bible study last night. Every Monday night, the college graduates get together at El Vienese, a little coffee shop in the centro, to study and encourage each other. Last night, Marce invited a woman who works for Campus Crusade to come and speak to us. I think what she had to say is very applicable. Of course, she was speaking a mile a minute in Spanish and I was trying to take notes in English, so some things may have gotten confusing in translation, but I wanted you all to have the opportunity to benefit from her teaching as well. I would recommend that, even if you’re familiar with the story of Abraham, that you read Genesis 12 – 17 before starting.

Notes from Egresados
Cuernavaca, Morelos
El Vienese
14 de julio, 2008
Speaker: Ingrid

Phases of Promise and Covenant
Genesis 12-17

The time of CALL:
Genesis 12 – The moment of God’s call on our lives is when we accept him. Then, the call or “promise” continues as he asks us to change our lifestyle for him. He asks us not so much to leave our life, but to leave certain attitudes, actions, conversation, etc. Part of evangelism is bringing Jesus into the lives we were living before we met him. We must, however, take care to bring him into every area and that may mean not going to the same places with our friends, not engaging in the same conversations at work, not watching the same movies.

The time of PROMISE:
Genesis 15:1a – “Do not be afraid. I am the one who protects you.”
God is telling us not to fear. Period. This is a confidence that can come only from knowing what he says right afterwards, “I am the one who protects you.” This overrules any fear we could experience.
- Don’t fear the future. “I am the one who protects you.”
- Don’t fear others. “I am the one who protects you.”
- Don’t fear the devil. “I am the one who protects you.”
- Don’t fear the past. “I am the one who protects you.”
- Do not fear. “I am the one who protects you.”
What amazing confidence we can have in any situation if we sincerely believe these words. Even in the presence of having heard these words directly from God, however, Abram asks God, “But how can I be sure you will do this thing.” (Gen. 15:8) WHAT? How could he doubt after having just received such a promise from God?
The time of OBEDIENCE:
God’s reaction in the next three verses shows us not only his patience for our questions, but also his mercy and grace in giving us second chances. He answers Abram with a command and then…He disappears. The amazing thing is that Abram, without having heard an answer to his question, without any “confirmation”, begins to obey. What a lesson for us in the modern church. I must obey now, for I have been called now. I do not need to wait until I have an established ministry in the church. I do not need to wait until I am a full time missionary or until I am asked to lead a Bible study. I do not need to wait until I am a better Christian. Abram obeyed immediately…

The time of WAITING:
… and the he waited.
Genesis 15:12 – “and he was surrounded by great darkness and was afraid.”
How many of us know the feeling of receiving a mountaintop promise, walking into it in faith, and then waiting in darkness for what seems like forever. Where did God go? Did I hear from him correctly? Was it really me he was talking to? Did I blow it again? Nope. Wait.

The time of COVENANT:
Genesis 15:17-18 – God comes and speaks. It may have not been what Abram was expecting to hear or what he wanted to hear, but God came and God took responsibility for the covenant. He left Abram with a promise. “I will give this land to your descendants.” What descendants? If anyone ever had reason to be intimidated by the impossibility of their situation, it was Abram.

*I think it’s interesting to notice that God spoke gave Abram the command to prepare for the covenant during the day and then Abram waited. It got dark, God wasn’t there, and Abram was afraid. God’s sudden presence, the blazing fire, and his voice must have been all the more clear, unforgettable, and majestic after a time of darkness and waiting. Maybe that was the effect He was wanting all along.

The time of DOUBT & FAILURE:
Genesis 16:2 – Abram and Sarai began to doubt. Maybe God didn’t give us all the information. Maybe there’s something we need to do. Maybe God forgot? They took matters into their own hands because seeing present results became more important than believing God’s present reality. This is very applicable to today’s church as well. It can be tempting in times of doubt, what St. John of the Cross called “the dark night of the soul”, to make the gospel cheaper, easier, less demanding… in search of results. We walk into something new, out of obedience to Jesus, but without seeing any immediate fruit. We start to worry, so we force results, we restrain from speaking/obeying hard truth, we lower our standards, we change the rules, cut corners, and look the other way. Anything to see some fruit.

Abram found a way to have a child, to help God out of the dilemma he had gotten himself into. The repercussions of that one doubt based decision haunt us even today.

The time of SECOND CHANCE:
Genesis 17:1-2 – Thirteen years later God came back to Abram with a second chance. We don’t know why it took thirteen years. Maybe Abram asked God’s forgiveness for his disobedience. Maybe God was waiting until he thought Abram was ready. But this time, with the promise comes a condition, “Obey me and conduct yourself honorably” (Gen. 17:2). Abram has to keep his part of the deal.

The time of NEW NAME:
Genesis 17:5

(This wasn’t part of the devotional, but I think it is amazing, so I’m throwing it in:
God changed Abram’s name to Abraham.
God changed Sarai’s name to Sarah.
What letter was added to each name? The “h”. The Hebrew letter for “breath” or “spirit”. God breathed his Spirit into them, giving them a part of him, making them children.)

It is important to remember that the new name that we receive from God is “child”. As sons and daughters, we cannot lose our position in God’s family. A servant can be fired, a friend can leave, but there is no denying that a son or daughter is always such. 1 John 3:1 – “See what great love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called children of God; and such we are.”

The time of OUTWARD EVIDENCE:
At this point in the process, the doubts begin to disappear. The process of promise and covenant that was formerly inward begins to be outwardly evident. In Genesis 17:10 + 13, God gives Abraham an outward sign of obedience so that others will know that he and his descendants are God’s children.

What evidence is there in my life that I am a child of God, or that I have been in his very presence?
I spent time with Jesus this morning. Do I look any different from the people who didn’t?

Ingrid challenged us to see our personal devotions in the morning as a time to prepare ourselves with Jesus for the rest of the day. That way, throughout the day, Jesus and I already have an ongoing conversation.

The time of LETTING GO:
Notice in chapter 17, God finishes telling Abraham about the new promise, his new name, and that his 90 year old wife is going to have a baby! The first words out of Abraham’s mouth are, ‘Ha! That’s not going to happen. How about Ishmael instead?’
The good thing is that God is not only a God of second chances, but of millions of chances. He firmly repeats the promise, but gently answers Abraham’s question about Ishmael, too. God tells Abraham, ‘Let go of the result of your first mistake. I will take care of him. You need to focus on this promise that I have for you.’

The time to BELIEVE:
Abraham heard what God promised and kept his half of the bargain. Genesis 17:23

Not all of us pass through every phase of this covenant process, but most of us will live a few of these stages more than once, so it is encouraging to know that even Abraham doubted and failed and to see how God responded to him with such patience and love.

Sunday

This morning, Sunday, I woke up early and went to eat breakfast with the Oriente family. Marlene and I stayed with them when we were here in May and she lived with them for a long time when she first came to Mexico. Martha cooked a typically delicious breakfast, we talked, I gave them the gifts that Marlene and I got them, watched Cars with Davidcito, and then we all went to church together. When I first got to the Oriente house, baby Daniel was scared of me, but at church, he fell asleep in my arms and there he stayed for 2 hours. That was a gift. The sermon was excellent, called “The Test of Faith”. I think it was a continuation of a series and today he talked about how demons, second hand faith, and convenient faith can distract, hinder, and act as counterfeits to true faith in Jesus. After church a big group of us loaded into two cars and headed to a place in the mountains called Las Truchas, or the trouts. At the top of the mountain is a natural spring of water and a few of the locals have started trout farms by pulling water from the stream into big tanks. You pick the size of fish you want and then they either steam or fry it for you. It comes with a salad, tortillas, and rice. From where we parked the cars, it was about a 10 minute hike to the first trout farm and another 10 minutes to the second. We arrived very hungry to the second farm at about 3:30. Most of us hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but we decided to hike up to the spring before we ate. There is no fixed path so we ended up hopping rocks, hanging on vines, and getting pretty wet and muddy in the 20 minutes it took to get to the spring. It was absolutely beautiful! I had never seen anything like it. It actually looks like the water comes right out of the rock. The water is a bluish gray color, freezing cold, and tasted sweet. Arriving at the spring, we thought we had come to a dead end. All around were cliffs stretching way into the sky and there were thick vines hanging from ancient trees, giving everything a jungle feel. Irma and I were not content to end the day after only a 30 minute hike, so we coaxed some of the more adventurous guys to keep exploring with us. Passing a cave, we found some steep rocks with vines hanging over them and climbed straight up to the top of the cliff. From the top, it looked like we could get to the top of the mountain relatively easily, so off we went. Israel M., Victor, Lalo, Carlos, Javi and came along and we spent the next hour on our hands and knees trying not to fall back down the mountain. At the top, Javi told us that we needed to find a different way down, as that had been too dangerous. We all agreed. Unfortunately we couldn’t find a way back down. We tried going down four different ways and finally decided to try and find the stream and follow it. We found it, but it runs through boulders and down little cascades, so we got very wet and cold in the process only to arrive suddenly on a 300 foot waterfall drop to the spring where we had started. No way down. Climbing back up the mountain took us back to another dead end drop. At this point we were getting worried that it would soon be dark. After the first hour, we stopped hearing the others down below shouting for us and we stopped shouting back, concentrating only on finding a way down. Now we were wet, cold, very dirty, and our wet shoes made it difficult to not slip in the leaves and mud. We fell and slid and finally found a vine hanging over a steep drop. I was first in the exploration line, so I went down first. From the bottom I could see the spring so the others followed me and we ran to the spring to drink water. The others had long since left to go eat their trout, but they were happy to see us. Lalo’s mom was with us and they were all getting worried. I haven’t had so much fun in who knows how long. We all want to go back next Sunday…
We ordered our trout, played on the grass, and talked. Unfortunately, Carlos and Isra found out that a vital piece had fallen off of Isra’s car on the drive up, so we hauled water from the stream and the guys tried to diagnose the problem. After about half an hour we were on the road again, headed for warm showers, tea, and bed.

Saturday

Satuday was such a Mexican day. I had plans to meet Alma “sometime” in the town where she works “somewhere”. By 12:00, when Irma and I had just finished eating breakfast, I still hadn’t heard from Alma. Finally, a text came. It was a list of words for me to memorize and tell the bus driver:
-Lasser = 10 pesos
-Jojutla
-Xoxocotla
-Tequesquitengo
-taxi = 20 pesos (don’t let them cheat you!)
-Centro de Paracaidismo, por favor.
-300 metros después del hotel Vista Hermosa

Irma told me where to find the Lasser bus and off I went. On the bus, I looked around for a sympathetic looking passenger to help me know where to get off. Irma told me it would be about 40 minutes down the road. The lady across the aisle from me looked surprised when I asked her to tell me when we got to Xoxocotla. “Do you want to get off at the libramiento, the centro, or the terminal?” For heaven’s sake, I didn’t know. She said she’d try to help, and then promptly fell asleep. An hour later, we were still rattling down the highway. I was beginning to wonder if we had long since passed my stop when, as if woken by some internal clock, the lady barked, “Guera, this is where you get off!” The bus came to a slow, hissing stop, only to immediately start rolling again without opening the doors. Those of us who had stood up to get off suddenly found ourselves hurled into each other in the aisle. The lady shrugged her shoulders and said, “Well, you can get off wherever we stop next.” Bueno.

At the next stop, there was nothing in sight except a little white building with taxis parked around it. Six or eight men sat, rocked back on their heels, not looking particularly interested in taking any of us to our final destinations. They would, however, be willing to take the “guera” for 40 pesos. I think not.
“Can I get there walking?”
“No.”
“Well, then you’ll have to take me for 30 pesos.”
“OK.”

Off we went to who knows where. He dropped me at a gate and there I stood, wondering what to do next. There was a boy sitting at the gate and I asked him if he knew Alma. That’s like walking up to someone on a college campus and asking where you might find Lindsay. Thankfully, he knew an Alma and she was the same one I was looking for. He pointed up the street with his lips, like all Latin Americans do. Alma works for a skydiving company, so I spent the rest of the afternoon watching group after group be trained, suited up, take off, and fall back to earth. It looks amazing, but I’m still not tempted to spend $250 on a potentially life-threatening event. No gracias. Alma got off work at 6:00 and we met up with another friend, Isabel, to go driving around the lake. We parked the car and walked and walked, finally finding ourselves at a hillside bar where they let me try my first…well, I don’t remember what it was called, but I didn’t like it. And I don’t know it they make micheladas in the States, but beer is bad enough by itself without adding chile, don’t you think?

Then, we went into town to find ice cream, or snow as they call it here. After you’ve eaten ice cream in Mexico, you’ll never be satisfied with American ice cream. It is 100% natural. Flavors like eggnog, coconut, nut (with little nut pieces), every fruit imaginable, for just $1.20. Absolutely delicious!

Unfortunately, we were so much enjoying the ice cream that we lost track of time and I missed my bus back to Cuernavaca. We drove like mad to the next city where it would pass in 20 minutes, but missed that one as well. Fortunately, the 10:30 Pullman bus was just pulling out and I jumped on just in time. Back in Cuernavaca, Irma and I stayed up ‘til the madrugada (early morning) drinking tea and talking about… everything. And so another perfect Mexican day came to an end. : )