Ordinary Vessel

Over the course of the past few months I have been trying to let go of my expectations for my life. I didn’t realize I had so many, until the slightest hint that life might have other plans. I have always had a strong sense of self importance. For good or bad, I always think every motivational speaker is talking to me, and I personalize every sermon. That is what they want us to do isn’t it? Take their messages to heart? Well, I have. And I believe in myself. I believe that I was born to do great things for God. But I’m starting to realize how little that has to do with me, and how much it has to do with the fact that God can use anyone, and he really meant it when he said our righteousness is filthy rags.

I look around, and I’ve been out of college for a year and a half…and accomplishment is not looming on the horizon, but neither is failure. Don’t get me wrong I feel good about a lot of the things I have been working on. I love my marriage. I am inspired by the people in my life, and I will always be grateful for everything that God let me be part of in Nicaragua. I can honestly say that whatever good I accomplished in my time in Nicaragua was the Lord’s work. Though I want to hang my hat on the success of the dance team, I know through and through that God is who breathed life into it, and it is God who is sustaining it. He’s who is sustaining me, some days I feel so desperate to be affirmed outside of him, and he just won’t let it happen. Every self-inflated thought pops the second I compare it to his truths.

I wonder if this is just the beginning of dying to myself. That scriptural principle has always seemed rather elusive to me, dying to myself and letting Christ live in me. And I wonder if I ever would have let him do it, but honestly it feels like he’s killing me. But to be fair I told him he could…over and over actually. I surrender, I give up, I need you….But how far, how much? What was he really asking when he asked me to be his? What was he offering to me? I’m beginning to believe that he really does spit out the lukewarm parts of me, and that sometimes the fire he puts under me is a little hotter than I want it to be. He’s not after a part of me, and when he takes all of it he wants all the credit. I can hardly take ownership of my success because it just feels like I cheated. Every good act, beautiful result, and all standing evidence of my value seem to fall back on the Lord. I might be the front man for Milli Vanilli, but we all know it was that other guy singing.

At a woman’s retreat my sophomore year of high school a woman spoke about having “god-esteem” instead of “self-esteem.” I thought it was a cheesy thing to say, which also meant I loved every word of it, and took it to heart. Remember I do that. But it is starting to feel like that. Perhaps because I’ve always tottered back and forth between pride and insecurity I’ve spent countless hours in self-reflection. Journaling and dreaming and wondering what am I good at? What am I doing here? How will I leave my mark? And on good days I knew I was going to do something extraordinary and on bad days I at least thought I might be rich. But now I’m trying to see a bigger picture. A picture that is more about what God is doing everywhere than just what God is doing in me.

I praise the Lord for the part of the picture I got to see in Nicaragua. I got to see a growing church that God thinks is extremely important. I got to see kids tasting and seeing that He is good. I got to see bored teenagers falling in love with the art of dance and beginning to share it with their community. I got to see generosity in poverty, and reconciliation in relationship. I got to see faith for God’s provision in the midst of actual rather than perceived need. I saw a different genre of life, and I saw God alive and active in it. And it began to feel very normal. And I began to realize that I was not living some epic journey that could encourage the nations, or pioneering a profound work in a third world country. I was just…me…just me in Nicaragua. On the other hand, God…well God he’s doing some really great things, really epic things. He’s incredible. God is the famous one. Remember that song…”you oh Lord are the famous one.” I honestly never really got what that was talking about because I wanted to be the famous one. I would never in a million years have admitted it. But I wanted to be the one he chose. I wanted to be his right hand man. I wanted to be Ruth or Esther or Paul. I always thought of myself as the one writing the letter to the church. I never thought of myself as the random church secretary unrolling the scroll, or the nameless lady in the fourth pew listening intently. But maybe I am. Maybe I’m not the leader, and maybe I’m not the one starting something, maybe I’m just joining it.

Is this depressing? I am not trying to be a dream crusher. I’m just trying to believe what the Lord has said rather than what I interpreted it to mean. And my interpretation of the “least shall be greatest” and “the first shall be last.” Somehow led me to believe that being least and last would feel like being greatest and first. I thought of it as more of a metaphor. But what if God is actually saying “you lose”…Follow me, and I will make you the biggest loser, and by that I don’t mean the skinniest. What if he’s saying nobody will like you anymore? They won’t respect you. They won’t listen to you. They’re going to persecute you. But don’t lose heart they treated me the same way, and through it my father was glorified.

Now that is in the context of the world, hopefully we’re all finding love and acceptance within the context of the church. Hopefully we feel God’s pleasure in us in the gaze of our brothers and sisters eyes. But to the world…well, the world says, “God is a delusion. People who base their lives on God are crazy.” Crazy doesn’t really appeal to me. When my fourth grade teacher pulled me outside the class and told me I was smart I soaked up every bit of it. I like it when people agree with me. I like it when I say something and people get that impressed look in their eye. And I don’t like it when people think I’m crazy, which has caused me to stumble awkwardly through many a conversation in the face of confrontation. All those guilty of watering down their faith raise your right hand and put your other hand on the…oh wait, can we swear on the Bible that sometimes we don’t want to admit that we believe what it says?

Alright, I might be beginning to ramble. But here’s the thing. I’m actually really, really excited about just being on the tip of beginning to grasp this whole dying to self thing. I am actually really pumped about not having the weight of the world resting on my shoulders. I just get to trust him, and be faithful with what he’s given me. And be honest about who I am and what I believe and where he has me. And I’m really important to him, just like every other person on this planet. My sense of self-importance has not been stripped. But it is being transformed. All that stuff you hear about God getting the glory. Well, I’m starting to believe that he really deserves it. And yes, we are his ambassadors, and yes he does lavish his love on us, and yes, he does love for his children to bear his image. But…it’s just not about us in comparison to each other. It’s not about being God’s pet favorite. It’s about being his vessel, humble or exalted. When we let him have us, we get to be everything we’re made for. And sometimes we’re made for ordinary purposes. And I’m beginning to believe that that’s ok.

Mystery bride

I've recently noticed that beaucoups of blogs take a far more light hearted angle than I tend to. In middle school it was brought to my attention that I had a "serious voice" in a addition to my normal speaking voice. I used to my "serious voice" to lead FCA or for intense heart-to-hearts. I do believe that I have been using my "serious voice" perhaps a bit too much for this blog.

On that note, I am at work, and my job is not particularly demanding at the given moment, hence the blog writing. This evening, I have taken 4 reservations, sent 5 emails (one of which was to myself), and given one set of directions (although I did repeat it three times, which is as good as giving three sets in my opinion...definitely sends my productivity for the evening way up the charts). All that in just under three hours. I am available for similar work for $10/hr. if anyones interested. Needless to say being a concierge is not all that Pretty Women would allude to...I have yet to send a single prostitute on a shopping spree or taught anyone table manners, for that matter.

I may not be doing very much, but I am at least dressed festively. I am sporting a very patriotic outfit that took me entirely too long to decide upon. A cream top with lace embellishments around the collar, a red cardigan (Heather Smith once offered to buy it from me due to the fact that it was the very red cardigan of her dreams...in spite of the fact that I only wear it approximately 3 x's a year ....Christmas, Valentine's and the 4th....I didn't take her up on the offer) a large red coral bead necklace with smaller blue accent beads, and a red antique-esque watch given to me by my grandmother.

For those of you that do not know, I am recently employed by a country club in the Asheville area...due to the fact that it is a private company it shall remain nameless. But honestly, if I were to name it than I'm sure I'd be good rather than bad for their PR because I have been quite pleased with them thus far. Anywho, I'm in that awkward training phase where I don't know exactly how to do my job, but there's no one specifically training me any longer...which means I'm putting lots of people on hold for uncomfortable lengths of time, and rummaging around trying to find the answers to their questions.

Last night, there was a wedding here at the anonymous company clubhouse, and due to the fact that the bride was wearing a very unconventional dress I didn't realize she was the bride until way too late in the game.

Our first interaction consisting of me coming down the stairs to find her, along with her sister and the groom rearranging all the guest gift boxes I had alphabetized and oh so carefully displayed at asthetically pleasing angles. I kindly (thankfully) informed her of my game plan. She agreed my method was better than her idea to sort them by table numbers, since the guest did not know their assigned table numbers, and she began re-doing my work. I attempted to help, but four people bustling around one table moving the a's back with the a's and the w's back with the w's was wildly unsuccessful. I retreated, and let them work it out.

Interaction number 2 was shortly after the ceremony, I was designated door holder, the bride and groom asked for Prosecco (Italian wine...don't feel bad, I didn't know what it was either). I brought them their wine quickly without spilling it on them...check. "Congratulations you just got married"...no check.

Interaction number 3 I was holding the door, as the bride walked through holding up her dress:
Bride "it's a little long"
Me "It's beautiful...and I love that bouquet"
Bride "thanks"
this was of course the best interaction thus far. Decent bridal treatment on my part for a perceived non-bride.

Interaction number 4
Bride "did the dj arrive?"
Me "I'm not sure, I haven't seen him."
Bride *worried look
Me "but I did hear someone talking about music. That might have been him." *lame semi-recovery
Groom enters
Bride "let me know if the dj arrives...please." *worried look
Groom "he's here. He was late, but he's here"
Bride and Groom exit.

There were several smiles exchanged later on, but really nothing else to mention. All-in-all I would rate my performance of accomadating the bride a C-. But lets be fair, her dress was smoke colored...gray for the layman. It had an overlapped plunged neckline and a simple flowy floorlength skirt. Her hair was in a simple up-do, modest makeup...A classic Maid-of-honor look. I didn't have a chance.

As the toasts were being made I left my post at the desk to eavesdrop *("The area under the eaves right next to the front of a building used to be called the 'eavesdrop,' and somebody listening in secretively from such a position came to be called an 'eavesdropper.' Unfortunately, so few people distinctly pronounce the V in 'eavesdrop' that many are misled into misspelling it 'easedrop.'"--thank you Paul Brian, Common Errors in English Ussage)* ... I was still hoping to get a glimpse of the bride, quite dumbfounded as to how they had managed to slip past me. I finally realized who the toasts were being directed towards...my good friend the party favor re-arranger.

Why we do the Hows?

We have been on native soul for a month and some change, and it has been a good month. It has been a hard month, but good nonetheless.

Jacob and I are writing our final update about our time in Nicaragua, and hope to get it in the mail and posted here soon! Therefore, this blog shall not bring closure of any sort to our time in Nicaragua...Instead of picking up where we left off, it will spring forward into the present leaving a cliffhanger for those of you that were following. You'll have to wait until we've mentally processed it a bit more. Five months living in a different culture is a difficult thing to try to summarize and share. However, I'll try not to keep you waiting too long. I know it will be good for my heart to put it into words...or at least make an attempt.

Moving on....Transitions anyone? It seems like life always flows in seasons, and sometimes they change gradually, like spring warming up after winter. But sometimes they come at you quick and you feel disjointed like a hot day in March when you can't seem to shed your layers quick enough. This time has been more of the latter, more so for me than for Jacob.

We stepped off the airplane and BAM America in all its glory. We were in a whole new world...only it wasn't new, it was familiar. Eerily familiar and yet we were seeing it with such different eyes. There are now a million questions floating around every procedure and protocol known as American culture. This includes calling it American, seeing as how everyone from Canada to Chile can technically consider themselves American. Jake suggests we call ourselves Statesman...any takers?

The whys of how we "do" life here are like cartoon thought bubbles popping up everywhere I look. Have you ever been in the car riding with someone going somewhere you've driven a million times, and suddenly they take a turn you never take? You wonder why would they go this way...usually the debate ensues as to which route is quicker. But every now and then it isn't about the faster more efficient path, but instead they have chosen to go for a more scenic route or perhaps a more sentimental one. And what if you are in a hurry and they still choose scenery over timeliness? unacceptable?...to "Statesman"...definitely. to Nicaraguans...definitely not. These are the whys I'm talking about. My father is a big believer in "starting on time and ending on time." He considers it a matter of respect. But to a Nicaraguan relating to time is an entirely different animal.

Time is the classic example. And honestly, it has been refreshing not to spend so much time waiting for people to show up...often times they never did in Nicaragua. But, there are many more smaller ways we negotiate our lives with the world around us that are different. But this is not just a matter of culture. It's a matter of individuality. It's a matter of preference. It's a matter of background. It's also a matter of morality. Because if you believe in God...which I do. And you believe in God as a being, rather than a concept, who has opinions, who loves and hates, and is some things and isn't others....which I do. Then you have to know that this God has the ability to trump. Like the ace of spades he trumps our desires. Culture A might consider timeliness and efficiency the point, while culture B votes for ease of pace and enjoying the process...But God comes in and trumps with the LOVE card. He considers love the chief aim. Easy answer right? In 100 words or less please explain love....ready....go: ...I can't do it. I can't explain how to love perfectly and purely in any given situation. I can only choose to take on love every morning and let it walk me through my day.

So love becomes the ultimate And while I don't believe in relative truth, I do believe in flexibility and complexity of truth. I believe in right and wrong. For example, I believe that child abuse is evil, motivated by hate...black.... I believe nurturing children is good, motivated by love....white. I also believe in spanking children, but it depends on the motives and the way it's carried out...gray.

So you see what I mean...lots of questions. Lots of Americans vs. Nicaraguans....vs. Jesus floating around in my head, and I'm trying to make sense of it all. Praise the Lord there is grace in the journey. That he does see our motives, and if our motive is pure then he can gently nudge us when our action is wrong. But when our motive is wrong, even the most precise action becomes so tainted.

About that grace...it doesn't just apply to me. It applies to everyone I come in contact with. Because while my parents may have outlined the rules for living very meticulously to me, my best friend/co-worker/spouse 's parents taught them from a different manual. The Nicaraguans manual only came in Spanish. It takes some compromise and grace to blend the two. But rest assured everything will be on the metric system in Heaven.

In the simplicity of life here I find myself more drawn to beauty than ever. Raw and rich that cannot be bought or fabricated.

Beautiful....
little girls laughter as they spin in circles and jump on mattresses

fervor in Rosa's eyes burning like our beachside campfire as she prayed for sweet Teresa's homelife

Jovanny's smile as he recounted to the other youth our antics on his birthday, smashing an egg on his head, singing brazenly in the park, asking strangers to serenade him...for his smile has been absent as of late in the midst of his parent's separation, his brief reprieve from worry and weight was brought by the first ever celebration of his birthday, 17 years in the making

watching teenagers taste and see that God is good..."I've never experienced God's presence like this before...and I really like it." Elisa, 14

the "thump" sound as Yahaira fearlessly flipped onto the sinking sand...a sight reminescent of tweedle dee and tweedle dum...hilarious

coffee and intercession with my girls Lisa, Lindsay and Darling yesterday morning, falling in sync with the Holy Spirit, experiencing the intimacy of prayer

thankfulness over small blessings... a pair of flip flops, a bottle of antiseptic gel, an oreo, mouthwash

"he was like a brother to me," Linda Melissa whispered with tears in her eyes, as she asked Jacob for a photo of her and her pet rooster that is now in a better place

the ability to build Marta a new stove that passively ventilates the smoke to outside of her home, in order to stop aggravating her asthma

Francisca's blue roof rafters, because the details that matter to us matter to God as well

Let those cares fall off

“A thankful heart prepares the way for you my God.” -100 Portraits, Enter the Worship Circle 3

Our days here are slipping away like sand in an hourglass, and as we come up on the final month of our trip in Nicaragua I can hear a whisper in my heart, “drink it in, my dear, taste it all…don’t lose heart, finish the race.”

Our God has been thoroughly, beautifully faithful to us. He has met our needs, blessed our efforts and encouraged our spirits along the way. I find myself increasingly grateful for the opportunity to be here. It is funny how in the midst of something extraordinary it can seem rather ordinary until you take the time to notice. It’s easy to get bogged down by life, easy to forget what a wild and lovely story God is telling. It’s easy to become a bystander in our own lives. This is part of why I like the idea of keeping a blog, or of writing in a journal… or anything that marks the days because it forces us to take notice, to pause and recognize the hand of God in our lives, and in turn give thanks. For in every season there is cause for thanks. If you are breathing, give thanks.

I woke up feeling grumbly. When met in the kitchen by Lindsay (a member of our team, who radiates the love of God…invite her out for coffee if you ever get the chance) and asked if I would be joining them for our scheduled Thursday morning worship, I shook my head, half-asleep, I think I muttered that I wasn’t really “feeling it.” As I began to chop up a mango for breakfast, and my sweet husband began preparing French toast I began to perk up, although not quite enough to want to join in the group’s activities. But then, of course thoughts of guilt rose up in me…I am currently a missionary after all, skipping out on morning worship isn’t really the type of behavior that is applauded amongst God’s workers. And yet, these thoughts of guilt were abruptly stopped by another voice, one not quite so sleepy, a good deal clearer. This voice spoke of having grace for myself and the freedom to pull away sometimes to take care of myself, to enjoy my morning as I pleased. This voice reminded me that God is not a god of rules and expectations, but one of relationship, intimacy and honesty. The Holy Spirit was short circuiting any attempt to thwart my morning.

Yes, I did go to morning worship, but no, I didn’t go out of obligation. Something about being reminded that our God is sincere, and patient, and really isn’t all that demanding, prompted me to sit at his feet for a while this morning. And once I got there it turned out God wasn’t expecting me to do a trick for him, or jump through a hoop. He didn’t even mind that I was a little groggy.

Pressure…. Grace…. Expectations…. These have been frequent in my thoughts in my time here, and as I read through the New Testament I find confirmation after confirmation, that God is a God of grace. That this life he is calling us to is not a life of rigid, strict regulations and repeated failures. It is a life brimming with love. We are to walk a road of God’s delight in us paved by the sacrifice of Jesus. “God loved us while we were yet sinners” ….yet sinners…
If I can see how dearly loved the man on the street is, why do I so often look at myself with a critical eye? I’m his. He loved me before I acknowledged him, and he loves me still. I wasn’t capable of winning my salvation, and I’m not capable of proving I was worth it. It’s really just too wonderful for me. All that is required of me is faith. For without faith it is impossible to please God. I simply believe him. Trust him. Admit that I need him. Recognize that he is true and good. That Jesus was his son, that what he endured was more than enough to set me free and make me new. And it is indeed that faith, not my own strong will or self-discipline that makes me new. We are transformed by faith, not by works. The Holy Spirit prompting and convicting, blessing and encouraging us is what bears the fruit in our lives.

Yes, for these things I am indeed thankful. Not to mention relieved. I’m finding it much to my liking letting all my cares fall at his feet; they were awfully heavy to carry around.

Where do I begin for so much has taken place since I last wrote? I suppose I can start with today, and then try to hit some highlights from the past month or so. But first let me just say that I love my life here. The more I get to know God the better he gets. He has blessed our time here in countless ways, and there is so much to thank him for.

This morning I woke up in an air conditioned room, snuggled up to my husband. It was incredible. We lost power over two months ago, and we got it back two nights ago. Praise God!!! We used a generator throughout that time, but it was only strong enough to run a few things at a time, and it was never strong enough to run things like coffee pots, microwaves, hair dryers, and definitely not air conditioning. In the heat of the night, cuddling has not been an option, so it was a beautiful thing to rest my head on Jacob's chest in the early hours of this day.

I just got done with dance class, and I am thrilled with how God is moving within that ministry. Tonight three churches are coming together for a special holy week (Easter week) service. They have been working on a dance for the past month, and are going to share it tonight. We held class as usual yesterday, but they insisted on going over it again this morning, and after running it multiple times, they're planning on rehearsing again before service. They are so nervous and excited. And I loved watching them work together this morning as one unified body.

The youth that have been coming are so precious to me, and more than me I know they are so precious to the Lord. The photo to the left shows four of my students, Elisa, Joel, Teresa and Jiovanny.

It has been such a journey teaching dance classes here. I typically begin each class asking "quien quiere horrar?" which means, "who wants to pray?" Two months ago the answer to that question was often no one, but I have watched them grow in confidence with simple things like opening up the class in prayer. After prayer we have a time of informal Bible study and discussion. We talk about God and why he is so worthy of our worship. We talk about
"offering up our bodies as living sacrifices," and finding our gifts and the purposes he has in our daily lives. We invite his presence and enjoy his love.

Then we move. In this culture exercise is not nearly as emphasized as it is in the States. I was initially surprised when the teenagers would show up for dance class, and then tell me they didn't want to move, much less dance. But none of them grew up in rec league, and for many of them this is there first ever dance class, so this is a new structure for them. For many it's the first activity based on movement for the joy of it rather than because it is a necessary task (such as carrying 5 gallon buckets of water, the 1/2 mile back to their house, when the water frequently goes out). But I am happy to say that after three months they are stretching, lunging, working out their abs, plieing, and tenduing with the best of them...well maybe not quite the best of them, but it's happening. Warming up has always been my least favorite part as well, so I suppose I can't really blame them.

I have tried to use the remainder of each class to give them a foundation in dance. They have learned four different dances so far, giving them a taste of different technique and ways to move. We have done a lot of choreography generating activities as well because I think learning how to create dance is essential for them when I leave. They make up short phrases of movement, and work in pairs and groups. As a journalism major, I have incorporated a good bit of writing exercises into my classes, perhaps because that is how I create. I move and reflect, I process my movement with words, and I process my words with movement. These kids have written the most beautiful poems to the Lord. They have written memories and stories of his faithful hand in their lives, and then they have used it as inspiration for improvisational dance. The truth is these kids inspire me so much.

I planned on writing broadly and giving an overview, so much for that. I just get so excited that I want to tell it all and I simply cannot do it justice. I suppose I will just tell a little more about the dance aspect, and then write again later about all the other awesome things God has been doing here. Now that we have power again, the internet should be less sporadic, and I will try to write more frequently. But honestly, it's just hard to pull away, to write blogs and email, from all the people that are literally just outside my door right now, eager to spend time with me.

I have been teaching three very different groups. I teach a little girls class and a youth class, both twice a week in Candelaria where I am living. Then I travel every Sunday to La Isla to teach in a more rural community.

The La Isla class (pictured to the left) is such a gift to me. They are hungry! They're thankful. They listen and learn. They are gentle, helpful and encouraging to one another. It's a bumpy, dusty ride on my bicycle with many catcalls and creepy guys along the way...but it is absolutely always worth the trip.

The little girls in Candelaria are a mess (Juniet, Karla, and Kenia are pictured below.) They are a handful, and they wear me out...but I completely adore them. I wrote about them initially, about their zeal and faithfulness. I ran into a bit of a problem with them about a month and a half ago. They became overly focused on performing, they were fighting amongst themselves, and were a bit too sassy. When I told them the focus of the class was going to be on learning to dance and working together rather than showing off what they had learned every chance they could, the class practically disappeared. But over time, the class has been rebuilding itself, and I am still waiting to see what it will become. I spend a lot of time with these little girls outside of the class going to the park, the grocery store, and simply sitting or walking around, and even within the class I think often that it's main purpose is for them to have my attention, my love, and have something to look forward to. They need discipline, for sure, and I know God is bringing some structure to their lives through the class, but it's been a slow process.

The La Isla class and the Candelaria class are about as different as can be imagined, but God gave me the idea to combine the two last week. It was interesting to say the least.

Several youth and Lindsay, a member of the mission team, accompanied me as I took my class from here to La Isla. We hitched a ride with a trustworthy man in the community most of the way there. We walked the rest of the way, which took about half an hour. I quickly found out that not everyone who had been so anxious to come was entirely prepared for all that it entailed, namely walking in the heat of the day along a dusty road, through two small rivers, and a sugar cane field. 11-year-old Karla was granted permission to come on the condition that she bring her 4-year-old sister, Kaylinn, with her that she is responsible for. We planned on arriving in time to go swimming before class, but by the time we got and blown up all of our floaties and tubes they only had twenty minutes in the springfed pool. This did not put them in the greatest of moods, but I am happy to say I only had to threaten to talk to their parents once and count to five before they got out of the water.

As can be expected, the fact that we arrived 10 minutes late to class, meant that we still waited another 20 minutes for all of the La Isla students to arrive. I was so pleased with how the class went. We started with the name game, warmed up and practiced a dance that both groups have been learning. The Candelaria girls were the most disciplined and attentive that they have ever been, largely due to the behavior of the La Isla students. I even paired them up with one partner from each class, and had them get to know each other a little more. I felt God's pleasure at bringing two groups of his children together.

As the class resolved though, Rosa, from Candelaria, volunteered to close in prayer. She perceived some sort of judgment about this from the La Isla class, which I am utterly convinced was non-existent. And quick as a flash, the Candelaria girls were huddled off to the the side passionately fussing about how the La Isla girls didn't like them, how I liked the La Isla girls better...etc... As we said our goodbyes, my hopes for social bridging, unity and friendships being forged weren't exactly soaring. But it was a start.

Poverty, parental neglect, rampant gossip, jealousy and insecurity all play a huge part in these children's lives. Their emotions are on a high speed roller coaster, and they are quick to get defensive and angry. But I get the silent treatment less often than I used to, and little by little God is teaching them about healthy relationships and consistent love.

It took us two hours to walk back from dance class. Half-way back Kaylinn squirmed out of my arms abruptly and made a mad dash for the woods, as diarrhea hit her. I ignored a drunk man expressing his admiration, who then proceeded to throw rocks at me, thankfully he wasn't a good shot. We received a warm welcome from strangers where we stopped to ask for water along the way. We had a talk about how I love all my students and have different relationships with them, and how their perception of the girls in La Isla was a bit brash. As I dropped them off at their homes I was ready to crash, thankful that there is a good sovereign God "working all things together for good for those who know and love him." And as Jake's Papa always says, "well, we sure made a memory."

Can you hear the angels singing?

Erling’s and Abel’s names are now written in the Lamb’s book of life. The air was thick with the presence of the Lord, as the Holy Spirit prompted and led me, I helped walk them through receiving salvation last night. Praise God. As I type this I’m on the verge of tears for I feel God’s heart so strongly. He’s overjoyed.

I spoke last night to the youth about God’s desire to be known for who he truly is, and how he revealed much of his character through the life of Jesus. Simple words, and a simple concept, but so much of the culture here is entangled in appearances. Pastors rant about playing cards on Sunday morning and carry on affairs throughout the week. Fathers adorn their daughters with new outfits and jewelry, and yet can’t afford rice and beans. This carries over into all of their relationships. They fear true intimacy and true vulnerability. I concluded talking about God’s desire to be known, by discussing how he has given us that same desire, and how we are here to know them, to support them, to offer a safe place to be honest about their innermost fears and desires.

We passed out “we want to know you” questionnaires. And then broke up into groups of threes and fours to discuss our favorite colors, future aspirations, and tastes in music. When my group, Erling, Abel and I, got to question 10: “Are you a Christian? For how long have you been one?” the Holy Spirit took the reins. As they both responded “no,” I felt God’s presence wash over me. There was an urgency in God’s whispers in my ear, “today is the day of salvation.” I shared the Lord’s love, and my pleasure in serving him. We talked about the fulfillment only offered in the embrace of God’s plans for our lives. We talked and prayed and talked some more, to all of which they replied, “one day...not yet…we’re not prepared.”

The groups around us began to disperse; the meeting was coming to a close. “We’re not done talking. Let’s go outside,” I said.

Oh, did I forget to mention, this was Erling’s first time ever coming to our church, I’d never seen him before, and here I was speaking with such passion about how God was calling for a decision. I’m typically very patient. In the states I often discuss my beliefs with phrases like, “this has been my personal experience,” and “I certainly don’t know everything.” But last night my desire not to “push conversion” was overcome by the Lord’s cry to be known, and his passion for these two young men.

I was listening closely for guidance from the Holy Spirit. As we stepped outside Abel said, “I felt something run through my arm when you were praying inside. I liked it.” Encouraged by his perception of the Holy Spirit moving among us, I prompted further discussion. When “not prepared” continued to course through our conversation, I asked if I could pray again. I petitioned the Lord to prepare them, to open their heart and to open their ears. I confessed my complete inability to persuade them, and how I needed him to show himself to them. As I ceased my prayer, neither Abel nor Erling released my hands. They held tight, and as I looked around the circle at their closed eyes I knew that they felt the same peace and love I was experiencing at that moment. And I knew that upon tasting God’s presence, upon him stirring their hearts they were eager for more. I began to sing, for God inhabits the praises of his people, even when it’s sung in my imperfect Spanish. Then God led me in leading them through a prayer of confession, repentance, and acceptance of the hope that we have in Jesus Christ. With slight hesitation, with muffled tones they began to whisper their prayers to the Lord. And then I began to sing again, and this time Abel and Erling joined their voices with mine growing more confident with every word. Undoubtedly our songs were merely an accompaniment to the chorus of angels in heaven rejoicing.