Adventures in Ambridge

It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it. - Anais Nin

I'm back! And writing again, from a new place, with new people, in a new phase of life. Just sitting here in front of my blank computer screen, with my fingers sitting on this familiar, well loved, and dusty keyboard, sets my mind as well as my heart at ease. A year ago today, I would still have been walking the dusty streets of Chinandega- loving, learning, and growing infinitely with every experience. Writing keeps me thinking and processing, steady in the midst of all the change and unfamiliar that my life seems to consistently throw my way. Over and over again my life always proves to be a constant expression of the Lord's creativity in me. I am an artist, and I live in the medium of expression. So I create, and I do write.

A lot of things have changed since June 2013, but the Lord's goodness and unfailing presence in my life is not one of them. So after much encouragement from friends and family, and nagging from somewhat of my own self introspection- I am writing again. 

I want to shake up this familiar scene of first world life. I want to see new meaning in it that I know is predestined to be there. This particular summer is not a mission trip, a thrilling life journey, or another third world adventure. Seemingly mundane in fact, this summer consists of living and working in Ambridge, Pennsylvania (where I believe the Lord has called me for the summer) and leaving behind once again, the beloved and beautiful coast of Charleston, South Carolina. Ambridge is a small distressed steel-town with more character and overcast weather than even Nicaragua in rainy season (which would be the season they are in right now if I remember correctly). 

The question of the summer has been "Why Ambridge? Why on earth would you leave the beautiful southern coast to come to a place like this?" And my answer is simple: Where He goes, I go. Where He stays, I stay. And when He says step out on the water, and they say it can't be done, I will fix my eyes on Him and I will come. So that is my summer story- stepping out onto the waves of industrial Ambridge, and looking for Jesus. Looking for Him, with full and trusted expectancy to find Him.

So heres to new adventures, even domestic ones, and a continuation of my stories walking on this crazy water.

Home and Back Again

Since I've been back to Nicaragua there has been a lot to do, a lot to think about, and a LOT to process. Everything just seems like a blur of emotions, mission teams, translations, barrio work-  and having to processing everything all at the same time without a break to just sit and breathe.  Yesterday was a hard day. Yesterday was one of those days when I feel so much, so strongly that I feel I am in danger of hugely spilling over the delicate edge of my self control. I think I need to be strong, to try not to think, not to feel. I feel like I need to keep face, stay composed for the many eyes that see me, and yet don't see me at all- the people who look and see the American, the Jesus follower, the missionary.. I don't want to mess up. I don't want to distort their view of any of those things as I live, defining them, for the watchful eyes on me day after day in and around Chinandega- I feel like there is too much at stake.. But as I laid on my bed and wept and wept, letting all of my emotion and thoughts and confusion be released through cold, wet tears soaking through my pillowcase- Jesus saw me, and he knew me. And still, he loved me through and through. 

I am not perfect, and the one who matters doesn't expect me to be. He makes me look inward, and ask: Who am I seeking to please? Who am I striving to serve? Man or my most perfect heavenly Father? Who has (past tense- ie already) chosen me as I am- to be my imperfect and battered self here where he's placed me, in His city in Nicaragua. I am not perfect. And by the grace of God I am reminded of that daily. I am human, and sometimes I feel like I might explode with all the sadness, love, guilt, joy, and frustration that fills me beyond overflowing on a daily basis. And think I need to be strong... But I am broken. And how can I not be? How can you not be overwhelmed when you've chosen to live like this, chosen to accept this kind of calling- living, crying, laughing, hurting- loving with your heart completely exposed as you offer it to every child, every stranger, every friend I meet here in Nicaragua... feeling Jesus' heart more and more as he reaches for me. And I am growing. I've seen extraordinary things come from ordinary people- imperfect people- people like me. And it has nothing to do with me, or them, or you- but everything to do with Him, the One who is alive and moving in us. There are hard days- full of tears and confusion, but soon followed by days of praise and peace. Always as promised, because His promises are true. And He never promised that His call would be easy, he insured us of just the opposite in fact. 

And this is the reason for the great hope we have to share in the incredible person of Jesus Christ. I am so blessed to know it, and even just begin to understand it in my brokenness in this broken world, more fully every day.

First Steps

Andre is walking! And it is a sweet, sweet thing to be present at such a precious time as this, a child taking his first steps. He is very wobbly, and looks a little bit like a drunken old man, but oh he is so cute. If we set him up against a wall and call for him to come to us across the corridor he always smiles, knowing his adorable newly acquired ability, and laughs as he ventures a few unsteady steps from the wall and into the loving hands of the one waiting to catch him. You can see the pure joy and delight in Andre’s face as he continues to take his first steps right into this exciting new phase of his life. And it’s fun, for him and for us, to see him trusting himself more and more to walk, and us more and more to catch him when he doesn’t. We tell him we are there- behind him, in front of him, on either side- and he hears us, but I don’t think he really believes us until he is caught in our arms, one stumbling step after another. Like I said, it’s a tender thing- and the Lord is so kind to let me be a part of it. He reminds me a lot of myself, Andre, as he stumbles along as best he can, eager to walk but not having a clue what his feet are doing- just walking straight towards the one thing he knows. Sometimes I am so worried about my “ministry”, and so focused on what I need to be doing or improving in, that I realize I am just stumbling over what the Lord has thoughtfully placed in front of me everyday. I realize that I have trapped myself in my own definition of what I think ministry should look like. And I am stuck inside the same box I have squeezed ministry into- mistakenly thinking that ministry is what I do, and not who I am. If Jesus made us all in the image of himself (which is unquestionably true- see Genesis 1:27), and He lives in believers (also true- see Colossians 1:27), and ministry in its purest form is simply showing the world who Jesus is and what His vast and immeasurable love looks like, then ministry- put simply- is living into who you are; living into the person the Lord created you to be. Ministry isn’t what you do- it’s who you are. Ministry comes from understanding Colossians 1:27, that Christ is in you, the hope of glory! And I have come to see that simply understanding and therefore living into that inconceivable truth allows Christ in you to shine forth, letting your light shine before all men, acknowledging the Lord in all your ways, and letting Him make straight the paths before you, in front of your feet, one stumbling step at a time. I try so hard to be constantly “doing” ministry while I am here, and if there is ever a slow hour, or day, or even week, I struggle incessantly to find things to make up for lost time as soon as the opportunity arises, as if the Lord has forgotten about me and isn’t already perfectly at work in that very moment. I go helplessly and excitedly ahead, looking for what I could or can be doing, and I stumble. I miss the beauty in each step the Lord has placed on the path before me, when all I need do is take the time to look at my feet, and the one in who’s holy footsteps I am walking, and let them lead me. Because even if your feet don’t know what they are doing, you know your path is straight. I feel like lately all I have been learning and experiencing and in turn telling you about, has been internal, in the form of revelations or teachings or self-growth. And that bothered me, because it didn’t fit my definition of ministry, of what I was limited God’s anointing on my life to. Now I take joy in simply learning and walking, mindfully following the path that has been set before me, because my ministry is my life- in my most mundane of circumstances, to my most thrilling adventures. And THAT is huge.

Ministry is your life; it’s who you are!

I pray that we can realize the reality of that, of Colossians 1:27, Christ living IN you, the HOPE of GLORY. I pray for growth from Jesus simply being a moral compass, to not only being a holy Father and perfect Savior, but the truest Lord of your life, and your very closest companion. And I pray for trust, as He wants to lead our wobbly steps thoughtfully on the path He has laid before us, beckoning us towards him through the still and the storm, step by step just like a child; and it is a sweet, sweet thing.

Lost?

We had our first mission group come in two weeks ago! It was like my birthday, Christmas, and everything good all at once as soon as I saw those familiar (and unfamiliar) American faces coming towards me at the airport. It was wonderful being able to speak English, relate to people, form relationships, and share what I’d been learning with them. Translating was also a huge blessing, being able to see how far I’d come since I had arrived 2 short months earlier. I feel like just in the team being here, with their presence and their encouragement I was able to understand, apply, and live out everything I had been learning and everything the Lord had been working in me- how he had been changing me. And that was really cool to see. Before the team had arrived I had felt lost and unsure- and there are definitely still times, many times, when I feel this way- but a new friend recently reminded me of something that was said towards the end of the trip that stuck with her that shed some needed light into my confusion. It was when the team was headed to the beach, for a free day after our week of ministry, and after driving a ways in the direction of our desired destination and some obvious confusion from the drivers seat, the van pulled over on the side of the road. “Are we lost?” a van passenger asked from the back seat, and the response was this, “No we’re not lost, we just don’t know where we are going.” And that made me think. Of course we are not lost. We are in the hands of an all-knowing God, always, even when we may not know where we are going. But we can know in the midst of unknowing, of trials, and confusion- we are exactly where we are supposed to be; we are walking with the Lord. And oh what a beautiful walk it is.

Being uncomfortable makes you stronger in a way, it makes you grow. And being here, alone, performing in dramas in another language in front of huge groups of people, rapping Spanish songs, sharing my testimony literally every where, finding out I’m the guest speaker at an assembly only right as I walk through the door and find an applauding audience waiting for me, being uncomfortable in one situation after another, after another, after another... It’s hard, and it’s breaking me down, letting a very authentic and very raw version of myself surface. And this is very strategic on God’s part I’m sure I’m growing. And the Lord, in leading me into this brokenness, is making me new and growing me into someone new- and in being beautifully broken, I feel stronger every day. I read the story recently of the woman pouring her perfume on Jesus’ head in Mark 14- and the beauty that this story holds continues to blow me away the more and more I read it. One of the things I love about Mark’s account of the event is that he specifies that the woman had to break the jar before she could anoint Jesus, and the sweet aroma of the nard perfume could fill the room. This perfume, called nard, is a very expensive, very valuable possession, probably the most valuable thing this woman owned, and its aroma was said to relieve grieves and pains of the past, and ease the transition from life to death. This woman would not have been able to perform this beautiful act if the vessel had not first been broken. I think only in becoming completely broken, can the Lord fill you, infiltrating every part of your heart, and heal wounds and pains of the past, making you new. And I think that is a huge reason why I am here, and what the Lord is doing in my being here. Being in trying, uncomfortable situations day after day is in many ways bringing out the worst in me, breaking me in order to heal and grow me in all the ways he has planned to. He leads me into situations that test me, that make me better. It’s hard and sometimes confusing, but a beautiful thing, and always a complete surprise. Living down here, in the confusion, in the beauty, in the chaos, I am comforted with the promise that in all of this I’m being made new- I am being broken. And I am certainly not lost; I am walking with the Father, into the unfathomable and great adventure He has laid before me.

Sometimes being here is really hard, and sometimes I wish I would just understand. Sometimes I wish I were understood, and that there was somebody here who really knew me. Sometimes I think its too hard, and too much. And sometimes, I wish I were home. I can't remember what it feels like to be emotionally, mentally, spiritually comfortable. I can't remember what it's like to not be tired. I can't remember the last time I could really call something my own, or even think of putting myself first at all. 
And I can't remember ever feeling so alive, and so right in so many ways.
Sometimes I feel too blessed for this to be real- to really be where I am, with the wonderful people I am serving beside, doing the beautiful things I've been able to do. Sometimes I feel like I can't take another day, and sometimes I feel like I could never leave. I can't remember ever seeing love and loving so much, so deeply, so vulnerably. And I can't remember there being a time when it wasn't worth it. Does it make life harder? Probably. But does it change lives? Absolutely. It's definitely changing mine. Through joys and through hardships, through tears and through prayers to our sweet Father, I feel the Holy Spirit deep at work in every part of my heart, and every part of my life.
There are times, many times, when I don't wan't to crucify myself daily. And thats when I have to remind myself: this isn't about me.
I am weak, and I have to pray for strength daily, for peace, for endurance, for a joy that is overflowing, when I so often run dry. I am here, and I am SO incredibly thankful and glad, in good times when I feel strong, and bad when I am weak. And in these times, in these trials, praise the Lord it is to test my faith, and not my character. Praise the Lord it's not about how strong or good I can be, but about how a strong He is, and how He is perfect, and enough, in every situation. And praise the Lord, all I have to do is remember, breathe, and surrender it all to the one who is more than capable, more than able, and more than enough for me.

Head to Heart

This past Sunday we made the 8 hour drive to North San Pedro, a mountain barrio about 400km from home in Chinandega. Those 8, almost 9 hours made for the longest, most pleasant drive I'd had in a while: the beautiful landscapes, the dirt roads, windows down..  everything completely new, everything exciting, and nothing but nature for miles and miles. This paired with sweet songs of worship, the whole way there- in English, Spanish, tongues..
Upon our arrival in the evening, we attended a church service where we spoke, shared testimonies, led music, and worshipped together. There were no doors to this church just a huge gated archway at the entry, and large open windows along the walls. And that was home for two days, administering medicine, praying for the community, bathing in the river, and sleeping on the warm floor every night, fans spiraling above us. It was there, laying on the hard ground, the  holy ground of that precious church, that something became very clear to me. And its one of those head to heart knowledge things that i cant  explain, because its simply Jesus. Ive been praying for humility and continue to, for my life to reflect John 3:30, to become nothing so Christ can be everything. As i reflect on the hardest times since I've been here, in my most difficult moments, they've all been about me. I've been focusing on me, how I'm doing, how I'm growing, how I'm measuring up, how I'm being seen here. Of course when I take my eyes off of Jesus all I'm going to see is the storm that's surrounding me. And without jesus, without him as my focus, as my center every day, every hour, every second- I know the waves will over take me. They have, and they will, every time I look at myself instead of Jesus. Praise God that this is not about me. Praise God that he is perfect and flawless and good and holy in every situation. And praise God he allows us to walk with him, towards him as changes us little by little, revelation by revelation- more of him less of us. Gosh Praise our sweet and kind father for that. So simple, yet so profound that God could  change my heart simply by the knowledge of it.
We left San Pedro late and decided to stay the night in Rio Blanco at a local Christian radio station, and doing another medical brigade in the church where we slept the next morning. Day 4 of the journey was much like the rest: tiring, hot, exciting, full of people, medicine, soccer, coconuts, oh and the new parrot we bought for Rossy for Valentines day. She is big and her sex is as of now undetermined, so we are calling her Lulu (taken from the name of this kind of parrot in Spanish, which is Lora), indefinitely. As we were packing up the truck and trailer once again, heading to another community that needed medicine instead of heading home, I got the incredible pleasure of introducing Lulu to four precious children who lived down the street, two boys and two girls. I talked with them, and gave the girls the coconut Lulu and I were sharing to feed her themselves, as the boys insisted on testing my theory that Lulu really couldn't bite that hard. As we talked and played with the palm branches and coconuts that scattered the ground around us, I realized the pure joy that was coursing through my veins, that was contagious, starting in the children's eager smiles and (seeping) right into my heart. I see Jesus so clearly in children. Something about kids, about their reckless joy and love and excitement for life. They absolutely radiate the joy and love that I'm sure embody the character of my friend and my savior Jesus Christ. Watching them laugh and play and embrace me with open arms, I couldn't help but let my heart swell with everything these children were bringing to me, and realize that I have nothing to give them that they haven't given me already.  I look at them, and i see Jesus.  I look at their dirty feet and worn clothes and welcoming smiles, and want to give them everything. And I know, deep in the core of my being, all I have is Jesus. I know all they need- all I need- is Jesus. And he's everything.
As we drive the dark and winding dirt roads, continuing on our never-ending adventure, my heart is full once again; in this truck, filled with pillows, my fellow Nicaraguan adventurers, and their sweet songs of praise- to the Father, to the Son Jesus Christ, who can be and has been and always will be everything for his people now and forever

Faithfulness Continued...

I can almost feel the climate beginning to climb into the warmer months tonight, as I lay here on my bed with my fan on high, typing out my thoughts and hopes and experiences for the world to read (the world, or my single official “follower” on blogspot- thanks Drew). It’s rare that my fan ever goes on a higher than setting 2, on a dial of 1 to 4, because Chris and I have discovered that increasing intensity from that stage simply creates a relentless Jurassic Park-like noise and a dangerous clicking sound from somewhere within the erratically spinning blades. Tonight however, as it is a particularly scorching evening and my roommates are happily in the air conditioning of the parent’s room, I am thankful for the aggressive background noise, as it drowns out the sounds of the suffering American karaoke session apparently happening with the Catholics next door.

So, for now, Jurassic Park roars..

Even with the stifling heat and noisy fan waiting for me as I get into bed, I graciously welcome this time every evening- time to lay still, to breathe. Right before I let my exhaustion drag me into hot, dreamless sleep however, and I am still, with the night and calm atmosphere that surrounds me- then, I can let the world slow, and my mind with it, letting my thoughts settle into this semi-cohesive stream of consciousness. And I can feel an overwhelming rush of gratitude and admiration wash over me.

I think of God’s faithfulness.

Over the past week my work with El Shaddai has drastically changed. The past month of helping out at the clinic, and doing odd jobs in every part of the ministry, never having a set agenda, going to all the meetings, doing all the activities, traveling to all the barrios- I felt so scattered. And though I still loved it- the hard, the easy, the dramatic, the mundane- I still couldn’t help feeling a little lost. A little unsure of why God had called me here. A little unsure if even the Lord had called me here. And then lately, this week especially, all the events, all the activities, all the translating, all the meetings are finally paying off; I just finished an El Shaddai document that is essentially all that is El Shaddai- the vision, the mission, the contacts, the ministry, the programs (including new children’s sponsorship programs just drafted this week), and the many ways to donate- and will be passing it on to any church with an interest in missions abroad. I can act as a translator, I can write official documents and emails for the ministry, I can partner with pastors and draft new programs that I think would be beneficial for the ministry, I can raise awareness in churches in the US, I can serve the people and the Ministry here to the best of my ability while I am here, and I can be the eyes and ears of people who are elsewhere, because I’ve seen it, and done it all already.

I think of God’s faithfulness.

Today was hard. I had to wake up at 7 for a pastor’s conference in Chichigalpa, and naturally it was a down hill spiral from there. Mid-afternoon as I lay down to rest, almost reaching my much-needed sleep, I got called to go to a bible study with the Pastora, and I would be leading some worship, and we were leaving now. My heart could not have been in a less-happy state as I sauntered into the van and buckled in next to Rossy. As we reached la iglesia Santa Ana, and circled the block a few times I asked where we were going, and the answer I received changed my state of mind immediately.

This past Sunday in church after the offering, a woman stood from her seat and came forward to share a testimony with us. I had never seen her before, which was understandable given my new circumstances, and so when I asked my neighbor who she was and they said all they knew was she ran with prostitutes, I braced myself for the story I’d heard too many times before- the story I hoped wasn’t coming.

Her name is Indiana. She is in her 40s or 50s, beautiful, and so incredibly valued and precious to the Lord. And as she stood in front of the church that day, sharing her broken heart and life with us, my lacking Spanish kept me from understanding everything entirely, but what I could understand brought tears to my eyes and a stomach wrenching ache deep in my heart. Indiana’s mother was a prostitute, and only a few short years after she was born her mother took her to a prostitution house, where I believe she was working at the time, and left her there. Painful years past and eventually she was allowed the opportunity to go live with her grandmother, which she took immediately. Indiana was 12 years old. Her grandmother died shortly thereafter, so she returned to her mother, thinking she would be received with loving and remorseful open arms. When Indiana found her mother, her mother was irate, beating her nearly to death on sight before selling her to another prostitution chain. Beaten, hopeless, and alone, Indiana worked as a prostitute in Chinandega for 30 years. Then she met Jesus. And with time, love, and Jesus’ sweet words of salvation and redemption, her broken heart and broken life were transformed into whole, new ones. After church that Sunday she came and ate with us in the afternoon, and played volleyball with us in the evening. The next day she went with Montse, Chris, and I to the market to go shopping for Montse’s graduation. And today we were meeting her at La Casa de Mujeres, for a bible study- a bible study with all of her prostitution friends whom she had invited. This was going to be the first one. My heart leapt.

I think of God’s faithfulness.

After circling the block what seemed like 11 times, we finally found the place we were looking for, a small gynecology office who knew many of the girls who were intended to be a part of this new bible study, and offered an empty consultation room as a possible meeting place. Two little girls painting their fingernails at the gate greeted us and sent us to the very back where Indiana was cleaning the room we were to be meeting in. When we got there Indiana informed us that no one was coming, that everyone had declined her invitation. My leaping heart caught in my throat. No one was coming. Indiana explained the girls’ mindsets to us, and began to talk to us about these friends of hers. Every account she gave us of their lives, as well as her previous one, drew pain and tears out of my raw heart as the Lord tugged it with every word. She still struggles to make ends meet, and more times than not, feels forced back into her previous life in order to provide for herself and her 3 children. She told me she wanted to start a bible study program, teaching the Word, as well as teaching prostitutes to sew, as an alternative income to the self-soliciting they feel trapped in now. I told her, fighting tears once again, that I would love to help her, and try to help get sewing machines and materials, and whatever they needed to get people up on their feet again, and out of the horrible sex industry. On hearing this, I can’t describe the look Indiana gave me as her sad and weary face broke out into a watery smile, tears escaping from her eyes and leaking in a constant stream down her face- causing mine to do likewise.

I think of God’s faithfulness.

I am so quick to doubt- so quick to lose trust, to be faithful with little… only then to turn the corner and see the bigger picture, to see the Lord be faithful with much. I have a restless spirit, so impatient, so ready to go- to see impact, results, and changes. God didn’t call me to Nicaragua for a sprint; He called me for a 7-month marathon. Everything in His perfect time. Everything for our good and His glory.
And so I lift my hands, I bend my knees, I sing of his glory. I do what I was made for. I don’t need to worry about what activities I am doing tomorrow, or what meetings I will be attending this week, or what "good" I think I am doing in my narrow and skewed view of the path that lays ahead of me.

I think of God’s faithfulness.
And I lift my empty hands of faith to receive.