In church here, there is usually a point where people are allowed to go up to the podium and give a testimony about something God has done for them. They often share a Bible verse or a song as well. Tonight that opportunity was offered, and one of the takers was an older gentleman whose name I don't even know.
It was apparent that this gentleman had a severe stroke at some point in his life. His left arm was tucked up against him, motionless. His smile drooped down on one side, and he limped when he walked. Tonight he shuffled up to the podium, took the microphone, and began to give thanks. His speech was very slurred, however, and often unintelligible (even to those who speak Spanish). After he finished talking, he began to sing. His halting voice stumbled over the words, a muffled mess of missed notes and wrong timing. It would make the average listener cover their ears. But it was not the sound of the song but the spirit of the singer that made it beautiful.
You see, this man was singing solely to glorify God. There was no money or fame at stake. In fact, there were only about 30 other people in the church to hear him at all. But he worshiped. And I don't claim to know how God thinks or what makes Him happy, but sometimes I take a guess. And tonight I guess that it pleased God's heart to hear that old man raise his voice--as faltering as it was--in worship. I think that gentleman in a tiny church in Mexico sounded better than a Hillsong concert in God's ears. And I do believe that a smile must have sneaked across His face as He watched His child, so physically broken, give Him thanks for Who He is. And God probably even cried a little. I know I did.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Friday, July 12, 2013
Our People
This past week a team from Alabama came down, and they were a blast. There were 13 kids under 12 years old (the youngest was 3) and their families along with a few young adults. At first I was nervous about having so many kids down here, but this week has been a blast for me. I enjoyed hide and seek, soccer, wiffle ball, and Skip-bo so much. But I also learned a lot from these kids.
One of my favorite things about kids is that they don't care. They just don't. Tell a 5 year old to dress themselves and you'll see what I'm talking about. Most kids aren't super worried about what people will think about them, and they don't let obstacles that would stop most adults even slow them down. This week it warmed my heart to see the Alabama kids playing with the kids from around here. It didn't matter that they were from completely different cultures or spoke completely different languages--they just played. And that was enough.
Another thing I loved seeing this week was how open these kids' hearts were. One little 8 year old girl in particular made an impression on me. When we went to the migrant camp to show a film, she spent the entire night playing with a boy even smaller than she is. She gave piggy-back rides and played tag and duck, duck, goose, and she had a hard time saying goodbye. We were going to go back on Thursday, but VBS ran late. As I mentioned to her mom that we wouldn't be going to the camp that night, I saw her smile disappear. Her voice trembled as she begged to go back and see her new friend. To see this little girl show so much love for a child she barely knows--I just wish adults loved so easily. If the grown-ups with the power still had the open hearts of children, this world would look so different.
Seeing the kids intermingling, playing together and loving on each other--it made me think. These kids saw no differences that couldn't be overlooked. They just looked at each other and saw friends. And I hope they always do. When they grow up and grow into a world filled with war, racism, and violence, I hope that they will remember this week when "those people" became their people. Because that's how the world will change. We can't kill people we're friends with. We can't go to war against soccer teammates. And I think there would be a lot more peace if we remembered that everybody is somebody's baby. The day "those people" become "our people" is the day hatred ceases to exist. And I pray that day comes soon.
One of my favorite things about kids is that they don't care. They just don't. Tell a 5 year old to dress themselves and you'll see what I'm talking about. Most kids aren't super worried about what people will think about them, and they don't let obstacles that would stop most adults even slow them down. This week it warmed my heart to see the Alabama kids playing with the kids from around here. It didn't matter that they were from completely different cultures or spoke completely different languages--they just played. And that was enough.
Another thing I loved seeing this week was how open these kids' hearts were. One little 8 year old girl in particular made an impression on me. When we went to the migrant camp to show a film, she spent the entire night playing with a boy even smaller than she is. She gave piggy-back rides and played tag and duck, duck, goose, and she had a hard time saying goodbye. We were going to go back on Thursday, but VBS ran late. As I mentioned to her mom that we wouldn't be going to the camp that night, I saw her smile disappear. Her voice trembled as she begged to go back and see her new friend. To see this little girl show so much love for a child she barely knows--I just wish adults loved so easily. If the grown-ups with the power still had the open hearts of children, this world would look so different.
Seeing the kids intermingling, playing together and loving on each other--it made me think. These kids saw no differences that couldn't be overlooked. They just looked at each other and saw friends. And I hope they always do. When they grow up and grow into a world filled with war, racism, and violence, I hope that they will remember this week when "those people" became their people. Because that's how the world will change. We can't kill people we're friends with. We can't go to war against soccer teammates. And I think there would be a lot more peace if we remembered that everybody is somebody's baby. The day "those people" become "our people" is the day hatred ceases to exist. And I pray that day comes soon.
Monday, July 8, 2013
It's all a part of the plan
I've always been the kind of person who didn't really believe God's plan for me is specific. Like, at all. As long as I;m doing what we can to live a godly life (whatever that means), there will be a lot of choices I can make and still be happy. I've never believed that there is just one career or person or college or house that will make me happy or that is God's plan for my life. And I still don't, but I am beginning to think He might have a hand in things a little more than I thought.
Take this summer, for instance. Everyone keeps asking me how a girl from Kentucky heard about a small ministry in California that has outreaches in Mexico. I found out about Mexican Medical at a missions conference a friend recommended to me. The day before the conference, however, I got really sick and decided not to go. The morning of my good friend Jeanna and I decided to try it, and at the conference a picture of children with special needs caught my eye at one of the booths. I won't sugar coat it; I don't do well with special needs kids. I love kids, but it takes a special gift to work with disabled children, and that is one gift I do not have. But for some reason that photo drew me in, and I began to talk with one of the leaders of Mex Med. I received emails from the ministry, applied, and was accepted as an intern.
Looking back, I realize I'm here mostly because the trip was relatively inexpensive and not too far from the States. Both superficial, shallow reasons, but I cannot imagine missing this summer here. The people I have met and the relationships that have developed--this summer has already far exceeded any expectations I had before coming. And I have to admit, yes, I tried really hard and searched for a good mission trip. But I also realize some of this was out of my control. God really does know how to give good gifts, beyond what I could ask or even imagine. And that's awesome. Because having a lot of options freaks me out sometimes. I don't want to miss anything, and making the best choice is really important. But I'm slowly realizing that if I do what I can, God will do what He can. And His plans really are good. And that just makes everything alright.
Take this summer, for instance. Everyone keeps asking me how a girl from Kentucky heard about a small ministry in California that has outreaches in Mexico. I found out about Mexican Medical at a missions conference a friend recommended to me. The day before the conference, however, I got really sick and decided not to go. The morning of my good friend Jeanna and I decided to try it, and at the conference a picture of children with special needs caught my eye at one of the booths. I won't sugar coat it; I don't do well with special needs kids. I love kids, but it takes a special gift to work with disabled children, and that is one gift I do not have. But for some reason that photo drew me in, and I began to talk with one of the leaders of Mex Med. I received emails from the ministry, applied, and was accepted as an intern.
Looking back, I realize I'm here mostly because the trip was relatively inexpensive and not too far from the States. Both superficial, shallow reasons, but I cannot imagine missing this summer here. The people I have met and the relationships that have developed--this summer has already far exceeded any expectations I had before coming. And I have to admit, yes, I tried really hard and searched for a good mission trip. But I also realize some of this was out of my control. God really does know how to give good gifts, beyond what I could ask or even imagine. And that's awesome. Because having a lot of options freaks me out sometimes. I don't want to miss anything, and making the best choice is really important. But I'm slowly realizing that if I do what I can, God will do what He can. And His plans really are good. And that just makes everything alright.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Wearing the Dunce Cap
I'm not stupid; I promise. I have all sorts of titles and certificates, scholarships and grades that will prove me right. In English, I'm quite intelligent. Unfortunately, English is not the language of choice here. And in Spanish, I am quite stupid. It's a sad truth, but a truth just the same.
It's hard not being able to understand anything that's going on. I just stand in the middle of a conversation and smile mindlessly at whoever is speaking. I hear my name every now and then, but have no idea what they're saying about me. And they're not about to try to explain it to me. It's so frustrating. Like, I knew what I was getting into. And I had no right to come to a foreign country without first learning the language. I don't expect them to accommodate my English, and I don't want them to. But it's still hard being the only one not knowing what's going on. It also makes me the butt of almost every joke. The kids make fun of my laugh, my appetite, my height--pretty much everything about me. And I'm sitting right there and can't do anything about it. I don't even know how to tell them to shut up. So I just turn kind of red and try to laugh it off. The other day was a perfect example.
I went with Cassie to pick up some kids for a youth event at the church. All of these kids just happened to be boys in their early teens (12, 13--around there). American girls get a lot of attention here, so I knew they must have already been talking about me. And when they tried to talk to me, I just stared at them and said "No entiendo" (I don't understand), which made them snicker. I hate being stupid, but that was only the beginning. At one point, Cassie hit a bump in the road when I wasn't paying attention, and I cracked my head against the window of the van. I tried to recover quickly so no one would notice, but it was too late. The boys in the back of the van screamed with laughter. For a second or two I just sat there, feeling dumber than I had ever felt before. Really, I was being bullied by 12 year old boys. 12 year olds. But then I realized that wasn't helping anything, so I turned around, looked them straight in the eye, and burst out laughing, too. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
The rest of the trip involved boys repeatedly cocking their heads sideways (mimicking hitting a window) and everyone else laughing and pointing at me. Which was okay. I may not be learning Spanish very quickly, but I am learning humility. It's hard to be proud when a bunch of little boys are making fun of you. For real. But worse things could happen. So for now I will be the lost gringo who speaks very broken Spanish with a terrible accent. I will smile stupidly and nod constantly even when I don't understand. And, above all, I will laugh at myself. Hey, everyone else is.
It's hard not being able to understand anything that's going on. I just stand in the middle of a conversation and smile mindlessly at whoever is speaking. I hear my name every now and then, but have no idea what they're saying about me. And they're not about to try to explain it to me. It's so frustrating. Like, I knew what I was getting into. And I had no right to come to a foreign country without first learning the language. I don't expect them to accommodate my English, and I don't want them to. But it's still hard being the only one not knowing what's going on. It also makes me the butt of almost every joke. The kids make fun of my laugh, my appetite, my height--pretty much everything about me. And I'm sitting right there and can't do anything about it. I don't even know how to tell them to shut up. So I just turn kind of red and try to laugh it off. The other day was a perfect example.
I went with Cassie to pick up some kids for a youth event at the church. All of these kids just happened to be boys in their early teens (12, 13--around there). American girls get a lot of attention here, so I knew they must have already been talking about me. And when they tried to talk to me, I just stared at them and said "No entiendo" (I don't understand), which made them snicker. I hate being stupid, but that was only the beginning. At one point, Cassie hit a bump in the road when I wasn't paying attention, and I cracked my head against the window of the van. I tried to recover quickly so no one would notice, but it was too late. The boys in the back of the van screamed with laughter. For a second or two I just sat there, feeling dumber than I had ever felt before. Really, I was being bullied by 12 year old boys. 12 year olds. But then I realized that wasn't helping anything, so I turned around, looked them straight in the eye, and burst out laughing, too. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
The rest of the trip involved boys repeatedly cocking their heads sideways (mimicking hitting a window) and everyone else laughing and pointing at me. Which was okay. I may not be learning Spanish very quickly, but I am learning humility. It's hard to be proud when a bunch of little boys are making fun of you. For real. But worse things could happen. So for now I will be the lost gringo who speaks very broken Spanish with a terrible accent. I will smile stupidly and nod constantly even when I don't understand. And, above all, I will laugh at myself. Hey, everyone else is.
Soul Sisters
I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, and I love everyone the same; I just like some more than others. ha ha! Since coming here, I've met some amazing people, but there is one person I feel a special connection with. Her name is Flor. Honestly, that's almost everything I know about her. She's probably in her early teens. She has a lot of brothers and sisters. And she's beautiful. Not that stupid, Vogue cover girl beautiful. A soul-level beautiful. She's my girl.
It's incredible how I can feel like I have a relationship with a girl when we don't even speak the same language. But Flor is my soul sister. I don't know how, but there is no better way to explain it. When I hear her yell "Kayla!", I take off running to wherever she is and wrap her up in a huge bear hug. I ask her how she is, and then we just stand and giggle because I don't know any more Spanish. But strangely, that's okay when I'm with Flor. We just get it.
And usually I'm a pretty shy person, especially when I'm struggling so hard to just understand what people are saying. But Flor gets me out of my shell. Take last Saturday night, for instance. There were 30-something teens over at the church for a bonfire. Most of these teens I hadn't even met before, and they like to make fun of the stupid gringo (more about that later). But Flor wanted me to dance around the fire with her. It took one "Please, Kayla" before I was up there singing songs in Spanish and dancing like a fool. And I didn't even care. We were quacking like ducks and flapping arms like chickens (I still don't understand why), and it was a blast. We had dizzy runs, where I spun until I fell down and everyone else stood around and laughed. It was definitely one of the best days of my life. All thanks to Flor.
I don't know how it works. I don't know her story or where she's been or where she wants to go. But when she cries, I cry. When she dances, I dance. And I feel like God has connected our hearts in a way language never could. And that's cool with me.
It's incredible how I can feel like I have a relationship with a girl when we don't even speak the same language. But Flor is my soul sister. I don't know how, but there is no better way to explain it. When I hear her yell "Kayla!", I take off running to wherever she is and wrap her up in a huge bear hug. I ask her how she is, and then we just stand and giggle because I don't know any more Spanish. But strangely, that's okay when I'm with Flor. We just get it.
And usually I'm a pretty shy person, especially when I'm struggling so hard to just understand what people are saying. But Flor gets me out of my shell. Take last Saturday night, for instance. There were 30-something teens over at the church for a bonfire. Most of these teens I hadn't even met before, and they like to make fun of the stupid gringo (more about that later). But Flor wanted me to dance around the fire with her. It took one "Please, Kayla" before I was up there singing songs in Spanish and dancing like a fool. And I didn't even care. We were quacking like ducks and flapping arms like chickens (I still don't understand why), and it was a blast. We had dizzy runs, where I spun until I fell down and everyone else stood around and laughed. It was definitely one of the best days of my life. All thanks to Flor.
I don't know how it works. I don't know her story or where she's been or where she wants to go. But when she cries, I cry. When she dances, I dance. And I feel like God has connected our hearts in a way language never could. And that's cool with me.
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