Let the morning bring me word of your
unfailing love,
for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way
I should go, for to you I entrust my life. Psalm
143:8
God’s heart is bigger than anything I can imagine with my
human brain.
Earlier this month, I went on my first mission trip. Yes, it
was a short term mission trip – only one week to the El Florido section of
Tijuana, Mexico. It was about planting seeds and changing the hearts of a group
of high school students. Yet, what I saw in them, and experienced myself, will
change my heart forever.
DAY 1 – The Drive
It was a long, hot drive down to Mexico from northern
California and the comfort of our homes. At 7:00am, we met at our church,
Cornerstone Fellowship, in Brentwood, about an hour from Oakland on the eastern
side of Mt Diablo. The students were nervous, excited, and full of expectations
as they turned in their forms and passports, readying themselves for whatever
God had in store for them. We willingly grouped into cars with people we didn’t
know and became adept, if shyly at first, at maneuvering the unknown territory
of getting to know each other in an enclosed environment. As seven vans, 28
students and 16 leaders pulled out in caravan formation at 8:30, the occupants
became gracious and encouraging of one another, curious to explore one another’s
stories.
In the lead van, John, Rebecca, Sam, BJ, Brandon and I
alternately talked, watched the road, played games and asked each other questions
about their ages, our interests, the schools they would enter in the fall, and how
we came to know Jesus. John was a confident and competent driver and leader; I
was a not-so-confident and inept copilot. John was patient and forgiving while
I hung in there and did my best, praying that John would stay patient and
forgiving.
As we made a clean crossing over the border into Mexico,
three of our vans were pulled over. We were on walkie-talkies and had planned
ahead of time to pull off at the first gas station to purchase insurance. We
managed to do that, and hook up with all the other drivers. Now the hard part –
the loop into Tijuana. We all had maps and written direction, but it was still
confusing and, yes, we managed to get separated, with three vans going one
directions and four going another. Since we thought we were lost, we stopped on
a deserted street to discuss the situation with the other two drivers. We came
across a car with a family inside. Blessedly, John spoke fluent Spanish and
approached the driver, showing him our map. The driver volunteered to lead us
right to the door of our destination. Praise God!
Driving on ahead to the dormitories of Caravan Ministries, we
bounced along rock and dirt roads until we saw a bright blue, two-story
building nearing the top of a hill. When we stepped outside of our van nearly
10 hours from the time we left Brentwood, I heard children playing soccer in
the roadway, dogs barking and power lines buzzing – the only power lines in the
area coming from two, tall towers. We had arrived.
Dragging our luggage inside and up the narrow staircase, the
cacophony of conversations hit us like a bucket of cold water. The couches,
chairs, benches and tables were filled with other students and leaders who had
arrived before us, echoing the building excitement and abating nerves, the
anticipation of tonight’s orientation and tomorrow’s first build. Slowly, our
own group ascended the stairs in fatigue and butterflies, seeking shelter and a
place for pillows sleeping bags. Soon it would be time for quiet and reflection.
With the ebb and flow of the evening coming to an end,
bodies begin to rest in the Word. Soon they will rest in bed, then in sleep.
Lord, protect and love on us. Bless each of us with your wisdom, your peace,
and open hands to serve.
DAY 2 – The Build
Rising at 6am, we readied ourselves for our first build day.
Silent devotions, breakfast, worship, then loading the truck with 2x4s, plywood,
hammers, nails, tape measures, roofing supplies and other tools of a carpenter’s
trade.
Out the highway, then up
a long and dusty hill, two vans and a truck, 15 students and six adults – our build
crew – traveled out to build a structure for a woman named Carmen and her 3-1/2
year old son, Daniel. Carmen’s husband had left her, and she had no job, no
current means of support.
A 16x16 cement foundation has already been poured. This is
the foundation upon which Carmen’s home will be built today; it is a 14x14 structure
made from plywood and 2x4s and a rock tarpaper roof. It will have one hinged
door and one window with hinged closures. It will keep out wind and rain and
animals. It will not keep out heat or cold or dirt or dust. She and Daniel will
still have to use the neighborhood toilet at the end of the street. But it is a
start, and she knows the Holy Spirit will be guarding her home, and her heart
and her mind. She knows the Lord is with her and her son, and she is grateful
for the Foundation upon which her home is built.
While we built and painted, she and her neighbor cooked lunch
for our team, which cost them a week’s wages. When it was done, we all squeezed
into her home and prayed. We did. She did. We asked the Lord to watch out for
her and Daniel and protect them. She asked God to watch out for us and protect
us. We all know God answered our prayers that day.
DAY 3 – The Message
By the time I arrived home yesterday, I recognized that I
couldn’t build again. The temperature had been over 100° with no shade
anywhere. Although I was chugging water all day, I spent half the day sitting in
the van with the doors to create some sort of shade. Dizziness and nausea
wouldn’t leave even though I prayed to be able to keep up with the energy of
the students. At 61, I still think I can keep up with 16-year-olds. By the end
of the day, I felt disappointment at my own lack of performance, at not being
able to contribute.
Upon returning to the dorms, I spoke with the Caravan
Ministry director, Eddie Passmore, who assured me there were other ways I could
contribute besides building. He scheduled me to work at the dorms today, and to
go out with an interview team tomorrow.
As I opened my devotional book this morning, I read the
following passage: “Relax in my peaceful
presence. Do not bring performance pressures into our sacred space of communion.”
Thank you, Lord, for your voice of comfort. Thank you for giving me permission
to let go of my own expectations. Thank you for calling me to your side. How
can I serve you today, my God?
Today, I cleaned the staff kitchen, and washed down and
swept the dorm dining room and women’s bathroom. My special assignment was to
break down two 100-lb bags of rice into 4-cup plastic bags to be given away at
the end of the week. Each week, the Ministry staff goes into poorest neighborhoods
of Tijuana and gives away bags of rice to the homeless or to mothers in
desperate need of food for their children. It was a pleasure to serve those who
serve so many. The staff, with the student visitors from three churches built nine homes today.
When everyone arrived “home,” we had dinner and worship
time. Several students from our group in Brentwood led worship every evening –
an incredibly talented, God-centered group of young people who filled a hot,
humid room with the cool breeze of God’s love, forgiveness and mercy. Our van
driver, John, - a strong, solid man - was moved to tears on more than one
occasion, as was I, listening to the purity of the words and music offered up
to Jesus.
DAY 4 - The Process
This day I drove out with two staff members from the
Ministry – Michael, an intern who drove the van, and Patty, a woman who is what
we might call a social worker. She reviews, interviews and conducts site visits
for the people who submit applications for homes (those 14x14 structures the
teams were building). We left from the upstairs office, taking three applicants
with us to their “lots,” which are the properties they have purchased from the
government, to ensure they have the space to build.
One of the women
appeared to be in her early 30s. She had a boy about 12 years of age and a girl
about 11 years old. When we arrived, the boy ran out to greet his mother
immediately. The girl stayed inside the old RV, in which they were living on
the property. As soon as Patty began to interview the mother, she began to cry,
it seemed simply from the emotion of the process. She pulled herself together,
and sent her son into the RV for juice for Patty, Michael and myself. 
As Patty spoke with her,
the woman seemed to be telling Patty that she had two younger children who were
living with her parents. The idea was for all of them to live together, along
with her husband, who was working at the time of the interview.
Michael explained that the process from this point usually
took about one to two weeks. Eddie informed me later that Patty, Imelda and
Maggi (Eddie’s wife) reviewed all the information and made a decision, usually
an approval, after which building would begin.
I remain hopeful, and prayed during the week that the woman
and her family would receive a home.
DAY 5 – The Unwashed
Fifteen students and leaders from Brentwood drove to
Spectrum Ministries, run by Eddie and Maggi’s son, Aaron. Spectrum has ongoing
programs with hundreds of poor families and thousands of children located in
eight of the poorest neighborhoods in and around the city of Tijuana to help
feed and provide medical help for these families. They work with the city’s
street children and the Tijuana juvenile facility and hold summertime Vacation
Bible School.
This particular day, our team split into two, men’s and
women’s, to give baths, wash feet and check for lice. The boys were in one hall,
the girls in another. For three hours, a small group of three of our young men
and one of our female students and I sat and washed feet. As one of our male
students put it after our return, “It was humbling; it was a privilege to be
able to serve as Jesus did.”
For some of these children, it was the first bath, or
partial bath they had experienced in a week; for some, the first one in a
month. The dirt was caked on. Our focus was on their eyes, their faces, their
toes, the balls and heels and ankles of their feet. Gently washing, tenderly massaging,
softly drying. Sometimes, a child didn’t want to leave. So the washing
continued; the arms, the hands, the faces. Then a hug, or a stroke on the
cheek, and onto the next station where a shampoo was given, or a check for
lice.
One young girl, Linda, told me she was eleven. She had
large, doe eyes. Her mouth didn’t speak a lot, but her eyes spoke volumes. And
her feet. Her feet had bruises and calluses and scabbed-over sores. They were
caked with dirt. The Holy Spirit in me spent a lot of time on those feet.
Washing and rubbing and washing again. Massaging and washing and stretching and
washing. She wasn’t moving, only staring. I pushed up her pantlegs and washed
her legs. I noticed her hands were sticky from a popsickle she had eaten
earlier. I picked up a clean cloth and washed her hands and arms. She still
didn’t move. I gently and slowly – ever so slowly, washed her face and neck. I
took her hands in mine and stood her up, indicating it was time to go. There
was a growing line behind her. She looked at me vacantly. I hugged her, and she
moved along. It was only then I noticed the bracelet with the red bead. Lice.
She moved over the lice shampoo area. When she was done there, I was asked to
come to the lice-check area to comb her hair. As soon as I completed the feet
of the girl in front of me, I returned to Linda.
She now sat on a bench, hair wet from shampoo solution. A plastic,
rectangular, container sat next to her on the bench, like an unwelcome meal she
knew she must consume. I stood behind her and tilted her head gently back. The
container reeked of a Lysol solution, and I picked up the small comb with the
tiny teeth. As gently as possible, I began to part her long, black hair. There
they were. The small, brown creatures, crawling, jumping, alive and ready to
bite at the slightest provocation.
Dragging the comb through the first part, I quickly dipped
it into the solution, watching the wretched insects dive off and die in the
green, transparent liquid. Time after time, I repeated the motion. Ten, twenty,
a hundred. Each time, Linda sat silently, each time, I dragged the comb with my
right hand, lifted her chin with my left to keep the solution out of her eyes.
As she sat and I combed, tears silently escaped those large, wide-open eyes,
cascading down her cheeks into her hands. I knew they were there, knew they
threatened to call out my own, but I held them in check, refusing to give in,
needing to be the calm in her storm of momentary despair. Combing, dragging,
combing dragging, for 40 minutes. Finally, the truth dawned on me – I would be
sending her back to a lice-infested home, and this would happen all over again
with someone different next month.
I put down the comb and placed both my hands into the
solution, then put my hands onto her scalp and massaged. Just massaged her
scalp. Tried to rid her of the itching, the pulling, the scraping; just provide
a little relief if only for the time it took her to walk home again. I called
over another leader and student who were both geniuses as styling hair (I wasn’t)
and asked if they would give her a pretty design with pretty barrettes.
Mercifully, they did. I went back to washing feet as I watched them perform
artistry.
When they were finished, I walked over, took her face in my
hands, and told her in Spanish that she was beautiful. It was the first smile I
saw on her all day. And it broke my heart.
DAY 6 – The Orphanage
Our entire group was
privileged to visit an orphanage today. Hang out with the kids at an almost 1:1
ratio – play with them, color with them, play bubbles, swing them, play soccer
and football (our football), sing with them, make them laugh and give them
attention. Seeing our students be vulnerable enough to allow these children to
enter their hearts was a beautiful thing. These kids were IN CHARGE and it was
a total win. It was particularly inspiring to see the male students become
vulnerable, to open themselves to an emotional experience. Watching them color side-by-side
with a little girl, or swing a little boy for an hour was something they could
only have done by being willing to follow God’s leading.
Many of the students returned with stories about “their kids”
and talked about a moment at the orphanage that changed their hearts. I believe
it was their willingness to love and give that allowed them to receive God’s
love in those moments.
Whether it was a kid who rode on someone’s shoulders all day,
a child with Down’s Syndrome who called football plays, or a baby who fell
asleep in someone’s arms, everyone gave and received this day.
DAY 7 – The Return
and Beyond
Coming home, thoughts were about wanting to stay, what will
we do when get back and new friendships. During our debrief session, we were
left with the question to ponder, “Why did God send you here?” Students are
blogging on the website, asking each other, “What do we do now?” and “How can
we continue to support each other?" and "Who can help us stay steady in our walk with the Lord?” Excellent
questions.
For me, “my kid” was Linda. I will never forget her. I know
that I will rise each morning and ask God, “How do you want me to serve you
today, Lord?” And in His gracious response to my performance pressure, He has
validated the mission I knew he had for me. So I will continue to be thankful,
to praise Him through all circumstances, and follow Him, because He is the One
in whom my trust lies.
