Sunday, December 21, 2008

Humble Pie


Javier looks like he's probably in his mid-to-early thirties. He's got a nice trimmed mustache, but is clean shaven besides that. His dark hair is slicked back with enough gel to wax a car, and his clothes are well-used, but clean. Fluent in English and Spanish, he's very open and easy to chat with. He grew up in East L.A., where he has 3 kids between the ages of 6 and 10. He loves the Lord and is quick to say that God is his Provider and that he can always count on him.

If this weren't downtown Tijuana after dark, I would be surprised to see him with a cup of the rice pudding we're handing out. Or to know that he got deported from the U.S. and that he's been on the streets for about a month now, after completing a 2 year prison term. He's been standing here in a laundromat with it's one wall open to the busy street, talking with two YWAM staff members. Right now, he's homeless. He hasn't seen his kids in two and a half years, and he's having problems in his marriage. His oldest son told him that he was disappointed in him when Javier got busted a couple years ago. I can see the pain from that comment hasn't got away yet. And even after we part ways, I sit in the van on the way back to the base, the questions lingering on the fringe of my mind.
How often have I stuck a label on someone and figured I knew their character?

A label like "prostitute" or "illegal immigrant" or "addict"? How often I judge people before I know their stories?
Too often.
You want to know what the ironic thing is? The longer I stood and talked with Javier, I could feel both the impact and the discomfort grow in my heart. Why is it uncomfortable to find out the story of someone I previously judged? Because the more I listen, the more I have to admit the truth: I have a lot to learn from people I've labeled as worse than me.


And that with just a few twists to the story, it would have been me eating rice pudding on a street corner in TJ.

Instead, I am in a fifteen passenger van tasting a different desert: Humble Pie.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

The Question

I sat in my bed in the corner, staring at the blue jots in my journal scream off of the page. The question trembled in my heart and my tired, stressed out brain:

"Where are You in this?"

Tomorrow was the day. The day we'd been praying and trying to believe wouldn't come. We still needed $60,000 for our outreaches to Kyrgyzstan and Southern Mexico. The students had written newsletters, washed cars, baked cakes and pies, woven bracelets, and a host of other activities in an attempt to raise the funds. I put hours into setting up the Outreach. In staff meetings we had prayed for a heck of a lot of money and every time we tried to make a Plan B, God challenged us to have faith. So we did. Or I thought I did. Now, it was two weeks before Outreach was scheduled to start and tomorrow was our deadline. We needed the money or we would have to start planning an alternate outreach. And tonight, I had to ask the age old question. "What happens when it feels like God didn't come through?"
As the words of the song I wasn't really listening to broke the silence, goosebumps popped up all over my arms.


"With eyes wide open to the differences
The God we want and the God who is
But will we trade our dreams for His
Or are we caught in the middle?"


Somewhere in the Middle, Casting Crowns

The God we want and the God who is. His question was clear. Am I committed to Him when He doesn't do what I think makes sense? Will I trade the image of what I thought God was calling us to for what He really is calling us to?

Will I give God a blank check with my signature on it?

With a very slow, tentative hand, I signed on the line. It was a risky move, I know.
Yet, I've discovered in the last week that His dreams are beautiful, and that they don't look at all how I had imagined. He's teaching me to trust who He is rather than try to figure Him out. I have a feeling it's going to be a bigger adventure than I can possibly dream- and probably a whole lot better, too.