"We are human beings, too. . ."
As I take off the stainless steel lid of a pan of bacon, I observe the group of off-duty cops talking and ribbing each other through the steam. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to handle this building group. They are different from the average family church group. These are officers in the Tijuana police department, immediately associating them with words like toughness, extortion, or corruption in the mind of an average Mexican. I haven't decided what I think about them yet. Fresh in my mind are images of the fully suited out cops with their helmets and automatic weapons standing at the corner directing traffic, the reports I've read on the internet, the comments I've heard, but today in their shorts, T-shirts, and jokes, they don't seem as intimidating. . . maybe. My understanding broadens as the only female, one of bosses, addresses the group before we leave: "Today we are not only cops. We are human beings too. . ."
You can't miss our caravan as we weave through high ways, washboard alleys, and hair raising traffic. A beat up tool van, several shiny squad cars, and a green jeep bringing up the rear are not the most common sight out in the colonias (poor neighborhoods). Between hanging on for dear life as my friend, Hagen, drives and snaps photos at the same time and taking in the ramshackle cardboard homes clinging to the sides of the steep hills that TJ is flung over, I run through the Spanish building vocabulary I've learned. Clavo- nail, techo- roof, madera- wood. All of a sudden, Hagen begins to pray. Impact the hearts of the policemen as they give and the community as they receive. Protect the team, from accidents and those who don't appreciate policemen in the area. Break down barriers between the law and the people. I join him quietly. Once we get to the build site, I get a chance to hear the story of the mother we're building for, and it gives me chills. Her husband was in training to be a police officer a year ago when he died, leaving her with two children to raise on her own. She gets up at six every day to make breakfast for her kids, and works to keep them alive. She and her husband had bought this lot before he died, and she's just moved here about 2 weeks ago. They have no running water or electricity yet, but that's one of her goals. It's no coincidence that these men and woman are building for the widow of a comrade. I also think it's no coincidence that one of the most committed intercessors at the base got put as our photographer.
Over the next several days as I joke with the guys on the paint crew, see the stories in their eyes, watch a few local officers buy soda for those who are building, or notice their Christian captain grab a paintbrush without being asked and begin slapping blue paint on a few offending nails, I conclude a couple things: that people are people- there are good apples and bad apples in every barrel, no matter what society's stereotype is. I don't know what these men do in the dark or under pressure, but I've seen their captain pick up paintbrush faster than a lot of pastors. I felt like a curious object to some and respected by others. That all are affected by the job they do, whether they handle it by joking and partying, by being capable but cold, or by soberly serving. And that the potential that watching a TJ police officer hand a mother the keys to new hope has to obliterate an iron dividing wall- in his heart, in her heart, and in the hearts of the community that watches- is worth a crazy German driver, getting asked out by a creepy teenager, and Spanish tangling my tongue. In fact, it's worth a lot more.
Please pray for the cops in Tijuana- that's a direct request from a captain who's seen a lot of men die this last year. Pray for good men in the police force to be brave in their ability to influence others. Pray for their protection. For their families, who not only worry for their loved ones but often in danger themselves.
A Quick Update on What's Up For Me:
In the weeks since DTS ended for 2008-2009 school, I got a chance to take a break from being focused on DTS. While I know I'm where I'm supposed to be, it was great to go home and spend some quality time with the people who have helped weave the fabric of who I am and who are still doing so, even from 2,000 miles away. I got to share about what God's been doing here in TJ with my home church in Lindsborg (Yes, it's borg, not berg! Everybody loves Swedes, right?).
After a couple weeks at home, I landed back in TJ. As I was waiting for my supervisor/friend/mentor to finish up an intense Spanish language school, I enjoyed the opportunity to be a helping hand around the base, whether it was cutting vegies in the kitchen, cleaning in Hospitality, organizing cupboards in the office, counting nail aprons, doing vocals with the worship team for a bunch of Canadian high school students, or leading the paint crew on a build. Now that Rob's out of language school, we're spending hours over To Do lists, scribbled notes, online calendars, and several cups of coffee, brainstorming what needs to be done to prepare for the September DTS. There's a lot to do and we're still learning what that is, but I'm gonna' choose to trust that God's bigger than my ideas or energy and that He's got it handled.
