Busyness

The last couple weeks has been full of fun things- my boss/mentor/other dad here in Mexico and his family got back from a month in Canada; several other YWAM staff and I set up a booth at a big youth festival here in Tijuana and connect with some young people; and I attended my first pro sporting event- park seats at the Padres/Astros baseball game in San Diego! The number of girls living in our house near to the new property has grown from 3 to 7 in the last 2 weeks. Planning for the DTS seems to be going well; it's fun now to have more of the DTS staff here from their respective homes and be able to share tasks and prayers with them. July 20-22 we'll have our DTS staff "retreat" here at the base- team building, getting to know each other, praying together for students and outreach, and going over practical info for the DTS. Thanks for keeping the DTS planning in your prayers! Check out the pics!

(Left) At the baseball game- Petco Stadium, Downtown San Diego. $7 seats- my blanket, my jacket, and a bunch of snacks!

(Left) Blanca, Melissa, Me, and Crissy chilling at the game.

(Left) Friends Jonathan and Brodie having a drink and enjoying the grass.

(Right) My friend Robbie from the National City office and I.

(Right) At the Youth Conference in Tijuana last Saturday,Omar and Luisa share about Youthstreet, DTS, and the other ministries YWAM TJ does.

(Left) Our booth displaying YWAM TJ info.

(Left) We estimate that there were about 2,000 people at the Conference in one of TJ's nicest parks (Parque Morelos).

Pews, Tarps, and Two Little Fish

In a blur of delighted, breathless screams, outstretched arms and pounding little feet, a herd of kids races past, one of our Mission Adventures staff keeping just ahead of them as he weaves and ducks between mothers with babies and 15 passenger vans. It’s day 2 of our 3 day outreach to San Quintin, a few hours south of the Ensenada location. All morning, several teams of YWAMers and JuCUM teens have been stretching tarps over roofs and washroom frames in this dusty, well kept colonia. The JuCUM teens have just presented their evangelistic program, an artistic mix of dramas, mimes, and rap performed by the young members of the group.
Now, clusters of people stand talking in the dirt road. Over by the fence, a line of youngsters waits impatiently for their turn to have a bright rainbow, cross, or flower painted on their cheek or arm, while others energetically wrestle and dance sporadically with YWAM staff. The local pastor we’re working with takes down names of families who would like to receive tarps if we can make a second trip in the future. Two of the JuCUM teens continue to rap to the heavy rhythm blasting through the portable speakers, while a couple teams finish up with their tarping projects.

After a fast lunch and some clingy hugs good bye, we pile in the vans and head back to Impact Ministries facility to shower, change and go set up at a local church, where we’ll be participating in the second and final service of the Youth Missions Conference. Last night, we’d directed a service at another church. The small sanctuary is packed, overflowing with young people from 7 different area churches, faces bright and shy. A worship team led by an Ensenada staff member and supported by Tijuana full time staff and MA staff had begun the service, followed by a presentation by the JuCUM teens and the video Hakani, which speaks to justice for children in Brazilian indigenous tribes. Jonathan Mendez, a former YWAMer and now pastor in San Quintin, gave a message on our theme: missions. Afterward, we had the chance to speak with several different youth about our Discipleship Training School beginning in September.
Tonight, the church youth group directs much of the service. Praise songs in 2 languages fill the large sanctuary. Using their gifts in evangelism, acting, and music, the JuCUM teens present their portion of the program, speaking about using and developing your talents to bring honor to God and leading out in doing it. As the youth group from the church get up and begin reading a scripture together, a few loud pops sound and seconds later, armed youth with ski masks pulled over their faces burst into the sanctuary, rousing screams from the audience, ripping bibles from the shocked youth, and herding chosen people out of the sanctuary. Slowly understanding that this is only a simulation, the captivated audience watch as a girl refuses to renounce her faith at gun point, eventually leading her captor to Christ. He is then martyred by his fellow revolutionaries as she is dragged out of the sanctuary. As the youth group files back in, one member explains that while this was only a drama for us, many churches in other countries face threats of violence like this everyday. Choking back tears, Jonathan gets up to present his message for the evening. “I’m already seeing examples of what I want to tell you tonight,” he begins. “As I sit in my seat, I see an entire service directed by young people leading out in the kingdom of God, using their talents for Christ.” He continues by reading the story of the little boy’s 2 fish and 5 loaves from Mark 6. “God takes what little we can offer Him- a listening heart and willingness to obey- and multiplies it and uses it for His kingdom.”
A Mexican YWAMer then gets up and says that he wants all the foreigners who are in the church to come up. He then thanks them that in spite of the violence and sickness, they are here because of their passion for the Mexican people. He then invites the rest of the church to pray for them. As YWAM staff and former DTS students and the local church lay hands on the embarrassed staff and begin to pray and prophesy over them, tears squeeze from tired eyes and language and cultural barriers fall away. Hugs and handshakes are passed all around. As the praise team plays the first energetic strains of a song, the hugs turn into singing and dancing and laughing. This is the family of Christ- a myriad of cultures, races, languages, and personalities having fun with their Father.
And as we clean up the Impact facility where we’ve been staying, take a few fun hours at the beach, and reflect on the 3 days in San Quintin, a truth remains: This is how we reach a broken world. It’s not the organization or smoothness of the program, the skill or the presentation, or even the hammers and nails. We love each other and offer our little to God, and He uses us to bring life into hurting hearts.

Practical Application

You remember when you were in high school, the math or science teacher used to hand out these homework assignments that drilled you on formulas and theories? The beginning questions were supposed to help you capture the idea of the principle, and the problems would only have a few factors in them that you had to figure out. I was really good at those questions. You know, getting the theory and figuring out if it was b or +a missing; I could even get excited about it sometimes. It made sense. It was clean and clear-cut. But then at the end of the assignment, there was always this section of problems entitled “Practical Application.” That section always gave me trouble. Instead of the question setting up the problem and you figuring out which factor was missing, there were a whole bunch of random factors or situations in which you had to set up the problem and figure out the answer. Instead of nice little italic letters, there were real numbers and measurements and reactions. You even had to figure out what was supposed to be a factor and what was just extra information. It frustrated me. And you know what the worst part was? Most of the time, my mistakes weren’t in setting up the problem or arranging the factors together. They happened when I was so focused on the major players that I didn’t pay attention to the details. Like addition or subtraction or multiplying right.
Ever since I was little girl, I’ve been enrolled in a class called “The God Thing- Christianity and All that Entails.” Learning the bible verses, going through confirmation, memorizing the books of the bible in order- yep, I can still sing the song. I’ve even been to the seminars and workshops and retreats. Heck, I’ve staffed them. But it goes deeper than that. Hearing someone teach on something I’ve never thought of before or finally having the light bulb go on during worship thrills me. Diving into a passage and discovering what it meant in its cultural or lingual context can have me excited for a week. I get it. But in the last year or so, I’ve hit this weird section of life called “Practical Application,” with an emphasis in surrender and obedience. It’s awkward. It’s messy. I don’t like it. It leaves me groping for the factors and fumbling through situations that weren’t my idea in the first place. And there’s that irritating little note in the instructions that says, “Pay attention to the details.” The ones that are easy to skip over or forget. Like reading what He’s spoken or keeping a leash on my thoughts or meaning what I say when I pray. And as I’m floundering around trying to figure out right from left, the big question comes up: where the heck is my Teacher when I need him?
I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to feel like opening the curtain and showing what He’s got going on backstage. But I know He’s there. I can occasionally hear the echo of His footsteps and can definitely feel when He moves the factors around. Why I can’t look into His eyes right at moment, I’m not sure. But I’m choosing to believe He’s bigger than that. And as much as I hate it, I’m convinced that practical application is necessary part of the class; in fact, I doubt that there’s any part that’s more key. I know there’s going to be mistakes all over my finished product. But I also know my Teacher. And when He finally pulls open the curtain, He’ll have taught me something more beautiful than I can hope for now. It’s because of Him that I’ll survive “Practical Application.” Maybe that’s the whole point anyway.

Please Pray

Here in the office, I watch Alfonso walk out the door to tell yet another family that they won't be receiving a home because the team scheduled to build it canceled. That will be the sixth or seventh team in the last month, just for our location. It's heartbreaking when you know that there are over fifty families on the waiting list. Some of them have been waiting for over a year, while others have had 2 or 3 teams cancel when their names came up.
Homes of Hope isn't the only ministry being affected. A DTS team from Ensenada on outreach in Columbia had their last month of ministry canceled last minute because the pastors were afraid to work with a team from Mexico. Mission Adventures had fewer than half the teams sign up for this summer, and some of those are cancelling.

Will you please join us in prayer for direction and for Mexico during this season? For wisdom and courage to obey as we seek what God is doing and what our reaction to that needs to be. Pray that the remaining teams won't cancel, and for additional teams to be inspired to come. For the finances of the ministry so we can continue to work here in Northern Baja. For the flu to stop spreading and for the families who have been affected by it already. For the families who still need homes.
James 5:16 NIV
Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.

Thanks for praying. I'll keep you updated!

Kansas, Policemen, and Several Cups of Coffee

"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.

8 Cities, 3 Weeks, and. . .12 Grey Whales?

Yes, that's right: 12 grey whales. As I sit here on a mattress (yeah!) in La Paz, BCS, finally taking a moment to count the number of cities on our itinerary in the last several weeks of Outreach, I can't help but smile at the memories. Since leaving Loreto two weeks ago, we've been from the Sea of Cortez to the Pacific and back again, and from a beat up, off road ranch to one of the hottest tourist cities in Mexico. We've had a couple days of rest and presented the gospel and message of hope and encouragement in 6 churches and at least that many communities. Sometimes it's in the form of dramas and testimonies; other times, it looks like praying with a neighbor or painting a room in the church. God has blessed, broken, stretched, given, taken away, and pursued each of us on the team. But words are cheap; I'll let some pictures tell the story.

Remember Rocio from my last story? We got another chance to go out to the migrant camp again, and this time my camera was working!




Students entertaining the crowd with a funny skit to break the ice. But be careful, because "La Casa Se Quema!"

Just last night, we got a chance to minister in a colonia outside La Paz. After the program, we helped with the church's main ministry: distributing food to the people who came.

At one of our first stops in Vicente Guerrero, Luisa gives an explanation of one of our puppet skits.

Handing out balloons is one of the kids' favorite parts of the program, and it gives us a chance to make friends and give a hug.

The majority of our programs have been open-air, so we made sure all our stuff was very flexible to our environment- check out the busy puppets!

Sometimes, just watching the kids' faces makes the chaos worth it!

The road to San Javier, about 30 km outside Loreto, takes at least an hour and half to travel, through creeks and potholes and hairpin turns. At least the view is beautiful!

One morning in Loreto, several of the students and I got up early and walked to the waterfront watch the sunrise- God's beauty makes me breathless in some moments, this being one of them!

One of our presentation tools is Stomp, making rhythms with your hands and feet as a group.

Even if we announce a certain program as focused on children, the mothers and grandmothers often come along. It's a really cool chance to minister to them as well!

After all the moving and intense ministry schedule, we got a chance to rest up a bit in Cabo San Lucas. . . after sleeping on cement floors and taking cold bucket showers for weeks, we all appreciated the soft beds and warm showers-and the lack of spiders on the ceiling!

And now its back to the old grind, but maybe with little Miss Sunshine in the mornings, we'll all make it!

We arrive back in TJ on February 7th for a week of debrief and processing the last 5 months and all that God has done, but we still have a week of ministry left. Who knows what God's got up His sleeve?

As for the 12 grey whales, at one of our stops in Puerto San Carlos, there is a bay where grey whales come to mate and give birth. A couple of fisherman from the church we were working with took us out to see them. . . there's nothing quite like watching a 2 ton whale swim under your small fishing boat about 10 feet under the surface!

Unspoken

"What is your name?" I unobtrusively ask the question to break a curious silence that's been lingering throughout the program.
"Rosio," the soft answer comes.
As that's a new name to my ears, it takes me a couple tries to make sure I'm hearing the right word. I point to the brightly striped blanket draped across the bundle she cradles in her lap and politely ask if it's her child. The affirmative answer takes me off guard. Her dark eyes are reserved, but she's glanced at me several times since she sat next to me half an hour ago. She's small, a good eight or ten inches shorter than me, and her long, coffee-hued hair is held back by plastic headband. Creaseless, toffee colored skin smoothly accentuates her softly curved face. As my curiosity has to know, I gently ask, "How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
I am speechless as the softly spoken number resonates against the walls of my mind. As my heart begins absorb the thought, I can feel the walls of my box grind open a bit further. Fourteen? And my heart hurts as I hear the rest of her story.
She's from Michoacán, a state hundreds of miles away on the mainland near Mexico City. That's where her siblings live; her parents are in the States. The only family she has in the area is her husband's parents and siblings. They were married two years ago, and Yoselin, her baby girl, was born just two months ago.
As the program winds down, she wants me to get a picture of us together, but my camera has decided that it can't function with the poor lumination of fading twilight. After a few minutes of small talk, I see that the students are cleaning up and preparing to go. We exchange a hug, expressing more than we really ever will with words. And as our group packs up, says goodbye to the people we've met, and makes our way back to Loreto, one image bounces before my eyes on the dusty glass window of the van: little Rosio, her arms barely wrapping around her child, disappearing alone around the corner of a cardboard shack.
In the one hour we spent together, I discovered a few of the facts of Rosio's life. But it's what I still want to know that I'm bothered by. The unspoken questions that knock on my heart. Like,
Does she have a chance to go to school?
How did she come to be in Baja California Sur?
What were the circumstances around her marriage and baby's birth?

And perhaps most of all,
Is there anyone in her life that she can share her heart with? Who cares just for her?
Is she safe?
Is there anyone she goes to when life is too big and she needs to hide in Someone's arms?

And then the uncomfortably obvious challenge that screams silently from my heart:

How far am I willing to go to make sure the answer is "Yes"?