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"?

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.

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.

Overcomer

Since the beginning of DTS, I've liked Sandra. She's got a beautiful smile that matches her sweet spirit. Even though she doesn't say a whole lot during class, I can tell she's focused and weighing everything she hears. I love listening to her pray. A few weeks ago, our DTS did an intense wilderness training week that involved sleeping under the stars, doing your business behind bushes, killing chickens for supper, and probably the most difficult task: hiking over 22 miles in 4 days up and down mountains with heavy backpacks. Sandra had never been hiking before, so this experience was more than difficult for her. Even in moments when I could see the exhaustion in her eyes as she looked up the mountain, I never heard her complain. During this training, each student also had the responsibility of leading their team for several tasks. Sandra, who is normally quiet and shy, stepped out of her comfort zone to stand on her own two feet and lead the team on the at the end of the hardest day of hiking. She was the heart of our team, and all of us learned a lot about humility and stick-to-it-ness from her.

Sandra and another student, Esteban

Walking down a dusty back road picking up trash, I had a chance to find out more about her. She's from Mexicali, a town about 1-2 hours from TJ, where her 2 siblings and a passel of nieces and nephews live. She was the peacemaker in her family when her brother and sister got into it growing up. As I ask questions about her life and family, I can hear the love caress her words and almost giggle out of her. I'm excited to get to know Sandra more as we travel and minister in Southern Mexico. We leave December 16th, just two and half weeks! Sandra is excited too, but she still needs all of the $2,800 that pays for her transportation, housing, food, and ministry costs. You can be a part of helping this overcomer share Jesus with the people of Mexico. Would you considering partnering with her in prayer and finances?

To partner with Sandra, please make checks out to Youth With A Mission to:

YWAM San Diego/Baja

100 W. 35th Street, Suite C

National City, CA 91950

Include a note indicating that it is for Sandra Chavez's outreach funds.