Dust bowl

God showed me a bit of a darker side to ministry while in Mexico this last week. He showed me that it isn't all happy photos. Sometimes the money doesn't come through. Sometimes there's more grumbling than laughter. Sometimes there's chaos, confusion, and lack of preparation. Sometimes you're stuck in the Dust Bowl where the sun is hot, the wind is strong, and the ground is parched.

It started about a week before the trip began. I finally confided in a precious mentor that I didn't want to go to Mexico. There was a lot going on that wasn't as smooth as I had hoped; the team, the finances, the preparation. A project for my ministry class also had my analyzing the effectiveness of MO, and I was discouraged, unsure of whether or not we were making a difference. I was also in a sudden bout of homesickness, being my first spring break in as long as I can remember without my dear friends from home. There would be no lying on the soft sandy beaches, spending too long in booths at family-owned restaurants, piling too many bodies into one secondhand car, living in swimsuits and crashing on each others' bedroom floors.

I just wanted to go home.

But I couldn't go home. I foolishly reminded myself that there isn't much of a home to go back to, and that only made the situation worse. Because I had already put so much money into the trip I packed my bags, grinned and bared it, and found myself in Mexico.

I found my homesick self in the middle of a hot desert during a raging windstorm, cramped in a packed car of girls I didn't know, and questioning whether or not I was even supposed to be there. Not wanting to let my team down, I gave it my best anyway.

The first few days of ministry were horribly discouraging. I felt shafted, unappreciated, bitter about things that had nothing to do with the situation - overall, my internal attitude was poor and my needs centered around myself. I fumbled through translations, watching as my team doubted my abilities and causing me to be all the more discouraged. It was exhausting for me with self-diagnosed ADD to have to constantly be attentive and engaged to the conversations around me. I was preoccupied with my TDL's for when I returned, incoming texts from my biological mother, and upcoming Easter events at work. I counted down the days until we got to go home.

Yet there's something about those little brown faces running down the dusty street towards our dirty minivan. There's something about the forgiving smiles of the parents who line the the back walls of the church as I stumble around the correct pronunciation of "hablabamos". There's something about a bunch of nationals calling all of us Americana when they forget our names or playing soccer against eight year olds who could keep up with Beckham.

My attitude finally changed on the last day of ministry when I was speaking to the pastor's wife, Letty. Much to my surprise, I found out that she was actually from the US. Her mother brought her down to Mexico many years ago because she wanted her children to connect with their people, to realize how blessed they were.

Later as an adult, Letty moved to Mexico permanently to plant a church in a neighborhood where large families survive on about $100 a week, living in houses patched together by shipping crates and wooden pallets.

She shared her struggles with us, of how she had to get rid of her nice clothes in order to fit in with the local women, of how she secretly left food on front porches for two years to families she knew needed it most, of how the Lord finally brought her and her family to a state of depravity so that they may know the sufferings of those they served. She now runs a preschool for local families as well as serves as the beautiful wife to the pastor of a beautiful church that is growing and now has two missions in the area.

Completely selfless. Completely faithful. Completely dependent.

That's Letty.

As I sat there and listened to her story, I thought of how beautiful her life is. How richly she has blessed her community. I thought of my selfish desires for coming on the trip - I simply didn't know what else to do with myself for a week. I didn't want to "miss out". To some extent, I wanted to work my way up the MO ladder. I wanted my real dad to tell me to be safe, to show some concern for my well-being.

I realized that mission trips even with a good heart must be taken only when prompted by God, not my own whims.

I asked Letty if she felt that MO did anything effective or if we were just one-week-wonders. She smiled and shook her head. "No, no," she said, "you can't see the impact because you aren't here. The kids start asking when you will come back as soon as you leave. Some kids only come on the weeks that you are here. My husband was one of those kids. He only came to church when the Americans were here - now he is a pastor. You are making a difference."

This calmed my heart which was so divided on our purpose. It settled my soul to know that God is still using us, whether we are a frumpy bunch of grumpy misfits packed into a hot minivan or a woman leading a radical life in the slums of Mexicali.