Saturday, April 14, 2012

Mexico: Part Dos

I came back from Mexico last weekend frustrated, unsure of our effectiveness, of what God wanted to do with me, of whether or not I should have been there.

I threw a bit of an internal fit. I didn't have plans on going back to Mexico in the future. I wasn't writing it off, but I certainly could not continue to go simply because the opportunity was there.

Confused and frustrated, I had lost a lot of my faith in whether or not what we were doing was good and right.

Monday night I went to go visit a sweet friend in Pasadena. She's away on a medical leave of absence and was upset she could not be with us for Easter, one of her favorite holidays. About ten of us showed up to where she was staying, bringing Easter to her for a few hours. We were all talking, laughing, sharing stories of spring break and genuinely enjoying each other.

We got to talking about Mexico and started telling border crossing stories (the best kind!). Her boyfriend mentioned that he wanted to go back down to the APU ranch for a couple of days. His church back home had been coming for twenty-four years; this was their last final year, and he wanted to make one more visit as a church body. He said he was afraid of driving alone that far and of facing the reckless roads of Mexicali. The poor kid also didn't know a word of Spanish and his team was in need of a translator.

He knew I was a translator and knew I was a driver.

He asked if I wanted to come with him Wednesday morning, half joking.

I thought about it for a moment. I had three papers due. I had just come back the other day. I was a bit frustrated with the whole Mexico situation.

Yet I knew I had a few classes that were already cancelled. My papers were already half written. I still had not unpacked my bag. I also knew I needed to go back south before I became bitter and begrudged. I felt God tugging, saying "Give it another chance. Let me show you."

I said yes.

We loaded up his mom's SUV Wednesday morning after chapel. It was all very last minute and spontaneous, much against how I used to like to run my life. We were both a bit frazzled and a bit stressed. I had to jump out of the car before we left the parking lot, realizing I had left my wallet and passport in my room. I had to give awkward explanations to my friends, my RA, my dad, the staff at the ranch. I emailed my professors, cranked out all of my papers and gave them to classmates to turn in, borrowed a missionary skirt just before leaving from a girl on the trolley. I drove us into base camp using memory and rough directions written on an index card last week (in Mexico, directions are something like "turn left at the gas station, keep left at the fork before the overpass).

The trip was great. I was excited to see what God was going to teach me after a rough week only a few days before. I was greatly encouraged by the veterans on my team who understood Mexicali and had seen the changes through the years. They listened, prayed with me, and gave me advice on how to be an effective change-maker rather than a self-righteous camper. They shared what they felt worked and didn't work when partnering with local churches, sharing stories of success and also of failure. They emphasized the importance of preparation, prayer, and organization.

One of the sweet ladies assured me that the things they do don't require much money and are completely achievable by even a small team. The leader of the group, a wise older gentleman said "We demand a lot out of our kids - but they rise to the occasion because it's what is expected of them. They prepare for months ahead of time for this. If you're going to do it for the Kingdom, then you better do it right."

But it still begs the question: Who in their right mind makes an impromptu trip out of the country with a boy? Did my mother teach me nothing?

I wrote a couple of years ago about feeling like a young nomad when I was in transition between so many homes. There was a lack of stability, a lack of feeling at home and safe.

I suppose I still have this nomadic spirit; but it has transformed into a healthy sense of adventure. I am eager to leave, to travel, to explore. I am comfortable lying my princess head to sleep in a tent in the middle of a desert, in the backseat of a car during a windstorm, in the home of friends I have just met. I am no longer held down by the need to return to comfort; I can fit my life in one bag and be a happy girl for a while.

I am free.

My biological dad has realized that I am no longer content sitting still. He never wanted me to leave the state. I moved to California. He never wanted me to go on mission trips. I frequent Mexico. He never wanted me to leave the country. I am moving to England next year and applying to spend some time in Africa. While I still have bitter moments of him rejecting me so long ago when he tells me he doesn't want me leaving, I do my best to reassure him and hear his concerns. Sometimes it seems too late, but he is trying to learn to be a father.

My high school years weren't stable. They were terrifying, stressful, and unpredictable. But it is in this that I find a spirit of adventure, a promise of freedom, a heart to see God's people. I am in a new phase of life where I cannot stay in one place; I cannot feel tied down and unable to leave. I have been convicted this year of my love of things, of my need to be settled and comfortable. God has shown me that comfort is perhaps one of the most dangerous things to well-meaning believers.

We have been given this beautiful world to love, to explore, to care for.

As you go, preach this message: 'The kingdom of heaven is near.' Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received, freely give. Do not take along any gold or silver or copper in your belts; take no bag for the journey, or extra tunic, or sandals or a staff; for the worker is worth his keep."
Matthew 10:7-10

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