Furious Love: Adventures in Serving a Radical God

Colombia

2012-01-24T10:38:00.000-08:00

Drugs, violence, coffee plantations, guerrillas, drug cartels…

So many words danced around my head as our team prepared to head to Colombia. I’d heard a lot of negative talk about this country and honestly wasn’t sure if the rumors were true or not. One of my friends joked that if I got a white Christmas in Colombia it wasn’t because of snow. While I wondered if Colombia was truly just a mess of drugs and violence, I secretly hoped that the country would surprise me.   When the vision for the Iris Latin America team was birthed in 2010, the original plan was to head only to South America. Though the dream eventually expanded to all of Latin America and the Caribbean, there was something special about holding the original vision in our hearts. Our team had some amazing experiences in Central America, but we all felt a shift was coming as we entered South America. There was something significant about reaching the place where the vision for our trip was birthed. Despite negative rumors about Colombia, I knew something positive was coming when we arrived at our first destination in South America.

Our team was ready to hit Colombia; the only problem was getting there. Border crossings had been relatively simple so far, but the Panama/Colombia border is quite complicated. Though Panama and Colombia are connected by land, the roads are impassable and overrun by guerrillas and treacherous jungle terrain. We were advised to ship our vehicles from Colon, Panama to Cartagena, Colombia and pick up the vehicles there. What we hoped would be a quick and painless shipping process turned into a nightmare of five of my teammates driving to Colon day after day after day, filling out piles of ridiculous paperwork and jumping through various hoops until our vehicles were finally put on a ship to Colombia. On top of the documentation nightmare, we were told that it would cost just over $11,000 to ship all five vehicles. Every day, our team prayed for a financial miracle. When we finally had the paperwork sorted and needed to hand over our final payment, our team leader carried $3700 to the port in a tiny wallet, believing for a miracle. We all knew God had called us to South America, and that meant He would provide a way for us to get there. Sure enough, at just the right moment, an anonymous donor sent the team $12,000, which covered every vehicle expense. Oh, God is so good.

Now that our vehicles were taken care of, we had to make the final decision about how we would get ourselves to Columbia. Our options were…umm…creative to say the least.   J We had four main routes of choice. The first was to take a 4x4 vehicle to Carti, Panama and wait for a freighter (potentially for days) to let us hitch a ride to Colombia. The second was to fly to a port in Panama, take a long boat ride to another port, then take a short boat ride to another port, next take a bus ride, then another bus ride to Cartagena. This was our cheapest option but quite complicated and circuitous. Third, we could take a large yacht through some islands off the coast of Colombia and eventually into Cartagena, which was expensive and time-consuming. The last option was flying, but we would have to book flights last-minute, right before Christmas, which meant limited seats and expensive tickets. After going in circles for days, we finally decided flying was our most painless option. We were instructed to go online and start booking flights to Cartagena, hoping most of us could get on the same flight. Most people from the team were able to get a ticket for that coming Tuesday or Wednesday, but three of my teammates and I couldn’t get a flight until Saturday, Christmas Eve. It felt a bit bizarre to be left behind in Panama, but our extra days of being stranded there ended up being quite a blessing. We experienced an ounce of privacy for the first time the entire trip, got to rest, relax, and have some quiet space for a bit. On Christmas Eve, we were happily reunited with our Iris family in Cartagena, Colombia. I immediately felt safe and at home. The Colombians I met were warm, friendly, and easy-going. The scenery was breath-taking, and the atmosphere was tranquil. All the words about drugs and violence faded quickly from my mind. I had a beautiful Christmas Day with my Iris family, enjoying my teammates’ company and the warm Colombian sunshine.

After Christmas, a few of my teammates began the battle with the shipping company once again, spending days filling out more ridiculous loads of paperwork to get our vehicles back. Finally, we were united with our trusty fleet, and by miracle of miracles, nothing was stolen or damaged in the cars. Once our vehicles were ready, we drove to Bogota, where we met up with Alejandra, one of the Colombian girls who had attended the Iris mission school in Mozambique. She was an amazing host with a beautiful heart for her country and people. As she led us around Bogota, I quickly realized why she loves Colombia so much. The country is stunning—just the surprise I had hoped for.

One afternoon, Alejandra took us to the red light district to minister to prostitutes on the streets. We parked our cars in one of the rougher neighborhoods in Bogota and walked along sidewalks lined with prostitutes. There was a mix of transgender prostitutes, young girls, and middle-aged women. I’d never really seen anything like this before and felt like I was in some sort of perverted movie. It was so disgusting it didn’t seem real. Alejandra told us to simply share the love of Christ with the women and make sure that no matter what, we looked them in the eyes and didn’t pay attention to their skimpy apparel. We split into groups, and I was partnered with one of my teammates as well as a young Colombian from a local church who chose to accompany us. The three of us approached a middle-aged woman standing on the sidewalk and asked her how she was doing. Unlike the American sex trade where women are usually considered “used up” by their mid-twenties, Bogota was full of prostitutes up to their fifties. I was a bit shocked at the woman’s age but tried to hide my feelings and engage her in conversation. As we spoke, I forgot the woman was a prostitute and saw nothing but a hurting woman. Her name was Elizabeth, and she was a mother of two. She told us how much she worried about her sons. Their father was out of the picture, and Elizabeth was extremely concerned about the welfare of her family. Though she was dressed in practically nothing, Elizabeth was really no different than most of the middle-aged women I know back home. She was simply a loving mother who cared deeply about her kids. Unfortunately, for her, she had no way of making money other than selling herself. As we told her how loved and precious she was and applauded her caring mother’s heart, she welled up with tears. We prayed for her, and I could see in her eyes that her heart was stirred. After we prayed, Elizabeth asked if it was alright if she gave us each a hug. I told her of course that was fine, and she smiled as I held her in my arms. In the midst of perversion and brokenness, I embraced this beautiful moment.

After we’d spent an hour or so in the streets talking to various women, we went to a rehab center for girls who had formally been prostitutes. The women were so young and beautiful; I could scarcely believe they had just left a life of selling their bodies on the streets. Some of my teammates spoke to the group of women, then offered to pray for individuals with physical ailments as well as those who simply needed a bit of encouragement.   I spoke with a woman who was seriously depressed and felt totally alone. She told me that demons choked her at night, and though she wanted to scream, she couldn’t speak at all when this happened. A few of us prayed for her, breaking off the chains of oppression and declaring the freedom of Christ over her life. As we prayed and chatted with her, the heaviness on her seemed to lift a bit, and she began to show a hint of emotion. The stone-cold look on her face began to melt, and she even cracked a smile. Tanya prayed for girl who wanted to get out of the rehab center so she could do drugs. Though she knew the rehab center was in her best interest, she felt trapped by the cycle of addiction. After Tanya prayed with her, the girl said she felt she had the strength to get through the program. One of my teammates had a word of knowledge from the Lord that someone needed healing in her eyes. Two sisters in the program came forward and said that they both had blurry vision and wanted to be healed. Susy and Liz prayed for them, and the two sisters got healed completely. They started reading things around the room, realizing they didn’t need glasses anymore. The sisters embraced each other and the women on our team, excitedly celebrating their healing. Susy and Liz also prayed for a woman named Paula who had been in the rehab center for twelve days. She struggled with drugs and had been kicked out of other programs. She was basically told she was hopeless because she couldn’t stay clean, and she started to believe the words that had been spoken over her. Paula gave Susy and Liz permission to pray for her and declare freedom over the chains of addiction. Not only did she accept this new freedom, but she also accepted Christ as her savior that day.

Our team felt a new burst of freedom in that rehab center and left feeling a fresh hope for the women living there. As we walked back to the car to drive to our base, a few people from the group talked to one of the Colombian women who had been ministering with us throughout the day. She had seen the women in the rehab center get healed and told some people from our team that she was suffering from breast cancer. My teammates asked if she would even know if the cancer was healed, and she said she had lumps on her breasts. It would be easy to see and feel if they had gone. My teammates began to pray, and after praying the first time, the lumps began to shrink down. Something was happening, but the woman was only partially healed. With increased faith, the team prayed again…and this time the lumps disappeared completely! The woman felt her breasts, crying with joy as she realized the lumps were gone. She knew her breast cancer had been healed. Hallelujah!

A few days later, a Colombian woman from a local church told our team that we would see many more healings throughout our trip and that we must never fear praying for terminal illnesses. She encouraged us that God will continue to do amazing miracles. After all, He is the God of the impossible.

So here I sit, in a country labelled as a hotbed for drugs and violence, actually surrounded by gorgeous scenery and friendly faces, watching people get healed and set free. I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that a God who uses the weak things of the world to shame the wise has brought us to a country known for its weaknesses to begin a river of revival throughout South America. Colombia is just the start; there is so much more to come…

Panama: What to Think When the Lame Walk

2011-12-19T08:14:00.000-08:00

This is probably my craziest story yet. I’ve seen some undeniable miracles, but never anything to this degree. I will never forget Panama, because this is the country where I first saw the lame walk.

With the guidance of a YWAM leader, our team travelled to one of the ghettos within Panama City to meet with some people from the local community. We were warned that if we brought anything of value along, it would be quickly swiped from us. After my experience in Costa Rica, I felt a bit uneasy but knew I needed to go. As we drove into that neighborhood, the graffiti on the streets said it all. There were murals that read, “No more war. Change your neighborhood.” It was clear that such taggings were put there for a reason. We parked our car along a little alley, walked into a dilapidated apartment building, wound up a dark dingy staircase and entered an open area in the middle of an apartment complex. There was a local pastor preaching, but it was hard to hear a word he said over the chaos. Children were playing loudly, talking over the pastor, and bouncing from seat to seat.

We were told to begin talking to people and offer to pray for them. I wasn’t quite sure where to start. I noticed a small woman in a wheelchair and approached her with a couple other girls from my team. We asked if we could pray, and with no show of emotion, she gave a subtle nod. We asked her a few questions and tried to converse amidst the noise. It was almost impossible to hear her, and trying to understand Spanish in such a loud environment made the challenge even more difficult. Regardless, we figured God understood what was going on and decided to pray to Him for miraculous healing in her legs. We prayed for a few moments, but nothing seemed to happen. A woman from the local community grabbed us away after a bit and asked us to pray for some others.

Afterwards, Natalie felt we should return to the woman in the wheelchair. She looked so incredibly sad and discouraged, and we wanted to at least talk to her more. Healing or no healing, we figured we could at least show her some love. We went back to her wheelchair and knelt down to speak to her. We found out that she’d contracted tuberculosis a while back, and the disease had gone to her spine. It had affected her walking ability, and she’d been unable to walk without assistance for the past year. As we talked to her, children crawled in and out of her lap, then ran off to play. She explained that she had two children, but she was raising them single as her husband had died nine months ago. This poor woman was only twenty-seven years old. We are the same age, but our stories are so very different. I can’t imagine being a widow at my age, alone raising two children already. My heart broke for this woman as she shared her sad story.

I used my best broken Spanish to tell the woman how her Heavenly Father loves her dearly, that He is close to the broken-hearted and how He longs to heal her. The woman said she had once followed Christ, but turned from her faith after she was married. After we conversed for a while, she decided to turn back to God for hope. She bowed her head in prayer and accepted Jesus Christ as her Savior. After she made this declaration of faith, Natalie and I decided to pray for healing in her legs again. She’d just received healing in her heart (the most important healing), but now it was time for healing in her body. As we prayed, Natalie sensed that something had happened. I wasn’t sure. Natalie asked the woman to get out of her wheelchair and try to walk. The woman said she was scared. I was scared too. I honestly was afraid to push her, but Natalie insisted. She knew in her heart that the woman had been healed, and told her she needed to claim that healing and begin to walk. After a few moments of the woman staring at us in fear, she took the boldest step I’ve ever seen. She let Natalie and I help her out of her wheelchair and she began to move her legs. Slowly, slowly, slowly she began to walk with our help. She looked like she was in pain. I wasn’t so sure we should keep doing this. But as the woman took baby step after baby step, she eventually let go of our arms. And she continued to walk—alone. Completely unassisted, the crippled woman was seriously walking—WALKING! Amazed and overwhelmed, I followed behind her. She made a circle around the apartment complex, and as we headed back towards her wheelchair, I foolishly assumed she would be tired and would want to rest. But the moment we reached her wheelchair, she walked right past it and kept going! Ha! I’ve never seen anything like it. Moments before, this woman had been sitting in a wheelchair; this was crazy! She finally paused for a moment, and her eyes welled up with tears. Her once stone-cold face cracked with emotion, and she cried tears of joy for her healing. I began to cry as well, so overwhelmed by the miracle I’d just been a part of. The Bible says Jesus can make the lame walk, but this was the first time I saw it with my very own eyes!

Days later, our team heard a report from one of the community leaders in the apartment complex. Apparently, someone had claimed that this miraculous healing couldn’t be real. At first, she didn’t believe that the woman in the wheelchair had actually been healed. But days later, the woman was still walking on her own. The doubter was blown away, dazed and confused as to how this could be possible. The healing was the talk of the apartment. All I know is that when we prayed for healing in Jesus’ name, that crippled woman got out of her wheelchair and started walking. And the tears in her eyes told me how very real her healing was. I praise God for what He did in this woman’s life and know more than ever than we can’t put a limit on what God can do.

Costa Rica, Craziness, and Redemption

2011-12-10T12:50:00.000-08:00

Border crossing day is generally disgusting, noisy, dusty, and long. I expected nothing less from the Costa Rican border and was pleasantly surprised to find the complete opposite of what I’d imagined. As I left Nicaragua behind, I gladly embraced the luxury of a border station equipped with a coffee shop, flushing toilets, and tiendas that sell real chocolate. Pure bliss. I noticed busloads of tourists passing through, and as I caught a glimpse of a white boy carrying a shortboard, I realized I had just reached Latin America’s surfing paradise. My team excitedly drove to a quiet fishing village called Playa de Coco and decided to camp out on the beach for the next few nights. After a long day of travel and border paperwork, I fell asleep to the sound of the waves, thankful for this taste of heaven.

The following day, a group of us went to grab some food at a local restaurant before heading out to do ministry for the afternoon. The restaurant where we ended up was started by two drunk guys who visited Costa Rica and never left, and you could sense that their moral compass wasn’t exactly pointing north. It was clear that the owner had way more respect for a bottle of liquor than for any of the women working at his restaurant. The waitress who helped my friends and I was in a terrible mood and was very short with us while taking our order. I was tempted to boycott this restaurant and leave a bad tip to show her how I felt about her attitude. Yet, my kind-hearted teammates (who never cease to amaze me) approached the situation with the opposite spirit and said we needed to minister to this woman. Ministry isn’t a special time set aside to show people we love them; it’s just living normal life intentionally. The men on my team sensed the disrespect of women in the restaurant and felt we needed to show our waitress that she was valued. Sweet Liz prayed about what to do and said God told her to give the waitress a bar of chocolate. Seriously? I thought. Not only is that culturally bizarre, that woman has been rude to us for the past hour. But Liz stuck to her conviction and boldly ran down the street to a local supermarket and purchased a bar of chocolate. When she returned to the restaurant she approached our waitress and said, “My friends and I thought you looked a bit down, and we just wanted you to know that God loves you so much.” She handed the woman the chocolate along with a note that said, “Dios te ama” (God loves you). The waitress’s face completely lit up, and she looked like a different woman for the rest of our time in the restaurant. In that moment, I remembered that often the people who seem like they deserve our love the least are those who actually need it most. And opportunities to show that kind of love don’t require big mission trips or elaborate plans. It can be as simple as eating lunch in a random restaurant with a cranky waitress who looks like she might need a little affirmation.

Later that day, a group of us decided to travel to a nearby beach village to do a ministry called “treasure hunting.” I had never done this before, but was willing to try. The idea is basically to search for the Lord’s “treasure”, which are simply His precious people. You choose a location and ask God for clues to bring you to the people He wants you to bless. As you pray, if God lays anything on your heart, you have to step out and take the risk of following what you’ve received. As we drove to the beach village, the five of us in my car asked the Lord to show us visions and images in our minds of those we would soon encounter. Some of the pictures seemed really random, but God was faithful and did weave them together.

We visited two different beach villages, and I’ll never forget the second. This particular beach looked pretty barren, but a girl named Natalie and I decided to walk along the water and see who we could find. We walked for quite a while, and no one stood out to me. We passed by one man who was just standing alone looking at the water. He said hello, but we kept walking. I wondered if we should speak to him, but it felt awkward and forced. We continued on a bit more and saw no one, so we decided to turn back.

“There’s no one around, but I guess we could go pray for that one guy,” I said to Natalie. To be totally honest, I didn’t really want to but figured it couldn’t hurt.

As we walked back towards him, our teammate Astrid approached us. Earlier, she’d said God had shown her a picture of a pineapple. When we reached Astrid, she explained that as she had been walking along the beach, she saw a top of a pineapple floating in the water, directly in front of the man that Natalie and I were headed towards. I had kind of chosen him by default, but Astrid recognized the pineapple from her vision and felt we needed to approach that man. I still felt pretty hesitant, but Natalie insisted that we go.

“Wait,” I pleaded. “We need to think of a question or something so this is not totally awkward.”

The girls laughed but agreed that that was a good plan.

I swallowed my pride, approached the man, and asked him if he spoke English.

“A little bit,” he responded in a thick accent.

“Um, well we were wondering where a good place to surf is,” I asked, trying not to look or sound like a total creep. “The waves here seem pretty small; do you know of a better spot?”

The man didn’t know of a good surf spot but began to engage in small talk nonetheless. We found out his name was Aynid, and he lived in the area. Natalie noticed the cross necklace he was wearing and asked Aynid why he’d chosen the cross symbol. He said he wasn’t a Christian but that he liked crosses. That seemed kind of weird, so we asked him why. He told us that was a good question; he wasn’t really sure himself. As we continued talking, Aynid revealed that his family had separated when he was young. It had really affected and hurt him. I could see the pain in his eyes as he opened up his heart to us. We asked him about the tattoos covering his body—gruesome skulls and other angry symbols. He explained that he had been very angry when he got them but didn’t feel the tattoos had significance in his life any longer. Aynid declared that he was currently at a point in his life where he needed to make a big decision. He wasn’t exactly sure what the decision was, but he knew he was facing a turning point. He went on to explain that he knew that when we walked by something special was about to happen. He said that he could just sense that this moment was going to be a significant one but he didn’t know what to do, so he merely said hello. We told him we also believed this was a divine appointment, that we’d prayed for people to connect with, and God had led us to him. We spoke about our faith and let him know that we believed God could set him free from the anger and hurt he’d experienced in his past. He agreed to let us pray for him, breaking off chains from his past and praying truth and love over him. We explained that God’s love is so lavish that he would send three girls from Germany, Russia, and the U.S. just to let him know how loved he is. I could see the wheels turning in his head as he asked himself, Is this really true? Is there really a God who loves me this much?

Aynid asked us our names, and when I said “Caitlin” he looked confused; so I reintroduced myself as Catalina, the Hispanic version of my name. He smiled and told me I had a beautiful name. Aynid then explained that his ex-girlfriend was also named Catalina. He told us that Catalina had been a really significant person in his life, and he said that he now counted us three as special people in his life. He promised that he would never forget one of our faces. He believed this had been a divine appointment, and we were part of the turning point in his life. Natalie asked him if he would like to make the decision to accept Jesus. Aynid looked a little hesitant, so I stepped in. I believe the Lord has blessed me with amazing love and want to share that love with others, but I never want to force someone to accept that love unless they are ready. I explained to Aynid that he was under no pressure and should just spend some time doing some soul searching on his own. He agreed that he needed some time alone, just him and God, to reflect and pray. He knew he was on the brink of big decision and realized the weight of making a decision to follow Christ. Though I will probably never see Aynid again, I am confident that something changed inside of him. I could see it. God was undoubtedly doing something in his heart, and I know that he will find the truth he’s been searching for.

It seemed crazy that God had used a vision of a pineapple to bring us to Aynid. God is weird like that sometimes. I also felt honored that God had used my name as a part of this crazy encounter. I suppose part of Aynid’s hurt had stemmed from breaking up with Catalina, and I knew it was no coincidence that God had sent Aynid a new Catalina to tell him about God’s love. Inspired by God’s bizarre and beautiful redemption, I went back to our little beach camp feeling encouraged and full of faith. However, my joy was quickly dashed when I found out that Rose, one of my closest friends on the team, had been robbed while I was gone. Thieves had broken into our camp and stolen her phone, iPod, wallet, and bag of valuables. Over one thousand dollars worth of cash and goods had been taken. I was told to check where I’d been sleeping to see if any of my stuff had been stolen, and immediately my heart sunk. I’d carried my wallet with me to the beach village, but I’d left my laptop back at the camp. I slept next to Rose and knew that if her things had been stolen, there was no way my laptop was still there. Sure enough, I went to check and confirmed that my computer, the only thing of real value that I own, had been robbed. Natalie checked her things and found out that her valuables had also been stolen. I felt like the wind had just been knocked out of me. The reason why losing my laptop was particularly upsetting is because I am in the middle of writing a novel. I’ve been documenting our journey on my laptop since September, and my dream is to publish the novel when the year is over. I’d written a lot so far and couldn’t remember the last time I’d backed the document up. My first reaction to being robbed was panic that I’d lost my writing. “My novel! My novel!” I cried, not even thinking about the monetary value of the laptop, all my music, pictures, and other documents I’d lost. Before leaving for Latin America, I’d known being robbed on this trip was a distinct possibility, and I was scared that I would lose my laptop since it’s the most valuable thing I own. I couldn’t believe my worst fear had just been realized. One of the guys from my team has also been documenting a lot of the trip and is probably the only person who really understands how much all my hard work means to me. He heard what happened and immediately came to comfort me. He wrapped his arms around me as I cried, mourning the loss of my hours upon hours of hard work.

After I calmed down a bit, Liz told me I needed to go to the police station and file a report of the robbery. The police officer who wrote the report used old-fashioned pen and paper and took hours to record a few simple things. As she documented the robbery at snail’s pace, other officers came in and out of the office. When they heard what was stolen, they all replied, “Oh yeah, that’s a bad neighborhood. You shouldn’t leave your stuff there.” Annoyed I was receiving that advice now, I simply glared at the officers and said nothing. I impatiently watched the woman continue to attempt to file the report, writing as if she had learned to use a pen the day before. Everything in me wanted to grab her pen, write the report for her, and run somewhere--anywhere. But instead, I stood there waiting, watching the officers chat amongst themselves, knowing they didn’t give a rip about what had just happened to me. To them this was just a missing laptop; to me this was a huge roadblock for my dream.

After I got back to our camp, I tried to go to sleep but couldn’t. My head was spinning. I finally caught a couple hours of sleep but soon woke up to the morning heat, feeling groggy and sad. A group of people from my team reminded me that we were heading out to a beach called Playa Avenilla and asked if I were still coming. I decided to put my thoughts of being robbed on hold and go with the team, because this was important. In order to understand the significance of our visit, you need a little bit of background. Let me back up for a second:

While our team was in Guatemala, Dianne, one of the older women on my team, received tragic news from her son. His wife, Riahnnon (Dianne’s daughter-in-law), had been in Costa Rica with her youngest son, Julian (Dianne’s grandson), and went swimming with him at a beach where there are pretty bad rip currents. Riahnnon and Julian began to struggle in the water, but there were no lifeguards in the area. A group of local teens saw them struggling, and a kid named Johan grabbed his surfboard and paddled out to make a rescue. Riahnnon and Julian got separated, and Johan was able to save Julian, but could no longer see Riahnnon. When news reached Dianne in Guatemala, Riahnnon’s body still hadn’t been found. Dianne flew to Costa Rica immediately to be with her son and grandson. Liz, one of our other team members, accompanied Dianne to Costa Rica to be a support to her. By the time they got to Costa Rica, Riahnnon’s body had been found and, sadly, it was confirmed that she’d drowned. Dianne was obviously devastated by her tragic loss. Liz did her best to serve as a comfort to Dianne and the family, and she tried to remain strong while the family grieved. After the memorial service, Dianne flew back to the states to be with her family for a while. Liz flew back to Guatemala and met back up with team. She shared with us about the events she’d witnessed in Costa Rica and the trauma she’d seen among Dianne’s son, grandson, and the teen surfer who carried the guilt of not being able to save Riahnnon. As she debriefed, Liz realized how much the tragedy had affected her personally. She felt little sense of closure from her time in Costa Rica but pushed the feelings down as we travelled through Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, and Nicaragua. Yet, the moment we hit Costa Rica, old feelings came rushing back. When Liz found out that the beach of Riahnnon’s death was just two hours from where we were camping, she asked if some people from the team were willing to return to the beach with her. She wanted to pray for Dianne’s family, seek some closure, and possibly find Johan, the teen surfer who had rescued Julian.

Liz has been an amazing friend to me, so despite my own frustrations, I knew I needed to go support her and visit Playa Avenilla. About ten people total made the trip. When we reached the beach, everyone took some time to walk along the sand alone and pray for Dianne and her family. We re-congregated a while later and did a footwashing ceremony for Liz in the ocean, a symbol of service and cleansing. We prayed for closure and healing for her. Liz felt strongly that she needed to find Johan and see if he was okay. While she prayed about finding Johan, she felt God saying that He would bring Johan to her. Sure enough, after asking just a couple locals if they knew Johan, he appeared on the beach. Ah, the beauty of a small surfer town and “coconut wireless.” Liz greeted Johan with a big hug and asked me to translate between him and the team. I explained that we were friends of Dianne and wanted to thank him for what he’d done. I told him he was a hero, and our team is so proud of him. I also asked him to share the details of his heroic rescue, and he explained how he was able to save Julian but unable to find Riahnnon in the water. Johan let us know that he wasn’t able to sleep for weeks after the incident and took sleeping pills for a while. I asked him how he is doing now, and he assured us that he is good. We asked if we could pray for him, and he agreed. We prayed for blessing and healing over him, as well as release from all guilt. We assured him that both we and God are so incredibly proud of him and so very thankful for what he did for Dianne. After praying, Liz treated him to a cool drink at the restaurant by the beach. We asked him a bit about his family, and he informed us that his mother had died when he was seven years old. Interestingly, Dianne’s grandson was around the same age. I found it remarkable that God had chosen Johan to be the one to save Dianne’s grandson, someone who understood exactly what it felt like to lose your mom as a little boy. God redeems things in such unexpected ways.

After praying with Liz and seeing her reunited with Johan, I could see a burden lifted off of both of them. The reunion was such a beautiful time of redemption. And as I walked along the ocean, reflecting on what Dianne had lost, suddenly losing my laptop didn’t seem so bad. Dianne had lost someone precious to her, someone she can never replace. And all I lost was a computer. That certainly put things in perspective. The most important thing in my life is God, and I am so thankful that no matter what, I cannot lose Him.

The next day, we made our way towards the Panama border and stopped in a town overnight to cut the journey in half. Before our second long day of driving, our team leader agreed to leave a little later than normal so that a few of us could go surfing. One of my selfish dreams for this trip was to surf in Costa Rica, but I didn’t think we would find the time to do it. After feeling like my dreams of writing had been put on hold, it was amazing to have a totally different dream come to pass. As I paddled through gorgeous waves, a familiar peace rushed over me. I felt safe and at home. And although I’m not a very experienced surfer, that day I miraculously caught wave after wave after wave, riding long perfect sets to shore, watching my board rip through the current. It was like God’s gift to me. That morning was the redemptive refreshment I needed. That perfect surf is my last memory of Costa Rica and is what I will carry with me rather than bitterness about being robbed.

Costa Rica was a crazy experience, but I’m thankful for it all—the good and the bad. I saw God’s power to restore what had been lost in Aynid, Liz and Johan, and myself. Our stories are very different, but they all sing of redemption. Though it’s always sad to lose, I am grateful to have experienced the restoration that follows loss firsthand. I am more determined than ever to push forward, run this race well, chase after my dreams, and watch God continue to give back what has been lost.

Nicaragua

2011-12-10T12:47:00.000-08:00

My team crossed into Nicaragua after a delayed departure from Honduras, due to vehicle problems once again. As we approached the border, each vehicle was stopped and the driver in my car, Brent, was asked for his license. He gave the border “official” a fake copy of his license as instructed by our team leaders. We had been warned that corrupt government officials often take foreigners’ licenses and refuse to return them. Sure enough, the official told Brent that he would not return his license unless Brent paid a ticket for failing to wear a seatbelt. Brent had been wearing a seatbelt our entire drive and refused to fall into the trap. He denied the false accusation and drove on, leaving the copy of his license behind, thankful for the warning we had received. We continued on to the Nicaraguan side of the border and got everyone’s documents sorted in just three hours—record time for our team. Feeling hopeful that the license snafu would be our only setback of the day, we drove on towards Jinotepe, our destination city.

The drive to Jinotepe went surprisingly smoothly for the first several hours. After so many popped tires, blown transmissions, broken axles, etc., I was shocked at how well we were doing. Unfortunately, I got excited a little too soon. When we were about twenty miles from Jinotepe, one of the RVs started smoking and suddenly died. There was a problem with the transmission, and we were forced to tow the vehicle the rest of the way. Squished into the remaining four vehicles, we carried on and arrived in Jinotepe around six p.m. We were greeted by Glenn and Lynn, a missionary couple who run Mateo 5:16, the ministry we would work with for the next few days. Glenn explained that since it was already Friday evening, a mechanic would probably not be able to look at the RV until Monday morning. This would probably push us back a couple days--not an atypical experience for our team.

The next morning, we met with Glenn and Lynn to hear more about Mateo 5:16. Their main mission base is called Nueva Vida and is comprised of a large kitchen, a small sewing room for the local women, a little church building, and a few large dormitories (where our team stayed). Glenn and Lynn explained that they also run a hotel in downtown Jinotepe, oversee an orphanage, and partner with several churches. They invited us to join them at any of the Mateo 5:16 church services and help out at the orphanage during our time in Nicaragua.

I gladly agreed to get involved with the orphanage ministry. Two new girls had flown into Nicaragua weeks prior to meet up with our team and had been living at the orphanage while they waited for our arrival. Susy and Rachel had quickly become accustomed to life at the orphanage and volunteered to show us the ropes. They taught us how to use public transportation to get from the mission base to the orphanage so that we would have the freedom to come and go as we pleased. During our first visit, we were greeted by several friendly faces, a handful of dogs, and a sheep named Princessa. I found that only nine children lived within the small orphanage, all taken care of by a single mama named Juanita. This woman is amazingly gracious, kind, and loves each of the children as her own. Susy explained that many of the children had been abused by their families, passed around as sexual objects from person to person. This orphanage had become a safe haven for each of them, and Juanita had become a nurturing mother. When I interacted with these sweet and gentle children, it was hard to believe everything they’d gone through.

During our second full day in Jinotepe, my teammate, Melissa, and I ventured to the orphanage on our own and joined up with other team members later. Walking around Jinotepe to find our bus inspired an unexpected feeling of nostalgia. The city reminded me a lot of where I used to live in Uganda—streets filled with bustling markets, friendly faces, local shops, and dusty dirt villages outside of the city. Melissa and I enjoyed the adventure of exploring the city and finding the correct mini-bus downtown, then walking down the dirt road to the orphanage—a muddy mess impassable for vehicles. Upon our arrival at the orphanage, Susy explained that if volunteers don’t take initiative to organize activities for the children, they often waste many hours sitting around and watching television. She suggested we create an active game for them with whatever resources we could get our hands on. We decided to design an obstacle course throughout the compound, creatively using the limited resources we had. We began the course by instructing the children to run through a dirt path lined with random chickens and roosters. Next, we had them weave their bodies between the swings on their rickety-old playground. We then drew a hopscotch course in the dirt that led to the next obstacle. After the last jump, we placed an old table on the ground and told the children to crawl underneath it. Next, we fashioned a soccer goal by balancing a large stick on two chairs. We put a deflated soccer ball a few feet in front of the goal and instructed the children to kick the ball over the stick before advancing to the next part of the course. Susy gathered some pinecones and found an old bucket that she positioned a few feet in front of a pile of pinecones. The last challenge was throwing at least one pinecone into the bucket, then running to a specific tree stump and tagging it. The children eagerly agreed to run the course, and we timed each one. After they took their turns, they insisted that I try the obstacle course as well. I did my best, but the little girls completely kicked my butt. Turns out, tossing a pinecone into a bucket is harder than I thought.

We returned to the orphanage a third day and went into the surrounding villages with some of the older girls from the orphanage. Three of them led groups of us into the village where we visited peoples’ homes and prayed for them. I was blown away by the faith and confidence that these young women carried. We had the opportunity to pray for the sick as well as invite people from the community to one of Mateo 5:16’s churches. The next day, several people came to the church for the first time.

Meanwhile, back at the mission base, the RV was still not fixed. As we had suspected, the needed repairs would push us behind schedule by a couple days. We were already three weeks behind our original itinerary, and I began to wonder if this delayed pace would continue. Things within our team were changing left and right. We’d just added six new people to the team and lost six original team members. Dynamics were changing quickly. A random guy from Mateo 5:16 decided to join our team, so that added even more unexpected change. In addition, Glenn and Lynn started putting demands on our team that we couldn’t meet. I was doing the best I could to serve and didn’t know what else to do. I started to get overwhelmed by all of this, and questions bombarded my mind: Will this trip take months longer than expected? How much will I miss while I’m away? Will people be disappointed in me for missing crucial events in their lives while I am here? How long will my life simply be a revolving door of people? Suddenly, I hit the point where I realized that I have ZERO control over what is happening. I don’t know when I will be in any given country or how long this crazy journey will take. I don’t know who will end this journey with me. At this point, I honestly have very little answers for the questions I’ve been asked about the future. And to be completely honest, it scares me sometimes.

Though I am on this trip to serve and minister to others, I realized that I needed someone to take care of me for a moment. It is a humbling thing to have to admit that you need help when you are the one who is supposed to be offering it. To be honest, I hesitated to swallow my pride and even let people read this. But I value being honest and real more than I value looking like I know what I’m doing; and the truth is that sometimes having no control over what’s happening in my own life scares me. But what a beautiful thing it is to be around people who love you even in weakness. And better yet, how beautiful it is to serve a God who uses the weak things of the world to shame the wise.

Most of my team didn’t know how I was feeling, but God did. During the night that I was struggling, he brought me to a group of my teammates who were sharing their hearts with one another. After we talked for quite a while, one of the guys said he felt we should pray together for just a minute. And as we began to pray, a minute of prayer somehow turned into two and a half hours. As a group, we cried out to God in pure desperation, losing all track of time. Without me saying a word about how I was feeling, three people from my team approached me, prayed for me, and declared the truth of God in place of the fears I’d been tackling. Though I had felt my life was out of my control, I remembered that I was never really the one in control to being with. My teammates reminded me of this and gave me strength when I lacked it—without judgement, expectation, or hidden agenda. They simply loved me. And I felt the heartbeat of the Father in them. I felt His love.

I had thought I was in Nicaragua to serve at an orphanage, but instead I was really the one being served. And I think that’s okay. God’s word says that all fruit flows from intimacy with the Father, so in order to bear more fruit, I need to be with Him. God used my desperation to bring me right where He wants me—close to His heart. And honestly, there’s no place I’d rather be.

Honduras

2011-11-23T15:59:00.000-08:00

After our brief stay in El Salvador, we crossed the next border into Honduras. Odd as it may sound, I felt something change as soon as we hit the border. My heart felt a real peace in El Salvador that disappeared when I entered Honduras. I didn’t feel scared or physically unsafe; I just felt uncomfortable. There was something about the way the men leered at me here that put me on edge. I felt like I was being looked at as an object in a way I hadn’t yet experienced on this trip.

My team drove several hours from the border and camped in a city called Choluteca. The city is an odd mix of poverty and modern wealth. Choluteca has a Wendy’s and a Pizza Hut, but there are also slums where people live in garbage dumps just a few miles away. The odd contradiction was hard to digest. I walked around the town a few times to run random errands, and those same uncomfortable leers seemed to follow me. The men in Choluteca treated me and the other females on my team like dogs, hissing at us, whistling, and yelling out gross comments. This kind of stuff is unfortunately part of life sometimes, but the level of perversion in Honduras was more than I’d expected. Part of me just wanted to hide in my tent for the rest of the week.

Our team was given three choices for how we wanted to spend our time in Honduras (and hiding in our tents was not an option). One group needed to go back to Guatemala to get one of our vehicles that we’d left behind at a mechanic. It was finally fixed after weeks of repair and was ready to be driven to Honduras. Another team would drive to an isolated village in the mountains several hours away and share the gospel in the village. The rest of us would stay in Choluteca and find a place to volunteer for the next few days. We had no contacts here, but were simply using the city as a “base camp” on the way to Nicaragua because of its convenient location close to the Nicaraguan border.

Despite my disgust for the men in Choluteca, I felt like I needed to stay behind and see what opportunities would arise in this city. I wasn’t sure where to begin, but knew God would open the right doors for our team. A few people decided to hang out at a local park and see what information they could gather about Choluteca. They happened to meet an American missionary who said she could connect our team with some local ministries. Roberta, one of the ladies on my team, went to the woman’s church to follow up the next day and met a pastor who was talking about a prison where he sometimes preaches. He explained that he had committed to preach at two different prisons on the same day at the same time. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Roberta gladly jumped in, thankful for the divine appointment, and volunteered our group to run one of the church services. The pastor gladly accepted our offer and gave us the directions to the Choluteca prison and told us to arrive there the following day at 1:30 in the afternoon. Two guys and four of us girls ended up going. To be honest, I was a bit intimidated to walk into a prison full of men, especially after feeling pretty frustrated by the men out on the streets. Yet, ironically, my experience in the prison is what redeemed my Honduran experience and what broke my heart for the country.

I entered the prison to find a large open area and bustling soccer field. They were men freely roaming around, not locked into cells. I noticed some of them staring and kept my eyes on the ground as a man led our group to the prison chapel. Once we reached the chapel I looked up and suddenly didn’t feel like I was inside a prison at all. The whole place was more like a small village than a jail. There were guards outside of the prison, but inside the men were free to do what they pleased. Every afternoon, about fifty or so men gathered together to hold a worship service. They had a sound system, podium, and several chairs filling the room. Though impressed by the chapel, I still felt a bit intimidated and had no intention of getting up to speak in front of all these men.

One of the inmates started us off by leading worship and then invited Brent, my teammate, forward to speak on behalf of our team. He shared his testimony and invited any men up who wanted to receive Christ. Five men stepped forward; one was moved to tears as we prayed for him. Afterwards, I was invited forward to share a word. Suddenly, the intimidation disappeared and I felt like these men were nothing but big brothers sitting in my living room. I grabbed the mic and spoke about freedom. I told the men that the Bible says, “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” I explained that real freedom doesn’t come from a place, from getting out of prison, from earning money, or gaining material possessions. True freedom only comes from Christ. And because Christ is everywhere, you can be free anywhere. Our hope is in something eternal, not the circumstances of today. As I spoke, the inmates encouraged me with “amens”, “hallelujahs”, and applause. These men were more excited about the love of Christ than most Christians in America who have everything you could dream of. Despite everything they’d lost, they were still cheering at the word of God.

After I spoke, we invited anyone forward who needed physical healing or prayer in general. Half of the men walked to the front of the chapel. We laid hands on them and prayed. One of the older men just grabbed my heart, and I felt a strong sense that God had called him to be a father to the fatherless and a leader within the prison. I used my best broken Spanish to prophecy over him and tell him that God has a plan for him even inside the prison. I knew he understood what I was trying to say when he exclaimed, “Glory to God!” And, though this doesn’t happen often to me, I could tangibly feel the presence of the Holy Spirit rushing through my body. I knew God was moving in that place and in that man’s heart. His face lit up, and I watched as he then began to approach the younger men and start laying hands on them and praying for them.

Lastly, before we left, Roberta called up the men who had been falsely accused of committing a crime, so we could pray for justice. She explained to our team that many innocent men in Latin America are thrown into prison, because the judicial system is so corrupt. Someone has to pay for every crime committed, but it doesn’t really matter who pays. Usually, the rich who commit crimes are able to pay their way out and force poor innocent men to pay the time for their crimes.

When Roberta called the innocent men forward, over half the church got up from their seats and walked to the front. I was blown away. The man I had just prayed for was part of that group. Yet, despite the fact that they had unfairly been thrown in prison, one of the inmates explained that many of the innocent men had not known Jesus before coming to jail and were thankful that they had had the opportunity to meet God while in prison. I was so touched by the hearts of the men and completely amazed by their unwavering faith. Sadly, before I knew it, our time was over, and a couple of the men escorted us back to the prison exit and said goodbye.

We had thought that would be our only chance to visit the prison, but two days later we were provided with another opportunity. We gladly accepted and brought back a few more people from the team. This time, a few people were allowed to enter the second wing of the prison, a more “high security” area where the worst criminals are located. Roberta, Ben, and I returned to the chapel.

The brothers in the prison welcomed us back with open arms. We worshipped together, and then they invited Roberta forward to teach the word of God. She provided a teaching on our positions as children of God and explained the authority we carry as Christians. Next, Ben came forward and shared a brief word. He talked about our ability to hear God’s voice—that it is our right as children of God to hear the voice of the Father. He took a few minutes to single out a few of the men and prophecy over them in front of the whole congregation. One of the men was an older gentleman who Ben believed God was calling as a father and leader for the other men in the prison. He was clearly touched and came forward for prayer, raising his hands in praise to God. Next, Ben called out a younger man sitting in the middle of the congregation. He spoke destiny and truth over him. “Whatever you have done in the past, it is over and finished. You may have made mistakes, but it doesn’t matter. God has forgotten your sin and entirely cleansed you. He sees you as righteous.” Moments later, that man gave his life to Christ.

At the end of the service, a few people came forward for specific prayer. The man that I had prophesied for two days earlier approached me and said that I had really encouraged him. He grabbed my hand and gave me a smile that made it all worth it. When I entered Honduras, I was so frustrated by the leering men that I’d felt I had nothing to give. And if I were to take the time to stop for anyone, the last person I thought I’d show compassion to would be a male inmate. But this man stole my heart and redeemed all the negative things I’d assumed about Honduras. Though the men on the streets had treated us women like nothing more than a pack of dogs, we miraculously found love and respect in this Honduran prison. Stronger than any culture of chauvinism, the power of Christ and love of God united us in that place. I pray that my Honduran brothers will receive the justice they deserve and one day be freed from the prison if they have been unfairly accused of crime. However, I am confident that if they remain in that prison, they will allow God to do great things through their lives in that place.

El Salvador, The Savior

2011-11-21T20:03:00.000-08:00

After being stranded in Guatemala for way longer than planned, our team finally made our way to El Salvador. We had some trouble at the border due to corrupt government officials who wanted one of our guys to pay a ridiculous bribe. But after hours of waiting and dealing with nonsense, we eventually made it through and drove on to San Salvador. We met up with a YWAM leader who hosted us for the next few days. This is the first time our team partnered with a YWAM base, something we hope to do more and more as our trip continues.

Our YWAM leader told us about the problems El Salvador is currently having with gang violence. I realized that the name El Salvador means “The Savior” in Spanish, and if any country needs a savior, it’s this one. The country is pretty much run by gangs, especially the notorious MS13 gang—known for their gruesome ways of killing people. Yet despite the warnings of gang violence, I somehow felt at ease in El Salvador. There is just something about the place that won me over. The need there is so great, and the people I met were so open to give and receive love. In this country full of gangs and murder, I oddly felt at home.

On our first day, we ran two church services for beautiful and friendly congregations. The first was at a church of maybe seven adults and ten or so children. What they lacked in size, they made up for in heart. I spent most of the service with the children, playing games and singing with them. In the afternoon, we headed to a second church, this one much larger. The service lasted for at least four hours. We worshipped, did a drama, preached, prayed for the sick, and then asked the Holy Spirit to touch the church body. Shortly, the church service turned into a massive dance party. People were weeping, laughing, dancing and rejoicing. An older man I prayed for confided in me that he had lost his home and couldn’t provide for his three children. His leg was injured, and it has prevented him from working. I prayed with him as he wept. Sadly, he was not healed that evening, but I am believing for a miracle for him. He stole my heart and showed me the gentle humility that can exist in a country known for its murder rate. Beneath the hype and the fear, there exists a genuine love in the heart of El Salvador.

The following day, my team visited a government-run orphanage for boys aged ten to seventeen. The place looked more like a prison than an orphanage. And it felt like one. Because the orphanage is run by the government, it’s a holding pen, not a ministry. On the boys’ eighteenth birthdays, they are kicked out. There is no transition into the “real world.” The kids are simply dumped and forced to fend for themselves. With the amount of gangs in El Salvador, I would assume most of them join gangs to be able to survive. It broke my heart to see such precious young boys headed towards such a rocky future. It was clear that the boys didn’t get much attention. We played soccer, basketball, frisbee, football, etc. for hours. The kids were going crazy, so excited to have some people to play with.

The following day, we visited a drug and rehab center for men. Again, I found a softness in the hearts of those men rather than the hardness you would expect. As a few of my team members shared about their past addictions and the freedom they’d found in Christ, there were many nods and “amens”. We prayed for the men, and they openly received. That same afternoon, we assisted the YWAM base with a homeless ministry they run right on their doorstep. The staff set up an outdoor shower, and homeless people from the community stopped by for a shower, a fresh set of clothes, a warm meal, and a short devotion. I had the privilege of leading the devotion and simply hanging out with the men who came by. One of them, Nelson, spoke perfect English and told us crazy stories from his past. Quite the comedian, he had all of us laughing. The ministry reminded me so much of the homeless ministry I used to do back in California. I felt so at home, just hanging out with these men, talking, and laughing. The more I travel the more I believe people are the same everywhere. Everyone likes to talk. Everyone likes to eat. Everyone likes to laugh. People are people.

Our time in El Salvador felt like it went by too quickly, but our team is trying to catch up a bit, since we are already pretty far behind our original itinerary. We are meeting more people in Nicaragua to join the team, so we would like to get there soon. Please pray for safe travels and protection over our vehicles. Thanks for reading along with my journey and for praying for the team!

Guatemala--Power of the Blood

2011-11-16T09:26:00.001-08:00

Our team crossed from Belize into Guatemala, hoping to spend only a few days in Guatemala and then continue on to El Salvador. Unfortunately, one of our vehicles’ transmissions died shortly after we crossed the border and delayed us quite a bit. As we waited for the car to be fixed, we took some time to rest and wait on God’s plan for us while we were in Guatemala. In Mexico, we worked tirelessly doing evangelism; Belize was more focused on discipleship. And in Guatemala, God had something different yet again. He showed us that the most powerful thing we could do in Guatemala was pray.

Our call to intercede for the nation of Guatemala was awakened by the country’s dark history. I could feel the darkness in the atmosphere. Everywhere we traveled, we found Mayan idols, statues of false gods, and businesses named after demonic creatures. We camped out at a city not far from Tikal, the largest preserved Mayan city in Latin America with the highest Mayan temples. We learned that the Mayans had performed human sacrifices at these temples for hundreds of years to satisfy their “gods.” Ancient Mayan games were played where the winner was sacrificed to the gods. This was considered a great honor in the Mayan culture. It was not uncommon to decapitate people and throw their heads and bodies from the top of the high temples in an attempt to appease the Mayan gods.

Like many cultures and religions, the Mayans believed in an exchange of blood—the blood of their men for the blessing of their gods. In the ritual of trading, blood is the highest sacrifice. As Christians, we also believe in an exchange of blood—the blood of Christ for ours. The Mayans had perverted the gospel of truth, exchanging blood in heinous rituals instead of accepting the blood of Christ for freedom and forgiveness. Our team felt we needed to travel to the ancient Mayan temples and take back what the enemy had stolen. We would go to the holy high places and trade the truly powerful blood—the blood of Christ. We traveled to the ruins in Tikal and climbed up the highest temple we could find. Though deathly afraid of heights, I understood the importance of this blood exchange and forced myself to get to the top. Once we’d all completed the climb, we brought out the elements to take communion. Since we were in Guatemala and unable to get the normal bread and wine, we substituted corn tortillas and some orange Gatorade. It was the closest we could find, but we figured it wasn’t the type of bread or wine that mattered so much as the heart behind what was happening.

As we ate of the “bread and wine” we made a symbolic blood exchange I hadn’t experienced before. In the Old Testament, only the high priests were allowed to go into the “Holy of Holies” in the tabernacle. There was a veil separating people from God, and common people could not enter into His presence. Yet, when Jesus died for us, the bible says the veil was broken. Now anyone can come into the Lord’s mighty presence. In addition, Revelation mentions a “sea of glass” that is before the throne of God in heaven. Because Jesus exchanged his blood so that we do not have to die, we are able to go into those heavenly places and exchange his blood for heavenly things. The veil is broken, so we can access God’s presence. We can go through the veil or enter the sea of glass before the throne of God and exchange the blood of Jesus for all the things he died for—our salvation, love, healing, freedom, restoration, etc. As our team took communion on the Mayan temple, we symbolically “stepped onto the sea of glass” or “stepped through the veil” to be in God’s presence and pray for His gifts from heaven. We exchanged the blood of Christ for the salvation of His people. We exchanged the blood of Christ for God’s presence in Guatemala. We exchanged the blood of Christ for the freedom of the Guatemalan people. We exchanged the blood of Christ for righteousness. We exchanged the blood of Christ for peace in the nation. We exchanged the blood of Christ for the truth of the gospel to reign over Guatemala and trump the heinous rituals of its history. And as we prayed, we cancelled the perverse blood sacrifices made through Mayan rituals and declared truth over Guatemala.

There is such power in the blood of Christ. Pray with me that this power reigns in the hearts of the Guatemalan people and that they are freed from the demonic rituals that have enslaved them for hundreds of years.

Home Is Where My Sleeping Bag Is

2011-11-04T19:15:00.000-07:00

My life is weird--really weird. Especially when I compare my life now to the life I was living a few months ago. I think back to July when I was teaching at Cal State Fullerton and can scarcely believe the contrast to my current lifestyle. Last summer, I would get up every morning and put on nice clothes and dressy shoes and grab my bag and car keys. I would leave my clean and spacious apartment, well-rested and showered. I would open my little Honda Civic and drive a few miles down smoothly paved roads to a beautiful university. I would click my nice shoes down the tiled floor leading to my classroom, teach for a few hours, then head back to my homey apartment. I would check my email without a worry that my internet might not connect or cut out. I would pass the evenings as I pleased, having everything I could ever need or want right at my fingertips. And at night I would curl into my queen-sized bed in my room all by myself, feeling warm and cozy in my safe little home.

The word “home” is now an irrelevant term in my life. A Guatemalan asked me for my address the other day, and I simply looked at her in confusion, unsure of what to say. My life has turned into a rhythm of traveling, packing and unpacking. Some days I wake up and have to remind myself what country I’m in. Home is no longer a set place, but simply wherever my sleeping bag happens to be at the moment. The days of privacy and a cozy room to myself are long gone. I sleep in a variety of cots, tents, etc., but most nights, six girls and I sleep in a pop-up camper together, a portable “room” that we attach to our SUV. The camper squishes down for travel but can be cranked up into a large tent-like structure. My usual sleeping spot is probably designed for one person but is shared by two. Rose, my bed-buddy, and I have about an inch and a half between us. Our “bed” isn’t quite long enough for us, so our toes rub against the edge. If I venture out of my camper at night, I often find myself surrounded by random animals. In the two-minute process of brushing my teeth outside, I encounter wild horses, stray dogs, crazy roosters, tarantulas, and swarms of mosquitoes. And just a random side note: I’m pretty sure the bugs in Central America bred with dinosaurs at some point to create this horrific mutant bug species. My entire team looks like we’ve had the chicken pox for a month.

A good toilet, shower, and internet access have become luxuries. Simple things and basic hygiene have become complicated processes. My latest bathroom adventure from Belize paints a pretty good picture of my new and strange life:

One morning, while camping at an RV park, I woke up early and needed to use the bathroom. The campsite had no toilets, so the team had agreed to share our dinky RV toilet; but it was too early to wake up the people sleeping inside the RV. I had no problem with going to the bathroom outside, but we were in a wide open field. The only way to hide myself was to go deep into a woodsy area full of snakes. Ugh, I thought to myself. Why do I always get myself into these kinds of situations?

I tucked a roll of toilet paper under my arm, stumbling around in my pajamas, and wandered away from the tents and campers, trying to find a place to hide. My choices were a wide open field or the middle of snake territory. I tried to step towards the snake bushes and immediately started getting eaten alive by mutant bugs. Forget it, I told myself, I’m just going right here in the field. I don’t know what else to do. Just as I started to squat down, a pick-up truck full of Belizean men drove by and started honking and screaming at me. PLAN ABORTED. Dang it, I thought. I seriously have no choice but to go into the snake bushes, or else I’m going to be the most inappropriate missionary ever. I started walking into the bushes and was once again interrupted. A man who worked at a restaurant across the street saw me and began to wave frantically and motion me to come towards him.

Seriously? I wondered. How has this become my life? What does a girl have to do to go to the bathroom in peace around here??

“Don’t go in there! Nooo!” the man yelled as he continued to motion me towards him.

Frustrated, I walked towards the man across the street to listen to what he was saying. “There are snakes in those bushes,” he warned me. “Never go inside there! Come and use the bathroom in the restaurant.”

I thanked him for his concern and crossed the street towards the restaurant, gratefully accepting his toilet offer. Afterwards, I walked down the street back towards our campsite, still in my pajamas, hair a mess, toilet paper roll tucked under my arms.

Some days are just like this. The once simple things have become ever so complicated. Life as a nomad is a bit messy and strange, but it’s my life nonetheless. Sometimes it feels weird not having a home or bed to sleep in or toilet to use. It’s strange not knowing what country I’ll be in next week. It’s weird that I don’t know what to say when people ask me where I live or where I’m from. It’s strange that I don’t have a place to keep my stuff or a consistent bed to sleep in. And I don’t particularly enjoy looking like a crazy homeless lady walking down the streets of Belize in my pajamas with nothing in my arms but toilet paper. There are many days when I miss having a home and a life with even a pinch of consistency to it.

BUT I also must admit that the things I once took for granted are now things I thank God for every day. So maybe that’s not so bad after all. When I have a toilet or read an email from home or get enough phone reception to hear my family’s voice, I am grateful. When I take a shower, I’m thankful, and when I take a hot shower, I’m in heaven. When I get a good night’s sleep or don’t wake up itchy or get a moment of privacy, I feel blessed. And truth is, when I stand atop ancient Mayan ruins in Guatemala, or lay hands on sick people in Mexico who get healed, or spend a week hanging out with a former drug addict in Belize who has completely changed his life around…the sleepiness, itchiness, crowdedness, and homelessness all seem to fade away. And in those moments, I remember that home isn’t really a building or a toilet or a bed. Home is wherever I am at the moment. Today home is Guatemala; in a few days it will be El Salvador. Home is where my sleeping bag is. Home is wherever God takes me, and I’m okay with wherever that may be. J

You better Belize it!

2011-10-29T18:59:00.000-07:00

After spending a few extra weeks in Mexico than originally planned, our team leaders discussed the possibility of cutting out Belize from our trip itinerary. We could save some time and head directly into Guatemala rather than taking the circuitous route from Mexico to Belize and then Guatemala. In addition, our contact in Belize fell through, so we had no solid plans or place to stay. However, a few people from the team felt strongly that we needed to go to Belize, and as they expressed their opinion, everyone else on the team quickly agreed that we couldn’t cut this country out. Soooo we drove an extra two days and made the trek to Belize.

As soon as we crossed the border, it felt like we had stepped out of Latin America. There were Rastafarians everywhere. Everyone spoke English. Most people had dark skin and spoke with thick Caribbean accents. I felt like I was in Jamaica…wahoo! We were so surprised that we forgot we had no plan or place to stay. We asked around and were directed to an RV park in a small town called Corozal, just miles from the border. We drove there and set up camp for the night.

In the morning, we met as a group and prayed together about our plan (a very loose term on our team) for our time in Belize. We hoped to go into the town square and connect with some locals who would be willing to take us into nearby villages to minister. Since we had no agenda, we were all totally open to what God would arrange. One of my team members said he’d been praying that God would give us diamonds—a weird prayer right? But his wife prayed into that and felt that the “diamonds” he was praying for were people—God’s treasures. She felt our mission in Belize was to go and seek these “diamonds”.

After our meeting, a few of the guys from the team went off to explore in the town. As they were eating lunch, a Belizean named Godfrey approached them. “I don’t know why, but I felt like I was supposed to follow you,” he explained as he sat down with the young guys.

The guys welcomed the conversation with Godfrey and soon found out that Godfrey had recently turned his back on a life of drug abuse. He had struggled with crack, alcohol, and other drugs, and had been sober for only a couple days. “I’m tired of this life. This isn’t me,” he went on. “I want to stop.”

The guys prayed for Godfrey, breaking off the chains of addiction and oppression. Godfrey walked away feeling encouraged, declaring that his load had been lightened.

Later that evening, a group of us headed to the town square to “seek God’s diamonds.” Quickly, a group of people gathered around us foreigners and struck up conversations with us. One of the girls on my team laughed to herself as she noticed the design on one of the Belizean’s hats. “Look at his hat,” she whispered to me. As I glanced over, I saw a large picture of a diamond on his hat. Surely, we had found the first of God’s treasure in Belize. Godfrey approached the group as well, recognizing one of our guys from earlier in the day. He talked about how much they had encouraged him and how he truly wanted to be better and do better. He offered to take us around Corozal, exactly what we had been praying about earlier. Godfrey said he had been praying to God for an angel to change his life and that we were the answer to his prayers. And we had been praying to God for his diamonds in Belize, so he was also the answer to our prayers.

The following day we went to a nearby village with Godfrey as well as the town hospital. There was a woman who had drunk bad water and was pretty much on her deathbed. The poison she’d consumed had made her incredibly sick and weak. One of the girls from our team told the sick woman and Godfrey that God had the power to heal, and they prayed for the woman. As they prayed, the woman sat right up in bed and exclaimed that she had been healed! She had gone from dying to feeling great in a matter of seconds. She was very excited to say the least! Godfrey had never seen God heal someone before and was blown away to witness it firsthand.

After a few days in Corozal, we felt ready to move on to another town. But we didn’t want to leave Godfrey behind. So we invited him to join our team for the rest of our time in Belize. He gladly agreed to come with us. He wanted to get away from Corozal where his friends were into drugs. He wanted a fresh start, so we adopted him into our family and encouraged him to stay clean.

We decided to drive to Dangriga, an area right on the coast full of Caribbean flavor. When we arrived, Godfrey said he wanted to be baptized in the Caribbean Sea. We walked down to the ocean, and some of the guys baptized Godfrey. As he was getting baptized, a local man named Kareem started talking to one of my team members and expressed interest in being baptized as well. So Kareem stripped down to his boxers, jumped in the ocean, and the guys baptized him next!

The rest of our time in Belize was pretty slow-paced. We met another local who took us to peoples’ homes to pray. We ran a children’s program in a park one night, which was chaotic but fun. We drove to a village called Punta Gorda and prayed with some people there. But after coming from a really hectic schedule in Mexico, I honestly wondered, “Are we accomplishing enough? Are we spending enough hours doing ministry?”

But then I realized that our ministry was simply hanging out with Godfrey. Whether we were going to different houses to pray for people or just sitting around telling jokes, we were showing this man love. He was hanging out with our team instead of hanging out with his old addict friends who wouldn’t be able to support him during his transition off of drugs. God’s love is so lavish that it’s worth it to Him to send twenty-something people to Belize, a two day’s journey out of their way, just to hang out with a guy and give him the encouragement he needs to push through his first few days of sobriety and not have to do it alone. Our God is the God who said he would leave ninety-nine sheep to find the ONE that got left behind. He is not so concerned with DOING…He’s concerned with LOVING.

And the story gets better…our last day in Belize, we drove to a small town on the border of Guatemala and camped there for the evening. That day happened to be the 21^st birthday of one of the girls on the team. One of the older girls, Liz, was praying that somehow we’d be able to find a cake in this small town (which seemed somewhat unlikely when we drove in). I wasn’t worried about the cake but was praying that we’d be able to find a connection for Godfrey. The next day we would drive to Guatemala, and he would stay behind in Belize. He said he didn’t want to go back to the town where we met him, fearing he would stumble into temptation if he were around his previous bad influences. But how could we just leave Godfrey at this random town by Guatemala without a single friend? We could pay for a few nights in a motel or something, but then what would he do?

While I was sitting around worrying, Liz decided to venture into the town to find a birthday cake. I didn’t feel like it really mattered that much, but she insisted that God loves His children and cares about even the little things like a birthday cake for His daughter’s 21^st birthday. So she went into town praying and ran into a random guy riding a bike who happened to be selling pieces of cake from his bike basket. Liz asked him if he could make a big cake for twenty-something people right away. The cake man looked pretty surprised but agreed to do it. Liz returned back to where we were camping, grinning from ear to ear. She said God had answered her prayer and provided a divine appointment. She invited me and a few others to go back into the town later to pick up the cake. So a couple hours later, Liz, Godfrey, two others, and myself went to pick up the finished cake. Liz had written down the cake man’s phone number, but none of our phones had service, so we went to a pay phone and asked the cake man to come meet us. Moments later, he appeared on his bike and told us to follow him back to his house. We drove down a very bumpy road while he led us on his bike. He allowed us to come inside while his wife finished up putting the frosting on the cake. As we spoke to her, she mentioned that she was a Christian. Liz explained that we were Christians as well and that she had been praying for a birthday cake for one of our girls. As she told the woman she had been an answer to her prayers, the woman got teary-eyed. While we girls were chatting, Godfrey and the cake man talked outside. Godfrey explained his situation and asked the man about housing options in the area. Turns out, the cake man was a former drug addict who had been clean for seven years. AND his brother happened to be in the housing market, so he had some connections for Godfrey. One of the guys on our team decided to pay for a month’s rent for Godfrey and get him situated before we crossed into Guatemala.

So, by the next morning, Godfrey had a free place to stay for the next month as well as a Christian family to connect with. And our birthday girl had a delicious cake. Liz’s prayers were answered, my prayers were answered, Godfrey’s prayers were answered, and the cake family was touched by it all. I was amazed at how oddly God weaved everything together so perfectly right at the last moment. And while I had been wondering, “Am I DOING enough?” Liz showed me that we can take time to slow down and care about things like a birthday cake…because when we are praying even about the little things, God works them into a plan that is much bigger than we can really imagine.

Mas de Mexico!

2011-10-08T20:30:00.000-07:00

As we travel through the second half of Mexico, I can’t deny God’s power or faithfulness. I’ve never seen Him working like this before, and I’m so excited to share stories of His love with others. It’s crazy, because the less my team plans and controls, the more God steps in.

In most of the Western world, we are taught how to “do church.” We have eighteen and a half minutes allotted for worship, three minutes for announcements, four for collecting the offering, and then a perfectly planned sermon that has been prepared for hours and hours. But on the Iris Latin American team, “church” looks very different. We don’t plan a ton; we just do what Jesus did. The Bible never mentions anything about Jesus preparing a sermon for twenty hours or auditioning people to be part of His worship band. He simply does three things—preaches the good news, heals the sick, and drives out demons. So His model is what we follow on our team…which is craziness for a group of people who grew up in the Western church. But guess what? It’s working. It’s working! It’s woooooorking! We go as a team into the darkest places—slums, isolated villages, and garbage dumps—and we do the three things that Jesus did. We share testimonies and the good news of Jesus’ love, and then we call the sick forward. We pray for people, and they often get healed physically. And sometimes we have to pray for deliverance, and people are freed from spiritual and emotional problems. We don’t go in with an agenda or timeframe or anything like that. We simply imitate Jesus’ ministry, and God does the rest.

Here are two of my favorite stories from the past week or so:

One evening we drove into the slums of Guadalajara to minister to the people there. We walked down the street, greeting people and playing with the children. A bunch of us congregated in one area and asked if there were any sick people who needed healing. A woman came forward whose face had become paralyzed. She couldn’t really speak because of the paralysis. Several of us laid hands on her, and the paralysis left her face! She said her face was hot, and she began to speak! She was so happy that she invited a few of us to go back to her home and pray some more with her. Two of my teammates, a bilingual woman from the local church, and I went to her house and continued to pray. I felt the Lord speaking into my heart the story of the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years and told herself that if she even touched the cloak of Jesus that she could be healed. As she reached for him in a large crowd, Jesus called her out in front of everyone and said, “Daughter, your faith has made you well.” I shared the story with the woman and told her I believed that her faith in the Lord had made her well. The four of us prayed a bit more, and the woman began to cry. She said that she felt like something was being cleansed inside her mouth, and she felt something she couldn’t explain. She said she felt so much joy and so much happiness. And as I watched this beautiful elderly Mixteco woman rejoicing in her healing and her new NOT paralyzed face, I felt incredible joy as well.

A couple nights later, our group was invited to run a church service at an outdoor street church. Again, we planned very little and just worshipped, shared God’s goodness, and prayed for people who needed healing and deliverance. I started to pray for a woman with my friend Rose. The woman was complaining of pain in her chest and stomach. We prayed for release from physical pain, but nothing happened. Maria, a bilingual woman on my team, came over to translate and found out more information. The woman had gone to the doctor, and the doctor said there was a problem with her appendix. We continued to pray for physical healing, but still nothing happened. I got a weird feeling that there was some emotional pain that was binding the woman. I haven’t had many words of knowledge like this before, so I wasn’t sure if this strange feeling was from God or from myself. But as I kept praying, the feeling persisted. I finally decided to speak up and explain to Maria what I was feeling. “Maria, I don’t know how to say this in a way that isn’t rude or accusatory,” I explained. “But I really feel like there is some emotion pain this women needs healing from. I think it’s manifesting in the physical, and that physical pain won’t go away until we deal with whatever the emotional pain is.”

Maria immediately nodded and responded, “I was feeling the same exact thing, but I wasn’t sure if I should speak up. I think what we are feeling is right.”

“Yeah, something weird is definitely going on here,” Rose now chimed in. “As we prayed for her, I started to feel a bad pain in my stomach.”

We agreed that we needed to take the risk of offending the woman by asking what was going on in her emotional life. As Maria spoke to her, the woman began to break down. As she cried, Maria translated for us and explained that the woman had a bad relationship with her husband. She got no pleasure out of having sex with him, and she only slept with him out of obligation. She was unhappy in her marriage and wrestling with depression. As Maria continued to minister to her, more bits of her story were revealed. The woman admitted that she’d also been abused by her father and had been emotionally scarred by his actions. Maria explained to the woman that forgiving her father and husband was the key to emotional freedom. We prayed for the woman to be free from the sins of her father and husband, to be released from the chains of depression, and to enter full emotional, spiritual, and physical healing. As we prayed, the woman said that the pain started to leave her body. Rose said that strange pain she’d felt in her stomach also disappeared.

After we prayed a bit more, our team leader spoke in front of the whole church about receiving the gift of the Holy Spirit. He told everyone that they could receive the gift of tongues, healing, and the ability to prophesy. When Jesus left the earth, he told his disciples they would be do even greater things than he did, because they would walk in the power of the Holy Spirit. The woman said she wanted to receive the baptism of the Holy Spirit. Maria, Rose, and I continued to pray, this time asking the Holy Spirit to fill this woman. I prayed she would feel and know the power of God’s divine peace, love, and joy. As we prayed, the woman began to speak in tongues and sway back and forth a bit. Suddenly, the power of the Holy Spirit fell on this woman—TANGIBLY—so that she actually fell backwards. Surprised, I awkwardly caught her and I left her in a chair to just be still for a while.

Later on in the evening, Maria went to check on her, and the woman looked completely different. What once had been a face of stress and depression was now a countenance of joy. The woman came up to Rose and me and gave us each a big hug, thanking us. She said all of her physical pain was completely gone! But more importantly, she felt JOYFUL and said she was ready to go home and make love to her husband! Hahaha! Amen!

I love seeing people healed. It never gets old. It’s great when someone is healed physically, but it’s soooo much better when they are healed emotionally too. When you can see in someone’s eyes that emotional scars are being healed, it’s so beautiful! I love that God shows up in random slums in Mexico, in isolated villages, and in little street churches. It’s such a wonderful display of His character and crazy radical love.

Mexico

2011-09-26T09:26:00.000-07:00

After months of preparation, I have finally entered Mexico! I met up with my team a couple weeks ago in LA and crossed the Mexican border at Nogales on September 14th. It's been a wild journey since then. My team arrived at our first stop in Mexico, the village of Pesqueira, and stayed for a few days in this beautiful little town. We partnered with a local pastor who asked us to go house to house and invite the community to a church service in the evening. We did this two days in a row. The first day I prayed for several people during the house visits. One of the women said she was having horrible Satanic nightmares and didn't know why she couldn't sleep in peace. We prayed for her to be delivered from the attack, and the next day she showed up at the church to let us know she had a wonderful peaceful sleep at last.
During the first evening church service, I helped run a children's program while other team members ran the church service. They informed me that about fifty people gave their lives to Christ during the service. One member of my team had a word of knowledge that there were people who were thinking about committing suicide and struggling with depression. Two people came forward, admitted that this word was for them, and got prayer and healing.
Meanwhile, I was outside trying to keep a village of children entertained while using my limited Spanish. The people who were helping me didn't speak any, so I did the best I could. Things were a bit crazy, but we had a lot of laughs and a night I certainly won't forget.
The next night, we did the same thing. The team again saw healings in the church, and I helped with the children again. We had a great time.
From Pesqueira, we drove to Culiacan, a city where you could feel the darkness and oppression. We saw lots of police patrolling the area, a region plagued by drug wars. We attended a church service in Culiacan, but our stay was brief. The next day, we drove to another village.
We rested for a couple days in a gorgeous area right by the Pacific Ocean and got re-energized before the next leg of our journey. After resting, we drove to Confradia and partnered with a man named Jay who has been living in the area for 16 years. His heart is for an unreached people group called the Cora who live in a remote area in the mountains. We slept at Jay's mission base and drove up to the mountain the next morning. It took about 7 hours along crazy winding, bumpy roads. We spent the next couple days with the Cora people and had opportunities to pray and minister to them. Some others and I prayed for a man who had had an eye problem for a year--pain and blurred vision. After we prayed, all the pain left, and his vision was fully restored. Praise God!
We headed back down the mountain and moved on to Guadalajara, where I am right now. We are partnering with another local church and will be heading into the slums to do ministry for the next few days. From there, we will head to Mexico City, then Oaxoca, then cross in Guatemala.
So far, the trip has been challenging but good. We never know exactly what "the plan" is or where we will be. We never know when we will next eat or whether we will be sleeping in a bed or on a concrete floor or outside in a place full of scorpions and tarantulas. Some days feel kind of normal; others feel like a weird movie.
But God has been faithful and has been showing up everywhere we've gone. I wondered how long it would take to see fruit, to see miracles, to feel like something was really happening...and it only took one day. God is showing up. God is doing things in Mexico that are suprising the people and surprising me too! It's a blessing to be a part of the adventure and to wait to see what God does next. :)

Reflections on Leaving

2011-08-25T09:32:00.000-07:00

As I look at the calendar, only a couple weeks left in America staring me in the face, I am struck with mixed emotions. Goodbye is always bittersweet; it's sad to leave one life behind but exciting to prepare for the next. I've realized how much I truly do love and value my life in California and wish I could somehow bring it along with me. Though the adventure ahead has certain allure, I am beginning to realize that leaving my comfortable life comes with a true cost. To be honest, at times I've struggled. But as I read scripture, I can't deny that Christ calls us to give up ourselves for something so much greater. I've read the passage about how if we find our lives we will lose them, and if we surrender our lives we will find them. It's starting to make sense to me. I've worked hard to a build a life that is good for ME, but what about what God has? If I could build a great life, how much greater must the life he has for me be? Though it sometimes feels like a sacrifice, in the end, I know it will be a blessing. Like Jim Elliot once said, "He is no fool who loses what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose." The only thing that is lasting is the love of God. And as I prepare to head into the jungles of South America, uncertain of what lies ahead, I know that the only steady One I can cling to is Jesus.
There's a song called, "I Will Waste My Life" by an amazing artist named Misty Edwards. This song has inspired me to remember to "waste my life" on the Lord--which turns out to be the farthest thing from waste. Because in the end, despite everything we may lose, He's the only thing we get to keep.

"I will waste my life,
I'll be tested and tried.
With no regrets inside of me,
Just to find I'm at your feet,
Let me find I'm at your feet.

I leave my father's house, and
I leave my Mother.
I leave all I have known, and
I'll have no other.

For I am in love with you,
and there is no cost.
I am in love with you,
and there is no loss.
I am in love with you,
I want to take your name.
I am in love with you,
I want to cling to you, Jesus,
Just let me cling to you, Jesus.

I say goodbye to my father, my mother,
I turn my back on every other lover, and I
Press on, yes I press on.
I say goodbye to my father, my mother,
I turn my back on every other lover, and I press on, yes I press on.

For I am in love with you,
and there is no cost.
I am in love with you,
and there is no loss.
I am in love with you,
I want to take your name.
I am in love with you,
I want to cling to you, Jesus,
just let me cling to you, Jesus,
I want to cling to you..."
-Misty Edwards

So Where Exactly Am I Going???

2011-07-16T09:54:00.000-07:00

The team leaders for this amazing journey have been working tirelessly to figure out routes for our trip. They have begun to purchase vehicles, including RVs and 4x4s with campers, that will be used for the bulk of our trip. Because we have so many people going (I'd guess we are currently at a minimum of 60 people), we are going to have to split up into different groups. There will be 2 or 3 separate routes, and the entire team will meet up as a whole at certain points. The routes have not been finalized, but here is a rough idea:

Both teams will being the journey in Redding, CA and be commissioned by Bethel Church. They will drive through California and most likely both enter Mexico through the Nogales border. Team #1 will probably stay in Western and Central Mexico, then head for Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panama. Team #2 will begin in Western Mexico but then head over to Central and Eastern Mexico, eventually crossing the border in Belize and continuing on to Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panama. Both teams will meet up in Colon, Panama and ship the vehicles on a ferry into Cartagena, Columbia.

We are hoping to start the journey throughout South America together in Columbia, then split off again as we weave through Ecuador and Peru (meeting together as a whole team at specific points). At certain times, we will leave our vehicles and take boats or planes to get into unreached areas of the Amazon. Afterwards Team #1will head to Bolivia, Paraguay, meet up with Team #2 in Argentina, head back north into Bolivia again and then into Brazil where they will meet up again with Team #2 in Santarem. Team #2 will travel through Chile and Argentina, even to the southern tip of South America near Antarctica, then back through Uruguay and Brazil. Once both teams are in Santarem, they will take a ferry to Manaus (with or without their vehicles...TBD), then travel north. Team #1 will head into Guyana, Suriname and French Guiana, then fly into Caracas, Venezuela to meet up with Team #2. From Caracas, both teams will fly into the Caribbean.

Currently, the team leaders have contacts in every country in Central and South America, and the Caribbean contacts are still in the works. I personally dream of visiting Haiti, the Dominican Republic, and Jamaica. Hopefully that will happen!

I have no idea what team I will be placed on, but I am open to doing whatever. When I was in Mozambique, I was placed on a different outreach team than several of my good friends and couldn't believed they'd been put together without me. But I ended up having an amazing experience and loving every minute of the time I spent with my team. I couldn't have asked for a better time. So I trust I will end up in the right spot. I can't wait to see all the amazing things that will happen that no person could ever plan...

How It All Began...

2011-05-21T09:39:00.000-07:00

Hey friends, so I guess this is the start of my blog. :) I decided I wanted a way to document my journey to South America throughout 2011 and 2012. Though I plan to leave in September, this journey really started way before that. God began speaking to me about poverty in the developing world when I was just a kid. He broke my heart for children living in poverty before I really even understood what that looked like. In 2006, as I was wrapping up my last year of college, I asked the Lord to send me a dream and show me which country He wanted me to move to. I had dream after dream after dream about Africa. LONG story short, a few months later, I was living in an orphanage in Uganda. I returned to the states after a year in Africa, determined to get myself back to this beautiful continent. It took quite some time, but in 2010, I felt God calling me very specifically to Mozambique to train with Iris Ministries. My hope was that I would fall in love with Iris and be placed as a long-term missionary at one of Iris's bases in Africa.

But then something changed. God told me to surrender my dream of living in Africa and to seek His heart completely. He showed me that my identity was not in Africa, was not in an orphanage, and was not as a missionary. My identity was simply His. And as I sought God's heart, I began to see His FURIOUS LOVE. He didn't call me to Mozambique to make me work or to force me into the mission field. He brought me there to relentlessly pursue me with His furious love. Somehow God is both gentle and strong. His love is comforting, but it is also mighty and furious.

After experiencing such deep love, I opened my heart in a way I never had before. I told God I would go wherever He led me. And shortly thereafter, an opportunity to go to South America arose. It's funny, because before I went to Uganda in 2006, I was really hoping God would bring me to Latin America. I had to re-adjust my mind to get excited about Africa, but once Africa had become comfortable for me, God led me back to Latin America. Anyway, two Iris missionaries who had been living in Africa for years felt the Lord calling them to Latin America to bring revival fire and God's furious love. As soon as I heard their heart and calling, I knew I wanted to be a a part of their team. And now I am.

So here's the plan. We will be driving from California to Mexico, through all of Central America, winding through every country in South America, selling our vehicles in Venezuela (if possible) and then taking mostly boats throughout the Caribbean. We will be partnering with various ministries along the way. We will help out wherever needed, whether encouraging burned-out missionaries, playing with children, talking to prostitutes on the street, or trekking into the jungle to preach to unreached tribes. The journey is going to be pretty wild!

The thing that excites me the most is that I have no idea what will happen on the trip. We will only be successful if the Holy Spirit leads and guides us. I can't wait to see God's mighty hand on the trip and the people we encounter. Please pray that hearts would be changed along the journey (including my own), that I would experience more of God's furious love, and that I would have the courage and compassion to share that love with others.

More to come as we get closer to September...