12.28.2017
Bolivia.
I wake up in bed, and mosquito net is the first thing i see.
And i have wifi.
beautiful wonderful wifi.
I dont want to leave my cozy bed, but no agenda time with the Lord is better.
I get up, grab my journal, bible, phone, and headphones and head down to the kitchen.
Everythings still locked up but that doesnt hinder me.
I get in the kitchen and put water on the stove to boil. I put tea and sugar in my cup and wait.
When its ready i take my tea and stuff outside and pick one of the branchmade green cushioned chairs and sit down.
What does my time with God look like lately?
Whatever He suggests.
I sip my tea and talk with Him…or listen to a worship song and praise Him.
The mornings are generally cool, and i have no agenda. Just sit with Him….a verse comes and i look it up and meditate on it…i journal, i talk, i sip, i pray.
What did i do this month?
Well, i evangelized, which means i walked around little streets and tight marketplaces and invited people to church by handing them freshly printed pesos, or dollars, stamped with the church address and a message about how money wont satisfy the deepest longings of the human heart.
I had this strategy, which was: say this spanish script, and step forward with the money. And the more people i can give it to, the quicker i am done.
My stomach clenches at the thought of forced conversation, forced feelings, feeling the other persons discomfort – it feels suffocating.
Handing out real looking fake money made people smile, even laugh. People were reading the tract. Some people even asked for prayer. That made it easier. When people smiled, laughed, or accepted prayer.
I know in my heart God cares, and i know that these people are dearly loved by Him. I’m here to love on them, but what does that look like? And how does that translate into them feeling cared for and loved by me?
I feel like that’s such a fine line for me. I want to be honest in my interactions with people. I dont want to be forced to perform or act in order to make someone think i am someone im not, – doing something i may or may not believe in.
The lady we were doing ministry with the first week was such a dear heart, but had been doing ministry alone for a long time and the joy of having partners working in the area of her own passion seemed to make her enthusiastically extreme.
At times, this not only drained my energy, but made me feel uncomfortable and held back from being able to bring my full self to the moment.
I did my best to be fully intentionally honest during the entire ministry, in order that i could honor my hosts, the people we were interacting with, and maintain integrity in my heart.
.
The next week we spent at a small special needs orphanage started by a couple who adopted 8 special needs orphans from Bolivia.
Their property consists of the families home and the orphanage – with conjoined yards full of fruit trees, swings, and other outdoor articles of fun.
Although there was a definite language barrier between us and the majority of the staff there, the best thing about that ministry was the staff.
They genuinely loved and cared for the children as if they were their own. Each child desplayed definite recognition, affection, and joy with their “mamas”.
One little boy we nicknamed “Heffe” or “boss” for his gangster like facial expressions. He called me “Papa”.
We played with them, fed them, washed their toys with them, colored with them, and took them to the park. All the activities were simple yet also specifically challenging and teaching for the children who brightened at each new activity as if it was the first time being played.
The childrens needs scaled from simply hand or feet deformities all the way to total paralysis. But their smiles still cracked from ear to ear at the mention of their names, displaying their perfect little teeth.
Although for some of my teammates, this was hard for them to see the childrens broken abandoned state – and to consider that their brokenness as the reason for their abandonment, i found the place very peaceful. Several times my teammates came away with tears in their eyes, yet my heart felt joyful after a full day of being “Papa”, and having little Kristen pull my face close to her own, so her fingers could explore what her blind eyes could not.
.
Then there was our countryside Childrens Event day. Our ministry partner and his brother drove an hour to come and pick us up, only to drive us back to a small countryside neighborhood where he had started a church.
The church has been there on a piece of land, that up to a few months ago, was held under a tree for the last 3 years.
We spent two days canvasing the neighborhood, walking down long country dirt roads, stopping at wood gates, metal gates, barbwire gates, – hoping for gates as random dogs ran out to warn us off their property.
“Hola Senora!” We’d shout and after a while, -usually, a head would come out of a doorway, bright colored laundry blowing in the wind nearbye. Then we’d give our speil about the childrens day coming up, games, songs, and fun.
“De invito!” “Youre invited!” “Para los ninos!” “For the children!” And we’d head off towards the next brightly painted house.
It was hot, and sometimes dusty. Sometimes barefoot kids with too small clothes would run out to grab the paper invites from our hands.
One little boy took a few extra and ran off down the road to invite his cousins.
We ate a fries and chicken lunch at the event location, an old restaurant that was now being rented by the church for their services.
.
The event was supposed to start at 3:30. Two ladies with their infants and one little boy around 5 years old came around 3 and by 340 they were still the only ones that had arrived.
We’d passed out over 600 invitations, canvased the entire neighborhood and even nearbye in the marketplace.
I stood near the gate and watched the empty road, wiping sweat off my face. I smelled aweful after a full morning of walking in the sun. I felt sticky, and wondered what God was up to. Was this even going to happen?!
“What’s your plans God?” I prayed. “Please bring the children!”
.
Then slowly slowly people came, trickling in, one by one and in sporatic groups they came. By the end of the event the place was teeming with kids and adults.
We played games, sang songs, and put on skits. We danced and laughed and shared.
The parents went outside, sat in a group, and the pastor did a preaching devotional with them.
Then we all ate cake and drank juice some of the church members had prepared and brought for the event.
Afterwards, when everyone was gone, we sat and laughed and ate fruit.
.
The next day we came and cleaned the whole building, inside and outside. Then i went home and lay sick in bed and everyone else went to the pastors house, enjoyed his pool, company, and his wifes good cooking.
.
We did another weekend ministry working at another church doing another youth event, but this time we just sat in a car and went around neighborhoods blaring music and using a megaphone to invite anyone who wanted to come.
The event was similar to the one we did before and it was a lot of fun.
A few children in my group asked Jesus into their hearts, including a little boy named Jesus.
I have a scraped knee to prove i know how to play duck duck goose.
.
Around 11pm when all our event stuff, games, skits, dancing, singing, and preaching was done, we all sat around long tables set up outside and ate dinner prepared for us by church ladies. We talked and laughed with the people from the church, sang happy birthday to the pastors wife, and finally were driven home fast and furious style – which honestly, seems to be the example for all drivers in this country.
.
Then Christmas. We all chipped in for food and the YWAM staff here in Santa Cruz, Bolivia made a feast for us.
We ate at 10pm, and played “plot twist” (made by your truly and my teammate Grace), enjoyed a magic show by Matias, and went to bed after fireworks.
The next day we relaxed and had a secret santa gift exchange which didnt end up being so secret.
.
Our last ministry this month was at a girls rehabilitation home. It really isn’t as serious as it sounds, although i am sure serious steps are being made in their lives.
Their are only a few girls there right now since others have graduated high school and have passed on into college.
The place is a home for girls who have a bad home life, or who tend to get into trouble. They live there with their “Moms” who help guide them, keep them accountable, and help them navigate the part of life they find themselves in, and help them get through highschool and prepare for college.
The first day we went there and just hung out with them, played cards, pingpong, and picked fruit.
The second day we mowed, raked, trimmed, and cleaned up the property for and with them.
That little sentence carries with it all the hidden heat stroke, sore arms, blistered hands, and exhaustion of 8 hours of manual labor, punctuated by a coconut picking, hacking with machete, and eating with lime juice moment.
.
For me bolivia has been wood, and fruit, and crowded rainy marketplace with more smells and images than can be recorded in this moment.
It is late night dinners, stretching out in bed with satisfaction, porential downpours right after washing laundry. It is uncounted pictures taken, it is all the nooks in this building to sit and reflect, it is Edwardos smile from the other end of the table.
.
It is crowded bus rides, it is muddy feet, it is humidity, and ichy bug bites, and raw scraped bumps, and being barefoot, and wood stairs, and being broke.
Its cheesy bread and banana shake milk and wierd cheese and spicey sauce.
Bolivia, you were only difficult because my heart was wrestling. But God has been faithful and you have become family.
i will miss your quick smile and lovely laugh Adriana. Cylvia, i will miss the way you look at me when you so badly want to know what i’m saying.
Alexander. I will miss your hugs. For me, you were Jesus this month. I still look forward to hearing your testimony!
Stay in touch with me Bolivia!
.
Buenos Bolivia!
Undenyable thoughts.... 