Redemption Through the Eyes of a Little Girl

I have trouble with the hard questions, just like anybody else.  I serve a God that many people refuse to believe in because of the evil that wreaks havoc in our world.  I've seen hurt in people's eyes I can't erase.  I've heard stories that keep me up at night.  I know how people feel when they want to believe but just can't.  

I am no different.  

I don't understand why little boys are beaten or why fathers leave their families.  I don't understand why men's obsession with sex leads to prostitution and sex slavery.  I don't understand why children go hungry and thousands die every day.  These are all things I don't understand.

But what I have come to understand over the last decade is that my God is working ever so meticulously to restore a world he created and a people he fiercely loves.  It may not be on our time table or accomplished in our agenda but he works, without growing weary and never ceasing.

Every time I am on the drive to La Mosca I mentally prepare myself for what I will enter into.  We pass through the bustling city with vegetable venders and cute clothing boutiques to a community where trash burns, naked children roam the streets and people pick through garbage for a meal.

The summer of 2012 a medical group went to La Mosca to do a clinic for the children in the nutrition center.  We saw the usual cases of coughs and colds, skin infections and respiratory issues.  But as the day was coming to a close a young boy walks in carrying his little sister.  The boy looked healthy enough, although not wearing any shoes.  I looked him over wondering if he just came in for a check up or if he had other business at the nutrition center.  

As the blonde-headed baby he was holding turned around my heart instantly hurt and I did my best to not show it on my face.  In his arms was a child that looked to be no more than a year old with sparse hair, sunken eyes and skin that was literally sloughing off.  I walked over to them and holding back tears I touched the little girls' face.  She didn't react.  Not a smile, not a wince, nothing.  Just staring blankly at me with dark eyes.

I walked them over to one of the doctors and they sat down.  The horrified look on her face said more to me than if we had exchanged words.  She listened to her heart, checked her nose and ears, looked at the swollen, red skin and the pieces that were flaking off.  The doctor's expression changed from being horrified to being angry.  Her face reddened as she said that the child was in the final stages of malnutrition.  It wouldn't be long before her organs shut down.

I held a stern face as a tear began to fall from the corner of my eye.  I translated to the brother in the gentlest way possible about his sister's condition.  He sat stoic as if I had just told him my favorite color was green.  Everything in me wanted to snatch the little girl from his tiny hands and run away with her. But I've been here, in this moment, enough times to know that me adopting every child who is mistreated is both impossible and unhelpful.

We sent for the mother, a local prostitute and mother of six, and when she arrived I burned with anger.  I wanted nothing more than to give her a piece of my mind but quickly moved my thoughts to what would be best for her daughter.  With the doctors' help I explained the fate of her daughter if there was no intervention.  The mother sat there with an emotionless expression barely looking at the little one on her lap or any of us.  She told us her daughter was almost two and a half and we all tried not to react to what seemed to be impossible.

She walked out the door carting the little girl on her hip as if she was a piece of luggage and not a fragile child.  I felt the urge to rescue her, thinking to myself that when I returned to La Mosca again I would hear news of her passing.

A few months later we visited again and again the little girl came in with her siblings, no change in her condition, but at least still alive.  This time there was another staff member with me who was just as enraged as I was and we started talking to Pastor Luis about options.  Calling the police for child abuse?  Calling social services to have her taken from the home?  Asking the mom if we could adopt her?  All of these options Pastor Luis said would cause a lot of problems in the community and especially for the church.  People would view it as the Pastor ripping families apart and sticking his nose in business that wasn't his to be concerned with.  We talked to the older siblings and told them to talk to their mom.  And that was it.  They were out the door.

Fast forward to this week.  I saw "La Mosca" on the schedule again.  My heart sank.  I mentally prepared myself for the inevitable.  It had been three months since I visited and I was sure the little girl was gone.  Standing in the nutrition center I watched all of the kids pile in, scanning the room for a tiny little thing with sparse, blonde hair.  Suddenly, I saw a familiar twelve year old boy, carrying a blond-headed baby.  Her face turned toward me, just like the first day that I saw her, but this time bright eyes and chubby cheeks greeted me.  She walked, yes walked, to her spot on the nutrition center floor and began to eat.  I looked her over, every ounce of sloughing skin was gone.  Except for a few remaining scars her skin almost glowed.  I kneeled down next to her and touched her cheek and this time, she smiled.  A proud smile, like she knew what she had done was something special.  Like she knew she was giving this girl with her big, clunky camera...hope.

I know people wonder what they could possibly do to right what is so wrong in this world.  I know people wonder how a God that is supposedly so good could sit back and watch his children suffer.  But I know, as He has taken me on this intimate road of knowing Him, that His plans are so much grander than anything we could ever imagine.  Even when we don't understand Him, He is still there working. And if a doctor hadn't decided to come on a missions trip and find a small way to right what is so wrong in this world, that little girl wouldn't be here with us today.

I believe whole-heartedly that God could have wiped away all of her infirmities on His own but He chose to use us, not for his benefit, but for ours.

this Hope and this Future

I used to be a very negative person.  I saw the glass half empty.  I prepared for the worst and never expected the best.  I never felt a sense of peace or contentment.  Although I still struggle with some negativity, I have rid most of my life of its presence.

I prefer to speak of possibility, hope and expectation.  My life's passion is empowering others to recognize their inner strength and to dedicate their lives to serving God with the gifts and talents He's provided them with.  We all come with negative baggage but my dreams are filled with being a part of God's redemption story in others.

Over the years I've grown tired, perhaps even angry, at the amount of Christians who preach the "you are a horrible sinner and are going to die" sermon to unbelievers, as if that would motivate someone ridden with guilt, confusion and pain, to come into the loving arms of the Christ I know.  We all know the reality; we are sinners, we are going to die, we go to hell without Christ.  But shoving that in someone's face who hasn't experienced, or even knows about the grace and mercy Christ offered us on the cross, can only leave someone feeling as if they don't deserve a love like that anyway.

Through time, God has molded me into the kind of person that extends grace and forgiveness pretty easily but lately, I feel like He has been reminding me of the reality of who I still am as a human.  I've talked in several posts that God has been sharpening my character, so painfully sometimes, that I wonder how I could ever change a certain aspect of who I am so drastically.  And it is just as true today.

As much as I loathe hearing one more pastor or warrior of the faith preach on our inherent evil, the reality of it is still truth.  If, as believers, we ever forget that at our core we are simply just sinners and think we are past the trials of the flesh, I think it is just as dangerous as living in a state of self-pity and self-loathing over our evil heritage.  Because of the state of hearts, an innocent and blameless man died a brutal death as the only atoning sacrifice to reconnect us with God.  If we ever forget that, it makes what He did for us, cheap.

A couple of weeks ago, I was feeling especially proud of myself and all that God was allowing me to be a part of.  I even went as far as to reminisce on the person I once was and what a stark contrast of that person I am today.  As I was journaling, amidst words of hope and excitement, out of nowhere I began to write these words;

"You sacrificed for me.  You died for me.  Not just a simple death.  But a brutal death.  You knew it was going to be this way and yet you did it for ME.  You saw my face in the crowd, you looked into my eyes as I scoffed at you.  As I spit in your face and called you names.  As I mocked your crown of thorns and laughed at the blood dripping down your face.  You met my eyes, in all your suffering, and whispered to me, 'I love you, child.  I'm doing this for you.'  And you'd do it again, to show me over and over how much you love me."

At the end of writing the last words, tears were streaming down my face.  It was as if my soul had forgotten the reason I am who I am today.  The reality of who I once was, and the person I still am, reminded me that everyday I can live, if only for God's grace and to extend that grace to others.

The difficult balance of being proud of the people we've become because of Christ and the reality that we were destined for an eternity of damnation should create just enough tension to keep us humble.  But in fact, somewhere along the line we cheapen the sacrifice Christ made by boasting in what good people we've become. At the same time we also cheapen the sacrifice Christ made by dwelling on the innate evil within us, canceling out the fact that through Christ we were made a new creation.

We are a new life, a new creation.  This gives us the motivation to share this Hope and this Future with others, especially those who don't feel they could ever deserve it.  But we need never to forget the sacrifice that was made on our behalf that gave us this Hope and this Future that we now possess.

"You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness." -Ephesians 4:22-24

god said bring nail polish

before i left for The Hole i felt God say, "bring nail polish."
i thought, "seriously?"
"yes, i'm serious."
so i did.

what unfolded was one of my most favorite days i have ever had in The Hole that completely revolved around the fact that i had brought nail polish.  one by one, women gathered, curious as to what we were doing.  one by one, women sat down picking through, deciding what color they should use.  i looked around at four generations of women; painting each other's nails, laughing, chatting like hens and chicks and i couldn't help but feel that quiet pass of peace that only happens every so often.  that moment when all is right in the world and not a thing could taint it.  when god, this earth, his people and life collide in just the right way that you have a taste of what it must have been like in the garden of eden before darkness entered the world.  and as quickly as it comes and as short as it stays it makes you long for the next moment like that to come again.

we talked about coffee, we drank coffee and made even more coffee.  we talked about painting the step we were sitting on because carmen can't look at it without remembering that horrible night.  we talked about the community and what it's going to take to change a place like that.  and we talked about babies and breastfeeding and turning ninety-five.

i felt for the very first time in six years that i wasn't just a visitor in The Hole.  that i was adopted, somehow, into this place that invited me to hear the deep hurts and joyful triumphs of everyday living.  somehow, i have been given the privilege to enter into this sacred barrio and feel like i was sitting on my own front step.

all because i brought some nail polish.

Adele; music to my soul

God has always spoken to me through music. I don't have to be listening to praise and worship for Him to say something profound. In fact, over the years I have thought so many times that the love songs of the secular world could most definitely be translated into how I feel about Jesus.

This morning on my run, rather than listen to my normal Praise and Worship playlist, I decided to throw on some Adele. As my feet hit the pavement and my labored breaths were exhaling, the song "He Won't Go," came over my headphones. I wasn't listening very closely, as I was nearing my second mile, but suddenly some words overwhelmed my ears;

"You would choose poison over me?"

The actual lyrics are, "...he would choose the poison over me," but I could have sworn I heard it the other way. God was audibly saying to me, "Why would you choose poison over me?" Those words, no joke, rang in my head for the next five minutes trying to ponder what He was really saying. And it became clear. I have been doing so many things to get closer to my Lord and Savior. I have been soaking up everything I could possibly read that would help me walk step by step with him. I don't lie, steal, cheat, kill or commit adultery but, still, how many times do I choose "poison" over Him? How many times do I choose judgement over acceptance? How many times do I choose bitterness over joy? How many times do I choose pride over humility? More than I want to admit. But I do. I choose it. I choose to drink the poison.

God said to me, "If someone had two cups in front of you, one with poison and one with life everlasting, which would you choose?"
In my most annoying, teenage voice I said to Him, "Well, duh, life everlasting."
"Would you still choose the cup full of life everlasting even if it meant a difficult journey?"
"Yes, absolutely."
"Then why, my child, when I place my cup of life everlasting in front of you daily, do you choose to drink the poison, even if but a sip?"
"I have no idea. Because its easier?"

For me, that was it. That was why. Because its easier. It's easier to hate than to love. It's easier to ignore than be intentional. It's easier to hold a grudge than to forgive. But when Jesus said this journey would be difficult He didn't mean that around every turn there would be tragedy, even though there will be some. He meant that the road He's asking us to travel is difficult in the sense that it goes against everything that is inherent in us; in the world. It will be hard work to change what comes so easily.

I am grateful to Adele, and to God, obviously, because that tangible image, drinking poison or drinking life everlasting, makes my daily decisions a lot less difficult.

"the itch"

i've had "the itch" for a few months now. i never thought it would happen. we are comfortable where we are. things are manageable. there's very little chaos. so when "the itch" creeped in, it caught me very off guard.

i remember the first time i felt "the itch." we were in brisas de ocampo having a field day. things were pretty laid back, only a few showed up. then a dominican woman showed up carrying a tiny bundle in her arms. naturally drawn to little ones i hurried over to see.

in her arms was one of the most beautiful babies i have ever seen. her perfectly smooth complexion, her delicately wide nose, her plump baby lips. i was smitten. the woman, the baby's neighbor, asked if i wanted to hold her. i couldn't possibly resist. when i took her in my arms i noticed an ever slight tugging. "the itch" entered in.

i carried her for most of the morning. at one point as i was staring at her, and her back at me, i could almost see her tell me how sleepy she was. instinctively, i adjusted my hold to one familiar to me. one i would adjust to whenever my own babies' eyes told me the same thing. and in an instant, her eyes closed. like a sleepy spell was cast and i was left to listen to the gentle rhythm of her breathing.

hoping mike would catch "the itch" i handed her off to the arms of a daddy. i didn't know her story, or if she had a daddy of her own, but when i saw her in his arms, "the itch" took over every bit of me.

there is something more than special to see the one who cares for you and your family, care for another. and in that moment, like many moments before, i couldn't help but fall a little more in love with him. and secretly, i was hoping that he was feeling even a smidgen of how i was feeling in that moment, watching him stare at that little girl.

i don't know what to do with "the itch." i've covered it, ignored it, and tried to get rid of it. but it keeps coming back. sometimes with a force so strong i think it will never go away. i pray for clarity and for wisdom and for God's will to be done. but if nothing else should come of it, and "the itch" should fade away, i am grateful for the opportunity to be reminded, once again, of the incredible man God has given me.

Reflecting His Glory

when i was a kid, i lied a lot. i lied about everything. i even remember some friends of mine confronting me in seventh grade during track practice about my lying. jessica, jennie and crystal sat me down on the track and told me to stop lying about what brand of shoes i had on. it was one of the most uncomfortable conversations i've ever had in my life, even to this day. i knew i had been caught. i was mad at them for accusing me. i was embarrassed that they knew. i was trapped and couldn't figure out why i was lying in the first place.

when i was a teenager, i had mostly stopped lying but had taken up relationships with "bad boys." whoever told me i was pretty or complimented me on my basketball game the other night or said i did a good job acting out "romeo and juliet" in class; i clung to them. they instantly became the object of my affection despite other people around me giving me the, "what on earth are you thinking," look. i always had a deep down tug. knowing i deserved more but unable to pull myself together.

this past year, our staff at G.O. threw me a surprise party for my 30th birthday. they came up with a list of "30 things they love about goody." they made me read it out loud in front of everyone. as I was reading things like, "your positive attitude about overcoming fears," or "your sensitive heart for those in need," or "you are willing to be vulnerable which invites others to be vulnerable with you," i began to tear up. i was as uncomfortable as i could have possibly been. but i felt a sense of empowerment too. which was immediately followed by guilt for my enjoyment while reading things about myself that others thought. which made me cry harder. little did our staff know, i had a raging battle going on inside me. a battle that had been going on for 30 years.

this fall, as i began working with the young girls in the hole i felt a lot of anxiety. feeling like i needed to have a standard set. i needed so many girls to come to christ in order for me to be successful. i needed to reduce the number of teenage pregnancies by 30% in order to prove that i was being useful there. as i was thinking all of these things to myself i knew god was doing something big in me. it wasn't about my need to please or my fear of failure or my over-dependency on people's approval. it was so much deeper. and it wasn't until i went away this weekend on a little retreat with my family that god bull-horned into my heart exactly what has been going on my entire life.

i had to take emi for her nap and thought i would peruse a book shelf and read something while i was waiting for her to fall asleep. i didn't peruse at all. the first book i saw, i felt drawn to. it had never been opened and the pages were crisp and as my eyes fell upon the words there was a heat that welled up in my chest. And then I read it:

"The story of your life is the story of the long and brutal assault on your heart by the one who knows what you could be and fears it."

i was brought to tears the instant i read it. i am brought to tears now as i write it. i knew it was the answer i had been looking for; the thing God has wanted to tell me since the day i took my first breath on this earth.

it all came together. it all made sense. why did i lie when i was a kid about the clothes i wore, or the money my parents made or that i was going to have a kangaroo at my birthday party? why did i cling so tightly to worthless boys who said something nice but had nothing else to offer me? why did i feel so uncomfortable reading a list of 30 supposedly amazing things about me that my dearest friends wrote? because satan's assault on my heart for the last 30 years has been to make me believe i'm not good enough. to make believe that i am not beautiful, or worthy or glorious in my own eyes, so how could i be to the Creator of the universe?

satan knows that if he convinced me to be fearful, and to doubt my worth, and to believe i wasn't good enough or to question God's divine plan for my life...he could paralyze me. he could banish me to a life of mundane living. he could rob me of the glory God wants to shine through me for all the world to see. he wants to keep me from telling other people, especially these broken, defeated girls in the hole, that they are a glorious reflection of God, too.

i've known most of my life that this world is at war. maybe in a more real way than many people do. i've always been aware of spiritual warfare and satan's dominion on this earth. but i had always assumed his biggest assaults were in things like, oppression and starvation and abuse. i had been blind to the fact that, in my life, he was sneakily carrying out one of his biggest, most damaging, most successful assaults that he is capable of...

...keeping me from knowing just how amazing i am.

just typing those words made me shudder a little bit. there's a little bit of a knot in my throat thinking about how people who may be reading this might react to a statement like that. but before i downward spiral into a series of explanations and retractions and studdering let me say it again. i am amazing. i am a glorious reflection of God himself. an image bearer of the Creator of the universe. i am resilient and passionate and strong. i care deeply about others and hate that satan held me captive in a lie for 30 years. and above all...i am crazy-passionate about fighting for people's freedom. and before you think that any of this is prideful or boasting or an ego trip...i'm going to let you in on a little secret; you are amazing too.

we are god's children. his glory reigns in us. he has given us all of the power we need to stomp on satan and his schemes and rescue his dear ones who are suffering. but it begins with you. believing that you are worth it. believing that you are God's most greatest joy. believing that satan has nothing on you. because he knows "what you could be and fears it." and i'll tell you what. this morning when i woke up, he shuddered when my feet hit the floor.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?" Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to manifest the glory of God that is within us...And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." -Nelson Mandela

(side note: the book i'm reading is called "Waking the Dead" by John Eldredge. I, obviously, highly recommend it.)