"For
our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory
that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but
on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen
is eternal." - 2 Corinthians 4:17-18
There is so much that I can't
see right now, that I can't understand, and that hurts so deeply.
According to my emotions, these certainly could
not be "light and momentary troubles". Yet according to my faith, every
single tear and pain in my heart is undoubtedly worth the glory it will
bring my Savior in the end. He died for me, so that I might continue to
die to myself. But what life there is in obedience, honor, and trust!
"Pues los sufrimientos ligeros y efímeros que ahora padecemos producen
una gloria eterna que vale muchísimo más que todo sufrimiento. Así que
no nos fijamos en lo visible sino en lo invisible, ya que lo que se ve
es pasajero, mientras que lo que no se ve es eterno." - 2 Corintios
4:17-18
Hay tantas cosas que no puedo ver ahora, que yo no puedo
entender, y que duele profundamente. Según mis emociones, estos
ciertamente no pueden ser "los sufrimientos ligeros y efímeros". Sin
embargo, según mi fe, toda lágrima y dolor en mi corazón es
indudablemente digno de la gloria que traerá mi Salvador en el final. Él
murió por mí, para que yo pudiera seguir a morir a mí mismo. Pero, que
vida existe en la obediencia, el honor y la confianza!
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Like a fool, yet for His glory
I've tried to figure out a way to start this update, erasing about 5 times everything I start to type, mainly because I've been trying to figure out a way to eloquently and politely express my thoughts right now. But the truth is, I will never be able to express adequately all that I am thinking and feeling right now. My heart is so heavy, my mind is racing to think of solutions, and my soul is in anguish for what I have witnessed today.
Today I started ministry work with a local ministry that does a wide-range of things in human trafficking prevention and rehabilitation. One part is going to the National Migration Institute here in Mexico City, which is where people are detained who have been captured trying to enter/ have entered the US illegally. The idea of this particular part of the ministry is to spend some time with the women and children detained, offering activities such as art therapy to hear more about their stories and give them a way to momentarily detach from their current situation, and if possible identify potential victims of human trafficking.
We entered the jail, went through security, signed in at multiple places in just maybe a 50 meter walk, and suddenly as we turned the corner, dozens of women waiting in lines to use the phones were standing before me. It suddenly hit me that this was no longer just pictures of women to post on a bulletin board to tell their story, this was no longer just a number in a statistic, this was no longer a "political belief" on immigration or a prejudice carried against people trying to enter the US illegally- these were real women standing before me who I was going to have to open my mouth, offer my smile, and use my ears to try to understand their unique life story. In the next few moments my mind began reeling to comprehend that my identity was not in my nation, but in the Kingdom that I first and foremost belong to. How was I going to be able to relate or hold a conversation with these women who had just been captured and kicked out of the very country I have legal citizenship? It would be impossible for me to mask my accent, in fact I don't even know what it sounds like to be honest, but I decided that regardless of when my nationality would come up in a conversation, I had to remain bent on sharing the love of God no matter what.
The first few conversations were rough. I butchered my way through casual conversation in Spanish (my Spanish 1 teachers would be disappointed) and even as Cindy, the 20-year-old Honduran trying to get to her family in Tennessee, drew a beautiful flower and wrote "Dios es Grande" on her paper, I surrendered to my fears of inadequacy and failed to even try to start a discussion about the love of Christ. How prideful was I to think that in the one hour of her life that I would be a part of, my own reputation mattered more than starting a simple chat on who she believed God to be in her life?
My last conversation was one I will never forget though. I sat down at the small, metal table with a little boy and girl who were coloring. "Hi, I'm Elizabeth. What's your name?" I began. Tatiana and Damien. "Where are y'all from?" El Salvador. "Do you have any siblings?" "Yes, he's my brother," cheerfully answered little Tatiana. "Oh, that's great! So are your mom or dad here with you?" She replied, "No, my grandparents are in El Salvador. And my Mama and Papa are in the United States. We're here with my uncle." "Oh," was all I could reply. In this moment I realized that these two sweet children were abandoned in this part of the detention facility, separated from their only family, having to take care of each other at the little ages that they were in an environment that no child should be familiar with. "Well, how old are y'all?" Immediately Tatiana exclaimed, "I'm 7. I just turned 7 the day before yesterday." My heart was undone. I wanted to cry right then and there, thinking about having my 7-year-old birthday spent in a prison with only my 9-year-old brother by my side and surrounded by 60 women who were complete strangers to me. I still can't understand this world we live in, in which something like this could happen to a child. My soul longs for justice and righteousness, yet I am overwhelmed in this peace that passes my mental understanding from this hope I have that rests in the most just and righteous of all men, Jesus.
"Dios te amo" (God I love you) she wrote out inside a heart with wings she had drawn. "What's your favorite story of the Bible?" I asked. "The stories about God," she not surprisingly responded. (Many Catholics in Latin America can only express their thoughts about God and often lack any sort of personal knowledge about the Bible in general, such as Old Testament stories or the Parables of Jesus.) So I asked, "Have you ever heard the story about Daniel and the lions?" (I had no idea why this particular story came to mind at the moment. but I just went with what was coming out of my mouth) and she shook her head no. Thus I began the story of the brave Daniel who's God had saved him from the lion's den after being captured by the king for praying to his God. "Even when Daniel was all alone and surrounded by scary lions, he still prayed to God and wasn't afraid because he knew God was with him and loved him so much." Tatiana and Damien simply paused from their coloring, looked me in the eyes, and gave me the biggest smiles I had seen on their faces since I got there.
I went into that prison that afternoon having no idea what to expect, as time went on I grew frustrated at my selfish flesh preventing me from sharing God's love, and as I walked out of that prison two hours later I couldn't believe that God had decided to use my weak self anyways in a way that I couldn't have anticipated walking in there. As I have been reflecting on my Metro and bus rides back to my apartment, I have come to realize that as much as I long to help rescue and advocate for victims of human trafficking, it's not about the numbers and the rescuing of their physical bodies in the end- it's about the lost and broken souls that I will cross paths with along this journey. It's about advocating for Jesus Christ first and foremost, and telling about this amazing Savior at every chance I have to those who are longing to be saved. It's about offering a small ray of light, in the form of the love of God, to those that are in maybe the darkest times of their lives. It's about surrendering to God's plan for my every moment, my each and every day, and my whole entire life, and truly trusting that His heart is in my favor with each and every thing that He asks me to do.
It's easy as a missionary to get caught up in the daily activities, in the numbers and stories to report, and in the public expectation that you are someone special. It's easy to settle with "knowing" that God has called you here for a purpose, but not fully trusting that God's heart is for you and lacking in feeling His love and presence in your daily life. I confess these are all my sins as of late, and I could easily use culture shock as a wide-range excuse that most of you would accept. But the reality is I am just as much in need of my Savior as these lost women and children that I encountered today. In the eyes of God I am no different than any other man or woman of God. And at the end of this race I am not running to set myself ahead of anyone else but running as fast as I can into the arms of my Heavenly Lover. I am stumbling like a fool over these hurdles along the way, but God's grace is being revealed through my life in a way I've never experienced before and I can only hope that one person may be touched by God's hand in their witness of my failures.
Thank you for your prayers. I mean it when I say that I have experienced their presence and answering in my life, especially in lifting me back up after I am down and feeling beat. We are all in this race together, and I need my team supporting me even when I think I can run off ahead by myself. Nothing I am doing here in Mexico is apart from the same work that God is doing in your life wherever you are. We are all working to bring His Kingdom to this earth and He is working to make each of us more into His image each day. I praise the Lord for allowing each of you to be on my team and for Him having chosen each of us before we were even born to be on His team.
For His glory,
Today I started ministry work with a local ministry that does a wide-range of things in human trafficking prevention and rehabilitation. One part is going to the National Migration Institute here in Mexico City, which is where people are detained who have been captured trying to enter/ have entered the US illegally. The idea of this particular part of the ministry is to spend some time with the women and children detained, offering activities such as art therapy to hear more about their stories and give them a way to momentarily detach from their current situation, and if possible identify potential victims of human trafficking.
We entered the jail, went through security, signed in at multiple places in just maybe a 50 meter walk, and suddenly as we turned the corner, dozens of women waiting in lines to use the phones were standing before me. It suddenly hit me that this was no longer just pictures of women to post on a bulletin board to tell their story, this was no longer just a number in a statistic, this was no longer a "political belief" on immigration or a prejudice carried against people trying to enter the US illegally- these were real women standing before me who I was going to have to open my mouth, offer my smile, and use my ears to try to understand their unique life story. In the next few moments my mind began reeling to comprehend that my identity was not in my nation, but in the Kingdom that I first and foremost belong to. How was I going to be able to relate or hold a conversation with these women who had just been captured and kicked out of the very country I have legal citizenship? It would be impossible for me to mask my accent, in fact I don't even know what it sounds like to be honest, but I decided that regardless of when my nationality would come up in a conversation, I had to remain bent on sharing the love of God no matter what.
The first few conversations were rough. I butchered my way through casual conversation in Spanish (my Spanish 1 teachers would be disappointed) and even as Cindy, the 20-year-old Honduran trying to get to her family in Tennessee, drew a beautiful flower and wrote "Dios es Grande" on her paper, I surrendered to my fears of inadequacy and failed to even try to start a discussion about the love of Christ. How prideful was I to think that in the one hour of her life that I would be a part of, my own reputation mattered more than starting a simple chat on who she believed God to be in her life?
My last conversation was one I will never forget though. I sat down at the small, metal table with a little boy and girl who were coloring. "Hi, I'm Elizabeth. What's your name?" I began. Tatiana and Damien. "Where are y'all from?" El Salvador. "Do you have any siblings?" "Yes, he's my brother," cheerfully answered little Tatiana. "Oh, that's great! So are your mom or dad here with you?" She replied, "No, my grandparents are in El Salvador. And my Mama and Papa are in the United States. We're here with my uncle." "Oh," was all I could reply. In this moment I realized that these two sweet children were abandoned in this part of the detention facility, separated from their only family, having to take care of each other at the little ages that they were in an environment that no child should be familiar with. "Well, how old are y'all?" Immediately Tatiana exclaimed, "I'm 7. I just turned 7 the day before yesterday." My heart was undone. I wanted to cry right then and there, thinking about having my 7-year-old birthday spent in a prison with only my 9-year-old brother by my side and surrounded by 60 women who were complete strangers to me. I still can't understand this world we live in, in which something like this could happen to a child. My soul longs for justice and righteousness, yet I am overwhelmed in this peace that passes my mental understanding from this hope I have that rests in the most just and righteous of all men, Jesus.
"Dios te amo" (God I love you) she wrote out inside a heart with wings she had drawn. "What's your favorite story of the Bible?" I asked. "The stories about God," she not surprisingly responded. (Many Catholics in Latin America can only express their thoughts about God and often lack any sort of personal knowledge about the Bible in general, such as Old Testament stories or the Parables of Jesus.) So I asked, "Have you ever heard the story about Daniel and the lions?" (I had no idea why this particular story came to mind at the moment. but I just went with what was coming out of my mouth) and she shook her head no. Thus I began the story of the brave Daniel who's God had saved him from the lion's den after being captured by the king for praying to his God. "Even when Daniel was all alone and surrounded by scary lions, he still prayed to God and wasn't afraid because he knew God was with him and loved him so much." Tatiana and Damien simply paused from their coloring, looked me in the eyes, and gave me the biggest smiles I had seen on their faces since I got there.
I went into that prison that afternoon having no idea what to expect, as time went on I grew frustrated at my selfish flesh preventing me from sharing God's love, and as I walked out of that prison two hours later I couldn't believe that God had decided to use my weak self anyways in a way that I couldn't have anticipated walking in there. As I have been reflecting on my Metro and bus rides back to my apartment, I have come to realize that as much as I long to help rescue and advocate for victims of human trafficking, it's not about the numbers and the rescuing of their physical bodies in the end- it's about the lost and broken souls that I will cross paths with along this journey. It's about advocating for Jesus Christ first and foremost, and telling about this amazing Savior at every chance I have to those who are longing to be saved. It's about offering a small ray of light, in the form of the love of God, to those that are in maybe the darkest times of their lives. It's about surrendering to God's plan for my every moment, my each and every day, and my whole entire life, and truly trusting that His heart is in my favor with each and every thing that He asks me to do.
It's easy as a missionary to get caught up in the daily activities, in the numbers and stories to report, and in the public expectation that you are someone special. It's easy to settle with "knowing" that God has called you here for a purpose, but not fully trusting that God's heart is for you and lacking in feeling His love and presence in your daily life. I confess these are all my sins as of late, and I could easily use culture shock as a wide-range excuse that most of you would accept. But the reality is I am just as much in need of my Savior as these lost women and children that I encountered today. In the eyes of God I am no different than any other man or woman of God. And at the end of this race I am not running to set myself ahead of anyone else but running as fast as I can into the arms of my Heavenly Lover. I am stumbling like a fool over these hurdles along the way, but God's grace is being revealed through my life in a way I've never experienced before and I can only hope that one person may be touched by God's hand in their witness of my failures.
Thank you for your prayers. I mean it when I say that I have experienced their presence and answering in my life, especially in lifting me back up after I am down and feeling beat. We are all in this race together, and I need my team supporting me even when I think I can run off ahead by myself. Nothing I am doing here in Mexico is apart from the same work that God is doing in your life wherever you are. We are all working to bring His Kingdom to this earth and He is working to make each of us more into His image each day. I praise the Lord for allowing each of you to be on my team and for Him having chosen each of us before we were even born to be on His team.
For His glory,
Elizabeth
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