Oh, Mexico. There are so many emotions tied to you now. I will do my best to explain, with failing words, the depth of what God did in us {and through us} in Ensenada. I have our bond, experiences, memories, journal excerpts, ongoing earnest prayers, and the reminder of hope (1 Peter 3:15) to help.
We had to fight for that sense of openness and readiness to do God's work, though. Just as much as He put each of us there, equipped and ready to work, I know, Satan was working just as hard to keep us from being effective in that work. There was car-sickness, the mysterious Mexican fever that took down three of our team members, temptation, pride... any foothold. I spent a good chunk of the trip focusing on the wrong things, with a clouded mind, in some sort of weird spiritually-oppressed state. I could be sad over the time I willingly gave over to him (Satan), but I won't, because what's cool about retrospect is that even in that hazy part I know God was working, even if I don't understand; it's all orchestrated for His glory and my good (Romans 8:28). This all ties in to a beautiful truth He wanted me to know: that real love is sacrificial love (Ensenada was like a crash-course in lessons from God), that if I really love something (a time, a place, a person, my kids, the kids in Ensenada), my love gives itself up (or dies to itself) as a greater act of love, acting in that other person's best interest. It sounds so obvious when I type it out. I can't hoard a feeling up for myself; it has to die to itself to prove itself authentic... and I can't think of a better example than Jesus giving Himself up for His church {sacrificial love!}
He also taught me to pray more often. That hearts can change. That there's no better way to worship Him than under the stars He made. To admire beauty. That there's more to people than your first impressions. That young hearts will be saved. To be content with less. To love. To be brave, even when it blurs and runs over the line into foolishness. To not be afraid! {If I perish, I perish.} To see His people the way He sees them, as dearly loved.
I was so excited and humbled to be able serve God by helping others, in the seen and the unseen. We played with kiddos at a local orphanage, spent a morning at an elderly care facility (I really just want to say old folk's home, c'mon; I played Bingo in SPANISH!) and we also organized a vacation bible school for a small church, in what I assume was, an especially impoverished part of Ensenada. We were told by the pastor (Nickolas) that the community there 'needs Jesus' and that it is heavily burdened by alcohol and drug-use. We were aware immediately, the first Sunday we joined them for church, that the kids were coming from rough backgrounds and that they didn't care if we were there (luckily, this first encounter was not foreshadowing for how the rest of the week would go. By the last day, everyone was excited and then crying when we had to leave).
One of the most painful-in-a-good-way moments of the trip was when, during the sermon that first Sunday, Nickolas looked around his small congregation and said, "Look at us. God has blessed us. He has mercy on us." In a small, half-finished, one-room church, where people sit in folding chairs and roosters crow right outside the window, and they just have...nothing. This killed me, again, in a good way. It reminded me, as did a lot of things that week, that we really all are the same: the one people (His), the one church, the one hope {esperanza} on Earth. This was one of those overwhelming monumental realizations.
In America, Satan wars for the mind. We struggle with pride, greed, and discontentment, but by the grace of God, we are well-fed and have clean running water. In Mexico, the overall impression I was left with, is that the battle is for them in their entirety. Despite this, their happiness and general contentment was not only noteworthy and admirable, but infectious. I came back to a home flooded with more than I'll ever need, and the only appropriate response... gratefulness.
This week home, following our trip, has felt dream-like, emotional, and unsteady. It's like sitting on a blanket, pulled tight, that God Himself is shaking and straightening, smoothing and patting down as He pleases, while you flail from the movement, and reach for Him to steady you. But since the work's not done, you're forced to wait out the wild ride. I'm still praying and waiting for resolution (on a variety of things I experienced). I am so happy, content, motivated, charged. It's like a re-kindled fire in my heart and mind.
It is good and right and necessary to be home, but truthfully this trip has shifted my center of gravity, my perspective, in that, I wonder, if our great return is really the greater departure, like a part of me got left behind. My genuine hope is that we would be able to make the church, where we went the most, like an oasis for that community, with more room, grass, trees, flowers, and playground equipment for the kiddos. As Jesus is an oasis for us, their church could be an oasis for the community.
"There is one body and one spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all."
Ephesians 4:4-6
"Your love never fails, it never gives up, it never runs out on me. It overwhelms and satisfies my soul. And I never ever have to be afraid 'cause this one thing remains."