I guess it's been a while since I was in Puebla, but I feel like the blog that I wrote for Esperanza Viva was not a whole-hearted go. I thought I'd sit back, reminisce and tell a tale or two.... or three... or four...
The first thing I remember we stepped out onto the tarmack and over the threshold of customs and we were greeted by a small contingent of orphanage personnel. One in particular was a pretty girl, youngish and looked serious but ready to take a joke. I was surprised to hear her speak English comfortably since she had the trademark face of a Mexican. I soon found that she was born in the states and her grandparents (generation numero uno) wouldn't speak spanish to their children and the children - the lovely girl's parents - therefore spoke only English, therefore she only spoke... English. She is still the current coordinator of short-term mission-visitors or some such thing. The second thing I remember was a young man. He was quiet, reserved, serious, and had a haircut from 1997. The thing that I noticed was that he didn't take notice of any of us. At first I thought he was shy, but as the week went on I realized that is pretty much who he is. Chuey, they called him. I also noticed his heart was 100% totally completely committed to Esperanza Viva... amazing heart.
The first morning we were there I was surprised to find a nearly-empty orphanage, but apparently - as I had forgotten at the time - they also attend classes in the mornings. I did see a couple of under-agers and in my boldness (thinking I knew spanish) I sauntered right up to a cluster of little boys huddled on the edge of a picnic-style bench under the mess tent. They looked at me like I was an alien at first, but I straightened them out with a few tactful questions and a comment or two. In a matter of two and one half minutes I had two little boys about four years old take me by the hand, sat me down under the awning of one of the main buildings and sidled right up to me with puppy dog expressions and one didn't hesitate when I offered a lap. I felt that these precious little blessings wrapped in the cutest little boy disguises ever had a million hugs to give and there were simply not enough people around for the surplus.
I remember the rush of knocking on someone's door saying, "We're out in the basketball courts down the street, come check out our performing art!" And seeing most of them show up, and many of them scattered around the youth of La Vina praying with them. I was standing under a tree with a lovely little blonde companion and our mutual company was that of two young girls. One of these had a thousand questions about what constituted a sin or if something she saw her friend do once was bad... The conversation ended too soon and we invited her to church just a short distance away called Naciones. I remember her earnest interest in doing what God wanted her to do, even though she clearly had a hard time dealing with everyday life. I hope she went to Naciones.
On the way to church one day - on the bus of 70 passengers holding about a hundred - I squished next to a girl in the back, she was maybe 11. That look in her eye still haunts me, but in a wonderful way. The glimmer - nay, the gleam! - in her eye reflected the kind of relationship she had with Jesus. I always called myself a Christian, but I'm sure that unlike this girl, my life and/or attitude was never a large neon, blinking, obvious signal pointing to my heart saying, "FYI, this girl lives for Jesus." We talked the whole way about a couple of prophetic experiences she had and her desire to se Mexico's corrupt president and politicians come to Jesus. I will pray that she gets her wish of an audience with the President to tell him about the precious gift she carries in her own heart. Her passion was contagious! I felt her spirit lifting mine up to such a blissful peace and joy for what she knew should not be taken as a casual "religion," but the greatest love this girl - and the world - has ever known.
I remember a young man coming to the small but cheery house they provided for us to stay in. He came to lead our devotion, but they had overlooked one tiny detail - the interpreter. Not really thinking of the ramifications of choosing to do so, I offered to interpret his devotion. He was with us for about 45 minutes, but for me it was one of the many confirmations, affirmations and convictions that I had been needing for a long time. I remember a story he told about an evangelist who filled the stadiums of the city he preached in. This same man who led thousands to Christ turned his back first on God then on his ministry and as a result he became an alcoholic and miserable. I don't want to trade my destiny for anything so meaningless... and not only alcohol, there are other vices too.
I remember feeling more convicted in my heart during church when I heard the Spanish translation of the sermon, and I was surprised to find that I could feel close to Jesus while I worshipped in Spanish as well as in English. I remember feeling that I had found the purpose for my quirk in obsessing over the language for so long.
I remember the night we tried to invite all the kids over for a bonfire. We got the bonfire pit set up, sans the fire, and big huge drops of wet rain fell. There was a long debate before this whether the kids should come since it looked like rain, but we all defied the heavens and they came anyway. It ended up being a very large yet surprisingly intimate indoor party with about sixty souls crammed into a 12-soul house. We played a couple of games, we worshipped, I thought that I would be followed-up by someone, but I ended up being the only one who shared my heart that evening... I think I mentioned the shining for Jesus moment in the house.... how we came to teach them, but they taught me more than I ever dreamed I could comprehend about the subject.
I remember the feeling when we left. I remember the same quiet, shy Chuey loaded the truck with our empty luggages and feeling that my heart was the same - an empty piece of suitcase thrown into the back of a rusty pickup in the darkness and cold of the early morning. I just wanted to hide - only long enough so that I knew we would miss our flight - and step out into the sunshine outside that door again, walk the dusty streets to the orphanage and hug every little one in sight, and never look back....
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