La misión

I mentioned before that I went on a "mission" trip, not a mission trip to Nicaragua. To explain every detail of my reasoning would take far too long. After all, it has included 7 years of intentional consideration and the ground work was laid when I was born into my family. My parents were considered missionaries to at-risk urban kids and fundraising a salary was the norm for the first 10 years of my life. Like I said, that is another story for another time. 

What is a mission trip? What is a missionary? This word, "mission" is used to described someone who moves to another country in an effort to share the Gospel with a people who have never heard the message of Jesus Christ. It is used to describe a high school youth group traveling to a big city to complete some work projects. It is used to describe a team that journeys to serve at an orphanage for a week. It is used to describe a team that provides medical and dental care that would be otherwise unavailable or impossible to afford. What is a mission trip?

Although my mind is swarming with thoughts about the subject, I haven't arrived at a definition quite yet. The only thing of which I am certain is that I don't like applying this one ambiguous word to so many different situations and experiences. Rather than tell you I went on a mission trip, which may have set just as well in many of your minds, let me tell you what I did and why I went to Nicaragua. 

I didn't go to Nicaragua because the Lord pressed it on my heart. I didn't go because I felt overwhelmed with the need for the people of the country to know the Gospel. I didn't go because I had a heart for these people to receive medical and dental care that is beyond their means. I went for me.

Similar to the joy I find in Spanish, I have been interested in medicine and the human body since I was very young. Why? I couldn't tell you - I only know that such is the case. This trip would be combining two of my greatest interests! Even more, my heart breaks when I consider the gap between the wealth in America and the poverty of most other countries in the world but I have never seen it with my own eyes. I wanted to experience first hand what that kind of poverty looks like. Not the kind of poverty where the government can provide my staple needs if I don't make enough money, but the poverty that leaves me with absolutely nothing. Whether I will be living as an American for only a few more years or the rest of my life, I never want to take my privilege for granted. 

Finally, I went because I couldn't go in good conscience. I learned many years ago that there are very rare situations in which I have any place to judge what is good, right and wrong without living the experience myself. I have struggled for years with understanding the best way to steward our resources as Americans. I often wonder, could we be doing something better? Is it really worth bringing in American doctors when we could send the money and hire natives for less money (If you're interested in a perspective on the roles of natives and foreigners in "missions", consider reading Revolution in World Missions by K.P. Yohannan)? I spent about $1,000 on airfare alone. To hire a native doctor to work with our clinic for 4 days cost $350. Do the math on that. So I decided to live the experience before developing such a formative opinion. 

All of my motivation for going on this trip was selfish. Sure, we can stretch the term to say that I was on a mission, but to equate my trip with the men and women who have laid down their lives for the sake of sharing the love of Jesus Christ is preposterous to me. I went to Nicaragua for a cultural experience.

Please do not hear me say that this was the heart and motivation of all my team members. I am sharing about me and myself alone. 

Let me step aside for just a moment to clarify one thing: We absolutely CANNOT create a blanket statement to say that "mission" trips must be accomplished with the greatest investment in stewardship. As an individual, it is your responsibility to be obedient to Jesus Christ. If He calls you to do something that does not appear to be a good stewardship of money and resources, obey. If you have concerns about the stewardship someone else is or is not displaying, open the conversation if you can do so in love and care for his/her heart. But remember that the Holy Spirit does not press the same convictions on us all. For if He did, we could never reach all the different people of many different lifestyles in our world. You alone are responsible to Jesus Christ for your conscience and acts of obedience. It was Jesus who defended His daughter's use of an expensive perfume for no other purpose than to pour it out on His feet (Matthew 26:6-13).

I told God I wanted to go. He knows my heart. I wasn't deceitful about it, I laid it all in front of Him. I was going for selfish reasons and I asked Him to tell me "no" if it would not be good for me to go. I prayed for a week seeking the Lord. He did not tell me "yes," but neither did He say "no." It's as though this time, God was showing His love for me. Not focused on the people I would be serving, but tenderly saying "Jessica, I know how you long for Latin America. It was I who let that grow in you years ago and because I love you, it brings me such joy to see you delight in this aspect of who you are - who I have made you to be. Enjoy this beautiful blessing from me and be reminded that I love you and want joy for you."

Manna del Cielo

The week leading up to the Nicaragua trip had been crazy. I’d not yet gone to bed before sunrise the day I began my travels! As I mentioned before, the stress never hit. And although I wasn't overly excited about the adventure ahead, I had a simple peace on Friday as I made my way to meet Fern before driving to Omaha. Her lovely sister blessed us with a bed to sleep on, delicious snacks and a fun international gathering the night before our flight! My heart was full and I was soaking it in as much as I could before what I anticipated to be a very heart wrenching trip. 

Saturday morning, we headed for the airport and the one thing I remember from that short jaunt was Fern's comment: "I feel like I'm on my way to a family reunion!" It wasn't too long before we entered the airport lobby and noticed a sea of green t-shirts. Immediately, Fern's face lit as she embraced one foreign face after another. It was wonderful to see her joy, but I was still skeptical. 

The first face I met had the name Micah. He told me he liked my backpack, and that brought a smile to my face. I'd had to borrow one from my dad because Fern put the fear of lost luggage into me - I packed all my necessities on my carry-on backpack! Turns out Micah had the same one, it just looked a little less...plump ;)

On my way to check my suitcase, I met the next couple of memorable faces. They were lovely-looking young ladies with an extra hop in their step. High schoolers, I decided. Their elation would have been contagious were it not for my sober expectation that this would be a hard week ahead of me. "Aren't you just so excited?" one of them asked exuberantly after learning that it was my first time on the trip. These young girls didn't need to hear all of my sobering thoughts. Instead I shared the one thing which I looked forward to in the week to come. "I am really looking forward to using my Spanish with native speakers."

Sarah and Mallory, the names I'd decided to remember, all but leaped into the air upon learning that I speak Spanish! They said they couldn't wait to learn a lot from me that week, and I immediately felt nervous of being unable to meet their expectations. "I am proficient " I explained to them, "but certainly not fluent." The conversation faded into the mix of the stories and exchanges between the many who were reuniting since their last trip of the same. 

We flew from Omaha to Houston where we had a 6 hour layover. Fern and I, being raised by rather resourceful parents, packed our own meals for the day to avoid the overpriced food of the airport. I had brought some bananas which we enjoyed with our lunch and not too long after, a dark woman holding a young girl that couldn't have been one year old motioned to us asking for a banana for her small child. I was surprised by the direct gesture, but was glad to share my overabundance of ripe bananas that needed used before leaving the country!

Fern and I continued to admire the small child as the hours passed, smiling at mom, but maintaining a respectful distance. It wasn't until about 4 in the afternoon that the poor sweetheart became unappeasable, drawing the attention of many in the airport. I had another banana and decided it was time to make the offer. The mother welcomed the food for her daughter and proceeded to explain that the poor duo had been at the airport since 5:00 that morning and their next flight didn't leave until 8:00 PM. I continued conversing with the mother and learned one of the most beautiful stories of choosing a child's name. 

Manna. Pronounced just like the bread which was provided to the Israelites for 40 years while they were in the dessert (Exodus 16). This beautiful woman had desired to be a mother but been unable to conceive for 5 years before this precious little girl was born. She was to her mother like the Manna for the Israelites – an awaited blessing from the Lord. I enjoyed my time spent with this precious child and her mother, but it soon came time to board the plane for Managua.

On the flight, I was privileged to sit across the aisle from one of our team physicians, Tim. We chatted for a while getting to know one another and it was in that conversation that I shared about this most irritating problem I have of becoming faint at the sight of blood. The one place I would need to steer clear of during the week was the dental clinic – all they do is pull teeth all day. Although the conversation was relatively short, it was rather powerful. Tim had shared with me that he had worked with a nurse who had the same problem when she started – but she got over it.

For years, I’ve thought of what a satisfaction it might be to study medicine. And for years, I never seriously considered medical school because I simply can’t handle blood. But Tim had a way of eliminating that argument and in such a brief moment, I was confronted with an underlying truth I’d managed to ignore for years: my greatest fear in attending medical school is graduating. Graduation, which then leads to becoming a doctor and translates to the responsibility of holding lives in my hands.

I fear failure.

      “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts our fear…” – 1 John 4:18

Day one, and I was already reconsidering my life plan. There are several other factors here and I’m not applying to med school ASAP, but I sure had a lot on my mind for the next 2.5 hours on that flight. Stewardship is very important to me and I need to consider whether I am stewarding my strengths, gifts and talents as well as I try to steward my monetary possessions.

My emotions could not have been more grateful for our landing in Managua – finally something to stop all of this introspective thinking! As I got off the plane, I could smell Latin America – it reminded me of Chile 3 years before – and I felt like I was home in this land which I’d never visited. I had a few chuckles before actually leaving the airport:

*Fern almost accidentally smuggled an American apple into Nicaragua.

*The lady scanning bags spoke only one word of English, “check.” Of course that meant I needed to have my suitcase hand-inspected! What else could she have meant? It’s the white face – it practically screams “No Hahbloh es-pan-ole.”

*The aduana hand-checked my suitcase! Do you remember me saying that I only put a few things in there? I had blankets, sheets, eye glasses and a sweatshirt. And they needed to inspect my bag. Never mind the young gentleman behind me who packed 3 scissors!

After verifying that my sheets were no threat to Nicaragua, I proceeded outside where we waited for our bus. What a joy it was to hear Spanish around me! My first true sense of feeling at home came upon listening to a couple of the young’uns asking a Nicaraguan with us if he was with our organization. “I speak little English,” he responded. These dear ones proceeded to do what any considerate person would have done in the States: ask slower. Unfortunately, the poor lad still only knew as many words of English as he did the first time they asked the question. In order to bridge the communication gap, I posed the questions again, but this time in Spanish. And as those words left my mouth, I could feel my heart come to life. There is something different about speaking Spanish on native soil rather than with my feet planted on American ground. It was a 45-minute bus ride before we reached the mission house where we were staying for the night. We arrived near 11:00 PM to a warm meal cooked by dear Nicaraguan women before showering and heading to bed for the night.

I loved looking out the windows and seeing Managua in all of its raw and glorious splendor as we drove to the mission house that night. Many people – many Americans – would look upon the city and be distracted by how dirty it is and seemingly unkempt. And while I can share in the sentiment to a degree, it simply feels like Latin America to me. It is that atmosphere that causes my heart to feel content and grateful for the cultures the Lord has spread across this earth.

I didn’t recognize it right in that moment, but I, too, was waiting for manna. To this point in my life, God has given me only small doses of immersion in the Spanish language and Latin American culture. It’s as though He never gives me an abundance, but neither does He let me go too long without tasting the sweet language on my tongue. My heart was ready for another serving of Latin America and I was about to wake up to another morning of manna on the ground.

Todavía en Amor

Siempre en Amor. Always in Love.

Always living in love. Always seeking love. Always choosing love. Always motivated by love. And always - absolutely always - still in love with Latin America.

The Spanish language captured my heart at a young age. I can't explain it; I wasn't following in the steps of anyone I knew, I didn't even know Latin America existed - I simply fell in love. It's funny how we have no control over the longings of our heart - we can only control how we respond to the longings. I still remember the day almost 6 years ago when the Lord pressed on my heart the need to give up my study of Spanish - it ached deeply. At the time, I had no idea whether I was giving up Spanish forever or only for a season, but the longer I was separated the more I felt like it would be forever. 

Three years ago, I went to study in Chile for a summer. I had a beautiful but also very difficult experience. The hardest part was living without any form of community invested in knowing Jesus Christ while I was there. As much as my heart yearns for Latin America, I made a decision in 2013 that I would not leave again without someone to go with me. It was terribly unhealthy for me to be without people seeking after knowing Jesus and my heart is still mending from that season. I am relearning that God loves me and truly desires to bless me. Last week, God lavished me with the joy I've been fighting to remember. I went to Nicaragua for a one week "mission" trip (more on that later) and it was the greatest experience I have had outside of the country by far. 

For those who've inquired, I am picking up my blog once again to share about my time in Nicaragua. It would seem that if you want me to start writing more regularly, you should be praying that God sends me to Latin America more often ;) I will be writing in installments over the next days or weeks. It depends not only on my schedule but also on how much my heart can take each day, for I cannot express how intertwined my heart is with Latin America. 

To start, let me share with you how I came to be in Nicaragua.

I have a lovely friend, Fern, whom I met while attending the University of Iowa. She is one of the closest friends I made during my college years and I am fortunate enough to have her in my life, still. Back in October, Fern mentioned that I should go with her on a trip to Nicaragua she was connected to through her hometown. I immediately lit up at the thought of being in Latin America! I checked the dates with my boss to find that we had a required work conference that same week in the Spring. Now, because it was a "mission" trip, he was willing to excuse my absence, but I was left with some decisions to make.

Currently, my job is one that is not my passion. I took the job as a way to serve for a season but my time is coming to a close at the end of this July. With that in mind, I was weighing the Nicaragua trip against my responsibilities and also trying to be invested where I'm at. After several weeks of soul searching, I decided not to go. I would only be a Program Director for about 8 more months, so I would give my time to this position and responsibility. Maybe there would be another opportunity in the future. 

I was a bit disappointed, but to be honest, I was also somewhat relieved. The thought of leaving the country again terrified me. Not because of any cultural or language barriers, not because I might be uncomfortably dirty, have to eat food I didn't like or be exposed to all kinds of diseases we Americans don't experience. Instead, the single fear I had was related to people. I didn't want to go on another trip with Americans more interested in a paid vacation than in knowing and caring for the people around them. Even more, I didn't want to create a possibility for even the appearance that God might abandon me without community in another country once again. Sure, Fern was planning to go, but we all know life happens - that wasn't a guarantee.

We are now in the middle of January and my life is crazy busy with all of the winter retreats happening at camp. On a Thursday at a staff meeting, my co-workers recognize that our required work conference this year lands on the same week as their kids' Spring Break. In about a 15-minute turn around, not only does my boss decide that the conference will not be required this year, but it hardly seems that anyone will even think of going! You better believe I whipped out my phone and texted Fern as soon as that meeting was over.

There were fortunately still spots available but I had to move fast because the team leader was intending to buy plane tickets within a week. I didn't know a lot of information before I signed up and I still didn't know a lot when I got on the plane. But even the journey was a blessing. It was good for my heart to choose the responsible decision to attend my work conference. Yet in His Goodness, the Lord blessed me with the opportunity to go. I was excited and terrified, not knowing what to expect of this next adventure out of the country. 

Flying and preparing to fly is one of my least favorite components of travel. I tend to get stressed trying to obey all of the regulations and remember if I have everything I need, but this time around, the stress never really hit. That in itself was a blessing that seemed to pave a way for the beautiful week ahead. 

It's this undesirable talent I have to control my emotions and protect my heart. Although I was grateful that I would be leaving the country with a friend for the first time - one where they speak Spanish - I started the week with the mentality that I probably wouldn't want to join the team the following year. I was prepared for the trip to be difficult. I wouldn't know much, probably wouldn't agree with a whole lot, and most likely would be doing everything I could to keep distance between myself and the other team members. At least I had Fern. And a love for Latin America that can never be quenched.

Siempre en Amor...