"Last Minute" God

I leave for Africa in two days. I never thought I would get to this point; even this weekend, I was still battling with fear and doubt about this whole summer project. It has been a hard journey, much of which was recorded in my journal and might be added on here. For now, I am rejoicing in the ways that God has provided, protected, and gracefully kept me in His hands.
Today, the day before I leave for Florida, I finally got my Yellow Fever shot which is mandatory before entering Africa. I tried getting it yesterday, but for lack of funds, had to reschedule. I woke up today praying, "God, I have no idea what you have in store for me today. I have just enough for the shot. I still need other meds, mosquito repellent, gifts for my host family, and extra money for emergencies or other expenses. I have nothing to offer. I cannot provide for myself. But here I am, fully devoted to this mission, fully devoted to you. I know you can provide and I know that you are able." It wasn't an easy prayer, but I prayed earnestly. I have been thinking that if I don't get to go to Africa, if I don't raise enough money, God is still God. He is worthy to be praised here in the US and in Africa. However, something always brought me back to this project. Even through doubt and fear, God has worked in me and He will continue that work in Ghana and until the day of Christ Jesus!
Anyway, today I was blessed with a free yellow fever shot! I was surprised and almost cried because now I have extra money and am expecting a couple of other donations before I leave. God is a God of provision. His mercy and grace is beyond my understanding and all I can do is rejoice at how I am loved by my Father! This week has been full of blessings so far and God is really showing me that He is indeed with me and will never leave me. He is truly amazing!!
So, Ghana it is. In about 2 days I will meet Africa and it'll be life changing.
Most importantly, I will walk with Jesus for 8 weeks, closer than I have ever before. My heart yearns for this journey.

Hope I can keep you all updated! Prayers for the team are definitely appreciated!

Nancy S.

"Dream Big"

One summer in Mexico, I shared with a staff worker about my dreams of traveling and sharing the love of Jesus to the nations. It was scary and pretty big. I was only about 13 or 14 years old.
Anne kept saying, over and over, "Dream big. God is big, so you're allowed to have big dreams." I've held on to her words all these years an am beginning to see more and more just how real that is.
This semester, after much prayer and many sleepless nights, I applied for STiM with Intervarsity. It's Students Training in Missions and it's one of the best trainings IV has to offer. An IV volunteer at my school, Jeremy, has been talking about his experience in Africa all semester and I wanted so badly to have such a life changing experience like him, so I applied.
After a long two months, I finally heard back. On my application, I left placement options open, even though I was beyond tempted to put in Mexico or somewhere in Latin America. I wanted God to be in total control and tried to stay open about the possibilities of going somewhere totally out of my comfort zone, like Africa or India.
Needless to say, today I was informed that I was accepted to STiM and going to Africa in June. Go figure. I have been praising God all day for this awesome news and amazing opportunity, but in my heart, I don't know what to expect and that kind of bothers me. It's not the best attitude to have, but as the news sinks in, I'm hoping I'll begin to see God's hand at work in my heart and mind.
All semester I've felt like God has been preparing me for something big, and here it is! I'm expecting trials and spiritual attacks, but I will press on towards the goal, which is Jesus Christ.

To anyone reading out there, be in prayer for the rest of the UTPA team:
Karla Garcia- Mexico City
Israel Nogueira- Manila, Philippines
Adri Garcia- New York City
Ruby Rodriguez- Ghana, Africa

Too Legit to Quit

I am currently on my way to my mom's for Thanksgiving. I find myself with my mind full of assignments that will be due after break but at the same time excited about spending time with my beloved family and just relaxing. I am also currently annoyed by my Facebook newsfeed being flooded with posts about everyone being ubber excited to stuff their faces with turkey and pie. Gross.
As I hung out with my best friend today, we came to the realization that we're simply too Mexican for this All-American holiday. Instead of craving turkey, stuffing, and traumatizing amounts of desserts, we hopelessly wished for tacos and beans.
Obviously I'm all about the attitude of gratitude going around this month, but the scent (and texture..and taste) of pumpkin, pecans and gravy are not neccessarily my cup of tea.
Even more depressing, my family is just bad at these American holidays. Tomorrow, we'll have the basics: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn (NO greenbeans), dinner rolls, and fruit salad. Sadly, most of those will come from a box. My mom is beast at cooking authentic Mexican dishes, but when it comes to this holiday we adopted mainly because it was what everybody else was doing, she lacks. SORRY MOM, I REALLY DO LOVE YOUR COOKING...obviously..
I always wonder, who are we trying to please? Me and my mom usually do most of the "cooking" and it's stressful. I'd frankly rather do without, but if we skipped tomorrow, everyone would feel like we're missing out. So, we'll continue to ride the turkey bandwagon..while I secretly anticipate New Year's for the Mexican hot chocolate, buñuelos, and arroz con leche. Ugh, yum.
I'm looking forward to spending hours in the kitchen, as cooking and baking definitely helps me relieve stress, and praying with all my family, but I can't help but  giggle at how choppy tomorrow will seem. I'm hoping for the best.
Best wishes to everybody and happy Thanksgiving!

Back to Basics

My poor blog; I have neglected him for months! I am glad to say that things are going swell. My semester flew, I've developed some pretty solid relationships, and most importantly, God has been AMAZING. The Lord has been dealing with me and my stubborn heart for quite some time; I'm not going to say that I've got it all together now; in fact, I'm learning more about my heart's condition every day, however, He has been faithful in not only making my sinfulness transparent, but in also showing me that His grace is sufficient.

Today, as all the Bible study leaders prepped for next week's bible studies, we went over the last study of the semester. The last study is always the same one since it allows us to really stop and meditate on what God has taught us throughout the semester. I love this one. It's on Joshua 4 where God commands Joshua to tell one man from each tribe to take a stone from the Jordan and put them in their camp. That would serve as a memorial of when God stopped the flow of the Jordan so that the ark of the covenant of God crossed to the other side. The stones would help the Israelites remember God's power and faithfulness. The Israelites were unbelieving, ungrateful, unfaithful, and forgetful, yet He was always with them, He always cared, and His desire was to take them to a better place; all those faults are also found in me, yet His desires are the same for me as they were for them.

Just like the Israelites, we should also remember all that God has done in our lives, so the study is set up so that we go away and as we are still and silent before God, we are able to see all the ways in which the Lord has taught us. We are given stones so that we, too, have a memorial of God's faithfulness.

One word came to mind: Abide.

John 15 has been a huge part of my growth this semester. My heart is blessed every time I read this passage and it has become a constant prayer in my life.

"…apart from me you can do nothing."

God reminded me of this part when I was trying to do things on my own strength. He showed me through the simplest thing: waking up early. As I sat up from my bed, angry at myself for snoozing way too many times and knowing I wouldn't have time to have my normal quiet time, this verse was just audible to me. It was then that I realized that I had to come to a point of dependence on Him if I wanted to produce fruit. After that morning, God has been "pruning" me and working in me in ways that I can't even understand. The change in me hasn't been pleasant or isn't quite tangible and I often wonder if anything is even really happening, but as I learn about sanctification being a process, I cling on to His promises. All I have to do is remain in Him.

"…he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." Philippians 1:6

Today I was able to reflect on my lowest points this semester- how I felt, how it affected my relationship with Christ, and how I was going to respond. I saw that today, I am in a different place. I have found peace in Him in the midst of heartache, confusion, frustration, and doubt. He has given me joy and has promised that if His joy is in me, then my joy will be complete.

Oh God, you stay the same through the ages!

American Suffering

A couple of men at church started saying this catchy phrase every time someone was caught complaining about "problems" or every time someone whined about something insignificant. It made me think of what I think suffering is. Truth is, I don't really know.
Even after moving out of my mom's house and being on my own, I have never been in a state of not having absolutely anything to eat, I have always had a roof over my head, I have always had the essentials...even through not having much growing up, God always provided enough...and more sometimes.
For the past week I've been stressed out with school and just tired physically which has opened the door to frustration and impatience. I came home last night in a bad mood since I was sleep deprived. I remembered I had defrosted some chicken days before, so I decided to cook that so it wouldn't go bad. As I opened the fridge, I was bombarded with food everywhere. My mood worsened because there was simply too much of it and there was no room to put in anything else.
American suffering.
I was humbled right then and there. I felt so selfish complaining to myself about all the food and no space. My cheeks blushed at the thought of someone hearing my thoughts. My heart broke as I thought of a child from a third world country taking a look inside my refrigerator. I thought of people even a couple of miles from me, in Mexico, that don't see this much food every day. My heart hurt.
I repented and I prayed, I thought of all the things I own. I have definitely seen people who have much more than I do, but I was still convicted. I own too much. I was reminded that I have not been called to a life of wealth or possesions. God showed me that I am clinging on to my things and that isn't glorifying Him.
I felt ashamed for being selfish even in my prayers. God reminded me of the story of the rich ruler who couldn't let go of his earthly possesions. He showed me how blessed I really am and how much more His heart hurts for the needy.
God has called me to help meet people's needs. He has called me to offer the hope that is only found through Jesus. People around me aren't necessarily in need of food or clothes, they're in need of a Savior.
God has called ALL of His people to this. The problem is we're too busy holding on to our things, making money to get more things, and becoming prideful because of the things we have. Church, we're missing it.

Raíces

Últimamente he estado pensando en que realmente no tengo historia familiar. Se un poco sobre mi bisabuela pero antes de ella, no tengo la menor idea. Hasta este año, siempre fui muy orgullosa de mis raíces mexicanas. Pensaba que sabía exactamente de donde eran mis padres, y que eso era suficiente. Sin embargo, este semestre en mi clase de Literatura Fronteriza mi profesor habla de sus antepasados que se mudaron de Lebanon a la Ciudad de México y de ahí al norte, a una ciudad fronteriza. Dice que en México hay muchas diferentes raíces y que no todos son de sangre indígena o española, que es lo que siempre imagine. Ahí empezó mi curiosidad y frustración.



Claro que me encantaría saber que sangre corre por mis venas, pero se me hace imposible averiguarlo. Se sobre casos, aun hoy en día, en donde gente nacida en México no es registrada al Registro Civil, así que aunque están vivos y viviendo en México, técnicamente no existen en ese país. Si eso sucede ahora, en el año 2011, estoy segura que sucedió hace generaciones. En otras palabras, no hay manera de investigar quien fue la madre biológica de mi bisabuela, de donde vino, etc. Tendré que estar satisfecha con solo saber que mis padres, sus padres, y los padres de sus padres eran de México. Envidio a mis amigos que saben exactamente toda su historia familiar, pero a la misma vez, Dios me recuerda que en eso no depende mi identidad.

Mi bisabuela fue adoptada cuando era chica. Cuando era muy joven, conoció a Cristo como su Salvador, y estoy convencida de que así empieza nuestra historia. Mis abuelas siempre tuvieron el temor de Dios y aunque se alejaron en tiempos, Dios siempre estuvo cerca. Ahora veo los frutos de la vida que ellas vivieron.

Ahora solo quiero preservar nuestras raíces mexicanas. He notado como poco a poquito mi familia se ha olvidado de la cultura mexicana y se ha acoplado a la de Norteamérica. Es lo esperado después de estar en este país por más de veinte años, pero no me gustaría que un día mis hijos tengan mis mismas preguntas. Me encanta lo autentica que es mi cultura y espero un día vivirla día a día en México.

Así que aun no tengo respuestas, pero guardo en mi corazón las historias que me cuenta mi mama sobre ellas. Espero un día volver a ver a mis abuelas, pero hasta que ese día llegue, tratare de mantener la memoria de las abuelas viva.

Revelations

I’ve been asking God to show me why I’m here, to show me what He was thinking when He created me. These are hard questions to ask, but even harder is the fact that I find myself doubting He will answer. There are so many people around me whose purpose is evident. Worship leaders, preachers, teachers...their calling impacts so many people.
Why would they ever doubt of their purpose in life? How were their talents ever hidden from them?
I have heard of many testimonies of God speaking to people, showing them things through dreams or visions…why hasn’t that happened to me?
If I examine my life, the only things I can think of are writing and missions. Those are the things I’m most passionate about. What could God have been thinking as He was forming me? “Nancy…she’s going to write. That is how she will glorify me.” It’s hard to believe that that could be my purpose.
As I impatiently wait for His answer, I find myself comparing my life to others’. I realize that lately I have been living someone else’s experiences; I have been feeding my spirit with other people’s encounters with God without realizing that I have to encounter God on my own. I’m tired of knowing God through other people. I want my own experience.
And with that comes comparing my calling, my talents, with other people. God’s Word says that we are all one body. We all have an important role, and most importantly, we are all reaching one goal. To make His name made known on earth.
I want to trust that God will answer my prayers. He will show me and give me peace knowing that there’s a special place just for me in His heart. My identity is with Him.

My Beloved is Mine

"I wanna run, but only far enough to make you miss me."

It's days like today that I just wish I were somewhere else. Sure I think about other places constantly, but today, I want to be anywhere but here. I want to be anyone but myself. I want to see anyone but the person I'm scared of becoming.

And then I remember whose I am. I remember that my Father is the King of Kings. The One who was and is and is to come. The One who can melt any heart of stone. The One who can calm my raging storms-every single one of them-with a simple command.

I remember that I can just bury my face on his chest and cry all I need to. I remember that none of my tears are in vain, none of them go unnoticed.
Today, even through this..thing..I remember that I am His and He is mine. And that is sufficient.

Fish Tank

In my temporary bedroom there's a small fish tank. I wake up every morning to the relaxing sound of the filter cleaning up the water, or whatever it's for, and the fish swimming around making the perfect symphony. They don't have a bad life. There are two of them, so even though the tank is pretty small, they have each other. They seem to not have a care in the world; they have a machine constantly cleaning up their home and someone feeds them, although not as often as he should.

Today, as I got ready for the day, I was startled by frantic splashing. The fish like to play around and chase each other sometimes, so I thought nothing of it. When it continued, I finally took a look. One of the fish was cornered between the glass and the filter. It had so little room and was pretty high up at the surface of the water. I waited to see what he would do. He just splashed and wiggled around with no success. He panicked and wore himself out before giving it another shot. This happened a couple of times before I knew I had to help him. I moved the filter as much as I could but it didn't make much of a difference. His head came out of the water at one point which scared me, but after one more wiggle, he gracefully swam downward and back into the water. He was free.

What caught my attention was that all this time, the other fish was minding his own business, going about his day. I would like to believe he just chose to go about his business on his side of the tank, but what probably happened is that he had no idea what was happening.

How often do I struggle with things in life and don't let those who are closest to me help?

All of Life

"A life filled with loving is a life most like the one that God lives, which is life as it was meant to be."

I love packing, it means I'll be making new memories somewhere and seeing new places. I love waking up really early and running as the sun rises. I love having my quiet time really early in the day; I love spending my day rejoicing in God's love and walking in His presence all day. I love the smell of rain on a hot summer morning. I love the satisfaction I get as I fold my clean laundry, warm out of the dryer. I love when things are so familiar, makes me feel at home. I love wildflowers. I love typing really fast and not making any typos. I love when a simple scent or word sparks an old memory of something or someone. I love cutting old magazines and making cheesy collages. I love nature. I love random cleaning modes. I love chilly summer nights outside. I love daydreaming about everything. I love my mom's hugs, backrubs, and hair massage things. I love making deadlines…doesn't happen very often. I love a good Bible study. I love not being allergic to anything and not having a bunch of random medical conditions. I love being still and thinking.

I love the way the wind smells and feels right before a big thunder storm. I love seeing babies learn to crawl and eat. I love the feeling of seeing my mom happy. I love my Intervarsity chapter and I love my community group at church. I love the beach at night. I love autumn. I love my freedom. I love seeing open land. I love and truly enjoy sunsets. I love life.

Ni de Aquí, Ni de Allá

South Texas, The Valley, Texico, North Mexico… no one really knows how to refer to our region. People in Mexico don't think we're real Mexicans and the rest of Texas and the United States don't think we're really American…if they even find out we exist (Yes, there is life past San Antonio…lots of it). We have a very different culture here. We're something I call "Americanized Mojo Mexican." I hate it. I find myself not wanting to identify myself as a Valley girl, but having lived here all my life, I guess I am. Since I am a Mexican-American, I think lately I have adopted the Mexican culture as my own; I find it richer and more real than a "halfsie" culture. I love Texas and I love Mexico, but what am I?

This week at Rec Week, we had a Latino talk during lunch about starting more Intervarsity LaFe chapters. LaFe stands for Latin Faith or Latin Fellowship. I think it would be awesome for campuses where Latinos aren't the majority; our IV chapter is only LaFe. Haha. One of the staff workers was talking about how she knew she was Mexican and she felt Mexican at home, but when she went to school she had all kinds of different friends and couldn't quite identify with them. She wanted to fit it, but she didn't really know how. I feel like that sometimes too. Where I live the majority is Hispanic, but most people are not first-generation Mexican American, so they've got major Valley culture. In my family, we're still very Mexican even though little by little it seems our Mexican customs and traditions are changing into the ones of this area. It would be so much easier to have just one set culture by which to live by, but since I have several, I find it very hard to identify with just one. I guess I am lucky to be a part of all these backgrounds, but it is very confusing.

Eggs.

When my older brother got married, he moved to Matamoros, Mexico because that's where he and his wife grew up. The first house they rented was a two story one and it was a little scary. There wasn't really anything downstairs. In fact it was cold, grey, and full of junk. The upstairs was warmer, literally, but still pretty small. Next door there was a little store that sold basic grocery items and had a couple of arcade games. There was a house behind the little shack which had a big yard full of naked kids running around and loose chickens.

I'm not sure why I spent winter break at their house that year, but it was a blast. I was getting to know my new sister-in-law and I was excited about the baby on the way. I remember one time my sister-in-law was getting ready to prepare breakfast. I was making some kind of Tang or something when she noticed we were out of eggs. Since there was a store next door, she asked me to run down and buy a couple of them and handed me some money. I walked downstairs and then strolled on the sidewalk to the store. As I approached, a customer came out with his purchase and I heard a voice from inside the shack thanking him and telling him to have a good day. It was a man's voice.

So, I must pause here and explain a little bit of the culture of Mexico. In Northern Mexico, anyway, a slang, vulgar word for testicles can be the Spanish word for eggs-huevos. I felt like the word I've heard before-blanquillos- was a Valley word, so I never really used that one for fear of being discovered and labeled a "gringa." When I heard the man's voice inside, I realized that I would have to ask him for some eggs. I wished that this was one of those stores where you just grab what you need, pay, and leave, but this was kind of like a drive thru…except more like a walk thru. It was then that I stood outside the store and rehearsed my speech for what seemed an eternity. I went over the question in English and then translated it in Spanish and everything sounded horrible! Images of what his facial expression would be like after I asked if he had…eggs…clouded my mind. What would he do next? Would he show me that indeed, he had eggs? I was only about eleven years old, but having spent many of summers in Matamoros, I knew very well what the slang meant and immediately associated "huevos" as being a bad word. I was convinced that if I asked for "blanquillos" they wouldn't know what I was talking about and I would have no other option but to say the "h" word.

After realizing that my sister-in-law was waiting for me to start breakfast, I decided to just go for it. I was so nervous and tried to rehears the question in Spanish the rest of the way into the store. My heart raced as I tried to look around for stuff nonchalantly before dropping the bomb. It was then that I saw the gold. On the counter were little clear bags full of eggs. I'm guessing they were the eggs from their loose chickens, but I didn't care. Proudly, I pointed at the eggs and asked for three of them…without having to say anything more! The shirtless mad grabbed my delicate prize and placed them in another clear bag before handing them to me. I was so eager to get out of there that I almost dropped all the money I had just so I was able to dart out. Instead, I waited for him to tell me the total before casually counting the coins and giving them to him.

I continued on my way as if I hadn't just suffered major culture trauma. My sister-in-law didn't even ask how it went because apparently all this only took about five minutes. I forcefully ate the eggs because I've never really been a fan, and I resented the fact that I had to go through all that for food I didn't even like.

Untitled.

I am alone. I can see everyone, I can see the world, but I can't speak. I see, but I am mute. I try to talk, but all my efforts are in vain as no one seems to understand. Too much of my energy is wasted as I try to make a sound come out of my mouth. All is in vain.

I climb a ladder, but my legs feel heavy, almost too heavy to lift. Slowly, I keep climbing.

I look down and see my life. I get higher, but as I do, I get scared. I suddenly remember I am afraid of heights. As I realize this, the ladder starts shaking and becomes somewhat unsteady.

I stop.

I think of you. I see you climbing your own ladder. I can almost see the ladders connecting as we climb higher, but there's a bright light that keeps me from seeing if they really do.

I think of them. They are above me. They are hungry, alone, hopeless. There are no smiles. My heart breaks. They don't have ladders. They just walk aimlessly.

I keep climbing towards them even though fear overwhelms my every step.

I can see a man. His smile is like the one I imagined my Father's to be. His arms are strong and are extended toward me.

I try to reach out for His hand, so I let go of the ladder with one hand and with the other I hold my grip on the smooth wood. At the same time, I look down and everything looks so little. Fear creeps in again. I've come this far and falling could be fatal. His eyes meet mine and I immediately know what I have to do. He points at my strong, sweaty grip on the ladder. He wants me to let go completely but I just can't. I know He is strong enough. I know He could lift me. I just can't let go. I think about it until I realize that I have to stop thinking about it and just let go. It takes every ounce of me to let go of my lifeline, but as soon as I do, my hands meet His warm arms. The fear is still there, but somehow I know that I will be lifted to safety and that everything is going to be ok. My mind, body, and heart feel an incredible amount of peace.

I've been rescued. I was worth it.

Melancholia

I heard this song as I walked home last night. I somehow find the most depressing songs in my iPod when I am already feeling emo.

 

Somewhere In Between by Lifehouse

 

"I can't meet

Losing sleep over this

No I can't

And now I cannot stop pacing

Give me a few hours

I'll have this all sorted out

If my mind would just stop racing

 

Cause I cannot stand still

I can be this unsturdy

This cannot be happening

 

This is over my head

But underneath my feet

Cause by tomorrow morning I'll have this thing beat

And everything will be back to the way that it was

I wish that it was just that easy

 

Cause I'm waiting for tonight

Been waiting for tomorrow

I'm somewhere in between

What is real

Just a dream

What is real

Just a dream

What is real

Just a dream

 

Would you catch me if I fall out of what I fell in?

Don't be surprised if I collapse down at your feet again

I don't want to run away from this

I know that I just don't need this

 

Cause I cannot stand still

I can be this unsturdy

This cannot be happening

 

Cause I'm waiting for tonight

Been waiting for tomorrow

And I'm somewhere in between

What is real

Just a dream

What is real

Just a dream

What is real

Just a dream

What is real just a dream"

 

 

I am ready for this season of uncertainty to be over.

One Day Without Shoes

Tuesday April 5, 2011

Today was the most anticipated event for those of us who are TOMS fans. This whole thing started with a guy going to Argentina and seeing how many kids didn't have shoes. So he started the TOMS One for One movement, where every time someone purchases a pair of TOMS shoes, a pair of shoes is given to a child in need. It's great, I love it. And, p.s. if someone out there ever wants to bless me, randomly or for whatever occasion, a pair of TOMS would be the way to go. Seriously.

So today is the day we didn't wear shoes to raise awareness about the reality that this is a child's daily life. Many kids in other countries don't own shoes and have to deal with it for lack of resources. There were many times that my feet ached to the point of tears. I wanted to grab my flip flops from my backpack and slip them on, but was reminded that most of the kids we're remembering today don't have that option, so I sucked it up. I also thought that instead of just participating in this event, I would do something that would have a lasting impact, so I prayed continually for kids in other countries that would be walking to school for miles barefoot (sorry to disappoint those who thought I was going to say something like, "I purchased one thousand pairs of shoes to give away" or "I donated a couple of hundred bucks to the cause"…maybe someday). It was heartbreaking to think that what I take for granted and almost see as a collection is something so foreign to many children around the world.

I must say, this was harder than I thought. The covered walkways are made of pure pebbles-something I had never taken interest in noticing before- and some of the grass had thorns so I had to walk really slowly and carefully…in other words, pure torture for my feet. As I took 2 steps per minute on the foot execution road, I observed everyone's shoes. I cowardly hoped for even the thinnest soles to be under my feet and almost regretted my decision to walk barefoot for half a day. What a pansy.

I remember running barefoot outside as a kid and can't remember when I became so anal (for lack of a better word) about wearing shoes. I realized today that I have hated being barefoot for a long time. However, it felt marvelous to let loose and not wear shoes today. (I vow to do this more often.) I got plenty of stares and it was great. The best moment was when I walked into the library. As I walked in, a guy was heading out. His pen fell right in front of me as he passed by, so I picked it up for him. I gave it to him and smiled, nonchalantly, and he exclaimed, "Your shoes are…gone!" And nonchalant me said, "Yea, I'm not wearing any today. It's Day Without Shoes today." Like in a "yea, no big…I'm a badass" kind of way. haha

It was also sad to see that not a lot of people participated. I'm not even sure why I expected to see a lot of people barefoot; it seems the TOMS movement hasn't quite hit our school yet. There was a small group of us, so it was fun to share the experience with them.

I had to wear shoes for work though, and I found that my cheap Old Navy flip flops never felt so good.

Behind These Closed Doors

In the place where I don't have to fake a smile,

In the place where my pain is real,

In the place where no one else is watching,

This is the place where I am that little girl that hides in her Father's arms.

This is the place where He meets me and wipes my tears.

He whispers into my heart that everything is ok, that He is there and there's no need to fear.

It's in these moments, behind these closed doors, that I am aware of how real His love and mercy are. I never want to leave.

It's here that I hide from the world outside that spins without control.

From the reality that I face daily.

It's here that my heart matters.

In Your arms, I matter.

Heart on Fire

I always talk about this, but being a part of hundreds of mission trips over the years as a translator has had such a huge impact in my life. It wasn't by coincidence that I served during my teen years; in fact, I am just now seeing how God worked through that and how He molded me through summer missions. I know I would have been a troubled teen hadn't it been for that first summer. My first summer serving in Mexico happened to be the summer my grandmother passed away. God had a way of working things out because I'm sure that since they were gone, I didn't really have a reason to visit Mexico anymore. That summer I was introduced to the world of missions and was exposed to many talks about continuing to serve as a missionary in other parts of the world. Most importantly, I learned more about God- who He is, how He loves, and ways in which I can serve- in those five weeks than in the five years or so that I had been attending church.

Now, every time I hear anything regarding missions work, my heart burns. I have felt that my calling since I was twelve and have been preparing myself for the field ever since. A couple of hours ago, though, my pastor talked a little about missions. I felt the same feelings as always (especially after just getting back from a mission trip): heart raced, mind tried to capture everything he was saying…and then he dropped it- "If you don't have a heart for home first, how can you have a heart for the nations?"

All semester I have been convicted about sharing Christ with people I encounter every day. It's so hard to take initiative and just listen to God's voice and His promise that He will always go before us and He will be the one speaking, not us. It seems like it would be easier to share in other countries where people are more open to the gospel than a lot of people here in America, but the truth is that we are ALL broken. Everyone is in need of some Good News and it's selfish and pretty much a sin (as my pastor put it) to not share it with those who are hurting, trying to figure life out without God. So many people are dying daily for sharing Christ with others and here I am, not using my freedom to bring hope and truth to others.

Another thought that keeps happening in my mind is that I'm almost limiting God to how and where I want to be used. I love Mexico- I know the language, I grew up spending pretty much every vacation time there, and being Mexican myself, I find myself connecting with the people. I think God's been trying to tell me that I'm too comfortable with knowing…that thought scares me a little because it's true. I've never been in a place where I don't understand the language, haven't really experienced major cultural varieties, and have never had super exotic food—that's why Mexico makes sense to me. I do believe I have a heart for this country, but I also want to get to the point where I will be willing to follow wherever He leads me, whenever He calls me.

"How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can anyone preach unless they are sent? As it is written: "How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!"' Romans 10:14-15

 

The Beauty of Simplicity

I have always lived a simple life. Recently I feel like I've become more content with it and have even come to appreciate it and thank God for the lifestyle He allowed me to have. I think that's why I was able to identify a little more with the people in Mexico this past week. I never had a lot and neither did they…but even then, I feel like I still have been given more than them in a way. The low class category in America is way different than the low class in Mexico.

In Mexico, the women are so hospitable. I have always known this from looking at how my mom used to host random people in our house for days, weeks, even months at a time. They want to share everything they have, even if it's not much. They want to know everything about foreigners and will listen intently as we speak Americanized Spanish to them. They try their hardest to make visitors feel welcome- it's like it comes naturally to them. Friends, to them, are for a lifetime, not only for the week or a month or however long visitors last. Being part of mission trips in Mexico and having been raised in a Mexican home gave me an immense appreciation for our culture and for the country itself.

Last week, I wore the same pair of dirty jeans every day. I didn't do my hair or makeup. I had no access to a mirror. I was too tired at the end and start of the days to add a work out. All these things bothered me pretty much every day and I was convicted about being so materialistic on a mission trip. I wondered if the ladies owned mirrors, not because they looked bad but because they seemed so humble and looking "pretty" or "made up" seemed to be the least of their concerns. They were beautiful. They were natural. They were content.

All in all, it felt so liberating to not worry about the things I worry about in Texas. I didn't have to worry about work, school, phone, email, or homework. I didn't feel the need to listen to my ipod and finding clothes to wear was so easy since my only options were work t-shirts, one pair of jeans, and tennis shoes.

Life was beautiful last week. It was like the status quo of America didn't exist in my mind and I loved it. While I'm thanking God for the little things I take for granted daily, I'm also thanking Him for the things I don't have and didn't have growing up. I know and believe in my heart that my past happened the way it did to prepare me and mold me for the future He has for me. I'm more excited than ever to see what the future holds.

Life Goes On

I have only been in the US for a couple of hours and it's pretty depressing so far. Spending the week in Campeche, Mexico was such a great experience. I saw God in the people there; He was in the children, the cooks, the pastor and his family, and in the air.

The drive home from Houston was a killer. In between deep sleep spells and weird dreams, I was just bombarded with the fact that I'm back to reality. Mexico is in Mexico, I am back where I live, and I start school and the same schedule and routine starting Monday. I am still trying to figure out what my life would look like if I treated it the same as in Calkini. Every person mattered, every child received love, everyone was worth talking to, everyone had a story that I wanted to know.

How to I apply that to my everyday life?

How do I represent Jesus with every step I take, with every breath I take?

Life doesn't have to just "go on" after this week. I'd like to think I have been transformed and renewed after seeing how mighty and loving God is- not only this week, but continually throughout my life.

Treat every day as if I were on a mission. That's what keeps coming to mind. Why does this have to stop in the US?

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