Even though I doubted the Lord still surprised me, still
captured my heart and still chose to speak to me in the midst of all that I
think is a struggle in my life. He has chosen to open my eyes once again.
We
began our trip with going to Iglesia En Calle (Church on the Street) in
Phoenix. It is a program that serves to minster to people living on the
streets. This could mean gang members, prostitutes, pimps, and the homeless.
Pastora Theresa and Pastor Ramon have dedicated their lives to specifically
help men leaving the prison system and children living in poverty both in
Phoenix, Arizona and Los Nogales, Mexico. They spend Monday, Tuesday and
Wednesday of every week driving down to Los Nogales to their home and ministry.
In Nogales the run another program called N.AN.A (which translated from Spanish
stands for “children
helping children give”. The rest of the week they are in Phoenix working
with the men in their program for Iglesia En Calle.
We
spent about 3 hours packing and loading up donations consisting of clothes,
food, and other donations. Then we began
the 4.5 hour drive to Nogales. As we drove it just fell into a natural rhythm
of sharing and being. It didn’t hit that we were going to a 3rd
world country or going to have to arrive in a place of such need. As we came
closer and closer to the border tensions became higher and a prayer was sent up
to get a “green” (to be able to go over without having to be stopped or
searched). God as always proved faithful and we were allowed to cross this time
without any issues.
Nogales,
Mexico is much like Kikuyu, Nairobi. Lands and faces look very similar when
they are clothed in poverty. Shanties,
red dirt, trash, wondering people and yes, beauty, are the wardrobe of the
poor. We arrived at N.A.N.A. Rescue and unloaded the stacks upon stacks of
donations. The van was filled to the top and yet within minutes, men began
piling out of the rescue and introduced themselves to us while grabbing a box
or bag. In a matter of 4.5 hours I went from the wealth and materialism of the
U.S., to the poverty and hunger of the 3rd world. Once boxes were
unloaded and pleasantries were made, we all headed down to the quarters where
Tom, our chef, had already been busy preparing a traditional Mexican dinner.
After
dinner, again men that had been taken off the streets and welcomed in to the
program began to pile into the room. These men once tattooed and scarred with
signs of danger, hate and fear, were now humbled and gathered in a small room
to sing praise and worship to our King. True to the Mexican culture, three of
the men appeared with guitars and the evening was filled with praise, worship,
testimonies, and reading the Word.
Again I was humbled; humbled to be surrounded by
people who welcomed us with open arms, and allowed us to become servants among
them. Humbled that we were all called and preordained to be in this small,
dimly lit room sharing our stories and Jesus amongst each other and the people
of the world. We all were called,
regardless of our backgrounds as students, prisoners, gang members, mothers,
fathers, husbands, wives, Americans, Mexicans, we were all called to be on the
same mission to feed the hungry, clothed the poor, visit the imprisoned,
shelter the homeless and love the forgotten ones. This is exactly what we were called to do,
this is the great commission, this is what my heart has been hungry to do all
year… and by the grace of God, he has allowed me to do it once more.
Our day
began at 4:30 am. We were awakened by both the men upstairs, who live and work
on the property, as well as the roosters outside the window. Waking early for
praise and worship again, I was brought to my knees in the presence of the
Lord, even though everything was conducted in Spanish. The same feeling that I
had of chills going up my spin of hearing people of another nation sing to the
same God washed over me. How great is our God? How amazing is it that he spans
over every nation, color, creed, race and language? To be reminded that this
world is bigger than just our tiny view point and that we are a part of more
than just Arizona, Colorado or the U.S.A never ceases to take my breath away.
We are children of the Lord, children of the world. Brothers and sisters, sons
and daughters with all of those in the world.
It’s so
ignorant how much we fear each other, the stigmas we place on other countries.
Warnings of violence, fear of the other, fear of discomfort… such a ploy of
Satan to keep us separated from each other and from God. We dare to forget that
God created each and every one of us, from lost and homeless, to prisoner and
slave, to wealthy and educated. We forget that He loves us ALL. He came to save
ALL who are lost. The only difference between me and the woman, man or child
sitting across from me is a choice to either follow or run from obeying the
commands of Christ.
After
praise and worship we drove through town to pick up the children of the dump.
They typically are called the “forgotten ones” or “children of the dump.” They
range in age from newborn to about 17 years old. As we drive through the town
in a white beat up van, missing seatbelts, and seats, they driver honks to
alert the children. Some children run to the van, others take a little more
convincing, and still some we have to go up and invite them to come with us. I
am blown away by the amount of trust these kids have in people they barely
know, and yet I understand that they know that their only hope for survival
rests in trusting these strange people.
They flock into our arms and do not think twice about playing with our
hair, taking pictures or laughing at our lack of Spanish. As we ride into the
place now deemed “Zona de Fe (Zone of Faith),” excitement builds and the kids
sitting on me and Mia’s laps began to stand and peer out the windows of the
van. Tables are lined up in the dirt and chairs are being moved into the small,
wood building that doubles as the room for Sunday school, as well as the food
preparation and dining rooms. These small children with their faces pressed up
against the windows of the dusty van know that their needs will soon be filled
at least for a moment and hope fills the van. As I look at each child, I can’t
begin to understand their hunger, they feeling of not being full, and yet in
their eyes is still joy, trust, hope, faith, love. They haven’t given up.
The
kids pile out of the van only to be met with more hungry children, some
carrying younger siblings, others holding the hands of friends, brothers and
sisters. They entered the room and took their spots awaiting praise and worship
to be led by the Pastora. I am given sweet Vanessa ( 4 months old) to hold and
immediately my heart turns to mush. She thank goodness looks very healthy, well
fed and well loved. She is clean, in clothing that fits, is with her mother and
has healthy muscle tone, bright eyes, is alert and attentive. She holds her
head up to look at those singing around her, grasps my finger and tries to pull
it into her mouth to satisfy her sucking need. Praise God, she is one of the
lucky ones. Not all of the children we meet on this trip are as lucky, and I
soon learn that Vanessa’s story in this culture is not the norm.
I scan
the room, looking at the conditions of the other children. Most are covered in
dirt, wearing clothing that is not appropriate for Mexico’s heat, or clothing
that doesn’t fit. Their hair is string and dirty, their faces streaked with
dirt and sweat. And yet in the midst of
all of this there is beauty. Children of all ages take part in the Sunday
school lesson that is led by one of the men in the discipleship program. They
hang on his every word and are eager for him to pick up his guitar and lead
them in “Father Abraham” or some other worship song. One child, Sara, is chosen
to stand and recite the verses that the class had been learning over the period
of the year. One after another, Sara recited verse after verse. Three minutes
and 35 verse later, Sara completed her task and received a prize. A Veggie
Tales castle that had been donated became her prized position. Mia and I are asked
to come to the front and share with the children. I hand off Vanessa who has
been happily sucking on my fingers. We teach the kids the stories of Zaccheus
and David and Goliath and sing “Your Love is Deep.” They join in on the hand motions and try to
sing with us. We are received with clapping and then pray over breakfast. As
quick as the children were sitting in the chairs listening to the Pastors
speak, they are now moving chairs outside to be around the tables and setting
up chairs inside the small room. The transformation takes 5 minutes and then
children are at the tables being handed bowls of cereal mixed with oatmeal. For
some of these kids, the only peals they will get today are the ones provided by
the Pastora and the ministry.
I am
given the task of handing out vitamins and passing out bowls of cereal. The
children quickly empty their bowls and line up with Tupperware to take food
back to other family members that are still starving. The harsh reality of the responsibility that
these children have of going out not only to learn more about the gospel but to
support their family by bringing what food they can home is almost too much for
me to bear. I struggle to watch Juan, David, Natalie and Sara gathered cereal
in bowls. And then, just as quickly as the heaviness begins to fill my heart,
it is pushed out as the children begin to laugh and chase each other. Their
playground consists of piles of rocks, old construction materials, dirt and
trash; things that most American parent would shoo their children away from and
cover them in hand sanitizer for being so close to such filth. My mind catches
and I remember working at Educare. I remember the sterile rooms, the emphasis
on cleaning with 66 and 67 solution and a playground made up of fancy materials
and turf. The reality that only 4.5 hours separate these two worlds slams into
my heart. As tears begin to form in the corner of my eyes, a small child pulls
on my hand and brings me into a game of spinning around and falling down and
all I have time to do is laugh and pull myself back up to begin again.
After
breakfast, the vans are loaded up again and we drop the kids off to go back to
searching through trash for things they need before school starts. Mia and I
are taken to the women’s and juvenile prisons. Mia and I share the gospel with both
groups and what strikes me the most is that none of these people look like
felons. I have a hard time staring at
Claudia, or Brian, or Rosa and believing they were caught in something worthy
of this sentence. But even more I see that the only thing that separates me
from them is a choice between living for the world and living for Christ. It’s
who we choose to worship. Who we choose to obey. One boy in the detention
center tells us that he has just become a new father and my heart breaks not
only for him, but his new little girl as well. Not only a week old, and this
baby is already accumulating multiple risk factors. She is born into poverty,
probably to a young mom and her father is in prison. She already has multiple
pieces of adversity coming her way and I know that she will get caught in the cycle
of poverty unless something changes.
These
few days have been filled with so much. I have had the opportunity to watch men
who were once caught up in drugs, and gangs, now working in the hot Mexico sun serving
those around them. The tattoos and scares of their pasts fade into their skin
and smile and laugh lines become apparent. They spend their days spreading the
gospel to others who are just as lost as they once were. Men who were hardened
by the world turn to mush when a small child runs up to them with their arms
lifted high wanting to be held by these men that were once so feared in their
community. I am thrown head first into the power of forgiveness, salvation,
hope and new lives.
More
happened in those few days then I can possibly put into words, but 3 stories
continue to pull at my heart and leave me evoked about how we can do more. I
believe these three stories are going to be the stories that fuel my heart to
continue working with Iglesia de Calle and N.A.N.A. Rescue.
1.
After the evening service at Zona de Fe Tuesday
night, someone came up to the Pastora and told us that a young mother with a 2
month old son was struggling. She didn’t have any food or milk and people in
the community had been encouraging her to feed her young son Kool-Aid to curb
his hunger. Immediately all of our hearts fell. Kool-Aid doesn’t have any
nutritional value at all. This child was basically starving and even more so,
the mom thought she was doing the best she could. As soon as we got back to our
quarters we began searching our rooms for anything that we could give the young
mother. Early in the week we had received donations of baby food and formula,
but we had already given all of those away. We began looking under beds and in
corners hoping that one can of formula rolled under the bed or behind a
cabinet. Just one can was all we needed for now and we couldn’t find anything.
At that moment we all stopped and let out a prayer, asking God to just show us
his provision, show us something we can do to help this mom and her baby. We
continued to look and came up with nothing. As we began to head upstairs,
disappointment etched on our faces, the driver, Thomas, came down the stairs
and asked us what was taking us so long. We explained that we were looking for
formula to give to the mom. He told us he found a can upstairs that said Simlac
with a bear on it. “Would that help?” he asked. Relief washed over us as well
as the sheer humor that he had no idea what he had just found for us. We loaded
the van up with a jug of clean water, the formula and a gallon of milk for the
mom. We also made a food basket for her, not knowing if there were other kids
in the home.
Thomas took the deliveries
and drove up the hill to find the woman we were told about. When he returned back to us he showed us
pictures of the home and the mother, as well as the new baby, Jesus. There were
five kids crowded around a mom that looked no older than 19 years old. We
weren’t sure if they were all living in the home, if they were siblings or just
neighborhood kids but they were definitely in need. The baby didn’t look like
he was to the point of being in danger, but he also didn’t have that gleam in
his eye or look of life. We traveled to the home the next day and both mom and
baby were gone. I was relieved that we had gotten them food, but the worry of
what happens next week, or next month clouds my heart and I have that feeling
of, “ We have to do something more.”
2.
During one of our morning services the Pastora
asked me to help her with a project she had started. She handed me a suitcase
full of small 4x6 photos of the children that come faithfully to the Zona de
Fe. As I went through the pictures and began handing the photos out one mom
came and sat next to me. She looked at each photo and helped me handed them out
to the correct child. And then as I
uncovered a photo of a small little girl with plump cheeks and bright eyes she
rested her hand on the frame and then slowly pulled it up to eye level. She
didn’t say a word but took the frame and walked away. After I finished handing
out the rest of the photos I found the Pastora and asked her about the photo.
The story she told surprised me and then angered me.
Apparently about two months
ago, the woman who was helping me look through the frames took her daughter to
the doctor. The little girl (almost 2 years old) was very ill and the mother
had no idea what to do. The doctor gave the little girl medication but gave her
so much that the little girl had 4 heart attacks that killed her. The photo
that the woman took with her was the last picture that she had taken of her
daughter. I can’t begin to imagine the sense of betrayal and mistrust this
mother must feel. I can’t imagine taking my child in for help from someone who
is supposed to know how to heal and yet contributed to taking her life.
3.
This story is not as sad, this story has a lot
of hope, this story has a lot of potential. On our final day in Nogales as we
were preparing for the drive back home, we made a stop to pick up a young girl
that the Pastora had been told about. We
pulled up onto the top of a hill and waited for the girl to come home. Her
mother rushed to the van and began talking to the Pastora. Her face filled with
joy and gratitude that we would be taking her daughter to a better place. About
20 minutes later Lilly appeared. A very pregnant 17 year old girl with a head
full of curls, a face full of anxiousness and a belly protruding under her
American Eagle shirt.
At 7 months pregnant, Lilly
has never received prenatal care. She was born in the United States and then
shortly after her parents took her to Nogales, Mexico. Because she is an
American citizen she was refused treatment in Nogales and couldn’t afford to
continuously cross the border to receive medical care in Nogales, Arizona. Her
mother found the Pastora’s business card on the street left over from when one
of the men were ministering on the street and took the chance to call the
Pastora and ask for help. Of course Pastora agreed and the plan was set to take
Lilly back with us and give her a home with Sophia’s House in Phoenix. The
program gives free room, board and medical care to young pregnant girls, as
well as helps them learn about the Lord.
Lilly ran inside the house
and grabbed a small duffle bag as well as a green envelope filled with the
precious documents that would allow her safe passage into the United States
again. After a tearful goodbye with her mom whispering encouragement and prayers
into her ear, Lilly began the long journey of not only crossing the border, but
also the journey of becoming a mom and placing the needs of her child above the
fear, and wants of herself. I can’t
imagine her fear and yet she sat in our van with a face of dignity, with a face
of peace. For the first half of the drive she sat quietly in the van and then
slowly we began to talk to her in broken Spanish with the Pastora translating
when needed. She told us that the baby was moving a lot and that she had already
picked out a name. She asked very few questions about where we were going and
what was to be expected. At times a tear would trickle down her face and she
would seek solace in one of our arms. The Pastora whispered to her that this
decision was going to give her baby so many choices and opportunities. By
coming to the U.S. she was going to receive care and her baby would be born a
citizen of the U.S. which would help her out for the rest of her life. She also
told Lilly that by taking this step of faith she was going to be able to go
back home and be able to help other girls in similar situations.
When we arrived at the Dream
Center and what would be Lilly’s new home, Mia and I offered to stay and help
her settle in. She happily agreed and we began to take a tour of the old hotel
that had been transformed into a safe haven for those in need. Lilly took in
the sites and listen to all that was being told to her. As we got on the
elevator Lilly still stood silent rubbing her belly and looking out the window.
We showed her where the rooms where she would be living and then headed back
downstairs. As we loaded back onto the elevator we tried to talk to Lilly, but
as soon as the elevator dropped Lilly’s face followed and she turned
instinctively into Pastora’s arms for comfort. The visage of a girl of strength
broke and the vulnerable little girl missing her mother was exposed. I gave her
my hands and she squeezed them tightly as the elevator continued to drop. Once
we reached the ground I understood just how much more Lilly was going to need.
Yes, she was now safe and yes her baby was going to have the medical care that
it needed, but she was missing the support. We learned how valuable support is
for a teenage mother last semester. We learned that a teen mother benefits
greatly from having the support of her own mother during this time, but Lilly
will not have that right now. She will not see her mother’s face in the
delivery room as she transforms into a mother. She will not have her mother’s
support the first time she tries to breast feed, or figure out how to soothe
her new child. And this is where Mia, the Pastora, Sophia’s house and I come
into play. This is when we need to step up and become Lilly’s support system.
This
opportunity to volunteer and to make a small difference in the lives of one
person blows me away. I can’t express how much each one of these people I met
need our help. We have so much in this country, we have so much that we don’t
need, we have so much that we can give. So I am asking you to step out and
partner with myself and with Iglesia en Calle. Right now there are a couple of
options:
1.
Buy 1 Give: This is pretty easy and a cool
thought I think…. Whenever you go to the store and are doing your normal
shopping look out for buy 1 get 1 sales, or other sales that encourage us to
buy more than we might need such as 10/$10.00 etc. Then donate the free item or
half of the items you buy…so 5 of the 10 that you got for $10. I am always
amazed at how much I throw away when I buy things from sales. Here is your
chance to give these much needed items away and still get the sale deal without
wasting anything.
2.
Just donating whatever you can… you can mail
donations to me. E-mail me when you have your donations together and I will
give you an address to mail them to, either myself or Iglesia de Calle…we will
make sure your donations get to either Nogales or used in Phoenix.
3.
Above all else prayer is huge….just like in
finding the can of formula, God shows his provisions every day… I am asking
that you join with me and continue to lift the people up of Nogales, Mexico…
Donations needed ASAP:
·
Children’s clothing
·
Children’s underwear
·
Men’s hats and bandanas for working outside
·
Vitamins
·
Prenatal vitamins
·
Non-perishable food items
·
Diapers both cloth and disposable
·
Feminine hygiene products
·
Bras
·
Bottles
·
Formula
·
Toys
·
Devotionals and Bibles in Spanish
******This is just a basic list. There are
many more needs…please don’t hesitate to contact me if you would like more
suggestions.
