From MK to Missionary.

 I've always been a missionary. Or at least a missionary kid. When my parents stepped into missions, it became a family endeavor. We kids willingly took part, it was who we were. I space out my life by the two sides of missions - the "field" and "furlough." As a little girl  we visited many States-side churches. My sister and I were often models demonstrating Quichua dress, or helping volunteers dress up. I spoke a few Quichua greetings, recited John 3:16 in Spanish, and knew my parents' presentation by heart. People asked, "What's it like? Do they eat Mexican food? Say something in Spanish!" On the field, I patiently (most of the time) let dark, work-roughened hands stroke my hair and marvel at the long, fine, blond strands that were foreign to them. I picked up words here and there of the conversation, my limited Spanish and their blending of Spanish and Quichua inhibiting full comprehension. But with warm smiles and friendly hand shakes, clear understanding wasn't always important. For a shy girl, spending time with them was enough.

Kids from the prison ministry

As I grew older, I became more involved. No longer just the daughter who sat quietly in the background, participating when asked, I began to take part and help as I could. In Jr. High and High school I was involved in ministry in several different ways.

Translating at a church in Anguiñay

I know what it is to be the missionary. It means reaching out to people and loving them. It involves standing out and often alone. (But not completely alone, because family was always there). It involves telling people what God has done and pointing to Scripture and to Christ. It necessitates stepping up to lead when the ball is dropped, or reaching out to the quiet person in the corner, even though I want to be the quiet girl in the corner. I know how to be a missionary. Or at least, how to be part of a missionary family.

Family is a huge deal in Ecuadorian culture. Family is a huge deal in the life of an MK, as it is one of the few stable things in a transient world. So you can imagine how an MK who grew up in Ecuador feels as she steps out by herself into the life of missions work, into support raising. Alone. And as much as my friends, family, and those around me love, support, and encourage me, I enter into this venture alone. I ride the bus alone. I gather my courage to call someone alone. I meet with people alone, write thank yous alone. And I look into the next week, not knowing what I'm going to do, but knowing it will be alone.

Some girls from ICI

My inherent shyness, once thought conquered, comes rushing back. Last Sunday after church I stood fidgeting in the back, berating myself, "Go talk to someone. Anyone. Stop standing by yourself. A good missionary talks to people. Go talk to people." And I wonder, If I can't even initiate conversation and relationships in this setting, how do I think I'm going to do it with the girls at ICI? And yet somehow that seems much less daunting - I've always been better on the field in ministry than at "home."

Throughout my life, God has stripped away the things in which I placed my identity. At least five major changes in life left me groping for something secure. I now stand, stripped of my country, my family, and my school - alone. But not alone. Because each time something is stripped away, it causes me to lean more on God. And though it is painful, and sometimes I feel like Eustace as Aslan tore away the dragon scales and skin in C.S. Lewis' The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, as each layer is stripped away I know I become more of who He is shaping me to be. Each time, my flailing hand is grasped firmly by my faithful God. 

And so I have embarked on this journey out into the vast sea that is support raising. It's been four months. When I was stopping by familiar ports, staying near land, it was an adventure. But now that it is time to enter uncharted waters, the route is no longer clear. The ocean is boundless and structure-less, lacking landmarks to guide me. The Psalmist says, "I lift my eyes up to the mountains, where does my help come from?" In this mountain-less place, my eyes lift to the stars. As they do, I see that "The heavens declare the glory of God," and I remember where I am going. 

  You see, it was in the quiet of remembering to worship God for who His is that I was assured of going to Inner City Impact. It is in the quiet of sitting before God that I no longer fear. And it is in the quiet of gazing at God that I remember I am not alone.

Remember the raindrops? 

You Mustn't be Afraid to Dream a Little Bigger, Darling.

[a friend suggested writing about a quote, these words caught my attention:]

You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.

Dream a little bigger... this is something I indeed fear to do.
I have always been on the cautious side. As a little girl, I was afraid to go down big slides, and nearly refused to sled down a steep hill, not even enticed by a reward. It is much better to be safe. Instead of making friends with the neighborhood kids, I stayed inside and read. I hate going super fast on a bike, and am not a particular fan of roller coasters. I am cautious in friendships and relationships, especially after having been hurt.
Now, you have to understand, I never needed to thirst for adventure - there was plenty of it all around me. Growing up in South America and traveling constantly while visiting the States has given me plenty of variety and on-the-edge experiences. I have been eye level with a tarantula in my bedroom, felt the smooth cool touch of boa constrictors gliding around me, been in an earthquake, visited remote villages, been thrown from a horse, climbed a few mountains, driven on cliff-edge mountain roads - my life has not been boring. I yearn not for adventure, but for safety and security.
My aspirations for myself have not been big and grand. I don't need to be the next Deborah or Queen Esther. I don't need to march for women's rights and don't want to be at the forefront of a new movement. Yet I have always felt God had something in store for me, something He wanted me to do. I guess I figured it would be something small, something appropriately me-sized.

You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.

My sister has always been the dreamer. She dreams up plot lines and stories. She worried as she imagined horrible things that could happen while my parents were out. She dreams of being an accomplished author. She dreams of making a difference for foster kids and orphans. She dreams big.
The problem of dreaming big, is that as you fly sky high, soaring with your brilliant ideas, you risk falling and watching them all crumble.
Hence, I don't dream big. The risk is too real.

You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.

So for what do I aspire? Something simple. For most of my life, I believed it would be serving God in a setting I was comfortable in, preferably Ecuador.

And yet, I find myself preparing to work in an inner city ministry in Chicago.

A couple years ago as I sat in women's chapel at Moody listening to our speaker, something stirred inside me. I would love to make a difference, to share my passion, as she does. To help others catch a vision. To teach. Even hundreds of women. Wait - hold it. Slow down. Since when have I ever wanted to do something big? Since when have I ever wanted to be in front of people? Since when have I ever watched a speaker and thought "that could be me someday"? It's strange how God takes us as we are, and then molds and shapes us into who He wants us to be. I didn't want to go to Moody, but I went. I didn't want to be a Youth Ministry major, but I was. I didn't want to work in the inner city, but I did. And now I talk to people as I raise support for this ministry. Lots of people. Pretty soon, it will be lots of people I don't even know. At each step, God creates a love for what He has placed before me.

Is this shy, little Cristina, who hid in a corner with her nose in a book?

You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.

Sometimes, God gives people big dreams. Though He walks with them through bitter disappoints, He often helps fulfill them.
Other times, God has to lead people kicking and screaming to big dreams because they are too afraid to look that high. He has to shape them slowly and prepare them carefully, and lead them step by step. That's me. Are you sure, God? You want me to do what, God? You do know me, don't you?
I am slowly learning that the risks are often worth it. It is worth loving someone even though it hurts. It is worth trying to climb the mountain, even if I fail. It is worth trying to speak to people, even if I stammer. It is worth serving my God with my whole heart, even if the future is uncertain. His words echo through my mind: "Set your thoughts on things above..."

You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.

Frost.

         Two roads converged in a wood, and I...

Sat and pondered which one to take until the dry leaves rustled under my bent knees, wild grape vines twined around my calves, and silvery spider threads interlaced brown wisps of hair.  

Well, maybe I had only wondered what to do for a couple months; in the grand scope of life that isn't all that long.  

I felt like I was not accomplishing what I was supposed to this summer, not working hard enough, not seeing enough progress. Then again, sometimes my version of accomplishments isn't the only one. Just because my "To-do" list isn't all checked off doesn't mean that something positive hasn't happened. I have been able to help my family, though not always in the ways that I had planned. I have reconnected with them. And I have gotten to relax and slowly recuperate from the beating I gave my body over four years of lack of sleep.

God often has a different agenda, a different "list" than I do. I get so wrapped up in mine, I forget to look for His. When things don't go my way, I want to sit down and throw a hissy-fit, showing Him just how I feel about it. But at the end of it, I sheepishly look up at Him and feel foolish. I brush myself off, and stand "at attention," more willing to see things His way. 

I wrote (most of) the above several weeks ago, before I went to Ecuador. At that time, life still seemed like a plain white sheet of paper, my pen poised above it wondering "what should be done with this?" (Yes, pens do wonder things like that. You'd be surprised at all the thoughts of inanimate objects). I feel pages and pages beyond that point now, as if I am a whole new person with whole new color ink flowing across the paper. Part of the change came while in Ecuador, my homeland (see previous post). I wrote this while traveling:

As we drove through Latacunga I had to blink back tears. I swallowed the knot in my throat and refused to cry. There were so many changes. New buildings sprung up right and left, roads had been added or reconstructed. And people went on about their daily lives. I did not cry because it had changed, but rather because I had not been there to witness it. I am no longer part of that life, I can no longer slip back into the rhythm of my hometown. Everything was so familiar, so dear to me. I liked living in Latacunga, I liked being able to walk nearly anywhere in town, or take a cab for only a dollar. All the guards I knew at the prison have left. We didn't even go into the prison, or even the church. We saw Wendy, her cute little restaurant, and her cozy apartment just up the street. But we did not see anyone else. Maybe on the way back through. 

Though I miss Latacunga, I don't want to live there right now. I still want to be in Chicago. Not for my whole life, maybe not even for the next ten years. But for now. I thank God that he gives me the desire to do that which he has set before me. 

 I feel more confidence and joy than I can remember feeling in a long time. It is as though I clearly hear my God saying, "This is the way, walk in it." And so I step out onto that path, onto the road less traveled, the one I least expected to take. The pen is no longer poised, motionless, but scribbling furiously as a cohesive pattern begins to emerge. And that step, that first stroke, will make all the difference.

Burning lungs, burning heart.

 It is so easy to get distracted.

 I have filled my life with distractions until I nearly suffocated under their weight. I said I trusted God to show me where to walk, what the next step in life was - but I wouldn't sit quietly long enough to listen him. A small corner of my conscious prodded me to stop filling my life with small nothings, to remember my God and seek after him, but I often muffled it with thoughts of "not yet. soon. after I _____." read, watch this show, work, spend time with family, sleep. So many excuses. Sometimes I assuaged the guilt by opening my Bible and dispassionately reading a chapter or by shooting off a quick prayer. But I knew the time was coming when I must once again get serious, set my feet firmly on the path, and seek His face.

The time has come.

Being in Ecuador, though only for a short time, has stirred something inside me. Yesterday nearly everyone was leaving for the day, so I went over to El Refugio.

I went there often in my high school years, a retreat center previously run by some very good friends, set at the base of a great hill/mountain ridge. Trails climb up the incline through the trees to meet low and high ropes courses, a zip line, a campfire circle, zigzagging up, up, up the steep slopes. This was my goal, to hike up until I found the perfect spot to sit and pray. The yearning for communion with my God grew stronger the more I thought of it. So I ventured out, lungs burning, calves shaking, up, up, as I settled into a steady rhythm. I suddenly remembered why I liked mountain climbing. 

Alone, I felt no pressure to go faster than I felt I could, no guilt for holding others back. I enjoyed the steady rhythm: breathe in and step with my right foot, breathe out and step with left. Lizards scurried off the trail at my approach, a fox looked back at me and loped into the bushes. The sun shone brightly, sometimes boldly warming my back, sometimes friendlily peeking through speckled shadows of leaves. A strong breeze brought fresh air to cool me in my exertion. As I got higher I saw the red shingled roofs of the buildings of El Refugio dwindling below me. 

I found the perfect spot. The path leveled out and broadened to encompass a fire pit with benches around it overlooking a gorgeous vista. Pine needles cushioned the ground, an air of peace encompassed the shady clearing. Uncertain where to start, I opened to Isaiah 40, a favorite passage of mine. Completely isolated from listening ears, I felt comfortable reading aloud, feeling the passion of the prophet roll from my tongue and tighten my chest. I cried as the LORD lamented Israel's rejection of Him, and as He forgave them anyway. I followed Isaiah through chapter 53, another that touches my heart, reading and rereading, frequently copying verses into my journal. Then I knelt down and prayed. 

And in the stillness of my open soul, waiting before the LORD, I felt the certainty which I had sought for months - what to do next in life. And His peace and joy filled my being.

Our God is so good. Yet how often do we, His people, stop up our ears and close our eyes, persisting in giving our attention to useless things and then grumbling against God in our calamities? I ache to convey God's faithfulness and goodness and mercy, to show people their sin and God's redemption. I ache for those who are blind to it and have never tasted it. I ache for those who, like I, knew but have forgotten. 

We in our pride think it is all about us, about making ourselves happy. We often think God will make our lives go the way we want them to. We often think God loves us and saves us because we are special. But this is so wrong. He saves us for His sake. If we are special, it is because he has chosen us. 

I shouldn't seek God so He will give me something. Lately my focus has been on finding direction, not on being with  God. I should seek God because of who He is. I limit myself and spurn God when my focus is on my wants and needs and how God can give them to me. God has created me and redeemed me for His glory. May my life be ever for this end.

"I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you." Isaiah 44:22