A poem I wrote after doing laundry in the creek...

Sanctification:

Hip deep in murk, in water over muck
I stretch my off-white, splotched-brown
pants across the scrub-board bridge
between the jungle bank and home.
Suds and soil mingle in the cleaning
toil of the bristle brush breaking
down cloth and widening
my underdrawers from waist to crotch.

After hours of wringing
sheets and towels and scrubbing
collars, I get out
like an old man
and leave the blue bar of jabon
to glue itself down...
The wrinkles of my dirty
shirt have gone inside my fingertips.
I am my own
sock: a little cleaner and longer,
yet left wrung and wrong-
side-out and hung up
to dry and fade stiff.

Oh, to be Christ's sock!
I can only wait the coming
take-down and the hard-
heeled foot that will break
my crust and make me
worn and fit again.

"The Best Days of My Life"

On my way to my house I passed Javier. “How’s it going?” I asked.

“Whew, teacher” he whistled through his teeth. “We’re supposed to be making tortillas in the kitchen, and Brayan and I don’t know how, and Ruth got there late, and there’s not enough firewood” (We gather and cut our own wood for the kitchen fires, and it’s amazing how much wood you burn to cook ten kilos of potatoes, fry 240 tortillas, and boil four gallons of aupi.)

“Oh wow,” I responded. “I’m no expert at making tortillas, but maybe I can come help you out in a little bit.” Why did I just say that? I immediately thought. I have too much to do! I don’t have time to go work in the kitchen all afternoon!

I went to my house and started working on my long list of things I wanted to get done, and promptly forgot about my promise—for about 15 minutes.

You should go up and help in the kitchen. The thought reoccurred to me.

Nah, they don’t need help. They’ll be fine. I need to prepare for class tomorrow.

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Dude, what did you come here for anyway? Do you think that your piddly translations of literary and linguistic knowledge are really going to make a difference and give these kids the edge on life? Leave it and go help in the kitchen why don’t you?

So, I left my work and went to the kitchen where I peeled and sliced the cucumbers and tomatoes to make the salad that the slacking morning crew was supposed to have prepared and served for lunch. I didn’t realize how dirty the cucumbers were until I went to wash my hands afterward and noticed what looked like dead skin peeling off of my fingers. “Wow,” I said “I’ve never peeled caustic cucumbers like this before! They ate the skin right off my hands!” The kids laughed at me and told me it was just dirt, and I felt stupid. Yet how many times have I been such an idiot, with sin such a part of me that I think I’m losing my skin when God starts to rub off my grunge?

The kids seemed really grateful for my help, and they seemed more friendly, talkative, and open to listen. Nothing huge, but sometimes small things like that can be really encouraging.

Speaking of encouraging, we just finished a fortnight-length marathon week of prayer and spiritual emphasis. I spoke twice for the evening meetings. I felt so unprepared and unorganized, as I didn’t have the time to really prepare everything ahead of time, but God helped me find the words somehow, although I’m pretty sure I didn’t put them in the right order. I felt so scattered.

At the end of the first week we had a communion service and on Sabbath the pastor came and spoke for church and baptized five of our students who have made a commitment to follow Christ: Barbara, Roly, Rodolpho, Rosalia, and Erika.

The third year students went to visit the nursing home and assisted in caring for the residents this last week for their outreach project. They’ve been learning some basic care skills in health class, and this week they’ve been practicing on each other and the staff, feeding each other, putting on socks and shoes, brushing teeth, shaving, and combing hair.

The kids were excited when they came back and shared their experiences. Alcides, one of our third-year boys and leaders on campus said “Let’s pray for the ancients.”One line from his prayer still sticks with me and makes me smile every time I remember it: “Thank you Lord for the opportunity to be here and for the gift of service, and for what has been, for my part, the best days of my life.”

May the Lord bless each one of you and may today be one of the best days of your life. :)

A Wimp's Wakeup Call

“Day off” usually means a two-kilometer walk to the end of our driveway followed by a wait for the flota or some form of mobilidad to stop and give us a lift into town where we make photocopies for classes and buy fruit, groceries, and other necessities including some internet time. On this particular day Kaila and I got a late start on our walk to the entrance and missed the 8:30 bus. Nothing else was passing, so we sat and waited, and I took the opportunity to continue reading the book of Jeremiah. About 9:20 the next bus came along. As I boarded, I noticed the following prayer plastered across the windshield:

“Guíame en el buen camino, oh Dios.” Guide me in the good path, oh Lord.”

Oh, isn’t that beautiful, I thought, appreciating especially the absence of the typical and inappropriate stickers and posters that usually cover public transits, where the scantily clad babes you see next to the Virgin Marys are not the Baby Jesus!

I sat down happily in an empty seat next to a young man and continued reading Jeremiah chapter three. After about half a chapter, I tired of trying to focus the blurred and vibrating words as we rattled down the washboard road. I put the book down and begin to look around me. The young man in the seat next to me with the dragon embroidered jean shorts…the plump young mother two rows up nursing her baby… the bent and withered man at the front, sitting on his canvas sack of yucca that he would later sell in the market… What were they all thinking about right now? How much pain and suffering was represented by the cross-section of humanity before me? I suddenly felt an overwhelming burden to share with them something better.

I started to fantasize about standing up and walking to the front of the bus where I would say in a strong voice that everyone could hear: “How many of you noticed the slogan on the windshield of this bus? How many of you know what God’s good path is?” And then I would teach them about the law of God and the importance of repentance and the miracle of a new heart enabled by the grace of God to walk in purity and obedience.

This is weird I thought. Why am I thinking like this? Is God trying to tell me something?

Why don’t you really do it? Why not? This could be the only chance some of these people will ever have, and here you sit, you who have been blessed with so much, and you sit here with your mouth shut, hoarding the goodness of God. What if this is the closest some of them will ever be to the truth and you did nothing?

But they’ll think I’m crazy! My self screamed at me.

Hey, the other voice said. Just last Sabbath you were telling your students how they should speak up when we go visit people in Yata! You should not be ashamed to share the gospel of Christ because it is the power of God until salvation! You hypocrite!

Ouch.

It’s just a feeling! How do I know this is not just some crazy fancy passing through my head? Four reasons immediately came to mind: First, it was uncomfortable. I typically don’t spontaneously invent uncomfortable. Second, it was perfectly in accordance with Scripture and with our Christian Commission. Third, I felt ashamed for not having the guts to do it. And finally, I couldn’t get the thought out of my head.

Why don’t you just take control of me if you really want me to do it? I argued. Please just make me get up and start talking… If you really want me to do it, just take control of me and make me so I can’t help myself! Make me like Jeremiah with your word burning in my bones so I have to speak to keep from bursting into flames!

You fool, the other side of me seemed to say. How can you expect God to give you the strength you need when you won’t lift a finger, let alone your hind end from the seat in an effort to do what you know full well is your express duty as a servant of the King?

Still, I couldn’t make myself move. For 15 kilometers, the dialogue raged in my head. Why don’t you ask Kaila? She would be a lot better for the job. Spanish is her native tongue!

Do you think God doesn’t know that? If He wanted her to do it, He wouldn’t be asking you! ¡Debilucho que eres! Just do it!

I can’t! Lord, forgive me for my weakness and lack of faith, but please be patient! Couldn’t you give me a sign or something? I don’t have a fleece, but if you stop the bus I’ll know I’m supposed to say something. We’re getting close to town now, and there won’t be time otherwise. Besides, that wouldn’t be hard for you! (As if that justified my petition. It was more like blaming God by way of comparison!) Just flick a tire with your finger, evaporate the gas out of our tank, or drop a bead of your sweat in the policeman’s coffee at the tranca so he’ll be in a foul mood and detain the bus for awhile. Anything!

Nothing.

Lord, forgive me, but could I have some kind of sign? Jonah ran away from his calling, and you sent him back to his job in a whale’s belly. Have patience with me!

We passed the tranca.

I wish I could say I eventually gave in, that I stood up and gave a stirring discourse on how to get started going down God’s Good Road. Instead, I am the one who learned a lesson: I am a spiritual wimp in need of some serious spiritual workout. What makes me think I’ll have the courage to stand before the wrath of nations and defend the honor of my King when I can’t even stand up on a bus and tell a few travelers that my God is amazing, that He wants to guide them in His path, take away their sins, and lead them to glory? Where is my boldness and zeal to share the Word of God? What kind of soldier am I that I would choose to protect my own pride and ego over the interests of my King? Why is it so easy to be a whitewashed sepulcher, to lack Devine power, to have a gutless, Ford Mustang godliness?

At least now I know something more I need to pray for. And fortunately, our God is a God of patience and opportunities. After making my purchases in the market, I was walking to the internet café when a sidewalk clothes vendor called to me.

“Hey, where are you from?”

Usually I probably wouldn’t even have noticed, but this time I stopped and answered.

“I’m from the U.S., but right now I’m from the internado at kilometer 30. It’s a collegio with a Christian emphasis. Do you know the place?”

“There’s a school out there?” she was surprised. “I didn’t know that! What denomination runs it?”

“Well, that’s a little complicated to explain. All of the volunteers at the school are Adventists, but the church does not officially sponsor us. That doesn’t mean they don’t approve of what we’re doing, it’s just they don’t have the money or aren’t willing to help with this particular project, although the local church here really supports what we’re doing.”

“Oh, okay” she said. “That’s good. I’m familiar with the Adventists.”

“Are you a Christian?” I asked.

“Catholic. I know what you teach about the Sabbath, but there’s no way I could close my shop because that’s the day when I get the most business!”

Wow, here you go you wimp, I told myself. Here’s another chance to share what God has blessed you with!

“That must seem hard,” I said, “But you know God is always faithful to take care of us when we obey His commandments, I have so many stories…”

“Hey, you speak really good Spanish” she abruptly changed the subject, and I thought of the Samaritan woman at the well and wished I could be as good as Jesus at casually inserting another truth into the conversation.

We continued to chat until we were interrupted by the arrival of another customer, but not before she said: “Now that I know there’s a school there, I’ll have to stop by and visit it sometime. I have some daughters who are high-school age.”

I hope she makes good on that promise, and if not, I know where her shop is! Her name is Elsa, and I think she is another one of the many people out there longing for something better.

May the Lord grow and strengthen us more every day to be His fearless ambassadors to a world withering under the curse of the Enemy.