Seeing Jesus in Brazil

I told everyone that I was going to Brazil to see my son get married and then I was going to see Jesus. So as we entered into Rio, we immediately began to search every mountain top, hoping to catch a glimpse of  Him.  This beautiful city with the mix of mountains and beach is absolutely stunning. The Brazilians say that it took God 7 days to create the world but on the 8th day he created Rio de Janeiro. And on one of these magnificent mountain tops stands one of the 7 wonders of the modern world; the statue of Christ the Redeemer.

We spent a couple of days sight seeing in Rio, taking the cable car to the Sugar Loaf mountain and there in the distance we saw Him. What a sight! It was a cloudy day and the clouds hovered over the statue and at times it looked as if Jesus was standing on the clouds. I thought of Jesus coming back for me appearing in the clouds.

The very next day, with a beautiful clear sky of blue, we ascended the Corcovado mountain to see Jesus. We arrived on the mountain top with hundreds of tourists from all over the world. We heard the languages of the world there at the feet of my Savior. And while the statue is just a lifeless representation conceived in the imagination of a man, I wondered about the significance of the statue for the people that stood with me with cameras and selfie sticks snapping pictures of themselves mimicking the Christ with outstretched arms.

For me, seeing Jesus in Brazil would be so much more than my visit to the top of Corcovado mountain. I would see Jesus in my new family; Izolis and Manasses, the parents of our new daughter in law Sameah. Izolis loves children and everywhere I went with her there were kids running up to greet her with hugs. She started a school in the ghetto of her neighborhood that now reaches over 400 kids for Jesus. Manasses, Sameah’s father is an Old Testament scholar. His love for the word of God, the church and people was so impressive and another way that I would “see Jesus” in Brazil.

I saw Jesus in Brazil in the church. There were churches on every corner and I would often hear the music flowing out into the streets and the people gathered for worship. I saw Jesus in my friend Everly as she shared her love and passion for the children of her church. I saw Jesus in the beauty salon as we got ready for the wedding!  Josie, a sister from the church and my hairstylist introduced her talented family to me. We ended up gathering together we singing songs of worship while my hair was getting fixed. While Josie’s husband and son played guitar, we would sing “Alleluia for the Lord God Almighty reigns.” in a mixture of Portuguese, Spanish and English. As we sang, there in the beauty shop, Jesus was larger to me than any earthly representation of his likeness.

And I saw Jesus as I watched my son gazing upon his bride as she walked down the aisle. While everyone was snapping pictures of the bride, I was taking a picture of the groom, my first born son. I wanted to catch his expression. I saw his eyes were twinkling with awe at his first glimpse of his beautiful bride. And I thought of my living, death-conquering Jesus on that day when he first sees His bride, the Church. Perhaps more significant and magnificent than the soapstone statue on top of he Corcovado mountain was seeing Jesus in the eyes of these two young lovers on the day of their wedding.

While I was seeing Jesus everywhere in Brazil, I wonder how many live in that marvelous city of Rio only know Jesus as a lifeless statue that attracts tourists. I wonder how many get up each morning and rarely even raise their eyes to look at him on that mountain because he is no more than an icon to them?  Jesus as a statue is nice to see, but honestly, after you take a few pictures, the wonder begins to fade. But when you see Jesus represented in the beauty of his people, his Church, there is an awe that cannot be captured with a cellphone and a selfie stick.

On the day of that the Cristo Redentor statue was dedicated, way back in 1931,  the cardinal spoke these words of proclamation for the people of Brazil “Christ wins! Christ reigns! Christ keep Brazil from all evil! “ Now as I leave the beautiful country and people of Brazil, I pray for the people of Brazil and especially Rio de Janeiro. I pray that they will not just see the statue of Jesus, but that they will see Him like I saw him in the beauty and love of His people.  It is a shame that we often misrepresent who Jesus really is. I am praying for the Church in Brazil today to be an adequate representation of Christ the Redeemer. Without a doubt Jesus is at work in Brazil. I know it! Because I really did see Jesus in Brazil.

The day they called him Pastor

....he wasn't preaching a sermon. 

Arismendy is from a coastal town in Dominican Republic. Before he enrolled in our missions training school (Comisión de Maestro Quisqueya - CMQ), he had never flown on an airplane, never even experience an extended road trip, and never walked very far to get places. There was always a mototaxi to get around town. Yet as a third year student in our missionary training program, his mission would take him by airplane to the far away jungles of Ecuador to live among the Shuar Indians. He would walk up to 6 hours on foot just to reach their villages and preach in their tiny churches. And though electricity is scarce in the DR, Arismeny spent six weeks in places so remote that only solar panel provided the meager moments of electricity.

Arismendy is six feet tall, a dark skinned Afro-Caribbean young man. For the Shuar, he was a foreigner in every sense of the word. When he first arrived to serve the Shuar tribe, the Indigenous people had difficulty pronouncing his name, so they would call him "Negro."  Arismendy felt so out of place, and the kids would often make fun of him as he tried to learn to play soccer. Soccer was new to Arismendy since he grew up playing only baseball and basketball in the DR.

He knew that he needed to connect with these kids somehow and win their respect. So he became determined to love the things that they loved. This meant that he needed to learn to play soccer and he needed to eat with them. Arismendy would learn to eat grub worms and play soccer for hours. The day he made his first goal was significant. After that day, he began to hear the kids calling him "Pastor" instead of "Negro." The more time he spent with them listening to their stories, eating the grub worms and drinking chicha* the less he heard them calling him “Negro.”  Though he had walked for hours to preach in the pulpits of the jungle churches, it was not eloquent preaching that won him the title of “Pastor.” It was eloquent loving.

*Traditional Chicha-makers grind the maize and then chew it to moisturize it. After the human saliva breaks down the starch, the balls of chewed maze are put in large clay vats and warm water is added. After several days of fermentation, Chicha is ready to be consumed.

The Church & The Cathedral Belgium part 2

We woke up the next day, the Lords day, and attended church with the Alderman's at Brussels Christian Center. We all decided that it felt like heaven there, the congregation was made up of Africans, Latinos, Europeans, and Americans and even some Asians. It was the world gathered in Brussels together for worship.

We spent that Sunday afternoon exploring and the ruins of an ancient abbey. It was such a beautiful day and I was struck by the glory of the cathedral that “once was.” The structure was still there, but it was falling apart. The fact is that Europe is FILLED with glorious cathedrals, but it is EMPTY of churches. Still I am convinced that the Church of Jesus Christ is more beautiful and glorious than any of Europe’s cathedrals. The Church is not a structure that will fall apart as centuries pass. The church is a movement, it is a peculiar people that cannot be defined by four walls and that afternoon as I pondered that beautiful thought, little did I know that I would find the glorious church in the most peculiar places of Europe...to be continued...

International Day of the Girl Child - Sonali's* Story

Since 2012, the United Nations marks 11 October as the ‘International Day of the Girl Child’. It is a day to promote girls' human rights, and addresses the various forms of discrimination and abuse suffered by girls around the world. It seems like today is an appropriate day to give voice to the silent stories of my girls in Dominican Republic; to proclaim that in the midst of the injustice of poverty, abandonment, and abuse; THERE IS A REDEEMER.

And this is just one story.

It is one story, with a hopeful ending. It doesn't end all beautiful and perfect but it there is hope.  And in the midst of the story, I still have questions, and I still worry about the future, but I still have hope. So I offer this one story of one girl. one Pastora. and One AMAZING Redeemer.

She was just 8 years old when I met her.

Grandma was her primary caregiver, and had been sentenced to 7 years in prison for drug trafficking. Every Wednesday, the ladies of our local AG church in Santo Domingo join Pastora Ketty (my ministry partner)  to minister at the local woman's penitentiary.   So when the Pastora met Grandma, she begged Pastora Ketty to go and find Sonali, who was all alone living in one of the most dangerous barrios of our metropolitan city. We found her and brought her to the girls home and Sonali grew up going to church, going to school, and her life was on a totally different trajectory. She would not be vulnerable to the drugs, prostitution, and abuse that infested her former neighborhood.

And then everything changed.

Grandma completed her sentence, was released from prison, and returned to the barrio. She asked that Sonali be permitted to come home with her. So we had to let beautiful Sonali leave the safety of our cocoon. It felt too soon, too harsh. We worried that she wouldn't go to school. We worried about how she would eat. We worried about how she would adapt after so many years in the home.

Our worries weren't unrealistic.

As an ex convict, it was impossible for Grandma to find a job to support them, to put food on the table, or to put a roof over their heads. There is only one possible solution in the barrio for a woman in this situation. If they were going to eat; prostitution was the only answer.  Grandma, however was old, her body was hardly marketable. This left Sonali at 15 years old, to sell her body on the street, so that they could eat. For eight months, she suffered horrible abuse by the johns who paid her less that $5 a trick for a couple hours of narcissistic pleasure.

She would go to the church in that barrio seeking Jesus, looking for an escape from the condemnation that swirled in her mind and heart. No one knew what she was suffering, how could she tell them? She was all alone. Her whole world was on the other side of the city and there was no way to go back to Bethesda, not now after selling her body.

One day the john took her to the other side of the city.

She knew she was so close to Bethesda. And she knew that she had to escape. She asked God to help her. She told me that she knew that if only I can just get back to the home, there will be hope. There will be food. There will be a real future.

And she returned.

Ketty took her in, gave her food to eat, clothes and shoes. She took her to the doctor. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief to know that she did not have AIDS after all that she had been through. Still there was a long road ahead.

She was pregnant.

I sat with Sonali on the bed and she told me her story. She left our home a little girl and came back to us as a woman that had her childhood stolen from her. An orphan herself, she cannot imagine what it means to be a mother, and yet that reality is confronting her everyday. My heart grieves that little girls can be stolen from cocoons before they are ready to fly. I don't understand why there are places in this world in which the only way a girl child can eat is by selling her body. I cannot fathom this injustice.

I WANT TO SCREAM HOW THIS ISN'T FAIR.

Still in the mess of this sad story, hope is blooming. Sonali can feel the hope that protects her, feeds her, and redeems her sadness. It is the presence of the Redeemer in the middle of our story, in the middle of the stuff we cannot understand, or even explain, and yet He has not abandoned Sonali. Maybe her mother left her, maybe her father left her, maybe Grandma exploited her, and society used her BUT Jesus came in the middle of her story and redeemed her.

I know that my Redeemer lives in the midst of injustice.

If anyone understood injustice it was Job of the Old Testament. Job wanted to scream too and yet in the midst of his messy, he said these words. "But as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, and he will stand upon the earth at last." I think the key for Job is that our hope is certain because we know how the story ends. We may not be sure of the middle, we may even be disappointed in the middle, but our middle is being redeemed. We can be sure of it. Because our Redeemer lives. WE know it. Not that we feel it, not even that we understand it, we just know it.

And still I ache because I have walked in the barrios and brothels of Santo Domingo and looked in the eyes of too many girls that have yet to encounter the hope of redemption and experience the presence of the Redeemer.

Job goes on to say: "And after my body has decayed, yet in my body I will see God! I will see him for myself. Yes, I will see him with my own eyes.  I am overwhelmed at the thought!"

This is the kind of  hope that helps us in the middle. 

*names have been changed. 

GREEN Beetles Become Jewels Fit for a Palace

Monday is for MISSIONARY stories!!!

GREEN Beetles Become Jewels Fit for a Palace

We arrived in that city expecting to hear “Bon Jour!” and see the blue eyes and blonde hair. I was sure that I would finally feel like I blended in after somany years living in a country where I was the one who always stood out. Instead I heard Arabic and Italian, Spanish and Chinese. It was a potpourri of culture and language. Here I was in Brussels, Belgium on the other side of a missions team, as the guest, not the host. The Aldermans greeted us at the airport with their Niceville smiles. Though our origins were the same, our destination has been in different hemispheres. Yet this week, by God’s grace our worlds of service would collide and I couldn’t even begin to imagine the JOY we would share in this “same-kind-of-loving” that we have been called to do.

The Speed the Light vehicle drove through the European city and I couldn’t help but just smile at how the light is speeding throughout this WHOLE WORLD in these vehicles bought with squished dollar bills found in teenage pockets. Our weary bodies arrived at the Continental Theological Seminary, thankful for a place to lay down our heads, as we tried to adjust our nighttime longing to the light of day. The Seminary was nice, rich in history, and I thought of my parents who painted those walls over twenty years ago. The seminary students are all on their summer break, so we enjoyed the peaceful campus that was only sometimes interrupted by the flock of geese that populated the front pond. Their honking made me think of the “Wild Good Chase” that the Lord has had us on this past year. I couldn’t help but smile as the honking became my 5:30 am alarm clock. Roosters and geese sound so different, still, I have actually missed waking up with open windows.

For the afternoon, we had the privilege to see the National palace. It was the special time of year in which they open the palace to the public. It would be impossible to describe the beauty in each room. However, one room stood out. This one was decorated with green beetles. The green of their wings looked like jewels that decorated the ceiling and the chandelier. Someone actually saw these beetles as more than a crawling insect and made them into jewels fit for a palace. And I thought about the prostituted women of the red light district of this city. Our mission in Belgium would be to serve the Breaking Chains Network ministry. How sad that the labels that we give people often block our view of the beauty of the image of God in each and every person in this world. 

The Rest of the Good Friday Ice Cream Story

It seems incredible that God would give me the gift of this beautiful redemption story, that I would be a character among many, as he would display the wonder of the Gospel in the hearts Alondra*, Ricardo* and their children. And yet I know that I am just one of the many characters in this story that started in an ice cream shop on Good Friday. 

Alondra was in a desperate situation when she came to me on that Good Friday, and because of the Spirit’s prompting, we helped her.  Honestly, I never expected to see her again. Three months later, I find that God has completely transformed her life and her whole family. She was faithfully attending our church and was in the new members class to be baptized. 

Since she and Ricardo were not legally married, they were not able to be baptized right away in our church. First, they had to get married. This, however was no simple matter. You have to have paperwork in order. Having paperwork (legal birth certificates, divorce documents, etc)  can be an enormous obstacle for the people of our country. This is why so many couples never really get married legally, and families that are formed with two people who have not made a legal covenant suffer horrible consequences like violence, infidelity, and poverty. 

This is where THE CHURCH of Jesus Christ has a powerful influence on SOCIETY. In order to get baptized and become members of the church, Ricardo and Alondra needed to get legally married. So the CHURCH rises up!  A lawyer from our church donated services to work on paperwork, and finally after a long process, on April 26, Ricardo and Alondra got married! Ladies from the church put together a beautiful reception with a gorgeous wedding cake! 

Two days later I had the privilege to serve with my Pastor as he was able to baptize the entire family. (except the younger children) Ricardo testified that he was a drunk before he came to Jesus. He said that he would buy alcohol before he would buy food for his family. Since giving his life to Jesus, and coming to our church, God has completely taken away his desire for rum and alcohol. He is a new man and the GOSPEL has taken them out of the misery of poverty. The day before he was baptized in water, Ricardo shared that he received the baptism in the Holy Spirit at church in the evening service. Now the power of the Spirit is as work on a whole new level in their family. 

When I saw Alondra the day they were legally married, there in the white dress with flowers in her hair I was overcome with emotion. That beaming face, with a white gown, did not bear any resemblance to the desperation of the woman in the ice cream shop on Good Friday. 

The Lord did a miracle for Alondra to find a beautiful wedding dress. She told us that she found it in a pile under the bridge where they sell used clothing that comes from the garbage dumps of clothes that are leftover from goodwill in the US.  She said it was black with dirt, but miraculously there was one dry cleaner that was willing to clean it for her. As she told the story, the tears streamed on my face. For it was the metaphor of what God had done for Alondra and her family. Like her wedding gown, she was a treasure in midst of garbage of life and Jesus gave me the joy to help her get cleaned up. 
* names are changed

Prayer Meetings are a Waste of Time???

They all live in tin shacks with dusty dirt floors. Some of them do not own shoes. Big sister helps little sister fold her hands to pray. And in this moment where the children of this small Haitian village take a moment to connect with the Heavenly Father, some will trust Jesus as their Lord and Savior, others are praying to be healed of sickness, still others pray for their next meal. It just warms your heart to see this picture of the simplicity of turning our thoughts and attention to Creator God in beautiful conversation. We call it prayer.

And just yesterday I was sent a blog post, written by an American Pastor, “Why Prayer Meetings are a Waste of Time.” The post makes the claim that people pray so that they can feel better when something tragic happens, such as last week’s Boston bombing,  and that this is not the purpose of prayer. Though the blogger makes some good points, and certainly the title was all about shock value, still, I was saddened by the Pastor’s disillusionment with prayer and church prayer meetings. 

We could spend some time here doing in-depth studies and theological evaluations about the purpose of prayer, but as I ponder the sweetness and simplicity of these two sisters, I am so glad that when we are at the end of our resources, when I cannot solve the problem of hunger and poverty on this island, we can pray. And, we can teach our children to pray. And when the adults fail, and the government fails, and life is hard, and sickness is scary, and earthquakes happen, and sin is real, there is a Savior. A Savior that you can know, and experience, and talk to, every day in prayer. 

Prayer is wonderful all by yourself but oh the sweetness when you are weak, and not even able to connect your brain cells together, much less fold your hands, and there is that sister and those brothers around you and you come together to pray. I don’t think that this could ever be a waste of time. 

Just ask the shoeless sisters. 

(This photo was shot by our Missionary Associate, Alex Rousonelos  at a King's Castle outreach in Haiti, with Engage Dominican Republic students, Dominican missionaries Miguel & Mairelys Ovalle and Hidekel King and Haitian King's Castle warriors) 

de Freitas Family Spiritual Legacy - Nelson's Testimony

He was just 9-years-old, the son of Brazilian immigrants. He played little league, loved to ride his bike, and never missed a kickball game with the kids in their Florida neighborhood. The day he got the invitation, he swiftly ran home to ask his mom for permission to attend. It was an invitation to a Good News club, and he didn’t want to miss out on it, all the neighborhood kids were going to be there. Mama smiled; she could never resist those eager eyes, so she nodded, and he celebrated as he ran out the door and down the street.  

Mary Jane Neville was just an average middle-aged mom. Her own children were now teenagers, but when Children’s Evangelism Fellowship (CEF) presented their vision for reaching kids through Good News clubs at her Central Bible Church in St Petersburg, FL, she was excited about reaching kids for Jesus. She took the training, prepared materials. She hoped to make Thursday afternoon a special time for the kids in her neighborhood. Every week she would share a Bible story and challenge the children to memorize scripture verses. Her husband made her an easel for the flannel graph and a lollipop tree for the memory verse prize. 

That eager-eyed 9-year-old boy was there every week. He wouldn’t miss it for the world. He would learn the Scripture, so he could get a prize from the treasure chest and the lollipop tree. He loved the salvation songs and the stories, so on the day when Mrs. Neville gave the invitation for those who wanted to receive Jesus as their Lord and Savior;  he didn’t hesitate. He prayed the “repeat-after-me” prayer and that moment turned out to be  better than all the prizes from the treasure chest and the lollipop tree. Then Mrs. Neville wrote the date of his “born-again” birthday inside the cover of a shiny new Bible and gave it to the boy. It was November 7th, 1974.  

Soon after the Brazilian family moved back to Connecticut, the recession had hit, times were hard, and so they moved in with relatives. The Brazilian boy went to the Catholic school with his cousins, and  he pondered the meaning of the Christ on the crucifix and the Christ of the flannel graph. The Scriptures and the lollipop tree were replaced with candles and rituals but the seeds of the Good News were planted deep in his heart. And though he left the Bible in a drawer to collect dust, what happened on November 7th 1974, would not let his teenage heart run away too far. 

So in 1979, after the big move back to Florida, when the family settled in once again in St Petersburg, the boy who was now a teenager was walking in the halls of a new high school filled with invitations to drugs, partying, and girls. It was just at that crucial crossroads when Robby Kaufman knocked on his door with another invitation. Robby invited him to youth group at Glad Tidings Assembly of God. That very first Wednesday night youth group, the seeds that were planted in his heart by Mary Jane Neville took root and over the months they blossomed as he received the baptism in the Holy Spirit and followed the Lord in water baptism. 

The Glad Tidings church discipled that young man; Charlie Aldridge picked him up every Sunday and Wednesday in the church van, Roger and LInda were his Bible Quiz coaches, and someone else in the church gave him a scholarship to go to Youth camp. It was at that Youth Camp that the Lord called him to full time ministry at the age of 16. 

About that time, he began to wonder about Mrs. Neville and the Good News Club. He wondered if she was still living in St. Petersburg, so he looked her up in the yellow pages, and sure enough, she was still living in the same home. So he went by on a Saturday afternoon to visit Mrs. Neville. When Mary Jane opened the door she could scarcely recognize that tall and handsome 16-year-old young man standing on her front porch, he was barely a shadow of the 9-year-old boy with the funny last name. She welcomed him in with glass of sweet tea and they chatted about his family and all that had happened in his life. 

“Mrs. Neville, I came here today to thank you for telling me about Jesus and I want you to know that I am serving him today and I’ve been called to the ministry.” he shared with all the enthusiasm of a young man dreaming about his future. And as he shared the tears ran out of the wrinkles in her loving eyes.

Over the years Mary Jane watched the kids lose interest in the Good News club, most of the kids in the neighborhood never really followed through on those “repeat-after-me” prayers. Some had completely rejected the faith of their childhood. There were many days when Mary Jane wondered if all the investment of her time, talent, and finances was really worth it. Until that day when Nelson de Freitas showed up at her door step, there with his Bible under his arm and dreams of reaching the world for Jesus. 

And those dreams became reality. Nelson and his wife Rennae have had the privilege to invite children in many countries of Latin American to church, Sunday school and to hear about Jesus under mango trees and on street corners. They have heard countless “repeat-after-me” prayers and some of those kids grown up to become pastors and missionaries.

Nelson always says that he wants to be on the front row in heaven when Jesus calls out  the name “Mary Jane Neville” on that Judgment day. As Jesus shows her final reward, she may be expecting to see the face of Nelson de Freitas but what  shock when she sees all those brown faces from Dominican Republic and Haiti. She may want to question Jesus, ask him if he could possibly be mistaken. But he will point to Nelson. 

“Remember him?” he will ask. 

“Oh, how could I forget that boy with the eager eyes and the funny last name?” Mrs. Neville will reply. 

“Mary Jane,  because of your faithfulness to reach the kids in your neighborhood, that young man has been reaching kids in neighborhoods across the ocean. Great is your reward!” 

Mary Jane Neville is now in her 80’s. Since we began our missionary career she has been among our most faithful supporters. 

Red Bean Pudding

I know. It sounds gross. Missionary life is known for adventures in eating. The best missionary stories usually include monkey brain soup or tarantula soufflé. Our food adventures here in the Caribbean have been mediocre in comparison. Yet, among the food challenges that have come my way in this missionary journey is Red Bean Pudding, or Habichuelas Con Dulce. 

Here in the Dominican Republic, as we approach Holy Week, the grocery stores are displaying proudly all the necessary ingredients for this most important delicacy. It is usually only served during Holy Week, and it is greatly anticipated. My wonderful Dominican friends and ministry family have always been so excited to share with me their particular version of the Red Bean Pudding, and even the ice cream shop has a Red Bean Pudding flavor! 

I must admit, those first years of living here, I had to eat it with a smile, while trying not to breath. Yet, while I forced this exotic desert across my palate,  I would see the beautiful expression on my Dominican sister's face. My friends were so excited to share their special tradition with me! I began to enjoy so much the sharing of this cultural experience, that the weirdness of eating sugary sweet legumes with sweet potatoes and raisins began to fade. TODAY, I am craving Habichuelas con Dulce, or Red Bean Pudding. And today, I will share it once again with my girls at Bethesda! Maria is making a big batch!!! She told me to bring some tupperware. And that is the way it works around here, you make enough to take some home in tupperware! 

Food is a funny thing in our missionary journeys. It is so much more than nourishment for the body. Learning to love what they love, what they have made, their special traditions,  is learning to love the people we serve. And so it was with Jesus.  Jesus went from eating at heaven's table to sharing bread and wine with common men. In the eating and the drinking at our table, we watched Jesus love us. Picking up my spoon today, I hope that my girls can watch me love them, because I have learned to really love their Red Bean Pudding. 

Independence Day

It’s Independence Day here in Dominican Republic and today is a day of celebration for sure. In fact, one day is not enough for Dominican patriots. Dominicans, who are “party people” at heart, celebrate during the whole month of February! Still, in the midst of all the celebration of national independence,I am so grieved to see the slavery that still rears its ugly face here in the developing world.  Today, while the school is closed for the holiday, there will be children standing at street lights begging for pesos only give the money over to help purchase the drugs and alcohol consumed in the home. And on this day that celebrates freedom, there will be too many women who will be captive to the atrocious abuses that are a result of unrestrained fiestas. 

So today, I sat down  with the Holy Spirit and my cafe Santo Domingo to join Jesus in Matthew chapter 21. I find myself standing with the crowds, palm branch in my hand, shouting Hosanna, celebrating my own Independence Day when Jesus triumphantly entered my life. Still, I am looking around at this crowd and I am seriously disappointed at the emptiness in their praise. It feels like they are celebrating just for the sake of celebrating. In just a few days, they will change their shouts from “Hosanna” to “Crucify him!” 

In fact, true celebration requires a sincere connection to the reason for the party. Otherwise it is empty and what could be a celebration of freedom ends up being a false fiesta for bondage. The Dominican Republic is the only country in the world with a Bible on the flag and the verse that is inscribed is “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” In the end the truth is not an idea or political philosophy. The truth is a person, and that Person is Jesus.  Today as the festivities and music fill my world, my prayer is that Jesus will triumphantly enter this patriotic fiesta. After all, Jesus is the only true LIFE of the party! 

Good Friday ice cream and Sunday Morning Revelation.

It was actually Good Friday. We were out with the family eating ice cream at one of the very few places to eat in the city that night. There I was happily enjoying my passion fruit ice cream cone,  when my joy was interrupted by a woman who was begging in the streets. This is not uncommon. I have had it happen on too many occasions; the fun of a family outing, interrupted by the reality of poverty in our city. 

She looked at me with pleading eyes and the desperation of a mother who needs to feed her hungry children. I have seen those pleading eyes too many times to count, in places all over this city and all over the country. Those are the eyes that haunt me, that remind me of my inadequacy to meet the needs in this country that God has called me to serve. Still, looking into the desperation of this mother’s need, I remember that none of this is about me. Nor is it about the mother. Good Friday is always about HIM. 

She asked me for money, and I tell her that I usually never give out money in the streets.  I told her that I would normally go to a supermarket and buy something for her, but everything was closed. I told her that we would pray, and I would ask the Holy Spirit for guidance about what to do. Then, I asked her about her spiritual condition and she expresses that she desperately needs God. She asked me about my church and she told me that she would go the very next Sunday. I explained to her that since I was a missionary that traveled all over the country, I may not always be at the church but that she should tell the Pastor that I sent her there. We prayed together. She cried on my shoulder. 

Then I had to make a decision. Should I give her cash? What would she do with it? Who was she? Was she telling me the truth, or was it a scam? These are questions that I am faced with in my everyday interactions with beggars that stand outside of the supermarket, at the traffic light, or the street corners of this city. 

That is why I am so grateful for the supernatural gifts of the Holy Spirit. There standing and praying with this desperate mother; I asked the Lord for the spiritual gift of discernment. As we prayed, I sensed that Jesus should not be misrepresented. If I were going to speak to her about Jesus, I must represent Him well, and I could not imagine that Jesus would have sent her away empty handed. So I put the equivalent of ten dollars into the palm of her hand, and I instructed her to look for a corner store near her home and buy her babies something to eat. She was immensely grateful, and once again, she assured me that she would visit my church. 

I never expected that I would see this woman again. The story of this encounter could be told many times over, as I have had so many similar experiences in the 19 years of our missionary life here in Santo Domingo. I am sure that I have given money to drug addicts and drunks that ran to the nearest dealer for more of their vice. There have been children that have taken the pesos from my hand and given them to some horrible parent that enslaves their own children. These are the realities of poverty in the developing world, and in the midst of it all, I have learned to seek the Spirit’s guidance, as I remember Jesus’s words,  “In as much as you have done it unto the least of these...” 

Last Sunday I was back at my home church after three months of traveling during the summer with other ministry commitments.  We were among the last to leave the building as we greeted our church family that we had missed so much. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that there was a woman who was waiting to get my attention. Finally, I turned my attention toward her. She asked me if I remembered her. I did not. In fact, I had no idea who she was. She reminded me that she was the woman that came to me at the ice cream shop that Good Friday. 

I looked at her in astonishment.  She was dressed in her Sunday best, she had a Bible in her her arms and a big smile on her face. The joy that infused her whole expression was so different from the desperation that I saw on the evening of Good Friday. She told me that she did exactly as I told her and that she has been faithfully attending the church ever since that night. Then she introduced me to her husband and her children. She explained that they were in the discipleship class and that they were all going to be baptized soon! I was overjoyed to say the least. I cannot even begin to explain my great joy at seeing that whole family, bibles under their arms, standing in the foyer of my church. 

So often, we do not see the result of a simple act of obedience. We just have to trust that one day in heaven there will be a ton of redeemed beggars from Santo Domingo. But on this particular Sunday morning, I was privileged to see the end result of that Good Friday encounter!  It turns out to still be true that the best part about Good Friday is when we experience the outcome on Sunday morning. 

“It’s Friday. The world’s winning. People are sinning. And evil’s grinning.   

It’s Friday. The soldiers nail my Savior’s hands To the cross. They nail my Savior’s feet
to the cross.  And then they raise him up next to criminals.  

But It’s only Friday.  Let me tell you something-- Sunday’s comin’.” S. M. Lockridge

How Chocolate Spreads the Gospel

It was a Saturday afternoon and we were leaving the city and driving one hour north to CIMA del Rey, our ministry center. As we were passing through the city, I told the boys, (with my “tongue-in-cheek”) “Boys, I’m not sure, but I think the Holy Spirit may be leading us to stop and get some chocolate.”

To which Nicolas quickly responded, “Mom, I am feeling it in my spirit, too!” 

I decided to stop at the grocery store. I parked, and as soon as I got out of the car, I was met by three “limpiabotas”, or shoeshine boys, asking to shine our shoes. Well, Marcus’ shoes looked horrible, and mine weren’t so great either. So, on a whim, I decided to let these guys shine our shoes. 

As the boys shined our shoes, I asked them their names. They told me their names were Alexander, Daniel & Tato. I asked Daniel, as he scrubbed Marcus’ grubby shoe, “Daniel did you know that you have the same name as a very famous Bible character?” 

 “Yes,” said Daniel. 

“Do you know the Bible story about Daniel?” I inquired. 

“Yes,” he replied. “He died on the cross for our sins.” 

This made me smile, as I explained that it was Jesus, not Daniel, who died on the cross.  “Actually, I’m talking about another guy in the Bible who was spent a night with lions. His name was named Daniel just like you. Do you guys want to hear about this Daniel?” 

They were all VERY interested, so I told them about “Daniel and the Lion’s Den.” They took their time shining shoes as I told the story, and when we were finished, they told me that they would be watching my car as I shopped. 

As we entered the supermarket, Nicolas said, “Mom, the Holy Spirit really did lead us to get some chocolate!” So we bought chocolate for ourselves and for the shoeshine boys.

The boys were waiting next to my car when we entered the parking lot, just as they promised. As I gave them the chocolate that we bought for them, I reminded them that although they may never end up in a lion’s den like Daniel, there may be many situations in their lives that will cause them to be fearful. I encouraged them to remember to pray like Daniel did, and ask God to take care of them. Then, I asked them if they were Christians. 

Daniel told me, “I’m waiting until I’m eleven to be a Christian.” 

Tato said, “We have to stop lying before we can be Christians.” 

Alexander added, “Sometimes we go to church.” 

I told the guys, “I have good news! You don’t have to wait until you are eleven, you don’t have to stop lying, or go to church before you can become a Christian. You can become a Christian today!” In that moment, I was able to lead those three shoeshine boys to Jesus.

Some people may believe this chocolate mission is a “sweet” but insignificant story. After all, these were just uneducated little boys shining shoes in a parking lot. In fact, the parking lot limpiabotas are often ignored, they beg for attention, and are considered an annoyance to the shoppers.  Yet we know that I know that this encounter was an important moment with eternal implications. The spiritual seed that was planted in their hearts is NOT insignificant.

As we said good-bye to our new friends they begged me to come by and see them every Saturday and Sunday at the supermarket parking lot.  For me, this is a great reason to stop and get some chocolate! And I’m pretty sure that Nicolas, Marcus and the Holy Spirit will agree! 

Thank you so much for your gifts and prayers that make it possible for us to reach children like Tato, Alexander and Daniel in Dominican Republic!

Blogging about yesterday, and dreaming about tomorrow

As long as I live, I won’t forget those smiles. Beaming as big as the Caribbean sky! Mother and daughter, with twin colossal smiles that proclaimed throughout the whole village “Cristo Sana!!!” Jesus heals!!!!

As long as I live, I won’t forget that little girl voice. Big curls were bouncing as the once crippled little girl RAN and SKIPPED across the platform, shouting in a voice that still contained all the innocence of childhood, “Gloria Dios, Gracias a Dios!!” “Praise God, Thank you God”

As long as I live, I won’t forget the praise. Little brown arms that stretched up to the sky, she was singing with her face looking directly into the heavens. There were microphones for singers and preachers, but the loudest praise came from the lame child that was healed.

For a missionary who has held the crippled, looked into the face of a mother begging for money to buy her child medicine, and watched the villagers follow a petite pink casket, I know what this means. I know about the scraping and the saving and the begging of that mother, doing what needs to be done to fix her crippled baby.

Sometimes we wonder, why are these spectacular miracles so much more common outside of the United States? Maybe this is a question that doesn’t have an answer. Except I have seen too many children suffer, and even die for sicknesses that could be resolved with medicine or a visit to the doctor. Here in the developing world, it’s just not that simple. So I wonder if the desperate need produces a faith that seems much more probable and reliable than medicine or doctors.

Therefore, I know what this miracle meant for this family yesterday. I will never forget the joy of that moment. I wanted to hold it, save it, linger in it, because it was so amazing. Today, my words serve as a meager description of this beautiful moment.

Still, these are the memories of yesterday, but what about tomorrow? Today, I am pondering tomorrow. I have a vision of what this miracle means for tomorrow. How does the future look for this child who had an encounter with the POWER OF GOD? I believe that this is one little girl that will not be vulnerable to the prostitution that smothers her village. Perhaps it means that the threat of poverty is diminished because the family’s resources are not consumed by doctors and medicine. And I know that this little girl has a story to tell the whole world. Others will know Jesus because of last night’s miracle! At the age of eight, she has her whole lifetime to tell the story! What tremendous possibilities await, as the unforgettable, supernatural POWER OF GOD becomes the transformational catalyst for the future.