Shut Doors and Other Directions

After the earthquake in 2010, aid groups were going down to Haiti all the time, and I thought, "Surely now God will give me a chance to go." But it was not to be. I was working, I was broke, I didn't have any connections or leads for how or when or with whom to go, and the door remained shut.

Off and on, between then and now, I would meet people who had been to Haiti, or I would see a documentary on television about aid work down there, and always, my ears would perk up. "Haiti? What are they saying about Haiti?" I even met a guy who had been inside the Cité Soleil.

But Spain still seemed to be the thrust of my ministry, and I held Haiti loosely, waiting for God to reveal His will in His time. It was always in the back of my mind, but I was still unsure if it was merely my own idea, or if it was something God was hallmarking in my heart.

I went to Betel and loved it, and I thought that was going to be my life calling, my permanent life's work. Haiti seemed to retreat into the background. "Oh, well," I thought. "I guess it just wasn't meant to be."

But on my very last day in Betel, something happened that called into question my certainty that this was my life's calling, and I am still unsure at this very moment whether God is going to have more for me to do there.

Then God clearly and unmistakably led me to attend Ellerslie's training during the summer. It seemed like a perfect fit--I would attend the training, which fit perfectly into the window of time I had available between returning from Betel and attending the candidate orientation seminar with the mission board. God also miraculously had provided the money. I applied, got accepted, and went.

Even before I left, I remember saying to my mom, "You know, Ellerslie has a mission society--and they go to Haiti. I wonder if God wants to do anything with this?"

I didn't know it at the time, but it was at Ellerslie that God's hand would really start to move.

The Story Continues...First Mention of Haiti at Ellerslie
Start at the beginning...How God Called me to Haiti

The crushed snake

Ah! I have tickets.

The reality of this is just now hitting me.

I am actually going.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This morning my dad found a snake on the road in front of our house. It was dead, crushed by a passing vehicle.

Snakes are very feared in Haiti. They have very significant demonic symbolism to the Haitians.

In Genesis 3:15, God promises that the coming Messiah will crush the serpent's head.

So I think it's not an accident that God arranged for a crushed snake to show up right outside our front door today.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

That reminds me of my snake story...

Ellerslie leases the Ellerslie campus from a wedding company that owns the property. During the week, we have the campus to ourselves, but on weekends, especially during the summer, weddings take place in the chapel and white tent. During these times, we stay to the end of campus where the dorms are, but often during the reception, the music gets played very loudly, penetrating into our dorm rooms with its driving beat.

Such was the case on Saturday, the 14th of July. The wedding music was oppressive to me, harsh and jarring, as the pounding dance music, so contrary to the spirit and purpose of Ellerslie, invaded every possible quiet spot.

I went searching for a place to pray.

In the little indention where the two wings of girls' dorms connected to the Keswick center, there were two air conditioning units running noisily. I discovered that I could sit against the wall of the building, behind the air conditioning unit, and it drowned out the music perfectly. So I began to pray.

The Lord moved upon my heart to pray for Haiti, and I began to pray what Eric calls "God-prayers," prayers that spring from the very Spirit of God praying through you. The things I was saying were audacious and very threatening to Satan and his kingdom, as I asked God to tear down the strongholds, break Satan's power over Haiti, send in the light of the gospel, and see Jesus high and lifted up in every corner of that land.

Then I said something even more audacious. I addressed Satan directly. I commanded him in the name of Jesus to leave Haiti alone, to depart, to withdraw, to relinquish his hold on that nation.

Instantly, an inexplicable feeling of drowsiness and lethargy came over me. It just fell over me like a warm down blanket. I recognized it as a spiritual attack.

"OH!" I said. "You didn't like that much, did you? Well, then how would you like it if I said it again?" And I repeated essentially the same words I had said before.

Then the burden of prayer lifted, and it was time to go back inside anyway, because we have to be inside the dorms by 9:00 and it was about 8:50. I rose up from my seat on the gravelly ground.

"KRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

A loud rattle startled me and I looked down.

Unknown to me in the gathering dusk, a snake had slithered up close to me. My movement now startled it and it let me know in no uncertain terms that we were not having a friendly encounter.

I thought it was a rattlesnake by the sound it made. (Later, however, the guys who caught it and removed it said that it was a Bull snake.) In a flash, the following thoughts went through my head.

That's a poisonous snake.
It must have come up here to get warm. 
I am cornered in this spot behind the air conditioning unit. 
I have to pass within striking distance of it to get out of here.
I can't just stand here and wait to see if it goes away, because I have to be in the dorm by 9:00. 
How interesting that a snake should startle me just when I was praying about Haiti.
Snakes symbolize demonic spirits. 
I really don't think that Satan liked what I was praying just now.
I'm not afraid of snakes. 
I'm not afraid of this one. 
I'm just going to walk right by, even though he could reach me if he wanted to. 
I'm going to just do it smoothly and calmly, like this. 

So, as if I was walking by a gum wrapper, I exited my little corner. The snake remained motionless.

I walked around the corner of the building and a huge toad hopped across my path. I made an exclamation of surprise, and the verse instantly popped into my head, "And I saw three unclean spirits like frogs come out of the mouth of the dragon, and out of the mouth of the beast, and out of the mouth of the false prophet."

I didn't consider it an accident that immediately after praying powerful, warlike prayers against Satan and his kingdom, two symbols of his kingdom should cross my path. But I did take the hint that the enemy was aware of who I am and what I am doing. I also took the hint that if he doesn't like it, it must be actually taking effect among his minions and machinations.

"And the gates of hell shall not prevail against [the church]."--Jesus (Mt. 16:18)

This was the clearest picture I got of the snake. I didn't have my camera on me during my prayer time, but I went up and got it and went back out when the guys were trying to catch it.   

In this picture you can see the arrangement of the corner of the building and the air conditioning unit where I was sitting. (There were actually two air conditioning units, and I was sitting behind the other one when the snake came up.)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

As I was writing out the story of my encounter with the snake, I asked myself, "So what was it really? A rattlesnake, or a bull snake?"

I went to Google images and searched for "rattlesnake."

"Whoa," I thought. "Actually this looks quite a bit like a rattlesnake. Maybe it actually was one."

Then I typed in a search for "bull snake."

The bull snake looked just the same! How would I know which was which?

So I searched "difference between a bull snake and a rattlesnake."

This page came up and convinced me, based on my photos, that it was a bull snake. At first I was a little disappointed. How much more dramatic the story would have been if it was a real rattlesnake.

But on second thought, I think it's even more appropriate this way. The bull snake is the harmless look-alike to the rattlesnake. It's not poisonous or scary. But because it looks like a rattlesnake, it fools predators into staying away from it.

So when Satan sent out his symbolic message to me, he had to send the harmless look-alike, something meant to scare people, but when you look a little closer, he's merely bluffing.

Isn't that exactly like Satan himself? He makes this great smoke-and-mirrors display of his power, when all along, it's a fraud. Jesus de-fanged him at the cross. He has no poison, only his clever attempts to make people believe that he has.

Anyone who knows his stuff will look at a bull snake and scoff. "Ha! You expect to deter me by throwing that in my path? Why, I'm more dangerous than it is. Just look at it--it's not a rattler at all. It doesn't have the wide, triangular head, the stubby, abruptly-ending tail, or the slit-shaped pupils. Biologically it's totally different. It lays eggs; the rattler has live young. I'm not afraid of this thing. You can't convince me that I should run from this guy. He's harmless.

It's just like what God says about people's reaction to Satan:

"They that see thee shall narrowly look upon thee, and consider thee, saying, Is this the man that made the earth to tremble, that did shake kingdoms; that made the world as a wilderness, and destroyed the cities thereof; that opened not the house of his prisoners?" (Isa. 14:16-17).

In other words, when he is revealed for what he is, people will see him and be incredulous. They will squint and look closer and exclaim, "Is that all? Really? We believed he was so great when he was really just that?"


Yeah.

It's like they go out expecting to see something big and scary, and they see a little snake on the road, crushed by a passing car.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fast forward to 2010

Random bits of Haiti floated in and out of my mind after that journal entry in 2006. I honestly didn't know what to make of it. I did do a Google search for mission opportunities down there, but I didn't get anywhere. Nothing compelling or God-sponsored seemed to come out of it. I was trying to determine whether the whole vision and "hearing from the Lord" thing that I journaled about was really of God, or perhaps merely the result of an overactive imagination or a vivid dream. So I just kept it to myself and held it loosely, willing to go or stay, but unable to move forward without clearer guidance from the Lord.

In that interval, I filled out some applications for mission boards, and I always indicated Spain as my first choice and Haiti as my second choice of where to minister. I never could forget about Haiti. But I would knock on doors, and they would go unopened, and I would move on with a shrug, wondering if it would always be like this, and wondering why I had such a strong impulse about Haiti if nothing was ever going to come of it.

Fast forward to 2010. The earthquake struck Haiti, leaving massive chaos and destruction, loss of human life, wounds, suffering, pain, and tears.

Something clicked in my mind. Those people that I had seen! I thought. Those people who were wailing, throwing their arms in the air, despairing--This is why. It was as if the connection was forged in gold between the people in my vision and the people I saw on television after the earthquake.

I prayed then for Haiti for the first time. It might seem pretty lame that I took this long to get praying, but that's how my prayer life was. I sincerely disliked prayer. Somehow, though, the love and ache for Haiti that sprang up at the time of the earthquake translated itself into passionate, effectual prayer. When I prayed for Haiti, I felt like I was getting a little piece of God's heart. It was as if the Holy Spirit laid His finger on my heart when I said, "Haiti," and nodded "yes." I prayed audacious, nation-changing prayers that just seemed to flow out of the Spirit's guidance.

And I thought I might get a chance to go, at least for a little while.


The Story Continues...Shut Doors and Other Directions
Start at the Beginning...How God Called Me To Haiti

Journal entry from April 2, 2006

This was the beginning. This was the first time Haiti ever penetrated my consciousness. 

I have only shared this journal entry with 2 or 3 people. I hesitate to make it public, because I myself don't know what to make of it. I just kept it to myself all these years, waiting for God to reveal to me what He wanted to do with it. 

Now, it appears that this is the time.

-------------------------

April 2, 2006

It's very intriguing. 

This evening the song, "Here I am, Lord" popped into my head. "I the Lord of sea and sky, I have heard my people cry..." I don't know all the words, because I've only sung it once or twice, and I haven't heard it for about 2 years.

Then, as I tried to fall asleep tonight, I was praying. I was praying for my future ministry, that whatever it was, I would depend on God for everything. Suddenly I had one of those "Ohhh!" moments, where it clicked, that Abiding in Christ (which had always been something I wanted to do but couldn't really understand) sounded a lot like depending on God. "I am the vine, ye are the branches..." "Ohhh! The branches depend on the vine, drawing their every need from it." Depending on God was something more concrete, something that I had done, something that I could relate to.

So then, somehow, I don't know how it happened or if I was thinking of something that led up to it, but I saw a vision of being in the Dominican Republic, and I saw some Haitians. They cried out, flung their hands in the air, and then fell down, fainting. Then in the vision, I was in Haiti, and I looked around and saw everyone around me doing the same thing. It was a cry of despair, of hopelessness, an unworded plea something like, "Lord, can't you see we can't take it anymore?"

Then the vision was over and I continued praying, "Lord, send me to people who are hurting, who are needy, who are suffering". The thought came, "It'll be like pouring energy into a black hole." I responded, "Well, Lord, don't you have enough resources to pour into the black hole and fill it up? I'm only going to be a spout for you to pour through."

And then came the shocker. "How about doing that in Haiti?" God said. "What?" I thought. "I've always felt called to a Spanish-speaking country. And I don't speak Creole. Nobody else in the world does, either. It would just be a waste of time to learn a little language like that." (Ha ha...as I wrote that, God just said, "So when you're through preaching the Gospel to every single person in Haiti, I'll let you move on to a bigger language." LOL... I guess it isn't that little. And who says God doesn't have a sense of humor?)

"Why don't you just look up 'Haiti Mission' online?" God suggested. I renewed my protest. "Not Haiti, Lord. Are you saying you want me to go to Haiti? I can't believe it."

"Just look it up."

"Well, it couldn't hurt. But Haiti is dangerous. There's so much political turmoil and unrest. There's so much AIDS. There's so little electricity & running water. I'd rather not go to a place where I was going to get sick." (Note: Before this, I could not have seen myself telling God, "Not ____, Lord. Send me anywhere but there." I mean, you hear about Christians who won't surrender to God because they're afraid he's going to send them to Africa, and I always thought, "How ridiculous. Don't they trust that God knows best where to send them?" I guess I was proved wrong.)

So God said, "Well, could you do it for a year? It doesn't have to be for the rest of your life."

About this time, I realized what song was playing in my head. "...I have heard my people cry...Here I am, Lord..." It got loud and clear and I remembered the cry in the vision.

"Okay, this is getting weird, Lord," I thought. I started thinking about what I knew about Haiti.

• A couple of my friends have talked about their experience there.
• Once when we were in the Dominican Republic, Pastor José pointed out some Haitians to me. They are taller, thinner, and blacker than the Dominicans, and they all get the worst jobs, the things the Dominicans don't want to do, the jobs with the hardest work and the lowest pay. But they do it because it's much better wages than they could make in Haiti. 
• About a month ago, I was on the travel.state.gov website and was looking up all their sheets on visiting different countries. I read a dozen or two different ones, and one of them was for Haiti.It was a strongly worded statement to the effect of, "We do not recommend visiting Haiti at this time; it is very dangerous," which was much more extreme than any of the other countries. At the time, I was like, "Well, I'm glad I'm not going to Haiti." 

"Never say never," D. told me once. 

So I'm going to look into it.

This should be interesting.

-------------------

The Story Continues...Fast Forward to 2010
Start at the Beginning...How God Called Me to Haiti

How God Called Me To Haiti

Some of you who have known me for a while might be thinking things along the lines of,
•  "Why Haiti?"
•  "Why not a Spanish-speaking country?"
•  "Isn't this rather sudden?"
•  "Could this step be some sort of spontaneous aberration? It doesn't fit with the story."

I could be thinking those things myself, if it weren't for the things that God did to manifestly prove to me that His hand is guiding me to take this step. So what did He do, and how did He tell me?

You can't just open up the Bible and find a verse that says, "Rebekah, go to Haiti." (Think how long the Bible would have to be if it included personal messages like that to everyone!)

But God is a good communicator. He is perfectly able to communicate a message to His children. When He speaks, He ensures that we get it, and understand it, and know where it's coming from. I have often tried making "helpful suggestions" to God, thinking up ways for him to get across to me what He wants. ("Lord, why don't you speak in an audible voice?") but the fact is, He doesn't need my help. He can use His own means of communication, and I have learned to trust that if He wants me to know something, He will make it  perfectly clear to me.

Surprisingly enough, this story goes all the way back to 2006.

Next Post: Journal Entry from April 2, 2006

My Next Step: to Haiti!

I would like to announce with great excitement that I have been accepted to serve in Haiti!

I don't know all the details yet, but here is the basic gist:

•  I am going with a group of Ellerslie alumni.
•  I will be serving in an orphanage and a Christian school, wherever I am most needed.
•  I will be leaving in the next 7-10 days (the exact date is still uncertain, because I don't have plane tickets yet).
•  I will be living in an apartment with the other Ellerslie girls.
•  The apartment is in a guarded compound called Club Indigo that is described as "posh."
•  I will have internet access and electricity but no "snail mail" (Haiti has no mail or post office system)
•  I intend to keep my blog updated as often as possible (but it may not be daily), and I intend to post lots of pictures!

In the meantime, you might want to go visit Christy's blog. She is down there at the moment, doing what I will be doing. Her writing and pictures are beautiful.

~~~~~

You might also like:
•  Know the People and Place Where I Will Be Serving
•  How God Called Me To Haiti
•  Dangerous

Chocolate cake with map of Haiti in buttercream frosting, courtesy of my artist sister, Katherine

Dangerous

I was reading about Haiti today.

What a story of revolt, unrest, turmoil, and danger.

Earthquakes.

HIV/AIDS.

Parasites.

Cholera.

Tuberculosis.

Violent crime.

Coups.

Hurricanes.

Gangs.

Malaria.

Drugs.

Open sewer ditches.

Civil unrest.

The U.S. Government issues this warning to would-be travelers to Haiti:

"If you travel to or reside in Haiti despite this warning we remind you that there remains a persistent danger of violent crime, including armed robbery, homicide, rape, and kidnapping. While the capacity and capabilities of the Haitian National Police have improved since 2006, the presence of UN stabilization force (MINUSTAH) peacekeeping troops and UN-formed police units remain critical to maintaining an adequate level of security throughout the country. The limited capability of local law enforcement to resolve crime further compounds the security threat to U.S. citizens. In particular, there have been cases in which travelers arriving in Port-au-Prince on flights from the United States were attacked and robbed while traveling in cars away from the airport. Several U.S. citizens were shot and killed in such incidents in 2010and 2011. Police authorities believe criminals may be targeting travelers arriving on flights from the United States, following them, and attacking once they are out of the area. Use extra caution in arranging transportation from the airport. Most kidnappings are criminal in nature, and kidnappers make no distinctions of nationality, race, gender, or age. Some kidnap victims have been killed, shot, sexually assaulted, or physically abused." 

But then, as if general, everyday Haiti wasn't bad enough for you, there's the Cité Soleil, a slum near Port-au-Prince.

Cité Soleil has been called "The most dangerous place on earth" by the United Nations. The name means "Sun City." What an ironic name for perhaps the darkest place on earth.

The police don't go in there. The UN stay out. The US Embassy personnel in Haiti are forbidden by the United States to enter. It was listed as a significant achievement, a "sign of progress," that security forces were able to penetrate in 2006 and stay for one hour.

So why does everything in me leap forward in eagerness to go there?

Why in the world would I be interested in leaving behind all comforts and amenities? Why would I sacrifice not only my health, but life and limb as well?

I do quite enjoy all manner of comforts, amenities, and health. I'm not too eager to part with life and limb.

It's not that these things don't interest me--it's that they are eclipsed by a greater factor, a factor so great that it drives from my mind any other consideration.

OH to see the glory of God blaze forth from this dark place and convert Cité Soleil into a place worthy of its name. OH for the power of God to surge into this place and turn the forces of darkness on their heads. My heart yearns with longing and my breath comes in quick gasps as I contemplate the possibility of walking through these streets, living in a little scrap shack, and bringing the truth of the gospel to the poor, wretched, and dying in this place. A little smile plays around the corners of my lips as I contemplate little, insignificant me going in where heavily armed Haitian police could only manage to stay for an hour. "They that be with us are more than they that be with them." (2 Ki. 6:16).

I don't know if God will ever call me to Haiti or if I will ever set foot in Cité Soleil. But even from here, I can send a mightier force than "heavily armed Haitian police" and UN peacekeepers, and this force will not be able to be kept out by fierce gun battles. Through prayer, in the authority of Christ Jesus, who defeated Satan at the cross, I can oppose the puppeteers, the spiritual forces of darkness over that city. I can ask God to send the armies of heaven to do battle against the principalities and powers who keep Cité Soleil in darkness.

I don't consider comfort. Lord, spare me from self-preservation! Oh may I count discomfort, sickness, pain, and suffering as irrelevant. May it not even enter my head to think that they would play in to my decision.

Dangerous?

Oh yes.

Let it be dangerous. Let me be correspondingly sharp, courageous, and swift to enter the fray.

"Difficulties, dangers, disease, death, or divisions don't deter any but chocolate [soldiers] from executing God's will. When someone says there is a lion in the way, the real Christian promptly replies, 'That's hardly any inducement for me; I want a bear or two besides to make it worth my while to go.'" --C.T. Studd, Chocolate Soldiers

Actually, though, when it comes down to it, who is dangerous to whom?

Ha ha!

As long as I walk in God's will, I am invincible, an unstoppable freight train, vastly superior in force and number to any of the enemy forces (not because I am anything, but because I am in Christ, the infinite one, the conqueror, the victor over sin and death). Far be it from me to tremble--City Soleil ought to tremble that a Christian warrior penetrates into their midst!

baaa!

Going overseas as a Christian tourist

A journey overseas--how strange that just crossing international borders can make you feel more like you are "on mission for God." Home is so mundane, so lackluster, we excuse ourselves for being less than our "best Christian self" at home. After all, it's just home. Everybody knows you. Everything is familiar. You don't feel like being super spiritual; you just want to be yourself. But when you go away, especially if it's far, far away, a place you need a passport and a plane ride to get to, then suddenly you kick into high gear and say to God, "Whoa, here I am! You can use me now!" It's as if we think we suddenly pop onto God's radar screen when we show up in another country and then just as suddenly pop off of it when we arrive back home.

vs.

Anyway, this was more or less my mentality for my first few mission trips, even though all along, I would have looked you in the eye and said to you, "No, I know that you're just as much a missionary at home as you are on the field, and going overseas doesn't make you a missionary." Nevertheless, I still felt like I could label myself as a missionary just because I went on a trip labeled a "mission" trip. Now I look back and say, "You know, I was really nothing more than a Christian tourist."

It's easy to be hard on myself now, after the fact. If I think back to who I was then, I realize that I was acting as honestly and consistently as I knew how. I didn't see the things I now see--I couldn't, in fact, because it took going through these experiences in order to learn the lesson. I thank God for the training ground that He put me though.

But read through the journal entries of any of my early mission trips, and see what stands out to you. What was my emphasis?

vs.

•  The spirit of adventure
•  Exotic sights, smells, and tastes
•  Interesting cultural customs that were different from my own
•  Amazing buildings and different architecture
•  Things that struck me as funny or quaint, like donkeys walking down the city street
•  What I bought and what I wanted to buy
•  Language barrier issues

What was noticeably absent from my journal?

•  A yearning, burning desire to see people hear and understand the gospel
•  Great and unshakable grief that the glory of God was not being uplifted in this culture
•  Determination to be creative and skillful about getting the message out to people
•  Massive dedication to prayer to see God move mightily
•  Any indication that my heart was touched even a little by the eternal destiny of the people I saw


These things were not a major part of my life at home before the mission trip, so it's no surprise that I didn't magically obtain them by breathing exotic, foreign air. The saying does hold true: "You're just as much a missionary at home as you are on the field, and going overseas doesn't make you a missionary." So considering that I was not living as a missionary at home during this period, I was equally not one when I went overseas. I was just a well-meaning tourist. And I had a cool "M" word to tack onto the front of my trip.


But God wasn't finished with me yet, and He used all these experiences to bring me closer and closer to the realities He wanted to teach me.

This post is part of the series My Journey Into Missions.
Next Post: Overseas trips
Previous Post: Call to Evangelism

Call to evangelism

(Continued from My Journey Into Missions)

Ray Comfort, well-known evangelist and author of Hell's Best Kept Secret

About this time, while I was looking for my life's destination in a geographical location, God's call to my life came clearly--and I disobeyed it.

I was 15 years old and had attended a friend's violin lesson with her so that her teacher could help us with a violin/piano duet we were playing. After the lesson was over, we all walked out to the parking lot together, including the teacher, because it was her last lesson of the day, and we were going to go home.

My friend casually asked her teacher what her license plate meant. It read "Y4MS."

"Oh! Okay, I'll tell you that story," her teacher said. "My boyfriend and I were reading Shakespeare together. It was Romeo and Juliet, and I came to the line where it goes, 'Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou?' But I accidentally misspoke and said instead, 'Romeo, Romeo, whyfor art thou?' That made us both start laughing, but it ended up sparking a really serious conversation. We started asking 'whyfor'--why are we here? What is the purpose of life? Why are we on this earth? So I put 'Whyfor (Y4) am us (MS)' on my license plate."

At this point, I saw how naturally a gospel presentation would flow into the conversation. After all, I knew the answers to the questions she was asking--or at least, I knew that the Bible contained them, and all I would have to say was, "Well, you know God offers you the answers to the purpose of life," and then talk about the gospel.

God was prompting me to do it. Words were welling up in my throat like a burning fiery pressurized bomb, and my spirit felt so impelled, so yearning to do it, that I could scarcely resist.

But I couldn't get the words out, either. Fear overwhelmed me and swallowed me up. "I'm too shy. I'm too young. She won't listen to me. I don't know what to say."

Into my thoughts came the voice of the Holy Spirit, not audibly, but clear as a bell. "This is ME. God. This is coming from me. Don't resist. Obey me. Open up your mouth and speak!"

"How dare I say no to God?" I wondered within myself. I knew that He would be with me, that all I had to do was say the first few words and He would turn on the flow and I wouldn't have to think of what to say or search for the wording. I almost just took the plunge and did it. If I had done it, I have no doubt the course of my life would have been different. The rest of my teen years could have been far more fruitful and who knows what I could have done for God? I will never know. I need not inquire, for there will be no answer.

But I kept the words back. God warned me again, solemnly. He warned me about the lost fruitfulness I would experience, the lost possibilities. But my flesh flashed out in fear and said, "God, you're just going to have to understand. I just can't. I can't."

I didn't. The conversation was over, we got in our cars, and we drove away, never to see each other again. Surely God lined someone else up to talk to that woman, but I lost something that day. I lost an opportunity to participate in God's work that day, and it set up a pattern that I would unconsciously follow for years.

Next post: Going Overseas as a Christian Tourist

My journey into missions

Why do I want to be a missionary?

I remember when I was about 14 years old. The "big question" had come up a number of times ("What do you want to do with your life? What career are you going into?") and I didn't have an answer. I was never one to think ahead much, and I definitely didn't have my 5-year-plan mapped out. Indeed, I would go as far as to say that I felt a slight annoyance that people were already asking me this question. Why did I already have to know? Couldn't I wait to think about that?

One day while my mom and I were in the car, I asked her, "What should I do when I grow up? How do I know what I would be good at? How do I know what I would like? How do I choose?"

She answered something about looking at my skills and abilities and narrowing it down that way.

"That's just the thing, though," I said. "I'm good at so many things. I enjoy doing lots of stuff. How do I come to a conclusive choice?"

"Well," she replied, "There's always missions. That will be sure to stretch you in every faculty, every capacity, and every skill you possess. Being a missionary is an undertaking that will challenge you and tax you to your utmost, but it's also an adventure with God--walking by faith, being close to God, and depending on Him for everything."

Hmmm, I thought. Maybe missions wouldn't be so bad.

~ ~ ~

A year later, I signed up to be a summer missionary with Child Evangelism Fellowship (CEF). I worked for three summers in a row doing 5-day-clubs (backyard Bible clubs that teach Bible stories, verses, songs, and missionary stories). That was a good experience and gave me a lot of effective training on how to share my faith. Over 25 children prayed with me to accept Christ that first summer.

It was at a CEF meeting sometime during this period that I watched a film by New Tribes Mission. I don't even know the name of the film, but basically it was about tribe after tribe after tribe in Papau New Guinea who are begging for a missionary. They see other tribes who have missionaries getting saved and gaining peace with God, and they ask the mission to send someone to teach them, too. The mission puts out a plea, but there is no one. There just aren't enough missionaries. So one tribe has waited perhaps 3 years, another tribe 5 years, another tribe 7 years, some tribes even up to 10 years, asking for a missionary, and no one has yet gone to them. Their people are dying with Christ, and no one is there to tell them the Gospel.

This video powerfully spoke to me and I went away burdened with the immense need of the lost and dying world around me. In that moment, I offered myself to God, for Him to use me as He chose. He could send me wherever He pleased. I would do whatever He called me to do.

From then on, in my mind, my career was set. I didn't want to be anything but a missionary.

But there was a slight problem.

I was terribly embarrassed that this was what I wanted to do.

I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone (other than my family) that I wanted to become a missionary. It felt so sacred and close to my heart, I couldn't bear to bring it out into the open among a callous general public and have my heart's desire trampled on by people who just didn't understand. Compounding this problem was that I was extremely shy and didn't like to talk to anyone period, much less mention the deepest desires of my heart.

So on into my teenage years, it almost became a game whenever I was asked the "big question." "So, what are your college plans?" or "Well, what are you going to do with your life?" I always scrambled to find a vague but socially-acceptable answer that would satisfy people's curiosity and get them to stop asking probing questions, without lying, but without telling them anything about missions.

(Now I look back and wonder--why did I have such a hindrance to communicating freely about this to people? The thought that was in my mind was that if anyone knew, I would be rejected as a social outcast. Why did I think that? Funny how our ideas, even untrue ones, effectively keep us bound.)

But I kept looking around, hoping, watching, waiting for God to reveal to me His plan and show me the place I was called to go. Waiting for "the call" of God wasn't easy, especially because I was usually looking for it in the wrong places.

But God wasn't stumped or thwarted by my not knowing the game plan. He knew where He was leading me, and that was enough.





This is the first post in this series. 
Story continues: Call to Evangelism

Trip to Malaga, Day 8

Sunday, January 29, 2012


We got up and I showered in cold water. I waited a while for it to get hot, but when I saw that it didn't, I thought there must not be any, so I carried on.

Then Irina got in the shower and called for her mom to plug in the hot water heater. She asked me if I had showered in cold water, and I admitted that I had. The whole family was horrified at this and tried to make me go again to warm up in a hot shower, but I wouldn't. "You'll catch cold," they said. "That water is freezing." "No, no pasa nada (it's fine)," I said. It became quite a joke that I don't think I'll live down for a long time.

Irina and I were kind of slow getting ready and got to church pretty late (11:20, when it started at 11). Church was good and it was good to see all the people I hadn't seen yet (and the ones I had). I took so many pictures with so many of the wonderful people there, and we stood outside the church, talking and laughing.

After church, Elisa, Alejandra, and I went over to Irina's for lunch. We were all telling jokes when Irina's mom made a comment that stuck with me. "Everyone has time to tell jokes," she said. "but it's funny--no one has time to talk about the Lord." Ephesians 5:4 came to my mind and I thought, "How true."

We had the yummiest Ukrainian food that Irina's mother had made, and it was very filling and delicious.

I also made the acquaintance of a couple of Irina's nieces, and they were the most delightful girls. I was entertaining them by bouncing them on my knees like a "horsey ride" and they loved it! Is this not the cutest little girl EVER?

After we ate, Irina and I went to Ana Maria's for coffee and then we went to the evening service at church. After church, there was coffee and hamburgers. Then Irina's brother was kind enough to give me a lift in his car to the house of some missionaries I was going to visit. Irina went with us, and she and I almost cried when we said goodbye, but we strengthened our resolve and managed not to.

My time with the family I was visiting was lovely! They had invited me to spend the night and leave straight from there to go back to Madrid in the morning, which worked out wonderfully for me. They showed me to a room that made me feel like a princess! Then we had a lovely dinner of fish, rice, vegetables, and salad, and we talked and had a good conversation. Then we played a good game of Settlers of Catan. :-) The wife mentioned a book she had written, and some formatting problems with it, and I offered to fix it for her. She started emailing the files over to me, and I stayed up till like 1 or 2 in the morning, checking and reading email and doing stuff online.

The next morning, I got on the train back to Malaga, boarded the bus to Madrid, arrived back there safely, took the metro back to church, and joined the girls.

This is the last post in the series.
First post: Trip to Malaga, Day 1

Trip to Malaga, Day 7

Saturday, January 28, 2012


I ate breakfast and took a shower, and then Irina's friend Dayneris came over to meet me. I went with her to the bus station to get my bus ticket for the way home, and then we went looking for the cafeteria Cafe de Babel, which I LOVED from my previous time in Spain. We found it, but it was closed. Then we went to the Boutique del Té and I bought 3 different types of yummy tea. Mmmmm...

We went back to Irina's apartment, but no one was there, so we went to a corner café and ordered a cup of coffee (me) and a cup of tea (Dayne) and talked. it was really great to get to know her a little bit better.

After about 45 minutes, we figured Irina might be back, so we went up to her apartment, but still no on was there. We were just going back out when we ran in to Irina, so we went up with her.

She made a kind of Ukrainian food for lunch, with shredded potato, zucchini, 1 egg, salt, and a little flour. You drop spoonfuls into hot oil and fry them. Then you dip them in yogurt mixed with whipping cream to eat them.

We practiced some music and a skit together and then went to the church for choir practice and youth group.

Irina led the choir and I played the piano. Oh, but you should have seen the gaggle of Spanish women that crowded around me, hugging and kissing and crying. It was priceless. Pepi and Maricarmen and Maruja and Maria Jesus and several others were all clustered around me, waiting their turn to kiss and hug me, chattering and laughing, when Irina's voice broke through the din.

"Rebekah! There's someone who wants to see you!" I broke free and there was Anita. "Mi madre," I said, as I greeted her and she received me tenderly. She just gave me a look that spoke more than words. There is a link forged between us that hasn't disappeared despite the passage of four years since I last saw her.

Anita was the one who came up to me after I had spent 8 months in Malaga, learning Spanish and attending the church. She had always showed me much love and kindness, but the day I left, she said to me, "Rebekah, I always wanted to have a daughter. I had a couple of sons, but I always wanted to know a daughter's love, to share feminine things with her, to have that female companionship. The Lord did give me a daughter, a baby, but when she was 8 months old, she died. I never knew what it would be like to have an adult daughter. Now, God given you to me--for 8 months." It moved me to tears and we hugged each other and wrote off and on, but all our communication had gradually died off. Now, here she was again, and it was a special treat to see her.

The choir practice went well and then we had youth group, which started about 45 minutes late because people took forever to show up. Our skit went well and the message was good, brought by Manolo. Then they had a sort of business meeting where they voted for the leadership. This disintegrated into a big mess where everyone was arguing and people were all voicing opposing points of view. For me it was a lesson in the difficulty of doing any kind of church leadership. There is always opposition and threats from within and without, and the need is great for wise, tactful authorities who can put things straight.

We went back to Irina's apartment pretty late and ate magdalenas (lemon muffins) with sweetened condensed milk on top of them.

We talked for a while. I asked Irina if I could borrow a skirt, and she took me to her closet and told me to pick anything I wanted. I pulled out a skirt and tried it on, but it was too small, and then Irina pulled out a dress. "Try this on," she said. It was gorgeous, and it fit me perfectly. She pulled out a coat to wear with it, and added a necklace and earrings. I thought I was borrowing all this stuff, but then the next day she insisted that I keep it, along with some black tights and black shoes that her mom gave me. Ah! She is just way too generous.

Next Post: Trip to Malaga, Day 8
First Post: Trip to Malaga, Day 1

Trip to Malaga, Day 6

Friday, January 27, 2012


After breakfast I went with the girls to church, where we had devotions. Each person shared what she had learned at the cumbre.

Then I went to work in the rastro with P. We talked more than usual and she gave me some flower earrings.

I went back to church for lunch and said goodbye to the girls. Then I went to the front door and waited for Pastor horacio to pick me up. He came at 2:30 and took me back to his house. (I had attended his church, Iglesia Evangelica La Luz for the year that I lived in Malaga studying Spanish.)

His wife, Ana Maria, fixed lunch and we ate. Nilda (my old apartment-mate) was there too! It was so wonderful to catch up.

After lunch, I asked Ana Maria if I could take a nap, and she put me in a bedroom where I slept for about 2 hours.

When I woke up, I went back to the living room and visited. Irina came shortly thereafter, and it was a joy to meet her after so long a time of writing emails.


Then Nilda cut my hair! Wow, what a difference...it was fun.

Nilda took Irina and me over to Irina's apartment, and we talked until at least midnight. Then she had to go to bed because she had to get up at 6 the next morning. I slept wonderfully and woke up about 8:15.

Next Post: Trip to Malaga, Day 7
First Post: Trip to Malaga, Day 1