Faith

Yesterday, we took the day off of school and went to a mountain village named Seis de Enero (the Sixth of January). The church there is the first the family planted after arriving in Jaumave. Jim and Caroline pastored there for many years before handing the church over to another couple four years ago.

We picked up a hitchhiker on the way there–an old man who wanted a ride to San Lorenzito from Jaumave. We stopped halfway for a picnic, where we “visited the Oxxo”–a euphemism similar to “visiting Mrs. Murphy” (for those of you Cheaper by the Dozen lovers out there. Take a wad of toilet paper, find a convenient ravine where you won’t be seen. Do your business.)

When we did arrive, we sat in the church and visited for an hour or so before the service began. I got to meet an old man named Elefino, who has many awesome testimonies–bit by a rattlesnake just a week after he had been saved, he survived a five hour wait for medical treatment and is living today, ten years later. I shook hands and “Dios le bendiga”‘d the entire congregation, causing some children to hide their faces in their hands as I came by. My, but they were cute.

Caroline had gone off to talk to a friend, but we started the service without her. One person after another came up to lead the singing–they hadn’t had a service for a month and they were eager to worship. It was at least 40 minutes before the worship time ended. Elefino got up to share a dream he’d had–straight from the book of Revelation–a dream of Christ coming back for His people. A dream of Jesus saying He was coming quickly, at which Elefino, in his dream, fell on his face and said “Amen. Come quickly, Lord Jesus.” The dream is even more spectacular when you learn that Elefino has never read the book of Revelation–he couldn’t have because he can’t read. Another woman leads in more songs. A man stands up and sings some songs he wrote about Jim and Caroline–and about the missionaries from Grand Island who lost their lives in an accident on the mountains just days after sharing the gospel with the village of Seis de Enero. Jim is crying. A dog wanders up the center aisle and the woman who led singing earlier shoo’s him away.

Someone asks Caroline and I to sing, and we oblige, forcing Rebekah (who was quite unwilling) to come up and sing with us. We sing the songs Rebekah has been teaching me during our breaks at la escuela (school). Caroline accompanies us on the guitar. The entire congregation gets up and stands at the front of the church to sing us another song–this time they’re singing one I recognize. I quickly find “When the roll is called up yonder” in my “Alabanzas al Rey”–my songbook–and sing along with.

I share a five minute or so talk on hygiene–all about germs that cause colds and diarrhea, and how to avoid them. I teach the people about sneezing into their sleeve, about using a clean handkerchief, about washing their hands with soap after sneezing or coughing or using the restroom. They ask me to share about nutrition too–so I give them the very basics. What you need is fruits and vegetables, grains, and something with protein–eggs, beans, meat. The village people don’t have much education. They don’t know about these things we consider so elementary. They think that chips and a Coke make a good meal for their children. They just don’t know. I doubt my ten minutes had much impact, but I can hope and pray. They certainly listened intently–and even asked questions, particularly about preventing diarrhea. I tried to keep my message simple, but I still feel like I packed a lot of stuff into a very short talk.

Tonio shared his testimony and the congregation was riveted. I wished I understood Spanish better so I could hear it. I’ve only heard the most abbreviated version from Caroline and Jim.

Jim finally got up to preach and Caroline to interpret. We’d only been in the service a couple of hours or so by that point. He abbreviated his message terribly, but it still took a half an hour to forty-five minutes. We made our way out of the village as the sun was going down. I got some glorious pictures on the way back–sunset and the mountains, looking down over the valleys. Maybe I’ll post them when I get back. Currently, I’m doing all I can to adjust to the Spanish language and to the different keyboard.

When some Mexican boys get to a certain age–generally twelve to fourteen–their mother’s can no longer discipline them and they begin to run wild. All too often, they turn to drugs and alcohol. They join gangs and take part in all that lifestyle offers.

These boys are lost–lost to their families, lost to decent society, lost from the kingdom of God. One might think–and many of these boys, angry, think–that no one cares for them. But there is One who, counting His precious sheep, discovers that some are missing.

And that One moves on the heart of men like Oswaldo and Danny. And, as His servants, they head out to find and recover the lost boys.

At least twenty such boys live at Quin Ler–what we call “the rehabilitation center.” It’s a drug rehab center and a place of ministry. Un lugar donde Dios te da la mano–an inscription on the wall states–A place where God gives to you His hand. The mural accompanying the inscription shows a huge hand from heaven reaching down to touch a tattoed hoodlum.

God reaches down His hand to touch the lives of these formerly lost boys through the ministry of this place.

Twice, I have had the opportunity to view a drama put on by the lost boys and their sisters. In it, one young person after another describes how they came to join the gang to which they all belong. Horrible things from their childhood. Being forgotten. Seeking a place to belong.

A young man comes in–he is beaten–but eventually is welcomed into their gang. Another man comes in with tracts–sharing Christ. They threaten him and eventually chase him off. The gang leader’s little brother saunters up, book in hand, wearing school clothes. He wants to leave school to join the gang. He wants to be like his big brother. The leader tells his brother No–He must stay in school, make something of his life.

At that moment, a rival gang bursts onto the scene, guns firing. When the smoke and dust clears, the little boy is dead.

Broken-hearted, the gang leader cradles his little brother in his arms and cries. One by one, the gang members share their thoughts. “I though it would be exciting. I thought it would be fine. And now I’ve become a part of this little boy’s death.” “The faces of my aborted children haunt my sleep.” “I see now the worthlessness of this life, but what can I do? I’m an addict. I’m a school dropout. My family will never accept me back.”

Perhaps their families will not, but there is One who waits with open arms for the lost boys of Mexico to return.

Please pray for the ministry of Quin Ler and other ministries that offer the hand of God to the lost boys. Pray that they would speak the truth in love. Pray for the body of Christ in Mexico that they would have God’s heart for these boys–that they would not judge and point fingers–but that they would open their arms to welcome these boys in.

Pray for the boys at Quin Ler–that they would come face to face with God. Pray that they would experience God’s forgiveness–and that they would experience deliverance from the drugs and alcohol that hold them tightly. Pray that they would be wholehearted towards God–not standing with one foot in this world and one foot in the kingdom of God. Pray that they would get serious with God.

Pray for Antonio, who is living with us, that he would grow mature in the faith–not a child but a man. Pray that he would love the Word of God. Pray that he would have discernment as he enters Bible school later this year, that he would hear the voice of God and not follow the voice of the stranger. Pray that he would have wisdom and boldness to deal with his past.

And pray that, in every place where the lost boys are, they would be found.