A Foreign Address Does Not A Missionary Make

Some blog entries are hard to write. I have been sitting on this one for a week, trying to get up the courage and heart to write it, knowing I had to, but not knowing how I could do it.
Long before Ryan and I were called to Mexico, we had a different calling to work with Young Life Ministries to High School students. Even at that time, though still very comfortably in familiar settings, I considered myself a missionary. After all, is there anything so "foreign" as a high school lunch room. During the time that we served with Young Life we were privileged to help begin a program at Ninety Six High School here in South Carolina. We worked closely with an amazing and very unique bunch of kids. Strangely, as all American in appearance as Ryan and I are, we were drawn to and attracted the outer fringe kids. Kids who wore all black, pierced body parts and got tattoos, dyed their hair different colors. In other words, the outcasts, the misfits, the ones who wore their pain on their sleeves. We dealt with the drugged out, sexually permissive, the sad, the depressed and the angry. And we loved them!!!!
One of these precious souls became a particularly good friend of mine. Amanda and I share a similar, hurtful past. I was drawn to her immediately. God said almost audibly to me, "Seek her out, go to her!" I walked with her as she came in and out of hospitals for depression, anorexia, and attempted suicides. I touched her arms where she had cut herself mercilessly trying to make the pain inside go away. I took her to doctor's appointments and counseling sessions. More often than not it was hard, painful, and draining. But God continued to say go. Last week, the pain became more than she could stand any longer, and Amanda killed herself.
After six years of being out of Young Life, not seeing some of these kids since that time, and the others sporadically at best, they were thrust back into our lives. I didn't know if I wanted it. It scared me, and I hurt so bad over this loss. Guilt was crashing on top of me, anger, fear, sadness so intense I felt I could vomit. But once again I could hear God almost audibly say to me, "Go!"
I thought I was waiting to become a missionary, to move to Mexico so I could start ministry. I had forgotten. The hurting, broken and lost are all around us. Last week I became a missionary again. May I never forget...

Karen

Rain and The Changes It Brings

"We really need you to be flexible." This is the standard line delivered during the orientation of volunteer work teams by the Isaiah 55 staff. While it is always true that flexibilty is key, this phrase was never more true than during the week of July 17-24.

Several weeks before our trip to the border Hurricane Alex & Tropical Depression 2 dropped torrential amounts of rain up the Rio Grande Valley and into the mountains of eastern Mexico. The deluge filled reservoirs and forced hydro-electric officials to release massive amounts of water into smaller rivers that lead to the Rio Grande flooding the valley from Nuevo Laredo to Matamoros. The floodplains bordering the river in McAllen, Texas and Reynosa, Mexico were still eight feet under water two weeks after the initial flooding. These are areas that haven't bean flooded in 70 years.

Wes, Jess, & their 1 year old daughter, friends of Isaiah 55, are currently living at a property owned by the Isaiah 55 that is located near Boystown, the notorious walled portion of Reynosa that serves as homes to prostitutes and drug dealers. After flood waters covered a squatters camp near the border about 50 homeless individuals, between the ages of 6 months and 80+ years old, showed up at Wes' gate. Being the gentleman that he is, Wes invited them to stay.

This is the situation we walked into on Monday morning.

"Be flexible...”

Through out that day and the days that followed, I was able to have several conversations with a few of the folks staying there. The story I remember most was not told to me, but to a friend. So here is that story: Miguel was hoboing from one migrant farm job to another. As he went to jump off of the moving train he was caught between the wheels & tracks. In the process he lost a leg, below the knee. After being treated in a hospital in the States, he was deported. Driven to the border, dropped off, and basically told not to come back. He wound up at Wes' place after the squatters camp flooded. All Miguel had was his two crutches, a prosthesis made from a walking cast, and a shoe shine kit. At this, my friend expressed his sympathy. Miguel's response “Don't feel sorry for me. If I had three legs just like the one I lost, I would give them all to know Jesus.” Most of us who were there had conversations like these.

The point I want to return to is this... Be Flexible... Wes called Nono (Isaiah 55's team leader) on Sunday evening & explained the situation. Nono's response was not “Wes you need to find them somewhere else to stay” or “What were you thinking.” His response was “What do you need.”

This is the team Karen & I get to be a part of. A group of individuals whose call is to reach the deaf...and the deaf at heart.

Thanks for being part of the ride,

Ryan