In first grade, we learn about communities. Who are the members of a community? What do communities need? What are the resources in a community? These kinds of conversations do not come easily to first graders, as their worlds have thus far been ‘All About Me’. Where is my desk? Look at my story! I like mine the best. At the end of the year, after various discussions, community-building activities and occasional law enforcement—If you can’t be nice, then you can’t stay— the student is prepared to enter into any community and be ‘good’. Be respectful. Be kind. Be good. That is the dream, anyway.
Watching our team in Mexico reminded me of first grade. Speed-walking football, slam-dunk contests, and trampoline procrastination were pure childlike fun and silliness. There were also times of complaining. Our AC-challenged van provoked the whining child in each of us as we fanned and slept our way through each hot drive. And while it was pointed out more than once that we did not have to pile ourselves into the van ten minutes before the driver was ready, this was advice our first grade ears were not ready to heed. But like any school year and like any trip, the heart of it was found in the times of learning. The incredible testimony of Pastor Paulino at Casa Bethesda was a lesson about surviving on faith and faith alone. His words spoke to each of us, moving our souls to tears as he shared his brokenness with our team. There was such strength in his honesty about his unwilling heart, his broken obedience, and how the orphanage came to be and survives with so little support. How appropriate it was that we heard this testimony on the last day, as the tenderness of his heart imprinted onto ours as we prepared to return home. Back to reality. On to second grade.
What is the dream of missions? To help people? To worship God? To share his Word? After six mission trips my list of possible answers only grows. I can only say with confidence that it has been two months since our trip and I still dream about Mexico. I still marvel at how we did crafts with close to 100 children. I still laugh when I think about how one team member sat in wonder during every time of praise as our team flipped to the songs, not realizing the praise songs were in alphabetical order. And my eyes still well up when I remember how Jesus stood beside the broken man and carried him through each day of his life. My heart is still tender from the sights and sounds of this trip. When I wake each morning to go back to first grade my nerves are calmed and my heart gains strength when I think of the man whose life lesson is perhaps now my life lesson: Faith alone.
That is the dream, anyway.
Watching our team in Mexico reminded me of first grade. Speed-walking football, slam-dunk contests, and trampoline procrastination were pure childlike fun and silliness. There were also times of complaining. Our AC-challenged van provoked the whining child in each of us as we fanned and slept our way through each hot drive. And while it was pointed out more than once that we did not have to pile ourselves into the van ten minutes before the driver was ready, this was advice our first grade ears were not ready to heed. But like any school year and like any trip, the heart of it was found in the times of learning. The incredible testimony of Pastor Paulino at Casa Bethesda was a lesson about surviving on faith and faith alone. His words spoke to each of us, moving our souls to tears as he shared his brokenness with our team. There was such strength in his honesty about his unwilling heart, his broken obedience, and how the orphanage came to be and survives with so little support. How appropriate it was that we heard this testimony on the last day, as the tenderness of his heart imprinted onto ours as we prepared to return home. Back to reality. On to second grade.
What is the dream of missions? To help people? To worship God? To share his Word? After six mission trips my list of possible answers only grows. I can only say with confidence that it has been two months since our trip and I still dream about Mexico. I still marvel at how we did crafts with close to 100 children. I still laugh when I think about how one team member sat in wonder during every time of praise as our team flipped to the songs, not realizing the praise songs were in alphabetical order. And my eyes still well up when I remember how Jesus stood beside the broken man and carried him through each day of his life. My heart is still tender from the sights and sounds of this trip. When I wake each morning to go back to first grade my nerves are calmed and my heart gains strength when I think of the man whose life lesson is perhaps now my life lesson: Faith alone.
That is the dream, anyway.
