"No! Go here!" "Turn left!" "Turn right!" "Go two blocks that way!" "You're going to get to a dead end. Go past it once you get to it."
So many directions. It wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't the only native speaker. On September 28th, half of Team MannaFest and half of Team Metamorphosis traveled from Isla de Ometepe to Managua, Nicaragua. The other halves of each team were already there and the other halves that were traveling that day had no address, phone number, or functioning phone to use to get to our resting place for the next couple nights until we head to the airport to be Asia bound. One of my team mates that was already at the compound graciously provided us the name of the place; unfortunately no taxi driver knew where this place was. We headed to the U.S. Embassy in hope to be able to get to the compound from there but what was meant to be a twenty – minute taxi ride ended up being a two (close to three) hour "amazing race" type of hide and seek.
Frustration was definitely my dominant emotion for the first half of this adventure.
Through unclear communication between the taxi drivers and myself, being asked questions from multiple people without being able to give a clear answer, and pure tiredness from the trip itself I reached my breaking point really quickly.
God checked me, though.
When we first got to the embassy: I was able to speak to the drivers and explain that we were a group of missionaries looking for a Bible Institute that is particularly desolate by description. One of the drivers kept asking what denomination we were a part of to which I replied that we were part of an interdenominational Christian organization. I followed up my response with a question of what he believed in. With his laughter in response to my question and his overall persona, I quickly discerned that he wasn't a believer. I wanted to ask more when we got rushed to keep going to find this place.
I realized in that moment though that my attitude and method of approaching the situation as a whole was definitely neither humble nor Christ-like. It was like instant conviction overflowed through my body and I was the only one to blame. It's so easy to forget that our lives are impactful and sometimes our persona is all it takes to make or break a believer or non-believer.
I quickly prayed and asked God to forgive me for my selfishness, quick to speak, quick to anger, and slow to listen actions rather than what He has instructed us to do in James 1:19. From that point I was definitely more intentional with my words, actions, and body language in hopes that I had not represented Jesus in a "typical Christian" kind of way to not only the taxi drivers, but to my fellow S-Squadders as well.
I'll be honest, being more intentional with all those things did not make the situation itself any less frustrating for me, but I knew that if I chose to stay in that bad attitude and let the chaos get to me more than it did: I would have let the enemy win and my faith would be nothing more than a title.
When we finally arrived at our destination (that was literally two blocks from the embassy), I put my stuff down and ran to a place to breathe. I needed a moment alone and just take a breath. I am extremely thankful for patient and loving squad mates that allowed me to have that moment and loved me through the lack of excitement for the first few minutes. I pray our drivers could see Jesus through us.
I pray our drivers know that He loves them so much regardless of the hatred that this world shows and typically adds on. I pray, most importantly, that we as Christians remember Jesus, just as He remembers us, in every moment. No moment is too big or too small to take the chance to love and live out His love. Even if it's been a long day in a taxi.
