Today I ate a chicken foot. We were sitting with a seventy-year-old woman in a broken chair when she brought us a bowl of rice,
beans and of course, chicken feet on top. She told us that if we failed to eat all of it she would not eat anything we would give her if she visited us in the United States. So I looked at my team and ate the first. It tasted pretty much like fat on a bone if any of you need some light shed on the situation.
We call her “Abuela” which means grandmother in Spanish. She lives on a farm about two miles from where we stay in San Juan. We walk through the city, make our way through a wooded path and small river, through a pile of sometimes burning trash, and once we break through it’s as though we have stepped into another world. You can clearly see the mountains in the distance with a clear blue sky and abechuela (a type of beans), rice and other crops growing into the distance. We walk through about three fourths of a mile in the farm land and come to a little farming town of about thirty-five houses. This is where we met Agrippa, who we call Abuela and her husband Juan.
We learned a lot about these two today. They have been together fifty-five years and have had thirteen children together. They have only been married ten of those years, though. Just testing the waters, they said. Well, after fourty-five years and thirteen children they thought it was safe to tie the knot. Juan says he cannot sleep without her. They are extremely hospitable and loving. I am extremely grateful for the relationship we have begun to nurture.
There is a continual buzz (or extremely loud music) on the farm. People are preparing for the harvest and going about the tasks of daily life. We have helped to aid them in their daily chores by fetching water from the well in the center of town (all the while being astonished by the ability of the women to carry five gallons of water on their heads), shelling beans, and playing with the children.
We have also had the opportunity to help secure the walls of the school, paint the building and doors and clean up the general vicinity.
Our ministry partner is a man named Miguel from Ohio. He is an AIM missionary who has begun relationships at the farm and all the other ministry cites for our Squad. He knows the people and culture well, and we are here to support the ministry God has begun here through him. We asked how we can do this most effectively and his response was primarily in relationship.
He explained that this area has been called “the 
promised land.” He believes that it is a fresh place that has not been as tainted by other influences and the grace of the Gospel has potential to penetrate and blossom in incredible ways. There is a sense of legalism present, though, so these people need to understand the grace of the Savior. This, ironically, is a huge part of my heart, passion and enjoyment about the Gospel. The Gospel is one of grace. Not that sin may abound but that love may rule exclusively. This town needs to understand that not by works but by grace we are saved (Ephesians 2:8-9).
So we have been called out to love these people and take any opportunity to show them grace in any and every opportunity. We have also been commissioned to share the grace and love of Jesus Christ whenever we are able. Without a translator this has been difficult at times, but when we have one present we have been able to communicate that kind of grace and love in a truly encouraging way.
One of those ways came today when Natalie and I sat down with a woman named Louisa. She lives on the outskirts of town and Miguel explained that she can be treated as somewhat of an outcast. She is a believer, though, and the encouragement she has found in Christ is unbelievable. I will write more on her story at a later time, but the opportunity to love her, pray for her, and listen to her story was a privilege.
There is much more to write and explain, but I do not want to overwhelm you all at once. Keep checking in, and be blessed.
