You take a drink and the world disappears along with the problems and the trials that come with it. Or you take a drag of whatever you were handed and it calms you down, it kisses you with sweetness and leaves you alone. This is the life of a junkie or alcoholic. It seems like the answer until it runs out and then you find yourself worse off than before and the cycle continues.
When we ran into Juan Carlos the first time, he was strung out and drunk and I was fearful for the girls and myself. But God brought us all together for a purpose and when Chad and I were able to eat with him and speak what little Spanish we knew, somehow in that haze he saw something different. He saw a new life or at least the promise of new life. It was intense to see the change from that day when we invited him to the first church meeting and from every time after that he came except for one day when he was working. And whenever he would show up, he was cleam, well dressed and ready to help. He would come with a smile on his face and a big hug for me. When we got to the town plaza early to prayerwalk around before the dramas and the message he showed up and walked around with us praying for the city and the people who would see it. Granted, he didn’t really understand our english and us his spanish as much, but he understood that it was about God showing up and changing lifes and he wanted in on that. Praise be to the Father that wraps His sons in His arms and speaks new life and blessing into their tattered remains. “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed, behold, the new has come!” 2 Corinthians 5.17
The last night before we left, Noe and the people in the church prayed for us, for blessings on this race, for revival in our hearts and joy in our eyes. It was powerful, yet what captivated me was Juan Carlos. He came over to me and placed his strong hands on my shoulders and prayed over me. I don’t have a clue what he said and it doesn’t matter. I was holding back tears because I felt unworthy to be commisioned by him. He, he was able to say that he was a disciple having been schooled in the seminary of hard knocks and came out more full, more beautiful. It was a privilege and an honor for me to recieve that from him. Thank you Juan Carlos for your friendship and your lessons.
And I think the main lesson is this: life is a tough school and is much harder than seminary. It is a seminary! Learning about teaching and preaching is terrific but you learn when the pastor of a church says, here it is preach! It is the trial and error, the necessity of relying on hearing God’s still small voice that becomes your textbook and far outweighs the benefits. My salvation was not written on a piece of paper by man, but chiseled on my heart with blood, chiseled by hands that had been cleansed in prayer for me and then torn apart with a nail. It is not just for a classroom, although sometimes there it is needed, but rather the world where rapists wander and drunks stagger and hearts break. It is not wrapped up neatly and presented as a plaque or award, but passed from one to another wrapped in rags, caked in blood and tears and pain, and it is priceless. It meant so much to me to walk across the stage to recieve my diploma from college but it meant so much more for me to feel the hands of Juan Carlos on my shoulders, telling me it would be okay. Because I believed him. He knew first hand the power of the gospel and shared that in a touch and some words. It was not rehearsed in front of the mirror and then presented before hundreds of people, but it was from the heart and soul and meant so much more. Father I pray that this year you would take me to the school of hard knocks. Enroll me and be my teacher that I may find you more intimately.
