I arrived in Quito, Ecuador on January 11th. That was 12 days ago. And I'm rather confused about why I haven't felt like writing until now. I love to write. I love the sound of typing and the smell of hot coffee. I love sitting by a window and staring into the sky as my mind draws a blank. I love the dream of being a magazine journalist—at least for now. But for some reason I've been leaving my laptop sitting lonesomely in its sleeve…with the exception of the occasional Photoshop session.
It's not that this place isn't beautiful, or wonderful, or inspiring, or changing, or full of life and the presence of God. It absolutely is.
But this place is also quite difficult to put into words. I'm talking about more than just geography.
My team has spent almost two weeks working at Iglesia La Luz Carapungo, a church in a suburb positioned just outside the northeastern tip of Quito. The community is inhabited by lower-income families. Top earning potential is about $300 per month.
Already colorful buildings are layered with graffiti. Skate parks and basketball courts contribute to Carapungo's urban vibe. It doesn't surprise me that the church resides in a former nightclub. Bakeries, flower shops and random stores with barred windows line every block. The people here can buy a motorcycle and a twin mattress in a single transacation. Revolutionary or totally perplexing? You decide.
Ecuador is amazing. It's incredibly different from my homeland, where there are individuals who specialize in selling memory foam in stores that stock nothing but mattresses. I bet those people know nothing about motorcycles.
So perhaps this why I've been in a blogging stupor—because this place beckons an existence that is so starkly different from the kind of life I've known for 26 years. In retrospect, I'm convinced that my thoughts and words have been purposefully unformable. Let me explain.
I was cleaning the bathrooms at La Luz today. My face was about 4 inches from the nearest urinal. Side note: When de-grossing urinals, the best approach is to 1) toss any and all thought processes out the window and 2) work quickly. So as I scrubbed the dark blue wall tiles (with my face 4 inches from a urinal) in a church that is a former nightclub, I couldn't help but consider the irony. An irony that is beautiful and creative and of the God we serve.
I've been sprucing-up and cleaning a house of the Lord with my 7 teammates, and while we're sanding and spackling and painting and carpeting and sweeping and scrubbing tiny specs of white paint off dark blue wall tiles, the Lord is doing the same thing in us—His abiding places, His holy temples. He's stripping us and making us clean. We're using rags and buckets. He's using community. He's using 7 people to affirm me, to encourage me, to call out my gifts, to expose my sin and to sharpen me.
But why?
So we may serve the world, as La Luz serves the people of Carapungo. So we can bring Him glory, as La Luz brings Him glory. So we will become more like Him—pure and holy and beautiful.
As God was placing this revelation in my heart, He was a room away gifting Meredith with the exact same message. (It's worth mentioning, however, that she was scrubbing tiny specs of white paint off dark green floor tiles.) Perhaps this was His way of humbling me—the realization that the metaphor wasn't mine. That it was from Him, not of my own intelligence or ability.
"God has united you with Christ Jesus. For our benefit God made him to be wisdom itself. Christ made us right with God; he made us pure and holy, and he freed us from sin." -1 Corinthians 1:30
Over the last 12 days, I've been oddly content with painting walls, laying carpet and cleaning bathrooms. And even more oddly content with not writing. It's as if putting myself in an uncomfortable, unexplored existence is giving Him room to work. Go figure.
Here's to getting out of the groove and into the unknown.
Julie
Team Doulos in Old Town Quito the pastor of Iglesia La Luz Carapungo and his family:
