Our ministry schedule has been a little unpredictable over the past couple of weeks. We've kind of been jumping all over the place- painting at an alcoholic rehabilitation center for a few days, working at the hospital some, serving our squad by going to the market and cooking some. Yesterday was by far the best, however, even though we were just painting the outside of a church.
We drove an hour up into to mountains, riding over pot-holed, mostly paved roads in the bed of an old Ford pickup. As someone who suffers from motion sickness on the nearly perfect North Carolina highways, this was not an ideal situation. About ten minutes into the ride, I thought, "Welp, this was a mistake." An hour later, I was contemplating how inappropriate it would be for me to vomit over the tailgate. We finally arrived, and I sat reveling in the stillness, thinking how much I would love a Coke to settle my stomach. No sooner did I think this than the Pastor asked us to come inside because they had bought sodas for all of us. I couldn't believe it. We were in the middle of the jungle on top of a mountain at a poor country church, and they were offering us Coca Colas. Like when Jesus changed the water into wine at the wedding at Cana because his mother asked him to, he had miraculously provided a soda to settle my stomach. He cares about the little things, too.
The whole time we were painting, the locals were just watching us, some of the men helping when we needed it. It was a little awkward, because we couldn't really communicate with them, so they just sat there all day and watched us work. We finished painting the outside of the church that day, so we didn't have to go back today. When we finished, the pastors and congregation asked us to come inside so that they could thank God and pray for us. They were weeping as they talked about never seeing us again, but invited us to come and stay with them anytime. These people had taken what little they had and bought us soda and cookies, they made us fresh corn for lunch, they gave us pears, they spoke life over us, and they were devastated to see us leave. We were there for one day!
Sometimes I try to put myself in the place of those we're serving: a bunch of strangers come in, do stuff, take pictures, and leave. I don't think that most Americans would react all that graciously, but, then again, we do kind of have a pride problem. But there was no doubt that they loved us, and they were ecstatic that we had come to visit their tiny church. They called us hermanas, sisters, and they were so thankful that we had taken the time to come and, not just help them, but to be with them.
What a picture of love. They treated us with such respect and even admiration- and it was because they saw Jesus in each of us. They saw us as people who had given up their comfortable lives to become servants to those who need it most. This is the first time that I've really grasped the gravity of what we are doing, because for the first time, I was serving those who recognized that in me, and who really understood why I was in their country in the first place- that they might know Jesus, and they were excited to be a part of that ministry.
That's why they wept when we left. It wasn't us- all we did was paint and chat with each other. It was because they saw Jesus in us, and so by losing us they were losing a part of the body of Christ, and they grieved that loss. What if we could all see each other like that? What if we all had eyes to see, not the outward, but the image of the Creator in each other? Life would be so much richer, and people so much more beautiful. I pray that He would open my eyes.
