Every time I moved off my sleeping mat it felt like I would have to make another trip to the bano. My stomach had been churning all day; I already had the dubious honor of being the first person on team salt to lose their tortillas in the outhouse. Frustration welled up in me; I was missing one of our last days of the children’s ministry in Santa Maria.
On Wednesday, the day before the flu (or whatever it was) hit, I felt fine. Our team started the morning with listening prayer, which is praying then listening to what God is saying, instead of just talking. I kept getting a picture in my head of the small village school just down the road from our house. After the amens were over I headed in that direction.
As I walked by, the kids playing outside started yelling, “gringa, gringa,” and the P.E. teacher lost complete control of her class because they all begin to stare at me. At that awkward moment a woman came up invited me to sit on her porch, drink some tamarin juice and talk with her. I gladly accepted the invitation!
I found out that her name was Adella and she moved to Santa Maria a year ago, because her husband got a job teaching 3rd grade. Her time in the there has been filled with loneliness, she speaks Spanish and many of the people in the village only know Chole. We chatted for a few hours; she found joy in correcting my Spanish verbs and pronunciation and even taught me how to use future tense. When it was time to head back home I said “Hasta Manana,” (see you tomorrow) and meant it!
I woke up the next morning feeling like some one had inserted a blender into my stomach. My day consisted of frequent bathroom trips. My teammates stopped by Adella’s place and told her that I was sick and wouldn’t be by that day.
Everyone else left for the evening church service, and I tossed and turned on my ridiculously uncomfortable sleeping mat, while beginning an episode of the O.C. on my laptop. Frustration over being sick and feeling useless welled up in me. I was already struggling with my time in Santa Maria. I feel more productive doing structured ministry programs like, building a house, helping with a medical clinic, running a relief program. Somehow those seem more tangible to me. Instead my team has been traveling, preaching, talking with people and doing daily kids services at the church.
My torment was interrupted by a knock. Adella and Shannon her daughter, stood at the door. She was worried about me so they brought me jello and some mystery pills
(which I eventually threw out the window.) We looked at pictures on the computer and I ate as much jello as my stomach could handle. I was so touched. We met the day before and she cared enough to come and help me.
God has this way of letting me get sick when I need to get out of His way. My United States, production orientated mind set makes me feel like the ministries we are doing in Mexico aren’t enough. What I realized while flat on my back is how much God wants me to love people not programs. Loving Adella didn’t mean fixing her life, giving her money or helping create a program for non-Chole speakers. It meant easing her loneliness for a few days, being interested in her life, and letting her help and teach me. I’m learning how true Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 13:1-2, “Anything you do without love is worthless.” (Morgan´s Paraphrase)
Our team is staying in Jerusalan, a new village, for the next week. We have been spoiled with electricity and some American food (I´ve never been so excited about Special K). We begin the Guatamala leg of the race on Sunday, I´ll try to write before then, but probably won´t make it to a computer. Pray for safe travels and a good last week in Mexico.
