Over the last month we have been working with Vision Nicaragua.
We’ve got this large gorgeous compound.
Coconut trees everywhere.
Bright sunny skies.
An enormous volcano towering behind the property.
Seriously…it’s unrealistic how pretty it is here.
Upon arrival we had a quick meeting to get the details of what this next month looked like. We were going to be doing evangelism. All day every day, door-to-door.
I happen to be one of those weirdos that actually looks foreword to this kind of thing. I wouldn’t have told you I’m particularlly good at it or that I felt completly chill while doing it. For some reason the fact that we were doing it door-to-door made me uncomfortable. I will strike a meaningful conversation about God with strangers at the mall or at a coffee shop on occasion, so why was this different? I suppose in my mind it cheapened the gospel and reduced me to the level of soliciting.
Soon we were being shipped out to the villages–over forty-five of us crammed onto the back of two trucks. This was already beginning to feel drastically different from Costa Rica. Horses and carriages occasionally drove alongside cars along with vehicles powered by bicycles. Some areas were rather modern, while some towns contained houses made of scrap wood and enormous sheets of aluminum. We drove down dirt roads when suddenly I saw there was a fire. Like an actual mini-bonfire dead in the dead center of the road. I was slightly freaking out while trying to understand why anyone thought that was a good idea, figure out how a monster truck was going to fit around it, and if we would all go down together if we attempted to quickly drive over it. Somehow the driver managed to dodge the flames and we kept moving.
We arrived. We started going door to door. Of course it was awkward, but the people were rather welcoming and open to talking with us. I remembered someone telling me that the World Race isn’t going to transform me or turn me into who I wanted to be. I needed to take initiative and make the most of what I’m handed and seek out God’s will. It might not be my favorite, but I can always stay ready and listen for God’s will.
By the end of the day, I felt more at peace sharing Jesus with strangers. But I started noticing a common pattern. People were one-hundred percent with me when I would tell them about what Jesus has done but they could not get past this feeling of shame. No one. Many of them could not stop believing this lie that they had not done enough to be good enough to have a personal relationship with Jesus. I would ask, “Do you have a personal relationship with Jesus?” The answer was almost always no. “Do you want one?” The answer was always yes. When it came to asking if we could pray with them for forgiveness for their sins, and to welcome Jesus into their hearts, the answer was always, “No, another day.” The reasons were always the same.
I’m not ready. I have to fix some things in my heart so that I’m ready.
No matter what we said, it was impossible for them to believe that God wanted them as they are. That He does not expect us to be perfect before having a relationship with them.
There was also a pressure from our guides to reach out to a large number of houses instead of investing extra time into the people and sharing our hearts. While I understood their sentiments, some of us were frustrated.
One day while we were sharing the gospel, I was asking one women if she had ever heard of Jesus. She said no. I asked if she knew anything about the Bible or had been to a church before. Once again, she said no. I paused, suddenly dumbfounded that there were people in a very Catholic culture that had never heard of Jesus before. Not once.
I started sharing the basics of our sinful nature, how it separates us from God, and Jesus dying on the cross to save us from our sin. While the woman chose not to receive Christ that day, she did seem interested and let us pray over her. I was reminded that what we are doing does matter. As long as we are sharing the good news, there is victory. If we had not stopped by, that woman may have never heard of Jesus. Also realizing how many believers were in that neighborhood and knowing that such a family didn’t know about Christ was unsettling. It reminded me of being in the U.S. and meeting people who told me they had never heard the gospel until early adulthood.
A few days later we were doing door-to-door in a neighborhood alongside the ocean. The sun was pounding upon us and it was so hot that breathing was exhausting. As we got dropped off at the local church I noticed a tub sized pot of soup cooking on an open flame with loads of fishtails sticking up in it. We divided up into groups and started up on the road again. I started praying that God would prepare the hearts of those we talked to that day. Praying against the feelings of shame and unworthiness that plagued so much of this nation.
This time around was different. I could see it in how people responded. There were more believers that believed that a relationship with Jesus was possible or already had one. We approached one humble yellow house at the end up the road. We didn’t even have to knock, a smiley middle aged woman came right out of the house. Her name was Lysette. Her two daughters and husband also came out to greet us.
I asked them if they had heard about Jesus or knew much about the Bible. She said a little bit, but not much. She didn’t know what a relationship with Jesus meant exactly. I reviewed what Jesus has done for us and how much God loved us. We asked if they wanted to ask God for forgiveness and ask Jesus to come into their hearts. Lysette readily agreed that she did, and we prayed. My heart was pounding. I had shared the good news many times before, but never had someone choose to accept Christ right then and there. We chatted and goofed off for a bit longer.
“Thank you so much for bringing a word from God to our house,” she told us. We hugged as we said our goodbyes, telling them that we are family from this day on. Even though we may never meet again on earth, we’ll see each other in heaven.
