Some basics for those of you just now dropping in: My sister and I are on an 11-month Christian mission trip to 11 different countries across 4 continents. We’re headed to: Argentina, Bolivia, Paraguay, Chile, Uganda, Ethiopia, Rwanda, Serbia, Bulgaria, Romania, Cambodia, and Thailand. The work will range from country to country in partnership with established ministries in each area.
It’s month 2. My team is in Mendoza, Argentina.
We’re working with a YWAM base.
Welcome to BLOGATHON. I haven’t had any WiFi in Argentina, so I need to play catch up. You’ll be getting five updates tonight. Prepare for the fourth and final Chile blog and all four Argentina posts. Enjoy! Next stop: Bolivia!
BLOGATHON 2/5: Ovejas Perdidas
Mendoza is gorgeous. Rolling vineyards run into olive groves, and the wind blows continually from the mountains. The locals call their city “la tierra del sol y el buen vino.” It means “the land of sun and good wine.” Things don’t get much better than that.
One of our ministry assignments was to assist with a kids camp on the other side of the city. The bus ride took us from our rural area (an hour away from city center and sweet, sweet WiFi), into vibrant downtown, and back out again.
When we finally arrive, it’s been two and a half hours and the sun is blazing high overhead. We are far from the lush vineyards and charming buildings. We’ve ridden to the base of the rocky and dusty mountains. Here there is only dust and garbage. The neighborhood is, quite literally, built on top of a landfill.
The “kids camp” that we are working with is run by a woman named Christina. It is held in her home, a two-room concrete building. Underneath a layer of tin, the roof is lined with cardboard pieces. The bathroom is outside, twenty feet from the house, and sporting a curtain door.
Every Saturday, Christina and six other women cook lunch for the children in the neighborhood. They play games and help them with their homework. “Estamos muy contentos de que estés aquí,” Christina says. “Hay mucho trabajo.”
We peel potatoes until the kids begin to arrive. Then it’s freeze tag for a straight hour. Our program is set to begin a few hours before lunch- a skit and lesson, songs and more games. Our theme is the story of the Good Samaritan.
Then my teammate Katie, our translator extraordinaire, pulls us aside. “I just found out that they aren’t Christians,” she says. “None of them. Not the kids, not the women, no one. They just do all this to be nice.”
(A side note: I don’t get that. If not for Jesus, I’d be leading a very different life. I can think of three job offers I would have accepted over the World Race. I might still have gone to Argentina one day, but I definitely wouldn’t have been there, in the dust and the garbage. What possesses someone to do good aside from Christ, I’ll never know. Such is the extent of my depravity, such is my need for a savior. Oh, what wretched man that I am, who can save me from this body of death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord.)
We quickly rework our program. We decide to go to square one. These women already know what it looks like to be a Good Samaritan. What they needed was Christ’s pursuit of them.
We decide to tell the story of the Good Shepherd and his lost sheep. I am a sheep in this skit, and getting on my hands and knees in this setting was a bit trying. A few feet from me there lay a used razor and a dirty diaper.
It’s a simple story, but our skit slays ‘em. We have Kimbra, the 100th sheep, hide, and our good shepherd asks the audience to look for her. “Is she over here?” Taylor asks. When the kids see her peeping out from behind the building, they go ballistic. Every time. We‘ve now done this skit twenty times in two different countries, and the kids are always the same. They actually turn rabid, jumping up and down and screaming “Allí! Allí!” There! There!
As I listened to Taylor’s post-skit message, I felt a hopelessness begin to creep in. “This story represents what Jesus did for us on the cross,” she says. “Esta drama representa lo que Jesús hizo por nosotros en la Cruz,” Katie translates.
All of these kids, I think to myself, all of these women. Living away from opportunity and from beauty, trying to do and be good. All without you, your truth, and your love. They are your lost sheep. Are you searching for them?
We don’t get to stay here and see how Celeste, the skinny girl with the long braid, will grow up. We don’t know if Christina will take our silly children’s skit to heart. We don’t know if Nahul, the little boy who keeps taking off his shirt, will remember the name of Jesus after we leave. And we have to go home eventually.
We are here to be servants of Christ. That’s all. We are here to be obedient to our small piece of his grand plan. I’m reminded of 1 Corinthians 3. (Actually, I was reminded of a few keywords, and I Googled the reference later.)
“What, after all, is Apollos? And what is Paul? Only servants, through whom you came to believe—as the Lord has assigned to each his task. I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The one who plants and the one who waters have one purpose, and they will each be rewarded according to their own labor.For we are co-workers in God’s service; you are God’s field, God’s building.”
This is the faith walk: recognizing that neither Celeste nor Christina nor Nahul are mine to save. They are his sheep, and he is the Good Shepherd. I am honored to plant a seed, maybe to water it, but I have to trust the Lord with the rest. As Christians, we crave that “close the deal” moment. We want to see the sinner’s prayer recited, the lives changed forever.
But we don’t always get that. And we walked away from that house and down the littered street to the bus stop. And we got on the bus and rode two and a half hours back to our base and we ate dinner and we went to bed.
