I don’t like when people laugh at me. I don’t like to put myself out there, especially if I think being made fun of is a possibility. I don’t even like to attempt games or sports that I don’t already feel semi-competent in, for fear of looking silly.
These were all things I shared with my team last month in the Dominican Republic. I told them that I surprised myself with how unintimidated I was in trying to communicate with my limited Spanish. On past mission trips I was always very self-conscious and wouldn’t speak for fear of making a fool of myself. So last month I thanked God that I seemed to have overcome a fear of mine and was communicating a lot because of it.
Then we came to Km 17, Ecuador.
One day in particular was very hard for me. During a work day at the church, for about 2 hours straight, whether I was trying to help with construction or with cooking or just speaking Spanish, it seemed as though I couldn’t do anything right and all the locals were either staring or laughing at me. I sifted cement. They laughed. I tried to peel potatoes. They laughed, pointed, and switched me to another job. I peeled plantains. They laughed, even though I thought I was doing it right. I tried to have a conversation with them in Spanish. They laughed. I just stood there looking for something else to help with and they were all in the next room talking, laughing, and looking at me. They were laughing at me, and I couldn’t handle it.
I fought back the tears and hid behind the church. “Jesus, why are they laughing at me? This is ridiculous. Well, if they are going to laugh, I’m just not going to give them anything to laugh at.” I was like a turtle retreating into my shell, determined to be someone they could not penetrate. If I just withdrew, nothing could hurt me.
It’s not about you, it’s about Me.
Suddenly, in my hurt and frustration, I remembered a sermon I had been listening to the day before. It was about how our reputations mean nothing. Who cares what I look like – what does God look like to these people through my actions? How am I protecting His reputation above my own? It hit me hard that protecting myself, my own fragile feelings and insecurities, did nothing to further His kingdom. Maybe I would be “safe” , but what could I do for Him from that fetal position? It was time to step out. It was time to shed those insecurities and even be ok with being laughed at, if that was the case. It was time to live out the persistent love of Jesus for them through my actions, no matter how it would be received.
I walked back around the church building towards the kitchen, not confident or especially excited, but with a new determination in my heart. One of the pastor’s sons met me on the way, handed me a big leaf containing a boiled banana smothered in mayonnaise, and kindly said, “Hermana, para ti.” Walking back, with banana in hand, I decided to give my pride and insecurities over to Jesus and laugh along with them.
