The sun beats down on us in the truck-bed as we pull up to a wide-open, parched field. As my teammates jump out and greet the kids that have gathered, I unpack Hosanna’s guitar to tune it (this morning I let some kids in another community play it for a good half hour and suffice it to say that the tone is a bit off). I am just finishing the first string when little brown faces appear over the edge of the truck-bed walls and I am joined by several niños. I hand my pick to one of them and let him strum while I finger different chords and keep the beat with my right hand on the wood of the guitar. As more kids jump up to join us, I show them how to beat the truck walls like a drum. One of the girls knows every word to my simple repertoire of Spanish worship songs, and we begin to sing “Abre mis ojos, O Cristo! Abre mis ojos, te pido. Yo quiero verte. Yo quiero verte.� The moment makes my heart explode with joy and a sense of “THIS is worship!� We fill the thick heat of afternoon with discordant music that is so full of enthusiasm and life that it is beautiful.
As time passes, Kate approaches me and I set aside my guitar.
“Will you share your testimony?� she asks. “We want to do a program, but it’s mostly kids and I feel like your testimony would be most appropriate for them.�
My heart skips a beat. I haven’t shared my testimony since a month ago in Guatemala, after prepping all afternoon and carefully writing out bullet points… I try to find excuses.
“Who will translate?�
She tells me that Hector (our new friend who recently rededicated his life to Christ after praying with my teammates) is there and is willing to translate. The opportunity is obviously of the Lord. And it’s mostly kids, so what am I afraid of? I’ll keep it short and simple.
“Ok, sure,� I say, exuding more confidence than I feel.
Ten minutes later, I find myself in front of a growing group of people, a couple kids still hanging off me as I feel nerves rising. I try to organize my thoughts as I loosen a little girl’s grip on my arm and watch her sit down with Kate. Hector is beside me, waiting for me to speak. I begin to share. As has happened in the past, I forget myself and the myriad of eyes on me as the Holy Spirit takes over and feeds me words. Hector’s translation gives me time to move forward in my mind. I talk about being hit by a car, the agony of losing the ability to run and questioning God about why He did not heal me. Finally, I narrate the moment when I asked Him, “Why have you taken away my passion?� and He replied, “I only want you to have ONE passion.�
I sit down among the kids and one of my new amigas climbs into my lap. I braid her hair as my teammates perform a drama to the song “Agnus Dei� in Spanish. I cannot see them, but I imagine the tears in the eyes of those around me as they watch the moving enactment. Victor shares a simple gospel message after that. As he finishes speaking, he turns to my teammate, gesturing to a woman in the crowd.
Darkness has fallen by the time we gather our things and hop back into the truck-bed, stirring up clouds of dust as we bounce back up the bumpy road that brought us here only a few hours ago.
