Blood-Stained.
Wide, blood-stained eyes.
That’s the first and last thing that I saw when I walked into a lonely coffee shop in the middle of Granada, Nicaragua.
It was our last day of ministry in Nicaragua. My team had split up for the first half of the day to do prayer walking in the surrounding community village area and in the city of Granada, which sits right on the edge of Lake Nicaragua- the biggest fresh water lake in all of Central America.
We had wandered into this shop on our way to the market to hand out a free plate of food to a local woman that we had made friends with earlier in the month. I could feel the warm food on my palm as I held the plastic plate. As soon as I had stepped into the small building, my eyes met his.
They were the first thing I noticed.
Wide and blood-stained, but also heavy. With a deep loneliness lingering just beneath the surface. So close, that it looked like it might burst forth at any moment.
Earlier that morning I had talked to God.
I was tired from prayer walking all month and was starting to feel more anxiety than excitement about it. I felt the obligation to have something to say to each family we visited or pray a meaningful, powerful prayer everywhere we went, but the thought of this was exhausting. So, I told God that.
He was very gracious with me, as usual. He brought to my attention that I had put Him in a box. I had limited Him to only using me for His purpose, if it looked like prayer or words of encouragement. I had been frantically seeking Him and asking Him for things to say or words for these people, when maybe that wasn’t what He wanted to do that day.
It was as if He was saying, “Rachel, let me be God”.
So, I changed my prayer for that morning.
I simply prayed, “Lord, would you use me today as your vessel to accomplish whatever it is You have purposed to do today? I am willing to let you use me, in whatever way that may look, so that Your will would be done, not mine. Empty all of me and fill me with all of You.”
It was that simple. It almost seemed too simple. But it somehow gave me a renewed sense of strength and motivation as we left our house that morning.
His wide eyes staggeringly stood out against his dark Nicaraguan skin. His hair was short and mangled. A garbage bag lay on the seat next to him that contained all the things he had to his name. He had on women’s clothing that was damp and dripping. He was covered from head to toe in glitter. He stood, barefoot, on the tile floor, staring at the three white people that had just came into his realm of existence.
He had been talking with the women at the counter and began singing karaoke style with his hand as a microphone. The women tried to avoid eye contact with him. They were embarrassed. They tried to apologize to us in Spanish. But I didn’t even notice because I couldn’t unlock my eyes from his.
He quickly began asking us for money- in between his karaoke breakouts. I tried to start a conversation with him. Asking him his name first. It was a very long name- many Central Americans have four or five names. I must have looked kind of puzzled trying to understand but he took that opportunity to let me know in English- “I am a man. I am gay.”
Looking back, this should have been an incredibly awkward situation for me to be in. I was all alone talking with this man- my two teammates had took a step back and were just watching from the back, as it was sort of confusing as to what was happening.
It was at least 15 minutes of Spanish back and forth of him asking me for money, telling me he’s lonely, and me sharing that I don’t have money, but that God’s love is better than anything money could buy and offering him the hot food of plate intended for a different lady in the market.
Our eyes were LOCKED this entire time. And he repeatedly would grab my hand and hold it or put it on his chest as he kept saying, “Mi amor”, before asking for money. But I felt like time froze for those 15 minutes and I could literally feel God’s love moving through me into this man. I didn’t have to pray or ask God for any profound words of wisdom. All I could feel was His love. His love for EVERYTHING- but especially for this man. It wasn’t hard or exhausting, it was just like an incredible overflow, spilling out of my pores.
It was difficult- next to impossible- to communicate with words because he was heavily influenced by alcohol, drugs, and lack of sleep. But, I knew that if I could just look into his eyes and let God’s love pour out of me that way, then maybe, just maybe, he would be able to feel just a fraction of God’s love for him.
When it came time to leave, I turned back. And this is why I know it was God moving in me and not of myself. Ask my family, I am not a huggy person. Like, I barely even hug my own family, even on special occasions! But God’s love just overwhelmed me and I turned around and held out my arms wide and said, “Brazo??” (hug).
He stopped and looked like he was unsure for a moment, as if it had been so long since someone had hugged him, just for the sake of it, that he didn’t even know how to proceed. I didn’t wait for him to respond, as I quickly wrapped my arms around his soaking wet-with who knows what- clothes and body.
As I walked out of that shop, I made sure to lock eyes with him again, as to imprint them in my mind- as a future reminder.
We aren’t called to be God- we are called to be love.
“When you feel in your marrow how you’re His Beloved, you do more than look for signs of His love in the world, more than have a sign of His love; you actually become a sign of His love.”
-Ann Voskamp
“A new commandment I give unto you, that you love one another; even as I have loved you. And by this all men will know that you are my disciples- If you have love one to another.”
-Jesus
Blessings from Cote d’ivoire <3
