Beautiful Messes

I've now lasted two months as a personally-selected foster Mom to a 15 year-old boy. He asked, I prayed about it, and I think God said “yes.” Why am I bringing this up? I don't know. And that brings up another point: I have realized these days just how much I don't know. It's so super easy as a single person (and this is such common knowledge that I know it's trite, but I'll say it anyway) to see how others raise their children and say, “What a rotten job they're doing, I would Never have children like that.” Until you find yourself in that role of trying to predict the unpredictable. Of facing odd silences and wondering if you said or did something to offend. Of wracking your brains and your heart trying to figure out how to teach things like respect, gratitude and responsibility without making someone feel small or humiliated. Of trying to teach ANYTHING at all without making someone feel stupid. Do I teach anything, or do I just shut up and love? What about when he comes home waaay too late from school, doesn't listen when you call and has that look on his face when asked to wash the dishes once in two days... after you've started cooking 6 days a week, looking for likes and dislikes, and have yourself washed a pile more dishes than normal just because you now can't eat bread and eggs three times a day? After you've given up freedom and a self-oriented schedule, stayed up late to make sure he ate when he got home from school at 10pm, only to wake up again at 3:30am to get ready for the radio program at 5? Invested money, time, prayer and as much love as you can possibly pour into someone, only to be met with ingratitude, rebellion and indolence?

Sometimes. And other times he opens his heart and pours out confessions of past sins, future hopes and present dreams. Or when he prays daily for your parents and Gram because he knows she fell and broke her hip. When he grabs the broom and sweeps without you telling him. When he accidentally lets your backpack slip from the back of a motor car, and your laptop gets run over, and he tells you with tears in his eyes that he wishes it'd been him under those tires (believe me, I knew he'd had disciplined himself enough in that case, and it was a great chance to show him unconditional love and forgiveness... though I confess in the first 3 minutes after I found out, my heart went through the mourning-anger-blame process as quickly as it possibly could, begging God silently for grace and the right response). I wrote in my journal this morning that I feel over-worked and under-appreciated... and then I laughed out loud. I think that most Moms of teenagers may possibly feel just that way. Parenthood. Even temporary foster-parenthood... what a beautiful mess.

Maybe this is why the sunsets seem more vibrant these days, the stars a bit brighter, the birdsong a little sweeter and my other worries or disappointments a little duller. Having something or someone to give to, beyond yourself is a very good thing. Especially if that someone is close enough to live in real relationship and not a convenient “when I feel like it, we can hang out,” sort of deal. It keeps you real – or points out your hypocrisy very quickly. Busy neighbors, fair-weather friends, and possible cardboard cut-out suitors on e-harmony aren't as helpful when it comes to that. So I admit, I'm bursting right now with gratitude to God for this sometimes-laughing, sometimes-jokey, sometimes helpful – and sometimes sullen boy who has been lent to me for a season, however long or short that season may be. And if you're reading this, I admit to being extra-eager for your prayers.

First Night

I spent the night for the first time last week in the house on the land. A rickety ladder and no walls, but what a glorious time! I feel God closer there, for some reason. There are no distractions (yet) to be had. It is quiet there, and the breeze is always sweet over the valley, unless it's windy, then it's downright wild. Walking across the wooden bridge to Paraíso, the songs of the different frogs were captivating. One high and sweet, and the other low and explosive, as if the frogs were little boys playing a game of war. The house is the last house on the road into the forest, our plot the last plot that the city has agreed could be settled and developed and not many have come to live on their land yet. The nearest neighbors  are carbon makers, and their flashlights were dancing as fireflies as they were preparing to rest for the night. I expect my flashlight marked a first point of light in the house in the black of the night as I carried my dog Máscara (the Mask in English) up the ladder to sleep. He went resignedly, for he hates to be lugged about, but I didn't want to make him sleep downstairs and was happy enough for the company upstairs.

This last week has seen its fair share of ups and downs. A family that I know only indirectly through a nephew of theirs, lost a wife and mother to a sudden illness, leaving a gaping hole in the lives of all around her. Not yet 40 years old, Anita died leaving six young girls who now will grow up without a mother's advice when they have their first boyfriend, when they walk the aisle toward the young man of their choice, and will achingly feel her absence when their first child is born. A mother leaving a son is heartbreaking enough, but a mother leaving a daughter behind is to me an unparalleled loss.

After the ceremony at the cemetery, I left hastily, having forgotten a commitment the previous day to pray for the elderly mother of another man I know. He had asked me to come pray for his mother the day before, but in the news and shock of Anita's death, the commitment had slipped my mind, and repentantly I hurried to fulfill the missed appointment. I arrived to find her son out fishing and so went alone, only to hear that her body is now rejecting the IV she's been on for months. Her time is short and her son was worrying to me the day before that he's not sure she's made her peace with God. Unable to speak, her communication is limited to nods and head shakes, but after praying with her, I dearly hope that in her nearest thoughts, God and her have made peace and she is able to go trustingly.

After the dismay of these two gut-wrenchers, I returned to the son's house to find his wife also feeling unwell and disheartened with a long bout of on-and-off-again sickness that has left the doctors confounded and herself despairing. We prayed together also, and it was such a welcome relief to see how God lifted her spirits and took away her bodily affliction. She was in a much better state when I left her, and again when I saw her the next day she was completely well, for which I am still so very grateful to God and thankful for the way He allows us to minister with Him. I wish I understood why in some cases He choses to heal, and in others He doesn't, but I am inexpressibly grateful for the times He does.

 I confess this week also that I have been feeling reclusive, glad that the children on the street are in school in the mornings and desiring to shut myself in my house until the heat becomes too oppressive, then glad enough to escape to the internet or to my hammock downstairs. Partly due to a nasty cold, and partly because there seem to be patches of time where I don't feel like I have either the oomph or the inclination to continue pouring out into the lives of my neighbors and those who cross my path. So I try to close off the path, keeping myself out of others' way as much as possible, God forgive me. The continual need around me, the repeated asking for money on almost a daily basis wears on me and my reserves of patience and love run out much faster than I would like. How did Jesus do this, I wonder? I know the answer comes from a continuous connection to the heart of the Father: that well of love and compassion that never runs dry, as well as the source of all wisdom that knows when to feed the thousands, and when to tell them that it's an “evil and adulterous generation (that) seeks a sign” (Matt 16:4), sending them discontentedly on their way. Sigh. I have so far yet to go, may God have patience with me and not abandon His work in me! May I learn the full meaning and experience the live truth of Psalms 87:7 “...all my springs are in you.”

Fire with Fire

 Lying in bed the first night in the dark, the situation hit me as surreal. On one side of the valley there was a raging party. Buen Retiro was full swing in their anniversary celebration and the volume on the audio system was loud enough that it sounded like my neighbors had their stereo on full force. Except that the party was at least four blocks away.

The music wasn't quite loud enough however, to drown out the sound of gunfire on the other side of the valley. Wednesday night was the first night of the town uprising against the mayor, against injustice, with all the frustrations that corruption in government bring. On the way home from the gathering in Juan's house, we had walked by the town court where the mob was centered, with rumors that the mayor was inside, that the judge he had bought to exonerate him was inside, and who knows who else. The townspeople were pitting all their fury against the building, throwing broken cement pieces at the windows, and when we passed, they were ramming the doors below with a post-turned-battering ram, a man was pushed from the second story and a fire was lit in the entryway. Molotov coctails were being thrown into the broken windows above and a spirit of violence was heavy in the air. The people wanted blood. At ten, Iquitos sent reinforcements, riot police with tear gas and guns, and the people retreated.

And last night, the second night of the strike, the people got what they wanted. Why they choose to fight only at night is anyone's guess, but the riot police stopped playing and started shooting into the crowd. Tonight there's one youth dead, one child hit by a stray bullet and chances are very good, another two youths have passed from critical condition to join the first. Such senselessness. I guarantee you that the mayor and his officials haven't been hurt. I guarantee you that the leaders of the parties who are instigating the townspeople to rise up haven't been hurt. Only the youth who don't truly even know why they're there, and the policemen who have the very ornerous task of trying to maintain order in a town gone crazy.

My friend Juan saw the first young man shot in front of his house, hit from behind while running from the police with the rest of the crowd. His family had to leave their home because the tear gas was so bad, and he had stayed to watch the house only to be caught in the melee with images he now can't erase from his mind.

Tonight all is quiet and hearts are heavy. It's 8:30, and I pray it will stay that way the rest of the night (it did). Lord, have mercy. Do please pray for Nauta with me. Injustice and corruption are evil, but fighting fire with fire will only make more people hot... and an “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth” will soon leave the whole world blind and toothless.

"He has told you, O man, what is good;

and what does the LORD require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?" Micah 6:8

"Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all.  If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord. To the contrary, if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals on his head.  Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." 
Romans 12:17-21

Airport Trust Fund

There was a knot in the pit of my stomach, and the night was falling quickly. At the same time yesterday I was already heading away from the Quito airport, for the first time in my life having erred on the date and had shown up for my flight a day early. My embarrassment was only equaled by my feeling of helplessness, not knowing where I would stay, and... night falling quickly.

Trust is a big issue for me, and I KNOW God is good. He's proven Himself over and over... and over. But still I doubt. Not that He wouldn't be good, but that I won't hear Him correctly or that maybe this time I've messed up once too much and He'll leave me to my own devices. Which would really stink, because my own devices are pretty flimsy... even though when I start to doubt, I still think I need to lean on those splintered sticks.

So yesterday, one day too early, and today... well. God had provided a place to stay at the HCJB guesthouse last night and I had been able to pick up the bag I had accidentally left at the first hostal I stayed in. My email was nicely being caught up, and amazing Lois Price had appeared at the guesthouse too, a retired nurse who still lives in the jungle of Ecuador and sweetly invited me tolunch with her. My afternoon plan was to grab some snacks for the airport, shower at 5 and run to the bus stop. Lois thought that would be a bit late for my 8pm flight, but I was sure it would be fine. “You're the expert!” Lois remarked after I told her of my dry run yesterday. However, I hadn't counted with the rain. And the rush hour traffick. At 5:30 I was standing in the rain with Lois holding an umbrella, and every taxi that passed was full. So we walked to the corner. And to the other corner. And down the block. By the time I grabbed a taxi and made it the half-mile to the bus station, it was almost 6pm. And the ride to the airport is over an hour. In rush hour traffic.

Sitting in the bus, waiting for it to fill up and seeing the sky darken... I started to get that knot in the pit of my stomach. What if one day I was WAY to early... and the other day I missed it altogether? That would also be a first. 6pm. 6:05. At 6:10 we left the station and crawwwlled out of the city. My Dad's advice as a TSA agent were ringing in my ears... “Always arrive too early, rather than too late!” So? I prayed. At first I prayed my mantra, “Father, please open the door so that I can go through.” Then I prayed, “God, please delay the flight coming into Quito from Guayaquil.” Then I realized how selfish and well... panicky I was feeling. So I started to pray “God, please help me glorify you no matter what happens.” And I started to pray for ANYone who came to mind. Alli Mellon. The persecuted church in North Korea (THAT will put one's momentary troubles in focus like nothing else!), I prayed for people in Nauta, for youth that had left Nauta to look for work,... and the knot remained. God's still small voice broke through as I squirmed... “Do you trust me, Crystal? Do you trust me?”

Yes. No. Yes. No. “Yes” as I focused on my knowledge of God's faithfulness. “No” as the bus crawled through the jammed streets. 7pm. How far away were we? 7:10. The bus picked up speed. “Do you trust me?” Oh Lord. I had to confess. I don't trust very well. I was already planning how I would need to look for a bus to the Ecuador/Peru border back in Quito. At 7:23 we pulled into the airport and I sped up the stairs to the LAN counter. “8pm flight?” the attendant asked as I was whisked through... breathing sigh upon sigh of relief. Yes, God, Yes! I trust you!

And then I was miraculously in line, waiting to board.

“Reitsma, Crystal, please approach the ticket counter...” What was this? I haven't been summoned to the ticket counter since Februrary of 2008. “Your baggage has been selected for a random search” said the agent. “Follow me please.” Seriously? The flight left in ten minutes and... “Do you trust me?” Oh Lord. Yes. I do. So we ran down back through security, through the waiting people, outside to where the luggage was being... no, had already been loaded on the belts to the plane, and there sat my red backpack, lonely. It was opened, peeked in, questioned... and we were off and running again, back into the building, back up the stairs, back through security, and down to the very empty gate.

Last one on? Yes. On the plane? Yes.

 Oh Jesus, why is trust so hard? Why do I feel I have to figure everything out, have a plan B, and C... and maybe even D, doubting God's provision, His willingness, His very love. I don't know. Trusting Him comes hard, even with a mountain of evidence in His favor. Trust for the ministry when all looks sparse. Trust for friendship when friends are scarce. But I do know that I want to live out trust more. And live much less in the panicky, tight-fisted, close-hearted cynicism that I seem to have garnered over the last few years. He proves Himself over and over... and even if I HAD missed the flight, even if I had NO place to stay... would He still be good and trustworthy?

This.

"More and more, the desire grows in me simply to walk around, greet people, enter their homes, sit on their doorsteps, play ball, throw water, and be known as someone who wants to live with them. It is a privilege to have the time to practice this simple ministry of presence. Still, it is not as simple as it seems. My own desire to be useful, to do something significant, or to be part of some impressive project is so strong that soon my time is taken up by meetings, conferences, study groups, and workshops that prevent me from walking the streets. It is difficult not to have plans, not to organize people around an urgent cause, and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress. But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn't be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them."

-Henri Nouwen

Gurglings

This may be a bit over-dramatic... but here goes.

Half the time, if you don't hear from me, it's because my head is under water. Not the real, liquid type that gets in your ears and nose and makes your vision blurry, but the other kind. The murky water of life that gets in your ears and nose and makes your vision blurry. The kind that makes it hard to see where you're going and even harder to communicate that to someone. When your head's under water, it's hard to talk,... and if you do, it's hard for anyone to understand you. So if you don't understand this post, don't worry... it's because my head is under water.

On one hand, maybe that's a good thing because maybe, just maybe, I'm finally submerged in that glorious river to which Ezekiel 47 refers, in that cryptic passage about the river that comes out of the temple of God and runs deeper and deeper until you can only cross it swimming.

Or, maybe I'm not.

It sure doesn't feel like I'm being swept along by the Spirit of God, it just feels like I'm being pulled under. If it's the Spirit of God sweeping me along, then I'm humbly grateful. If it's the worries and cares of this life, if it's my like-a-top constantly spinning mind trying to figure out the whys and hows of life, if it's a wrong turn in the path, or a character flaw that God is trying to purify out of my slow-to-learn heart, then I wouldn't mind getting out of this whirling eddy and sit on the bank for a while.

These last few months have given me ample material for rumination. Nothing earth-shattering, like death in the family, or similar tragedies. Just a steady stream of unfortunate coincidences that have turned into a rushing torrent in my mind, and made me question which side is up. Four teams have failed to appear this year, two of which informed us of their inability/decision not to come, and two who just dropped communication altogether, no warning or explanation given. It gave me that same eerie sensation that I had as a child when I'd come home from school and no one would be there. I would be ok at first, then would start to wonder paranoically if the rapture had occured and I had been left behind... The paranoia that creeps in under these circumstances is a sneaky suspicion that God is telling people, “don't go to Peru with Crystal, because... (fill in any number of reasons here)”

Now blend that with a visa that just refuses to be renewed, a diploma that continues to come back to me in Latin (this would require much more explanation), and patterns that I see repeating themselves in the personal realm (miscommunication, strained friendships and my aforementioned tendency to paranoia)... and I'm starting to wonder if perhaps --I really am the problem--. Confrontation and conflict resolution have never been strong suits of mine. I know I could use more work on those skills and lately I have been steadily presented with multiple opportunities to pare those skills toward perfection. Selfishness and self-pity, and a sense of futile inadequacy have also risen to the surface of this cesspool. God saying “no” to going home to my brother's wedding, the death of a dear pastor's wife here in Nauta, the knowledge that there are pastors who talk about me disparagingly behind my back (who DOES that, going about bearing tales?) and so on. All of which add together to lend a unsettling sense of being adrift in a troubled sea. What's going on, God?

The waters closed in over me to take my life;

the deep surrounded me;

weeds were wrapped about my head

Jonah. I must confess he has been a recurring theme in my life in the past. But I don't think I am trying to run from God's will right now... it's just rather murky, and currently indecipherable to me.

I resonate more with Psalms 42:7

Deep calls to deep

at the roar of your waterfalls;

all your breakers and your waves

have gone over me.

And the same Psalm repeatedly voices,

Why are you cast down, O my soul,

and why are you in turmoil within me?

Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,

my salvation and my God.

Yet. I am convinced of this. That He who began a good work in me will be faithful to bring it through to completion. Today the birds are belting out their joy and praises to the king. There is much to do, but He who does the work is faithful. He is. And will continue to be.

“...if we are faithless, he remains faithful—for he cannot deny himself.” II Timothy 2:13

Even if I fail. Even if I at some point in my life am faithless, wittingly or unwittingly. Even if I stumble, He still is able to sustain His work. This is my trust, this my confidence, this my undying hope. I rest in His ability, in His grace, in His unquenchable glory.

Are you also in turbulent waters today? May you and I, at the end of the day, be able to say with David,

He drew me up from the pit of destruction,

out of the miry bog,

and set my feet upon a rock,

making my steps secure.

- Psalms 40:2

Come, let us lift up our hands to the Father of Lights, and the Author of Life and cry out with the Psalmist,

from the end of the earth I call to you

when my heart is faint.

Lead me to the rock

that is higher than I,

- Psalms 61:2

5 Guys

Five boys from Nauta far from home.

Abandoned by their Mom 2 years ago.

Living with their great-aunt and their sometimes Dad.

And all I could see, written on their faces was the crushing weight of being.

Unwanted. Burdensome. Unloved.

What do you do when your heart breaks?

"He has told you, O man, what is good;

and what does the Lord require of you

but to do justly, and to love kindness,

and to walk humbly with your God?" 

- Micah 6:8