On becoming globally minded

I have a few blog posts that I wrote in Nicaragua...I will get around to posting them soon enough. But for right now I feel the need to share with you a few things on my heart upon my return.
There was so much that happened on our trip that I could write for days on. But the most important thing I feel compelled to share with you at this moment is not the “details” per say, but the lessons. The world perspective.

99.9% of the rest of the world does not live like we do in America. I can’t stress or say it enough. Our homeless are richer than the “middle class” Nicaraguans. And every...and I mean EVERY, person needs to go once in their lifetime to truly understand and “get it”. I am tired of hearing Americans say, “well, there are the poor around us that need us here”...And to that I will say, “True...so go do it”...BUT if you truly get and understand the “Great Commission” that the Lord called all of us to; it was not only to those around us...it went further than just our neighbors....
Acts 1:8 “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you are to be my witnesses in Jerusalem, to Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth”... It isn’t a “choice” as to if we are called, but as to when we will go.

*Sorry, this is a soapbox I could preach on...don’t get me going, because I am passionate about this issue.* So let me keep going before I unravel at the seams. Cause I can feel the steam rising*
The stark reality of the desperate state of poverty we were entering in to was there to greet us upon our arrival.
When we exited the airport doors on that Sat night, we literally were thrust into an arm wrestling war with the “beggars” outside who wanted to help us load our things into our truck so they could reap the benefit of a tip. In my struggling Spanish I tried screaming, “No we don’t need your help! We have it!”...And I am not exaggerating when I say it was a fight. It was the WWF wrestling match...physical grabbing war....and in the end, my fight wasn’t strong enough and a few bags slipped away from my grip.

As we drove away from the airport watching the “helpers” plead with us for some money, I was instantly struck with the “Wow, we aren’t in Kansas anymore Toto”....feeling. A major slap of culture shock to the jaw.

We awoke early the next morning to drive the two hour drive to our “project”; where we would be staying for the next few days. As we drove through Managua at 5am, the sun rising on the poverty wasn’t the only thing that caught my attention. It was the smell. The smell of raw sewage and exhaust. The smell of dirty. It is a smell you can’t describe until you experience it.

Like I said, I have been down to Nicaragua two times before. But I was, once again, overwhelmed and shocked at the sights and smells...as if I had never seen it before. Oh how easily I had forgotten the truths of our many blessings we have here in the US.
How easily I had become callused.....and numb.

I want to fast forward a bit to the church service/wedding we attended that morning in the village of Bethel. As we arrived and were ushered on stage as the church’s “special missionary guests from the US”, I was overwhelmed and humbled. I wanted nothing more but to sit in the back row and blend into the existence of the people. But we couldn’t. We were their honored guests. And it felt so uncomfortable. I didn’t deserve any honor.

I am pretty sure it was a combination of sheer exhaustion, overwhelmedness, and heat that made the intensity of the worship service what it was for me that morning, but when the singing began, I was unable to hold back my tears any longer. I looked out the iron gated windows into the shanty houses around me, watched the chickens and cows and children running around in the dirt, and was flooded with emotion at the true praise and worship that was happening right in front of me. They praised God, loud and strong, in the midst of....nothing. Or what we would call nothing anyways. At that moment, those people were richer than me in their understanding of God’s provision, goodness, mercy, and grace. And were worshiping Him like they meant it. Oh how disgusted I felt at myself. How I pleaded for repentance that morning with the Lord. How I asked for forgiveness for my poor and ungrateful soul.

As the tears rolled down my cheeks I prayed that no one would look at my poor American white face and wonder what I was crying about. You see, I wasn’t crying for them...I was crying for us. For our nation. For our selfishness. For our lack of understanding of the riches of God’s blessing on our land. We simply don’t get it.

There were many times throughout the week that we spent traveling from place to place in the back of an open cattle truck. Sometimes the roads would get so bad that we we slow down to a creep, to make it over the enormous potholes in the road. At some places, there were children, babies no older than 6 or 7 years old, standing by those potholes with shovels...offering to fill in the holes for some money. It would break my heart every time. I never could get “used” to seeing that.

I know this blog feels a bit....disjointed....without flow....but I am writing as it comes.
And I don’t want this blog to seem like a “poor them” blog by sharing all of this with you. Because that isn’t the intention of my heart. This blog, is meant to be a “poor us” blog. Poor us....what a poor disgusting and ungrateful nation we are. It literally makes me sick to my stomach.

You see, when I was there, my heart was content. I almost, didn’t want to leave for that very reason. I felt joy in my heart in a deeper way. I felt gratefulness and thankfulness in a new and honest way. I felt as if I was making a contribution to work alongside of the people and truly be of help. Helping to be the Lords hands and feet directly supplying needs.
I don’t get that feeling here. I feel as if I am scrambling to muddle through the rat race of this life in a pursuit of...., well....a pursuit of WHAT?

As my last blog stated, I am left still with an overwhelemedness that brings tears to my eyes. A feeling that I have yet to determine what I am to do with. But one that I don’t want to rest.
If it is only is to compel others to be global minded in their thought process, than I will do it. I will shout that truth from the tops of the mountains. I know some people have differing views on “short term mission trips” and their true intentions. And in my opinion, these short trips aren’t about the people you are going to “help”. You are the people being helped.

If the church in America could wake up and “get it”....if every person in every church in the US traveled to a third world country on a short term mission trip at least once, could you imagine the RADICAL revival that would take place in our churches here. Simply out of a better understanding of the riches and mercies and blessings we have been given here. Don’t you think we would love deeper than we do now? Don’t you think that the “pettiness” that churches deal with on a daily basis, would fade away in light of this life and what truly matters?

I don’t know, call me naïve....But I have such a new anger that burns inside me. A global perspective. A righteous anger....One of justice and mercy. Oh how I can only understand a fraction of the disgust and anger the Lord must feel when He looks down at our nation.

I could go on and on and on...and would love nothing more than to have a cup of coffee with each of you and discuss this global mess we live in. Pray with me as I fight these feelings inside. Pray with me that this “anger” doesn’t turn into bitterness towards the church in the US....but instead compels me to encourage and help others along.

Oh dear friend, pray for us. For our church. For our neighbors in Judea and Samaria....and to the ends of the earth.
Amen y Amen.