Home.

Living in Guatemala, I spend a lot of time subconsciously trying to figure out which culture of the many that surround me I should "be," and possibly even more time making myself decide where to call home. 

As a bridge-builder at heart, I want to be able to cross over completely and BE chapina.  I've chosen to live here for the time being and I want this world to make sense and feel like home.  I want to pull out a flawless accent and witty vernacular and prove that I'm one of "us," that I "get it."  I don't like being different, in the other-than and apart-from sense of the word; it makes me feel discounted. 

However, the part of me that did in fact grow up entirely a US citizen and spent all-but-the-entirety of my developing years in one town and one small sub-culture of close-knit people who all speak with the same accent of our common language is still fairly certain that life would be immensely more comfortable there.  But somehow, to embrace that, I have to leave this behind, and to embrace this, I have to forsake that. Right?

Here I sit, asking constantly if I should sacrifice all the old and join myself to the new (and how long would that really take?) while all the while I fully realize that I'll never erase 22 years spent in another world, and if that were ever God's plan, I wouldn't have been born there in the first place!  

I've convinced myself that I have to be one thing or the other.  It's as though every time a piece of gringo shows up (which, let's be honest, is preeetty often), it overwhelmingly discounts all the little pieces of chapina that I've worked so hard to learn.  The tiniest piece of my not-so-former self can make me feel like I've failed at something that God has never asked of me to begin with. 

Slowly, I'm learning that to love someone doesn't mean I have to become them. 

Yes, Jesus became human.  But he never quit being God.  Not even for a second.  And just for good measure, you couldn't really make a case for him fitting in as a normal human while he walked this green earth any more than you could make a case for Renae Wolf fitting in as a normal Guatemalan in San Lucas.  But did Jesus ever love us!  He brought to bear every ounce of who he was, and sacrificed, and understood even when he was misunderstood, and loved us! 

Can I tell you how comforting that is??  This life can be done.

My prayer is no longer that God would "make me a Guatemalan," or even that he would make me a "not American" (more on that here).  My prayer is that the Master of culture-crossing and the Creator of my heart would speak to me every day the Truth of who I am.  I want to learn the ins and outs of my home culture as God's daughter and a citizen of Heaven who is desperately longing for Home.  

"But we are citizens of heaven, exiles on earth waiting eagerly for a Liberator, our Lord Jesus the Anointed, to come and transform these humble, earthly bodies into the form of His glorious body by the same power that brings all things under His control." 

- Paul, to the Philippians

How big would the box have to be?

Traveling outside of your home country has a way of opening your mind.  Living outside of your home country has a way of messing with it.  

Little did I know that the day I flew out of MSP for GUA, I'd essentially traded in my personal identity for a laundry list of "All Americans do/say/are ________ ."  To nearly every person I meet, I am a 180 cm blonde gringa with a crazy accent and no prayer of ever looking like I belong here.  Almost conclusively.  As such, there are several more assumptions that can pretty easily be made about what kind of person I am, what I like and dislike, and whether or not we could ever understand each other and be friends.  Some may very well line up with reality, but some are FAR, far from the truth, and only the most open of hearts will ever stick around long enough to tell the difference.  

I can't tell you how many people have walked away satisfied with a rather odd idea of who I am or what I'm doing here.  ( Nor could I tell you how many times I've done the same thing to someone else who seemed to fit into one of my pre-fab boxes! )  

I don't want to be lumped in with everyone else who has the same color hair as I do.  I don't love it that people I haven't met will assume that I don't make any sense just because I have blue eyes.  I miss the identity that used to be based on who I really was... so I start to do some really strange things -- Just to distance myself from "them" with whom I have been inescapably lumped.  I start to do things that don't make sense.  Like speaking Spanish to English speakers.  Or not claiming to be an American during grouping activities.  Or ignoring foreign visitors who probably need a friendly face. Or any number of other awkward things I've done that just don't deserve to be mentioned, but were equally as unnecessary! 

And it's not because I hate my country!  I just can't handle the us / them wall that goes up around me when I choose the English-speaking side of the room, and there's this atomic-strength pulse inside of me that really badly wants to prove that I'm not just an American.  ¡Muchá, I'm a person!  A woman, a sister, a thinker, a listener, a musician, a snarky jokester, a daughter, a mentor, a learner, an explorer, a sinner and a Christ-follower.  And YES, a long-time resident of the great state of Minnesota, a German/Irish/Welsh/Whoknowswhatelse European (see what I did there?), and an American.  ALL of those things and more.  And I'm not the same as everyone else from any given one of the groups I've come from. 

I am learning what it feels like to be in the minority.  I live a golden life by any standard, and it's still not easy.  Prejudice comes in many shapes and sizes; it is at best annoying and at worst painfully degrading.  Let's be careful with our boxes, friends.  I have yet to meet a person who fits really well inside of one.  

Some of the amazing girls from church who have gone a long way to explore my "box" and make me feel like family.  ¡Las quiero mucho!

A Gentle Reminder

La Vía Dolorosa

I had the privilege of going with a handful of our girls to a vivid presentation of God's love for us and the price he paid for our freedom.  Sitting amongst a pile of friends, babies, and small children is my new favorite way to enjoy all angles of God's story.  Did I mention that there were babies??  Sweet, precious Arquilla babies and their beautiful, brave, young, learning about life the hard way mammas.  We had a lovely evening together. 

I also had the privilege of walking with one of our girls through a crowded auditorium - once toting the diaper bag and once holding her baby.  Now, if there's one thing living in Central America has gotten me used to, standing out and having random strangers downright stare at you is definitely close to the top of the list.  Not a day goes by where someone doesn't bluntly point out that I'm very different from everyone else in this country.  Thank you, I'm going to choose to embrace that.  But let me tell you, we got some looks walking through that auditorium; the kind of looks that make my "mother bear" realize it's Spring time.  

Yes, ma'am.  This girl is very obviously a new, inexperienced mother.  Good catch!  You have probably also noticed that she doesn't exactly have a diamond ring on her finger.  

But ma'am?  

You know absolutely nothing else about her!  Maybe she is a foolish girl seducing for love in all the wrong places.  But I'm here tonight with a friend who had been through hell and back before she even qualified as a teenager, who made it out on the other side with another life depending on her for the safety she didn't even have herself, and that's all the compassion you can shoot her way?  Impressive.  I realize we just crossed your path, but I sincerely doubt that that gave you the whole picture you needed to judge appropriately.

At about this point, I realize that I'm doing the same thing I'm mad at "those people" for doing: drawing conclusions about someone's character without bothering to meet my fellow God's-image-bearer.  Ouch.  

All of this going down as the greatest story of God's grace plays on in the background.  Good heavens, do we ever need that grace! 

So Renae, before you pounce, take a second to pray
and before you assume, please ask
and if that second pause only makes you mad, 
go ahead and take an hour or two at the feet of the man who had to die just to save you...

until you can come to the point of rejoicing in God's grace

... For "creepy-looking guy" loafing outside the grocery store
... For the mom who smells like smoke and is yelling at a kid
... For the rich couple who just zoomed by you on the highway 
... For the pregnant teen who looks like she's enjoying herself
... and for the tall woman sitting in front of you with a noisy baby =)

and take a reminder to be gentle. 

Matthew 6:22

And Jesus cries because He loves ‘em both

We've had a week of victory in the world of justice here at Oasis .  
     Truth has silenced lies ,
          Light has revealed darkness , 
               Evil has been bound and the innocent set free!

The same God who empowered a shepherd boy to slay a great and horrible giant has empowered our amazing , special , vulnerable little girls to stand up against their own terrifying , powerful giants . . .  and win .   Justice has won.  

I can't tell you how proud I am of our girls .  There are absolutely no words for it .  They have stared evil in the face and spoken truth .  Brave .  They have healed enough to see through the shame and threats and manipulation of past abuse and discover who they are . Courageous .  They are being made new .  They have said with confidence, "I am God's daughter .  I belong to a God of justice."  Friends, these little ones are Strong . 

It's been a pretty amazing week. 

But I wasn't prepared for the tide of emotions that came when I opened an article in the Prensa Libre covering the successful arrest of a couple of our girls' "bad guy."  H e a v e n   a n d   e a r t h .   Please pray before you open that link , if you open it.  In this corner of Guatemala, darkness has come to light and evil has been bound, and that is gloriously righteous!  But for this man, the darkness still holds him captive.  His soul is shattered-broken and evil wraps around his neck like a chain.  Oh, his face . . .  He is wicked.  
God loves him. 

He is wicked.  God loves him.  

How do you reconcile that?  God's infinite love and man's deep wickedness can only meet in one place : Jesus Christ hanging on a cross to pay for all of it.  That love is expensive.  

Will this man ever see how much he is worth?  Or will he go to his bitter grave refusing to accept the mercy God offers him?  My heart hurts for him.  My heart hurts for everything he has done to my sweet friends.  
Love is really expensive. 

I am wicked.  God loves me.   
You are wicked.  God loves you.

"… I wondered why
The good man died, the bad man thrives
And Jesus cries because he loves ‘em both
… "

 - Josh Garrels Farther Along

When it gets personal.

This is a post from Medical Team week back in November.  For more information about what that week is like on a practical level, I'll have to write a separate post.  =) 

. . .

This week made me think about what a difference it makes to have a connection to the people we work with, not just to the work we’re doing with them.   For example, I came to Guatemala to work with a ministry that helps girls and their families heal from life-shattering abuse.  Easily said. 

But I know Mercy*.  She came to us after spending a week in the hospital thanks to her abuser.   At the same time as we started praying for her surgery and recovery, we started praying for her sister Mara* to be rescued as well.   The sister that then came every visitor’s day for months and comforted Mercy when it was time for them to leave again, “You’ll be ok, Mercy.  It’s so nice here! Don’t cry, let’s go swing for a little bit.” 

 Now I know Mara, and when she showed up at the Oasis on Wednesday, what we do here became a thousand times more real.   I wanted to do a happy dance and cry at the same time.  I was a ball of excitement that broke down sobbing and ended up jumping, laughing, dancing.  How can you put words to it?  You’re safe, little one!  What you’ve had to live through to come here breaks .  my .  heart .   But tonight…  you’re safe.  

She’s not just a name.  She’s not just our 49th bed.  She’s an answer to prayer and a piece of my heart.   Abba, let the healing begin! 

* as always, the names used on this blog have been changed to protect our girls.  

12 hours later, we were back in Zapote.   In comes the woman we'd just seen yesterday.  The sweet, tiny, young mother of 3 whose womb has been bleeding for as many years… and whose soul has been bleeding for 30.  She asks the doctor about symptoms and medicine, but we all know there’s more to the story.  

Photo Credit: Stacy Carter-Studios

He asks the question and I pray desperately for ears to understand as she whispers out pain, and shame, and guilt, and desperation, and heartbreak, and hopelessness that I’ll never know.  She falters when the past is too much to remember, and surges of pain from the womb that weeps for her sometimes silence her altogether.  But she pushes on into a story of hope and power and faith and the miraculous hugeness of God Almighty, with redemption so beautiful that I want to sing!  But still there’s the look on her face every time she throws out a new evil that has blackened her story, wondering how we’ll take it.  The way she says that most people don’t believe it was ever that bad… nor that God was ever that good to her.   

We believe you, sister!  We’re not going to judge you.  How could we?  It is for this that Jesus Christ died. 

God's mission is so much bigger, so much more personal than I ever would have imagined.  It happens one person at a time, and every time it takes God himself stepping in to redeem what is broken.  It's absolutely amazing. 

Losing Control

I scheduled the next day at 11:59 pm, jam-packed for 14 hours out of the next 20.  Nothing big or significant, just a crazy end to what had been a stressful week.   Our girls were off in so many different directions that we’d plum run out of tías!   So I had agreed to play back-up, but everyone seemed to have a different idea of what that was going to look like... and none of those ideas seemed to consider the to-do list I had for myself that day.  To be perfectly honest, the official hour-by-hour plan included an optional 15 minutes to go cry in a corner.   

But can I tell you something?

This day that God gave me to live has honestly been one of the sweetest yet!  After pulling in to work way too early in the morning having forgotten both my computer and my phone (two things I always remember…) I got to spend the entire morning cuddled up on the couch reading children’s books & picture Bible stories with some of our younger girls.  We ran around outside in the cool, breezy sunshine.  We made up goofy line dances to Christian a capella music.   And that was how God gave his daughter four solid hours of quality time in one morning!  Wonder of wonders, there was no drama, no ugly words, no testing all the limits, and no serious medical emergencies.   

It was the day that God resolutely cleared my plate of things I didn’t need to do (even things that I really love doing) and filled it up with significance, unconventional productivity, and unexpected joy. 

We have such a wonderful Abba!  He really knows how to love his kids. 

Footprints

A very wise young woman encouraged me a while ago to choose special markers of God's love, little "mini altars" if you will, as a way to remember his faithfulness throughout the day when they show up in my life.  For her, it was hearts; heart-shaped leaves, heart-shaped rocks, heart-shaped spills, reminding her in every situation how much God loved her. 

For me, it has been footprints; in the wet sand on a beach, on decals stuck to the front of a bus, even little footprints of "Renae, I just couldn't hold it" tracked through the entire house, reminding me in every situation that God is with me.  It's like having a secret handshake with a close friend; the littlest thing can really make my day! 

That said, sometimes God goes beyond the simple-minded limits we so often choose to be satisfied with.  He is loving and faithful, but that doesn't necessarily mean predictable! 

Just the other week, on my way back from a short visa-renewal trip to Costa Rica, I was sitting at a familiar gate in Juan Santamaría International airport thinking about how odd it was to be flying from "not my country" to yet another "not my country".  Usually, sitting in an airport means that I'm about to see my family or that I just got to see my family for at least a little bit, and while I'd just spent a wonderful week with an old friend, there's nothing quite like the comforting feeling of home.  This was the first trip I've taken from one relatively unfamiliar place to another and back again, and it was a rather odd feeling!

Hiking Volcán Barva in Costa Rica

As I sat there talking to God about this temporary homelessness that is living in a foreign country, I started daydreaming about how nice it would be to see someone from home, from church maybe, because there's just something about being with someone who knows where you're from, not just where you are.  I racked my brain for reasons why anyone I could think of would be traveling through that tiny wing of Juan Santamaría . . . finding none, I settled back down to reading my book. 

Except it seems that God wasn't through with our conversation, because who should show up just then but the pastor of the little church I call home in barely-a-dot-on-the-map San Lucas!  God sent a kind greeting not from Ramsey, not from my physical family, but something better.  It was as if he had put his arm around me and whispered, "You have a new home now, with me, and your family is bigger than you could ever imagine!  I am your Father.  I take very good care of my daughters." 

And it's wildly true.