Today was our first day in the village. We arrived ready to do whatever was asked of us, but not entirely sure what the requests might be. Before we left camp in the morning, we shared with each other our anxieties, concerns, and hopes for the week, and then prayed with and for one another. We also reminded ourselves of why we're here.
Many of our supporters have asked us expectant questions about the trip:
"So, are you building something down in Mexico?
What will you be working on?
What will be the results?"
I suppose many missions trips are projects of construction, and so people (especially those of us here in the US) are accustomed to seeing photos of volunteers with hammers, scaffolding, or paint brushes when they send a short-term missions team to the airport. In this case, picture our family, joined with a couple of other families, alongside a few young men and women, and finally surrounded by local families and young people.
Not a single one of us has a hammer in hand. We have no electrical skills to offer, nor design drawings to post. We're empty-handed, though willing to do whatever is required. We have a few supplies, but they're not traditional construction equipment: bibles, photos of home, and translation dictionaries are packed next to water bottles and granola bars. We also carry illustrated "cubes," to help us explain our faith if asked, since our language could be limited. No, we will not paint over crumbling or faded walls, but we are building something. It is - in truest sense of the word - a church.
Our host families have been commuting to the city (about 30 minutes away) for church community. Their home village is very rural, with only an old, traditional Catholic church for miles around. While our hosts were once a part of this church, they've now joined the evangelical congregation I described yesterday. This small but vibrant group envisions being part of a collection of churches that multiply, rather than grow in enormity, in local neighborhoods and communities. While their idea is not common here, it is an organic way to grow through local homes & neighborhoods. I am eager to encourage our host families, who do not have the options of faith that we so easily take for granted. So, this week, we'll be helping our hosts meet neighbors, build relationships, share their story, and invite the community into their home and lives.
In many ways, it might be easier and safer to just hang out with other Americans on a building site. However, it is said that "church" is a term to describe a group of people - not a location, event, or facility. So, this is a church-building project. The project was started before we arrived, and the work will continue long after we're back at home. This project will be building a community of open invitation, of passionate faith, of neighborly sincerity, and of divine love.
Today, our new friends joined us in a simple assignment. Each family from our team was paired with a local Spanish-speaking translator. We walked through the village, getting familiar with each other and the area, and praying together. Our prayers vary - blessing the people and homes we see, asking for opportunities to connect with locals this week, seeing open minds and hearts in the coming days, and of course, for perseverance and joy in each of us (especially our young children). We aren't out to convert or announce anything flashy; it is simply a way for us to focus some time praying for this small village, for her people, and for the work ahead of us.
This afternoon, things became more physically exerting. The young (and not-so-young) men from our team invited the local young (and not-so-young) men from the village to play soccer. The "futball" game was scheduled for late afternoon (after siesta - about 4 pm) at the town plaza. When we arrived, however, the crowd was so large that the local guys suggested we head to the main futball field near the school so everyone could play.
I walked behind the crowd with the boys, marveling as it swelled with each passing block. People poured out to come see these "gringos" play futball. Evidently, a simple activity like a friendly neighborhood futball game is rare in the village. Plus, of course, Americans are never found walking through their neighborhood, far from resorts or business districts, much less willing to play the internationally-known game of soccer. Nearly as quickly as the idea was offered, the group headed off on the short walk. As they arrived, the guys took the field while women and kids chatted with the spectators. We soon heard that neighbors were meeting neighbors, classmates seeing peers for the first time outside of the school, and even young children and adults mingled in the shade of buildings or trees. By the time the guys took the field, the surrounding area was dotted with kids and adults, playing with each other or sitting together.
Fortunately, the town is as hospitable as it is curious, because several local guys volunteered to play on our much-understaffed team to make things a little more even. Needless to say, we needed their help! After another local volunteered to be referee, play began. Mr. Kenobi had only worn sandals, which were clearly a hazard on the gravel field (peppered with broken pieces of glass bottles). We grabbed his tennis shoes from the car, and suddenly watched him transform into a competitive soccer player - even using his head to pass the ball!
While the guys played, a group of younger kids gathered around the sidelines. I tossed Obi-1 an extra soccer ball, and he asked the boys to play. Unfortunately, he asked in English, which of course sounded like mumbo-jumbo to them. They giggled, and Obi-1 looked ready to cry from his embarrassment and rejection. Fortunately, a friend quickly translated that this American boy would like to play with them and had brought a soccer ball to share. She also let them know that Obi-1 had no idea how to play soccer. Immediately their giggles turned to enthusiastic nods of "Si!" and the ball was tossed into the fray. They formed a circle, and each took turns gently kicking toward Obi-1, teaching him the basics of footwork. The patience and kindness of these young kids were amazing. For the next two hours, my 4 1/2 year-old son "played" with boys twice his age, while they encouraged him, chased after his wild kicks, and made sure he had every opportunity to participate. I was impressed at their generous spirit, as well as the quick participation of my son.
After watching them a while, I sat in the cool shade of a tree (Obi-2 was sleeping in my arms, exhausted by his missed siesta). I was soon joined by a group of girls who were there to watch the older boys play. Most of them were young teens, and while some flirted with their "novios" on the field, most simply admired the action. They, too, had rarely met one another outside of school. We got ourselves introduced with a basic mix of Spanish & English ("Spanglish"), and I shared photos of our home while everyone answered questions of each other. Once in a while, I'd request a translator's help, but our honest attempts to speak each others' language, along with lot of impromptu sign language, got us through.
By the end of the afternoon, the guys had played a hard game (which, of course, was won by the Mexican team - though it was a close battle). We also all had new friends, a few new vocabulary words, and fun stories of a day at the futball field. As evening closed in, we gathered with the host family and prayed again for a blessing on this town and the relationships that would begin this week. It is a building project indeed, and the architect is at work in our midst.
