this isnt a vacation

On Wednesday September 12, I left the States with a backpack and a group of 50 people I had known for 10 days. I boarded a plane to Costa Rica, took a nap, and never looked back. Just like that I left literally everything I know. It was easy for me to board that flight with no second guesses because I obviously trusted that God got me to this point, but I didn’t count the costs of my decision.

 

At training camp they talked about counting the costs of this trip. That it would cost more than $15,800, it would cost everything that we knew. I thought I was fine. I knew that I would have to say goodbye to my family and friends, and give up everything I took for granted,  like being able to speak the language and having a useable phone. What I didn’t expect was how hard it was going to hit me and how hard the transition would be for me.

 

I think I went into this season with a short term mission trip mentality. I was going to leave home and rough it. Throw myself into ministry, hold small children, meet some cool people, get on a Jesus high and then be able to come home and process it. However, that isn’t the case. The biggest culture shock to me wasn’t the language barrier or that I can’t flush my toilet paper, but that I can’t come home until June.

 

My second culture shock came with the start of ministry. My team and I are serving with a ministry called Christ for the City located in La Carpio, a slum on the outskirts of San Jose. We are here for 3 months, so our ministry consists of starting a program for the Nicaraguan refugees. Christ for the City runs a clinic for the community and started to notice the increase in families fleeing from Nicaragua with nothing but the clothes on their backs. The clinic clothed them and fed them, but wanted to give them a space where the kids could play, the moms could relax and everyone could stay out of trouble and have a hot meal, and that’s where we come in.

 

Tierney, Mack and I hang out with the women. We paint their nails, braid their hair, teach them how to bake, try our best to make them feel loved by the Lord and by ourselves despite the language barrier, and listen to their stories. Stories of loss, pain and trauma. Stories that are hard to hear and leave me feeling helpless, probably because I am. There is nothing that I can do to help these women…and I know that. I didn’t even take spanish in high school, I don’t even have broken spanglish to offer. However, I can offer the love of Jesus. A love that is transformative and unconditional. A love that surpasses belief and language barriers. Because I have been born again, he lives within me and has given me the ability to give out his love freely. The ability to be a light in a dark place, even a place as dark as La Carpio. I may not be able to see it yet, but the Lord is moving. He wants to use me to show his love to Nicaraguan refugees. I don’t know why he chose me, but here I am.

 

So, if i’m being honest, the transition was and is hard. I have never had to rely on the Lord to this capacity. Sometimes I don’t know if I even want to, but I have to. When I walk through the streets of La Carpio I must remember that the Lord is behind me and in front of me. When all I want is my friends and family from back home I need to fall back on the group of 50 people the Lord has handpicked for me to live with for the next 9 months.

Update on Fundraising: I made it to my $10,000 goal on time, so thank you so much!! The amount of support I have received has blown me away. My next goal of being fully funded is in December. I still need $5,000 to stay on the field. I know I would love to be home for Christmas, but I think the Lord wants me in Africa this Christmas…so if you could prayerfully consider supporting me financially or in prayer, it would be greatly appreciated! Like I said, thank you for getting me to this point… I wouldn’t be here in Costa without yall!