Faith, Hope, and Sweat

Let’s talk about sweat.

Now, some of you are already thinking, “Didn’t your parents teach you that it’s rude to talk about sweat, snot, and earwax?” The answer would be, yes of course.

But these are exceptional circumstances.

It goes something like this: I don’t care who you are, if you came to my house right now, you would sweat. A lot. Enough that I might even offer you a towel. And a mop. This is serious stuff.

I’ve learned a handful of things since living in Mazatlan. One is that sweat is just a state of being. You never "break a sweat," you simply are a sweat. Here, the only time you don’t sweat is when you’re in an ice-cold shower, and I think even then you sweat just out of habit. I’m pretty sure even my toenails sweat.

But I have learned other things since being here too (don’t worry, I do spend my time doing things other than sweating -- I’m a good muti-tasker). I’ve learned some hard things. The longer I’m here, the more I start to learn about the community of people that R&W ministers to. I mean, I knew about it, like one knows about outer space, stars and planets. But now I’m just beginning to really know it, like an astronaut stepping into that spaceship, experiencing blast-off, and zero gravity.

And to be honest, it’s a little bit overwhelming. Learning about the relationships that appear to be torn beyond repair, pain that I’ve never even come close to experiencing, abuse that seems to have no limits…

I’ve started to hear the stories. I’ve started to meet the people. I’ve started to see their lives. And I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know how to act. Who am I to waltz in and think that it’s all going to be okay?

Recently, one evening in particular I felt I was being smothered by hopelessness and brokenness. Almost like a contagious disease, I starting thinking, what really can be done? How can you halt generations of abuse? Is it too late for that heart to ever heal? What difference can we actually make? What’s the point?

The next morning I read something that set me straight. It’s so familiar to many of us that it can almost be skipped over. But it shouldn’t be.

“Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we cannot see.”

This passage goes on to point out that many people of faith in the Bible never actually saw the outcome of what God had promised them. But they had faith, and so they started off on the path that God showed them. Abraham had one kid when he was beyond kid-having years, and that was it. Descendants like stars? Good luck with that Abe.

But he had faith that God could work beyond what he could see or understand.

I’m getting preachy now (I’m a PK, I can’t help it), so I’ll wrap it up. It’s sometimes overwhelming to think about changing a whole community, or even a whole family. But for 10 kids and their families, something is changing. I might not see it when I'm changing diapers, or cutting up veggies for lunch, but those are precisely the 'Isaac moments.'

God is already working incredible things through this ministry, and I hope he'll use me too. But I have to trust him. He heals, he loves, and he’s ultimately the one who will have to do the restoring in this community.

In the meantime though, I want to have faith like Abraham.

Last weekend Justin and I had the opportunity to meet some of the other kids and families living in the area. Here we are looking for the hardest word we could find in a dictionary laying nearby. It ended up being so hard, I don't remember what it was (it being in Spanish might have something to do with it too).