Last year was my first ever international mission trip experience. It was actually my first international experience at all. It is truly impossible for me to pour my entire life shaking experience from Belize into a single blog post, but I'm gonna do my best. I was terrified in the most exciting way before we left the country last year. I had no idea what we would be doing or what it would be like. I was told the work would be hard and the sun would be hot, but that in no way prepared me for what would entail. Our plane landed on the tarmac of a vey hot and humid airport in Belize City. From there, we drove a few hours in a bus to get to the city of Corozal where we would be staying. Our hotel was right off the water and let me tell you, I have never seen water so blue. Our first evening was relaxing and walking the streets near our hotel, but the next day we would be thrown into the culture of island time church. If memory serves, the church service we attended lasted nearly 4 hours, but nobody was in any rush. There was a beautiful dance performed by the young girls. This church is where I met Abel. He is the little boy pictured below with his sister. We became instant friends. He was smiley and goofy and answered all my questions about their school system and foods. He was from Libertad, a nearby village where one of our teams would end up working. I was sad to say goodbye after meeting him that day but was excited to jump into what I thought was the real work. The next morning we loaded up our vans and headed to our work sights, one team to Libertad to paint the school there and do some insulation work; the other team, the one I was on, headed to finish building a house that would be used for all the mission teams who would come after us to stay in. There was a great deal of digging trenches, sweating, installing plumbing, sweating, tiling bathrooms, sweating, and more! I though that was the important thing that we were doing, but the actual meaningful thing we got to do was go to recess at the close by school every day and play with the children. There was hopscotch, basketball, and lots of soccer. It was amazing to see children light up in joy while they ran around in their dirt play lot, kicking the ball or racing. It made my heart melt to be apart of it; the excitement of just playing without a care in the world. Later that week I got to see Abel again. Our team had finished the house a little early and traveled to Libertad to help with the last painting and to experience Libertad recess. They didn't have games like the other school did. No chalk or basketball hoop. They just played. It was so beautiful to be a part of. The children wanted to run with us and climb and swing around on ads, to just be playful and free with us. When we left that afternoon I said goodby to Abel. That evening my friend Victoria brought me an envelope. Abel had drawn and colored me a flower and addressed the letter so we could stay in touch and asked Victoria to bring it to me. My heart was broken to be leaving such things behind. I admired so much the way the children in that country were playful and grateful, though they had so much less than I had ever seen.
On the last evening we went to the local high school youth center to play games and hang out. We did a short worship service and at first it was kind of awkward. One of our guys brought his guitar and was playing songs. All of us Americans were singing along to our Christian pop culture music and all of the youth of Corozal were just listening to us, but then something truly spiritual happened. Jackson began to play Amazing Grace and for the entire duration of the song we were one group of people, worshipping one God. It was a completely astounding experience that I will never forget. That night a few people were crying; the idea of leaving was sad and none of us were really ready, but I didn't understand how it would effect me until I was home again.
I remember the day I got home from Belize; I was sitting in the bath tub, trying to soak out the pain of flinging around a pickaxe for days and I began to sob uncontrollably. I couldn't fathom how I was supposed to sit in my American safety bubble, soaking up the luxury of privilege, complaining about my first world problems, all awhile Abel was somewhere in Libertad, living in a small grass hut village, just being grateful to have recess. I did't understand how I was supposed to retune to normalcy like nothing ever happened, like I didn't experience something that shook my world and that is when I realized I'm not. We are not supposed to go on these trips and come home like we haven't been changed. We are supposed to go and be changed and find spiritual growth and put that back into the world. This is when I experienced my first call to a ministry of missions. I remember a dear friend saying something rather absolute: "You will never be truly at home again, because part of your heart will always babe elsewhere. That is the price you pay for loving and knowing people in more than one place." M'Kenna Gillespie, you could not have been more right. I no longer want to be at home. I want to be a piece of God's heart, broken for each place I may go with Him, and left for those still there.
I found my life when I played it down.
On the last evening we went to the local high school youth center to play games and hang out. We did a short worship service and at first it was kind of awkward. One of our guys brought his guitar and was playing songs. All of us Americans were singing along to our Christian pop culture music and all of the youth of Corozal were just listening to us, but then something truly spiritual happened. Jackson began to play Amazing Grace and for the entire duration of the song we were one group of people, worshipping one God. It was a completely astounding experience that I will never forget. That night a few people were crying; the idea of leaving was sad and none of us were really ready, but I didn't understand how it would effect me until I was home again.
I remember the day I got home from Belize; I was sitting in the bath tub, trying to soak out the pain of flinging around a pickaxe for days and I began to sob uncontrollably. I couldn't fathom how I was supposed to sit in my American safety bubble, soaking up the luxury of privilege, complaining about my first world problems, all awhile Abel was somewhere in Libertad, living in a small grass hut village, just being grateful to have recess. I did't understand how I was supposed to retune to normalcy like nothing ever happened, like I didn't experience something that shook my world and that is when I realized I'm not. We are not supposed to go on these trips and come home like we haven't been changed. We are supposed to go and be changed and find spiritual growth and put that back into the world. This is when I experienced my first call to a ministry of missions. I remember a dear friend saying something rather absolute: "You will never be truly at home again, because part of your heart will always babe elsewhere. That is the price you pay for loving and knowing people in more than one place." M'Kenna Gillespie, you could not have been more right. I no longer want to be at home. I want to be a piece of God's heart, broken for each place I may go with Him, and left for those still there.
I found my life when I played it down.