Bringing His Kingdom in

From singing in my first ever official international concert in Lima, Peru to speaking to people in the backpackers here in Costa Rica this month has been another adventure in our lives and in the lives of those we’ve met. Sandwiched between my debut performance (hahaha) and the days we’ve spent sharing with other happy wonderers have been events which have taught me many things. Starting with the how to balance vertically in mid air on a skinny clowns hands without injuring either of us. A random and admittedly unnecessary lesson however I had no choice in the matter. Nor did Lorna as the Argentinean acrobat proceeded to volunteer the Soul Touchers to participate in his little performance, much to the amusement of the audience and the embarrassment of us, who in turn ended up looking more ridiculous than the clown himself as I’m sure you can imagine.

We arrived in Costa Rica only four days ago and are departing on Tica’s 1am bus to Guatemala first thing tomorrow morning (or later tonight which ever you want to look at it). Although short, our time here has certainly been…..no not sweet: challenging, yes; frustrating, yes; incredible, yes and worthwhile….most definitely. Almost as challenging as our time being here was our time getting here.

We spent our final two weeks in Peru in wonderful company. Separated for the first time, in Soul Touch history, since leaving Scotland in 28th June 2007 Lorna and I were sent to opposite ends of Lima. As you can imagine we reacted as if we were being sent to opposite ends of the earth but that’s another story and a challenge we not only got over but one we learned to enjoy and were ultimately completely blessed by.

Feeling slightly apprehensive we entered our hosts houses. Houses that within the weeks we spent there became our homes, with strangers who became close friends. Juana and Carmen are staff with Union Biblica Peru. They are part of an amazing team of people, some staff and some volunteers, who teach “valores” (values) to the children of Lima.

I have no idea what amount of mileage we covered in one day but from the time we woke at 6am heading for our first bus (along with the rest of the cities population) until we collapsed of the couch at 6pm it appeared we were traveling: to schools, between schools in pursuit of other schools. Surviving the chaos of Lima´s traffic, not to mention near suffocation from the amount of people wedged into every bus, we went from school to school.

In each we were given an opportunity to share our own testimonies with the children, an experience I particularly enjoyed. When the initial excitement, of having a ´gringa visitor´, died down and the squealing became quiet enough to compete with (there was no way it was going to stop completely) I pulled out a giant map of the world. Excitedly all hands shot up despite no question having been asked and class by class the children guessed where this freckly visitor was from. The majority assumed Spain or even Peru and so that explains why they persisted to chatter incessantly as fast as their little lips would allow them to, in Spanish. Meanwhile somewhere across the dusty city a blonde, blue eyed (very beautiful) gringa was giving a variation of the same presentation, sharing her version of the events of the past 12 months and in return being asked for her autograph. “Americano, Americano, Americano” was the general consensus given regarding this gorgeous girl’s (Miss Main’s) origin and so I’m sure they were all a little bemused when she and I told them we were infact from “Escosia”.

The chidlren’s reaction generally differed depending on the age group. Obliviously content with not knowing (and not really caring) the younger children applauded their gringa visitors. Others nodded demonstrating some level of understanding and then there were the few (there always are) who told us where Scotland was: in England. Others seemed completely content continuing to believe we, or at least Lorna was indeed American. I feel a bit responsible however for the fact that there are lots of little Peruvian children who now think American men wear “skirts” (kilts) and who truly believe we are related to William Wallace.

There was a message shared however that was much more articulately communicated and most definitely understood. That was the message being taught by Juana and Carmen. The message of Jesus’ love for each individual child. It was a message that didn’t really even require the props or visual aids we’d prepared. As I shared and listened to these women share I saw, I heard that these children understood it. Squeals turned into deep breaths as little children gasped at Juana’s exciting stories about a God that loves them. Jaws dropped and huge breaths were taken as if each one was breathing in the gospel for the first time, which they weren’t these women travel each week to share with the children. The courtesy shown earlier by children raising theire hands to ask a question was long forgotten as innocent curiousity blurted out all sorts across classrooms filled with children wanting answers.

Now, some hundred miles away, (17 hours on a bus to be exact) Lorna and I are witnessing the same reactions and having to answer some very similar questions, although this time not from little children. Arriving in Costa Rica we booked into Costa Rica backpackers. As far as backpackers go it’s actually very comfortable, if you don’t mind being wakened by the constant coming and going of travelers at literally all times of day and night and if you don’t take the antics of the excitable Argentinean clown too personally.

It’s been a comfortable and equally uncomfortable stay for some of the following reasons. Firstly we arrived with the familiar feeling of “ Lord what are we doing here?’ Asking familiar questions like, “ did we really hear a call from God to come?” “ Did we imagine all of this?” ¨Should we or could we have organized this better?’ And so they go on…or at least they can if we allow these sorts doubts to infest our spirits, seeking to steal our joy.

Immediately we set about trying to find a church, thinking that was most certainly our purpose for being here; consoling ourselves and each other with the illusion that once we found one we would instantly feel better and then the real mission would be able to commence. Yeah I know you are laughing at us right now. It’s ok we are laughing at ourselves right now too.

On our first morning here we were woken at 4am by some girls leaving to catch a sunset and so we made use of our disposition. We set about driving ourselves and each other crazy by furiously sending out emails and stalking friends on facebook in hope that they could assist us in our search for a church. Within 24hours we still had no contact and so approached plan B: using our time to be productive. Facebook stalking reached a ´whole nuther level¨ and Taco Jim’s (a new friend by divine appointment) laptop threatened to burn out as we typed letters, proposals and all things business like.
We did all of these things in an attempt not to panic that we had become missionaries without a mission (or at least an obvious one; one that we could justify to the church). In the middle of the chaos we were subconsciously creating: over loading ourselves with word documents and trying to upload photos on one hundred year old computers, an activity that could potentially send even the sanest of sane people insane, we found our mission. Or rather our mission found us. We found the church we were looking for. God brought the church to us and met us right where we were, in Costa Rica backpackers. And so for the past four days we have talked and talked and talked. We’ve answered questions and questioned answers. In truth it has been one of the most exhausting “ missions” I’ve ever been on and it continues. It’s called life.

Let me share with you a spot of bother we got ourselves into the last time we went in search of the church. Last Sunday we were in Panama, we are making our way from Peru to Guatemala where our next “project’ begins. When we woke we noticed the sun was shinning, a rarity that we wanted to take advantage of. So we packed a few things ready for a day at the beach. Piling ourselves into a taxi we asked Elizabeth (female driver) to take us to the beach, a journey which according to lonely planet should have taken ten minutes. Forty minutes later, by which time the sun had gone back behind panama’s permanent cloud, we arrived at a beach. No not “Playa Bonita” as requested but a beach chosen by Elizabeth, our taxi driver, a women not to be messed with. Elizabeth told us not to worry it looked dangerous but she would accompany us into the water and would not leave our sides…which she didn’t!

Making the most of a really weird situation we chatted with Elizabeth about her family, our families, Panama, Scotland and about God. She was so excited to hear about our mission and informed us that she knew about a church that actually welcomed missionaries from abroad. She even offered to take us to the church with no additional charge as her “favor” to us.
“¿Podemos cambiamos nuestros ropas, por favor Elizabeth? Antes nosotros vamos a la Iglesia.”
As politely as possible we tried to explain that we would feel much more comfortable if we could change our clothes before going to the church. She insisted there was no time and that this was Panama. It would be fine.

With little (no) choice in the matter we arrived at the church. “I’ll be back in half an hour go and talk,” Elizabeth said inviting us to leave the taxi. As we approached the church we watched some men enter. All appearing to be wearing the same uniform black trouser and white shirt I joked “either there is a meeting or this is a mormon church.” It wasn’t a joke. Elizabeth had emptied us out into a mormon church, beach gear and all.

Lets just say we weren’t invited in but we did have a fun time trying to explain to the gentlemen at the door what an earth we were doing in Panama and that we were traveling around the world on a “missions” trip. His reaction was similar to some of the children’s in Peru, his mouth dropped and he too looked a bit dazed and confused.

Turns out we needn’t have put ourselves through the stress or embarrassment of trying to find a church.

“ You also, like living stones are being built into a spiritual house…” 1 Peter 2: 5

We are the church. I’m learning that the body that Paul describes as coming together is not only about all the congregations of the world having a massive worship fest . It is much more than that. It is about individual living stones. Individual people living as the church in their everyday lives. Whether it is in a youth hostel you never really expected to be in, in Costa Rica, in a taxi in Panama, which you’re being held in against your will, in your work place or in those times you’re involved in a “missions project”. During all of those times we represent the body of Christ. This is the church God is calling.

Come let us rebuild the wall of Jerusalem and we will no longer be in disgrace. Neh 2:17

Lorna and I are leaving the hostel at 1am. Our time here has been intensely wonderful. So many people traveling have stopped their journey, their search for themselves, some just for a second, some for hours to spend time with us. Even when we’ve avoided conversation (yes we are that rude and tired sometimes) they have started them, they like the children in Peru want to hear of the Living God and their purpose in his kingdom.

We have loved sharing with them although it has meant a little less sleep than usual. We have two days on a bus to Guatamala to catch up on sleep. But we’ll miss the church here. The church God brought to us: his people.