Vamos a trabajar (Let's work)

Friday night we short-termers helped the long-term missionaries and their national church with a community outreach. The main goal was to capture neighborhood children's attention by doing a craft and playing games, then convincing them to go into the church for a story and refreshments.

Sounds easy, right?

The missionaries told us that the kids would probably want to do the craft, but very few -- only a couple -- would come inside for the lesson. And then God surprised us. Not only did a couple of children stay for the lesson, but 17 children listened as one of the church ladies presented the Gospel in a story about an Indian girl named Shanti. Praise Jesus!

It was interesting to watch the kids' reactions when they came: they'd crane their necks to watch what was happening, then look around surreptitiously when they entered the church. In the past, the Spanish Catholic Church spread lies about the Evangelicals: they ate babies, they would tie children up so they couldn't leave, etc. Although some of these lies are quite old, the stigma remains. So the missionaries and the members of the national church were very encouraged by the turnout.

The Evangelical church of Azuqueca meets in a storefront. It's small, but it's amazing to see how God is working through this effort.

This afternoon the children's Sunday School and some adults went to a park near Azuqueca for a hike and picnic. After hiking with everyone along a trail that wound around some Roman ruins, I had the blessing of sitting and talking with Miriam, who attends the church with her husband, Carlos, and their daughter. Miriam's mother is Spanish and her father is German, and Carlos is Argentinian. She wanted to know all about the big Protestant churches. When I explained that although there are many big churches, most Americans claim to be Christians simply because of the culture, she got a very determined look and said, "Well, it's like Spain." I said that we would continue to work, because even in a hard soil as a Spain, and a hardening soil in America, God is still seeking people to follow Him.
So let us, as Spaniards, Americans, Graystone members, members of other churches, etc., keep working.

Tertulia

Yesterday my teammates and I discovered one of Karin's ways to talk about the Gospel, since the m word (missionary) is a risky term to bandy about. In Spain, people often meet in the coffeeshops for tertulias, or discussion groups. One person will throw out a term or issue, and everyone will take sides and debate it. So Karin started an English language tertulia, since a number of Spaniards want to learn or improve their English so they can get better jobs.

Only one person was able to attend the tertulia Monday night, but the four of us were able to have a great conversation with him anyway. Javier, or Javi for short, is a policeman and wants to eventually be an air traffic controller -- and to do this, he needs to learn English. Javi is not comfortable with the Gospel so far -- we tried to talk with him about how he would want to be remembered when he died and he became quite nervous. Please pray that the Holy Spirit would open his heart and through these conversations might learn about Christ and come to know Him.

I had been rereading Acts since I came to Spain, but today I opened to Psalm 119 and it just spoke to me. Sections Gimel and Daleth are my prayer for now, as I try to learn new things from Scripture and grow in my personal walk.

And for your delectation and delight, here are some photos to give you a sense of Acala:

Mail delivery motos. Que guay, no? (How cool)

One of the many Catholic churches in the town (sorry for cutting off the cross at the top) where storks nest. The noisy birds roost wherever they can -- whether it's at the top of the convent or the university buildings.

Kendra and Javi at the cafe. The three of us really enjoy the cafe con leche.

Extranjeros (Foreigners)

I flew into Terminal 4 when I arrived in Madrid Sunday morning, and the missionary who picked me up parked in the rebuilt parking garage that ETA bombed in 2006, killing two Peruvians sleeping in their car. The Spaniards rebuilt and moved on -- a common philosophy, I've found.

This morning (Monday) I started Spanish classes at the Escuela Internacional (International School) in Acala de Henares, a medium-sized town on the outskirts of Madrid. Already I'm learning a lot. I'm in a class with four Irish women, a woman from France and one from Korea, in addition to my fellow short-termer, Kendra. A Grove City College student, Kendra is a junior in elementary education and has a very enthusiastic and kind spirit.
Living in Spain is a little different than the United States. Most people live close together in apartment buildings called pisos, and much of the culture hinges on being close. There are no personal space bubbles when talking to someone, even though people do not touch often -- except when greeting one another.

I took the picture above from the small balcony of the Nordgrens' (Craig is SEND's Spain area director) piso. In the center of the building is a plaza, I believe.

We are in what some call a "closed" mission field -- the work is slow, people are slow to make relationships and the people are highly intellectual and adept at debating Christianity. In fact, according to SEND, Spaniards think of evangelical Christianity as a cult. Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses have made inroads in Spain, so being thought of with the same stigma hurts a bit.

Last night the team had dinner with a national Christian couple, Isabel and Luis. Isabel is German-born, but also speaks Spanish and English. Her husband, Luis, is a Spaniard. They are expecting their first child in December. I've been really blessed in the short time I've been here by kind people on both sides of the Atlantic. Thanks for all your support, whether you've given financially or through prayer. And please continue to pray.

Ishmael's Daughter

Today I'm rerouting my blog, in honor of my flight being rerouted. I sat in Detroit Airport yesterday for more than four hours, waiting for a plane to take me to Chicago so I could pick up a connecting flight to London and from there to Madrid. God had other plans. I missed all my connecting flights because of the delays and had to stay another night in Michigan, fly to Miami early this morning and at 6:15 p.m. I'll fly directly to Madrid and arrive a bit before church on Sunday morning.
I was tempted to complain, but I ended up talking to a Palestinian woman who was also waiting for the Chicago flight and all fussing ceased. Between my poor Arabic and her limited English, we cobbled together a discussion, substituting words and writing in my notebook when we couldn't understand. We talked the most about faith.
Inshirah lives in Ramallah, Palestine (West Bank), and had six sons and four daughters. One of her sons is currently in an Israeli prison. She is a devout Muslim, praying daily and reading the Koran. She also tries to read the Koran in English so she can learn more, as a couple of her children live in Chicago and Wisconsin. By the end of our time together, I had taken her picture (see above) and she stowed one of my graduation pictures in her bag. She called me habibti (my little love or darling) and I called her sadiqati (friend).
Inshirah -- meaning "my heart is glad" -- was especially interested in how I was "married to God" (she saw my purity ring on my left hand) when I was not married to a man. It was such a blessing to talk to her and hear her story. I was even able to tell her that I loved God. But my biggest regret is that my Arabic was not good enough to tell her about Jesus. I can only pray that someone will find her and explain to her in her language how Jesus is the True God, not Allah.
Please pray for her.

In a somewhat related matter, please pray for Caleb and Molly Harper, short-termers who are going to the new Republic of Kosovo. Caleb and Molly still need to raise just under $5000 before their departure. Kosovo is the only Muslim country that likes the United States, and there is a tremendous need for missionaries.

Taco is a bad word

This evening all the Spain team members training here in Farmington, Mich., at SEND's headquarters sat down at supper with Betsy, a former Spain long-term missionary. Up to this point we've received heavy-duty spiritual instruction and information about how to work together as a team and with the long-term missionaries and nationals. Betsy gave us the lowdown on cultural Spain -- how to dress, what to say and not say, how to evade political questions, etc.
Through this entire lesson I began to see more reasons why God called me to Spain. Spaniards are a highly critical, confrontational people who love debate. Does this sound like anyone you know? :-D
They even hold tertullias, which are groups that meet at the local cafe and debate whatever subject comes up. I was aware of this, but it didn't really sink in until Betsy talked about it.
And taco is a bad word because it's a crass term for "dirty." So don't say it in Spain!

As for the group here at training, I'm encouraged to see how all of us short-termers work together without regard to non-essential doctrine. Some people came from Moody Bible Institute, some from Lancaster Bible College, some from small Southern Baptist schools and other different ones. There is no pride in denominations. We agree that Christ is the only means for salvation. And we cannot downplay this truth because otherwise we condemn people to hell. Speaker Dave Tucker brought up the point that many people see this as God being unfair, but God's been more than fair and we're the ones not being fair because we're not following Christ's command to go out and tell people about Him.
I keep thinking about this a lot.

Ready for Takeoff

I'm sitting in the Pittsburgh Airport, waiting for my flight to Chicago, and from then on to Detroit for short-term training at Send's U.S. headquarters in Farmington. God amazes me with his mercy and provision.
On Thursday, May 22 I found there had been a clerical error and I suddenly owed more than $700 in support -- much more than I could ever raise by myself in a week. I had a very bad attitude and threw a temper tantrum to God, asking why He was making it so difficult for me to go to Spain if He wanted me there in the first place. Dan advised me to pray, and we felt that I should call my Uncle David and ask for his advice, since he was a missionary for a long time in Taiwan. Uncle David told me to pray (much to my chagrin at the time) and to start calling people asking them to pray. By the end of the evening, people I hadn't contacted were calling me and asking if I still needed support. By Saturday my support was completely raised, and I even reconnected with family members I hadn't talked to in more than a decade. Praise the Lord for His kindness!
As I head to short-term training and eventually to language school in Spain, please pray for the individual members of the team. Pray that we would be a help and an encouragement to the permanent missionaries there, and that we would grow close as a group.
Please stow your belongings and put your trays in the upright and locked position. We're preparing for takeoff. :-)

Crossing Paths

I leave for Spain in less than 10 days. I'm so excited and nervous all at the same time. It seems that all support is raised (Praise God! and thanks to my supporters) and all I need to do is pack my bag and hop a big steel bird.
But God's really been working with me in the last couple of months -- notice the silence of more than two months in the blog due to finals, graduation, teaching and life in general.
And He especially brought me back into focus today when I met Jayakumar, a native missionary in India. I talked to him for a couple minutes and we talked a little about my trip to Spain. He mentioned that I would be walking in Paul's footsteps. And it hit me. I don't need to fear for any small logistical problem or other issues because so many others have gone before -- even one of the greatest evangelists in history. Paul and James -- great men of faith and martyrs to the Name -- both witnessed in Spain. And I, from Nowhere, Pa., am allowed to help continue this effort! Praise Jesus!
In his final letter before he died in February, Christian Rock pioneer Larry Norman wrote, "I feel like a prize in a box of Cracker Jacks with God's hand reaching down to pick me up." I feel the same way.