The Journey

By Patti Thornton

The journey to El Paso, Texas was almost as long as the flight to the Philippines, and seating space in the two cars that burned up the road between small town Missouri and the desert city was about as spacious as a standard airline seat.  But the comparison ends there; we didn’t have to pull the shades to fool our bodies into nighttime rest, and we slept overnight in a horizontal position with real pillows and a shower shared by just a few in a roadside hotel.

Still, it was a long drive.  It was fascinating to watch the landscape change from the green, rolling hills of southwest Missouri, to the endless flat-ness of Oklahoma, to the sandy, stark brown-ness of southern Texas.  And every town we passed through was home to a myriad of churches.

On Monday, we crossed the United States border.

mexico 1Geographically speaking, El Paso, Texas and Juarez, Mexico are no different.  With the exception of meticulously watered landscapes of affluent homes and businesses in Texas, sightings of green in the brownish-grays of sand, dirt and concrete are rare.  Honestly, there is very little change in culture as you cross the Rio Grande from a mostly Hispanic population in an American state to that of Mexico.

But there IS a difference.  The further we drove into Mexico, the more obvious it became; both economically and spiritually.  The Bible Belt’s church on every corner was replaced by Tienditas (small convenience stores) as the subdivisions of the United States gave way to the “colonias” of Mexico.

Pastor Pedro and Elida Quezada have been trekking across the border almost daily for years.  With hearts swollen huge with love for a people of few resources, opportunities, or churches, they have been watching the ripe sheaves of harvest wave in the wind of a swollen field, desperate for harvesters. the people of Juarez make the journey to a small stucco house for worship

Not only does Pastor Pedro successfully pastor a packed house of dedicated workers at Agua Viva General Baptist Church in Juarez, but  this church has planted another ministry further into the city that meets in a borrowed stucco home smaller than most of your garages.  There, in the midst of a colony of such homes where no other church exists, residents (mostly children and women) follow the sounds of worship music to activities in the front sand yard as if the Pied Piper had beckoned them.  And there, ministry happens.

Stumbling over language barriers, our small team of seven (bolstered by two when Sid and Wilbur joined us as driving, packing, hauling, praying, fixing companions extraordinaire) was privileged to worship, play, craft, dispense school supplies and snacks, and huddle closely together as a sudden storm chased all 80 or so of us inside the small house.

Our team was unique in its makeup.  Of the seven of us, only one had never traveled outside the U.S. With three former missionaries and two repeat MVP teamers along, there was plenty of experience to go around.  And that experience validates our excitement for the ministry potential in Mexico.the long journey to Juarez was well worth the time and effort for the WM MVP team

There are many opportunities for you to partner in this ministry that crosses geographical borders, as well as other burgeoning ministries within our denomination that speak to the  relevance of Hispanic ministry in these times.  Start listening as the Holy Spirit calls harvesters to gather.

If you would like to know more about the many ways that you can partner with General Baptist mission efforts in Mexico and all around the globe, visit www.generalbaptist.com or call 573-785-7746.

Here I Go

By Patti Thornton

couple going for a walk in the snow

photo used by permission Gregory Tonon www.flickr.com/photos/eriatarka31

Whose idea was this anyway?  The view out my patio door compelled me to dig out the gloves, heavy jacket, and boots I thought were stored until next winter.  The sky was impossibly blue, and a thick blanket of snow magnified the sun’s reflection so brightly that sunglasses were in order for sure.  What a beautiful day!  Wilbur, too, thought it seemed like a perfect day for a walk.

Looks can be deceiving.  True, walking outside was invigorating.  But we were sucking ice cold air into our lungs and my cold fingers were protesting my gloves of choice.  Still, we walked briskly toward destinations unknown (okay, so we walked around the corner.)

Wilbur walked more slowly than I, hampered by the healing broken rib that the last winter storm perpetrated.  I walked ahead, picking up the pace so I could “count” the walk as a workout.  I really intended to walk, but a quick slip on the ice forced my body into a wide-stride run.  Let me put it this way; I had a choice. I could fall on my back side or I could run, hoping to keep my torso in line with my flying feet. Even though I had no real control over what my body was doing – proven by the awkwardness of it all – I was forced into a decision to crash or run.

Doesn’t it sometimes seem like everything we know is slipping away right under our noses?  Like feet sliding on the ice we feel flung into a position we didn’t plan for.  We understand the consequences of falling, which makes it a more predictable choice.  But what if…what if…we blindly fly with our feet?

I’m talking to myself here.  I will admit to feeling like the ground is slipping and sliding beneath my feet. In dance class, we learned how to spot; how to focus on one spot as we pirouetted across the floor to prevent dizziness.  But sometimes the dizziness of slipping and sliding happens so quickly that I can’t find the focal point.

But I know WHO the focus is even when my eyes can’t make it out.  So, Lord, let’s just do it.  I would rather sacrifice any pretense of gracefulness to fall blindly and wildly into your arms.

Here it goes…a feet gliding, arms flailing, heart pounding, head following free run.  Jesus, if you’ll just get my feet going in the right direction, I will do my best – gracefully or not – to get the rest of me to follow.

Hold firmly to the word of life; then, on the day of Christ’s return, I will be proud that I did not run the race in vain and that my work was not useless. But I will rejoice even if I lose my life, pouring it out like a liquid offering to God, just like your faithful service is an offering to God. And I want all of you to share that joy. Yes, you should rejoice, and I will share your joy (Phil. 2:16-18 NLT).