August, 2011 § Leave a comment
The rest of my time in Rio Esteban followed the basic pattern of: school, food, more food, church.
There were some slight variations.
On Monday, we played basketball with some of the guys in the village. It feels good to have Hondurans think you’re good at a sport. They don’t know my own flaquita [skinny chick] of a sister can whoop my butt. And as far as I’m concerned, they don’t need to know. I’ve suffered enough on the soccer field in Honduras that a little victory on the basketball court doesn’t hurt.
Deyni and I went to the youth group at her church and they were studying Revelation. Someone brought up a microchip and the pastor seemed to like that topic. He said the microchip can only go on your forehead or your right hand and the microchip has some combination of 666 and people are already buying the microchip and watch out for the microchip.
After talking about the microchip, he called up all the kids in the group who hadn’t accepted Christ and had us stand around them to pray for them. Everyone started praying emotionally and I kept looking at those young girls having prayers thrown at them, hands reaching out to them but, as if there were some invisible barrier, not touching them. NOT. TOUCHING. THEM.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let them think they were untouchable, much less that Christ wouldn’t have touched them. I went in the circle, grabbed the hand of one of the girls and held it, put my other hand on her shoulder, held her close, and smiled at her.
Delmy’s cousin, Brayan, came over to me and started shouting prayers. Delmy told me he had wanted to meet me and thought I was beautiful. Now here he is praying for my salvation. I wonder if this is how he gets all the ladies. I shouldn’t say that, I know they all had the best of intentions.
I would rather all the saints pray for my salvation than have all the sinners thinking it’s unattainable for them. And that if they don’t have it they’re, well, untouchable. It was one of those rare moments that I felt like a missionary. I felt like God wanted me there to be Christ, to touch the leper, to put mud on the eyes of the blind and let him see.
It’s too bad that when I felt like I was being Christ to those girls I was doing something the church members didn’t want to do. I hate this. I hate feeling separate from my family, the body of Christ. Why is it that when I try to be most like Christ I feel like I’m being proud or judgemental toward the church? I wish things were different.