I am home from a much needed Easter with my family.. camping, fishing, time with mom and dad, it was awesome. I've brought the outdoors back with me in a little garden I've potted up on my back porch slab and it is providing some very neccessary dirt-in-my-nails therapy.
Tonight I walked a lap through my whole neighborhood with a bowl of left over easter candy in hand. There must have been 30 kiddos out tonight with their families on bikes and playing in my front "yard." I took a break from all my e-mailing duties and answered the clash of small voices calling me to a greater priority. It was wonderful to go to doorsteps and meet Nepali women on chairs,children on steps, and a Muslim father watching His Iraqi wife learn to drive as ladies in Hijabs all clustered around the car. I offered them some candy, but the tensions were not just coming from their seat belts...needless to say I kept moving.
As I stood at the door of one little Muslim girl I caught a glimpse of her father inside as the call to prayer was going off on their computer. I was reminded of my promise to talk one-on-one with her mom about the truths of Jesus this week. The little girl has begged me to do so ever since I offered. The father standing at the door has told her I am bad, and that Jesus was just a man, and that (as she gestured with crossed fingers) "this" symbol is bad, and that she is not allowed to come over and watch movies in my apartment anymore. She begged me not to tell him I knew because he would hit her. We prayed through tears that she will have a dream of Jesus and He will reveal the truth to her. There he stood in front of me tonight holding the door as I hugged his daughter and waved to his wife. Oh Jesus come and equip me with the words and move past my abilities!
As I walked, I gathered names of each child who politely aquired their sugary treasure from my bowl. "How do you spell it?" seems to always be my answer with the Muslim children, and tonight there were so many. I came to understand the reason why many Muslim men congregated around a little table, full in traditional dress, on my sidewalk outside my little friend Essra's apartment. It was her grandfather's funeral. Muslim Black children and their families had come from all over to pay their respects. It was a great time to make a round of the neighborhood with candy in hand, and I love that it required three languages from me.
I hugged Essra at the ice cream truck as she thanked me for the candy I had sent back for her and invited her to come and talk to me anytime in my apt. I also invited her to the "pancake party" I will be holding for the little girls this week in my apartment.
My heart broke for the grandfather who is in Hell right now thinking He was whole-heartedly serving God or "Allah."
I looked at so many of the childrens eyes as I greeted their families with an Arabic "Salaam a lekum" or "peace be upon you," and I thought about those words. In their eyes there was no peace, but rather a physical appearance of deception and bondage in their little worn faces.
It was the kick in the pants I needed to remember the brevity of life and the urgency to open this mouth with boldness. I was filled with a fervor and love only instilled by the Spirit of God in me, and in a beautiful heaviness, I was again broken to love them from my knees.
I will be staying in this place to carry on the work through the Summer as I lead 4 college aged interns in what it looks like to be a church planter among unreached people groups. I will be discipling, teaching, and ministering into the four girls coming as I take on a leadership position and head up this program for the first time in the states. It is only by God's vision and prompting I have chosen to take on such a position of responsibility in my young age, and so I ask for your prayers.
I love you all, thank you for being the body.
Go outside and meet your neighbors,
Jenna
Tonight I walked a lap through my whole neighborhood with a bowl of left over easter candy in hand. There must have been 30 kiddos out tonight with their families on bikes and playing in my front "yard." I took a break from all my e-mailing duties and answered the clash of small voices calling me to a greater priority. It was wonderful to go to doorsteps and meet Nepali women on chairs,children on steps, and a Muslim father watching His Iraqi wife learn to drive as ladies in Hijabs all clustered around the car. I offered them some candy, but the tensions were not just coming from their seat belts...needless to say I kept moving.
As I stood at the door of one little Muslim girl I caught a glimpse of her father inside as the call to prayer was going off on their computer. I was reminded of my promise to talk one-on-one with her mom about the truths of Jesus this week. The little girl has begged me to do so ever since I offered. The father standing at the door has told her I am bad, and that Jesus was just a man, and that (as she gestured with crossed fingers) "this" symbol is bad, and that she is not allowed to come over and watch movies in my apartment anymore. She begged me not to tell him I knew because he would hit her. We prayed through tears that she will have a dream of Jesus and He will reveal the truth to her. There he stood in front of me tonight holding the door as I hugged his daughter and waved to his wife. Oh Jesus come and equip me with the words and move past my abilities!
As I walked, I gathered names of each child who politely aquired their sugary treasure from my bowl. "How do you spell it?" seems to always be my answer with the Muslim children, and tonight there were so many. I came to understand the reason why many Muslim men congregated around a little table, full in traditional dress, on my sidewalk outside my little friend Essra's apartment. It was her grandfather's funeral. Muslim Black children and their families had come from all over to pay their respects. It was a great time to make a round of the neighborhood with candy in hand, and I love that it required three languages from me.
I hugged Essra at the ice cream truck as she thanked me for the candy I had sent back for her and invited her to come and talk to me anytime in my apt. I also invited her to the "pancake party" I will be holding for the little girls this week in my apartment.
My heart broke for the grandfather who is in Hell right now thinking He was whole-heartedly serving God or "Allah."
I looked at so many of the childrens eyes as I greeted their families with an Arabic "Salaam a lekum" or "peace be upon you," and I thought about those words. In their eyes there was no peace, but rather a physical appearance of deception and bondage in their little worn faces.
It was the kick in the pants I needed to remember the brevity of life and the urgency to open this mouth with boldness. I was filled with a fervor and love only instilled by the Spirit of God in me, and in a beautiful heaviness, I was again broken to love them from my knees.
I will be staying in this place to carry on the work through the Summer as I lead 4 college aged interns in what it looks like to be a church planter among unreached people groups. I will be discipling, teaching, and ministering into the four girls coming as I take on a leadership position and head up this program for the first time in the states. It is only by God's vision and prompting I have chosen to take on such a position of responsibility in my young age, and so I ask for your prayers.
I love you all, thank you for being the body.
Go outside and meet your neighbors,
Jenna
