God, you crazy!

I was washing a bowl used for our afternoon of painting flowers with the girls at the institute. Well, only two girls. As I scrubbed, I looked at the two faucets, each extended by part of a hose since the sink itself is much lower. I whispered to myself, "God, I just will never understand you, will I?"

Part of the reason I didn't write either Tuesday or Wednesday was because the good morning transformed into a very frustrating time for me. I will not go into all details because I do not want to become bitter, but I'll just say I almost broke into tears several times. The struggle began when I tried to help Dayana, one of the girls at the institute, on Tuesday. I think I mentioned that we are now going on Tuesdays and Thursdays--Tuesdays for computer lessons.

The lesson seemed easy enough, as it was mainly just filling out the details of a job application or resumé. I was paired with Dayana, who insisted on making her font bright pink, and asking me questions so rapidly I had to have her repeat herself. Except, she was often unwilling to repeat herself and just threw her hand as though swatting a fly, "Ah! You know nothing!" she would say. She would turn to our other leader for help, a native Spanish speaker.

Sometimes I would understand her, and would begin to explain or show her on the computer her answer. Impatient, she expected that I wasn't answering what she wanted, would exclaim her favorite epithet and turn to the other once again. I found myself explaining things multiple times only to be followed by blank stares. When the leader gave her the same answer as I, she refused to give me any credit.

I could judge her. She has two kids, one that is a restless sleeper unless he's held, and he isn't held often. The other, a daughter of 2 or so, who has a bad attitude similar to the example set before her. She sat before her computer cradling the boy, if you could call it that, and smoking a cigarette, skin showing between a tight tube top and yoga capris.

Yet, who am I? I doubt Dayana has ever met a Spanish as a second language person. I don't think she comprehends the importance of slowing down speech, even just a little bit, so that one can understand better. It can be frustrating to work with me, I'm sure.

And take an extra moment to consider her situation. Where she lives--I had entered one of the rooms to hand a Bible to Jessica last week to find a long room with partitions between beds. Each bed hardly furnished, and some had a crib or a desk next to them. These partitions are only about 3 or 4 feet tall. Dayana has not one, but two kids to fill this space with her. Where is her hope except to be the leader of the pack. Indeed, she has a knack for getting the rest of the girls to follow her lead. She had even said something not so nice, looked at me, and everyone laughed. One giggled quietly as she looked over, unsure if I could comprehend or not.

I ran into Andrea on our walk home and she said she would pray for my heart. She reminded me that they are trying to see if I will be consistent, if I am who I say I am. Actions must match what I say, especially what I say about Christ.

So this Thursday came, and I was in charge of sharing a little message from Scripture. I had brought paint supplies so we could paint flowers, and was then to use the "lilies of the fields" passage in Matthew to encourage them to seek God and find peace. Two came. Dayana and Gladys. Deep breath.

Last week had not gone so well when I had brought fruit for the girls to draw. All they had wanted, if you'll remember, was to draw a basic outline and then eat. So this time, I said, "Let's use our imaginations and think of the most beautiful flower and paint away! If you need more paper, just let me know, and we'll just paint."

The time was...

peaceful. Both took time to paint their pictures, and I think that they appreciated me not telling them what to do (although I would like for them to become better painters, they just aren't interested in that). Then something else happened: Dayana started asking questions about us. She asked simple things, the basics such as if we had boyfriends, and a little about her family. Then she looked at me.

"Why are you here in Córdoba?"

I imagine my eyes widened, but I said it. "I'm here because I wanted to serve God in different parts of the world."

That was it. She didn't have much else to ask about that, and turned to Jenny to ask the same question. Jenny, from Colombia, answered similarly. "Hmm," nodded Dayana, who then scolded her daughter for touching her painting and continued.

Praise God for a glimpse of an opening heart! Surely there is spiritual warfare going on here, as moments later Dayana found a radio and blasted Cuarteto. We talked a little about that, but the music was loud and that made it hard to hear. So I painted to the rhythm of the music, hoping to express my liking of the music and to create a bond of common interest in it.

And then she left, before I had a chance to share what I had come to share.

Is it strange that I wasn't disappointed? I was so glad to have had a positive conversation with her. So grateful for a FORTY-FIVE minutes of doing a project, the longest length of time any of us had had with those girls. To end the time, we talked a little with Gladys and then cleaned the table. I returned to wash the bowls we had used and just thought in awe of how God works. How He changes hearts, and yet guards mine as well for the future. It will still take more time. And there are always other obstacles for the Lord to overcome.

Chau.