The anonymous writer strikes again!

The Venezuela YES team would like to apologize to its readers for once again failing to include the author's name in a blog entry.

"Venezuela mini-YES Training" was written by Jonathan Landis.

Thank you for your attention.

Oh the Joys of Traveling by Lauren Yutzy

It was 2 o clock at night when the team was abruptly awaken by a military guard asking us for our passports. We were on a bus traveling back to Charavalle from Merida where the team went on vacation. In Venezuela there are random checkpoints with guards. Before this night though, none of the guards had ever come on board any of our buses. We gave the guard the copies of our passports, and he left the bus with them only to return a little later and motion for us to follow him. The team filed off the bus and was lead to a small outpost, where the head guard had our passport copies spread out in a line. His first words were ¨what are these?¨ And he gave us a hard time about not having our actual passports because he needs to see when we arrived and when we are leaving Venezuela in order to make sure that we weren't traveling illegally. We weren't getting anywhere until Irene remembered that she did have her actual passport, so she ran and got it. Once he looked at hers he reluctantly let us go. I'm not sure what would have happened if Irene hadn´t had her passport. Some people think he was looking for a bribe. Thanks to God, though we made it safely home.

And now we are down to only three weeks left. We are busy with random social events, finishing sanding and varnishing desks, and English classes. Anthony, Jon and I teach the English class for kids Wednesday afternoons. We have 5 (adorable!) girls who come every week. I always look forward to class because I love teaching! So far we have taught colors, numbers, animals, fruits and vegetables. While all 5 of the girls are mischievous, 2 are especially so. Every Wednesday those two try my patience, but I am learning right along with them every class except I'm learning how to teach, how to show tough love, and how to have patience. Because the class is only once a week and for only two hours, the kids aren't learning an incredible amount. Every week we have to reteach what was taught the week before, which can be discouraging. However nothing beats the joy the student and I share when they do remember and it shows that they have been practicing and studying at home. They are going the extra mile because they want to learn. I love being a part of that and being able to help them along on their path of learning!

Venezuelan Mini-YES Training

It was March 23rd, ten minutes past 6 pm, and I was nervous.

"We're not ready. I haven't finished the powerpoint presentation yet. Where's Anthony with the 60 copies we made of the notes? Will we have enough notes? The kids that were just here, where did they go? Will we have ANY kids? What TIME is it?!?"

We were experiencing some difficulties. Having just returned from Valle Guanape late Saturday evening two days before, and having been in Aruba to renew visas the week before that, we hadn't had much time to get this opening class together.  I felt caught unprepared for what might prove to be the most significant thing we do here in Venezuela: pass along three months of YES training in 5 one hour-long class periods to the youth of the church. In Spanish.

 

We had planned to give 6 classes in all: Inner Healing and Forgiveness, Sexual Purity, Identity in Christ, Dying to Self, Decision-making/Conflict Resolution/Christlike Relationships, and Crossing Cultures related classes. Each of which Irene and I had to translate into Spanish, not just the lecture, but the notes as well. We had made a poster and hung it up in the sanctuary. There were notices in the bulletin and on the powerpoint

announcements that these classes were taking place on such days, at such a time, and that anyone was invited (which was news to me when I read the notice). Despite the promos, the only reason we had anyone at our first class was because the youth worship choreography team happened to be practicing that afternoon and Pastor Ceferino insisted that they stay for our class, which he assured them would be short. 

Maybe because the leader of the worship choreography team is the Pastor's nephew or maybe because they wanted to be hospitable to the foreigners or maybe because, let's not totally discount this possibility, they actually wanted to come, they stayed. As nervous as I was (and I was only running powerpoint), Irene was more so. She does not like teaching children much and she likes standing in front of lots of people her own age even less. She needn't have worried. Though shaking faintly at first, she soon found her stride, prompting laughter at her spontaneous jokes and nods of agreement at the relevance of her elaborations.

Over all, the class was well received and provoked enough interest that we had a similar number of young adults and teenagers, some new, attending our second class on Sexually Purity the following Thursday. There had been some discussion about whether or not we should even give this class. Irene had not understood much of the class back in the States and was worried that it wouldn't speak to Venezuelan reality (according to the Pastor's daughter) where even within the church, the youth are already sexually active. I countered that if that is the reality, it should be more necessary for us to present this class rather than less. We would just have to talk about it differently: stress why sexuality purity is important and desirable up front using LOTS of scripture references to back up our claims rather than just leaving it at our say so and then ending with a section about how even though their state of virginity may have ended, sexuality purity is a lifestyle that God can restore to us, again with lots of scripture. I wanted to leave them with hope rather than guilt.

Even though convinced of its necessity, I was still scared to teach this class. I expected one of two responses: loud, angry, physical protests at my impossible challenge or smug snickering as the naive American cluelessly insisted on boredom. Instead, the class went over well. Surprisingly, we even had a great discussion about the negative effect the surrounding culture has on behavior and thought patterns towards purity. I felt like these kids, or at least the vocal ones, were also convinced that this was an important topic, one worth fighting for.

They also had enough interest in the classes and respect for us to ask if we could postpone the class for the following night since it was the first night of Holy Week vacation and they were going to a weekend lock-in of sorts as an evangelism tool for their unsaved friends. I was impressed that they had asked, let alone that they had coordinated this other event. We agreed since it looked like our whole class had already planned to go to the lock-in. Truth be told, I was glad for the break because translating 3 or 4 pages of notes plus other handout material pages the day of the first class and over the next two days for the second had taken quite it's toll on me.

Having made good use of Holy Week to finish Tuesday the 6th's class (notes, extra handouts, lecture, and powerpoint), I felt much more prepared going into my lecture on Identity in Christ (with a brief plug for dying to self since there was no time to fit in a 6th class). It was so good to see that our little group came back. There's no longer the obligation to come. No one is standing over them forcing them to come this week. They want to be here. I want to be here. 

 

Learning from our mistakes and improving on what we had already done helped us this past second week to feel more confident and more prepared in giving the classes, and I think our preparation made the classes more interesting and more valuable for the kids who attended the classes too. Irene's class on decision -making / conflict resolution / Christlike relationships on Thursday and our joint class on cross cultural understanding both went so well that the kids were asking if there were more classes. I'm going to choose to believe that's because they wanted more classes not because they wanted to make sure they didn't have to go to anymore. Regardless, we've been faithful in carrying out what Pastor Ceferino asked of us, what we also feel God called us to do. We've planted the seeds, now we have to trust that God will continue to work unseen in these kids lives.

Oh well. I know it may not seem like much, but looking back on these classes now that they're over, I feel like Moses looking over the Red Sea. What lies behind me used to look like an vast expanse, impossible to cross, and You brought me through it, Lord. We made it.

It's a good feeling.

The all-night prayer vigil of April 1st: a story of His workmanship

¨My soul shall make its boast in the Lord, the humble shall hear of it and be glad...I sought the Lord and He heard me, and delivered me from all my fears. They looked to Him and were radiant, and their faces were not ashamed. The poor man cried out, and the Lord heard him...the angel of the Lord encamps all around those who fear Him and delivers them...the Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves those who have a contrite spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all...the Lord redeems the soul of His servants, and none of those who trust in Him shall be condemned¨¨ -Psalm 34

¨¨Heaven is My throne, and earth is My footstool. Where is the house that you will build Me? and where is the place of My rest? ...But on this one I will look, on him who is poor and of a contrite spirit, and who trembles at My Word.¨¨-Isaiah 66:1,2b

“…that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death, if, by any means, I may attain to the resurrection of the dead,”(Philippians 3:10).

The evening began, hot enough that the drops of sweat re-clung to your face minutes after washing yourself in cold water. I emptied all of my water and still felt the thirst, as the last group of us piled into the church-rented bus and drove into the night, with excited faces and conversations. The bus rumbled and jostled through roads that led us to a quiet residential area with trees and a small road, and we came to the appointed place, an area with a large tree in the middle of it and many chairs for the congregants. We were to be awake all night, and to be prepared in our hearts for the Lord to impart things to us.

The night was slowly becoming cooler into the morning, the dust-tinted orange moon hanging like a lantern in the sky. The air was quiet and still all around us except for the booming voice of the speaker at the microphone or the praises of the singers and congregants of Shalom. Personnel were stationed around the borders of the plot of land, and I knew what they were doing: securing the territory with constant prayers. (The spiritual realm consists in territories and borders as real as those of the physical).

I was doing fine, singing praise songs. After the singing and declaring praises into the night, it was time for the speaker to preach. Not long into his sermon, the words began cutting into my heart, bothering me and making me angry as they hit an obstinate wall of fears and protests. He was saying that we are responsible for every minute we lose on this life to reach people for eternity. "Why isn't there a gospel for imperfect people?", I protested inside, feeling a wall of expectations for following Him that I could not meet, and so I got up from my seat to drink water and slump fitfully next to a tree outside where everyone was gathered but within full view of them. Eventually I realized that it was logically better for God to have us improve in righteous actions than it was for God to throw up His hands and let everything slide because we're imperfect humans. Realizing once more, of course, that His ways are good and mine are the ones that need continual improvement, I apologized to Him but was left in kind of a bad mood. The thing that cheered me was looking up and witnessing a previously unsaved man, the husband of a Christian lady in the church, come forward to repent and receive Jesus as His Savior. As he was prayed over, I joined the others in jubilant celebration.

Later a group of youth flocked around me. As they participate as dancers for the church sometimes, we also danced together to some of the songs. All night I had been thinking of dancing for Him, dancing as I once used to do frequently, as if it were only He and I in a room. And as I began to try to dance, one of the youth came and was showing me, “No that's the wrong way to dance. This is how it goes.” My arm followed the command but without heart. Dancing, one of the last things I thought that I still could do all for Him, now seemed to have become not a God-thing but a people-thing. From here my thought life began to spiral into failures and things from the past. It got to the point where I despaired inside of ever being able to serve the Lord in any capacity at all. "I can't anymore... I can't function, how do I live? What do I do in my life at all?" My tears were the culmination of recent months of inner struggles, wondering how to live in Him, who I am to be in Him, how He can stand me or whether He will leave me to slip if I fail to obey Him, etc. I remembered how Noemi, my host sister, had earlier preached, “Prepare your hearts for Him to do something tonight!” But in my heart, I said somewhat bitterly, “Now He can’t do anything for me, and the night is almost over!”

Then another speaker stood up. His Spanish rang through the air like a clear bell. “Someone here tonight has said, ‘No more. I can’t any longer. What do I do?’”

My ears perked up to listen. “My Daughter...” I heard him say the words as if God were speaking to me alone: my daughter.

What he said – the words of God through the mouth of the man – went something like this (though perhaps not in this order).

¨¨ I have been holding your hand this whole time. I have never left you alone (I had earlier that night just finished accusing Him of doing just that). Why are you dismayed inside, why are you cast down? (reminding me of the words in psalm 42). Nothing can separate you from my love...the work that I have begun in you I will complete until the end. (two verses that have been special to me this year but which I did not really believe because they seemed like only words on paper). Today is the day to rise. Take up your Cross. (This gave me chills up and down my spine; it was not just some cutesy human encouragement, and upon hearing it my doubts about whether it was just a person or God speaking vanished). I love you. I love you! I will not throw you away! I will not throw you away! (addressing precisely the thing I have feared, and I have feared it after realizing that walking after Jesus is also a matter of righteousness and not only of one time saying you are His). Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid. Why don’t you come closer to Me? Why don´t you come closer to Me?... You say that you cannot, but you can. You can! ¨¨

The words stilled me. They spoke exactly to me. So I figured that the least I could do was respond to his call to come forward, and kneel there with two other women who also came up. And we spoke as he prayed, repenting of accusing Him and entertaining doubts and thanking Him.

I came back and the rest of the morning, I was very quiet, as if finally anchoring on an island after a turbulent storm, not knowing how to share this with other people (and I wanted to process it with Him first). I was becoming tired and dizzy, playing with a stick and wearing the newest and most economical style of “backpack” ( a brown plastic bag whose handles I had draped around my shoulders). I had near me one of the youth, who this night had also spoken words from Him to me at about the same time as when the speaker did. One of the pieces of her counsel had to do with a metaphor of being caught between a sword and a wall, something I had (I am not joking) written about in my journal not three days before (I am convinced she was speaking through Him about this and other things because I know she had neither read my mind nor my journal).

This year I have been confronting struggles, fears, and questions regarding who I am and how to follow Jesus faithfully. The process began (in December) with learning that I needed to crave the Lord instead of craving things like food and coffee (however good they are!), and beginning to feel more of a hunger for Him each day. Then upon coming to Venezuela, I began to notice and read about the sharp contrast between His holiness and the works of fleshly human nature. Walking down the streets observing the Carnaval that celebrates Baal and earthly pleasures, I contrasted this with the Narrow Way of Jesus, then tried to figure out which category my own words and actions belonged to. In this examination of myself I saw myraid weaknesses, such as worry/lack of firm decisions about the future, and stinginess/worry over my money supply here, among other things. I woke up one morning with the devestating thought that none of the little things I was doing every day to be busy or nice were His works, but only works done on my own strength. Questions arose about the connection between salvation, His love, and obedience/righteousness. I began turning up almost everything I had learned over the years, and remember many moments from the past that had to do with some teaching about God. In my fear and weakness with this process, I began to conclude that I was stuck between a sword (the death that happens when you turn back to the world and away from God) and a wall (the seeming impossibility of being righteous or obeying Him in things that you don´t really want to do). I felt insecure in all ways possible, even in salvation. At one low point I decided that even if I could be sure of nothing else, I knew that God would rather me seek Him than give up seeking Him, and I held onto that, hoping against hope He would intervene. I realized that there is no one like Him on the whole earth to really talk to; deep things that who but He could understand or heal? Many times I did not know who to talk to at all. And the Lord has been helping me. Breakthroughs have been coming this month; where He helped me make decisions about the future, and spoke to me through His word and other people, including during the vigil. There are still many things to process and turn up, and much armor and strength to build up in Him. Meanwhile, the wonderful blessing of sweet fellowship with His people remains, and what of Him redeeming my life and redeeming His time?

-Victoria!, the voice calls out from behind me in the bakery in Charallave on the third afternoon later. To my delight it is the husband of Zoraida, the man from Colombia whose faith in Him has been borne out of fire. His friend and brother in Christ, who is one of the (physically) blind that can see, is with him.

-Are you coming to the house today?, he asks

(I am at this point looking flustered from thinking about the week´s and the day´s myriad plans)

-No, i already called Zoraida, we are scouting for a campsite for the youth camping on the 17th.

-God will redeem the time, and bless it; He is in each day; there is not a need to worry yourself..., he says- (Him redeeming the time!)

-Sometimes I do not want to be here or anywhere, and I wish to be with Him already.

-(a smile) That is just like something Paul said. We are pilgrims on this earth...

-Yes, we do not belong here.

-How was the vigil?, he asks

-It was tremendous. God spoke to me. And I was crying earlier, thinking, He can´t help me now.

-(a beautiful, wonderful smile lights up his face) He saves/is close to the humble...

Then he proceeds to buy two very sweet small chocolately cakes for me and Anthony, which in Venezuela are well decorated and somewhat expensive sweets, and with his benevolent smile and blessing in the Lord, he and his friend, one of the blind who can see, say goodbye and depart to mount the motorcycle outside the shop.