DUST

Dust. Everywhere. Even the grass was dusty. That was my first impression when we drove over the US border and into Mexico. Even though we stayed only a few minutes from the border, when we crossed it, it was evident that we were in a different culture.

As we continued driving to our destination, I played “tourist” and gawking at everything: the police armed to the teeth standing guard or driving around, the run-down cement buildings next door to affluent homes, the fruit trees and vegetation that were so different from home in Canada, the sellers and their carts (or just their cars) full of everything you could want to buy.

My reverie was often broken up by frequent stops at what was humorously named “gringo launchers”, large often unmarked speed humps. Driving was an adventure all on its own, with seemingly little to no rules or signs. Roads were thoroughfares for people, cats, dogs, farm animals...and sometimes vehicles. There, you straddled the white line, if there was one, and seatbelts were optional.

We arrived at our “home” for the next four days. It looked suspiciously like three large cement boxes stuck together, with a gate around the perimeter. Inside was cool and refreshing...and smelled like an old outhouse. After unloading our belongings, we discovered that the landlord had built a “new” bathroom indoors (versus the old one that was joined to the outside of the building), thus the reason for the scent. We tackled the job of cleaning the place-especially the bathroom, to make it more sanitary for our families. I had brought some essential oils, and soap and water were available so we scrubbed. We got most of the cement off the toilet from the building job but we never did find the back piece for it. After checking out the shower, though, we decided to sponge bathe.

Mexicans are “front porch kind” of people, always around, eager to greet and smile and chat. Friendly. A contrast to our back door, never-at-home culture in most of North America. Walking around the neighborhood was a great way to meet people. We spoke through a translator and got to know our neighbors a bit. Many were people the team had already had connections with on previous visits. We prayed with them, encouraged them, shared our testimonies, and loved them. They were invited to come for a meal and time in God’s Word together later on in the week.

The night they came over, the ladies had cooked a large meal of rice, refried beans, ground beef, tacos, and corn over the small propane camp stove we had brought with us. We shared the meal together and then Todd started sharing God’s Word. I watched the four who had come, out of the corner of my eye, trying to perceive their interest and reaction. One lady appeared to be politely putting up with us. Another one wiped away tears frequently. The lone man seemed to know the scriptures that he had claimed to have read through in its entirety. Truths were shared from God’s word with lively illustrations (such as a rat trap that snapped and flew out of Todd’s hand at the wrong time). Towards the end of the evening, Todd shared his testimony. The atmosphere in the room changed and the lady who was only being polite was now listening intently. God seemed to be moving in this little run down room among these hurting people. We were all greatly encouraged.

We left Mexico tired, but encouraged that the God who had formed us from the dust of the ground, used us in some small way while we were there.

-Eve Nielsen

March 30, 2015