I'm found...

“I will extend peace to her like a river.”

Peace has wrapped me up in her arms, and I’m found again. 

I’m found in 737 Calle Tzintzunzan, a little house tucked off the streets, away from the wandering eye. 

I’m found in Centro NOE, a pale-skinned “guera” among a sea of faces with chocolate eyes, full hands and full heart. 

I’m found in friendships rekindled over the dinner table- mugs of steaming coffee and the sweetest of pastries, piles of tacos or a tower of fries.

I’m found in the bent-over singsong laughter of friends filling the dark streets on a walk home.

I’m found in the New NOE, tears brimming over, because there’s nothing quite better in this world, than being found. There’s nothing better than living with the quiet assurance that you are where you are, for a reason.

And though my days are busy and trying, there’s nothing more satisfying. I’ve been given seven groups of students to tend to for an entire year. I’ve been entrusted with being love in Centro NOE and in the streets that have become imprinted within my memory.

I’ve been found.

I saw what I saw and I never can go back.

I can never return to the mindset that “comfortable” is the home I should never leave. I can never become accustomed to never seeing a suitcase waiting to be filled. I can never go about my days without thinking of the people I’ve been given to love. Without heeding the mission I’ve been called to fill.

And so, life goes on here.

And so, His mercies fill me in the mornings and stay with me until the waning hours of sunlight.

Don’t you miss it, little one. Don’t you dare settle, do you hear me? There’s something around the bend, there’s light yet to be seen, there’s a clearing in your wilderness. You’ve been called, will you heed? You’ve been chosen, will you rise?

  

Fear. Shame. Doubt.

Have become…

Peace. Joy. Assurance.

Keep your hands empty, your arms open and your heart unlocked, child.

You’ve more to give.

I’ve more to give. And peace has been extended to me like a river.

For. I’m. Found.

 

I’m found in the unfamiliar, the distinctly foreign.

And my heart looks to this place as home, these people as mine. 

ONE MONTH.

"I get lost in the beauty of everything I see."

One Republic

So here we are, once again. In just two days I will be celebrating my one-month anniversary of returning home. 

And let me tell you...

I've been binding hundreds of books, participating in meetings, painting classrooms, washing windows, registering students, running and breaking out of my shell a bit. 

The other day I met with the director of the NOE Center, Brian Overcast, and we caught up on everything. And yes, I spilled my heart telling him that this is where I'm supposed to be for good and hesitantly asked him if I would have a place indefinitely. 

I'm brimming with joy as I write, because I was told there would always be a place here for me. 

I also have been given more responsibilities: I'm now in charge of the Administration of the Angel Program (our child sponsorship program) and I have been designated the English Coordinator. This means I'll be taking the new interns under my wing, as well as prepping everything for our other English teachers. 

I've been a little more outspoken this time around. There are still days when it's harder than others, but God is proving to be faithful, and keeping His promises about becoming strength in my weakness. 

Of course, He isn't limiting his faithfulness to my Spanish-speaking. I went running with the team of NOE staff and former students that we have here training for the Portland Marathon a couple Sundays ago. And I ran the most I have ever ran in my life: 9.5 miles. This is a feat, because like most things in my life, I have always counted myself incapable.

So I think this is what it all comes down to...God is quietly, ever so gently reminding me that I truly can do all things through Him, because He strengthens me. 

I just want to challenge your little hearts that wherever you are, He's already there. I want you to feel deep within your soul and mended bones, that God finds you worthy, He finds you capable. That's what He's teaching me and once again, I feel as though these beautiful people are blessing me more than I can ever be for them. 

Here's the run-down for you:

-We just had registration for the original NOE Center: parents and students started standing in line at 5 pm in the afternoon on Sunday to receive their number at 7 am on Monday. I lost count of how many we registered, but I believe it was close to around 250. Registration for the new NOE will be happening this coming week and we are expecting 200 students to register there. And there are still openings, so the numbers will continue to grow the next few days. 

-I'm going to be teaching seven classes: adults, three classes of the final level, the final level of elementary and two exchange classes. 

-Your prayers are definitely being heard. I've seen God working in my students' lives and redeeming the broken. 

-Another one of my former students is getting baptized on Sunday! 

-My sister received her visa for 10 YEARS. 

Here's how you can be praying:

-I have been dealing with sickness these past few days. 

-Registration at the new NOE and for us as we finish up painting and moving things. 

-For the three other interns: their health, peace, etc. 

-The NOE staff as these final days before opening are full of stress!

-The two meetings that I'm in charge of this week! 

I'm so sorry this is haphazardly written, but somedays the words don't come as easily. 

dear child, welcome home.

You hear it don't you?

That sweet little voice telling you to move ahead, to push through, to come out of the shadows.

You've been lost, child.

Your heart is frail, untethering at the seams like your favorite hand-me down sweater.

It's one of those days, when moving comes unnaturally.
When your soul longs to stay beneath the covers and avoid the daylight.

You've fallen victim to the vicious cycle, the never-ending routine.

Or maybe you've forgotten what it feels like when God's close to you.

Or your heart is
broken, because feelings just weren't what they were supposed to be.

Or maybe you poured yourself into addictions, that did nothing to shield you from pain.

You hear it don't you?

You matter.

You. Your mess. All of those mishaps.

They matter.

God wants to bring you out of this, whatever your "this" is.

He is with you.
Do you feel Him?
He sings over you.
Do you hear him?

I wonder what it would take for you to be still and know.
I wonder what it would take for you to stop trying to be the fixer.

Child, you don't have to come fixed.
You don't have to come perfect.

God, in all of His love, is enough.

He will meet you in your mess. His strong arms are open and his hands are trembling at the thought that you've finally, you've finally returned home. His eyes are twinkling stars, filling with tears, because you're right where you need to be.


And his steady, sure voice can be heard over all the Earth, "Darling one, I always knew that you'd come home. Give me your bags, sit down with me and rest. Let's look at how far you've come my child. Heartbroken, but never too broken for me to fix. Addicted, but never too far for me to lose you. Oh sweet, sweet child, it's time for you to rise out of your ruins, to meander out from your mess, and it's time for you to finally open the door a little wider to your heart to let me in. You were never too far out of reach, son. You were never too far gone, daughter. I have always been right here."

Is this real life?

I am trying to find the words, but they tend to fail me.

I'm going to picture you holding your coffee, sitting in His gentle graces- while I stammer to paint the picture of this beautiful world I have settled into.

It's already been a week and oh my heart, how I have seen Him move.

I've stumbled back into LOVE.

I have stumbled back into the city that never sleeps, home to a million.


My eyes, my heart, I can't keep from smiling, because it's home.

Home to my sisters who are growing into women, passionate for pursuing more of His presence, forgoing tradition.

Home to my students who have graduated and are moving forward, shining their lights for His kingdom.

Home to my students that have been awakened to His presence, doing everything for His glory.

And my heart is overwhelmed.

And so there are moments when my tongue falls into the singing language, and then there are still moments when my soul catches itself, questioning if this is even real, and so I sit and take it all in.

As I write, tears fill my eyes, because yes, I'm home.

I finally made it.

My bags are unpacked. My heart is heaving a sigh. My soul can't contain the joy.

And so as this journey begins, I pray you'll join me in praying that I can fully let go.

Pray that I can rise above fear of the language, once and for all.

Pray that I can be used in as many lives as possible.

completely vulnerable

This morning, Jesus tendered my heart to the idea of being completely vulnerable with you. 

I'm still lacking support, but I'm trusting Him. He is going to provide. He always has. He always will. Last check, I think I'm about 60 dollars away from meeting my monthly goal. 

If you would like to commit to praying or supporting me financially, 

for this new chapter of my story, follow the link provided here: 

http://onlinecfc.com/blog/2013/05/28/kristentomexico/

Save the date on your heart and prayers: I'm flying out August 12th!

Dear Fifteen Year-old Me,

It’s been awhile, since I’ve acknowledged you, I know. Time has worn the hands of the clock and left open wounds on my heart. You, darling girl, have held pain and clenched brokenness; you’ve sat with poverty and made your home in the dust.

Precious one, you’ve beheld beauty on many accounts.

A language that has never come naturally has wrecked you.

And those people, whose chocolate piercing eyes heavily contrast your blue-occasionally-green eyes, have wrecked you.

And it’s a wonder that we are still here. That 11 years later one trip spent wearing out the five-word vocabulary would do something to you, it is beyond me.

Yes, 11 years later that trip you took on a whim; it did something to you.

After that week you never were the same. Those children didn’t fade along with the pictures; their names never did flee from your memory. No, they stayed with you. Every waking moment, those sweet little orphan children stayed with you.

You tried to ignore it, pursuing the easy, but love, they wrecked you. And a few trips and years later, you heeded the call to move eight hours away and study missions, because you knew that was going to be your life.

You moved and He moved with you.

And still yet, you just wanted to pack up your bags and move away forever. Those short-term trips would be the keepers of utmost joy, upon seeing those dearly loved, and utmost pain, when it would come time for the inevitable goodbyes.

But you would go, as many times as you could.

You would return with tears in your eyes and you’d feel pain like never before, because you knew that you were made for those children.

You were made for their country.

But God would need to refine you. He’d need to break down your walls and unclench your fists. He’d need to strip away your tendency to cling to people-so that all was left was just you and Him. He’d need to prove to you that He was and is enough.

And we are on the other side, years spent coming and going with tear-stained cheeks and a pain so foreign to others; that they would just never understand. No, they wouldn’t understand the gaping wounds that goodbyes left on your heart. But He would understand. He would always understand.

He would gently slow things down and you would be pushed and challenged to return to a country, that once was home, but would now feel so foreign. You’d have to adjust and remember what it once was like to make friends, again, to find yourself on the other side of the world.

And you would do so, thanks to His graces, but still yet, you’d feel the pull and tug. However, God would make Himself known in the rejection and in the waiting.

You’d actively pursue things on this side of the world, relieving debts, uncertain of what was to come.

Mexico would be out of sight, but never out of mind.

A year would pass with many closed doors, tear-stained cheeks, and family ties that would be redeemed and strengthened around the table. Out of the ashes, your family would rise.

And in hindsight, it would all be clear. Your extra provisions would be just what your family and the people around you would need.

It was always enough. It’s always enough.

And as I write to you of your journey, fifteen-year old girl, I’m overjoyed to tell you that you’ll be returning home soon.

Your feet will soon settle onto the dusty streets and you’ll spend your days walking to work, taking in the sounds of the never-quiet city, loving on the people that He made you for.

Dear fifteen-year old girl, confidence has given you a voice in a different language, and startled that part of you that used to hide in the pages of a book.

You’ve been blessed with a burden, dear daughter.

And eleven years later, He is taking you home.

Oh precious girl, those tears were never wasted; yes, He’s taking you home. 

pull & tug

“I am blown away that my God, who could do this all by Himself, would choose to let me be a little part of it.” 

My heart strays to the teenage girls, the too-young mothers, the runners. And there's a pull and tug. 

A pull to wrap them up and hold them close within my heart forevermore. 

They changed me. 

Parts of my heart were challenged in those moments. My soul quickened, my heart tugged at its seams as they poured out their stories. They were locked up, thrown away without a key; they were deemed second-chance less. 

But I saw courage in their eyes. I saw life and joy, longing to rise. 

And they changed me. 

My heart strays to the sweet, little children who didn't understand but two words, when I walked unassuming into their country for the first time. And there's a pull and tug. 

A pull to return forevermore. 

They changed me. 

Food was sparse, but joy brimmed over. Orphaned, but they loved freely. 

Lacking much, but giving everything. 

And they changed me. 

My heart strays to the book that opened the door. The mere paragraphs that resonated deep within, inspiring me to reach out and attempt at applying. 

Unlocking thirteen months spent three separate times. And there's a pull and tug. 

A pull to be spent with gratitude. 

It changed me. 

I'm on the other side. 

I'm a just a girl, called to move. Compelled to live in the unfamiliar for forevermore. A girl who needs to be broken and poured out for people, for nations. Two hands ready to give, a heart ready to love, and two feet ready to take those next steps. 

It's not about going, anymore. 

We are on the other side. 

It's about moving. 

It's about release. It's about redemption. 

And there's a pull and tug. 

One that I can no longer resist. 

"I saw what I saw and I can't forget it. I heard what I heard and I can't go back."

Nothing can be undone. 

Nothing can be taken back. 

I have to love. 

I have to move. 

He has called me to undo the chains that bind me, to break down the walls that hinder me, and to move. 

To move with confidence, knowing He's providing, that He will provide. 

Because after all, He's changed me. 

won't you move?

I've got questions. I've got relevant questions, alongside dreadful doubts.

I've seen diligence course through their veins. I've seen weariness settle beneath their eyes.

And I wonder where is my anchor?

Where are You on these stormy seas?

I know You are here. I know that Your heart beats for mine, that You ordained us for this moment in time.

But I find my soul crying out that something has to give.

There needs to be a breaking tide that wraps us up in Your love, Your love that always provides.

And I know that You are providing,

but I have to do some confiding.

Harsh hardships have beaten down upon us like the unforgiving rays of the sun.

And so we sit in the shadows of Your shade, for a moment, head in hands around the table, cause we just need You.

we need you to move.

for us. within us. with us.

we need you to move.

And we are faithful, but sure there are moments when faith seems far from full- when it's less.


But You've come through, You have always come through.

So heed our cry.

send peace down like torrents of rain.
provide, lift us up out of pain.

all our hope is in You.

you are the anchor that holds everything together.

Broken jars.

Battle scars.

Torn hearts with forlorn eyes.

We are the daughters and sons, fully undone- waiting for You to move.

And You'll move with unflinching hands and a steady soul,

You'll move.

You will pick us up from this mess and throw out your anchor.

So we will keep our trembling hands out a little longer, knowing that You are providing, that You are moving.