The Firestorm

 

I've been asked where my name, Firestormkids04 came from. What gave me the idea to call myself that? I've been a bit reticent to share, because, well, some of it hurts. I think I know you J-Landers well enough to begin to share the firestorm with you all.

As you know, I spent many years in Mexico as a missionary. It was and is the most rewarding work I've ever done. It never felt like a job. I always felt I was just “home.”

I was called out from my home. I wasn't sent by a church or missions group. My late husband and I retired to Mexico to live the sweet life while we were still young enough to enjoy it. We immediately got involved with the theater group there. We acted in several plays, even directed a few. It was a glorious and fun-filled time for us. We also met a group of Christians that held a Bible study every Tuesday. It wasn't church, but the closest thing to it. Elva was a wonderful teacher – 92 years young and she knew the Bible inside and out. Her son, Howard was part of the theater group. He and his wife invited us to come to the mission they had just a few miles away. I wasn't having any of it. I had my life in nice compartments: theater group, a small business venture, Bible Study, time alone with my husband. It's all I wanted. But June was insistent. Every time she saw me, she would ask again. She told me I would love it. I really didn't want to go. Finally one day I asked her if I went one time, would she then leave me alone? She said yes. I made an appointment and made the trip.

That trip changed my life forever. I went that day and didn't stop for 5 years. I joined the tiny staff at the clinic and felt I'd found my avocation. I loved helping these people and God had apparently given me a nearly instant ability to speak the language. As the clinic grew, I spent more and more time at the mission. Our business venture made us some money and went by the wayside. We just about stopped acting in the theater. My husband helped with building projects at the mission. We had a new direction.

The nurse who ran the clinic came some days and others she just didn't make it. They were expanding the clinic size and asked me to be their clinic manager. I wasn't a nurse, but with the help of the sometimes-present doctor and a book called Where the Is No Doctor,by the Hesperian Foundation, I made it through. This is where I experienced the first real trial. It seemed the nurse didn't want me running the clinic. She wanted to do. I was willing, but she hardly ever showed up and Howard wanted me to do it. I almost quit. I hate having people angry at me. She stirred up a lot of fuss. It was hard and I felt like I was being dragged through a furnace. Her words stung my heart. I thought this was what I was supposed to do for the Lord.

Eventually, the fire burned itself out and we got past the problem. She really didn't have time to come to the clinic all the time and realized that she had her own work to do. One of her ministry workers, however, didn't get over it and several months later, out of the blue, she reported the clinic to authorities for supposed “irregularities” It was a nightmare! The health department came in and gave the doctor we had hired a real rough time. We had to throw many needed medicines away because they weren't authorized for use. I held bitterness in my heart because I thought the nurse had sent her. The devil was trying to steal our joy.

As it turned out, the nurse knew nothing about it and was horrified to learn of the betrayal of the clinic. She came to ask forgiveness and we went forward again. We became friends. She began a ministry with handicapped children. I worked at the clinic and took in needy children. All seemed well with the world.

In 1997, I quit working at the clinic to stay at home with the 6 babies under 6 months old that I had in my care. The Lord had completed my clinic training for me and sent me home to do what He had planned for me in the first place. I am still surprised that this is what He chose for me to do. I didn't think I'd done all that great a job as a mom. I got chance after chance to make new mistakes and rectify old ones. God is truly good.

That year, my husband and mother died within 36 hours of each other and I contracted Hepatitis A. I sent all but 2 of the children home and stayed home to heal and grieve. I slept in the crook of Jesus' arms and cried to him of my loss. He sustained me with His word, telling me that He would never leave me nor forsake me. In a very short time, I had turned from yellow back to normal and I brought my 2 children home.

Then the firestorm blew again. My neighbors thought that surely after the death of my husband I would give up the silly notion of caring for Mexican children. They were so wrong. I wanted nothing more than to serve the Lord in this capacity. I dedicated the rest of my life to Him. They were furious. Missionaries had come to finish the house my husband and I had been building and we moved into it. I moved Mexican workers into the trailer I had lived in and brought more children home. They called the authorities. I received a notice to appear at the courthouse. From what I could understand, the notice said it was going to be like an arbitration to make our neighborhood more livable for all.

I fenced the area in front of my home so the children couldn't get out into the street – that was one of their complaints. So silly, there were only a fewpermanent residents in our “campo”. The rest were weekenders. I didn't totally understand. These people were my friends, or so I thought. The last conversation we had before the appearance date was another complaint and this statement: “And you claim to be Christian!” Her voice was so ugly and hateful.

I prayed a lot and especially hard the day I was to appear. I had offers from a couple of friends to go with me, but since it was to be an arbitration between myself and the neighbor, I declined and went alone. Big mistake! When I arrived, as many of the residents (regular and weekend) as she could muster were standing in the courtyard. I felt my stomach drop. I sat in a chair in the waiting area and bowed my head. I didn't pray for victory. I prayed that the Lord would help me to be a Christian throughout it all. I felt blindsided and He was the only one I could turn to. After a few minutes, I raised my head and saw the father of my oldest child (he had beaten her with electrical wire, opening wounds on her back and legs). Remembering my prayer, I spoke and asked him if he was well. He was there to handle the legal matters for his young daughter who had been hit by a car. He thanked me for asking and asked that I tell his daughter about her little sister.

When we got inside the meeting room, I was ready to be bombarded, but the officer of the court would allow only my next-door neighbor, her husband and their translator into the room. The rest had to wait outside. I remained silent as they voiced their complaints. I didn't even have to bite my lip. When asked a question, I answered truthfully and without extra words. It was hard for me. I was upset that this woman I had considered a friend was throwing vile insults and charges my way. It hurt deeply. Occasionally she would turn to look at me and her eyes would shoot daggers through me. The court officer asked me how I came about caring for the children and whether I was in the country legally. I showed her my documentation and told her that the home was privately run to benefit children in substandard situations. After further questioning, she went to speak to a judge and came back. She told my neighbors that their claims had no merit in Mexico. I could take in and care for as many children as I wanted as long as I didn't abuse them in any way.

I left elated. God had spoken for me. I didn't need to defend myself or the ministry. I just needed to go forward. I wish I could tell you that things got better then, but it was a long, long time of bitterness on their part. I stood on this scripture during that time: 1Peter 2:23 (my paraphrase) – for when they hurled their insults at him, he threw no insult back, neither did He threaten or judge, rather left the judgement to Him who judges justly. I had that scripture taped everywhere, knowing that if my Lord could keep silent, then I could too.

Eventually, the relationship was somewhat restored. We had an easy peace between us and life went on the best it could. I brought Americans in as volunteers to live in my old home and we tried to be the best neighbors we could be. It was never the same. My trust level was down. I trusted God to help me, but didn't fully trust my neighbor not to hurt me again.

I never knew when the Lord pressed me into His service that it would be so hard. Being with the kids wasn't hard, it felt natural. But the trials were there so often! I didn't know how much Satan hated the work of ministry. He used loved ones and strangers to attack again and again. There was another rift between myself and the nurse I had started ministry with so many years before. It was very personal and I won't go into it here, but it changed our relationship forever. I took a stand. I'm glad I did. I'd do it again.

Next came the loss of our beautiful home on the beach. We had been assured that we would be able to keep our homes, that the threatened eviction would not happen. As we watched military troops come into our area, we knew that it was all over. More than 300 people lost their homes that day. I will never forget. I have already forgiven. The children and I had to move on. Our pastor had a tiny house for us to use and we went there with gratitude.

While living with our pastor, I met Robert and fell in love and got married. It was wonderful. Together, we decided on a plot of land to buy for the ministry. The pastor helped us buy it. The land had to be in the name of a Mexican corporation or Mexican citizen. We could not own it outright.

We moved from the pastor's ranch to a rental house in town while we prepared the land for building. Groups from churches in many parts of the United States came to help clear, scrape, dig and build. Fourteen months after we moved off the ranch, the home was nearly completed and we moved in. It was very “rustic” at first, but we loved it. It was so peaceful. Our home was on a bluff, surrounded on all sides by agricultural land. We could see all the way to the ocean. It was a little island of God's love. Perfect place to minister to the children and for them to grow.

The biggest problem that Robert and I had was prejudice. Not his. Not mine. The prejudice of the Mexican people toward him. He is brown as they are, son of a Mexican man and Apache woman, born in the U.S. He is truly 100% American. The locals saw him as a threat. They thought he should think as they did. He couldn't anymore than most foreigners. Robert had been a soldier. He was loyal to the U.S.A. They wanted him to change. I'll say that so many years in Mexico had changed me. I had lived among the people for so long, that I was accustomed to their culture. I just went along with the flow, so to speak. It was a little harder for my precious man of God. For this he was despised. The locals wouldn't look him in the eye. Many came to talk to me instead. My Spanish was better than Rob's but my heart no different. He was hurt and we were once again in the middle of a firestorm.

This time, the fire was different. Rob had health issues and had to leave. The local pastor and church thought I would stay and run the ministry. Told me in fact, that I must do so. They told me my husband was no good for me.

I spent much time in prayer, lying on the floor in my closet, crying to the Lord. What should I do? My first responsibility, Lord is to you, then to family, then ministry and so on. HELP ME!! I was depressed. I was angry. It was hard for all of us. Andrea wanted her papa. The kids wanted papa. I wanted papa.

I went to church and again I heard a preaching about family and what should come first. My place was at my husband's side. He wasn't so ill that he couldn't care for himself, but his doctor didn't want him to return to Mexico. I needed to go to him. I started to make my plans, spoke with the local pastor and told him I would be looking for another couple to take our place as directors. In my prayer life, I felt that I should talk to our friends who had a daycare ministry. I prayed again and again and waited for confirmation. When I got it, I went to our friends and asked them if they would take over the ministry for us.

As it turned out, we combined the two ministries and it has been very good. The fire burned for a while. The pastor's plan had been to take over the ministry himself with me as director. He wanted the piece of land now that it had buildings and farm animals on it. He thought we were rich. We are. It's just that our riches are not silver or gold. Our riches lie in Christ Jesus and Him crucified. In his greed, the pastor and a couple of others broke the law and tried to take something that wasn't theirs to take. We are grateful to God that the ministry has survived yet another firestorm.

If you ever decide to serve the Lord, be ready for the storms. His fire is a refining fire which will make you stronger and burn away from you that which is not pleasing to Him. He will not leave you or forsake you. I know. I've been in the refining fire. I was never, am never, alone. It's my one guarantee.