I sometimes pray in other languages.
Remember when you weren’t very versed as a kid? Things were simple, right? That’s why I try to pray in Spanish and Creole at times – it’s simple, not much lofty talk. I become like a child in doing so, faithful to Him in all I have, which isn’t much language-wise.
Yesterday, my Church to Church team from Athens Church went on a prayer walk throughout Granada, Nicaragua. (To see these college kids hearing the voice of the Lord for what may be the first time ever excites me to no end!) Usually, I sit back and let them take action, ending up with crocodile tears and heart wrenching experiences. This time was different. This time, it was me.
We stood still, slowing down, and sought the voice of God for the day of ministry at hand. Holy Spirit gave some of us words and direction, so we went in faith.
First it was a 101 year old woman with a sweet Master Miyagi beard. Then it was a jewelry vendor on gringo street. After that, it was an elderly ice cream man (he knew his stuff, but we got to challenge him with more depth). Everything was falling into place, but it was our last visit that did me in.
Jesse, our translator, saw them from afar. He knew it. He saw himself as a boy. He was drawn in almost as if he were walking the streets alone. On that corner stood five young boys all under twenty years old with glazed eyes, and big egos, up to no good.
My spirit said, “here we go” with exponential excitement as we walked their way. Of course, I had to butt in with some humor. I leaned in with a wink and whispered, “Isn’t that a little girl’s backpack?” As soon as I leaned in closer I noticed they had some in their hands, but it was almost gone. “What’s that?” I knowingly asked.
With full lungs, he blew a deep breath in my face as he said with a smile and chill voice, “Marijuana.”
Moving right along, I said, "okay" and introduced myself. We exchanged a few words, then as Jesse began to share how he was once in their shoes, I noticed a seventeen year old boy to the side who wasn’t much interested in Jesse telling his story. Guess what happened? We became friends. I found out Carlos was his name.
With no translator, I felt I should give it a go.
I quickly found out all about him and his family (he’s the oldest of four). Mom works in Granada and dad is off somewhere in the mountains, nowhere to be found. He said he just chills in the street with his homies and sometimes works in the market.
I began to share some of what Carlos was overhearing, Jesse’s story. “Jesse used to be a crack cocaine addict and drug dealer for over 30 years, but God’s love was bigger.” I tried to get past God’s love, but couldn’t. Every time I talked about the love of Jesus and how big it was, I got stuck. It was about the third try that it hit me and I began to cry, “That's it. The love of Jesus is so so so big.”
That’s the Gospel. It really is that simple.
“Carlos, do you know that Jesus loves you?” “Sí.” Seeing that he gave me the “good answer”, I asked again, “Do you know that Jesus loves you? Do you know know know that Jesus loves you?” He stared into my eyes for about ten seconds and finally said, “Jesus loves me” almost unsure as if it were a question or a statement. I assured him that he is loved abundantly in the simplest way I had.
All in all, I’m overly thankful that Holy Spirit led me to use the little Spanish I speak to talk to Carlos about something so big. Why? If anything, I was the one being ministered to. I truly believe that if I were to use a translator to communicate what I wanted to say, I would have complicated the Gospel.
I ask you, do you know that Jesus loves you?
