Outreach Things

This post is simply a random mishmash of the many different things that make outreach Outreach. It’s very long, and it barely scratches the surface… I hope you enjoy! :))

In some cases, the world is your oyster!! In our case, the cactus fields were our bathroom… Peeing in the desert became an adventure not unlike Mission Impossible as we dodged around the cacti and tried not to get their sneaky little spines embedded in our posteriors.

I answer to Emmi more than Emma now because when you have two Emmas on your team you have to do SOMETHING to cut down on the confusion…

Who needs a chiropractor? We’ve discovered that sleeping in hammocks are really good for your back!

Our quote book of stupid/funny/terrible/hilarious/offensive/etc things we’ve said while exhausted, slap-happy, delirious, etc. is now nearly 200 quotes strong. A few of my favorites so far:

“VeggieTales is the foundation of my faith.”

-Christopher

“The bus is Colombian, it will wait for us.”

-Melissa

“Hello? Is anyone naked?”

-Lara

“We are no longer dust people…. Or maybe we’ll forever be dust people.”

-Isabella

“Organs? Do you want my organs? I can sell my organs in Brazil?!”

-Lara

Airports are like a second home. Airplanes are just places to nap and be uncomfortable. I can order an Uber/DiDi/InDriver/Taxi like a boss. I freaking love traveling by bus. [Edit: now that I have completed four overnight bus rides and have more to come, my love for buses has diminished considerably. I’d say they’re just okay during the day, and can be absolute hell at night, especially if your driver thinks he’s a Formula 1 driver on the literal windiest road in Colombia (true story)] Our feet take us a lot of places that we would normally go to by car in the US and I love it.

Humor in your second language is hard, but when you can make someone laugh in Spanish, you feel like you’re on top of the world.

In Latin culture, you share EVERYTHING. And I absolutely love it. If you’re drinking or eating something and someone else is within five meters of you, you don’t say a word - you just hold it out to them to try. And they do the same for you. We are constantly sharing forks because there’s never enough. Germs aren’t a thing. I’m in Heaven.

I’ve learned to let go of a precious, beloved love of mine - sleep. I’m grateful if I get six hours, and I can function(ish) on three. I didn’t think it was possible, and in the long run I’ll probably be worse for it, but Outreach is survival-of-the-ones-who-can-sleep-anywhere-that’s-not-their-beds.

You simply become accustomed to being uncomfortable. Whether that’s physically covered in dirt and sun-baked dust with no way to shower for days in the desert or literally dripping and soaked in sweat in every part of your body because of merciless Amazonian humidity or stiff from a less-than-ideal ‘bed’… Or being mentally challenged to pray for someone in your second language or translate in a pinch or spontaneously lead an hour or two of worship in the middle of nowhere (or middle of the city)… Or the emotional challenge of doing new types of ministry with new people or processing the emotions that result from the intensity of full-time ministry or resolving conflict when you’re stressed and tired… Uncomfortable is the new normal. You live outside of your comfort zone nearly 24/7. It’s exhausting, but the discomfort zone is where you grow.

I laugh. A lot. All the time. About all sorts of hilarious and stupid things. My outreach family are some of the most hilarious people ever and often we’re so sleep-deprived that everything is funny. Wherever we go, we’re the group that’s laughing and having a better time than everyone else there. And I love laughing in Spanish.

You’re continually and simultaneously humbled and delighted by the new cultures you encounter. As one who hails from the United States of America, my experiences with these different cultures and places and ways of life has completely changed my perspective and challenged the idea that my country is completely superior in every way. Sure, I still appreciate many things about my country; the US has a lot going for it, but we as estadounidenses often unwittingly operate in a profound superiority complex that results in a deep-seated pride and ignorance. It blinds us to the reality that we are not better or worse than the rest of the world. We are different, we have our own unique strengths and weaknesses. If we remain tethered to the lie that the United States of America is far superior in every way to any other country or culture, we will not only miss out on the rich delight of the lives and lands of others, we will perpetuate the stereotype of rude, ignorant, selfish, egotistical, entitled ‘Americans’. It grieves me to say it, but my time in Mexico and Colombia has only confirmed that this stereotype is perpetuated not by ungraciousness on the part of Latinos, but rather by their experiences with people who fulfill this stereotype all too well, in the past and the present. The truth is, those of us who have grown up in the USA, taught from our infancy that our homeland, our culture, our language, our history, our ideas and ideals, our way of life, etc. are unmatched and superior to the rest of the world are missing out. It is to our great benefit and, I believe, the benefit of our fellow humans around the world, to make a choice -  to step out of our homes, to leave our native country, to explore the rest of the world with humility and curiosity and appreciation and seek to learn from the people and cultures that are different than us. Don’t assume that just because you love your homeland every other country will pale miserably in comparison. Get your passport, leave familiarity, and fall in love with the extraordinary beauty that abounds in the vast variety of our world and our humanity.

Warm culture. (*nervous laughter*) they warned us and we were still not prepared. I liked to think I was at least lukewarm culture before coming to YWAM… I was wrong. If you’re new to the idea of ‘warm culture/cold culture’, it’s pretty simple - in warm culture the people are warm, affectionate, very expressive with their words and physical touch, very comfortable with strangers, everyone’s a friend and you will all be greeted by a Latin kiss. Us cold culture folks are much more reserved, more accustomed to handshakes than hugs and kisses, less likely to share everything we own (and our life story)with a stranger (que triste), not nearly as good hosts, and completely befuddled by the idea that two people cuddling a hammock, holding hands and kissing each other on the cheek is commonplace betwixt friends, not just couples… The confusion is a constant. But most of us are ‘warming up’, you might say, to the love that is so readily poured out by our wonderful warm culture friends. (Which isn’t to say we aren’t still occasionally startled by an intensely warm greeting by someone we’ve never met…)

I took cell service for granted before coming to Colombia and now have a distinct appreciation for WiFi and the ability to communicate with my family and people back home. I must say I’m better for not being able to rely on my phone nearly as much as I once did… I’m *always* better for less time spent glued to my cellular device. However, as I said, I do have a deeper gratitude for any opportunity to connect with people back home (which doesn’t happen nearly as often as I would like.) To everyone on my team who I’ve ever begged for a hotspot… I’m sorry and thank you for your charity.

New foods. It seems rather obvious but my expectations have been surpassed. It’s awfully embarrassing and completely ‘American’ of me, but I always assumed that all of South America ate like Mexico - tacos, quesadillas, salsa, guacamole, carne asada, and so on and so on… I couldn’t have been more wrong. I obviously can’t speak for all of South America, but Colombia boasts food that is vastly different than Mexico. For one, they do bread, and they do a lot of it, and I personally think they do it very well. I always attribute good bread to Europe and nowhere else, but try one good buñuelo and you’ll begin singing the praises of Colombian bread. Oh, and arepas… and empanadas… the plantains in all different forms… I still can’t wrap my head around eating hot soup two meals a day in the desert, and I must admit that my first time eating goat was not the most enjoyable experience (let’s just say that some of the outside of the goat, i.e. the hair, made it into the soup along with the insides of the goat) I’m also not the biggest fan of fried pig skin or salchicha or pescado entero or sopa de gusano (feel free to Google translate those last two) but in general, Colombia has charmed me with it cuisine.

Okay. Now that you’ve gotten a picture of some of the random (but essential) Outreach Things,  I’m going to get real honest with you…

Outreach is hard. And Outreach is wonderful. Outreach is exhausting. And Outreach is a lot of fun. Outreach is sacrifice on every level. But Outreach is also the most tremendous blessing. And Outreach is complicated because you cannot, no matter how hard you try, make the people back home understand. You can’t make them understand how complex the highs and lows are. You can’t fully explain to them that, ‘Yeah, I know all the photos I post on Instagram are of us having fun, but that’s actually only one, maybe two days out of my week. Those are the days when I’m able to take photos. The other five, six days out of the week? I’m neck deep in ministry. In evangelism, in serving the homeless, in kids ministry, in reaching the refugees, in living with and trying to reach indigenous tribes, in serving and supporting local churches… In intercession and assisting medical brigades and leading times of worship in churches and parks and jungles and hotels and deserts and street corners and peoples homes and YWAM bases. More often than not it’s not safe to take my phone out to take photos. Occasionally it’s not even safe to have my phone on my person, or wear any earrings or jewelry… When a day of ministry begins at 6 AM and ends at 1 AM the next day (true story) my mind isn’t on photography, it’s on everything right in front of me, on fighting the spiritual battle that does not let up, even for a moment. It’s on supporting my team and keeping up with my responsibilities within those ministries. If I’m honest, some days I’m focused on surviving.’

When a supporter comments that DTS seems more like a vacation than anything else, I hardly know how to respond. This person has given generously to make it possible for me to be here, doing these things, and it seems I’ve disappointed them. They don’t see the reality of everything that DTS is and has been for me. They see a moment in a cute coffee shop, posted on my story. Or a snapshot of a morning spent at the beach. Or even just an afternoon of walking around a beautiful part of the city. Those moments are us on our rest day, trying to process, with each other and with God, the heartbreak and brokenness and pain we encountered in ministry that week. We’re processing profound exhaustion and homesickness and a myriad of other things that we can’t take time to think about during our ‘hit it hard’ days. Yes, we rest. Yes, we take time to enjoy the cities we’re visiting. Yes, we take time as a family to recharge, to encounter Jesus and be filled by Him. Yes, Outreach is tremendously fun. And that is what you see on my stories. You don’t see the night that our brother broke his leg in the Amazons, when the spiritual attack was so thick you could breathe it in and taste it, when we pulled ourselves up by our bootstraps and put our arms around each other and chose to intercede and worship and fight with tears on our cheeks and exhaustion in our bones and deep uncertainty in our hearts. Or the night I sobbed in the dark, sitting alone in the desert, simply broken from a heavy, heavy day of intense ministry, of listening to a little girl pour out her story, her pain, her grief, and knowing that in two days I would leave and her story would continue and I would not be able to rescue her. Or the day spent listening to the story of a refugee mom, less than a year older than me, who cried as she described being completely alone, trapped in poverty, unable to feed her kids, missing her family and hurting from the rejection of her neighbors… and that same day visiting the border of Venezuela and Colombia and experiencing the crushing weight of the hopelessness that deepens the lines in the faces of the people escaping desperate circumstances… trying to pray and intercede over that place but feeling so weighed down by the atmosphere that I could barely get the words out.

I could continue. I could describe every moment of ministry, detailing the weight and challenge of it, telling you about all the people who were impacted, rejoicing in their testimonies or grieving a hard heart that said no, expressing my process of trying to navigate my own emotions throughout all of it… You know me. I could write for weeks haha. Because like I said, everything is deeper in Outreach.

But I’ll stop there. For now.

This is why I haven’t written a blog post in two months. Because I cannot figure out how to encapsulate each week in five hundred words or less. Often I don’t have one week processed emotionally until the next week is almost done. I can’t keep up with my own mental process, much less trying to nicely package my experiences in a blog post. So I apologize for generally dropping off the map. I simply do not have the capacity for it right now.

The last thing I’ll say is thank you. To my supporters, those of you who have given your money and your prayers and your love and your encouragement and your open ear to listen to me when we do get a rare, precious moment to talk… I can’t do my gratitude justice in a blog post. But nonetheless, thank you. To my friends who still love me even though I take weeks to respond to texts or make a phone call work, thank you. To my family, who take me just as I am in every moment and never cease to love me and support me in every way imaginable, thank you. To you, my friend, who’s reading these words (which were written over the span of a month, in planes and taxis and buses and hotel rooms and a hammock in the jungle, etc.), thank you for showing up to read a blog post that’s like eight thousand words long. I am so grateful, so thankful, tan agradecida for your love and support. Thank you. Gracias.

When I have more words about Outreach, you best believe I’ll post them. :) until then…

Big love, big hugs,

Emmi