When cultures collide

The following story is a reminder to to myself as we head north in a few weeks. My prayer for my kids is that they will be able to lay aside their Mexican upbringing and embrace some of the positive elements in American culture. At the same time, I pray that they won't blend in so well that they no longer resemble followers of Christ. It's a fine line for me, too, sometimes.

Back in 2003, we had speaking engagements at different U.S. churches on Sundays. As much as possible, Jim tried to go by himself to minimize the stress on the family and to allow the kids to attend the same church each week and make friends. One particular week, Jim was being introduced at one of our newer supporting churches. We both agreed it was important for the whole family to be there.

Jim graciously offered to go to the early service by himself, with the understanding that I would bring the rest of the family in time for the main service later in the morning. Great emphasis was placed on being "on time."

Once he left, I shifted into high commander mode, issuing orders for everyone to quickly get moving, cleaned up and dressed. Great emphasis was placed on "clean" as I inspected each child's clothing for stains and rips. Being typical laid back MKs (missionary kids), they can be oblivious of such trifles, resulting in rag-tag appearance at inopportune times unless I help prod them along with my American-bred sensibilities. Thus I nag when the situation demands it.

Unbelievably, that morning (with great cooperation from the older kids) all eight of us were dressed and walking out the door ahead of schedule. After years of adjusting to the Latin culture which is more people-centered, not event-oriented, we were unaccustomed to being so driven by the clock. In Mexico we could show up at any event twenty minutes "late" and be almost guaranteed of being among the first to arrive.

Nonetheless, we had managed to exceed even our own expectations that particular morning. I remember driving along, smiling, thinking smugly how surprised and pleased Jim would be when we all walked into Church of the Open Door clean, dressed, combed, and early for a change. I was downright proud of myself for a job well-done. Another church full of strangers would soon be duped into believing I always have my act together....

My well-laid plans were suddenly shredded when we noticed a woman with small children, apparently broken down by the side of the toll road. In one split millisecond I had two conflicting voices in my head. With seven children watching, I had no choice but to be the Christian Samaritan, and not the church-going Pharisee. Like any good Mexican, I instinctively stopped to help her out.

Time and church ceased to exist as we focused on the people God placed in our path. My teen-aged sons jumped out of the van without a word of instruction, diagnosed the trouble, and began changing the woman's tire. Meanwhile, Hannah stayed in the van and entertained the younger children while I shared the gospel with a frightened elderly woman on her way to a family funeral with her grandchildren. After a tearful prayer with the stranger, the tire changed and tools put away nicely, we continued on our way, exhilarated with the joy of being used by Jesus to help a widow in distress. We had made the right decision, done the right thing, and it was gratifying.

Walking into the huge auditorium after the worship service was in progress, every eye seemingly on us, I began to count the cost. The boys were filthy from wrestling with the woman's broken jack under her car. My makeup was smudged from tears, my hair windblown and unbrushed, and I felt like I was covered with dust and debris from the passing traffic on the highway. After all my efforts that morning, we looked the exact rag-tag family I had so diligently tried to hide.

The missions pastor learned of our situation, and graciously allowed us to remain seated rather than parade up to the pulpit with Jim in front of the whole church. The kids were relieved about that. (MKs hate to be put on display!) Jim went up on our behalf to greet and thank the congregation for their prayers and support, and to share a bit about our vision for reaching the unreached people groups of Oaxaca.

The woman who introduced us told the congregation why we were late and unwashed. I was horrified, thinking she had somehow robbed us of crowns in heaven by announcing our secret deed which we had done "as unto the Lord." The reason she told them is because it was so similar to a sermon illustration the week before. God used us that morning as an object lesson.

Funny, He has yet to use us as an example of a "perfect family" or me as an example of a "perfect mom." (Notice the recurring theme of "bad parenting" in my stories.) It's better to let Him choose the lessons anyway. I hope someone was inspired that morning at Church of the Open Door. It certainly wasn't my doing, so I can take no credit. It was all to the glory of God. There does seem to be a pattern here. Stripped of pride, God uses me.

Looking back, I'm glad she told on us. Otherwise I would likely have never told anyone what happened that morning, and the kids would have forgotten all about it. Now I can share my story and remind my children to lay aside any prideful ambitions and always search for people in need.

Hebrews 10:24 (New International Version)
"And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds."

1 Timothy 5:25 (New International Version)
"In the same way, good deeds are obvious, and even those that are not cannot be hidden."

1 Peter 2:11-12 (New International Version)
"Dear friends, I urge you, as aliens and strangers in the world, to abstain from sinful desires, (pride?) which war against your soul. Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us."