SHH DON'T TELL ME!

Do any of you have that one person you watch movies with and no matter how twisted and unpredictable the movie is they ALWAYS seem to know the ending or what will happen next? For me it is my sister Talitha, it doesn't matter the movie, she always knows what is going to happen, ALWAYS.

Sometimes she slips and and spills the beans-- which most of the time just ends in laughter because the rest of us oblivious people never saw that ending or scenario ever happening. I would like to say she has a gift, maybe a 'movie prophetess'. And I am willing to bet a chickfila sandwich (that I don't have, I am in Peru, YOU the one reading this are in the land of chickfila which lovingly call the United States now) that Taitha is sitting there shaking her head saying "I don't mean to know it just happens!" Secretly you love your gift Talitha, and we love you for it (que peanut gallery in agreement of head nods and enthusiastic yea's).

Well my life is not a movie, nor do I know the ending. But this Saturday the church we are working with is having an international conference with seven different countries represented-- from Spain, Argentina, United Sates, Mexico, and so on. The whole church has been in preparation for this conference since we started working with them over three months ago. Now I am not sitting here calling my self a prophet, but I have total faith and expectation from the Holy spirit that these next ten days are going to ignite a fire that permeates the city with the reality of Jesus. I am having faith that prostitutes, drug addicts, gang members, beggars on the street, to the richest of the rich in Lima are going to have an encounter with God that will leave them desperate for another taste.

(this is a picture of as I loving the call them "the yellow buildings" in centero de lima where we will have one of our outreaches, which funny enough I had a vision of healings and revival happening there last February before I had ever even seen them! God's a funny one)

I will be sure to keep you guys updated on the conferences happenings, just hearing small things they have planned puts an excitement in my bones I can hardly contain. I will give you a small sneak peak at some of the plans. One of the last days of the conference they plan on taking several groups of artists and play everything from worship to salsa music, and have dancing all through out the streets of the center de Lima-- which is one of the most poor, and ghetto parts of Lima, so to the say the least I am rather excited. Please be praying for hearts to be prepared and a revival to break out that will for ever change this country!

Let the dead come to life, let the blind see the let, every broken heart be made whole.

THERES GONNA BE AN AWAKENING!

-Daniel Bastha.

And PLEASE be praying for my Mom, please.

Doesn't matter how old you are-- at least I don't think.

I am sick.. again.. and let me be the one to tell you I am sick of it. How you can be sick of being sick is beyond my half awake brain right now. Since I have been in Peru I have had three shots (they were supposed to be in my butt, but ended up being in the middle of my back, how they missed that... ha well they might need glasses to say the least) and two lovely IVs. On top of that I might never drink gatorade ever again. The yellow one is still my least favorite I can't seem to get over the fact that it looks like I am drinking pee, and tastes like cleaning supplies with sugar mixed in. The red of blue are my favorite, but of course those are the only two I am NOT allowed to have. Not fair.

Another beautiful thing about being sick in another country is I have no earthly idea what the doctor is saying. I could assume for the most part this time, but the medical terms... I might just never even touch that. One thing I have decided while being sick... for my fourth time in Peru(side note I should be a pro at this by now, and second side note, I hardly never get sick in the States I promise) is that no matter how old you are you still want your mom when you are sick. I mean, maybe it goes away at some point. I thought it would have by now, I mean come on now I am living in a country thousands of miles away for the second time in a year. Yet I laid in bed today going 'what I would give for my mom to scratch my back and tell me about some crazy spiritual book that she read in an hour that would take the average person a month read, and six months to understand to the slightest of what the book was communicating to the reader.' Any of you who know my amazing mom should laugh at that. She goes through books like the average person goes through under wear. Sadly I did not inherit that gift, I take after my father-- give me the 5 minutes cliff note version, and preferably never make me read anything over six paragraphs.

All this to say, it is amazing how much our mothers communicate love and comfort in our lives in a way that no one else can really fulfill. Every person in Peru could scratch my back, and it would still not have the quick side to side scratching comfort that my mom's does. And honestly I am not sure if I could handle that much of a spiritual deep of a conversation in Spanish, I can barely understand in english sometimes.

Do any of you still feel that way about your moms?

Do you still have those break down moments where you just cry and say "I just want my mom."

Maybe it is still very childish of me, I am still getting used to this whole adult thing. So it could very well be I am behind track. Who knows, maybe you do?

Well, the doctor is supposed to be here soon, and hopefully I won't turn into a human pin cushion AGAIN, and the pee colored gatorade will soon cease, please Jesus. They might even let me upgrade to soda crackers and blue gatorade. A girl can wish can't she?

Did you feel that?

You know when you sit in a funny position for too long and your leg starts tingling up and down, and it takes a good few minutes of throwing it around in awkward, yet creative ways attempting to allow blood circulation to flow. Not one of my favorite feelings, happens on a good weekly basis to me, hopefully less for you.

Sometimes I feel like that happens with my spirit-- I sit in a place for to long and the circulation gets cut off and heart becomes numb to my surroundings. If that is in my home town Atlanta Georgia, Mozambique Africa, or my current city Lima Peru. When I first went to Mozambique my heart was broken for poverty, I couldn't even understand how people had no food, shoes, never the less clean water to drink or had ever seen or knew what a toilet or what a shower was. Things that made up my every day life with out even thinking twice about having them. A society and culture that if you did not have a car, or an iphone you felt like you were lacking. After three months in Mozambique I never became numb, but it did became ordinary for me. I did not think twice about seeing a person with a mangled body from being tortured in their war with Portugal, or children who were starving, with bloated bellies. My heart broke, but over time the reality became less and less real, and it just seemed like a normal life style I was protected from.

Upon returning to the states I was stunned by the life I was accustomed to living. Some people say culture shock is hard, for me it was reverse culture shock. It blew me away the little things I took advantage of, things I thought were 'necessities'. Even something as simple as running water. After three months of hardly any showers that lasted 30 seconds if you were lucky,with just bottled drinking water; running water became like liquid gold to me. Even now I see the water running too long and my stomach cringes- but before Mozambique I would have never considered that.

So now here I am, in Lima Peru. Back in a third world nation were poverty seems to be normal. When I first came here I could barely handle walking down the street and seeing 6 year olds selling candy at 1 am in the cold. Looking at their sweet faces I could tangibly feel my heart being ripped out. Now five months later I walk by with a small passing look of sympathy, maybe a smile or a hug saying "No gracias mammita, lo siento" and walk by forgetting the face almost instantly. I see person after person that is poor and unnoticed, and sometimes I notice, sometimes I don't. I came home yesterday and was disgusted at myself. I have come to this country as a 'missionary' to love even the least of these. Yet there are broken people every few steps begging for love, and for hope and I walk by them head held high with out any gesture of love, with out a glimpse of the one my life was made to mimic, Jesus.

I love working with the youth here, there is a fire, there is a passion, there is a desire for hope. But how can I go to the youth and encourage them to live a life that exemplifies Jesus. When I have supposedly given up mine for that cause, yet I am walking by immune to the reality of their needs. I guess this is the reality of missions not many people tell you about, its something that I don't even understand. But one thing I know if is I never want my eyes to become immune to hopelessness, I never want to turn away the least of these. I want my every action, even the smallest ones to actually give some resemblance of Christ. I left my home to show others love, not just in a church, but the forgotten, beaten, and unloved.

So now? Now just like you have to move your leg around to allow circulation to flow again, I will do the same with my spirit and heart. Its time to feel His heart, to feel the desperation of love, for the ones often seen as unlovely-- but what is amazing, those are the ones who carry a beauty that can't be found anywhere else. They carry a pure desire, a zeal, and desperation for God. Not a fake shallow relationship like the ones who only enter a church on Christmas eve. They are the ones who are teaching me what love is. So heart, wake up, your time of being numb is over.

'Break my heart for break yours, everything I am your Kingdom's cause... '

Loving through His love,

-Naomi