Road trip to La Paz...

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So yea, I’m working on bringing the guys with me to Canada this summer. We’re all excited about it (as it seems many of you are), although I’m discovering that it’s not an easy process for sure. There are more than a few hoops to jump through. Last week I took Andres with me and headed up to La Paz to speak to people at the Canadian Consulate. I knew they wouldn’t tell me a definitive yes or no, but I wanted them to see me and put a face to our application (no need to comment on that).  =)  I also had some questions I wanted to ask. Plus...I was looking forward to doing a little travelling with Andres. He’d never been out of the Santa Cruz area (not to mention on a plane), so we were excited about that too.


We decided to fly first to Cochabamba (it’s on the way) so we could visit a good friend of mine and also see the city. As I said, this was Andres’ first time in a plane. I think he was a bit nervous (he gave me a bit of a look when we heard the landing gear retracting...kind of a “Is that supposed to be happening?” kind of a thing...). In the airport I was being all cool...until I saw the plane and realized it was an old military plane. I knew we were flying a Bolivian airline that used to service the military here...but I didn’t expect that they’d actually still be using the same planes.

Inside the plane it was all good mind you...until I read the safety instructions (as instructed by the nice lady at the front of the plane) in the seat pocket in front of me. No offence...but I was better off before I knew what might happen...

Instructions regarding your seatbelt:

“Support the insured belt to endorse of your seat in verticle position.” (Spelling mistakes are not mine)

I actually understand where the “insured belt” thing comes from. In Spanish a seat belt is called a “safety belt”. The word for “safety” in Spanish, is also the word for “insure”. Hence...“insured belt”. This is what happens when you use Google Translate people. The “endorse of your seat”?  No idea...

Instructions regarding your flotation device:

To be used “...in case of to fall down in the sea.”  Okay...sure.

This probably what made me the most nervous...

Instructions on when to stand up:

Stay seated until “...up to coming to the airport terminus of your destiny.”

My destiny? Seriously...I didn’t want to go to my destiny. I just wanted to go to Cochabamba.

Cochabamba was, in fact, a lot of fun. Obviously we arrived without a “fall down in the sea” incident. Which was nice. After hanging out for a bit with some of the street kids that my friend Amy works with, we headed off to the market (it’s HUGE!). While I was there I took the opportunity to buy a dozen pomegranates (which is my favourite fruit and are hard to find here) and then made Andres carry them in his bag all the way to La Paz and then back to Santa Cruz. Good thing he packed light.

We also went up the gondola to see Jesus. It was Saturday, so that meant we could go inside. We have some nice pictures out of his armpit. Sorry if that seems irreverent...but it’s just a big statue that kind of smells bad inside.

Carnaval starts early in Coch (like a month) so we got water-ballooned and water-gunned a number of times. I blame that on Amy who is a cute, blond gringa. No one wants to shoot an old, bald gringo. Trust me. It was her fault.

Sunday we were off to La Paz on the bus. They told us it would leave at 1 PM and be in La Paz at seven.

It left at three and got there at ten. The upside was that we got to see the city at night. Amazing. The downside was that we didn’t have a lot of time to go searching for a hotel. We tried one that I knew about, close to the bus terminal. They had one room left so I said we’d take it. Hmm....

I’m not sure what was stranger....the window beside Andres’ bed that looked into the hallway (which did give us the opportunity to greet and get to know our neighbours) or the window in the bathroom that opened directly into the same neighbour’s shower (fortunately we were already friends). It was high enough (but still open) that privacy was mostly maintained. Although there’s no way around the fact that it was still weird to hear the lady talking to her husband as she showered.

Oh, and I don’t think I mentioned the fact that the room was the size of a mid-sized bathroom either. And “L” shaped. So I couldn’t see the TV from my bed, only Andres could. But then he also had the window to contend with, so I let it go...

We only stayed the one night.

After getting settled in that first night (it didn’t take much) we went in search of a place for supper...at 11 o’clock at night. Before you get all worried about safety issues, rest assured that I instructed Andres to distract any would be robbers until I had a good head start. He’s young and quick...I’m sure he’d have been fine. I also told him to make sure to run downhill. That probably seems self-evident, but there’s only “uphill” and “downhill” in La Paz (seriously...no flat spaces anywhere) and in the heat of the moment I didn’t want him to mistakenly run up. They’d get him for sure...

We walked downtown and actually found a 24 hour steak place. Seriously...24 hours...steaks...it doesn’t get any better than that. And the food was amazing. The only strange thing that happened was that Andres’ glass broke while he was drinking. Seriously, a big piece of glass just broke off the cup into his mouth. That wasn’t so much the strange part, as was the fact that they made up pay for breaking the glass. Seriously...20 cents. I didn’t leave a tip.

Bright and early the next morning we were off to try and find the Canadian Consulate. As a side note before I continue, I’ve decided to start a Facebook group to try and convince the Canadian government that renting space on the top of a freaking mountain is not the most ideal location for the consulate in La Paz. I nearly died. But it was a happy moment when we spotted the Canadian crest on the side of the office building...at the top of the mountain. I had a warm, fuzzy moment.

Before I write the next part, I would just like to say that, in my defence, I’ve never been to a consulate or embassy. I have no idea about security measures. I was doing fine (I had my little security pass around my neck and everything) until I got into the elevator. The consulate was on the second floor, so naturally I pushed the button with the little “2" on it.

And of course I went directly to the sixth floor.

I tried again with the little “2" button....and went back to the lobby. I did notice that the button wasn’t lighting up, but I figured the light was burnt out. That happens here. So then I stood in the elevator all by myself and didn’t go anywhere for awhile. Finally the doors opened and someone else came in. I imagine he was a bit surprised to find someone just standing in the elevator. He pushed the button for the fifth floor and I tried the “2" button again. Straight to the fifth floor we went without even pausing on the second. I told the guy that I thought maybe the button was broken (as I repeated jammed it in frustration) and he gave me a funny look and told me to touch my security pass to the sensor just above the row of numbers and just below the sign that said (in English), “Touch sensor with Security Pass to go to the Canadian Consulate on the Second Floor”.

Well yea, of course. The little light came on and we were all good. The nice thing is, when I make a fool of myself in front of some random person, there are generally enough people in the world that I don’t see that person again. I just wave goodbye and move on to the next guy in line.

There was another nice, warm fuzzy moment when I walked into the office and saw the Canadian flag and the pictures of Mr. Steven Harper and Ms. Michaelle Jean on the wall. There was another guy too, but seriously I have no idea who he was.

I had a nice chat with one of the consulate people and explained who I was and what I wanted to do. He gave me some good insights into the VISA application process and wished me good luck. The whole meeting probably only lasted fifteen or twenty minutes. It took me longer than that to get out of the elevator. But it was still all good. Like I said, he gave me some ideas of paperwork to include with application that will help us out.

After that, Andres and I headed off to explore the city. For those of you who aren’t familiar with La Paz, it’s a beautiful city. You couldn’t pay me enough to live there mind you...too high (only one mountain in all of BC is higher), too cold (we saw snow the day we left) and too many ups and downs. I’m from Saskatchewan... I’m not used to always having to go up (and for some strange reason there are definitely more “ups” than “downs”. I can’t explain it...I’m just telling you).

But for all that...still an amazing place. I was happy that Andres was having the opportunity to see it. It was funny though...I asked him at one point early on, how he felt being there. I explained that when I visited Ottawa the year before, I felt quite passionate and proud about being Canadian. I was curious if he felt the same. He just looked at me like I was crazy, and gave me a definite “No.” (If you know anything about Bolivia, you’ll probably be aware of the movement in the lowland provinces, Santa Cruz and three others, to be autonomous from the rest of Bolivia. I won’t get into it all here, but often La Paz is portrayed as the enemy). Andres definitely felt that.

But as the day progressed, and we walked around the city and saw some amazing architecture and history, I could see that change in him. He became more and more engaged and interested. We visited a couple of museums and cathedrals, and walked down a number of very historic streets (some of which made me feel like I was back in Europe). It was a lot of fun.

We also visited the Presidential Palace and the seat of the Bolivian government. The President’s motorcade was parked and waiting outside the building, which generally means the President, Evo Morales, is about to leave. I asked Andres if he wanted to wait and see him, and as much as he was gaining interest in seeing the city...it was fairly obvious by the look he gave me, that seeing Evo was fairly low on his list of priorities. So we moved on... =)

Then we went to one of the largest artisan markets in Bolivia and I did some shopping for my family... although is did end up becoming a bit of a “One for them...one for me...one for them...one for me” thing. There are a lot of great Bolivia artisan pieces in La Paz that are either not available in Santa Cruz, or are considerably more expensive. So I made use of the opportunity. =)  The witch's market is next to the artisan market, and the two mix together in places.  That makes for an intersting walk.  One of the traditions in the highlands is to put a "blessed" alpaca fetus in the foundation of your house or building.  So there are a lot of them for sale...among other things.  I probably don't need to say more.

That night, after checking into a different...better...hotel, we found another great restaurant for supper (we did good with the food thing). We walked around the main plaza for awhile that evening and then headed back to the hotel. Early the next morning it was off to the airport (a much better way to travel than the bus by the way) and back to Santa Cruz. It was +7 C when we got on the plane and +29 C when we got off 45 minutes later. Ah, Bolivia....

Anyhow...that was our trip I guess. Sorry it was kind of a long story. =) Well, not really. Tomorrow I’ll post pictures and a couple of little video clips I took. Thanks to all of you who were praying for us. We had a great time, and it ended up being a cool time for Andres and I to hang out and have a little adventure in our lives. Contrary to popular opinion, that doesn’t happen that much to me. Life is kind of feels same old, same old here sometimes.

Well...okay, not really, but it was still fun...

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WAR!!

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Civil war has finally broken out in Bolivia. There’s been quite a bit of fighting in the streets and today it spread from the centre areas of the city into the outlying neighbourhoods. People were even fighting in our neighbourhood earlier today. It’s crazy....neighbours are fighting neighbours and family members are against family members. It’s pretty brutal.

We ventured out for a bit this afternoon and actually got caught in some of the worst fighting. We managed to get clear, but we had a few injuries and one casualty. I did get some pictures, so I figured out post them to give you an idea of what it’s like here...
 
 

Fighting in the streets...

 

They start them young here...

Alan and Roberto laughing it off...

Smiling through the pain...

Taking one for the team...

Rearming and getting ready to head out again...

Friendly fire...

You can never have enough weaponry...

Ready for the battle once again...

As the war continued, society started to break down,

and we saw people begin to revert to strange

tribal customs and...um...head-dresses...

Gangs began to roam the streets...

The gringo kids were brave little troopers...

Every little bit helped...

The battle got ugly sometimes...

My friend Ron, just moments before a shot to the side of his head sent

his glasses into the great hereafter.  He's now blind...at least until Wednesday

when we can get him new glasses...

In the end, we took a few hits....

But we're heading back out tomorrow, so I guess it's all good...

 
 
Ah, Carnaval...always entertaining.  For three days Bolivia (and most of South America) errupts into a nation wide water fight.  There are, of course, less savoury parts to Carnaval, but we stick to a few water balloons and cans of spray foam.  The guys will be multi-coloured for a few days...but then so will most of the country, so it hardly matters.  Like I said, we'll be heading back out into the battle tomorrow.  As with all good generals, I stick to my air-conditioned (and windows up) truck where I can direct the troops. 
 
We all have our parts to play people....

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And the battle rages on...

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A quick disclaimer...I’m changing a few of the details about the kid involved in this post for obvious reasons. But everything else is just how it happened.

So last Friday evening, a young guy I know came over to the house to visit. He’s a good kid, someone I’ve known for a lot of years. I’m going to call him Jose for simplicity’s sake. He had some things he wanted to talk about, so we sat down on my couch and started to talk. As the conversation progressed, we ended up getting into some things that I don’t think he’d originally planned to talk about. But these things seemed to be pretty heavy on his heart, and I guess he wanted to get it all out into the open. He tends to be that kind of a kid.

It was fairly serious, what was happening in his life, so we ended up talking for quite a while. At the end of the conversation, I suggested that we should talk more and that it would be a good idea to sit down with one of our pastors, Jorge, and talk with him as well. Jorge had a difficult time as a teenager (which he’s really open about) and had struggled with a lot of the similar issues this young guy was struggling with. I figured it would be a good idea to talk with him and include him in the conversation.

Jose started to cry and quickly became very emotional. I explained why I thought we should talk with Jorge and that I had no doubt that Jorge would be very understanding...but he just cried harder. I continued talking and trying to calm him down...but then a weird thing happened. In the midst of his tears, he started to laugh. Granted it’s not the first time that’s happened, as I tend to say dumb things in Spanish when I’m trying to comfort or counsel people (it’s tough to talk in another language when things are emotional...it’s easy to get mixed up).

At any rate, with the crying and laughing going on at the same time, alarm bells were going off in my head. So I told Jose that I was going to pray for him. Right away, his head came up and very aggressively, he was like, “Why? Why do you think you need to pray?!” I knew for sure then, that something was wrong. This was a kid that has never had a problem with praying.

I didn’t say anything more, I just put my hand on his shoulder and started to pray and take authority over anything spiritual that shouldn’t be there. Immediately Jose started to convulse and shake. I kept praying and he kept convulsing, until I couldn’t manage to keep him on the couch, and he fell onto the floor. I stopped praying for a moment and went to the door and yelled at the first kid I saw to come and help me. It ended up being one of the guys who’s probably one of the spiritually stronger guys in the house...but who’s also one of the newest Christians. It was fine, but we had to talk about a few things afterwards.  =)

At any rate, he joined me, and we continued to pray. I won’t get into all the details, but there are a couple of things I’d like to mention. First of all, whenever Jose spoke to us, it was often in the plural...as in we are doing this or we won’t do that, etc. Occasionally when it was clearly Jose speaking, he also referred to the demons (and I have no doubt that we were dealing with the demonic here) in the plural. For example, at one point he said something about “They’re coming back...”.

There was something else that I found even more interesting. As I mentioned above, trying to speak in another language in the middle of an emotional moment? Near impossible. And trust me...this was an emotional moment.  =)  So I was praying and using my authority in Christ almost exclusively (at that point) in English. What was interesting, was that when I said or prayed something in English, Jose would turn to me and respond very precisely to what I’d just said, but in Spanish. Jose doesn’t speak hardly a word of English (other than your basic, “Hi, how are you? I am handsome.” You know...the important stuff), so his being able to respond to what I was saying was not possible. At least not in human terms. Not to mention that he was still thrashing and struggling. We were having to hold him still so that he wouldn’t hurt himself (he kept trying to bang his head into the cement/tile floor, so we had to keep a pillow under his head). That’s all just to say that it would have been incredible difficult for him to figure out what I was saying, even if he had known some English. There was just too much going on.

The third thing I wanted to mention, was that he physically responded to the name of Jesus every time we used it. Without fail. I add that, not because I was surprised (I wasn’t), but to emphasize that, from the very moment this started, the end result was a done deal. I’m not trying to pat myself on the back here, but from the beginning I wasn’t afraid or even nervous. I was confident in the victory that I knew we had. The fact that whatever demonic presences were affecting Jose, they were subject to Jesus. And, well....Jesus loves me. =)

They also responded when we read scripture. Later on, once Tonchi (our other pastor) came over, I was reading different passages about who we are in Christ, and the spiritual battle we’re in, as Tonchi prayed. Every time I read something (especially, interestingly enough, the passages about who we are as Christians), Jose would moan and bang his head on the floor even more (even though, again, I was reading them in English).

After close to an hour, it became increasingly obvious that this was not going to be easy. As I said, I had decided to call Tonchi to come over and help. Tonchi was a great help since he could respond faster in Spanish and we could take turns praying. Three different times it seemed like we were finished and things were calming down...but then as we spoke to Jose and tried to get him to respond to us, everything would flare up again. After awhile, Tonchi started to talk directly to Jose and to try and get him to say, “I am Jose, and in Jesus’ name I am free!” but for the longest time he couldn’t do it.

Eventually he managed to grind out the words, and as he said “I am Jose and in Jesus name...” it was like someone was touching him with a high powered electrical wire. His back arched to the point where the top of his head was actually touching the floor. The moment he said, “...I am free” it was seriously like the air going out of a balloon. He gasped and just slumped down onto the floor and lay there.

At that point, we managed to drag him back up onto the couch. The worst of the convulsing and shaking was passing, but Jose still wasn’t himself. He mostly still couldn’t speak (he was only sometimes seemingly aware that we were there), or when he did speak, he just keep responding with nonsense or things that didn’t matter. We continued to try to get him to declare his freedom, but it was a battle for sure. Sometimes he would shake again...another time it was like he was seeing something up by the ceiling that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from (Tonchi acutally put his hand in front of Jose to block his view)...still other times it was like he’d suddenly fallen asleep. Those times, Tonchi or I would just say that, in the name of Jesus we wanted to talk to Jose, and his eyes would pop open and he’d be back.

At any rate, suffice to say that it was a long process. Two and a half (almost three) hours long of a process. But in the end, Jose was back and was mostly himself (although obviously subdued and shaken). He was able to communicate normally. We talked some more with him, and then prayed and sent him to bed.

As I’ve thought about this over the past few days, it strikes me that there will likely be a few naysayer’s (both from my non-Christian friends, as well as likely a few from my Christian friends as well), who will likely be rather sceptical, shall we say, about this story. I get that. Anyone who knows me...at all...knows that I’m Mr. Sceptical himself. I’ve had different significant spiritual experiences in my life, and probably just about every time there’s a part of me that’s questioning and evaluating exactly what’s going on. =)  It’s just who I am. As I think back to what happened that night, it still feels a bit dreamlike. It’s hard to believe it all happened.

So don’t think for a moment that I was just caught up in all of this and wasn’t paying attention to everything as it happened. Or that I’m exaggerating the details for effect. That’s really not me. What you read here is what happened. And from Jose’s perspective, he has no experience with these things. He didn’t grow up in the church listening to “ghost stories” about demonic attacks. He probably didn’t even know it was possible.

And yet...for nearly three hours, he was the poster boy for spiritual oppression/ possession (in my mind, the jury’s still out on what term to use). In those three hours there wasn’t one moment where I saw him slip and step out of “character”, for lack of a better way of putting it. If this kid was faking, he deserves an Academy Award. And I could see an intelligence behind what was happening...the way he spoke to me...his trying to hurt himself...how the tactics changed as defeat was imminent (the distractions and lies). It all points to the fact that the spiritual realm is as real and tangible as this one.

"The thief comes to steal, kill and destroy..."

And no matter what you believe, this whole experience with Jose brings up a few interesting things to think about. For me, at any rate, I have no doubt that Satan and his demons exist. I saw them (or some pretty definitive evidence). And, as I said, they were subject to the name of Jesus. That obviously, reaffirmed a few things to me as well. We have victory and authority in Christ. I knew that...but this was a pretty powerful reminder.

"But I have come that you might have life..."

There is a battle raging here, and I need to make sure I’m prepared. To be truthful, I was caught off guard by this. If I’d made a list of kids who I thought this might be possible with...Jose’s name would be on the bottom of the list. So it just shows that I need to be vigilant and aware of what’s going on around me.

And finally...it’s only through prayer that freedom is possible. God is here with us. He’s listening and responding to our prayers.

Please continue to pray for us, and for this young guy. Obviously this was a big (and powerful) step in his spiritual life. It brought some things to the surface that needed to be in the light. As an author I like is fond of saying, darkness cannot exist where there is light. Light will always defeat the darkness. But the battle is not over for Jose. There will no doubt be some difficult days ahead of him. He struggles with feelings of doubt and discouragement. But I can also see that he’s encouraged, in that he’s seen God demonstrate His love and power.  I just keep telling him he can move forward and come before God with confidence.

Thank you for praying. My poor parents are (I think) getting used to phone calls at weird times, “Okay I can’t talk right now, but I need you to pray. I’ll call later!” And so they do... =)  As do many of you. Thank you for being such an important part of what happens down here! We appreciate it...


PS  Okay...I wasn’t sure if I should share this story, but it made my mom laugh so....

Remember when I said earlier how, in emotional moments, you tend to lose the ability to speak in a foreign language? That sometimes I say dumb things?  Well...when I left my room to call and ask Tonchi to come over, I also gathered the guys together to ask them to pray. I didn’t give them a lot of details, I just said that there was a serious spiritual attack happening, and I needed them to pray. I started to go back upstairs, but then thought that I should clarify things a bit. I didn’t want them freaking out or being afraid of what was happening (again, they don’t really have a lot of experience with these things). So I turned back and told them not to worry, that Satan always tries to use fear to manipulate us.

Except I didn’t say fear.

In Spanish, the word for "fear" and the word for...well...the stuff that's left behind when  herd of cows goes by, are really, REALLY similar.  Only one letter difference.  So what I actually, in fact said was...

“Don’t worry, Satan always tries to use s***!”

Which technically is true.  So....maybe it wasn’t the most polite way to say it, but I stand by my words.  =)

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A quick prayer request...

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Well...we could use some prayer down here.  Tonight here at the house, we had one of the craziest spiritual attack/battles I've ever experienced...in my life...and now I leave in four and a half hours...for three days.  I know it'll be fine, but I'm still a little...not really nervous exactly...I just wish I was going to be around.  Our pastor is going to make sure he hangs out here while I'm gone, but it would be great to know that people back home are praying specifically for this.  If you could pray for protection for the guys and for the house...that'd be great.  As well, as sense of spiritual unity and support for each of them towards each other.  Oh...and I'm going to be a bit tired tomorrow, I think...so some extra strength and patience for me would be a good thing too...  =)

Anyhow...I know this is all a bit cryptic...sorry about that.  I just can't really get into it all.  God knows what's going on, so....  =)  Thanks everyone!

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The simplest things...

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Who knew God would use something as simple as a Coke bottle to open a door and bring a deeper understanding of a heart and the issues there that needed to be dealt with. I mean...I guess I did know that...but somehow it still comes as a surprise to me some days...how God uses the simplest things.

One of the guys came into my room last week. He sat on the bed and we started making normal small talk. We chatted for a couple of minutes and then he got kind of quiet. I just sat there, since I wasn’t quite sure what was going on. Then he started to tear up, and I really wasn’t sure what was going on.

Then he started to apologize for different things...none of which seemed that severe to me...but for all of which, I assured him that he had my forgiveness. Then eventually, as I thought he might, he got around to what was really on his heart. In the midst of the tears, he asked for forgiveness for his pride and how he’s treated me at times. That caught me off-guard. Not that he didn’t need to ask for forgiveness (‘cause for sure he did), but that he was all of a sudden recognizing that.

I’ve known this young guy for a lot of years, and we’re great friends. But if there’s one guy in the house that I want to lock in a closet some days (if we had closets here)...it would be him. He can be the greatest help or the biggest pain (as I write that, I sort of wince because I can kind of imagine my mom reading and laughing...I’m pretty sure she’s said that about me on more than one occasion). With this guy though, it all comes down to his pride. I’m not going to go into great detail, but his pride is the root of a lot of the conflict he ends up having with other people (and for sure with me).

The past couple of weeks with him haven’t been that great either. He’s been working long hours at a construction site over the holidays, and has come home beyond tired. I’ve tried to give him grace for that very reason, and not sweat the small stuff. But yea...he’s been difficult. On good days that pride and attitude can come out in him. On bad days when he’s super tired? Oye...as we say here in Bolivia.

Bit by bit, he shared with me the story of what had happened that day. He’d called me in the morning and asked if I could bring him some dry work clothes he had in his room. He was mixing cement (which is done manually here) and the cement and water had soaked through the clothes he was wearing, making them really uncomfortable (and giving him blisters). I told him no problem, and headed off to his work site. He saw me when I arrived and came over while the cement he’d just mixed was hauled up to the fifth floor where they were working.

I handed over the bag, along with some buns I’d brought for him. I knew he wasn’t going to make it home that day for lunch, so I thought that might help him get to the end of the day. He said thanks and then asked if I would mind grabbing him a Coke. So I walked over to a store a couple of blocks away and bought him a Coke too. He was working again when I got back, so I just dumped the bottle on top of his clothes and took off. I really didn’t think much about any of it.

When they stopped for lunch, one of the other workers asked who the gringo who left the Coke was. So my guy explained where he lived, who I was and how I was helping him. The other worker stopped, looked my fellow right in the eye and told him that he’d been disrespectful to me when I was there...that he hadn’t been very thankful. Then he got pretty emotional and said, with tears in his eyes, that he wished he had someone like that to help him change his life.

I gather he said other things too, but it all hit my guy really hard...he was pretty emotional while he was trying to talk to me. I got a little lost. But in general, I understood that he suddenly realized how much he was taking for granted and what he was actually receiving...how many people would kill to be in his place. And he recognized how prideful he’d been in the past. Over and over he just kept asking for my forgiveness.

Since then, I can see a definite change in his attitude. It’s been like night and day. I’d been experiencing a bit of a tough time just before this, and doing the “is this ministry really succeeding” questioning thing. So this caused me to take a step back and realize that God is at work in ways that I can’t see or even imagine. I need to trust that and not second guess everything. Once again...this is not my ministry, it’s God’s. He’s brought us this far...

Thank you for your prayers. That’s a huge part of what happens here.

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