I don’t know where to begin; so much happened on this trip. We have been back for two weeks, and I have spent that time trying to process everything that happened, the good, the bad, the growth, the pain, the joy, the fear. Often, I can express what I cannot verbally through writing. So here it goes. I knew “my version” of the trip would look different than my team members, but I didn’t truly understand HOW different mine was; where they had months to mentally, emotionally, and physically prepare; I had just a few weeks. I have never felt so outside my comfort zone or capabilities. One of our first small group questions after the morning devotional was, “What expectations do you have for this trip?” honestly, I didn’t have any. I had no idea what to expect, which is probably good because the end of the trip did not go according to plan.

Before going on this mission trip and ever since last fall I have been asking questions, and questioning traditions, beliefs, habits, and foundations. The truth is, those questions have been there for years, but I suppressed them because I wanted to be the pleasing “good girl” that I had spent the first twenty years of my life trying to be. At the same time, I have finally been dealing with the trauma of the church that helped raise me. For the last eight years, that pain and anger have been sitting in a box in the corner of my mind and soul where I could ignore it. Last fall I opened that box and with all the feelings came out questions and fears. Fear that this church, my current church, is like the old one in that it’s all words, all easy smiles, and greetings, but that if I ever find myself helpless and in need, then I will once again be abandoned and dismissed. The pain of how a twenty-two-year relationship with that old church ended started putting fears in my head about my new church. Ressurection Sunday, I broke down, I was so overwhelmed and confused, trying to sort out the truth, for the first time in my life, letting myself decide what I believe, not what someone else tells me to. With that have come concerns and reservations about “outreach” about “street rallies” and the church as a whole. Then I was asked to prayerfully consider going on this trip with mostly strangers to do just those very things.

May was a roller coaster ride, the kind that has so many loops that when you finally come to a stop, you aren’t sure which loop you left your internal organs on; you feel elated, dizzy, thrilled, and nauseated all at once. On April 26th, I got called to the office for a work meeting with leadership and HR, where I was offered a new job. On my way back down to my desk, I got the text from the church missions team asking me to prayerfully consider filling an empty spot on this trip. To say the world stopped spinning for a second is an understatement; that evening’s mental health walk was a very long one as I tried to process everything, pray and make decisions. This would be my first mission trip, my first time on a plane, my first time away from home for seven days, and my first time out of the country. I decided to go to the meeting that Sunday and get more info; at this point, I realized that I did not know hardly anyone going on this trip. Most of the people on the trip were strangers, there would be no extroverted safety buddy, no close friend to cling to. I could feel my nervous system reeling as I left the meeting, I asked God for confirmation I was supposed to go, and I told Him I had to have care for Caspian. I could not board him, there wasn’t anyone to come stay for a week, and I couldn’t stand the idea of leaving him with strangers. I am in the season where all my friends are newlyweds or have babies or toddlers at home, so I didn’t feel I could ask anyone. I work with my best friend’s husband, and I was just talking about the trip to him, and he immediately offered to take Caspian for the week. I had my confirmation, booked the passport appointment, posted the fundraiser, and took a shaky, deep breath. I got full funding only by God’s power, and my passport came the Friday before we left. It finally felt real; I was going to Mexico.

From the very first day, I started seeing things, I am not a person who does well without sleep, but I was awake and alert at the airport at three-thirty in the morning. My brain and nervous system were both freaking out at the airport, and cPTSD (chronic post-traumatic stress syndrome) started to flare up, but my soul and spirit were at peace, despite the inner war going on inside me. Then I found out I was sitting alone on the plane, and I felt the next wave of anxiety in my nervous system, asking if we were in danger. I had to ask how TSA works, how to find my seat, and then sit there and nervously chew gum. By the second flight, my body started to calm down, but my headphones would not work, so I was left for a two-hour flight with no distractions or escapes. Just Jesus and my thoughts ( not at all obvious Jesus), so I started telling Him how I didn’t know if I believed in anything we were going to do; I decided then that this would be an experiment. When we returned in a week, I would know how I felt and what I believed about these things. I did my best to open my mind and leave it blank and in “research mode” to just let things happen and to keep my eyes and ears open. While getting lunch in Arizona, one of the vans had trouble. For me, this was helpful because I got to sit back and watch and observe the team, start up some conversations, and play some games, all of which helped calm my nerves. After traveling all day, I arrived tired, almost out of social energy, but ready to test the theory and see if “this is real?” and find out what I believed.

The next three days all ran together; so much happened, and things moved so fast and yet so slow that each moment was full. I was constantly overwhelmed with what I witnessed and everything that happened. There is almost too much to list, but I saw my team members make connections with little kids despite a language barrier. I watched teenagers do their best in service and play games with the local children. Rushing to greet the next visitor or help with whatever was needed, I could hardly keep up with them. I have never seen a group of youth serve so enthusiastically and selflessly. To my surprise, I was placed on the outreach team; we would walk the streets to invite people in from the surrounding community. Before our first team outreach as we were finishing breakfast, one of my pastors ( the one I would be serving under) said that he had heard I was nervous about outreach. He explained what we would be doing, how there would be no “hell fire and brimstone”, how I was not expected to get anyone to say the “sinners prayer” and I didn’t have to tell anyone they were bad. He told me we would simply be going out and inviting people to a free meal, fellowship, some music, and a word. I just had to ask to share a meal and for them to come hear about my friend Jesus. I was only expected to be the messenger delivering the invitation; I was not expected to “save” anyone or pressure anyone. This conversation took me by surprise, I have been used to the “well, this is what we do” response, but I didn’t hear that this time. Never have I had a pastor answer my questions, talk through my concerns, or help me understand in this manner, and in a conversation initiated by the Pastor. There was no shame for questions, no judgment because of my hesitation and concern, just open conversation. I was disarmed and blown away, I felt a wave of joy but also a wave of anger and former spiritual leaders/teachers in my life who didn’t let me ask questions. But that still small voice in the back of my mind said, this is how it’s supposed to be and told me to get ready.

We went out on four outreach walks and I tried to keep up as even the teenagers walked up to total strangers and invited them to a free meal, games, and a message with more confidence than I felt. I finally got to reframe the term “outreach” in my mind, there were no conversations of heaven and hell, no screams to repent to random strangers on the street. Just invitations to a free meal and a message. If this is all outreach should be then maybe it was okay, maybe I do see a benefit and purpose and maybe I do believe this is good. While we walked we got to really see what the community was like, we got to see their living situations, some front yard shops and visit with people. I watched my team stop, and we would pray over injuries, job loss, addiction, or heartache. For the evening street rally, we would go out and invite people in. Then, my team would join the community in worship and listening to the message. This gave me a great time to observe and watch people who didn’t speak the same language worship and pray together. I got to watch and participate as both my group and the local church community sang and prayed as one. Maybe this rally thing is okay, too. One night, I did get to work in kids ministry and got to experience connecting with kids whom I could not verbally communicate; the kids were so open and happy to have us there, leading the adults around the room, grabbing the toys they wanted to play with and bringing it back to us.

We did devotionals and small group questions each morning, and before heading out, one day, we got to do it at the beach. For the most part, even though I was starting to see the truth, there was still this hesitation in me. I knew what to do and how to do it, but there was still a block I could not figure out. I have been running into this block periodically over the last couple of years; at home, it was easier to ignore, but here, I couldn’t. I had to finally address it, so while my Pastor preached and I was staring off to the ocean, Jesus and I talked. I asked him to help me name this fear in me, what this block was, then I had all these memories and flashbacks popped into my head, of me acting bold, walking in faith, taking the leap, and being fully invested, and then a “spiritual authority” would tell me “You are doing it wrong”, the earliest one was when I was about eight years old and the words where from a Sunday school teacher and the last was from youth pastor when I was sixteen, which is when I stopped trying. I did only what I was asked or told; I quit trusting the Holy Spirit and my own voice. If I saw a need, opportunity, or a place to jump in, I waited until I asked for help and until I had specific instructions on how to do it. I feared that if I acted and was bold, I would turn around and come face to face with a pastor or elder who would tell me I did it wrong. A recovering people pleaser’s worst nightmare. I started praying to process and started journalling a few notes for my therapist. We divided off into pairs and talked through small group questions. Then I got to play in the ocean.

I had to grow up too fast. I often joke that I went from twelve to thirty-five, and I didn’t really get into my teen years or even early twenties. They were spent enduring, surviving, escaping, and healing. Over the past two years, I have been working on doing some things for my inner child and inner teen. Some of it looks like sprinkled pancakes with whipped cream for dinner, sometimes butterfly sunglasses, and a purple canopy over my bed, on the mission trip it was playing in the ocean. It was running along the beach, splashing in the water, jumping around, and swishing the sand between my toes. It was decided for just a few minutes, I was ten and I was playing. After coming ashore and eating breakfast I went back out and my favorite part was hearing a voice squealing behind me, “I am coming with you” to see one of the youths who felt too shy to go back out by herself joining me and calling to her friends behind her to come play. It felt so good to help them enable them to do something I wish I had gotten to do at their age.

Saturday Morning, I started feeling a little under the weather, at the time we thought it was just all the new allergens the new environment, and of course the new foods. I made it to the morning prayer service before we went out to serve and work but as we were getting ready to leave, one of the leaders came up and told me I was going back to the mission and going back to bed. I was genuinely surprised, I am so used to being told “Fake it until you make it” or comments about how everyone is tired, or not feeling good and I need to just push through. I am used to my health being ignored or treated like an inconvenience. We arrived back at the mission, and I went back to bed. I got up around lunchtime, showered, and went to eat, still not feeling quite right; I hadn’t even finished lunch when I started having “bathroom issues” another adult wasn’t feeling good either, so she and I both went back to the cabin to rest after lunch. We both got progressively worse. That night I got dehydrated and had to take a trip to the ER to get fluids, during that time I started to get very anxious, I had never been in a hospital before let alone one in a foreign country. One of the pastors and one of the leaders went with me and the leader sat and held my hand and did her best to calm and comfort me. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I got to go back to the mission and go to bed. On the way back, I asked one of the Pastors what time church was the next day, and she replied, “Oh, you are not going.” Again, it took my mind a minute; did a pastor just tell me I could miss church if I was still sick? No forced “healings”, no judgment or telling me to power through, no lectures about my spiritual health? Again, I was disarmed, and while I was gone, other people started feeling sick as well and even more overnight; by Sunday night, it was obvious that it was more than reactions to the environment and food. We found out we had a bacterial stomach bug going around. Sunday evening, I could eat a little but then started running a fever, so I went back to the ER. They ended up saying they needed to keep me (and a few others) overnight as they were worried that my body had not been able to fight the bacteria and now had an infection. Through the language barrier, they also told me that I might have internal bleeding ( we found later out that wasn’t what they meant). At this point, my nervous system went into full cPTSD. I started sobbing, my brain went fully offline and my nervous system was running the show. I haven’t felt that scared or helpless since I was seventeen, I couldn’t ask questions due to the language barrier, I couldn’t help myself, and I had no choice but to trust my pastors. The last time I was this vulnerable and put in a situation where I was at the mercy of pastors and church leaders. They let me down, I wasn’t worth helping, saving, or caring for, and their message was loud and clear ‘you are on your own”. All this fear was rushing through my body and mind, would the person I asked for come? Would my pastors advocate for me? Would they help me? Or would I be left hooked up to an IV in a foreign country, with possible internal bleeding and a bacterial wreaking havoc on my body? At the time, I couldn’t even explain the about of emotions sweeping through me, my mind and body so shut down that I could barely speak. Normally, when I have a panic attack like this, people tell me, “Just quit being so emotional”, or “you are fine, things are not that bad”. But this time, that is not what happened; immediately, I had two moms’ hands on me praying and trying to soothe me. Just trying to calm me and make me feel safe, with no judgment, no fear in helping me. Things get a little fuzzy here but I just remember soft calming voices and stroking my head. I remember prayers over me, and scriptrues spoken. I remember being told to repeat words like “I am brave”, “I am strong” etc. I remember at one point being asked who would make me feel safe that was on our trip and answering the question. I wasn’t sure she would come, I was working on making my peace with that when I saw her coming in. I started sobbing all over again because there were just too many emotions washing over me. Next came one of the pastors of the church we were there to help, and she also comforted and encouraged me. After a while, we got more clarification on what was going on ( I was most likely not bleeding internally). Found out that they needed me to stay for so long so they could give me a second dose of IV antibiotics early the next morning. I got moved to a private room with one other team member who was also staying the night so I could sleep. And that friend and the pastors quite literally got me tucked into bed and said they would be back for us the next morning. We were released around six in the morning and were due to leave for Arizona by nine. We got back to the mission, packed, and headed out.

Due to the illness, leadership re-arranged the vans so that those of us who were sick could have a quiet and more comfortable journey and protect those who didn’t get sick. I was too wired to sleep, though; they say it takes about seventy-two hours for your nervous system to return to “normal.” I have found that to be true. On the ride back, we did final shout-outs, so we went around the van and said something about each person. We made our way around the van and when we got to me I took a deep breath, I have a love/hate relationship with words of affirmation, I crave them like crazy but I also get “weird” or awkward when they are given to me. Of course, the person leading this was one of our church elders whom I didn’t met until this trip, nothing could have prepared me for what he said. He called me brave and told me I had a gentle spirit. “Me?” I thought the girl who just twelve hours ago was balling her eyes out because she couldn’t handle an ER trip? Then he talked about watching me play in the ocean was one of the most joyful memories from the trip. My mind just went blank, I must have had a blank face too because the question was then asked if I didn’t feel those things were true. I said “no”, I had never been called brave before this trip. And he didn’t know, but I have only ever been called gentle one other time. In a women’s Leadership development class at church, I was given a bracelet with “gentle” on it because that friend felt that word described me best. As everyone else in the van spoke over me, I was told over and over how brave I was. Then, in the chat, other people started sharing words of affirmation or encouragement with people who they didn’t get to tell in person. Including me, the words just kept pouring in. I again felt so overwhelmed with emotion, part of me wanted to cry tears of joy, and part of me wanted the dessert to open up and swallow me whole. For so long I have been told I was “over-emotional” when I cry, being made to feel weak in regards to my mental or physical health. I told them I was childish for playing in the swim or had people imply that I couldn’t be taken seriously. I have never received so much encouragement and care from so many people in such a short time period. The amount of healing it did in my soul was palpable. And it answered one final question, the one I was most scared of the answer. Is this an authentic, safe church with trustworthy pastors? I landed in OKC with a resounding YES.

After the trip, I continued to receive countless texts and messages asking me how I was doing. I missed church last week because I still wasn’t feeling great ( was sick for about ten days total). But I think I got more hugs and hellos this morning than ever before. From the teenagers to the moms to the pastors coming over with big grins on their faces to ask me how I am doing. It’s both wonderful and frightening to be seen. Thank you to all those who donated to send me on this trip. Thank you to the pastors for their trustworthy leadership, and to the moms who stepped up to comfort me and take care of me when I needed it. Thank you to Mom for driving me to the airport and taking care of my beta. Thank you to the Terry’s for taking my Prince Caspian for the week and for the ride home from the airport. Despite the rough ending, I am so glad I said yes to this trip. This story has so much more, and I could write another dozen pages. I have such a new and different perspective; I still feel like my mind is processing some of it, but I got some very clear answers. And yes I do still believe in the church and I am so grateful for the love and support of mine. This is only a small part of story and impact of what went on, again I could write so much more about the things I saw. I found out when we got back that the church service I missed was the biggest one the local church has ever had. Thank you again to all those who helped send me on this trip!