Brazil missions reflection

For the glory of the Lord, I would do anything and go anywhere…

The truth is, living a life surrendered to God will lead you to dwell in foreign spaces with complete strangers—and yet, be at peace. You find yourself communing with family you never knew existed. Suddenly, comfort zones and personal preferences vanish before your eyes like vapor. The people, the region, the community, the food—they all welcome you with open arms. There is a sense of belonging in surrender, because no matter where you go, you’re at home.

This feeling of “home” while being away from the comfort of my own has become familiar to me these days. I’ve grown well-acquainted with the overwhelming experience of falling in love with the people, cultures, and countries I visit. And when this experience is propelled by the gospel, it becomes a truly transcendent, divine encounter. It has a way of grounding you in what truly matters while simultaneously removing the veil that once impaired your vision. Missions have opened my eyes to see others through the lens of Jesus. Missions, like Brazil, have given me family in every corner of the world.

I found family in Brazil—family I didn’t even know I needed. My younger sister, Jocelynn, and I fell in love with the church we partnered with in São Paulo. For an entire week, an event called City Quake trained and equipped us to go out and preach the gospel. We sat through about three sessions a day under leadership that challenged our measure of faith. Between sessions, we practiced these prophetic tools on each other and evangelized throughout the city during Carnival.

The miracles we witnessed were those you read about in the New Testament—healings, deliverances, salvations, miracles! Truth be told, I’m still in awe. Yet, as amazing as it was, I can’t help but wonder: why do these wonders—the very things we as Christians are commanded to do—seem so foreign? Why does radical faith feel uncommon? More than that, why do we have to put the size of our faith before the word as if to justify it’s level of signifance?

My faith was stirred in Brazil because I realized that what I witnessed there, I should see everywhere I go. Miracles should not be a rare experience; they should be the norm. If we, as believers, have the same Spirit that raised Christ Jesus from the dead living within us, why do we live so far beneath the fullness of our faith? If we have the power and authority the Bible says we do, why do we allow fear to pacify us into complacency? I fear that we have become satisfied with a “faithless” Christianity—one that requires no partnership with the Spirit after the miracle of salvation.

I was challenged in Brazil, through the people I met, to never live a life of fear again. Call it what you want—self-preservation, personal comfort, preference, fear—but in time, these things will slowly kill a life full of faith and purpose. And without faith, it is impossible to please God.

The beautiful friends and family I made in São Paulo were exactly what my soul needed. I love like-minded and kindred-spirited people who truly “get it”—people who are refreshing to the heart. Those who understand that for the glory of the Lord and the sake of the gospel, there is nothing I wouldn’t give.

Perhaps my biggest takeaway from my time in São Paulo was realizing that I left a very large piece of myself behind—yet again. I connected with those I met at such a deep level and no matter where I go, I always feel ripped apart when I leave. These days, my heart is a mosaic of many shattered pieces. I’ve spent MANY months despertately trying to mend it after previous trips, but for the first time, I left a country broken without the desire to put myself back together again. I’m surprised, but I am actually happy to be as broken clay held in the hands of the potter.

Maybe this is what the Lord has wanted all along. Something about Brazil and the people I met there broke me—but in the best way. And for His glory, I don’t ever want to put myself back together again. After all, that work belongs to His hands, not mine.