Author: bluebirduncaged

I think we were all a little nervous that day. As we climbed into the 15 passenger van at John and Aimee’s house, there was a serious tone beneath our smiles and laughs. The van turned down a dirt road and the tension tightened. Before we got out of the van, John encouraged us to just love them. We prayed and waited for permission to enter the huge chain-link gates.  

Beige, beige, beige. Beige walls, beige tile, beige uniforms on the guards — one of the things I noticed as the woman copied my passport at a desk on the portico to the main entrance. We walked down a dimly lit hallway to the room for our meeting. A huge cork board displayed photos of some previous activities. It’s bright multi-colored border and the red window tapestries were a welcome relief to the beige. 

 

We pulled out folding chairs and arranged them in a semi-circle facing the couch. In front of us sat 4 girls dressed in baby pink t-shirts and navy blue athletic shorts. Four precious souls. 

We started out introducing ourselves. How old we were, our favorite colors, etc. We shared our favorite foods—arroz con pollo (chicken with rice), helado (ice cream), shrimp, chocolate. 

We danced 3 pieces and shared the stories behind them. Stories about not having to be perfect. Stories about family. Stories about community and encouraging one another. 

The atmosphere relaxed a little more. “Why do your bones crack when you dance?” one asked. We chuckled and said we didn’t even notice they were cracking. We asked what their passions were—Soccer, crafts, helping other people. They told us about their families and little sisters. They asked why we danced and we told a little bit of our stories. 

We asked them to teach us something and an impromptu salsa dancing lesson ensued. I’m not sure if there were more hip wiggles or giggles. We sat back down. 

 

    "What do you think about your first time visiting a prison?" They asked. 

    “I can’t help but think that all of this was planned in eternity before any of us were born” I said with Lucyann translating. Jesus saw it all before we did, from the Fresca and Ritz Bitz to the different headbands we wore that day. 

    “…and all of our life adventures have led us to this room together…” I think about the people who had pioneered and gone before. Aimee and Lucyann paving a path of consistency and building trust. The new director being gracious enough to let us visit. Jesus Himself.

    ”…I’m really honored to be here”

We told our redemption stories. Of Jesus's relentless love. The nitty gritty, broken but beautiful details. Our mess ups, our pride, our downfalls. Love. Unexplainable. Never ending. Surprising. Relentless love. There were tears. We were honest. Hearts tender to the Holy Spirit emboldened by the freedom of vulnerability.  

3pm rolled around and the guards got antsy. It was time to go. As I walked down that beige hallway, one of the girls chased me down to hand me a tiny slip of paper. Josue 1:9 was written in lime green ink. It was one of the first verses I ever memorized. Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous, do not tremble or be dismayed for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. A sweet reminder.

I left the prison that day in awe. Dance is a beautiful gift and I never imagined it would open doors like this. Life is an adventure and for as long as we’re confined to these earthly bodies, eternity culminates in the present moment. May we courageously steward these moments well. 

Lucyann got the permit. We could use the area from 4-7pm. We had scheduled the presentation to start a 6. It was a huge concrete basin with a drain in the middle. Steps of varying dimensions formed the perimeter of the oval. I didn’t know it was supposed to be a skate park but it makes sense now. Last year, we just walked up, set up, and danced but this year, the sound of wheels on pavement, failed attempts at Ollies and “ooooh”s greeted us as we approached the area toting costumes, light and sound gear. Skaters were everywhere.

Something cool splashed on my arm. Rain. Dark clouds started to gather. We knew it was a risk to do an outdoor presentation during the rainy season. A few more drops. I circled the girls up to pray. We prayed for the rain to hold off. We prayed for the skaters. We prayed for the hearts present at the Cinta Costera skate park.

Lucyann went to find park security to help clear the area. We did a brief run through of the choreo. No park security was to be found. What are we going to do? Those skaters look pretty tough. Besides that, who are we—the Americans—to be asking them to concede their turf for half an hour (even though we have government permission to be there)? Lucyann finally set up the sound equipment near the drain in the middle and made an announcement that there was going to be a dance presentation soon.

They cleared the area and went to sit down. We took our places and waited for the last few tech adjustments. “Hey sexy!”  It came from the group of skaters. It was probably good that we couldn’t understand half of what they were saying. Still, not the ideal place to be mentally for our team. We stuck together and a little bit of mama bear came out in all of us as we encouraged each other. I prayed for Jesus to protect our minds.

I noticed it stopped sprinkling and the clouds broke. My heart smiled.

Annabelle’s hip hop piece, Lights On, kicked off the presentation. We finished, people clapped and we ran back to change shoes and lose the gangsta garb for Rachael’s piece, Intercession. The loud interjections from the skaters had stopped. I thought they’d probably get bored and leave. Daley’s piece, Heirs, with the skirts. They were still chattering pretty loudly though. Then Jessica’s piece, Esperanza. Sometime during Come As You Are, I noticed the skaters were still there. My dance became a prayer for the skaters. Ana Gabriela then gave a short shout out for Heart’s Cry and then we concluded with Known.

The skaters stayed the whole time. Renee, a woman we met at the B&B had come as well; she went over to hand them some flyers about our collaborative show the next weekend. We stuck around a little bit, our friends congratulated us, we packed up and left. Skaters filled the basin once again.

I don’t know the stories behind the audience present at Cinta Costera on June 13th. I don’t know why the skaters stayed for our whole presentation nor am the one to be police of their motives. But I do know that the One who holds back the raindrops is the same One who loves the skater dudes despite their cat calls. May He continue to speak to the hearts at Cinta Costera.

June 12, 2015—Today we visited Metro Amigo orphanage. Adjacent to the boys juvenile detention center, this government run facility was originally built to be a 72hr transition for children taken into custody of the state before finding a more permanent home.

Some kids have been there their whole lives. Caught in a limbo of uncertainty, temporary has become permanent.

I can barely imagine the thoughts. Feelings. Junk to sort through. Unanswered questions. Rejection? Pain? Happy memories? What ifs. Worry? Isolation and loneliness? 

Family (biologically at least) has become a figment of the imagination. 

 

Erica in her yellow shirt and braids on one side, holds my hand, her caramel skin caressing my milky white. Her friend in the pink shirt; embarrassed as I tried to teach her a simple grapevine. Sassy little Melanie, the most outgoing of the bunch teaching us boom-snap-clap. Maria who liked to shake her hips. The little boy in the green tank top who answered all my questions about the gospel story. Or the special needs boy who loved to direct us around and play copy cat. The one with the bright brown eyes that reminded Mommy of Joshua. Or the little guy not more than 4 or 5 who danced right out of his tiny crocs. Little Linda with her huge heart and sweet smile. Or the young teenage girl with the short hair, arms crossed and disinterested yet I caught her peeking curiously from behind the pillar. 

 These are a few of the souls known as the fatherless. Each soul has a story. I pray hope over these hearts. 

 

 

Hope produces patience.
That we might one day see our Redeemer and Comforter face to face.
That we might one day join a forever family. 
A reminder that this life is temporary. 

 

From Metro Amigo, we drove to the Trump Tower in Punta Pacifica to help a local ministry with a video shoot. We passed rows and rows of neon lit slot machines in the casino on the way to the elevator. As we danced on the balcony of a 64th floor pent house, the wealth gap was glaring. From an orphanage where the kids put all their shoes in a communal box and pulled out a matching pair the next day to excessive, expensive, flashy, wealth. From meeting kiddos who are the recipients of Operation Christmas Child shoeboxes to seeing chandeliers and sculptures whose worth could fill 100 shoeboxes. The stark contrast was sobering. 

 

 

We didn’t meet very many of the residents at Trump Ocean Club but I can imagine the stories are similar. Similar to those of the orphans, actually. 

Hearts that need hope. 
Hearts that need healing. 
Hearts longing for love and affection.

We’re all the same, really. Rich and poor. Young and old. Those who know their earthly parents and those who don’t. We all need Jesus. Without Him, our hearts are dead. 

One day, temporary will become permanent. 
Eternity.
And it won’t matter if we lived in poverty or a pent house. 

 

 ~~~

May Jesus be our only hope. Our saving grace. Our purpose here on Earth. May He unify us in His everlasting arms. May we not forget the least. May the Church rise up to be the family some never have and may we all use the resources we’ve been given to make the Name of Jesus known.