So, like I said before, I have a history of being a people pleaser.
Not only am I cool with people, but I want them to LIKE being around me. I want to have stuff around me to keep folks engaged when they find themselves around me. Playstation 3, Michael Jackson Posters, you name it, I probably seriously thought about dropping my whole paycheck to fund it. I even have two Boondocks comic collections in my bathroom, JUST IN CASE someone finds themselves with the urge to read some Negro satire on the ceramic throne.
Back to Nicaragua.
We had been in this place for only a few days, but had already been exposed to some life-changing instances from La Chureca to Delirious. The truth of the need of missions and overseas support was made flesh and blood for me, no longer an irrelevant segment in a Sunday Morning service. And the effect it had on me?
...I was starting to shatter.
Now, I'm no emotional titan. I've shed a few tears in my day. Heck, even that one scene in that one movie had my eyeballs feeling a little liquid love (No, you won't know what movie it is, lest you all decide to join in one big innanet mocking party). But I was literally feeling my heart soften for these people.
So I wanted to do something. I wanted to help. I wanted to do......something.
I didn't even know what I wanted to do. If someone gave me a paperclip, a Tootsie Roll, and a copy of N'Sync's "Celebrity" and told me that it would change that village for the better, I would have done it. If only I had some stuff with me. A biodegradable shopping bag. My fifth grade Social Studies paper on the Oregon Trail. Something. Anything. But...
I had nothing. I had even left my camera back in the host house we were staying in.
There I was, a dread-headed kid from Brick City in a torn GAP t-shirt, worn denim shorts and sandals. Nothing more. Well, I had my poetry notebook, but it was in English, and Nicaragua is a Spanish-speaking country. I had dropped -39% in my appeal factor.
I won't say that my mood dropped significantly. I just wished that I had something to offer. I mean, I didn't even have anything interesting or humorous to say to them - not in Spanish anyway. I felt helpless, like there was no way I could help.
Then, one kid pointed at me. I got excited, because I hoped this meant something good. He started talking to our translator in a rapid pace, and I caught words like 'que' and 'pelo'.
Pablo, our translator, smiled and looked at me. He said, "They have never seen any one with hair like your's before. They think it's weird."
Praise hispanic baby Jesus.
The whole time, I was looking for my 'in', my angle to become some how relevant to these kids. I felt that without possessions and doodads, I wasn't worth their interest, and therefore purposeless. But the one thing that I had overlooked was actually...me.
My hair. My hair? My hair!
Funny, a simple demonstration of fashion and personal inquiry turns into an avenue to communicate with these kids. It was me, a part of me, with no sales tax, no price tag. They wanted to know about me. How did your hair come like that? Is it real? Are you sure it's not a mop?
God provides us with all we need in this life to be relevant. Sure, we may learn how to cute it, curve it, trim it, shape it, but we were born with all we need. In our mothers' wombs, we were created to serve his purpose, and no amount of televisions or designer brands or degrees will change or augment it. He is sufficient, and has designed us to be just the way he wants us.
Now, this is not a rant against any kind of modification. If you want a new haircut, who am I to stop you? If Jesus had access to Ray's Barber Shop, he may have stopped by for a shape-up; who knows. But those are optional. As a child of God, I am reborn, and that new birth has offered me an endless pool of relevance. Because when you have access to living water, what else do you really need?
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