Saints Alive!
I always told God that after my children grew up, and life wasn't so hectic, I'd spend more time with Him. I bet I'm not the only one who said that. I wanted to understand the Bible more, but I couldn't get away from all my worldly responsibilities for more than a few minutes. It seemed I had a Five-Minute Rule when it came to prayer or study. God must have tired of me dragging my heels because one day I woke up in Mexico, living in a neighborhood--no, a city--full of saints!
Whoever started that expression, "Saints alive!" must have found themselves in a situation like mine. I always pictured saints like Mother Theresa or people of the past like the apostles Peter or John. Wake up call! These Godly people and missionaries who surrounded me were just regular people. People with families who went to movies, stuck to work schedules, attended church, and even home-schooled their children before the Quarantine. They came from all over. It's like God cast a net over them, dropping them off in Rosarito, Baja California, Mexico, 17 miles south of the Tijuana and San Diego border.
They were everywhere! If Rosarito's Universal Studio Fox Studio ever decided to make a movie, "Saints Alive," they'd find plenty of saints right there on location. And that's the truth. In fact, many of the saints in Rosarito auditioned for walk-on parts when a new movie or series started production. But what really happened when Saints came alive is a real scene right out of Matthew 27:49, the moment when Jesus Christ died.
After Jesus had taken His last breath and yielded up His spirit, "Then, behold, the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom, and the earth quaked, and the rocks were split, and the graves were opened; and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised and coming out of the graves . . . " But wait, there's more. ". . . after His resurrection, they went into the holy city and appeared to man."
"They" soon became my good friends and neighbors, and more than once, they came to my rescue. The first two months in Rosarito, Baja California, I suffered depression and intense fear a.k.a. "culture shock" because I had moved from Nebraska, U.S.A. to Mexico. That was the physical truth. The spiritual truth was I had moved from a self-centered life to a Christ-centered life, and experienced a spiritual culture shock. So here I was caught in this net of Saints who were as sweet as little lambs and double-layered chocolate cake, living in the same neighborhood, going to the same church services at Calvary Chapel Rosarito, and playing in the same ocean. They were everywhere, behind every fence, around every corner, every Wal-Mart or Home Depot aisle, even Dairy Queen! When I was grumpy or depressed, they courted me with the love of Jesus. They even prayed for me and discipled me, a hard-headed 62-year-old who thought she knew more about God than anyone else, except I couldn't get a grasp on the Holy Spirit thing. I pursued the Holy Spirit from East to West Coast, asking everyone about it. I expected it to slam me over the head, or fire to appear, or I'd start speaking in tongues, but nothing happened.
In my journal entry of September 21, 2018, I wrote ". . . I remember when I first became aware that the Holy Spirit dwelled in me. Small, subtle signs and whispers that made me sit up and take notice. I'd rush over to Nancy S.'s house or meet her on the beach so I could boast, 'I learned . . . ' or wanted to pass on something unique and new to me, so there I was, grabbing a cup of coffee from her house, waiting while she leashed her dog. Finally, I'd blurt out something like, "Guess what? I heard music in my sleep! It was incredible!" Then Nancy would reassure me it was 'normal,' she heard it all the time." And my arrogant self was thinking, "Normal, my foot! That's the last time I tell her anything remarkable!" It makes me smile now, because I understand a remarkable experience is normal for people invested in serving the LORD." I don't mean to downplay "remarkable," but rather place "normal" on a higher rung of the spiritual ladder. My daily life now appears remarkably normal. Like when my second child was born, my normal routine went out the door, but I told myself it was okay because now with two children, I had a new normal. And that's how it is when you love and follow Jesus. If things don't seem remarkable, it means we might be having a bad day or maybe we're just not trusting in Him enough, believing that our Savior will come through for us.
Living in Rosarito also presented a new normal. I realized these saintly people knew a lot of things I didn't, and that's probably why God moved me 1700 miles so I could learn from them. And I did. I learned all about the importance of being consistent when it came to going to church and participating in fellowship groups and Bible studies. Rosarito was my Spiritual Bootcamp. Then, when I started having hip problems, my daughter, a nurse, suggested I go back to Nebraska for surgery. Even though, I'd often entertained thoughts of spending time in Lincoln, I was devastated. I wanted to stay in Mexico, but it made sense to return to where my records, doctors, and son and his wife, were. I've been back in the States for three years, yet I still deeply miss my daughter and her family, and those friends, who were such an encouragement to me.
When I remember these things, I pour out my soul within me. For I used to go with the multitude, I went with them to the house of God, with the voice of joy and praise, with a multitude that kept a pilgrim feast. (Psalm 42:4)
Twice I tried to go back. Twice my plans stalled. Each time, God said, "Wait," like three days after the September 21st entry. My bags were packed to begin my journey, but God had a different journey in mind. A triple-bypass heart surgery. In April, 2020, I planned a trip to Rosarito, but the Pandemic changed all that. Still, I'm grateful to see family and friends via FaceBook, FaceTime, and other apps that make it possible to connect. Meanwhile, I want to give a "shout out" to the saints in Rosarito. Many have moved away to plant churches in other areas of Mexico or the U.S., while others continue to serve in Rosarito. I feel blessed to know so many saints who never called themselves "saints," and probably never thought of themselves that way, but they are the type of people whom you would want as neighbors because they always had fresh cookies or an open-door dinner policy or provided rides when needed, or fellowship or prayer. The good news is there are saints everywhere; everyday people who possess qualities of kindness, love, patience, mercy, and and a passion to serve Christ. They make this a better world, not forgetting there's an even better world awaiting.
Card night at the Hansons.
