At the Carwash

God has a sense of humor; I’m convinced. Or at least He likes the element of surprise. A few weeks ago, the night before I was getting ready to go on vacation for a week with my children, I went out to fill the car up with gas and run it through the car wash. It was later in the day than I thought, and the sky was purplish-orange. The sun was ready to bid its final farewell for the day. The only carwash nearby is just a few blocks away, but it is in a notoriously unsafe neighborhood. Gang violence and drugs are constants. I hesitated and asked myself, should I go? I decided yes.

I pulled up to the pump, nervously got out and paid the clerk for the gas and wash. There were lots of people hanging around, sitting on the curb, leaning against the trees and buildings, anywhere but inside the small and overcrowded apartments that were all around. I hurriedly got back into my car and drove through the carwash.

I was ashamed of the unease I felt with my surroundings. I have dedicated my adult life to social justice; to understanding and respecting different cultures. My desire to go to Chile came from a deep sense of calling to live more closely and intimately with those less fortunate. How could I let stereotypes take hold of me as they did in that moment? As the carwash brushes swirled and banged around me, I asked myself if I had become too comfortable, too content?

This September marks the 5th anniversary of my return to the U.S. My previous five years were lived in some of the roughest neighborhoods in Santiago, Chile. I would often squeeze by drug dealers as I made my way up the steps to my apartment. Gun shots rang out in the night almost like church-bells. Domestic “arguments” could be heard with ease from house to house; no need for a neighborhood crier. There were times when I longed for the security of home, but most of the time I felt that what I had lost in physical comfort I had gained in spiritual growth. I felt that I was where Jesus wanted me to be.

Returning to my carwash experience, I began to wonder, am I where Jesus wants me to be? Some might say that living a mile away from this troubled neighborhood is close enough. But is it? It’s taken me ten years to come to believe myself a missionary. If ever there was an opportunity to be missionary in the U.S., it is in this neighborhood. It calls out for a ministry of presence.

I began to entertain the thought: could our family go on mission just around the corner? Lots of no’s started streaming into my head; a sure sign that God was trying to tell me something. This much I recognize from past experience. When I start justifying my way out of something, there’s a good chance I should do just the opposite.

While I didn’t have the courage to come to a definitive “yes!” that night, a seed has been planted. I’m sure it won’t be the last time God has something to say about it. As I pulled away from the carwash I thought, “God picks funny moments to speak to me.” Despite the drone of the carwash, He didn’t have to scream to be heard that night.

In peace,
Amy W.E.