Posted in Thailand by Loren Messarra on 5/20/2012
On a muggy night in Chiang Mai, I walked "home" to the YWAM base. My backpack was heavy and I could have caught a ride, but I felt the need to just wander. So I meandered through the Thai streets, enjoying my worship playlist and how the city comes alive at night.
To get home, I had to pass through the heart of the bar district. I slowed, walking up and down the strip. I tried to pray for those I passed - I really wanted to - but the words wouldn't come.
For the girls that can't be older than 16, their faces a mask of heavy makeup, always tugging on miniskirts hugging their straight bodies ...
For the women that used to be little boys ... before the lies whispered "You should have been a girl. Take these hormones and you can look like one. Show off your body and see your true value. Make a little bit of money."
For the mothers, with crying babies and sullen teenagers at home, far too old and too long in this business, but in desperate need of money ... just some money to put food in their childrens' mouths ...
And for the men that come to buy them, eyes glazed, searching for respect or manhood, "a good time" ... or maybe just someone to listen to their stories.
For these I tried to pray, but words wouldn't come.
The pack on my shoulders weighed me down.
Pulsing lights barely lit the dark, uneven street beneath me.
The hypnotic beat of dirty rap invaded my headphones, polluting my music, driving my despair for these children of God - these Jesus died for.
They don't even know his name.
And it all became too heavy - my backpack, the hopelessness, the heavy sin that drenches Loi Kroh road. The deception that clouds everything.
And so I returned to what I knew - I worshipped.
I worshipped the God of us, the God who came down to dwell in our darkest places, among twisted & starving humanity.
I turned up the volume until all I heard ...
Wonderful savior
How may I bless your heart?
Knees to the earth I bow down, to everything you are
Be blessed, be loved, be lifted high
Be treasured here
Be glorified
And I walked.
And my heart praised my king, lover of their souls.
I found myself in the parking lot of the strip club, and partway through Phil Wickham's Beautiful --
I see Your power in the moonlit night
Where planets are in motion and galaxies are bright
We are amazed in the light of the stars
It’s all proclaiming who You are
You’re beautiful
I looked up ... no stars were visible beyond the neon lights - but I knew they were there, even though I couldn't see past the distractions.
Just as I know Jesus cares for these women, even when they can't see him.
The Lord reminded me what a beautiful savior we have - a lover like no other.
I see you there hanging on a tree
You bled and then you died and then you rose again for me
He died for all the sin, all the heavy.
He took our dirty and made it pure.
He took our load and made it light.
And there, in the parking lot of the strip club - in Thailand, "land of smiles" - tears flowed in a stream down my face.
Becuase this sin-soaked soil, he called it Good - tov - when he breathed his God-breath on it.
And his precious blood, it washes everything clean; our old sin, new sin, even the ugly sin we don't know we'll find on ourselves tomorrow.
When we arrive at eternity’s shore
Where death is just a memory and tears are no more
We’ll enter in as the wedding bells ring
Your bride will come together and we’ll sing
You’re beautiful
I desperately, desperately want these women standing next to me on eternity's shore.
And you know what?
I think Jesus wants these women at the wedding feast also. He's coming to tell them: "Your tears are no more."
Becuase as I write this, there are over 100 World Racers all over Thailand, carrying the Holy Spirit into dark places. YWAM Thialand has hundreds of missionaries, both Thai and foreign, spreading the news of a wonderful savior.
The truth of his word illuminated my mind, and I was finally able to pray...
"They don't know how beautiful you are yet .. but Lord, show them your face. Soon."
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Posted in Cambodia by Jack Messarra on 5/8/2012
 I post this to contribute to the ongoing musings and discussions happening on our squad related to the outpouring of the indwelling Spirit. This is not meant to be the authoritative answer by any means. These are thoughts compiled by one scholar who has devoted his life to studying the Bible and encouraging the church and scholarly community with his findings.
What follows is a list of characteristics that generally apply to most (but not all) prophets. Prophets pray (Abraham), praise (Mariam) and preach (Amos), but so do lots of other people who are not called prophets. What makes them so special?
These characteristics, compiled by John Goldingay of Fuller Theological Seminary, distinguish prophets from other leaders, and can be thought of as familial traits or resemblance shared by family members. Click here to continue reading...
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Posted in Thailand by Jack Messarra on 4/23/2012
Video from Songkran Thai New Year Festival.
This video, made by our squad leader, Christian Roderick, is our celebration of the Thai New Year with the Songkran festival. In case you have never heard of Songkran, it's a country-wide 5 day water fight.
Chiang Mai is the best place to celebrate it because the old city is surrounded by a huge moat, which they flood just before the festival to ensure that noone runs out of water to throw in people's faces. And we just so happened to be there. Here's what it looked like:
Click here to continue reading...
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Posted in The Kingdom by Loren Messarra on 4/18/2012
Lately, life has shifted gears and moved into fast-forward. We arrived in Thailand about a week ago, and I've already started bar-hopping ... my ministry this month.
I'm serving on a fantastic team of all women this month, while Jack gets some bonding time with the men on our squad - he's doing manual labor and mentoring kids at an orphanage that rescues vulnerable children from the cycle of human trafficking.
We are about an hour away from each other, will only see each other a few days this month, and expect our time apart to challenge and stretch us as we focus on separate ministries and allow our lives to look different for the month.
My ministry this month is very unique, and very new to me. It's also something I'd like to invite you to join in a special way.
My passion for this ministry is best expressed by Carly Crookston; an amazing woman, a gifted writer, and one of my new team members. She wrote the peice below that describes what we're doing this month. I'm thrilled to serve alongside her as we reach out to broken women this month ...
broken women in the red-light district...
How much?
How much is she worth?
How much money would you be willing to pay to hang out with your waitress for the night? Five dollars? Ten dollars? More? Less?
What if she was your best friend? What if she was your little sister? What if she was your daughter? What if she was your wife?
How much then?
Take a walk with me. We're in Chiang Mai, Thailand. It's nearly midnight, but you wouldn't know it by the looks of it -- the lights flicker and glow enticingly, the music blares, the streets pulse with all of the people on them. We walk into a bar, slide into a booth and a young woman comes to take our order. To call her a young woman might be a little bit generous -- she can't be much older than eighteen. She's pretty, the way that all of the women here are pretty with their fine bone structure and round cheeks and sweet smiles. Can you see her? Who does she look like?
To me, she looks like my best friend Andrea. She looks like my sisters-in-law, Kimberly and Abigail. Could this have been one of them? What if they hadn't been priviledged enough to be born in America, into homes that sheltered them from the harsh reality of forced prostitution?
If you read this blog, chances are that you know me. You've probably talked with me or spent time with me at some point… After reading these posts for the past seven months, you surely know what I've been experiencing and learning lately. So what if it was me? What if I was the girl “waiting tables” at these bars and I was tired? What if I was tired of my life, but I had no other options? Would you help me?
If you read this blog, chances are that I know you. And after being blessed by your generosity and support thus far, I know that you would help me. To many of you, I am your friend, your sister, your daughter -- or at least, I could be. You wouldn't pass by me when I was desperate. I know that you wouldn't.
So let's not pass by these women when they are desperate. Let's not pass by the young girls stuck in these bars. Let's not walk past them, most of whom are not here by their own design. Close your eyes and see your little girl, your best friend, your only sister, exploited and alone. What are you going to do about it?
My team and I are partnering with Lighthouse in Action ministries this month. We're walking those streets, sitting in those bars, talking with those girls and our goal is to be Jesus. We're not walking in with Bibles, preaching a message of condemnation or anger. We're walking in to be girlfriends. We're trying to get to know these girls, to build relationships. The program director made it very clear: we're not a SWAT team running in to grab the women. We're farmers -- we're planting seeds, watering them, and maybe even harvesting a couple if the season is right.
How do we do that specifically? Our ministry this month centers around two of my favorite things -- praying and dating. Every day and every night, some part of our team will be in the prayer room, interceding for this country and the women that we meet. Then we spend two days and two nights a week in bars, getting to know the girls and inviting them out on dates. We want to take them to lunch, to the movies, to get our nails done -- the regular things girlfriends do with one another. Ministry this month is deeply relational. Success is not counted in how many women we personally pull out of the bar scene; it's about the depth and quality of friendships made.
But I need your help. My team needs your help. We have to pay to buy ourselves [non-alcoholic] drinks in every bar we go -- even the ones we go in just to pray. We have to pay to buy the women drinks and the price doubles. I'm hoping to get to the point where I can offer to pay a girl's bar fee, pay to take her out of there for the night. Then on any of the dates we have, we're paying for the women. But all of this requires cash, something that runs pretty short after seven months around the world. My team and I are trying to raise some money so that we can treat these women. We want to make some real, quality friendships -- friendships where we aren't trying to get anything out of them, but just showing them the love of Jesus through our lives.
If you would be willing to partner with us on this, you can email me for more information on how to give. Any money that we have left over after the end of the month will be given to this ministry; a prominent bar is closing at the end of April and the director has a vision for a rehabilitation program, where the women can come to learn about Jesus, but also to learn practical job skills. The four-month program costs about $1,000 dollars per woman, so any money that we do not use “dating” the girls will go directly towards that project.
So there we are, sitting in the booth. The pretty girl's name is Nam and she's ready to take our order. What will you have? Coca-cola? A cocktail? Maybe the girl herself?
How much?
He has shown you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. Micah 6:8
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Posted in Learning by Loren Messarra on 4/6/2012
We have just stepped off the plane into Thailand. From the dusty slums of Africa to the bustling streets of Bangkok, we find ourselves in a completely different world.
Asia beckons, a stranger.
A land more foreign than anything I’ve yet faced this year.
I am intimidated.
I've been travelling overseas since high school, and rarely felt inept or out of place.
Nicaragua has been home for me since 2006 - even from my first visit, Latin culture was reminiscent of Texas and Mexico, so finding myself comfortble there was no surprise.
Eastern Europe presented new cultures ... but our langugages share Latin roots, the people are white, and similarities still linger from shared Anglo-Saxon ancestors.
And Africa - it welcomed me with open arms in 2005. My heart was broken, but it also opened wide like a hibiscus in the African sun of wide African smiles, African arms, African love.
It, too, has been home ever since.
But Asia ? It looms - a giant question mark in my mind. I have absolutely no idea what to expect. I suppose this is fertile soil for God to sow seeds.
A part of me thinks I am too old to fall in love again - with a people group, a new area of the globe … but then, life is funny.
Just when you think life is full, marriage opens an entirely new chapter of love and sacrifice, tears and toil and laughter - pulsing vitality beyond the joy I thought possible.
As my friends one by one cross the threshold to motherhood, I watch their hearts expand again - and again - always more room in the heart for a new baby.
Someday, I’ll know that joy.
But today, I groan with labor pains of another kind. He is birthing in me a fierce, proud, protective love his nations and people.
There is Nicaragua: first-born of my missionary passions, the one that is most familiar to me. Don’t get me started talking about how beautiful Nica is, because I’m likely to whip out pictures and never stop chatting about her festive spirit, her lovely Latin character, and how she’s an unexpected class favorite.
And Africa: second-born, meeting this one broke my heart. I bent low on a dirt floor in Zambia as my heart was shattered by her passion and her great need. Fiercely prideful, driven by a rhythm all her own, and alive to the work of a risen savior, she captured my heart - when I am away from her too long, I am anxious and my heart aches to see her once again.
And so I'm left, pecies of my heart strewn across continents.
I'm left to wait, waiting to meet this unknown, third reflection of God on earth. The time is coming soon.
What will Asia look like?
Will I have what it takes to go through this process again - to gaze in awe upon another manifestation of my God in the flesh - and give of myself?
Do I have anything to offer?
And - the most painful question of all - is there enough room in my heart … for all three - for Nicaragua, for Africa, and for Asia?
I think about my momma friends with multiple children - and I’m amazed at how the Lord grows our hearts.
Even as a woman’s womb stretches to make room, so does her heart.
A father’s hands reach out for his newborn child, and the Lord plants love in his very core.
Oh Jesus, would you stretch my heart as I hold out my hands ... for whatever you decide to place in them?
{For our loved family and friends who are delivering babies while we are away - we are thinking of you. It's hard to miss the really special moments. When we get home, we can't wait to meet and hold baby Camp, Josiah, Noah, Hattie, Elijah, and baby Legare. We know they'll be just as amazing as their parents. We love you!}
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Posted in Rwanda by Loren Messarra on 3/12/2012
8:00 am: Arise (rather groggy and grumpy - I am not friends with evil Morning.)
8:00 - 9:00: Snack on some Psalms in my little tent - so tasty!
9:00 - 9:45: Walk the long, dusty road to pastor’s house for breakfast
9:45 - 10:00: Eat breakfast (same as every day) … hard-boiled egg, a miniature banana, black ginger tea with
goat’s milk, and chapati (like a fluffy tortilla).
We were told that right after breakfast, we would leave for a “short” marriage party. It would be a “slight distance” away, and we were not sure how we would get there.
10:00 - 12:00: Wait at the pastor’s house in confusion … where we discover it is a graduation party, not a
marriage party. And that the pastor had already left. And that he is not sure how we will get there. Make small talk with the pastor’s wife (who speaks limited English) - try to maintain eye contact as she breastfeeds her toddler, completely topless and very nonchalant about it.
Play “20 questions” with our team to kill time.
Sweat trickles down my back - the heat of the day arrives early here.
12:30 - 1:00: We walk across town to our translators’ moms’ shop, where we will meet our translator, who will get us bus tickets to the graduation party.
1:00 pm: Arrive at the shop, where mama wants to know where her daughter (our translator) is. We have no idea. Hands on wide hips, she is not happy.
1:00 - 1:40: Sit on the steps and watch the cars go by. I daydream about macaroni and cheese. A precious and
malnourished child wanders by, so my attention is averted to praying for her.
1:40 pm: Our translator arrives, and after a short argument with her mom, we head to the bus station.
2:15 pm: When we arrive at the bus station, we discover that the next bus does not leave until 3 pm. (We were told the party ended around 3). So we walk back to to the shop.
2:30 - 3:30: Wait for a while longer, while many confusing phone calls fly around. A car arrives to pick us up, then speeds away as our translator explains that “it has two flat tires.”
4:00 pm: We are picked up by a van. Thrilled and relieved, we stretch out on the seats and head off, bumping along back roads.
4:20 pm: In confusion, we are driven back to …. the pastor’s house!
Here, we are greeted by the pastor’s family, dressed to a hilt, AND the entire Voice of Trumpet Victory Choir from the pastor’s church, in their singing attire: shiny brown satin two-tone shirts and crisp pants, and long shoes that turn up at the toes. All 16 of them pile into our van (how I wish Africans used deodorant!), along with their full arsenal of sound equipment … 2 huge box stereos, a sound board, several cables, etc. Some seats have 3 layers of people stacked high on each others’ laps.
In my little corner of the van, I thank Jesus (literally) that I am by a window, where fresh air can blow through, and that my compact size shows its advantage in this situation. My poor 6 ft+ team leader looks so uncomfortable.
4:25 pm: After driving exactly 10 meters, the van is stopped. In a flurry of loud voices, the entire choir piles out of the van, shuffles around, and then piles back in. This happens twice more in the next half hour. But … we are finally on our way! Note that we are only 6 hours late.
During the van ride, Voice of Trumpet Victory Choir practices their repertoire, although they don't all sing the same song at the same time. It is loud enough that I hear it all through my headphones.
5:25 pm: Arrive at the graduation party to many stares.
We visit the “bathroom” - a three-sided shack with a hole dug in the ground. The exciting part is that there is a hornet’s nest … in the hole where you are supposed to do your business.
I’m not sure how you’re supposed to do your business without angering the hornets. This is all made more exciting, since in Romania I discovered a serious allergy to flying, stinging insects. In Africa, even a trip to the bathroom is never routine. Somehow, we miraculously survive unscathed.
At the graduation party, we eat two very large dinners … one complete with animal intestines and soured milk sauce. We choke down what we can and try not to let the constant stares bother us.
We’re given a 2-minute warning that someone from our group will give a graduation speech. This should not be surprising, since at the last graduation we attended (in Tanzania), we were given a 1-minute warning that we would be performing a dance in front of hundreds. Yes, we did it, and no, it was not my proudest moment. At this graduation ceremony, however, my teammate Jake saves the day by giving a speech that is well-received. After that the stares are more kindly.
I am fascinated by a speech given by the family patriarch and his allusions to genocide. Their family was Tutsi, in the targeted group during the Rwandan genocide of 1994. His family fled to Uganda and most of them have known life as refugees. In a quiet, dignified voice, he glorifies God that he has allowed them to return to the homeland of their fathers, that he saved them while many others were slaughtered, and that now as his family - and his country - rebuilds, the graduation of his grandson marks progress for his family and hope for all.
Rwandans are a reserved, proud people that do not quickly open their emotions to outsiders - and they rarely talk of the horror in their recent past. To see a rare glimpse of their true feelings was a gift, and I felt honored to be included in such an intimate family gathering.
Little did I know the day was not even close to over yet …
6:45 pm: Though the “party” portion of the ceremony is only beginning, we all (Voice of Trumpet Victory Choir included) pile back into the van - we are already late for evening church service. We bounce along the rutted, muddy, rocky, mountainous road to the city.
Along the way, fields of wheat and corn unfold before me like a patchwork quilt - beautiful.
A storm rolls in, shades of steel in thunderous clouds above, brazen sunlight shining
through breaks of gray.
Clean, rain-soaked breezes wash through the open window and refresh the sweaty stale
air inside the van.
A great playlist rings in my ears, and I worship.
My heart bobs above me, like a balloon on a string. It doesn’t feel like much holds me to the
ground. Just when I think I can’t be more caught up in the rapture of the beauty around
me, a lightening storm begins.
“The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.” Psalm 19:1
Despite Genocide, God has smiled upon this land. The story of Rwanda is still unfolding, and I can’t help but sense that he is not done in East Africa yet - a feeling that was confirmed when …
7:30 pm: We arrive at church, late for service, where everyone is singing a cappella and caught up in worship - undeterred that we have the choir and the sound system with us.
7:30 - 8:45: Church and preaching/worship with our team.
8:45 pm: We choke down our third dinner.
9:15 pm: In the middle of a torrential downpour, all seven of us pile into a small four-door ancient car that in every moment feels like its last. We somehow make it home.
10:00 pm: Collapse into bed and think, “Is this real life?”
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Posted in Worship by Loren Messarra on 2/17/2012
Flickering candles pierce the dark African night.
Crickets join husky voices lifted in Kinyarwandan song.
Call and response, rhythm of hands, shuffle of the dance.
The cadence
breaking into complex syncopation.
Hands, feet, limbs, lips
cast shadows on the red dirt floor.
Pews of plastic chairs, abandoned
in favor of a wild praise dance.
{Power outages do not stop worship here ... I have a hunch Africans might be God's favorite.}
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Posted in Rwanda by Jack Messarra on 2/9/2012
Video of our new team singing "The Wise Man Built..." at Mary & Paul Primary School.
Click here to continue reading...
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Posted in Tanzania by Jack Messarra on 1/26/2012
Jack writes about the little things he misses from home and the big things he enjoys the most about being on the World Race.
Click here to continue reading...
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Posted in General Posts by Jack and Loren Messarra on 1/10/2012
Friends, we have so wanted you guys to be able to travel with us and catch a glimse of what life racing around the world is like. God moves so powerfully and thanks to your support, he opens our eyes to new things every day.
We finally got fast enough internet to upload several pictures from our first couple of months and - bonus - there are more to come!
Click here to see our pictures from Romania in September.
Click here to see pictures from Moldova in October.
Stay tuned, because soon we'll be posting pictures from Nepal and India! We can't thank you enough for being part of this amazing journey with us.
Sending our love from Mwanza, Tanzania, Africa!
*note that the pictures are hosted on Facebook, but you do NOThave to have a Facebook to view them.
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