Getting My Heart Broken On My Birthday

I’m going to preface this by warning you this is a longer blog post, but the story deserves to be told in it’s entirety. God is in every detail so I don’t want to leave out the important ones. 

 

Let me start with some context so the rest of this story makes sense. 

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Since the beginning of the Race, I’ve been praying off and on and mostly half-heartedly that the Lord would “break my heart for what breaks his.” A phrase many Christians kind of throw around in prayer and small groups and from the front of the church on Sundays and think sounds really humble and holy. Let me spoil something about God for you: He takes our prayers seriously. If it’s in His will, and if we ask, we are sure to see it come to pass in His perfect timing. Don’t pray things unless you’re really serious about them. 

Shortly after arriving in Costa Rica, our host (Max) dropped off a bag of books at our house and encouraged us to read some with all our time unconnected from the world while living in the rainforest. I picked up one the other day about the Brooklyn Tabernacle (Google it) and have been both broken and altogether encouraged over what I’m reading. The premise of the book thus far is the necessity of the people of God to call on the name of the Lord and see Him respond. He always responds. 

On our first Friday here, Max came to my team and cast a vision for this past week: Monday travel by van to San Jose. Pack light. Stay at a hotel. Pray a lot. Street witness after dark in the barrio (neighborhood) around the hotel where there are high levels of drug and alcohol abuse, addiction, homelessness, and prostitution. Invite people to the program. Pray more. Sleep, eat, repeat on Tuesday. Sleep, eat, go back to the women’s center in Limón on Wednesday. 

My 25th birthday was last Monday.

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The day started out sweetly. I woke up early, journaled and prayed for a while, was surprised by my team with birthday balloons and a steady stream of encouraging notes and treats. We ate breakfast with the women we live with, packed our bags, prayed for them as they left for an 8:30 bus, and were instructed to meet Max in the parking lot at 9:30 to get in the ministry van. (Fun fact: the “parking lot” is where the gravel road ends on the side of the river opposite our house approximately half a mile away. Real fun stuff.) 

Our drive to San Jose was uneventful–we had deep and fun conversation, stopped for lunch, ate a lot of plantain chips, and napped a little. 

Around 5:30 we met with the whole team for dinner. The “whole team” was my World Race team (8 of us girls total), Max, 3 graduates of the men’s program (Felipe, Jason, and Chris), a woman who is a friend of the ministry (Mar), a young intern from the states (Jacob), and another man connected to the ministry (Mark). We met at 6 to start praying. 

Max had prepped us that none of us were in charge that night, but that we would follow as the Holy Spirit led in prayer and worship and witness. We stayed in the War Room for a few hours. During worship I kept thinking of what it means to be a people who call on the name of the Lord. I kind of thought I understood a little, but didn’t quite feel like I was really getting it. 

Eventually the music stopped, we prayed some more and set ourselves to finish getting ready to leave. Use the bathroom, drink some coffee, leave everything behind. No phones, no money, no jewelry, no watches, leave it all behind. It reminds me of Mark 6:7-9 where Jesus instructs the disciples to go and spread the gospel and take nothing for the journey. We walked around with nothing but Jesus to give to people. 

Taking off my jewelry left me feeling unlike myself, it left me feeling exposed, and the tan lines on my fingers indicated that something was indeed missing. Even something as simple as that was used by the Holy Spirit to teach me to depend on Him more… but that’s not the point of this story. 

We were split into 3 teams with sufficient enough Spanish skills and enough muscle (between the 6 guys) to let each group feel equipped and ready. My team was me, Mar, Jacob, my teammate Steph, and Felipe.

Our teams moved in unison on each city block, always keeping one another within eye sight, and praying continually over one another as each team stepped out to strike conversation with people. Max’s team went first. My team was instructed to go second. 

 

We went to turn a corner and someone said, “go check and see what that is up there.” 

“I think it’s just a pile of trash.” 

“Let’s go check anyways.” 

“Wait no, I think it’s a person.” 

“Yeah it’s definitely a man.” 

“Oh wow.” 

 

Mar initiated conversation and this man roused from a sleepy and drug-induced state to talk with us. After a few pleasantries, Mar asked his name. He mumbled something, and then Felipe spoke up, “his name is G* I remember him.” 

*name withheld for privacy

 

Me and Jacob looked at each other. “He remembers him from the program?” 

“Yeah, he looks familiar, I think I’ve seen him before too.” 

“Oh wow.” 

 

Felipe said a few things to remind G of how and when they knew each other. You could feel a rush of shame wash over the atmosphere. G had been in the program with Felipe and the other men witnessing with us only months before and had dropped out, and ended up living on the streets again. 

Felipe’s heart broke. My heart broke. The atmosphere was heavy. We talked to G a little more, he cried. Felipe cried. I cried. Mar reminded him of the program and how Jesus wants to give Him a new life. We prayed for him and wished him a good night. 

We went around the corner. I asked to pray for Felipe as I had just watched his heart break before my eyes, he agreed and we stood in a circle and prayed and dried our tears. 

And on we went. 

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We had many encounters over the course of almost 6 hours we spent walking the barrio that night. We ran into more men who had dropped out of the program early and ended up back where they had started. We invited women stuck in prostitution and addiction to the women’s program. We prayed for people who were high on crack and drunk on rubbing alcohol. We shared the gospel with people, and we saw people accept Jesus for the first time ever. We ran into a group of Nicaraguan immigrants waiting at 1 a.m. for a bus to take them back to their country–I prayed hope and protection and health over two different women and their families. 

As the night went on, with every encounter and every prayer, I could feel my prayers growing more fervent and my heart breaking open. 

These people are lost sons and daughters, children of God awaiting to hear that they’ve been adopted into a heavenly family. Moms and dads, brothers and sisters, humans. 

As we progressed further into the night and as we encountered a few people agitated at the name of Jesus, my prayers grew even more fervent and desperate. We had literally nothing to give them except the hope of Jesus and an invitation into a program that could help them get clean and start over again. 

This is what it means to call on the name of the Lord, I realized. When I have nothing but the Hope of the World to share, I must call on the name of the Lord with fear and reverence and steadfast petition. 

With every new encounter, face-to-face with deep and real brokenness, I had a harder time holding back tears. Each time I started praying, tears would fill my eyes at the heartache and honor to come before God and petition for the person in front of me. I felt my heart breaking more and more as we continued walking. 

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The following night we set ourselves to the same agenda: dinner, pray, worship, walk, intercede, meet, invite, pray. 

We walked further into the barrio and set our feet on the path that God had illuminated. I found myself having a backseat role most of the night, praying and interceding on behalf of my teammates and the people we were meeting. 

Someone on the team had heard the name “Maria” while we were praying over the night. We met and prayed over 3 different Maria’s as the night went on. 

We met a group of Venezuelans on their way to the U.S. We got to share the gospel and they accepted Jesus into their hearts and lives. I cried on the sidewalk. 

We ran into some of the same people as the night before. Some people had told their friends about us, so a few people approached us and asked for prayer. 

We prayed with prostitutes and drug dealers. 

A woman outside a brothel told us “Dios le bendiga” (God bless you) before asking us  for a lighter for her cigarette. We didn’t have a lighter, but we told her Jesus loves her and wants to know her. We prayed over her as she walked back inside. 

We invited several more men to come to the program. We shared over and over, “Wednesday. 9 a.m. Mepe bus station.” 

Night two was good and hard. The Holy Spirit was with us. 

The great brokenness of the world was so evident as we knelt down to people sleeping on the sidewalk and held hands with prostitutes so on edge they couldn’t bear to stand still. I prayed over the guys as they boldly walked up to drug dealers and shared that Jesus saved them when they were once doing the same things on the same streets. 

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All night we prayed. We’d walk a block and pray. We’d meet someone and pray. We’d finish a conversation and turn the corner and gather again to pray. 

But we weren’t praying little “God please if you wouldn’t mind, do this or that” kind of prayers. We were praying bold, audacious, eyes fixed on Jesus, souls at stake for eternity kind of prayers. And always with our eyes wide open. 

That was one of the rules–no praying with your eyes closed. Eyes open, physically alert and aware. Always scanning the space around you, noticing who was walking towards you, watching the interactions our teammates were having.

And as the night went on, I felt like I began to pray with my spiritual eyes wide open. Seeing the battle that is not of flesh and blood being waged in the lives of people on the streets of San Jose.

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By the time the 9 a.m. bus left Mepe station on Wednesday, 4 men had said yes to the program and decided to go. 

Several others had come to ask questions, they’re interested but were simply too uncertain that day. 

Let me tell you something clearly: the world is deeply broken, yet there is abundant hope. Jesus Christ came to save the sinners and the lost, He came to set the captives free and bring healing and redemption. He’s not finished yet, and he’s certainly not finished with San José. 

 

Please be praying: 

• for the 4 men who said yes to the program. That they would stick to it for the entire year. That they would have clarity of mind and heart, and that the effects of withdrawal would not take away from the start of this new process. That they would trust Jesus completely and know Him as Lord and Savior. 
• for G. We found him again on the second night we were in the barrio and invited him back to the program. He was not one of the men who said yes to the program this time. Pray that his heart would be softened again to the Lord and that he would experience complete freedom and healing. 
• for Felipe, Jason, and Chris. That the Lord would be near to them as they process the experience of being back in the streets they once lived on, but this time with New Life. That they would carry on with the rest of their lives being great evangelists and powerful soldiers for the Lord. 
• for the ministry here, Global Teen Challenge. That long-term missionaries would be called to this place. That there would be spiritual protection and heightened awareness of the Spirit’s leading. That every material and emotional need would be met with sweet abundance.