Letting Go: Michelle & Melena

". . . I'm not a schemer. I try to show the schemers how pathetic their attempts to control things really are . . . It's the schemers that put you where you are. You were a schemer, you had plans, and uh, look where that got you. I just did what I do best. I took your little plan and I turned it on itself . . . You know what I noticed? Nobody panics when things go according to plan. Even if the plan is horrifying . . . nobody panics, because it's all, part of the plan."
-Joker, Excerpts from "The Dark Knight"

It was one of those nights that almost seemed like it was going to be totally unremarkable when it was all said and done. My doubts about my purpose in coming to Daytona Beach for Spring Break had caught up with me and were wreaking havoc on my confidence that this was in fact God’s will for me. This was the eighth mission trip I’d been on--my fifth just within the past 2 years. Sometimes it’s hard to gauge whether you’re actually called to go back, or whether you’re just looking for a spiritual "high" that often accompanies a service trip. My second-guessing continued well into this particular week and intensified ten-fold after the first day and a half, only having one conversation in the total of six hours we’d hit the beach and boardwalk doing contact evangelism. I tried to battle the discouragement and frustration that quickly arose as we approached people, and time after time were rejected. I didn’t want to have a bad attitude, but I had come with the intention of having good conversations with people about the Gospel, not wandering aimlessly down the beach, begging God to just let someone give us the time of day. I didn’t understand. And I couldn’t help asking God, why? I’m here. I’m willing. I came with pure intentions. So why can’t I just have "that one conversation"? As is often the case, God was simply preparing me for something bigger—I just didn’t realize it yet.

I am one of these aforementioned "schemers", trying to control my little world. Time and again God pries my hands off of what rightfully belongs to Him, and I am humbled and reminded that nothing is in my control. I need to let go. I’d like to say that these were my thoughts as our caravan neared the boardwalk on the evening of March 30th, but while I had certainly decided to let go, my attitude was much closer to that of shrugging my shoulders and saying "whatever", than that of trusting God to see His will accomplished.

My partner, Rebekah, and I had barely met previous to this particular evening, so as we strolled towards the boardwalk we began getting to know each other a bit better. We arrived at an open courtyard behind a strip of Bars & Restaurants, a Cinema Complex, and other tourist shops and attractions. There was a stage where concerts are obviously held off to our left, and straight ahead was a wall bordering the boardwalk. Along the wall we saw several pockets of people, high school kids, couples, even families, no doubt taking in the beautiful evening view of the beach. "What about them?" Rebekah asked me. She pointed towards two silhouettes almost directly in front of us across the courtyard. I couldn’t make out who these two individuals might be because they happened to be standing under the only light along the wall that was not currently functioning. I shrugged, "Sure, why not?" I said. After all, the worst they can do is say they don’t want to talk, right? We approached and introduced ourselves. They were mother and daughter, and though at this moment the four of us were far from any realizations about this encounter, this meeting had been set in place before the beginning of time; a divine appointment that could have only been arranged by an Almighty Creator.

After stating why we had approached them, Melena, the mother, started firing off questions at us, not even giving us much chance to answer.
"Why are you doing this? What do you believe? Do you believe in abortion?" She finally paused, waiting.
"No" we both answered.

"We do!" she stated emphatically. She waited, clearly expecting a reaction from us.

If she was expecting us to scream at her or pull out our Bibles and start beating her with them, she was disappointed. I can’t say at this point that I was expecting this conversation to progress much further, but then Melena asked, "How do you feel about me asking you guys all these questions?"

We laughed and stated that we were happy to answer her questions.

Though I didn’t realize it at that moment, the first barrier had just fallen. Melena and her daughter, Michelle, completely opened up to us and shared about their long and diverse history with religion. Michelle had just graduated from high school and was actually considering a major in religious studies. This family had experienced everything from Lutheran services, to Catholic, Mormon and Pentecostal churches, to Muslim mosques. They hadn’t been terribly impressed with any of them, and in some cases had faced blatant rejection for everything from the fact that Melena was bi-racial, to living with her partner outside marriage, to bringing her gay Nephew and his partner to these services. My heart broke for them with the knowledge that they were seeking answers so passionately and yet coming up short time after time. I shared briefly with them that I too, though from an entirely different background, had also faced rejection and a sense of isolation in the church. It had taken a serious faith crisis and a trip halfway across the world, to India, for me to make my faith my own and question what made my faith the one and only absolute truth.

At a certain point it hit me that this conversation had gone far beyond four strangers standing on the boardwalk talking. We were four friends, four fellow travelers, discussing life’s un-answerable questions, trying to come to a conclusion about the meaning of life and what God’s purpose might be for us. I didn’t just want to see them come to know Christ because I wanted to be able to say it happened and I was there to see it, I wanted to go before God—fall on my face and weep; beg that He reveal Himself to them; to set them free. My heart was broken for them in much the same way that I’m sure God’s heart breaks for those who do not know Him. I loved them.

Occasionally you will hear someone say that the words they spoke were not their own when they were sharing the Gospel. It’s cliché, I know. But it’s also true. There was no "out of body" experience, no flashing lights or tongues of fire. But I know that I never have and never will be capable of speaking the way I spoke that night outside the power of the Holy Spirit. Rebekah and I had barely met, yet we were finishing each other’s thoughts as if we’d been tag-teaming for years. Michelle and Melena spoke with us for almost an hour. We shared the entire Gospel with them—when it was all said and done we’d both shared our testimonies, as well as attempting to answer 5 or 6 tough questions that these two threw at us. There was no prayer at the end. No conversion or promise of one. We said goodnight and headed our separate ways.

Part of me wishes I had thought to ask for their contact information. But I’m glad I didn’t. It would have been another failed attempt on my part to close my fist around it. To try and control it. It’s in God’s hands—as it always has been. As it should be. We sat on a nearby bench for almost 20 minutes after we’d parted ways with Michelle and Melena and cried out to God, praising Him for His power and mercy, His eternal love for us. I couldn’t even stand; I was shaking so badly. I don’t think I’ll ever stop scheming. I’ll always struggle with trying to plan everything out. Trying to hold on tightly; trying to arrest control or at least maintain some illusion of it. But when I do, I might think twice. I may think back to the night I met Michelle and Melena. And I might remember what happens when I let go.