post-it project...

When we compare our lives to others, it may be disillusioning. But there is a healthy introspection that comes from acknowledging what you have in light of the blessings God has given. Therefore, give back.

In the midst of the craziness of life, I don't want to forget my commitments to serving a cause greater than myself. As I've mentioned in a previous post, I have been invited to go to Africa this summer to partner with Mavuno church in Kenya. This adventure is exciting and nerve-wrecking all at the same time. In order to be a participant on this trip each member is required to fund raise 100% of their financial support.

There's a nasty little monster that hangs on my shoulders and his name is Pride. I hate asking for help--especially financial help. But the premise and core ideology of Outreach is to invite others to join in on our journey. With your financial help you're able to participate in this adventure with me. The Post-It Project will give you a small way to be where I am.

For ten days a group of youth from Orange County will join with a group of youth from Kenya for total world domination! Well--something like that. Here's some vision for the trip:

If you want to help and support the trip, here are some simple steps:

Go to http://www.marinersoutreach.org/giving

Click on the link that says "Give towards a Faith Adventure"
Step 1: Fill in your information.
Step 2: Designate Faith Adventure Donation
Team Member Name: [Bianca Juarez]
Trip Name: [Kenya, June 2010]
Step 3: Fill in your account information.

never say never...

I grew up a poor kid. Not like poor I-don't-have-a-home, but poor like I-wish-I-didn't-have-to-shop-at-thrift-stores. And I-wish-I-didn't-have-to-drink-the-donated-guava-juice-from-church. And I'm-never-going-to-wear-hand-me-downs-anymore. Yeah, that kind of poor.

As a child I vowed I would never be poor again. I would never wear donated clothes. I would never ask for a handout.

Never say never.

I have been invited to go into the slums of Kenya, meet the amazing people from Mavuno church, and physically be the hands and feet of Jesus to live out the commission to love my neighbor as myself. I believe in the organization I'll be traveling with whole-heartedly... but there's this one thing I just can't get over: their STRICT fundraising policy. [see below]

So--I'm starting the Post-it Project. Everywhere I go, people who I touch, you will be able to be part of this journey. I'll be blogging and Tweeting about our adventures and if you want to be part of this adventure, you can! Below are some instructions on how to help send me to Africa.

Go to http://www.marinersoutreach.org/giving

Click on the link that says "Give towards a Faith Adventure"
Step 1: Fill in your information.
Step 2: Designate Faith Adventure Donation
Team Member Name: [Bianca Juarez]
Trip Name: [Kenya, June 2010]
Step 3: Fill in your account information.

I appreciate your help, love, and support. If nothing else, I appreciate your prayers!

be an EMT...

Standing in line donning Hawaiian print shirts, sandals, and straw hats, travelers from across the nation waited in line at LAX to board a plane to paradise. The usual noise cluttered the terminal as excitement wafted in the air.

A shriek pierced the noise and a call for help brought the airline check-in stations to a halt. The body of an adult man laid on the ground helplessly as someone yelled for a doctor. An average looking man with a small carry-on rushed to the body. He flung off his jacket, tilted the victims head back and instantaneously begin rescue breathing and CPR.

I watched in horror as the friend of the victim tried stopping his mouth from touching the mouth of the victim, but I couldn't understand why until I heard, He has AIDS!

The air left the room as the doctor sat on his knees, held a lifeless head in his hands, and questioned if this man's life was worth his own.

Five years later, I'm still asking the same question.

The doctor took a vow to hold Life sacred. So have I. No, I'm not a medical doctor, but I'm a spiritual caretaker as a lover of Jesus Christ. When rushed to a hospital in dire need of care, no one asks if you're Christian or Buddhist, gay or straight, legal or illegal. The primary focus is to save life.

As a spiritual EMT, my job is to get people to the Doctor, not ask questions. Why? Because Life is important whether you're White, Black, Gay, Straight, Asian, Haitian, or not of this nation. I never want to grab my carry-on, put on my jacket, and leave the airport terminal without trying to save a life. Why? Because I don't want to live with regrets like the doctor on his knees at Los Angeles International Airport five years ago.

Are you emergency medical technician? Do you want to be? If you were the doctor, how would have you responded?

they, them, those...

They picked me up from my hotel while I was breathing out frozen puffs of air like an amused fourth grader. My bible and notes were frozen in my naked hand and my California winter coat did a poor job at shielding me from the east coast chill. The assistant pastor and his wife spoke to me about the event that I would be teaching at and briefed me about what to expect, but I was distracted by the falling snow and frost-breath stick figures I was drawing on the car window. We pulled into the church parking lot before any of the attendees had arrived.

Except for one.

A man wearing an old flannel jacket and wool hat stood against the New England brick wall with a small grin which exposed his toothless smile. Two hours before anyone else had arrived, this man anxiously waited to hear the word of God taught in tattered clothing too thin to keep himself warm. He had a large bible in one hand and a lit cigarette pursed tightly in between the fingers of his other. I greeted him with a soft, Good morning. He exhaled the smoke nervously and began to cough violently. I didn't know what to do, so I offered him a cup of coffee. Before he could answer the assistant pastor angrily told the man to put out his cigarette, quit smoking, and told him to leave the church property if he was going to smoke again. The embarrassed man walked away humiliated and still coughing... and I stood there in complete disbelief.

As we entered into the church building, the pastor spoke of this man in third person plurals; they, them, those. I wanted to die. Didn't Jesus come to save the they, them, and those? Would Jesus care if this guy smoked a cigarette? Would Jesus tell this man to leave if he felt an inclination to repeat the offense? The pastor rambled on about those people while I tried thinking of a response, but I was physically and emotionally numb.

In the sad faces of people we meet, in the vacuous eyes of people we glance at, can you see Jesus? Behind his tailored suit, beyond the baby on her hip, can you see Jesus? If we fail to see Jesus in the people we encounter they will be left untouched like lepers, unreached like the lost, and unloved like the poor. Matthew 10:27, So he answered and said, "'You shall love theLord your God will all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind,' and [love] 'your neighbor as yourself.'" And He said to him, "You have answered rightly; do this and you will live."