It was a cold day in November. Pastor Brian received a phone call from a member of our congregation, wondering if he would be willing to make a pastoral call to a young Hispanic woman living in a nearby town. Brian shared this call with the staff at our Thursday morning prayer time. Knowing that Brian had a full week, I reached out and asked if there was any way I could help. Brian, knowing that he did not have the bandwidth, asked me to make the call to the family.
After many text messages using an app on my phone to help me translate, I got a time set up on Monday morning for me to go and visit. I knew that my Spanish was not great, so I was unsure how I was going to be able to translate or communicate very well with the young mom. So, I reached out to my friend and neighbor, Maria. I asked Maria if she could help me out Monday morning translating and, without any questions, she instantly said yes.
On Monday morning, I pulled out of my garage and drove around the corner to pick up my friend. As we drove the 20 minutes to the nearby town, I explained to her where we were going and what we were doing. We laughed and we chatted, and she shared her own experience living in this nearby town years before. I remember as we pulled up to the trailer, I felt some anxiety about how this was going to go. I said a little prayer to myself and leaned into the back seat to grab my Bible. As we walked up to the door, Maria told me she was bummed she forgot her Spanish Bible at home.
We walked up the old, broken wooden steps and I knocked on the door. We waited as it took some time for the young mom to get to the door. As soon as she opened the door, I introduced myself as Pastora Kristin. Then, turning to Maria, she introduced herself and began speaking in Spanish. As we followed the mom into the house, I took a seat on the couch nearest the door as Maria sat on the couch opposite side of the room and the young mom sat between us. The four-month-old baby was in his carrier on the floor and I watched as Maria would rock him with her foot and make silly faces at him. While she was rocking and entertaining the baby, Maria would ask questions about the young mother’s kids, their living conditions, and many other things. Maria shared her own story of being a mom and shared pictures of her five kids. They smiled as they shared the bond of motherhood. I sat there and just watched for most of the conversation, picking up the Spanish I knew. Occasionally Maria asked me to answer questions or to text the young mother different community resources.
The husband came home in the middle of our conversation and he made eye contact with me first and seemed startled to see me. He sat down on the couch next to his wife, and soon Maria and I asked if we could pray for the family, the house, and the baby. I prayed first in English and Maria followed praying in Spanish. Maria continued to speak to the family. With the little Spanish I knew, I heard Maria sharing the gospel with the family and their need to get to church. I remember at this moment pulling my phone out of my pocket to try and sneak a picture of my friend sitting on the couch across from me. I didn’t want to forget this moment. At this point, I tried to hide and cover the tears that began to swell in my eyes because of the strong presence of the Holy Spirit in that cold living room. This was a holy moment. I just sat there on that couch listening, laughing, and supporting. A witness.
As we left on the drive home, Maria shared more in-depth the conversation she had with the couple.
She shared how they were struggling financially, how their trailer was always cold, and their landlord was taking advantage of them. Maria shared with me that we needed to do something to help them. She went on to tell me that it was the little boy’s birthday in a few weeks and they deserve to celebrate. We planned to help him celebrate. Maria was going to bake cupcakes and buy him some clothes with her money she had been saving.
As we entered back into town, I told Maria I would take her out for lunch to thank her for all she did that day. I dropped her off at home and even before I left her driveway, I was in tears again. I pulled into my garage, turned off the car, and just sat there, in utter amazement at what I just saw and experienced. The tears kept flowing down my face at the beauty of watching my friend who is a Mexican immigrant with a sixth-grade education and stay at home mom of five kids, do what she did. She did far more than what I was able to do because of the cultural and language barriers. It was remarkable. Maria was able to say, do, and challenge this young mom in ways I couldn’t because she was also a Hispanic woman. That day in the trailer was a take off your sandals kind of moment because it was holy ground. On that day, I got a front-row seat to Pastor Maria (what we call her) lead and minister.
Since that first visit to the family, Maria and I have stayed in contact with the mom. We helped them move, provided them with furniture and Christmas gifts, and we drop off food occasionally. In the last two months, the young mom and her kids have been coming to church. All of this was the fruit of Maria’s ministry because Maria said yes to me asking her to come translate. In my mind, I thought she would come and translate for me as I did the ministering. But it turned into something much more than that. This experience and story were a reminder for me that sometimes I just need to know when to get out of the way and let the Holy Spirit move. But, for me, the greatest gift was not watching Maria minister or even having the young mom come to church. The greatest gift for me that day was how this story changed me. How it opened my eyes to the many people we have on the margins that we are not using in ministry. The many places we are missing the kingdom breaking in because, as white people, we won’t get out of the way. The way the church and I need to keep changing, growing, and learning what it means to love our immigrant neighbors and give them a seat at the table.