From Tears to Triumph
Guest Contributor: Hannah Gromis
The Panama sun beats down on the cracked ground, even in the mid-morning. I have never been out of the country in my nineteen years of life, but here I find myself in the suburbs of Panama City, serving with global missionaries and other students from my college.
With sweat condensating on my back, tired from carrying around a large backpack, my six person team and I approach the next house. Carefully maneuvering around a wired fence and yappy dog, we fall into our usual routine of talking with the residents of the home before installing their water filter and sharing the gospel. Feeling exhausted already, I decide to take a step back with this house and do more listening than talking. Every time I have shared the gospel so far, I do it worse than everyone else on our team; it comes out choppy and forced. I find a wooden pole to lean on behind everyone else, say a silent prayer that I will avoid splinters, and observe what is happening. The woman that greets us is taller, and on the younger end. No children. With the help of a translator, we figure out that she is not the main resident of the home, but her younger sister is. She is just there to help care for her sister’s three-year-old son.
“Younger sister?” I think to myself, “Maybe this woman is older than she looks.” Just as the thought enters my mind, a girl walks out into the open kitchen. Kitchen being a modest term- with no walls and no electricity, it is like no kitchen I have ever seen. The girl looks to be about my age, which catches me by surprise, because her sister said she has a three-year-old son. She introduces herself as Alejandra. I learn that the older sister is twenty-three years old, and the younger sister is twenty, making her one year older than me. The longer I am in Panama, the more I see the cultural differences. I cannot imagine having a child, much less being three years into motherhood already. We wrap up the small talk, and one of our team members begins to present the gospel to these women. As my team member presents the gospel, I see Alejandra scrolling through Instagram on her phone. My heart sinks with sadness and bitterness; she clearly is uninterested in what we have to say. My teammate continues to ask them if either of them has a relationship with God.
The older sister shoots a quick and subtle glance at her sister, a glance I am only able to catch by being a quiet observer behind everyone else. The older sister says, “I do…” and trails off.
Her sister jumps in, “I do, I was very close to God when I was pregnant with my son, but now I do not feel as close to him now.”
At this comment, my eyes shoot up from the dirty patch of cement I have been staring at. I look intently at Alejandra, and the look in her eyes is a look I know all too well. I am brought back to my senior year of high school, looking in the mirror at a girl I do not recognize. Flashes of beers and seltzers, parties late into the night, and Snapchat messages from more guys than I can keep up with circulate through my mind. As I recall every time I drove home from a party when I should not, I can feel the pain of knowing what it feels like to not be where I want to be. I feel the angst of wondering what happened to my faith that I thought was unshakeable. My stomach turns as I remember being in that place; that place where I did not know who I was or what I was doing with my life. As I continue to look at Alejandra, I feel led to talk to her. I shake it off for a moment- I am in the very back behind everyone; I have not said a word. She probably does not even know I am here. Additionally, I am the least qualified of any of us to talk to her. Most of us have a past, I am sure that anyone else can communicate with her more smoothly than I can. However, as hard as I try, I cannot fend off the urge to speak with her. The missionary with us is sitting next to me, and so I lean over to him.
Shakily, I explain to him what is going through my mind, “Her story is very similar to mine- I know what it is like to be close to God and then feel distant again. But God has done a work in my life, as you know, because I’m here today. Do you think it would be helpful for me to share my story with her?”
He looks at me with a serious and urgent face, and whispers back, “Yes. Absolutely you should. God can use your testimony, and you should most definitely let him use you here and now.”
My friend leads these two women through a salvation prayer, and I watch Alejandra say the words, her deep brown eyes staring blankly at the floor. My team begins to leave, and I doubt myself again, feeling unworthy of speaking to this girl who may be my same age, but is in a completely different stage of life. But the missionary looks at me and gives me an encouraging nod.
“Alejandra,” I say, and every head turns in my direction.
My heart pounds out of my chest; with this unsolicited ejection, I know that everyone is curious as to what I have to say. I stick my shaking hands in my pockets; I know that I cannot back down now. I look at the translator, and he comes over to help me communicate with this young mom.
I continue, “I heard you say that you felt very close to God when you were pregnant, but now you feel distant. Is that right?”
She nods in agreement and half-smiles out of politeness.
“The reason I say that is because I know how you are feeling. I do not have a child, but when I was in early high school, I had a strong faith and was close to the Lord.”
I pause to let the translator jump in.
“But during my senior year of high school, I lost the Lord, and started chasing after other things I thought could fulfill me. I lived a different kind of life for six months. But then the Lord revealed to me that I had drifted from him, and I wanted to get back in right relationship with him.”
At these words, her eyes begin to well with tears.
“He revealed to me that even though I had left him, he never left me. Even though I tried to run from him, he never stopped loving me.”
The tears begin to fall down her cheeks, and her reaction causes me to come to tears.
I choke out the words, “No matter how far you feel from him, you can always go right back into his open arms. He has never left you, and he never will.”
“Gracias,” she says, and we embrace one another. Her arms wrapped around me give me a sense of security and reassurance; I have just poured out my heart to her, and her tight embrace speaks security and acceptance, without a single word leaving her mouth. And I sense that my tight embrace gives her the same feeling.
I pray with her, praying over her faith journey and over her son. Tears continue to escape from both of our eyes as I pray, and she nods her head in agreement throughout the prayer; a vast difference from her blank stare during the prayer a few minutes earlier. We remain in the home for a bit longer, and then prepare to leave. We take a picture with the women, and I give Alejandra another hug before we walk back into the blazing Panama heat.
As we walk out of the house, I sniffle and wipe the remaining tears from my eyes, pondering all that just took place. Even though I did not explicitly share the gospel in the format that we had traditionally used, I used the events God brought me through to give this young mom a hope and a new outlook on her faith. I may never know if her faith flourishes in the way I pray it does, but I walk away with a new confidence to share God’s story and his love with people, not just in Panama, but in the U.S. as well. For the rest of the trip, I feel physically exhausted, but the rejuvenation of spirit that experience gives me overcomes my physical limits. It is a rejuvenation that does not die after the trip, but lasts far beyond it.
It has been three months since this experience, but what happened there in Panama has changed how I see my faith, and I have come out of the experience with a new confidence that I want to pass on to whoever I possibly can.
I made many mistakes during my senior year of high school, and up until the trip, I felt that I had wasted so much time. And I know I’m not the only one who feels that way about their past. So my first point of encouragement- your mistakes, your past, everything you regret- it is not too much (or too little) that God cannot use it. From living a life of white-lies, to things you have never told anyone because they will never see you the same, your story is unique to you, and God can use it to convict and encourage others. Do not doubt his ability to redeem and restore all that was lost (Joel 2:25).You have been freed, rejoice in that freedom and share that joy with others (Psalm 107:2-9).
However, I know it is still so intimidating to be vulnerable and share your story- it was intimidating when I shared it in front of my missions team, and it is intimidating for me to share it now. But on a concrete level, my best suggestion is if you feel the Holy Spirit leading you to do something, whether it be talking to someone you do not know well, pursuing an opportunity you find out of your comfort zone, or anything else, tell someone. Especially if you feel intimidated or unqualified. Tell someone that you know will encourage you and push you beyond your limits. For me, it was telling the missionary on our team. I did not know him well, but if he had not been there to encourage me in the way he did, I probably would have never shared my story with Alejandra, and I would have walked away wondering what God could have done.
God has written your story- and he is still writing. He’s given you a testimony; it’s a gift. Do not hide your light under a basket- sharing your story with someone can have an impact on their life bigger than you realize (Matthew 5:14-16).