As a kid I used to define “missionary” as someone who went to another country in order to share the Gospel. Then in my late twenties I moved to Mexico. Many people, on both sides of the border, called me a missionary; yet I became more and more uncomfortable with the title. It seemed like a high calling that I didn’t fit into—not because I looked down upon myself, but because I didn’t fit into the U.S. 21st century definition of a missionary. I had not been to a Bible school or seminary, nor had I gone through any missionary training program. I was not officially sent by my church, denomination, or missions agency. I did not raise support.

With a real conviction that all Christians have the responsibility to share Christ with others, I began to define “missionary” as any Christian who took Christianity seriously. Or better put, every Christian is a missionary, ideally. Uhh, not so fast […]

There are only a couple of blogs I follow on a daily basis. Recently I read that one of “my” bloggers is heading back to the States for good—calling it quits on the field.

My intention is not to come off as cynical, but his farewell post, the comments that followed, and the follow-up posts, all sounded kind of like every other goodbye blog-roll I’ve read. Feelings of guilt, reflection, a summation of what has been learned on the field, and vague plans for the future in the U.S. of A. I’m not trying to take a jab at the blogger; I mean, what’s he supposed to say? Of course there is going to be slight (or great) guilt, lots of reflection, many things learned, and ideas for the upcoming months or year. C’mon! I just read it with sadness—that’s all. I’ve enjoyed reading his blog. It’s been real, honest, exciting, and even the mundane grind. I can relate to it. And the soon to be ex-missionary blogger is a guy I’d like to meet. [...]

My wife is a big Tom Hanks fan, leading us to watch Road to Perdition a couple of nights back. The context of the movie revolves around the Irish mob in Depression-era Chicago. The film showed how the mafia owned the police, banks, businesses, and politicians. Halfway through the flick, I exclaimed, “This is exactly what’s going on in Tijuana right now!” Her response was, “Pues claro!” (a little tough to translate into english, but let’s just say it’s a strong “Of course!”)

Mexicans are big into coffee. I think they’re even more into coffee than Seattleites, which I suppose is a large claim. Wikipedia states that folks in this coastal port have “a reputation for heavy coffee consumption.” Yet I believe, those in Mexico are on par, cups per day. Sure, the coffee blend is a bit different. People in Seattle are into their coffee—you know, a grande, soy, white mocha with no foam type thing. On the contrary, most Mexicans will drink whatever’s served up—and usually it’s instant. The whole concept of coffee is different, especially where and how it’s drunk. I know it’s the big thing to sit around in a Starbucks with your friends—but it’s just as common to go it alone in the drive-thru, throwing down 4 bucks to ease your single occupant commute home. This is essentially unheard of in Mexico. [...]

The February 2008 issue of Motor Trend magazine put up a comparison between four family sedans. In the running were the Chevrolet Malibu LTZ, the Honda Accord EX-L V-6, the Nissan Altima 3.5 SE, and finally the Toyota Camry SE V-6. Upon seeing the lineup, I almost passed over reading the article. Why would I care about middle-class, family four-doors? I received my answer in the fourth paragraph.

“Everything is so inefficient in Mexico.” I hear this comment with regularity, along with “Mexico time,” or “mañana.” And even though I’m not Mexican, sometimes I feel a bit defensive. Hey!—there are reasons for the slow rhythm. I’m trying the best I can to hurry this along.—I think to myself. Yet no doubt that in comparison to the American pace, life in Mexico is played to a different cadence.

Below are five time-consuming categories that I deal with on a regular basis. Disclaimer: This list is not a complaint. It is not complete. It is written only to describe items that for me, devour the hour.

Damaris stood up during the time of thanksgiving that we have each Sunday service. With a huge smile, she echoed what two other sisters had just exclaimed. “Our evangelistic outreach yesterday was a tremendous success, and we did it all without the help of Americans. There was not one single American present!”

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference…” –Reinhold Niebuhr

Alcoholics Anonymous uses this prayer in their meetings. Missionaries must use this prayer in life. For any missionary abroad, there are annoyances beyond belief that must be confronted, dealt with, or ignored.

Late the other night I crossed into the U.S. via the San Ysidro Border just south of San Diego. Supposedly it’s the busiest border crossing in the world. Most of those crossing supply Southern California with cheap, productive labor. The wait can easily be an hour or two—and at real bad times, three to four. I’m fortunate to have a fast pass, which propelled me through in just fifteen minutes—or so I thought. Woops, random inspection. So I was sent to “Secondary” for a thorough search [...]