Matthew and Lee Dwinells's Blog

We parked the bus in Fabens that we had driven cross country and met up with David and, Charissa who had brought Christmas gifts for the kids. We emptied the contents of her trailer into our vans. She had been turned away at the border just an hour or so before. There are a three-wheel tricycle, Legos, matchbook cars, crayons, coloring books, clothing, shoes and perishable food goods.

As we approach the entry port, the only clue that we are entering Mexico, are the signs posted along the road and the 10 foot chain-link fence surrounding the inspection area. The entrance is partitioned by median barriers and the posted speed, five miles.

Beyond the U.S. checkpoint, a 20 foot iron fence looms in the near distance as if ancient Mayan Sentries guarding the entrance to sacred burial ground. When the violence first broke out and the fence completed, we all feared the ramifications of the border being locked down and forever being trapped within its borders.

We now cross through the Mexican checkpoint and explain that we have gifts for the kids at the orphanage. We are given the green light and forge ahead. This is not the same Mexico we had come to live in just short of four years past. Not too long ago, the streets were bustling with beggars, vendors and, pan handlers. But now, just an eighth of a mile in, we pass by a convenience store where 12 people were recently killed, and every 30 feet there on are massacre stories of beheadings and heinous murders too numerous to recount. On our immediate left are mounds of discarded tar and dirt. On our right, a military post. The sterile, vacated streets are purged of life at 6:00 in the evening. A small wooden hamburger stand remains open. The only other signs that this was once a viable city are the little stores that line the street. There are three dentists, three optometrists and three furniture stores. Most all are gated and locked down. The street to the orphanage is a parody of poverty and obsession. The streets are adorned with fancy lamp posts and palm trees meant for some other place and time. Set amidst adobe houses crumbling a block at a time are an occasional mansion, reminding us of justified injustice.

In contrast, the orphanage is completely fenced in. The buildings are brightly colored salmon, baby blue, yellow and the like. As the locks are unfastened and we enter through the gates, we can’t help but remember the recent abductions and murders not far from our own front door a few months back. Inside the gates, we experience an incomprehensible peace. Children play freely unmoved by the dark of night.

As I put these words to paper, the gifts were being unloaded and the headlines of the day recounted of the man that was beheaded. His brains and skull surgically removed. His face skinned and wrapped around a soccer ball and neatly placed inside a game.

That night as I pray with the girls before tucking them in, they thank God for protecting us for causing them to grow, for assisting them with bad attitudes and, caring for family members. Their only concern: that no venomous insect bite them in the night. I kiss each one on the forehead and offer mother bear hugs to all that are willing. I praise a God who has not forgotten his children or forsaken His own and turn out the lights.

Dressed in her pink leggings, my grandchild Lauren Julia danced. Her arms swayed gracefully over her head as she intoned the first few lines of “The First Noel.”
“The First Noel the angels did sing was for certain my teacher gave us our papers …”
In all her glory she continued as Matthew chimed in. Each in turn fed the other their next cue line. Like finely tuned instruments they orchestrated a masterpiece as they laughed and sang in sync making sense out of nonsense on the last night with our boys.
I ran for our camera in hopes of catching the scene on camera, but it was too late. No prompting could reproduce that precious moment.
A short while later, I cleared my throat and, lifted up the oil painting my father had brought back from the Philippines 30 some odd years ago. “And here you have, ladies and gentlemen, I said, “an original oil painting, from the Philippines, smartly matted and framed by Matthew.” Jokingly I auctioned the only remaining keepsake of my father.
“Who will give me, let’s say, –oh, it’s free,” I said. “Who wants it?”
My oldest son Ernesto claimed it.
The next piece was a reprint of Michelangelo’s masterpiece of God giving life to Adam from the Sistine Chapel. (A picture that often caused me to marvel at the wonder of God’s great love and kindness toward us. (See http://scienceandreligion.com/michalan.htm. See also http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Hands_of_God_and_Adam.jpg)
Chris took claim to it.
Third, my only remaining pencil drawings from our early years of Marriage which Matthew had mounted and framed as a Christmas present to me many years back. It was auctioned off at the mere price of a smile.
Earlier in the day while packing, I had reasoned with Matthew why I needed to keep the little rattan booties from when my cousin Terry was expecting their son, Steven. I had already sacrificed the tabletop fountain she had given me before leaving Mexico.
This kind of bargaining had become a regular event over the past four years in missions. Each time, I pled with Matthew to allow me to keep something, he responded softly but sternly, No assisting me to let go of things that will fade away with time. To me, these were all things that a woman needs to make a house a home: family, friends and, remnants of memories.
In some minute, but very real way, a piece of me dies with every trinket or remnant left behind, with each time we forsake family and friends for the greater good. When I pondered the greater scheme of things and the lifestyle of those we served and now go to serve, I am exposed. I am aware, even still, how great is the wealth we possess even still.

And now, as we traveled cross country to deliver a bus donated by Ken and Peggy Vinik to an orphanage in Mexico, in zero degree weather where the heater was virtually unfunctionable the entire first day, I am reminded it is no great sacrifice we have made at all. And, the joy we experience is far a treasure than we could acquire here on earth. Amidst the bareness of poverty, wherever it be, Mexico, India, Africa, the Philippines, wherever lives are transformed for the glory of God, where once people whom lacked hope and a future now have found faith, where people are equipped for long-lasting change, to me, this is incomparable, immeasurable. And though I struggle to imagine a home absent my children, my grandchildren (I have one on the way, due in February), friends, family, holiday feasts and the simple comforts of home, once again, my joy is full and I can look forward to the adventure ahead because I am blessed with a godly husband and children who love me. And together, Matthew and, give glory to a good and faithful God.

Meet little Mauri our newest addition to the orphanage. She is five years of age and was brought to us by a couple from the church. Her total wardrobe is what you see. Look for Mauri’s story in future posts.

We’d also ask your prayers as we begin to adopt more children. Funds are very limited. And, we have turned children away due to lack of funds. We are believing God will provide for all our needs. We believe He is sovereign and full of mercy. We also ask you join us in prayer that God would raise up a native speaking Cebuano who will volunteer his or her time in translating some of our documents as we seek support from local businesses and organizations in Cebu. Please pray God will pave the way.

Mauri, together with Jr., Jacko, Romar, Dennis, Joseph and Marwin, depicted in the prior blog post below, starting with the front row, left to right, wish you a VERY MERRY AND BLESSED CHRISTMAS! (Marwin and Romar are brothers just as Dennis and Jr are also brothers.)

WE PRAY that you all would feel the blessed love, joy and peace of our Lord and Savior this Christmas and that He might be gloried in all we do and say. GOD BLESS YOU EVERYONE!