i feel kind of vulnerable asking for this . . .

Bob Ekblad
Executive Director

I’d like to share with you about a beautiful healing that happened last Thursday night in a jail Bible study.

I first met Santos (“holy” in Spanish) twelve years ago when he was a 20-year-old Latino gangster doing six months in Skagit County Jail. Santos is unforgettable because of his warm, sensitive spirit. He also has a nervous wince that hits his left eye like a crashing wave every thirty seconds. Halfway through a Bible study about Jesus' healing of a blind man by applying spit to his eyes, Santos said: "I feel kind of vulnerable asking for this, but can you pray for me to be healed of this nervous tic in my left eye? It's been bothering me my whole life, but more and more lately."

With only five minutes before the guards came, I invited the other inmates to gather around Santos, and placed my hand on his left eye. Immediately I got the strong impression that his father had hit him in the head. I asked whether this was true, and Santos began to cry and say he was beaten a lot when growing up. Later he told me that as the oldest, he'd often taken the blame for things his younger brother and sister had done, to keep them from beatings.

I briefly told him that when someone sins against us, it brings great suffering, but if we hold resentment and unforgiveness, the sins of the other person infect and continue to hurt us. He said he was willing to forgive. I led him in a prayer of forgiveness, and he even began to bless his father. I prayed that the peace of Christ would come over his face and that the nervous flinching would be calmed in Jesus' name. The presence of God came over all of us. It was very peaceful.

The next day, I called Santos to check on him. He said he was 100% healed and the twitching had stopped. I called him four days later and he says he's still completely healed—the tic has not returned. He has had this problem for 32 years. “People who know me are all noticing it!” he said. He also told me that the night he forgave his father, his dad called his girlfriend's house looking for him—something his father rarely if ever does.
We are profoundly grateful for the ways we see the kingdom of God coming to those on the margins—physically, emotionally, and spiritually!

i don't know where that came from!

Chris Hoke
Assistant Jail Chaplain

Sometimes a few unsolved problems come together and solve each other perfectly, like separate unfinished song fragments completing each other minutes before a performance. I love it when that happens.

There are these two guys we've accompanied through drug and alcohol recovery, and now they're not sure what their next step is. And neither are we. One, Marco*, is living in the building with us at Tierra Nueva, working a night shift in a lumber mill, and trying to stay clean. His smiles, honesty and sobriety are growing daily with us. Another, Dan, we met in jail when he felt touched by God's Spirit and almost wouldn't leave us alone after he got out, eager to grow and quick to ask for the care he needs. After years of meth use, in and out of jail, he now lives three blocks away, works drywall construction, and is part of our faith community. Both Marco and Dan are hitting that space where they feel God is calling them to work with others who are caught in the life they are leaving. But they don't know where they are supposed to start, or if God can use them at all.

Enter John. I've been feeling increasingly irritated with his every knock on our back door. Most people who come to Tierra Nueva from the jail or streets are open about their real problems and we work together. John just uses the phone and asks for rides, always with a new, sketchy story and a forced smile. Acquaintances in the drug business tells us he's a known addict in the area, but I haven't known how to tell him that I know, you know? It's tricky, since I'm younger than John and don't want to accuse him. I want to offer real help, not facilitate his hustle and self-harm by playing along with the act.

So here's where the two pieces came together. Marco and I are in the apartment, hanging out. Dan bounds in with usual enthusiasm after a good day at work. Then the knock.

It's John. Can I take him to the place where I know he shoplifts and then exchanges with his dealer? Come on inside, John. He sits down with our two friends who are in their own process of recovery and faith. I try to tell John I want to be straight, not keep pretending. He acts shocked, confused, defensive. I am stuck.

Dan then speaks with sudden grace, maturity, and compassionate directness to John. "I've been there before, man. I recognize all the signs. I know—we know—what it's like. Tierra Nueva is here to help guys like us in recovery. You don't have to pretend. They don't call the cops, but help you however you need it most." This spoke so disarmingly to John that he had nothing to say—for the first time ever. We said we're here for him when he's ready. He nodded and bolted for the door with no argument.

A new feeling followed the slam of the door. Dan burst open, "I don't know where those words came from! It felt like something just pouring out of my mouth—it was perfect! I normally woulda cussed the guy out, or been arrogant . . . that was awesome! That was totally the Holy Spirit." Marco was all smiles. He felt he was part of something new: no longer ashamed of his odd position between old drug buddies and Christian community, like some sort of fake who's known for occasional relapse, but instead an example of that difficult transition who can invite others into honesty and grace in community. We stopped and prayed for John, blessing him in this decisive moment between bitterness or breakthrough, and dropping any arrogance or judgments we had toward him.

The interaction with John was small. But it was a perfectly timed, inaugural practice of Marco's and Dan's callings. John was addressed with grace and openness by his peers. Marco and Dan felt their first step towards reaching out to current users—with God backing them up with the right spirit and words.

There was such a feeling of unity and possibility afterwards that none of us wanted to go on with our day. Instead, Marco treated us to coffee across the street and we watched a documentary on meth in my bedroom, talking late into the evening like new, giddy friends.

*names changed

the psalm my people sent me away with

by Sara

We keep hearing the stories of how immigration realities we confront with our friends in the Skagit Valley are tearing families apart. But today I realized that until you have a personal example, until it somehow affects you, it doesn’t quite hit home.

Today someone from our very faith community came to us after a phone call that he said “destroyed him.” After several days of working in the fields and feeling a sense of restlessness and deep concern, he phoned his wife in Central America begging to know if anything wasn’t right at home. She leveled with him, saying she’s just decided to leave him for someone else. “It has been too difficult,” she said, the same woman who two years ago prayed and agonized with him about the decision to risk his life by crossing the border to come make money for his family and village. In the end, they decided together that he should go.

As we listened to him, to his grief, he wanted us to understand that he doesn’t question God’s goodness in this. He is aware of the struggle against an enemy that is out to rob, kill and destroy any piece of that goodness he can get his hands on. But that doesn’t change the deep sadness he feels—we all feel—at this news, at what it’s like for him to call each of his children far away and explain the situation. It doesn’t change the fact that as we stood in the kitchen and talked tonight, he held my biggest kitchen knife to his heart and said, “I wish I could just cut it out so I wouldn’t have to feel this, but I know I cannot.”

This morning as we surrounded him to pray for the Comforter to come near, one of the women in our circle said she had a psalm to read. As the words of Psalm 91 were read in Spanish, rich promises of God’s covering and protective care spilled from the text. Slowly, our friend reached for his wallet, opened it, and took out a worn but neatly folded paper. Interrupting, he said: “Look. This is the same psalm my people sent me away with, to remember God’s care for me as I crossed the desert and the border and came here.” And there it was, each verse of Psalm 91 written down the page.

What a way for God to remind him that it is still true, even now, even when the worst he could have imagined has happened. What a God, who enters into the darkness with us and holds us—holds our friend—there.

even when you think God's ignoring you . . .

by David

I really like cocaine. I used to like it to the tune of about $800 or so a week. While most people use cocaine to "party," I used it to work—and I am very good at software development, which is how I could afford the drugs. I'm what you might call a professional addict, having regularly used some form of illicit substance or other for about 13 years.

I would go on a programming jag and shut everyone out of my life. My sinuses were infected and my nose bled; I lost a lot of weight. I still managed to hold onto my job, but I'm sure my coworkers wondered about me. Obviously, things needed to change. I quit cocaine for a short period, and my friends at Tierra Nueva prayed for me. Most churches elevate Jesus to where he's inaccessible. I had done Christianity before, and ran from it. But Tierra Nueva made it possible for me to come back.

The problem was, the more they prayed, the worse off I was, until I finally relapsed and asked them to stop praying and leave me alone. I figured the prayer caused God to glance sharply in my direction and screw something up in my life. But now I know it was Satan just messing with me.

I ended up quitting my job and locking myself in my apartment. I started having one sided conversations with God. The subject was generally about God's absence, and my sense of entitlement. Finally, I found myself just asking for God to show himself to me, so that I could at least know that God was listening.

One night as I was lying in my bed, thinking that I really needed a friend, I was visited by a tree frog. He hung out in my apartment for about a month and a half. Somehow, this was a significant event, but I can't articulate why that is. I think it was God reaching out to me in a way that didn't threaten me.

After that, I just stopped using cocaine. More importantly, I haven't had the slightest desire to go back to it. I haven't had dreams about using it. I'd been contacted by the people I used to buy it from, and yet there was no temptation. God really comes through when you just step back and let God do his thing. I've been clean for almost two months, and I haven't experienced sobriety like this for 13 years.

God listens, even when you think he's ignoring you. God loves you, even if present circumstances make you believe otherwise. Nothing is beyond the reach of God, even if it's beyond yours. And finally, God's most amazing miracles are often delivered through mundane means. You just have to be open to receiving them.

she spent all she had on doctors . . .

by Roger
Co-Director, Family Support Center

Juana* came in to the Family Support Center today. She wanted to talk about how her attorney said she'd have to find her own doctor and pay out of pocket if she wanted treatment for her pain. The chiropractor who had previously treated her had written a report that he couldn't do any more for her.

It reminded me of the Biblical account of the woman with the blood flow, who spent all she had on doctors and they weren't able to do anything for her. So she goes to Jesus, touches him, and gets healed!

We talked for a while about her immigration situation, but all the while I was getting the sense that I should ask Juana permission to pray for her lower back pain, caused by a car accident. She agreed to prayer, but me being in the Family Support Center alone (and she a woman), I decided to employ her three kids—Mario, Maria, and Mimi. I asked the kids to place their hands, one on top of the other, on their mom's lower back. Then I placed my hand on theirs, and began to pray.

I decided to just exercise my authority in Christ over the pain, binding it, and ordering it to leave in the name of Jesus. After speaking encouragement over Juana as I felt the Holy Spirit leading, I asked how she was feeling. She said the pain was leaving, so we kept ordering it to completely go in the name of Jesus.

Now she said she felt all better, and also intense heat, as if she'd just applied Ben-Gay ointment to her back! I told her that the heat could be a sign of the presence of the Holy Spirit, so I asked for more of the Spirit and more of the presence in Jesus' name.

We thanked the Lord for her healing, and I felt I should lead Juana in a prayer of receiving her healing as a free gift. Then I felt I should ask the Lord to seal the healing. Afterwards, Juana kept mentioning the heat—the intense heat, like Ben-Gay ointment!

Lord, I give you praise!

*names have been changed

no alternative but to trust God

by Dave

Last October I got an e-mail about healing prayer on an upcoming Friday at this place I had never been to--called Tierra Nueva. I had recently gone through the chaos and dark pain of a divorce. It felt like my life was over. I received generous love from old and new friends and helpful counseling, but there was deeper healing needed that I was only partially aware of.

I waffled back and forth that week--feeling like I ought to go, but preferring to watch a World Series game with a friend. Then early Friday evening I sat down, still undecided, and read an interview with Stanley Hauerwas. The interviewer asks: "A lot of us seem to prefer living in anxiety to trusting God. How can we practice trusting God?"

Hauerwas answered, "What I try to do is put myself in positions where I don't have any alternative but to trust God."

Whoa. I set down the magazine, got in my car and drove down I-5 feeling drawn, called, magnetized to Tierra Nueva. I remember Chris playing guitar that night. We sang the song "more love, more power.” The Spirit cut deep into my core in the middle of singing. And I realized how much I had been holding back, holding onto. Tears came.

Later Tina prayed for me with compassionate boldness, moving me toward blessing my ex-wife and starting down the road of releasing her. And Tina prayed for God's presence and deep healing of my ragged wounds. I felt alive again. Resurrected.

Now that I have been going to Tierra Nueva more and more, I have discovered that they, as a way of life, take the plunge into risky trust and put themselves in places where they have no alternative but to trust God. And you know what? God shows up! That's attractive to me. That's real life. I want more and more. And I know there is much more yet to come! Thank you, Jesus.

when have you felt poor, blind, or captive?

by Amy Muia
Tierra Nueva staff member

Last month, I found myself going to the weekly women’s jail visit alone on short notice, without chance to prepare. Normally that would be a bit unnerving, but I step into the chance to stretch myself a bit and rely on the Holy Spirit instead of my own planning. What springs to mind as I pull into the jail parking lot is one of our favorite TN texts, Luke chapter 4, and I decide to offer it to the women awaiting me inside.

I come through the two sets of steel doors, to be escorted by the guard through two more steel doors into the multi-purpose room. Gathered around me are the first group of female inmates. They're dressed in their red jail uniforms, short sleeved and revealing arms scarred with the deep pits that tell of years of drug use. Some of the faces look hopeless, others defensive, and some glad to see me. One is already crying.

I start with a prayer. We join hands. I know the women around the circle have conflicts with each other in their pod--fights over an extra blanket or a bag of chips, inflammatory remarks and offense-but they never reveal that side in front of the "church ladies." But I don't want to be a church lady--I want people to feel free to be authentic with me.

We turn to Luke 4:18 and one of the women starts to read: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor."

"This is Jesus speaking, telling everyone what he came to do," I begin. "Can we look at each of the parts of his ministry? Let's start with good news to the poor. When have you felt poor?"

The women tell stories of having no resources--either monetary or emotional. "And we're captives," one says. "Not just captives in the jail, but trapped by drugs." Another adds, "And captives in bad relationships." "Also stuck in ways of thinking that we can't change," adds a third. "How about being blind?" I ask, after a bit. "In what ways have you felt blind?"

The women are warming to the subject. "Blind to seeing any hope." "Blind to the consequences of our actions-just doing whatever, and not seeing where it leads." We continue. "Jesus came to proclaim the year of God's favor," I say. "Do you feel you're under God's favor?" Some women nod, others remain silent. We continue discussing the ways we are all poor, blind, or captive. Our 25 minutes is almost up. "Can we pray?" I ask. They are ready.

I move around the circle, laying hands on each one, praying that God would come and set them free. By now, many are crying. They are hungry for the news that Jesus came for this--to break every power and principality, to set the captives free, to announce the good news of God's love.

The doors clang open with a loud bang, causing us all to jump. "Not done?" the guard says. "Let me say the blessing, then. The Lord bless you and keep you!"

"You can bless us," one woman mutters, "But don't keep us!"