I grew up in a Christian home, going to church every Sunday. My mom and dad were both heavily involved in serving in church. When I was 8 years old I said the prayer and accepted Christ. Even today I can remember the exact moment, when I was in “big church” that I heard the preacher inviting me to pray and accept Jesus into my heart. I know, without a doubt, that was when Christ entered my heart. Looking back, it’s wild to me that 8 year old Lindsey was capable of making such a life changing decision. But there she was with hands open to the Lord, ready to change the world.
When you grow up in the church, you know a lot about the Bible. You grew up going to Sunday school, learning verses at Awanas, and going to every local VBS. You know the stories, the names, and the facts. By the time I was 14 I thought I was practically a Bible scholar, but that was the year I realized I didn’t know God. I was at a church camp called Super Summer, and there were people around me who talked about this God who was more real than the air they breathed and closer than their skin. I began to grow frustrated with the Christianity I lived. I hadn’t experienced this radical presence of God and I didn’t know how people could know God with such certainty when I felt like I was grasping at straws. It was during that week that something clicked. I began asking God that I would be able to feel his presence, that I would understand Him as the reality He is. When you start asking, it’s kind of crazy because God starts answering. It was in that week that I realized, if I wanted to be a Christian I wanted to be real. I wanted God to be my reason for everything I did.
After graduating high school and having absolutely no clue what career I wanted to pursue I decided to attend Houston Baptist University. My freshman year, still not knowing what career to pursue, I knew two
things: I wanted to continue learning Spanish, and I liked studying History and Literature. I didn’t know what I was going to do with a double major in Spanish or Classics, but I knew God’s plan was bigger than anything I could dream up and He would use me no matter what I did.
The hispanic culture has always been close to me. My grandma was from Mexico, and my dad’s first language was Spanish. I grew up visiting the little mission church my grandpa served at, dancing ballet folklorico, eating pan dulce, and only going out to mexican restaurants. My mom taught us some basic Spanish when we were kids, but nothing much past colors, numbers, and “¿Dónde está el baño?” When I was in high school I took two years of Spanish through an online academy with local Spanish teachers stationed in Guatemala. It was through that personal connection with my Spanish teacher, Kevin, that I began to be interested in Central America. The more I studied Spanish the more I fell in love with the culture, and I kept coming back to this idea of teaching English in a Spanish speaking country. My senior year I started researching programs to teach in Spanish speaking countries. I asked my professors for suggestions. I even applied to one, and the day I received the rejection email from the program I was so frustrated with God. I knew He was pulling me towards teaching in a Spanish speaking country, but I didn’t understand why He was saying no. The same day I received my rejection letter I saw that a school from Honduras was visiting my college campus, and I thought, okay God, is this what You would have for me?